The Saturday Evening Post 1925-03-07: Vol 197 Iss 36

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SATURDAY =QwWG POST _ = ae ted Weekly Benj. Franklin MARCH 7, 1925 George Pattullo _ James J. Corbett—Lucy Stone Terrill—Elizabeth Frazer—Henry Raleigh Frederick Irving Anderson—Kennett Harris— Major General Harbord

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“A. man can wisely eat only what he can easily digest” —says Edward Bok = His new book, “Twice Thirty’, Mr. Bok tells why the soth birthday is the worst birthday in a man’s life. Too often a man feels old at so—largely hecause of many years of unwise eating. Too much food; too heavy, indigestible food; too little exercise—then at middleage unwelcome symp- toms of old age! If you sit at a desk all day, watch your diet! You do not need as much food nor the same kind of food as if you were a manual laborer. In fact, you cannot take care of it. The diet needs of sedentary workers are few and simple. The one fundamental rule is: Stick to plain foods which are easy to digest. An overworked digestion is the cause of more in- efficiency than you suspect. But your physician knows, Start the day right—with breakfast Many men, and women, too, make their first mistake with breakfast. Your mind and body have been at rest during the night. Food is not a vital need. Yet you eat a heavy, hearty breakfast —enough for a day laborer—then at to of 11 wonder “why you do not feel like work today”. It is not hard to understand. All the energy you ought to have for work is being uselessly squandered in digestive effort. Your machine is running at half power—clogged with too much fuel. The only thing breakfast need provide is energy for the morning s work. To supply this quickly and easily enough, it stiould be very simple to digest. A model breakfast—try it for three mornings One famous food ideally fills the very requirements for such a breakfast—Cream of Wheat! Give it a trial for just three mornings and see how much the right breakfast means. A Cream of Wheat breakfast gives you the energy you need. For Cream of Wheat is primarily an energy-food; extremely rich in carbohydrates which mean energy units. But the important thing is that it gives this energy so easily, so quickly! Digestion of Cream of Wheat is a very simple operation; it begins in the mouth and is speedily. completed without burdening the stomach. Yet itis a perfectly satisfying food and delicious to eat! Try it this week for breakfast in the ways sug- gested here. You will find new energy and greater enjoyment in your morning's work. Cream of Wheat Company, Minneapolis, Minnesota In Canada, made by the Cream of Wheat Company, Winnipeg Make this breakfast test for three mornings First morning Cream of Wheat with-raisins 4% cup Cream of Wheat 14 teaspoon salt 4 cups boiling water % cup raisins Pour Cream of Wheat slowly into rapidly boiling salted water, stirring constantly; add raisins and cook twenty minutes in a double boiler Second morning fe w* a) f . ~~ - sal Cream of Wheat with Sugar and Cream or Butter 4 cup Cream of Wheat 44 teaspoon salt 4 cups boiling water Pour Cream of Wheat slowly into rapidly boiling salted water, stirring constantly. Place over boiling water and continue cooking twenty minutes or longer if desired. Serve with cream and sugar, or Southern Style, with butter and sale Third morning Cream of Wheat Omelet 4 eggs 44 teaspoon salt 'g cup cooked Cream of Wheat Chopped parsley Beat egg yolks until thick, add cooked Cream of Wheat, salt and chopped parsley. Fold in the stiffly beaten egg whites and turn into a warm omelet pan Heat slowly and bake until omelet is set end for booklet— “50 Ways of Serving Cream of Wheat” We have a splendid new recipe book which gives 50 tempting ways to serve thisenergy-food. Send foritand our new book on children’s diet. They are free. Cream.of Wheat Company, Dept. 103, Minneapolis, Minnesota } Please send me, free, your recipe booklet, “50 Ways of Serving Cream of Wheat", together with sample box of Cream of Wheat } Please send me, free, your booklet, ““The Important Business of Feeding Children”’.

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HOLEPROOF HOSIERY Veo will certainly want to see the unique, monthly fashion service offered by Holeproof style author- ities. It is extraordinarily interest- ing—and considerably in advance of the moment. Issued monthly, it will forecast accurately and illus- trate —direct from Paris, London and New York—the ultra-smart, new notes in women’s apparel. Particular attention to details: or- naments, trimmings, gloves, shoes, hosiery. The *March bulletin sent free, upon request. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SHEBREST CHIFFONS O88 Tae ffoleproof [jesierg COMPANY, MILWAUKEE © Ul. H. Co, MEAVIER Besipes the choice of correct, new colors, Holeproof Hosiery offers an equally delightful choice of full-fashioned and semi-fashioned styles —from veil-like chiffons to the heavier silks. In every pair you find flawless perfection of texture —richness, lustre— snug, smooth fit. And it has the quality to retain fresh, new loveliness— proof of its amaz- ing durability. So you cannot fail to choose Holeproof Hosiery for style and economy, too. Sold only in retail stores. If not available locally, write for illustrated price-list. Send now for new March Fashion Bulletin. WISCONSIN HOLEPROOF HOSIERY COMPANY OF CANADA, LIMITED, LONDON, SILKS ONTAR

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 ELLE Ree OS Se Bera 7 4 ee ; ‘4 i374 te eS ¥ Soe ee ty iy Pe aate . Fair weather style and rough weather comfort in HART SCHAFFNER & MARX FOUR WINDS TOPCOAT You're ready for weather that any wind may bring in these coats They have the stylish width at the shoul- ders, the straight hanging lines that make them smart for business or evening wear They're made of the finest all-wool fabrics that keep out the chill rains and winds They have the tailoring that makes them stand hard knocks They will meet more uses than any garment youown Reasonably priced, too HART SCHAFFNER

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Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President C.H. Ludington, Vice-President and Treasurer PS. Collins, General Business Manager Wolter D. Fuller, Secretary Willem Boo d. Advertising Director Independence Squere,Philadelphia London: 6, Henrietta Street Covent Garden, W.C. THE SATURDAY EVEN. I N G P OST Breeton Bord ee ae B . . S Touts, Me, Chie cnt tora) Er Indian afore Founded A’D' 1728 Ay Benj. Franklin Seatnng th, Bey Maines 5. Roker Copyright, 1924, by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United Stetes and Greet Britain Tithe Registered in U. S. Patent Office and in Foreign Countries George Horace Lorimer Chugebit Willams FS, Bigeiow, W. Neall, Thomas B.Costain, Wesley W. Stout, B.Y. Riddell, Thomas L.Masson Associate Editors whi geet at miey at Salen tera? | ar Second-Clans Matter at the st Office De partment, Otte wa, Canada Volume 197 Sc. THE copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., MARCH 7, 1925 92:00 Srenae Number 36 HOM HERE was the usual noonday husn in the Red Front Drug Store, broken only by the drowsy hum ofa flyanda gentle purring from the open mouth of Mountain Lion Twohig, who was dozing in his cane-bottomed chair near the win- dow. The door swung back to admit Gander Moss, and the druggist roused. He wiped the moisture from his chin, stared, and finally eased his fat bulk out of the chair and rubbed his left leg, which had gone to sleep. Mount moaned as he tested it by a step. “Sometimes I do believe it’s rheuma- tism, Gander,”’ he said. ‘‘Do you reckon?” “Shucks, no. The trouble with you is you don’t keep your laigs movin’. If you want to know what real misery is, just wait till you get gin on the knee.” “Yeh?” said the druggist. ““You sure enough ought to know. Say, there goes Grandpa Dexter to the barber shop to get his hair cut. It must be the last of the month.” A customer entered and he limped toward the prescription counter at the back, as though to avoid him. “Find out what he wants,” he called to Gander. The customer wanted a re- liable, free-drawing, side-car smoke for a nickel, and charge it. He was also in the market for a stamp. When he had gone the druggist remarked that one of these days he would show that sorry rascal and send him a bill. “What you got against Bog, anyhow, Mount?” “Nothing a-tall.” “You're always knocking him.” “Well, nobody can high- tone me; no, sir.” “Bog don’t mean nothing— that’s only his way, sort of.” “There’s a guy who can strut sittin’ down,’ insisted the druggist. “You've been sore at Bog ever since you had that row about the dollar-thirty he owed you.” “He sure enough owed it, too—I don’t care what he says.” “Here comes Miz Sally Belle,’ Gander announced. The Widow Brown did not want to buy anything, but merely to kill time until the delivery window opened at the post office. “Hear the news?’’ she demanded. “Uh-huh. Been a killin’?” “Bog Leeper done sold his farm—that half section over beyond the branch.” “That’s right funny,” exclaimed Gander. ‘He was in here a minute ago and never said a word about it.” “Scared I’d send in my bill,” said Mount. ‘‘Who bought it, Miz Sally Belle?” “‘I did hear, but I done forgot the name. But Mr. Larrabie says he got it dirt cheap.” “Did Sam sell his too?” “‘No-oo. Sam Leeper, he never sells anything.” “T reckon Bog will drift now,’’ Gander remarked. too smail to hold him.” “T reckon he won’t. I reckon he'll marry Paulula and settle down—that’s what.” Gander was doubtful. Bog was as quick as a steel trap, he argued, and with ali that money it was like he would head somewhere else to make a fortune. “T always knowed this town was & FOLKS Somehow Fay Was Robbed of the Triumph She Had Anticipated From Parading Her Looks and Good Clothes By GEORGE PATTULLO 7TLLUVUSTRATEO ar F. R. GRUGER “He's got all he needs,” asserted Miz Sally Belle. ‘Twelve thousand dollars— why, they could get along fine on that!” “He aims to make a pot. No chicken feed for him—I've heard him say so a hundred times,’’ Gander retorted. “As long as he pays me my bill, I don't care what he does,”’ Mount put in, ending the argument. Miz Sally Belle departed, and shortiy afterward Bog Leeper himself returned to the store for another cigar. He leaned on . the counter and puffed contentedly. . “Got tired of farmin’, did ye?” the ta, ' druggist asked him. “Sure. It’s a dog's life. y I’ve had my bellyful of fightin’ Johnson grass. Say, did you ever hear of a farmer gettin’ rich?” “Bout every rich man in this town was a farmer some time or other,” “Yes, and look at ‘em!-— all wore out. I want mine while I’m young, and not when I’m too old to enjoy it.” “That's right good land you sold, Bog.” “No land’s good land if you got to work it yourself, If it ain’t a drought it’s too much rain, or the boll weevil ents youup. When prices are right you ain’t got any cotton, and when the crop’s good the price ‘is so low it ain't worth pickin’. Ain't that the truth?” “Sam seems to get along all right.” “Sure. SodidI, But Sam’ll never be anything else but a farmer as long as he lives, I don't aim to piddle along like he does,”’ Mount gazed out of thewin- dow a while. Then he asked casually, “Did you want your bill tomorrow, or do you want I should send it in later?" “Give it here now.” a He strode out with his spurs clinking, and Gander said to the druggist, “What d'you want to ride him for that way? There's a right smart feller, Mount. I bet you he'll go high one of these days.”’ “Maybe so. But if he does it’ll be from the iimb of a tree.” Mountain Lion could never be brought to say anything good of Bog. Most of the townspeople considered young Leeper a livewire and prophesied big things for him, but even when he confirmed this faith by returning to the old home town in his own private car on the Katy, Mount refused to be impressed and said he hoped the railroad had enough sense to get its money in advance. It’s sheer waste of time trying to convince an I-knew-him-when. There were two Leeper boys, Boggess and Sam. They came of good stock—-“‘ clear strain all through,”’ as we say in our country. Their father had been a dry-goods merchant for many years, but cashed in the day the citizens of Larrup decided to put a stop to the Walton brothers’ habit of riding into town from Red River on First Mondays and shooting up the square. The Waltons would tie their brones to the courthouse railing, make the rounds of the saloons, let out a few whoops, and then jump into the saddle and go to shooting. This pastime occasioned some loss of life and considerable property damage as well, and after it had gone on for a few years the leading spirits of the place decided the

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4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Waltons ought to quit their pleasantries—they were hurt- ing business, and it had to stop. So they were all set for the gang the next time they ambled into Larrup, and tele- graph poles and windows and roofs spurted flame and lead. Leeper took a fearless part in that fight, and died with his boots on and five bullets in him. When his affairs were wound up it was discovered that his debts practically wiped out everything he owned in town, but he left his widow and two sons a section of raw farmland not far from the black waxy belt, free of all encumbrance. Miz Leeper tackled farming with the same dauntiess spirit her husband had displayed in gunplay, and before she died she had the satiafaction of seeing the prop- Bog was offered plenty of opportunities to get in on the ground floor, for he made no secret of the ready money he had. But he was far from being an easy mark and, after sizing up the situation, decided that he was too late in this field and current prices of stuff anticipated any profits there might be. So a few days later found him heading out into the sticks with a wildecatter whose acquaintance he had made. The wildcatter wanted to drill, since he had an idle outfit and Leeper had enough capital for a start, but Bog enter- tained no idea of risking his all on a tough job. He had worked out a plan of action, and when they came upon a March 7,1925 personage. The newspapers called him the Boy Million- aire and cut loose with figures that would have ranked Bog with the Rockefellers and Henry Ford. Reporters inter- viewed him wherever he went, and the Sunday supplements ran stories about his meteoric rise. Indeed, his picture be- came as familiar to the readers of small-town newspapers as that of the secretary of their own Chamber of Com- merce, or the Rotarians’ favorite luncheon speaker. It was inevitable that a horde of parasites should descend upon him, but they got lean pickings. Bog liked flattery as well as the next, but they could not reach his pocket- book—he had cut his eyeteeth long ago, thanks. Most of the parasitic gentry decided he was hard-boiled, and they gave erty triple in value and Larrup grow from a wide ramshackle place in the road, with thirteen saloons, to a clean, paved, pros- perous county seat under local option Bog and Sam kept the prop- erty intact for some years and farmed it very creditably. But they could not agree on policy. Bog was much the smarter of the two, always arguing for up- to-date methods. He followed the cotton market closely, also, and more than once they might have made a fertune speculating in cotton had Sam consented to mortgaging the farm for the money to operate. But Sam was as stubborn as a mule. From somewhere he had inherited a deep abiding faith in the soil, and he steadfastly refused to monkey with any side lines. Al- though he fel! in with his brother's suggestions to buy new implements, and stock the pas- ture with high-grade cattle, he wet his face like granite against more ambitious schemes of de- velopment, Yes, Sam would never set the world on fire—just a steady plugger, working out slowly in his mind certain the- ories of life. Finally the two agreed to split the farm and draw lota. It was shortly after this division that Bog found a pur- chaser. “Don't you think you sold that land pretty cheap?” Sam asked slowly, when his brother told him about the deal. “Cheap?” exclaimed Bog. “I sure enough hung that guy! it’s his turn to eweat now. I aim to get mine easier.” le left Larrup that night, in high elation. No preparations, no time even for farewells; he was 80 keen to be gone that he threw a few belongings into a suitcase, stamped them down until he eould close it, and went out for a final good-by to Sam. “What? Going already?” *“Just time to catch the 6:05." The brothers shook hands, but Sam seemed disturbed. “Well-uh-—-how about—ain’t 90 up and went in search of other victims. There was one who did not, but she was a woman—every man has his weak side, and Bog liked women. He formed a friendship with a manicurist, a lambent flame of youth with jet- black hair, milk-white skin, and a shape that would send a glow through a centenarian. She had advance information on Leeper, and she got him the very first pat—that light pat on the hand which concludes the job and has put many a good man on the toboggan. It made Bog tingle to his toes. After that he was hers. Fay proved an expensive lux- ury, but hedidn’tmind. At least he didn’t after he raised his sights and grew accustomed to the new scale of spending. It was winter and he dolled her out in a leopard-skin coat and every- thing that goes with it. She had a diamond bar pin, a diamond- and-emerald bracelet, half a dozen rings, and a pearl necklace. It put a dent in the Boy Million- aire’s roll, and he had to sell some more acreage, for he liked diamonds himself and sported headlight on his shirt and an- other on his finger that blurred the traffic signals. But when he and Fay went anywhere they at- tracted attention, I can tell you. Everybody turned around to stare, so it was worth the money. Where they were married I can’t say, but he introduced her as his wife, and his men acquaint- ances always referred to her as Mrs. Leeper. Probably it was his own idea to pay a visit to his home town, but the odds are five to one that Fay originated the notion of going in their own pri- vate car. He grabbed at the suggestion. “Maybe we won’t knock ’em over!” he exulted. « ? Their arrival created a sensa- tion in Larrup, but it was not entirely what he expected, All the world will flock to acclaim sudden success, except the old home town. Its attitude is de- termined by personal predilec- you going round tosee Paulula? “No, I ain't going round to see Paulula,” A pause, while Sam pondered this. There was a queer look on his face. “Well, so long,” he said, and turned back to his work. All the women were surprised, and asserted that Bog Leeper had jilted Paulula Cunningham, but his action ap- peared entirely natural to most of the men. The Southwestern oil fields were just getting their start. Bog headed for the latest discovery well in Texas and plunged into the human maelstrom of a boom camp. All day and all night the place seethed. Men worked like mad by the light of gas torches, whilst gushers and gassers boomed, and the bits ate their way into the bowels of the earth. And all day and all night trainloads of wildcatters and lease hounds and production men and drifters and gambiers and parasites kept arriving to swell the flood, and the line was blocked with supplies, and every road for fifty miles waa being cut to pieces by trucks with lumber and pipe line and tools. For it is the first-comers who skim the cream in this business, and every footloose adventurer _from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico joined the stampede. Beg Worked on the Ketty With a Drill Crew at Five and Six Dettars a Day, Often in Water and Mud driller putting down a test well in a virgin region, he went around among the farmers and leased five thousand acres at a dollar ax acre. The driller had picked this location be cause it was as far out in the sticks as he could pay freight on his rig-—simply shipped as far as his money would take it and then spudded in. Sixty days later the well came in, flowing by heads at an estimated rate of three thousand barrels a day. Leases in the vicinity leaped to three and four thousand dollars an acre. Although their stuff was not close in, it was in line with the structure, and Leeper had a chance to sell out at fabu- lous prices. He sold some, but retained the bulk of his hold- ings until other tests should confirm his hopes. With sixty thousand dollars in cash he could afford to stand out for his price; none of the big fellows could make him accept what- ever they wanted to give, as they did with most wildcat- ters—no, sir: He was rich, and they’d have to talk turkey when they came to him. While drilling in the new field was in progress he teok a jaunt to several Texas cities to enjoy life. Bog was now a tions, and there were a lot of I-knew-him-when friends whose reception struck Bog as tinged with restraint and an air of watchful waiting. They didn’t give him the deference he had received elsewhere, and seemed to treat him as a boy, and his achievement as largely accidental. It irritated Bog. However, the Daily Booster came out with a front-page story three columns wide, and he received plenty of adula- tion from those who had no special ties to keep them in Larrup. For a couple of these gentry Leeper found em- ployment in companies with which he was doing business, and of course this enhanced his fame. After he had secured a job for the nephew of the editor, the Booster pronounced Mr. Leeper the greatest son of Larrup, a man who united superb business ability with noblest philanthropic feelings. It even hinted that the hospital and other local organiza- tions might benefit from the visit of this young Napoleon of business, and Bog was se puffed up that he donated a thou- sand dollars to a free clinie they were trying.to organize. “You're a fine sap!” exclaimed his lady wrathfully. “Why? ” | “To let them pull your leg that way. You ought to have a guardeen!” .

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“T reckon I can spend my own money any way I like.” ‘Is that so! I notice you were too short ta buy me that wrist watch, but the minute somebody calls you a Napo- leon—ha, ha!’’ “Tie that outside! The more you get the more you howl for. That’s always the way with people like you.” “What d’you mean—people like me?” ““Why, people who never had a square in their whole life! When anybody comes along and treats ’em right, they ex- pect the earth.” “I suppose, now, your folks was raised in the lap of luxury?” sneered Mrs. Leeper. “Do you know where yours was raised?” “T’ll have you know my fam’ly is as good as yours any day in the week,” she burst out. ‘“‘ You and your Paulula! Why, the whole bunch are nothing but hicks.” “And what’re you?” “I’m as much of a lady as she is and a helluva sight more too!” “Yeh, you act like it.” “Say that to me again, and I'll hand you one.” They had been on these frank terms since a week after Bog met her in the barber shop. Yet he had no regrets. If her coarseness of speech and her hard ideas occasionally staggered Leeper-——if he sometimes drew mental compari- sons between her and Paulula—the contrast seemed to him allin Fay’sfavor. In fact, the new life made his former ex- istence seem insipid and colorless, so that even while he respected his boyhood friends in Larrup he felt a sort of savage contempt for them. They had no get-up-and-get; they were moral, but there was nothing to them. Take Paulula, for instance. She had a frank, comradely manner, backed by a nice reserve that raised an insur- mountable barrier between her and any familiarity, any- thing cheap or vulgar, and Bog dimly realized that she possessed the finer grain; but what did that get anybody? Hers were passive virtues. She didn’t have a speck of style—she was a mere rag beside Fay’s burning beauty, and—well, Paulula was just cold potatoes, that’s all. What Paulula thought of Mrs. Leeper nobody ever learned. She met her without embarrassment, but the eager cordiality she seemed anxious to show toward Bog’s wife evaporated at the first glance. After that, Paulula al- ways praised Fay’s beauty whenever her name was men- tioned. “What do you think of her, Paulula?”’ “I think she’s lovely. I never saw such hair and such skin.”’ And that was all. On her side, Fay had expected a different type of woman and was plainly disappointed. She almost laughed in Paulula’s face when she saw her—no style—no nothing, she remarked later. Yet somehow she was robbed of the triumph she had anticipated from parading her looks and good clothes. Somehow she divined that she couldn't rub it into Paulula that way, so instead of strutting her stuff she put on her party manners and became so mincing of speech that Bog grew uncomfortable. In a vague fashion he sensed that his wife didn’t fit into the atmosphere of Larrup as well as she did into that of larger places. “Well, how do you like Fay?” he inquired of Sam. “*She’s sure a good-looker,”’ was the answer. It did not entirely satisfy Bog, but he hesitated to press the topic, for Sam, too, appeared different. He maintained an odd reserve toward Bog, and always seemed anxious to get away from him. Most people plied the young Napo- leon with questions about his oil holdings, his income, how he had achieved so much in so short a time, but Sam did not seem interested in the story at all, and escaped from these conversations as quickly as possible. “‘He’s jealous, I reckon,” Bog concluded. Which seemed the natural explanation, Indigent seekers after jobs were not the only Larrup citizens who cultivated himnow. After waiting to see how the boy took his good fortune, several of the most success- ful apparently came to the opinion that he was O. K. and sounded Bog about letting them in on some of his enter- prises. They all wanted to get in on the ground floor. As Leeper had no promotion schemes in mind he put them off, which merely increased their eagerness. “Why don’t you grab some of this easy money?” Fay inquired. “What for? I got all I need, and if I sell to any of these birds they’ll make what ought to come to me. That stuff of mine is gilt edge, woman.” “Why not let "em have some that ain't?” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 5 “Because I haven't got any, and I'm not in that busi- ness,”’ he replied shortly. They stayed in Larrup until the town’s placid routine began to pall, and then Bog inquired, “‘Seen all you want to see of this burg?” “Have I? Say, could we leave before right now?" “T’ll phone to get the car hitched on that 5:05.” Quite a delegation of citizens went to the depot to see the Boy Millionaire and his bride depart, and the Booster gave them a fine send-off the next day. **Home folks’re the best, after all,"’ remarked Bog as he settled back into a lounge chair. “Ever go home broke?"’ demanded his wife. ““No, and I don’t aim to.” “If you ever did #8 “You wouldn't be with me, I know that much,” he re- torted, And they went at it again. These bickerings were so much a part of their daily life that perhaps amity would have bored them. Bog returned to the oil fields. A year before, this had been a virgin region of pine trees and dogwwod, with a few malarial darkies idling round their shacks, some houn’ dawgs prowling the jungles, razor-back hogs rooting in the muck, and a few lean cold-blood cattle munching the tough grass— peace so deep that the whole wide werld seemed to doze. Now there was a frame-built town of ten thousand people, the dance halls and whirligigs blared all night long, trucks and mule teams and oxen strained through the bot- tomless bogs, and hundreds of automobiles were parked in the streets. Enormous piles of pipe and drillers’ supplies, and lumber and boilers and steel for tanks iay beside the railroad, and fresh trainloads arrived daily. The coughing of gasoline engines, the impatient clank of the rotary rigs, the thunderous boom of escaping gas, ard the roar of gushers against their flow boxes made a continuous din. And at night the town blazed with light anc echoed to the shouts of men, the gas torches in the swamps and fields re- vealed black figures swarming like fiends of « nether world, and high above the tree tops the lights on the crown biocks of the derricks glowed like stars. Here one saw man in the raw—fearless, terrible, ruthless, unashamed and splendid — tearing from the depths of the earth the treasure that turns (Continued on Page 162) “Tie That Outside! The More You Get the More You Howt For. That's Aiways the Way With People Like You"

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6 THE THE SPO HIS writing business, they tell me, is a disease that can’t be cured. SATURDAY ‘ By James J. Corbett EVENING POST NG CHANCE March 7,1925 the doorway, glanced at me casually, then smiled as he lis- tened to the wrangling fans. Finally the orators appealed “You've got it,”’ said John McGrew, the other night at the Lambs, “and now you won't to him, asking what he thought of a certain point. stop— that is, until they. throw you out. And then you'll pro- test to the umpire-—I mean, the editor—and swear you did reach first when you were out by a mile; or that you didn’t balk with that pen of yours when anyone that ever recites Casey at the Bat knows blame well you did And so on and 8o On. This ia not fair of McGraw, for it isn’t my fault. I fought six rounds with the pen and breathed a sigh of relief when the gong sounded for the last time. And now they've billed me for a return engagement! All because, I suppose, of the letters that came from over the country, from Biddeford, Maine, to Manila, Philippine Islands, asking about things I hadn't put in the story—-what happened at Reno when I sec- onded Jeff, how many children I had, and all such questions. They weren't ail complimen- tary, either. Some found a lot of fault with my decisions “T’m darned if I know,” he said. “Why don’t you ask Mr. Corbett?” Apologies were in order now; profuse ones, too. The Corbett supporter looked amazed, the Fitzsimmons man embarrassed until I eased him a little by say- ing that I admired a man who stuck up so for what he believed to be right and wouldn’t give in to every wind of opinion— who wasn’t one of those Yes-yes fellows, you know. And now in this account of old-time fights and fighters and those of today, which all those letters have asked me to give, I don’t want to be as arbitrary as these fans in the smoker. I am just stating my opinions and welcome the other man’s. But I think mine may furnish some food for thought, for they are by no means just those ef an old- timer, who tells you how smart Daniel Webster was, what pies mother could bake, and how high the snow came over the fence in the good old days. which, by the way, I hadn’t meant for decisions, but only Headwork opinions. For instance, one chap takes me to time for saying I sparred with Jack Dempsey thirty-four years ago. “‘That shows your caliber,” he writes; ‘Jack Dempsey is only twenty-nine today. Did you box with him before he was born? Answer me that!" This after I had taken pains to explain that it was the origi- na! Jack Dempsey with whom I had sparred, the * Nonpareil,”’ who lost his middieweight title to Bob Fitasimmons a year or so after the event I mentioned occurred, Diagnosis HEN a dear old lady--whom 1 would like to meet — writes in a trembling but very beau- tiful hand, “It may amuse you to be told that I have never wit- nessed a fight in my life and wouldn’t for any consideration be willing to. Yet your story has a fascination for me.” Does she spoil it by what she OU see, I have always tried to keep my mind and mem- ory clear. Whatever success I have had was due to this trait of trying to keep cool and im- partial. It may seem to some of you a strange claim, but I was actually the calmest man in the house when I fought John L. at New Orleans, not only cooler than my seconds, but cooler than the spectators, who had nothing but bets at stake. It wasn't because of any superior natural virtue that I possessed, but simply that, being a frail boy to begin with, I. somehow learned that only by keeping fit, acquiring science, and above all by keeping my head could I ever hope to amount to much in the ring. I really began as a youngster to beat John L.- when at seventeen I saw him first. “I believe that man,” I said to myself as from the gallery seat I. watched him spar, “can be licked, if a fellow only gets science enough and keeps his says next: “ You achieved your desires by hard work, pluck— PHOTOS COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD 4 UNDERWOOD, KN. ¥. ©. Part of the Throng Which Witnessed the Dempsey and Carpentier Fight head.” To do that I worked and prac- and sometimes bluff !'’ Perhaps; but she must be smart, for she quickly got on to what I tried to cali ‘mental strategy,” anyway. lt is funny, too, to see how much of the bitterness was stirred up by the memoirs-—though I don’t know whether to call them that, they were so informal. Anyway, a man from Boston recalis in a letter “how angry dad got when John L. was licked by a kid.” Anda friend, Joie Regan, one of those sweet old-fashioned irish tenors, teld me in Kansas City, where we played the same theater last fall, that he had spoken to his mother, who also lives in Boston, of an earlier meeting with me in the spring. “Who do you think played on the same bill with me?” he asked the old lady. “Faith, an’ who?” she replied. “My old friend, Corbett.” "Corbett? What Corbett?” she asked suspiciously. “Why, James J. Corbett. Don’t you remember, mother? The man that licked John L. Sullivan.” Placing her arms on her hips she looked at Joie in scorn. “He had little to do!” said she. And this after thirty-two years! Can you beat it! On the train near Toledo not long ago I went into the smoker of the Pullman. Two passengers happened to be arguing over my fight at Carson City with Fitz. One was for Bob, the other for me. And what the first said against me would have made me mad, if it hadn't amused me, they knew so little about boxing. At last they turned to me as to any stranger and asked what I thought—wasn’t Corbett “‘all in,” ‘“‘a big stiff,” and so on. “Right,” said I. ‘Fitz was great, and Corbett rotten.” My attacker crowed over my defender; the latter with- ered me with one look. “It’s plain you ‘don’t know much about fighting,” said he. So the argument continued over the fight fought so many years ago, until a fourth man entered. He stood in ticed constantly, and tried to gather advice wherever I could, listened and didn’t talk much, and watched good boxers whenever I had the chance. And it wasn’t long before I began to reason, to figure things out, why this blow did work, and why that one didn’t. These habits of keeping cool and looking for causes were of course acquired very gradually, and often I didn’t follow them as I should. But finally they became more or less fixed. I carried them with me into the ring in my own battles, in the fights where I acted as second, and in the later ones that I witnessed and reported. I never go crazy and lose my head, as so many spectators do, when a fight is on. And that is why these views that I shall give may have a little of value. I will do my best to present them clearly, in comparing the new fighters and athletes with the old, and trying to show whether or not conditions have improved, whether we have kept pace with our advance in business methods ‘and science—and whether American manhood has improved or gone back.

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Teaving out football, in which it is generally conceded we have advanced, let us first take up baseball, racing, and then the ring. ‘ In the first sport I have had some experience. Back on the Coast I played the game with stars whose names are famous in big-league annals, and was only kept from con- tinuing in the game by an accident that split my hand and turned my attention later to boxing. I have often sat on the players’ bench with John McGraw, Miller Huggins at St. Louis, and with Frank Chance when he managed the wonderful old Chicago Cubs. During sev- eral World’s Series I traveled back and forth with the boys between the home cities of the teams fighting for the cham- pionship; and have been, in a way, behind the scenes, though I do not hold myself up as an expert—just an im- partial and, I hope, a fairly cool observer. Now it would be easy to say “Sure! Of course the game has improved. The boys today are better than the old ones. There were never men like Hornsby, Babe Ruth, and, in the ring, like Jack Dempsey.” That would make me popular, I know, but I should be running out on the question, sort of fixing the fight. It is true that the game has progressed—in substitutes, masseurs, doctors, shin guards, salaries, automobiles and all the comforts of home for the players; in prices of admis- sion, beautiful parks, score boards and radios for the spec- tators, and flying machines over their heads, and stands of concrete—not all the concrete in baseball was used up in the stands, either. But to say that players today are brainier, And John McGraw and Hank O'Day, the famous umpire, who are near enough to gauge speed and know it when they see it, will back me up in this claim. Nor do I see any new plays in baseball that weren't tried out years ago. No one thinks now, for instance, any faster than did Willie Keeler. And how he could be depended upon for a sacrifice! Time after time I have seen him come up to bat in the pinch, and the little fellow would almost always deliver. In would come first and third basemen and, as soon as he had pitched the ball, the pitcher would run in toward the plate to scoop up the expected bunt. But it would be too late. For Keeler, instead of bunting, would deliberately hit the ball toward the incoming third base- man. Beautifully placed and too hot to handle, it would sizzle past him into left field, and little Willie would be sprinting toward first. He usually wasted enough time and motion to make some maddening gesture at the crestfallen trio, but he would get there just the same. Now they fiddle with bunts these days, but they don’t make such plays; Keeler was as reliable with his bat as Willie Hoppe with his billiard cue. And for quick thinking you had examples of it day after day—not old stuff but new stuff, too—such, for instance, as that shown by King Kelly, who one afternoon was not in the line-up and was sitting on the bench when the batter on the opposing team knocked a high foul which his catcher had no chance to get. Seeing it coming his way, King called to the catcher—being captain he had the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 right—‘‘ You're out of the game; I'm catcher,”’ He caught the ball all right, and though, in the argument that fol- lowed, the disgruntled umpire didn’t allow the play, the incident shows how alert and quick-witted the old boys were, forever thinking up some trick or ruse to cateh the others napping. And the teamwork today is no smoother or better than that perfected by the Philadelphia Athletics under Mack, the Cubs under Chance, or the fellows who came before them, the old Baltimore Orioles, of whom Jennings, McGraw, Keeler and Robinson were the outstanding stars, There is hardly a stunt or play pulled today that they didn’t use. McGraw himself is actually putting into the heads of the present-day Giants just the old baseball of the nineties; and that has won him more pennants than any other manager in baseball, usually with just a fair pitching staff, too, and no high-priced stars like Ruth or Ty Cobb on the team. I have often wondered at the patience of this great leader, who is naturally fiery. Not many years ago I sat on the bench of a small South- ern League ball park where the Giants were scheduled for a stop-off on their way North. A few recruits were on the field, and McGraw pointed out the mistakes they were making. “Look at that fellow,”’ he said, “trying to get from first to third on that measly single. He hasn't a chance in the world. That's not big-league stuff, Jim.” Again a youngster threw to home plate to head off a run more skillful and sturdier, I —— But let’s look a few impossible to stop. “Tt shows what you have to over—first up, of course, being the mighty Babe Ruth. He is certainly a powerful bat- ter, as good as ever stepped up to a plate, but he has a faster ball to hit. The little rubber center around win the twine is wrapped is made latger today. It is so lively that infielders can- not handle it as cleanly as they used to do, and in a favorable ball park a normal two-base hit is frequently stretched into a homer. It is not that the swat itself is mightier or that men are faster; just the modern ball. With it such old-time hitters as Dan Brouthers, Roger Connor, Lajoie, Delehanty, Sam Thomp- son, Buck Freeman, and a host of others would pile up their totals, like the famous Babe, hitting fifty home runs in a sea- son instead of their usual twenty-fives. And remember that where he is practically un- challenged, in the old days there were alwaysa half dozen or more great hitters, in thesameseason, busting fences or breaking the , windows in houses outside the teach ’em,” added McGraw. “That fellow wasted his throw, when he might have gotten the ball to third and cut off the other man.” The Ponies WAITED to hear what he would have to say to these boys at the hotel that night, but he never called them at all, “John,” I said, “you didn’t raise H with those boys for the mistakes they made. I expected you to,” “No,” he replied. “Wait a few days till they uncork all their nervousness. They're over- anxious now to make good, and naturally pull a few bones. I'll ease them along for a while; then, if they show any baseball brains I'll teach them the inside stuff.” I'd like to have a team with Keeler, Wagner and old Matty as a nucleus—in their prime, mind you; it’s a pity the new generation couldn’t have seen them then, I'd match that trio old ball parks. against any three you can pick from those still playing the Heroes of Old S FOR pitchers, I remember the stories, last fall, of Arthur Nehf’s pitching a full game in the World’s Series and then coming back two days later and pitching seven innings, when he collapsed. ‘‘ Marvel- ous!” said everybody. But in the nineties, when they had on their full teams only as many men as they have for pitchers today, each boxman pifched a full game every other day through the season. And they didn’t collapse. And I don’t see that with the decline in sturdiness the speed has increased. Many a time from the players’ bench I have watched the twirlers shooting them across. Those shoots don’t come any faster now than when Radbourne and Rusie, Clarkson and Christy Mathewson and Keefe were in their prime. Why, the two fastest pitchers of re- cent years in big-league com- pany are Alexander and John- game, And most of the things I have cited might with truth be said of the track. Years ago sprinters on slow tracks, with old-time methods, could ip off the hun- dred in 9%. All that has been gained in a half century by the new methods and increasingly strenuous competition is one- fifth of asecond. Evenas! write I hear the shouts of “ Nurmi!” echoing from Madison Square Garden, but the wonderful Finn is a foreigner, far outshines his nearest rival, and is the excep- tion that but proves the rule. Similar things might be said of horseflesh, too, Long ago Sal- vator ran a mile in 1.35'4, and the new fast tracks, new plates for the horses’ hoofs, and new jockeyship have lowered his mark by just a tiny fraction of a second. It does took as if men and horses were sturdier then, to do so well handicapped as they were. In the calling I followed he- fore I took up the stage— pugi- lism, or prize fighting—call it son, both practically old-timers, each having been in big-time baseball about eighteen years. PHOTOS. COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD 6 UNDERWOOD, #. YY. C6. Eugene Criqui, of France, Sending Johnny Kilbane Flat on His Back that, I’m not ashamed of it--you (Continued on Page 169)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Marca 7, 1925 HE autumn was then in its full golden fleod, not varie- of grass, theleaves, the fences, com- pletely visible. That was what gated in color, even the maple trees and sumac lacked théir usual brilliancy of scar- let; yes, the only word for it was golden, a gold cloaked with transparent blue hazes: there was no wind and the leaves were mo- tilenleas; the hills, pure in color but notbright, receded into a horizon without defini- tion; and in the mornings, in the atili vailexs, the little valleys, the grass was sil- ver with frost. The moment the stin appeared, fell across the sod, the frost vanished; it lingered in the sil- ver silhouettes of flung shadows, but when the shadows moved, its print instantly faded The mornings were cold, de- lictous and sharply fragrant; through the middle of the day it was warm, but the air grew I longed for, to be free, toown and be owned by nothing; but, instead, I was committed to a confusing number of people. I was engaged to love and to the elaborate restoration of the simple house that was mine. I was intolerably multi- plying the exact obligations from which I longed to escape. The feel- ing persisted, in- creased, that through the past ten, fifteen, years, I had loaded my- self with material and undesirable impediments; and now, it began to be apparent, I was powerless to shake themoff. Perhaps, with a supreme effort I had the pack, a Swiss rucksack, in a neg- lected drawer! But that idea lasted only for a second: If I did leave all my possessions, and love, for the life so strongly rapidly cooler with PHOTOR. BY PHILIP B, WALLACE, PHILABGLPIOR evening The warmth of those autumn days was extraordinary: the country roads, lying deep between their banks, under the old gray fences, were like streams flowing from the heat of summer, perfectly tempered. And then the feeling which, as long as | could remember, overtook me in the fall came on me stronger than ever—with the first frosts of October | had a tyrannical impulse to leave everything I had, everyone I knew, and walk away into the far idyllic country. I wanted to own nothing but a small pack some chocolate mad@ with water rather than milk, a spare flannel shirt and the most limited of necessities, a book to ignore-——and be free. I wasn't so much tired of what surrounded me as I was conscious of the fact that I was an alien to my surroundings; they had the disturbing effect of things that had been gathered, heaped, around me while I was asleep. it was all very pleasant, the people as charming as possible, but I belonged somewhere else. I was posi- tively choked with the need to be alone, to smoke under a bank, with the pack under my head, and then go on unimpeded, to go on and stop. I wanted to sleep wherever | found myself at dusk, under hay or in barns or attic rooms, sit with outthrust legs in the taprooms of roadside taverns. Then, in the morning, I'd get up and have a breakfast with cottage cheese and thick pieces of country bread, fresh butter in pats stamped with conventional daisies and grotesque cows, and wander on, with bread and dairy cheese and, maybe a alice of lamb, in my pack I didn’t want to own anything, to be tied by pos- session to the most trifling of details; I wanted to be without the claims, the affections, of people; I wanted to see them, if they were sufficiently simple, to hear them talk, local politics and the weather, apples and wheat, plowing and planting and reaping, and then hitch into my pack, move up the hill and down beyond. I'd never come back, | understood that without actuaily admitting it; but where I'd go was vague, it was un- important. It would, inevitably, be into a pastoral country, a land with little towns and farmhouses of stone and of wood, barnyards within ston@ walls and barns filled to their high roofs with hay. I‘d lean over a wat] for an hour, in the sun, and watch the placid cows, the ridiculous and agitated chickens; or I'd linger by an opening ina fence through which the cows came up from pasture for milking. After they had crossed the road, the sound of their passage soft in the dust, I would help to put the rails back, lamps would shine in the farmhouse win- dows; but, with the moon rising full in the tender east, I wouldn’t stay. The moon would rise, losing its color for light, and soon the countryside would be utterly changed, at once clear and mysterious; the hills faint against the liquid green night, but all that was near at hand, the blades r ee eas oe. | 4 | Wagon Seat drawing me away, I'd hate it. How- ever deeply I was moved, my body was totally incapable of carrying out such a plan in even relative comfort; I was physically indolent; the humiliating truth was that I dis- liked physical effort. I had inherited the vision, the desire, of freedom without the hardness necessary to accomplish it. Walking I liked to think about, I enjoyed it enormously in retrospect, but the thing itself—that was different. For a number of years, now, I had owned an automobile, and I had acquired an ignominious preference for riding over walking. In consequence I had suffered a decline in my powers of activity. I hated cold, strange beds and badly cooked food; I had never slept under hay, but I knew how it would turn out—a total failure. And, aside from that, the countryside of my imagina- tion had long ago ceased to exist; there were, in Chester County, informa! roads still under leafy banks, but they lay back of the great concrete highways; any turn almost would bring me out on the rapid streams of motors, where even in the gutters my life was not entirely safe and a peace of mind wholly impossible. A great many of the farmhouses, as well, were closed, in ruins, or they had been turned—in the process of what had happened to the Dower House—into country resi- dences. The roadside taverns, too, were either mel- ancholy shells or, for me worse, entirely rehabilitated for the parties in motors; the taprooms were gone, the beer in thick glasses turned into tea, into cocktails in teacups. People who could ride would not walk. Distance, space, had been changed, cheapened: I might go all day on foot, thirty, forty, miles, from early morning till dark, and in less than an hour an automobile could have carried me as far. The accomplishment of walking was belittled, a machine could do it better; the mind, a mere commercial] industry, scribbling, were so much more effective than a good pair of legs. The countryside was contracting, it was growing smaller and smaller and some day it would disappear; it had already lost one of its greatest properties, that of privacy, retirement; localities, local types of men, belonged to a bygone generation; a shallow universal curiosity had exposed every delightful lane, every quiet wood, to the unspar- ing glare of publicity, to noisy andimpertinent comment. What, in the autumn, I longed for, and the ability to accomplish it, had gone from the world, from me.

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About my ancestry, recent or remote, I owned as little exact knowledge as I had curiosity, but--if my funda- mental inclinations had the slightest determining value—they were people largely in simple circumstances. Yet that simplicity had, in me, been strangely confused: I wrote in what was held to be an elaborate style about people the reverse, usually, of simple. That, too, then, must have come down to me together with the other. But of the two, where my writing was concerned, I pre- ferred the former—the material of Mountain Blood. And still in that, a great many years ago in the history of my novels, I had spoken of the stars as silver grapes on high ultra-blue arbors. Not an ideal phrase for the recording of existence in the Virginia mountains. However, that elaboration , rather than the spare ac- count of the plainest country living, kept me to its more treacherous if not greater difficulties. The yearsin which I had failed to be a painter had, naturally, left me with an enormous interest in surfaces; I used words precisely in the way I had used colors, striving for the same effects; and a love for terraces—leading me now to a terrace of my own—found me in formal gardens, in the summer- house of the Ammidons at Salem, rather than concerned with the Pennsylvania villages that was my other, my vainly preferred, heritage. As I grew older, imperceptibly entering an autumn that would turn into winter but reach no spring, I more and more preferred a formal life. I should have liked, at West Chester—a thing impossible with the local serv- ants—to have dinner at eight o’clock in the evening, to sit with Dorothy in rigid and ingratiating clothes a long while over the coffee. A complete formality, it seemed to me, provided a mask behind which the individual could rest, retire, unwearied by the endless fatigue of personal contacts. I had, forforty years, been too closely engaged with everyone I saw; I liked them or I didn’t like them, I thought about them, reacted to themPwith energy; and now I wished to have no feeliny about the majority,the majority whichdidn’t, really,concernme, at all. A perfect formality was the only means of accomplishing that—a manner of life where every circumstance and indi- vidual were met by an appropriate and impersonal phrase or attitude. Good manners provided the defense of an ab- solute indifference. And indifference seemed to me the most invaluable of qualities. But, somehow, I could never manage to preserve it for more than a day: I'd begin at breakfast with William, holding myself to a short pleasant recognition of his presence on earth and in my dining room; and, with the infallible emotional sense of the negro, he would meet my mood in exactly the right tone, he would pour the water, a model of nice formality. Then, perhaps, after breakfast he’d pause to comment on the fact that he was obliged to put Marlowe out of the house; he had been rolling in false face. In what, William? False face; Andrew was spreading it out yesterday. Phosphate! And I'd be lost—a sense of the absurd, of affection, would rise up in me and destroy the relationship of master and servant. It was the same with Martha, who had come from Hickory Hill, in Virginia: how could I be wholly formal with her when, in her high musical voice, she THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A Stairway ’ illusions that I belonged there--I was obviously odd and interesting, with the unusual advantages of a very good taiior and admirable neckties; but, except with the rare individual, it went no further than that. The rare in- dividual, happily, existed; but two people in a drawing- room of whatever magnificence did not make up a society. For my part, I grew rapidly tired of being looked upon, in person, as entertaining; and it was the special curse of imaginative writing to be gabbled about, verbally patron- ized, by almost everybody. Everybody nearly, but espe- cially women. Yet it wasn’t, primarily, intelligence I found lacking, but vitality—the people at dinners were like bal- loons that I had laboriously to blow up and keep inflated, with life, with ideas, with feelings, with, when it was possi- ble, humor. If, fora moment, I failed in this my books were reported to be dull. And, after dinner the games, the game, auction bridge, was, for me, if anything worse. Bridge and the talk about horses! Men and women with faces, minds, of leather and the slang of stables and who only existed vicariously in sport. However, for them stupidity was an incalculable bless- ing, it entirely preserved them from the relative and dis- concerting truth that life was a horribly difficult engagement, For them, because of a mere mental opacity, the whole affair of living was hidden by thesplendid conviction that they, in their material superiority, were the end, the justification, of creation. In that way I fundamentally disliked a phase of society which, very often, in imagina- tion, I saw myself inhabiting. Like the desire to quit everything I was and walk into a land of liberty, my dream of formality was, luckily, in vain. I'd have to keep on, touching—in reality and in imagination—now one world and now another, belonging properly to none. And I wondered if other men had concealed within them such absurd contradictions: As I was writing this the town clock atruck twelve; it was the seventeenth of November, a noon with a deep unbroken blue sky, a sharp flood of sunlight and a cold air. Dead leaves stirred in a grass still green, the sere leaves on a tall bush flickered uneasily; the shadows of birds passed swiftly over the wall of the bank beyond the windows. October had gone, November was more than half lost, and here I was still bowed over an eternal half-filled page. The autumn in which my house was torn down to its bare stones had passed as quickly, and in very much the same way, except for the afternoons spent standing on the broken sod growing perceptibly harder with the harder frosts, watching the process of destruction. It is in my mind that I was writing the separate papers of The Magnetic West then; I had not long before returned from its heroic mountains and deserts, and I was still humming with the extraordinary vast and various beauty of the United States. I had not lost my bitterness at the disgraceful manner in which that beauty had been met— the blind avarice and ignorant waste, At last I had been able to see how the Western movement, the Amer- ican movement, had— driven by need or dreams or more obscure necessities—-left the shores of the Atlantic Ocean for the long arduous journey to the shores of the Pacific. Then, as though it had swept on into that farther flood, such an adventuring spirit had disappeared. The bloods, the languages, the people, who followed were different: the men, it seemed, who cut clearings out of the primitive forest were not the men to stay and cultivate them into farm land. The farmers appeared, the trading posts grew into cities, and in turn gathered together the appointed traders of the world. The forest, the unencumbered and magnetic West, vanished with the abruptness of « stage setting suddenly obliterated by the curtain. They went forever, accompanied by their appropriate and crude and vigorous actors, leaving the new hordes, more cunning and able, and industrious, upon the changing ground. Some of the land was utterly transformed, filled with an energy of machinery taking the place of the departing strength of men, and some was left to a green and slumber- ous peace; but it was the peace which had fallen to Cheater County and to the Dower House. There the air of the past, of an early Quaker pastoral, had remained like the tranquil scents of a simple garden unscattered through a morning by any disturbing wind. Back from the lengthening con- crete highways, the clamorous public excursion, a number of old field-stone buildings, dwellings like the Dower called me on the telephone to say that she was being held at the squire’s office, and would I please come right away and get her out so she could cook dinner? I most intensely desired that relieving indifference, I wanted to meet people with politeness and leave them without a second, without a single, thought. And be- tween those two utterly different and equally impos- sible wishes I moved—to own nothing in the world or to live as part of an intricate and artificial civilization. A tinker—a word I was sorry to see dropping from the common American speech— or a member of a narrow and self-sufficient and correct society. I could never, of course, be either, since I was a writer; and writers be- longed to no marked group of ideas or people; actually, they were forced to con- struct a world, a society, of their own, fitted to their peculiar and always personal needs. I saw, at intervals, something of the polite ex- House and barns and grist- mills tangled with black- berry bushes, the mill wheels collapsed in the empty races, remained to interpose their thick walls between the aa- saulting, the ultimately vie- torious, alien flood and the quiet within. This realization had come tofortify my attitude toward my house; I told Dorothy a great many times that that was what we were presery- ing; it was worth any sum we could command . . . if it were done consistently. Really, I'd hopefully pro- ceed, we could afford it; we had no children to provide for; and a smail, historic and lovely house could ai- ways, under necessity, be sold. She agreed with me almost entirely; entirely, that was, except at the mo- ments when my passion for detail became as involved as it was expensive. But if the interior paneling were not framed in, I'd demand, how could we be certain of get- ting the feeling which was to be the justification of our wholeundertaking? Wemust istence I’ve referred to, but I have never had any lasting Waltnut and Glass (Continued on Page 18!)

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RED HAIR TLLUSTRATEDO THE SATURDAY EVENING POST , By LUCY STONE TERRILL Br March 7,1925 MAY WILSOWN PRESTON ANCY CALDWELL had N red hair-—two braids of it and ali the legend-old char- acteristica that go withit. Besides, she had plenty of money and the ability to make more of it if she wanted to, which she didn’t. She itched with none of the urge that kept most of her friends in a per- petual scramble to stir up a little artistic or economic importance for themse!ves. She owned a remodeled house on the north side of Gramercy Park. It had an enormous room the loft—sprawling all over the entire top ficor, where an ageless amah, tranquil and _ trousered, elumaiiy brewed beverages for con- servative callers or deftly shook them for the liberals. The most distinctive piece of furniture in the big, comfortable room was Nancy's grandmother. Like a spider, silent and serene, never hungry, but always welcom- ing any who came, she sat in the sunny window overlooking the park and sucked secrets from Nancy's unauspecting friends always sympathizing, never criti- cizing, seldom advising. Hername was Mrs. Bric Raton. Gran, Nancy called her; but everyone else called her Madaine Eaton. Slightly lame, her back was as straight as her ebony cane. She had piles of care- fully coiffured white hair and bright blue eyes that looked out youthfully from her wise, wrinkled face. They were eyes that had seen change in everything about her except in human nature. In the daya when she was mis- tress of the house, one entered a sedate hall and passed on properly to a severe drawing-room and li- braries. Now an automatic con- traption admitted anyone who shouted an acceptable name through a tube to a huge partition- leas thickly populated garage, where a small, erratic elevator in one corner either whisked him to the living quarters or suspended him indefinitely on the way thereto. Nancy Caldwell wanted her cars i \ + WH bl. Oe ae 2 across the room—to her close- vision ones. ‘‘I haven’t heard her say anything about the play. But I thought you were delighted with the Alverson persons. I must say they struck me as somewhat mad from the first.”’ “Well, I wish I’d had your dis- cretion. Without consulting the committee, they’ve gone and asked poor stupid, blundering Doris Tem- ple to take the most important part. Surely you knew about it.” ““My de-ar, is it the leading part?” asked Madame Eaton, nim- bly finding a truthful crack of escape, at which Jimmy turned bluntly around and sunned the solemn amah with a wide unan- swered grin. “It’s just simply the whole play. I only got back in town this morn- ing or I'd have gone straight to Doris myself before matters went so far. Don’t you remember in that Russian play we put on—the only failure we’ve ever had—all Doris had to do was to walk in with a bowl of flowers, and she dropped it plump on the face of the dead woman, who sat up and shrieked? I simply can’t imagine how the little idiot can have enough conceit to have accepted the part. If Richard were only here, he'd put a stop to it fast enough, I’ve an idea. When’s he coming back?”’ “Well, we’re not very well in- formed about Richard, you know,” Madame Eaton reminded her. Mrs. Withington smiled, very briefly. Theenmity between Nancy and Richard Temple was as ripe as the friendship between Nancy and his wife. Nancy’s hair burned red- der every time his name was men- tioned. She had nicknamed him Rich after his marriage to Doris, whose money made him so, and the name had grown to him. “Rich is getting in town today,” Jimmy divulged, with his careless manner of universal information. “| just saw Preston Davis down on the Avenue and he said Rich was full of business again—big effairs—forming another big cor- poration of some sort.” fj where she wanted them when she wanted them, and she had bullied a hostile architect into asubmission a© complete that by the time the remarkable remodeling was finished he thought the idea was his own. Nancy loved cars as tramps love their dogs and misers their money. She played with and hoarded them. On the afternoon that the Nonuplifters were to meet in her loft for the final discussion of their new play, Nancy went out to look at a new car and forgot to come back. So the Non- uplifters smoked and talked politics and kept the amah's arm aching. The Nonuplifters were by all odds the most resultful of New York's various experimental theater societies. In fact, they established so many stars—-who immediately took up their lights and shone on Broadway—that they were constantly without any themselves. Artists from attics are all very well, but the Nonuplifters got on farnously with artists who neither nibbled crusts nor slept on marked-down army cots, but who walked out, well nourished, from the doors of the best old families. Just now, however, the executive committee of the Non- uplifters was in a dreadful state. They had been ignored, rebuffed, openly opposed. And all these by two dignified paupers on whom they had forced five thousand dollars merely for advice about their new play. Their play was Swedish--an elemental thing, simple and gripping, yet elusive; nothing obvious. And the feeling of the whole play turned on one part, that of a girl named Bergit. It was a whimsical part, Opheliaesque, sensitive, yet funda- mental; most fundamental. And the Alversons had in- sisted on casting Doris Temple for the part. Doris Temple! The Alversons were really Swedish and rumoredly royal, and until now Sally Withington had considered them the find “Then it's Time He Wakened to Opportunity” of her artistic life. Sally Withington was the president of the Nonuplifters, and Sally’s money talked only less than her tongue. She came earlier than the committee meeting was sched- uled, intending to ascertain Nancy's attitude before doing anything drastic. Of course, if Nancy were really as fond of Doris as she pretended to be, she wouldn’t want her to make a fool of herself; she might even influence Doris not to accept the part-——but there was never any telling about Nancy. But Nancy's temper tightened her purse strings, and the Nonuplifters were about to levy another assessment. So Sally came early. She found Jimmy MacDowell already there, talking to Madame Eaton. Jimmy was a dramatic critic and a writer of special articles on incomprehensible subjects, and he was the only man in the world who loved Nancy Caldwell. Several other men had; but with Jimmy it was a permanent planetary condition. Nancy was as little interested in him as she was in a horse and buggy; but after all, a lover is a lover and good for escorting purposes. Sally greeted him affectionately —he was the kind of man women always pat—and let him ease her down to the low stool directly in front of Madame Eaton. For a plump woman, she had an unusual inclination for stools. She lost no time in prologue: “Madame Eaton, what does Nancy think about these mad Swedes casting Doris for-the lead? I hope to heaven she’s going to"be reasonable.” “Nancy has been buying a new set of automobiles these last few days, Sally,” said Madame Eaton, changing from her distance glasses—Jimmy had been sitting halfway “There seems no end to Doris’ money,’’ murmured Madame Eaton. “T like Richard Temple,” said Sally firmly; ‘‘it’s surely worth all her money can give him to have Doris for a wife. She’s about as near nothing as people get. What Nancy wants to drag her into everything for, the Lord only knows. But to encourage her about this play is pathetic. Nancy’s mad.” Just then the elevator emptied its full capacity of com- mittee into the room. Janet Smithers leaned down and embraced Sally, sistered by calamity. She was a small, blond, unimportant person who reached for importance as a baby does for the moon. She had formed a league of other unimportant women and they rolled along a snowball called the new-woman movement. She spent her husband's money organizing societies where she could lecture on the economic freedom of women; her mail came ‘“‘ Miss”’ in- stead of ‘‘Mrs.,” and she wore no wedding ring. She was always busy blowing a great bubble of independence out of her dependence. And she was the committee’s choice for the part of Bergit. “‘Ah-hah, Sally,” she laughed, ‘‘I knew we'd find you glowing with enthusiasm. But think how much worse I feel! For two weeks I’ve tried to impress your Swedes with my histrionic ability—and they choose Doris!” She collapsed effectively to the divan beside a long- haired, languorous man of mysterious manner. “T think the little Doris’ courage of conceit is to be re- spected,”” he intoned, proffering a platinum cigarette case with lifeless hands. “‘The Alversons tell me she accepted their suggestion unhesitatingly.” “They had no business making suggestions without con- sulting us,” said Sally Withington. “‘Where are the

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presumptuous Swedes anyhow? We pay them. It’s time they’re here.”’ “*Mrs. Alverson telephoned she'd be here at four,”’ some- one contributed. “‘And the female of the Swedish is more deadly than the male,” chanted Jimmy MacDowell, to an applause in- terrupted by the arrival of Nancy and Gerda Alverson. Nancy threw her hat at the amah, who caught it on the cocktail shaker and sedately disappeared with it. The two women looked like a calla and a tiger lily crossing the long room together, Nancy’s dark eyes drinking in details as, with both uplifted hands, she thrust hairpins into her two big red braids of coroneting hair. Gerda Alverson was pale and unanimated, her broad unrouged face looking quietly out from dauntless gray eyes. Her hair was straight, and a few strands strayed unbecomingly from under a terrible white hat trimmed with faded flowers. Nevertheless, she maintained a certain distinction. “How do you all do?” she said in careful, precise speech, giving Madame Eaton her only individual greeting, and sitting down stolidly in a straight, uncomfortable chair. Nancy said “Hello, everybody! Is the war on?” and sat down on the other side of the languorous man, who automatically proffered cigarettes again. She gestured dismissingly at Jimmy MacDowell, whose shortsighted blue eyes loved her and who had bustled up with a chair for her. ‘Fire the guns, Sally,”’ she said. “Well,” said Sally, ‘since you seem to know how we all feel, suppose you explain why you want to make a failure out of the play and a fool out of Doris Temple?” “You've got your criminals confused,” said Nancy. “Speak up, Gerda Alverson, and explain why you shall not be damned.” ‘Miss Caldwell tells to me”— Mrs. Alverson pleasantly addressed the unfriendly group with a large slow smile— “that some of you may be apprehensive because my hus- band and I believe Mrs. Temple to be the one for playing the part of Bergit. But we believe we have chosen wisely.” A somewhat prolonged silence convinced them that she had finished her explanation. “But why?” Mrs. Withington’s voice was a chromatic of incredulity which brought low laughter. Gerda Alverson waited for it to die. “It is a difficulty to are, but you don’t mind how much her feelings are hurt if only you're saved the annoyance of telling her.’ The committee held its breath, but Nancy remained mireculously calm. “Oh, I don’t mind telling her that the Alversons, whom we've engaged to produce this play, think she’s the exact person to play Bergit, but that the rest of you are deter- mined that Janet shall revolutionize the part into a votes- for-women standard bearer. . Whatisit, Gran? Got a moth in your ear?” Madame Eaton had been making a series of facial gestures over the top of Sally’s head. Nancy twisted about and looked down the room. Mu Lan was admitting Doris Temple. Nancy waved and called, “Hello, Doris.”” Jimmy MacDowell met her and put her in the chair he had previously drawn up for Nancy. Doris Temple was unhappy, and looked it. She was distressed, and looked it. She had brown eyes, delicate, ir- regular features and straight bobbed brown hair. In her dark-brown street gown and tiny mushroomed hat she was as inconspicuous as a wren; but sitting on the edge of the big chair, both hands caught on one arm of it, she leaned forward with a dynamic determination that made her quaintly impressive. The languorous man did not offer her cigarettes. “I expect’”—her voice caught and she cleared her throat—‘‘I expect most of you'll be relieved to know that I’ve changed my mind about taking part in the play. I knew the committee was meeting here, so I thought I'd just run up and tell you.” “It is a very great pity,’ said the Swedish woman; ‘“‘no one I know in New York could so well do that part.”’ Mrs. Temple flushed miserably and murmured some- thing. Perfunctory remarks grew here and there about the room, a few of the more gentle members suggesting feebly that she reconsider. Doris stuiled and shook her head. It was unpleasantly plain that she was fighting back her tears. After a moment’s awkward pause she rose to go. “When do you expect Richard back?” Sally Withington inquired, unable to restrain her conjecture. The too casual query brought a furious color into her victim's already flushed face. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ii “Oh, he’s here now. But he only has a few hours at home and I promised I'd come right back.” “Good Lord!" exploded Nancy, going with her to the elevator. “How did he get here? Wasn't it only two days ago you had a wire for more money —from San Francisco?" Doris tried to hurry on. Nancy grasped her arm tightly. “Why, Nancy dear, he flew to Chicago in an airplane and took the Limited last night. This new project is fear- fully immediate. He's hurrying right away tonight to see some steel men in Philadelphia.” “Magnificent,” said Nancy grimly. “Doris, why did you let him talk you out of taking this part? Haven't you any pluck at all? If you'd ‘ “Oh, Nancy!" Doris caught her arm. “Why, he--he doesn’t even know a thing about it! He—he 4 “Oh, go on, you sacrificial liar!"’ said Nancy, and went back to the others with a face like a black-eyed mask. She found no one remarking that Richard had undoubt- edly put an end to Doris’ theatrical ambi though a subdued greed for gossip was heavy’ in the'atmosphere. Sally Withington said nothing more; she had alreadysaid far too much for the financial good of the Nonuplifters, as she well knew when she glanced at Nancy. Jimmy Mac- Dowell, in leaving, reminded Nancy that they had a con- cert engagement for that evening, whereupon she curtly eanceled it. ‘I’m sick to death of music, and of dramatic critics, too,” she enlivened his leave taking. ‘Do keep away for a few minutes.” After the last of the committee had ieft, Nancy went back to her grandmother. She sat down on the stool Sally had vacated, hugging her knees and staring up into Ma- dame Eaton’s untroubled, observant face. “Gran, have I always done only the things I want to?” she said. “TI remember no exceptions, Nancy. Madame Eaton, never surprised. might be good for you.” “It’s too late to change. And I don’t see that the people who go round sacrificing themselves get any more satisfac- tion out of life, as Sally says, than I do. And there are certainly heaps of things I’ve wanted to do that I haven't, and one of them’s to clean Richard Temple Do you?” said “I've often thought it describe why — perhaps I might say because she has a wistfulness and no conceit. My own cousin, as you all know, wrote the play, and we have not once failed in its production in Eu- rope. We were quite innocent of any pre- sumption in speaking to Mrs. Temple. But we have done so. Now if matters are to be ar- ranged otherwise, one of your members can no doubt explain your rea- sons to Mrs, Temple.” Janet Smithers seized this suggestion. ‘Nancy can do it— perfectly. Doris wouldn’t be hurt if Nancy chopped her up in pieces. She’li like being told, by Nancy.” “Well, I'll never do it,” said Nancy. “Because you believe she’s capable of taking the part?”’ ‘*Because—I don’t—want—to,”’ said Nancy, amiably spe- cific. Whereupon Sally Withington did some- thing that few people had ever done—she made a direct personal comment of disap- proval. ‘“‘Well, Nancy, it wouldn’t be anything to your discredit if you’d once do some- thing you didn’t want to. You never have, in thirty years, and I don’t see that you've gained much satisfac- tion out of life. You’re off the face of the earth. At least I’m going to make him let Doris be in that play —if it takes a leg.” “Anambition as ab- surd as your language, Nancy, is appalling.” “Very well; then [ expurgate the ‘leg’ for ‘limb,’ but my inten- tions remain the same. Why couldn’t the de- testable Richard have her try this Bergit thing? Oh, if I could only make her see him the way I do!” ‘It’s useleas putting yourself against love, Nancy. And I haven't the slightest notion that Doris could have taken the part success- fully. Remember that you see her the way she sees Richard —through the eyes of love.” ‘Well, I believe these Alversons know what they’re doing. Doris hasn't any self-conceit or self-consciousness. And that’s the only kind of a person who could take such a part. I'll admit I wouldn't have thought of choos- ing her myself; but she’s always wanted, ever since we were in boarding school, to try something like this; and if she only could make a go of it, it would mean her eternal hap- piness—-for Richard would change his spota overnight. You know what a bloodhound he is after glamour and glory. Just let Doris fonder of Doris than any of the rest of us “le Dida’t Seem Hospitable to Deny So Infrequent a Guest the Privilege of Mussing My Hair" (Continued oa Page 184)

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HE passing, a few months ago, of Lew Dockstader, fa- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ie Lay of the Last By MARIAN SPITZER . March 7, 1928 imnstrels accepted date of the occurrence, I believe, is 1831; the place is given mous minstrel, was more than just the death of a well- loved man. It was also the symbol of the death of an American inatitu- tion, Minstreiay, the one single purely native form of entertainment, a form that flour- ished mightily in its day, has been dying for years. One by one the fig- ures that gave it vitalicy and charm have died or gone into other pur- suits, and no new figures have come to take their places. A decade ago there were more than thirty min- stre} shows of high repute in the coun- try; today there are scarcely half a dozen. There is nothing left but the shell of min- airelsy—-an occa- sional troupe of old-time promi- nence still valor- ously touring the provinces, a strag- sometimes as New Orleans, some- times Cincinnati. Deplorably lit- tle, incidentally, has been written about minstrelsy. Most of the infor- mation on the sub- ject is obtainable only through the verbal reminis- cences of old- timers; and these, though extremely interesting, are likely to be some- what inaccurate. Aside from a few seattered papers and a casual chap- ter or two in gen- eral books on the theater, there is a single volume on the subject, and that an encyclo- pedia rather than a history. This volume was com- piled in 1910 by Edward LeRoy Rice, son of Wil- liam Henry Rice, a famous minstrel. The author had a brief career as a minstrel himself, but his activities were mainly along giing handful of —— third-raters still barnstorming, and that is all. The spirit is gone, The old form is abandoned, the old traditions discarded. : There have been a number of good reasons given for the decline of minstrelay, all sound economic reasons. The inroads of vaudeville and motion pictures, for instance. Every little town which formerly depended on the minstrel show for its occasional entertainment now has and has had fer years ita own movie or vaudeville house, or both. @Y COURTESY OF WHITE STUDIO, HT. 0, Al Jetson, Whe Began His Stage Career as a Minstrel, in a Scene From Bombo ‘ to put on exhibition in its Americana room a tambourine and a pair of bone castanets as the relics of a bygone era in American life. And they might even incase in glass, as they do reproductions of the redskins, a semicircle of waxen min- strel men, with blacked-up faces and gaudy costumes, so that future generations will have some record of this phase of our native development. The source of minstrelsy was the soil of the old South. The planta- Tambo and Bones HE fact that good minstrel artists were gobbled up by the producers of burlesque shows, mu- sical comedies and vaudeville, who offered them more money and an easier life; the fact that minstrei shows were composed altogether of men, and thet no entertainment can flourish today that hasn't its quota of pretty girls; theinevitable amateur minstrel show, put on by the Elks or the Rotary Club or the volunteer firemen — these too, they say, helped kill the professional minstrel show. Logical reasons, all these; but the point is, the day is dead. If there were enough people left who wanted to see minstrel shows, then the minstrels would be able to tion negro slaves, with their croon- ing melodies and their shuffling dances, were the models upon which the first minstrel performers pat- terned themselves. Indeed, it was a decrepit old darky, singing a cu- rious little song, that gave to Thomas Dartmouth Rice, the ac- credited father of minstrelsy, his conception of a negro characteriza- tion. There are records of black- face performers in America before the time that Rice began his career as a minstrel, but they are scat- tered and casual. As early as 1799 there was an announcement in The Boston Gazette of a performance at the Federal Theater during which one of the entertainers would sing, in character, a song called The Gay Negro Boy, and many circuses of the early nineteenth century had black-face clowns. Authorities on compete with the vaudeville and movie houses. If there were enough people left to patronize the min- strel shows, then they would be able to pay their stars enough to keep them. But the day is dead. Minstrelsy was a simple, unsophisticated form of entertainment, just as the source from which it sprang was simple and unso- phisticated. The theater-goers of today are on the whole neither one, nor do they look for either quality in their amusements, It is sad that minstrelsy is disappearing, for it was the one true essentially American form of theatrical art. It would not be unfitting for the Museum of Natural History George H. minstrelsy, however, agree that the genuine minstrel performer had his inception with Daddy Rice, who has come down to posterity surrounded by quotation marks. He was known as “the father of minstrelsy”’ and “the original Jim Crow.”’ The story of how he created this character has become legendary; and like all legends, differs in its details with each telling. The essential points, however, agree, Thomas Dartmouth Rice was a young comedian of me- diocre standing but considerable ambition, when he stum- bled on the old darky upon whose antics he built not only his own fame and fortune but a whole institution. The Primrose manageria! lines. He is still activeas a writer and pro- ducer of vaudeville acts. His volume, Monarchs of Min- strelsy, was a labor of love, and privately printed. It is out of print now; but Mr. Rice, who is regarded throughout the theatrical world as a leading authority on the subject, is planning some day to writea complete history of minstrelsy. The Famous Jim Crow HE Jim Crow story relates that Daddy Rice, while wan- dering along the levees of New Orleans, or the streets of Cincinnati, whichever you choose to accept as the setting of the drama—New Orleans is much the more romantic; but since Edward LeRoy Rice, not a descendant of the original minstrel, by the way, credits the Mid-Western city, that is probably the correct one—came upon an an- cient, forlorn, dilapidated negro, gnarled and bent with rheumatism, who, utterly oblivious of being watched, was doing a curious shuffling sort of dance to the accompaniment of an odd little song which he crooned to himself. Something in this figure arrested the attention of young Rice. Some instinct told him that this ludicrous yet pa- thetic old man, with his hobble, his shuffle and his brooding song, was a symbol of the race of slaves; and that if he could reproduce on the stage what he was witnessing on the street, he would have something with which really to fire the imagination of his audience. So there he stood, watching and listening, photographing mentally every pose and attitude of the old darky, and memorizing the words of the almost meaningless little song. Jim Crow was the song, and it has come down through the years until not long ago, in a modernized version, it was incorporated into a popular musical comedy. The original words were some- thing like this: First on de heel tap, den on de toe, Eb’ry time I wheel about I jump Jim Crow; Wheel about and turn about and do jis so, An’ eb’ry time I wheel about I jump Jim Crow. His instinct had been right. When, clad as nearly as possible like the dilapidated old negro, his features hidden beneath a coating of burnt cork, the youthful performer shuffled out onto the stage of a Pittsburgh theater soon after and introduced himself with the song, Jim Crow, the effect was sensational. Added to its original words were several quatrains of topical and local interest. Rice asa

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST performer w2s made; and the song, setting a precedent for many future ditties, was an overnight hit. The melody was simple yet insistent, and the words easy to remember. Within a week everybody in Pittsburgh was humming Jim Crow. Before he introduced Jim Crow to the public, Rice was a performer of little importance. After its introduction, he became more and more prominent and was sought by the- atrical managers as a big drawing card. Although he is credited with having originated minstrelsy, he did not appear in many minstrel shows himself. He was with Charley White’s Serenaders for some time, and played a starring engagement with Wood’s Minstrels in New York; and like most of the minstrels who followed him, he played Uncle Tom at one time in his career. After his success in this country was established, he went to England, where he repeated his triumph with Jim Crow. In addition to per- forming as a negro, Rice wrote several negro farces, the best known of which was Oh, Hush. The first minstrel show, composed of four men, was not given until twelve years after Daddy Rice brought Jim Crow to the stage. In January or February—it has never been definitely established which—1843, a quartet of friends, Billy Whitlock, Dick Pelham, Dan Emmett and Frank Brower, presented in the Bowery Amphitheater, New York, “the first night of the novel, grotesque, original and sur- successful engagement at Liverpool before going to London. There is an idea among legitimate and vaudeville per- formers that the custom of American actors going to Eng- land for an engagement is one of rather recent date, but it seems that practically every minstrel organization of any standing went overseas to tour when going overseas was not the casual matter it is today. The Virginia Minstrels did not remain together long. By midsummer of the year which saw their organization they had disbanded in Eng- land. Dan Emmett achieved the greatest fame of all the Vir- ginia Minstrels; not so much because he was a better per- former than his partners, but because he was the composer of Dixie, which later became the war song of the Confeder- ate Army, and is even today looked on as little short of sacred in the South. It is interesting if somewhat disillu- sioning to learn that Dixie was not written in the heat and emotion of patriotic zeal, but quite in cold blood, and pre- sumably for money. Dan Emmett wrote it as a marching song for Bryant’s Minstrels, and it was first sung at Me- chanics’ Hall on lower Broadway on September 12, 1859. After the success of the Virginia Minstrels, similar or- ganizations began to spring up rapidly, although through the mist of the years only one of that same date stands out as having been really important to the history of min- strelsy. That organization was the Buckley Serenaders, organized by passingly melodious Ethiopian Band entitled, The Virginia Min- strels.”’ Billy Whitlock, who was a typog- rapher on the New York Herald by day and a performer by night, was particularly proficient on the banjo, as well as being a comedian of some standing. One day he went to visit his friend Dan Emmett, also a tal- ented musician, and droll; and they were practicing on the banjo, when another friend, Frank Brower, dropped in on them. Emmett pro- duced a pair of bone castanets and they played in trio. After a while the fourth friend, Dick Pelham, came in, also by accident, Virginia Minstrels T OCCURRED to one of them that they would make an excel- James Buckley, who was an or- chestra leader in Harrington's Mu- seum in Boston. In 1843, a few months after the Virginia Min- strels took New ‘York by storm, James Buckley and his three sons, R. Bishop, G. Swayne and Fred, began a minstrel troupe which they first called the Congo Melodists. Later they changed the name to the New Orleans Serenaders, and finally they took the family name, by which they became really known to fame. They played successfully in Boston, where they remained for two years, and in 1845 came to New York. The next year they followed the lead of the Virginia Minstrels again, and went to Eng- land, where they were equally popular. Later, after touring the country with great success, they added two lent and novel quartet, so Pelham went out and bought a tambourine, and they practiced for a while, then tried out the act on some of their acquaintances in a Bow- ery billiard parlor. The result was the Virginia Minstrels, They played for several weeks in New York, exciting much favorable comment; then they went to Boston for a few weeks, and later sailed for England, where they had a PHOTO. FROM COLLECTION OF EDW. LE ROY RICE, BROOKLYN, N. ¥ George ‘“‘Honey Boy" Evans men to their organization and thus became the largest minstrel troupe up to that time. The minstrel show in the form we know it now was first presented by one of the most famous minstrels of all time, Edwin P. Christy. It was Christy who originated the idea of seating the men in a semicircle on the stage, with the interlocutor, or middleman, in the center making the announcements and acting as feeder to the comedians,who were also the tambourine and bone play- ers, seated at either end and being known as end men, With this be- ginning, the minstrel show gradually came to take on as arbitrary and immutable a mold as any French verse form. Theshow was divided into two parts, the minstrel é first part and the olio. When the curtain went up on the minstrel first part, the men. attired in bright- colored swallowtail suits and tall hats, the uniforms of the end men a little more gaudy than those of the rest, were standing in a semicircle. A chord from the orchestra “Ta-ra.”” A command from the interlocutor, ‘Gentlemen, be seated!"’ Then the show began. PHOTO. BY INTERNATIONA NEWORERL Lew Deckstader A Ceremonial Rite ““NOOD evening, Mr. Tambo,” said the middleman. “Who was that lady I saw you with last night?” ‘Good evening, Mr. Bones. I have a little question I want to ask you. Why does a chicken cross the road?” Jokes, ballads and comic ditties. Such songs, over a period of half a century, as Lucy Long, The Old Oaken Bucket, Always Take Mother’s Advice, The Letter That Never Came, Silver Threads Among the Gold, Seeing Nellie Home, and a host of others. Solos on the banjo, hard-shoe dancing, more jokes, more ballads, more comic ditties, a grand finale—the end of the minstre! first part. This became a rite. To digress from it by the slightest de- tail would be lése-majesté, It was the minstrel show. The olio section of the show was simply an aggregation of separate acts, like a small vaudeville show. ‘There would be, for instance, a humorous sketch, a quartet of singers, a monologue by the chief comedian, a two act, a miniature revue, a hilarious afterpiece, buriesquing ail that had gone before. The minstrel parade, of course, became an integra! part of every show, and just as important, especially in sma!! (Continued on Page 117) Emmett J. Weitch and Hise Minstrets. Mr. Weich ls the Manager of the Onty Permanent Minetret Theater in the Worid

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i4 THE SATURDAY GO TO THE ODNEY belonged in R a Vial between layers of cotton instead of on the front seat with the driver, Dad Mullen, who had lived in the desert all his life, told me at noon on Friday. Mullen drove the Crest Road stage. He had seen men come and men go, sometimes the same day. “And I’m another for boarding him! Hunting ants to send them to college! Anta!” He glared at me as if I were somehow re- sponsible, as indeed | was. I am Hughes, of the registry division, stationed in Chicago. Muller and the Cholla Desert are friends of twenty years’ standing. “Anta?” I asked “He saves them in bottles.’ But at ten o’clock Sunday night Mullen told me that he had confused his ideas. Rodney was not a silly ass, for all the hours he spent on his knees in the ant country, but merely quiet-spoken and modest. As for the owl eyes, Mullen had never liked the looks of glasses on a man. He himself did not wear them. Rodney's glasses were thick at the edge, and, in addition, they had heen mounted into circles. Yet now that he under- stood them better, the glasses seemed about right, and Rodney's eyesight was not so poor as you might think. In other words, Mullen crawled. But be- tween Friday noon and Sunday night lay a cycle in Cathay This story begins two months earlier, before Rodney had ever set foot west of the Fox River. On the afternoon of July twentieth the Federal Reserve Bank in Los Diegoa counted out $100, $500 and $1000 bank notes in banded sheaves until nearly three million dcVars lay on the shipping table. It stuffed this money down the throats of two stout mail pouches, locked and sealed these and carted them to the post office under guard to be registered. These two registered pouches in due time were placed with other registered mail in the forward car of Number 3, leaving at seven o'clock. An adjacent pouch contained articles of smaller value, among them a three- carat unset diamond in a jeweler'’s parcel. Later that evening two masked mer climbed over the tender, overpowered the fireman and engineer, forced these to stop the train at a remote grade crossing in Moreno Cafion, then placing a dynamite cartridge against the right-hand valve gear, blew most of it away. Two com- panions hademeanwhile subdued the train crew. When the incident ended the mail car had been blown open, a brake- man had been killed and the three pouches mentioned had been carried to a waiting automobile, which then dis- appeared into the mountains. Barrett, who was in charge of the hunt, had me in on my arrival to ask about the Cholla Desert country. No traces of the bandits had yet been found. “T want to place a man out there to see what he can see. How would a prospector look?” “Like a man out of work,” I replied. “What would he prospect for?” “A sheep herd of some kind?” “Even worse. No sheep, and no feed and water for any, except in the mountains away from the roads.” “What [ really need is an observer, not a detective, I think I’! send them a student of desert life. Where could he live?” I piaced my finger on the map at Mullen’s cafion, which opens into the desert forty-odd miles west of Cholla sta- tion, halfway to Hidalgo Pass. “Try Dad Mullen,” I suggested. ‘Or let him pick out his own bed not too far from Mullen’s.” But i did not dream it would be a student of ants, and I did not dream it would be Rodney. iis full name was Rodney Brooks, and when he was working he was a Chicago stamp clerk. Now and then he , TLLVUSTRATEDO ar EVENING By William J. Neidig FArY CLARK had time off for a few hours; whereupon he instantly quit being a stamp clerk and became an authority on ants. He thus led a double life. On week days he made change out of a quarter for eight two's and a postal; jon Sundays he hunted the hills of Du Page County for what scientists call Polyergus rufescens, the parasitic Amazon}ant, and came home with what he could find—say, Lasits niger, or the common field ant. ’ I had run across a paper by him on the hovnitein ants of the Dunes. Later we became acquainted. Later still I told Barrett about him. As a stamp clerk he was accurate but colorless, an insignificant cog in a machine; no such man as Barrett, who had also at one time served at the stamp window. Barrett could have sold you one postal card and you would have remembered him forever; Rodney could have sold you a thousand a day for a year and you would not have known. But in the field he was not colorless. You would have noticed him there. Barrett was interested in the contrast, and remembered. I had scarcely passed out the door before he began his wire. The rest followed. Rodney arrived in Cholla at midnight, together with his trunk and collector's kit case. On the way to the hotel he explained to Joe Sleet, its owner, that he was a student, and that he wished to live for a while on the desert to study its fauna. He spoke in hisstamp-clerk manner. Joe Sleet’s impression was unfavorable, but he remembered that he was in the hotel business. “You better stay right here with me,” was his reply. But Cholla would not do. The reason Rodney gave was that it looked too much like Chicago. “IT don’t know where else, unless Dad Mullen would take you in, forty miles west. He’s due with the mail to- morrow.” “I'd like to get right down into the desert itself,” said Rodney. “Nobody lives in the desert. You'd have to camp out under a banked-up tent. That wouldn’t work very well for you.” “Why not for me?” “No water.” “Couldn't I have water hauled in barrels?” “You could, but it wouldn't help you much.” “Why not?” asked Rodney again, wishing to know. * Ants.” POST IRE ANT March 7,1925 “T Intend to Stay,"’ She Whispered, Although Her Knees Were Shaking Until She Coutd Hardiy Controt Her Movements “Fine!” said Rodney. to find. Ants are fauna.” “They would be if you had a couple trees to swing your hammock on and a jar of cold vaseline to smear over the rope. But there you are. No trees. Yuccas would let youdown. Better talk to Mullen. He'll be along toward noon. Maybe he won't take you.” “Why not?” “Ants again. winders.”’ “What's a sidewinder?” Rodney was obliged to ask. “He won't take you,” said the other. But next morning Rodney learned from a drug clerk that a sidewinder is only a rattlesnake, and ants get into the sugar. When he stated his prob- lem te Mullen at the post office the stamp-clerk manner seemed more in place, and the stage driver as good as accepted him as he stood. “Talk to the wife,”’ he said. “‘If she wants a student for a boarder, I won’t lay a straw in your path.” Rodney unpacked his books, his wide-mouthed bottles, his jars, his denatured alcohol, cotton batting, scalpels, stains, artificial nests. He set up his microscope on the table before the window. He laid out his student’s cloth- ing—Barrett had been a little careful about this—and his paper and pencils. Certain other articles he did not take from his trunk, notably a package containing papers and a secret-service badge. A -pistol, however, he laid out. An Eastern student would almost surely carry one. Just fonget the hardware,”’ Barrett had told him. “You’re out there to study ants. Make notes about every- thing you see. Write me three times a week: but address the letters to Miss Mary Faristune, general delivery. I'll get them.” Rodney might have begun by cultivating Mullen and his family, for he admired Mullen from the start. What he liked about him was probably his courage and his rugged, colorful common sense. He had seen something of this on the way from town. As they swung round a hill, not far from the second mail box, a ragweed of a man stepped into the road with a shotgun. Rodney, his head stuffed with bandits, would have thrown up hishands; but Mullen spoke to the fellow by name, adding calmly that there were no letters for him. When the gun came down he left an address card to be filled out. “That comes of swilling moonshine,” was his only com- ment as they passed on. “How did you know it wasn’t a holdup?” “Nothing to steal,” was the reply. But he had little he could talk to Mullen about, or so he felt, and turned instead to the ants. He brought in ants from the desert, from rocks, brush, meadows, sandy washes. Some of these were new to him, some not; but whether he did or did not know them, he continued gath- ering them in. The knoll north of the house within three weeks became one of the capitals of the world, with work for everybody. It was Sarah Mullen, the stage driver’s daughter, who first became acquainted with Rodney. For a while she was not sure that she liked him. But she was sure she liked to watch him dissect. He let her look at an ant’s gizzard through his microscope, and that pleased her. She herself had hoped to go to college. She was only nineteen. “Just what I came here He hates ants worse than side-

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Rodney’s attraction for Sarah was that_he knew some- thing she did not. He knew ants. Sarah did not know ants at all. She knew the difference between the larger black ants and the red ones, for the black ants had thin skins that broke when you brushed them off, and they possessed a disagreeable smell, whereas the red ants had tough skins and no odor, but they liked to use their stings. But that the one family was called Pheidole—-if that is their name— and the other Pogonomyrmex, she did not so much as sus- pect. Rodney knew the difference between the Ponerines and the Dorylines. He knew what old Jacob Solenopsis was going to have for dinner, and what hotel to call up when Sam Messor came to town. By the end of Rodney’s third week Sarah knew the ants better. Sometimes she went with him into the field, and then she knew him better. They captured ants, fed them, fought them, pickled them, studied their eti- quette, dug up their nests, built new ones, re- ceived stings, made notes. She felt the freer to go with him because of his obvious interest in Miss Mary Faristune, general delivery. So far he had not missed a mail. Mullen likewise felt the protection of the thick letters. He watched the two closely for a few days; then, seeing no trace of sentiment between them, he shrugged his shoulders and let them run. If Sarah wished to hunt for repletes, as she had learned to call what everybody else called honey ants, let her. His wife agreed that there was no harm. ‘ The weeks passed. First Rodney, then Rodney and Sarah, pressed farther and farther afield in their search forants. Then it beeame Rodney and Sarah and Mullen, for by using the stage on its off days they could reach more ants. One Sunday Mullen took them through the yuccas to the wash at the heart of the basin, fifteen or eighteen miles distant. They returned with a pint of the reddest, most vicious stinging ants any of them had ever seen. Sarah called them fire ants, but that did not describe them. The fire ant of the Gulf region to them would have been as a candle to a blow torch. Their fire was the steel-melting flame of acetylene. These ants seemed to live in the one part of the desert and nowhereelse. Their captorsstumbled upon a chance explorer, gave it a crumb of bread, then dogged it to its nest. That was an important afternoon. Rodney was at his best, introducing everybody to everybody. Sarah, who was immune to heat, maintained that the surface sand was hot enough to boil water. This heat THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A Ragweed of a Man Stepped Into the Ruad With a Shotgun But she had tied a kerosene rag around each of her shoe tops, and none had. Rodney’s ankles were protected by his boots. “T could have told you beforehand a red ant packs a sting,” was Mullen’s final comment; whereupon both of them laughed from pure pride. 15 Meanwhile Rodney had been keeping his eyes open in other directions, He was not to act as a spy, but as a re- porter, he had been told. As a reporter, he had described most of the ranchers among the mountains-—old Selden Behmer, King Tyler, Jum Britton, Danny Cleaver. Some of these lived up the cafions across the desert basin. Sarah knew them all, just as everybody else did. There was nothing about them to hide, King Tyler, a close friend of the family, lived up their own cafion a mile, then turn to the right. He had been away for some weeks, but was expected back any minute, She hoped that Rodney and he would be friends. But one day in a burst of confidence she told him a fact that worried him. The fact had to do with her father. Mullen, she said, had once been asked to drive into the mountains by the Deer Creek Road, this side of Hidalgo Pass, for a pas- senger and baggage. He had set out after his re- turn from Cholla, “He didn’t get back until morning. The worst was, there was no such place. We found out after- ward it was the night of the big train robbery. Now why was that?” Rodney debated whether to tell this to Barrett, but finally decided not to for the present. Later still he learned a further fact that wor- ried him, though not from Sarah. Mullen’s house stood half a mile from the mouth of the cafion, across the wash from the road. His garage also stood here. But his barn, the shedlike structure in which he wintered his one cow, stood a quarter of a mile up the cafion in a larger flat near his alfalfa. This building was not much used. At present it contained a pile of secondhand lumber and some gunny sacks. ; Now ants, as Rodney knew, like to live under \ flat stones and boards. He had seen this pile of lumber. One morning he saw it again, and it oc- curred to him that he might find some new ants underneath. He therefore began lifting the lum- ber, board by board, to one side. He did not find his ants; for instead of lying closely against the ground, the lumber lay across a flattened-out gunny sack, tied with rope, that held it from contact. He felt of the sack casually, then with startied alertness. A stamp clerk may lack color behind his win- dow, but he learns to know the feel of United States mail. A moment later he had untied the rope and thrust his hand inside to see. It came forth clutching rifled letters and parcels from the third mail of the sun added itself to that from the ant stings until they nearly stam- peded. On top of this, to the stamp clerk’s joy, a sand storm came up. But Mullen also was at his best. He waited patiently in the car, insu- lated from the ants by its hot metal work, and when they were ready, started back across the front of the gale. As he knew the desert, in due time he set them down in the cafion, alive and vocifer- ous. He hated ants, did not care for Rodney, yet did this thing. Rodney’s admira- tion for him grew. ‘*See your hands,” said Mul- len. Rodney held up the dreadful mem- bers as if proud of them. “These stings are different. I would know these stings if I met them on the Lake Shore Drive.” *“My hands are just as bad,’’ Sarah boasted. pouch jstolen at Morené Cafion. One of the parcels bore a jeweler’s name; it hed con- tained the three- carat _ unset dia- mond, ‘*Looti’’ he thought, appailed. And then: “It couldn't possibly be!” The first thing to do, he saw clearly, was to re- store the pile of lumber to its former estate, He swiftly retied the rope, using the same knot and the same number of turns; then he be- gan laying the boards across the sack as before, but without making his previous noise. He worked under tension, as if his discovery were in danger of bringing down the sky. Mullen was en- gaged with his bees; he did not fearhim. Rather, although the thought went un- phrased, he feared for him. He did not know what he feared. The stage driver could not “Anyreach your ankles?” “That's for Night Work, Sally. Remember What I Totd You About Ants That Hunt in the Dark?" (Continued on Poge 128)

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16 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1928 HOW TO KNOW THE WIL) order to do a bit of boning on a rather promising American investment trust, fashioned along British lines, which had just been brought to our at- tention. But before I had even finished my New A.M. at my office. I had got down early in By Elizabeth Frazer ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM KEMP STARRETT fast to that and you can’t go wrong. On middle-grade bonds the normal yield is from 54% to7 per cent; on middle-grade common stock from 7 to 8% per cent. Here, you see, you're getting a little away from the life line, but it’s still comfortably close and letters the telephone rang. lt was Doris Marie speaking from our outer office “Lady to see you. Mra. Barclay.” “Send her in.” Mrs. Barclay was a recently acquired client of the jazz variety with an income in the upper brackets, who played the market as some married women of her set play around at night clubs with tame robins of young men—for the false excitement it yields their jaded nervea. Not exactly a sucker, with a super- ficial knowledge of market conditions and an unbounded confi- dence in her own intui- tional powers of judg- ment, she found it impossible to resist the lure of a 10 or 16 per eent return on her money. She went for stocks which offered a high yield as instinc- tively and wunerringly as a moth flies into the candle flame. Theoreti- cally, she knew that the higher the rate the higher the risk; that, generally speaking, stocks on which the yield is abnormally large have something the matter with them; that as the yield in- creases a0 also does the the water’s shallow. But after that, when you get up into the 10, 12 and 15 per cent yields, you shelve off abruptly into danger- ous deeps where non- swimmers have no busi- ness to be. There are sharks out in that deep water who dare not venture too near the safe shore, and you can be bitten in two or go down three times be- fore the lifeguard pa- trolling the beach even notes your plight.” Gold Bricks “C10 THE first thing a beginner should do is to stake out his life rope or normal se- curity, and keep it well in sight as a gauge. When stocks or bonds are offered you as ex- ceptional opportunities at 10, 12 and 15 per cent, just turn around, look back at your life rope, the extreme outer limit of which says 814 per cent, and is rather deepish and scary at that, so far as safe foot- ing is concerned; then look once more at your so-called opportunity, and mark how far out over your head it is in that space plainly marked Danger Zone. Can you swim out there alone? And back? If danger of iosing the en- tire investment—in short, thet a high rate is usually the attractive camouflage for a gold brick. She knew those truisms because ever since her first visit gto my office I had been dinning them into her ears; but the trouble was that she did not believe that they applied to her own bright particular self. For other people-—oh, yes, certainly. But not for Mrs. Barclay. She was above and beyond such stupid generalities. Inexperienced but am- bitious and reckless beyond belief, she thought she could beat the game, pick out the real bargains from the fakes and outamart the experts—a set of fairly keen gentlemen who don't as a general rule let any real bona fide bargains go kicking around loose in the Street. Por if these high- yield securities were actually as good bargains as they appeared on the surface, they would not be on the public bargain counter. The fact that they had not been snapped up immediately by those who made a study of bargains was in itself a strong indication of danger—like a warning bell at a grade crossing which tolls its shrill message: Stop! Look! Listen! Disaster lies ahead! But Mrs. Barclay was not the type which heeded the signals—especially when they were set against her. The Motte of Experience Qu entered, brisk, graceful, pretty in a bright, hard, \O enameled way, seated herself, plucked off her sports hat of parrot-green brocade and hung it over my telephone. “Well,” she greeted me, “you were right. Have you seen the morning paper?” lL nodded. | had read it in the Subway and surmised that Mra, Barciay would not love what she found there. “How did you know that Blank Motors was going to pass its dividend?” ‘she demanded, I smiled. She had rung me up a few weeks before to announce that she had struck a bargain. “You Don't Have te Think, Sister,"’ He Grinned Jovially. “‘That’s Our Job" “You'd better save your money,” I advised her then. “Wait until bargain day comes around again. We're too prosperous right now. Money’s easy. Real bargains are scarcer than hens’ teeth. What did you buy?” She mentioned a highly speculative common stock. “It’s selling at 80 and pays a dividend of ten dollars a share. That’s a yield of 124% per cent! And everybody knows what a fine company it is.” “Well, I wouldn’t rush off to buy any more bargains like that,” I observed dryly. ‘It’s a good rule for nonswim- mers on a strange bathing beach to stick close to the life rope. And you know you're paying me to teach you how to swim.” With that I hung up, rather hoping she would get hers. Experience is an expensive tutor and its motto is Treat ‘em Rough. “How did you know?” she repeated now. “It didn’t take any great wizardry,” I replied. “I looked up the company’s record and its earnings. The very fact that a stock is offering an excessive yield of 10 or 12 per cent is frequently an indication that the dividend is in doubt. Of eourse I don’t mean to say that every stock with a high yield is unreliable; that would be foolishness. But I do mean to say to the inexperienced investor like yourself, that when any security offers an excessive rate, higher than the average of others in its own group, that in itself is a sign that fullest investigation should be made by a competent financial expert before the investor buys. And your examination should come before purchase—not afterward! “Let me just give you a simple, rule-of-thumb guide which almost anybody can apply in a case like this and know when he’s getting out over his head into deep waters. The normal yield on high-grade bonds is from 4% to 514 per cent; on high-grade common stock it is from 5 to 7 per cent. Let's call that norm the life line. Hold not, you’d better hug the safe shallows of the shore. Next time any- body offers you an attractive opportunity with a hand- some yield of 10 per cent up, sit tight and ask yourself: *What’s the matter with it? Why did they have to use such thumping big bait?’ Nine cases out of ten there’s a big risk attached. “Now, have you any more attractive gold bricks up your sleeve that you'd like my advice upon?” She laughed, rummaged through her bag, brought forth a small black leather book with a gold pencil at the back, and began ruffling the leaves. “I made one or two other bad guesses several months ago,”’ she admitted, “which I'd like to have you explain. It was before I started coming here.”” She studied her memoranda, then looked up. ‘‘Here’s one. B——— Com- mon. I bought that away back in June. It looked like a very good thing.” “So it did,” I agreed, “on the surface.”” B——- Common, when she bought it, was available, as her figures showed, at fifty dollars a share with a five-dollar annual dividend. That was a yield of 10 per cent—very tempting bait. But unfortunately the company passed its dividend a month later, the stock immediately dropped, and the investors who had purchased it because of its big returns were left stranded high and dry. “What else?” I demanded. The joyrider on the market tapped her teeth with her gold pencil as she bent her brows over her book. Hitherto she had refused to give me the necessary basic information as to her investments and income which would enable me to help her with any constructive advice. How could I tell her what to buy if I did not know what her holdings were? She looked up now frem her notes. “Well, there was some C-——— Motor stock, bought about the same time, which went back on me.” *“*What made you choose that particular stock? High yield?” (Continued on Page 213)

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SC Tn last decade has witnessed an astonishing increase of interest in higher education in America. How much of the unprecedented flow of youth into college life has been due to increased prosperity widely distrib- uted, how much has been due to growing appreciation of the value of college training, how much is mere mob move- ment of the crowd, the college authorities are still disputing. With all this increase of interest in college and colleges there still remains a widespread ignorance of how colleges are supported. Many a parent still imagines that the tuition fee paid for son or daughter fairly meets the actual expense of education. It is true they hear vaguely of endowments, of great beneficences, and of campaigns and drives and appeals. In general, however, little is known of how colleges have been built and of the hardships of the builders. Every college in the Central West has a financial story of somewhat thrilling sort. Usually the explanation of prosperity, if an institution always needing more than it has can ever be called prosperous, lies in the personality of one man. Fortunate was the college in the early days when fortunes were all in the making and few residing in the locality of the college had any considerable amount of ready money, if its president was one-third administrator, one-third dreamer, and at least one-third money-getter— call it beggar if you like. Egypt Versus America ODAY the West is no longer poor. Millionaires are not all in New York City or on the Atlantic seaboard. The more general distribution of wealth makes it more nearly possible that every state or large locality can finance its own educational projects. There is passing, perhaps, a certain phase of college financing. It is surprising to one who has been for some decades at work at raising money for Western institutions, how little is known of the drama and pathos of the work of the Western college executives— particularly in the church colleges—during these years. Drama has been in the fight, so often of a single man, to realize a dream; pathos in the using up of a generation of men wonderful as teachers and leaders in the grinding, humiliating task of pursuing everywhere the holders of wealth in the hope of personal contribution. Everywhere tradition makes the college president a gentleman of profound scholarship, of great dignity, of eloquence, of personal charm, of colossal piety. The possi- bilities of all these may have been in the personalities of DECORATION BY JAMES M. PRESTON them all. The cold facts, however, are that the men who have been able to stay for at least ten years in the presi- dencies of the church colleges of the West and Central West during the last forty years have been wonderful salesmen of education, marvelous beggars. Most of them have known more of the lives of America’s millionaires than of the Lives of the Saints. They have been able from memory to compile reference books of philanthropists, and plutocrats who ought to be converted to philanthropy. They have known railroad schedules and hotel rates all over America. Their choicest literary successes have been achieved in letters asking for money; their scholarship might frequently be advertised for: ‘Lost, on a railroad train between Collegeville and New York, or at a hotel in New York, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit or Boston.” The experiences that immediately follow belong almost all to one college president's experience. The colleges over which the president presided, when not absent on the search for endowment or building funds, have been located in the Central West or the Farther West. A Western holder of Standard Oi! stock used to make his home at the Waldorf-Astoria. I had called on him before. He was a kindly man, glad to invest in enterprises at home and abroad. He was avid for facts, he ineisted on economy, he gave generously but quietly, he had to know that many others believed greatly in an institution hefore he believed in it at all. Perhaps he had learned it from Mr. Rocke- feller. Henevermadean institution; he helped others, who ought to make it, to see their own responsibility. I had shown him maps, population gains, lines of travel, inevitable trends, peculiar needs, financial reports. He always saw more in these charts, tables and reports than those of us who made them, and not always were his de- ductions the same. It was educating but nerve-racking to present new arguments or new figures to him. I called on him one day when he was listening to a college president from Egypt. He received me with such apparent joy that I was elated. I must sit with them both, though only for a moment or two, as he must go out. “Now, young man,” he chuckled at me, “‘here’s a college president from Egypt. You deal in future developments, great expanses of territory, peculiar service to thousands of young people. Listen to Egypt!’’ And he deluged me with facts about Egypt’s claim on a man who believed in Christian education. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17 ARLY BEGGARS I looked at my fellow beggar, and he reddened as he heard his pet arguments recapitulated for me. He was none too sure. It might well have peen ridicule. “He wants one hundred thousand dollars for Egypt, and he’s likely to get it. Can you convince me you need it out West worse than they need it in Egypt?” And he was off again with millions of Egyptians and golden opportunities for such a college. Though my new friend's hopes were ris- me : could see that he was still fearful he was being guyed a littie, We all three went down to the street, they two to go to the Plaza, I to find my way somewhere else. My generous friend, about to give one hundred thousand dollars to his companion for work in Egypt, approached a taxicab driver. “How much does your meter run to the Plaza?” “T don’t know, sir. Seventy or eighty cents,” “You don't know! Well, I do, and that’s too much” and he turned to another driver. “How much does your meter run to the Plaza?" “Sixty cents, sir.” “That's right. Take us there.” He had saved ten cents toward his hundred thousand! And perhaps he had taught something to another driver. Persistence Rewarded EARS ago I visited a typewriter magnate in his offices in New York. At that time our college had an annex serviceable to a new country; a business department of ele- mentary sort that taught typewriting among other things. The magnate, a very fine gentleman in appearance, came to his wooden barrier to speak to me. I was not asked to step inside the gate. ““What can I do for you, Mr. X?” “T wanted,” said I, ‘‘a few minutes, when you can give them, to tell you about the work of College.” “I’m sorry. I can't see you.” He was turning to leave me. Mr. A, that PY “Not at all possible. Good day, sir.” He was the second that morning. A great merchant had sent out word that he was supporting so many missien- aries in foreign lands that he couldn’t listen to college appeals. I immediately had asked for paper and ink to write out a request that he have his secretary check up the preparation of the men he supported, and to inform me if less than 60 per cent of them did not come from such (Continued on Page 208) I said, ‘Isn't it possible, (F,7 on “} “J Ps B49, CE. , * @3 5 UAE ae

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18 THE THE MAGICIAN TLLUVUSTTRATEDOD SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 By Frederick Irving Anderson ar ALBIN HENNING tog ‘ é He Seemed to Suspect That He Might Not be Unobserved, for He Spoke in a Low, Enticing Tone: “Come Out Here, Fellow!" hillsides were out, except Aunt Ivy's high up on the mountain, a flivver mistook the turn at the bridge and rolled into Jason's yard on his new stone driveway. Its lnose-jointed rattle ceased abruptly as it hit the good go- ing; and the driver gave the beast its head, thinking, no doubt, in a sleep-muddled way, he had run into luck after miles of rute and bog holes. The car spurted at a lively pace past the dark house looming in the night, past the chicken coop, awakening a few witless biddies to uneasy clucking. Then suddenly it came to a stuttering stop, like a sleepwalker who awakes to find himself on the brink of a chasm. Jason had run out of road-building material at the barnyard barway; and here his road disappeared, like a sunken river, under green sod clipped to a velvety smooth- ness by the dry cows, which had the habit of hanging around in mournful silence outside the barn night and morning while their fresh sisters were having their udders emptied inside Old Shep, the cow dog, lurking in the shadows, was the only one to see what was going on. This thing had hap- pened before and would happen again. The fellow would back out, with some murky soliloquizing, and pick up the lost thread of the public highway. But, instead, this par- ticular fellow got down to reconnoiter. He ascertained beyond a doubt that his headlights were in the act of kiss- ing a substantial bar of soft maple, peeled. He crawled through the barricade, squirting a little flash light ahead. He moved forward on the springy turf. He paused and looked aloft. It was a fine clear night. Andromeda, the chained lady of the heavens, was wheeling overhead in the dusty sky, polaing for her nose dive into the west. A larch stirred; a poplar fluttered; a group of timid hemlocks hud- died close, together on the river bank. Near by in the dark there was & horse picking grass; che creature paused, probably to inspect the newcomer, and then resumed with utter indifference. There were subdued giggles—ah! water pleying among little stones. Some one, or thing, was sneezing at regular intervals under the bank, like a hay- fever addict—probably a hydraulic ram, dutifully punch- ing thimblefuls of water up an unseen hill. The driver reached back through the bars and shut off his spark; and the grateful engine, closing its headlight eyes dreamily, subsided with a death rattle, giving up the ghost. Having nothing on his mind, the fellow draped himself on the bars and whistled sotto voce a mournful air. Then he seemed to suspect that he might not be unob- served, for he spoke in a low, enticing tone; “‘Come out here, fellow!” He clucked his tongue against his teeth and snapped a finger. And poor Shep, creature of impulse that he was, Sntnie before midnight, when all the lights on the came trotting out of his hiding place, a little ashamed of- himself for being taken in by so simple a trick, but, still, wagging his feathered tail. “I knew you were there!"’ chuckled the driver. ‘‘ Even if you didn’t bark. Dogs don’t bark at me.” His fingers were exploring Shep’s head. “I don’t know why—neither do they!” Shep stood up and planted his forepaws on the man’s shoulders; and he nestled against him while the fellow dex- terously scratched his right ear. Now old Doll, the emeri- tus driving mare, with a crease in her back, and sides fat enough to rub shafts, came over and joined them. She placed herself alongside, and with a languorous droop on all quarters she assumed the attitude of true love, asking nothing, expecting nothing, only propinquity. The man filled his pipe and began to smoke. : “T'll stop for the night, if it’s all right,” said he. “‘ This is the best bunch of pals I’ve seen for a long time!’’ He hummed dolorously, some song of a cave man before the world got so crowded; meantime he intelligently pursued an imaginary flea under the shell of Shep’s right ear. Now abruptly Shep lifted his head and cocked an ear, his body rigid. He dropped on all fours noiselessly and pressed against the man’s legs, listening. The stranger turned. He saw nothing at first. Then he caught the light of a lantern; its beams came dancing to him over the shallows of the river. Then another lantern; a third; then a fourth. The lanterns came on slowly. They came abreast, four men, wading slowly upstream, examining the bottom foot by foot by the light of their lanterns. “Spearing eels!"’ muttered the watcher. Shep stirred impatiently as if to enjoin silence. There was a crash as a steel spear descended. “D’you get 'em?” rumbled a disembodied lantern. Un- intelligible mumblings bubbled in the thick dark. Then a curse, audible and awful in the stillness. The water seemed suddenly to boil up from the bed of the river. “Blank gast him! He got away! There —— Damn him, where is he?” An interval of silence. The lanterns clustered together, as of men searching. ‘‘Must have weighed seven pound!” wailed a lantern. ‘‘ Twisted it right out of my two hands!” Finally, “Come on!" commanded a voice. “You can find it tomorrow. I got an extra spear, only it’s got one tine gone.” Shep growled, a mere whisper deep in his throat. “Someone you don’t cotton to?” asked his new friend. No answer. The lanterns spaced themselves across the river bed again, began to move; they disappeared behind the island. The flivver tramp got out a sleeping bag from the pantry end of his car and, guided by Shep, looked for a soft place to sleep. There was a velvety knoll by the cove where the cattle drank, and he spread out his bag and crawled in, Shep settling down beside him. Shortly Doll heaved along- side; and after thinking it over for some time she labori- ously lay down and drooped her head dejectedly, to dream of the prehistoric days when she had five toes to each foot. Andromeda began her dive into the west with ladylike decorum. Soon the smoky pigeons of the Pleiades came flying over the rim of Pray’s Hill, fleeing before Orion, the mighty hunter with glittering sword at his belt. Morning began to paint the looming sky line. Somewhere a flivver rattled and popped; the loose planks of the bridge rum- bled; the lid of the mail box in front of Jason’s gate clanked—it v-as Babe, the mail-stage driver, on her early trip to town. This was Shep’s alarm clock. He rose and made the rounds of the fortifications. Finding everything trig, he made for the house just as the chickens were hop- ping down from their perches with squeaky wings and silly laughter. In the bedroom Shep surveyed the cherubic countenance of his beloved master for a single moment, then deftly touched it on the nose with his own cold muzzle. Jason fought off imaginary flies. It took several applica- tions before he swung out of bed, tousled and blear-eyed. He mumbled, by rote: “Time for the cows, Sheppie!’’ Shep was off like a shot. He raced up the lane by the sap house, through the short cut to the night pasture. Except for a slight demonstration against a chipmunk on a rock, Shep had an eye single to business. He perched himself on a big bowlder, with red tongue lolling. The herd saw him after pretending not to; they filed slowly past him to be counted; he took up his station behind the last swinging tail. Rosa, the leader, paused at sight of the sleeping bag by the cove, but Shep started her again—that fellow was all right! The milkers wheeled into the barn and nosed their heads into the ties and looked expectant. A dry heifer dared to enter, but Shep sent her about her business—he had his orders! He nipped Clytie on a tender hock with a remark that plainly said, ‘That ain’t your place, you old fool, and you know it!” and the shameless Clytie backed out and put herself where she belonged. When all was cor- rect Shep went back to the sleeping bag, which had now awakened and was starting an alcohol stove for breakfast. While the water was boiling he shaved, against a mirror on a gatepost. Jason, a nest of buckets on one arm and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, paused, astonished at sight of the flivver. He moved on to the cove. “Hello!” said the stranger, eying his chin critically in the mirror. “Who let you in?’”’ demanded Jason, with early morning crustiness.

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The man grinned. Heindicated Shep, who wagged his tail. “This fellow said it would be all right,” hesaid. “Have a cup of coffee?” he invited. He dropped a slice of bacon into a sizzling little creeper; the odor smote Jason’s nos- trils with a blow that famished him. Jason set down his buckets and himself and drew his feet up under him com- fortably. The man wasn’t a bum; his clothes were too good, and he was clean, and he had a good square head, well barbered. Jason watched him get breakfast, fas- cinated. He had never been so hungry before in his life. When the cook passed him a wooden pie plate, decorated with an egg, sunny side smiling up at the morning, nestling in a neat ruff of curly crisp bacon, it was worthy of the black art. Jason grinned his delight. Well, Shep was com- pletely sold—that was a good sign. Shep drew a hot dog— too hot; Shep worried it in the grass like a mouse, and then sat down and barked at it. “My name is Roddy,” said the cook. “‘Mine’s Jason.” “Nice little river you've got here!” Jason admitted as much over the rim of his coffee. “Much fall?” “Six hundred feet in six miles!” ““How much water?” ~“A hundred and fifty second-feet!’’ “What! And you are farming fora living?” This man understood many things besides bacon and coffee. “It’s a long story,” said Jason; and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand he arose and picked up his buckets. Roddy cleared up his dishes; in five minutes all signs of the feast were erased. He came into the barn, singing softly to himself, Shep, now completely his slave, along- side; he paused, listening to the pleasant voices of the byre—the cows nosing their millet and munching it lux- uriously as they stretched their necks; the soft tinkle of the ties; the padded patter of their little feet as they moved about; and above it all, the rhythmic flow of milk in the foaming pail. Jason watched him around the rump of old Rosa. Roddy picked up a pail and moved down the line. He selected a creature to his liking, drew up his stool, and sat down, pail resting on his shin bones. Jason chuckled to himself. He listened, pretending not to notice anything that was going on. There were some few preliminaries on the part of the volunteer hand, and then zim, zim, zim—streams of milk suddenly pelted the bucket bottom; its timbre changed to a deeper zoom, zoom; then to a zud, zud, as the foam rose. Jason half turned on his stool. “How do you like her?” he asked. “A bit snug,’’ said the milker, his head against Flora’s flank. “Snug?” Jason roared with laughter. “Snug?” he cried, delighted, getting up with his filled bucket. “Tight, I call her. Why, man, there isn’t one chore boy in ten that can wet the bottom of a bucket with her!” He picked up a fresh bucket and moved over a step. “Do you want a job?” he asked. Roddy considered this, changing quarters. “T might stick around for a day or two,” he said. He was finishing Flora, with one last two-handed pull on each quarter. No need to strip her—Flora was a hundred-dollar cow this morning. “What's your line?” asked Jason casually. “Well, I do a little jit hopping in summer,” said the other. This was too cryptic for Jason, and he gave himself to his chore. Roddy started the black heifer with a fresh pail. Shep was torn between two loves. Usually he moved from cow to cow with Jason, keeping his eye on everything in his province the while; now he squatted between the two, eying them impartially. The milk flowed in singing streams and the air picked up the perfume of it. Jason found himself on his mettle. A shadow darkened the doorway. It was Orlo Sage. “'Lo, Orlo!” “"Lo!” said Orlo. He had been up since two. He leaned against the door post, lazily attentive to the scene. He surveyed Roddy as he came out for another bucket, nodding to him as if he had known him all his life; and Roddy, not to be outdone, said laconically ‘‘’Lo!” “You got a new man, Jason?” asked Orlo. “Yep.” “‘Where’d he come from?” “Dunno.” “Who is he?” “Dunno. He can make a cow talk!” Tommy, the black barn cat, appeared and gently pricked Jason’s knee as a reminder. Jason directed a strong stream of milk down the red gullet. Tommy held up one paw, seeming to say ‘“‘That’s right, hold it!’’ Orlo yawned. He caught Jason’s eye and moved away, and Jason got up and followed him, wondering. Orlo stopped by the tin lizzie at the barway and examined it carefully, especially the tires. He and Jason talked in low tones. Jason returned to the chore and found it finished. “Want me to turn the cows out?” asked Roddy. Shep stepped up at the magic word ‘‘cows’’—this was his cue. Bringing in the cows and taking them out were the high spots of the day for him. “Sit down a bit—we want to visit,” said Jason; and the three sat down in the doorway. General Konchakoff, the premier rooster of the flock, iridescent in the morning light and strutting like a dandy, stepped up to inspect the gathering. The great bird per- mitted Roddy to pick it up without a flutter. He carefully THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 set it down on its feet on the floor and pressed its head for- ward until its beak almost touched a crack, Then he re- leased it gently. To the amazement of Orlo and Jason, the bird remained motionless, as if frozen in this posture, star- ing fascinated at the crack. Ten seconds passed, “Gosh!” ejaculated Orlo. “What do you call that— hypnotism?" “Some folks do, but it isn't,” laughed Roddy. With a sleight-of-hand movement he captured Admiral Tom Thumb, the game cock, who was craning its neck at the spectacle. Roddy passed Tom Thumb to Orlo. “Try it,” he said. “It’s simple enough.” Doubting, Orlo tried it. The game cock stood petrified, staring cross-eyed at its crack, like the gaudy General Konchakoff. “Well, I'll be squitched!” muttered Orlo, Roddy brushed the two birds aside, and they rushed off with wild cries as if they had just been released from the clutches of their personal devil. “Nothing queer about it,” said Roddy. “Lead a woman up to a new hat in a show window, and she does the same thing.” He was lighting his pipe, and drawing the first puffs he turned to Shep and resumed his quest for the imaginary flea. There was a pause. Jason was leaning forward, staring absently at a straw he was tearing to bits between his fingers. Orlo was filling his pipe slowly. “What time did you get in last night?” he asked, as he tamped the tobacco deliberately. “About midnight. I mistook the road here at the gate or I would have been over the state line this morning, in- stead of sitting here letting the milk get cold.” ‘*Were you aiming to get over the state line last night?” asked Orlo. Jason’s fingers mechanically ceased their activity. “T calculated to.. I thought I'd run through to Winsted before I'd call ita day.” Roddy’s eyes met Orlo’s squarely. “But I met Shep.”’ Shep thumped his tail. “‘We seemed te hit it off pretty well—and here we are.” “Which way did you come?” Roddy turned and pointed up the valley. “T ran into a detour above here—just below Ellis,” he said. “Awful! Rocks—windfalls—mud! Look at my car!" “T've looked at it,”’ said Orlo. He glanced up quickly. “That detour has been abandoned. They let us through on the state job three weeks ago. Was it dark?” he asked, There was a snap to the words. “In the woods, yes,” said Roddy. “But the sky was bright enough. It was a fine clear night.” “Did you happen to notice an old log bridge near the outlet of the reservoir?” (Continued on Page t “Ie’'s a Long Story,"” Said Jason; and Wiping His Mouth on the Back of Hie Hand He Arose and Picked Up His Buckets

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20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 SIMON CALLED SIMPLE LTHOUGH an authoress of some repute, the printed AX tnsnerani of Mrs. Holt, widow, did not thrill those male hearts in the courting stage with a quarter of the passion with which they reacted upon the men whose heurts had slipped down from the heaving chest to a point under the straining belt. When the great magazines published her musings, ne hundred thousand housewives bustled inte one hundred thou- sand kitchens to recreate the cake or eagserole as per the formula of her genius. And through this inspired apti- tude for pastry board and ramekin, the widow found ample support for herself and son in their modest Verment town, from which theson, at least, had never wandered. Due to her pecuiiar literary ac- tivity, the Holt household had a surfeit of one item. Wherever one sat,.a supply of magaszines was within reach. Class periodicals, compendiums of fashion and di- gests of styles for what the well- dressed person should wear lay rank upon rank over every table top and plain surface, One might scarcely sit down without first removing from the desired seat an illustrated review of the South- ampton dog show or e Newport breakfast. And jumbled in with this sartorial perfection were oc- casionaliy the tastier and more human recommendations from the pen of Mrs. Holt Now it was surrounded by such records of the beau monde that the son, Simon, had been reared. His firet voluntary reading had been the advertisements in these peri- odicals, and nine years of ab- sorbing learning from these only sources had produced a note- worthy issue, Simeon was no loutish bumpkin in his knowledge of char- meuse and twills. Transforma- tions and reducing girdles were plain sailing for his intelligence. And though the rise and fall of Rome was a matter foreign to his cognizance, the seasonal up and down of skirt lengths was to him a very vital episode. Indeed, Simon ifolt, at the age of twenty, bud sc far developed his bent that it became an embar- rassing poasession for his town as well as for his mother. There was not a female in the village, and scarcely a male, who had not received suggestions from Simon for very acute changes in their dress and manners. To Simon the printed word was an infallible gospel truth, and his zeal in spreading that truth was comparable with the earnest- ness of the missionary who trips it to the far and heathen islands to plant. the light as he sees it. But the pagan had the bulge on Simon's fellow citizens, whose civilization prevented them from the soul-easing joy of —come Michael- mas~-broiling their prophet. Yet Simon Holt had no wish to cause pain through his recommendations. He was continually amazed that those persons with whom he shared his criticisms failed to grasp his purely impersonal desire to help them be what they wanted to be, yet couldn't see clearly enough to attain. Through his magazine studies it was patent to Simon that the woman who succeeded most nearly in approximating the idealized perfection of the smart clothing advertisement hbecame-—-presto!—the almost faultlessly dressed woman in her own and her admirers’ opinion. Gradually he re- solved that the inability of his townspeople to see the truth as he saw it was due to their provincialism. He must have a leas-confined place in which to beat his wings, so his spirit naturally urged him toward New York as a spot where Jovian folk made a fair science of the sun-kissed angles of living. He felt sure that, once in that dity, his talent for distinguishing what was in error in people's dress could be appreciated. But his mother would never listen to such ideas. Even Mrs. Holt was not sacred from his offers of advice concerning her headgear and Mother Hubbards. Her an- swer to his advances was invariable. By Aaron Davis ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN iis Vi i AfTeTHUTe wilttaaw BRoewn “~~ “I'm Sorry." Simon's Voice Was Crammed Full of Dejection. “No, Simon; and what is more, I couldn’t look like Letitia House if I tried. That girl is young and hasn’t had to sample hollandaise and spun sugar for twelve years. I just wish you would leave me alone, because I can’t keep my mind on biscuits if it’s bothered with bonnets.” For the past two years Simon had seen with increasing frequency the demure sweetness of Letitia House flashing through the pictured pages of his magazines. She was a model whose elfin grace could wrap itself in a cloak of faulty lines and step before the camera to deliver an im- pression of a perfection which transcended the aspirations of any cutter or draper. Moon-figured dowagers looked at the magic of Letitia House and dreams of their lost youth flooded up to drown their horse sense, and they scampered off to buy that Letitia-worn garment whose black art might fetch back the litheness of those days when daisy fields and spring were more than phrases to yearn over. “I know, ma,”’ would say Simon. “I am not asking you to look like Letitia House, really. What I mean is why don't you have hats that are more sort of appropriate? For instance, if you'd take that last hat of yours and turn down the front and shove up the back of the brim and smash it dowma little on top, it would be sort of a poke- bonnet effect, and with your white hair it would be fine. There was one just like it in the Thistledown ad on snappy hats for the elder girls.” Mrs. Holt was in no mood for improvements. She flared back a trifle. “I Didn't Mean to Hart Your Feelings" “T said no.”” To which she added a personal bite: ‘I don’t want any young puppy, even though he is a son of mine, standing up bare-faced and telling his mother, who’s forgot more than he ever knew, how to wear her clothes.” ‘Ma, you’re just like the others. No one in this town will listen to me, and yet they all know some- thing is wrong with their looks.”’ Mrs. Holt had the fortune to be able to snort disdainfully without taking her mind from her work. **You don’t seem to realize, ma, that I know—absolutely know what I’m talking about. If I could only get to New York, where peo- ple care how they look, I know I could get a big job somehow.” “Uh-huh,” admitted Mrs. Holt, making a correction in a rival cookbook. Simon, suffering his usual dis- couragement, returned to the original point. ** And anyway, ma, Letitia isn’t perfect. I don’t say she’s perfect. Her heelsare too high. If it wasn’t for that she would be perfect though.” Mrs. Holt thumbed her notes fretfully and longed absent- mindedly for peace. “Oh, you think so, do you? Suppose you go down and tell her that. This custard will do in cups, but in a flat dish it would be too dry.” The widow tasted her pencil Gaintily and drifted off to a far consideration. To Simon this suggestion ap- peared to carry real sense, a qual- ity too frequently wanting in his mother’s discourse. In her ab- straction she had put her foot in it, and Simon took immediate ad- vantage of the misstep. He quietly put on his hat, took his savings- bank book from the lower drawer of the sewing machine and, seeing her deep in some new plot to ruin the national digestion, walked up street. He returned home for sup- per, laid a blue-paper strip on the table and tried to speak non- chalantly. “Jim Trollope, down at the sta- tion, wanted to sell me a Pullman berth, but °I guessed I didn’t need it.” “For what?” inquired the lady. “To go to New York the way you told me to.” Mrs. Holt had apparently never heard of this enterprise. **Me, tell you to go to New York? What for?” “To tell Letitia House about her heels being too high.” Mrs. Holt’s straight figure, which seldom required any bracing, lapsed onto the supporting slats of the chair back. She surveyed her son with the air of the merchant who finds that the price tags intended for sweaters were at- tached to the pianos which had been selling so unexpect- edly well. “‘Am I crazy?”’ she asked gently. Simon, whose guileless mind was full of his own pros- pects, and held no back-lash repartee, returned the ques- tion. “What do you think about it?” “I think you're the one who’s simple-minded, if you ask me like that.” “Well, all right; but the train goes in thirty-two min- utes, and I’m taking it.” On this final proposition Simon remained firm. He repeated many times that he was almost twenty-one years of age, and that a man is supposed to know what is best for him. Mrs. Holt, although allowing emphatically that her son’s daims were entirely supposititious, was bewildered to the very end. She sped him away with the irrelevant charge: “That was your grandpa’s Bible, so don’t lose it. And remember, if you can’t say the books of the Old Testament you'll never amount to anything. I once knew a man who couldn't say them, and he was run over by a horse car.”’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 21 In spite of the riotous confusion of falsely based opinions which carried on in his head, Simon Holt possessed some certain traces of good sense inherited from his upcountry sires. In regard to his own appearance his judgment had been sound. He had decided long since that until he could purchase the style whimsies of the greatest metropolitan bloods from the proper sources, his own attire should be innocuous blue and black. Therefore he was a very conservative-appearing young man as he stepped out into the early May sunlight of New York; a young man with the clear, thin cameo features and spare body which at twenty so frequently glorify the New England farm boy of the old stock, yet at forty have been marred by the neces- sity of his rugged living. . During his first day in the city Simon suffered a genu- ine holocaust of his idols. He had checked his bag and headed directly for those portions of the town where the gentry was most certain to be visible. Feeling sure that what he saw was not what he expected to see, he approached the door man at the reigning hotel of the year. His class magazines had told him it was the place where fashion flocked. ““What?”’ inquired the wearer of green broadcloth and silver. ‘“‘Where do you see the best-dressed people in New York City? Stand against the wall, there out of the way, and you can’t miss them.” Simon did as commanded and waited for something that might stir his appreciation to applause. The green broad- cloth breathed heavily behind a shielding glove. “There goes Mr. Foxhall Fritz.” “That?” gasped Simon. “That funny-looking thing!" He had read much of Mr. Fritz and expected from him a perfection that might dazzle a plain mortal, yet in a sec- ond’s glance he had caught a dozen points at which Mr. Fritz’s appearance might be improved. “Well,” remarked the door man crisply, ‘“‘no matter whether you like him or not, he’s a gentleman. He always shows me a dollar bill when he asks a question.” Simon pushed his purse farther into his pocket and moved with a baleful disappointment off to fresh hunting grounds. That night, after refreshing his memory with the list of Old Testament books, he went to bed and summed up the sad blows of his first day. “‘Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus—they don’t look any more like the handsome people in the ads than I do. Numbers, Deuteronomy. IfI spent all that money on clothes and didn’t look any better than they do, I wish someone would tell me what waswrong. Joshua. ARTHUR WiItliAne BR ow?P >.” Mr. Brennan Accented His Firmness With a Scowlt as He Spoke From the Corner of His Mouth. I'll find where Letitia lives tomorrow and tell her about her heels. Judges. I wish I’d had the nerve to tell that pretty girl on Forty-second Street to wear small hats in- stead of floppy ones, and her color is green, not tan. Oh, dear! Ruth, First Samuel, Second Samuel. I bet she'd have been grateful to me if I had too.” The following morning Simon Holt awaited the opening of the office of that magazine in which the most numerous pictures of the cloak and fur-bearing Miss House had appeared. Of the telephone gir! he timidly inquired, ‘‘ Do you know where Miss Letitia House’s home is?” The girl admitted that she could find out, but what was that to him? ‘*Well,”’ said Simon, looking at her in shy appraisement, “if you'll tell me where, I'll tell you something I know you'll be glad to hear.”’ Unwittingly Simon Holt had struck the right com- bination. Shy males deliver so few compliments that when a woman sees the chance to pry one out of such a man she fetches forth the hammer and tongs. The operator made inquiry and handed him a slip bear- ing the lady’s address. Then her expression became that of the good seal that has balanced the ball on his snout and awaits his herring reward. “Thanks very much.” Simon looked her over again to make sure he made no mistake. ‘‘ Now I'll do you a favor. You see, you aren't very tall, and with your hair done up high on your head like that, your head seems much too big for the rest of you. Do it sort of flat down over your ears, and then you'll seem sort of dainty, like a—I think they call them Dresden figurines in the gift-shop ads.”’ Neither incoming nor outgoing calls received any atten- tion for some minutes from that operator. She apparently had no desire to hear more from Simon, and he retired to the elevator, followed by phrases which greatly impressed him with the similarity of reaction between city folk and those of his own town when it came to listening to his plans for their improvement. “I can’t understand,” he mused to himself, ‘why they all do their best to look like the advertisements, and yet when you tell them why they don’t look like them they lay back and call you a bare-faced puppy. Something’s wrong somewhere.” Seven times late that afternoon Simon Holt circumnavi- gated the block which held the rooming house of the almost “Bither Here or in the Patrol Wagon. flawless Letitia. Had it not been for his vain boast to his mother that he intended to teli Miss House about her heeis, he would never have had the nerve to carry through. Finally he grabbed that nerve in his two hands and rushed up the steps. Inside the vestibule he heard a light stamping of feet. He opened the door a bit and eased his sharp New England profile through the gap. There stood Letitia House in the most unusual oceupa- tion of raising and lowering her feet. Somehow she felt at sight of Simon that her exercise deserved explanation to save her reputation from the blur of an insanity charge. **New shoes,’’ she said anxiously. “‘ You know, they’re tight. I’ve got to go out and they're new. Tight, you know. New shoes.”’ Simon nodded his comprehension and added his voice to the incremental! repetition. “Yes, I know. New shoes. Tight.” “Yes,” agreed Letitia. ‘‘New shoes. They're tight.” Suddenly Miss House seemed to grasp the idea that enough is sufficient. She drew herself up to that hauteur which always accompanied her opera-cloak poses, and blushed vividly. Simon blundered right on into the heavy silences. “You know, I've always felt that something was wrong with your feet.” Letitia looked hastily at the floor and threw out a quick challenge. ‘What's the matter with my feet?” “Well, I didn’t mean your feet exactly. 1 meant your shoes, and not all your shoes, either, but only the heels.” Immediately Letitia House became one of the truly great glacial centers of the world. “Indeed?” she said. Simon stumbled along over the ice fields. “Yes, they’re too high. They sort of throw you off center, if you know what I mean But outside of that, I've always thought ——”’ Miss House had no time to hear him out. She had much to say herself. When she lagged through lack of breath Simon claimed some comfort. “Well, anyway, you're one person who hasn’t called me a bare-faced puppy.” “That’s the word I want,” chimed Letitia. “‘Bare- faced puppy—to stand right up to my face and tell me what's wrong with my feet,” (Continued on Page 200) It's Up to You"

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22 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 POLITICS IN BUSINESS partment, and there was a small lull. A newcomer to New York, I had expected deter- I: WAS my third day in the button de- every minute to be crowded. I mined to profit by the interval. “Let me see how much I can remember,” I eaid to Miss Bran, who was presumably instructing me in the mysteries of stock. “Uh-huh,” she agreed list- lessly from a medium-height stool “Go on." And she touched up her eyebrows and lashes. Ignoring the lack of enthusi- asm, t began: “Sitik-covered buttons are in these drawers, in this order light blue, dark blue, tan, brown, white, black, mixed and plaid. The fancy buttons are next filigree, silver What’sup?” Miss Bran had leaped from her stool and was rapidly shuffl- ing the cards of buttona on the counter as if she were preparing a redeal, At my question she turned to me. “For the last time, 26, will you help me straighten this stock?” Her voice heid long- suffering exasperation My number wae 26, I did not see the potnt, but there were other unexplained intricacies al- ready accumulated. This sim- ply made ene more. So I seized a stack of peat! buttens and fev- erishly arranged those sewed on blue cards in one pile, the pink-carded ones in an- other I was not half through when Mildred, the little stock girl, drew near and whis- pered, “Don't pay any attention to her. She's jealous.” “Wheatare you talking about?” I asked. ‘*Mias Bran. It always makes her wild for anyone to sell as many buttons as she does, That’s why she called you down before Mr. Fillup.” “Who is he?” * Didn't you see him? He passed when ‘he was talking to you. She wants him to think that you shirk in stock-keeping. He is the sales manager and he hates any- body to lag.” “Se dol," I retorted. “Let him watch me all he likes. I°l! see that he has only opportunity for a good impression. Any- way, I don't see how he could be fooled by that silly button flurry we stirred up.” Mildred shrugged her shoulder. “Perhaps not. You know your own business best.”’ “I thought,” interrupted Miss Bran sarcasticaily, ‘that you wented to go ever the stock. I am waiting.” So I began again: “Bone buttons here— white, cream, tan, black - And I went at length through the im- posing iat, But my thoughts were elsewhere. I was keen to make seven-league strides in business and I was worried over the Fillup incident. Of course, common sense told me, from its vantage point of a business background of arti- clea, stories and novels, that managers managed and execu- tives executed. Therefore Mr. Fillup, endowed with the high intelligence of his class, would pierce with an eagle eye any attempt at subterfuge or misrepresentation. He would, that is, if I had read my Alger and Henty aright. I was then in the age of innocence. The Case of Miss Brown ATER, when my selling experience had extended over two years, three years, four, I looked with warier eye both at my coworkers and at my superior officers. My promotion from buttons to the drapery department had brought me into contact with Miss Brown. Miss Brown was short, middle-aged and not under- weight. But she knew what draperies gave lightness to a dark room or grace to a somber apartment. She could visualize hangings with such artistry and skill that custom- ers parted with checks or cash in a state of grateful appre- ciation, eager to reproduce in their own homes the pictures of beauty that Miss Brown had evoked. And her vision TLLUSTRATED By Clara Belle Thompson ar H. WESTON H\destory ey ey ae ge i “I Can't Find Our Secret Mark on This Gown," I said. Either Betow the Collar or Beit" was good, She never suggested green if yellow and blue would give almost the same effect, or rose if red and cham- pagne would serve the purpose. And this, incidentally, doubled the cost; her sales books carried impressive totals. In her subsection there was patronage enough to keep four women occupied. And it did, but not the same four, Those who remained three months were rated as old-timers. The average was three weeks, with not a few completing their span in a single day. I made a record by staying six months and then transferring myself to another drapery department at a comfortable salary increase. But it was about women as well as drapery that I learned from her. The department had a high percentage of help turnover, a business bugaboo. In this case, however, there was no need of investigation or personal research for the reason. It was short, middle-aged and not underweight. If three customers came to the counter, Miss Brown con- trived to slip a book of interiors in front of one, to lay several lengths of silk before a second and to give actual at- tention to the third. This maneuver automatically counted the other three sales persons out, for it is a law of the Medes TAYLOR and Persians that one salesman must never take another’s customer. But Miss Brown had not the slightest hesi- tancy in calling upon Miss Smith or Miss Jones or me to hand her the velvet or to put back the brocades or to roll the scrims. If Miss Smith told her shortly to find the velvet if she wanted it, or Miss Jones remarked that per- sonally she was a saleswoman and not an errand boy, this news always filtered to the buyer, and there were replacements. When there were so many customers that even Miss Brown could not engage them all, the over- flow of necessity fell to the others. But the minute she had dispatched her own she would step to the customer who looked like the most opulent sale and say, “‘Were you able to find the brocades with the mauve background, Miss Jones?” And then in gentle explanation to the customer: ‘‘ Miss Jones is just learning our stock, but she is really doing very well.” As the customer’s interest was not in the individual prog- ress of any employe but in having the most competent assistance in making her per- sonal selections, fifty times out of sixty saw subsequent in- quiries in regard to the mer- chandise directed to Miss Brown, and Miss Jones would again become part of the back- ground. Of course, there were complaints, there were sharp criticisms, and occasionally even a customer would make an unfavorable report. But Miss Brown stood firm with the buyer, who had the same answer to every objection: “Miss Brown sells more than the three others at the counter. I could not get along without her. I am not saying that she does not make mis- takes. We all do, even I my- self. Only I wish you would pick on someone else besides Miss Brown for a change.” Mr. Vernon HEARD many spirited dis- cussions among the sales persons about what definite disposition was to be made of Miss Brown when they were fired. Incidentally, the feel- ing of insecurity that existed among many employes was a constant source of amazement tome. Whenever anyone was summoned by a superior, he or she would say, “I guess this is good-by”’; or, “If I don’t re- turn, send flowers.” But they continued the small indigna- tion meetings, which doubt- less allowed excess steam to escape. Otherwise they were unproductive. When there wasa dismissal, the ex-employe left without a backward glance at Miss Brown. Of course, Miss Brown annoyed me, but I would con- sole myself by saying, “If you had sold for twenty-five years, you would probably become case-hardened, too, and perhaps you would stoop to ways that are dark tostrengthen your own position. Perhaps you would.” But it was Miss Brown’s girl friend, Miss Lacey of the toilet goods, who in my estimation deserved a rapier be- tween the third and fifth ribs. She was a woman of thirty- five, with sharp black eyes, bleach-blond hair, and, with men, a languishing manner. She was enamored of the de- partment floorwalker, Mr. Vernon, who accepted her atten- tions with masculine complacency and disregard. He, for his part, with a fine catholicity of taste, allowed his courte- sies to be limited only by the number of pretty faces pres- ent. Miss Lacey therefore took it upon herself to confine that number to one—her own. When blue-eyed, dimpling Miss Key was put as a new recruit behind the comb-and- mirror counter, Mr. Vernon was Johnny-on-the-spot. (Continued on Page 221) “I Thought it Was

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oe Paasche caterer ieee tnnvaremnctaretia et ev ne Weary Tat mr Nae ene THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 OYS Q. If you ain't got to, why are you working? A. To wear out my old clothes. The Laborer’s Catechism. S A LABORER in both town and country for years, a A follower of occupations in which vast numbers of the population are engaged, I venture to speak with some authority about American clothes. In my various jobs I have worn the garbs of the cowboy, the logger, the miner, the muleteer, the farmer and the city mill hand. I was out and around the country at the end of the period when most laborers still wore work clothes in their times of leisure, excepting Sundays and holidays; and I know inti- mately the royal raiment which, like all Americans, they now wear when the day’s work is done. I think I have worn every variety of male American gar- ment except golf knickers and evening clothes. And such rigs are not clothes, properly speaking; they are to be classed with lodge regalia and the military uniform as in- signia of etiquette or formality. Men uniform themselves in such fashion to please women; consciously or uncon- sciously, they select their real clothes as an expression of individuality. The bright and sporty chap wants a bright and sporty appearance, and he wears the kind of clothes that will give it. The man of neat and orderly mind dresses the part; the public man of dignity does likewise; and the usual slovenly dress of the thinker and the dreamer gives the appearance of remoteness from the world which such men feel in their minds. The shrewd man judges his fellows with the same regard for their clothes that he has for their speech and physiog- nomy. Woman’s interest in clothes is certainly part of her inherent interest in the domestic arts and sciences; design, style, color, and the like, mean everything to her. She can never, never understand the necessity a man feels to wear his one certain kind of clothes; and, indeed, she thinks all men’s clothes are foolish and horrid, and wishes in her soul that they would all take to some one uniform and stop worrying her. There is not the slightest danger of the fair sex as a body ever taking to pants. There may be some remote danger of men taking to skirts or short pants. But most American males still hold out manfully and wear the suits that suit them, even as clean and unpre- tentious Main Street resists the attempts of ladies and artists to remodel it after some quaint and cute village in Hunyokia. Dancing Farmers HERE is a powerful school of American writers, profes- sors and artists which has cre- ated a dismal caricature of the American scene and vocifer- ously insists that it is a true picture. Perhaps these people depict a life that they really see; if so, it is because they look only at the reflection of America in the mirror of European art, psychology, and social and po- litical philosophy. Reflected in such a mirror, our towns, our affairs, our customs, our clothes lose all shape and color of in- dividuality. A famous poet of the school, all aflame with a false concept of the individual American, trotted out into the farm states with proposals and preachments which, for all their imperti- nence, must have tickled many a corn husker into fits. He told them that the country boys and girls “‘should become teachers of dancing in the Greek spirit,” that they should ‘make their village known for its pottery or its processions, its philosophy or its peacocks, its music or its swans, its golden roofs or its great union cathedral of all faiths.”” He declared that ‘Plowboys will bring these IL RAIMENT benefits. I have talked to these boys. I know them. I have seen their gleaming eyes.” Thus speaks one of the chief poets of the school that would artify and Marxify America. A weekly of wide circulation, edited by members of the school, sent out a year ago a nonsensical appeal to working- men and farmers to come to Washington in their work clothes, their overalls and rough coats, to plead with a politician of the school to reconsider his decision to retire. Which was like asking artists to come to the capital in their smocks or actors to come in their grease paint. To such European minds, the American laborer at his best appears as a poor peasant; more often they regard him as a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals regards a work horse. The laborer in his work clothes is the horse in his harness. A sociologist of the school could easily seem to be speaking of farm horses when he says that common laborers should be herded into the country because farm labor is “much more wholesome for economically dependent and mechanically untrained men than labor in towns or cities. They are more likely under such conditions to maintain a higher moral stand- ard,” The sociologist would be indignant if I, as a laborer, advocated a year in a logging camp for the benefit of his morals; yet when he writes he shows no regard whatever for the rights and feelings of the common laborer as an individual. In the view of the school to which these men belong there is no shape of the American as an individual. It shows only masses of tired toilers and a small group of soul- less masters. When it does attempt to picture the common life of the country it shows a dismal scene, drab and dull, something for arty fellows to yelp about and ladies to weep over. “American politics is corrupt! American towns are ugly and dull! The American press is venal! American n a vA “2 eae ad Pomere —y~’ St ea oe may be as free as the American worker, but he bears the tradi- tions of oppressed generations. (Continued on Page 20) Cowboys Appear ast Powerfully Capable Riders as They Swing Their Ponies Through Brush and Over Stones By James Stevens ILLUSTRATED BY JAMES ‘REYNOLDS ‘ cookery is ruinous! American dress is atrocious! Amer- ican farmers and laborers are denied the opportunity for liberating activity!’ This is the lugubrious chant of the new American intelli- gentzia. It sounds in schools, colleges, journals and women’s clubs all over the land. But in the face of this noisy negation American individuality serenely develops an interesting spectacle. And not the least part of the spec- tacle is the appearance of the American laborer in the noble apparel he wears today. He presents the appearance of a free and prosperous man because that is exactly what he is. In other periods of American life the laborer always dressed for the part that he played as an individual in the development of the country. He was a working man and he wore the clothes which were exactly suited to his particular job; he has never worn a costume. Togs of Cowboy and of Lumberjack N THE view of an “intellectual,” the clothes of the pio- neer American laborer would certainly lack the color, fancifulness and style of the flaring dress skirt of a Greek peasant, the gaudy kilts of a Highlander, or the cunning pants and pretty jacket of a Spanish mule driver. Cow- boys would seem awkward and grotesque figures in their high-heeled boots and leather chaps if they were to wear them in folk dances for the pleasure of twittering tourists; but they appear as powerfully capable riders as they swing their ponies through brush and over stones, the chaps shielding their legs, the high heels giving them a solid stirrup hold. The lumberjack is not a pretty fellow in his heavy calked shoes, stagged pants, red shirt and shapeless hat; but the dress looks as though it is part of him when he is bounding from giant log to giant log, rolling them with his spike-shod feet, guiding them with a heavy pike pole, which he handles as easily as a fencer thrusts a {>il. The point is that such work- ers dressed—and still dress on the job not only with a zense of practical fitness but with e sense of appearance as well. They were not simply laborers who went out to the woods to make logs or out on the range to herd cows; each man had an individual pride in his oc- cupation and did his best to show this in his actions, talk and dress while he was at work. While the frontier lasted and the pioneer spirit lived, such workers kept the character of their occupations when they came to town for «a holiday. This was so of farmers and al! men who worked away from towns. But they never had any thought of dressing up in ef- feminate fineries and falderals, and frisking, frolicking and pa- rading about like European peasants, when they had a holi- day. Of course, the European peasant does not wear skirts, gewraws and lace except on occasions of festivity. When he goes out to plow he does not prance down the furrow in a folk dance, his skirt fluttering in the breeze, his voice chanting a folk song. He works heavily and gloor ; he is a tedious spectacle he toils. Only the American puts energy, color and joyousness into physical labor. He goes at a job as though he liked it; and this original spirit of his springs from his political and economic freedom and a plenitude of ma- terial necessities and comforts The European peasant, in dark, shapeless garb, is a sad figure of a man as he twoils, be- cause he feels in his soul that he isaslave. He cannot work with a merry heart. Today he

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24 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOOD OF THE j HERE was no mistake about its being winter UT reathe at the Box Elder stage station; no mis- take whatever, for all the sunshine and the cloud- leas blue sky. It was weather when it behooved any man whose business called him out-of-doors te keep his ILLUSTRATED By Kennett Harris COLEMAN BY RALPH PALLEN March 7,1925 LOVE I knew John A. Merry nigh onto twenty years ago— the old bullwhacker began with the satisfied reminis- cent gleam in his eyes—nigh onto twenty years ago it was when he walked into old Sanders’ office at the Z-Bell ranch and struck him for a job. That was mind on his nose, testing it frequently for eensation of feeling. Thirty-five and forty below often play hob with that impcrtant organ if a person is forgetful, espe- cially when there is no snow to rub it with; and far as the eye could reach, clear to the distant line of the Chey- enne bluffs, not a fleck or patch of white broke the dull gray expanse of sage and buffalo grass. Noth- ing to relieve the monotony of the vast landscape but the naked branches of the elders along the creek that wound its tortuous way to the frozen river. Over by the hay corral, a solitary cow, with hoar- frost on her starving hide, stood humped disconsolate, a bovine peri at the gate of paradise, Some few weeks before, the stocktender had carelessiy allowed a few wisps of hay to fal! outside the bars. She had chanced upon them, devoured them, and was a spoiled cow from that moment, starving on hope instead of rustling her grub afar, as a good range cow should. The three or {our magpies that chattered ene to another as they flut- tered their glossy black- and-white pinions from post to post. must have known that her end was near; otherwise why were they hanging round? Magpies don't eat hay; but they are ao fond of cow meat that they don’t always wait for it to become beef. Atro- cious Boscos of the feath- ered world, they eat ‘em about two years before Bobby Nevins was fore- man. Hewasalong, lanky, solemncholy lad, about twenty, I reckon, or mabbe he was a year or two older; the forlornest, pitifulest specimen you ever seen; looked ’s if he’d been wrung out and drawed through a knot hole. Joe Gutch had brought himout from Rapid in the wagon with a load of supplies. Seemed like he’d been stranded in Rapid, dead broke, being left there by a granger outfit from Missoura headed for the Belle Fourche. He had took sick with quinsy and they had to leave him behind. “Pick up your lip before you step on it,’’ says San- ders to him, after he'd looked him over. ‘‘ Never punched cows, did you?” “No, sir,” says John, looking as if he was a-going to bust into tears, being spoke toso harsh and sharp. “Huh!” says Sanders. “T allowed you wasn’t no top hand, anyway. Too bad all your folks died so sudden. Must have been a hell of a shock.” “They ain't dead,” says John. ‘They’re all back in Nodaway County, Mis- soura—all but my Uncle Levi, who brung me out here with him.” “Well, you do surprise me,’’ says Sanders. ‘What's your name?” “Merry,” answers John; and old Sanders, who wasn’t noways addicted to mirth- someness himself as a gen- eral thing, threw a fit of it and come nigh to rolling out alive. Thestage had comedown frorn the Hiils, dropping a passenger at the station. The stocktender had stared long and earnestly at him and then requested Red Raymond, the stage driver, to introduce the gentleman. Red would do that with a superfiuosity of joy and pleasure. Why cer- tainly! The gentleman was Mr. Reginald Dinkelspiel Vanderpoop, who was running Mr. Berry Wall hard for the title of King of the Dudes. So said Red. The gen-| tleman was wearing a celluloid collar, a red necktie and a Clay worsted suit of black under his mangy wolfskin coat. tHe wore new smoked buck mittens with beautiful shiny copper rivets at the thumb seams, and his obviously recent arctic overshoes retained the pristine polish on their rubber. In addition he wore the dry grin that was the peculiar property of old Sam Stegg, the retired bull- whacker, who, having business at the land office, had taken the stage to Rapid a week before and was now returned in this butterfly garb. You could hardly blame the stocktender for not recognizing his old crony. Red drove on with his change of horses, his hard-bitten face set for Sidney, and for a time the stocktender and a Bar-T boy who was holing up with him until spring were busy with duties and necessary chores. Naturally the stocktender was the first to get back to the kitchen-bunk- living room, where the old bullwhacker had been indus- triously stoking the big box stove. He brought with him two five-gallon converted kerosene cans of water, a good deal ef which he had slopped on his felt boots on his way from the well, sheathing them with ice. Setting down his burden, he backed up close to the stove and again sur- veyed Mr. Stegg with somewhat offensive attention. “Who took pity on you and give you them duds?” he asked, He Waen't a Particte Changed; the Same Old Whangdoodie Whose Voice is Heard in the Land a+:Mourning for its Firet:-Born “Sol Bloom,” answered the old bullwhacker. “‘ He took sixty dollars off me, too; but shucks, a man in my position and standing has got to dress the part when he’s amongst strangers. A whole slough of strangers in Rapid now, Hank. You can’t walk five or ten blocks without meeting one or two of ‘em, or the same one twice. Makes a man feel old, these changes.” He ostentatiously took a cigar from his vest pocket, lit it and leaned back luxuriously in his chair. “Where’s the mate to that?” demanded the stock- tender. , “In Uncle Jimmy Wood's safe at the bank,” replied the old bullwhacker. “‘He always keeps 'em locked up after election. He tells me that he’s indorsed Wes Bligh for postmaster at Blueblanket, so that settles Parker's hash. Say, if you was to take them boots off and put 'em inside the stove you’d burn 'em quicker. Burning feit ain’t roses, nor yet vi'lets.” “Dog-gone! I thought it was that see-gar of yours,” exclaimed the stocktender, ruefully examining the charred backs of his boots. ‘“‘Lookut that now, and the ice not melted in front!” “It’s a right cold day,” explained the old bullwhacker. “Yes,” he resumed. “‘Rapid’s changing. Only a few of the old-timers left. One of ’em got back the same day I got in. Who do you reckon it was? John A. Merry, b’gosh! Yes, sir, John A. Merry got back, and I reckon he means to stay. Old John A, Merry! Back again at last!” “I’m beginning to get your idee,” said the stocktender. “You mean to say that John has returned. Seems mighty hard to believe. Who in Hoboken is John A. Merry? Must have went away sometime, didn’t he?”’ of his chair, while the noises he made brought all hands and the cook a-running in. “Merry!” shrieks Sanders, a-pointing to John. “Merry!” Then he got a-holt of himself and straightened up and wanted to know what in Tophet we wanted, bust- ing into his office thataway, and for us to get plumb straight and swift out of there—which we done. Then he turned to John and says, ‘‘ Merry, you’re hired. Name your own wages— Me-Merry!”’ And then he had another spasm that was almost as bad as the first. Of course, the old man was joking when he told John to name his own wages. What John got was twenty-five a month, when cow hands was then drawing forty-upward. He thought it was riches untold, though; yet he didn’t stay for more than the one month. He couldn’t fork a cayuse nohow, although he'd try, being as willing as a four-year-old widow lady; so Sanders kept him to chore around at the home ranch, helping the cook wash dishes and pare murphies, and so forth, and doing odd jobs. He hadn’t a lazy hair on him, I'll say that for him. A natural- born worker, John was, is and ever will be; but thirty days of the Z-Bell was enough and aplenty for him. The trouble was that he was plumb unhappy. I done my level best to cheer him up whenever I was around, but even what little rays of sunshine I brung into his life couldn't make him stay. Most men who start out in life with a thin and tender hide gets it sort of toughened up as time goes a-fleeting by—in places, anyway. Johnny got his hardened a con- siderable in the course of years, although he had spots, and one spot in particular, where he was as sensitive as a heel blister. In them days, though, he was blister all over. He couldn’t bear so much as an unkind look without pain and anguish; and having no more sense of humor than a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST rabbit, he gave the boys an elegant opportunity for amuse- ment which they wasn't noways slow to take advantage of. They certainly pestered John aplenty and he took it hard. Had a way of going off to a solitude, whenever one was handy, and meditating on the insulting things that was said to him that was meant to be friendly. One day when I was a-setting on a cottonwood log, watching him saw stove wood for the cook and putting in a word or two of encouragement now and then, he stopped halfway through a stick and allowed that he was disliked and despised and disesteemed by everybody on the ranch ex- cepting the cat. “Don’t say that, John,” says I. “‘It hurts my feelings, when you ought to know how fond I am of you. Sanders thinks a heap of you, too, and so does Israel Putnam Wake- field and Joe Gutch. Joe ain’t never easy in his mind when you ain’t around; he begins asking where you are right away. It may sound a little thing, but it goes to show. In fact,’’ I says, “‘you’re popular with one and all, contrary to what you think, and not counting the cat.” ‘Like fun I am!” says he in his mournful voice. “Joe Gutch ain’t happy when I ain’t around for him to torment. It’s sport for him, but it’s death to me, like the frog says to the kids that was throwing rocks at him in the fourth reader. And Wakefield come around here with Geddings not fifteen minutes ago, dragging his saddle by the horn, and he pushes me to one side and throws the saddle over this here sawhorse and tells me to climb on. ‘I’m a-going to make a rider of you, Gladsome,’ he says, calling me out of my name. ‘Hop on, Happy, and let’s see how long you can stay with it. When you get so’s you can stick we'll take you down to Mac the saddler’s and let you take a whirl at that wooden pinto that he’s got in his store window. Little by little, we'll make a bronco buster of you. Gleeful, old socks, climb on!’ “Of course I wasn’t a-going to do no such a reedicklous thing,” says John. ‘It wouldn’t have helped me none with a sure-enough live cow pony, and well they knew it, the both of them. Yes, sir, they was just trying to fool me and make sport of me. They stood and argued with me about it quite a spell and I seen what they was after, and when they seen that I was dead onto them they bust out a-laughing right in my face and went off a-whooping like two hyenas. You cain’t tell me!” “I’m not so sure of that, John,” I told him. “Israel might have thought it would get you used to the feel of a saddle; and as for laughing, them two galoots would laugh at their aunt’s funeral. They really think the world of you, John.” “T wish’t I could believe it,” says he, looking miserabler than ever. “I'd sure like to think that anybody was a friend of mine—anybody on earth; I don’t care how low- down. I'd like to feel right sure that you was a friend of mine and wouldn’t gab around to the other boys what I told you in the sacred seal of friendship.” “You'd have to take a chance on that, John,’’ I says. He looked at me wishful. There wasn’t never sure-enough tears in his eyes; it was just that it looked as if there was going to be in about the next second. He was setting on the sawhorse by this time, and staying on, in spite of its legs being uneven. Then all of a sudden he busts out, “I'll take a chance! I'll trust you! I want somebody to love me,” he says; “somebody to love me, Sam.” Maybe you think that I showed hilariousness. I didn’t. I kept my face straight and I done it without no effort. The old song come into my head: No one to love, None to caress —-— But I didn’t even sing it at him; no sir. You wouldn’t, either. It was plumb pathetic the way he said that, and I just nodded, sympathetic. *‘ All of my life I've wanted somebody to love me,”’ he went on. “I reckon my mother would have if she’d had time. But she hain’t ever had time. ‘I got nine brothers and sisters, and my pappy he’s a right smart of care for any woman. Got a misery, he has, and he cain’t work. Well, anyway, as I said, I’ve always wanted somebody to love me—hongry for it, like it was vittles; but seems like folks cain’t quite make out to do it, so I reckon I'll have to want all my days. I kin bear that, being used to it, but I cain’t bear with everybody picking on me like they do here. I don’t see nothing wrong with the name of Merry. There’s a right smart of Merrys in Nodaway, but folks don’t make sport of it there. They'd get filled plumb full of buckshot if they so done. I hain’t never been on the shoot, myself, but the most of my kin is some. My Uncle Levi, who brung me here, is. If I had gone on with him to Belle Fourche nobody wouldn’t dast pick on me account of my name, “T’m a-going to quit. Money hain’t everything,” says he. “I’m a-going to quit and live solitary.” I couldn’t talk him out of it. There was a stubborn streak in him that nothing couldn’t budge. He turned his back on twenty-five dollars a month and the best of chuck, and Joe Gutch drove him back part of the way to Rapid. The reason he didn’t drive him all the way was that Joe had hooked onto a green team that he had to harness with a pitchfork, which wouldn’t have cut ice in an ordinary way, because Joe was a mighty slick driver and would have 25 drove a team of raging rhinoceroses as lief as not, and had "em gentled and safe for a lady inside of a week or two. The reason he let that team get the bits in their teeth and run away and smash the wagon into matchwood and bust John’s head against a stump was because he got careless and didn’t keep his mind on his driving, and the reason his mind wandered was that they had went off the main trail to Beaver Creek ard was approaching Billy Fenwick’'s and he calculated to stop a few happy minutes and pass the time of day with Billy’s daughter Ada. You couldn’t blame Joe. You prob'ly never met up with Ada Fenwick, Hank; and you, Dave, m'son, was prob’ly wropped up in a diaper and hooked onto the fam’ly steelyards about that time and tipped the bear at a measly seven pounds. But I'll tell you, gentlemen both, that Ada Fenwick was about as likely to take any man’s mind off his business and keep it off as any young lady in the Territory, and then some to spare. She was about nineteen then, and still unmarried, which was her own fault entirely, and she hadn’t nobody else to blame for the re- sulting trouble. I wonder how many old baldheads look back on the time when they used to hit the trail for Beaver to see how Billy and Ma Fenwick was making out. Three of ’em to my knowledge is now rich beyond the dreams of av’rice, as the feller says, according to popular rumor, and one of ‘em is a judge of the state supreme court and an- other a candidate for senator. And they wasn't all of them on their uppers, even then. Macey Smith, who owns the Lone Star Land and Cattle Company, was one of her warmest admirers, until she finally got him chilled to the marrow; Jim Powers, the lumber dealer, who could have wrote his check on the Deadwood National for twenty thousand any day in the week, was another that went into the discard; and there was a right smart sprinkling of young bucks, including Joe Gutch and Israel Wakefield, that hadn't much but rosy hopes and bright prospects, to say nothing of them that wasn’t worth hell room. One and all, they doted on Billy and the old lady and would have done anything for them, even to taking Ada off their (Continued on Page 192) “1 Cain’t Stand It!'* He Says. “I Cain’t Stand it No More! 'Tain't the Cakes Jo Much as~

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26 T FLRST sight the formula rae is simmplicity You get a itaelf THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ing the Railroad Maps By EDWARD HUNGERFORD March 7,1925 In the past twenty years many changes have come into sharp pair of scis sors and a pot of paste, then a good map of ail the rail- roads of these United States There is still other equipment in the playing of our American itrans- portation mah- jongg. The pon- derous official guide of the rail- roads probably would be-of tre mendcous help; and a Poor's Manuai, or a Moody’s, will not come amiss, Given these things at the outset, you ean begin for your- self the task of consolidating and rearranging the 2000 separate rail- road properties of the United States. While if you have some knowledge of the half-hidden but very powerful financial atrings, or even the tradi- tions that long have knit many of them together, you probably will make quite as good a job of it, per- haps a better one than the average amateur rail con- solidater-~ the remaker of maps—is accomplishing today. Upon my desk there lies a copy of Low’s Railway Direc- tory for 1861, When it came from the press the railroad in the United States was a little more than thirty years old. Yet already it had spread itself far inland from the Atlantic Coast, first to the headwaters of the Ohio and to the shores of the lewer Great Lakes; where, after a brief halt, it had taken # great plunge and had reached and crossed the Mis- sissippi. In i361 tho railroad was at the Missouri, and the Pony Express was linking it with California. Already there were nearly 82,000 miles of railroad. Yet this was divided inte many separate and distinct properties. Low's Direetery shows not less than 335 of them. The longest road on the continent at that time was the Grand Trunk, of Canada, with its 890 miles of line. People in that day apoke of the Grand Trunk with bated breath. They wondered if so large a railroad could ever be success- fully operated—wondered and doubted. Early Consolidations N THE United States, the New York Central, already with some 654 miles, was the largest rouad—the road do- ing the heaviest business—even though its main line barely spanned the state of New York. The Pennsylvania had 880 miles. And the Baltimore and Ohio, today the oldest railroad in the land, operating all its years under a name and corporate existence unchanged, had 518 miles. In actual length, the Illinois Central, with its 706 miles of trackage, slightly surpassed the New York Central, but its traffic waz in no way to be compared with that of the Eastern road. The Erie had 563 miles, the Chicago and North Western but 193. The era of the Western roads seemingly was still far in the future. Very soon after the issuance of this little book the first real consolidations of our railroads began. Commodore Vanderbilt, who already owned the Hudson River and the New York and Harlem lines, purchased the New York Central, and so found himself in possession of a through route from New York te Buffalo; while west of that impor- tant lake port a similar process was merging a group of lines inte the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern, which, however, was not destined to come fully into the New York Central system until 1914. By the early 70's the An Engineer Driving One of the Huge Locomotives of Teday Pennsylvania was acquir- ing the United Railroads of New Jersey for an en- trance from its long-time Eastern terminal at Phila- delphia to the harbor side of the city of New York. It was clearing its own path- ways for itself west of Pitts- burgh. For railroad owners were losing faith that far path- ways would be kept open for them. It was safer to acquire one’s own routes. The ferment of rail merging was in the air. Much railroad building still was in progress; yet all over the land consolidation was being forced through rapidly, with the inevitable resuit that weak roads—weak not always through the mistakes of their promoters, but cfttimes through the inherent lack of strength of the territory that they sought to serve—were forced down, became weaker and weaker, while strong roads the stronger grew. Once fairly started, it was forty years before this business of consolidating our rail properties was halted—by a rather vigorous, even though somewhat indefinite, protest on the part of shippers and commercial organizations generally. Some of these viewed the growing tendency with much alarm. “We want the pathways to our towns kept free and open and competitive,” they shouted, and much legisla- tion, both state and Federal, came into effect to save the day for them. Consolidation was halted. But much of the work already had been done, privately, but thoroughly. Today our roads are already pretty well consolidated. Eighty-five per cent of the business of the country is done over twenty- two of them. In those forty years the public was not often consulted in the making of railroad consolidations. College professors were not engaged to fabricate ideal plans. Big business kept the maps, the sharp scissors and the paste pot locked up pretty securely. It did not wish any venturesome boys attempting to play with them. our transport situ- ation. One of them has been the perfecting of our state and Federal bodies with strong regulatory powers over the rail- roads—some forty-seven or forty-eight of them all told. For the precise number ask the nearest railroad president. He knows. These bodies—chief of them all, the tre mendously power- ful Interstate Commerce Com- mission at Wash- ington -— have re- cently opened up the maps, the scis- sors and the paste. Today we are all remaking the rail- road map of the land. Reports HE Federal Transportation Act of 1920 asked us to do it. Al- though without power to compel, this act recom- mends the consoli- dation of the rail carriers of the land, with a distinct public sentiment back of it, not only upholding this provi- sion but steadily seeking to hasten matters by mak- ing such consolidation mandatory and immediate. It is with something of a sense of shame that I must confess having dabbled with this thing myself, and in these very pages, some seven or eight years ago. A little while after that Mr. John E. Oldham, of Boston, a banker who has made a close study of railroad problems, brought forth the first definite and recognized scheme for the consoli- dation of the roads into fifteen or sixteen groups. Other schemes—some fairly good, some fairly bad—were thrust into the ring. Then came the Transportation Act, with its positive suggestions in favor of consolidation, and the ap- pointment by the Interstate Commerce Commission, un- der the authority that’it gave, of Prof. W. Z. Ripley, of Harvard, to study into the entire matter and make a report upon it. Mr. Ripley made his report, and a very thorough job he made of it too. It was variously received; and a little later the commission made a consolidation report of its own, in some respects differing from the Ripley one, although based upon it. The mere inclusion of the consolidation plan in the Transportation Act filled the breasts of some prominent railroad executives with an almost unholy joy. Pet projects of long standing that “that damned Sherman Act” had blocked, as with a stone wall, were revived. After slight hesitation railroad lawyers were sent to Washington to see the commission and file formal requests for the acquisition of this property or that. ‘Not so fast,” said the Interstate Commerce Commis- sion, or words to that effect. It intimated that it did not propose to embarrass itself by taking up consolidation on any hit-or-miss or hodgepodge plan. It was making a national study of the problem, holding many hearings as it wended its way, and it did not intend to be hurried into any snap judgments or premature permissions.

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} slaiilditnstiiiemeadiaimahs -onmcnesien iene THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 27 Recently the commission has changed its atti- tude, without making any revisions of the first plans for consolidations all the way across the land, which are now recognized as being fairly impracti- cable and almost absolutely certain not to be put in effect. It hasissued no sweeping pronunciamiento of its policy—if indeed it has even hit upon a set- tled policy in the matter. But two Presidents of the United States have spoken in unmistakable terms, and the Interstate Commerce Commission, extrajudicial as it is in many ways, is not too far re- moved politically from the ground to fail to have its ears to it. Therefore it is moving forward, al- though not swiftly. Some of the individual commissioners, it is un- derstood, would like to see Congress repeal that part of the Transportation Act which contains a mandatory plan for general consolidation. They feel that it is highly impracticable, not alone be- cause of the physical difficulties of placing so sweeping a plan in effect but also because of the hampering effect of any preconceived and published scheme which says that this road must acquire that road, or the other way round. Opportunities for trading in such a situation obviously are limited. And within the past few months ticker reports have shown that the strong position financially is with the road to be acquired rather than with the one that is doing the acquiring. Therefore under a certain public sentiment, not very definite or very well guided, yet possessing no little strength, the commission has reversed its former position and is now quietly granting many consolidation permits, slightly limited in their scope; also it is refusing a few, where it believes that they are not in the public interest. Inciden- tally there are now thirteen fewer Class I railroads— in obtaining the Central Pacific, With forking routes from Ogden, north to Portland and south to Los Angeles, in the securing of a central direct line to San Francisco, the Union Pacific would complete a rail trident of vast strategic strength. Into the charmed circle it threw its hat with vigor. There are few impartial observers who would deny that this historic arrangement was logical, and presently the Federal courts ordered the Cen- tral Pacific separated from the Southern Pacific. This was counted a point in favor of the Union Pacific. The 8S. P. fought the thing bitterly. it made much of the point that the old Central Pacific property had been so scrambled in with its own that it would be practically impossible to segregate it after all these years. Undoubtedly the really ideal arrangement would have been to make the Central Pacific-- perhaps with the addition of the parallel Western Pacific an independent road, open on equal terms to all connecting carriers, from the Great Salt Lake to Central California; very much as the Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac has for many years been kept as an open gateway line between the capi- tal of Virginia and the capital of the United States. There were some operating difficulties in connection with putting such a plan into effect; and the com- mission, after a pretty thorough study of the entire matter, with its sweeping new powers of the Trans- portation Act, has given the Central Pacific to the rapidly expanding Southern Pacific system. Successful Housecleaning Y SIMILAR dictum the Western Pacific, al- though allotted in most of the original plans for national consolidation to the Santa Fe, goes into doing business of at least $1,000,000 a year—in the country than there were at the time of the passage of the Transportation Act. One of the first of these consolidation permissions gave the Carolina, Clinchfield and Ohio to the joint ownership of the Atlantic Coast Line and the Louisville and Nashville— these last two for some years past to all practical purposes one railroad. The Clinchfield was a fairly prosperous small road, not quite 300 miles in length, extending along and through the Blue Ridge Mountains of the Carolinas and Tennessee. For years it had struggled ineffectually to make close traffic arrangements with the Southern, whose lines it taps at several points. The Southern, being an ex- tremely well-planned and located and self-contained sys- tem, was sufficient unto itself and did not care to do busi- ness with the Clinchfield. The new consolidation, which would not have been easily possible before the coming of the Transportation Act, opens up a , really strong com- COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD @ UNDERWOOD, N. ¥. ©. Horseshoe Curve on the Pennsylvania Railroad first transcontinental railroad has been a matter of much conjecture. Long ago this road—with which one links the names of Mark Hopkins and Crocker and Leland Stanford and C. P. Huntington—lost its name and much of its identity in a merger with the Southern Pacific. It became even more firmly united in the days of Harriman, who sought to make a single system out of the Southern Pacific, Union Pacific and their constituent properties. When this combination finally was dissolved, due largely to public opposition and its own top-heavy qualities, and the Union Pacific was completely divorced from its great Western connection, the old Central Pacific property went with the Southern Pacific. Gradually opposition to this arrangement grew. The courts were invoked. The Union Pacific took a keen interest the Missouri Pacific family, which, after a thorough housecleaning in its management, has begun rapid expansion once again. Despite the fact that. it is per se a fairly illogical railroad system—two separate roads, the original Missouri Pacific of Gould days leading due west from St. Louis and Kansas City, and the powerful old Iron Mountain, running sharply southwest from St. Louis and so seeking an entirely different class of traffic—it will bear watching in the next few years. The highly successful housecleaning which Markham accomplished upon the Illinois Central is likely to be dupli- cated by his student and erstwhile lieutenant, Baldwin, who lately has become president of the Missouri Pacific. For not only will the M. P., through a joint ownership with the Western Pacific of the old Denver and Rio Grande, have its own line from the Mississippi River straight through to the Golden Gate, but recent acquisitions of the Gulf Coast Lines, the Texas and Pacific and the Interna- tional and Great Northern are car- petitive road into a territory which has not enjoyed too much compe- tition. Therefore it is in full accord with the highest purpose of that act. It represents it working at its best, particularly as in granting the permission for the consolidation the Interstate Com- merce Commission laid down condi- tions directed to- ward the, absolute maintenance of an open gateway for all carriers toucii- ing the Clinchfield route. The Link NOTHER early consolidation was of a vast deal more interest to the country at large. For a num- ber of years past the ultimate posi- tion of Central Pacific, the highly important link be- tween Ogden, rying it on its own rails straight to the Gulf of Mexico and the Mexican border, with a strong probability that Mexico itself may yet be in- vaded. As yet this Mis- souri Pacifie com- bination has shown littie or no desire to acquire its own line from St. Louis to Chi- cago. Whether this inaction foreshad- ows a growing closeness of con~- nection with the Illinois Central, which already has an excellent route between these two important cities, the student of rail- road strategy may prefer to decide for himself. The new Mis- souri Pacific is to be met by keen competition at al- most every point it invades. Even in its earliest ter- ritory it has a Utah , an d San PHOTO. BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, N. ¥. ©. An Electric Passenger Train on the Coast Division of the Chicago, Milwaukee 4 St. Paul Francisco, of our (Continued on Page 186)

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28 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 Out and Back With Old Whit Ret the Constant, Nonstop Argument Came About Usin' Me and the Care. hop. Take my little whirl with the Spooners. You see, I'd just drifted in from the pie-and- doughnut belt, and the first thing I'd done efter landin’ at Grand Central was to hunt up one of them high- stoc! cafés off the ramp and stow away a small steak with a platter of French fried and two cups from the urn, Then ! lighta up a Fumadora special and sort of strolls around, wonderin’ if I'd better go register at the agency right away or take a few days’ swing as one of the leisure class. I hadn't quite doped out my program, but I'd got as far as claimin’ my suitcase from the checkin’ booth when I’m hailed by this crisp-spoken young gent in the hair-line blue suit and the Wales dip to his hat brim. “Chauffeur?” says he. “Sure,” says {. “This is no disguise I'm wearin’.” “Looking for a job?" he asks. ‘Well, I ain't strainin’ my eyes any yet,” says I, “but if one should jump out and flag me ——” ‘| believe that is about to happen,” he breaks in. ‘““‘What driving experience have you had?" "It would be quicker tellin’ you what I’ve missed,” says i. “No hearses nor hook-and-ladder trucks, and I ain't ever piloted a cloud pusher; but outside of them I've run almost every kind of gas wagon from a wheezy-lunged taxi to super twin sixes.”” “H-m-m-m!" says he, rubbin’ his chin as he sizes me up. “I guessed as much, Rather smart looking too.” “t have to be,” says I. “I generally drive for smart people.” “Oh !"' says he, sarcastic. “You pick that kind, do you?” “No,” says 1. “That kind picks me. So we both qualify, don't we?" And I gives him the grin. “Rather neat, that,”’ says he, grinnin’ back. “I ac- knowledge the compliment, Mr.—er ———” “Gillan,” says I, “Is it town or country?” “ Westchester,” says he, “My train is due to leave in three minutes and I’m going to take a chance on you, Gillan.” “T’ll be sporty, too, Mr.—er —— “Spooner,"’ says he. “Track 15, lower level.” And so I'm signed on again without wastin’ time or breath or givin’ up any fee. ‘Course, this Mr. Spooner might be almost anything—a bootlegger, a movie star or N* YOU don't always strike it soft on a blind Demandin’ to Geo in Different Directions at the Same Time By SEWELL FORD TRLUSTRATERD BY HENRY RALEIGH vice president of a glue works. And I might be the inside man for a gang of yeggs. It’s an even split between us, with neither party actin’ worried. I must admit, though, that I likes the looks of the outfit when we finally get there, after a half-hour train ride and bein’ jitneyed five or six miles more. It’s country, and yet it ain't, for there’s New Rochelle one way and White Plains the other. But this big stone house stands on along, high ridge with a lot of ground around it and even a good- sized grove of trees in the back. Ridge Hall is the name on the stone gateposts and it’s most wide enough and long enough to deserve it. “Big fam'ly?" I asks. “Well, there are quite a lot of us—just at present,” says Mr. Spooner. “But that condition is merely temporary. You will find your quarters in the garage back there.” I did. Also the usual collection of cars—new limousine, antique tourin’ car, three-seater station bus, and back in the corner a semi-stripped roadster with bucket seats. I'd inspected the lot casual and was just testin’ the motor of the closed car when in walks a husky young gent wearin’ baggy knickers and alligator socks and a dizzy striped sweater. When he sees me he stops short and stares. “Well, where did you drop from?” he asks. “I'm no dropper,” says I. “I was hand-picked. Mr. Spooner just hired me as shuffer.”” “Mr. Spooner?” says he. “ You don’t mean Old Whit?” “We didn’t get as far as callin’ each other pet names,” says I, “and I shouldn’t rate him as old. Tall, slim young party that talks snappy.” “Milt,” says he. ‘And it’s quite like him, engaging a chauffeur without consulting anyone. But Lord knows we need you. Take that car and hurry down to meet the 5:13. Marge and the children are on it. They'll be looking for me, but they’! know the bus. You have twenty minutes to make it in.” *T expect I'd better get that O. K.’d by the boss,” says I. “Boss!” hegasps. “Say, listen. If ycu stay here you'll take orders from me. I’m Whitney Spooner, Junior. Sometimes it Was Only a Duet, Then Again it Would be a Foursome, With All Parties “Well, I’m Rusty Gillan, Senior,” saysI. “But I'll chance it this once.” I wanted to ask him how many more Spooners there was around the place, but I saved that up for another time, and beat it for the station. What I picks from the 5:13 is a zippy-dressed young woman with two cute kids, say about three and five, the boy bein’ the oldest. “Really! A chauffeur at last,”’ is her greetin’ to me. “I hope you stay for more than a month.” “Sometimes I do, ma’am,”’ says I, touchin’ my cap. “I dess he don’t, mummer,” puts in the boy. “I dess he does away, like the others did.”’ “Hush, Bertie!’’ says mummer, givin’ him a shake. So maybe I should have worked up suspicions that some- thing was wrong with this job I’d had tossed at me so casual, But I’m no trouble hunter and I don’t do much ad- vance frettin’. My plan is to let things ride until I’m sure. Besides, these Spooners, what I’d seen of ’em, seemed like reg’lar people—not too smart-setty, nor new-richers. Then at dinnertime I discovers the chow is all te the good; noth- ing fancy, but cooked special for the help and cooked right—pork chops and fried apples and corn bread, and a pumpkin pie that made me want to go right out and hug the cook—until I got a glimpse of the hefty old girl at the range and decides if I did I’d have to hug on the install- ment plan. So I passes my thanks on to Aline, the ruddy- cheeked maid with the calm eyes and the elbow dimples. She'd slipped me a second helpin’ of the pie. “Just for that, Aline darlin’,”’ says I, “I’m gonna date you up for a joy ride on your first evenin’ off.” “Huh!” says she. “If you find time for joy riding in this place you’re a wonder.” “How quick you got me,” says I. “I am.” “Then you'll know,” says she, “‘just how to take Miss Isabel to her dramatic club, drive Mr. and Mrs. Junior over to the Kendricks’ for bridge, and get the Milton Spooners to the country club, all between eight and 8:30.” “Who mapped out that schedule?"’ I asks. “They scrapped it out during dinner,” says she. “Any- way, the debate was well started, and the last I heard, Miss Isabel had a shade the best of it.” ““Who’s Miss Isabel?”’ says I. “*She’ll teli you soon enough,”’ says Aline. likely to forget either.” “You're not

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Sure enough, it’s Miss Isabel who steps out to claim the limousine when I drives around. She’s some little queen, too, with a saucy mouth and a tilted nose, and lots of pep in her motions. “Do you know where the Community House is in the village?”’ she asks. ‘Well, I'll show you when we get there. Down the hill and take the first left. Make it snappy, Gillan, or I'll be late for rehearsal.” “And hurry back for us,”’ calls out Milton. “You may take us at the same time,’’ adds Mrs. Whit- ney Spooner, Jr. “Go along,”’ urges Miss Isabel. “They can wait.” “T expect they’ ll have to,” says I. Well, by nine o'clock or so I had ’em all distributed and I’d been given three different schedules as to how I was to pick ’em up. I done my best, too, but it was 1:30 a.m. be- fore I’d collected the last load, and I hadn’t pleased any of ‘em. I'd been too early at some places and too late at others. And in the mornin’ the cross-firin’ begins all over again. Mr. Milton Spooner wants to catch the 8:32, while Whit- ney, Junior, says he can’t make anything before the 8:46, and Mrs. Whitney announces that little Bertie must be at the kindergarten at nine and Mrs. Milton says the house- keeper has to go marketin’ at 9:15. The only good break I had was that Miss Isabel hadn’t left the hay yet, but she’d given me orders that she had to go take a golf lesson at 10:30 and I must be sure to be on hand. Yes, I had quite a busy forenoon. “Say,” I asks Aline at lunch, “how many bosses have I got anyway?” “I figure on six,” says she. “Then I must have missed one,”’ says I, countin’ ’em up on my fingers. ‘‘ Who's the other?” “Pa Spooner,” says she. “Old Whit, they call him.” “Not the meek-lookin’ little old guy that I’ve seen walkin’ around the grounds with his chin down and his hands behind his back?” I asks. “That’s him, only he don’t do much bossing.” “T should say not,’’ saysI. “Why, he acts like a poor relation who’s been notified that his visit is about up. Mean to say he owns the place?” Yes, that’s the idea. And between times, when I wasn’t dashin’ around to pick up or drop different lots of Spooners, I pumped out of Aline the rest of the scenario. It seems that Old Whit is the one who makes the Spooner Suction Sweepers. That is, he did. He invented the thing, put it on the market, and developed the business from a five-man shop to a six-acre factory, with main offices on Forty- second Street and agents in every county seat from Kineo to Kalamuk, from Twig, Minnesota, to Chokoloskee, Florida. And up te eight or ten months ago he was the big THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

wheeze of the corporation, goin’ down to the city every day and keepin’ an eye on every detail, from how the oilin’ di- rections was worded on the tags, to decidin’ when to break into the South American market. Then, all of a sudden, his nerves went back on him. Two doctors told him he had to lay off, maybe for good. So he has to turn the sweeper business over to his sons and put in his time moonin’ about the grounds at his big place on the ridge. “They don’t look much like brothers,” says I. “They’re only half,”” says Aline, “but they scrap to- gether just as much as if they was full brothers.” “And which is Miss Isabel a full sister to?” I asks. “Neither,” says she. “How come?” says I. It wasn’t so complicated as it sounds. Whitney was by Old Whit’s first wife, and Milton was by a second one. Then she died and he married a third time, and along came Isabel, who lost her mother when she was ten. So she has two half brothers, and she ain’t crazy about either. Nor about their wives. Specially she ain’t enthusiastic about both families campin’ down at Ridge Hall when they got perfectly good homes of their own. But they both claim they ought to be on hand to look after Old Whit and see that he don’t do anything foolish. Besides, the house is big enough and they might as well. Also Mrs. Whitney says it’s so good for the children bein’ out in the country, and dear Bertie and Sallie will do so much to cheer up poor granddaddy. “Is the old boy all in?” I asks. “Take a good look at him and then guess,” says Aline. So the next chance I has I gives him the up and down. Ub-huh. All he lacks is a sign on him—“ Ground under repair.”’ Shoulders drooped, bags under his eyes, and that way of draggin’ his heels which shows he ain’t goin’ any- where special. Kind of a beaten, puzzled look under the shaggy eyebrows too. Sort of pathetic old codger. I couldn’t help salutin’ respectful and slippin’ him one of my chirkiest grins.. Almost stops him in his tracks. Then he nods friendly and wanders on. After that, though, he takes to driftin’ out to the garage while I’m grabbin’ off a spare half hour or so to clean up the cars. Drags an old chair out in the sun and just sits watchin’ me, not sayin’ much, but followin’ all my moves. And for all he’s so much of a wreck, he’s got a keen set of old eyes in his head. Only once, when I’d dropped the suc- tion sweeper for a broom as I was tryin’ to get some dirt out of the corners of the limousine, does he offer any advice. “That will blow as well as suck,” says he, and tells me how to reverse the motor. “Why, so it will!” says I. ‘How did you ——” And then I stops, snickerin’. “I forgot,’ I goes on. “This is something you got up yourself, ain’t it?’”’

29

“T suppose so,” says he. “‘But—but that was a long time ago, son.” We was almost gettin’ folksy when Mrs. Milton hap- pens by and proceeds to shoo him off. “Why, grandpa!” says she. ‘You shoulda’t be out in this smelly place. You ought to be taking your walk. And you haven’t your sweater coat buttoned either. Come. Let me fix it and then you must go along.” He sighs patient and toddles off. But next day he sneaks back again. “ How about a little drive?"’ I suggests. “I gotta go <ol- lect little Bertie. We'll only be gone half an hour.” “T wish I could,” says he. “I—I haven't been fn a car for months.” “Well, what’s the harm?” says I. He looks around cautious and then climbs in. lieve I will try it,” says he. But we both got a good call from Mrs. Milton when we comes back. ‘“ You knew better than to do that, grandpa,” says she. “I shall phone the doctor all about it, and there’s no telling what he'll say. I am surprised at you.” He hangs his head like a kid caught playin’ hooky. Another bad break I made was when I'let him have one of my cigarettes and young Whitney discovers him puffin’ away and chinnin’ with me. Say, by the fuss Junior makes over that you’d almost think we’d been chuckin’ stones through the greenhouse windows. “Smoking!” says he. “The worst thing you could pos- sibly do, dad.” “But I used to have my ten cigars a day reguiar,”’ he ‘Might do you good.” “T be- protests. “You used to do a lot of things that you can't do now,” says Junior, real severe “Yes, I know,” says the old boy, sighin’, and if it hadn't been for me tippin’ him the wink he might have gone off snifflin’. As it is, he winks back and walks away with his chin up a little, That's only a sample of the way they kept after him, the whole four of ’em. It was “Grandpa, don’t do this” and “Grandpa mustn’t do that.” I expect they meant weil enough and was just followin’ what the doctor had told ‘em. Maybe they didn’t intend to be naggy, either; but they sure didn’t miss any chances of tellin’ the old boy what was what. * We're kinda long on bosses, both of us. Eh?" says I. He don’t deny it. He fishes an old pipe out of his pocket, and after scoutin’ around careful loads it and lights up. “They tell me what ! can have to eat, when I must go to sleep, and what I must wear,”’ says he, not whiny but sort of discouraged. ‘I’m not really sick any ionger either. Feel almost as well as ever, but I can’t make them believe me.” (Continued on Page 96)

re s ae. es ents

Little Biondy Stares at Him for a Minute Before She Gives Way to a Fit of Tee-Hees.

Who'd Have Thought it Was in You?"

“Youtl"’ Says She.

“Oh, What a Comic Old Sport You Aret

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30 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 LEAVES FROM A WAR DIARY Loxpon. By Major General James G. Harbord or yacigyd ge June 9, 1917. DO hot sup- pose that s UNITED STATES ARMY, RETIRED entertainment had been made. The more effusive greeting has ever been given a for- eigner landing in England than that extended to Gen- eral Pershing at Liverpool yeater- day morning. The ship had anchored in the Mersey River late Thurs- day night, and yesterday morn- ing there were the usual arrange- ments, hurry and bustie for going ashore. Tugs steamed alongside with late papers. Rumors of 8 O 5S signals the day be- fore from vesaels sunk by the sub- marines flew around, with statements that the number for the current week had been about fifteen ww far, The American military attaché, Colonel Laasiter, met us, The Lord Mayor of Liver- pool, the local ad- general and twelve others are guests at the Savoy of the British Govern- ment; the remain- der of the officers of some clubs or so- cieties, but all here at the Savoy. The soldiers were taken to the Tower for quarters, and the clerks are at a near-by hotel. Brigadier General Lord Brooke, the futureEarl of War- wick, isA. D. C. to General Pershing. He is a youngster of perhaps thirty- five, not of great height, rather plump, with a very handsome pair of eyes and a rather more expressive face than the average Britisher. Hewon his brigade on the west front, was wounded in the left hand by a piece of shell, and is still denied full use of the hand. Heisa very attrac- tive type to me; miral, Lieutenant is extremely polite General Sir Wil- General Pershing's Headquarters, 73 Rue de Varenne, Paris, the Residence of Mr. Ogden Mills and keeps the gen- liam Piteairn Campbell, K. C. B,, several dozen assorted staff officers, some fifty newspapermen, several movie cameras, and a score of private cameras came on board and welcomed us te Old England, The ranking dozen of us went off with the general and stood attention while the band of the Welsh Fusiliers, who were drawn up on the platform, played The Star-Spangled Banner. The genersi made a hit by stopping in front of a young soldier who wore the vertical stripes on his arm which indi- cate twice wounded and asking him, “Where were you wounded, my man?” The newspapermen told me that made a great impression. When the admiral came aboard he formally welcomed the general and party to the port; the Lord Mayor wel- comed us to Liverpool; the general also welcomed us to the Kingdom. . When we croased the gangway the old lieutenant general faced around formally——he had been leading and when General Pershing reached the solid soil, wel- comed him to the soil of England, shaking hands with him with great formality. There was a perfect battery of cameras as we walked around the Fusiliers, and moving-picture machines grinding steadily. We returned aboard the ship to wait while the baggage was being handled, which by theswift methods in vogue in our motherland here took more than an hour, when our orderlies could have walked off with it certainly in fifteen minutes. The celerity with whieh the British handled it, however, quite surprised themselves, and I was given the impression that no foreigner landing in Great Britain had been handled with such suddenness since perhaps the late J. Caesar came ashore some time azo. The trein that took us to London was a very good one, the general and his immediate party having some government coaches. In fact, as the lieutenant colonel told me in those happy confiding moments when he thought I was a brigadier, it was a Royal train, one in which the King had come up to inspect some weeks before, and which was so convenient that “the equerries had their bawth the same as at home.” We came into Eyton Station, and were met by the American ambas- sacdor, Admirai Sims, Field Marshal Viscount French, the informal journal in which General Harbord made entries from day to day for his personal information. It reflecta his current im- pressions upon events in which he was concerned and persons with whom he came in contact the Lord Mayor of London, and many lesser dignitaries. At a suggestion from his chief of staff General Pershing had sent for the engineer and fireman on our arrival to thank them for bringing him down safely, and the grimy pair were ostentatiously brought up and he shook hands with them, ruining a new pair of gloves. At request of the moving-picture man the performance responded to an encore, the gloves were entirely put out of the running and the camera immortalized the chief’s democracy. General Pétain and General Pershing eral’s room piled with flowers with the “Compliments of Lord and Lady Brooke.” LONDON, June 10, 1917. E WERE rounded up, the aides and principal twelve, to be known hereafter as the staff in these memoirs, and, with General Brooke, Colonel Lassiter and Major Maitland Kersey, drove in the motor cars which have been assigned for our use to Buckingham Palace, where George V was to receive us at 10:30. The drive took us through a historic part of London, up the Strand, along the Mall, past old St. James’s, once a favorite royal residence and the court to which our ambassadors are still assigned, but now broken up into suites and assigned by the Crown to needy and indigent relatives. When the danger of offending our Russian allies is over I fancy that Nicholas, once Czar of all the Russias, and his Czarina, now referred to here as the Boche Czarina, may here find a room and “bawth.” The great Victoria Memorial looks down the Mall in front of Buckingham, and one of the Royal parks is to your left as you approach. We were met and con- ducted through a waiting room to a drawing-room which has a sort of veranda, awning-covered, which looks out directly on the beautiful palace gardens, grounds which existed several centuries before the palace did. There isa lake, now drained to avoid its glimmer at night attracting wandering Zeppelins; and a hill, said to be artificial, which has trees growing on it which must be two centuries old. Waiting was tedious. A king’s anteroom is no better place for me to cool my heels in than that of many a man of lessdegreefor whom I have waited. I amrapidly getting to be a professional waiter since I joined this staff. At the appointed hour the general was ushered into an adjoining apartment and had perhaps twenty minutes with the King; and then the remainder of us were ushered in, in “column of files,” the personal staff first and then the others. The etiquette, as we were told on inquiry, prescribed a bow at the threshold and again when the King shook your hand. As we shook hands we spread out in a half circle to the general's left. The King said in substance that he was glad to see us all; that it had been a dream of his to see the two great English-speaking peoples fighting side by side for civ- ilization; that with such a cause, the best that could exist, he was sure we should be victorious. We all then shook hands again and filed out.

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, { aR nt PSO RNIN RT Se ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 31 The King is a small man. He has a good manly voice and either speaks readily or has well learned something someone has prepared for him. Hehasanervoushabit while speaking of shaking his left knee—his legs being very thin.” He wore the service uniform of a British field marshal. I am obliged to say that physically he does not at all look the King. The general, however, tells me he had a most satisfac- tory talk with him, and that the King is thoroughly in touch with events, policies, and soon. Heconsidershim to be exerting a real influ- ence on events. From Buckingham we drove to the American Em- bassy, where we were joined by the staff who had not been received by the King, and were presented to the American ambassador, Walter Hines Page, who is understood to have amassed a fortune in publishing, and to be a Democrat. of anything.” Lady Paget was a Miss Stevens, of New York, but has lived for thirty years in England, and has three sons, officers, at the Front. She is charming, and a woman of great in- fluence with various people in this great capital. She had asked American women—one or two be- sides a guest or two she had—an American woman married to an Irish artist of fame named Lavery; Mrs. Leeds, the American who visited Baguio in 1912 with the Duke and Duchess of Manchester, about whom we had a letter from Gen- eral Edwards at the time; Mrs. Astor—nect the one with whom the ambassador mixed us up; and Lady Drogheda—pronounced Droida—who is # Scotch- woman married to an Lrish- man. I sat at Lady Paget's right, and to the left of Lady Drogheda, who is an en- thusiast on a#roplanes and really seems to know a good deal about them. Her hus- LONDON, June 11,1917. ip general and nine others of us attended service in old Westminster Abbey at ten A. M. yesterday, the usual Church of England service, conducted by the Arch- bishop of Dublin. It would be useless to tell or attempt to tell the impression given. We entered by the door where, on the left, you pass Pitt of the “eagle glance and outstretched arm,” and were ushered to seats in the choir. In front, piled high on one of the figure groups, are the banners of regular regiments gone to the war, which by old custom are deposited here for safe-keeping, a splendid show of color, a constant reminder and a very pretty custom—coiors piled at the shrine of the oldest temple of their faith, where lie so many of England’s royal and illustrious dead, where their kings are crowned, and a shrine which in one form or an- other has survived almost since the time of the Romans in Britain. The sermon was good, as was the singing. The collection—never forgotten in any church that I have ever attended—was for the British sailor and soldier orphans, a worthy cause. From Westminster our arrangements began to run coun- ter to the plans of our ambassador apparently. Three days before, General Brooke had made A Group of Officers at the American Headquarters in 1917 the son of the Lord Astor, the expatriated New Yorker, and his wife—‘“‘an adroit politician,’ according to one of our British friends in attendance. General Brooke suggested that we might have luncheon at Lady Paget’s, as that had been already arranged, and motor to Cliveden for dinner with the Astors, and was allowed to arrange it by tele- phone with the two ladies, Yesterday morning, however, the ambassador announced that the general would accompany him to the Astors’ and come to the Pagets’ for tea. This was telephoned to Lady Paget, who had to send word to Balfour, French and one or two others that General Pershing would not be there, and release them, as they were coming solely for him. Colonels Alvord, Brewster and myself went to the Pagets’ for luncheon and spent as lovely a day as I ever expect to spend outside my own l'ttle home. Sir Arthur Paget is a very handsome, soldierly man, somewhere in the sixties, a fine type, of whom and his brother Lord Brooke remarked, in relating an incident of the South African War, ‘ None of those Pagets are afraid band is in the War Office, and I believe is one of the Irish earls, After luncheon everyone did about as he pleased. Some played tennis, some walked alone, some sat-—- perfect free dom. The grounds—garden, as they call it here—com prise perhaps, I should judge, about ten acres, with century-old trees, masses of rhododendrons, a mass of color, tangle of ferns—-the most beautiful private place I have ever seen. I walked and later talked with Lady Paget and Mrs. Leeds. Lady Paget is very lame, walks with a cane and gets about with difficulty, having fallen down an elevator about ten years ago and broken some bones. Teatime came, to which General Pershing had been promised by the ambassador, but no one came. It was served for the rest of us, and Cliveden was telephoned to know if a car should be sent, to which reply was received that the general had been “ordered” to make a speech at a Canadian hospital, a pet of Mrs. Astor's, but would be there for dinner at 7:30. Of course we were asked for dinner too. Eight o'clock came, but no general had arrived; but pretty soon the Ambassador and Mrs. Page and the gen- eral arrived. The ambassador an- arrangements and accepted an invi- tation to luncheon for General Per- shing at Sir Arthur Paget’s, a country place just in the suburbs of Lon- don, to meet various digni- taries. Balfour was invited, Field Marshal French, General Cowans, Quartermaster General of the British Army; a number of others also. Sir Arthur is a full general in the British Army, a very distinguished soldier, now in command of all mobile forces in Southern England intended for de- fense against German invasion. The ambassa- dor was told of the engagement, but late Saturday night announced that he had made an engagement for the general to PS 7 nounced that they 3 Ot were going on to ange town, but I took the general aside and told him he simply had tostay, which he realized he should do and really wishedtodo. When we then told the ambassador he said they aise would stay and take the general! in afterward. That program was car- ried out, the am- baseador watching his watch after dinner and carry- ing the general off as soon as he could get him started. They say the embassy retires at 9:30. By great effort lL managed to interest Ambassa- dor Page and got the general a few minutes’ talk with Sir Arthur Paget, whe has promised to turn out e full division in atrench attack for us some time Tues- day morning. lunch with the Waldorf Astors, The Gardens of the Residence of Mr. Ogden Milis in Parise (Continued on Page 130)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By ARTHUR STRINGER POW “T'm the General Manager of Thie Read," I Informed Him, “and When You Take Money From it ast an Menest Worker You're a Thies" vi UT life wasn't exactly a bed of roses in those days. There was hard work to be done, and I had my share of it, even though it’s the occasional kick over the traces, oddly enough, that now stands out clearest in my memery. They were the green oases in the gray Sahara of toil. Fishing parties were pleasant enough, but they were merely breathing spells in a bitter and never-ending war to survive. Big Sam was about as worried as a farmer fighting red- reot. He was worried about his finances and about his Eastern connections, and about the labor trouble that he was long-headed enough to foresee. And to add to his problema, he found himseif with a rate war on his hands. We were still an aggregation of scalping parties, knifing and being knifed, just feeling our way into that better era where railway regulation first began as a codperative con- trol of conduct, to the end that we might do away with over-costiy competitive campaigns and weed out unethical and self-destructive rivalries. That was before the regulation of rates and before the still later regulation of profits and before the newer-fangled regulation of mergers. There are those who claim, of course, that our transportation laws have never been so savege toward the roads ae those roads were toward one another, that this legislation is not punitive but protective. And when | look back at the savagery of those old rate wars {| sometimes fee! there may be a shadow of truth in the claim. For in the fight I speak of we fought without hope of gain; we fought blindly and brutally; we fought only to hurt an enemy who was hurting us. When we found that enemy had resorted to secret rebates, we made a public announcement of a 20 per cent reduction in all passenger rates. That cut was promptly met by our rival and we as promptly made another cut. We slaughtered rates until we were hauling people six hundred miles for two dollars and sixty cents, We not only let them crowd into our comfortable coaches and be carried from point to point at a dead loss but we gave them free meals and coaxed them aboard and advertised for more and asked for more. We didn’t get enough out of that traffic to pay for the oil in our journal boxes; but the war was on and it was not for ua to give up or give in, We almost knocked people down and dragged them aboard. We linked up with an Eastern connection that had in turn linked up with a con- tending steamship line, and together we carried happy and incredulous immigrants from the wharves of Hamburg and Bremen and Liverpool and Cherbourg right across the Atlantic and on to the rich plains of the Middle West for the suicidal rate of twelve dollars a passenger. And in the freight rates it was still worse. The thing could not, of R TLLEUVUSTTRATE DO . course, go on. It was cut- throat tactics, but neither of us could ery quits. Big Sam was a good fighter, but he fought with his head as well as his fists. He saw that the two of us would go down locked together like a couple of embattled stags, and there was neither glory nor gold in that. So he looked for a way out, When he called me into his office and told me he wanted me to go to New York to represent him at a special meeting of the traffic association, I thought at first, since our traffic officer was in bed with bronchitis, that the big boss was side-stepping a responsibility peculiarly his own. But I saw, in the end, that it was another instance of his sagac- ity, a case of keeping the capital ship in harbor while the mere destroyer did the scouting. And I was to go as the destroyer, in more ways than one. I was to go as a fighter, challenging our enemy, openly eager for more fray, ready for another winter and still another summer of rate slash- ing, if need be, and openly scornful of the differentials which they had already proffered us in view of our less direct haul. We were satisfied, and we were to tell them so. But that, of course, was a mere theatricality. It was more than a theatricality, for a few more months of that warfare would have run us into the ground. I was to screen our bleeding flanks, make my jauntiest parade of power—and wring from the mild-mannered association as quick and as favorable a verdict as such determined feroc- ity as ours could elicit. In plain English, we were licked; but we refused to know it, and we were even more deter- mined not to let the other fellow know it. I was considerably keyed up about that visit to New York, for I'd never seen the big city and it had all the glamour of the unknown. I'd stared at Milwaukee, of course; stared at it from the lake and seen it so incredibly lovely in the morning light that I used to wonder if old Athens itself ever looked more stately from the Phalerum Road. I'd seen San Francisco flowing over its golden hills at sunset and more than once my frontier blood had thrilled with foolish pride at the tumbled beauty of that guardian of our Western coast, with its eyes on the West that so mysteriously became the East. I was also no stranger to Chicago, it’s true, and had always liked her morning pall of smoke between lake and plain, with her windy corners and her suggestion of youthful strength and frontier vigor wait- ing to be tamed. But she was a riddle already read, hold- ing none of the mystery of the remoter city on the Hudson. New York, in some way, seemed the final end of the none too definite road along which I was groping, for it was there men forgathered for the final fight and the final prize. It was the arena of the giants, the ultimate testing ground of March 7,1925 w. . D. KOERNER American success, the home circle of the New World’s wealth and power. As a mere Midwesterner I pretended to be hostile to it, harping blithely enough and often enough on the old string of its Sodom and Gomorrah effeteness. I derided it because I was secretly afraid of it. I scoffed at it because I had never attained to it. I tried to laugh at it because I wanted to lower it to a more com- prehensible plane. But it both mystified and intimidated me. So, naturally enough, I pretended to hate it. Fear, if we’re only honest enough to admit it, lies somewhere at the background of every antipathy. Big Sam may have seen that I needed that journey into the East, whence the Wise Men once came and whither the wise men now go. My first visit to New York, at any rate, did me good. It widened my vision. It put a crimp or two in my ego. It made me feel small, made me feel alien and trivial and inconsequential, and at the same tire teased me with a hunger to thrust myself above its million- throated mediocrities. It elated me with its movement and at the same time depressed me with the vague melancholy of its immensity, the same melancholy I'd so often found in my home pinelands and the open prairies and the lonely Rockies that remind man of his littleness in a world where he lives so briefly. It was early morning when I landed at Hoboken. To reach New York from the West in those days it was, with a single exception, necessery to cross the Hudson on one of the river ferries. As I followed my fellow passengers toward the slips, where I could hear the churning of tide- water and the tinkle of pawl and ratchet and the cough of harbor tugs, I found myself caught up by a wider stream of human traffic crowding over the double-decked gang- ways. These were the commuters trekking cityward from their Jersey homes. Between them rumbled trucks and wagons, where the twin rows of draft horses made the splintered timbers smell like a stable. But from the upper deck I could smell sea air. It was different from any air I had ever smelled before; heavy, yet at the same time dis- pungent, watery and warm and touched with ie vast against the guard chain, on the lip of the upper deck, drinking in my first glimpse of New York as we ferged out of the slip and headed for the thousand- towered island beyond the drifting mile of tidewater aripple in the morning sunlight. Gulls croaked and called around us, harbor craft shuttled back and forth, car scows crawled up and down the current, tugs with mat-covered

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THE bows tooted for their right of way, even a warship lay at anchor in midstream. But I wasted little time on any of these things. What caught and held my attention was the panorama of the city that lay ahead of me, rising in one compact and imperial whole out of the water that laved its feet. The skyscrapers of that day were not so high as they are today; the liners berthed in their shore stalls were not so gigantic as the Leviathans and the Berengarias of this later generation; the city itself had not spilled out over its island triangle until its environs were ten times greater than its core. But it was pageant enough for me. It brought me the same thrill that band music used to bring me in the days of my youth. For I saw a castellated sky line of towers and roofs and domes, some golden in the morning light, some clear-cut as the teeth of a trap, some mysterious with shadow and dreamlike with the opal mist that drifted in from the upper bay and hung like a scarf about the throat of the Battery. I could see the buildings rise, tier by tier, gilded cornice by cornice, about the same as the foothills rise into the Rockies, until the topmost peaks stood misted blue against the stronger blue of the sky. And for some reason or other they looked mighty romantic to me. As I said before, I’d seen Chicago often enough smoke-crowned above the morning prairie, and it had the beauty of a young giant waking up to his unconsidered strength. And I'd often felt that my own city of Detroit, seated on its sky-blue river between two flashing lakes, lordly and lusty on the fringe of its lordly and lusty Midwest, was as pretty a picture as the eye of man could look on. But New York was differ- ent. It was more than pretty. It was the center of things, the market place of power. It was where men came to try their strength in the big game, and went up or went down according to the power they had behind their pretenses. It gave you a chance for the big gamble. It made you a suc- cess or a failure. And to me, that morning, it was a good deal like a drink of gin. It stirred something that hadn’t been often stirred in that sullen body of mine, and I had a foolish impulse to stretch out my arm and say, ‘Some day I’ll have my heel on your neck! Some day, instead of bunting me about like a calf in a corral, your crowds will step aside and say, “There goes John Rusk!” It was, of course, a mood and nothing more, It didn’t even last long, for I had troubles enough as soon as I landed on that hostile island, where they seemed to work as hard as they played. It took a little of the wind out of my sails. It reminded me that I was still a pretty small pebble on the beach of railroad operation. It even made me a little ashamed of my clothes. And what was more, it made me ashamed of my roughness. It taught me a new respect for system and established authority. My earlier training had combined to persuade me that railroading was mostly a triumph of physical force, that it was human driving power that usually got results; and I was right enough in a way, for the physical-force man can clean up local spots and pound crooked lines straight. He can do that through sheer fist power. But that makes for a one-man road, and when the man checks in his method collapses. It doesn’t make the system right, and it’s the system that counts; for unless the system is right, the newcomer has to learn the lesson all over again. And that’s how we still seem to be railroading today, with each road and each era going back to fundamentals again and fight- ing its way toward its own tricks in operation and trans- portation, its own methods of solving the same old problems. I'd never had much sympathy with the college theorist, outside the engineering department, for I felt a man ought to work up from the bottom and not down from the top. But during that New York visit of mine I bumped into the disturbing discovery that a man could wear a butterfly tie and still be a financier, just as he could indulge in the lux- ury of spats and at the same time design a locomotive. I confronted my colleagues in a chamber of polished wood and soft rugs up on the fourteenth floor of a marble- faced building with mirror-set elevators with uniformed attendants, and in the midst of that universal order and quietness I felt secretly ill at ease; and that, I suppose, tended to make me even more aggressive. They probably accepted me as something new and wild and woolly out of the West. And I probably was, but I didn’t let them run away with the idea I was a weakling. I took my stand SATURDAY EVENING POST 33 and made my speech and fought for my cause with every ounce of bitterness in my body. They laughed at me in the beginning, sensing something ludicrous in my heroics. But they weren't laughing much when I got through and our rate question was thrown open for discussion. I was in unknown territory and in the midst of unknown adversaries. But I knew my subject and wasn’t to be shaken from my position, I watched every move and parried every thrust. And in the end I won my point for Big Sam and the D. & B. We got our differentials approved and a promise of interchange of traffic and a chance to live. I sat with a match over the powder keg until they saw I meant business. I even lost sight of the fact, as I played my réle out to the bitter end, that I was threatening to blow myself up along with the rest of them. But I gave it to them straight from the shoulder, and nothing succeeds like sincerity; and you can’t put too much thunder into your claim when your cause is weak. I was tired out after that fight, and I remember going to the window while the final vote was being taken and staring down at the widening North River and the upper bay. To me it looked like an open mouth singing a never-ending song toward Europe. It was a mouth full of the music of commerce, and I wanted to have a hand in its making. I could see twenty million tons rolling into it and twenty million tons rolling out of it, season by season. I could see wheat trains flowing toward it across the autumn hills. I could see coal and corn, steel and stone, lumber and live- stock converging toward that tapering triangle that swarmed with its straitened crowds. And crowds, to me, meant crowds to carry, crowds to shuttle back and forth to the surrounding country, crowds to lift inland and crowda to waft seaward, crowds that would more and more seek to travel on wheels. And above all things I wanted to learn the orchestration of those crowds. I wanted the power and knowledge to handle them, to carry to them the fruits of other men’s toil. I may have been a roughneck with baggy trousers and linen soiled with sweat, but for a few minutes there something with wings crouched warm in the nest of my (Continued on Page 142) We Were Fighting Night and Day to Break the Blockade and Get a Wheel Moving. The First Gang of Strike Breakers We Brought In Were Stoned

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34 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A‘D‘' 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR Aeal Subecrind y Pive Cents the Cony Prom All N \ P To the United States and Possessions, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Costa Bice. Cubs, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Guatemala, Isle of Pines, Mexteo, Niceregue, Peneme, Paraguay, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Setvador, Spain and Uruguay, $1.00 the Year, Remit by U. 8. Money Order, Express Money Order, Check or by Draft, payable in U. 5S. Funds. Te Caneda —By Subscription, $2.00 the Year. Single Copies, Five Cents— Cansdias of U.S. Puads To Newtoundtend (with Labrador) and other Foreign Countries, exclusive of thase mentioned aheve, by subscription, post paid, $6.00 the Year, Ke- mittances to be by Postal or Express Money Order of by Draft on a bank in the U. S., payable in U. 8. Funds. PHILADELPHIA, MARCH 7, 1925 Gas, the New Goose ISE, if cynical, was the minister of finance who re- marked that the art of taxation consisted of so plucking the goose that it should not squawk. Equity in taxation, equality and justice, are noble ideals, but so difficult of attainment as to be almost in the nature of mytha. They are much sought for but never found. Mean- while legislators must provide funds, and provide them ina hurry. Naturally they seek where the seeking is softest and produces the least aquawking. Just because a tax is easy to get, it is not necessarily the most theoretically perfect measure. But long hard experi- ence indicates that ease of collection is an outstanding merit. When a tax proves to be simple, certain and convenient, incapable of evasion, free from the element of chance, quite or very productive and free from any particularly evil characteristics of incidence and burden, it is sure to be widely adopted, perhaps too widely adopted. Prebably this is a fair description of the gasoline tax for the maintenance and construction of highways, a measure which the states are taking up in a veritable fever of burry. Like the former duties on alcoholic beverages and the present revenues derived from tobacco, such a tax appeals to harried lawmakers and administrative officials because it lacks altogether the maddening complexities which have made of the generai property, income and inheritance taxes such a nightmare, not only to officialdom itself but to practically all citizens who happen to have any property or savings. The great danger with the gasoline tax, as with all meas- uree that promise well, lies in its possible abuse. When the goose does not squawk, rapacity, unless restrained, plucks all ite feathers and sometimes kills the bird iteelf. In one state which has had a tax on gasoline of one cent a gallon there is now talk of making it six. Over a period of ten years, during which a program of highway censtruction might be completed, moderation as regarda the metorist would no doubt produce a greater aggregate net revenue. No one knows as yet exactly what proportion of highway construction should be paid by the motorist, by the ad- joining and presumably benefited property owner, and by THE the state as a whole from its general revenues, such as inheritance taxes. A tentative formula drawn up by a student of highway finance provides that half the total amount be furnished by automobile owners in the form of license fees and fuel taxes. This seems reasonable enough. From the tax standpoint farmers are a heavily burdened class, and any measure which approaches punitive motor taxation will still further penalize agriculture. But reason- able license fees and gasoline taxes have important ad- vantages aside from simplicity, certainty, convenience and productiveness; the ownership of automobiles has become so widespread that these imposts make it certain that all groups and elements shall contribute to the support of government, and very largely according to their ability to pay. What Cannot be Given HE apparently increasing tendency on the part of owners of business enterprises to give them away to a group of employes raises searching questions as to the pres- ent and future organization of industry. Any tendency which makes for the more adequate rewarding of faithful employes or for the stimulus and release of their talents through improved methods of partnership merits high commendation. Presumably also a retiring owner has con- fidence in the associates or assistants to whom he makes the gift, or he would not risk the dissipation of what he has worked so hard to create. But often there is only fallacy in supposing that a busi- ness can be given away. The man of constructive genius who has built it up can give the bricks and mortar, the organization, the shares of stock and even the good name. But he cannot present to anyone the vital spark which puts life into these otherwise inanimate and valueless donations and keeps it there. Without him the business may die or slowly fade into invalidism and impotence. A biologist has said that only one man in six million has genius, and only one in six thousand special skill, intelli- gence, courage, enterprise or strength. Business success may not require actual genius, but in most cases it de- mands a quality rare enough to excite interest, curiosity and even wonder. Those who possess this attribute serve the public more truly by exercising it than by elaborate schemes to distribute the personal gains that come from its exercise. Gifts and giving are of relatively little importance along- side the necessity of a continuous employment of labor and the services to society which a well-conducted business commonly renders. Those who become rich honestly and through the successful conduct of a serviceable business should be chiefly concerned with its continuance and exten- sion rather than with personal whims and theories as to what a rich man ought to do with his wealth. If the gift of a business renders the recipients capable of carrying on, and if that is its intention, well and good. If the motive of the gift’ is merely to relieve the conscience of the donor, the world will be no better off. Leveling Downward HE philosophy of history used to be attempted after the events. Signs are accumulating that the trend of policy in the League of Nations is in the direction df a philosophy of history before the events. This seems to be the result of the collaborations of small nations. Inter- pretation of recent deliberations within the League of Na- tions would seem to suggest the following propositions: For all races, freedom of emigration; For all importing countries, free access to raw materials; For all exporting countries, free entry to all markets. This is suggested as a sort of international Bill of Rights, opposed to the existing order of national state rights. Heralded as an economic proposition, it is clearly philo- sophical rather than economic or political. Historical fore- sight in the development of natural resources would be eliminated. Scientific advances, technical improvements and inventive accomplishments would become denational- ized. In effect, the process would constitute a leveling downward. In effect, it would put a premium on low SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 standards of living. It would mean a melting pot of re- sources, brains and aspirations as well as of blood. It would represent the negation of our history. This may be the ideal of a distant day in the world of a Utopian man- kind, but Americans would be wise to regard the League of Nations closely, in order to be sure that what may be termed international confiscation does not become a prac- tical policy of tomorrow. A Good Jack:of: All-Trades HE recently issued annual report of the War Finance Corporation—the seventh—is the last report of active operations, since the life of the corporation draws to a close and the next report will presumably be the final ac- counting. The War Finance Corporation was created in April, 1918, as a part of the program of war finance, with a paid-up capital of $500,000,000, subscribed by the United States Treasury. Following the close of the war the opera- tions of the corporation were in process of contraction and liquidation when, in the spring of 1919, was intrusted to it the financing of the railroads still under Federal control. More than $200,000,000 was advanced to the railroads, and long since paid off. Thereupon the Congress authorized the corporation to make advances to exporters and to banks that were financing exports. Within the year some $47,000,000 was advanced in aid of exports, nearly all re- paid. In 1921 Congress by resolution and in the passage of the Agricultural Credits Act revived the functions of the corporation and broadened the scope of activities to in- clude aid for exports, agricultural banking and financing institutions, livestock-loan companies and codéperative- marketing associations. During the four years’ activities of the revived corpo- ration the total sum of loans approved was some $5339,- 000,000, divided as follows, using round figures: $ 10,000,000 203,000,000 233,000,000 93,000,000 Toexporters .. ; To coéperative-marketing associations. To banking and financing institutions To livestock-loan companies By no means were all these approved loans actually ad- vanced—that is, they were not found to be necessary. The loans actually made were as follows, again using round figures: $ 8,000,000 41,000,000 201,000,000 87,000,000 Qn November 30, 1924, the unpaid outstanding balance was a little more than $45,000,000, and this is in process of repayment. The balance of the corporation in the Treas- ury of the United States is more than $500,000,000, the capital of the corporation. It is expected that the liquidation of the remaining assets of the corporation will be enough to repay the Treasury for the costs of the money used in the operations of the corporation. This is a brilliant record of stewardship of public funds. It is much more than that. It is a brilliant record of man- agement of temporarily embarrassed essential industries. The corporation has been of great service to American agriculture in the years of its most trying need. Conti- nuity of operations has been maintained, insolvencies averted, losses minimized, lands and animals restored to remunerative production. How much worse the agricul- tural depression of the past three years would have been without the War Finance Corporation can only be guessed at. Perhaps best of all, the corporation has not established a habit of government relief. The funds of the corporation have been used to teach agriculture to help itself. The corporation has taught lessons in sound banking. There are no regrets, no vicious precedents, no entangling alli- ances with the Government. To the director of the cor- poration, Mr. Eugene Meyer, Jr., who has given years of public service in this task, and to the Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. A. W. Mellon, the agriculture of the United States owes a debt of gratitude for services whose value will be even more highly appraised later than is possible today. To exporters To codperative-marketing associations. To banking and financial institutions . To livestock-loan companies

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 35 THE NEW DEMOCRACIES EMOCRACY is earned; it is no D gift of the gods, and still less some- thing which a peace conference, such as the one in Paris, can hand out ready-made. Democracy — parliamentary democracy —requires a good deal of rehearsal before the company is prepared to act the piece. A mere sign outside the tent does not guarantee that a real democracy is within, no matter how much senti- mentalists may ballyhoo “It’s alive! It’s alive!” Constitutional governments in a century had spread al- most all over the world, but the war and the peacemakers were responsible for creating new republics in wholesale We often forget what a litter of them were patty- caked. There were Latvia, Finland, Esthonia and Lithu- ania. There were Czecho-Slovakia, Austria and Hungary. The Paris styles of 1918 and 1919 were adopted in later seasons by Greece and Turkey, Germany was a special Taken together, the new experi- ments in democracy cover a large part of Europe and Asia, and affect an important fraction of civilized mankind. Some of them represent a hunger in the peoples of new nations for democracy and republican forms; there was abroad the idea that democracy was the infallible doctor of all evils. But other democracies were created by a pater- nal statesmanship in Paris which spoke of self-determination but said to those who could not self-determine correctly, “You have lived under willful rulers so long that you do not know what is good for you. Now you can take democracy or we will shake the stuffing out of you.” Since that time there has been a rather comfort- able feeling in America that, the label ‘‘democracy”’ having been pasted on the new nations, we could go to bed of nights quite satisfied. lots. case, owing to her size. By Richard Washburn Child I have just been visiting some of these new democracies, and I cannot find that this satisfaction is justified. Any good advocate of democracy, any truly sympathetic and conscientious defender of democracy would be a fool to go about mumbling “Democracy is a success.” It is much more important to recognize any weak spots and correct them; it is much more important to recognize facts. The first fact to realize today is that democracy as a mere label on a bottle, no matter how high-sounding, is almost worthless if there is no real democracy, no peace, no prosperity, no health, no happiness under the cork. How worthless such labels may be and what degree of disintegration can take place under them are illustrated by the one new experiment in democracy which had washed up a good deal of our romantic interest just before the war. That experiment was the Republic of China. I went out to China to look at the experiment. At that time plenty of persons believed that dear old China, so peaceful that she had been governed for centuries by invaders, had nevertheless succeeded in preserving a glorious culture, a fascinating philosophic calm and a mysterious superiority while other inferior civilizations rose and fell like crops of summer grasses. I enraged a good many of those persons THE BIG SHOW I5 HERE who like to patronize China, by telling the truth. I found that the China talked about in America was a handfu! of ed- ucated Chinese; I found that the real civilization consisted of the four hundred million impoverished, illiterate and miserable people who lived and died like flies, burdened by disease, filth and suffering. Under the hopeful young republic, although there were some patriots, a crew of crooked politicians and suave diplomats, playing one foreign nation against another in Peking, hung the sign “Democracy” over the door and then proceeded to govern China in a way that would have made a Manchu emperor blush. I enraged some persons who were hoodwinked by Pe- king’s large staff of propagandists and by the label ‘‘democ- racy’’ when I said that as sure as sunrise the nations of the world would soon have to take some kind of joint action to put China on her feet again and prevent her from becoming still more of a cancerous menace to the peace and the health of the world and to her own people. I was not interested in the label “democracy’’ to which the handful of oily politicians pointed; I was interested in the welfare of the four hundred million. “Oh, but China is China,” said an American to me, and heaved a great sigh. ‘China is permanent.” I replied, ‘Not permanent, but chronic.” Culture as a label is nonsense if it means a few ware- houses of art treasures produced long ago which the aver- age man or woman of the country today appreciates jess than a colored wrapper on a cake of imported soap, (Centinued on Page 230) a eg’) Comme ; pee (ce oi a Ber,

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M THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES A Woman Started it ACK in the days when the men were brutish When their fiste were hard and their necks were rough, A girl who wae preily and trim and cutish Refused to submit to the caveman atuff. “TI hate these fel- lows who like to shock me," She said in a very determined way, “And I'll marry no bird who's inclined to sock me On my lovely fea- turea day after day.” At that Little Red Riding Hood popped out of the cabin and ran down the road as fast as she could with the wulf after her. When she had gone four or 5 miles she heard a long low moo and looking back she saw to her chagrin their were now 2 wulfs. She began running faster throwing out her legs behind and her arms swinging in rithum. After a superier gallop of about 7 furlongs she looked back again and saw their were now 3 wulfs. Deciding not to look back enny more she ran threw county after county. She wanted a man who would like to fold her Tenderly, fondly within his arma; She was vain and silly, her sisters told her, And thought too much of her girlish charms. “Your eyes,”’ they babbled, “ will lose their twinkle, Your mouth will cease to be like a rose; Your chin will sag and your cheeks will wrinkle As soon as your fleeting girlhood goes.” DAAWN BY ELLIGON HOOVER Put she found a man who was clean and slender ; He cat his nails and he trimmed his beard; He had learned some words that were fine and tender ; When she heard him speak them her heart was cheered. Often when they were alone together He kissed her blithely and gave her praise ; She sat in their cave in inelement weather, While he fared forth in the stormy ways. Her aistere watched her, and much it mattered ; After years had passed she was youthful still ; They had ail grown old, they were bruised and bat- tered, And they longed for beauty, as women will. She spoke concerning her man's affection, When they asked her how she had kept so fair ; They saw the effecta of the male's protection, And civilization began right there. ‘ —S. E. Kiser. By and by she saw a policeman with a ruddy com- pleckshun and flat An Intimate Outline of History. No. 4—-On the Midway at the Babylonian What Price Grandma? By Aisy Dashford, Aged 8 Years NCE upon a time there was a gurl called Red Riding Hood because she wore one to keep off the dust and flies. One day her papa who was a poor plummer this is a fairy tale said to her Here kid. Beat it over to your grand- mas with this bottul of gin and this bun. Is the bun necussery asked Red in a snappy tone. But in the mean time a wicked wulf had eaten the old lady for brekfast and was waiting too eat Red to. When the little gurl got to her grandmas door a gruff voice asked whos dar. Qwicker than a politishun could view with alarm 3 times Little Red Riding Hood answered in a very superior tone Befo de lawd massah dey aint nobuddy out heyah but us chickens. She used to read judge you see. Whos in their she asked. Im your red hot grandma your red hot grandma replied the wulf crossing his fingers. Oh grandma cried the little gurl when she was inside what large teeth you have. All the better to eat you with growled the wulf jumping out of bed. Mr. and Mre. Beans xe ee eT feet reading a County Fair newspaper. He was about 52 and had a big stummick. Good den to you orficer cried Red isnt it warm for Feb. Yes it is answered the cop in a trembly voice you are now entering the rapidly growing hamlot of Chicago, Cook County, IIl. God gasped Red not Chicago. I would rarther die. Its the wulfs then. Ha ha said the policeman so she kicked him hansomely in the stummick and he fell to the sidewalk with a long low plop. Here wulfs she said eat me. Weil said the wulfs your grandma was tuff and she sets kind of uneasy on our stummicks. Lets not eat now. Lets dance a hoe down. And they did. And Little Red Riding Hood married a drummer from Los Angulus and had 19 children and the malaria one of which grew up to be a author and broke her hart. So now my readers we will say farewell to the carakters in this story. Farewell. — Stuart Little. Drab Ballads x AST night, at the Sorghum Corners Opera House down here, MARION WEINZ, (LEIT, WEINz & BIER, TROM- BONE Dryaps & MusicaAL NYMPHS), sang with great (Continued on Page 94) ee OY HORDET \. FORTY “OR, Buster! Waar Can That Policeman be Wanting of Your Pather? He Simply Cannet Keep Out of Troubdie “) Wonder if He is Under Arrest. If Me is in Troubdte I Must Ge te Him" Inspector" “Congratulate Me, Vil Officer Casey Informs Me I am Elected Garbage “Oh, Beans! It's Even Worse Than I Feared"

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST This is just the time youll most enjoy Rich Gream Soups so easily prepared with Campbells! The majority of Campbell's Soups are made with meat. But many people prefer, either regularly or at special times, nourishing and elicious vegetable soups in which meat is not an ingredient. During Lent, on Paden throughout the year—in fact any time when a smooth, rich cream soup—strictly vegetable—appeals to the appetite, Campbell’s Tomato, Pea or Celery, prepared with milk, is hard to equal. Luscious, red-ripe tomatoes—just the pure juices and tender “fruity” parts. Small selected peas—the kind that have the most tempting flavor. Crisp, snow-white celery such as you would gladly around your table. Each of these—enriched with golden butter, delightfully seasoned, wonderfully satisfying. 21 kinds 12 cents a can Read on the labels how quickly and easily Cream Soups are prepared with these vegetable purees, by adding milk instead of water. AMDEN, N.J., USA ee Seek the Label Red-and-White, There you'll surely find delight — Soups that always are delicious — ELL SOU COMPANY aff Soups so healthful and nutritious! . MOEN, N.J., UcSAs Great Lenten favorites! LUNCHEON 8) | SUPPER Cambtli. Sours

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inf VA. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST NTED GOLD March 7,1925 By HUGH WILEY ILLUSTRATED ar HENRY J. SOULEN IM SIN ove rslept four minutes in Doetor Al- lan’s San Francisco house, and then in his con- equent haste he burned his tongue With his morning tea and suffered a nipped finger at the beak of an erratic old parrot that resented hurried attentions and an unvarying diet of crusts and cold coffee At seven o'clock the old Chinaman walked from his kitchen to the living room of the house, The living room was a field of action wherein on the previous night there had been staged the Battle of Mah Jongg. Jim Sin’s first survey of the night’s activity inspired a splutter of sul- phuric criticism, but while there cackling phrases were yet flaming in his throat he checked them -—‘“ The silent man is never strangled by his own tongue.” His mood needed action. “True enough,” he re- that violence is the destruction of children and fools and soldiers. I am not a soldier nor am I a child, I must therefore be a fool, be cause my next act will be violent.” Enough is enough, Deliberation marked the old Chinaman’s movements as he returned from the dis- ordered living room to hia kitchen. From the rack op- posite the sink he oo a dish towel, He turned on the cold weter faucet and for thirty seconds he held the towel in the running water. When all of its fabric was soaked he wrung the super- fluous water out of it with three impulsive twists, and then upon the resonant drain board of the sink he be- gan an attack with the seggy towel, He derived from his exercise an outlet for his sur- flected, * remembered that at his club a navy pal visiting San Fran- cisco had been busy for a week attempting to dispose of his Chinese cook, whom he had brought over from France. Forever in doubt whether to kill the mulish Jim Sin or to raise his wages, the doctor realized that here was an op- portunity of teaching the rebel a lesson. He knew that no restraining influence short of chains or forcible confinement could keep Jim Sin away from his mythical cousin, but there remained one high card which could be played with gratifying results. “You no get cook. I got number-one cook already come take your place.” Jim Sin looked at the doc- tor and batted his eyes. “You catchum?”’ “T catchum. You go see your cousin. Maybe you stay one year. All right. New cook good boy.” Jim Sin absorbed the shock without showing it. “You tellem boy hurry up come here. I show him what to do. I tell him how Mis’ Allan likee breakfast. Tell him how you likee egg.” Saving face, Doctor Allan temporized. “I bring cook home to- morrow. I think better you wait here one day more.” The master gloated over this display of his iron will, and Jim Sin interpreted the one-day delay as being a flat- tering request and a confes- sion of dependence. Both adult children, therefore, were enabled to leave the field of conflict with lances unbroken. Throughout the day Jim Sin worried more or less about the substitute cook. charge of petulant anger which the Mah Jongg epi- demic had inspired Bam! And again bam! And for the third and last time an enthusiastic, enjoyable bam! With this third violent act he let the towel remain on the drain board of the sink. “The superior man bows to the will of heaven. I am refreshed by the departure of the demons ef anger, and now, spiritually cleansed, I shall return to my labor.” He made his way back to the living room of the house and in twenty minutes the disordered tiles on the Mah Jongg tables were stored in their boxes. He folded the tables and put them away and soon thereafter the room was once more a credit to the house over which Doctor Allan's wife presided. He had worked with an energy which left him fatigued with nervousness, and presently, in spite of the early hour, he returned to his own room, where from a vermilion chest parked beneath his bed he lifted a small earthenware jug. He removed the stopper from the jug and with closed eyes he indulged himself in a mammoth drink of ita contained liquor. “True enough, a corkscrew can never pull a man out of trouble, but now and then it dulls his vision and blinds him to the tragedies which are forever played on this earthly stage.”’ He set the earthenware jug back into the vermilion chest and anapped the pendent lock which closed his treasure from whoever might invade his personal domain, He returned to his kitchen to begin the preparation of Doctor Allan's breakfast. At eight o’tlock he served the doctor's breakfast in the dining room of the house, interrupting his attentions to the doctor long enough to carry Mrs. Allan's breakfast tray upstairs to her. When he returned the doctor had finished his second cup of coffee. Jim Sin seized upon the moment Then in His Dreaming He Saw a Cascade of Gotden Coin Pour Forth at the Tiger's Feet as one favorable for accomplishing an ambition which had developed with his morning survey of the débris of rec- reation that he had discovered two hours earlier in the disordered living room. Facing the doctor across the table, standing with stooped shoulders and looking sidewise out of his eyes at a flaring headline spread across the doctor's morning paper, he began an elaborate recitation whose theme was the sudden illness of a mysterious cousin. “Him all time sick. Catchum letter. He talk my cousin mebbe die. He old man. No see him mebby fitty year. I go way now. Come back, mebbe ———”’ “Where does this cousin of yours live?” “Live Saclamento lilly boy. Change his house. Mebbe Modesto, mebbe Pal Alto, mebbe ¥ “How you know he sick, you no savvy where he live?”’ Doctor Allan’s endeavor to pin Jim Sin to the elusive truth found the inquisitor himself lapsing into his victim's pidgin English. Jim Sin lifted his eyes and accorded the doctor a glance wherein were mingled compassion and resentment. He made no verbal reply, but with a sudden dignity he pointed first to the doctor, then to himself, then to the heavens and then to earth. “Secret. Tonight I go see old man uncle Grant Avenue. I get you numbah-one boy. He cook for you while I go. All time lady too mu@ play Mah Jongg lose money. I likee go way sometime night. Mis’ Allan tell me stay here cookum dinner ten people. Pretty soon mebbe I die. I go way see my cousin. New boy clean up Mah Jongg room for Mis’ Allan. Mebbe when I come back Mah Jongg finish.” Seeing more clearly now, Doctor Allan was infused with a sudden resolve to become master of his own house. He At evening, after the duties of the day were past, enjoy- ing afreedom uncomplicated by Mah Jongg or house guests, he retired to his room, where he adorned himself for a journey to the Cavern of Wisdom in Chinatown, where, awaiting him, would be the other elect of the exclusive social tong to which he belonged. About his thin chest he buttoned a felt jacket as a pro- tective armor against the chill fogs of the San Francisco summer night. Over this, sagging in unexpected areas, he wore one of Doctor Allan’s discarded golf coats. He changed his black silk house slippers for a pair of number twelve street shoes, wherein his feet had room to live their own life, wild and free. On his head, for the final detail of his costume, he set an old black felt hat whose planes and curves had retained their original state throughout ten years of use. “A wick is no substitute for a walking stick. This eve- ning I shall abandon my perusal of the murder, suicide and robbery papers and with my own eyes look upon life, lis- tening with my own ears to the counsel of my wise com- panions at our meeting place.” Where the Jackson Street car swings to turn up Powell Street Jim Sin hopped off and shuffled directly toward the Cavern of Wisdom. At this moment his six companions, who were employed in various San Francisco residences, were waiting for him With them, scraping along in a leaning position against the baseboard of the dark room, first in one direction and then in the opposite, enjoying the contact of the rough wood against his sleek fur, walked the fat cat, Hoy Quah. In his prime Hoy Quah had been the rat-catching cham- pion of Chinatown, but long years of companionship with seven lazy masters who lavished upon their favorite deli- cacies in the form of chicken wings and bits of pork rind (Continued on Page 40) " —— ae na re ee EO a eS EE t ' — ae a maga"

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A new carton that measures your lard! —in a quicker, easier way ~ Measure your lard this easy “Silverleaf”’ way rd from the package, moving the la Thus you e . . below. ! Be ee shows in aoe diag ei hout the time and vleveling spoons. ure quantities packing cups Haven’t you often thought, as you packed your lard in a spoon or a measuring cup, what a bothersome, messy business it is? Wasteful, too, and inaccurate. This new “Silverleaf’’ way is so much quicker and easier. You just score the print as shown on the flap of the carton, and in a twinkling, cut the exact amount you need! It’s an old stand-by that comes to you in this new, convenient form. Swift’s ‘‘Silverleaf’’ has been a ee ‘‘Best to buy for bake or fry’’ famous these many years as a brand of lard that is guaranteed pure, uniformly fine, perfect for all shortening and frying. Order one of these pound “‘Silverleaf”’ cartons the next time you need lard—unless you prefer to buy in larger quantities such as the 2, 4 or 8-pound pails. In either case, the Swift name and the silver leaves on the label will always be an assurance that you are really getting ‘‘Silverleaf”’. Swift & Company ] Swift's “Silve rlea In one-pound cartons or pails of 2, 4 and 8 pounds f’ oy ta a Brand Pure Lard

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40 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 38) had rendered Hoy Quah too corpulent for success at the chase. At the doorway of the Cavern of Wisdom, under a single dim electric bulb, Jim Sin paused long enough to deliver upon the darkened panels of the door an interrupted series of alarms, which, according to the private ritual of the seven, announced to the waiting elect a companion mem- ber of the Cavern crew. The door opened before him, and a moment later, after salutations had been exchanged, he was seated at a teak- wood table sipping a libation of lukewarm tea, conscious of a sense of gratitude to whatever reigning gods of the night might have permitted him to arrive safely at this congenial haven. At another table were seated four of Jim Sin’s com- paniona, and these old men, faithful retainers in long- established households of San Francisco, were gambling at Meh Jongg with a set of yellow tiles whose discoloration bore witness to long years of use. The game excited in Jim Sin’s mind acute memories of lost hours which he had suffered through the vogue which had fascinated the evening guests at his master’s house. He compared the technic of the rapid play before him with the hesitation and clamor that marked the game as it was played by Doctor Allan's guests. The game ended. Twenty cents changed hands. The new game began. Jim Sin drank a fifth cup of tea and turned to the two cold men beside him. “Truly a royal game, spoiled as usual by the methods of America. | have suffered the loss of many hours of free- dom which could otherwise have been spent here with you, and I have had to watch my master’s wife and her guests make every known mistake playing this game until I was filled with sentiments unworthy of one who has tried to guide himself aiong the Pathway of the Perfect Way.” “It is such an ancient game in China,” one of the idle trio returned, “that the thing that surprises me is that it did not invade this country long years ago.” “Ladies played cards in those early days, or else played at jeve,” the third member interposed, “Even then the game was not popular with us. We preferred, as you remember, jan-tan and faro and poker and the other American games.” “Particularly poker.”’ This from Jim Sin’s fat compan- ion. “Through the long winters in the railroad camps when we were in the mountain snows poker was to us the great gift of the Gods of Chance.” the pledge to which we all subscribed. I think that the hour for their removal to their quiet graves in the country of our birth has come. We are old men now, and of the early mul- titude we alone remain.” At the speaker’s words other interests were forgotten and old memories revived. Each of the seven iived again the long-departed days of his youth on the railroad line which had fought its way through the rough country of the California Sierra. Presently one of the men at the Mah Jongg table spoke: “It is time that our old companions were transferred from this foreign ground to the peaceful domain outside of Canton.” Nodding heads indorsed the speaker’s words. “True enough,” one of the old men agreed. “Within another ten years probably none of us will remain to accomplish our obligation to our brothers.” “Who at this moment is free for this work?”’ Jim Sin spoke quickly. “T have two weeks or three weeks, if necessary, which I can devote to the discharge of our duty.” “Well enough. We shall share equally, the seven of us, in the expense attached to this project. It is a kindly one and in keeping with the Five Perfect Virtues. The reward may be only the realization of duty performed, but in that we shall all enjoy equal recompense.” Within the hour Jim Sin had refreshed his memory of the territory surrounding the scene of the early tragedy where an avalanche had destroyed half the members of a con- struction camp on the Central Pacific in 1865. A hundred Chinese laborers had been swept from the railroad grade to the cafion depths and buried under fifty feet of snow. In the spring when the snow melted, their bodies had been found. Their remains had been hurriedly covered up by a burial crew of white men who had worked under too much pressure to indulge themselves in whatever unworthy vandalism might have been prompted by the sight of the worthless jade bracelets and the devil-chasing silver chains which the victims of the catastrophe had worn. The impromptu graves had endured throughout the years untouched by the victims’ countrymen, for this would have been forbidden desecration; but now, after long years, the day for the transfer to their permanent sleeping place in China had arrived. At eleven o'clock that night Jim Sin bade his compan- ions farewell and left the Cavern of Wisdom. “T will begin my journey to the scene of our early days tomorrow. Putting quicksand in the hourglass does not March 7,1925 shorten the day, nor change the march of time, but I will be diligent with my work and I shall meet you here when I return.” He bowed with ceremony to each of his six companions, and with a final admonition against the evils of gluttony addressed, to Hoy Quah, the fat cat, he made his way directly to Doctor Allan’s house. Awaiting him in the kitchen he found the substitute cook, For a moment the pair eyed each other in silence, and then Jim Sin essayed a greeting in the Cantonese dialect. Back of the greeting was nothing of sincerity, but nevertheless, according to his code, he wished upon his visitor all of the happy things of life. The visitor explained that his name was Yut, replying in a dialect of the north which Jim Sin understood imper- fectly. Now that the first exchanges were delivered, there remained of the ceremonial to be enjoyed naught except the few hot cups of tea. Jim Sin brewed the tea, listening the while to Yut’s recital of a multitude of details con- cerning his life. “T was the bravest soldier in the general’s army,” Yut declared. ‘‘When the Great War came the Americans needed me. With me came hundreds of my fellows.” “What did you do in the war?” Jim Sin inquired. “I fought with guns and swords and knives, killing hundreds of the enemy.” Doctor Allan, entering the kitchen at that moment, confronted the pair. He turned to Jim Sin. “This boy Yut new boy. Good cook. He cook in war for Chinese boss in railroad gang. Let him sleep in house boy’s room next to yours while you go way. Bring me ham sand- wich or something and bottle of beer.”’ The doctor left abruptly, and Jim Sin, seated, turned to his countryman. Derision sounded in his voice. “Facing the enemy at the stew kettles instead of on the battlefield! Hai! Prepare thy master’s ham sandwich here, while I retrieve the beer for his honorable thirst. And another thing, brave one, beware of yonder evil parrot lest he snip thy heroic body in two with the twin swords of his beak. Another thought, hero! When you feed the canaries in Mis’ Allan’s room wear an armor heavy with starch for protection against their attacks should they mistake you for a grain of millet seed. That would be naught but an honest estimate of your insignificance.” Jim Sin left the kitchen and walked to the great ice chest which had been built into the walls of the pantry. He came back with two bottles of “ Ai, poker and the fumes of good black opium, which kept us out of the clutches of the Sierra snow.” “Not all of our people escaped the snow.” “True enough, You are thinking of the men who were working be- yond Dutch Flat—the men who were swept into Cafion Creek almost three score years ago. More than a hundred of our countrymen went to their death in an ava- lanche of snow and twisted trees,” At this the fat Chinaman, Moy Gow, got to his feet and with a single phrase he claimed the atten- tion of the Mah Jongg players. “I will inter- rupt you tw say that ' am re- minded of a duty yet to be per- formed by those of us who try to walk according to the Perfect Way. I speak of our brothers who sleep in their un- quiet reating place beer. ‘*Remember this, Yut, when the doctor says one bottle he means two bot- tles. This advice will save your legs needless trips. You will need them, here, for running purposes when thesparrows of the street at- tack you. Cutthe bread thin. The doctor demanded a ham sandwich, not a bread sand- wich,” “Thy insults glance from me even as summer hailstones from a tiger’s back,” Yut answered, ‘My heart is pure and its purity protects me from the filth of thy tongue. I am a brave soldier and a Christian, and I attend church on Sun- days and Wed- nesdays, while you ne doubt are indulging your evil desires for gambling and for drinking the nau- seating beverage which you and your kind call Chinese gin.” “Hand me the sandwich andstop in the high hiils. I am reminded of “In China I Was a Fighting Man," He Boasted. “White the American Armies Were in France I Served With Them"’ (Continued on Page 84)

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42 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 THE HOUSE WITHOUT A KEY xs ARLY Sunday morning John BK Quincy wus awakened by asharp knock on bis door. Rising sleep- ily and donning dressing gown and slippers, he opened it to admit his Aunt Minerva. She had a worried air. * Are you all right, John Quincy?” she inquired. “Surely. That is, I would be if I hadn’t been dragged out of bed a full hour before I intended to get up.” “I'm sorry, but I had to have a look at you.” She took a newspaper from under her arm and handed it to him. “What's ali this?” An eight-column head on the first page caught even John Quincy's sleepy eye. “Boston Man Has Strange Adventure on Water Front.’’ Smaller heads announced that Mr. John Quincy Winterslip had been rescued from an unwelcome trip to China, in the nick of time, by three midahipmen from the Oregon. Poor Pete Mayberry! He had been the real hero of the affair, but his own paper would not come out again until Monday evening, and rivals had beaten him to the story. John Quincy yawned. “All true, my dear," he said. “I was on the verge of leaving you wher the Navy saved me. Life, you perceive, has become a musical comedy.” “But why should anyone want to shanghai you?” cried Miss Minérva. “Ah, | hoped you'd ask me that. It happens that your nephew has a brain. His keen, analytical work as a detec- tive is getting someone's goat. He admitted as much in a letter he sent me the night he took a few shots at my head.” ‘Someone shot at you!”’ gasped Miss Minerva “I'll say ao! You rather fancy yourself az a sleuth, but is any- Lody taking aim at you from be- hind bushes? Answer me that!” Misa Minerva sat down weakly on a chair “You're going home on the next boat,”’ she announced, He laughed “ About two weeks ago I made that suggestion to you, And what was your reply? Ah, my dear, the tables are turned. I'm not going home on the next boat. I may never go home. This gay, carefree, sudden country begins to appeal to me. Let me read about myself.” He returned to the paper. “The clock was turned back thirty years on the Honolulu water front last night,” began the somewhat ‘!maginative ac- count. It closed with the news that the tramp steamer Mary 8. Allison had left port before the »olice could board her. Evidently she'd hed steam up and papers ready, and was only await- ing the return of the red-haired man and his victim. John Quincy handed the paper back to his aunt. “Too bad.” he remarked. “They slipped through Hal- let's fingers.” “Of course they did,” she snapped. “Everybody does. I'd like a talk with Captain Hallet. If I could only tell him what I think of him, I'd feel better.” “Save that paper,” John Quincy said. “I want to send it to mother.”” She stared at him. “Are you mad? Poor Grace, she'd have a nervous breakdown. I only hope she doesn’t hear of this until you're back in Boston safe and sound.” “Oh, yes, Boston,” laughed John Quincy. “Quaint old town, they tell me. I must visit there some day. Now if you'll leave me a minute, I'll prepare to join you at break- fast and reiate the story of my adventurous life.” “Very well,”’ agreed Miss Minerva, rising. She paused at tne doer, “A little witch hazel might help your face.” “The sears of honorable battle,” said her nephew. “Why remove them?” “Honorable fiddlesticks!" “ After all, the Back Bay has its good points.” hall outside she smiled a delighted little smile. When John Quincy and his aunt were leaving the dining room after breakfast, Kamaikui, stiff and dignified in a freahly laundered holoku, approached the boy. “So very happy to see you safe this morning,” she an- nounced. “Why, thank you, Kamaikui,” he answered. He won- dered. Was Kaohls responsible for his troubles, and if so, did this silent woman know of her grandson's activities? Miss Minerva answered. But in the By EARL DERR BIGGERS ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM LIEPSE Another Moment — What Then? John Quincy Wondered “Poor thing,’’ Miss Minerva said as they entered the living room. “She's been quite downcast since Dan went. I'm sorry for her. I’ve always liked her.” “Naturally,” smiled John Quincy. “There’s a bond between you.” “What's that?” “Two vanishing races—yours and hers. The Boston Brahman and the pure Hawaiian.” Later in the morning Carlota Egan telephoned him, greatly excited. She had just seen the Sunday paper. “All true,”” he admitted. “While you were dancing your heart out I was struggling to side-step a tour of the Orient.” “I shouldn't have had a happy moment if I’d known.” “Then I’m glad you didn’t. Big party, I suppose?”’ “Yes. You know, I’ve been terribly worried about you ever since that night on the avenue. I want to talk with you. Will you come and see me?” “Will I? I’m on my way already.” He hung up the receiver and hastened down the beach. Carlota was sitting on the white sand not far from the Reef and Palm, all in white herself; a serious, wide-eyed Carlota quite different from the gay girl who had been hurrying to a party the night before. John Quincy dropped down beside her, and for a time they talked of the dance and of his adventure. Suddenly she turned to him. “T have no right to ask it, I know; but I want you to do something for me.” “Tt will make me very happy—anything you ask.” “Go back to Boston.” “What? Not that! I was wrong—that wouldn’t make me happy.” “Yes, it would. You don’t think so now, perhaps. You're dazzled by the sun out here, but this isn’t your kind of place. We're not your kind of people. You think you like us, but you’d soon forget. Back among your own sort—the sort who are in- terested in the things that interest you. Please go.” “It would be retreating under fire,” he objected. “But you proved your courage last night. I’m afraid for you. Someone out here has a terrible grudge against you. I'd never forgive Hawaii if—if anything happened to you.” “That's sweet of you.” He moved closer. But confound it, there was Agatha! Bound to Agatha by all the ties of honor. He edged away again. “T’ll think about it,” he agreed. “T’m leaving Honolulu, too, you know,” she reminded him. “T know. You'll have a wonderful time in England." Sheshook her head. “Oh, I dread the whole idea. Dad’s heart is set on it and I shall go to please him. But I shan’t enjoy it. I’m not up to England.” “Nonsense!” “No, I’m not. I’m_ unsophisti- cated—crude, really—just a girl of the islands.” “But you wouldn’t care to stay here all your life?” “No, indeed. It’s a beautiful spot to loll about in. But I’ve too much northern blood to be satisfied with that. One of these days I want dad to sell and we'll go to the mainland. I could get some sort of work.” “ Any particular place on the mainland?” “Well, I haven’t been about much, of course. But all the time I was at school I kept thinking I'd rather live in San Francisco than in any other city in the world.” “Good!” John Quincy cried. “That’s my choice too. You remember that morning on the ferry, how you held out your hand to me and said, ‘Welcome to your city’’?’ “But you corrected me at once. You said you belonged in Boston.” “T see my error now.”” She shook her head. “A moment’s madness, but you'll recover. You're an Easterner and you could never be happy anywhere else.” “Oh, yes, I could,’”’ he assured her. ‘I’m a Winterslip, a wandering Winterslip. Any old place we hang our hats’ This time he did lean rather close. ‘I could be happy any- where,” he began. He wanted to add “With you.” But Agatha’s slim patrician hand was on his shoulder. “ Any- where,” he repeated, with a different inflection. A gong sounded from the Reef and Palm. Carlota rose. “That's lunch.” John Quincy stood too. “It’s beside the point—where you go,”’ she went on. “I asked you todo something for me.” “I know. If you'd asked anything else in the world I'd be up to my neck in it now. But what you suggest would take a bit of doing. To leave Hawaii—and say good-by to you ——” “T meant to be very firm about it,”” she broke in. “But I must have a little time to consider. Will you wait?” She smiled up at him. “You're so much wiser than I am,” she said. “ Yes, I'll wait.” He went slowly along the beach. Unsophisticated, yes— and charming. “ You're so much wiser than I am.” Where on the mainland could one encounter a girl nowadays who'd say that? He had quite forgotten that she smiled when she said it. In the afternoon John Quincy visited the police station. Hallet was in his room in rather a grouchy mood. Chan was out somewhere hunting the watch. No, they hadn’t found it yet. John Quincy was mildly reproving. “Well, you saw it, didn’t you?” growled Hallet. “Why in Sam Hill didn’t you grab it?” “Because they tied my hands,”’ John Quincy reminded him. “I’ve narrowed the search down for you to the taxi drivers of Honolulu.” “Hundreds of them, my boy.” “More than that, I’ve given you the first two numbers on the license plate of the car. If you’re any good at all you ought to be able to land that watch now.” “Oh, we'll land it,”’ Hallet said. ‘Give us time.” (Centinued on Page 44)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Continued from Page 42) Time was just what John Quincy had to give them. Monday came and went. Miss Minerva was bitterly sarcastic “Patience are a very lovely virtue,”” John Quincy told her. “I got that from Charlie.”’ “At any rate,”’ she snapped, “it are a virtue very much needed with Captain Hallet in charge.” In another direction, too, John Quincy was called upon to exercise patience. Agatha Parker was unaccountably silent regarding that short peremptory cable he had sent on his big night in town. Was she offended? The Parkers were notoriously not a family who accepted dictation, But in such a vital matter as this a girl should be willing to listen to reason Late Tuesday afternoon Chan telephoned from the station hcuse—unquestionably Chan this time. Would John Quincy do him the great honor to join him for an eariy dinner at the Alexander Young Hotel? “Something doing, Charlie?” cried the boy eagerly. ** Maybe it might be,”’ answered Chan, “‘and maybe also not. At six o'clock in hotel lobby, if you will so far con- descend,” “T'll be there,”’ John Quincy promised, and he was. He greeted Chan with anxious, inquiring eyes, but the Chinaman was suave and entirely noncommittal. He led John Quincy to the dining room and carefully selected a table by a front window. “Do me the great favor to recline,”’ he suggested. John Quincy reclined * Charlie, don't keep me in suspense, smiled “Let us not shade the feast with gloomy murder talk,” he replied. “This are social meeting. Is it that you are in the mood to dry up plate of soup?” "he pleaded. Chan “Why, yes, of course,’”” John Quincy answered. Polite- ness, he saw, dictated that he hide his curiosity. “Two of the soup,” ordered Chan of a white-jacketed walter. A car drew up to the door of the Alexander Young. Chan half rose, staring at it keenly. He dropped back to his seat. “Tt is my high delight to entertain you thus humbiy before you are restored to Boston. Converse at some length of Beston. I feel interested.” “Really?” emiled the boy. “Undubitably. Gentleman I meet once say Boston are like China. The future of both, he say, lies in graveyards where repose useless bodies of honored guests on high. I am fogged as to meaning.” “‘He meant both places live in the past,” John Quincy explained. ‘And he was right, in a way. Boston, like China, boasts a glorious history. But that isn’t saying the Boston of today isn’t progressive. Why, do you knew ——” He talked eloquently of his native city. Chan listened. “ Always,” he sighed, when John Quincy finished, “I have unlimited yearning for travel.’’ He paused to watch another car draw up before the hotel. “But it are unavailable. I am policeman on small remuneration. In my youth, rambling on evening hillside or by moonly ocean, I dream of more lofty position. Not so now. But that other American citizen, my eldest son, he are dreamingtoo. Maybe for him dreams eventuate. Perhaps he be- come second Baby Ruth, home-run em- peror, applause of thousands making him deaf. Who knows it?” The dinner passed, unshaded by gloomy talk, and they went outside. Chan prof- fered a cigar of which he spoke in the most belittling fashion. He suggested that they stand for a time before the hotel door. “Waiting for somebody?” inquired John Quincy, unable longer to dissemble. “Precisely the fact. Barely dare to mention it, however. Great disappoint- ment may drive up here any minute now.” An open car stopped before the hotel entrance. John Quincy’s eyes sought the license plate and he got an immediate thrill. The first two figures were 33. A party of tourists, a man and two women, alighted. The door man ran forward and busied himself with luggage. Chan strolled across the walk, and as the Japanese driver shifted his gears preparatory to driving away put a restraining hand on the car door. “One moment, please.” The Jap turned, fright in his eyes. “You are Okuda, from auto stand across way?” “Yes-s,"’ hissed the driver. “You are now returned from exploring island with party of tourists? You leave this spot early Sunday morning?” “Yes-s.” “Is it possible that you wear wrist watch, please?” “Yes-s.”’ “Deign to reveal face of same.” Carteta Egan March 7,1925 The Jap hesitated. Chan leaned far over into the car and thrust aside the man’s coat sleeve. He came back, a pleased light in his eyes, and held open the rear door. “Kindly embark into tonneau, Mr. Winterslip.”” Obedi- ently John Quincy got in. Chan took his place by the driver’s side. “‘The police station, if you will be so kind.” The car leaped forward. The essential clew! They had it at last! John Quincy’s heart beat fast there in the rear of the car where, only a few nights be- fore, he had been bound and gagged. Cap- tain Hallet’s grim face relaxed into happy lines when he met them at the door of his room. “You got him, eh? Good work!” He glanced at the prisoner’s wrist. “Rip that watch off him, Charlie.” Charlie obeyed. He examined the watch for a moment. “Inexpensive timepiece of noted brand,” he announced. “Numeral 2 faint and far away. One other fact emerge into light. This Jap here have small wrist. Yet worn place on strap convey impression of being worn by man with wrist of vastly larger cir- cumference.”” Hallet nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Some other man has owned this watch. He had a big wrist; but most men in Hon- olulu have, you know. Sit down, Okuda. You understand what it means to lie to me?” “T do not lie, sir.” “No, you bet your sweet life you don’t. First, tell me who engaged your car last Saturday night.” “Saturday night?” “That’s what I said!” “Ah, yes. Two sailors from ship. Engage for evening, paying large cash at once. I drive to shop on River Street, wait long time. Then off we go to dock with extra passen- ger in back.” “Know the names of those sailors?”’ “Could not say.” “What ship were they from?” “How can I know? Not told.” (Continued on Page 46)

John Quincy Dropped Down Beside Her. Suddenty She Turned to Him. “I Have No Right to Ask it, I Know; But I Want You to Do Something for Me" ne ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 44) I’m coming now to the important thing. that’s what I want! Where did “All right. Understand? The truth you get this watch?" “1 buy him,” said the Jap. “You bought him? Where?” “At jewel store of Chinese Lau Ho on Maunakea Street.” Hallet turned to Chan. “ Know the place, Charlie?" Chan nodded. “Yes, indeed.” “Open new?” “Open until hour of ten, maybe more.” “Good!” auid Hallet. “Come along, Okuda. You can drive us there.” Lau ‘Ho, a little wizened Chinaman, sat back of his work- bench with a microscope screwed into one dim old eye. The four men who entered his tiny store filled it to over- flowing, but he gave them barely a glance. “Come on, Ho, wake up,” Hallet cried. With the utmost deliberation the Chinaman descended from his stool and approached the counter. He regarded Hallet with a hostile eye. The captain laid the wrist watch on top of a show case in which reposed many trays of jade. “Ever see that before?” he inquired. Lau Ho regarded it casually. Slowly he raised his eyes. “Maybe so. Cannot say,” he replied in a high, squeaky voice, Hallet reddened. “Nonsense! You had it here in the store and you sold it to this Jap. Now. didn’t you?” Lau Ho dreamily re- garded the taxi driver. “Maybe so. Cannot say.” “Damn it!" cried Hallet. “You know who I am?” “ Policeman, maybe.” “Policeman maybe, yes! And I want you to tell me about this watch. Now wake up and come across or by the Lord Harry #9 Chan laid a deferential hand on his chief's arm. “Humbly suggest I attempt this,” he said. Hallet nodded. “All right; he’s your meat, Charlie.” Chan bowed with a great show of politeness. He launched into a long story in Chinese. Lau Ho looked at him with slight interest. Presently he squeaked a brief reply. Chan resumed his flow of talk. Occasionally he paused and Lau Ho spoke. In a few moments Chan turned, beaming. “Story are now completely extracted like aching tooth,” he said. “Wrist watch was brought to Lau Ho on Thurs- day, same week as murder. Offered him on sale by young man darkly colored, with small knife scar marring cheek. Lau Ho buy and repair watch, interior works being in injured state. Saturday morning he sell at seemly profit to Japa- nese, presumably this Okuda here, but Lau Ho will not swear. Saturday night dark young man appear much overwhelmed with excitement and demand watch again, please. Lau Ho say it is sold to Japanese. Which Japanese? Lau Ho is not aware of name, and cannot describe, all Japanese faces being uninteresting outlook for him. Dark young man curse and fly. Appear frequently demanding any news, but Lau Ho is unable to oblige. Such are story of this jewel merchant here.” They went out onto the street. Hallet scowled at the Jap. “All right, run along. I'll keep the watch.” “Very thankfui,” said the taxi driver, and leaped into his car. Hallet turned to Chan. “A dark young man with a scar?” he queried. “Clear enough to me,"’ Chan answered. “Same are the Spaniard José Cabrera, careless man about town with reputation not so savory. Mr. Winterslip, is it that you have forgotten him?"’ John Quincy started. “Me? Did I ever see him?” “Recall,” aaid Chan. “It are the night following the murdor. You and I linger in All-American Restaurant en- gaged in debate regarding hygiene of pie. Door open, ad- mitting Bowker, steward on President Tyler, joyously full of okclehau. With him are dark young man—this José Cabrera himself.” “Oh, I remember now," John Quincy answered. “Weil, the Spaniard’s easy to pick up,” aaid Hallet. “T'll have him inside an hour.” “One moment, please,"’ interposed Chan. “Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock the President Tyler return from Orient. No gambler myself, but will wager increditable sum Spaniard waits on pier for Mr. Bowker. If you pre- sent no fierce objection I have a yearning to arrest him at that very moment.” “Why, of course,” agreed Hallet. He looked keenly at Charlie Chan, “Charlie, you old rascal, you’ve got the scent at last.” “Who-—me?" grinned Chan. “ With your gracious per- mission I would alter the picture. Stone walls are crum- bling new like dust. Through many loopholes light stream in like rosy streaks of dawn.” “ 4x1 HE stone walls were crumbling and the light streaming through—but only for Chan. John Quincy was still groping in the dark, and his reflections were a little bitter as he veturned to the house at Waikiki. Chan and he had worked together; but now that they approached the crisis of their efforts, the detective evidently preferred to push on alone, leaving his fellow worker to follow if he could. Well, so be it; but John Quincy's pride was touched. He had suddenly a keen desire to show Chan that he could not be left behind like that. If only he could, by some inspirational flash of deductive reasoning, arrive at the solution of the mystery simultaneously with the de- tective—for the honor of Boston and the Winterslips! Frowning deeply, he considered all the old discarded clews again. The people who had been under suspicion and then dropped — Egan, the Compton woman, Brade, Kaohla, Leatherbee, Saladine, Cope. He even considered several the investigation had not touched. Presently he came to Bowker. What did Bowker’s reappearance mean? For the first time in two weeks he thought of the little man with the fierce pompadour and the gold-rimmed eye- glasses. Bowker, with his sorrowful talk of vanished bar- rooms and lost friends behind the bar. How was the steward on the President Tyler connected with the murder of Dan Winterslip? He had not done it himself, that was obvious; but in some way he was linked up with the crime. John Quincy spent a long and painful period seeking to join Bowker up with one or another of the suspects. It couldn’t be done. All through that Tuesday evening the boy puzzled, so silent and distrait that Miss Minerva finally gave him up and retired to her room with a book. He awoke on Wed- nesday morning with the problem no nearer solution. Barbara was due to arrive at ten o’clock from Kauai, and taking the small car, John Quincy went downtown to meet her. Pausing at the bank to cash a check, he encountered his old shipmate on the President Tyler, the sprightly Mrs. Maynard. “T really shouldn't speak to you,” she said. “You never come to see me.” “I know,” he answered. ‘But I’ve been so very busy.” “So IL hear. Running round with policemen and their victims. I have no doubt you'll go back to Boston and re- port we’re all criminals and cutthroats out here.” “Oh, hardly that.” “Yes, you will. You're getting a very biased view of Honolulu. Why not stoop to associate with a respectable person now and then?” “I'd enjoy it—if they're all like you.” “Like me? They're much more inteiligent and charming than I am. Some of them are dropping in at my house tonight for an informal little party. A bit of a chat and then a moonlight swim. Won't you come too?” “I want to, of course,”’ John Quincy replied. there’s Cousin Dan x Her eyes flashed. “T'll say it, even if he was your relative. Ten minutes of mourning for Cousin Dan is ample. I'll be looking for you.” John Quincy laughed. “T'll come.” “Do,” she answered. ‘“‘And bring your Aunt Minerva. Tell her I said she might as well be dead as hog-tied by con- vention.” John Quincy went out to the corner of Fort and King Streets, near which he had parked the car. As he was about to climb into it he paused. A familiar figure was jauntily crossing the street—the figure of Bowker, the steward, and with him was Willie Chan, demon backstop of the Pacific. “Hello, Bowker,” John Quincy called. came blithely to join him. “Well, well, well! My old friend, Mr. Winterslip. Shake hands with William Chan, the local Ty Cobb.” “Mr. Chan and I have met before,”’ John Quincy said. “Know all the celebrities, eh? That’s good. Well, we missed you on the President Tyler.” Bowker was evi- dently quite sober. “Just got in, I take it,”” John Quincy remarked. “A few minutes ago. How about joining us?’’ He came closer and lowered his voice. “This intelligent young man tells me he knows a taxi stand out near the beach where one may obtain a superior brand of fusel oil with a very pretty label on the bottle.” “Sorry,” John Quincy answered. ‘ My cousin's coming in shortly on an interisland boat and I’m elected to meet her.” “I’m sorry too,” said the graduate of Dublin Univer- sity. “If my strength holds out I’m aiming to stage quite a little party, and I'd like to have you in on it. Yes, a rather large affair—in memory of Tim and as a last long lingering farewell to the seven seas.” “What? You're pau?” “Pau it is. When I sail out of here tonight at nine on the old P. T. I’m through forever. You don’t happen to know a good country newspaper that can be bought for—well, say, ten grand?” “This is rather sudden, isn’t it?” John Quincy inquired. “This is sudden country out here, sir. Well, we must roll along. Sorry you can’t join us. If the going’s not too rough and I can find a nice smooth table top, I intend to turn down an empty glass—for poor old Tim. So long, sir, and happy days.” “But Mr. Bowker March 7,1925 He nodded to Willie Chan and they went on down the street. John Quincy stood staring after them, a puzzled expression on his face. Barbara seemed paler and thinner than ever; but she announced that her visit had been an enjoyable one, and on the ride to the beach seemed to be making a distinct effort to be gay and sprightly. When they reached the house John Quincy repeated to his aunt Mrs. Maynard’s invitation. “Better come along,” he urged. “Perhaps I will,’ she answered. “I'll see.” The day passed quietly, and it was not until evening that the monotony was broken. Leaving the dining room with his aunt and Barbara, John Quincy was handed a cablegram. He hastily opened it. It had been sent from Boston; evidently Agatha Parker, overwhelmed by the crude impossibility of the West, had fled home again, and John Quincy’s brief “San Francisco or nothing’”’ had fol- lowed her there. Hence the delay. The cablegram said simply, “‘Nothing. Agatha.” John Quincy crushed it in his hand; he tried to suffer a little, but it was no use. He was a mighty happy man. The end of a romance—no. There had never been any nonsense of that kind between them; just an affectionate regard too slight to stand the strain of parting. Agatha was younger than he; she would marry some nice proper boy who had no desire to roam. And John Quincy Winterslip would read of her wedding—in the San Francisco papers. He found Miss Minerva alone in the living room. “It’s none of my business,” she said, “‘ but I’m wondering what was in your cablegram.” “Nothing,” he answered truthfully. “All the same, you were very pleased to get it.”’ nodded. “Yes; I imagine nobody was ever so happy over nothing before.” “‘Good heavens!” she cried. “Have you given up gram- mar too?” “T’'m thinking of it. How about going down the beach with me?” She shook her head. “Someone is coming to look at the house—a leading law- yer, I believe he is. He’s thinking of buying, and I feel I should be here to show him about. Barbara appears so listless and disinterested. Tell Sally Maynard I may drop in later.” At a quarter to eight John Quincy took his bathing suit and wandered down Kalia Road. It was another of those nights; a bright moon was riding high; from a bungalow buried under purple alamander came the soft croon of Hawaiian music. Through the hedges of flaming hibiscus he caught again the exquisite odors of this exotic island. Mrs. Maynard's big house was a particularly unlovely type of New England architecture, but a hundred flowering vines did much to conceal that fact. John Quincy found his hostess enthroned in her great airy drawing-room, sur- rounded by a handsome, laughing group of the best people; pleasant people too. As she introduced him he began to wonder if he hadn’t been missing a great deal of congenial companionship. “T dragged him here against his will,” the old lady ex- plained. “I felt I owed it to Hawaii. He’s been associating with the riffraff long enough.” They insisted that he take an enormous chair, pressed cigarettes upon him, showered him with hospitable atten- tions. As he sat down and the chatter was resumed he reflected that here was as civilized a company as Boston itself could offer. And why not? Most of these families came originally from New England and had kept in their exile the old ideals of culture and caste. “Tt might interest Beacon Street to know,” Mrs. May- nard said, “‘that long before the days of ’49 the people of California were sending their children over here to be edu- cated in the missionary schools, and importing their wheat from here too.” “Go on, tell him the other one, Aunt Sally,” laughed a pretty girl in blue. “That, about the first printing press in San Francisco being brought over from Honolulu.” Mrs. Maynard shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, what’s the use? We're so far away, New England will never get us straight.” John Quincy looked up, to see Carlota Egan in the docr- way. A moment later Lieutenant Booth, of Richmond, appeared at her side. It occurred to the young man from Boston that the fleet was rather overdoing its stop at Honolulu. Mrs. Maynard rose to greet the girl. “‘Come'in, my dear. You know most of these people.” She turned to the others. ‘This is Miss Egan, a neighbor of mine on the beach.” It was amusing to note that most of these people knew Carlota too. John Quincy smiled—the British Admiralty and the soap business. It must have been rather an or- deal for the girl, but she saw it through with a sweet gra- ciousness that led John Quincy to reflect that she would be at home in England—if she went there. Carlota sat down on a sofa, and while Lieutenant Booth was busily arranging a cushion at her back, John Quincy dropped down beside her. The sofa was fortunately too small for three. (Continued on Page 106) He

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age ES as Chart of Recommendations ‘(Abbreviated Edition) HE correct grades of Gargoyle Mobiloil for engine lubrication of both passenger cars and motor trucks are specified in the Chart below.’ E means Gargoyle Mobiloil “E% How to Arc. means Gargoyle Mobiloil Arctic Readthe A means Gargoyle Mobiloil “A” Chart: B means Gargoyle Mobiloil “B” BB means Gargoyle Mobiloil “BB” Where different grades are recommended for summer and winter use, the winter recommenda- tion should be followed during the entite period when freezing temperatures are experienced. The Chart of Recommendations is compiled by the Vacuum Oil Company’s Board of Automo- tive E ai £, nd rep our pr advice on correct automobile lubrication. ee ———— a res ~~ NAMES OF AUTOMOBILES AND MOTOR TRUCKS 1} Anderson Apperson (6 cyl.) 8 cyl Auburn (Model 6-63) . All Other Models} Chevrolet (Models FB& T Chrysler, Cleveland Colle Col’ bia (Det. ) (Con’t Eng. “All Other Model y All Other Models} Duesenberg Durant Four Elear Flint 1h, 1 ton Ali Other Models} n't Eng All Other Models Gresham Bros Gray Gray Dort (Canada Haynes (6 cy 12 cyt LCs Hudson Super Six wibale All Other Models nal Ind )(Mod.6-31) ' Oakland Oldsmobile (4 cy! Model 30) All Other Modets| Overland Packard (Fight) Alt Other Models) Page Con't Eng.) Paterson Peerless (8 cyl.) Pierce A R. & V. Knight Reo © Rickenbacker Roamer (Mod. 4-75) All Other Models Rollin Rolls Royce Sayers & Scoville (S&S) Star Stearns Knight fh * All Other Models ker 4 cyl) 6 cyl Westcott (Mod. D-48) * (Mod. 60) All Other Models White | (Moda. 13 & 20) AlWOther Com’ Model Willys Knight inton Yellow Cab All Other Models} Mod 6-5 All Other Models 4 (Com'l) Ali Other Madets| A rrow (2 ton) \ * All Other Models} B = > >>>> >>> > >>> oe y 7 Arc ./Arc Arc |Arc A\A BIA Arc jAre Arc.'Arc Are Are Are Are A Are Arc Arc Are /Are ALA\A Are |Arc Are] A (Are Are jAre Are A \Are AlA >> > 5> > >> > > >>> >>5> >> >>> > > > S>>>>55>5> - > R > >e>>>ag>>c> >> >>> >. >>> = > - => = > Sm > >> >>> >e ER PANS eer RD REC >a 5 >>5 >> Are i | Are Arc JArc.\Are Arc Arc |Are A | ALA 4 Bi A Are |Acc JAre |Are Arc Arc ‘Arc Makes of Engines When U,ed in Passen; (Recommendations shown Buda = (Mods. RU, WL " All Other Models} Continental (Mod. BS) * (Mod. B2) (Mod. 12XD) (Mod. B7) All Other Models re Falls Hercules Hersehetl-Spill'n (Mods. 15, 41, 80 & 91 «Alt Other Models} Hinkley Lycomung (C Series) , All Other Models >>> >> e>> = “ Arc A Arc A Arc A Arc A An A A | Arc A Are Are. A A A A re Arc Arc Arc (Aye A\A BIA Arc.\Are. Bavce ger Cars and Motor Trucks eqgaretely for convenionce) THE SATURDAY EVENING POST What is your Margin of Safety? No GOOD BRIDGE is built without pro- viding an ample margin of safety. No skyscraper is erected without allowing a margin of safety. No good automobile is designed without making sure that there is a margin of safety in all those parts which must withstand severe strains. No lubricating oil should be used in your automobile engine which does not provide an ample margin of safety. Un- usual strains are sure to come—demands of cold weather which congeals inferior oil, the added heat of a hard pull in low gear through snow or mud, the added friction of a necessary spurt of speed. Even the most careful drivers run into these conditions. It is then that the difference between haphazard lubrication and Gargoyle Mobiloil, with its greater margin of safety, may mean the difference between a burned out bearing —or a protected bearing — the difference between a damaged engine or a protected engine — the difference between excessive carbon —or infrequent carbon : The QUART CAN GA The new sealed 1-quart can is ideal while on long trips or for emergency. Carry two or three under the seat. Fair retail price —the difference between dangerous fric- tional heat—or minimized frictional heat.. When you use the grade of Gargoyle Mobiloil specified for your car, you se- cure the fullest possible margin of safety in the operation of your automobile en- gine. For no other automobile oil has back of it such specialized manufacturing ex- perience and success. That is why practically every auto- mobile manufacturer endorses the Gar- goyle Mobiloil recommendation for your car in the Chart of Recommendations, That is why Gargoyle Mobiloil is asked for by name at least five times as often as any other oil, If you want the greatest margin of safety in the lubrication of your automo- bile engine, you want Gargoyle Mobiloil —the grade recommended for your car. If you keep your car at home, a ¢- gallon can or 15-gallon steel drum of the correct Gargoyle Mobiloil will provide perfect engine protection. FAIR RETAIL PRICE 30c a quart from bulk When the dealer sells a quart of Gargoyle Mobiloil for less than 30c, he does not make his fair, reasonable profit. Lower prices it geet — 4 toy Th — Me e * often accompany substitution of ns EF 9.09) igntly low-quality oil for genuine Gar- higher in Southwestern, Moun- oyle Mobiloil tain and Pacific Coast States. , 8 Didnes ane slightly higher in Make the chart your guide Canada, the Southwest and Far Domestic Branches: New York (Main Office) Buffalo Des Moines Kansas Cit Albany Chicago Detroit Milwaukee West. y, Mo. New Haven Philadelphia Rochester Oklahoma City Pittsburgh Springheld, Mass Boston Dallas Indianapolis Minneapolis Peoria Portland, Me St. Louis VACUUM OIL COMPANY

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Thousands of Mothers “"N?: you can’t have that. Wait until you 4 grow up.” What an unsatisfactory answer to a child’s request! And yet it is the answer so often given naturally--when the youngsters want a drink which you know they shouldn’t have. This is only one distressing phase of the chil dren's beverage problem. There are so many, many children who don't like the taste of milk, quite honestly, and it is at least difficult, if not impossible, to get them to drink the milk they need, And you are quite right in thinking the children should have a warm drink, too. ior a long time | was just as much at loss as you may be for a drink combining a// the ideal qualities for children. Postum was good for them, I knew, but they need milk, too; and all of the other warm drinks, it seemed, contained caffein or some other objectionable element. And then one day a little woman who called on me (you know | have about 25,000 visitors a year) toid me how much her children loved Instant Postum made with hot milk in stead of boiling water. We made some on the spot, I can tell you, because | was tremendously excited about it. If Instant Postum could be prepared this way, it, of course, was the ideal drink for children, Made in an Instant We heated the milk just to the boiling point, put a teaspoonful of Instant Postum in each cup, and filled the cups up with the hot milk. Just a little stirring with a spoon, and the powder was completely dissolved, Then we added a little sugar. tell me of their children’s mealtime drink i By Carrie Blanchard The drink was wonderful! Smooth and rich, with the real flavor—the flavor of roasted whole wheat and bran! Here I had been demonstrating Postum all over the country for years, telling hundreds of thousands of people the story of its wholesomeness, with- Postum delicious out discovering this easy way of adding to its nourishing qualities—of making it a complete and perfect food for children. It remained for a mother to do that. Honestly, I felt foolish! But I can’t tell you how glad | was. Here was a drink so economical that everyone could afford it, so easy to prepare that it would lighten the busy mother’s work, as well as set her mind at rest. It was a perfect drink to combat the menace of caffein, and give every child a warm, completely nourishing and * wholesome drink, and, as I have found out since, every child likes this drink immediately——even those who abhor milk. Itdelightfully satisfies that child- ish longing to have the same drink as the “grown-ups,” and it has all the qualities of perfect healthfulness which authorities so urgently recommend. So from that moment I began tell- ing mothers about it. Now I wish you could see the letters I get scores of them every day, overflow- © 1925, P.c > Prsium ia one of Bran Flakes. Yo drinks in the work > Post Health Products, which include also Grape-Nuta, Post Toasties (Double thick Corn Flakes), and Post’s rocer sells Postum in two forms, Instant Postum, made in the cup by adding boiling water, is one of the easiest > prepare. Postum Cereal is also easy to make, but should be boiled 20 minutes. ANY OTH MyURIOUS SEmENT this solves the problem ing with gratitude, from mothers whose chil- dren are growing up sturdy and full of life, always happy to get this wonderful drink! This really solves the problem of the chil- dren’s mealtime drink in every way. I mean that and I want you to know itas I do. There is only one way you can be completely convinced and that is to try it. So I ask you to get some at your grocer’s, or accept my offer—now! Carrie Blanchard’s Offer! I want you to make a thirty-day test of Postum. I want to send you, free, your first week’s supply and my directions for pre- paring it. For Postum made with milk you will want Instant Postum, the powder form which is made instantly in the cup. If you want Postum pre- pared in the usual way, with water, you can use either Instant Postum or Postum Cereal (the kind you boil). You will be glad to know that Postum made this way costs much less, per cup, than most other hot drinks. Incidentally, don’t you think it would be a good idea for you to try Postum, too? At any rate, for your children, let me send you the Instant Postum right away ! FREE—MAIL THIS COUPON NOW! 8.E.P. 3-25 Postum Cereat Co., Inc., Battle Creek, Mich. I want to make a thirty-day test of Postum. Please send me, without cost or obligation, the first week’s supply of CE Cheek which you »+-OD prefer Instant Postum Postum Cerear Name Street fe I a. estsadiicintcitbaiilis sae In Canada, address Cananian Postum Cerear Co., Ltd, Front St., East, Toronto, Ontario Post Health Products March 7,1925

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SO Ae ew ne eg THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 49 HOW I FOUND MYSELF The Publisher’s Story—Reported by Chester T. Crowell ILLUSTRATED Br WILLIAM KEMP STARRETT or more of the classics of UBLISHING books is Pir most adventurous business in the world, because about four out of every five issued do not make a profit, the publisher began. Nevertheless, the business is so rich in com- pensations other than finan- cial profit that it is in no danger of declining. I stumbled upon books in a most fortunate way. Ours was an old house, with a glorious old-fashioned gar- ret containing the relics of former generations. Most of the junk stored there has since been rediscovered and appraised as first editions; or, if furniture, antiques. The books that were pur- chased for me, between the ages of seven and twelve, all suffered from one fatal defect-——they were not long enough. You have doubtless observed that children read much more rapidly than grown persons. Once having learned to read with pleas- ure, it was necessary for me to find more books than the family budget could possi- bly provide. Therefore I would explore the attic. Under its dust were books of sufficient weight, size and number of pages to satisfy anyone. You may not know that people still select books somewhat as they buy meat; that is to say, by the pound or cubie inch. Very often critics complain that a writer could have told his story, or elucidated his ar- gument, in half the number of pages he used. We pub- lishers smile at such criti- cism, whether it is just or 1950 and gossiped about the author, just as the Globe Theater patrons probably commented that Bill Shaks- pere was acquiring fat and a bald spot, without realiz- ing that three centuries later solemn bronze representa- tions of his head would be found in high schools all over the world. Well, you must pardon these little excursions away from the plot of my narra- tive. Lentered college early, and with no very definite idea as to the purpose of my education. In those days more men went ta school in search of culture than asked equipment to earn a living. The whole idea of vocational training — out- side of the three professions of law, medicine and the ministry —is of fairly recent growth. A boy going to col- lege at that time did not necessarily feel that he had to have a definite purpose in mind, I had none. Genius Incognito HERE are, as you have observed, teachers who merely teach, and cthers who inspire. I encountered one of the latter type in the English course, and he reached the heights when dealing with Elizabethan literature, much of which relates'to the theater. | de- cided that I would be an actor—a greatactor. So tre- mendous was this enthusi- asm that I interpreted it as a call of genius and did not remain to graduate. A di- ploma, it seemed to me, would be of very little value not, because we know that the buyer, hesitating be- tween two books of the same price, will almost invariably choose the one that weighs the most. Even as alittle boy, excavating books from under the attic dust, I exercised the same critical faculty that others seem to employ when buying. The larger the book, the greater the find. I read all sorts of books, among them a pseudo-scientific work on the exact interpretation of signs and omens—very valuable to a person torn by doubt as to whether bad luck resulted from the appearance of a black cat behind or infront. Books That Never Die HIS garret was particularly rich in sermons, and I also found some excellent illustrations in color of the daily life in purgatory. These are very valuable now. No less a personage than William Shakspere resided in our garret, his occupation, at the time, being to support one corner of the four-poster bed that lacked a caster. I relieved him for a few weeks by substituting a work on surveying. Stored up there were many books by professional travelers; some very good and some very atrocious poetry; much lyrical literature about life at sea; and endless tributes to the gallant soldiers of the Revolutionary and the Civil Wars- offered as history, but written before the smell of powder had cleared away. One of the purposes unwittingly dis- closed by most of these writers was to prove which general won the war. The habit of reading was easily acquired, because other members of the family frequently spent the long evenings with their periodicals or books. In spite of the number of volumes available, however, I discovered most alluring titles on shelves that were out of my reach. In those days we had articles of furniture quite obviously designed to I Read All Sorte of Books accommodate a library of only ten or twelve books, and the top shelves would usually stand six to eight feet above the floor, with only the most uncertain and perilous toe holds intervening. There is a life of Napoleon Bonaparte that I shall never forget for the simple reason that the Corsican and I tumbled off the shelf together, landing upon our several heads, I was spanked, quite appropri- ately, with a large flat volume containing pictures of British ships of the line. Majestic, towering vessels they were; and, combined with the influence of pictures of clipper ships, they later contributed to a chapter of my life. I have dwelt at some length on my early adventures with books to point out that they were not thrust upon me. I was merely exposed to books and the reading habit. A new book was always a temptation—and still is. I am particularly glad that I found most of the classics in this way and read them without knowing that they were classics. People resent having books thrust upon them. Almost without realizing it, they bristle at the word “classic,”’ forgetting that these are simply books that refused to die—people continued to enjoy them through succeeding generations. A great many of the classics were extremely popular when new; but people, I think, are under the impression that classics resulted entirely from the labors of gloomy-minded men out of touch with their own generations. Within my own brief time I have seen several new writers appear in popular magazines, later in books, and finally become merchandise—to use a publisher’s term. I mean that they are already classics. They may not endure for- ever, but their works are now staples of the publishing business, whiie the writers are either still living or dead at untimely ages. Unquestionably most of us have read one in the lofty realms of art to which I now aspired. Having some well-grounded suspicions that genius would again suffer mayhem at the hands of an outraged family if my purpose were disclosed, I departed for New York secretly, and took only booking agents, theater managers and actors into my confidence. Though my funds were extremely limited, I suffered no hardships beyond the usual pain inflicted by callous persons who cannot recog- nize genius at a glance and therefore mistake it for a young man without experience looking for a job. How that word grated on my sensitive ears! A job! Why, gentlemen, I wanted no job! All I asked was an opportunity to spread my wings and lead the way to Elysian fields. !t was clear to me that virtually all human problems would easily be solved if the beauty and wisdom of the poets could be imparted to the multitude. Well, that isn’t so far from the truth even now, but at that time I was the instrument selected by destiny to perform the task of imparting. By the grace and charm of my reading, the poets’ lines were to become comprehensible to all. A noble ambition. I am not sorry to have cherished it, Unfortunately for me, the American drama of that period was not in its golden age. Perhaps if I had spent a little more time in the theater and less with my dreams, this fact would have penetrated, But I had never been a theatergoer. That habit did not run in the family. So, as I said, I spent my time seeking a place behind the footlights without having peered over them to any considerable extent. No classics that I recall were being presented that season. Quite a number of old homesteads were being saved from heartless mortgage holders. Beauitiful ladies were rescued from villains with mustaches. Cossacks were balked and pirates swooped. The Count of Monte Cristo still led his adventurous life. Plays in blank verse, I fear,

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50 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST were out of fashion. Anyway, the best I could do was to associate myself with a road company. My principal function was to enter a drawing-room during Act I and aay, “A letter, sir.” I was also under- study to ancther man who had two parts. In one he said, ‘Aye, aye, captain."” In the other he wore a uniform and fell down when shot. He had to fall just so, and took a great deal of pride in his technic. Under his direction I worked much harder on that fall than on learning the lines “ Aye, aye, captain.” He said he had mastered the art of falling when shot and could not endure seeing it bungled. This actor was understudy to other members of the com- pany. Thus in the event that villain or hero perished, and he also, I would have a chance at a major role. But if this good fortune came to me there would not be enough sur- vivors to make a company. All together the prospect ap- peared somewhat clouded with obstacles. And in the latter category | classed poor hotels and train schedules that were not devised to accommodate actors. A large part of the time I was sleepy. Despite all the hardships, however, we were a merry company and possessed remarkable resources for devising entertainment. We had our own jokes and managed to turn many a distressing situation into revelry. People who are face to face with real suffering usually do that, a much more notable example being the behavior of the soldiers during the World War if I had reaily poasessed the natural talent for writing which I later thought was mine I would have kept a note- book during that very interesting period. Or at any rate, I certainly would not have let so many delightful incidents escape my memory, leaving only a blurred recollection of youthful bucyance overcoming difficulties. At the close of this tour I realized that I had very little talent for the histrionie art. I was not reéngaged by the manager, nor was | sorry. I totally lacked the will to over- come the horde of obstacles between a beginner and the sort of succeas | had been dreaming about. Moreover, I had not even seen the country over which I had traveled. Actors don't. The urge to write was beginning to make itself felt, but net very strongly. I wanted to write a play, but [ had not the remotest idea of its setting, theme or plot. in short, it had merely occurred to me that writing plays would be a better form of association with the theater than acting; but along with the idea came a certain measure of confidence that I could write a play. Other men have not escaped this idea, but |t was my misfortune to take it seri- ously, In addition to plays I thought I would also write other things. Just what they would be I didn’t know. As nearly as I can now pass judgment upon those dreams they seemed to spring from a love of books. Any man who is very fond of books may cherish the hope that he will some day make one. In most instances, however, the man who writes a book is spurred on by the determination to say something. The book is merely a means to his end. i didn’t know that at the time. I thought men wrote in order to make a book. Indeed, I thought every sane per- son adored books A Search for Local Color AVING no preasing business in New York on my return, I spent several days strolling along the waterfront. It was pleasant to be home again New York becomes home to an actor—and I needed rest. During this pleasant time a wonderful idea émerged from the realm of the unconscious into my conscious mind—I've been reading a little psychol- ogy lately. This remarkable invention—and proof of originality —was nothing less than the thought that a ship would make an excellent setting for a drama. I would have the whole ship on the stage, sails and all, and the third act would present a battle extending from the deck clear up into the complicated rigging and down into the hold. It was a wonderful idea, springing full-fledged from that hook with which | was spanked the day Napoleon and I met our joint Waterloo by falling off the bookcase. The principal difficulty confronting realization of this dream was that I didn’t know just how sailors talked. I would have to meet a few of them in order to write the dialogue. It was necessary to have a fairly complete knowledge of their vocabularies, because | intended to write my play in biank verse, All great plays, I thought, were written in verse. One could write a fair sort of play in ordinary prose, but not a classic I now look back to that period of my life with great amusement, because the plain truth of the matter is that I wanted to take a sea voyage. If I had possessed the nec- essary cash I would have gone abroad, traveling first class without debating the matter more than five minutes. I love the sea. When I travel it is for the pleasure of the trip and not to reach a destination. So far as scenery and countries are concerned, I vastly prefer my own. If Nature permitted, | should like nothing better than to spend a considerable portion of my time sailing back and forth between New York and the Grand Cafion. But at that particular time there was no other way to sea travel open to me than working on a boat, so I invented elaborate rea- sons to sustify my course. The most amusing phase of it is that I had just proved to myself that I didn’t relish the physical diseomfurts of even second or third rate hotels; but off I went again into the identical difficulties—or worse—that had so recently forced me to abandon hope of a career on the stage. I managed after considerable effort to become an unim- portant part of the crew of a steamer sailing from New York to Galveston. This romantic adventure may be sum- marized in the brief statement that I peeled potatoes just as steadily and uneventfully as the ship plowed through the Gulf Stream. The men I met were taciturn, and, so far as I could discover, rather lacking in both wit and imagina- tion. By the time I arrived in Galveston my verdict was that this ship simply couldn’t be dramatized. Realism of the dull, drab type, with an overtone of the futility of life, was stil! confined to Russia in those days. I needed some- thing entirely different for my purposes. Nobody had said what ho or odds blood; they merely grunted. The Boer War was then in progress and American mules were being shipped to the British Army in South Africa. This glad news made my blood tingle. Here, said I, is exactly what I am looking for—a war and the sea and a ship in the sea, riding gallantly toward an embattled army. Could anything be finer for a dramatist? Nothing, said I. Coastwise travel had proved a net loss to the drama, but foreign travel would provide plays, novels, adventure and life at concert pitch. In the words of Monte Cristo, I said, “The world is mine,” and shipped with a motley crew in a recently reconditioned old tub. Off we went, accompanied by as stubborn and quarrelsome a collection of animals as ever I care to encounter. Bookselling in New Orleans SERVED as nurse, companion, waiter and general flunky to those brutes until the only pleasure life held for me was seeing the carcass of one dropped overboard after it had ended its miserable existence. The boat was smelly and the quarters cramped, dark and ill ventilated. A consid- erable part of the men on board were landsmen like myself. During the latter part of the journey I found comfort in making plans to get through the British lines and join the Boers. Several of the men on board had shipped with pre- cisely that purpose in mind and two of them eventually carried it into effect. However, they wanted to shoot Brit- ishers; my idea was to shoot those pesky mules. When our cargo was delivered I had an opportunity to see a military camp and to make some observations as to the conditions under which soldiers in the field lived. These observations were made, of course, at points where hard- ships barely existed—from the military point of view. I realized for the first time that I was simply not cut out for that sort of life. Without a feeling of physical well- being I couldn't work at all. I had brought some books along on the ship, but I didn’t read them, which is an un- failing sign, with me, that my condition is not normal. The return voyage was decidedly more pleasant and I read daily; I also made elaborate notes for future use in writing. All these notes related to books. There I was, surrounded by new scenes, strange people and with fresh impressions of foreign lands, but making notes for essays on literature. I might just as well have remained in New York so far as progress toward writing was concerned. My notes related largely to deductions about the influence cer- tain writers had exerted upon their successors, as evidenced by their works. This is a favorite topic with critics, but not extremely interesting to the public. Personally, I find great pleasure in ferreting out an author's literary lineage and reaching a conclusion that he stems from this or that predecessor. By the time I arrived in the United States—the ship landed at New Orleans—my plans and purposes had under- gone a complete change. The drama was put aside for the realities of life. I felt oppressed by the thought that I had been wasting my time and associating with people who meant less than nothing to me, for we had no common interests. New England ancestry was at work; also I’m afraid that I was just a trifle snobbish. However, I had saved my money, which was more than some of the others had done. A great desire to settle down and be very re- spectable took possession of me. This was the manner in which I expressed disgust for the dirt and stench of the boat on which I had been so wretchedly cooped. I now desired to be the founder of a business, and to have a home and neighbors with whom I could discuss literature. With these purposes in mind, I began exploring New Orleans. On the subject of that charming city, gentlemen, I should like to spend the remainder of the evening. It becomes dearer to me as the years pass. Our cities, as you know, are becoming standardized; they even take great pride in being duplicates of one another. Instead of deploring our growing traffic congestion, one city boasts that it is just as congested as any other. New Orleans, however, is still unspoiled. It is one of the very few remaining American cities that one can truly say is unlike any other upon the earth. And it is beautiful. Moreover, the visitor does not have to whip up his imagination in order to invest its his- toric buildings with interest. They are not lost among March 7,1925 skyscrapers. They arrest your attention no matter where you find them, and regardless of your lack of historical knowledge. I was charmed.with New Orleans, as I still am, and decided to make it my home. The next question, then, was to find some sort of business or employment. I pre- ferred a business. Wandering over the city and reveling in its delights—by the way, it is still without equal in the culinary art—I noticed several bookstores. Immediately I had another novel and brilliant idea. I would open a bookstore. I knew books and liked them; therefore I considered myself probably the best-qualified man on earth to be proprietor of a bookstore. This harmless bit of egotism found great encouragement when I entered a bookstore and asked for a copy of Washington Irving’s Sketchbook. A young lady clerk directed me to the stationery counter with a graceful wave of her thumb and continued giving her major atten- tion to her chewing gum. By that innocent gesture she started me on the road to ruin. If she could sell books, I thought I should make a fortune. I picked out the most unlikely location for a bookstore that New Orieans had to offer and plunged into a business about which I knew precisely nothing at all. The nucleus of my stock was obtained by purchasing every item of a list of books I had made while at sea; they were books I had determined to read as soon as I could turn those mules over to her majesty’s army in South Africa. Having se- lected these books, which I was sure I wanted, I permitted the dealers to advise me as to others. By this time I think I have given you sufficient clews to my literary taste to suggest that there was no best seller on my list. The shop drew just enough trade to interrupt my own reading in the most absorbing chapters. There was a school near by, so I sold quite a few pencils and tablets. A neighboring photographer favored me with large purchases of library paste. I might have built up quite a trade in ledgers and cash books which other tradesmen in the neigh- borhood required, but my stock did not include anything so utilitarian. Several sets of books were offered to me by owners in distress at such low prices that I felt like a criminal when buying them. The net result of this venture was that I bought more books than I sold and managed eventually to go into voluntary, informal and honorable bankruptcy while still in possession of enough cash to get back to New York. I haven’t the remotest idea now why I thought it would be pleasanter to starve in New York than New Orleans, but I did. I was afraid, and I wanted to be nearer home. An Amateur Shadow N THE ship coming up there was ample time for serious contemplation of my outlook. It was obvious that I had not yet found a place in life for which I was fitted by nature and talent. If I had known any trade I would have fol- lowed it gladly. The writing urge returned, this time dis- guised as a sail for my wrecked craft. I decided that I was not a seller of books, but a writer of books. The recent error and failure were diagnosed as a mistake in tactics. I had launched into the wrong end of the business. There- fore the thing to do was begin writing. In order to re- arrange my forces, I thought it would be well to find a position where I could acquire practice in writing at the expense of someone better supplied with money than my- self. That meant newspaper work. Nothing seemed more simple and logical. With my wide knowledge of books, I felt sure that the profession of journalism would welcome me with open arms. In New York I went on very short rations; also the weather was cold and I had no overcoat. Like hundreds of other unqualified men who have butted their heads against newspaper offices, I adopted the shortest possible course to failure by offering to do book reviews and literary essays. As soon as I had made this horrible admission of ignorance, no one wanted me. One day when I was almost blue with cold and weak from scanty meals, a kind-hearted assistant to a Sunday editor advised me to quit wasting my time and apply for a position as reporter. Out of charity, he coached me in evasion on the subject of my lack of experience and said he thought he could get me a position that would not require much experience. His guess proved correct. There was a sensational criminal case on trial at the time—there usually is in New York—and a man was wanted to shadow one of the attorneys. It was not detective work; I was in- strueted to follow this lawyer everywhere and report by telephone anything in the nature of a conference or events that might indicate news. Men from other papers went with me. Regular reporters would look after the news if any developed. We were paid by the hour and referred to as leg men. The lawyer knew who we were and why we followed him, and accepted us with cordial good nature. We bade him good night at the door of his room every evening and he promised faithfully to go directly to bed. I shall never forget that man; he always kept his word. This absurd occupation did not allow me a great deal of time in the office; consequently I learned far less about newspaper work than I had hoped, but I was a tireless (Continued on Page 69)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST In that deep, dark closet—wse your flashlight! Don’r grope in dark closets. Use your flashlight! To rummage in dark or dim-lighted places, use your flashlight! You can plunge a lighted Eveready into the most inflammable materials with perfect safety. Bright light, right where you want it. Safe light, wherever you need it. Keep an Eveready where you can get your hands on it instantly for those countless uses after dark. Improved models meet every need for light—indoors and out. There is a type for every purpose and purse. New features. New designs. New reasons for owning this safe, handy light. The type illustrated is No. 2634, the Eveready 2-cell Broad-beam Flashlight. Handsome nickel finish. Safety-lock switch, proof against accidental lighting. Octagonal, non-rolling lens-ring. Sold, complete with battery and bulb, everywhere. , ’ ’ Eveready Unit Cells fit and improve all makes of flashlights. They insure brighter light and longer battery life. Keep an extra set on hand. Especially designed Eveready-Mazda bulbs, the bright eyes of the flashlights, likewise last longer. When replacing either battery or bulb, read on the side of your flashlight what numbers to buy. Reload your flashlights and keep them on the job with fresh, strong Eveready Unit Cells. And if you haven’t a flashlight, see the nearest Eveready dealer at once. Buy the improved Eveready Flashlights from electrical, hardware and marine supply dealers, sporting goods and general stores, garages and auto accessory shops. Manufactured and guaranteed by NaTIonAL Carson Co.; Inc., New York—San Francisco Canadian National Carbon Co., Limited, Toronto, Ontario EVEREADY "ATIONAL CARBON COM" d ta FLASH LIGHTS &’ BATTERIES —they last longer i

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 Where you see this sign — drive in now Try this service and see for yourself how it cuts the cost of running your car OU can easily tell what gas and oil and tires will cost you per mile. But all of these combined are not one half of the actua/ cost of running your car. Repairs and rapid depreciation are your chief expenses. And how much they cost depends on you. For 80% of all repairs on moving parts are due to one preventable cause—faulty or neglected lubrication, Fleet owners have proved that you can actually cut your operat- ing costs le to 1%c per mile if you'll do one thing. Lubri- cate the 20 to 60 vital exposed chassis parts of your car, every 500 miles—as regularly as you oil your engine. Below the Body Line These bearings are the source of most grief. For old- fashioned oil and grease cups invited neglect. Often failed to lubricate even when used. Now, however, most cars come equipped with a new type of lubrication. The Alemite High Pressure system. (Now on nearly 7,000,000 cats.) Instead of the old A New Service Your Alemite System is easy to use. But today you don’t even have to do this yourself. Alemite Expert Lubricating Service extends from coast to coast. If Alemite is on your car start using this service now. Drive in where you see the sign. Let the man go over every one of your 20 to 60 vital chassis bearings while you watch. The Giant Service Compressor flushes the old winter grease out with 2500-lbs. pressure. This is just as important as changing crank case oil. It’s like a tonic for your car. Do it the first warm day of the season. And every 500 miles thereafter. If Alemite is not on your car it will pay you to install it at once. The cost is low: $5 to $20 (Ford Zerk type $6.50; Chevrolet, $3.99; Overland, $5.67; Canadian prices higher.) Have You Read This? Let us send you a free copy of “‘ Vital Spots to Watch.”” A book of practical pointers on how to cut the cost of running your ee On Machinery Ti bothersome oil and grease cups a high pressure 00— gun shoots fresh lubricant entirely through bear- ings. The high pressure forces out ail old, gritty grease at the same time. It cleans as it lubri- cates—quickly, easily. car. It’s yours for the asking. Just 6% send us a post card. . THE BASSICK MFG. CO. & 268 N. Crawford Ave., Chicago, Ill. Canadian Factory: Alemite Products Co. of Canada, Lid., Belleville, Ont. Alemite high pres sure lubrication is fast replacing grease and oil cups Makes any lubricant work better. Makes any bearing more efficient. A Bassick-Alemite Product ALEMITE High Pressure Lubrication

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 53 ie Wein ee atiekl Station. It is an orange-yellow train, the kind of thing that scatters sunshine where it goes. You know, Browning wrote about it—Pollyanna Passes. Peo- ple from Newark to Trenton stop shaving, not under the impression the train is coming in through the window, but because it is so pretty to look at. Riding in it, you feel how kind it is to go flashing by in this manner, brightening the corner where you are. It is lettered with a poem in two words, Chesapeake and Ohio, and a neat monogram of F. F. V., which is pertinent to boned turkey, biscuits as is, batter bread, oysters Fredericksburg and other essentials in the viandology of the nation. There are in the Old Dominion, and southward, people still expert in the art of boning turkey. For this and other delights of the table many perforce have taken to their own kitchens, since for most of the miracle-working mammies and sagacious butlers sweet chariot has swung low and their grandchildren have gone North to have charge of the drama, to usher in the great day of our theater.. A dark day to be sure, real dark, but not gloomy. Among Virginians who have revived tradition at its dying gasp are Triple Carter and his spherical uncle, old Doc Culpepper. They live about two hours beyond Gordonsville, which place is notable in the map of viands for a species of broilers fried whole in batter and of a qual- ity to arrest the attention of the entire train for thirty minutes. Even colored cooks lean fatly from the dining car, grinning pearls and jingling cash for a morsel, in tribute to which they, being no less than surrounded, circum- scribed and closeted with tempting edibles, have never- theless starved all the way from Manhattan. ET us get aboard a beautiful train at the Pennsylvania iy Later, toiling indeed through mountainsand the night, the train concedes a slowing down for our benefit at a station it would other- wise disdain to notice. The brake- man insists upon our jumping, if jump we must, from the rear ves- tibule, which will leave nothing te go over us when we mingle with the landscape. We ride behind a skittish mare in a high-hung buggy, not because Triple is without an auto, but because the swollen waters of the Upper Fork have swept away a bridge and we have to ford the stream. Strange it is that a general swelling and sweeping of Nature always precedes our arrival in a moun- tainous region, exactly as they always fix up the coldest spell in sixteen years when we go to Florida. We have yet to bring on a landslide or a blizzard. Through deep water we put our feet on the dashboard and our suitcase on our head. Virginia Comfort RIPLE regrets the one inch lacking to his height that would make him as tall as George Washington, to whom, through a certain Bushrod, he is related, although he traces three separate courses of descent right along the valley from his dooryard to the James River and the Car- ters of the Grove and Shirley, so that I call him Triple to sum up the whole matter once and for all and relieve him of the necessity of dragging the family tree, roots and all, into the sitting room every time the subject gets around to trees and orchards, which frequently happens, since the Albemarle pippin is the basis of his fortune. His other business is queer. He arranges personally conducted tours to Europe for—Texas steers. Hundreds of deluded crea- tures arrive yearly upon his acres, happy to meet their future guide and mentor, complacent to take on ‘esh and enjoy the clover of his pastures until, every arrangement for a pleasant vovage effected, he accompanies them as far as Norfolk, where to their utter dismay he suddenly re- members an errand back home, leaves them cold and they ILLUSTRATED NK By William Reade Hersey EET THE COO BRINKERHOPFPF Court Took Recess Instantly, Came Running With tes Mouth Open, There Was a Stampede as the Ladies Opened the Door of Their Temporary Waiderf discover that their tickets do not read the way they thought they did and that they are booked second cabin, Or-—wait a minute, it’s the steers that make the steerage, isn’t it? It is. Don’t argue. Goon, Triple’s knees in the buggy practically join the horse in a forward urge; by moonlight his face is hatchety and gaunt. He illustrates, anyway, that tendency of the Amer- ican to take on the Indian physiognomy, His spherical uncle, Doc Culpepper, however, who has to enter a door with a quarter turn to clear the walls, and who has been practicing medicine, eating and philosophy through three counties these thirty years, has the blue-eyed air of the fat boy grown up which makes the fat people all over the world a genial nationality of their own. It is he who bones the turkey; it is Triple who cooks it; also the latter who does the oysters and other delicacies under discussion. Life for them, whatever romances legion and cherished there have been, has settled to riding around all day, punching cattle, feeling pulses, orcharding, dosing calo- mel, and settling down to lamplit evenings in a big room in the high basement of Triple’s roomy mansion. The mansion is a house in that foursquare style that came after the Greek revival, without the portico beloved of the novelists; but with high steps to a front door just like a city entrance, and four rooms over a high, thick-walled basement dining room. Very queer to live in the middle of pastur@s and gardens, and breakfast in a basement that might be in New York or London, But many houses like it were erected in Vir- ginia, and they are fifty times as comfortable as the truly Colonial. Flag steps and paths and the bricked purlieus of outer kitchen close the window view on one side, In the middle of that intimate area is a spring house with a pepper-pot roof, a low door, and stone steps down to a channeled floor through which runs a diverted brook, cool- ing crocks of milk and cream. Butter in chunks and cream in buckets twenty paces from the gurgling brook to the table! I can see old Quintus Horatius sit down by that spring- house door under the dappled shade of grape and trumpet vine and cry with joy. When Soracte’s peak is white with snow, or the Peaks of Otter, this fortressed room is a snug berth. Four|morris chairs for comfort, others of claw and ball, with old cupboards and tables, somewhat jam the floor space, Furniture goes bouncing out of the way wher Doe Culpepper’s in a hurry. It was still more crowded as long as Triple kept an af- frighting contrivance called a rest-easy hair grower, a thing to all appearance for electrocution, being an arm- chair with a headrest bracketed under a terrible meta! bow! that claps down on your head and is rigged with pipes and cranks and gears. Reposing in this, cranking for dear life, the machine moaning, wheezing, sucking for

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M4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST the better part. of an evening, Triple would pretend to be unaware of anything unusual, Now and then he would turn from a book held in his other hand to sey, “Hope this doesn’t disturb you.” Not more than a coffee mili, a banshee, a dying cow and a westerly gale off the Ridge,”’ Doc would reply. Finally he put an end to the business by telling Triple the method was based on a too sanguine theory —that of pull- ing out ail the hair he had to make room for what he hoped to acquire. The machine was bundled off to the woodpile. That presumably ended romance, for about a hundred photographs on the walls of a chill upper bedroom around that time went into obscurity and Triple had long spells of retiring up there, reading and destroying letters. it is armazing what an abettor of all human desires to comfort is the big fire which in this basement room draws into ite threat the excess of tobacco smoke, doubly serving to ventilate and cheer an evening. It has burned down to embers that fret and gossip to themselves by the time we arrive. The deetor and two dogs, a pointer and Llewellyn, are taking naps, each of them in his own morris chair, the dogs being the more honest, as they do not try to keep their spectacles on or hold the Louisa Gazette open at county jottings. It is late, Roosters crow and tom turkeys gargle the midnight wateh ae we enter. But there is a supper which has been warming its toes at the oven door, way out yonder in a building called the real kitchen and connected to this room by & roofed passage where a lantern casts yellow shafts through grotesque shadows. Triple considers his crimped oysters—the usual escallop interpreted in a manner which must please the oysters so intuitively treated—as his property. I consider them mine. He has ths trick, because Liza Mallory, his mother’s cook, practiced it. I paid for the esoteric facts by arduous re- search, There was a church in the county which didn’t want a steeple any more than I want a plug hat, but the people who owned it did. To this end they—that is, the ladies—-set up a lunch room at the courthouse every first Monday of the month, when the circuit-riding gavel, with the judge behind it, held session, and the place reeked with horse traders, lawyers and onlookers, who, getting their fill of bergaina and oratory, would appreciate a feast of the best that the best cooks of the region could offer. The Secret of Crimped Oysters PPHESE crimped oysters were always sold out in ten min- utes from the time that a hunchback darky rang a dinner bell up and down the street. Court took recess instantly, came running with its mouth open; there was a stampede as the ladies opened the door of their temporary’ Waldorf. The fund grew so fast and the steeple was like to be so high that the whole thing was called off in the interests of public safety. But i met a terrible rebuff, one of the few in my career. They would not divulge the source of information regard- ing those pans of curled up, crimped up, sort of gummy, very crackiy oysters in crumbs, with candied sea water. They no more resembled the bread poultice with oysters in it, to which you and I are accustomed, than skim milk resembles the ocean. The study of Colonial charters, mere pettifogging in the literature of our liberties, was of no moment, how- ever, compared to unearthing what foods it was that made us great; and I “Used to Peke Inte the Kitchen and Water That Boy Every Time I Went te Richmond” After a Bowit eof Turtie, He Dectared That to Hang Such a Cook Was But to Add a Greater Crime tothe First Offense diligently poked into kitchens and collected cookbooks and—down through the Wilderness and in Fredericksburg I saw their preparation. Triple does it au grand seigneur. There is Sally Hipps, in the first place—a regal negress, in outstanding skirt, and starched, shaping her like the great bell of the Kremlin — who does a slow dance with a broum through all the rooms, pinks the hearth with red clay and water, makes beds and churns cream. He summons her to the preliminaries. She toasts light bread in thin slices, puts the oysters over to draw, and strains them, saving every drop of the liquor. Beyond this, she, who esteems herself a laundress, not a cook, does not venture. She leaves the big-beamed kitchen to gather umber shadows and stalks home, and two hours before supper Triple comes to the helm. He whangs a great fry pan on the stove, heaves a chunk of butter into it, and when it sizzles, lays toast thereon and spoons oyster liquor over it with discretion—not so fast but what the slices hold their shape and send up an odor as of seaweed on hot stones. Then comes his mother’s escallop pan into play. It is shallow, oblong; it stands in a corner close to a mouse hole perpetually watched by a yellow cat begirt with kittens. He butters and lays the bars of toast crosswise of the pan and an inch apart. A bowl of fine crumbs stands ready to his hand, and a bow! of cream; also the remaining oyster liquor. He dips each oyster in the cream, then in the crumbs and leans it gently against the toast. In the angle of this pretty pattern he puts thin slices of butter, wide as the knife. It goes not into the oven but on the hot- test part of the stove, and as it protests and sputters he spoons oyster liquor over it until bubbles, brown and sticky, begin to enmass the whole surface with something suggest- ing candy about to scorch. Cream now covers the whole thing, with a last dust of crumbs, and the final heat is the high temperature just under the oven roof. In a hotel kitchen, he would finish it under a gas broiler, Cooked, it is left to settle down and keep warm and do its shrinking, oysters and toast equally concentrating each to itself the zest of the Chesapeake. By midnight they have become the essence of remembered voy- ages and exploits by sea and strand. Not so the common es- callop, which betrays old bread, gets soggy and slumps. No home or res- taurant, however, be it in the East Fifties or Mayfair, should attempt anything to accompany this dish but what Triple and all his forbears have served with it—bat- ter bread—and on its own plate. Here one comes upon thin ice. Spoon bread, batter March 7,1925 wa (hh, Bate slent bread, whichever you call it, is almost a matter of interstate war between Virginia and her sister states. Some put hom- iny—grits—into it, cooked or raw; others do not. But the whole thing comes down tothis: When you spoon the bread to your plate, is it like an omelet with meal in it, a thing which holds the shape of the big spoon just barely enough so that you break it apart to butter it, or is it thin and splashy? In the latter case, it is not what it ought to be. For it must have a soothing degree of body and be able to go by fork and not by spoon on its last journey. Fourteen recipes—gathered between Hagerstown and Savannah—sum themselves up into just about the formula that Triple insists is the only one. He pours cold water he doesn’t measure it, but it should be a quart—on three heaping tablespoonfuls of meal and boils it to what the witch in the play called thick and slab. He puts in a table- spoonful of butter, a cupful of milk, a dash of salt, three beaten eggs, and bakes it in an iron pan in a terrific oven. Doc Culpepper Bones the Turkey 4s SUMMARIZING this for a chef and his indexed li- brary, one had to be very exact. The meal measured ex- actly one-half a cupful. Of course, it is the oily meal of the old water mills. Sometimes in its primitive elegance you think it has the miller’s whiskers in it, but it’s only corn silk. Strange it is to think that heaven lies so close to some people’s lives even here and now that they ride horseback with corn bags slung across the saddle to where an overshot wheel toils under live oak and tulip tree, and a miller, silenced, as millers always have been, by the earnest roar and meas- ured splash of their so laborious home, shielding eyes with hand, stands in his cavernous door. There were no live oaks at the mill on Crooked Run. I am dwelling on the scene as it is set in the farther South, where men even more geologically blessed than Triple dwell between the sea and the quartzite break from Roanoke to the Savan- nah, where bottom lands, bordering canebrake and cypress swamp give to the meal its utmost richness. Sun streaks through the bricked yard, over boxwood and evonymus hedge, through whitewashed palings of the chicken run into the raftered kitchen whose hickory chairs and time-polished firkins, old crocks and iron skillets it transfigures. One wishes the ancient fireplace, big enough for cooks to walk in under the lintel and poke around the margins of its bonfire, were not bricked up to take the kitchen stove. But for the sake of the boned turkey, which is now in its initial stage, and in respect to these days that are slaveless, almost cookless, one can forgive the stove. Doc Culpepper is operating. The huge turkey, plucked and dressed and delivered over to him by Sally Hipps with a certain finality, as though she had done her best and was glad to transfer the incorrigible thing to the secular arm, is prone upon its breast on the wide oak table. We look at that table with its stretchers and its cannon-ball feet and wonder what millionaire dining room it would grace if only some people knew where it was. Doc begins with something that is a stroke of genius. He nails the turkey’s wing tips to the table. In view of the struggles we always have to hold the recalcitrant heretic, (Continued on Page 70)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The New Coach %1215 Four-wheel brakes, Fisher Body with one-piece V. V. wind- shield, Duco finish, balloon tires, disc wheels, full automatic spark control, unit instrument panel, driving controls om steer- ing wheel, automatic windshield cleaner, nent visor, rear-view mirror, transmission lock, dome light, extra-wide doors with invisible door checks, and luxurious upholstery, Oakland will never be content merely to keep abreast of the times. It strives through unremitting betterment always to keep’ the Oakland Six in advance—worthy of winning and holding the good will of all who buy it. Roadster $1095; Touring $1095; Special Roadster $1195; Special Touring $1195; Coach $1215; Landau Coupe $1295; Coupe for Four $1495; Sedan $1545; Landau Sedan $1645. At Factory. Oakland Motor Car Company, Pontiac, Michigan ee |. 0 2 2 oe oe ae ee ee Oe ate ae ae pei

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56 GRILLED CUPID AJOR MOR GAN felt out of sorts. He was about to lose his mother. Not that ahe wae iii—for an old lady of seventy-odd, she was, in fact, sin- guiarly hearty—-but she was going te Port Jervie to spend a week His whole horizon darkened, he had cut himself in shaving; and he swore at the cat as she clawed playfully at the news- paper from which he was tearing a piece upon which to wipe his razor. No safety razors for the major, and — Port Jervis was twenty miles from here if it was a rod, While it lasted, the separation promised to be as complete as that between the earth and Mars. When he sat down _ at the table, shaved and physically eom- fortable at last, the ends of his mustache droeped without apirit, and the flesh of his handsome cheeks Fung in sag- ging folds from which the puckering strings of hope had been re- moved, There was suusage for break- fast— beef sausage, the homemade kind, which is packed ina stocking leg and yields, when fried in slices, a delectable sort of gravy un- known to average mortals. [t was prob- ably the only sau- sage of ite species which had succeeded in pro- iecting itself outside of a New England farm- house and into the twentieth century. There were also homemade bread, homemade butter, coffee which looked like amber and midnight mixed, and tasted like—well, like coffee. And there were griddle cakes with maple sirup. But these only deepened his gloom. “You'll be quite comfortable,” said Mrs. Morgan briskly, scraping the iast spoonful of batter out of its crock and dumping it upon the griddle. There was a musical hiss, such a sound as might ensue if righteousness arid peace were indeed to kiss each other, and a rising cloud of aromatic smoke. For an instant the major forgot his woes, and even the old lady had to pause and breathe before she went en. “Perfectly comfortable while I'm gone. The Blauvelts are to have black Diana in to help, and they say she’s an excellent cook. Don't forget to warm your socks before you put them on. And look for me Saturday morning.” The major tore his eyes from a stick of firewood reposing in the eookstove’s open oven—the very stick upon which the socks now incasing his feet had been found toasting when he first got out of bed half an hour before. His sniff of contentment became one of contempt. “Diana'll be like all Southern darkies. They can cook corn bread and boil sweet potatoes. That’s their limit.” “She's better than Cora Blauvelt,” said Mrs. Morgan. Major Morgan groaned. He had never eaten a meal pre- pared by Cora Blauvelt. He had never been hanged, for that matter, yet felt himself able to imagine the experience. Cora was young—not much more than thirty-five, matri- monially unattached, pretty, with a dark suggestion of strength underlying a languishing and flattering manner. A final cup of coffee, poured scalding hot from a tin coffeepot on the back of the stove, dispelled this vision and sornewhat restored his tone. He felt strong enough to kick 4 lah bnen 4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “I Suppose You are Giad Your Mother is Coming Back Today," Said Cora off his carpet slippers and to put on his shoes—substantial and commodious affairs which his mother brought from their warm retreat beneath the hearth. It was a difficult operation, stooping to lace them up. But he felt better for it, and for the thought that a less virtuous man might have let his mother do it. In a wrinkled white nightshirt stuck into a pair of old blue pants, the major still presented a somewhat inhar- monious picture. But when he had retired behind a cur- tain and put on a starched upper garment and a pair of blue pants that were properly pressed, the harmony grew. With the brushing of his graying but abundant hair, the adjustment of a collar and a sober red tie, and the donning of a coat and vest of a color patriotically on a par with the pants, the harmony stood forth, completed —rather amply completed. He was a veteran of the Spanish War, but since then his lines had obviously been cast in pleasant places. No wife had ever dimmed or custom staled his infinite fe- licity. Nevertheless, his mother had to go. The Port Jervis folks were the source of that homemade butter and farm- killed beef which had helped to give a touch of heaven to breakfast. It would have been madness to neglect them. The Blauvelts lived in the other half of the roomy Mor- gan house, so taking one’s meals there did not involve the torture of an extensive moving. Yet it was a wrench to ring at their front door instead of descending to the warm and familiar basement where he was accustomed to pass the more sedentary portions of his existence. March 7, 1925 By Harvey Wickham ILLUSTRATED BY RAEBURN VAN BUREN He had spent the forenoon in the law office of one of his cronies, where he had a desk —there, and atacertain cigar store. At both places he had discoursed wisely and well of politics, history and the trend of modern thought. Time was when the major had been induced to try his un- questioned powers of language upon the road. He had actually gone forth as a salesman representing a famous firm of saf> makers, with a small sample safe provided with a convenient handle, gripped in his fist. No wonder, then, that he eschewed the local hotel in his present emergency. Didn’t he know what hotels were like? Yes, and early trains and the stony hearts of men. Upon war he could look back with complacency. One supreme sacrifice for an ideal —the capacity for that lies deep-hid in the soul of every son of Adam. If it can be made when one is young and asthe staff officer of a general who knows that the best way to confuse the enemy is by pul!- ing strings behind the lines, so much the better. Florida, in fact, was the only Spanish colony which the major had actu- ally invaded. And though the cook there had been a Southern darky whose culinary ac- complishments were indeed limited chiefly tosweet potatoes and corn bread, the mem- ory was rather pleas- ant. But the safe- selling episode had made him realize what life without mother’s griddle- cakes would mean. And now he was to go through that famine again. At the Blauvelt door he paused. It was only lunchtime—the worst would not be yet. But it was neces- sary to banish all thoughts of the basement so near at hand, and to summon up the capacity of looking pleased when the door should open. The major would no more have permitted himself to be impolite than he would have permitted himself to strike his mother with the stick of firewood which lay in the oven, ready at all times to toast either socks or feet as the occasion required. Cora appeared, and received him with just the right mixture of delight and panic. “Oh, Major Morgan, I’m so glad to see you!” That was all she said, but ske said it in the tones of a schoolgirl whirled by chance into momentary intimacy with the president of the board of education. She was wearing a blue-and-white-check gingham apron — the kind with an extra flap which pins up over the bosom — and her hair was caught low and with seeming carelessness in the nape of her neck. The arrangement made her look harmless, and did much to put the major instantly at his ease. Evidently Cora didn’t intend to bore him with society talk. The only thing to be dreaded now was lunch, and that did not especially matter. He was never very hungry in the middle of the day. A log fire blazed in an open fireplace in the Blauvelt dining room; and before it, awaiting his ease-loving figure, was an authentic exemplar of that particularly easy type of easy-chair inadequately termed the Boston rocker. The major stared. An open fire was the one luxury dear to him which his mother persistently denied. Such things were too dirty, she said. As to the Boston rocker—and here came the shock—it was his own. Certainly there couldn’t be two chairs in the world, both cushioned with that one pattern of faded chintz. (Continued on Page 59)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 56) “T had black Diana steal it for you,”’ said Cora. itd Ah ess His smile as he settled himself in the familiar embrace of the upholstered wooden arms became spontaneous. This was something like. If they would only leave him alone new till the meal was ready. But of course the whole fam- ily would soon come trooping in. There would have to be handshakes, greetings of all sorts carefully graded to the proper amount of respect due to the elder Mrs. Blauvelt, who was feeble; to young Miss Minnie, who was spry; and to old Blauvelt himself. He did not like old Blauvelt— considered him a loafer who hung too much about the house and sponged on his womenfolk. Besides, he never voted the Republican ticket. Conversation with Blauvelt under Blauvelt’s own roof promised to be difficult. “Father and Minnie are away today,” said Cora, with the air of one apologizing for bad news. “Delighted, I’m sure,” said the major. But he was less comfortable already. In the first place, that wasn’t a happy remark, though he had only meant that she and her mother would be ample company. Then Cora seemed to have something on her mind. Her eyes kept wandering toward the kitchen door, which had already opened and shut once or twice, moved by invisible means and admitting what were certainly reassuring whiffs, But whiffs are unreliable, and now there were sounds as of alter- cation. Cora excused herself, and returned a few minutes later with a very red face. “Black Diana!” she panted. “‘You know what colored servants are. And since prohibition ——”’ “Drunk?” “T’m afraid so.” “It’s outrageous!” The major had not touched more than three cocktails that morning, and felt soberly indignant. “‘She refused to get luncheon,” Cora continued. “I had to prepare it myself. And now she refuses to serve it.” The major got to his feet. “I’m very sorry—can’t forgive myself for having put you to all this inconvenience. But, of course, I'll go to a restaurant. I wouldn’t think of further ——” He Sad Always Thought of Biauveit as Hard-Shetled, Hopetess, “If you do!” Cora Blauvelt dropped to a chair and clasped her hands in her lap, as if that were the only way she could keep them from flying to her face and hiding it. “If you do, mother and I will never hold up our heads again. Of course it will be very disagreeable for you—a wretched meal with nobody to wait on thetable. But———” “T wasn’t thinking of that,” the major cut in. “‘Nothing could be pleasanter than ~——” “Then you'll stay. But no! It is asking too much.” Naturally, he would stay. Since she put it that way there was nothing else to do. So, suppressing a groan, he walked to the table and stood behind his chair till Mrs. Blauvelt, much flustered, hobbled in, half supported by her cane. The two sat down. Cora disappeared, breathing blessings upon his goodness of heart. From the kitchen rose a final burst of colored language, terminating in a fall of crockery. The back door slammed. Black Diana was gone. “*She is new to this neighborhood,” remarked Mrs. Blau- velt, with an air of having heard nothing. ‘And when we suggested that something more than her usual simple cook- ery might not be amiss, she was quite indignant.” “T know,” said the major. He stopped. Cora had slipped in, deposited a plate of soup in front of him, another in front of her mother, and slipped away again. He had not expected soup. After what he had just been listening to he had hardly expected much of anything. And there was about this offering an odor, an aroma, a bouquet He lifted a cautious spoonful to his mouth, Potato soup. Onions and potatoes had been sweated together in butter, then boiled to a pulp and passed through a sieve. Milk had been added, with salt, plenty of pepper and a sprinkling of semolina. This made a rich granular mixture, upon which floated an argosy of bread dice fried to a golden brown. He knew how dishes were made, and cculd retrace the delectable process step by step. “Evidently,” he ruminated, “‘black Diana didn’t go on strike till the soup was well under way—and she must be a wonder.” “Cora didn’t have very good luck today,” he heard his hostess let fall. ‘“ Diana had just put in her sweet potatoes 38 to bake. She always boils them a little first, and they were in the oven. Cora forgot all about them till she was making the soup.” “Till who was making the soup?” “Why, Cora. That’s the reason it isn’t so smooth as usual, She was all cut up about the potatoes, which were burned to a crisp.” The major murmured the proper words of sympathy. His question, he felt, had been a little abrupt. But his dominant feeling was relief. Thanks to a certain degree of innocence which he had managed to preserve in apite of years and some experience, he was able to concentrate upon the thought of Cora’s unexpected talent. He feit safe, as if a plank had been thrown him in troubled waters. And after the soup came trout. It was crisp, well done, neither dry and wooden as to outside nor soggy as te mid- dle. Reverently he took a tail between his thumb and finger and lifted it, backbone and all, clean and smooth from its nonadhering environment. “Where did you get ’em?” he demanded, almost hu- manly rude, as Cora came in with a second plateful and seated herself to nibble at one of the more tiny specimens. “T’m afraid that’s a secret,”’ she smiled, ‘At least you mustn’t tell, for my brother—the married one, you know ~- caught them in Smith’s brook this morning. It was a god- send—they’re so easy to cook.” “T shouldn't think that would make any difference.” “How you talk! I’ve had so little experience. But I must eat just one of them in honor of the occasion.” “It’s a close season, or something,”’ supplemented Mrs. Blauvelt. “Smith's brook has been stocked. There is no open season there for the next two years,” chuckled the major. “Oh!” gasped Cora. “Do you mind?” He didn’t. Being a perfectiy normal citizen, there were few things which he enjoyed more than minor infringe- ments of the law. But he was beginning to be troubled about the rest of the lunch. Nothing could properly follow trout save coffee—and that in excellent quality and riotous abundance was already before him. To proceed now in courses, after the French manner, would be a comedown, (Continued on Page 80) Really, it Was Cruet to Spring Such Surprises on One

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60 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 WRITE AND WRONG of the Jim Crow car with the hope of detecting a friendly gleam in the eves of Mr. Sante. MASHBY stared across the aisle Lawyer Evans Chew. Mashby was strangely alore in the midst of reveiry and mirth. At Birming- ham a dozen beam- ing colored men had boarded the accom- modation for Mont- gomery. They swept breezily into the car and appropriated it to their own enjoy- ment. They were gentlemen upon a holiday, temporarily bereft of care and trouble and family ties; they were the members of the Su- preme Degree Team of Birmingham Lodge No. 17, The Sons & Daughters of I Wili Arise, and they trekked Montgom- eryward to install a new lodge in that ex- tensive order. Chief among the merrymakers was lsaae Gethers, Grand Magnificent High Potentate; but the mantle of actual au- thority bedecked the broad and somewhat fleshy shoulders of Lawyer Evans Chew— Most Rega! and Exalted High Counselor. Lawyer Chew gave ear to the feative jocularity of his fellow travelers and permitted an in- dulgent amile to crease his iips. But Chew himself was possessed of too vast a dignity to do more than signify his aloof and impersonal ap- proval., And so he aat in solitary state on one side of the aisle while little Semore Mashby—thin and hungry-looking and garbed in shiny clothes which had long since seen their best days—huddled opposite and hoped against hope that his eager glance might cause the sug- gestion of a friendly nod to agitate the Chew cranium. Semore was not an unimportant member of the degree team and—ostensibly—was making the pilgrimage to Montgomery for the sole purpose of assisting a new lodge to take its place within the sacred confines of the order. The brethren who held this belief, however, were sadly in error, Not for the sake of fellow lodge members did Se- more desert his musty little money-lending office on Eighteenth Street; business beckoned him to Montgom- ery, a rare opportunity to make ten dollars grow where but one flourished before; and the installation of the new lodge had presented to him an opportunity for free trans- portation. Ever since their departure from the dingy station in Birmingham, Semore had been attempting to summon the nerve to join Lawyer Chew. Twice he actually had risen with that object in view, and each time lost his nerve and swayed uncertainly down the aisle to the water cooler. Now, however, he was becoming desperate; and despera- tion begot an idea. From an inner pocket he took a sheet of salmon-pink paper, liberally sprinkled with black type. Then he drew himself to a full five-two of height, crossed the car and boldly plumped himself alongside the ponderous and gog- gied dean of Birmingham's colored legal brotherhood. An expression of frank distaste settled upon the Chevian countenance. He moved as though to rise, but Semore placed a gently restraining hand upon his arm. “Just a minute, Brother Chew. I craves to make talk with you,” By Octavus Roy TLLEUVU STRATE DO ar J. “All Right, Old Burn+:Pantst You Wait!" Chew favored him with a frosty look. “I assuah you, Mistuh Mashby, that yo’ craving is not mutual.” “Aw! now listen—they ain’t no need of us fussin’ at each other all the time, is there?”’ “H’m! I don’t know as I see any objection to said fuss- ing hereinbefore mentioned. Frankly, Mistuh Mashby, the happiest I am in yo’ sassiety is when you happen to be somewhere else.”’ “IT just wanted to 'scuss some business.” He unfolded the sheet of salmon pink. “‘By the way, has you sawn this yet, Lawyer Chew?” The vivid color attracted the eye of the attorney. The big black type riveted his attention. He read: Do You WanT To WIN $250 Cash Money? WRITE A SCENARIO No Brains RequireED—Tuis MBANs You! MIDNIGHT PICTURES CORPORATION, INC. Birmingham's Own Colored Picture Producing Company offers a cash prize of $250 for the best two-reel comedy synopsis fur- nished by a boney fide resident of this city by May first. Just outline your story. Grammer don’t count. We want ideas and we pays for same. $250 in solid gold money will be publicly paid to the winner. Come one—come all. No entrance fee required. The judges will be: Ortrice R. Latimer—President of Midnight. J. Casar CLump—Our Able Picture Director. SemorE Masusy-~-Birmingham Financial Wizzid. Semore bent forward eagerly as Chew perused the docu- ment to its bitter conclusion. The little man placed a skinny forefinger upon the words “financial wizzid” and his thin voice tremoloed with pride. “That,” he proclaimed, ‘‘is I!” Cohen GOoOvuetoD &. Chew was both impressed and surprised. “What you know ’bout scenarios, Semore?”’ “Huh! I guess I know a lot of things.” “‘T guess you guess youdo. But just the same, it don’t make sense that they should se- lec’ you fo’ a judge. I s’pose just ’cause youisastockholder in their comp’ny ——”’ “TI ’splained to’em I was anxious to do "em good. You see, Brother Chew’’— and Mashby grew terribly earnest, for this was the matter of business which had caused him to desire conversation with the lawyer—‘‘ you see, I feels right sentimental "bout this heah Midnight Pitcher Company, it bein’ made up of Bumminham cullud folks. an’ ev’ything, an’ I has been tellin’ Brother Latimer that needs any time he any he’p ——’ “«___. to call on you, huh? Well, so long as I is regalarly constituted an’ prop- erly vested attorney at law fo’ The Mid- night Pictures Cor- poration, Ine., which same I is in law an’ in fact, I ain’t gwine give them no adwice to call on you fo’ he’p.” ‘*But, Brother Chew, you does me injustice. Affection fo’ that company is the one thing I ain’t got nothin’ else but.” “Pff! Words what you utters.” “They is honest- to-gosh true. Just to prove it—lemme tell you I has found out what a hole they is in right now an’ I is willin’ to assist em out.” “What hole who is in?” “ Midnight Pitchers Corporation, Inc.” “Who says they is in a hole?” ay do.”’ “How come?” “Well, as legal counsel fo’ that comp’ny you sholy ought to know that their lease on that ol’ warehouse which they is usin’ fo’ a studjo ain’t got on’y four mo’ months to run. Ain’t that so?” Chew nodded, but said nothing. His eyes narrowed slightly and his ears tilted the least bit. The brain which had made Lawyer Evans Chew a foremost power in Bir- mingham’s colored civic life was functioning at its top speed. Of course he knew about the dire and immediate prob- lem by which Midnight was confronted. “T don’t know much ’bout their leases, Semore.”’ “Maybe not. Anyway, at the end of four mo’ months they has got to git out of that warehouse or else pay a ter- rible big rent which the ol’ barn ain’t wuth. Also, if they remains where they is at they is gwine haf to sign a five- yeah lease; an’ that, Brother Chew, woul’n’t be nothin’ short of plumb foolishment.”’ “Why you think that?” “T don’t think it, I knows it. I reckon I ain’t a financial wizzid fo’ nothin’.” “You said it, brother!” “‘ An’ I guess I know a thing or two "bout how successful Midnight is gittin’ to be. Pretty near a hund’ed an’ fifty fust-run pitcher houses all over the country showin’ Mid- night comedies, an’ they a’ready signed up fo’ twenty-six (Continued on Page 62)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BUILD A bs sae, Perhaps a “24”, a “30” or an “18”. What memories the names recall! And later, the “38’s” and “48's” —of a distinguished family ANY a Packard owner, as a little boy, stood on the corner watching a Packard roll by and wished that he too might some day have a Packard car. and then, the mighty Twin Six, which reigned for eight years— truly a distinguished family. And now, today, the finest and greatest Packards of them all— the Packard Six and the Packard Eight—alike in distinction, in beauty, and in quality: Packard Six and Eight both furnished in ten body types, open and enclosed. Packard’s extremely liberal monthl payment plan makes possible the immediate enjoyment of a Packard, purchasing out of income instead of capi PA CKA R D

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Centinued from Page 60) pitchers a yeah fo’ two more yeahs after the next fo’ months is ended. Ain’t that all true?” “Yeh. You, bein’ a stockholder, are acquainted with all that, so it ain't no use fo’ me to tell you diff’ent.” “Well, now, just look how fast they hes grew in the last eight months. Stahtin’ with nothin’, they has mo’ than doubled themse’ves; an’ they is gittin’ richer an’ pros- perouser ev’y day. Inside a yeah they is gwine have out- grew that cl’ warehouse; it ain’t hahdly big enough fo’ ’em now. An’ they hahdly got no yard a-tall. What Midnight needs, Lawyer Chew, is expansion.” “Uh-huh. You suttinly "pears to be pronunciating wis- dom, Semore.”” Chew was adroitly drawing the little man out. “Now s’pose you ‘splain to me what swell ideas you has got fo’ the Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc.” “This: What that comp’ny needs is to find some real, ginuwine financial wizzid—like me, fo’ instance—which is willin’ to lease 'em a big lot fo’ "bout five yeahs at a small rental, an’ build ‘em a big studjo on same 'cawdin’ to their own specifications, Then they will have ev’ything like they want it an’ nothin’ to worry about.” “Fursadiddies! Was they cravin’ that kind of a plant, Semore, why woui'n't they build it theirownse’ves?”’ “Two reasons,” snapped Mr. Mashby triumphantly. “One is that they ain’t got the money. Oh, I know. They ain't declared no dividends yet ‘cause they ain’t paid themse' ves back fo’ the money which was inwested original an’ which was all borried. An’ also, they ain’t crazy to sink how much capital it would take to build the right sort of a studjo. Of course if they could wait a yeah, what you argues hol’s good an’ they would build their own; but right now they ain’t got the money n’r neither the enthusiasm. Ain't that a fact?” Chew inclined his head slightly. “I ain’t sayin’ 'tis or ‘tain’t. But it does listen reasomble. Now s’pose you tell me why you informs me of all this?” * Because,” replied Mashby candidly, “you is their legal adwiser, an’ what you says pretty well goes. An’ I was figgerin’ that did I conwince you, you would make them see that the best they could do would be to leave me build ‘em a studjo on my lot out near Tittisville.”’ An’ you propose that I elucidate to them that they should enter into this deal with you. Is that it?” **Tain’t nothin’ else,”’ “An' the rent you would charge?” “We-e-ell_——-"" Semore hedged. ‘‘I’d have to look after myself. Now look heah ——’ He produced from an inner pocket an elaborate set of figures. With grimy forefinger he indicated certain salient totals to Lawyer Evans Chew, that erudite gentleman giv- ing him close attention. And then, when Semore had thoroughly aroused Chew’s attention, he casually men- tioned the rental which he would accept. For an instant Lawyer Evans Chew sat in stunned silence. Then he turned upon his companion eyes in which amazement vied with disbelief. ‘Goodness Goshness Miss Agnes, Semore Mashby—has you gone plumb crazy in yo’ haid?” “What you mean—crazy?”’ “Them rentals! You must think I is non compos mental does you believe I would adwise Midnigkt to sign any such of a lease,” “They got to have a new studjo,” persisted Semore stubbornly, ‘‘an’ they ain’t in no position to put out the cash it would take to build.” “Also they ain’t in no position to han’ you no mint. What you ain’t got in yo’ haid, Semore, is no brains— tryin’ to stick folks thataway. Now s’posin’ we see what you really will assept.”’ “Them's my figgers!”’ snapped Mr. Mashby. “An’ time ain’t gwine make "em grow no smaller.” He rose, gathered up his papers and returned to his seat. Semore did not do business in an impulsive manner and had not anticipated immediate indorsement of his scheme. But he knew that he had planted seed in fertile ground. Of course he wouldn’t get the very figure he asked, but it was not beyond possibility that he would receive some- thing very close to it. In a year, at the outside, Midnight would require larger quarters; they were already too large for the warehouse which sheltered them, and Semore had it on good authority that the owners of that warehouse were contemplating a bit of high and mighty profiteering when the date for renewing the lease rolled around. The far-flung outskirts of Montgomery came into view; the train screeched for occasional crossings. Passengers, somewhat worn by the journey, commenced collecting baggage for the exodus—and the dozen members of the degree team prepared to be received in state. At length the train groaned to a protesting halt under the smoke-grimed shed. Heuded by Isaac Gethers and Lawyer Evans Chew, the delegation alighted and passed March 7, 1925 through the colored waiting room. At the curb there awaited a largé and very brass band which blared forth in fierce cacophony the welcoming strains of Linger Awhile. The delegation was completely surrounded and marched in state toward the modest hostelry where rooms had been engaged. Arrangements were made to call for them in autos at 7:30 that night. In the meantime plans for entertainment of the visiting dignitaries had been made by prominent Montgomery Afro-Americans. All these invitations were accepted save the one extended to Lawyer Evans Chew. That gentleman clipped the end from a fragrant cigar, waved an important hand and announced that he had some legal business to attend to. ‘Settlement of an es- tate,” he proclaimed majestically. ‘“‘Testator is dead and left a last will an’ testimony which I has been seeking to adjust fo’ some time. I aims to go out an’ visit a couple of the heirs which live here. ‘Pawtant matter; awful "*pawtant.”’ Fifteen minutes later the attorney was en route to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lijah Whittle, colored. He reclined in the tonneau of a taxicab and viewed Montgomery with benign approval. Nor was he unconscious of the fact that he was regarded with considerable interest by several members of the colored feminine gender whom he happened to pass. He was a not unimpesing figure as he lolled against the upholstery. His tailored clothes were in the latest mode. In color they were a delicate pearl gray—with felt hat and knitted tie to match. He wore tan shoes and white spats and carried in his gloved left hand the other glove and a heavy cane. Connecting horn-rimmed glasses with his right ear was a heavy black cord, and from the breast pocket of his pearly coat peeped the lavender border of a silk handkerchief. The distance was greater than Chew had anticipated, but the afternoon was balmy and the drive soothing. The car swung out of the main residential section and thence toward the country. It eventually came to a stop before the gaping gate of an unpainted cottage set well back behind a group of spreading oaks. Chew alighted, ordered the dfiver to wait, and ap- proached the house. He employed his most impressive stride, his mammoth figure moving grandiosely toward the dilapidated veranda which spanned the front of the (Continued on Page 72) “Raiat!"* He Moaned. “An I Ain't Got One Other Single Pant Closer Than Bumminham!"’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST —9- For Ten YEARS -DEPENDABLE Exceptional dependability has been a characteristic of Dodge Brothers Motor Car since the day the first of these sturdy cars was marketed. Not once in a decade has it failed to uphold and enhance its reputation for faithful performance. The reason for its consistent goodness and continued betterment points directly back to the ideals of the founders. Instead of fluctuating between an endless series of annual models, they determined to concentrate on the perfection of a single chassis. Dodge Brothers Motor Car today is the embodiment of that ideal—an ideal that will endure as long as the institution itself. Donose Brotners Dertrroir Donce Brotrners (CANADA) Limited WALKERVILLE, ONTARIO

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64 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 WHAT CAN YOU DOWITH YOUR HANDS? —By Walter Prichard Eaton whose speciality is ice. He knows more about ice, probably, than anybody else alive, and his inventions have rendered a repetition of the Titanic disaster highly unlikely. But what he talked about was the marvelous color, the opalescent mystery in icebergs, not their specific gravity; and then he added, “Do you know what I wish 1 could do? I wish I could make something fine or beau- tiful with my hands. I find myself constantly wanting to make something with my hands, even something crude and rough. If I lived in the country I could at least lay up a stone wall.” And not long ago I visited an old friend of mine who is now a noted doctor, for whose treatment men and women come from ali over the country. He looked drawn and weary efter a day of unbroken consultations and led me out of his office and up two flights of stairs to the attic of his house. Here was a big room fitted up with a bewilder- ing assortment of tocls and benches, even a tiny forge, and on the central bench, shining with new brass and copper and varnished mahogany, a five-foot-long model of a steam yacht complete in every detail, even to her engines. The emall boy in me gave a gasp of joy. “Will she go?” I cried. “Sure, she'll go. I had her on the pond two days ago. lan't she a dandy?” His eyes shone with pride; and suddenly I saw that his face no longer looked weary. “Did you reaily make it ali?" I demanded. “‘ How long did it take you?” “Every bit, even to the boilers. I’ve been at it, off and on, for three years. My patients interfere a lot.” ' “I suppose you're prouder of this ship than of being able to cure a diseased mind?” “Certainly,” he amiled. I remember, too, from many years ago—a quarter of a century —-a famous district attorney who was fighting the forces of evil and seemed to us then Saint George against the dragona. Worn with the battle, he fled for rest to his summer home, and reporters, following him there, found bim in a little shop behind the house, making a clock! The shop waa full of clocks he had made. One reporter stood with mouth agape for a moment, listening intently, and then exclaimed “‘Why—they go!” ] vce talking the other day with a famous scientist Busy Men's Hobbies fous. I recall going to see an actor in his dressing room — this was during the New York run of aguccessful play, se hie dressing room was more than a temporary abode—and found him busily at work at a little bench in one corner, making a driver! It was, he informed me, the fourteenth he had made, chiefly while waiting for his cues. He had been to 4 golf shop and taken a lesson or two, pur- chased the necessary tools, glue, shellac, thread, rough- hewn heatis, shafts, and so on, and then set to work. I tried one of his products, and it didn’t perform very well; but as none of my wooden clubs ever perform very well I did not blame his handicraft. Still again, I remember an evening spent at the house of a lawyer who was also a public man of some repute. While the rest of us talked he sat at a desk with an odd assort- tent of material before him, busily tying minute bits of feathers, sheared off with tiny scissors, upon fish hooks. Now and then he teok part in the conversation, but as often he became engrossed in his occupation. His brows puckered, his fingers handled with delicate care the tiny hits of feathers and the minute thread, and suddenly he would interrupt with a triumphant “There! How’s that for a Parmachenee Belle?” Less surprising, | suppose, since the owner is a painter and so employs his hands technically, so to speak, in his profession, is the house of a famous artist in the New Hampshire hills, where the flood of electric light that illumines the lovely rooms through silk shades of a rich blue characteristic of nearly all his pictures, is generated in a shop at the rear by machinery built entirely by him- self. I'm not sure that he didn’t also install the plumbing. And farther north, where the New Hampshire hills are granite mountains, there are miles upon miles of trails cut with sweat and toil through virgin forest, through steel- strong timber-line spruce, up rocky inclines, laid with stones along jagged ledges, ignoring the easiest ways and hitting straight for the high spots. These trails were not built for the most part by hired labor or by boys. They were built by college professors, by a leather manufac- turer, by a banker, by a librarian, by an auctioneer, by scores of grown men from all walks of life, who thought they were doing it to develop the recreational possibilities of the White Mountains, but actually were doing it be- cause they had to break loose into the open once a year at least and employ their hands in primitive labor. They had to make something, and with them it took the form of a trail chopped through the timber-line spruce and a log lean-to in the Gulf. It wasn’t that they were being boyish when they erected that log shelter. It is that boys are being mannish when they first take an ax and go out into the woods to build a hut. Learning to Make Things HAT can you do with your hands? If anybody had asked your great-grandfather, or mine, that question, he would probably have answered “Why, most everything,” and then, after a pause, have added, “’cept, maybe, paint a picture.” And great-grandfather would have been right. He could. He had to. The pioneer was his own carpenter, blacksmith, wheelwright, tinker, and what he didn’t make his wife did. There were no machines in those days; no mail-order catalogues either. Ordinary folk, like our great-grandfathers, not only on the frontier but back in the old country, were still craftsmen, just as in the Middle Ages everybody was a craftsman. They knew how to use their hands. It is generally assumed they were happier on that account. At any rate, they evidently made better stuff than the machines do, or why would we pay seven times as much for it today? The old hooked rug that grandma made has no price competitor except a Persian carpet—and that, of course, is handmade too, Unfortunately none of my ancestors wrote an autobiog- raphy, so I don't know whether my great-grandfather was happy or not because he could and did forge his own horse- shoe nails. But I do know this—-that I, his great-grandson, learned in early years, and of necessity, to use my hands, and I am a whole lot happier as a result. Sometimes I am s0 happy that I feel like bursting out in a plea to all parents in this machine-driven, city-apartment-house, everything- done-for-you age to teach their children how to use their hands, to give them a manual hobby for solace in their later years, This is one of those times. If you are a parent please consider yourself pleaded with. Sooner or later to every man comes the primal urge, the deep racial instinct, to do something with his hands. If all he knows how to do is to grab one with the other, or fiddle with the keys in his pocket, a deep creative impulse within him is thwarted, cannot find expression, and at the least he is bored. If he does know how to do something he goes ahead and does it; he is creative, he is happy, for a brief hour he is a god, and looking upon his handiwork, sees that it is good. It might not, perhaps, strike you as entirely so, but he is not creat- ing it for you. You don’t count. He is creating it to satisfy some inner urge of his own nature. My father was a school-teacher, and therefore able to give me excellent advice, but no canoes or ice boats or other necessities which cost money. He could, and did, how- ever, inspire me with the belief that I could make them, which I now see was a far better thing for me than if he had been a sausage king and bought me what I begged for. The first canoe I made, paddles and all, was carted to the pond on a wheelbarrow before the ice was all out, and I wore an overcoat and rubber boots. It tipped over im- mediately, nearly ending my career. The keel was a large oak plank, laid flat, and tapering at each end. As I weighed about one hundred pounds—before I fell into the pond—it was impossible to make the tub draw more than an inch of water. When it didn’t tip over, it spun. My father then mildly suggested that I go somewhere and observe the process of boat building I was apprenticed on Saturdays, without pay, to a car- penter who made various types of craft in his shop. He set me to shingling his henhouse! The result is that I can still shingle a roof, with accuracy and some speed. But ulti- mately I learned the use of various tools, and especially I learned that sticking two pieces of wood together and driving a nail through them isn’t carpentry. I built, later, in my own shop, a canoe that would float and an ice boat that would answer her rudder. To be sure, I didn’t know a thing about navigation, and when, on her trial trip, in a thirty-knot blow, I came about not into the wind, but out of it, my mast and sail were carried away, stays and all. I had to run special-delivery letters for a month to earn a new piece of canvas. Boys in those days didn’t have flivvers to tinker with, and their natural love of machinery found outlet in many odd ways. One friend of mine spent hours a day at the railroad crossing collecting in a notebook the names of all the locomotives which went by. They were named, not numbered, in those days. When he wasn’t doing this he was in the roundhouse, learning locomotive lore—and profanity. A few boys, of whom I was one, hankered for printing presses. Again I was apprenticed on Saturdays, at the same rate of wages, this time to the proprietor of the local weekly paper and job press. The paper was of course hand set, and printed on Friday. On Saturday morning I, together with two village girls, distributed the type back into the cases. After a month of this I was permitted to try setting type, and finally to print something I had set, on a ten-by-twelve job press run by foot power. I recall it well—the weekly calendar for the First Baptist Church! Later, ingrate that I was, having secured a press of my own and the Unitarian printing, I took the son of a Baptist minister into partnership, and secured that work also. The local job printer didn’t go out of business, to be sure, but two boys of thirteen years, I assure you, worked extremely hard filling their orders, and were kept out of a whole lot of mischief. Perhaps I should add that in later years my father confessed he got me the press in the hope it would teach me how to spell. It didn’t. The house we lived in was separated from the street by a picket fence, and there was a gravel path from the gate to the front door, and also a driveway to the side. Behind the house my mother had a garden. Part of my job as a boy was to keep the weeds out of the path and drive, and the edges trimmed with a line and edger. Part of my voluntary duty was to help my mother with her flowers. I had iearned the technic of a hotbed and could pot antir- rhinums when I was ten; and to this day whiskers on a path edge cause me acute anguish. Some of the other things I had to learn to do—and didn’t always like to, as I liked to work in the garden—were to saw wood and stack it in the shed properly, so it wouldn't fall forward or bulge in the center; take care of a furnace; chop ice out of a roof valley without chopping holes in the tin; take up and re-lay straw matting; sift ashes; tap sugar trees; set a lawn mower; take down and clean stovepipes; pack a cistern pump; make, steam and bend my own skis; make a bobsled, or double runner, as we called them; top-dress and roll a piece of rough lawn into a tennis court; and numerous other things I’ve now forgotten. My great- grandfather would probably have turned up his nose at the tennis court, but he could understand the rest. They were all in the day’s work. Ain Old House and Woodlot HEN, for many years, I lived and worked in a big city. Everything there was done for me. I didn’t even have to walk upstairs. The kindlings for my fireplace came in nice little bundles, and a porter brought them up. The only gardening I could do was to look in Morley’s window. Once I asked to set a stick of type at my newspaper, but the union wouldn’t let me. When my apartment was re- decorated I wanted to show the alleged painter how to paint a window sash without also painting the pane, but he wouldn’t let me either. I had no shop of course. The only thing I could do with my hands was to dust my books and play squash. Neither pastime exactly satisfied the inner urge. Then, one happy day, I was bounced from my job. Most men live under a kind of perpetual fear of being bounced from their jobs. I did. I had insomnia as a result, It is very foolish. To be bounced from your job is generally the best thing that can happen to you. It makes you get another, for one thing, and everybody should change his job every ten years anyhow. And, too, it spurs you to new and often different endeavor. You find you are reaily much smarter than you thought you were. Having no job, at any rate, I couldn’t see why I had to stay in a city where I couldn’t use my hands even to dig in the earth, so I went away from there and started a garden. It grew into rather a nice garden, and I got over my in- somnia. Then I couldn’t see why I shouldn’t have a house of my own, with up-and-down stairs and nice old white- paneled rooms, and a woodlot, and—at last, again, after these many years!—a shop. Accordingly I bought an old house which sits under a mountain, and with the house went a generous chunk of the mountain. I haven’t noticed a single newspaper being sued for publishing my income- tax return, but that old house is—slowly, I'll admit— becoming rather nice. It has a garden. That’s two I’ve (Continued on Page 66)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 65 Change Spark Plugs at Least Once a Year- BZ Real Econo my Here you can see why it is absolutely essen- tial to the efficient and economical operation of your engine to replace spark plugs after 8,000 to 10,000 miles. In the first picture you see the hot, intense spark given by a new spark plug which causes complete combustion as shown in the second picture, leaving only the burned gas to escape through the exhaust— as in picture No. 3. Such a spark and such combustion mean that you get maximum power from the fuel used; that your engine is running as it was designed to run. Now look at the other pictures. In No. 4 you see the weak spark delivered by a spark plug in use for a year or more. The fifth picture shows that combustion is nowhere near complete; in the final view, a large part of the gas, still unburned is being ejected through the exhaust. In other words, good power is being shot away into the air. There is sluggishness in your engine, slower speed and an actual loss in fuel. That is why it is real economy to install a complete set of new spark plugs at least once a year. They soon pay for themselves in oil and gas saved. When you do put in new plugs, be sure to install dependable Champions. For Champion has proved to millions of motorists that it is the better spark plug, and today Champion is out- selling all other makescombinedthroughoutthe world. Champion X for Fords is 60 cents. Blue Box for all other cars, 75 cents. (Canadian prices 80 and 90 cents.) More than 95,000 dealers sell Champions. You will know the genuine by the double-ribbed core. Champion Spark Plug Company, Toledo, O. Champion Spark Plug Co. of Canada, Ltd. Windsor, Ont. The pictures shown here are from the film “The Story of a Spark Plug’’, produced un- der the <a of the Bureau of Mines as a part of a ‘movement for the conservation of gasoline. Universities, colleges, schools, lodges and societies interested in exhibiting this inter- esting educational motion picture sh address the Bureau of Mines, Department of the Interior, Pittsburg. J J CHAMPION Dependable for Every Engine

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 64) made. It has a garden pool and a fountain face. It has a sundial pedestal, made by pouring white cement into a drainpipe iined with lard and then cracking the pipe away. It hes a white-paneied dining room with a somewhat elaborate wooden cornice. It has a large library with a somewhat more elaborate wooden cornice and a Georgian mante! and pllastered bookcases to the ceiling. In this library is a carved oak Jacobean table eleven feet long. There is also a2 large oak kitchen table, on which I eat my breakfast. By next spring there will be four carved oak stoola to place around it. I made the garden myself, with no aid except a wheelbarrow. I carved the wall fountain face from a piece of broken tombstone, with chisels lent me by the local gravestone maker. One carpenter—who does not belong to a union—and I made the pool. The same carpenter and I paneled the dining room and sawed out the cornices. I built the Georgian mantel in my library nearly all myself. My oak tables were made in my own shop from a tree I cut down up the mountain and had a portable mill in the neighborhood rip into planks. The carpenter really framed it, in the style he learned in Europe years ago, but I did all the carving—breaking four chisels on the job. When I was mystical. Can I explain it, I wonder; explain the deep happiness it brings? Not, perhaps, to those readers who all their lives have had to cut their own wood, who live on farms and frontiers where nothing is or ever has been done for them. But won't the city dwellers, the sons and grand- sons of these men, understand? Do you, whose exercise is a walk to the subway from your office, and whose efforts to keep the flat warm are confined to cursing the janitor, never feel deep down in your muscles the urge to swing an ax? You must, if you ever did swing an ax, if you ever did know that rhythmic coérdination of eye and muscle, that sense that each well-aimed blow buries your effort into the wood, that stinging intake of cold air to your lungs and the way it sends your blood racing. But it is more than the exercise, this happiness of chopping wood. It is the sense that with your own hands you are standing between your loved ones and the elements—not with your brain, not buying them protection, but hewing it for them with your two hands. Somehow you find a mystic joy in feeling that, after all, you are as good a man as your ancestors were, that your naked hands, as well as theirs, can give you shelter and warmth. It is, I suppose, a kind of pride. How universal it is I don’t know, though I suspect that most March 7,1925 men have it. At any rate, that’s how I feel when I chop wood, and it makes me far happier than it ever did to baw] down the tube at the janitor. It also gives me a better appetite. A favorite device of the humorists is to depict a hard- working business man spending all day Sunday tinkering at his automobile. The humorists seem to think the sensi- ble thing would be to ride in it, instead, and scatter a few lunch boxes in the landscape. But that man’s happiest hours are probably when he is tinkering at his car. It’s doing his soul more good than a ride would. He’s getting a chance to use his hands. He is answering a deep call of his nature. He is being, so far as he can, physically creative. Boys Denied Their Birthright E IS communing—though he doesn’t know it--with his ancestors. Every schoolmaster in these days can tell you that a score of parents a week inform him their sons have a decided bent for science, because they know all about the car. “Why,” | heard one say the other day, “Charles has a genius for mechanics. He bought an old flivver for fifteen dollars, and he’s taken it all apart, and put it together again—and it runs! We want through, I had a new respect for him prepared for the Massachu- the craftemen whe carved those oak rood screens and statis in the cathedrals of France and Eng- land! Painting HEN there is painting to be done~-un- leas, of course, I've a golf match on!—-I get a pot of paint and do it. There is no nicer work in the world than painting the soothing sweep of the brush, the pleas- ure of the color, the joy of seeing the wood cover smooth and bright, the de- lightful oder! If my hands are ever idle it is not for lack of things to do. I've been at this house and farm and garden now for seven years, and merely to hold what I've got can keep me out of mischief. Teday, for in- setts Institute of Technology.” Poor Charles! He will probably make a good stockbroker, or maybe a poet or playwright. Brought up in a city apartment, never having had a chore to do in his life, not even to bring up a scuttle of coal, having bought in a store every toy and implement of sport he ever used, he was but rejoicing in the first chance he'd ever had to use his hands crea- tively—in that, and in all boys’ love of machin ery. It didn’t mean that he was destined for a sci- entific career; it meant he had been kept out of his birthright, the knowledge of how to use his hands, to make something with them, to make happiness. Blessed is the stance, my wat- tle fence feil down in a gale, and one part of the rose trellis, rotted at the ground, snapped off. Then there are two or three garden benches to make and paint this winter, not to mention the oak stools, and Windser chairs—a whole attic full—tea mend, and a bathroom to re- paint, and the old orchard trees to prune, and the next years sup- ply of wood to cut — But that is something PHOTO. GY LELAND 4. GURAUO Faithful or faithless dren? What of our stewardship? What do we leave to our chil- Crystalline, health-giving fountains, or gutters of shame? Heritage— By Arthur Guiterman HIS is the land that we love, where our fathers found refuge, Here are the grooves of their plows and the mounds of their graves; These are the hills that they knew and the forests and waters, Glorious rivers and seas of rejuvenant waves. Madly we squender the bounty and beauty around us, Wrecking, not using, the treasure and splendor of earth; Only in grief unavailing for glory departed— Only in want do we count what the glory is worth. Fruitful and broad are the billowing plains that they left us, Mossy and cool are the trails that we tread as they trod, Grand are the ranges and deep are the echoing cafions, Holy and pure are the peaks as the altars of God. This is our heritage, this that our fathers bequeathed us, Ours in our time, but in trust for the ages to be; Wasting or husbanding, building, destroying or shielding, possessors and stewards are we. queathed us, r dren! Fields that are fertile, or barrens exhausted of vigor? Burgeoning woodlands, or solitudes blasted by flame? Now let us heal and restore where we trample and plunder, Cleansing and saving our shallowing rivers and rills, Lending new life to the fields we have ravaged and beggared, Calling new forests to gladden the desolate hills. Then though we pass from the land that our fathers be- Mountain and river and wood shall our message enew: “ This is the land that we loved; oh, be faithful, our chil- Fair was it left to us; fairer we leave it to you!” man with a hobby, especially if it is a manual hobby. He doesn’t have to subscribe for a paper that prints cross-word puz- zles to keep from being bored, and if fortune has fav- ored him and he can have a little shop or plot of ground he is art- ist as well as cre- ator, and he can have things his income could not buy. He can even have things no income can buy. The chief of them is the glo- rious satisfaction of making some- thing fine and cutting the wood — which is beautiful with his own two hands.

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—; Renee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 4 ae ge RE —s—2 > a = Reminiscent of those chivalrous days when merchant princes brought to her ladyship rare silks from afar, the authorized represent- ative of the Real Silk Hosiery Mills today BRINGS TO YOUR HOME —genuine, REAL SILK GUARANTEED HOSIERY —andin undisturbed quietude, enables you to match your shoes and gowns with just the proper shades selected from a profusion of Paris approved colors —colors of the hour, selected by our own New York and Paris Style Bureaus. Think of the convenience. Think of the satisfaction, and think of the SAVING; for under this new method of buying DIRECT FROM OUR MILLS, you get fine, perfect- fitting silk hosiery AT MILL PRICES. To insure service, top, toe and heel are made of finest Lisle. Every pair is guaranteed, HOSIERY MILLS Indianapolis Indiana THERE 16 A BRANCH OFFICE IN YOUR CITY © CONSULT PHONE DIRz \ Without Cost to You Correct color com- — { This Coupon Brings to You Miss oer. pt , binations of hosiery, New Color Harmony Chart FREE... . dresses, hats and shoes for either street, sport, afternoon or evening costume are insured by REAL SILK HOSIERY MILLS Dept. D-9, Indianapolis, Ind. Please have Miss Harford send me, without cost or obligation, the Re Silk Color Harmony Chart. the use of the Real Silk Color Harmony Chart. With the assistance of our New York and Paris Style Bureaus, I personally de- signed this chart for your convenience, and will gladly send it to , : . : , h ; This Gold Button identifies the authorized Real Just “a ouc, the Ralfeuine [Margen © 1925 Silk Representative when he calls at your home coupon and mail. Name Street City State

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST cMake this one gallon test A Gallon of Veedol Forzol is the correct amount to pour into the breather pipe of your Ford after the crankcase has been drained. Your dealer can supply you with Veedol Forzol in a sealed one gallon can. The operating economy you expect from your Ford is made possible by this oil created to lubricate Fords exclusively ANY Ford owners complain of the cost of operating their cars. Frequent repairs, low gasoline and oil mileage, costly chatter, excess carbon—all these pile up expense and defeat economy. Yet the car itself is not to blame. The Ford can be, should be in fact, the most econom- ical of all cars to operate. The fault is the owner's. Too often he overlooks the vital fact that the lubrication system of the Ford differs from that of any other car. The special Ford system of lubrication The engine and the transmission of your Ford are combined in one housing. Both are lubricated by one oil—the same oil. This should be a definite economy. Yet ordinary motor oils are not designed to meet this dual lubrication problem. They may lubricate the Ford engine perfectly but fail as a lubricant for the transmission. This failure results in jerky chatter when you start, stop and reverse your Ford. Chat- ter is more than merely annoying—it is costly. it causes destructive vibration that racks your entire car, heads it for the repair shop, and shortens its life. It makes your car un- comfortable and expensive to drive. How an oil was created to master this problem For four long years Tide Water engineers wrestled with the dual lubrication problem of the Ford. Hundreds of laboratory experi- ments were made, hundreds of road tests. Finally they perfected, in Veedol Forzol, an oil which mastered the problem. Veedol Forzol not only perfectly lubricates the Ford engine, but also lubricates the Ford transmission—perfectly. Made exclusively for the Ford, it is indis- pensable to the Ford's best performance. It gives your Ford the smooth running ease of higher priced cars, plus eight definite econo- mies that contribute to the low operating cost you expect from your Ford. The 8 Economies of Veedol Forzol 1—10 to 25% saving in gasoline—Hundreds of tests have demonstrated that Veedol Forzol saves 10% on gasoline consumption, 25% to 33% have been developed repeatedly. 2—Eliminates costly chatter—Veedol Forzol lengthens the life of ford brake and transmission bands by properly lubricating them. Chatter, a result of faulty lubricants, is entirely eliminated. 3-10 to 25% saving in oil—The savings in oil consumption run from 10% to 25%. The exact savings depend upon the mechanical condition of the engine and the lubricant formerly used. 4—10 to 25% less carbon—Veedol Forzol forms on an average from 10% to 25% less carbon. The exact savings depend on the mechanical condition of the engine and the lubricant formerly used. Less carbon means more power with fewer repairs. 5—Resists heat and friction—Veedol Forzol possesses the famous characteristic of all Veedol oils to resist heat and friction. 6—Ability to coast—With average lubrication, a Ford will only coast down steep hills. With Veedol Forzol, you coast down the slightest grades. 7—Resists fuel dilution—Even with poor fuel, Veedol Forzol maintains its lubricating value longer than other oils. Result—more miles per gallon of gas and per quart of Veedol Forzol. 8—Fewer repairs—Because Veedol Forzol masters the lubricating problem of the Ford power plant, it gives a new freedom from repairs. Use Veedol Forzol and secure true Ford operating economy. Any Veedol dealer, or any one of several thousand Ford agencies will gladly drain your crankcase and refill it with Veedol Forzol, the economy oil for Fords. Tide Water Oil Sales Corporation, 11 Broadway, New York (main office); Boston, Newark, Philadelphia, Chicago, Detroit, Kansas City, Columbus, Dallas, San Fran- cisco, Los Angeles, Portland (Ore.). Ford Owners in the Middle Atlantic and New England States can secure additional power and protection through the use of Tydol Economy Gasoline REG. U.S. PAT. OFF March 7,1925

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— - THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HOW I FOUND MYSELF (Continued from Page 50) 4 nm =e a ee listener whenever anyone would talk. Eventually, however, I was given an assign- ment to report some trivial event that I have since forgotten. I recognized the order asmy great opportunity and rushed out of the office in a high state of excitement. There was no difficulty in getting the news, so I returned promptly. Writing it presented the real opportunity and I was determined to do something masterly. You gentlemen have been reading news- papers for the greater part of your lives; you recognize differences in the quality of news stories; perhaps you think you could sit down and write one in newspaper style. Well, my bet is five to one that you cannot. One learns to do a thing by doing it and not by hte truism whose merit is not declining. On the way back to the office I thought of a little verse from Wordsworth that would make precisely the right intro- duction to my stoi In order to avoid error I went directly to the library and copied this verse, consuming not more than twenty minutes. Then I wrote my story. I could use a typewriter, but was not ac- customed to composing at the same time; doing two things at once made a gi rather slow. I knew that the copy did not have to be perfect, so I used a soft pencil to smear over typographical errors. There were other smears marking sentences that I had improved or discarded. At the end of two hours I proudly placed upon the copy readers’ desk three es that must have suggested either a Chinese laundry list or a secret code done with an instrument for cuneiform writing. Someone else meantime had written the story and turned it in more than an hour before. He got the facts out of another paper. When my story was presented the man on the copy desk glanced at it and brushed the p des into a wastebasket. Then he grinned and fished them out again. Later the story was pasted on the bulletin board, but everyone was kind enough not to intimate the reason in my presence. A Christmas Job I wandered around the office for a week after that, struggling with an unhappy im- papers that I was not a complete success. o one noticed me. Finally it occurred to me that the clever maneuver, under such circumstances, would be to do something on my own initiative that would quite startle the city editor and thus restore me to his favor. But what todo? After ma- ture deliberation I decided upon a literary essay. This was produced after ten hours of writing, interrupted by frequent trips to the library. Using a pencil, I found it much easier to compose, though I have always been very slow. The essay was about two columns in length—or would have been if printed. I couldn't think of parting with my original, so I made a ty itten copy and gave that to the cit itor in person. It seemed to me that literature was not entirely safe in the hands of the copy reader who had thrown my other offering into the wastebasket. This stroke of cleverness on my part brought instant action. The city editor read the first paragraph, then he ran his fingers through his hair several times as though struggling to recall something im- rtant. Finally he recalled it and his face ans with happiness. He beamed at me through his spectacles. “You are what it was,”’ he said; ‘I for- got to fire you. Here, let me make you out a slip.” He performed that feat with amazing rapidity. I accepted the slip with a polite bow of thanks and presented it to the cash- ier, where it was at once honored, and my journalistic career was at a close. The next copy of the paper that I had the pleasure of reading was purchased from a newsboy at the retail price of one cent. I turned at once to the want-ad page and there oppor- tunity smiled upen me in large letters. Christmas was almost upon us ard the book dealers were in urgent need of extra salesmen, as they frankly confessed. In fact they threw themselves upon the mercy of the public and declared in advance that they would pay liberal wages. I tested this statement at once and found it true, much to relief; for thus reassured, I could afford to purchase a heavier suit of clothes. The weather was growing colder. The head of the employment department of the establishment to which I applied for work questioned me about my experience and was delighted when I informed him that I had formerly owned and operated a bookstore. He considered my advent al- most too good to be true. I was assi to a post at once. I dare say that there are clerks who donot welcome the pre-Christmas rush; but I was certainly not one of them. As a book dealer I had once suffered from a dearth of customers and my point of view was radically influenced by the experience. To have books to sell and hordes of cus- tomers to buy them was as near heaven as I could hope to arrive on this planet. I not only sold the books people asked for but I begged them to buy more. I pleaded and cajoled. What was money for if not to buy books? And where can you get more for your money than publishers offer? I im- plored ple to buy nothing but books. And quite a few of them were influenced by these fervid prayers, I am happy to aay, for 4 opinion not cha in the least hether we like it or not, the life of a human being is circumscribed by his mental limita- tions. In no other way can he widen his horizon and enrich his daily life so pleas- antly and so Ly as by reading. I some- times wonder if the purveyors of this great blessing have not made it too easy. Per- haps if people found it vastly more difficult to possess literature they would be more eager to obtain it. A Try at Publishing After the Christmas rush was over I re- mained, having won a place as a salesman by making a record that I have since been told was very commendable. That experi- ence behind thé counter has been of tre- mendous value to me ever since. It still seems strange to me that I did not think of seeking employment in a bookstore much earlier. owever, I have noticed that many men do not find themselves until they are figuratively flat on their backs and desperate. One would be more likely to evolve the theory that a man would find himself and his work by leisurely self- examination during a period of financial comfort, but observation leads me to quite the openers conclusion. As ong as a dissatisfied man is te ory living and keeping his head above water, he fears to make a change; let circumstances hurl him into the ditch, and instead of be- ing dazed, he sees with remarkable clarity. Perfectly illogical, but true. I could cite you half a dozen instances of men who date the beginning of their success by sudden loss of employment or even physical mis- haps that appeared to be unalloyed tragedy at the time. Because of my own experi- ence and these observations, the thought in obaeageo into my mind that a man who has m unceremoniously fired when he lacks money to protect him from the immi- nent danger of hunger is more probably on the highroad to success than starvation. Surely I am not the only person who has observed this ever-recurring phenomenon of our clumsy struggle to keep on doing the things we don’t want to do until necessity makes our real choice for us. Who has not heard a dozen men say that they must hang onto the jobs they don’t want in order to achieve their goals? We humans are a queer lot who give infinite thought to subjects of no great consequence to ourselves, reservin our choicest stupidity for vital, persona —. But that is preaching, and again beg your pardon. I must go on with the story and let it disclose its own morals. Selling books suited my tastes and abili- ties so well that I had no desire to do any- thing else. That I ever left such happy employment was due to necessity arising in another direction. I wished to marry. There was no very alluring praspect of pro- motion, and even twice the salary I was earning would not have been adequate for the standard of living that I desired. By making inquiry I came in touch with the representatives of publishing houses and discovered that I had many qualifications for serving them. Not the least of these waz a willingness to begin at the bottom and study the business. I had always been eager to do that wherever I sought work. There is a great deal of plain, hard labor to be done in a publishing establishment— among other things, packing books for ship- ment—but I was willing to do the work. My experience in journalism had given me a never-to-be-forgotten lesson about the dangers of a golden opportunity picked prematurely. I wanted to p with greater care this time. The establishment in which I found employment was rather large and divided into departments. This gave me an opportunity to see more of the machinery than would have been visible in an office where one man was czar. Some of the most successful publishing businesses are operated on the latter plan, however, and it has my enthusiastic approval. Usu- ally one man builds a business; many carry on his work. One of the most successful publishers I know passes upon everything himself, even to the advertisements sent out. I envy that man because he is so thoroughly the opposite of myself. He was formerly a stockbroker who loved good books just as I did. Although he was very successful in the brokerage business, he decided that he would prefer to be a publisher and without more ado he became a publisher. The change apparently gave him no more qualms than drinking a glass of water. He selected the sort of books he wished to publish and launched his enterprise—a success from the first day. His jud t must be i, ae he ac- cepts or rejects a man pt largely upon the basis of whether he likes it or doesn’t. If he likes it, he assumes others will. A man of that sort has a rare gift. I am informed that he now does a business of upward of a million dollars a year on not much more than two hundred thousand dollars of capi- tal, which means that he turns his capital five times annually. That is quite a feat in the publishing business, especially when one’s imprint means quality, as his does. The k-publishing business in this country is growing steadily better at an amazing rate. Public taste is reflecting the thousand beneficial effects of our numerous magazines and the better lot in life of the average man. The outlook for publishin is nothing lessthan wonderful. I am temp’ to deliver you an oration on the subject of the books now read by school children as supplementary to their texts. Standards climb overnight. In this country there is no ground for pessimism about the masses of our population. I realize, of course, that a great many millions of people still read trash, and I take it as an excellent forecast for the future. If they can acquire the habit of reading, I care very little about the means employed. I know their taste will improve. Genius Irrepressible But I wander from the plot of my story. You must forgive me for that, because I am not a great publisher, nor even the head of my firm, as you know. My first great op- rtunity in the publishing business came a queer way. I discovered that I could estimate the merits and demerits of a manu- es just as easily as I could pass upon a book. It may interest you to know that some of the very best-informed critics of literature cannot do that. With a printed book before them, they bring to bear all their critical faculties, but a manuscript baffles them. They are not certain whether it is good, bad or indifferent. For the most part such men lean to the opinion that it is no good, I think this peculiarity has at- counted for the rejection of certain book manuscripts that were so excellent the whole world has since wontlered how any publisher ever could have refused them. Our office had such a man and his unfor- tunate failure gave me my opportunity. However, his re resignation sent him to success. He was really a writer and not an editor, Unusual ability in both fields is rare; the one talent absorbs the other, as a rule, though there are notable exceptions. For several years I continued under the delusion that I would eventually write; but now I know that I never shall, unless per- haps something unimportant. Mine is not the creative genius. I was always about to write; conditions were never quite propi- tious. Reasons for postponement of the effort were legion. The true creative genius cares almost nothing for conditions. He writes as the plants their fruit, by a law of Nature. Some work slowly and very ainfully, driving themselves to the task Put they work. Others work with ease. I have in mind one man who required more than two years to produce a book. He gave it all his time and sent in the manuscript eight or ten or twenty pages in each letter, at intervals of a week or a month, according to his rate of production. He probably worked harder t another writer I know who produced two better books and a num- ber of short stories in the same period of time. But the point is that writing men do not forever postpone; they can’t; it isn’t their nature. There are a lot of ridiculous traditions about writers. Most of the publishers I know regard their pleasant associations with these men and women as the most valuable return of their businesses, for pubtishin makes few millionaires. The disappoin man or woman who is out of his element, or has not yet found the means to give his genius expression, is much more likely to be the eccentric ey pictured by the public as an author than the man whose work they read. Writers—especially Americans—-are frequently very versatile; a number of them are suc ul professional or business men as well as authors. I do not find their per- sonalities as a class marked by more eccen- tricity than exists among men in other occupations, Some of them, of course, are a three-ring circus, but I’ve been told just as amusing things about brick masons and sea captains. The Back List Again I as pereen for wandering afield. I have devoted most of my time as 2 pub- lisher to building up what we call the back list—that is to say, books which wil! con- tinue to sell for many years, All of us try todo that. Only a very few houses, in spite of their efforts in that ‘redicn. could go on | semen d for several Fri without = owe- ring waren new. That condition, éver, is the goal we set for ourselves as the ultimate success—a back list standing alone. But sometimes I wonder if it really would mean success. Might it not, on the other hand, be a sign of old age? The an- swer would depend, of course, upon how such security was used. Lee g very rarely do we make an unex- pe ten-strike, such as b ig out five thousand copies with fear and trembling and then continuing on and on until total sales reach a hundred thousand or more. Most of the surprises in the publishing busi- ness are on the other side of the f r. With painful frequency we prepare ourselves to handle a best seller, a volume that has qualities calculated to make it a staple ar- ticle of our trade for at least a decade, on! to discover that we can’t sell it at all. could name several wonderful books whose utter failure leaves me completely baffled. There is no boredom in the publishin business, I can assure you. It is touch anc go for a wild gamble against odds every time a manuscript is sent to press. We know the perils of the business and few of us dare to publish very much that we don’t think will sell, yet the final count is about four to one ageinst us. For me the most pleasant surprise this business affords is the experi- ence of seeing a book that registered com- parative failure at first slowly pick up, year after year, and finally enter the merchan- dise class. I can name several books in that classification which will eventually make their authors and publishers more money than a brief popular success earns. No matter how long you remain in the ublishing business you are bound to feel ike a novice. Times and taste, world events and educational advancement move so rap- idly that the best any of us can do is to make a very human guess, though at the time of making it we feel conviction. Not one of my firm’s great successes astonished me in the slightest. I was confident of every one of them—also I was sure of success for the failures. In conclusion, gentlemen, I urge all of ou to drop everything and be publishers. here is nothing else worth doing, by com- parison. If you will heed my call we can achieve an absolutely perfect world in which everyone is interested in books. We will each buy the others’ output and thus none of us will fail. I stumbled halfwa around the world trying to find this busi- ness, and I am now somewhat enthusiastic about it, for a man appreciates his work in roportion to the number and severity of bis previous failures. The harder they hit him the more certain it is that his place awaits him.

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and what we have heard a French chef say when the iird escaped his grasp and slithered across the kitchen floor, we won- der why nailing the patient to the table has never been mentioned in the treatises. For I have pored over a German folio, of the sort that a librarian spreads out on a cleared acre of reference table, and observed that boning turkey was a matter of scalpel, forceps, compess, tailor’s chalk, a theodo- lite and logarithms, but not of hammer and nails. Doe Culpepper disclaims the credit. Your physician always does that-—-mod- estly shoves the credit of his best tricks onto some previous operator. In this case it was a famous colored cook who presided for years at Murphy’s. “Used to poke into the kitchen and watch that boy every time I went to Richmond. Had an interest in him,” he declares; “his father was my grandfather's butler down on the York for fifty years.” Doe has the habit of talking to himself. i am not sure whether he is diverting the turkey — physicians so ofter: seek to distract the patient—or is addressing me, until he turns and points across the yard to a lane ending in a field of winter wheat, now finger high and vivid as a green carpet. *You see the old iron gate is gone,”’ he remarks. I had missed it. It used to swing, a curious piece of old cast iron, between the stable and a great brick barn. “Gave it to a man whe wanted it for his garden gate.” “Did you tell him sbout it—the circum- stances?” “No; all he wanted was the gate. Had a fondness for old castings.” That gate, together with a portrait of Cousin Adelbert, a young man in sporty riding clothes, which hangs in the east par- jor upstairs, is a clew to a bit of family history, the essential factors in which are two mineral springs down there where pasture and woodland merge into a cedar gien. Adelbert owned these springs. hey were, you might say, Nature’s supreme ol- factory offense. You can smell them at a distance never achieved by a soap factory or a boiled dinner, and once upon a time they were to have been a great cure. Ball- room, roulette wheels, tiddledywinks everything that makes a cure— were ready when suddenly Adelbert, the finest racing rector ever produced outside the British Isles, a man But here | ask a question. “ Adelbert's downfall was very sudden, wasn't it, doctor?” “Took place in three hours. Went to bed with that book at ten. Came rushing down stairs at one, ran to the river, jumped in and baptized himself by moonlight.” High-Grade Surgery And the book? Only a surveyor’s chart, with copious marginal notes, showing all the entrances and none of the exits of hell, with an appendix on the Certainty of Our Damnation, and was written by a Mr, Ed- wards, of New Jersey, an author who was the best heller of his own or any other day. The gate —and 1 suspect Doc Culpepper is glad te de rid of it and of the necessity of explaining its story was a masterpiece. lt showed Apollo and Aphrodite in kilt and camisole, telling Christopher Columbus thet a mere continent was of no conse- quence except as it revealed these potent waters. ° It is gone, but some things are more last- ing than bronze; and the backsliding of Adelbert, | have no doubt, will remain as an awful example forever. Thedoctorisdrawingthetendons. Hehas, with but one incision —two less than even a chef allows—and that an incision down the length of the backbone, worked every bit of the edible bird loose from its skeleton and has clipped the tendons. And all this with just a limber kitchen knife, to follow between tissue and bone, and a pair of aciasors that have clipped the cords. He atides both hands between flesh and bone, gives a quick wrench, grasps the second jeint on the inside, pulls the creature’s legs en the outside, and the whole comes off like a glove, inside out. Tripie is adamart in his conviction as to what shali stuf the boned turkey. More turkey or else chicken ts the creed of his family. After that, a concession to tradi- tions of the Eastern Shore permits chopped oysters. He fills the chinks and crannies THE SATURDAY EVENING PCST MEET THE COOK (Continued from Page 54) where the bones came out with fillets of chicken for this occasion, and bundling the whole business neatly together, skewers it and rolls it in a white cloth, bandaging un- til it is a package of curious shape and pro- portion. Sally Hipps has put on an enormous pot to boil, and Triple sees that the tide of ebullition shall not mount higher than the latform of two bricks upon which the bird is to rest in a primitive steam chamber. It may be a notion, but it seems to me those honest old bricks play their part in this business. The pressure steam cooker in the hotel, which would, of course, do the job in one hour, is to my thinking too impersonal. In this time-honored contrivance a dull bubbling goes on all day. The kitchen is in an umber twilight long before the turkey is lifted out, put in a great pan, under the pressure of two clock weights and as many sadirons as Triple can pile one upon an- other. The bones have stewed along with onions in a covered pan in the oven. They make a powerful gravy. And such is your Vir- ginian’s fidelity to tradition that the same will be aeaed. piping hot, for use with the cold bird. A Feast for the Gods Tomorrow turns out a blustery day. For the party in the evening the parlors are warmed by log fires, built early in the day, that roar, burn down and are rebuilt. The doors are kept shut to confine the heat. Master of ceremonies is the old Llewellyn, Powhatan by name, Old Hat for short. All day yesterday he watched the turkey boil to see that it didn’t go dry, and today he trails Sally Hipps as she sweeps and dusts and brushes the notable green rep curtains at the long windows, draperies that, bow- ing together at the top, recede, bustle back over a great glass knob and trail a volumi- nous skirt on the floor. Silhouettes of ten- foot ladies doing the Grecian bend, so exactly pictured in Godey’s Book right there on the center table. No one, indeed, is ever so anxious for the success of a party as the all-around dog. Old Hat grows more and more solemn as the day goes on; like Triple, whose culinary earnestness shuts off all trivial concerns and culminates in the relaying of hot bis- cuits to the supper table. This is the big responsibility at a Virginia supper. It means successive pans from which fiery hot ones can be sent to replace those whose fever has subsided. They are the trained biscuita, a logical descendant of the beaten biscuit, and are the outstanding point of difference between North and South. Trained to yawn open slightly, they exhibit a certain cleavage, like a thirsty om, and cry out to be immediately buttered. There is a trick in their making. Triple says there are two: “Knead the dough, just like light bread. Then go away and let it alone. Smoke a pipeful. Read a book. Do anything. Then roll them and fold them and roll them again.” Southerners deplore the excessive bunch- iness—be it ever so light—of the soda biscuit of the North, or as it figures in ho- tels to suit the Northerner in the South, It is on the plantations and in the citadels of tradition such as Richmond and Charleston that one gets their exquisite biscuit in its true delicacy. Most everybody at supper tonight butters six or seven and puts them on the edge of the plate for handy refer- ence, where they make one of the hand- somest decorations I have ever noted on any. china, here are lots of things besides the tur- key; ham, cakes, pastry and endless pick- les--all exemplifying treasured recipes that Triple has harbo from cousinly cook- books of Garnetts, T ans and Willises, Majors, Gordons or Taliaferros, contin- gents of whom are on hand, sponsors of their tribal treasures. But the boned yin Me the thing. It has in its entirety that quality intact which the cold bird used to have somewhat, when, without conscience, we purloined it at mid- night after the Thanksgiving dinner, and — away at choice bits, surprised to nd how much finer it had become, In these present slices-—areas of light and dark in melting mosaic—it is far, far removed from turkey touched with herbs, or in pdaté with truffles and the forty kinds of tripe that princes and principalities have de- clared the thing in sophisticated Europe. To leave a lamplit room and friends takes character. Didn’t know we had so much. The doctor drives us down and it is worth noting that starlight and the open do not quell his flow of spirit. They shut most people up like a clam. But he spills a bit of news. Triple’s solemn calm, did I notice it? Well, e's going to be married. And I wonder if his wife will let him go on cooking boned turkey. I rather think he won't ask permission. It is the untutored cook that makes the big hit with the globe trotters. The Sicilian peasant who fries blue-shelled mussels in oil with garlic, throws in brown rice, saffron and red wine, and then deliberately tosses the whole thing on a heap of yng let- tuce and cress and serves it—a bastard salad or a stew gone wrong; does it all with a sleepy instinct, a devil-may-care heed- lessness that is half of what hypnotizes the tourist. It has a greenery-yallery, juicy, salty quality, with a sea tang and an onion tang, that penetrates his skull, lingers around under his dome and tries to get out through his eyes. That peasant never worked with a chef, knows nothing of cookbooks. Yet we could draw the portrait of his ancestor, a statu- esque antiquity, who stood at the banked charcoal ranges of a villa in Pompeii, ex- empt from punishment, favored, a tyrant under a tyrant, because he could codk this bes | dish. hese intuitive cooks intrigue investiga- tion. For though home cooking is 90 per cent of it the very worst cooking, the eke 10 per cent, particularly where it is a prod- uct of local things and no sophistication at all, is something that outclasses the efforts of the most exact graduate of the cooking schools. If it gets back to something half barbaric, still better. For instance, consider terrapin stewed down thick, returned to the shell and smoth- ered under seaweed. That’s a new one— even to Philadelphians and Baltimoreans, who, with a tradition of terrapin in a veal broth with Madeira wine, long ago pat- ented a dish of high but too variegated flavor, A turtle has in his fragile steaks and elfin fat a taste that his own native elements can alone rejuvenate. A Cook Inspired I'll bet two crullers and a prune that if you could go back to the Congo, where Rosa Rosette Poshay’s ancestresses cooked turtles, you'd find that mud and aquatic plants covered the meat in the shell, and that it was all buried in a hole under the embers. At any rate, Rosa Rosette, in my gallery of cooks, occupies a unique posi- tion, equally as do her surroundings. She is barbaric, a huge, black efflorescence of tropical lineage, t.opical indeed as a py- thon, whose easy-going dead weight of »wer she suggests. She cooks turtle—both inds—in that way, and cooks other things with a magnificence of intuition and a dead- or-alive air of slumbering volcanic force that make her a prime example of Amer- ica’s most singular and almost vanished artists. One cannot think of her out of her en- vironment, any more than of palmettos in Central Park. Where Nature has actually conspired against the frantic hegira to the North, some few of her kind—huge ones like her who must go, if at all, by freight — have stayed monumentally fixed where, to say one thing, they will live the longest. No one knows what she weighs, as she consist- ently avoids the hay scales. But the kitchen where she cvoks for the Delaignes dowr at St. Hyacinth’s has a tendency to collapse sou’westwards, at which corner she and the cookstove keep weighty company, and it would wrench entirely free of the con- necting lean-to of the mansion did not perpetual washings require her with her washtubs at an opposite corner. This is a happy counterstrain and has preserved that portion of the estate. Huge washings, meals for from ten to twenty people are her day’s work; for the face gp spare poop of elegance and fragility, with a distinctly Gallic bias in their preferences, being four in all, two of each sex, and apparently of the same age to the minute, long ago opened their sixteen- room house to the accommodation of any- body —once. March 7,1925 _ _No, they are not the novelist’s impover- ished aristocrat. Fiction has dwelt on that to absurd length. They are of Huguenot de- scent, and nobody with a gill of French blood, though reduced by war or any other disaster, ever stayed poor longer than to scratch up a dollar, put it in the bank and let it grow and grow and grow. The ability to forget that dollar, just like mye po you jc never to mention again, and to let it stay there, putting on financial fat, until it cracks the vault and cries out for relief, is French. There are only eleven French people in all our almshouses. I can’t prove it, but anybody minded to the contrary will have to go to a lot of trouble to disprove it. Think of all the letters he’ll have to write! I wouldn’t be in that man’s shoes for a minute! Nor are they miserly. The truth is that the French can be elegant on one dollar where the rest of the world requires ten. That’s as old as Cesar, and it was all that ailed him when he saw the Gauls were twice as nifty on nothing at all as he was with everything at his command. He nat- urally started something. For practically all the wars in history have been to see who could put on the most style, Hot Weather Specialties It is in this subtropic that Rosa Rosette, as giantess and as artist, is at heme. Take her out of it and she would robably die shivering in a steam-heated police station — for she has peevish spells that have led to the bar of justice; little offish moments, not more than a volcano or an earthquake. Her white people shut the dining-room door and hope it will pass. Her colored friends, if gathered to ps oil of sympathy on the flames of wrath, stand from under, watch- ing the direction of the storm; while any suspecting she may whip around to smite them hip and thigh make large prestissimo footprints for the woods. hat engages my interest in particular is that under stress, nay, with jail and con- tumely to be faced, her art, instead of sub- siding, rises but to higher points, which goes to show that art is impersonal and the more awful things that happen to a great technician, the more is his impersonality released. That sounds pretty deep and we hand it over to anybody looking for some- thing to write about. In the case of Rosa Rosette let’s narrow down to a June day of awful heat, a day of wrath, of shrimps in a gumbo, green turtle, assault and battery, iced figs in jelly, stone crabs in a beurre piquant, a procession to the jail and an apricot gdteau. I think it began, or was forewritten, in the sunset of the pre- vious evening, which blazoned over sea and village like embers of Gehenna seen through bars of purgatory, with green streamers and cauliflower clouds of umber and violet. Turner, had he seen it, would have won- dered why he bothered with his burning Slave Ship. Crack of doom was plainly at hand; nevertheless another day did dawn, and with it came the kind of heat that sends the fish to deep water. Stationary buzzards pinned to a glazed sky—a bad sign. Gardenias in bowls in darkened rooms; also opoponax and crape myrtle, gathered before dawn, with the dew on them. Uncles and aunts in pairs were listening for a boat to put in down there where oyster shells and terrapin pens cluster to a shaky wharf. It would be a flat bateau with a gas engine audible, though not rec- ognized, as far as Cape May. With it would arrive a niece, a graduate with a diploma, one engagement ring on her finger, two more in her possession and another forth- coming after the party tonight. At least that was Uncle Vergil’s surmise. He hoped so, anyway; gloried in her beauty, her aloofness, her remarkable carriage. He said she passed from room to room like a queen about to give audience. Probably that ex- presses it. If so, it corrects my notion that a queen stays where they put her and the déllenee does the walking. It was ordained by Miss Annie, whisper- ing from the stairhead, that the house should now preserve silence, go on tiptoe. The sleeping beauty was reviving after an entire night on an epileptic train. The or- der went in whispers from uncle to uncle and room to room. Then came a crash, a scream, two roars and a trembling as of earthquake, the same being central in the (Continued on Page 72) Sager ee s ee

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Ben Lyon and Marjorie Daw in“ One Way Street” “One Way Street” \V HO is more relentless than a woman in pursuit of the man she wants? She will beguile and slander to attain her end. “One Way Street” tells the story of such a woman, primitive despite the arti- ficialities of modern society. Anna Q. Nils- son plays the réle, and Ben Lyon, one of the younger screen favorites, is the sought- after young man. He is seen above with Marjorie Daw, the third principal in the cast. “One Way Street’’ takes you through the mazes of London society to thrill and fas- cinate you. It isan adaptation of Beale Davis's story directed by John Francis Dillon under the supervision of Earl Hud- son. SATURDAY EVENING POST Above — Doris Kenyon in “I Want My Man” “Sally” N the right is Colleen -Moore, charmingly cast in one of those romances that keep your heart young. It is “Sally,” from Flo Ziegfeld’s musical comedy, and Colleen plays the plucky little girl whose twinkling toes take her from a cheap cafe's dishpan to the daz- zling footlights of Broadway. Quite ap- propriately Leon Er- rol (right) appears in the réle which brought him such success on the stage. Lloyd Hughes has the leading masculine réle. That Sunday Morning Feeling NLY the soothing arms of Mary Hay are preventing Dick Barthelmess (on the left) from completely anni- hilating a demoniacal alarm clock which has just ruined a perfectly good Sunday morning. The scene is from “New Toys,” a John S. Robertson production, in which Barthel- mess and Mary Hay (Mrs. Barthelmess) prove that newly- wed troubles are uproariously funny to everyone except the newlyweds themselves. \ “New Toys” differs from other Barthelmess pic- tures in theme, but like every photoplay he has ever made, it is clean and wholesome entertainment, “IT Want My Man” WANT MY MAN," the new First National picture in which Milton Sills and Doris Kenyon are featured, has already started a lot of talk—and a lot of thinking. It is a story of a man blinded for eight years and opening his eyes again upon this modern jazz age. From then on his heart is fair prey. And the hunters are: the type of gir! he used to know in 1916 and a 1925 flapper model. The picture can tell you who won—and set you wonder- ing why. “IT Want My Man” is the screen version of Struthers Burt's novel, “The Interpre ter's House.” It has been re- viewed as the outstanding soci- ety drama of the year, a a

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72 (Continued from Page 70) kitchen. Dogs barked, the gate slammed, scuffing feet sounded on the gravel. Uneles Vergil and Lucius rushed to the dining room, opened the rear door. A ti- rade of roaring guilah—that language of Cerib, French, English and Senegambian, lingo of the Sea Islands biacks— was issuing from: Rosa Rosette’s throat. A vocal ma- chine gun of monosyllabic bullets. Through the trellis of the porch and beyond the woodpile the paling fence was punctuated by black faces and- horrible vision—face downward on the steps lay a mulatto boy, the boy hired yesterday to wait on table. Expostulations and explanations were in ullah and molten English. In effect, Rosa Losette, worshiping white folks, admiring black folks, despised, disdained and for- bade to enter her premises one of an in- between shade-——say, chrome yellow, like the present victim. i knew this would happen,’’ whispered Unele Lucius. “I thought maybe she’d overlook it just for a day or two,” And Vergil shook his head apologetica! ily. He had hired the boy. “She's killed him!” “Lat him tie there. The coroner. You'd better step over to Mr. Pipper’s. Tell him to come at once. And Lucius hurried down the gallery to the front gate. And what was Rosa Rosette doing? Deer gg > fresh figs on a dish and pouring jeliy of scuppernong grapes over them. Also she was ululating one of her favorite songs, Han ee aman, je the galler tree.” No rtinence to ety just a huge de ance of men and g here was a wicked roll to her eye. She lightly kicked the drafts of the stove, bowled a bowl of roll dough to the table, hurtied firewood, toyed with the ae ng in—s lioness licking her chops. closed the door “Bhe isn’t drunk, but she’s dan . She says the boy kept pertering er to hurry up breukfast. I hope Mr. Pipper doesn't arrive too soon—-not till she quiets down. She's likely to throttle him.” “Not with his gun pointed at her she won't.” She heard what they said and the timbers rocked with her laughter. Please, Mist’ Lushe, yo-all ast ‘at she’iff man t’ set hiase'f on de back po’ch an’ mek hisse’f t' home, Ah ain't no time be pro- jeckin eroun’ with no jails. Ah’s got cookin’ t’' do. Come two erclock, Ah’s ready an’ willin’ to eacote mahse’f t'de jug.” house. And as he approached, his eye missed no single detail of the confusion which was evident within it was quite piain that the occupants ef the house were preparing to depart for somewhere-—and to do it soon and com- pletely. Packing cases were here, there and everywhere; excelsior was scattered about and old newspapera were present in profu- sion. Chew nodded contentedly; if Mr. and Mra, Lijah Whittle were positively leaving, then the chances were they would settle for the slightly smaller amount Chew had decided to offer. But first he wanted to be sure. Keeping his eyes focused on a window he started to circie the house. He walked proudly, + pur posefully and sturdily. And because prideful manner he id not see the old wa- tering trough which lay directiy across his path, Hie first intimation that there was any such obstacle came when his right ankle hooked very neatly on the of the trough. The pain was instant and sharp. Chew jerked away, and the other foot caught. For a split second he fought to maintain 3 balance. He teetered uncertainly, and then, quite without warning, seated him- self squahily in the very middle of the trough. Whocooosh! Goggles tumbled off, cane danced away. Chew struggled wildly, con- scious oniy of the fuct that his trousers— and that portion of him which the trousers concealed were very, very wet. And then, to make his dilemma more embarrassing, there appeared on the back porch a not uncomely young lady of mahogany com- pexion. This person stared wide-eyed at the tab- leau. hen she placed ample hands on rounded hips and gave way to a paroxysm THE SATURDAY Mr. Pipper arrived, looked around, sat down behind the gourd vines of the kitchen orch, chair tilted back against the cistern. e seemed a drowsy impersonation of the law and very accomm . When he casually remarked that he would like to see the body, a shocking realization dawned that the essential exhibit had been missing for some time. And Rosa Rosette spoke with horrifying composure. Ah’s gwine perduce de corp at de proper time. An’ Ah ain’ say no mo’. Ah yg damage mah standin’ befo’ de aw. The household, awe-struck, scandalized, but—shall we admit it?—secretly enter- tained, could only stand from under and listen to the thunderings as she cut loose with the cooking. Bowls of turtle meat went into a skillet — butter, nutmeg, lemon, grated egg yolks. Hallowed egg whites, filled with cubes of turtle fat, ” 4 assembled for the garnish. Turtle shells filled with the mixture were set in a pan, upon them strands of a lettuce- green seaweed were laid lovingly over, an- other pan inverted on top and the oven door banged upon them. Not until re- warmed and ready to serve were they di- vested of the seaweed, which here gave the essential whiff that it also imparts to the time-honored clambake of New England. Rosa Rosette’s Ultimatum On this occasion she was erry steaks from flapper and rump of the big leather- back turt But later in the year, with terrapin fattened upon fiddler crabs in the pens, she would pursue the same method, and terrapin, baked both in this style and in Ry highly wined stew, would be on the table, If you try, as I have often done, to trace the origin of this dish, you inquire in vain. The truth must be that the unsophisticated negro of the Sea Islands, yb back to jungle yea has been ing turtle {n this ultimately delicious manner—we might call it the way ordained by Nature ever since he left the deltas of the Congo. Cooking it for himself, while the white folks, sunk in the rut of their own ideas, have gone on drowning it in veal broth and amontillado. Even Marion Harland’s classic recipe abounds in much besides turtle meat, It was now that Rosa Rosette n to ply the law and pack the ju ane 5 — the court. She offered vian fell. After a bowl of turtle, he Ao dy, tha EVENING POST to hang such a cook was but to add a greater crime to the first offense. “An’ does 34 Be yo’ coffee black or white, Mist’ r?” she demanded. “Yas-sir, Black 0 Ah does.” The gumbo soup was conceived in fury — brought ferth in wrath. Swashings of tomatoes and chives, with venge- ful choppings, were succeeded by a thun- derous rearrangement of pots and pans on a trembling stove. “Yo’-all’s gotta lemme outen jail long ernuf t’dish mah ayo she e protested to the now-slee Pipper. “"Twon’'t be right lessen 8 on han’.” She hung over it affectionately, "etd - herbs ~ cpg Se oo settl own to the quiet of from their shells; for the finished based on chicken, hinted vegeta’ one floated okra. It would have a hearty, lus- cious meatiness of shrimp and a suave cloudiness of rice. Stone crabs—that is, their giant claws— came, flaming red, out of an iron pot, steam- ing forth a tonic vapor. She tackled them with a sadiron. Their flaky meat was piled into a salad bow! and hustled into oblivion to cool. She took a flight in the direction of a béarnaise dressing by ing butter and cream together with punishing blows, fot il ‘aoe to a sauce with a scaldin She beat and seasone eo sang; My et it was salad dressing, unctuous and aromatic, and left you to guess~merely guess—of a garlic bud. Artists with a a flair depart from slavish imitation. Rosa Rosette then went ahead of the original idea with her apricot gdteau. She had a terrible-looking iron, a wafer iron with long handles, and two flat plates that closed viselike upon each other, for the baking of a cake in paper thinness, a mere, melting crust. Something as rich as a poundeake went between those heated jaws, turned back and forth over the coals, was withdrawn on a forx and pe wound around to form a cornucopia of edible gold. To be met with pretty generally on the old plantations, these wafers of rich cake are always distinctive, but employed to carry a bavaroise of cream and fresh apri- cots they became horns of plenty, not more delicious than beautifully adapted to de- sign, and a design they made in framing the mold of figs in jelly. Her work was done—-vi much earlier under this potent stimulus of circumstance. She and Mr. Pipper departed, dramati- cally, attended by a swarm of llah- chattering negroes. In front of the old WRITE AND WRONG (Continued from Page 62) of mirth. Her merriment beat upon Chew’s eardrums like direst insult, and he raised his voice, “Who you laughin’ at, woman?” ““You—tha's who! Oh, my golly! How come you ever to pick out that ol’ trough to sit down in?’ “I di’n't pick it out. I di’n’t even know it was there.” He elevated himself with considerable effort and stood regarding her or to he glanced down at the wreck of h pearl-gray trousers. They were in a aa condition, the water running from them in little rivulets. A groan esc aped from be- tween the learned lips. “Ruint!” he moaned. “An’ I ain't got one other single pant closer than Bum- minham!” Mrs. Whittle came closer. ‘What town you mentioned?” “Bumminham.” “Is you fum there?” “T is; an’ my name is Lawyer Evans Chew.” For a moment she stared, a twinkle still lurking in her eyes. “Golly!” she mur- mured at length. “I never espected you would look like this.” “Nor neither didI. An’ now’’—helooked down upon the wreck of his raiment “what is I gwine do? Heah | is in a strange town an’ ain't got ary garment to take the place of these wet ones. An’ bein’ gray — “s ‘posin’ I lend you one of my husban’s pants? “Leave me see ‘em.’ The pants were Seiceed. Chew politely tried to conceal the extent of his distaste. “Reckon them woul’n’t blend with my coat awful good, Mis’ Whittle.” The eyes of the dusky lady brightened. “Tell you what I'll do, Lawyer Chew. You go into the spare room an’ han’ them pants out to me. I dries ’em off an’ presses ’em oe an’ o woul'n’t hah ly nobody now anyth was wrong Chew tenes | with alac’ nity, and while the good housewife busied herself in the drying process Chew discussed matters with her through the doorway. yy Owrall leavin’ Mon’gomery, Mis’ Whit- “Yassuh; an’ I don’t mean maybe.” “Where to is you goin’?” “St. Looey.” “All packed up, ain’t you?” “Pretty near. We was aimin’ to depaht as soon as we gotten that money offen ou.” She glanced through the front door.“ Heah comes Lijah. I bet he’s gwine be s’ prised.” Lawyer Evans Chew gazed upon the massive figure of the approaching husband and then at his own condition of pronounced dishabille. He was inclined to agree that Lijah would be surprised, and for an instant fear twitched his heart. But Lijah accepted his wife’s explanation without question and immediately entered the room and intro- duced himself. To Lijah, Lawyer Chew explained cer- tain circumstances. From his wallet he ex- tracted a number of yellow-backed twenty- dollar bills, which he spread enticingly on the table. “Tha’s two hund’ed dollars less than us ought to get,” growled Lijah. “Nossuh.”” Chew was prepared to argue. “It’s on’y two hund’ed dollars less than you thought you was gwine get. Anyhow, tha’s all what the zecutors authorize an’ empower me to offer yo’se’f an’ legally wedded wife, an’ if you don’t take same now—why, I reckon it means a lawsuit in the co’ts of this noble an’ sov’eign state, March 7,1925 powder house, long since denominated the jug, Rosa Rosette’s accommodating and complacent mien changed. Before the as- sembled crowd she sat down on the door sill and invited the law to do its duty. ‘Mist’ She’iff, Ah’s march down heah volumtary, Ah’s done mah paht. Now Ah ast yo’, Mist’ Pipper, please put me in jail wiv yo’ own han’s.” She lit her pi No move on the part of black or white. Pipper might have shot her—short of that she had him in a fix. The prowess of the African brought the law of the land to a point of treaty—an improvised habeas cor- us in which the size of the corpus counted or a lot. The promise of that sunset was fulfilled. By four o'clock a storm, muttering from the Caribbees and churning the bay to a coffee-colored turmoil, made straight for St. Hyacinth’s. It broke in the banging of blinds, the whanging of doors, the mad flight ‘of everything to get under cover. And the rain just pounded holes. People sit around in a queer way during such tem- ~~ ——— their thumbs at destiny. t was dark and stifling in the parlor, but the aunts wouldn’t let the uncles open any- thing for fear of the draft and the lightning, and when the stately niece n to play a nocturne they gently objec’ Vanishing Arts “Exquisite, dear, but piano strings—the lightning, dear. Hadn’t we better wait?’’ The oppression was suddenly broken. Rosa Rosette loomed in the doorway. “Miss Annie, please 'm, jes a minute. Dat yaller boy he say Bar yo’ all owes him a day’s wages. What? Oh, yas’m. No’m. He daid all day in er wood box unner mah table. Ah’se jes susserated him now. Complete. Yas’m. Souse him in er cistern. Souse him up an’ souse him down. Seems lak de rain come special.” Taken as a whole, the talents of Rosa Rosette imparted to that evening not alone tne bland, the zestful flavors of her cooking. There was a related taste, the feeling of having just left an opera that starred some hefty mezzo in a ripping role. But—twi- light of the dusky gods—the mammies of rginia are as good as gone and the maum- ers of the lower South are following them. If somebody does not capture and confine a few and learn their every trick and all their repertoire, a big thing in American art will merge forever with oblivion. Editor's Note—This is the second of two articles by Mr. Hersey. which mos’ prob’ly means that yo’ money will git tied up fo’ two or th’ee yeahs.” In the next room Mrs. Lijah Whittle was becoming interested in the conversation. She — her job and sidled toward the door, where she might miss no detail of the negotiations. “Wha’s Lawyer Chew tryin’ to do, Lijah?” si Make us take two hund’ed dollars less than —— “Don’t do it. Us gits all or nothin’.” “ Nothin’ then,” interjected Chew suavely. . = that suits the zecutors pretty Sight of the money was having its effect upon Lijah Whittle. He had planned to exodust within the next two weeks, and the prospect of having ine. withheld for two years was not allurin “Seems like to me — Fhe started, then broke off suddenly and ‘sniffed the atmos- phere. ‘“ What's that I smell burnin’?”’ he inquired. “Burnin’!” A shriek escaped from the lips of Mrs. Whittle. “Oh, Lawsy! It’s Lawyer Chew’s pants!” Lijah bolted into the next room and re- moved the sadiron from the unoffending trousers. His wife surveyed the smoking ruins of the once-proud pants and wrung her hands with grief. Lawyer Evans Chew stared through the partly opened doorway. Lijah grasped the trousers firmly by the belt straps and held them aloft. The front was not at all affected, but the hindmost portion had been o_o less fortu- nate. The red-hot sadiron, left perched upon the seat of the trousers, had worked not wisely but very well indeed. Quite cleanly and clearly it had burned its own image where only a very long frock coat (Continued on Page 74) — == =

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aaa Sem La ta THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 73 Che HELLY: “ELE XITBLE: CORD e™ te * 4 Cea. 7 Feet a> —-_ ae a = The Peregrinations of the Pecks The Pecks live ina New York suburb. oa 3 , Jim Peck is the head of a small but suc- HEN you start out on a trip you want to feel reasonably sure that cessful business; he is also—at least it is going to be made in’ comfort, and comfort means riding com- nominally—the head of the Peck family. fort as well as freedom from tire trouble. For three years the family has been talk- i, s ; é . ‘ arn : ing about a trip to the Coast, and at last Kelly Flexible Cords will give you real riding comfort and are depend- they are actually going. able besides. This is the first vacation Jim has taken _ eae : . ius Hee sare, Clnainatie ante vial rhe reason is found inthe Integral Bead construction, used only by is one of the things he is NOT planning Kelly. Instead of thousands of short cords, each cut off and held rigidly to do, hence the Kellys. at the bead, the carcass of the Kelly Flexible Cord contains only a few In subsequent issues of this publication hundred long cords, looped around the bead. ‘This makes it as flexible as we shall meet the Pecks on their travels. an old glove and also makes it possible to use a flexible tread. Try these new Kellys. In addition to their easy-riding qualities, they will out-mile any tire you have ever used. KELLY-SPRINGFIELD TIRES

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74 (Cantinued from Page 72) could hope te conceal it. The erudite attor- ney from Birmingham expressed his opin- ion of Mrs. Lijah Whittle in no uncertain terms, and that lady tearfully indorsed everything he said. An’ now,” groaned Lawyer Chew, “what can a pantless man do when he has got to ‘stall a ledge?” It was a poser. Again Lijah’s trousers were offered, and again declined. “ Better my own with a hole in ‘em than Lijah’s without nothin’. I ain’t so crazy "bout Mistuh Whittie’s style.” At length it was decided that Mrs. Whit- tle would do her best at patching the damage. And while she was laboring industriousl the couple accepted the money which Lawyer Chew had brought, a release was signed and the dea! closed definitely and finally. “Us removes ourse'ves away fum Mon’- om mighty soon,” vouchsafed Mr. White ie. ‘ We craves tosee what the Nawth looks like.” The dusky lady handed the pants through the door. Her work as ¢ seamstress was not bad, but pants and patch did not blend. Chew grumbled. “Secon’ in command of that degree team, an’ Ise to conduc’ all them ceremonies Else git laughed at. Ain't never gwine travel again thout Te spare pants. It's gwine be all right on ae stage, but what hap- on; ’ He said his good-bys and joined his taxi . All way back into the center of city he was racking his brain for a solu- em. gray of evening was turned to velvet night. wyer Chew his watch and uttered an ex- of horror; thirty minutes before lodge meetin’. He reached the hotel, or- dered sandwiches sent up to his room, and while making ready was visited by Poten- tate Isaac Gethers, Semore Mashby and Dr. Brutus Herring. Th know where he had been and why he was keeping them waiting. Chew hemmed and hawed and tried to evade the issue, but the keen eves of Semore Mashby di the ravages of fire and water upon the pearl- y pants. OlGreat aufferin’ tripe!" he ejaculated. one yo’ pants been doin’, Lawyer ‘what you mean—doin'?” Semore circled Chew, and motioned the others to join him. “ All blacked up like you perme ‘em wet—an’ a big hole sort of urned in.” “ Weil,” snarled Chew, “they wasburnt!"’ “An’ wes you in them pants at the time?” “No, foolish. Co’se I wasn’t. You reckon I would leave somebody come along an’ burn me like that?” Semore was persistence itself. ‘Where'd you | hom afternoon?” oe vin’ ” “How come you to take yo’ pants off?” Chew's brain worked swiftly. This would never do; best thing for him was to make a clean breast of it, confess that the joke was on him, and let the others have a good time. So he smiled ruefully and retailed the story of his disazetrous visit to the Whittles’ home; of the swim in the watering trough and the subsequent scorching of his trousers. He made it as funny as he could and they laughed heartily, and then he pledged them ali to secrecy. *You-ail is my frien’s,”” he pleaded, “an’ you has had yo’ fun offen me. Suttinly there ain’t no use making me ridiculum be- fo’ ev’ybody in Bumminham, is there?”’ “No suh!” Brutus Herring was very positive. “They echoed Isaac Gethers. They turned upon Semore Mashby. “How "bout you?” “Me? Golly, I woul’n’t go "barrassing Lawyer Chew fo’ nothin’.” Chew thanked them with tears in his eyes, and it was agreed that he would ex- plain the hole in his trousers by blaming it on the hotel pressing shop. The Montgomery officers swallowed the story without a wink. They not only did not make it a subject for jocularity but were exceedingly regretful that a visiting lodge officer should nave been treated so disreapectfully by any local pants presser. eenavelll hie that they would be de- lighted to make good his loss, but he waved an insouciant hand. shuah ain't!” THE SATURDAY “Shucks, no! Wha’s one pair of pants more or less between lodge brothers?’ The new Sons & Daughters of I Will Arise lodge was installed amid much revelry and enthusiasm. Immediately after the ceremony a large and earnest dance was held, a band furnishing the music. Early the following morning the Birmingham delegation returned to the Mugic City, where Lawyer Chew’s car was waiting at the train and. he was driven home in the privacy of its tonneau. Meanwhile in Chew’s brief absence from the city a new sensation had shaken colored society to its foundations. Throwaways similar to that which had been shown to Chew by Semore Mashby on the train had been generally distributed, and the itch for authorship had infected slightly more than one hundred per cent of the dusky populace. The Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc., had not only to pay two hundred and fifty dollars in gold to the author of the best two-reel comedy synopsis but had contracted further to ashes an actual pro- duction of that picture with the author’s name displayed in large letters. There a peared to be not a man, woman or child in the city who didn’t know at least gh got situation, and from the second day of the contest the judges were swamped with manuscripts of more or less startling degrees of impossibility. Stories, stories, stories, some of them bad and some terrible; they came with letters assuring the judges that they must be because they were taken from real life. Orifice R. Latimer and J. Caesar Clump gazed at each other across the stacks of mail and wondered whether, after all, they had not been a bit hasty in bringing this deluge of labor upon themselves. As ss weg Mashby, a gentleman was taking easy. His presence on the board of talons had been for the sole and simple purpose of representing the general public as a guaranty of genuine- ness. So the skinny little man strutted through the excitement, pooeene himself on his pewly acquired dignity and permit- ting all and sundry to fawn upon him in the attempt to cause him to become more favorably inclined to their particular manu- script. Since returning from Montgomery, Se- more had again tried to interest the Mid- night offi in his proposition for the erection of a new studio, They referred him to Lawyer Evans Chew. “He's our legal counsel, an’ does he say it is a good thing, us considers it. Other- wise—not.” Chew proved no more responsive than he had been on the Montgomery-bound train. He agreed that the p tion was basically sound, but impossible of consid- eration at the rent s by the atten- uated financier. And Semore ref: to lower his asking price by so much as a single copper cent. ut his stubbornness masked a consider- able worry. He ed the proposition as excellent from his standpoint, and he knew that the hour was imminent when Midnight must make definite arrangements for another year’s housing. He retired into his musty, dingy office and gave himself over to a protracted period of intensive thought. He emerged from this brief con- finement with his lean face crinkled into a grin, and made his way immediately and triumphantly to the offices of Lawyer Evans Chew on the seventh floor of the Penny Prudential Bank Building. The chocolate-cream Keenegrapher in- formed the visitor that Lawyer Chew was, at the moment, in conference, but would be free in a half hour. Semore elected to wait. And forty minutes later he greeted the ponderous and portly attorney as that gentleman looked up from the pages of a volume of American and English Anno- tated Cases and informed Semore that he was busy on matters of importance. Chew exuded learning and dignity, but for once Mr. Mashby was not imp : “T has come to make talk with you,” he started. Chew frowned. “Ise busy an’ my time is vallible. 1 is gatherin’ data on a replevin case which has been brought to me, which the facts of same ———”’ “This is a pussonal matter,’ Semore mildly. “If it's some more about that Midnight lease, then you might’s well not th’ow good breff after bad.” “*Tain’t about that, Lawyer Chew. It’s about this heah scenario contest which I is a judge of.” suggested EVENING POST Chew straightened; a lavender flush of anger cr his forehead. ‘How come you to bother me with yo’ scenario con- test? I ain’t got no time to truck with such as that.” “T asks yo’ legal ‘pinion. It’s about me writin’ a fo’ that contes’.”” “You cain’t do it. You isa judge.” so aie spose I signs a friend’s name “T reckon if you done that ——” “This is the swellest yet!” Se more waxed enthusiastic. “It stahts this- away ——” lawyer rose and pounded a flesh fist upon the near-mahogany desk top. “ ain’t gwine listen to no stories.” “You is interested in this one, Lawyer Chew. An’ I mean positivel.” Chew detected the fire gleam in Semore’s eyes, and instinct prompted him to be seated. “Shoot!” he commanded. Semore’s thin high-pitched voice cut th h the room. “It’s a story ‘bout a big fat lawyer all dressed up in a gray suit which gits to a town where he don’t live, an’ goes to see a swell-lookin’ gal on business. This heah lawyer in the story is gwine have an awful jealous wife. Now, when he gits to see this noble-lookin’ lady client, he trips an’ falls into a waterin’ trough an’ pretty near ruins his nice gray pants. Chew was leaning forward tensely. There was no doubting that his attention was caught. A murderous light was in his eyes as he murmured a harsh “Go on!” “Well,” continued Semore smoothly, “this lady puts the fat lawyer into another room an’ takes his pants th’oo the door an’ starts pressin’ ‘em, an’ while doin’ so she burns a hole in ’em with a flatiron, an’ then the pants is ruint sho’ nuff.” Mr. Mashby paused for a moment; then he went on, checking off salient details on his fingers: “Now this lady has got a — husban’ which is libel to kill any feller which even looks th at his good-lookin’ wife, an’ be husband ain’t home. But he’s comin’ ome We ae “Tha's a lie!” snapped Chew. ‘“‘ Mistuh Lijah Whittle an’ me is good frien’s.”’ “Who said somethin’ bout you? I don’t even know yet what is the name of the lawyer in the story. Anyway, this husban’ comes in the door an’ sees them pants, an’ he says to his wife, ‘ Wife,’ he says, ‘what is you doin’ with whose pants?’ Well, she esplains to him, an’ the lawyer is listenin’ th’oo the do’, an’ all of a sudden the husban’ tabs them pants an’ lets out a yell, an’ as e goes bustin’ in the door the lawyer grabs him a bedspread an’ flies out the winder.” Semore’s voice trailed off. He allowed himself a broad happy grin. Chew was staring in transfixed horror; the cunning of the little man’s scheme was beginning to strike home. “‘Cain’t you see how funny that meine look in movin’ pitchers?” murmu Mr. Mashby. “That fat, dignifried lawyer scootin’ ’cross lots an’ th’oo valleys with a bedspread wropped aroun’ his laigs, an’ the husban’ chasin’ after him wavin’ them pants? Man, it’s gwine make ev’ybod, which sees it just bust themse’ves laughin’! “‘An’ now comes the paht that makes it a swell story—see? The lawyer in the pitcher is scared to death an’ he falls in ditches an’ its stuck on fences an’ all like that, an’ n’ly when he cain’t run no mo’ on account he has lost his breff, he falls down on the grass an’ waits fo’ the husban’ to come up an’ sterminate him. There he lies, an’ up comes the husban’; an’ the lawyer looks up at him an’ says, ‘ Mister,’ he says, ‘you is about to make a terrible mistake—but you better go ahead an’ ki!l me now an’ git it done with.’ The husban’ looks down at him. ‘Kill you?’ he asks. ‘Whaffo’?’ With that the lawyer kinder groans, an’ I con- ten’s that this is funny-pitcher stuff: ‘Well, if you ain’t gwine kill me, what has you been chasin’ me fo’?’ Fo’ a minute the husban’ looks at him an’ then he busts out laughin’. “What has I been chasin’ you fo’?’ he questions. ‘Why, what do you think? I wanted to give you back yo’ pants! oF The voice of the little man trailed off, and for a few moments the office was filled with silence. It was Semore who resumed the conversation. ‘*Now I has sawn a heap of the stories which has been submitted, Lawyer Chew, an’ they ain’t ary one of ’em which would make as good a two-reel pitcher as that one. It’s a puffec’ly wonderful plot, an’ it has got a big laugh on the end, which is what March 7,1925 J. Ceasar Clump says we always ought to have. An’ I is shuah that if that story was to be sent in an’ I was to read it an’ vote fo’ it enthusiastic an’ show it pussonal to them other ju —it would come awful close to winnin’ the prize. An’ even if it didn’t—it suttinly is good enough to git assepted an’ preseet as a pitcher some other time. Now asts you: What has you got to say about it?” Chew glared. “TI calls it a dirty rotten trick—tha’s what. I thought you promised in Mon’gom’ry you never would tell no- pay Ae vaya me gittin’ my pants burned.” “This ain’t tellin’ nobody, is it? An’ besides, who says it was you?”’ “Well—other folks know I got a hole burned in my trousers, an’ the minute they was to read that scenario or look at the pitcher they’d know I was the feller which was meant. An’ not on’y they’d staht thinkin’ things, but also my wife would raise thunder.” “Shuh! I ain’t studyin’ "bout Mis’ Chew.” j “You ain’t ma’ied to her, tha’s why.” Semore rubbed his hands together unc- tuously. “What you think of my story, Brother Chew?” “It’s all one big lie—tha’s what I think about it.”’ “Well, it’sa story, an’ is it assepted I cain’t he’p it if folks git the idea I took the whole thing fum real life.” Chew rose and walked to the window, where he stood looking dewn upon the welter of traffic which choked Eighteenth Street. Darktown’s Broadway was urgent with life and merriment; street cars peers around corners and auto sirens shrieked imperiously. he broad back of the lawyer was toward his visitor. Pudgy, heavily ringed hands were clasped earnestly. e brown fore- head was furrowed with horizontal lines of worry. Chew was of a sufficiently judicial turn of mind to grasp immediately the cunning of Semore Mashby’s scheme. The ganen est part of it all was that the story would make a howlingly funny picture—some- thing which could not be said for 99 per cent of the scripts which were be- ing submitted in the contest. And with Semore himself approving it and bringing it enthusiastically to the attention of the other judges, the chances were all in favor of its being declared winner of the first prize. Chew wished now that he had told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Of course it would have made him seem rather ridiculous, but, after all, a joke told on oneself loses much of its sting. He did not delude himself as to the power for damage lying in Mashby’s proposed synopsis. He was willing to wager that, friends as Isaac hers and Dr. rutus Herring were, they had told their wives in strictest secrecy of his absurd plight in Montgomery. It might even have come to the ears of the gossipy and acid- tongued Sis Callie Flukers. d of course Mrs. Chew knew all about the burned trousers. If, then, these damning circumstances should be screened it would generally be accepted that, since part of Lawyer Chew’s story was unquestionably untrue, the rest must be tainted with falsity. What could be easier then than to believe the whole thing? And Lawyer Chew shuddered at thought of what Mrs. Chew would say should she be- lieve the whole of the ridiculous fabrication. He swung grimly back upon Semore Mashby. **What’s yo’ price fo’ not submittin’ this story, Semore?”’ Mr. Mashby smirked ingratiatingly. “I ain’t said I come up heah to make a trade with you. I just thought you might be in- terested in my authoring.” “TI am”—grimly. ‘“Now—what is it?” “We-e-ell, I ain’t never ceased thinkin what it would be a pow’ful fine deal fo Midnight if they was to leave me build a new studjo fo’ ’em.” “At yo’ rental?” “Uh-huh. On a five-yeah lease.” “Nothin’ doin’. Absotively not a thing.” “Tha’s yo’ business, Lawyer Chew. fn be trottin’ along. Got a heap of work to do on that story of mine.” Chew did some quick thinking. **When does that contest close, Semore?”’ ““Saddy night. ‘Nouncement is to be made nex’ We’nesday.” Wednesday! Owners of the present stu- dio property were demanding an answer by Friday. (Continued on Page 76)

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SATURDAY EVENING POST When new and clean, the PuroLatox filter ele- ment weighs approxi- mately two pounds, ac- cording to the size and type of the PuROLATOR. Note that the filter ele- ment here weighs a — — a — een ama trifle over four pounds, after about 10,000 miles of use. The contamina- tion which it has taken out of the oil accounts for the additional two pounds. Keeping Costly Dirt Out of Your Engine Dirt in your engine oil is one of the big reasons why you pay money for repairs. At a far smaller cost—a ridiculously low cost by comparison—you can employ PUROLATOR to keep dirt out of your engine oil. By dirt we mean road dust, cast iron powder, carbon chips, metal particles, all of which, mixed with the oil and con- stantly circulated, grind away the bear- ings, pistons and piston rings and dam- age cylinder walls. PUROLATOR prevents this damage and its consequent expense because by an automatic and microscopic process of fil- tration, it keeps the oil continuously clean as your car runs. PUROLATOR prolongs the life of your engine, and greatly lengthens the time before the expense, inconvenience and waste of crank-case draining are necessary. You see clean oil go into the engine each time the crank-case is drained. Look at it after 100 miles—black with dirt, constantly carrying grit to every lubricated part of the engine. There is no way of avoiding the expense and the waste of dirty oil, except by means of PUROLATOR. With it, every drop of oil is perfectly and automatically cleaned as it circu- lates, all the time, as your car runs. Get PUROLATOR on your car, truck, tractor or bus today. Be through with the needless trouble and expense which Girty oil inflicts. 2600 PUROLATOR Sales and Service Stations Throughout the country there are 2600 PUROLATOR sales and service stations, all equipped to install PUROLATOR without delay. Take yourcar to the nearest PUROLATOR station today and have PUROLATOR installed. The attachment will take not more than two hours, and you will be free from the dangers and expense of using dirty oil. See. ee a a | Installation fe } Passenger Cars 20 minutes with only a wrench. Small Fours and Sixes - $15 y » Large Fours and Medium Sixes20 For Trucks os Os ee Large Sixes,EightsandT welves 30 West of Rocky Mountains prices Ford + - ae. oS oe slightly higher; in Canada, Purolator for Ford, installed in $22.50, $30, $45 and $70. Cars without force feed systems or exposed oil lines, re quiring auxiliary pump, and special fittings, $5 additional. For Motor Boats PUROLATOR can also be installed on practically any type of marine engine having force feed lubrication, Priced as above according to size of engine, PUR( JLATOR MOTOR IMPROVEMENTS, INc. THE OIL PURIFYING SYSTEM 1801 Fisk Building, Broadway and 57th St., NEW YORK, N. Y. Send complete information about PUROLATOR. { for my car 1 am interested in Purolator 4 ) (make and model) sales and service ‘Cc { } Lam a dealer for Truck (name of) Tractor Name Address . | ATER AE | |

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76 (Continued from Page 74) Chew spoke crisply. ‘Don’t do nothin’ ‘bout that story untii you heah fum me “T don’ t nee -———-"" “Well, I do. Promise?’ “All right. Until Chuesday. But remem- ber, I ain't tryin’ to hol’ you up.’ “No-—you ain’t. You woul'n’t dream of doin’ in’ like that.” Mashby departed, leaving the attorney in a ferment of doubt and unrest. A great cloud of gloom was drifting across his boriaon, headed atraight in his direction. The more he dwelt upon the potentiali- ties of Semore’s acheme the more certain he beeame that he would be forced to porte Mr. Mashby’s terms. It was a straight holdup, of course, but Semore’s lack of po ce made his own dilemma none the less ome Golly Mewes!” he muttered. “If on'y I nad tal thab obery on myse’f, stead of un- truthing about it py werent nothin’. Now if it oose, ev'ybody is gwine to think the w oe business is true!"’ For the balance of the day Lawyer Chew abandoned business in favor of speculation on his own canine “4 — that he was strictly up nat it, and the prospect was far from alluring. He took hia probiem home with him and spent ihe evening in tall and fancy think- ing. At 9:89 he crawled between the sheets, wtill dering, and when he dozed off an hour beter the problem remained un- ~~ . At two o'clock he waked suddenly and sat up straight in bed. His teeth gleamed through the darkness. His lips framed words of exultation “Hot diggity dawg!" he exclaimed. “ Ise got it!” Mrs, C es i eegtionet drowsily, ‘What you aon, 3 bein ‘ot the attorney was working at top Laer Determination crystallized and ie crawled out of bed and into his bath robe. He disappeared into the kitchen and twent ae ater returned to the bedroom wit a cup of steaming coffee. He — hia wife commanded “Whaffo’ "f should drink coffee at ha’f pas” two o'clock in the mawnin’?"” “1 graves to git you wide awake. an idea te talk over.’ The coffee effectively drove sleep from the wifely eyes. She sat up while Chew, in- cased in hia gloriously hued dressing gown, paced the floor and told her the true story of his Montgomery disaster. She gave close attention “You b’lieve me, don't you, honey?” Mra, Chew nodded; she was a woman of considerable wisdom and sensed that some- thing vital waa transpiring. Also she had been married to Evans Chew a sufficient number of years to know when he spoke truthfully and when he did not. Of course this was a golden opportunity to become caustic, but instinct warned her that great everts were about te occur. “Yeh, I b’tieve you, Evans. Preceed.” He proceeded. He told of Semore Mash- by's Machiavellian scheme to use him against The Midnight Pictures Corpora- tion, Ine., and of the Damoclean sword susvended above his dignified head. “But, Evans, what you got to worry about? You has tol’ me, an’ I know Se- more’s scenario ain't true, so “Tha’'s fine about you, honey chile, but I has got a position in Bumminham which has got to be maintained. Folks has got to know that I is a he-wife of Cesar, which means that they mustn’t suspec’ me of nothin’ which ain't open an’ above the board. Now you know, good as me, that does Semore’s scenario win the prize, ‘folks is gwine be glad to think that it is all true, specially when they knows that half of it is true. An’ the minute they git the idea that when I goes away on business trips I allivanta aroun’ an’ gits into trouble with Fadies’ husban’s—-1se ruint. Plumb, abso- tively ruint! Ain't that a fack?” Mrs. Chew inctined her head in agree- ment. “You shuah does speak wisdom, ane. But what can us do? You sholy ine let Semore Mashby git away one that contrack, is you?” “No, ma’am. Tha’s one thing I woul’n't never do. What Lawyer Evans Chew has got is ethics, an’ lots of ‘em. Also I detests to git helt up. Now heah’s my idea: Minute this scenario gits chose, folks is ine think terrible things about me an’ ontgomery unless.” “Unless which?” “Drink this," he I got THE SATURDAY “Unless we does somethin’ to prove that they coul’n’t be right, even if they was. Now it just struck me that Mistuh an’ Mis’ Whittle is about due to be leavin’ Mon’gom'ry fo’ St. Louis, an’ if they was to stop in Bumminham en root an’ be the house gues’s of Lawyer an’ Mis’ Evans Chew, an’ if we was all to go to the ‘nouncement together, I reckon there coul’n’t nobody say nothing had ever been wrong between us, could they?”’ Mrs. Chew nodded sagely. “Tha’s right, Evans; that shuah is right. You suttinly does use yo’ haid fo’ somethin’ more than just to give yo’ hat a rest.’ Bright and early the following morning Lawyer Chew journeyed to Montgomery. When he returned it was with Mr. and Mrs. i Whittle. They were both dazed and elighted at this signal attention, and they fairly reveled in the luxury of the Chews’ guest room. “‘Heah they is,”’ announced Chew to his wife in the privacy of their room. “ An’ now we'll leave Mistuh Mashby do his durndest.’ “We suttinly will. ain’t so bad either.” “Not a bit,” agreed Evans heartily. “Only a li'l’ bit dumb.” News that there were visitors at the Chew residence reached Semore through Florian Slappey. “Swell-lookin’ gal an’ her husban’ visitin’ the Chews,” announced Florian. “What their name is?” “Whittle.” “That don’t mean nothin’ to me. Where at is they fum?’ “I dunno, But she sholy ain’t hard to look at, I’m tellin’ you. Pussonally, I wisht she wan't ma’ied.’ Semore gave the matter scant attention at the moment. But the day following he received a summons from Lawyer Chew. He visited the attorney at the latter's office and stood ay, while Evans Chew hurled anathema u is head for daring to think that he might, even for one single instant, contemplate double-crossing The Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc. Semore was dazed, Jus’ a minute, Lawyer Chew; just one i'l’ teeny minute. Does I correc’ly under- stan’ that you ain’t gwine adwise Midnight to asse t my offer? “Yo comprehension is imminently cor- rect. An’ fu’thermo’ Mr. Mashby was enormously crestfallen. “‘Nemmin’ no furthermo’s, Lawyer Chew.” Slow anger was mounting within his bosom. He raised to the face of the attorney beady eyes which were glittering with anger. “Tha’s all right fo’ you. I reckon there ain’t nothin’ fo’ me to do but go out an’ author me a story about a feller gittin’ his ponte burned, an’ chased by a jealous hus- yan’ because.” “Go ahaid,” counseled Chew airily. “Make it two pants if you like. Trousers ain't nothin’ in my young life.” “Tha’s what you think. But when folks gits to understan’ that this means you--— “Git out of my office, Semore Mashby, befo’ I th’ows you out!” Semore paused at the door for a Parthian shot: “All right, Old Burn-Pants! You wait! Unless you comes to me pretty quick with yo’ mind all changed, that story is gwine win fust prize.” Mr. Mashby was considerably perturbed as he descended to the ground floor of the all-negro skyscraper. It had not been be- yond the realm of possibility that Lawyer Chew would advise Midnight against deal- ing with him at his price, but he most cer- tainly could not understand the ebony barrister’s aggressive indepenccace. That betokened an indifference which Brother Mashby could not understand. Semore knew what havoc his scenario would play should it win first prize, and he knew that Lawyer Chew knew it. There- fore, by all the rules, Lawyer Chew should be apprehensive; and this he most cer- tainly was not. It occurred to Mr. Mashby that there was a colored brother concealed in the cord- wood, and he set his small but agile brain to work. Lawyer Chew had a plan. Per- haps - Semore’s memory flashed back to Flor- ian’s casual mention of visitors at the Chew home. Instantly he turned his steps in the direction of Sis Callie Flukers’ respectable boarding house. Sis Callie was very much at home. Thin and eager and acid tongued, she was quite excited over Semore’s visit. Mr. Mashby did not mince words. An’, Evans—they EVENING POST “Folks named Whittle visitin’ over at the Chewses, Sis Callie.” “‘Ain’t it so?” “Seems kind of queer to me nobody knows nothin’ ’bout who they is or where fum. “Shuh!” Sis Callie was all a-flutter. “You talks foolishment with yo’ mouf, Brother Mashby. I know who they is an’ where at come fum.” “Tels names is Mistuh an’ Mis’ Lijah Whittle, an’ they comes fum Mon’ gom'ry, an’ is on their way to St. Louis, an’ just recent Lawyer Chew was down there to see 'em "bout settlin’ up an estate, an’ I has heard that they burned his pants fo’ him an’ Unquestionably Sis Callie was worthy of her reputation. Semore departed marvel- ing at her acquisitive powers, and himself doing some high-s thinking. Of course Chew’s — was now clear as erystal. Here at his home were the gentle- man and lady directly involved in the scorched-trousers episode. It was obvious that they would apes ped Lawyer Chew and his wife to the public meeting whereat the winner of the scenario contest was to be announced. There would be a great hulla- baloo when Low Chew was recognized as the original of the unfortunate attorney in the story; and then he, as a magnificent gesture, would laugh as heartily as the others and very flagrantly introduce to all and sundry the lady and her husband. “One thing is certain shuah,”’ admitted Semore grudgingly —“‘what Lawyer Chew has got in his haid is brains.” The plan was magnificently simple and superbly sound. It appeared to Semore that he had been outwitted, that Lawyer Chew had proved too adroit for him. But he had a job to do, and it was no part of Semore’s scheme to leave a stone unturned. His immediate task was to enter his sce- nario and see that it won first prize. The Whittles could be attended to later. He sought Christopher P. S. Shoots, edi- tor of the local colored weekly newspaper, and offered to split fifty-fifty with that entleman for authoring the scenario under is own name. Christopher P. S. Shoots was excessively agreeable and immediately commenced hammering his battered old wrpemrte he following morning he delivered the script at the studio of The Midnight Pic- tures Corporation, Inc. Semore arrived a half hour later to find the Messrs. Orifice R. Latimer and J. Cesar Clump completely snowed under by a last-minute avalanche of manuscripts. They were laboring earnestly and sin- cerely—and with a last forlorn hope flick- ering sadly. Semore located the Shoots manuscript and labeled it with the numer- als 837, immersed himself in it for a few moments, and then flashed to his feet with a loud whoop. “Hot diggity dawg!’’ he howled. got it!” “Got which?” “The winnin’ scenario! A whamdoodler! The dawg-gondest slickest story Midnight ever trifled with. Listen!” Mr. Mashby struck an attitude. And then with impassioned dramatic fervor he read Mr. Shoots’ graphic story of Lawyer Chew’s searing experience. Before he was finished the harried officials were smiling, and when the tag was announced they fairly shrieked with glee. “Sufferin’ as chuckled Cesar Clump, his eye twinkling professionally. ‘That wins all the fust prizes we has got. Think of that vee fo’ a pitcher: Husban’ chasin’ the fat awyer, an’ then ‘splainin’ that all he was doin’ it fo’ was to return back his pants. Eat my shirt if that ain’t a whingbuzzer!”’ The [ge was awarded instantly, enthu- siastically and unanimously. There was only one objection. Seems like to me,’’ hazarded President Latimer, “that I has heard rumors "bout Lawyer Evans Chew having been th’oo somethin’ like that.” “Heard! Piff! Ise heard a heap of thin But I don’t know ‘em, do I?’ “Tha’s right, Semore; you shuah don’ t, But if this really was Lawyer Chew ——— “Us don’t know nothin’, tha’s all, What you think, Cesar?” Mr. Clump was first, last and alw a director, and the picture possibilities of the os made an appeal which was irre- sistible. “T votes for,” he said positively. “‘An’ I don’t mean maybe.” “Tse March 7,1925 Semore was buoyed by a queer elation as he stepped into the street once again. True, the putting across of his story as the prize winner was not by any means his chief concern, but it was at least a vital step. “All I has got to do now,” he reflected, “is to fix things so them Whittles don’ t mess things all up; an’ they ain’t no way to do that. So lemme think.” Whereupon he valiantly attacked the job of accomplishing the impossible. It was not the first time that Mr. Mashby had at- tempted such a task, and never before had the spirit of revenge flamed so magnifi- cently in his shriveled soul. He circulated through Darktown, ab- sorbing bits of gossip concerning the visi- tors at the Chew home. No one knew much about them, but he did learn positively that Sis Callie Flukers’ information was correct in every detail. In addition to that, he learned that they were simple country folk. Suddenly his eye brightened and a grin twitched the corners of his lips. “IT b’lieve,” he informed himself, ‘that I is about to have an idea.” He was not wrong. The idea did not come for several days, but when it arrived it —_ oo ay in every detail. ne 4 proceeded carefully. He ball aii ours in which to work, and he stationed himself across the street from the Chew home, hoping to waylay Mr. and Mrs, Whittle when they ould emerge for a stroll. But he was not blessed with luck that afternoon. When they appeared it was in the company of Mrs. Evans Chew. They were chatting amiably as they walked townward. He trailed them as far as the Champion Theater. Mrs. Chew paid their admission fee while Semore slouched dis- consolately up the street. The following morning he was more suc- cessful. Lawyer Chew was at work, Mrs. Chew busy with her household duties, and Mr. and Mrs. Whittle left the house for a stroll about the neighborhood. Semore followed. Two blocks down the street he crossed their path, paused and lifted his shiny de rby. “*Mawnin’, folks.’ They stopped and smiled, obviously pleased at being addressed in so friendly a manner. “Mawnin’,” they chorused. “This is Mistuh an’ Mis Lijah Whittle, fum Mon’gom’ry, ain’t it?’’ The fact was cheerfully admitted. “Well, dawg-gone my hide!” exclaimed Semore. ‘Seems zif that almost makes us relatives. I knows a heap of folks in Mon’gom “No! “Suttinly is. Pain’ "t possible.” Tha’s right where they lives at." He appeared to do some deep thinking. “How Jong you folks gwine be in Bumminham? “Till t’morrow.”” Mrs. Lijah Whittle was beaming. “Us is headed fo’ St. Louis, an Lijah has a’ready got him a good jo “What you-all doin’ tonight?” “Lawyer Chew an’ wife is takin’ us to The Sons & Daughters of I Will Arise Hall. They is gwine be some sort of a jubilee down there.” “Uh-huh. Shuah is.’ This made mat- ters certain. Semore proceeded to do a bit of acting. ‘‘ Now ain’t that just the tough- est luck?” he moaned. “There coul’n’t nothin’ in the world be no tougher.” Mrs. Whittle was impressed. “ What you mean—tough?’ "Bout you-all leavin’ tomorrow.’ “‘How come? “Well, you see, it’s thisaway,’’ confided Semore. ‘I was thinkin’ of goin’ to St. Louis on’a li'l’ trip myse’f, an’ I went an’ bought me two tic kets fo’ this afternoon’s train, an’ now I ” scovers that I cain’t go, an’ them tickets is jus’ lyin’ idle. So I got me the idea that as us sort of is ol’ friends me knowin’ so many folks in Mon’gom’ 4 an’ all—that maybe if you could use ’em I'd ee them two tickets to you as a present, acious fo’ nothin’.” hat!” The Whittles were staggered. “You offers us two free tickets to St. Louis?” “Uh-huh, You suttinily is welcome to ‘em. On’y trouble is that you’d have to use *em this — They won’t be no good tomorrow.” Mr. Whittle looked at Mrs. Whittle, and Mrs. Whittle looked at Mr. Whittle. Two absolutely free tickets to St. Louis! It was stupendous; magnificent. They held a brief and hurried conference, and decided (Continued on Page 78)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Part of a Billion Dollar Distribution In the case of many a good tire, its handling between the maker and - your car costs more than it cost to produce the tire itself. Obviously what you pay to get the tire from the factory to your car does not deliver tire mileage, which is what you try to buy. The great Hardware Merchants of the country told us they wanted to deliver tire mileage at low cost af > to the consumer—not cheap tires eis, Li but low cost mileage, and there is Si yee a vast difference in your favor. 9 They told us that they could handle tires at very low cost as ay | hardware me rchants of part of their billion dollar annual distribution of hardware, and give é i the country told us they us super-powers as manufacturers. Unless you understand these [| Wanted to deliver tire facts, it would be natural for you to doubt the truth of the tales you Wi mile ag e at low CO st to hear of remarkable performance of raise: one *~\| the consumer~not cheap oMeennee Xie G. Rabie: Samson tires but low cost mile- age, and there is a vast difference in your favor ™~) sr GE Se RYE wee 2 : = = = > » f F"IN_Oe@ & SMS) Cones . ~ ra Kn GA Ge Woy 2A ¥ 4 Dm . sy ie ad) Si“) ry =~ Se 1S) Ae y A A a aw 4) op z 2 Fin A > wy of 4 wn Sf er a elo ia ey 4 F Stated = j 2D, Fe NASER — SAL itn PA |p FSS Sid] te = = ya! y~ ra > —~ ALA *) SJ vq & ¥ 4 2”) Pei DD go, <9 Bi) OY er) a wae ASS yy) be yu) - es] Ss ew Sy : xh )) iPr }? <7 ~ = 2 yeNER Jee

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78 Watch This Column VIRGINIA VALLI Ail the world loves mystery and detective stories, has always loved them and always will, because there is a thrill in them that no other form of story can create. Lately I have been besieged with letters asking for more of themin pictures. Consequently I am in the market for them and will pay liberally for those we accept. But they must be high-class, intelligent and well thought out, They must be origi- nal and have the dramatic punch—in a word, “ something new under the sun.” Let me hear from you well-known au thors and from new and aspiring writers. VIRGINIA VALLI has an excellent picture in “‘Up the Ladder.”’ it is an adaptation of Owen Davis’ stage success. See it this week and write me what you think of it. In this fine play, a woman is loved by her millionaire employer and one of his salesmen. She marries the latter and then the emplever tries to tempt her to leave her husband. In the supporting cast are Forrest Stanley, Holmes Her- bert, George Fawcett, Margaret Liv- ingston and Priscilla Moran. Directed by Edward Sioman. Please write and tell me whether ‘‘ The Hunchback of Notre Dame"’ has been shown in your town. If it has not been, | will try to get it in one or more of your good theatres. But write, I want something to work on. In the masked ball which is one of the countless big scenes in “The Phantom of the Opera,"’ 5,000 people appeer and the ball is photo graphed in color. The settings of Uni versal’s magnificent mystery spectacle will amaze you. Not only is the vast Paris Opera House reproduced, but also the grand staircase and thousands of seats on the main floor, together with the subterranean vaults and waterways where the Phantom hides, LON CHANEY plays the “Phantom” and MARY PHILBIN and NORMAN KERRY play the lovers. arl Laemmle C: <r Se

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a EIN Sh ti ty ie THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a The Greatest Success in Ten Years of Succeeding i ihee instant success of the Coach Imperial outshines any previous page of Chandler history. Admiringly studied by crowds at all the shows, this car scored a national triumph. Every seeker for quality was eager to inspect a new model which offers, at touring car price, the supremacy of Chandler performance and the luxury of Fisher body craftsmanship. To drive this roomy luxurious Coach, to feel the power of the Pikes Peak Motor, to change motor speeds flawlessly, silently, with the Traffic Transmission, is personal proof that this car de- serves its extraordinary reception by the public. (The Traffic Transmission is bil complete in the Chandler plant under Campbell patents.) THE CHANDLER MOTOR CAR COMPANY , CLEVELAND Export Dept., 1819 Broadway, New York City ° Cable Address, ““Chanmotor” All Prices f. o. b. Cleveland . A ge

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>) | young and | 4 poi asa oa Lace Shoe— $3.50 Hanover Shoes for and Lite Men are built of finest leathers, well put together, $2.50, $3 and $3.50 THE SATURDAY like leaving an oasis for endless stretches of sand. He would much prefer to sit and gorge trout, if only there were more of it. here was more of it. Cora again had disappeared, but it was only to come back after an interval bearing a third plate of the same. “You won’t get much of anything else,” she apologized. “‘ We're old-fashioned, and without Diana I’m almost helpless.” — Major Morgan didn’t answer. His jaws swung through a wider parabola, accom- panied by a slightly increased Finding sound, something like the mills of the gods, something like the purring of a cat. dreamy, introspective a deepened in his face. Not for nothing has the East made of Buddha a figure chiefly stomach. It was a moment beyond words and too profound for thought. At dinner the major came to the table less eagerly than might have been expected. Cornbi and sweet potatoes steamed a welcome, and it looked as if black Diana had relented. But it wasn’t this which weighed his spirits down. He had eaten rather heartily in the middle of the day; appetite was at a low ebb and homesickness a rising tide. But it wasn’t that either. No, nor the presence of Blauvelt and Minnie, nor the aegemoney Sant a had gr necessary to dress with particular care in a white vest which was a shade too tight. Cora made for the kitchen as soon as ace was said. Diana, then, had not re- ented. The major tilted his nose and breathed in distinctly favorable omens. Yet for once he failed whole-heartedly to wel- come the watering of his mouth. He re- sisted-—why or what he couldn’t have said. An inhibition had been born in the depths of his unexplored subconscious mind. | “We must be going to have chicken,” cackled Miss Minnie. He nodded, his nostrils having told him the same thing. It would be roasted, and stuffed no doubt with chestnuts or oysters. He much preferred bread crumbs. Then, too, it would either be old and tough or tasteless. Roast fowls that one got away from home were inevitably one or the other. Still, if there were celery, mashed potatoes, mashed turnips and cranberry sauce, the latter well sweetened and cooked just long enough for half cf the berries to ave burst ——— He glanced around. There was no sign of cranberries or of turnips, nor even of pota- toes, save the dish of sweet ones already noted. Somehow he wasn't sorry, and he | told himself it was because a light repast would be good for him after that debauch of trout. He couldn’t yet realize that the | new feeling in the profound of his soul was fear—of anything, at least, but indigestion. | And—-what was that plate of biscuits for? There were two kinds of bread without it. The chicken proved to be fricasseed. The biscuits on the table were to supple- ment those already cut in halves and soak- ing in the hot, thick, yellow gravy in which the great offering was presented. Only an old hen, with ingots of fat beneath her ribs and stewed for long hours in her own juices could be the origin of gravy like that. | Spring birds were for novices. But he was an idolater when it came to old-hen fricassee, and he soon forgot all else in the thought that the white vest was going to prove to be a curse, “Unbutton! Unbutton!” cried the hos- pitable Blauvelt. ‘We don’t stand on cere- | mony here. Unbutton your vest, major, and set to.” Unquestionably a coarse fellow, Blau- velt. But, by heaven, he was setting the example! What if, for once, even though away from home, one were to —— When it was over, Major Morgan stag- gered to his chair by the fire. He had meant to go home at*once, but there had been mince pie, and only fools and dyspeptics take no thought of apoplexy once they are past forty. In addition, there was Blauvelt offering a cigar. “This Weberly, now,” he began. “I see ou're going to run him for mayor. I half lieve I'll scratch a ticket for once and vote for him.” The major turned upon the speaker an eye which the strain sustained by another organ had for the moment slightly dulled. He had always thought of Blauvelt as hard- | | shelled, hopeless, useless to labor with. Really, it was cruel to spring such surprises on one, Nevertheless, he roused himself EVENING POST GRILLED CUPID (Continued from Page 59) to his Republican duty, conscientiously wine out the strong points not only of Weberly but of the whole ticket, until Miss Minnie broke in with another surprise. “Pa,” she said, “don’t forget that you PO mar mg to take me to a movie tonight. a is going, too, so it’s time we started.” “Yes, but here is Major Morgan, and— or will you accompany us, major?” “No, no; don’t stop for me. I must be getting home directly.” That vague feeling of alarm was taking shape, and he tried to struggle to his feet. But a hand detained him. “You're not going yet,”’ said Cora. She was carrying a large glass pitcher filled with an amber-colored liquid whose odor proclaimed it te be the juice of apples, and whose foam suggested that it ha n allowed to stand forgotten until its innate depravity, ravaging unchecked, had fer- mented a flagrant defiance to the Consti- tution of the United States. The major accepted the proffered glass, but his eye fomegers savagely. So, she meant to vamp im, did she? And the others were goin; to leave him in the lurch. Well, he woul show them! Yet cider was notoriously good for the arteries. A generous drink, and that illu- sion of the nerves which sometimes almost made one think that one had eaten too much, immediately Ceoppeane, ving place to the much more pleasant illusion that the stomach contained less than it had before. “It’s the best thing after dinner,” said Cora, taking a seat at the other corner of the fire in the now lonely dining room; “Cider— and a pipe, for men. Don’t you want to throw away that horrid cigar?” “A very good cigar,” he said firmly. “But I do prefer a pipe. So now I'll be go- ing across.”” “What for?” “That's where my pipes are.” “Try this one.” She was filling an old brier out of an old tin. What could she be thinking of? A new pipe would have been bad enough, but an old one belonging to another man The major’s heart gave an alarming start. Something familiar about the tin, foilowed by something unmistakably familiar about the brier, impin upon his consciousness like two successive bullets fired at point- blank range. “Oh, I know about you and your mother,” came distinctly out of the whirligig of room and furniture which now surrounded him. “You always keep the door key under the mat. That’s how I got your Boston rocker too. Is this your favorite? It looked the most dilapidated. And you needn’t stare so. It’s nothing. I’m used to having a man about the house.” So that was it. Cora was used to havin a man about the house—undoubtedly. An she still had on her kitchen apron and was beginning to knit at a blue woolen sock which must be for her father. She couldn’t be trying to vamp him, after all. As the cider got in its work upon his di- gestion this comforting conviction deep- ened. Also the pipe, which was drawing well, soon began to have a soothing effect upon his heart. It was, when all was said and done, an essentially sound organ, merely fluttering occasionally when denied its accustomed doses of nicotine. He felt that he could rely upon it in more ways than one. Moreover, now that Cora had settled down to work she no longer looked so pps pee | skittish. Her conversation was solid and sensible. It must be that, for a moment there, he had wronged her. The major always bought roomy and comfortable shoes, yet they always pinched. No matter what care he took, corns would form, now on one toe, now on another. The habit of toasting his feet in a kitchen stove every night before going to bed did nothing to correct this tendency, and when rain threatened he often found himself walking on barometers of an agonizing accuracy. Rain threatened the next evening, and the major would have jumped at the chance of changing places with one of the dainned. Blauvelt came in, pulled off his boots and incased his little Billies in soft felt Pris- cillas. “Better follow my example,” he driv- eled. ‘Here you are.” He kicked out something from under the table. The major looked down, dumb, regarding his own slippers. His own slippers March 7,1925 beyond a doubt. there? “Mrs. B.’s doings, I suspect,”” answered Blauvelt to the unspoken interrogation. There were no women in the room, and if this were Mrs. B.’s doings—well, one had but to make the change. And with ordinary luck one could change back again after din- ner, in the confusion incident to clearing away the dishes. The major yielded, and in the cessation of torture which ensued he became so expansive that he broke with an established principle of self-restraint and all during the meal told blood-curdling stories about the great—Spanish—war. He did not know how it happened that the Blauvelt family got away. They must have made excuses, pleaded some engage- ment. But he was feeling about for his shoes, and the first thing he noticed was that they were gone—the Blauvelts, that is. Yes, and the shoes too. Cora came in to crumb and lay away the cloth. “T thought I’d mull the cider tonight,” she said. ‘Do you like it hot—with cin- namon?”’ “Yes—no. The fact is, I’ve got some important letters to write.” ‘Have you really?” Yes, he had, and he meant to write them, too, if only she would go back into the kitchen and let him find those confounded shoes. Find them? There they were under the farther end of the tabie. Somebody— that brat, Minnie, perhaps—must have kicked them there. And now Cora had seen and was stooping to pick them up. The se ju blushed scarlet to the roots of his air. “I'd better warm them for you.” “No, I'll go across. I'll carry them.” “How absurd.” “T’ll go across without them.” “In your slippers? You'll catch your death of cold. And what will you do in the morning?”’ “I’ve got other shoes.” “But you haven’t another door key.” He didn’t believe she had taken his door key. But unquestionably she was laughing at him, and his war experiences had taught him that the poorest kind of strategy is to let the enemy know when you are scared. “Have your joke,” he said in his best society manner, moving over to the fire. “Tt’s you who are the joker, pretending - were going without your cider. Lock. ‘our key is under the mat, and I'll put the shoes here where they’ll be ready when you want them.” It had been an excellent dinner, and mulled cider made it perfect. A drowsy feeling came over him. He really must have dozed off for an instant, for when he again became aware of his surroundings peace reigned within and without. Cora was at her knitting, and an open newspaper lay on his lap. With the major, amounted to a vice. It was his habit to de- vour every periodical he could lay his hands on, beginning at the upper left-hand corner of the first page and ending at the lower right-hand corner of the last, including headings, death notices and advertise- ments. Items which he thought would in- terest her he read aloud to his mother. So it wasn’t long before, through sheer reflex action, he was acquainting Cora with the details of a meeting of the common council, the probable route of the projected S. & Q. Railway, and so on and so on, until he came to the innermost bowels of the paper. “To Mr. and Mrs. Amos Fiaxworthy, on Thursday last, at ten P.M., a boy.” In sudden confusion he dropped the paper and stared up at the clock on the mantel- piece. It was ten o’clock indeed. “Those letters! I forgot—you must ex- cuse me.” This time Cora made no protest. She merely choked out a ‘Good night,”’ and he was safely locked in his own basement be- fore he noticed that he had forgotten his shoes. The next morning he resolved to get his own breakfast or have it in town. But there were the shoes. He couldn't leave them at the Blauvelts’, and the longer he put off retrieving them the worse it would be. No, he would go to the door and demand them- now; then plead illness, and flee. But once pe his feet, safely shod in an- other pair .nd with bright sunshine playing (Continued on Page 82) But how did they get a reading Te Oe _-

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Sie canine RT E. 5 eR ~~ we ae * one -— LE TE — See — ia ~~ 5p Tg sey ls \ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ASH Nash Leads the World in Motor Car Value Sy OR PT tee ae > ce oe S-P-E-E-D! 60 flashing miles per hour when you want it. That’s the result of the new-type engineering C. W. Nash has incorporated in the design of this perfected valve-in-head Special Six motor. R-O-A-D-A-B-I-L-I-T-Y ! Extremely low-swung and beautifully balanced, this car seems literally to drive closer to the road at high speed. C-O-N-T-R-O-L! Nash engineered the steering mechanism especially for use with balloon tire equipment and 4-wheel brakes. So the Sedan handles with the most pleasing ease and lightness. B-R-A-K-I-N-G ! Unquestionably Nash has set the pace for the industry with THE SPECIAL SIX SEDAN~$ A Brand of Performance That Will Amaze You these special 4-wheel brakes. They are fully equalized on all four wheels, never affected by climatic changes, and they pull tixe car down smoothly to a dead- stop in record-breaking time, without lurching or skidding. Their design is a model of clean-cut simplicity and it has fewer points requiring lubrication than any other mechanical system. V-A-L-U-E! At the price, $1225 f. 0. b. factory, with this brilliant performance, superb body craftsmanship, and with Nash-design 4-wheel brakes, full bal- loon tires, and 5 disc wheels included at no extra cost, the Special Six Sedan is far and away the greatest value of its field. 17 F, O. B. Factory 1271

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Grry it home ina Sealriodht Liguid~Tight Paper @ntainer THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 80) the chiropodist all around him, he began to take a less tragic view of the events of the night before. ight as well go for breakfast as if noth- ing had happened, and put off the illness for lunch, or maybe dinner. It was Minnie who let him in. She looked perfectly unconcerned. Yes, breakfast was the best policy. No use bringing the shoes | into prominence by refusing to have an- “ed Serve ice cream this easy way Everybody likes ice cream served the Sealright Way—in attractive round slices— Dainty, tasteful, quick and easy. Order your ice cream or carry it home in 100% leak-proof Sealright Liquid -Tight aper Containers, To serve, merely remove container top and ress evenly on container ttom with both thumbs— then cut in delicious, smooth, appetizing round slices to suit ! Eat more ice cream. It's good for all the family. Many dealers, confec- tioners and druggists can furnish your favorite flavor or flavors all packed and ready for you in con- venient, sanitary Sealright Con- tainers. Sealright Co., Inc., Dept. R-i2 Fulton, N. Y. Also makers of Sealright Pouring-Pull and Regular Flat Mak Bottle Caps, | but always chops other errand. The same policy suggested itself at noon and at dinnertime. There are some things | which are easier to put off than to put on, | and shoes seemed to be among them. Be- | sides, if he said nothing Cora might carry them across without being asked. Her man- ner today, he thought, seemed very sub- dued. ' What drew him back again, after an eve- ning when the presence of the entire family had afforded him an easy escape, was par- tially this sense of Cora being subdued, and partially corn dodgers. Cora had declared that she made them from canned corn. If such flakes of succulent tenderness, like ker- nels of honey oozing milk, could come from corn that was canned, what wouldn't she have done with fresh? He went back, hop- ing for more. is very fact, however, showed that he was no longer quite himself. He knew now exactly what risk he was running. He might have overlooked the significance of a sort of pity which he felt at the sight of Cora subdued, but when he had caught himself once or twice regarding Cora’s rounded | cheeks, and even —— that her lips were full, red and not unkissa further room for doubt. He had a horror of another téte-a-téte. He took to conrying his key in his pocket for fear she would actually take possession of it, as once she pretended to have done. But panic wasn’t quite sufficient to over- come his faith in himself, and he continued to beg he grag | the fable of the pitcher carried to the fountain once too often. And so came the morning of the final breakfast. When he came th, the Blau- veits—all excepting Cora—were already standing around the table grabbing at food in hasty mouthfuls. They were, they ex- foe ye going away to spend the day, and ad to catch a train. The major sat down. He had been leaning heavily of late upon Cora’s breakfasts, not so much for suste- nanceasfor protection. They were her weak point, so te speak. She always gave him chops—lamb chops, pork chops, veal chops, and for morning meat he preferred sausage. True, there was also sometimes a plate of griddle cakes, but they made him think of his mother—in the same way that an oyster shell makes one think of pearls. For griddle cakes, unless they are to lack a glorious somewhat, must be born of the union of wheat flour and buck- wheat, blessed by the avening remains of the previous day’s batch. Their lineage should extend from the first cool morning of the fall to the last cool morning of the spring. Those that Cora served, while good enough of their kind, enabled him to begin each day with his feet firmly planted upon earthly discontent, and assured him, what- ever happened, of a realistic unglamored outlook upon life for the next twelve hours. He was not risking much, he felt, in risking another breakfast. Black Diana appeared, bringing him a le, there was little | cup of coffee, lukewarm and of a muddy green tinge. The wench was really back, then, at last. This was safety with a ven- eance. He tasted the noisome mixture as e would have tasted medicine, and felt | immediately strengthened for a clean and final get-away. But at the second swallow Cora came flying into the room. “Oh, major! You're not to eat yet. This is just a pick-up for the others. As soon as they are gone we are going to have break- fast--just you and I—if you don’t mind eating in the kitchen while Diana is sweep- ing the dining room.” he adored eating in kitchens, where one could sit beside a cookstove and receive things hot, directly from fire to plate; and that of the Blauvelts proved to be deli- ciously comfortable —much like his mother’s basement. He smiled fatuously as he took his place. The others had gone. Black Diana was at her oe And an odor so laden with ecstasy that he could not im- mediately place it was insinuating itself into his nostrils. Could it be —— EVENING POST Of course it couldn’t—yet there it was— a plate of buckwheat cakes, large, brown, wai to be separated, but , reunited and de with maple sirup. “T’ve had the batter going for two days as an experiment,” said Cora. “Would you like to bake for yourself, or shall I?” The major liked to bake for himself. He could sit in his place, reach out with a ladle- ful of batter, dump it, reach out again with a turner, and finally flop the finished mor- sel upon his plate at exactly the psycholog- ical, crusted moment. Long practice had made him so adept that he could go through the performance without his jaws once breaking step. He began it now, but his hand trembled. “T sup’ you are glad your mother is coming back today,” said Cora. “‘You must have missed her terribly. She’s a won- derful old lady, I think—for her years.” Yes, that was it. His mother was won- derful, but she was old. She must in the natural course of things be getting feeble soon. Did not ordinary prudence demand that some vision be made for the fu- ture—now, before it was too late? The major swallowed. Only a word was needed—and there were Cora’s rounded cheeks, her red lips, inviting, tempting, and not a away. He swallowed , this time from a cup of new and excellent cof- fee—and then he opened his mouth. Mrs. Morgan was worried about her son. She had worried about him all during her Port Jervis visit. Was he getting proper food? The answer more t doubtful. When Friday came she decided that on the morrow she would, instead of the train she had intended, take an earlier one, She wanted to him. If only she could think of something to make the surprise memorable. he had been making griddle cakes for the Port Jervis folks all the week. The bat- ter was prime. All that lacked was some way of getting a lot of it home. The idea looked chimerical, like that of erring a naked newborn baby unharmed through a blizzard. There was no blizzard, but batter is somewhat more delicate than the human infant. Its virtue would be chilled. One would have to make a new batch, certain not to arrive at perfection till after several days. But the Port Jervis folks were given to mane 4 and ye two enormous vacuum bottles. Just the thing. Mrs. Mor- gan set out on her homeward journey in the comfortless hour preceding daylight, but she was happy. Arrived at her own blessed door, she stooped to take the key from under the mat. The major naturally wouldn't be up yet. No matter. She stooped for the key—in vain. It wasn’t there. She turned to the Blauvelt door, which wey preaesy genet by Cora, “Dear Mrs. Morgan! I’m so glad to see you! I thought you might come early, and —— “Yes, yes; here I am, and glad to be home. But I can’t get in. That son of mine has forgotten to put out the key. Maybe ro would let me rest here a bit till it’s time or him to get up. I’ve got some pancake batter,” continued the old lady, pointing with pardonable pride to the vacuum bot- tles. “If you wouldn’t mind warming a crock ——” “Here’s the very thing! But why not aay and bake them over our fire? That will be better than starting a new one in a cold room. He's been grouching about his meals all the week. Very polite, you know, but just pining for you. Now’s your chance to make him comfortable.” The scheme did not please Mrs. Morgan, but she acceded to it. Certainly it would be a great advantage not to have to start a new fire, March 7,1925 Cora, her point gained, left the room, and a few minutes later her brother—the mar- ried one, who hadn’t been near the house all during the major’s sojourn—hurried in. “ Mrs. Morgan!” he exploded. “It’slucky to find you here. My wife has just had a letter from Howell’s Corners. I suppose no- body has opened your mail while you were vial & ” “No. What’s the matter at Howell’s?”’ “Aunt Martha is sick. If you’d like me to take you there, I’m just starting out that way. My machine is at the door.” Aunt Martha was not young Blauvelt’s aunt. She was an old lady of a pronounced character which .nade her in a sense every- body’s aunt, and incidentally she was Mrs. Morgan's elder sister. Mrs. Morgan hated to be hurried. She hated to have other people decide how she was to manage her own affairs. But sick- ness in one of eighty-odd is not a matter to be trifled with—and Blauvelt was waiting. Before she knew exactly what was happen- ing she had been hustled into his machine. hus it a that by the time the major was at the beginning of his breakfast with Cora, his mother was at the end of a long drive into the country, her mind di- vided between the sister—in the last ex- tremity perhaps—whom she was about to see, and the griddle-cake timber she had left behind her in the Blauvelt kitchen. Her surprise amounted almost to con- sternation when Martha in person came to answer her knock. “Why, aren’t you sick?’’ Mrs. Morgan “Me? A touch of sciatica yesterday. It’s left me today. Si was in town, but you don’t say he mentioned that? Never told me he even saw you.” Mrs. Morgan wheeled—only to see that pone Blauvelt, who had promised to call or her later in the day, was already out of hearing. She returned to her sister. “ Martha,” shesaid impressively, “there’s something going on. I’ve got to find out what it is—and quick.” “I think I can tell you the rest,”” Martha interrupted after listening to the prelim- inary details of the homecoming. ‘Black Diana was here the other day, borrowin’ some sweet corn.” “Sweet corn, this time of 2 “It’s a late patch Si set out—on the chance. He’s covered the whole corner of the garden with old sheets so it won’t freeze. Diana said it was for you or I wouldn't have let her have even a mess. And that ain’t all, She’s been cookin’ for the Blau- velts, you know. And a wonderful cook she is. But she told me they’ve got a boarder that Cora is sweet on. All the week Diana has been drawin’ extra wages for pretendin’ to have quarreled with her mistress and to be doin’ only chores about the house—so the boarder’d think it’s Cora’s cookin’. If I'd had any idea it was my nephew ———”’ “TI must get back home!” cried Mrs. Morgan, leaping to her feet as if her years had dwindled to twenty. ‘Where is Si? He must hitch up and take me. I left that hussy with a batch of pancake batter which—but I must do what I can!” The major’s lunch that noon was cooked by his mother. It was out of the ordinary, even for her, for the Port Jervis folks had sent a piece of venison, yom ¢ contraband and that had been hanged until it was higher than Haman. Yet he was absent-minded, disinclined to talk. Only by an obvious effort had he listened to an account of the Port Jervis visit. Finally he sighed. “T can’t stand it any longer,” said Mrs. Morgan, as the sigh smote her attentive ear. ‘You've got to tell me. Have you said anything to Cora Blauveit while I’ve been gone?”’ “Said anything? What do you mean?” “Just what I say. Have you said any- thing—anything that matters? She ——” In her effort to control herself Mrs. Mor- gan sent a morsel of food the wrong way and brought on a fit of strangling. When finally she had succeeded in giving an ac- count of what she had discovered at How- ell’s the major smiled sheepishly. “Yes, I said something to her. That’s what I’ve been thinking about.” “What did you say? You might as well tell me. I’ve got to know.” “It was this morning.”’ replied the major, sprinkling a piece of venison steak with pepper till it was black. ‘She over- reached herself when she tried to claim those griddle cakes. I knew they must be yours at the second mouthful, and I said— good-by.”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE NEW MARMON (oupe De Luxe on the standard —Marmen 13-inch wheelbase chassis, NEW MARMON Delive MODELS © THE reception given the New Marmon De Luxe Models in exclusive circles more than confirms our belief that no finer cars are available today, regardless of price. The body lines are new, but the famous six-cylinder Marmon chassis is the same mechanism on which Marmon has con- centrated for so many years. Among the many models you will find just the particular and distinct type for your particular and personal needs—a coupe that will be the talk of the country club or the polo field, five and seven pas- senger sedans and five and seven passenger enclosed drive limousines of stately beauty. ‘Tt’s a Great Automobile.” Open cars, $3165. Closed cars, $3295 to $3975 at Indianapolis Cars may be purchased on convenient deferred payment plan if desired. cAllso —the same Marmon chassis and engine with the New Marmon Standard Four- Door Closed Cars at practically the price of the open car. Various models from which to choose.

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Is your heatin pleat “iho a ru — Po s ( * sf | yt A J > «i it under Ke coo with INNEAPOLIS H&AaT REGULATOR THE HEART OF THE HEATING PLANT Provides uniform temperature, v true heating v comfort v v v FREE! Every home, whether heated with coal, oil, was, O¢ district steam, should have Auto- matic Heat Regulation. tt ie fully capiained and © ways of saving fuel are ¢ escribec tn the booklet, “The Pro t Operation cf the Fiome Hearing Plant.” Address Minneapolis Heat Regulator Co., 2903 Fourth Avenue, Se., Minnvapolis, Minn, Instalied by branch Offices in principal cities or by your local heating man The New Model 77 & Day Clock 7 Jewels Sent free | stick, within ten minutes after he h: THE SATURDAY the clatter of thy tongue.” Jim Sin served the sandwich to Doctor Allan. With the doc- tor at this moment was Mrs. Allan. To this | audience Jim Sin delivered himself of two or three phrases of criticism which were boiling within him. “New boy tell me he brave man. Kill people in war. I think he lie. He all time go way church. No stay home work. Bet- | ter you keep key wine cellar all time while I Te handed the dangling keys to Mrs. Allan. She returned them. “Give them to Yut. He will take care of the wine cellar. He is a good boy. You | would be better; too, if you went to church | instead of spending all your spare time | gambling.” “All ble, lilly bit,” Jim Sin re- turned. “ ’em fitty cent. You lose ’em mebbe twenty-five dollah. Better you go po ape No m pod ee: China game. gamble no g as A, Allan dismissed her critic with a reminder of historic dows Ronn his ~~ cent losses necessitated his from her cones, we iS up toa mane oars. oon he in his Kitchen lot gh to stop) en long npn Bn Yut the keys to the wine cellar. “You out n y come steal 'em whisky. All time bad man come Jackson Street, Steal mebbe two barrel whisky. Steal mebbe all wine. Better all time you sone, SY Listen bad man. He come you shoot. ” Jim Sin went to his room and within ten minutes he was in bed and asleep. Early on the following day he awakened and dressed for his journey into the high hills. His white costume was put aside for a ready-made suit of rusty black, and at eight o'clock, wearing the Md felt hat and shuffling along i in his number twelve shoes, with the rusty-black suit flapping about his skinn meee, he rode to the Ferry Build- ing. iL a little while he embarked for the Oakland shore. At Oakland, being safely early, he waited three hours until his train left for Sacramento. He spent the after- noon in Sacramento with a colony of his countrymen in a laundry, embarking later that evening on another train for the we country in the California hills. With in a sack he carried three blankets, six ers ages of cigarettes, a cake of soap, a tin bucket, a package of salt and a pair of chop- sticks, a stick of Chinese matches and a sack of rice. In the rice, protected against preakage, there was stored a blue China bowl. This was all his equipment for a two weeks’ trip of exploration in the mountains. He got off the train at Gold Run and headed north toward Cafion Creek. He crossed Cafion Creek and on the western slope of Moody Ridge he made his camp. Thereafter for a week he searched in vain for the site of the tragedy which had cost his countrymen their lives in 1865, Five or six times during this week, without know- ing it, he passed directly over the uneven mounds which marked their resting place. A forest fire during the previous year, creeping down the slope of the hills, had taken all the underbrush and had killed the larger trees in the vicinity of the impromptu burying ground. On the canvas of his memory he at- tempted to paint the topography of the scene of the long-distant event, and, defin- ing it mentally with reasonable clearness, he resolved to withdraw a little from the immediate theater until he could include in his view a wider scope of the terrain about him. He climbed the slopes of Moody Ridge and from this distant vantage point each feature of the old scene came back to him, and with it a clear vision of the course of the avalanche. Now he returned as quickly as he could to the bed of Cafion Creek. It was evenin when he arrived at his camp. He roll | himself in his blankets after he had eaten his evening rice and went to sleep. In the morning, scratching around with a pointed begun his search he found the skull of one of the men who had labored with him in the rail- road camp nearly three score years before. Ten inches from the buried skull Jim Sin uncovered two ade fs oy slugs of Califor- nia gold, octagona —_ that were current after the first years of the rush. In the first excitement of his discovery he | was silent; and then, realizing its potential EVENING POST MINTED GOLD (Continued from Page 40) import, a furious energy marked his labors, which were interrupted, that day, only by momentary halts devoted to a singsong tribute of gratitude addressed to Milo Fo and the other deities of fortune who were associated with that mythical chieftain of good luck. Thereafter for a week the work of ex- ploration was expedited by the use of better tools. he resurrection engineer made a quick trip to Gold Run and returned with a pick and shovel. “ Desire is the father of all motives. Who am I to question a deed of the gods if they wish to reward an act of virtue with gold?” At the end of the week the harvest of gold coin amounted to more than seven thousand dollars. From one of his blankets Jim Sin made a wide knotted belt in which he stored his accumulating treasure. When his working field had ended aevety against a high bank of cemented grave realized that the ground had been covered; and, coubelindly. eum ing his burden of wealth wrapped about hi im, he rolled up his two remaining oe and boarded the west-bound train. He arrived in San Fran- cisco a my the following morning and pro- ceeded d ly to Doctor Allan’s house with- out stopping to visit the Cavern of Wisdom, which at that hour would have been de- a except for Hoy Quah, the somnoient at cat. It was eight o’clock when Jim Sin ar- rived at Doctor Allan’s house, and in the kitchen Yut, the substitute cook, was busy arranging Mrs. Allan’s breakfast tray. Jim Sin greeted his companion with a brevity whose harshness was tempered by a realiza- tion of the good fortune which had attended his expedition. He went from the kitchen directly to his room and from under his iron bedstead he hauled the vermilion chest. Failing at the moment to remember where he had hidden the key to the pendant lock, he substituted for the a a piece of bent wire, which worked equally as well as the key. He undressed, and folding his rusty- black suit into compact dimensicns, he stored it in the bottom of the chest. From about his waist he removed the knotted blanket contsining his heavy burden of gold coin. He put this blanket with its con- tents on top of the folded black suit and, locking the vermilion chest, he shoved it back into its place under his bed. He dressed quickly in his morning uniform of white, substituting for his heavy black shoes the more comfortable slippers which he nor- mally wore, and returned to his kitchen in time to see Yut starting out with the break- fast tray for the doctor’s wife. “You come back. I carry Mis’ Allan tray * he ordered. he substitute cook, sensing superior authority, surrendered the tray to Jim Sin’s hands. The old man walked up the back stairway with the breakfast tray and knocked at the door of Mrs. Allan's room. When he had been answered he walked in. “Glad to see you. Long time go way.” “T am glad to see you, Jim Sin. Did you have a good trip?” “Why you glad? mebbe?’ In the old cook’s question there was —— of a challenge. ‘Allan was quick to respond. The wid yr cook is a very good cook. He gh) oe and deeply religious.’ ou fen im good cook. I think mebbe you crazy. Yut no good.” Jim Sin withdrew without further cere- mony and sought his’ master in the dini room, where Doctor Allan was finishing his own breakfast. The doctor looked up from his morning paper to find Jim Sin standing beside him, “When did you come back?” “I come back this morning.” Jim Sin looked down at the doctor’s plate, on which remained two or three burned fragments of bacon. “Why you no eat bacon? New boy no good? I all time tell him how cook bacon for you. All time tell him how cook epry- thing. All time he make mistake. Better ree tell him go away now.” With Jim Sin back, there was no further necessity for the service of Yut, and Doctor Allan sought to gratify his old servant by sharing with him the authority normally enjo by the master of the house. ou tell him to go away if you don’t want him around. Fire him. He is a good Chink, though, Jim Sin. He goes to church New cook no good, March 7,1925 ive the ” all the time. He was the first to alarm about the stolen whisky an “What you say whisky?” Jim Sin inter- rupted. “Who stealum whisky?’ f That’s what we all crave to know. The first Wednesday after you left, while Yut was at prayer meeting, somebody came in and got away with the full barrel of Scotch and the half barrel of bourbon. About all there is down there now, besides some bot- tled junk, is a barrel or two of claret.” “T think Yut he take whisky.” “You're jealous and crazy. You're too old to think. Everybody is losing whisky in this part of town. Yut didn’t take the whisky. He was the first to discover it and the first man to tell about it when he got home.” “Why he look see wine cellar when he come home from church? I think mebbe he drink whisky.”’ “T tell you he has been a good a always !ooked around and locked up before he went to bed.” A quick thought came to Jim Sin’s mind. If Yut was to be retained close by for observation, now was the wrong time to discharge him. tga oid ht,’ he conceded. ‘‘Mebbe Yut ood boy. I keep him.” hat’s right. This house needs more work than you can give it. You should have had a boy help you a long time ago.’ Phy eae I rend ea stay.” im Sin pon program of accusa- tion and F omen sas the day he sought to make amends for the offense which he had given Yut in his first meeting with the sub- stitute cook. “You stay here, mebbe pretty soon I tell you how cook eprything. Then you get good job. Make hun ed dollars every month.” Before Yut could repl quickly, ‘‘ Who steal whisky Yut replied in Chinese aA the substance of his answer was that the deities whose vision penetrated the mysteries of heaven and earth might know who the thief was, but that the problem, so far, was beyond any mortal man’s intelligence. ““Mebbe American junkman,” Jim Sin surmised, “I think mebbe I know two- three days more,” Yut ace A no sign of bein ng. interested in the probability of Jim Sin’s discovering the guilty one. He turned to the sink and be- gan washing the morning dishes. Jim Sin retrieved a small market basket and went out a little while after that in search of a few things which might add ‘the delight of variety to the dinner menu. He came back at eleven o’clock, to be confronted with the task of preparing luncheon for a party of seven feminine mah-jongg cravers who had accepted an impromptu invitation from Mrs. Allan. Jim Sin bounced back from the impact of this announcement with food enough for twice as big a party. At two o'clock he issued an order to his assistant: “You ~y 4 here. Mebbe Mis’ Allan want something lady drink. Maybe she want something lady eat. All afternoon all time he play mah-jongg. When he go you fix room. I lay down and sleep now. From two o'clock until four o’clock Jim Sin rested, stretched out at ease on his nar- row bed beneath which was the vermilion chest wherein he had stored his rusty-black traveling suit and the blanket-wrapped har- vest of gold coins. “Early dinner at seven o'clock,” he re- flected. ‘All finished half past eight. At nine o’clock I shall join my six faithful companions in the Cavern of Wisdom and tell them of the good fortune which has at- tended our worthy project.” Dinner, according to schedule, was fin- ished at half past eight, and again in his room, Jim Sin dressed for the street. Under his sagging golf coat he wore his felt jacket. From a table near the head of the he picked up a crumpled copy of the morning per. He laid it on the floor beside the and hauled forth the vermilion chest. He unlocked the chest with the piece of wire that served for a key when the key was lost. He lifted the lid of the chest. The blanket and its cargo of gold coins had disappeared! “I have been a fool!’’ Jim Sin whispered, after the first shock of discovery had . “I have been a fool! Fate plans or a fool! The superior man bows to the (Continued on Page 86) Jim Sin asked ee ~ ie SS p= . ~ RING teret eee —eemern es a - a oS ce i

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | eee is a new model of Frigidaire. It is complete,—the standard Frigidaire mechanism built into a standard Frig- idaire cabinet. It requires very little space—yet is large ane for the average family. It is simply attached to an electric socket. There are no water connections to make. It can be very easily moved—if you move to another home. Frigidaire—convenient and dependable electric refrigeration— brings new delight to housekeeping. It will free you from the possible annoyance of outside ice supply. It keeps foods perfectly,— preserves the richness of meats, the fresh juiciness of fruits, the crispness of lettuce, the sweetness of milk, cream and butter. It safeguards health. It makes ice cubes and delicious frozen desserts. Its operation costs less than ice in most localities. It is at once a luxury and an economy. { Frigidaire is a product of the General Motors Corporation, is made by the Delco-Light Com- pany, and is backed bv a nation-wide organization of trained sales and service representatives, whose business it is to see that your Frigidaire always gives you the kind of service you expect. eee or make your own ice box a Frigidaire °190 f.0.b. Dayton pal ec tta Perhaps you have a good ice box—one of the standard makes. If so, you can easily convert it into a Frigidaire as follows 1. The frost coil, shown above, is placed in the ice compartment of your refrigerator, 2. The compressor is placed in the basement or other con venient location. . The frost coil and the com- pressor are connected by two small copper tubes, and a con nection made to your electric wires. That's all, Your refrigerator becomes cold ad stays cold. You have Prigid- aire electric refrigeration Write for Booklet There are thirty models of Frigidaire for household use —eleven complete with cabinet and nineteen designed for use in converting present refrigerators into Frigidaire. Write today for our catalog which describes the various Frigidaire models in detail. Then consult the local Frigidaire representative. He will show you Frigid- aire in actual operation, DELCO-LIGHT COMPANY Subsidiary of General Motors Corporation Dept. B-12, DAYTON, OHIO Makers of Delco-Light Parm Electric Plants, Electric Pumps, Electric Washing Machines and Prigidaire Electric Refrigeration

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Come along to Asheviile Bring your chattels with you, Let us call you Neighbor—companion-exponent of Southern dawns and ewilights. Build your heme an the side of a towering mountain half way to Heaven, Your front door a brooding valley, All Nature your miles-around garden Live in the shadow of Mt. Mitchell, high- est of the mighty Eastern peaks that scrape the clouds from the sky. Be a per manent and part owner of the finest and healthiest climate on the Continent. Asheville has a atabilized population that thrives as it strives and waxes rich on its collective investments, Here are enter prise and industry that do Justice to the South, not more than twenty-four hours from the great Metropolitan centers of the Eaar For ite 1oa¢ program of development, Asheville is exjending $3,000,000 for ivie WAprovements, comprising a new $9 40,000 City Hall with an auditorium of £000 capacity s new municipal golf course — facilities for storing and con veving the marvelously aoft mountain water to the residents — $650,000 ap prepriation for paving of streets and highwaye—#s¢0,000 for additional tc hooks ’ bulldin to house the George Pack Memorial Library and O. Henry Memorial Library An amusement park containing « filty-acreslake has been constructed on the Swannanoa River Be a fellow greever with us all to convey to the pleasure-bound tourist the delights of thie sky-high Vacatienland, the excel lence of its great hotels and the snug com fort of hiliside iana—the thrills of real sport at all seasons, golf, swimming, tennis, hunting and motoring—the spice and whirl of the bright social life, But first come yourself and let us show you the Southern Railway carries you into Asheville, with through pullman sery we from all large cities u may motor down over well-traveled high ways Handsome bootie and information upon request CHAMBER OF COMMERCE Asheville, N. C. HEARTor r1#BLUE RIDGE | THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 84) will of heaven. The story I shall tell to my friends cannot be embellished with the olden reward that came as a result of our ollowing the Perfect Way.” Before he left the house he sought Doctor Allan, who was seated in the living room. “T tell you new boy no good—tonight he cook ved i supper. I think better you keep him all time.” Doctor Allan was pleased with what he Sos oe be Jim Sin’s surrender to his own | superior judgment. Bhi told you so. Yut is good boy. We will | keep him all the time.” Tm Sin nodded his approval and walked | out of the living room. He went directly to | the Cavern of Wisdom, where he found his x associates playing poker. After he had greeted them the gravity of his demeanor | suggested to them the importance of the | story which he begged permission to relate. | My uneventful journey to the scene of | our labors on the white man’s railroad ended on the day after I left you. For a | week I searched in vain for the remains of our dead countrymen. Like a fly on a painting, I was too close to their restin place to enjoy comprehensive vision. withdrew to a more distant point and | viewed the scene from there. The gods | gave memory to my eyes and the details of | that day of tragedy came back to me. I re- | turned to my camp and within an hour I | had found the skull of one of our dead comrades. The other bodies are gone, but there are two barrelfuls of skulls to be | transferred to the quiet sleeping place in ba a plains beyond the city of our irth,” | Jim Sin paused, and his hearers sensed | the fact that the simple story was to be | complicated with further revelations. The | old Chinaman moistened his throat with | a cup of cold tea and continued his narra- tive. “Within a foot of the first skull I found | two coins of gold which had been carried, | no doubt, in a little sack hung about our cousin’s neck, Almost without exception, each time I found a skull there were one or more of these fifty-dollar gold coins beside it. I returned to San Francisco carrying more than seven thousand dollars. I went to my master’s house, where, during my absence, a north countryman whose name | is Yut has served in my place. I hid the gold in my locked chest which rests beneath my sleeping couch. I sougnt my master to tell him of my return. When I found him we were delighted to see each other. He told me that two barrels of whisky had been stolen from his wine cellar while I was | away. Tonight when dinner was done I opened the pigskin treasure chest wherein I had sto the gold coins. They were gone, I intended to bring them down here so that we might divide them equally be- tween us. I sought my master pew told him that Yut might well be retained in his service.” Jim Sin's yo narrowed and he looked for an instant directly at each of his auditors. “It is better that Yut be retained in my master’s service until we can attempt to solve the problem of the stolen whisky and the gold.” Jim Sin sat down and for three minutes, while each of the old men summarized in his mind the elements of the problem, there was silence in the Cavern of Wisdom. Then Hong Ling spoke: “We must send two stout barrels to the town near where our companions are buried; We can send two men up there to collect the bones and pack them for shipment.” Sang Lung spoke then, and his words were direc toward Jim Sin: “Invite your associate cook to be our fest here ut the Cavern tomorrow night. erhaps beneath an exterior as sleek as that of yonder fat cat is concealed the soul of a | thief and a hypocrite.” | A third member spoke for the defense: “Painted water may be deep or shallow. Conscience is heavier than gold. If Yut is | a follower of the Perfect Way, we shall tell from the look in his eyes. Men of earth speak a thousand ton ; their hearts know one language. When we speak with | Yut he will reveal his guilt or his inno- | cence,” “The silent man is never strangled by his own tongue. Perhaps he will not talk.” “He will talk when his tongue is flexed with wine.” ee Jim Sin’s invitation, flattered | not a little by the older Chinaman’s atten- | tion, Yut accompanied his host to the Cav- | ern of Wisdom on the following night, EVENING POST where, after the ceremony of introduction was done, the guest found a feast prepared for him the like of which he had not tasted in many a day. A steady stream of waiters and dish carriers marched from the Chow Low restaurant on Grant Avenue to the Cavern of Wisdom, and from some guarded source the seven hosts produced enough alcoholic refreshment to float the lace. At first Yut’s demeanor was one of nye & but warming. with his liquor and his food, he became a boastfully agreeable companion. The old men of the Cavern crew looked from one to another, smiling their indorsement of the sus man. By midnight Yut was k and his to was loose enough to entertain an as- semblage ten times as large as the one which he addressed. “In China I was a fighting man,” he boasted. “While the American Armies were in France I served with them. With knives and swords and guns I killed dozens of the enemy.” Here at least was entertainment. Yut, enjoying the delusion of grandeur and labor- ing under some mental complex which transformed him, enlarged upon his mur- derous adventures until the last jug of Chinese gin had been emptied. At three o'clock in the morning his story was done and he had established himself in the re- 8 , if not in the affection, of the seven old men. In leaving the Cavern of Wisdom Yut bowed with elaborate ceremony to each of his seven companions. He turned toward the door. Leaning against the wall near the door stood Hoy Quah, the fat cat. The departing guest stooped down and touched Hoy Quah with his finger tips. The cat, normally enjoying whatever caress or pet- ting might offered, snarled and leaped away in his effort to escape from Yut’s ex- tended fingers. The incident was trivial enough to be ignored, but each of the seven old men marked it on the tablets of his mind. When Yut had gone Jim Sin was the first to speak: “The winds of chance dispose of the mantle of honesty. Swimming minnows may laugh at a stranded whale. A man is not born with knowledge. The eyes of age cannot pierce the curtain of circumstance. Justice is the seventh jewel. Heaven is above, earth below. We who reside on the imperfect plane are imperfect.” “ Nevertheless, in spite of this defense of Yut, Hoy Quahsought posnenpo lia eine ches. Until the fat cat testified with action I, too, believed in Yut. Now, when I can do so, I shall follow him and study him.” “He is a devout worshiper at the Four Bell Church, where the Americans give presents once a year on Christmas.” “He said that he intends to become a oe general in China. How can this am- »ition to spill blood square with his philos- ophy of peace on earth?” odding heads, pondering over the prob- lem, bore witness to its complexity. At four o'clock Jim Sin reached for one of the scattered pack of cards which lay on the poker table. “No man can read the mysteries of this card, let alone see the pictures in the shad- ows of Yut’s mind.” He laid the card on the table face down. One of his companions spoke up: “T have not seen the face of the card, but it is the seven of spades.” Jim Sin turned the card over. It was the seven of spades. “The card is marked, and even as it can be read, so can I read the soul of Yut. He is a thief and a coward and a liar.” When the tumult of defense had quieted the card reader spoke quickly: .“Hoy Quah welcomes the affection of honest men. He is a good cat, although, I grant you, lazy. He is a moral cat, given to staying at home in preference to prowl- ing. e are honest men. Every honest man who has entered this sanctuary has been welcomed by Hoy Quah. The cat hates Yut. That is enough for me. Yut is a thief and a liar.” Jim Sin, fatigued with the events of the day and the mental stress to which he had been subjected, indulged in a wide yawn: “The coming in the Book of Life will reveal the truth. The night has been filled with enemies of tranquillity. Now I shall seek my rest.” He had led the retreat from the Cavern of Wisdom and within the hour he was sound asleep in his room. T morn- ing, when the filtering sunlight disturbed the profundity of his slumbers, he dreamed of a heroic warrior clad in armor, swinging March 7,1925 a sword while attacking a tiger. The war- rior’s movements were constricted by his coat of mail and by a ponderous belt which he wore about his waist. The tiger leaped wildly at his enemy and fixed claws in the fabric of the warrior’s belt. The belt was torn and its contents were revealed to the dreamer. Then in his dreaming he saw a cascade of golden coin pour forth at the tiger’s feet. In the warrior he recognized ut, and in the snarling tiger he saw char- acteristics which suggested the fat Hoy Quah. Jim Sin awakened. Through that day he retained a memory his dream, but it was not until late in the afternoon that an interpretation of its meaning came to him. He reviewed it half a dozen times, and then suddenly he real- ized that the gods of the Fourth Plane had blessed him with masked advice. As was his custom, he sought his companions at the Cavern of Wisdom and told them of his dream. “Tt is our fat Hoy Quah who is appointed by the gods to clear the mystery that now agitates our minds. With your permission I will take him home with me so that he may at once begin his conflict with this warrior Yut.” Jim Sin left the Cavern at nine o’clock, carrying with him the fat cat. On his way to Doctor Allan’s house he stopped at the shop of a Chinese apothecary long enough to purchase from its proprietor ten cents’ worth of a fresh and fragrant herb. He stored his purchase in his inside pocket and resumed his journey, carrying the fat Hoy Quah. At the house he gave the fat cat the freedom of the basement, and here four a little while Hoy Quah ranged on a tour of exploration, remembering the days of his agile youth, when rats and good hunting had been plentiful in his Chinatown en- vironment. Jim Sin went to his own room ae that of his assistant, and there he remain until a ringing bell summoned him to the living room of the house, where he con- fronted his master. The doctor craved a mint julep to enable him to stand up under the fatigue which had overtaken him as a result of his having read a humorous novel. “* Mix it strong,” he ordered. “Go out in the back yard and pick a lot of tender mint leaves and mix it the same way I mixed that one the last time Mr. Black was here.” “I fix him. If I make him like you say I think you get drunk.” Jim Sin returned twenty minutes later with a normal mint julep, about one-tenth as potent as the one specified by Doctor Allan. When he had served the doctor’s drink he returned to his room, pausing at Yut’s door to knock thereon. There was no answer to his knock and he opened the door to discover that his associate was absent. On the floor at the head of Yut’s bed was a pair of black silk house slippers. Jim Sin picked these up and carried them to his own room. From the package of herbs in his pocket he selected four wilted leaves. With the sharp blade of a paring knife he separated the layers of pasteboard which formed the low heels of Yut’s slippers. Into each of these crevices he packed a thin wedge of the aromatic herbs. He returned to the kitchen, carrying the paring knife, and on his way he replaced the silk slippers on the floor at the head of Yut’s bed. He returned from the kitchen to his own room, where he undressed and went to bed. The next morning, after breakfast had been served, and while Yut was in the kitchen, Jim Sin looked up from the finan- cial pages of the Chronicle, where he was reviewing the quotations on Hong-Kong exchange. “Have you any er in San Francisco banks?” he asked quickly. Yut answered slowly, without givin evidence of having noted anything unusua in Jim Sin’s question: “T am poor. I have no money in any bank. Why do you ask?” “Now is a good time to buy exchange,” Jim Sin returned. “T am favored on life’s eventful way by having food and drink, good clothes, shelter and good friends. In that I am rich; be- yond that I have nothing except my faith and my courage,” Yut replied. “You should make for yourself a name, and remember that in the Shang Lun, Con- fucius says that the superior man is grieved if he die without a name.” “And later in the same Document of Perfection, that the superior man does not employ men on account of their words, and that when a number of men club together (Continued on Page 88) orem 7 a = SS ae a ——— omer = — eo Se

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST CVA’ ReA HE old caravans and pack trains on which fk world once depended for its goods were merchandising units. Transportation was an in- tegral part of their business. They were their own best advertising. They were forever moving into new markets. Selling and distribution were hand- in-hand matters. The old caravans have vanished. Merchandis- ing has been split into its elements. Each is now a separate business. And yet the old caravans live again in the nation’s newspapers and periodicals. For through these, advertising sweeps a great and endless stream of varied merchandise day after day into millions of homes. Shimmering rugs from Kerman. Golden oranges from California. Exquisite silver from New Eng- land. A magnificent and glittering motor. A marvelous fabric swept into a frock by the un- erring hand of a great couturier. Pearls and canned peaches, books and washing machines; fur- N. W. Wi nccult ee niture, furs and fire insurance—each starting a train of thought, arousing a desire, satisfying a want. For modern advertising does more than appeal to the old, simple instinct of possession. It opens new roads to freedom and leisure. It points out labor-saving short cuts. It sets new standards of good taste and appreciation. And it is studied for what it may add to the pleasure of living by a public whose resources are incalculable. Whose buying power is inexhaustible. Whose ability to absorb tremendous quantities of merchandise is little short of miraculous. Advertising to this public requires more than a knowledge of manufacturing methods, sizes and specifications. It requires a knowledge of what- people are doing and thinking.‘ It requires a familiarity with customs and markets, sectional preferences and prejudices. It requires the experience that comes only with years. AYER @SON ADVERTISING HEADQUARTERS, PHILADELPHIA NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO

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Through This Book of Health Facts Come Better Bodies and Richer Minds ROMINENT acientific, medical and food authorities tell us, in no uncertain terms, that Sauerkraut is one of the most healthful of all foods, They say that it is really more than ordinary diet because it is unusually rich in the vitamines so necessary in building strong bodies and active minds. They pies See the fact that Sauverkrauz is even more than nour- ishment because its juices contain abundance of lactic ferments which cleanse and disinfect the intestinal tract from impurities and toxins. They tel! us that it not only has a stimulating effect upon the appetite but that ic is easy to digest. These facts are indisputable. The remarkable benefits derived from eating Sauerkraut are thoroughly substantiated by the words and works of such famed men as Dr. Harvey W. Wiley, Director of the Bureau of Foods, Sanitation and Health, conducted by Good House- keeping; Dr. John Harvey Kellogg, Superintendent of che Battle Creek Sanitarium; Dr. William 5, Sadler of the Chicago Institute of Research and Diagnosis; Dr. Arnold Lorand of Carlsbad; Metchnikoff, famous director of the Pasteur Institute, and many others whose reputations cannot be questioned We would like to send you our in- teresting booklet, “Sauerkraut asa Health Food,” which gives exact quotations from these and other leading authorities. This booklet also gives many new recipes for serving healthful, delicious, eco nomical Sauerkraut. It will be sent free upon request. Use the coupon below. Sauerkraut may be purchased at grocer- ies, delicatessen stores and meat markets Order li st Hovels and Restaurants TH® NATIONAL KRAUT PACKERS’ ASSOCIATION Clyde, Ohio | Interesting \ | Booklet FREE S The National Kraut Packers’ Association, Clyde, Ghie Please send me krout os a Heale) Food,” with new rested recipes paid your free booklet ‘Sauer- Cuy and State Pa teeeeee Cee eeeeeeeereees THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 86) and converse not on the principles of justice but delight in little crafty schemes, it difficult for such to become virtuous.” “True enough,” Jim Sin replied. “I am delighted with your knowledge of the Four Books. You recall the Master’s words wherein justice must be the foundation of conduct ana that life must be built according to propriety and adorned with humility. “Even so, and further, that although the multitude create opinion still the superior man must investigate before he forms his own opinion.” Jim Sin realized that for the moment he was defeated. “Maintain virtue and yield it not,” he advised. “ Pour for me another cup of tea.” | Yut made haste to comply with Jim Sin’s demands. “Tt is a delight to serve one versed in the | philosophy of the Master.” The day had brought its problems and it had complicated the problems with half a | dozen complex events. | At four o'clock, discussing that evening’s | dinner with her cook, Mrs, Allan told Jim | Sin that the menu would be borrowed from | Italy. “Fill two decanters with the claret from | the last year’s barrel. The wine must | sharp.” | Jim Sin nodded in quiet agreement. | “No eatehum good old wine for bad | young man,” he offered. Mrs. Allan smiled. Jim Sin left her, and | in accordance with her orders he went down into the wine cellar, ponsing through the basement where prowled the fat Hoy Quah. From the barrel of new claret Jim Sin siphoned enough for the evening’s dinner. He returned to his kitchen. “This wine is from the new barrel. It is to be served with dinner tonight,” he said to Yut, who was decorating a cake with useless ornaments. Yut looked at the wine and Jim Sin thought that he saw an unwarranted quiver of his assistant’s eyelids. Ten minutes later, from the vicinity of the wine cellar, the old cook heard oy Quah yowling with an enthusiasm whic | eould love resulted only from some tre- mendous mental excitement. “Perhaps he has caught a rat!” He called loudly for his assistant, but Yut did not answer, The old cook seized a broom and shuffled down into the base- ment. Sufficient daylight filtered through the lower windows of the house to make ex- ploration feasible, but Jim Sin snapped the electric switches of the lighting system as he went along. When he arrived at the foot of the stairs leading to the basement he looked about him. Near the open door of the wine cellar he saw Hoy Quah tumbling about at the heels of the assistant cook. Hoy Quah seemed to be having a fit. In Yut’s hand was a piece of wire two feet long, at the end of which a crude hook had been bent. “TI remembered that I had left the door of the wine cellar open,” Jim Sin explained. “ Close it.” He returned directly to his kitchen, where he was followed a moment or two later by Yut, who had with difficulty eluded the persistent attentions of the fat Hoy Quah. “The cat has developed a quick affection for you. A man who enjoys the confidence of animals is one to be trusted,” Jim Sin volunteered, “Children and animals cannot be de- | ceived,” Yut agreed. To himself Jim Sin repeated the suppli- cation of the deliberate liar seeking the gods’ forgiveness. Throughout the early evening Jim Sin’s eyelids veiled a look wherein were mingled triumph and disgust. At his first opportunity, while Yut was busy in the house that evening, Jim Sin secured his assistant’s street shoes and subjected them to the same operation as the silk house slippers had undergone. Be- | tween the leather layers of each heel of Yuit’s shoes he inserted a liberal quantity of the pungent herb which he had bought at the apothecary shop in Chinatown. Addressing Yut across their own dinner table in the kitchen, Jim Sin volunteered to take care of the dinner dishes. “This is Wednesday night and it is late. No doubt you wish to attend services at the Four Bell Church, as is your custom.” “Kindly deeds mark the pathway of the great,”” Yut returned. Jim Sin bowed a quiet acknowl of Yut’s expression, and to himself: ent ‘Fate EVENING POST lans for a fool. I shall help Fate as best can. After Yut had left, and before Jim Sin departed for his evening’s diversion at the Cavern of Wisdom, the old man sought Doctor Allan. “You catchum two barrel whisky?” he asked. “Not yet and never,” the doctor re- turned. ‘Some junk dealer or some hop —_ or some grocery boy’s confederate that stored away safely. Not a chance, Jim Sin.” “Better you buy more whisky. Every- body come here all time drink your whisky.” “T will look around.” ‘ posts — —— his adviser by iving abruptly into the monotonous pages of a Jpn of humorous book wherein were related the adventures of a black- complexioned favorite of fortune. Jim Sin withdrew, and after he had dressed for the street he gathered the fat Hoy Quah under his left arm and started for the Cavern of Wisdom. Entering into the presence of his aged companions, he spoke sharply after appropriate salutation had been exchanged: “It is advisable that two of you attend services this night at the Four Bell Christian Church. With you, transport this intelli- ent cat. When you arrive at the church, fore you enter, store this four-legged rat catcher in the basement of the church. There is a windowpane missing three or four feet above the floor of the basement in the third window from the corner of the building. That would be a good point of entrance for Hoy Quah. Take your places in the congregation and should this rat catcher exercise his voice at any time dur- ing the evening mark well in your minds the point whence comes his song.” After a little grumbling two members of the Cavern crew left the assemblage as Jim Sin had directed. With them they carried Hoy Quah. Two hours later they returned to the Cavern. “The cat is in the possession of Yut, your assistant,”’ they reported. “‘He began a fiendish yowling against the west wall of the basement about forty feet from the southwest corner of the building. Beyond that we know nothing.” “You have done well,”’ Jim Sin returned. “No doubt Yut will bring the cat to us after his devotions are complete at the Four Bell Church.” In this surmise Jim Sin proved to be cor- rect. At half past ten, answering a sum- mons on the portals of the door, Yut was admitted to the Cavern. He carried the squirming Hoy Quah. “Knowing the residence of this noisy demon,” Yut announced, “I favored him with transportation. I consign him to your care, and with appropriate felicitations I bid you good night.” Jim Sin’s assistant left abruptly. After he had gone Jim Sin looked about him, fixing for an instant the eyes of each of his companions with his own. “Only the knife of wisdom can penetrate the armor of mystery. When knowledge comes mystery vanishes. At the moment I but seek suspected truth. Early tomorrow morning arrange it so that two of you bor- row the junk dealer’s wagon. Come with it to my master’s house. I bid you good night.” At breakfast time, remembering the next detail of his plan, Jim Sin addressed his master: “I think better we catchum bottle for wine. You leave him in barrel next moon he be sour.” The wine was common wine and its loss meant nothing much in Doctor Allan’s young life, and so he dismissed the subject with a brief approval. “ All right, ave it bottled.” “TI fix ‘em, mebbe all right. barrel. I give him my cousin.” “What does your cousin want with old wine barrels?” “He catchum bones old men long time dead. Send him back China. Box he break oO ’ I take old n t. “ All right, take the barrel if you want it.” That was that. Smiling inwardly at his easy victory Jim Sin returned to his kitchen. He called a number over the tele- phene through the Chinatown exchange and cackled ‘half a dozen cryptic phrases over the wire. When this detail of his plan was —— he sought his assistant. Yut was in the front room of the house, busy with a vacuum sweeper. “When you get this room fixed and the breakfast dishes taken care of, come down- stairs to the wine cellar.” March 7,1925 Yut tooked at Jim Sin for a moment, and then, “I will do as you order,” he said. When Yut joined Jim Sin in the wine cellar he found an array of bottles and corks confronting him. Jim Sin, busy with the rubber tube which he was using to siphon the wine out of the barrel of new claret, pointed to a bottle-corking machine lying on a box near by. “Put the corks in these bottles as I fill them. This wine will get sour if it is not bottled.” A quick frown of apprehension spread over Tut's normally placid face. Jim Sin noticed this. “Men and wine grow sweet or sour with age,” he offered casually. “A man cannot climb a hill by walking around it,” Yut returned. When the barrel was nearly empty a knock sounded on the door opening from the basement to the side driveway that led back to the garage. “See who is at the door,” Jim Sin or- dered. When Yut opened the door he faced two of the old Chinese whom he had met in the Cavern of Wisdom. They had borrowed the horse and wagon belonging to the Chinese junkman. The vehicle stood in the drive- way near the basement door. The two old men came into the basement and greeted Jim Sin. “Rest for a little while,” Jim Sin re- quested. “There are yet a dozen bottles to be filled from this barrel and then it will be as empty as a soldier’s head.” It was here that Yut began his attempt to purchase the empty barrel. “T would like to buy this barrel from you to contain the ceremonial wine which we use at the Four Bell Church.” From the corners of his eyes Jim Sin looked wae? at his two old companions. “How much money will you give for this barrel?” he asked Yut. “Two silver dollars,” Yut offered. “This is a precious barrel,” Jim Sin countered. “It was used for whisky, for gin and for brandy, as you can see by the old stamps upon it. Its wood is fragrant with the fumes of liquors which have brought happiness to a hundred hearts and loose- ness to a hundred tongues.” “Five silver dollars then,’’ Yut amended. “What folly! Think of the added flavors which the libation wine at the Four Bell Church would gain from being stored within this noble cask.” “There are a hundred members in our congregation,”” Yut conceded. ‘The flavor which this ancient barrel would add to the libation wine is worth ten cents to each of them, I will pay ten dollars for the barrel.” “A grain of sand can hide a mountain. Clear thy vision,”’ Jim Sin advised. ‘“ Per- _— the fumes of this wine have affected thee.” “The truth is heavy upon your lips,” Yut agreed. “TI will give you fifty dolla for the barrel.” “The barrel is empty now.” Jim Sin was stooping low, with the rubber tube which he .had used to siphon the wine from the barrel. “Fifty dollars is an insult to an honorable barrel like this.” “One hundred dollars then—that is all.’ “The barrel is yours as quickly as you pay for it. Where is the money?” “T will get the money.” Yut disappeared up the stairway leading to his room near the kitchen. As soon as Yut had gone Jim Sin hit the head of the barrel half a dozen times with a hatchet which he had brought from the furnace room, With the fifth blow a segment of the head of the barrel fell away from its confin- ing staves. Jim Sin tilted the barrel up quickly and into a little pool of wine and sediment there clinked a flow of golden coins. Nearly all of them were octagonal fifty-dollar pieces. Within thirty seconds all these coins had been stowed in a gunny sack. Jim Sin lifted the sack of gold and set it away in a dark corner of the wine cel- lar behind an empty whisky case. When this was done, and while his two com- panions waited for him, he left the wine cellar. He met Yut in the open area of the basement. In Yut’s fingers were five twenty-dollar bills. Jim Sin extended his hand for the money and received it. He put it in his pocket. “The barrel is yours,”’ he said to Yut. “So that these two old friends of ours may not be disappointed, er must employ them to transport the barrel to the Four Bell Church. You need not delay to change your costume, because they are in haste.” (Continued on Page 90)

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ALL TYPES ‘OF SPECTACLES AND . « 2 wt aoe es | he mig THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 88) At that moment through the door of the wine cellar t emerged the two old mem- | bers of the Cavern crew, carrying between | them the empty barrel. They carried it so | that Yut could not see the caved-in seg- | ment of the barrel head. An hour later the two old men came | back. Seated between them on the front | seat of the wagon sat Yut. On its first trip to Doctor Allan's house the junk wagon had | been empty. Now it held a heavy —_ | concea) ¢ | and newspapers and canvas. The old man | who drove the wagon steered the ancient | horse into the entrance of the runway lead- | ing to Doctor Allan’s garage. | basement door o under a tumbled heap of sa Near the ning from the runway they stopped. Jim Sin, waiting expect- antl , opened the door of the basement. He lifted one end of a long timber and dragged it through the door beside him. When it was set in place, with one end rest- ing on the wagon bed and the other on the EVENING POST floor of the runway, he brought another similar timber. The sacks and the news- papers and the torn canvas covering were removed from the cargo which they con- cealed. The we wagon was loaded with two barrels of whisky, and presently these were skidded down the timbers and were again stored in their place in Doctor Allan's wine cellar. When this work was done Jim Sin brought a pair of pliers and began cutting the wire bonds which confined Yut to his central place on the wagon seat. One of the old men spoke to him: “If I bruised thy ribs with the muzzle of the pistol which I held against them I re- gret it.” “A soldier and a hero would not notice a little thing like that,”” Jim Sin inter- rupted, and then, to Yut, “A piece of ad- vice, hero. A band of recruits are leaving next week for China to join the armies of the north. A wise man understands a nod. We have no place for heroes on our March 7,1925 San Francisco battle grounds. It is better for you that you leave San Francisco.” “*The superior man bows to the will of heaven,’” Yut quoted. “TI will go.” That evening, fatigued with the work of the day and laboring with the last chapter of the so-called humorous story wherein the adventures of the black-face man were set forth, Doctor Allan asked Jim Sin for a mint julep. With his first swallow of the refreshing beverage the doctor looked up at his servant. “This tastes like the old whisky.” “Old whisky he come back,” Jim Sin confirmed. “I catchum two barrels down cellar now.” “You mean the police located it?” Doctor Allan got up from his chair to verify Jim Sin’s casual announcement. “ Better you go bed early,” Jim Sin coun- tered calmly. “‘ No good read book all time. You likee julep mint all same Hoy Quah likee catnip mint.” ROYAL RAIMENT And this shows in his ap ce. The spirit of free men who lived in hardship and sa to build an industrial empire still reathes in the American laborer, and he looks and feels something of the heroic. Industry marched westward in great strides after the Civil War; and such writers as Mark Twain and Bret Harte have given us true pictures of America’s great effort of expansion. The main figures in the vital literature produced by these writers are workers who wear a rough, coarsely vivid dreas of toil, a dress that was natural to the vast, unpeopled plains, lonely mountains and primeval forests. Even in the East most of the towns had little but the life of industry and agricultural trade. The re- finements of social and cultural life were left for the cities. In the evenings the streets would be filled with men whose dress showed them to be workers in various occu- pations. I have a vivid memory of the Saturday nights in the little town where I spent my | early boyhood, of the farm hands, coal miners and raiiroaders who paraded be- tween livery barn, stores and saloons, in overalls, sateen shirts and boots. Store clothes were worn only on Sunday. Hardrock Etiquette But times had already changed when I became a workingman myself at fifteen. I was in the West then; and my first work for man’s wages was driving mules on the | construction of irrigation ditches in Idaho. There the frontier life survived in many of | the towns, especially in the regions that still offered free range for cattle. All the | dressing up the cowboy did for a town visit was to take off his chaps and spurs at the hitching rack, If he was young and sporty ht pull the bandanna from around his neck and twist on a necktie. The | miners put their pants legs outside their | boots, The | rs changed their calked shoes for lighter footgear— sometimes. The muleteers, when they came in from the grade, rubbed the grease spots from their round-topped curly-rimmed hats and re- versed pants. This needs explaining. Muleteers and hardrock men worked and traveled, as a rule, in two outfits of clothes. One was over- alls and jumper; the other was a cheap | store suit, usually blue serge. On a job and on the road, the overall suit was worn over the dress suit; in town, this mode was re- versed and the overalls were worn under- neath. I, being a young muleteer, could not bring myself to agree with this custom. wore two suits, but they were both of the | overall variety. One would be an elderly suit of worn and patched appearance; the other would show a new bright blue and a glitter of untarnished brass buttons. I re- | versed these according to custom, but for a Shuron | cities as Seattle and San Francisco had long time I could not think of paying ten or twelve dollars for a suit of store clothes. But in Los Angeles, in the winter of 1910, I yielded to the new order in the life of Amer- ican labor. By that time I had worked in six Western states; and experiences in such 7 me conscicus of the change to a new e. In those cities I discovered that many laborers no longer arrayed themselves in (Continued from Page 23) store clothes only on Sunday. The old- timers, of course, held to the old fashion; but the younger generation would not go out on the streets after supper in clothes that marked their occupation. Some sort of store suit, a stiff collar, a necktie and a shine were necessary for the evenings of every respectable young workingman. During the last summer and first autumn months of 1910 I drove mules in Southern —— on a railroad job. At the first No- vember freeze five of us younger muleteers, all in overalls, rambled to San Francisco. In the Golden Gate City we lingered for two weeks, wasting our substance. The time came when we had to think of work. We caught a boat to Los Angeles. There we found crowds of men idling before the boards of employment offices. Few jobs were in sight. We wasted no time with the idlers, but struck out, looking for work. For ten days we could not find an employer who needed even one man. Then fortune smiled—laughed uproariously, rather; for all five of us got jobs with a contracting firm that had just begun work on a new sub- division. We were all set for the winter, at jobs of driving dump wagons for $2.25 per ten-hour day. We were happy workingmen. The contractors had bunk tents and a boarding house, and for two weeks we did not go downtown. Most of the muleteers there were home guards, men who had worked steadily for this firm over a period of years; and we being epot hobo laborers, my comrades and I should have despised them. But in a few days we were silently envying them instead. — hese young men had store clothes which they never wore under their overalls; in- stead, they kept them pressed and neat in locked closets in the bunk tents. Several nights a week each of the young home — would don his fancy rig and go owntown to a show or to call on some girl. They talked with a sound of deep knowl- edge about actors, plays, theaters and places of amusement which I had supposed were only for the lofty rich. My comrades and I ceased te boast about our hobo ex- periences; we lost the faith that our rovings surpassed the gay, sophisticated life fa- miliar to these steady city workers. And each one of us, without confiding in the others, resolved to follow the example of the despised home guards. In tiana Takes the Plunge Two weeks passed. Each of the five had fifteen dollars in his pocket. We were silent as we rode in the street car that carried us to our first Saturday night in the city, and we did not look at one another. We knew our ethics demanded that we should go to the saloons where the hobo muleteers gath- ered, and then buy beer for the gang and ass Out eating money to the ones who were »sroke. But when we alighted from the car we hesitated and were lost. “T'll see eas‘ ye later, I guess— maybe,” stammered Indiana, the youngest of the gang ——s myself. “I got to see a fellow over—er—down here.” The last words were spoken over his shoulder. The rest of us tram silently, slowly, reluctantly on tow the hang- outs. It was Smitty who halted us. He was the oldster of the five, nearly thirty, a power- ful, black, bewhiskered man, our leader. “‘Let’s see a picksher show,” he pro- posed, “before we look for the gang. I think they’s a swell nickelodeon back , Hs Main Street.” We Garont enthusiastically and faced about. We passed two shows without going in, saying maybe we’d find something bet- ter. We reached a large theater where a dramatic stock company played. The home mcgy at camp had all talked about how ne it was. “Let’s take a peek at the pickshers in the lobby,” said Smitty. Again we agreed eagerly. We looked at the pictures and announcements until we became too conscious of our overalls for leasure; then we returned to the street. e stopped on the corner and talked aim- lessly for a while, our words concealing our real thoughts. Smitty supposed that we had better go on to one of the picture shows; and the rest of us supposed so, too; but we remained on the corner and talked about this and that. Finally we decided to have some beer, and we went into the corner saloon. There was a noisy crowd along the bar, and many looked like they might be workingmen; but we were the only ones in overalls. As we drank our beer Smitty said that was certainly a big theater there and it most probably had a fine show. We bright- ened up at his words. Then he said that going to a show was just going to a show, and that was all, and a man could get just as much good out of a nickelodeon as the biggest show on earth if he really wanted to. But he didn’t make a move to go, and we had another round. Living Up to His Clothes I noticed a young fellow come through the door and push up to the bar. He was dressed in a neat blue serge suit, he wore a necktie and a gay fawn-colored hat that was creased around the crown; but he looked familiar. He had a bundle under his arm, and I heard him ask the bartender if he could leave it there for a while. I recog- nized his voice. The dressy young blood was Indiana! “Look at that there!’’ I yelled to the others. We instantly gathered around him and asked him fiercely what he thought he was putting over on us anyway. Indiana was confused and ‘embarrassed only for a mo- ment; then he glared defiantly. “I don’t care what you think, an’ I don’t care. what you all say I am,” he growled, thumping the bar with his fist. “I’m goin’ to live my life in my own way; I’ve made up my mind to that! I don’t care if I do get called a home ard an’ become the laughin’stock of all the hobo team hands, I’m goin’ to have me a dress-up rig that I won’t wear for nothin’ but dress-up times; an’ I’m goin’ to real shows an’ set in the four-bit seats; an’ I’m goin’ to get me a real honest-to-gosh girl, an’ even maybe learn to dance, if I want to. I don’t care if it ain’t right for me to quit lickerin’-up with the ol’ gang an’ spendin’ my money in the ol’ way I’m s’posed to—I’ll be wrong then, an’ do wrong! An’, what’s more, if any you guys start preachin’ at me, a-teliin’ me what’s right an’ how I ought to do right, I’m declarin’ myself that won't lis’en to no leckshers from anybody! If any of you (Continued on Page 92) 5 : ET YC-RC nD E ES =

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“HOOKED”. a new comedy star- | ring Lloyd Hamil-| ton, and “Step Fast”, | a Christie Comedy, | are two fine exam-| ples of thesortof Short | Subject that lifts the | level of quality of the |’ Whole Program at| your favorite theatre. Don't fail to see these splendid comedies, or to watch for the EDUCATIONAL PICTURES trade- mark whenever you are planning a trip to the movies. Lai Hawmenh, Educational Pictures make every program a better program LARRY SEMON SPECIAL COMEDIES HAMILTON COMEDIES BOBBY VERNON COMEDIES WALTER HIERS COMEDIES MERMAID COMEDIES CHRISTIE COMEDIES JUVENILE COMEDIES TUXEDO COMEDIES CAMEO COMEDIES a PARIS CREATIONS IN COLORS DISPLAYED BY HOPE HAMPTON

LYMAN H. HOWE’S HODGE-PODGE EARL HURD CARTOON COMEDIES KINOGRAMS The NEWS PEEL Built Like a Newspaper EDUCATIONAL FILM EXCHANGES | INCORPGRATED | Executive Offices 370 SEVENTH AVENUE NEW YORK | play and its actors. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 90) think you got any leckshurin’ or preachin’ around to do at me, why just say so an’ we'll fight it out right here! Wrong or not, I’m goin’ to live my own life an’ go my own way. fle was all steamed up by then and orating like a politician, waving his hands and roaring out his words. Everyone in the saloon was staring at him. “Whoa, Ned,” said Smitty in a sooth- ing voice. “Whoa, an’ back up. You'll have the bulls in here if you keep on. Shut your blab an’ then tell me this: Where an’ how’d you get them clothes?” “T—I—why, I bought ‘em, of course!” answered Indiana, wilting down suddenly. “TI just—just bought ’em, that’s all.” “You mean to stand there an’ ty to tell me you bought that outfit with fourteen dollars? G’wan!” “It’s my own business anyway,” de- clared Indiana, getting his wind again. “You lemme alone. You go your way an’ I'll go mine.” “You ain’t got me at all,” said Smitty. “I want to go your way too. I want to doll up like that myself. An’ I agree with you perfec’ly, ol’-timer, that we don’t care what these other stiffs thinks.” Well, we were all lost. City life had got its poison into our blood; and we all swore we'd dress up with Indiana and travel with him, in spite of all the hobo muleteers in California. That made him happy and we shook hands all around, “Come on,” he said. “Foller me.” He led us down a side street and into a big secondhand store. “I got my suit here for six dollars,” he said proudly, ‘The shoes was a dollar and a half and the hat cost me one buck. The ol’ Jew’s a pretty good feller, an’ he’ll make it cheap if you all buy.” In a short time we were all arrayed in real store suits, hats, shiny shoes and bril- liant neckties, at an average cost of —_ dollars apiece. And there we were, five hobo laborers dressed up like home guards, and we wanted some place to go. “We're goin’ to that big swell theater,” said Smitty. “That's the only place for us now. Come on, gang.” He was the leader again, and he headed the parade to the box office. It was about time for the play to begin, and we could not get five good seats together in the orchestra. The Witchery of the Play “Five box seats then,” said Smitty, twisting his mustache in a careless fashion, as though buying box seats was nothing at all for him. The rest of us were doubtful and embarrassed; but we gave him the money for our seats without protest. Never shall I forget the awful self- consciousness of my five minutes in that box. It was a lower front one, and I was shoved into a chair next to the rail. I was sure that all eyes in the theater were on me, and I couid feel my face burn and per- spire. The indomitable Smitty sat next to sf His eyes glowing, he leaned over to w J “Know what?” he said. “I bet every- body out there thinks we're wealthy cattle- men from the desert country!” Glorious thought! I looked at the tanned faces of my companions and decided it might be so. Surely! We were in overalls no longer; we were dressed for any position in life. I felt sure that my brown suit with its brilliant red stripes was a true sign of jad stan Now when I stared into the audience it was with a brazen look of scorn. The lights went out. The curtain rose on an English play. I was enchanted with the rich scenes, the ladies in sparkling gowns, the fantastic story. The hero was a man who nded from Mars to | make a selfish knight deal more kindly with his tenants. I forgot my bright clothes, my friends, the audience—everything but the I lived. in a new and marvelous world. I was in England and see- ing the intimate life of the aristocracy there; | [saw a man really come down from Mars, and I heard him utter sermons in a manner that made them seem not sermons but spon- taneous human speech. In another act the | English poor were on the stage, in their | wretched work clothes. I saw them, too, as | realities; and again I thought of my new suit—it was new to me—and I felt how lucky I was to be even a poor American | muleteer, for I could dress up and go to the theater; while in England—England out there on the stage—wretched, ragged la- borers were starving before my eyes. So EVENING POST strong an impression did I get of this, my first play, that even today when I think of England I see it in the scenes that charmed me that night. And the play’s preachment had a powerful moral effect on me also. For the first time I wondered if it was the thing, the right thing, for a youth to hobo about the country, even though he worked honestly, and to drink beer and chew to- bacco and play seven-up. The others, as I remember, were not so profoundly affected; but we all.went di- rectly back to the grading camp after the show and were as decorous as any of the home guards on Sunday, the next day. I did not realize it then, but I had entered into a new age of the American laborer, had breathed in his new spirit. From now on he was to be a laborer only on the job; he had shed finally all the aspects of peasantry, even as generations of American laborers before him had fought down the peasant’s inherent servility, dependence on a master and meekness of thought and demeanor. In certain occupations he was to keep his original, picturesque and distinctively mas- culine fashions of dress when he worked; but off the job he was to be simply an Amer- ican man, wearing a dress that would allow him unself-consciously to enter any of the — where Americans may spend their eisure; presenting there not the appear- ance of a laborer but the appearance of a typical American individual. Not that he was to be ashamed of making his living by manual labor and attempt to hide the fact. By no means. He was to attain a position of individual freedom in his laborer’s life that would make him feel the equal! of any- one; not to be pitied or wept over or gaped at as a picturesque t, but to be re- arded as a free and independent man, per- ectly able to appear anywhere and to take care of himself under any circumstances. His new clothes were a symbol of this con- sciousness. I worked in Los Angeles for nearly two years, and during that time I purchased three new suits—really new ones. A good suit couldde bought for fifteen dollars then, and I never paid more. I had hats, shoes dress shirts and neckties in profusion. I was a new man—or youth, rather. The call of the road took me away again. I packed a suitcase and left it in a rooming house to await my order for it. I was aston- ished to discover how much company it had. The hobo laborer had become a man who owned a suitcase! He no longer wore his suit under his overalls; at least the younger man did not. He packed it in a grip when he went hoboing and left the gri in a hotel. And today, in any workingman’s hotel or rooming house, there is a room with stacks of suitcases in it, waiting for their owners to send for them, A laborer wearies of a town and leaves without any particular destination. He knows he is apt to wander along ie he settles again or he may return. He travels in his work clothes. When he finds a place that pleases him he sends for his store suits. American Traits I have noticed every year since then that the American laborer mes more and more of a -up man. This certainly means that he is ever placing a higher value on his individuality y ponerse | it ina better appearance. The raiment he wears today in his hours of leisure more often than not merits the name of royal; his shoulders are adorned by weaves a prince need not be ashamed to wear. It is a terrible spectacle for the college sockinaiste to contemplate; they have been inspired to spend years at arduous study by the hope that they could save the oppressed American masses from starvation and rags: then they discover that the ian of t masses eats what he wills, he motors over the highwa instead of reading their “‘liter- ature,” and arrayed in lored suits, he goes to parties and or takes his family to the movies. It is heartbreaking. The college sociologist in America is as wretched as a movie hero with a boil on his Grecian nose. No less wretched is the art-smitten Amer- ican who is enamored of the folk songs, the folk dances and the folk dress of European ts—-who is as much enamored, ve ikely, of the knuckling and scraping whic American tourists receive overseas. The tailored and barbered laborer of today, like the burly, rough-clad laborer of yesterday, pas oy ignores the impudent school whose main business is to pry into his affairs. He may listen to some of the politicians of the March 7, 1925 school, to a La Follette or a Wheeler, when there is a presidential campaign; but the main audience of the school is in the colleges and women’s clubs. tee The laborer ignores efforts to uplift him; he ignores attempts to artify him; he will wear his royal raiment as he pleases because he has the money to buy it, the desire to give himself the appearance in his leisure of the typical individual American, and has the freedom to do so. I admired the old-time picturesque la- borer; but I, for one, refuse to decry the new man of toil. No; I must even rejoice with him. I bought my last suit a year and a half ago with money earned from a job of loading lumber. It is of soft brown checks and from a rich piece of Scotch woolen. It cost me sixty-five dollars. When I bought it I had a thirty-five-dollar blue serge and a fifty- dollar gray tweed, both in good condition. The time when a fifteen-dollar suit would do for me seemed far away. The day of the six-dollar secondhand suit was very dim. The years of overalls were not to be thought of. The new age had reached the noon of its glory. My dress-up wardrobe filled one huge suitcase, my work outfit another. I had five pairs of shoes—one pair of sixteen- dollar logger boots, a ten-dollar pair of dress shoes, and three minor pairs. Silk shirts and wool shirts; three hats and two caps; a jersey, a roughneck sweater, a mackinaw and a jerkin; a slicker and a forty-dollar whipcord raincoat; three pairs of work a. a heavy leather apron and mittens or lumber handling; a stack of the more intimate garments; enough neckties to make a bedspread. I drove a glittering sedan. I was proud of my possessions, proud of living as a laborer who could dress as well and live as well, if not with such extravagance, as the manager of the mill where I worked. Well Paid and Well Dressed I was working by contract and earning nearly double the going wages for common labor. I worked very hard, of course. There were periods when I had to call all my muscular power and physical energ into use for hours at a time. Boards fresh from the saws poured out of the mill on conveyer chains, and eight of us had to load them on trucks as fast as they came. When the sawyers had good logs they would come near to covering us up. But never entirely. In some fashion or another we would do our jobs as they were supposed to be done. Hats and shirts would be cast aside; bare arms would glitter with sweat, and a tangle of wet hair would be falling over each flushed face. Drump! Drump! Drump! The boards made this sound as they were slammed on trucks all along the platform. Eyes would glitter and hoarse curses would rise as a particularly bad tangle of boards came out on the chains. But the end of a heavy run would always see the platform clean and each board on its proper truck. The chainmen were free. Each one could have had an easier job. He could have worked for advancement, or have learned an easier skilled trade. But this labor was the life that suited us, and we asked for no other. We made big wages and bought royal raiment and good living instead of booze, as in the old days. Uptown in the evenings the muscularity and physical of the chainmen were hid under good American clothes; they were simply Amer- ican individuals at leisure. They had a cer- er be nog their own and they succeeded n ng it appearance. Fhe ideal still pr . I hear from a young American laborer who works for common wages. He has been married a year. He has worn, during this time, a fifty-five-dollar suit, a fifty-dollar overcoat, and a pair of Russian calf shoes which cést him twelve dollars. In the winter he lost some time and got behind in his grocery bill. But at Christmas his friends and rela- tives recognized his truest need. His pres- ents, he tells me, were mostly clothes. He was given a fourteen-dollar sport sweater, sixteen pairs of silk and silk-wool socks, a broadeloth shirt and a pair of leather house slippers. He has lived his entire youth in the new age, and royal raiment is a prime necessity to him. It is with him as it is with all American laborers. Royal raiment gives them the ap- pearance of other Americans; yet it is the mark of their sense of free individuality, the new distinction, importance and self- respect they feel. i ieee Pa ae Seema _ a ES © ES ES RE AGES a =

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ee en — eee Sa er eee a ee ee Se a Re rT 3 . en ne ona —E > = ~ SATURDAY EVENING POST a = ee a ee Heinz Beans Are Baked In Real Ovens Baking beans in real ovens is a slow, expen- sive process—but oh! the difference in taste. Heinz Beans are really oven-baked. The label says so—the beans prove it, in nour- ishment, in digestibility. Oven-baked, then combined with Heinz Tomato Sauce—what could be more delicious? — a. j. HEINZ COMPANY When you come to Pittsburgh visit the Heinz kitchens

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‘Turn cap, at bottom of “Yankee"’ Push Drill, to get exact tension for every job.

Seven Adjustable Tensions at the turn of the cap Want to bore a “4¢ hole in brittle wood? Turn cap on handle to left and | | Was a hold-up caught me nappin’, get an easy, light tension. Next you may need to | drive a %ge drill into tough timber. Thatneeds a poweriul tension. You | get it by turning cap to the right. “YANKEE” Automatic Push Drill No. 44 Ix the only push drill that can be regulated to suit each job. Seven dif ferent tensions, Saves time, Saves effort. Saves expense by saving drill | | Tickle and titillate all of my brain, points. Fight drill points ‘ie in, to Ma in., held con- veniently in magazine handle that opens UP toward chuck, as shown in iiustration, **Vankee"" No. 41 is another automatic push drill without adjustable tension, made for those who do not need this feature. Some other “Yankee” Toole Spiral Screw-drivers Ratchet Screw-drivers Ratchet Hand Drills Ratchet Breast Drills Ratchet Tap Wrenches vs tevtycerrer anton ieee ane Se oS ae ww

Yankee" Tool Book de tr. Write for eerie teint f your ow “y ankee''on the tool you buy means the utmost in quality, efficiency, and | durability. Dealers everywhere «ell ‘“Yankee"’ pane Noatu Bros, Mra. Co,, Philadelphia, U “YANKEE TOOLS Make BellBv Mechanica’ SATURDAY EVENING POST SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES (Continued from'Page 36)

success the dark- blue blues number, entitled: My SuGAR PopPEerR Isn’T WORTH A Pinch oF SALT TO ME I've got those melan- choly, weeping blues ; And the only thing I can accuse Is just my scarred luck, Ill-starred luck, Moanin’-in-the-

“< Lolly-popper left y Lolly pop And the reason why is plain to see, He sold me down the river, and My menu now is liver- and, Where filet mignon once it used to be.

March 7,1925 Her hands, unrest- ing ever, Went nimbiy to and fro, In days now dead forever, The days of long ago. It burdens down the E’en as the heart it gashes, To carry in the coal And carry out the ashes; To mash potatoes mas A woman's self-con- trol, E’en as the heart it ashes, And one the soul. But hail the brighter day! The broom i ai et rier

Gee! OnAWN BY A. 8. FULLER When Little Willie Let Go of His Mother's Hand a Second REFRAIN I come an awful cropper since I lost my sugar popper, Now he isn’t worth a pinch of salt to me. And the way it had to happen And he gypped me of my jew-el-ry. Diabetic Dad, he got mad; left me sad, and since has stayed away; Packed his tent, then he went, and did that gentle Arab fade-away. He's gone to tour up And down in Europe Until he gets more reconciled. But I'm betting he'll be back to petting again, If only I can get to him and warble that strain: (Close harmony) OH, FIREMAN, SAVE MY CHILD! Harry G. Smith. Its treatment and theme are in a manner Lost-Chordic; A wonderful song to make a new Nation Nordic: ONLY A Poor CxHorus GIRLIB. Ask for Bill Jones HIS I have learned, though the clever folk stimulate, Spilling the wisdom they have —or they simu- late,

DRAWN BY NATE COLLIER Director: “Phyllis Has Just Spurned Your Leve and You Decide to End it All. Now Step Off That Thousand-Foot Precipice."'

Nevertheless, when I need to obtain Print of the mint, if I want to negotiate Something resembling a loan when I'm broke, Then I discover it pays to associate Rather with plain mid-Victorian folk! Somehow the scintillant crowd intellectual Tends to grow cold when you're down in the dumps; Somehow their brilliancy seems ineffectual Ww oth you need succor in bumping the um All of the wit and the humor they glory in Hasn't so much of a generous trend; Go with your woe to some dull, mid- Victorian, Loyal and faithful dependable friend. Sulphites for cleverness, smartness and gay- ety, But when the shades of calamity fall, Bromides and sordidly commonplace laity Prove the best people at heart, after all! Berton Braley. Housemaids in Overalls N DAYS of long ago, if Days that are dead forever, 0 cook, to clean, to sew, Was all a maid’s endeavor ;

Director: “That's Fine! Cut!"

Becobucbbed, in the attic ; Housework is automatic, Machines have come to stay, And women cry, ecstatic: “ All hail the brighter day!” No more the milkmaids come To tweak the bovine udder; They milk by vacuum! The cows, regretful, shudder, And sadly chew the cud or Moo in a manner glum; No more to tweak the udder The merry milkmaids come. No more are pots and churns The tools of kitchen wenches ; The modern scullion learns To work with Stillson wrenches ; Her fist an oilcan clenches ; Machinist's pay she earns; No more do kitchen wenches Belabor pots and churns. And yet my heart is drear! The modern type of slavey Leaves washers in the beer, Machine oil in the gravy; She ought to join the Navy And be an engineer, And give us back the slavey, The cook of yesteryear! — Morris Bishop.

Actor: ‘No Move o' Those Thousand:Foot Jumps for Me Until You Get a Softer Mattress!"

ag A eng, PE ert poor lions = IPO ay, Se nee ge é ee a. — _ —_— a a EEE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST * am | | | New Cars } The following manufacturers are using Genuine Duco as standard on all models: Buick Maxwell Chevrolet Meteor Chrysler Moon Gardner Nash Hupmobile Oakland Jewett Oldsmobile Marmon Premier Taxicabs The manufacturers below are using Duco on some models: Cadillac (all standard models and obtainable on all custom mode ls) \ Chandler (stanidard) Cleveland (optional, al! models) Franklin (optional, ali models) Kissel (standardon nine models) Lexington (optional, all models Rollin (standard on Coach) Duco Polish, No, 7 We now have ready for distri bution a polish for Duco-finished automobiles. Full information will be given to interested jobbers and dealers. Refinishing Genuine Duco dries almost in- stantly. It cannot be hand- brushed but must be applied bya spray gun. In refinishing cars, care must be taken to remove the paint down to the metal, as only then will Genuine Duco have its characteristic durability. Duco automobile refinishing stations are being established rapidly everywhere Name of nearest authorized refinishing station on request. Schools are equipped to provide instructions in appli 5 | cation or supply properly e. C ay trained men. Other Uses Genuine Duco is ad ij table to almost any product requiring a lasting finish in color, Due to its OU need not beware the Ides of March, with their sulky |” qulche-deying qualities, it saves gusts, and the patter of distant hail. | gmaturially te Galahing thine: stee age space and investment in fin Ride blithely through the storm, your DUCO finished car richly , or Oe on request of any manufactur gleaming in the murk ... long months of ice and snow behind It fe being evenesnfully w it, and the silvered gleam of spring just around the corner. A — — Truck Bodies Genuine DUCO on your car makes it come up smiling through Autombile Pa . OO furniture all temperatures and weathers. The hottest summer sun blazing Metal Purniture on its surface will not cause it to crack or check. Sand and mud, Office Equipment Pens, Pencils, etc, or the alkali of the desert spaces, may be removed without a mark. Washing Machines Lamps Ordinary washing, with the occasional use of Duco Polish No. 7, Handles for Tools, . . . Brooms, Brushes, ete. will keep your car looking its best through many seasons. aa 4 E. 1. DU PONT DE NEMOURS & CO.,, Inc. Electric ye a ‘ m Chemical Products Division Railroad and Street Railway PARLIN, N. J. FLINT, MICH. Rolling Stock Canadian Distributors: Flint Varnish & Color Works, Toronto Untied anit Cane tlandias Radio Cabinets, Radio Part Gasoline and Oi] Pumps Bath Fixtvies and Accessories Medicine Cabinets, etc. Toilet Seats T ypewriters Vacuum Cleaners i Finished with © wim o) DUCO 4 Look for the DUCO Namepla REG. U.S. PaT. OFF a

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Booklet tilustrating over 50 patterns in calor sent upon receipt of coupon with dealer's name 4 Emerald Glass Shade Daygg PCREEN > ro as This exclusive Emeralite Attachment changes electric light into soft, eve-saving day lite that elimi Made! No. nates glare and ) ” ' improves visi 8734 B, 18 bility Use 50 high. for flat watt Type B top desk. Mazda lamp ff A J eS ne COUPON set awe H. G. MeFADDIN & CO., 37 Warren St., N.Y. Makers of Lighting Devices for 50 Years Send free Emeralite Booklet (P10 Name Address Dealer's Name Lensmeen } | own home, I | having nothing to do. | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OUT AND BACK WITH OLD WHIT ‘Got you in dead storage, eh?”’ says I. He nods and goes on. “It’s worse than that—almost as if I was a prisoner in my I don’t like it. Especially I'm not used to that. If I could only go down to the office again and see how things are getting on. ut they say I mustn't, and that fool doctor backs "em up. The boys don’ t tell me a thing about the business, and I’m afraid they’re making some bad mistakes. I'd just started a big advertising campaign when I was taken ill, and Milton thought we were spending too much that way, wanted to cut it down and send out more agents. Absolutely the wrong policy. I suppose he’s carrying it out though. It's going to hurt our sales.”’ ‘Well, you can still tell him what’s what, can’t you?” I asks. “He'd just say ‘There, there. Don’t worry, dad,’ and keep right on,” says the old boy. ‘‘I—I seem to be shelved, Rusty; on the shelf at sixty. It’s kind of tough. And to be ordered around, too, like a child. I wish they wouldn't.” Say, he nearly had me leaky in the eyes. For he wasn’t stretchin’ ita bit. His young folks was usin’ him rough. I don’t mean they didn’t try to be nice to him at times, and likely they thought they was doin’ wha was best for him. But they didn’t | hide the fact that they had him rated a down-and-outer, and sometimes they acted as if he was a good deal in the way. ‘Course they was a busy bunch; Milton earryin’ out his schemes at the office and | makin’ a bluff at work; posin’ as a heavy business man; pa Whitney mostly tied up with his gol matches in the club tournament and only and Miss Isabel butterflyin’ around havin’ a good time kiddin’ three different young hicks along. She’d stop long enough to give her old daddy a hug now and then and tell him he must take care of himself, but with her dated up weeks ahead she didn't have much time to waste on somebody that didn’t count. She'd pass on tothe old Great Dane watchdog that was crippled up with rheu- matism, give him a pat on the head, and go — off. “hen there was these long fam'ly debates that had to be attended to. Somehow they | was always croppin’ up, for if it wasn't one thing it was another; whose turn it was to have week-end guests, whether Isabel should thump out jazz on the piano while little Sallie was taking her nap or not; | who changed around the furniture in the | livin’ room and why; what was the idea of | havin’ tomato bisque for dinner when Mar- jorie knew very well that Isabel simply hated that kind of soup, and so on and so forth. Oh, they didn’t actually throw things at each other, or chew the rag common, but they could make cuttin’ and sarcastic re- marks. I'll say they could. But the constant, nonstop argument came about usin’ me and the cars. That was always on tap. It bobbed up at least three times a day and generally oftener. Sometimes it was only a duet, then again it would be a foursome, with all parties de- mandin’ to go in different directions at the same time. I'll admit I kinda favored Miss Isabel when I could, but as a rule there wasn’t much‘to do except wait until they'd thrashed it out, unless someone sneaked away and rushed the limousine while the others was still exchangin’ snappy repartee. And after a couple of weeks of that hectic stuff it kinda got on my nerves. I hardly knew whether I was goin’ or comin’, and all | | was sure of was that if I did what one | wanted me to I'd get bawled out by the | others. It was no cinch job either. Why, say, if I had half an hour off for meals I was in luck, and an evenin’ to myself was some- thing I only dreamed about. I could see where Aline was right when she told me I'd find no time for joy ridin’. Huh! I had to shift tires and fill the batteries and change the oil on my own time. Honest, I might as well have been workin’ double tricks on a Subway local. I hate to jump a place, though, just because it ain't any soft snap, so I kept pluggin’ away. I did get kind of a jolt when the first of the month came along and instead of either Milton or Junior handin’ me my pay I finds it’s Old Whit that comes across with the green money. “Oh!” says I. “They let you firiance the | outfit, do they?” (Continued from Page 29) “Yes,” says he. “I am still useful in that way.” And it ain’t an hour later when I hears Mrs. Whitney breakin’ the news to him that she’s havin’ his things moved up to that nice little room on the third floor. “You see, daddy,” she explains, ‘“‘we are having our suite redecorated, and while the paint- ers and paper hangers are in it we shall need your room for the children. You'll be quite as comfy up there, you know.” He stares at her sort of dazed. “‘I—I’ve been sleeping in that room for thirty years, Marjorie,” he protests. ‘It’s where isabel was born and—and where her mother died. All the other rooms have been changed ex- cept that one. It’s the only place in this house where I really feel at Fao I don’t think I could get used to another.” “Oh, yes, you could,” she careless. “Anyway, there's nothing a to be done.” “Well, if that’s the way of it,” says he, lettin’ his shoulders sag. About then, though, young Milton drifts along and cate hes the tail end of the discussion. “‘Eh?”’ sayshe. ‘“‘ Moving dad up to the third floor? W hat’s the big idea?” Mrs. Whitney Spooner tells him about the decorators. “Really!’’ says he. “Your suite! But Whitney knew we were planning to have ours done over first. Trying to beat me to it,ishe? That is quite like Whit. Dad, you needn't move yet. This matter is going to be talked over.” And it sure was. Aline tells me the de- po ot well under way durin’ dinner, when hitney left the table sobbin’. "There one. "Miss Isabel to take her place though. She wasn’t for havin’ either suite decorated, and she thought it was a mighty raw deal to shove dear old daddy into the attic. At which young Whitney reminds Isabel how she’d spent over a thousand dollars having a tiled bath put in her room while he and his wife had been gettin’ along with old- fashioned plumbin’ and furniture that came out of the Ark. So it developed into a lively three- cornered scrap with Old Whit sittin’ there with his chin on his wishbone. It didn’t end with the finish of the meal, either, but raged on and on while the table was bein’ cleared and the dishes put away. The last Aline heard, Marjorie had come back downstairs to add a few remarks she'd forgot, and Isabel was gettin’ almost personal. Anyhow, by mornin’ hardly any of ’em was speakin’ to the others, but they had plenty to say to me. Wow! I did get it, crisp and snappy. For nothing at all, too, except that I couldn’t go three ways at once, And when I'd finally got ’em all landed at different places—the Juniors off for an over-Sunday visit, Milton headed for town, Mrs. Milton dropped for a bridge luncheon, Isabel at the country club—lI sighs relieved. Out at the garage I finds Old Whit sittin’ with his head in his hands lookin’ as dis- couraged as if he’d been towed in by a wreckin’ car with a front wheel smashed and a cracked crank case. ““Cheer up, Mr. Spooner,” “The battle’s all over for today.” He shakes his head. ‘It will start again when they get together once more,”’ says he. “T know them.” “Yes, I guess you're right, at that,” I ad- mits. ‘Some merry little battle they staged around you, eh?” He says he don’t see anything merry about it. “I wish I could have a little peace,”’ he goes on. ‘“‘Seems to me I de- serve it, for I've done my fighting, years ago. Yes. I fought my way up from a machine-shop bench; I fought tricky patent lawyers who tried to get my sweeper plans away from me; then I fought s = part- ners, infringing competitors, greedy stock- holders. I fought through hard times— panics, when I had my back against the wall. And I won, Rusty, I won against odds, I put the business on a solid basis. I built my home here, laid out the grounds, settled back to enjoy it. That is what I fought for, what I'd always looked forward to. Peace. But these young people —— His voice trails off. sind do keep things pretty well stirred " I agrees. tT evish I could get out of it all fora while,” says he. “Well, why not?” says I. “Eh?” says he, starin’. says I. March 7,1925 “They ain’t got any leg irons or hand- cuffs on you, have they?” Lasks. ‘I don’t see what’s to stop you from takin’ a vaca- tion if you want one.” “But—but how could I, Rusty? How?” he demands. “Listen, Mr. Spooner,” says I. “If you're callin’ for it, Til give it to you atraight. You're still boss here, ain’t you? “No, no,” says he. “I was once, but I’m not any more. Not since I had that trouble with my nerves. something.” “You got your check book yet, ain’t ou?” says I. “Well, that’s the answer. ersonal account at the village bank. I expect it ain't any little one either. So as long as you can sign your name you can go anywhere you want to. Where'll it be, Mr. Spooner?’ For a minute or so he just sits there i tama at me, but finally a different look ickers in his keen old eyes. ‘You mean that you would take me somewhere— off in a car? “Absolutely,” says I. “It wouldn’t hurt my feelin’s a bit to shake this free-for-all family scrap for a while. I’m gettin’ fed up on it myself, specially with havin’ so many bosses. And with all of em off for the day we got a good openin’. Simply pack our bags, chuck ’em in the bus, and slide out. What say?” It don't take him long to think the propo- sition over. He almost works up a grin as he listens. Then all of a sudden his head comes up ard he nods vigorous. ‘‘ We'll do it,” says he. ‘Now, es any of them come back and sto I'll get my — together. I'll be 1 asay i in ten min- Phat’ s talkin’!”’ says I. ‘Which car’ll I take?” “The old roadster, perhaps,” says he. “No one uses that now, but it has a good motor and I think I would feel more at home in it than in one of the new ones. Yes, take the roadster.” We came near gettin’ away without any of the help being wise, but just as I’m luggin’ down Old Whit’s suitcase Aline holds me up. “What’s this mean?” she demands. “Nothing at all to you,” says I, “but if you want to know, me and the big boss is goin’ on a little tour.” “Not Old Whit?” she gasps. what'll I tell ’em?” “Tell ’em all you know, won't take long.” And inside of half an hour we’d stopped at the bank long enough to collect a bunch of travelers’ checks and were on our way. “How about crossin’ to Jersey and wan- derin’ down the coast?” I asks. “Anywhere,” says he. “If driving makes me as ill as that fool doctor said it would you'll just have to take me to some hospital, Rusty.” “All right,”’ says I. Cheerin’ prospect, eh? Elopin’ with an old bird who’s liable to kick out on you sud- den and leave you to notify a fam’ly that would probably have you indicted for sec- ond degree. But he don’t show any signs of collapsin’, even when a female flivver driver in Newark tries to hang a tin mudguard on our rear bumper. So down we booms, through Metuchen and New Brunswick, until we strikes the shore road, and some- where near Barnegat Bay I finds a comfy little hotel where we had a swell feed of Cedar Point oysters and broiled bluefish with baked Jersey sweets. Say, up to then all they’d been allowin’ Old Whit was mostly spoonin’ chow from some sanitarium joint, and he wades into real food so strong I had to keep warnin’ him to lay off. I didn’t know what it would do to him, but I hadn’t any more’n tucked him in the hay before he starts sawin’ wood peaceful and my guess is that he’ll last until mornin’ “Why, ” says I. “It aegyer. he only other worry I had was that the Spooners might get panicky and sick the po- lice on us, so about 9:30 I calls Ridge Hall on the long distance and gets young Milton. “Yeauh,” saysI. ‘This is Rusty. Sure he’s with me and he’s Say, listen. Where do you get that runaway stuff? The boss is just takin’ a little trip, and if you ask me I'l] say he needs it. Now never mind where we are. Wherever it is, we won't be here tomorrow, so there’s no use (Continuea on Page 99) I have lost—well, - - a etna SNE AS cada acraomang een rere nena, a an ae paaoar ee © EE SE eg TO to

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST You are conscious, mostly, of the lack of vibration in both these remarkable cars —the Equipoised Eight; the Superb Six HAT’S it. The lack of vibration. This most no- ticeable characteristic of Peer- less cars is also their most desirable asset. For, their surprising lack of vi- bration results in power un- usual—the kind of power that flows smooth, full and free at the touch of the accelerator. of performance these two Peer- less cars give. And there are other respects in which these cars are strik- ingly individual. They are rich in appointment, flawless in finish—cars with lines of start- ling and impressive beauty from radiator to tail-light. You would find either the Equipoised Eight or the Superb Six a constant source of pride and enjoyment. Either one measures fully up to Owners of the Equipoised Eight declare that at every ride they marvel more, while those who drive the Superb Six call it the “best six cylinder automobile the high standards you've set in the world.” That’s the kind for the ideal car you want. THE PEERLESS MOTOR CAR COMPANY, CLEVELAND, OHIO The Equipoised Peerless Eight and the Superb Peerless Six “The = EQUIPOISED—Evenly balanced; weight, power or force equally distri- buted; brought into per- fect equilibrium. ? hin f Dee Se iy (¢ i Bi } iM, . F | oF . J i = 3 - ee — — A lg ge eth a a Oe a - ee

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Why ARCOLA THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ts cold in North Dakota saves steps In the rear of ARCOLA is a damper automati- cally regulated accord- ing to the heat of the water. Air is fed to the fire through it in just the right amount to get max- imum efficiency from minimum fuel. March 7,1925 Se inka edit ~ @ A. R.CO., 1925 Sige? * But Arcola gives them Radiator warmth E USED to have three stoves, and froze,” says P. J. Stembach, of James- town, N. D., “but with ARCOLA and American Radiators we burn no more coal than one stove did, and ArcOLA keeps every room evenly warmed.” No other heater can do for the small home what Arco.a does. It is a combina- tion boiler and radiator. It warms the room in which it stands, and sends a steady flow of hot water to a radiator in each room. The price is surprisingly low, and pay- ments may be made in easy installments, according to the new plan which your heating contractor will explain. Make up your mind that you will not go through another winter in discomfort. RS AND AMERICAN RADIATORS FOR There is health in ArcoLa; there is im- mense satisfaction; and there is economy, too. For the coal consumption is so much smaller than that of stoves or old-fashioned heaters, that ARCOLA will soon pay back its first cost. More than 100,000 owners have proved this in their own experience. One of them lives in your neighborhood; ask him. Send us your name and the number of rooms in your house; an attractively illus- trated book will be mailed to you at once. | TRADE MARK 3 ARCOLA | Reg. U.S, Pat. Off, For sale by the Heating and Plumbing Trade everywhere AMERICAN RADIATOR COMPANY Dept. 17, 1807 Elmwood Avenue, Buffalo, N. Y. EVERY cal) Sales Offices in all principal cities HEATING NEED =a I TR me ee RF el

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ee ee ee a ee (Continued wr Page 96) chasin’ us up. Yes, he’s fine, I tell ya When he ain’t I’ll let you know. So ong.’”’ And with that I hangs up, missin’ a lot of Bary advice, I expect. I didn’t have to ring up any doctor in the night either. No. All Old Whit needed was a muffler, and I went to sleep dreamin’ I was runnin’ aferryboatinthefog. It was him woke me up in the mornin’, too, askin’ if he couldn’t have a cup of real coffee for breakfast. “Don’t ask me, Mr. Spooner,” says I. “Tell the waitress. You’re on your own now, you know.” “mp at’s so,” says he. ‘“I—I must re- member.” Honest, he’d been bossed around so long he hardly knew how to act without some- body tellin’ him what he could do and what he couldn’t. So I puts everything up to him—when we should start, and which way. “Why, south, I suppose,” says he. And I only chuckles when sneaks a cigar out of his pocket and lights 4” We was havin’ a fine spell of Indian- summer weather just then, and as we rolls down the line we catches glimpses of old Barnegat, sparklin’ blue in the sunshine; oyster sloops driftin’ ever the beds; and near-by bushes and trees flamin’ red and yellow against the pines. It was reg’lar breathin’ air we was pumpin’ in, too, as we loafed along, and I noticed the old boy leanin’ back easy and contented. “‘Where’ll we plan on makin’ tonight, Mr. Spooner?’’ I asks. “Oh, let’s not plan,” says he. We didn’t. We had lunch in Atlantic City, soaked in the sun for a while on the Boardwalk, and then struck off inland. We drifts out through Pennsylvania, across some mountains, down into West Virginia, makin’ easy hundred-mile runs and gen- erally hangin’ up for the night in seme hick burg where they had a Mansion House or a Grand Central Hotel. Before the end of the week we was in Kentucky, right in the blue grass district, they told us. It was as easy tourin’ as I’d ever done; no great rush to get anywhere, and no passengers fussin’ about accommodations. The old boy took what we found—bowl-and-pitcher rooms, g grub and poor, rough roads and smooth—without a murmur. He don’t do much chattin’, but he seems to be con- tented and happy “TI don’t ets when I’ve felt so—so free as this before, Rusty,” says he. “Not since you was a kid, eh?” I asks. “Not even then,” says he. ‘I went into the shop when I was fourteen. This is my first real vacation. I believe it’s doing me “Maybe you’!] be in shape to take hold of things when you get back,” I suggests. He shakes his head. “I doubt it,” says he. “TI still have very little confidence in myself. I can tell a waiter how I'll have ee cooked, and that’s about all.” t was that same night we rolls into this courthouse town in the middle of the leaf- tobacco and race-horse district, gettin’ in kinda late after an extra long run, and as the old boy looks fairly well blown and weary when he unloads at the hotel I parks him in a lobby chair and tells him I'll do the registerin’. “Two rooms and bath,” says I to the stiff-necked party behind the desk. He smiles haughty. “Full up,’’ says he. “I might be able to give you cots or some- thing. Can’t tell until after dinner.” “‘What’s the idea?” I asks. ‘Got a chewin’-plug raisers’ convention on?”’ It wasn’t that, but he sketches out his troubles brief and I relays the situation to Mr. Spooner. ‘Lot of racin’ people here for the meet that opens tomorrow,” I ex- plains. “Besides that, they’ve got a bunch of troupers. We'll eat first, eh, and then see what happens?” But at B3 30 the room clerk was more up- stagy than before. He’s talkin’ earnest with a — of sporty-dressed gents who seem to be urgin’ him to look at diamond pins, wrist watches and other pieces of jewelry, and he waves me away impatient. I hears him tell ’em “No, this is no hock shop,” and right off I get the hunch that — they’re actors tryin’ to raise some It was a good guess, for not ten min- utes later, as I’m passin’ the word to Old Whit that it looks like cots in the hall for us this time, we’re almost surrounded by a grouchy bunch of show people. There was three men in the party, and the rest was females. Some was sn apPy. lookin’ queens, specially a couple of bobbed blondes. They was all talkin’ at once and THE SATURDAY most of ’em was registerin’ hate for some party that didn’t seem to be present. Also —_ was disagreein’ emphatic with each other. “Almost like io apse, ain’t it?’’ I whispers to Mr. § Hen = What's it all about?’’ he asks. “They ain’t makin’ any secret of it,” says I. “Stranded, no funds, and a de uty sheriff sittin’ on their trunks. And likely it’s them that are hoggin’ the best rooms in the house.”’ “T see,” says Old Whit. I don’t think he meant to horn in. He was just sittin’ there quiet with his chin down, watchin’ ’em curious and listenin’ to the clatter. Then all of a sudden one of the little blondes drops in a chair next to his and without any other openin’ remarks, “Well, it’s a cold world; eh, Uncle Eben?’ “What's the matter, young lady?” he asks. “‘What ain’t? you better say,” says she. “We've been up against a string of flo and now we’re on the rocks. Gee, but we're a long ways from Times we too! Why couldn’t this have come in Newark, now?” “‘Where’s your manager?” asks Old Whit. “Say, uncle, I wisht I knew,” says she. “Oh, if I could only get my fingers on his neck once! The cheap crook! avin’ us in a dump like this!” “Your show wasn’t a success, I take it?”’ says he. “Don’t go blamin’ it on the show,” she. ‘‘Honest, uncle, we was givin’ “the best Broadway revue on tour. Why, we had ‘em cockeyed all the way from Altoona. Oh, we’re good, we are, and if we'd had any- body but a dead one makin’ our bookings ‘d been in on big time long ago. But that stiff of a Max Bloomer, he takes us on long jumps out in the sticks, makes us play against two circuses, an Elks carnival and Gawd knows what, and then when he sees another washout comin’ he stalls off a pay day and does a sneaky exit. Wouldn’t that curdle most any disposition, uncle? I ask “But—er—what are your plans?” he oes ON. “Plans!” says she, lettin’ out a hard little eackle. “Say, that’s the only thing we're long on. But none of ’em is any good ex- cept mine. I say we ought to dig up another manager somewhere, coax that deputy off’n the trunks, and play our dates here while the races are on. Ought to be good money in this crowd, and two full houses would be enough to get us all back to Broadway. If we could only find a manager!” I noticed Old Whit workin’ up an eye twinkle, but he sure got a gasp out of me with his next crack. “How do you think I would do?” he asks. Little Blondy stares at him for a minute before she gives way to a fit of tee-hees. “You!” says she. ‘Oh, what a comic old sport you are! Who'd have thou ht it was in you? Say, folks! Listen to this one.” nd it ain’t long before the troupers stop their jawfest to gather grinnin * around Old Whit, askin’ him if he’s willin’ to unbuckle the old leather wallet to the tune of three hundred and sixty, and suggestin’ that he'd be about as useful as a traffic cop at a christenin’. He lets ’em kid him along until they’ve pulled all the funny stuff they can think of, and then he turns to me. “Shall I show them how much of a joke I am, Rusty,” he asks, ‘or shouldn’t I try “Hop to it, Mr. Spooner,” says I. ‘‘ Man- agin’ a stray bunch of burlesquers wouldn’t be my idea of a vacation pastime, but it might be good ractice for you. “See’here, an sport,” breaks in one of the nifty dressers that had been tryin’ to mes- merize the clerk, “you're not taking this seriously, I ho “At least,’ “si says Old Whit, in that quiet way of his, “I shall not take you seriously. I’ve been SP ce Aaa talk, but I haven’t heard you say much. Now this attachment on your b ——it’s been made on a le- gally issued writ, has it?’’ The guy don’t know. None of ’em does. “Then tell that deputy to step in here a moment,” says Mr. Spooner. “‘You may say that. your new manager wishes to dis- charge the obligation if it is a just one.’ They gawped at him for a minute without stirrin’, and then three of ’em made a dash for the bag, age room. Somehow the slump had gone from Old Whit’s shoulders and there was a different look around the chin. I expect you can’t get to be boss over a thousand men and a ten-million-dollar busi- ness and have a case of jumpy nerves knock all the knack out of you in a few months. EVENING POST Anyway, after he’s looked over the paper careful he seems to know how to make out a check that sends the vy ton away satisfied. | They wanted to pat him on the back for that, and some of the 36% starts to hug hira, but he fends ’em off. “Just remember, please,”’ says he, “that I am your business manager and that our relations are to be | kept on a strict business basis. Now you | say this revue of yours is a good show. It | may be, but before I invest any more money I prefer to judge for myself. We will have a-—what do you call it? Oh, yes! A re- hearsal tomorrow morning at nine o'clock.” Say, you'd thought he’d ordered ’em all shot at aad to hear the howls that went up, and = a dozen protests that nine is an ungodly h our for a rehearsal. They just couldn’t make it. “Those who can’t may have the privil of walking back to New York,” says O Old Whit, cuttin’ the end off a fresh cigar. That changed their minds mighty quick. Oh, sure they could. They’d go right to bed 80 they could wake up a enough. “Just a moment,” e, signalin’ to two of the men. “Have you each com- fortable rooms here?” They said they had. “Good!” says he. “I shall need them for myself and Mr. Gillan. The clerk will fix you up with something or other. The keys, please.” Say, he got ‘oe with it. I can’t say how it was done, but just in that short time he had the same crowd that had been kiddin’ him almost jumpin’ through the hoops. And by the next evenin’ they was the a. est lot of troupers that ever got pulled the rocks. For that’s what Oid Whit did. I expect when he began he didn’t know any more about the theatrical game than I did, but before the curtain went up he’d settled two rows about dressin’ rooms, soothed a balky orchestra leader, told the local man ~ where he got off, and was in the box checkin’ up on the receipts. We had a fb sized house that night, but it wasn’t big enough to suit him, so he buys half a page space in the evenin’ paper, sends out a band in a banner-draped truck and has eve billboard in town - with sing e sheets. The second night we had ‘em standin’ — deep behind the orchestra rail, and for the third performance he jacked the prices up to Broadway rates and ad every seat sold before we opened the doors. Were they anxious to get back to New York after that? They were not, They wanted him to wire a big booking firm and — the company on a tour out to the 7oast. “No, thank you,” says he. “I have | rather enjoyed straightening out your tan- | gle and I’m glad you seem to like me as | manager. But I have some matters of my | own which I must get back to— business and | domestic affairs.” With that he steps into | the roadster that I had waitin’. “Home, | Rusty,” says he. That left me with my mouth open, I ad- | mit. “Do you mean _—-" I begins. “Ridge Hall,” says he, “as quickly as you can get there.” And say, we didn’t do any loafin’ on that trip. Once I got the old bus warmed up I kept her rollin’, sometimes for ten hours at | a stretch and where we’d been more’n a week comin’ down we made the return in three days flat, pullin’ up at the side door just before dark. The reception committee was right on hand. I'll say it was. Both Whitney, Junior, and Milton came rushin’ out as we drove up, with their wives not far behind. It was unior that opened the act. “Oh, you’re back, are you?”’ he asks. ” May I ask just where you have been—and wh ut before he could answer, Isabel shows | up. ‘“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, daddy?” she demands. ‘Running away | from your own family!” “A perfectly silly performance,” adds | Milton. Then the daughters-in-law had to chime | in, and after that nobody waited for their turn but proceeded to roast him in chorus, sayin’ what a hole he'd put ’em in with the ee hbors, and how he’ probabl set him- if back months from gettin’ well, and that | the doctors ought to be called right in to | look him over, and so on. Meanwhile Old Whit sits there chewin’ his cigar placid, so maybe they didn’t notice that t the droop had gone from his viata (Continued on Page 101) 1 Brighton elastic is built for lasting comfort, Each strand of specially cured rubber is wrapped with aoft yarn to guard against the deaden- ing effects of per- spiration and insure double wear. 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(Continued from Page 99) or that his rugged jaw was set solid. He waits until the first lull, and then he holds up one hand. “That will be all,” says he. “I gather that you don’t like something I’ve done; either my going away or my coming back. But it doesn’t matter. I went because I needed a rest from just this sort of thing, and I came back because I was ready to come. Is that clear?” It wasn’t. The women gasped and looked at each other, but they didn’t quite get the idea. And the men were still thicker in the head. “See here, dad Whitney. But Old Whit is climbin’ out of the car, spry and vigorous. “Hey, Junior!’ says he, tossin’ his heavy overcoat at the young gent so speedy that it drapes itself over Junior’s head. Next he hands his suitcase to Milton. ‘“ You boys take those things to begins young Roddy nodded. He turned and waited. “You stopped there, didn’t you?” pur- sued the questioner. “How do you know?” There was no challenge in the tone, curiosity perhaps. Ja- son shifted uneasily. “IT saw your wheel marks,” said Orlo. “Did you get out?”’ “Yes, I got down,” said Roddy. “You probably saw my footprints, too, didn’t you?” he asked. “I walked over to the bridge.” “And onto it?” Jason might have been General Kon- chakoff, for his rigidity. “Yes,” “What for?” Roddy stared at him for a moment, a strange far-away look creeping into his eyes. oe Phere was something on the other end of that bridge,” he said, dragging his words out. “I couldn’t just make it out. It was alive, because I saw it move. I thought it might be deer. But it wasn’t. I stopped and watched for—well, say five minutes. The light was very deceptive—the woods stand in so close.’’ He paused. ‘I got down and went over toit. It was a team of cattle, Devons,” Roddy said, eying Orlo again. ‘‘They were yoked. Hitched to a stone boat. There was a crowbar, and a sledge—and some log chains—and—and a cant hook on the boat.”’ He ticked off the items slowly on his finger tips. Orlo nodded, his heavy brows meeting above his eyes in a frown. “The cattle had been there a long time,’’ went on Roddy’s even voice. ‘‘They were lying down.’ Jason shot a look at Orlo. ‘‘I thought it dam- nably odd—that hour of the night,’”’ went on Roddy, still possessed with the weirdness of that picture. ‘There wasn’t a house I remembered within a mile. I let outa yell! Nobody answered. Finally I came away. I’ve been worrying about it all night,”’ he said. ‘‘I was going back there this morning.” ‘Did you look in the water?”’ asked Orlo. “Yes.” “Did you see anything?” Roddy shook his head. “No,” hesaid. “‘It was too dark. Inky, down under there. I only had a little flash- light.”". He had the air of a man without nerves waiting for a thunderclap. “‘Should I have seen something?”’ he asked slowly. Orlo took one knee in his clasped hands; he pulled several puffs at his pipe before answering. Jason seemed to be holding his breath, to have forgotten to breathe. “There was a dead man down there,’ said Orlo. ‘His feet were sticking out of the water. His head was wedgeg tight be- tween two stones.”” He pressed his two powerful hands against his head to illus- trate his meaning. “Under water?”’ “ Yes.” *‘Curious,” said Roddy. ‘I dreamed there was a man in the water. That’s why I was going back. I suppose a dozen people have passed by this time though.” “Ordinarily, no,’”’ said Orlo. ‘‘That de- tour got so bad that the state people let us through on the new construction. But the sign is still up—that’s what sent you wrong. About the only one that used it was Johnny Boag.”’ He was watching Roddy as he pro- nounced this name; but the name seemed to mean nothing to the man who faced him. , ’ THE SATURDAY my room,” he orders. “My old room. Un- derstand?” “‘But—but the children are in there,” protests Mrs. Whitney. “Then take them out and put them where they belong,”’ says the old boy. He shoots it over low and quiet enough, but for all that it sounds kind of final. They begin to get him. “But, daddy,” pleads Mrs. Whitney. “Won't tomorrow do?”’ “No,” says he. “There’s a lot of moving out to be done tomorrow, but this change we'll make tonight. And, Isabel! Run in and tell Aline to serve dinner right away.” For less’n a minute they all stood there, starin’ pop-eyed. Then the procession starts to move, only holdin’ up long enough for ’em to stretch an ear as he calls to me. “Oh, Rusty!” says he. “Yes, Mr. Spooner,”’ says I. “That will be all for tonight,” says he. “T shall be leaving for the office at 7:30 in THE MAGICIAN (Continued from Page 19) ‘*Ed Peters went up there last night after supper to get an old tube from the sawmill,” he said, ‘and he saw the cattle on the bridge then. He knew Johnny had been repairing his dam, and he didn’t think anythin queer about it. Johnny is the dead man,” he explained, eying Roddy again. Roddy nodded. ‘‘Ed and his brothers were eeling last night,”” went on Orlo. ‘‘They got up there about one o’clock—just after you came through, according to your tell. The cattle were still there. They found Johnny in the water. It looked as if the cattle had pushed him off the bridge—fighting flies or something. And he had fallen head first and been pinned between those two rocks. There wan't enough water to drown a cat. It was them rocks that held him. Must have been stunned.” Orlo paused and smoked absently. An observer would have detected no tension in the group— Roddy listening quietly; Jason resting his elbows on his knees, idly tearing at the straw again; and Orlo, for the mo- ment, intent on a crazy kingfisher under the river bank. “The Peters boys looked around with their lanterns,’’ resumed Orlo. ‘‘ They found your heel tracks on the bridge.”” There was a barely perceptible tightening of the ac- tion. ‘Rubber heels,” said Orlo; ‘with cupsin them.” He looked down at Roddy’s shoes. ‘‘Then they began to wonder if it was an accident. roused me up.” He stopped abruptly. “You are the sheriff?’ said Roddy, half question, half statement of fact. “The constable—yes.” “You trailed me here by my wheel tracks?”’ eh (Se “Good work!” “Rot!’’ exclaimed Jason, springing to his feet; he was completely sold on Roddy more so now than he had been over the bacon and eggs, or even snug Flora. ‘This man didn’t have any more to do with it than & “It isn’t rot!’’ exclaimed Roddy. “It’s nice work! Sit down, Jason,”’ he com- manded; and he drew Jason down again. “Johnny Boag either jumped or was thrown over that rail.” “He didn’t jump,”’ said Orlo quietly. “All right—then he was thrown. I was there just before the body was found: You've got my heel tracks and my wheel tracks to show for it. That’s not rot, Jason, by a tong shot.” “It was the cattle!’’ cried Jason. “Johnny was always filled up to the neck with cider. He was a rotten sort anyway. He put a charge of birdshot into Shep once!” “No. It wasn’t the cattle,” said Roddy. “Tt couldn’t have been. That rail wasn’t broken—he couldn’t have fallen through.” Orlo turned slowly, his mouth falling open. “It wasn’t broken?” he repeated, almost in a whisper. ‘Are you sure?”’ “Absolutely. I worked my way along it. I was holding on, because I was afraid of the cattle getting up and pinching me againstit. A team of cattle is prett glumsy getting up, yoked.” “It was broken when I got there,”’ said Orlo. He lowered his voice again instinc- tively. “It had been smashed with a sledge!” he said. They came down and , EVENING POST the morning. Take the limousine. We will drive in,” And an hour later, as I’m finishin’ my dinner, I’m still wearin’ a grin. So is Aline. “Any big debate in the front dinin’ room?” I asks. “Debate!” says she. “Say, you could hear the clock tickin’. Why, he’s got ’em seared stiff. Honest, when Pa Spooner went away ——- “T know,” says I. “He was just Pa Spooner. But now he’s the big boss. Don’t ask me how it happened, for I ain’t sure. All I know is that somehow he’s staged a come- back that’s gonna be the real thing. Yeauh. I'll admit I helped some.” “Rusty,” says she, “I believe you are a wonder.’ “Late,” says I, “but correct. lutely.”’ Editor's Note— This is the eleventh of a series of Abso- ‘stories by Mr. Ford. The next will appear in an early issue. There was a long tense silence. It was Jason who broke it. He cried again impetuously, “‘I tell you, Orlo, tifis man had nothing to do with it! Johnny wasselling apple-jack—dealing with all sorts of thugs. He had a lot of cash around all the time.” “Wait a minute, son,” interposed Roddy. “This thing is pretty. Let’s keep cool. Let’s eliminate without prejudice. Thanks for clearing me without a trial,” he said with a queer smile at Orlo, “but just re- member that confidence is the stock in trade of crooks. Don’t bank on confi- dence.” He turned sharply to Orlo. “You aren't so sure that I didn’t throw Johnny over that rail—and then smash the rail—to put it on the cattle—are you?” “No. You didn’t do it,” said Orlo. “Johnny weighed a hundred and eighty.” “You don’t believe I can throw a hundred- and-eighty-pound man over my head?” Roddy’s question was casual. “No,” replied the verbally thrifty Orlo. “Well, let’s separate the milk, so we can go up there,” suggested Roddy. ‘Your hogs are getting querulous, Jason,” he said. He got up and started the separator. The opening whine of the gears fetched a peal of thanksgiving from the porcine group crowd- ing about the skim-milk trough. They turned out the cattle; and Shep, first count- ing them and getting them into line, started off to the back pasture. The last pail of milk had gone through the skimming when Shep came bounding back. He reported in person to Roddy. “You know when I thought Orlo had come for you,” confessed Jason, “it was Shep who told me Orlo was on the wrong track. I don’t know how he happened to let you in last night!’ Roddy laughed. “Now you are talking about something entirely different,’ he said. ‘‘The best one-man dog I ever knew belonged to a cut- throat. Don't bank too much on Shep’s snap judgment.”” Shep looked conscious. ‘He doesn’t answer for me to the world he answers for me to himself."’ His hand fell softly on the upturned head. Orlo was looking out the barn door There was the sound of a flivver coming to a stop in the dooryard, with a sudden snort. “Ed Peters and his brothers,” said Orlo. He smiled. “I guess they think I need help handling you, Roddy.” There were three of them, of a size, six foot men, with blond curls and round thick necks that bulged under their collar bands. They halted to look over Roddy’s flivver at the barway. One of them seeing Orlo regarding them said quickly ‘‘Come on,” to his brothers, and they started, with a sense of haste to get away from something that their curi- osity impelled them to examine. “Which one is Ed?” asked Roddy. “The one with the blue shirt,” said Ja- son. “‘Wait—-watch this! It’ll be good!” What ‘“‘this’’ was, was immediately to transpire. Jason’s black Tom, the barn cat, was dancing across the velvety turf, shadow-boxing a bit of thistledown floating on the light air. The man in the blue shirt stopped short in his tracks, his eyes on the cat. 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EVENING POST | ome at it viciously; but the nimble Tom bounded away like a streak. “He hates black cats,”’ explained Jason, chuckling. “I guess he was marked for them—leastwise he’d rapa take a licking than have one cross his path. The three stalwart liveth cameon. At sight of Roddy they stiffened perceptibly. They went to Orlo, who had seated himself in the doorway again. “T see you got him,” said Ed in a low tone to Orlo, while his brothers bestowed glassy, stares on the stranger. “Want any rlo shook his head. There was an awkward pause; and Ja- son, to bridge it over, said, indicating Roddy, “‘This is my new hard man,” by way of introduction, and using the local “hard” for “hired.” “He blew in this morn- ing looking for a job, and I tried him out on that trick cow you sold me last spring, Ed. He’s all right!’’ exclaimed Jason, and he patted Roddy on the back. “Roddy, shake hands with Ed, Jim and Joe Peters. They are the biggest men in town. There ain’t five pounds to give and take among them. These are the three that found Johnny Boag up the river last night.” Roddy offered his hand, and Ed was the first to take it. The big fellow put his great strength into the grip and stared malig- nantly down on the smaller man. He didn’t release his viselike hold. “You came down the river road last night,” said Ed darkly, his fierce eyes | gleaming under his ragged brows. “Don’t damage that hand—that’s a | good milking hand,” laughed Jason, and he | reached between the two men and broke their grip. ‘Ed tries that grip on eve stranger,” he said. “He thinks he can lick ~ man he can crunch.” he two combatants of the grip didn’t | take their eyes from each other. So in- | tense was their gaze that it seemed momen- | tarily they would spring at each other’s | throats. “Yes,” said Roddy. “I was up the | river last night, Ed. About midnight.” They continued to stare at each other. | “Ed!” eautioned Orlo in a low tone; and Ed, with a sneer, turned away. Roddy turned to the second brother. For an instant they stood as if galvanized; | then their right hands gripped each other with a movement as swift as a snake’s thrust. A straining of biceps, then Jim, his face wrinkled with pain, went down on his knees. Roddy released him. “T can lick you,” laughed Roddy. “You got the j jump on me!” cried Jim in a rage. “Try it again. Roddy shook his head and went on to the third brother. Joe turned away and spat contemptuously as he put his own horny right hand into a pocket. “You're mighty fresh for a man that’s left his tracks all over the town!’’ Ed was bursting out, turning fiercely on Roddy, when Orlo’s quiet voice again interposed “Ed!” and Ed subsided, sitting down by Orlo, but with dark looks at Roddy. They all ranged themselves in the broad doorway. Another awkward silence, and this time Jason made no attempt to ease the tension. Ed leaned tomer Orlo and asked out of the corner of his mouth, “You goingeto take him to Barrington, Orlo?”’ Orlo nodded assent. “Want I should come along?” Orlo shook his head. “I don’t reckon I need any help handling him,” he said modestly. There was silence again. Jim, the second brother, broke it this time; as usual with these 9 oy when something important impends, he felt it necessary to make talk on trivialities. “Jim Benson says Scotty O’Brien sold his place,”’ he said. “Go on!” said Orlo, with stark disbelief. “Yep. City people,” said Jim. “No?” insisted Orlo. “F¥ ep. He had 'em out yesterday; he gave ‘em a meal in his kitchen.’ “*Give city folks a meal! In his kitchen!” Orlo uffawed. “Why, I wouldn’t eat there myself!” The three brothers and Orlo and Jason fell excitedly to discussing the unthinkable occurrence, as if it were much more impor- tant than the fact that they had a murder | on their hands with the three brothers standing by to help take the suspect to Barrington Guna. Konchakoff, the Rhode Island rooster, came strutting across the grass and | paused within a few paces of the multitude,

March 7,1925 his head cocked on one side. The general, too, was politely incredulous. He took one step forward —two—three; cocked his head on the other side. Roddy, with a move- ment of one arm that had neither haste nor delay, reached out and took up the general. The bird made no protest. Roddy set it firmly on its feet on the floor and gently bent its head forward till its beak touched the crack. Then he gently released the general. As he drew away his hands this time he made smooth little passes in the air, as if he were propelling some mystic force from his ma pet tips to overpower the bird. The general stared, squatting, at the crack. “Sleep! Sleep!” whispered Roddy softly; and still projecting his psychic force through the tips of his fingers at the stricken bird, he rose in his tracks without a rustle. The entire assemblage did likewise. The brothers were staring, wild-eyed. Ja- son and Orlo looked at each other curiously but made no sign that they had seen this trick before. The two younger Peters boys backed away, open-mouthed with awe at this legerdemain: Ed held his ground for the moment, but beads of sweat showed on his forehead. This was witchcraft! This was worse than a black cat. He lifted one ponderous foot slowly to take the first step to put a more comfortable distance between himself and the magician. He stared from the man to the rigid bird. Roddy turned suddenly on him, looked him hard in the eye. “Don’t move! I want you, Ed,” he said in a low enticing tone. And he thrust his head forward, staring fixedly into the spell- bound eyes of Ed Peters; and he made gentle passes through the air. “Sleep! Sleep!’’ commanded Roddy. “You are going to tell us all about it, Ed!”’ Orlo looked from one to the other in amazement. With a scream choked in his throat, half terror, half rage, Ed plunged forward. He was as quick as a cat, for all his bulk. He seemed to cover the ten feet that separated him from Roddy with a single bound. Just what happened then it would have taken a slow-motion camera to analyze. Jason had the astounding spec- tacle shot before his eyes of the gigantic Ed, two hundred pounds of bone and sinew, suddenly launching himself in a flat dive through the air over Roddy’s head, to fall with a splintering crash ten feet behind the amateur magician, while Roddy seemed to have turned a back somersault under the human projectile, landing lightly on his feet at the precise moment that Ed hit the artition and smashed it. Ed made one eeble gesture and lay still. And strangest of all, the bemused rooster still stared at its crack. It was hard to tell which sight struck the more terror to the hearts of the two younger brothers—that of the rigid cockerel or that of their Herculean brother hurled over the head of this soft-looking stranger. Roddy snapped his fingers at the rooster and sent it scurrying away with protesting squawks. He motioned to the two brothers. ““Come in here,” he ordered; and they came, trembling. “‘Take care of him; he’s broken his collar bone,”’ he said, pointing at the groaning Ed. He turned to Orlo and Jason and asked, in a low tone, ‘‘ Are they likely to be heeled—armed?”’ He slapped his hip. Orlo shook his head. Still dumfounded, he was questioning Roddy with his eyes. Jim and Joe had drawn Ed to a sitting pos- ture now, and were trying to ease him, though it was plain he was badly hurt. “Ed?” muttered Orlo to Roddy—and the one syllable sufficed to convey the star- tled question. “It looks like it. We'll see,” said Roddy soitly. ‘Give them time to think it over.” He drew the two men outside. “What was that trick? What did you do? I didn’t see you do anything,” sputtered the admiring Jason. ‘Ed went through the air as if he had hold of a sawmill belt.’ “That’s the barrel turn,”’ said Roddy. “It must have taken a lot of practice,” cried Jason. “That’s the first time I ever tried it,” confessed Roddy. He laughed. “I saw a Jap do it on the stage once. He simply pulled the other man over on Any # of him, and rolled like a barrel, feet in his belly. The bigger the man and the faster he comes the farther he’d dive. I always thought I'd like to try it. This is the first chance I’ve ever had.”” He laughed again. “It isn’t exactly a trick you want to practice on a friend—unless you want to brain him. (Continued on Page 105)

Sent ee ee ee

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SE ee Oe ten een (Continued from Page 102) Better telephone for a doctor, Orlo. Or, you go.” Jason looked back over his shoulder. “‘Can you handle those three?”’ he asked Orlo. “He don’t need me, I reckon,” Orilo, with grim humor. Roddy. st don’t make head or tail of this business,” he said. When Jason came back the brothers were bathing Ed’s face with cold water from the pump. Ed was opening and closing his eyes in a torment of pain and fear. He had just seen more of heaven and hell than was com- prehended in his philosophy. Roddy was advancing. He had that damned black cat in his arms, coddling it. He sat down in front of Ed on a milking stool. He laid the black cat on an outstretched arm, made a few hocus-pocus passes over it, and the cat lay motionless on its perilous perch. “Look at me—all three of you!” sud- denly commanded Roddy. And they looked at him, wide-eyed. Orlo and Jason stood behind Roddy. Roddy stroked the cat and took it comfortably in his lap. “That eel only weighed six pound and a half, Ed,” he said in a droning voice. The three brothers twitched, as one man; an expression of blank stupidity fell like a shadow across the three faces. ‘I found your spear, Ed,”’ Roddy’s rhythmic tones pursued. Ed’s lids closed slowly over his staring eyes; with an effort he ‘lifted them again, to meet the steady gaze not only of Roddy but of the black cat too. The black cat seemed to have now discovered its enemy, for it arched its back and spat. “Tt’salie!’”” A stream of foul oaths burst from Ed. He tried to rise, but fell back with a moan. ““Oh, you didn’t lose your spear, then, when you were passing the island?” said Roddy. The glowing eyes of Ed shifted mo- me ntarily. Roddy leane d forward. * ‘Look at me!’’ he said quietly. ‘Is it a lie that four men went up the river, and only three came back?”’ he asked in the same quiet tone. Here the two younger brothers ended the scene with a crash. Hurling horrible curses on the head of the helpless Ed and calling the wrath of the devil down upon him, as if he were the cause of their destruction, they broke for freedom. So formidable was their onslaught, so sudden and ferocious that for the moment it carried the three watching smiled He turned to THE SATURDAY men off their feet. But the two desperadoes were finally downed and thrown, badly mauled, beside Ed. Then the floodgates opened. The broth- ers were damning each other. No need to question now. It all came out, through blur- ring expletives. Johnny Boag had bilked them—he had held out on them—they were all in it together, the rum business. He had squealed on them—he was in on the game- club raid! And sitting there, under the bridge, their eel spears dangling in the shallow water, he had laughed at them, dared them. The picture was vivid—it was simple enough to see it all. The cattle, a happy chance—so it had seemed to them. Ed, al- ways the foremost, had struck. Then the momentary terror, the crafty planning. Johnny had started to work on his dam late in the afternoon, but had gone down the river on some secret errand and for- gotten all about the patient yoked beasts standing there. When the quarrel came, with its tragic ending, the solution of the dead body was ready at hand. It was not until they had jammed the body down be- tween the stones and smashed the rail that | To their | they came on Roddy’s footprints. dulled brains this seemed even a better alibi—and Ed, the only level-headed one among them, went for Orlo to discover the telltale heel marks. The doctor came. “T don’t get this at all,”’ said Jason, “What is this about the spear?” “They lost a spear going by here last night, the four of them,” said Roddy. “An eel twisted it out of their hands. They let it go, promising each other that they would find it downstream today. I took a chance and said I found it. They thought I had seen the whole thing then. That broke their back. It was simple enough.” “Say, what do you do for a living?”’ de- manded Jason. “Me? Why, I teach school winters,” said Roddy. Jason gave him one long look. He thrust his hands into his pockets and wandered off in a dazed sort of way. He came on Gen- eral Konchakoff, who paused, with uplifted toe, and cocking his head on one side re- garded him with an air of polite incredulity. “I know just how you feel about it, old “T feel the same way ~as if I had been through man,” said Jason. myself. I feel asif a barrel turn!” a | | | The Cross:Word Puzzte Reaches Scotiand EVENING For those rosy cheeks try hot breakfasts QUICK QUAKER-—luscious and strength building, cooks in 3 to 5 minutes OR sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks —“hot oats and milk,” say authorities on child feeding. Because of limited cooking time, many mothers were serving less nourishing breakfasts. 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Statistical, neipal cities of United States, France « New Orleans and London, England Bureau Founded 1876 Stock records for every business | John Quin | to pla finals,”’ | pion at one time | John Quincy said to Carlota Egan. ; week-end through the fo | the moonlight. | “The farthest float.” | dynamos. hand sovital to good ser- | more efficient operation sales- | | You’re too dignified and—and remote. | be hanging round pretty | future the way I see it. Cary dearest —— EVENING POST March 7, 1925 THE HOUSE WITHOUT A KEY (Continued from Page 46) “T rather expected to see you,” he said in a low voice. “I was brought here to meet the best people of Honolulu, and the way I see it, you’re the best of all.” She smiled at him, and again the chatter of small talk filled the room. Presently the voice of a tall young man with glasses rose above the general hubbub. “They got a cable from Joe Clark out at the country club this afternoon,” he an- nounced. The din ceased and everyone listened with interest. “Clark’s our pro- fessional,” explained the young man to “He went over a month ago in the British Open.” “Did he win?” asked the girl in blue. “He was put out by Hagen in the semi the young man sai “But he had | the distinction of driving the longest ball ever seen on the St. Andrews course.’ “Why shouldn’t he?” asked an older man. “ He’s got the strongest wrists I ever saw on anybody.” John Quincy sat up, suddenly interested. “How do you account for that?” he | asked. The older man mg | “We've all ee big | here,” he answer “Su wrists out boarding — Joe Clark was cham- -body surfing and board He used to disappear for hours in the rollers out by the reef. The result was a marvelous wrist development. I’ve seen him drive a golf ball three hundred and eighty yards. Yes, sir, I'll bet he made those Englishmen sit up and take notice.” While John Quincy was thinking this over, someone suggested that it was time for the swim, and confusion reigned. A Chinese servant led the way to the dressing rooms, which opened off the lanai, and the that’s what does it. surfing too. roe people trouped joyously after him. “T’ll be waiting for you on the beach,” “T came with Johnny, you know,” she reminded him. “T know all about it,”’ he answered. “But it was the week-end you promised to the Navy. People who a to stretch their lowing Wednesda night deserve all they get.”” She laughed. “I'll look for you,” she agr He donned his bathing suit hastily in a room filled with flying clothes and great waving brown arms. Lieutenant Beoth, he noted with satisfaction, was proceeding at a leisurely pace. Hurrying through a door that opened directly on the Sonth, he waited under a near-by hau tree. Presently Carlota came, slender and fragile-looking in “Ah, here you are,” John Quincy cried. “The farthest float it is,” she answered. They dashed into the warm silvery water and swam gayly off. Five minutes later they sat on the float together. The light on Diamond Head was winking, the lanterns of sampans twinkled out beyond the reef, the shore line of Honolulu was outlined by a procession of blinking stars controlled by In the bright heavens hung a lunar rainbow, one colorful end in the Ba. cific and the other tumbling into the foliage ashore. A gorgeous setting in which to be young and in love, and free to speak at last. John Quincy moved closer to the girl’s side. “Great night, isn’t it?" he said. “Wonderful,” she answered softly. “Cary, I want to tell you something, and that’s why I brought you out here away from the others,” “Somehow,” she interrupted, “it doesn’t seem quite fair to Johnny.” “Never mind him. Has it ever occurred to you that my name’s Johnny too?” She laughed. “Oh, but it couldn’t be.” “What do you mean?” “I mean I simply couldn’t call you that. John Quincy—I believe I could call you John Quincy.” “Well, make up your mind. You'll have to call me something, because I’m going to constantly in the future. Yes, my dear, I’ll probably turn out | to be about the least remote person in the world. That is, if I can make you see the A gurgle sounded behind them and they | turned around. Lieutenant Booth was climbing onto the raft. “Swam the last fifty yards under water to surprise you,” he sputtered “Well, you succeeded,”’ said John Quincy without enthusiasm. The lieutenant sat down with the manner of one booked to remain indefinitely. “T’ll tell the world it’s some night,” he offered. “Speaking of the world, when do you fel- lows leave Honoluiu?”’ asked John Tees. “I don’t know. Tomorrow, I guess. Me, I don’t care if we never go. Hawaii's not so a leave. Isit, Cary?” She shook her ea: “Hardest place I know of, Johnny. I shall have to be sailing presently, and I know what a wrench it will be. Perhaps I'll follow the example of Waioli, the swim- mer, and leave the boat when it passes Waikiki.” They lolled for a moment in silence. Sud- denly John Quincy sat up “What was that you said?” he asked. “About Waioli? Didn’t I ever tell you? He was one of our best swimmers, and for years they tried to get him to go to the mainland to take part in athletic meets, like Duke Kahanamoku. But he was a sentimentalist; he couldn’t bring himself to leave Hawaii. Finally they persuaded him, and one sunny morning he sailed on the Matsonia, with a very sad face. When the ship was opposite Waikiki he slipped over- board and swam ashore. And that was that. He never got on a ship again. You see ae ” John Quincy was on his feet. “What time was it when we left the beach?” he asked in a low tense voice. “About 8:30,” said Booth. John Quincy talked very fast. “That means I’ve got just thirty minutes to get ashore, dress and reach the dock be- fore the President Tyler sails. I’m sorry to go, but it’s vital—vital. Cary, I’d started to tell you something. I don’t know when I’ll get back, but I must see you when I do, either at Mrs. Maynard’s or the hotel. Will you wait up for me?” She was startled by the seriousness of his tone. “Yes, I'll be waiting,” she told him. “That's great.” He hesitated a moment; it is a risky business to leave the girl you love on a float in the moonlight with a hand- some naval officer. But it had to be done. “T’m off,” he said, and dived. When he came up he heard the lieutenant’s voice: “Say, old man, that dive was all wrong. You let me show you ———”’ “Go to the devil,”’ muttered John Quincy wetly, and swam with long powerful strokes toward the shore. Mad with haste, he plunged into the dressing room, donned his clothes, then dashed out again. No time for apologies to his hostess. He ran along the beach to the a house. Hai-u was dozing in the all. “Wikiwiki!” shouted John Quincy. “Tell the chauffeur to get the roadster into the drive and start the engine. Wake up! Travel! Where’s Miss Barbara?”’ “Last seen on beach,” began the startled Haku. On the bench under the hau tree he found Barbara sitting alone. He stood panting ”* he said, “T know at last who killed Be father.” She was on her feet. 0? “Yes; shall I tell you?” “No,” she said. “No, I can’t bear to hear. It’s too horrible.” “Then you've suspected?” “Yes, just suspicion—a feeling—intui- tion. I couldn’t believe it—I didn’t want to believe it. I went away to get it out of my mind. It’s all too terrible.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Poor Barbara! Don’t you worry. You won't appear in this in any way. I'll keep you out of it.” “What—what has happened?” “Can’t stop now. Tell you later.” He ran toward the drive. Miss Minerva ap- peared from the house. “Haven't time to talk,” he cried, leaping into the roadster. “But John Quincy, a curious thing has happened. That lawyer who was here to look at the house—he said that Dan, just a week before he died, spoke to him about a new will.” “That’s good! That’s evidence!”’ John Quincy cried. “But why a new will? Surely Barbara was all he had (Continued on Page 109)

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ee = Let them ragefVand tear | © Here are rubbersSagp built especially to stand it Like human feet— it wears out rubbers In this remarkable machine sec- tions from the sole and heel of ‘U. S.” Rubbers are given the same kind of treatment they get in scuffing over pavements or through mud. The results of this wear are then measured to the finest fraction of an inch The minute school is out— their pent-up energy breaks loose THE SATURDAY EVENING POST wi. UBBERS not only built for longer wear—but rubbers whose wear is actually measured and tested before they leave the factory! In making “U.S.” brand Rubbers and Arctics every step is regulated by the most rigid scientific tests. At the sides are shown two of the many remarkable machines used in our testing laboratories. These machines have helped make. it possible to build rubbers that set the standard today for quality and dependable service. “U.S.” brand Rubbers and Arctics are built over such a wide variety of lasts that they insure smooth, perfect fit everywhere —across the toe, at the ankle, at instep and heel. Each year a careful study of all styles of shoes is made by our designers. Whether you want Rubbers or Arctics—men’s, women’s or children’s— you'll find just the type and style you want in the big “U.S.” line. It will pay you to look for the “U. S.” Trade Mark, “U.S.” Rubbers cost no more and wear longer. United States Rubber Company ‘U.S: Into the construction of “U.S.” Rubbers and Arc- tics goes the skill of the largest rubber organization in the world—backed by 75 years of experience. Rubbers All styles and sizes for men, women and children When will the first tiny crack appear? Under constant bending and wrinkling, poor rubber soon cracks or breaks. In the machine shown above strips cut from “U.S.” Rubbers are bent back and forth like the hinges of a door—thousands upow thow- sands of times. A magmfying glass is used to detect the first signs of checking or cracking Trade Mark

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SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 ‘Wednesday aS Ye. ~ Raisin Bread OF You the worlds finest Raisin Brea American and Canadian bakers are today producing the finest raisin bread inthe world. They make it with Sun-Maid Raisins —a special baking every Wednesday. You can get it in your town—fresh from the oven, fragrant,deliciously fruit-flavored. Don't miss this inexpensive mid-week treat. Place a standing order with your baker or grocer. Endorsed by bakers everywhere, including the American Bakers’ Association, the Retail Bakers’ Association of America, and the Bread and Cake Bakers Association of Canada

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——— ——— Le SA, Se 0g (Continued from Page 106) “Listen to me!” cut in John Quincy. **You'’ve delayed me already. Get the big car and go to the station—tell that to Hal- let. Tell him, too, that I’m on the President Tyler and to send Chan there at once.’ He stepped on the gas. By the clock in the automobile he had just seventeen min- utes to reach the dock before the President Tyler would sail. He shot like a madman through the brilliant Hawaiian night. Kal- akaua Avenue, smooth and deserted, proved a glorious speedway. It took him just eight minutes to Senet tek three miles to the dock. A bit of traffic and an angry policeman in the center of the city caused the delay. A scattering of people in the dim pier shed waited for the imminent sailing of the liner. John Quincy dashed through them and up the gangplank. The second officer, Hepworth, stood at the top. “Hello, Mr. Winterslip,” he said. sailing?” “No. But let me aboard!” “I’m sorry. We're about to draw in the plank.” “No, no, you mustn’t! This is life and death! Hold off a few minutes. There’s a steward named Bowker—1I must find him at once. Life and death, I tell you!” Hep- worth stood aside. “Oh, well, in that case. “T will.” John Quincy passed him on the run. He was on his way to the cabins presided over by Bowker when a tall figure caught his eye: a man in a long gfeen ulster and a bat- tered green hat—a hat John Quincy had last seen on the links of the Oahu Country Club. The tall figure moved on up a stair- way to the topmost deck. John Quincy fol- lowed. He saw the ulster disappear into one of the de luxe cabins. Still he followed, and pushed open the cabin door. The man in the ulster was back-to, but he swung round suddenly. ‘Ah; Mr. Jennison,” John Quincy cried. “Were you thinking of sailing on this boat?” For an instant Jennison stared at him. “I was,” he said quietly. “Forget it,” John Quincy answered. ““You’re going ashore with me.” “Really? What is your authority?” “No authority whatever,” said the boy grimly. ‘I’m taking you, that’s all.” Jennison smiled, but there was a gleam of hate behind it. And in Jehn Quincy’s heart, usually so gentle and civilized, there was hate, too, as he faced this man. He thought of Dan Winterslip, dead on his cot. He thought of Jennison walking down the gangplank with them that morning théy landed, Jennison putting his arm about poor Barbara when she faltered under the blow. He thought of the shots fired at him from the bush, of the red-haired man bat- tering him in that red room. Well, he must fight again. No way out of it. The siren of the President Tyler sounded a sharp warning. “You get out of here!’’ said Jennison through his teeth. ‘I'll go with you to the gangplank ss He stopped as the disadvantages of that plan came home to him. His right hand went swiftly to his pocket. Inspired, John Quincy seized a filled water bottle and hurled it at the man’s head. Jennison dodged; the bottle crashed through one of the windows. The clatter of glass rang through the night, but no ore appeared. John Quincy saw Jennison leap toward him, something gleaming in his hand. Stepping aside, he threw himself on the man’s back and forced him to his knees. He seized the wrist of Jennison’s right hand, which held the automatic, in a firm grip. They kept that posture for a moment, and then Jenni- son began slowly to rise to his feet. The hand that held the pistol began to tear away. John Quincy shut his teeth and sought to maintain his grip. But he was up against a more powerful antagonist than the red-haired sailor; he was outclassed, and the realization of it crept over him with a sickening force. Jennison was on his feet now, the right hand nearly free. Another moment— what then, John Quincy wondered? This man had no intention of letting him go ashore; he had changed that plan the moment he put it into words. A muffled shot, and later in the night when the ship was well out on the Pacifie — John Quincy thought of Boston, his mother. He thought of Carlota awaiting his return. He summoned his strength for one last desperate effort to re- new his grip. “You But hurry, sir.” A serene, ivory-colored face appeared | suddenly at the broken window. An arm with a weapon was extended through the jagged opening. “Relinquish the firearms, Mr. Jennison,” commanded Charlie Chan, “‘or I am forced to make fatal insertion in vital organ be- longing to you.” Jennison’s pistol dropped to the floor and John Quincy staggered back against the berth. At that instant the door opened and Hallet, followed by Detective Spencer, came in. “Hello, Winterslip, what are you doing here?”’ the captain said. He thrust a paper into one of the pockets of the green ulster. “Come along, Jennison,” he said. ‘We want you.” Limply John Quincy followed them from the stateroom. Outside they were joined by Chan. At the top of the gangplank Hal- let paused. ‘“*We'll wait a minute for Hepworth,”’ he said. John Quincy put his hand on Chan’s shoulder. “Charlie, how can | ever thank you? You saved my life.”” Chan bowed ““My own pleasure is not to be worded. | I have saved a life here and there, but never | before one that hed beginning in cultured | city of Boston. Always a happy item on | the golden scroll of memory. Hepworth came up. “It’s all right,’’ he said. “The captain has agreed to delay our sailing one hour. | I’ll go to the station with you. On the way down the gangplank Chan cme to John Quincy. aking heartily for myself, I con- aS. ate your bravery. It is clear you pee oF upon this Jennison with vigorous triumphant mood of heart. But he would have pushed you down. He would have conquered. And why? The answer is, such powerful wrists.” “A great surf boarder, eh?’’ John Quincy said. Chan looked at him keenly. “You are no person's fool. Ten years ago this Harry Jennison are champion swimmer in all Hawaii. I extract that news from an- cient sporting pages of Honolulu journal. But he have not been in the water much here lately. Pursuing the truth further, 5m since the night he killed Dan Winter- slip. xx1I HEY moved on through the pier shed to the street, where Hepworth, Jennison and the three policemen got into Hallet’s car. The captain turned to John Quincy. “You coming, Mr. Winterslip?”’ he in- quired. “T’ve got my own car,” the boy ex- plained. “I'll follow you in that.” The roadster was not performing at its best and he reached the station house a good five minutes after the policemen. He noted Dan Winterslip’s big limousine parked in the street outside. In Hallet’s room he found the captain and Chan closeted with a third man. It took a second glance at the latter to iden- tify him as Mr. Saladine, for the little man of the lost teeth now appeared a great deal ent than John Quincy had thought “Ah, Mr. Winterslip,” remarked Hallet. He turned to Saladine. “Say, Larry, you've got me into a heap of trouble with this boy. He accused me of trying to shield you. I wish you'd loosen up for him.” Saladine smiled. “Why, I don’t mind. My job out here is about finished. Of course, Mr. Winterslip will keep what I tell him under his hat?” “Naturally,” replied John Quincy. He noticed that the man spoke with no trace of a lisp. “I perceive you’ve found your teeth,”’ he added. “Oh, yes—I found them in my trunk, where I put them the day I arrived at Waikiki,’’ answered Saladine. ‘“‘When my teeth were knocked out twenty years ago | in a football game I was brokenhearted, but the loss has been a great help to me in | my work. A man hunting his bridge work in the water is a figure of ridicule and mirth. No one ever thinks of connecting him with serious affairs. He can prowl about a beach to his heart’s content. Mr. Winterslip, I am a special agent of the Treasury Depart- ment sent out here to break up the opium | ring. My name, of course, is not Saladine.”’ “Oh,” said John Quincy, “I understand at last.”’ “I’m glad you do,” remarked Hallet. “I don’t know whether you're familiar with the way our opium smugglers work. The | dope is brought in from the Orient on tramp | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Keep your teeth shining and safe —with Pebeco WHEN your Mouth Glands dry up teeth inevitably decay The only way to protect the teeth successfully is to keep the mouth glands lowing normally ENTISTS say that practi- cally no mouth today is normally moist and safe for teeth. Modern cooked foods, too soft, too quickly swallowed, do not re- quire enough chewing. From sheer lack of exercise your mouth glands dry up. Instead of protecting your teeth with their alka- line fluids as nature in- tended, these glands leave your whole mouth dry— your teeth dilemmas against the acids that cause decay. By harsh scouring thousands of men and women today suc- ceed in keeping their teeth white. But never safe from decay. Five minutes after brushing the acids form again. 77 ‘ree bed Dentists now recognize that there is a way to keep teeth both white and safe. Today you can success- fully counteract the acids of decay with a tooth-paste that restores the normal flow of the mouth glands. Pebeco is the simple natural way to pre- vert tooth decay. It acts directly on the salivary glands. As soon as it enters your mouth it starts a full, normal flow of alkaline saliva. With constant daily use Pebeco com- pletely restores the natural, protective se- tion of your glands. Their alkaline fluids again bathe your teeth day and night. The acids of decay are neutralized as fast as they form. Pebeco leaves your guns clean and seothed your whele mouth normal and healthy. And in this healthy mouth your teeth are kept not only white and shining, but safe: Start today. Send for a trial tube of Pebeco. Made only by Pebeco, Inc., New York. Sole Distributors: Lehn & Fink, Inc. Canadian Agents: H. F. Ritchie & Co., Ltd., 10 MeCaul Street, Toronto, Ont. At all druggists’. Send coupon for Free Generous Ti | LEHN & FINK, Ine., Sole Distributors sD i 635 Greenwich Street, New Ye Send me free your new large of Pebeco. Name.... otaseentan

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Ey eee Scale aT RB Spe tage iste ated mee THE SATURDAY You need a headset — to tune-in with — to get distant stations — both domestic and foreign. -— to listen-in without disturbing others — to shut out the noise in the room —and get all the radio fun -— to get the truest and clearest reception—always No one realizes these facts more forcibly than the makers of the famous Radiola IIIA. They include Brandes as standard equipment. Be sure your set is Brandes equipped %e name to know in Radio | friends; I had | only yesterday. I’m going to proceed a lit- EVENING POST steamers—-the Mary S. Allison, for exam- le. When they arrive off Waikiki they nock together a few small rafts and load ’em with tins of the stuff. A fleet of little boats, sup ly out there for the fishing, pick up these rafts and bring the dope ashore. It’s taken downtown and hidden on ships bound for Frisco—usually those that a only between here and the main- land, because they’re not so closely watched at the other end. But it just happened that the quartermaster of the President Tyler is one of their go-betweens. We searched his cabin this evening and found it packed with the stuff.” “The quartermaster of the President Tyler,” repeated John Quincy. ‘“‘That’s Dick Kaohla’s friend.” “Yeah, I’m coming to Dick. He’s been in charge of the pick-up fleet here. He was | out on that business the night of the mur- der. Saladine saw him and told me all | about it in that note, which was my reason for letting the boy go.” “I owe you an apology,” John Quincy | said. “Oh, that’s all right.” Hallet was in great good humor. “Larry here has got some of the higher-ups, too. For instance, he’s discovered that Jennison is the lawyer | for the ring, defending any of them who are | caught and brought bet | sioner. The fact has no bearing on Dan | Winterslip’s murder—unless Winterslip ore the commis- knew about it, and that was one of the | reasons he didn’t want Jennison to marry his girl.’’ Saladine stood up. “T’ll turn the quartermaster over to you,” | he said. “In view of this other charge, you can, of course, have Jennison too. That’s all for me. I'll go along.” “See you tomorrow, Larry,” Hallet an- swered. Saladine went out and the captain turned to John Quincy. ‘Well, my boy, this is our big night. I don’t know what | you were doing in Jennison’s cabin, but if | you’d picked him for the murderer, I'll say you're good.” “That’s just what I’d done,” John Quincy told him. “By the way, have you seen my aunt? She’s got hold of a rather interesting bit of information.” “T’ve seen her,” Hallet said. “She's with the prosecutor now, telling it to him. By the way, Greene’s waiting for us. Come along.” They went into the prosecutor's office. Greene was alert und eager, a stenographer was at his elbow, and Miss Minerva sat near his desk. “Hello, Mr. Winterslip,” he said. “What do you think of our police force now? | Pretty good, eh, pretty good? Sit down, | won't you?”’ He glanced through some pa- | pers on his desk, while John Quincy, Hallet | and Chan found chairs. ‘“‘I don’t mind | telling you, this thing has knocked me all in a heap. wey Jennison and I are old unch with him at the club tle differently than I would with an ordi- nary criminal.’’ John Quincy half rose | from his chair. “Don’t get excited,’ | Greene smiled. “Jennison will get all that’s | coming to him, friendship or no friendship. | What I mean is that if I can save the terri- | tory the expense of 2 long trial by dragging | a confession out of him at once, i intend to do it. He’s coming in here in a moment, and I propose to reveal my whole hand to him, from start to finish. That may seem | foolish, but it isn’t. For I hold aces, all | aces, and he'll know it as quickly as anyone.” he door opened. Spencer ushered Jen- | nison into the room and then withdrew. The accused man stood there, proud, | haughty, defiant, a viking of the tropics, a blond — at bay but unafraid. e “Hello, Jennison,’’ Greene said. I’m | mighty sorry about this.” “You ought to be,”’ Jennison replied. “You're making an awful fool of yourself. | What is this damned nonsense, anyhow?” “Sit down,” said the prosecutor sharply. | He indicated a chair on the opposite side of | the desk. He had already turned the shade | on his desk lamp so the light would shine | full in the face of anyone sitting there. “That lamp bother you, Harry?’ he asked. “Why should it?’”’ Jennison demanded. “Good!” smiled Greene. ‘I believe Captain Hallet served you with a warrant | on the boat. Have you looked at it, by any | chance?” “T have.” The prosecutor leaned across the desk. “Murder, Jennison!’’ Jennison’s expres- sion did not change. March 7,1925 “Damned nonsense, as I told you. Why should I murder anyone?” “Ah, the motive,” Greene replied. “You're quite right, we should begin with that. Do you wish to be represented here by counsel?” Jennison shook his head. “IT guess I’m lawyer enough to puncture this silly business,’’ he replied. “Very well.’ Greene turned to his ste- nographer. ‘Get this.’”’ The man nodded and the prosecutor addressed Miss Mi- nerva. “Miss Winterslip, we'll start with .”’ Miss Minerva leaned forward. “Mr. Dan Winterslip’s house on the beach has, as I told you, been offered for sale by his daughter. After dinner this eve- ning a gentleman came to look at it—a prominent lawyer named Hailey. As we went over the house Mr. Hailey mentioned that he had met Dan Winterslip on the street a week before his death. and that my cousin had spoken to him about coming in shortly to draw up a new will. He did not say what the provisions of the will were to be, nor did he ever carry out his intention.” “Ah, yes,”’ said Greene. ‘‘But Mr. Jen- nison here was your cousin’s lawyer?” “He was.” “If he wanted to draw a new will, he wouldn’t ordinarily have gone to a stranger for that purpose?” “Not ordinarily, unless he had some good reason.” “Precisely. Unless, for instance, the will had some connection with Harry Jen- nison.”’ “I object!” Jennison cried. “This is mere conjecture.” “So it is,” Greene answered. ‘But we’re not in court. We can conjecture if we like. Suppose, Miss Winterslip, the will was con- cerned with Jennison in some way. What do you imagine the connection to have been?” “T don’t have to imagine,’’ replied Miss Minerva. “I know.” “Ah, that’s good. You know. Go on.” “Before I came down here tonight I had a talk with my niece. She admitted that her father knew she and Jennison were in love and that he had bitterly opposed the match. He had even gone so far as to say he would disinherit her if she went through with it.” “Then the new will Dan Winterslip in- tended to make would probably have been to the effect that in the event his daughter married Jennison, she was not to inherit a penny of his money?” “There isn’t any doubt of it,” said Miss Minerva firmly. “You asked for a motive, Jennison,” Greene said. “‘That’s motive enough for me. Everybody knows you're money-mad. You wanted to marry Winterslip’s daugh- ter, the richest girl in the islands. He said you couldn’t have her—not with the money too. But you’re not the sort to make a pen- niless marriage. You were determined to get both Barbara Winterslip and her fa- ther’s property. Only one person stood in your way—Dan Winterslip. And that’s how you happened to be on his lanai that Monday night.” “Wait a minute,” Jennison protested. “I wasn’t on his lanai. I was on board the President Tyler, and everybody knows that ship didn’t land its passengers until nine the following morning.” “I’m coming to that,”’ Greene told him. “Just now—by the way, what time is it?” Jennison took from his pocket a watch on the end of a slender chain. “It’s a quarter past nine.” “Ah, yes. Is that the watch you usually carry?” “Tt is.’ “Ever wear a wrist watch?” Jennison hesitated. “Occasionally.” “Only occasionally.” The prosecutor rose and came round his desk. ‘ Let me see your left wrist, please.”’ Jennison held out his arm. It was tanned a deep brown, but on the wrist was etched in white the outline of a watch and its en- circling strap. Greene smiled. “Yes, you have worn a wrist watch—and ae die worn it pretty constantly, from the ook of things.” He took a small object from his pocket and held it in front of Jen- nison. ‘This watch, perhaps?” Jennison regarded it stonily. “Ever see it before?” Greene asked. “No? Well, suppose we try it on anyhow.” He put the watch in posi- tion and fastened it. “I can’t help noting, Harry,” he continued, “that it fits rather neatly over that white outline on your wrist. And the prong of the buckle falls (Continued on Page 112) ,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 11 No trouble to keep this white woodwork clean [~ — Why Barreled Sunlight can be washed like tile Now you can have it throughout your house—white woodwork as easy to keep spotless as tile or porcelain! Peer Seas Ry oe Barreled Sunlight gives an added charm to lovely colonial living-rooms, to stairways with their sweep of slender columns, to wood panelling everywhere. The lustrous white satin-like surface of Barreled Sunlight is so smooth that the finest particles of dust and dirt, the worst smudges, cannot “sink in.” When soiled it can be washed as easily as white tile. Further- more, washing will not wear away the surface of on Barreled Sunlight. Ae It is easy to understand why Barreled Sunlight is being used today not only in homes, but in the finest OREN an RE eh AE mel Oe oll SE EO yi 4 aes Sk ii hotels, apartment houses, hospitals, schools, institutions Ne . . . ‘ and public buildings of all sorts. nt } “ie Barreled Sunlight costs less than enamel, is easy to ; apply and requires fewer coats. A single coat is gener- ' ally sufficient over a previously painted light surface. t Where more than one coat is necessary, Barreled Sun- : ; i ; light Undercoat should be used. i iT i Barreled Sunlight is sold by leading dealers in cans from ; f Y ; ; half-pint to five-gallon size—in 55-gal. and 30-gal. churn- f i equipped steel drums. Send the coupon below for sample can ' —containing enough Barreled Sunlight to paint a bathroom ; ) cabinet, shelf, mirror-frame, etc., or any similar article. | nh U. S. GUTTA PERCHA PAINT CO. ' ' I Factory and Main Offices j 26-A DUDLEY STREET PROVIDENCE, R. I. New York—350 Madison Ave. Chicago—659 Washington Blvd. b San Francisco—38 O'Farrell St. | Distributors in all principal cities. Retailed by over 5,000 dealers. Disutiodinbeaiiaiass : reben pereneareieaai THE DIGNITY AND CHARM OF WHITE COLONIAL WOODWORK ARE ENHANCED BY THE SOFT LUSTRE OF BARRELED SUNLIGHT 6 things to know a caeahietiaeet Dae 8. about Barreled Sunlight 1. Washes like tile 2. Easy to apply 3. Requires fewer coats than enamel 4. Possesses a soft lustre peculiar to itself Reg U.S Patt, Ordinary flat-finish white paint Barreled Sunlight 5. Can be tinted any eoter 3 i 6. Guaranteed to remain white mj What paint looks like through a microscope longer than any gloss paint or se Aiea Rae i enamel, domestic or foreign, ap- THE RICE PROCESS WHITE plied under the same conditions = These photographs weretaken shows why Barreled Sunlight through a powerful micro-_ is so easy to keep clean. Its scope. Each paint was magni- surface is smooth, even and oe UT ae Wer . i fied to the same high degree. non-porous. It resists dirt and (Setar tl Da GUTTA FERCHA PAINT CO. | The astonishing contrast can be washed like tile. (Sera — tt Minas 26-A Dudley St, Providence, R, | Enclosed find ten cents for sample can of Barreled Sunlight |= WHITE - SMOOTH . LUSTROUS WASHABLE

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the thin | HE new Millers Falls glass cutter wheels cut as steel wheels never cut before. They are hard, sharp, uniform; the edges last. They are right. We've been making glass _cutters for 45 years. With all that experience, we put in more than a year of intensive plugging to develop our improved wheels. The wheel has always been the weak spot. We tried many steel alloys, different heat treatments. Each new lot of wheels was tested rigorously. Now we say they're right, be- have proved it to The Millers Falls name on them proves our con- cause we ourselves fidence to you. This is No. 7 Improved— single wheel; easy grip handle, enameled red Millers Falls Improved Glass Cutters with the new long- life, fine-curting wheels. Special alloy steel! wheels; hard- ened by special proc- ess; uniform; lasting, They make a deep, clean cut. Eight styles. This is Ne. 300 Improved— six perfect wheels in tur ret flush with frame, Wheels protected from injury by patented fea- ture of cutting arbor in- tegral with turret. Easy grip handle, enameled hardwood. MILLERS FALLS COMPANY Millers Falle, Mass. 2@ Warren Se. 9 So. Clinton St. New York Chicago Manufacturers of Mechanics’ Tools, Hack Saws and Automobile Tools MILLERS FALLS THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 110) | naturally into the most worn of the holes | abnormally large wrists, however. on the strap.” “What of that?” asked Jennison. “Oh, coincidence, probably. You have Surf boarding, swimming, eh? But that’s some- thing else I'll speak of later.” He turned to Miss Minerva. “Will you please come over here, Miss Winterslip?”’ She came, and as she reached his side the | prosecutor suddenly bent over and switched off the light on his desk. Save for a faint glimmer through a transom, the room was | in darkness. Miss Minerva was conscious of dim hud- died figures, a circle of white faces, a tense silence. The prosecutor was lifting some- thing slowly toward her startled eyes. A watch, worn on a human wrist—a watch with an illuminated dial on which the figure 2 was almost obliterated. “Look at that and tell me,” came the prosecutor's voice. “‘You have seen it be- fore?” “IT have,” ' she answered firmly. “Where? “In the dark in Dan Winterslip’s living room just after midnight the thirtieth of June.”” Greene flashed on the light. “Thank you, Miss Winterslip.” He re- tired behind his desk and pressed a button. “You identify it by some distinguishing | mark, I presume?” “I do. The numeral 2, which is pretty | well obscured.” Spencer appeared at the door. “Send the Spaniard in,”’ Greene ordered. “That is all for the present, Miss Winter- slip.” Cabrera entered, and his eyes were fright- ened as they looked at Jennison. At a nod from the prosecutor, Chan removed the wrist watch and handed it to the Spaniard. “You know that watch, José?’ Greene asked. “]-1—yes,” answered the boy. “Don't be afraid,’’ Greene urged. ‘“‘No- bedy’s going to hurt you. I want you to repeat the story you told me this afternoon. You have no regular job. You're a sort of confidential errand boy for Mr. Jennison here.” “1 was. “Yes, that’s all over now. You can speak out. On the morning of Wednesday, July second, you were in Mr. Jennison’s office. He gave you this wrist watch and told you to take it out and get it repaired. Some- thing was the matter with it. It wasn’t running. You took it to a big jewelry store. What happened?” “The man said it is very badly hurt. To | fix it would cost more than a new watch. I | go back and tell Mr. Jennison. He laugh | and say it is mine as a gift.” | on his. desk. Greene referred to a paper “Late in the afternoon of Thursday, July third, you sold the watch. To whom?” “To Lau Ho, Chinese jeweler in Mau- nakea Street. On Saturday evening maybe six o'clock Mr. Jennison telephone m home, much excited. Must have weich again and will pay any price. I speed to Lau Ho's store. Watch is sold once more, now to unknown Japanese. Late at night I see Mr. Jennison and he curse me with anger. Get the watch, he says. I have been hunting, but I could not find it.” Greene turned to Jennison. “You were a little careless with that watch, Harry. But no doubt you figured ov were pretty safe—you had your alibi. hen, too, when Hallet detailed the clews to you on Winterslip’s lanai the morning after the crime, he forgot to mention that someone had seen the watch. It was one of those happy accidents that are all we have to count on in this work. By Saturday night you realized your danger. Just how you discovered it I don’t know.” “I do,” John Quincy interrupted. “What? What's that?” said Greene. “On 5 afternoon,” John Quincy told him, ow golf with Mr. Jennison. On our way back to town we talked over “ Precisely.” | the clews in this case, and I happened to mention the wrist watch. I can see now it was the first he had heard of it. He was to dine with us at the beach, but he asked to be put down at his office to sign a few let- ters. I waited below. It must have been then that he called up this young man in an effort to locate the watch “Great stuff!” said Greene enthusiasti- cally. “That finishes the watch, Jennison. I'm surprised you wore it, but you probably | knew that it would be vital to you to keep | track of the time, and you figured, rightly, EVENING POST that it would not be immediately affected by the salt water.” “What the devil are you talking about?” demanded Jennison. Again Greene pressed a button on his desk. Spencer appeared at once. “Take this Spaniard,” the prosecutor directed, “and brin in Hepworth and the quartermaster.” He turned again to Jen- nison. “I'll show you what I’m talking about in just a minute. On the night of June thirtieth you were a passenger on the President Tyler, which was lying by until dawn out near the channel entrance?” “T was.” “No passengers were landed from that ship until the following morning?” “That's a matter of record.” “Very well.” The second officer of the President Tyler came in, followed by a big hulking sailor- man John Quincy recognized as the quarter- master of that vessel. He was interested to note a ring on the man’s right hand and his mind went back to that encounter in the San Francisco attic. “Mr. Hepworth,” the prosecutor began, “on the night of June thirtieth your ship reached this port too late to dock. You an- chored off Waikiki. On such an occasion, who is on deck—say, — midnight on?” “The second officer,” Ps toby told him. “In this case, myself. so the quarter- master.” “The accommodation ladder is let down the night before?” “Usually, yes. night.” “Who is stationed near it?’’ “The quartermaster.” “Ah, yes. You were in charge then on the night of June thirtieth. Did you notice anything unusual on that occasion?’’ Hep- worth nodded. “I did. The quartermaster appeared to be under the influence of liquor. At three o'clock I found him dozing near the accom- modation ladder. I roused him. When I eame back from checking up the anchor bearings before turning in at dawn—about 4:30—he was dead to the world. I put him in his cabin, and the following morning I of course reported him.” “You noticed nothing else out of the ordinary?" “Nothing, sir,’"” Hepworth replied. “Thank you very much. Now, you.” Greene turned to the quartermaster. “‘ You were drunk on duty the night of June thir- tieth. Where did you get the booze?”’ The man hesitated. ‘Before you say anything, let me give you a bit of advice. The truth, my man. You’re in pretty bad already. I’m not making any promises, but if you talk straight here it may help you in that other matter. If you lie, it will go that much harder with you.” “1 ain’t going to lie,” termaster. “All right. Where did you get your liquor?” The man nodded toward Jennison. “He gave it to me.” “He did, eh? Tell me all about it.” ‘I met him on deck just after midnight— we was still moving. I knew him before. Him and me ——” “In the opium game, both of you. I un- derstand that. You met him on deck ——’ “T did; and he says, ‘You're on watch tonight, eh?’ And I says Iam. So he slips me a little bottle an’ says, ‘This will help you pass the time.’ I ain’t a drinking man, so help me I ain’t, an’ I took just a nip; but there was something in that whisky, I'll swear toit. My hea > Pot all funny-like, an’ the next I knew I was waked up in my cabin with the bad news I was wanted above.” “What became of that bottle?” “T dropped it overboard on my way to see the captain. I didn’t want nobody to find it.’ “Did you see anything the night of June thirtieth—anything peculiar?’ “T seen plenty, sir—but it was that drink. Nothink you would want to hear about.” “All right.””. The prosecutor turned to Jennison. “ Well, Harry, you drugged him, didn’t you? Why? Because you were going ashore, eh? Because you knew he'd be on duty at that ladder when you re- turned, and you didn’t want him to see you. So you dropped something into that whisky —— “ Guesswork,” cut in Jennison, still un- ruffled. ‘I used to have some respect for you as a lawyer, but it’s all gone now. If this is the best you can offer —— “But it isn’t,” said Greene pleasantly. Again he pushed the button. “I’ve some- thing much better, Harry, if you'll only It was let down that promised the quar- March 7,1925 wait.” He turned to Hepworth. “There's a steward on your ship named Bowker,”’ he began, and John _—e thought that Jen- nison stiffened. “‘How has he been behaving lately?” “Well, he got pretty drunk in Hong- Kong,”’ Hepworth answered. “But that, of course, was the money.” “What money?” “It’s this way: The last time we sailed out of Honolulu Harbor for the Orient, over two weeks ago, I was in the purser’s office. It was just as we were passing Diamond Head. Bowker came in and he had a big fat envelope that he wanted to deposit in the purser’s safe. He said it contained a lot of money. The purser wouldn’t be re- —— for it without seeing it, so Bowker slit the envelope—and there were ten one- hundred-dollar bills. The purser made an- other package of it and put it in the safe. He told me Bowker took out a couple of the bills when we reached Hong-Kong.” “Where would a man like Bowker get all that money?” “T can’t imagine. He said he’d put over a business deal in Honolulu, but—well, we knew Bowker.” The door opened. Evidently Spencer guessed who was wanted this time, for he pushed Bowker into the room. The steward of the President Tyler was bedraggled and ma ello, Bowker,” said the prosecutor “Sober now, aren’t you? “T’ll tell the world I am,” replied Bowker. “They’ve walked me to San Francisco and back. Can—can I sit down?” “Of course,” Greene smiled. ‘This af- ternoon, while you were still drunk, you told a story to Willie Chan, out at Okamcto’s auto stand on Kalakaua Avenue. Later on, early this evening, you repeated it to Cap- tain Hallet and me. I'll have to ask you to go over it again.” Bowker glanced toward Jennison, then quickly looked away. “Always ready to oblige,” he answered. “You're a steward on the President Ty- ler,’’ Greene continued. ‘‘On your last trip over here from the mainland Mr. Jennison occupied one of your rooms—Number 97. He was alone in it, I believe?” “All alone. He paid extra for the privi- lege, I hear. Always traveled that way.” “Room 97 was on the main deck, not far from the accommodation ladder?” “Yes, that’s right.” “What happened after you anchored off Waikiki the night of June thirtieth?” Bowker adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses with the gesture of a man about to make an after-dinner speech. “Well, I was up pretty late that night. Mr. Winterslip here had loaned me some books—there was one I was particularly in- terested in. I wanted to finish it so I could give it to him to take ashore in the morning. It was nearly two o’clock when I finally got through it, and I was feeling stuffy, so I went on deck for a breath of air.” “You stopped not far from the accom- modation ladder?”’ “Yes, sir, I did.” “Did you notice the quartermaster?”’ “Yes, he was sound asleep in a deck chair. I went over and leaned on the rail, the lad- der was just beneath me. I’d been standing there a few minutes when suddenly some- body came up out of the water and put his hands on the lowest rung. I drew back quickly and stood in a shadow. “Well, pretty soon this man comes creep- ing up the ladder to the deck. He was bare- footed and all in black-—black pants and shirt. I watched him. He went over and bent above the quartermaster, then started toward me down the deck. He was walk ing on tiptoe, but even then I didn’t get wise to the fact anything was wrong. “T stepped out of the shadow. ‘Fine night for aswim, Mr. Jennison,’ I said. And I saw at once that I'd made a social error. He gave one jump in my direction and his hands closed on my throat. I thought my time had come.” “He was wet, wasn’t he?’’ Greene asked. “Dripping. He left a trail of water on the deck.” “Did you notice a watch on his wrist?” “Yes, but you can bet I didn’t make any study of it. I had other things to think about just then. I managed to sort of ooze out of his grip, and I told him to cut it out or I'd yell. ‘Look here,’ he says, ‘you and I can talk business, I guess. Come into my cabin.’ “But I wasn’t wanting any téte-a-téte with him in any cabin. I said I’d see him (Continued on Page 115)

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(Continued from Page 112) in the morning, and after I’d promised to say so to anybody, he let me go. I went to pretty much puzzled. “The next morning when I went into his cabin, there he was all fresh and rosy and smiling. If I’d had so much as a whiff of booze the night before, I’d have thought I never saw what I did. I went in there thinking I might get a hundred dollars out of the affair, but the minute he spoke I be- gan to smell important money. He said no one must know about his swim the night before. How much did I want? Well, I held my breath and said ten thousand dol- lars, and I nearly dropped dead when he an- swered I could have it.” Bowker turned to John Quincy. “T don’t know what you'll think of me. I don’t know what Tim would think. I’m not a crook by nature. But I was fed u and choking over that steward job. wanted a little newspaper of my own, and up to that minute I couldn’t see myself get- ting it. And you must remember that I didn’t know then what was in the air— murder. Later, when I did find out, I was scared to breathe. I didn’t know what they could do to me.” He turned to Greene. “‘That’s all fixed,” he said. “T’ve promised you immunity,” the prosecutor answered. “I'll keep my word. Go on. You agreed to accept the ten thou- sand?” “TI did. I went to his office at twelve. One of the conditions was that I could stay on the President Tyler until she got back to San Francisco, and after that I was never to show my face out this way again. It suited me. Mr. Jennison introduced me to this Cabrera, who was to chaperon me the rest of that day. I'll say he did. When I went aboard the ship he handed me a thou- sand dollars in an envelope. “When I came back this time I was to spend the day with Cabrera and get the other nine grand when I sailed. This morn- ing when we tied up I saw the Spaniard on the pier, but by the time I'd landed he had disappeared. I met this Willie Chan and we had a large day. This fusel oil they sell out here loosened my tongue, but I’m not sorry. Of course, the rosy dream has faded, and it’s my flat feet on the deck from now to the end of time. But the shore isn’t so much any more, with all the barrooms under cover, and this sea life keeps a man out in the open air. As I say, I’m not sorry I talked. I can look any man in the eye again and tell him to go to ——” He glanced at Miss Minerva. ‘Madam, I will not name the precise locality.” Greene stood. “Weil, Jennison, there’s my case. I’ve tipped it all off to you, but I wanted you to see for yourself how air-tight it is. There are two courses open to you—you can let this go to trial with a plea of not guilty, a long humiliating ordeal for you; or you can confess here and now and throw yourself on the mercy of the court. If you’re the sen- =“ man I think you are, that’s what you'll _ ty Jennison did not answer, did not even look at the prosecutor. “It was a very neat idea,’’ Greene went on. “I'll grant you that. Only one thing puzzles me—did it come as the inspiration of the moment, or did you plan it all out in advance? You've been over to the main- land rather often of late—were you waiting your chance? Anyhow, it came, didn’t it? It came at last—and for a swimmer like you, child’s play. You didn’t need that ladder when you Jeft the vessel; perhaps ou went overboard while the President yler was still moving. A quick, silent dive, a little way under water in case any- one was watching from the deck, and then a long but easy swim ashore. And there you were, on the beach at Waikiki. Not far away Dan Winterslip was asleep on his lanai— Dan Winterslip, who stood between you and what you wanted. A little strug- gle, a quick thrust of your knife. Come on, Jennison, don’t be a fool. It’s the best way out for you now.. A full confession.” Jennison leaped to his feet, his eyes flashing. **T’ll see you in hell first!”’ he eried. _ “Very well, if you feel that way about it,” Greene turned his back upon him and be- gan a low-toned conversation with Hallet. Jennison and Charlie Chan were together on one side of the desk. Chan took out a pencil and accidentally dropped it on the floor. He stooped to pick it up. John Quincy saw that the butt of a pistol carried in Chan’s hip pocket protruded from THE SATURDAY under his coat. He saw Jennison spring forward and snatch the gun. With a cry, John Quincy moved nearer, but Greene seized his arm and held him. Charlie Chan seemed unaccountably oblivious of what was going on. Jennison put the muzzle of the pistol to his foreh and pulled the trigger. A sh click—and that was all. The pistol fell from his hand. “That's it!” cried Greene triumphantly. “That’s my confession, and not a word spoken. I’ve witnesses, Jenriison—they all saw you—you couldn’t stand the disgrace— a man in your position—you tried to kill yourself—with an empty gun.” He went over and patted Chan on the shoulder. “A great idea, Charlie,” he said. ‘Chan thought of it,”” he added to Jennison. ‘‘The Oriental mind, Harry. Rather subtle, isn’t it ” But Jennison had dropped back into his chair and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,”’ said Greene gently. “But we've got you. Maybe you'll talk now.” Jennison looked up slowly. The defiance was gone from his face; it was lined and old. “Maybe I will,” he said hoarsely. xx HEY filed out, leaving Jennison with Greene and the stenographer. In the anteroom Chan approached John Quincy. “You go home decked in the shining gar- ments of success,”’ he said. ‘One thought are tantilizing me. At simultaneous mo- ment you arrive at same conclusion we do. To reach there you must have leaped across considerable cavity.”’ John Quincy laughed. “T’'ll say I did! It came to me tonight. First, someone mentioned a golf profes- sional with big wrists who drove a long ball. I had a quick flash of Jennison on the links here, and his terrific drives. Big wrists, they told me, meant that a man was profi- cient in the water. Then someone else—a young woman—spoke of a champion swim- mer who left a ship off Waikiki. That was the first time the idea of such a thing had occurred to me. I was sipped warm then, and I felt Bowker was the man who could verify my suspicion. When I rushed aboard the President Tyler to find him, I saw Jen- nison about to sail, and that confirmed my theory. I went after him.” “A brave performance,” Chan. “But as you can see, Charlie, I didn’t have an iota of real evidence. Just guess- work. You were the one who furnished the proof.” “Proof are essential in this business,” Chan replied. “I’m tantalized, too, Charlie. I remem- ber you in the library. You were on the track long before I was. How come?” Chan grinned. “Seated at our ease in All-American Restaurant that first night, you will recall I spoke of Chinese people as sensitives, like camera film. A look, a laugh, a gesture, something go click. Bowker enters and hov- ering above, says with alcoholic accent, ‘I’m my own mashter, ain't I?’ In my mind, the click. He is not own master. I follow to dock, behold when Spaniard pre- sent envelo But for days I am fogged. I can only learn Cabrera and Jennison are very close. Clews continue to burst in our countenance. The occasion remains sus- pensive. At the library I read of Jennison, the fine swimmer. After that, the watch and triumph.” Miss Minerva moved on toward the door. “‘ May I have great honor to accompany you to car?”’ asked Chan. Outside, John Quincy directed the chauf- feur to return alone to Waikiki with the limousine. “You're riding out with me,”’ he told his aunt. “I want to talk with you.” She turned to Charlie Chan. “T congratulate you. You've got brains, and they count.”” He bowed low. “From you that compliment glows rosy red. At this moment of parting, my heart droops. My final wish—the snowy, chilling days of winter and the scorching, windless days of summer—may they all be the — for you.” “You're very kind,” she said softly. John Quincy took his hand. “It’s been great fun knowing you, Char- lie,” he remarked. “You will go again to the mainland,” Chan said. “The angry ocean rolling be- tween us. Still, I shall carry the memory of your friendship like a flower in my heart.”” John Quincy climbed into the car. “And the i may not be eternal,” Chan added cheerfully. “‘The joy of travel commented EVENING POST may yet be mine. I shall look forward to the day when I may call upon you in your home and shake a healthy hand.” John Quincy started the car and, slipping away, they left Charlie Chan standing like a great Buddha on the curb. “Poor Barbara!” said Miss Minerva presently. “I dread to face her with this news. But then it’s not altogether news at that. She told me she'd been conscious of something wrong between her and Jennison ever since they landed. She didn’t think he | killed her father, but she believed he was in- volved in it somehow. She is planning to | settle with Brade tomorrow and leave the next day, nog Ae oqy I've persuaded her to come to Boston for a long visit. You'll see her there.” John Quincy shook | his head. “No, Ishan’t. But thanks for reminding me. I must go to the cable office at once. When he emerged from the office and | a af ‘In San Francisco,” he explained, ” oger accused me of being a Puritan sur- | vival. He ran over a little list of adven- tures he said had never happened to me. Well, most of them have happened now, and I cabled to tell him so. I also said I'd take that job with him.” Miss Minerva frowned. “Think it over carefully,” she warned. “San Francisco isn’t Boston. The cultural standard is, I fancy, much lower. You'll be lonely there.” “Oh, no, Ishan’t. Someone will be there with me. At least, I hope she will.” “Agatha?” “No, not Agatha. The cultural standard was too low for her. She’s broken our en- gagement.”’ “Barbara, then?” “Not Barbara either.” “But I have sometimes thought “You thought Barbara sent Jennison packing because of me. Jennison thought so too; it’s all clear now. That was why he | fain entered the car he was smiling hap- | i tried to frighten me into leaving Honolulu | and set his opium-running friends on me | when I wouldn’t go. in love with me. she broke her engagement.” “Neither Agatha nor Barbara,’’ repeated Miss Minerva. “Then who ——” “You haven’t met her yet, but that happy privilege will be yours before you sleep. The sweetest girl in the islands, or in the world. The daughter of Jim Egan, whom you have been heard to refer to as a lorified beach comber.” Again Miss inerva frowned. “It’s a t risk, John Quincy. She hasn’t our background.” “No, and that’s a pleasant change. She’s a niece of your old friend—you knew that?” “Your dear friend of the 80’s. What was it you said to me? ‘If your chance ever comes ——-—— “TI hope you will be very happy,” his aunt said. “When you write it to But Barbara is not | e understand now why our | mother, be sure to mention Captain Cope, | of the British Admiralty. Poor Grace! That will be all she'll have to cling to after the wreck.” “What wreck?” “The wreck of all her hopes for you.” “Nonsense! She knows I’m a roaming Winterslip, and when we roam, we roam.” Mother will understand. | They found Mrs. Maynard seated in her living room with a few of her more elderly | guests. ‘ From the beach cume the sound of | youthful revelry. “Well, my boy,”’ the old woman cried, “it appears you couldn’t stay away from | your policemen friends one single evening, after all. I give you up.” John Quincy laughed. “T’m pau now. By the way, Carlota Egan—is she ———”’ “They’re all out there somewhere,”’ the hostess said. “They came in for a bit of supper. By the way, there are sandwiches in the dining room and —”’ “No time for sandwiches,” said John Quincy. “Thank you so much. I'll see you again, of course. He dashed out onto the sand. A group of the hau tree informed | oung people enter im that Carlota E float. tenant —— an was on the farthest He was, he reflected as he hurried on to- ward the water, a bit fed up with the al F That was hardly the attitude he shou have taken, considering all the Navy had (Continued on Page 117) Alone? Well, no; that naval lieu- Write for Sample Write direct to us if your dealer does not have Dixon “*Ti- con - der - oga”’ Pencils—enclose five cents—and we shall send you ea full- length sampie. DIXON—PENCILS Dept. &J Jersey City, N. J. DIXON ‘ “TI-CON-DER-0GA | The Business Pencil

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(Continued from Page 115) done for him. But it was human, and John Quincy was human at last. For an instant he stood at the water’s edge. His bathing suit was in the dressing room, but he never gave it a thought. He kicked off his shoes, tossed aside his coat and plunged into the breakers. The blood of the wandering Winterslips was racin through his veins, hot blood that tropica waters had ever been powerless to cool. Sure enough, Carlota Egan and Lieu- tenant Booth were together on the float. John Quincy climbed up beside them. “Well, I’m back,’’ he announced. “T’ll tell the world you’re back!”’ said the lieutenant. ‘‘And all wet too.” They sat there. Across a thousand miles of warm water the trade winds came to fan their cheeks. Just above the horizon hung the South- ern Cross, the island lights trembled alon the shore, the yellow eye on Sleinent Head was winking. A gorgeous setting. Only one thing was wrong with it. It seemed rather crowded. John Quincy had an in- spiration. THE SATURDAY “Just as I hit the water,”’ he remarked, “I thought I heard you say something about my dive. Didn’t you like it?” “It was rotten,” replied the lieutenant amiably. “You offered to show me what was wrong with it, I believe?” “Sure, if you want me to.” “By all means,” said John Quincy. “Learn one thing every day. That’s my motto.” Lieutenant Booth went to the end of the springboard. “In the first place, always keep your ankles close together—like this.” “T’ve got you,” answered John Quincy. “And hold your arms tight against your ears. “The tighter the better, as far as I’m con- cerned.” “Then double up like a jackknife,” con- tinued the instructor. He doubled up like a jackknife and rose into the air. At the same instant John Quincy seized the girl’s hands. “Listen to me! I can’t wait another sec- ond. I want to tell you that I love you.” EVENING POST “You're mad!” she cried. “Mad about you, ever since that day on the ferry.” “But your people?”’ “What about my people? It’s just you and I. We'll live in San if you love me.” “Well, I ” “In heaven's name be quick! That hu- | man submarine is floating around here un- der us. You love me, don't you? You'll | marry me?” iid es,” He took her in his arms and kissed her. | Only the wandering Winterslips could kiss | like that. The stay-at-homes had always secretly begrudged them the accomplish- | ment. The girl broke away, breathless. “Johnny!” she cried. A sputter beside them, and Lieutenant Booth climbed onto the float, moist and panting. “Wha’s that?” he gurgled. “She was speaking to me,” cried John Quincy triumphantly. (THE END) THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTRELS towns, as the circus parade. In some com- munities they even used to close up the shops on the day the minstrels came to town, because there wasn’t any business anyway. Everybody turned out to watch the parade and listen to the band. In these, the pioneer days of minstrelsy, the emphasis was placed on the musical side of the performance. The full develop- ment of Tambo and Bones into farce come- dians did not come until sometime later. Sentimental songs of slave life, the violin and banjo music of the plantation were the things given in the minstrel show of ante- bellum days. It was by Edwin P. Christy that the beautiful songs of Stephen Foster were first introduced, although it was not until many years later that they were recog- nized by musicians as the only authentic folk music ever produced in America. Foster, sharing the fate common to men of genius, died poor and unrecognized. His songs, which retained the real flavor and atmosphere of slave life, with its pathos and yearning, contributed much to the success of others, but nothing to himself. Christy was a banjoist and an actor, as well as a manager; but he was best known as a singer of ballads, and My Old Ken- tucky Home, Massa’s in de Cold, Cold Ground, Suwanee River, Old Black Joe and many other songs of this kind were first sung by him. This and the fact that he is credited with having originated the idea of the half circle of minstrels make his name important in the annals of minstrelsy. Success in England Christy’s Minstrels held continuous sway at the famous old Mechanics’ Hall in New York for seven years, from 1847 to 1854. Their fame brought them an offer of an engagement in San Francisco, but they met with indifferent success in the West. Some old-timers attribute their failure to the fact that George Christy, who had been associated with Edwin for many years, left the troupe sometime before it set sail for California, and with another man organ- ized another minstrel company known as Wood and Christy’s Minstrels, in which he played one of the end men. Under his aus- pices minstrelsy began to branch out. He opened another theater and played in both houses, appearing in the minstrel first part in the original theater, and doing special- ties in the olio part in the second house. By the middle 50’s minstrelsy was well estab- lished as a popular form of entertainment, and in 1857 the first theater built especially for minstrel performances was erected in New York. It was called Wood’s Marble Hall of Minstrelsy, and was situated at 561 Broadway, now part of the manufacturing and wholesale district of the city. George Christy, by the way, was not related to Ed- win P. Christy. His real name was Harring- ton and he only assumed the name of Christy after his association with the founder of the troupe. Meanwhile some of the original members of Christy’s Minstrels organized a troupe and went to England, using the original name of the organization. Their success in England was tremendous. Several sub- sidiary companies grew from this first one, (Continued from Page 13) and the name “Christy’s Minstrels” came to be almost a generic term in that country. For years all minstrel companies there were called Christy's. It is rather curious that minstrel shows attained real popularity only in English- speaking countries. Some of the American companies essayed Continental tours, and several English performers, emboldened b the success of the Americans in England, got together and tried their luck in France and Germany, the ludicrousness of their cockney accent trying to sound like Amer- ican “+s apparently never occurring to them. The French never took very kindly to minstrelsy; and as for the Germans, it seems that they somehow got the impres- sion that they were being imposed upon; that these men with blackened faces were trying to pass themselves off as genuine ne- groes, a supposed fact which their Teu- tonic minds deeply resented. In England, though, minstrelsy gained almost as strong a foothold as it did in the United States. Gladstone proclaimed it his favorite form of entertainment and used to attend minstrel shows as an antidote for the cares of state, just as Woodrow Wilson, when he was President, attended vaudeville shows every week as a relief from the pres- sure of the war administration. Thackeray, too, admitted himself under the spell of the minstrel man, and once penned a brief but eloquent tribute to his art. “T have gazed at thousands of tragedy queens dying on the stage and expiring in appropriate blank verse,” he wrote, “and I have never wanted to wipe of spectacles. Behold, a vagabond with a corked face and a banjo sings a little song, strikes a wild note and sets the heart thrilling with happy pi ” Fhose few words of Thackeray’s conjure up an authentic picture of the old-time PHOTO, FROM COLLECTION OF EOW. LEROY RICE, @ROOKLYN, Wy Thomas Dartmouth Rice minstrels, who presented not caricatures but genuine character studies, real por- traits of the plantation negro of the South. This type of minstrel began to disappear around the time of the Civil War; and it was as early as that, some of the very old reminiscers—dead now, almost all of them— claimed, that minstrelsy began to disinte- | grate, although there are many to dispute that claim, as some of the most illustrious | minstrel troupes and minstrel men did not begin to flourish until after the war. Col. Jack Haverly, for instance, who organized the first big minstrel troupe, one of the best known in the world, and who developed some of the greatest of all minstrels, did not begin his minstrel career until 1864, and his troupe of Mastodons was not organized until 1878. McIntyre & Heath, among the few old-time minstrels active today—they are still impersonating the Geo Min- strels in vaudeville, and last year cele- brated the fiftieth annive of their partnership—joined forces in 1874, but it was four years later when they organized their own minstrel company. Dock- stader made his debut in 1873; Al G. Fields, 1871. Billy Emerson, Big Sunflower, the idol of a whole nation during the heyday of his career, flourished all through the latter half of the nineteenth century; while George Primrose, William H. West, George Thatcher, Honey Boy Evans, Eddie Leon- ard, Neil O’Brien—still conducting his own show around the country—kept minstrelsy an important factor in American life for at least the first ten years of this century, and even a little longer. Billy Birch’s Minstrels It was, however, during the years ap- proximately between 1850 and 1870 that minstrelsy secured its strong hold on the imagination of the American public. The names of minstrels who rose to popularity during that time are legion, and there were a number of permanent minstrel theaters | as widely known throughout the country as the Hipp'sdrome is today. There was Hoo- | ley’s, in Brooklyn, for instance, founded in 1861 by R. M. Hooley, wh» had been or- chestra leader with the original Christy’s Minstrels. After several years’ wide experi- ence in minstrelsy, including a tour of | Europe, the Brooklyn company was organ- | ized, and there it stayed ten years. There are still a scattering of very, very old men in Brooklyn who can remember attending Hooley’s when they were boys. Some of the greatest minstrels of that day trod the boards of Hooley’s. The San Francisco Minstrels in New York were also a famous troupe, organized, as the name indicates, in California by Billy Birch, an alumnus of Wood and Christy’s Minstrels, together with Dave Wambold, Charles Backus and William H. Bernard. This company, after many vicis- situdes, opened shop at 585 Broadway, New York, in May of 1865, and continued there for seven years. Their name was a | household word in the city. The minstrel theater, of Philadelphia, founded by John L. Carncross, famous as rancisco—that is, | § Kamphkook No. 4 is America’s finest camp stove. 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118 one of the sweetest singers in minstrelsy, and E. Freeman Dixey, is still active, and is today the only permanent minstrel theater in the world. Carnecross and Dixey’s orig- inal company wav situated in the old Elev- enth Street Opera House, which was torn dowr: not.so many years ago to make room for a business building. In 1896 it went under the management of Frank Dumont and continued its career, becoming a tradi- tion to Philadelphians. For the past few years it has been under the guidance of Emmett Welch, and occupies the old Ninth and Arch Streets Museum, and is now known as the Emmett Welch Minstrels. George Christy To give a comprehensive list of the emi- nent minstrels of that early era would be impossible; but a few names come insist- ently to the mind —names that meant as much in their day aa the biggest stars of the legitimate and vaudeville stage do today. There was Dave Reed, for in- stance, one of the earliest and best known of minstrels, who made famous and was made famous by two old songs, Shoo Fly and Sally Come Up. He was known, asa matter of fact, as the Sally-Come-Up Man. Reed, like many other minstrels of his time, played in Mississippi River boat shows. There were Kelly and Leon, fa- mous in their own show, and later as part of Haverly’s, Leon being particularly noted as a female impersonator. Here is another branch of theatricals which most people are under the impression is a fairly recent inno- vation; but female impersonations were among the earliest manifestations of min- strelay, which for some reason was never a succeasful medium for women, although there were one or two attempts to send out a!l-feminine minstrel troupes; and at least two well-known actresses, Trixie Friganza, now a vaudeville ster, and Lotta, the fa- mous soubrette who died recently and left a large fortune to charity, were known to biack up and play in rea! minstrel shows on infrequent occasions. Forty—Count 'Em—Forty There was Matt Peel, a very talented performer-manager, whose show, after his death, was managed by his widow, the first and practically the only woman minstrel manager. There was Charley White, who was regarded as a really great actor and a wofound student of negro dialect; G. W {. Griffin, one of the greatest interlocutors in the business; the Guy Brothers, one of whom, George, is still active; Fox & Ward, vartners since 1868, also still active; Joe iuehe, Kerry Gow, who died a million- aire; James Unsworth and scores of others. The air of the country seemed to breed minstrels, and under their influence min- strelay developed into an always more and more specialized form of entertainment, secure in its supremacy in the hearts and minds of the American public. The original semicircie idea, begun by Edwin Christy, was not abandoned. The interlocutor, who played straight to the end men, became more and more polished in his manner; the number of end men with each show was increased. At first there was but one Tambo and one Bones; later each show THE SATURDAY had two and sometimes three interchange- able comedians for each end. The costumes became increasingly magnificent, the scen- ery increasingly elaborate, the productions increasingly ambitious. The vogue for bur- lesque opera came in, likewise the fashion for travesties on dramatic productions and take-offs of celebrities of the stage and pub- lie life. William Henry Rice, already a »0pular minstrel, won undying fame by his Coniaetn impersonation of Sarah Bern- in a travesty called, none too subtly—but then minstrelsy didn’t try to be subtle—Sarah Heartburn. The Divine Sarah, then touring the United States, at- tended a special performance of this bur- lesque, and according to all accounts, enjoyed it hugely, laughing until the tears streamed down her face at some of the scenes mocking her performance in Camille. Thus the minstrel show grew and grew, and waxed bigger and bigger, until there emerged tke first example of what, for a better name, must be called modern min- strelsy-—Haverly’s Mastodons. With the Mastodons a new era in that form of en- tertainment was instituted, and it was with the Mastodons that most people who recall minstrelsy today began their minstrel education. hardt William H. West Col. Jack Haverly, it is generally con- ceded, did more for modern minstrelsy than any other man; and certainly the majority of minstrels within the memory of the current public served an apprentice- ship with him. Billy Emerson, George Thatcher, Willis P. Sweatnam, George Evans, Eddie Leonard and Lew Dock- stader, the real minstrel stars of the last generation, all were associated at some time in their careers with Jack Haverly. There were many others, to be sure, but these are the most prominent names. Haverly was not a performer. He con- tented himself with the managerial end of the game and the development of stars. He was to minstrels what Ziegfeld is to chorus girls. Before beginning his career asa minstrel magnate, he was the owner of a va- riety theater in Toledo, Ohio. Later he was associated with several other men in min- strel ventures, but in the end he always stood alone. He owned and controlled a great many theaters. He was a man of great daring and imagination, a plunger, who won fortunes and lost them and won them again with an air cf convincing un- concern. He was characteristically gen- erous and deeply loved by all who knew im. Probably he would have been a good ad- vertising man, with his aptitude for slogans. When he organized Haverly’s Mastodons in Chieago, in 1878, he coined a slogan which swept like wildfire over the country, a simple slogan, but it had a poe ty “Forty—count ’em—forty!" it was, and it helped as much as any other single element to make the Mastodons the huge success they became. It was the first time such a large number of men had been used in any single show, and playing up the number brought a great deal of business. The name, too, was a drawing card, as several other minstrel managers must have re- alized, for soon there sprang up similar large EVENING POST minstrel organizations, entitled the Gigan- teans, the Megatherians, and the like. But Haverly’s Mastodons continued to be pre- eminent, and won as much fame in the British Isles as they did here at home. It was a member of the Mastodons in fact who had to his credit the amazing fact that he successfully kidded Queen Victoria. That man was J. W. McAndrews, known as the Watermelon Man, and noted as the singer of the famous old song, Jim Along Josie. It is one thing for |g egene of the current stage to joke with the young and democratic Prince of Wales, and it is said to have been just as easy to spoof his grand- father, King Edward VII, when he was still heir to the British throne. But to jest at the expense of Her Royal Majesty Queen Victoria as though she were a mere mor- tal—such a thing was undreamed of. Yet the Watermelon Man did it, and what is more, he got away with it. It happened this way: Reports of his success with the Masto- dons had reached the queen’s ears, and she commanded him to give a performance at Buckingham Palace. He came, of course, and as he walked on the stage of the theater in the palace, he noticed that the queen was sitting in a stage box. He did his monologue and started to gointoasong. It was part of the stage business of that song to remove his painfully ragged coat, fold it up care- fully as though it were something infi- nitely valuable and lay it down on the floor. He shuffled over to the side of the stage under the queen's box, took off the coat, folded it with painstaking ex- actness and laid it down with the utmost gentleness directly under the box and en- tirely within the royal reach. He started away, then looked back at the queen, an expression of great suspicion crossing his face. Then he returned to the coat, picked it up tenderly, carried it across the stage, indicating by every line of his face and body that it was far too precious George Thatcher to be left within her grasp, and put it down in a remote part of the stage. The court was aghast. Such effrontery had never before been witnessed. They expected the outraged queen te rise and smite him. But she didn’t. Instead she broke the horrified silence with one of her rare bursts of laughter. The tension re- lieved, the entire assemblage became hysterical. And McAndrews, when he returned to America, was the proud pos- sessor of a watch and a ring, gifts of her royal majesty. Billy Emerson, it is said by all who re- member him, was one of the greatest fig- ures in minstrelsy, with a following as large and loyal as that of any modern idol. He occupied in his day the sort of place now filled by Babe Ruth. There is nobody on the stage, the old-timers insist, who is wor- shi by the public as he was. When he walked on the street crowds followed him. Small boys besieged him for autographs and souvenirs. Women gave him the idolatry they now squander on Rudolph Valentino. He appeared with a number of minstrel troupes, including Haverly’s and the Mega- therians, as well as heading his own com- any in several tours of this country, Sngland and Australia. He was popular March 7,1925 everywhere; but it was in San Francisco that he was especially idolized, and his re- turn visits to that city were in the nature of triumphal marches. In spite of his fame, and the fortune he must have made during the years of his popularity, Billy Emerson died a poor man and a broken one. Like so many performers of the old school, he was improvident. The stories of the other minstrel favor- ites have no such tragic endin George Evans, known to fame as Honey Boy because he was the author of the popular song, I'll be True to My Honey Boy, died in 1915, and was active until shortly be- fore his death. In fact, his old act is still playing in vaudeville under the name of the Seven Honey Boys. His career as a per- former included engagements with medicine shows, minstrel shows, including Prim- rose & West’s, Haverly’s and the Cohan and Harris Minstrels, which he took over as his — in 1910, musical comedy and vaude- ville. He wrote many popular songs besides Honey Boy, one of the best known being In the Good Old Summertime. Lew Dockstader George Primrose, whose family name was Delaney, was, among other things, con- ceded to be the greatest soft-shoe dancer in the world, and the originator of that type of dancing. He also lived until a short time ago. His death occurred in the summer of 1919 while he was living in retirement in San Diego, California. He began his career at the age of fifteen, billed as Master Georgie, the Infant Clog Dancer, in a min- strel show. He alternated between minstrel shows and circuses, and when he* joined Skiff and Gaylord’s Minstrels in 1871 he met William H. West, who was his partner for thirty years. He was later associated with George Thatcher and Lew Dockstader, and spent much of his time during his later years in vaudeville, Primrose and Dock- stader as a headlining team were tremen- dously popular in the two-a-day. As for Lew Dockstader, of whom it is said that he made more people laugh than any other man of his time, he achieved equal distinction as a performer and a manager. Under his real name, George Alfred Clapp, he began his career at the age of sixteen in an amateur minstre! show. He appeared with innumerable minstrel shows, including Carncross’ in Philadelphia, and Haverly’s, always as a comedian. In 1886 he organized his own company, which remained in New York for many years. Jack Haverty All the minstrels in this little group were friends, and it seems that at some time or other they were all partners with one an- other. For anyone who was not following minstrelsy at the time, the switching about of these names is very like a crossword puz- zle, or maybe a Virginia reel would be more apt. At any rate, Dockstader at one time joined forces with Primrose & West, an- other time with George Thatcher, and later with Primrose alone, who had by then sepa- rated from Thatcher. Mr. Dockstader spent his declining years as a vaudeville (Continued on Page 123)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925

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(Continued from Page 118) headliner, doing the minstrel characteriza- tions that had made him so popular. Of all the minstrels within the memory of the present generation, none was so beloved as Lew Dockstader. His death last Octo- ber brought real grief to thousands, not only to those who had been his friends and associates, but also to the legions who had been made to laugh by his japery, his bur- lesques and his ludicrous makeup, especially the huge coat and monstrous shoes which were an integral part of his funniness. As an end man he had no equal. He was the perfect minstrel. His aptitude for catching the idiosyncrasies of prominent people and reproducing them from the stage brought him added fame. He was particu- larly happy in his take-off of Theodore Roosevelt, who used to enjoy the spectacle of himself in burlesque quite as much as anybody. In big cities Dockstader was loved, in small towns he was worshiped. The occa- sion of his coming to town was a red-letter day in the community. Not even the an- nual visit of the circus was a more impor- tant or exciting event than the minstrel parade that afforded a glimpse of Lew Dockstader. Favorites of Today Among the things for which he was noted was the fact that in his long career he never missed a single performance. He loved his work and was never so happy as when he was making people laugh. But even he, with all his powers, could not rescue min- strelsy from the oblivion for which fate so evidently intends it. Only three years ago he acted as principal end man in a musical show staged by De Wolf Hopper, in which an old-fashioned minstrel first part was featured. In spite of his presence, and the presence of some other widely known minstrels, the piece was a failure. The institution was doomed. Aside from the fame he gathered as a re- sult of his own talents as a minstrel, Lew Dockstader is noted as the man who started Al Jolson on his career as a black- face performer. Jolson, probably the highest paid and most popular singing THE SATURDAY comedian in the world, who now, still under forty, has his own theater in New York, owns a percentage of every show he plays in and gets a royalty on every song he sings, because if he sings it the song is made, was discovered by Lew Dockstader when he was playing burlesque or small-time vaudeville. hat was in 1908. Dockstader engaged him for his minstrel show, and the youth’s suc- cess as a minstrel was instantaneous. Big- time vaudeville followed, then stardom in his own shows. Unlike most of the modern black-face comedians, Jolson really plays negro char- acters. Most of the funny men who work under cork today, in spite of their sable hue, are not negro comedians. They are Irish comedians, Italian comedians, Jewish come- dians—anything but negro comedians. They make no attempt to live up to their makeup. But Al Jolson is a direct de- scendant of the minstrel of the days before the Civil War in the authenticity of his characterization. He has, too, a fine sym- pathetic voice; and though there is a great deal of fun poked at his exaggerated mammy songs, they seem at least to be the offspring, even if illegitimate, of the senti- mental baliads sung by the early negro minstrels. Eddie Leonard is still very active and popular. He is headlining in vaudeville with an act built along minstrel lines, and still employs with great effect the curious wha-wha method of singing that was identi- fied with him during his minstrel days. He began his career with Haverly’s Minstrels, and was featured with Dockstader’s, Prim- rose & West’s, Cohan & Harris’, as well as heading his own troupe. The Cohan & Harris referred to are George M. Cohan and Sam H. Harris, who, during the years of their partnership as theatrical managers, sent out an ieciitont minstrel company. Incidentally there are scores of actors, prominent today in the legitimate and musical-comedy stage, and even in the movies, who either got their start in min- strel shows or played in them at sothe time during their careers. First of all, there is Francis Wilson, the dean of American actors. With a partner, Jimmy Mackin, the eminent actor was once a song-and-dance boy with the minstrel EVENING POST shows, among them, of course, Haverly’s. After about ten years of minstrelsy he de- cided that he wanted to widen his scope as a performer, so at a salary about one-quarter as large as his minstrel pay, he joined a Philadelphia stock company and was started on his acting career. Casting about at random, I find the names of Raymond Hitchcock, who substi- tuted for George Evans in the Cohan & Harris Minstrels in 1909; the late Nat C. Goodwin, who was with Haverly’s for a short time; Fred Stone, who first entered into partnership with Dave Montgomery in Haverly’s Minstrels; Sam Bernard, Joe Cawthorne, George Beban—he began his career as a minstrel, although nobody would suspect it now; Jerry Cohen, who was noted as a black-face dancer and tam- bourine player before he achieved fame as the father of Georgie; Andrew Mack, who, with Haverly’s, sang that pathetic ballad, A Violet From Mother's Grave. The Frohmans’ Minstrel Days Julius Witmark, the music publisher, be- gan his professional career at the age of twelve as a boy soprano in a minstrel show. It was Mr. Witmark who first introduced such priceless gems of balladry as The Letter That Never peed and The Picture That Was Turned Toward the Wall. Few people know or remember that the Frohmans, Daniel and the late Charles, who together developed so many of America’s greatest theatrical personages, were min- strel managers early in their careers—in fact owned a troupe at one time. There is even a rumor, although he has never sub- stantiated it, that David Belasco, when he was a young man, appeared in black-face several times. Paul Dresser, brother of Theodore Dreiser and author of the famous song, On the Banks of the Wabash, was once a min- strel for a short time; so were J. K. Emmett Jeff DeAngelis and Corse Payton, the idol of the ten-twenty-thirty. There are dozens more that most people would never dream of. For instance, it seems inappropriate, but it is true, that Chauncey Olcott, the famous Irish come- dian and singer, was for many years a minstrel. And Harrigan & Hart worked in 123 black-face before they became musical- comedy stars. Denman Thompson, of The Old Homestead fame, was a minstrel end man sixty-five years ago. Bert Williams, one of the few negroes ever to play in a minstrel show, blacked up his already dusky features; so did his partner George Walker. Julian Eltinge was once a minstrel, and James J. Corbett, once champion of the ring and now regarded as one of the best straight men in the theatrical business, was an interlocutor with George Evans’ Min- strels for a time. Eddie Foy, parent of the so numerous young Foys, was once a min- strel. Now he would like to wear a black suit instead of a black face, for it is a tradi- tion along Broadway that the comical Eddie has a consuming desire to play Hamlet. All these people, and many others, were minstrels once—once, but ne more, The day is dead, If further proof were needed, I found it when I journeyed to a little Con- necticut town where I learned that a troupe of old-timers, headed by a man whose name was once a famous one, were playing a sin- gle performance. Here would be a rea! minstrel show, with ail its old-time fiavor. The program was promising enough, with its note, which read, “presenting al that is near and dear to traditional minstrelsy,”’ and its long array of “comic ditties, ballads and songs of sentiment.” Alas! This minstrel show was like the roverbial Hamlet without the melancholy ane. Every tradition of minstrelsy was broken. The men sat in a semicircle, but that was all. They were in white-face and they wore powdered wigs. There was no trace of the familiar chord, or the com- mand, “Gentlemen, be seated!'’ Not once did the interlocutor address the end men as “Mistah Tambo” or “Mistah Bones.” They sang and danced and told stories pur- porting to be funny, but they did not give a minstrel show. t oeer. when questioned about the omissions, the leader of the troupe explained. They have to keep up to date, he said, and the show is so long that they have to leave out all unnecessary things. And this is one of four well-known min- strel shows still alive in the United States. So much, then, for the American minstrel boy. In the ranks of death you'll find him. eS el Tat eee eS Fa eet TA base en ta — COPYRIGHT BY C, 8. REEVES A Scene on the Columbia River, Oregon SE ae, ee ee — meen ee ee

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’ Mure THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THIS SIGN IS DISPLAYED BY PAINTERS WHO ARE AUTHORIZED TO PUT ON A MURCOTE FINISH Take your car to the Murcote painter for a quick durable job OUR car is part of your daily life. To lose it, even for a week, is a nuisance. For three weeks—a calamity. It interferes with business, throws you off your golf game, spoils a lot of fun. Drive your car into the Murcote painter’s shop and it will take him much less time to put on Murcote—— probably not more than a week. Murcote is a new kind of finish— not a varnish—the finish you have been looking for. This new kind of finish dries aimost instantly. The painter will put on all finishing coats in one day. ote ~a Moreover, Murcote possesses amazing durability, hardness, toughness and im- perviousness. Nothing seems to harm it—dried mud, biting sleet, baking sun. Every time you wash the car, Mur- cote is actually brighter than it was before. It is not sparkling at the start. It has a dull glow like the rubbed finish of fine furniture. But becomes steadily more brilliant. We are constantly asked, “Will Murcote take the place of the elegant March 7,1925 Murcote is sprayed on. Special equip- ment is needed. The leading automobile painters are equipped to apply Murcote coach finish to which we are accus- tomed?” It certainly will not. Noth- ing finer than a perfect Murphy Coach Finish will ever go on a car. Always providing you give it reasonable care. But if you daily abuse your car— drive it in all weather and on every kind of road, allow mud to dry on it, leave it parked for hours under broil- ing sun or rain, by all means have it refinished with Murcote. Its durability and steadily improving beauty will astound and delight you. If you don’t know a painter who displays the Murcote sign, we can direct you to one. It will pay you to learn about Murcote. Write for the facts. Murphy Varnish Company Newark, N.J. nn & acai aeeelih inet Murph a Finish a ee oe ELT: SOLE EY EOE TS,

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a SYED ee 7 ee oe F eiliams ma ee ee a ee a THE SATURDAY GO TO THE FIRE ANT (Continued from Page 15) have known of the letters, yet there they lay. When he was through he stood back to look over his work. Then, wiping his sweated brow, he snatched up his kit case and ran. Sarah found him five minutes later hunting ants’ nests along the edge of the brush halfway to the house. aw HE finding of the looted mail marked a change in Rodney, almost as if it had constituted its cause. The change was to be reflected in his next letter to Barrett. It was to be reflected also in his clash with King Tyler. Rodney had his first sight of King Tyler that same Thursday evening, when the absent neighbor drove up as they sat at supper. That the young man was on good terms with the family became at once ap- parent. Mullen told him he was looking well. Sarah set out another plate. Her mother brought forth a pint jar of ex- tracted honey from her little store. “Take it with you,” she said. “Sage honey under our own label.” To this welcome Tyler responded some- what ungraciously, mingling his perfunc- tory greetings with sidelong hostile glances at Mullen’s boarder. Mullen, puzzled by the mood, talked about the roads; Rodney had been with him so long he did not con- nect his presence with it. Sarah, more sen- sitive, felt the instant antagonism. “We have Mr. Brooks out here with us to study ants,’’ she hastily explained. She was wrong. Rodney had been with them to study ants, but he was not now. “Ants,”’ replied Tyler in an odd, hard voice. “That's getting you out on the ice. Fifty below, and still falling.” “I’m studying them myself,” she said. ““What does he pay by the ant?”’ She flushed, but did not reply. Rodney looked down at his plate. Tyler again glanced at the thick glasses and shuddered inwardly; then, forcing himself to appear indifferent, he changed the subject. Later, when he and Mullen went out to the car, he spoke with his tongue in his cheek of the stamp clerk and his ants. The echo of this, through Mullen, reached Cholla at noon the next day—that is to say, on Friday, as I have stated at the beginning of this story. Rodney on his part wrote Barrett that Tyler had manicured hands. He spoke of him rather fully. He also told of finding the mutilated letters in Mullen’s cow barn. He did not see why they should have been hidden thus, since they might better have been burned, and thought they should be left where they were. “T can’t prove it on him,” he concluded, “and you told me not to anyhow; but I have a hunch this man Tyler knows a lot about that loot. He looked worried. I have a hunch they’ll soon be changing the baby’s crib.” Which, of course, was jumping at con- clusions through plate glass. Sarah had stolen up to their knoll to see what Rodney was doing with his kit case. She watched him in silence as he stowed away his bottles and cotton batting, his trowel, his electric torch. He added his automatic pistol, but later he transferred this to his pocket, as he did also the torch. The time was late afternoon. “Why the burglar’s outfit?”’ she asked. “Oh, hello!” Her appearance was un- expected. ‘“‘That’s for night work, Sally. Remember what I told you about ants that hunt in the dark? I’m on the track of some.” “With a pistol?” “That's for mountain lions.” “Lions! Night work—when?” “T haven’t decided.” “T want to go along,” said Sarah. “Can't take you. Wouldn’t do at all.’”’ “Oh, piffle!’’ she snorted. “You can see that yourself.” “T can’t see it myself. Why wouldn’t it do? If I’m good enough to go out with you away from people during the day, why can’t I at night? What difference does a pint and a half of daylight make?” “Ask your mother,” said Rodney, shift- ing the onus. “If she says I can go, will you take me?” He hesitated. ‘“‘Yes; but she won't.” “When are you going to start?” “Not before eleven. I don’t want to get to the field until about midnight. Only have two battery cells.” “Where do you hunt?” she asked then. “It won’t do; simply can’t be done.” “If I’m to ask my mother, I have to know, don’t I? You can’t get very far on foot in an hour. It isn’t down on the desert, because we’ve been all over the part you could reach. Keep your secret. I know already. “In the morning I'll show you what I’ve found.” The moon, being new, had set early. Overhead stretched the tight fabric of des- ert sky, pin-pricked by uncounted stars, from which streamed soft, shadowless light, until that which was darkness became a dim, visibility peopled with fornis without line. Photographers make use of this desert starlight to load their plate holders, some- times a little nervously. The kangaroo rat fills his cheek pouches by its aid. His enemies, the kit fox and the owl, use it. Moths use it. The nighthawk uses it in catching them. Rodney waited until the sounds of eve- ning were displaced by those of middie night, then softly rose. In the distance somewhere a coyote struck up his mixture of yelps, gulps, barks, growls and wailings. Up the cafion a mountain fox burst forth. He had no preparations to make. Steal- ing noiselessly down to the wash, he crossed it, then softly struck out along the road to the right. Few people walking alone in the mountains at night do so with shouting and song. Rodney did not. He found Sarah a quarter of a mile far- ther on. She stood in the road, but because she wore dark clothing he did not see her until teo late to avoid the meeting. “I'm here,”’ she announced. He did not reply; she knew he was displeased. “ My mother didn’t tell me not to, so I came, she said then. “I'm erie ’ he told her. Lad Oh, ” “Why. did you do it, Sally?” “Don’t be a goose! I shouldn’t have slept a wink, and you know it.” “You can’t go, and that’s the truth.” “T heard you the first time. You've laid down the law. I can’t go, you say. That lets you out. You tried to keep me from going, but I went anyhow.” He debated whether to turn back, but Sarah told him she meant to hunt ants whether he did or not. “I promised my little finger,’’ she said. “We'd like to have you along, but suit yourself.” “Alone at night in the mountains?” “Why not? You were going.’ He made a swift war in his plans. He and Sarah would hunt for night ants in a spot he knew, then they would return home. Later he would steal off by himself upon his widely different route to see what he could see. They had been talking in low tones; as they began walking up the cafion they fell into silence. After a while they came to the side cafion leading to King Tyler’s place. His road struck through the brush a few yards, crossed the wash, then wound pe this steep cafion. Rodney hurried past, although there was no occasion, for Tyler’s house stood nearly three-quarters of a mile from the junction. ‘Here we leave the road,”’ he whispered a little later. Softly parting the brush, he began edging his way through its dust- laden foliage. He might have crushed it back, but the silence of the cafion forbade. A little later he came to the edge of the wash. The next moment he had > upon the open sand under the stars heir ants lay just beyond. These they were destined not to reach. “What is it?”’ she whispered at his shoul- der “ Hush!” She slipped past him to look for herself. Blocking their path, so close that either could have reached forth and touched it, stood a high-powered touring car, headed upstream. “re Tyler’s car was a roadster. The car seemed unoccupied; but its pres- ence, combined with the circumstances of the finding, struck Rodney sober. “They may be booze runners,” whis- pered Sarah, sharing his sense of danger without knowing why. “I think not. Wait for me in the brush while I see.” “We'll both see.” “Neither of us,”’ he said, drawing back. EVENING POST ECL? SH FINE WORKMANSHIP B ENI ee DEPENDABLE QUALITY THE CONNECTING LINK BETWEEN THE ELECTRIC STARTING MOTOR AND THE ENGINE e Mechanical Hand that Cranks Your Car ECLIPSE MACHINE COMPANY ELMIRA, N. Y. : ECLIPSE MACHINE COMPANY, Ltd. ZA Bi WALKERVILLE, ONTARIO Ser? ee

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The voices drew nearer. | the darkness. | saw that their footprints would be noticed. | In that case no one could foretell the out- | come. The thought of Sarah tightened his | muscles. “T intend to stay,” she whispered, al- though her knees even as she spoke were shaking until she could hardly control her movements. “Then be quick and careful.” Rodney ought never to have rested until Sarah was back where she belonged; but not knowing how to get her there, he let her join him. A swift survey told them that the car was a new Sommers. Its radiator was still warm, indicating use within an hour. Both license plates were missing. It was when they came to look inside, however, that their adventure showed its teeth. On the rear seat stood a picnickers’ lunch chest; it meant nothing just then. But in the pit beneath lay two objects, gray with dust, that both instantly recog- nized. Rodney turned his flash on them to make sure. “They beat me to it,”” he thought. “Come away quick!” Sarah whispered, cold with fear. “You go; I'll follow. I have to mark the P “T’'ll stay and light you,” she made her- self say. “Did you see?” “Yes; registered mail.” “Two sacks filled with money,”’ he said. ‘Loot from the Moreno Cafion hold-up.” “ Listen!" A breath of air brought the sound of low voices from Rylie’s Road; then it was not heard. “Into the brush! I'll join you.” “We'll go together,” she repeated. They bent down over the front of the hood. “Parallel lines across a triangle,” she heard him whisper. “ Remember it, for we He had already drawn and opened his knife. With its point he now swiftly etched in his design across one of the curves in front, but so low as not to be seen unless Sarah shaded the torch while he “Run!” she whispered, snapping off the | light. Their danger was increased by Rodney’s loss of his knife. He was trying to close it without noise, holding the handle in one hand and the blade in the other, when somehow it oozed from his grasp, his frantic snatch for it merely sending it farther into If the knife were found he They slipped softly across the sand, “oer the bushes, pressed in among them; ut because they had to move cautiously, making no noise, they could not penetrate their tangle far. “Crouch against the ground,”’ he whis- pered, with a gleam of Mullen’s own good common sense. ‘“‘Keep face and hands covered. They may turn their light this way. fe himself drew his pistol. If they were discovered he meant to send Sarah down the road while he made a diversion from the brush above. As it happened, Sarah came near to be- traying their presence in advance of dis- covery. One of the party stood so near she could smell the odor of tobacco mingled with perfumery from his clothing. Had she extended her hand she could have touched him. She held her breath; if she could have done so she would have stopped the beating of her heart. When she again began to breathe he had pressed against a bough of deer brush, sweeping a spray of leaves too close to her nostrils, and the dust on them almost strangled her. She made no noise, but it was only her terror that saved her. But the lights were not turned on. No one oe on the truant knife. The driver began backing the car down the wash in the darkness. The man who stood nearest moved away. A moment later a door was heard to click as he climbed into his seat, then another door, and a moment later stillanother. The car departed so smoothly those listening could not be sure it had gone until its gears clashed faintly in falling into second at the junction. “They went down the cafion on compres- sion, without lights,” whispered Sarah. “That driver knows the road.” “Four men,” replied Rodney. “Yes. From King Tyler’s cafion.” He stole back with the torch, recovered his knife, smoothed out their footprints; and Sarah did not insist on helping him. EVENING POST Then they edged through the brush to the road and he disguised their tracks there. “The wind in the morning might scrub our floors for us, but we don’t dare take chances. We haven’t any to spare.” “I wish you'd tell my father about this, Rodney. Never mind about me. Tell him just how it happened, and what we saw. I think he ought to know.” Rodney’s manner became stern almost to harshness. Barrett himself could not have spoken more impressively. Almost she did not know him. “That would be murder,” he said. “If you love him, never so much as hint to your father what you have seen this night.” “Why not, if they’re bandits?” “He carries his thoughts in his face. Your father couldn’t hide his knowledge that a man was a rascal if his life were at stake. They'd shoot him down. You, too, and your mother, if they suspected you of knowing. You're such a bully little actress yourself, you don’t understand that other people may not be. These men are killers. If they’re caught they'll be hanged. Do you suppose they'd stick at another murder?” Sarah looked at him wonderingly, but the soft starlight showed her only that he was standing by her side. “I don’t believe you’re out here just to study ants,” she said at last. “T'll do exactly as you say,” she added. ar HE distance in narrow direction across the Cholla basin is nearly forty miles, and the slope is such that from the rim every foot of the floor seems visible. In the foreground the soil is dotted with bunches of stipa and fescue, tarweed, greasewood, and the artemisia that tourists know as sagebrush. Farther down, these give way to the tree-yucca, cactus, bush juniper and associated forms, compacted into a forest- like black central jungle, the sharp edges of which can be traced almost to the horizon. This yucca belt is neither so dense nor so smooth of surface as it looks. It includes dunes, ridges, weathered knolls. In its siltlike soil the floods of winter have started coulees, or, spreading wider, have strewed the floor with deadwood and rubbish. As the germs of decay act slowly on the desert, some of these tangles are black-old. None of this can be seen from Mullen’s; but from the knoll above, a narrow view of some of it may be had through the open gate of the cafion. Rodney rose after sunrise, as was the Sunday custom. When he had dressed he found Mullen waiting for him. “Get together your stuff,” said the stage driver. ‘You're going to town with me. I decided it last night. It was King Tyler who had decided it. Mullen merely wished to be obliging to a respected neighbor. Tyler had called the night before in a fighting mood, with his wrists and hands badly stung by ants. The stings were comparable only to those that Rodney and Sarah had suffered the day of the sand storm. He showed his wounds openly, but he made his charge in private to Mullen. A band of a cutthroats, said, had escaped to his place and stung im. “A man is entitled to notice,”’ protested Rodney. “Thisis your notice. Weleave at eleven.” “T've paid in advance, you know, up to Wednesday.” “You'll get a refund,” Mullen told him. Rodney met his eyes. “I'll tell you, dad. Take me down to that nest of fire ants on the way to town and rll let it go. I need eight more red ants. He did not say that he wished to see whether Tyler had found this nest or an- other, nor that he wished to see what he had done to it to rouse its occupants. Mullen agreed to make the detour. He would have agreed at that moment to dig out the ants himself, and bottle them too. He knew that Rodney liked him. His own dislike, never deep-seated, had nearly faded out, and he did not find this dismissal of him pleasant. Sarah received the news with disturbing calmness. Mullen had expected her, as he phrased it, to throw a cat fit. She did not even plead with him to reconsider. When he brought the car to the door, however, he learned that she and her mother intended to go along. “Tt’s Sunday,” said Sarah; “and besides, I want mother to see the fire ants.” Rodney quietly vetoed the side excursion. March 7,1925 “For two men, yes; but not with women a, “Oh, piffie!”’ cried Sarah. She threatened to seek out the ants by herself; but as she saw, the distance was too great, and the heat, and the going too rough. When Rodney would not yield, she subsided. The sun grew hotter, the glare from the caked gray soil more blinding. The heated, motionless air ahead lay on the road in layers, so that it magnified the view ver- tically, like flawed window glass, until a clump of greasewood became majestic petanes or reduced it vertically until the background of yuccas and junipers faded into stretches of dancing water. The Cholla at noon is always shimmering with minor mirages. After a while they entered the yucca forest. Time passed. Progress was slow, for the desert road to Cholla was not so much traveled as the Crest Road. Sand and the winds had gnawed into it; cloud- bursts had clawed at it here and there; but the bunch grass had respected it, and it re- mained a road. Mullen, seated beside Rodney, was won- dering what he would do if he had to drive this road on a schedule, when suddenly he heard that young man cry out for him to stop. “What’s loose?”” he asked, jamming down the brake. “Ants,” said Rodney. Mullen did not see them at first, but Sarah saw them. She had explained to her mother that all desert ants retire to their nests between eleven and two, and if they do not they have important work in hand. These ants were crossing the road just ahead in a thin red ribbon. Rodney leaped to the ground, and Sarah was out almost as soon. “Fire ants!’’ she cried. Then, as the other examined them—‘‘Are they, Rod- ney? “What you call fire ants—yes.”’ She watched his interested features; that which she did not say would have surprised him had he known what it was. In part it consisted of worshipful admiration. That which he did not say might have surprised her, likewise, had she known. As she had told him, he had not come to the Cholla just for ants. At first they had held most of his interest, but more lately they had held little of it. Yet suddenly, even as she watched, he forgot the car in the wash, the four men, his own grave warnings, King Tyler’s dreadful stings, and became again the ne nig on ants. She saw the light on his face, had seen it before in the field, et did not understand. Instead she be- ievedc he had known of these ants all along, and had come straight to them. “You and mother stay in the car,” she told Mullen softly. The nest, like that earlier one, consisted of craterlike mounds opening underground at the center. The larger of these had been disturbed recently, but not the caked soil surrounding it, and in a circle only a few inches across. The injury had been re- paired. Rodney paid no attention to this. Plac- ing a vial in the first of the craters, he thrust it down the opening with a lead pencil until its edge came level, waited until a few ants tumbled in, closed it with cotton, then flipped it out from beneath, all in usual manner. When the guards, if such there were, understood what had hap- pened it was too late. “A nest variety, I think,” he said. The ants continued at work, one column bringing in fresh cargo, the other departing empty-handed for another load. Rete followed them back to the highway, then with his eye into the yuccas beyond. What they carried did not much matter. The treasure of the ant is not the treasure of man. Yet because he was in the field, interested and watchful, he let them lead him farther. This interest spread to Sarah, and she likewise forgot King Tyler’s stings in the glow of field research. Suddenly he strode forward a few yards and bent low over a knot of ants on the gray sand. Sarah was almost as quick. Neither had to look twice, yet they did not at once rise. . “Odd thing, that,’’ said Rodney at last, as if to himself. “Odd,” said Sarah. The human significance of what they had seen expanded, and their student’s in- terest in the ants diminished, until they were back in the starlit cafion. Their eyes (Continued on Page 129)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 » . a ee - =~ ~~ = 4 it } if y ot ¥ i Does your town fulfill your dreams? These facts and figures indicate how you can help THE officials of your town, looking ahead and plan- discovered. In 1915 this town planned for fire-safe schools, se- jt ning for a better and more attractive community, _ lecting the most modern forms of construction. All schools built 1a need your encouragement. These guiding facts, col- under this plan make liberal use of concrete in various forms i lected by the Lehigh Portland Cement Company, monolithic concrete, concrete block, cinder concrete block, and 3 will indicate how you can help secure improvements _ pre-cast concrete for trim. Every possible precaution was taken , that will bring permanent satisfaction. to ensure fire-safety and to prevent needless expenditure of the A reputation for good schools is a great town builder. It town’s money for maintenance. Since 1915, the population has brings a desirable type of newcomers, as Ridgewood, New Jersey, increased 40%, and as an indication of the type of @@ygpy

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Continued from preceding page March 7,1925 newcomer, it is esti mated 95°% of the resi dents now own their own homes. When building new schools in your town, remind your school board there are 5 school NEW FIREPROOF fires every day, includ- ing far too many se- SCHOOL Your wi UNDER rious disasters. CONSTRUCTION children will be safe in schools when founda tions, floors, sidewalls and partitions are of fire-safe concrete. Concrete highways save your money Tell the officials how you feel about the roads in your community. Encourage them to build for permanent satis faction. Here are some facts you can quote them: Experiments by the lowa State Highway Commission have definitely established that concrete construction pays foi itself in from 8 to 15 years on any street or highway where the traffic is equivalent to 420 Fords per day. Annual maintenance charges on concrete were found to average $87 less per mile than on other types of construction, Gasoline consumption and wear on tires over concrete roads were also found to range from 33% to 50% less than on the gravel and dirt roads. Sag Harbor, N. Y., found another advan tage in concrete pay ing. This historic Long Island village laid a concrete pavement on Main Street. A remarkable increase in business resulted. People who previously patronized surrounding communities now purchase their supplies from Sag Harbor merchants, while the “movies” and hotels have been taxed to capacity. Bring permanent satisfaction into your home After all, your community is judged by the pride you and your neighbors take in the appearance of your homes. Always build for permanent satisfaction and the pleasures and advantages of owning your own home will not be marred, or lost, through unnecessary, heavy repair bills. Like anything else worth while, when you buy, build or remodel your home, you take risks. You may lose its pleasures and advantages through poor construction. Its economies may be turned into heavy expense, starting the very first year and increasing as time goes on. Make cer- tain of permanent satisfaction. Avoid heavy, unnecessary repair bills. If not quite satisfied with your home, a few easily-made improvements can change discontent into real satisfac- tion. Improvements make surprising additions to the re- sale value of property —simple improvements like stuccoing or building concrete walks, concrete steps, concrete drive- ways, concrete garages and other suggestions you will find in the list at the right of this page. How to get permanent satisfaction, whatever you build [1] Get dependable materials Reputation for dependability has made Lehigh Cement the largest-selling cement in the world. Last year, contractors, engineers, architects and owners used over 68 million sacks. In buying building materials remember this point: The dealer who insists on carrying Lehigh for you, often does so in the’ face of constant pressure to offer you the “‘just as good’ brand. Is it not reasonable to expect a dealer of this type to protect your interests in other ways also by handling a line of thoroughly dependable materials? Let the blue-and- white Lehigh sign guide you to a reliable dealer. [2] Get competent workmanship Even with the best materials you can get poor results unless you secure competent workmanship. A good contractor will save you money through skillful building economies. He will put quality both where it can be seen at the start and also where it will be noticed for its low repair expenses in the years to come. A point to remember in choosing a contractor : The contractor who insists on dependable materials is likely to hire competent help and to put skill and dependability into all that he does. LEHIGH PORTLAND CEMENT COMPANY ALLENTOWN, PA. Buffalo Mason City, lowa New York Kansas City Omaha Look for this blue - and -white sign, known from coast to coast, the mark of the reliable dealer. He selis perna- nent satisfaction. BIRMINGHAM, ALA. Pittsburgh SPOKANE, WASH. Philadelphia Minneapolis CHICAGO, ILL. New Castle, Pa. Boston Richmond LEHIGH Pn © =9.72 8 =a Is Oe THE NATIONAL CEMENT 16 Mills from Coast to Coast Make Concrete of LEHIGH CEMENT for Permanent Satisfaction ( » Marks home uses) Alleys—to clean up eye-sores Barns—to save paint bills Benches and sun dials—for beauty Cellar floors—to keep dry, clean Chicken houses—for low-cost service Cisterns—to keep water pure and soft Clothespoles—éo prevent rot Coal pockets and storage elevators Sor low upkeep and insurance Cold-frames and Hot Beds— Sor early plants Drains—for permanent improvement Driveways—for appearance and low upkeep Factories—for quick, safe construction Farm buildings and improvements— (ask for our special farm book) Fence posts and rails—so save money Floors—for economy Footings—to save old buildings Foundations—for permanence Fountains—for attractive appearance Garages—/for greater fire safety Garage floors—for highest utility Gate posts—-to avoid repairs Gutters—/or better drainage Highways—for permanent, low upkeep Homes (ask for our special home book) Lamp and sign posts Sor beauty and utility Office buildings —/or s/ow depreciation Pavilions and bandstands Sor permanence Pergolas—for ornamentation Porches and porch posts—for economy Remodeling— for charm, comfort, value Roof (tile) for beauty and low upkeep Sand boxes and wading pools— for clean, permanent playgrounds Schools—to protect children’s lives Septic tanks—to prevent sickness Sidewalks—to keep houses clean Stairs and steps—for permanence Stucco—for beauty and low upkeep Swimming pools—for clean swimming Tennis copurts—for accuracy, dryness ' Tree surgery —fo save good trees Urns and flower boxes—/for decoration Walls—/for permanent protection Warchouses—to prevent fire loss Water tanks—/o protect water supplies Well covers, linings and platforms— for permanence and protection FREE booklets! If you want information on any of the above, check the subjects in which you are interested, sign your name and address, and mail to us or to your Lehigh dealer. You will receive, free of cost, our bulletins and booklets contain- ing complete details.

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(Continued from Page 126) met. She read in his eyes that he was afraid for her, that he wished her away. “I won’t go,” she said. “Can you see?”’ Both peered sharply into the yuccas ahead; then he asked her if she could fetch her father without alarming him. “TH stand guard. It’s probably noth- ing. She stopped on the way to the road, glanced back over her shoulder. Rodney was kneeling beside his opened kit case. She thought she saw him transfer his black pistol to his coat pocket. When she re- turned with her father he was again on his feet, his eyes on the yuccas ahead. He began asking Mullen hurried, whispered questions. “Anybody living near here?” “Couldn’t be. No water. Why?” ““Any campers, do you think?” “You know yourself how this desert is for camping. Why?” “Take a look at that brown thing they’re lugging home,” said Rodney, pointing to the knot in the line. Mullen bent down. “Oh, that! That's only a piece of | bread crust. What did you think it was? “Bread crust. What’s bread crust doing at the center of Cholla Desert?”’ “Somebody in a car must have thrown it out,”” Mullen thought. “He had a peach of an arm,” said Sarah, “to land it beyond those yuccas. 3 “IT wanted you to know,”’ Rodney went on. Had he been with anyone else, or had Mullen seemed less capable of dealing with Sarah, he would not have said quite this. “I’m going into the yuccas to see. Get the women into the car and drive on. I'll give you five minutes. If you hear shooting drive to Cholla for help.” “You're crazy,” said Mullen, very sen- sibly. a have my pistol.”’ “He is,” agreed Sarah. ‘I brought my pistol too.’ ” She patted the pocket of her jac ket. “I’m going along.” “Oh, no, you’re not!” ‘Either with you or alone. “This pistol play would be funny,” Mul- len said, “‘if it wasn’t so foolish. Both of you are crazy. You don’t know any better, but Sally does. Why the pistol? What scares you? What has a pistol got to do with a bread crust?’”’ “That’s what I want to ask.’’ Sarah felt that they were losing time. ‘‘ Let me follow the ants. You two men drive on a ways with mother. If you hear shooting, don’t drive to Cholla for help, but come back. I’m a peach of a shot.” Mullen saw the humor of falling in be- hind Rodney and Sarah with their pockets filled with pistols. His wife, who had mean- while arrived, thought that action was de- manded on the part of someone. “‘Somebody may be lost, without water,’ she said. Rodney wished he had never seen the bread crust. Sarah did not wish that, but she wished she had seen it first. The party moved forward slowly. The ribbon of ants did not waver, neither did it branch. They passed round one group of yuccas, struck through the heart of another, crossed an open patch of gray sand, descended a shallow terrace to a flat that held water three days in the year. A few feet farther the head of the line again bent low to inspect a knot of ants. THE SATURDAY ““What do you make of this?” he asked. ‘Bologna sausage,”’ replied Sarah. “The kink at the end of the link.” All began talking in whispers, if only from a sense of mystery. Again they moved forward, making no noise. The ants led them past a dead juniper bush, then a mes- quite. A little farther on they came to a tangle of drift in a minor wash between two ancient dunes. The ants disappeared into this, and as far as they could see, did not emerge on the farther side. “Why don’t you shoot?” asked Mullen. Sarah silenced him with a look. Rodney began softly taking down the drift, stick by stick; and after a moment the others gingerly helped him. The stuff was loosely laid. They dragged forth a limb of weath- ered yucca, then a splintered shaft of oak, blackened into charcoal by the sun during the years of its journey from the moun- tains. Suddenly Rodney darted forward upon an empty glass jar, inside which ants were clingi ae ’s for your trouble, Mrs. Mullen.” “The mystery is solved,’’ replied the lady. “‘ King Tyler left this; he must have, because I gave it to him ‘only Thursday night. The crust of bread, of course, came from one of his sandwiches. I think he may have been looking for a water hole for his cattle, when he brings them in.” “Let me take it, mother,” said Sarah. ““Wonderful!"’ mocked her father. Rodney went on lifting away the drift, Mullen, amused, assisting. Entombed with the glass jar lay the remains of a luncheon— fragments of cake and sandwiches, peach stones, waxed-paper wrappings. The re- moval of a great matted juniper bush fol- lowed. When the dust died down, Mullen’s tol- erant chuckle died with it, for suddenly he saw. Protruding from beneath what was left of the drift, unmistakable, needing no comment, peeped the twin tops of two fat United States mail pouches, their registry tabs still attached. ““*Go to the ant,’”’ said Rodney softly. “The rest you will find in your cow shed, beneath a pile of lumber.” “T knew it!” cried Sarah. “King Tyler!” said her mother. Rodney’s voice again became stern al- most to harshness, and at the same time he threw open his coat, displaying the badge of his authority. “T take charge of this thieves’ plunder on behalf of the Government,” he announced. But Mullen could only stare at them with open mouth, like a man struck dumb. iv HEY were visiting on the station plat- form with the Pogonomyrmex family namely, of ants, whose place was near the tracks in the best part of town. At their right stood the Crest Road stage. Two and one-half million dollars is a good deal of money to leave lying under the seat, but Mullen had thrown a robe over the pouches to keep off the sun, and when the agent came a wire would be sent so as to catch Number 3. For a while nothing happened, except that a Pogonomyrmex fell over the edge and had its head bitten off by an Aphwno- gaster. Then everything began happening at once. The olen ter-of-Paris nest fell apart at a hidden crack. Before the flaw was no- ticed the rest of the Pogonomyrmex cap- tives were following the first ant over the EVENING POST edge, as ants will do. Other Aphenogasters | came up in support. Everybody began | stridulating, as an ant would say, to every- body else. When the fray ended the Pogo- | nomyrmex strangers were in flight, the Aphenogasters in possession of the field, the murderer was dead—and Rodney was the poorer by three ounces of ants. But although he had followed these bloody events with attention, he was not thinking of them. Neither was he thinking especially of the tight bundles of yellow- backs under the seat of the stage. He was thinking how pretty Sarah looked. He was remembering her quick interest, her pride in the stings of the fire ants, her independ- ence, the intelligence of her, the trembling courage of her that night in the cafion. “Interest in life by the pound, but not the smallest sign of interest in her own kind” he would have said, had he phrased the deeper thought that kept him from feeling happy about any of it. She was a sensible girl. It might have been King Tyler. It might have been him- self, a stamp clerk on his vacation. Sarah was not thinking of ants either, nor of the bank notes. She was thinking of the thick letters to Miss Mary Faristune, | general delivery; thinking of them not regretfully, but as a friend. Rodney had | never told her about Mary. She had hoped | that he would. She hoped that Mary was as fine a as he deserved. Probably she was not. For she had long ahecas | that although Rodney wrote thick letters, he did not re- ceive them, nor even thin ones, daily. “The worst of it is,”’ said Rodney, speak- ing aloud to himself, ‘‘there’s nothing I can | do about it.” “You ought to stop writing to her for one thing; at least not write every mail.” “Stop writing to whom?” “That girl in the city,” “Mary Faristune.” Rodney — talking to himself long enough to weigh the statement. He found he did not understand it. “Why, what about her, Sally?” **You care too much for her for your own good. I mean, you show you care. You're going to lose her, writing so often.” “Oh, her!” “But you are! If she really cared— mean as much as you do—she'd show it I mean, if she cared already. She can’t help caring after you go back-—I mean, writing so often before, while you're sepa- rated. Now I've said it! Just the same, it’s true.” * But, Sally!” | “Mary Faristune ought to be given a | jolt.’ “You have this all wrong, Sally. Faristune “Thick letters, and you never missed a mail.” “But, Sally!” “Do you think I'd ever take flour by the | Do you | sack and give it back by the cup? r think I'd ever let a man write me thick letters until I could write thick letters back?” “I've never told you about Mary Faris- tune,”’ began Rodney. “You never have.” “But I’m going to tell you now.” “I don’t ask it. I don’t want to know.” “Mary Faristune is a little old lady in black who works for a man in the post office. I only met her once. She’s inter- ested in ants; in people too. That's how we came to write.” S, CALIFORNIA girl said Sarah. | Mary | After all hes a BOY! E’S going to do the things all boys do—climb fences, roll around, play hard, keep going and keep growing all the time. We haven’t forgotten what he'll do to his clothes. So Jack Tar Togs are made in fast-color fabrics to with- stand frequent washing, with buttons that won't tear off | and with ample room in the seams to let out as he grows. | This ‘reg’ lar feiler’’ wears Jack Tar Suit No. 1079— a noveity, side-button model in cadet, brown, | green or grey. Sizes 2 to 8 years Write for Spring Style Book For boys and girls Address Dept. P. 5.7 THE STROUSE sae Br Baltimore, Md., U

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i30 * How old de you call old?"’ asked Sarah. “Her age? Sixty-two or sixty-three, I should say.” She iooked at him much as she had done after seeing the knot of ants against the sand Their eyes met; she read in his eyes that what he wished was impossible. But she did not tell him she would not go. “Honest, Rodney?” “You ought to marry a man like my boss,” he told her. “I’m only a. clerk. I earn my living by selling postage stamps.” “Is that all’”’ “Now and then a postal.” “We're getting to be a real post-office family,” said Sarah. ‘ You sell them, dad carries them and mother cancels them.”’ “Family, Sally?” “If you mean it wasn't a proposal “But a stamp clerk!" “Then that’s settled. I'll be proud to. Honest, Rodney, | never was so happy in my iife!”’ ” I got back to the hotel about midnight, for it was after nine when we finally sat down at the Pagets’ to dinner. In this far north it is still very light at that hour. It was rather a trying day as far as the tact required toex- plain our ambassador and our general was concerned, but otherwise a very delightful one, LONDON, June 15, 1917. HF general lunched with King George and Queen Mary on Monday, the only other guests being the American ambassa- dor and his lady. That evening the am- hassador gave a dinner to the general, to which haif a dozen of us were invited; while at the embassy offices the remainder of the principal staff officers were invited to din- ner bY lesser officials of the embassy, all coming to the house of the ambassador later for a reception. The dinner at the embassy was served at two tables. General Pershing and myself were the only mem- bers of our party at the head table, and we sat down with an aggregation rarely equaled in the Eagih-epsakine world—or perhaps in any other part of the world—in its type of men. The American ambassador, of course, headed his own table, if any one can head a round takle. On his right sat David Lloyd George, the little Welshman, promi- nent before the war as a Radical, almost a red Radical, and now as Prime Minister, the practical dictator of the British Em- pire. To the right sat the cultured and ele- ant Arthur James Balfour, kinsman of the Marquess of Salisbury, under whom he ob- tained his first training in statesmanship, for many years Prime Minister of the Brit- ish Empire, cultured in every art and science that makes a gentleman in the rank to which this one was born. An aristocrat by birth and a Tory by training and education, he is new in his late sixties. General Pershing sat opposite the am- bassador, On his right was Monsieur Cambon, the French ambassador, and on his left the Rt. Hon. the Earl of Derby, the British Secretary of State for War. Cam- bon was the oniy foreigner present, assum- ing that Americans and British represent the same blood. He is one of the world’s able dipiomata. To the right of the Prime Minister sat Field Marshal Viscount French, and I was on his right. On my right was Major General Sir Francis lied. who commands the London district, a very distinguished-looking officer. On his right was Admiral Sir John Jellicoe, the little chap who commanded the British Navy at the beginning of the war. Our own American Vice Admiral Sims was to the right of the French ambassador, then Sir Robertson, the former stable boy, who is now the chief of staff of the British Army. We had called on him in the afternoon, and the-general had a very satisfactor half hour with him, While he was with him I was sitting at the feet, so to speak, of General Maurice, the chief of operations. Robertson is a rather unpolished man in the fifties. He is undoubtedly a strong man, else he could not have attained his place and held it, even in a country presided over by the radical Lloyd George. Robertson served eleven years in the ranks of the British cavalry, it is said, and then began his rise as an instructor in one of their THE SATURDAY Mullen told me they were to be married as soon as Rodney was free to return to his work. When that would be nobody yet knew; for Number 3, with Barrett and his squad, was not due until near midnight. Barrett was in charge of the hunt. I had reached Cholla earlier through doubling back from Hillerest onjNumber 9. I had seen the pouches aboard the train, then had joined Mullen to wait for Barrett. We were talking in the rear of the post office. “He’s a good boy,” said Mullen. “He sees better than you might think, consider- ing the thick glasses. I have nothing against him at all, except I wish he had good eyes.” “Glasses?"’ I asked, although he had spoken of them before. “Didn't you see? Saucers they are, and half an inch through at the edge.” I walked up to the stamp window. Rod- ney and Sarah were visiting with the post- master behind the partition. “Mr. Brooks,” I said. EVENING POST Rodney came over; whereupon, know- ing him well enough, and besides being in the registry division, I winked at him. “Yes, Mr. Hughes?” ” me see your glasses.’ He took them off—and instantly he be- came the stamp clerk I had known in Chi- cago. Yet tonight he was in vastly higher spirits; and he had about him something of the authority I remembered in the field—something of Barrett’s quality. Had he sold you one postal card you would have remembered him forever. It was that which I wished to see; but I looked through the glasses at the lamp, moving them from side to side across the line of sight. “T thought as much,” I said, returning them, for the lenses were nothing but plate glass. When next I saw Mullen the bandits were under arrest. He himself had captured Tyler. The others were nabbed in the city through the marked Sommers. LEAVES FROM Ai WAR DIARY (Continued from Page 31) schools in the Indian Army. As an instance of his lack of diplomacy, it is said that he was designated to notify General Sir, Hor- ace Smith-Dorrien of his relief from com- mand. Smith-Dorrien was a man who deserved well, perhaps, of his country, but one of the early commanders in France whom it was thought wise to replace after the retreat from Mons. It was desired to break the news to him with tact. This was Sir ¥. Robertson’s task, and he performed it by going to Smith-Dorrien’s room and saying, “Horace, you for ’ome!”’ To the right of Robertson sat General Cowans, the quartermaster-general of the British Army, and to his right the Boer General Smuts, now a British lieutenant general, a graduate of Cambridge, and one of the fiercest of the Boer generals while still a youth in his early twenties. At Cam- bridge the other day in a speech he is re- »orted to have said that in his youth he ante the British people, spending his school days among them, and could never have believed that he would ever fight them, but that later he did it; that at the end of the Boer War he could never have believed that he would fight for the British, but that he had done it. He reminds one a little of General Funston. Paris, June 17, 1917. N THE evening of our last day in England there was a state dinner at which the Prime Minister was to preside, at Lancaster House, where Lord Brooke said he used to play as a boy, it then belonging to his uncle. It is now an addition to the British Museum. We were invited “at 7:45 for 8:00 o’clock.”” There were six tables. The Prime Minister was fifteen minutes late— he can do that sort of thing, you know, and our general is no mean imitator. After the dinner had reached late middle life, a flunky in knee breeches and silver buckles stood behind Lloyd George and craved silence for the Rt. Hon. David Lloyd George, Prime Minister, who rose and said with gravity “The King,” and we all rose and looked down our noses into some valuable champagne and murmured, “The King.” All resumed their seats, and ten minutes later, when the dinner was ap- oho seen doddering old age, the knee breeches again craved silence for the Rt. Hon. David Lloyd George, who ruse and said, ‘The President.”” We all rose and did as before, substituting “‘The President” for “The King.” A few minutes later the diners rose and strolled about the rooms under ceilings that reached toward the sky. The Prime Minister ignified a desire to meet all the American officers at the dinner, and we were maneuvered into line and pre- sented. I parted with General Brooke and Major Kersey with much wae hey gave their entire time most unselfishly to making our stay in England pleasant, and accompanied us to Folkestone on the 5:40 train—a great deal for Englishmen who are never at their offices even in wartime until nearly ten o'clock, and who might stop a battle to take afternoon tea and toast. The trip to the sea was through lovely rural England—more trips with wife after the war. At Folkestone we went on board and said good-by to Brooke and Kersey, and with a convoy of destroyers steamed for Boulogne, where we arrived in about two hours, after a smooth voyage. At the Boulogne wharf we were met by a drove of French officers, a few British- ers—for Boulogne is a British debarkation port—and scores of newspapermen, and a regiment of French soldiers with their funny little steel helmets and whiskers of various types. The band blared out The Star-Spangled Banner, and we stood to attention for sev- eral days, it seemed to me, while the played it over and over. Even the general, who stands like a statue, growled over the number of times they played it. Then we had the Marseillaise several times, and then, our hands apt broken off at the wrist, we stood up to the gangway while a dozen fuzzy little Frenchmen came up. Each saluted the general and made a little speech, then side-stepped and was replaced by another until each little man had said his speech. The last was a big man with a sweeping mustache and the two stars on his sleeve which mark the French brigadier. His right hand was gone below the elbow; his chin and forehead were scarred. This was Genera! Pelletier, who once lived two years in San Francisco and knows English very well. He reported to General Pershing. He is a brave, simple-minded, gallant old fellow, now rapidly becoming a nuisance to us, his rank having to be con- stantly considered among us, and it being impossible to do business with the chief in his presence without telling him all of it. He has a bunch of attachés, for, like the British cousins, many French officers are keen to serve with the Americans. Colonel de Chambrun, great-grandson of Lafayette and husband of Nicholas Longworth’s sis- ter, is one of them. He is an artilleryman — speaks good English and a great deal of it. We were nearly two hours getting off from Boulogne. Representatives of all the branches of the French high command were down there, and the band played The Star- Spangled Banner and the Marseillaise. obody kissed us, though, and no one cried, though Sir Arthur Paget had said we were sure to be kissed and cried over. Lord French told me that when the French lost a trench, it seemed irretrievably, they would wait a day or two; then generals would come up and pull a lot of “‘ Mes en- fants” stuff, kiss a few men and cry about it, and then sally forth and take back the trench, adding that the first time he ever saw Joffre he found him in a tent weeping co- piously over the first German flag captured. We sta by rail at eleven, through much lovely country and saw sev- eral large British camps. Much politics is played , and the plan of who should go with whom in what carriage from the Gare du Nord was changed several times, possi- bly to divide the honors; several men rode with me on assignment cards who never actually got in the carriage. The last change was made after we got in the sta- tion; and Joffre, who, it appears, is now on the shelf but still strong with the people, was relegated from the first carriage, w he was to have ridden with the general, to the very outer rim of respectability by rid- ing in the fourth car—behind even me. any thousands of our Gallic allies crowded the station and the streets. My car was slow in getting out due to the crowd, and I qeullly lost sight of any in March 7,1925 “They say I’m in for a reward,” he told me. ‘ -_ hundred dollars in cash, a ” ““More real money than I ever had in my life. The son-in-law too.” “Yes. Ten thousand for the money pouches and a share in the other head money.” “They’ve taken him out of the stamps, he says.” “Barrett did that.’’ “But he’s still interested in ants. One question he asked me. Tyler was all stung up by fire ants that night. I told you about that. He wanted to know why they stung him. Or was that just accident?” “You ask Rodney what he’d do, not knowing fire ants, if he dropped a three- carat unset diamond and it rolled down a sloping crater into an ant nest.” “Tyler dropped it dividing up the loose stuff?”’ “Just that. He got stung digging it out.” front of me. It was 6:30 in the evening and the great mass of working people were out to meet us, as well as thousands of others. They cheered and shouted and wept as only a French crowd can do. One who oes his history can well imagine what it meant when Napoleon rode in from the wars, when the national tendency to hysterics was carefully fostered and staged. My carriage was half swamped in roses; shouts of “Vive l’Amérique”’ filled the evening air; people crowded near and el- bowed one another to touch my hand; pretty girls smiled at the old American soldier; and Colonel Count de Chambrun kept saying, ‘Salute, colonel, salute! It is for you!” Then a horrible fear seized me. I could see no other car in front of me. Had the general in some way got behind me, and was I being taken for him? It took all the joy out of life until finally, after our motor was smelling with heat from running so long on low, we reached the Hétel de Crillon in time to see him trying to force his way through the mass from curb to hotel door. In my room I found a huge bow! of roses, jonquils and other flowers, tied with the Star-Spangled Banner and the French tricolor. This is a princely place and I shall go to jail for debt if the general does not leave it soon. Next day forenoon was taken by a call at Les Invalides and a signature in the Golden Book. At 11:30 we called on a dumpy bourgeois-looking little ambassador, and at twelve some of us called at the Presi- dential Palace, a beautiful place built for La a a long, long time ago; the home of the gallant Murat during the First Empire, and now the executive man- sion. It is surrounded with very beautiful grounds, though in the heart of Paris. The president and his lady received us in a very large room, where our names were announced by a butler or a herald or an announcer. Soon we went into the very long dining room, a splendid room at which sixty of us sat at one long table, and a small army of flunkies dragged up French wines and other things. It was as beautiful a luncheon as I ever saw, perfectly managed, and very bountiful. For auld lang syne, I patronized the Chateau Yquem, and en- cored. I sat by an old Royalist—he told me who said he was asked only to show that the French stood united in their welcome to the Americans. The perfectly exquisite Sévres porcelain excited my cupidity, though I am not usu- ally very strong for porcelain except where it is useful. Course after course was brought in with porcelains that must be well-nigh priceless, and gold knives and forks finally began to be laid aside. The strawberries of France are splendid, are very large, so large that you take them off the plate one at a time with a fork and lay them on your plate. Sugar is served, and with the stems that are left on them you dip your berry and eat your way across it. I have been doing that since the first meal on the Baltic. Later we saw an exhibition of the avia- tion ground at La Bourget. Some hundreds of planes, and many in the air at once. At 6:30 certain ones due later to dine with the Minister of War called on the Minister of (Continued on Page 134)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST STETSON HATS | Styled for young men ’ ee mid Sg ea Te a — ’ - See Semen Se a ee — - ee _ 7; } / eg, ow ~ ee ee ae ay ee”, Sgt oe. - “= , The illustration shows the design of an original oil painting, which has been repro duced in colors on a card for display in the windows of all stores selling Stetson hats. FAOST young men today _ tohis hat. It isthe most conspicu- |know the importance _ ous part of his wearing apparel. =¥ of looking fit. The Be careful in the selection young man who dresses with of your headwear. When you taste has a decided advantage. buy a hat, select a Stetson. Its But—it issurprising howlittle _ style is right, its quality means thought the average man gives long wear. TE Athenee nape, PR Douche cee AP ntti te. a JOHN B. STETSON COMPANY + PHILADELPHIA ONE A - e e e

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132 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 0 ur Wuen you buy a storage battery, you make an invest- ment that should return dividends of pleasure for many years. Therefore, it pays you to buy wisely — to select batteries that bring out the best in your set, and that are of the right capacity to give you fine reception at the charging intervals that are the best suited to your convenience. The Prest-O-Lite Radio Chart tells you just how to select such batteries—how to eliminate guess- work and get storage batteries that are scientifically correct for your set. The recommendations of this chart are endorsed by the world’s largest electro- chemical battery research laboratories. For most sets the chart offers a choice between two sizes of “A” Batteries. Both give equally fine ee ba Ne. Tye ot of Tubes (see foot-note) UV-200 1 UV-200 1 UV-201A UV-201A 1 U-20e 5-Volt se Tubes UV-201A 1 UV-200 C-300 and UV-200 are interchange- 3 UV-201A et tll. C-M1A, DV-2 and UV-201A UV-201A are in- a — 1 UV-200 4 UV-2014 UV-201A UV-201A For sets ames cur- rent at a rate higher Copyriaint, 1925 . 3 amg . The Prest-t-Lite Go, Ime 3-Volt Tubes | i WD-11 WD-12 C-u c-2 215A 215N 1.1-Vole Tubes RADIO CHART How to fit'A and‘B’ storage batteries to your set reception but, as the chart shows, they vary in the days of service between chargings—figured on the average use of your set of three hours a day. You will find the larger-capacity battery most desirable unless facilities for frequent and easy charging are provided. EXAMPLE: If your set uses 5 UV-201A tubes, the chart recommends either a Prest-O-Lite 611 WHR or a 69 WHR, depending upon whether you wish to recharge every 22 or 17 days. Prest-O-Lite “B” Batteries serve two to four months without recharging. Combinations should be used that give the plate voltage recommended by the manufacturer of your set. If the specified volt- age for your set is go, for example, the chart recom- mends the use of two Prest-O-Lite 48 LRR's. Recommended Recommended Prest-O-Lite “A” Batteries Prest-O-Lite “B" Batteries _OOWHR | 22 1 2214-24 One 244 XRR —* @ . 45-48 One 48 XRR 611 WHR oy thin % _69 WHR | 29 font ae 2 One 48 XRR 1% 1% 90-96 Two 48 XRR - One 24 XRR 69 WHR 2 One 48 XRR 67 413 1% 2 Two 48 LRR “as oil . 611 RHR or — _69 WHR _ 69 KRL ERE 67 KPR__ 69 KRL PERL 69 KPR 45-48 Use combinations of LRR as specified above —}—— 90-96 for same voltage. 2214-24 On 45-48 | Use same XRR and e LRR combinations 43 MRR as above 7 as 67-72 for same voltage. 30 45-48 Use same LRR com- Two 43 MRR —-it 67-72 binations as above for same One | 2214-24 23 MRR Twin ; 45-48 Use same XRR and . ) LRR how sag a “4 |23MRR |]; 67-72 for same voltage. 1 90-96 “ 67-72 binations as above nv ) 45-48 Use same LRR com- 23 ) 90-96 for same voltage. Three "A 123 MRR 1% in Parallel For combinations of tubes not listed ; Use the same battery binati ded for tubes having voltage and current requirements similar to the tubes you have. NOTE: If you use a loud speaker operated from your “A" Battery, add 4% ampere to the total rated current drain of your tubes and then select a battery giving this total current consumption. This does not affect the selection of your “B" Batteries. Select “B" Batteries based upon the number of tubes used and voltage specified by the set manufacturer. Copyright, 1925, The Prost-0-Live Co., Ime. March 7, 1925

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 133 These batteries are specially designed to bring you better radio reception Your radio set is one of the most delicate instru- ments man has ever devised. Prest-O-Lite Batteries are made expressly to furnish the even, unvarying current absolutely necessary for the best reception. Plates of special structure and unusually porous separators insure its unhampered flow. Its con- struction and careful inspection are assurance against internal current leaks and short circuits. Smooth, sure and uninterrupted, the current reaches your tubes. Signals take on the sharpness only uniform current can supply. Amplification is clear. Volume good. Plenty of unfluctuating, easily controlled power helps to bring out the finest, purest reception your set can give. Prest-O-Lite Radio Storage Batteries are easy to recharge. They are sturdily built, and will, with proper care, give you years of unfaltering service. Handsomely finished, they are in keeping with the most beautiful sets. Best of all, they offer truly remarkable savings. Though standard in every re- spect, they are priced as low as $4.75 and up. Ask your dealer to show you the Prest-O-Lite Batteries that the chart guarantees are scientifically correct for your set. Or write us for a free copy of our interesting and informative booklet, “How to fit a radio battery to your set-—and how to charge it.” THE PREST-O-LITE CO., Inc. INDIANAPOLIS, IND New York San Francisco In Canada: Prest-O-Lite Company of Canada, Ltd., Toronto, Ont The OLDEST SERVICE TO MOTORISTS Ir 1s just as important to have a good storage battery for your auto- mobile as it is for your radio set. So, when it’s time to replace your present battery—and that may be right now —get a Prest-O-Lite. Prest-O-Lite Starting and Lighting Batteries are sturdy, dependable sources of unfailing power. Snappy, peppy, vigorous, they add to your driving pleasure. They are dependable and long lasting —initial equipment on an ever growing list of Amer 1ca's most famous cars. These splendid bat- teries offer you truly re- markable savings. Though standard in every respect, they are priced as low as $15.50 and up, Get your batteries wherever you see the Prest-O-Lite sign of “Friendly Service.” There are thousands of these stations—and they ali assure you the tradi tional quality and fair treatment of “The Oldest Service te Motorists.”

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134 (Continued from Page 130) Marine, a dried-up-looking little man, who looked as if eating one frog leg would make him look corpulent. At eight we dined with the Minister of War, Monsieur Pain- levé, a very attractive little Frenchman of some forty years. The long dining room was specially decorated for General Per- shing; priceless Gobelin tapestries on every wall; the corners filled with American and French flags in the proportion of four to one, stacks of cuirasses and sabers—now, I fear me, lining up with David’s sling and chain armor. The minister made a — in French se good that I could almost understand him, and the general replied in a few extremely well-chosen words. Next day we called on a dozen or so French generals, including Marshal Joffre, and later had luncheon with him and his lady at the Military Club. The crowds follow us everywhere, end Joffre and Pershing had to show themselves on the baleony repeatedly. At the Chamber of Deputies the afternoon before, after the luncheon with the Poincarés, the Chamber nearly went amuck over General Pershing, rising to their feet and cheering for ten or fifteen minutes, and time and again break- ing into speeches, to go off in hysterics again. After the Joffre luncheon a request eame for him to visit the Senate, and as politics is so evenly balanced here and per- meates everything, he had to go. Here the scenes of the day before were repeated and he received another long ovation, I have told him I am sure he could be elected king of France. After the Senate we went to la thirty dollars’ worth of flowers on the tomb of Lafayette. where the Marquis de Cham- brun, elder brother of the colonel, seized the opportunity to make a speech and nearly wept at his own eloquence. Yesterday morning we made a hasty call on the Minister of Aviation, and then motored to the headquarters of the real sol- dier—-Genera! Pétain. As Chambrun re- marked the day before when we were weary, dragging through the round of calls, “ These are all great men, but they are great men of the past. Wait until you see Pétain.” Pétain was a colonel when the war broke out. He is only a major general now, for the French have no grade above that except marshal, Pétain is an erect soldierly-looking man, bald, but originally with blond hair, wears a heavy mustache, walks briskly, and I should eatimate him to be about fifty-seven, the age of our chief. With Pershing, the luncheon included seven generals. General Pelletier was along, of course. Pétain had an engagement for the afternoon and we left soon after neon. He spoke of his satis- faction at our coming into the war and said “a seriously, “I hope it is not too late.” One hears many rumors of French regi- ments that have recently refused to go over the top, as they call leaving the trenches to advance against the Germans. Tweive men were shot recently, for example, and there is no doubt that the French morale is waning, as are their numbers. A people of about 40,000,000 have lost 2,000,000 men, end mourning is everywhere. It will be their fourth winter in the trenches. Coal is almost at a famine price. At the Crillon there is hot water two mornings a week, meat two days a week. We shall do well to increase as fast as the French are waning, and America may yet fight the Germans to the finish on French soil. Night found us at the Crillon. After a hasty dinner we went as guests of the gov- ernment to the Opéra Comique. Masses of people filled the-big streets in front; every seat had been sold, and how they did cheer the general! We had the President's box, a baicony box in the center. As we entered it every person in the immense audience atood up. On the stage, in front of a marine view, with American ships flying our flag in the foreground, stood a guard of marines and ctepied soldiers. A very handsome woman in white, with a large American flag, and a pretty French girl in the tricolor stood under the mourning bonnet of Alsace in front of the guard. The American sang The Star-Spangled Banner and it made tears come to your eyes and the little chills run up and down your spine. She had a superb voice, and took the high notes with- out a miss. She was encored time and again, and the big crowd stood and cheered to the echo, The French girl then sang La Marse- illaise, and did it well. Knowing it, the crowd joined in the chorus. It is certainly a stirring thing. At the chorus the little gir! drew an arme blanche and waved it THE SATURDAY while everybody sang, “Aux armes, cito- yens! Formez vos bataillons! Marchons!" and so on. The singing and cheering must have taken fifteen minutes, and the crowd stood and eyed the Americans in the box. It was something never to be forgotten. We are all living history. Nothing like it has ever been seen; perhaps it may never occur again. This country is well-nigh bled white, as our enemies put it, and our com- ing is hailed as the coming of the Lord. God grant that there may be no reaction in the months that must pass before Amer- ican flags fly in the trenches. Paris, June 19, 1917. UR American people are not, in my judgment, very keen for the war. They do not realize its perils. Losses in battle that also cost German lives they would under- stand; but if a troop ship or two is tor- edoed and a thousand or two American »oys are drowned like rats, I doubt if the President could hold them in line. It is almost impossible to keep things quiet. Three days ago I was handed a paper which told the date of sailing of our first convoy. I showed it to the chief and to no one else, and locked it in my safe. Yester- day Major L, my office assistant, came in from a visit to the French War Office, where he is on very good terms, and said they told him that the convoy had sailed such a time—exactly the information I had so carefully put in my safe. One of the things the chief is strongest on is silence on official matters. We paid a visit to Marshal Joffre this morning. Ten thousand currents and coun- tercurrents of politics are flowing through this capital. It isin the French blood. Some say a coup d'état would not be a very sur- prising thing, and that Poincaré is bound to go before long. Joffre is practically shelved. He has an honorable position as Marshal of France, the only one created since the Second Empire, but is shorn of any power except in an advisory capacity. Many things are sent to him for advice, and when he gives it, it is advice, not orders, and is not always taken. Since his visit to America he has haa a recrudescence, so to speak, and to play up to the American idea of his prominence he was named to col- laborate with General Pershing. That meant that if Pershing sought his advice he would give it, but be practically power- less to insure any actual codperation on the French side, which, boiled down, left him a sort of adviser to our chief—who has no thought of engaging any nurse for himself, not even so eminent a one as Joffre. He is anxious to show all possible respect for the marshal, and feels it, too, but is disposed to take his own time about it. The staff of the marshal are, of course, anxious to play up the old soldier’s im- portance and to make as much as possible out of the connection. His chef d’état-major approached me the evening of the dinner given by Monsieur Painlevé and asked when .I would talk with him on our codép- eration, I stood him off by saying it was not proper for us to take matters up be- tween us until our respective chiefs had had their initial conference. Next day he ap- prowane Bacon, whom he had known asam- yassador, and buzzed in his ear, sending Bacon to me. Next day he talked to Logan, and the following day approached Palmer, and lastly the “Cabinet du Maréchal Jof- fre’’ invited us all to luncheon at the Cercle Militaire. Today the general and I went over to see the old gentleman, which apparently pleased him very much, and we shall doubtless go again. Joffre is very strong with the French people. The politicians fear him as a pos- sible president. Pétain, who commands the armies and the military zone of a certain width behind the actual lines, is the strong man of the hour, feared by the politicians, the idol of the soldiers. He scarcely con- ceals his contempt for the civil powers. During our luncheon our general's visit to the French Chamber of Deputies was epehen of, and Pétain remarked with a smile that he had never seen the inside of the Chamber. General Pershing replied that he only went by invitation, and Pétain said, ‘Well, they would never invite me.” Almost every day some different Amer- ican mission turns up. Never in all history was there an opportunity for junkets so ex- ploited wy our busy people. Engineers of all sorts, railroads, foresters, scientific missions concerning standards, chemistry; every variety of charitable activity, and all with- out codrdination and in chaos, and adding to the heavy burdens of the gallant French. EVENING POST Apparently there is no one who applies to the powers who is not sent over, unless he be a soldier wishing to join an expedition. Everybody finds it easy except the sol- diers—charitable organizations insisting on tending the wounded, while hundreds of widows and orphans are in need of aid; misguided enthusiasts ——, for motor cars 2000 at a time, when the French have not gasoline enough to operate those they have; people bringing things to France that take up shipping room, when the most important thing in the world now, and that on which the victory will turn, is shipping. Two more missions blew in today. We are gathering in and trying to control all those that wear uniform, and they are quite numerous, of the O. R. C. kind. The honorable uniform of the United States is the cover for many varied motives and ac- tivities in la belle France. How sick of it all the fighting generals are! It looks to me, however, that, as the heroine remarked in If I Were King, “‘ Aman has come to court.” I think these various agencies will find themselves doing business soon under the headquarters of the American Expedition- ary Force. Paris, June 22, 1917. HEY tell an affecting little story of French soldiers. It seemed that some one of the various headless—or rather hydra- headed—charitable organizations operat- ing from our great country got its donations mixed, and a French regiment just out of the trenches, in place of some boxes of warm underclothing expected, got some children’s clothes. There was some idle jesting, some growling; but in the end that regiment built an altar, enshrined upon it the little garments designed for children whom they might never see again, and the whole regiment passed before it, and one at a time knelt and renewed their oath of alle- giance to fair France and the vow to expel the invader from her soil. Paris, June 24, 1917. LETTER came over from the War Office yesterday inviting the general to send several staff officers to a certain army headquarters, as work of interest was to take He designated Palmer, Collins place there. and me, and we are naveng this noon by rail for a four-hour and a forty-kilometer motor trip to headquarters Second Army at Souilly, where an attack is being prepared on Verdun. We are to witness the prepara- tion and the actual work, and may be gone two or three weeks. It is an inconvenient time for me—troops just about to arrive; just getting my office organized; Chauncey aker and his crowd just arriving; but I meyer it would be unreasonable to ask Pétain to postpone even a small offensive because I am not yet ready. So we i. I am picking up a little French slowly, and since the Hyde dinner last night I real- ize the meaning of “décolleté.” The necks were well selected, neither fat nor scrawny. I sat by Princess Lucinge, who, it appears, comes of the Terry family of Cienfuegos, Cuba, but was born in New York, though raised a Frenchwoman. She was nursin at Compiégne when the Germans occupi it in 1914, and when they marched back on the retreat after the Marne. She talked very interestingly of her experiences, but was subjected to no rudeness. The officers were polite to her then, though soldiers were even then beginning to enter private houses and demand food. I most enjoyed my talk with Mr. James Stillman, who is an extremely interesting old man. His father was a great financier before him. He himself happens to have been born at Brownsville, Texas, though of Connecticut people. His people owned the site of Fort. Brown, which was condemned to be bought by the Government in 1852 and | finally paid for in 1904. The price of $50,000 was pro! by the owners as too little, and the courts finally awarded $60,000, after $150,000 had been spent in lawyers’ fees. We are a dashing and businesslike people in our government transactions. Witness also the plaintive howls from the capital city to know what we are going to do with an officer when the general cables that he needs at least one more successfully to beat the Germans. Mr. Stillman says he knows the French well—he should, after fifty years. He says the Latin mind has kinks and turns in it unknown to ours, and the poli- tics, politics, politics! He says no t sol- dier can become commander in chief of the French Army. The politicians fear the Man on Horseback, and After the War is ever present in their minds. The soldiers are fighters, their methods differing from March 7,1925 ours; they must confide in their leader— probably true, though, of all races as well. But the politicians’ influence cannot be avoided in the choice of leaders. He sug- gests we be very careful—very careful! SoumLty, June 25, 1917. \ K JE WERE givena very thorough insight into the workings of the general staff of a French Army in the field, this morning. The chief of staff of the Second Army sent Colonel Guillaume, his first assistant, with us; and he spent the morning with us, and it was most interesting. The organization of it does not differ very greatly from the theoretical organization of our own, but of course theirs is standing the test of actual war and has expanded greatly in certain directions yet almost untouched with us. The development of their intelligence sec- tion, the perfection of their information regarding the enemy, the excellence and variety of information they get out on maps are almost a marvel. They will show you a complete map of the western front with the number of every German division tagged on it. They will tell you when the latest divisions arrived and whence they came; which divisions are resting behind the lines; which are in the trenches; which have come from the Rus- sian front, being replaced in that quiet region by tired divisions from the west. Their system of intelligence calls for an essay or a book rather than a diary of a day. One feature of the morning interested us very much. They told us the method of examining prisoners, and I had heard it before. I said we should like to see the real thing if opportunity offered. Pretty soon, when we had passed into another office, the major in charge of the prisoners’ examina- tions in the last branch visited came and said the Boches had made a little raid near St.-Mihiel and lost two prisoners and we were invited to witness the examination. As the captain said, “They’re pretty flat when first captured,” and seemed willing to talk a little in reply to questions. The first thing is take from them any papers or docu- ments they have. One of these had some postal cards and a little diary. He was a stolid-looking brute, as all one’s enemies always are, rather mussed up and dirty looking from trench life, and possibly from some manhandling he might have had inci- dent to his capture; but his face would light - with a heavy smile when answering. e was about twenty, I fancy, and a typical heavy peasant type. He was questioned on his ry oes other things, to test his veracity. ell, the interesting feature of his examination for me was when the in- terpreter, indicating Captain Collins and myself, asked him if he recognized our uniforms. He did not, but grinned a little when told we were Americans. He was then asked if he had heard that the Amer- icans were helping France, and said, ‘“‘Nein”’ ; then if he liked the idea of Americans taking part in the war. He hesitated a moment, and then replied, ‘For me, the war is over and it makes no difference.” VERDUN, June 26, 1917. DAY we ran into Verdun, where we were to have luncheon in the fortress, and passed a most interesting two hours there. The commandant, Colonel A. De- hay, had invited us. We passed through a long barracklike room, where many junior officers were eating, and at the end found a very cozy little mess room used by the colonel and four or five of his officers. It was brilliantly lighted by electricity. Several things attracted my attention. In each corner there was a cuirass, bearing on its face the eagles of the empire. Over the door wes a frame carrying the motto under glass of “‘Verdun: On ne passe pas.” On one wall a picture of a French soldier’s pave, the little cross with a chasseur cap anging on it, and beside it a dog in the moonlight with his head raised toward heaven. Yesterday Queen Amélie, the Queen Mother of Portugal, who is a Bourbon rincess, had visited the fortress and taken uncheon with the colonel, and they said 1 sat in the same chair at his right today. The queen had nothing on me! Captain de Galliffet, with some apparent pride, said of her, “She is still French.” They said that some time ago two French Bourbon rinces, brothers of the Austrian Empress ita, who are officers in the Belgian artillery, visited Verdun and said, “‘How we wish we were allowed to wear the French uni- form and fight with you!”” The luncheon (Continued on Page 137)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 > i>. RECOGNITION 7? Recognition is a thing that grows, gradually and surely, through the years. It comes as service is rendered. It is born of high business ethics, of experience, of fine ma- terials, and it becomes an asset more valuable than great factories. It is called Good Will. For twenty years this kind and quality of rec- ognition has been accorded the name AJAX. And now, at the end of these years, AJAX is stronger and greater, building better and more worthily than ever before. The ideals of the founders, established a generation ago, are still actively and whole- heartedly the ideals of AJAX today. There is nothing spectacular about these ideals. They are simple, old-fashioned standards of workmanship, which have guided the hands and hearts of good craftsmen for many centuries. To you, the tire user, they mean as much as they mean to us, for they have won and warranted your belief in the sound and consistent quality of AJAX products. AJAX RUBBER COMPANY, Inc. Y2LO West 57th St., New York City

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ae ew. a See Me «5 ge ae es pe nao = ——— (Continued from Page 134) was a very good one, and at the end Colonel Dehay toasted the American Army and flag, and I replied, ‘‘We drink to France, without whose aid 150 years ago we might not be here today,’ which seemed to be accepted as all right. After luncheon we spent two hours looking through the old fortress. Bunau Varilla said he wished to show me an example of fidelity, and took me in the engine room and showed me a big engine, which he said was a most wonderful example, having been started August 3, 1914, and never having stopped since. To this I lightly replied that I knew a better example of a bigger, better machine, and when B-V looked puzzled and doubt- ful, I said the French Army went into oper- ation August 3, 1914, and was still working. The French, through an interpreter, strikes one as extremely circuitous, and reminds one of that story of the Chinese interpreter in a court who, translating for a witness about a dog, was asked what color the dog was. After ten minutes of exchange of gut- turals, he remarked, “He say black dog,” whereupon the judge, who was in a hurry, said, ‘Thank God it wasn’t black-and- tan.’ However, the sounds are growing daily more intelligible. Paris, July 4, 1917. ODAY has been a day of days for Amer- ica and France. The War Office asked originally for troops for the Fourth of July and the fourteenth, the latter the Day of the Bastille. Then they wakened to the fact that they had other allies, who might wonder why Americans were invited on the fourteenth and they not. The British, the Portuguese; the Belgians;the Russians, now in a state of discipline where they have had to be withdrawn from the front line, and a captain can enforce no orders until the president of the company has visaed them— they are allallies like ourselves, not to men- tion any wandering Cubans, Japanese, Li- berians, Brazilians, Serbians, Rumanians and Montenegrins that might blow along, not omitting Italy, all of whom are enlisted in the sacred cause of democracy, like our- selves. So they decided to omit allied par- ticipation in the Day of the Bastille, and invite us for our own day. The general had gone to the coast and left me to settle our participation, so I de- cided on a regimental headquarters and one battalion, in order to get the colors and the band. When he returned he decided to bring a battalion of the Sixteenth, his old Kighth Brigade, with Colonel Allaire’s headquarters and one battalion. They came up on the third, were put up in French bar- racks and generally made welcome. The Y. M. C. A., with big rubberneck cars from the War Office, took them all over Paris in the afternoon, and the colonel kept them pretty well in barracks for the remainder of the day and the night. The program for today in general was a ceremony in Des Invalides at 8:45, followed by a march across the city to the Picpus Cemetery, where Lafayette is buried; then a luncheon by the American Chamber of Commerce to which officers of rank were invited; then a reception at the Sign of the Stuffed Shirt; and in the evening a dinner at D’Armenonville, a very attractive resort out along the Bois de Boulogne, given by General Foch, chief of the French General Staff. At 8:30 a French band about the size of our old constabulary band came into the courtyard at 73 Rue de Varenne, where we live, and played a reveille and fanfare— a very stirring thing. The general and one officer were to go from there to Les In- valides, where flags were to be presented, one to the 16th Infantry Battalion by the town of Puy, where Lafayette was born; one to the general by the Order of Cincin- nati, which has had a branch in France since the days of our Revolution. In addi- tion, the American flag borne by the American Volunteers in this war, now that the regulars are here and the Army is in the saddle, was to be deposited in the Invalides along with other battle flags of days gone by —besides perhaps the flags of Austerlitz, Marengo, Jena, and a score of others. Colonel de Chambrun and I and one or two others walked over to the Invalides, where officers not actually taking part were expected to stand, he said, and with diffi- culty made out to get in through the throng which already extended through the broad stretch-reaching toward the bridge of the Seine. The ceremony was to be in the inner square, the Place d’Armes of the Invalides, a big paved inclosure perhaps 400 feet on a side, with galleries all around it. All the galleries were full, even to the rounded windows away above them; people in every possible corner and hanging out of crevices. I had sent Mrs. Cameron two tickets which had been given to me, but did not know until later that she was there. On three sides of this big Cour d’Honneur were lined up the big upstanding men of the 16th Infantry, the missing side being that of the entrance. In the center of the square stood the little group with the flags, an officer or two of staff and some orderlies, and a few officials of the War Office. In the center of the gallery opposite the entrance, midway between the latter and the great gilded dome at the back under which rests the tomb of Napoleon, looking down, as it were, on the stirring scene to be enacted before him, stood a life-size figure of the Little Corporal in the familiar cocked hat and chasseur coat. The whole atmosphere was redolent of the great days of France, the old Bourbon Church with its memories of the Grand Monarch; the tomb which we all know to be at the back and which makes it a shrine for the world; the little groups of old broken soldiers who find a home here since the days of Napoleon. After waiting a few minutes a band was heard, and in swung a small battalion of French infantry in the now familiar steel trench helmet, long gray-blue coats and putties. They looked very businesslike, though small compared to our tall Americans, and, of course, were cheered loudly. Then great cheering outside marked the entrance of Marshal Joffre, who may be and doubtless is a great soldier, but looks like a simple old peasant or prosperous banker or butcher from the back districts. In came the marshal, followed by his staff, amid the plaudits of thousands. A moment later the shouts outside and the stirring of the crowd told that the American was ap- proaching, and in came Pershing, followed by asingle aide. He was cheered to the echo. It is early to say what the general will do in the war. It might end before he has a chance. There is always a possible tragedy in the career of every genera! who starts to serve our hysterical, inefficient people, whose thousand activities at this very mo- ment seem to be moving along parallel lines instead of being converged on the one ob- ject, and whose idea of conducting the war seems to be to send clouds of individuals and commissions of every description to visit France, and to talk, talk, talk. But whatever the future holds for him, General Pershing certainly looks his part since he came here. He is a fine figure of a man; carries him- self well, holds himself on every occasion with proper dignity; is easy in manner, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST knows how to enter a crowded room and is fast developing into a world figure. He has captured the fickle Paris crowd, at any rate, and could be elected king of France to- morrow if it depended on Paris. He has a fine sense of the dramatic—as, for example, the day he first visited the tomb of Napo- leon, when in the museum on the other side the tottering old soldier attendant took out the sword of Napoleon and offered to let him take it. Ninety-nine men of any hun- dred of military men would have taken it and handled it with reverence, but not so our hundredth man. He bowed from the hips without a second’s hesitation, his hands at his side, and reverently kissed the sword of the great soldier, and it made a tremendous impression not only on French officers but on our own. The president of the republic, as they always style him over here, came in, the group in the center was completed. _The president, accompanied by General Per- shing, walked our lines, the big American striding along and dwarfing the little bourgeois president. Then the flags were presented. To the general a small red two- starred flag of a major general and a small United States flag of the same size, both beautifully embroidered on very heavy silk, and mounted on true lances, each bearing a small silver plate appropriate to the occasion in its inscription. Then the lace-edged flag from Puy, also on heavy double silk and embroidered on both sides. Then the tottering old veterans, a little group who came out to receive for custody the flag of the American Volunteers, which, its field work over, would appear no more on the battle line, but hang, as Francois Villon put it in If I Were King, in the arches of the old church, “until the king’s name is but a golden line in chronicles gray with age.” It was a tremendously moving scene. Perhaps twice in her history foreign troops have entered that old Cour d’Honneur once in 1815, after Waterloo, again in 1870, after Sedan—and violated that inner shrine of French history; but never before has an ally penetrated with its armed men that holy of French holies. It certainly meant much for France, much for Germany, and, I believe, a new era for America. And no American could look on it without a thrill and the tears starting to his eyes. The presentation over, the 16th Infantry Band came into the court, and the rollick- ing strains of a good American marching air pealed forth. The little French bat- talion marched out, followed by the Amer- icans, who looked very tall and marched with that swing which we are proud to be- lieve characterizes our regulars. The presi- dent and Pershing were reviewing them; the geography of the court had been worked out so that each company appeared to march from the back, directly under the statue of ORAWN BY NATE COLLIER Mother: “‘Reginatd! How Often Have I Totd You Not to Play in the Mud?"' 137 Napoleon, the full length of the court, with time to straighten out in column. Fine big companies of more than 200 men each, under our new provisional organization. It was plain to us who have known the Amer- ican regulars for years that they were not up to the standard, say of '98, for there were so very many recruits; but neverthe- less they looked well and swung along, and kept their eyes to the front. How the thou- sands did cheer to the echo as the head of the column passed under the arch and out into the outer court! Paris, July 10, 1917. HE days glide by and a month has gone since we landed at Liverpool. We are getting our wants before the War Depart- ment by cable, but are getting but little action. Inefficiency is inseparabie from democracy. Genera! Pershing represents his Government in Europe and is expected to fight its battles when we get some troops over. He no doubt had the complete con- fidence of those over him or he would not be here. But he gets little attention. The system is to blame. Much is tied up in the President; much in the Secretary of War; and there is no follow-up system in the War Department to get things done promptly or to get them done at all. Our relations with the French are continually embar- rassed by delays. Matters come up which have to be cabled to Washington. God knows we cable nothing that we can settle ourselves, but there are sume things that are necessarily settled there. The French call on us for such matters. We say we have not yet heard from the War Department. They then cable their embassy and they send down the attaché to the War Department, and he finds out things, and wires his people, so that re- peatedly we get news affecting us through the French War Office before we get it from our own War Department, and some things we get only through the French. No cable ever reached us about the sailing of our first povdite Four transports sail tomor- row, according to the French, but we know nothing of them. General Biddle, with some engineers, has sailed; but we know of it only through the French War Office. They know at this mement more about the number of troops we expect to get over here by Christmas than we know ourselves. I fancy they do not think much of our coérdination system. Paris, July 12, 1917, HE Baker mission left last night for America via England. We shall breathe much freer, now that they are gone; but though they have been of some bother, I am sure their visit will make things easier for us after they return with the knowledge they have gained. A visitor today was Thomas Nelson Page, our ambassador to Italy and the author of Marse Chan. He is a very pleasant man. The Duke of Connaught is also in tewn, the uncle of King George. King George and Queen Mary are up at the British front. I dined tonight where the guest was one of the Philadelphia Drexels—-the only non- military guest, I mean. I sat next to him by arrangement of the host, and our con- versation ran to the German secret serv- ice, and how its agents seem to know all that goes on in France. Paris, July 14, 1917. HE new brigadier general, Peyton C. March, who is to command our First Artillery Brigade, gave us at dinner tonight a very graphic account of the way things are going in the War Department. It must be well-nigh hopeless from the story le tells. He says the Mail and Record Room of the A. G. O. is piled six feet deep with papers not yet recorded, and that knowing there was a cable there from General Per- shing asking for him, it took six days to get it from the A. G. O. to the chief of staff. fie says—and the statement was confirmed by others who were present—that the chief of staff writes everything out in longhand and does not use a stenographer at all; uses a stub of a pencil and spends hours over things that ought to be handled in seconds. He predicts the roll of the big steam roller about the date Major General Scott retires. He thinks it will be a clean sweep—if a steam roller can be said to sweep. Paris, July 17, 1917. HERE is a trio of ambassadors in Paris just now. Our own Sharp; Ambassa- dor Thomas Nelson Page from Rome; (Continued on Page 140)

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138 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 -anew and better method d construction- a - SS 4 et ee ee re eecadl oy diggs —= oF mae tare oe The frame of the Lincoln Motor is practically unbreakable because it is made of rolled steel, ‘‘Linc-Welded”’ into a single piece. The “‘Linc-Weld”’ process is used at 14 different points in each Lincoln Motor. Even the feet are “Linc-Welded”’ to the frame.

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re eS a SS m= — ee a <4 ‘ el — = — “= THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Ce IRON boilers replaced by steel; automobile castings re- placed by steel; and just as cast iron in- evitably gives way to stronger, tougher steel, so it now is replaced by steel in the making of electric motors. Steel makes possible great bridges. It is the skeleton of the modern build- ing. Without it the automobile, the railroad and hundreds of other pres- ent-day necessities never would have been perfected. Yet, only engineers know what an achievement it is to replace bulky, heavy cast iron in electric motors with modern, more efficient steel. Everyone who knows motors, long has realized the tremendous advantage of substituting steel for cast iron in the frame of the motor and in certain parts within the outer shell. It had to come—the steel motor. But it remained for the discovery of the “Linc-Weld” process to make this forward step a reality. And this pro- cess is applied exclusively to the manu- of electric motor design ‘Linc-Weld” For the first time, steel actually replaces cast iron in the making of electric motors—and with amazing results! facture of Lincoln Electric Motors. “Linc-Weld” used at fourteen dif- ferent points in each Lincoln Motor as well as in the frame, gives you advantages that are astounding. And there are definite improvements in the rotor, the oiling system, the lami- nations—improvements possible only with “Linc-Weld.” Lighter weight—greater strength— longer life—lower maintenance cost— these things are obvious. So is better cooling and the consequent ability to handle even extreme overloads, With “Linc-Weld” the motor becomes a homogeneous whole that is practi- cally unbreakable. In addition, each Lincoln Motor is so immune from water that it can operate for months at a time completely immersed. And remember this—you can’t pos- sibly know modern motors until you undesned fully the sensational ad- vantages of this patented “Linc-Weld” process. Mail the coupon for com- plete information on “Linc-Weld.”

139

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(Continued from Page 137) Ambassador Fienry Morgenthau, our am- bassador to Constantinople. Last night I was invited to dine with the Pages at the HOtel de Crillon, of expensive memory. It was a big dinner party. McCoy, Collins and I were the only military ests. There were two nurses; Minister John W. Gar- rett, Ambassader and Mrs. Sharp, Miss Sharp, young Mr. Sharp, his father’s secre- tary; ise Stanton, a granddaughter of Edwin M. Stanten; Colonel and Madame de Chambrun, and one or two others, in- cluding the President's son-in-law, F. B. Sayre, over here with the Y.M.C.A. The dinner was very nice. Isat between Madame de Chambrun and Miss Sharp. Madame de Chambrun is e sister of Congressman Long- worth and therefore a sister-in-law of the oniy Princess Alice. After dinner I sat down to talk to the two ambassadresses, Mesdames Sharp and Page. Mrs. Page isa lovely white-haired woman, a Southerner, interested and interesting. Madame Sharp is a nice billowy type, kindly as can be; no doubt in her youth one of the belles of Elyria, Ohio, from which city the Sharps hall It developed in the conversation that Mrs. Page had seen our general order on the duty of soldiers to respect Frenchwomen, French property, and so on, and she thought it was a good order. Mrs. Sharp also was interested. Mrs. Page said that she had seen my name signed to it and supposed that probably I wrote it. Before t could deny it, good old Mrs. Sharp bubbled forvh, “Oh, so you are the press agent, are you?”’ That's the idea our ambassador's wife has of what a chef-d'état major does. Paris, August 18, 1917. E HAVE recently been returning some of the hospitality received by us in our first days here. One night General Pétain, who ‘s the French commander in the zone of the armies, came in alone to dinner. He is said to be known as Pétain the Brief among his own countrymen, He was a lieutenant colonei of infantry before the war,and taught inthe Ecole de Guerre, an in- stitution for the higher training of French officers similar to that revered institution on the banks-of the Potomac where I spent #o many long hours last winter. He is a man about fifty-seven, I should judge, biue eyed, blond mustached, bald to the ears, erect in his carriage, and gives the impression of alertness and energy. Je is extremely direct in his conversation, frank to the point of brusqueness. Though known to his own people as the Brief, he did not seem to me to And the sound of his own voice at all disagreeable or to be par- ticularly brief in getting through what he had to way. Perhaps “ brief’ would be bet- ter translated as “brusque."’ He launched forth a stream of terse, concise talk that practically held the center of the stage during the entire dinner, pausing occasion- ally for the interpreter, our Major Frank Parker, who is on duty at French General Headquarters and- speaks French and was present, to render him in English. Parker would get about half of it, and would some- times forget his subordinate rdle as inter- »reter for General Pershing and reply on ie own to General Pétain, The latter's French was so distinct that I was able to follow his conversation very well. Pétain seems very frank and direct in his dealing with General Pershing, but I have not full faith that he regards these exchanges on official matters at social events quite so seriously as we are apt todo, Letters that come from his staff to ours, or that are written by them for his signature, are not always in accord with his expressions at the table. This whole question of our re- lations with the French high command is going to be maneuvered by them to rush our general off his feet if he is not extremely careful, When the French Mission was in Wash- ington the so-called Plan de Nivelle was speken of, which was no less than an out- spoken attitude that the French wished our participation in the war to take the form: j. Of sending thousands of laborers, railroad and otherwise, carpenters, miners, ‘chauffeurs, foresters, and the like, to work for them; but no fighting troops. 2. That such fighting troops as we sent, if we really thought we had to send some to save our national face, come in the shape of recruits, to be fed into their depleted bat- talions to serve under the French officers, losing their identity as Americans as far as any control of them by other than French THE SATURDAY officers was concerned. It is fair to say that General Bridges, of the British Army, ex- pressed the same idea, except that he wished the British Army to get its part of our men. I doubt if the Allies were very enthusi- astic about our coming into the war as we have until they found that was the only way we would come. But even our peace- loving people would hardly stand that sort of participation in which we merely fur- nished men as food for powder to replace Frenchmen and Englishmen in their own battalions. The French seem to me still to be working as near that plan, however, as they can, and I am satisfied will not scruple to force General Pershing, if they can, to put his troops in the line in driblets—a regi- ment here, a battalion there, a little artillery somewhere else—instead of giving him in time his own sector of the front line in which America may exert the power of her then trained legions. There seems to me already an inevitable reaction from the first enthusiasm over our arrival, due to misconception of our state of preparedness and an idea of theirs that the arrival of our division meant an immediate appearance of our men in the front line. It was sure to come, for the most exaggerated stories have been current among the lower and middle classes of the numbers in which American troops have been arriving. Our appearance in the front lines, except for an occasional day there for training purposes, is still months away. Troops can remain in the trenches only a few days, and there has to be a force of the same size resting to relieve them. For each of two such units there must be practically 100 per cent of replacement troops, because a divi- sion sometimes loses three-quarters of its strength in a day. Practically, ” fd our participation or first appearance in the line with a force of a division, say, means that we must have at least four trained divisions in hand—one in the line, its relief immediately behind and two others to replace losses in extreme eases for the other two. That period will not be reached with us until at least Feb- ruary. That will be midwinter in a severe climate; so much participation from Amer- ica cannot be expected before spring. When this finally is borne in on the French I shall not surprised to see ex- traordinary pressure brought to bear to force us in before we are ready. To this will be added some misguided clamor from our press at home, which will not understand the long delay and will begin a howl of ‘‘On to Richmond!” as they did in 1862. Sup- plement this with the adroit representa- tions to the President made by a skillful French ambassador anda high commissioner on the ground, and I can see that one J. J. Pershing will have to set hard his projecting under jaw and stand firmly braced. General Pershing is a very strong char- acter. He has a good many peculiarities, such I suppose as every strong man accus- tomed to command is apt to develop. He is very patient and philosophical under trying delays from the War Department, He is playing for high stakes and does not intend to jeopardize his winning by wasting his standing with the War Se Bere over small things, relatively unimportant, though very annoying as they occur. He is ex- tremely cautious; very cautious, does noth- ing hastily or carelessly. He spends much time rewriting the olen and other papers I prepare for him, putting his own indi- viduality into them. He is the first officer for whom I have prepared papers who did not generally accept what I wrote for him, but it is very par sod I get anything past him without some alteration. I am obliged to say I do not always consider that he im- proves them, though often he does. He edits everything he signs, even the most trivial things. It is a good precaution, but one which can easily be carried to a oint where’ it will waste time that might etter be employed on bigger things; but he is probably justified in the preliminary stages in which we are. He thinks very clearly and directly; goes to his conclu- sions directly when matters call for deci- sion. He can talk straighter to people when calling them down than anyone I have seen—I have not yet experienced it, though. He has naturally a good disposition and a keen sense of humor. He loses his temper occasionally, and stupidity and vagueness irritate him more than anything else. He can stand plain talk, but the staff officer who goes in with only vagueness where he ought to have certainty, who does not know EVENING POST what he wants and fumbles around, has lost time and generally gained some straight talk. He develops great fondness for people whom he likes and is indulgent toward their faults, but at the same time is relentless when convinced of inefficiency. Personal loyalty to friends is strong with him, I should say, but does not blind him tothetruth. He doesnot fear responsibility, with all his caution. He decides big things much quicker than he does trivial ones. Two weeks ago, without any authority from Washington, he placed an order one afternoon for $50,000,000 worth of aéro- planes because he thought Washington too slow, and did not cable the fact until too late for Washington to countermand it, had they been so disposed—which they were not. He did it without winking an eye, as easily as though urdering a postage stamp— and it involved the sum which Congress voted for national defense at the beginning of 1898 just after the Maine was blown up, and which we all then considered a very large transaction. His great fault is his utter lack of any idea of time. He is without it, as utterly without it as a color-blind person is without a sense of color or a deaf man is without the sound of music. He is most trying in that respect. An American untried major gen- eral cannot keep a field marshal waiting, or miss an appointment with a prime min- ister, or be an hour late to an ambassador’s dinner; and those of us immediately around him are forever his guardians and trying to get him over the line on time. He has a similar lack of comprehension as to guests, and with dinner prepared for ten may bring home sixteen. Last Sunday we gave a dinner to some people who have been kind to us. Saturday the number, including ourselves, was four- teen. Sunday noon he was away from luncheon; but casting together the number we knew he had invited, it developed that nineteen were susies. French chefs count numbers very closely. Fourteen people means for them fourteen small fish in one course, for example, and everything care- fully measured out in proportion. It was Sunday and everything closed, and dinner but five or six hours away, when we learned the cold facts. It took a census of half the hotels in town to square us up for the meal that evening, and half an hour before the dinner the general came in smiling and said, “‘I saw So-and-So this afternoon and tried to get him to come in to dinner to- night, but he couldn’t come. I did ask that stepdaughter of So-and-So, though. She said she would come.”’ And twenty people did turn up. Life was probably shortened a bit for the officer who runs the mess, how- ever. PARIS, August 21, 1917. HE general returned today from his journey with General Pétain. He saw the victorious French offensive on both banks of the Meuse yesterday, and the __ for it the day before. The rench took a strip about twelve miles long and from one to three miles wide, in- cluding several villages, and a ridge that they have long wanted. They did it splen- didly. The artillery preparation was thor- ough and efficacious and flattened out the German trenches completely. The French infantry advanced and took between 4000 and 5000 prisoners, and there were a con- siderable number of dead. Commandin one of the French divisions was a genera who as a field officer was with General Pershing in Manchuria in Kuroki’s army. Standing together yesterday, they recalled a German officer there at the same time, and our general asked the Frenchman if he knew where Von Etzel was. The’French general said, pointing dramatically to the front, “He is commanding one of the Ger- man divisions on our front.”” The prepara- tion for the fighting has taken some time and some easualties have occurred every day. Three days ago a young French nurse was wounded by a fragment of shell strik- ing her between the eyes and on the fore- head. The general, Pétain, had been in- formed of it and took General Pershing to the hospital where she was lying in a room, her face bandaged so she could not see. The French do these things well; and General Pétain decorated the girl for her bravery, giving her the Croix de Guerre. With us, Congress would have debated the merits of the case until the nurse’s grandchildren were doddering old men and women before allowing the decoration to be given. Here the general confers the coveted cross while the memory of the deed is fresh in men’s March 7,1925 minds—and it makes more men go out and win crosses de guerre. He told her he was General Pétain, and that he had with him the American General Pershing. She said to General Pershing in French, “I am glad to meet you, for I wish you to see what Frenchwomen are willing to suffer for France.” These trips with Pétain are much to the advantage of both. Their relations must be close to be effective. Both are strong men, ambitious, of the same age; each aspiring to be the hero of the war for his own country; neither of them averse to ower; each in a sense ruthless in going to is ends, Their relations in the next year will be extremely interesting to observe and, were the observer a young man, per- haps to profit by. This particular observer was born too soon. His future is behind him with his lost youth. General Pershing is evidently studying Pétain very closely. The question of the employment of our Army is to come up. France has more than 1,000,000 men in the field; they are waning and ours are com- ing. Should nothing go wrong and the war continue, we shall have more than they a year from now. For the present the French attitude is at times very distinctly patronizing. We are doubtless looked upon somewhat as ama- teurs, though the average professional level in our commissioned ranks is higher than theirs. Our numbers now are, of course, trifling; but we are coming. Pétain has sent in several suggestions that have been distinctly patronizing, and in which he has played all around the word “order’’ with- out quite using it. He will do well to omit that word from his repertoire. Our general is very cautious; thinks very deeply; takes no false steps; knows his ground, and he knows who holds the whip hand, if one may use that word in speaking of relations with an ally. France depends on America and she shall not depend in vain. We can afford to be generous and it shall never be said that we were not. But our relations, it will be explained to Gen- eral Pétain, are those of codéperation. The general is going to suggest to him that their dealings had better generally be direct and personal instead of by corre- spondence; that they treat each other ex- actly as equals on the same level; that General Pétain’s interests as well as his own, and those of their respective coun- tries, will be best served so. I think they will be great friends; that each will prob- ably be a hero in his own country; and that together with Haig they will carry the war to a victorious conclusion. But it will be on a strictly coéperative basis—no or- ders, no patronage. General Pershing and General Wood are the only two American generals I have had dealings with that struck me as having the head for the part. The Germans have won the war so far by beating their enemies in detail. When the French have gone forward the British have not; when the British have been ready the French have been delayed. It has been a seesaw; two badly trained horses pulling separately instead of together. Great Britain is engaged in too many subsidiary operations. Such operations are only justi- fied in war when they have a direct bearing on the object of the war. The place to beat the Germans is where the Germans are, and that is on the western front, not in Bagdad, Mesopotamia, Egypt or Saloniki. The fighting in those regions is purely in the interest of Britain’s political and commercial supremacy in Asia and Africa. It ties up a tremendous amount of shipping which is needed to bring us into the war, all sides realizing that France and England are nearing the end of their man power. Our diplomacy is poor as usual. We have had no representation in the conferences that decide thesé things and which Eng- land has dominated. We were invited to the last one, but our canny home Govern- ment hid its head in the sand and pre- tended not to know that anything that involved us in world politics was going on. England, with a strong navy, fears to risk it in ending the U-boat business by attack- ing Heligoland, and thereby leaving Amer- ica with a stronger navy at the end of the war. Here, as with poor France, we hold the whip hand, too, if we had in our high councils in diplomatic matters a strong heart cr head. Oh, for adequate national leadership! Editor’s Note—This is the first of five articles by General Harbord. The next will appear in an carly issue.

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Yet I feit oddly old and depressed during the rest of my hurried stay in New York. The city once more dwarfed me into in- significance, and the light-heartedness of my fellow officials left me moody and morose. I seemed older in spirit than my kind. And this more than ever came home to me when, on my last day, I met Small- wood, of the Central. My visit to him was a routine one, but the impression I carried away was exceptional, and it hel me along in that belated handmade education of mine i'd heard a good deal of Smallwood for a year or two, and when I got into his office 1 expected to see a grizzled veteran with three chins over his collar and a bay window under hie vest. Instead of that, I found myself face to face with a stripling of about twenty-six or twenty-seven. He had a amooth face and a clear eye and he was at the phone, taiking over leng distance, when 1 was shown into an office without a cuspi- dor on the Chinese rug. Smallwood smiled and good-naturedly waved me into a seat and Kept me waiting there for exactly twenty-two minutes. But I didn’t regret that wait. I learned something. For Smallwood stop long enough to explain that he was cal ing ¥ a yardmaster on the Ashburten branch, five vundred miles away. Then the general su- -perintendent was called up. I could see Smallwood jotting down data as to load- ings and deliveries, figures as to car move- ments, facta that came in to him over five hundred miles of wire, and I was naturally interested. When he got through I asked him, man to man, why he used that direct, personal-contact method instead of paasee the usual formal reports coming in throug the usual organized channels; for it was, of course, a new trick at running the old game. He laughed in a boyish sort of way and said he’d always worked it in that fashion since he was a yard clerk. And what was more, it was still etanding the acid test of the more extended operations. He used the same method, in fact, with each of his di- visions. He'd had the acumen and the en to go over each one of his terminals, mile by mile and point by point. He'd walked every foot of the yards and faced every yardmaster and official and made hisneil soquninted with every physical pe- cullarity of every district. at meant he carried back with him a first-hand knowl- edge of what lay out there on the firing line. The result was that he could take a spent and at once visualize the territory to which it applied. His camera eye at once painted every detail of the full picture those figures suggested, ard that gave him a chance to understand conditions and estimate results. What was more, his crisp morning talk with each of his officiais kept his contacts human- ized, kept his fighting line alert and re- aponsive, and gave him what he wanted without the loss of ous time. | stowed away that information for fu- ture use. I also got the figures—which I iater put up to Big Sam—of the saving in small-wheeled Sante Fes for hill hauling out of our coal mines. We'd been botchin along with older and lighter engines an breaking our trains at the foot of the es and doubling over, instead of making a straightaway haul, And still another thing I carried back with me and got a pat on the back for was a new grass seed fom Hol- land, a long-rooted grass especially adapted as a scil binder for our cuts. It may sound trivial enough, but that Dutch grass was a godsend to the old D. & B. where the wind bad once blown the sand dunes over our rails and the wacer had once washed our culverts full of silt. We eventually deco- rated our slopes and cut banks with living green and at the aame time were able to anchor Mother Earth where we wanted her anchored. wis T WAS about this time that Big Sam began to show his first signs of a break-up. People liked to say that his great brain bad burned up a body that was too frail for it; but much as I respected the big boss, I was never able to take that brain-burning business very seriously. I always felt that Sam Callard’s troubles were largely due to the foolish way he treated his own stomach Many a time, in the old days, I've seen him buy a five-cent bag of peanuts and make his lunch of that, munching them as he worked. And even after he had a private car and a chef of his THE SATURDAY EVENING POST POWER (Continued from Page 33) own, some strange kink in his make-up kept him to his earlier breakfast rule of buttermilk and oatmeal, which, I always felt, as I was forced to share the morning meal with him, was not fit fuel to pour into the human engine. Frugality, I suppose, was at the root of it. For with all his astuteness, Big Sam, toward the last, developed some strange habits of saving. He was always hoarding string—string of any kind or size, string from a gunny sack or string from a store parcel, tucking it away in his panoehe and his vest pockets until he couldn’t pull out a watch or a train master’s report with- out trailing with it a mouse nest of soiled cord loops. He would have stopped a train, I think, te pick up a ball of twine along his right of way. He got a bit queer too, in the matter of saving paper. Instead of using letterheads or department pads, he’d carefully cut open old envelopes and store them in a pile for inscribing his nota- tions on. He could never be persuaded that the time he lost in this was worth a t deal more than the paper he saved. e’d even dig down into my waste-paper basket and Ly back to his office happy with a handful of used envelopes, protesting as he went that times were hard and the boys must learn to economize. It was childish, of course, and it de- pressed me more and more to realize that the big boss was getting snow on his head- light. But as Big Sam’s health grew worse and his always withered body withered up until it looked a good deal like a wanes. I learned not to resent his little peccadillos. He was still shrewd enough in the bigger movements of our system, and he was tak- ing me more and more into his confidence as we fought for our place in the sun. When the specialist from Chicago diagnosed his case as one of pernicious anemia and put him to bed, I was instructed to make a daily report to the patient. The road still came first. He understood everything we told him, but we could see him drying up before our very eyes. It was the day after I gave Big Sam a pint of warm blood out of my own veins that I was officially made general manager of the D. & B. Blood transfusion was new in those days and the operation was not so successful as the specialist from Chicago had hoped to see it, and it wasn't so easy as I expected, though I kept that to me a8 self. A sorehead or two even said I t my pee with that pint of blood. But Big Sam knew better. He even liked me, I know, in his own grim ay & And since he had no one of his own to follow after him, he turned to me to see to it that his unfin- ished work was carried out. “It’s a crusade, man!” he said, in his thinned voice, that last day I talked with him. “It’s the bigness of the thing that saves you, Rusk, when the little things would break you. Remember that! And link us up, lad, from seaboard to seaboard. That's worth living for and fighting for, no matter what it costs.” His bony hand pressed mine. I could feel an odd thrill go up and down my spine. “We'll go from coast to coast!” I said, and I said it with my jaw be go The faded old stud my face. Then the mummylike head moved slowly up and down. “You'll do that!”’ he said with a sigh of contentment. And those were about the last words that passed between us. Sam Callard died that night, a little after midnight, before I could get to him when they sent for me. But I've never forgotten that last talk we had together. And as I remember it, strangely enough, I remember another scene in another place, u good many years later. It was the night my own son Newt happened te be in the offices above our terminal yards. It was a clear and frosty evening and the yard lamps shone ruby and emerald and amber through the still air. They shone through a wash of steel-blue dusk cut by an occasional headlight and threaded by an occasional train with win- dows of serried gold, moving slow, like a snake with golden scales. Newt stared at it for quite a Tone time. _ bef there’s poetry in that!’ the damned pinhead had the presumption to tell me, as though I hadn’t made that dis- covery before he was knee-high to a grass- hopper, even though I didn’t carry a volume of free-verse around in my pocket! I was a pretty busy man during those earlier years of my operating work, and I’m afraid i didn’t give as much time to my family as I ought to have done. Aggie was a good wife, and I guess she worked about as hard in building up our home as I did at building up our road. This is the period when some touch of softness should have shown in my make-up, I suppose, for it was about this time my children began to ap- ar on the scene. But those earlier fight- ing years didn’t give me much chance for softness. And when my first-born, New- ton, came to us he came after such a hard struggle that we thought we were going to lose his mother. He was fragile from the first, and worry over him and Aggie seemed to swailow up the joy of having a son and heir. Newt, in fact, gave no signs of being a Rusk. He belonged to the other side of the family. Even as a little tike he had the er of disturbing me by his feebleness and nettling me by his finickiness, just as my oldest girl, atalie, who came along a year and a alf later, annoyed me with her tantrums and temper. Tassie, my younger girl, was all right, with enough Rusk in her to make her know what she wanted when she wanted it; but I found it hard to forgive her for not being a . Tassie and I cleared up that little trouble, however, when the next baby came. For the next was a boy. That was my last son, Kenneth. He was a Rusk from ear to instep, was Kennie, and we took to each other and understood each other from the first crack out of the box. Husky, thick-shouldered, strong-willed, but loyal to his likes and dislikes and loving everything with wheels, Kennie was my first child who taught me the meaning of fatherhood. Before he was two years old he hed learned to love a locomotive, and *‘choo-choo”’ was the first word he said. Newt took to picture books and prettiness, but Kennie loved power. I began to feel that I had someone to follow in my steps, to take up the big job when I laid it down. Aggie used to complain about me being a stranger to my own family, but most of m time and en had to go to my work. lot of the time I couldn’t even sleep home, and a job that keeps a man on the wing seems to le and pique a woman. So e did what egy another woman has done. She made up a little world of her own, without counting me in it. She went her way and I went mine. It was a mis- take, though I didn’t realize it until it was too late. I can’t even quite make out when the switch was turned and we first began heading in different ways. All I know is that we were both a little lonelier than we ought to have been. Aggie had the chil- dren, of course, in her younger days; and when they slipped out of her reach she had her Christian Science. That was the big hook that came down the line to lift her wrecked hope back on the rails. Yet it was the children that made the first big difference with ie. They seemed to stir in her some first faint craving for tion. She wanted the coming gen- eration to better itself. She gave more thought to those things that would move the family up a peg. And when the salary I pulled down grew bigger and bigger, she became more and more set on establishing herself in society. That meant nothing to me, of course, for it’s not where you come from but where you’re going that counts in my world; though Aggie, I noticed, re- ferred less and less to the fact that she’d once lived on a farm. She wanted a better house on a better street. She wanted better clothes and better furniture. And although she'd seen the day w.en she sat on a three- legged stool and milked a brindled cow, she soon grew to feel that people in our position couldn’t do themselves justice without a second maid who'd be willing to wear a muslin cap and apron and push a tea wagon into the parlor when the whist game was over. Another thing Aggie wanted, as we moved up in the world, was a summer place. That was a more or less new movemerit in Amer- ican life, in our part of the country—the owning of an auxiliary home somewhere on the water front, where the family could play and rest and wes cool during the dog days. I'd encouraged that sort of thing along the D. & B., for it brought us a new brand of traffic; but I'd never thought of it seriously as a personal venture. It wasn’t until after March 7,1925 the spring when Kenneth, my second son, arrived on the scene that I saw any reason in Aggie’s clamor for a cottage at Old Wil- low Beach, where the more prosperous peo- ple of our town were one by one acquiring places. I felt at first that it was too far away, and that I'd be seeing my family only every other Sunday, and I didn’t like eating in the railway restaurant. But Aggie looked thin and white that summer, our home water supply was bad, and when I saw the chance to take over the Moore cottage on a foreclosure sale, I paid my money and bought my place. After the coming of Kenneth, Aggie and I, I think, understood each other a little better. She had given me a son in my own mold, and I liked the thought of having somebody to carry on for me. And busy as I was, I made it a point to give a little more time to my family. I still have the old silver watch with the crisscross lines on its case that helped to cut Kennie’s teeth, and I still have the little wooden train of toy cars he used to trail around after him. He took to that train like a duck to water. He called it his “puffer-train.” It always used to make me feel, when I'd sit watching him, that he was cut out for a railroad man, that he was going to show himself a chip of the old block. But it wasn’t to be. For God took my Kennie ‘ie! from me before he was three years old. That was the summer we had the first tie-up on our line. It was also the summer that first brought me into contact with Wat Hosmer, the labor leader, who'd been so quietly gore up and down the road and boas he’d have me broken before the leaves fell. Hosmer had his innings all right, that summer, for we had no inkling of the work he’d been doing behind our backs. He'd found his chance and tied us up, and we were fighting night and day to break the blockade and get a wheel moving. But the state authorities refused us military protec- tion, the local sheriff was against us, and we had to swallow the bitter pill of seeing freight cars burned up by men who should have been manning them along the rails. The first gang of strike breakers we brought in were stoned and the second bunch were shot at from the shed ends. They may have deserved it, for they didn’t even know the signals. But after that I knew there could be no compromise with Wat Hosmer. It was a fight toa finish, and that bull-necked agitator was fearless enough to tell me so to my face. So I took him at his word. I fought him day by day, while our freight rotted and our rails rusted, and God knows how it might have ended. But in the heat and the dust of it all I got the message from Old Willow Beach—the message that my Kennie had been drowned. He had fallen off the boat landing at our summer cottage trying to reach for his little toy train. It took the fight out of me like a knife blade between the ribs. It bowled me over. Then it made me sit up, like a man wakened out of a sleep, and myself what all the scheming and planning and fighting was for. It seemed ghostlike and shadowy, all of a sudden, that working and toiling to build something that somebody would some my take away from you. t wasn’t to keep a stiff upper lip when I got to the Beach and need ace to face with Aggie. She was very white, but she scarcely shed a tear. It was stifling hot weather, with the roof shingles cracking in the blistering sun and no wind stirring the lake and the shallows spotted with the white bellies of the perch that had died in the warm water. The one thing we wanted was to get away from there, to get Kennie home for his long sleep. But it wasn’t until I got through to Blankton with the little white coffin that I woke up to the fact there was no way of getting home. We hit our own road there, and on that road not a wheel was turning. It was tied up by the strike. I dug out Fighting Kearney, who was man enough to feel sorry, but said he was helpless. Then I took him around to where Kennie’s coffin stood, with his mother be- side it, all in black. She seemed as pitiful as the wilted wreaths on the casket. Kearney agreed to go back and talk it over with the committee. They finally con- sented to give me a special, an engine and one car behind it, to carry my Kennie home. (Continued on Page 147) ——

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i} (Continued from Page 142) But they had to get Wat Hosmer’s O. K. to that. And Hosmer sent back word that no union man of his would drive an engine that I rode behind. He was so soured and bitter that he couldn’t see straight, and that’s what I pointed out to the boys when I got them together. They were with me to a man, but they were afraid of their scalps, for it was labor’s first tryout on that sys- tem and Hosmer had them buffaloed into believing he was the only prophet who could lead them out of the wilderness. So they went as far as they dared. They gave me an engine and a day coach, or at least pos let me help aa to one. But they couldn’t give me a crew. : So I drove that engine myself. I tugged on a pair of oil-stained overalls, and found a mill fireman to stoke coal for me, and pulled out of Blankton with my own strik- ers passing a bunch of greenhouse calla lilies in to Aggie and standing with their hats off as we got under way. That special was the first train to move along our rails in thirteen days. I wasn’t giving much thought to that fact, for I had other things to worry about. But a queer thing happened. Up the line, they couldn’t quite understand that movement. It meant just one thing to them, in view of the slogan Hosmer had tried to paste all over our system—the slogan of Not a Wheel Moves Here! When the Boulton dispatcher saw us coming, as I found out later, he went to the key and said “Strike’s broken” over the wire. For the wheels were moving, and he’d seen ’em, That m e ran along the road like wildfire. And point by point the men came slipping back before Hosmer and his committee could get their announce- ments out, and once they started they made it a stampede. There were some schedule and seniority wrinkles to iron out, of course, but they’d suffered enough to make them reasonable and we'd lost enough to make us tolerant. But the important point, the unexpected point, was that this special had broken the deadlock. We left /at Hosmer high and dry, without even knowing we were doing it, and the lifeblood of traffic once more moved up and down our line. But Hosmer wasn’t of the breed that takes defeat lightly. He came to me with red in his eye and was human skunk enough to proclaim that it was all a dodge of mine, that I'd fought behind the body of my own dead child. I was a little worn out with overwork that week, and my nerves weren’t as steady as they ought to have been. But that put the match in the powder barrel. I could feel something snap at the back of my head as I got up from my swivel chair and rounded the desk. I’ve always felt that Hosmer didn’t expect me to hit him, he stood so bull-like, with the sneer still on his face, as I stepped up to him. But my fist caught him full on the face and he stag- gered back so heavily that he tore the imi- tation mahogany guard rail up from the office floor. He went through it with a crash, and I was after him before he could get back at me. I struck him a second time. But he caught at my knees as he fell, or as he turned over on the floor, and we both went down together. We rolled about there, fighting like two bull alligators in a swamp. We were no longer reasoning and reason- able human beings. We were Just two mad- dened hulks of hate pounding each other’s bodies as we tumbled about and battered each other’s faces when we could get clear for a blow. It was foolish, of course. It was worse than foolish, for issues aren’t settled that way. Passion solves no prob- lems. You can’t pound a respect for your viewpoint into your enemy’s carcass. But whatever happened, I at least pounded into Wat Hosmer a respect for my arm muscles. He was a husky specimen himself, and I imagine he’d reaped most of his earlier triumphs through sheer force of yhysique. And he’d nursed the idea, since | was an office man, that I was a flabby- fleshed chair warmer and couldn't resent a slander in the old-fashioned style of the bull pen. Well, I showed him he was wrong; for I got him down the third time and I guess I would have pretty well ended his career as an organizer if they hadn’t swarmed in and pulled me off him as I made him eat those dirty words he’d flung in my face. He never forgave me. But I've a hunch he never forgot that fight. We were to have it over again, later on, but we were wiser and warier in those later days. We learned to fight in an entirely different fashion. It became less primitive, but it remained none the less passionate. For Hosmer proved an re enemy; and when you've an enemy of that kind, I’ve found, he has got to be eliminated. You've got to get rid of him the same as you'd get rid of a copper- head that’s crawled into your cellar. wir T WAS about this time, as I remember it, that the D. & B. an to show a profit. It had taken a long time, but at last the ball was started rolling. A change had come over the Middle West. In a genera- tion, almost, a wilderness had been turned into a dominion of industry. The timber melted away like snow under an April sun, the swamps and sloughs were drained off, the valleys and slopes and plains were taken up and fenced off and checkerboarded into farmlands. Indian trails became roads and roads e highways, and along them appeared hamlets clustering about church spires or false-fronted saloons. The hamlets into villages and the villages expanded into towns, and the towns, here and there, turned into cities, and our feeder lines that tapped them ran thick with the corpuscles of commerce. We began to prosper. But Fan brought its new prob- lems. e were too big a by this time to cling to the old family-circle idea. No one man could keep contact with all our officers and employes. I was no longer able to call the yard boys by their first names and ask after the families of a train crew. The easy and off-handed old personal rela- tionship became impossible. And Hosmer; as chairman of the labor organization, was more and more able to show his hand. The brotherhood grew stronger, and as it did so it was able to demand wages and a different method of treatment for its members. Their newer schedules, it is true, bit into our earnings and reduced our net income. But I'd been a fireman and engi- neer myself, and though as an official I was compelled to oppose each new exaction, I couldn’t get rid of a secret sympathy for the man in the overalls. I never opposed the honest worker. What I hated was the walking delegate. The of our system, too, demanded a more rigorous code of discipline. I was averse, at first, to keeping a card index on a man; but the call for record discipline of some sort prompted me to adopt a modified form of the Brown S . This, of course, could not be applied to officers or the sonal staffs of o ting officers, for they were close enough under my eye to let me know about what per cent they were func- tioning. But in every great mass of men there are some either hopelessly incompe- tent or maliciously destructive, just as there are others not sufficiently responsive to educational effort. And these have to be eliminated. It also seemed more like all-round fair- ness to have a personal record of an em- ploye, a record which could be consulted and considered before discipline was as- sessed, and I made it a rule that discipline letters should be definite. Such a letter had to describe the offense and describe it exactly. One of my minor clashes with Hosmer arose out of an employe being assessed de- merits for —- a passenger train, the offense being a failure to clear the time of a first-class train, as required by rule. The real cause was poor coal, producing insuf- ficient steam. This, of course, was grossl improper, featuring as it did the ere s phase of the offense and ignoring the ele- ment of the company’s contributory negli- gence. We had to watch our step, for the union mouthpieces were trained men and knew not only their rules and their rights but also were conscious enough of the fact that a force a tie-up if they had a cause substantial enough for a strike order. And I had a little discipline of my own to absorb. I began to see the wisdom of cut- ting out the clenched fist and made it an axiom in wage negotiations and discipline disputes never to show temper. For the foxy committee loves to get your goat. They ge at a disadvantage, once they’ve riled you, about the same as an opposing attorney has a witness on the hip when he can get that witness hot under the collar. I remember once when I forgot myself because the chairman of the committee of the trainmen’s organization demanding big- ger wages happened to be Andy Gordon, who'd once worked on an engine with me. That, I suppose, prompted me into forget- ting my official position. I let anger take THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ye of me as I turned on the cool-eyed ndy. “Then when, in the name of God,” I de- manded, “are you going to know when your men are getting enough for their work?” Andy never flickered an eyelash. “When our poorest paid conductor, Mr. Rusk, gets as much as your best paid super- intendent,” was his answer; and the busi- ness end of that bee lies in the sting that it was partly true or blamed soon about to y true. I don’t need to point out that under the Chicago Award certain members of a train crew under certain conditions did draw bet- ter wages than the road paid its superin- ae And 1 a sg oe it either, no matter ual pay for the super- visor and the omiervoed Saeed econom- ies or not. But Br ge chances and equal freedom and respect for one’s fel- lows—those e me as the things that have made American railroading what it is. We had to have discipline, of course; but I never was a believer in the long-distance, mail-order brand of discipline, and I never was strong for complaints on paper. The organization schedules which insisted on the accused —- a personal investiga- tion in the presence of a supporting mem’ were fair and sensible ents. Cut- ting off an accused man’s chance of a come- back never imprnssed me as coinciding with an American sense of fair . But once the infraction was established, punishment had to be adequate and had to be certain. The trouble was in establishing the in- fraction. For instance, I remember a yard con- ductor, pushing cars up an elevated track on the river bank, failed to send his helper to the farther end of the cut of cars already on that track to insure against pester 3 them off at the other end. That oven t was costly, for three cars went over the end and completely out of sight into the river. It was some time before the loss of the cars was discovered by the yard- master and still | before the responsi- bility could be and discipline meted out, in spite of the denials and the protests of the accused. The affair, to me, meant pretty bad railroading. So I stuck to my assessment of twenty demerits, even th a committee fought me tooth and nail for three months. You can’t trifle with funda- mentals. You're a fool to weaken when you know you're pe Big Sam had made me strong for econ- omy; but passion for discipline, I think, was . They tell me it took some odd turns. I always insisted on brief wires. i demanded con ess in a report. And they used to call me a martinet in the mat- ter of whistling. Now about the only time a locomotive is vocal is when it talks through its whistle, and when it talks it ought to talk with authority, and not slob- ber steam across the landscape. Let me listen to his blast, a clear-cut second and a half for his short and an equally clear-cut three seconds for his long, properly timed and cut off and timed again, and I’ll tell you if there’s a proper breed of throttle puller on the kettle. But all that, of course, is minor; and the wider field brought me wider problems. I may have fought for economy, and raised hell when I saw a — from a water tank or a stack of ties being hidden in ragweed, for that meant shiftlessness, and shiftlessness meant waste. I may have stormed at a twister throwing away a lantern and raved at finding a water barrel only half full on a wooden trestle; but when I fought for serv- ice and saving, I also fought for good will. I wanted loyalty. We didn't make such a parade of the words “welfare” and “‘efficiency”’ in those earlier days. We didn’t father baseball teams and tennis courts and recreation cen- ters for our men, nor did we overburden ourselves with statistical details. But ome sonal force and direct personal relationships were made to count. We watched the man with initiative and rewarded the man who was loyal. When I inaugurated the system of nam- ing new towns after our officials, Javan Page sneered at the honor I had passed out to him, protesting that his name was suffi- ciently established without having it painted on a wooden sign in front of a water tower flanked by a section house and a freight shed. So I promptly changed that name to Centerville—and today Centerville is a city of sixty thousand souls with a univer- sity and a Carnegie library and seventy miles of paved streets. When I hit on the plan of rewarding our faithful old engineers 147 by naming locomotives after them, and painting that name in gold text on the pilot sides, Hosmer said it was a cheap trick to make up for cheap pay. But I've seen a hogger’s wife with tears of pride running - down her cheeks during one of our christen- ing ceremonies, and I've seen men work and wait for that gold star until the pepper and salt over their ears turned altogether to salt. And I've seen a better spirit creep through the service because the man at the throttle realized the man in the office waz ready to crown his faithful work with a crown that could be seen and understood by his fellows. I remember an agent we had who was 80 proud of keeping his station yard spick and span that in his off time he went to a near-by lake and brought in a peculiar red- stone gravel for a right-of-way top dressing. There was no other gravel like it, and it stood out like a raspberry stain on a white linen tablecloth. And that was one of the many things Javan Page laughed at, proclaiming the man an advertiser and Pa gages that a prettified yard never added a pound of freight to a road. But it added something else. I watched that man. He was more than a window dresser, for his love of thoroughness went right to the core. And inside of twelve years I had the satisfaction of seeing him made train master and super- intendent. Nowadays, of course, conditions are dif- ferent. Labor has a proprietary interest in its job and that rather complicates the simple old business of firing a man once he falls short of his work. And the politicians have a proprietary interest in your road, and that also cramps your style in the wider movements. The only safe game there, I've about concluded, is to yield qreseruny in the little things and remain as hard as iron in the big things. They’ve got to make « showing. So give ‘em the trivialities to stick in their hat. That still leaves ‘em a chance to strut around to their constituents and show what they’re doing for the country. But whatever happens, you’ve got to give ‘em the glad hand. Prune juice has superseded the raspberry. Jolly along the and-stand critics and nurse along your ocal forces—that’s the slogan of today. As I've said before, a G. M. of the old dispen- sation considered it the proper thing to rant and cuss and pound the table with a clenched fist. He raved and swore around like a negro mule driver flinging blasphemy over his long-eared team, But raving can’t get you far when there's a schedule and a book of rules to show you're wrong. And even in pF poy the old Missouri way, the fine old way of having a new boss come in and bring his gang with him and throw cut as incompetent every former officer of the old régime, is not so fashionable as it used to be; for a job can show a lot of blood when it’s murdered, and murder seeras-to be go- ing out of style. Only last summer, when labor trouble was leaving us with a shortage of hands for our road work, I had a sample of the chang- ing spirit of the times. A shipment of eggs for one construction camp went astray and the bohunks in the board cars prompt! went on strike because the cook couldn't give them fried eggs with their bacon. And on another branch another gang went on strike because a tub of strong butter got shipped in to them. And what made me open my eyes still wider was-the Covers that we'd been feeding those roughnec navvies ice cream for every Saturday and Sunday dinner. When I worked an engine in the gravel pits I’ve eaten muskrat and rabbit stew, and knocked my dinner over with my own hands before I put it in the pot. And be- sides taking care of my engine, I ran a forge and did enough blacksmithing to keep the work-train cars in repair when Big Sam was canny enough to see that a pit forge could do away with many a long tie-up on the road. Those were the days when a work- train engineer could keep his iron horse in shape for two or three weeks at a stretch, without once sticking its nose into a reund- house, and « pit foreman was as ready to work all night as all day. ; Yet the last time I went up to look at some new gravel pits my business car hap- pened to be sidetracked beside a gang of tie tampers. I sat at my car window and looked them over. They made me think of that slow-camera work you sometimes see in the movies. There was one overalled | Tarzan in particular who stopped to roll a cigarette and study the landscape, He bit (Continued on Page 149)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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March 7,1925

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uf i (Continued from Page 147) it in two, lit one half, stopped work again and lit the other half. In less than five minutes he rolled another and leaned on his shovel and smoked and studied the heav- ens. So I took out my watch and timed him between shovel movements. When I recorded him as standing ay seven minutes without one move to earn his sixty cents an hour, I felt curiosity curl up and die on the hot sands of indignation. I put my watch back in my pocket and climbed down from that car and went up to that Tarzan lost in catalepsy. “What are you paid for?”’ I demanded as he rolled a languid eye in my direction; and it made me all the hotter to see he didn’t even have the energy to answer me. “Do you get your money for stargazing?” I asked, trying to hold myself in. He turned completely around this time, and eyed me up and down. “Who in hell are you?” he coolly in- quired. “I’m the general manager of this road,” I informed him, “and when you take money from it as an honest worker you're a thief.” Did he wilt at that? Not for a moment! He merely moved to one side and let his shovel fall across a rail. “Well, you’rea mean-looking old rooster,” he remarked, ‘‘and I'll be damned if I want to work for you!” And I couldn’t even have the satisfaction of firing him, for he quit on the spot. He not only quit on the spot but he went right over to our rival road and took seventeen men with him, at a time-when we were starving for hands and were carrying them free from either coast. Big Sam, I imagine, would have shot him before he got off the right of way. But times have changed since Big Sam’s day. Our huskies used to pump a hand car for hours at a time without a kick. Today, bless your soul, every screw spiker and tie tamper supplies himself with a motor car to carry him up and down the line without moving a muscle. They tell us it’s economy to give them gasoline, for it both savés time an tends to keep a laborer on the job. But we didn’t have those luxuries in the old days. It was by brain and brawn we worked out our problems; and we may not have made a bigger showing, but it seems to me we made bigger men. I suppose it’s only natural for the older generation to keep mouthing the old claim, “There were giants in those days!” That’s about the only way we can still be layal to our era. We didn’t have the finesse of these newer fellows who come out of college with a headful of trigonometry. We weren’t so finicky about equated tonnage in train loading and the decimal digits in ton-mile figuring. But we had the glory of bein pioneers. We had rough work to do, nm | we may have done it in a rough way. But we lived at a time when a man could make his manhood felt in his labor, when a man could take joy in the strength that over- came difficulty, when a man could fight in the open aaa let the weakling take the count, without wincing. Don’t run away with the idea, though, that we old-timers were only rough-and- ready bunglers in everything we did. We may not have been strong on differential equations, but when there was need for fine figuring we made our sums come out about right in the end, the same as a blacksmith can lay aside his sledge and take a little open-bladed razor in his brawny hand and shave himself from ear to ear, deliberately and delicately, without a nick of the skin. And we did some close shaving in those earlier days. We couldn’t afford to waste. We had to stretch a dollar to cover three times the extent of track that it covered for our big rival. We had to watch our step or Wall Street would get us, just as we had to swallow as we went along or sit down and be swallowed. ivery Spoonful of Gravel Under the Ties was my slogan, and for two inches too much I’ve fired more than one foreman. Iron was still cheap, but we reclaimed every pound of scrap, down to the last spike. We never, of course, bought new rails for branch lines, but used the worn rails from the main line, cutting off the batter at the ends when too ed down for a decent joint. I devised a thirty-inch straightedge with a multiplying indicator pivoted near one end, to show at a glance the low joints due to batter. We cut our own timber for pile trestles and bents and sills and box culverts, and I patented a pile clasper for dropping over the top of our THE SATURDAY poirited logs and keeping them from broom- ing under the pound of the driver, I hit on the staggering of joint bolts to prevent wheel flanges cutting the rail ends free in case of accidental derailments, and among other things they liked to laugh at at first, but later took more seri , was my port- able headlight for night track inspection. It was merely a good big electric lantern with a diffusing reflector that I could stand on the rear platform of my business car, with the beam spread over my roadbed from shoulder to shoulder. That made them call me Hawkeye Rusk for a while. But it gave me a chance to ins many a mile of track after nightfall and tossed another five hours into my official day. These things seemed revolutionary at the time, but they were just that brand of so-called common sense that is uncommon enough until someone else puts it under our nose. For example, with us, as with every other road, a pay car had always gone lum- bering up and down the line to pay out to the men the money they had earned. Now it costs money to move and and op- erate a pay car, but it had always been done. When I broke that system and inau- gurated the simpler plan of paying by check, a howl went up that could be heard from the Susquehanna to the Cheyenne. But it related only common sense, once they got used to it. It justified itself and survived. ; I can’t: pes any medals to be pinned on me for what was pr ad common sense along the other side of the counter. I was making pretty good money oy this time, and I was saving it. I ieved in the D. & B. and knew what it was going to ow into. So I quietly picked up every Patch of its low-priced common stock that I could get my hands on. I capitalized my knowl , as any other sensible man would do; and knaving from the inside what our reports were going to be, I specu- lated in that stock and carried over my earnings and picked up enough shares to feel respectably fortified in my managerial position, For they can cut off a head in the railway world about as quick as Robes- pierre’s guillotine got ‘em off in the days of the Revolution. And when I knew our right of way was going in a certain direc- tion, I invested in land before the sub- divider stepped in to shave the profits. It was about this time that somethin: happened to fortify me in another lin o action. I don’t think I was unduly inflated ss any sense of my own moderate success. knew that I was pew 4 poms ys and I knew that I was making good, and all I asked was to keep on oe prt does our system grew. I never claimed to a climber in a social way. I’m made of too hard a metal to be socially malleable. I still feel a bit of a fool in a dress suit, though I’ve reached the stage where I can tell the difference be- tween a sherbet glass and a finger bowl. For about seventeen years, as I remem- ber it, Aggie did her best to come between me and my alpaca coat—-and the comfort- able old alpaca won out in the end. It took almost as long to make me discard the good old nightgown for the pesky pajamas that never cover the small of a man’s back. My girl, Tassie, it’s true, now attends to all my clothes. She orders them new and sees they are kept in shape, and when she decks me out with a scarfpin that’s too nifty for an old roundhouser I quietly pass it over to one of the office boys. But when the projected reorganization of the board—after we’d absorbed the bankrupt C. M. & T. before the world at large even knew it was on the market took me to Boston, Aggie was anxious that Mrs. Javan Page should receive us with a friendly hand. Aggie began to sense the fact that New York was going to be our eventual headquarters, and like ony other woman of ambition she wanted to link up with a social leader or two. Aurelia Page, of course, knew about all the older families in those older cities. And Aggie, comin out of her customary quietness, pegred away at her point until I put my pride in my pocket and went to Javan Page and suggested that my wife would like to call on his wife during our Boston visit. I watched Javan Page with a shrewd eye as I put that suggestion to him. He appar- ently knew that I had power enough to make it more than a suggestion. But he at once sat down and wrote the required letter of introduction. He did so without enthu- siasm on the one hand, but without com- ment on the other. Aggie outfitted herself in Detroit and hid away my black alpaca EVENING POST work coat and we landed in Boston on a raw April day that struck a chill to the marrow and took the joy out of the half- hearted spring sunshine. I was busy wit my meeti and conferences and paid little attention to A her Detroit togs weren't turning out to be so up to date as she’d expected. But when she armed herself with her letter of intro- duction and called a cab, I took enough time off to go with her to the Page home on Street, wondering why that visit to mean as much to her as my whole conference meant to me. e Page home was a poorer looking place than we'd expected to see and two peeks at it showed that it needed either a sand blast or a paint pot. It looked gra and dull and slightly run down, and wasn't sorry when the Page butler returned with the information that Mrs. Javan Page was not at home. Aggie seemed to understand better than I did, for her face suddenly lost all its color. I don’t think she said six words to me on the ride back to the hotel. But I'd left the letter of introduction and insisted that we could have another try in a day or two. I was still too thick-skulled. to under- stand the situation. I was a busy man that week, and every ounce of my energy was going to the work of pounding through my merger as I’d planned it. at planning went a trifle farther back than some of the old dunderheads about the mahogany table dreamed. Nearly a year before, for instance, when the bank had sent its rail- way expert West to investigate us, I'd showed that expert three weeks of the ha piest trout fishing he’d ever had. His camps were outfitted with everything from the t Canadian to the best diner chef on the road, and he traveled East as mellow as a golden pippin in August. He believed in us and our future, and he said so in his report. But things weren’t going so well that week in my own home circle. Aggie’s con- tinued quietness began to eme. Then it began to worry me. She wasn’t inter- ested in the Back Bay and wouldn’t even iy over to see the new public oie When finally came back from the board room of the bank, pretty well primed up with my own importance over the way I'd been able to swing things, I found my pale-faced better half pining alone in the hotel room. I was flushed with victory, as the papers put it; but Aggie didn’t even seem inter- ested in the news I’d brought back to her. And it was a good two hours before I could get the truth out of her. She told me then, with a foolishly stricken light in her eyes, that Mrs. Javan Page had snubbed her. I told her, knowing what I knew, that Mrs. Javan Page would never dare to snub her. Whereupon Aggie ex- lained that the lady's silence, after our | etter of introduction had been presented, could be accepted only as a deliberate cut. | She didn’t want to know us. I could afford to laugh at that, for I was still erm pretty sure of myself. But I could neither jolly Aggie along nor change her mind, and that got my Irish up. I de- cided to take the bull by the horns, I told my wife that I was going over to see Aurelia say and get her stand on the matter. ggie tried to stop me. But she couldn’t have stopped me any more than she could have stopped Niagara. She looked at me in almost a pitying way as I ordered a cab and started out. Women, as I understood later on, have little battlefields of their own, where they snipe with firearms too small for the male eye. It didn’t smooth my feathers any, when I got to the Page house, to find Miss Vinnie stepping down the steps. She was in riding togs and a groom was waiting for her at the curb, where a pone black pony was biting at the bark of a chestnut tree. She’d shot up like a bad weed since I'd seen her last, but I remembered her well enough. When I spoke to her, however, she lifted her pointed chin a little higher in the air, looked me over with a cool green eye and pursued her way to the fat black pony without so much as a word in return. I was irritated, but I wasn’t upset. I was calm enough when I rang the bell and asked for Mrs. e. The older generation were wiser than the younger. ey had less to learn about one’s chickens coming home to roost—in more ways than one. So I wasn’t surprised when the blank-eyed butler re- turned with the information that Mrs. Page would be down in a moment. “But it was a mighty long moment. I amused myself, however, by looking about ’s discovery that aie ERE is no cost obstacle. The fallacy that brick is expensive has been smashed ! Your added investment for a brick home amounts to only a few dollars more than for a well-built house of less endur- ing materials. Your savings in upkeep and paintin will more than equal the slight difference in cal a few years. 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Wrigleys is as beneficial as it is pleasant and lasting. Regular use of it will aid the teeth appetite anddigestion. It cleanses the teeth removing food particles that cause decay, Good dum is for you - Medos and Lior affirm this, Let the children have Wrigleys for lasting pleasure and Pat wisely.chew your food well and use Wrigieys - after every meal, You will note a marked improve- ment in your health and spirits. Smiles come easier, breath is sweeter, the world is brighter with Wrig leys, F3z Ofter every meal” the flavor lasts ! WRIGLEY'S 4 JUICY FRUIT y CHt WING GUM THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | that room, by ey pee it with a little | more interest than I showed in most rooms. | It was a gloomier looking place than I’d expected, with a lot of sullen-looking mul- | berry drapes and a lot of old walnut that | might have come out of the ark and a lot of banged-up old brass that must have be- | longed to the harder fisted of the Pilgrim | Fathers. Even the rugs looked faded and neutral, though I could see they had once been genuine Oriental, before the moths |and the tea drinkers of Beacon Hill had get at them. Everything in that room in | fact looked as if it had come out of the past, | the remote but remembered past that some- | body was bys trying to keep alive a century or two after it had given up the | ghost. | And Aurelia Page gave me lots of time to |think this over, for after inspecting the j room for full twenty minutes and — }at my watch for the fourth time, I picke }up a volume of Henry James and nearly went crazy trying to find out what his first page of mental tanglefoot meant to a plain- minded man. It was like working out a | time-table to work out one of his sentences. | And I was still struggling with one of Mr. | James’ verbal way Tre hts traveling on | smoke orders when Aurelia Page came into | the room. | She still struck me as rather handsome, | in a cold and thin-blooded way, and I could see a light in her eye that had never been 'there before. But she fooled me from the first, for her unruffled quietness of manner | had the trick of making me feel more at home than I ought to have been. I felt so at home in fact that I didn’t stop to do any beating about the bush. | “Your husband,” I solemnly explained, “gave my wife a letter of introduction to | you. | She closed her eyes on the ghost of a |smile. But beyond that, I think, she didn’t | move. | “Which was altogether unnecessary,” | she said with a silvery sort of evenness, “as | I'd already met both you and your wife.” I found that to be true enough, when I |came to think it over, but there was a | shadowy sort of contempt in her tone which | wasn’t exactly to my liking. | “We were Seslag you would call on us,” I said as I let my glance meet and lock with hers. It wasn't exactly a reminder and it | wasn’t exactly an ultimatum. But I wanted | her to see that that arctic eye of hers | couldn’t intimidate me as it probably did | the small fry who came to the back door | with parcels. | She gave a ghostlike shrug of one thin shoulder as she sank into a chair. She was even able to smile, But it reminded me of winter sunlight on a convent icicle. And as she sat there I don’t think the hands on her lap moved once. “That small-town practice of calling on people doesn’t seem to be so sedulously ob- | served in the larger cities,” she gently re- {minded me, and she smiled again. But I | caught the malice buried in those folds of | gentleness, It was like an open razor blade wrapped in gray flannel. | “Do you feel you don’t care to call | I was foolish enough to demand, and I could see her face harden under my hostile | om. But she both puzzled and disap- | pointed me by breaking into a laugh. “You funny man!” she said as imper- |sonally as though she were speaking of a | double-tailed tree toad. I could feel a quick tingle of anger go through my body, but I held myself in. Psat and watched her as she crossed the room and placed a taper- ing Moae tip over the bell button on the | wali, | “Why funny?” I asked, as quietly as I |was able; and it took an effort, for I was boiling inside like a kettle on a caboose stove, | She sighed, almost plaintively, as she turned and looked at me from under her prettily wrinkled brows. “It’s funny, of course, because you haven't the slightest inkling of its funni- ness,” she was gracious enough to explain to me; and it was maddening, because it was so coolly meditative, that speech of hers. “You mean you prefer not knowing us?” I said as I got up out of her rickety old Windsor chair, be at least six genera- | tions of New England snobs must once have rested themselves. I was shaking a little by this time. I was doubling up my fists, without knowing it. And she smiled again as she glanced at my big-knuckled hand knotted together like a prize fighter’s. “I'd scarcely phrase it quite so naively,” she corrected me; but I knew what she was driving at. I got it like a knife thrust, right up to the hilt, and I had to stand there for a full moment to recover some sort of control over myself. “Of course, you know what this means?” I said at last, doing my best to speak as or as she had spoken. “That’s a matter of indifference to me,’’ she said with a smiling unconcern that took all the blood from my face and left me in a cold sweat of indignation; for it was a challenge, and we both knew it. We stood there facing each other like two animals facing each other in the quiet- ness of the jungle. There was nothing more to be said. There was nothing to do. The only thing left, of course, was for me to take up my hat and walk out over the worn rugs and out through the door which the blank-eyed butler had opened for me. The newsboys were calling out the after- noon papers, with my merger featured on the front page and a two-columned cut of me looking pompous and important above a single-column cut of their t Boston banker. But there was little room for pride in my heart as I pushed through the grou of reporters ane | for me in the otel lobby. It was full of hate, of foolish and bitter hate, caused by a foolish and bitter woman. And the thing that hurt, oddly enough, was that with all her hardness, Aurelia Page was a beautiful woman. I can still remember that face of hers as I stared into it across the shadows of her mulberry- draped library, finely cut and proudly held, sharpened into a diamondlike coldness by the quiet enmity that had taken all the color from her slightly hollowed cheeks. She had been born to the purple, but I couldn’t see that it had made her especially happy: All her life, gehen Le she had walked proudly between es ribbons. She was a proud and og | ady, happy in the circumstances of her birth and her being. But I knew that she wasn’t happy in spirit. And though I was never strong for the double-dyed stupidity of fighting against a woman, I intended to see that she didn’t become any happier through what she had done to me. She knew what my position was and she must have had an inkling of my power. Yet she had the cour- age to cross me. What was more, she had laughed softly and called me “that funny man!” And when you humble a self-made man, I’ve found, that man may have a short pedigree, but he’s got a long memory. x HE first thing I did when I got back from Boston was to have Javan Page in- vestigated. When you have an enemy it’s always rather worth while knowing where the weak links of his life happen to lie. And we all have them. So I called in Bob Wambaugh, the chief of our investigation department, who'd just done some uncommonly clever detective work in tracing up the source of three car- loads of our scrap which had been crooked! sold and shipped te Chicago. Wambaugh was a character who'd been first brought to me by my now staunch friend McMun. He looked sleepy and inoffensive and acted like the feeder out of a comedy vaudeville team. But that was merely a mask behind which he concealed the guile of the serpent and the will of a bulldog. So he quietly set to work, at my bidding, to see what he could get on Javan Page. Wambaugh’s work, as a whole, was a dis- appointment to me. There was very little that was useful to be attached to my friend the enemy. There were apparently no women in his life. He was the thin-biooded type, I concluded, who would never make a misstep in that direction. There were no decipherable family skeletons in his closets and no grave professional errors in his record, But we discovered that financially the Pages weren’t so well-to-do as the world imagined. They were keeping up their pace, but they were doing it rather pant- ingly. They were putting on a big front, in other words, but there wasn’t much behind that front. Aurelia Page ap arently in- sisted on spending her money before it ar- rived in her hand. She maintained an unquestioned social position, but she was harassed all the while by debts which her husband seemed in no hurry to liquidate. Her hope for final relief, as I had already surmised, lay in her father, old Marcus Delane. But Delane, with all his money, March 7,1925 had the Yankee genius for fondling a Treas- ury note until the silk threads wore thin. He didn’t believe in giving away a dollar when it could be put out to work. And almost by accident we discovered a new way in which these dollars were to be put to work. For several years the man- agement of the D. & B. had had its eye on the old Peninsular and Northern. It stood a vital link in our ultimate chain, and eventually we had to absorb it or parallel it. But it was a run-down property, as we well enough knew, a fair-weather line that ambled across our trickiest snow belt and curled up and went to sleep after every fair-si winter storm. Snow, in fact, was its worst enemy, and I'd figured out on making that same snow my best friend. I'd already faced and won my Waterloo in this old campaign of operating forces against ice and snow. We'd all been trained in a hard school along the D. & B. I’ learned up*front how severe cold could con- dense steam; how frozen dope would cause cut journals and give us hot boxes, while the oil in a journal! box itself would freeze; how coal froze in cars, and how ash pans froze and air hose froze. Only too often I'd seen ice and snow put our signals out of business. I’d seen switches freeze and rails break and rough going shake engines and cars to pieces. I'd seen our interlocking plant fail at the time it was most needed, and I'd seen office staffs turned out on the line and pale-faced clerks shoveling drifts to let the stalled switch engines through. Only too often. I’d seen headquarters watch the weather and pull off the snow freights, cutting traffic down to passenger and perishable freight trains and sending everything out double-headed. I’ve seen ice form overnight up to the rail tops, so that when a locomotive swung down the grade and hit the lower track the old iron horse snake-danced off the roadbed and turned around on its care-free drivers. And in water-protecting clay cuts where our ballast wasn’t deep enough I've seen Jack Frost heave the ground and lift the rails twelve and fourteen inches above normal, so that’ we had to put enough shims under the sister rails to make them look like a speedway on stilts, and we also had to crawl over the line like a tomeat walking a wire fence. It took time and labor, and it cost money, but the road had to be kept open. And when balked by blind Nature, I’d tried to work out a plan for eluding her. In the first place, I inaugurated a campaign to conserwe timber along our cuts, to prevent drifting. Where this was impossible, I placed snow fences and put Bern ditches along the upper cuts. I ordered a study of prevailing winds and weather conditions, and in the way offices established miniature intelligence bureaus to phone reports of local conditions, and equip us to proffer advice to ports and terminals. When snow was too heavily jammed in the cuts and yards to be removed by bucking with our old-fashioned snowplows, we called out the locomotive cranes with their clam shell and orange-peel buckets to bite away the packed and impeding drifts. But I saw one thing coming—one thing that was going to change all this—and that was the rotary snowplow. With the rotary plow, I’d figured out, the old Penin- sular and Northern could be made almost a continuous performer. It could be re- deemed. It was suffering from periodic hardening of the arteries and I foresaw a cure for its disease. I foresaw what that rotary snowplow was going to do, just as, later on, I foresaw how the automobile was going to affect our feeder lines and our short-haul traffic. I needed that road and I intended to have it, but I wasn’t foolish enough to advertise my intention. When Javan Page, however, as our chief engineer, had been sent over the line a year before to make a quiet appraisal of the property, he naturally assumed that we as an expanding system had our eye on what remained of that. decrepit old Peninsular and Northern, and he was now trying to forestall us in that move. He and: his father-in-law, I found, had been gathering up every loose share of stock. He was stak- ing every dollar on that impending deal. He was playing silent partner in the game. But Wambaugh got hold of enough of the correspondence to show that our good friend Javan wasn’t above gypping his associates and double-crossing his con- federates, when he saw the chance for a quick rake-off. He was, of course, dolor- ously in need of money. (Continued on Page 153)

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— i ee = — = ~~ a — Py =— ~ 5 it if , int ‘ | oe are OS - ete Trigger Switch” HE best engineering gets the desired results in the simplest way. The ordinary switch is made up with small springs, tiny screws, and a multi- plicity of small parts. “The Pistol Grip and Trigger Switch,” in addition to its ease of operation, is simplicity itself. It consists merely of a large contact block which is rotated between two large phosphor bronze contact blades. This contact block is given a one-eighth turn by means of a ratchet operated by the trigger, and the bronze contact blades are themselves the springs which snap the block over from “Off” to “On” and from “On” to “Off”. Large parts, utmost simplicity and the “ snap action” THE MECHANICAL APPEAL THE SATURDAY EVENING POST s are the mechanical features which make the “Pistol Gri and Trigger Switch” superior and longer lived. Other advantages of the “Switch” are the Cable Clamp which holds the electric cable in a vise-like grip, relieving strain from the copper conductors; and the Screw Terminals making it possible to renew the electric cable, should it ever become necessary, without the necessity of soldering. Most drill bit breakages occur when the bit breaks through the work. “The Pistol Grip and Trigger Switch” reduces drill bit breakage because when the operator feels the drill bit “go through”’ he instinctively tightens his grip, automatically pulling the trigger and stopping the drill. You can secure BLACK & DECKER Portable Electric Drills, Electric Screw Drivers, Electric Socket Wrenches, Electric Tappers and Electric Grinders from the leading Mill Supply, Machinery, Plumbing, Automotive and Electrical Supply Houses. The BLACK & DECKER MFG. CO. TOWSON, MARYLAND, UV. S. A. Canadian Factory—Lyman Tube Bldg., Montreal, P. Q. Branch Offices with Service Stations in Boston New Yorx San, Francisco ATLANTA BuFraLo PHILADELPHIA Sr. Lous DALLas Derroir BALTIMORE Kansas Crry MontTreat CHIcaco MINNEAPOLIS CLEVELAND Toronto BLACKS DECKER “With the Pistol Grip and Trigger Switch’ Sil as on RRR 05 eee pe aa a es ae THE HUMAN APPEAL There probably is not one man in ten thousand in whose hands a pistol wouldn’t feel natural and comfortable. The reason is that in designing pistols and revolvers it has been the work of experts to make them fit naturally in the hand and to supply a control affording greatest ease of operation. The “Grip” and “Control” of the modern “automatic pistol’ is said to be so natural as to make aiming and firing practically in- stinctive, The GENUINE “Pistol Grip and Trigger Switch” is an exclusive patented feature of BLACK & DECKER PORTABLE ELEC- TRIC TOOLS. Electric Drill

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Cooking heat that goes “straight to the point’ The burners of this Oil Range focus the heat right under the cooking EAT from any fire radiates out, and much of its strength is lost. But the Florence burners focus the heat right under the cooking utensil. The flame rises clear and intensely hot straight to the point where it will do the most good—-the bottom of the pot—instead of escaping into the kitchen. This is the way the best cooking results are obtained. Control of the flame To light the Florence Oil Range turn a lever and touch a match to the asbestos kindler— that’s ali. By turning the lever you can ad- just the flame to any degree of heat required. This flame is a gas flame, produced from kerosene vapor. It is not a wick flame, such as you see in an ordinary oil lamp. The Flor- ence is a very economical stove, and there is no smoke or unpieasant odor. With its blue or gray porcelain enamel and sturdy black frame, any woman would con- sider the Florence an ornament to her kitchen. A unique feature of the Florence Oil Range is the Leveler, an ingenious device at- tached to each leg to adjust the stove to un- even floors. A spirit level on the feed pipe will show you when the stove is level. Drop into a department, furniture or hard- ware store, and convince yourself that this is the all-round good stove you have been looking for. Fiorence Stove Compary, Park Square Bldg., Boston, Mass. DivIsiOn OFFICES: New York, Chicago, Atlanta, New Orleans, Dallas, Denver, Detroit, Cleveland Makers of Florence Oil Ranges, Florence Ovens, Florence Water Heaters and Florence Oil Heaters Made and Sold in Canada by McClary’s, London, Canada March 7,1925 FLORENCE Oil Range This cut-away picture shows how the blue flame of the Florence goes straight to the cocking. The heat is focused just where you want it. The Florence Oven This is the Florence Oven, built on q the principle of the Dutch oven, with the “baker's arch” to prevent air pockets, The patented heat spreader at the bottom assures even distribution of heat and gwards against your roasts and baked things being underdone on top and burnt on the bottom. On the door of the oven there is a heat indicator which shows how much heat there is inside. Sword Find out about Florence ranges and ovens and the cooking and baking you can do with them by sending for our free booklet, **Get Rid of the ‘Cook Look.” It contains much information that will interest you. © 1925 F S.Co ee ee 4 Se —— ee een ee

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Se ee Cemex > a - — —— — = = em — = ilctins arisen _ eee en (Continued from Page 150) I sat back and let him wade in a little deeper. Then wher the board met to con- sider the projected purchase I guess I startled them, all right, for this time I bit- terly opposed any such move. I advocated a foe: of the physical prop- erty and an experimental operation of the line. But that, I claimed, was as far as we dared to go. This, of course, was declined. But it gave me time to lay my ropes and interview my political friends and influence certain banking interests and force the original holding company into a receivership. This was late in November. I knew, of course, the wintry winds would soon be putting the Peninsular and Northern’s time-table to bed for its seasonal sleep. So I seemed reluctant to take over the operation of such a property, as receiver, when the court designated me to do so. I was pointed out as the one man who could save the road; and if Delane stood in any way suspicious of my intentions, he was not in a position to announce it. We had plenty of snow that winter, and I saw to it that our bankrupt road made a record for itself. I kept it about as alive as a hibernating bear. It didn’t even know it had a circulatory system. Javan Page lost about ten pounds in weight that winter, and when we decoded his private wires to old Delane they made mighty interesting reading. But I let him stew along on the anxious seat until the mid-February bliz- zard, for the Chicago papers had got inter- ested in the situation and were beginning to clamor for an investigation. They claimed there were marooned towns up the line without food enough to take care of the women and children until the spring thaw could let freight through. It made good copy and they worked it to the limit. And that, in turn, led to a Federal inquiry board, and I challenged that board to dis- pute or refute my claim that the road as it stood was not an operable road. Being an inquiry board, they did as I wanted—they came up into the district to do their in- quiring, and conditions were just right to make it interesting. I sent them in on a special, with Jay Tilford conducting and Dippy Dean up in front, and I’d instructed Jay and Dippy on just what had to happen to them. Those unsuspecting investigators meandered into a snow field that blocked their line of ad- vance and at the same time deepened be- hind them. When they went to telegraph back for help the wires were down. It was next day before we got any word of their dilemma, and by this time the big city reporters were coming up to nose out the story. I sent four of them through on the first engine and snowplow dispatched to THE SATURDAY dig out the special. That plow, as I antici- pated, jumped the track before it could buck halfway through to the marooned in- quiry board. So we sent another engine and plow and hook through to the relief of the first expedition of relief. They, too, got off the rails. I hadn’t intended that, for this was pulling the thing a bit strong. So I | blew up before a circle of wide-eyed re- orters and announced that if I didn’t ave a crew who could take an engine through I’d take one rayself. I ordered out my plow and climbed aboard and off we started. It made a good story, and the wires were already humming with different versions of the little drama. | But the drifting was heavier than I'd ex- pected. When my little goat was doing its | § best to buck one of the bigger drifts, it suddenly bucked itself off the steel. And there we lay, the third tie-up on the line, with the big boss himself eating crow and sending back for a wrecking train. It was too pee a story to kill, or to try to kill, even if I wanted it killed. It went over the wires in a dozen different forms, and before our wheels were back on the rails most of North America, I guess, was | I let ’em laugh, | giving me the laugh. though, for they were laughing a new link into my system. That half-starved inquiry board put in a report that made the Penin- | sular and Northern semaphore arms blush | for shame. The newly organized stock- holders’ protective committee brought suit against the D. & B. for alleged conspiracy to despoil and injure the Peninsular and Northern Railroad and to defraud its stock- holders. But that was a gesture of despair and nothing more, since it was easily es- tablished that the rigors of Nature could not be laid at my door. Snow had para- | lyzed them—and paralyzed men can’t fight. | | hey were down and out. And before they could get on their feet we'd formally taken over their property at a court order, at a court valuation to fit the prevailing condi- tions. They were too weak to resist and we swallowed them up. We never found out how much Javan Page and Delane lost in that transaction, but it must have totaled up to a couple of millions. And the odd part of it was, I don’t believe Page ever realized just how it had happened. If he did, he was a better actor | than I ever gave him credit for. Aurelia | Page didn’t go to Europe the next summer, as she had counted on doing. She sold her summer cottage at Narragansett, in fact, and came West and rented a cheap bun- alow at Old Willow Beach and went perch fishing in a flat-bottomed punt. It was the same bungalow I'd sold the year after my boy Kennie was drowned there. (TO BE CONTINUED) EVENING POST | 153 Good Buildings Deserve Good Hardware — E : wv “My dear—this hardware is simply perfect” T CERTAINLY should be. French Doors are notoriously fussy about their hardware—in fact, nearly all doors are To suit their ideas of how hardware should work and yours of how it should look is no small responsibility. But how completely it is met by Good Hardware~Corbin. i Both in service and sightliness Corbin Hardware seems to H sense one’s slightest whim. Graciously, Corbin Hinges Corbin Door Checks Corbin Locks secure swing doors open for the breeze close them tightly against storm them firmly against intrusion. Good Hardware does these things wherever used. Capable in office buildings, beautiful and useful in homes, impres- sive in public buildings and hotels, serviceable in factory, school and store, Good Hardware — Corbin every good building and will be found on tens of thousands of them. It is a joy to live with. belongs on A word from you will bring ewo booklets—“Locksets for French Doors" and ‘‘Good Buildings Deserve Good Hardware’’—both extremely helpful. P, & F. CORBIN *ii* SGXweericur The American Hardware Corporation, Successor [ne en OE A ee NS Se PHOTO. BY COURTESY FINGER LAKES STATE PARKS COMMIBSION Rainbow Falis, Watkins Glen State Park, New York New York Chicago Philadelphia

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST RED HAIR (Continued from Page 11) Buster BRowNn HOES

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smell a little fame and favorable publicity, why, he’d be as proud of her as he is con- temptuous now! Oh, Gran, I loathe myself when I look at her rove pinched little face! I wish to heaven I’d married him myself and saved her from him!” “Wh-at?” Madame Eaton’s voice ex- pressed a degree of surprise that was quite remarkable, praryd laughed. “Oh, yes, I had the first chance to endow him. You were abroad that summer he ap- red on the horizon and married Doris; ut he began his speculations with me and I was quite intrigued for a few weeks. One night he had an engagement for a ball down on Long Island; but Preston asked me later, and of course when Preston whistled. I followed. I broke the engagement with Rich. My word, what a time! He acted like the village ruffian. He actually threw furniture. And he swore if I went with Preston that he’d marry Doris the next week—which he did.” She sprang up with an irritated, restless gesture. “Ah! I’ve always felt that your cham- pionship of Doris went deeper than friend- ship,” said Madame Eaton, after the manner of a spinner satisfiedly adding another skein to her pattern. “Oh, not sc much so,” said Nancy dis- missingly. “But it was certainly one time when doing what I wanted to made a merry mess all around. Did Preston telephone this afternoon?” Preston Davis was her lawyer. “Yes; he can’t come this evening. There’s a tangle in the office that he has to work late on, he said. He’ll come round some evening next week. He said there was no hurry about signing those papers.” “Oh, I knew there wasn’t. Why can’t I leave that man alone?” It was a question that asked no answer, but her grandmother almost eagerly gave it one. “Why, ause you love him, png A - for the same reason that Doris goes on lov- ing Richard in spite of his indifference and that Jimmy MacDowell continues in mis- ery because of you. It’s futile to try to ar- range love. It’s the one thing you may want to do that you can’t,” Nancy smiled slowly, sat down again and put her hands on her grandmother's knees. “Well, Gran, I’m going to make a mighty effort to arrange some of its manifestations; and perhaps I’m actually going to do some- thing I don’t want to.”” She laughed and stood quickly. “ And if it opens the gates to Nirvana for me, I'll let you know. I'll have you and Sally in for a members-only cup of tea.” “You'll have to have cocktails for Sally,” was Madame Eaton’s unperturbed com- ment; but she changed hastily to her distance ginemme ere wees | men Pied head- strong ddaughter with bewildered eyes as eee b uely sent Mu Lan trotting for her aed clanged the elevator door behind her. a N LESS than ten minutes—for she took the car nearest the door and drove it prc spony Sie the bell of the Temple apartment on Washington Square and, dis- regarding the hushful attitude of the maid, sent a penetrating ‘ Hoo-hoo!”’ reverberat- ing h the long drawing-room. It brought a hurrying Doris into the far door- way, a silencing finger on her lips. She had changed into a soft chiffon tea gown which ae its p , made her more wistf t aren do you? Can't your financial giant endure the sound of a human voice?” hurried to her entreatingly. “Oh, Nancy, do be a dear and go home! I was just afraid you were going to do this. But please don’t say anything to Richard about the play. I—I—don’t want him to know aanel it. He’s all tired out and he y soul, it’s none of my affairs. I’m bent on big business. Where is he?” “Oh, Nancy, Iknowyou'relying. You've somehow got the idea to your head that I wanted to take that part, when—when— well, I just thought it might amuse me while Richard’s away, and I’m relieved now that I’ve made up my mind not to. And Rich- ard’s trying to get a little sleep.” March 7,1925 “Then it’s time he wakened to oppor- tunity.” Nancy sat down on the piano bench and reflectively struck some’ un- related chords. “The truth is I’ve some money I want to throw away, and I know of no better medium than Rich and his new scheme. Oh, don’t be alarmed. I’ve for- gotten whatever it was you said to me about it. Preston Davis advised me.” She pulled off her hat and began to play. She seldom touched a piano; but when she did, her fingers brought forth something more than music. They released her rest- less spirit and sounded a certain indefinable defiance. She played now Liszt’s tran- scription of Schumann’s Widmung, the first sure swift notes bringing Richard Temple into a curtained doorway, where he stood watching her, a mocking smile on his hand- some face. A strange powerful passion. for music had always possessed him. He was a tall man, more carelessly brutal than care- fully cruel. He had the shoulders of a pugilist, the loins and legs of a sprinter. His eavy blond hair was disheveled and he wore a smoking jacket. He did not look at his wife, who wavered between them, her draperies fluttering, the impersonation of distressed apprehension. Nancy looked up sidewise and nodded to him. “Hello, Rich! From what Preston Davis tells me, I guess we’ll soon have to enlarge your name to Richer.” “Is that why you’re playing Widmung— as a dedication to what I remember about the last time you played it for me, or to what I may expect in the future?” His voice was so definitely suggestive that his wife’s apprehension dulled a little from asharper surprise, but her quick glance found a wholly undisturbed guest who evi- dently heard nothing of i rt in his query. “Neither,”’ she said. “T can't remember all our battles. I’m making a business call. Preston tells me this last madness of yours has a fighting chance for success, and also’’—she raised her auburn brows through a long pause—‘“‘also that you need a little more capital.” “And, of course, all it needs is a good word from Davis to give you faith in the devil himself.” “‘Tt seems to have done so,”’ she admitted. “I doubt it,” he made quick reprisal. “Anything would interest you that gives you a plausible excuse for seeing Davis.” “Oh, please!’’ broke in Doris, fluttering her hands at them imploringly and trying to lighten the moment by ragged, un- amused laughter. ‘‘Won’t you ever exhaust yourselves of nasty things to say to each other?” “‘A-h!”’ He turned to her with unleashed irritation and struck a derisively enraptured = “All ears attend while the second ernhardt speaks! My wife—the unhesi- - embryonic star, the eager applicant or —— ‘‘___ the unceasing fount of finan- cial resources," Nancy drowned him out b sheer vocal prowess. ‘Go and dress. rit drive you to the station. I want to give you some money to throw away, but I don’t want to waste the whole evening doing it.’ He stared at her for an instant with nar- rowing, puzzled eyes; laughed shortly. “T accept your gracious invitation, cause I happen to need what you want to throw away. Otherwise, I should go in a taxi.” pad gaorebyoso I ——. neg Mi she said, and went on playing; but fingers changed to. T eg t Hum ue, though the melody of Widmung drifted back a ie oes barytone while he They said — more to each other until they were a dozen blocks up Fifth Avenue and were halted by the red street signal. Then he said, in a suddenly likable laugh- ing manner, “Well, Nancy, that was an in le; now what are you going to do with me?” “T’d like to drive off the Forty- second Street pier. rd didn’t you kiss Doris good-by there at the door?’ “If anyone knows the answer to that, you ought to,” he said, a bold satisfaction in the situation outweighing any curiosity about it. “I do know. It’s because you're a born brute. You married Doris for her money— and you got it. And you’ve somehow hyp- notized her into an abject and pathetic (Continued on Page 157) —_— <= pe eo See eo ad ol sk FP gg —— - _—- Sa —S : ~“ Se a ne ee ie —< tor, gnc ——— Se Ra ewe ae

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— OS Oe a — a > se ee a Mystery Out Prices Down Compare the NATIONAL with the “Average” Battery NATIONAL Battery 6 Volt — 11 Plate 1—Plates used in the National Battery are of Standard Dimen- sion and Design. 2—Separators used are first quality Port Or- ford Cedar. 3—Cases of good qual- ity Hard Wood, coated with acid-proof paint or composition, one- © piece rubber container. 4— Dimensions of bat- tery 9’ long,734"’ wide, 8” high. 5—Guaranteed life, 18 mos. (12 mo. Ford.) 5—Price, $14.95. An Average Battery 6 Volt — 11 Plate 1—Plates used in the composite battery are of standard dimension and design. 2—Either wood or rub- ber insulation is used. (Woods used are Ce- dar, Cypress, Fir.) 3—Cases of hard wood or composition, one- piece rubber container. 4—Dimensions of bat- tery9”’ long,7*4”" wide, 8” high. 5—Guaranteed life, 90 days. 6—Average price,— $25.75 24 vole, 3500 M.A.H. NATIONAL “B” Storage Battery THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ATTERIES Ford $1425 Also fits Chevrolet, Star, Overland, etc. Learn the Facts about Battery Construction and Save Money ODAY, storage batteries of one or more types are appreciable cost items in the ex- pense of almost every family. The car, the radio, the motor boat all take their constant toll. It is time to buy wisely and well, and the proportion of careful buyers is rapidly increasing. National Batteries meet this growing de- mand for more battery service per-cost-dol- lar. They are the practical expression of a new value resulting from the work of ten years —lower manufacturing costs, lower labor costs, standardization, decentralization of manufacture to save freight and packing —every effort continuously directed toward making full-performance batteries at lower cost. Standard in every respect, with no features which serve to complicate con- struction. Every dollar of their manufac- turing costs represents performance and life —battery service. Compare the National Battery illustrated (the 6 volt 100 ampere hour auto battery) point by point with any other battery. Bet- ter still, ask any electrical engineer to check over its design and construction and give you an opinion. Then compare prices. You will know then that in the purchase of National Batteries you get full performance at prices which reduce your battery cost item. Write us for the name of our dealer nearest to you, : Dealers: Write for details about the National Franchise. No freaks or frills—Just sound values and a reputation building proposition. NATIONAL LEAD BATTERY CO. General Office: ST. PAUL, MINN. Factories: ST. PAUL, CHICAGO, KANSAS CITY Branches: New York City, Dallas, Oakland, Atlanta, Portland (Ore.), Los Angeles S ONE PRICE anywhere in the U. S. A,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 w three 4 revca the hidden FOU HAVE always had implicit confidence in the two marks— ‘Solid Gold” and “Sterling” silver, because these two standards of quality have nd been protected by U. S. laws. And now, in a watch case, you can place the same confidence in the mark “Gold Filled.’ For in order to xotect the public against inferior quality, the U. S. Federal Trade Commission recently approved a defi nite standard for gold filled watch cases. When, therefore, you buy a watch with the words “Wadsworth Gold Filled” stamped in the case, the hidden quality of the case lies revealed before you. Every case so stamped meets fully the standards ap- proved by the Federal Trade Commission. You can trust absolutely the marks “Wadsworth ) ereeoeder Gold Filled,” “Wadsworth Solid Gold,” or “Wads- worth Sterling.” For the name Wadsworth appears only in watch cases which conform to these three standards of quality approved by the government. And the name Wadsworth in the case further assures you of correct design and of that exactness of fit so essential to the protection of the timekeep- ing mechanism. For more than thirty-five years Wadsworth Cases have been chosen to dress and protect the movements of leading manufacturers and importers, Thus the movement your jeweler will recommend may already be dressed in a Wadsworth Case. But for your better protection, ask to see the mark of Wads- worth before you make your purchase. VERY “Wadsworth Gold Filled’ watch case is made by welding together two surfaces of solid gold with a layer of stronger metal between. The fineness and thickness of gold used fully meets the standard of quality recently approved by the U. S. Federal Trade Commission The result is a watch case of moderate price, gold inside and out, but stronger and stiffer than a thin solid gold case of equal price. When you buy a watch, therefore, be sure that the mark ‘‘Wadsworth Gold Filled” is stamped in the case. You can trust this mark as implicitly as you would the mark **Wadsworth Solid Gold” or “* Wadsworth Sterling.’ For the name Wadsworth appears only in watch cases which conform to these three standards of qual- ity approved by the government, WATCHES BEAUTIFUL Tue Wapswortn Watcu Case Co., Dayton, Ky. Suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio Case makers for the leading watch movements ere eee ae eee — ~~ s — -- ~ ~~~ a Se Se — — ca ee ee ee = a —

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— Ir a ee ar ae per ~ —_— 7 , — eee Sg oe Sr en a , (Continued from Page 184) devotion. You might at least repay her with human decency.” **Oh, listen to the lady in the glass house! Perhaps I might be more eager for your gullible little friend’s kisses if your own imperial lips hadn’t once favored me.”’ he roadster, unused to error, leaped forward in high gear, slowed, shuddered, re- gained its composure and proceeded se- dately in the ebbing stream of evening traffic. He leaned suddenly close, bravened by her discomfiture, and took her right arm in tight fingers. “Why did you play Widmung tonight— why?—if you expected me to remain a elod?”” “Curiosity, perhaps,” she said coolly. “Oh! Well, my memory is as clear as our own evidently is—the fire low—the talians going home, singing, across the park—your hands moving like white shad- ows over the keys. Oh, ‘Thou art my soul, thou art my heart; thou both my jo and sadness art.’” He the wo swiftly in his soft barytone, breaking off chore. “At least I’ve had the satisfac- tion of knowing you’ve gained no more than you gave me—in playing me for a pawn.” “Great heavens, Rich,” she exclaimed, swept away from her purpose into person- alities, so intense was his bitterness, “what a malicious imagination! We were only youngsters in a normal flirtation. I’d no idea that ———”” “No idea? Bah! You’ve known for every minute of the last ten years that if you bent your little finger I’d creep after you, just as I have tonight.” ““N-o; I’ve known that by nature you have a peculiar faithfulness to the thing you can’t have.” “Perhaps that same maxim explains your constancy to the wily Preston?’ She laughed, denying him any added argument to kindle his rancor. “Rich, if it gives you any satisfaction to believe I’m eating my heart out over Pres- ton, just because I once went to a dance with him instead of with you, why—luck to you. It may give you more to know that if ever on earth I’ve regretted anything, it’s that very thing.” There was something bewildering, not belligerent, almost companionable in her voice. Obeying her gesturing glance, he took his hand from her arm, but lingeringly, his fingers leaving a caress. She quickly corrected his impression. “Because if I’d kept you peaceful for another week or so, Doris might have been saved from you—if Charlotte Evans had got home with all her dear ducats in time to tempt you. Charlotte’s always coveted you a bit, I think, and you’d have met your own metal there.” “TI met the metal I wanted with Doris, don’t worry,” he said, complacently crude. “Her money’s been wholly acceptable. I’ve never denied it. And after all, miserable as you like to picture her, she seems to prefer me to—any change.” “Yes, she loves you, poor sacrifice,”’ said Nancy. “Rich, why do you mind if she takes part in this play?” Her voice, un- used to petitioning, seemed suddenly tight and unfamiliar. “‘It can’t matter to you. Won’t you be a sport and telephone back that you’ve changed your mind about it?” “Ah-hah! So this is why the queen is kind!’”’ His derisive laughter took the at- tention of passing pedestrians. They were again under reign of the green signal; on their left, that patrician of Fifth Avenue buildings, the library, and its garish plebeian neighbor, the ten-cent store, on their right. “But why should your highness stoop to such humiliation in order for Doris to further distinguish herself as a mess? She’s balled up everything she’s ever tried.” “She’s never balled up her record for loyalty and courage and fine friendship. Rich, I really believe she can put it over; these Alverson people insist she’s just the person for this particular part, and I’m sure they know their job. Anyhow, she’s a right to try it if she wants to. What satisfaction can it possibly give you to be such a despot? It’s a mighty small way of playing king.” “Oh, rot! Doris has no mentality, I tell you. I don’t deny I’m fed up with her, but she’s my wife, and I do have some pride about the damn foolishness she kicks up. Good Lord, didn’t she ruin the whole show the last time she tried being a great ac- tress—with proud husband in the front box yearning to kill her? Not again, thank you; sorry as I am not to grovel under your slightest request, as you expected me to.” THE SATURDAY “Didn’t expect you to at all. Don’t you suppose I know you better than that? I came fully prepared to bribe you. Isn’t it true that you need some more money for this airplane project?” ““We-ell, I don’t need it that badly. Where did you get your information? You said from Davis, but I know very well that he couldn’t have told you.” “No, of course he didn’t,” she admitted pleasantly. “I lied about it because I wanted Doris to believe I was really im- ressed with your financial genius; which ie, I ove A say, was as nothing compared to the classics I invented after you went out to dress. Rich, I’m not going to let you out this car alive until you give in.” “A-h!” He reached for his cigarettes. “* Paradise enow.’” “But there'll be no bread or verses; and my singing is very bad.” “You haven’t any other bribe to offer?” His voice was as quiet as her own, but effortfully so. Hsp to offer; yours to suggest,”’ she said. For an instant he stared silently at her straight-nosed profile, the long lovely eye- lashes, the firm set chin, the curve of her throat a line of beauty. His sensitive, selfish mouth twitched slightly. “You know as well aT do that I'll do anything on God’s earth if I may begin rr again the way—the way things were before you threw me over.” She made ne pretense of surprise. “Then I'll stop at the station. We can telephone Doris from the hotel—tell her we ran into Alverson—TI’ll be in another booth making that part of it ail right—and that she was so emphatic that you've chan —_ mind. It’s got to be settled tonight ore Sally and Janet get too active. There’s heaps of time before your train.” “There certainly is. Since miracles have been made for me here, I'll change my ticket for one of the early morning trains.” “Very good. Shall we have dinner some place as is, or would you like me to go home and dress?’’ “Oh, what a flawless machine you are! Any game that’s going is a good to ou; but I have to play it, knowing you ate me.” “T’ve never hated you less,” she said. “Ah, look who comes!” He laughed. “Lord, this is good! Blessed, indeed, be Doris, who has made this come to pass.” But nothing could have seemed con ood to Nancy Caldwell. The serene green light in the bronze obelisk was the eye of an enemy, trapping her. “Hello, you two!” called a friendly ac- costing voice. “ Aren’t eloping, are you?” And Preston Davis made his way through the stream of B sages. to the edge of the pavement. e was big and blond and undisturbedly leaving youth behind. The careless way he wore his careful clothes made him a target of envy for all men to the manner aspiring rather than born. He was so sincerely at ease with himself that, though far less Shear acon he struck a sharp and favorable contrast to the nerve-driven ambitious man in the car. “‘ You know I’ve always suspected you two,” he went on with unwitting aptness. “Such perfection of enmity as you’ve outwardly maintained isn’t a human manifestation.” Nancy’s burr-brown eyes gave him back his straight, bantering gaze. “You've always told me I’m inhuman, so your argument doesn’t hold.” “T’m not so sure, with Rich, here, look- ing as elated as a~adet out with a million- aire’s daughter. Does Doris know you're out?” “Does she” said Temple. “Why, this woman dragged me off from right under her eyes! I thought for a while, myself, that I had reason to be elated; but I find it was only an armistice cessation for procuring some shares in my sure-to-succeed propo- sition.” Davis looked unconcernedly surprised. “Why, Rich, I thought all your stock was well disposed of,” “It—is,” said Temple with obvious satis- faction; “but ——” “But the cunning thing didn’t tell me so,” Nancy determinedly took the con- versation, “until he’d got well started on a free ride to the station. You don’t look haggard with overwork, Preston. From what Gran said, I thought you must be sleeping and eating at your desk these days.” “Well, not exactly; and by the way, Nancy, Jim took that case I was bothering EVENING POST with off my hands, so I’ll drop round with those deeds about 8:30 if you like.” “Sorry,”’ said Nancy, flushing a little, at which rare occurrence Davis’ manner of mild surprise politely retreated; ‘but I've another en ment, and Gran’s going to the opera. I’ll run up to the office and si the things some morning next week. Good-by.” Never before had she said good-by to this man 80 gladly. At last the welcome scarlet signal had commanded north-and-souti raffic. “T’ve never reflected with greater convic- tion on the law of emotional equilibrium,” commented Temple as the roadster swam noiselessly on in the turbulent stream. “I doubt if life could go on just now except beware 3 delight balances your disappoint- men She laughed—her infrequent laugh that always gave one a sense of triumph for having roused it. “T hate to add to your conceit, Rich; but have you ever known me to do very many things that I didn’t want to?” Again the situation seemed for an instant to baffle him, Eagerness flamed into his oad aa and burned out their bewilder- me nt. HE caged ae woes me, Nancy; I'll no putty in your fingers— . Ll won- der where your b n will So. engl ing bruty, Heron tining y throug traffic jams. “I’m going to par know this policeman. d we'll do our telephoning, to begin the bargain.” mum T WAS an epochal midnight in Nancy I Caldwell’s loft. Irregularity was run- ning riot. Mu Lan was out—an extraor- dinary lateness; to welcome a twenty-seventh n from Canton whom someone had ransomed in for atmosphere. Usually the loft lived in light, but ht it was dark except for the dying glow shim- mering from the | low fire; . Ma- dame Eaton was not in her big chair in the alcove as it was her habit to be at that hour, for she liked watching the lighted windows of the park wink out into darkness. She had gone, for informative purposes only, to hear an opera as modern as her grand- daughter—something sung in consonants to jazz music about a shopgirl and a plumber. And most phenomenal of all, Nancy Cald- well sat alone, hands idle, black eyes closed, rofiled inst the glow of the fire. Her air, unchained from its customary im- prisoning braids and massed about her head with in uate hairpins, was a glory of disorder. She wore a sleeveless white gown, girdled with amber. Her hair and the amber caught kindred lights from the thin- ning flames. She did not move when the elevator clickingly announced the return of her grandmother. That Madame Eaton should appear at all was another violation of rou- tine; she usually went directly to her own apartment on the floor below when she had been out in the evening. The thud and tap of her ebony cane sounded a definite determination as she crossed the long -strewn floor. When she was quite near, coy | spoke. “Well, Gran, how was the opera? I sup- posed you were home an hour ago.” “Tt was as long as it was terrible,’’ said Madame Eaton briefly. “ Nancy, what has been going on here? You look like a di- sheveled corpse.” She sat down with dignified caution in a chair that swallowed her into its giant soft- ness until it drew her feet a little off the floor; so that with perceptible effort she kept herself erect by a firm anchoring of her cane. Nancy smiled, “T, too, have been spending a musical evening—with Rich,” she said. ‘Didn't you meet each other at the door?”’ “We did,”’ said Madame Eaton; “but from your appearance, I should surmise that you've been spending an evening of of wrestling.” Seldom, indeed, had Madame Eaton needed to find expression for such a situa- tion. Nancy gravely shook her head in denial. “N-o, Gran, ‘wrestling’ is too inclusive; it suggests resistance, and I offered none. It didn’t seem hospitable to deny so in- frequent a guest the privilege of mussing my hair.” “Nancy! You're revolting! Have you gone quite mad?” “W y: not at all. I’m bounding along on the highway to happiness that you and : 157 ' Saily recommended, enjoying the rémark- able satisfaction that I’ve missed all these thirty years. Wasn't she pleasingly accu- rate about my ag “Oh, Neney, 11 knew when you left this +a that you were possessed of the devil. But how you ean have lowered your- self to a—a thing. like this is—is—is ——-” Her vocabulary failed her. “ig very exhausting, Gran, and there’s an end to it.” Nancy's tone with- drew all companionableness and suggested a frank desire to be left alone. “There’s no way that I know of to have kept this dis- oo from you, Gran, and it may continue or some little time. You'll simply have to bear up under it, that’s all, on the strength of the family loyalty that has been such a strong word in our family annals." “You mean that you intend to continue in this scandalous fashion with the husband of your best friend?” “Until he loses interest,” said Nancy; adding with frigid nonchalance: “Which he showed no signs of doing this evening. He is indeed a great lover.” _ “Tf you are trying to nauseate me into indifference, Nancy, you may as weil spare ourself such remarks, For [ tall you, ancy Caldwell, that I’m going to put a stop to this a thing if 1 have to go to Doris herself in the morning!" “Oh, no, you won't, Gran,” aaid Nancy, yawning. “Tudeed I will, my child! Don’t think because I seldom comment on your reck- actions that I’m in the least intimidated by you. Just remember peed tm inherit that red head of yours from ay Oe And I certainly am going to matters into my own hands, seanpdiens of whatever retalia you will undoubt- edly make, For of all the monstrous in- — ever conceived, it’s surely “Surely what, Gran?” asked Nancy, with a bored air of resignation, “I’m afraid you're taking this too seriously.” “Not so seriously as poor little Doris would if she knew she were realizing her absurd ambition by her husband's making love to her closest friend, who must have exercised—and willfully—an unspeakable a 7 og Yr bw for pone ten years.” ran you're almost a paychic about other people's affairs; but pa owt ong ally you miss a vibration or two. In the first place there’s nothing in it for Doris but bliss, according to the good old formula. And in the second, there’s little ef love or even infatuation in Rich's regard for me. It’s merely that I once hurt his superb vanity, and his conceit has chafed into what he for the moment considers an undying desire for my companionship.” “Oh, oh!” Madame Eaton’s lips moved wordlessly, all serenity shaken from her tired old face. “And I suppose you expect his undying desire to rest content with mussing your hair, like a tove-touched schoolboy?" Nancy sat erect, her low voice betraying plainly the effort that controlled it. “It doesn’t matter what I expect, Gran. Now will you please go to bed, or do you prefer to remain here alone?” “Oh, I will go.” She rose slowly and un- assisted. “‘ But I shan’t change my course~- in the morning, be sure of that.’ “Then just as surely I shall tie you in bed and keep you there.” For a moment her grandmother stared straight before her in a seemingly heipleas grip of sheer futility. Then she said in a queer pinched voice, but quietly, “ You will have to do just that, my child, coward's method though it would Be.” : “Tam not a coward, grandmother, what- ever else I am; and you know it. And it’s a nasty trick for you to take advantage of your age to shield your interference in a matter that in no way concerns you.” “You forget, Nancy’’—~ Madame Eaton's voice softened surprisingly to a shy deep tenderness from which the hottest angers often flame-—‘ you forget that you are very dear to me.” “Oh, Gran!” Nancy's voice broke. She reached up her hand and her grandmother took it tightly. In an instant the proud voice came steadily again. “Then be a sport, Gran, and forget all about this, I thought you were safe at the opera or | wouldn't have had him here. It’s a weird mess, | know; but if you could have heard Doris’ voice about two hours ago when she telephoned me that Rich had happened to meet Gerda Alverson and he was anxious anxious for her to go ahead with the (Continued on Page 16!)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 2 of the | Diliiitiiiiiil ne LR PPE Ae EON ae A NRE SEDANS SE March 7,1925 [IANO In this painting by Balestrieri the artist shows Chopin in bis studio playing for George Sand, Liszt, Heine, and Meyerbeer. Chopin often played for bis friends —intimately and generously. More than Chopin had in his studio you can have in your home i ere studio of Chopin is always thought of as a shrine of music. For on numerous occasions great musicians — Liszt, Mendelssohn, Meyerbeer—-met there and played from their own compositions. Now, you can have in your home far more great music and many more great musicians than Chopin had in his studio. For, instead of a few great artists, you may hear the playing of hundreds. You may hear the music that was known in Chopin's day plus the masterpieces that have been written in the years between his generation and ours— played on your own piano by the greatest artists of the pianoforte. And you can com- mand these riches whenever you like and as often as you choose. The secret of this new golden age of music lies in amiraculous invention called the Ampico. Concealed within the case of a fine piano, the Ampico makes the strings of that instrument sing under the touch of such artists as Rach- maninoft, Lhévinne, Ornstein—and hundreds more who make up today’s aristocracy of music. Far more than a player piano The Ampico goes far beyond the player piano and invests the piano with a soul of a myriad personalities. One moment the keys may dance under the fingers of Levitzki to the measure of a Chopin nocturne. Another mo- ment Rachmaninoff may touch them into chords eloquent of tragedy and heartbreak. Every phrase, every emotional shading, every delicate gradation of volume is heard exactly as the great man played it. And this is living instrumental music, actually produced on your own piano in your own home. To every sense except sight, the master musician is seated before you, playing graciously at your request. Beautiful music played on a beautiful instrument Through the Ampico you can hear the kinds of music you like—sonatas, nocturnes, sere- nades and fantasies; piano arrangements of symphonies and operas; hymns, ballads, and marches; and dance music played by men who are teaching the world what syncopation at its best can be. With an Ampico in your music room you can grow to understand music in a way you never dreamed possible. _ oe — Niet Gi a er 5 gr ae em ae Se Ss erg epee ere me LP OTIC Ct MR I tl SI. te a A te eta conte pn aa i,

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~: pe = ae A 7 ee = <a . Cs ee aes mea Fe Gini =e — ——- —— OS eee ae _ Se ES

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

UURUREEE REET EE UA TRUUUEEEERETUET

Only in these fine pianos— Only an exquisite instrument can do justice to the gifts the Ampico brings. So it is that the Ampico may be had in only a few makes of pianos—selected for their preeminent quality, for the flawless construction that is the product of generations of fine craftsmanship. They are: the Chickering, the Mason & Ham- lin, the Knabe, the Fischer, the Haines Bros., the Marshall & Wendell, the Franklin, and in Canada the Willis also. Worthy of note is the significant fact that the Chickering, the Mason & Hamlin, and the Knabe are three of the four great pianos in general use on the American concert stage. When you play by hand The patiently perfected con-_ struction of these fine pianos has brought about still another distinctive advantage of the Ampico. For the concealed Ampico device that makes the strings vibrate and sing just as they did in the recording labo- ratory when a great artist played is entirely separate from the piano action. You are offered in the Ampico a beautiful instru- ment intact for playing by hand. When an artist’s recording is not being played, the Ampico mechanism touches neither the strings nor the keys. A silent piano or an Ampico? After you have heard the Am- pico you will realize that there is no choice between a silent piano and an Ampico. You will realize, as others are realizing every day, that the Ampico offers you pleasures and advantages beyond price. The opportunity that still exists to exchange your silent or player piano for an Ampico makes owning an Ampico not something to dream of, but a joy possible of immediate realization. Hear the Ampico today The greatest musical experience of your life lies in store for you if you have not yet heard the Ampico. To make sure of hearing it soon, go to a store where any of the pianos mentioned are sold, select an Ampico recording of a favorite composition and ask to hear it played. Upon request you may have a booklet describing the Ampico, its library and its hundrec's of famous artists.

Special Exchange Privilege The silent or player piano you now own will entitle you to an allowance in the purchase of an Ampico. This fact and convenient terms of payment place the joys of Ampico ownership within your reach at once. Foot-power models, $795. Electric models, $985 to $5000. With freight added. Uprights and grands. Great selections played by great artists, that you may choose from the great Ampico Library Nocturne— Chopin BRAILOWSKY Impromptu. Op. 90, No. 3—Schubert CARRENO Islamey —Balakirew CHALOFF Scherzo C Sharp Minor— Chopin GODOWSKY Sphinx Waltz— Popy GORDON Hungarian Rhapsody No. 8— Liszt LEGINSKA Staccato Etude — Rubinstein LEVITZK!I On the Wings of Song— Mendelssobn-Liszt LHEVINNE Minuet — Mirovitch MiROVITCH Nocturne—Scriabine MOISEIWITSCH Preludes — Chopin MUNZ Humoresque— Dvotak ORNSTEIN Spinning Song— Mendelssohn RACHMANINOFF Papillons — Rosenthal ROSENTHAL Hungarian Rhapsody No. 12— Liszt RUBINSTEIN Prelude— Debussy E. ROBERT SCHMITZ Fantasie Impromptu— Chopin SCHNITZER Largo—Handel SUSKIND Minute Waltz— Chopin BLOOMFIELD ZEISLER Popular Recordings Just Out EDGAR FAIRCHILD ZEZ CONFREY VINCENT LOPEZ PERDIE GROFE J. MILTON DBLCAMP ADAM CARROLL Deep In My Heart — Romberg Oh, Lady, Be Good!— Gershwin Peter Pan— King-Henderson Oh, Mabel —Frorito My Best Girl— Donaldson Blue-Eyed Sally — Bernard-Robinson THE AMPICO CORPORATION 437 Fifth Aveaue, New York City The Ampico is found exclusively in fine pianos. It is built as an integral and concealed part of the following makes of pianos only. They have been known for generations as instruments of quality: CHICKERING: MASON eHAMLIN:KNABE MARSHALL &WENDELL °-HAINES BROS. - FISCHER FRANKLIN Note that the Chickering, the Mason & Hamlin, and the Knabe are three of the four great pianos in general use on the American concert stage. In Canada the WILLIS also

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST —his trained ear would approve the tonal fidelity to the original in his famous old opera. The pecu- liar charm of this woodwind in- strument is caught in all its purity by the famous Fada Neutrodyne. With equal tonal truth, Fada re- produces the deep rolling bass of the pipe-organ. The Fada Neutrodyne has the range of the 88-key pianoforte. McCormack’s pure tenor, Bori’s delicious soprano, create the illu- sion of standing beside the actual March 7,1925 on a FADA Neutrodyne in distance and volume. In short, Fada is radio at its very, very best. artists when you hear them on a Fada set. Bass and baritone voices are reproduced with equal fidelity. Nor does Fada create those rau- cous distortions that have kept many discriminating folks from investing in radio. Fada selectivity is one of its chief charms. Turn the dials to predetermined numbers, and in rolls the very station you want to hear—provided the waves from that station are reaching your neighborhood, Fada also excels Raadadto There are six models to meet every taste and pocketbook. $75 to $270. Fada is adapted to either dry-cell or storage-battery tubes, and either indoor or outdoor aérial. Hear Fada. It will be a revelation in radio! Buy your Fada now and be ready to hear the world’s famous artists whenever they sing or play for you over the radio. F. A. D. ANDREA, INC. 1581 JEROME AVENUE NEW YORK IA DA Ik

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(Continued from Page 157) part —— Well, I felt something of that satisfaction I’ve been missing, I guess. Of course she thinks I was instrumental in leading him into Gerda, but she has no other suspicions,” “She’s only a gullible little rabbit and she isn’t worth one atom of your humilia- tion. I never thought I should live to see the day when you could— could look shamed like this.” Nancy jerked back her hand and with- drew quickly into her bitter levity. “Well, I’m not shamed, Gran; not one bit in the world. Remember that we’re almost three generations beyond the days of your girl- hood when kisses meant re two things— marriage or disgrace. They’ve gained popu- larity and lost power since then; they wash off now in the next day’s adventures. If you’re determined to play in this game you'll have to abide by the latest rules.” “IT supposed,”” said Madame Eaton grimly, ‘‘that there was an age limit to this tting-party prevalency. Is there nothing eft to distinguish the dignity of a gentle- woman’s love?” In the silence the crackling of the sleep; fire took on a friendly, comfortable audi- bility which fled at Nancy’s laugh—a hate- ful sound that lived too long in the big echoing room. “Hah! Why should I be fastidious about the love I waste on a man who wants me as little as I want the man who loves me? Great heavens, Gran! What shocks you about that? Didn't you just this afternoon tell me the same thing very frankly?” Her voice rose with the release of its reckless words like the increasingly tumultuous breaking of a stubborn dam. “You know well enough that I'd be as contented a clam as even you could wish—with a house in New Jersey bulging with scads of children, commuting twice a week for groceries and a matinée; probably be on a school board— if I could in some way have coerced Preston into marrying me. Why, my Lord, ’Gran, are you turning into a pillar of sait?”’ Madame Eaton did, indeed, seem ex- travagantly overcome at this merely un- maidenly frankness; she stood rigid as her ebony cane, on whose head the knuckles of her right hand glistened through their thin tight skin. “Nan-cy!"" she whispered; but the aghast little sound recalled her composure. She relaxed visibly. “‘ That is what I cannot understand, my child—how you can have honored your love for so many years and now, in the spirit of an absurd prank, per- mit such—such liberties from a man whom you don’t even respect. How can you, Nancy, my—my dear wonderful girl?” With an impulsive gesture, —— stretched her hands up toward the blac’ slender figure. “Because my skin isn’t my soul, Gran dear,”’ she said with rare gentleness. It brought a little murmur of tenderness from her grandmother. She let her cane fall, limped forward a step, and leaning down, put her face against the glory of soft hair that the low flames lit with beauty. Tears or kisses had never been between them, but Nancy held her close and hungrily for an instant, her voice catching on a tired thread of laughter. “‘Pl-ease, may I have my own way—just one more time, Gran?” “Oh, yes, yes, so far as I’m concerned; but I shall pray God to stop you.” She straightened, and Nancy got her cane. ‘Well, it seems to me God ought to be busy thinking - something nice for me, because, after all, I’m doing something at last that I don’t exactly want to.” Her grandmother accepted this jest with surprising spirit, but no irreverence. “Perhaps He is, dear. Perhaps He is; —_ may He bless you, Nancy. Good night.” 2 hey crossed the long room together, saying nothing more, not even another good night. Nancy drew the hangings for the stately limping figure and waited for the click of the elevator door. Then she started to return to the fireplace, but hesitated, wavering in the center of the room, a tall white swaying ghost in the dark quietness. A faint radiance from the lights of the park crept through the aleove windows and she went slowly, like one drawn, to the big chair where her grandmother always sat. It was turned toward the windows, where Madame Eaton had quitted it in the early evening. Nancy put her arms over the back of it and let her hands fall. They fell on two broad shoulders, were caught in two strong hands, She screamed,

hoarsely, from a choked throat; but was quickly unafraid. The intimacy that lived always in her heart for the man who sat there made him known to her instantly, despite the incredibility of his presence. “Nancy,” he said, low and slowly, in a voice shaken by its own control, “now that yeu found me here, I beg of you to —just ” She fought off bewilderment and lost it in a swift shamed fury. “Oh, how could you, Preston Davis? How could you? What a despicable, cow- ardly ge Oh, let me go, you sneak, let me go!” e loosed her hands, stood quickly, faced her and came close, talking desperately against her furious words, neither of them listening, neither hearing. It was a conflict of accusation and defense, of shame and pom of love and passionate anger. She acked away from him, a swaying white fury; he slowly followed, his head doggedly outthrust—a tall broad blotch of darkness against the light of the windows. She struck against a table, stumbled, and he caught her to him, to be flung aside by an unnatural strength as t as his own. Their mingling voices battled in discord through the soft light of the room. She was nearing the door when he reached out and caught her; again she tore away from him. Finally, flamed by her devouring fury, he promos her wrists, bent them back against er shoulders and held her to the wall under a fine soft-toned old portrait of her grand- mother—a slender girl with curls of burn- ished bronze. “You will listen, you tigress!’ he mut- tered, and shook her. “Be still! I tell you, be still!” She stood suddenly quiet, her face lumi- nous with pallor. : “Now, Nancy, you’ve to believe this. I had a late dinner over at the Players, and when I came out I saw your lights up here going strong, so I thought I’d run up a minute. Mu Lan ——” “You had forgotten I had told you I was engaged?” she asked derisively, but in a voice as quiet as his own. “Not at all. I thought you were merely retaliating because I'd been obliged to say I could not come. Mu Lan was just going out. She said you would return soon. sat down there to wait for you, thinking you'd come in any minute. I was thor- oughly tired and I went to sleep. Damn it, I did, I tell you! And what’s more, I didn’t wake up until Temple must have been here some little time. That’s the truth, I swear it! Then—then ——” “Then, being a common sneak, you en- joyed a perfect evening.” “Being well trapped, I endured purga- tory. What could I do? A ene. / mess if I'd crawled out and declared myself! If I'd wakened in hell I’d have believed myself saner. What a thing for you to do, Nancy Caldwell, what a thing to do! If your randmother hadn’t come I’d have lost aith in all human decency and loyalty and honor. I'll admit I went under. You'll have to forgive me that. But, even so, I couldn't humiliate you. And now that I’ve heard you say you love me—heard you— we'll be married tomorrow afternoon.” Her expression did not change; she did not move under his tight hands. “Charming; thoroughly noble and Pres- tonesque. I was waiting for it. But may I sit down to hear the rest of your organized- charity plan? This position isa trifle ao He tightened his tight hold of her heip- less wrists. “Nancy, that sort of stuff is useless— useless, I tell you. We’re going to be married tomorrow afternoon, right here, under your grandmother’s picture. She’s a great old irl and I thank God for her. I’ll arrange emple’s funeral when he gets back from Philadelphia. Of all the con——” “Oh, let me go! I'd rather die of any torture than marry you. Just ause I caught you hiding there doesn’t make me an object of your mercy.” “T tell you that sort of stuff is futile. You know I love you!” “Oh, great heaven!” Her laughter shrilled out so sharply that he started a little. ‘How should I know it—how?” “Why, Nancy, because it’s true. Have I ever looked at any other woman? Haven't I endured your social condescension for years? Have you ever permitted me to talk anything but business to you at dances, dinners—anywhere? I’ve asked you to go out with me as seldom as I could make my- self, for you've always made me mighty well feel that your acceptance was only a THE SATURDAY

EVENING POST

gracious return for my interest in your busi- — aus, “<o Best treated me as anything except a superior servant. Why, Nance Fas he drew slowly a op to <4 er eyes nst nearing ee Nancy, ‘fn loved you so ong, silen ly, that I—I don’t know how to — it!’ ’ he blood flushed her face so hotly that he felt it warm her cheeks, and he drew back, leaving her lips untouched. “Nothing could make me believe,” she finally said, ‘that if I hadn’t come to that chair and found you, you wouldn’t have sneaked out like a housebreaker—and have escaped. Why didn’t you rush out to de- clare this love of yours before Gran came— after Rich left?” She smiled scornfully, with lips that veer a pee as he 5 Gene na “Nancy, you : ve to ve me for failing my faith in you there for a while. Now I can see where I might have figured out what was back of it all from some of the things he said; but it was simply too much for human understanding, and I ached so to his neck ——” “Please! Let’s end this sheik scene, Pres- ton. If you keep me here pinned to the wall much onger the situation will grow humorous. “You shan't stir until you promise me, on the honor of all your red-headed an- cestors, that you'll marry me &: “Oh, I'll never marry you! Never! Never!” Her voice suddenly broke from its contro! like a rel spring, each word shrilling out in se te discordance. cleared itself of the echoing vibrations a new sound it—a sound that in- Never!

stantly established its sovereignty over | their own oy, Mec emotions. It came from the elevator door. Someone was moaning, unevenly, heavily; moaning in dire distress. Together, wo they were at the elevator door. The little car refused to an- swer his summons, ‘It was stuck, as so often it was; but never before had Madame Eaton, with her dignified terror of it, been its victim. “Oh, dear God,” whispered Nancy, “help us! tin ay 8 Together, wordless, but hand in hand, they ran for the stairway. At the door on the lower floor the moans were slightly louder; undoubtedly Madame Eaton had crumpled to oor of the car. The electric button was unavailing. “It’s nearer the other floor,” said Davis, and again hand in hand they fled upstairs, Nancy’s hair flying like a flame behind her. Again aced each other blankly, help- — ore the stubborn oak door that wou d not open. “Oh, Preston, get her out!’’ she said in a hollow voice, and with a choked cry of utter desperation went closely into his arms. It was only an instant that love left them so, transcended in that planeless realm which touches heaven and is called ecstasy; but it was an infinite instant and could know no ending. “We must wake Smithson up quick,” he began to rs his lips triumphant with the surrender of her trembling ones, ‘‘and you telephone your electrician and —— there, beloved, it’ll be all right.” seme POCLTAELLI OT CRELIETONDRn

There, | His prophecy blossomed into prompt ful- | fillment. The oaken door quietly opened and Madame Eaton stepped cautiously over the sill to the safe sal hoor, survey- ing them serenely. “Well,” she said brightly, knows I never expected any good to come of this elevator but the wretched thing's done very nicely.” They stared at her, forgetfully em- tence’, “Gran! what—what terrible—why~ Nancy’s voice lost itself in stammering in- coherence. Madame Eaton raised her cane—a ges- ture that had silenced Nancy since days of smallest girlhood. “My child, you continually forget that my hair was as red as your own. I saw Preston sitting in my chair when I was talking to you, and I Yert how he got there to the Lord; but I determined to have “heaven

something to do with the way he got out. | So I entered whole-heartedly into the beau- | tiful spirit of this eavesdropping evening | and I waited in the elevator to see if you | would recognize the ‘nice thing that God thought up’ for you. And when I saw you were blind to it, I tried a little strategy with the stop button and a few good groans. I judge that I was successful.” They went to her, together.

-_ ie a tp LO - Views. sa Goge Calfskin Buck or Pigskin $3.00 Imported m Capeskin $1.50 Genuine Suede or Brown $1.00

Eventually it will become a lost art— this shaking of to bacco from the tin can into the pipe, and on to the floor. For the wise woman is buying a Locktite for every pipe-smoking man in the house —and throwing her dust pan out of the window. F.S. MILLSCO., Inc. Gloversville, N.Y.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HOME FOLKS (Continued from Page 5) STILLSON STILLSON’ (like Wal- worth) is a trade mark and registered by its owner— the Waiworth Manufac- turing Company—in the U.S. Patent Office, in the several states and in for- eign countries. HIBONIWM As useful as an extra hand, and 10 times as strong ROUBLE knows it’s licked when you walk up to it with a Stillson. Anything that’s hard to turn is going to let go. Anything that sticks is going to change its mind. A Stiilson gives you a grip of steel that locks tight as you pull, and that releases without jamming when you want to take a fresh hold. You will find all kinds of uses for one (or two) of these wrenches —odd jobs round the house that no other tool can do so easily for you. (The 10-inch size is generally the handiest for household use. Hard- ware dealers sell all sizes of these wrenches, from 6 to 48 inches.) A HANDY HOUSEHOLD USE When « glass stopper sticks in « bottle, put a piece of cloth over the stopper, give it an easy turn wich a STILLSON—and out it comes. ALWORT STILLSON’ ‘The Handy Helper in Every Home”’ WALWORTH MANUFACTURING CO., Boston, Mass. Plaats at Boston, and Kewanee, Ill. Seles Units and Distributors in Principal Cities of the World | pointed him out to pros | to them on their own terms if they the wheels of industry, that can lift its dis- | coverers from poverty to millions overnight. nt figure hounds as an example of success; he was cultivated by drillers and production men who hoped to get busy on his stuff; and the idlers who always trail ready money furnished Bog a retinue. They Leeper was quite an im amid the surging mobs. | found him a dry hole, however. “ He’s tighter’n the bark on a tree,” they | declared in disgust. “That woman of his don’t look like it.” “Oh, well—a guy always falls in some | direction.” The big production company men pro- nounced Bog a tough proposition to trade | with. Leeper had a shrewd sense of values, | and when he named a price or set a basis of trade it shut off any fat profits. “He's got his sights a mile high,” they | reported to headquarters. So they abandoned efforts to buy his acreage, figuring that it would Gnally come et him stew a while. Bog waited a few weeks to see whether they would take the bait, and | then determined to drill on his own account. | Circumstances drove him to the step for | his own protection. On one side of the tract | of eighty acres he chose for the test was a | seven-thousand-barrel well; on the other | side a young Jew, who had come to the | fields as a peddler, had brought in a gusher with a production of twelve thousand bar- rels a day, which he promptly sold to one of the Standard subsidiaries. Leeper feared they would drain his oil before he could get down to it, and so the work of drilling was rushed at top speed. The test proved a duster. Not a sign of | oil did he get. He put down another. It | also turned out a dry hole. Concluding | that the wells offsetting his tract had drained a pool, or there was a fault some- where, he went far over to another corner of his acreage and drilled. They got a showing of oil, but shortly after the well came in it began to flow salt water. Within a fortnight the big gushers were all salt, and the production companies were pulling their pipe and tools. The field was ruined. So was Bog. He was busted—cleaned. His acreage was worthless, all the money he had brought with him was spent, and he owed thirty-seven thousand dollars which it was extremely unlikely he would ever be able to pay. is creditors descended on him in a cloud, stripped him of motor cars and everything else they could seize, and Bog sneaked out of the abandoned town, now almost tenantless, with nine dollars in his pockets and a diamond ring he had managed to hold out. He went alone. Of course Fay didn’t leave Bog because he was broke, but on ac- count of the quarrels they had over the foolish way he handled his business. You know how it is—there are finer things in this world than money, ard if a woman can’t get love —and Bog acted so mean and ugly at the least little thing she said— well, Fay just couldn’t stand such treatment, and she went away with the youthful ped- dier for a trip to California. Bog made a | gallant effort to get back the diamonds and emeralds and the pearl necklace, but it was | unavailing. Once an oil man, always—there is a fas- cination about the game that grips stronger than gambling. When Bog cast about in his mind for something ta do, any other business seemed impossible. He could not settle down to the grind of an office, even | were he qualified; he swore he would bump himself off before he ever went back to | farming; and no business opportunities offered. There were, however, numerous activities connected with the oil industry that did not require capital, and he care- fully weighed the prospects in each. The promotion field struck him as the most likely, perhaps because it offered the largest returns for the least effort. He had the brains and the experience; the other fellow could put up the money. But how to start? A promoter must have something to capitalize—at least Bog thought so in those days of his fresh innocence. The requests he had received from his old friends in Larrup to be taken in on the ground floor recurred to him. He still owned a suitcase of leases. True enough, | they seemed worthless as things stood, but one could never tell whether the field might March 7, 1925 not come back, like many another. Be- sides, did they know in p that the field was played out? He hoc his diamond, put on his best clothes, and returned to his native town. There he engaged a suite of rooms at the Alamo Hotel and proceeded to cultivate the right people. His reception lacked some of the earlier enthusiasm, for they had heard about salt water in Leeper’s oil field and knew that the big companies had withdrawn from it. Still, it might not be a total loss, and Bog appeared to be flush and full of hope. So be waited a while, watching him. hen he thought the time ripe Leeper broached his proposition to a sporting mer- chant and obtained a sympathetic hearing. The merchant put it up to a group of friends, among whom was a banker. The latter made careful inquiries and what he discovered prompted him at first to quash the whole business. Then he had another thought on it, and suggested to Bog certain changes in the plan of operation. Bog eagerly approved them and they went ahead and organized a company. Instead of going after oil, the company went after speculators. It was nothing but a —a scheme to sell dead acreage. All over the continent eon were sinking their savings in worthless oil stocks, and Leeper’s company reached out for some of this restless money. At that, they had more real value behind their stock than nine-tenths of the promoters then oper- ating. Bog put in his leases at a high value and received payment in stock. They also elected him president of the company, an honor of which he was at first very proud because of the newspaper publicity he ob- tained. But as time went on he became dubious. The banker soon became the leading spirit of the organization, although not an officer in it; and the more he saw of the trend of their operations the worse the prospect looked to Bog. He sold his stock, then resigned. The sporting merchant suc- ceeded him as president, giving up a lucra- tive business to attend to it; and Leeper faded out of the picture. When the concern blew up and the postal authorities stepped in, Bog could not be lo- cated. Asa matter of fact they made no special effort to find him, inasmuch as the company’s operations had been technically within the law as long as he was president. But prison faced the sporting merchant. One day he went duck shooting and never came back. They had to use dynamite to recover his body from the lake. Curiously enough, Sam Leeper would have nothing to do with this enterprise. His brother gave him the opportunity, but it was just as it had been in their boyhood days when Bog saw golden chances for them in cotton—Sam merely said no, he wouldn't choose to; and let it go at that. Shortly after Bog sold out and flitted, Sam married Paulula Cunningham, bought an interest in the largest dry-goods store in town, and moved into Larrup. He would not part with the farm, although several tempting offers were made to him, but put a good tenant on the place and drove out three times a week to see that things were going all right. The years passed and Bog had the usual ups and downs of the oil speculator. He wandered from Texas to Arkansas, from Arkansas to Wyoming, from Wyoming to Canada, from Canada to Louisiana, then back'to Texas and Oklahoma. One day he would be flush, sporting diamonds and rolling around in a Poh tape ear. He would say to himself that he had struck his stride at last, and would show up some of the big fellers before he got through. Then the crash would come, and he would head for a new field, sometimes in a Pullman car and in comfort, sometimes riding a freight with other drifters. There were times when he made easy thousands as a lease hound, the money coming so fast on top of a strike that he and his assistant had to stuff it into a wastebasket to keep up with the raging maniacs who clamored to buy leases. At others he worked on the Kelly with a drill crew at five and six dollars a day, often in water and mud, sometimes in a drought so severe that the air reeled from the heat waves. Once he secured a job with a pro- duction company, and the prospect of working up to a responsible position looked (Continued on Page 165)

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—~ SRE ee ee THE SATURDAY EVENING Who can tell by the looks how silk will wear? Accept satin you do not know and you take chances— you may soon need to have your coat relined. Inferior silks can be camouflaged by compounds of tin to give them lustre and weight. Skinner's Satins are of full-size pure-dye silk, not made full-size by “weighting.” That is the reason they have had the confidence of all first class tailors and clothing manufacturers for three-quarters of a century. In purchasing a coat or suit ready-to-wear, look for the Skinner label Linings for men’s’ suits and topcoats. inings for women’s cloaks, suits and furs. shown below. In ordering from a tailor, ask for Skinner's Satin and ki Dress Satins, Milli- m Ahi "nan ® nery Satins, Shoe LOOK FOR THE NAME IN THE SELVAGE is i Skinner's Satin ADELPHIA — MILLS, HOLYOKE, MASS. Sg eS ee

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164 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 SELZ

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§ y/ t eee Sn” She aan = ag, Sty = ae ee ne = j i i (Continued from Page 162) very bright, but the climb was too slow for Bog and he threw it up to go after quicker money. His general trend was downward, despite the fact that he was a hustler and worked hard. And always his methods grew worse. After ten years of the oil game there was not an angle of it he did not know, not a shift he wasn’t ready to adopt so ye it did not take him outside of the law. The slim, upstanding, handsome youngster grew into a gross, hard-faced man with a genial camaraderie of manner that fooled nobody except:the hopelessly innocent. From time to time he made appeals to Sam. At first they took the form of invest- ment schemes and offered Sam golden op- portunities to make twenty to one on his money, but when Sam mildly declined these overtures, and to Bog’s later importunities returned a newspaper clipping to the effect that “another reason why we have been slow in climbing the ladder of fame is that so many of our friends have let us in on the ground floor,” Bog switched to the straight touch. He asked for a loan of a thousand. Sam sent him fifty dollars and expressed a pious hope that he would employ it con- panel en a This so hurt Bog’s pride that he blew up and swore he would throw the money in Sam’s face and never ask him for another cent if he had to starve to death. However, he found a use for the fifty. And three months later he was back again for the same amount. It was a gradual and easy slide from fifty to ten; the time came when Bog wrote to beg for five dollars. His letters degenerated into whines, and after a while Sam ceased even to answer them. Meanwhile Bog heard of Sam indirectly. He and Paulula had ason; next, they hada daughter. Sam’s mercantile business was prospering. He took over a defunct lumber yard. About the time that got on a payin basis, the flour mill struck the rocks, om Sam acquired the property for next to noth- ing. Then one day somebody sent Bog a copy of the Booster, and there on the front page was a picture of our leading citizen, Samuel Witherspoon Leeper, who had been elected to the presidency of the First State Bank of Larrup at the annual meeting. “How the Sam Hill does he get away with it?” exclaimed Bog in amazement as he stared at his brother's bovine expression. “I’ve got twice his brains. It’s luck—that’s what it is—that and religion. Sam goes to church and gets up on his hind legs and sings, and so the bank—shucks, they make me sick!” An accident while working with a drill crew narrowed Bog’s opportunities for em- ployment. Bog was no brake-weight—he was a hard, fast worker, but inclined to be careless—and one day he became more than usually careless as they were pulling ipe. A length struck him, crushing his Oe. When he got out of hospital he had a limp from which he never recovered. The future now loomed black. Jobs re- quiring responsibility had long since been closed to Bog, and he could no longer earn his keep as a roughneck. In these desper- ate straits he took up with a woman lease hound who had made a fortune by shrewd trading. She was a big, buxom, tight-lipped sister of about fifty years, with a ready, hard smile brightened by two gold teeth and she was old enough to be Bog’s mother. But she had the money and admired Bog, and he married her. From that time he led the life of a pariah dog. Mrs. Leeper entertair.ed no illusions about her husband. She regarded him as an intelligent, likable, untrustworthy good- for-nothing, who might yet be of some use if directed with a firm hand, and she had it. After a few futile attempts he gave up try- ing to assert himself. Then hé gave up trying to fool her and settled down to fetch and carry and be the handy man of the team. She was liberal toward him at the outset, but discovering that Bog occasionally got teed up on corn liquor, she shut off his pocket money. Also, he displayed an odd capacity for making mistakes in a crisis, so she was obliged to hire a man to assist her. This step broke Bog’s spirit. For a brief moment he considered running away and starting all over again, but after all he had a comfortable place to live, good meals, and most of his petty wants supplied. So he stayed. But now he had to beg for a few dollars at a time—then a quarter. They were so painful of extraction that he finally took to panhandling acquaintances, until THE SATURDAY vena ed him as a pest. He had reached the depths. However, now and again his wife would send Bog out as a scout when a new field came in. He had no authority to spend any money or make any commitments, his mis- sion being limited to sizing up the situation and wiring her a report. If the prospect looked bright she would join him and start a lease business, for she had now reached the point of handling only stuff that had been proved up. This required capital and sound judgment, and Mrs. Leeper had both. Bog enjoyed these trips and never lost hope that some fine day he would make a killing on his own account. One day in early summer, while winding up some business in Houston, Mrs. Leeper read in a newspaper of a strike in Larrup County. She laughed to herself, deliber- ated a moment, then sent for Bog. “Where is the Clear Fork of the Blanco?” she demanded. - **Bout ten miles from my home town.” “Grab a train and go there.” “I got to get me a new suit then,” he protested. “What for? That suit’s plenty good enough. It looks fine.” “Yeh, of course ~anything is good enough for me. You don't care a damn if oe husband does look like a bum. But ain't going back where people know me, and my folks amount to something. No, ma’am, I ain’t going back there Bt like a drifter.” “All righty,” said the lady good- humoredly, ‘‘Here’s forty dollars, baby. Go and get yourself a new suit. But catch that early train, mind.” Bog took the money and some more she gave him for traveling expenses, and started out. But on the way to the store he began to think over the possibilities, Forty dollars was more than he had had at one time for his own use in three years. He could do something with forty dollars! Bog decided the suit he had on would do, if he had it pressed and cut the frayed edges of the trousers with a scissors. Consequently he boarded the train for Larrup a few hours later with his suit in the same condition, a bottle of corn liquor on his hip, and thirty- two dollars above expense money in his pocket. He did not engage a berth— Mrs, Leeper had pronounced ideas of economy and they did not embrace the pampering of a de- pendent husband. Consequently he did not see Fay, who had the drawing-room of the Pullman, until he entered the diner for supper. And there she was, at table with a portly man of mature years. “She'll assay a hundred thousand dollars on the hoof, right now,’”’ he murmured, and tried to efface himself. But Fay spotted him at once and crooked a finger in beckon- ing. Very reluctantly and shamefacedly, Bog got up and went over to her table. “Lan’s sakes, Bog,” she exclaimed, “what’s come over you?” “Nothing’s come over me. Why?” “Why, you look so old, Bog! And fat!” He knew that she meant he looked seedy, too, but he could think of no retort except “Well, you sure enough don’t.” And then he stood and glared at her. The situation delighted Fay. “What're you doing now?” “IT been out in the fields,”’ he said sullenly. “ Married?” “No. That is—why—yes, of course.” She laughed and began again on her food. “Well, glad to have seen you,” she said gayly, po that was all. Bog turned and walked back to his seat, raging. As he went he heard Fay’s com- panion ask, ‘“‘ Who on earth is that fellow?” “Oh, somebody | used to know.” “What's his name?” “It used to be Bog. But I guess it’s Mud now.” And the big man chuckled. Bog grew scarlet. Why hadn’t he bought that new suit? Also, he might have shaved and slicked up a little. He glanced down at his hands, and for the first time in months realized that they were rough and ingrained with dirt; and he remembered that it was while getting a manicure that he had met Fay. A manicure! He hadn’t had one in five years. The train was late next morning, and it was nearly noon before they pulled into Larrup. Bog was dubious of this return to his birthplace, of the attention he would attract, of the sharp eyes that would note every detail of his dress and manner, and translate it into terms of his condition. It was one thing to go back as the Boy Mil- lionaire, but what would be their attitude EVENING POST May Breath Free 165 \ Below What a Story Women could tell about men’s breath How millions now avoid the grave offense of bad breath You carry a sweet breath with you this new way N° man would knowingly offend with bad breath. But nine out of ten do, unconsciously, at one time or another. Yet but few realize that fact. You never know when your own breath is bad. Only those with whom you come in contact do, and no one ever tells you, Smoking causes bad breath. So do stomach disorders. Certain foods and drinks are constant offenders, Or it may be food decaying between the teeth, or an unnoticed gum disorder. 2: &-4 Now there is new, scientific protection. Millions are turning to it, for it affords absolute immunity in an amazingly simple manner. _ The name is May Breath, an antiseptic mouth wash in tablet form. Not a mere perfume that merely cries out your effort at concealment. Not a liquid purifier. Dissolve a ~_— tablet in your mouth, Your breath is instantly purified. Every odor, whether from mouth or stomach, is com- bated; your breath made sweet and pure. In your pocket May Breath is packed in thin enameled boxes. Carry a box with you always... . you never know when you'll need one. Never pay a social call, never go to a dance or theatre, never risk close contact with others without being sure your breath will not offend. That's simply good manners, Bad breath used to be unavoidable. Today, as everyone knows, it's become unpardonable. t A box free We will gladly send you a box free. May Breath, we know, will delight you. Tear out the coupon now and mail it. Is destroyed if the breath offends. A May Breath avoids that risk, Be as careful as vou are with friends, In- sure sweet breath - Sl AY {9 Ji a}y is \ r mw if Spring odors One May Breath tab let brings that added charm, Mail Coupon Name Address May Breath is now on sale in Canada Good fora Regular Size Box Fill in your name, then mail to address below for a Regular Size box of May Breath free MAY BREATH COMPANY 1104 So. Wabash Ave., Chicago Canadians Branch: 191 George St., Toronto Only one box to a family M-iSé : j erent eninty» Sanansenaee

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A Keener Edge--- For jungle undergrowth, sugar-cane--perhaps even tropic politics---cutting tools must be razor sharp and shaped just so. It’s the file that keeps them prop- erly edged, adding impetus to even primitive industry. From the gold mines of Alaska to rubber plantations on the Amazon --- wherever tools need sharpening and files must render constant and faithful service--- NICHOLSON FILES are preferred. In your home, too, you can quickly sharpen every cutting edge with a NICHOLSON FILE -eone of the many reasons why they belong in your tool equip- ment. NICHOLSON FILE CO. Providence, R. 1., U. S. A, NICHOLSON FILES ~ a File for Every Purpose THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | toward a busted ledse hound? A town which had time to spot a new salesman off the 9:07 and mentally register every fea- ture oe x Powe ry tay meee —— yotors on at the depot platform an have him dlesected before he reached the Kandy Kitchen. “Gee, I hate to face it,”’ he muttered as the engineer whistled for the crossing. But every appanage vanished when he descended the car steps. There was a mob at the , and it was not a mob of * home folks. place of the placid county seat he had known, where everybody had time to stop to exchange neighborly - ings and gossip, he found a a? pes our 34 | ing oil town. Strangers from t | corners of the earth overran the slow- ; | moving citizens in the streets and in the | square, jammed the hotel lobbies and eating | houses, turned the bank and the drug stores and real-estate offices into exchanges, and | churned the dust of the Clear Fork road | inte a cloud by day and a stream of flame by night. Nobody gave Bog a fase, This was a relief, yet he felt oddly disap- pointed, too. Some sentiment, deep down, | resented the petomnee of these interlopers, ' who brusquely took possession where he felt he had well-defined, conceded rights. ; ‘ | Even the landlady of the Alamo could hardly find a moment to welcome him back, | and when he asked for a room she threw up her hands and hooted in derision. How- ever, for old time’s sake and six dollars a day she did manage to secure him a bed at her sister’s house, and after leaving his suitcase there Bog got a shave at Jim’s place and issued forth on business. | First he must find out the exact location | of the discovery well. He felt exultant over the prospects.. If ever there was a field that offered him a chance, this was the one. He knew every foot of this old county, and his wide acquaintance would stand him in ood stead. Maybe he’d best drop in at the Rea Front Drug Store and spy out the lay of things before going anywhere. As he was passing the First State Bank, glancing vainly among the throngs of men and women for a familiar face, a big shining pn pb, Spey apg ny a man stepped out. It was Sam. He turned to help a woman from the car—Paulula. A sort of panic seized upon Bog. He couldn’t face them. He would have sneaked away, but they had already seen him and he had to turn back. “Hello, Bog!” cried Sam, shaking him heartily by the hand. There was nothing lacking in Paulula’s greeting, either. Yet he flushed to the roots of his hair and could not find a word to say. An abysmal gulf separated them. It was his own brother and his old sweetheart, but Bog felt shyer with the pair than he would with any stranger. And Sam? He was almost as embar- rassed. A glance was sufficient to tell him Bog’s story, and his face betra distress, but for the life of him he could not voice anything. He merely clung to his brother’s hand and looked anywhere but at him. “Well, how’s everything?” he asked | lamely. | “Fine,” said Bog. “Just got in?” “Yeh. But I got to leave again tonight.” | “Oh, surely you’re coming to us!” ex- | claimed Paulula. “You'll want to see the | children, and Sam—you'’re his only brother—why, you might have let us know | you were coming, Bog!” ad, we ma’am, but it was so sudden. I— she—I —— “Is your wife with you?” inquired Sam. “No, she couldn’t come. ut maybe she'll be along if this field ———” And then somebody interrupted and claimed Mr. Leeper’s attention. He was wanted inside the bank. Yes, important— very. He turned back to Bog and said, “Say, this is sure-enough bad luck. Paulula and I have got to catch that two o’clock train for the East and we won’t be back here for a month. Why didn’t you let us know? We won’t see anything of you, it looks like.” “But, Sam, he simply must come out and see the children before they go. You go on and finish up at the bank, while I drive him out. ” “No, thank you, ma’am,” replied Bog hurriedly. “I just can’t make it today. Thank you all the same. I got a lot of things to do, and if they ain’t done right now it'll be too late. I’m awful sorry— maybe some other time ———”’ “Well, this is a mix-up!” exclaimed Sam. Then he shook Bog’s hand again, looked March 7,1925 him in the eye a moment,. looked eae A away, and mumbling something about “If there’s anything I can do for you—come back and see me again—maybe we can work out something for the future—any- thing I can possibly do ——” suffered him- self to be drawn inside the bank, where they were waiting for him to clean up various items before his departure. ¥, got to be moving. Good-by,” Bog said. Paulula’s eyes were full of pity, and as Bog walked rapidly away her gaze followed im. “They’ve changed,” he was muttering, his thoughts in a whirl. ‘“‘They look dif. ferent. They are different,’’ he added. “Why, they don’t even talk the same!” It was true. A casual acquaintance of his early years would never have recognized Sam Leeper in the carefully groomed busi- ness man who had stepped out of the sedan. It wasn’t that Sam was {all swelled up— resentful as he felt, Bog had to admit Sam hadn’t tried to high-tone him. He talked to a fellow man to man—yet there was something—an indefinable barrier now separated Sam from people of Bog’s class. He had a sort of—Bog could not describe it, but he had seen and felt it in successful men he had contacted during the heyday of his prosperity. It was a quiet assurance, a certain poise of manner—almost an air of authority. And anybody could see that Sam was the big cheese in this burg. That guy back there at the bank had done everything but dust his shoes. And Paulula! What had happened to her? Once or twice in his wanderings Bog had seen really well-bred women at close range and they had exactly the same sim- ser si of manner—that straight way of ooking at a fellow, that friendly frankness of speech. Yet nobody ever tried to get fresh with them. Well, Paulula had all that. She was just the same fine, warm- hearted woman she had always been, but she somehow looked different and acted different. As he hurried across the square Bog could hardly believe he had ever kissed her, had ever whispered in herear. She was miles and miles above him now—he recog- nized that. In fact, she made him feel like a bum. He wasn’t much of an analyst, but he knew in a vague way that the character pede ng 2 in every line of Paulula’s comely, placid face was a thing of slow growth, of many years of right living and unselfishness. And then he thought of his own wife—she of the gold teeth and meat-ax face! And she He at hussy! for Paulula, she gazed after Bog and marveled. Could this cheap, seedy derelict ever have been the frank, laughing boy she had loved in her girlhood? Her thoughts flew to Sam and their years together, their home and their children, ane she was filled with a great gratitude. “But he must do something for Bog when he gets back,” she determined. ‘‘Poor old Bog! I wonder what the trouble is!”’ That was precisely what Bog wanted to know of Mountain Lion Twohig in the Red Front D Store. “Looks like everything’s broke wrong for me,” he declared gloomily as he stood staring through the window at the milling crowds in the square. “And look at ol’ Sam—got rich by just keepin’ alive!’ “Well, I don’t know about that. Sam ain’t as smart as you are, Bog—I always did say you had twice his brains—but he’s worked awful hard, Sam has. Once he takes hold, he don’t let go. Just keeps luggin’ along all the time, and that’s a ard game to beat.” “Worked? Ain’t I worked? I bet I’ve worked harder than any three men in this town put together. You don’t know what I been up against, Mount. It’s luck, that’s all. This oil boom’ll make Sam a million- aire, too.” “Two or three times, I reckon,’’ the drug- gist admitted. ‘‘ But you got to remember he was rich before anybody ever thought of oil round here. Sam owns a lot of good stuff, what with farm lands and three stores and the bank and money lent out.” “All right,” said Bog. ““Then what about it? You admit yourself he hasn't got as many brains as I've got. Soif it ain’t luck, what is it?” Mount scratched his head. “Well, I'll tell you,” he replied. “If you want to grow you've got te get your roots down somewhere. And you never did, Bog.” (Continued on Page 169)

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ae ga ae a — | Keystone Standard Watch, 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. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Whee! What did they do with all the daylight they saved?” When a man arrives home late—looks his Keystone Standard Watch squarely in the face and hands—and finds it is 2.21 A. M., he is apt to get a distinct and severe shock. (Why they wait until 2.21 for this casual, chronological con- sultation nobody knows.) But anyway, early or late, the Key- stone Standard is always on the job— a fine, man’s watch, a splendid, thin, well-made time-piece. Metal dial with raised numerals and cased in the celebrated Jas. Boss Gold-Filled Case, in white or green. Made and guaranteed by The Keystone Watch Case Company, sold by jewelers everywhere. If your jeweler e @ does not have it, write us direct and give us his name in America. Write for descriptive booklet THE KEYSTONE WATCH CASE CoO., Established 1853 New York Chicago Cincinnati San Francisco KEYSTONE ‘Standard WATCHE 5.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 WAFFLE IRON $Q)00 In Canada—$12.00 This graceful, practical Waffle Iron is a perfect example of the STAR- Rite idea. The iron has a highly polished all nickel finish, exclusive non-heating carrying handle and lid-lifter—complete with cord and plug. The aluminum grids are full [ coalthee. late size, and sharply die- cut—-a feature seldom found on waffle irons — which prevents stick- ing. Let us send you a tested recipe for making delicious omelets on your STAR -Rite Waffle Iron. Just write us. SPLeECI RIC HOME MELPER S The STAR-Rite ideal of quality permits nothing but the best—the STAR-Rite standard of value insures enduring service at moderate prices. TAR-Rite is a name that identifies a line of Electrical Necessities characterized by pleasing appearance, very sturdy construction Octed Masshere and exceptionally high value. Reversible Toaster $5.00 Steadfast adherence to these twin of the STAR-Rite Family Corll $9.00 Marcel! Wavers 2.00 4.50 Haw Drier 12.50 Curling Irons 2.50 4.50 Household Motors 15.00 4.95 15.00 DEALERS: Write for STAR-Rite’s attractive dealer proposition. They typify that devotion to the ideal of “quality first” which has always distinguished the product of the conscientious New England manufacturer. her ss Model “C’’ Heater | $7.50 \ Wa Y In Canada, $8.75 | j i4-inch pure copper heat bowl | MY Just the thing to take the chill out Wi STH of the early mornings and later ! i! \ xl NH afternoons of spring. Other heaters ALA ART LL $5.00 and $6.50 In Canada—$6.75 All nickel finish toaster, which toasts two full-size pieces of bread at one time. Non-heating handles permit turning toast without burning the hands. The SUPREME toaster value! ideals of quality and value has made the name STAR-Rite a national synonym for reliable, reasonably- priced electric home equipment. Heating Pad, $7.50 In Canada—$9.00 Three heat control switch, al! wool plaid cover in choice of three color combinations, or in solid tan. Single heat pad $5.00. Three heat Aristocrat model, $10.00 — large over-size pad in soft old rose color. If your dealer doesn’t carry STAR-Rite write us for full information. OT For sale wherever reliable electrical equipment is sold. FITZGERALD MANUFACTURING CO., 700 MAIN ST., TORRINGTON, CONN. Canadian Fitzgerald Company, 95 King Street, East, Toronto, Ont.

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1 —_— ee Se =— —— —— ee Sa 2S Seas a (Continued from Page 166) At this moment a flivver dashed into the uare from the direction of the Clear Fork. The driver yelled something to an ac- quaintance. It seemed to electrify the crowd. Bog could see a wave of excitement sweep over the mass of humanity like a wind over a field of grain. “What's up?”’ he yelled, throwing open the door. “New gusher!”’ panted a man who was running to the nearest exchange. ‘“‘She’s seven thousand bar’ls and she’s runnin’ wild!” “Where is it?” But the man had gone. Bog tagged an- other. Was it true? “Sure, it’s genuwine. That scout who just come in brought the news, and he’s reliable. This’ll prove up a lot more terri- ay 5; = that stuff beyond the branch.” nd he, too, dashed off. The square was now in a pandemonium. Nobody seemed to recognize acquaintances, nobody had time to stop. Men were running in all di- rections, bawling inquiries or simply bab- bling what they had heard. They fought to get into the exchanges, and there were whirl- pest around every curb lease hound who ad stuff to sell. THE SATURDAY “Say, I got to get me a flivver!” cried Bog desperately, seizing hold of a loping citizen he knew. The man did not recognize him. His eyes were glittering, his mouth was open, and he was panting. “Seven thousand bar’ls and ——” “Say, where can I hire me a flivver, Reb?’ “And I own a quarter section not half a | mile ——— Say, leave me go! Hear?” “Where is this gusher, anyhow, Reb?” “On Clem Williams’ farm. Right back | of his barn, too.” Bog let go of his arm as though it were a hot poker. For a moment the square reeled around him and black specks danced before his eyes. Then he shook himself and started back toward the Red Front. He felt weak; he wanted to crawl off somewhere and think this thing out; right now his brain was numb. The Red Front was empty, and he col- lapsed into Mount’s cane-bottomed chair. So Clem Williams had perant in agusher— seven thousand barrels a of “And I soid him that land for forty dol- lars an acre!”’ he muttered. “Here I’ve been chasing a fortune all over the conti- nent for twelve years—and all the time it was right in my own back yard!” THE SPORTING CHANCE (Continued from Page 7) will find conditions improved in the busi- ness end. I argued al wien to persuade the California Athletic Club to offer a purse of $10,000 for a headline fight between the great Peter Jackson and myself, and the battle with John L. brought $25,000, an unheard of figure. Jack McAuliffe defended his lightweight title against English Jimmy Carroll for something like $5000, and Ike Weir, the Spider, and Billy Murphy, of Australia, fought it out for the champion- ship for a $3500 purse. ; Many times there were not even such in- ducements offered. The same Jack McAu- liffe, a wonderful man, had to slip away to a shack to take on Jem Carney. They didn’t get any money at all, the winner taking a small side bet; and Sullivan and Kilrain had to find some island even to pitch a ring, where they battled for honor, and not a prize in sight. Compare such conditions with the million-dollar, well-dressed house that watched Dempsey beat the frail French- man, the winner pocketing $300,000, the loser two-thirds of that big sum; while a bout between Dempsey and Firpo, a for- eigner who knew the rudiments of neither English nor boxing, brought over $1,000,- 000, a liberal percentage of which went to the loser. As I have sat in Rickard’s huge bowl seating 90,000, I have wondered if present- day fighters realize how soft things are for them—fighting a mere twelve rounds or . less when we used to battle sometimes as many as seventy, and the loser now draw- ing down eight times as much as the victor got for winning the world’s championship thirty-two years ago. Then the loser got not a idalaels in fact, was in the hole, hay- ing to make good his side bet. Old Ways and New Right here we have, to my mind, one of the greatest differences between the old age and the new, also one of the greatest evils this refusal to take the sporting chance! Most of the fighters today will not even enter a ring in which the winner gets all or almost all. They wrangle and haggle and stall until they are assured a fortune, even if they lose. No wonder so many fights are tame, when all a man has to do to win such fortunes is to be fairly tough, then go into the ring and cover himself up, wrap his arms around his head, clinch, hold on, and cuff a bit, and so weather a few rounds. The fighter now does not love the game for the game’s sake. He does not have the proper pride, such, for instance, as was shown by the original Jack Dempsey, whose courage and skill were called in ques- tion by Jack Keenan, a prominent light- weight, one day in San Francisco. It wasn’t Dutch courage, either, but real pluck and pride in themselves that made those men jump into a hack, retire to the sand-lots, and there, with six people present, and not a nickel in sight, fight to a finish, and one the holder of the middleweight, the other a contender for the lightweight crown! Now it would take two years to get two such men into the ring, and then only for a few rounds, fought for an enormous sum. By all this I do not mean to imply that brawls started in saloons are desirable. I am not in favor of mix-ups either at the bar or in the gutter. The prime object of boxing is not revenge or satisfaction of hate, but skill. Still, such incidents show that the men of old had a proper pride in their manhood, their ability: and money, though always important, was a secondary consideration. I may here be accused—and justly—of dickering for money myself and refusing to take off my coat and take on any and all comers on occasion. However, I was by practice rather controlled and avoided such places as a rule; which makes me think—TI did have one row in a saloon, but only one; and a strange and not very creditable affair it turned out to be. A Quarrelsome Nuisance Some years ago an old-time boxer named McGlade kept a café in Cleveland, not a saloon exactly, but a first-class restaurant with an adjoining bar. He was a wonder- fully preserved man and a most interesting character, and I had always admired him; and when playing in Cleveland I used to drop around at least once during my stay to shake his hand and chat over old times. On one visit—it was during the time I held the title-—-he got up a little supper for me and invited as guests a few friends from among the actors playing on the same vaudeville bill. The affair was held in a room over the bar. While upstairs with the group we heard some disturbance downstairs, but paid little attention, as it seemed at first merely like the noise of a blusterer making a nuisance of himself. But we found out afterward that it was more like real trouble than we thought. It seems that a football player, a big husky chap, and pretty well known, had thrown a few drinks into his big carcass and was aching for a fight. He igsued one of those general invitations to everyone in the room, but all were back-stepping it ex- cept one smaller fellow, whc wore a white felt hat--a sort of tin-horn or hick gam- bler—who rather fancied himself as a boxer. Before the little man in the white hat had taken up the challenge, however, the bartender, with a wink at the bystanders, remarked to the trouble-maker: “ Jim Cor- bett is upstairs. Stick around a while, and you can take him on, if ye’re wantin’ a fight that bad.” “Bring on the ——” [I won't give details here] said the noisy one. “He never could fight anyway.” This seemed to amuse the rest of the crowd, all but the little fellow in the white hat who had just screwed his nerve up to the point of taking on the football player. Now he felt all his courage oozing away. “Gee!"”’ he muttered to a friend. “I'd better keep my trap shut. That fellow would take on Corbett. He’d murder me!” Of all this, of course, I was told later. EVENING POST Patented March 25, i910 - May 2, 1922 See that slot The slot-and-groove combination is fully covered by PERFECT CIRCLE pat- ents—no other ring can have this com- bination. The continuous ve makes it possible to scientifically locate the slots in PERFECT CIRCLES, so that the cylinder wall never is scraped dry, and yet excessive oil consumption and oil- pes are avoided. Always enough oil = the cylinder walls—never too muc Almost Every Car Needs PERFECT CIRCLES Le peony of cars in service today use too much oil, They foul plugs and valves and eat holes in the pocketbooks of their owners. That is why the automotive industry gave such cordial welcome to PerFect Circe Oil-Regulating piston rings, which now are standard equipment in more than 100 motor cars and trucks, You can stop excessive oil consumption in your car—just as leading car manufacturers are stop- ping it—by installing one Perrect Circie Oil-Reg- ulating ring on each piston. They seldom fail to give 1000 or more miles to the gallon of oil and they increase the life of your cylinder walls through proper lubrication. Perrect Circe Oil-Regulating rings are sold and installed by progressive car dealers and repairmen everywhere. Insist on them for your car, PRICE 60c EACH Up to and including 4 inches in diameter (One to a Piston) DEALERS and GARAGEMEN: A valuable book of piston ring infor- mation, useful every day, will be mailed you on request. Write for it. PERFECT CIRCLE Reggiatiet INDIANA PISTON RING COMPANY, HAGERSTOWN, INDIANA, U. &. A. J. H. TEETOR, President Cc. N. TEETOR, Vice-Pres. & Gen. Mar.

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Also for cellars, garages, factories, stores, industrial and commercial buildings, steamships, yachts, boats, etc. Particularly effective for old floors. Economical. Easily applied with a brush—just like paint. Hardware and paint dealers sell it. If unable to ob- tain it conveniently, we will supply it direct. For a practical booklet on Koverflor, clip the coupon. STANDARD VARNISH WoRKS—443 Fourth Ave., New York San Francisco, Grand Rapids, London, Eng. Sranparp VARNISH CO, of Illinois—2600 Federal Streez, Chicago Licensee and Western Manufacturer FREE for the asking — This booklet explains what this re- markable product is and does. Clip this coupon and mail to our nearest office. SEP I | Name Addvess CHECK here if you want us to in- clude information about other famous Standard Varnish Works products. SATINETTE ENAMEL ‘= —the e enamel ELASTICA VARNISHES ‘a ri —apecific varnishes for all purposes onl = KWICKWORK AUTO ENAMEL ‘= — Apply today— Drive tomorrow EVENING POST Meanwhile, the abuse on the part of the big boy kept up for some time. Finally we finished our supper upstairs, my friends ied out, and I came down with McGlade, | intending to pass through the bar to the street and so make my yy to the hotel. As soon as I entered I saw the crowd standing there looking rather funny—sort of half scared and yet eager, you know, the way harmless people do when they expect to be treated to a free scrap. Still, I didn’t expect trouble then, not knowing anything of what had gone on before. I just thought that it was a strange way to act, but that these people must be pretty green to think I was one of those brawling champions who like to intimidate whole roomfuls of people, when I was nothing of the sort. ut the bartender, who saw a chance to have some fun with the fellow, called out to me, “Here’s a wants to meet you, Mr. Corbett”—with the emphasis on the “meet.”” So I went up to the bar, facing the man who had caused all the trouble, and innocently held out my hand, I could see that he had been drinking a little and looked surly, but I wasn’t at all prepared for what was to follow. With a sneer he said, “You're Corbett, are you? You never could lick anybody”; and butting me with his shoulder as I stood off guard—he was pretty strong—he shot me up against the wall. I felt foolish, of course, with all that crowd looking on, but I figured that the fellow was just feeling a little too good, also that he was some friend of McGlade’s and was probably all right when he was sober. So I pulled 5 ve together and looked at McGlade. “Friend of yours?” I asked. McGlade glanced at me significantly. “No,” he replied slowly, “he’s no friend of mine.” The Saving Sense of Humor I did not, of course, know at the time that the fellow had often been in the place, making himself conspicuous and disagree- able, once or twice actually knocking a man cold, But I did know that McGlade was trying to tip me off that he didn’t care what I did to the fellow. Actually cold all over then, so little did I relish the prospect. I had al- ways hated such mix-ups, and feared the publicity. There were one or two news- apermen present, and such things would c sure to get into the papers. And while I had always tried to live as an orderly citizen, the reputation I had for that wouldn’t help me any. People would not figure I had n resenting an inault, but would ask, ‘“‘What was he doing in that place, anyway? He was probably pickled”’; and I would be set down as a nasty- dispositioned bully. Thinking of these chances I really got a bad case of cold feet, such as I never had had in the ring. So I said to the chap, trying to smooth things over, ‘“‘What’s the matter? Feelin sort of playful tonight, aren’t you?” An in saying it I was almost as playful as I had- accused him of being. But again he - surly and sneered, “You're a big stiff!’ and repeated, “You never could lick anybody!” And still I tried to calm him down, but he kept butting me with his shoulder and there was strength behind it, for he had not taken enough to weaken himself, just sufficient to make him pugnacious and, if anything, stronger. “You don’t want to go around getting into rows,” I continued, ignoring the butts. “Why, I know you don’t mean anything by it. Here’—and I put my hand on his shoulder, friendly enough—‘ take a lemon and seltzer, and brace up.” It all sounds kind of foolish to repeat, but all I was trying to do was to avoid u real row. Meanwhile, I was not any too well leased with myself, or with the appearance neta, for while all the people still stood spellbound, and figured that pretty soon I would show the man up, I felt that they were already inning to wonder why I stood for so much. It certainly didn’t add to their respect for me or to my prestige. There was only one thing to relieve the situation—my sense of humor, which I usually have, even at critical times. This was appealed to somehow by the sight. of the cocky little fellow in thé white hat, whom I now observed for the first time. He had a peculiar pitying expression on his face—I did not know why, but found out af —also a look of relief that he hadn’t taken on this terrible fellow who was bulldozing the champion. March 7,1925 So matters continued and I was trying to think of some excuse to make a decent getaway, my assailant abusing me and pushing me around, when suddenly he called me a name worse than any that had gone before. At once I grew mad all over. but man- aged to keep my temper. I had on a big ulster, buttoned tight and preventing any full play of my arms. I slowly unbuttoned it, not threateningly but as if I were too warm, and threw it on the bar, then faced him, still looking amiable enough, and not as if I planned any ch in my attitude. For a second he stopped his pe goed and I measured him. He was, as I said, big and husky, but the problem was not so much one of licking him as of felling him with one blow and so avoiding a rough and tumble in dag Bis if victorious, I a pon very foolish—mopping up a su oor with a stranger, or else rollin all over it if I failed to knock him out and he clinched. Now a fair tap—with force behind it, of course—on the jaw when relaxed, will have twice the effect that it does on a jaw when set. It may even put the man out without ay | serious injury. o I waited until he unloosened another epithet, and just as he was bawling me out I unloosed something myself—no epithet, but a short quick punch. He dropped for- ward—on his hands and knees—and when a man drops like that most of the fight has gone out of him. But it wasn’t quite all gone from him. For, as I was saying to the bartender, “‘Isn’t he a fine fellow, going around look- ing for trouble when he doesn’t know the first wey | about defending himself?” this big boy clutched at my legs, and tried to climb up my body. Of course, I had my eye on him all the time, and as soon as he had managed to pull himself to his feet I hit him another light little tap on the chin— when a man is so far gone it doesn’t take much to finish him-—-and he crumpled up and dropped, his head on the foot rail. Two of his friends picked him rg and carried him out to the street. At this, the little fellow in the white hat set 7 a roar. “Why,” he said to his friend, “I have been standing this fellow’s abuse all the evening. He had me thinking he could lick Jim Corbett; and Corbett gives him a little slap and he falls on his face!”’ He didn’t know that what he called a little slap had force behind it and had been scien- tifically applied; and he was heartbroken to think of the opportunity he had missed. Back for More After this, the people in the room came crowding around, shaking my hand, and asking me so many questions that I was prevented from leaving for some time. It was probably three-quarters of an hour. Anyway, just as I was preparing to go, who should come in the door but the big boy again, all brushed clean, and slicked up, having had a quick Turkish bath. I was worri ain; there seemed to be no prospect of avoiding that row. I should have gotten away from the too friendly crowd. The affair now would be sure to get into the papers, for the fellow must mean trouble, coming back like that. And he looked very serious as he walked over to me and said, “‘ Mr. Corbett, I want to speak to you.” atching him like a lynx, I walked with him to the end of the bar. He thrust out his hand, palm upward now, and ex- claimed, ‘‘I want to apologize. You gave me what I deserved.’’ Then he paused, looking meaningly around at the crowd. “But I don’t want you to think I can’t fight, Mr. Corbett, for I can lick anybody in this —-—— place but you.” “What!” roars the little fellow in the white hat, as he recalled the little slap, and at once he wades into the big boy. And there followed the most terrific rough and tumble, all over the place, It was all we could do to separate them, they were locked in each other’s grip like two bull- dogs. Phat was the only public fray I was ever mixed up in except one, and that by proxy, for I was not present. Poor old Peter Jack- son was involved, when a shell of himself, and it was too bad, too, for he was usually uiet and civil, even gentlemanly. But that old sixty-one-round fight with me, which had been declared “no contest,” sometimes rankled in his mind, and this night—it was in some saloon or other in (Continued on Page 172)

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172 (Centinued from Page 170) San Francisco—an argument over the old bout was started, and Peter resented some- thing a bystander said that implied I was Peter’s superior. Not quite himself that night, Peter came back with something thet was worse, when another friend of mine—I wouldn't have had him do it for the world-——stretched this once great and lorious fighter out on the floor—with one slow too. Strange to say, the one that de- livered the blow had never had a boxing love on in his life. It should not have haopened particularly since it was Peter’s last fight and not long afterward he passed away, from consumption, in a hospital in Australia No, I haven’t much use for saloons, and though I have always been in favor of tem- perence or moderation rather than of ab- atinence, I am glad that the saloon has gone. But in spite of THE SATURDAY and which is so unusual to witness now- adays that they figured they were seeing something marvelous. Such spirited bouts were the rule in the old days. Fighters would have been ashamed not to mix it, and referees saw to it that they did; and the newer officials might take a leaf out of the old book to good advantage. ; Perhaps the real reason for the evil and the loss in fighting spirit and skill is that fighters do not serve the right apprentice- ship. It is the same as in other trades. Many a fighter who is pe and sturd can, after a year or so of fighting in whic he has learned but little, pose as a con- tender for some championship. They do not go through the grueling grind of many- round and finish fights; and many cham- pions dodge stiff return matches whenever they can. EVENING POST Now it is true that many fighters are killers, as they say, and quite savage in ac- tion; but it isn’t that they delight in hurt- ingaman. There’s a job on d, and they want to make a quick finish of it. And usu- ally these very men when out of the ring are kindly enough. It is perhaps the onlookers who have the real lust for blood, but most of those who are ac pian es Nae more interested in the science and ng | know that I in my fights took no delight in se damage. I did what I had to, but my head was working all the time—plan- ning what I would do, watching my man, trying this trick and that, as much almost as in a game of checkers or chess. I wasn’t just a wild Irishman heaving a brick or randishing a bloody shillalah. Quickness of hand, of eye, of foot, science and strat- egy were what I was crngg excepting in rare instances when I lost my these incidents, and my own con- duct as illustrated in the story, I rather ‘like those old fighters who would fight at the drop of the hat. While a little too pugnacious sometimes, they are more to be respected than the modern ‘‘scrap- pers” who won't fight under any circumstances unless they hear the chink of the coin. And there is aomething rather fine, too, about the man who has enough confi- deace in his skill and ability and courage to enter a fight where the winner takes ail. ey don’t do that today, the sporting chance that makes any eport worth while has been sc largely eliminated. Poor Sport Perhaps it is conditions of the world now, and not the fighters thernselves that are to blame. For everything seems to have been more or less commercialized in every walk of life. But it is sad to see, for it means that much of the picturesqueness, the color, as some of my playwright friends would eay, has gone. Gone, too, are tne oid fighters with personal- ity; and there are few, if any, to take their place. And rough and are and I couldn’t afford to do that often, though I did once— when I fought Charlie Mitcheil. I was tempted to on another occasion—this time in a bout with my sparring partner when a crowd was watching us spar. He was a big burly fellow; and the funny art of the whole incident is that e had always been a devoted friend of mine. Friends Again Even in sparring for practice, one occasionally gets a clip that hurts, and he got one from me that wry 4 He had often had them before, but now for the first time in his life he suddenly lost his temper. e 0 me, tried to kick me and then throw me down; in short, to engage in a rough and tumble like those informal but bloody bouts the lumbermen like to stage up in Canada. At first | couldn't understand it, thought he was just playing a trick, was off his feed or else had gone loco. But no! There was fire in his eye. He meant business. Quickly I managed to secure an inside hold, held out both his arms blustering ewaggerers as those old boys often were, and full of faults, they were human, not mere ma- chines going through more or less chiefly ‘eas —skillful motions for the sake of the dough. For all the big audiences now- edays, the stage is poorer that the old giants have made their exits, Another drawback to progress is the presence of three judges in the ring, thus distributing the blame for unfair decisions. One man aione should have the responsi- bility of declaring the winner. With three, he always has a perfect alibi, can shift the blame; and, should there be an inclinati. .. to fixing a fight, there is more chance for such crookedness, | think, under the pres- ent arrangement. Still more serious is the leniency shown by the boxing commission toward boxers. They do not make fighters open up. This is an expression that all who have attended a bout and who have seen a fighter come out from his corner, immediately wrap his arms around his head, stall and go in his shell, from the very start, will understand. It is a proper course to take, and shows head- work, if a fighter is in trouble or hurt and is trying to weather a round; Too few boxers understand the art then. But to go-in one’s shell when one is fresh, to be afraid to try one’s skill and equipment of blows then, is to defeat the purpose of boxing. Further, the boxer who acts in this way prevents a willing opponent from making a fight of it. If he is tough and can stand a little poate he knows he can weather the ew rounds of the limited bouts permitted these days by sticking in his shell, and stall- ing and clinching at every opportunity. No science is shown-—-in fact, more would be displayed in running away, as that might take sorne fancy footwork. None of the spectators can learn anything of the art, and do not get either action or a run for their money; they just see one of those petting parties that are so popular, they say, and which can be witn in a parlor or an automobile without paying good money for the sight. Such practice is really so common that people hailed the Firpo-Dempsey bout as one ef the wonder fights of history. Here they saw that action that they always want COPYRIGHT GY UNDERWOOD 6 UNDERWODD, %. ¥. ©. James J. Corbett in His Box at the Yankee Stadium Watching the Third Game of the Weorid's Series Another cause, too, is the lack of good boxing instructors. Thirty and more years ago there were many skilled teachers. Why the ranks have been so depleted I don’t know, and I have often wondered about it. Is it because the nye po! of people no longer care for the art of self-defense—that is, of themselves—and prefer to pay to see people practice it, from nice seats and at a safe distance? Come to think of it, one does not see so many fistic settlements of arguments on the street these oe. A man usually accepts an insult or a blow, or else tells it to the judge. Even the old gang fights of boys are practically a thing of the past. A good thing, too; I have never my- self indulged in tndlestiulnate rowing, nor do IJ like to see others constantly looking for trouble. Still, it might be a good thing if the men who follow golf should devote just a little of their time to learning how to de- fend themselves, as so many who called themselves gentlemen used to do in the nineties. It would keep them fit at fifty, and I do not believe it would make them much more blcod-thirsty and dangerous. You couldn’t call Theodore Roosevelt exactly that, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who loved to put on the gloves, or that prince of gentlemen, Maurice Barrymore. Football Accidents And, speaking of brutality, there is not so much in the game as many think; cer- tainly not more than football has for me, though in that sport one does not aim di- rectly to hurt the opposing players—that is, as a rule. Anyone who has witn many games will make that exception. And people who flock to these games, stand for its roughness. Why, at the last I attended I saw an old gentleman, who was the picture of what a dear old gentleman should be, and a girl who would make any man look twice, and both shouted themselves hoarse when a member of the rival team was carried with a broken ankle off the field. And they would have been insulted had you given them tickets to see a bout. and prevented him from kneeing me, then whispered in his ear so that the amazed spectators couldn’t hear, “‘Come, what’s the matter? Pull yourself together.’’ But all he did was to let out a roar like a wounded lion, wrench himself away, and in doing that he tried to elbow me in the eye. I was helpless. I didn’t want to hurt him, yet he had turned a friendly sparring bout into a fierce and foul fight, and I was in danger. I was tired, too, from trying to off- set this bigger man’s wrestling and throw- ing. And his rage, it seemed, had added another hundred to his two-twenty pounds. But I had to lick him. There was no other way out, unless I wanted to be licked in- stead. At once I saw my eye es & Having hold of one of his arms, I quickly rushed him off balance, shot him against the wall, held him there with my forearm jammed against his chin, and yelled, “Do you want to be friends or to fight?” At this a villainous look came into the eyes of the usually pally man. Brady jumped between us, but I yelled, “Kee out of this!’’ And the crowd stood around, trified. Then I jumped back and as he unged at me, swinging wild haymakers, I danced and ducked out of his way, then hit him on the chin. He went down, pretty groggy. Then up he came, roaring. I knocked him down again, this time almost out. He was helpless, Seeing him so, I seized him, pulled him to his feet, shook him, and still holding both his arms, told him, “I don’t want these people to go out, thinking I’ve been ill- treating you and that you hate me. Apolo- gize to me, quick. Did I ever hurt you willingly or insult you? Come, I want you to square me now.” The tears now came into his eyes, he _ his arms around me and said, “Jim, I’m just a plain damn fool.” After that, if anything, we were even better friends. But the point I am trying to make is that the fighter does not necessarily feel like some man-eating lion, wanting to kill his man. Why, in that professional bout with Dominick McCaffrey, in Brooklyn, years ago, when I hit Dominick three or four March 7, 1925 times in the third and he lolled there help- less, with his back to me, over the ropes, and the crowd yelled—the old crowd again—“‘Go for him!” and “Knock his head off’’—do you think I could do that? No, nor any other decent fighter. I simply told the referee, ‘I refuse to hit this man;”’ and the fight was over. And thousands of times men have asked helpless antagonists to quit, as did old Fitz when he fought Jack Dempsey—the orig- inal Jack—in New Or , along about 1891. Fitz had him licked, poor old Jack, who was nothing but a light-middleweight— ny a welterweight — fighting a eavy, and Bob kept asking him to quit. From where I sat near the ring I could tell by the motions of his lips that he was plead- ing with the other; but Jack would simply shake his head stubbornly and bore in again to take his punishment. No, the real brutality is not usually in the heart of the fighter, but in the audience. And the referee should be wise, cool and keen-witted, and also able to stand the jeers of a sometimes hostile crowd, and so stop fighters when one man is through, or else his second should throw up the sponge. But, however you read these things, of one thing I am sure—the percentage of brutality attached to it cannot offset the benefits—the manliness, skill and courage developed by the sport. Among the questions I have been asked most often to answer are—How do the fighters of yesterday and today compare? How would you rank them? A large order, but I will try it. But — remember that in these judgments am speaking of the various men when each was at his prime. In baseball, Hans Wagner stayed in the line-up long after he had slowed up. Those who saw him in later years cannot realize him for the wonder he was. Those that watched Jeffries fight Jack Johnson never saw the real Jeff. And the last I myself saw of Bob Fitzsimmons, he was shambling up a country road, after a fight with a fourth-rater, his eyes as big as those hind wheels on the old high bicycles, and as nicely colored as a piece of raw liver. He was really an old, old man. We should begin, I suppose, with the little fellows, and there promptly comes to mind the featherweights, Terry McGovern and George Dixon—Little Chocolate, as we used to call him—who began as bantam- weights, but who attained their real fame when fighting in the former class. Exciting Moments Terry was a clean-built little fighter, sort of a smaller edition of the present Jack Dempsey. Though not scientific, he was so aggressive that he could beat a highly scientific man. Perhaps the best battle he ever fought was with Frank Erne, who, it must be admitted, was at a disadvantage in making the weight. Erne was a light- weight, and in ucing to the poundage required for this bout—128, I think it was—- naturally weakened himself a trifle; but he had all his old-time skill that night—and he was one of our best. However, his skill hel him but little. Try as he would, he could not keep out of McGovern’s way. Terry was on top of him from the tap of the gong until the finish. Erne simply could not make him miss. He would try to clinch with Terry, but he could not hold him. Try to jump back—the little whirlwind was all over him; to side- step, Terry slam-banged him against the ropes. At last in this most thrilling of encoun- ters Erne found there was nothing to do but throw science to the winds and slu toe-to-toe. And when he did this he laste only two more rounds. George Dixon, too—Little Chocolate— — all the qualities a fighter should ave—intelligence, gameness, speed and hitting ability. Moreover, he had a truly wonderful left. But again Terry would not be denied. It is hard to beat a man who combines such quickness with such con- tinual motion and slugging ability. Often, though not always, this combination will offset great science. But then, Terry had the needed qualities in an exceptional de- gree. At once I hear the cry go up, “Young Corbett beat him. And he did it twice!’ Here is one of the things you just can’t ex- lain logically. ne eee have shaded dn’t. im, but he di ndoubtedly the two defeats chalked up against him were due (Continued on Page 177)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SUBS TADS a Be: AM D+: CO LOR | = Sis 2 Sa A Oe SS it = =a Be orzo i Ss = = P= f—, Bp A ie J a —— moar The largest single order of “Portland (Cement ever placed was for Atlas sweeg HEN the United States Government bought the cement for the Panama _ y _ Canal—over 8,000,000 barrels—Atlas was selected for two reasons. First, the . 4 substance, the quality of the product. Daily tests were made by the Govern- _ ment over an eight year period and not a single barrel of Atlas was rejected. ‘% ~The second reason was the substance, the dependability, of the Atlas “| organization. Atlas had demonstrated this dependability not only by its size, ' though size is some indication of merit. But also through Atlas improve- | ments in manufacture, notably the rotary kiln, there had been established a high standard for ty Portland Cement, quantity production had been made possible, and Portland Cement had be- Ds. come the cheapest of all manufactured products—three most desirable qualities in a material so essential as Atlas. — 5 ee ee pers — ee Pa yg a” a To concrete’s substance, to its adaptability to meet requirements of form and shape, now ts added color, not by external and fading coloring matter, but inherent in concrete itself, This makes concrete the complete architectural medium, possessing every essential of the perfect building material. And Atlas Portland Cement, obtainable either in its normal gray or in a pure | white color, has been selected as the medium through which this new color development should be accomplished—a still further indication of the many reasons why Atlas is called “the Standard by which all other makes are measured.” ‘Between the Atlas plants and the user there is but one distributor—the building material dealer—who brings Atlas to the public cheaper than by any other method. Any architect, contractor or prospective builder is invited to write this Company regarding the possibilities of concrete, made with Atlas. rit LAS PORTLAND CEMENT o™pary . 25 BROADWAY, NEW YORK, N. Y. Atias CHICAGO BIRMINGHAM INDEPENDENCE, KANS. Portland Cement PHILADELPHIA BOSTON ST.LOUIS DES MOINES DAYTON OMAHA BUFFALO KANSAS CITY JACKSONVILLE, PLA. Portland Cement

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7,1925 More people ride on Goodyear Tires than on any other kind

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i i f } f SS ye ee sage ti THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Will balloons stand the gaff‘ ? ¢They will if they're made of SOPERTWIST -—and Goodyears are Despite the swift popularity of bal- loon tires, many people are still a little doubtful about them. They concede their extra comfort and good appearance, but question if bal- loons will stand hard usage. No such question need disturb the motorist who is thinking about Good- year balloon tires. For by force of a new material, a re- markable cord fabric called SUPER- TWIST, Goodyear anticipated and answered this question long before offering its balloon tires to the public. SUPERTWIST did not just happen. Its special adaptability to the balloon tire is by no means the result of for- tunate chance. No; SUPERTWIST is the outcome of deliberate and expert design, of a long and intelligent search, in Goodyear's - own fabric mills, for a new ma- terial to meet the new needs of the Goodyear Means Good Wear ‘BALLOON S” “Made with SUPERTWIST low-pressure flexible-sidewall tire. The superiority of SUPERTWIST lies in its greater elasticity. It far outstretches the breaking point of standard cord fabric. A tire carcass made of it absorbs im- pact over a much wider area, and thus is afforded greater protection against stone bruise and like injury. In other words, it stands the gaff. You want the advantages of SUPER- TWIST in the tires you buy. They spell the difference between doubtful and profoundly satisfactory Service. So marked is this difference, Goodyear now puts SUPERTWIST into all its cord tires—both balloon and standard sizes. Being an exclusive Goodyear develop- ment, SUPERTWIST is used in Good- year Tires only. Yet Goodyears cost you no more.

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ag ge en —_ : eee ae : ~ eat =~ (Continued from Page 172) to what they call the Indian sign. Many a champion, for that matter, has his " This hoodoo can be beaten. by men the champion defeats, yet the champion 3 down before him. x licks B, C, D, and E, way down to Z; the rest defeat Z, then Z rises up and gives A a good lacing. How often that happens in big-league baseball, the tail-ender thrashing the leader to the tune of four straight! Now Rothwell—better known as Young Corbett—had this same Indian sign on the otherwise Terrible Terry. Young Corbett always got his goat; in one battle by in- sulting him the minute they met in the ring, in the other by leaving his dressing room before Terry was ready in his, pound- ing on the latter’s door, as he went by, and shouting, ‘‘Come out, McGovern, and take your licking!” And all through the fight he flicked his opponent on the raw. Terry sew red and was beaten even before they began to fight. For when you let ro opponent get your goat you are usually lost. Away goes your judgment of distance; your footwork, your aim and timing are bad. However, it must not be thought that Young Corbett was mediocre; he was a powerful hitter and, had he taken better care of himself, would have stood out as one of our greatest. The Line-Up of the Feathers In spite of Young Corbett’s natural ability, however, and the two defeats ad- ministered by him to McGovern, Terry should top him in the featherweight list. That later champion of the class, Johnny Kilbane, was clever at his best, with con- siderable Ee but he never could have kept out of McGovern’s qn As for Johnny Dundee, who has been in the spotlight so much these past fifteen years, he was a game fighter and always a the public a run for its money, but he acked in hitting. And one who lacked in hitting would never have had much chance with either McGovern, Corbett or Little Chocolate. There was one other man, who fought twenty-five years ago, that might have de- feated all three—that is, with a little luck. He could hit as hard as Terry, was of the same type, but I think not quite so rugged. 1 refer to Billy Murphy, of Australia. So, for feathers, the ranking should be, I think, roughly about in this order: 2. Terry McGovern. 3. George Dixon—Jim Driscoll. 4. Rothwell [Young Corbett}. 5. Billy Murphy [of Australia]. 6. Johnny Kilbane. 7. Abe Atell--Johnny Dundee, The first space is not filled. I have a candidate for it that will sur- prise you; therefore I left naming him until the very last, though he should have come first. For he was not only the greatest feath- erweight, but, considering his weight and inches, the greatest fighter of any class in any year since the eighties— Young Griffo. This is not merely one individual’s opin- ion. It is the belief of thousands whose memories go back over the years. You will not go very far wrong in writing in his name on that first dotted line. It is strange, too, but sometimes in call- ing the roll of the good men of the last fifty years one forgets him for a moment. Why, I do not know. Then all of a sudden you exclaim, “By Jove, I forgot! He was the man—the best of 'em all.’ And suddenly he looms up clear out of the past, overtopping all the others, mak- ing these mighty men seem dwarfs by his side—that is, in Fighting ability, for he him- self was a little fellow in size, but oh, such a mighty little fellow! I have met a number of great men in all walks of life, and to me a proof of their comparative merit is the way they stand out in the memory after so long a time. Perhaps it is what my artist friends call perspective, though I don’t know much about art. Anyway, this mysterious way in which Young Griffo comes back in and again, tapping you on the shoulder every time you try to rank others ahead of him, is to me a proof of his greatness. Griffo, or Arthur Griffiths, as he was christened, was from Australia, a country that furnished in the old days more great fighters in Es rtion to its population than any other land. If you call to mind Robert Fitzsimmons, Peter Jackson, George Daw- son, Billy Murphy, this same Young Griffo, THE SATURDAY Frank Slavin, and many others it would take too long to mention, you will not think this an absurd claim. When he first entered an American ring, Griffo was ridiculed, but soon the laugh was on the other side. For how he could fight! He was not a beauty to look at—until the gong rang. Then you would rub your eyes. Still his very build helped him. Short and compact in body, he had a heavy- weight’s neck, head and shoulders, sort of tapering down to his feet. His style com- bined the best of a more modern school with something of the tactics of old Jem Mace, who, by the way, came decades before Sullivan and Jake Kilrain, and was a better boxer than either. After Mace, for a while boxing declined, slugging prevailing, until in the early nineties the art looked up again. Now one of Jem’s best tricks was duck- ing and a the blows—that is, swinging his head to left or right with his oP nent’s blows so that he was not hit full force. Griffo carried these tricks to even ter perfection. I spent years of study and application at the art, and have been cred- ited with some skill, but I never could equal Young Griffo. Of course, a heavyweight with a long rangy back has not the natural advantage for these tricks possessed by a short-coupled man, but even allowing for that handicap, he was my superior. ere the modern heavy, who pays little atten- tion to such things, ducks, say five or ten per cent of the blows aimed at him, I trained myself thus to escape say twenty per cent, but Young Griffo could avoid altogether or so that they merely shaved him, fully fifty cent. That will give you some little idea of the marvel he was. He did not show flashy footwork, perhaps, but then, he didn’t need to, He could stand on a dime and duck or ride half the blows the clever- est man could start for him. Now there is one method that will beat such tactics—a rally of right and left uppercuts, but few boxers understand this, and, anyway Young Griffo was clever enough to stand off even such an offense. Young Griffo’s Career And he could hit hard enough for all practical purposes. By this I mean to im- ply that no really clever scientific man hits, as a rule, as hard as a slugger. This is not due to women The clever man deliber- ately makes of himself a fast-moving target, and, being continuously on the move, does not set himself to deliver his own blows as does the slower-moving slugger. He hits, on the move, short quick punches with EVENING POST enough dynamite in them to wear down his man, Later, when he has his opponent , then he can set himself with all the eliberateness he wants, to put over the knock-out blow. Such was Young Griffo’s style. He would duck and ride the blows, making the other man look positively ridiculous, meanwhile tiring his man out and ultimately wearing him down until he would be an easy victim; rein would so show up any featherweight of today. But Vaies Griffo had one fault, not in boxing equipment but of ju t outside the ring. It was the only g that kept this cleverest of all fighters from becoming champion after he reached these shores. He loved the bright lights far too well. Not long after his appearances here, in — he a so Sg Ly aeigamn he refused to t perly, and grew careless. He was soon Toot to fight out of the feather and in the ligh ht class—not because of natural rs or development, but by sheer fat! d soon he started fast to decline, A tragedy, yes, but too common among fighters. Too often they write their own epitaph: “He defeated himself!” A Look at the Lightweights But to turn to the lightweights: There was a sweet bunch of them scrapping their way through, in the nineties and in the new century up to 1907—Jack McAuliffe, Frank Erne, George Dawson, of Australia; and George, better known as Elbows, McFad- den; the two Kids, Lavigne and McPart- land; Dal Hawkins, English Jimmy Carroll, and little black Joe Gans. And since that last-named year we have had Jimmy Britt and Ad Wolgast, then, to name just those of first-class, Ritchie and Welsh, and finally your own Benny Leonard, Now all had their points, but many their weaknesses, too, which in some cases pre- vented their being ranked quite at the top. For instance, Kid McPartland, who was clever and fast, was not a real scrapper, just a showy boxer; and on the other hand, Dal Hawkins, who packed the heaviest punch of any that ever fought in the lightweight class—a statement that goes also for the present generation—showed no judgment at all in the ring. English sory Carroll could fight and was game, but he was defeated by Jack McAuliffe in forty rounds when both were in their prime. And Erne, a marvel for science, has his black mark—a defeat by a feather, which cannot be explained away entirely by his making the weight. ORAWN BY HANS A. WALLEN “Hey, Maggie, Run Up Stairs! It's One of Them Special Deliveries!"’ 177 a the more modern men, Freddie Welsh, like MePartland, was fast and clever, but spent too much time in euey cu his man; and Jimmy Britt, thoug one of the most intelligent of all boxers, as a hitter was never deadly enough. Willie Ritchie was too open, though he was noted for his courage; and as for Ad Woigast, a pr pene on, naeg Cposweyyc and super' never up more than the first rudiments of science in his 4 MoF adden’ patie great Sone ows Mc. en, a capa he never shi quite enough to oy the champion of champions, as one cails the long roll. Ruling these out, then, from consider- ation for the se | first place, Dawson, McAuliffe, Leonard, Lavigne and Joe Gans alone are R Dawson would be a wonderful candidate in a finish fight, but since under present laws only short bouts are permitted, he must be waved out. In ten to fifteen rounds Pa surely be outpointed by Leonard y. Gans and McAuliffe were, I should say, about on a par; the former, a fast, aggres- sive and extremely cou: us fighter, and Jack, one of the craftiest, hardest-hitting and quickest of foot that ever stepped into a ring. What a personality McAuliffe was! In- spiring awe when in the ring, for one never knew what he would do next, and com- pelling admiration when on —_— was such a picture, the perfect u Brummei! he nineties with that high hat and cut- away, and his tlemanly--as they used to put it— lection for the ponies and wine. This last affection he carried a bit too far, though, sometimes choosing as one of his seconds, in im t fights, a cham- pagne bottle! And this sort of second has a big advantage over the usual choice—it can stay in the ring all the time, and can be consulted quite as frequently in the inter- missions, High Place for Lavigne How much this sort of thing hurt him I don’t know. He stayed pretty well at the top os the years he fought, but on the whole, I should be inclined to think Lavigne shaded him, partly on the count of condi- tion, more because Lavigne possessed in such an amazing d all the qualities that go to make up the fighter. He was as aaipensive and quick as ~y —marvelously so for one of his short stocky build-—quite as game as Wolgast or Battling Nelson, and far cooler than most. And he could stand more punishment than any little man [ have seen—as much as a big heavyweight, in fact, which is panes nelle. of a tribute, don’t you think, when one remembers Sharkey and Jeff? He never fought a better battle than the memorable thirteen-round fray with the famous Joe Walcott. Though the latter was a welterweight who could take on heavies, the Kid carried the fight to him all the way. So, all things considered, Lavigne should come first, unless it be the present holder of the title, as some insist, To see how they compare, let’s study Benny for a moment and look over his record, analyze some of his battles before we match him with Lavigne and McAuliffe in these mythical battles between present champions and those of — ago. hen he first came out of the amateur class, he did, I must admit, impress me at once. He showed speed of hand and foot and a fighting brain, He was still a little amateurish, though, showing his nervous- ness by forgetting every once in a while to clench his hands—hit too often with the open glove, merely slapping his man, And he was fidgety ands little too anxious to hit and get away, and his | appeared not flexible, but too tense—all faults natural to a man when first fighting as a pro, After that debut I saw him on a number of oceasions, and he was improving by lea and bounds. Up, sO went until he fought Freddie Welsh the time and gained the championship, And I said to myself, “‘ Here is one great lightweight. He shows more class than any fighter I have seen in many years. Of al!, he comes nearest to filling my eye.” A in years ago I saw his first fight with Lew Tendler, and I was disappointed but not surprised to see the champion’s bad showing. I say ‘not surprised,”’ for Lew was a southpaw—a left-hander. And these are always hard, even for a clever man, to diagnose. Right foot, right hand out—the

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But I would have given the de- cision to Tendler that night, for he won the majority of rounds on points and twice had Leonard so groggy that he was almost out. However, I was pleased at the way Benny fought toward the finish, and remarked to a friend who was disappointed in the fight, “Wait for the return match. If Leonard is as good as I think he is, he will show up differently then.” You see, I knew Tendler wouldn’t change either style or tactics, and I believed Leonard was keen enough to change his and also to have learned how to beat his rival next time. In fact, I had no- ticed that during the last two periods of this first fight he was doing that very thing— solving Lew’s style, carrying the fight to him, and frequently beating him to the punch. Toward the end he was using straight lefts on his man—and a southpaw is always easy for a straight left followed by a quick right. Also he was frequently feinting Tendler out of position, and was confusing him by varying his attack, suddenly slug- ging when least expected, or starting little rallies of quick punches that rattled off Tendler’s body in a swift tattoo. Well, Benny had solved Tendler very thoroughly the next time they met. He did all the things, showed all the stuff he had displayed in the last two rounds of the first fight—and more. All the way through he had his opponent practically tied up in knots, and deservedly earned the decision which he now won. So I like almost all of Leonard, who is one of the very worthiest of champions, About him I am doubtful of only one thing—his ability to go the distance. Probably he can; or could have when at his best; it has just been his luck that he has had no chance to show his heart and stamina over a long route. And right there, I think, you have one of the reasons why fighters are less sturdy to- day, as a class. Leonard has been fighting twelve-round and shorter bouts most of the time since he eased into the picture; and it is so with most fighters under our present laws. The old twenty-five-round and finish fights not — took more out of a man, but put more into him — of sturdiness and tough- ness—and were a sure test of a man’s stamina and last-ditch courage. That test is psychological as well as phy- sical. If a man is smart, knows all the tricks, and is matched with one of his weight, he is sure he can weather a limited number of rounds, barring an accident. But when he shakes hands with a tough antag- onist whom he must fight to the finish or the end of a long twenty-five rounds, he is not so sure of himself. And confidence is so much of the game, the lack of it a big handi- cap. And many a man has had the best of it and badly outpointed his man for the first twelve or fifteen rounds of a long fight, | and then been knocked out by a sturdier though less skillful opponent. And there is a great difference in the make-up of men who are apparently equal in ability and who seem, even to the ex- rts, to be very fairly matched. As the ong battle goes on, some lose heart as they tire, others become but the more deter- mined. It is then that a man’s full March 7,1925 resources are tried. If he has a varied assort- ment he can use generalship, relax when he sees the chance, and gather back some of the strength he has spent. He can change his style, his tactics, according to what the situation demands—now block and duck to save his legs, again dance and side-step to save his arms, thus sparin himself or at least his strength. A lot o strategy or sheer bluff now is needed. A man must never let his opponent know that he isn’t fresh. At the tap of the gong, each time, no matter how weary he is, he must go right after the other, and put him on the defensive—this even when he would give his right arm to crawl away into some ole and fall asleep. By this very faked a iveness you take some of the nerve out of the other fellow, who says to him- self, ‘Why, this fellow is fresh and I am all in!’’ And, too, by putting him on the defensive you force him to keep away and you yourself can rest a bit, since you are not expending much energy even though you are after him, just feinting and fiddling and making a show of it. Now a man may have the greatest skill and yet possess neither the endurance nor the heart for all these things. The uncer- tainty is sometimes horrible, and the fighter without the needed quality is in a bad way. Leonard truly looks as good as any of the eight fighters I have mentioned before, although he has never fought anyone who is quite their equal, nor has he gone the long route. With him, this is the only uncertain quantity, for he is an artist if there ever was one. As for the others, it is hard to rank them, but I will attempt it as the round ends; again, as I said, not with the melancholy favoritism of an old-timer dwelling on the good old days, for I would be the first to welcome the new lad who could show more than any of the old boys of the past. The judgments are made simply from the ex- perience of hundreds of battles participated in or studied carefully. .And remember, the fact that one man beats another does not necessarily show the former the su- perior, Many a champion has been caught when slipping or a shell of himself, like little Joe Gans, who was shot through with tuber- culosis when Nelson beat him; and at that, to turn the trick it took forty long cruel rounds. Anyway, accept it for what it is worth. Here is my roll of honor: 1. Kid Lavigne (or Benny Leonard. If he can go the route, he should rank with No. 1) 2. Jack McAuliffe—Joe Gans 3. Frank Erne—George {Elbows} Mc- Fadden. 4. Jimmy Carroll jof England|— Willie Ritchie. 5. Freddy Welsh. 6. Ad Wolgast—Jimmy Britt. 7. Battling Nelson—Dal Hawkins. 8. Lew Tendler. 9. Kid McPartland— Packey McFarland Dawson fof Australia] should o. 2 if finish fights only are con- Geor; rank sidered. And now for the heavier men, who are in some ways even more interesting, if only for the fact that, as the old proverb says, “A good big man can beat a good little man any day.” That is, almost always; there was Walcott, for exception. But there is the tap of the gong! Between rounds, perhaps bs can relive some of the famous old fights—to picture them as clearly the next period, for you. PHOTO. BY DAN MCCOWAN, FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR, CANADA P) Cc Castie M Rockies

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ess —- , Ea A le. GE og ati —- Sek Ss —— ee = ——— hold our hotige*safe against all the inroads of the doubtful present, the positivel threatening futute—against cheap nails and ill-seasOnéd lumber and cement that disintegrated in the first cold: I had heard the workmen with picks and iron bars curs- ing the mortar in which the stones had been set; it was as hard as the stone itself. Parallel with all this m private dismay at so much cost continued like the famous small admonitory voice of conscience. But the forces opposing it were growing daily ee ae was now in operation to- gether with my greatly increased realiza- tion of the significance of my house. To me! From the first I had been aware of its immaterial but strong influence, but later it had come to dominate my thought and writing. I had, not very long ago, written stories laid in Geneva and Italy and Cuba, once I had begun the biography of Alfieri; but now I’d never again go out of a tradi- tional America for a subject. I had lost all interest in Europe, in travel; I would never, if it could be anyway avoided, travel again. I’d go to Richmond, certainly, to Charles- ton, and perhaps to New Orleans—in the in- terest of a novel to be called The Tea Rose—but I wouldn’t, in those cities, be departing from the mood, the earth, of the Dower House. In retrospect I could trace the course of this through the stories I had laid back of the present in America: The Three Black Pennys and Tubal Cain and The Dark Fleece, Java Head and The Magnetic West—which wasn’t a story—the Early Americana and then Balisand. The Tea Rose would be the New Orleans of the first quarter of the nineteenth century. A dee and persistent habit of spirit and scene. scene and spirit contemporaneous with the Dower House. I couldn’t honestly remem- ber showing, in the significant years of childhood, any sharp interest in the past of America. I had written The Lay Anthony before I came to West Chester to live; Mountain Blood was finished before the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FROM AN OLD HOUSE (Continued from Page 9) change could be impressed on me; and then the dark Howat Penny, the early blast fur- naces of Pennsylvania. It would seem, then, that the Dower House was the actual author of my books and success; more than this—I firmly be- lieve that it kept me alive. It became my back; nd and gave me my being. Ex- cept for the periods of ingratitude that over- took me in the fall, rebellions against the inevitable, it rested me; the only place which had accomplished that difficult if rhaps unimportant end. When I walked into the Dower House the clamor in m head practically, comparatively, stopped; I’dsit in thefront room, before the blackened eave of the fireplace, and the accumu- lated decades of stillness would touch, en- velop, calm, me; after a little, if it were late afternoon, I would recover from the three thousand words written that day. When I was away, in the dark crises of mental dread which added nothing to the pleasure of existence, merely to think of the lon stone facade set so squarely inst its hi was to find an enormous relief. With my mind full of this I had watched Dorothy seated on the floor and drawing over milk-white legs the sheerest of stock- ings—what different women, with that same movement in that same room, had ~ on what different stockings, thick and omemade! What different men, in the dimmest morning, had hurried into stout breeches there! Farmers and the wives of farmers with the generations of their chil- dren . . . and now, in their place, were a childless writer and his wife. But the older lives and oe had laid their beneficent tyranny on the present, and I was to con- tinue to the finish of my books in the tradi- tions of their house. It was soon after my return from the West that I first realized the sensations of a proprietorship in the soil: I had walked down the hill from West Chester and, in place of keeping on to the lower entrance of PHOTO. BY PHILIP 8, WALLACE, PHILADELPHIA A Bar of Suntight SSSALDSATISDAS AIP SND _ tL Se TISSLLL WPS OASSAENSS DD LIZZIE ASS LTLIIF TD SLISTTLSILALE Pleasant because it is pure Tue more often you use a product the more im- portant are its purity and palatability. The reasons are obvious. Squibb’s Sodium Bicarbonate (bicarbonate of soda) is a highly purified, clean, snow-white powder. 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Paper ie CoupOR and ten cents. for a cute three color inches high (ready to be cut out and Get a Doll's House Free $2.00 buys, from your dealer, 4 rolle (a year’s eupply) of A. PB. W. Satin Tiseue, packed in an attractive, gaily colored doll's house — or sent post paid upon receipt price and this coupen filled in with your dealer's name | } | | ts tena mca : = | oy oe ACHING FEET ’ Ak. ~~ Is ed through ou yenre’ experience in re of al pen bod braces, at | he a Noa-okid cushion pad conf provemenn instep mueclee and currecte fa’ foot strain. Overcomes pain in tall of foot and other foot roubles by supporting and strengt! Poaltive Reiiol for Corns, Callouses, Bunions | iis manatee: Eliminates use of metal plates and leather liners Wom by men, wamea and children with any etyle shoes and targer size required. Made in pla or black to fit ev HE ng a raed by ‘shyaictana, ; Se $1.56, witaent ut oyd 61.08 % | tl cuae. ‘Sedat blake = THE OHIO TRUSS CO. Feveded 1803 Dept. L Cincinaati, Ohio FR salesmen wanted for the Srey darect “ee trade | it was my ground, I | the earth, and it seemed to me that a sense | of security, of power, of affection, came up | through my shoes in response. | the right . | ferently drained. Some upper limbs i . me | maple trees must be cut out. | toa field, no matter | line of trees a; | serve the integrity | of their image of | those associations spot, ned provinces were THE SATURDAY I went up the short steep rough land that I was planning for an . I stopped, for some wa gotten reason, midway of the path just = through the weeds; and suddenly 1 to myself that I was on my own place. This slope, the weeds, the earth, were mine; stamped. a foot into eB ge ¢ of lan I looked about with a new a fresh attention: the rain had cut a deep gully on the hill would have to be dif- Pride fil me. It was exactly as though, like the maples, but of another fiber, I ad roots in the ground. Now it would be more useless than ever to long, in October, for a complete freedom—the intangible roots of a love and a responsibility, made infinitely stronger by realization, bound me to some acres of land and a house The land foremost; I had not ments that. Then I understood that the House might be de- stroyed, but the EVENING POST important or alive. The tradition, the feel- ing, the affection, must be carried in an unextinguished spark. The melancholy truth was that a land of freedom and justice, for ee all the oppressed of the earth would gloriously fight, didn’t in America exist. Whoever came here with that opti- mistic conviction, burning beforehand with eae lost it soon. He endured a great eal for a long or short period, and then proceeded to make the United States over in his own image. The trouble was that there were so many and such diverse images. Against that the Dower House still main- tained inviolate its memories; and, with my feet on its soil, I felt that strength of continuity, of attachment to something beautifully tangible, tangibly beautiful. It was the only absolute security in my imper- fect ane of the material world. I forget what followed, or if I spoke to Dorothy about the realization that had so suddenly me; I must have walked on into the house, preserving for a little at least my emotion. It sank, of course: when I next went up the path from the highway I would March 7, 1925 particular as he was. Harry Farra did it, and he had a carpenter named Sam. You wouldn’t see a carpenter like that today either. It was in the fall of the year. And whoever then owned the house that had been mine would listen half impatient and half interested, precisely as I. now listened to tales of what had once happened. on my ground. I had become, too, one with the stories of my countryside; the years I had lived in Chester County had e me into its substance. I was a peculiar but native fig- ure; my successes and my lapses were on its tongues, local tongues sharp and un- sparing and affectionate. West Chester watched me, as I grew older and grayer, come into the town in the morning and dis- appear into the simple and charming door- way of the building where I wrote. It had watched me walk from the Dower House and then ride, driven by Dorothy, then by Masterson, who was native; and I could tell that it was commenting on m taste for bagey knickerbockers—once it had been laid before me that trousers, in my case, would be more dignified—- round never. Un- esirable surround- ings couldn't debase it, for the town would never reach beyond it in my life, the orchard on the town side would protect me there and across the roa was the perpetual open fairway of a golf course. Yes, the house might be burned, but another roof, not necessarily of hand-drawn cy- prepinens. som d »e laid across the blackened walls. Then, as well, I had a clearer per- ception of the word patriotism; I saw it in its instine- tive, its beginning and best, sense. The love of land was nee it came rom long attach- ment to a locality, how obdurate, to a inst the sky, a spring in a hollow. When men fought against civil tyranny or in- vasion it was to pre- and of .a separate And, when villages and farms gathered into great a ry rnments, men’s lings for a defi- nite place me widespread and di- lu and inexact; eondemning me for worse. oe Sunday when the air was full of church bells and the need of an example, Sixteen years be- fore, directly after my marriage in a house crowded with people politely doubtful of the wis- dom of my presence there, we had left West Chester for Europe, principally Italy; and when I returned, finally to live in the Dower House, I could see no change in the town. It was ap- poet just as it ad been left; it seemed to me that I was the same as when I had gone. I knew, academically, that I was gettin older; but f couldn’t realize that precisely that, where I was con- cerned, was happen- ing. I felt I was younger than other men of my own age, that time for the accomplishment of all my hopes lay be- fore mein ascarcely touched store of in- gray hair, shortly, made its ap ppearance, but I spore ss it asa ng—in me, in ane iihont sig- nificance. It was only last summer that I finally PHOTO. their patriotism was bolized by a “i was at that time, I have no doubt, I wrote, in a paper on Chicago, that people in _ h a dark traps of city tenements must their sense a ee reality, of any a in a count They scarcely ever, except in electrical lighted parks of cheap mechanical entertainment, in the swift pas- sage of machines over roads paved and black like the streets of the cities, saw the land. And what they did see wasn’t theirs; more than that, they didn’t want it. Their ideas, their ideals, had changed. I wasn’t, here, complaining, attempting the vain as- sertion that there must be a return to the country; the motion was almost wholly in the ee direction; I was simply in- teres in the fact that patriotism was becoming an artificial quality, a word sur- rendered to the politicians. were so many people now in Amer- ica to whom its past meant nothing; the preser:t and future naturally were their sole concern; it was the business of the past to hold itself in the eyes and hearts of the present; and when it failed to do that neither books nor instruction could keep it BY PHILIP B. WALLACE, PHILADELPHIA A Doorway have been entirely oblivious of the fact that the ground was mine. Life at that eleva- But — soon eee 7 rare to endure. ut the — that I was a proprietor in the earth of dag yee became part of me to color what I thought and wrote. I began to wonder who would live in the Dower House after us; I could think of no one in our immediate families who could be certain of coming to West Chester for life. But whoever it was through all his years there he would be conscious of us; he would be, in a special but very valid sense, our legatee. id people would say to him, I remember your house when J oe Her- er lived there. The writer, old are very explicit, afraid of ‘hans misunderstood. And the aged er would, I hope, in the manner of di in the past, express in his voice the conviction that things had been better then. I could still hear him: as plain as I can recollect, yesterday, when ~~ pulled the house down; it was nineteen twenty one or two, about there. And he was particular. Nobody today is as grasped the fact that I was not, after all, to escape from a universal human fatality: Mr. Miller was cutting my hair; he had pinned acrisp white poreeng printed with little knots of flow- ers pale from many washings, tly about my A — I : ——- hardly heard the sharp smooth clicking of the scissors, the bottles of tonics and mirror before me were lost sight of — when ey he ste —_ back. I sharply recovered my sense 0! t {ocation, and saw on ~ sprigged muslin spread over me drifts of dead gray and white hair. It didn’t seem possible it was mine, that that was what already had occurred to the colorful brown of my youth. I said to him, Mr. Miller, that can’t be hair! But he assured me that it — I looked criti- into his mirror Jed d what I saw there, oad: surprised palled me: for the writing, in sasremal ten years, oi perhaps seventeen books and countless papers and stories. My mind went back to my first years in the Dower House and to a different an actually young,man. Wewere (Continued on Page 185) and a

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~~ amr - a oo a ages - — —— a tea ae — Seta Men a 2 30 ~ m world: must have crowded in yet, only sixt alpaca bs. 1 By ; and ee te Wie comparison with a million? ae to visualize a million, of a million cigars would stretch out acr. — than a tenth of a million, the country for nearly eighty miles. y to visualize ; a a million. - Try to visualize a million . . . it stag-» a Wee gers the imagination! Easy for you to carry a dav'’s s danger of runnine—“—~ lining pré waste, and fresh ‘and ckage is hite Owl + No cigar) able popula lextraordina: ‘phenomena! country, Easy to ca! ‘the cigars in fresh—they A million a° attained the ré Owl—only th could possibly, mand in every! The - special | excellent condi don’t dry or bre Today, buy one will convincs = carrying la A million a day attained the rema Owl —the cigar wii the most ext make ‘so ph part of the countr} - cigar of such px of ten years ago. | ordinary Cigar value this truly remarkal Buy new ha made for the cony, smokers. No dangé your favorite smoke package in your pock keeps the cigars in don’t dry ot break-——th your While Owls this ce White Owl distribut Frequent automobile di retailers insures fresh, f Try to ‘visualize a almost impossible; and , day,” that is too great mind to. grasp, . . . i mean more than all o which have ever been mz es tea of the entiré eA spnere, Greater value because 0 is true of cigars just as it | It is undeniably true tf value can be given for the’ money by a manufacture products in any such stupet a million a day. Try to visualize a million picture hundreds—or even | a million is almost too great’ Try to visualize a million are only a score of cities in, that number a million or mor, Try to visualize a milhon. ° does not record any instane million. people were gathe:ed sight . nu.amphitheatre is | to hold such a number. Try to visualize a million? . to capacity the Yale Bowl holds. —less than a tenth of a million. Never a danger of running sh favorite ci with a handy pack pocket—the special foil lining kee excelient condition, almost the though they were in a humidor They don’t get dry and break fresh and as full-flavored as when the factory—it is thé common sen: 7 cigars, popular have White Owls bec we have to make more than a millic : aD to hold such a number. : to visualize a million. THE SATURDAY Try to visualize a million, } ¥°,; Dufing "Try to visualize a million’... History amillion 2. ite @ World Series game it seems as it all on Ce ion gine any ene, ape Nn one picture hundreds—or even thousands—but almost hat to great aa as ma 4, milli , ne > mm were ga in-e " at chee no amenitl te thin “eye a million is almost too great to imagine. aia‘ + . Crowded A chain to capacity the Yale Bowl holds only 85,000 — EVENING POST Try to visualize a million. . Wecan _ Try to visualize a. Try to visualize a million. . . are only a score of cities inal! on ar ‘ie w ie qe iar nbn on n History: nstance when ed thered within ; ia darige ex on. Crowded! holds only en illion. % “ar Uli: bas if all ing into the standa,, and are there! paltry nurnber in, men tO OU canno ot er n kind of Cc Na oN, oy oe by preference cigars: Owl were not = i White ie WALL IE in the remat ab j day” * wou er year. he de portions: " Ke more than a rdihionh ; to meet ther Re more than a ral 8 day on! hree thousand growers of ‘tobacco oe ee the demand for them—mort ..«0«a'@ because of hue producti wines sheiedaal +0 us that we may sort oe » eae as it is of automobiles. daily demand of American smokers for ‘Three thousand of tobaceo cor =. eee rae: true that much greater truly remarkable cigar——the greatest ie tribute their leaf to us that we may meet the to imagine. Ry can be given same amount of by long ones you can buy. ; daily demand of American smokers for thi: There money by a gos sae who sells his hite Owl disthi ibutors dot the coun te ears remarkable cigar—the greatest value, cities a all the world products in any such stupendous number as Freq uent a e delivery from them © odds, youcambuy. = _s—s—s—iwséith ion or more inhabitants. 4 million a day. retailers j insures fregh, full-flavored cigars of After all a: ppb Se fod sited) Kone seed

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: NTE ITT FRYE SURGES PTL NTN PRE ET ek SR a IE 2 2 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE MOST USED OF ALL MENS SOCKS BECAUSE THEY

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(Continued from Page 182) all young then, Dorothy and Hazleton Mirkil and John, John Hemphill, and I. Hazleton, who would have then, as often as not, been living with us, was inning the practice of law in the city. This was before the more informal Clarence, and I remember how Dorothy would get up in the iron dark of winter mornings—it couldn’t have been much after six o’clock—to make Hazleton’s coffee. She'd light a lamp and, carrying it, wrapped hastily in whatever was warmest, disappear downstairs. Soon I’d have to wake him: as I stirred him into consciousness an eye of the utmost malig- nancy would appear above the blankets, and then, to a bitter monosyllable, muffled and unintelligible, it would be drawn back out of sight. He wouldn’t begin to get up yet, and, when Dorothy called a warning from below, I’d have to force him out of bed. On Sunday, when this wasn’t necessary, he would appear very late in the morning, small, exactly dressed and morose, and stand in front of the open fire, regarding with complete disfavor anyone who might have casually called. He was such a precise individual that, as early as those years, it was clear he would be successful. Once, characteristically, he brought us a new and very involved can opener. It was primarily a can opener, but there were many other utilities attached to it. We went at once to the kitchen, the three of us, and Hazleton a opened a can; after that he ex- posed the implement’s added capabilities. Secretly Dorothy soon returned to an older and less patented variety. We kept it for Hazleton—he, too, washed the dishes and helped prepare dinner—until, finally, he broke it . . . not entirely by accident I am persuaded. He had rigid but movable ideas about small things, and he was very experimental with tooth pastes and shaving creams and sticks and powders. That, of course, was before the war, by three or four years; and John Hemphill was not long out of his uni- versity, a dark boy with stiffly brushed stiff black hair and a new mustache. He went to a great many parties and repre- sented society in its special polite aspect to us. He, too, was a lawyer, and sometime, then, he went into offices with Hazleton. They were alike but different—it was later they were called the Fossil and the Crab— John would take with him into town, in his green baize legal bag, the admirable lunch Enea for him and wrapped in paper by is mother; but no force on earth, I was convinced, could have induced a sandwich into Hazleton’s brief case. They began the practice of law together, but, at the first appropriate moment, the half glass door to their rooms was locked with the notice that they a to war. The war had come both gradually and sud- denly to Chester County: there had been, before the United States was actually in- volved, rumors of local internal menace, and Company I was kept in uniformed readiness. In the spring, in May, on warm evenings, the young volunteers, each with a girl, would stroll down High Street, past the Dower House into the pemetog blossom-scented dusk. Often they woul sit on the lower bank of my lawn, where there was a rapid clear stream in the deep gutter, and mint, a blue haze of violets, and we'd hear drifting voices, the faint tone of the girl, the excited masculine assurances of the boy. There was drilling across the road on the golf course; the harsh clipped commands and bursts of angry impatience would come across the green to our porch. Chester County, West Chester, were pe- culiarly, in an older sense, American; the heri of the soil, of the long establish- ment in Pennsylvania, was culate and undiluted by later arrival, and the town was bright with flags and ringing with bugles. How long ago it seemed! Only last week there was a memorial service on the street in front of the building where I was writing, volleys of firing and the bugle. The bugle calls and gunfire were like the echoes from a past incredibly, dramatically, romantic. It might have been one of the operas to which, then, Hazleton went with- out missing a performance. They made up, for him, sely the harmony which life lacked. Correct from the bows on his pumps to the crisp airy trifle of his tie, to the con- tinental flavor of his collapsible opera hat, he would frequent a box of the Opera Club and lose a not too seductive ity in the lyrical rhapsodies of Louise. He came to know every individual performance and performer minutely; and, in his customary (ice before the open fire—whether it was ighted or not—he would bring to the Dower House the geet of singers and com- posers and songs. However, the war brought that to an end: Hazleton went into the air service and was dispatched to Florida; John became an infantryman and went, immediately upon his marriage, to Chattanooga. They came back, temporarily, in the uniforms of junior officers, but their careless and charm- ing youth had gone. The tranquillity of the Dower House was interrupted. The whole security and fiber of social existence was disrupted, emotions were as visible and un- steady as the waving flags. A disintegra- tion of personal fidelities, of familiar obli- gations, set in. There was a pressure of hysteria under the most common piace acts. Patriots! The heatless days in the week drove the old men, for the time in its history, out of the West Chester Club, and gathered us close around one of our fire- places. I went to New York, in a wartime ones supposed to be fitted to my special capabilities and wrote papers which, above every other wish, i want never to see again. A period, an occupation, it seemed to me, wholly useless; and when I had ac- knowled, the draft in an undertaker’s office off Sixth Averiue I returned to the Dower House. John had gone to France, with the Forty-seventh Infantry, and was fighting continuously, and Hazleton had been kept suspended in the air over the peninsula of Florida. The pressure, the danger to the United States, lessened, without checking the social disintegration; but the first, the old, do- mestic period of our life was finished. I had, after so much doubt, succeeded! That was, in itself, a happy and reassuring fact. My books had multiplied, it seemed—the labor and anxiety instantly forgotten— overnight; and we were discussing, exactly as a little later we discussed the remote re- building of the Dower House, the eventual possibility of an automobile. It came while I was away, and at once— the only accident she had in thousands of miles driving—Dorothy crumpled a rear mud guard on the stable door and wept. I drove, too, but not for long—I was fast and inattentive, a precarious combination. Backing, I lifted an impressive Lancaster County chicken house from its concrete foundations; and, at that crash of glass and flying of demented hens, I surrendered for life the seat of driver. THE SATURDAY

EVENING POST

_ This was a circuitous narrative; always, it appeared, returning to the point of its de- parture . . . in the past. But that was ew way it coe ar to - not in the order and progress of a story, but as my memo was captured and held less by p ace vod ical happenings than by emotions. AsI sat down each morning to write, a rush of such memories would clamor to be heard, to be lingered over and recorded. Yet out of them, for me, a concrete picture eme — | the procession of events that resulted in the rebuil of its older aspects into the Dower House. That culmination, as I had made clear, was not the result of a logi upon me unexpected, suddenly, as though pote Snare a ——s that it all flowed in- explicably together. It was more st than consci deserved or waited for. I didn’t mire my own character; I should not—ex- cept for the ability to work—have chosen | it. I liked calmness and I wasn’t calm; I liked fidelity and, ex to my writing, I wasn’t conspicuous for it; I liked hardness of body, a condition I hadn’t the perse- verance to keep; I liked, for in vain, a disti hed resolution in mind. But, because of these contradictions, a not unfortunate result at least gave me the qualities I admired to deal in. them, paying dearly for their absence, they seemed even more real, more desirable to me, than ever; and I was stirred by them, I could write about them, they went into my books: they made Richard Bale the Pence hake Wedlele, ta bis tert, the Pennys; n , in orty- foot ketch, navigated the hurricanes of Southern waters. I'd rather have done that than written any of m Well, per- haps not; but almost. was in me, in money and gained knowledge and in pref- erences, I was as well putting into the Dower House. I was repaying it for what it had given me, securing for it its own and proper and lasting fame. It might well be that it would ho 7%! memory, the impression of my existence, long after my books had been forgotten, ceased to be read. I didn’t, in the saving conceit which, rightly and wrongly, keeps humanity to its unasked engagement, cal | determination, of a foreknowledge of what | I'd do. I wasn't like that. No, the years | went so quickly, so much seemed to come | rising cularly, the truth was, ad- |

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altogether believe this. A book or two, I | thought, or perhaps only a short story or aper, would survive to help the Dower ouse in identifying me. A page or so of manuscript, yellow and very brittle, the ink faded, might be kept in one of the drawers. Certainly I wouldn't know, the critics who thought that my writing was no more than the ink and paper it incommoded, and those | who were more courageous, couldn’t guess. That wasn’t our concern: But no one could help supporting, wholly agreeing with, what I was doing for my house. Its beauty and utility would be ob- | vious as long as stone stood on stone, as

long as the colony, the beginnings of Penn- | sylvania, were remembered. It would bea memento of a time, before me, when women were a part of their dwellings and men of their fields, of a healthy and unrealized hardship. The town was reaching out, down the hill, toward the Dower House now; but the tide of raw brick and orna- mentally cut stone and plate glass would never, if the faintest trace of county pride remained, obliterate it. It would remain to show men, deafened by what they had gained, a simplicity of quiet forever lost. (TO BE CONTINUED)

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BEAUTIFUL ENGLISH (ASEMENTS C With All Their Beauty Fenestra Basement Windows lf you've ever seen a Fenestra hesement with its extra light, extra ventilation. extra “all around” usefulness, you'll want ene under your new home. Think, toc, of haviag steel win dows that are more secure against fire end intruders, and that last as tong ee the building. Fenestra Garage Windows There's always danger from gases in the garage. And frequently you'll want more light when you're working on the car. Fen emre Utilicy Windows minimize the danger by providing better ventilation and their larger area of glass lets in an astonishing amount of daviighe. fenestra THE SATURDAY EVENING POST REMAKING THE RAILROAD MAPS (Continued from Page 27) on A They Cost No More Than Wood Windows ODAY you can enjoy the beauty, the greater light, the better ventilation, as well as the many other conveniences of English Casements at no greater cost than that of wood windows. That’s why you see so many homes completely equipped with steel windows. It's simply a matter of progressiveness in American home building. Greater beauty and greater useful- ness have been built into Fenestra Steel Windows— at a low cost—in exactly the same way that other building materials have been improved and costs reduced. This is largely because Fenestra men are steel sash specialists. They have made thousands of beautiful steel windows for homes, apartments, schools and public buildings, and many more thousands of practical and sturdy windowalls for industrial build- ings of every type. By serving architects, engineers contractors and building owners everywhere— Fenestre methods have created the largest steel window organization in the world. DETROIT STEEL PRODUCTS COMPANY A-2240 E. Grand Boulevard, Detroit, Mich. For Canada: Canadian Metal Window & Steel Products, Ltd. 160 River St., Toronto py ppmes and apartments schools and institutions commercial buildings all industrial structures | | } doughty antagonist in the St. Louis-San Francisco, already a sizable system of _ some 6000 miles and likely to be consider- | achieved | | ably enlarged within the very near future. The Frisco, as it is ge known, has a rather remarkable comeback. Cast off by Ripley in his radical reorganiza- tion of the Santa Fe nearly a years ago, it long was regarded as something of a nderella among railroads. Four years ago a real railroader came to it—an old Santa Fe operator by the name of Kurn. This last autumn he astonished the railroad | world and even some of his own stockhold- | ers by putting the road on a dividend basis. Kurn coveted the International and Great Northern—for many years past a notori- ously unsuccessful property, but of real | strategic location and possessing a short direct route to the important gateway of Laredo on the Mexican border. This was one of the few cases where the Interstate Commerce Commission has said no. It looked into the thing impartially and ruled that the I. & G. N. was fundamentally as well as historically a part of the old Iron Mountain and Texas and Pacific system, and this is how the Missouri Pacific even- tually gets it, even though by indirect process. The president of the Frisco is far more apt to add the scalp of the Missouri-Kansas- Texas—generally known as the Katy—to his belt before he is done. And with a direct line into Chicago—either the Alton or the Chicago and Eastern Illinois—with perhaps the Orient to carry him into the rich productive hills of Northern Mexico, he is apt to find himself in a strong posi- tion, and without a road of overpowering mileage and a host of duplicate and un- profitable side lines. Of this question of excess mileage, more in a moment. For the present, still consid * the consolida- tions as they are in progress—informally, but certainly. One other important step already has been accomplished in the West—the defi- nite acquisition of the El] Paso and South- western by the Southern Pacific on the first day of November last. This rty, ex- tending from an obscure junction point with the Rock Island in New Mexico through the international border at El Paso and thence along it to+ Douglas, Arizona, and up to Tucson, was originally built by Phelps-Dodge interests as an in- dustrial servant to their copper mines in Southern Arizona. The E. P. & S. W. car- ried ore north and east from the mine heads, fuel south and west from Northern New Mexico to the power houses— balanced traffic, no empty-car movements, an ideal railroad condition. No wonder that the little road prospered and pone became the pride of the entire Southwest. It erected a magecnent secennase station in Tucson and announ its intention of some day continuing on through to the Pacific Coast. Upon that promise, even though somewhat vaguely given, many towns built high hopes indeed. Southern Pacific and Rock Isiand These were shattered by the announce- ment last fall that the little El Paso road was about to be taken over y og: big Southern Pacific. Tucson and and Los Angeles waxed wroth in conse- quence. How about that sacred fetish of competition that the Transportation Act ng some rather tart things. e Interstate Commerce Commission came in upon the situation as a pourer of oil upon troubled waters. It gave its ap- proval of the merger, but said that it had so done because the terri was too thin to giing eternally for a traffic which was a a or on This was good economics, for in the last analysis no public utility is ever com- petitive. it ities or not remains to be seen. But the S. P. al- and Southwestern” is rapidly painted off the equi t. The next logical step for the Sou Pacific is the acquisition of the Rock Island, which would bring it March 7,1925 into Chicago—the real railroad hub of all this land—on its own tracks, and finally, after many years of endeavor, into a strong competitive position with the Santa Fe. For since 1888 the Santa Fe has boasted of being the only road with its own rails all the way from Chicago to California. Ipformal overtures have been ie to the Rock Island that it be taken over by the powerful Western line on a basis of 4 per cent upon its common stock. Four per cent! Four per cent upon com- men stock is not considered these piping days as a particularly peppy return upon railroad shares—at least so I have heard it intimated in the halis of Congress at times within the past decade—and the Rock Island is the third road which recently has experienced the meration of a new and an extremely g management. Despite much superfluous trackage, and a bad financial record extending over a period of years, it has begun to make a showing for itself. And some of its stockholders are beginning to think that a ranty of 4 per cent is not the highest price that might be offered for it. Ac sagene the Rock Island may, and robably will, become a part of Southern acific just as the big Chicago and North Western may yet become of the even bigger Union Pacific, and the so-called Hill roads—the Burlington, the Great Northern and the Northern Pacific—a h single system of our Northwest, even though a somewhat illogical one perhaps. The Inter- state Commerce Commission realizes this. It has su ted that the Chicago, Mil- waukee and St. Paul, the only other occu- pant of much of that northern country beyond the Twin Cities, should be balanced with its competitor by another line added to it, preferably the Northern Pacific. This surely is logical. But in practical achieve- ment it is extremely difficult. Those half hidden but highly powerful lines of finance and of tradition of which I hinted at the very beginning of this article stand in very definite opposition to it. Now turn from West to East. The Situation in the East About a year ago the first important con- solidation that has really been attempted in Eastern territory within the past decade came to the light. It provided for what, for lack of a ter name, is called the greater Nickel Plate system. Two capable oung men, brothers, from Cleveland, Ohio, oomed dramatically into the national spot- light as railroad operators. Their name is Van Sweringen and they had achieved a deal of success as real-estate tors in their home town. In the development of a new suburb they had found it necessary to acquire a right of way for a high-speed elec- tric line down into the heart of the city. The route of the Nickel Plate Railroad made an ideal location for their rapid- transit railway. With a little financial maneuvering the Van Sweringens obtained the Nickel Plate for themselves and began their career as railroad operators. The early history of the Nickel Plate is a curious one indeed. It was first built in the days when to create a lel, or strike, railread was to accomplish what was then regarded as smart stra —good business, lease. The ill-fated West Shore, lleling the rich main line of the New York Central through its own chief state, was about the first of these strikes. The Nickel Plate, running for many, many miles close beside the tracks of the even richer Lake Shore—also a Vanderbilt pouerty and the continuation of the New Central from Buffalo to Chicago—was another. But the state of Ohio was canny when it ted the Nickel Plate its charter. It nserted within that document certain ine- radicable clauses under which it was ex- peony provided: that the Nickel Plate should never be absorbed or controlled by the Lake Shore and Mich Southern. Yet, alas for human fallibility! The West Shore failed, fell into the hands of the New York Central, hook, bait and , and lost its identity and its name forever. Not such good business, after all! The Nickel Plate surrendered to the Lake Shore—yet the peculiar conditions of its charter stuck, and stuck fast. Even in fairly recent vy mergers it never has beer: brought into (Continued on Page 188) —_ par seoocomy —_ = a " a ae nr Rees ar

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THE .SATURDAY EVENING POST _ There's more style,snap and } Satisfaction in these colorful | Super Quality Paris than youd expect for your dollar } i “4 i i i { Only those men who have never seen ,, Super Quality Paris still think there is no MN style in garters. The Super Quality Paris pi in single and double grips are the finest gar- , ters ever made—see them at your dealer's. i Super Quality $1 ~ Others as low as 25¢ ; A. STEIN & COMPANY { i | GARTERS fi) NO METAL CAN TOUCH YOU JT ‘Tine for a fresh pair?

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¢ t i] 4 ¥ 4a : 4 a “attested ae ee ee UR young lady is writing her social correspondence on Corona. Is this good etiquette? Lillian Eichler, author of the “Book of Etiquette,” after telling how she wrote this famous book entirely with Corona, says: “My “Book of Etiquette’ encour- eges the use of the typewriter for social correspondence.” * * + + tt is mo breach of etiquette to allow letters to go unanswered for weeks, but a busy man or woman finds plenty of excuses for postponing the tiresome task. With Cerena at your elbow, letter-writing acquires a new interest, and that is why mapy people of social prominence use Corona for alt thelr correspondence. Coronatyping is easier, faster and more legible then handwriting. The new Corona Four, with standard single-shift keyboard, costs only $60, Easy terme if devired. Look for Corona in your phone book, or write Corona Typewriter Co., Ine., 117 Main Street, Groton, N. Y¥. | Man. 'f your leather goode dealer, your department or etation- ery store cannot supply you, write te us direct. B NAIL WON'T PALL OUT” ma Ha (0 re tennt al Ste, pane eal — - . eee . OES. Tee ches GRAFF -UNDERWOOD co. 8 Beacon St Semerville, Mass. ) Grs/fce PICTURE HANGERS techni are Y, pric E regular price! . teed 1 condition. Rebull bp euperts. SOLD ON INSTALLMENTS Youcan aregular machine for jow on 8S down, undreds of we comers. Write for known firme our cust - FREE list of models that seve you money. Deo it aes, IABLE ADDING MACHINE COR Devt 2 we shington Street CHICAGO" i? | ever actually does come full THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 186) huge New York Central family. That there is a community of interest between it and the larger road many believe. This was clearly shown in the Cleveland passenger pete, where the Nickel Plate and the York Central were the only two large roads to come into the plan for the creation of an elaborate new terminal there. The Pennsylvania and the Baltimore and Ohio have refused to join in that scheme. The official name of the Nickel Plate is the New York, Chicago and St. Louis, though it never reached New York nor, un- til very recently, St. Louis. For many res it was content to be a short direct line »etween Buffalo and Chicago. Without curves or grades, and without en- ring side lines or branches of any sort whatsoever, it was an easy road to operate. This fact, combined with that that the Van Sweringens brought needed capital to the property, enabled them to make an ex- tremely good record with it; to place them- selves in a —— position for huge B the Nickel Plate the backbone of a h ast- ern system, Asa preliminary to thelr larger plans, the former Lake Erie and Western— gactier Cinderella of the Vanderbilt fam- ily—this time was taken over from the New York Central, and the independent Clover Leaf route, running from Toledo down to a Louis, was also acquired two or three cum Within: the twelvemonth the larger plan of the Van Sweringens was first disclosed. This time some really important lines were to be added to the property—chief among them, the Chesapeake and Ohio, reachin from Chicago, Louisville, Columbus an Cincinnati, down to the Atlantic Seaboard at Newport News, Virginia. This gave the Van Sweringene tidewater connection of the best possible sort. The acquisition of the Hocking Valley, from Columbus to Toledo, tied the Chesa- ke and Ohio in well with their parent ine. After which came a scheme for a far more dramatic step—the merging of the historic Erie into the property along with the Pere Marquette. The Line-Up of the Future That this merger fell into line anywhere with the tentative plans set down both by Professor Ripley and the Interstate Com- merce Commission no one has maintained for a moment. The proposed Nickel Plate merger is not a railroad system, but rather an aggregation. In other words, lines have been chosen for it for their strategic and traffic worth rather aa because of any de- sire to serve a la rtion of territory evenly or conscient lealy . This in business is logical and consistent. It is good busi- ness. No man is anxious to add unprofitable — to his holdings. But it is not the purport or the idea of the Transporta- tion Act, which aims first of all to provide | the entire nation with a group of well- balanced competitive railroads capable of rendering the > oe service to every far corner of the land. The Van Sweringen system as “s planned represents the spmaoumice tween idealism and practicability that S are apt to find almost everywhere in case the nation-wide consolidation of our roads into effect. For it is by no means a certainty that this thing, in measure, will come to in decade or the next. effect of the announcement of the Van Sweringens’ full plans was to force the other railroads of the Eastern territory— north of the Ohio and east of Chi and St. Louis—into a consideration of the en- tire merger problem as it might ailect them. Some fe of th dpe roads had al gs doin aes deal of thinking along this ew York Central for some time be cov- eted the rich little Central road of New Jersey, ostensibly and logically in order to connect with a line it had long held from the shores of Lake Erie into and through the northwestern part of Pennsylvania. So doing, it would possess a Sag ie from al York to Chicago not on ay poe shorter than its t main line Aoory Albany and Buffalo but comparable with the shortest routes of its competitors. Really, it wanted the Jersey Central for other reasons—chiefly to keep the Balti- more and Ohio from owning its own tracks into the harbor side of New York, and inci- dentall bed hamper and necees its Acne rival, Ivania. years ago the historic Ba! re Fy oh 0 sought to extend its lines east from its home town of ee ee EVENING POST Baltimore to both Philadelphia and New York. It achieved Philadelphia, but failed to get into New as even though entrance rights og fi for its trains over the | of the Reading and of the Jersey Cen In the proposed rearrangement and con- solidation of lines the Baltimore and Ohio has sought to rectify this weakness in its structure. Possession of the Reading and the Central mage of New Jersey proper- ties would not onl ly give it the great pe el terminal that it res, and that it really should have, but also valuable cut-off lines to the West, both aan 4 Allentown and Harrisburg rg, Pennsylvania, to Martinsburg, West Virginia, and across Northern Penn- : Ivania, almost pies the that the late A. Smith, the gifted and far-visioned fads Be, of fon! ork Cen- _. had laid down for his line prior to his ic death last s yt ere were sha opposing factors. Yet even before his mie Me Smith had shown a willingness to compromise the issue. The recise route New York Central nal Baltimore and Ohio were not so far apart after all in their strategy. Daniel Willard, the president of the latter road, has no little fame as a real arbitrator and diplomat. A conference was arranged between him, P. E. Crowley, Mr. Smith’s successor, the Van Sweringens and Samuel Rea, the president of the Pennsyl- vania. In all this situation, what was the posi- tion of the Pennsylvania? For a long time it was one of dignified aloofness. The Penn- sylvania had done its real consolidating a good many years before, when things were easier. Very wisely, it had foreseen the economic conditions of today. For nearly half a century it has been in a tremendously strong strategic position, with its great main lines reaching from New York and Philadelphia throat h Pittsburgh toe Cleve- land, Cincinnati, Chicago and St. Louis—a dozen minor gateways as well. It had its strong lines into Baltimore and Washington and more than twenty years ago it came into the great gateway city of Buffalo. More recently it thrust its own line into Detroit. It is the — owner of the Nor- folk and Western, a coal hauler of vast . At one time it was also the owner of control of the Baltimore and Ohio, but the Sherman Act forced it out of this last position. How about the Pennsylvania? In the hotly competitive Eastern terri- tory whose limits I have just laid Pome there = —e speaking, some 55,000 route Tail lines. T he Pen vania, outside - b Nota a Western, pos- sesses already more than 12,000 of these. we Therefore,” said some of its competi- tors, “if we set up four great competitive systems in Eastern territory, the Pennsyl- vania already has its fair share. Let us build up the three other lines to an equal point with it.” How to Cut the Cake To help do this the plan was brought for- ward that to the Baltimore and Ohio should be allocated the Western Maryland, the Monon and the Wabash, as well as some lesser lines—about 9000 or 10,000 miles in all. The Van Sweringen properties would have about 16,000 miles. The New York Central, including the Michigan Central and the Big F: has about 12,000. The that still stood was how to cut the cake of the remaining lines, for up to the present, moment we have given but little consideration to the important an- thracite group. original consolidation lans of the I. C. C. provided for five not our, groups in Eastern per, the first three of these the New York Central, the Pennsylvania and the Baltimore and Ohio. With the Erie was to go the Lackawanna and some lesser roads. The fifth group was to consist += ng of the Nickel Plate and the Lehigh Valle Y: It was this last arrange- ment that the Van Sweringens and their backers have calmly shattered, and the fat is in the fire. The hard-coal roads are, for the most part, rich, aristocratic; in their own way, well satisfied. Most of them would v much er not to be consolidated at To be let alone is their desire. Yet one of the group—the Erie, in its mileage the largest of all—already has fallen into the meshes. And a scheme has been put for- ward by the executives of the of the roads of trunk-line territory for alloca- tion of the rest, The Reading and Jersey Central, as we have just seen, are to go to March 7,1925 the Baltimore and Ohio. It is now pro- to give the Lackawanna to the en- Nickel Plate-Erie combination and the Lehigh Valley to the New York Cen- tral. The Buffalo, Rochester and Pitts- burgh, although -* wy the anthracite ; is a rather little road. It is now proposed that ne be dismembered, the northern half to be given to the New York Central, the southern sixty miles to the Baltimore and Ohio for the completion of its short through route across Northern Bo opty f thi ] e t g 44 ey this pope which are now leaking are arousing the ire of Western New York, Which feels that to give the Lehigh Valley tothe New York Cen- tral would be to make thestrong stil! E the weak even pg og The lo, Rochester memberment the Buff: Rochester and Pitabongh is causing alarm. The El Paso and Southwestern situation is be- Sb repeated. The feeling of such powerful tern New York cities as Rochester and Buffalo is that the B. R. & P. should go in its enti to the Baltimore and Ohio, and either the Lehigh Valley or the Lackawanna to the Pennsylvania. In other words, the two largest cities in the state of New York, outside of the metropolis itself, are going to demand that if a four situation is created in Eastern territory, they are to have a fair chance at each of the four sys- tems. If there is anything in this competi- tive situation, they are going to demand it for themselves. The fate of some of the New England cities which have been denied all rail competition is clearly before their eyes. Similarly, Philadelphia is not having a very happy time over the possibility of the loss of the identity of the Reading system. In fact, the Baltimore and Ohio already has in the case of its taking over the property to maintain it in name and fact as a separate railroad. And the distinguished rend of the Baltimore and Ohio, Mr. illard, is quoted as saying that the Phila- delphia opposition to his enlarged system is Broad Street propaganda. The New England Roads In the meantime Broad Street—the Pennsylvania—has awakened from its po- sition of status quo and has begun to assert itself most vig re Quite naturally, it wo 4 orm the taking over of the Reading ersey Central byt its old-time competi- en the Baltimore and Ohio. It wants the Krew En that it is proposed to establish in ngland—the led open door— carried at least as far west as the city of Philadelphia. This open-door theory deserves a word of explanation. The railroads of New Eng land present a rather difficult problem of their own. For nearly two decades past only two of them—and both comparatively small—have made money. The two chief roads of the district, the New Haven and the Boston and Maine, have been notorious in their losses. With the New Haven there has been breathed much financial scandal, although not within very recent years. The and Maine, like the heroine of an- cient melodrama, has been virtuous but ter- ribly poor. Both of these systems have been weighted down with a vast pe ec of unprofitable branch lines. Only recently has any real attempt been es either to abandon or render profitable these side lines. Ina nee about for rich guard- ians for these poverty-stricken New Eng- land spinsters, it was first suggested that the lines of the northern part of the sec- tion—-the Boston and Maine, the Maine Central, the Rutland and the Bangor and Aroostuok—be given to the New York Central, which for a quarter of a century past has operated the rich old Boston and Albany across Massachusetts and into the heart of Boston. Similarly, the New Haven would be given to the Pennsylvania, with which it maeeve Sve ogg relationships all the time growi Toe Nes New cc Central was silent on the suggestion, although it is generally under- stood that it was receptive. It is an am- bitious property and all the while seeking to enlarge itself. The Pennsylvania shin to take over the New Haven, at that moment at any rate. Whereupon a distinguished expert of re nage may Commerce Commission pro- ive it to the Baltimore and Ohio, emi y on the theory that some road other than the New York Central would have to take it. But Mr. Willard was quite (Continued on Page 191)

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OR eRe a er Be a a ag eee EE er eee ~~ = figs ty ee = — — 7 i ;

uring March and April you can buy a cfankcaseful of power oil at special rates from any Havoline dealer equippéd to give crank case service. The price of power is a crank case filling of Havoline. A fresh oil to replace the dirty, diluted oil; the fight grade instead of too heavy or too light a grade; a fine 30c oil instead of a cheap oil—and you have power. Power you can feel and use! The Wasson Motor Check by practical tests of all sorts of cars has discovered the power value of oil. In all the technical talk about oil and oiling systems, viscosity, color and what not, this one clear voice stands out—the Havoline voice—judge oil by the power it develops in yout own car and by no other thing. Buy it by the crank case. Not a quart now and then. Not acheapoil. But a refill of Havoline, at a price that saves you money. Any Havoline dealer will select the right oil for your car. He has the record of thou- sands of Motor Check tests to guide him. You will know him by the Havoline Red Spot sign and by the price list illustrated here, car does not appear on the price ft. ook your Havoline dealer for special crank case vee filling prices. cl ed d one If your dealer cannot supply you, mail us coupon filled in as indicated. We will ship you a five-gallon or one-gallon can of this power oil, transportation charges collect. And with every five-gallon can our exclusive Easy-Tip Rack at the combination price shown below, Attach check or money order with coupon; or shipment will be made C. O. D. Indian Refining Company; Inc. Lawrenceville, Illinois. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

The Price of POWER A CRANK CASE FILLING OF HAVOLINE

Make of Car Auburn Buick © Essex 6

Sees Economy Make of SES sicsnnen in Quarts Price List Car in Quare Pr t 6 $1.65 Jordan 6 & $1.65 $y 1.52 Lineoin 19 2.75 o 1.65 Marmon 12 3.30 7 1.93 Maxwell 4 1.10 1.65 Moon 5% 1.38 s 2.20 Nash & 2.20 4 1.10 Oakland 4 1.10 e 1.65 Oldsmobile o 1.65 e 1.65 Overland © 1.65 s 1.38 Packard & 1.65 4 1.10 Paige 8 2.20 s 1.38 Peerless & 2.20 s 1.38 #PlereeArr.33 10% 2.89 4 1.10 Reo 7 1.93 4 1.10 QBRieckenbacker 7 1.93 6% 1.38 Star 4 1.10 4 1.10 Studebaker © 1.65 7 1.93 Stutz 4 12 3.30 7 1.93 Velle 5 1.38 4 1.10 Wills 8. C. ” 2.20 6 1.65 Willys-Knight 6 1.65

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hevrolets, wells, "etc. —$1.15. West of the Rockies $1.40. Canadian prices upon request.

Five-gallon can, with new Easy-Tip Rack for Special combination price —$5.50. West of the Rockies $7.00. yee prices upon request ¢ ~ the power oil a Wasson ” why em nme 7 of ol : fe Onde Aas ner gm tests ed everywhere have proved the P power of Havoline.

“Indian Refining Company, Ine. Lawrenceville, Ill. Enclosed find (check) (money order) $...... for which ship correct grade Havoline as fol- lows: Five-gallon can with Easy-Tip Rack Cl One-gallon can ( Name of car state number of uy dealer’s Name cans wanted We ask for this information so that we can make arrangements to supply you hereafter t set your regular dealer. Oil is more than Oil ~ itis power

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THE - SATURDAY EVENING POST THE LEAK! Leaking radiators result in heated engines, loss of power, king caused by pre-ignition and may cause seizure istons, scored cylinders, warped vaives and anhed cylinders and water-jackets. When your radiator or water-jacket leaks, get a can of aig Radiator Stop Leak from the nearest gerage, supply or hardware store - pour it into your radiator und the leak will be permanently re- , em almost instantly. Better yet - carry a can or emergency use, =~ = re MARES OLD TOPS LOOK NEW @&iz Auto Top Dressing not only makes old tops look new but waterproofs them and adds years to their usefulness - preserves them against wear and weather. It is easily applied and dries thoroughly overnight. There ie a kind for any fabric. 46 PER CENT MORE EFFICIENT @h%e High Pressure Chassis Lubricant is the most eficient Vabricant made for all high pressure con- nections, compression cups, axles, ball and roller bearings, differential joints, steering gears, etc. It lubricates to the last drop and will not harden nor clog grease ves. Pl fills gun qui ily without soiling hands. MAKES GEARS MAKE GOOD Regardless of weather orworking conditions; @hig Gear Grease does its work silently and efficiently. It follows the gears. never retarding their freedom of change, yg ae forming a filmy cushion between the metal parts, preventing wear and noise. Good Gears Deserve Good Grease March 7,1925 Whiz Leadership lhrough long yea ot serving 77), z Uuatlity Nas won trom both dealer walemetia | an acceptance which onstitutes the tinest tribute that can roduct 1] 460.520 ij } 1a Auto supply Dealers everywhere know that Mattel ate tas good that is why they’ recommend them They know that motonsts preter them that is why you see ¢ yn the heive early “very lealer_in the ‘Wate! f it's a torn or faded top, a shab by body, squeaky springs, a punctured tire, grinding gears or a leaky radia tor there's a @Arz Product for it and for most of a car's other needs lhe “Lhiz’ Catalog describes them.all, send for it and learn how a tew cents and a little effort will protect your motor car investment \nd always remember this - when your dealer otters you a /iI2 Aut Product to supply a need; accept it with the assurance that it must laKe vood or we will HOLLINGSHEAD Ct ote SE nang —_ =

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f ty | Oa a — (Continued from Page 188) as coy as Mr. Rea about taking an over- lordship over the state of Connecticut, while New England showed very plainly that it did not relish having ons Mb of its chief railroad wrested from the academic city of New Haven and transferred either to Philadelphia or Baltimore. a compromise, it was suggested that all the New England roads, including the Boston and Albany, be regarded as a sepa- rate unit; a sort of exaggerated terminal, if you please, offering equal facilities to each and every trunk-line road that it touched, either along the Hudson River or in Canada. This is the theory of the oper door as applied to the railroads of New England. It undoubtedly will come into effect some day, with the possible division of the congested territory into two ter- minal districts, one north and one south which would insure at least a modicum of rail transport competition to Boston and some other of the larger industrial centers. The Limits of Personal Management It is this open door that the president of the Pennsylvania would like to see carried up to his home town, even though it de- prives New York of one of the systems of the four-system combination. Whether the open door, as he interprets it, would include a warm welcome into the heart of Philadel- phia for the New York Central over the rails of the Lehigh Valley is not so certain. It might, however, if the Pennsylvania were to be given, say, the Lackawanna, with which it has good interchange facili- ties, as a direct route from New York to Syracuse, to Rochester and to Buffalo, as a fine rounding out of its system. But the Pennsylvania would far prefer the Lehigh Valley to the Lackawanna. The Valley has just as good interchange facilities and is in many ways in a better strategic posi- tion. Twenty years ago the Pennsylvania had obtained virtual control of it, but be- cause of the popular feeling against railroad consolidations in that day it was unable to take over the property at that time. Here then, as briefly as it can be stated, is the nation-wide picture of railroad con- solidation as it stands at this moment. Each day, each hour, the problem grows more complex. Time-honored rivalries, in- dividual jealousies are cropping out to hin- der vastly its solution. Communities, find- ing that the much-vaunted consolidation plan is not only not bringing them better competitive facilities but may actually re- move those which they have enjoyed, are becoming aroused. More and more hurdles constantly are being placed before it. Another factor comes into the situation, greatly to complicate it. The question is being raised and argued as to how big a property one man—or one group of men, no matter how able they may be—can operate successfully. Opinions differ. But the fact remains that within the past decade or so two great systems, the PennsylvaniaandtheSouthern Pacific, have seen fit to decentralize themselves more or lesscompletely. Thedistinguished president of the Illinois Central told me last spring that he kept out on the line twenty days of each month, and by such incessant and terrible traveling he was able to do 72,000 miles a year, which meant, in the case of his own system, that he covered each mile of line on an average of eight times. Yet Markham is known as one of the most industrious of our railroad presidents. And it is known, too, that one of the glaring faults of our rail operation in the past has been the lack of inspection and intensive supervision by officers with power to decide upon important local questions. With these things in view, one is tempted to a belief at times that our roads should be further sep- arated rather than consolidated. THE SATURDAY As a bait toward consolidation certain obvious advantages, such as the joint use of cars and terminals, are urged. But these can be accomplished without actual rail consolidation. Here is not the urgent rea- son for radical change. And now another important thing. We have an example before us—Great Britain, which three years ago consolidated her fifty-four separate railways into four reasonably large systems. In thirty-six months the United Kingdom has begun to have a fair opportunity to test the bene- fits—or the defects—of consolidation. So far the benefits have not been conspicuous. Mr. T. C. Powell, a vice president of the Erie, who recently has been making an in- spection of the workings of consolidation over there, writes to the Railway Age here, saying: “It is very evident that the railway con- solidation plans have not turned out as well as the government anticipated. In the first — there has not only been a de- moralization of the forces, but the fact that the groupings of the English railways move competition to the background has estab- lished a condition in the minds of the em- ployes and the staff of each of the conscli- dated groups that always results from monopoly, and the reaction from this is now shown in the adverse criticisms pub- lished in the newspapers. “Apparently every effort to reduce ex- penses by reducing train service met with opposition, and the very purpose of the consolidations has therefore failed to such an extent that while I was in England there was an Official statement from the railway side to the effect that so far from there be- ing an immediate reduction in the expenses, such a result could not be looked for for years. By this they probably meant they could not dispense with a great many men on their pay rolls except by converting them into pensioners, and, of course, the pensions would cost a great deal of money.” Sir Henry Thornton's Views * Again, there has been delay in adopting common standards in each of the consolida- tions probably because each group wants to continue the long-established colors and other designations upon which the individ- uality of each road has been built up.” A practical railroader who has had a very large experience in operating both in Eng- land and in the United States is Sir Henry W. Thornton, now at the head of the Cana- dian National system. He says: “Personally, I question from an admin- istrative point of view the wisdom of en- larging any of the great railway systems of the United States, such as the New York Central and the Pennsylvania, because I doubt the ability of any railway president efficiently and effectively to administer any larger mileage than that of the railways I have mentioned, having in mind the den- sity of traffic. Railway consolidation in the United States, in my judgment, should extend merely to the mopping up of smaller lines in the immediate territory of each large trunk line where the welfare of the community will be served by so doing, and I deprecate the formation of systems so large as to pass beyond the administrative scope of the head of the system,” This expresses, in a few words, a very large thought. Unquestionably this Cana-, dian railroader has forecast the very thin that is come to = —a gradual and logica mopping up of lines rather than any more sweeping and radical attempts at nation- wide consolidation by prearranged plan. Nor is the hope of economy so often given by enthusiastic proponents of national con- solidation so bright as it was at one time. The big railroaders are now standing from EVENING POST under all promises of large savings to be accomplished. They have had their own scouts in England. And they do not pro- pose, in case that further consolidation is accomplished here in any high degree, to accept responsibility for any failure to gain = economies by it. heir chief lawyer—Mr. A. P. Thom, counsel for the American Railway Associa- tion—speaking the other day before the Interstate Commerce Committee of the Senate, made this clear. He said that ex- rt opinion among our railroaders now elt that the idea of economies to result from consolidation could be greatly exag- gerated. Perhaps in some departments savings could be effected, but, in Mr. Thom’s opinion, comparatively little coyld be done to reduce the labor cost of manage- ment. To which he might have added in all truth that the supervision cost of our rail- roads eventually will be raised rather than lowered, and this without reference to consolidation. Today the roads are as a rule considerably understaffed, which ought to be something of a consolation to many and many an officer of a minor railroad who at this very moment is wondering what is to become of his head in the new order of things. No Work for Dabblers That further railroad consolidation, to a very considerable extent, will come here in the United States seems now to be estab- lished beyond a shadow of a doubt. Legis- lation to that end will soon pass in Congress. And even if no additional mergers were to be provided for, legislation is needed to provide for that which has recently been accomplished. The joining of the El Paso and Southwestern to the Southern Pacific, although made as closely as present stat- utes permit, is not so well-knit as was the purpose of the framers of the Transporta- tion Act. It represents as close an operat- ing merger as can now be provided, but no corporate consolidation. hat many farsighted railroad experts are seeking at this moment to do is to wipe out the vast number of separate railroad corporations that now go toward the mak- ing of a single large system. A tig pte like the Pennsylvania or the New Yor Central will. consist of from 125 to 150 separate railroad corporations. The holding of annual meetings for all these companies is no small chore. With three minutes allotted to the holding of each annual meeting of its subsidiary corporations, it takes the Illinois Central a long business day to get through with the minutia of the thing. The expense of the thing is not a matter of guesswork. When the Pennsylvania not so very long ago completely absorbed--from an operat- ing point of view—the Vandalia, the Grand Rapids and Indiana, the Cumberland Val- ley and some other properties which it long had owned but had operated as separate units, it found itself quite unable to merge the corporate existence of these companies; and up to the present time it has been forced to continue them separately, even though at a considerable expense. That these things will be worked out no one who is in touch with the situation now doubts. And further rail consolidation, along the lines which have just been in- Do you use pencil carbon paper? ERE is a kind made especially for pencil writing. 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hands, Her own fault! And you couldn’t blame Joe Gutch. Joe wasn’t hurt a particle. He was up and running, and cussing a blue streak as he run, ten seconds after he lit. Then he realized that he couldn't run no better than twenty miles an hour, which was about the gait the tear was hitting, —— the wagon poe and part of the hounds with ’em; so gave them permission to go, with all trimmings, and turned back and found Jobn stretched out with his head against a stump, dead as dried codfish to all practical purposes, for the time being. ere was a ugly-looking gash in the boy’a head and Joe done the best he could for it with his handkerchief and then hot- . footed to Fenwick's house, which wasn’t far away. Billy was in, and went back with him to where the wreck was, and between them they packed John to the house and laid him down on the setting-room sofy. Ma Fenwick, who was just naturally squeam- ish about the sight of human gore, come mighty nigh fainting, and flopped down in a rocker; so it feli to Ada to take a-holt, which she done as if she had worked in a hospital all her life. The cut wasn’t so bad as it looked at first, and she got it fixed in jig time, and just as she was pinning the ast bandage John come to and opened his eyes. “Where am 1?” he asks. “You're in heaven, Gladsome,” says Joe Gutch. “The boas of all the little angels is Seneens you for a golden crown. You are certainiy in luck, Sunshine. I'd break — darned neck any day, cheerful and willing, to get the particular attention you're getting from the person who's wgiving it. on’t he look happy, Miss Ada‘ “You get right out of here, Joe Gutch,” says Ada, flashing at him. “I’m s’prised at you! Pa, take him away. You lay quiet and don’t try to talk, Mr. ——”" “ Merry’s his name,” says Joe, grinning. “Pa,” says Ada, “I wish’t you'd take Joe Gutch cut of here if he ain't got no sense and can’t behave,” She said it as if she meant it, too, and then turned and eased John's head down on a sofy cushion. “Come on out, Joe,” says Billy. “We ean't do no good in here now; the old la and Ada’!l take care cf him and he’ll be all right. I’li let you take my wagon and team and you can fi on to Rapid and do your business and I'll ride over to the ranch in the morning and Ft the wagon back. I've got business with Sanders, anyway. If you'd have gone the straight road 'stid of coming this roundabout way, you'd have been. in Rapid by this time, the both of you, “That's true, Mr. Fenwick,” Joe says, speaking low, like he was at a funeral. “But you was a-looking mighty sort of peaked the last time I happened along here, and I allowed I'd have to drop in and see how you was getting along.” “I'm a heap obliged to you, Joe,” says Biliy. “Ire feeling right peart, thank you most tc pieces. And now we'll go and hitch up a pair of nice quiet plugs that you'll be able to hold in easy.” “Me go off and leave pore Merry this- away?” says Joe. “No, sir-ree; I wouldn’t have the heart to. Me, I don’t leave no friend in sickness nor in health, and I'll sure he able to help with the nursing. You'll have to put me out, Mr. Fenwick, if you want me to go.” *Then for the land’s sake put him out, pa,” says Ada, real vicious, a-looking areund from her patient. “And tell ma to bring % glass of water.” “Come on out, Joe,” says Fenwick, tightening on his arm. “Can't 1 help you none whatever, Miss Ada?” Joe begs. But all he got was a look, so he had to let pa lead him out to the barn. “What is that boy’s name, Joe?" asks pa as they went. “Gladsome, did you call him? It surely ain't thet!" “Honest to Moses and hope to die, his name's Merry,"’ says Joe. Ain't this here world the limit? Here was this six-foot-odd of misery, with no looks to speak of favorable, no education, no brains and no money; and here was Ada with her folks well fixed and nobody to leave it te but her and a brother that was high up in the Burlington offices in Chicago and didn’t need it, and having the unmar- ried and widowed cream of the country only waiting for a crook of her finger, and by godf if she didn’t up and take the strongest kind of a notion to the coot right away! It was just a notion; that was what it was. Everybody said it was just a no- tion. She felt sorry for the feller and that was all there was to it, and she'd get bravely over it before it come to anything serious. Billy Fenwick took that view of it, and so did ma and everybody else. It wasn’t no long lingering sickness John had. Come suppertime, he was able to set up to the table and give an exhibition of his Adam’s apple working up and down as he swallered his vittles. He didn’t indulge in no conversation to speak of. ‘Thank you, ma’am,” and “I don’t know but what I could, thank you kindly, ma’am,” and “Yes, please, ma’am,”’ in that hark-from- the-tomb voice of hisn. It was a devil of a while before he got to “I wouldn’t choose any more, thank you, ma’am.” And the next morning he was down to breakfast bright and early—and Ada baked the cakes. ne you boys may think that you know what buckwheat cakes is. They’re round oe objects made by spooning a dob of atter onto a hot soapstone griddle or a plain iron griddle, ain’t they? You make the batter out of buckwheat flour and water or milk as the case may be, and a pinch of salt and an egg or two and baking powder into it, and you eat ‘em hot, with butter and maple sirup or honey or sausage gravy. That about covers the ground, don’t it? Well, you just think it does. If you had ever tasted Ada Fenwick’s buckwheat cakes you'd have changed your idees en- tirely concerning them articles of nourish- ment. No use talking, she had a real gift for ‘em, and it goes to show how them as has gets. A homely girl has got a good right to a number-one cooking talent; it’s only fair and no more than fair that she should have; but it was like spreading molasses on top of honeycomb to sweeten it, to make Ada the cook she was and didn’t need to be, and specially with cakes. Boys, they was light as thistledown floating over a field of clover in bloom, and yet as satisfying as inch-and- a-half steak. The smell of 'em made you epen your quivering nostrils as wide as they’d stretch to get all of it that they could, and they had a flavor that made you roll up your eyes like a dying duck in a thunderstorm, as the saying is. They was a rich, even mulatto brown, shading off some lighter at the edges and without speck or flaw. With slabs of ma’s butter in be- tween melting into ‘em and flooded with sirup atop -—— No, gentlemen, your idees of cakes can't help but be limited. John A. Merry’s Adam’s apple was a sight to behold as soon as he n on them cakes. Billy Fenwick couldn’t hardly eat his own breakfast for watching it. John was looking pretty steady at his plate most of the time, but once in a while he spared time for a sideways slant at Ada as she ye Su the stove, bare-armed and pink- cheeked, ladling and turning to the exact fraction of a second. Now and then she'd show the glutton a line of the whitest little teeth that ever helped the smile of red lips, and John must have caught that smile more than once. But it only seemed to make him feel sadder. Presently ma got up and looked out of the window. “I thought I heard him,” she says. “*Here’s Fosdick a-coming down the road now. Shall I holler for him to stop?” ‘Save your breath,” says pa. ‘“‘ He’ll stop all right without no hollering.” He pushed back his chair, without removing his from John’s undulating throat. “I reckon I'll have to go out to the bars and see if I can't keep him a-setting in the wagon,” he says; ‘‘onless you'd wish to have a visit with him, Ada.” “I would not,” says Ada. “He's a nuisance, and I wish you'd tell him so from me.” “T’ll let you "tend to your own knitting, gal,"’ says the old man. “ Mr. Merry, 1 hate to leave you, and I hope you'll excuse me, but I've got to stop this young man before he drives apast us. He’s headed for Rapid and he'll let you ride in with him—even if he didn’t have intentions to drive that way. Don’t hurry h eating. He'll wait.” “M he won’t want to put himself out of the way,” says John. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE FOOD OF LOVE (Continued from Page 25) “He'll do it as a favor to me,” says Billy. “‘He’d do anything for me, Henry Fosdick would—except stay away from this here ranch. Give Mr. Merry some more cakes, Ada. He seems to like ’em, and this is his last chance.’’ _ He hurried out to the bars and got there just as a young man pulled up his horses and wropped the lines round his whipstock. Ma drifted out of the kitchen and Ada and John was left alone. John got up. “Why, you’re not through yet, are you?”’ says Ada. “I guess pa was wrong; you don’t like my cakes.” “‘I—I never et nothing so good in all my days,” says John, gulping. “Your pa was right, ma'am. But I—I got to go now.” “Well, next time you come, maybe I'll give you some more,” says she. “IT don’t know how there’s going to be any next time,” says John. “I'll be in he ae and you'll be here.” It was like he said, “‘The emblems of mortality we see around us reminds us of our inev’table doom.” Ada gave him another smile. “It’s an easy ride from Rapid on a good horse,” she says, encouraging. “No horseback riding is for me,” John tells her. “I can’t ride for shucks. I’ve tried right often, but I always get shook off.” “Well, you’ve got legs, and what’s a twelve-mile walk?’’ Ada reminds him. “But I was only joking. Of course you won’t want to come. Good-by then.” She held out her hand and John made out to take it. “‘Good-by,” says he. “Wait a moment,” says Ada. “I guess that bandage has shifted. You’ve got to be careful of that.” She drew up close to him and reached up to the bandage. ‘ You’re so tall,” says she. “It strains my arms.” John bent his head down. How it ne exactly is hard to say. It had never happened to Ada before—take her word for it—and it’s a cinch nothing like it had ever happened toJohn. Next moment Ada started back, her cheeks pinker than the stove had made ’em, and a Fen- wick’s voice come loud and clear through his oe hands: ‘All ab-o-o-a-ard for Rapid!” About one month after this happening, Israel Putnam Wakefield walked into the bunk room of the Z-Bell ranch with strange tidings for the private and confidential ear of Joseph Prendergast Gutch. Joe didn’t believe ‘em at first, and furthermore he allowed that there was subjects that was too sacred to lie about. Even when Wake- field convinced him that the news was true he didn’t believe it, although he let on that he did. Sometimes appearances was de- ceiving, and while Israel no doubt had some excuse for jumping to a wrong conclusion, it was likely that there was some simple ex- planation of the circumstances—if a feller could get at it. “What did old Billy say?” “Didn't say nothing. ust laughed.” “There you are!” said Joe. “He wouldn’t laugh if he didn’t know it wasn’t no more’n a joke. You mean to say that glum, dismal strip of wet blanket legged it over there from Rapid?” “‘A-Sunday. That’s what. And if you’d have seen and heard Ada you wouldn’t have no doubt about his being welcome. He’s been there two Sundays in time for break- fast, and it’s a cinch he’ll be there a third.” “We'll ride over there, you and me to- ther, next Sunday,” Joe pro . “She's just having sport with him, I'll bet. You never did understand Ada, Is, while I’ve made a careful study of her; and this ain’t to be took offense at, you and me having agreed to play fair, turn about and friendly; but my theery is that she’s just stringing Rejoiceful to make me jealous and brin me to time. We'd had a sort of lovers’ tiff, her and me. We'll take Sunday off if the Old Man’s willing, and if he ain’t; you and me together.” “You may, but I won’t,” says Wake- field. “It’s no treat to me to watch them en i ~ Dg A an thes a-frowning, “ t mou pelican into pulp. I’d sure shes bias some- M9 m know rm I’m sort of respon- "m ; * sible for here?—if there’s to be responsible for, which there ain’t; and I ain’t sorry I introduced him to the March 7,1925 if he gets any pleasure out of it. I reckon he never had much pleasure. We was too hard on him, Is. Anyway, I'll go over a-Sunday.” ell, he went over, and he come back looking a heap like John Merry looked. He fam'ly, neither told Wakefield that it certainly did seem like John was a-going strong, and he thought Billy Fenwick and Ma Fenwick must both be going blind or else fvolish in their old that they didn’t put a stop to it. Pers’n'ly, he thought it was just a no- tion of Ada’s, and that she’d get bravely over it in a short while, but in the mean- time it behooved a true friend and well- wisher to do what he could to hasten that happy day. ‘What are you going to do about it?” Wakefield asks him. “T’ll layway him next Sunday,” says Joe. “I know the trail he takes, because I was forethoughted enough to ask him. I’ll layway the moping seek-sorrow and show him a heap of it. I’ll beat the tar out of him and see if I can make him laugh. If it’s his face that Ada’s took a i.otion to, that’s easy changed. Want to come out with me and watch the transformation?” Wakefield said why yes he'd go along, and so it come that on the Sabbath following, a little after dawn, the two of ’em met up with John A. Merry as he was shortening distance at three and a half foot a stride and a hundred and twenty strides to the minute. Figure his trip time for yourselves. John didn’t seem noways anxious to stop and chat, but Joe Gutch prevailed on him to that extent. It was when Joe asked him to turn around and see what was the best time he could make back to Rapid that Merry showed his mule streak. When in- formed of the consequences of his mulish- ness he showed mebbe a mite more dejec- tion, but he took off his coat and laid it careful to one side on a flat rock that he dusted off first with his handkerchief. Not ony that but he took off his vest and his collar and necktie, and finally his pants and boots, and stood up in his underwear and socks and gave Joe Gutch the everlasting licking of his life. Then he put his garments on again, tying his necktie mighty careful, and headed for Beaver, making up for lost time by a lengthier stretch and some quicker action. Less than three months, and the whole country from the northern camps to White River, as far’s the new tallerphone run, was a-buzzing with excitement, and Billy Fenwick down on Beaver was a-walking the floor at a gait his new son-in-law couldn’t have beat very bad, and a-cussin the said son-in-law from hill to dale an thence back to the place of beginning, while Ma Fenwick sat in the Boston rocker and wiped her eyes. You might wed that things had got to the serious stage when Ada had went with John—or John went with Ada— to the Reverend Winship’s in Blueblanket and got married to him. No getting around facts; that’s what she’d done; and if the reverend hadn't been an old man as well as a minister of the fave. what Billy Fen- wick would have done to him would have sent a thrill of horror through the civilized world. Yes, sir, by godfrey, she had got herself tied to that worthless, poverty-struck, sag- jawed, slab-sided, sad-souled, sick-stum- mucked son of a gun that didn’t have a cent . to his name nor a pot to cook in, as the say- ing is—a measly jack of all trades, odd- jobbing around Rapid for pond that ad a dollar and work they wanted done, no matter who! By the jumping Jupiter, pry By he put up a stove and blacked it for Hip Lee in his laundry! Cleans the cus- pidors in Pat Lynch’s barroom, like as not, the low-down, soppy, croaking, long-faced kill-joy! Merry! Merry, by godfrey! And he’s got our pl “He wouldn’t do that, pa,” Mis’ Fen- wick sobs. ‘Not cuspidors! Not that!” “Quit sniveling!” Billy shouts at her. “You’re putting on a mug that’s the spit and image of hisn, and I won’t stand it!” Well, if ripping and mane and weepin and wailing would have helped, the ol folks would have had things straightened out satisfactory in next to no time. But they never do nae seems like. John A. been bene aoee J ike the devil ever since he had gone to Rapid, sixteen hours out of the twenty-four, and saving his money. When him and Ada got back from (Continued on Page 197)

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f ge tae (Continued from Page 192) their wedding trip to Blueblanket, they went to live in a little shack that John had built with his own fair hands at odd times when work was slack. It was out on what’s then the edge of town, on some waste land; and the next morning, after the happy couple moved in, John walked into the Journal office and handed Gossage an ad, which Knight, who was at the case them days, set up to run in the next paper: Joun A. MERRY Repairs and Odd Jobs Gardening and Carpets Beat, Fresh Eggs and raves Du Rough Carpenter Work, and &c. Your Patronage Kindly Solicited The excitement finally died down and the years rolled on, as per custom. Some- how or another, when you got right down to it, things didn’t seem so bad but what they might have been worse. The Merrys seemed tolerable well satisfied with each other and that’s about the best you can expect of married folks, and it’s their busi- ness, anyway, and the pity that outside persons is so fond of slopping is plumb wasted according to my idee. I seen John and Ada quite a few times during the next ten years; but not so blame often, Sanders doing the most of his business in Blue- blanket, which burg had diversions enough and aplenty to entertain the boys. But as John’s one and only bosem friend at the Z-Bell ranch, I felt it my duty to call oncet in a while to see how he was a-getting along. First rate, as far’s I could see. John was out working on a job the first time I went, but Ada allowed he’d be back to supper and she hoped I’d wait. Ada looked to me to be handsomer than ever, and the little shanty was as neat as a pin inside and prettied up a whole lot, too; a carpet with roses onto it on the fioor and geraniums in red pots on the window sill, looking out at the hollyhocks, and the vases on the mantel-shelf and the white curtains and all. Right snug and cozy. Yes, sir, might have been a heap worse. “T wish’t it was breakfast he was a-coming home to,”’ I says to her. “I’m a-coming to breakfast sometime, Ada, account of your cakes.” She laughed. It was good to hear her, the way she laughed. “John’s crazy about my cakes,” she says. ‘“‘That’s the way I caught him. You didn’t know that, did you?”’ “T’m not nowise detracting from them cakes of yours to say that there’s many a person, not counting myself, that you could have caught if you’d never baked one in your life,” I told her. “T could catch a cold easy,” she replies. “Measles and scarlet fever and chicken pox and mumps ain’t hard to catch, for that matter, and them is what all you men seem to me alongside John—present com- pany always excepted,” she says, giving me a razzle-dazzling smile. She went on talking about John. John was this and John was that and John was *tother, and the things that John was struck her as being about the right things. She didn’t care for these here tonguey fellers like Fosdick—always gabbing when they hadn’t nothing to say worth listening to; she hated as simpletons like Joe Gutch—acting as if everything was a big joke; these handsome, conceited ones like Is Wakefield—there wasn’t nothing to them but looks; whereas John ——— It was indows Cleaned about the first time I ever spent in Ada’s - company that I didn’t enjoy hearing her talk, and I wasn’t a mite sorry when she jumped up and said that John was a-coming and for me to sit still while she went out to meet him and prepare him for a surprise. She came in hanging onto his arm with both hands. He wasn’t a icle changed; the same old whangdoodle whose voice ig heard in the land a-mourning for its first- born. He sure looked as if life was real and life was earnest and a mighty serious mat- ter that he expected the worst of. He showed as much joy at the sight of me as a feller that was going to be hung would show when the chaplain and a couple of wardens come into his cell to lead him out; and yet I know the cuss was glad to see me. “Hello, John,” I says. “How’s the grave digging coming along?”’ . , as to that,” says he, “there ain’t a right smart of it. I ain’t dug but three so far. I reckon I oughtn’t to be sorry that Rapid’s in such a healthy section, and I’m glad, of course. Still, it’s right well paid and pleasant work, as long as you don’t strike THE SATURDAY much of this here conglomerate. Gravel, for the most part, and scours dry and clean off your shovel; and new ground, too; not like these old graveyards where the space is limited and has to be used over and over in, so’s you're all the time throwing out d bones and skulls and the like.” “Now you are here, I’m a-going to run over to the store,” says Ada. “I won't be gone but about ten or fifteen minutes, but that will give you time to tell Mr. Stegg all about how I abuse you. Good-by. Have a nice visit.” She kissed him good-by, with no sense of shame. “Don't be gone no longer,” says John, and then turns to me. “As I was a-saying, in these crowded graveyards where the soi is wet and a heap of clay, the corpses ——’’ “Get much carpenter work to do?” I asked him. “A considerable,” says John. ‘‘ You see, when I was a young one I used to go down tothegraveyard right often and watch—"’ “TI reckon the lawn-mowing season is about over,” I observes. “Just about,” John. “The sexton boarded with our folks and ——” “So you got somebody to love you, after all, didn’t you?”’ I remarked, and that worked. I reckon it was about the only subject that would have dr; him out of that gol-darned, overpopulated old-bony acre- age. The nearest thing to a smile that I ever saw on John A. Merry’'s face come over it then. But it went away about as quick as it come. “Yes,” says he, solemn and sober; ‘you're right; I have. It don’t seem rea- sonable, I know; but it’s a fact—a blessed fact. Ada certainly loves me. I don’t know how come she was took thataway. It may have been pity, which they say brings it on, but I don’t care what it was. I sure got proof that it’s so.” “Hot cakes for breakfast every morning, Is’ ,” I says. is eyes lightened a little and his Adam’s apple jumped to’rds his chin and fell again. ng morning, rain or shine,” he says. “She knows I’m real ial to ’em, and loving me like she does, she don’t think nothing of the trouble of mixing the batter and standing and baking ’em so’s I get ’em hot from the griddle. It gives me heart for my work.” Then all of a sudden he shakes his head slow and sad and drops his chin in his hands and humps over, staring at the floor the picture of misery. ‘I asked him if he'd got a spell or something. “‘Sam,”’ says he, straightening up, thump- ing his knee with his fist and looking wild, “T couldn’t stand it if it didn’t last. The question is, how long will it last—or will it keep right on? I just naturally couldn’t bear to see her love grow cold—like her cakes, if she bakes too many. No, sir, I couldn’t stand it. I’d—I don’t know what I’d do. Something desp’rate, I reckon. To be with her, day by day and week b week—if she was cooling off—I couldn't stand it. I often think of it. It might come.” ** And pigs might fly; there’s no telling,”’ I says. ‘Some of these days a grave might fall in on you and cover you up and the party it was intended for might come out of his trance and his friends not trouble no further, and then where would you be? There might be a good-looking Omaha drummer down to the store where Ada’s gone and he might stea: her and ——”’ John started up and rushed to the win- ow. “She’s a-coming now,” he says. ‘Thank the Lord!” The next time I got around John was still a-getting his griddle cakes, rain or shine, and the goose was hanging high as ever; Ada a-singing at her work and a-singing John’s praises while she visited. I'd got into town with my new bull- freighting outfit ict le wal and I kept my word and went to the shack for breakfast. John went for them cakes as if he’d never tasted one before, and he told me afterward that it seemed thataway to him. I don’t know how long it was before my next trip, but it was a matter of years, and I didn’t stay long, account of Ma Fenwick being there and both the women busy a-sewing. I was glad to see that, too; but there was more to come. When I dropped into Pat Lynch’s there was Billy Fenwick and John a-standing at the bar together. Being tackful, I didn’t — no surprise, but accepted Billy’s invite to join them; and when Billy raised his glass and says, EVENING POST “ Here's to him!" I didn’t ask no questions about who we was drinking to; but I heard later that circumstances had arose in the Merry fam’ly that had brought the old —_ — So that was - rig rw amp couldn’t never imagine Bi ng an real shine to John. ats It was the next time after that I seen slight clouds on the horryzon. Even so, they wasn’t no bigger than a man’s hand, if that big. Ada still talked John, and mostly favorable; but she talked more and a heap more enthusiastic on the merits and accomplishments of Emmeline-Ann Merry. I couldn't see no difference in John except that he was well along with the mustache he'd started. It was one of them droopy kind, as it naturally would be; and it seems fooligh to say that it made him look unhappier than ever, but it done so as far as was humanly possible. “Two so jes to love you now, John,” I remarks as we walked uptown to- gether. “T hope so,” says he, as if he didn’t look for it. “‘Children, though, is mostly think- ing about themselves, I guess; and when they get older —— But Ada’s all a man could ask for in a wife,”’ he adds quickly; “fall a man could ask or wish for.” ‘And that’s all a man could reasonably ask,”’ I says. “That's right,’’ he says; “all a man could ask—reasona) ly. That’s what I always “Prospering?”’ **So-so,”” he answers. ‘‘ We’re poor folks still, and I don’t expect we'll ever be other- wise; but I’ve got all the work I can "tend to.” I told him that true happiness wasn’t in riches and pretty soon I said a fond farewell and we parted. A year or two later I met up with Is Wakefield in Custer and got the news that Billy and Ma Fenwick had both passed on; ma first and Billy a month or two after, while he was on a visit to his son in Chi . He'd sold the ranch and made his will, leaving the heft of his money to Ada’s kids, Ada to have a life intrust in the intrust, or some such arrangement. Any- way, it was fixed so’s Merry couldn’t touch none of it, so Ada wouldn’t touch none of it either and it went piling up for the young ones. Well, I was mighty sorry to hear about Billy and ma; they were ey fine peo- ple. And I was sorry that Billy had tied up the money thataway, account of the slight on John and on account of Ada getting spunky and cutting off her nose to spite her face. The money she might have used wouldn’t have been riches, but it would have hel some in getting her some of the pretties she had been accustomed to as a girl and which she must have missed. was freighting from Sydney then and mostly didn’t get beyond Custer; but finally, along in the late fall, I made Rapid one evening with George Hove and Elmer Davis and three wagons with six yoke to a wagon of mixed freight; and as we was too late to unload, I allowed I'd make an early start the next morning by eating my break- fast with the Merry fam'ly, like I'd prom- ised Ada. I had a few little tricks along for the young ones, anyway; but I don’t deny that I had Ada’s cakes in mind too. There was a fine buckwheaty snap in the air when I got = But I got fooled. As I walked through the front yard to the door I heard a strange voice inside. It was Ada’s voice-—and it wasn’t. It was high-pitched and unpleasant- sounding, and it wanted to know what some- body expected, for the land’s sake, and didn’t somebody think she had something else to do and aplenty, and here she was Apr Bes slaving and a-going without things that every woman had, and ——- I Enoched at the door and the voice shut right off. Then after a dead silence the door opened and there was Ada, fleshier than when I saw her last, I thought, and red-faced and, until she seen who it was, looking madder than hops. Then she smiled; but the smile was reely worse than the mad look. “Why, come right in, Mr. S ,” says she, in a welcoming tone that had got no welcome in it. ‘‘ Well, this is a surprise!” John was ites wag ered by the stove with Emmeline-Ann between his knees. It seemed like he’d been buttoning her little waist up the back for her. He didn’t get up, but he took my hand, or let me take his, and it was like a slab of dead fish. I looked around. Everything as neat as a pin, in- cluding Ada. The table was set for break- fast, the coffeepot and skillet on the stove; 17 but I didn’t see nothing of the griddle nor the big yaller bowl that held the better. I tried to kiss Emmeline-Ann, but she bur- rowed her curly head in between John’s knees. “‘Where’s the rest of °em?" I asked hirn. “Still abed,” says John, gulping and poles at a length of his mustache, which »y this time was an inch below his chin. He didn’t meet my eye, but stared reproachful at the coffeepot. I turned to Ada, “In time for hot cakes, ain’t I?" I says, loud and cheerful. “I got my mouth al! fixed for 'em too.” She colored redder than the geraniums on the sill, but before she could say a word, Emmeline-Ann piped up, “We ain't going to have no buckwheat cakes. Ma says she’s never going to bake another cake as long as she lives; not even the boughten flour ones. She says if pa wants cakes so bad he can go to the rest’rant and get ‘em.”’ here was another few seconds of silence. John sat hauling at the other end of his mustache without taking his eyes off the coffeepot. Ada wasn’t no paler than she had been; but she made a stagger ut a ae. “That's just a joke,” she says. “The child doesn’t understand.” All of a sudden John got up, upsettin his chair with a crash. He turned an picked it up again and set it on its legs as soft and careful as if it had been made of glass. he spoke, and I'd gay that his voice was a little more than usual heart- ren , but I couldn’t be sure. His face was twitching, though. “T cain't stand it!” he says. “I cain’t stand it no more! ‘Tain't the cakes so much as —-—" He gave a final gu!p and took ve his gg Be ng,” e says. “ & y! ; ‘You'd better go!’’ vries Ada, flashing out at him. “And you don't need te come unless you want to, either. You cer- —. are awful put upon, | think! If She stop because the door was closed and John A. Merry was on the other side of it, out in the cold world, with nobody to love him. Along in the afternoon, when we had about finished unloading and cleaned up our business, a boy comes and asks if I’m Mr. 8 , because if I am and !'m still in town, Mrs. Merry wanted to know if I'd be so kind as to come to the house. It was very particular. Of course I went. When a woman who once kept you awake nights thinking of her wants you to do something, rm kind of feel like put yourself out a ittle, even if she hain't as slender quite as she used to be and has a husband and a raft of children. I found her tolerabie ca’m and apparently reasonable, although her eyes was all puffed out and her voice wasn't steady. The thing was that John hadn't come back and hadn't been at the place where he was a-working, nor at no other place. He wasn’t nowheres, and she needed somebody to talk to about it and advise her, and I was the only person she knew well enough, and what, what in the world would she do? “Shucks!” I says. ‘Don’t do nothing, my dear. Just get out your darning and set down and quit worrying. I've knowed him to go away like this at the ranch lots of times, but he always come back again right side up. He's just gone off some place where it’s quiet, to grieve, and when he gets through grieving he'll feel a heap bet- ter and only be sorry for the way he’s acted.”’ “The way he’s acted,” she repeata. “The way I’ve acted, you mean. It would serve me right if he never did come back again. The kindest, gentlest, lovingest and most patient man that ever a mean, ugly- dispositioned woman mistreated! You don’t know him. Maybe you know him better than most, but nobody can’t know any man but his own woman, and John’s not like most men—thank God! [ know that he’s misjudged by fools that can't see no further than their noses, but the first time I seen him I knew. I had that much sense, anyway, if I hadn’t the sense nor the decency to treat him the way he deserves But I will! I will! This will be a lesson to me as long as I live, and if he'll only come back and forgive me ——” She throwed her arms on the table and leaned her head on them and begun to sob. I tried to talk her out of it, but it wasn’t until Emmeline-Ann begun to holler and the two others joined in that she quit and started to comfort them. I stayed around the best part of an hour, waiting to see if

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Ex- change St., Providence, R. 1. Use a aeVAAL / ui h GRINNELL Adjustable Doesn't hurt one bit! Drop a little “Freezone” on an aching corn, instantly that corn stops hurting, then shortly you lift it right off. Your druggist sells a tiny bottle of “ Freezone” for a few cents, suffi- cient to remove every hard corn, soft corn, or corn between the toes, and the foot calluses, without soreness or irritation. the time nursing her, taking the two young ones along with her to give her something to do in spare moments. Poor John had to shift for himself while she was gone, and keep the house in order, what with his work—for he worked like a dog, faithful and hard, always—and then about six weeks after the funeral little Levi was born. And if you had just seen John then! All the angels in heaven rolled into one wouldn’t have made not half the angel that dear man was. And working whenever he could at his jobs. But he always was that- away. Only sometimes you had to be careful how you spoke to him, account of hurting his feelings, him being so sensitive. And a person wasn’t careful. There was a heap to do with the baby now, and a person had got lazy being waited on so much, and she used this here boughten flour in pack- ages for the cakes sometimes to save herself trouble. John never complained, but a per- son knew that he felt it, and was ugly all the more because he was so patient. And after pa died, there was the money. John had always took a pride in being a good provider and getting a person every- thing in the world that he thought she wanted or needed, though he wasn’t never able to earn much, hard as he worked. And he would always have the doctor for any little sickness, and it all counted up. She knew that it would hurt John’s feelings if she used money he didn’t earn for her, and specially the way pa had fixed it as if he didn’t trust John. But all the same, John told her he wouldn’t mind, and to go right ahead. But she wouldn't, and she was mad at herself and mad at him because she wouldn’t—ugly and contrary because he was so good, she peseee’ “ What do you think of a woman like that, Sam?” she asks. “You've had a good deal to try you, and I don’t blame you a particle,” I says. “Then you haven't the sense I sup- posed,” says she. “I had everything in the world to be thankful and grateful for, what not one woman in a thousand gets, and all I could do was take a streak of pitying my- self for not having what didn’t amount to nothing, come right down to it. I had eve thing when | had John.” “You mean you have,” I says. “John will be back to supper all right, and you can give him cakes for breakfast and be happy ever after. I'l) go hunt him up for you and hurry him home right now.” “You won't find him,” she predicts. “Looks like I'd got conviction of sin right sudden, don’t it? I guess that’s because I know you won't find him. But whether or no, there won't ever be another breakfast for me without cakes as long as I live.” I went uptown and saw Hove and Davis and told them to hire a man to take my place on the Hills trip. Then I went to the veyard, having a hunch that John would be there. But he wasn’t; and he didn’t get back for supper, nor yet for break- fast. Lwent through the country with a fine- tooth comb, inquiring and a-leaving word. I thought of Uncle Levi and wrote to Walt Pingree at Belle Fourche; but Walt wrote back that Uncle Levi was dead and none of the Nodaway County outfit had seen hide nor hair of John. But about a month later Ada got a letter from him, inclosing four- teen dollars in bills. That woman nearly went crazy with joy. It wasn't much of a letter, I thought. It was mailed in Chicago, but he said that he was giving it to a man who was going there to mail for him; and that he figured he’d do thataway all the time, this man being a friend of his, and honest, so that Ada wouldn’t think it was her duty to ask him to come back. All was, he knew she didn’t love him no more, and he didn’t blame her; but he had got so used to being loved that he couldn’t stay around no longer, reelizin that she sort of despised him. He begged her pardon, humble, for the way he’d spoiled her life, but he had hoped different. And he would keep right on sending her all he could earn and was her loving and faithful husband. Words to that effect. But I never seen a woman happier. “He still loves me! He still loves me!” She just sang it. “He still loves his mean wife! He'll come back! He loves me and he’s coming back!” EVENING POST But he didn’t come. The next time I went to see her I seen she reelized that John didn’t have no present intentions of coming. She hadn't got no more letters from him—only money, which meant that he was tne and consequently alive and well—prob’ly just keeping enough to hold body and soul together out of what he earned and sending her the rest. She seemed to think that was real noble of him; but it made me sick. If I could have laid my hands on John A. Merry about that time, I'd sure, as Joe Gutch put it, have give him something to be lamentatious about. For nigh onto five years that noble, sen- sitive, self-sacrificing son of a gun kept that poor woman on the anxious seat, neither wife nor widow, sending her his measly wages, and I don’t know but what she got to be handsomer as a woman than she was as a girl. Talking about Joe Gutch, Joe thought so, because he told me that he did. Joe had never married, but had turned his talents to eon and had got wealthy at it. He gave Ada a pretty hard run of it about the second year after John had gone away broken-hearted. “What ails her?” says Joe to me the night he gave up the chase. “*'There’s just one thing the matter with Ada, and I don’t think she'll ever get over it,”” | answered him. “It explains every- thing. She’s a woman.” “Even so, she can’t want that water- soaked, woeful, affliction-sore-long-time- he-bore, stricken-deer, dumb fool back again,”’ says he. “Not reelly; epoan that he’s a good two-fisted scrapper an licked me oncet in his heyday. Sam, do you remember the cakes she used to bake?’ “She bakes ’em still,” I told him; “every night and morning. All John Merry has to do is come back and eat ’em.” “That settles it,” says Joe, slapping his leg. “I’m a-going to light right out for Chicago and hire me a good detecative and trail back on them letters. When I find the weeping willow tree Merry’s a-setting under I’m a-going to kill him, final and be- yond a reasonable doubt. That gal is a-going to do her cake baking for me yet. I'm one of these faithful lovers, I am. So long, Sam. I'll have some good news for you soon.” He went away; but either it was a bluff or him and his sleuth couldn’t trail John. Anyway, I’ve never seen him since. Of course, I was a-joking about Ada keeping me awake nights. I was twice her age, a’most; but if I had entertained hopes, I know that I'd have give em up then. Ada wasn’t worrying no more; she laughed and sang at her work as much as ever; but John wasn’t never so far out of her mind that he couldn’t be easy called to it. She was just pear | life and making the best of it with- out the limp-lipped lunatic, when lo and behold! he has to come busting into the family circle again and spoil everything. Yes, sir, John A, Merry, b’gosh! John A. Merry back again! Last Thursday morn- ing it was—and I reckon he means to stay. “Well, I'll tell you,” said the old bull- whacker, when sufficiently urged. “‘It was thisaway: I got into Rapid a Friday after- noon and went straight to the bank before I showed up at the land office. Uncle Jimmy Wood was out, but expected back any minute, George Smith said; so I went into his private room and sat down with a Deadwood Pioneer to wait for him. If I had picked a Rapid Journal I'd have been some an = and braced for the shock when I eard a well-remembered deep-mourning voice asking for Uncle Jimmy. “*He's out just now, Mr. Merry,’ says Smith, ‘but we expect him back soon. Would you like to walk into his room and wait for him? Mr. Stegg is in there.’ “So here comes Mister Man, and my gracious! All t up like —— Oh, I ain’t nothing to him! Gold watch chain that you could have hauled logs with, broadcloth suit and a gold-headed cane, b’gosh! Yes, sir! But he looked doleful as ever and the ends of his mustache hung a inch or two lower. ***My pretty pink petticoat!’ I exclaims. “Where did you resurrect from?’ “*T been up in the Coeur d’Alene,’ he says, looking at me out of hollow-set eyes. “**Mining?’ I looked at his watch chain. ‘You must have a good week’s clean-up from a forty-stamp on that joolry.’ “He looked down at the chain as if he’d noticed it for the first time and it didn’t interest him particular x Pay sg: he says. ‘Much the same as here. How are you, Sam?’ March 7,1925 ‘Tell me “*Never mind me,’ I says. about ag 7 yom What for did you go away, and why did you come back?’ “*T didn’t aim to come back,’ he says. ‘lm glad I did now, but I didn’t aim to do more’n e a sn and look in at the window and then go off about my business. But ——’ He gave a big gulp. “**Go on, you two yards of crape,’ I says. ‘I want to hear about this. You peeked in at the window, did you?’ **Yes,’ he says. ‘Sam, Ada loves me. I was mistook, after all. She loves me.’ “T told him that didn’t seem reasonable. “Nor to me neither,’ he says. ‘But it’s so. It was yesterday morning when I got around there-—still dark enough so I thought they wouldn’t see me, and, Sam, she had out the old yaller bowl and was a-baking cakes!’ “And as soon as you seen that and smelt ’em you couldn’t control yourself, but rushed in and grabbed a plate. Is that it?’ ***No,’ says he, solemn and reproachful. ‘It was them rushed out and drug me in. She catched a sight of me first, for I couldn’t help but speak her name; but the oung ones was right out after her, and =mmeline-Ann knowed me right away and Biliy. knowed me after a while and little Levi he hung onto my laig and cried when Emmy pulled him off. Sam, I got four to love me now—four!’ “*If you go away and stay another five years you may have seven or eight when you come back. Better try it,’ I says. ‘I might Ret to love you myself.’ “*T’ll never leave Ada again,’ he says, firm. ‘But just think of all that love I might have had all the time I’ve been lone and miserable. You know why I went away. But Ada’s forgave me. I reckon,’ he says, in tones of deep regret, ‘that I’m the happiest and the luckiest man what there is—excepting for one thing.’ “*Did Ada buy you them clothes and the watch chain and cane?’ I asks, as it was on my mind. ‘Just like her!’ ***No,’ he answers, ‘I bought them my- self, before I started. You see, I happened to be digging of a grave ———’ ““*That was just like you,’ I sneers. “*And—you remember telling me one time that a grave might fall in on me? That was what this one done. And it mighty nigh covered me up with the richest RY dirt ever found in the whole deestrick. ind o’ cur’ous, wasn’t it? As soon as I got my laigs free I staked me out the best of it for a claim that I sold the half interest of for a hundred thousand dollars.’ You wouldn’t believe how despondent he spoke. ‘I called it the Ada,’ he goes on. ‘My pard- ner’s running it now. So I thought bed just come down here and—peek in. I couldn’t never before — the time, without miss- ing sending off money to Ada for things that I allowed she needed.’ “T studied on that a while. ‘What was the one thing you wasn’t happy and lucky about?’ I asked him. “**Cakes,’ he groans. ‘Sam, I can’t eat cakes no more. Whether it’s a-going with- out ‘em for so long, or a person’s tastes changing every seven years—or five, I don’t know; but it makes me sick to look at ’em, and they don’t set on my stummick nohow. I’ve et two breakfasts of ’em al- ready, and I figured on seeing a doctor just as soon’s I got through with my business. Do you reckon a doctor would maybe for- bid me to eat ’em, Sam—so’s not to hurt Ada’s feelings, she being a mite sensitive?’ “*You’re a thus-and-so if you craw! out on Ada’s cakes for any reason or excuse whats’ever,’ I told him, emphatic. ‘You eat ’em just as long as she’s willing to cook *em if it kills you. You sure owe her that.’ “*T reckon you're right, and I reckon I will,’ he says, heaving a two-ton sigh; and then, after I'd staved off his invite to go up to the house with him, Uncle Jimmy come in, and the way he shook hands with Mr. Merry didn’t leave no doubt about the mine. So that’s the story.” “Why didn’t you go up to the house?” inqui the stocktender. ‘Oh, dog-gone these sensitive fools!” said Mr. Stegg with unwonted petulance. “They make three parts of the trouble that there is in this world. Hank, that old cow hanging around your corral is the spit and image of John A, Merry.” “T’'ll have to feed her, I reckon,” said the stocktender, glancing out of the win- dow. “The r old hellion! Dave,” he continued, addressing the Bar-T boy, “you claim to be a fancy shot. Take your gun out there and see what you can do to them cussed magpies.””

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SIMON CALLED SIMPLE “TI’msorry.” Simon’s voice was crammed full of dejection. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Outside of your heels being too high, I’ve always thought you were the most perfect girl in the world. Simon’s shyness settled heavily upon him and he appeared very wistful. Letitia House turned her back to the speaker and digested this last. She took out her key, opened and prepared the inner door for a sudden entrance, spun around and, looking him full in the eye for a mo- ment, flashed the tip of a very pink tongue at Simon and slammed into the house. That young man shivered, replaced his hat and concentrated, cross-eyed, on the oot where she had stood. The unconquer- le spirit of the crusader, which was strong in Simon, tried hopefully to draw a little honey from the bane. ell, I will say she’s the prettiest girl who ever stuck her tongue out at me for telling them what’s wrong with their clothes Until late that night Simon walked the streets, putting question after question to his soul, Of one thing only was he certain. No amount of self-examination lured him from belief in his original premise that most folk aim at all times to resemble the smart advertisements, and just so far as they fail o equal that perfection they fail to be sat- isfied with their appearance. “Puppy,” he mused disconsolately. “ Bare-faced puppy. Do you suppose any- thing is the matter with my face that makes them all say the same thing?” He paused at a corner drug store and ordered a chocolate soda so he might have the benefit of the mirror behind the foun- tain. He experimented with all his reper- toire of expressions from devil-may-care | seorn to that sweetly sad glance which he had always fancied himself wearing when forced to reject the prayers of beautiful and infatuated women. Such pathos had al- most brought tears to his eyes, when the attendant suggested that the prescription | counter where pain killer might be had was to the rear of the store. Simon gave him a dirty look and went out into the friendly ’ he told himself with dignity, “there’s certainly nothing wrong with my face. I guess it’s any face which tells them what's the matter.” This conclusion must have been the ses- ame which freed Simon's big idea and kept | him rushing day and night for the next eighty-three hours. At the end of that time he sat, dazed yet hopeful, in his own tiny box of an office, and read with heart- | stirring thrill his own small advertisement in the morning news print: Woutp You Like to Buy THe TrutH? Do you wonder why the clothes you buy ' never look so well as you hoped? Do people often seem to try to look interested when you are telling really big ideas, as though they thought your intelligence on a par with your | appearance, which you realize somehow isn’t

just right? Do you wonder why people can't remember your name? Appointments by tele- hone only. Baxter 7390. Room 819 Brindell Bldg. Smmon Hott. NOTHING TO SELL BuT THE TRUTH. Simon gazed wistfully out of the single window and repeated t the comforting sen- tence jerked up from the memory of his not-so-far distant copy-book days “T have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experi- ence, I know no way of judging of the (Continued from Page 21) ieee but by the past. Patrick Henry, - iy = cone the roe man, “I A one m right use mu the same; and if I ee odie PM seen and felt something was the matter with my looks, I’ ‘ey five dollars to - what it wi was.” he newly rented a. which at best had been a wee affair, had been eas by Simon into three compartments. hall door entered into a ten-by-six eae ae room, and from that space two doors one into a little six-by-six cubby, which the only window, and the other into a small dark cupboard. Yet this dark cupboard was the basis of Simon Holt’s a. 2 which he had bled the major fee of his savings-bank account and ith in his own judgment, for in the parti- tion between the cupboard and the small | room with the window was a three-inch opening through which the person in the cupboard might survey whoever was in the other small room, and yet not be seen. And in the waiting room sat his assistant, a young woman whose wholesome lack of prettiness assured the complete respecta- pility of the place. At quarter to ten the hall-door handle carnal and Simon slid into his dark ob- servation room, He heard a heavy voice growling, ‘“*What’s this all about? What’s it about? Cheerful Annie, the assistant, vindicated her sensible appearance. “Good morning, sir. Mr. Holt isn’t en- gaged at the moment, so I’m sure he’ll see you, tive dal you didn’t telephone. The fee is five dollars, sir.’ The caller spoke with such earnestness that Simon felt sure he sensed a tremor of the entire building. “Five dollars! From me! Dick Bren- nan! Listen, girl I never laugh before noon. Where’s this guy Holt?’ Simon spoke quickly. “Never mind about the charge, Annie. I'll see him for practice.” Mr. Brennan, head sideways like a parrot hearing a fresh and appealing word, looked at Annie, who urged him into the light room and closed the door. “Oh,” said Simon, observing through the peephole. “ You’rea detective, aren’t you?” “Huh?” Mr. Brennan glared at the loophole in the wall. “‘How’d you know that?” “* Detectives are always made up like you in the movies—I mean, the comedies.” “Say ——”’ began the plain-clothes man. “Wait a minute,” begged Simon. “I'll tell you just what’s the matter with you. In the first place, you shouldn’t roach your hair like that. You've really got a distin- guished face, but that barkeeper curl on your forehead kills it. Part your hair in the middle and brush it straight back.” Mr. Brennan, dumb and strong, peered into the full-length mirror on the wall. “And then your trousers are too small at the bottom and big at the top. Your coat’s fitted at the waist and your pockets are cut in at an angle. Big men never have any phony stunts like that in their clothes, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be a big man if you give ourself a chance.” The stricken bloodhound of the law put a supporting hand ey the wall and breathed heavily. on proceeded with his missionary uties “And look at your shoes! Is there any reason why your big toe should have a dome like an observatory built over it? ‘mirror. March 7,1925 Get some plain black shoes which are a little narrower at the toe than at the ball oot.” * Say, ” sighed Mr. Brennan huskily, yet alive en to look in at the mirror, “= —— Ihada <p me face?”’ - have,” Simon. “The lace dre of a , sot there’s no rea- you Saoidw't be one, if you didn’t othes’ that make you look like a inte strip. Don’t get mad at me because I’m telling you the truth.” “Oh,” said the detective. ‘“‘Mad? Sure! Yes! Say, ‘you haven’t got a brush and comb, have you?” Simon raised his voice. “Annie, please “re this gentleman the men’s brush and com Receiving the aol Mr. Brennan stood before the glass and st led to cor- rect the roached curl, which been ten- derly nursed during twen tio “ Say,’ "said he at last, “I don’t know but what you're right.” “R ht?” mol Simon. “Of course I am. You've got a distinguished head this way.” “Yeh?” questioned Mr. Brennan, un- able to tear is pleased attention from the “ Darned if I haven't!” With a final admiring glance at himself, the detective left the office. Within half a minute he was back again, and hurried into the interview room. “Say, I’m sorry. I was in such a rush to get to “the tailor that I forgot to pay the irl. And I had another idea where you can elp me too.”” Mr. Brennan shut the door quietly and whispered into the observation hole. “‘Look here, my wife weighs one hun- dred and eighty, and she’s just bobbed her hair. Hell ain’t nothing to what she looks! If I get her in here, and you can persuade her into letting it grow, I’ll give you any- thing I’ve got—anything. Gosh, I’d even give you twenty-five dollars! Will you?” There was stern repreof in Simon’s an- swer. “Why, certainly I will if I really think it will improve her appearance. But I want ou to understand that I can’t be bribed. sell only the truth.” “Gosh!”’ chuckled Mr. Brennan, “and they sent me up from headquarters to find what was crooked about this la out!” He os aused again at the door. onest, Mr. olt, if my wife’ll take the truth from you, as she won’t from me, you've got a friend in Dick Brennan what is a friend.” By five o’clock that evening Simon Holt, consultant on the truth, had received twelve calls and his assistant had booked eighteen interviews for the following day and a scattered few at goon dates. And as the days passed, rience gave him a keener accura ty observation, which re- sulted in a truly which th ability to pick out the points in which the a spenetance of people might be But more or less blindly, he had stumbled across and turned to profit the very human laws that people heed that which they pay. to hear, and that the virtue of the confessional lies much in its complete impersonality. By combining these two phenomena Simon had found a means to ease the inclination to help people which had constantly itched him. And in the expression of that inclination he be- came astonishingly adept. He had discov- ered the wisdom of first mentioning the fair ints of his clients, and then suggesting improvements in details which would let (Continued on Page 202)

PHOTO. OY 8. GROWN

Se eer ow tar,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Paes e a i) ¢ sssegene a es ; Bes 7 aaa A PLEASANT THOUGHT FOR THE MODERN HOUSEWIFE N the kitchen and at the table, isn’t it a pleasant thought to know that MAZOLA is a pure whole- some oil, pressed from the hearts of ripe golden corn? MAZOLA is not a grease, but a palatable, easily digested fat. MAZOLA fried foods are easy to digest and always free from grease. Realizing the health and food value of MAZOLA, many mothers regularly give a spoonful or two to their growing children. Once you use MAZOLA you will never go back to the old-fashioned greasy methods of frying. ree: e The NEW Corn Products Cook Book is now ready. We will gladly send you your copy. Please write to the Corn Products Refining Company, Department 11, Argo, Ill.

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Free empk joyment service. & Guaranty. Don't start any Susiness course vane anal Oa our free scholarship plan. Send for book today. TIONAL BUSINESS INSTITUTE, Dept. 117, 3902 Sheridan Ré., Chicage PATENTS. Write for free Guide Books and “RECORD OF INVENTION BLANK” vention for Rxoméination ond Instructions FREE. Send model or sketch of your in- Victor J. Evans & Co., 727 Ninth, Washington, D. C. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 200) them become the totally acceptable people they could be. The great majority of his callers were women, some obvi of rank and for- tune; and Pong mie a few of them flared up hotly at his frankness, the bulk left his office with a more hopeful assurance in the tilt of their heads. Now there was scarcely a woman client of her general and figure which senor did not speed teers the perfection of Letitia mae, and in this com was quite open “But, Hoo oll ” he would suggest, “you don’t understand what I mean about not wearin, so far down on your fore- head t at ‘tt vot oy like the Death’s Head Hussars on parade. Take -~ . picture of Miss House in Peacock And Simon would pass the rend ‘through the hole in the wall. ‘You see, Letitia House wears a toque; but it sets further back on her head, and there’s a flicker of | hair shown between her face and the brim. | women went out into the worl That's what I mean.” Letitia House! Letitia House! At least ten times a day he spoke in praise of her flawlessness. And in time many scores of cognizant | of Letitia House’s F nape and carrying a very natural grudge toward this paragon among women. One day when Simon Holt had finished his comparative discourse on Letitia House his client replied, “‘ Yes, I know her.”’ “Oh,” said Simon in awe and envy. “She’s a remarkably nice girl, and has a real brain; but she dresses so wonderfully that people can’t believe she’s a. but a beautiful clotheshorse, It’s too bad!” “Oh!” was all Simon could add to such profanation of his temple of worship. Now in time it came to the ears of Miss Letitia House that a curtained expert on beauty and style held her up to the female half of the world as the epitome of what a | woman's appearance should be. Although | much lovelier than the average, Miss House had the universal attitude of her sex toward appreciation of herself. She, too, loved it. After many emphatic statements that she would never, never, visit the studio of such as Simon Holt, she straightway | clapped on her fetchingest hat and hailed a taxi to hurry her visit. Luckily she arrived at the office at the end of the last interview before the lunch hour, and cheerful Annie ushed her into the observation room be- ore Simon had left his ee Simon looked through the phole and trembled. Words, which had become the facile tools of his business, walked out on him and left him flat. There was complete silence for a long moment, while Letitia gazed at the opening in the wall. : og I so very hopeless then?” she asked een” said Simon hurriedly. ‘No, re all right, except there’s sort of a Hittle sad, wistful twirk at the corners of our mouth that kee aoe, you from looking paPhy, and you shouldn't ever be anything ut happy. Letitia House looked slowly back from the mirror as Simon went on. “ Girls like you aren’t made very often— all sunlight and gold, and wild flowers and white teeth, and | everything. You never — to be sad imon ee daca recalled how unprofes- sional he was being, and stopped—to the not altogether concealed disappointment of Miss House. She spoke earnestly: “ . a me, do you think my heels are too imon shivered at the memory of his former barefaced audacity and gave thanks for his sheltering screen. “No, of course not, RS re perfect. What put that into your head Letitia sighed heavily and Seek “Oh, I don’t know; but a man once told me they were, so I had them all lowered. He was the only man who ever dared tell | ite eaeeiad d proclaim his mon oO get up an m merit, but his New Thalend caution urged | him nee question pecproenlbl matter. t aren't you e = “No,” said Letitia wistfully. “I can’t be, for the only me men who ever me to marry are regular tailors’ dummies.” “Oh!” gasped Simon “But this man I spoke of was wonderful. He wore a plain white collar. I sort of think I could love any man who doesn’t wear colored collars and funny pants.” Simon Holt reached out his hand and fastened the lock to his dark cupboard. He EVENING POST was determined that by no chance should this girl ever see ie glee of his newly pur- chased wardrobe poke ey: “Say, listen! I'll tell you w t’s the matter with you—why you've got that un- happy look to your mouth. You're so fect that you scare people away. think you're fe yp a beautiful aathes: horse with nothi your head, and I'll bet you know a lot. oe Letitia looked up quickly. “That’s it. I do know a lot. But no one with brains enough to know whether I do ron ever comes near me. But honestly 0. . “T’ll bet you do,” agreed Simon. “What are the first five books of the Old Testa- ment?” Letitia House beamed as she poured out her answer in a flood of names. “Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, First Samuel ——”’ “Whoa!” laughed Simon. “Can't stop when you get going, can you? That’s the way with me too.” he girl gazed earnest] which screened Simon, an most bewitching smile. “You sound very nice. Won’t you come out and let me see you?” This shared memory of a Sunday-school accomplishment was better than a year of haphazard acquaintance to her. imon Holt, mercifully hidden, examined the cuffs of his trousers, fingered the soft- ness of his Nil n silk handkerchief and blushed at the thought of his lavender shirt and collar, which up to this hour had been the goal of his life, but which now made a prisoner of him. “T will not come out,” he said huskily. “All right. I’m sorry. But thank you very much.” And Miss House stood up to take her leave. “Wait a minute,” said Simon hurriedly. “I’m not through helping you. When— when's your next dance?” “Well, I can’t see what that has to do with it; but as a matter of fact, I’m dancing toni ht at the Balloon Room.” ood! Now you do what I say. You wear a dress a couple of years behind the styles and fluff up F ay Bae ~y and I'll bet at least one man, the kind of a man you like, whose clothes don’t fit, and who'll love you for what 7 know, will propose to you fore eleven o’clock.”” Simon paused and then added emphatically, ‘‘ Believe me, this is my business, and I know human nature. The kind of a man you like may admire your poser’ but it scares him away.’ “‘Humph!” said the girl, turning from the doorway. ‘‘ Youevidently know women, but I wonder if you know men.” Letitia House was wise in her time, and understood that any girl who admits to a man his complete understanding of her sex may rest assured that that man will follow her up to the bitter death to exhibit his masterly comprehension of her. When the outer door had clicked, Simon eased his head out of the cupboard. “Annie,” said he to the cheerful assist- ant, “‘you’ll have to call off all my appoint- ments this afternoon. I’m going out to buy some ready-made dinner clothes that don’t fit, and the kind of a collar that no one but hicks and men who have a future at the wall flashed it her instead of a past wear.” At 10:46 that eveni finen Holt pushed into the milling crowd before the door to the Balloon eBay where the fashion of the city danced that spring. Unh: amaes by having to draw a woman along with him he reached the front rank and was stained by a man flashing a police badge at him. “The iv is pinched,” he exclaimed; “they didn’t have any sense about serving their liquor.” “But I want to get to my girl,” Simon looking around the room frantically. “all right; come down to the station and > her out. They’re - going down there. proent sppesite wall 8 Le nst the pom dam wa. mon saw titia standi and white, and al- most shabby in the flutter of ultra-gowned customers of the place. All of a sudden she appeared to him as no longer cold and icily ect, but little and sweet, and so unbelievably lovable. As he realized how much he wanted to protect her he found himself — to call her name in this raised her head hopefully and saw Simon being crowded by the detective, who also was beckoning the sergeant. March 7,1925 ‘Come here, sergeant. I’ve got a bug whose full of de and’ll be good evidence. He’s snnomene the batteries for the Eye- talian Black Shirts.” Simon gave a whoop of aes as he saw the sergeant bustling up. He leaned over and whispered in the officer’s ear, and the man suddenly jumped back and stared at him. a Who? You?” he cried. “Are you the fellow who told me about my hair and ts? God bless me, step out of that fine!” And Mr. Brennan gra bed his hand. “T want to get my girl,”” whispered Simon. “Yeh,” answered Mr. Brennan without interest. “But sa , what do you think of me? Pretty smoot ’ what? Distinguished, what?” exclaimed the sergeant enthusias- tically. ‘‘What do you know, there’s some talk about making six special captains, and I think I’m in line. Special men, you know. Distinguished fellows for smooth work.” And he clapped Simon’s shoulder with soul- jarring eagerness. “Fine!” said Simon, leading the officer across the floor toward Letitia. The 8 looked up at Simon Holt with genuine on in her face, and started an ‘ rT ian’ ’t know you were Simon Holt, ag on’t you want Simon Holt to be me?” Letitia gave him no answer, but looked fearfully at the sergeant as Simon went on huskily, “Are you alone?” “T guess so,” she exclaimed. “I was dancing with the best-dressed man in New York, but he’s disappeared.” “ Foxhall Fritz, wasn’t he?’’ sneered Mr. Brennan. Letitia admitted the charge. “Good!” said Simon. ‘‘That’s fine! He’s gone. jt 's one minute of eleven. Hasn't an. a posed to you yet?” Fp pe gave no answer. “le Sean't matter, because you're going to get one now.’ uddenly she came very much to life. PE no, not here—before all these peo- ple Mr. Brennan reached out his hand. “Say, lady, stop bluffing. I can read you like a Be honest with the boy. I don’t pretend to know what goes on, if anything, under the hair of t swell- dressed dumb doras, but re just a regu- lar girl who’s worried tied Leena her dress maybe’s bunching up in the back or her petti’s slipping. ou’re no different from my wife.’ Letitia turned on him pleadingly. “But do I have to be proposed to here, with all these people looking on?” Mr. Brennan accented his firmness with a scowl as he spoke from the corner of his mouth: = oe here or in the patrol wagon. It’s up to you.” “Well,” sighed Letitia House, looking wistfully up at Simon, ‘ ‘I never did like to ride in a patrol wagon.” Sergeant Brennan turned on Simon and spoke with the voice of a man to whom great ts are everyday accomplish- ments: “She's yours! Wait!"’ He held up his hand. ‘Wait a minute! Don’t clinch!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out ° a roll of bills and pushed it into Simon’s hand with a whisper. ‘You take it and buy her a og dress. I’m a gen- erous guy, I am. Your little girl’s escort, that fellow, Foxy Fritz, slip it to me to let him beat it without getting pinch Mr. Brennan looked annoyed at the lack of attention from Simon. ‘Wait, can’t you? Ladies don’t like to be kissed in front - so many people unless they’re dressed or it.” He placed a hand on both Simon and Letitia’s arms and gave his commands. “T’ll send the pac down to the wagons, waiters and all. And when the place is po I'll blow my whistle three times, Then, d’ye un d, clinch. Simon, look ng tn solemn awe at the before him, could not even s; ‘At het his heart stopped that akin rest, “Listen, Letitia, that skirt of yours is a sight. Now if —— “What's the matter with you?” snorted Mr. Brennan. “Are you sim nded or something? Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” Letitia moved nearer to Simon and seemed almost to purr sweetly as her my oma _ e fearfully lacuinees fashion of his dress “It’s all kt, Mr. Policeman,” she said — “We don’t both have to under- stand.”

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SATURDAY 2-Ton “Caterpillar” with 7-ft. grader on a sandy road re Keeping all roads good Throughout the country, progressive coun- ties, townships and state highway depart- ments are organizing ‘Caterpillar’ patrol systems for maintaining definite units of dirt and gravel roads; to keep all roads good— not just the main highways. Wide-awake officials see the basic economy of increasing the mileage of usable secondary roads; to make neighboring communities more accessible; to establish through routes for heavy traffic; keeping the roads in first- class condition—in dry weather, and in spite of rains and heavy snows. The ‘Caterpillar’ by its strength and endur- ance has been the principal means of making such programs workable. Small communities find one or two ‘Caterpillars’ effective ; larger programs utilize great fleets. EVENING POST There's a size of “Caterpillar” for every need, suitable for any program. The 2-Ton is ideal for patrol duty, and handling lighter main- tenance equipment. The New 5-Ton, with its proved outstanding abilities, is in a class by itself for all medium power demands. The great 10-Ton is supreme for heavy duty. Each size is designed and built to deliver the most miles of useful uninterrupted work, at the lowest possible cost; to make a road budget go as far as possible. Our new series of moving pictures show “The Nation’s Road Maker’’ at work in all phases of road building and maintenance. You'll find them interesting and instructive. These films are at the disposal of Associations of Commerce, Automobile Clubs, Farmers’ Granges, and all organizations for civic bet- terment. Write us today for catalogue. THE HOLT MANUFACTURING CO., Inc. Peoria, Illinois Stockton, California Export Division: 250 W. 54th St., New York 10-Ton “Caterpillar’’ making heavy ditch cut with 12-ft. grader New 5-Ton “Caterpillar’' on State Highway Dept. maintenance For orchard, vineyard and farm use; on engineering proj- ects and public works; in the oil, mining and lumber indus- tries—wherever there is need for the utmost in tractive power and endurance, the “‘Caterpillar” has no real competitor. There is but one “Caterpillar.” Holt builds it. E REG.U.5S. pL — © Drawings trom photographs

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Without these Vital Spots pre ts would be useless What makes it possible for you to enjoy modern plumbing fixtures P What holds back that mighty torrent of water that is constantly capable of del- uging your home P What controls, regulates, and reduces this tremendous force to a gentle stream of health, happiness and convenience P Whatare the vital spots in modern plumbing ? The faucets—these are the devices that stem the torrent. The faucets—these are the inven- tions that enable you to enjoy a modern bath tub, lavatory, sink and other sanitary fixtures. The faucets—these are the vital spots in every plumbing system, Yet.is any item of plumbing equipment selected and bought with so little care as these al!-important fittings P If people only understood the strains that ev- ery faucet must endure, there would be fewer knocking, pounding, thumping faucets. There would be fewer dripping, leaking faucets. Fewer spurting, splashing faucets. Fewer interruptions THE SATURDAY EVENING POST in service and fewer repair bills—if people knew more about these vital spots. It is easy to choose faucets without a fault— beautiful faucets that supply a full, quiet, splash- less stream—faucets that will continue to func- tion perfectly year after year. Simply instruct your plumber to install Mueller Brass Products at every vital spot in your plumbing. If he doesn’t carry Mueller Products in stock he can get them easily and quickly through a near-by Mueller Jobber. For 68 years Mueller Products have been fa- rnous for their dependability and their durability. Today they are safeguarding the vital spots in countless thousands of homes and public build- ings throughout America. This is the reason leading jobbers and merchant plumbers, every- where, recommend Mueller Products. Look well to the vital spots in your plumbing! MUELLER CO. Factories: Decatur, Illinois; Port Huron, Michigan; Sarnia, Ontario Branches: NEW YORK, SAN FRANCISCO, LOS ANGELES Established 1857 MUELLER FAUCETS faucets without a fault March 7, 1925

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colleges as mine. If more than 60 per cent were products of such institutions I wanted the privilege of asking for ten thousand dol- lars; if less than 60 per cent I would pl him never again to invade his office. He sent a second message: My challengin statement was very interesting, but even i I were correct he still couldn’t see me. So when the typewriter man did not al- low my sentence to reach a conclusion in his presence I was angry. Again I found paper and pen—in a near-by hotel—and again I wrote: “Dear Mr. A: For the first time in fort: years of its history College tried to you through me to consider its work, but failed even to make the inquiry, the request being interrupted curtly by you. It meant no profit to me. “For eight years your agents have come several times a year to sell our college t, ype writers. No one was ever kept behin fence, interviewed in the hall, or kept stand- ing. The a § came to make profit for them- selves and for you. “Isn’t it possible that you—and this is where you interrupted the sentence this morning—isn’t it possible that you will sometime be able to give me ten or fifteen minutes? I desire to tell you about a college started, not by me, but by men of your church in a district reached by your busi- ness if not yet by your philanthropy. “Very truly yours.” The note was answered most courteously and at once. My pardon was implored. An 4 lanation of a trying morning and a full ce followed. Would I please call by tele- phen toarrangeaninterview? Be assured, reader, that the telephone call was put through and the interview arranged. There was no waiting. There was no standing. Arriving in the office I was graciously received, faced by a gentleman who desired first of all to know all about me—and who is not flattered thus?—faced also by a desk swept clean of work. I was not allowed to go before forty minutes had elapsed, and I fe ft the office in a mood to encounter any tough customer of a pluto- erat. I felt the dignity of my work, the high calling of my craft. I was an agent of the Aes. And how I needed such encouragement! For six days I had failed to find men and women in or had been rebuffed or . poned. He was the first human being I had interviewed for six days! So far we have been remembering New York—New York before the income tax be- came so heavy as to make the lot of the Western college president almost impossi- ble. Twenty years ago every Western col- lege president had a list of live prospects among New York business men, a score or more of men whose philanthropy went with their investments in a new land. Presidential Strategy Not all are so frank as the one who now says: “Go to Washington. Get your con- gressman interested in your college as much as I am. You can’t take away 63 per cent of my income and ask me to give away sev- eral hundred thousand a year out of the re- maining 37 per cent. What Fe used to get goes to Washington, and will go there until someone changes the tax laws.” He and others of his day are gone. When he was alive I used to meet as many as eight college presidents of my own religious faith in New York in one week. One of them lived in New York and gave his col- lege absent treatment, being in New York most of the time for two whole years, the college knowing him only in September and June. Another president, more successful and perhaps smarter, believed it unwise to seem to camp in New York. When asked how long he would be in town he fy named that evening or the next day for t time of his departure. Sometimes I saw him there a week later; he had been out of town, he said. If he was to be encountered only a day or two after his set time for de- parture, he had been delayed. I never knew him to admit that he meant to stay in the metropolis as much as three days. He thought that such a statement hurried his moneyed friends into decisions. He had another habit: He would never sit down as he talked to a giver, even if wu ever so cordially. He hada pon sort eeling that THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SCHOLARLY BEGGARS (Continued from Page 17) the sitting one is at a psychological disad- vantage, that the standing man can better impress—and even oppress—a sitting man. Then, too, he reasoned, sitting indicates an intention to remain, while standing indi- cates a desire, however real, to save the time of the man interviewed. I called on a very wealthy banker. The an that sought funds was within fifty miles of one of his large Western invest- ments, and was the missionary effort in education of the church of which he was a pillar. The banker was in appearance a Gorgon, in nationality and tendency Scotch, and of speech sn oe trance to his office was encouraging gly eas I tried to have him listen to a rapi pr ment and to talk enough for acquaintance to develop. I knew his Western associates; I knew the romance of his property's de- velopment. But no word of mine elicited a response more expressive than a monosylla- ble, and the vocal utterance was a grunt oftener than a word. His telephone rang within five minutes. Somehow I suspected that a movement of his hand had something to do with that bell. Into the 1 ee he spoke with parsimony of words, “‘ Yes, yes, for the ag pre about through—oh, two minutes.” I determined not to do the obvious thing. I did not rise. I did not betray nervousness. I sat; talked—more than the two minutes. His hand strayed along the desk end; his bell rang again. I excused myself and went away wondering how devious would be the ways of finance in a bank where the presi- dent had no honest, straightforward way of terminating an interview. He said he'd think about it and said good _ I didn’t believe he meant ever to think about it. Why didn’t he say an honest negative? Typical Experiences I learned afterward from one of his busi- ness associates that he did himself control one bell that helped him rid himself of callers. Where was the strength of this strong man who had to operate a lying tele- phone? Could he not employ his banker’s first gesture—that of moving the head from right to left and from left to right? From the metropolis one week to the sagebrush among sheepherders two weeks later is a considerable journey, and means a change from tiled restaurants to the in- evitable ham and bacon of stage stations far removed, from taxicabs to Concord stage coaches. It was fifteen years ago, be- fore the last Concord coaches had given ~~ to automobile a, t the end of the railroad, a day’s ride by rail over, the college president chose to ride up in front with the driver, feet extended to the foot rest, behind and below which were piled numerous mail sacks. Nine passen- pers were inside, all homesteaders about to ocate on new dry farms of three hundred and twenty acres each. Sam Smith was the terminus of the jour- ney planned. It may seem to the reader that I should have written Sam Smith’s, _ Sam had three houses and as many as a i where he might be. His horses rome over six counties; his sheep were counted by thousands; his acres were as many as his sheep, and were shrewdly chosen to lie along streams so that water wonld be controlled over a great area. . It was dark on a night early in May. Altitudes were such that the president’s overcoat was welcome. Over Bear Moun- tain—nine miles—the stage ran through several inches of snow. Ice was to be o served in the water barrel at the corner of the stage house where we ate at midnight. Four times we exchanged our four horses for a new team. We arrived at the terminus, an inland town, at seven o’clock in the morning. The hotel was cold, due to broken steam pipes. The every-other-day stage left to- morrow morning at five o’clock, I could sleep under the comfort in the stuffy bed- room or enjoy the heat of the red-hot stove in the barroom. At dinner an engineer from an irrigation project miles away an- swered my surprised remark that he had come a long way to eat dinner with the re- mark that “there aren’t any distances in this country under forty miles.” Up at four, I forced myself to eat impos- sible rolls and drink improbable coffee in time to be off on an qo two-horse stage, a clergyman, a horse buyer and a reaping machine taking all the rest of the room not occupied by the driver. Eighty-five miles we rode that day, vagy oy | the clergy- man, for a sheepherder, just ie . a year’s sojourn in a coast met: ter ee miles a homesteader’s cabin or a farm was an event. Four changes, one at noon, gave us fresh horses. e second meal came after arrival at the station at 9:30. We were off again at 4:30 next morning, and I was off the at the forks amen y trail éalled a at 7:30, the rse buyer being com “During tt the oe yond had inquired cqueesning Sem LE nes was his place? H pace was anywhere from twenty — + ate L. oy pret and fifty miles. He t al camp at _ of a ranch houses: "not rea was a fool—he lived in the though he was worth half a million doll He had always been a fool—he had turned out into the brush stallions that had cost three thousand dollars, to run with the I learned later that he tested b touching it to his tongue to make sure tt had not lost its He was a bachelor; reports had come a dozen times that he was to marry, but he had passed fifty-five with- out a to ong w= driver was ful! of gossip about ‘.. Smith, He didn’t need to be ques- tioned. Smith was evidentl known to all, and absorbin - interest wherever known. The horse had no b but a six-shooter in oO olster — coat. He wore the boots with high narrow heels and the broad felt hat that belonged to his clan. He hoped he was to buy a thousand horses. Sam Smith knew that his firm was sending him this week or next. I had little baggage and wore the flannel shirt of the plains and a sturdy suit of clothes, my heavy shoes be- ing better for walking than my companion’s. e walked two miles to the first ranch house, where Sam might be but wasn’t. The next one was bn 4 miles away. His nephew thought he might be lambing at a sheep camp seven salle through the sage; he had left the house two hours before. So across the sage we phan et on foot, the buyer of horses fluent walking and high- a boots thevern y. At the sheep I learned that the Scotch herder did nal now where Sam ht be; he might be in any one of a dozen p or in Tophet. I learned what deterioration comes to a man’s vocabulary when he lives for four months at a time with fifteen hundred sheep. I learned that lambing means caring for lambs, hundreds of them being born within two weeks in such a fousky . And acting on advice of the miracul , profane herder we retraced our steps. pick out the best place to wait, and r i ph still till he gets ets there. He’s everywhere in a week. he best place’s the house you came from.” We retraced the seven miles, a total of over sixteen for the morning. Not Interested Sam Smith had had several letters sent him preparing him for my visit. But when he came that night he did not know that my college was on the earth or that such a person as I existed. rs in rough but good beds in an unpartitioned attic he slept with the horse buyer, an slept alone, pees og F m4 the brief Re <p for this her ou dings. He would sell no mares. ought to be nine hundred four-year- geldings and the price would be seventy Soke and the buyers drive thern away. The bargain closed, we all slept. Next m I walked out to the mail box with Sam Smith, a mile and a half or two miles to the road. He had, in the stretch of one hundred miles, six such boxes. He amongst an accumulation of — and printed matter in the box, tak- ne per - a third of it and leaving two- thirds. ig Oy gate peda fa deen it would keep. And I understood why my letters had never been read—the envelopes hadn’t interested him I could do little. He had no cash, he said, and he never gave out notes. But a

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266 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Wherever there is a Split Bearing LAMINUM lowers costs, reduces labor, cuts time in half. It is a significance fact that during 1924, millions of LAMINATED SHIMS were builc and used—saving countless hours of costly labor, If you build a product having a sp/it bearing include LAMINATED SHIMS. LAMINUM makes the prod- uct better, and assures satisfaction to the purchaser. If chere are split bearings in your plant, LAMINUM enables you to adjust : those bearings easily, reducing over- head and contributing much to the life of the bearings. LAMINUM is not only labor-saving material, but develops efficiency wherever and whenever it is used. WHAT LAMINUM IS LAMINUM is made oP of strips of shim brass 003 inch thick, joined by a metallic binder into a solid piece. Just PEEL off these strips with a pocket knife and the job is done. No filing; no fussing; no irritating delay and annoyance. SHIMS IN SMALL OR LARGE QUAN- TITIES MADE TO SPECIFICATIONS Inform us as t your requirements and we shall be glad co quote prices and supply complete information. CAR OWNERS— REPAIRMEN Save those engine bearings. LAMINUM keeps down expense and increases power and speed. LAMINUM | is used in a wide range } of industries: AXLES PUMPS LATHES MINES POWER BOATS COTTON MILLS WOOLEN MILLS POWER PLANTS RAILROADS MARINE REPAIR MILLING MACHINES ROAD MACHINERY AUTOMOBILE REPAIR SHAFT HANGERS PRINTING PRESSES CIGARETTE MACHINERY MARINE CONSTRUCTION AUTOMOBILE CONSTRUC: COMBUSTION } INTERNAL. AGRICULTURAL MENTS IMPLE- Use LAMINUM in | your own business, in | your own product, in | your own plant. Send for Sample Shim and PEEL OFF the layers yourself LAMINATED SHIM CO., Inc. 205 14th STREET LONG ISLAND CITY, N. Y. | the bottom of a sheet of pa few months later I had a check on a cit bank, written out in full on three inches o r torn from a pencil tablet. I had he that he used meat paper ordinarily for checks, and that more than once a check written on a smooth chip of wood had gene through satisfactorily to pay a bill or help a church. dix days after I left home I was at the college again, with no more money and with an expense account of nearly seventy- five dollars for railroad and e fare. There is more of Sam Smith. At one | time for three days I helped him hay along | a creek bottom, going from time to time to see that seventeen hundred sheep grazing | near by were not straying. I did the pro | can’t count seventeen ing in the open, the provender being from eans carrying the best brands. I slept under millions of stars on a tarpaulin spread over two feet of hay, hearing once or twice at night the bleating of seventeen hundred sheep startled by coyotes. I saw him each morning rise and look at the sheep on the hillsides and count, “‘“One— two — three — four — five — sixteen. Yes, they’re all there.” I could not hold ~~ curiosity. ‘You undred sheep, can you?” “No,” was his response; “I count the black ones. If I see all the black ones they’re all there. No considerable bunch ever moves away from the flock without a black one. You simply count the black ones.” What a ey for churchmen who ask why black sheep are in every large flock! In several years Sam Smith sent such checks that the aggregate grew to five fig- ures, and he made a will providing that half his peeperty should go to education. He is still alive, and so far as I know still in the sagebrush, where he had been nearly thirty years when I knew him—a wonderful man with a big brain and a great heart. I remember the philanthropist who or- dered me out of his office. He had an ear trumpet on the end of a tube. One hand held the trumpet end out to the speaker; the other hand kept the tube in his ear. When he s' —_ he kept the tube away from his ear. When I spoke he put the tube into his ear—if he wanted to. A Trying Interview At his office one afternoon he said he was | too busy to talk to me, and he kept his trumpet and tube in his own hand away from his ear. I maneuvered to ask to see him that night. But it was prayer-meeting night. I said I would be going to prayer meeting, and, to his surprise, I would be at his church. He reluctantl agreed that we would walk to his room after prayer meet- ing, our visit later to be brief, because he always went early to bed. And so it worked out. I stayed with him in his cramped room till midnight, py 4 that he would keep the tube in his ear long enough for me to tell him what I wanted, and why. But he preferred to show me pictures of mission stations all over the world; Y. M. C. A. buildings in several states; hospitals; a library or two; in all of them he had haved money. When I left he seemed to agree that I come to his office in the morning. The next morning he was at his desk, and I began to pour into his tube what he had not listened to the night before. He gave me a pamphlet such as would go into an envelope. It had es of Christmas scrip- ture, pages of statistics on temperance. arguments against a and cigarettes. He waved to a group of girls addressing these to thousands of missionaries, ministers, and workers in Christian causes the world over. Every Christian worker in the world whose name was to be secured was to receive a pamphlet. It was costing several thousand — ayear. He put me on his Christmas ist. Whether it was the thought of the cost I never knew, but of a sudden he lost him- self in anger. “You're not a Christian!" he shouted. “Here I’m trying to get these greetings to these poor missionaries, and you're kee — ng me from it. They'll be disappointed if I f them. These people represent God's work all over the world, and you think your col- oe is bigger than them all. Get out of my His trumpet was thrown on the desk. I picked up one end to pour question and per- haps apology into it, but he tore it out of March 7,1925 my hand. His face was crimson and con- vulsed with rage. He was on his feet with his fist clenched. J. turned to go as he had commanded, but hesitated at a near-by desk to say to his secretary. “I do not know what I’ve done or how I’ve offended. When you can, please apologize and say I'll never bother him again. Frantic, he started toward me and yelled at his secretary, ‘Don’t talk to him! He's not a Christian! I told him to go!” I went. To this day I do not know what wo * deeds of — stirred his poo smiling face into the paroxysms In a city not far from New York ‘lived a woman of great wealth an gem interest in colleges in what she called home-mission territory. She had never been reached by personal calls, but had sent money in re- sponse to letters. She had a son whose unfortunate life had made him nationally known. He was in prison at the time. An Unwelcome Tip A strange thought occurred to a friend of this good woman’s childhood days. He cir- culated a petition among the citizens of his own town—the town where our college was situated—asking the far-off judge who had sentenced the son, to reconsider. It was so harmless a petition and the cizculator of it was so dear an old man that everyone signed it. It could have no effect. But the local daily paper, to please the old man, had a considerable item about it, and quoted the instigator of the petition in praise of the family and defense of the son. It was near the Christmas season, and I clipped the foolish harmless item and sent it on college stationery with the words: “I thought Mrs. S might have a bit of comfort from this.” A few days later came a letter signed by a secretary: “Mrs. 8S thanks you for your recent note with enclosure. Enclosed ulenae find ten dollars for you and your work.” Did ever another college president receive so nauseous a tip? I made up my mind that Mrs. 8S, who had always sent generous checks in answer to ap , had never seen the note. Surely she had not thought so to y for an act meant to show a little human indness. I have threatened to write a book—a book about secretaries. The dedication and the first chapter will concern a secre- tary, now justly promoted, whose chief lives in Chicago. In the old days I saw him a score of times. Perhaps I was not adroit, perhaps it is a confession of failure: I never saw his principal, except as I met him once or twice at conventions. The secretary al- ways persuaded me that the time of year was wrong, that conditions were unfortu- nate, due to unusual demands made on his chief's limited income and his time, that if I pressed the matter by a personal inter- view today I could only meet with a cour- teous but firm refusal, and my written requests on file would be taken out of the file of things to be considered, and placed in the file of appeals refused—and as it now was, my appeal had been kept by the secre- tary near the top of the file nd I believed in his sincerity, and do still. I believe that this man regarded him- self as a sort of advocate of causes. But better than that, it was an office where, from the colored man on the door up to my friend the secretary, I was always treated with the utmost courtesy and respect. My cause was acknowledged to be deserving, A. appeal had merit, I was known in the to be worthy of admiration and was held in highest regard. What an ambassa- dor the man would have made; he could easily have risen to the top in the nation’s diplomatic service. One of the lars in New York years was the president of a sagebrush college which owed its beginning and all its life to the devotion and sacrifice of this wonderful man. He used to have a room at an old hotel which is gone am, — it used to be a favorite for economical — — whose colleges were in the ng could be secured at a dollar a = —— were a la carte and were too expensive for this Westerner, in whose philosophy, be- cause digestion was only a matter of re- arrangement of molecules, a little dirt didn’t matter. He breakfasted at Bowery John’s, near Union Square, where one had all he could eat for a quarter. He ate a second meal late in the afternoon, never paying more than sixty cents for it. He became great friends with the presi- dent of a great insurance company, who (Continued on Page 209)

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we The skill of three generations —and the world’s biggest saws 1G logs. were coming down from the West Coast forests! Logs from which the great saw mills might make fine and useful lumber. But calling for saws bigger than any that had ever been made. Saws so big that to make them would be the hardest test yet re- quired of the saw-maker’s art. The Weyerhaeuser Lumber Mills turned to Disston: And Disston made their big saws for them; 9 feet and 2 inches across--almost half a ton of Disaton Saw Steel in each—the largest saws in the world! The Hand Saw which every man uses is an even greater Disston achievement than these giant mill saws. For the art of saw-making is perfected in the Disston Hand Saw —“The Saw Most Carpenters Use.” From it carne the skill that appears in the later perfection of THE the circular saw, the band saw, and the saws that cut metal of every kind. There were no standards for saws in 1840, when Henry Disston began to make them. Saw Steel from the best makers was never twice alike. And the best of workmanship can not make a good saw from poor steel. So Disston mastered the methods of steelmaking. At last he found ways to roll, harden, and temper saw-steel so that it will always have life and spring and hold its cutting edge. Saw-makers he had trained took this Disston steel and made such saws as never were made before. But the biggest thing Henry Disston left to those who came after him was the task of build- ing worthily on the foundation he laid. Judge what the later gen- erations have done by this: SATURDAY EVENING POST ee, March 7,1925 Facts about Disston 110-inch Saws Made in 1924 for Weyerhaeuser Timber Company, Everett, Wash. From Disston Steel ingot weighing 1310 pounds. Weight of each finished saw, 675 pounds. Rim travels at-speed of about 10,000 feet per minute--more than 113 miles an hour. Equipped with 190 Disston Spiral Inserted Teeth, famous for fast cutting, invented and perfected in the Disston Saw Works. ¢ Disston’s little cellar workshop has grown into the biggest saw plant in the world; 68 buildings housing 3600 busy workmen— Carpenters and mechanics, as well as men who use a saw only once in a while, have spread the fame of the Disston Hand Saw everywhere. Wherever men work with tools the Disston Saw is known and used. For expert or novice it cuts clean, true, and fast. It is truly the perfection of the sawmaker’s art—“The Saw Most Carpenters Use.” sais It is this same Disston Hand Saw, improved through the years, that your hardware man will show you today. You can try its balance right there at the counter. You can observeitsspring and life. You can read Henry Disston’s promise etched on the shining blade— “For Beauty, Finish, and Utility this Saw can not be excelled.” Later, when you saw with it, you will discover why it is the choice of the carpenter. For here is an edge that keeps its keen- ness, a blade that works with you. This is the saw that is through the cut first! So, when you choose your saw, do as the experts do, the men who make their living working with wood. Say—“I want a Disston Saw!” Ask Disston Tell us what kind of work you are wood, metal, stone, ivory, rubber, leather, cloth fibre or other material, and we.will tell you what types of saws to use to do your work better and easier. Disston issues many books to aid the user of saws and tools. HENRY DIssTON & SONS, INC. U.S.A.

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(Continued from Page 206) gave him some money and much encour- agement. One day the sagebrush president was choked with laughter. He had had an interview with his wealthy friend, and it kept him in bubbling good humor for days. To me he recounted the adventure: “Say, how would I look in one of these swell New York clubs? My old friend Peter wants to put me up in one. Up is right. He said, ‘Where are you staying?’ I told him. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t stay there. A man like Bow ought to take good care of himself. What kind of a room have you?’ I assured him it was all right. I didn’t tell him about the water pitchers, or the musty smell, or how far I am from a bathroom. He interrupted me. ‘How are the beds? Got a g bed? You have? Well, then that’s not so bad. That’s the important thing. But you don’t eat there, do you?’ ‘No, sir. I—I eat elsewhere.’ ‘Well,’ Peter said, much relieved, ‘maybe you'll do all right, but do pick your eating place. Don’t eat at your hotel.’ So I’m all right so long as I keep on at Bowery John’s, but boy! don’t ask me to eat at my hotel! My friend Peter would cut me off the list.” Legends have grown about these seekers of funds. There is the legend of the man who used to be taken sick on per to the Far East after funds. Wealthy friends were usually apprised of his coming to their city, but on several occasions, perhaps never twice in the same metropolis, word came to them from the college that the president was dangerously ill at a certain hotel and might need attention. The atten- tion was given. The physician in charge re- ported that his heart was in dangerous state and that he ought to be at home for months. All this was real, for the heroic president had remained for years at his task of travel- ing for aid for his college when he ought to have retired. The wealthy visitors were alarmed and more than interested, for they knew the value of this life to a great region. But the president would resolutely refuse to be sent home. He had the annual deficit to secure. And pad ge re would tell him that worry would kill him and that the deficit must be forgotten. To save his life, the friends would raise the deficit, and in a few days the president was on a west-bound train, much better, but needing rest. En- vious presidents whose hearts never helped them raise money have doubtless kept alive the story. Secret Sources There is one Western man still alive who could write a volume of his personal ex- periences in raising money. He was always solitary and secretive in his methods. Among the fraternity there is usually an interchange of statements of conditions: “‘T have one hundred and ten thousand on a two hundred and fifty thousand conditionai- offer fund’’; or “‘I’m on the last fifty thou- sand of a half million, and it’s to be done by January first.’’ No one ever heard an exact statement from L. He might casually re- mark that he got ten thousand yesterday, but no one received information enough to guess where. He confided in none of his presidential brethren, and few of his trus- tees knew all he might have told them about prospects, or even about funds actually raised. At times he kept college moneys in the bank in his own name, perhaps because he did not desire reports to indicate such pone that trustees and friends would eel less under obligation to give heavily. He was honest and sacrificing. When he began his work as a young man no one else would assume the presidency of his seem- ingly hopeless college. He employed his own small savings for his travel and hotel bills for the first three weeks. Many per- sons refused to see him; he had a few as- surances of help, but no cash gifts. it was a new cause to push; no one had ever gone East before him for his college. During the fourth week of his work he left his hotel without breakfast. He had no funds left and had not eaten the day before. He had wakened early and had stayed in his hotel room until business office hours. His cli- ent listened at length, such length that President L nearly fainted; then made out a check for one hundred dollars, saying that he would give regularly. L looked at the check. The figures finally sank into his brain. And as he was grasping a desk for support he heard a voice: “ Now, I like you, young man. I’d like to do some- thing for you. Can I help you in eny way whatever?” It is the giver himself who finishes the story: “I could have been THE SATURDAY He held to said; ‘buy wr : knocked over with a feather. the side of the desk. ‘Yes,’ he me a cup of coffee. I’m hungry This president had the personal confi- dence and intimate friendship of an unusual number of wealthy men and women. Fric- tion, however, and jealousies developed in the college; the fact that his own bank ac- count sometimes held amounts given to the college was discovered. One deposit, in his name, of twenty thousand was discovered. Only part of it had been used for the college. His enemies made a long railroad journey to discover from the giver the facts, and to secure in writing the statement that the en- tire sum was given for the institution. The giver listened to their statement and rose in wrath. “I gave that money to L to use for himself. He’s one of the greatest men I know. If any part of it has been used by the college the trustees must re- place it or I’ll make trouble.” The malcontents returned, and a new meeting of the board of trustees was called. The chief incident of the board meeting was the receipt of more than one hundred thou- sand dollars “to be invested, and the in- come paid annually to President L so lon as he lives.’’ The donor was the individua who had made the personal gift. Old Man Swartz L insists that the following story is a gross exaggeration. Perhaps it is, but it is so capital a tale, known to only a few, that I dare to recount it. At any rate L has never told just where the exaggeration lies and where lies the truth. Old man Swartz was a typical small- town man. He had much land and con- siderable ready cash. His wife was dead; he had no children. He was a loyal Bap- tist, a pillar of the church. He believed that God made known his will to men; fre- quently he was known to hope that he was “doing God's will’ in ordinary transac- tions. His gifts were large in proportion to others of his fellow churchmen, but small considering his wealth. His only vice was smoking, his purchases of tobacco bein small and his choice being mild cigars o domestic production. He had once or twice given small sums to L’s college. According to the president’s experience, old man Swartz was a good pen for a consider- able gift, and should make it while he lived. The difficulty was to persuade him to sur- render the money, to let it go out of his hands. His money was so much a part of him that he suffered when it departed from him as if from an amputation. He had al- ready expressed his intention to give a goodly sum, but had postponed action again and again Obviously strategy was required. And his one indulgence furnished the plan of campaign. L provided himself abundantly with cigars—two kinds of cigars: One sort black and authoritative, for old man Swartz; one kind as mild as ety ae a for the president himself. When evening came the two settled down to talk beside the fire in old man Swartz’s solitary home, the cigars were lighted, and the campaign was under way. Was Mr. Swartz still inclined to do some- thing for the college, something substan- tial? Good! God had prospered him, he had no family dependent on him, as an old man who worked hard he was entitled to the satisfaction that comes from the do- ing of righteous deeds. Was five thousand do -_ about what Mr. Swartz meant to give The general outline of how the money would be employed lasted well into the sec- ond cigar. Mr. Swartz had never been known to refuse to smoke a given cigar. But five thousand was a large sum of money. He ht give five hundred, or he might even, if he found next day that his bank account would stand it, give a thou- sand, but he couldn’t give five thousand. He believed God meant him to help this college, and he would. But the president was sure that God meant Swartz to give five thousand! The talk went on. The mild ci of the presi- dent were almost gone. Old man Swartz was puffing, a little slowly, on his fifth black stogy; the hour was midnight. Swartz was trying to make out a check for five hun- dred; the president was holding out for five thousand. Past midnight, President L rose, took the hand of old man Swartz in his and held his eye while he said: ‘“‘Now, Mr. Swartz, the Lord means you to give that five thousand dollars. You've admitted that you’ve got EVENING POST Where asics Engineers Decide Almost universal is the preference for Square D among highly trained technical men. Plant ouserers. or example, almost invariably pioneer safety switch for indus- trial installations. This definite preference on the part of men who know electrical equi ment is the basis of Square D’s well esta lished ip. Over 3,000,000 satisfactory installations confirm their judgment. SQUARE D COMPANY, DETROIT, U.S.A. FACTORIES ATi DETROIT, MICH., PERU, IND. (69) ees. 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A few simple turns and ten seconds a day will insure permanent shaving com- fort—blade economy and a healthy skin, Treat your face right. Add Twinplex to our shaving kit. You wouldn’t sell it to: ten times its cost if you couldn't replace it. Send For FREE Stropped Blade Nate your razor and we will send you a brand new blade stropped on Twinplex. Your shave with it will be a revelation. Stop in at your favorite store —ask about Twinplex—it’s a daily habit of over a million people. Sold with a long service guarantee, TWINPLEX SALES CO. 1603 Locust St., St. Louis New York Chicago Montreal London Velvet Smooth Shaves Strop Your Blades on a Jiinplex Siropper Ay Me a SATURDAY EVENING POST it in the bank, that you will not need a frac- tion of what you have to support you, that maybe you ought to give it. I’ll go to the hotel. It’s past one o'clock. You'll not sleep tonight. You've tried all your life to do God’s will, and you know that you can’t be happy refusing now. Your conscience will worry you. You'll not sleep tonight, or tomorrow night, or till the thing’s done. I'll wait till noon tomorrow, and I hope you'll not make yourself miserable for months by refusing to do what you ought todo. God will not give you peace. You'll not sleep a wink.” The president left. Something didn’t give old man Swartz peace that night. Was it God or the black cigars? Can an old man, used to one or two mild five-centers and a retiring hour of nine, keep smoking at five or six heavy black cigars till nearly two o'clock without his conscience hurting him? At six o’clock in the morning L heard a pounding on his door. He arose sleepily, and there was Swartz. “Here’s the check. You were right; I couldn’t sleep. It’stoomuch! I never had such a night. I trought about it all night. I couldn’t get a wink. It’stoomuch! But an old man like me would be in his grave with many such nights. God bless you— but it’s too much.” And old man Swartz went home—to sleep. The check was the first one cashed when the bank opened. There is a mystic quality about some of these money-getting presidents. Many are the stories that could be told that seem im- possible. When a solicitor reaches an office or a house to plead his cause, and finds his friends thinking about him, and even think- ing of doing exactly the thing he is propos- ing, what shall he say in explanation? One president is known to have received a fifty- thousand-dollar check toward a building for the total cost of which he had asked twice that sum. His wife knows that he walked twenty-five miles in cornfields that day, without food, without speaking to a human being. At night he came in, physi- cally exhausted, but before he ate or drank he wrote and mailed a special-delivery let- ter returning the check and pleading for the full one hundred thousand. As he ate sup- per he announced that the hundred thou- sand dollars would come, and began to plan the building. He slept likea child. Before noon he had a telegram, from the city twelve hours distant, informing him that the full amount desired was on its way. Sublime gambling that—or was it? Af Man With a Hunch An old man who died very recently used to go to New York on a fund-raising mis- sion. More than once he would go to his hotel room, sit broodingly for a while, and then telegraph his wife, ‘Leaving at noon. Things not looking right.’’ He had not looked at things, he had not seen a man he knew, he had not used the telephone. He had, as he called it, a hunch. How he followed hunches! When every- one was having influenza a few years ago, he was a victim. He was far from well, but suddenly he showed up one late afternoon at the college office with his traveling bag. He announced that he was going to a town three hundred miles away. He had a hunch that a man would give him ten thousand dollars. Henamed the man. He could not be dissuaded. Sick as he was, he arrived in the town to which his hunch took him at two o’clock in the morning. Train connec- tions were such that on his return he made two changes in the night, catching cat naps in day coaches, and came direct to the col- lege office early the second morning—to leave the ten thousand dollars. It was a week before he was ready to do any other work. A board of trustees sat planning a cam- paign. Our man who had hunches sat with them. One of their number was absent, re- gretfully; he had a national convention of salesmen in his headquarters factory in town. The trustees, at luncheon, were ad- mitting that they must start the giving. There seemed danger th:at three men there would give about half of what was needed from each to make them leaders in a suc- cessful enterprise. At least fifty thousand was needed from each. Of a sudden, the man with a hunch was on his feet. “Don't do — ,” he whispered to the chairman of the rd, “till I come back. I’ve got a hunch.” Furiously he drove to the convention of salesmen and called for the absent trustee. The gentleman sent word he could not leave the luncheon table. But no one was March 7,1925 to deny the hunch man. He opened a dining-room door just back of the president of the company and said, “I must see you.” No one could have imagined anything less than death or disaster. The president emerged. ; There was conversation for two minutes, and back to the trustees’ meeting went the hunch man, announcing his fifty-thousand- dollar gift. . : When the other leaders had made their subscriptions there was curiosity about the first promised gift. They discovered how the important meeting had been inter- rupted. ‘How did he persuade you?” they asked. “Persuade me? He didn’t persuade me. He said he had a hunch I had to give fifty thousand. I said I hadn’t any hunch; I was busy. Then I remembered that his hunches never failed and that I was simply losing time. What can you do when the other fellow’s got a hunch and you haven’t? I said I’d give it.” Doctor Wheelock’s Sample Do these college presidents of the past sixty years think of themselves as pioneers? What a lesson some of them have to learn from President Wheelock, of the Indian school which later became Dartmouth Col- lege, who, in the decade before the Declara- tion of Independence, sent atraveling man in England for his college, who carried sam- ples. At least he was accompanied by one sample, a picturesque sample in the person of one Occum, a full-blooded Indian. Reverend Morgan Edwards left Amer- ica’s shores for Great Britain in 1767, and was gone well over a year, soliciting funds for the Rhode Island Coll which later became Brown University. He was hardly so successful as the man who carried the sample, but a letter of his survives that is so like many letters that have gone out West from men who have come back East to raise funds that it deserves requoting: “Tf I were to stay in London ever so long I believe I should get money, but it comes so slowly and by such smali sums that I cannot spare the time. .. . “Your er and letters from your government, published in other papers, have hurt me much. You boast of the many yards of cloth you manufacture, ete. This raises the indignation of the merchants and manufacturers. I have been not only de- nied by hundreds, but also abused on that score. My patience, my feet, my assur- ance are much impaired. I took cold in November which stuck to me all winter, owing to my trampoosing the streets in all weathers.” Can college presidents who have traveled the East for their institutions read such a record without a sad, sympathetic under- standing? ‘‘My patience, my feet, my as- surance are much impaired!” Let us as that later success repaired his assurance and his patience, and that his feet, too, would be normal again as soon as money coming in would allow him to remain at home and cease “‘trampoosing the streets in all weathers.” Lonesome days! Treasurers’ reports com- ing in, telling of mounting deficits! Facul- ties unpaid for months! Many a college — has gone East with the home olks imagining that those New York mil- lionaires looked at him as an empire builder, a knight in shining armor, breaking dazzlin lances with Ignorance and Prejudice an Sin; and in New York or elsewhere the humiliated president was being lied to by office boys, rejected by secretaries, curtly refused by the few men of wealth he was able to reach. There was light in the dark- ness. There were great souls among the clients of these college builders, there were many gentlemen and gentlewomen. All over America today are institutions, still needy, but comparatively sure of the future, because these men left home for weeks and months on journ disastrous to pride and wearing on shoe leather. Few ple realize how few of these superlative ars have survived; the average term of office in Western college presidencies has been about three years. Scores of men, capable of every part of the work of a presi- dency except the one described, have re- fend to perform such service. Those who have known how these colleges have been built are fairly divided between those who pity the men who have stayed at it long enough to do the building, and those who have unbounded admiration for the members of this Fraternity of Collegiate Mendicants. 55)

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LL INGE LA, GBP AIL FRI OH 212 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Will your builder labor in the shadow of poor hinges or ~ ~ wil! you be as thoughtful of your doors as he is—and supply McKinney Hinges? Builders invariably select their best carpenters for the important work of hanging doors—a task requiring the talents of the most skillful. Yet, in the excitement of building or repairing a home, the owner seldom realizes this fact—and the importance of hinges. ~ When you build, profit by this knowledge. Go to your builders” hardware merchant and make your own hardware selection. Go while your home is in its early stages. Before your first joist is cut, your builder can tell you which man will hang the doors. Be ready to give him the good news that you are supplying McKinney Hinges. They are small items which play a big part in your mentaland physi- MCKINNEY HINGES cal comfort. They will serve you for the remaining years of your life. Your builders’ hardware man will offer you a wide selection of locks. Choose with freedom, for McKinney Hinges harmonize with all good makes. You can obtain McKinney Hinge quality in sundry hardware articles, including that for garage doors. A Gift for Those About to Build McKinney Forethought Plans consist of little cutouts of your furniture made in proportion to your plans. With them you can arrange and rearrange your furniture right on the blue prints until you are certain the wall space, fixtures, doors and base plugs are as you want them. To aid in your home building McKinney will gladly send a set of these plans. Just write. , McKinney MAnuracturinc Company PITTSBURGH, PA. March 7,1925

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THE SATURDAY HOW TO KNOW THE WILDCATS (Continued from Page 16) at me like a hat’s what I al- She nodded, grimacin naughty child. “Sure! ways go by. Why not?” “T should think by now you’d begin to know why not. Let’s take C—— Motors. You bought that at . rices to yield you from 10 to 14 per cent. Fine! Remarkable op portunity! But what happened? The rectors met and cut the dividends in ie. Then the stock dropped twenty points. Not so fine, after all! For they nicked off not only half of your dividend but they depreciated your investment as well. You see, actual experience shows that in the long run investors can make more profit by sticking to safe securities with a normal re- turn than by rushing off to buy high-yield stock of weak or unscrupulous companies which make large glittering promises they cannot possibly fulfill.” “But how can onetell which from which?” “The ordinary investor can’t. That’s a job for an expert. It’s as complicated as engineering or doctoring or the law. All the oni inary investor has to do is to recognize that high rates are red-light danger sig- nals—and sheer off. Or, ab ae have a gam- bling streak in your bl and must risk your money, at least investigate. Go to some reliable investment house—if you live in the country your local banker will do— talk it over with him, get his advice. A suburban banker told me the other day that customers were constantly applying to him for advice about buying worthless secu- rities peddled around from door to door by crooked stock salesmen using high-pressure methods; but despite the fact that these people had known him for years as an up- right, trustworthy man, he was a prophet without honor in his own country, for his clients who were also his friends would come in, ask his advice, listen—and in nine cases out of ten they would go out and buy the worthless stock anyway. “I am not condemning all high-yield stocks; I am only saying they should be put to the test of a thoroughgoing investi- gation by reliable nonpartisan experts who know their job. The honest companies may stand the test; the dishonest or weak ones will not. Now what are some of the reasons why securities must sell on an abnormally high-yield basis in order to find a market? Well, first of all, as I said, it may bea crooked concern and it ‘does not intend to fulfill its obligations. But even reliable, first-class companies sometimes find themselves in a tight fix where they have to borrow at high rates. It may be a period when money is scarce and high, and in order to obtain the needful cash to carry on their enterprises some companies are forced to sell their se- curities low and give high returns. This happens in a bear market in which most stock ago are down and the yields conse- quently high. “Now a period of depression like that is the real open season for bargain hunters with some surplus cash on hand. At such times they can pick up wonderful bargains; they can buy excellent stock dirt cheap, and hold it for a rise.” Shifting Investments “It’s a good idea for a person to shift around his investments from time to time, sell out some when the market is high and be ready to take advantage of low prices when a period of business stagnation begins to loom over the horizon rim. That’s what the shrewd foresighted investor does; he profits by the operation of what is known as the business cycle. In times of prosperity he turns a certain proportion of his common stocks into cash or its equivalent, and as business falls off he shifts this cash back into common stocks, which can then be had at low figures, and waits for them to — ciate when business picks up again. you see, there is a constant ebb and flow of the industrial tide which the wise investor makes use of to increase his own principal. But even then he does not go it blind. He selects, weighs, investigates. In choosin his common stock he does not risk his g money in hazardous wildcat promotion schemes; on the contrary he picks out a few big solid industries which underlie the peeaty of the entire country — perhaps . in all. Railways, water and telep one, public-service companies, elec- tric light and power companies and indus- trials such as coal, oil, steel or textiles. Then he takes each group in turn and scrutinizes it with ny: ' in order to select the best com- pany for his purposes—the one which is ealthy p. strong and gives promise of growth and prosperity. “But he does not stop even there. Hav- ing chosen his individual company in each group, with which he intends to enter into partnership by a their common stock—for that’s what buying common stock means, partnership, taking your share in the profits and losses of the company— the investor then studies his particular | company with om to three factors: First, has it a good management? It is estimated that three-fourths of the success of any enterprise depends upon its leader- ship. Second, is the company in a good healthy financial condition? And lastly, has it a good earning a When he has satisfied himself on t investor is ready to buy. stocks, and all common stocks are more or less speculative. So he risks only a small and carefully determined Bote of his money, diversifying it, so that what he loses in one group he may make = in another. And finally he assures himself by compe- tent advice that these companies are strong enough to ride out a reaction and are worth holding for a long pull.”’ Farsighted Buying “Togive you aspecific example of shrewd, farsighted buying in a period of depression: | In 1921 a group of men bought Liberty Bonds very low; they were betting, you see, on a dead-sure certainty—the inited | States. Liberty Bonds went up, and the | men made millions. You get the idea? Buy reliable securities upon advice when the market is low, and hold them for a rise. | “That’s one sound cause for high yields— hard times, a what kind of socialistic legislation they might be up against if a radical Congress came in, rails were depressed; the stocks were low and the yields consequently high. But with Coolidge in the saddle and the sit- uation more reassuring, rails began to soar. And since the election the most salient fea- ture of the market for weeks has been the leadership of rails. Now,” I added, “if you had wanted to make some money, when should you have bought rails?” “Before election?” “Yes, or just after, at the bottom of the market, when prices n to soar. There, you see, was a big opportunity. And men who believed that the voters of this coun- | had too much hard common sense to | elect radical leaders who would throw a | monkey wrench into our present govern- | mental machinery, and who backed up that | belief in the sanity of the people by buying | rails before election, cleaned up a lot of money. The late J. P. Morgan once said that no man who wasn’t a bull on the United States could survive—by which he | meant that no American who didn’t believe in this country, in the stability and perma- nence of its institutions and the future of its industries, could survive as a business man. For success in business is predicated on sta- bility in is overnment and faith in our insti- tutions. That is why so few socialists make outstanding business successes; they’re bears on the United States; they don’t believe in our present system of government or industry; they are betting that these will fail. Their attitude is like that of a man who goes into a fight betting that his opponent is a better man than he is—he’s licked at the start. On the other hand, those persons who bought rails before elec- tion were bulls on the American ple; they were betting that when the culuboun down came at election, the voters would demonstrate their hardy common sense and heave out the radicals and troublemakers. The event proved they were right. “‘ Another reason why a stock may afford a high yield is because it is new, unsea- soned, unknown; or it may have had bad management, now overcome but which must nevertheless be lived down. But in any or all of these cases thorough investiga- tion beforehand is necessary in order to re- veal which is a real market opportunity and which is a gold brick. If the inexperienced investor will take my advice he will let the entire field of high-yield securities strictly wot Set ints, the | t ere again | he shows caution. For these are common | depression which casts | doubt upon the ability of corporations to | maintain accustomed dividends. Before | election, when the railroads couldn’t tell | EVENING POST 2 . : ; wo yh « 7 A. ye , wi t. menage ac £ Pay eee ' ba ate going to use that car more with the advent of good weather. More use means more frequent exposure to the operations of the tire and parts thief. The loss of tires, tools and ac- cessories is not covered by any ordinary automobile insurance policy. Yet these can generally be protected from theft by the use of a secure padlock. You cannot get better insurance for your tires, for your tool box or for many other articles than the use of a Miller Padlock, because you cannot buy more security, dollar for dollar, than you can in Miller Locks. Buy yourself a good, well-made and secure padlock from the Miller display partel or counter case at your dealer. Buy it and then use it. 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Even under the hardest and roughest kind of usage, where the average shoe lasts only a short time, NEWARK Tuj Hide-Soled Shoes wear and wear until one begins to wonder if the soles are ever going to wear through! Selling a shoe of such wonderful wear- ing quality as this for only $3.50 is a reve- lation in value giving on account of the extraordinary wear. We can give you such an amazing value for $3.50 because we produce over 5 mil- lion pairs of shoes annually, and sell our We want Picid Men and Women to sell NEWARK TUFHIDE-soled Shoes fi rever we buve no re Bis commission, fine oppor- emeney, Write for aris. Stores in all principal cities Generai Offices: 727 W. Lombard Street, Baltimore, Md. After 9 months’ wear ness of sole after daily wear for nine months,cov- ering ten miles each day! THEY DO WEAR! entire output direct to the public through our own nation-wide chain of stores. NEWARK shoes are made in all leathers that are in popular demand, and in all styles and lasts—from the sturdiest work shoe, to the smartest styles of the hour for young men. If there isn’t a NEWARK SHOE STORE in your city, we will be glad to fill your order by mail. Buy a pair NOW and experience for yourself the marvelous wear NEWARK TufHide-Soled Shoes give. Descriptive folder mailed on request. ORDER YOUR PAIR TODAY! Include 10 cents Parcel Post Cost Order by No. 9150 Rich Gun Metal Oxford. New + perforations. Nobby Square pinking on tip, and eyelet row Order by No. 9341 Stylish Dazvk Tan Bal in the new Broad French Toe Lage. Ox welt, long-wea = Tw ide Sue ce an-O-War rubber EVENING POST | alone. And that’’—I shook my head at her—“‘includes you!” | “Yes, ma’am,” she replied with mock | gravity. She smiled, sighed, then burst out impulsively. ‘Look here. You know me. I--I hate all this old safety-first stuff. It cramps my style. It’s not good enough. And, speaking frankly, I think you people down here run it into the ground. Anyway, my nature craves a little excitement. I must have it. Stop shaking your head at me! It’s true. At the same time I don’t want to lose all my money—and I don’t want to put it in trust. I had some money in trust once, with a set of old grannies who treated me like the bad child in a boarding school that’s always getting sent up to the rincipal. I was in hot water all the time. ut I'd like to make a bargain with you. If I keep the broad highroad on the major proposition of safety, will you let me play a bit on the side? And teach me how?” I studied her a moment in silence. Reck- lessness—yes, that was her keynote. And yet she was intelligent too. “All right,” I said finally. “I'll do it— under certain conditions.” “What?” “That you let me know exactly how you stand—the full bill of particulars.”” She nodded assent. ‘‘Send me your entire list | of holdings and I'll analyze it and work out | an investment plan. Bonds for safety and steady income; stocks for profit and turn- over; 80 per cent of your investments in bonds; 20 per cent in stocks. On that basis | and no other I'll teach you how to go fish- ing without losing your bait and fishing ine. “Only 20 per cent in stocks? Phew!” She looked startled. “That is right. Twenty per cent and no more of all your holdings. That means if | your total par holdings amounted to one Condved thousand dollars, you might invest twenty thousand dollars in stocks, properly diversified. If your holdings amounted to ten thousand dollars, that would mean two thousand dollars in stocks, broken up in small blocks and scattered for safety through several groups. Be the holdin large or small, the fundamental principle remains the same.” She was still regarding me, wide-eyed. “But I’ve more than 20 per cent in stocks. I should say that it ran up to 50 or 60 per cent at the very least.” “I bet it does,” assured her cheerfully— “you being you! I’ll venture your financial structure, as it stands right now, is like the leaning Tower of Pisa—clean out of plumb. at’s not so dangerous in fair weather— though it’s hazardous even then. But wait until a period of depression, when the big winds of adversity begin to blow, when some companies begin to pass their | dividends and others go on the rocks—then mark how your financial edifice built on those shifting sands, begins to crumple and eave. And hese business cycles are bound | to come.” Like the Tower of Pisa | Thoughtfully she reached for her hat; thoughtfully she crowded it down over one eye, regarding me the while. “You're trying to scare me,”’ she stated. I laughed. “It’s the baldheaded truth— and that often scares people. But en away if you don’t believe me. Go on wit your present ty gag Buy stocks simply because the yield is high—the riskier the better. Buy more and more. Make your financial Tower of Pisa lean and lean and lean. Throw your whole financial weight on one foot—stocks—so that the other foot—bonds—is away up in the air. Like Mademoiselle Lenglen playing tennis. You ean do it! But I wouldn’t like to say for how long. It’s a hard to hold. Espe- cially in the constantly shifting financial world. And then come back to me—at the end, say, of two years. I'd be interested to learn the state of your financial health.” “Bluffer! I’m coming down with that list tomorrow.” Laughing, she made a final grimace at me and closed the door. She'll be down! My next client was one whose financial house I had set in order two years ago. She was investing methodically and eae along the lines we had carefully laid down. She had dropped in to ask advice on buying stock in a certain company, new but relia- ble, to hold for appreciation. “That's all right,” I said, ‘‘but don’t get excited if this wavers up and down a bit, and don’t sell just when it’s beginning to | soar. You're holding it for an investment, March 7, 1925 you know, and not to take advantage of a five or ten point or twenty point rise. It’s new; it’s not yet so high that it’s what they call a rich man’s stock; so just hold on to it and watch it forge ahead.” “Tell me something,” she demanded after we had settled the details. ‘Just ex- actly what do people mean when the speak of the sinister influence of Wall Street? That’s the phrase they all use— sinister influence.” “Who use it?” I interrupted. “Oh, well, politicians.” “I’m afraid you’ve been reading Sena- tor ——~’s recent speech in the Senate,” I laughed. ‘‘ He doesn’t love Wall Street.” “I did! He talks—a lot of them talk— as if these sinister influences of Wall Street controlled all America as a little boy con- trols a toy balloon on a string, pulling it up and down at will. They imply, when they don’t explicitly state, that a small corrupt group—a kind of financial Big Four—gets together down here and controls the mar- ket, pushes prices up and down on the New York Stock Exchange, squeezes industry, bosses the Government at Washington, runs the railroads, the banks, the big public- service corporations, and in fact manages the whole show. How much of that is true and how much is bunk? Do they, can they control the market, shove prices up and down? I used to believe that—a little!— when I first came down here to see you. Of course I knew you were honest, personally, and you believed your firm was honest, but I thought that maybe ——-”’ A Grand Old Myth “T see! You thought you were venturing into an ogre’s den! i was just a little blind cog in a vast, complicated and powerful machine operated by a bunch of wicked old Bluebeards sitting up aloft with their heads together in a kind of secret star chamber, the whole world stretched out helpless beneath their scheming, avaricious old eyes; punching a button to make the market move up and down at will, grab- bing off millions of poor folks’ cash, skin- ning the public alive—horrific old dragons ee smoke and flame and blood. And the politicians were the brave boys who were going to put the dragons out of busi- ness with their flashing swords. It’s a grand myth! But not strictly original with the politicians. It was invented long ago. “There isn’t any one man or group of men powerful enough to control economic conditions and . prices up or down per- manently on the New York Stock Ex- change, any more than there is any one man or group of men powerful enough to control the tides of the ocean or the winds that blow round the earth.” “Then what makes the market move up and down?” “Economic conditions. Prices slump when there are wars, revolutions—or when a group of congressmen attempts to make taxes so high that rich men cache away their money in tax-exempt securities in- stead of investing it in business, with the result that industry, which has to be fed with a constant golden stream, withers and droops and many promising young firms die of sheer malnourishment; they slump when radical legislators set out to scuttle the present form of government and to stifle private initiative in a spider net of bureaucratic laws. “Prices drop when crops fail and farmers are hard up; when European governments go on the warpath instead of paying their bills; or when junkers and hotheads in this country try to drag us into war—in short, business begins to waver whenever any- thing interferes with the stability and pros- perity of the millions of people who are the units, the little drops of water, which go te make up this vast industrial sea. “No man or group of men can control those great economic forces; all they can do is to record them; and the New York Stock Exchange, with its ticker tape, its constantly fluctuating market, now stag- nant, now dropping, now soaring, is in es- sence a kind of ship’s barometer which records the state of the economic weather in the country at large or in specific sections thereof. It records the steel weather, the rails weather, the mining weather, the foreign-governments weather, and so on. And the experts down in Wall Street, these so-called sinister influences, study that big barometer, analyze conditions and attempt to forecast the weather. At best they are good forecasters; at worst they are poor (Continued on Page 217)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST More than an Oil Burner When a home owner buys Nokol he buys more than an oil burner. He buys an automatic heating service that ends all heating trouble and care. Seeing to it that this statement is literally true is more important to us than making sales. For when it is true, sales follow inevitably. Four elements enter into the ren- dering of this service: 1. The Nokol Mechanism. Nokol as a mechanism is perhaps the most nearly perfect ever presented to the public. Time has proved it so basic- ally right that in the seven years since the first Nokol was installed its design has not been altered in one essential detail. No radical im- provement has been possible. Nokol is today the simplest automatic oil burner on the market. It is our belief that it furnishes the most economical heating service known. Its fuel cost is less than that of hard coal, and to the best of our knowledge less than that of any other oil burner, regard- less of the grade of fuel used. 2. The Nokol Dealer. Finding deal- ers who can conceive and carry out the long run policy of Nokol—who AMERICAN NOKOL COMPANY Nokol burns oil in your present home heating plant. It can be installed in a few hours without can put service to the owner before sales—has been a long job. Today there are Nokol dealers in nearly every large city in the United States. They represent 7 years of careful expansion —7 ygars of picking and choosing. 3. Installation. An oil heater, un- like an automobile, is not a complete unit. It operates in conjunction with the heating plant. It is an engineer- ing job, and its efficiency depends on the care with which the installa- tion is made. The Nokol Dealer is taught how to install Nokol. He knows that wherever it is installed it must give automatic heating service. If slight @) Nokol is tested and listed as standard by the Underwriters’ Laboratories, a divi- sion of the National Board of FireUnder- writers maintained to pass on the safety of devices that may affect fire hazard. This means that in their opinion Nokol is non-hazardous. Look for their listing on any device you put into your home. 215 North Michigan Avenue - changes are necessary in the heating plant before Nokol is installed he makes them. He does not let down the bars merely in order to make a sale. He does not sell Nokol as a cure-all for troubles which exist in the heating plant itself. He does not recommend low grade oils incapable of rendering automatic service. The result is that wherever Nokol is in- stalled it does render automatic ser- vice. In over 20,000 homes it has ended heating trouble and care. 4. Service. The record of service calls at our various dealers is remark- ably clean — lower, we believe, than that of any mechanical device used in the home. Yet the service depart- ment is one of the most important in the Nokol Dealer’s business. When service is needed it is immediately available. On these policies the success of Nokol has been built. On these same policies Nokol will continue to build. The creation of an organization capable of carrying them out to the letter has not been a matter of weeks or months, but of years of actual experience in the field. CHICAGO, ILLINOIS okol Automatic Oil Heating for Homes interrupting your heating service

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 Woodstock Electrite | : : | | | = 3 2 ; : —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 electric typewriter. The faintest suggestion of a touch engages the motor and elec- tricity does the rest. Every stroke has exactly the same speed and pressure; every im- pression 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. THE MODERN TYPEWRITER POWERED BY BLECTRICITY a 4 — — Electricity means better work 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 re- garded by those who know as the finest typewriter made. Write today for booklet and details about the standard Woodstock and the Woodstock Electrite. It's information that every busi- ness man, typist and stenographer ought to have. WOODSTOCK TYPEWRITER COMPANY 216 West Monroe Street, CHICAGO woud Woodstock Standard WOODSTOCK (lectrite - AON ALAA BAA AAA A, ANOS BAA AAA ieee LN EU UN TTT TT TOT DST T TTY TT TT eee TY ve : AAA AA A A AA

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a (Continued from Page 214) forecasters; and all, good and bad, are liable to error, as is any weather man who deals with great invisible forces flowing around the world. Some of them get to be fairly good mariners, and through constant experience learn how to shape their course so as to take advantage of favoring winds and tides and to scud out of the track of an a gr storm. And that’s about what this black magic sums up to—an ability to read weather signs and to plan accordingly. “Let us take a specific example of how these economic forces work. Take the grea pe ap swing of the market after Cool idge’s election. What caused such a grea general demonstration of financial enthusi- asm which then broke loose? Were corrupt and sinister influences pushing buttons to produce artificially that stupendous tidal wave in which practically all the big indus- trial groups were involved? Only a moron could believe such bunk. Great world-wide and country-wide economic forces were in motion, moving inevitably toward prosper- ity. Let me quote from one of these expert forecasters of the economic weather. “*It may be safely asserted,’ he says, ‘that even before the election, the elements which go to make up a sound substratum for expanding American prosperity were in existence in a shape and on a scale which had not been since wartime.’ He names, then, some of these economic factors. ‘It ig easy to sum up these considerations. Everybody knows what they were’—save, of course, the politicians with their bogy jack-o’-lanterns! ‘They included an ex- ceptionally strong banking and credit situa- tion; extraordinary and wholly unpre- dicted agricultural results which had trans- formed an impoverished West into a rich roducing district and had changed a dead- ocked textile trade into a going industry; a transportation industry which had now got its feet on solid ground and could read the future confidently’—he means now that socialistic theories of government ownership of railroads is in the discard— ‘the political and economic settlement in Europe which had healed the three years’ running sore in that part of the financial organism’—referring, of course, to the Dawes Plan—‘and, back of all, American retailers and consumers with more money than goods on hand and therefore in a condition to buy freely when confidence in the future pane: A be restored.”’ t t Why the Market Rose “There _ have a glimpse of the va- rious complicated economic factors moving toward general prosperity—but moving slowly and held in check before the election by the uncertainty lest the people might, after all, elect a radical government which would spill the economic beans. But the people didn’t; they showed common sense, for they realized, to a much greater extent than the politicians gave them credit for, how closely business prosperity is tied up with government stability. ccordingly, when this stability was assured by the elec- tions, the market began to soar. And it soared not because any Wall Street wizards touched the button, but because the whole great business public went over the top. “So never mind the politicians; they don’t provide your bread and butter; you provide theirs; and that jack-o’-lantern bogy business is old, old stuff. Demon- ology tricked out in modern guise.” My next client came to see me in behalf of her aunt, a woman of small means—and a still smaller brainpan, it appeared—livin in a country town, who had lost severa thousand dollars through the machinations of a high-pressure stock salesman, one of those modern bloodsuckers who fatten on ignorance, credulity and greed. These cases are becoming as frequent as automobile - accidents. And I have yet to hear, even when the nese were caught, of a single instance in which the victim got his money back. This particular victim, it seems, had resisted—a little. At least she had not been milked dry all at onee; it required two op- erations. The stock salesman had breezed into town with her name on his sucker list, called, ostensibly to inquire about some real estate, and in the course of conversa- tion asked her if she were in a position to b a fine opportunity if it came her way. e woman looked dubious. “I mean,” he continued, “have you two or three hun- dred dollars you could lay your hands on today if you wanted to?’ “Right there,” I put in, “is where she made her initial mistake. What she should . have replied at that juncture was a brief, emphatic ‘No!’ If he persisted and ques- tioned, ‘What? No money? Well, then, perhaps you have some ities?’ she should have repeated, ‘No? No cash, no bonds, no stocks, mortgages or wealth of any kind. I’m a r woman and I’m suing my husband for nonsupport. I live in a rented house and I hate to see the first of the month come around for fear of being ye cmap Could you lend me twenty dollars to —_ pay my rent? It would bea godsend.’ That’s the idea, you see—start a brisk counter attack and get them out of the house.” This unfortunate woman, however, ad- mitted she had some money in the bank— but she explained that she usually con- sulted her banker before making invest- ments. “What!” exclaimed the stock salesman. “Can’t you spend your money as you lease? Do "ti have to get permission rom your banker every time you take some out? Well, whose money is it, anyhow? Of course he’ll advise you to leave it in! Will a dog give up a bone? He's coining money hand over fist on just such women as you; he gives _s a paltry 8 or 4 per cent interest, and then he turns around and invests your cash at 10 and 15 per cent. Huh. That’s a fine kind of adviser! By the way, what’s his name? I sold a banker some of this stock yesterday—but on the quiet, you see. He didn’t want it to get around,” The Fly and the Spider Unsuspectingly the woman gave the banker's name. “Sure! That’s the man! He took a hun- dred shares! I guess if the proposition is good enough for him it’s good enough for you.” So the poor fly walked into the spider’s web and he pulled off her wings one by one. First she bought twenty-two hundred dol- lars’ worth of securities. Then, a few days later, he called again and suggested she purchase some more while the price was still low. Having discovered she had three thousand dollars in valuable railway bonds bought at par, he agreed as a t personal favor to take them—telling her they had depreciated in value—at nine hundred dol- lars each, a total of twenty-seven hundred THE SATURDAY dollars. At the same time he learned that | the poor struggling fly had a small deposit, | amounting to about a thousand dollars, in a building-and-loan association. He took her railway bonds, sold them, and returning the next morning explained that as he had been able to obtain only six hundred dollars apiece on them, a total of eighteen hundred dollars, she therefore still owed him nine hundred dollars, and demanded her building- and-loan deposit to make up the deficit. So menacing was his attitude—he threat- ened to have her thrown into jail for taking his valuable securities on false pretenses and palming off in return those deterio- rated railway bonds!—that the poor, ter- rified creature, her wits in a maze, made haste to hand over to him her deposit in the building-and-loan association. After which, she went to her banker! “Is there nothing we can do?” implored the niece, finishing the sorry tale. I shook my head. turn over the case for prosecution—but “Of course you can | you must first catch your hare. And that | won’t bring back youraunt’smoney. That’s gone. What the public must realize is that stock peddled from door to door is usuall not worth the paper it’s printed upon. it people will buy it, without investigation, without taking expert advice, they must simply pay for their ignorance through the nose. Fools will be fools—and not all the rotective laws on earth can save them rom disaster. Why did your aunt trust that ore before she trusted her own banker? hy didn’t she, at least, check up his statements before she handed over her fortune? No, I can’t help her; but I'd like to broadcast her story by radio and tell all the investing public to stay on the air, for among these same radio fans are thousands who will be victimized in a like brutal fashion before the year is up.” “But about my aunt—you can’t help her?”’ “No. I can’t provide her with common sense.” But the last comment I did not make aloud. “And she sarc her money back?” I shook my head. “You haven’t any su: offer?”’ She pressed her estion at all to ands together in EVENING OSE whom we all admire— for their good looks and ener- getic health—are the men and women who keep themselves fit: not merely free from sickness, but abundantly and vigorously well. The spirit of youth lives in them. To have good looks and perfect health you must preserve internal cleanliness. Lack of internal clean- liness—faulty elimination— is often the cause of sallowness and un- sightly skin blemishes. And intes- tinal specialists have found that a clogged intestinal system creates poisons which are responsible for more than 75% of human ailments. In fact, says the Health Commis- sioner of one of our largest cities, not only serious bodily diseases but many nervous and mental ills are founded on clogged intestines. Too many people are miserable, he states, due to this condition. They are too tired to begin the day, nerv- ous, gloomy and apprehensive. In time the continual absorption of poisons from sluggish intestines may cause the breakdown of the entire system and the early waning of youth, — Nujol REG. Us. orr. For Internal Cleanliness Attractive, Healthy Men and Women —know the value of Internal Cleanliness You can prevent illness and add immeasurably to your health and good looks by maintaining interna! cleanliness through the regular use of Nujol. Nujol prevents intestinal clogging by lubrication, the method now employed by medical author- ities throughout the world. The gentle lubricant, Nujol, softens the food waste, thus hastening its pas- sage through the intestines. Laxatives and cathartics do not overcome intestinal clogging, says a noted authority, but by their con- tinued use tend only to aggravate the condition and often lead to per- manent injury. Nujol is not a laxa- tive or medicine and cannot cause distress, Like pure water it is harm- less. Nujol is prescribed by physi- cians and is used by leading hospi- tals all over the world. Keep healthy by adopting the habit of internal cleanliness. Take Nujol as regularly as you brush your teeth or wash your face. For sale by all druggists. Made by the Nujol Laboratories, Standard Oi! Co. (New Jersey). Tested and approved by the Good Housekeeping Bureau of Foods, Sanitation and Health. 2S GS GD OP GE OS GS OS ee es 4-DAY TRIAL FREE! i Nujol, Room 831-U, 7 Hanover Sq., N. Y. A f For this coupon and 10c (stamps or coin) to cover i packing and postage. send trial bottle and 16-pege | booklet, "Internal Cleanliness”. {For booklet \ only, check here © and send without money.) i i Name....,.... y Address.......... } fe es oe oe ee ee oe es es

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Any shoe 1s a better shoe if its made with BARBOURWELT now making shoes 22) with Barbourwelt. The list reads like a “Who’s Who” of the best-known shoemakers in America. They have made their new Barbour Dresswelt models for spring in many differ- ent styles. You will find them wherever good shoes are sold. . manufacturers are Barbourwelt does a double job in making good shoes better. Built into the inseam, clinched tight against the upper, Barbourwelt shuts out moisture and helps to hold the shoe in shape. Its solid sole- leather rib is a vital protection against the natural tendency to “tread over” and dis- tort the lines of ashoe that is made in light- weight leather for spring and summer wear. _—_——_—_ -_- ~~ ~~ Tee eeeEOeeeeeeOeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ee > “Sp “ae “Se “EP Se “eS SS SS “SS “Se “S oe “ Se “Se Se “Se “te “ “Se “Se Ask to see the new Barbour Dresswelt styles of whatever make of shoes you usually buy. BARBOUR WELTING COMPANY ‘Manufacturers of High Grade Goodyear Welting for over 30 years BROCKTON, MASS. = — —— ill Nothing takes the place of leather ~

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k. sudden emotion. ‘‘You see, I—we—my mother will have to make up the deficit. And it’s going to be hard ——"’ I had already guessed as much. That is the tragic part of such situations; the in- nocent, the sturdy, the intelligent and re- liable members of society are always the ones who foot the bills when the weak make fools of themselves. By her anxiety, by a certain vibration of her voice, a trem- bling of her lips, I surmised that this disas- ter spelled stressful times ahead for them all. Her eyes still clung to mine. I shook my head. ‘There’s nothing to be done,” I repeated. “‘The horse has been stolen from the stable. If I were to give — any advice it would be simply this: on’t let your family repeat that error. Always investigate.” She left me then, and I know she thought | I was hard. Hard because I could not undo what was done, and get back what had been lost through a lack of plain common sense. There is no doubt that a big boom in worthless securities and fake promotion schemes is on its way, following the recent upward swing of the market. A wave of swindling operations has been predicted in legitimate investment circles, and the New York Stock Exchange has warned all in- | vestors, large and small, to be on their ard. Partly this wave is due to the usiness revival with its consequent in- crease in investment and speculation, and partly it is due to the operation of the Seay etegpe tony sag laws. New sucker lists have already been compiled from the ublished income-tax payments by crooked anon and investment sharks, who are | now swarming like locusts over the land. A client of mine, Mrs. B——., vice presi- dent of a large and flourishing public-service corporation, recently encountered one of these high-pressure stock salesmer., who, | armed with her tax-income payment copied from the newspaper, had forced his way | into her apartment, getting around the maid with the fiction of an important busi- ness engagement. It took Mrs. B—— sev- | eral minutes to discover what t of ani- mal her visitor was, for he adroitly evaded direct questions, fetched a wide compass and then began to pour out a flood of his special patter which looked, Mrs. B—— declared, laughing, as if it might keep up forty days and nights without a pause.

Having Fun With a Salesman Already in possession of the essential data gonenmnine, her income, he did not | have to assure himself on that head, and his eloquence rolled on and on. Mrs. listened enthusiastically. She confided to me later that the man’s patter fascinated her; it was like watching a conjurer pro- duce a rabbit out of his hat. Finally, how- ever, she tossed a question on the flood tide of his patter which abruptly checked the stream. “Who ae think I am?” she asked, smiling broadly. | Hestared at her. “You're Mrs. B——.” Still smiling, she shook her head and lied, “Oh, no; Mrs. B—— is a connection ; of mine; I’m just visiting here. A kind of | poor relation, so to speak. I come to the March 7,1925 city about once a year and Mrs. B—— takes me in; otherwise I couldn’t afford the expense. But go on, please! This is so interesting!” The salesman glared at her, then rose. His time was too precious to fool away on false leads. “How did you get my friend’s name?” inquired Mrs. B—— genially. re e growled out something about his lists being given him by his superiors—which probably was true. “T thought,” said Mrs. B——, “you might have got it from the published tax returns. I read them myself just in order to see how rich my friends were!” He glanced at her with a certain shrewd approval. “So did I,” he confided with a grin. “And not only my friends, either. The honest truth is, publication of those re- turns was a godsend to us stock salesmen.” “ ow ? ” “Well, you see it’s this way: Appear- ances are deceiving. It’s hard to tell a rich man from a poor one by his looks. Some put everything they make on their backs, and some lock everything away. I might be going to see a rich man in his office and on my way brush past a shabby little bird who could buy out the other fellow a hun- dred times. And how am I to tell? Now, since this law came in, we don’t have to waste so much time on bum leads. We just look up the tax returns and hit the trail.” Just by Accident “T see,””’ murmured Mrs. B——. never thought of that angle before.” “You don’t have to think, sister,” he grinned jovially. “That’s our job. All you have to do is to sign on the dotted line. But we’ve got the straight dope on the rich birds now; the law helped us out there; our next problem is to fix some way to get inside their offices.’’ “Maybe the congressmen will help you out again,” suggested Mrs. B—— ironi- cally. Redew » might pass a law making it compulsory for all rich men to keep open office once a week and listen to your.plans.” “Not a chance!” said the man seriously. “Those birds down in Washington weren't even thinking of us stock salesmen when they made that law. We just got in on it by accident, so to speak.” Just so. And now, having got in on this hasty and ill-judged piece of legislation by accident, so to speak, these plausible graft- ers are making hay while the sun shines. Nor is it practicable to protect the public against them by piling up more legislation. We have plenty of protective laws right now. And, important as they are for the punishment of swindlers, they cannot re- store the lost money to the victim, nor make good the damage which the entire fabric of the business world sustains when its standards are lowered by crooks and confidence men. The cure for the present situation is not more legislation —but more education. And the first primer lessons of that education which the people must learn are those cf self-protection and simple common sense. But they won’t! Not until after they’ve been stung. “oy

COPYRIGHT BY ASAMEL CURTIS FOR ABERDEEN C OF 0 Mount 5 Washington

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ee gio its THE SATURDAY EVENING POST tiresome as walking on ice ‘Driving on slick streets without Weed Chains Dy just /éke walking on ice. The rainy accidents. A moment's time will stop it— day driver can’t tell when he'll slip any a moment spent in putting on WEED more than a boy on an icy sidewalk. CHAINS—time you'll make up quickly The result is tensed muscles, fagged nerves, when you find WEEDS give you your usual a constant strain that wears him out. ease and confidence. Is it any wonder tempers are short on rainy Equip your car with WEEDS today—so days?—nervous energy gonc,so work suffers. you'll have them next time you need them. And it’s all so useless—this hard work, For all tires—including balloons, of course. this nervous strain to prevent dangerous At good dealers’ everywhere. AMERICAN CHAIN COMPANY Ine BRIDGEPORT, & /CONNECTICUT IN CANADA Dominion Chain Co.,Limited, Niagara Falls. Ont. CO DISTRICT SALES OFFICES Boston New York - San Francisco-Philadelphia Ohuago Aitsburgh World's Largest Manufacturers of Welded and Weldless Chains for All Purposes WEED CHAINS “You can put them on in a moment” Insist on genuine, original WEED Chains. Insist also on WEED cross chains for repair the hind that are quickly put on with pliers so they STAY A PRODUCT OF THE American Chain Company, Inc in business for your SAFETY 210

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Strengthening The Staff of Life Julius Fleischmann President, The Fleischmann Company » aid in making more wholesome bread—and so strengthening “The Staff of Life”—is to render endur- ing service to humanity. That Fleischmann’s Yeast is known and used throughout the world is tribute alike to its quality and to the directing genius that makes and markets it. Naturaily, then, you find The Easy Writing ROYAL TYPEWRITER standard equipment in the offices of The Fleischmann Company, operating 22 large district offices and 1,000 dis- tributing stations in this country—the logical choice of that business acumen which has built the company. For in maintaining and upbuilding the efficient service of a vast organization the best in personnel and equipment is essential. The Easy Writing Royal Typewriter is the latest and finest contribution of science to the speeding-up of accurate, perfect business correspondence. To great modern business the Easy Writing Royal Type- writer brings heightened efficiency through definite mechanical superiority in speed, accuracy and ease. It completes the eficient equipment of the modern office. Trade Mark TYPEWRITERS “Compare the Work” ROYAL TYPEWRITER COMPANY, Inc. ; 316 Broadway, New York Branches and Agencies the World Over March 7,1925 JULIUS FLEISCHMANN PRESIDENT, THE FLEISCHMANN COMPANY A Part of The Fleischmann Company's Peekskill Plant, the Largest Yeast Factory in the World. par, = TE ULE RE RRA Ye Steta a ‘tte

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THE SATURDAY POLITICS IN BUSINESS | (Continued from Page 22) So Miss Lacey said to the buyer, a married man and a father, with the senti- ment of a spud, ‘I’ve a notion to tell little Key that you don’t want every mirror re- turned. She has had three brought back this morning. Did she ever sell anywhere before?” The buyer had noticed mirrors being returned, and now he also remembered that someone—who was it?—-had reported Miss Key for swearing. He might as well let her go without wasting any more time on her training. It is not too difficult for an old- timer to discredit a new employe. But Miss Key was not the only rift in the lute. A series of pretty little package wrappers proved of considerable annoyance. Mr. Vernon was much too willing to lift boxes for them, or to hand them twine or tissue or to present a wrapped parcel to a cus- tomer. Miss Lacey knew her Hoyle. She real- ized that young wrappers were employed to wrap and not to gossip. So she sent stock boys on numerous errands to the wrapping stalls with such frequency that every time the superintendent passed through the sec- tion he saw the girls chatting. To make assurance doubly sure, a couple of bottles of perfume were found nesting in their sales slips on the wrapping counters before the store was opened. This could have but one meaning. The articles were left unwrapped by negligent little wrappers. For this breach there are no extenuating circum- stances, since customers who do not receive merchandise promptly may become lost customers. The question of the little wrap- pers was thus satisfactorily settled. I had an almost irresistible urge to march into the superintendent’s office and say: “Skip the good morning and listen to me. As long as you feel you require Miss Lacey in toilet goods, send only wallflowers and the-face-that-stopped-the-clock as replace- ments. She makes a spectacle of herself on account of Mr. Vernon and she is jealous of everyone who is young or pretty. She raises continual sand down there and causes no end of disturbance.” The only deterrent to this philanthropic impulse was a picture of the superintendent settling his glasses more firmly on his nose and replying, ‘Are you sure that you are not actuated by personal motives? Mr. Vernon is a very personable young man and ——”’ I knew that at that stage I would crash a chair over his head, thus ending = | busi- ness career, if not my outside-of-jail exist- ence. It was without regret that I left the Laceys and Browns for further experience in my new position. Too Good to be True I found a very different spirit in the sec- ond establishment. Everyone was talking about morale and loyalty and courtesy and enthusiasm. Even the buyer summoned us all to his office one evening after the last customer had departed and spoke >f our individual importance to the firm and the need for our continued splendid coéperation. He concluded with these words: “T want every one of you to feel a sense of my personal dependence. You are close to the public and consequently close to the needs of the department. am not so fortunate. I am compelled by the exigen- cies of the business to be absent at the busiest times, engaged as I am in buying merchandise for you to seil. When you— and when I say ‘you’ I mean everyone from the senior assistant buyer to the youngest salesman-—when you see any way in which the department might be improved, I want you to submit the suggestion in writing to me. It might refer to the kind of stock in the department or to the general display or to a scheme for higher sales. Whatever it is, let me have it.” My eyes swept the thirty-odd men and women near me, looking for one to start the applause. I saw stolid faces and ex- pressionless eyes and stiff bodies, waiting woodenly for the conclusion. A wave of disappointment engulfed me, as I, too, turned to leave; And then I saw the new man, Mr. Omer. His eyes were alight with interest. “Great stuff,” he said approvingly. “I thought the place would be a postwar filler to serve me while I did a bit of looking around. But Iam not so sure. With a man like this as my chief, I may find outlet for my ambition right here. What do you think?” Perversely enough, his words, instead of be my enthusiasm, had a cooling e ect. “What do I think?” I repeated. “It is rather early to decide. I have been won- dering whether those others are dull clods or merely wise babies. That buyer seems too good to be true.” | He was. But it was Mr. Omer who staged the demonstration. He, with youthful vim, studied draperies as if he were pre- paring for a college entrance examination. He showed an untiring interest in even the stodgiest, most unprofitable customers. He | kept his weather eye open for possible improvements in the department—and he got an eyeful. He showed me his first list of suggestions. It looked like the stenog- rapher’s report of an involved murder trial. I scanned Page One. Smart, But Dangerous “Let me take this home,” I suggested. “T would not have time to read it all before closing time.” In the privacy of my own room that night, I conned the improvements that lurked as advisable possibilities in the brain of Mr. Omer. It was good reading: “1. IT would have Miss Anott and Miss Bean at different counters. They are un- sympathetic toward each other and they squabble before customers. “2. I would let every salesman have a half-hour for recreation in the middle of the afternoon. This could be arranged by a simple relief system and would more than double the efficiency of the department as a whole. “3. I would put Miss Geyle or someone else with fair hair in the velvets, because a blonde is a better foil for dark, rich materials. “4. I would not display brocades and voiles so close together. The brocades make the voiles look cheap and the voiles make the brocades look clumsy and heavy. **5. Many customers ask for a medium- priced hanging. We seem to be well stocked in the costly and in the inexpensive goods. It might be advisable to consider a wider range of the moderately priced. This is only a personal opinion. “6. Our measuring machines are out of date and cut from one to two inches over or under measurement. This is an important item if the material is twenty or thirty dollars a yard.”” And so on. He had the department sized to a T, but the ice seemed thin to me. “T would not let a buyer have any such document. with my name attached,” I told him the next day. “‘He may thirst for assistance, but I would never release a philippic like this. No one has escaped sales persons, decorators, the supply de- | yartment and even the buyer himself. ou’d better temper the wind to the shorn lamb.” “But there is nothing personal in this | paper,” he protested. ‘I am not blaming | or praising anyone. I have given the whole matter careful thought, and you read the result.” “When I spoke of the shorn lamb, I meant you,” I elucidated gently. “I thought you might want to spare not others but yourself. Of course, your ideas are clever. If you can sell them, I am for you.” In this case I stood alone. Through some | mischance or miscarriage everyone in the department either read or heard the con- , tents of the Omer declaration. No one put poison in his soup, because no one knew how to obtain the poison. But a Gila mon- ster would have been more kindly received. He for his part carried his ill usage as a wrongly accused knight, awaiting his op- portunity to demonstrate his innocence in the wager of battle. But his eyes, as well as those of everyone else in the department, were fixed upon Gilton, the buyer. His first acknowledgement was terse. “T have your remarkable communication | on my desk, Mr. Omer,” was all that he | said. Yet everyone seemed satisfied. “That is Mr. Omer’s death knell,” whis- Miss Anott to me. “And it serves im right. Mr. Gilton doubtless has his points: But he hates people to criticize him or his department. I think it takes a nerve myself.” I did not debate the buyer’s qualities, but I did wait with curious detachment to | EVENING POST ia Th Alliance Agent often lowers the cost of one's fire protection Vy itHout affecting the extent or value of the in- surance, the Alliance Agent often is able to reduce premiums. This he accomplishes by more accurate classification, or by detecting easily corrected conditions that materially increase hazards, Fire Insurance rates are calculated in the light of long and varied experience. And they are made as equitable as is humanly possible. The rate of premium paid is proportionate to the probabilities of fire damage, based on the evident haz- ards involved. The principle being that each insured property shall pay its proper share, according to the individual circumstances. Sometimes, owners of properties on which insurance has been taken without expert advice pay too much for their insurance. Consult with the Alliance Agent regarding protection as you would with your banker about finance. ALLIANCE Insurance THE ALLIANCE INSU CE COMPANY OF PHILADELPHIA Third and Walnut Streets, Philadelphia

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THE SATURDAY Scours like a scrub-brush ~where a scrub- brush won't reach Bath tub bright and shiny—kitchen sink spick and span— but what about the drains, where your scrub-brush wouldn’t reach? Drano will clean them out—give them a thorough scrubbing—purify them—sterilize them. Just pour in Drano—add water according to direc- tions on the can. Watch it bubble and boil—as it dissolves grease, hair, lint and soapy refuse. It’s a regular scrub-brush in powder form. Now flush out with water, and—swoosh—the drain is free-flowing, clean and sanitary. There’s nothing like Drano for opening clogged drains and keeping them open. Housewives everywhere use Drano regularly to prevent drain stoppages in bathroom, kitchen and laundry. Use it every week—save plumbing bills and the nuisance of slow-moving drains. And remember—Drano positively will not harm porcelain, enamel or plumbing. If not at your grocery, drug or hardware store, send 25c for a full sized can. The Drackett Chemical Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. Drano ; TRADE MARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. ras ; *~eee ee Eee eee Cleans and Opens Drains d5¢ Barber shops and beauty shops use Drano to keep drains free-flowing —for Drano dis- solves and soapy waste. Restaurants, apartment houses, hotels and office buildings use Drino regularly to keep drains openand prevent expensive stoppages. EVENING POST see the fate of Mr. Omer. I was all the more interested, because his verve and cash had attracted favorable attention from two members of the management as well as from several other sections. But for three weeks the work of the day fol- lowed its usual routine, and then the semi- annual sale of draperies arrived. It was heralded by the arrival of large quantities of specially priced stock, by feverish con- sultations among the division decorators | and by detailed reminiscences on the part | of the salesmen that covered the previous | sales as to peak days, heavy-buying cus- tomers, noteworthy incidents and commis- | sions earned. The department was astir with new life. Everyone begrudged a min- ute’s absence from customers. I was so | pleasantly rushed that I did not miss Mr. | Omer for more than a week. Then quite | suddenly I realized that I had not talked | with him for days. I referred myself to the | local news center, Miss Anott. “Oh, Omer,”’ she said with a superior | smile. “‘ Yes, he is here all right. But he is so busy putting price tags on goods that he | searcely has time to sell. Too bad, isn’t it, for him to be behind the scenes when he | loves the spotlight so well?” “TI thought that everyone took turns in marking stock, three hours at a time.” “They do,”’ was her answer. “ But Omer is such a glutton for work that Mr. Gilton has to keep him occupied.” At the end of the month there was a gen- eral résumé of the results of the sale, and at the same time the three salesmen who had made the lowest totals in selling were auto- matically released. So Mr. Omer left, with his record the lowest of all. I had learned from him how not to con- duct myself. But, like him, I had seen many opportuiities for department improve- ment. Yet, unlike him, I had an elemen- tary understanding of the manner in which human wheels go round. And I knew that Mr. Gilton’s required a bit of oiling. By | dint of a series of carefully planned but ap- | parently casual conversations, Mr. Gilton presently came to me with a suggestion | that I had taken six weeks to implant in his mind. I hailed it with such enthusiasm and | joy—-why not, since it was my own?—that he intrusted me with the details of its ad- | justment. Other conversations brought other su tions, until, in the fullness of | time—and not too much time, at that—I | found myself a head of stock in full charge | of voiles and scrims. { had scarcely opportunity to acclimate | myself to the duties and responsibilities be- fore another store offered me a position as | assistant buyer, which I accepted. A Frontal Attack The new organization was a women’s | shop, although the personnel was by no means limited to women. Of the forty buyers, twenty-seven were men, while thirty-two of the hundred-odd assistant buyers were likewise men. My activities were limited to the gowns, which section was controlled by a buyer and four assist- ants, three other women and myself. The buyer, Mr. Rood, was a pompous individual who ruled the department with an auto- cratic hand. His assistants were all in awe of him and in deathly fear of a temper which they had never seen unleashed. I caught a hint of this my second morning. Mr. Rood was pacing the aisle when he passed near me. I called him. “T can’t find our secret mark on this own,” I said. ‘I thought it was either be- ow the collar or belt.” His glance held a note of surprise, but he took the frock from my hands and quickly found for me the letters I had bee seeking. “How easy after one knows,” I mur- mured. “Yes,” he answered, with a slight smile, as he continued his morning exercise. But without being psychic, I had felt something amiss. I saw Miss Roke and Mrs. Noltan, two of my associates, in the offing, making cabalistic signs to me. as soon as Mr. Rood had beyond hearing distance, they bore down upon me, “You were lucky not to have yourself dismissed,”’ said Mrs. Noltan. “IT have just come,”’ I replied a bit sharply. ‘And I fancy that I will have a tryout before anyone talks dismissal.” “But don’t know Mr. Rood,” ex- lained Miss Roke. ‘“‘ When he treks around ike this, he is wearing off a ch, and he does not want to be anroyed. Besides, he does not expect anyone to address him un- less he opens the conversation.” SPLINE LRG RAS AI ee IE ee « March 7,1925 “Do you mean that a person cannot talk to our buyer until he has signified his royal approval? How charming!” he two exchanged annoyed glances. But I left them and crossed again to Mr. Rood, who was nearing the imported frocks. “Sometime today when you are not busy,” I halted him, “I wish you would tell me a little about the foreign market in gowns.” He gave me a straight look before he an- swered, ‘‘I will tell Miss Roke to go into the details. She is as well informed as I and far more patient.” “I don’t require patience,” I replied steadily. “‘I have a quick mind and i al- ready know something about the gowns. When I learn more, I want it to be from an expert. I will await your leisure.” knew that I would not remain in a posi- tion that had a king-in-Babylon-Christian- slave complication and I intended to make my point clear at the beginning. So I smiled at Mr. Rood, but my eyes held pure determination. He laughed lightly. “TI don’t know how good a teacher I am, but su we start now.” But if I had gained a friend in the buyer, I had lost ground with the assistants. Ata table in the lunch room I overheard a brisk discussion. The persons were as unknown to me as I to them, but their words interested me. Interference The first said, “Yes, she just tossed her head and said, ‘If I want any advice from you, Miss Roke, I will send for you. I would have you know that I am a friend of Mr. Rood.’” “And then what happened?”’ asked the second. “Oh, she walked over to Mr. Rood and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, ‘My dear, I hope you like your work with us.’ Of course, it is all cut and dried.” “It is,” L interrupted. “But as I am the person about whom you are talking, I shall be glad to enlighten you.” I had had very little traffic with the third assistant, Miss Enders, but I knew within the first seven days that the three were as jealous of one another as they were of me. A nice situation! Their activities covered three vantages—-they endeavored to in- gratiate themselves with the sales persons, they tried to gain special favor in the eyes of Mr. Rood and they essayed to discredit one another before both the sales and the buyer. We assistants had about seven persons sell- ing under each one of us; they were pretty well lined up on the side of their particular assistant. One morning Number 18, one of my little salesgirls, came to me. “Will you O. K. this transaction for me?” she asked. ‘Mrs. Micher was in yesterday afternoon.” Mrs. Micher is one of the best of custom- ers who always insists upon having her merchandise delivered within two hours after purchase. She buys in such satisfying quantities that the house is willing to make that concession. But there is always re- quired a special pass by a buyer or his rep- resentative to permit the messenger boy to leave with the package. I looked at the sales slips and saw my name had been signed. “Who did this?’’ I asked angrily. “I,” faltered little 18. “I went to Miss Enders and she would not pass it. And Mr. Rood was out, and Mrs. Noltan and Miss Roke both said to tell Mr. Rood that you were away when you were needed most. So I did not want to lose the sale and I signed it myself.’ * dear child’’—and I put my arm around her—‘‘never do such a thing again. But I am obliged to you and I will certainly countersign this slip.” I walked into Mr. Rood’s office. Omit- ting the part that the other assistants had had in the transaction, I told him of Mrs. Micher’s visit in my absence on his own buying commission and of Number 18’s panic and the result. I made the case so strong that he immediately forgave the in- discretion; but he added, “I heard that you were letting anyone sign your name. I guess this was the case in mind.” “Tt must be, since it is the only one.” But there was other interference. I had found it a custom for the sales people to trail customers from the moment they en- tered the shop until they left. I had been present myself when an exasperated cus- tomer had shouted, “I will never come into this section again. I have been asked (Continued on Page 225)

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Paresh sre keeps a cold away THE SATURDAY EVENING POST lwo Minutes You guard your teeth— why not your nose and throat? I O you catch cold easily? Do slight throat irritations make you cough frequently? Are you sometimes troubled with sore throat? Strengthen the tissues of your nose, your mouth, your throat. Regular, systematic care—easily and quickly given—will do it. Put Glyco-Thy- moline diluted with water in an atomizer. Spray this solution up into your nose morning and evening. Spray your mouth and your throat also. Inhale as you spray. The taste is extremely pleasant, the after- effect soothing and. freshening. For years, physicians have recommended Glyco- Thymoline for the relief of colds; it is also a preventive. N the nose, throat countless tissues of your mouth and there are tiny chan- nels, or blood- vessels. Your blood flows through these passages, just as traffic would through a vast network of streets and avenues. But there are weak spots in the system. A famous doctor says that almost everybody has them, They slow up circulation, just as a bad ' spot in the pavement slows se — Your Mout neglected, parts of your body. Glyco-Thymoline keeps it clean, neutralizes acidity, gives your mouth a fresh, healthy feeling, and strengthens the tissues of cheeks and gums by stimulating the circulation. Read below what the United States Pub- lic Health Service says about keeping the mouth and nose clean as a protective measure against the common cold. UNITED STATES PUBL n° WEALTR ae e se PRMT MEER. Moma GIRS anne Your Nose must have enters your body. It is vital to your health that this passageway be kept clear. Strengthening the tissues and membranes will do more than anything else to keep it clear. up traffic. They are the spots that germs attack. They are the spots that suffer from exposure. They are the spots that are at once affected by the air of badly heated and ventilated rooms, Nature's remedy is to rush to the spot ‘an extra quantity of blood—to clear away the congestion. Sometimes this succeeds; but when it doesn’t, that extra blood remains to make the congestion worse. Traffic is blocked; your blood doesn’t circulate as it should; inflammation sets in, and you ask yourself, “How did I get this cold?” Glyco-Thymoline prevents colds because it unlocks traffic, re- lieves the clogged- up blood vessels so that the blood circu- lates more freely. Thus, it helps Nature work, . a Saal , It is one of the most sensitive, yet most Through this sensitive corridor the air you The most economical way to use Glyco-Thymoline is in an atomizer. This is wlso the most effective way. é morning and evening. he Your Throat The air you breathe, the food you eat, practically everything that enters your system, must enter here. It is lined with sensitive tissues that must resist conditions that Nature did not count upon, stale air, dusty air, air filled with the fumes of burnt gasoline, and modern food. Glyco- Thymoline gives Nature the aid she needs, fer experience escape the 223 HY is it that your dentist always urges you to use dental floss? He knows from wide nent. Fermentation produces acids that that minute food particles frequently tooth-brushes of even the most care ful people. These particles hide in the hard-to reach places. If they are not soon dislodged, they at tack the teeth, break through the enamel, and cause decay. Unpleasant breath also results, Use dental floss faithfully, but also use Glyco-Thymo- line. Nature intended your mouth to be alkaline, and Glyco-Thymoline is an alkaline preparation —the opposite of an acid. It checks fermentation, neutralizes the acids of decay, and makes the mouth fresh, pure and wholesome. from sore and tender gums, Glyco-Thymoline wii! stimulate the circulation and thus aid Nature to harden them and make them healthy. FREE Two Weeks’ Trial Test lf you suffer Make a Glyco-Thymoline is sold |! by druggists everywhere in small, medium, and large size bottles. Don’t wait for a cold to come. note now to buy a bottle |; of Glyco-Thymoline and start using it at once, KRESS & OWEN COMPANY 461 Pearl Street, Dept. 1G, New York City Send me free of charge enough Glyco-Thymoline for atomizer use morning and evening for two weeks. Address © 19275, K. & O. Co. _—4 | ! t ' | j | i i | !

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 * | Wasting Tea USE TAO TEA BALLS Tao Tea Balls take the guess and waste out of tea-making. One Tao Tea Ball makes 4 to 5 cups (according to strength desired) of a better, always uniform and more delicious tea. Tao Tea is biended from specially selected tiny bud leaves from the tips of the tea plants of the finest gardens of Ceylon, India and Java. Three generations of tea experts labored to produce for you this supreme tea. They call it FLOWERY Orange Pekoe. Yet because of our new and better way of packing—the Tao Tea Ball way—it is more economical than ordinary good tea. The Tao Tea Ball is the modern, safe way of packing tea. Accurately measured and packed by special machines in handy gauze bags, this supreme blend is sure to get to your table exactly as our experts have blended it for you— and at a cost of less than half a cent a cup. Quality — Economy — Convenience Tao Tea is the finest tea you ever tasted. It is nomical way of packing eliminates all guess-work and quality supreme—Tao means “supreme."’ Endorsed waste from tea-making. Tao Teanever becomes bitter, by Good Housekeeping Bureau of Foods, Sanitation no matter how long it brews. No messy tea leaves to and Health, Serial No. 3070. This handy and eco- clean up—so convenient, so economical, so good. gold. Enough for A Marvelous Discovery! : ans Delicious Iced Tea ~ fe Without Boiling Water Caddy 50-Ball Tin Handsomely lac- quered in black and 20-Ball Tin Handsomely lac- quered in black and gold. Enough for the average family for almost three weeks. Made possible by TAO TEA BALLS. No Waste,of Ice. No Waste of Tea. The Simplest Method Ever Devised. 10-Ball Tin Handsomely lac- Just drop a TAO TEA BALL into a teapot containing four cups of cold water (not ive-water) after breakfast; by lunch time you will have delicious amber- colored tea, clear, sparkling, tragrant. Serve in glasses with lemon and pow- dered sugar to suit your taste. Frost with a chip of ice. Slowly the cold water draws out the very essence of the flavor of the Flowery Orange Pekoe blend. No flat taste of quered in black and boiled water. The sparkle and vitality gold. Enough for of fresh water mingled with the delicate the average family fragrance of TAO TEA. for ten days. No matter how long it is brewed TAO TEA never grows bitter. Tao Iced-Tea is so easy tomake. Ready the instant you want it! Make up a supply in the morning—serve it throughout the en- tire day. Flowery ORANGE PEKOE Blend Ask Your Dealer Today for tAO TEA BALLS TAO TEA COMPANY, INC., 103 Park Avenue, NEW YORK, N. Y.

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i Se (Continued from Page 222) twenty times if I want anything. Ido! I want to be left alone!" So, disregarding the routine of the others, I instructed my own force to let customers know that they were within distance, but to allow them to look to their own satisfaction. I even put words into their mouths, such as, “Yes, madame, those are the half-priced French gowns”; or, “That frock is the color of your hair, is it not, madame?’”’ But I most emphatically insisted that they not annoy visitors by continually asking them if they wished to be served. And then one day I was summoned in haste to the buyer’s office. I found in addi- tion to Mr. Rood a woman wh» was trem- bling under some powerful emotion. I did not know her, but I had seen her several times when she stopped to take Miss Roke to lunch. “This is Mrs. Silver,”’ said Mr. Rood. “She feels that we have treated her very er “I do,” she interrupted in a voice hoarse with anger. “I do! I am a busy woman and I have spent the last half hour in your section trying to be waited on. The sales- women talk and laugh and have ignored me entirely!” “You wil! have attention now,” he said in a soothing voice. But to no avail. , “T will not! I am through with such a place forever!’’ And she flounced out. “I don’t understand,” said Mr. Rood. “From the gowns she mentioned I know that she was in your section. Suppose we have a talk with all the assistants. You might ask them to step in here.” I called the three others and Mr. Rood repeated the case without localizing it, con- cluding: ‘‘We have adequate help and today particularly we are not busy. It is most strange. We must see that our clients are served.’ “* My people never let a customer escape.” This from Miss Enders. ‘Some are being taught to let customers alone, but mine aren’t.” It was my friend Mrs. Noltan. “TI am meant,” I said quietly, and I stated the case as I saw it; but for once Mr. Rood was not friendly. “Suppose you take me into your confi- dence before you make any more innova- tions,” he said, ‘‘and perhaps we can avoid any such scenes as we had today.” As we left, Miss Roke lingered and I heard her begin: ‘You know that I told you she was trying to run the department. We keep saying that you know ——” I could not in decency further prolong my departure, but I knew that I was miss- ing the kernel of the nut. Nevertheless, I was not pleased at the equivocal position into which I had been jockeyed. I had won Mr. Rood’s liking and esteem, but I was not sure that they were deeper than his pride. I walked into a vacant fitting room and sat down, putting my head on my arms. At the Buyers’ Meeting “T missed you from the department,”’ said a voice, and I looked up into the eyes oi Mr. Rood. They were not friendly, but they were no longer cold, merely inquiring. Here was my chance. I had kept per- sonal and business affairs carefully distinct heretofore. But I snatched at any straw. “Oh”—and my voice was uneven— “this morning the water pipe was frozen and I could not get a plumber before I left. And I almost missed a car and turned my ankle. But I did not mind the water or the hurt, if I pleased you. And I thought that I was, but I am not. There is nothing right ever.” I had averted my face, but I stole a look. The eyes were friendly and so were the words when they came. “You are just working too hard. I’ve been noticing. Have your ankle bandaged, get some lunch and you will feel 100 per cent better. Of course you please me. You please me very much.” And I must have, for it was through his influence that I was given the position va- cated by the death of the buyer in wraps three* later. I felt very's#mall and frightened when I attended the first buyers’ meeting with the head of the firm. The men and women looked so august and important that they seemed ahove petty mundane affairs. “This,” I thought with a thrill— “this is big business, and.I am part of it,’’ THE SATURDAY I resolved to be worthy of the high trust. Mr. Rood, in the chair at side, gave me a measure of comfort. Only once did he address me. “See that white-haired man? No, not there—in the front row, the third seat. Yes, there. Remind me to tell you about him after we leave.”” I did speedily enough. “That is Mr. Grimes,”’ he explained. ‘His wife is the second cousin of the president. He stands pretty high with the firm. You better cultivate him.” “If I can. But why should he be in- terested in me?”’ “He isn’t. But he could gum your trip to Europe, perhaps by suggesting that I could handle both lines abroad. Or he might have some friend in mind who could use your place. You better find a way to enlist his interest.” Already the idols were toppling. “Oh, I will,” I assured him. “ But have you any suggestion?”’ “Several. often. The next time she leaves us I will steer her to you, and I will tip you off when she is on the way. Give her the keys of the city. Meanwhile, Mr. Grimes, as the buyer of men and boys’ clothing, has been to Europe many times. You might get some pointers from him.” A Ruined Dinner I convinced Mr. Grimes that I could never have negotiated the Paris and Lon- don and Vienna pen if it had not been for his advice. And before I left I had several talks with Mrs. Grimes in regard to the selection of an evening and afternoon wrap for her. They were both many years older than I, and I had it in mind to become a sort of protégée of theirs. The wraps that I brought for Mrs. Grimes were eminently satisfactory, and they had no duplicates in America. On the strength cf them, I was invited to dine with the Grimeses one evening. 1 wanted to refuse, for I feared that I should be cast in the rdle of fly in the spider-and-fly scene. But I had no legit- imate excuse, so I went. Besides, they had both said it would be a business din- ner, with other representatives of the store present. There were. The head of the firm, his private secretary, three other buyers and I constituted the guests. I went to dinner on the arm of the secretary, whom I in- stinctively disliked. As the affair was neither entirely social nor entirely business I was not sure whether I should talk shop or limit myself to pleasant amenities. But the secretary quic y decided that point. “Has the chief talked to you yet?’’ he asked. “‘A number of times,” I replied. ‘Do you mean any one time in particular?”’ “Yes; I was referring to the store policy. Has he discussed that with you?” “What do you mean?” “I see that he has not,” he said. ‘Then take a friendly tip. Don’t spend your next six weeks in Europe buying wraps for a few personal friends.” “But I did not. Whoever says that I did lies. Who said so?” I demanded. “Eat your fish,” he muttered. ‘People are looking at you. It is common gossip that you did a lot of special buying on the . And someone reported it to the chief.” My dinner was ruined. I had made the two selections for Mrs. Grimes, but they had been entered and marked in the rou- tine way. The only concession that I had made was to let Mrs. Grimes see them first. Nearly all the buyers let their best cus- tomers have a preliminary exhibit. But my hands were tied. One does not say to the head, “I know what you are thinking about me, and it is not so.” I ho that he would send for me and open the ques- tion. But he never did. Meanwhile I was sensing other undercur- | rents. There was a strong group opposed to the Grimes element, and there was many an exchange of hostilities. But the warfare was not open. Half a dozen buyers of one contingent would not meet another half dozen and break yardsticks over one an- other’s knuckles, or throw bolts of material or hats or shoes. Not at all. But three or four buyers might say to the chief in the course of a week, “ It is a pity how poor old Crags is breaking.’’ Maybe Crags was not breaking any more than his personally se- lected gloves were. Yet he might respond in kind to the chief’s “‘A little under the weather, Crags?’’ He might, if he were not on the qui vive. But a good i person Mrs. Grimes shops with us | EVENING POST No-trum to two “Rider” Back, One of the most popular Bicy- cle designs, Stand ard or French (nar- row) size. What Cands ~ ~ Your partner deals and bids one No- trump; second hand bids two Clubs; you hold: Clubs—7, 4, 2; Diamonds— A, 4, 3, 2; Hearts—A, K, 2; Spades—Q, 4, 2. What cards should your partner hold to justify his original bid of one ? Are you justified in raising o-trump—or what should you do with your hand? - Should your partner hold r Includes directions for be- ginners, bidding, doubling, overbids, supporting bids, take-outs, def redoubling, Bridge, leading, discarding, informatory doubles, busi- ness doubles, methods of language play, etc., etc., ete. Congress Cards are the most artistic cards that can be made, Especially designed for parties, gifta, and prizes. Exquisite pic- torial and decorative backs in color; gold edges; handsome telescope cases. Buy either Bicycle or Congress Cards in single packs or in the cases holding two decks with contrasting backs, especially convenient for all games requiring & two packs of cards. new two-pack Check the books you want All seven 50 cents ensive bids, T is easy to be a prize winner at Auction Bridge if you know how to bid. Our booklet, ‘Easy Lessons in Auction Bridge,”’ tells how to value your cards and let your partner know in the language of Bridge what you hold. Written by an Auction Bridge expert who is famous for his abil- ity to make the fine points of the game clear and simple. 10 cents postpaid. But, equally important, is to use cards that do not distract the mind. No one can get the utmost pleasure from any card game if the cards are soiled or if they stick together and their indexes are hard to read, The best way is to always have on hand a fresh, clean pack of Bicycle Cards. Their splendid finish and big indexes speed up the play and give it the spon- taneity that makes for real recreation. Their remarkable quality enables them to go through game. after game without losing the snappy liveliness of a new deck. You can’t get Bicycle superi- ority for less than Bicycle price. THE U.S. PLAYING CARD CO. Dept. A-5, Cincinnati, U.S. A.,or Windsor, Canada Operating Radio Station WSAI BICYCLE PLAYING CARDS I~ The U. S. Playing Card Co., Dept. A-5, Cincinnati, U, 8. A., or Windsor, Canada, Please send the books checked. All seven 50 cents. Name Address Easy Lessons in Auction Bridge Fortune Telling —with regular cards 6c Card Tricks—feats of ‘magic for boys and adults ; ; 6c Entertaining with Cards—every -as deacribed above 10¢ thing from invitation to menus The Official Rules of Card Games Card Stunts for Kiddies—buiid 300 games, 250 pages 20¢ ing, puzzles, et« Six Popular Card Games—com plete, concise rules of Auction, Cribbage, Pitch, Five Hundred, Pinochle, Solitaire. State \ Lar tc /

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226 SATURDAY FLORSHEIM SHOES are famous for their fine style. Well-dressed men find in Florsheims just what they want—smart lasts, correct design- ing, quality materials. Tue Onuymptc = Style M 167 Most Styles 10 THE FLORSHEIM SHOE COMPANY Manufaeturers - Cuicace Booklet "Styles of the Times’ on Request ——— who cares~ ene gil A corn isn't just a pain—it’s a drain. A tax on the whole nervous system. A blight, not alone on the toe, but on the spirits and the dis- position. . Doctors know that a corn can darken a man’s whole view- paint on life. Headache, fatigue, i ritabikity and indigestion are often reflexes of a throbbing corn . . . shoot “Pain-messages” to every nerve center, w hen a corn starts Blue-jay THE QUICK AND GENTLE WAY TO END A CORN Life will taste sweeter When that Corn is gone broadcasting. . . If you would know blissful relief, apply Bluesjay to that burning corn. In ten seconds, the world will seem a better place to livein. . . . A tiny cushion—cool as velvet—fits over the corn and stops the pain at once, You wear it two days in solid comfort. When you take it off, the corn comes with it—gently removed by the little brown disc of magic medication. | sales of the previous year. And | every one of my force stop by the advertis- EVENING POST never mentions health, and is likely to be suspicious when he is being commiserated. Even if Crags responded that he’d never felt better, he might leave in the mind of the chief merely a small tribute to his gameness. In either event, attention was focused on the Crags department, and if there was any actual slump the case was indeed serious. Or the alcoves might be under discussion. They were on the main floor, three in num- ber and in plain sight of the big entrance. They did not belong to any section, but were used by the different ones as the sea- son and sales demanded. Every buyer coveted one for himself. Naturally. People often bought whet was within reach, when they were unwilling to take an elevator to the department. More- | over, the alcoves lent themselves charm- ingly to decoration and were an attracting card. I made three efforts to obtain them for a display. The first time I was told that they | were already promised. The second time I made my request earlier, only to find that | the present plan was to use only acces- sories—scarfs, laces, gloves, neckware and | the like. The third time I met with a definite refusal, which convinced me of the nigger in the woodpile. I did a bit of scout- ing. Mr. Rood was puzzled and somewhat disconcerted. “Have you talked to Mr. Grimes?” he asked. I had not. “It is imperative that | you have one of the alcoves at least once a week with the fashion season approaching ' its height. If you lose out, you would cut your sales 30 per cent.” This information only served to strengthen my determination. “TI have been nice to everybody,” I added, and I enumerated a long list. ‘“*__.. and Mr. Lorey,’”’ Mr. Rood ended for me. “Oh, yes, to him too.” “By the way, whom did you ask for the alcoves?”’ I mentioned the name of the sales man- ager, and Mr. Rood made a _ hopeless gesture. “He has nothing to do with them. They are part of the advertising, and only Mr. Lorey, the advertising manager, can dis- pose of them.” ‘But everyone asks the sales manager,” I protested. “I have heard them.” “Of course,” was the response. “That is olicy. But Mr. Lorey can give or with- Rold his consent, and he is extremely jealous of his authority. Still, you might try him, even now.” I did, and encountered a stonewall. He was grievously offended and his manner showed it. “You did come to me at Jast,”’ he said. “If you had just talked this over with me last week before the final arrangements were made, I could have helped you. It is a pity.” “If someone would tell me the procedure, I would have less difficulty,” I answered. “I have been wanting an alcove the worst kind and I heard the sales manager dis- cussing it 15 ‘Just so,” interrupted Mr. Lorey, and I saw that I had said the wrong thing. “Well, perhaps he can help you, since I cannot this season.” Diplomacy Wins Just so, indeed! Thirty per cent of my sales lost before the sales began! No use to talk to Mr. Grimes. He was not interested in poor generalship. And the chief cared only for results, not alibis. Well, he should have them! I bought ter dollars’ worth of stamps out of personal funds and I wrote to every person whom I had ever met, tell- ing them about our new stock. I got my salesgirls so keen about the merchandise that they could not help but sell it. And I sold like a novice whose bread and butter depended on the day’s showing. But I took occasion to compliment and to thank Mr. Lorey for every ad that he gave us in the press. One day I added, not without courage, “We hardly need an aleove. Your ads would lure customers to any floor.” I fled before he could give a response. But three days later we were given an | aleove—a blessing that was thankfully re- ceived, although we had already topped the made ing office and personally thank Mr. Lorey. They were not keen about the chore, but it | brought us results-——several of them. The | last was a new position. March 7,1925 I had had no intention of leaving, but my buying success had added to my confidence. So when I learned that a daughter of the chief who was bored with society planned to have the half of my department that was devoted to misses and children’s wraps and I was to be limited to the women’s, I looked for another job. But not openly. I madea point of being with persons prominent in different organizations and I did not keep my season’s work a secret. I had several offers. But the one I accepted was as supervisory buyer in a department store that had only five others. There was a buyer for every section as in most establishments. But every eight or ten or twenty sections had a supervisory buyer, who was in constant close touch with the president. My supervision cov- ered women’s outside wear— wraps, dresses, gloves, shoes, hats, furs and hose. I felt no awe at my small introductory meeting with the other supervisors and the head, but only a deep gratification. There were four men besides the chief, and I made the second woman. Competitors’ Merchandise Our responsibilities were enormous. Surely we could work together without jealousies and recriminations, solving big problems in a big way. I was impressed by the scope and variety of our work. After I had been presen to the others, I was invited to listen to the discussion as a pre- liminary to assuming my: own duties. Everyone had a sheaf of papers, which I discovered to be the day's advertisements of every store of importance in New York and Brooklyn, as well as unusual ones from other large cities—Chicago, Philadelphia, Cleveland, Detroit, Boston, Los Angeles. The supervisors and buyers under them kept in close touch with every allied section in the city. They were aided by shoppers, two of whom were attached to every super- visor. The shoppers were eyes and ears to the supervisors. They scouted around to find how much business was being done in other departments similar to their own on a given day or hour. They compared outside prices with the ones asked by us. They checked up on the response Jones got from his 10 per cent discount sale. Within cer- tain discretionary limits, they made pur- chases, and to good effect. Mr. Bartleman, who included furniture in his jurisdiction, illustrated that point. “T had one of the Smith chairs bought,” he said. ‘And they are not hair filled as advertised. When it was taken apart, it disclosed a cotton-hair mixture which we would not carry.” “Do you mean the ones they are featur- ing today?” asked the chief. “Yes; I had a report on their display this morning. I don’t think we shall be affected in any way. The sale is second- class.”’ “Speaking of sales,” said Mr. Peters, “Blanks are cutting us in the matter of overcoats, I understand. I plan to see Mr. Ryte, the buyer, this morning and do a bit of revising. We should be justified in a small three or four day cut sale of our own, I believe.” “ Arrange it then, Mr. Peters,” answered the chief. “I want to speak a moment about the silk situation. The disasters in Japan and the uncertain political situation in China are going to force silk up. At the merchants’ luncheon last Wednesday we all agreed to investigate our organization needs with a view to keeping the price stable until June. Mr. Corton, that would come pretty well within your scope, would it not?” “Yes,” was the answer. “I could give you a report in ten days, or within two weeks at the outside.” “T have some data,”’ interrupted Mr. Peters. “They bear on the subject and might be of use. Stop at my office this morning, Corton, and look them over.” “A friendly, dignified spirit,”’ I thought to myself. ‘But we will defer our judg- ment.” At the end of the meeting the chief took me to my buyers and introdu me for- mally to them all. I had talked with several of them before and I knew all of them by name, but this was my official induction to office. After my escort left me, I had a little informal session of my own, which deepened the first pleasant impression. I made no effort at big constructive work the first weeks. I must first fit myself into the organization. I studied the stock and (Continued on Page 229)

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ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | [(K cote basi ; | oie : ““TQEAUTY,”’ says the proverb, “ is in the eye of the beholder.’’ But the beauty of Ipswich De Luxe Hosiery means perhaps even more to the eye of the wearer, for only she knows the secret of how little they cost. Under the century-old mark of the flying witch you can buy Ipswich Hosiery to suit your fancy for every kind of wear—stock- ings of silk, rayon, wool and the finest IPSWICH MILLS * Ipswich, Mass. LAWRENCE & CO., Sole Selling Agents Boston New York Chicago Si. Louis Philadelphia San Francisco London, Eng. 227 ooOa pair In All Colors mercerized cotton; stockings of every allur- ing tint and shade of color; stockings that laugh at the laundry and the darning egg. A dollar will buy a pair of even the sheerest silk Ipswich hosiery. We will gladly send you a sample pair if you don't find the Ipswich De Luxe line at the stores that you generally patronize. The coupon below will bring them promptly. — Silk Socks for Men—75¢ Made with the new “Y"’ toe: extra fabric knitted-in to re- lieve the strain where socks so often pull tight and wear through at the toes, es | Name Address Hosiery Size IPSWICH MILLS, Ipswich, Mass. I enclose a dollar for a sample pair of Ipswich De Luxe Stockings Color

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 ee ee Sixteen Browning King Stores Now Sell Nunn-Bush Shoes OR 103 years we have served successive generations faithfully and well, earning a reputation as a foremost outfitter to well-dressed men. In every department you will find exceptional values made possible by our long experience and knowledge of the best in men’s apparel. For your convenience we offer, in every store where space will per- mit a shoe department, the nationally known Nunn-Bush Ankle- Fashioned Oxfords and Ball-Fashioned Shoes. A thorough investiga- tion of the leading makes of men’s fine footwear has convinced us that Nunn-Bush Shoes cannot be excelled in quality, fit and style. Departments featuring Nunn-Bush Shoes exclusively in the following sixteen stores Boston, Providence, New York City (Two Stores: Broadway at 32nd; also Cooper Square), Brooklyn, | Buffalo, Cleveland, Cleveland University, Detroit, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Kansas City, Mo., Kansas City, Kans., Omaha, Minneapolis, Se. Paul. PHrowning King & @. Other Browning King Stores in CAMBRIDGE (Harvard Square), MASS., PHILADELPHIA, PITTSBURGH, CHICAGO, EVANSTON, ILL., MILWAUKEE, DENVER, SEATTLE

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(Continued from Page 226) stock displays. I learned not only the assistant buyers’ names but the salesmen’s as well. I tried to see the departments through the buyers’ eyes, a feat not diffi- cult of accomplishment, since I had so recently left the ranks. My policy was to convince the buyers that I was intending no interference with their plans, unless such plans made for the aggrandizement of one department at the expense of the business as a whole. My work lay along pleasant lines. The buyers were friendly, the departments’ per- sonnel seemed contented and there was the satisfying hum of industry. Many little kindnesses came my way, which touched me anew with our personal kinship. Pink- cheeked Myra Bright, in suits, brought me flowers for my desk from her mother’s suburban garden—valley lilies, violets, pansies, roses, sweet William. The buyer in dresses brought me a small cherry pie which she had made herself. For the first time in my life I did not have to concern myself with clothes. When the new stock arrived, the buyers saw that half a dozen carefully selected gree were charged and sent to me, several becoming hats, proper gloves and shoes. Everybody was kind to me, everybody thoughtful. Easy days, halcyon days, “lulled by a false sense of security.” The last week in May marked the end of my first six months and the close of the fiscal year. It was a steaming noon with the asphalt spongy and hot. The store was crowded with customers who were irritable and im- patient with slow service, and manned by salesmen who were keeping one eye on the time clock and the other closed for sheer weariness. In my office I was going over a recommendation for the third time in an effort to make my vision and my brain correlate. I had about decided that I was attempting an impossibility, when in swept Myra, red-eyed and furious. “Tf she thinks that she can gyp me out of two weeks’ vacation, she has another think coming, and I told her so!”’ “Sit down, Miss Bright,” I urged. “But first close the door. Now what are you talking about?’ 2 Miss Rane. She tried to fire me, and I say Her voice was becoming shrill and out of control. “‘Steady there,” I told her. ‘‘What were you doing at the time?” The Showdown “Tt’s Ellen Branch’s fault. I had had nine customers this last hour and she had oniy two. An old woman came and looked around like a pop-eyed cow, and I said, “You take her.” And she said, ‘Take her yourself. I’m busy.’ But she wasn’t. And Miss Rane said, ‘ Miss Bright, here, please.’ And I did not answer. And when she came for me, I didn’t go. I guess that I have some rights in this place. I guess I have!” “And one of them is to obey your su- perior officer,” I interpolated. At that she broke down. “I thought you liked me,” she sobbed. “And I brought you flowers every day. I didn’t give Miss Rane any.” Flowers, indeed! Flowers! “Take a glass of water,” I retorted. “I will be back shortly.” I sought Miss Rane. “What happened to Myra Bright?” I asked, Miss Rane turned to me. “She is one of your favorites,’”’ she said. “‘Didn’t she tell you all about it?” “My favorites?’’ The words hung in the air as I repeated them, vibrating between us. ‘My favorites?” ““Yes;. teacher’s pet. everything nice.” “Stop!” I could be emphatic when I chose. “Did you think those few simple flowers could have any possible bearing with me?” “Tt isn’t what I think,” answered Miss Rane coldly. “It is what she thinks. She used to be a good saleswoman. But the last few months she has been getting in- creasingly indolent and careless. She would be no loss to us. Just now she defied me and used your name as a whip.” “Come with me,” I said, and led the way to my office. “ Myra’’—I stopped at the door—“‘ Miss Rane is as ashamed of you as I am. But she is willing to listen to an apology che can think of one sufficiently strong. iss Rane, whatever you decide Flowers, soft talk, THE in regard to Miss Bright will be final. I shall not be using my office for half an hour.” And I left them. My purpose was to find a ge spot and to do some quick planning, if I could plan with a hundred thoughts crowding my mind and clamoring for a hearing. But the end was not yet. In front of an elevator I saw the chief. I did not want to talk to him then and turned to flee under the im- ression that I had glimpsed him first. But I was in error, for he halted my steps by calling my name. we were in my mind this minute,” he said, “You compliment me,” I answered in an effort at lightness. “Not entirely,” he replied, with such seriousness that a cold finger pressed my heart. ‘Of course, the final reports of the year are not ow yet. But the tentative ones from your division are not so encour- aging as we had hoped. There are signs of progress, of course.” He paused. Progress? Was he saying ‘“‘progress’’ to me, the word which he used when he had no definite encouragement to offer? I heard a very small voice, my own, speak: “‘My resignation is on the table.” “Resignation!” he boomed. “What do ou mean by resignation? We want your intelligent coéperation, not your stupid ag gong vl ee If the blood had been drained from my brain, it now flooded back, a warm, crimson tide. And every wave carried a picture— me accepting favors from saleswomen, as- sistants, buyers—me listening to tales of commendation and of flattery—me relying on others’ judgment because they were skilled sycophants and I was easy. Me— me! I lifted my head. “You only think that I am intelligent now,” I answ quietly. ‘“ You will know before another two months has passed.” The New Rule Without waiting for an elevator, I hur- ried to the first floor and out into the street. I hailed a taxi. ‘Drive me in the park for an hour,” When I returned, clear-headed and pur- poseful, my little office girl said, “‘ Miss Rane is very anxious to see you.” ‘Tell her that I am waiting for her now.” Miss Rane had made herself very ac- cessible, for in a moment she was with me. SATURDAY EVENING POST * Awfully Eee of you to back me up | about Miss Bright.” cere. ‘The girl is all right. She needed a show-down and I anticipate no further trouble.” “Good!"" And then—‘I would like a little conference with our division buyers. Her voice rang sin- | Suppose you wait with me until I send for | the others.” They came quickly and willingly enough. | We had whiled many a dull hour away by conferences. But I waved aside the friendly interchange and spoke with terse precision: “TI want to cover an important point with you all quickly. When I finish, we can have a brief discussion if necessary. “We have been a little lax about accept- ing courtesies from one another and from our subordinates. We can set the good example ourselves by ceasing them toward one another and we can pass the word along by holding a short meeting in every depart- ment. We had better not mince words with the sales people. Tell them if they make one overture it will be repulsed. A second will bring dismissal. e want them to advance themselves by effort, not by boxes of candy. You might make it clear at the same time that any appeal te me over your head is as unpopular a step as a girl could | ake. “‘We shall be in conference only at rare | intervals hereafter. and we can handle our problems indi- vidually better than collectively.” _ I had finished, and there was no discus- sion. badinage as the conference closed. I shall be with you in | your sections in turn, two days at a time, | | But neither was there any laughing | As I consider the years that have elapsed / since that day, I can see mistakes, some of omission, others of commission. But I can pass them over for the greater satisfaction of feeling that my division is the only one that has tripled its profits, the only one that has an 8 per cent turnover in help. There is a spirit of frankness among the employes that is far better than a hollow fabric of flattery, and they like their jobs. But then so do I. And nobody searches me out to tell me that I show “ progress.” It is not necessary. I know it! ‘When the grim hand of Disaster reaches for You eae AU AR MS ORE Vision ts cloud- raze You are al faa merc, r the fick (sy Youmay vel through with- out a smashuy You may not, Be safe In ire satet of other unfailing Wola alite! I Puipy you}# ith Aan ul Stromberg Electrically Dri ’ ‘shigld Wiper Economical in erlacaat con sumption. Does not interfere with carburetion. Dependable Safe. A struction and as id in principle f cart satisfactory in ope Wala (oti r billae mel eeeliilel aa’ r. Se ation as the rwrite (‘Gr lasltigae Stromberg N 66 East

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? RUVUEBEBERSET a t Q «. a 1 < THE SATURDAY ALBRIGHT RUBBERSET ALBRIGAT TOOTH BRUSH - RUBBERSET CO. Penetrates into every crevice! Ordinary tooth brushes do not prevent de- cay, because they only clean the even sur- faces of the teeth. 4,118 dentists designed the Albright Tooth Brush with widely. wedge-shaped tufts of bristles to reach at the very seat of decay—in between, on the uneven grinding surfaces, and the backs of the back teeth. More than 20,000 dentists now endorse the Albright Tooth Brush—different in design, different in results. 45 35% 25 Handlesin e colors for quick identification of your saute bruskec White: Light Acaber, Derk Amber, Ruby, Blue RUBBERSET COMPANY, Newark, N.J., U.S.A. PRODUCT re @ele Buy it im the Re im between tees re | av beg: } ‘ALBRIGHT RUBEBERSET RVUBBERSET A&CBRIGHT

ELECTRICS ti Equipped | with Time and é | Temperature Controls D you have seen the very latest development L&@H Electrics ontrols, which are pop The L4aH Electrica Heater . fas itohrat you want fo intil every ) not consider the purchase of any range lectric cookery Automatic lime and Temperature ( ular features of LAH Electrics ranges sll dradgery of constant watching and save re than half. the Ask your insiston L&H Electri Lal t Relieve current which was formerly wasted dealer or send for catalog CS Appliances P Toasters LAK Electi ectrics Ranges Lah Ele L&aH Fl « Hot P HM Ma ite ur i by A. J. Lindemann & Hoverson Co 423 amd Ave Milwaukee EVENING POST Liberty and equality as labels mean wicked lies to a good many minds. They are painful lies in cases where a measured oppression is snatched away from an em- peror or a czar and is replaced by a vast, ruthless, bloody oppression, dealt out by men without a country who have seized the power of a soviet. They are painful lies when they are used to stimulate weak peo- ples to throw off imperialism merely to jump from the frying pan of colonial gov- ernment into the fires of disorder, anarchy and the exploitation by those very agi- tators who have clamored the loudest for freedom and autonomy. So, likewise, democracy as a label is capable of vast and destructive deceptions. | I am not much interested in it as a slogan; as a hard-earned blessing, as a practice and | a performance it is my greatest interest and it is my hope. It was wholly in this spirit that I have taken a first-hand look at the new democracies in Europe. A few days before this was written I talked with the man who among these new democracies has done more since the war than any other to push his own nation to- | ward pros’ rity and advancement. He understands fully that I may quote his | ideas, just as he understands also that I am | not an interviewer. Men who are inter- | viewed often withhold all that they do not | wish or dare to say, and pour forth accord- ing to the measure of their conscience everything they desire the world to believe at the moment. Interviewing is a process | by which one is locked out of the inside of | a man. This statesman was moved. He opened his intellectual front door, and what he said summed up the evidence I have been gathering. | He said: “I cannot deny that the new | laboratories of democracy are disappoint- ing. Some of us had high expectations. We did not count upon many of the difficulties. | Someone has said that people always get the kind of government they deserve. I would change that to read that ag an get the kind of government for which they are prepared. Good will is not enough for democratic self-government; intelligence is required.”

Constructive Genius Lacking **You ask me whether I expect more dic- tatorships in one form or another. Perhaps | in one or two places, which you may iden- tify, such a result is inevitable. But it is deplorable. You Americans have a great distaste for monarchies, but today you will find a substantial opinion in favor of return | to monarchies so long as they are accom- | panied by constitutional and parliamentary government. You will hear much more in America about the oppression of the Ho- henzollerns than you can hear in Germany. You will hear as much in America about imaginary tyranny of the Hapsburgs as you wil! hear whispered in Hungary and Austria about a desire that monarchy may some day return. I am not in favor of it. But monarchy may be needed to hold a people together in times of emergency, and it is at least a self-perpetuating institution. There ; is a succession based on the accident of birth. Dictators often are succeeded by | anarchy and chaos because there is no

succession.” He went on: “I cannot publicly admit that any of the new democracies have | failed. Some of them have given horribly weak government. Some are vexed because their own parliaments are becoming instru- ments for personal scramble for political ower, for mere wordy dissension, decid- ing nothing, building nothing, but bowing to special groups and releasing the public resources to minority interests. But I can- not admit to myself privately that democ- racy will fail, that parliamentary govern- ment will fail. I can only say that we must struggle to remold it and rebuild it in some more workable form, because democracy is the result of centuries of striving to get away from all the other known forms, which are even worse. Certainly the new form, sovietism, is worse. What is left for us if parliamentary government fails?” In half a dozen of the new democracies I have talked to statesmen whose patriot- ism is unquestioned. I had felt that I should find a t deal of difference be- tween the problems of one country and those of another of these handmade new

March 7,1925 THE NEW DEMOCRACIES (Continued from Page 35) nations. Instead of this I have uncovered the unexpected fact that about the same experience has hit them all. Let me set down the factors which have played the large réles in the new constitutional parlia- mentary governments: Czecho-Slovakia, Hungary, Austria, Rumania, Jugo-Slavia, Bulgaria, Turkey and wong First there are the economic factors; and secondly there are the political factors ex- ternal, but more important still, internal. Before the war something resembling an economic plan had been built for Central Europe. The imperial organization known as Austria-Hungary had built up a great agricultural and manufacturing industry. Vienna and Budapest as cities of trade and exchange had grown up as financial, com- mercial and transportation centers. The producing power of the middle-class type in Prague, the rich agricultural potence of Southern Hungary and of Austria and Serbia had found outlets to the Adriatic. Tr’ est and Fiume promised to become great distributing ports. The unity of empire and the pursuits of peace had tended to bring Central and Eastern Europe toward an effective economic whole. The Plight of Austria If anyone can conceive a war which would result in breaking the United States into a dis-United States it is possible to gain some idea of what the peacemakers in Paris did in the creation of the new democracies in Europe. Call the old system imperialism if one will, nevertheless there was in Cen- tral Europe something like an economic federation. If the economic federation of the states of our own union were to be sud- denly smashed by setting up each state as an independent and selfish nation it would be an exaggerated form of the thing the treaty of peace did to Central and Eastern Europe. Imagine, for instance, an iso- lated independency of Illinois. Chicago- imagine!—is asked to support itself no longer as the distributing center of the Middle West but merely as the chief city of Illinois. Imagine it with its own economic boundaries, and its tariffs erected against Indiana, Wisconsin, Missouri, Iowa, Ken- tucky, just as these states have economic barriers erected against Illinois. In such a state of facts Chicago would be something like a parallel with Vienna and Budapest. Pared down to the bone, these countries of Austria and Hungary are each asked to support their respective Chicagos. Oh, well, it is the punishment of two creative, gay and courageous civilizations for having been on the wrong side in the war; now they are in the hands of something like benevolent receiverships. At the same time, new territories, rich in resources, agriculture and manufacturing, have been awarded to Rumania, Jugo- Slavia and Czecho-Slovakia, but there is a marked degree of isolation in these nations also. In some instances those who hap- pened to be on the right side in the war ave no particular skill or training in the management of the riches which have been conferred upon them. In some cases they must deal with resident populations in the acquired territories which by race, tradi- tion and sentiment give them no loyalty. In some cases economic resource has been taken out of skilled hands and put into un- skilled hands. New boundaries! And eco- nomic barriers! New discontented racial minorities! Three ie ago I went to the port of Triest—the outlet for a vast territory. I was taken by the local authorities in a har- bor launch along the water front. I saw an warehouses, elaborate loading and un- oading machinery, huge steel traveling cranes. But they were idle. Rusty-sided ships in the harbor were idle. It was all a symbol of the terrible economic tragedy of entral Europe. A territory which should have been an economic whole is now a checkerboard of economic jealousies, of eco- nomic boundaries, of economic fears and hates, of tariffs, isolations, of threatened ruin. This is of the first state of things which these new democracies share in common. And why? Because of pobdes. Because of the nar- row view and the resultant feebleness of parliaments. Because of the coalition op- position in every country I have visited, (Continued on Page 233)

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(Continued from Page 230) standing on watchful guard to pick points of attack against ministries which, un- hampered, might start in this group of these new peace-punished democracies and these war-rewarded constitutional mon- archies a tremendous policy of federation which might end in a United States of Europe. This is the first great impression of the universal experience of the new democra- cies. Probably more than anything else it is parliamentary government—the scram- ble for power—multi-party, knock-down- the-ministry coalition practice of the new demecracies—which ties the hands of statesmen big enough, if unhampered, to federate into a gainful salvaging union those states which may otherwise go on the rocks, one by one, because they now try to live, as the states of the United States would live under the same isolated condi- tions, in a monstrosity of economic divi- sion. In 1922 at Rome in the garden of my embassy I talked with Don Sturzo, then the able leader of the Popular Party, about an economic union in the new democracies of Central Europe. ‘Italy has an interest in such a union because of her control of ports and shores of the Adriatic and because of a future commercial opportunity in the de- velopment of near-by purchasing markets which might pay her in wheat and raw ma- terials. What did Don Sturzo indicate would stand in the new way of forming such an economic union, federation or agreement? Politics. It was too much to expect that the statesmen leading their so-called Suc- cession States and their neighbors would dare to make proposals for economic federa- tion and then have to face their own criti- cal, talkative, destructive parliaments. Before and since that discussion with Don Sturzo I have talked with the leaders of administration in Czecho-Slovakia, Bul- garia, Jugo-Slavia, Rumania, Hungary and Austria. I am certain that if these men could be assembled in a locked room with full powers and could be freed from the el partisan and petty pressure of their parliaments, something like an economic federation would be worked out, and a dis- armament program and a nonaggression pact saving great waste of resource would be thrown in for good measure. But as it stands today, unless outside and neutral forces—such as the unofficial coéperation of the United States and Great Britain in economic interest, or the coéperation of Great Britain and France in political in- terest—can take the initiative nothing will be done. Under present conditions little will be done within these countries. There will be, as I have just seen, attempts here and there between one small nation and an- other to work out limited commercial treaties. But nothing big will be done be- cause it is the universal experience of these constitutional parliamentary nations that their parliaments produce more discord than accord, express no vision, exhibit no great- ness of statesmanship and even threaten great statesmanship with extinction. Blocs and Groups Briefly stated, the motto of these parlia- ments in dealing with strong and farseeing ministries and ministers appears to be: “If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee.” At least three of these new democracies have produced leaders of admirable size. , In Czecho-Slovakia, President Masaryk, who by the constitution of this new democ- racy has an honorary life term, is no longer young. I found him at his country estate, and there is about him the atmosphere of great labors already done. Doctor Benes, who from Premier has stepped down to Minister of Foreign Affairs, has inside him, somewhat locked in by the petty party politics which surround him, a liberal, far- seeing statesmanship combined with a full understanding of Europe and her troubles. His enemies will say that the voice of Benes is the voice of France and that he is a party man himself who maintains his hold at home by getting into the newspapers abroad as an international conciliator and messen- ger. But Benes, still a young man, has had a profound effect upon the fortunes of his country and its new autonomous life. From him come forth definite policies, and in him continuity of policy may be found. This cannot be said of the arliament. The parliament of Czecho-Slovakia con- sists of a majority made up of a variety of THE SATURDAY poltiest interests, some of them religious. he majority is a bloc. It holds its groups together less because of similarity of politi- cal principles and } gn ees than because it is expedient to hold them together for the mere purposes of political power. From such blocs it is absurd to expect great na- tional policies to arise. “Coalition?” said Karnebeek, Holland’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, who by insight and strength helped to take Holland’s neu- trality through the very center of the war. “Coalition implies compromise.” We had been discussing the two-part — of democracy in America, by which clear responsibility for policy, and even re- sponsibility for strong policy, is carried by ene or the other of the two party units. And Karnebeek had put his finger on one of the primary weaknesses of the European parliamentary systems; blocs to hold power are made up of party groups which are forced to compromise principle to hold together at all, while opposition blocs created to destroy ministries are held to- gether even more loosely and by even greater compromises of principle. There- fore aside from a tendency of parliamentary representation to deteriorate, aside from the subserviency of ministries and coali- tions to every organized minority which supports or threatens to attack, aside from the lack of fitness and training in the citi- zenship of new democracies, the very fact that under the European parliamentary systems coalition means compromise takes away from parliaments the capacity to pro- duce any strong farseeing national policies. “Benes walks forward and it is his par- liament which is a pack of poodles snapping at his heels,” said the editor of one of the best of the journals in Central Europe. “But the poodles never dare to go in front of these administrative leaders. They would lose the way!” A Multiplicity of Parties In Czecho-Slovakia the opposition group is made up of racial groups—the Slovaks and others who contest the domination of the more industrial Bohemian West. The map shows a country shaped like a tadpole swimming westward. The head is the terri- tory of the Czechs, the Bohemians, and the tail runs far out eastward. Prague is nearer Paris than the uttermost eastern frontier of the nation of which Prague is the capital. But if the opposition is largely racial it is none the less true that the parliamentary politics of the nation is typically European, especially typical of the new democracies. I asked one of the ministers of govern- ment in Czecho-Slovakia how many parties there were. He began to count on his fin- gers. He arrived, I believe, at fifteen, and then gave up the job, I asked Count Bethlen in Budapest how many parties there were in the Hungarian parliament. We were sitting in his office in the Homes of Parliament overlooking the Danube. This was the building occupied by the communist régime under Bela Kun, and for all I knew I was sitting in a room where three or four years ago some of the victims of the communists were condemned to death in wholesale lots. Bethlen is the strong man in Hungary. He comes from Transylvania, from terri- tory now torn off and attached to Rumania. He is slight and lean. There is no swank in him. He has the color of a soldier and a sportsman, the eyes of a kindly philosopher, the thin lips of restraint and devotion. He had just come from a stormy scene in the Hungarian parliamentary. chamber. The Hungarian parliament heving no closure rule talks around the year on one subject, if it so desires. Just now the opposition was whirling its verbal protest against an at- tempt to adopt rules limiting talk. I looked at Bethlen and thought that an enlightened Hungarian might receive the news that the parliament would not meet again for the two years with a laugh, but would regard the news that Bethlen was going away with a sense of disquiet or even terror. I asked the Premier how many parties there were in Hungary. The number is shocking; no one can say without checking it off on the fingers of both hands and then around again and again. As usual they ap- pear in bp mance arranged in groups, the same old game of compromise to obtain nu- | merical strength and hence either power or | the balance of power—the right to black- mail. There is something about Bethlen, just as there is in several cases of the strong sin- gle figures of leadership now undertaking | EVENING POST In buying a new home, make sure that the toilee tank is d with the Mush query Parabal. VERYBODY knows the symptoms. That ugly gurgle, gr-r-r-r, swish and gush. It’s a leaking closet tank. No other home trouble is more common. And few things so annoying, so em- barrassing. Expensive, too, for in some metered cities the water wasted by a leaking closet tank costs $25 a year. A faulty, old-style tank ball is the cause. Tin- kering at best can only stop it temporarily. What you need is a Mushroom Parabal. The patented shape of this tank bulb makes it fit per- fectly into the valve seat—no matter how fre- quently the tank is flushed. Made of one piece of pure, live gum, it cannot break, leak, collapse or swell. Guaranteed 3 years—but lasts indefinitely. Have your plumber put one in for you Fascia araba escape hs Raghear At Master Plumbers’ only, $1.25—Guaranteed 3 years Made by Woopwarp -Wancer Co. 1106-1114 Spring Carden St. Philadelphia Quality Plumbing Srecialtics Since 2906 FREE Radio Booklet, “What to Build” —mail coupon. An easy way to get clearer radio Ts important thing is to have clean, perfect contact between tubes and sockets. Otherwise disturbing noises will continue. In order to insure.clean contact at all times, use Na-Ald De Luxe Sockets with their special clean-easy feature. Corrosion, the arch enemy of perféct contact, is easily removed without taking out the tubes, by simply twisting them back and forth in the sockets two or three times. Lowest loss and highest insulating qualities are in- sured in Alden Sockets by using Alden Processed gen- uine Bakelite. Laboratory test proves their efficiency. Uee Na-Ald Sockets not only in the set you build but also install them in the set you buy, if not already adopted by the fac- turer. Sockets for all tubes. De Luxe 75c.; others 35c., 50c., 75c. ALDEN MANUFACTURING COMPANY Also makers of the famous Na-Ald Dials Dept. E-4, Springfield, Mass. Alden Processed Name. Sockets and Dials Address. City ALDEN MANUFACTURING COMPANY, Dept. E-4, Willow Street, Springfield, Mass Please send free copy of booklet “What to Build,”’ showing tested and selected circuits 15. State

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24 A training x your boy should have — take an interest in your boy’s studies. Do you take the same interest in seeing that your hoy has a training in clean, manly sport’ Many of life's most important lessons are learned on the playground rather than in the schoolroom. Millions of men have learned how to shoot and handle a gun when they were boys, with a Daisy Air Rifle. Today they look back on the sport they had, but most of them will also tell you that it meant more to them than just fun. Marksmanship is a sport that makes for character, manliness and self-reliance. Your boy wants a rifle of his own. Why not start him with a safe gun—a Daisy Air Rifle? DAISY MANUFACTURING COMPANY Plymouth, Mich., U.S.A. THE SATURDAY THE most popular Daisy is the Pump Gun shown in the illustration—a 50-shot repeater for $5.00. Other Daisy models priced from $/.00 to $5.00. Ask your hardware or sporting goods dealer to show them to you; or any model sent direct fram factory, if your dealer does not have it, on receipt of price. Descriptive cir- cular free. DAISY AIR RIFLES AN investment now in the Shawknit 10s numbers of heavy silk combines protection against weeks of changeable weather, and the early spring need for trim appearing hose. Its reasonable cost makes it always worth while to ask for Shawknit. SHAW STOCKING CO. Lowell, Mass. | ligious men seldom attain. | correspondent in Berlin said to me in seri- | ous and somewhat perplexed voice, ‘‘ There EVENING POST the administrative functions of nations in Europe; it carries the conviction that in distinction to the dominant spirit in the arliaments of sacrificing service to the unger for gd there still remain strong men who will if need be sacrifice power for the sake of service. When I asked Bethlen how many parties | there were in Hungary he smiled. The question was quite sufficient to inform him that I wanted to discuss the future of par- liamentary democracy in the world. In Berlin I asked Chancellor Marx how many parties had appeared in the recent elections in Germany. If a great sculptor could reproduce Marx with his stocky figure seated in a firm chair, if the artist could in- dicate something also of the man's eyes, | there would be a statue of the learned and kindly Marx, law judge and chancellor. The blocked-out stone would represent also curious magic depths of mysticism and the calm, unafraid quality which even most re- A newspaper is a respectability about him, but there is something else; I am afraid of a man who secretly believes that if he does his best he will have God's support but yet never says anything about it!’ evertheless, my question about the number of parties in Germany disconcerted the Chancellor. In the last election there were more than eighty. When I talked with the German statesman in Berlin it was during a period when the parties in the Reichstag, forming into groups and blocs, coalescing and uncoalescing, flirting for power, jockeying, compromising, were un- able to present any coherent grouping upon which a new ministry could be built. It takes a man with the persistence and faith of Marx to hold the opinion that such a system of parliamentary democracy is a success; I met no other statesman in Eu- rope who would commit himself to the be- lief as well as the hope that some day a two-party system of politics would grow out of this Babel. I learned that one must weigh the fact that the Germans are nat- ural individualists, that release from regimentation creates a passion for inde- pendence. But that is the same old story; every nation claims its citizens are strong individualists, and all the new democracies are finding out that devices to recognize the will of small minorities—such as the now discredited device of proportional repre- sentation electoral system—only result in putting a bit of every color in the paint box into a mixture which is thick and muddy and expresses nothing. Structural Weaknesses It is true that in the new democracies there may be a lack of training and poise in a citizenship which has been obliged to take a position toward the state quite different from the traditions and sentiments of the citizenship of yesterday. It is true that il- literacy or poverty or uncertainty brings instability into the electorate. But impor- tant as these factors may be, they are over- shadowed by the structural weakness in the machines of parliamentary democracy which so many nations, particularly the new ones, are trying to tolerate today. The multiplication of parties is an at- tempt to represent everybody; it results in representing nobody. It is a menace to the continuity of administrative leadership. It may gather strength enough through de- structive coalitions of opposition to push down a strong ministry or hobble a good leader, but not strength enough to supply a successor of anne eae quality. The result is a progressive disease of decrepitude. This, and much talk, much discussicn, much scramble for power ~~ little politi- cians constitute the principal achievement of the new parliamentary democracies and of several of the old ones. In Austria these weaknesses of the par- liamentary system have begun to produce a decentralization of governing authority. The political subdivisions and municipali- ties have begun to undertake a form of local autonomy in policies and in the application of taxation which may leave the national government out on a limb. I regard this trend in Austria as having an alarming significance. If localities, act- ing independently of national government, may put into practice communistic poli- cies; if they may, as in cases in Austria, tax property’so high that it results in confisca- tion; if owners abandon properties to com- munal ownership Bolshevism is offered a March 7,1925 new point of attack—the minor political subdivisions of the world’s political struc- ture. But more than that, if the localities absorb the whole of the taxing power a na- tion will be unable to obtain its revenue or keep its engagements. : Austria, like the other new democracies, has its able leader, with the poodle politi- cians of feeble parliament barking at his heels. Monsignor Seipel is a statesman. It was Seipel whose head “came up from the crowd” in the dark days of ’22 when Aus- tria, as some said, could have been bought by any American millionaire for fifty or sixty million dollars. It was Seipel who prevented disintegration. It was Seipel who went to the League of Nations and ob- tained an international loan. It was Seipel who as long as ne could held Austria to her engagements under that agreement. t was not the Austrian parliamentary system which did any of these things. The great role played by the parliament in the whole drama was to embarrass Seipel in the performance of the obligations undertaken, so that Seipel found himself no longer able to continue his leadership of Austria. Casual Contacts The world suffers a fond delusion if it continues to believe that the people of these new democracies are satisfied with this kind of machinery. Parliamentary government as practiced in the new democracies will be no longer any “‘great hope of the world” unless it can be rebuilt to be a constructive and workable machine rather than a de- structive and futile machine. Democracy was a word to conjure with a few years ago. It was a bright and golden label, but today I find that the people in these new con- stitutional parliamentary governments of Europe and in the old ones of Italy, Spain and other countries, are undeceived about their parliaments. This accounts for the power of strong men, it accounts for the fact that nations are not represented even in their own minds by parliamentary par- ties, but by names of men— Mussolini, Marx, Bethlen, Primo de Rivera, Benes, Seipel, and even the man whose enemies call him the evil genius of Jugo-Slavia— Pashitch. I talked with a minister in one of these eountries who holds his place because of a coalition pol nang groups which he brought about in order to jimmy his way into the new ministry. ““Oh,no,” hesaid. “I think you are quite wrong. Our people have great love of their parliament.” Leaving this meeting I went down the steps of the ministry, across the street and into the first shop I could find. I engaged the only other customer in that shop in con- versation. I told him I was an American. I said that I had come across the world to see a people who after misgovernment for centuries, had found a way to express their will at last. He said, “I am not so sure of that. The ignorant are saying, ‘What has become of my krone?’ Under the good old régime it was worth something. Now it w’'l buy nothing. And the intelligent are saying, ‘How does Parliament express me? It does not express me at all. It only expresses confusion.’” In Austria I was passing the steps of a university. A young man asked me for a match. We leaned against the wall in the rare winter sunlight. He told me he was a student. He said he hoped to have a politi- cal career. He had come from the farming district; he was living with the family of an industrial worker. - 1 asked him why he had become interested in politics. He had become interested, he said, be- cause it appeared to him that he was living in a center where all around political ex- periments were going on. “Stupid experi- ments,” he said. “No imagination is shown by anyone. Every constitution imi- tates another, and it is usually the imitation of a failure.” I asked him about monarchy. He replied, “You will not hear much of the talk, but all through Central Europe t numbers of peoples have the instinct for monarchies— not monarchies as rulers, but monarchy as it expresses national unity—a factor of stability. You will be amused to know that I have talked with a Russian communist — an ardent communist — who says he believes the best thing the communists of Russia could do would be to get an emperor who would consent to communist principles. But it is difficult to restore monarchies; very, very difficult.” (Continued on Page 237)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 235 Whats turned the daily war Into a picnic? You can’t tell the women folks that something hasn’t happened to the men. Lord-and-Master’s changed com- pletely. No more savage kicks against the bathroom door o’mornings. No more “ows” and “damn-it-alls.” No more grunts behind the morning paper. (“Heavens! Can the beast be in love again ?”’) No; he has just found out he can start the day with a frolic instead of a fight. He has finished the war that began when the earliest dude first scraped an oyster shell against a bristly chin. And from one side- burn around tothe other, he’s tickled to a smooth and satiny pink. All because he’s taken up with Bar- basol. Barbasc For Modern Shaving Barbasol—that tames the toughest beards, smooths the roughest jowls, chases away the winter itchiness,and stops ingrowing hairs. Barbasol— that lifts old razor blade right up to Good Steel Heaven. And all as simple and easy as ABC, Read ’em and rejoice: A- Wet the face B—Spread on Barbasol ( but don’t rub in) C—Shave. That’s all there’s to it, men. Don’t let anyone complicate it for you. Be- cause Barbasol isn’t an aid or an ex- tra. It doesn’t need anything but a wet face and a razor. It’s the real thing, all by itself. No brush. No rub-in. The full-bod- ied, creamy Barbasol holds every hair straight up to the blade—and good steel, do your stuff! Nothing goes but the whiskers. The natural oil is left right in the skin. Therefore, the silky-smooth, no- after-smart sensation that follows the razor down the straightaway and clear around the bend. Are you tired of fighting whiskers? Then fill out the coupon now for a free trial tube of the Modern Way of Shaving. Use Barbasol, three times, ac- cording to di- after. rections and - you'll live Fa happy i ever ro The oi Indianapolis, Ind. a Please mail me your Free Trial Tube J? of Barbasol.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 7, 1925 OU can always be sure of recognizing Baker Cut Velour on fine furniture. Its very luxury identifies it. You can tell it by its beauty of design, its charming color tone, its rich softness and sheen. But to be doubly sure, look for the Baker Cut Velour trademark. In that way you can be assured that the lux- ury you see and feel is luxury that will last for years and years. Baker Cut Velour is moth- proof, with a close-woven texture that also resists dust. One of the very latest Baker creations is a solid ground with a medallion design cut into the deep pile A. T. BAKER & COMPANY 41 UNION SQUARE, NEW YORK

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(Continued from Page 234) He spoke with that earnestness of youth which is so much like the ponderous opin- ions of old age. “There may be dictators—a few dicta- tors. It is very unpleasant to hear that name—dictator. But if it is the will of the people to have dictators they may permit dictators or even elect dictators. Who knows? “In any case, I assure you that the pres- ent mind of the people is on the question of how to manage their affairs. Today, in spite of some little groups who wish revenge, there is no thought of war. Then there are the racial minorities. Hungarians and Croats in Jugo-Slavia, Hungarians in Ru- mania, Slovaks and Magyars in Czecho- Slovakia, and Germans. Naturally they are discontented, but what is to be done? No—after all—the great wish of the peo- ples is for something better in the manage- ment of their affairs. They are tired of mere weakness, even when it is called liberalism. There is too much talk, too many plans, too many politicians. There are too many laws. But nothing is done by parliaments. In- deed, parliaments are always preventing anyone from really doing anything. Be- cause I am interested in politics, | have talked with everyone about politics. And I tell you the people are disgusted! They are so disgusted that they may turn to communism again—some of them. Who knows? What a pity!” I am certain that this young man ex- pees very well the inarticulate opinion of undreds of thousands of men and women of the new democracies. The multi-party system, the proportional-representation system has watered down the “will of the ople’’ to less than nothing. It becomes a arce of idle talk, a humiliating comedy of sterile hope and sterile endeavor. The feeble hand of the parliamentary system drops all constructive power from ita fin- gers. It is supposed to create national ’ policy and make it effective. If obstructive power or veto power exists it is supposed to exist in the hands of the executive government. But in these new democracies parliamentary effectiveness is almost confined to a form of obstructive power directed at the acts and policies of strong executives. The tragedy of it is the complete failure to fix responsibility. If an administration is defeated in the United States it is because the country does not approve of its policies and it is defeated by the test of clear re- sponsibility. But if a ministry under the ontinental form of democracy falls it may mean that half-a dozen little politicians in the parliament have been wheedled or bribed into the bloc of the opposition. Under a two-party system no matter how much the character and ability of the representatives may deteriorate there is an approach to party responsibility. This responsibility is understood by the voters. A Clearing House of Government In the democracy known to Europe there may be universal suffrage, the citizens may go to the polls and feel a warm sense of power. “But we are fools,” said a German to me, “It takes an expert to follow the oupings and regroupings in the Reichstag. Who can fix responsibility? No one. Who can explain what goes on? No one. We put our will into the bottle; the bottle is shaken; our will dissolves and is lost. It would be much better to have the will of myself or of some group definitely rejected. Then Germany could turn to the will of some other group and accept or reject that. This is the way to arrive at the real will of the people.” The attempt to make a picture of the will of the people by adding the will of one to the will of another makes a blurred com- posite photograph. And this photograph always turns out to be a picture of some politician’s own political ambition. It is a strange fact that after centuries of struggle by peoples to find new and satis- factory forms of government there is in the world today no clearing house of informa- tion on the subject. Histories present whateyer they have of information as a hodgepodge. Treaties exist, but they rep- resent one mind ag, god over the general principles. What been the ex-. perience of the world with presidents by parliaments, as Sg presi- ts elected by the ple? What are ‘the relative merits and ‘defects of ‘minis- ‘tries which, as in a ep sit in the par- liament.and arein the form of parliamentary THE SATURDAY super-committees, compared with minis- tries, like our own cabinet officers, who are almost isolated from Con ? Who knows? What scientific compilation can be found on the subject of the results of tax- ae 4 levy on capital? None. he King of Italy not many years ago became the patron of the International In- stitute of Agriculture. This center in Rome is an exchange for scientific information and discovery. A great number of member nations can here obtain crop statistics, price statistics, and guidance for their ac- tion as to the world’s food supply and as to new scientific progress. When I was in Rome I often thought I should like to press upon the King the suggestion that he become a patron of an International Institute of Government, an institute which in some world center, with a membership of all nations so inclined, might accumulate and formulate informa- tion on the machinery of government. The repetition of error in experiments of gov- ernment is costly and goes on without limit, because no one political leader nor even one political group can gather the information to prove such experiments futile and ri- diculous. False labels and false hopes re- peat themselves endlessly in government experiments. The waste is prodigious; the reaction from these excursions after glitter- ing hopes up blind alleys leads mankind into other wild chases after new schemes like that of Bolshevism. The idea of such an institute, with na- tions as members, I gladly present to Amer- ican millionaires. Such an institute might have done much to save these new parlia- mentary democracies of Central and Eastern Europe from the false labels of democ- racy. Such an institute might now furnish the scientific fact and analysis which would result in rebuilding and remodeling parlia- mentary systems in preference to trying dictators or communistic experiments. We know from books and institutions of engi- neering how to make machines go. The only machine we know nothing about and can never seem to make go under the slight- est adverse condition is the machinery of government. Turkey in Difficulties Such an institute late be of great help to Turkey today. Tur 5 d is the latest of the new democracies. had a peculiar interest in Turkey because of my experi- ence at the Conference of Lausanne with Turkey’s rather large but, on the whole, admirable aspiration. I have found today that Turkey is an- other new democracy approaching grave difficulties. I have recalled before what a Chinese statesman once said to —e when on the eve of the siege the parliament had fled from Peking; I repeat it now. He said, “Democracy is like tight-rope walking; it requires practice!” urkey will probably discover this. She has come almost to the end of her honey- moon with her newly married democracy. She has a capital at Angora. It rises in an isolated country out of mud and malaria, Deputies and ministers go there without any encouragement from life-insurance companies. Angora is isolated and muddy, however, as Washington, D. C., was origi- nally isolated and muddy. Like Washing- ton, it is one of the two capitals in the world somewhat removed from the centers of finance and trade, although Angora is much more removed than Washington. Turkey has a great center, Constantinople; it is a historical center of trade and barter, a great and aged center of concentrated temporal! and religious power. Palaces and fortresses, mosques and Venetian walls and Genoese coats of arms and a picturesque and ancient bazaar are relics of a powerful dynasty of sultans, of Islamic tradition and 4 centuries of international barter. But, though the crowds of the supposedly eternal Orient still go in endless, colorful stream across the bridges over the Golden Horn, and although the “liberated” Turkish women, unveiled and in Paris fashion, whirl about at thés dansanis in time to Irving Berlin—there is a gloom and stag- nation in Constantinople; Stamboul ap- pears like something left by the retreat of persons, the lapse of customs and the wither- ing of prosperity, . he same nationalistic ecstasy which put up the government at Angora has driven t nds upon thousands of foreigners out of Constantinople. To Halide Edib Haroum, wife of Aduan Bey, and the “Joan of Arc of Turkey,” EVENING POST Perfec Firin © Synchrénism APCO Equipment for Ford Cars APCO Electric Windshield Cleaner —$6.50 APCO Oiling System —$1.50 APCO Dash Oil Gauge—$2.50 APCO Steering Wheel Horn Button—50c. APCO Crank Case Arm—75c. APCO “Wireless” Foot Accelerator Ford There’s a world of difference between the APCO— and what you get when you ask for “a timer.” The APCO rotor revolves evenly against spring con- tacts, no matter how wobbly the timer shaft. No vibration ! Your Ford runs with clock-like smoothness, each cylinder receiving a white-hot spark at the correct instant and at the right degree. The APCO Timer operates dry. Requires no oil or grease now —or ever. The case is of genuine Bakelite—not a chance of a “short.” Be rid of timer troubles this season. —$1.50 Just stop at the next accessory shop APCO Rear Wheel and specify “APCO Timer.” Brake—$12.50 —Price $2.00 APCO Throttle APCO MANUFACTURING CO. Providence Rhode Island —APCO BRANCHES— New York —Chicago— Kansas City Montreal Extension Horn Whatever Your Job, You Can Make More Money HATEVER your job, your age, or wher- ever you live—with exceptions so few we could almost count 'em on one hand—you can make extra money! There's Eo Ds Timms of Ohio, a machinist; James Senior of Missouri, a minister of the gospel; George Hedtke of Min. nesota, a gardener; Russell Wright of Massa- chusetts, a Normal School senior—their “jobs” in no way interfere with extra dollars easily earned in odd hours. In Spare Time These men, and hundreds of others engaged in a hun- dred different lines of work, are local subscription representatives for The Saturday Evening Posi, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman They have found that selling Curtis Publications is easy, pleasant and profitable—just as you will find it if you will but try. You need no previous experience, no capital. Profits from the very start. An odd hour should easily be worth up to $1.50—or more. But for all the interesting details send this coupon, sow, Fm Dm mS THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 443 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Penna Please tell me, but without obligation, all about your 1 ' ' ' i] 1 © cash offer, Name. State

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

If $50.00 in One Month Interests There is one person whom this state- ment will not interest—that’s Mr. Charles F. Johnston of Pennsylvania. And the reason is that Mr. Johnston has made more than $75.00 in one month— half as much again as the modest figure we purposely used. While we have a good many men and women workers who earn more extra money than Mr.

Johnston, our average repre sentative is too busy to find the time to earn Scores more are “$50.00 class” than in the higher that much. Publishing Company > “'S in the 44 4ladependence Square Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: = 22 ee Please tell me all about your cash i offer, though of course I assume no Js in asking. grades. | most | leadership grows feverish and weary and | I could talk with intense interest, because she is not only well informed as to new | democracies but her intelligence leaps for- ward to understandings before sentences | ean be finished. I spoke of the dangers of the multi-party | systems of democracy. She said, “What about a one-party sys- | tem?”’ She was describing in a phrase some- | thing of the form of government which the new Nationalist Government has carried on. Some international statesmen have | called the new Turkey a government by | fanaticism. Under the leadership of Kemal Pasha, under the inspiration of the National Pact, the new democracy was founded. It came into being in constitutional form a ood deal as our own Constitution was ounded upon the Declaration of Inde- pendence. A people badly prepared for democratic government have torn away sultan, cal- iphate and have bravely cast out foreign ex- | ploitation and intrigue. Gone are centuries of traditional authority, gone is foreign | interference, gone are the old intrigues of aliens using minority races as cat’s-paws. | A new nation with shoe-string resources | was able to tell the whole of a disunited Europe what Turkey must have and what | Turkey would take! This was under the leadership of a spirited man and the following of a people intoxicated by patriotism. But March 7,1925 suspicious of other men, and intoxication of peoples cannot last forever. Mustapha Kemal, like another great world figure now dead, isolates hirnself more and more. If strong men have come near him he has lopped them off; if o— men have ap- roached him he has shut his door. Ismet asha, my old acquaintance, the one lieu- tenant whom Kemal appeared ready to trust with orders, is now a sick man worn out by war and by peace. Turkey is discovering that a one-party system cannot last forever. It serves no purpose here to list the strong men who, east off by Kemal, are forming the first real opposition. At least five of the nine mili- tary generals of conspicuous record are in the opposition. “And what are the principles of your opposition?”’ I asked. “The principle is that one man should not have all the power.’ That may sound like the answer of de- mocracy, but it is the answer of intrigue. Statecraft ought to be a service; Turkey for centuries has made it a charlatanism. And though the label “democracy” is over the door the game which is now about to ee in Turkey may be the same old game. emocracy is earned; it is no gift of the gods. From this aspect, there should be no disappointment if it must be built with painstaking slowness. When it comes with a rush it may please the fanatics and the label lovers, but it creates many doubts among men truly wise.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST _ ae

~ Coupon ~~ — a ad

You ." Nox “SY Nana Loo “S In Your ‘~ * Spare Time So you see, we can't set the limit as te the amount may make, in vour spare time, as our of money which you subseription representative for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Hiome Journal ani The Country Gentleman. Perhaps you are too busy to devote } as mut h time to our plan as Mr. (More Than Two Million and a Quarter Weekly) IS fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted, either wholly or in part, without special permission. The use of our articles or quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is never authorized.

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mh City. “May ons moe Johnston. th Frisaeeae Well, that’s all right, You can still profit in pro- portion to the amount of time you can spare, morning, afternoon or evening. $1.50 or more an hour is not at all uncommon. Best of all You Need no Experience State.

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“Chemistry in Industry” Distributed at Cost by The Chemica! Foundation, Inc. in order to “advance chemical and allied science and induetry in the United States we are publishing the lest word from the greatest authortties in the following industries Abrasives, Alcohol, Coal and Coke, Cotten, Electricity, Fertilizers, Gas, Glass, tron and Stee!, Leather, Non- Ferrous Metallurgy, Packing House Paper and Fulp, Perfumes and Flavera, Petroleum, Photography, Resin, Rubber and Textiles All the 31 ehaptere were donated by pan ee big and tes buey to write for money be edition is large, so the publishing cost is «mall Ney pte -- ie figured in, os The Foundation can seck ae profit you pay onty for paper, ink, type setting. binding and postage

if you are wot eativfied with ewery one of the 362 pages — we return your dollar Factory owners, managers, superintendents, buy em faremen workmen, chemists and students thie back te worth §§8 to you Send $1.00 to Dept. 20 The Chemica! Foundation, Inc. 85 Beaver Street New York

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iene made on request. | 7725 South Ave., Rochester, N.Y. | Table of Contents March 7, 1925 Cover Design by Paui Stahr SHORT STORIES Home Folks—George Pattullo . Red Hair—Lucy Stone Terrill . } Go to the Fire Ant—William J. Neidig . Thc Magician— Frederick Irving Anderson . Simon Called Simple— Aaron Davis The Food of Love—Kennett Harris . Out and Back With Old Whit—Sewel/ Ford . Minted Gold—Hugh Wiley ; 3 : Grilled Cupid—Harvey Wickham es Write and Wrong—Octavus Roy Cohen

ARTICLES The Sporting Chance— James J. Corbett . ‘ From an Old House—Autumn— Joseph Hergesheimer . The Lay of the Last Minstrels—Marian Spitzer . How to Know the Wildcats— Elizabeth Frazer Scholarly Beggars . : Politics in Business—Clara Belle Thompson Royal Raiment— James Stevens . ; Remaking the Railroad Maps— Edward Hungerford Leaves From a War Diary— Major General James G. Ha rhord The New Democracies~-Richard Washburn Child . How I Found Myself—The Publisher’s Story— Renorted hy Chester T. Crowell . . ’ mare Meet the Cook— William Reade Hersey “ie What Can You Do With Your Hands?— Walter Prichard Eston SERIALS Power (Third part)—Arthur Stringer. . . Bk Pas SP are ae The House Without a Key (Conclusion)— Earl Derr Biggers ora? alg ate Se MISCELLANY Editorials ... aid Wem Nig sage ee S92 gk RS Le gt ca ele SRO Short Turns and ncores Oe Gee eT Vee s ee ee ee Heritage (Poem)— Arthur Guiterman Peg Oe te Be eae, OA ee

A REQUEST FOR CHANGE OF ADDRESS must reach us at least thirty days before the date of issue with which it is to take effect. Duplicate copies cannot be sent to replace those undelivered through failure to send such advance notice. With your new address be sure also to send us the old one, inclosing if possible your address label from a recent copy.

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2) ») _ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The marvelous Semi-Automatic This Ansco Camera automatically winds tts own film, which is as great an aid t picture-taking as the repeater was to sports men. Price $30.00. Takes pictures size 2h x 4% The Semi-Autom w’san A Other reasons why now you can get good pictures Ansco Speedex Film—the quality film in the red box with the yellow band; meets a wider range of light conditions. Just try it, using ordinary common sense, and you'll prove its worth for yourself. The 1925 Juniorette—is a Ready-Set model with no focusing or time adjustments to worry you. Price $10.50. The Automatic Ansco—winds its own film automatically so that you no longer get any blanks or double exposures Price $75. The Vest Pocket Ansco A fixed-focus model. The $25.00 Ready-Set—is as easy to use as a box camera; a de luxe fool-proof model; comes with fine suede case And the Dollar Ansco the only self-opening camera made Price $12.50. the little marvel of the camera world So—now-—it's easy to get good pictures ‘ez ° : N. - or od met amet’ 0. “%® 1 Please get id Auromell® ‘ price $135 if size ww} oO ; + 4 One eget Ger camerm ee aurea 4, Price $ i o ye ” 1 cj One Reacy (or pror* — gpeede® ’ on ; ahs rolls « Anseo * / : } Four iareet! oe i J re a pe H ‘ Name— ; Model-—"E addres® easel CAMERAS & SPEEDEX FILM ae ed reproductions of the real photo graphs.) Anyone who has a good memory and can brag of fourscore years, is not surprised that 4nsco should put out the first automatic film-winding camera! For eighty-three years- long before any other American manufacturer—Ansco has been pio- neering in the photographic field. The Semi-Automatic is a remark- able camera for catching charming poses and scenes that pass in a few seconds. With other cameras you lose them while winding up the film for (Remember these are merely print 5 et | The for you it has smaller. and arm Set with from the Tilus the exclusive Ansco auto- matic two-way finder that prevents chopped off heads If you’ ally, try the $13.50 Ready- you'll get the next picture. With the Semi- Automatic you take the picture, press the lever and you're ready for aa- other! Just like putting your foot on the self-starter instead of having to crank the automobile by arm- work! Go into any good camera and film place and ask them to show you how the Semi-Automatic works (or we'll send you a booklet for the asking) It has a fine “oe Rectilinear lens and costs only $ 30. The Ready-Set eliminates picture-taking troubles Are you one of those who somehow, try as you will, just don’t get good pic- tures? Then give the Ansco Ready-Set a trial and you'll get back all the fun of picture-taking. No. 1-A Ready-Set is already set 1. No focusing to worry about, as a universal focus, As for the shutter, not even a box camera is so simple. You either set for snap- shots or for time exposures. On time the opening 1s automatically made Finally, there’s S. ve failed continu- The Ready-Sa isan Ansco and Ansco Film, good pictures start. The $13.50 Ready Set is a good-looking camera that take pictures 2h wk ahs trated catalog sent Sree on request. n— aa — ern. \ — uw Con . crs, ‘ prcsropRor® 4, Lenciowe #- \ ysC ' ke 00. ; ; A fim wi en } : \ ‘ ' — me “ee for WA For vs “thie cour? . piso A ' \ 239 —just one camera among famous Anscos

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mer 2 ee ee, % a on ie ell a 240 BUNTING PHOSPHOR BRONZE BUSHING BEARINGS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PATENTE O ' I ‘HE bronze bushing bearing is the first line of defense protecting the machine from wear and tear of operation. There are millions upon millions of Bunt- ing Phosphor Bronze Bushing Bearings used in automobiles, machine tools, electric motors and hundreds of other moving mechanisms today. They are put there by manufacturers who recognize the importance of the very highest quality in this small and often hidden but necessary part. For the same reason the conscientious repairman uses them in replacement. MANUFACTURERS Stock list 10 showing 300 sizes of finished Bunting Phosphor Bronze Bushing Bearings, carried in stock in 7 cities, gladly sent on request. Quotations and counsel promptly given on all special requirements. AUTOMOBILE REPLACEMENTS Bunting Phosphor Bronze Bushing Bearings for re- placement in motor and chassis for all popular auto- motive vehicles are supplied to car dealers and repair- men by 180 leading jobbers and hundreds of service stations in the United States. Ask your jobber for lists and prices. They are also obtainable in all principal market centers abroad. THE BUNTING BRASS & BRONZE CO- TOLEDO « OHIO Branches and Warehouses at NEW YORK BOSTON ie) 245 W. sath Se 36 Oliver Sr Columbus 7528 Main 8488 CLEVELAND SAN FRANCISCO rio St. Clair Ave., N 198 Second St. Main soo: Douglas 6245 CHICAGO PHILADELPHIA yaa S. Michigan Ave 1330 Arch St. Wabash 9153 Spruce 5296 me make so many faviom of cause so many want so many ihe Werid Aunts Alssoriation a tras | nai tue a we March 7,1925 ~

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Again ... those makeshift pieces OMEHOW the pleasantries of the departing guests did To her hectic. not convince Penelope. the dinner had been She sank down on a chair be- side the cluttered table and sur- veyed her six forks. How weary they must be appearing with the fish, then with the salad, then with the dessert. And each time there was a decided wait while Mary washed them in the kitchen. Many of the serving pieces were makeshift too. Oh, why didn't she get more silverware! dessert HAVE YOU ENOUGH SILVERWARE FOR THE ENTERTAINING YOU DO? Enough for the usual family meal and enough when you wish to give a luncheon or dinner for your friends? Or does a scant equipment of silverware often cramp the serving of your meals? Possibly you have decided already that you ought to have more silverware, but have delayed its purchase because you fear the trouble and expense You need hesitate no longer. To provide all that you need in 1847 Rogers Bros. Silverplate is easier and less expensive than you supposed. You will find every piece you need—bouillon spoons, coffee spoons, salad forks, ice cream forks, serving pieces. Thus you may build, a little at a time, an 1847 Rogers Bros. silver service not only equal to your needs, but rich in beauty and durability. Leading dealers always carry the newer 1347 Rogers Bros, patterns. Send for booklet C-go, Etiquette, Entertaining and Good Sense. You wilf find it full of suggestions for successful entertaining. It's free. Write for+your copy today INTERNATIONAL Sitver Co., Dept. E, Meriden, Conn. + ' 1847 ROGERS BROS. SPtLVEBAPLAT 2 STLVER ZS INTERNATIONA 3

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Davis & Sanford PADEREWSKI Victor Artist JERITZA Victor Artist © Mishkin MARTINELLI Victor Artist The names that everybody knows are found on Victor Records The names that really count, from the greatest music of the world to the dance, or the comic song, are in the unequalled Victor repertoire of artists and entertainment. If it is on a Victor Record it shows it is worth having. The three famous artists above represent only a fraction in number, of the great host of musical celebrities whose best is yours to command at any hour you choose to hear them on the Victrola—the one instrument worthy to re- produce their art. Nothing short of perfection satisfies this dis- tinguished artist, whose Victor Records are an epitome of great piano music. They are made with his own piano, a precaution by which Paderewski recognizes that his Victor Records reproduce minutely, tone, technique, and individual artistry. That was the origin of these records: Minuet in G (Paderewski) Nocturne in B Flat (Paderewski) 5 6232 $2.00 Polonaise Militaire Waltz in C Sharp Minor (Chopin) 5 6234 2.00 Hungarian Rhapsody, No. 2— Part I | 6235 2.00 Hungarian Rhapsody, No. 2—Part Il ae -” Victrola No. 410 Mahogany, $300 Victrola No. § 410 (Special) Mahogeny, $315 Specially designed to accommodate radio receiving sets Catalog sent on request "HIS MASTERS VOICE” To hear these Victor Records by Jeritza is to understand at once how, given the necessary tal- ent, a prima donna may today take by storm audi- ences long used to perfection of performance. Her Tosca, Elizabeth, Elsa are triumphs, and her Victor Records in these roles are no less considerable triumphs for the prima donna and for the Victor. Tannhauser— Dich, teure Halle Die Tote Stadt—Lautenlied der Marietta 688 $1.50 Alceste—Divinites du Styx Gioconda—Suicidio 6375 2.00 Cavalleria Rusticana —Voi lo sapete Tosca—Vissi d’arte 6e7 1.50 There is but one Victrola and that is made by the Victor Company Look for these Victor trade marks Are there points of artistry, of voice, of into- nation, or interpretation, which distinguish Martinelli from other tenors? Assuredly, but that of itself is less remarkable than that these subtie differences should be contained in a record, That they are contained in Victor Records is evidenced by these: Lucia—Fra poco a me ricovero t Lucia—Tu che a Dio spiegasti l’ali! 6189 $2.00 Serenata (Mascagni) 7 . ; . 00 Zaza—O mio piccolo tavolo ingombrato i 6194 = 2.06 Rigoletto—La donna é mobile Tosca—E lucevan le stelle } 733 150 Victrola <— Victor Talking Machine Company, Camden.N. J. Victor Talking Machine Co. of Canada, Ltd., Montreal “st PCO &U & Onr OOF. Canadian price-list on request