The Saturday Evening Post 1925-04-25: Vol 197 Iss 43

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SATURDAY EVENING POST arVia Brings the advantages of Good Roads- economically The Company 40 Rector St.. New York City The Common, Cohasset, Massachusetts. Tarvia since 1909 F 4 & i % § z

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THE SATURDAY EVENING JOST April 25,1925 GENTLEMEN BATHERS it floats |

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Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H. AK. Curtis, President C.H. Ludington, Vice-President and Treasurer P. S. Collins, Genera! Business Manager Walter D, Fuller, Secretary Williem Boyd, Advertising Director Independence Squere, Philedelphia i cielo: 6. Mentions Street Covent Garden, W.C Copyright, 192 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Fournged A’D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin The Curtis Publishing Compuny in the United States and Great Britain [Title Registered in U. §. Patent Office end in Foreign Countries George Horace Lorimer Churchill Wilhame F. S, Bigelow, A.W. Nea homas B.Costein, Wesley W. Stout, B.Y. Riddeil, homas L:Masson, Associate Editors Enteredas Secon Matter, November et the Post DSeeo Phan Fiifeaet hia, Under yy peeretes 1879. ry po at Colum: Louisa, Mo., Chien age tile ies Borland: i Satna Mich., Des Mt and St. Paul, Minn. Milwauhee, Wis Entered as Second-Class Matter at the Post-Ofice Departments ‘Onawe, Canad» Volume 197 Sc. THE copy + PHILADELPHIA, PA., APRIL 25, 1925 2.00 Tene Number 43 “Net on Your Tintype, Pittsy,"" Said the Duke, and He Emerged From Behind the Great Butk of His Cousin's Outer Garments ACQUELINE McMANNIS was walking down Fifth Avenue, busily engaged in hating her governess. It was one of those mornings in early October which make Americans so particularly offensive about their climate—that is to say, it was as clear as rock crystal, as bright as a Spanish shawl and as still as a church. Later in the day probebly a wind would rise and great white clouds come ballooning up from the west, but now not a leaf stirred in the green-and-gold foliage, and jets of white steam and plumes of black smoke rose straight into the motionless air. The Avenue wasalmost empty. It was tooearly for babies to be out, their perambulators spreading in magnificent insolence across the sidewalk. A few children were on their way to school; the boys—dangerous projectiles—flying along on roller skates; the girls leading long-haired white terriers that looked up at Jacqueline out of shrewd bright eyes and pranced a little, like small hobbyhorses, as an indication that the weather had gone even to their dignified Scotch heads. A few young men strode by with pipes in their mouths and soft hats well down on their heads, trying to perpetuate as clerks the traditions of their so recent college days. ILLUSTRATED Br By Alice Duer Miller Jacqueline looked down the long vista of the Avenue and felt that, with just one more breath of this fresh pure air, her feet might leave the ground and she go floating to school six feet above the earth, as in her dreams she so often did. A verse—for she secretly wrote poetry—began to form itself in her mind without any apparent assistance from her consciousness: The towers of the city stand Like pinnacles in fairyland, So very tall — The inevitable hitch had arrived. “So very tall” —‘“‘so high.’ “From thence a fay—or no, an angel--from those tall tops " Ah, there it was: So tall one well might hope to see Blue vistas of eternity. She felt excited and surprised, as every creator does; not at the beauty of the creation, but at the mere act. And then she became aware that Miss Salisbury was raising her GEORGE WRIGHT

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eyebrows, flickering her eyelids and remarking, “Oh, this glare—-this terrible glare!" In Jacqueline’s ears it sounded as if she said “Giay-ah.” Instantly the girl became trans- formed. The look of peace left her smooth forehead, her brows contracted, her mouth grew sullen, and she said quite rudely, ‘Oh, you don’t like the sun?”’ “Oh, in moderation; one likes it in moderation,” said Miss Salisbury. “But not this glay-ah. The English cli- mate ia the cnly one. In England it is possible to be out- of-doors all the year round."” And Miss Salisbury sighed, recalling the equable moisture cf her native island. “If you den't mind being soaked to the skin,”’ answered Jacqueline, a little hampered in her attack by the fact that she had never been in England and knew its climate only from hearsay “Better,” replied her governess, “than being alter- nately parched and frozen as in America.” And so they feli to quarreling lt was quite ex- traordinary the number of sudjects which these two found to quarrel about, besides these questions of manners and pro-~ nunciation about which every girl naturally quarrels with hergoverness. Last week, for in- stance, they had querreled about whether or not George Washing- ton was an Eng- lishman. The worst of this dis- cussion had been that Miss Salis- bury, defending the affirmative, had had a good deal the best of it Jacqueiine had been obliged to shift to other grounds, such as the conduct of tie Hessians during the Revolution, the burning of the city of Washington during the War of 1812, and the hos- tile attitude of the British cabinet to- ward the North during the Civil War. But even here Miss Salia- bury did net yield, She regarded the Revolution as hav- ing been not won but conceded by a generous govern- ment, She seemed never te have heard of the War THE SATURDAY EVENING P{ST humiliation at each fresh proof that her family—evemer great democratic practical father—were subject to angt- bition which seemed to Jacqueline the most contempgile in all human experience—social ambition. Besides which, she had heard the news already “bd learned it most painfully on the opening day of L. A certain weekly publication which she was strictly &- bidden to read—and in which, as a matter of fact, she tek no interest whatsoever—had been smuggled into her by her friend, Lucy Traver, and the action had been ac panied by a giggle—a giggle Jacqueline could still -- She had read the following paragraph: “The Peter McMannises—we beg their pardon, | te P. Leslie McMannises—-are, we understand, even now#- turning to their more or less native shores with a certén great peer in tow. The McMannises, having failed » April 25,1925 of names, and had heard her father roll a great name under his tongue, telling a story that had no point except the friendliness of some foreign celebrity toward Peter Leslie McMannis. All through the summer their letters from England had been full of a high clear note of triumph—yes, even her father’s letters. Names were mentioned which one still in the process of studying English history could not help knowing were historic names. They stayed at castles in Scotland, steel engravings of which were in the edition of the Waverley Novels which Mr. McMannis had given his daughter the Christmas she was fourteen. They had even spent the night at St. Giles’s Grange, where, as every child knows, Charles II had lain concealed in a secret room be- tween the walls. Jacqueline felt an emotion of envy when she read the letter that described that visit. She longed to see the mysterious sliding panel and the tiny circular stair behind the chim- ney piece. She could have understood an in- terest in the Eng- lish aristocracy from this roman- tic, historical point of view. But her parents’ interest was not like that, nor was Miss Sal- isbury’s. So the girl had not taken the slightest notice of her governess’ announcement, but had gone on reading about the dangerous condi- tion of the dome of St. Paul’s—a subject, it must be owned, in which she took no inter- est at all; and when Miss Salis- bury exclaimed “Won't it be de- lightful?” Jacque- line looked up and said, “‘Won’t what be delightful?” “To watch the duke over here— to see what he thinks of it all.” “Not to me,” answered the girl; “because, you see, I don’t care what he thinks. Is he particularly clever, that we should want toknowwhat he thinks?” No, Miss Salis- bury had never heard that the duke was brilliant. She said it as if it were hardly the function of the ar- istocracy to be of 1812, and made it clear that she rather doubted its existence, while she remembered a great deal more about tne magnificent friendliness of John Bright and the cotton spinners than she did of the insolence of Palmerston. And only two days before this they had had a particu- larly bitter disagreement. At breakfast they had found lettera-—an English mail. Mr. and Mrs. McMannis had heen epending the summer in England. Jacqueline, look- ing up from a short two pages from her father, containing nothing but a perfunctory description of St. Paul's, had heard a jittle ery from Miss Salisbury, who was engaged with a letter from Mrs. McMannis, longer and more closely written, “Only fancy!" she exclaimed. “The Duke of Dormier is coming over with your parents!” Everything about this announcement was repugnant to Jacqueline. In the first place they were not her parents, for Mrs. MeMannis was her stepmother; in the second place, she noticed, and loathed, a certain note of tremulous excitement in her governess’ voice, as if a duke were some- thing of supreme importance; and third, she was bruised in an old wound at not having been told directly. She never was told. The butler, the chauffeur, Mr. Williams, her father’s secretary, always knew the family plans before she did. But stronger than all these emotions was her aching Jacquetine’s Heart Gave a Bound, But Remembering Her Disapproval, She Said, ‘I Don't Want te Come to Your Dinner Party, Thank You" conspicuously to make good their social ambitions in these United States, have met, so we are told, with great success in England, where so little is expected of Americans except quaint speech and an ability to pay the bills. We under- stand that the enormous new Italian palace in the East Eighties—-so strangely out of harmony with the back- ground of the McMannises—is to be opened for a series of entertainments in the hope that many people will go there to meet a duke who have been obdurate heretofore.” To be wroth with those we love is, as the poet has said, maddening; but to be ashamed of them is almost worse. Jacqueline dropped the paper on the floor by the simple method of unclosing her long fingers. “Don’t ever give me such stuff as that to read again,” she said severely. “But is it true?” asked Lucy. “Are you really going to have a tame duke in the house?” Jacqueline would not even answer. As a matter of fact, she did not know whether it was true or not, but she feared the worst. She knew only too well the joy it would be to Mrs. McMannis to bring home a duke, for the girl had a terrible detached clarity of vision. She had seen her step- mother’s eyes lighten at reading her name in the right list brilliant. So they had fallen to arguing. Whenever their conversation began, whether with English dukes or American weather, they always ended with an argument. Now, as they passed the little round pond in the park, upon which already eager shipowners were launching their craft, Miss. Salisbury. was asserting with calm finality, “As a matter of fact, England is a far more democratic country than the United States.” “A queer kind of democracy that has a House of Lords, if you ask me,” replied Jacqueline, with a most irritating sort of crow in her voice. “Better than a plutocracy—an irresponsible plutocracy like this,” said Miss Salisbury. ‘Our aristocracy has its recognized responsibilities.” “What are they?” asked the girl. isn’t that it?” “Charity is certainly one of their duties,’ replied Miss Salisbury with dignity. ‘‘ Upholding traditions is another.” “ How you all do bow down to them!” cried Jacqueline, feeling as usual a certain lack of first-hand information. “Indeed, we don’t make half such fools.of ourselves as you do over here,” answered Miss Salisbury; and Jacque- line, conscious of her parents’ ignominy, did not reply, but sank into a remoteness of sulky pain. “Opening bazaars—

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THER SATURDAY EVENING POST They passed the bust of Richard Hunt, late architect of the late Lenox Library. On that great pile of granite it was optimistically supposed that the sightless eyes of the bust would gaze as long as New York stood; but now, by one of those rapid changes so characteristic of Manhattan, those eyes are fixed upon a long low private house, the creation of quite a different architect. Jacqueline glanced at the apartment houses and marble palaces about her—not a sliding panel or secret stairway in the whole lot probably. She began to plan a castle of her own, and by this means regained her inner poise before they turned east again and reached the Montross School. At the door Miss Salisbury left her charge and returned to the McMannis house, secure of an uninterrupted morn- ing for that occupation upon which the British Empire has been so largely built—the letter home. Every week she wrote sixteen pages in her clear handsome handwriting to the Rev. Ethelbert Salisbury, rector of St. Margaret's Church, in a small Kentish village, where he lived with wife, two sisters and his remaining five daughters. Meantime the locker room at school was filled with short-haired, straight-backed girls, big and little, from seven to eighteen—all engaged in snatching off their hats and coats and exchanging greetings. “Done your algebra?” “Haven't tried.” “Is it true Grigsby has had a bob?” “T thought not.” ““‘Who was that sheik you were with at the movies?” “An uncle —— My cricks!” “That's new, isn’t it?” “No; the old one with a new collar.” “Tt makes you look just like that last picture of Con- stance’s.” “Oh, you dear, isn’t she divine—simply divine?” Jacqueline took off her things in silence and alone—she was a person of importance, but not exactly popular. She had two qualities which her schoolmates valued—beauty and maturity. Her beauty was obvious, a matter of deep- gray eyes, fringed with black, a little short face on a long throat—almost too long. But her maturity was harder to explain, for of course she had been protected from life by riches and comfort and nurses and governesses and an ordered routine; but that other protection—the irrational and unchanging love of parents—Jacqueline had not had. She had learned to judge for herself, to think for herself, to find methods of calming her own spirits, a technic of self- control that children who know there is always an adult bosom to weep upon never discover. She led her own inner life; which gave her preéminence among the other girls, who were all thinking and acting in instinctive accord with their families’ wishes or in equally instinctive opposi- tion to them. dark sullenness on Jacqueline’s brow justified the greging of her friend Lucy: ‘Hullo, my little local thunderstorm, what’s wrong withyou?”’ ‘f] hate the English,” said Jacqueline. ‘I leave the houg every morning enjoying the weather and my own thagghts, and I never get ten blocks before this rabbit- toofied creature whom my family have imported for me saygpsomething to enrage me.” And Jacqueline obliged witha representation of Miss Salisbury’s enunciation, her slight difficulty in getting her lips to close over her project- in or teeth. Lucy enjoyed the show, but her mind was on something more serious. She had not as yet looked at her English poetry, which she was almost certain to be called upon to redite. “‘Puss-Puss is certain to call bn me,” she said, thus referring to Miss Grigsby, she who was falsely reported to have had a bob, “for she’s let me alone for a week. Put the great bean to work on that, Jackie, and see what can be done.”’ Jacqueline nodded silently, meaning that she would give the matter her full attention during the opening exercises. It was no empty promise. When the senior class in English Poetry since Pope—‘‘And what’s wrong with Pope?” as Lucy had inquired—tock its place in the class- room, Miss Grigsby—alias Puss-Puss—had actually opened her mouth to say “Lucy, will you recite the first stanza of the Intimations of Immortality?” when Jacque- line’s long thin arm shot up with her hand fluttering at the end of it like a tiny banner. “Oh, Miss Grigsby, I do want to ask you something.” Miss Grigsby had the sort of grateful affection for Jaequeline that every teacher has for a pupil who takes an independent interest in a subject. Jacqueline actually read more of a poet sometimes than the prescribed amount. She was allowed to go on: “T heard a discussion the other day—awfully interesting. But is it true that no poet has ever been a good man?” For a hasty composition, this was not bad—a teacher of English verse really was obliged to take note of this. “T shevld rather say,” replied Miss Grigsby, smiling with a false sweetness which she herself was the last person to know was false, ‘‘that no great poet had ever been any- thing but a good man. Milton ——” ‘*___. was horrid to his daughters, Miss Grigsby.” “We have very little evidence on that point. Tenny- son i Oe “Oh, but not a great poet, Miss Grigsby.” “There I disagree with you, Jacqueline—most humbly, of course.” The girls’ thoughts: “‘Why does she try being sarcastic, when Jackie can write poetry and she can't?” “How about Swinburne, Miss Grigsby?” Swinburne was the curse of Miss Grigsby’s existence. She admired him extravagantly; not only A Forsaken Garden and Proserpine but other poems less respectable. It annoyed her unspeakably that the modern generation did not care for him; yet what could she do? She could not go about recommending him to growing girls. She simply ignored the name. . “Except for the boyish peccadillo with Justice Shallow,” she said, a little less sugary than before, ‘“‘we have in Shakspere ——” “Tf he isn’t really Bacon,” said Jacqueline reflectively. “Tf he is, why, then we know a good deal against his mora: character.” Nothing more was necessary, and Jacqueline sat back, conscious of a friend well served. Miss Grigsby explained that Shakspere was not Bacon—could not have been Bacon; the moral characters of the two men were so different. Could anyone imagine that the author of Hamlet had ever accepted a bribe? Lucy, under cover of a rather large sleeve, was able to learn her verse very comfortably, before at last, in the final minutes of the period, she was called on to recite. The girls admired the art of Jacqueline’s performance. Miss Grigsby herself was dimly aware of what was hap- pening, but the Bacon-Shakspere controversy so mad- dened her, she could not have resisted replying even if the whole plot had been made clear to her eyes. Lucy, full of gratitude, went home to !unch with Jacque- line. She was one of the friends approved of by the Mc- Mannises, and even Miss Salisbury, who had said, “1 con- fess that Lucy seems to me to have been very nicely brought up.” The use of “I confess” annoyed Jacqueline. ‘*Why should she confess approving of you, Lucy?” she demanded fiercely. “As if it were something to her dis- credit!’ Lucy, who had Dutch ancestors, was of a calm imper- turbable nature, disturbed only by occasiona! attacks of the giggles. Her friend’s deep though concealed storminess took her by surprise. They had met first as little girls at the Montross School. In the Roman History class, during some story of Roman courage, Lucy had observed that Jacqueline was crying. She looked at her in wonder and then whispered, “It isn’t sad—he wasn't killed.” To which Jacqueline had replied, ‘Idiot! If it were a sad story I wouldn’t cry! It’s his being so brave.” To this day Lucy pondered over this incident without understanding it. The friendship was cemented by the fact that the next year Jacqueline, then eleven, had fallen deeply in love with Lucy’s brother—an older man of eighteen—a college man; tospeak accurately, a god. It began (Continued on Page 117) 4 “Onty Fancy t"' She Exclaimed. “The Duke of Dormier ts Coming Over With Your Parents !"'

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6 THE SATURDAY EVENING FfOST FROM CSESAR TO MUSSOLINI N THE Italie peninsula there was By Garet Garrett costly articles wrought by skill for coarse raw ma+ one night of a thousand years That mysterious event is responsi- ble for a certain ec- centricity in the present state of economic time. If you suppose the economic hour in New York to be eleven A.M. and that in London it is three P.M., then in Rome it is oniy daybreak, There the sun is rising. What seattered the long Italian night, during which the northern barbarian with nothing to remem- ber carried the world away, will be found recorded in current history books and alma- nace as a military event. One Sep- tember day in 1870, when all the big countries were good enough to be minding their own business, a smal! Italic army an ok a f terials—as to say, fine cloth for raw wool, watch springs for pig iron, shoes for hides, perfumes for coal. All the high-craft nations of the world strive more and more to effect exchange upon this plan; even the United States, which is in the unique posi- tion of having a great abundance both of raw mate- rials and manufac- turing skill. It could export either raw materials or fabricated goods, and does export both; yet it seeks steadily toincrease the sale of manu- factured goods, be- cause, as everyone knows, it is more profitable to ex- port motor cars and typewriters than iron ore. Ore is only ore, plus the rude labor of extracting it from the earth, whereas marched into Rome and pro claimed it to be the capital of modern Italy, Of itself, intrinsically, this was no valorous feat. As a spectacle on the playground of the Caesars, you cannot imagine it was even impressive. The physica! resistance was insignificant. Nevertheless, it was a splendid victory. There was never one like it in all the annals of glory. The drama of it was in the mind, not on the piazza. The enemy was invisible. What the little Italic army did was to meet and slay the past, And lest anyone should forget or mistake the mean- ing of that allegorical deed, an altar was raised to com- memorate it. This you may see. It is an immense and complicated marble structure in which no idea is permitted to look backward. It stands with its back to the ancient valley of the Roman Forum, to the majestic ruins of the Colosseum where Christian martyrs preferred eternity to all the fata! faacinations of history. It did not grow there; it did not place itself. The people made it that way. Asa monument, you may regard it with oblique wonder. As a pile of costly masonry, it is notable. As an incantation in stone, it is one of the curiosities of the world. It says that Rome is a modern city, free of its history; it adds that no loya! Italian shal! see it or think of it otherwise. No loyal Italian does. Pilgrims, tourists, anyone else, may see it as they please-—as it is or as it was, or, strangely, as it neither is nor was. a COPYRIGHT 8) UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, WARHINGTON, 0. 6 The Mecting Place of Remote Ages fTVE Stock Exchange, where people buy and sell the shares of new Italian textile mills and motor companies, occupies the ancier:t Temple of Neptune that was one of Agrippa's vanities. Electric light and power fixtures of the latest design are bolted to Roman walls older than Chris- tianity, that have had no other use since the Goths and Vandals scaled them, save as objects of commercialized awe, Roman carts with their oversize wheels dispute the way with motortrucks in streets as narrow and crooked as when Paul appealed to Cesar after his trial for disturbing the peace with his opinions touching multiple gods. In pagan Rome, using the vernacular to distinguish the older part of the city, it is five minutes’ walk from the ruins of the Diocletian Baths to a fine movie theater running American comedy films. They are at opposite sides of the same piazza, and yet sixteen centuries apart, The young Italian is not conscious of these contrasts. He has forgotten, if he ever knew, where the Diocletian Batha were. Yo get that informati n from the guidebook or from that part of the horse-drawn vehicle which the tourist believes to be its conscious intelligence. The mind The New Italian Embassy, Washington of new Italy sees with its monument. The past is dead, There is only the future. Everything began with Unity. To that word, always mede with a capital U, the Italian mind reacts just as the American mind does to the Declara- tion of Independence. We achieved our nationality by breaking the bonds of an oppressive political allegiance, The Italians achieved theirs by the collective act of break- ing a spell. If it seems not altogether coherent that is what you would expect. A thousand years is a long night. The scien- tific term is racial lethargy. That means no more than night. Lethargy, if you prefer it, is a visitation upon races—an unsolicited blessing, perhaps—which has yet to be explained scientifically or otherwise. It happens. Ris- ing from it, people will be for some time in a state of vague perplexity. They may do all the wrong things at first; they are sure to make many mistakes. Individually, they cannot understand what has occurred or what is taking place. This is because man, whose years are determined, must pursue his destiny anxiously. There is no other destiny. There is no other time. But a race, provided it is durable, may fall out and sleep. Its future will overtake it. And when it does, then suddenly again that race is time- conscious. It knows it has something important to do and is in haste to be at it, without knowing exactly what it is. There is a dream to reconstruct. It cannot be reconstructed all at once. Ideas will be slow to clarify. So now in Italy, of the Italians. The torment of impatience is upon them. They have raised thereto a sign. Its name is Mussolini. What was it they dreamed? They cannot tell them- selves. No one else knows. It will gradually appear. Only, you may be sure that a people with such a past will not have dreamed of serving. Sleeping or waking, power is their fantasy. What they find is that all the conditions of power have changed. The Cesar business is in disesteem, perhaps dead; at least it is forbidden by all the authority there is. What other way to power and wealth lies open? Trade; foreign trade. That now is the field of combat, the only other way whereby a people whose numbers already press heavily upon the native food supply may hope to com- mand sustenance from afar, amass wealth and rise to affluence. Wherefore Italy, with many handicaps and few apparent advantages, save that of her renewed youth, turns her mind to foreign trade. But there again the change appears. Nowadays when we speak of foreign trade we visualize imports and exports. We think of the exchange of things for things. That trade pays best in which you exchange a motor car is ore, coal, timber, fiber, rubber, sand, gases and acids, all transformed by skill and imagination. These two intangible items—skill and imagination—are worth much more than the raw material. That is why it pays to sell manufactured goods in foreign trade. This was first learned from experience and then formulated in the text- books of economics. But the old Romans, with no science of economics among them, went a great deal further. They refined exports to the ultimate ideal. Their only resource in trade was intangible merchandise. You must know that twenty centuries age Rome im- ported the whole of her sustenance. Every road leading into her was burdened with the goods she required to con- sume or enjoy, such as grain, fine textiles, base and pre- cious metals, exotic edibles, spices, ointment, jade. The traffic was all one way—everything going in, nothing pon- derable coming out. Roman Peace as Rome’s Commodity OW did she pay? You cannot have imports without exports, or not for long, because you will soon go bankrupt; but this went on for hundreds of years and Rome grew very rich. She paid with a commodity that had no weight, no sub- stance, no texture. She exported civility, law and au- thority—that is to say, government. It was very fine merchandise; and although it was very expensive, yet it was so well advertised that practically the whole of the civilized world required it. Besides, there was no competitive brand. It was called the Roman Peace. Whether because the quality deteriorated, which ap- pears to have been the case, or because the cost of produc- tion became excessive, as it probably did, a time came when the exchange began to go wrong. The demand de- clined, slowly at first, and then very fast at theend. Rome’s need for sustenance did not decline. It couldn’t; her vital requirements were constant. And because she had nothing to export or to give in exchange but this one imponderable commodity which people no longer wished at the old price, in the same quantity, or at all, there was desperate trouble. Rome began to run to what is modernly defined as an un- favorable balance of trade. She bought more than she could pay for; the value of her imports was disastrously greater than the value of her exports. Therefore at length all that mighty affair of the Roman Peace collapsed. It had ceased to pay, and the Roman Empire fell. It was impossible there in Italy or anywhere else to reconstruct Rome’s method. What she fabricated was April 25,1925 haatie Bree tng

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 government. She sold. it with the sword. And when that economic system crashed there was night, because there was nowhere else any system at all. The darkness was not total. There were many brilliant happenings in the night. Rome was transformed. The popes were mighty builders too. Ecclesiastical art fiour- ished. Rare masters appeared. Cities independently waxed and waned. But these were astonishing events, de- tached. They had nothing to do with Italy and made seeing only more difficult. Where were the people? The Romans—what became of them? They were but one of the ancient Italic tribes. You lose sight of them all. Italy was broken up. The popes took sovereignty over the middle part and founded the Papal States. The rest of it was parceled out among petty kings and throne heads, with nothing to rule, nothing to do but to quarrel inces- santly with one another. Thrones in Italy became favors to be handed about among the puissant sovereigns of Europe, Yet all this time the people were there. They went close to the soil and lived it out with Nature. It may be, as they say, easier to live and harder to die in Italy than anywhere else in the world. They adore living. The fact of it thrills them and the circumstance is new with each rising of the sun. Even now, though it may be chang- ing, your most vivid after images of Italy will be, not the tall postwar chimneys in the north, not the new factories, the little Pittsburghs they are so proud of, the electric rail- ways, the harbors full of ships, signs and omens everywhere of their increasing industrial power—none of these things. They are wonderful enough; they are to be remembered. But what you will see again when you close your eyes will be those glimpses of her way with Nature, of her fields like a series of fine old tapestries in which the ground, its fruits, the animals and the people seem to be woven all of one and the same essential stuff, differentiated only by their acci- dental edges and gestures. Certainly nowhere else do those who tend the earth touch it so amorously. And in the autumn, when the vines are heavy, the land through all its length and breadth is filled with bursting song, re- sponsive to the rhythm of life. They could not perish. The earth knew them and they multiplied. Two Sets of Difficulties O IT was with the basic people of Italy, no matter how with kings, for a thousand years, until their energy could no longer be contained in that pattern of simple ex- istence. Some ageless spirit stirred; and as it came awake it shaped that idea of United Italy which was to clothe it- self with force, sweep out all the little thrones and pro- claim a new Italian day. You come again to the monument, and to the back of it this time, since you arrive from the past. You see more clearly now why it stands that way Ine year was 1870, and she had no organized industry , no equipment for it, no knowledge of it, though it already old in England, France, Germany, Belgium the United States. What was worse, so far as she , she had neither coal nor iron to speak of, though ern industry must be founded thereon. If you have notgot them you will have to buy them; in order to buy them you will need something to sell. She had lots of water running downhill, and that would sometime be a source of power better than coal; but at that time hydro- electric development was costly and still highly experi- meital. It was 1870, and she had no railroad system, because those little quarreling states just now swept away had been afraid of intercommunication. What was she to do? She could not get rich selling lemons and figs and olive oil. To become an industrial nation she would have to buy first railroads, then machines with which to equip her mills, then the experience and technical knowledge which machines and industrial processes re- quire; and after that she would have to buy also the coal tofeed her locomotives and blast furnaces, the ore to make iron and steel, the wool and cotton to run in her looms, and so on. How could she buy these things? It was absurd to sup- pose she could buy them with the surplus produce of her vines and fig trees, and she had almost nothing else to sell. Yes, one other commodity. She had plenty of people, and happily they were mobile. They would go anywhere they were wanted to work for wages. So it came about that the first thing new Italy exported on a very large scale was labor—not the products of labor, mark you; the labor itself—that is to say, people. This movement was of amazing proportions. It ran in one year to nearly 900,000 persons. In thirty years Italy lost by emigration a number of people sufficient to have doubled the population of the earth in two centuries, provided they multiplied abroad at the same rate as at home. And this is counting only those who went and never returned. The rule was that three- quarters of those who went did some time return with the capital earned by labor in foreign lands. Those who did not come back were nevertheless a source of great revenue, for they were continually sending money to their kinsmen at home. Italy’s receipts of money from her children in foreign countries ran as high as 1,000,000,000 gold lire a year. Coming in year after year, this kin money was a sig- nificant addition to the national wealth. It helped to buy railroads and machines and all those means to industrial life which it had been otherwise perhaps impossible to acquire. Yet notwithstanding all this deep pruning of the native tree by emigration, the population of Italy con- tinued steadily and remarkably to increase. however, was toilsome, uncertain, slow, beset with disappointment. The road was uphill, of course; the grade was steep. But that was not the only reason. The other fell in the second category of trouble. Politics ob- — them. The highest cerebfal activity of the ambitious Italian is political. Whether you treat it as a Latin characteristic, as a baneful heritage or as one of those gratuitous diffi- culties which fate provides as an extra incentive, the fact is there. They do not themselves regard it as an affliction Far otherwise. Look again at their altar, that monument in which they appear to have incorporated all the ideas they had. The right and left groups in gilded marble as you approach represent Action and Meditation. There is a statue of Victor Emmanuel II, gilded bronze, in the center. There is a marble group representing Power, Sacrifice, Concord and Right. Victory is a figure supported by two colossal lions. Unity and Liberty are there; also Rome and the seventeen regions of Italy. But the four figures that sur- mount the portals of honor as you enter are named Poli- tics, Philosophy, Revolution, War. The poiitician, the thinker, the liberator—if that is what revolution means— and the hero, four in a row, on one high plane of honor. Beginnings of Modern Industry LITICS in Italy is what you know politics to be any- where else, plus Latin intensity and Latin egoism. Everything is personal. National policies are personal. Success is a private ornament, indivisible, and failure cannot forgive it. Agreement is a frail truce and the begin- ning of new intrigue. Newspapers are prized as weapons. We should not call them newspapers. They are laundries, really, taking in political linen to wash. The dethroned politician turns publicist, with a feud to keep. it is almost impossible for him to write an essay on Italy, even for an international encyclopedia, without making a violent per- sonal attack upon his favorite enemy, who is one that was either before him in office or came afterward to it. With a volatile-minded political caste at the top and a newly enfranchised proletariat below, reacting upon each other in a situation of extreme economic difficulty, you may imagine that the task of founding modern industry in Italy progressed slowly. Cool thinking was needed. They had neither experience nor tradition to guide them. All achievement was by trial and error. Forty years of this. Then came the war. It must be possible to say what obviously is true— namely, that to Italy the war was a benefit in the guise of disaster. It obliged them to act desperately, without much political thinking, and their intuitions were sound. [i gave them access to credit and materials and mechanical means beyond any measure they had known before. Their industrial power, represented by modern productive equipment—mills, furnaces, tools, electrical energy—is todayatleast twice what it was before and wherein thein- stinct that placed it so was right. The past is empty. Why listen to its echoes? All its pathwaystothe sun have discon- tinued. Why walk backward in them? There is no choice. Back is toward the night, to extinc- tion. People will go the other way notwithstanding the fact that all trouble is of days. They may not think of this; but if they did, it would not matter. The act symbolized by that altar of Unity was the beginning of Italy’s difficul- ties. Yet other- wise there had been no Italy. Her difficulties fell under two heads. They were political and eco- nomic. Every na- tion’s troubles may be similarly re- duced; only those of Italy were very acute and all mod- ern definitions the war. Some put it higher. Their minds were stimu- lated; they hbe- came more inven- tive. Necessity obliged them. What they aezc- rificed for all this was human life. Emotionally, that was a great price. Andyetrationaliy, if one may 80 speak of it, the account is very different. One thing Italy has an abundant surplus cf is life. Certainly it is not logical, as now we speak of her case, to say it is hard for the reasons, first that she made an enormous sac- rifice of life to help win the war, and second that her population is ex- cessive. Each year there are 456,000 more Italians, and she does not know what to do with them. She says she is poor by rea- son of them. There are, of course, the war (Continued on were new to her. Keep that in mind. A Political Event in Italy. Mussolini in the Lions’ Cage Page 162)

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8 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MUCH TOO C By John P. Marquend WILLIAM BROWN season —the Bradleys always measured time by the presence, approach or recession of hunting—Vernon Bradley obtruded himself sud- denly, as always, upon his mother’s thoughts. A leud, heavy thud on the floor above the drawing- room was Mrs. James Bradley's first intimation that Vernon was at home, It was a violent noise which made the chandeliers rattle, and which eaused Mrs. Bradley to wrinkle her high forehead. The early au- tumn fire in a tall Renaissance fireplace flickered restively across her long unpowdered features, but her features were not restive. Mrs. Bradley had learned long ago that it was best to be calm when coping with Vernon. A single thud would have meant that Vernon had collided with some heavy piece of furni- ture as he flressed for dinner, and since early youth Vernon had bumped indis- eriminately against furniture and facta; but when another thud, louder than the first, followed almost immediately, only to be succeeded by anether, Mra. Bradley stiffened her back. One might almost have said that she got her back up, for her wiil aroused it into an exact and uncom- promising perpen- dieular, In the ' drawing-room the ’ autumn dusk had begun to gather, : which lent such voi- ume and ominous mystery tothesound that Mis. Bradiey finally reached for the pantry bell and brought her thumb upon it with a de- cisive push, “ Hendricks,” she said to the secend man, “can you tell mewhatonearth Mr. Vernon is doing?” Hendricks answered with the prompt, smooth and per- fect courtesy which distinguishes the house man from most employee. “TI do not know exactly, madam"—his feelings were annoyingly and invariably imperturbable—“ though I hur- ried to see, rnadam, as I thought that he might be—tempo- rarily unwell; but he is quite as usual.” “You don’t knew what he’s doing? Nonsense!” Mrs. Bradley snapped her fingers in a vigorous masculine manner. “ Rathar,” said Hendricks hastily, “I should say I don’t know why he’s doing what he’s doing, though of course it’s not my place. Mr. Vernon has a chair in the middle of the , room. He is jumping over the chair, madam; or, rather, I should s«y, he hurls himself over, head first to the floor, violentiy—very violently, There—there he goes again. You can hear him.” “Yes, Hendricks,” said Mrs. Bradley icily, “I cannot eniy hear—TI can feel him. Ask Mr. Vernon to come down a* once before he breaks the ceiling; and Hendricks, as you go, switch on the lights,” The light fell on her harshly, for she liked things bright. She eat full in it, lean, straight and unshrinking in her high- backed chair. She had never resorted to powder or candles. it was part of her tradition to do away with frills and to leave them to the less secure and less substantial. And possibly she knew that nothing would have helped, for Mra. Bradley wae plain, and she had always been. She always seemed to Vernon—-all the women in his family always seemed militant and glorying in their plainness. As Vernon reached the carpet by the hearth, and stood rubbing his heavy hands, it was plain he was his mother’s gon. The whipcord riding breeches and the Norfolk coat . YY one afternoon just prior to the hunting ILLUSTRATED “See Here,"’ Said Vernon in Sudden A Br ARTHUR he wore accentuated his lank, stringy build; and though younger, his face was his mother’s face—long, with a drooping chin and a nose slightly out of drawing. “Well?” said Mrs. Bradley. Try as he might, Vernon could never deliver information unless he was properly goaded. “Well what, mother?”’ he asked patiently, though he knew very well what. In the face of his dense placidity Mrs. Bradley shrugged her shoulders resignedly. “Stop circling and start,” she said. “What were you doing upstairs?” “Oh, that?” Vernon brightened and looked relieved. “Upstairs? Oh, yes; I was just practicing falling.” Not by so much as an added wrinkle did his mother reg- ister surprise. “Well,” she said, “and why?” “Why—what, mother?” asked Vernon. “Merciful heaven!” cried Mrs. Bradley, stamping her foot. “Why will you be so trying? Of course you know why! Why were you falling?” “Oh!” said Vernon. “Oh, I wasn't falling. I was prac- ticing falling—not plain falling, of course’’—he paused long enough to smile at her affectionately— “falling off a horse.” “You were up in your room practicing falling off a horse?”’ Mrs, Bradley leaned forward and tapped the arm of her chair. “‘Why? Get on with it! Don’t say ‘why— what'!” Vernon hitched at his coat and coughed. “Tt’s a new idea,” he explained; “‘a sort of a theory, if you'll only listen.” “I’m listening,” said Mrs. Bradley, and continued to tap the arm of her chair. “Aren’t You Angry?" EVE ** Well,” said Vernon, “the idea is—couldn’t you stop tapping the chair? —the idea is, when you get a fall—well, you’re all right if you know how to fall; and you can learn how right at home; how to relax, that is. If you just relax you’re al] right. That’s it— you just relax.” “Do you mean to say,” inquired his mother with a rising inflection, “that you have been upstairs in your room learn- ing how to fall off a horse after you've been taught all your life to stick on one?”’ ‘But, mott er,”’ said Vernon un- easily, “everybody gets it some time. Lookwhathappened to Major Blaine out at Elm Tree. If he had only relaxed last week ——” **Rubbish!’’ snapped Mrs. Brad- ley. ‘‘There’s only one reason for such goings on. You're losing your nerve!” She must have guessed that Vernon would be affected by her remark, for she watched compla- cently as his face changed color. “Oh, come now ——”" began Vernon with a catch in his voice. “Well,” said Mrs. Bradley, ‘‘what would anyone say? If you practice fall- ing off aren’t you afraid of a fall? If other people get a fall they fall, don’t they? To think of a son of mine break- ing down the ceiling because he’s afraid of the jumps! I’ve always known you were hopeless at business, but I didn’t mind so long as I thought you could ride.” “Good Lord!” groaned Vernon. thought of it that way.” The things she had said were terrible things, which cut him to the quick. To almost anyone within ten miles of where the Bradleys lived they would have been equally terrible, for it was a horsy place, and the Bradleys were horsy people. “Think?” echoed Mrs. Bradley coldly. trouble—you never think.” “See here!” retorted Vernon desperately. For a single lucid moment he saw the situation in a slighfly ironical guise, and, like an outsider, perceived the humor of the scene, but almost at once his feelings regained their sway. “You ought to know I don’t pull up. You ought to know I care how I behave. I know hunting’s the only thing I’m good at. Now listen! Please don’t tap that chair! This falling business wasn’t my idea.” “Then whose idea was it?” Mrs. Bradley’s mouth relaxed and her fingers ceased their tapping. Vernon, however, hesitated perceptibly before he answered. “Well, Tom Rogers,” he began. “You know Tom; you know how clever he is. Tom’s always up to new ideas.”’ “Ah, so that’s it!” Mrs. Bradley nodded in grim con- firmation. “He put you up to it, did he?” “Now wait!” objected Vernon nervously. “He didn’t put me up to anything. He’s a friend of mine.” Mrs. Bradley nodded a grim assent and at the same time puckered her mouth in direct and distasteful negation. “Of course,” she agreed, “he never does, Who put you up to stealing apples? Who got you to break your collar bone “Honestly, I never “That’s the eee iter ~ eff OP 5 ME > IO RTI (AMEN de aOR

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T. at bicycle polo? Who made you run your motor into the yard at college? I’ve told you, Vernon, and I'll tell you again, he’ll make you take a fall that it won’t do any good to practice for,” It was plain that it was an old and painful subject, for Vernon wore just the patient resignation that young men always acquire when disagreeing with their parents, and Mrs. Bradley’s face had assumed the set yet gentle look which one sees only in the nonconcording mother. “Let’s not start arguing again,’”’ said Vernon. “You al- ways act as though he was a crook.” “No, not that.” Mrs. Bradley’s breath made a curious sound in her long nose, which Vernon knew augured noth- ing pleasant. “But Vernon—Vernon”’—she raised a mus- cular weathered hand and her voice altered to a gentler tone—“‘drop Tom Rogers, Vernon, like a good boy. It’s getting to be time.” “Drop him?” echoed Vernon. He could not understand what mental process, what possible freak of reasoning, had set her on such a tangent. “ Drop him?” “Not unpleasantly, of course,” said Mrs. Bradiey; “but gradually—gradually. Friends drift apart, you know. I change a lot of mine every year or so.” “But why?” demanded Vernon with corrugated brow. “Why should I?” “Because,” replied Mrs. Bradley, “I’m an old woman. I’ve had experience. When any man gets another jumping over chairs it’s time to stop. He’s too clever for you, Vernon—much too clever, Vernon, and clever people are bound to use their strength. “But, mother,’”’ began Vernon with slow elaborate pa- tience, ‘‘you don’t understand anything about it.” “Hush!” said Mrs. Bradley. “‘Now do be quiet! Tom Rogers can wrap you and post you any time, and he knows it, Vernon. Now don’t interrupt; listen to what I say. We’re stupid people, you and I, and most of our friends are stupid. We have enough money, and it dulls the wits— oh, yes, it does! All we think of here is about horses and dogs and exercise. We make a pretense at other things—at sic and pictures, and so on—but we all know we don’t n anything by it, and we always end somewhere out the paddock. We don’t know about anything else we don’t care about anything else. Naturally, it es us stupid; and, personally, I don’t mind. Only, j@t be sure of this—if you're stupid, stay with the stupid d; stay in your class and don’t go out of it, or you're Hipind to have rough going. Just remember that you're pid, Vernon, and that the clever ones will get you in end. In the end, they’ll make a fool of you and make play the fool.’ '"Play the fool?” Vernon stammered. “Oh, come!” "Yes, Vernon,” said Mrs. Bradley, “you are a fool, you know, though I’m rather glad you are, for it makes every- thing much easier. Stay with the fools, Vernon, and not with Tom, or, I warn you, you'll be sorry.” “But we've always been friends,” persisted Vernon; “ever since—ever since ——” Yes,” said Mrs. Bradley, ‘I know. I remember your father lost a hundred thousand dollars just after he had made a similar remark. No, Vernon, stay with the stupid dass and you'll never be sorry; with the quiet, comforta- ble people, and not with ones who have a lean and hungry look. Suppose—just suppose you and Tom wanted the game thing. Would Tom let you have it?” Mrs. Bradley paused and lowered her voice to a solemn key. ‘“‘No,”’ she said. ‘“‘He wouldn't. He'd twist you around his finger. Suppose Vernon—just suppose there was a girl, and just suppose you and Tom ——- What would happen then?” “Oh, stuff, mother!” cried Vernon. Mrs. Bradley looked hard at him. His voice and his face were always refreshingly transparent, and she felt a poignant loneliness, but it passed. ‘‘Why,” said Vernon—‘“‘ why, suppose there was—we'd admit it and the best man would win.” “No, Vernon,” said Mrs. Bradley; “the clever man. Vernon, is there a girl?” **No”—nevertheless Vernon looked embarrassed—“‘ of eourse not—not exactly.” Mrs, Bradley sighed and looked older than she had before. SATURDAY EVENING POST 8 “Vernon,” she said very softly, “under the eircum- stances, won't you—keep away from Tom?” “Oh, nonsense, mother!” replied Vernon. “Really, yor don't know Tom. You wouldn’t have a word to say if you knew him better.” “But I know you’re stupid, Vernon,” said hie mother; “very stupid, dear.” u 7 ERY stupid, dear!”’ Vernon found the room off the men’s lockers at the Holly Hil! Club a pleasant place that night; but pleasant as it was, visions of his mother kept recurring to mar the loud and pointed badinage that was wafted through the smoke. It was the evening before the first drag of autumn, and there was a dance upstairs, and old men and young men, friends and strangers, kept moving in and out as the music stopped and started in the rooms above. Outside at the kennels the hounds moved restlessly, and blanketed horses were being walked in from distant stables, led by sharp-faced men who glanced hope- fully at the sky. There were always pleasant times for everyone when the hunting began. The world dropped ita serious commercial aspect and overnight all values changed. Of all the times of the year, it was Vernon's time, when he could stand out as an authority. His very employers at the bank treated hin with a new respect when autumn came. Yet he could not give his full mind to it, for his mind kept running unpleasantly on himself, and through all the vague orchestral sounds he kept reverting to his mother’s words—‘‘very stupid, dear.” Vernon rose and walked toward a mirror, ostensibly to straighten his tie, but in reality to examine his sloping forehead; and there Torn: Rogers found him two minutes later, gazing fixedly, like a seer before a ball of crystal. Tom placed a long sunburned hand gently on Vernon’s shoulder. “Remember,” he said gravely, “it’s the shaving cream, not the razor, that does it.” Cynical—that’s what the girls called Tom—awfully cynical, and dreadfully puzzling, which was also how (Continued on Page 146) ‘Don’t Mind Me,’’ Said Vernon. “Go Right Ahead. I'm Watching How it's Done"

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10 F ALL the industries which are engaged in using f THE SATURDAY EVENING PtST REDWOOD DIVI By Albert W. Atwood April 25, 1925 NDS more trees. One- third of the Pacific Coast is best suited to that purpose; up, or at least in making available for use, this coun- try’s wondrously rich endowment of naturel resources, none haa so fo- cused attention as lumbering. It is not wise to pass hasty judg- ment upon the relative wasteful- ness involved. Perhaps there are brands of agricul- ture which impov- erish the soil more than the lumber- man does the for- est; mining appears to leave leas in ite wake than second growth or even stumps. Much of the waste of forest products should be iaid at the door of the consumer, not of the producer. But indigence of soll strikes only the expert eye; mining covere a amall end unob- served area. He who runs may read where the vir- gin forests stood No other largess has seemed so freely and pro- fusely given; nor is there another whose removal conveys to the uninitiated so instan- taneous an impression of havoc and wanton prodi- gality—a feeling which may be erroneous, but is nevertheless instinctive. The whole fundamental economic question of con- servation seems to boil down to the forest. Iliogical but true, Forests do not form the sole natural re- source. Lumberirg is but one of numerous extractive industries, To expect it to carry an undue share of the burden of providing dividends for future genera- tions is at once senseless and unfair. But the dimen- sions of the forest are so great, it once covered and should cover so extensive an area, that when anyone talks of saving # portion of our original wealth the forest is first to come to mind. L—— PHOTO. FROM GAVE~THE-REOWOODS LEAGUs When Capital Was Unlimited HE so-called wastefulness of the lumberman was part of a national frame of mind, now changing under pressure of downright necessity. As long as the manufacture, distribution and consumption of forest products were dominated by an unlimited frontier of chesp virgin stumpage, lumbering was a mining rather than a farming operation, There was no tree culture, little use for any except the longest lengths, and but alight thought to the future. With new areas to which to turn, these measures did not pay. Naturally, no thought was given to the depletion of original capital when that capital appeared to be unlimited. No effort was made to grow trees when Nature grew them without cost. The final report of one of the moat exhaustive studies of reforestation—or rather the lack of it—as yet made in this country, says: ‘Molding the traditions and habits of thought of men en- gaged in foreet industries has been the availability, throughout the past history of America, of extensive sup- plies of virgin timber obtainable at a very low cost.” In the early settlements the white man made what was called a clearing, which was almost synonymous at that time with civilization itself. Not only were the trees cut to elear the land for farming but because the settlers regarded them as enemies. Did not the forests harbor hostile Indians PROTO. FROM THE FREEMAN ART STUDIO, EUREKA, CALIFORNIA The Redwood Highway. Above—vi Lumbering Operation and wild beasts, who at the best preyed upon the new- comer’s ca But trees are no longer the white man’s enemies; they are among his best and most valued friends. If he foolishly cuts them all, or too many, without reforesting in their place, there is danger ahead of parched lands and a lack of water for farming, power and home consumption. It is a question whether depopulation, or at least poverty, has not followed deforestation in other lands. In any case we know today that much of the land cleared will never be useful for any purpose except to grow there are areas in the Northwest where not more than one-tenth of the logged-off lands will grow any other crop as well as trees. In one of the Great Lakes states alone there are millions of acres of waste sand plains which await their only possible future planting—that of trees. Lumber S TIME goes on it appears that many areas devoted to agricul- ture cannot stand up under compe- tition. They should be abandoned and devoted to forest or range. The progress of agri- culture for some time to come will probably mean concentrating upon fertile and favorably located lands. In many of the densely popu- lated Eastern States, such as Michigan, New York and Massa- chusetts, from 46 to 60 per cent of the total land area is best suited to forest culture. Yet these states have very little merchantable timber left. Indeed, it has been said that there are New England states which could replant the entire area cut over for the annual freight bill they pay for im- ported timber. It is true that an immense amount of natural re- forestation follows the cutting of virgin timber, and the problem of the American forest is more. perhaps to protect the young trees from fire than to plant new ones. But the fact remains that we are using up the original resource from at least four to eight times as fast as it is growing. Fires almost equal the natural reforestation, and artificial reforestation is but a frac- tion of one per cent of the cutting. The whole history of lumbering, we now see, has been nomadic and transitory, one section of the country having been lumbered off after another. First it was New England, then New York and Pennsylvania, then the Great Lakes states and now the South. In 1850 New York stood first in lumbering and is now twenty-third; in 1899 Minnesota stood third and is now nineteenth. It was in 1870 that the Great Lakes states wrested supremacy from the Northeast and held it for the last third of the nineteenth century. The first third of the twentieth century belongs to the Southern and Gulf states, Today they supply one-third of the timber, and the Pacific Coast states also supply a third. Southern pine still dominates the markets of the East. But gradually, as the cut declines, the territory which it formerly supplied is being invaded by the Western woods; and probably within fifteen or twenty years the Southern pineries will cease to be a national trade factor. The Pacific Coast states contain the last great commercial body of soft-wood timber remaining in Amer- ica, and, for our use, probably in the entire world. It is the last reserve, the end of the trail. The Pacific Coast forests are just entering upon their period of active large-scale exploitation. Perhaps four- fifths of the soft-wood timber reserve is there, but it is being cut at a tremendous rate. Washington far and away exceeds all other states in lumber production. In the West - eee ee Saat e,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST il as a whole, timber is being cut much faster than it is growing, and mainly without any d2finite plan of reforest- ation. Thus the history of lumber manufacture has been one of succes- sive migrations into fresh fields of virgin timber, each shift leaving the main industry farther removed from the principal consumers, and usually with a consequent increase in retail prices because of greater transporta- tion costs. In 1907 lumber produc- tion was 46,000,000,000 board feet, today it is 35,000,000,000, and it may go very much lower during the period of transition from a migratory to a permanent industry, from virgin to managed forests. Whether our na- tional welfare and high standards of living can be maintained as the sup- ply fails is a serious question. Under such conditions public opin- ion is beginning to demand that the forest be used in such a way as to perpetuate rather than destroy it. The lumberman did not raise the trees; they were there when he came. More and more it is felt that he must not leave an unproductive waste be- J hind. As one forest engineer has said: “While most of us in America are firm believers in the rights of the owners of private property, we must recognize that in prac- tice the system has some faults. Perhaps the most glaring fault as the system exists in the lumber industry is the fail- ure in past years to provide for reforestation. This fault, of course, is not by any means solely that of the lumberman. A large share of the blame belongs to the general public, but the lumberman has the lands and is the prominent figure in the public eye.”’ Al Season's Cut of Logs What West Can Learn From East T IS too late, of course, to save any considerable area of virgin or old-growth timber in the East, although sheer necessity may force the reforestation of large areas at great. public expense as population increases. On the Pacific Coast, whick still has whole series of primitive forests of vast extent, there is opportunity not only to reforest, be- cause of climatic and other favoring conditions, but to preserve such portions of the earlier stand as sound policies demand. Generally speaking, the best chance to be fore- handed with re- maining resources Es is in the Far West, where population is still relatively small, The Western States should be able to learn from the sad experience of the East. Here is the last great field for devel- opment, with no other place to go, and realization of such a potent fact should influence in a wholesome fash- ion the course of its development. Then, too, in one cf these states— California—there remain isolated, living there alone of all places on earth, far removed from their nearest botanical rela- tives, trees whose age, size and vigor set them apart from and in asense superior to all other living crea- tures. The great issue of what consti- tutes the highest, , most valuable use uA of natural re- & sources is in course @ were, more particularly and explicitiy, around this tree—the California red- wood—than in any other place or with any other natural object. The movement to preserve from the lumberman’s ax an appropriate, an adequate, portion of there an- cients among trees is, in a sense, local only. But the progress of such a movement, which has gained espe- cial momentum and success very recently, together with the repre- sentative nature of the many ques- tions which it raises, makes up a distinct chapter in national! develop- ment. If the Kings Could Speak HE industry of lumbering off the ancient pristine redwood giants is a \arge one. Something like twenty mills are engaged in sawing them up into many objects, such as knock- down caskets, cigar boxes and factory flooring. In a mill of the larger sort a section of one of these trees, which in fullness of life was taller than the Statue of Liberty and thicker through by twice than a man is high, is chewed At Left—The up with incredible rapidity into the Kiamath River tiniest fragments of its former self. To feed one mill there must be a con- stant procession, an endless chain, year in and year out, of giants, felled and dragged out from the forest where they have stood for a thousand years. Yet redwood production is but a small fraction of .the entire lumber output, not one-fiftieth of the total. No one proposes that redwood lumbering shall stop; it is an im- possible suggestion. Yet if not another foot of redwood were cut, the country as a whole would hardly mies it or even know that operations had ceased. With all its ad~ vantages, its strange but useful qualities, the country would obviously experience no actual suffering if deprived of al! redwood lumber. Is it not then a fair presumption that, in view of th« unique age and size, as well as the indescribable beauty of the redwood trees, a larger dividend might accrue to the country in leaving a reasonable number standing than in cutting most of them down? John Muir said that if one of these kings could come tu town in all its godlike majesty, so as to be strikingly seen and allowed to plead its own cause, there would never again be any lack of defenders, Such trees constitute an asset like Yo- semite or Niagure Falls. In this case it is more than a neat figure of speech to say that felled redwoods pay but one divi- dend, while those allowed to stand will pay dividends forever, For it is not as if the redwocd were found any- where else. It can- not be saved ex- cept in the long narrow strip close to the Pacific, where it grows in such © profusion, Although writers without number have had their say in attempting to describe the red- wood, there are still many people, even in California, who confuse it with its kin, the Sequoia gigantea, which grows oaly in scattered patches, at high elevation, on the eastern slopes of the Middle Sierra Nevadas. (Continued on of being clarified PHOTOS. FROM SAVE-THE-REDWOONS LEAGUE and joined, as it 4 Redwood Forest Page 163)

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12 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME “Deoa’t Try it," Warned Evetyn. Burten to retire from business at fifty-five, nor, indeed, at any age un- leas death incontinently dem=nded a res- ignation, for the family came of a lean, hardy New England race who worked on as a matter of habit. The John Burton who established the grocery store beneath the Opera House on the left-hand side of the hill gcing down had even refused to add “& Son” to the weather-beaten sign above the door when he took Horace into the busineas—in fear lest this might be interpreted as evidence of declining years—but remained in supreme command until one week before his death at eighty-six. Since then Horace himself had not been absent from his poet a working day. When therefore he announced in the early fall and while still in the prime of life that he had sold out to his son Jud, recently married, many shook their heads ominously, They took the unexpected news still more seriously when he admitted that he and Sarah, his wife, intended to spend the winter in California. Almost everyone of consequence in Maine did that sooner or later of course; but more often they waited until later. For it was generally recognized that though the Golden State might be truthfully de- scribed as a foretaste of Paradise, this turned out too often to be an unpleasantly literal prognostication instead of merely a happy figure of speech. The bright-colored pic- ture postal cards of apartment houses and bungalows neatiy surrounded with semitropical foliage sent back by so many entivusiagtic but elderly emigrants from Bridge- mont hed a way of stopping with dramatic abruptness. Horace and his wife, however, had never been in better health than at this time, although neither looked the part. But this had always been true of them. It was true of everyone in town except the summer folk, who came to this pine and mountain country and in some mysterious way grew tanned and ruddy and strong in three months. Horace even as a boy had been lean and scrawny. In developing inte a man he had changed only by elongation. His face was sallow, his shoulders rounded, his hair scant; but in epite of this, he was, as the local phrase is, tougher Ti WAS not altogether natural for a RAEBURWN VAN than a side of sole leather. Up to the last day he had opened his store at seven and had waited on his cus- tomers until six without once !osing his temper or forgetting to record a sale in his daybook. In the square white house on the top of the hill, built by his father, Sarah, who had always felt miserable and always would, had risen at five every day since her marriage and built the wood fire in the kitchen stove and prepared his breakfast. From that hour on until she finished her dishes at night, she was either washing or sweeping or cooking or sewing in her miserably happy way, as she, under ordinary circumstances, would do contentedly enough for another thirty years. it was one thing to complain of ill:health and quite another to submit to it. Her physical condition affected neither her strength, her good nature, nor her faith in God. The whole idea of a change of scene was suggested by Jud, who in turn was spurred on by his young wife. The latter was an out-of-town girl whom he had met the winter before while attending a business school in Portland—a pretty young thing with black bobbed hair who did not need to rouge her cheeks or color her lips as she did, for her complexion remained good. She had given up the offer of a fine position with Barclay & Jevons, the brokers, in order to marry Jud, and she felt that this sacrifice, involving as it did the necessity of moving into a country town, called for a good deal in the way of compensation. But under no conditions could Jud hope to come within a row of apple trees of representing her ideal. Barclay, who unfortunately was already married, stood for that. Though Jud had gone considerably into debt to a Portland tailor, and had acquired the habit of wearing a boutonniére to business and had turned from his favorite brand of five- cent cigars to cigarettes, he was still unable to reproduce that smooth and distirzuished appearance of Barclay which the latter had found .o be such an asset in more ways than one. He was tall enough—more than six feet—but April 25,1925 “The Kitchen te One Room You've Got te Keep Out Of"’ By Frederick Orin Bartlett TLLUVUSTRATEDO ar even with the use of modern methods of padding upon the shoulders, he presented an awkwardly angular appearance, while nothing at all in the line of refinement could be done with his generous hands and feet. He had, to be sure, certain sterling qualities which were easily recognizable and which both Barclay and Jevons lacked; but these made him none the handsomer. Ethics and wsthetics occupy two different fields in spite of the worthy attempt of philosophers to combine the good and the true with the beautiful. Evelyn had married him then not because of his appear- ance but in spite of it. Just why she did this she was not at all sure herself, but there was an element of both character and of sound business judgment in her decision. Jud was likable and dependable, and something in her nature made her respond to this at the last moment, especially when she was convinced that he was really in love with her. Her experience with men was not so broad as she liked to pre- tend, but it was catholic enough to teach her a few things. Jud, she felt, would wear well; also he was manageable. She almost pitied him for the ease with which she was able to handle his emotions. The fact that Jud was the only son of a prosperous vil- lage grocer was, of course, a purely business consideration. Yet until she came to Bridgemont as a bride she had never seen the town. Jud, for various reasons, had thought it advisable to make sure of his wife before bringing her home and introducing her to the family; and so they were mar- ried quietly, with only her immediate relatives present. He had not notified his own parents until he reached New York on his honeymoon trip. Evelyn first began to complain when she discovered that to enter the new home Jud had provided for her it was necessary to climb a flight of covered stairs which had been attached to the outside of what had been once a single house in order to meet the exigencies of turning a single rent into a double rent. The lower half was occupied by the millinery store of Miss Southgate. “Gosh, Jud,” exclaimed Evelyn as he first proudly es- corted her up these stairs, “what you gettin’ me into?” BUREN se NO OTE Accel RCE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 “T was lucky to find anything as good as this,” he an- ewered. “This town is growin’.” He had furnished the five rooms himself and had spared no expense. She did not like the result and told him so frankly, turning up her snub nose in the process until she saw how this took the heart out of him. Then she turned around and commanded him to kiss her, which he did very willingly. Her dissatisfaction increased rapidly after she had been introduced to that solid, comfortable old house on the top of the hill. This was more what she had in mind when she had talked over with Jud the prospect of be- coming Mrs. Burton. It had the air of belonging to a citi- zen of some consequence, with the tall elms standing before it as erect as footmen, and with a driveway to the left leading to a capacious barn reminiscent of a span and jingling harness. The horses were gone now, but such a building could easily be turned into a garage. The front porch supported by wooden columns and the fence running around the top of this suggested an influence in both po- litical and social affairs of the town. Grandfather Burton had, as a matter of iact, once served a term in the state leg- islature. The interior was more or less disappointing to Evelyn, for the rooms were filled with furniture cf another gener- ation, heavy black walnut upholstered in horsehair, with many cumbrous pieces of mahogany... Still, all that could be easily remedied. Both Burton and his wife accepted her on the whole with good grace. Sarah would even have been willing to have her settle down and live with them. “T declare she seems real nice,” she decided after the first meeting. Burton was somewhat more cautious. “Anyhow, she’s Jud’s wife—for better and for worse,’ he said. ‘She looks smart.” “A little too smart,” he declared, puckering his brows. “Maybe that’s just the new style,” answered Sarah. Jud had taken the precaution to do a little coaching before the first meeting. “If I was you I’d cut out the smokes around them,” he warned. ‘“‘Ma and dad are old-fashioned about that.” hey’ll get used to it if they live long enough,’’ she re . t she was no fool. Besides, there was something in the cool gray eyes of Burton, Senior, that worried her. They bored in and made her squirm. Tl bet that dad of yours is a terror when he cuts " ” she confided to Jud. dunno,” answered Jud; “I never seen him cut loose,” "Believe me, I'd hate to prod him too much.” It was this feeling which prevented her from obeying her first impulse of urging Jud to accept his mother’s offer of thefront room. Much as she desired a change, to live in thesame house with Horace did not seem to her altogether a gfe project. This drove her to a still more radical plan. It did not take her long to grasp the fact that while Bur- toi, Senior, remained in the firm, Burton, Junior, must ocupy the position of nothing but a head clerk, and she § too ambitious for both herself and Jud to rest content that. Moreover, she had considerable faith in Jud’s business ability. With the training he had received in modern business at the Eureka School of Commerce, in contrast with his father’s easy methods, it was natural and proper for Jud to take over the management. Further- more, he needed the spur of being obliged to show some personal initiative. He was not doing anything now but tie up bundles. Furthermore again, Evelyn had her own ideas of how an up-to-the-minute store ought to be run. Burton did not even own a cash register and sent his bills out only when he happened to feel like it. That may have done very well fifty years ago; but things had changed since then, and they must continue to change. # She was disappointed at first by the indifference of Jud to all her schemes. “T think we ought to leave the old man alone,” he de- elared. ‘‘We’re gettin’ along well enough as ’tis and he ain’t goin’ to live forever.” “We ain’t goin’ to live forever ourselves,” she replied tartly. “‘He’s made his little pile and now he ought to sit ” “You watch him,” answered Jud. “He needs a vacation,” she insisted, “Tf he does, he don’t know it.” “Of course he don’t. A man with that kind of a jaw never does. You've got to tell him.” “ Anyone can have the job that wants it,” he returned, “Now look here, Jud,” she broke out, “you've got to take a brace. Your dad means well enough, but he’s been shut up in this little burg all his life and don’t know what’s goin’ on. I’ll bet he thinks they’re still usin’ horse cars in Portland. It’s all right for a man who ain’t in business io sleep on, but you can’t run a store without wakin’ up.” “‘He’s makin’ money, ain’t he?” “T’ll take your word for it, though he’s only payin’ you thirty a week.” “Which ain’t so bad for this town.” “That ain’t the way you talked when you asked me to throw up a good job with Barclay,” she reminded him. “You was goin’ into business then. That's what I toid him—the biggest little retail grocery business in Bridge- mont. That don’t mean standin’ behind a counter and doin’ up bundles for someone else. You're slippin’, Jud.” Jud looked around the comfortable dining reom filled with new furniture—the best quartered oak he had been able to buy of the Bridgemont Furniture Company—and back again to his wife. She was pretty—every bit as pretty as those girls who until now had been his ideal, who figured on the new calendars sent out every year with the compliments of Bennett, the local druggist. One of these hung on the wall behind her, a smiling beauty with dim- pled chin and flushed cheeks and a coquettish poise of the head. Had he to choose between the two, he would have chosen Evelyn. She had all that other had and something more. Further to add to his content at this moment, he had just finished, after a hard day’s work, a dinner which, though consisting perhaps of too large a proportien of canned goods and material from the bake shop to suit his taste altogether, had at least been filling. With the pros- pect ahead of an evening at the movies he was ready for a smoke and complete relaxation from the burdens of the day. “Forget it,” he advised. She shook her bobbed head and spoke more earnestly, her black brows pinched together in a frown which added piquancy to her young face. (Continued on Page 123) . “You Ain't Goin’ to be as Mean as That," She Faltered

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14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SOCIAL A April 25,1928 ett MOTOR FRETS. YY. O The Famous Promenade des Anglais at Nice Crowded With Visitors to the Winter Carnival N AMERICAN of quiet manners, who has lived much abroad, was traveling on the beat train from London to Southampton the other day. He was occupied with a newspaper, and feit no especial! desire for conversation with either of his fellow passengers, one of whom he recognized as American, and the other as unmistakably English, although no word was spoken until they had almost reached their destination. Then the other American said, “It's pretty nice to be starting home again, isn’t it?” “Very nice,” said the more traveled American, Glanc- ing at the third member of the group, he added, “Al- though I am always glad when I get cver here too.” Good Manners at Home and Abroad By Maude Parker Child nationals of any other large country. If you told a French- man, for instance, that he was like an Italian and unlikea Frenchman, he would never forgive you; if you told a Spaniard you had supposed he was not Spanish but Aus- trian, he would be indignant. But it is well understood by foreigners and particularly by the English, to whom the technic of snobbery is an open book, that if you want to flatter a certain kind of American you only need to say that you would never have thought he was Amer- ican. Of course there is also the type exactly op- posite, who when they travel abroad keep the American eagle screaming day and night until the poor creature is exhausted and raucous of voice and a great nuisance to everyone. These are the Americans whom most foreigners insist upon terming typi- cal Americans. They are always prosperous; they always insist in loud voices upon the best, whether engaging hotel rooms or buying cigars or theater seats; but when they say the best they mean, of course, not necessarily the best but the most expensive. They compare everything in Europe with things at home, always to the disparagement of the The Englishman then spoke. There is a theory that Englishmen never epeak to their traveling companions without being introdueed, but this is not literally true. They are much less likely to do so than we are, but sometimes, as on this cecasion, they break thrcugh their habit of silence, Furious “DUT are you really American?" said the Englishman, “I took you for an Englishman.” The American was de- lighted. Then the other American turned quickly to the Eng- lishman and said, “Isn't that curious, for I took you for an American,” And the Englishman was furious. This incident typifies the attitude of many of our fel- low countrymen and coun- trywomen who have been in things abroad; they speak no foreign language, and usually even mispronounce the often-mentioned name of their own country. In Paris “T DON’T see why they make such a fuss about these Paris stores,”’ one of them says audibly to a fel- low countryman. “Why, they don’t even know any- thing about window dress- ing.” “Not the first thing,” the other agrees; ‘and what the women see in these mu- seums and churches to rave about is beyond me. The shows are pretty good though.” An appreciative wink con- firms this idea and the party agrees then to buy the best seats for the best revue, by which they mean the most scandalous which the shrewd Parisian. manager has concocted for the repre- sentatives of the most puri- Europe a good deal. I do not believe it is true of the = PHOTO, BY UNDERWOOD @ UNDERWOOD, FH. ¥. 6 A& Seene at Deauville, France tanical nations on earth. (Continued on Page 229) a SAO LPM MEN oe RR TNR, at

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z. HE SATURDAY EVENING POST is The Farm Mortgage—1925 Model What the Federal Land Bank Has Done for Agricultere By ELMER T. PETERSON cogent stage properties of the old-fashioned melo- drama. The merciless, malign Shylock, who. was everlastingly hovering around the canvas and papier- miaché scenery and threatening to foreclose, constituted an ideal villain. Rubbing his knobby, irreconcilable hands and gloating over the plight of the heroine, he came strid- ing, with a glowering sheriff in the background, to pounce upon the helpless old father, only to have the hero happen in, brandishing a fistful of bank notes and demanding the papers that meant so much to the hard-working family. That was in the kerosene-circuit days, before the Federal Land Bank, motion pictures, the farm-lighting system, the automobile and similar conveniences and blessings. The 1925 Model Farm Mortgage is the kind that never comes due. By a pleasant form of financial legerdemain, the farmer merely pays a moderate T's mortgage on the old homestead was one of the The world must have food and clothing and must of necessity pay the farmer a wage ” ’ The value of all farm operty in the United tes, according tothe last census, was $78,000,000,- 000. Farming is by far the mightiest industry in America. The railroads, with a total valuation of $19,000,000,000, are a very obvious second. Butuntil1917theprocess of financing the farmer—of The Horse and Cattle Barn Built in 1922, Since Loan No.1 Went on Record interest rate of 6.5 per cent for a little more than thirty years and then his mortgage is mirac- ulously canceled. Almost never is it foreclosed— only upon the most un- usual provocation. And the audience agrees that it is about time that farming was taken out of the category of extra-hazardous financial under- takings. Values ““TNROM the be- ginnings of history,” observes William H. Kings- ley, vice president of the Penn Mu- tual LifeInsurance Company, “agri- culture has been the foundation of the world’s busi- ness. It furnishes the three first es- sentials. .. . Ag- riculture cannot go SPE ore national economy, within a few years just past, an agency which has revolutionized the entire farm- mortgage proposi- tion, and that means a profound change in the fun- damental! basis of wealth in the United States. More than that, this transforma- tion happened to be on the job in time to save this basic American in- dustry from a tremendous smash in 1922 and 1923, when agricultural depression waa bad enough as it was. Agriculture was confronted with one of its worst crises— probably its worst, consider- ing the magnitude and complexity of the present indus- try—when it was faced with a feeble foreigndemand for into bankruptcv. The Barn and Some of the Sheep on the A. L. Stockwell Farm, Larned, Kansas This is Said to be the Most Complete Electrically Equipped Farmhouse tn Kansas making his plant the basis of securities—was hope- lessly crude in comparison with that of other indus- tries and commercial proj- ects. The country was limping along with some of the wheels all steel, equipped with ball bear- ings, lubricators and fine tires, but with one of the main drive wheels bump- ing, flat-treaded, made of pre-Victorian wood, squeaking and grinding, with a chronic hot box. Anyone who thinks the American farmer has been overcoddled ought to take a long and prayerful look at the crazy-machine credit apparatus that was his before the World War. Almost unnoticed by the citizen on the paved street, there has crept into the output, coupled with a régime of high prices on im- plements and everything else the farmer uses. It is probable that the nation would have undergone one of its worst panics if it had not been for the Federal Land Bank, which was tofarming what the Federal Reserve Bank is to business. In these days it is fashionable to talk of what can be done for the farmer, and properly so. It matters poign- antly to every citizen, whether he dives daily into the Subway burrow of New York or pounds rivets in a Seattle shipyard or makes a living fishing for red snapper in the Gulf, what happens to the farmers of Kansas or Utah. Nature's Oldest Security HE Federal! Land Bank is of vital interest to nonfarmers for direct reasons also. It furnishes a means whereby land, the fundamental property of the nation, is made the basis of bonds which furnish an investment medium to people in every walk of life. This medium is based upon a security whose nature should become familiar to everyone who cares anything about finance. There is nobody’s com- mercial ax to grind in discussing the merits of this insti- tution, for the expansion of the project redounds most directly to the farmers in general. Nor should it be assumed that commendation of the Federa] Land Bank is a back slap at private farm-mortgage (Continued on Page 174)

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OPEN SEASON THE SATURDAY EVENING PGST By SALISBURY FIELD ILLUSTRATED April 25,1925 BY RALPH PALLEN COLEMAN that there’s a closed season. You can shoot a deer in October, but if you pot one in April you're likely to get jugged. Quail and partridge the same. And when it comes to babbling brooks and that sort of thing, even the poor fish have a chance. But there’s one unfortunate animal that’s hunted all the time, in fair weather and foul; in the autumn, in the summer, in the winter and in the spring. My hat, yee— particularly in the spring. If you don't believe it, ask Phippsy. As you may heve guessed, Phippsy isn’t his reai name; it’s merely a corruption. But they tell me everything becomes corrupt in New York City sooner or later—except politics, of course, To put it baldly then, while still a babe in arms, Phippsy emerged from the baptismal font with the name of Remington. So there you have him-- Remington Phipps. Though his given name may remind you of loaded shells or typewriters, as a matter of fact, Phippsy’s old man made his money in giue, and enough shekels stuck to his fingers to enable him to leave his only son quite a com- fortable wad. Oh, quite! Indeed,what Phippsy gives up to dear old Uncle Sam each year, beginning the fifteenth day of March, would keep me in pin money. So now perhaps you begin to catch a glimmer and won’t have to ring up the Fish and Game Commission to know what I'm driving at. Very likely, at first glance, you wouldn't be greatly impressed with Phippsy. ‘Not much in the bean,” you'd say. But you'd be wrong. For in spite of the fact that they’re a bit scattered, the lad has brains. So has a calf, for that matter. But calves’ brains function best on tesat—if you know what I mean. And that’s the point. For Phippsy is gener- ally on teast or in hot water, which is practi- eally the same thing, provided the toast is hot; though it seldom is, except for breakfast, and then only after iong and earnest conversations with the cook, On this particular occasion, however, the toast and water were not only piping hot but poor old Phippsy was on and in them both. That's why he sent me that frantic 8 O8 that Friday morning. It was frightfully inconvenient, as I’d been out unusuaily late the night before. It was fearfully early, too-—not quite noon. So when Weed, my striker—he's really my valet, but I call hitn that because he’s always striking for higher wages---as I was saying, when Weed woke me out of a sound sleep all I could think of was calamity. “Who's dead?” I demanded. “Nobody,” said Weed. “Then what the deuce do you meaa by waking me up at this outlandish hour?” “Tt's Mr. Phipps, sir. He says it’s a matter of life and death.” “ Whore life—his or mine?” * Hie, sir.” “Oh!” I said. “Then that’s all right. Call me at five, Weed.”’ But Weed wouldn't let me go to sleep. “I beg your pardon. sir, but Mr. Phipps is positively in astate. He’sonthewire.” By this time I was halfawake. Besides, I’m really fond of Phippsy. So, cursing the man who invented friendship, I slid out of bed and staggered to the phone. “Hullo, Phippay,” I said. “What's the big idea? If you wanted a sleeper, why didn’t you ring up the Pullman Company?” “Don't be an ass, Bill,” said Phippsy. “ Didn’t Weed tell you it was important?” “Sure he did. But my idea of what's important is five hours more sleep. What's yours?” “I’ve got to see you, Bill. I’m in a frightful mess; and the way thinge are developing, it’s going to be worse.” “You telk like the darkroom at the photographer's,” I said, “What's developing—and where and when?” “Hades,” said Phippsy. ‘‘ And here, and now. Come on over, will you?" “Come on over yourself,” I said. little old Tephet with you.” “TI can’t.” said Phippsy. “I’ve got to stay on the job. Had your breakfast yet?” “No, I haven't,” I said. * Then [ll have Parker toss you up something.” Tine thing abeut hunting and fishing is “And bring your “ree Heard @ Let About You, Bill—and None of it’s te Your Credit" “All right, old boy,” I said. “I'll be with you with the speed of an antelope.” As I sloshed around in the matutinal bath I wondered whether it was a blonde or a brunette; for past experience told me there could be but one explanation—Phippsy was back on the fly paper again. Some day, some bobbed-haired bandit will get poor old Phippsy and lead him to the altar. Bismillah!. But not yet! We'd find some way to un- scramble the old egg—absolutely! When at last, arrayed in blue serge and fine linen, with a boutonniére of bachelor buttons dec urating the lapel of the coat and all the other little buttons nicely adjusted and in place, I emerged from my P. B. B.—parlor, bedroom and bath—I felt that there might be something in this getting up early after all. What with spring in the air—did I men- tion it was spring?—a hurdy-gurdy playing round the corner and the little old tum tuning in merrily at the thought of breakfast, I was almost tempted to agree with that poet chap that God was in His heaven and all was right with the world. But one glimpse of Phippsy’s face as he ushered me i:ito his miserable little dining room, in his piffling little flat which only sets him back twenty thousand a year, gave me, as the saying is, furiously to think. And I decided then and there that since there’s so much caffeine in coffee, it would be better, on the whole, to start the day conservatively with agin fizz. And I will say this for Phippsy: The lad is a perfect host—he joined me. “Now,” I said—‘‘now that I have some- thing under my belt, you may shoot. But first tell me, little friend of all the world, is she blonde or brunette?” “Blonde,” said Phippsy. * Married or single?” “ Married.” “Oh!” I said. “And she’s thinking of chuck- ing friend husband, and in case she does, you're first in line as his logical successor—have I got it straight?” ‘As the crow flies,” said Phippsy. “‘Only it’s worse than that. She’s already chucked her husband, and she’s coming in from the country this minute just as fast as the Long Island Railroad can bring her.” “My sacred aunt!"’ I cried. “Is it as bad as all that? She must be pretty sure of you, Phippsy.”’ “That's the trouble,” said Phippsy. ‘‘Sheis.”’ “That's all very well,” I said, “‘ but where do I come in?” “Why, dash it all, you’ve got to get me out of it!” “T see,” I said. ‘All you expect me to do is what General Grant did when he led the Federal troops to victory.” “That's all,” said Phippsy. ‘‘ You know me, Bill. I was born a bachelor, and I’m going to die one if it’s humanly possible.” “It’s more than possible—it’s highly prob- able if her husband catches up with you. What did you say her name was?” “IT didn’t say. But, if you must know, it’s Sibyl Hawthorne.” “Sibyl Hawthorne!” I gasped. ‘‘ You’re off your chump, Phippsy. Why, Sibyl adores Jim Hawthorne! She wouldn’t leave him five minutes for a cabbage like you.” “Exactly what I thought,” said Phippsy. “Otherwise I shouldn’t have buzzed round her the way I did.” “Oh, then you have been buzzing round Sibyl?” “Certainly,” said Phippsy. ‘Why not? Un- commonly attractive woman, Sibyl—uncom- monly! But, you see, I thought she was safe.” “No woman is safe, Phippsy. They all get ideas into their heads one time or another.”’ “Yes,” said Phippsy, ‘and we're the bright little boys who put them there. The trouble with me, Bill, is I’m a poet.” “T hadn’t noticed it,” I said. “Well, it’s true. I think of all sorts of nice things to say, and I daren’t say 'em to one of the debutantes, because if I did she might start buying a trousseau. As it is, I can’t go anywhere but what some dowager gets me ir. the corner and tells me how much her darling Dorothy likes me or how often her dear little Imogene has spoken of me. They won't let me alone, Bill; honestly, they won’t. It just makes "em sick to see a couple of hundred thousand a year—net, mind you!—walking around loose.” “T can quite understand that,” I said. “It makes me fairly sick myself.” “Anyway, that’s why I fell for Sibyl. You see, I liked going to her house, Besides, she had a niece stopping with her who tried to nail me every time I came in the front door. So naturally I put up a sign: Keep Off the Grass. I Belong to Sibyl. But I never thought Sibyl would take it seriously. That’s the trouble with women; they have no sense of humor.” “I’m not so sure about that,’”’ I said. ‘You say Sibyl has a niece stopping with her?” “Yes; Peggy Snow. Pretty little thing.” “And you mean to tell me Sibyl rang you up, said she was through with Jim and was coming straight to you?” “Check,” said Phippsy. “Then what are you doing here? Why aren’t you on your way?” “On my way where?” | | | Oo =

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST . “Anywhere. Pack a bag and beat it. I'll explain to ibyl.” “No,” said Phippsy, “I wouldn’t let Sibyl down like that. You see, I’m really fond of her.” “Then you ought to be glad she’s coming.” “Well, I’m not. It’s quite true I’m fond of Sibyl, but I don’t like scandals, and I don’t want to marry anybody.” “You'll have to marry her if she leaves Jim for you.” “T know it,” said Phippsy. ‘But I won’t run out on her—that’s flat.” As he said this I couldn’t help but admire him— I couldn’t, honestly. Everything he cared for was in peril, but there he stood like the boy on the burning deck, and he wouldn’t budge an inch. There’s good stuff in the lad— absolutely! Just then Parker appeared. He’s twin brother to my man Weed, intellectually. They both think in terms of discretion; they have to or they’d lose their jobs. “A lady calling, sir. She didn’t give her name, but she said she was expected.” “All right, Parker. Tell her I’ll join her at once.” “Do you want me to join her too?” I asked. “Not yet,” said Phippsy. “‘She may want to begin the meeting with a little bout of hysterics or something. Just give me five minutes alone with her and then stroll in. I'll tell her you know all about it, so she won’t be surprised to see you.” And with that he was off. I consulted the old wrist as he departed so as to be sure I made my entrance on time. Five minutes! Quite a long stretch when you're waiting for the curtain to go up. I wondered how matters were progressing in the library, for that’s where Phippsy had said they’d be. There, surrounded by books he’d never read, Phippsy was playing the réle of hero—or was he the villain?—in the same merry little drama that has stirred the hearts of man and matron since the world began. But somehow I couldn’t quite see Sibyl in the rdle of heroine. If I knew gin from juniper berries, she wasn’t that sort at all. Still, one never can tell. The five minutes up, I took a last pull at my cigarette, then breezed into the library like a spring zephyr. “Hullo, Sibyl,” I said. ‘‘Awfully nice to see you again. Where you been keeping yourself, and all that sort of thing?” “Hullo, Bill,” said Sibyl. know all about everything.” “So you're calling him Remington now?” “Tf you’re going to marry a man, you can’t call him Phippsy,”’ said Sibyl. ‘‘It isn’t done.” “Remington tells me you As for that,” I said, “it’s a fine point and to be ad- jugied later. Only please call him Phippsy to me; other- I won’t know who you’re talking about. I must say yavre looking perfectly priceless this morning. Fighting with Jim seems to agree with you.” *I’d prefer that you leave Jim out of the conversation, Bil, if you don’t mind.” “Certainly,” I said, “now that you’ve left the brute.” “He isn’t a brute. And I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself. Why, Jim has always looked on you as one of his best friends!” “So I am,” I said. “But that doesn’t alter the case. Nobody but a brute could possibly be brutal enough to make you leave home. Blast it all, if I’d only known, I’d have been hanging over your front gate myself!” “We haven't any front gate,” said Sibyl. “Figure of speech, my dear. But, of course, I’m awfully fond of Phippsy, too; so, in a manner of speaking, I’ll keep you in the family after all.” And, indeed, at that moment Sibyl was something any man would have been proud to have in his family. Her eyes were the color of hyacinths—blue ones, naturally— and her hair was like jonquils after Easter. I think an angel must have designed her frock, it was so sweetly simple; and her mouth was like a red rose dipped in wine, if you know what I mean, and her cheeks were like apple blossoms. But there was a strained look in her eyes—a look that never in this world spelled happiness. Frankly, I was puzzled. But one has to keep the ball in play. Rather! So dropping the lightsome friend-of-the-family air, I became heavy and avuncular. “Well, children,” I said, “here’s your old Uncle Bill who’s for you both. What can he do to advance the course of true love? What tune do you want him to play on the merry old triangle?” “It’s a case of divorce, Bill,”’ said Phippsy. to get rid of Jim first.” “True. And then you'll marry and settle up—what?”’ “Of course I shall settle something on Sibyl. What would you say to thirty thousand a year, Bill?” “T’d say God bless you, old boy. But I don’t think that’s enough for Sibyl; she ought to have forty.” “ All right,” said Phippsy. “Suit you, Sibyl?” “Certainly it suits her,” I said. “Why wouldn't it? I happen to know Jim allows her only eighteen.” “But remember Jim hasn't anything like so much money as Phippsy has,” Sibyl protested. “He gives me more than he can really afford, as it is.” “‘There’s a mark to shoot at,” I said. “Why not give Sibyl more than you can afford?” “She's got (creorr +e 2 3” “How About You, Infant?” “Why, Thanks, I'd Love to," Said Peggy 17 “TI probably shall before I’m through,” said Phippsy. 4 But let’s talk about something pleasant. Siby!'s no gold igger. ” “T’m not so sure about that,”’ said Sibyl. I’ve never had a proper chance to find out.” “The first principle of gold digging is this,” I said: ‘Dig from your gentlemen friends, but leave your sweetie alone; you may need his little pile when the first of the month comes round. You're quite sure, Sibyl, that you're through with your lawfully wedded husband?” “Oh, quite.”’ “And you've left him for better or for worse, for richer or—er—richer?”’ “Yes, Bill.” “Then that’s that,” I said. ‘‘Now the question is, Where do we go from here? Nowaday:, good Americans, when they divorce, go to Paris. It’s the only place left where you can pursue your romance and secure your liberty at the same time. Are you game to go to Paris, Phippsy?” “Er—yes, I suppose so.” “And you, Sibyl?” “No, Bill, I—I haven’t the time, I mean I haven't a pass port. ” “Oh, that won't take long,” I said. “In the meantime, I suppose you've brought clothes and things.” “Yes, I brought some bags. And my trunks will be up tomorrow.” “And you'll camp out at the Ritz or somewhere till you get your passport?” “Why, no!” said Sibyl. “‘I thought I'd stop here.” ‘ “Oh, I say!” exclaimed Phippsy. ‘You can’t stop ere!"” “Of course she can,” I said. “If my sweetie ran away from her husband and didn’t come straight to me, I'd never speak to her again.” “Besides,” said Sibyl, “I've got to stay here. Otherwise Jim won't know where I am.” “There, you see?"’ I said. “She teld Jim she was com- ing straight to you, and if she double-crosses him and goes to the Ritz he won’t know where to find her.” “You see, “But confound it all,” ex- claimed Phippsy, “I thought you said you were through with Jim!” “So I am,” declared Sibyl. “But the questicn is, Is Jim through with me?” “Exactly,” I said. “You see, Phippsy, a chap can’t let his wife run off without making some sort of stab at trying to get her back. You know how it is yourself, old man. When a lady says no to you once, it’s not important; but when she says it fiv or six times, you begin to believe her.” “ Besides,” said Sibyl, “what's the harm in my stopping here so long as I'm properly chaperoned?”’ “Oh,” I said, “then you brought a chaperon with you?” “Certainly,” said Sibyl. “I’m not quite mad. You might run down and tell her to come up, Phippsy. She’s waiting in the taxi.” “But how shall I know her when I see her?” “Oh, you'll know her!” said Sibyl. ‘‘And don’t let her forget to bring in her sable scarf—it’s really mine.”’ As Phippsy edged out of the library, on his way to the chaperon and the ticking taxi, I turned to Sibyl. (Continued on Page 126)

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18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 LITTLE DROPS OF WATER J Was the Official Custom to Lock Him in a Heotet Room With a Guard Littie drops of water, Tears and then a smile, Makes your picture hokum And stands them in the aisle. — From a burntteather mat in the office of the late Phineas T. Groff, the firet motion picture director to have baby clothes cut out of his films by tha Alaskan Board of Censors. or more adult persons, accompanied by light conversa- tion, is ealied a conference; and whenever anyone within a studio desires not to see anyone trying to enter the studio, he sends word by a small boy that he is in con- ference. There is a certain sacredness about the word. It has, in Hollywoed, the same effect upon callers at the gate as the phrase ‘taking a bath” has when the lady of the house determines not to interview a man selling sink cleaners, Such « contact of thoughtful souls was in progress in the executive offices of the O'Day and Grogan Pictures Cor- poration on a peaceful summer’s morn. All doors were closed and mystery pervaded the atmosphere, crept through the keyhcles and spread itself over the institution, from acenario department clear across the street to the dungeons where Sally Malone snipped silently at her negative. There were present Walter Wesley Gilfillan, the two- reel comedy star; Shorty Hamp, his faithful and mentally short-circuited running mate; Horace Rascoe, the world’s sourest scenario writer, who still believes the war was started by Wall Street; Eugene Van Hoven, the company gag man, who had been reinstated after being unshipped some months prior; Messrs. O'Day and Grogan, of the corporation bearing their names; and Charley Breyton, the time-worn and pessimistic studio manager and the only man in the businese who isn’t afraid of German directors. One will realize at a glance that it was a weighty con- ference and that serious matters were under consideration. “The time has come," Gil proclaimed, having called the gathering himself, “‘to make needed changes in the Gil- and-Shorty Comedies. I've been thinking it over, and it’s a grand mistake to turn out slapstick pictures from now on, and by that I mean our usual comedies, full of nothing but laughs.” “I've seen some of your usual comedies that weren’t so full of laughs,’’ growled Mr. Breyton. “The last one you made could certainly stand another laugh or two and kill no customers.” “Never mind that,” the comedian continued, unper- turbed, “What I mean to say is that the day of straight |: MOTION-PICTURE circles any meeting of three slapstick is over. Pure comedy alone is not suffi- cient. I may make them laugh heartily, but what I say is that we need some- thing more in my pictures if we are going ever onwardand upward.” Gil paused dramatically. He had read most of the speech in a trade magazine and liked it. “What more do we need?” inquired President John O’Day in uneasy wonderment. “I thought we were trying to make audiences laugh.” o We are.” “Then what else do we need?” “Pathos,” said Gil triumphantly; “plenty of pathos; sad stuff and lots of it.” “As I said,” grinned Breyton, lighting a cigar. “Never mind being funny, Mr. Brey- ton,” Gil snorted, “You listen to me— all of you.” “Weare listening, Gil,” Grogan putin, “and we are interested. Go ahead with what’s on your mind.” “Pathos,” declared the star, ‘‘is abso lutely necessary in movie comedies, and here we've been blundering along for years without even a touch of it. Pathos lightens up comedy and makes slapstick stuff funnier by contrast, and for the same reason that a white handkerchief seems whiter against a black velvet drop.” This was another bit from the trade paper. “Sure,” said Van Hoven, at whom Gil seemed to be glaring. “Then we got to have real pathos in our future stuff, and that’s why I called you together. Horace Rascoe is a fine scenario writer, but he’s a_straight- comedy man and nothing eise. I’m going to lay him off for the next picture—not fire him, but just lay him off—and get the one man in Hollywood to do this script, the one man who can write true pathos into the story.” He paused and walked about impressively. “Who?” asked two officials simultaneously. “Ollie Judge.” “Who?” “Ollie Judge,” Gil repeated, “the best dog-gone pathos expert in the movies today.” There was momentary quiet. The room remained bathed in si- lence and O'Day’s bronze clock ticked faintly, almost reproach- fully. “No,” said the voice of O’Day at length; ‘“‘not Ollie Judge. If you had said anyone else, I might consent; but not Ollie Judge.” ‘*Why?’’ Gil demanded. “What's the matter with him? He’s the one man in California who can always wring tears from an audience.” “You know why. Judge is—is unreliable, to say the least.” “T'd just as lief hire a case of the Mexican measles,” murmuzed Mr. Grogan. The discussion continued with growing vigor. Nobody desired Ollie Judge except Gilfillan, and he insisted steadily and vehe- mently. As the star and director of his comedy unit, what he said was not lightly to be put aside; and after thirty minutes of wran- gling, Gil had his way; though as Breyton stated, they would all live to regret it. “It’s up to you, Gil,” said the president. Ollie Judge was one of Holly- wood’s tragedies and a topic of discussion when movie people met. Liquor had laid Ollie low. The flowing bowl had been his ruina- tion, and though he was a lovable By Frank Condon ILLUSTRATED BY M. L. BLUMENTHAL and kind-hearted fellow he had reached the end of his string. Too long he had played with the patience of movie producers. He was eccentric and his whims had cost the magnates money in sums. Dealing with Ollie Judge was like negotiating with a Mohave jack rabbit. In the seven years of his career in Hollywood, Ollie had risen to the ranks of the topnotchers in the trade, and fame was his before the demon laid him upon the shelf. He had worked for every company in the directory and knew all the officials. His financial adventures made a long and diverting tale, beginning with the trusting corporation that sent him to Kentucky to hunt up a suitable location for a feud drama. Ollie disappeared and the company sub- sequently received a telegram from Louisville. It read: “Have covered this whole state and there is no Kentucky scenery here. Much better in California. Wire funds.” There was none to deny that Mr. Judge was a first-rate gag man and a scenario writer who knew his trade. The scripts he produced were sprinkled with flashes of wisdom and pearls of mirth, and were clear, sparkling and compre- hensible to the director who got them. His subtitles were quoted and admired for their pithy excellence and he knew the stuff of which true drama is composed. Yet the studios had closed their doors against him and he drifted slowly down the tide, picking up stray jobs along the unlovely (Continued on Page 192) “who's Gone?" Asked the Star > rR gar Em

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 ANCIENT ENEMIES Why the Inventor and the Manufacturer Should Sign a Truce manufacturers are engaged in produc- ing invented articles—and for the most part by patented processes—a man on the outside looking in might reach the conclusion that manufacturers are very fond of inventors. They are not. And since inventors reap their financial re- wards, if any, through the manufacture and sale of practical articles, you might conclude that they look upon manufac- turers with approval amounting to posi- tive affection. They do not. These two subdivisions of the human race are ancient enemies. They always have been. Just mention one to the other and up goes a nose. Also you are likely to hear a contemptuous snort. I have no doubt that the first chief engineer for pyramid con- struction used to remark to his assistants, after each visit of the king, “There goes the champion ignoramus of Egypt.’’ While the king probably used to say to the captain of the guard, “‘That fellow makes very good pyra- mids, captain, but keep an eye on him. There is some- thing about that fellow that makes me uneasy. I can’t say I’m overfond of him.” For dramatic purposes, I should like to forecast that this time-hallowed enmity will continue forever. But I fear it will not, Already there are wide gaps in both lines. On many a hillside the an- cient enemies still thumb their noses at each other, but broad valleys lie between where thousands of furnaces have been erected as altars of truce. In the electrical, met- allurgical and chemical fields the two forces have virtually formed an alliance without reservations. Others are moving: in that direction. Some, however, will hold back indefinitely. What rea- sons do they give for disliking each other? Well, they give a great many, so it will save time to deal here with only the more important ones for which an outsider can find some basis in reason and truth. Scientific men have always complained that an estab- lished industry will not revolutionize itself except under the severest competitive pressure—and sometimes not even then. They cite hundreds of instances. For present purposes a very few will suffice. Let us consider, in this connection, the history of automobile competition with steam and electric railways. The rail lines were finding local short-haul business troublesome even before the auto- mobile truck and omnibus in a practical sense arrived, but they did not take advantage of automotbile vehicles until independent competition proved their usefulness. I: VIEW of the fact that virtually all The Conflict of Genius Fo pion x example: The telegraph companies thought very little of the proposed Atlantic cable and pinned their faith to a land line. Neither the telegraph nor cable companies thought much of the telephone, though it would, from the scientific point of view, have been logical for them to.inveht it.in their own laboratories. Neither telegraph, cable nor telephone companies were account- able for wireless communication in its various forms, though that was the next-logical development and engaged the attention of independent inventors for many years. In the realm of navigation some of the most notable advances of recent years relate to new and better kinds of com- passes. Ship-building companies have had virtually no part in these inventions. To scientists or inventors, and they are usually both, it seems perfectly logical to offer a new invention to those By CHESTER T. CROWELL ILLUSTRATED Br EDWARD RYAN The Scientific Mind Will Give Just So Much to the Practical and No More manufacturers most certain to be hurt by its introduction. To be specific, let us suppose that a chemist had invented something destined to take the place of soap. He would at once offer it to companies making soap. Now if the soap makers ran true to form, not one in a thousand would be interested. On the contrary, most of them would go on making soap until the demand for it utterly disappeared. Another complaint that scientific men hurl at business in general is the charge that business men think most in- ventions are accidents. As a matter of fact, this charge might well be addressed to the major portion of the human race, for an amazing store of legend exists, re- lating how this, that or the other just hap- pened to be invented. Asa further matter of fact, very few inventions just happened. After a scientist has plodded along through 400 or 500 unsuccessful experiments, his subconscious mind, working on the problem perhaps twenty hours a day, may make a happy suggestion. If so, he doesn’t call that an accident. And now for the manufacturers’ traditional opinion of inventors. In the first place, a very large majority of the inventions offered have no practical value whatever. Therefore, if a manufacturer turns down one good invention in the course of refusing 200 bad ones he con- siders his batting average still rather high. Scientific circles would record his batting av- erage as precisely zero if he missed the one good invention offered. They allow him noth- ing for turning down the bad ones. Manufacturers have for centuries encoun- tered a great deal of difficulty in inducing in- ventive genius to interest itself in their known problems instead of trying te put them out of business. To make this point clearer, let us return to our imaginary chemist and soap manufacturer. One has a substitute for soap, while the other, let us assume, has information about a new kind of very fine oil that is both plentiful and cheap. We will assume that a certain obstinate impurity must be removed from that oil before it is ready for soap making. With that problem solved, our imaginary soap maker feels certain he could produce the finest and cheapest soap in the world, With these suppositions, it is not diffi- cult to understand that the manufacturer would wonder why the chemist didn't apply himself to something worth while instead of annoying a busy man with an unheard-of product. Railroading N A PREVIOUS para- graph I. mentioned the tardy recognition ef autorno- tive vehicles by rail lines, Now let us look at that situ- ation from the standpoint of the railroads. Several of the more progressive compa- nies—notably the Pennsyl- vania system—design their own locomotives. The present-day steam locomo- tive is not much more closely related to its predecessor of Civil War days than a mod- ern race horse is related to its original three-toed ances- tor. So there has been tre- mendous progress in this field, and nearly all of it based on inventions originating with the technical staffs of the railroaus and equipment manufacturers. As one result of these improvements in mo- tive power, freight trains are now so long that the Pennsyl- vania Railroad has installed wireless equipment so that the men in the caboose can communicate more promptly with the engineer. That company has aiso worked out and tested a system by which it could keep in touch with trains and dispatch them by radio if every wire were to go down. A number of the larger railroad companies are now at work, through their technical staffs, in perfecting auto- matic machinery for making up freight trains. This work has advanced to a point where eventual success is certain. It will be of vast importance in solving the difficult prob- lem of terminal space for switching. With just these few facts, taken more or less at random, it will be apparent that the railroads do not consider themselves in the least unprogressive. Still, if someone were to come along with a new means for transporting freight and passengers, most of the railroad companies would probably refuse it. They (Continued on Page 200) One Cannot Avoid Wondering Where All the Flowers are Grown

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Friend Tractor Company—makers of the famous Earthworm tractors—called me into his office one day last March and introduced me to a long tall English- looking bird by the name of Mr. Stuart, of Calcutta, Indie. While I was shaking hands the boss said to me, “— want you to find an elephant semewhere and arrange for a test with one of our five-ton Earthworm tractors.” “An elephant?” I asked, and I will admit I was surprised. I had been working for the tractor com- pany as « mechanic for a good while, and I had run into some funny jobs, but elephants in the tractor business was something entirely new to me. “Mr. Stuart here,"’ explained the boss, “is man- ager of a large timber property in India. They have been using elephants to move the logs and are now considering getting tractors. Mr. Stuart doubts whether one of our five-ton Earthworms can pull as much as an elephant. I have told him that we will hitch up an elephant and one of our tractors back to back, and that the tractor will pull the elephant all over the lot.” “If you could do that,” said Mr. Stuart, “it would be very convincing; extraordinarily so.” ‘All right,”’ said the boss, “‘ we'll do it.” “Of course,” went on Mr. Stuart, “I have al- most decided to purchase several of your tractors; but if you could give me such visible proof as you propose, I would surely hesitate no longer.” “But where’ll I get this elephant?” I asked. “I don't care where you get it,’”’ said the boss, a bit impatient; ‘but get one somehow, and arrange for this demonstration any day this week.” “All right,” I said, and went out. “A fine job,” I thought to myself. “This tractor business gets crazier and crazier all the time.” I noticed ene of the stenographers in the outer office that didn’t seem to have much to do, so I asked her, “Do you know where I could find an elephant around here?” She looked at me like she thought I was Boob McNutt himself, and finally said, ‘‘Why don’t you try the aqua- rium?” “No, no, sister, an elephant.” “Try the Bronx Park Zoo.” “Not a bad idea,” I said. So, after i had looked it up in a directory and found how to get there, I bought a few twenty-five-cent cigars and took the Seventh Avenue Subway out to the park. In about fifteen minutes | had found the elephant house. On one side of the central passageway they had several big rhinoceroses, and a thing called a hippopotamus that was taking a nap in a large bathtub; and on the other side were several elephants standing around and flapping their earn and eating hay. There was a guy standing there with a uniform on, so I asked him, “Are you the keeper?” “Yes,” he said. I offered him one of my two-bit cigars and said, “I represent the Farmers’ Friend Tractor Company, makers of the famous Earthworm tractors, and I wish to rent an elephant for an afternoon.” “You want to what?” he said, taking the cigar. “TI want to rent an elephant for an afternoon; any afternoon this week will do.” “Say,” he said, “are you cuckoo? What are you plan- ning to do with an elephant for an afternoon?” “T want to hitch him up behind a tractor,” I said, “and pull him around.” TY E manager of the New York branch of the Farmers’ ” I said, “this is serious. I got to find “Mety Crote-Byed Butifrogs,'' I Said, “We Get te Do it Again!" 20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE ELEPHANT TLLUvuS TRA “Well,” he said, “‘you ain’t going to do no such thing with none of these elephants. These elephants are the property of the New York Zodlogical Society; they ain’t taxicabs that you can hire out any time you happen to want one.” “So there’s no chance of renting an elephant here?” “Not a chance in the world.” “Do you know anybody,” I asked, “that does keep ¢le- phants for hire? I got to hirean elephant sometime this week.” The keeper thought awhile. “You might try some of the cir- cuses in winter quarters out in the country,” he said; and he gave me the address of a circus that was spending the cold weather at a place called Bridgeport. I thanked him and went back to New York and got on a train at the Grand Central, and about three in the afternoon I reached the winter quarters of the circus at Bridgeport. There was a high fence around the place with barb wire on top. I found a gate, but the man in charge wouldn’t let me go in. “What do you want?” he asked. “T want to see the elephants.” “No visitors allowed,” he said. So I had to give him another of my good cigars, and I said, ‘‘I am not a visitor. I wish to see the keeper of the elephants on very important business.”’ “All right,” he said, and let me in, and pointed out the elephant house down at the end of a row of other houses. I walked over and in through the big front door. It was a large building with a row of stalls or cages down each side. Most of them seemed to be empty, but in the center aisle was a man with a forkful of hay. “Are you the keeper?”’ I asked. “Yes,”’ he answered. ‘“‘What do you want?” He was a tall, mournful-looking chap, maybe about fifty years old. “I represent the Farmers’ Friend Tractor Company,” I began, handing out another cigar. ‘I wish to hire an elephant for an afternoon; any after- noon this week will do.” “Hire an elephant? What for?” “T want to hitch him up to a tractor and drag him around.” “You ain't going to mistreat no ele- phant of ours like that.” “But listen,” I said. “You don’t understand. I represent the Farmers’ Friend Tractor Company. A guy from India will buy a lot of our tractors pro- vided one of them can pull as much as an elephant. We gotta hitch upa tractor and an elephant and let him see that the tractor can outpull the elephant.” April 25,1925 By William Hazlett Upson TED ToNWr S ARG “‘We have only one elephant here now,” said the keeper. “All the rest have gone down South, where the circus gives its first performance this week. We kept old George here behind because he wasn’t feeling just right—he’s down there in the last stall—but we’re shipping him out Friday night. This is Wednesday. So you won’t have time to bring your tractor up here; and besides, you might hurt the elephant; and anyway I won’t let you, and not only that but —— How big is the tractor?” “Tt weighs five tons,” I said. “That’s just what George here weighs,” said the keeper, ‘“‘and that old boy can handle anything at his weight. He would just drag your old tractor all around and tear it to pieces for you. Come here.’’ He took me down the aisle. ‘‘Look at him!”’ And he pointed toa big elephant in the last stall. “‘That’s George. Twenty-five years old. Ten foot one inch tall. Weighs ten thousand pounds. Tusks thirty inches long. Do you think you could pull him around with your little jitney?” I give George the once-over. He was a big baby all right, and he stood there just as quiet and steady as a church. His hind legs were planted solid and his front legs were at parade rest, left foot slightly forward, left knee slightly bent, with the weight resting on the right foot. Every once in a while he would pick up a little bunch of hay with his trunk, stick it in his mouth and chew it up in a thoughtful sort of way. From time to time he would swing his tail just a little or flap his ears a bit; but otherwise he didn’t move at all, just chewed away on his hay and looked down at us out of his funny little brown eyes. “He doesn’t look like a very easy load to drag around,” I said, ‘but I believe a tractor can do it. Our five-ton develops twenty-five horse power on the drawbar. What horse power is George rated at?” “He ain’t rated at any horse power,” said the keeper, “but he can handle anything his weight.” “Well,” I said, “I'll tell you what I’ do. I'll pay you fifty dollars for the use of him for half an hour on Friday afternoon, and I'll agree not to hurt him, and I’ll make you a fifty-dollar bet on the side that I can drag him fifty yards with my five-ton tractor.” “You was figuring on having the tractor and the ele- phant pull against each other?” “That's the idea,” I said. “Why not have them push against each other? Pulling ain’t really fair, because George can push with his head much more than he can pull.” “I would just as soon push,”’ I said, “‘except that there is nothing on the tractor he could push against only the radiator, and if he pushed on that he would burn his face.” “Oh, well,” said the keeper, ‘‘we have an old breast-strap harness we could use, and I would like to try it just to show { t : 4

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 21 y ee o” 4 “Stop!” Yetled sae a the Keeper you that George could beat you, push or pull either one. But I’m afraid he might get hurt.” “‘Listen,”’ I said. ‘‘ You'll be there all the time. You'll steer George and I'll steer the tractor, and any time you say stop, I’ll stop. Nothing could be fairer than that—and safe.” “‘ All right,” said the keeper, “I’m on. I ought not to do this; but as a sporting proposition, it’s too good to lose.” “Fine!” I said. “I'll bring the tractor over tomorrow and on Friday we'll have the test.” And I left in a hurry before the keeper had time to change his mind. As I went out the door, I could see old George staring after me sort of suspicious, and he was such a wise-looking old brute that I couldn’t help wondering whether he knew what kind of a mean trick we were hatching up on him. I didn’t have much doubt about which side would win the tug of war. An elephant is big and his muscles are strong, but they aren’t as strong as the steel and iron in a tractor. Besides which, no elephant could get a grip on the ground the way a tractor could with all its steel grousers. I called up the boss on the long-distance and told him the time was three o’clock Friday afternoon, and the place was Bridgeport, and to be sure to be there with Mr. Stuart. Then I went back to town for the night, and early the next morning, which was Thursday, I went out to Mount Vernon and cranked up the five-ton Earthworm tractor which we had in storage out there. It took me all day to drive the machine to Bridgeport, it be- ing almost fifty miles on the Post Road. When I got to the circus winter quarters, it was six o’ clock. There had beer a telephone call for me from the boss in New York, and they had written down the message: “Mr. Stuart hag been called to Pittsburgh. Will return Saturday morning. Arrange dem- onstration for Saturday afternoon.” I looked around for the keeper and found him over by the tractor. “This little thing?” he said. ‘‘Why, George can drag it around the block as many times as you want.” “All right,” I said. ‘that’s an easy way for you to make an extra fifty dollars; and by the way,” I said, “we'll have to do it on Saturday instead of tomorrow. The guy has gone to Pittsburgh and won't be back.” “‘We can’t wait,’ said the keeper. ‘‘Tomor- row night George gets on his car and starts South, That's or- ders and I can’t change it. If you want to have this tug of war, it’s to- morrow or never.” “It’s no good to do it,” I said, “if the guy isn’t here. Couldn’t you wait just one more day?” “No,” he said. “Know any other place I could get an elephant?” “Not unless you try Bronx Park.” “No good,” I said. “But maybe we can get the man back from Pittsburgh. I'll see what I can do.” I went back to New York and did a lot of thinking and hit on a plan that might work in case Mr. Stuart couldn't come. The next morning I went to the office early. It was Friday, the day we had arranged for the demonstration. “T got your message,” I told the boss, “but I can’t put off the test. George is going away tonight.” “Who is George?” “George is the elephant, and he is the only one I can find in this part of the country. Can’t we possibly get Mr. Stuart back from Pittsburgh?” “It’s too late to get him back now,” said the boss. “Well,” I said, “I thought this all over last night, and I got an idea—a sort of inspiration. Suppose we hold the demonstration this afternoon and take moving pictures of it. A good movie ought to satisfy this Stuart guy most as well as actually seeing it.” The boss didn’t think much of the idea, and we argued around awhile. But he didn’t have no better idea, and finally he agreed. “Go ahead,” he said. “Hire a cameraman somewhere and do the best you can and have them finish the film as quick as possible.” I went out and inquired around and finally ran across a company called the Meyerbusch Film Corporation that made commercial motion pictures. I called on the manager of this company and asked him if he could take the pie- tures for us. “You bet,”’ said he. “That's our business. Let me see,” he went on. ‘All the men are out today, but we can send out a cameraman tomorrow or any day next week.” “We can't wait till tomorrow,” I said. ‘‘Haven’t you got anybody you could send today?” “Maybe Sam would do,” said the moving-picture man- ager. ‘Sam is our stock-room boy, and he has had a little experience in camera work. men, but if you want to try him, I think he would auit you all right.” Sam was called in. He was a sleepy-looking youngster about eighteen years old, with a pointed nose and sloping forehead and sloping chin. He had pale-blue eyes and pale-yellow hair and pale unhealthy-looking skin, At first he seemed half asleep, but when we told him what we wanted he brightened up a bit. “Tl ain’t very good,”’ he said, “but I'll do the best I can. I'll try awful hard.” He didn’t look overweighted with brains, but he seemed willing enough, so I took a chance on him. He got a camera and a tripod and we went over to the station and took the train for Bridgeport. I explained to Sam ali about the picture to be taken; and in time he seemed to get it through his head what was wanted. “And these films must be developed tonight," I said, ‘so we can show them in our office tomorrow morning. Can you do that?” “Sure we can,” he said. At Bridgeport we went right out to the circus quarters and found the old keeper feeding George a few dozen loaves of bread. George was standing there as calm an He’s not one of our regular © d . placid and solemn looking as ever. The only difference way” that he was planted solid on all four feet instead of havin: his front legs at parade rest as before. He was picking the loaves of bread one after another with his trunk, sh ing them up between his tusks into his mouth, and chew- oe L ing them up in the same quiet, thoughtful manner as when @,. he had been eating hay. I explained to the keeper that I was going to have movies taken. “T don’t really know,” said the keeper, “whether we ought to go on with this. What if George should get hurt?” “T won't hurt him,” I said. “And you can’t back out now, after we've got the tractor and the moving-picture camera and everything all ready.” “Well,” said the old keeper, “all right.” He dragged out an old collar made of a couple of big leather straps, with two long, heavy trace chains to hook onto whatever was going to be pulled. He made George get down on his front knees so he could put it on. Then I went out and cranked up the motor and ran the tractor out to the middle of the field beside the elephant house. I stopped the motor and looked over toward the house, and here came good old George swinging along with a heavy shuffling gait. Beside him was the keeper, carrying a little stick with a point and a hook on it. As soon as George seen the tractor, he stopped short and give a little snorting noise with his trunk. (Continued on Page 218) I Forgot My Turned Ankle. The Next I Remember I Was Inside the Big Elephant House, Hiding Behind the Bars in One of the Statts

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22 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 The Terror of Bascom Hills HAT pretty, clear-eyed child of Satan,” cE drawled Mrs. Cheney, “ has become the terror of Bescom Hilis. I don’t blame Davy Carr for wanting to marry her, but " She smiled, perhaps in delighted contempla- tion of the possible results upon ILLUSTRATED By AUSTIN PARKER CRANK Br JAMES H#. be some man’s precious little flower! Either dad’s or any other man’s. They take themselves too seriously. Piffile! Who wants to be shielded all the time? It isn’t fair!” “But the dear things love to be sturdy oaks,” protested Mrs. Davy, and added softly,‘‘ Heaven help him!” “Right!” answered her hus- band. He sighted thoughtfully down the shait of his driver. “Not that I give a hang about Carr, but Anne’s too nice a young- ster to be wasted. The Terror of Bascom Hills.” He chuckled. His eyes roved down the green slope toward the ninth hole, where Anne Farquhar had relin- quished her putter to the caddie with an air of complete surrender. She waved away the driver that the boy held out to her, and was coming in at the siow resolute pace of one who has at last real- ized that golf is merely a weak- ness to be abandoned “Well, isn’t she--a terror?” asked Mrs. Cheney, amiling. “That obstacle race, for exam- ple.” Erie Cheney grinned. “Yes,” he admitted. “ But, Sue, it wasn't Anne's arm that was broken. It waan't Anne's collar bone. It wasn't Anne's horse that jerked a tendon.” He thumped the driver upon the ground to give emphasis to hie words. “And it was Anne whowontherace! And I'm not the only one around the Hilla who'll say it was some mighty good riding!" ** Also,” his wife supplemented him, “it was Anne who thought of it and organized it. It’s a wonder some of the busybodies haven't started a Committee for the Suppression of Anne." “Take a better committee than Dave Carr,"’ grumbled Eric Cheney. “That’sa cinch!" The other members of his foursome emerged from the clubhouse and he rose. “Why don’t you give the youngster a hand, Sue? Prob- ably she needs it—and you're a mighty wise sort Her aunt doesn’t know what it’s ail about.” He turned toward the approach- ing girl. “Hello, kid. Off your game?” “Terribly!” An expression of utter disgust lingered about her lips. “Simply nething to do but burst inte tears and leave the Cheney. ‘And it’s nice to feel that the man you love is stronger than you are.” “T s’pose so,” agreed Anne Farquhar listlessly, “if you hap- pen to be head over heels.” She lapsed into another gloomy silence, “It isn’t just this,”’ she said at last, fluttering the cable message and stuffing it back into her pocket, “‘ that’s making me so impossible today. But—well— you see, I promised Dave that I'd let him know definitely, yes or no, when I was twenty, and tomorrow he’s going to want an answer.” Mrs. Cheney’s eyes searched the girl’s face. “T like Dave, but ———”’ She paused, unconsciously stressing the “but.” ‘Mrs. Cheney, the people who come here to Bascom Hills every summer would simply laugh in my teeth if they heard me say this, but I’m frightfully conventional! I’m so conven- tional it hurts! When I get mar- ried I'd like to love the man so darn much that I'd propose to him. I want to get married for keeps—to feel that it’s going to last always. I suppose that sounds awfully younger-generationy — about proposing.” “No; my grandfather always swore that grandmother pro- posed to him. Probably she did. There’s always been a younger generation.” “You're a peach!” exclaimed the girl impulsively. “I like to talk with you!” Sheturned upon Mrs. Cheney with an air of con- fidence. ‘My aunt’n’uncle have always hoped that I’d marry Dave. They’ve been rooting for it. They’re going to be disgusto if I don’t.” Mrs. Cheney was thoughtfully silent. “If | were you, Anne,” she said finally, ‘I think I’d make a resolution not to marry any man unless I were willing to do the proposing myself. That’s a good test. Of course you can usually make the man do it. That’s what I did with Eric. Even now, whenever I want any- thing I make him suggest it.” But Anne’s attention was far course!" She stripped off the floppy panama hat and exposed a darkly petulant frown. ‘“Ed- “) Want to Get Married for Keeps—to Feet That it's Going to Last Always" away—upon a small fleck, some- times black, sometimes glisten- die, throw those clubs in the lake,” “Yes'm,” answered her befreckled caddie, and galloped off toward the locker room, The foursome moved in the direction of the tee, “Let's go up on the porch,” suggested Mrs. Cheney. “ Eric's fuasy about his audience. He doesn't mind anyone but me watching him.” Settled in the broad high-backed wicker chair, the girl appeared piquantly immature. Her small brown hands were clasped loosely in her lap, and she sat motionless, body relaxed,. gazing out almost morosely over the links, Pres- ently she sighed. “I'm awfully low in the head,” she explained, dark blue eyes reving toward the older woman. “Do you get that way before a birthday? I'll be twenty tomorrow. In ten years I'll be thirty.” “But Anne, dear, it isn’t so poisonous as all that! Really! I've managed even to live through the thirtieth!" “Oh, I know,” assented the girl. “But you're happy. Do you think Pll ever be happy?” “I think so.” Mrs. Cheney smiled. “But if you're not happy you'll have a lot of excitement, at any rate—and so will everyone else. It'll be what they call an outstanding ; sporting event.” Their eyes met in a flash of understand- ing laughter. ‘I think you'll be wonderfully happy if you get the right man,” she went on. “‘ You have so much to give, Anne—health, prettiness, vitality.” She added, as one who lingers over an apt word, ‘Yes, vitality. You'll have children, and you'll always be just as young as they are. My dear, you'll be teaching your grandchildren to play tennis and ride!” But Anne was not to be beguiled from her dolorous thoughts. ‘“‘Gee,”’ she exclaimed with sudden vehemence, “it was a terrible blunder for me to bea girl!" Her hand swept back through the shingled blond hair, hair with just the faintest glint of red in it. ‘Listen, Mrs. Cheney; I wrote to dad and asked him if I could go down and stay with him at the mine in South America. I told him that i could ride and shoot, that I wasn’t afraid of snakes and bugs, an’ that I'd eat any sort of chow that happened along when I did. I wrote twelve pages, and then this morning I got this. Look at it!" A hand dug into the pocket of her coat and brought forth a cable message. “‘Climate bad for girls. Sorry. North soon. Happy birthday. Best love. Father.’ Darn it all, Mrs. Cheney, I don’t want to ing, which wheeled idly in the sky across the links. “It’s an aeroplane,” said Anne. Elbows on her knees, she cupped her chin in her hands and gazed at it wistfully. “Have you ever flown?” she asked. ‘Gee, it’s fun! I spent a whole month’s allowance flying. Five dollars a flight, I had to go without an evening dress I wanted. I was going to learn to fly, but dad got wind of it.” There was silence. ‘‘I’ll bet I'd make a good pilot!” she added, her low voice throbbing with conviction. “T'll bet you would,” agreed Mrs. Cheney, “but please don’t,” The terror of Bascom Hills was lost in contemplation of the plane. “I wonder who owns it?” she asked. “Eric said some man by the name of Squire had taken the old Johnson farm for experimental work.” “Squire?” asked Anne. “I wonder if it could be Bill Squire. He was an aviator. I used to go to school with his sister. Fourteen-year-old girls used to bring her candy for the privilege of swooning in front of his picture.” She sat bolt upright suddenly. ‘‘Wouldn’t it be funny if it really was Bill Squire!” “Oh, dear!” breathed Mrs. Cheney. She happened to know that the pilot’s name was William.

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THE Where potatoes had once-grown, there sprouted now a giant mushroom—a balloon—bellying skyward, as big as a house.. Beside it, regulating the flow of gas from long black cylinders of hydrogen into the balloon, stood Bill Squire. At the sound of hoofs thumping on the soft dirt road he glanced up. “Hello,” remarked his mechanic, O’Ryan; “we got a visitor. I told you we ought to put up a No Admittance sign.” A big rangy black, with the small figure of a girl up, white blouse whipping in the breeze, swung in from the lane, espied the half distended balloon, snorted and tried to spin about in his tracks, forefeet pawing the air as if he were boxing. He pivoted, did cat hops backward, shaking his head, reared up again as the girl resolutely swung him about, and then danced a frantic side-step. “Ride ’im, cowboy!” called O’Ryan. He watched the performance and, by way of a verdict, announced, ‘The kid’s good!” Anne Farquhar, balancing in her stirrups, leaned for- ward, stroking the horse’s neck, talking to him. For one step she persuaded him to take forward he took three to either side and one backward. “Stand by the gas,” said Bill Squire. He sauntered over to the girl. “Shall I hold his head for a minute?” he asked, smiling up at her. He had, Anne observed, an awfully nice smile; it made little wrinkles about his bright bluish-gray eyes, tugged at his mouth. The sort of smile that made one want to smile in return. She did. ' ; itall over flying so far as sport goes. Just the same as sailing a boat and being pushed by a motor.” She nodded. “Or riding horses and motoring.” “Same thing,” he agreed. “Engines are interesting to experiment with, as I’m going to be doing here. They're fractious and temperamental. But after all the experi- menting is done and they’re fit for people to use, they’re just machines. Dependable, but not interesting.” “Just like the people who use them,” suggested Anne. They agreed, laughing. Two men commenced to pass bulging canvas bags to the basket of the balloon, which was tugging restlessly at its ropes. “That’s ballast—sand,” he explained. “You take all that sand up with you?” she demanded, a little shocked. “Yes—or I'd shoot up like a rocket.” “But you could take a passenger up instead of the sand, eouldn’t you?” “T could—but I wouldn’t like to dump a passenger over- board if I wanted to lighten the balloon. Tough on the passenger.” “Oh!” Anne appeared a trifle crestfallen. “Of course,’ went on Bill Squire, ‘when we carry pas- sengers we take less ballast. It’s a case of equilibrium, you see. When we leave the ground we have the balloon just light enough to go up. We have more gas in the bag than we need, so we carry sand to counteract it. Then gas SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 escapes, or contracts, and we dump ballast. If the gas expands ———”’ “Then you could!” she interrupted explosively. She swung to the ground, took a step toward Bill, “You could take a passenger!’’ It came close to being an accusation. “Yes,” he admitted. “Will you take me?” His head shook slowly. “I'd be willing to pay for my ride—out of next month's allowance,” she pleaded desperately. ‘I've never been up in a balloon, I went down in a diver’s suit one time. I’ve been up in zeroplanes.” “I don’t do passenger work,” he said. ballooning is fairly dangerous.” “T’m not afraid!” “I’m sure you're not, but -——’ “Please listen,” she begged. “‘You said it was nice to go up in a balloon when you wanted to think things out.” Her brown hand beat dramatically upon her breast. “Well, today’s my twentieth birthday and I—I have something that’s very important to think out. Honestiy! Won't you? Please?” Bill Squire’s gaze wandered from her beseeching eyes to the balloon and back again. “Are you sure your people wouldn’t have a fit?” he asked, beginning to weaken. “T've only got a father, and he’s in South America.” “Well ——” “You're the top!" exclaimed Anne, pressing her gain. “Are you sure you really want to go?” “Sometimes “You might—for a minute,’’ she an- “Want to! Why, it’s the chance of swered, settling back in the saddle. “‘Roxy’s such a fool! He probably thinks I’m going to try to make him jump it.”” She nodded toward the bal- loon. ‘‘ You might rub his nose a bit, if you would. He likes it.” Bill Squire, holding the reins behind Roxy’s chin, massaged the velvety quivering nose. “T hope you don’t mind my coming in,” said the girl quite formally. “Not at all,” replied Bill Squire. “You're our first visitor. We took the place just a couple of weeks ago.” Then he added, by way of explanation, “We're doing someexperimental work in aeronautics—engines and gliders mostly. Trying to combine some new ideas.” “But a balloon!” exclaimed Anne Farquhar, all formality gone to the winds. ‘‘A balloon! How inthe world do you happen to have a balloon?” She turned her gaze from the immense bag, weaving slowly ini the breeze, upon the young man, in frank downright in- quiry. Roxy, as if he realized that he were falling behind in his work, pricked his ears and danced a few steps. Well,” Bill Squire responded thoughtfully, ‘it was this way. I got some money I didn’t expect, and I was afraid I might spend it foolishly—so I bought a balloon. It was a bargain.” Anne fairly beamed upon him. “Most sensible thing to do!” she agreed. “I think it showed splendid judgment.” Their eyes met and she laughed. “‘So few people would think of buy- ing a balloon,’’ she added, thinking of Dave Carr. He certainly would not buy one under any circumstances— unless they became fashionable. “It’s just a small one,” explained Bill Squire apologetically; “nineteen thousand cubic feet.”’ “At any rate,” she observed judi- cially, “that sounds like a great many. Are you going up pretty soon?” “Just as soon as she’s full.” ‘‘Where are you going?” He gave a general wave of his hand. “Northeasterly.”’ “You don’t know where exactly?” She leaned forward, wide-eyed. “Oh, no; just for a ride.” “That’s great!’ Her fist thumped down upon the saddle with such force that Roxy did a few clog steps. “It must be good sport,’’ she added, her voice full of wistful longing. “T like it,” he replied. “It’s nice a lifetime!" Her tone implied that King Richard had been merely fooling about the horse. She stood beside Bill Squire in the basket, a quiet little smile of satisfac- tion playing about her mouth. Bill and O’Ryan, who was on the ground, were talking in the incomprehensible jargon of ballooning. Sacks of ballast were passed back and forth. “Stand clear,” ordered Bill finally. His eyes shifted about in a final inspec- tion and came to the girl, “We're going to weigh off now,” he said. “You're still sure you want to go?" Angry impatience surged through Anne Farquhar. Why did men always think that girls were such vaciliating little idiots? “Of course I want to go!” He laughed. “All right; we're off.” Then, inexplicably, the green earth slid silently from beneath them, he- came a variously tinted patchwork, angular, spotted with dark oblonga of houses, cut and cross-cut by the gray ribbons of roads upon which tiny cars made microscopic progress. The greens on the golf links became smal! emerald squares, and the lake near the club- house an oval mirror reflecting the blue of the sky. Bill was about to dump out more ballast but Anne Farquhar’s cooi rush- ing laughter made him turn. She seemed for the moment utterly un- conscious of him, unconscious of everything except a newly found en- chantment. Her hat was off, biond hair stirring lazily, her head slightly back. Her arms hung limply at her sides, as though they were of little use to her, now that she had found wings. Her attitude, that complete abandon- ment of herself to her mood,told Bill Squire better than anything she could have expressed in words that she loved flight, loved it as he did, and all his senses quickened in response, She seemed so young, gloriously young, venturesome and gay. He remembered suddenly that he had been about to cast over more bal- last. As the sand trickled down, spreading fanlike in the air and dis- appearing, he said, ‘‘We're going to get a down gust in a minute—as we cross over the lake.” The basket gave aslight lurch, He caught her arm, steadied her, and in answer to her unspoken look of in- quiry, explained, ‘‘We’ll drop a few hundred feet before the wind shoves when you have something to think out—just to perch up on top of the world, and drift. Free ballooning has “Shalt I Hold His Head for a Minute?" us out of it, then we'll get an up gust.” (Continued on Page 189)

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24 Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you, And did you epeak to him again? How strange it seems, and new! ~ rer a — THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE ROMANTI By Richard Le Gallienne April 25,1925 years ago, a copy of the Aphorisms of Hippoc- rates edited by Rabelais with his original Prefaces from which I extracted a motto for the Rabelais Club of London. HE reader must not fear that I am going Te write my autobiography. No, I leave that to men still in love with their own egos, that wondrous love affair which is apt to outlive all others. Something of myself, indeed, J shall be cbiiged here and there to bring in to make a background for these ran- dom memories of a period in which, in spite of the alleged irreverence of the present gen- eration, | have found, in talking to younger people, a surprisingly enthusiastic interest; but that something shall be as little as possi- ble. As I once wrote in a book for William Watson: Theae to thee, Will, from critic to ereator— My only greatness is to praise the greater. A sentiment, I hope, of commendable mod- esty. And, by the way, I should have said Sir William Watson, for most of my early friends seem to have become knights. Who was it, by the way, who said that “London is now a City of Dreadful Knights’’? The Autocrat’s Letter HEN I was a boy, poets were compara- tively rare beings and poetry societies were comparatively unknown blessings. There was a Browning Society, and later a Rhymers’ Club, of which I shall have to speak; but those were about all. Poets were still mysterious beings, and to meet one was a thrilling ex- perience. No one glibly called himself or her- self a peet. There waa still an Old World sentiment, as Mrs. Browning said: That name is royal And to wear it like a queen I dare not, Such, indeed, was my state of innocence in my school days in Liverpool that when a friendly schoolmaster took me into a book- shop to buy a Vergil, and, pointing to a volume on the counter, said, “This is Mr. Swinburne’s new volume,"’ I provoked his laughter by ask- ing, “Are there poets still alive?"’ For, to tell ‘Well, I wish you all success in your career as a book fancier and a man of letters. I thank you, particularly for the two charming little volumes of Wordswortl ‘s Poems, which I much fancy. Pa “But you must not depend on me as a cc’ respondent, for I am entirely unequal to labour my unknown friends lay upon me. thank them none the less for their kind ex- pressions. “Believe me, my dear sir, “‘Sincerely yours, “OLIVER WENDELL HOLMBs.” It was some three months after this that Doctor Holmes visited England, and he wrote me a note from London and invited me to call on him at Liverpool on his way back to America. Never shall I forget his quaint, tiny figure, with his humor-saturated face, seamed all over like a withered apple, and the ex- quisite courtliness of his welcome to me as I sat with him, scarcely able to believe it was really he, “over the teacups” that legendary afternoon. Very soon after that I was to perpetrate an exceedingly youthful volume of verse of my own, whose only excuse for existence was that it introduced me to a friendly London publisher, Mr. John Lane, and so took me to London, where I speedily ‘commenced au- thor,”’ or rather journalist, my earliest job being the writing of a Books and Bookmen column for the famous radical paper, “The Star,”’ a column that up to that time had been written by Mr. Clement Shorter, who had ascended to higher spheres, as editor of the “Tllustrated London News,” spheres in which he is still happily active—as he well may be, not yet having attained to any considerable antiquity. George Mcore’s Query AM proud to think thet among my col- leagues were the distinguished dramatic a truth which may well seem incredible to- day, I had a notion that poets were mythical beings wh» lived in an earlier age of the world, an illusion which, I need hardly say, I was not long to preserve. That, as [ say, was in Liverpool, a city which might well excuse the mistake. Yet, apart from those happy personal memories which the most prosaic city must have for one born there, Liver- pool, before I left it, had given me my first thrilling glimpse of embodied fame. In its Adelphi Hotel I once had tea with Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes! It was in 1886, and England, which adored his writings, was féting him with something like royal honors. In those days I was an en- thusiastic bibliophile, and among my treasures was an Elzevir edition of the Colloquies of Erasmus, which, to my delight one day in read- ing the Pro- fessor at the Breakfast Table, I dis- covered was identical with the Elzevir mentioned in that book. The discovery resulted in a piece of boy- ish doggerel about Elze- virs which was printed in a bookish magazine, and which I sent, with a letter, to Doctor Holmes. Only a book- pe ish lad of Aigeraen C. Swinburne nineteen can PHOTO, FROM P. 5, ROGERS Oliver Wendell Hotmes experience the joy with which some weeks afterward I re- ceived a letter of four pages from my Boston hero written in his own hand. I reproduce it here for the benefit of bib- liophiles and those who are sensible enough still to read one of the most vivacious and stimulating of causeurs. Doctor Holmes was then seventy-seven, and the fact that he should take the trouble to write four pages to an unknown boy across the sea speaks no little for the kindness of his heart. “Boston, March 5, 1886, “My Dear Sir: I confess that your letter fright- ened me. I am gradually coming to the conclusion that I cannot keep my correspondence without sacrificing so much of my time and strength as to incapacitate me from any effective literary labour. A large part of every day has to be sacrificed in replying to correspondents and in acknowledging the books and pamphlets of all sorts and sizes which every day brings me. However, I did read your letter, and, of course, I found it interesting. First, I was pleased to know that you liked my writings. We are all human, more or less, and most of us like to be acceptable to our fellow mortals. Then it is a comfort to be told that one’s writ- ings have solaced, instructed, entertained or even amused one’s unknown friends. I get a great many letters that tell me such things and I can- not say that I have ever got tired of them. So on this ground I thank you. I enjoyed your verses, too, and I lived over with you the delight of your first sight of an imprimatur. The little compliment to myself did not make them less palatable. I not only like your poem, but I am pleased tv recognise a brother bibliophile. I have a few rare books in my library of five or six thousand—some incunabula—the best, not my oldest, a Nicholas Jenson of 1481—a Valerius Maximus of 1474, etc. etc., a few Aldi—a number of Elzevirs, etc., but I only care for a few speci- mens and am not a collector. I picked up in Lyons, fifty George Meredith, From an Rtching by Holtyer critic, Mr. A. B. Walkley, and Mr. Bernard Shaw, who wrote musical criticism, over the initials ‘‘C. di B.’"—Corno di Bassetto—nei- ther gentleman having yet, even now, attained to the age of knighthood. On my coming to London I brought with me the manuscript of a book on George Meredith, which was soon published by Mr. Lane, who also invited me to be his reader, many since-famous manuscripts thus pass- ing through my hands. I was thus fairly launched into that literary world which in Liverpool had seemed a far-off dream. A young man who is at once a reviewer for a great newspaper and a publisher's reader will not long remain without friends, though he may occasionally, in cynical moments, wonder how much he is loved for himself and how much for his reviews. Which reminds me of a say- ing of Mr. George Moore’s on the only occasion when I had the pleasure of talking with him. He was living then in the quaint old Temple, and I had brought some youthful enthusiasm to his feet. He listened with kindly attention, his curiously blond face, very leng and solemn and white, like a dripping candle, and when I had finished, he turned and said, “Charming of you, dear Le Gallienne. It’s very charming—but why not in a newspaper?” Many a time since have I had occasion to recall that remark, with its shrewd human insight into that admiration so vocal to one’s face, and so oddly si- lent—in the newspapers. Mr. Moore was then becoming known as one of the stormy petrels of the violent revolutionary age which was then coming upon us, and causing no little disquiet and anger in senior Victorian bosoms. Mr. William Archer, in

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST the field of dramatic criticism, was another; and, of course, Mr. Bernard Shaw, with his Fabian socialism, his vege- tarianism, his pepper-and-salt woolen clothing, was still another. His plays were yet some way off. These men, with Mr. H. W. Massingham, the fighting editor of the radical Daily Chronicle, and one or two others, constituted what was called the new journalism, marked by an aggres- sive, menacing individualism, a natural and often savage style of writing, which brought a peculiar freshness of at- mosphere as of oncoming storm into the placid, conven- tional newspaper world. It was immensely invigorating to hear men speaking out in a natural human voice, as it was startling to see actually in print audacities of opinion that gave us some such shock as Mr. Menken has recently brought to America. One felt, too, that the new journalism was grimly out for busi- ness, and there was an ominous rumbling in the air as of falling towers. But there was a new common note, coarse and ill-bred, in this writing, too—sans-culottish, so to say—which alone made one feel that the world was passing out of the hands of gentlemen—doubtless for its own good! One felt also that these men, sincere and clever as they were, were of a smaller race than the men of the great era that preceded them. There was a vulgar exploitation of mi- nor personalities. The era of the en- gineered boom was beginnirig, and one had a feeling that men were getting famous too quick. The bud was already being taken for the flower. Hasty un- ripe biographies be- gan to be written, and autobiography even was beginning to precede achieve- ment. Knighthoods, too, were already be- ginning to go cheap. For good or ill, the old order was unmistakably changing. All the more, it was a romantic age to be born in, for most of the great figures of that old order were stil] alive, in embattled eminence. In politics, Mr. Gladstone and Lord Beaconsfield still loomed large, with the sinister figure of Mr. Chamberlain for the protagonist of the new business man’s government. In literature and art, most of FROM AN ENGRAVING BY A. 8. HALL FOR THE HISTORICAL MAGAZINE George H. Moore ; Henry Irving boarding a hansom in the Strand, for it was my first sight of a great man. Irving was the idol of Lon- dq cabmen, and I remember the face of the cabby that drove him that day almost as clearly as his own—how it lit upat the sight of him, with what alacrity he climbed down from his box, with what pride and eager recognition of his celebrated fare he touched his hat and flung open the apron—“ Mr. Hirving, sir”; for he 25 sheep’s eyes on pretty young actresses waiting to go on. Mr. Barrett, having learned that I should like to meet Swinburne, offered to take me with him to the sacred Pines, Putney, for lunch. Some few years before, as I have said, I had wondered if poets still existed in our modern prosaic world. Now I was to see one of the greatest living was not yet “Sir ’Enery.” No prince of the blood could have received greater homage, and there were probably no cabmen between the Lyceum and Charing Cross with whom Irving was not on friendly terms. There is a story that one evening, as Irving arrived at his stage door, the cab horse fell down dead. Laconically, Irving drew a twenty- pound note from his pocket, handed it to the cabby with a “Buy another!” and vanished into the theater. To have seen Irving on the street seemed wonderful, but the sympathetic reader will doubtless understand my youthful feelings when, a few months afterward, I sat at supper at Sir Arthur Pinero’s and saw my hero within a few yards of me, and other great persons scattered about in careless profusion. “How those gods look!’”’ But the climax of that un- forgettable evening was when, having taken leave of my host and hostess, and seeking my hat and coat in the cloakroom, a footman came running after me with “Wait a moment, sir. Mr. Irving would like to speak to you.” And there in the hall, for several incredible mo- ments, he was walking to and fro by my side, poets, actually liv- ing and breathing before me, “Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?” Well, I was going to see Swinburne, and so strange and dreamlike it seemed to me that when at last I found myself seated at the luncheon table, with the great lyric master he- fore me, I pinched my leg under the table to persuade myself of the reality. “There sits the poet of Atalanta in Calydon,’’ I said over and over to myself, as I with his hand in a brotherly way on my shoul- der, and graciously pretending familiarity with my then not very voluminous writings. That strange, distinguished face, that even stranger voice, the voice of Hamlet and Shylock—could it be real? And then a few days later a letter in his handwriting, so cryptically undecipherable that I can reproduce it for the reader, who may care to see it, for the handwriting’s sake, without much fear of his discovering its complimentary nature. It was to another famous actor of the time— Wilson Barrett, of Claudian and Silver King fame—that I owed, in Hazlitt’s phrase, ‘My first acquaintance with poets.” Mr. Barrett had engaged me as his literary secretary, a post which entailed duties little more arduous than hang- ing about the wings—another wonder world—and casting Richard Le Gallienne in the Nineties watched him ten- derly wiping with his napkin the neck of the pint of Bass which was Mr, Watts-Dunton’s allowance to the friend over whose hazardously lyrical nature he watched with a brotherly care. Luncheon With Damon and Pythias WAS all hush and awe that day, and any sense of humor I possessed was subdued by reverence, Though I did con- trive on later visits to have one or two conversations with Swinburne, there was no question of my talking te him that day. To gaze on his splendid brow, still scantily aure- oled with his flamboyant red hair, and lit up with eager blue eyes of a surprising youthfulness, was more than enough. Besides, conversation with Swinburne was, generally speaking, impossible, for he was the great Victorians were on their thrones— Ruskin at Coniston, Carlyle in Chelsea, Herbert Spencer in Brighton, Tennyson rus- tling with laurels in Haslemere or the Isle of Wight; as Andrew Lang wrote, ‘‘The Master’s yonder in the isle’’—all the Pre-Raphaelites dwelt still in their mysterious sacrosanct se- clusion; Rossetti, like some high priest behind the veil, in his old romantic house in Chelsea; Morris, with one foot in the new age, making beautiful books at Kelmscott House, and tap- estries and wall papers in Oxford Street, writ- ing The Dream of John Ball and preaching socialism to unsympathetic mobs in Trafalgar Square; Swinburne and Theodore Watts— soon to change his name to Watts-Dunton— were keeping their odd bachelor household together in Putney; Meredith was in haughty rustication at Box Hill in Surrey; Browning, democratically ubiquitous at tea parties and an indefatigable diner-out, was writing more and more cryptically, with occasional divine lyrical simplicities; and Matthew Arnold was still preaching sweetness and light to a world of Philistines. Memories of Irving ARDINAL NEWMAN'S beautiful fading figure was still at the Brompton Oratory and the astute worldly Cardinal Manning was still! at Westminster. Painters such as G. F. Watts, Burne-Jones and Millais were still painting; and the Lyceum Theater, with Henry Irving and the ever lovely Miss Ellen Terry, was the high temple of the drama; while Gilbert and Sullivan, with their imperishable operas, were delighting the town. The Gaiety Theater, home of coryphées and gilded youth, was also in its apogee; while Wagner was the storm center of serious music. It was a wonderful London, particularly to a young hero worshiper from Darkest Liver- so impenetrably deaf that only the slightly raised utterance of Mr. Watts-Dunton to which he was accustomed, or the most miraculous organ of Mr. Barrett's splendid voice, was able to pierce his aural solitude. When he entered the room he zreeted me with that distinguished courtesy of man- ner which all who met him have observed, a courtly bow after the fashion of the great Old World. That was all, but how much it seemed! And even had he been able to hear me, I was too busy hero-worshiping to have found a word to say. He himself talked much and well, in a rather high voice, with a curious, explosive, breathless, singsong intonation, with some- thing of impatient scorn, the subject being contemporary politics, and a curiously-—as it seemed to me-——-humorless humor, as of one to whom humor is inappropriate. There was, indeed—I say it with unabated reverence—something absurd, as it were, mis- begotten, about Swinburne, which ho truthfu! picture can omit; something that made people turn and laugh at him in the streets, as I once saw some carters do as he went by on Wisnble- don Common, with his eccentric, dancing one might even say epileptic—gait, his palms spread open behind him in a tense nervous way. He was certainly an odd, scarcely hu- man figure; and he and Watts-Dunton made the quaintest pair. There is ne harm, | hope, in setting down the humorous memory I have of a later visit at the Pines, for surely one may smile at a great man’s oddities without sacri- lege; and in Watts-Dunton’s case, my ad- miration for him soon grew, as for all who knew him; into genuine affection. No more generous friend ever lived, and his kindness to young writers was a rare and precious thing. On the day I am thinking of, the peculiari- ties of this elderly Damon and Pythias seem to have struck me with peculiar force, though, believe me, I remained as conscious as ever that I was, so to say, in the Presence. .! was to pool. Illustrious presences, now rapidly become mythological, walked the streets, visible im- mortals, and still I recall the thrill of seeing PHOTO. 8Y KADEL 4 HERBERT, §. Y. C. George Bernard Shaw, the Famous Author, on His Estate at Arot, St. Lawrence, England lunch with the two great men alone and I was (Continued on Page 183)

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26 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 ONCE IN THE SADDLE LIN Y MULLINS rose late. After Pe: rain the Purgatory sun had been hot and drowsy; hehad taken a long noon, asieep under a soap weed, and seaided; and so came late and loitering to Salamanca, with a head somewhat aswim from long hours of blazing sunlight, and had been glad for his bed in the Kit Car- aon House. Still yawning, he looked at his watch, Bleven o'’elock. Twelve hours of solid sleep. His bones ached, too, and his jointa were stiff. “Pliny, old boy,” said Pliny, “this is certainly going to be a leason to me, as the iad said when they hung him. But what do { learn by it? Nothing! Come on, boy, let's get shaved.” Still yawning, he went to dinner. Car- son House coffee was well brewed, a good pick-up; greatly refreshed, he joined his fellow guests on the wide cool porch for quiet talk and the luxury of shade, to breathe the deep sparkling air. A tip brought to him arrears of newspspers— Denver, Albuquerque, E] Paso. He perused them with waning interest. At two o’elock he grew restless. The poker game started at about three, usually. But sometimes it was earlier. He really ought to go out to Webb. Tommy was due to strike water soon. He shuffled and searched the papers. At about half past two ne strolled into Jake Henry’s saloon. The barkeeper was a new man, beefy and broad. “Yes?” he said as Pliny breasted the bar. “Give me a good cigar—a Lew Wallace.” The harroom wasempty. “Jake upstairs?" asked Pliny. “Jake? Sold out and gone. Tod Blake owns this joint now—him and me—mostly him. I’m Bill Austin—Sala- manca Slim. Tod's upstairs startin’ a little game. You know the way?" “Well, yes." Pliny went thoughtfully up the stairs, not very well pleased. Jake Henry was, to use Malloch’s word, a known man. His game was square. Have to look up this new lad and see how about it. Now, Pliny, you be careful! His displeasure increased when he went into the poker room. He saw there two faces that he knew and did not like-—Griee, of Webb, Lithpin Tham, of Webb; three faces that he did not know and did not like; only Bud Faulkner of the old friendly and familiar gang. “Buy in, fellow,” said Bud. “This is easy. These boys from Webb and Saragossy are pie for Salamanca. Boys, this is Muiline— Mullins, these are the boys.” “I'm Blake,” aaid the new owner, rising to introduce himself. ‘Pleasure to meet you.”” He extended his hand. “You've got a bundle of money in the safe that you left with Jake Henry. He turned it over to me to hold for you, Cet it any time. Sit in?” “Why, no,” said Pliny. “Just thought I’d drop in and see the boys and look on a spell. Yesterday noon I went to sleep in the shade. Shade moved over and I didn’t, so I was haif cooked before I woke up.” He turned to Grice, “Aren't you and Tham over sort of early?” “Today's pay day, if that’s what you mean,” said Grice. “But we got tired of waitin’, and we’re not needed much just now. Mighty Ettle coal got out on pay day, or the week after, for that matter. Hank’ll take care of our money for us. Tomerrow, or mebbe the day after, we'll go back and let Hank and Archie take a whirl. They're spinnin’ good for us. Glad we came.” Pliny watched the game in silence. He noticed that Bud, Grice and Lithpin Tham won consistently. Such had not been their practice. After an hour he went out and wan- dered back to the Carson House in some discontent, Here, after & season, he encountered Lafe Yancey. “How come Jake to pull stakes and slip off so sudden?” asked Pliny. “Weil, these fellows offered to swap him a better layout in Saragossa and gave him a nice piece of money to boot, so he took them up. Just like getting money from home.” “Know anything about these guys?" By Eugene Manlove Rhodes TLLEVUSTRATE DO Br w. H. D.

Por Nearty Two Hours He Had Lain Hidden Under a Cut Bank in the Bed of the Térmes; Long Hours of Fear, Fum: ing, Impatient for the Dark and Escape “Slim used to live here. He wasn’t liked. Don’t know anything about Blake. I don’t go to much. Got no use for the place. Ask your friend Malloch. He lives there.” “Some way Malloch never did seem to like me,” mused Pliny in slow wonderment. “Say, I don’t see anything of Pete or Buck Maguire or Aleck. They in town?” “Oh, yes. But they haven't been around to the poker parlor yet. They’re a little leery of Slim.” “Well, I'll tell you what,” said Pliny. “I’m going to give poker the go-by.” “Me too,” said Lafe. ‘I’m done playing poker.” “Do you suppose Malloch would try to bait a trap for me?” demanded Pliny. ‘‘Looks like small business for a man like him. He couldn’t hurt me much, thimble-riggin’ like that.” “Malloch would de anything. He may have some kind of a deadfall rigged up to clean ycu down to the bone, for all I know.” “Well, I’m through,” said Pliny decidedly and somewhat peevishly. ‘After supper I get me a good book with nice big print. And tomorrow I’m going out to my well.” At eight that night Pliny bought his first stack. Lafe did not sit in till nearly nine. Seven is a full table; Blake gave up his seat to Lafe, as is the habit of the house. Bud Faulk- ner, Grice, Lithpin Tham, Yancey, Blanding, of Saragossa, Mullins, Fowler, of Saragossa, back to Bud again; so they sat. The game went as games will; ups and downs and the industrious little slot for the kitty, the memory trainer. Blake, retired, sat tip-chaired and at ease, with an eye to see that the kitty had ever its just due; Salamanca Slim or his assistant brought drinks or cigars on order—cigars, KFOERNER

mostly; the pastime of poker does not thrive upon alcohol. Pliny won and lost, lost and won, lost and bought and won again, and then repeated that process; with the net result that he sat behind tall stacks of expensive chips, for all of which he had paid. Bud lost and lost again, slowly and steadily; Grice won slowly, and continued to win slowly, with once in a while a speedier gait; Lithpin Tham won without effort, con- sistently, swiftly, painlessly, with a per- petual raking motion; shading little hands with littlehands, beat- ing big hands with big- ger hands, dodging de- struction, laying down to winners, calling bluffs with nice preci- sion, making bluffs of his own that went un- called. “Tham’s night,” said Fowler admir- ingly, as Tham, after drawing three cards, spread outa full house for Fowler’s inspec- tion. ‘Take it away, Tham. You draw like a mustard plaster.” Lafe won slowly, rather steadily, win- ning no big pots and losing none. With no spectacular play and with hands never better than middling, he was well to the et. good. But Fowler and Bland- ing, the members from Sara- gossa, lost steadily, lavishly, recklessly; lost by bad luck and by poor play; called the big hands and laid down to poor ones; so that only their inept and butter-brained play kept the unlucky Faulkner in the game at all, or permitted Pliny to stay something near even. And while the Saragossas lost steadily to Grice and Yancey, and heaped ‘ donations upon Lithpin Tham, their heaviest losses were to each other—a fact privately remarked for future reference by the northeast one fourth, or upper right-hand corner of Pliny’s brain. Nine o’clock. Ten o’clock. Eleven. It was somewhere between the hours last named when Lithpin Tham, for once holding the small cards against the big ones, dropped out discreetly at the beginning of a tilt- ing match between Blanding and Fowler and left them to fight it out. The two gentlemen raised each other until all of Blanding’s chips decorated the table center, even then falling short of Fowler’s last bet, that gentleman having pushed in his entire stack. Mr. Blanding produced a fat wallet and took therefrom a goodly sheaf of bills. “Two hundred short, I was,” remarked Mr. Blanding. ** And I raise you a thousand more.” Pliny’s eyes grew round at this; the cow country plays table stakes. He looked a question at Bud Faulkner. Bud laughed and nodded. “They play it that way here,” he said. Fowler frowned, fingering the bills te check the amount; he felt for his coat hanging on the, back of his chair, and found there a long pocketbook even more heavily laden than Blanding’s. “T ought to raise you back, but I won't,” he announced. “Pll just call that bet, and I’ve got you beat too.” “Only you're not sure of it?” “Only I’m not sure of it,” agreed Fowler. ‘Well, I <alled you. But if you’re ashamed to show your hand, look at mine. Just a little full house—a five full.” “That's good!” said Blanding. ‘A big flush is all I’ve got.” He glanced around the table for sympathy. ‘Now wouldn’t that stagger you?”’ he demanded. “Here, Blake, give me some more checks—two or three stacks.” He picked off a layer of bills. 42 ~~ — a a es ROE ie...

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= THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Call the handsome waiter,” said the winner. “‘ Drinks on me.” “Information is what I’m after,” announced Pliny. “‘T never saw a poker game before where a man could play money out of his pocket unless ke had declared himself first that he played so much money behind his stack on every hand. I don’t understand this way of doing business.” “‘House rules,” grunted the house, cigar in teeth, sizing up tall stacks for Blanding. “Well, I’m used to table stakes and I don’t like your house rules one little bit,” declared Pliny. “Wait now, let me tell you how it works,” said Blake, pausing in his labors. ‘It’s exactly like table stakes, the way we play, if you want to play table stakes; and it gives you action, if action is what you're after. You're always entitled to a show-down for what you have in front of you, just like table stakes. “If any gentleman goes down in his pocket to make a big bet, then you can go down in your pocket to call him if you want to. Or you can raise him if you want to. But you _don’t have to dig up to call his side bet unless you feel like ~ “it. Just shove in what you have before you and you get a show for that.” “If you’d been in that pot just now,” supplemented Grice smoothly, “‘you havin’ the best hand, but not feelin’ confident enough to dig down in your jeans—well, you would have won all your money called for, and the other boys might have been betting each other till now. It wouldn’t hurt you any. Don’t you see?”’ “I believe I do,” said Pliny. His brow wrinkled; his puzzled glance roved the table; his eye, quite expression- less, lingered on Bud’s in passing; and Bud, for a casual half second, relayed the same expressionless tidings over to Lafe Yancey. “H’m! I see!” he assented dubiously. ‘*But why and which and what?” “It was this way,”’ explained the house: ‘‘ We used to play table stakes up in Saragossa. And there was a lot of highflyers there—mining men, cattle buyers and so on— they’d bet all their chips and we wouldn’t let them pull their pocketbooks. Then they’d get up from the poker table, leaving their hands face down; they’d go over to another table and bet each other to a standstill on the side. Then they’d come back and turn over their hands to settle the side bets. That was a nuisance. It delayed the game ahd made arguments. So we made the rules this way, and it works all right.” “H’m!” said Pliny, unconvinced. “Looks like it would give a man a chance to flash a big roll and walk off with a lot of pots he wasn’t entitled to.” “Yes,” said Blanding jovially, ‘and then again he might flash a big roll and walk home talking to himself.” “Oh, well, let her flicker!” conceded Pliny. “But if you've got a needle and thread behind the bar, have them bring it up. I want to sew up my pocket.” “Give us a new deck,” said Blanding. Midnight came and went; lunch loomed in the offing. “T wonder what’s keeping Slim,” said Blake. ‘‘He should have been here with those drinks long ago. I'll go call him.” He rose and walked to the door. Blanding was dealer. As Yancey made the cut, Blake, near the door, dropped his cigar. He bent to pick it up, rising in time to butt his head into Slim as he came through the doorway. The tray tipped with a crash of glass; the partners exchanged confidences as to the mishap. Pliny picked up his hand. He had four tens cold—four tens and an ace. Pliny paused for the merest fraction of a moment. Ina seven-handed game, when the first man holds winning cards, it is the accepted practice to pass for a raise. But the upper right-hand corner of Pliny’s nimble brain made comment upon the coincidence of this unusual hand with the clash in the doorway. Pliny opened the pot for a modest stake and awaited events, with every faculty keyed and alert. “T’ll protect you,” purred Fowler. “Let's keep the pikers out. I'll raise you about fifty—no, wait! Tham looks like he might be wanting in, so I'll make it a hundred. We don’t want any bobtail flushes drawing out on us.” Bud passed; Grice hesitated, and passed, tapping the table sharply with his bunched cards. “Oh, well, let it thlide—I path,” said Lithpin Tham, and tittered. “But I thure would like to thee one card with thethe. Queenth and fiveth, I’ve got; but I can’t thtand the raith.” He laid his hand down face up: queens and fives, with an ace. Grice faced his own hand: two kings, two jacks and a five-spot. “Why, I can beat you!” he said. “Here, here!” said Blake roughly. “You've got no right to show your cards. You boys ought to know better than that.” He scowled, and his voice was a deep grow! utterly foreign to his usual suave and mellow tones; it was plain that he was still ruffled by his recent mishap at the doorway. He shook a monitory finger at the culprits. “If you don’t want to play your hand, it’s your business to throw it in the discard.” “Why, whereth the harm?” inquired Tham, unabashed “Well, I'll show you,” replied the exasperated house ‘Just to make it plain, suppose that you fellows had faced up four small spades apiece. Then if Yancey here had four big spades, would he be likely to draw? Exposed cards might make a heap of difference any time.” “T thee!” said Tham, subdued. “So do I,” remarked Pliny, and he did. An ace in his hand and one in Tham’s; no one could hold four aces over his four tens; nor four kings, queens or jacks. No one could hold a straight flush with ace, king, queen or jack at the top; his four tens forbade that. And three fives had been exposed; a straight flush, headed by any card below a ten, was impossible in hearts, spades or diamonds; the five-spots in each of these suits had been exposed and were in the discard; he had an invincible hand—almost. “Pass,” said Yancey. Mr. Blanding considered his hand with evident per- plexity. “I’ve got better than any four big spades,"’ he an- nounced. “‘But I hardly know how to play them. I don't want to drive Mr. Mullins out; but then, again, I want to get even with Fowler for beating my flush. Guess [’!/ tilt her a lot,”” he decided, and did. Pliny meditated. “Why, that’ll take most all my chips,” he said mildly. He rubbed his chin caressingly. “H’m! And I could raise that again, too, if I was a mind to. I might dig down in my pants pocket, and then I’ve got quite a wad in the safe (Continued on Page 60) 4 singe Z. “They Found a Horse's Track, Shod AU Around, Coming From the East, the Other Side of Webb, to This Place Where the Car Was Wrecked"’

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28 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 THE CHANNAY SYNDICATE ‘ AR THUR, ‘hon, Bireo wel — as” a9 “Don't be Such a Foot,”’ Channay Scoffed Martin Fogg Persists—By E. Phillips Oppenheim acing. He was a bulky, pudgy man, wearing clothes of American cut and material; a man out of condi- tion, it would seem from his breathlessness after his walk from the mainland, but with great, muscular arms and a magnificent chest. His color was unwholesome, but his stature almost the stature of a prize fighter. From the first he showed few signs of desiring to ingratiate himself with the man whom he had come to visit. “Say, this is a long way you've brought me to collect my bit!"* he grumbled as Channay motioned him to a seat and Parsons, the discreet manservant, left the room. “Letters too! I've written you a dozen times!” “My opportunities for correspondence,”” Channay ex- plained, “have been scanty. Also, as you know, I always affected a secretary. My own handwriting is atrocious.” **Just a line would have done,” Sayers grumbled. “A check would have been better. I need the money, but it’s the hell of a way to have to come and fetch it.” “At least,” Channay reminded him, “you cannot say that I invited you.” “Look here, Mr. Glib Tongue,” Sayers said roughly, ‘I never did care about you much when you had one of those sarcestic fits on. Plain English is what we need just now. I want my share of the syndicate’s profits. Nigh on thirty thousand pounds, I make it. What's doing?” “Nothing,” was the curt reply. Sayers’ eyes seemed to have become smaller. It was noticeable now that there was a tinge of green in them. They had retreated into a setting of pudgy flesh. “You mean,” he persisted, ‘that you're not parting?” “Precisely. I am not parting.” The newcomer sat quite still. It was probable that he had been prepared fora response of this sort. Nevertheless, | eae SAYERS’ manner was from the first men- ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN there was something portentous in his silence. His right hand, with its thick fingers, left his knee and was on its way to his hip pocket. Channay, however, was much quicker. From the open drawer in front of him he drew out an ugly little automatic. Sayers cowered back in his place. “T can defend myself if necessary, you see,’’ Channay observed. ‘I am not in favor of this sort of dispute, how- ever. We're in a country with old-fashioned ideas as to the use of firearms. I would rather settle our difference in another way.” “You can settle it by paying me what you owe me,”’ the other declared. ‘I’ve got to have that money, and the sooner you make your mind up to it the better.” Gilbert. Channay sighed. He thrust his hand into his breast coat pocket, drew out a small morocco-bound book, and from it a slip of paper. He held it out toward Sayers, “Your signature?” he asked. The man flushed; a streak of color, unhealthy, almost purple, crept into his cheeks. “Where did you get that?”’ he demanded. “Never mind,” was the cold reply. “I have it. You are one of those who plotted to break my life and to help your- selves to the money which had been made through my brains and enterprise. A very honorable proceeding! One part of it was all right. The second is where you fall down. Not a man who signed this paper shall touch a penny of the money. That is my decision. Now you can go back to the States, or wherever you came from, as quickly as you like. The sight of you is unpleasant to me.” Sayers rose to his feet. He kept his hands well away from his hip pocket though. “Channay,”’ he exclaimed, “this is a dirty trick!” Gilbert Channay flourished for a moment the half sheet of paper which he was just returning to his pocket. “Not so dirty as this,” he retorted. “There are others besides me,”’ Sayers went on. “ They’ll make you disgorge, as I shall.” “Two of them have tried,”’ Gilbert Channay replied. “They didn’t get very far with it. Neither will you. And, Sayers, remember this—I mention it for my sake more than yours: The men who signed this accursed document are my enemies, but of the whole lot you are the one I dis- like and despise the most. You are the man I helped when he was broke to the world. I paid your creditors when you might have been sent to prison. Later I got to know you as you were—as you probably are. I warn you. Don’t try to bully me.” Sayers was leaning over the desk now. *1’m going to have my money,” he declared, “if I break every bone in your body!” “«Once more let me warn you,”’ Channay rejoined. ‘‘There is no man whom I personally dislike and detest as I do you. Take my advice. You go out that door and back to where you came from. I shall do you’no harm except in self- defense; but if I have to deferid myself, look out.” Sayers was not a pretty sight. An ill-living and@ ill- conditioned man of great muscular strength, he was sud- denly torn with passion. He managed to rid himself, how- ever, of a few coherent words. “You —— little Britisher!’’ he shouted. ‘You talk of hating me! Why, I’ve loathed the sight of you all my life—dictating what we shall do, ordering us about as though we were your servants instead of your partners! Curse you, Channay, with your sneering manner, your British starch and insolence! Sign that check!”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST He suddenly gripped Channay by the collar. Channay swung round, avoiding a blow which the other aimed at him savagely, and seized his assailant by the throat. Twenty minutes later Gilbert Channay, having changed his collar and tie and brushed his hair, lit a cigarette and paused to consider the situation. The sound of the mutter- ing of thunder had drawn him toward the window, where he lingered, fascinated by the somewhat uncanny silence which now seemed to be brooding over the marshes—a gray, sinister silence, behind which lurked the tragedy of the coming storm. Seaward the line of white around the sand banks appeared to have grown broader and higher. The sky was strewn with fragments of black clouds with jagged edges. The sun, showing for a single moment, seemed to shine with an almost ghastly light. The birds had suddenly ceased to call, and the gulls were flying about in disorder, most of them making their way landward. The incoming tide, stealing up the creek, appeared to be flowing faster than usual, as though driven on by some unseen force. Channay, with his hands in his pockets, stood consider- ing the situation carefully from every point of view. It was unfortunate, in a way, that Parsons was absent in the village. He would be back within an hour, however, before which time any other visitor was unlikely. Nevertheless, he was determined to run norisks. It seemed to him as he stood there, looking out across the somber landscape, that from the first he had felt this grim foreboding of evil if ever he and Edward Sayers met. He felt very little remorse for what had occurred, scarcely any horror. He had fought, not offensively, not even with the idea of doing his assail- ant serious bodily harm, but merely in self-defense. Now that the worst had happened, one thought, and one thought only, was foremost in his mind, and that was, having involuntarily rid the world of one of its worst scoundrels, to secure himself against any untoward conse- quences, It was impossible to de much before the return of Parsons. Sayers was a heavy man and the problem of the disposal of the body would be a difficult one enough, even with help. Parsons might return perhaps in half an hour. In the meantime Channay, acting upon an impulse the genesis of which was entirely obscure, moved a sofa in front of the exceedingly unpleasant-looking object which had lain stretched across the floor, rearranged other pieces of furniture so as to form a screen, and finally returned, a little breathless, to his desk, with the intenticn of writing a letter. He had drawn some note paper toward him, the pen was already in his hand, when suddenly his fingers became rigid, his whole frame stiffened. Without a doubt the room had become momentarily darkened, as though by the presence of some shadow outside. Gilbert Channay raised his head. Looking in through the French win- dow was the figure of aman. ed Channay, though his nerves were of steel, was after all human, and for a moment he could not trust himself to rise. He felt his heart pounding against his ribs. Then he realized the necessity for prompt action. He rose to his feet, thrust open the French window and looked inquiringly at the intruder. At first he failed to recognize him. He was walking without a hat, as was the custom amongst the tourists and holiday makers in that part of the world, and his tousled mass of ginger-colored hair, blown this way and that by the breeze which was just springing up, gave him, to start with, a thoroughly unkempt appearance. He wore a suit of tourist’s clothes, which bore the unmistakable brand of the ready-made tailor. He was carrying his collar and his tie in his hand, and his boots were unlaced, as though he had been paddling. He smiled ingratiatingly through the open window. “Nice spot you’ve got here, Mr. Channay,” he said. “They told me down in the village where to find you.” “What on earth are you doing here?”” Channay asked. “Holiday making, sir—nothing more,” Martin Fogg replied. ‘I wasn’t on my way to see you particularly. You refused my help, so I had to let it goat that. . . . That your boat?” he added, pointing to the ketch, which was lying high ajid dry upon the shore, but around the keel of which little waves were now beginning to trickle. Gilbert Channay nodded. “TI don’t want to seem inhospitable,”’ he said, “but I ean’t offer to take you down to the village in her. It will be hours before she floats. You had better take the dike path through that gate there, and you had better not delay either. If the storm comes the waves break over our causeway.” Mr. Martin Fogg remained unperturbed. He showed, too, a disturbing knowledge of the locality. “It will be an hour and a half before there’s any tide up on the other side,” he observed. “I’m a bit tired, Mr. Channay—nasty walking out Widdiscombe way. Might I ask the favor of a seat for a few minutes?” Channay motioned him to enter, placed him in a chair with his back to the sofa, and pushed a box of cigarettes to the end of the table. ‘Have a drink?” he asked. “‘A drop of whisky if you have it, sir.” Channay went to a cupboard and mixed a whisky and soda. All the time he had an uneasy feeling that Martin Fogg’s eyes were traveling around the room, 29 “You haven't changed your mind, I suppose, sir?" the latter ventured, as he accepted the tumbler. “T haven’t changed it, nor am ! likely to,” was the firm reply. “You did me a good turn, Martin Fogg—a thing few men in this world would have troubled to have done— and I am not likely to forget it; but I prefer to run my own affairs.” Martin Fogg blinked once or twice without speaking. As he appeared at that moment, holding his tumbler in one hand and his cigarette in the other, he seemed rather like u human ferret; cunning, but without breadth of intelli- gence; persistent, but lacking in sensibility. Then he sud- denly smiled and he seemed a very different person. “You're wrong, Mr. Channay,” he said. “They're a dangerous lot you're up against. Those two Americans, for instance—thoroughly unscrupulous men, both of them. Let me see, wasn’t one of them Mr. Sayers—Edward P. Sayers?” Channay felt a sudden chill, but his face remained im- movable. “That was the name of the biggest scoundrel of the lot,”" he replied. “Desperate fellows, some of these Americans,”’ Martin Fogg went on. “Apt to take the law into their own hands. A rough lot—a very rough lot. This is a lonely place for a man like you to live, Mr. Channay.” “T can take care of myself,”’ was the brief response. “Now if you had accepted my offer,”’ Martin Fogg per- sisted, ‘‘ you would have someone always looking around someone to let you know, for instance, if Sayers set foot in this county, or the man who was once his partner Drood. I should be able to keep you advised as to the movements of any of them—especially of the dangerous ones. If you don’t go out to look for them, Mr. Channay, they’ll come to look for you.” “T am very much obliged,” Gilbert Channay said, “for the one service you have rendered me, Mr. Fogg. Apart from that I can only repeat what I have already told you. I desire no help.” Martin Fogg set down his empty tumbler regretfully “You may be right, sir,” he acknowledged. “You have made a pretty good start. The Mark Levy affair, for in- stance—very ingenious! Very ingenious! I saw Lord and Lady Isham, too, the other day. He is drinking, I am afraid—very ill, indeed, he looked. And her ladyship—a great change! Something seems to have got on their nerves, Mr. Channay.” Channay looked at his vis- itor with a little shiver. (Continued on Page 137) Channay Rese Steowly to His Feet. “Whe is it, Parsons?** He Inquire’ se witianan BROWpP ms ~

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30 Te wi SR agg SARE RO ROOMS & THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AI OTN AE RSM Tats Pie Aye renee April 25,1925 THE HOUSE IN THE LAURE By Mary Brecht Pulver ILLUSTRATED BY DUDLEY GLOYNE SUMMERS N SPITE of his recent cold parting from Barbara, and I that difference of opinion about the school which always left them with locked horns—most unfortunate this afternoon, because it had prevented him from telling her abeut the apple-butter pot—J. P. stopped just inside the hotel doorway to enjoy and digest the thrill of viewing his daughter through the eyes of others. It was a sensa- tion of pleasure fully as strong as any produced by those fragments of early Americana he persistently collected, and only natural, since Barbara, he felt, was the choicest piece in his collection; the expression, he hoped, of purely American ideals and actually his proud creation. As she preceded him, poising herself a moment on the top veranda step, he saw one gray transformation lean toward another and heard it say, “That's J. P. Winton’s daughter. You've seen him since you came, haven't you? J. P., everybody calls him. The soap magnate.” 4. P. put out his chest a little. He had no objection in the world to being called a magnate, but he knew now the identification would leave Barbara cold. That had been one of the shocks of their late discussion—the protest she had registered. All along the line of arm and rocking chairs heads popped forward now and a running fire of comment was directed at Barbara’s young back. “Well, look at her,” her father reflected a little dis- contentediy, settling his illicit tobacco more securely in his pocket; “‘she’s worth it.” The discontent arose not from any lacking attribute in Barbara's physical aspect, but rather from the manner in which she chose to set it off. There had been a young moving-picture actress in the hotel a week earlier, and she - Not that he would have had his daughter emulate this young person exactly; there is a certain line to draw, of course, in matters of cos- tume as elsewhere. The young actress had gone in for very high colora—-vermilions, parrot gre2ns, hot purples. Barbara wore white as a rule. So—occasionally—had the movie.tiri. But anybody knows there is a difference in the kind of white you can choose, As with black, it may be either frivolous or pure. The young actress wore wicked white, so to speak. She—she hit you between the eyes, and she had been a very great sensation. Oh, probably not more than Barbara aciually was, but at least she was thoroughly living up to her part; something, as he realized now, to which Barbara was indifferent—who could so easily have given the young celluloid party a run for her money. Barbara was better looking too. — » 4 é * 4 ¥, a AU Along the Line of Arm and Rocking Chairs i Heads Popped Forward Now and a Ruaning Fire of Comment Was Directed at Barbara's Young Back The management had made rather a point about the coming of the “beautiful Evelyn Ray of Hollywood” and had got the flappers and the young fellows all excited, but the beauty was actually a thing of the camera lens. Evelyn had evidently what is called a screen personality and that valuable gift of the gods, a finely photographic face. What had been visible of this last, to J. P.’s eye, under its patina of whitewash, lampblack, lilac eye shadow and gypsy-flame face paint, was very average and quite inferior to Barbara’s. And he would be the last to claim that Barbara was a beauty. Strange but amazing truth— that a screen goddess may be relatively plain and not all millionaires’ daughters carry off the apple of Paris uncon- tested. Not that everyone here would agree. This man Fenwick, who wrote, for instance. Fenwick, sitting at the far end of the chairs, was leaning well forward, staring hard at Barbara. But he probably didn’t see her at all. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and most other qualities as well. People are chiefly what we conceive them to be out of our powers for dispassionate analysis and the configuration of our experience. That was why Fenwick would not see Barbara as her father did. Fenwick, a tiredish-looking married man in the late forties, who worked eight hours a day writing serials about rich, dissipated, very wealthy girls—a class with which he had no contact—had done a great deal, J. P. believed, to teach the rest of the younger set in America how to watch and pray, and he would have a whole set of ready-made tags tu apply to Barbara. Rich spoiled girl; motherless; millioned papa; beauti- ful—anybody with a million is beautiful enough; drinks hard; swears hard; smokes hard; necks hard; drives a fast car; wears a half-piece bathing suit; the sort of gir! who will call on a man in his rooms wearing the same, “coming mysteriously out of the sea and the night”’—see Chapter II; although innocently, see Chapter CCLVIII— a girl with an insolent manner and a frank mind; an honest-to-goodness modern pacer and daylight saver; with—probably in the same Chapter CCLVIII, the last— some wistful cry about being “tired of it all, tired of it all.” That was the sort of millionaires’ daughters that Fen wick—and Fenwick’s public—seemed to know best. His pages in the lurid-covered magazines he wrote for bristled with them. J. P. often read them with a great deal of curiosity and pleasure. They refreshed and diverted him, being so absolutely outside the range of his own experience. Fenwick himseif had diverted him, when he had first run against him at the tobacco counter. He—J. P.—had been getting some of the illicit tobacco. He had just given young Barnes, the clerk, his own special eyebrow signal and Barnes had slipped the vile plebeian square of plug cut that was one of J. P.’s two vices—and the more private and infrequent, sacred only to rare hours of solitude—beneath the openly tendered can of English Maid pipe mixture. And Fenwick had approached just then and bought a long pale-brown expensive panetela. His pants—like the panetela—were pale brown and ex- pensive too. Evidently writing serials about rich dissi- pated girls was a paying business, and it would take a full- sized charge of dynamite to dislodge from Fenwick’s mind the prearranged set of concepts he found so profitable. Yet anyone, thought her father, looking at her, ought to give Barbara the benefit of a lot of doubt here. A court of three men had instantly formed around her. One with millions has no difficulty about courts. Young Etheridge, looking like a diamond-back rattler, in socks and suit of the same shaded lozenge pattern; Mr. Wilmer- ding, a not-so-young ycung man of forty-five, in full divided-skirt trousers; Peter Jones, with linen kicks and brown-and-yellow shoes, like half-peeied bananas. Over the three Barbara towered like a tall white flower. We have said that she was not—oh, hideous and singular image—a raving beauty. The screen might not have fought for her. But anybody with half an eye wouid have found much that was pleasant to look upon, and would have read her for what she was, quite apart from her special background. A clean-minded, wholesome, sweet and normal girl, with plenty of womanliness about her and a great deal of character in her face, a girl of force and ise. ee And a darn bullheaded girl, in a quiet way,” added J. P., remembering their last tryout of wills. What was exactly visible now was a tall young person, in a straight, utterly plain sports frock of white wool, with

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 31 plain white buck brogues and thick silk stockings. Her hair, straight and brown, was brushed and pinned back into a glossy shining sort of bowl— Barbara always ran to plain- ness. Her bodyinthestraight dresswas straight and shapely and unconscious. Her face, full of laughter now, was very sweet, with a good washable fresh skin, frank gray eyes with rather heavy dark brows, strong and slightly irregular white teeth and a fairly wide mouth, and a nose which Barbara honestly considered a misfortune and called her pipestem, and which her father had graciously bestowed upon her. That’s what the public could see—a radiant, healthy piece of normality, like a nice sound apple. What it couldn't see, of course, were those rarer flashes in her, those moments of emo- tional deepening, when she became utterly lovely; when she had one of her ideas, or the impulse to a sudden tenderness for him. Then her eyes darkened, her lips deepened in color and something flashed out of her that suggested a flying bird to J. P.—a swift-winged upward flight of feeling or spirit that utterly changed her, like an irradiating fire. “And some day,” J. P. reflected, “‘some man will see her look like that at him, and pip-pip! he’ll pick her up and run off with her. Anybody would want to.” Barbara’s general qualities would have surprised Mr. Fenwick. She was a lady! Her breath never smelled of Bacardi. She cared nothing for liquor, tobacco or profan- ity. She was extremely respectful to her father and ad- mired him greatly, and even when she differed with him and earned his epithet of bullheaded, she differed with good breeding. Her bathing suits were completely modest and she always wore stockings on public beaches. She drove a car and did sports generally very well indeed, but with a complete and sporting respect for law. She had been kissed only two or three times in her life, and this by nice boys she had grown up with fraternally, and permitted. She read books. She had ideas. She was motherless, true, but J. P. had done what he could here. .He had kept in touch with her life, her mind—made friends with her. It had an effect. J. P. being what he was, his daughter was what she was. “Oh, Miss Winton!’’ One of the gray transformations moved forward with a swish of beads, and J. P. himself stepped firmly out on the veranda. The soap magnate’s daughter had had her turn. Now let the magnate have his. J.P. paused and let the chairs bring on their barrage. He knew exactly what they looked at—a sturdy man of fifty-seven, well set up, vigorous, still young, looking a decade less than his age. A man who kept young by hearty zest for work, every minute ot his life lived ardently, his energies poured out on his celebrated soaps, his famous philanthropies, his marvelous collected American primitive stuff, his prize-jewel daughter. All this embodied in the strongly planted shape before them, dressed in the costliest and most appropriate of imported gray golf togs—as far as his neck. He was bareheaded. Let them digest him— without a sullying blemish. In just a moment he would give these chairs a fresh sensation. He did. Inserting his hand into a pocket, J. P. drew forth a ratty time-yellowed once-gray soft felt hat of unguessable orig- inal form, kissed by all weathers, scarred and pierced with air holes; it was the other—the public—of his two vices and his inseparable companion in all hours of relaxation these dozen years. It had cost him three dollars and forty cents. He placed it slowly on his head. He could hear the veranda gasp. Let them gasp. Of what avail is it for a man to fight his way up from the work- bench and the dinner pail, to build and construct himself into the foremost financial rank, become a magnate, if he cannot as a reward wear any kind of hat he pleases? Averting his face carefully from Barbara—with whom he felt he could not be on speaking terms for at least an hour — and with quick-striding, well-planted thrusts of his firm- calved legs, J. P. strode away from the effete scene in the direction of the golf links. Here, in sweet forgetfulness of recalcitrant daughters and the companionship of Mason and his nicely shaded handicap, he meant to while away a delightful afternoon. Here also, heaven helping him, with nothing to interfere, he meant to talk about the apple- butter pot. a S HE walked along, it occurred to J. P. that but for the unfortunate matter of the school—or the unfortunate clash of wills he and Barbara made of it—this, like all the other summers at Pine Lake, would have been perfect. He came here every summer for six weeks and Barbara with him, and the place suited him. Democratic, handsomely comfortable, it offered him everything that he felt a man of naturally simple tastes and sound fundamental values needed in the way of normal recreation. The golf course was excellent. Annually it drew a num- ber of congenial cronies who returned to it, in a sort of in- formal vacation club, who worked off handicap in a spirit of fraternal camaraderie, exchanging anecdotes and epi- thets; who in the evenings, discarding plaid tweeds for black and white or cream flannels, bent sun-flushed faces and brotherly zeal on pool or rummy or poker, always with fairly modest stakes; men like himself, affluent and of affairs, who laid aside both for a few weeks of rather simple play. And the place had plenty of charms for a girl. Here at one side lifted the dark red brick and sandstone bulk of the hotel itself, imperial and solid looking, witha marble foyer and Moorish arches, and loggias and porches, and the shiniest of dance floors, where an excellent jazz orchestra wrought its barbaric screeching every night. Tennis and roque courts were visible, formal patterned grounds of great beauty; and to his left, seen through the grove of thick pines, stretched the lake itself. It came in, ruffled blue and silver, in a sort of deep bight here. As he walked now, J. P. could see beyond the sapphire ripple a distant red buoy, and the scudding white triangle of a cat- boat. The sailing was splendid—all the water sports, bathing, swimming, boating of all sorts. A smooth sandy beach curved down to the water. Everybody bathed and boated. Barbara sailed a catboat expertly and he often joined her in the mornings, or fished from a flat scow. Or at times he took the big car and scoured round through the country- side. This place was extensively exploited for its wild scenery and untouched natural isolation, and to look at the hotel in the surroundings—the lake, the tall green hills opposite that bathed their ankles in its crystal shimmer, the enfolding woods, and the sheared-out golf links that now appeared before his eye, a clearly artificial prospect torn out from a cruder environment—one would imagine this region inconceivably remote and deserted of man. Yet J. P. knew it to be otherwise. Continued on Page 64) You Would Never Have Thought to Look at That Rapt and Radiant Face That it Belonged to a Young Woman With a Ruined Life

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32 PEREGRINE head Peak a black speck sailed slowly across the bright blue face of the sky. Dan Alexander, striding along a winding trail close to the foot of the mountain, saw thet soaring speck and smiled grimly. “You're out early, Cloud King,” he muttered, ‘an’ right now you're lookin’ things over before you decide where you'll hunt. Better keep out o’ my way, you bloody murderer, or your hunting’ll come to a sudden end. Hello! What's up now?” The young mountaineer, his rifle resting in the crook of his left elbow, halted and gazed upward. The black speck which was Cloud King no longer cireled above the peak. Instead, it was shooting down with that appalling swift- ness which distinguishes the peregrine falcon among all the sharp-taloned hunters of the air. Wide-eyed and almost breathleas, Dan watched that splendid plunge. Then with an exclamation he leaped upon a rock beside the trail whence he could look out over a sma!! grass-grown wheat field in the bottom of the valley. Straight toward the wheat field Cloud King, the pere- grine, waa falling. His long wings were half-closed, so that his body had the shape of a spearhead—a spearhead rush- ing through space at such terrific speed that the keen eyes of the mountaineer could scarcely distinguish its form. Inetantly Dan knew that in or above the wheat field Cloud King had spotted a victim, and in a moment he saw it—a ruffed grouse flying across the open only a few yards above the ground. The big bird had left an oak knoll! some distance ahead of the woodaman and had taken a short cut acrosa the field in order to reach the chestnut slope on the other side. “You fool!” Dan whispered, talk- ing to himself, as was hic habit when there was no one else to talk to. “Don't you know ‘6 He got no further, for at that mo- ment a living thunderbolt coming from above and behind struck the grouse squarely upon the back and hurled it lifeless into the grass. Dan, balancing his tall lean body on the rock beside the trail, watched the falcon shoot on- ward past the spot where his victim had fallen, swerve on atiff- ened wings and return with leisurcly strokes to recover his prey. Low above the grass, he hovered for a mo- ment on slowly beat- ing pinions; and Dan was on the point of jumping down from the rock for a quick dash into the wheat field, when something happened which brought an exclamation of astonishment from his lips. From a thick tuft of weeds almost directly under the hovering hawk a slim reddish shape leaped into the air. Long pointed jaws snapped together within ar inch of the falcon's body; and with a scream of anger Cloud King, the peregrine, shot forward and upward. Dan, craning his neck, could see plainly a big red fox trotting slowly through the sparse grass of the wheat field, the dead grouse hanging from his jaws. For a moment amazement held the young woodsman motionless. Then a broad grin spread slowly across his thin sun-tanned face. He watched the fox, which was well out of range, pass on across the field to the cover of the woods, while the faleon swooped and hovered overhead. Then he jumped lightly down from the rock and strode on along the trail, So it happened that Dan Alexander, setting out one October morning on a hunt which had nothing to do with Cloud King, the peregrine of Devilhead, or with Red Rogue, the old dog fox that was Cloud King’s neighbor, encountered these two old enemies of his at the very outset of his quest. Dan knew Cloud King and Red Rogue well— the Bachelezs of Devilhead, he sometimes called them, be- cause they lived mateless and alone. It was he who had named them; for there was « romantic strain in the young mountaineer, developed by a year at college in the low- lands, which caused him te give titles of his own to those wild creatures of the mountain woods which were con- stantly cpossing his path. It was no feeling akin to affection, however, which had ted him to study with special care the habits of the pere- grine faleon and the old red fox which had their homes on the craggy summit of Devilhead Peak, looming high above his cabin. Long ago Dan had learned to look upon these oe hundred feet above the rocky summit of Devil- THE Br ILLUSTRATED The Gobbter Was Falls ing, Shooting Down at a Steep Stant, His Neck Outstretched, His Wings Rigidly Extended two as his foes and rivals, destroyers of the game which he loved to hunt and which he regarded as his most precious possession. Again and again he had seen the evidences of their depredations, and for months he had waged an inter- mittent war against them. So far, however, they had thwarted all his stratagems and defied his woodcraft; and now, as he passed on along the trail, humming a tune under his breath, resentment gradually supplanted the amuse- ment which the episode in the wheat field had inspired. He had found delight in witnessing the discomfiture of Cloud King. That bold pirate of the airy spaces had been fooled for once; the game which he had killed had been taken away from him under his very nose. But while one of the brigands of Devilhead had thus been cheated, the other had profited. Red Rogue, the rascally fox that lived by his wits, even as Cloud King lived by his matchless speed and indomitable courage, was at that very moment feasting upon a fat grouse—or pheasant, as Dan called it— which good luck and his own quick brain had procured for him. Dan grumbled impatiently at the thought and frowned darkly as he reviewed the little tragedy in the wheat field—a tragedy which was a sharp reminder that the two buccaneers of Devilhead were still waging destruc- tive war on the game that he cherished as his own. “T’ll get them two vagabones,”’ he muttered, “‘if it takes all winter. That's all they is to it. The confounded mur- derous varmints! Slaughterin’ a pheasant right before my eyes!” For a moment he was tempted to renew then and there his crusade against the marauders of Devilhead, climbing SATURDAY EVENING POST By HERBERT RAVENEL SASS April 25,1925 CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL the peak and lying in ambush near the summit in the hope of getting a shot at the fox or the falcon when they returned to their homes in the great cliff just under the brow of the mountain. He had tried that method before, however, and found it fruitless, and he quickly aban- doned the idea. Presently he dis- missed the problem from his mind for the moment and focused his thoughts once more upon the object which had led him to take the trail that morning. On a wooded shoulder sloping down from Devilhead Peak a big wild gobbler had taken up his abode. It was in search of this gobbler that Dan had started out with his rifle shortly after sunrise, and another half hour would bring him to the spot where he hoped to find the turkey seek- ing his forenoon meal. Some three hours later, on a saddle of a high ridge across the valley from Devilhead, a black-and-white pileated woodpecker, or log- cock, hammering on a dead chestnut limb, suddenly ceased his labors. A movement far beneath him near the foot of his tree had caught his eye. Part of a large rock five or six yards from the base of the chestnut had — come to life, had Py cmeias Livineoten Queer: stirred slightly, had whisked itself away from the main mass of the rock and now lay motionless again in the rock’s shadow. The logcock observed that this thing which had moved had the exact shape of a fox’s body—that it was, in fact, a fox. His curi- osity aroused, the big woodpecker, almost as large as a smal! duck, hung motionless on his chestnut limb, watching eagerly, his long striped neck twisted sideways, his tall scarlet crest erect. He had failed to distinguish Red Rogue, the fox, taking a sun bath on the rock. Even if he had been aware that a fox was enjoying a nap fifty feet beneath him, he would not have been especially interested. But now that Red Rogue had moved, and moved so swiftly and ener- getically, the logcock felt that this fox was worth watching. Presently he was aware of certain faint sounds frequently repeated and he knew at once that these sounds were the cause of the fox’s sudden movement. Something was stirring in the dense kalmias clothing the steep side of the ridge just below the rock. What it was the logcock did not know; but he did know that the fox was listening to those sounds and that he found them interesting. The sounds were stealthy yet distinct, and they were drawing nearer. The intruder, whatever it was, was making its way up the side of the ridge straight for the rock behind which Red Rogue was crouching. The logeock waited and watched, his whole attention centered upon the fox lying there in his ambush and upon those mysterious, slowly approaching sounds. Yet now and again as he waited his bright beady eyes darted swift glances out over the valley which he overlooked from his chestnut tree; and suddenly he saw something which drove all other matters from his mind. Straight across the valfey, coming from the direction of Devilhead Peak, a long-winged gray hawk was flying swiftly, heading directly toward the logcock’s chestnut. The big woodpecker recognized the hawk at once as the peregrine falcon that had his aerie on Devilhead crag. For an instant the logcock glanced wildly about him. Then, as nimbly as a squirrel, he darted around the limb. His body plastered against the wood, he watched with terrified eyes as the falcon shot past and swerved sharply upward to a perch on a dead oak some fifty paces to the right. If Cloud King, the peregrine, perching on the topmost stick of the oak, saw Red Rogue, his neighbor of Devil- head crag, crouching beside the rock beneath him, the faleon gave no sign. He did not see the logcock in the chestnut near by, for the big woodpecker was careful to keep himself hidden behind the stout limb to which he was clinging. Cloud King must have heard the faint sounds coming at intervals from the shrubbery on the slope of the ridge below the rock, but apparently he paid no attention to them, and seemed to doze on his perch. As a matter of fact, he had come to the dead oak fora nap. He had been a rs

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST hunting on the wing nearly all morning, and the oak, thrusting its naked top above the other trees on the ridge, had attracted him as asuitable place for a brief siesta. Yet sleepy as he seemed and really was, his restless eyes were not content to give themselves as yet to- complete inactivity. Now and again at frequent intervals they awoke and shot keen glances here and there; and suddenly, after some ten minutes had passed, they chanced to detect a tiny spot of scarlet on a high limb of a dead chestnut near at hand. For some minutes then, though the hawk him- self did not move, those eyes remained wide awake, fiercely and intently alert; and presently they saw this scarlet spot stir slightly, grow larger and then resolve itself into the red crest and black-mustached face of a logeock peering cau- tiously around the chestnut limb. What happened then happened in less time than is re- quired to tell it; and it was an odd whim of the woods fates to bring to a crisis at precisely the same moment the little drama of the tree tops and that other drama which, all the while, had been developing on the ground below. Suddenly the place where Cloud King had been perching was empty. With the speed of a bullet the peregrine was shooting through the air toward the chestnut limb behind which the logcock was hiding. In that same instant Red Rogue, the fox, saw at last the victim for which he had been waiting, the mysterious maker of those stealthy sounds which for so many minutes had been drawing nearer in the kalmias. To Red Rogue there had never been the slightest mys- tery about those sounds. He had known from the begin- ning exactly what they were; and he was not in the least surprised when a tall wild gobbler stepped out from the shrubbery just beyond the rock. Red Rogue crouched close to the ground, his slim body tense, his eyes gleaming. The big bronze bird had but to take one more step forward and he would come within reach of the hidden fox’s leap. That step was never taken. A shrill scream almost di- rectly above the turkey, a wild piercing cry of utter terror, shattered the noonday silence of the woods. The gobbler wheeled in his tracks, crouched for a fraction of a second, then launched himself upward and outward from the steep mountainside. Behind him a long tawny shape bounded over the rock and hurled itself through the air; but the distance was too great and the jaws of the fox snapped together a yard or more behind the tip of the gobbler’s tail. The gobbler never saw Red Rogue, never knew how close he had been to death. Nor did he understand at first the meaning of the mad scream of panic which had startled him into sudden flight in the very nick of time. Yet, as he swept out over the valley on wide swiftly beating wings, that scream seemed for an instant to pursue him, and he recognized it then as the cry of a frightened logcock. Once more it rang out, this time close above him in the air, and almost at the same moment a feathered projectile shot past him, plunging straight down toward the green roof of the kalmia thicket clothing the slope of the ridge. In an in- stant it had vanished in the kalmias; but immediately the flying turkey was aware of a swish of wings above him, and glancing upward as he flew, he saw a gray-backed long- winged hawk poised in the air, his fierce eyes peering down- ward. The gobbler stood in no fear of hawks. Among the winged hunters of the mountains only the great gclden eagles were sufficiently large and powerful to threaten his safety. This hawk that had appeared so suddenly in the air above him was not of the eagle kind. It was much smaller than those arrogant monarchs of the sky spaces— in spite of its wide spread of wing, a mere pygmy compared with the gobbler himself; and, savage though its aspect was, he felt no dread of it. He swept serenely onward over the deep gorgelike valley, high above the tree tops on the slope below. In spite of his bulk and weight, his powerful wings bore him easily and swiftly, and, his momentary fright forgotten, he exulted in their strength. It was good to ride the air. As a rule, his flights were short; but now, instead of swinging in toward the ridge which he had just left and seeking a roost in some tree top there, he headed straight outward across the valley. A mile or so away rose the forested slope of Devilhead ridge, his favorite feeding ground. He turned his bill toward a shoulder of that ridge where he had fed the previous day and, where he knew that he would find abundant provender. For a few moments the gobbler, as he swept on across the valley, forgot the long-winged falcon which he had glimpsed above him. The gobbler’s flight was a long and very gradual descent. The hawk, on the other hand, had mounted somewhat higher and had dropped a little behind, so that the turkey no longer saw him. Nevertheless, it was evident that he was following the turkey, for when the latter changed his course slightly, the falcon turned also and maintained his position a hundred feet above the larger bird and an equal distance behind him. Yet even if the gobbler had realized that he was being pursued, he would have felt no alarm. He could not know that a series of events that morning had fanned into ut- terly reckless fury the savage and fearless spirit of Cloud King, the peregrine falcon of Devilhead Peak. All that day ill luck had dogged Cloud King. Beginning with the incident in the wheat field, where Red Rogue, the fox, had robbed him of the grouse which he had struck down, he had suffered one disappointment after another in his hunting. Three times during the forenoon he had stooped at prey only to miss it by an inch through no fault of his own. Finally, by an even narrower margin, he had missed the logecock whose scarlet-crested face he had seen peering around the chestnut limb, This was the most exasperating mishap of all, not only because of the other failures which had preceded it, but also because the falcon had felt very sure of his game. Though they were fairly fast flyers, log- cocks were not adepts in aerial strategy; and this one, detected in an exposed place, should have fallen an easy victim to the superbly swift and marvelously agile peregrine. Perhaps this logcock was wilier than most. Perhaps it was mainly luck, combined with overconfidence on the falcon’s part, which caused Cloud King to miss once more. At any rate, the big woodpecker, after uttering that first shriek of terror which had startled the gobbler into flight, had done the one thing that could save him. Instead of fleeing at top speed, in which case he would have been overtaken in a few seconds, he had dived almost straight downward and, narrowly missing the flying gobbler in his de- scent, had plunged headforemost into the dense cover of the kalmia thicket clothing the slope of the ridge. Cloud King, whizzing through the air like a rifle bullet, had clutched at him with curved needle-pointed talons just as he began his plunge; but the logeock’s unexpected dive had saved him, and the falcon, nonplused for an instant, had seen his hoped-for victim drop like a plummet into the impenetrable kalmias some fifty feet below. It was then that Cloud King, poising in the air above the spot where the logcock had vanished, saw the great gobbler shooting past beneath him; and it was then that his pent-up fury, in- tensified no doubt by hunger and by the excite- ment of his lightninglike assault on the logcock, impelled him to attempt the most spectacular exploit of his strenuous career. Ordinarily the peregrine would never have attacked so large a bird as a twenty-five-pound wild gobbler. It was not that he lacked courage for such an enter- prise, but simply that the instinct of his race, fixed through count- less generations, would not have suggested the wild turkey as prey. The peregrine, or duck hawk, among the swiftest and most courageous of all the hawk kind, lives chiefly on wild ducks and other water fowl, where these are to be found; but in the high mountain country, where such game was rare, Cloud King, the peregrine of Devilhead Peak, levied tribute on such upland wild folk as grouse, quail, rab- bits, doves and various forest birds. It had never occurred to 33 him to seek a victim among the wild turkeys which still frequented certain parts of the mountain woods, In fact, because turkeys were rather rare and in general kept pretty carefully under cover, he had seen very little of them during his life in the mountains and knew next to nothing about their ways. Now, however, his fierce and venturesome spirit, roused by the irritating mishaps of that morning and in particular by the failure of his attempt upon the logcock, Cloud King determined to match his speed and daring against the weight of an antagonist larger than any other that he had ever attacked. This great bronze-winged gobbler, appearing suddenly beneath him at the very moment when the logcock van- ished in the kalmias, was a tempting target. For an instant the peregrine, hanging motionless in the air on swiftly beating pinions, was on the point of launching his assault then and there. But even in his fury he was wise with the inherited wis- dom of his race. He hung at that instant not more than a score of feet above the gobbler, and he realized instinc- tively that this was an insufficient height—that in attack- ing so huge an opponent he must plunge upon it from a much greater altitude. Hence for the moment he restrained his ardor. Instead of darting down at once upon his in- tended victim, he began to mount higher above it and at the same time slackened his pace slightly to let the turkey draw somewhat ahead. There was plenty of time. The gobbler was flying straight out across the valley, evidently aiming for the ridge on the other side. Cloud King mounted higher and higher, his fierce yes fixed upon his prey. The bulky body of the turkey was driving forward at high speed; but Cloud King kept pace with him easily, his long tapering wings fanning the air with deliberate measured strokes. Seem- ingly his fury had passed. Cool, skillful, unhurried, a perfect master of aerial warfare, he would launch his assault when the right time came and not an instant before. (Continued on Page 72) With the Speed of a Bullet the Peregrine Was Shooting Through the Air Toward the Chestnut Limb Behind Which the Logcock Was Hiding

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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 Pive Cents the Copy From All N deal By Subscript To the United States and Possessions, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Costa Kies, Cubs, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Guatemala, Isle of Pines, Meateo, Nicerogue, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Salvador, Spain and Urugeay, $2.00 the Year. Remit by U. 8. Money Order, Ruprese Money Order, Check or by Draft, payable in U. 8. Funds. Te Canadas — By Subscription, $2.00 the Year. Single Copies, Five Cenee— Canadian or U. 8. Funds Te Newfoundisad (with Labrador) and other Foreign Countries, exclusive of thoes tt é above, by subscripti post paid, $64.00 the Year. Re- mittances to be by Postal or Express Money Order or by Draft on » bank im the U. &., cayebie in U. 5. Punds. PHILADELPHIA, APRIL 25, 1925 Horsewhip Remedies HE elderly woman who in a Western city recently ap- plied the lash to the person of one of the managers of a Central American fruit promotion because, she said, she had received no return upon her investment, did not, it is to be feared, set a particularly constructive precedent. She invoked the horsewhip to obtain satisfaction, and possibly she felt recompensed in a measure for her sub- stantial losses. But to apply horsewhipping on any gen- eral scale for ill-advised investments would, to say the least, merely add a confusing element to an already seri- ously complicated financial and business structure. No matter how elaborate our legal and business systems have grown, there must be individual accountability. Pos- sibly vigilance methods may occasionally have a salutary effect. But their range of application is too narrow. Horsewhip methods are usually accompanied by hys- teria, which, like love, is blind. But the fight against security swindlers requires most of all the coolest of judg- ment, Even in the particular case which serves as text the man at the receiving end of the lash asserted that he had not wrecked the company—was, indeed, engaged in trying to sulvage a bankrupt concern. That is a question of fact te be determined by cold impartial justice. Unfortunately for horsewhipping, there are times when the lash should be turned inward, when the punishment should become self-flagellation. For elderly women to in- vest life savings ia promotion schemes in unstable and dis- tant countries is financial suicide, not murder. Despite widespread education and the vigilance of state corporations and blue-sky commissioners, local district attorneys, advertising clubs and legitimate stock ex- changes, the most incredibly simple and apparent forms of deception are practiced for quite a while before there is any nipping in the bud. For months certain firms in New York City purchased a well-known and valuable stock in the open market at prices which probably averaged five hundred dollars a share, and, splitting the stock into “bankers’ shares"’ of one hundred each, sold these smaller units at six dollars to seven and a half dollars apiece. The most cureery reading of any financial page would have shown the investor the absurdity of paying a third more than was necessary for his stock. a4 THE SATURDAY EVENING Though the investor’s most effective protection is his own superior financial intelligence, it is also true that plans for more extended codperative effort on the part of busi- ness men to put a stop to securities swindles should be aided by all good citizens. The law does accomplish much; expert opinion holds that codperative vigilance accomplishes even more. There is room to extend such activities. Surely every dollar saved from the maw of the financial shark not only means greater security in old age for some hard-working man or woman but insures by that much the stability of business conditions and a wholesome prosperity. Dignity Day in the Senate SENATOR recently gave a fine example of that sena- torial dignity that is so often discussed and so seldom practiced when he read his parody on Sheridan’s Ride, “with Dawes only fifteen blocks away,” before a guffawing Upper Chamber. He not only parodied Dawes in his verses but he parodied senatorial dignity to perfection and came dangerously close to proving the Vice President’s contentions. Should the Senate wish to relieve the tedium of its fili- busters, we would point out that The Jackdaw of Rheims offers an excellent opportunity to the parodist. There is not only the obvious chance for a pun in the title, but the attitude of the Senate toward its presiding officer is aptly expressed in the lines: He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed, From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head! He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright; He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking, He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing and winking ; He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying; He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying ; He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying! Never was heard such a horrible curse! But what gave rise To no little surprise, Nobody seemed one penny the worse! That’s the rub. Dawes seems not only to be not a penny the worse but to stand as well as before with the country, or better. If any senator would know why, a calm and analytical reading of the Congressional Record for the past session will satisfy his curiosity, if he is a reasonably intel- ligent man. Dawes stands for direct action, in the minds of the public—direct action in France when our Army needed supplies; direct action in Washington when he made the budget effective; direct action in Europe when he put over the plan that bears his name. The country could stand a little more of the same constructive direct action on the part of the Senate, even at the sacrifice of some of its self-proclaimed dignity. The Off-Color Line EREAFTER a solemn jury will sit on the plays that are produced in New York and wi!l draw the off-color line. It will be the duty of this jury to decide just where this line runs through the drama and whether a play that to the unthinking seems raw is not really artistic. It will be theirs to define the phrase that our young intelligentsia mouth so lovingly, “artistic sincerity”—a phrase seldom used except to give stage sins and sinners the benefit of very doubtful situations. We wish the jury luck with its delicate labors. But we doubt that a jury is needed to find this off-color line in books, in periodicals or in plays. In a much lesser degree we have always had the dirty little boys of the stage with us, but a sturdier generation washed out their mouths with soap and let it go at that. In the past, when Johnny shouted out an obscenity no commission of elders was impaneled to decide whether he was giving artistic expression to boy life on the streets. As a consequence, pornography was largely confined to ob- scure walls and smut slunk up alleys. POST SPD meme ae April 25,1925 The purveyors of sex periodicals are, of course, lineal descendants of the old train butchers who used to pass out the sealed book in the smoking car—seals not to be broken until the book was paid for—and whisper to the gullible prospect that it was ‘Naughty! naughty!” For his dol- lar or two the purchaser got a cheap medical book, just as the sex periodicals never go quite so far in their revelations as lurid cover and adroit advertisement promise. Many of these periodicals have the will to go the limit and some of them just graze it, but the way is not yet wide open. The postal service, with a cake cf brown soap, is always in the offing. As long as some publishers, playwrights and producers ask themselves the question, ‘‘ How far can we go and get away with it under the mantle of artistic realism?” we shall be threatened with censorship. And those who in- veigh against it most loudly are often the very ones who are doing most to bring it about. We do not believe that the arts would suffer appreciably by an application of the ordinary, well-understood rules of good taste and good sense. No jury is needed to formu- late them for men who are fit to be managers. Financial Free Verse NYONE reading the current market pages published in the more important financial centers must receive an impression similar to that which follows a visit to one of the exhibitions of a society of free and independent artists. If it is true that the younger generation has thrown off re- straints and conventions in social intercourse, they have nothing on a large share of the persons trying to make more than a good living by selling securities whose an- cestry, parentage, training, breeding and deportment are as unknown as the most distant star. The country is being literally deluged with stock-and-bond children whose ori- gin, if not actually illegitimate, is—to say the least— suspicious. It is possible that the country is on the threshold of new developments in the investment field, of new forms and means. Carefully safeguarded financial progress is not in itself suspicious. The adaptation and application of British forms to American conditions are not impossible. But the unseemly haste with which forms new to these shores are being pushed upon the investing public cannot fail to arouse misgivings. A regular torrent of financing companies, holding com- panies and so-called investment trusts, with their bankers’ shares, participation certificates, units, shares in interest, and the like, has broken upon the country. In individual cases these may be sounder, as well as more profitable, than the old-fashioned straight bond or stock or savings- bank deposit. But the public has a right to know wherein it is to be safeguarded. It is only with painful slowness that law and custom succeed in building up protection around any particular form or medium with which the investor becomes familiar. We all know that safeguards now surround the savings banks of most states. The same is true of insurance com- panies. Likewise if funds are deposited with banks of dis- count and trust companies, it usually proves in case of failure that a double assessment must be levied upon the stockholders, an extraordinary protection which Federal and state laws provide for the depositor. In addition, several of the leading stock exchanges have long required that all member concerns be organized as partnerships, which provides that an unlimited liability shall fall upon the partners in case of trouble. The newly introduced forms and instrumentalities may be surrounded with equally great security. But the public as yet has no means of knowing that such is the case. Whatever be the safeguards, they are not yet known to be universai and standardized. Nor are they generally under- stood. No large body of law or custom has yet been thrown about these newer forms. Experimentation is necessary in the field of providing the public with investment securities, as well as in other activities. But excessively rapid introduction of new styles in finance is an open invitation to a subsequent smash, whatever it may mean in the realm of wearing apparel. te BAT ARB caer

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 35 MAKING AMENDMENTS HE Constitution of the United [sare artie II, Section 1— ordains that the President and Vice President shall hold office for the term of four years, but does not provide when the term shall commence. The only recognition of the fourth of March succeeding the day of a presidential election as the day of the commencement of the terms of the President and the Vice President is the provision in the Twelfth Amend- ment to the Constitution, effective September 25, 1804, that— “If the House of Representatives shall not choose a Pres- ident, whenever the right of choice shall devolve upon them, before the fourth day of March next following, then the Vice President shall act as President, as in the case of the death or other constitutional disability of the President.” This would probably be construed to be a provision that the term of the President expires on the fourth of March after a presidential election—that a vacancy would then exist—in which event the Vice President would succeed to the office. The time when the presidential electors shall be elected and the date on which they shall meet and give their votes is, by Article II, Section 1, of the Constitution, left to the discretion of Congress, with the restriction that the day of voting shall be the same throughout the United States. An act was passed February 3, 1887, requiring them to meet and give their votes on the second Monday in Janu- ary next following their appointment, at such place in each By Henry Fountain Ashurst UNITED STATES SENATOR FROM ARIZONA state as the legislature thereof shall direct; which votes, duly certified to be delivered to the President of the Sen- ate, shall be canvassed by Congress, in joint session, on the second Wednesday in February thereafter. The Constitution, while providing that representatives shall hold their offices for two years— Article I, Section 2— and senators for six years—Article I, Section 3—does not provide when the terms shall commence. The commencement of the terms of the first President and Vice President, and of the senators and representatives composing the first Congress, was fixed by a resolution of Congress, adopted September 13, 1788, providing “‘that the first Wednesday in March next’’— which happened to be thefourth day of March—“ be the time for commencing the proceedings under the Constitution.” Congress has provided—act of March 1, 1792, Revised Statutes, Section 152—that the terms of the President and the Vice President shall commence on the fourth day of March next succeeding the day on which the votes of the electors have been given, but there seems to be no statute enacted since the adoption of the Constitution fixing the commencement of the terms of senators and representa- tives. Under the present law the New Congress does not convene in regular session until thirteen months after the election of the representatives. There was reason for such a provision IT CANT e \BE Done! / ~ ay at the time of the formation of our Fed- eral Government, as it then took about three months to ascertain the result of elections and to reach the capital from remote parts of the country. But now the most distant states are within a few days’ travel of Washington. Senators heretofore have been elected by the legislatures of the states in January, sometimes not until February or March, But since the adoption of the Seventeenth Amend- ment to the Constitution, by which senators are elected by the people, usually at the November elections, it becomes opportune for Congress to convene in January following. The convening of Congress on the first Monday of Decem- ber, as at present, is inopportune, as adjournment for the Christmas holidays is always taken and many members go home, which precludes any real work until January. Congress should, at the earliest practicable date, enact within the scope of its powers under the Constitution the principles of the majority as expressed in the election of each Congress. That is why the Constitution requires the election of a new House of Representatives every two years. If it be not to reflect the sentiment of the people these fre- quent elections have no meaning or purpose. Any evasion of this meaning is subversive of the fundamental principle of our Government, that the majority shall rule. No other nation has its legislative body convene so remotely after the expression of the people upon governmental questions. During the campaign preceding a congressional election the questions that divide the political parties are discussed (Continued on Page 222) CYRUS w Pies}

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36 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES Cause for Anxiety Y SON is graduating from M college this year,”” remarked Grover Cleveland Smith, president of the First, Second and Third National Bank, of Central City, “and in all the four years he has been there he never has writ ten a one-act play or gone without his hat on theastreet, He has never threatened to start an art theater and so far as i know he does not own a samovar. “I got to worrying about him not long ago and wrote tc his dean to find out how he stood. ee eH The dean said he stood inte weil in his classes and aH Badri ee was well-behaved. That TRA, a + worried me more than ever. “He's our only child and it would go hard with us if he turned out bad. When he wrote home last week and said he was looking forward to coming into the bank after comraencement | was alarmed, “I’m going East for his graduation and to take him to New York to see some doctors. If there is anything seri- ously wrong with the boy I want to find it out. A fellow who reachea the age of twenty-one and has never embraced communism or taken up the saxophone has got to be watched.” McCready Huston. The Elevator Starter ITH vacuous visage and bearing aloof, Distinguished, disdainful and curt, U pbraiding al times in indignant reproof Exuberant urchina, untamed and uncouth— Grandiloquent creature, Thou fred foyer feature Reaplendentiy snobby And Lord of the Lobby, Debutante: “Mamma, We Do Wish You Wouldn't Wear Those Old Style Gowns and Queer Hair. You Look Positively Bizarre" There resis on your brow like the leaf of the bay The glory of routing your cars. The clank of their chains is your sweet roundelay, While the swank in your strains yelling “‘ Take it away!” To clerical lasses In grandeur surpasses Such nonchalant Pierrots As cinema heroes. Does there flow through your veins in a blue-tinted stream A fluid more noble than ours? Are you frankly as bored as you frequently seem? Do you spring from a race that is really supreme Your stoie and stolid, Complacently solid, Above-trade-and-barter ; “ ° Royal Highness, the Starter! Arthur L. Lippmann, Ns @ye-gy) ery dd ue) GPAWN OF A 5. FOSTER Something New in the Way of an Automobile Adventures of Alice “TJ OW about going to a show tonight?” the Mad Hatter asked. “Oh, baby!” Alice replied jubilantly. ‘ You said something.” “Let me see,” said the Mad Hatter. “They’re playing (&di- pus Rex at the Apollo Theater ——” “Spare my blushes,” said Alice. ‘‘Those Greeks got away with murder by writing in a foreign language. No, let’s go to see something nice and refined ” “If any,” said the Mad Hatter. “Exactly,” Alice re- plied. “I don’t know what’s happening to the great American drama these days. There’s hardly a show in town to which a young girl can take her mother.” “Well, there’s always the opera.” “That's different,’’ said Alice. “It doesn’t matter how rough you get so long as you say it with music. I happened to read a grand opera libretto recently, and I blushed out loud, I was so embarrassed.” “Really?” said the Mad Hatter politely. “But that doesn’t settle the question, what show shall we see?”’ “There’s The Queen’s Boudoir,” said Alice. ‘I hear the police are going to raid it some night.” “T’ll call up the box office at once for tickets,’ Mad Hatter. “You amuse me,”’ said Alice. ‘Who ever heard of get- ting tickets at a box office?” ‘Well, what are they for then?” “A box office in a theater,” said Alice ‘‘is like the infor- mation desk in a railroad station. They have to keep a man there to tell you that the house is sold out.” “But suppose it isn’t sold out?” (Continued on Page 161) ~ Othe Cushing ves , said the A Coupte of Trappers From the Great Northwest Sight Some Fur: Bearing Animats on Fifth Avenue

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CAMPBELL Soup COMPANY CAMDEN. N. JUL S.A THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ¥y sje CAMPBELL Soup COMPANY CAMOEN.N JU SA ~“

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38 The Recollections of a Consul THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 7 Once Gave a Merchant a Lift in My Pony Trap. FORTUNATE is the young man, ready for adult life, if he have a decided bent; his trail is blazed for him; but many search casually, for time is of little value te youth. Some have a shot at the foreign-service examinations, without other motive than that successful passing may open the gate to a living. Others have a liking for the career, usually vaguely founded and not reasoned out; nor could they, without experience, balance gains and losses in a unique profession. Some of the attributes of the service are psychological, not to be foreseen, still leas to be understood or appraised until after considerable experience. In looking back over nearly half a century of official life, I see that variety-—perhaps ‘absence of monotony”’ were the better expression—has been the chief attraction for The consular duties are so many and so diverse that they provide constant change and continuous exhilaration. More than half these experiences were unofficial, and none the leas enlivening for that. If nothing happened, there was always the sense that something might happen. What would you do, O. Henry asked, if a beautifully dressed lady met you in the streets of New York, pressed a hot buttered muffin into your hands and sped away? There was always that feeling. me Ff Fortune Thrust Into Consular Hands HAT would you do if an excited little gentleman, very dark and gleaming of eye, rushed into your office, thrust a portfolio into your hand, cried in South American French, “I have no consul here; please guard this for me,” rushed out while you were gaping, and you looked into this unloeked case to see if it contained a bomb and found nothing there but French 10,000-franc notes— bundles and bundles of them? I assumed that the little gentleman was an ex-president, traveling with the national treasure; that the national army was hot in pursuit; that hastening by, he had seen the American eagle on the wall, had dashed in and out undetected, and would be found, if found, without the goods on him whom had occurred the highly original idea of making the consulate the receiver of his stolen goods, 1 made discreet inquiries. If he was a criminal, the local police knew naught pf it. Lf he was fleeing from his country, was he a political refugee, entitled to special consideration, even though accompanied by all available liquid assets of his nation? No, Decided: That he was a traveler who had made an unusual request of the consulate, but not an But, of course, he might be a burglar to, Br JAMES mM. improper one until proved to be so; hence entitled to his parcel when he called for it. He came, ten days later, calm as his type can be; which means that, though exuberant, he was not haggard-eyed. He tried in vain to hide pleas- ure and surprise that his parcel was delivered without com- ment, asked for an envelope, inclosed two 10,000-franc notes and laid it on the table: “One must not be a trustee without a commission, is it not?”’ Finally convinced that no commission would be ac- cepted, he paid in frankness. His friend, it appeared, had fled to Europe with his wife; not his friend’s wife, you understand, but his; and the erring lady had right of access to his Bristol safe-deposit vault. “Bristol? Why Bristol?” “‘Monsieur will understand that it is secluded, private, and that in South America one has his financial secrets.” In the hot race for wealth, the injured husband had, as it were, won by a head, had buoyantly walked away from the safe-deposit office to come face to face with the guilty pair, who “eyed the portfolio with consternation,”’ and started in pursuit. Voild tout! What would you do if you were consul at a modest salary in a West Indian port, had ten dollars in bank, got word that an American passenger ship was in distress fifty miles away, and that a rescue vessel must be sent immediately? You promptly guarantee costs, of course, and dispatch a tug. Suppose the ship founders. You ought to be thinking of lost lives, of course; but you cannot help wondering how you are going to pay $500 cash for that tug and whether you will ever get the money back; and even if you do in three or six months, how are you going to buy food in the meantime for the wife and baby? Or suppose the passengers and*crew came back in the tug with nothing but what they stoo@upin. You can take care of the crew all right; the Government does that. But you must feed, clothe and house the passengers on your personal responsibility; and some of the weeping women tell you, as they always will, that every dollar they had in the world was in a trunk in the hold. Ruin faces you; but somehow you get everybody stowed away by midnight, and by breakfast time have cabled off every name. Re- freshed by a bath, you find that the bank will grant a con- siderable overdraft, when the day before it would have PRESTON As We Passed the Offices of One of His Competitors, He Shook His Fist at the Sign By Lorin A. Lathrop ILLUSTRATED refused a small one, and in the course of weeks you note that most of the money you have advanced has dribbled back. Or suppose that you are playing tennis at Govern- ment House, thinking how jolly a life you were leading and pleased with all the world, and a dripping seaman rushes in and tells you that Mad Mike, in D. T.’s, has shot the cap- tain, locked up the crew and is pouring kerosene over the deck with one hand while he flourishes a pistol in the other; and suppose the police regret to inform you that they cannot codperate, as the vessel lies outside the three-mile limit. What would you do? Perhaps you would go out alone with intent to use moral suasion, but you would only do that if you are lion-hearted. For the information of the young consul, I may say that the proper course in this emergency is to gaze at the vessel, shout fire and engage a tug which has her tanks full of water. The hose will put out the seaman, at any rate, and the insurers will probably pay the cost of the tug. Hamlet Without the Dane R SUPPOSE that you are giving a dinner party to a multimillionaire whose yacht is in the harbor, and whose wife, covered with diamonds, is at your right, and the magistrate, who is an old friend and so has come to you at sudden notice to fill the seat of the multimillionaire, “‘ un- avoidably detained on board,” is at the other end of the table, and that the chief of police, in his best form, is keep- ing his neighbors in fits of laughter, and everything is going as well as can be expected in the unforgivable absence of the chief guest. Suppose that the telephone summons you and the policeman tells you that your missing guest is in a cell, singing “I’m to be Queen of the May,” and shouting for the consul who expects him to dinner. To bail him out, you must take the chief and the magistrate with you; and how can you keep the belated guest away from your house? So you go back to his wife. “A routine matter; so sorry,” you say with a shrug, and settle down again. Suppose the lady is a passionate devotee of bridge and the party a late one, and that it ts one o'clock in the morning before you coffront'an angry and nearly sobered man. “How could you expect me to break up your dinner party for you?’’ ‘you ask, and let it go at that; and the yacht sails away early in the morning. Suppose that in England a haughty and austere lord, a stranger, asks your codperation in complying with the directions of a New York court in connection with a friendly Continued on Page 41)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST j Toronto Boston e () Milwaukee deh your deals” far (Buffalo ag \ ° fts i Ni WwW t S Sioux City Sarat New York D,. . Chicago aie eet d Products Sa & ta Amnyi: C) Philadelphia Omahs Allegheny O St. Joseph Baltimore $ O) ‘ gkoo* Yard | (Kansas City gu roisV ¢ A vital nation-wide service Meat b Money may be telegraphed, but who ever heard of meat by wire? Yet day by day your retailer is able to supply you with just the kind and quality of meats that you desire, because a vast network of copper wires binds together the nation-wide organization of Swift & Company. Chicago is the focal point of this great electrical ‘‘nervous system’’. Here, ina single room, the instruments of tele- graph operators click off 6,500 messages a day—10 every minute. Back and forth from Fort Worth, Tex., to Boston, Mass., over 7,500 miles of private wires, flows a constant inter- change of telegrams with 18 different cities: Boston asks for this; Omaha offers WH’ NY * \\ } \ . y Wire that; New York makes a request; St. Paul can supply it. Telegraph and tele- phone are used interchangeably. From minute to minute, at one cen- tral point, Swift & Company has to keep in touch with both live stock mar- ket supplies and distributive demand. Over-supplies of meat are: thus mini- mized, and shortages are avoided. Per- ishable stocks never pile up at points of origin for want of market information. Day in and day out, the largest cities and smallest hamlets are unfailingly supplied with the kind of meat they want, in the quantities they need. Only nation-wide organization and the highest efficiency make possible this economy and evenness of distribution. . eo Swift & Company Founded 1868 Owned by more than 47,000 shareholders OS & Ce

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MAKE THIS CHART YOUR GUIDE HE correct grades of Gargoyle Mobiloil for engine lubrication of prominent passenger care are specified below. If your car is not listed here, see the complete Chart at your dealer's The grades of Gargoyle Mobiloil are indicated by the letters shown below. “Arc” means Gargoyle Mobiloil Arctic Fellow winter recommendations when temper- atures from 32°F (freezing) to 0° F (zero) prevail Relow zero use Gargoyle Mobiloil Arctic (except Ford Cars, use Gargoyle Mobiloil “ EB”), Runk Cadillac Chandler Chevrolet FB ether miod Chrysler Dodge Brothers Durant 4 besen Ford Frankha Hudson Super 6 Hupmobile - Summer Cidemediie 4 Oldamedite 6 Overland Reo Rickenbacker 6 Rickendecker 8 Stes Studebaker Willys-Kanighs ¢ Witiys-Knight 6 Are How to buy From balk 20e—y0C0 isthe fair retail price for single quarts of genuine Mebiloil trom the barrel or pump, For Touring Convenience—the sealed +-quart can is ideal for touring or emer gencies, Carry 2 or 3 under the seat of your ca* For Your Home Garage—the 5-gallon or r-gallon sealed cans—or 1§-, 30-, or 5 ¢-gallon steel drums with convenient taucets All prices slightly higher in Southwes tern, Mountain and Pacific Coast States SATURDAY EVENING POST Ford Long Life Did you ever say this about your Ford? * H, YES, I’d use Mobiloil if I had a more expensive car! But I don’t see why a cheaper oil won’t do just as well for my Ford.” the molecules of the metal surfaces to be lubricated. This process is termed “AD-sorption.” Adsorption develops a tough, semi-permanent If you have ever said that or thought that about your Ford, won't you look these facts squarely in the face? It makes no difference whether your car costs $5,000, $2,000, $1,000, or is the efficient, but modestly-priced Ford—in time friction wears out all motors, The time depends upon the lubrication. Specialization pays Specialization has won for the Ford car its unique position in motordom. Spe- cialization has resulted in “The Economy Car.” Specialization has given Mobiloil “E” its unique success in protecting Fords. Specialization has made Mobiloil “E” the economy oil. In quality Mobiloil sets a world standard. The real quality or “character” of a lubricant accrues from the presence of certain highly complex com- Mobiloil “ E.”’ is the Vacuum Oil Company's specialized oil for your Ford Engine lubrication surface, dis- tinct from, and independ- ent of the liquid oil film—almost an amalgam of oil and metal. This definite characteristic of Mobiloil “E” is your real protection against fric- tion and wear during periods of operation when the liquid film is missing, as in starting; or when the liquid film is un- duly stressed by excessive heat, pressure, speed or otherwise. These complex petroleum compounds which promote adsorption are not found in all crudes. And their peculiarly valu- able properties are largely destroyed if subjected to destructive refining proc- esses. Our methods of manufacture are designed to preserve these vital lubricat- ing qualities of the carefully selected crude stocks from which Mobiloil is made. The Ford Motor Company has pro- duced for you an un- usually sturdy car. But the life and economy of pounds within the crude stocks used. These petroleum com- pounds possess the prop- erty of entering into enduring association with aan Mobiloil Make the chart your guide your engine are largely in your own hands. If you really want lowest cost per mile you cannot afford to accept less than Mobiloil protection. The Guide Sign to Ford long life Branches in principal cities, Address: New York, Chicago, or Kansas City. VAC ULULM: « OFL.. COMPAN FE April 25,1925

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 41 (Continued from Page 38) and merely formal suit to adjust the rights of his son and heir, aged twelve, at school 100 miles away. Suppose you call in your lemon-colored valet, give him a blue paper, in- struct him to proceed to the school, hand the paper to the youthful lord, who will be expecting him, and then come back and swear that he has served the summons. His senior lordship compliments the messenger on his smart appearance and intelligence, and Arthur Napoleon French, bursting with pride, departs on his errand. At his destina- tion, he drops into the little inn near the school to fortify himself with bread and cheese for the ordeal of handing over the document. Sipping a glass of beer, there sits in the taproom the second gardener of the duke whose ances- tral mansion is hard by, and to this gardener the proud emissary of the consulate darkly hints of secret service, and sleuthing, and of the immense ability required to trail an innocent-appearing boy to his lair. Hunger and vanity appeased, the secret agent completes his errand to the satisfaction of everybody. But the second gardener is walking out with the under housemaid at the school. In the gloaming that evening she is a-quiver over an unusual incident; a chocolate-colored coon has come and given a law paper to His Lordship; the parlor maid has seen it done “and His Lordship was that pale over it!’’ “‘It’s him then,” the excited gardener cries, and tells of his taproom talk. And so is rumor born, and quickly it spreads over the countryside and finally reaches august circles. His grace ultimately meets His Lordship in a London club and utters bluff but sincere condolences: “Boys will be boys. Whatever it was, there’s plenty of time to live it down.” Suppose that there comes to you a lawyer’s letter, narrating how your messenger has “‘ wantonly attacked the character of an innocent youth,” severely reprimand- pulpit, and by any kind of license, that of bishop or regis- trar, requires three weeks’ residence of one or other of the parties at a specified address. Inquiry found a way to technical and legal fulfillment of all demands. I immediately engaged rooms for the happy bridegroom-to-be, sent a suitcase with his name on the label, saw that his name was printed in the Clifton Chronicle in the list of residents, and on his arrival rushed him to the registrar’s office, where the license was duly issued. The bride was very pretty and very grateful, and sobbed with happiness on her husband’s shoulder as she waved her mother’s vessel out of sight. The union of church and state brings many anomalies, relics of a time when the formalities of marriage were en- tirely ecclesiastical. Traveling Americans, especially if they are Episcopalians, usually prefer the bishop’s license to the official license, issued over a counter in a public office. The two are equally effective and legal, but the one is thought more dignified. But the requirements of bishops differ in the different dioceses. In some cathedral cities a non-British applicant is asked to produce official evidence that he or she is free to marry. This is a kind of certificate that no consul ought to give, even to his friend, and its issuance is now forbidden by State Department regulations. I have listened unmoved to angry expostulations from men, to tearful entreaties from women. As a result of this unreasonable requirement, I have known persons to be permanently estranged from their church. By the way, I remember once accompanying a friend to the gloomy offices in Doctors’ Commons by St. Paul’s Cathedral, where the Bishop of London’s license was to be procured. We found the aged clerk surrounded by many venerable vol- umes of records of obnoxious mustiness. “May I smoke?” I asked, choking. ‘Please do, sir. I should like it. Tobacco is bad for germs. These are records of 1666 and I don’t think they’ve been opened since that year of the great plague.” One more random recollection: A colored troupe of American concert singers was deserted by its manager and the members were in great distress. Kind people in a Welsh village near Cardiff got up a concert and asked me to preside. When I came to take the chair in the school- room, I found myseif in the center of a half circle. Min- strelsy flowered its brightest in the San Franciseo of my youth, when Billy Emerson, Billy Rice, Cool Burgese and Thatcher were black stars whose light shone across a con- tinent. When I saw myself seated as interlocutor in this half circle of sable faces, I thought of those days long gone by and with difficulty kept from addressing a question to Bones. I know that as I announced the successive turns my voice insensibly adopted the hard clear utterance of the interlocutor, whose business it was to carry to the farthest corner of the topmost gallery the point of the joke. Too Learned for a Consul HEN I spoke of absence of monotony, I did not refer so much to the amusing small incidents which enliven the consular career; my thought was rather of something more fundamental. Few young aspirants for the foreign service can picture through imagination the intense mental exhilaration of a complete change of environment. None can know that duties—and pleasures—vary so greatly in different posts that each one may provide in part a new occupation. The stimulus of change cannot, of course, greatly influence those not keenly interested in all phases of life, and I have known more than one consul general of many positions whose point of view was as it had been when they left their home towns. Thirty years ago I asked one who had long before been ing you for your “‘indiscreet choice of a process server,” and demanding the address of this agent, ‘‘in case, on further consideration, it should. be thought necessary to bring an action for slander.’’ What would you do? What I did was wrong, for the results were dreadful. I wrote saying that it was thought best to send the proc- ess server in person, that he ‘might offer such explanation as was possible under the de- plorable circumstances.”” Un- suspecting, Arthur Napcleon French proudly departed for distant London bearing this letter, while I gazed after him in genuine sympathy. Whether he was sent to the Tower, or imprisoned in the donjon keep of His Lordship’s castle, I cannot say; but I never saw him again. The lawyers, questioned, reported in effect that he had left their office alive but crestfallen, and I think that he shipped as steward onaliner. Sol lostthe best servant I have ever had. Cupid Awing HILE I was still mourn- ing over the loss of my one-eyed servitor, I received a letter that roused me from lethargy. The leader of a per- sonally conducted European tour wrote from Rome that his party would arrive at Bristol on the seventeenth of September and embark for home, all but two, the next day. The writer of the letter and a young lady would re- main behind and they must be married before the departure of the bride’s mother. Here was a problem under the com- plicated English marriage laws. The license of the Arch- bishop of Canterbury was the simple solution, for under that license marriage is easy; but the cost is nearly $150, and I consul in Naples whether the Venus Callipyge ir. the mu- seum there was in truth the most beautiful Venus which has come down to us. He had never heard of it. Perhaps consuls are not popularly expected to know anything of art or literature, for 1 remember saying to a very courteous and efficient official of Norse descent in the Library of Congress, “ Your name sounds as if you had stepped out of one of Ibsen's plays.” “But I understood you were a consul,” he said, obviously surprised. “So I am.” “But how should a consul know about Ibsen?”’ he aaked. It is easy for certain tem- peraments to wrap themselves in dullness and make even of the foreign service a thing of routine. Those who confine themselves to association ex- clusively with the official set and their own fellow country people, who worry themselves about precedence, the correct thing and their own dignity, may make good officials from one point of view, but they will lose a lot of fun. In the diplomatic branch, it is aimost impossible to become case- hardened and inaccessible to new impressions, but it is easy for consuls in provincial cities, which may be dreary. Some consula may vehe- mently deny that there is ab- sence of monotony; but the first years in any profession are agrind, and beyond these years extends a vista which stretches round the world. Promotion is due;- delightful reverie; eager talk with the wife; will it besome Old W orld European town, some palm- fringed island of the tropies, some ancient Asiatic city where ten servants leap at a clap of the hand; some alert smart community of South America? Disappointment inferred that my correspond- ent was not rich. Marriage by banns called from the ‘Tobacco is Bad for Germs. Since That Year of the Great Plague" These are Records of 1666 and I Don't Think They've Been Opened probably; but there comes, (Continued on Page 209

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42 RUG HUNTING IN THE ORIENT By Jordan Strand oceupied the Caucasus, and those of us who were not person# grata were obliged to leave for Constantinople. The furnish- ing of new quarters brought up the rug ques- tion again, and this time I was not so hesitant over pitting my small store of knowledge against the skilled sharks in the rug mar- kets. I, or they—according to the angle from which one views the proceedings began to nibble at once. Constantinople has always been the world’s chief Oriental-rug market, and until a few years ago most of the buyers for the big European and American houses, as well as private collectors, brought their hunt for rugs to an end in its bazaars. Now the big firma have gone into Persia and established their own factories, where rugs and carpets can be hand-woven to Western taste, old pieces copied and old designs altered or new ones devised “‘as per order.” Tourists and private collectors still, however, usually close the quest at Constantinople, first be- cause travel in the rug-making countries is beset with difficulties, and second because if there are any old or period rugs left any- where in Eastern lands they will inexorably flow into the Turkish capital. As a matter of fact there are probably today more antique rugs in the cities of the Atlantic seaboard than there are in the whole Orient. I found that nearly every foreigner in Constantinopie had his pet rug dealer. Polite society in foreign circles talked of its favorites and showed the same keen interest in the brands and prices of rugs that polite society in the United States often takes in its pet bootleggers and their brands of hooch. There was in Stamboul an American, largely diluted with Oriental strains, to whom the Americans fiocked, while in Galata an Englishman with a Levantine twist took care of the conservative parties from the British Isles, and a Franco-Syrian in Pera enjoyed the patronage of the only pilgrims left who had any money. These men all knew their countrymen and how to do busi- neas with them. They told the truth about their rugs, and got good prices for it. Maybe they would lower the curtains when they showed a rug, or let a ray of sun- light in where it would do the most good. They would keep their voices down to a murmur as they told you why they liked the precious thing, and stroke it back and forth, with the pile for silkiness and against the pile for the warm, deep tones lurking there, while they talked honey. They tried to make you feel as though you were in church. But if you bought of them you could be fairly sure of getting what you paid for. [: FEBRUARY, 1921, the Bolsheviki Hadji Ben Adhem’s Selling Talk FIYHE independents and the smaller fry, such as I, were powerfully impressed, but more with the prices than with the bright strong Kermanshahs, the silken Kashans or the opulent Tabrizes that these favorites oftenest succeeded in equipping our compatriots with. We, sniffing the wind for something for nothing, poked about among the bazaars and the dark little shops in the side streets, occasionally digging out a pet for ourselves, which, in the end, usually behaved as other pets do and bit the hand that fed it. There was a daily rug auction, except Fridays, held in the Great Bazaar, but we learned to keep away from that. After frantic bidders had run the prices up on us several times and we had escaped, or failed to escape, with rugs that noliody wanted when we tried to auction them off again, it was borne in on us that the daily auction was no place for a simple honest foreigner with a few paper pounds burning his pockets, and we didn’t go there any more. We liked better to paw over the unpretentious stocks of Hadji Ben Adnem, whose shop you recognized by the mangy piece of carpet like a mule’s ear nailed over the door and the old iron pot inscribed with Arabic characters that stood on the threshold. Eadji Adhem was an honest man. He said so, and in the same breath swore to you that he had one price for every- thing in his shop and that he never lowered it. And he never did— that is, hardly ever. The shop filled three stories, and from the moment you entered it on the first floor until you had climbed up to the carpet room on the third you had to wind yourself like a shaving through a A Rug Made in C ¢t THE SATURDAY EVENING POST welter of battered brasses, cracked porcelains, the iron and pewter cast-offs of families that had long ago gone themselves into the limbo of forgotten things, all thrown together as if they had drifted in with the wind and the dust through the windows. Hadji trailed you, and purred mild phrases, English or French, as your case called for. “Now dees rug, madame,” was his invariable formula as he stooped to pluck one by the tail feathers from beneath a pile—“I buy heem just now from poor Armenian mans. He not know anything, and I pay only forty livres. It is beautiful rug, but I not say if it is good. True rug, I think, good color, good dyes, good everything; but I not say. You say. You like? Ver’ well, you pay me fifty livres, ten livres enough my profit. I no want make big profit, more like maybe you make big bargain. Maybe you not like so much,” throwing it quickly aside and picking up another. “ All right, no matter, How you like this one?” Such ingenuousness was not merely attractive, it was captivating; and more often than not when the customer departed the rug went with her. Hadji Adhem’s ability to impress foreigners with his naive honesty was a gift from the gods. I have heard him talked over at dinners, in circles far from his, where navy ladies who had seen every- thing, and hard-eyed dowagers who believed in nothing gave him their full vote of confidence; and at the very moment our feet would be resting on tributes to his sales- manship, as painted and common drabs “‘as ever I see.”’ Yet one did pick up good things in his shop now and then. A British friend of mine got an old Bergama from him for a few pounds, which he afterward sold at Chris- tie’s, in London, for many times its cost; and the wife of an American navy officer showed me an exquisite little blue Ghiordes, as thin and fine in texture as an old Senna, for which she had paid him about thirty dollars. It was patched in places and a bit frazzled, but sound enough for an antique of the eighteenth century, and if it wasn’t gen- uine it was near enough to fool me or almost anybody. I could never explain these exceptional bargains satis- factorily to myself in the light of my own experiences with of a Ghiordes of the 17th Century Apri 25,1925 him; nor, although I heard of some, did I see any to equal them in Constantinople. Perhaps it was really true that Hadji had bought these from one of those Armenian mans who didn’t know anything; but that he himself knew no more is hard to credit. Most of his rugs were of the common sort that one can find anywhere in Constanti- nople with a commercial value of not more than twenty-five dollars, and with no artis- tic or collectors’ value at all. Or if they had artistic merit they would be so frayed and full of holes that their commercial value was practically nil. After all, holes and substi- tute patches of yarn of inferior dyes in a rug are not beautiful. Those to whom these defects make no difference are either inex- perienced or undiscriminating. The defects bear no relation to the age of the rug and it is silly to pay for them, as a good many people seem willing to do. In the last anal- ysis the commercial value of a rug is the only basis upon which its price should be calculated, and that is rated upon so many square feet of sound material at so much per foot. A Certified Dealer NE day in my rambles I saw an old ‘eraghan in a window. It was a grimy window, staring into the street with all the horrors in its eyes that incongruous reds, blues and greens mixed together in a com- mon little rug-shop window can have. But the Feraghan was real and I liked it. From beside me suddenly a soft-spoken gentle- man, in what we in some parts of the South would describe as a canoodling voice, in- vited monsieur to come inside and see all the beautiful things, free! ‘“‘ Nousavonstoutes les choses antiques, cher monsieur. Les Amér- icains sont toujours nos clients. Voici!” He took my arm in a grasp as confidential as a whispered secret and dragged me to a panel which hung beside the door and in which he had framed a number of testimo- nials under glass. They all read about the same: This is to certify that during my six weeks’ stay in Constantinople I bought a number of Oriental rugs from Mr. ——- ——— and am ag pty with them. I found that I could always depend upon his word and that his prices were exceed- ingly low compared with others. He was very obliging in his efforts to find good pieces for me and I can heartily recommend him to Americans wishing to buy rugs in Constantinople. (Signed) JOHN BLANK, U.S.A. It was not the persuasive epistles of John Blank and his associates under the framed glass that drew me inside, but a combination of the Feraghan in the window, the cajoling pressure on my arm that, though disagreeable, could hardly be repelled without offense, and a most intriguing white eye, like that of a Texas horse, which twisted around in the gentleman’s head, decidedly in- dependent of its mate. There was nothing much in the shop, a few odds and ends of curios, mostly from Idar or Birmingham, and sev- eral piles of very second-rate rugs with two or three rolled around sticks and stood upright in the corners to give the impression of their being valuable. The whole place looked as if it were not doing very well. The main attraction was the man himself, and it was plain that one couldn’t like him. His manner was too engaging and familiar; yet there were those friendly letters beside the door, undoubtedly genuine, and nothing but his arresting eyes to account for them. The one was a warm merry blue that twinkled as it looked straight through you, while the other was as hard as a scoured marble and looked anywhere at all. They were humanly true and impishly devious, and they seemed to offer you an irresistible challenge to come and try your skill against the combination. I accepted the challenge, and went out of the shop with the little Feraghan under my arm, well pleased with the result of our first bout. The price was reasonable and the rug all that its owner claimed for it. He followed me to the door and called after me, ‘‘Now that I know your goat, mon cher monsieur, we shall make some business together, hein!” . Not long afterward I found him awaiting me at the entrance to the club, and somewhat to the amusement of (Continued on Page 44)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i - XY : j | ot t" ' Vo ~ ge e “an ‘ ~eQe \ \~ i \ = — ——N ENS of thousands of people have been buy- ing the Hupmobile Four for 16 years to assure un- troubled daily service from their motor car. They know that the Hupmobile does stand up better and longer; and that it does cost less to keep. The Hup- mobile they buy today 1s the fortunate heir to all he superior engineering, excellent materials and con- scientious workmanship for which Hupmobile is celebrated. Knowing these things, they virtually have only the choice ofeitherowning a Hupmobile, or going directly against their better judgment. Series R—the greatest Hupmobile in diameter; one-piece wind- opening and closing with the doors of all the fours produced in 16 years shield, with cowl ventilator; nickel —are standard equipment on the —carries features and equipment radiator; head lamps and cowl touring car. which are popular and highly lamps in nickel and enamel. Spe- 7 sie 81225, Revie Clas desirable:—Balloon tires, wit cial Hupmobile storm curtains— 94, ” 31375; Ponenean ‘on oan f*) 50. powerful, reliable brakes 14 inches easy and quick to handle, an Pris FO. 'B: Detreit, sox to be added, GET ACQUAINTED WITH YOUR HUPMOBILE DEALER. Is A GOOD MAN TO KNOW HUPMOBILE FOURS AND EIGHTS

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(Continued from Page 42) my fellow club members at the windows he literally dragyed me away to his shop. “T have found this and saved it for you,” he said almost tenderly as he unfolded a piece of dirty sacking and brought out a little Bokhara about three by four and a half feet. It had the color of oak leaves in late autumn and was in perfect condition. It was hardly an antique, but it was in the near neighborhood—say, sixty years old—and toned down by the years of unhurried usage in some smoke-stained barba- rian tent We haggied over it wordily until, after some disparagement on my part that the rug didn’t merit, I ventured upon the question of price. He cocked the hard eye at me. “Of a tourist, mon cher ami, one should ask not less than one hundred and twenty livres. But with monsieur, who is a connoisseur, it is different. With the tourist, bah! One deais with him to make money, but with monsieur it is a pleasure. I should like monsieur to have pleasure, too, in dealing with me, and so one must not talk of hig profite or the rapport would be spoiled. Monsieur, I will tell you frankly: I paid sixty livres for this carpet. From you I take not more than 20 per cent profit.” He figured it out on a torn scrap of paper. “Seventy-two livres, and I am content,’ Close Buying DIDN'T believe him, but as I liked the rug I 4 offered him forty livres, or about twenty- seven dollars at the day’s exchange. It didn’t budge him, nor did cautious advances, five at a time, until | stopped at sixty. “ Ami,” he pro- tested, “I swear to you that I am telling the truth. Sixty livres it cost me, and in New York they would ask you not less than one hundred and sixty doilars. It is because monsieur loves rugs and I feel a great sympathy for him that I ask him only 20 per cent profit. I would shame monsieur and myself to ask less, is it not so? For I swear that from any other client I should THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 it was as impossible to harden oneself against him as against a child. He was so human in his rascality. Moreover—and perhaps most of his persuasiveness lay in that—he genuinely loved rugs. I saw him once, when he could not have known that I was looking, take up the folds of the beloved Bokhara I had bought in Tiflis and kiss them. Other dealers were content to lure me in to see what they had in stock and to let me go out again if I saw nothing to arouse heart's desire; but this man eaught the range of my taste and pocketbook to the dot, and searched the cran- nies of Constantinople to satisfy them. He brought me either good specimens of modern rugs at moderate prices or fairly old rugs of diminished commercial value but of still some beauty and distinction. I bought a lovely old Shirvan that he had picked up somewhere, all soft yellows and old gold, set in a dark blue field scattered over with flowers as carelessly as if they had been tossed away by the fingers of little children; and he found me a Yomud that must have been overlooked at the sacking of Samarkand. It brought to mind the dripping blades of the horsemen of Tamerlane, and ruined temples, and the jewels torn from the ears of the women as they swept across the plains of India. There were one or two others, almost as desir- able; and when the echoes of the dealer’s repu- tation nagged so insistently at my ears that | could no longer ignore them, I was still con- strained to admit that my purchases from him were of better value than any others I had made in Constantinople. Growing Suspicions HEN my languishing interest began to betray my suspicions, the dealer was quick to interpret the signs aright, and he knew what to do. He showed me his books. He inveigled me into his shop once more, and took the books from a little desk, and we sat on a pile of carpets and looked them over. “Mon ami has heard that sometimes I do not tell the truth, and that take, at the very least, one hundred livres.”’ An Antique Kutah, 8th Century. At Left-A Modern Rug From Baku, (Continued on Page 90) Washed to Give it the Appearance of an Antique. At Right—A Kir Shehr Rug of Very Unasual Design From Anatolia In the end I took it home on trial. As its charm seemed to increase with ac- quaintance and my friends who knew something about rugs agreed that it was worth what the dealer asked, I kept it. Used as a small table cover, it is a pictur- esque bit of Central Asia against the dull tones of a modern library. These were the first of a good many trans- actions between us, and in spite of a sense of distrust I could never quite get over, I came to know what it was to have one’s pet rug dealer, as the others had. Occasionally I could beat him down a few livres, though he al- ways insisted that they came out of the flat 20 per cent profit which he vowed he never exceeded with me. There was no doubt that his foot slipped at times along the narrow path that divided the realm of pure rugs from their doctored counterparts, but such lapses were rare and always acknow!- édged with such con- fusion and readiness to make amends that

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46 Wanted=—A Substitute for Work Some Expensive Gestures in Present-Day Business had to do with the purchase of a wardrobe trunk. The shopkeeper had extolled the merits of his merchandise, opening one drawer after another to show its capacity, explaining the security of the lock, and even giving the exterior a smart kick to demonstrate its power of resistance to the vicissitudes of modern travel. Everything seemed to point to the shopkeeper’s success in making his sale. The client, a stout, middle-aged man of farmer type, regarded the trunk interestedly, and even made a motion as though te draw his bill book from the inside pocket of his coat. So nearly was the transaction completed that the shopkeeper actually reached out his hand to receive the money, when the client paused indecisively. “Yes, it’s a nice trunk all right,” he said, “‘and strong toe; I can see that. But it looks like your price is a mite too high. I'm sure I saw the same thing in the store win- dow across the street for two dollars less, marked in plain figures on the tag.” The shopkeeper dropped his hand and looked irritably at the indicated store across the street, a flamboyant estab- lishment with great glittering show windows and an Amer- ican flag flying ostentatiously over the doorway. Only for a moment, however, did he allow his attention to stray from the business in hand. Earnestly he poured forth a torrent of argument to prove that the trunk in the store across the street could not possibly be so good as his; or if it were as goad, it could not by any chance be cheaper. He even went so far as to state that if his trunk was not of equal value to any shown by competitors, he would per- sonally eat it. In apite of these assertions the client would not be con- vineed, and prepared to leave the shop to make personal investigation as to the comparative values of wardrobe trunks. The shopkeeper made a last desperate gesture. Seizing the client by the arm, he pointed to a spot on his own show window where in a small gilt circle was inscribed the cryptic symbol, “100 %" “| guess you know what that means,” he said heavily. “I'm 100 per cent American. I don't admit the trunk in the store across the road is cheaper than mine; but even if it is, you don't want to buy it. We Americans ought to stick together. Those people fly the American flag and try to act like 100-per-centers, but they’re not-—not by a long shot. They're foreigners!" Whether or net the shopkeeper made the sale of his wardrobe trunk is immaterial. The significant part of the incident lay in the fact that he should have used his 100- per-centism as a business argument. Perhaps it was the fear of what he has seen developing for the past decades, each year of which has witnessed fewer old-stock American names on the factories, shops and offices of the country, and a correspondingly greater number of names of im- migrants and second-generation Europeans, This in spite of the fact that the old-stock American has everything in his faver--better schooling, more thorough knowl- edge of conditions, higher social standing, background of American tradition. Ti argument took place in a little Texas city and Cempetition From Europeans Quces fears have nothing to do with race, but represent the nervous apprehension of every class that senses the danger of being evicted from a position of comfortable security. Everywhere in England, for instance, one sees newadays in shop windows the sign, Only British-Made Goods Sold Here, which means that the English manufac- turer and trader is worried lest he be obliged to give up his easy-going ways to meet the competition of harder-working and harder-living foreigners. The present generation of American-born inherits a con- dition that has no counterpart in history. Our pioneer forefathers organized a vast and rich country in a fraction of the time that a similar territory was ever organized before. Fifty years ago, one may say, the United States had arrived; for at that time the organization work was practically completed. Fifty years is longer than the average man’s active business career. Therefore almost every Americar in active life today has had his experience just at a period when the rough pioneer work has been fin- ished, but so recently finished that all the natural resources are stil! substantially intact. Our generation has been able io gain not only the necessities but the luxuries of life, with jess effort than has ever been the case with any great number of people in the history of the world. The result of this background has been a distinct type of mind. From the recently passed pioneer days persists a traction of work so strong that it is considered unbecom- ing to be idle. Added to this inheritance is the sight of an THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By J. R. SPRAGUE immense and still undeveloped country that is a constant urge to activity. Against this are the existing easy con- ditions that tempt to the belief in many individuals that business can be played as a joyous game. It is thoroughly logical that only in America is the phrase used in business, “T'll try anything once.”’ Likewise America is the only place where a man may say as a gesture of pride, “I treat my business as a game.” In the countries where our immigrants have learned about life and where competition has been harsh for hun- dreds of years, the business man does not dare to try anything once, because a single error can set him back irrevocably and with no chance to regain his lost position. Neither can the European treat his business as a game. With him it is a matter of such seriousness that he dares to regard it only as a rather grim and sober affair that admits of no frothy gesture. The European business man ordi- narily gets only a single chance; if he fails in that, he is finished. In a country like America, where all tradition is toward work, but where conditions tend to produce quick results, it is almost inevitable that some minds get the idea that merely being busy means something, even without a definite sifting of the important from the unimportant. Perhaps an example of this mental confusion is the present-day tendency to shift responsibility from the in- dividual to organizations. Inspirational Spellbinders HE American passion for business organization is a con- stant source of remark. Government estimate gives the number of trade associations as in excess of 1800 and the annual number of conventions at 15,000. Besides the regular trade associations, the past few years have seen the organization of eleven nation-wide business men’s luncheon club societies, with more than 2000 local branches and combined membership approaching 250,000. Along with these agencies, there has been an enormous output of effi- ciency literature, of tabulated statistics, of government business bureaus, an increasing number of individuals who earn their living as business consultants and advisers. Recently in London I had a conversation with an Amer- ican business man whose affairs have kept him abroad for many years and who had just visited the United States for the first time since 1914. “What is going on over there?’’ he demanded in a puz- zled way. ‘In the old days I could usually see a business man when I called at his office, but this time I found it was necessary to have an appointment well in advance. The men I wanted to interview were in conference, or in Wash- ington on committee work, or at the weekly meeting of the luncheon club, or making inspirational speeches before some trade organization. When I did manage to see one of my old business friends, he principally talked about effi- ciency. During my month in New York I heard that word spoken more times than in all the rest of my life.” Whenever a demand occurs there are always those to supply it. Numbers of schools have come into existence to train young men as trade-association secretaries—a pro- fession that one recently issued prospectus described as “easily learned, fascinating and lucrative."” Other schools train for business counselors, efficiency experts, system engineers. Quite recently an entirely new profession has come into existence to cater to the prevailing passion for gesture—that of the professional inspirational orator. This new calling occupies much the same position in industry as the inspirational writer holds in the syndicated columns of the daily newspapers. Conventions and trade gather- ings compete for the services of well-known inspirational spellbinders to supply desired emotional thrills to the delegates. So popular has this form of stimulus become that it is frequently used by individual business firms whose executives desire to make zealous gesture take the place of personal effort. It is not long ago that a great manufacturing corpo- ration, with a score of branches throughout the country, found its business to be so seriously on the decline that the incomes of its thousands of stockholders were in jeopardy. The president decided that action of a strenuous nature was demanded. In such a crisis, and in view of the fact that many of the stockholders were poor people to whom the curtailment of a yearly dividend was a serious matter, one would think the president should have packed his bag and made a personal tour of the company’s agencies to April 25,1925 learn at first hand the reasons for the decline in busi- ness. But the president was a very busy man. His presence was demanded at a trade conference in Wash- ington; at a meeting of his college alumni; at a conven- tion of corporation executives. He decided on a gesture that would obviate the necessity for a tiresome personal tour of his agencies. On a certain date the twenty agency managers of the corporation were summoned by telegraph to meet at a New York hotel for a conference. Arriving, the managers found a floor of the hotel set apart for their occupancy for a day and a banquet arranged for the evening. At the banquet the only speaker was a professional inspirational orator. For an intense thirty minutes he spoke to the agency managers on the value of loyalty to one’s employer, the advancement that inevitably follows high thinking and clean living, and the importance of a never-say-die spirit in business. That was all. The agency managers went back to their posts next morning. The total cost of the conference, including railway fares and the orator’s fee, was in the neighborhood of $12,000. Not quite all either. In spite of the hired inspiration, the fortunes of the corporation continued to decline. Not long afterward it became involved in financial difficulties and was taken over by a syndicate composed largely of business men the majority of whom had arrived in the United States by steerage during the previous twenty years. The average American would resent the accusation that he is not so hard a worker as the men of other nations. We have been brought up to regard ourselves as a some- what austere, common-sense people, full of ideals of a practical nature and willing to work indefatigably for what we desire. In a word, we have been educated to think we are what Uncle Sam looks like in a dignified car- toon drawing. But can we say in truth that we merit the picture? Have not our latter-day environment and our protected national life bred a tendency to try to make our way by easy means—to mistake a gesture of work for the real thing? The Growing Desire for Ease NLY the other day I had occasion to visit the offices of a certain corporation in a great Eastern city. The president apologized for keeping me waiting; he was, he said, cleaning up his calendar so as to be able to leave that evening to attend a three-day trade-association convention in a distant city. As asign of his approaching departure, his golf bag was leaning against his desk, to be used in the tournament that was to be a feature of the convention. During our short conversation he had several hurried conferences with heads of departments, each conference being preceded by the formality of pressing an electric button to call his secretary, who in turn summoned the desired executive from his own private office. In each case more time was consumed in summoning the individual than in the actual conference. The president was indisputably a very busy man. Yet one recalled the time not so many years ago, when the founder of the corporation was still in harness, that instead of the present array of private offices there was but a single great room, in the center of which was the flat-topped desk of the chief, surrounded by the desks of his subordinates. The chief of those days was no slave to gesture. If he de- sired words with a subordinate, he called by word of mouth; the subordinate came, received his instructions and went back to his desk. Were the more modern meth- ods made necessary by greater scope of operations? Hardly so, for competition has so cut into the corpora- tion’s business that its volume is actually less than ten years ago. Since pioneer days life has been easier in the United States than in any other country. During the past ten years it has been easier still. With constantly rising prices and an eager market, almost all business men could make money, the incompetent along with the competent. Inev- itably long-continued ease breeds a desire for more ease. It is no accident that these recent years should have seen the tremendous increase in the number of agencies designed to lift responsibility from the individual and place it on some mysterious and attractive system. Neither is it an accident that even during these years of easy business, foreign names have multiplied on the signboards of the country. It is quite natural that the old-stock American should have been tempted into an attitude of easy superiority toward foreigners. Seldom has he come in contact with an (Continued on Page 237)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST When the Crowd Hides the Title its a Paramount Picture People know good shows HE news spreads like fire. Miles, within half a day. They know. They go. They fill the theatre and swamp the lobby, and sometimes a third of the house it all over again. This is Paramount’s greatest source of encouragement. Whatever Paramount puts in, Paramount knows millions will take out, and thrill too, and talk of and thoroughly GET. Nothing is lost, and that’s why Paramount can always afford to make “the best show in town.” At more than eight thousand theatres we could name you, any night, the house is jammed tight when Paramount’s the show! will come the next evening to see 10 Current Paramount Pictures Adolph Zukor and Jesse L. Lasky present “EVE’S SECRET” Starring BETTY COMPSON and Jack Holt. From “The Moon-Flower” by Zoé Akins. Adapted from the play by Lajos Biro. Screen play by Adelaide Heilbron. Directed by Clarence Badger “A KISS IN THE DARK” A Frank Tuttle Production With Adolphe Menjou, Lillian Rich and Aileen Pringle. From the play “Aren’t We All” by Frederick Lonsdale. Screen play by Townsend Martin. “THE LITTLE FRENCH GIRL” A HERBERT BRENON Production With Alice Joyce, Neil Hamilton, Mary Brian and Esther Ralston. From the novel by Anne Douglas Sedgwick. Screen play by John Russell. “Tf it’s a Paramount Picture it’s the best show in town! Produced by Famous Players-Lasky Corporation **MADAME SANS GENE” Starring GLORIA SWANSON From the famous play by Victorien Sardou and Emile Moreau. Screen play by Ferrest Halsey. Directed by Leunce Perret “THE SPANIARD” A Raoul Walsh Production With Ricardo novel by Juanita O’Donohoe “THE CROWDED HOUR” Starring BEBE DANIELS ning Pollock and Edgar Selwyn John Russell. Directed by E * THE CHARMER” A SIDNEY OLCOTT Production STARRING POLA NEGRI. From the novel “Mari- posa” by Henry Baerlein. Screen play by Sada Cowan. From the by J. T. und Jetta Goudal Screen play Cortez Savage From the play by Chan- Screen play by Mason Hopper. “WELCOME HOME” A JAMES CRUZE Production With LOIS WILSON, Warner Baxter and Luke Cosgrave. Based on the story and stage play “Minick” by Edna Ferber and George Kaufman. Screen play by Walter Woods “THE GOOSE HANGS HIGH” A JAMES CRUZI From the New York dramatic success by Lewis Beach Produced by the Dramatists’ Theatre, Inc. Screen play by Walter Woods and Anthony Coldewey Production “THE NIGHT CLUB” With RAYMOND GRIFFITH. Adapted by Walter Woods from William de Mille’s play “After Five.’ Directed by Frank Urson and Paul Iribe. Screen play by Keene Thompson. '

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 - MOTHER You will find these letters on many tools by which electricity works. They are on great generators used by elec tric light and power companies. They are on electric lamps and on tiny motors that make hard housework easy. By such tools electricity dispels the dark and lifts heavy burdens off human shoulders. Hence the letters G-E are more than a trade mark. They are an emblem of service. CcosT OF LIVING COST OF ELECTRICITY 1924 HIS is the test of a suc- cessful mother—she puts first things first. She does not give to sweeping the time that belongs to her children. An electric motor runs a vacuum cleaner for less than 2 cents an hour. She does not give to washing the time that belongs to her children. An electric motor runs a washing machine for 3 cents an hour. She does not rob the evening hours of their comfort because her home is dark. To light a room splendidly, according to modern standards, costs less than 5 cents an hour. Men are judged successful ac- cording to their power to dele- gate work. Similarly the wise woman delegates to electricity all that electricity can do. She cannot delegate the one task most important. Human lives are in her keeping; their future is molded by her hands and heart. No lesser duties should interfere with the su- preme duty of having plenty of time with the children. Certainly no household drudg- ery should distract her, for this can be done by electricity at a cost of a few cents an hour. GENERAL ELECTRIC

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 49 THE LAUGHING DEATH found them all there, made a grave study of the young man who stared at her through the fence. He was, this sloth guessed, a few months over twenty-three, unmarried, not altogether tidy, but pleasant and Tic ai, having checked up on its three toes and TLLUSTRATED NANCY FAY she submitted gravely, “the emu.” “E. g.,” ‘ By pian melily: Johnson The ai, which had been listening to this conver- sation with a growing sense of astonishment. watched them saunter slowly down the walk. She saw the girl turn to the young man and heard her say, ‘My cognomen youngish looking, and reading law in the office of a firm in Fulton Street, probably near Broadway, where he was not regarded as particularly promising, being, as his elders said among themselves, too much of a woolgatherer. He lived, her idle speculations con- tinued, on Staten Island, as roomer in a private home remote enough from all transit lines to be unusually reasonable; in fact, cheap; and he wrote back to Anniston, where his mother and sister lived and boasted of their boy in New York, on an av- erage of twice a week. Only, the ai decided, he had not been so regular with his correspondence of recent weeks; and being a mother herself, the ai wondered what had happened. None, of course, but an exception- ally intelligent ai could have told so much about Paul Paine simply from his appearance; and not even this one, as extraordinarily brilliant as she was, was able to discover every- thing about him. She did not, for example, learn that —— At that moment a girl not wearing an imitation sealskin coat stepped in front of the young man, and with the suggestion of a giggle tossed a peanut through the fence. “Take that,” she said, “you two- letter word!” An expression of deep perplexity came into the ai’s face. What had this girl called her? A two-letter word? What did she mean—a two- letter word? Reaching down for the peanut, her mind occupied with the possible sig- nificance of this new title, the ai failed to see the light of pleasure which the girl’s words brought to Paul Paine’s eyes. It was as though he were a stranger in some far land and had heard, for the first time, his own lan- guage spoken. He turned on her a look filled with interest. It may have been that her coat was not imitation sealskin, or that she was pretty and blond and dainty, or that she carried a folded newspaper under her arm; but whatever it was, he spoke to her—as naturally as he is Cynthia Bradley.” And that night the ai said to her husband, “Emil, I don’t know what these humans are coming to! Such words as I heard today I've never heard before!” To which her hus- band replied curtly, “Desist and go to sleep. Your prattle roils me.” Cynthia Bradley and Paul Paine made their way to the monkey house and looked at the ape. Then they came to the yard where were the egret, the eider, the rhea and the emu. And presently they sauntered farther and studied together the yak and the gnu. “It’s training for me,”’ he explained seriously. ‘I doubt if I'll e’er be much of a barrister, but now that I've attained a goal as a cross-word puz- zler, I thought I ought to nourish my opportunity, don't you?” “To reach the apex,”’ she agreed, “you ought.” In point of fact, she had given as much study to him as she had te the gnu. Her first amused excitement at meeting a champion, whatever his field, had faded into a curious inter- est. To her, a dilettant in puzzles, his thorough absorption in them was new and strange. She found him, though, a pleasantly comfortable per- son to talk with; a youth somewhat vaguely hopeless about his career in Jaw, but keenly alive in everything else—except puzzles. “The value of the puzzles,” he de- clared, “‘lies in their aid te the vo- cabulary. You note words unused by you ere you were initiated,” “Some of them,” she agreed again, “T haven’t used in wons and ons and wons!” “That's it!” he said. ‘Since my entry to puzzle work I have become avid for words. It is not bombast when I aver I must have added thou- sands of new words to my vocabu- ” “ Aye,” she answered, you are champion! But what of your law?” “T am utilized,” he explained, “by “And ergo, would have another white man met in the jungles of Zanzibar. “You do cross-word puzzles too.” It was a friendly statement of fact. The girl turned quickly, so quickly and ominously that he was thrown into a panic. He had accosted a stranger, and a pretty girl at that! He was stammering, on the point of a confused apology, when the girl, reassured by the complete absence of menace in him, replied. “Yes,”’ she said-—and no more. Paul laughed with embarrassed relief. “The ai,’”’ he explained nervously—“ the ai, you know— why, the ai ——-’”’ He seemed snagged on a two-letter word meaning a three-toed sloth, and the girl nodded encouragingly. ‘It’s a two-letter word!” he accomplished his sentence triumphantly. “I can’t decide which you're better at, mented thoughtfully, “arithmetic or spelling. letters are there in a bovine ruminant?” “Three,” he replied promptly. ‘‘ Y-a-k.” She smiled with pleased surprise. “That was good!” she exclaimed. cross-word puzzler!” He expanded floridly with mysterious pride. “‘It may savor of boastfulness,’’ he answered hesitantly; “‘but—but—but’’—he suddenly switched his thought— “‘may I introduce myself?” “I don’t mind a boast now and then, “Who are you?” “My name is Paul Paine.” ” the girl com- How many “Then you are a ” the girl said. “Nay,” She Replied Sotemnty. He watched her sharply, anxiously, and was rewarded by a widening of her eyes. “Really?” she cried. ‘The champion cross-word puz- zler! You're not joking?” A little uncertain which question he was to answer, he shook and nodded his head at the same time, in one be- wildering movement, for he was far too filled with pride to trust himself with speech. “What fun!” she went on. “I was just reading about the tournament you won. It must have been awfully ex- citing. And you are Paul Paine!” He repeated the vague weavings of his head. “You are‘not,” he asked then, suddenly anxious, “irate at my accosting you?”’ She glanced at him suspiciously. “T’m not what?” she demanded. “You aren’t irate or irked at my speaking to you?” He was so obviously in earnest, so plainly far from any spirit of levity, that she was again reassured and amused. “Nay,” she replied solemnly. “On the contrary, I am elated. You did not err.” He was relieved. “It was the ai,” he explained; “I was just thinking of its being a two-letter word when you came up.” He looked around uncertainly. ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind trek- king around the zoo and scanning some of the other ani- mals and feathered vertebrates?” “On the Contrary, I am Blated. You Did Not Err" McGillicuddy, McGillicuddy, Me- Gillieuddy, McGillicuddy & Mack. My aim is to try cases, torts, in court; but so far I have only been let to prepare theses. But perhaps ere long I shall be let.” They had reached the exit gate, and Cynthia turned and put out her hand. “Unless you are going downtown,”’ she said, I’ve got to get to Staten Island.” “Why,” he exclaimed, “I also live on that isle! I'l} take you home.” She was in some mysterious way pleased. On the Sub- way they studied the advertisements silently all the way to the Battery. On the ferry he pointed out to her dories, yawls, tugs, scuppers, and the orlop of a s. s.—abbr. bound for its pier in the North River. But it was she who recalled, to his delight, that they were standing in the lee of the cabins. As they left the boat he called her by her first name and glowed with pleasure when she did not seem to mind. had never, he felt, met a girl of such charm; never a girl with more whole-hearted attention in her eyes. They twinkled now and then, to be sure, but her words were always gravely spoken. She, he felt, understood him. “T hope,” he said just before she entered her home, “that you did not think I was ogling you or leering at you at the zoo.” “Nay, nay!" she laughed. late.” “ And you didn’t think I was an oaf or a zany?” “ good-by. “Your mien was immacu- He °

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50 “Net at all, Paul, You've been very nice, very charm- ing. I like you.” “Then,” he ventured, “if you are not sated with me, I should like to come to see you sometime erelong.” “Do,” she said from the door. ‘Come some e’en for a repast. And don’t,” she added, “wait an era before doing it.” mu ‘i IS seemed to be one of those rare occasions when Mr. Bradley, tearing himself away from his laboratory and inventions, chose to stand staunch and immovable on his rights. In this case it was his daughter who opposed him. ‘I won’t have him here,”’ he declared for the fifth or sixteenth time. “‘That’s all—he must be kept away.” “ Look, dad,”’ Cynthia declared firmly, “ you forget that Paul is still quite young. It seems to me that you are quite unreasonable about him. I like him; and if his cross- word-puzzle stuff annoys you, you needn't come into this room while he is here.” “Ft a cuckoo,”’ volunteered her brother Joe. “He is not cuckoo!" she retorted. “ And besides, I was not talking to you.” : He's cuckoo,”’ Joe repeated, unmoved in his opinion. “Joe,” Mrs. Bradley, looking up from the sweater which she had been knitting since shortly after the Spanish- American War, mildly reproved her son, “‘ you mustn’t say euckoo; it ian't refined.” Mr. Bradiey fixed his daughter's attention. “Cynthia,” he said, ‘young or old, he’s got to stop con- fusing me with those words he uses or keep away from here, I will not be confused in my own home and at my age. What does he ask me last night? He says, ‘Mr. Bradley, I'd like to lave before dinner.’ That’s exactly what he said! He'd like to lave!” Joe smiled cynically. “Go on, pop,” he said; “tell the rest.” Mr. Bradley looked uncomfortable. “There is no rest,’ he declared sullenly. “No!” jeered his son, “And who brought him a razor and a shaving mug?” Mr. Bradley flushed angrily. That's just what I’m trying to make plain,” he de- clared. ‘‘He confusea me. I know what lave means as well as any man on Staten island, but he confused me. I won't have it! Why can’t Cynthia have somebody around like that young fellow Bellows who used to come to see her?” “But, papa.” Mrs. Bradley objected, turned out to be a burglar.” ‘I know, I know,”’ Mr. Brad- “Mr. Bellows THE SATURDAY EVENING POST such spherical foodstuffs as peas on the flat of the ordinary table knife. He had labored on its perfection for a year, to the accompaniment of silence from his daughter and derisive encouragement from his son. “It’s not refined to eat with your knife of course,’”’ Mrs. Bradley helped justify her husband; “but millions of people still do it, and they ought to be protected in some way. Your father’s invention will be a godsend to these unfortunates.”’ Cynthia had no faith in it, but her father was elderly and obsessed with the idea. Cynthia suspected, too, that the little store on the Richmond Turnpike, which catered to a steady average of about two customers a day, was much more unsteady than he would admit. “I’m sorry, dad,” she said. “‘Let’s don’t talk about it any more. Why isn’t the invention all right? I thought it was finished.” “Finished,” said Mr. Bradley, “and sent out to the Little Giant Table Tools Manufacturing Company—my last chance.” “Why last?” “It’s the only one,”’ he explained morosely, ‘‘that hasn't turned it down. They’ve had it two weeks now, and I ought to hear any day. If they turn it down ——” Such were the workings of kismet this day that at that very moment the postman’s whistle sounded on the door- step. Mr. Bradley stood rooted to the spot, his face pale, his eyes bright. “Go to the door, Joe,” he said. Joe looked at his sister. “Go to the door, sis,’’ he said. Mrs. Bradley laid down her knitting and went, return- ing five seconds later with a long parcel. Mr. Bradley tried bravely to smile when he saw it, but he knew the earmarks of failure, and his eyes filled with tears. “IT reckon,” he said, “nobody wants it.’ He walked, tired, suddenly very old, toward the door. He turned when he reached it and said with an effort at lightness, “ Better begin packing up things, mother. We may have to get out in the street next week.” It was Joe who caught the undercurrent of tragedy. “What do you mean?” he asked quickly. Mr. Bradley came back. The faces of his family were suddenly alert, apprehensive. “I thought,” he said slowly, “that this time I'd be suc- cessful. I thought that maybe I'd put it over. I’d banked so on it; I’d spent so much mone se April 25,1925 “Papa,” Mrs. Bradley interrupted frantically, ““go on, tell us, what did you do?” “Well, mother, I'm afraid I spent money that I oughtn’t. I needed some tools and some pewter and some blue prints and all those things that inventors have to have, and—well, I had to use some of the mortgage money; in fact, I had to use it all.”” He sat down heavily. ‘“‘I was sure it would come out all right this time,” he explained dully. “TI was sure I’d get an advance roya!ty and be able to pay it back. But “9 He made a gesture of despair. For a few seconds no one spoke. Stunned by the news, they sat and looked at the broken old man. Cynthia closed her eyes. It was not much that her father had spent—six hundred dollars—but she knew that it could not be raised again, not by the date on which it was due. And she knew, too, that it would be futile to look for mercy from old Silas Gallup, holder of the mortgage, who was known far and wide as the meanest man on Staten Island. “I thought,” her father began again, “that I’d be helping —-—” No need to blame him. What had happened had hap- pened. They might as well prepare themselves for it. Mrs. Bradley—now weeping softly—could go to her sister’s home in the Bronx. But Mr. Bradley, old, tired, discouraged, what —— Feet pounded suddenly on the porch. “Cynthia! Cynthia!” An excited voice calling. She raised her head. Paul’s voice, calling again, and now there was a pounding at the door, Something whispered to her that it might mean something, that in some way this boy might be bringing news, good news, hope. She ran to the door and threw it open. Paul stood there, red of face, panting, perspiring from his long run across the lea. For a minute, while he re- mained the object of all attention, he gasped, unable to utter a word, and then he spoke in a spasmodic gush of sound, “Hoy!” he said. “Hoy?” Cynthia knitted her brows, trying to grasp the import of the news. “Hoy?” “Hoy!” he repeated. “Make him sit down,” advised Mrs. Bradley. ‘Let him get his breath.”” She, too, sensed something important. “Take your time, Paul. Sit down now and don’t worry. Get your breath.” The boy stumbled to a chair and sat for a minute, until able to speak coherently. Then he addressed Cynthia. “That word,” he said, ‘‘was iey nodded impa- tiently ‘But nevertheless was a very inter- esting young man. Outside of being a burglar he was very nice.” “Maybe,” Mra. Bradley said, “if Cynthia had been nice to j him he wouldn't have been a burglar.” “No,” said Joe “Once a burglar, always a burglar. However, I'd just as soon have a burglar around as a cuckoo,” Cynthia started te retort again, but her mother spoke first, in an effort to bring peace. “ Dad's are all upset,’’ she explained; ‘it's the invention and Uncle Ced ric.” Cynthia was in- stantly contrite She had nv faith, no sympathy whatever, in the Bradley Patent Knife, which was a table knife with a slight ridge around the edges of one side of the blade, purposed az a boon nerves ‘hoy.’” “That word?” She was annoyed in some way. “What word?” ‘“‘The one we erred on,” he ex- plained, still breathing hard. “The number six- teen horizontal meaning an Eng- lish coasting ves- sel. It was ‘hoy.’ I found it today.”’ He gazed at her proudly, trium- phantly. “Tt was ‘hoy,’”’ he repeated when she failed to an- swer. “I thought you’d want to know, so I ran over as quickly as I could.” There was still silence, an om- inous silence. “It was ‘hoy,’” he re- peated a little un- easily. “‘The word was ‘hoy.’ H-o-y, hoy. Itwas——”’ He stopped. The others did not speak. Cynthia turned and leaned against the wall, her face in her arms. Mr. Brad- ley and Joe only looked at Paul, long and earnestly. Finally Joe broke the silence. to people who were inadept at holding “Hoy !t'' He Said. “‘Hoy?'’ Cynthia Knitted Her Brows, Trying te Grasp the Import of the News. (Continued on “Hoy?"* Page 98)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST It would take the entire capacity of _ the great Buick factories more than six = months to produce the Buick carsnow os cowie henlaterasion ywnere - lig go Mr a Als tte In 1924, in the M litan District of New York, which includes the counties shown above, more new were registered than any six-cylinder car — — — even more than any four-cylinder car except one. In all America, no other quality motor car has won so large or so universal a share of public confidence as Buick. + + + BUICK MOTOR COM PANY; .:2L PRS, 2 MACHIGCAN Branches in all Principal Cities Division of General Motors Corporation Pioneer Builders of Valve-in-Head Dealers Everywhere Canadian Factories: Sine Case McLAUGHLIN-BUICK, Oshawa, Ont When Better Automobiles Are Built, Buick Will Build Them

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tv a a OS OMETIMES jite le inci dents out of life seem pro- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IEND HUSBA The Story of an Independent Woman April 25, 1925 would be a good catch. As he did not once rise to glory in anything phetic and have a dramatic veiue, like the prologue of a piay. One happened to me when | was in college, which really strikes the keynote of more than just my ‘it- tle life drama and might almost be considered a chailenge or at least an introduc- tion to a whole significant move- ment of the day Three of us were having a luncheon of sand- wiches and coffee in a little single- roum shanty built in the fence of the athletic field. We ai! preferred this eating piace to the more ele- gant restaurant provided by the college. The president of the university had just begun carry- ing out an inten- tion previously announced, and it was making quite a stir, He was sending for each of the gir! seniors and asking her what she meant todo with her life The one sitting on the high stooi at my left had already been con- sulted, and she had said she was specializing in something thet she expected to develop into a ca- reer from which she hoped to make fame and money. The other said she was going to get married and make a career out of domeatic life. That was Madge Hewlitt, who, to be sure, was not as yet engaged. Still, she was one of those popular co-eds with dimpled elbows and vivacious ways who are forever breezing across a dance floor on the arm of the college herc and tapping him intimately on the shoulder with their fans. It was such a foregone conclu- sion she would carry out her purpose that nobody paid any attention to her The Old Woman's Prophecy HAD not yet been consulted, but they asked me what I was going tosay. I answered that I was going to develop a specialty that | would work hard at and make lots of money, but that | would make a separate career of mar- riage too. My reply was given in the spirit of banter, and yet there must have been a certain seriousness back of it. For the toothless dame, aged seventy-two, who conducted the shanty, had been apparently totally absorbed in her own career of running that restaurant until my young com- ment pricked her into life. Evidently I roused something in her that is of all time and universal, for she became quite animated over it Raising a prophetic forefinger, she uttered like an oracle the warning: “You can't do both—you can’t do both.” A great many people seem to agree with that old woman, even now. Everybody, from a short-story writer to a judge in a court of domestic relations, when he wishes to effect a happy ending, pries the wife out of her job or her career or whatever life work she is engaged on and returns her to domesticity. Still, I held to my point of view and Por the Firet Time John Was Experiencing a Pride in Possessions academic, and yet never fell be- low the average, professors con- tented them- selves in their quarterly reports with the written comment that he would probably distinguish him- self in his busi- ness career. He had high cheek bones, and his face was flooded with two irregu- lar pools of color into the lower shore line of which the white lapped on either side. His mouth was the merest horizontal line, and he had very straight hair, one lock of which was unruly. He was tall, but had a look of lean strength about him. Though his clothes were al- ways tidy, you felt he was too occupied with something else to give much atten- tion to them. What engaged him at that time was the college weekly. The most characteris- tic thing about him was a way he had of looking intently ahead of him at some in- visible object and wrinkling his meant to carry it out if humanly possible, except that, with the ardor of youth, I was then far more interested in the career. In afew months I graduated from the A. B. course in that Middle Western university straight into the depart- ment of artificial flowers in a New York department store. And it was indeed a promotion. Whether I accepted this post of salesgirl— beside the millinery and just opposite the rest room—because John Pollock was on the seventh floor in the advertising, I do not know. Once I should have said this had nothing to do with my actions, but since the re- cent discovery of the subconscious self and all the muck- raking it has come in for, I seldom hazard statements regarding purposes. Anyway after I once got into the store I used to over- hear some of the women ad writers in conversation with the buyers when they met informally in the rest room. One day the manager of the perfumery department held a long, earnest, whispering conversation on the chaise longue with the girl who wrote the advertisements about it, when suddenly the latter burst out with “ You think the perfum- ery’s the only department in this store!” I felt that if I had something to do with the sweet-smelling area it cov- ered and should maybe some day get to visit the source of supply for it, I should think so too. My one earthly aim then was to get into the department that advertised it, with no conscious thought about John Pollock— having had a perfectly good chance at him in college and failed. Quar- terly reports on my standing might have read ‘Good in all the arts except that of attracting John Pollock.” He was among the six most popular men in college, and one of the very first that Madge Hewlitt practiced on. I hardly know whether his appeal rested more on his looks or the fact, which was a foregone conclusion, that he forehead into a frown. The little movement indi- cates seriousness and shows itself in many, I think, be- sides John Pollock. It is almost characteristic of young American manhood, symbolizing what they can never find words for, which is the deep earnestness with which they mean to tackle life. The College God in Business NE morning in the department store, when I was pre- tending I was a Tennysonian maiden in my bower of artificial flowers, it was awfully funny to see this erstwhile college god descend out of the elevator and stride into the millinery department with the same old serious frown, ex- cept that it was more alive, immediate and snappy —maybe he was going to justify the comment of the professors about him after all. His cheeks were still red, as when he was for- ever in the open, only I thought it was emotion that made them so. He walked into the middle of the section, picked up a spray of artificial daisies and cornflowers from the center bargain counter—where they were on sale after Easter and flung them down again as if they had been real flowers, not merchandise. He said he would like to find the woman who had recommended advertising those turned-up hats. She had neglected to acquaint herself with the fact that the stock was too low to supply the demand of one fore- noon. I kept trying to get his attention from behind my counter, even leaning toward him in the unabashed se- curity of my economic independence. When he saw me he changed his manner and hurried over. “Hello,” he said. ‘“ What ever are you doing here?’’ (Continued on Page 105) ——— Ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 -WILLYS ‘ OVERLAND: FINE: MOTOR: CARS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ! ee

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56 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE OLD WAR HORSE April 25,1925 Ne Carried Hie Lunch Over to Miss Potter's Table and Received Her Gubernatorial Bow. By Margaret Culkin Banning REYNAR OD UT what hes she ever done to B prove her loyalty to the party?” demanded Miss Potter. Her great inflexible platform voice came booming through the room, and at ite intrusion the men shifted uneasily and turned toward it. “That's true enough,” said someone feebly. “Gentlemen,” the voice toned heavily, “I have been a rnember ef this party for many years, as you know. Long befere women were given the vote I made the party my atudy—almoat, I might say, my religion. I had ample opportunity for study during those terms when my father was giving the best of himself in service to this state as its governor. That is why I say that you should test these women before giving them such honor as you propose, A place on the state central committee is one of importance, but a place on the executive body of that committee is one of the highest rank. This young woman may be bright; she may be clever. J ask you this, before you give her such distinetion—are you convinced that she is heart and soul with the party, and what has she done to prove her loyalty te it?” She sat back in her chair triumphantly, half smiling. The smile was like the wrong light on her face, throwing into relief its wrecked contours, cheeks no longer firm, bones asvertive, and the yellow hair which showed beneath the edges of her hat lied unconvincingly about her age and made a last hopeless claim on beauty. “There's no doubt that Miss Potter's right,”’ said Fred Evans: “loyalty’s the thing we've got to emphasize. There are too many people calling themselves members of a party and refusing to tie up toit.”” He glanced sourly at Tony Marlow. “A lot of Bolsheviks and half-baked re- formers don’t do an organization any good. We have just one thing on our hands now for the next four years and that’s te build up a good working machine. You can’t do thet if all your committee isn’t with you heart and soul. I'm like Mies Potter. I want to know what this Mrs. Mackay has done to be put on the executive committee, I admit we need a woman on it. I think the woman who belongs there is Miss Potter herself. She's been in this 7tctervuseT RATE SD GRANT party for years and she knows the game. What's this other woman's contribution?” “Mrs. Mackay certainly worked in the last campaign and put it over,” said young Tony Marlow, lifting his thin ascetic face, which wore the thwarted look that political meetings usually put upon it. “Oh, yes—and no. Looking back at that campaign it was a walk-away. A lot of people got publicity out of it who capitalized the fact that it was bound to be a land- slide.” Tony’s eyes grew more grim. “Well, you’ve got to admit that Mrs. Mackay is a power among the women. If you want to hold the women ee “Don’t worry about that, Mr. Marlow,” said Miss Potter; ‘‘we'll hold the women. They only need to be told that it is their duty to themselves, their homes and their children to support the party and they will fall in line. They must not question, they must learn.” “But they do question,” said Tony. “We can’t hand out that old dope any more and get away with it. If they aren't satisfied they'll play it alone. The last campaign showed that.” “The last campaign showed nothing of the sort,’’ con- tradicted Evans, Evans was the official mouthpiece of the real boss and had every right to make final conclusions. He always ob- jected to what Marlow said. It was a mistake having Mar- low on the state central committee, and if Evans had had his way Marlow wouldn’t be on it now. The ghost of ancient coquetry was in Miss Potter’s eyes, as well as bitterness. “Don’t worry about the women so much, Mr. Marlow. I think you'll find, on more complete experience, that nearly every woman follows some man’s leading.” That turned a laugh on Marlow and did not displease the others. “What are They Doing Politically?"’ He Asked “These highbrow society women al- ways are a flash in the pan anyway,” said Senator Jenks. “I’ve seen them around the capitol making nuisances of themselves. They obscure the issue.” He snapped off the last senatorial phrase brusquely. It was clearly not a group devoted to the interests and praise of Patsy Mackay, and Tony glowered in silence while the discussion on women was finished. There were only three women present and none of them took exception to it. Besides Miss Potter, there was another large rawboned woman from Deer Lake, who technically represented Deer County, and a small worn-looking woman with all the traces of hard marriage about her clothes and bearing. “These society women get in wrong sooner or later,” added Evans. “Miss Potter knows. She’s worked among the ladies for years.” “They antagonize the plain home woman, Miss Potter. “Tt’s just a fad with them.” They elected the executive committee. That too was an unpleasant innovation, largely forced by Marlow. An executive committee should be quietly appointed by the chairman, after several secretive conferences with gentle- men whose names and faces never appeared politically. Instead, here was Marlow making a point of having. it elected by the general committee and putting it over by the mere fact that those who opposed it could not state the real reasons why they opposed it. Then he wanted to put Patsy Mackay on the executive committee, the woman who had made so much trouble and gained so much noto- riety in the last campaign. Evans gave the sign and they stepped on that, putting Miss Potter on the committee to represent the women. That done, and the four other mem- bers of the committee having been chosen so skillfully as to make the net result of the elected committee approxi- mately the same as an appointed one would have been, the meeting adjourned. Most of the members lingered for those after-conferences when important word may be passed from one to another. Miss Potter, rising to her (Continued on Page 58) ” explained = a ne O_O tm ee tt, ene ct tein en eS = NR a ert —

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58 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Centinued from Page 86) height, and accompanied by the smal] worn woman, waited her turn and then cornered Fred Evans. As Miss Potter began to talk, the worn woman drifted away as if noting some signal. “Now that the campaign is over, Mr. Evans, I'd like to have a little talk with you, We did some very effective work in my publicity bureau. I hope that it is going to seem advisable to keep that bureau alive. The party needs ite efforts.” “No doubt about that,” agreed Evans; “it’s all a matter of financing such a thing, you know, Takes time. Money's tight.” “ After such a victory?” “ Almest easier to get money before victory than after it.” “Some woman in this state should get recognition in a permanent position. That bureau could be very useful.” “T guess that's right.” “T have never asked anything for myself. My slogan, like that of my father, has always been ‘service.’” “Sure,” he said. “ Now, Miss Potter, just let it ride for a while. I think we can fix that up if we get the money. You're dead right in the main. We ought to have a per- manent publicity office with just such a person as yourself in charge. As soon as we can ——” “But I would be grateful if it developed soor. My own plans ani certain necessities ——-”’ “You bet, we all would! Now I tell you, you just use all the drag you've got with certain parties. Get your friends to talk that proposition up for you. You do that.” She thanked him and went away with her air of mil- dewed beauty and power, and Evans looked after her, sucking at « cigar. “Great old war horse,” he said to the man who joined him, “isn’t she? I remember when she was a beauty too. Lovely Alice Potter! She was a young woman when ber father was governor, and they always said that she kent him there three terms. His wife died while he was in office ard there was only the one child. She almost ran this capitol for some years—all the politicians did what she wented. Lord, she had brains! Svcill has them too.” “Did Potter die?” “No-— better ifhe had. He's in a sanitarium somewhere. Hasn’t got anything. He was caught in that panic the Patsy Went Upe stairs Hamming. She Had Uncen: sciausiy Chesaen @ Defleant Irish Tune year after he got out of the State House and pretty well cleaned up. Never caught on again politically. I wouldn’t be surprised if this old girl takes care of him with what she picks up here and there. She’s no chicken now. She must be fifty-five or thereabouts. But how she does know poli- tics—and every politician on the map.” “They ought to take care of her.” “Sure they ought. But you know how they are. She’s wise enough to know now that there’s some stuff to pass around at the end of this cam- paign and she means to have her share—oh, nothing much; enough to keep her alive. Coming to her too. She sent out an awful lot of publicity in this campaign; writes a good deal of it too,” Miss Potter went to the corner with the small self- effacing woman who had come to the meeting with her, and then went on by herself), It wasa bleak March evening and the air was raw after the close heat of the hotel room where\, the meeting had been held. ~ She shivered as she held her \ coat around her neck so that . the strips of worn beaver on it met, and she looked eagerly down the street for a sight of her infrequent street car. It came at almost blue with cold, to the boarding impecunious daughter of a former governor cheaply. There was no one in the hali as she we stood on the hot-air register warming her cold absorbed in thought. Then, meditatively still, she went into the little tele- phone closet and dropped a nickel in the slot to call a morning newspaper. “Is this the news room?” she asked. ‘Do you want an item about the meeting of the state central committee to- \. night? They paid a great tribute to the work of the women in the campaign and especially to the work done by the state publicity bureau conducted by Miss Alice Potter. Miss Alice Potter is the daughter of former Governor Potter. This is one of the other ladies who was at the meet- ing tonight. I thought you might like to mention that Miss Potter was elected to the executive committee of five also, in which capacity—I said ‘in which capacity’—she will represent all the women of the state politically.” She did not care whether the reporter suspected that it was Miss Potter who spoke or not. Let him verify the news. It was true, but she did not want to have it snowed under with a lot of other news. This might get her a headline. It had before. She went with dignity, as befitted a woman who had been a governor’s daughter and known many notables, to her cold little room, and by the ungenerous register there she wrote several! let- ters to the “certain parties” of whom Fred Evans had hinted. Her fine well-shaped capi- tals curled like engraving as she wrote. Tony Marlow had not lingered at the meeting, knowing that no one would give him confidences. It was sheer nerve and luck, his getting on the state committee, anyway. He was discouraged and annoyed at hearing the clank of the old machinery as it began to revolve again, and for the hun- dredth time he wondered why he stuck in politics, where he was assuredly not too welcome and where they hung onto him un- graciously only for fear of the trouble that a popular Legion commander might make for them if he was released. He looked at his watch, and finding that it was only half past nine he decided to drive out past Patsy Mackay’s house on the chance that there might be a light in the drawing-room. As he had hoped, the tan- shaded lamps by the long windows signaled that someone was there, and he parked his little car outside the iron gates that guarded the big house which Joe Mackay had left to guard his beloved young widow. Patsy herself came to the door. She was dressed in some soft shade of coral, which was one of her first emergences from her faithful mourning, and she looked even less than her twenty-odd years with the soft light on her shining shingled head. Tony contrasted her grimly with the people he had just left. and took her, feet and ae 8s oy se spe reas eaerneorene'y senw ts essesieeeae En ee peeaenids oe aparece ans April 25,1925 “What is This Rumor That I Hear About Your Being a Politician?’ “Come in,” she cried. ‘How decent of you, Tony! I’m stuck here alone with idiot’s delight. Only cross-word puzzles for company. Why didn’t you come until mid- night—or is it later?”’ “Tt’s only a quarter of ten and I’ve been to a politica! meeting. I thought it might interest you.” He was shy with her, and awkward; but the thwarted k of the meeting had gone again. ‘I’m out of politics forever, but I’m interested in watch- ing the battlefield from an ambulance. Come into the I'll hunt up some first aid if they’ve treated you word-puzzle book lay on the black satin top of . Patsy closed it. “Dreadfulway to waste time. But it’s so ghastly lone- some, and youcan’t be forever reading.” “T tried to get you a real jcb tonight.” “Me? I trouble you awfully, don’t I, with my laziness?”’ “It's not that you're lazy; it’s that you're wasted.” “Lots of women are wasted one way or another—and plenty of men. That’s-no novelty. Why don’t you take me as I am, Tony?” “Take you?” breathed Tony. “If I dared ——” “Don’t be foolish. You know what I meant. I don’t mean sentiment. I’ve had enough—and it’s locked away in a precious place.” She looked up loyally at the framed picture of Joe Mackay which hung above the mantelpiece. It was the picture of a man twice Tony’s age, and he thought of that a little resentfully, though he knew that by all accounts Joe Mackay had been a prince of a fellow. “It’s a long life to give to cross-word puzzles,” he said, drawing away properly and subsiding. “Well, let’ssee. It’s a year and a half since Joe died, and I've set my house in order. I’ve read books. I joined a psychology class and packed a few barrels of clothes for unknown ladies and gentlemen in an unknown Near East. I worked pretty hard in that political campaign, lining up armies of women to vote for a number of gentlemen in whose integrity I trust so deeply that I’m afraid to read the “You did the best work in the campaign.” “No, I didn’t. You know it was the crowds of others who did it.” “You led them.” . “Oh, hush, Tony! This isn’t necessary. We got across. That’s all that matters. I think we were right and that we didn’t preach any buncombe. That satisfies me.” “*What I wanted to have them ask you to do was a reg- ular political job,” explained Tony. “I wanted you to go on the executive committee of the state central committee. There are five people on it—one woman. I wanted you to be that woman.” “Obviously it was not unanimous,” grinned Patsy. “Poor fools,” said Tony comfortably and uncharitably from the depths of a red velvet chair. “You think I look like one of those political crows?” “You don’t—never have—and it doesn’t matter, be- cause they won’t have you.” (Continued on Page 82) —_—— — — atm Se ee SS ay a en PS a a Oe “~e EES, om ——— ee o as, Se

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60 FIVE wafers of rich milk chocolate in this New Croquette Package HERE is just one thing that makes milk chocolate taste good—-and that is a perfect blend. In Switzerland, over a half cen- tury ago, Danie! Peter achieved it just the right mixture of rich creamy milk and the choicest of coceca beans. ‘Today that famous secret blend has been moulded into a mew form —-the new five cent croquettes— and packed in a perfect five cent package. Don't be satisfied with ordinary milk Try Peter's today—in plain bars, almond bars, or croquettes. The fine rare favor will delight you. Peter Cailler Kohler Swiss Chocolates Co., Inc., 129 Hudson Street, N. Y. chocolate. Daniel Peter invented Ats famous milk choc olaté over §O years ago tn Switser- hand PETER’S High as the Alps in Quality | Blake. | mean to cash my checks.” | hand out on the table face up. | mean to get my money from your safe THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ONCE IN THE SADDLE | downstairs that I left there with Jake Henry. Well, well!’ He looked up smil- ing; his voice was soft and pleasant. “How | much did you elevate it, Mr. Blanding?” “Two hundred and fifty.” “*Let’s see,” said Pliny. He counted up a stack, five chips at a time; he sized up the remaining chips. “ Two-fifty isright. Think | I’ve got you beat, too, Mr. Blanding. But I’m not so sure about Fowler here. Well, well!” He rose to his feet gently, smiling | down at Fowler. ‘You see, I’ve only got four tens,” said Pliny. “And I’m afraid you might have a straight flush—club flush, nine at the top, or thereabout.” “Here, here, what’s all this?’’ snapped “What do you mean?” said Pliny. “I He spread his “And I “Keep your nose dry,” now. Lafe Yancey rose, Bud with him. “More checks to cash,” said Lafe. Fowler growled in his throat. “Are you trying to make out we're crooked?” he splu ttered, half rising. “Sit down,” said Pliny pleasantly. His es were dancing. “T wouldn’t say much if 1 was you. There’s only five of you fel- lows, et there’s three of us. So it stands ou to sing small. Got that money counted, 3lake?’ He did not turn his head. “Not yet,”” mumbled the house. The four at the table sat stupefied. Lafe smiled kindly at them. lay out the pot, why don’t you?” he otha “Raise him back, Fowler. The house rules let you dig, you know.” “Now’s your chance, Fowler,” said Bud | encouragingly. “You've got scads of money. Go to it!” Fowler answered never a word. The four | sat in crushed silence. There was no at- | tempt to play out the pot. They were caught with the goods and they stood in mortal terror of these three smiling devils. | “Now we'll go downstairs. You first, Mr. Blake,” said Pliny. “You dissolute hag!” said Bud affec- tionately, and chucked Pliny in the ribs. “Go on, you and Yancey, and get your money. ri l stay here. Whistle when you're ready.”” He beamed benevolently upon the four men at the table. “‘Now you boys go on and play with the pretty cards,” he ad- vised. “I wouldn't go downstairs now, if I was you. Mr. Mullins is feeling a leetle mite petulant, I think.” No answer. “T¢ — bea Foor ee 3 yet, ood idea to practice up a “You need it.” ut up!” said Tham. “Think you ool on’t you?” “Regular thity th icker,”’ agreed Bud. “Come on, Bud,” called Lal e from the stairway. ‘Let's go up to Pliny’s hotel.” “Well, good night, boys. Let us know who wins that pot, will you?” said Bud. Young Tommy Garrett met them on the steps of the Carson House. He was visibly excited. “Here's a pretty howdy-do!” he cried. “What's the matter? Trouble at the well again?” “No, no. Paymaster robbed above Webb this afternoon. You know where the road comes off the mesa—the short cut to Sara- ossa? Well, that wall of stones on the ower side of the grade—the holdup tore down a piece of that wall and then built it up again, teetering, on purpose, ready to fall, but lookin’ all right on top. Dirty dog was afraid to face a man with a gun, even when he could get the drop on him. And sure enough, when old Taylor come along, the wall gave way and his little old car | tip over with him.” “Hurt him any?” “Some. Stunned him. When he come to, | the money was gone and he was right sick. Nothing serious; but he might have died there for all the chance that cutthroat gave him. He hobbled into Webb.” “What time was this?” asked Bud. “I don’t know exactly—didn’t have | time to ask. They got a bunch together and | went out there. Found a horse’s track, shod all around, coming from the east, the other side of Webb, to this place where the car was wrecked. From there that track made a bee line across the flat to Salamanca. One | of the crowd dropped by to get me and we | overtook em about sundown. Got so dark (Continued from Page 27) we couldn’t follow the tracks, so we lit out for Salamanca. Down below town, in the willows there by the railroad track, we found a saddled horse tied in the brush. Shod horse—tracks about like them we saw—and he was all gaunt and drawed and dried sweat and pretty well played out— dun horse with tiger markings, tied with the bridle reins. Come daylight, they’ll fol- low the tracks back to where we left ’em— or the sheriff will. They wired to him and he’s coming on a special. But it’s a sure thing—dead open and shut. The man that got the Webb money rode that horse in here and jum a train for Mexico. They notified the sheriff and he’s wirin’ his de- scription to El Paso and Deming and Albu- querque—everywhere.”’ “Why, how'd they know who the man was?” “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Why, some of this crowd knew the horse and the saddle and the man. You fellows know him, likely. Ford— Pinky Ford?”’ “Never on God’s green earth!” cried Lafe Yancey. He was on his feet, as if he had been lifted by the hair. “That boy is straight as they make em. Someone has stolen his horse.” “Was there any rope on the saddle?” said Pliny. “Why, i Why? ” ‘Listen, fellows, I just came from Ford’s place.” Pliny’ 8 voice was thick and hoarse. EThis is a frame-up, and worse than a frame-up. That horse was left there to be found. That’s why he wasn’t unsaddled and turned loose. Pinky was to bear the blame. Ten to one that boy has been killed—fifty to one! Come on, let’s get to our horses and I’)) be telling you. We've got to ride! Never mind your own horses; we'll get some at the livery stable and save time. Unless we get those mountains hunted out before rain comes, we'll never know what happened. And it looks black and lowery now. “So he went up there to meet Pelly,” concluded Pliny as they saddled in savage haste. “‘And Pelly killed him there. Or maybe the sheepmen killed him. They went out with the idea of making trouble. It was Pelly, I guess. He was aimin’ to ae Sweetwater , Spring all along. So elly rode the boy’s horse in to Webb and robbed the paymaster. And now he’s rustled another horse and gone back, inno- cent, leaving the blame for that dead boy to carry—unless we find him. “Bud, you go out to the Circle M and take Tommy with you. Find out where Pelly is and where he has been. Then take them peelers and make for the foot of Prairie Mountain. Follow up all tracks and see what has happened; work on down toward the DAY ranch. I'll meet you somewheres, and I'll bring along Ford’s saddle horses for remounts.. I’ll go to the DAY ranch, riding this horse halfway and leading mine. Then I’ll turn him loose and ride Epidemic in. Lafe, you know the country best. Get the best men you can find— Aleck Berdine for one.” “ Eddy Early rode in last night,’’ said Bud. “Get him, Lafe. And have Aleck bring his field glasses. I'll get mine from the hotel as I go by. Take the best men you can find and ride Prairie Mountain. You don’t want a mob—you want a few men with heads on their shoulders. Work Prai- rie Mountain, follow all tracks, find Pelly, find the sheep herders, find Pinky Ford! Take any fres horses you find and ride like hell! You're riding for the big brand now.’ no,” said Tommy Garrett. wii T WAS late dusk when Pelly tied the dun horse in the willows below Salamanca. For nearly two hours he had lain hidden under a cut bank in the bed of the Térmes, half a mile farther down, where the dun horse would not call to some chance trav- eler on the road; long hours of fear, fum- ing. eae for the dark and escape. e took the rope from the saddle, and a filled canteen. From the back of the saddle he took the roll that Pinky Ford had tied there; he unrolled the slicker, took out the rolled blanket, rolled up the slicker and tied it behind the saddle again. He had eaten the last of his provisions at sundown, throwing the flour sack into the narrow waters of the Térmes. Close to the wagon road, where he would be seen by the first passer-by, he tied the dun horse by April 25,1925 the bridle reins. He picked up rope and blanket; also a small and heavy canvas bag. Heavy, with reason; in that small bag was all the gold from the paymaster’s wrecked car. Most of the money, so far as value was concerned, had been comprised in a neat pee of bills, now tucked a in the osom of Pelly’s shirt. There had been sil- ver, too; heavy sacks of it, left behind per- force; but Pelly had not been able to leave the gold That was too rich a prize, though in his flight he had found it a burdensome en- cumbrance. Bearing these possessings, he followed a little acequia for some two hun- dred yards to a pasture lot he knew; asmall field of alfalfa, where old Munroe kept three or four ancient ponies in remem- brance of better days. With small difficulty he herded these veterans into the one fence corner which was not pit dark by reason of overhanging cottonwoods. He spoke soothingly to them, and they quieted down, knowing his voice. He tossed a rope on one and led him out, but rejected him as being shod. Pelly’s need was for a barefoot horse. The next cast was more successful. The noose fell on Porfirio Diaz, and Porfirio wore no shoes. Pelly spoke to him pleasantly. “Well, old-timer, think you can make out to carry me forty or fifty miles, hey?”’ Porfirio came cheerfully, walking se- dately side by side with Pelly without tightening the lead rope. He was a wise old horse, used to the caprices of night riders, and he had known Pelly a long time. It is entirely — that he expected a trip to Madrigal. They passed through the barbed- wire gate. Pelly knotted a halter to Por- firio’s nose, he spread the folded blanket on Porfirio’s patient back and wriggled up, rather handicapped in his activity by his golden burden. He left the road at once and struck across the plain, crossing the rail- road farther down. He breathed freely now; the dangerous part was over. It had been hard to wait there in the old river bed, where discovery meant ruin. If some Mex- ican boy had wandered there hunting rab- bits at sundown! Bart Munroe might not come to his pasture for a week. Even if he missed Porfirio tomorrow, Bart would blame it to the mischief of Salamanca urchins, who had done the like before, favoring Bart’s horses because they were known to be safe and gentle. Pelly avoided trails at first with wily caution; but this was tiresome to both the horse and rider. After a few miles he turned into a trail that headed toward a high pass between Rueda Peak and the Circle M country, straight for Prairie Mountain. “Porfirio,” said Pelly, “I’m glad you’re fat. This riding barebacked is a new one, and it’s going to be mighty tedious yet, with this wearisome sack of gold to hold on your withers,” He was in high spirits as he rode. He re- viewed the events of the last thirty hours with wondering admiration for his own cleverness. He had thought of everything; his ape worked like a clock. The shod tracks of the dun horse arrow straight from Ford’s place to the scene of the holdup— these would cinch the case against Ford if they followed the back track that far. But they wouldn’t do that. Men hated to fol- low back tracks; they always wanted to go the other way. The horse and saddle would be known as Ford’s; everyone would be sure he had jumped a freight for north or south. For, why else would he tie his horse there? If he didn’t take a train, then where was he? He had to be some place, didn’t he? And no one had seen him. No one would have a doubt as to Pinky’s guilt. As for himself, Pelly, there was no reason in oe world ‘why anyone should ever sus- + him Tae had been good luck with it all; Pelly acknowledged that. Taylor now; he might have been forced to shoot old Taylor, 4 he hadn’t wanted to do that. Stubborn old fool, Taylor; he would shoot with one- tenth of a chance, maybe without any chance. It had been lucky that the smash-up had knocked him out. Not hurt bad enough to die or gla | like that; just enough to get him out of the way and so he couldn’t recognize anybody. But was that luck, really? It had been a clever idea to fix the road that way to upset Taylor’s car. Maybe it was more brains than luck after all! Only, he had merely planned to (Continued on Page 62)

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62 Watch This Column te porte pore di tie" MARY PHILBIN and NORMAN KERRY have a de- lightful romance in ‘Fifth Avenue Models,”* and I recommend it as a clean and inapiring love-story which ought to appeal to everyone. I am anxious to have your written opinion of it. Muriel Hine wrote the original story under the title “‘ The Best in Life,” and its fine success should be no less in pic- ture form. Again, as in ‘Merry Go Roand,"’ this winsome woman is the “poor girl” and this handsome chap the “rich young man.” The conclu- sion is what we all like to see. The big scenes in “The Phantom of the Opera’’ are artistic triumphs. The chase of the “Phantom through the mysterious sub- terranean vaults ia thrilling in theextreme. The detail of these cellars is complete, so also is the detail in the great fashionable audience which attends the presentation of the opere of “ Faust” on the night when the “Phantom” makes his first ance. We have agreed with IN CHANEY, who plays the “Phantom,” not to show him in his remarkable make-up in advance of the picture’s pre- mier showing. The premier showing will be at the Curran Theatre, San Francisco, April 26th, the prices ranging up to $2.00, “Dangerous Innocence” features LAURA LA PLANTE and EUGENE O'BRIEN. We know of no couple on the screen who constitute a more ideal combination for a romance of youth and beauty. The picture is based on PemelaWynne'scaptivating novel,“Ann’'s An Idiot,” and was directed William Seiter, who made ‘‘The Fast Worker.’’ “TheLast Laugh,” inwhich EMIL JANNINGS is featured, hes a most unusual plot and bears the dis- tinetion of having been praised by a// the critics. It takes a mighty good picture to accomplish that, but I am eager for the public's opinion. What is yours? Coming soon: VIRGINIA VALLI in “‘Up the Ladder’’; HOUSE PETERS in “Raffles’’; ALMA RUBENS and PERCY MARMONT in “A Woman's Faith’’; HOOT GIBSON in “The Saddle Hawk,"’ a fine story of the West. (arl Laemmle President. | (Te be continued next week) Send for the “Phantom” magic package which comes without cost to you. UNIVERSAL PICTURES 730 Fifth Ave., New York City | | Getting pretty well fageed out. | sleepy— | one box car. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 60) take Taylor at a hopeless ro be 80 there would be no shooting done. hat Taylor had been knocked cold—that was luck, if you like. But the rest was brains. Call it half and half. One more little piece of riding and the trick was turned. “I'll be glad when that’s done, though. And , how sleepy I am! Wish that money had all been paper. This gold is an infernal nuisance. Gosh, I’d almost give | half of it to go to sleep!" eet someone? Not in a year! No one living between Salamanca and the Circle M ranch, and no water in the fifty miles. Nearly another fifty miles from the Circle | M to Ford’s place, either one of them, Lookout or Sweetwater; more than that from Lookout Tank to Salamanca. A tri- angle fifty miles on each side and nobody | living in it, and no water except at the cor- | ners. Nobody living outside the triangle, either—not to speak of. Outside of the three towns, you could take all the men on Purgatory Plain and in all the mountains clear around Purgatory, and put ’em all in And what a carload that would be! Hard men! Fat chance of meet- ing anyone in a country like that! No, the danger was all over. Only, if it would just rain good and hard, and wash out all those | tracks! No one to see them of course. But the record was there, if there was only some- one to see them—someone interested enough to notice. “Good Lord, Porfirio, I almost tumbled off! I do believe I was asleep!” The man had ridden long and far, he had lost sleep, he had been under a terrific men- tal strain, stunned by the shock and horror of sudden death, torn by greed and fear, fiend-ridden, keyed up to an unnatural ten- sion by excitement and suspense as he waited for his victim, sick and shaken with terror as he fled, laden with the evidence of his crime, through the warm bright after- noon and across a clear open plain, in a country relatively inhabited, where at any moment he might be encountered; where, nerved by desperation and fear, he had been keyed to kill without mercy to insure his own safety. There had been time for sleep when he had crouched in the river bed; but he had not slept, straining with a frenzy of impatience for the safety of night to come. But with the feeling of safety doubly sure as Salamanca was left behind, the man’s overtaxed powers failed him; his bones ached, a stitch burned in his side, his legs cramped crueily, weariness and reeling sleep made every step torture to him; he clutched at the mane as he rode, and cursed the gold he bore. Porfirio sensed the failing mastery and made his pit slow and slow; with every hour Pelly ell behind the schedule he had set for him- self. The night grew overcast and chill. Pelly had no guess at the hour. The stars were hidden by a veil that was not cloud or mist so much as a threat—a threat of rain. The time came when Pelly’s w and fevered brain could stand the n no longer. He slipped off, spread out the blanket and fell to troubled and broken aati ot for | ha at sleep was not for long—perhaps an hour. Taylor and Pinky Ford came to his side, both shot, and shot by him; they clutched him with bloody hands and he woke with a cry of terror. No more sleep for him! He rode on, and as he rode he looked up at the dark and starless sky. “Tf it would only rain!” The night wore by; and with the light, fear fell upon him. The smell of rain was in the air. A bleak dawn found him still far out on the plain, | though he had hoped to be in the 7 pass | above Rueda Peak. He thought wit fresh terror of all the tracks upon Rueda Moun- tain, of the chance that might bring some man there to read that story—of what they might find there. “Oh, God, if it would only rain!” Every bone was a bruise, but he doubled his rope and urged Porfirio to a smarter EVENING POST ce, a strong and steady fox trot. The sun roke dimly through. Pelly suffered in the body, but his brain grew somewhat clearer. Porfirio climbed the pass, he went down the other side; then came at last to the ridges of Prairie Mountain, above where Pelly had staked his horse forty-eight hours ago. Forty-eight years! And now if anyone found Porfirio with marks to show he had been used, then they would know that somebody had ridden to Prairie Mountain from Salamanca. Someone—and who? Pelly ed. Yet if they found Porfirio shot, it would be worse still. Then they would insist upon knowing. He must take the chance. He turned Porfirio loose on the ridge. Groaning, stumbling, he climbed down into the cafion, bearing his burden of gold. His staked horse was dreadful to see, gaunt and drawn, his flanks tucked up like a - houne’s. Long since, he had eaten all the grass within his reach—grass washed out and without substance at best: he had gone without water for two days, his eye was hollow and lusterless. “Why, Pinhead!” said Peily. “I didn’t know it would be so bad!” A new alarm seized ype Ae He dared not let the Circle M see Pinhead in that condition. They would suspect—any- thing. He must haveastory. . . . Hehad staked Pinhead; the horse had broken loose, pulled up the bush to which he was tied, had wandered off on stony ground where he left no tracks, and so had got tangled up and starved until he was found, stumbled upon by chance. That would account for this gnawed circle in the grass if it was found. But he would have to go to Lookout—he had no choice. He couldn't go back to the ranch until Pinhead looked different and until Pelly felt different. After a night’s sleep and something to eat he would see everything in a different light and tell a convincing story. But what would he do with the money? Bury it—hide it in the rocks—for some- one to find? If someone came here, seein these tracks, followed, found where he ha hidden it? His fevered and exhausted brain came always back to the one thought. Some would come, the sheepmen would come, his own cowboys would come; they would see all those tracks, they would grow curious, they would follow the sign, they would find the money if he hid it. They might even find—the body. . . . He would go straight to Lookout, he would claim he had been there all the time, looking for Pinhead, who had broken loose with the rope on. . . . If it would only rain! No doubt the sheepmen were upon the hill right now. iy take this wretched blanket of Ford's. e dared not leave it, for it might be found; he dared not burn it, the fire would be seen or the ashes would be found, smelling of wool, and set men wondering. He must ride abroad, bearing the evidence of his guilt on his saddle—the bianket and the gold. He might hide the id, taking the currency with him. Couldn’t ury the currency. Nothing to put it in to protect it from the wet, from gnawing vermin. But the gold? “Damned if I do!” said Pelly. ‘I wish to God I had never touched it! But I’ve earned it, every cent. I'll take it to Look- out and hide it there. Then if it ever should be found, it will be Ford’s doing. I won't touch it for a year—for two years.” He rode forth, slow and stumbling. The clouds were black and low on the hills and wisps of fog hung in the cedar brakes. In the first range of hills between Prairie Mountain and Lookout, he turned aside to a little tank, miscalled the Indian Well. On a slope of bare limestone, some harder rock had lodged on a projection; there, spinning with the infrequent floods of a thousand centuries, it had worn a smooth round hole in the solid limestone, had ground it deeper and ever smaller, grinding itself smaller in the process, leaving a pot-hole, polished and smooth, nearly two feet wide at the surface and tapering gently to six inches at April 25,1925 the bottom. Within the memory of living man this boring stone, bright and hard and round, had fitted on the floor of the well to tell the story; some unknown and vandal hand had carried it away. The place was known and guarded; the cowboys covered it with a flat slab of limestone so that water might run under to fill-it but cattle could not drink it, so saving it for the needs of men. Pelly lifted the slab and let the luck- less Pinhead drink, with bending knees; he staked Pinhead in the nearest grass and flung himself down to the black sleep of exhaustion. He woke in the late afternoon. The fogs were low on the hillsides, the day was dark and gloomy, a thin shivering mist drifted through the iron passes of the hill, veiling the valleys to vague and unfamiliar out- lines. There was no wird, and no sound. Pelly rode wearily on into the silence and the coming night. Day faded as he reached Lookout. . He unsaddled at the door of the little house. He carried the saddle through the door. He went out to the stone forge beneath the juniper, where don f shod his horses, and brought a pick and shovel which leaned there; he took them ‘into the house and closed the door. He spread old newspapers on the floor; slowly, carefully, he shoveled the ashes from the.hearth and piled them on the papers. Ther he bent with pick and shovel, digging with frantic haste to make a deep hole where the fire had been, piling the earth upon the hearthstone. Twilight fell chil and gray as he worked. From a cupboard on the wall he brought two five- pound baking-powder cans with tight covers. In one of these tins he placed a package which he took from his shirt, and into the other one he crowded a small canvas sack which he brought from his saddle. He twisted the covers tightly on the tins and laid them in the hole he had dug; he cov- ered them deep with the earth piled on the hearthstone, sweeping up every grain; he tamped the earth down. Then he covered the earth with the heaped ashes, working swiftly in the darkening room. He crum- pled up the newspapers and threw them in the fireplace, he knelt and touched a match to them, he piled cedar splinters upon them. As the flame blazed up he added slim sticks of split cedar, standing them on end. The cedar crackled merrily, the warm firelight lit the room. Pelly drew a chair close and leaned forward, spreading his hands to the cheerful blaze. His haggard face relaxed and he drew a long sigh of relief. He was safe at last. After a little time he leaned back in the chair, lifting his feet to warm them at the fire; his eye wandered about the room and came at last to the corner where the coats —. A stern eye met his, a hard implaca- ble face looked forth from between two coats. Pliny Mullins stepped out into the room. Pelly collapsed to a huddled heap. Pliny came to the fireplace and leaned upon it; he looked down at the chair. “You have a gun, Pelly,” he said. “‘ Look, I have both hands on the mantel.” A face looked up at him, shriv- eled in hopeless misery, voiceless, implor- ing. Pliny bent down and took Pelly’s gun. “IT saw you coming,” he said. “Com- ing from ie Mountain, weren't you? Where did youkill Pinky Ford? You'll take me to him in the morning, but you'll tell me now.” The woeful huddle stirred; a voice came from it, croaking, horrible. “Not that! Not murder! His horse fell with him. The tracks will show if it don’t rain. . . . On Prairie Mountain. He was dead before I got to him. I was behind, riding slower. The tracks will tell you. Pliny threw open the door. “There will be no tracks on Prairie Mountain,” he said. “It is raining, and it’s ri harder every minute—and you hang for murder!” (THE END) = a ns —— ai —————————— —t— EES Sr at aS Sa

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Doors three feet wide permit access to rear seat with- out disturbing passengers in front. The Paige-Jewett one-piece ventilating windshield not only lifts but can also be tilted outward if desired belt moulding, rounded back, colorful permanent lacquer finish, new type upholstery, are other unusual features of this newest coach at only $1260. Four-wheel hy- draulic brakes (Lockheed type) optional at sight extra cost. All prices F. O. B. Detroit, tax extra, PERMANENT =: THE Jewett Announces The Newest, Smartest Coach—*1260 8 pres an air of newness and refreshing beauty about this new Jewett Coach. And the reason is obvious. It is new—in every detail of its construction, In name and design it’s a coach. But in the qualities that make for permanence—long life—roadability—it so far surpasses the average coach that comparison only accentuates Jewett’s leadership. Examine it! Admire it! Everything about it gives evi- dence of the long, careful study that Paige-Jewett engi- neers have given to this popular type. Among the first to acknowledge the strong public tendency toward coach design—yet restrained on the side of soundness—Paige- Jewett engineers have refused to give the name Jewett even to so popular a type until they were able to build the proved qualities of fine closed cars into the new Jewett Coach, So the Jewett Coach appears—new as this morning's newspaper—the very last word in body artistry and completeness—a step ahead of the crowd. You'll recognize in its design the smartness of many far costlier cars. Rich color enhances its custom-built appearance. New type upholstery—introduced by Jew- ett in the Coach—combines beauty with long wear. Doors are wider. There is room to enter or leave the rear without folding either of the front seats. You'll experience a deep satisfaction in this car's sedan- PERF EC TED SATURDAY EVENING POST like roominess—for here at last is a coach that 1s really built for five. And built strong—with sedan construction throughout—not ordinary “coach” construction. That means you can drive this new Jewett Coach as you would drive any Jewett closed car—with the same confidence in its ability to take you swiftly and comfort- ably whereyer you choose to go—and bring you back, satisied with your car. Long life is its greatest asset. And the Amazing New Jewett Motor As new and thrilling as the Coach itself. The same big, powerful six that has carried Jewett to the very top of its class—now improved by Paige-Jewett engineers to give still greater performance—25% more power! Just open the hood! You get the reason there for Jew ett's great power. It’s the biggest motor ever put into a moderate priced car—with power that’s ample for even these husky cars, Smooth, responsive power that you'll never find wanting—regardless of driving conditions. Now you can have this remarkable new motor in America’s newest and smartest coach-—the New Jewett. And for the shrewd buyer who will accept no compro- mise for high quality—the new Jewett Coach offers a double opportunity. The quality of the finest sedans with the intimacy and convenience of coach design. Enclosed car comfort at practically open car cost. It’s an opportunity you'll go a long way to even equal. (S40) PERFORMANCE

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fora name Marlowe sang “the topless towers of litum.”” I sing the topless tubes of Mennen. I want a good name for the | new non-removable, non-refillable, non-leakable device that now makes the Mennen Shaving Cream container | as inimitable as its contents. Instead of trying to denature the capricious cap, Mennen has abol- ished it. Just move the Mennen knob a quar- ter turn and a hole magically appears. After you've squeezed out enough cream, another quarter turn closes the hole as tight as e druin. No threads to engage; no bother of any kind. It's a knock-out—as far ahead of other sealing devices as Mennen Shav- ing Cream is ahead of the procession. We've called this new patented feature “the plug-tite top.” We want a better name. if you can suggest one we like, we'll send you a hundred dollars. If more than one submits the winning name, each one will get the century check. To everyone who sends a suggestion we'll tail a complimentary tube of Mennen Skin Baim, the cooling, healing after-shave cream that's fragrant and greaseless. Let me hear from you. Contest closes july first. Use the coupon if it’s handier. MENASN SHAVING CREAM and the ver. | in the wry latet | there were other peo pi farm nM at poor enough and in- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 THE HOUSE IN THE LAURELS Hardly a half mile over the main road to the east stood the little mail ion and junction point, as ee a little wildwoods town as ever offered the newest Broadway blend of — or paren film of the patrons, with a eregational spire iting to heaven ia single poe roe aay o! n ple—dwellers in tiny passions white Congr h the there roads. He had Indeed, oo on the apple- nificant, scattered about th aon region, tucked down here ceded them te tn tapccieos, ind em in his ex was how he had stumbl butter pot! He had come upon it this morning, driv- ing with Mitchell. It stood in the porch of a oe a — pg oy an onan sheep whiskers asleep and a li old brown hen of a farm wife penny tnd ha climbed o t ton | to stop and m veya te. | In spite of himself a. | little. It was the wate tal thon ad seized him. He had almost an actual of sniffing look at that brough to the little old oe 8 rn But J. . The pot was really a find. Colonial iron—and there wasn’t much iron in colony ty Squat, with trivet feet and a date 1760, on the bottom. It had, she assured him coldly, boiled the family "apple butter for generations. nd now she’s washing in it,” moaned J. P.’s soul, ‘ “and if I mistake not, a farm- yard overall.” “Tl give you twenty-five dollars for that iron pot,” he said aloud, The + i 5 as _— on her overall. , as the pot endeared If you sell it to = one, you a aol sell it to fg * he suggested pointing to a cake of yellow soap lately un- wrapped from a cobalt-blue cover; ‘I made that soap. You are washing with it. There’s a bond between us. I'll say one | hundred and fifty dollars for your apple- butter pot.” “You don’t hev to say a word,” the little hen answered, and _— the overall. “Very well,” said J. P.; “but you'd better think it over. You could use a nice new zine tub just as well with that soap, and you could use one hundred and fifty dollars too. We'll leave the offer open, and I'll come again.” “Don't trouble.” “But Iwill. . . . Yes, I will,” J. P. had vowed as he drove off; “I'll get that 1 propose to fight it out on this line if it rai all summer.” The fact of a fight lent a certain zest to the thing. Most of his stuff he got far too easily, lovely and appreciated though it was. Fight was—fight was- —well, two-thirds of the show in anything. He ought to know. He had fought all fis life. He had fought in the factory. He had fought in the trade, in a hundred shadings of the word. He had fought even in his philanthropies, for an administering position, and he had out- witted numberless rival collectors of his kind of stuff; more personal things too; poverty imism, periods of bad health, personal loss oss; when Martha had left ‘him, doubt, that peculiar panic that will strike even the aggressive at times. All this he had fought and mastered. By fight, of course, he meant the marshaling and cann use of all his energy to a given ical end. | He loved it. It made life what it was for him, rich and stimulating. At pine “seven | he was only getting into stride. | And he meant to keep ae oe on with it, fond Wall Street to en kettles—and Bar- para The thought of Barbara and the school rose n and brought a shadow with it. The se Sol —the fine flower of his altruism, the dear object of lon secret planning, , - Yorn: ~ e's aoe and a free gift to factory made in Barbara’s name—the yung People ton Foundation in the Industrial Arts— ; was to be begun in the autumn. That (Continued from Page 31) sumptuous white marble Doric structure, where, through his generosity, the young people of his flock wight foster the gifts the gods had given them and learn some Pah ype plication—literature, music, the nting. No other manufacturer of ot hie” ntance had endowed such a school in his community—an organization to inculeate and enhance astral towns, ne in the American ind ee a cultu on an @ He had seen, in imagination, —_ otra flowering from it in years be por fe sym- phony orchestra, a pow ooo m Lug! t sod eek ory t pay cient Mh ace the outfit; pe i ch man’s pl: wi rships Dery whi ulidene cliunitaree, bet ceaent. strange tirade this afternoon, what had shown him that Barbara didn’t care at all to be a millionaire’s daughter. “You,” he had said in the course of their argument, ‘ ‘of all people, Barbara, ought to appreciate what the power of the gift means; what it ens mean to A young Tso”. nning life, possessed talent b ana ie way entirely smoothed; all pr ene Grek all Werden; lifted by the endowed-scholarship system; to have his wishes fulfilled in advance and be free of any kind of entail. Your own life should let you-realize what that means.’ And then she had said it, her eyes dark- es her cheeks flushing. erhaps,” said Barbara, “that’s wh I'm against it— because I do realize, father,” then, as he stared, she swept on: “Oh, pethaps you'll cali. me ungrateful, and, ven knows, I don’t mean to be; but what I want for these students is—what I want our school to give them—is the chance to.work for their education, and win it. Because it does something to you, winning thin Because to me struggle seems so preston,” * she faltered, finding words; “‘be- cause that’s the one thing | can’t have. I'm given everything. As you say, I know the power of the gift, and that’s what I mean, father. It’s—well, in a way, it’s ruined my life. What I mean is, your strug- gle “~ ees winning it—has stopped an, Ont if I wanted in the way most girls do. Say, I have twenty sables; I might keep wanting till I got fifty. But even then I'd get them. Outside of the moon, there’s nothing for me to want that I can’t have. It’s fixed in advance, because I’m J. P.’s daughter. Say, I want to make a trip. I ean go, and I can have your private car or the limousine, and a private suite wired for at the other end. Or you offer me a yacht as you did last spring. Say, I want to sen a message—there’s a private a to use or a private secretary to trust vi hing fixed, all oiled and soft. Take oeatie my- self. ep geese heme } capt ae more. But whet s the use? There’s no contest in it. meg ame! knows I can — if I want to. Everybody knows my poarle are real, my amber is honeydew is adlige of the rarest, my clothes are bought in the Rue de la Paix. I’ve never had the lovely thrill.of working for anything. Do you know, last ten Bo one _ foramen when I was w Birch Avenue, I saw one of our lit! aoe come out of a riend about the coat } what she said. . She said, ‘Gee, it took me all winter to pay it off, but now it’s mine at last, and it’s a honey, ain’t it?’ I wish you could have seen her face. I wish you could have seen ker coat. I think they call the fur muskrat bellies. . . . But that’s what I mean. That’s what I think is beautiful.” i Pooh!” = J. P. feebly. “Muskrat bellies! If that’s all you want ——’ “No,” Barbara came back, “not even muskrat bellies! Not at athing. Look at the house I live in! I can’t turn anywhere that I don’t find things shaded gd me. Athlet- ics—I’m good, or I could be. But I haven’t yet found a coach who could for- fra ou, even if I had the stuff to make a olla a Melee or class for an Olympic. —heavens, it’s won e os = areers? I’m o average little voice, some piano, a Een. lg painting. But I could wit he last word in studios and instructors and travel study, and I can’t get an honest down-to-the-bone en: I know that, because I’m J. P.’s Wait! That isn’t the worst!” Bar- quelled an attempt at speech and dealt her ace. “And men—men!” cried Barbara, and her soul was in the word. “Love, romance, marrying—the things any girl wants! What chance have I aad honest about it—at the real, t sincere > ee like any egret Any Fe noe boy would shy away from sees ¥ taking me on-—of oor an appendage to J. P. Winton. And the other kind—the pearl-and-sponge ! Heavens, I’m getting so I distrust ! Why, I could have fifteen hus- like the Woman of Shamlegh with J. P.’s money to buy them. But I shail never marry, so that’s that. . . . But don’t talk to me about the power of the » father! And that’s why I want the rial scholarships in mother’s school to be father, because it’s sweet to strugg fra that so?” “Yes—oh, I’m sure it is, father. Some- times I think — why, sometimes I think it would be lovely to have nothing; to—to just in at the beginning and start build- ing up life; to go out somewhere in a new country and have a little cabin and fight it through. Oh, I know I’m silly there, but when you have no chance Oh, you mustn't think I don’t love the soft side of life a lot. I—I probably couldn’t get along without it. That’s the feminine of me. But I'm not all feminine. I’m you too. I inherit from you, father. If I had been a son, Mandl have been like you, just exactly like ”.Barbara’s young face flamed with a te Ma ‘and then it would all have been different. “That’s why,” she had added, “this thing’s getting to be too much for me. I mean putting over my views, as a gir). You promised me a half share in fixing the policy for mother’s school and you want to take it away from me now. You won't even hear me, so I’ve got to have help, and I’m getting it. I’ve sent for Bayard Phillips.” J. P. had exploded. “Bayard Phillips! The long-haired so- ciologist! The parlor pink!” That, Barbara told him at once, was un- fair and untrue, and he knew it. Mr. Phillips had made the educational problems of the industrial class his life study. He had spent much time in France, Germany and Switzerland on these matters, and his book, Just Adjustment, was regarded as authority, as well as the essays he con- tributed to Social Survey. There was noth- ing at all pink or radical about him. “On the contrary,” cried Barbara, “I’ve heard you say that yourself. And you know his record. Why, everybody does! A Harvard man with wealth and some of the bluest blood in Amani to the classes, s just that he— he feeis that he e ought eo ‘oak for America along these lin e feels it a duty. I’ve heard you say yourself, when you’ve read his things, that he’s the most coldly sane writer on his subject in the country.” It was true. More than once, J. P. had meditated consulting Bayard Phillips on his school plans; but there was no reason why Barbara should beat him to it. You see,” she explained, “it was easy, because I heard he woo tes speak at a age tauqua up here on lake yesterday merely him to stop over and give me some advice. I put the proposition to him. Anyway, I’ve heard from him and he’s com- ing tomorrow.” (Continued on Page 66) So Fs ne s -

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST —© Dopse BROTHERS TYPE-A SEDAN Whether the buyer relies upon his own first impression, the tribute of owners, the reputation of Dodge Brothers, or whether, going deeper, he compares and examines the Type-A Sedan part by part, the result is invariably the same. He recognizes the car’s fundamental worth at a glance. He hears the sort of testi- mony a tried product inspires. And on further examination he discovers the sort of workmanship and materials which Dodge Brothers have employed in building their own good name. Donose BGrotHers Detrroir Dovce Brotwers (CANADA) Limited TORONTO, ONTARIO

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For feet at home on avenue or trail Men whose steady wrists have twitched a canoe an inch away from a shark- toothed rock sneaking under black, curl- ing water; who have matched sensitive hands and muscles of steel against a tar-

| his bag of THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 64) “Well, I must say’’—J. P. had drawn a long breath—‘‘I must say, Barbara, that ou greatly surprise me; yes, and that you hurt me. I consider this very uncalled for. I was not prepared to introduce a third person into our discussions—yet. Had I desired it, I should, of course, have done so long ago.” “But, father ——” “T think,” said J. P. with great dignity, “that I do not care to discuss this matter any further for today. I repeat that you have hurt me, Bar . And since you wich to bring in an outsider, we will do so. | We will wait for your reénforcements.” He had gone in an awful dignity to get Subs. But he was not so hurt as he pretended. Barbara's initiative really leased him. And it was true. Had she om a son, he would have expected a very different reaction from her—a different type of life. He’d have found a place for her—struggle; in the factory near him, as his successor, or in some field where it was desired. And after all, in this instance, what she did made no difference. He would bring her around, regardless of the reénforcements. He had his own conviction here. Let the Boston bean come on. Let this venerable | writing sage, this wise guy from the na- | tional bean , bring on his Harvard ac- | cent and his elderly advice! The more the merrier—for him. Fight and win—that was the stuff of life. Fi topping a slight rise, saw the d. | eighth tee. of the course. It was one of the pon's fight; who wear the souls of adven- | turers under modish coats—it is such men who know that Packards are their kind, For under their shapeliness, true to exact Convention, there's meaty sturdi- ness, toughness of fibre and honest shoe making—the pliant spring of oak-tanned soles~~the yielding firmness of calfskins tanned in the slow Scotch way. Styvle--what is it? All shoes look stylish in the show window. Packard styleis individual—it does not seck to disguise bone and sinew into dain- ty, he-flapper curves—-it's the style that goes with broad shoulders and slim waists a two-fisted style-—the style for feet chat are equally at home on trail or avenue. You'll logace Packards at a man’s store— probably the best shoe store in the city. If you don't find them, write to us. They cost from 8 to 10 doilars; a few styles higher.

Ne. 705 Ruaby Model M. A. PACKARD COMPANY Brockton, Mass. loveliest spots on the links. Here the fair- way stretehed like an emerald velvet. The air was hot, still and sunny. There was no one in sight. Only a faint hum from bees near by and the distant click of a horse reaper over a knoll. There was still a little time before he was due to meet Mason, and the rest bench looked alluring. J. P. dropped his bag and sat down to rest for a few minutes. He reached for his illicit to- bacco. Bt T HIS right, a little lower down, was a lovely little clump of woodland— young growth, beech, yellow birch, oak and soft maple, with queen's lace, blackberry brier, fern and laurel tangled around their feet. The stuff ran back some distance; he didn’t know exactly how far, though he had sev- eral times hunted balls in the fringe; but it | occurred to him how pretty it all looked in the sun, and how deserted and still. But he | knew it was not deserted. A Miss Edwards, down at the hotel, who went birding, told | him a couple of scarlet tanagers had nested in the woods up at the eighth tee, very unu- sual so far north. J. P. had never seen a scarlet tanager, but the thought of those birds led him again to Barbara. Mating, a nest-—that’s what Barbara needed. That was woman’s real constructing business. That was what she, at heart, wanted; what he wanted for her. And as she said, there | were difficulties.

| she w There is a certain pathos, an element of danger, in a rich girl's mating. So easy to part with the birt right for a mess of pot- tage, so difficult to see the girl without the background. The coin must ring true—be ure gold. But there you were! Coin! old! As Barbara no doubt would have pointed out, he couldn’t even use figures of without filthy lucre in them. J. P. hed. It would all come right presently. Barbara would meet a lar fellow—someone who didn’t give a hinky- dink about a onaire’s money, who would past millionaires right in their places when he felt like it, and who would see | Barbara when she looked like a flying bird Where, J. P. didn't know exactly tly. put when it came to , there’ Barbara would cadietend and—some of the things she had said had pricked him— realize how great a part love for her had played in his own life, in his own success. He remembered when he had realized thin definitely weg A ,on t Martha had left him forever; when he sat ina no-man’s land of the soul. Miss Stowe, the nurse, had come and touched his shoulder. ‘““There’s still the little girl, Mr. Winton,” she had said. And there was the little girl. The ti creature had flung her arms around h neck, rubbed her flock-like hair, her funny little pi nose, against his cheek, given him little tap-like kisses—and the tightness around his mind and heart relaxed. He saw his life, his work ahead. EVENING POST His work reviewed itself to J. P. That smart factory settlement—a model, ac- tually—where his workers hailed him as J. P., where gala days in his honor were held, with wreaths and bunting; where fellowship and reciprocity were the note. He saw his factories, vast acres of steel and glass that made his celebrated A ellow laundry in the gay blue jacket, the amous Toilet Floatilla, a fairy mold of pale porphyry to purify the person. Fig- ures sprang to mind—enormous, annually more a. carloads of soap that end to end could girdle a world, a Niagara of suds. We Wash the World for a slogan. “Well, gosh, it’s getting to be the truth— something like it,’”’ thought J. P. ‘We're pretty well washing Continental Europe right now—where they wash at all. And we expect to tackle Russia next spring—try to teach ‘'em how.” Baths for Russians! There was a slogan. dF. anneed to consider the concept of a washed Russia. What effect would it have politically, wsthetically? What relation was there between soap and the subjective ty of culture—literature, drama, art? What did a washed, aired body, fresh- laundered clothing, do to the mental juices? Well, you could iy it yourself. Who should say soap was not the greatest of all mission- aries? But this was not meat for a simple man on a warm August afternoon. It was pleas- anter to leave the Russians for thin American— his collection, for instance. He had collected early American stuff for ten ears now. He remembered who had started im on his collecting very well—old Pete Motterson. He had seen somebody put an old Florentine missal into Pete’s hands. Tears had sprung to Pete’s eyes. ‘Genuine Lorenzo de’ Medici,” murmu Pete— who made Motterson Ajax Threads for a living. And he, J. P., had stared jealously. Here was a kick—a thrill he was missing. Not that he wanted to cry over Lorenzo de’ Medici and old wormholes, but he wanted te know why Pete cried. Well, he had found out. It took a lot of time, some misdirected energy, patience, mistakes, and a great deal of money before he got into his stride. Why he had pitched on American colony he wasn’t quite sure. Many people did it, but few like himself fancied the provincial. He let the Sheraton and Chippendale influences alone, the art of towns and settlements, and went in for the rude and strictly contrived material of the pioneer. He collected not for any visual beauty, but intellectually, perha use in a sense he could identify himself here. He had never been able to look up his particular heredity. It fell away, under research, like the tradition of the Hanks family, in a boy og of legend, errors, ae pe i its very untutored simplicity. But og ak the name Winton occurred over and over in early disrelated records, and he believed his folk to have been on the American scene from the beginning. Small- time thrifty if uneducated people—farm- at -ewend ~_ A erg Nobody cuous but di t. sticking by his time—until, of me we reach present generation. J. P. restrained himself modestly here. But any- tiny brilliant flutterer seemed to be aware of his intention ently on J. P.’s tine finesse. pony om h the thick brush some of feet, chamber, now , empty, and just before him he saw a w: or tangled thicket - reéchoing silence April 25, 1925 of tall heavy laurels. It barred his way al- most anny and he had an impulse to turn back. hen, impelled by some unaccountable curiosity, he pushed through the stiff impeding screen and forced his “< beyond it. hat he saw on the other side, utterly astonished him. In the very middle of this little woods patch, closely adjacent to the Pine Lake golf course, and ringed thickly by these screening laurels, stood a tin cleared place, crudely plowed and cheated. At its farther end stood a house, a sort of split-log camp or cabin. A thin spiral of blue smoke rose from its chimney and a path of broken stone interspersed with grasses led from near J. P. to its door. It was the poorest, the most primitive looking place he had ever seen in these rts, Even the garden crop, the planting ere, seemed of a meandering haphazard sort, the handiwork of someone imperfectly acquainted with soil and rotation. There were beans and squash and turnips, some poorish-looking potatoes, corn of several coarse kinds, a planting of something like millet; a border of low herbs, some spikes of = blue flowers, some tufts of small ink and white sweet William. No effort ad been made to blend the rude-looking garden and sowed patches with the rougher meadow in which they stood. Stumps of re- cently felled trees thrust up j 'y, with ivies around them, and huckleberry and sedge made a gnawed and ragged edge against the hoed places. But the house was a match for forlorn- ness. So dark and low of brow, its two visible windows hardly more than slits in the log wall, its tiny cluster of outbuild- ings standing up close and no better than huts. Even the door was peculiar and un- like anything he had ever seen; a clumsy, incredibly improvised affair of broad hick- ory slabs hung with old-fashioned iron strap hinges, and a staple and bar. The door now stood slightly ajar, and whoever lived inside had an esthetic taste, for a vine of squash, half pipe, half golden blossom-bell, had been trained like a gar- land over the doorway. But what caught J. P.’s breath com- pletely away, as he looked, was a sight snes to the left of this doorway. ipped up against the house wall, their open mouths gaping innocently at him, stood seven authentic black iron Colonial eer Iv T TOOK J. P. a moment to believe his eyes. He had to get out his handker- chief and wipe them to clear them of pos- sible fog. But he could not wipe away the iron pots. There they stood, authentic, solid, beckoning. “Seven,” muttered J. P. “Seven black iron pots, pre-Revoluti: , in one place— a place that is lousy with apple-butter pots!"’ And shaking his paral J. P. plunged ioe a retriever up that grassy path to the oor. There was no sound of life. A somnolent hush hung on the afternoon air. Only the bells about the door seemed pH =, le a ee =: his caning, ringi aps for joy of summer, an egg al out ot the laurels and P sharp rat-tat-tat on the hickory panel tore through the golden stillness like a ripping knife, and in the it followed, a faint sense of unease filled him. But no one answered. LD my seemed still to sleep, and im- by an unpardonable boldness, J. P. pushed wide the door and stepped inside. It would be impossible to describe the emotion that J. P. as he stopped on the other side of that sill and saw where he stood. The room was empty and yet filled; and what filled it sent the blood pounding to his head, brought a mist before his eyes, a sense of bea hammers into his ears. For he stood in the most perfect restora- tion he had ever looked at, of a family kitchen-living-room interior of the New York colony period of the middle-eighteenth century. And with clearing and slowing pulses he knew something —that this restora- tion could be only the labor of love, the secret cache, the private museum or memo- rial tucked so uniquely away, repeating in its small but ect entirety that early American picture, of someone who shared his own hobby, a rival who collected en- tirely along his own angle; but who, though sharing the same reverence and intention (Continued on Page 68)

—— a Sn - oS ee i el Ne TC I am ee sas me er a menctiomien, ie eer separa ——— eS aan agen eee ie i caret _ a ants - Sat eae Rt ere repre <

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ideal food in ome, office, factory Milk is anture’s ideal food. Drink it i your milkman serves right Pouring Puil M three ey Serres oe THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 66) as himself, had had opportunities of contact and hase beyond his wildest dreams. For was nothing lacking here to com- pose a perfect setting for the drama of life as it had been lived in that time. And if it appeared, , for the moment, to be unguarded and unsentineled, it was only temporarily. The place, he saw, was empty of people, but not uninhabited. A meal was impending. There was a plain deal table drawn down the middle of the room with a rude form by it. This table, he saw, was spread with an unbleached linen board cloth of the period and covered with the essentials for a simple meal, A oa — mare ond one spoons, one of pewter, the second, larger, o wood. A losset, or flat plate, of wood stood by these, and J. P. could see from where he stood the yy left by the maker’s chisel marks. A folded handcloth, ancestor to the napkin, was laid near by, and a pewter mug and tankard stood next. Beside these were a basin, whose con- tour made him tremble, a low open bowl filled with something like curds of milk, and—perhaps tithe to that esthetic strain that set gourd bells ringing in the door- way—a pot with a growing plant which J, P. saw was, most strangely, a tomato, two But in the fireplace were other prepara- tions. Beyond the edge of a matted worn cowhide, spread before the hearthstone, the low embers of a great fire still gleamed, with a quantity of hot white ash banked at the back. from these, he saw the ends of two blackened unhusked ears of corn, several very small gnarly baked pota- toes and a plaited-willow bake basket in which still smoked a loaf of dark meal bread or cake. A es penepleton en- folded J. P. Whoever li here, collector, curator or guardian angel, fanatic owner or meticulous hireling—lived to the very letter of the times. * But this is impossible,’ muttered J. P., and he went up and looked more closely at the fireplace. It was a jewel, deep-throated, wide of bay and equipped to perfection. “ Years of work to track such stuff —a pretty penny,” he reflected, examining the equip- ment in excitement. It was all there. | There was, he saw, the ancient clavel | piece, where the original owner had dried | strings of quartered apple, pieces of jerked beef, medicinal herbs, in the old times, There was the lug pole, the great stout log spanning the chimney lugs, blackened by many fires. The lug pole was to be dis- laced a little later in history by a new- angled contrivance called a crane, but this was a very fine, very perfect example of the older implement. He knew a man who had paid five hundred dollars for one not nearly so perfect. He saw, touching each crude contrivance, that it carried the full line of hooks for those great pots outside, tram- mels, gib crokes, twi crokes, hakes. His connoisseur’s mouth watered. Colo- nial iron! There were two sets of dogs—a high and a low, the finials of the second in the negro’s-head design. J. P. stepped back. A set of trivets in the hearth corner caught his eye, a powder horn anens at | one side. By the hearth stood fire tools, a leather bellows, a broom of rushes. There was a musket on the wall, and a second | wooden form drawn to the ingle. There was also a low stool with a seat of braided bass- wood strips, and—treasured for its rarity, no doubt—a single huge armchair, the only | thing with a back in the room. No right- minded person today would care to sit in it, glacial, forbidding, foursquare; but it | was beautifully handmade, a blend of the Carver and Brewster types. There was nothing in the range of J. P.’s that was not handmade, hand-forged, hand- contrived. His knees failed him suddenly. He sat down on the basswood stool. But chao a hundred beckoning forms © i drove him to his feet again. Here on the | mantelpiece stood a Betty lamp and two | great glass flip jugs. One was Dutch, a clear with a red fuchsia painted on the side, the other was Spanish, like a | clouded amber. Oppasiae him stood a large maple dresser with hand-pegged joints. It was covered with utensils, some coarse | porcelain, a little and rude home- made wooden bowls and plates. Before it was spread a homemade hooked rug in a | bright wreath and pinnace i and | J. P. saw in opposite corners si | laid before two chests, respectively, a join chest and a spruce. On the latter stood a flax basket and hatchel. J. P. got out his | handkerchief and wiped his face again. small wizened ripening fruits. EVENING POST The sunlight filtering through the two slit-like windows, the open door, laid broad gold bands shot with prismatic motes against the shadows of the room, and b: ht into high light various new treasures. He saw the whole outfit and kit of the domestic flax weaver at hand. Out of a corner rose the curve of the flax wheel and beside it a t loom. J, P. himself owned two very ne looms and this, he saw, was a worthy competitor. A swift, near at hand, was empty now, but the loom was set for its work, with a skarne of full-wound spools for the warp. Praag pe cette had been suspended mi , for the warp was co’ ly pegged and a bout of the finished stuff already rolled over the warp beam. J. P. examined this linen. It was thick, softly heavy, perfectly knotless, like a sheet of pale silvery lead foil. The hand that had pegged out this stuff and guided the weft was the hand of a genuine artist, he knew. He moistened his ‘li , touched carefully this ect rectoration of an almost lost art, fingered the accouterments of the frame, the sley, the tomble, the pace weight, the bore staff. It was as he turned away that he saw the slaw bed. Fastened up on the wall, with the hooded cradle, gay with Dutch color- ings under it. He had been trying to get this type of slaw bed for years. The great- grandfather of boarding-house folding beds, of Pullman berths, the great hinged frame was held flat up on the wall and out of the way by two wooden flaps, or shutters. Re- leased, as J. P. knew, with four sockets for crude wooden legs in its corners, it would drop into place to hold perfectly its cow- hide mattress, goose-feather bed and woolen sheets, and keep out, banked as close as it could be built here to the fire, the nipping dread of colonial forest winters. This i he saw, was hung in faded blue woolen serge, itself a r. He cried out sud- denly, loudly, “In heaven’s name, where am I standing?” “You are standing in my house,” a cris voice answered, and J. P. whirled around. A young woman had entered behind him. At first he thought it was Barbara, in a sort of masquerade. She was Barbara’s age and looked like her. Tall, strong, with thick brows and Fay eyes, and even a pipe- stemmy nose. Then he saw that one of her front teeth was gone, and that a lock of sil- ver mixed itself in the brown at her temple. She was probably a Quakeress, from the full-skirted plain dress. Also, she carried a ve oy baby in her arms. “Your house!” cried J. P., staring in- credulously; then he recalled himself. “Madam, you must pardon my intruding, my coming in this way. I knocked, but no one answered and I couldn't resist entering. But it is impossible that—that anyone lives here as a family. Surely this is some memo- rial, a collector’s arrangement. You must excuse my surprise, but I am very familiar with what these things are worth. I—lI col- lect, myself.” “You are standing in my house,” the young woman answered composedly. ‘“‘These are just—our things.” J. P. stood transfixed. He had heard of the pinies of New Jersey and the moun- taineers of Kentucky—people caught ines- capably in the meshes of an antique past, like flies in amber, and he knew there were old types in this region, but—but nothing like this. “In that case’’—he tried to keep his voice from trembling—‘‘if, as you say, these are merely your household things and your own property, then there is cnly one thing I desire to say. I wish to buy, madam—at your own es — everything I see here “E ing? smiled a little. ‘The rye| ears? -The love apple?” . “The infant?” “I mean, of course, your furnishings— the imperishable ones,” said J. P. with dig- nity. “You will excuse me, but it is a little exciting—er—an emotional experience to come all at once upon material in such a quantity, so perfect, so very rare and pre- cious.” ‘ “Rare! Precious! My poor things! She smiled again. ‘“‘Why, we made most of these ourselves. But I am afraid I cannot sell them to you. Will you sit down? Iam er he not here to welcome you.” She him to the basswood stool. “T only step out a moment from my weaving.” vere You mean you wove that linen over there?” oung woman ? The roasten’ She ‘ooked at the April 25,1925 Ty surely. I have woven many bouts of it.” She sat down on the form opposite him, holding the baby upright on her lap. J. P. saw that her hands were dark and discol- ored, the nails worn down and broken. That queer feeling of unease came to him again. e hunted for something to say. Then the baby laughed at him, thrust two fingers into its moist little mouth and blew out a silvery bubble. J. P. drew his watch, a thin = wafer, the gift of the men in the oatilla factory, from his pocket. “Come here, sir,” he said brightly. “Tck-tck! Come here and have a look at ae. Let's listen to the birdie inside of this.” But the young woman drew the baby close. “Put up your watch,” she said, “and do not try to touch my babe. use you cannot—any more than I can sell these things to you. use, after all, every- thing here—babe and furniture, and myself, too, belongs to i already, J.P. We are ~ of you and you of us. Indeed, you ave come here because I invited you. No, sit still and listen to me. You do not know me, but I know you ectly. I have stood beside you often. I have watched you, lis- tened to you, at the gathering of the oldtime chattels you admire. Sometimes before I have almost taken pity and teased you with the sight of a completeness among them your efforts will never know. Some- times I’ve been minded to bid you back and show you Judi—what was rightfully your own, and it may be a cruelty in a way, as it would be if I inventoried your collection, and showed you—what I could show you. But enough of that. My purpose today is different. I asked you back here to talk to you, J. P.—and nobody has a better right, indeed. You stare at me, but there is no need of it. We are not strangers, I assure ou. I have no substance; but neither ave you, in this place. I am the shade of what has been. You are the shadow of events to come. I am your great-great- great-grandmother, and you are yet un- born. Nevertheless, here you may listen to me.” She stopped a moment and cuddled the baby closer > poanuee more than any other woman of your kin, I belong to the age that has fascinated you; because I have tasted its meaning and known its symbols best. I am that early kinswoman of yours, Ann Davies, of Quaker stock, who came in her mother’s arms, she riding pillion behind her man out of the Connecticut Colony into the wood- land of New York. I am that kinswoman who at fifteen wed with Jason Winton, of Tryon County, and helped him clear and build this cabin you stand in. I am that kinswoman who, more than any other, drank the cup of human hardship in the American wilderness. It is that I wish to speak of.” She paused, and her face grew thoughtful, stern. “Much hardship. Much privation. Cold of winter winds, and t snows the like of which your time will not know. Scalding heat of summer, burning drought, and noth- ing but heartbreaking effort and utter ignorance to combat it. Dearth of bread. amine—literally. The failure of the crops. Folk dropping dead in the field for lack of food. Two of my young lads thus. Sick- ness ’’—her face grew sterner still —‘‘ cholera and smallpox and plague of pestilent fevers with nothing of skill to meet them. Four of my children thus. Childbirth—eleven times—three alone, unaided. Three babes stillborn, in this cabin. Danger and peril of life. Indians and massacres. Twice into the forest in the dead of night, to neighboring holdings. Once in midafternoon, alone with my brood, low-lying, breathless, beneath the corncrib—a young brother trapped. Spitted and scalped in yonder garden. War— the warfare of the border, bitter, relentless, ing in the aight, ‘the blueayed: Indians, ing in the night, ‘the blu n 4 Tories with bounty on the Whig scalp. My husband and my hound lying dead by secret hands across their doorsill.’ She paused. “This little lad, fighting with General Washington in the great war—this little lad, your grandfather twice removed, dying at eighteen at ver Forge, a husband, a father, already. His brother a , ee Pee tee FO jagara. Myself, broken, childless, old, white-haired at thirty-seven. . . . Primitive Amer- icana! The fad of rich men!” She smiled slightly. (continued on Page 70)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Essex Alone Gives This Quality and This Price The Reason for its Amazing Sale Buyers know what Essex gives can be had elsewhere only at far higher cost. The great Essex sales record is due to no other thing. It is recognition of a value leader- ship so overwhelming that it is not even challenged. Today’s Essex is the greatest of all Essex values. It is the finest Essex ever built. It is the smoothest, most reliable Essex ever built. It is the best looking, most comfortably riding Essex ever built. We believe its maintenance and operation the most economical of any car in the world. And the price, because of liant evidence the qualities which weight and size are built to give—riding comfort, solidness, distinction, and smooth, quiet pace. On every side its hosts of owners praise it with such pride and conviction as we have never heard for famous patents, with volume manufactur- ing advantages that are absolutely exclu- sive, is the lowest at which Essex ever sold. Essex won its wide acknowledgment on finest quality without useless size or weight, and a price advantage equaled no- where in the world. Greater size could add nothing to Essex. It has in bril- THINK— Where Else So Much for ‘895 Freight and Tax Extra any other car. What they say has revealed this great value to thousands of buyers. It is reflected in the greatest sales in our history. And the rapidity of this sales in- crease shows how thoroughly the facts about Essex have penetrated the entire market. Wherever you go, note how Hudson-Essex outnumber all new cars— the surpassing proof of value—greatest sales. THE FINEST ESSEX EVER BUILT

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 68) Ca ow , something in J. P.’s mind protested. he voice swept on: “Until we reach you. Yours is the new epoch, an epoch too vast for our simple comprehension. I sometimes wonder when our men set the ax ringing against the virgin wood if they dreamed for what they cleared, The softness, the pace, the pleas- ure, the of jazz, when the wheel of the machine shall displace the craftsman’s hand and one man can do another’s work as well; when there shall be leisure and safety to we . But this is to be the manner of Cohlieing and building, the h in which you and men like shall ty to revail. That is why I have sent for you. use I know the thing that is standing between you and Barbara, this question rising between you. For I am in Barbara's mind, and I would speak for Barbara. I peak te has ised see 2 Snew Want, oh fy trying to say, n perspective.” ib. Pron § ty doe of his enchantment a moment. “T knew it!” he cried. “I'm—why, I’m just dreaming, of course, but this is Bar- Con's drone: She madeit. Why, she looks just like you.” “And who has more right?” asked his ee ; il coda ~" a keep you ong. I am going you a ques- tion, J. P, You are a man of great wealth and modern achievement, and like your kind, a of municipal gifts and wonderful public ities. You are also a collector conserve . What do you do asa rich man of it power, one ts, with the ae pened teeeenaees t are who you, believe in ioning, doing with our figh and fashion- ing, with the heritage we left you? What do you do to show the incoming new bloods in your charge that America was bought at great price, that its essence is constructive effort? You believe in the power of the gift. This school you propose is a witness to it; but may it not express a ter gift still— the ideal of individual effort? As Barbara says, ‘Struggle is precious.’”’ “No!” shouted J. P. “I won't begin that all over. I won't have you and Bar- bara working on me together. I know I’m only dreaming, but even in a dream I won’t diseuss ———’’ There was no one to discuss with. His relative had gone. The laughing baby had one. The whole room was going—the oom, the fireplace, the flip mugs, the love apple, the slaw bed—oh, heaven, not the aw bed! “Come back!”’ shouted J. P. But there was the sound of rushing wind, dark planes sliding before his , a crimson flutter—the ta ’s wings? He heard a noise like buzzing and realized a white-hot glare against his eyelids. They were closed. He opened them. He was ait- ting on the rest bench at the eighth tee, and the noise of buzzing bees came from a stocky elderly gentleman approaching him—a gen- tleman with very bow legs and incredibly loud golf socks. “Good Lord, is this the way you tryst with me, J. P.?” he was saying. “I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour.” v N THE cool of the afternoon, correctly showered and dressed, from the snowy to the eq spotless brogues below his chaste flannels, with a natty little English brier going briskly, J. P. once more stepped across the veran and faced the lake prospect. All the late afternoon activities of Pine Lake Hotel were going forward. Afternoon tea was being under the Moorish os The gray yar pm ae ony niten tes, were playing bridge; the ccm was doing thé-dansant stuff in the ballroom, and down on the lake beach and pier bright figures in gay suits | and sports clothes were swarming. The | buoy tower made a vermilion splash far out against the green hills, arrows of light shot EVENING POST Sai teaieen tall ehine-fachdho’ wheal white that plied along the lake sh as 5 can Sting sbout thie ap esd foe This Boston cod ester, this fan coot who's coming on tomorrow, is too re- e n——"? J. —e because the lake boat had stopped. It its on the and he saw two who interested 2 sa : 3 : F i ed to him. They wanted any old path that was narrow enoug’ to hold them together. As they walked oe | swayed a little toward each other, now and again touching lightly, unconsciously; and Barbara's face, he saw, was lifted like a thirsty flower, radiant in a strong sun. “It was beautiful. It looked— like a flying bird. Yes, and the viking had flying birds in his face too. inner light seemed to burn in his face, looking — at Barbara’s. He was doing the talk- ng. ° ‘There,”” he was saying peremptorily, ‘you were wrong. I would not have per- mitted you to do that.” “Good Lord,” thought J. P., “nobody ever talks to Barbara like that! Why, he doesn’t give a hinky-dink about a million- aite—puts ’em ow in their place. And she’s taking it! Who is this—bandit?”’ But the bandit was flowing on. ‘‘ Flow” was the only word J. P. could think of. If he was witn the unconscious sion toward him of a daughter visibly and pe ae sinking into the toils of love—not unrecip —the phrases that bound her in the net were not the usual kind. No red nothings played upon this court- ier’s lip. It was a salty diet of ideas,

April 25,1925 vigorous, forceful, expressed in a copious fluid richness of diction and with a vocabu- lary that stunned the ear literally. Yet that seemed the bread of life to the girl. You would never have thought to look at that rapt and radiant face that it ong oe toa youns woman with a ruined life. She tore her face from the viking and saw the inconsequential trifle that was himself. “Father!” she said blankly; then more warmly, ‘Oh, father, he’s come!”’ “T see that—I see that,” said J. P.’s soul, and he felt a little forlorn and old and resentful. But Barbara went on: “Father, this is Mr. Phillips—Bayard Phillips, of Boston, you know, of whom I spoke to you, who has written such won- ul books and essays. . . . My father, Mr. Phillips.’’ J. P.’s hand was seized—ruined, he be- lieved—and he looked into ice-blue eyes as direct as a dagger stroke. “Wasn't it a wonderful coincidence, father? Mr. Phillips didn’t ex to get down here until tomorrow. He expected to spend the night up at Hampton in that little hotel. But I had an errand up there on the old boat, and Mr. Phillips heard my name spoken in the general store and came up and introduced himself. We've been ding around on the paddle wheel ever since. Three hours, isn’t it? Oh, it’s been perfectly - tgs °F? eagpan wonderful! I’ve showed Mr. Phillips everything—all our points of interest here—and we've had a wonderful time. I don’t think we’ve ever had a lovelier day here. And I’ve had the most wonderful talk with Mr. Phillips. He has the most wonderful ideas.” “You flatter me’’—the ice-blue eyes were on Barbara again—‘“‘but it’s been most de- lightful. I had no idea what a lake you have here; it’s a charming place. Wonder- ful scenery, wonderful air.’ “Yes,” said J. P. feebly, “we're pretty wonderful all the way round in these parts.” But what did it matter what he said? “Father,” said Barbara, “I’m taking Mr. Phillips down shore here to show him the grindstone where the Indians made their meal. Mr. Phillips, you must get father to talk to you about the colony ple here in New York. Father collects that stuff, and he’s had some wonderful experiences; but not now. We'll be back, father, = dinner, anyhow, and then— then’”’—she paused and smiled at him saucily—‘‘you wait and hear our ideas. We are going to overpower you.” But he was overpowered now. He looked after them dazedly, trying to realize. It had come-—what he wanted for Barbara—a nest like the tanager’s. The material was here. This—this outsized youth with his old name, his ample means, his prestige, his blond vigor and beauty, his cool contempt formillionaires, his— heaven helpthemall !— vocab’ like a cross-word puzzle. And it was too much for J. P. The ground had been shot away under him. “Not,” thought J. P., “that I couldn’t go on.as I intended. These people are too much in love really to make good fighting. I could take everything away like cake from a baby. But what does it matter now? I’m going to lose Barbara.”” Jealousy and forlornness mixed for a moment in J. P., be- fore a thought cheered him. He drew out his wafer of watch again. “Funny! To offer your watch to your baby grea tegrandfather to let him hear it tick. Well, I suppose I’ll be getting it out for the infant ear soon again. I may anticipate a little, but augury and crystal gazing are the style this afternoon, and it elps take the curse off this cod eater for me. * And I’m not so sure,” he added thought- fully, “‘ poor little gran of long ago—if that was you, my little old- young grandmother of so many sorrows— that my call at your house in the laurels was entirely wasted. Barbara gets her bull- head from me and it’s hard for me to yield. But I admit there’s a lot in your view—in hers. My people lean on me. ‘Get J. P. to give it’ is our best slogan of all. ee we'll try eee ‘em the stuff to fight with instead ng out the fight. Thatis, if you'll — me find a graceful, dignified, way to do it—say as a wedding present. “Only”’—here J. P. wae very firm— “there are limits to this struggie and dep- — stuff, a J ese ae ne. may lose ughter - icy and my slaw ae erry de me, Pris rightfully mine!—all in one afternoon. But I will not lose that apple-butter pot. I’m eee gre pve temeney one Se et that little old hen of a woman if it costs me a hind leg and five thousand dollars.” ee ee ee ee ae —————— -_ _ —<* ——— = — er ee i= = 3 ee Pe

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SATURDAY EVENING POST ——— aa ARRAN elena — — ae The lower line shows how back 2; the car is thrown off balance when the left rear tire has 50 ths, and the right has onty 45 ths. This picture illustrates one ind of uneven inflation. The upper line shows how the car is thrown off balance when the left front tire has only 40 Ibs. of air and the right has 50 UNEVEN INFLATION what it does—how to avoid it F your two front tires are not evenly in- flated, steering is harder. If your two rear tires are unevenly inflated, you can not get proper traction. Uneven inflation is responsible for un- comfortable riding, car squeaks, and dan- gerous strains on car mechanism. Uneven inflation throws an excessive amount of the car’s weight on one or two tires and causes them to wear out long before they should. Avoid uneven inflation by checking your tire pressures regularly yourself with a Schrader Tire Gauge—the standard of car owners everywhere. Easy to apply, dura- ble, always reliable. There are Schrader Gauges for every type of wheel and tire. Get the one you need from any auto accessory dealer today. A. SCHRADER’S SON, Inc., BROOKLYN, Chicago, Toronto, London ” wt See ‘nates JU 6.1909 [eae A. Schrader -+:+ LOOK FO

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The proper care Lacquer Finishes You want to know the safe and easy way to care for the lacquer finish of your new car. ise Simoniz and your question ws answered. Simonizing at once safeguards against blemishing and scratching. It provides convenient cleanliness and beauty. After the surface 1 simonized, wiping with a soft cloth will clean it without scratching. If your car is already travel-worn or weather-beaten use Simoniz Kleen- er to restore the original lustre. It re- moves every trace of scum, discolor- ation and dullness, and prepares the surface for simonizing. Stmonizing is the standard and inex- pensive process for the proper care of all fine finishes. Get a Simoniz Combina- tion today at any good garage or acces- sory store. Motorists Wise SIMONIZ Reg. U.S Pat. OF The Simoniz Company 2116 Indiana Ave,, Chicago, Il 7th St. and Weet tnd Ave.. New Vork City Leadon . Parie “iy KLEENER Brake Juice is used by thou- sands of motorists on brakes. The container has a long spout and spring bottom, which make it easy and clean to apply. Squirt it on the brake bands, and it will clean off the glaze, stop squeaking and make the bands hold better and last ‘longer. Brake Juice eliminates many minor brake adjust- ments, The Simoniz Company 2116 Indiana Ave Chicago, It, 7Oth St. and West End Ave. New Vork City London - Parle Grabbing Squeaking Brakes THE SATURDAY On. the wooded slope of Devilhead ridge, across the valley, Dan Alexander sat at the foot of a big chestnut oak and gazed out across the gorge. He was tired and disap- pointed. For hours he had tramped the woods on the western shoulder of the ridge, searching for the great wild gobbler which for several mornings had been feeding there. He had found many old “scratches” — places where the big bird had been feedin on vious days—but he had discover no fresh sign. Dan gave up the quest at last, and before beginning the long home- ward tramp, sat down to rest in a shady spot on the steep mountain side whence he could look out across the valley. He had been sitting there for perhaps five minutes, his mind busy with plans for the new campaign which he intended to wage against Cloud King and Red e, the marauders of Devilhead Peak, when his gray eyes brightened suddenly, For a mo- ment he intently at some distant ob- ject ght ahead of him. Then with a | low exclamation he jumped to his feet, his eyes still fixed upon the strange thing which had attracted his attention. It was an amazing sight indeed. Far out over the valley, almost on a level with | the spot where he stood, the young woods- | man saw a great wide-win | straight toward him—a bird which he rec- eo whose scratches bird flying ognized at once. It was the wild gobbler which he had been hunting all morning, the e had found on evilhead ridge. But it was not solely the sight of his quarry which kindled a glow of excitement in Dan’s eyes. The gobbler was not alone. Above him, as he came on, flew another and much smaller bird—a bird whose long pointed wings, fanning the air rather slowly and yet with esertel certainty and power, marked him at once as the peregrine of Devilhead crag. The falcon was flying about a hun- dred feet above the turkey, and imme- diately Dan realized with the intuitive in- sight of the born woodsman that Cloud King’s presence there was not accidental. Moments before the climax came the young mountaineer sensed what was to happen. Suddenly he saw Cloud King close his wings and plunge. It seemed to Dan that the Tetons id not merely fall upon his prey, but that he drove himself downward with wings and tail at well-nigh incredible speed. More sensitive and more imaginative than most mountain woodsmen, a keen and sympathetic student of the wild things which he loved in his own fashion even while he hunted them, Dan felt his pulse quicken at the spectacle of that superbly reckless attack. For the moment he forgot his hatred of | Cloud King in admiration of the falcon’s EVENING POST PEREGRINE (Continued from Page 33) swiftness and daring; and as the winged thunderbolt struck the gobbler squarely on the back where neck and body joined, a thrill of fierce joy shot through the young mountaineer—the tribute of one go hunter to another who has proved himself master of his craft. Breathlessly, Dan awaited the next act in the drama. It was not what he ex A bare fraction of a second before the peregrine struck his prey the thought had flashed through ae, —_ _ ~ faleon could not possibly is huge adversary at a single blow. Cloud King would strike again and again, the mountaineer expected, forcing the turkey down with repeated blows and finally stunning him or tearing open his throat. The next moment re- vealed the woodsman’s mistake. That one blow had been enough. The gobbler was falling, shooting down at a steep slant, his neck outstretched, his wings rigidly ex- tended. Dan knew at a glance that the life had all but gone out of the big bird, that he was either dying or else was stunned. ly the mountaineer watched as the gobbler shot downward, expecting each instant to see the triumphant ine disengage himself from his victim. Faster and faster fell the turkey, his wings half closed now, his neck stil] stretched to its utmost length; and for an instant Dan believed that he distinguished the form of the hawk clinging to the larger bird’s back. To the very last he looked to see Cloud King leap from the feathered steed he was riding. ot until gobbler and falcon had crashed together into the tree tops a hun- dred yards or so down the slope did the woodsman realize that in this game of life and death which he had witnessed some- thing had gone amiss. He marked the spot where the birds had fallen close to a gigantic tulip poplar overtopping the other trees on the mountainside. Then, snatching up his rifle, he hurried down the slope. Within ten minutes he found them. The gobbler lay dead, his wings spread wide, his neck twisted under him. e had either been killed in the air by the impact of the falcon’s hard muscular body or else he had killed himself when he crashed stunned and helpless into the branches of the trees. Upon the bronze body of his victim stood Cloud King. The peregrine swayed weakly, turning his head from side to side and peer- ing uncertainly about him; and Dan knew that for the moment at least the hawk was incapable of flight. Plainly the breath had been knocked out of him, and probably for a few minutes before Dan’s arrival he had lain unconscious, Quickly the woodsman. leaned his rifle against a sapling and slipped off his coat. April 25,1925 The gleam of excitement in his eyes had Nay way now to a twinkle of gratification. he gobbler was his, after all; and, better even than that, Cloud King, the buccaneer of Devilhead, the murderer of grouse and quail, was in his power at last. He could have shot the falcon ‘as he perched dazed and impotent on the turkey’s carcass. But why waste powder and bullet when it was just as easy to wring the rascal’s neck? Holding his coat in his hand, Dan ap- proached cautiously. It was the work of a moment to throw the coat over the hawk so as to prevent him from using bill or claws. Then, folding his captive in the coat, Dan tried to lift him, only to find that the hawk’s talons were still embedded in the turkey’s back just above and beside the neck. e understood then why Cloud King, after delivering his blow, had ridden his victim down into the bristling tree tops through which the turkey had fallen. With some difficulty Dan worked the long eurved claws loose from the tough muscle and sinew into which they had been driven. Then, sitting on a rock close to the turkey’s body, and gripping the falcon’s legs above the talons to hold him upright, he lifted the coat carefully and looked at his prisoner. For some minutes the young woodsman sat in silence, gazing fixedly at the pere- ene The light had returned to dioud ing’s eyes. They were no longer dazed and dull. On the contrary, all their ac- customed fierceness and alertness had come back to them; and it seemed to Dan that never before had he looked into eyes so proud and fearless as these. Cloud King made no attempt to free him- self. As the minutes passed, it was evident that his strength was returning rapidly. Yet he did not flutter or seeee, and al- though Dan had now removed the coat altogether, the peregrine did not try to strike with his strong hooked bill. He sim- ply held himself erect in the grip of his captor and awaited, with no visible trace of fear, the doom which was surely at hand. After long minutes Dan rose to his feet. His gray eyes were shining, but the light in them was not fierce. “Cloud King,” he said, ‘“‘you’re game; you're game clean through. I was going to wring your neck, but I’ve changed my mind.” With a quick motion of his arm, he tossed the hawk into the air. Cloud King’s long wings opened, and swiftly, buoyantly he circled upward, then shot away over the valley. Dan watched him thoughtfully for a few minutes as he sped northward toward Devilhead Peak. Then the young moun- taineer turned to examine the great bronze gobbler which had so strangely become his prize. PHOTO. BY BERT HUNTOON Chuckanat Bay, Washington ee a sea ie a > — ~ SS Se Ti

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST How Chrysler’ Results Are Revising an Industry If a year ago the Chrysler Six had been merely another new car, its influence in the industry would not have been felt; nor would its first-year production of more than 32,000 cars—the largest ever recorded—have been required. But it was in reality the first step in the general revision of motor car design which the past year so plainly indicates. car, built on a new kind of engineering, which produces results radically different from any others yet registered in the industry. Where past development halted, the Chrysler Six advanced in seven-league boots, as owners by the thousand can now testify. In the motor car industry, Chrysler quickly became the turning point which inevitably arrives in every industry — when revolution- ary improvements render the original inven- tion almost obsolete. No other interpretation can be placed upon a car which with a 3-inch motor delivers 68 horse-power and a speed of more than 70 miles per hour. Such tremendous power and speed from a motor of such size are unprecedented. The difference of Chrysler Six engineering is emphasized a hundred fold by the further fact that this motor yields better than 20 miles to the gallon of gasoline. There was no effort in Chrysler engineering to search out new principles. On the contrary, the safe, sound fundamentals are its basis. Their application is the point of difference. Nothing but engineering of the highest scien- tific character, with quality of the highest degree, could produce such a vibrationless engine as the Chrysler Six. The Tourin For Chrysler Six is an entirely new type of There is no other explanation for the fact that you can comfortably drive the Chrysler Six at 60 miles an hour or more over a cobbled street; or safely take it around turns at 50 miles an hour. That is balance in the nth degree—scientific balance, if you please. Chrysler Six disposes for all time of the idea that weight and length are necessary to easy riding —that a great cumbersome engine is necessary for power. For the first time, a car of Chrysler Six size been engineered to afford not only com- fortable seating space but comfortable riding. Even the side-sway is gone, because the rear springs are placed close to the wheel-hubs and parallel to the wheels. Details quoted by the score would show that the Chrysler Six was and still is as far in advance of ordinary practice as the harvester of today is ahead of the first clumsy reaping machine. There is an oil-filter that cleanses all motor oil constantly and automatically; an air- cleaner for the carburetor; Chrysler-Lockheed hydraulic four-wheel brakes that make decel- eration as swift and sure as acceleration. Everything that Chrysler advanced quality and Chrysler advanced design mean in the operation and comfort of a motor car will be made clear to you in a half hour's riding and driving of the Chrysler Six. You will find any Chrysler Six dealer eager to give you this demonstration, and supply you with all the structural details which prove every Chrysler claim. Car, $1395; The Phaeton, $1495; The Roadster, $1625; The Sedan, $1825; The Royal Coupe, $1895; The Brougham, $1965; The Imperial, $2065; The Crown-Imperial, $2195. All prices f. 0. b. Detroit subject to current government tax. Bodies by Fisher on all Chrysler Six enclosed dels, All dels equipped with special design six-ply, high-speed balloon tires. There are Chrysler dealers and superior Chrysler service everywhere. All dealers are in position to extend the convenience of time-payments. Ask about Chrysler’s attractive plan. CHRYSLER MOTOR CORPORATION, DETROIT, MICHIGAN _ Division of Maxwell Motor Corporation MAXWELL-CHRYSLER MOTOR COMPANY CF CANADA, LIMITED, WINDSOR, ONT,

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NLY a smail part of the anawer to THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 e Adventures of Old Things By FAIRFAX DOWNEY bins. So do the net curtains after they have been what becomes of old things can be found in the dusty dungeon of the junkman, .the gloomy held of the secondhand dealer or the sumptuous salon of the an- tiqueshop. Before articles once bright and new lapse into junk or used goods, or «de- velop into an- tiques by natural or unnatural stages — yes, and after that-—they may have passed through whoie cycles of adver: tures, Romance, comedy, tragedy ail may have played a part in their fate. Dust to dust ultimately, but in the mean- time of their aging, they live ful! lives, do old things. Would you ree- ognize your old square piano as a signboard? Can you visualize the epace bar of your debilitated type- preserved as long as suitable by darning and re- pairing. “Pieces of fur- niture, chairs, and so on, have an ex- tended life. Dis- card comes through breakage beyond the point of repair in the cabinet depart- ment. Whole parts are often use- ful salvage for re- pairs. Springs are constantly being remade, and so are mattresses, which are restuffed, as are pillows.” Salvage a OW for the steward’s department,” he continued. “‘ Uten- sils in the kitchen have a long life. Copper is con- stantly retinned. New bottoms are made for pots and pans and the cut- out parts sold as metal. Chipped china is removed writer ultimately turning up in the nursery as part of an ingenious toy? Would you expect to meet in after years the contents of the waste-paper basket beneath your desk as part of the hovel of a frugal Chinese? Don’t be surprised; you may Surely the deacon found some later use for the wonderful component parts of the one-hoss shay when it collapsed with such convenient completeness. That, as Doctor Holmes would say, is logic. It is also good salvage. We Americans are a wasteful nation. As an English visitor observed, consider the astounding number of trash cans and that sort of thing to be noted in the United States. But it is a comforting thought that the more we waste the moré we salvage of the waste. PHOTO FROM UNDENWOUO @ UNDERWOOD, f. ¥. 6. The Economies of Hotel Men A TO what becomes of much of our household goods, furniture, and se on, some of which we have possessed only a few weeks and some that has grown rickety in our service let that be answered by the single bold statement that we are a nomadic people, prevalent scientific classifi- cations to the contrary notwithstanding. How many of us, like the world, do move! In that process goods and chattels by the ecore are left behind, given away, fall by the wayside or fail to fit in the new abode. Among the guilty on those counts are Old Man Rent, the Form- Fitting Flat and the disappearance of the Great American Attic. The Arabs can be forgiven a lot, even sheiks, when we reflect that it is they who fold their tents when they are preparing to move, and silently steal away. Anybody who ean carry through a moving day silently is worthy of admi- ration. Se is their thrifty habit of folding their tents. This article does not include what becomes of old Arab tents. They last so long. Our buikier and more fragile furnishings suffer from the wear and tear of many movings. Many of our citizenry who are the victims of housing conditions and other factors in the national wanderlust conserve their possessions by sending them to storage. What is their destiny then? There are more than sixty storage warehouses in New York City, and they are usually filled to overflowing. From ronth to month, crated caches of furniture and miscellaneous bric-A-brac remain in those repositories— that is, if the rent is paid from month to month. If it isn't, by law the goods are sold by the storage companies for what they will bring. Often those returns fail to cover Repairing Purniture in One of the Six Salvation Army Industrial Homes in Greater New York the back rent. Above the pressure of housing conditions, the companies place sentiment as the chief reason for the storage habit, and they tell stories like that of the old lady who, again and again, visits her storage compartment to gaze on a little iron bed she keeps there. About every third year the volume of storage increases, and more is added to the tons of heirlooms, the stacks of photographs by the trunkful, the works of art blushing unseen and the cases of loving cups, prizes and trophies. In every city every month treasuring keepsakes is costing us a lot of treasure. As in the case of our centenarians, some of our oldest standing furniture might be asked to explain the method by which it attained such a ripe old age. And it might reply simply, if it could talk, “I furnished a hotel.’’ Presiding over the furnishings of a group of big hotels is a gray-haired executive whose face bears the mark of both artist and efficiency expert, an unusual but not incompati- ble combination. As he talks he illustrates with little sketches on a scratch pad, and conveniently at hand are heaps of blue prints showing all the rooms of the hotels with their furniture and the exact location therein of each piece. He traced rapidly and concisely the history of those articles which contribute to your ease in your inn, “The soap is bought in large quantities, each cake in its wrapper,” he said, “and after a cake is used by a guest it is replaced by a reissue, of course, and the old piece goes back to the linen room. The accumulated old cakes are seasoned again and boiled down in a vat into laundry stock. Or they are employed for cleaning and scrubbing. “Now the bedding. Large sheets which get torn are cut down into small. As they are worn they become clean- ing cloths for the housekeeper’s department; after that they go in with the cloth and paper waste to the paper mills. Blankets are handed down to the employees’ de- partment and finally are reduced to rags for polishing and so forth. “When a piece of carpet is due for replacement, often its position in the room may be changed so that the worn place is not exposed. Strips from various rooms may be pieced together. Thus if the sun has changed the color of certain strips, they are transferred to other rooms where they form a harmonious whole. Badly worn strips are sold as waste. The cuttings and trimmings of new rugs go to the renovators, who use the yarn for reweaving into other rugs. “The upholstery of furniture is replaced in the way the carpets are. So are the draperies, the sunburned hangings being matched up. Finally they go to the cloth-waste for the service of employes’ dining rooms. There is no further salvage for broken dishes or glass. Paper rub- bish is gathered, baled and sold. Grease is collected in the scullery traps, congealed and sold to rendering plants. Silverware is continually being replated and kept up to standard. When it isn’t worth while to repair it any longer, it is sold just as scrap metal, for practically all the real silver in it was in the worn-off plate.” The saving lies, the executive concluded, in prolonging the life of the ultimately unusable. It is the large scale that makes it pay. A busy port of miscellaneous old things is the Salvation Army. Thousands of householders know it as a relief organization in the sense that its trucks and wagons gladly call and relieve them of stuff that is cluttering up the house. In the following manner, the old clothing, furni- ture and assorted what nots carted away are devoted to the aid of the poor. Salvation Army stores in poverty- ridden sections of many cities maintain settlements by the proceeds of those goods. In the area called Hell’s Kitchen in New York City is such a settlement, from which seven large motortrucks and a wagon answer collection calls averaging two hundred a day. Sorting and refurbishing goods received means hard work, but they emerge in attractive form. Heaps of shoes of all sizes, shapes and conditions of servitude are cobbled. Cabinetmakers piece together, varnish and examine furniture consignments for possible antiques, of whieh more used to turn up than do now. Cleaners and pressers renovate garment cast-offs, which helpers store in bins, for mostly out-of-season ap- parel is given. The settlement storekeepers replenish their stock from the workrooms—phonographs, mahogany beds, crutches, organs, vases, pictures, toys and false teeth. The market for the last-mentioned item is not bad, either. Among gifts have been a horse and wagon; also a hearse. There is always a quantity of waste paper, old magazines and newspapers coming in. “Anything has a commercial value if only you get enough of it to handle,”’ the cheerful adjutant in charge declares. The settlement is given a weekly average of 160 pairs of shoes, 55 hats, 150 pieces of furniture, 850 articles of bric-a- brace and 1200 pieces of clothing. These, from the territory of Manhattan and the Bronx, are sold to the poor at the following prices: Shoes, twenty-five cents up; shirts, ten cents up; coats, twenty-five cents up; overcoats, seventy- five cents up; chairs, fifty cents up; hats, ten cents up; collars, two for a nickel, with a necktie thrown in. (‘Continued on Page 79) a pene ns SS - - a ee at ee 1S

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the Olympian . THE RENOWNED CHICAGO, MILWAUKEE AND ST. PAUL LIMITED THE SATURDAY EVENING POST All Steel Everyone knows that the engineer must have full vision of the road ahead. Otherwise, the lives of people on his train and along the way would be endangered. Full vision is provided in the Budd All-Steel Body. The slender steel corner posts remove the blind spot in the driver's vision. Yet they are much stronger than the bulky wooden posts, in other bodies, which they replace. But this is only one point in favor of the All-Steel Body. The strength of steel provides additional security. There is no wood to break or burn. And to safety is added the beauty of the enduring lustre of the baked enamel finish, thereby increasing the pleasure and satisfaction one derives from motoring. When motorists recognize all the advantages supplied by Budd— the pioneer and only builder of All-Steel Bodies—all motor car bodies will be All-Steel. Epwarp G. Bupp MANUFACTURING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA, PA. BUDD ALL=STEEL MOTOR CAR BODIES

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Patter " Vo, 323 Pattern No. 306 at “and. 23 » Pattern No, 37° Look for this Gold Seal when you buy! hn ag en ee ieee ee eT ee a paaperranercerremerentin yy =a bs) 1 amare eae A A TONER ITE RENE Aa 2 Sm APD ONL RAD CEO THE SATURDAY EVENING POST House cleaning made easier— “IT would rather move than clean house.’ How many times have you heard women say that? But both these bugbears lose half their terrors if there are no heavy woven rugs or carpets to clean and beat. That unpleasant task you avoid when you have Congoleum ¢\i Art-Rugs on your floors. Spotless, sanitary cleanliness with just a few strokes of a damp mop—what a saving of energy and time! No dust or dirt to beat out, no unsightly spots to remove; for nothing can sink into or stain the smooth surface of Congoleum & Rugs. All year long, your floors have that same fresh beauty you so admire after house-cleaning time. Congoleum Art-Rugs cling tight to the floor without a single fastening yet never turn up at the edges, never wrinkle. And they can be taken up and moved to another room or another house with a minimum of trouble. a eee et val a eRe April 25,1925

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST nec.u.s. PAT. OFF: GOLD-SEAL _ArtT-RuGS There are ever so many lovely patterns No matter what room in your house needs a new floor-covering, you are sure to find a most artistic and appropriate pattern in Congoleum @4 Art-Rugs. For instance, the attractive bedroom on the opposite page has a taupe and mulberry Congoleum Rug that sets off. the furnishings beautifully. And could anything be neater than the kitchen below with its glistening blue and white tile design ? There are many other equally charming patterns for these two rooms. Then, for living or dining-room, you can choose from many rich, glowing Oriental and floral effects. The hall, pantry or bathroom, too, can be made attractive as well as easy-to-clean with an appropriate Congoleum G? Art-Rug. $100 Reward! There is only one “Congoleum.” It is manufactured by Congoleum Nairn Inc., and identified by a Gold Seal pasted on the surface of every pattern, All “Seconds” are identi- fied by a Red Label. As the sale or representation of any other make of floor-covering as “Congoleum” is a violation of the law, we will pay $100 to any person who will secure evidence that will lead to the conviction of anyone guilty of this practice. If you want the genuine ask for it by the name “Congoleum” and look for the Gold Seal. Pattern No. 32/ You can always very easily identify genuine Congoleum. For on the face of every rug is pasted a Gold Seal which reads, “‘Satisfaction Guaranteed or Your Money Back.”’ Look for it when you buy. The Gold Seal is your absolute assurance of complete satisfaction—everything you demand in a floor-covering. Note These Very Low Prices 9 ft. $9.40 Patterns No, 386 and yx: ft. $.60 1 5 e i ‘he oth 3 3 . 1.30 9 9 ft. 14.05 pe sizes. The ” er x ft 1 A patterns are made in 3 41 f 1 95 9 x10% ft. 16.40 the five large sizes “ X t/q It. 1.72 9 x12 ft.18.75 only. 3 x6 ft. 2.60 Owing to freight rates, prices in the South and west of the Mississippi are higher than those quoted 6 x 7%x 9 ft. 11.70 408 are made in all x Write for free booklet showing all the patterns CoNnGOLEUM-NAIRN INC. Philadelphia New York Boston Chicago San Francisco Dallas Kansas City Minneapolis Atlanta Pittsburgh New Orleans Cleveland London Paris Rio de Janeiro In Canada—Congoleum Canada Limited, Montreal Pattern No, 546

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Keep your Be +4 ie their best 3 Fda the Fuller Man next calls, and the bristles are firm enough to ' ask especially to see the Fuller. pick up the nap of the fabric and Clothes Brush, Feel the life and freshen it amazingly. . .° By keep- spring in the bristles. Note the spe- ing your clothes looking new, the cially designed curves, which fit Fuller Clothes Brush helps them last every contour of every garment. . . much longer,and gives you the com- With but a light touch you flick fortable certainty on every occasion away every speck of dust and lint, that your clothes look their best. FULLER BRUSHES — If you want to see the Fuller Man before his next regular call, telephone The Fuller Brush Co. Branch in your city, or write us at 1058 Windsor Ave., Hartford, Conn., asking for the “Handy Brush Book.” (In Canada, Fuller Brush Co., Led., Hamilton, Ont.) 5 woos April 25,1925 2 CLOTHES BRusH: Lasesa life-cime and never sheds a bristle. Black with shell Fullerex handle or white with ivory Fullerex handle HAT BRUSH: Bristles of just che right cutand spring to brush felt, velour, satin —~or any kind of hat ma- terial. ons ‘ : hy iitieg gy & Dry MASSAGE BRUSH For facial massage. Scimu- lates circulation. [cs lively briscles are a vigorous conic forthe skin . . . MANICURE BRUSH Keeps hands and nails in perfect condition. Cleanses and brushes back the cuticle FULLER HAIR BRUSH AND Come: A different hair brush. No back co collect dust — it’s all brush. This brush and comb in ivory Pullerex are indispensable for the well-appointed dressing table. Also in shell Fullerex Fuller Men are identified by this lapel button. Ful- ler products are identi- fied by chis ag uf iy! > A 6 Lot fer bee THE FULLER MAN who comes to your door, lives and works in your community, He is a home cown business man repre- senting a nation-wide organization. Every time you see him he will show you many uses for each new Puller Product he brings you, and new uses for those you now have Orne reco

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SS See eee — (Continued from Page 74) More women’s clothes are received than men’s. Yet women purchasers, no matter how poor, simply will not buy an out-of- date gown or coat for their own wear. Th will buy them only for the material, whic they make over into garments for the chil- dren. Many men are in the habit of selling their discarded suits to old-clothes men, where they find a ready if not very remuner- ative market. It is not unusual at this settlement and others throughout the country to receive more in gifts taan is meant—cases of gifts without the giver, but not very long with- out him. He will be along hotfoot to make recovery. A man hid his wife’s Christmas present of a piece of jewelry in an old shoe which she unwittingly turned over to the Salvation Army collector shortly afterward. The husband recovered it after a frantic search through a large pile of old shoes. A mother gave away an old wardrobe of her daughter’s; it was being replaced a Se new one, which was moved in at once, But the old one, as given, was full of most of daugh- ter’s best gowns. They, too, were recovered. But the person who left a roll of bills sand- wiched between old newspapers given to the Salvation Army was not so lueky. Not a few valuables are lost in that manner, By mistake a donor sent in a heap of phonograph records for the teaching of Spanish. He hastened to seek restitution. Apparently he needed some more lessons. Occasionally there is a windfall like that from a Pittsburgh man who presented the entire furnishings of his home. “My wife and I split up,” he told the adjutant, “and I don’t ever want to see any of this stuff again. I want the Salvation Army to get all that’s left of the wreck.” To tragic incidents such as that, to the paucity of New York attics, to small apart- ments, and largely to the American habit of prodigality, the adjutant attributes the gifts which flow in to his settlement. “It couldn’t be done in England,” he says. It is by these old things that he supports his settlement and all its activities. And that means covering a yearly budget of Old automobiles are too large a problem from the commercial as well as other as- pects for detailed treatment in this article. Every year the new, with alluring improve- ments, not the least of which may be given ed to stand up, crowd hard on the old. The problem of disposition is not sel- dom solved by reckless drivers, aided some- times by locomotives at crossings. There are various spectacular methods of scrap- ping, such as shoving the old machines over cliffs or setting them afire to roll down a steep hill. At times when a motor car is pretty far gone, it is sold by a dealer, who Fame | has taken it in trade, to a farm- and for fifty dollars or so. In his spare time in winter he potters over it and over- hauls it, until by summer he has a fairly mobile machine to gad about in. When he’s through with it, it’s scrap metal. The Cycle of the Piano Here and there a dump heap of dilapi- dated cars may be encountered. You may be sure, however, that the owner of the heap has oe autopsies to remove all parts of any use, it matters not of how old a model. Those parts may lie on the dealer’s shelf for years, but sooner or later will arrive a motorist with an ancient bus requiring some part that is not made any more. Then it’s a sale, ‘ Full of incident and anecdote is the cycle of the piano, and one of the most striking things about it is the parallel it furnishes with that of the automobile. That is more than a matter of comparison between the roll footage possible per unit of energy with a 1925 gre te nage and the mileage per gallon of gasoline of the various models of motor cars. “We ship from 2000 to 4000 used pianos out of New York City every year, most of them to foreign countries,” sta a mem- ber of a big wholesale firm dealing in secondhand pianos. “If we did not get rid of them at that rate, what would happen to the New York market? Somebody really ought to get the same idea on autos. You can get one of them now for fifty dol- lars, and the — will run. And just look at our traffic conditions!” Piano styles change—witness the drift from square to upright to —_ —just as do automobiles, although of course a great deal more slowly. It is often the improved THE SATURDAY model that sells the car. Not so with the iano. It has had many centuries of that rom clavichord. et and the F ganosinbor invented for a Medici priace to the present concert grand piano, in which the instru- ment is acknowledged to have reached its highest point of development. The piano gives way to a younger generation of its kind, not a newer model. Yet the path of the used piano and that of the motor car are similar. When you turn in your old piano you receive an allowance on the purchase price of your new one, quite in accordance with the practices of Automobile Row. The old is rung out to a repair shop, where, if there is any salvation for it, it is rebuilt, revarnished, repolished and resold. It may through the hands of three or four brokers, each one _— a small profit, before it enters on the life work of its reincarnation, perhaps one of several, It meets its doom only when, like the automobile that will not move, it is stricken dumb; when it falls a: or when its sounding board cracks and it becomes, as they who love the instrument say, “a piano with a broken heart.” Jennie Lind's Piano The lot of not a few old pianos is this: they become wedding gifts. Though not many new pianos are to be found among the nuptial takings, a veteran instrument of the family often thus descends to the younger generation. ‘The children are all one out of our home now,” mother and ather mourn, “so why should we keep the old piano with us still? It would seldom be played. We would just gaze at the empty bench where little Ella sat and practiced through her girlhood, and it would make us sad. Why not give the piano to her for a wedding present? What a perfectly splen- did idea. Ella shall have it for her new little home and she will be tickled to death. She and her children and her children’s children shall play on it.” The thought makes the old folks so happy they fail to note that they are over- estimating both the piano’s longevity and little Ella’s delight. She would a sight rather have a check. Piano dealers insist that it thereupon fre- —a happens that the old folks discover that t not only ‘miss their little Ella but are lonesome for the piano too. Of course they couldn’t think of taking it back. There is nothing for it but to trot down to the store and buy a new piano to fill the gap in the old homestead. When daughter and her husband drop in for a visit there, her eyes fall on the purchase. “ Why, you've treated on to a new piano!” is what she exclaims at the time to her dotin parents, but her observation to her husban on reaching home is, “ Well, what do you know about that?” Some used pianos are prized more than new instruments of the same quality. It is a matter of the company such pianos have kept, their associations, the famous fingers which have touched their keys. Thus pianos played by Paderewski and Caruso are cher- ished, There is a company which recognizes that form of hero worship and capitalizes it as a scheme of clever advertisement. They make a practice of furnishing instruments of their make to opera stars, lending them for the season. At its close, it is understood that the star will turn back the piano bear- ing his or her autograph. The grands, thus embellished, are put up at the company’s annual operatic sale, and though they are sold at a reduced price, the loss may well be written off as profitable advertising. A commentary on hero worship is the history of Jenny Lind’s famous concert piano. When P. T. Barnum brought the Swedish Nightingale to this country for her memorable tour, that prince of showmen provided for her accompaniment a splendid piano of San Domingo mahogany, “enam- eled in ivory, embellished in gold,’’ which cost $5000-—and that was in 1850. It was stipulated no duplicate of it was to be made while it was in use. It saw Jenny Lind’s romance, was with her on tour when she married her accompanist, Otto Gold- schmidt, who had caressed its keys. En- sconced in the Crystal Palace, it was res- cued when that edifice burned down in 1857, and was sold to the late Allen M. Cosgrove for $1000 at a private sale. He kept it in a back parlor of his home near Middletown, Connecticut, and after his death it was found there, become a stand and shelf for old tools, hoes, seythes and axes, its once golden notes mute For EVENING POST twenty years it remained a white elephant | in an antique shop, finally being sold as a curio in 1919 to a New Haven collector. The rejuvenation and reselling of old ae may be well worth while, such a sale aving been made at as high a figure as $2000. Wealthy persons with an eye to economy will sometimes pay as much as $700 for a used instrument, when an outlay of $100 or so more would give them a new one of very good quality. But the bulk of the business of the firms which term them- selves piano exchanges is in pianos at bot- bo rices, pianos which the poor can afford. Prices run as low as twenty-five dollars. The sales are largely on a cash basis, but even for those small sums, as sums go now- adays, installment payment is accepted. To obtain a piano, the starved in melody are willing to become for a time the starved in y. Aged and embattled piano veterans, re- built and given a new lease on life of from two to five years, go not alone to tenement rooms. They find their way into leas re- spectable company—into speak-easies and dance halls. Surely it was just such a box around which a bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute Saloon that time Mr. Service’s Dangerous Dan McGrew was pumped full of lead at the conclusion of a recital by an unknown com- poser. Resorts where more or less rhythmic noise and revelry are the prime considera- tions find the most decrepit old rebuilds good enough. It is not the part of wisdom for them to invest in an expensive instru- ment. On that part of its surface where player or patrons have not parked lighted cigarettes, some varnish-eating beverage has been spilled. And an informal visit by a raiding squad with axes is always a sibility of the pr m. The way of a piano in the underworld is hard. Tone Preferences Barter in used pianos has made a cynic of one dealer who moves sadly about a large office-shop-factory amid the sound of con- tinual tuning and trundling. He is fond of telling the story of a banker who bought from him a good upright, then returned it and insisted on exchanging it and $300 be- sides for a worthless grand of more impos- ing appearance. Another favorite anecdote | describes the visit of a mother with a grown daughter. “T tried to sell them a good piano, but they wanted a special tin-panny one,” he sniffs. ‘“‘They wouldn’t hear of anything else. They said that was the only kind that would do for jazz. So I sold ’em a thing I would have chopped up to get out of the way, only they gave me thirty-five dollars for it. Where do you think I delivered it? To a seventeen-room apartment on Park Avenue!” There are plenty of people, this dealer ruminates, who understand the tone of mat “ But pianists like to suit their own earing. Everybody’s is different. A man comes in and he won’t take the piano I think has the best tone in the shop. He picks out another one that has a tone he is used to, You see, he has friends on an instrument like that, and layed for his | every time when he finishes they clap and | say, ‘That’s good.’ Maybe it wasn’t, but they said so. Anyhow, that’s the kind of piano he has to have.” Rebuilders know no more difficult task than the reconditioning of pianos which have been through several hard seasons of campaigning with a jazz orchestra. Such pianos have endured night after night of pounding and thumping. Theirs has been an experience like the ‘ammer, 'ammer, ‘ammer on the ‘ard ‘ighway that ’urt the ’orses’ ‘oofs. Finally they have collapsed under it. Sent to the shops, they undergo | a diagnosis which may turn out to be an they are trea autopsy. If ro hope is held out for them | 1 more years of life. and perhaps are given two In a section of uptown New York ‘a | Scotchman is in the business of renting | pianos to stage people and the corps of stu- | dents who invade New York every year to study music. Some of the latter meet ob- stacles to their careers—unfeeling land- ladies who are unwilling to listen to the hours of practice, vocal, instrumental or both. For aspiring souls the Scotchman has pianos in rooms of his own quarters where singing and playing are entirely in order, albeit at the capacity of lungs and sounding board He owns the building. ANSONIA. SQuUARECLOX FAMILY Bang! Out stretches a » sleepy hand —and another old-fashioned alarm clock has fallen and lost a leg. But the new-day Squareclox alarms—solid on their flat base —they don't fall over —and they don’t mar your furniture. Smooth and handsome—Squareclox sound a new note in an old story. Just the right one is waiting for you. Squareclox may be had ir. antique gold finish at same prices (listed below) as plat- inum-like finish. Fe The only 10-day auto- Square Simplex. jraiie alarm clock; 5)" highx 44’ wide. Alarm stops and automatically resets . . $6.00 Black dial, radium hands and numerals, $1,25 extra. Time, alarm and gon Square Racket. strike 5) highx 4h” wide. The only alarm-clock striking the hourand half hour. Runs 30 hours $5.00 Black dial, radium hands and numerals, $1.25 excra. “ : Intermittent alarm. Sil Square Service. ver dial with Jade hands and numerals; 5)" highx 4}'’wide. Runs 30 hours $3. 50 Silver dial, radium hands and numerals, $1 00 extra Square Pirate Squere Rascal Sq Pirat Centinuous alarm; 4{” uare Firate. high x 34" wide. ~ Runs 30 hours .. sss. 2.50 ‘“ Continuous or intermit Square Rascal. pene alarm: 22” high x 2’ wide. Runs 30 hours. $3.25 Black dial, radium hands and numerals, $1.00 extra Prices in Canada are a bit higher. (Patents Pending) THE ANSONIA CLOCK COMPANY Makers of Fine Clocks for Half a Century 99 John St. Dept. P New York a amt (A} Y, ANSONIA means CLOCKS

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This for $2.00 XTRA POWER — easier starting—quicker pick-up —more speed! All for the price of a tankful of gas- oline, or a wind- shield wiper, or a rear view mirror. | You try out no “47 > new principles Psy Power or freak ideas rou fois when you install a Milwaukee Timer. in high. You simply change to a better-built, awe higher-efficiency, i j longer-lived timer. coi Easier Starting —to save your battery, your time and your temperonchilly mornings. You improve your Ford at a vital point. You release the full power of its marvelous % 4 motor—by givingy2.& it better ignition. (QSame Good buying— when you get all this for $2.00! MILWAUKEE MOTOR PRODUCTS, Incorporated Milwaukee, Wisconsin MILWAUKEE TIMER & EORDEy Garage men, hardware and auto supply stores every- where recommend and sell the Milwaukee Timer — in its new short-proof case of handsome Bakelite. Price $) (in Sonam 2.75.) —toshootyour Ford out ahead of clumsiercars in traffic jame. THE SATURDAY Of the eventualities of pianos, the vice president of a guild of blind tuners relates these anecdotes. “A tuner runs into queer variations in the ideas of piano owners. I have one cus- tomer, a vocal teacher. Her piano is so old the ong bgowe is nearly pushed out of the back. She wanted to have it repaired. I made an estimate of fifty dollars. She didn’t have the money, so she stuck to the old box, and her pupils stand for it. On the other hand, I have another teacher cus- tomer who not only keeps her piano tuned to concert pitch but insists that the pianos of all her pupils be the same. Every six weeks I tune the piano of a certain mu- sician. When he is out at a musicale or some affair and is asked to play, he will absolutely refuse if the piano is out of tune. One of our men went to a public school to tune its piano, and when it was completed the teacher who had ordered the work done objected. She said she liked it better the — it was before. She preferred the waver and the ter volume of the imperfect tuning. But if our man had not done his job accurately the music teacher would ave objected and payment would not have gone through.” He mentioned two common fates of old ianos. Motion-picture theaters are the ast port of many ancient tumbledowns. Then there are the pianos which, so to — are thrown to the lions. They are abandoned to children, not to play on but to play with—instruments beyond hope of reconstruction and not worth the labor of salvage. The wrecks are thrust out into the streets and the children of the neighborhood are given a free hand. What ven ce for long hours of practice is exacted A firm which ships carload lots of rebuilt pianos to points throughout the United States also exports to Canada, Australia and Argentina, all good markets in spite of a duty which may run as high as 50 per cent. The firm asserts it makes a profit of from eight to ten dollars a piano on its exports. This invisible epitaph appears on old pianos not infrequently nowadays: Tuey CouLpn’t Get MB IN THE FLAT In the plans and specifications of some of the more svelte flats, space for pianos has gone unspecified, or if there is room it is sometimes found an impossibility to intro- duce through door or window even the most babyish of baby grands. That is why piano movers prefer to survey the field of endeavor in advance, To carry a piano up four flights of stairs and then be blocked by several hairpin curves in the narrow thor- oughfare of the hallway is annoying. Non: Piano: Keeping Apartments A veteran boss mover tells a story of an encounter with a modern non-piano- keeping —- in which he was repulsed at ali angles of attack. The family just had signed a lease on a flat in a newly built apartment house in the suburbs. They had neglected to take its measurements for a piano; few ple remember to take that wise sonseution The regular movers failed miserably in attempts to insert the small grand into the flat by any avenue of ap- proach, The instrument stayed outside and the boss piano mover was called in as an expert. , AS showed him sharp turns in the straits of the hall that would halt any piano not made of rubber—an innovation which he thinks will be needed in the near future. All the windows were too narrow or too low. Permission was obtained to re- move some of the masonry under the sills, but investigation proved that the construc- tion of the building at that particular height prevented. The boss mover may have pros- ted the dumb-waiter and the chimney, or he is a thorough man, but finally he acknowledged defeat. The family and its piano were parted for the space of a one- year lease. In Atlantic City, New Jersey, a few years ago, pues ealers assembled for a convention hit upon this scheme to clear a glutted market and collect a lot of compara- tively inexpensive publicity. Hundreds of old squares which had played their swan song were gathered and hea in a huge pyre on the beach. A torch was put to em; they blazed and as far as possible went up in smoke. The bonfire was grati- ly reflected in the news. But the squares with cases of rosewood and other rare woods do not perish so utterly. Furniture makers and restorers of EVENING POST antique furniture find use for those woods. And sometimes, as with the harpsichords and spinets that have been remodeled into desks by dealers in antiques, the rosewood square pianos are converted into tables. Considered from the point of view of the present enthusiasm for early American fur- niture, some of the American-made pianos which date back te the 1820’s and there- abouts have become quite valuable. They rank as period furniture and are aes such esteem as is vouchsafed early Englis piano cases in the Sheraton manner. Instruments produced by the oldest firm of Legey pe in - ae yeage oor art of the o of our clipper ships mak-- fn the a ag cali o voyage, mahogany filling the holds on the return. The clipper ships were swift, and trade was brisk. Which should solve the mystery for trav- elers who may not have been able to ac- count for so many 1840 pianos in Buenos Aires. There is at least one instance of an an- cient and useless square piano being let- tered with a Slane denler’s name and tele- phone number in glaring white and placed strategically at the roadside, an infinitel more effective medium than a billboard, and more sightly. Lettered piano crates have been used for the same purpose. The Bicycle of Yesteryear But seemingly all the uses to which old pianos have been and are being put are in- sufficient to take care of the discards. Sev- eral years ago the Board of Education of the éi of New York tried to dispose of a batch of squares which had seen long service in the schools and were pretty well done for. An offer of free pianos was made, but there were no takers; they couldn’t be given away. In contrast was an apeee for a piano that would play, published in a newspaper at the request of a New York hospital. There was a prompt and rapid response, twenty-six pianos being offered All were accepted, and twenty-five other hospitals shared the benefaction. The chances of disposing of an old piano are in ratio to the number of its notes that will still sound. Perhaps the saddest fate ever suffered by old pianos was undergone in the heatless days of wartime. May it not have been shared by any instrument cherished by its owners long past its usefulness, as many of them are? Thus the sad fate—utilitarian- minded persons, lacking coal, fed pianos to the boiler fires in their factories. One last curious and romantic purpose for which old pianos are sought—and the older the better. They may be treasure- troves. Far pleasanter and possibly more productive than digging in a hot, sandy Caribbean isle for pirate gold is searching through the nooks and niches of a musty rosewood or mahogany case, perhaps to find—there have been incidents of it— some small store of riches or a secret that death had taken and kept. To pass to another musical instrument— if the comparison is not too odious to piano folk—consider the radio and its worldly career. It might be thought that there are no old radio sets, since the contraption is so newly with us, But already there are many ancient battle-scarred specimens. That’s the way the radio affects people. Not that they attack it. They experiment with it, particularly the youth with the mechanical bent. Starting in with a crystal set—one that contains no tubes—the inquiring youngster will read how to build one with tubes. Forthwith he trades in his first set for some- thing or other in the way of raw material, and goes to constructing something bigger and better. His father never interferes— unless it is to help in the procedure. If the original equipment is abandoned in toto it probably is passed on to invalids or the r. If it is dismantled there is no salvage rom the panels. They must be new. One concern made $3,000,000 worth of them in a year. Dismembered radio sets and sets in all stages of construction are scattered through the length and breadth of the land. Boys under twelve, attic manufacturers, form firms to build ’em. How many children that has kept good and quiet is a blessing the extent of which we cannot compute. ing in mind that this is the day of the radio—and you can’t very well help doing that—it is interesting to trace the history of another mechanical device which had its day of enthusiasts every bit as wild-eyed as the radio bugs—to wit, the April 25,1925 bicycle. Its heyday was 1897 when 2,000,- 000 of them were manufactured, including ngeneg 2 the renowned “bicycle built or two,” looking sweet upon the seat of which Daisy was ht to give her prom- ise true. Double bikes are not being made any more, but that the day of the bicycle is anything but done you may know from the production of 1924, which was, roughly, 450,000; from the fact that some 5,000,000 of them are estimated to be in use in the United States today, and the fact that our Army used 29,000 in the A. E. F. There are not only war-veteran wheels but pentane veterans, and the latter vehi- cles have seen hardly less arduous service. Their habitat is the resorts, such as Ber- muda and Florida, where they are rented out to all, from the novice who treats the stee! mount with easy contempt until he has fallen off numerous times, to the erst- while bloomered—and now knickered— lady cyclist of the nineties who pedals away grandly, calling up auld lang syne and many aching muscles. The wheel flourishes par- ticularly in Bermuda by grace of the law forbidding automobiles on these islands. Tourists and inhabitants alike cycle exten- sively there. _ The life of a good wheel in constant service is from three to four years. However, some are used today which were ridden twenty- five years ago. The bicycle continues as a firm friend of boys; also of commuters, who make the rural end of their daily dash on it and have far less difficulty with the parking problem than the motorist. Some golf clubs provide wheel racks for transportation which is used by their players, who may come to riding around the course when it dawns upon the American mind that golf is a pretty leisurely game for us to be play- ing. Schools have such racks too. Clubs of wheelmen, with memberships amateur, racing and social, continue to function and make their century runs, some of them doing their twenty-mile-a-day clip. It was the forerunners of those clubs that were such an influence for good roads as far back as the eighties. At the Typewriter Auction Though the increasing number of chil- dren who ride tricycles tolerate the en- croachments of baby carri , cyclists are urging more cycle paths. The autos hog many of the roads now, but it is only a question of time, cyclists say, before the auto will drive itself off. The bicycle was on the other end of the controversy in 1899, when the buggy interests brought suit to have those horse-scaring bikes ruled off the road. But the Supreme Court was moved to declare that the bicycle was a vehicle and as such had the same rights as other vehi- cles. The cyclist of today wisely does not always try and get ’em. A short life but a busy one is the rule with the typewriter. According to estimates, a machine will last five years on four hours’ use a day, Then, as in the case of the used automobile, it may be turned in and credit allowed on a new one. There is, however, this difference in the method of disposition: The automobile dealer must get rid of the old car himself. The typewriter firm, in some instances, turns over the trade-in to a subsidiary company of the a manu- facturer. That company rebuilds an4 sells the machines of its manufacturer’s make. After use for about ten years a machine usually is not worth further rebuilding and is broken up for scrap metal. Several years ago the Government ad- vertised an auction of a quantity of its war typewriters which had fought hard through the Battle of Washington. The big type- writer firms at once dispatched representa- tives who bid in the machines, each man his own company’s make, at from $1.50 to two dollars apiece. One representative pro- ceeded with his truckload of purchases to a swamp near Washington, hiring two ev darkies with sledge hammers to smas every old machine and sink it in the swamp. Every one was demolished and sunk in spite of the plea of the darkies for souvenirs. he other representatives also caused their own makes to be finished off without hope of redemption. The action was taken so that unscrupulous dealers might not obtain the worn machines, nickel them up and sell them to customers who would be certain to blame the original manufacturer for the un- satisfactory service given by the decrepit old mill. It is also to avoid such a contin- gency that you may see the ents of typewriter companies heaped high to the (Continued on Page 82) ag wees emeeupmenneme FP

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“One-Shot” Lubrication System Nothing more clearly indicates the calibre of the Standard Six than the fact that it, too, offers the “One-Shot” Lubrication System. On thousandsof Cleveland Special Sixes this revolu- tionary feature has been eliminating squeaks, rattles and premature wear —and at the same time eliminates all inconvenience and bother of using either grease gun or oil can. You step on a plunger instead. (The“One-Shot” Lubrication System is li- censed under Bowen Products Co. patente) THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TT — eee a - mee Se PB Bie? Ns ony” ia fa Actual photograph of stock Cleveland Six during its sensational record breaking ascent of Mt. Wilson A revelation in power, speed and smoothness! No other car has ever given such spectacular proof of performance supremacy. No other car has ever amassed so impressive a group of performance trophies, cups and records. Shot” Lubrication System—all these have contributed much to the sweeping success of the Cleveland Six. HE new engineering princi- ples with which Cleveland Six revolutionized inexpensive car performance gave a new trend to automotive design. a: But spirited, flashing, dashing performance has been the keynote of that sweeping success! These principles are basic in all Cleveland Six models—as evi- dent in the new $895 Standard Six as in its famous companion, the Special Six. Take any hill in any Cleveland Six and we promise you a revela- tion in power, speed and smooth*« ness the like of which you have never experienced in any car before! Cleveland builds quality Sixes ranging in price from $895 to $1725 Four-wheel brakes optional on all dels at a derate extra cost Beauty, dependability, enduring construction, supreme roadability and the simplified maintenance provided by the famous “One- CLEVELAND Cable Address, ‘‘Cleveauto”’ CLEVELAND AUTOMOBILE COMPANY Export Department: 1819 Broadway, New York City CLEVELAND SIX

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82 LOOK HERE FOR THE RED STRIPE Thrill to the sou! singing melody of an aria that comes to you on the wings of the evening air. Buy a radio. Don’t let a day pass without enjoying the thrills of a radio concert — But when you buy a radio set make sure the panel is DILECTO—(look for the red stripe that runs along the edge) and you can rest assured the set is the best that can be built. Dilecto has been used by the U. S. Navy and Signal Corps for the past nine years—en- dorsed by experts. THE CONTINENTAL FIBRE COMPANY Factory: Newark, Delaware Service on Dilecto, Conite, Contex and Vulcanized Fibre from: New York . . Woolworth Building Chicage . . . . Weighey Building San Francisco. . 75 Fremont Street Los Aracles 407 S. Hill Street Seattle 1041 Sixth Ave., South Pittsburgh . Farmers Bank Building (Offices and Agents throughout the world) Dilecto Look for the Red Stripe THE SATURDAY | (Continued from Page 80) | ceiling with old machines smashed by sledge hammers and fit only for the junkman. There is a mechanically minded father who obtains of dismantled type- writers and adds them to the su on the shelves of a cabinet in his home. cab- inet is full of all manner of such odds and ends, from tacks to doorknobs. From that material the father constructed a complete toy railroad station for his children for last Christmas. The ter ribbon shift in- dicator made a splendid block signal; an- other part, » stetane gies The space bars became waiting-room ches, and the rib- bon cup covers, wheels. Lots of fun for | father, lots of fun for the children, It is not too early for any parent with a mechanical bent to begin considering this idea with a view toward taking some of the cost out of next Yuletide. By way of contrast and with the proviso that the commercial, not the poetic view- »oint will be taken, it might be well to shift rom man-made things and dwell for a mo- ment on the brief span of cut flowers. The retailer invests sparingly in them from day | to day, which means the whole 365 days of the year, for pou insist on dropping in for Sonatels on holidays. The wholesale florist stocks up with a margin which is al- most as narrow, and those flowers that wilt on his hands are the loss of the greenhouse man, who is the chap who holds the sack. Consequently, cut flowers are cut as late as possible and as close to the line. Flowers Patsy’s chin raised just a little. “What did they say?” | “They don’t want anyone like you. They | want old Miss Potter.’ “But that woman's terrible!” “Don’t tell me. I’ve been sitting op- | posite her for two hours.” | “She hasn’t any influence.” “They say she has—among the plain women that the society women like you antagonize,” he teased. “Are you trying to get me excited?” | asked Patsy suspiciously. “ Why, that old Miss Potter is dreadful! She makes inter- minable speeches. She sends out letters full of phrases about ‘clarion calls to battle’ and ‘the duty of all those who have borne babes’ and that sort of palaver. And they they fall for it!” “Do they really?” asked Tony with in- terest. “Yes—and it’s disgusting. It’s trading on all sorts of emotional excitements. I hate it.” “* Well, it’s a kind of political psychology.” “Nonsense! It’s unwholesome. Women need to use their brains, not their sloppy emotions.” She looked like a very pretty and mental Joan of Arc as she said that, and Tony kept the admiration in his eyes keyed down with difficulty. “Well, she has the inside track. She's the one whom they expect to give out the woman’s point of view in committee. . . . I've heard some vague talk about continuing the publicity bureau for the party with Miss Potter in charge. How about that?” “But that’s unbearable,” said Patsy. “Of course they should continue it. Women aren't half informed. But they ought to get a real live newspaper woman like Delia Hayes to run it. She’s got the kind of brains they need.” “But Miss Potter wants it and is likely to get it none the less. That's the way thin go. Is she honest, Patsy, do you think?” “1 don’t know. I've never heard that | she was actually dishonest, so far as that ' goes. But she’s not the sort of woman who | ought to be running things. She’s the kind | that does just what a man tells her, I | think.” “And they say she’s desperately poor | and needs money.” “Then she’s probably utterly corrupt,” | said Patsy. | “One can be poor without being corrupt,” laughed Tony. ‘Look at me.” “TI doubt if she could.” “It means that cur Evans has everything his own way. That’s what I don’t like about it. He'll have the women as well as | the men.” “Not all the women.” “Oh, here and there a few shy off. But this isn’t campaign time. This is peacetime and people are willing to leave things to a EVENING POST which have lent their charm and fragrance to functions, such as weddings or funerals, often = distributed among the poor or to y have been mentioned the paper mills, the destination of a group of old ee ccmernins sues, cum, ae 0s paper. of w: paper is too and technical for relation here. Its collection why oe gene _ new Pal : occupy a and busy industry, whic has grown fast since first men achieved that transformation in 1695. Now the dealers are wont to assemble in national conven- tion and call for more conservation and more skilled labor in sorting. Sorting may be brought down to a fine t, there are so many grades of paper, ut the labor costs will soon become pro- hibitive. alanis , Army es its paper col- lections pay, It sorts only to three grades— book, news and other grades. Other col- lectors may sort in greater detail as labor costs permit, From the newspaper plants come tons of waste paper every month— the y ¥ wrappers of the big rolls, their cores, defective strips, over-issues, and the miscellaneous scrap that would soon knee-deep if it were not cleaned out. The contents of the scrap baskets of big office buildings are quick to accumulate large quantities of mixed waste paper, the cheap- est grade. Then begins the laborious sal- vage business of sorting, if feasible, baling, trucking, rebaling, pressing perhaps, more (Continued from Page 58) small crowd. That is always the trouble. People like you work their heads off and get up a real interest during a campaign, and then when the smoke clears they are all off it and don’t want even to hear about politics for the next couple of years. The machine politicians capitalize the results, and there you are.” “Well, what can a person do?”’ Tony shrugged. “T wish you were in that Potter woman’s place. I wonder if you cou!dn’t possibly get some influence over her and work through her.” “Oh, come!” said Patsy. “That's a bit too much, Tony, to ask me to work through that ancient wreck. Besides, I don’t want to work through anyone. i don’t want to work at all. You know the world will get on all right—and the state and the county— if | don’t get any more gray hair over its rulers.” “Well, maybe you're right. It’s an awful game to ask you into.” Patsy reflected. The fire lea and cast its flaring light on her nose, which stopped just short of impudence in its tilt, and on her chin, so soft and yet so determined in its definite line. As Joe Mackay used to say, if Patsy got an idea —— “Who was it who especially didn’t want me?” she asked abruptly. “Why, it makes you sore, doesn’t it?”’ answered Tony in amusement. ‘You shouldn't mind a little thing like that. They practically kick me out of every meeting.” “But you don’t go out.” “T mean to go,” he told her, his amuse- ment fading into grimness, “but I can’t. I can’t quite make up my mind to leave the game to them. I don’t know whether I can explain it to you without seeming like a PHOTO, BY CLINTON MM, HICKS, HOLLYWOOD, CAL, April 25,1925 trucking and shi to the maws of the paper mills. The mills turn most of such stuff into cardboard for case linings, shoe boxes, and so on. A big New York City firm that specializes in newspaper waste and handles 50,000 tons of it a year, cuts and winds miles of waste news stock, which hasnot been printed upon, into store wrapping-paper rolls. Its cheap waste it bales under pressure of from 500 to 1000 tons’ pressure, and this—old news- papers, frazzled magazines, crumpled memos, carbon copies, and all—goes to the mills to be manufactured into a cheap gray- ish paper. That is used by Orientals to mix in with the mud of which their huts are constructed, and it serves to close up cracks eee which vermin would enter. Not so bad for former waste paper. Imperial Cwsar’s clay was mentioned as a possibility 7 keeping the wind out. us run the varied adventures of old things. The general junkman is not the figure in their careers he once was, for he functions mainly as a collector or in a sma!l way. Specialists, big salvage firms and di- rect transactions have superseded him. The scrap must go fast to the crucible these je The ix must shake a leg about r ng from his own ashes. Nevertheless, let old general junkman have the last word re. ere. “T buy anything,” he proclaims. ‘ Any- thing you can turn into money. And you can turn anything into money if you wait long enough. ” THE OLD WAR HORSE sentimental jackass, but it goes back to the war, The reason that so many ghastly things keep happening in governments is because so many people work and play and make love and don’t care about the ma- chinery which governs them. The only people who seem to care are the few with great ideas and the many who see a chance to get a little occupation and a little money out of it. Lots of them aren’t so bad and some of them are really decent, but too many of them are stupid—wickedly stupid. “I slipped into politics when I got back from the war partly because of some legisla- tion that intelertell wie then for disabled sol- diers, but mostly because wise government seemed the only possible way to get things going. I felt that if your government wanted you so badly in war it must have some use for you in peace. “But I found out that the politicians all thought I had my own ax to grind, and when they were finally convinced that I hadn’t, they thought even less of me than they had before. They decided I was crazy, or, in their own none too accurate vernac- ular, Bolshevik. Still, I find it hard to let it go. Every now and then I get a chance to make a gesture anyway, and it’s a funda- mental and fascinating business to watch, even when it goes badly.” “It’s really that,” said Patsy. “I'll ad- mit I was lost after the campaign was over. But of course I don’t want to get tied up ever again. . . . Who did you say it was who didn’t want me on that committee?” Tony laughed outright. ‘Still at that, are you? Well, who would it be but Fred Evans?” “T thought it might be Dicky Sloane. He avoids me.” “No, Sloane isn*t showing up much now in polities. He’s more interested in local issues anyway. This is state stuff—not county ~—and Fred Evans is the boss.” “Who is he, anyway?” “I don’t know where he came from. He’s been on deck for a long while. He has a nominal office in the Benton Building —in- surance or real estate or something like that. It doesn’t mean anything. He spends all his time in politics.” “But where does he get all this power?”’ “Hes only Granger's mouthpiece, of course. It’s the Granger influence which dominates the state in politics.” “T heard that over and over again in the campaign,” said Patsy. ‘It doesn’t seem to make good sense to me. The Grangers have enough money surely, and they are always traveling and hardl ever here. I don’t get it, honestly, and I was always afraid to say I didn’t.” “The Granger interests are tied up with lots of things—mills and railroads and pro- motions. It isn’t just their personal inter- ests. It’s the interest of the group which (Continued on Page 84) Se en ete aoe Se ‘ene = PP AO Fata gente. meet, —~ a ie ee nS een ~

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84 ‘Drink i throug Stone's Sanitary Straws always usethem Because dey add a touch of clever origifiality and dair.tiness, Stone's Stfaws are universal favorites. They are used in the best homesi everywhere. They add the firiighing touch to every cold drink Always useStone’s Straws when serving milKi'to children, They prevent gulping, thereby aiding digestion. Also use them at the Soda Fountain and with bottled drinks. «Mate and packed en- tirely by soinchinery, they are absolutely sanitary. Get a convenient Home Package several wéeks’ supply—at your druggist’s, Ge. If your druggist cannot supply you, send us his name and. address and 10c. and we will see that you are supplied at once. ' | ERCKUSIVE MANUFACTURERS GENERAL SPFIRES WASHINGTON Dc crete Taaemiwevex & eeurinore ae — ge your Druggists 101 | what the | want to | ability and splendid effectiveness. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 8&2) circles around them. They need to have their hands on the reins— Theodore Granger and G. H, Livermore and half a dozen others like that.”’ “Then why don't they come out to politi- eal meetings if they're so interested?” asked Patsy, “I never saw one of them at a single meetin Tony grin r “You're not so innocent as all that.’ You know that’s not how they play it. “1 know it’s not. But my point is that it’s all right for them to be interested. They developed the state. The Granger fortune did a lot to build up the state as | well as prospect it. cart see why they | should be ashamed to admit that they are interested in its government. They —- to be out making speec rae anie tar Rags in thet And the Livermores are ro f fully ine people. They have endowed no end Tony shook his head. ™ It's not in the rules. Politics is a shady business and the big fellows usually leave ito the shady, Keeping their tools thor- fis oJ ak to tell Mr. Granger what I “I shouldn't. He keeps his cal light well under a bushel and ¥ 't like to have the bushel disturbed “But what reason does that man have oad not Bred, ome me on that committee?” pr . er Ue puted ba ae that I want pe dae. be - ut think that Potter woman mail’ het te It fost nullifies all the work we did, Tony. I don’t want to be on the committee, but there are a dozen women whom I could name who would be exactly right, and who’ve been ignored—like Mrs. ancil.” “I'm afraid that ape won't be asked to name them. The only chance, I tell you, is either to fight Miss Potter or absorb her. Those are the ony ways of managing that. And a fight wouldn’t be so easy, for the first thing that would be said was that you were jealous of her.” “T—jealous of her!” cried Patsy. “ For heaven 8 sake, let's stop talking politics, T Ae I'm beginni ng to see red, and that’s a fact.’ Tony left her an hour later. He was in the fingling ope in which he usually said ood-by, made up of warmth from haying n with her and of pricks because Patsy was so sweet and so alluring and so friendly and so terribly rich. He found his radiator frozen and drove home in a cloud of steam which seemed to accent his poverty. Better- made cars did not freeze up like that. He couldn't utagine Patsy swaying beside him in the tinny little car surrounded by steam. But Patsy went upstairs humming. She had unconsciously chosen a defiant Irish tune. The newspaper in the morning gave Miss Potter her headline. It had been a dull night and there was plenty of space for her, even for a picture which had been brought out from the files. It represented the Mi Potter of the days when she had lived in the State House rather more than the one of the moment, a picture of a queenly young woman who, said the caption, had aid high tribute for her political work. he article underneath laid it on rather too thick for Patsy’s taste. Miss Potter had been put on the executive committee of the state committee because of her oe t re- hashed Miss Potter’s gubernatorial con- nection and the work she had done in the past campaign. Patsy, who had never known jealousy, felt such intense irritation that it worried | her. How dreadful it would be if she was getting like that, objecting to praise of other people! But it wasn’t for herself, she said reasonably. She wanted praise for woman's work which was not faked, which had no strings attached to it, She thought of the publicity which Miss Potter had sent out during the campaign. Patsy had never passed it on. It wef been inspirational pemeniete, trading on women’s emotions, ringing little facts about candidates to their attention which were designed to in- terest the home maker, the mother, the sentimentalist—specialized woman stuff such as Patsy despised. She used to read them with derision, aloud to some of the women who had worked with her in that exciting campaign. All that publicity, she used to say, was designed to vate the urity complex most women had which was ad enough already. EVENING POST Patsy tossed the newspaper in the waste- basket to be rid of it permanently. It wasn’t her business, she told h but it was hard to rid her mind of the fact that she had been shelved by the people who were in charge of the political machine. As if was something against her, when all she had done was to enter the mk most reluctantly ares into it having yore get women her time and strength women out to vote and to th’ ey voting: She hadn’t told any lies — Dither had her —— but they were to be ignored Evans bod some Se Em a week ago prof- would have re- oe ew Fi wih rat defines But this-— not take to ene out of a vues where had not not to enter was different. oe bundle of mail to distract to week she had put off her departure, tw a wn where the , even if were an invitation to some large party or wed- ding. Dinner at the Ormsbys’—eight ock—honoring Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Granger. That would be a regular party, thought Patsy, if they sent out such cards for ony The rangers were back then from nt that was remote and were to open th ‘ir town house for a month or two. rangers—-the connection snapped to- gether. Theodore Granger was the influ- ence back of Fred Evans. “T think I'll goto that dinner,” Patsy de- cided. “TI don’t exactly know why, but I think I'll go. Now what have I to wear? I haven't = to a dinner like that since ——— » I don't think Joe would mind my ides | i going to this one.’ She went over the clothes in her wardrobe critically for half an hour. Dresses with memories now, most of them. The soft lit- tle lines around Patsy's mouth began to droop with pathos as the memories rustled and slipped out of soft silk folds. That was the dress she had worn to the last big dance she had gone to with Joe, only a week be- fore he had been taken ill. She had sur- prised him with it, It was soft silver lamé, tight-bodiced, and with a full skirt that only accented slimness. She had carried a stiff lace fan, and that had been the night she had danced so many times with Jack Hem- ingway. When they had come home, she rememt the way Joe had asked her if she was sure she was happy. Dear Joe, it was all he cared about. As if she hadn't been a million times opt with him than with one of those selfish young fly-by- nights like Jack Hemingway, who got their cocktails and kisses all mixed up! The silver lamé was out of style; so was the pink with the ostrich hem. That had been a pretty dress. So was the rose velvet, the one she had worn at the stag dinner she had given for Joe when she had presided at the table set for thirty men. ey had a good time that night. How Joe had loved it! The dresses were all out of style. She must have a new evening gown or two, and the thought made her a little sad, to this function, at which she would wear her new dress, she would go as a widow, not on Joe's fond arm. She called Dot Ellis to go shopping with her. Dot had taste, and it was no fun to alone. In the old | days she and Dot had many a shoppiag bat. Today she er for her at en o'clock, Dot, manikin coat and clever hat, came eayly do down the steps to join her. = ng Oe os like a other she amr a other es Wg oo By is ail gone.’ “or me ours ought to be epee with that coat. Is it summer ermine? “From the cost of it, it must have been some extinct animal,” said Dot. ‘You know, I haven’t a thing in the world to weet, I'm again, Patsy you're coming out in the I got sort of sick seeing in the paper with all those ter- vible political women, Why didn’t enter a convent if you had to be different?” April 25,1925 Patsy looked at Dot quickly and away again. Dot had been a v friend of hers not so long ago, but this kind of talk was so stupid. “Did you vote, Dot?”’ “Sure I did! Bill dragged me to the polls and told me where to put the X. At that, I’m not sure I remembered, and I probably voted for all the men he didn’t want me to. I voted for crowds of men, and then there was a sheet with laws on it that nobody had told me anything about,” “Those were amendments —and they were — Why didn’t you read the pa ‘Oh, I don’t think my one vote made much difference. Anyway, I tell you what Ididdo. I wrote ‘Suit yourself’ across the page and put it in the box. Somebody got a laugh out of that.” Patsy didn’t, evidently. She made no comment, She was thinking of how steadily dozens of women had worked for weeks and weeks sending out information about those amendments and advising women which were sound and which were not. Dot’s hus- band’s business was affected by one of those amendments. Her home was affected by others—and she had made a joke out of it. ~ ode ow t seem very funny to Patsy, and had a queer feeling that a year or two ago it might have made her laugh. ell, of course, a terrible Makbeoer like you would think I’m perfectly dreadfully ac a ” went on Dot, as if secretly vain of p a switched her talk to styles and a But she was reminded again of politics only a few blocks a as they drove on toward the smonuing ¢ istrict through the shabby residential districts which lay on the way to the city. It was very cold, and even in the cleverly built car, and with their fur coats, the girls felt it. On the street corners the people stood unrelaxed, stamping cold feet, turning their faces from the wind. Patsy glanced at them pityingly. She hated to see ple cold and misera Then a familiar figure caught her eye. She had seen it during the campaign—a tall woman in a brown coat and a hat trimmed inexpertly with a brown lace veil under which surprisingly yellow hair showed. Patsy stopped her car and lowered the win- dow, yielding to an impulse to show that woman that she didn’t care about what irr ned last night, and smiling invitingly. t me take you down, Miss Potter,” she called. Miss Potter accepted the invitation. Her lips were blue as she got into the car. “Such a cold morning,” she said in her heavy formal tones, acknowledging the in- troduction to the surprised Dot. “Tt is,”’ answered Patsy brightly. “Well how is everything in politics, Miss Potter? I see you’ve had further distinction thrust upon you.” Miss Potter smiled. “That's very nice of you, Mrs. Mackay. I was pleased, of course.” 3 Miss Potter is very much interested in politics,” said Patsy, explaining aloud to Dot; and Dot’s nod in return indicated that it was what you might. ex “Are you?” asked Dot formally. “T have been in politics—I might say, for a generation; when — young women were learning your alphabets, I imagine. Long before women were granted the rights of suffrage, even before many of them thought of asking for it, I studied politics. y father was governor of this state, you know, formerly.” “Yes, I know,” said Patsy. “I don’t see what made you so interested, though, Miss Potter. It must have been a thankless business for women then.” “It’s always thankless,” answered Miss Potter unexpectedly; ‘it always will. be. It’s too human a game to be anything else.” Her touch of realism came out like the thrust of a sword, to be muffled again in a scabbard of platitude. “But I have always felt that women are the guiding influence of the world, that they should somehow exert all their arts and their finer natures to make this world a better place to live in. It is the women who are the hope of the world, because they are the mothers and the wives —— She ran on until Patsy choked it off. “What are you doing now in politics?” “T hope,” said Miss Potter, “that our publicity | bureau is to be continued as a permanent thing. We find that the women of the state are eager for the good word which we can send out to encourage and (Continued on Page 84) } | y! H a meg. © Fine ~ RT et RN ee wae

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| said Mrs. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 84) inform them. It should be a continui: force not only in time of campaign but through the year. Women n political education.” “They certainly do,” agreed Patsy; “but, of course, it has to be the right sort of education.” “That is what we must be sure of. I wish,” said Miss Potter, “if we are able to continue our bureau of Frublicity. that you would advise with me, Mrs. Mackay. You young women have your own point of view and we would be glad to keep in touch with all the younger women. In order to keep the party stable we must make women realize that loyalty to the party is the great bg Aes A must trust it.” e — leaders deserve trust,” said Patsy sn y. “The party is bigger than its leaders,” enpnmek Wis Potter. “I've seen them come and go for 1 foot sam ead ped ones, The le is that there still is a party. It’s intangible as an ideal.” Patsy looked at her. She was somehow sorry for Miss Potter. She believed all that. What was it that Tony had said about working through this old woman? It wouldn't be hard. She was a lady and she was not cheap, even if she was inordinately sentimental. But it was absurd to let her handle the DB gy! Think of the fine sharpness Delia Hayes’ mind! Some- thing must be done. She let Miss Potter out at the building where she had an a pointment and the two girls went on to the — 'atsy waited for Dot’s comments on Miss Potter, prepared to catch her up if she was too sarcastic. At any rate, Miss Potter wouldn’t write “Suit yourself” on a ballot for amendments. But Dot was surprising. “Poor old thing,” she said. “Poor?” asked Patsy. “Oh, well, I mean—you know it’s sort of dreadful to be like that. She must have been quite a person once when her father was governor. And it was sort of sweet, that stuff about women the hope of the world. It makes you not to take more interest in things. Because there isn’t any doubt that women have finer in- stincts than men.” Patsy drove on her brakes sa’ . So Dot was another of the that fell for the purity-complex orations! To think that Dot laughed at Patsy’s being in politics and then was actually influenced by that old scarecrow! Women were dreadful! The dress she chose was mauve and rose color, soft drifts of chiffon. Dot picked it out unerringly from a dozen others, and when Patsy tried it on it proved to be quite right. It was young, but it had dignity as well as youth, They found slippers for it, and a wrap which suited, before they ad- journed to lunch at the most popular res- taurant in the city, where Dot found at least a dozen men who wanted to stop and talk at their table. Patsy found it only mildly exhilarating. She was used to Dot’s line of patter. The Ormsbys’ dinner was not one to which invitations were lightly sent out. The company attendant proved that. For ev guest there was a reason, one of wealth or ap or beauty or great proraise. The Ormsbys entertained but seldom, and when they did they made no blunders. So there were the elder couples who were domi- nant in the city’s social hierarchy; and a few of the younger couples who would take the place of the elder couples when suffi- cient time had passed; and the richest and most successful bachelors; and Myra Lane, because she was a ized painter of miniatures as well as a Lane; and Patsy, because of Joe and because of Patsy's fa- ther and because of Patsy herself. It was the first big party she had gone to since Joe had died, and the sense of beauty and unrivaled clothes, the sweet odor of winter flowers and the sight of the men ve her in the familiar excitement of estivity. She came into the drawing-room alone, in her mauve and pink chiffon, and went it to her hostess, with her head, on which the golden hair curved so prettily, held high. The men watched her curi , for Patsy’s political exploits had t her to attention, even when they had not seen her; and besides, she was a wealthy and beautiful widow, a free lance now. The women, less interested in her politics than in the marvel of her dress and haircut, | watched her too. “I'm glad you could come, Patsy,” by, who had known Patsy EVENING POST from the time of her perambulator, ‘‘We’ve all missed you. You know Mr. , of course. Mrs. Mackay—Judge Jennings’ ac eo “T knew the judge well; but Mrs. Mackay looks as if she would be a con- temporary of my grandchildren,” said Theodore Granger. He was white haired, but brown skinned and lean as if he golfed or traveled obesity and old age out of himself. His eyes were t and unexcited and humorous, as Joe's eyes had been. agg | seemed to know a deal about him. She dived into his nd with one — mental leap. It wasa leasant, unexcited place—a wise place too. ou wouldn't fake anything with Theodore Granger and away with it. They talked of Judge Jennings, and that ve her an opening, but it was not until inner that she had her real chance, when she found that by a miracle of luck she was put beside . It was not so great a mir- acle, for his hostess knew that Theodore Granger liked beautiful women and this ie did not too many of them. “What is this rumor that I hear about your being a peeaeet How does a beau- tiful woman oe oe oe ae & that?” he said lightly. “What's the rumor I hear about every- thing being referred to you?” countered Patsy brazenly. ‘‘ How does a man of your kind ae to be the court of last appeal?” He did not like that very well. She could tell by the quick curtaining of his ex- on. But she on with it. No use to be coquettish with this man. One should be beautiful—that wouldn’t hurt— and wise. “What I can’t understand is why men like you aren’t more direct in your influ- ence. It’s probably a good influence at its source. You have the state’s development in mind. But if you knew how your in- fluence looks after it passes from mouth to mouth and hand to hand, and then comes trailing out for action, all stained by con- tacts, *d be asham a He iia laugh, and that encouraged her. He was interested now. “What do _ want me to do?” “Why don’t you go out in the cam- Fs Bg letters, make s ae Why ve your government to cheap and taw- dry people who misinterpret everything and make hostility between you and the people who work for you?” “Tt’s not so simple, young !ady.” “No, I “ye it’s not simple. But the way you're oing, it is working against you. “T couldn’t make speeches,” “Well, then watch the ones who do. Be sure it’s good doctrines they are preaching, not sob stuff or sentimental stupidities. Before you ask a lot of voters to be loyal, find out if the thing you ask their loyalty for is worth it.” “*Loyalty’’—he murmured specula- ra a much bedraggled word, isn’t it ” Patsy nodded. If he would talk now, she would relax. She knew better than to keep ragging men. “Women have a better sense of loyalty than men. I’ve seen that everywhere in the world, though there’s an id enanll- tion to the contrary.” “You mean emotional loyalty.” “Largely. However, it has interested me to see how it wili work out politically with them. I remember seeing an instance of a woman’s political loyalty once that I've never forgotten.” Somebody moved their plates and Patsy sat listening. “Years ago, when you were a child, or weren’t at all, the governor of this state was a certain ae who neednit be mentioned, for I believe he still lives. He = . daughter, but his — we = The ughter was a very utiful girl, very charming, who had great political Rios 4 as certain daughters of Presidents have had. She had a political mind. Pity we can’t pick out just those women ard let them vote.” Patsy had an odd feeling at this begin- ning on the governor's daughter. Was it possibly the same one again? “There'd been a deal made at the end of the governor’s second term by which it was arran that a certain man should throw his in ce to retlect the governor for a third term, on the understanding that he was to be made lieutenant governor on the same ticket and even y succeed the governor after the third term was up. It was a commonly known line-up agreed to April 25,1925 all along the line by everyone. During the last year of this governor’s third term the — se very restless, as it does periodi- cally. “How calmly and fatalistically he says that!” thought Patsy. “There was another man with a political future who was being boomed for governor. He was brilliant, no doubt of that—was an ambassador later.” Patsy guessed the name, but let it ride under cover of anonymity. “He was a better man than the lieuten- ant governor. He was very much in love with the daughter of the governor of whom I spoke. ey say she was in love with him and tried desperately to keep him out of the fight because her father was pledged to the other man. They say—it was a romantic in her day—that it was her influence which made father —_— his pledge, for he was really a very weak man. The lieutenant governor was elected and the future ambassador defeated, although two years later he went to the Uni States Senate with a young and lovely bride.” “The governor’s daughter?” “No—unfortunately. The went, and it was common property at the time, that a romance was broken in that political fight. The human part of it, the ironic part, is that the lieutenant governor was no sooner in office than he proved to be a most corrupt official. So there you are. It’s a story which the ges may have romanti- cized in my mind, but the facts are fairly straight.” “I think she deserved what she got,” said Patsy; “she could have stood by the better man.” It was, of course, Miss Potter. bound to be. “In violation of a political promise? It was a question of loyalty, remember.” “She should have thought of the harm to the state.” “Well, maybe. On the other hand, there is very great harm, according to some peo- ple’s ideas, in not keeping to the letter of one’s political promises. It kept parties alive through erations, that tradition. I suppose this lady thought she was stand- ing by an ideal.” “Still, I think ——” “T know what you think,” chuckled Mr. Granger. “ You’re the new type of woman in politics. You're sure and hard and hon- est; honest to the point of inhumanity, honest past the point of psychology. You haven’t any use for sentiment. Still, we used to use it a lot and it sometimes worked wonders.” “Women’s higher influence—preserving pou guarding the babes,” said Patsy rolly. “My dear girl, when you’re older you’re going to find that much of the world is still run by the old a. They are being dis- carded here and there, but there’s no use in tearing them out of people’s mouths.” “I’m not so sure,” said Patsy stubbornly. “Tell me what you would do.” She lit up with the flame of ideas. She hadn’t even known some of these things were in the back of her head. He heard her through, glancing now and then at her as she told him what women wanted and needed and she thought could be given to them. Proper and true information, knowl- edge of imperfections, no spread-eagle talk, that was what she emphasized. - “But how?” he asked. “Keep your publicity and speakers’ bu- reaus alive all the time, not just in cam- paign time. Put the proper people in them.” é “T’ve heard talk of that. It might be a way. Will you take charge?” “IT will not. But I know who could do it,” Patsy told him. “We must get together on that. I agree with you, of course. But you have enthusi- asm that has died down to a few my 8 sparks in me. And I never had your fait! in the mentality of people. My hope has too often been in their sentimentality. I'd like to see you try it.” Mrs. Ormsby, on the other side of Mr. Granger, stopped them about there, think- ing that no din le conversation should be prolonged unduly, and the talk after that was in stray sentences. Patsy wanted to see Mr. Granger again; but he did not dance, and the younger crowd ad- journed shortly after eleven o’clock to the illiard room, which had been cleared for dancing. And other men and girls came in, asked informally for the dancing, though (Continued on Page 88) It was

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oe eae 5H THE SATURDAY John Sharp Williams Lawyer, cotton planter, member of Congress for a generation— his biography is a vivid chapter of American politics. “The Senator From Mississippi” begins this week in ‘The COUNTRY GENTLEMAN In the same issue Henry C. Hall, Chairman of the Interstate Commerce Commission, speaks for “Consolidating the Railroads”; Thomas J. Johnson, Commissioner of Fairs, tells of his efforts to clean up the “Crooked Carnivals”; and Herbert Quick discusses “How the County Manager Plan Would Work” in cutting rottenness out of County Government. Advertising and sales managers who are interested in knowing how and | isn’t safe, Patsy. | it might be a EVENING POST (Continued from Page 86) peg were not important enough to be asked to dine. Patsy found that again her heels had wings. She had forgotten the sheer joy of from one partner to another, rhythms canting in her head. She also soon forgot Mr. Granger, who looked in at the doorway for a minute, on his way to join his wife and go home. He saw a lovely, flushed young woman who floated by in the arms of an extremely callow young man whose dancing was as sophisticated as his expression was immature. Mr. Granger’s smile was speculative and curious and full of knowledge. He noted also a young man loitering near and wondered who he was. He looked unhappy and out of things. “Who's that?” he asked his hostess. “That man? Let me see. He’s one of the extra men Geraldine suggested,” said Mrs. Ormsby. “I know I've met him. I was talking to him a few minutes ago. He came in just for the dancing. Oh, yes, his name is Marlow and he’s in Howard Van Brunt’s office. He was in the service. That’s it. It was Jimmy who su ted him. Jimmy knew him overseas. We need so many extra men when these children start cutting in.” Tony Marlow’s face did not relax as it should have when he heard Patsy’s voice on the telephone a week later. The more rticularly should it have relaxed because atsy was calling him up, but Tony wore a semisoured look as if deliberately getting used to that expression. “Why haven't you called me up?” asked Patsy. “T didn’t know you wanted me to,” “Why, I didn’t, particularly. I thought leasant pastime for you. Aren't you well?” “Oh, yes, thanks; perfectly.” “T caught a glimpse of you at the Orms- bys’ the other night with Jimmy Ormsby. You didn’t look awfully well then.” “It was the strain,” said Tony sardoni- cally, ‘of being in such swift society. I’m not used to it. Neither is my flivver.” She laughed. “ How's politics?” “Allright, I guess. I'm getting out of all that.” “Oh, you are? That's wretched of you. Who's to advise me?”’ “T thought you were out of it too. If you aren't, you needn't worry about ad- vice. You can get it by yourself all right now.” “Well, maybe. Mr. calling me up.” “Fred Evans?” asked Tony sharply. “What about?” “Oh, politics. He wants some advice from the woman's angle, so he says.” “Look here,”’ said Tony, forgetting the mechanism of the telephone, “that bird Don’t tell him a thing! Let me feel around a little, will you?” “He seems awfully pleasant,”’ said Patsy innocently, with an unseen grimace; “but do find out what you can and come up and tell me about it.” “T’ll call you on it.” “Why not come up?” “It isn’t wise,” said poor Tony; “it doesn’t do me any good. I mustn't, Patsy.” “Of course if you feel that way, there’s nothing more to be said. I shan’t badger you with invitations, you know.” “IT know. It’s all my own fault of course,” “All right. Good-by,” Evans has been finished Patsy | with no particular relevance, and Tony sat | with a dumb telephone in his hand, looking grimmer than ever. He hung it up at last and tried to con- centrate on what he was doing, but the conversation weighed on him. It wasn’t only Patsy who bothered him. It was Fred Evans’ possible game. Patsy was clever, but she was new at this. They might be trying to put something over. Finally, a | little before noon, when he had a right to why The Country Gentleman holds the attention of more than 800,000 | additional Curtis-picked readers should read for themselves these features | —all in the April 25th issue. THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE, PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA leave his office, Tony took his hat and went to see what he could find out. Meeting Fred Evans by lucky chance on the street, he was overcome with the warmth of that gentleman’s greeting. “How’s everything?” asked Evans. _ “Fine,” said Tony. “What's happening in politics?” “Nothing—nothing. Everything quiet along the Potomac just now. Say, Tony, we certainly do want to keep Mrs. Mackay interested, don’t we? You know, we've about decided to expand that executive committee-—think it needs two women.” April 25,1925 “Why Mrs. Mackay?” “Oh, that woman's got political sense.” It was no use trying to ferret out the rea- son for the shift in the wind from Evans. Tony knew that he was agg ta tip now that Evans was all for Patsy. He was more worried than ever. “Going to keep your publicity bureau going?” he asked. “Yes—yes. Got to keep up the interest in the party between times.” “Nice for Miss Potter.” “Ah,” said Evans, “ Miss Potter. Sure, she’s a great old war horse. I don’t know that she’s quite the woman for the place, though. Young blood is what we need, you know, Marlow. These old-timers don’t quite get the idea.” Tony went his way, marveling. He chose a cafeteria for his lunch, and as he carried his tray around its laden counters he saw, across the room, like an unlucky fate, Miss Potter, poised grandly over a bowl of soup. There was no other food near her. Tony, quick in imaginative sympathy, thought she looked very pathetic. So they’d ditched her, had they? It was a rotten business. When it came to a show-down, platitudes or no platitudes, she really cared for the party infinitely more than Patsy. He car- ried his lunch over to Miss Potter’s table and received her gubernatorial bow and her explanation of how little she ate for lunch. Yet it seemed to him that she eyed his sandwich, and that hurt him too. “What are they doing politically?” he asked. The scandal of her beaten face! It seemed to him that it cried out the shame of polities. “Are they going to keep the publicity bureau going?” he asked because he couldn't seem to help it and because he thought there might be something he could do. “TI do not know,” she said; “it’s a queer business— politics, Mr. Marlow. I’ve been in it many years and I’ve seen some strange things.” “What's up now?” “It was my bureau,” said Miss Potter, “but there’s always the influence higher up. “What do you mean?” “Fred Evans was quite agreeable to my plans at first,”’ she said; “it’s back of that. Andwe all know who tells him what to do.” “You mean Granger?” She did not answer, but only smiled bit- terly. Tony was thinking hard. It must have been Granger who had told Evans that Patsy was the person to consult. That was it. Se Patsy now was on the top of the heap and this old woman thrown to the lions. Well, as it worked out, it was right. Patsy had the brains and the honesty. But it was hard just the same. She went on talking till he rose. “Drop in and see me one of these days at the office, Miss Potter,” he said. ‘I'd like to talk things over.” It was a strange offer, equivalent to giv- ing her a hope of something of which they all knew she was so much in need. What he could give he did not know. But surely there must be something, some secretarial job in somebody’s office. It was evening before he called Patsy. He was sorry she had ever come into poll tics now. It seemed to him that the worst thing he had met yet was seeing her play this hard, cruel game in the hard, cruel way. At any rate he ought to warn her a little. “IT saw Evans,” he said; “he’s for you all right. And I think he’s had his orders from Granger to play you up strong.” “So that’s it, is it?” she asked without much surprise. ‘Well, I’m glad I con- vinced Mr. Granger of something. It wasn't easy and I wasn’t sure I’d done it.” “You did it—whenever or however. But remember, there’s always a catch in it, Patsy. Play safe. Don’t let them get you at their mercy in any situation. I saw the r old war eens today and she looked as if she’d been ridden a thousand miles—over stones.” “Who, Miss Potter?”’ o es.”’ “What's her trouble?” “Oh, she knows Evans is through with her. He’s had his tip to play with you and all his promises to her are in the wastebas- ket. That’s Evans. He’s sucked the lemon dry and he hasn’t any use for the rind.” “Oh!” said Patsy in a long breath. “Of course she didn’t have much to con- tribute. I’m a mush. I felt sorry for her, (Continued on Page 90) oy a of

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EVENING POST (Continued from Page 88) that was all. But you can do a lot with those ple, more than anyone else can.” gh me help?” “Oh, I’m kind of sick of it, and I’ve no influence. You’re made. You don’t need me, with Granger. Truly, I'd rather not.” A. see,” said Patsy. “Well, good-by then.” And again that unsatisfied disconnection hung between them. It was Patsy who turned away from the telephone looking queer, She saw again a picture which she had carried unconsciously in her mind since that morning when she took Miss Potter downtown—of the worn mp on tips of gloves turned under to hide shabbi- ness, of the wreck of a face, marred by sor- row and cruel treatment. She thought of Mr. Granger’s story, carried only as a memory now for recounting at a dinner table. One could imagine the governor's daughter insisting on political later reading in some lonely room t of the achievements of the ambassador whom she might have married. Loyal that was her motive, and they paid her back now. Sucking the lemon dry. It wasn’t fair. She might be full of platitudes, thought Patsy, but she did please people. Think of the way she had affected even Dot. If Miss Potter were steered as Patsy and a couple of ponent women could do it, gently, so she would think she was playing it alone, it would work out. Patsy went to her desk and started a note. Then she tore it up. It wouldn’t do. He might leave town at any moment. She returned to the telephone. “Mr. Granger, please,”’ she said. “Tell him it’s Mrs, Joseph Mackay. . . . Yes, I'll hold the wire. . . . Oh, Mr. Granger, this is Patsy Mackay. . . Fine, thank you. . . . Yes, stillinterested. . . . Will you do something for me? No, I don’t want to go to Congress. Please be serious. You know that I asked og why you didn’t do something direct? I'll forgive you ev- erything—your light under a bushel and all that—if you'll do something now quickly is true; but not to him,” he said. “ Now I will give him the proofs, first of my confi- dence—for no one has ever seen this little book but myself—and then of my truth, for the figures go back not only to monsieur’s rugs but to rugs I bought and sold for more than two years.” There was no difficulty about it. Each rug in a dealer’s shop has a tag sewed into it and the tag bears a serial number with data relating to quality and price. We looked up the serial numbers on the t that had been affixed to the rugs I had bought, and found them all set down in order in the little book, under the date and the name of the person from whom they had been pur- chased. The price paid for the rug was there, and the price for which it was sold, and in every instance the details agreed with what the seiler had told me. I thought it all out, and it seemed impossible to me that he could have doctored the little book all the way back, for my benefit, and I was impressed. It was impossible not tobe. I did not beg the dealer’s pardon, but my in- terest in his rugs revived a little. One morn- ing he came to my office, followed by a porter carrying a bundle of rugs, and a very ~~. fied old Turkish gentleman, so decrepit that he could move along only by depending with both hands upon the thick back of his walk- ing stick. There was such an air of impor- tance and secrecy about the rug dealer that it was no easy matter to chase the others out of the office, as he insisted, but when we were alone he introduced me to the old gentleman with due formality. “Ami, this gentleman is Mohammed Ahmet Pasha, a great name in Turkey, who was chief of the treasury in the time of Sul- tan Abdul-Hamid. He was very rich, but the times have changed and now he is very r. His sons were killed in the war, and og nothing left but his old wife and the | rugs that hang on the walls of his house left | him by his father. I have seen them, ami, and it is a true word that they are wonder- ful, equal to those that hang in the museum at Chinili Kiosk. When there is nothing in the house to eat he takes a rug from the wall and sells it. But he is very old, and a great ntleman, monsieur, who cannot sell rugs in the streets, so he brings them to me. I cannot buy them, because for such antiques loyalty and ¢ he stories April 25,1925 before you go away. It should be immedi- ate, because of a lot of reasons. Tell Mr. Evans to continue his publicity bureau with Miss Potter in charge—and make the salary as a possible. I’ll make a con- tribution to keeping the bureau going if you don’t tell anyone and will let it come through you. No, I don’t want to appear. I know she’s not got the modern viewpoint. . . . No, she won’t hurt things a bit, because we’ll manage her gently. We’ll work through her, do you see? She needs the job badly. And she cares for your old party a lot more than anyone else does; more than I do. She writes poems about it—probably she’ll write a sonnet to you. Please, will you do it right away?’’ She hung up the receiver, laughing this time at Theodore Granger’s final comment. “You are a politician,”’ he said, “that’s regular stuff and the way to play it. I'll do it right away. I’ll tell Evans te tell her. Is that direct enough?” From his picture over the mantel, Joe Mackay seemed to smile back at his widow, and Patsy looked back wistfully. There should be someone to share all this with, all this fun and sympathy and planning. The fire crackled and the clocks ticked. There was no one. Then outside there came a hoarse chugging, which stopped abruptly a second ore the doorbell rang faintly. Patsy went to the door. She knew who would be there. “T’m an idiot,” said Tony, “but I know I sounded rude over the telephone and I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry. I'll do anything I can—always re ‘Stop stuttering,” answered Patsy, ‘“‘and come in and get warm while I tell you the last episode in the story of the old war horse, which is for your ears only. I can aimost hear her say to me now, ‘I have been in — many years, Mrs. Mackay. Long ore women were given the vote I made my par my study—almost my religion.’ Well, anyway, she makes me feel young.” Editor's Note—This is the second of a series of stories by Margaret Culkin Banning. The next will appear in an ¢arly issue. RUG HUNTING IN THE ORIENT (Continued from Page 44) it is not easy to find a customer who has the taste and will pay the price. I: America now—ah, if I had them in America —— re He broke off his harangue to soothe the old gentleman, who was fidgeting in his chair and giving out snorts that left no doubts as to his impatience; and although the old gentleman was almost stone deaf, the dealer cautiously whispered, “Treat him with gare i monsieur. He expects it, and it is g business. Could you serve coffee and cigarettes?” They were brought in and the old gentle- man was restored to equanimity. I asked the rug dealer to tell him of the BA I felt it to be to have made his acquaintance and the pleasure I anticipated in looking at his beautiful rugs, but that it shamed me to admit my fear that my poor means would not allow me the privilege of buying them. The dealer placed his mouth against the Turk’s large hairy ear and translated my speech at the top of his voice. The old gentleman responded by an an- noyed shake of his head, as if a particular! obnoxious fly had lit on it, and a few high querulous words which the dealer trans- lated as indicating that all was as Allah willed, and that it would do no harm to look at the rugs. They were unrolled, and indeed they were beautiful. All three were prayer rugs; one a Ladik, of a mahogany-red ground sur- rounded by borders of old ivory and amber, with the red and green Rhodian lilies char- acteristic of Ladiks set in a blue field, and a dark-green panel above the mihrab, like a great emerald. Another was a Kulah, all dull gold and soft blues with the columns of the mihrab, or holy place, in the red of porphyry. But the picce superbe of the collection was an old Ghiordes. Its generai tone was old ivory, with seven lacy borders in ivory and blue, and the mihrab of a delicate , as velvety and tender as the first signs of the apple leaves in spring. It was so lovely that it brought tears to my eyes. “Ah, monsieur,” cried the dealer, noting my emotion, “in America what would not a rich collector give for that piece! I on wish we had it there. One could not (Continued on Page 92)

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SATURDAY EVENING POST UNITED STA TIRES ARE GOOD TIRES OWADAYS the man who wants a low-priced cord tire doesn’t have to be satisfied with an unknown, unguaranteed brand. ' He can go to a dependable U. S. Tire dealer and get an USCO CORD-—a tire that will deliver the full ser- vice he expects and ought to get for his money. Trade Mark Thousands of car owners whose tire requirements do not call for the extra mileage of U.S. Royal Cords, are buying USCO CORDS. The USCO CORD is a handsome all-black tire. Its he U S (; O 2. O R D is broad, flat tread with good high shoulders gives it ex- ceptional road contact and non-skid protection. the New Value in Low- The name of its makers is on every USCO CORD —your guarantee of quality. ° “ Made in 30x3 inch and 30x3'% inch clincher, and P riced Tires 30x31, 32x34, 31x4, 32x4, 33x4 and 34x4 inch straight side—all sizes for light sixes and fours. United States Rubber Company USCO CORD

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. on every shoe a THE SATURDAY alk-Overg r SHOES Vor Men and Women 57 §$8290519 are the leading prices Is this shoe yours— or your neighbor's? y' UR foot is as different from your neighbor’s as your nose is. Even when you and your neighbor wear the same size shoe, can it really fit you both, when your feet are so dif- . ferent? j | Walk-Over has a shoe for both of you, and it is a different shoe,not merely a dif- ferent size. There is at least one Walk Over shoe to fitevery nartow at the bottom known type of foot. | ie wide at This is the contour of an ordinary shoe heel, ; . th top Your own shoe is estas wo ne ey comfort in Walk-Overs—you get the pear-shaped heel. That is an exclusive Walk-Over feature that makes shoes fit better. See in these diagrams how shoe heels are made. The ordinary heel is | so narrow at the bot- tom that there is no room for your heel to expand. It is no wonder that pressure from your weight makes ordinary shoes gape at the top. The pear-shaped | ‘pang This is the ear shaped i; it makes room for the natural bulge of your heel, yet clings at the top. waiting for you at the Walk-Over store, with a fit that is personal and comfortable, in a style that is as smart as shoes can be made, You get more than style and heel has room at the bottom for your heel to expand, and it clings at the top. It makes fine-fitting, good-looking Walk- Over shoes fit better, feel better and look better. @ 1925,G E K Co Geo. E. KEITH COMPANY, Campello, Brockton, Mass., U.S A ~ Continued from Page 90) | : | said that if he got eight hundred, or —" near it, it would be from someone When this was repeated to the old gen- tleman he became belligerent at once and indicated that I might go to the devil. He himself up on his stick and tried to oe out, but each time the rug dealer off and gently hustled the old figure back to its chair. For a couple of hours he pleaded with us both, and then the old Come rays got up again and called upon the het to hear his last word. Five hun- I could not help eon | tempted, for I thought the rugs were probably worth more than five hun livres, and my companion almost cried his delight at seeing me get , although he assured me that it cut the commission he had expected in half. “All right,” I said; “if that is the last word leave them for a few days, and then, perhaps, if I still like them I may take them.” But there was no holding the old gentle- man this time. His creditors were pressing him today, he declared, and the money must be forthcoming at once, or no sale. His manner and the flash in his haughty old eyes left no room for a doubt of his sin- cerity. I had to give in a little, or give up the rugs, and I didn’t want to do either, “Well,” I told our go-between, “I don’t buy rugs without ng all the time I want to go over them, and you know it. But since you guarantee these rugs to be what they appear to be I'll take a chance on them. Tell the old man I’ll give him three hundred and fifty livres, or hun- dred and seventy dollars, gold, as he pre- fers, and take them now; or he can leave them here for three days and talk price afterward. If that doesn’t suit take them out of here, for I can’t give you any more time today.” The Deal Goes Through When this was translated to the Turk he never said a word, though his eyes simply spurted hatred. But when he rose stiffly to po ane the dealer took him in his arms to enel os ely oes ok coe ou ol ly spun companion halfway across the room. A Déusher ander stood, however, that the time had come for action. By sheer physical force he dragged the old man up to me, pulled his hand down underneath a piece of silk embroidery that | one of the rugs had been wrapped in, held | it against mine and placed his own hand over them both. “Voila!” he cried. “The hands are met, and it is done. And this,” he added, tossing the piece of silk at me with one hand while he wiped the perspiration from his stream- ing face with the other, “is your bargain token.” The old gentleman took my check in si- lence and tottered out. He never dreamed of further — for, the East over, the meeting of the hands is the symbol of a contract, no matter by what force or false pretenses it is brought about. But he seemed older and more broken than ever, us if he had been abused, and shamefully I felt that he had. The dealer was delighted | with himself, cocking his hard eye into every corner of the room while the merry one shone like a fixed star, unti! I threw him | out in the wake of the porter and the old | gentleman, I wanted to be alone, to gloat | all by myself over my new treasures. Bet gee filling. I threw the Ladik | over t desk, and the Kulah over the di- | van, and the lovely old mage ren yh omg Ghiordes.I hung up on the wall, where could gaze at it from every angle. They April 25,1925 were much too worn and old for use on the floor, and their short pile, without sheen, like all Turkish carpets, showed to better advantage when used as draperies. Soon some of my friends came, and went into raptures over them. A Briton who had spent a dozen years in Constantinople and owned a fine collection of rugs offered me for the Ghiordes what I had paid for all three, and I refused his offer. People began to ask me to help them select rugs, as if I were being looked upon as one who knew something about them, and I was, accord- ingly, elated. The old Turkish gentleman’s financial continuing, I got from him, the dealer assisting, 2 Bergama of the eighteenth century, rather out at elbows, an Oushak of the same period, and an early nineteenth-century Kis Ghiordes, or the rug woven by a maiden as a pions | gift to her future husband. They were a viewed by people who prof to know rugs, and pronounced genuine period rugs of exceptional value. My faith in my pet rug dealer was vindicated, and I rejoi in the good luck that had come to me out of the old Turk’s adversity. And then I returned to the United States, bringing my with me. In New York I took them to the expert whose assistance had been so invaluable to me in Tiflis, for his opinion. He looked them over, com- menting upon each one, generally with a fair amount of approval, but with none of the enthusiasm I had hoped for. The Inquest on the Bargains “You have some very good rugs,” he summed up, “and some not so good. Of course you paid a t deal too much for that one” —indicating the Khorasan bought in Batum; “you could have bought better ones here for half the price. Your moderns are better than your antiques, which are real but undistinguished, and your semi- antiques a good deal better. On the whole, ou have a nice collection. The only thing don’t quite understand is how you happen to have that one in it.’ He pointed to the prized seventeenth-century Ghiordes. “Just luck,” I said. ‘Isn’t it a wonder!” “Well, ; it is a wonder of its class. Of course if it had been genuine you couldn’t have bought it.” I was astounded. “What!” I managed to ejaculate. ‘Do you mean to say that that rug is a fake?”’ ‘Certainly it is, my boy. Why, didn’t ou know it? I know the man who made t, the same man that once made three Ispahans that sold all over Europe, one for as much as five thousand dollars, before they were shown to be copies. But yours is a counterfeit easy to detect. See here.” He pointed out the evidences, and they were apparent enough when indicated by a real expert. The holes and the patches and the darnings, the discolorations and ali the oa of wear had been made by an artist who had loved his labors of deception and wrought them ae My wonderful rug was a fake, and I have no doubt that the old gentleman was too. If so, he was a wonderful actor, the best I have ever seen. It is an old Constantinople trick, I learned, worked upon those who are there long enough to give it time to work and who think they know a lot. For tourists and people who don’t pretend to know there are simpler tricks as effective. I have gone fully into this incident to support by unexaggerated detail yo | opin- ion that the rug lover, no matter what his eneral experience and the books he may ave read, who goes to an Oriental dealer for antiques, without the advice of an ex- pert, is courting trouble. What chance can a dilettante have against one of these pro- fessionals, with his lifetime of insight and daily experience in every detail of the rug eraft, backed by an instinct inherited from nerations of trading forbears? The ener the amateur’s feeling for rugs the heavier his handicap of stirred emotions. Perhaps he will not show them, but his acute antagonist well knows that they are there, and as easily measures their effect. Between the rug lover and his beloved there will always stand this keen, o uiously smiling but ironic figure of the Oriental dealer, who outgrew his first love of choice weaves with his youth and can now look tenderly but appraisingly upon them, sure of his advantage and calculating just when to use it. I do not try to explain the dealer I have been writing about; he is the Oriental con- tradiction. On the whole, the rugs I bought (Continued on Page 94) ew

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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Fabric that you like to wear. Fine, soft, dur- able. Comfort-cut, Roomy ail over. Pearl buttons. Strong seams. Staunch buttonholes That's Doller Topkis Men's Unien Suits LG; Shirts and wers, TS euch; Boye’ Union, 75c; Girls’ Bloomer Union, 75¢; Chil- dren's Waist Lnion Suite, 75, In Can ‘ala, Men's Union Saaiee, $1.50. Look for this lsbel-- THE SATURDAY Your dollar is still ““The Almighty Dollar” if you use it to buy a Topkis Union Suit. Here’s how the tremendous value in Topkis came about. Men wanted a union suit cut along big, manly lines. They wanted fine, long-wearing fabric and dependable workmanship. They wanted all this for a dollar. So we gave them Dollar Topkis. It meant selling millions of union suits to make the price possible. The men who wanted Topkis bought millions. That’s why you can get this astounding underwear value today for only a dollar. Ask your dealer to show you Topkis. Write for free illustrated booklet Torxis Brorners ComPaANy, Wilmington, Delaware General Sales Offices: 95 Worth St., at Broadway, New York EVENING POST (Continued from Page 92) directly from him were worth the money. A few were really bargains; the others, in the present low state of the Oriental- rug market in the United States, could be bought as cheaply in New York. Of the rugs obtained through him from the old gentleman, with the exception of the Ghiordes they were all genuine enough, but not exceptional enough to warrant any particular enthusiasm on the part of an ex- pert. I have no doubt that the dealer made enough on them to compensate him for any inroads that may have been made previously upon his “20 per cent” profit. Often, since, I have wondered about an- other adventure that I had with my friend the dealer. Two American ladies of prom- inence came to Constantinople with one of the great excursion ships and professed admiration for my rugs, particularly those I had acquired from the old gentleman. They asked me to arrange with the dealer to have them see his collection at the old man’s house, with a ibility that they might buy the lot. But the dealer could not do that. In the first place the old gentleman loathed parting with any of his rugs, and only culled them a piece at a time from his walls when he could no longer put off his obligations. Then he didn’t like Chris- tians, especially Christian womenkind, and he would regard their presence in his house asa profanation. But my friend knew of an- other Turkish private gentleman who might be willing to dispose of some of his rugs. He, too, was old and in somewhat reduced cireumstances, and he had a very fine col- lection. My friend would have to find out, though, if he would agree to receiving Christians, and that would take a little as k two days, b h ted t took two days, but at the appoin hour he Primes 1 with a very handsome carriage and we drove over the bridge across the Golden Horn, beyond St. Sophia and the bazaars of Stamboul, almost to the Yeni Kapu, or Gate of the Byzantines, in the massive crumbling walls that still sur- round the ancient city. Here we stopped before a plain but substantial Turkish house, as usual of wood and unpainted, and were provided with soft felt slippers to slip over our infidel feet before we crossed the threshold. We thought we caught tinkles of silvery laughter as we the latticed windows that guarded the women’s quar- ters, but a dignified serving man received us at the door and led us up two flights of stairs to the third story before we had time to sed the impression. That the walls and hallway were rather bare did not par- ticularly strike us, for in the Western sense Turkish houses seem devoid of furniture. A Well-Set Stage On the third floor we were very graciously received, first by the son of the house, a star-eyed young man with tenderly curling black mustaches that would have made his fortune in the movies; and then by his father, a burly, aregipanes old buck of a he-Turk who looked exactly as if he had been cut from the chromo on a package of cigarettes. He had been sitting with half a dozen of his cronies, their water pipes gurgling pithily, on a sort of raised platform that ran around the room, when we entered, and after the introduction he resumed his seat, folding his legs in front of his stomach like the legs of a collapsible chair, and — away at his water pipe as if nothing had happened. The inevitable coffee and cigarettes were served, and then followed a calm exchange of the polite The rugs we had been brought to see hung upon the walls. They were mostly Anatolians, a Kir Shehr, a Yuruk, two or three Akhissars, that resemble Ghiordes as a rhinestone resembles a diamond, and many Kulahs. They failed to prove inter- esting and we were led away into another room hung with Cashmeres and rugs from Central Asia. Here I thought the two ladies would be literally jaw-boned into buying in self-defense, for father and son, even the cronies, joined forces with our guide in his vociferous onslaught. But the iadies proved hardened specimens of the genus bargain hunter, and eventually we made our escape with pockets intact, promising to come, per- haps, another day when we might be better April 25,1925 able to agree on prices. Perfectly at home and hospitable to the last, the ks cere- moniously sped their departing guests, even to the forcing of little gifts of sweets and candies into our hands at the door. A few days afterward, a little more in- terested in some of the carpets than I had thought it wise to admit, I sought out the house without confiding in my friend. The house was there, just as we had left it, but the people living in it were not the ones we had met on the day of my visit with the ladies. Nor had they any such carpets as we had seen, for I made it my business to find out. At the time I said nothing to the dealer, for I thought it possible that I might have mistaken the house. But I never really believed that, and as the per- spective sharpens with the distance I seem to perceive clear confirmation of the arti- ficiality that hung about it that day. In the light of subsequent revelations I am wondering if our guide did not hire the house and the host, his son and his cronies, too—and, if our ears did not deceive us, the tinkling voices behind the lattice work—to put on a show, for our benefit. He is quite capable of it. These experiences of mine in picking out Oriental rugs in Oriental lands are so con- tradictory that they rebel against any at- tempt of mine to converge them toward a logical set of conclusions. The impression they have left on my own mind is, however, that I don’t know anything about Oriental rugs and am never likely to know much more. And this in spite of some rather un- common opportunities. Washing and Doctoring If the reader is ready to agree, I will then ask him to ponder my conviction that he himself isn’t likely to know much more, if he is of the common or ordinary run of mortals, and that he will be better off in the long run if he stays at home and buys his Oriental rugs from his local dealer. Let that acute gentleman match his craft against the East, and, if plunder is your me, try your hand at plundering him. ou will at least have the advantage of a contest on your home grounds. Roughly speaking, all rugs are divided into two groups, antiques and moderns, though the term semiantique is often ap- = to rugs forty or fifty years old which ave not been treated in any way and which, although going through the natural aging rocess, have not quite attained to the uty of antiques. Antiques must be at least fifty years old—that is, they must have been made prior to the introduction of aniline dyes—and, except for patchin and the toning down of the colors whic comes from time and usage, they must not have been altered since they came from the weaver’s hands. Because of the excellence of the wools used in the old days, the har- mony of their colors, the endurin: quality of their purely vegetable dyes, the original nature their designs and the exquisite sheen imparted to the pile by the subdued light of Oriental interiors and the gentle kneading of bare feet over a long stretch of years, antique rugs generally are much su- perior to moderns, and command higher rices. Naturally this gives rise to many imitations, Modern rugs immeasurably outnumber all other possible classifications combined, and vary all the way from rugs almost as good in every respect as antiques, to the most horrible concoctions of aniline dyes and the German loom, turned out to meet every phase of Western taste. Modern rugs form so completely the body of the rug trade that, with the exception of an oda iece here and there which falls into the oar of the antique dealers or private col- lectors almost immediately, it may be said that only modern rugs are now imported into this country. Practically every piece brought into the United States goes direct from the customs house to a chemical bath, where it is treated to the process called “washing”’ by the trade, and “doctoring” by. the public in general. However—and this should be empha- sized—the use of this process is not pri- marily for the purpose of making antique oe out of new ores, nor would any repu- table dealer attempt to pass off one of these (Continued on Page 96) | Om 5 rt — a A

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MHE NICKEL LUNCH OW easy it is to get hungry about eleven yeh a in the morning. Breakfast is a faint memory and lunch is two busy hours away. There’s nothing like Planters Pennant Peanuts for “‘emer- gency rations’. Not merely be- cause they taste so good but also because they are the most nutritious of foods. Every Planters peanut is big and plump. they're roasted thor- oughly, dipped in butter to keep them fresh and crisp—then salted to your taste. Buy a bag of Pennant Brand peanuts. Slip them in your desk. They re good atany time of day and as wholesome as a ray of sunshine, Even though taken from the Planters can, and sold in the Planters Salted Peanuts unless they are in the glassine bag with the “Planters” name and “Mr. Peanut” on it. Planters Nut & Chocolate Co., Suffolk, Va., Wilkes-Barre, Pa., San Francisco, New York, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, ‘Toronto Yrtera PENNANT PEANUT REG US Par OFF ™MR SALTED PEANUTS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 94) washed rugs upon a customer as an antique. The rug is bathed in a weak solution of oxalic acid or some other chemical, to sub- due its naturally bright sharp colors to the blended tones more in harmony with the furnishings of our modern homes, and to give its pile the soft silky gloss that the trade demands. But there are dealers of no repute, and many thousands of cus- tomers who do not know the difference be- tween the shine of the washed rug and the sheen of the pure, or untreated one. The temptation, sometimes, to allow the cus- tomer to think what he pleases must be very great. It does not require any considerable skill to tell the difference between the gloss of the washed rug and the luster of the natural one, however. They resemble each other as paste resembles a pearl. An un- treated , especially an antique, appears light and glossy, but with the contrasts be- tween the colors clearly marked, when the nap runs away from you; rich and dark, and without luster, if you view it against the pile. In a washed rug the sheen is ex- cessive and silvery, and the colors seem all mixed up, as indeed they are to a certain extent. The artificiality is apparent, like rouge instead of rose on the schoolgirl’s cheeks. Nevertheless, it is a fact that the artificial sheen and colors all messed to- gether of washed rugs is preferred by most people with little taste or knowledge of Oriental rugs, to the natural beauties of the pure rug. The faked or doctored rug is an entirely different matter, a product of the Orient fabricated with the deliberate intent to deceive, and should be carefully distin- guished from the washed rug as referred to here, although the Oriental washes rugs too. There may be some secret methods of faking antiques, but the known processes are childishly direct and, however effective, involve hardly more than infinite patience and a naively cunning hand labor. The most primitive method is to expose the rug to strong sunlight, dirt and hard usage for a period extending over weeks and some- times months, in the streets. The traveler in Tiflis or in some parts of Constantinople can, if he has a mind to, walk or drive for days over a succession of car laid out upon the stones in the dirty little byways of the bazaar. Camels and goats add their mite to the contributions of the ing throng, which gives of its best to further the aspirations of the dealer in the aging of his all too patently new weaves. When man and creature and weather have done all that could be se.) pe of them the owner takes his rug inside and cleans it up with coffee grounds, chloride of lime or lemon juice, runs it between hot rollers anointed with wax or glycerin, and finally buries it in the moldy earth beneath his floors to mature, against the day of the expected customer. Tricks of the Fakers A rug treated so, looks common, and it iscommon. Nobody is fooled but the veri- | est greenhorn, but there are lots of him | always running around loose in the rug | they have been worn. Planters jar, they are not} | anilines do. }att bazaars. Look at the selvage and the fringes; you can see that they are new. Look he back, and at the overcasting along the sides, and see where and how much Nine times out of ten these rugs have been dyed with anilines, and if you will part the pile you will find down next the roots a different color, or a pair of colors, instead of only a darker shade of the one at the surface. Vegetable dyes, when new, fade in sunlight and water quite as surely as anilines, but they do not dis- integrate into their compesite colors as the For instance, an old rug of ros® color will have faded to a lighter rose at the top than at the roots, but it will be rose all through, while the aniline rug will show rose at the top and, underneath, stains of purple and red, or even a ghastly blue. As all old rugs are vegetable dyed, | this is one of the stock tests. The sign manual of the amateur is the test he invariably applies, and his faith in it. Put vulgarly, he _— on his handker- chief and scrubs at the rug with all his might. Then he is worried to discover if what comes off is a smear of color or wool fibers. And if he finds a stain on the hand- kerchief or the salivated spot has an acrid smell he is off that rug for life. The stain may indicate aniline and the smell chemical treatment, but I never found the test con- clusive and I never saw a professional apply it. At best it is only a rough guide, or of April 25,1925 real value in the hands of one whose know!l- edge is such that he doesn’t need to use it. A better way is to scrub the rug with soa and water where some brilliant color, suc as red or green, adjoins the white, and let itd If the white shows a pink or green- ish tinge your rug is aniline dyed, and you needn’t bother any more about its age. A modern made with vegetable dyes and untreated is more difficult to tell from an antique, and there is no real test ert your knowledge of design, of weaving meth- ods, and what your eye may tell you from experience. It greatly helps to know of Shirvans, for instance—though many oth- ers possess kindred characteristics—that in antiques both warp and weft were always white wool, while in moderns the warp is usually gray or brown wool and the weft wool or cotton. Burning the pile with a lighted match may tell you whether the wool is good or mixed with some other fabric, but it won't tell you much about the other values in the rug unless you are possessed of so much supplementary knowl- edge that you don’t need the match. If you know that in the old days the weavers could not obtain black from vegetable dyes and were reduced to making it, when natu- ral black wool was not available, from iron filings steeped in vinegar, which rots out the wool fibers much more quickly than vegetable dyes, you will doubtless look upon the excessively worn blacks, com- pared with the other colors in your rug, as proof of its antiquity. That was my hasty conclusion in the matter of the big Khorasan I got in Batum, and my knowledge was of no more use to me than yours will be to you if the wicked old man who made the rug has used a piece of pumicestone to grind down the blacks. The Helpless Amateur Painting with deft touches from a camel’s- hair brush, weighting to stiffen the weave, tearing out irregular pieces in the new fabric and putting old patches in are all favorite devices of the Oriental for the un- doing of his innocent Occidental brother, and I do not know how to tell the innocent of any rule that will enable him to detect the cunning artificer, except by the acquisi- tion of that understanding which in trained hands turns him into a fool for his pains. The one successful way of faking antique rugs, and the one most practiced where there is sufficient skill and the reward prom- ising enough to make it worth while, is to weave the new rug of wool unraveled from an old rug whose decrepitude has put it yast commercial value. Such a rug will ave the natural sheen attained only through long usage, and all the earmarks of a real antique. To gild his lily maybe the maker will rub it down in spots with pumice- stone, and maybe he won’t. Or he may punch a hole through it with his fist and patch it gratuitously with torn bits from another ancient wreck, or darn it with eunning appreciation of the crudities of old barbarian hands. Whatever he may do, no mechanical or chemical tests will detect his fraud. To see through it the expert must call upon his knowledge of the peculiari- ties which characterized the weaving of rugs of the period and kind which the specimen before him purports to represent. And if they have been carefully preserved by the artificer, the expert may himself be de- ceived and years pass before the fraud is found out. Of such a nature was the spurieus Ghiordes passed off on me by the old gentleman, of unforgettable memory. I forgive him, but I shall never forget him. It is because, then, that I think the di- viding line between the false and the true in Oriental rugs too uncertain of detection by simple tests in the hands of the layman that I counsel him to enlist the help of his local dealer, rather than search about on his own, in his quest for the rugs of his fancy. The dealer knows; that is the point. It is the business of his life to know, while the amateur, however much he studies the books and the comparatively few rugs that may pass beneath his hands, can rarely equip himself to cope with wits at least as my as his and twice as unscrupulous. His knowledge in any given case is likely to be general, while the dealer’s is explicit. It is the amateur’s business to pick his dealer, and to pick him first upon his repu- tation for honesty and truthfulness. And you really cannot know that about him unless you have lived in the same town, or near by, with hirn. Editor's Note—This is the last of two articles by Mr. Strand.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST In Style, Performance, Value A CAR FOR THE NEXT TEN YEARS ges popular reception given the New Franklin is inspired by a style leadership and performance which will endure. Design fundamentals and detail are correct. There has been no compromise in quality. The result is a car which will be correct in style and actively in service ten years from now. Sales already point to it as the leading value in the fine car field. This longer, lower-slung, high-powered Franklin, with custom features, makes ownership a delight. SEDAN - SPORT SEDAN + TOURING + SPORT RUNABOUT COUPE + CABRIOLET - ENCLOSED-DRIVE LIMOUSINE Franklin Series 11 is ready for the road, completely equipped with appropriate accessories, spare tire and cover—all included in the catalog price. Only tax and freight are extra. areee see o00 - rote. ~ j } | i¥ j j 6

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“ Personally,” he said, “1 believe I'd just as scon have a burglar around the house.” Mr. Bradley pores: “You're right, Joe,” he agreed; adding rather Leclomandie, "you know you've got a right to shoot a burg the law says so. Mire Bradley looked thoughtful. . Bellows,”” she commented, “ was tndeod’ a ve very nice young man, though a pasaer.” ait iv WAS two weeks before Paul felt that it would not be foolhardy to call again at the Bradley house. He had seen Cyn- thia twice in Manhattan, and had almost sobbed his regret at what- ever he had done “Tl erred,” he pleaded, “and I rue it. But please, dear Cynthia, do not sever our relations.” “It was just unfortunate, Paul,” she smiled in apite of herself. ‘We were feeling so bad, so terrible, and-- and-and your coming in to tell us that-—that ‘hoy’ was a ship was just out of place. I understand, Paul; don’t worry. Wait a little while.” She had been in low spirits, and his own heart ached at the thought of what she was havin to go through. The payment of the money Mr. Bradley had spent on the ridged 4 table knife was due the following week, and as yet there was no indication at all that it could be met. Neither she nor Joe earned enough to save much, and all thie tittle had been in the sum Mr. Bradiey had turned over to the pewter magnates Paul's first visit after the fuss pe him to the Bradley home shortly after noon on Saturday. lie had just reached the gate of the little house near the edge of the woods, when through it flashed a blurred gray figure. [t cut across the street and stretched out into a tremendous gallop across a stub- ble field. Transfixed, Paul stared and identified it finally as Mr. Bradley. As he stood there, Joe followed, but stopped at the gate. Cupping his hands he shouted after his father “Step on it, pop! Don’t be late!” ie turned around then and saw Paul. “Tt's Unele Cedric,” he explained. “ He's dying again.” He went with Joe into the house. “Who is Uncle Cedric?” he asked Cyn- thia. “He's grandfather's brother,” she ex- plained. “‘He’s a queer old Englishman, very sweet in his odd way, but he has a down on the world.” She waved vaguely toward the woods, ‘He has a little hut out there in those woods that he built himself. He cooks his own food and never comes out and never has anything to do with any- body.” “a chase! “He seratches a good deal,” Joe volun- teered. “He's great on scratching,” “Acne,” Paul diagnosed the trouble. “That's a postular eruption.” He turned to Cynthia. “Before I took up cross-word puzales,” he said brightly, “1 didn’t know that at all! Acne—-postuylar eruption.” He looked around inquiringly. ‘Where's Mrs. aw 6 nthia answered. he’s gone to see Silas Gallup to beg for a monta’s extension on the mortgage She spoke without hope. “Perheps some- thing will turn up.” “And what did you mean,” Paul asked, suddenly recalling Joe's curious statement, ‘by saying your Uncle Cedric was dying again?” Cynthia amiled. “Ob, Joe is unkind,” she said. “Uncle Cedric is nervous about himself. Alone out there, he gets an idea every so often that he is about to die, and sends word for dad to come to him. Jow an “it’s like a fire house,” he explained. “People rush in here ali hours of the day and night with word that Uncle Cedric wants pop to come at once, Pop sprin into his clothes, slides down the brass on and lights cut acroes the fields. So far,” he h,” Paul said, “an anchoret, or re- “Ss THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE LAUGHING DEATH (Continued fram Page 50) added, | but false alarms 4 "and ies he dote on his Uncle Cedric so “we've had nothing “Yes; is he inordinately fond of him?” The Bradley boy laughed sardonically. “Uncle Cedrie’s got a lot of jack salted away out there in those woods,” he said. “He's a miser. He's told us so. He's told Cynthia. And when he dies, we get it. And when he sends word that he’s dying, we have to hustle. We can’t afford to be late. There are a few last words we want to hear—they’ll tell us where this money is.” “Joe is cruel,” a declared. “We— I love Uncle C ‘edrie, but -——’ “But just now,” Joe broke in, some unaccountable reason at need money !”’ The door opened and Mrs. Bradley entered. She said “Oh!” when she saw Paul, and then added soothingly, “Now, Paul, you just be quiet. We're all your friends. Be quiet now.” And she sidled nervously around him. Joe laughed oafishly. “I’m not the only one that thinks it,” he jeered at his sister meaning. and Cyn- thia flushed angrily. Paul’s face bore a blank expression. Mrs. Bradley sat down with a sigh. “Silas Gallup is a hard man,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “It’s no use, children. “You mean he would not hearken to your plea?” Paul's voice showed his concern, but Mrs, Bradley looked at him suspiciously. Joe refused to take this news of her failure seriously. “Keep your head up, mom,’ with a significant jerk of his head. 3 ig for * he said, “We got another alarm from the woods a few minutes ago. Pop’s answered it full steam ahead, dog-gone the torpedoes. The Her- mit of ae Yonune Valley claims to be — his last again. Mrs. Bradley murmured, BP t say dog-gone; it isn’t nice.’ “It’s argot, or patois, Mrs. Bradley.” Paul was anxious to fan any spark of camaraderie. “It is not banned by all so- ciety.” Both Joe and Mrs. Bradley showed their bewilderment, and Cynthia shot Paul a ae of warning and shook her head for im to remain a nonparticipant. “you Cynthia Was Gazing at the Leaping, Bounding Cross:Word:-Puzsie Cham: pion of New York City, as He Raced Across the Lea, the Fen and the st.— Abbr. “Tf I have erred " he began, when Joe, after a glance out of ad window, in- terrupted. “Here’s pop,” he announced. ‘He doesn’t look any too frisky; Uncle Cedric must have pulled through.” Mr. Bradley entered the house. He saw Paul and ignored him. “Uncle Cedric,”” he said to the others, “is very low. He had about given up hope, but he picked upa little and told me finall that he wouldn t need me, that he felt all right again.” He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he added in a voice that may or may not have held sorrow. “A man of his age and status,” Paul commented, “has generally reached the nadir of physical resistance.” Nobody understanding, nobody replied to this. r. Bradley sat down and looked agerennny at his wife. She shook her ad Mr. father,” Bradl glan sounded on the porch. him now.” Gallup is a hard, hard man, she said. Pain shot through Mr. "s eyés. ‘“‘He’s coming ———” She toward the window as footsteps “That may be TS Ps April 25,1925 Cynthia answered the knock and fol- lowed Silas Gallup back into the room. He stood for a minute looking around silently before he addressed the father. “Well, Bradley,”’ he said, “your missus called on me this afternoon with bad news. I hope it isn’t—I hope it has been exag- gerated. The situation in the realty field at present is such that I couldn’t afford to dis- regard the jetter of an agreement or a con- tract.’ Paul rose uncomfortably. He did not feel that he should remain during a con- versation so personal. But Cynthia got up also and went over to him. “Don’t go now,” to be here with me.” was afraid. “If it will allay ire,’’ he murmured, “I will stay.” Mr. Gallup caught his words. “Tre!” he said genially. ‘‘So you are a cross-word puzzler too!” Paul looked self-conscious. TH 3 does not seem to manifest ego,” he said, “I might introduce myself. My name is Paul “Mr. Bradley! Mr. Bradley!” A child’s voice rang outside the window. Something in the note, something exciting, brought them all to their feet. “Mr. Bradley! The hermit says come! He’s dying again! He says hurry!” It was the regular bearer of the tidings. Muttering to himself, Mr. Bradley leaped across the room, snatched up his hat and darted out of the room. He reached the porch before stopping. The next second he thrust his head in the door and spoke excitedly. “Don’t go, Mr. Gallup!” he pape, “Stay here until I get I—I may be able to fix this little thing up all right!” He was off again, and a second time word came back, in a shout from the sidewalk. It was ob- viously a message for Joe. “Don’t let him getaway! Keep him there until I get back, you hear?”’ Mr. Gallup observed these hur- ried maneuvers with some aston- ishment. ot y ——” he began, and Paul sprang to hisfeet. Some sud- den impulse to be out of so much personal matter moved him to take advantage of this opportu- nity to leave. “Tl follow in Mr. Bradley’ wake,” he explained hurried y. “There may be so much ado in on woods that I'll be needed. ope I may see you anon.” Ke dashed out of the room and followed the elder Bradley across the stubble field. Iv E COULD not overtake Mr. Bradley. Nobody could have. The nephew of the hermit, grasping at a last straw, sprinted madly across the field and down the path through the woods. He had made up his mind suddenly to beg Uncle Cedric, provided he was still alive, to allow him to have some of the be- quest at once, to stave off this calamity that lurked in Silas Gallup. He meant to insist on it But a hundred yards behind, Paul panted in hot pursuit, scarcely conscious of the fact that he had little or no purpose in rac- ing thus to the possible ‘deathbed of a her- mit. But there being, on the other hand, no reason why he should turn back, he kept on. He came at length to a clearing in the woods. Facing it was a rudely built one- room shanty, seemingly all small boards and patches and cloth stuffings, which he identified at once as the old Englishman’s castle. Gathered about the door, peering in cautiously, was a group of small boys, barefooted and wide-eyed. Paul took she said. “I want you Her eyes pleaded; she cha * Disperse!” he shouted at them. “ Dis- perse, gamins! man! Disperse!" Baffled by his utterances, they did not — at firsts but there was no mistaking his menacin ng gestures. They withdrew to the edge the clearing, apparently as (Continued on Page 103). You are harassing an ill A me rae generar ce re Resa ae

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

oe. Mine, LF 5 Oo eS ie ~ ow Co baby Sy =<) a Inside of canoe, the paddles and fish rods finished with Clear Valspar. Valspar—the Sportsman’s Friend! An enthusiastic fisherman is Mr. W. E. Harrington of Brunswick, Maryland. One day while making for a favorite ground on the Potomac, his canoe tipped over. To the bottom went all his tackle and three rods. Of the rods, two were salvaged on the day of the mishap, but Outside of canoe oe with Valspar Gray and Vermilion Enamel. “Not till five weeks later did I recover the third rod,’”’ writes Mr. Harrington. “It had been in the water more than a month, yet was still perfect . . . Even the silk windings had kept their natural color. The rod was Valsparred and I know this varnish preserves the life of a rod and keeps it true and straight.” Not only fish rods but all kinds of sport equipment will last longer and look better if Valsparred:—golf clubs, tennis rackets, canoes, boats, sleds, toboggans, gunstocks, shoes, etc. Waterproof and weather-proof, Valspar gives lasting protection and “never turns white” in spite of prolonged exposure to water, wear and weather. Send for a sample of Valspar—more . os 3 ’ ish for |} than enough to finish several fish These same qualities make Valspar the supreme varnish for household use. rods, golf clubs, tennis rackets, et. kor full instructions, send 15 cents for the Valspar Book. It contains help VA L EK N i i ] N E & & O M PA N Y ful suggestions and the Valspar Color Largest Manufacturers of High Grade Varnishes in the World — Established 1832 Charts, Use the Coupon New York Chicago Boston Toronto London Paris Amsterdam W. P. FULLER & CO., Pacific Coast This Coupon is worth 20 to 6O Cents VALENTINE & COMPANY, 460 Fourth Ave., New York VA L E N J I N E 9 Ss mi Ve. I enclose dealer’s name and stamps —20c apiece for each 40c sample can checked y at right. (Only one sample each of Clear Valspar, Varnish- Stain and Enamel supplied per person at this special price.) . Se Valspar laswacion Book wih Color Charts, /5c extra. Clear Valspar [1] . Print full mail address plainly. Valspar-Enamel (| diy oe Choose 1 Color .. . y Dealer's Name.....06..0000s00005 ‘ : ‘ Valspar-Stain ) ) Choose 1 Color... Address... abe + | The Varnish That Won't Turn White Valepar Book (} Your Name geee 5. E. P. 45-25

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 i ] (h— ---. - +. --- . —-~- — ee . ee se eae ei A Junior First Aid Kit for every Boy and G who joins the Junior First Aid Legion Simply send enrollment coupon with membership fee (12c). Bauer & Black will send you membership button, book of First Aid instructions and The Junior First Aid Kit. Foreword to Parents:— More than half the accidents happen at home. So, EVERY member of EVERY house- hold, from grandparents to children, should know this vital fact: Infection is more dangerous than accident. And infection is the result of unclean handling. Most minor accidents happen to chil- dren. Yet children are prone to conceal their minor hurts. Hence, Bauer & Black believe a great service can be rendered to the homes of America by teaching children how to give First Aid to minor injuries when mother or father is not at hand. Therefore, in the public interest, Bauer & Black have sponsored for the nation’s boys and girls The Junior First Aid Legion. To belong costs but a trifle, 12c—a small part of the cost of postage and materials needed in conducting the Legion. Bauer & Black will bear the balance of the cost. Every boy and girl joining the Legion will receive a membership button, a book of ir! plainly written and illustrated First Aid instructions, and a compact kit of sterile First Aid dressings, so each may learn, by practice, the things to use and how to use them in caring for common everyday cuts and bruises. Parents are invited to send enrollments for each child in the family. Send 12¢ for each—and a separate First Aid outfit will be sent to each child. The codperation of parents in the work and objects of the Junior First Aid Legion, particularly in reading the First Aid Les- sons to their children, may save serious accident-consequences in thousands of families and reduce the menace of infec- tion throughout the land. Simply sign and send the coupon with I2c in stamps. _ — t ‘Bauer & Black OVER 30 YEARS OF ETHICAL SERVICE TO THE MEDICAL PROFESSION AND THE PUBLIC =

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BOYS ASD sea R 15 -FIR ST AID-WEEK:APRIL 25 to MAY 2 500 $10 Gold Pieces to the 500 Juniors who perform best First Aid Service in 1925 Boys.AND GIRLS: Do you know that it is a very risky matter to touch an open cut or scratch with soiled hands or an unclean cloth? Even the tiniest wound may become a serious injury if dirt and infection get into it. Anything that comes in contact with a wound must be clean. Clean, as your doctor knows the word—which means “germ-free” or sterile, When you get a cut or wound, do not cover it with a handkerchief. For even a freshly washed handkerchief may not be “germ-free.” Water itself is not always sterile. 4 First Aids for a Cut or Wound First, sterilize the wound with an lodine Swab. Second, cover it with a piece of Sterile Gauze, being careful not to let the fingers touch the side of the gauze which goes over the wound. Then put a soft and downy Gauze Bandage over the gauze, to protect the wound from rubbing and pressure. And finally, fasten the dressing with Adhesive Plaster to hold it in place. First Aid knowledge should not be confined to grown-ups alone. For in boy- life and girllife, Accident often comes when Grown-ups are not within im- mediate reach. Founded on Scout Ideals We've taken a leaf from the creed of the Boy Scouts of America in organizing the Junior First Aid Legion. You know the two big hobbies of the Scouts. Preparedness and doing good things for others. Every boy or girl should be prepared for accidents—even little scratches and bruises. Not just for self-help alone. But to be able to give First Aid to a comrade, when he is suddenly hurt and neither parents nor the doctor are near. That's why we're inviting you to join the Bauer & Black Junior First Aid Legion. First, so you can learn, through the First Aid Lessons sent to every member, just what to do in any accident emergency, when medical or other adult help cannot be reached. And second, so you can become acquainted with the right First Aid dressings and materials for safe First Aid application. 500 Awards to Boys and Girls To promote the study of First Aid by Boys and Girls, Bauer & Black will give $5000.00 in cash awards to the boys and girls who perform the best First Aid in 1¢25. The award to be divided into 500 ten dollar gold pieces. 500 Boys and Girls will each get one of these ten dollar gold pieces. With your First Aid Kit, we will enclose some Accident Report Sheets. When- ever you doa First Aid service for any friend, write it down on the report blank (or use any sheet of paper if you are not a member of the Legion). Your Bauer & Back Junior MEMBERSHIP BUTTON Tue Junior First Am Kir CONTAINS ¥ Bauer 6 Black 2 Bauer & Black First Aid Book lodine Swabs F 1 Rol BWB tobe vow ll Adhesive Plaster 1 Pkg. B&B Picric 1 Pky B&B Acid Gauze for Sterile Gauze Burns A 1 JUNIOR FIRST AID LEGION MEMBERSHIP BUTTON doctor, school teacher or druggist must approve it, before it is mailed to us. The s00 boys and girls who, in the opinion of the Award Judges, render the best First Aid in 1929, will each get a ten dollar gold piece. Any boy ot girl may compete for one of these awards whether a member of the Legion or not. Praise from Eminent Authorities In all parts of America, public-spirited authori- ties, interested in boy- and girl-welfare, are enthusi astically endorsing the plan of the Junior First Aid Legion. Uncle Dan Beard, Staff Commissioner of The Boy Scouts of America, writes: “The Junior First Aid Legion to teach boys and girls how to give First Aid in the emergency—when adult help is not available—is a splendid idea. Many trivial accidents result in serious consequences when not given First Aid. Every boy and girl in the land should be glad to study the Bauer & Black course of instruction in First Aid. First Aid is one of the things we emphasize in Boy Scout work.” And Dr. F. J. Monaghan, the Health Commis sioner of New York City, says: “You are doing a big fine work in organizing the children into First Aid Classes. If children knew what to do when accident comes, or if today’s full grown men and women had been taught First Aid when they went to school you'd see fewer people in hospitals.” Join Now—Only 12¢ To join the Legion, simply send the coupon below with 12¢ in stamps. Mail to Bauer & Black or if you prefer you may enroll at your local drug- gist’s and he will forward to Baver & Black. By return mail, you'll get the course of First Aid Instructions and the attractive little First Aid Kit. Today is always the best day to co a worthy owe So may we suggest that you mail in your membership coupon now or have your druggist do it for you? Awards Will Be Made by a Committee of Nationally Known Men Any boy or girl, unless connected directly or indirectiy with Bauer & Black, is eligible to compete for one of the soo ten dollar gold pieces to be awarded for the best first aid service rendered in 1925. But to receive consideration, reports must be in the hands of Bauer & Black, Chicago, on or betore December sist, 1925. Awards will be mailed March ist, 1926 ’ y r ’ MAIL YOUR ENROLLMENT NOW ! (or, if you prefer, enroll through your druggist) MEMBERSHIP COUPON BAUER & BLACK, Chicago, Illinois. * I'd like to join the Junior First Aid Legion. Send full First Aid Instructions and the Junior Pirst Aid Kit. | enclose Llc | Druggist’s Name .. 1 © 1¢ in Canada address Bauer & Black, Limited, 9 Spadine Ave., Toronto, Canada. ‘ Bauer & Black OVER 30 YEARS OF ETHICAL SERVICE TO THE MEDICAL PROFESSION AND THE PUBLIC

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(Continued from Page 98) willing to stare at him as at a dyin ng hermit. Paul surveyed the situation and, finding it faultless, started to enter the hut. And at that moment the door was barred— barred by the appearance of Mr. Bradley, who, with eyes staring blankly and brow knitted, stood there a full moment before speaking. “He’s dead,” he said finally. “oe Dead ! ” “Yes, dead.” almost as extinct as he added, laughing—laughing! i . “But,” Paul objected, “that was inane. Deanne don’t arouse risibilities.”’ “He died laughing,” Mr. Bradley re- peated. ‘‘He was pretty nearly gone when I got in there, but he recognized me. He tried to speak, tried to tell me something and then he laughed.” “What was there to laugh at?”’ Paul in- sisted. “Surely you did not select such a time to narrate a comic mot.” “He died laughing,”’” Mr. Bradley re- yeated monotonously. “There was no poner in his eyes, or on his face at all; but he looked directly at me and said, ‘Ha-ha!’ “Said what?”’ “He laughed, ‘Ha-ha,’ and that was all.” Paul shook his head. “It was inane,” he repeated. antic is not apt.” Mr. Bradley recovered something of his aplomb and, at the same time, some of his antipathy to Paul. He glanced about briskly and saw the small boys. “You stay here,” he ordered Paul, “until I let Rabenold, the undertaker, know. I’ll stop by his place on the way home.” He started down the path. Paul called after him. “Tell me again, Mr. Bradley—the old man actually laughed at you?” Mr. Bradley repeated his story. “He just looked up at me,” he said, “and laughed, ‘Ha-ha,’ most mirthlessly.”’ Then he was gone. Paul sat down on a stool at the door of the hut, very, very pensive, and then he walked over to the boys and began talking with them. The older man went slowly down the wood path, cut across a field to the street and stopped at Rabenold’s tiny office. Then he continued down the street to his home. His heart was heavy. He thought of Silas Gallup, that hard, hard man, waiting in his home, and of his wife and children. Noth- ing short of a miracle could save them from the fate that Silas Gallup had in store for them. Crossing the street, he looked up and saw Silas Gallup pacing up and down im- patiently on the front porch. He gave a little ery of glad surprise when he saw Mr. Bradley and leaped from the porch to meet him at the gate. “* Where’ i the champion?’’ he demanded. “The who? “Mr. Paine, the cross-word-puzzle cham- pion— -where is he? Is he coming back here?’ “Oh, him!” Mr. Bradley answered sourly. “I suppose so. My Uncle Cedric died. Paul’s waiting down there for the undertaker.” Mr. — tapped his fingers together. “T’ll wait for him,” he said. “I'd like to shake hands with him and talk to him about something.” “Each man to his taste,”” Mr. Bradley said, and went on into the house. His wife and children looked up anxiously as he entered. He shook his head slowly. ‘What do you mean?” Joe asked. “No death or no money?”’ “No money.” “What?” Almost panic-stricken at what meant, they were all on their feet. “No,” Mr. Bradley said. ‘He died laughing. He never said a word. He was — gone. He just laughed—that was all. “But he had some money!” Joe was angry. “He said so! Did you look?”’ Mr. Gallup stepped in the door and spoke genially. “The minute I saw that young lad,’’ he said, “I knew he was a keen one. Just Mr. Bradley’s voice was “He died “Such an this THE SATURDAY imagine, meeting the city cross-word- puzzle champion way out here in Staten Island! I'll yen until he comes back.” Joe lowered his voice for his father. “ Another one,” Sd ex plained, astro his head toward the d MThe minute Cyn- thia told him nko be her cuckoo boy friend was he began frothi at the mouth. Wants to meet Paul Paine! Wants to shake hands with him! Wants to shake hands with the champion!"’ He snorted with disgust. Mr. Gallup paused at the window. “T want to ask Mr. Paine about a five- letter word I ran against last night,’’ he explained. “It ieean't t look right, but he’ll know,” He withdrew his head and resumed his nervous pacing up and down the porch. Mr. Bradley whispered to his son. “Has he forgot about the Eertyege? "he asked. “Has he said anything about it?” Joe shook his head. “Not since he learned who Pau! Paine ‘was,”” he There was nothing more they could do. Cynthia stood at the window, looking out thoughtfully toward the woods. Poor old Uncle Cedric! She was sorfy, always had been, for his eccentricities, for whatever it was that had driven him out of the society of people. A mean, crotchety, old misan- thrope, and unfortunate. Somehow she did not blame him for laughing, as unl as it sounded in her bei og They stood around so ob- y in wait for the money he was sup- posed to have. And yet whatever emotions er father might have had at the death, as slender as his would have been at the death of a man so remote in traits and under- standing, could scarcely have maintained themselves in the confusion of these more personal calamities. An hour passed, and then om Rey « came into the room again. watch in his hand. His fever of prvi puzzle excitement apparently had worn off. “Well, Bradley,”’ he said, “we'd get back to business. The ‘champion evi- dently is not coming here again. I’m sorry; but business is business, Bradley. Have you the payment or not?” “A hard, hard man,” Mrs. Bradley com- mented, picking up her 1901-model sweater, now nearly half finished. Mr. Bradley rose wearily. “T haven’t, Mr. Gallup. i have been un- fortunate. I was Mr. Gallup clucked his tongue. “Don’t go into it,” he said. “Yes or no is enough. I don’t want to seem mean, but business is business. The time is up today. You knew that three months ago. I can’t feel responsible. A week from today I'll have to offer the place for sale.”’ “Mr. Gallup!” pleaded Cynthia piti- fully. Mr. Gallup raised his hand. “I’m sorry, young lady,” he said, “but business is —— “Mr. Bradley! Mr. Bradley!” Joe was at the window. “It’s Paine,” he said; “he’s running a the field.”” He sat down again, dis- pointed. ‘He probably wants to tell C Cynthia that the three-letter word is ‘so But Cynthia was oblivious of the jape. She was ing at the leaping, bounding cross-word-puzzle champion of New York City, as he raced across the lea, the fen and the st.—abbr. “He’s got a box under his arm!” “— notions. “He's got news!” he preys were crowding to the door almueal . They met the champion in the hall, Unable to speak, he pushed the tin box he carried into Mr. Bradley's hands. “The money!” he gasped finally. ‘Uncle Cedrie’s money!”’ The old man it open. As large as a shoe box, it was stuffed with one and two dollar bills, packed in bundles, filling it to the top. For a second no one spoke, and then Joe and Mr. re began a — count. Then they stood up ne thousand three hundred and fif- teen dollars,” Mr. “Enough and more!”’ she Bradley exclaimed. EVENING POST He counted out six hundred dollars, the amount due Silas Gallup, and handed the bundle to him. But Mr. Gallup was talk- ing with Paul. “T saw that puzzle you did in seven min- utes sixteen and eight-seventeenth seconds, Mr. Paine,” he said admiringly, “and I tried it myself. Really, you must be a enius! I couldn't make it in less than two ours and a quarter.” He felt. a touch on his arm, “The ‘a Mr. Gallup,” was sayi Silas ( Gailup, without looking up, with- out counting, accepted the money and thrust it unnoticed into his pocket. “T'd like for you to come to dinner at my house sometime,” Silas Gallup contin- ued. “I'd like to show you a collection of leery eross-word-puzzle books that ve got.’ Then, with affable farewells, he took his leave. T WAS not until ‘a had sat down for dinner that anyone was allowed to ask, per orders of Mrs, Bradley, how the daz- zled cross-word-puzzle champion had found the money “No,” , eatin had said, “leave Paul alone now. Don’t you people bother him, aa the boy rest, t when we ont oat hot dinner on the table, and he is feting all right again after his run, he can tell us. els aay at ee ay tu ta oor Paul. Mr. B slapped him on the back and Joe called old man, And then they ” 1° pine,” he said finally, “les “ in t think it a odes of “iy Pies it al pa it was a word I learned in sss cross-word note that donated Mr. Bradley = clew to me. The moment that Mr. | “Call | radley Bite a corrected Mr. Bradley. en pop told me that the recluse had | inughed during his demise, it occurred to me, as I averred to him, that it was inane. Demising people don’t laugh. was no comic mien to his visage. It seemed to me that he must have been essaying to tell Mr. Bradley —pop— where the moneys were cached, “Then it flashed on me where the mone were. I queried the gamins, and they to d me of a hedge running across the lea abut- ting the woods. The lads and I trekked over to this hedge and found a kennel, a sort of small house, adjoining the hedge; but the lads told me that no canine had ever lived in it, that it was believed to be a possession of the anchoret. “T pulled the refuse from its entry and groped within Almost interred in mire, I found this box. I opened it and there the money was.’ “But how,” Cynthia insisted, “did you know enough to look there?” | “That,” explained Paul, “was where the cross-word puzzle helped me. Uncle Cedric was not in? yt at—at pop. He | was essaying to tell him that he should scan the haha.” “The what?” “The haha. H-a-h-a, haha, It isa word | of four letters meaning a hedge, seldom or never used in this country, except in puz- zles, but familiar enough in England, Uncle Cedric’s early home. It sounds like a mani- festation of risibility, but it is actually a hedge. Joe spoke up admiringly. “There may be something in those cross-word puzzles, after all. There’s no telling,” he said to his father, ‘ ima ine! aul’s a mighty smart boy,” ley a . Cynthia looked across the table, her eyes laughing, and winked at the smart boy, an incident that so unnerved him that he tried to cover his confusion by passing his plate. Mr. Brad- “May I have another dram of water, Mrs. Bradley?” he asked. Mrs. Bradley looked at him fondly. “Don’t call me Mrs. Bradley, Paul,” said. ‘Call me mom.” she ‘when a case | like t is will come up, is there? Can you | OT only in clericai salaries, but in delays, confusion, risk and worry —how heavy a price are you paying for figures? Most business men are astounded when they find out. How much time does an error cost? —rechecking! — pointing off the answer? Whax does afternoon fatigue cost? Is speed dependent upon the operator—is it sacrificed for accuracy? What price are you paying for accurate results? Scores of thousands of business men have discovered through a free trial of the Monroe Adding-Calculator that these extra costs can be eliminated. The Monroe Visible Proof, lightning speed, simple operation, automatic division, short-cut methods, reduce costs and increase your profits. It will pay you to investi- gate. Ask for a Free Trial. Woolworth Bidg., New York, N. Y. Monroe Machines and Service are available in all Principal Cities of the U.S, Canada, Great Britain, Europe and throughout the World MONROE mB BUILT TO LAST A BUSINESS. LIFETIME

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a te annem marensesam THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 “How small ts HE shoe shop has its mir- Regardless of your price require- This three-strap model in rich black Vici kid rep- rors, focused on the floorline, ments, you may have Vici kid ee paeaades he toment eed on to remind its patrons that there The vogue for Vici kid starts Seaatuaiea i is more to choosing the right with the most expensive of the i shoe than the mere matter of size. The new shoes, to be sure. But fashions are right shoe, at any season, is the shoe made for the majority, and the majority that shows the foot at its trimmest and __ prefer to be fashionable at reasonable best. Between two shoes of identical cost. Vici kid presents the new modes size there is all the difference in the in footwear just as accurately in shoes world in the vital matter of effect upon of moderate price. The new models the appearance of the foot. Here line in Vici kid are obtainable at the price = and pattern enter the picture—and the you want to pay. of to bee. The vesmp ened ayerey ore, Och colar ¥ material of which the shoe is made. ming! of Canateal color Vict Simloreombination | mings of Caramel color Vici. Similar combinations | This will help you recognize of Oak and Sudan and Sudan and Cranberry And here, in this new season, the creators the correct new shoes ee of footwear fashions have scored their The makers of fashionable footwear greatest triumph—in choosing for are placing the Vici kid trade mark their trim, new models the __.__..,_ inside the models made rich leather, Vici kid. Vici kid - of this voguish leather. molds itself to the foot as Look for this trade smoothly as a fine glove fash- mark. You may select ions itself to the hand. For the shoe in which it Spring the smartest models, | appears with all com- “in andl bs ensne des a owe noe bee ob ie = ar in shoes for every occasion, [a | fidence that it is an au- thw in black a dul ah) Viet id, 4 are made of Vici kid in black Li z OF } 7 thentic representative of —™ "*‘#** ‘ft tone colon. P ~ : AAEM ere, and soft colors—good news Fig the new modes in footwear. ; ; i ate ’ ¢ rersce h k—th Viei kid 5 for every pee sa versed in rind hago gna thay BS the ROBERT H. FOERDERER, Inc. Mi the art of putting her best pesp'zeevbasgthse PHILADELPHIA | foot forward. never has been any other. Selling agencies in all parts of the world VICI kid REG. U.S. PAT, OFF.

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THE SATURDAY FRIEND HUSBAND (Continued from Page 42) “Trying to get a few floors higher up, to where you are.” “That's easy,” he said. “What do you mean, easy?’’ I jested. “Take the elevator, and ask for me.”” He took on an attitude confidential and more serious. “I’ve got a little cranny up there, and exercise a little authority within its partitions, although they don’t reach as high as the ceiling. I'll give you a job.” He glanced about at the lovely glass cases arranged with the importeds, and at the baskets laid out flat with the bouquets after the manner the foreign street venders adopt for displaying their products. “Of course I may have to reduce your salary. Can you run a typewriter?” “No,” I answered. My college course contained practically nothing necessary for getting a start except a bowing acquaintance with John Pollock, but I now thought it worth the four years it took. “You see you can come up with me and do the small mg round the office while you’re learning about type and a lot be- sides.” I resigned that afternoon from the artifi- cial flowers. Through the few days fol- lowing only three typewriters hammered between my desk and John’s. But I knew anything as restless as modern business would never permit so perfect a situation, romantically and economically, as that to stand. At opening time one morning word crept round the department that he was go- ing to resign. He had a better job. Girls went running about the office clasping their hands together in front of them, and in glowing admiration tinged with regret they were saying, “‘Isn’t it grand for him to suc- ceed so? Won't the girl be lucky that gets him? Won’t she though?” He came in late, whereupon men from other departments hurried in to congratu- late him, and stood round in subdued groups afterward, as at a funeral. They were making the admiring comment that he was going to be a twenty-thousand- dollar-a-year man. Smart Though Becoming When he came to tell me good-by he said, “I never want to see a department store again or anything connected with one.” He spoke confidentially, conveying in his message the place which I held in his hopes and dreams. There was nothing more senti- mental between us than that. During the weeks following I accom- plished more in my business than I had done in my romantic career. And besides, he did come back sometimes; every day at first after luncheon because he felt restless and lonesome in his new office. It was a part of a big advertising firm downtown, and they put him in the department han- dling textiles, since he had previous experi- ence in writing about these. In those days I began, in the words of the psycho-analyst, to find ee I took courses in ad writing outside the office, and under the clarifying influence of learning how to present every- thing, from electric belts to the argument against buying diamonds on the installment plan, I took one of my first steps in life that was not dictated by necessity. I bought a really good tailored dress. “Softly tailored,” the department calls them, and they are coming to take the place of those hard cor- rect things of ours, expensive though with- out charm. The seams are the seams of America, but the goods is the goods of an insinuating — nation. “Smart though becoming,” the buyer for the department wittily calls them. Of course the men on the floor danced a war dance round it, as they always do when a girl comes into a place of business with anything on that is new. Who ever origi- nated the theory that men do not notice things? My nest purchase after that was a lovely evening dress. Some time in the weeks following, a director-——whose daugh- ter’s wedding two years previously had set a pace in spectacular extravagance—cr over to our de ment one day and held a sotto voce conference with the head of the advertising, on the subject of whom they could send to a smart home to do a little piece of writing for a charity bazaar, the chairman of which was a friend of the presi- dent of the company. They agreed that they would send me. Hidden Talent “Miss Katharine Arthur will get up something classy and not disgrace them while there,”’ they said. I was mighty glad I had that evening dress. I never wore it except for occasions connected with my work, and I do not think anyone ever connected me with work when I wore it. One of the men in that little conversation said—so both of them iater told me: “She's got taste in type.”’ The other answered, ‘“‘ Why do you limit it to type? I think she’s got taste in every- thing.” I made a place for myself. And yet I had immortal longings in me and was not quite happy. ‘The head of the advertising com- mented that I knew how to choose sketches and place them. This made me almost unhappier than anything else he could have said, because it seemed to define my limitations, and what I longed to do was not to choose other people’s sketches, but to make them myself. There was a hid- den something inside me which psycho- analysts would have found a name for. My father had it before me, and the story of it was told in the fragmentary sketches he had made on pieces of blottin paper that | strewed his lawyer’s desk while he was | waiting for clients. He had a talent, but he | had a hidden something that made him | afraid to try to live by it. How many of us | have; or at least are plugging away at one | occupation when another would interest us | more. I at least was emancipated one step | beyond him, for I meant to live by this | little facult, of mine some day, although I | had been afraid to start with it in the first | place. At any rate I presently left off tak- | ing lessons in advertising and began going | to classes at art school three nights a week. | On the evening after the first one John | dropped in to take me to dinner, as he did | frequently now. We went to the most un- | expected dining places. those that are rich and gilded, where we It was not one of | sometimes sought distraction, nor was it | an imitation Latin Quarter restaurant. It | was a dining room in the basement of an old-fashioned house, conducted by an old- | fashioned, white-haired woman, who hov- | ered over her patrons, calling them ‘‘dear”’ TRESS DAAWN BY NATE COLLIER The Wife: ‘‘Now Look What You've Done! Ruined the Only Decent Shade Tree We Had!" EVENING POST "Proprietor Mr.RoGers ‘The BULLS EYE Published every Now and Then. Circulation Mgr. W. RoGers Editor Witt Roceas Another ‘Bull’ Durham adver- tisement by Will Rogers, Zieg- feld Follies and screen star, and leading American humorist. More coming. Watch for them. Those Two Boys Chauncey and Will JUST: saw a nice write up and Chauncey Depew’s picture in all the papers where he told of his first watch which was an Elgin. Said he kept it for years and somebody stole it on a New York Central train. (That's what he gets for riding on his own Railroad.) What does he need a watch for anyway, time means nothing to him. He was in The Follies the other day, and I intro- duced him and made him make a speech, he said: “T have been entertain- ing audiences for 91 years and have never found it necessary to use a Lariat yet”. The old rascal hung one on me. Now the moral of his story as I could gather it is don’t have an Elgin Watch, somebody will steal it. carry ‘Bull’ Durham, they may borrow it, but nobody will steal it. So my story is Now, after looking at this, 1 don’t know whether it is an ad for Elgin Watches, Chauncey Depew, The Follies or ‘ Bull’ Durham. Well, they are all good. eve A. oy ery P. 8. There will be another piece here two weeks from now. Look fer it. MORE OF EVERYTHING for a lot less money. That’s the net of this ‘Bull’ Durham proposition. More flavor—more enjoy- ment and a lot more money left in the bankroll at the end of a week’s smoking. TWO BAGS for 15 cents

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EVENING POST , and urging them to take another helping of biscuits. She served suppers such as we used to have in our Middle Western homes, and we must have gone there by unspoken mutual consent, in answer to some mute | from our inner selves. should certainly not have denied that I wished a home. But I had no hankering for a little one-horse affair in which I washed the dishes. I should have been grateful for someone like the old woman, to take such details from me while I helped support the | home by some occupation more remunera- | tive and exhilaratin _ doing all the offstage work. I wis ished rfect myself in the little art with which had been en- dowed by some power greater than I was, so that while heiping I should be expressing something inside me that cried out to be recognized. I wanted to know when I looked in the shop windows that I could buy anything they displayed if I liked. I could not understand why everybod thought it virtuous for a woman to culti- vate a talent before her marriage, but a demerit to give it a preference over drudg- ery after that—nor why it was ‘considered such a wrong to a man to try to help him earn some money. John was radiant that evening because he had just risen in his job. Heretofore he had only written advertisements, but a few days previous they had asked him to meet ig textile man on his way to France. The two had worked so congenially to- gether that the man had ave a large contract to the firm, and John was made ote man for the future, with the privi- e of continuing in his work of writing advertisements. He mentioned what he was to receive and asked whether I thought it would be sufficient for two people to live on in the suburbs. “T don’t know,” I answered rather haughtily, ‘‘as I cannot stand the suburbs and have never investigated them.” I think I have reflected on these two sen- tences between us as much as on anything in our lives. For that is the evening when we decided to be married. If we had found each other earlier, before business and a career opened before me, I wondered whether we should have gone out to the suburbs and been happy. Undoubtedly we should have gone, like many another young couple, but I doubt whether I, at least, should have found happiness there. A woman does not actually have to experi- ence the exhilaration of seeing a career or even remunerative work coming to her to know that if she misses it something is lost out of life for her. I should have been one of those repining in the suburbs who wished to do something if they but knew how to get started. Only necessity, it seems, can teach one that. John would have grown to be the leading citizen of his community, | acting on school boards and commissions for | boulevarding. Possibly he would have got | to be rich and we should have worked our way up to a large estate, like a park in a wealthier community. I should have en- joyed the kind of life that would have made possible, and was going to do all I could to help him to skip the grinding, irksome stages by which most men rose to something similar to this, Married to John At any rate, sometimes people do not get engaged any more. They just decide to be married, do so the next day, and announce their act a month later. That is what we did, the wedding taking place in a little church that was invested with the solem- nity of perfect emptiness. The man from the parsonage acted as one witness, but the maid who usually served as the second was out. “Would you like to have Madge Hew- litt?” John asked, and it seemed very strange that in all our acquaintance he should mention her for the first time on our wedding day, although I had sometimes | spoken of stopping in to see her. I thought it rather unkind to ask her, | because she had not carried out that | announced plan of hers for making domes- ticity a career, on account of not accom- —s the first requisite, which was a usband, and I knew she was sensitive about it. I also knew that John was one of the men she had practiced on. She had a small job on a side street, running a little greenhouse for a man whose wife took a | long time dying in Florida. Isn’t it strange how often those very popular girls just fail | to put it over matrimonially? Do they tap | a gentleman once too often on the shoulder, April 25,1925 or maybe a shade too confidentially? Usu- ally they do better than Madge, for though they fail to secure the grand parti they suc- ceed in marrying. I fancy Madge was the girl that a great many men thought of afterward as the other one. They remembered little disser- tations on domesticity, and wondered how it would have been at times when their own wives were behaving undomestically. She was the woman that the wife so often en- vied when the husband pro bringing her out to the country place for a week-end. I called her up and she came, enacting the role of being awfully glad and breathily, cqewtnneens f happy over the thrilling news, when 3 Bo she was terribly self- conscious. Anyway, I was sure she would not tell, and we wanted our marriage kept secret for one month—-why, I know not, ex- cept that we moderns do it that way. A few days before we announced it John came up to the office looking as helpless as any infant when he approached me with his pay check in his hand. He did not know ow to use the money, his attention always having been on making it heretofore. Mine was to be the task of spending it intelli- gently. Perhaps the greater responsibility fell on me. “Oh, John!” I exclaimed with enthusi- asm. “The Maitlands have their four- hundred-dollar flat that they will let go this summer for two hundred. It’s wonderful! Let’s take it and see what the feeling will be like when we are able to own one of that sort.’ He brightened at the prospect, and I think of the period following as so very sig- nificant. As soon as we moved in, his manner expanded to encompass his new possessions. He was like the lord of an es- tate as he roamed about inspecting locks and plumbing. He turned on lights under the paintings and viewed them with the manner of an owner who was also a con- noisseur. He walked up to the magnificent lamp in the dining room, to which I kept an electric iron attached, and he said, “I wouldn’t do that.” A Modern Arrangement Needless to say, a New York flat of this caliber had almost reached the vanishing point before it got as far as the kitchen. What there was of it was next to my bed- room, and the iceman had to cross from the front entrance to reach it. He did not pre- viously go through with the formality of cleaning his feet. One day when John was at home with a cold he saw him. “Look here,”’ he almost shouted, ‘‘ these are magnificent rugs, and you see that you treat them as such.” For the first time John was experiencing a pride in possessions, and it did not blight in his naive satisfaction that they were but rented. They suggested to him the ideal of a beautiful home to work toward. We relied on the house service of the building for the bedroom work, and I prac- ticed a form of modern light housekeeping. I washed my husband’s handkerchiefs and stretched them on the looking-glass. The electric iron with which John’s hotel maid had kept him valeted was always too hot or entirely cold under my manipulation. I bought his socks and later puckered up the holes in them with cotton thread. I went a long way to a fine delicatessen to buy thing: for my luncheon and occasionally for a cold dinner for the two of us. At other times we often cooked chops and canned vegetables, and John always helped. We compared notes to see who had bought the most eco- nomically, and invariably it was I. We got John’s breakfast at night and he warmed it in the morning. I could hear him lift the top of the ice chest so very gently to set in the quart of milk and the littte bottle of cream which he took in from the front-hall door. Then he opened the lower part of the ice chest, and the next in- stant I could hear the chocolate pour out of the quart milk notte into the blue stewing pan to warm. I could heer the match scrape so very gently over the iron of the stove, after which the gas popped and spread in the broiler, where he made his toast. Then there was the faint explosion of the top — lighting. The water for boiling the ad been drawn the night before is eamenten pan. I was not under any circumstances to be distur One evening Madge Hewlitt dropped in while we were cooking John’s breakfast. When she had the facts explained to her she fashioned her lips into a horrified “Oh!” (Continued on Page 109)

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(Continued from Page 106) She was almost ostentatiously shocked, and took on a manner which said that men found out their mistake too late. As she talked she seemed to throw out an invisible life line to my husband, and although he appeared not to see her I was a little bit dis- tressed; so much so that when he took her home I waited up for him, and I was glad that I did. For he came rushing back to me and pressed me to him, almost breathless. Then he had—he had noted that a force outside ourselves was trying to separate us, and he had wished a thousand times to as- sure me how absolutely he was mine. We talked a long time and I told him what the girls in the store had said about the woman bein lucky who married him. “Why, pray,” he questioned, ‘‘is any- body lucky to marry me?” ‘Oh, ause you're so responsible look- ing, if for no other reason. ‘I should always wish to be responsible for you,” he answered, and looked deep into my eyes as he smoothed my hair. John was interested in my work. And if I were not giving him the treatment that a good wife out at least I never saw him look more staple, more satisfied, more an- chored to something that was guiding him out into the -: hted path of a complete and happy life. He always had food that was of the first Fe Fo and I fancy far whole- somer than much that is cooked by the vaunted housewife whose life work consists in preparing meals. And he had a point of view. A certain look of seriousness was coming into his face. Madge noticed it. She said that I was losing my old aspect of seriousness which became me, and he was taking on a grinding, plodding, worried air that suited him not at all. She even thought he stooped a little. But if so it was not because he had to spend vast sums for me. He merely felt the responsibility which every human being must feel who takes on another to care for and support. I doubt not that the very sense of it led him to promotion, for he received one soon. Meantime, if I was not behaving as the ideal American wife should, at least I was not acting as the typical New York one does. All the while I was going to art school and conserving my morning strength, not for afternoon bridge parties but for my work. The store had often asked me to come back to my old job, and one day when I finally took some drawings in to them they said, ‘‘ Well, you did put it over. Come on back and do your old work—and this too.” They mentioned what I thought a wonderful salary — more than John’s for the moment, although he would of course eventually distance me. But at least he would have to stoop and plod and look seri- ous for me no more! Breaking the News to John It was the most wonderful moment of my life thus far. I would have a job and be economically a help to someone. I would get to exercise a little gift that I was en- dowed with. Thousands of women in the suburbs which I had spurned would envy me for either of these good pieces of for- tune. John could skip the strain and grind of most young men of twenty-eight, and we could enjoy the joint income of well-to-do people of past forty. I was ecstatically happy and wanted someone to talk to, so I stopped in to see Madge. At first I hesitated, but presently realized she would not mind my triumph because it was not of the sort she cared anything about. If it had been connected with John, that would have been different. But with my going back to work it might almost seem as if we had been through trouble, and she would be pleased. It was just as I sus- pected, and she kept me a long time, pre- tending she was glad. She made me late getting home, and when I arrived John was already there. He was in the kitchen with a mop in his hand. “What do you suppose?” he hurled at me. ‘‘ That old fool iceman has been leaving too much ice since I called him down for spoiling the carpets, and now it’s melted and I found water flooding everything.” He had been doing some marketing. A package of meat lay on the table. I could tell by the soft damp of the brown paper with the red showing through. There was a head of lettuce and a can of corn sitting beside it. I had been having us dine out a great deal lately, being bored with no out- side work, and John was evidently planning to get a dinner himself. He had heiped me THE SATURDAY so often that he had learned how. He loved his home and dabbling in domesticity. “T hope it hasn’t leaked through.” “John, I've got wonderful news!” He listened while I told him, mop in | hand, and held his expression as if afraid he | would betray some emotion inappropriate to the occasion if he let it change. At length he could control it no longer, and his look flowed into one of subtle sadness, as if he had heard a that brought him ex- quisite pain the mop away from him, drew my arm through his, and led the way toward the day bed in the living room. He had bought some yellow flowers and put them in a glass on the table. We sat down, and from the gaze with which he tried to cling to me, he must have thought I was ebbing away from him. “Why, John, it will be wonderful. A man and a woman working together can accom- plish wonderful things. Neither of us will — be a drag and we can rely on each other. ways know the other is there to relieve him. We can make a short cut to fortune and can retire.” “But what could I do, retired?” he an- | “And I never | swered almost with regret. have any trouble with employers. There’s that old grouch, Atwell, but I never let him get the better of me.’”’ A gentle melancholy had settled over him. Back on the Old Job “Why, I thought you wanted me to go on with my work and succeed at it. you did all you could to help.” so I did,”’ he answered regretfully, as if both I and my work were taken from him. ‘ ‘So I did.” “Itis for you,’ for you.’ He reached out his arms and pressed me to him and held me, looking at me deeply as if something inevitable, like death, were in- tervening between him and me. And I knew perhaps before he did that this was because he was being deprived of an im- portant birthright, which was to inch his way up the long climb of his own career. We sat holding , oem in the silence which followed, until I could stand it no longer. Turning in my seat, I looked toward the kitchen. “Going to get dinner?” I asked. “T had meant to,” he answered, rousing himself. ‘‘ But we'll have to go out in honor of so large an event.” “No; I'll get it in honor of the event,’ I said, I rose and went out to the kitchen in evi- dence of my sincerity. He did not answer and did not follow, as he customarily did, but settled down into the couch as I passed him. Even up to time to announce dinner he had not come out, and when I went to fetch him I thought he would be lost in melancholy reflection. I found him reading the evening paper instead. During dinner we talked about trivial impersonal things and details of the new arrangement. I would have to get up earlier than he. The next morning I went into the kitchen to prepare my toast and coffee. But John would not lie in bed when I was up. He had planned the night before to rise when I did. Presently he came out fresh and shin- ing to talk to me while I worked. He stood up close to me, almost following my move- ments, and chatting. Then he went to the front door and brought in the paper. He did not return to the kitchen, but sat down at his place in the dining room and sang out the headlines to me. I got his chocolate and warmed it and cocked his eggs. After I had brought in both of our breakfasts and we were eating them he burst out boyishly with “I'll tell you what I like in the morn- ings—oatmeal!”’ “Why haven’t we been having it?”’ “It isn’t good warmed over, and I wouldn’t have had time to cook it.” “T’'ll get it for you.” “You wouldn’t have to get up any earlier, would you?” “Not a minute,” I answered, triumphant at winning him back even momentarily from his regretful sadness of the night be- fore. We had a gay early morning visit and | liked it much better than when I let him go away without seeing him. The maid of the Building could not find the key to = flat that day with us both gone. I got home a few minutes before John, to discover the beds unmade and the dishes dirty. As I in my capacity of a wife of * TL answered tenderly; ‘‘all When one is weary or disappointed | or has an unreasonable employer he can al- | I thought | EVENING POST cross twelve states New York Central Lines reach 174 cities with a population greater than 10,000. The first ten produce one-fourth the country’s manufactures. The first seventy produce one-half the country’s manufactures. This great industrial region is served by 12,000 miles of New York Central Lines main tracks, carrying a tenth of the rail-borne commerce of the country. NEW YORK CENTRAL LINES BOSTON &ALBANY~ MICHIGAN CENTRAL ~ BIG FOUR ~ PITTSBURGH & LAKE ERIE AND THE NEW YORK CENTRAL AND SUBSIDIARY LINES

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Restaurant in the Idan-ha Hotel, Boise City, Idaho, showing its Blabon floor of Linoleurn—pattern 352 Inlaid. -A cleanly appearance \ Everyone interested in furnishing a home should have this 32 age 8° x 11” brochure, io Hazel }4. Adler, Beau titully ilhwatreted in color. tt explains the correct use of color and materials, Sent any where in the United States upon receipt of 15 cents How genuine linoleum is made Blabon’s Lia made of tinely cork and oxidized linseec ot} tntimately bletided and firmly attached to a burlap base. In Iniaid and Plain Lincleum the patterns and colors ex tend clear through « the burlap back In lrimeed grader the pat tetne and colores are printed on the tino body with heavy « paints sleum is invites customers The success of any establishment is linked closely with its appearance. This is especially true of restaurants, cafes, clubs and hotels— where pleasant surroundings are quite as necessary as wholesome food. Blabon floors of linoleum, with their bright, cheery colorings, help to make such places spick-and-span. No dirt can get ground in. Crumbs dropped or liquids spilled do no harm to the smooth, waterproof surface. They are easy to clean and keep clean. The facts that Blabon floors of Inlaid or Plain Linoleum stand hard wear and are economical to maintain, are important con- siderations. The patterns and colors go through to the burlap back, and never wear off while the linoleum lasts. An occasional waxing and polishing preserves their freshness and mellows their tones. The right way to lay linoleum is to cement it over a layer of builders’ deadening felt paver, which should first be pasted to the floor with linoleum paste. This overcomes bulging and stretching, makes the seams watertight and practically invisible, and prolongs the life of the floor. Blabon Rugs of genuine linoleum are beautiful, sanitary, and mothproof. They lie flat without fastening. Made in various standard sizes. For genuine linoleum look for the Blabon label, and ask for Blabon’s Linoleum by name. It is sold by good home-furnishing and department stores. Our illustrated booklet, “The Floor for the Modern Home,” will be sent free, upon request. The George W. Blabon Company Philadelphia Established 74 years a all i t a Blabon's Linoleum ook thie label « BLAB Linole se gee Mei Wiis” PEA mig a Dh Pe ! 7 | leisure had opened the doors on my hus- | band the night before when he was mop- | ping the floor under the ice chest, so this evening he came in to find his economically independent wife making beds. He stood beside: me, chatting, and when I got as far as the dishes he idly moved out to the kitchen with me, absorbed in his narrative until I flung him the tea towel and said, “Here, | ~~ He did so buoyantly. adge Hewlitt dropped in while we were | thus working. Through the medium of banter she used to console him for having a | wife who slept when the rest of the world | was up and active. This evening she chaffed him for having one who was up and active too—a wife who merely worked and brought | in a substantial income; yet she did not | mention this phase’of our relationship. | What she got across was that men of this generation would never know what they missed in the passing of the old-fashioned | domestic woman. As usual John had to take her home. Such was the first day of the new life we drifted out into together. Already a little change must have come about in his soul. | His first reaction toward our altered rela- tions was to treat us as equals. He never tried to spare me anything again. On the other hand, some of his own weariness and gravity seemed to slip from him. His seri- ousness was more like that of other days | when he had merely the college weekly to be responsible for. | Only when I mentioned the new flat I wished to provide for us did he become self- conscious. Something inside him seemed | to resent my giving us a home. I had set | the ideal for him to strive toward in guiding | him to the lovely furnished residence of someone eise. Now I was cutting in under on a short road to achieving one before he could do so. Maybe I should have made a | home for us, but not given one. I never | could get him to act as joint owner with me, but when I asked his opinion he gave it | as an outsider. And I made a bad beginning when we moved in. Only the front room was com- pleted. In the rest of the house there were but two beds, some cooking utensils, a long looking-glass built in the white bedroom paneling, and a little one in the bathroom to shave by. But the living room was a dream and John was happy over it. There was a lovely Italian blue brocade over the center of the long reading table, and a | Chinese lacquered chest in the same color- ings, which went beautifully with the walnut of the furniture. I never told him what | was paid for, what was charged, or what anything cost. Our First Entertainment On the day we moved in I went round and ordered some clusters of hothouse flow- ers—including a bunch of orchids—which I | had arranged on mantel, table and window | ledges by the time John buoyantly rang the bell. I threw open the door and he stood | there smiling, and what should he hold in his hand but a modest bunch of yellow common flowers! He had bought them | from a street vender. I took them from him and put them in a high tumbler of water on the reading table | in the very center of the room. “‘They are so much better selected than mine are!” I | exclaimed, greatly pleased that he had brought them. ‘See how lovely they are with the brown furniture.” | But he was crushed with his first glimpse | of my flowers. All my coaxing could not | wir him back to assurance. I suppose he thought I had not only cut in under him in the matter of installing our home but now | was overstepping his conceptions of how it should be kept up. At any rate the dedica- tion of it was almost a melancholy occasion. He looked defeated— licked, as they would have said back in college. I thought of his attitude then, so confident and independent, and later in the department store when he gave me the job with easy assurance. I wished to win that manner back again. Presently a client of his came to town with his wife, and reversing the usual for- malities for such situations they asked him | to dinner. | “Why don’t you bring them down here?” | I suggested. “We could swing back the couch against the wall and pull out the gate-leg table. I would come home early | and get dinner. They would think it a | lark. And besides, they could see how | beautifully you were oing to live.” | He brightened and later in the day tele- | phoned to say they were coming. April 25, 1925 “Would you like to have Madge too?” I ked asked. “Why, if you would,” he answered; and I do not think such indifference could be assumed. The dinner was a great success. Madge left off criticizing and resorted to self- depreciation accompanied by eulogy of me. How wonderful to have a superwife who held a job and created a home too. It was evident our other guests were impressed. “Why, Pollock, you live pretty well!” I heard the man exclaim to my husband, and I saw my husband expand to accept the im- plied compliment. I was an anonymous factor in that situa- tion and went down in the memory of our guests as the good wife who cooked the dinner. But from that hour John’s assured manner returned. He spoke of the flat and everything in it as “ours,” and I was pleased. He took Madge home and I waited up to discuss our first entertainment with him. Surely he must have been satisfied. Did he not know now that he had not lost his wife, but had doubly gained her? She was going to make a home and a hostess as well. She was going to be like the rich ladies of fashion in her attitude, yet she was going to furnish some of the riches too. Warmed:-Over Spontaneity He came in and threw down his hat. I waited for him to make the first comment. He looked about absently, and presently reflected, “Madge Hewlitt is a pathetic little thing.’’ There was no comment about our dinner! I had expected to go up to him and em- brace him, but receded weakly toward the couch instead. The vision of another eve- ning came before me, when I was weary with the effort of trying to get started at something where I should be a help. My work lay in my brain as yet unexpressed, and I had no economic independence, but was criticized for being a _— on John, who waited on me, even getting his own break- fast to relieve me of doing so. Madge Hewlitt had on that night thrown out a life iine to him and he had hurried back to me to make sure she had not ever so slightly come between us or disturbed my serenity — to assure me how absolutely mine he was. Tonight I was weary with cooking the dinner for his guests. I had even marketed for the food, and paid for it, and provided the flat it was served in. While he was taking Madge home I had stacked the dishes and set the scraps outside. And he made no mention of the work or the spirit prompting it. He merely noted that the very life force which he once felt to be trying to separate us was a pathetic little thing! I asked if he liked the entertainment, and then with some warmed-over spontaneity he said he did. But Madge had mend taken his mind off it temporarily. In the days following he talked about it a great deal. The situation in the succeeding months was one I would have liked to prevail forever. We went round looking for things almost literally hand in hand. He said quite freely now what he liked, and I always went back to get it. John never sent home any of the things that he saw by himself and told me about. Maybe he was afraid of making the same mistake that he did with the spring flowers. Presently we got a very good colored maid, Malviney, and when some other clients came to town I asked if he wished to entertain them at home as he had done before. “T think it’s so much nicer,” he answered. “And costs only half as much,” I said. A good many weeks elapsed before a third group arrived. For some reason I did not propose that he should bring them to the apartment, but he finally asked if he might do so. “Why, surely,’’ I answered. it is nicer.” “And so much cheaper,” he added, echo- ing my comment of some weeks ago. He had evidently absorbed it. I was as if hit by a physical blow. For a moment I was confused in my senses, and then they reacted in a great tide of feeling. Presently intellect began to play, and it told me that without realizing it I had been marking the steps in a great mental change in John. How did he know what the din- ner cost? When we began our new venture I had intended to pay for the furniture, while he should continue with the house- hold expenses. Then I began buying the (Continued on Page 112) “T suppose

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Pe — cinimnenitae a nad acti ane ee neem tenet meen me eet ee oe TO TEST OUR IRON FOR QUALITY The picture above shows one of the devices used in the International Labora- tory to test our iron for strength and quality. Fixed high standards must be met before castings from each “run” of iron are used. This, plus correctly pro- portioned and accurately fitted parts, explains the ex- ceptional durability char- acteristic of International Heaters. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Durable! Long life, slowdepreciation anda minimum of repair cost are typical of International Heaters for all standard systems — steam, vapor, hot water and warm air. This fact is confirmed by many 30, 40, and even 60 year records made in sections where heaters are subjected to severe and prolonged use. Such durability, added to high efficiency in the use of fuel, means a definite economy and a continuous source of satisfaction to the man who owns an International Heater. International Boilers, Furnaces and Onepipe Heaters way be F purchased on easy pryments if desired INTERNATIONAL HEATER COMPANY, UTICA, N. Y. BRANCHES: NEW YORK, CHICAGO, NASHUA, N. H., CLEVELAND, DETROIT Distributing Points: Porttann, Orecon, Lynch Brothers Greensporo, N, C., The Langley Sales Co San Francisco, Car., The International Sales Denver, Coro., Elliott Heating Supply Co : Corp. Western Canada: Heating Supplies, Limited, Searrie, Wasn., Coleock Furnace Co Warehouse and Office, 902 Home St., Sr. Paut, Minn., Farwell, Ozmun, Kirk & Co Winnipeg, Can Kansas City, Mo., Richards & Conover Lonpon, Enc., International Onepipe Heater, Hdwe. Co. Ltd., 11 Victoria Street INTERNATIONAL EC v6 Pat ore. Look for the Inter- national Nameplate on the heater you buy. It is not easy to determine the inner quality of a heater from its outer surfaces. But the International Name- plate is your unfailing as- surance of such inner quali- ty on boilers and furnaces for all standard methods of heating. Write for interesting and help- ful booklet—“International Heat- ers’ discussing the differences and characteristics of the various types of heating systems. Address Dept. A STEAM «» HOT WATER BOILERS, WARM AIR FURNACES «> ONEPIPE HEATERS

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OU your springs the clean, sure way wh Harvey Spring Oilers you canalways cep your springs working just right HARVEY SPRING & FORGING COMPANY Racine, Wisconsin lemenclosing $$... for Outfit No.____ io t& ——E —E cat EN Re City ‘ caiieine State Harvey Oilers are put up in sets of four: No. 1 One set (4 oilers) for Fords, $2.25 No. 2—Twosets(& oilers) for other cars, $4.50 No. }—Two sets of oilers and 4 pt. oil, $5.00 Specify YEARand MODEL of car in ordering. t4. IO RE METI A hy Sasi THE SATURDAY ( Continued — Page 110) ‘i | groceries, at first out of my own money. purchases they seemed too informal to So John always paid the rent and the bills for dining out, until of late, when there | had been none of the latter. Madge and other old friends talked so | terribly about the dreadful deal John got in a wife who devoted all her time to business that I usually preferred to have dinner at home, even on the evenings when Malviney was hors de service, I would stop at the | grocery store, buy a little sack of potatoes, a bunch of n stuff for salad, another vegetable, chops, or even sometimes a chicken, and carry them home. I must | have looked queer thus laden, with my smart French veil thrown over my hat and wearing my other good clothes. The vaunted domestic housewives had their gro- | ceries sent. I always went straight into the kitchen, and when John came home would be getting dinner in veil and hat and suit. He seemed glad to see me and talked all the while, except occasionally when he snatched that time to go into the living room and read the morning paper, having been too busy to do so during the day. At table he invariably mentioned how much nicer his home was than any restaurant. One night Madge drop in and we di- vided our chops and bak tato and salad with her. John was very light-hearted. “Do you know, I never saw such an im- provement in anyone as in John in the last | year,” she volunteered, “ Everybody talks about it. He's getting to be the sort of man everybody wants at their table. He’s the hail-fellow-well-met of every occasion. It’s going to help him in his work.” I knew this was but the structural frame- work of some blow that she was going to de- | liver at me. She gathered herself together to administer it. “But, Kate, you must be awfully care- ful.” Was she going to repeat that I was empty faced? 0; she was switching to the contrary comment. “You don’t want to be the kill-joy where everybody’s so anx- ious to know John. You don’t want to get | too heavy and serious.” I thought of my first days at work, when I had bought smart clothes and was begin- ning to wear them to places that were worth while. Now my things were from the French department, but the big strain on them came in the kitchen. Even my prog- ress in business was suffering from the time and the attention I was taking from it. After John had accompanied Madge home I said to him, “I do wish we had some | ready money to pay for the household linen. We had to have it, goodness knows.” “What ever became of those five extra sketches you were going to do for the five successive Mondays?” A Joke on Somebody In a financial crisis he thought of assem- | bling funds from my work. I could not see that we had one cent more than formerly. The obligation for roves it had cals been transferred to me, while John occupied | the economic position I had planned for myself, of supplying the fancy, occasional things. My girlhood ambition financially hed bean to pass the lovely show windows and be able to say I could buy anything in them, and without discussion with some man as to whether they were worth the money or he could afford it. Now I seldom had a chance to do anything voluntarily, for I had drawn down on myself so much more than I could be responsible for. I had done it on the basis of our joint incomes, | but I seldom saw any part of John’s. The day after Madge had dinner with | us a man we had all known in college called me up to ask if I wanted to hear a joke. It had originated in John’s office and zone beyond it, for the man was in the same Susinenn, but on another street. “T thought you would enjoy it,” he laughed, and could not tell it for a moment. | “John’s president complained that John | had married a woman with money.” I | could not speak. “Did you get it? You're the woman with money. “I don’t know that I think that’s so funny. How does it affect John?” “Oh, you’d think he was the president. | He won't take anything off anybody.” I believe my husband had forgotten there had been any controversy over whether I should return to work. Everybody had | warned me that I should spoil him and he | would never do anything himself at all. I thought, on the contrary, I had never seen | him so active before. He would come home Le rie te a ameter eee ates a EVENING POST exhausted and eager to tell of his little tri- umphs. Samal han arc : promotion that pleased him greatly—in t y. ‘Does any rise go with it?” I asked in- variably. PE _ more ors he “pee care- y. Hewasw as t say one should do—for the love of 7 That was how I had wished to work. Per- haps he was rather as a child who works at play. Presently he would be off on the story of how intolerable Atwell was becom- ”" to get along with. thought that if John were still back in that four-hundred-dollar furnished flat in which we our lives together, and the owners were returning so that he would have to move into just such quarters as he could pay for, he would not regard a pro- motion as such unless it carried with it some reward in money. We had left off that life and started on this new, more modern ar- rangement just two years ago. e solution to the whole situation seemed to be for me to take my first vacation now. Scarcely had I formulated the idea when I fell ill. Immediately John assumed his old capable attitude. e dismissed one doc- tor, engaged another, told the people up- stairs not to make so much noise, and even went to the office to look after my work there. I never admired him so much as during this display of efficiency. But in a few days I was well again and our old rela- tions were resumed. Once more I decided on my vacation, and even went so far as to tell Malviney I was going to take it. A Lesson From Malviney “Well, when you get back,” she an- swered, “I ain’t going to work no more.” “Why, Malviney!”’ “Ise going to stay home and keep house for “y usband.” My first thought was that the bootlegging industry had rendered him independent. But she volunteered a more human, universal explanation: ‘ While I got money that man don’t seem to make no progress!” I was indeed eager to emulate her in es- tablishing a new principle of living. That night I came home early to tell John of my proposed vacation. I got there before he did and was sitting in the living room under the shade of the big library lamp as I glanced through a — and thought how pleased he would be. At length I heard his key feeling for the lock, aa the next instant he appeared. But there was an atmosphere as c‘ some- thing strange in his entrance. He was carrying articles with him which I had seen him taking to the office over the period of two years. A clothes brush was bursting through the long envelope that had ill ineased it. An old rubber raincoat was slung over his arm. There was something a little suppressed about him. “Why, what’s the matter?” I asked in apprehension. “T’'ve left,” he said. He waited a mo- ment, then offered the explanation: “Old Atwell got too bad.”” He must have de- tected a look of dismay or disheartenment on me, for he braced up. “But don’t worry. People knew it by noon, and this afternoon I had another offer. A better one, too, I think.” “Then you won't lose an hour!” I ex- claimed, brightening. “Well, I don’t know,” he answered du- biously. ‘“‘Now that I’m out I'd like to keep free a little while and not tie up with the first thing that comes along. I'd Tike to connect up with the best thing going. I’d like to have my chance.” John was right. In his statement lay the solution to our complication. I had taken his chance away and now I would give it back to him again. All the spirit of a vaca- tion had vanished from me, and I would stay in town at my work until he was satis- factorily installed in a new beginning. Then we two would begin our domestic economy on another basis. In three weeks he was running smoothly in a new position, and one that paid suffi- ciently almost to make up for the little rises he had missed from time to time. For never had the character or the conscien- tiousness of John’s work fallen below a very high level. It was only the rewards he had failed to realize, with all incentive taken away from him to gain. There was a good deal of travel connected with this new job. I was so happy that I lost all desire for a vacation, and thought we would continue along the lines of our old program, except April 25,1925 that I should have more money from John now. But presently I noticed that I was re- cei for the hold not one cent more thanI - _ ved formerly. bey ny coming 0 money anyway ce had asked me to the rent, and it had later come out he been speculating, with the wish to bring his income up to mine. But now it was greater than I had ever earned. I hoped he had not been re- peatine that experiment—that is, at first did, and then I wished that was ali there ~ to it we Se ‘ge bag Heo 4 ppening. ney told me. e! She had at her tion, the florist’s wife having finally died, and not only she but no doubt all her relations, according to her story to John, were in want. She had appealed to him in her dependence, and he was sav- ing at least some of his money to give to her! “John, I do wish you could take a little responsibility round here,” I flared up when I heard about it. “Don’t I take as much responsibility as is needed?”’ he retorted sullenly, almost in anger. Fee on the wrong tack, and knew it; yet I continued, “I should think you could take as much responsibility for your wife as for Madge Hewlitt.” He put himself on the defensive. “I never cared anything about her.” “You go round looking up people to pro- vide for, just so they’re not your wife.” “My wife doesn’t need it, and Madge is a helpless dependent little thing.” I pulled myself up short. e@ moment had come in which the step is so often taken that lands similar cases in the divorce courts. And then the judge blames the wife’s career, whereas the fault lies probably in the wretched technic employed in the human relationship. This was the moment when every writer of fiction would make the woman voluntarily lay down her job. And yet the whole trouble came not be- cause she had employment but because jobs and careers were so new to those of us who were married that in our enthusiasm for them we ignored some of the very ele- mentary laws governing the attraction between men and women. That was what I had done. I had never appealed to John nor depended on him nor consulted him about my work nor made him feel indispensable to me. But I was sure that Madge, although she had done all these, had but the most fragile claims of friendship on him. And just because I had made an elementary sort of error I did not propose to give up either husband or career. Reaching a Decision Had there already been so much of a flare-up between us that it would leave traces on heart and brain forever? Could John ever forget our conflict? Apparently he was all too willing to do so and to slide back into the relations that were so easy for him. Presently Madge came over for an evening of parchesi, with matches repre- senting the real money which would change hands later on. At the end of the game John was indebted a dollar to her. “Kate, have you got one? I’m out of change, but I’ve got a five here.” “I can change it,” I said, diving into m bag and bringing up at least a dollar in sil ver, as the green bills crowded over the top. I laid the one in change on the parchesi board, and he passed it over to Madge, without turning in the five to me. That little act was decisive. When he had gone to take her home I burst into tears. Malviney, whose room was off the kitchen, came in after I regained self-control. Her mission ostensibly was to arrange the fur- niture, but she said I must go to the younger Doctor Miller. He attended an old em- loyer of hers, a Mrs. Sutherland, who had n married for about two years. The difficulty had been something psycho- logical. I paid little attention to the suggestion at the moment, but the next morning, when I woke up limp, I had a feeling inside of me that I was going to let go. My sketch for the Monday display ad was not finished. So often this een and I crowded it to completion at the last moment, but now for the first time I made an excuse. Always before I had coaxed it with artificial respi- ration, so to speak, because I thought I: was going through critical times psychologically and should presently see serener days. This morning I went to the head of the ad- vertising and said, ‘I’m tired.” (Continued on Page 115)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 Alluring comfort—where daylight is toned by softly colored shades by Helen Richmond How you love to linger in certain rooms of the house— while others you neglect for no apparent reason ! Have you ever stopped to think what makes the difference ? No, it isn’t always comfort, though comfort counts. Actu- lly it’s the quality of light. Lamps softly shaded for eve- ning—by day an illumination from your windows, bright yet mellow, and free from the sli est element of glare. Such light gives an effect of warmth with- cut which your rooms will lack charm, no matter how luxuri- ously they may be furnished. To solve just this problem of warming and ‘modulating the light, interior decorators are using soft-hued window shades you always choose lamp-shades for their soft colors, you will see for yourself how practical this new idea is. Indeed, the wonder is it wasn’t thought of long ago! You'll be delighted with the change these colored window shades make in your rooms. Crude sunlight transformed into a delightful soft radiance—pale thin north light filled with glow and vitality. This radiance tinged with soft color is infinitely flattering. Fine old furniture gains unsus- pected new beauty in the play of light and shadow. The lovely tones of rugs and draperies re- veal new richness. And with all their decorative value, these tone-color shades cost no more in tone-colors. Knowing that than ordinary shades! Us ed Cverywl vere) in Pyeautifil Homes o Columbia Tone-Colors Circassian Brown Persian Gold Etruscan Ivory Chamois Strained Honey Plaza Gray (Color names Reg. U.S. Pat. Off ) Good window shades deserve the best of rollers, so why not specify Columbia Rol- CHlow great decorators are using Columbia tone-color window shades New beauty for every room in your house— lers for your shade in- stallation? Noiseless, rmacth-renning, Co- lumbia Rollers give 30% to 40% longer eretce than ordinary rollers. You are freed from the annoyance of having to replace rollers here and there around the house. Columbia aa, or ter ee ne SP ee ee ena eee All very well to discuss the general principles of toning daylight but perhaps you'd like to know exactly how these principles should be applied in your own home. “Beautiful Windows,” by the well-known decorator, Elsie Sloan Farley, was written to meet just this problem. It answers 12 most important questions about windows and shows 18 beautiful illustrations of actual interiors, with a simple explanation of how in each room the light was toned to best effect with Co/uméia tone-color window shades. With toned window shades you can fill a cold north room with color and cosy warmth while a room with a southern or western exposure, bathed in bright sunlight all day long, can be mad? cool and restful For your copy of “Beautiful Windows,” send 10 cents to Columbia Mills, 225 Fifth Avenue, New York City. get this book NOW . Columbia Mitts, Inc. 225 Fifth Avenue, New York Please send me a copy of “Beautiful Windows,” by Elsie Sloan Farley, showing how soft-hued window shades tone and mellow daylight. I enclose 10 cents. Address. ... TEED WINDOW SHADES and ROLLERS

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(Continued from Page 112) “Yes, yes,” he hastened to answer. “Why don’t you take a vacation?” Then they had been watching, and they saw that my work was not improving, but going down. They were disappointed in me after giving me the fine job. I said that I would certainly do so, but stayed through the morning. At eleven John telephoned me. He was going on one of his very brief trips, which were becoming frequent now. Couldn’t I have luncheon with him, as the train left at three? I told him I was too crowded to think of it, but would write him every day. Then, the criticism of the morning ete made me so very much limper even than I had been, I went up to the rest room. There I lay until Doctor Miller’s two-o’clock office hours, when I went to see him. He did not apparently need much his- tory of the case for his diagnosis. How anybody could be so young and at the same time so understanding I could not tell. I believe one of the generation passing would not have grasped the situation so accu- rately, because it did not belong to his day. Of course Doctor Miller knew none of the details of my problem, but I suppose it fell under a large subdivision of experience, and all the ramifying never-ending minutiz of individual incidents in it reacted in ap- proximately the same way psychologically. ‘*We’ll take you to the rest house in the country—if you will come,” was his first proposal. “My husband’s away,” I answered. “Then that’s a good time. When he re- turns he will find his bird flown. That will be the best of all vantage grounds on which to affect a new working arrangement.” And yet what few symptoms I had de- scribed had been physical! I had already felt relieved to sink into his care. Joint Responsibility I went, and the first morning had my breakfast on a bench surrounding a thick, rough beech trunk, with the green leaves rustling overhead, and shared my toast with a gray squirrel that quivered his nos- trils at me as he sat Fy against his 8 plume of a tail. Beyond a slope in the dis- tance a low-lying pond glimmered in its frame of tall dark pines. There was a smell of pungent earth in my nostrils. I could feel a certain tension in me relaxing. No- body bothered me with discussions of symptoms or investigations of my personal affairs. On the second evening John came out. He was like the painting of the runner when he arrives exhausted in camp. He had come a long way, and hurriedly. As I had not written him he cut his journey short. **What’s the matter?” he demanded. “I’m tired,” I breathed, ‘“‘and the job’s going to pieces, and the flat takes too much out of me.” “What ails the job?”’ he demanded, sternly, efficiently. It was as when I was sick those few days before, and he competently stepped into the management of our affairs. I told him as nearly as I could, and he closed the subject with the remark that he would lock in on it tomorrow. When he came out the next night he reported that they had put Mabel Bowen in charge of the executive part of it. He shook his head and looked grave. “That will never do,” he reflected. He set some store, then, by arding that job and running no risk of i it, although he had never once thus far become conscious that he did not wish to take over the responsibility I had let myself in for. For several days I continued in my re- treat and John came out every evening on the long commuting trip, and nobody round the place bothered me with questions or anything at all. Still I was evidently troubling somewhat about my part in that joint responsibility, for I wrote Malviney to send me the bills at the end of the week, for I wished none of them to run longer. But none came. I said to Doctor Miller, “Give me my statements by the week.” He answered with stern dignity, “Cer- tainly not.” “But it will depress me to have them run longer.” “T will give them to your husband,” he replied. Meantime I sat under the trees, ay thinking. If a man and a woman were bot going to hold positions, then the man would THE SATURDAY have to share the domestic work and re- sponsibility in just such proportion as the woman took on those that were supposed to be strictly his. I remembered that first morning when I went to my new job and John had in that hour relegated to me ali the traditional obligations of housewife, although he had been relieving me even of them previously while I was doing ane except studying. In France there was sai to be no such problem among families where the woman worked, because such husbands and wives had been in business together from the beginning. The girl’s dot went into something which the two of them man- aged together, and they shared everything de as well. The only solution was to halve and halve alike all obligations, and not have them specialized by sex. Such were the problems that the gray squirrel and I had to solve together, al- though he was more erect and animated over it than I, The ideas were merely flow- ing through my relaxed being to a solution of their own. I did not try to organize or arrange them. I was drifting without even the will to wish that I might come into a safe harbor by and by. Some day I ex- pected to figure out my problem—but not yet. Still there was something that kept me from absolute rest. John came to see me al- most every late afternoon and spent the evening. I thought a subtle change was passing over him. He could not have talked about his business more than formerly, but I thought perhaps he did so more discrimi- natingly. But as to the remainder of his current life there seemed to be dark sound- less depths with no color or illumination to them, and I wondered if this was because they were really empty or he preferred not to tell me with what they were filled. He seemed a little silent and noncommittal. One day he brought out a bunch of house- hold bills for me to go over. They recorded two evenings of f far too plentiful and too elaborate for one person alone. He did not comment on it, and neither didI. And I would never ask Malviney. I handed the memoranda back to him with the remark that the prices sounded reasonable and with no question as to how he meant to pay them. Strangely enough, the next afternoon Doctor Miller came and joined the squirrels and me, as I rocked over the spongy earth near a myrtle bed. He dropped into a green painted chair, and let his straw hat slip to the mossy ground beside him. “What's your notion of a happy life?” he began with an excitedness and an anima- tion I at first resented. “How would you rather, spend your life than in any other way? ith my being still relaxed some words seemed to float through me as if formulated by another, for whom I was the mere trans- mitting agent. Planning for the Future “T should like to keep my home and do just my art work’’—to cultivate the little gift with which I had been entrusted! ‘I don’t ever want to keep hours or do me- chanical work again that does not lead to development.” “Then that is what we must arrange and what we must avoid for you.” “Oh, but I eannot—I can’t afford to give up my routine work. It is what brings in the most of the money.” “But what do you need with money, who have your husband?” “But I made a mistake, For one thing, I arranged the scale of living too expen- sively for him alone, and then I began pay- ing for things without making him realize his responsibility.” “He will it, and he will rise to meet it,” Doctor Miller answered with a confidence. “Don’t trouble about im.” Poor John! I felt guilty to be in a league against him to rob yo of his peace and ease. Still I had meant later to puzzle out some new arrangement for us, but evidently it was a part of the cure to hand you your particular solution, fully worked out. thought that perhaps it would be as well to tell John that evening of my new working arrangement, which was going to be to draw at home when and as much as I pleased, and sell the individual! sketches to the store; and perhaps later do other, bet- ter work for higher purposes. But John did not come out that evening or telephone! The next late afternoon when he arrived he said that he had been for a EVENING POST long walk up along the shore of the Hud- son. He had not been with me long when ae called up! So they had gone out together last evening and they had talked about me and she had been reminded of me. She said she was coming out that “a My first thought was of what a pleasant time they would have on their long romantic trip home through the fresh-smelling coun- try from here. But when I told John she was coming he stamped his foot and snapped his fingers, and left the room. He returned just before her arrival. She came bounding in with an animation which she tried to keep from being excited. “Well, Kate, what's this new réle?” Her voice went like a waved line, that got rough and jagged before it finished nl control. independent woman an y down on a man for the rest of your life?"’ She laughed as if she were trying to pretend she had spoken in jest. “T couldn’t quite make the grade,” I answered lamely. “It really isn’t fair the leeway that a woman has, and a man can’t protect him- | self against her. When she wants to play at | being independent she can, and the minute she is bored with that parlor trick she can | quit and never turn a hand again—first | having got her man in for things that are too much for him.” “Madge, take care!” John uttered the warning. They were the first words he spoke. She was makin the aggressor has nothing to lose. The New Arrangement “Well, I don’t know if I haven't got a — to protest to a woman for her conduct, which is a reflection on all my sex and makes it so hard for us—and after all you've. told me.” “Yes, what have I told you?” John had been guilty of the old masculine trick of | seeking out a woman in whom to confide his | | (stones against his wife. “Tell her what have told you.” But she did not, and he said presently in a dull monotone: “I told you I was dis- couraged and had lost my point of view and Kate had upset me with her success and | independence and I didn’t know what to tie to. Nobody needed me. I told you I never had a chance because my wife was so much quicker than I was that she always beat me to Ae bore. cf Then he had probably not been with her on that walk ‘ep md evening, but alone, on a long vigi her in the afternoon, in which he had told her that her designs on him were frustrated because I needed my husband. I was ill and in a sanitarium and alone. +3 was the first to speak. She said | that if he was ready she thought she would | let him take her home. But he replied that | he was ent, re to town that night. He had arrang out to the desk, following her telephone announcement that she was going to come, | He ordered the bus for the 9:50 and took her out to it when we heard the wheels crunching over the gravel. As they re- sumed their crunching he returned to me. I was going to tell him that evening of our new working arrangement. I did not believe he would mind so much. We could cut our expenses if necessary. But before I could begin the remotest F ae narig for once he beat me to it. e put his arm through mine and steered me out to the mossy grounds. “ Kate, it’s an awful thing to ask of you, but it will mean so much to me. Won't you give up that dog-goned job and just work at your art when and how you want to?” I burst out crying. The stars were out and the squirrels had gone to bed. “Yes, I know, it sounds outrageous of me—but let’s at least try it. I know that you can always go back there. But I think I can make it so you won’t even want to.” He smoothed back my hair and looked at me intently, as I had seen him do only | twice before. Once was when I announced | my new job to him and he had regarded me sadly, helplessly, as if I were receding from him. The other time was when he hurried back after the first night he took Madge Hewlitt home and he wanted to assure me, as he now desired so very much to do, although he had no words for such a pur- pose, how absolutely mine he was. beyond | “Are you going ‘4 quit being an | ; one of those outbursts, | unpremeditated, almost involuntary, where of reflection and reconstruc- | tion, presumably mig pee session with | i fora room, then, when he went | After this even absent- minded Mr. Pinnick will remember to buy Electric Garden Hose You tric Garden Hose because # can- not kink! Kinks kill hose—make it leak, Electric is built up like a cord tire—so kinking is impossible. Alternate layers of gum rubber and stout seine cords, Heavy ribbed tread. Vulcanized insepa- rably together. Cord tire construction gives Electric Hose cord tire wear, It serves you faithfully long after the ordinary hose has kinked into leaky uselessness. 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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 money ‘ a ot ‘ engi led in t ysten you have ears will be {dual unite in my i and interest you coca ve for your Fecordss | 10%, "ogoito) SoS; 276 Ste vive (148) Ager tae ciate of 1923-24 ra _ - thie a During : : ie 79900400 mie amount By apaig a ver padiation —_ + /100 square radiation for & comple ting season. foot of -smokeless boiler qe Capitol semi snovelvs toed ate the chimney. © slers. of so-called smokeless Deo, that he gets om portion. on the weather vive to eighteen hours. 4 to believe but it a 411 af Weer statement is har 1 cannot saye It ¥ know that thie ttribate all this to, heating system and true. What to rane the voiler, the wae peaotery culties Oe pation of it all is very 8& the ins yours very truly, ALICE MANOR CO+, V7) M. T. Johnson, Manager — What our users say and think about Capitol Boilers is more important than anything we might say ourselves. One Capitol user speaks above. We shall be glad to send an illustrated booklet which fully explains the modern idea in house heating. Capitol Boilers UNITED STATES RADIATOR (GRPORATION General Offices, Detroit. Michigan BRANCH AND SALES OFFICES Reston Soring field, Mass. — Portland, Me. Providence, R. 1. Troy, N. Y. — *New York Brookiyn “ Harrison, N.J. @ Philadelphia Baltimore = *Buffalo = *Pittsburgh | Cleveland = Columb - Cinei i — Detroit — Chicago — Milwaukee @ Indianapolis ; Louleville = St. Paul — Se. Louis — Kansas City = Des oines @ Omaha = Denver I Seattle — Portland, Ore. *Warehouse stocks carried at ell points except those indicated by star.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE RELUCTANT DUCHESS one day by Mrs. Traver’s making him, much against his inclination, take the two chil- dren to the theater in her place. He was kind, but he did not allow them to imagine he enjoyed their society. He left them in the entr’acie, saying, ‘Now you two kids behave yourselves while I go and have a cigarette.” To Jacqueline this, like every- thing else he did, appeared romantic; and as the play was a romantic drama in which a beautiful young man disguised as an Indian maharaja stole jewels and maidens, only to return them unharmed to their rightful guardians, Paul Traver became in- extricably enmeshed in her mind with ro- mance. He did not directly address her during the afternoon, but Lucy reported the next day that he had said ‘The kid has great eyes.” Jacqueline lived entirely nourished by this for months. She even began a sonnet: He told me that my eyes were beautiful And all the earth grew beautiful to me —— It never went very well. The necessity of riming ‘‘ gull’’—sea gull, of course—with “beautiful” rather spoiled it as a sonnet. Paul had been succeeded by a handsome young officer with only one arm, who gave a course of lectures to the whole school on the military history of the Great War, and then by a tenor at the Metropolitan, and then by a wonderful young violinist, with none of whom did Jacqueline ever exchange a word. For the next six years she hardly saw Paul, who went through the law school and the first years in a law office. Yet when they met occasionally a spark of the old fire would flash up again. The summer before this Lucy had told her that Paul was in love with her. The news created a dis- tinct flutter, but not the wild surge of emotion that she had felt years before at hearing he had praised her eyes. “He keeps it to himself,’”’ she had an- swered, Lucy nodded. “He pmesy would never propose to a rich girl—certainly not until he had made his own mark in the world.” “How about the rich girl?” said Jacque- line. “It would be rather hard on her if she cared.” Her interest was academic, but she saw that Lucy took it seriously. But it wasn’t about Paul that Lucy wanted to talk this day. She was pro- foundly interested in the idea of the duke. She wanted to question Miss Salisbury, but Jacqueline forbade it. Her governess would take it as a sign of American hys- teria—the snobbish American interest in titles. “And anyhow,” Jacqueline added bit- terly, “‘what does it matter to me? I shall robably never be allowed even to speak to im. I shall be kept out of the way, as usual. My stepmother will contrive it somehow.” But like many placid people, Lucy was persistent; and after luncheon, under pre- tense of looking up an article on William Blake in an encyclopedia, the two girls went down to the library to see what they could find out about the Duke of Dormier. Lucy knew that there was a book called a Peer- age, and owing to the fact that the Mc- Mannis books were well classified and seldom disturbed, they soon found among the reference books that broad red-and- gold back. The library was a beautiful room in dark paneled wood, lined from top to bottom with books. The whole second floor of the house was kept shut up during the absence of the elder members of the family, but when Jacqueline opened the inner shutters the afternoon sun came flooding in. The two girls sat down side by side on the win- dow seat; and Jacqueline, more expert with books than Lucy, soon found the name the were looking for and began to read aloud, as follows: “““Dormier, Duke of; Fitzgrady-Stewart; sits as Marquess ———’”’ Lucy gave a faint hoot at this—Lucy was by nature a giggler—but Jacqueline, end- lessly capable of taking an interest in the printed page, began to feel something an- cient and romantic and suggestive. She read on: “*Patrick Albert Edward Shawmus Fitzgrady-Stewart, fourth duke and thir- teenth baron, born July 2, 1850 ——’” “That’s ’nuff!” cried Lucy. “The man is seventy-five years old. Let’s go and do our Latin prose.” (Continued from Page 5) “T don’t care if he’s a thousand,” an- swered Jacqueline. ‘Just listen to the things he is, Lucy: ‘Educated at Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge, lord lieutenant of the county and president of its Territorial Forces Association. J. P.’ Do you hap- pen to know what a J. P. is?” Lucy absolutely declined to put her mind on the problem, and Jacqueline continued: “Well, don’t strain your mind, for if you knew what that was we’d then have to meet the problem that he’s a D. L. too. ‘Pa- tron of seven livings, formerly lieutenant colonel and honorable colonel of the King’s Own Seventeenth Balliecouchan (Civil Ser.) Light Dragoons ——’” “You're making it up,”’ said Lucy. “Flatterer!” answered Jacqueline. “*Was honorable equerry to Edward VII and president and gold stick ——’”’ “T shall simply die if you go on!” cried Lucy, but Jacqueline went on: “* Married, first, in 1880, died in 1888, the Honorable Pamela Georgina Sybil Pitts-Cave, eighth daughter of Viscount Bunbury of Brede; and second, in 1895, Lady Imogen Augusta Lettice ——’” “Let me see!”’ cried Lucy. “Let me see if it is really there!’”’ “Tt is, and more,” said Jacqueline. “‘ Au- gusta Lettice Alice Leath-Meadows, fifth daughter of the eleventh duke of Clam- borough, by whom he has issue.’”’ “What an awful word for children!’ “I think it has a lot of style,’’ answered Jacqueline. “Shall I read on?” Lucy said no and Jacqueline went on: ‘“‘Arms: Quarteriy, first and fourth quarters coun- terquartered; a fesse wavy te; “Come, come,” said Lucy, “this is going too far.” “Well,” said her friend, “perhaps that bit is a trifle obscure. ‘Seats ——’” “Where he sits as a marquess?”’ “*Seats: Fitzgrady Castle, Balliecou- chan. Con House, near Crumbelly, Hants, The ge, Bonny Brigg, Midlo- thian. Town residence: Dormier House, Grosvenor Square.’ As a special favor, Lucy, I’ll omit his clubs, which are simply thrilling, and pass to: ‘Son, living: Thomas Aubrey Cecil Edward, Lord Fitzgrady, born May 25, 1897; educated at Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge; was captain of Grenadier Guards and served throughout European war; wounded three times ——’”’ Lucy, who had been counting on her fin- gers, now interrupted. “That sounds more like it,” she said. “He’s young.” Jacqueline demurred a little. “He’s almost thirty,” she said. “Better than seventy-five.” They examined the date of the Peerage and found that it was 1918. They agreed that a good deal might have happened since then. Thomas Aubrey Cecil Edward might well have succeeded in place of Patrick Albert Edward Shawmus. Before long, Lucy was calied for and went away, but Jacqueline stayed, sitting on one foot, dangling the other, and staring down into what in space was a small back yard, but in latticework, marble seats and busts of Roman emperors was an Italian garden. Balliecouchan Castle! That would have a secret , leading perhaps into a ruined abbey, a ruined tower with a stair- way that broke off short like the stair in Kidnapped. And a ghost—a pale queen—a pale queen on a ruined stair that begins at naught and leads nowhere and vanishes in empty air. hen she thought of a ballad about the oung lord going away to fight, with fifty enchmen at his back, though she was not clear as to what henchmen were. The library door opened and Miss Salis- bury came in. “Ah, there you are,”’ she said. “‘ Doing your Latin prose, I hope.” Jacqueline turned her head slowly and stared at her governess as if she saw her for the first time. She was coming back from distant Sy oy After an appreciable use she said she had not been doing her Latin prose. Miss Salisbury, after expressin great surprise at this, volunteered a piece o! information: “Your father’s office has telephoned. I’ve good news for you. The boat will ar- rive about ten on Saturday morning.” A cloud descended on Jacqueline’s brow. “Wouldn’t you know it?” she said. “Of course they’d get in on a holiday, when a morning off doesn’t do me any good.” Miss Salisbury, not gifted with an in- stinctive knowledge of the human heart, was shocked at this example of filial cold- heartedness. She thought how she would have felt if she had had word that the Rev- erend Ethelbert was approaching these shores. She exp her opinion that that was no way to receive news of her family’s return. Jacqueline hardly heard her, She was thinking: “Must he always wireless the office? Does he think I’m not old enough to read? Does he forget I exist, or is it that woman who won’t let him admit that I am more in- terested in his return than anyone else?” She thought about not going to the pier to meet them. And when he asked her at the house, as she kissed him coldly, “Why were you not at the pier, Jacqueline?” she would answer with dignity, “I had no knowledge that you were coming, father.” “What? Did not Williams let you know?” “Why did not you yourself let me know?” But then perhaps he wouldn’t ask her. That was the worst of these rehearsed scenes—so often the other person did not ask the right question. She went to bed resolved to administer this well-deserved rebuke to her parent; but when she woke up to another glorious clear morning she felt differently about the whole problem. She was so glad her father was coming home, and there was no ques- tion that it was fun to meet a boat. She had almost forgotten about the duke until she discovered that Miss Salisbury was in a flutter about him. “ Aren’t you interested to see the duke?”’ she asked with quite a girlish enthusiasm. Jacqueline turned a dark glance upon her. “No,” she answered. “I can’t say I am particularly interested in dukes.” By half past nine they were on the pier. Miss Salisbury’s long slender nose, which betrayed so many different intentions be- tween the bridge and the tip, was a decided pink—just the shade that fresh air and ex- citement had put into Jacqueline’s cheeks. The great vessel was already pushing its nose past the openings in the walls of the pier like some prehistoric animal looking into a cave. Williams, Mr. McMannis’ secretary, was there, talking to the reporters. Almost immediately Jacqueline caught sight of her father standing at the railing. McMannis was rather a heavy figure in a large dark-blue overcoat. His hair was white for fifty. He was clean-shaven and the lower part of his face was thrust for- ward pugnaciously. He was a man who presen many manners to the world— a genial manner, a blustering manner, an cient business man’s manner, a pa- ternal manner. His daughter’s heart gave a great bound and then seemed to melt with love at the sight of him. One of her happiest—and perhaps least likely—dreams was that some day a real vital relation was going to be established between her and her father; not this smooth impersonal affection, but something honest and intimate. . .. Then, pane a little farther along the ship’s rail, she saw her stepmother, and her heart hardened again. “New sables, if I’m not mistaken,” she observed to Miss Salisbury. “And very nice too,” said Miss Salis- bury; and then, fearing that this might be interpreted as an envy of American luxury, she added, “That is, if one can wear fur. I find wool keeps one warmer.” And she wrapped a striped muffler, brought her oe Scotland by a friend, closer about her neck. Standing beside her parents was an enor- mously tall man with a red face, a mustache and prominent blue eyes—a man more than twenty-eight and yet obviously less than seventy-five, unless there was some truth in the story of the vigorous preservation of elderly Englishmen. If that were the duke romance was dead, A very young man in a high hat and cut- away rushed up to Mr. Williams and an- noun himself as a representative from the embassy to meet the duke. Jacqueline began to look sullen. “Why must a duke be met?” she said. “Of course he must be met,” said Miss Salisbury. Her tone admitted of no argument; and so Jacqueline at once fell to arguing the point, which led to a more general argu- ment on the subject of whether there was or Beet | WYOMING RED ° . EDGE SHOVELS “We Cut Our Shovel Bill 80%’ O writes the Lumen Bear- ing Co., brass founders, of Buffalo. “We adopted Red Edge as standard for our plant seven or eight years ago. “We hesitated to try out Red Edge because they were higher in price than the shovels we had been using. However, the results have certeiniy justified the trial. We have cut our shovel expense approximately 80 per cent.” So much for the wearing qualities of Red Edge. “Each of our molders can turn out 5 more molds a day (an increase of 5% in production) when using Red Edge,” says another foundry. Give Red Edge a chance to prove that its lightness and shape-hoiding quality can increase production in your casting room. THE WYOMING SHOVEL WORKS WYOMING, PENNA. RED EDGE

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was not an inherent right way to do things. This cecupied ali the time until the gang- way was lowered and the gers began to descend; and Jacqueline, forgetting her grievances, flung herself into her father’s arms. She received a bright bland smile from her stepmother and was allowed to bury her nose for an instant in the sables. They smelled delicious, as everything about Mrs. MeMannis always did. Then she had a second to turn her head and look more closely at the third member of the party, who in a search for his keys was unbuttoning layer upon layer of slightly different tweeds, and saying, ‘“ Yes—yes— yes —quite--quite--your American cus- toms— oh, yes—quite so. Ther her father, holding her by the arm, as if she were likely to escape, said, “ This is my little daughter. Major Pitts-Cave, Jacqueiine.” Not the duke! Good! “Ah?” asid Mr. Pitts-Cave, putting a lot of cordiality into the monosyllable. Then deciding roe beer. successful, he said it n: “Ahi” A faint sound was heard from Miss Salis- bur recalling her existence, and Mr. MeMannis centinued: ‘And Miss Salis- bury, a countrywoman of yours.” “Oh!” said Mr. Pitts-Cave, not quite so cordial, but still very nice indeed. “Oh!” Jacqueline felt glad Lucy was not there she would have giggled. Mrs. MeMannis looked about her. **What's become of the duke?” she said. So that was how you spoke of him, was it? Jacqueline looked about too. “Hiding from your American reporters, prolly,” said Pitts-Cave. At the time Jacqueline thought “ prolly” was the name of an American reporter, but later was to become familiar with it as the English equivalent of the American word “probably.” “Not on your tintype, Pittsy,”’ said the duke, and he emerged from behind the great bulk of his cousin’s loosened outer garments Jacqueline saw a slender and not very tall figure in a distinctly shabby tweed over- coat, with the collar turned up, and a felt bat not in its first youth, pulled well down, If she had looked down, she would have seen the most beautiful pair of brown boots whick that fellow in St. James’s Street had ever made, But she didn’t look down; she looked up and saw a long narrow face, not at ail handsome, but delicately modeled— a job which it had taken several centuries to accomplish—-a pale clear skin, a pene- trating blue eye—enough to assure her that this was Thomas Aubrey Cecil Edward, and not Patrick Albert Edward Shawmus. Oh, no! Her father laughed. **Not on your tintype!” That's old stuff, ou can do better than that.” er. “T learned it last night in the onee room," said the duke gently, “from a la whe called me Say-Duke, as if it were my name.” He turned civilly as a represent- ative of the press approac ed him and said, —_ ’ “Here you are, Pittsy,” said the duke, again slipping behind his cousin's ample ck. “My cousin, Major Pitts-Cave— simply full of good things for the papers eager to tell you what he thinks of the Woolwerth Building.” The giant form of Pitts-Cave was in- stantly surrounded by nutebooks and from the midst came the sound, “Ah—ah- quite —quite -—--" The valet and the maid and the secre- tary were left to attend to declarations and customs duties; and the McMannis party, aa free from care and even from hand lug- as if they were stepping off e ferry- t, moved toward the entrance of the plier. Jacqueline’s heart was swelling within her. She knew it wouid be like that—she had not even been introduced. If she had been amaid they could not have more completely ignored her. The duke must think she was half-witted. Mrs, MeMannis and Pitts-Cave and the duke and the young man from the em- bassy al! disappea into one of the Mc- Mannis motors, and Mr. McMannis and his daughter and Miss Salisbury got into the other-—the older car, driven by the second chauffeur. “ How handsome His Grace is!” exclaimed Miss Salisbury, and her voice shook with emotion. “He's a nice young feliow,” said Mr. MecMannis. “But I shouldn't call him handsome. Would you, Jacqueline?” THE SATURDAY _ There was a chance and Jacqueline took it. “T’m not sure I knew which one he was,” she answered haughtily. _ unnecessarily, they described him to her, while she maintained a baffling si- lence. “His mother,” said Miss Salisbury, “was a celebrated beauty in her day—Lady Au- ta Leath-Meadows. She came down to hrewsbury-Crewe once as a bride to open a bazaar.” “Surely,” said Mr. McMannis politely, “you can’t remember his mother as a bride.” “Oh, no,” answered the governess; “but my father has often told us about it—her graciousness and beauty ——” For some reason the picture of the rec- tor, with that same tremolo in his voice, describing to his children gathered about his knee the arrival of the young duchess to open his bazaar was repugnant to Jacque- line. She flung herself back in the car until her head against her father’s shoulder. She felt a sudden need of her own country, her own family. “Well,” said her father, “have you been a ee girl?” hat was what he always did to her. When they were apart she could imagine herself pouring her soul out to him, telling him everything she had ever done or thought; but as soon as they were together he said something like this: “Haven't you grown a little? Have you been a good girl? Have you been learning your lesson? Where are the roses in those cheeks?" —harmless, well-intended phrases which seemed to raise a partition like a wall of glass between them, through which she could see him without being able to com- municate with him. She attributed this in some way to the evil influence of her stepmother. It never crossed her mind that her father was em- barrassed in her society. He loved her deeply, but he had an ideal of what a young irl should be; and this did not include her nowing anything, or feeling anything, or having anything to confide. He wanted her always near him. It hurt him to leave her, but it would have shocked him slightly to know that she had a turbulent inner life of her own. His affection for her was no more dependent on understanding her than a mother’s love for an infant is chilled by the a that that infant cannot converse with er. When they reached the house, there was no sign of the other party. Mr. McMannis moved toward his own office on the ground floor, but a reproachful ‘Oh, father, aren’t you coming to sit with me?" made him change his direction. “Oh, of course, of course,” he answered guiltily. Jacqueline had a tiny sitting room on the third story, next to her room. The rooms of her parents were on the same floor, but in the front of the house. It was a pretty room, done over by Mrs. McMannis with faultless taste in pale blues and pinks, with old prints and aquatints in black-and- gold frames, and a gay chintz. The girl pulled forward a comfortable armchair and put her father into it, and then herself sat down at his feet on the floor. “Now,” she said, “we can have a good talk before the others get here.” And as she spoke, a despairing knowledge came over her that they had nothing whatever to say to each other. He was not so clear-sighted. “Yes, indeed,” he answered; “you must tell me all about what you did this summer.” But there was nothing to tell. Of course, there had really been a hundred incidents each day which it would have interested her to repeat; but now she could not think of one of them. She and Miss Salisbury had spent the summer at the McMannis place in the Adirondacks, swimming and camping and climbing mountains, She tried to say this, oe that something would revive as she talked; but after a few minutes she saw that he was not even listening, and she did not blame him; what she was saying was dull. She broke off. “But all that isn’t interesting,” she said, “compared to what you've been doing and seeing. Tell me about that, father.”’ He answered with a careful list of places and dates. In the middle a faint bell began to buzz. It was a private telephone in his own room, and he rose with an alacrity that did not suggest regret. When he had gone Jacqueline put her head down in the chair EVENING POST and cried. Why did she always look for- ward to his return when it was always like this when he came? Perhaps one of the things that were wrong from Jacqueline’s point of view—one of the things so difficult i a child to understand in a parent—was that he was still very busy with his own career, still excited and sur- prised and occupied by success. Hewas theson of Irish immigrant parents. After a high-school education he had gone to work as a clerk in a smal! shop in a town on the bye of the West. There, in a mo- ment of tribal generosity, he had lent one hundred dollars, carefully saved, to a fellow clerk who had come from the same county in Ireland. He had received in lieu of pay- ment an interest in a building lot at the edge of the town. This consideration, ap- parently valueless, had turned out to con- tain the only sand in the neighborhood. By selling sand McMannis had been repaid many times the amount of the original debt. Hardly had the sand been exhausted when an oil fever struck the town, and McMannis had rented his lot for a high price to prospective drillers. The oil had never materialized, but by the time the ex- citement was over the town had n to grow in the right direction, and McMannis sold his lot as a fashionable building site for the colossal sum of two thousand dollars. On this capital he had married—mar- ried, like Napoleon, a little above him— a young school-teacher of good New Eng- land re Josephine, she had the tact to die before McMannis’ growing great- ness rendered her a detriment instead of an advantage. His wild grief at her loss was a new element in his success. Hard work and speculation became his only distractions. By a combination of these he made his for- tune, principally in copper stocks. He had been eight years a widower and Jacqueline was a fila of nine, when, in the city of Mobile, he fell under the domination of his present wife. She was a remarkable woman. Ten years before she had been beautiful, and even now, though nearing fifty, not a single line was written on that camellia-white brow— perhaps because, although she had been known to weep, she never worried. Her will and her beauty had carried her steadily upward without one stain upon her moral character. Her career in its way had been more re- markable than McMannis’. As a young girl in a small Southern town, she had mar- ried a handsome shifty young lawyer and had pushed him into politics, until finally he was sent to Washington as a congress- man. Here he behaved so badly, particu- larly to her, that, under the advice of her senator, she had little trouble in obtaining a divorce from him; and no one was aston- ished when a year later she married the senator, a man thirty years her senior. He died promptly and left his widow in a posi- tion to condescend to McMannis. Fron the moment of their meeting she became the dominant member of the partnership. It was not perhaps that she was cleverer than he; but she was clearer-sighted, un- hampered by sentiments and tribal loyal- ties. Yet she was not unkind, except to those who stood in her path. She was just, and even generous. She had in all proba- bility deliberately destroyed her first hus- band; but he was hardly worth saving; and she still eat his old mother—an obligation which he on his downward path had long since repudiated. She had made the senator perfectly happ during their brief marriage. Her care o' ) Bevin Bh was carefully thought out and wise—exactly what she would have given her own daugh- ter if she had had one. But to a child whe for the first ten years of her life had been neglected, but free, the succeeding years under Mrs. McMannis’ routine had seemed nothing short of tyranny, and cold tyranny at that. She was the only person of whom the child had ever been afraid—afraid, as of some great engine moving slowly upon its appointed way She was frightened now, when, raising her head from the seat of the chair, she saw that her stepmother had come silently into the room. Mrs. McMannis was one of those calm smooth women who look like blanemange and are of wills of iron. She looked all about the room now with a steady competent glance, and Jacqueline became aware that she had changed the arrange- ment of the furniture without permission. “You've oe oe things,” said Mrs. MeMannis, and then added, “It’s better— much better.” April 25,1925 Jacqueline was a little ashamed of breath- ing a sigh of relief. She had a right to ar- range her own room her own way, she thought. Her stepmother’s eyes flashed across her once and saw, the girl knew, that her eyes were red. Unlike her father, her stepmother saw everything. Mrs. McMannis did not comment on what she saw. She said, “I’ve brought you some clothes—when the trunks come.” It was useless to pretend that this was not good news—surprising too. “Clothes?” she cried. “Quantities,” said Mrs, McMannis; and then, as if she did not want to be ques- tioned, she left the room as suddenly as she had entered. So the girl was left thinking not about tragedy but about clothes. Those dresses selected by Mrs. McMannis would be right; Jacqueline knew that. But why had they been bought—and quantities too? Could it be she was to be allowed to come out this winter? She wished that some of these new gar- ments were already in her wardrobe. She wanted something beautiful and mature for the inevitable meeting with the duke at luncheon. Then certainly the family would be obliged to recognize her existence. She stood in front of her looking-glass, staring into it with a stern concentrated gaze. Sometimes she could get a certain wave of the hair at her left temple, but the air was too dry and clear today. When she went downstairs she found the duke had gone off to Washington with the young attaché and would not be back for several days. Jacqueline felt bored and flat, and threatened the duke in her own mind with never being able to rouse any interest in her again. “It’s rather a bore for the poor lad,” Pitts-Cave said civilly. On Monday morning at school Jacque- line did not admit —- that she had not even spoken to him. “What's he like?” she said, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. ‘ About like every other pale thin young man you ever saw, only he speaks in a funny sort of way.” “What do you call him?” asked one of the girls. This, too, Jacqueline skillfully avoided. “Well, his servant calls him Your Grace and my father calls him Dormier and his cousin calis him Tac, and I guess I shall call him just ‘you.’” But to Lucy she was more communica- tive. “Tt isn’t that I want to be introduced to the creature, or have anything to do with him,” she explained, “‘ but it’s so insolent to ignore me, as if she were ashamed of me. I dare say she is. I’m too American for her taste os aps. Perhaps he hasn't even been told that there is a stepdaughter. It makes me feel like a fool that I have not even spoken to him. I believe she does it on pur- pose.”” There was never any doubt in these conversations as to who “she” was. She added presently, as if Lucy were now to hear the very depth of human infamy, “She’s going to have a party for him as soon as he gets back.” “Maybe he’ll never come back,” said Lucy gayly. “Wouldn't it serve her right if he didn't?” said Jacqueline, and yet the idea was not entirely satisfactory to her either. Lucy thought the party itself would be fun, but Jacqueline corrected her: “Don’t suppose, you poor innocent, that I shall be allowed down, to contaminate the festivities with my presence. Oh, no! I’ve known her to send up for Salisbury in a tight place, but never for me.” Mrs. McMannis was putting into the ar- rangement of that dinner an executive ius which, if she had been a man, would ave gone to the a an empire or a business corporation. She knew very few people in New York—hardly any of those whom she intended to have at her party, for the detestable weekly had been right when it said that the social campaign of the McMannises in New York had been a failure. She knew none of these people personally; but by some instinctive percep- tion she knew exactly which twenty-four people out of the million she must have about her table. More than that, she knew how to get them. The first point was to prevent any of them first getting the duke for themselves. She was wise enough to foresee that each one of the ladies whom she was inviting to her party would attempt to give the duke a smarter, smaller party than hers, to which (Continued on Page 123)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a a | ¢ r ¢@ L. 1IT CTCATVY it do they Say about you! ‘, ; Cm} se N Is there a woman who at times isn’t conscious of the impression her furni- ture makes? Of course it is disturbing to know that the appearance of one’s furniture invites unflattering criticisms. And yet it is a simple matter to give every wood finish in your home—even the very oldest pieces—an enviable loveliness. O-Cedar Polish is the secret. Its gentle, beneficial oils remove the marks of soil and neglect the very first time you apply it. Forgotten beauties are awakened. New charm appears. O-Cedar cleans as it polishes and leaves a smooth, dry finish. Try one bottle. Sold everywhere, with a money-back guarantee, in five convenient sizes, priced at 30c to $3. O-CEDAR CORP’N Chicago Toronto London HIS photograph by M. E. Hewitt shows a room in palatial Geor- gian Court, the former home of George J. Gould Do you know that in many fine homes the only furniture polish used is O-Cedar? HowtoapplyO-Cedar 1. Pour O-Cedar Polish on a cloth (a moist cloth for clean- ing, a drycloth for polishing) 3. Polish with a fresh cloth.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 e¥others ‘Duty is to help her child keep that schoolgirl complexion Every mother should follow this simple rule in ski HE lovelier the mother, the more she rejoices in the beauty of her baby girl. How anxiously she guards this budding beauty, fostering it, protecting it with tender care. Her first concern, of course, is the little one’s skin, that the exquisite texture of infancy may be retained through girlhood days. That this care is based on mildest, gentlest cleansing she has learned from her own experience. For most young mothers of today were brought up on Palmolive. Protects natural beauty Palmolive plays the part of protector when used as baby’s soap. It soothes while it cleanses, through the gentle action of its mild, lotion-like ingredients. Girlhood’s delicate, roseleaf skin is kept smooth and per- fect, protected from all injurious irritation. oe The smooth, creamy Palmolive lather develops this beauty molive Soap is untouched by human year by year, until it bursts into the bloom of a radiant school- hands until you break the wrapper — girl complexion. it is never sold unwrapped THE PALMOLIVE COMPA)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AFRICAN PALM TREE care with a growing child As she grows older, let her use powder if she wishes. But never leave it on over night. It clogs the pores, often enlarges cal Lei them. Blackheads and disfigurements often follow. The skin OLIVE TRE! must be kept clean, the pores open and active. Soap from Trees The world’s most simple beauty treatment The only oils in Palmolive Wash gently with soothing Palmolive. Then massage it eG see ; ; Soap are the priceless beauty softly into the skin. Rinse thoroughly with cool water. oils from these three trees — In this simple manner are beauty and charm preserved and _ and no other fats whatsoever. youth prolonged. That is why Palmolive Soap No medicaments are necessary. Remove the day’s accumula- / is the natural color that it is tions of dirt and oil, cleanse the pores, and nature wiil be kind. 4 ’ —for palm and olive oils, Your child’s skin will be of fine texture. Her color will be good. ; nothing else, give Palmolive its ‘ ‘ . green color. Avoid this mistake Do not use ordinary soap in the treatment given above. Do not think any green soap, or one represented as of palm and olive oils, is the same. COCONUT Often they are drying to the skin. Palmolive is a skin emollient in soap PALM TREI form. The secret is in the quality of the oils used and their blending. And it costs but 10c the cake! Obtain a cake today. Then note what an amazing difference one week makes. Y (Del. Corp.), CHICAGO, ILL.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925

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— | | i (Continued from Page 118) they would not dream of inviting her. She was safeguarded in this by Dormier’s dis- like of parties. He had given positive in- structions to Pitts-Cave that everything was to be refused. The preparations for this dinner were a long agony of humiliation to Jacqueline. She did not care so much to what depths her stepmother sank, but to see her father interested—even elated at some of the names on the list—that was intolerable. She stood scowling in a corner, with folded arms like a ers f Napoleon, at hearing him cry, “What? You are asking Mrs. Emden?” His wife nodded. “Do you think she'll come?” The corner of Mrs. McMannis’ mouth moved upward in a contemptuous little smile. “I know she'll come as soon as she finds she can’t get at Dormier in any other way.” “Has she tried?” His wife waved toward the mantelpiece, where a bundle of letters and telegrams for the duke were standing. “Five telegrams from her, Pittsy says. She’s waiting to answer my invitation until she’s sure.” “I should be tempted to tell her I had filled her place.” “TI am tempted,” answered Mrs. Mc- is. “But I need her.” A new secretary had been engaged; a stout, solemn, middle-aged woman, who was recommended as knowing that most subtle and ephemeral of all categories—the social grades in the metropolis of a great republic. She had seen many new fortunes through their first social adventures and came prepared to advise and admonish. But a far wiser head than hers was in con- trol, and she found herself permitted to do nothing but the routine work of looking up addresses and directing envelopes. She was amazed at the success of methods of which she often disapproved, and confided to a former employer that Mrs. McMannis was a great ity—almost a genius. Two days before the dinner an evening dress ap in Jacqueline’s room. She walked in late one afternoon, and there it was extended on her bed, simple, shimmer- ing, soft; Ba rTrig 7 _ t a smart young arc angel ve worn to a xelestial garden . Jacqueline had wondered many times what had me of those quantities of clothes, but she was too proud and too alienated from her step- mother to inquire for them. But this dress, prone upon the bed, was not to be viewed without emotion. She was holding it up at arm’s length, feasting on it, when her stepmother and Miss Salisbury entered together. “IT think that’s what she had better wear tomorrow night,” said Mrs. MeMannis. Jacqueline’s heart gave a bound, but re- membering her disapproval, she said, “I don’t want to come to your dinner party, thank you.” “Oh, dear, we are very indifferent!” said Miss Salisbury, rather foolishly. ‘There are some silver slippers that go with it,” said Mrs. McMannis to Miss a “T tell you I don’t want to come,” said Jacqueline. ‘Do I have to come if I don’t want to?” “And not! in the hair,” said Mrs. McMannis. “No bands, you know.” “Ah, no; so much more girlish without,” said the governess. Mrs. McMannis did not answer this, feeling that it was not necessary for her to listen to Miss Salisbury’s views on dress. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST soogenine broke out as the door closed behind her stepmother. She hated her— she hated society—a lot of false people try- ing to knife one another—she wished she were free—she'd rather go into a convent or work in a shop—she’d like to go West and teach school as her mother had done—she hated the English—little grafting noble- men who took advantage of American kindness and generosity and thought they were doing you a favor by accepting your hospitality —— Miss Salisbury, not unnaturally irritated by this description of a class she had been brought up to revere, from the lips of a young barbarian, was ill-advised enough to say at this point that the Duke of Dormier _ doing anyone he stayed with a great onor. _ “Anhonor? What honor?” cried Jacque- line. ‘‘What has he ever done but be born? My father has done something in the world—has created a great company — a t fortune.” ‘I don’t say no to that,” Miss Salisbury an, but was interrupted. “You can’t,” shouted Jacqueline, ‘‘be- cause it’s true. My father is known all the world over for his ability; but if you took oer, this boy’s title, what would he be? Nothing at all—no one! That’s what your aristocracy is—a title and nothing else. And I won't be tied to his chariot wheels like Cleopatra! I won't come down to this dinner party!” But, of course, she knew she would come down; more ignominious still, she knew she wanted to. Quite independent of the duke, she had never been to a real party and she wanted to wear that white dress. (TO BE CONTINUED) THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME “Nothin’ doin’,”’ she answered with de- cision. “We got to see this through. You don’t think I’m goin’ to sit around in these five-and-ten-cent quarters all my life, do you?” “Lord ’mighty, we only been here a month!” “That's long enough.” “What do you want then?” She leaned forward. “This,” she said determinedly: ‘Go to the old man and tell him he needs a vaca- tion and that you want to buy him out.” “Buy him out!” gasped Jud. “What with?” “Barclay would manage it with less money than you have,” she answered calmly. ‘You'll have to give him a note. But while you’re about it you might as well do a a § job—house, store an’ every- thing.’ Jud could not help but admire her nerve. “Gosh,” he exclaimed, “if you can put that over, I'll say Barclay missed some- thing when he let you go!’ “He missed a lot,”’ she admitted, ‘and you got a lot.” The question which began to disturb Jud was, had he not got more than he knew how to handle. Knowing his father as he did, this proposition did not appear reasonable. Why should he turn over to him every- thing he possessed, in return for a note, even if that was protected by mortgages on the propery? Goaded finally to desperation, however, he actually did make the offer to his father. The latter listened quietly. “This is Evelyn’s idea, ain’t it?” he asked when the boy had finished. “Yes,”’ admit Jud. “An’ there ain't any stoppin’ her when she gets started.” ‘Looks to me as though she’d started for considerable this time.” ‘ “‘She didn’t know but what you felt like takin’ a vacation,” said Jud uncomfortably. “Worried about my health?” “Well, there’s ma; she ain’t been feelin’ any too ‘ood for a long while.” ‘She hasn’t took to her bed yet.” “When she does that it’ll be too late,” Jud warned. He was gathering courage now. The mere - that his father was —— to discuss the matter even in a general way was more than he had metek “See here, dad,” he ran on. ‘What you and ma o' ter do is pack up and take a trip to California. You’ll never get a better chance if you live to be a hundred. Aunt Lilias has been after you to come out there (Continued from Page 13) for twenty years and you've allers said you couldn’t leave the business and ma has allers said she couldn’t leave the house. Well, you ain’t got that excuse any more. Evelyn and me can look after everything. She’s smarter than you think.” “Not a mite,”’ answered Horace. Stroking his chin, he studied the boy a moment. After all, there was truth in what Jud said, even though his attitude was un- doubtedly not wholly unselfish. But “self- ishness,”” within certain bounds, was only another word for ‘‘ambition.”” Horace re- membered those long years when he had waited for his own father to step aside. “T’ll think it over,” he said. That very day Sarah received her annual letter from her sister in Los Angeles, beg- ging her to come for the long-deferred visit—a visit deferred, as a matter of fact, since the early seventies. “Now that you're blessed with a daughter-in-law, you're free at last,”’ she wrote. “Make Horace come too. Remem- ber, we haven’t many more years ahead.” “Well, Sarah?’”’ Horace questioned. “T € we'll never have a beiter chance,”’ she answered hesitatingly. “But do you want to go?” “Tt ain’t that. It seems almost as though we oughter go.” “No one can make us,” he bristled up. “*Course they can’t,” she admitted. “But mebbe it’s best. I s’pose it’s natural for young folks to want to run their own business and—you deserve a vacation if ever any man did.” Three weeks later Horace closed the bar- gain with his son, depositing in the bank for collection a note for twelve thousand dol- lars, and took the morning train out of Bridgemont. A few days later the house on the hill and the stote halfway down opened under new management. a OX CHRISTMAS Day Horace had his picture taken in a garden of blossomin flowers and feather-duster palm trees an sent this back to Jud with the inscription, “Some different from Maime, eh?" He had never been muoh of a letter writer, but now he spent most of his time selecting pic- er postal y ne done en brilliant ab men and greens depi the orange orchards in various tiers ment, from the first blossoms to the yellow fruit. The sentiments he scrawled upon these cards appeared to have only one object—the ex- citing of envy in the hearts of those less for- tunate than himself. To old Doctor Pease, who was fighting his way to his patients over snow-drifted roads, he sent a picture of a smooth macadam highway bordered with green things. “Some fun being a doc out here,”’ he commented. To Ezra Moulton, who owned the hard- ware store in the lower village, he sent a view of the business section of the city, showing sunny streets thronged with shop- pers in summer costume. “Don’t need earlaps in this climate,” he wrote. To Shorely, the local editor, he sent a sprig of orange blossoms with the jocular remark, “Finding any of these ‘longside the road in Bridgemont?”’ This was entertaining while it lasted, but by February he would have swapped a county of orange groves for the sight of a single leafless old apple tree standing lone- some in the middle of a snow-covered field. For a sniff of a biting north wind with a smack of pine in it, he would have traded every rose in California. He did not want his roads, in the middle of winter, to lie lizardlike in the sun; he longed to see them piled high with virgin snow until only the top rail of the fences showed. He craved air with a tang in it and he wanted to hear again the jingle of sleigh bells and the crunching squeak of steel runners on hard dry snow. In March, both Horace and his wife had the worst colds of their lives. It was after this that Horace suggested going home. “Maybe Evelyn won’t want us back,” Sarah hesitated. ““ Eh? ” “You know how young folks be.” “Evelyn don’t own the whole darned village,” he growled. “No; but it won’t seem like gettin’ home unless we go back to the house.” “We'll go back to the house,” he deter- mined. “They ain’t paid for it yet—not by along shot. Jud’ll make room for us.” So, quite as mysteriously as they had slipped out of town, they slipped back again during the last week of May. Evelyn made the best of the situation; but on the other hand, she could not disguise the fact that she did not relish it. To Sarah she said bluntly, “If you ask me, I’ll say you made one big mistake in ever leavin’ that country for this.” “T guess I got homesick,” answered Sarah. But to tell the truth she was a little bit homesick right where she was, for, in the (Continued on Page 125) Every Minute the Clock Ticks ina Workingman’s Day A Extra-Service 2-Piece Suit is sold somewhere by a Nogar representative to someone in this country—from coast to coast, in Mexico, in faraway Hawaii. What is a Nogar Suit? Nine years ago the persistent efforts of the founder of this business brought to the point of perfection a processed cloth suit that outwears twe or three ordinary suits. As near tear-proof as cloth can be, Resists sparks, water and dirt. A suit that is a fair and honorable ex- change for any working $12 50 or business man's ° Knockabout topcoats of the same material at the same price—$12.50, “Treat ’em rough” if you like. Write for booklet of styles. Important. 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(Continued from Page 123) interval, Evelyn had made a good many changes around the house. Not only had she shifted the furniture—many pieces were missing altogether—but she had in- stalled electricity, which in the evening altered the effect of the rooms entirely. In this intense glare it was difficult to tell when day ended and night began. There were no more soothing shadows to dim the ceiling and the corners and to emphasize the golden glow of a single parlor lamp upon the center table. But the innovation which took the heart out of the house was a hired woman to do the cooking. “Land sakes,”’ protested Mrs. Burton at once, “there ain’t no need of that! I’m just itchin’ to get my hands in a flour barrel again.” “Don’t try it,” warned Evelyn. “The kitchen is one room you’ve got to keep out of.” “That don’t seem natural.” “It’s necessary anyhow,” returned Eve- lyn. “I went to Portland to get that girl and I’m not goin’ to have her pack up and leave.” “No harm done if she does,’”’ declared Sarah. ‘“ Reckon I ain’t so feeble I can’t manage the cookin’ for this little family.” “I'd look fine lettin’ you do it, wouldn’t I? No, Ma Burton, your job is to sit around and look pretty.” That held, too, for Pa Burton, as Evelyn soon instructed Jud. “You've got to take a stand at the start and let him see that he can’t butt into your business or the first thing you know he'll be tryin’ to run it.” “If he wants to help, what’s the harm?” answered Jud, who, lacking his wife’s con- fidence, was considerably worried about the way the bills had been piling up during the last few months. “The harm is this,”’ she answered with decision, “that if he runs your business, the next thing you know he'll be owning it. I'll tell you honest, Jud, I ain’t keen about this old-folks-at-home idea. They oughter stayed out there among the orange trees. It ain’t as though they had to come back.” “It ain’t as though they had to stay either,”’ Jud reminded her. “No; and didn’t I give them the glad hand when they walked in?” “Ma thinks you’re great.” “Fine! Ma and me are gettin’ along all right. There’s no reason why pa shouldn’t join the happy family, too, if he’ll stay where he belongs—and that’s somewhere close to them crayon portraits of his pa and ma hangin’ up in the front room. You get me?”’ “You expect the folks to be sort of orna- ments around the place?” “Ornaments! Well, let’s call them that,” she answered good-naturedly. ‘‘Anyhow, it comes to this—that either Ma Burton runs this house or I run it, and either Pa Burton runs your business or you run it yourself. As long’s we bought and paid for both, it looks like we had a right to run them as we please.” “The interest on that note comes due the first of the month,” he reminded her. “We've got the money in the bank to meet it.” “What about the other bills?” “Don’t fret, Jud. They can run a while. The summer trade ought to clean these up,”’ she answered coolly. It was true that the patronage of the permanent summer residents was some- thing to which Burton had always looked forward with assurance, and in the last few years this had increased so rapidly that it was almost a business in itself. The Burton store, like the mountains and the lake and the old dam, was one of the fixtures of the town which greeted everyone like a tried friend. To at least twenty-five families Horace had always been known by his first name, while he in his turn addressed such notables as the vice president of the Second National Bank and the treasurer of the Monhegan Mills as Ned and Jack. When- ever it was possible these people traded with him in person, combining their mar- keting with a social call. They liked the atmosphere of the place and the good- natured leisurely personal element which Horace himself contributed. As these customers now began to drop into the store they appeared confused and disappointed. ‘‘Where’s Horace?” was the first ques- tion they invariably asked. Jud had a formula, taught him by Eve- lyn, which he employed on these occasions. THE SATURDAY “The store is under new management, but we hope to enjoy in the future the pat- ronage 7 have given in the past.” It did not work very well. “‘Where’s Horace?” they repeated. “‘He’s retired,” Jud answered. “Sick?” , ‘No; just takin’ a vacation.” That did not satisfy them, and some even went to the trouble of looking Burton up. “The place doesn’t seem the same with- out you,” exclaimed Ned Brayburne. “What in thunder you quitting for?” “Went to California last winter,”’ Horace answered, as though that ought to be a satisfactory reply. “Enjoy it?’ “‘T saw orange trees.” “‘And roses in December and every- thing? es : Yep. — trip did you good. You're looking we ” “I’m recoverin’,”” admitted Horace. It was noticeable, however, that many of these old friends began to do their buying at the stores clustered around the post office. They came there for their mail and no longer had any reason for putting them- + fg to the trouble of going back up the ill. When it was cog a matter of pro- curing supplies, the Elite, as Evelyn had renamed the store, was only one of any half dozen places selling groceries. In the meanwhile matters were going from bad to worse at home. Both Horace and Sarah tgied to keep as much out of the way as possible; but, after all, they had to be somewhere—especially in the morning, when all the neighbors were busy. Evelyn seemed to object if either of them appeared out of their room before luncheon. Merely as a matter of habit, Horace at first went with Jud to open up the store; but he found pom pom there so altered that he did not feel comfortable. Besides, it was evident he was not wanted. Evelyn finally told him as much. “It sort of bothers Jud,”’ she explained. “So?” he answered. “Of course he ain’t doin’ things just your way.” “No, 4 ain’t,” agreed Horace. “You wouldn’t expect it with his Port- land trainin’.” “I don’t see the business growin’ much,” he commented. “You should worry as long as he meets his note.” “Looked to me as though he had con- siderable trouble last time,” he said with a frown. “Well, you got your money, didn’t you?” “Yes,” he admitted. “Then if I was you I'd ring off.”’ Horace kept his temper remarkably well; but when he went back into the front room and found Sarah staring out the window with the wan prisonlike expression of an inmate of a home for incurables, he let him- self §°. “Godfrey mighty!” he burst out. “I’ve had about enough of this!” Sarah turned quickly. The one thin which had given her the strength to contro her own emotions during this past week was a feeling that for the peace of the family she must do nothing to stir up Horace. “Perhaps we made a mistake in coming home,” she ventured. “It looks like we don’t belong here any more.” “Where we was born and brought up?” he demanded. “It does sound queer,”’ she admitted. “But I declare to goodness, I’m as lone- some as a cat in a strange garret!”’ “You don’t mean you're hankerin’ to go back out West?” he challenged. She shook her head vigorously. “Nor anywhere else you can think of?” “No, Horace.” “Then here’s where we do belong,” he decided. “Only we don’t fit,’’ she answered, in a voice that contained a quaver despite her effort to control it. “No,” he agreed, with his thin lips grow- ing thinner; “‘’cause why? We don’t fit because we ain't got nothin’ todo. Noone fits that way until he’s dead and buried.” “T s’pose we are gettin’ on, Horace.” “But, by Judas, we ain’t got so far as that yet!” he exploded. “I was a fool for ever lettin’ go of the store or the house either.” He was standing with his back to her, staring down the meaningless village street, as she herself had been deing a moment before. Rising, she touched his arm very EVENING POST gently, but firmly enough to let him know that she was there beside him. “Tt. ain’t worth fussin* about,” she fal- tered. He turned abruptly, his jaw set and his sh brows almost meeting. “T made a fair trade with Jud,” he said slowly, ‘‘an’ I ain’t fussin’ about that. But I didn’t agree to curl up in a corner and die, or let you do it either—an’ by Godfrey mighty, I don’t intend to!” “Horace!” she exclaimed. “You tie those bonnet strings under your chin and follow me,” he concluded. From the start, this was more of. a real adventure than she anticipated. Senti- ment had never played a prominent part in her life. Like red cheeks, this had always seemed a special prerogative of summer visitors. There had been a month or two of wooing—how long ago that was!—when the world had sparkled for her, and after this a month or two of the hon oon, when everything had seemed springlike. Then she had settled down to the steady, even business of living in the house on the hill, where, with the old folks to care for, she had so much to do. Later there had been breaks when life, for a brief spell, had grown suddenly tense—too tense. One came when she buried her first baby, and another when she buried the second—ter- rible breaks better not recalled. Until Jud was through infancy she had not felt sure even of him. Then the routine of life had closed in upon her, and though the sparkle — again came se a = sunshine, the sun never completely disappeared. Those brilliant early morning hours of June were gone and her days e like mid- forenoon August days when details stand out with uncompromising severity. What she saw then she accepted uncomplainingly as the naked truth. But as Sarah tried to keep up with the eager stride of her long-| husband this morning she experienced something like a reminiscent thrill of those earlier days. It was faint, to be sure, and she was not altogether certain that it was a fitting emotion for one of her age. She was a sane, level-headed little woman with a wholesome horror of being thought silly; but she could not resist the impulse to tuck her gloved hand within her husband's arm—something that ordinarily she never considered doing except on the way to church. He looked at her with a trace of embarrassment. “Walkin’ too fast?’’ he asked, with a view to putting her at ease. ‘No,” she answered; ‘don’t stop.” When they entered Miss Southgate’s millinery parlors that good woman was naturally surprised. Seated behind the lace curtains which formed a back drop for a window filled with a gay variety of her newest creations designed for a younger generation, she did not think of Mrs. Bur- ton in connection with trade, for she knew that Sarah had always made her own bon- nets out of the odds and ends left by her mother. However, it was never safe to prophesy what queer turns elderly people of today might take. She laid down the helmet-shaped straw upon which she was working and rose as the two entered. “We want to see about your rent up-' stairs,’ Horace began without preamble. “It’s empty,” she answered. “But, laws, I didn’t think Jud and that young wife of his would ever come back here!’ “They ain’t,”” Horace replied. ‘We want it ourselves.” ‘Not you and Sarah?” “Why not?” he challenged. “Well—nothin’. Of course, I’d be glad Hr have you here, only at your time of ife —— “How much are you askin’?”’ he inter- rupted brusquely. “Twenty dollars a month.” “That’s fair enough. We'll call it a bargain.” “Tt ain’t furnished,” she reminded him. “It will be—in a couple of days,” he answered. “Horace,” gasped his wife, “you do hurry so!” Indeed, there was no stopping him, once he had started. Both were familiar with the new quarters; but even so, to go on right downtown and order furniture and carpets and and bedding and a stove and cooking utensils the way Horace did seemed to Sarah scarcely short of reckless reckless, but exciting! She felt as though she had married a prince of Bagdad—the more so when he refused to dicker about a day you can have all the comforts and conveniences of water under pres- sure in your home. At a surpris- ingly small investment you can eliminate the tiresome job of pumping and carrying water. You can have al/ the water you want — when you want it, where you want it—at the turn of a faucet. Not only is water under pressure a great convenience but also a direct aid to health. 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126 the price of anything. She wanted to hesi- tate over the new dining-room set—in order to draw out the pleasure, if nothing more— but when she suggested that they look around a little, he answered, “What's the use, ma, if it suite you?” “We might find suthin just as good and a little cheaper.” “We're startin’ fresh and we want to start right,”’ he insisted. “Pretend you're a young widow tekin’ on a second husband and just settin’ up housekeepin’.” can’t feel much like a widow the way you're actin’,” she answered truthfully. But he had not yet revealed to her his full plan. Coming back » 3 the hill late that afternoon, he stopped above the Southgate rent in front of the empty Porter store, which had been vacant ever since the death of E. G. two years before. With its barren shelves seen through clouded windows and ite dusty counters and its floor cluttered with papers, it looked as though it had been rifled and deserted. So, in fact, it had been, although in a perfectly legitimate way, by the heirs. “What in the world you starin’ at?” she questioned. He took a heavy key from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Horace!” she exclaimed, much as she might have done had he been using a jimmy. “Got a right to go in my own store, haven't 17" he asked. “Your what?” "My atore,”” he answered. “Signed a three-year lease for it with Libby while you was picking out that washing machine. Within two weeks this is goin’ to open under new management.” Bid HEN Evelyn heard the news she shrugged her shoulders. “The o foiks didn't know when they had a soft snap,’ * she said to Jud. “I should worry; they’ i be- sick of their job soon one “Dad’ll cut into the summer trade.” “Cut into nothin’! Think anyone is goin’ te climb that hill when he can stop halfway? An’ look how he’s fixed up the inside—like the days of ’61.” “He gave me ten, dollars for the old sign and the box stove.’ , " Fine! Sell him all that junk he'll pay or." Compared with the Flite, with the front row painted an up-to-date red, the new store was certainly severely plain, within as well as without. A counter ran down each side and behind these were shelves filled with canned goods and staples. In the rear a large desk served for an office. Next to this stood a secondhand ice chest, where he eps his cream and butter. In the center a table was piled with bags of flour and ce- , and ran in a row about this were his boxes of fresh vegetables. A set of scales, a hand coffee grinder, a holder for paper and a small show case of cigars and tobacce completed his equipment. “TY ain't sellin’ nothing but groceries,” he explained to Sarah. “Jud has enough ma- chinery in his place to run a mill, and some- one has to for that. When I can’t ene coffee by and and slice bacon with a ife, I'll go fe of business.” “Now, you little devil,” I said, “what is it you’ re up to?” But I've already told you.” “Cat's meat!” I said. “In the first place, you'd never leave Jim. In the second place, ditto. In the third place, a little more of the aame. And please remember this, young woman: I'm fond of whe If you must have a performing seal rob = Zoo. But hands off Phip he’s my “Well, of all the effrontery !"” saic Airy — “To hear you talk, one would think were the only person in the world who Phippsy’s ngs at heart. Here I am, Sake up everything for him, and all you can think of is to cali me names!” “Not long ago,” I said, “somebody told me you had a niece stopping with qe. Is she, by any chance, the chaperon Phippsy haa gone to fetch from the taxi?” ne is,” said Sibyl. “But what of it?” “Why, nothing at all,” I said. “Only it eceure to me that this ‘sudden and unac- countable interest you've taken in Phippsy has comething to do with the niece.” THE SATURDAY As a matter of fact, however, Horace from the start was selling much more than groceries. He wis selling personality, and to this his old customers were perfectly willing to climb the hill. On the openi ing day he held something like a reception, a! though he had made a modest enough announcement in the local paper. Jud, going by there after luncheon, excitedly tele Deed back to Evelyn. ou look out the front window and see what you see,"’ he exclaimed. “Yep, I been lookin’. What of it?” “You'd think there was an auction the way cars are parked around there.” “This is only the first day,” she re- minded him. “If I was you I wouldn’t waste a4 time from my own business watchin’ his.’ But as the weeks went by Jud found him- self continually with more and more leisure on his hands. There was no question about that, however much Evelyn might kid him along. People did climb the hill—it was not such a difficult feat in a motor car— while those in the residential neighborhood on the top had the obvious advantage of being already there. Furthermore, Horace, with his low overhead, was able to cut under his son in the matter of prices—and did so. Nothing pleased him more than this, and he reported every such strategic move to Sarah. But the latter did not show the enthusiasm he expected. “Tf only it warn’t fightin’ your own,” she demurred. ‘“‘Somehow that don’t seem natural.” “We're only ee. back at our own, and that’s natural, ain’t it?” “IT dunno. It’s goin’ to make it hard for Jud to pay his notes.” Horace rubbed his hands. “You bet it is,” he nodded. Sarah, after all, was not much of a busi- ness woman. “Then what will he do?” “TI dunno; but I reckon he’ll have to use all his Portland trainin’ and all Evelyn’s to boot,” answered Horace. Sarah, however, was finding herself too busy to worry much over such details, for Horace had developed an appetite that reminded her cf thirty years ago, while even her own had improved. As though this did not give her enough cooking to do, she was the most active contributor to the food counter of all the church fairs, while in addition she had a and Jud down to dinner mony times. Evelyn had been in- clined to balk at the first invitation, but she was too astute to allow her temper to warp her judgment. She accepted and did her best to please Horace. This was not diffi- cult, because he was in a mood to be pleased, while she knew well how to be agreeable when it seemed worth the effort. e dinner, then, was a great success. “Pa Burton ain't such a bad old scout when you stroke him right,” she declared to Jud on the way home. “No,” he agreed. But his own thoughts were for the mo- ment centered upon other things. “Ma certainly knows how to cook,” he exclaimed. “That's the first square ‘meal I've had for a month.” “You think too much of your food,” she complained. “‘What you oughter be wor- ryin’ about is how to sell more.” EVENING POST “T can’t op customers in and make them buy,” he growled. By the frst of September the situation, instead of improving, had grown worse, for Horace had won back not only his summer trade but all his former vil customers with the exception of those who owed him on old accounts. With this increased vol- ume he was able to quote even lower prices, which resulted in an increase to a point pons he found it difficult to handle his or “Don’t know where I can find a likely looking boy to help, do you?” Horace asked of Jud as the latter went by the store one noon on his way to lunch. “No,” Jud answered. “It’s a chance for someone to learn the business,”’ explained Horace. At the table, Jud reported the conversa- tion to Evelyn “Maybe aud better take the job your- self, ” she observed sarcastically. “ Mebbe I had,” he answered. Gosh, you are licked !”” she exclaimed. uf ain't the only one,” he replied with a flush. “What you mean?” “You stirred him up. If you're so all- fired smart, why don’t you smooth him down? P’raps you can make him sell out again and go to California.” “That sounds like an idea—almost,” she exclaimed. “You're welcome to it.” If she could not buy out Pa Burton it might be possible, at any rate, to buy him off —if not with coin of the realm, then with a subtler medium. To this end she — to devote herself assiduously to both her mother-in-law and her father-in-law, with instant and quite unexpected results. Both were willing to meet her more than halfway and responded with an affection that was sincere. “T allers said there was a lot of good in her,” Sarah reminded her husband. “‘T never said there warn’t, did I?” “She’s been especially nice lately.” “Tt’s gettin’ close to the first of October,” he replied enigmatically. “What's that got to do with it, Horace?” “Nothin’, only winter’s comin’ on.” So it was, and one of those clear, brisk September mornings gave Evelyn an op- rtunity to speak directly of what she had peen hinting about for a week. On her way to the village she stepped into the store. “Some bite to the air,” she observed brisk] By he rose from behind his desk to meet ” Real frosty,” he agreed. “ An’ in another month ever’thing will be frozen up solid. Gosh, Pa Burton, you’re lucky to be able to get away from it!” “Didn't know I was goin’ away.” “You and ma have got too much sense to risk another winter here, I should hope.” “That’s what we'd calculated on.” “It wouldn’t be safe,” she declared. “What you want to do is to close up, visit Lilias and sit under the orange trees until spring. You've had a lot of fun out of this little store.” “More’n that, I’ve made money.” “Fine,” she congratulated him. “Then you won't mind waitin’ a little on that note, Me you? Jud has two or three other i 3 RABTAMR OPEN SEASON (Continued from Page 17) “Oh, indeed!” said Sibyl. “ Well, you’re quite mistaken. Though, of course, if it ever did come to a point where Phippsy showed a preference for her, I'd be the fast person to stand in a young girl’s wa “I’m sure you would, " I said. mit, too, that you're absolutel Fu ad- wasted on a moron like Jim. Speaking of Jim, where is the old rabbit, anyway? “If you must know, he left this morning on a fishing trip “T see,” I said. “And Jim being out of the way, you and the niece decided to come to town on a hunting and trapping expe- dition.” “Not at all,” said Sibyl. “I don’t have to hunt Phippsy; he’s devoted tome. Why, he’s been making love to me all winter lo "io he told me,” I said. “But just where does the niece enter into the plot? “She doesn’t enter into it,” said Sibyl. ~ “Oh, then there is a plot?’ ye Nothing of the sl ” said Sibyl. eg | merely wanted to make my niece’s position clear. Naturally, she admires Phippsy tre- mendously; but aside from that, she’s abso- lutely disinterested.” “Oh, absolutely!’’ I said. “I can see that without half trying. No doubt, though, it bored her considerably watching Phippsy make love to you during the long winter evenings.’ “Afternoons,” corrected Sibyl. “Jim was usually home in the evenin But what I want to know is, are you or me or against me?” “That remains to be seen,” I said. “You're a thoroughly unprincipled woman, Sibyl. But since you make up for it in sheer loveliness, personally I’m for you a million. When it comes to selling poor old Phippsy into slavery, though, that’s a horse of quite a different color. Suppose we leave the whole matter in abeyance till I’ve met your niece.” “Very well,” said Sibyl. “But we can’t — hy there long, for here she is.’ d there she was, onto the library, follawed by Phippsy. April 25, 1925 “The note is due tomorrow,” he inter- rupted. ™Bhe smiled. She had a pretty smile that made her mouth look young. “That's all right, Pa Burton; just forget ai or h h she felt that di t was as thoug’ e felt that disagree- able incident to be brushed aside right there and then. But she did not fail to ob- serve that — ag lips above the square jaw “It’s in the bank “for collection,” he an- swered grimly. With a flash of indignation, she met his cool gray eyes. She was the first to turn away, with something of her usual confi- dence gone. “You ain’t goin’ to be as mean as that,” she faltered “Every bit,’ "he said, without the sugges- tion of a compromise. “Ma an’ me want to get home.” There's the front room —— “We're goin’ to have more” n the front room this time. We're goin’ to have the sittin’ room an’ the kitchen too. If Jud don’ t meet that note he’ll have to cash in, an’ you know as well as I that he can’t meet it. Portland trainin’ may be all right in Portland, seh it ain ’t no good here—as long as I sta “An that's what you’re plannin’ todo?”’ “Until I get back to the other store.” “But what'll become of Jud?” “He can have his old job. I need him.” At that moment he reminded her of one of those tall, gaunt, leafless elms standing before the house that looked as though they always had stood before the house and always would. She shook her head slowly. “Believe me, Pa Burton, you don’t need no one,” she said in a voice that had grown unsteady. “You’re wrong there,” he answered quickly. ‘‘Jud needs me; but the more he needs me, the more I need him. Queer how that works out, but it does. It was like that when he wasa baby. It’s bein’ needed that counts.” He checked himself and glanced uneasily about the store as though afraid of being overheard. “Ma had a little girl once,”’ he began abruptly. “She'd have been about your age if she’d lived.” Evelyn did not answer, because when she tried, a lump in her throat prevented. “Maybe after we get straightened out and back where we belong—maybe then you'll feel, too, that you need ma a little, an’ me, the way we n ou,” he said. “Now,” she choked—“‘now you're only kiddin’.” But that was not so. Horace was not much given to that sert of thing. . Yet there was a suggestion of it in a postal he sent to Lilias after he and Sarah were safely back in the house on the hill, and Jud and his wife were in the Southgate rent again, and a new sign over the old store, readin “Horace Burton & Son,” was in place an the winter had come in earnest. Then he had his picture taken in a path before the house which he had just shoveled out, the snow two feet high ether side of him. He mailed this to Los Angeles with the inscrip- tion, “‘Some different hem California, eh?” Down deep in his heart he was not kid- ding even about that. “Bill,” said Sibyl, “this is my niece, a Snow. P this is William Wain- right Van Ruyl. You may call him Bill.” hanks,” said Peggy, ‘‘I’d love to. I’ve et a lot about you, Bill—and none of it’s to your credit.” “T’ve heard a lot about you, Le I lied politely, ‘and it was all so entire! poy te to your credit that, frankly, I’m skepti May I tell you I your nas tremendously?”’ “You may,” said Miss Peggy Snow. “And you can tell Phippay be he’ 's got to stop running after my Aunt Si “Gladly,”’ I said. “Asa haeellie of fact, I deplore Phippsy’s good taste even more than you do, | or I’m madly in love with Sibyl myself.” “Yes, you are!”’ said P. . “IT happen pole eee ee ae ee in this busy little burg—and that’s William Wainwright Van Ruy ee said Fs nactl “I’m awfully Phippsy; “but, see, we've just fniched brea fast. I'll speak to Parker about it.” (Continued on Page 130)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Lt L ae. : ) teak * I 4 4 Lie DOWK\! 1) GRR UN _ “TIME FOR SALE!” —will you buy? Wie can you buy back a single ' yesterday ? Nowhere, of course. Yet, right in your own city, you can purchase many tomorrows. Time for youth and beauty! ‘Time for club work, for church andcommunity activities. Time for books and plays and concerts. Time for home and children. Time for all these things—and you can buy it! The modern laundry offers it. At a word from you, the laundry will call for your bundle, take from your home the worry and work of washday, give to you the precious hours now spent in doing or supervising this hardest of household tasks. Washday will become Your Day—a whole new day.a week to use as you wish. THE AMERICAN The cost? Less than you imagine. For today’s laundry offers so wide a variety of services at so wide a range of prices that every woman is certain to find a service that fits her needs, at a price within her reach, All-ironed services, partia!ly-ironed services, services in which the clothes are returned damp for ironing at home— you have all these to choose from. Perhaps you have already promised yourself a trial of laundry service. Resolve, right now, to keep this promise this week. Just phone a modern laundry in your city and tell them the service you want—they will call for your bundle. Washday will vanish from the calendar—in its place, the Time you so desire. LAUNDRY MACHINERY COMPANY Executive Offices, CINCINNATI The Canadian Laundry Machinery Co., Lrd., 47-93 Sterling Road, Toronto, Ontario, Canada fgents: British-American Laundry Machinery Co., Ltd., 36/38 Victoria St., London, S. W. 1, England

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 RM RSE BBS AMEN IONS MORE IEF ‘ * ee a) Leg LEY SST ie! Arete tah he OR FARE PRD ROAR | i ‘| | ® ; | = : ie ie ie tT ' i : | i] Pre Po gs NA Ph eA ORS EI Tins painting of President Lincoln and his son “Tad"’ in the Executive Office in the White House by Fred Mizen for Curtis Compames In cor porated BRAHAM LINCOLN was often greeted in this manner df by his son “Tad”, who was a favorite with the army officers. Here the little lad is shown dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant. It was given to him by the men so close to his father during the War. In those days the Executive Offices were in the White House. Here you see a picture of a door which Curtis makes today, exactly the same design and built to last for generations. er CURTIS COMPANIES INCORPORATED, CLINTON, IOWA oP 2 SS SSS SSS SS)

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me <i.

This photograph was taken in a charming home in the suburbs of New York City. It is an example of a home in which Curtis Colonial Woodwork was used. The door in this picturezis identical in design with the one in the picture of Lincoln's Office in the White House. It is built with those same sound methods of construction that will make it last for generations. The mantel in this picture was also bought at a Curtis dealer's showroom. It is one of many, authentic in design, exquisitely made and a fitting frame for the good cheer of a fireplace. The Curtis dealer in your locality will show you or will secure for you, these or any other articles of Curtis Woodwork. WOODWORK THAT VALUE OF A HOME HEN you come to the selection of the materials for the interior of your home you can do a lot toward improv- ing the looks, by paying special attention to the kind of wood- work. In fact, if you will go to the showroom of a Curtis dealer you will see not only windows and doors but designs of built-in furniture that will form a background for the rest of the interior decorations. The effects are charming, as you can see on this page. With Curtis Woodwork as a background the rest of the decorations in each room—the furniture and draperies and floor coverings —all take on a special richness and beauty. The reason for that is that this woodwork is built with generous specifications. It is well built—and it will stay so permanently. Years after you'll be able to point to it with pride. And if you ever choose to sell your home the woodwork will give the entire house greater value. Curtis Woodwork is reasonable in price and costs you less than you would ordinarily pay for the same quality of wood- work made in small quantities by a smaller organization. There is a difference in woodwork just as there is a difference in furniture or clothing. East of the Rockies, you can secure Curtis Woodwork, only through Curtis dealers. The Curtis dealer will show you plan books which will be helpful to you in building or remodeling; or send us soc stating the number of rooms desired and book will be mailed to you. CurTIS WOODWORK THE CURTIS COMPANIES SERVICE BUREAU 330 Curtis Building, Clinton, lowa SATURDAY EVENING POST

Look at this Linen Closet It is one of the Curtis built-in features from a ng = taken in a residence in Sterling, Ilinows. The five sliding shelves and the two large drawers at the bottom fit into a frame. Every inch is solid. It 1s built as carefully as the cab- inet of 4 piano, and holds compactly all the upstairs linen. In many homes these closets are used as chifforobes. The low cost for this convenience will sur- prise you. C-813. Average Price $37.80

A Winding Staircase of | Great Beauty ~ It is pure Colonial in design. It will hold together per- manently. Hardly § a nail used Let & the Curtis dealer § explain the con- § struction of Curtis stairs to you

PRES ATRS SRE RPE

A Permanent Boudoir Dresser & What woman would not be enthusiast & over this built-in feature which Curtis ie makes ail ready to place in the walls of = your home? Notice the drawers, the ® mirrors, the light, the cupboards, One closet has built-in shding shelves and & drawers similar to the linen closet above J the other 1s a clothes closet Rejer to eS C8 URTI Curtis, Towle & Paine Co., Lincoln, Nebraska Curtis-Yale-Holland Co., Minneapolis, Minn. We cannot legally prevent imitators from Curtis & Yale Co. Wausau, Wisconsin Curtis Door & Sash Co. . . Chicago, Lllinois cneeins Ont DutornS San et. Slee aie Curtis Bros. & Co. ...... Clinton, lowa Curtis Sash & Door Co. . . Sioux City, lowa ee ee ee oy tags Curtis, Towle & Paine Co. . Topeka, Kansas Curtis Detroit Co. .... Detroit, Michigan oodwork—bears the CURTIS trademark Curtis Companies Incorporated Sales Offices: Pittsburgh, New York, Baltimore CURTIS COMPANIES INCORPORATED, CLINTON, IOWA

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~ the handiest tool on the place Saves /-mone ~muscle -minutes SIMONDS FARM AND HOME SAW Repairs to be made—odd jobs to be done —that is the call of Spring. So Spring calls for a Simonds Home and Farm Saw with teeth that bite their way smooth- ly and easily through the toughest board. In the Home and Farm Saw, Si- monds has produced a cutting tool worthy of the name. Confining manufac- ture to one size— 24 inches long-——Simonds is able to offer the Home and Farm Saw at $2.00—a price that is actually less than you thought you would have to pay for an ordinary saw. Ask your hardware deal- er about this saw today. SIMONDS SAW & STEEL COMPANY Fitchburg, Mass. **The Saw Makers” Branch Stores and Service Shops in Principal Cities SIMONDS Pronounced $]-MON SAWS FILES KNIVES STEEL THE SATURDAY | (Centinued from Page 126) “And I'll speak to him with you,” said | Peggy. “I’ve a scenario on the subject | that only needs a few close-ups to make it | a wow. Toodle-oo, Bill. See you later, Aunt Sibyl.” “T wish she wouldn’t call me aunt,” said | Sibyl, after they were gone. “What do you | think of her, Bill?” “T think she’s the limit,” I said. “Where | are her manners? Where's her re repose?” “But you'll admit she’s pretty? “Well, perhaps, in an amateurish sort of way. But if you ask me, you've brought your little pig to the wrong market.” “Is she as bad as that?’ “No,” I said, “she’s worse. A gay young | lad of sixty might find her irresistible, but a conservative, middle-aged chap of twenty- seven, like Phippsy, couldn’t see her with a telescope. If your heart is actually set on having Phippsy in the family, I’m afraid | you'll have to run off with him yourself.” “Certainly I'll run off with him. What else did I come to town for?” en | | | | | hands before evening—absolutely! “Well,” I said, “since that’s and you insist on sticking to it, other chapter to mine, and not ‘only re udi- ate every objection I may have rai but ‘Mota on record, here and now, as being abso- in favor of it.’ 1 eyed me suspiciously. Why this sudden change?” she de- our story ll add an- mend “It’s my loyalty to Phippsy,” I ex- lained. “If you could have seen the dear ad's face when he told me of this unex- cted happiness that had come into his lite, you'd realize how impossible it would be for me even to think of trying to stand between him and his heart’s desire.’ | Nonsense!” said Sibyl. ‘Why, when I talked with him over the telephone this | morning, he sounded as if he were fright- ened within an inch of his life.” “All emotion,” I said. “It’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to Phippsy, | your coming to him like this, and he’s sim- ply beside himself with joy. If sheer happi- ness could kill we'd have a cor pon our “But he’s never cared for me like that, Bill.” “Little you women know what feelings you inspire. Phippsy | has a singularly deep nature. And when it’s stirred to the very depths, as it is in this instance, all I can say is—look out “Weil, of course,” be fair to Phip y.” “Exactly,” “a “ And since you don’t want to run off with him any more than you want to run off with the man in the moon, you'd better think of some way of squaring yourself before you're more deeply involved,” “But I can’t tell him the real reason I came.” “No,” I said; “but you can tell me. Come now, ‘fess up. That sniece of yours is at the bottom of all this.” “She isn’t my niece,” said Sib ‘she’s Jim’s. And I had to do something, Bill; I was Ser desperate. She criticizes everything I say and everything I do. She contradicts me when I’m right and is rude to me when I’m wrong. She even pretends to disapprove of my clothes. But does that prevent her from borrowing the very rags off my back? This minute she’s wearing my last Paris model and the one hat I par- ticularly adore. And when I remonstrated feebly about the hat, she as good as told me it was years too young forme. Me? Why, even the iceman knows I won’t be twenty- eight till my next birthday!” “Of course he does,” I said. ‘‘ By George, ren have been up against it! But tell me, ow did you happen to have Little Poison | Ivy wished on you in the first place?"’ | “It was one of Jim’s brilliant ideas. | see, his brother, out West —— “Oh! Of course it’s so simple there rnust be a catch in it, but what’s the matter with shipping | her back to her dear old dad?” can’t,” said Sibyl. “Jim insists she shall have a year of Eastern culture.” “Then what's she doing on Long Island? If she belonged to me I'd send her to a ’ said Sibyl, “I want to You Established 1832 | planing mill and have her rough edges taken off. Anyway, I don’t see why you thought you had to try to wish her on poor old Phippsy. What’s he ever done to de- serve such a fate?”’ “Nothing, Bill. But of all the men who come to the house, he’s the only one she seems to care for.” “Care nothing!” I said. ‘She wouldn’t have given him a thought if he hadn't snubbed her and devoted himself to you. EVENING POST So you thought Phippsy might prefer a niece and honorable marriage to a runaway wife and a scandal? You're too modest, my dear. Highly moral though he is, he’d choose you and the scandal every time. But tell me, how on earth did you aw 2 to wangle your furlough out of the Cc. “Oh, Jim thinks Phippsy has tnviied us to town for the week-end.’ “T see. So you only have till Monday to put the darling child over.’ “Not at all,” said Sibyl. “I intend to pe her over if I have to stay away from ome for a year.” “Pair a h,” I said. “But you're leavin onday, bag and baggage. And p ho > nianber that the word ‘bag- gage’ is in nowise to be considered as excluding your niece.” “But, Bill!” “No, that’s final,” I said. “But if you'll relinquish all claims to Phippsy I’ll do this much for you: I’ll break the sad news to him and see that he devotes himself to your niece. And if she can return to Long I with the impression that she’s cut you out, — tells me she'll be a whole lot easier to live with. Is it a bargain?” “It is,” said Sibyl. “And now, if you don’t mind, I wish you'd please ring and find out where Phippsy is putting us. I’d like to freshen up a bit before lunch.” Phippsy and the niece returning just then from their session with Parker, the matter was soon arranged. And the minute Phippsy and I were alone together I told him the good news Everything’ s all right, old boy. fixed it. “What?” cried Phippsy. “Already?” “Certainly,” I said. “And I won't have to marry Sibyl, or run off with her, or anything?” “Of course not.” “Well, I don’t see how you did it. You're a wonder, Bill. When are they going home?” “Not till Monday.” “But I thought you said you'd fixed it?” “So I have. But we've got to consider the niece. She thinks—an Jim thinks— they’re here on your invitation.’ * “But I thought Sibyl had quarreled with im.’ “So she has. But being a wise woman, she left the door open. Hence the pleasant fiction that you invited them to town for the week-end.” “T see,” said Phippsy. “But how can I be sure Sibyl won’t change her mind be- fore Monday?” “Just leave that to me,” I said. ‘The whole trouble started with your ignoring the niece. Hell hath no fury like a flapper scorned, you know. So now the thing to do is to swap sweeties in the middle of the stream, as it were, and play up to Peggy.” “But if I do that I'll have her on my neck.” “No, you won’t,”’ I said. “Why won’t I?” demanded Phippsy. “Because you won't,” I said. “‘There’s more in this than meets the eye. But your job is to play up to the niece—that’s orders.” “Well, [hope you're: right,’ * said Phippsy. “I know I'm right,” I said. “It won't be altogether a joyous job, but it’s abso- lutely necessary. “Oh, I’m not worrying about that part,” said Phippsy. ‘ Peggy’s a darned nice kid. Would you believe it, she knows a way of cooking kidneys that Parker has never even — of! We're going to have some for un I’ve “Well, don’t overdo the thing,” I said, ‘or the dear child may take you seriously. avy way, that’s the program up to Mon- ay “What happens manded Phippsy. “On Monday,” I said, “after you've kissed her _good- by and sent her home happy, you’ 're going to hop a train and go somewhere.” “But I don’t want to go away,” objected Phip ‘Neither did Adam,” I said, ‘‘ but he left the Garden of Eden, just the same. Safety first, old boy.” “The worst of it is,” said Phippsy, “I shall enjoy buzzing round the niece. But you're right, Bill. We'll give her a little whirl and then go to California. I know a perfect peach in Santa Barbara.” Now I ask you! Here I’d missed my beauty sleep, spent hours arguing with Sibyl, and already Phippsy was planning to enter another matrimonial trap. I was thoroughly indignant. Not only that, but on Monday?” de- April 25,1925 I made up my mind then and there that I didn’t care a red raspberry who won the war. From now on, I was absolutely neutral—absolutely ! I confided this. to Sibyl after lunch. Though perhaps I ought to tell you first, while I remember it, that the kidneys cooked after Miss P Snow’s recipe would have done nicely if one had wanted leather buttons for a sport coat; but as a tasty dish to set before a king, they were a complete washout. To say that Sibyl was surprised by what she was pleased to call my change of heart is putting it mildly. “What's happened to you?” she de- manded. “ Don’t tell me you're beginning to look on my niece with an approving eye! “Nothing like that,” I said. “‘ After what she did to the kidneys, I view her with in- aoe alarm. If you must know, I’m fed up with Phippsy. I no sooner save him org drowning than he begins rocking the Oat.” During the next twenty-four es Phippsy gave Miss P oo a rush such as hasn’t been equal old was dis- covered in the Klondike. pr Sibyl and I, tagging along, decided there were far, far better things than saxophones and caba- rets, and far, far sweeter places than res- taurants and night clubs. If we missed any of these, it wasn’t Phippsy’s fault. His “I know another place’”’ still rings in my ears as possibly the most exasperating com- binaticn of words in the language—espe- cially at five o’clock in the morning. So on Saturday I struck, and when Phippsy tele- phoned I was pretty firm about it. “No, I won't come to dinner,” “No, I won't go dancing again.’ “But, Bill, gar you!” “I know you do. But I’m afraid you’ ‘ll have to hire a substitute; I’m positively not taking any. “But, hang it all, you can’t run out on me like that! How would it be if I sent you over a case of my prewar bourbon?” “Look here,” I demanded, “‘are you try- ing to bribe me?” “T certainly am,” said Phippsy. “If you'll make it snappy and come over at once, I'll send you two cases.” Now [I Deaeees to be in France when the great unpleasantness occurred. So was Phippsy, for that matter; but he’d had the good sense to cable, and as a result his cellar was a knock-out. Besides, who am I to resist athe pure, imprisoned laughter of the corn? “T may be venal,” I said, “but I’ m not a hog. You can have me for one case.’ “Check!” said Phippsy. “I'll send Parker around with it first thing in the morning.” So we dined, did a musical comedy, then went dancing again. And at one of the palaces of pleasure we infested that second evening we ran into Pop Pomeroy. “Hullo, Phippsy,” said Pop. “Hullo yourself,” said Phippsy. “‘ What are you doing here all alone y yourself?” ‘Haven’ 't been alone long,” said Pop. “Started out with quite a party, but they got noisy, so I gave ’em the gate.” “Then why not join us?” said Phippsy. “You know Bill here?”’ “Sure! How are you, Bill?” “And this is Mrs. Hawthorne, and this is Miss Peggy Snow.” “Glad to meet you,” said Pop. “Will you dance with me, Mrs. Hawthorne?” “If you'll excuse me,”’ said Sibyl, afraid I’m a trifle tired.” “Oh, that’s all right,” about you, infant?” “Why, thanks, I'd love to,” and off they trotted. “What an appalling man! Who in the world is he?’’ demanded Sibyl, gazing after ng S aartegestion back with a disapprov- ing And, ‘indeed, Pop, with his diamond shirt studs, his face like granite, wasn’t exactly the model one would choose to advertise a brand of collars. “Don’t tell me you didn’t recognize him!” said Phippsy. ‘“‘Why, that’s Pop Pomeroy, the greatest littke spender along Broadway !”’ “Good gracious!” said Sibyl. ‘Not Peter D. Pomeroy !”” “The same, ’ said Phippsy. “But the man’s notorious! He’s been married and divorced a dozen times.” “Oh, come!” said Phippsy. “Not more than four or five times, to my certain knowi- edge.” (Continued on Page 132) I said. “I'm said Pop. “How said Peggy,

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SATURDAY EVENING POST jag Daya vig? a EEO DRE chai ba cad Why telephones don't corrode. ™ this ordeai they have to prove that they won't, Immersedin water, these metal parts and the coating on the instrument itself are put to the test. wg S ubmerged —one of many hard tests ELEPHONES must voice the — of the climate. Things of metal or words that people speak, and — of fibre may fail, but telephones people live in ice-bound lands, un- —s must not. der the humid heat of the tropics That they may endure, Western or where the air is desert dry. Electric subjects its telephone prod- In such corners of the earth hu- ucts to tests even more exacting than man beings can withstand therigors — those imposed by Service or Nature. western Electric SER Ce 1869 MAKERS OF RE ee a ee ee a ee i EQUIPMENT

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(Continued from Page 130) “But what will Jim say if he learns Peggy and I have been seen with him in public?” “Oh, Jim won't mind. Jim likes Pop.” “ But he’s old enough to be your father,” objected Sibyl. “Sure,” said Phippsy. “Class of "84. Comes to every Harvard dinner. That's how I happen to know him so well. Bill will tell you he’s all right. Won't you, Bill?” “Absolutely!” I said. “Class A and co r lined.” to tell the truth, I wasn’t sorry Pop had joined us. With one more in the party, I wouldn't have to perform to music quite so often. Mind, I'm not saying dancing isn’t the cat's pajamas. But if I could have traded with the eat for my own and tumbled into my bed, I'd have given a hundred dollars and tipped the cat besides. I began hum- ming that poignant little ditty of mine: Reautiful bed, Why am I here? Why not, instead, Pounding my ear? Midnight has fled; Daylight ia near. Beautiful bed, Why am I here? I've been betrayed, I've been misled, I have been drugged Drugged out of bed. Half of me’s dead; Other half’s queer. Beautiful bed, Why am I here? Now | don’t know that you're interested in paychic phenomena, but the very minute i finished repeating those words to myself Sibyl said the most ome thing. “Let's go home,” said Sibyl. “Bravo!” I eried. “Second the motion. The meeting is hereby adjourned.” But Phippay was adamant. “Nothing of the sort,” he said. “Why, we've only just started! I know a place where they atill have some 1904 Krug. Pop knows it, too, don't you, Pop?” “Know what?” asked Pop, who had just finished his dance with Peggy. “I was just telling Sibyl about that little place up on Fifty-fourth Street.” “No use going there yet,” said Pop. “Nobody who's anybody ever gets there before five. Tell you what we'll do; we'll go up te Jerry’s in the Bronx. He’s just ot in some more of that Irish bacon, Best dish of ite kind in New York.” “Finet” I said. “Got your limousine here?" “Sure,” said Pop. “Can take you all up easy as not.” “Not at all,” I said. “You take Phippsay and Miss Peggy. Mrs. Hawthorne and I will go in Phippay’s car.” Once we were rid of them, I turned to Siby!. “Let's go home,” I said. “We can’t,” said Sibyl. Posey with that old satyr.’ “That's where you're wrong,” I said “Pop's trouble is that he isn’t enough of a satyr-he’s a driveling old sentimentalist. If you ask me, if anyone is in danger it’s Pop. Did you hear your demure young niece cailing him papa?” “She didn’t!” said Sibyl. “Oh, yes, she did! Give that young lady another hour and she’li have him gal- loping around like a goldfish. Come on, let's go home.” No,” said Sibyi, “we'll go to Jerry's.” “But, hang it all, I’m sleepy! Besides, it's not in my contract. When I accepted the rAle of sacrificial goat nobody said any- thing about my being offered up in the Bronx.” “You're not the only sacrifice,” said Siby!; “there are two of them—male and femate, And contract or no contract, you're going to Jerry's.” “That being the case,” tuck in a little sleep.” So I shumbered in my corner of Phippsy’s ear and Sibyl in hers. Hardly a cozy ar- rangement. But when one tries to be cozy and practical at the same time, the result is always the same—it can’t be done. Concerning our brief visit to Jerry’s, the thing that stands out most clearly in my memory is the Lrish bacon—there wasn't any. Pop met me on the sidewalk with the sad news. “Yesterday was a Jewish holiday,” he explained, “and it’s all gone. I thought you might like to ge some place else.” “T can't leave I said, ‘‘let’s THE SATURDAY “Excellent idea,” I said. “If you don’t mind, old top, Mrs. Hawthorne and I will take a spin around and then join you at that little place on Fifty-fourth Street.” “Sure,” said Pop. “I don’t blame you— she’s a pippin!” And with a sagacious wink and a nod, he was gone. He knew a thing or two, did Pop. Only it just happened I knew something he didn’t know—Siby] was still asleep! Giving careful directions to Phippsy’s chauffeur, I edged into my corner again. Softly and silently we slid through the night. “Here we are,” I said, when at last we drew up before a rather imposing front door. “Oh,” said Sibyl, opening her eyes, “are we there? But this place looks familiar. Is it really Jerry's?” “ 1 No,” I said; “it’s Phippsy’s. “But I told you to take me to Jerry’s.” “We've already been there,” I said. “TI don’t believe it,” said Sibyl. “But we have, honestly. Only there wasn’t any Irish bacon, so we decided to come home.” “Then where are Peggy and Phippsy?” “Oh, they’re ers behind us,” I said. “As a matter of fact, Pop got to shining a bit too brightly with the grape, so they decided to chuck him and call it a night.” “I'm glad of that,” said Sibyl, yawning. “T don’t remember ever having met a more poisonous man. Will you come in for a minute?” “Thanks awfully,” 1 said, “but I’ve a rendezvous with sleep. I'll see you safely in, then it’s me like a bee for my downy.” As I sped homeward, did my conscience prick me for the delicate piece of embroid- ery I'd handed to Sibyl for the truth? Alas, no! Far from sad at the thought that my moral fabric was so completely shot to pieces, my spirit soared like a bird. “Have courage, Polichinelle,” I said. “You'll get to bed yet.” And I did. But it seemed as if I hadn't been there ten minutes when I awoke sud- denly to find the sun pouring into my bed- room and Weed bending over me with a solemn face. “Jumping Jerusalem!” I said. “‘What’s the matter now? Pull down those window shades this instant!" “T'm a sir,” said Weed, “but this time it’s really important.” “Tt had better be,” I said. “Do you realize they shoot men in Idaho for less than this?” “It’s Mr. Phipps, sir.’ “Naturally,” I said. this time?”’ “‘He’s married, sir.” “What?” I gasped. “You're crazy, Weed! Let me get this straight. You say Mr. Phipps is married?” “Yes, sir.”’ “Where? When?” “In Jersey City, sir—or so I believe. At least that’s where he telephoned from.” “But there must be some mistake. Are you sure you got it right?” “Oh, yes, sir! Jersey City—married I heard the two words quite distinctly. ‘This is Mr. Phipps,’ he said, and he called me Weed. I’m afraid there's no doubt about it, sir.” “Well, what is it EVENING POST “Well, who would have believed it?” I said. “‘Hamstrung and hog-tied! Why, the poor old thing!” And, ladeedt I was appalled at the catas- trophe that had overtaken my little play- mate. No more shooting the rapids for Phippsy; from now on he’d have to swim upstream. And I was the Benedict Arnold who had deserted him in his hour of need, and all for a few handfuls of sleep! Sleep! Men have fought for it. Heroes have died for it. Splendid cities and women have been lost on account of it. Yes, sleep is the great betrayer, even if one doesn’t snore, “It’s too bad, Weed,” I said. “He was a bright lad, and full of promise.” “It’s Parker I’m thinking of, sir. Brides are new brooms and they sweep clean. If you ask me, Parker’s job is as good as gone.” “Very likely,” I said. “ All this has been a distinct shock to me, Weed. I think I'll only have one egg for breakfast.” “Very good, sir. And Mr. Phipps asked if you'd ig 09 telephone Mrs. Hawthorne. He said he hadn’t time, and he feared she might be worried about her niece.” I'd forgotten all about Sibyl. How she would cheer when she heard the news! Less than three days in town and her niece off her hands—and on Phippsy’s. She’d brought her little pig to the right market after all. Naturally, Sibyl nearly fell through the phone when I told her the news. “But, Bill, this is too wonderful!” “Depends on how you look at it,” I said. “But I didn’t even know she was out. I thought of course she’d come home long ago and was still asleep. Do come over. I’m dying to hear all about it.” “So am I,” I said. “So far, you know every bit as much about it as I do, But since you're the one who’s really swallowed the canary, I'd come if only to see your smile. I'll be over just as soon as I’ve fin- ished breakfast.” As I dallied with the egg and the morning Mocha it occurred to me that a little romenade with Peggy might not do hippsy any great harm, after all. There would be other springs. And sometime, somewhere, while the dogwood was panting in the hills and lilacs were swooning in the garden, Phippsy would emerge from the matrimonial meadows with the little old check book badly bent, but the alimony all paid for. And I would arise, star-scattered, from the grass, and run to meet him. In fact we'd have a party. N. P. Yes, I’d been quite wrong in thinking of peor old Phippsy as buried for all time. ot dead but sleeping—that was the situa- tion in a nutshell. It was in this fairly opti- mistic mood that I met Sibyl. “Good morning,” I said. rested well.” “Of course I did,” said Sibyl. “ And then to have this happen! Bill, it’s too won- derful!”’ “Ah, there it is!’’ I said. “What?” demanded Sibyl. “The smile for which I walked a mile. Are you really as happy as you look?” “T trust you Star Lake and Index Peak on the Grasshopper Glacier Trail, Beartooth National Park April 25,1925 “Happier,” said Sibyl. “But why do you suppose they went to Jersey City to get married?” : “Maybe they didn’t,” I said. “Maybe they went there on their honeymoon.” “As if they would!” said Sibyl. “No; my theory is that they went there because it’s easier to get married there on a Sunday. Today is Sunday, you know.” “That's true,” I said. ‘But even so, I’m sure you want to celebrate. How would 2 be if I asked Parker to make me a gin ZZ ” “You’re acting like a perfect pig,” said Sibyl. ‘Just because you’re miserable is no reason why I shouldn’t have my little hour. You can’t imagine how heavenly it’s going to be at home, with no niece to poison the atmosphere—only Jim.” “But I’m not miserable,” I said; ‘quite the contrary.” “T thought you couldn’t stand Peggy.”’ _ “T can’t,” I said. “But that’s not my job; it’s Phippsy’s. On the whole, perhaps we'd better have a gin fizz.’’ I rose to ring for Parker. But I didn’t, for at that very moment in walked Phippsy, still in his dinner jacket, but looking as fresh as a daisy in spite of the fact that he’d been up all night. “Did you get my message?” he de- manded. “We most certainly did,’’ I said. “Well, what do you think of it?” “T think it’s too splendid for words,”’ said Sibyl. ‘“‘Where’s Peggy?” “Oh, she’s at the hotel. She sent you all kinds of messages, and asked if you’d please send over her clothes.” “But why Jersey City?” I demanded. “Oh, that was Pop’s idea. You see, we were up against it here to get a license. But over there it’s different. Pop owns New Jersey.” “Well, I think it’s too wonderful,” said Sibyl. ‘And the best of it is, I won't lose you, Phippsy; I'll keep you in the family.” “Of course you will,” said Phippsy. “T’ll always worship you, Sibyl, in a nice brotherly way. But how about those clothes for Peggy? It’s important.” “Nonsense!”’ said Sibyl. “I understand exactly how you felt about it, but there was no need of going to a hotel. I'll pack up and get out and she can come straight here.” “Here?” said Phippsy. “Why on earth should she come here?” “And why not?” I demanded. “If you're not going to let her in the front door, why in heaven’s name did you marry her?”’ “Marry her?” cried Phippsy. “It wasn’t I who married her; it was Pop Pomeroy.” So, without warning, the dynamite was hurled into our midst. It was some time before the wreckage was cleared away. Sibyl was not only highly indignant with us both but on the point of tears. “Bill said it was you,” she moaned, “and I believed him.” “Bill should have known better,” Phippsy. “T only repeated what Weed told me,” I said. ‘You certainly didn’t say anything to Weed about Pop.” “You can better believe I didn't! It was my jcb to be cagy over the phone; other- wise some newspaper might have got hold of it, and Pop’s particularly anxious to keep it a secret for a week or two. He has a big deal on.” “At that,” I said, “Miss Peggy Snow hasn’t done so badly. Pop takes a lot of knowing; but au fond, as the French say, he’s a very decent sort.” “T think he’s perfectly dreadful,” said Sibyl. ‘And he'll be my nephew—and Jim’s.” “Well, you can’t have everything,” said Phippsy. “And nobody can say Pop isn’t a good provider. Why, he’s paying more ali- mony this minute than any man living! Besides, he’s crazy about Peggy. And Peggy must be crazy about him or she wouldn’t have married the old rooster. Buck up, Siby!.” “I don’t see how I'll ever have the cour- age to tell Jim,” said Sibyl. “But no doubt we'll both get used to it in time. As soon as it’s properly announced, I suppose I’!] have to give them a party. Will you both come?’ “We can’t,” said Phippsy. “Bill and I are going to Santa Barbara.” “We are not,” I said, and I meant it. But when it’s your pal, and he really needs you, and stakes you to a drawing- room, what would be the final decision of any generous, high-minded chap? I ask you. said

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 133 Roll Call WHITE TRUCK FLEETS OF TEN OR MORE Again this year we publish a bigger, greater White These are facts—-the soundest, safest guide to your Roll Call. It is the most convincing performance own motor truck selection. Three pages of facts— document in the field of motor transportation. It is in such astounding numbers as to defy imitation. indisputable evidence of White Truck leadership. , Year after year these great, growing institutions in- Here, in open book, is the transportation history of 837 of the vest millions of dollars in additional White Trucks. Their country’s foremost truck owners—in all lines of business, all experience has taught them that they get the most money- localities—operating 31,093 Whites of all models in fleets of earning miles from Whites. And this valuable experience is 10 or more. available free to anyone who will study the White Roll Call. It shows an increase of 80 owners and 2,927 trucks over last We say again, as we said in 1924 . . . no other truck manu- yous s record. Normal business changes, mergers and reorgan- facturer has ever published such a volume of evidence of unin- izations have caused a few fleets to decrease and others to lose terrupted service at low cost. No other truck manufacturer their original ownership identity. oaah *_¢ o >. * In addition to the owners on the Roll Call tens of thousands of owners operate White fleets of less than 10 or single Whites. Let us send you free the complete White Roll Call booklet, tracing the building of these great White fleets year by year. The Roll Call has been growing There are more White Trucks in service than trucks of any dened See TS eine. Wott: Tha With Casnbeares, Cloiiliidl: x’ deciaak other high-grade make. of the branch office or dealer near you. Jan. 1 Jan. 1 Jan. 1 1910°13 ‘16 ‘19 21 22 +°23 1925 1910°13 ‘16 ‘19 ‘21 ‘22 °23 1925 1910'°13 ‘lo ‘19 21°22 «'33 1925 Abbotts Alderney Dairies, Inc. 0 1 74 © 4 S32 5% Atlantic Ice and Coal Corp. 015 2 38 52 68 TR % The Brandt Compan : oo 1 4 4 4 4 Abraham & Straus *e@« 6 0 6 6°? = Atlantic Refining Company 1 31 184 345 440 462 507 546 J. W. Brannon Sand & Gr.Co.@ 6 6 @ 0 2 b 16 Acme Cash Stores 0 1 3 10 12 12 17 18 Atlas Powder Company 0c6 0 12 6 23 27 19 Braun Lumber Company 00 6 6 6 & 5 1e J. N. Adam & Company eo ¢. 28 32 32 38 Austin Nichols & Company e060 @ 48 » 44 John Breuner Compan a. oa eS 7 x 16 12 Advance Transfer Company..0 0 06 06 i) o Ww Bacon Coal Company 6060 0 4 4 4 6 10 Bridgeman & Russell Co. e@ @¢.3 | 5 0 17 City of Akron, Ohio o 1. 4 11 15 6 2% 2 The Bailey Company cue BK HTH DPD HB Broadway Department Store. 6 6 6 6 o 23 @ 8 Akron Pure Milk Company 6 2 © 18 13 1 13) 13 ~)=©6City of Baltimore o7T HRP HKH BH BW 4 SI Brockton Transportation Co..6 6 © 16 21 2 8 tt Alabama Coca-Cola Bot.Co...0 0 6 3 7 13 1 8 L. Bamberger & Company 600 60 4 138 2 37 4 Bronx Provision Corp.of N.Y.6 0 0 26 3 4 e 1 All Russia Zensky Union oo Ww tO 0 0 OW Bang Supply Company oo 0 6 3 9 2 Brooklyn Daily Kagie oo Oot Mw & wh Al's Bake Shop o 60 0© © 10 % 16 2% #£Banner Grocers’ Baking Co.. 0 6 0 06 6 8 0 12 Brooks Oil Company 60 6 4 uo64 6 B. Altman & Com 0 8 92 9 9 94 9 85 N. Bantivoglio & Sons oo 0 14 1 i 5 10 Bry-Block Mercantile Co. 660 60 @ 8 i2 tt 14 American Agric’| Chem. Co...0 1 5 17 3% 4 3 2% Barker Brothers, Inc. oo 6 8 8 8 & 8 Buckeye Pipe Line Co. e@ @- 6+ 2 2 American Bakery Company oo 6 6 0 12 42 15 *Barnsdall Corporation 6 @«2 8s 46 22 Bullock's 646 8. 7 @-? Bs American Can Company 0 7 33 70 88 9 107 82 The Barrett Company 6 0 tl 2 2 MM 24 P. H. Butler Company 9% 68 Ff. 3-26 American Chain Company 0 06 1 2 2 2 10 12 W. J. Barr: 0 1 3 7 9 i 13 10 Cable Draper Bakin, Co. 6 0 o 0 10 to 16 9 American Fruit Growers oo 6 6 il il il il Beaver Valley Service Co. 060 6 6 4 4 10 16 Caddo Parish, Louisiana 60 0 6 138 13 ‘3 iA t3 American Gas and Elec. Co... 0 0 06 06 6 6 8 23 Beechnut Packing Company .® 0 6 6 x > ee” ee State of California %¢ 4.4.2 52 #87 8&7 American Ice Company @O2t 3 Bs Bee 22 Bekins Van and Storage Co . 2 Bs 6 6 9 19 California Baking Company.. 6 © © 21 3 iM American News Company o-@ .2 64 @ is 18 28 Belgrano Autobus S. A 60 60 6 0 0 o 10 California Packing Corp. oo 61 13 18 %& ® * American Petroleum Co. @:6@ 6@§ © #424 Benguet Auto Line oo 06 06 0 0 0 10 California Petroleum Co. S & #28 7 is =(18 is American Power and Lt. Co... 0 0 ds be he BH 8 Bernheimer-Leader Stores @3 86 06 0 6 & California Transit Co. 000060 Hh 4 8 4 American Public Sery. Co. 600 60 1 7 7 7 il Bessemer Taxi Company 606 6 @ 1 8 9 14 Califoraia Truck Company 9 38 °F -o 21 American Railway Express 0 14 88 121 186 274 433 457 Best & Company @ 6. © &@: 3&2 L. H. Callan o @ Bg 1 { mo 861 American Red Cross Society... 0 © 06123 123 123 79 31 B. & F. Trucking 60060 6 @6 0 0 0 10 J. Calvert's Sons eo Gu -@ 10 10 Ti il American Reduction Co. 0 1 1 4 7 7 0 tf William Bingham Company... 6 © 16 23 22 22 22 William Cameron Co., Inc o Oe 3 8 @ 0 1 American Steel and Wire Co. 0 1 4 14 19 19 2 32 Bingham Stage Line oo 0 0 ) 2 6 R. O. Campbell Coal Co. 66 6 6 0 2 8 12 American Stores Company 6 9 15 81 80 80 107 128 City of Birmingham 60 0 2 422i «mM nm The Cam li Syatem re ie Se pe Ye fer American Woolen Company.. 0 0 1 1 2 2 23 23 #Birm’gh’mChero-Cola Bot.Co. 0 6 © 27 32 32 2% 33 + @©Ganfield Oil Company 00 0 06 86 9 2 MM A. L. Ammen Transp. Co. e7TNBVDBDB Bem Be Block & Kuh! Company 6 6.2 64. Siw..:2 16 Canton Provision Company .o. 2.40. 8 il 1 17 Anchor Cartage Company 6 @ 2 13 is 15 83 143 Bloomingdale Brothers 0 e868 TW BH Canton Storage and Tr. Co. oo 14 i 6 %% i Anderson Brothers 60 0 6 3 0 4 £4 Blue 4 Transp. Co. ¢°3-8 5 6 BW & Capitol arate Company @e@ 6 ¢ 7 n 9 Anglo-Mexican Pet.Co.,Ltd. 0 06 06 4 4 9 il 10 & Buhl, Inc. oun wesw he SB Carbon Coal Company +?) 2. 12 10 i i3 Anheuser-Busch, Inc. 6 0 17 0 82 17 4 The H. C. Bohack Company. 6 0 O 1 . ee | 16 «616 R. E. Carey —enpany 660 6 6 6 1342 43 State of Arizona 60060 6 @ ® %2 21 58 #=‘The Borden Company oo 6 1 6 St 3 Carolina Power and Lt. Co 6060 0 2 7 » & tt Arlington Mills 01 2 13 19 19 17 17 City of Boston 012 18 2 32 BM 88 383 Carolina Public Service Co o 6 @ tt it il it 13 *Armour & Company @ 51 165 309 #395 364 430 405 Boston Coca-Cola Bot. Co. 6 06 0 2 10 10 14 14 J. B. Carr Biscuit Co. 6 1 4 7 i2 42 a2 12 J. H. Ashdown Hdwe.Co., Ltd. 0 6 1 5 5 6 1 8610 Boston Elevated Railway Co 0 6 6 1 mM 4! 67 85 Carstens Packing Co. oe: } 3.8 n 10 16 10 Assoc. Bell Telephone Cos. © 30 311 517 806 992% 1123 1183 Boulevard Transportation Co.6 6 68 2 | ae | ey eee Carter Oil Company 61 10 86 He HH *Associated Dry Goods Corp... 0 13 37 126 128 129 132 128 Bourne-F uller Company @2 ¢@4 8. 8&8. Bi. Casper Motor Bus Line “io & -£ 0 3 > HN City of Atlanta. 6 8 11 15 8 42 4 42 George H. Bowman Co. oe ¢:°& 6 6 10 10 Central Maine Power Co. 0 0 1 3 9 16 12 it Atlanta Baggage and Cab Co.. 06 0 06 10 18 \) we ee” | *Bowman Dairy Company 60 @ 96 nN il il 22 Central Torpedo Company SS ee ep 9 i 12 2 Atlanta Chero-Cola Bot.Co...0 0 6 10 10 13 = iI! 10 Bradford Baking Company 099 & wD Bi 32 O47 Chandler & Rudd Company.. 0 5 6 7 WW 15 il ii Atlanta Coca-Cola Bot. Co. 600 0 980 0 soe eee Brandies Stores 606 6 6 3 3 3 10 *Chapin-SacksCorporation...®0 © © 28 68 62 ® 62 ( Continued on two succeeding pages) WHITE TRUCKS §

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134 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 Roll Call of White Truck Jan. 1 "23 1925 191 53 35 County of oop, Ga... 19 19 Frank G — | Galena Signal Oi! ‘Company A. W. Gamage, Ltd... Garfield-Passaic Transit Co. Gate Cit care & Ice Cr. Co. General ing le *General Electric Com General Fire Extinguis a 3 = - Jump Housewrecking Co. 5. Kann Son's Company we Chase Bag Com pany ‘ ie ee ey ». Cola Bottling Cos The Chero-Cole Company Chicago Am. & Herald-Exam. (hicage Fire Brick Co. Chicago Fire insurance Bd. Chicago, No. Shore & M. Ry (Nicago Towel Company Chile Exploration Company Ht. 8. Church Truck Serv. Co. Cla. Abaatecedora de Leche (ta. Nacional Construction Cla. Tranvais de Mexico Ciecinnati Motor Term. Co. *Cities Service Company City Baking Company City of Chicago City tee Go. ( Kanesa City) City tee and F'l Coe. | Cincin.) Cicy lee and F'1 Co. ( Clevel'd) Clark Tracking Company Clearing House Perce! Del. Co. City of Cleveland Cleve.-Ash,-Conn. Bus Co Cleveland Build, 8. & B. Co The Cleveland Cartage Co Cleveland Coca-Cola Bot. Co Cleveland Elec. ittum. Co Clevelan4-Lor.-Sand. Bus Co The Cleveland Press Cleveland Provision Co Clereiand Raiiway Go Cleveland Trans, & Cart. Co. Clevetand Trinidad Pav'@ Co Cleveland & Sandusky Br. Co Cloverlands Dairy Prod. Co *Coca-Cola Bottling Co's The Coca-Cola Company The Coca-Cola Co. Ltd. ( Can.) W. i. Coldtron 1. C, Coleman & Son Collins Hauling Company Cotenial ice Cream Co State of Colorado Cotumbia ice and Ice Or. Co. Columbia Stages Comar Olt Company R. ti. Comey Company Commeretai Ol! Company Commercial Tranafer Co. Commonwealth Fuel Co., Inc Commonwealth Pr. & Le. Co. The Connecticut Company State of Connecticut Connecticut Motor Trane. Ce. a ted ¢ Bs sS2-2

Ss petmane a Baer Company Kennicott- — — — a ed - DaSotu Bas oF bi e s = — —— Se SNONSBSSS SSSHKHSCUSSOVN SCNHSSSSS ISS SCHHESHSOSSSH wWOnwseweacosos & Foon SFSU SuNSSE o sem en ~ “a - 7 —oaene SNNSCCUVSS VORVOKVSES w SSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSS&S WSS SSSsow WOnNonwsese = — 3S F wee | - ~ = — -aN _—— FS SPONGSSNLSE SSRIIKSE Bees ane eooonr oS > 2ianres cee _ — PR OnNM SSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSS SHKSSSSHKH KK SSSSHHKHSSHS SSOHwONSSSSS SSSSSSOWS "IS SK SSessceoss Sossessoesses SeSsssesooses SOosesoxssossese _ - _ —— one RSS

peontetenan Oil Gompaay City of Manila, P. Marland Refining - aTS A. C. Marshall Company Maryland State Roads Com. State of Massachusetts Massachusetts Baking Co. Material Cartage Company May, Stern & Company The May Co. (Cleveland) The May Co. (Los Angeles) McCreery & Company Estate of Alexander McGarr McGowan Brothers Company G. M. McKelvey Company The C. L. McLain Company McMahon Transportation Co. McQuesten & Lewis L. G. Meed Wm. J. Meehan & Brother Memphis Power and Lt. Co. The Mengel Company *Mercantile Stores Co. Merchants’ Transfer Co. George E. Merrick Mesaba Transportation Co. Metropolitan Coal Company Metropolitan Distrib’rs, Inc. Metropolitan Gas & Elec. Co. Metropolitan News Co. Metropolitan Tobacco Co. Mexican Gulf Oil ew Louis Meyer ey Mexican Pet. Co td., of Del. State of Michigan Middlesex & Boston St. R. R. *Middle West Utilities Corp. Mid- Kansas Oil and Gas Co. Midwest Refining Company Milk Dealers Bottle Exchange J.E. Miller... .. On Miller Trucking Co. Miller-Becker Company Miller & Coatesworth P. Milliron. Milwaukee Elec. Ry. & Lt. Co. State of Minnesota . State of Missouri Missouri -Senenang Cem't Co. State of Monta Montgomery Conan (Ala.) Henry M n & Co., Ltd. K. E. & A. K. Morgan Motor Transit Company oe Moxie Company . Mueller Com mageay Transfer Co., Inc. A. lL. Namm & Son... City of Nashville Consolidated ice Companies Consolidated Rendering Co Consort Coal Company Consumers Baking Co. g lonsumers ag Company oo - —=—S SeN SVN Ow SEF Sen So Been ew — + --- oe = - - = SSH SNSUSSS §“SUBWOrw & _ _ — sa ~ —

weos oIS=-SeS-SS COwoe-wsese _ eeoers w F z= - a Ple y * continental haiin Co. Continental OU Company Coral Gables Utilities: Co Cottage Creamery Company Walter J. Cos Company Crane Compan Creacent Forwd. & Trans. Co Cuban Government Cudahy Packing Company Joha T. Cunningham Cushman Sona, Inc. Gounty of Cuyahoga Dra hl- Limpbell, Grocery Co Dannerailier Grocery Co. Darlties A Company Thomas D’ Attilio Davison Cartage Company The Dayton Company De Haven ice Cream Co Denver Cab Company Oity and County of Denver Louts Des Cognets Dill & Collins Company Dixte Construction Go Drake Brothers Driecoll Trucking Company Rast Payette Street Bus Line Rast Ohic Gas Company Bast Side Mili and Lbr. Co Rastern Torpedo Company Rastman Kodak Company ~— W. Easton's Sons Eaton Company, Lid ) A Sales hy aa 4 Abraham Elsenberag (o., Inc *Blectric Bond and Share Co Riectric Package Agency Emerick Motor Bus Co Empire Baking Com Empire Gas and Fue Ce ” Ernet Fuel and Supply Co A. J. Evans The Fair Fair Haven Coal Company Pairmont Creamery Company Fayette Baking Company Fenway Garage Company Wm. Pilene's Sons Company irestone Tire and Rubber Co. acher Baking Company lecher Lime and Cement Co lelachmann Company lorida Coca-Cola Bot. Co Pierida Motor Tranapert Co. State of Florida Fly & Hobson Company C. H. Foley Poster & Kiciser, inc Prank & Sed a Face Secon 3 —-=—s = ome » = 3 on BB — =—S S=-=—SSS=—SSS SeSSS-SSSw Seenwsesosesososo oo~ e- — — cnovwsoce eo couse w ~_ — —— — -— --- - - a — Se eeOnn Sor Sseseoow SSoSosSeoeseses SSOSKSSoevs ovncseosortnwse “ous —w s = - ee ee SOR SNS KOSH NKENSS SSOSHSSESES SHFESSSSOSN WH Oe - 3us SSS wo coooocenscse 22eon-— cuwse® -—~ —- ek ee il — wVOSNHK SSH SCSOWVSSSO SU T14 SSSSINSONS - wn SF-x c-F Son seeosoevsses S=-vesososo- — on ws cS steal 4 Bfece RSeo consooes ~ FOr Fe — SH SS SKS SSF SIS HHSSH—wS IK = SS z Serew Ovssooousses eousoesoe —s Zee i - ‘ » RERSSE cB Sr eRSSeo = cous oSEBss Coon Fas BES ReoFPGeISSS ewes =U Bhoe UusoRTel ah RBEFeo BPH chs RBSPFSuctl awe ttl SSSSSSSSS— SSSSSSSHS— SSwSSSSSSS SSwSSSSSFS SH HK SSwSesses SSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSS SSK SK SSSHesSs SSSSHSSHSSe SSH SSSSSSS OOS=-SSSS9 Swnsst Se = ee~F ask “cow oo _ _— MOSoe= Sex aomon® Zeoh e8echoou SES a _ eSnrec Pe | NSewrsSes-Ice ceosov seecocoeooo- owcoe

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THE SATURDAY EVENING Fleets of Ten or M Jan.1 : } Jan, 1 1910° "23 1925 Purtell Brothers 6 WW Aes ey ag oy Transit Co. Quaker City Cab Company. « ade _ Company san I -_ * ws s we aweun=s- ‘ Ecoo = ee ve @nw Fe S=Re so TERee -SaeoSu Bs = NeOVSSCSESSee Se Som wwene Fae ne wOnwnnrsew = Ses ap eo ws 2== a2 SutFe - MN ~ . oBe ees Su nononFSo Soc ecoscee=S Sunesorusose Sonscse _— a 2OS AVIS ISSN S Se COSSSe —h a — Sores Se weoscsessos Oe Sous ‘ soosoce NS = Rath FeSS SSSSOSIREN SRSHRSSSES Srataa ne FSNF-u.Su moe Sn. FFW -_ ee. wS meSiuhcsse Sos one ww nee ~ ie Seton wnecounen® cucssuenen cuocsosotue unsocccuss soosescess coouousousn sosesooBus -o-sow i ~e i - eo obwaBia crowssd Bon’ wrcacu cucewz ow — - Nemuwwoe sonBoo Leacn a w C= NONNwHEN SSO 4 Ba = S wee Fook cae ox tone Bn wouce Nn case - — coNte= ws - mh seooct seosossesess Seoesossosoess Sososeossooso eoatensens eeseceeoces eoscocoosoos sososossess® soosssossess cososeossose —-—s ew ecune oso SnCcuce —ove~-ooooo -sse ees —— “iw ~ z oktu City of Providence Providence Journal Co. Public Service Co. of Colorado Public Service Corp. of N. J. Public Service Electric Co. Public Service Gas Company Public Service Product’n Co. Public Service Transpt'n Co. Puget Sound Int'l Ry. & P. Co. Puget Sound Pr. and Lt. Co. Standard Sanitary Mfg. Co. State Construction Co. C. P. Steinheiser Company Sterchi Brothers.... Sterling & Welch Company Stern Brothers John Sternecker Steubenville Coal & M'g. Co. Steub.,E.L.&B.V. Traction Co. Stewart & Company Seancteo wo Worden & Son Geo. Worthington Company Wouter’s Laundry Wright Cake Company State of Wyoming GC. H. Yeager Company Yellowstone Park Transp. Co. Youngstown Munic'l Ry. Co Youngst'n Sheet & Tube Co. — Fsscruscus~ — ) - Fue oeNVaNn Foe —s 4 > ~ - ~ ~ = —— RSrww > Stoll Oil Refining Company Ypsilanti Reed Furn. Co *Pure Oil Company *Stone & Webster Interests *Purity Baking Company sesosos cessseooss sesoessososses ssosessesosesses soesesesess Sesssosessos Soessoesoeses essesesess sesesescsoesosos obebeonia escecsceoe=s SSosoessooseso SSceSS Sconeoseooconw SososescewrwSSoes Sos Ssesoses Sosowesessos seosssessesses Seososseoesosse e0eseseceoe| escooooooses osooeorsoses sosseeosoesso oe esesooososo 0 0 6 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 e 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 0 4 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 9 0 0 0 0 0 ® 0 0 0 i 0 0 3 3 9 0 0 0 0 ) 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 ® 6 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 —SHeON SENSSS HOH KH SKS SOSH SK SSSNSSSSSS —“SSVsssowss Sossosessoses Se Sos#sovscss® ooocweuSs= esoesesoossososocos we SCS SONHSSS SS! SYNSCH-SSOWss = SSSS - weSoesse Sournwerw eAwseos Onwn ee S2Seon2onw Oe ooo —we Zamboanga Transp'n Co Zelierbach Pa Company Zettelmeyer Coal Company 0 § 5M Be 2 : Zions Co-op. Mercantile Inst. D 11! 21577 31094 51 4 "18223 27491 * Exclusive of subsidiary or affiiiated companies individually listed. THE WHITE COMPANY CLEVELAND Ld Swe SH SS— SSSSPNSNSH SSSSSSSH=$SF SSSnsSSssss Sooce#eS3SSSS SSSSSSsseS SSSSSWHKHKHKS SSOSSSNWSSSS SSSHSSSSSS SSHwSesses® SsSsessosoesse Seoseosoonwon, SSBVSSON HK“ VSOVVONVFE™ B= SSHewuene=s Uw = os “ ~ 2 esonreonwn voeoenusae sen 0 0 ) 0 0 0 0 Yosemite National Park Co. . 6 0 0 0 6 0 0 0 ce onsoso: weonece=-Sou

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST a ay “Sete } “~@rm rs 2 be ae ee i Aabaie all = | wer ee ener April 25,1925 This label is a distinguishing mark of quality. It expresses the pride of the manufacturer in his product. To the retail merchant it is a symbol of service. Look for this blue and gold ARMCO la- bel on washing machines, clothes dryers, stoves, ranges, refrigerators, enameled table topsandother household and commercial utilities. It carries with it the assurance of the quality and solid worth of the sheet metal parts of articles that bear it The Man is saying to Her:— “This label should guide your decision more than the price tag does” EDED advice! Few women know the part iron plays in homes. Dozens of articles in every household can give long service only if made with the purest iron. Therefore wise buyers, instead of choosing things that will have to be repaired and replaced, protect themselves by always asking, ‘Is it made of ARMCO Ingot Iron?”’ On household products That you may know the answer, manufacturers put the blue and gold ARMCO label on stoves, ranges, refrigerators, table tops, kitchen cabi- nets, washing machines, clothes dryers, garbage cans, and the like. And they are proud, these manufacturers, to identify their products so definitely that you may buy with confidence, ARM TRADE for this label is an absolute assurance of value. On galvanized sheet metal Then there are hundreds of sheet metal contrac- tors who, like the manufacturers, want you to know what kind of metal they use for eaves troughs, roofing, gutters, downspouts, flashing, cornices, and the like. They use this same du- rable, long-lasting iron. It, too, bears a blue tri- angle. And these sheet metal contractors gladly display this means of identity, because it rep- resents a pride of workmanship that comes from using the most rust-resisting iron money can buy. ARMCO Ingot Iron is the purest iron made. Purity gives the metal long life. Consequently, when you buy ARMCO Ingot Iron, you get metal that will give you dependable service. MARK Its reputation rests upon records of world-wide service performed over a long period of years. Look for the label So whenever you buy any household articles made of sheet metal, it will pay you to look for the blue and gold ARMCO label. And whenever you build or repair, use sheet metal marked with the blue triangle. Find the triangle and you can rest as- sured that, in years to come, the article will satisfactorily serve you. No matter when the time comes to buy sheet metal, ask this question: “Is it made of ARMCO Ingot Iron?”’ THE AMERICAN ROLLING MILL CO. MIDDLETOWN, OHIO (EXPORT) THE ARMCO INTERNATIONAL CORPORATION MIDDLETOWN, OHIO Cable Address—ARMCO Distributors in all principal cities INGOT IRON The Purest Iron Made Is IT MADE OF ARMCO INGOT IRON? Every day more and more people are making sure of enduring household articles by asking this question

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Despite his inclinations, he felt that some day or other he would have to take a very definite line with Mr. Martin Fogg. “Why are you so interested in my af- fairs?” he asked uty Martin Fogg smiled weakly. “In one respect,” he explained, “I am like the author of a story. An idea comes to him. He may not like the idea. He may try to discard it. He may wish that it had never come, but so long as it is there he has to use it sooner or later. The idea of work- ing with you has rather fixed itself on me. I was offered a very interesting job last week in South America. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t leave you.” Channay rose abruptly to his feet. “Tf you have finis' mj your whisky and soda, Mr. Fogg,” he suggested, “I think you had better be making your way back to the village.” “Certainly, certainly,”” was the com- plaisant reply. ‘Of course you've done quite well up to now, Mr. Channay. Two of them off the list—or is it three? Two anyway, but there are still seven left.” “Walk in the middle of the path, Mr. Fogg,’’ Channay enjoined as he held open the French window. “If you take my ad- vice you won't loiter. We shall have a storm presently.” “Not for an hour or two, I think,”’ Mar- tin Fogg said, with a glance seaward. “There’s mischief brewing—mischief on the way, I think, but it’s not here yet. The thunder’s heavy out yonder—very heavy, Mr. Channay. Good evening, sir.” Channay stood on his little circle of lawn, watching his visitor disappear. His walk was shambling and undignified, his man- ners uncultivated, his appearance insig- nificant; yet somehow or other Channay felt that he had qualities, that even this visit which he had just paid was no casual one. He looked back and studied the ap- arance of the room. There was very ittle there to attract notice. A bachelor apartment might be expected to be slight] untidy. Suddenly he started and anne. There was a boot just visible round the edge of the sofa—a square-toed patent boot. Channay placed himself in his visitor’s chair. To a man of ordinary powers of ob- servation there was nothing in the least suspicious—but Martin Fogg! At ten o’clock that night an unseason- able darkness brooded over the land. The wind had come—a gusty, fitful wind, blow- ing sometimes almost in a cyclone—and the roar of the sea sweeping over the sand banks was like a deep-throated cannonade. The first part of his task accomplished, Channay, with Parsons at the tiller, poled his way down the little inlet toward the sea. Progress was slow, for in that narrow passage it was impossible to hoist a sail, and it was nearly an hour before they reached the abrupt widening of the creek and passed out into the open sea. Naviga- tion even here was still exceedingly hazard- ous, for the long line of sand banks acted almost like a ridge of rocks, turning and twisting the incoming sea into a thousand currents. With great difficulty the two men unfurled a few feet of sail and scudded away immediately northward. Inland were only a few flickering lights, mostly from the village and from some scattered farmhouses beyond, where the land sloped upward. Sea- ward were mystery and terror; a black bank of clouds, lit every now and then by jagged forks of lightning; and from nearer at hand, louder than either man had ever heard it be- fore, came the dull booming of the surf driven over the sandy breakwaters by the angry wind. Parsons, who seldom spoke when in his master’s company, stood up, clasping the tiller in his left hand and the bending mast in his right, and watched the white line of foam. “There’s a great storm outside, sir,”’ he remarked. “So much the better,’”’ was his master’s brief comment. The man looked landward, and his tone and manner became instantly discomposed. “The fishing boats are coming out, sir,” he announced. Channay leaned over the side of the boat. Five lights swinging in a great semi- circle were visible, slowly moving down the river. They could hear the faint note of the beating of a petrol engine. “We are showing no light, Parsons?” Channay inquired. (Continued from Page 29) “T pulled down the lantern, sir. It is underneath your feet,” Parsons replied. “T’'ll knock out my pipe in case the wind drives it into e They took a beat to windward, skirting a long spit of land which necessitated ul navigation, and then headed for the open sea, passing out of the mass of currents which made the coast notorious. At a cer- tain point Channay fastened the rope, which he had been holding, to the seat. “Now,” he whispered. He leaned over and threw on one side the overcoat which had been covering the prostrate form in the bottom of the ‘, Both he and Parsons were poised for their supreme effort; neither of them, however, moved. Even Channay’s nerve for a mo- ment forsook him and a low cry broke from his companion’s lips. “He's alive—he’s alive!"’ he shrieked. Channay replaced the overcoat with al- most hysterical haste. The horror of the situation was indescribable; the dumb ap- peal in the bloodshot eyes, the bis ggg | of the lips in the vain effort at speech. Then Parsons, clinging once more to the rope, lifted his voice above the roar of the wind. “ Better get on with it, sir,”” he shouted in momen brutality. “‘He’ll never live!" “Can’t done,” was the terse reply. “Hold on! We'll bring her round.” There was a moment of real peril. Then they came about and, soaked to the skin, Gilbert Channay leaned over the tiller. “Another reef, Parsons,’ he muttered. “We must pass the river mouth before they come out.” The man obeyed after a moment's hesi- tation. The wind howled and sobbed around them, an occasional wave broke right over the boat. Channay, crouching down, with the tiller lashed under his arm, watched all the time the five lights bobbing about near the mouth of the river. When they passed they were scarcely forty yards away, driv- ing into the wall of darkness. Neither of the two men spoke. They listened, how- ever, intently. Soon a voice hailed them from the nearest boat. Channay swore softly. In the gale he had hoped that the sound of their passing would attract no notice, “Boat ahoy, there!’’ came the second challenge. Channay bent lower still over the tiller and Parsons tightened the rope which he was holding in his hand. They were flying along now, moving rapidiy outside the ken of the little fishing fleet. Their renewed challenge was inaudible in the sudden clamor of the wind. The black cloud leaning over them suddenly discharged itself in violent rain, big drops that came hissing down into the water. Channay leaned forward and took the rope from Parsons. “Sit tight and be prepared,’’ he whispered. “The depth of the water's all different. We may miss the creek. Get ready to jump the moment I shout. Take in every stitch. We'll pole up if we can make the entrance. The moment you see the light, shout.” Suddenly through the storm they saw it the flickering light from Seaman’s Grange. Channay sprung at the sails. There was one moment of doubt. Then they found themselves in calmer water. Parsons took out the pole. The spray and hail were stinging their faces, but with every inch they moved they were drifting into shelter. “Light your pipe again, Parsons, when- ever you like,” Chedeag enjoined, leaning back in his place breathlessly. “ through with tonight's job.” And almost as he spoke the rockets went up from the great passenger steamer, ashore on the outer banks. fe're Fourteen days! Eventful ones outside, where relics of the great storm were every day coming to hand; but without incident to Gilbert Channay, marking time in his sea-girt abode. Then one afternoon, when he was playing the piano in his little sanctum at the back of the house, Parsons, after a discreet knock, silently entered the room. Channay frowned, annoyed at any form of disturbance, for he was ine the Rhapso- die Hongroise of Liszt and the music suited his humor. He swung abruptly round. “What the devil is it, Parsons?"’ he de- manded. “A man wishes to see you, sir,”’ was the colorless answer. ‘‘He gave me this card.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE CHANNAY SYNDICATE Channay looked at it—a cheap litho- graphed affair, on which was inscribed the name of Mr. Martin Fogg, with an address in —. . “This fellow again!” “What does he want?” “He refused to say, sir,” Parsons re- plied. “T thought it wisest to bring you his message. But ——-” he added, dropping his voice ominously and hesitating. “You think, perhaps, that he brings trouble?’’ Channay suggested. “Yes, sir,”” was the anxious admission. Channay closed the piano and made his way thoughtfully to the front sitting room. Martin Fogg was seated upon the edge of the couch, twirling a battered straw hat in his hand. His hair was as tousled as ever, his eyes as weak, his attire as incongruous. Even at that moment, when his mind was full of graver things, Channay found him- self wondering where op earth he could have stumbled across a shirt and tie of such outrageous ugliness. The newcomer rose to his feet. “Good afternoon,’ he said, with what appeared to be an almost painful effort at geniality. Gilbert Channay wasted no time upon preliminaries. He glanced at the card which he was carrying and back at the speaker, “What do you want with me this time, Mr. Martin Fogg?” he demanded. The visitor coughed. “Well,” he said, almost apologetically, “that’s quite a leading question, isn’t it?” “I have neither time nor inclination to waste with others,”” was the curt reply. “Tf ie have business, state it. If not —-—” Channay glanced significantly toward the door. Martin Fogg blinked several times without moving. “Oh, I have business all right,” he de- clared. “‘Quite important business, too, of its sort. You see, I am what is known as a blackmailer.”’ “You interest me,’ Channay confessed, genuinely enough. “At least I admire your frankness. Do you a ae to make me a victim of your craft?” “Tn a way, yes,” he replied. “And my particular. delinquency?” Fogg scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment. His eyes seemed to be tracing out the pattern of the carpet. “A yokels’ verdict, that!” he observed. “*Found drowned!’ Found drowned, in- deed, they all were; but there were more than one they couldn’t identify either as possenaees or members of the crew of the ahlia. . A-yokels’ verdict!” he muttered. He paused, glancing covertly up at the | ough to watch the effect of | his words, Channay’s face remained abso- other man as t lutely impassive. “You are obviousl tin Fogg went on. “It was clever of you to take the corpse down to the Hell’s Mouth where the currents turn and twist and where even the body of a dead man could travel for miles before it came to a resting place. You had luck, too—a shipwreck that night and the body being washed up with the others.” Gilbert Channay at last broke his silence. | “Let us understand each other,”’ he said. “You are accusing me of having murdered one of the men whose bodies were washed up about a week ago on the sands near Britling?” Martin Fogg smiled amiably. “Precisely,” he assented. “You see, | followed Sayers that afternoon to your cot- tage. 1 was in no hurry to pit in an appear- ance. I waited for him to leave, but he did not leave. His body must have been behind spo sofa all the time I was in the room. Coo wonderful reputation, Gilbert Channay- a reputation for nerve and unscrupulous courage.” { Channay knew then that grave things were at hand. He moved nearer to the chair by his desk, and, perhaps uncon- sciously, one of his hands strayed toward the topmost drawer. Again his visitor smiled, showing again those rather promi- nent teeth. “No use,” he declared pleasantly; ‘not a bit of use! I wasn’t here alone for ten minutes, whilst you were playing that Rhapsodie of Liszt, for nothing. The car- tridges are in my pocket. I am not a fight- ing man myself. I can accomplish my ends, not a bungler,"’ Mar- | very cool! Still, you always had a | No matter where you ge or how, you can be comfortable in cam when you use “Gold Medai’ Folding Furniture. And this comfort is lasting be- cause of a special time-tried con- struction that combines selected, seasoned wood, steel and canvas in exactly the right proportions. You'll find these same pieces use- ful too, the year around at home — indoors or out. Remarkable strength, ease of fold- ing and extreme compactness when folded are other qualities, that combined with lasting comfort make “Gold Medal” the Recog: nized Standard the worid over. FREE rics BOOK Write for your copy of “Comforts for Home & Camp" which describes touring and camp- ing equipment and home uses of ‘Gold Meda The popularity of “Gold Medal” leads many to believe that “Gold Medal” means a type or style of folding furniture -—that all folding furniture is “Gold Medal.” But it’s not. “Gold Medal” isa trade marked, brand name put only on gery uine “Gold Medal” furniture for your pro- tection and assurance of highest, onrety ing quality. Look for the name “Gold Medal” —insist upon the genuine Gold Medal Camp Furniture Mfg. Co. 1736 Packard Avenue Racine, Wis oe TRADE MARK REG. MEDAL Folding ~ Furntture oe.

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138 aa a rule, by means of other weapons, For instance, it is not unknown, to one other at any rate, that I am paying you a visit this afternoon.” It was a curious fact that for the mo- ment Gilbert Channay’s mind wandered altogether away from the coming of this imminent and unexpected danger. His dominant impulse was simply one of won- der that this strange visitor should have known the musie which he had been playing. “Well,” he said, after a pause, “so far vou have sueceeded in making your visit very interesting. Supposing we take the truth of what you have suggested for granted, “Ahi” Martin Fogg murmured. “That might save time. That might save time in Ny It was precisely then that Gilbert Chan- nay glanced idly enough out of his wide- flung French window. The indifference which he had successfully maintained throughout the course of this somewhat extraordinary interview suddenly in some measure deserted him. Seated upon his overturned boat, her hands clasped around one knee, her eyes watching the slow ap- proach of the evening tide, was a girl, a compiete stranger to him. She was dressed simply enough and like any other holiday seeker in the neighborhood, in a white sweater, oper: at the throat, a plain white skirt, and white shoes and stoc ings. She was bareheaded and in the sunshine her hair—brown with a tinge of chestnut shone like a flame, There was nothing par- ticularly striking about her appearance, ex- cept that the curve of her body was in itself a beautiful thing; a curve in her present posture as delicate and perfect as the soul of any artist could desire. At the sound of Channay'’s exclamation she turned her head and he noticed that there were faint shadows under her eyes, making them seem almost unnaturally large. It was several seconds before Channay looked away. “Who is that?” he asked Martin Fogg abruptly. “Dear me,” was the half-apologetic reply, “my daughter! My daughter Cath- erine--an only child! You see,”” he went on, “mine is a peculiar errand. I thought that in case you were likely to become un- reasonable, a witness of my visit here might he advisable.” “Your daughter!" Gilbert Channay re- peated incredulously. Martin Fogg amiled. He was quite at his best as he glanced out of the window. His face had softened and he had lost that strained air of always watching for untoward events. “| suppose,”’ he remarked, “it seems in- credible. Her mother was a very beautiful woman.” The two men stood side by side at the window. The girl had moved a little away and only the nape of her neck and her shapely not qverdendar back were visible. “Yours seems a strange business to drag a girl into,” Channay observed, with a faint note of contempt in his tone. “I might have fear for myself,’’ Martin Fogg rejoined, ‘I have none for her. You see,” he continued, thoughtfully, “I have made quite a study of your character quite a study, Mr. Channay, I can assure you. Gilbert Channay turned back into the room “Perhaps,”’ he suggested, “you had bet- ter proceed with your blackmailing.” “Certainly, certainly,” his visitor ac- ‘ quiesced. “This, tien, is the position: A certain person has been found drowned under quite natural circumstances, and ex- eepting myself, no one has the slightest sus- picien that you were in any way concerned with his death. [, however, knew it, for I followed him here, visiting you afterward. I noticed the slight disarrangement of the room, his hat upon a chair, the singular ap- ance of a boot behind the sofa and a ew other details with which I will not worry you. You may remark that it is too late now to dwell upon this. I reply, not at ali, The bodies could be exhumed at any moment." There was a brief silence. Gilbert Chan- nay’s eyes had wandered back once more to the quiet pensive figure seated upon the boat. She was looking upward now, watch- ing the flight of some gulls. “In addition to this,’ Martin Fogg con- tinued, “I could, if it were necessary, sup- ply the inquiring British public with the motive for this apparently yan deed. [ could explain why you killed Ed- ward Sayers, and why you will probably THE SATURDAY kill one or two more of his late assoviates, unless one of them is fortunate enough to kill you. You have entered upon a ven- detta of revenge, Mr. Channay; and on the other hand, these same men have their grievance against you. Thirty thousand uunds a head confiscated by you in return or their treachery!” “Your knowledge of my affairs,” Chan- nay confessed, “‘seems to be little short of remarkable. I will admit everything you say. Now what isthe price of your silence?” “The granting of the request I made to you before,” was the prompt reply. “Il asked then to become your partner; to help pro- tect, to help destroy. You refused, I ac- cepted your decision and left youin Norwich, but I did not accept it as final. You see I am here again.” Channay was puzzled. “Why should you take this interest in me?” he asked. “What reward do you expect?” “Very little,” Martin Fogg assured him. “T have not the slightest use for money, and I am not a rman; but although you perhaps would not think it to judge from my appearance, I love adventure. Furthermore, I knew all about your affairs from the moment of the forming of the ae. I was watching you then for a client, but those days have passed. I was in the court when you were tried. I have every fact in connection with your affairs at my fingers’ ends. For instance, I can tell ou this: You have dealt with Levy. I be- ieve also that you have worked out some scheme against Lord Isham. You have dealt finally and deservedly with Edward Sayers. But there are others. There is Matthew Baynes, a member of Parliament, chairman of the board of several very im- portant companies. There is Giles Ander- ton, the great financier. There is Nicholas Euphratos, the Greek, on his way to Paris at the present moment, if I am not mis- taken; and more dangerous than any of these, there is Malcolm Drood —-—” “What do you know about Malcolm Drood?” Channay interrupted. “I know this,” Martin Fogg replied, dropping his voice a little and with a curious en of something which was almost like ear in his eyes: “that when I was in the force Maleolm Drood killed my best friend and, with all Scotland Yard against him, escaped from this country with the wife of the man he had murdered. We were short of evidence against him when he lived at the Savoy Court, spending twenty thou- sand a year and entertaining like a prince. We have evidence enough now to hang him a dozen times over. . Listen! You think he'll never set foot in this country again. I know differently. Do you know why you were let out a Sy and a half be- fore your shortened time? I will tell you. It was because of what I had discovered. The Bermondsey Black Clan were waiting for you the day you were to have been re- leased. The whole thing was worked out a harmless taxicab, a pull up at the corner of a quiet street and a motor car waiting. They'd have had you all right. They were working for Drood.” “Why don’t they follow me down here?” Channay inquired, a little incredulously. “They never work out of London,” the other explained. “They have a perfect network of streets there where their confed- erates swarm like flies. There are thorough- fares in Bermondsey where when they hear a particular horn the vehicles draw up and stand on one side as though a fire engine were coming. You'd have had no chance, Mr. Channay, if you’d come out at six o'clock on the Thursday evening you were expected and they'd got hold of you.” Channay threw himself into an easy- chair, lit a cigarette and pushed over the box toward his visitor. Martin Fogg flushed with pleasure as he accepted one. He saw in this action a tacit admission of the situa- tion. The desire of his life was accom- plished. “You have interested me so much, Mr. Fogg,’ Channay said, “that I am anxious to improve my acquaintance with you. I hope that you and your daughter will do me the honor of dining with me tomorrow night.” “With great pleasure,” Mr. Fogg assented heartily, “In the meantime,”’ Channay continued, “do me the favor of following me and I will indicate to you the nature of your first task.” He rose, and opening the door led the way down the hall and up the stairs. On the first landing he threw open the door of EVENING POST a bedroom. A man was lying upon a eouch drawn up to the window, partially dressed and engaged in the consumption of a bowl of beef tea. “T have brought you a visitor, Sayers,” Channay announced. “ Mr. Martin Fogg— a business associate of mine—Mr. Edward Sayers.” rt. Edward Sayers regarded the new- comer with interest. Martin Fogg, with his mouth open, and his hair looking more un- kempt than ever, presented a somewhat singular appearance. “He’s a rum-looking bloke,”’ the former observed. “‘What’s he want with me?” “He’s going to take you in peony for a time when you leave here and see that you don’t find your way into these parts again,” Channay replied. “‘Come along now, Fogg. You mustn’t keep your daughter waiting.” Sir Matthew Baynes threw himself into a very comfortable easy-chair in his lux- uriously furnished office and mopped his forehead vigorously with a fine cambric uandisareblor . He was a large, florid man, unaccustomed to contradiction, and he had been hectored. He was angry, thoroughly disgruntled, and a little frightened. He banged the bell which stood upon the table just within his reach. “Pitson,” he directed—‘“‘tell Pitson to come to me at once.” The clerk withdrew hurriedly. The faithful Pitson almost immediately made his appearance—a thin, cadaverous-looking man in horn-rimmed spectacles. “You sent for me, Sir Matthew,” he said tentatively. “Sent for you! I should think I did!” his employer exploded. “Who was that tousled-haired, sandy, shabby nincompoop who dared to get up and ask me questions about my holdings in the Nyasa mines?” “I ascertained his name, sir, from the list of shareholders,” the secretary replied. “He is a Mr. Martin Fogg.” “How many shares in the company does he hold?” “One, sir,”” was the meek reply. “One five-pound share, and he dares to get up and ask me questions—personal questions, too—questions which reflected almost upon my probity! I was never treated in such a manner at a public meet- ing in my life—never!" “The sympathy of the meeting was en- tirely with you, sir,” the secretary ventured. “] should think so!" Sir Matthew ex- claimed. “I should think so, indeed! I give him a dividend of 5 per cent. What more can anyone want nowadays? The questions that fellow asked—a holder of one five-pound share, mark you, Pitson— were impertinent—impertinent, to a de- gree!" “Yes, Sir Matthew,” Pitson repeated, with some faint suggestion in his manner of suspended judgment. “What the devil do you mean by just repeating, ‘Yes, Sir Matthew’?” his em- ployer demanded irritably. ‘‘Is it or is it not a reflection upon me when a man gets up—a holder of a five-pound share—and, pointing to the assets of the company, in- quires as to one of the items guaranteed in my name? Persists, too, mark you, Pitson. Asks the one question of all others the fellow has no right to ask—whether that twenty-five thousand pounds is repre- sented by scrip, or whether it is a debt? : never heard of such impertinence in my ife.” “Tt was a very awkward question, Sir Matthew,” Pitson agreed. “‘You did well in asking him to see you after the meeting. i fancied that I noticed a slight appearance of curiosity on the part of some of the other shareholders.” “I'll buy his share,” Sir Matthew growled. “T’ll buy his silly tongue too. I don’t mind telling you, Pitson, that I never had such an uncomfortable two minutes in my life. Mr. Martin Fogg, eh? Well, tell 'em to show him in the moment he arrives. Are they all out of the board room?” “All except Mr. Martin Fogg, sir, the gentleman who is waiting to see you.” “Go and fetch him, Pitson; fetch him at once,” Mr. Martin Fogg was shown in a few minutes later. The costume which he deemed suitable for attending a meeting of a city ena 6 presided over by no less a person than Sir Matthew Baynes, M.P., was scarcely impressive. He wore a black cutaway coat, shiny at the seams, no waist- coat—the day being hot—a soft collar and an unpleasant-looking tie. His trousers were of gray flannel and his shoes brown. April 25,1925 Sir Matthew, Lone gem attired accord- ing to the dictates of Savile Row and Bond Street, looked his visitor up and down as though he were some curiosity from an un- known world. Nevertheless, he did his best to _— civil. “Sit down, sir, sit down,” he invited _- “Now let me know what you were riving at, asking me those questions at the meeting. What is your holding with us, eh?”’ Mr. took a chair and twirled his hat in his hand. “Very small, Sir Matthew,” he acknowl- ed ed; “very small indeed. One share only. “Then God bless my soul!” Sir Matthew exclaimed. “How can you make it pay you to come to a meeting in which your only interest is to that amount and ask questions as though you were a large share- holder? What did you do it for?’ “I wanted to know,” Mr. Martin Fogg said diffidently. “Wanted to know!” his vis-a-vis splut- tered. ‘Look here,’’ he went on, regaining his self-control with an effort, “I'll tell you what I'll do with you. You've got one five- pound share. I'll give you fifty pounds for it if you'll give me your word not to acquire any others now cr at any time.” “Fifty pounds,” Mr. Fogg murmured. he atthew leaned back in his swivel chair. “Tt is an absurd offer,” he continued; “but I tell you frankly, Mr. Fogg, that I don’t care for shareholders in my company who get up and ask such questions as you asked this afternoon.” “T dare say not,” Mr. Fogg rejoined quietly. Sir Matthew stared at his visitor. Mr. Martin Fogg returned his scrutiny. “Well?” the former queried. Mr. Martin Fogg drummed upon the table with his finger tips. “T will sell you my share if you like, Sir Matthew,” he Jaaaches “T gave three pound fifteen for it, so it would yield me a very nice profit, but I will be honest with you. I want to clear up the matter of that twenty-five thousand poende. There is the press, you know, and I can get proxies for future meetings.” “You want to clear it up?” the city magnate repeated angrily. “But if I buy your share, what the devil business is it of yours?” Martin Fogg smiled. “IT am a professional blackmailer,”’ he explained gently. “I have made my living at it for many years. I have a feeling that there is a ye mal with ard to that twenty-five thousand poun The ac- countants themselves are reticent about it. I should like the matter cleared up.” “A blackmailer, eh?” Sir atthew growled. “You see,” his visitor continued with undisturbed amiability, “you are a rather promising subject.” “T’ve dealt with your sort before,” was the menacing retort. “Deal with me the same way,” Martin Fogg invited, leaning a little farther back in his chair. Sir Matthew, whatever his faults, was not a fool. He realized that losing his temper was simply playing his opponent’s game. “T have dealt with them,” he continued impressively, “by knocking the ground from underneath their feet. I will do the same with you. The twenty-five thousand pounds represents shares in the Nyasa mine standing in my name. Twenty-five thousand pounds is a moderate valuation. At pence A price they are worth thirty thousand.” “You surprise me!” Martin F con- fessed. “Gilbert Channay has only been out of prison for three months.” Sir Matthew whistled softly. “So you know all about the purchase of Nyasas by the Channay Syndicate,’ he muttered. “‘T know all about it,” the other assented. “What I intended to ask you this after- noon, only you put the closure on, was, when did Gilbert Channay thake those shares over to you?” “What business is that of yours?” Sir Matthew demanded. “As a humble shareholder in your com- pany, sir,” Martin Fi replied, “I am curious about that particular amount. I was under the impression—certainly I was under the impression—that Mr. Channay had refused to with any of the Nyasa shares to any of the syndicate.” (Continued on Page 143)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST principle of watch construction every layman can understand THE OLD Way | VERITHIN WAY

ULTRA-VERITHI N | Way PATENTED

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HINNESS in the Gruen VeriThin and the Gruen Ultra-VeriThin is produced by a number of improvements in the art of watch construction. Some of these improvements are highly technical. Only the watchmaker can readily understand them. But the basic principle in each case is a simple and logical rearrangement of wheels. This common-sense principle, which has estab- I lished wholly new standards of slenderness and grace in the { manufacture of men’s pocket watches, is fully explained by the simple diagram above. Every layman can understand it almost at a glance. Every layman can easily see why, by this principle, watches one tine wi in strength and accuracy \ parts. 7 But it is well to keep in mind that the rearrangement of Bi} wheels embodied in the Gruen VeriThin and that in the Gruen Ulcra-VeriThin are the exclusive property of the Gruen Watch Makers Guild. i By looking for the mark of Gruen on the dial, you can be cer- : tain that the slender beauty you desire in the outward appear- nark ance of your watch is entirely consistent with the highest : | f standards of mechanical excellence. is ‘the allah of cee SHINE TAL you Grae Wasch, those same jewelerscan repair it quickly and easily at very moderatecost. _ gra

Carvoche 16 ee ee een | 4 —s150 Sepks 51. eee ee , made in Precision grade only —Solid green white gold, hand-carved case, $125; Patni, 90-8490; ober, aceon ing ee $100—$150 Gruen WatcuH Makers GuiLp. Time Hill, Cincinnati, Ohio, U.S. A. New York Toronto ee

GRUENGUILD WATCHES

. in aa, PRECISION > ‘ d a , Ultra VeriThin Trade Mark Reg. cencant This pledge mark of <)

is engraved upon those watches of higher quality and finer finish ra The GRUEN GUILD a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 Fasy payments applied ANY home can now afford Last FALLwe offered ARCOLA and American Radiators com- pletely installed by your Heat- ing and Plumbing dealer for a small down payment; the balance in easy installments. Thousands took advantage of it. Larger sales, bigger pro- duction have now made possi- See your local paper for dealers handling Ipeat Boilers on Easy Pay- ments. ble a cut in price of ARCOLA. Your Heatingand Plumbing dealer is ready to give you an estimate for your home, store or office; this is your oppor- tunity tohave radiator warmth from ARCOLA at the lowest price and on the easiest terms ever offered in heating history. ARCOLA REG.U.S. PAT. OFF Hot-water Radiator Heating Outfit for small homes and buildings Greatly reduced in price! IDEAL BOILERS AND AMERICAN RADIATORS

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: & — —— ~ > eres | LARGER IDEAL BOILERS for larger homes W: NOW announce the application of the Partial Payment Plan, through our Heating and Plumbing Finance Corporation, to our entire line of IDEAL Boilers and American Radiators. This means that your Heating and Plumbing dealer can replace your present heater with the famous IDEAL Type A Heat Machine for only a 25% down payment; you pay the balance IDEAL BOILERS cost less now—this Spring! THE SATURDAY EVENING POST to all IDEAL boilers ! radiator warmth | in easy installments while IpEAL Type A is paying for itself in the fuel it saves. If your home is smaller, IpbzaL ARCO Round Boiler can be installed on the same easy terms. May is Spring cleaning time. In do- ing your cleaning, don’t neglect the . cellar. Take out your old-fashioned heater and install modern Ideal warmth. For sale by the Heating and Plumbing Trade everywhere AMERICAN RADIATOR COMPANY Dept. 38, 1807 Elmwood Avenue, Buffalo, N.Y. Sales Offices in all principal cities © A. RK. Co., 194g SMOKELESS AMERICAN RADIATOR COMPANY Dept. 38, 1807 Elmwood Ave., Buffalo, N.Y. My home has rooms. Send me the book describing the particular IDEAL Boiler for a home the size of mine and explain how I can buy it on the Easy Payment Plan. DI ci cs) ss jo spdibanssapansanutpabavennsincckaiioltiasiiaeaaaamaln SINR: 5-15 2 5, os sc ianeo soedbihiiesnevasipsciechasedsiabibesiaenuneenenans City, State My home has a cellar ; has no cellar

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Eversharp point cannot wobble or turn T seems simple enough now. Everyone knows that a good pencil must hold the lead securely at the tip. Yet for generations the mak- ers of mechanical pencils over- looked this fact. And nearly everybody went right on using wood pencils. Then Eversharp appeared! Eversharp was different in principle. It had the rifled tip. This tip gripped the lead at the: point. The lead could not wobble or turn. So Eversharp wrote as smoothly as a wood pencil. Also it was ever sharp. Prac- tically indestructible. Handsome and handy. The world changed its mind about the mechanical pencil. A The Dew WAAL ERSHARP PERFECTED Wabi Eversharp and Wahi Pen wood pencil in a man’s pocket begins to appear odd. Today, the new, perfected Ever- sharp is tapidly adding to the twenty million present Ever- sharp users. It does not clog or jam. Re- loads in a second. Is made with the precision of a watch, There is an Eversharp fitted to be your companion in success. Perhaps an Eversharp in work- ing togs at $1 or less. Or prob- ably a gold-filled or sterling model—harmonizing with your watch and other personal articles — $3 to $6. Out of all the Eversharps priced up to $45, one is certain to be your pencil. Thirty thousand Eversharp dealers are ready to help you select. Several are conveniently near. Made in U. 8. A. by THE WAHL CO., Chicago Made in Canada by THE WAHL CO., Led., Toronto Prices same in Canada as in U. S, ——a ROD ae a | Models AB) for every need VERT PE) 50F to 8G Also made in solid gold This mode! $5 April 25,1925 | Gold or silver filled or sterling $3 10 Also made in solid gold This model $8 Wear-proof — unbreakable and an Ivory-smooth Point The barrel of a self-filling penisnot tiful metal barrel of the Wah! Pen an ink fount, but a case to hold the nib and sac whic supply. protect the soft rubber ink 1 actually contains the ink The barrel should be stout and long wearing like a watch case. Taking another suggestion from the watchmaker, the pen barrel and cap should be gold or silver. For beauty aside, what other materials are so enduring and satisfactory? The thin, strong walls of the beau- allow space for a much larger ink sac. Ink capacity is far greater than in the ordinary fountain pen. The nibs of Wahl Pens are the finest product of the jeweler’s art. Their iridium tipped points are ivory-smooth. And no nib in the world will outwear them. Your dealer can show you a Wahl Pen to match your Eversharp. Carry both and be sure you are right in your writing equipment. Share HARP | hee an Vt Ad Red Top Lead: are the smoothest quality wfect in size, and eonomical, Made in Jack (7 grades), ved, blue, green, yellow, purble copying, At all dealers’ \EVE \ ne WAAL PEN

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ata (Continued from Page 138) Martin Fogg was smiling dangerously across the table. Sir Matthew, for a mo- ment, was silent. There were two courses open to him—to compromise with this man who had already confessed to his abomi- nable a. or by one bold stroke to close his mouth. He decided suddenly upon the latter course. He drew himself a little more upright in his chair. His man- ner stiffened. He became the man of affairs whose integrity has been questioned but whose position is above calumny. “Mr. Fogg,” he said, “I might rey well order you to leave the room and deal with you publicly next time we meet. I might, if I chose, on the strength of your own ad- mission, hand you over to the police. I prefer to do nothing of the sort. You have stumbled upon a mare’s-nest. The Nyasa shares are duly deposited at my bank in my name and are a tangible and very valuable security. Do me the favor to call at this office tomorrow at the same time and I will show you the receipt from my bank. Will that satisfy you?” Martin Fogg was to all appearance taken by surprise. “Certainly it would satisfy me,” he ac- knowledged; ‘‘but I rather fancy, Sir Matthew, that you’re what they call put- ing up a bluff on me. To tell you the truth, I don’t ever expect to see that receipt.” Sir Matthew struck the bell. “Tomorrow at the same time,” he di- rected. “‘That ends our business for today, Mr. Fogg. Good afternoon.” “Now!” Gilbert Channay shouted. “Hard over and lean against the tiller! Mind your head!”’ The girl obeyed, and their flying race with the broken seas, south of the western sand banks, was brought to an abrupt termination. Channay busied himself for a moment with the ropes. The sails swung across. A shower of spray drenched them and every plank in the boat seemed for a moment to shiver and tremble. Man and girl leaned heavily over; Channay with the rope wound around his arm, the girl with the tiller pressed home by her firm, capable brown hands. One more cloud of spray and the boat righted itself. They were stand- ing inland now, the sun in their eyes and the wind almost fair. Channay fastened the sail and turned toward his companion. “We shall make the creek this tack,” he said. “Just about time too. The tide’s on the ebb and you can hear what the wind’s doing outside the banks. Port, just a trifle. Keep the church tower over the east end of the harbor.” The girl obeyed without comment. Her whole attention seemed engrossed by her task. Her lips were parted, her eyes filled with a sort of subdued joy of the sunshine, the exhilarating motion, the excitement. Channay, kneeling down in the bows, shouted instructions without glancing once in her direction. The final effort she made on her own, sweeping round the buoy which marked the entrance to the creek, skillfully avoiding the spot where a swirl of waters marked a sunken ridge of sand and bringing the littie craft at last into the sheltered side of the inlet. Channay hastily let down the sails and took out the pole. “Good work!” he exclaimed briefly. “Sorry about our fishing though.” The girl smiled for the first time. The shadows had gone from under her eyes dur- ing the past few weeks. The pallor of her cheeks had given way to a distinct tan. “The sailing was better,” she said. “‘The only pity was that it didn’t last long enough.” “We stayed out quite as long as was wise,” Channay remarked, looking sea- ward. “The weather’s set fair enough, but a west wind as strong as this in these broken-up seas keeps one busy. Do you know that we nearly capsized that Tast beat but one?” The girl nodded indifferently. “Tt wouldn’t have mattered, would it?” she asked. “I was getting ready to slip off my skirt. I suppose you can swim?” “After a fashion,” he admitted. “T’m rather good,” she confided. “I won prizes when I was at school. . . . There’s the faithful Parsons looking out for you.” “You will come in and funch?” he in- vited. She shook her head. “I’ve brought my sandwiches.” “They must be wet through,” he re- joined impatiently. She opened the little wicker basket and looked inside ruefully. “Soaked!” she admitted. joke poling this eb hey were fast against the side in a mo- ment or two. The girl he village irresolutely. “TI think I'll go back,” she said tenta- bie “You'll do nothing of the sort,”” Chan- nay insisted. “Your father left you in charge and you know that you haven’t once crossed my threshold. Parsons, tell pom wife that there will be one extra for uncheon. . . . This way, Miss Fogg.” The girl followed him after a moment’s hesitation. “T’m in a wild state of disorder,” she re- marked, “but — pretty much. the same, aren’t 4 “Worse! But what does it matter?” They threw off their oilskins and Chan- nay mixed cocktails. The girl only sipped hers, but accepted a cigarette. “One feels almost dazed with the quiet- nese of it all,” she , leaning back a little lazily in her seat. ‘‘Is it going to get rougher outside, a ty think?” e shook his head. “The sea is going down already,” he told her, “and the wind is dropping every mo- ment. We can sail again after lunch if you like. There might be some mackerel later on.” “T think I have had enough for one day,” the girl replied. ‘Besides, I ought to do some work.” They lunched in the pleasant little dining room, with the thunder of the sea still in their ears through the wide-flung window. Channay, who was not yet accustomed to the propinquity of women, and who had never been able to break through his habit of reticence even with this unusually silent, somewhat ous daughter of his new partner, nevertheless did his duty as host, trying all the time to make genial conversa- tion and more than ever disposed to won- der at the reserves which seemed part of the girl’s nature. If she had enthusiasms she kept them to herself. Even her tastes were hard to . She baffled him by her noncommittal replies to his questions, in- spiring in him a curiosity which he found no means of gratifying. Only when she — of her future was she inclined to be exp icit “Tl am quite sure,” she confided, “that my father has spent more than he can afford on my education, and I am deter- mined, whatever way I can manage it, to be a working woman of some sort or another. I should like to get on a woman's paper if I can. They say I have some sort of a trick of writing.” “Have you had anything published?" he asked. “Some little things, not worth mention- ing,”’ she told him. ‘‘Couldn’t we take our coffee out on that seat? It seems a pity to miss the sunshine even for a moment.” He acquiesced at once. They found a spot in the corner of the walled garden where they sat with their backs to the wind, the perfume of roses all around them, and a vista of the marshland and the sea beyond through the opening. The girl curled herself up with a little sigh of con- tent. “You shouldn’t have shown me this place,” she told him. “I shall probably monopolize it.” “You will always be welcome,” he as- sured her. “Rubbish !"”’ she answered bluntly. “ You know perfectly well that I shan’t. I believe you consider me rather.a nuisance even now. I'm thinking of going back to town tomorrow if father doesn’t turn up.” He was in no hurry to contradict her; more interested, perhaps, in the genesis of the feeling which had prompted her impa- tient words. Leaning back upon the seat, she reminded him of the first moment he had seen her. There was in her broad sensi- tive face, with its clear skin, soft brown eyes and tremulous mouth, something half insolent, half querulous; suggestions, per- haps, of a generous and frank nature which had more than once been worsted in the small skirmishes of life. He was in a languid frame of mind, however, and he cena } al- most at once from his brief impulse of psychological speculation toward a more ma- terial and certainly more human apprecia- tion of those ‘ul lines of her strong young body which had first appealed to him when he had seen her seated upon his boat. She would make a fine subject for a scul tor, he decided, with her slender yet swell- ing hips, her long graceful arms with their THE SATURDAY EVENING POST on of power, her sin waistless " A daughter of Martin Fogs! She was certainly a curious freak of heredity. 2 ® ought. “A gentleman has called to see you, sir,” he announced. Channay rose slowly to his feet. He was surprised to find the interruption so unwel- come, “Who is it, Parsons?” he in “Sir Matthew Baynes, he his name pr sir. He has left his motor car over at the gate.” Giibert Channay woke from the stu of the scented , the caress of the wind and the warm amongst the ugly but — places of his life. His excuses to his companion were a mono- syllabic as he rose to his feet and followed Parsons into the study where his visitor waited “God bless my soul! So it’s you at last, Channay! Well, well! And I meant to be around to welcome you out. A dinner at the Café Royal, eh? A celebration of some sort! The folk up there cheated us all.” Sir Matthew's line of action had long ago been decided upon. In his check knicker- bocker suit, rele wreathed in smiles, ee appearance t a prosperous tourist, expression one of exuberant geniality, he stood with both hands outstretched toward the slim, portentous figure of the man who was slowly closing the door behind him. The sun and the wind had triumphed over the pallor of emmys: fy ce; but the stern light was in eyes, and in that upward curve of his lips there was something menacing and pathetic. He waved his visitor back to his seat and contented himself with a little nod. “So it’s you, Baynes, is it?’’ he remarked. “T thought I might be seeing something of you before long. Sir Matthew laughed exuberantly. “‘ My dear fellow,” he said, “even a pros- perous city man can find plenty of use for a matter of —what is it?—thirty thousand pounds. I’m not going to grumble, Chan- nay. I’m too glad to see you out and look- ing yourself again; but it wasn’t necessary 2 us waiting so long, was it? If ‘ ad that money, say, two ago, could have trebled it. Tosa have had your share too.” “No doubt,” Gilbert Channay observed politely. “ But tell me—exactly what thirty thousand pounds are you referring to?” ‘My share in the winding > the syn- dicate,”” was the confident reply. Gilbert Channay opened his pocketbook and produced a certain memorandum of agreement. He spread it out-—it was rather a crumpled little document—and held it toward his visitor. “Recognize your signature, Baynes?"’ he asked, The arrogant good humor passed almost at once from the man’s face. One became conscious of the drawn look about his eyes, the loose inconsequence of his mouth. “Channay, where did you get that?” he gasped. “Does it matter?”’ the other asked, fold- ing it up and restoring it to his pocketbook. “f have it and I understand. Isn't that sufficient?”’ “Pressure was put upon me,”’ Baynes fal- tered—‘‘great pressure. I started to come and shake hands with you in the dock— I did, indeed. My sympathies were with you all the time.” “To precisely the same extent,”’ Chan- nay observed, ‘“‘my sympathies are with you now, when I tell you that your thirty thousand pounds, or whatever your share in the Nyasa mine might have been, is for- feited. You know very well that the funds of the syndicate stood in my name and my name only, That is an old story. You know very well that no one else can touch them. You've thrashed that out whilst I was in jail. Well, in consequence of this precious document, I have confiscated the lot. I haven’t a penny for you; and,” Channa added significantly, “you are not a wel- come visitor here, Sir Matthew Baynes.” The latter showed intention of starting an argument, hough a fit of terror was already = him, “You're in honor bound, Channay ——"’ he ba , and no further “ 't men the word ‘honor’ to me, you swine,” Channay interrupted. ‘Get (Continued on Page 145) Change to | Gas Heating Dirt and trouble in heat- ing your home are needless. Constant attention can be eliminated. For a good gas- fired heating plant requires— not even a glance for weeks at a time! Day and night the temper- ature will be kept at the exact degree you wish. You need not even turn the gas up or down—the automatic control takes care of that, without a thought of attention. Get the facts and figures of installing gas heating in your home, Write for booklet. THE BRYANT HEATER & MPG. CO. 953 E. 72nd Se. Cleveland, Ohio Branches in Principal Cities

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(Continued from Page 143) out of my house as quickly as you can and thank Providence that you are an elderly man and very much out of condition.” Sir Matthew dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. He did not resemble in the least the bland and urbane city gentleman whose speeches in the House were models of discretion and competence, and who looked so entirely the right man in the right place at the head of the long table in the board room in Gracechurch Street. *‘Channay,’’ he begged, ‘‘you’ve got to listen to me. I never dreamed of this. I al- ways looked upon that thirty thousand paves worth of Nyasa shares as an abso- ute asset. Things haven’t gone so well the past two years. I made a lot the year before that, but it’s been a struggle lately. Those shares figure in the balance sheet of one of my companies as an asset.” “Do they?”’ Channay observed indiffer- ently. ‘Your finance was always a little daring.” “IT was hard pressed and I had to put them in,” Baynes continued. “I believed that you would share up as soon as you were free. They are among the assets of my East African Exploration Company. With- out them I should have had to show a con- siderable loss the last half year. I couldn’t afford to do it, Channay—I couldn’t, in- deed.” “You amuse me slightly,” Channay ad- mitted, seating himself on the edge of his writing table. ‘“‘Otherwise I am not inter- ested.” “But you must listen,’’ Baynes went on. “T am already in some trouble about the affair, A little scrub of a fellow came ask- ing questions at the last meeting; insisted upon an auditor’s or a banker’s certificate for the existence of the shares. I must have them, Channay—1I must, indeed.” “You never will from me,” was the firm reply. Sir Matthew looked about him helplessly. There was something extraordinarily un- compromising about the slim, cynical figure of the man who had once seemed to all of them the soul of generosity; the man with the mind of an eagle and the brain of a Rothschild. “Channay,” Baynes pleaded, “listen to me. The world doesn’t guess it—not a soul in the City knows—but I’m up against it. A single word, a whisper about one of my companies, and I should be face to face with absolute disaster. Every one of them has had to be bolstered up more or less.” “Financial disaster?” “And worse,”” Baynes groaned—“ worse than that. I spoke of that little scrub of a fellow— Martin Fogg, his name was. He absolutely hectored me at the last meeting. He attacked the auditors first, and then me, about the existence of these Nyasa shares. The auditors were friendly but they have their own position to think of. They replied at once that the shares were in the balance sheet upon my personal guaranty of their existence. Then he turned to me. I assured him that they were at the bank. For the first time in my life my word was not accepted. I was obliged to ask him to come and visit me at my office.” “Persistent little fellow, Martin Foggy,” Channay observed. “You know him?” Baynes asked, with sudden suspicion. “Quite well,” Gilbert Channay admitted. “‘He’s not much of a correspondent though. What happened at his visit to you?”’ “T had nothing to show him in the way of documents,” Baynes replied. “I tried to compromise and failed. He admitted that he was out to blackmail me, but I couldn't find his price. I changed my tactics. I of- fered to show him the bank receipt for the shares on the next day.” “And did you?” Channay inquired. i Yes.” Gilbert Channay smiled. “How did you induce the bank to sign a fictitious document?” he demanded. “T didn’t,” Baynes replied hoarsely. “I got a sheet of the bank’s notepaper, typed THE SATURDAY the receipt and forged the name of the man- ager. Now you know the truth, Channay. Now you know how I stand. You see, | must either have those shares or go under.” The man’s face was pitiable; gone all its complacency, its smug air of well-being and prosperity, There was a curious twitch of the mouth as he had spoken the last few words, a frightened look in his eyes, a livid tch underneath them. He was face to ace with the hell of his class, the end of everything—ruin, irretrievable disgrace. He rub! his hands nervously together. “You see, Channay?” he asked. “You understand?” “Perfectly,” was the prompt assent. “It has always nm an interesting problem to me how you City men could be so shrewd, yet behave so absolutely like simpletons at times. You say that Fogg was blackmailing you. Well, you'll have to pay his price, whatever it is.” “You won’t let me down, Channay!”’ Baynes gasped. “‘I’ll—I’ll make it up to you. I haven't a penny in the world I can touch just now, but if I can keep going for another month or two I've got the flotation of a big new aay aya There will be hun- dreds of thousands in it.” “Don’t be such a fool,” Channay scoffed. “You call yourself a shrewd man, and yet you waste your time coming down here and appealing to me, remembering your signa- ture of that document, and knowing all the time the sort of man I am. Martin Fogg is my creature. His one object was to lure you into some such indiscretion as you have committed. He’ll have called at your bank- er’s with that document before you get home and have circularized your sharehold- ers before tomorrow. I wonder if they'll send you to the same prison,” he went on musingly. “T was comfortable, you know, in a way. The diet’s a little restricted and you’ll miss your champagne at first, I may come to the trial. But I can promise you, Sir Matthew Baynes, I shan’t come over and shake hands with you.” Baynes sat quite silent for several mo- ments. He seemed to have become smaller. He had the air, indeed, of a man threatened with a stroke. His lips moved again in that ugly fashion, but he said nothing. Then he groped for his hat. “You're hard, Channay,” he muttered as he found it and staggered to his feet. _ “Not hard,” Channay replied; “only just.” Sir Matthew Baynes walked down the narrow dike path to his car with stumbling footsteps and unseeing eyes. Gilbert Chan- nay returned to the sheltered little corner in the garden, to meet with what he swiftly recognized was a grievous disappointment. The same perfume was being shaken from the roses by even a gentler breath of the slackening west wind, the sun was pouring down into his corner, but the seat was va- cant. He strolled back at once to the little lawn in front of the Grange. About a hun- dred yards away, in the center of the marshes, Martin Fogg’s daughter was seated upon a little mound of green moss, putting on her shoes and stockings. With- out a doubt she had waded through the creek and was taking the circuitous but fascinating way back to the village. He stood and watched her gloomily. When she | rose she raised her hand in what might have been a gesture of farewell, a little abrupt, certainly perfunctory. He made no effort | to return it, but watched her disappear, | walking, sure-footed, around the pools and bog holes, pausing every now and then to gather a handful of wild lavender. She was gone—for the day, at any rate. There was no surety even of seeing her on the morrow. | Channay turned back to his empty study. | The glow of somber triumph with which he had concluded his interview with his former confederate had passed. Solitude had lost its charm. An unusual sense of loneliness oppressed him. Editor’s Note—This is the third of a series of stories by Mr. Oppenheim. The next will appear in an early issue. 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Pat. Jame 13,°22; Jan. 29,'24; Aug. 26,'24, Reg. U. 8. Pat. Off. THE SATURDAY Spur lie all tied Jor you Here is the patented H-shaped Innerform, the You can arrange the Spur Tie just as if you had tied it yourself, The H shaped innerform keeps it from wrinkling, rolling or cxrling. Spur Ties keep the shape you secret of the Spur Tie, give them and up This is the re End style of Spur Tie. Other styles ave shown in the pictures below. Who first tried this tied tie? HAT'S easy. Smart young fellows whe dress smartly adopted the Spur Tie as soon as it was born, as the smartest, neatest style of bow tie ever tied. Who wears Spur Ties now? That's harder, because millions of men, young and who look young, wear the Spur Tie now. You can’t tell who they are be- cause you don’t know the trick. Here it is. Look for the smart, prettily patterned silk bow ties that look most like hand-tied ties. Those are Spurs. The patented H-shaped Innerform makes the Spur Tie !ook more like a hand- tied tie than a hand-tied tie. Look for it on counters of smart shops for men. You will know that you are getting the patented H-shaped Innerform when the red Spur label is on the back of the tie you try. If you don’t see what you want, write us. End Style ‘Tie o Spur nerform for it in the tie you buy Ac the right is shown the Spur Dress Tie, in bluck for wear with the dinner jacket. Ic is also made in white for wear with swallowtail coats. The Spur Dress Tie is made with a silk band It is the one dress tie that does not roll, wrinkle or curl. eS “ss Hewes & POTTER, BOSTON, MASS. Pacific Coast Office, 120 Battery Street, San Francisco, Cal. Makers of Spur Sport Stripes for Hat Bands, Spur Belts, Spur Garters, and Spur Safety Signals | school, | leas and inscrutable, slender and adroit. | Though Vernon did not know what Tom | “Why the deuce should I be? Shown at your left is | the French- Pointed | you mean—hit?” | restively. | it,” said Tom, EVENING POST April 25,1925 MUCH TOO CLEVER (Continued from Page 9) Vernon found him. Tom could say the strangest things with a perfectly straight, almost m ul face. “* Er—does what?” asked Vernon. Tom smiled faintly and looked at Vernon with dee , unblinking eyes. Always, always since they were in Tom was a puzzle to Vernon, rest- meant, Tom always had a reason for everything he said, which suddenly made its A 5 gun nee, you weren 't looking at your com- plexion then,” said Tom. “ Well, well, only think of that!” “Of course I wasn’t!” re replied Vernon. Here, what are you laughing at?” Tom seated himself carefully in a leather armchair, reached toward a table for a match and lighted a cigarette, and answered in a half-grave, half-bantering way. “I’m a philosopher,” he said, “and I’m laughing at the agra € of humani not at you particularly, vy th , but at all of us. It’s a wild, Socratic laugh, because I feel rather wild myself saniaie. Don’t mind me—please don’t mind.” “T don’t,” said Vernon. “I’m used to having you laugh at me, you know Vernon paused and frowned perplenedly and sighed. “Tom,” thing?” Puffing comfortably at his cigarette, leaning far back in his chair, Tom Rogers considered Vernon's request judicially, and finally rubbed his slender hands. “ All right,” he answered; “fire away.” Despite the encouragement, however, he said, “will you tell me some- | Vernon appeared to have difficulty in framing his oar | at Tom’s bri | thin inscrutable features; restlessly, almost He looked restlessly ht motionless eyes and at his with apprehension. “Fire away,” repeated Tom. “If it’s | anything about yourself I can tell you the | whole story, right from A to the funny little sign at the end of the letters, my boy. | think sometimes I know you better than | I know myself. Fi “T sup ’ sighed Vernon. “You pon rl suppose. Tom, am I very stupid? Naturally, 1 know I’m not par- ticularly bright, but am I very stupid?” Vernon might have known that Tom Rogers would do something queer. Instead of answering directly like a normal man, he raised his thin dark eyebrows and placed the tips of his long fingers one against the other. “So that’s the way it blows, ” he said. “So that’s the way it blows.” “What blows?” stammered Vernon. “What the dickens do you mean?” “Sit down,” said Tom Rogers, looking thoughtfully around the noisy, smoky room. “Sit down quietly. You've come to the right man, my boy. I'll keep your se- cret safe.” “Who said anything about a secret?” demanded Vernon, reaching for a chair. ‘Tom, honestly I think you might say | = straight sometimes. There isn’t any secret “Isn’t there?” Tom smiled faintly. “Well, perhaps you're right. ‘Secret’ is not | the word, I’ve seen these things too often, and the signs don’t change. First, you come to a dance, and I know you don’t like dances; and then what do I find you doing? Look- ing at yourself in a mirror like a leading man at a matinée! And then what do you do?”" Tom's smile grew broader as he watched Vernon's furrowed face. “You ask me if you're stupid—not ordinarily stupid, but very. Now listen carefully. Here's the important part.” He brought his hand down softly on Vernon’s knee. “When anyone acts like that, he’s hit!” “Hit!” ejaculated Vernon. “How do And he moved his feet “IT mean there’s a girl at the bottom of “I know the signs. Come on; who is she?” Vernon = his hand across his fore- head nerv “Look here," * he said, “I didn’t say any- thing —— Tom Rogers laughed noiselessly. “There you go,” he said, “ust ‘the way eo always do. Come out of it now! I’ve nown you long enough to guess a thing or two. Tell me who she is.’ “You needn’t be so all-fired bright about it,” said Vernon, “because I was going to tel you anyway. Don’t I always tell you hing? know you do,” agreed Tom kindly. “And I’m always right beside you; you know that. Come now, here we are right in _— where no one’s going to hear Vernon looked very uncomfortable and > his hands aimlessly into his dinner conrghe, ” he began—“she —— Oh, what's the use? I know it’s all foolishness, just the —- it always is when women get into th in "Exactly so, ” agreed Tom; “exactly so.’ “When I see her,” continued Vernon, ny feel like a monkey on a stick.” Tom nodded in sympathetic acquiescence, “ And I kee wondering what made me—what the devil should have made me. She’s all covered with powder and has on a different dress every minute. I don’t even understand half what she says. You know the way the weer ones are. She “ ht just as wel be a gs sometimes. e might -—— oung, you say?” Tom sat up straight in his ro. 5 meet her?” “Don’t talk so loud,” begged Vernon. “TI met her at one of these dinners last week, They put me next her, and I don’t know what happened, but there’s some- thing about her—something about her ——-”’ “Yes, yes,” said Tom; “but who is she? Is she here now?” Vernon nodded gloomily. “Oh, I know what you're goin why don’t I go and dance with her’ her? don’t know any of the things she ae - not even the names—that’s why. And when I try to talk to her, there just doesn’t seem to be anything to talk about. I don’t know—when I see her I can’t think of any- thing. What had I better do? Tom, you always give me good advice.” Vernon stopped path woh and sighed again. “There,” he added, “I Fn you "d laugh; but it’s not funny. Maybe you'd laugh the other way if you only knew her.” Tom Rogers whistled softly and stepped on the - tegr end of his cigarette. “You've told me everything,” he said, ““except who she is.’ Vernon hesitated and cleared his throat. Something between them seemed strained and not exactly normal. “You won't believe it,” he explained. “You'll laugh when you hear it. I don’t know her first name. She just said ‘Call me Bunny.’” “Bunny!” Vernon noted that his com- panion gave a slight start, though he never thought of it until it was too late to think. “Not Bunny Jennings?” “Here,” cried Vernon wonderingly, “do you know her too?” The color in Tom’s face had altered. He bent down to light a second cigarette and —— a box of matches. , | know her,” he said. Only later did Vernet remember how clumsily Tom groped for the matches on the floor and what a long time he needed to recover them. “Of course I know her. She's staying at the Winslow Smiths’, isn’t she?—for the week, isn’t she? Yes, I know her, and I know the -— you feel now-—exactly the way you feel. “What?” said Vernon. know that?” “Never mind how,” said Tom hastily; “except I know. Well, how far have you gone?”’ “How—how do you mean?” asked Ver- non uncertainly. “T mean, what have you done about it? naturally. Haven’t you made love to her? Haven't you said anything?” “What?” Vernon felt his forehead grow moist. “ Made love to her? Why, I hardly know her; and besides —— “Well, you better,” answered Tom in- cisively; ‘right now—tonight. That’s my advice. She's only c- to be here a few days more, and wit modern girls—well, you've got to show ‘em.’ “Show ’em what?” Vernon i op me uired un- certainly, for he felt beyond his depths. “Why, show ’em you're interested, nat- urally.” ‘Tom leaned closer to Vernon and watched him very closely. “If I were you I'd go and find ber now and walk with her —well, to the jumps out in the exercise (Continued on Page 149) “How young? Where’d you “How do you

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(Continued from Page 146) field. That’s a good place. And I’d tell her how you felt about her—artistically, of course, and then—well”—Tom smiled en- Nat dare should kiss her.” cil “ef Are her!”’ breathed Vernon. you ?” “T should kiss her,” repeated Tom firmly. “Don’t interrupt! I know you've never done such a thing, and you’re shocked; but now’s the time to rise above yourself. That’s my advice. It’s the way you've got to act to make any impression. Come on, pull yourself together!” “Look here,”’ gasped Vernon, “you know I’m no good at that sort of thing. You know it, Tom! I couldn’t—not right off.” For a second Tom did not reply, and Vernon gripped hard at the arms of his chair. Tom was looking beyond him, star- ing intently at the blank wall. “Vernon,” he said at length, “I really think you’d better—right away.” “But why?’’ Vernon was an awkward, desperate spectacle. “‘What do you take me for, man—a Don Juan? I can’t do things like that, you know. I never even would think of it! I wouldn’t know what to say! I wouldn’t —— 4g “Just the same’’—the other’s voice so altered that Vernon opened his eyes wide— “you'd better.” “But why?” Vernon repeated. “Why on earth?” “Because”’—though the noise in the room was too great for anyone to hear, Tom lowered his voice—‘“‘ because, I may as well tell you, I’m going to do it myself.” ““You—you are!”’ Vernon started out of his chair. “Not so loud,” cautioned Tom. ‘“Let’s not make a show, I wish it wasn’t you and me; but here we are, both of us monkeys on sticks, as you put it—you and me, my boy. It’s what I was afraid of —just that. Do = happen to know she likes you?”’ “What?” gasped Vernon. ‘What's that?” “Isn’t that like you?” rejoined Tom. “Of course you wouldn’t know, but she does. You've done something or other—I don’t know what. Now don’t say I’m not playing straight. She likes you already, and I’m giving you first chance, which everybody wouldn’t. Her name’s not Bunny. It's Susan, if it helps you any—and it’s you or me, right now, tonight. Go up and find her, Vernon, and remember what I said.” “Now?” groaned Vernon. “Look here, Tom, you can’t mean it. I—I don’t seem to get it straight. You want me to go first? I—I hardly know her!” “Neither do I,” Tom answered. “Can't wewait?” pleaded Vernon. “Why right off? It’s—it’s ——” In his perturbation he could not think of a * m He was too dumfounded to think at all. “Do what you like,” replied Tom. “I’m simply giving you every chance, even to telling you she likes you. She was just saying, to look at you, she’d know you were the hardest rider in the bunch. Think of that! Are you going?” Vernon’s sporting blood caused him to pull a coin from his pocket. _ “T’ll match you,” he suggested, ‘‘to see who goes first.” “No”—Tom shook his head deci- sively —“‘I’d feel better about it if you went. I always would. It'll be a real favor. I’m willing to wait.” Vernon pulled at his tie, stared at Tom Rogers pitifully and extended his broad palm. “ Anyway Tom the best man win.” “Yes,”’ said Tom Rogers, ‘‘ may the best man win; and, Vernon— Vernon, I wish it wasn’t you and me.” Was it contrition which made Tom Rog- ers frown as he watched Vernon’s retreat- ing back? Was it contrition which made him make a half-hearted move to follow? It probably was not; for, as Vernon walked up the stairs—one step, two steps, with a steady dogged motion—Tom murmured something to himself. “She'll never guess,” he said in a scarcely a i\dible voice; ‘‘she’ll never guess. How could she?”’ ile AT of wild music greeted Vernon as he got upstairs. It occurred to him that the music grew wilder every year, and, with the music, that everything else as- sumed a proportionate wildness. The main room of the club, where he had often dozed of a quiet afternoon, was like some alien ” ’ he said brokenly, “may transplanted scene, with black coats and violently colored dresses gyrating in dis- order. There was the odor of the dance everywhere—a close warm smell like a box of heated talcum —which sent his memory back to the times when he on the polished oe genuinely tried to ex oor. “Oh, Lord!” groaned Vernon; but only his lips moved and anything he might have said or thought was lost in a frantic blast of saxophones. Bunny was dancing in a corner. Vernon had discovered that she always chose the corners. A slim, loose-jointed adolescent had his arm wrapped about her bare white back and her nose was buried deep in the young man’s coat. “Oh, Lord!” groaned Vernon. “I guess 2 aS He paused, clutched by a horrid diffi- dence. The r a of her twinkling ankles, the glimpse of her shining yellow head, made him feel how completely beyond him she was and how desperate task. She saw him, though he could not tell how, for all that he could see was her blue dress, her slender shoulders and the back of her head. She saw him, even as he paused and hesitated; and he knew it was too late to tenes — ae, for a stopped and dis- engag' erself from her partner’s grasp with the adroitness of a sda fighter slip- ping from a clinch. “Hello, old dear!” called Bunny. Old dear she had said, and there he was and there she was. Her arms were raised toward him, but he was very clumsy, and motion and speech fled from him like soureying wi things before a sudden light. Though he did not touch her, he could feel her body swaying with the dance like a of the absurd music that filtered through is brain. She was like the music, myste- rious and alluring, filled with a life that was like all his wildest wishes and unchained thoughts. She was smiling, just as she had smiled when he saw her first, slowly, invit- ingly, and her wide gray eyes were both dimly soft and gay, now light, now dark, as if their color gained reflection from some light that burned within her. “T’m glad it’s you, old dear,” she said. “T felt a tingling in my spine. I knew it must be you.” “‘In—in your spine?”’ The light came into her eyes and she seemed to be all light, soft and white and warm. Her cheeks glowed with it and seemed to give a hallowed sound to all she said, so that even a startlingly frank dis- cussion of anatomy—nothing was out of place. “Aren't you just excruciating?” said Bunny. “When your back’s turned, don’t you feel things in your spine? I do. M spine crept up and down, all queer, and know something heavy’s coming when my spine does that.” “Heavy?” Vernon repeated slowly. “How do you mean—heavy?”’ ‘“Why, the heavy ones and the light ones, of course.” Bunny gave a merry little laugh that set his heart to beating. “The cases, of course; and you're pretty heavy, you know, and ——” Though he could not understand a word, he knew that she was surprisingly confi- dential. “Aren’t you heavy? I don’t know as I mind,”’ she said. What was he to say and how was he to say it? Vernon’s tongue stumbled clumsily and halted in its duty. “Well,” said Bunny, ‘‘come on!” “Don’t make me,” said Vernon. “I can’t i“ these things. Let’s—let’s go out- side. “Aren't you excruciating!’ exclaimed Bunny. “Don’t frighten me! I thought you were going to ask me something hard, I'll get a coat. Wait for me at the door.” Outside Sg _ as walked down : narrow path, she passed her arm throug his. Though he knew it was only confiding friendliness, the gesture made speech more difficult. She seemed to expect him to say something, but he could only wonder how he could make a beginning and reach an end all in a short half hour. “You are an old dear, you know,” said Bunny. “Well, start in.” Vernon’s arm grew tense. “What?” he asked. “What?” “Start in,” she said, turning her face innocently toward him in the half light. “When you take someone outdoors, don’t ‘ou talk? Where’s your line? You must ve some sort of a line. Won’t you say something, or shall I begin?” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “T guess”—to Vernon his voice was like a stranger’s—‘‘you’d better.” “Aren't you just excruciating?” said Bunny. “But I think you’re awfully nice, You're so nice and quiet. I like quiet men, and you’re so restful that it’s lovely. I al- ways feel so rested when I’m with you. I know all about you, you know, and I feel I know all about you, which means a whole “T guess,”’ said Vernon sadly, “nearly big feels that way.” “Oh-h!” said Bunny. “How simply extravagant! I just knew you'd say some- thinglikethat. Youareanolddear. You're so and safe—and—and gentle.” Vernon bit his lip. After he had tried franti for days to be something en- tirely different, ‘calm and safe and gentle” was the summary of his achievement— hardly more than a cold, insipid negative. If that was the extent of his best endeavor a or Figs: have happened if he had not “That’s the only thing I can’t under- stand,” she was saying. ‘How can you be so calm when everybody says you're pent tively reckless riding across country? I always thought I'd be afraid of anyone like ‘ou. “T’m not so calm,” replied Vernon; “in tects th — i uiet? Are 7 at why you're so t worried about CB icerbinde £ amie “No,” said Vernon, “not about tomor- “I'm so excited, I'd just love to see you even the least bit reckless.” now please say somet nice, "t you —you be now?” “Now?” Vernon , “ Now? ” “At least ht like me, a a “Yes,” said Vernon, “I like you. Of course I like you.” He paused to steel him- who knew about such id you had to show ’em. A I like you— much,” “There!” said Bunny. “ knew you did the very first time I saw you; but it’s much nicer to have bay it. It’s so sort of nice and comf 4 “Oh, Lord!” Vernon. had through the gates of the exercise field and were standing near the jumps, and from the lighted wi of the clubhouse the music sounded very faint ond whet aid 7” exclaimed the girl “ ‘ou ” e beside him. erhbsed ,’ said Vernon; “nothing— like me. Most girls don't. get on with girls. Someone said women are like horses, but they’re not. aa ‘re just—I don’t know what they're Sag “But you know what I’m like,” Bunn sted. “You've seen a lot of me ail week. She looked up at him again, and he could see her smile, so sweetly, so confidingly, that his, ebbed to nothing. Tom R would Cie said something then which was apt and to the point. Vernon knew he would have; but, personally, he could think of nothing. A panic of inde- cision made him stare fearfully into the k. “Aren’t we a little far from things?” said Bunny finally. ‘Hadn't we better be getting back?” Vernon felt the coldness of despair. “No,” he said hastily; “‘no, not yet!” “TI don’t mind, if you don’t.” Bunny fone her head. “But you seem awfully 0: ” “Oh, no!” cried Vernon, ‘Please don’t think that! I’m not bored! I'm only ———”’ “Only what?”’ “Never mind,” said Vernon, and clenched his teeth. . He had to do something. He thought of Tom, and he knew that time was flying and that he was no nearer than when jhe had started. Filled with this sickenin realization, he watched her move towar one of the jumping standards and look up at the row of rails. It was like taking a jump, a final terrible jump, from a bad take-off onto unknown ground. “Oh-h!" she said. “Isn’t it high! Could you jump a horse over that?” “Yes,” said Vernon; “of course I could.” ! “But isn’t it hard?” She dropped his arm and stood looking up at him. 149 “No”’—for a casual statement, Vernon’s voice was unnecessarily harsh—“it isn’t hard if—if you throw your heart over.” “Throw your heart!” She gave a littie unsuspectin “ae which stopped in mid- career. “Oh! at—what ——~”’ Vernon had done it. Vernon had rushed the jump. He had thrown his arms around her blindly and had kissed her fair and square with conscientious thoroughness, and all his heart was in it. His arms were still around her, and he could feel her tremble beneath her soft woolen coat, and he bent again and kissed her. “Oh!” she gasped. “Let me go!” “Bunny -———” began Vernon, but his voice quivered with a horrid premonition. “Let me _ she cried angrily. “ think you'd do such a thing! To think it!" It occurred to Vernon that she cou!d not be more surprised at his actions than he was himself. He his arme in duil Sis sy tee a and pa a air. Pg an 6 asked, ‘did you do that?” 1t was the voice of reason speaking, cold and limpid as the Pierian spring, and it re- mained for Vernon to the worst which was what he did. “Oh, did you?” she answered icily. Where were romance and then? To call grap wher wiehed Wa Yen poses ot pan a 0 a ee eed nk me—that I’m someone you can take outdoors and kiss, just like that—-like that! Don’t say any more. I’m going back now.” “No! No!” cried Vernon my grr “TI didn't think that! I swear | didn’t! Please listen! I never did anything like that before!" “So you start in on me!" she answered ; and in his wretchednessa, every word was like a lash. “Why do you make me feel cheaper after you've acted as h—as though ———- Don't say any “But I only wanted to show you I cared!" pleaded Vernon. “And I didn’t have any time—and ——” Vernon’s voice grew louder, desperate, and his brow was moist from the ¢ fingers of oe. $ Don't!” he cried. “You mustn’t go like that!” She was walking away from him as he spoke, but all at once she stopped and turned, and her answer came to him through the dark like a cold projectile: “Don't ony yon careforme! | know how you care! How you were so perf common? His whole soul seethed hopelessly for ex- ion. He was wrenched by the injus- tice of it, and his face was drawn and pale. “No!” she cried chokingly. “Don’t come with me! I can find my way back alone, thank you!” Then, inexplicably, indignation burned through his bewilderment like fire through smoke. “See here,” he demanded, “what's the use in eens oe though you've never been kissed bef It was like him—right to the very end he said the worst thing possible, For a second time she turned squarely on him, ac quickly that he started. “Be quiet, you inexpressible idiot!" she d. iv HAT was all there was—no more, no less. White of face, with set sy Ver- non entered the room e the lockers, ulling savagely at his collar with trembling Seaare Tom was waiting just where Vernon had left him, Vernon could perceive only a mee change in the scenery. fom had drawn the table nearer and upon it was a bottle and two glasses. As Ver- non’s eye lighted on the bottle he stalked toward it and seized its neck igen ony “Help yourself,” said Tom, ng his eyebrows in wordless interrogation. There was no need for Tom to speak, for he surely must have known. Vernon’s hand trembled so that the bottle shook, and the look he bent on Tom was almost savage. “Would you mind telling me,” he in- quired, “why aay go me up to a thing like that? You knew I couldn't do it, Tom! I say you knew I couldn’t!”’ “Don’t make such a noise, Vernon,” cautioned Tom. ‘‘What on earth did you do?” Vernon raised a glass four fingers full of an amber fluid and gulped at it recklessly. (Continued on Page i&3)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 ~ Now Have THE SUPERLATIVE THRILL OF RADIO’S The supreme in a phonograph ~- 222 2 music you want when you want —Both in a single instrument ERS IL SEERSERE SSS Elisabeth Reshioerg, Soprano, § THE BRUNSWICK RADIOLA scientifically Metropolitan Opera Company, i New Hall of Fam | ¥ unites the reproductive mastery of the Brunswick Phonograph with the Radiola of the Radio Corporation of America, thus offering the supreme in a phono- graph with the greatest achievements in radio—in one instrument. ERE is an instrument that will change your viewpoint of life. That will provide you with a diversity of enter- tainment unknown before. adiola No. 160 , Ry . Branevich Reticle Nei's At a simple turn of a lever it is the greatest radio known to man... and the easiest to operate. At another turn, it is the supreme in a phonograph. etree se ss _ } There is nothing in thrills that it will not bring you. ‘+. te i a ae - - Nothing in the recorded music of all time that it will deny 5 i. ve ‘his og RE Te you or your children, a te oe eo Oe: Consider what that means to you. The events of the world are yours . . . clearly, amazingly brought into your home. , The music of the world is yours—everything from the enticing melody of an Al Jolson song to the current operatic achieve- ments of famous artists of the New Hall of Fame. There is no season of the year when it will not entertain you, for the numerous sending stations installed everywhere make radio almost as much a summer possibility as the phonograph. Remember—Brunswick now offers the choice of two supreme musical instru- ments: the Brunswick Phonograph alone without radio, and the Brunswick Radi- fm ola, which is a phonograph and a radio ine! ccenabll sien iam i P in one. Convenient terms of payment SLL cC ec crzmnETressnu ¥ at all Brunswick dealers’. Brunswick Radiola No. 360 © B. B.C. Co 1925

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to give you the it, all year around of exquisite beauty ! Thus all things and everything musical, educational and culturally broadening are combined in one. * i * * * The Brunswick Radiola is a new idea and a new achieve- ment in a musical instrument. It is the joint attainment of the Radio Corporation of America, to whom radio’s outstanding achievements are traced, and of Brunswick, an outstanding leader in phono- graphic reproduction. Designed and built as a scientific unit, it is not comparable with any so-called “combination"’ phonograph and radio. The world-noted Brunswick Method of Reproduction, embody- ing exclusive features in the reproduction of music, and which upset all previously conceived ideals of tonal beauty and musical quality, has been subsidized to do for radio that which it did for phonographic music. * * * * * Mechanically, it is so far past the experimental stage that you can obtain one with positive assurance of lasting plea- sure through the years to come. As a piece of furniture, it admits no rival among modern- day interpretations of the most beautiful in the furniture designs of the ages. Prices as low as $170 Some styles embody the Radiola Super-Heterodyne, others the Radiola Regenoflex, others the Radiola No. 3 and No. 3A. All are obtainable on surprisingly liberal terms of payment. For a demonstration, call on any Brunswick dealer. THE BRUNSWICK-BALKE-COLLENDER CO. Manufacturers—Established 1845 General Offices: CHICAGO ‘%& Branches in all principal cities New York Office : 799 Seventh Avenue THE SATURDAY EVENING POST on) { ‘ Nat AS: a’) Mae oa i AON Usual record album space behind this door \ Leven mm / transforms Phonograpl: to radio by simple turn “(Rie covering all wood oval tone amplifier Drawer contaning RADIOLA Super Hirthoovnt panel ‘The Sign of Musical Prestige e PHONOGRAPHS + RECORDS +: RADIOLAS be : ye e 3 Brunswick Radiola No, 460 The Brunswick Radiola Super-Heterodyne —some remarkable features 1 Requires no outside antenna~—ne ground wires. You can move it from room to room—plays wherever you place it. 2 Amazing selectivity permitting you to pick out instantly what you want to hear~and “cut out’ what you don’t. Consider what this means in big centers, 2, Combines the superlative in radio ~ with the superlative in phonographic reproduction—a phonograph and a radio in one,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 A two-tone figured finish, one of many obtainable with white- lead and flatting oil. A ground coat of one color and a finish- ing coat of another color are applied. By rolling a crumpled newspaper over the second coat while still wet, you get a design that you can be sure is dis- tinctive. “Interior finishes once , found only in the houses of the rich ~ Now made available for every home by white-lead and flatting oil HEN great-grandfather was a boy, the interior beauty and charm of American homes were due in large measure to the beautiful and artis tic woodwork finishes. These handsome woodwork finishes, built up with as many as five or six paint coats, were used generally throughout Colonial mansions. You may have seen and admired these rich, velvety finishes in reproductions of Colonial houses and in the finest modern homes. But these finishes were expensive and took a long rime to put on. Up to a short time ago such interior paint finishes were a luxury that only the wealthy could afford. Burt there is available today for interiors of homes everywhere a flat paint finish that is similar in beauty and durability to the old rubbed-down finish, his flat finish is easier to apply than the rubbed-down finish, much more eco- nomical (because fewer coats and less labor are required) and very durable. Not only for woodwork but for the paint- ing of walls this finish is ideal. With if many very beautiful and distinctive effects can easily be obtained, among them two-tone figured finishes, like the one shown above, two-tone mottled effects, two-tone glaze and Tiffany finishes. What paint to use Dutch Boy white-lead and Dutch Boy Hatting oil make this new flat paint. The pigment ingredient is Dutch Boy white lead, made from the metal, lead. Dutch Boy white-lead is the highest grade white-lead obtainable. Mixed in the right proportions with Dutch Boy farting oil, it makes a paint that can be quickly applied, and that produces a finish absolutely free from brush marks, laps or streaks. This paint makes a tena- cious, durable, moisture-proof film that really becomes part of the covered surface. This film can be cleaned easily with soap and water without any harm to the paint. Experts help to select colors Dutch Boy flatting oil and Dutch Boy white-lead can be tinted to the shade or tint that will harmonize perfectly with your furnishings and draperies. National Lead Company, maintains a Department of Decoration made up of experts who will gladly give advice on the proper selection of the colors for in- teriors of new houses or old. These men can also tell you about distinctive fin- ishes and give you formulas for obtaining these finishes. Address your inquiries to Department of Decoration in care of the nearest of the branch offices listed below. Send for free booklet We will gladly send you actual, painted samples of the two-tone figured finish, and a new booklet, “Painting— Protective and Decorative.”” This booklet tells what paint is, what paint does and why paint protects the surface. It contains color plates of interiors and exteriors and also of interesting and unusual artistic wall finishes that can be obtained with paint. Both the booklet and the samples are free. In addition to Dutch Boy white-lead and flatting oil, National Lead Company makes lead products for practically every purpose to which lead can be put in art, industry and daily life. If you desire spe- cific information about any use of lead, write to our nearest branch. NATIONAL LEAD COMPANY New York. 111 Broadway; Boston, 131 State St.; Buffalo, 116 Oak St; Chicago, 900 West 18th St.; Cincinnati, 659 Freeman Ave.; Cleveland, 820 West Superior Ave.; St. Louis, 722 Chestnut St.; San Francisco, 485 California St.; Pittsburgh, National Lead & Oi! Co. of Pa., 316 Fourth Avenue; Philadelphia, John T. Lewis & Bros. Co., 437 Chestnut St. The figure of the Dutch Boy Painter shown here ia repro duced on every keg of Dutch Bo white lead and is a guarantee of exceptional purity.

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} (Continued from Page 149) He drank very seldom, and the spirits only intensified the blackness of his mood and stung his lacerated pride. “Leave me alone,” he said shortly. Tom looked at him stubbornly and rubbed his chin. “Better take another,” he suggested. “T’ll leave the bottle. I know it won’t help; but, Vernon, I’m awfully sorry.” “Are you?” said Vernon with a queer rising inflection. His face was unattrac- tively flushed and his hair disheveled, and even his single drink appeared to thicken his speech. ‘Are you? Then leave me alone—that’s all.” When Vernon finished the contents of his third glass he p his hand un- steadily through his hair. He had taken more than he had meant to take from the bottle on the table, as he could tell from a sensation of general numbness and from a recession of feeling in his hands and feet; but instead of helping matters it made them worse. He was shaken with the force that only people know who are unable to express a hurt, but can only wall it up alive. he room seemed small to Vernon, and finally so close and cloying that he rose, collided with a chair, tripped against an- other, and then walked very carefully until he found himself outdoors, Outside, he leaned a while against the white clapboards of the clubhouse. The moon was rising through an autumn mist that blanketed the woods and fields, covering everything, the whole world, the universe, with its cold white light. Down a little slope, a hundred yards away, he could see the place he had quitted growing clearer as he watched, and it made his spirit writhe. He could see something moving in the exercise field. Vernon shook his head and blinked his eyes. How it happened he could not tell, but everything assumed a different aspect as he looked, leaving him no longer sorry for himself, but suddenly ashamed and angry. “Tom Rogers can wrap you and post you any time—and he knows it, Vernon.” He seemed to hear his mother’s voice mingling tauntingly with the music behind him: “Just suppose there was a girl, and just suppose you and Tom ——— What would happen then? .. . Very stupid, dear. Very stupid. Very stupid.’ In the depths of his despair he had a flash of intuition, as clear and bright as the moonbeams, which made him swing back on his heels. “Very stupid — very stupid—very stupid, dear.”’ It was a part of the music, jigging monotonously with the dance. From the clubhouse it mocked him in muffled voices and laughter. The numbness was leaving him from the very strength of his revelation, and his head was as clear as a bell. It was one of those uncanny bursts of intelligence which come when least expected, without logic or effort. “Confound him!” “He put me up to it! on purpose!”’ He saw it all. He remembered his moth- er’s words and Tom’s words, and every- thing inside him seemed to clash and jar like breaking china. Though he knew he had taken too much to drink, he did not stop, and he could not have stopped if he’d tried. The sounds from the club, the contents of the bottle, all beclouded his reason and forced his mind into a single burning path where consequences meant nothing. They saw him in the moonlight stum- bling across the turf, but Vernon saw Bunny and Tom Rogers first. “Oh!” cried Bunny. If he had not seen he would have known from her voice; and what Vernon had seen set all the fiends of jealousy at work. Tom Rogers had been kissing Bunny right where he had tried, with a grace enn fhe omb for- ever beyond Vernon. Tom had done for him deliberately. Vernon knew it then, just as surely as he knew his name. “Don’t mind me,” said Vernon. “Go right ahead. I'm watching how it’s done.” “Heaven help us!’’ exclaimed Tom in polite surprise. “‘What have you been do- ing, Vernon? What ———” “Thinking,” said Vernon, moving to- ward him. “That's all—just thinking.” “Drinking, you mean,’’ Tom retorted poy sagm “What is it now? Do you want me to take you home?”’ “Thinking, I told you,” retorted Vernon obstinately, “‘you-—you infernal shyster!”’ “Here now!” cried Tom. It was acting. Vernon could swear it was a “What ov ou calling me names for? Don’t you thin wy muttered Vernon. He put me up to it “I don’t think!’’ cried Vernon. ‘‘I know! I know you didn’t act like a friend to me Lanier, Tom. You scored me off like a— ike a ——”” “Go on,” said Tom. “Don’t get excited. Go on. I don’t know what on earth you’re driving at, but get it off your mind.” Suddenly Vernon stopped. Tom was looking at him in bewilderment and sur- prise, and Bunny was looking at him, He could see her standing motionless in the half light. “Go on,” Tom had said, but how could he go on? It would only be worse if he did. It was contrary to all! his upbring- ing to come running up with alibis, and she would not believe o No one would be- lieve him. She would never know. She would never understand. What had hap- pened was between Tom and him, inca- able of all expression, and Vernon knew om knew it. He could tell by Tom’s look as he stood hesitating. He was as helpless as though he was gagged and tied—or wrapped and posted. “Tt’s nothing,” he said with difficulty; “nothing. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I meant to say. I can’t say it.” He knew that every word he said made matters worse, that everything was hope- less, beyond recall, Though anger surged inside of him, he could only stand quite still. Yet they were waiting for him to say something more, for neither of them spoke. He turned slowly toward Bunny and raised his hand to his head. “Won't you wait till tomorrow?” he said. ‘I’m better on a horse.” And then he looked at her in dull sur- prise, Until he had spoken he was not aware that he was ridiculous: but she was laughing as though he had said something amusing, and Tom also was laughing. “There, there!"’ said Tom indulgently. “Of course you are. Now just keep outside in the o air till I get Bunny back, and then we'll go on home.” “Very stupid.”” He seemed to hear his mother’s voice again. ‘‘ Very stupid, dear.” He stood alone in the exercise field with clenched fists and set face, lost in the knowl- edge of failure. He seemed to be standing away from himself, surveying the poor wreck that was his identity, scrutinizing his blunders, railing at his mumbled words. He could see her, though she was lost in the dark, and he could hear her voice, as un- attainable as the past. How could he tell her? He knew he could not. She would never—no one would ever understand. The branches in a tree above him moved fitfully in the wind in futile swaying monotony against the white light of the moon. “She'll never speak to me again,”’ he murmured, ‘Never now!” Vv EVERTHELESS, Vernon was mis- taken, for, after all, Bunny did speak to him again. The day after, just before the horses were brought up, she spoke to him as he stood on the clubhouse veranda quite alone, looking at the fields. She came so quickly around a corner that he did not see her in time to get away, and they were face to face before he knew it; and to make it worse, she st 3 “Oh!” she said, and that was all. In- stead of moving on, she looked curiously at his Norfolk jacket and his stained whipceord breeches. There was a pause, and Vernon felt his face flush scarlet, an eloquent silence of reproaches and regrets. She was in her riding habit, with her hair clubbed and tied with ribbon in a way that gave her an air of guilelessness, and her face seemed free from all anger and reproach. Yet she must have remembered, just as Vernon remembered. “Don’t be so ridiculous!” she said. “Can’t you even be polite? Don’t you know everyone's talking already?” Vernon placed his hand on the veranda rail and leaned against it so hard that his knuckles grew white. “Talking? he repeated after her. “What about?” “You silly!” exclaimed Bunny. ‘About you and me, of course!” “Good Lord!” groaned Vernon. “I didn’t say anything!” ‘ She moved her shoulders impatiently, and then sighed, but not with any great sadness, “Don’t you know by this time the less you say the worse? Everybody knows that something’s happened, and it’s always harder on the girl.” “Tt isn’t,” said Vernon, looking across the fields. “It’s harder on the man if the man’s like me,” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Frantically, desperately, he wished that she would leave him, for the sight of her = him a sensation akin to way pain. iverything was starting all over again. Her eyes were just the same, wide and pro- voking, making his spirit waver and grow weak. “You know you behaved outrageously last night,”’ she said. “Yes,” said Vernon dully, “I know.” “Well, haven’t you anything to say?” Vernon drew a sharp tortured breath. “No,” he answered. “I’m sorry, but what’s the use in saying it? I know what ae must think of me, and I can’t undo at.” She smiled very faintly but not unkindly. “How do you know?” she asked. “What's the use in making it worse?” demanded Vernon desperately. of the running. Let’s let it go at that, Of course I know what any girl would think ———” “Do you?” said Bunny. “Do you?” It was all beyond Vernon, why she was there or what she meant, Was she trying to be kind, he wondered, or was she simply there to laugh at him? From the way she spoke, they might a have been friends, which made it wholly inexplicable. “Don’t be so cross,” she said, “and spoil all day.” here,” said Vernon in sudden amazement, ‘‘aren’t you angry?” And her answer was still more amazing, for it seemed to have no relation to any- thing which had ‘ “Why, no!” she said. “Why should I be, now that you've been so nice?” “Nice?” gasped Vernon, “Why, I haven't been nice at all!” “Oh, yes, you have,” said Bunny. She paused and looked beyond him down “I'm out. | the veranda, but Vernon did not follow her | glance. He was trying to solve some riddle of his own; yet even as he tried his heart | was beating faster. He leaned toward her, and she looked up at him. “Bunny,” he began —‘“‘ Bunny —— “There,” said Bunny gently, “it’s much nicer now, isn’t it? I’m glad we're not angry any more; and remember --you said you were better on a horse.” She must have known what she was doing. Delicately, with self-possession, she must have started what she did with a woman's eye for trouble. She must have seen Tom Rogers, but Vernon did not know Tom had arrived until he heard his voice behind him, “Better on a_ horse?” “What's that?” ” said Vernon turned and faced him, staring | Tom. | hard at Tom's pink coat and shining boots. | “Better on a horse,” “You heard.” “Who?” asked Tom. “You?” “Yes,”’ said Vernon, “me.” “There now,” said Bunny, “youshouldn't have listened. I've got to be going.” Tom and Vernon stood eying “4.4 other. More people were coming outside, and he said coldly. | more. Horses were being led up the drive | and grooms were tightening girths. “T heard her, Vernon,” said Tom; “I | heard her.” “What of it?” asked Vernon shortly. “Are you better?” “At any rate,” said Tom, “I’m not afraid.” “ Afraid ——-” Vernon’s voice choked and he lost com- | mand of all coherent speech. Whatever bonds of friendship might have held them snapped like tautened ropes. One might have thought they had never known each other except in a hostile way, as they stood watching each other with a conscious masklike calm. The calls, the baying of the hounds—all the noises which usher in a hunt were growing louder. The green be- fore them was dotted with people and the pack was out, a restless noisy party-colored blanket, surging around the whip. “You say I’m afraid again,” said Vernon in a low strangled tone, “and I’ll break your neck!” Tom’s eyes narrowed and he nodded a polite assent. “T supposed,” he said, ‘you'd arrive at that. ut not here, my boy, not here. You're too much of a gentleman in the first place. In the second, you don’t want to be asked to leave the club. Let’s not say afraid then. Perhaps it isn’t the word— ‘nervous.’ Let’s put it that way—just nervous. Steady, Vernon! be polite now. Everybody can see us.” ernon could only glare at him help- lessly, with glowing eyes and twitching It’s better to | equipment in the filling them built. against no load—stop on one filling of oil. experience. CURTIS STYLE V Two-stage Outfit, Sizes 3-4 t0 2 1 P, Automatic Starter, CURTIS FEATURES saves oil. Fan flywheel hel spitting of oil w Jobbers, 1676 Kienlen A CURTIS PNEUMATIC Loin tne we Send full particulars on items checked LJ ark COMPRESSORS Name Address Jobber’s Nase Address The Filling Sta- tion Man is Busy His jobis selling. He can’t afford to spend time as a repair mechanic. Therefore, the air compressor, the air stands and other be carefully selected with a view of minimizing the attendant’s attention. 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REACH COMPANY Werld's Foremost Makers of Quality Athietic Goods Tulip and Palmer Streets PHILADELPHIA Brantford, Ont., Canada Pacific Coast Representative Phil B, Bekeart Co., San Francisco an ihccrsse! book ieee comty vining rules and play ing (otmt- ere of Baseball, Football, Basket hall, Golf, Teneia, Rowtng, ote Ask your dealer for lecest catalog, or write us THE SATURDAY lips. Again he had the feeling that he was tied an , and powerless against an invisible strength ond his own. | “The clever ones,” his mind kept saying, “will you in the end.” en I think,” he muttered hoarsely, “I ever thought you were a friend of mine A dull flush mantled Tom’s lean face, | and he interrupted Vernon before he could finish. “Vernon,” he said, “did it ever occur to rou that everything's fair in love and war?” le stepped toward Vernon, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. “Vernon,” he added—“ Vernon, won't you leave her alone? I don’t like what I'm doing, Vernon; but —Lord help me, I can't stop now!” For a moment they stared at each other | in a strange sort of understanding. For a | moment, as their eyes met, each saw through the other’s barrier of reserve and manners as clearly as men can ever see. “If you'd told me first,” said Vernon | simply, “I wouldn't have minded, Tom.” | He paused, but the other did not speak. “Go ahead,” he added, “and play your gene: I can stand it if you can, Tom. I'll watching now.’ He turned away ped el bs steps and | Tom walked down beside h “You always were a straight shooter,” | said Tom sadly. “Vernon, I wish it wasn’t you,’ “Don’t mind me,” said Vernon with a pale, set face. ‘Look out for yourself | that’s all!” ” wi HERE was no doubt they both could ride. To see them in the saddle before | they moved off was enough to prove it, for they were both a part of their horses, and pos § motion of their hands and bodies blended with the gliding of the muscles be- | neath them. Vernon, the heavier of the two, | astride a dark broad-chested bay with a roached mane and plucked tail, lost every atom of his awkwardness. The slope of Vernon's shoulders assumed an unsus- pected grace, and as his horse tossed his head Vernon's hand moved adroitly on the snaffle and quieted him by its touch. Tom was on a horse of a more delicate nervous strain, which reared and capered as he mounted, but Tom did not even bother to check his horse. Already he had seen Bunny a few yards off, also mounted, and watching them both with an innocent smile. “It's you, Bunny,” Vernon heard him say. “You've got us both upset, and you always will.” He heard her laugh softly, but he did not hear her answer, except the very end. “Here he is now,” she said. It seemed to Vernon that Tom had for- gotten everything, for he waved to Vernon cheerfully. “A handsome man on a handsome horse,” he said. “Treat him gently, Vernon.” Vernon gathered Fis reins and moved nearer without replying. He felt that Tom was watching him; he felt that Tom had some idea which was turning swiftly in his mind, and it gave Vernon an uncanny sense of suspense that was almost like dread. In spite of the brightness of the sun, he felt uncomfortable and cold. “Oh,” said Bunny, “I think he’s a lovely horse.”” And ‘Tom looked at Vernon sharply. “Do you like him?” Momentarily Ver- | non forgot his cares in his own enthusiasm. | “His name’s Vesuvius, and he’ll go at any- thin if | ask him. He always will.” hat’s right,” agreed Tom; “he'll go at anything if Vernon asks him. It isn’t every horse, you know, that trusts the judgment | of a man,” No matter what the gossip had been be- | fore, everyone knew that noon that some- —_ was wrene barnes Tom and Vernon. people watched them ride side by side rw began to whisper and to look dubious. It was not because they were in the front of the run, for they were always there; but, after all, it was only a drag hunt they were riding in, and not a steeplechase, and their riding was not friendly riding. They went from field to field like riders in a con- test, though no one could tell what the contest was. Though Tom laughed some- times and spoke to Vernon in low tones, Vernon’s face was drawn and set, and he never said a word. Both of them took (net they had no business to take, First ernon would take the lead and then Tom, deliberately choosing ground where no one would follow. They seemed to be showing | off, Thy! not showing off. The stragglers, | riding through gates and along the roads, | wondered; and the harder riders, even the EVENING POST younger — _ wondering what they were tryin ekion hen os was the only one who knew exactly, and perhaps he had planned be- forehand, for he accomplished what he wanted in the end. Though their mounts were seasoned hunters, they began to tire. Their sides began to reek with sweat and their necks were in a lather. Vernon’s Vesuvius : to be blown, for he was ones we but Tom’s horse kept besite | Sng exactly where Tom can him to keep. It cap. pear in a piece of marshy country ing was very hea where t The head of the fiel swung aroun sharply, in fact had almost doubled back, so that the leaders and the tail enders came ther. The sun was growing lower and it dazzled eng a eyes, but Tom was close beside im. “You've tried to jump me off all day, haven't you?” said “Well, you can’t do that, my boy.” Vernon turned a dust-streaked face to- ward him. “And you've tried too,”’ he called, “and you can’t either.” “Can’t1?” answered Tom. “ Well, here’s where you catch it—wait!” Vernon's hand tightened instinctively on his rein. They were pounding through a marshy bit of meadow. The mud was spat- tering their coats. Tom moved so close to Vernon that their knees touched. “There's a jump for you!” he said. Vernon knew the country, and he had seen it before. They were nearing a dike- like barrier separating two pastures. It was built of loose stones and broken fencing, with a scattering of willow shrubs growing among it. It was a formidable obstacle, made more formidable by a shallow puddle of water which lay before it, against which the sun struck hard and slanting. Vernon reined up and unconsciously shoo his head. Already the field was passing them, seeking for some gap, and Tom was laughing softly. “What are you waiting for?” he said. “Are you nervous about a little thing like that?” Only afterward Vernon ies athe that Tom did not speak loud enough for anyone to hear, but then he did not think. On his left, not thirty yards away, he saw Bunny riding toward them, and s e was watching. He felt that everyone was watching, and drew a deep breath. “Come on,” he said, “I’m not keeping you!” And from the corner of his eye he saw Tom urge his horse forward. Vernon pressed Vesuvius with his knees and loosened his rein, and Vesuvius knew the signal. Though Vernon knew the jump was difficult at best, even for an unwearied horse, without sun ‘and mud to bother, he did not stop, for his blood was running too high to think of stopping. He made for the diagonally and straight into the sun. tis orse set himself and sprang blindly as Vernon leaned forward. From the very instant they started Ver- non knew it was all wrong. In the moment he was in the air all his instinct told him. In the next instant he was struggling blindly in a mass of broken rails to get clear of his horse’s hoofs. He pulled himself clear, got painfully to his feet and reached for his bridle. Dimly he saw men dismounting and hurrying toward him. “You idiot!”” came a voice beside him. “You jumped right in the sun! Vernon pulled at his bridle, but Vesuvius only struggled without being ‘able to rise. “You've done it this time! You've smashed your horse’s leg, my boy. You knew he couldn’t see Dazed and shaken as Vernon was, he knew the voice, and turned savagely around with his hand still on the bridle of his floundering horse. Half a dozen people had already gathered around him. e saw Bunny had dismounted. He - ht sight of a groom and of several er men. Hurrying toward him was old “Me Hugh Pendleton, the master of the hunt. “What's all this vgn g **heshouted. Vernon, however, scarcely heard him, for he felt a hand on his arm. Bom Rogers was standing at his elbow. “You've done for him, Vernon,” said Tom. “You m Vernon rai his fist. “You infernal quitter!” he shouted so loud that everyone could hear. “Why did you let me go alone? Why didn’t you come too ? ” ht as well have shot him.” a muddy arm and shook April 25,1925 “Here,” said Tom pently, “don’t lose your temper in front o body because you acted like an idiot! What! ’s got into 1 today? Of course I didn’t follow you. don’t jump anything I can’t see.” “You backed out on me, you mean,” cried Vernon hoarsely. “You quit! I don’t care who hears me! Let go of my arm! I say you quit!” r. Pendleton moved forward hastily, pulling at his white mustache. “Stop talking like that, and mind your manners, Bradley,” he said. ‘I’ve had my eye on you. Anyone would have known the jump was impossible. He called to you to stop!” “He—what?”’ wide staring eyes. “Be quiet,” said Mr. Pendleton, “and try to behave like a gentleman.” And suddenly Vernon was very quiet, for suddenly he knew exactly what Tom had done. Tom had maneuvered him there as a general might maneuver troops. He had sent him flying off his horse where everyone could see. He had made him do a piece of riding which was close to insanity, where everyone could watch. Again he was like a criminal where everything he said would be used against him, and he had said enough already. ‘Haven't you the decency to be polite anyone who helps you up?” It was Pendleton still speaking. “Shake hands with Rogers and tell him you're sorry.’ “That’s all right. Don’t worry him, Mr. Pendleton.” ‘Tom came to Vernon’s de- fense at once. “Of course he’s sorry. No- body means what they say after a fall like that. Let’s be thankful he didn’t kill himself, and let it go.” It was a time for a cooler head than Ver- non’s, a time for diplomacy and tact; but the edge of Vernon’s nerves was frayed and his soul was black with hate. All his ideas of etiquette and sportsmanship fled from him, all his ideas of fitness and breeding left him to his fate. “Confound you!” he cried. “I’m not sorry, and I’ll show you I’m not if I ever see you alone!” And Vernon turned his back to them and bent over Vesuvius’ head. “T guess.”’ said Tom, “under the circum- stances, we'd better be going on. Bunny, will you ride with me a while? I’ve had about enough today.” “The clever ones will get you in the end.” Vernon seemed to hear his mother’s voice as he listened to the agonized hreathing of the animal beside him. ‘In the end they'll — a fool of you, and make you play the shouted Vernon with vir ERNON knew he was done for. As he rode toward the club on a groom's horse he was able to see himself as others saw him. His face worked painfully, not from his bruises and contusions, but from laceration of the spirit. He shivered as he felt the chill that came with the waning sun, for it was like the chillness of his soul, and all the while his thoughts moved back and forth in painful, ~——, rhythm. Tom Rogers had got him just as his mother had said. He could not speak or object, but could only bear in silence the injury heaped upon him. “She'll never understand,” he to the silence about him. ever understand.” For what was he to tell her? What con- tradiction could he ever give to what she had seen and heard, when Tom had moved him step by step, like another Iago with another Moor of Venice? He could see himself as she would see him, as everyone would see him, ill-tempered, boorish in an accident which was all his fault, devoid even of the rudiments of sportsmanship just what Tom had made him, as though the last night was not enough. He was afraid of Tom, afraid of some strength that was beyond him. He was humbled, and he bowed his head. Muddy, ns ina and ee Vernon climbed the clubhouse steps. He hoped he would see no one who would ask him ques- tions, for the thought of what everyone must be saying of him was a torment. It was growing dusk when he arrived, and the gloom was friendly, for he hoped that he could 0 coat and hat and leave without a word to anyone and without a sight of anyone; but his hope was denied him. Just as he descended the veranda steps, a group of people came out the door, for it was late and time to be going home. They were laughing and talking, and as he stepped (Continued on Page 157) oaned “No girl would

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 155 BAKELITE RESISTS WATER plus ~ { heat resistance { electrical resistance { strength { permanent finish and color { light weight 1 hardness i { resistance to acid d { resistance to chemicals { resistance to warping | Under water for six months q —and still all right water — possessed by this remark- able material. R SIX MONTHS an automo- Fyite lay submerged in fifteen feet of water in an abandoned quarry. Salvaged— its starter and gen- erator, untouched, functioned perfectly in another car. But the astonishing thing about Bakelite is this—only in Bakelite can you find water resistance com- bined with a// the other proper- ties listed at the top of this page. Fishing Reel parts of molded Bakelite Ocean Crry Mrs Co Shaving Brush —transparent Bakelite handie LeoproitD AscHEer Co Bakelite, known chemically as phenol resin, was the insulating material used bythe manufacturer of this starter and generator. Each of the properties in the list above is an individual rea- son why Bakelite has been adopted by thousands of manu- facturers in hundreds of indus- tries for innumerable uses. “Little Jove’ water heater of molded Bakelite Jove Mr. Co This is just a single example of one property—resistance to Pump Valves of molded Bakelite To coiperate with any manufacturer in determining whether Bakelite can assist him in his own production problems—that is the reason for our Engineering Department. May we place it at your disposal? Send for our illustrated booklet, “The Material of a Thousand Uses” BAKELITE CORPORATION 247 Park Avenue, New York 636 West 22d St., Chicago Evinrude Motor Ignition Insulation of molded Bakelite Evinrupe Motor Co, Kelvinator automatic control switch of molded Bakelite KELVINATOR Co. Bakelite is an exclusive trade mark and can be used only on products made from materials manufactured by the Bakelite Corporation. It is the only material which may bear this famous mark of excel- lence. BAKELIT TRADE MARK REO. US. PAT OFF. THE MATERIAL OF A THOUSAND USES ®) BAKELITE is the registered trade mark for the phenol resin products manu factured under pat- ents owned by the BakeliteCorporation.

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(Continued from Page 154) aside to let them pass, he saw that Tom and Bunny were with them; and to make it worse, both Tom and Bunny stopped and let the rest move on. Vernon stood silent, with his nails biting deep into his palms, while his — strove for some expression. It was the last weight on his tautened nerves, and he knew in some instinctive way that Tom knew it, though it was hard to see him in the dim light. Tom had stopped with deliberate intent. Vernon could feel his intent, just as Bunny had said she could feel things in the spine. The knowledge that Tom had not finished with him sent Vernon's pu running in wild dizzy tumult, and om he could do noth- ing but stand still and listen. “‘So there you are!” exclaimed Tom, and Vernon knew that he was acting, that x word was balanced and calculated. Tom voice was as kind and andy as if nee ing had happened. “Well, it’s time you got back, isn’t it? I was just getting ready to go out and find you, wasn’t I, Bunny?” As Tom turned toward her ‘Vernon trem- bled and struggled for self-control. He knew it was a time to be calm, but he hated Tom’s look, hated the sound of Tom’s voice, with its gentle possessive inflection. “Thanks,” Vernon answered shortly; “thanks—you're more than kind.” ““Nonsense!”’ replied Tom. “I oughtn’t to have left you anyway. I wouldn’t have except you didn’t seem to want me.” Though the duplicity of it was like a blow, Vernon had to keep his peace. For a moment he glared at Tom uncertainly and then turned silently away. “What?” cried Tom in polite and hurt surprise. ‘‘You’re not going? Well, better luck next time. I'll see see you—won ’t I2— when we start tomorrow. From the tranquil way Tom spoke, Ver- non knew where he —a self-convicted boor, incapable of meeting a friend’s ad- vance. Vernon did his best, but he could not speak pleasantly. It was a struggle to frame any sort of answer. “You won’t see me, Tom,” he said. “I’m through. I won’t ride tomorrow.” The three of them were standing alone in the dust. Now and then a motor would circle the drive and its headlights would pass over them, so that they saw each other first clearly then dimly; but Vernon knew Tom made the best of the light. “You won't?” said Tom slowly. “Well, I don’t know as I blame you.’ Though Vernon knew what Tom wanted, he could not stop himself. There was in- nuendo and the slightest trace of contempt in the way Tom spoke, which was too much to bear. “Tom,” cried Vernon chokingly, “what do you mean by that?” : Mean?” om raised his hand appeal- ingly. “ Vernon—Vernon, what's got into ou today? I only meant I saw you fall, and it’s the first time you ever took a bad one. Nobody’s going to blame you if you're not exactly the same after it. ii it happened to me, I know I wouldn’ t feel as keen as I used to feel eit Vernon knew where Tom was taking him, and it was a time for a cooler head. “Go on,” said Vernon ominously, “I’m listening.” * But err not an hing to go on about,” said Tom. “We've all noticed be | ve been nervous lately and —— Oh, weil —— The delicate insinuation, the lack of a word to put one’s finger on, was too much. “Get out!” said Vernon hoarsely. “Say another word and I'll throw you down the Ss t was like some horrible dream where he could see himself blundering er ges and yet could not stop. Even as he knew that Tom had arranged it all. Tom had been kind, sympathetic, conciliatory — everything he should have been; and now to cap it all, he answered in oe indignation, “Is there any good,’ he said, “to say I don’t know what you’re raving about? All right! I won’t say a f more, ex’ you to behave yourself in public. my best, but I know when to pro * That _was it—he knew exactly when to stop. Even in his anger Vvernea felt the planned exactness of every word Tom spoke. payne patiently, Tom had led Vernon on until Vernon appeared odious even to himself; but Tom ow when to stop. “Bunny, ” Tom ended, “can I take you — ait, and I'll get my car— that is, ou don’t mind waiting.” i ough Vernon did not speak, it was only too apparent why Tom had left him THE SATURDAY alone with Bunny. He could see it was a on of Tom’s schedule to leave them and et matters end, and, grudgingly, he could admire the way that Tom had done it. For what could she possibly think of. . What was there for her—for any gi girl—to do but to send him on his way? For a mo- ment they stood in a silence which was only disturbed by Vernon’s sharp breathing, for she seemed 4 no hurry to speak. “Well,” she said at length, in a low pe sionless voice, “haven’t you got anything to say?” “About what?” said Vernon, for even then he followed the habits of a lifetime and bea to delay the inevitable. “You know what about,” she said im- patiently. “Go ahead, ” said Vernon resignedly, “pitch into me. Tell me what you think. % “Can’t tell me?”’ She sounded curious rather than angry. “What's got into you to act the way you mag It isn’t like ou. At least I hope it isn o on,” said Vernen between his teeth. “He left you here to say it.” “But what is the matter?” she per- sisted, and Vernon was surprised at her eat patience. “I’m not saying anything. ’m not even angry. Can’t you tell me?” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her everything, but something forbade him; his common sense or his sense of decency — he could not tell which. “T can’t,” he said. “It wouldn’t make it - better. You wouldn't understand. You’ never understand. No girl ever would,” It was curious and - uite beyond him, for he thought she would be angry then; but instead she was only puzzled. “‘Wouldn’t I?” she said. ‘“ Wouldn’t I?” He was tired, and sore and weak, and though she was close to him, so close that he could see her clearly through the dusk, she seemed a long way off. seemed to be looking at her from a point hopelessly far away, so far that she was not even angry, so far that he was not worthy of being considered with anger. As she stood regarding him dispassionately she seemed utterly incomprehensible. As he thought of it later, it must have been her aloofness that stirred him to desperate speech. “What's the use in asking questions,” he demanded, “‘when you know everything? You're the matter—you know that.’ He never felt further from jesting, and nevertheless she smiled. “Am I?” she said. “Am I?” She paused, and Vernon found the silence disconcerting. Her impassive listlessness hurt him. It would have been much better if she were angry. “Well,” he said heavily, “I guess that’s all there is to it, except— you won't believe it. Why should you? I tried to make you like me.” “Like you? You haven’t done very well, have you?” “No,” said Vernon sadly; tried too hard.” “You know you were impossible last night, and worse today. I wonder what you'll be tomorrow.” “Yes,” said Vernon; “and I know every- one will talk about it for months, if that “T guess I EVENING POST helps you any. I know there won't be any tomorrow.” She smoothed her riding habit and patted at her hair. “And Tom ge ae 80. nicely all the time,” she sighed. A sharp intake of his breath was Vernon’s only answer. Tom's car was coming up the drive. “You know,” said Bunny , Suddenly, “sometimes you're awfully nice.’ “What ——” began Vernon in a stricken tone, and then he gave up s , for as things were quite d » and her reply was quite devoid of meaning. “So easy to un d,” said Bunny; “always so .. Don’t you ever see any- thing at all? Di spite his black despondency, Vernon felt its irony and th be ys Tom would have smiled if he h ay Tom was coming, trotting up the veranda steps whistling, and Vernon was almost glad, for at least there would be a definite ending and he would be left alone. When Tom saw Ver- non he stopped whistling and showed po- lite surprise. “What?” he said. “Are you still here?” “T'm going,” said Vernon slowly. “TI | when I’m not —— “He can wrap and post you any time,” he seemed to hi hear his mother say, “and he knows it, Vernon.” And Vernon knew, as he had for several hours, that ‘Tom did know it. The searching, sat- isfied look Tom wey him showed exactly what he knew—that the game was finished according to plan and that Vernon was fin- ished ond possible redemption. y, Bunny?” asked Tom. “The car’s here now, G night, Vernon. I hope you're feeling better in the morning."’ Then, on some sudden im oe wei out his hand. “Good n boy,” he added. “And I’m so de ly he " An uncomfortable ce ensued, for Vernon looked at Tom me did not move. “Haven't you done enough,” he said at length, “without ending off with that?” om shrugged his shoulders and turned away. “Coming, Bunny?” he asked. She made no move to go, but instead looked first at Tom and then at Vernon. “Come on,” said Tom, “‘it’s getting late, you know.”” But Bunny did not move. Her silence also was uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that Tom himself must have felt it, for his manner began to betray an- noyance. “What are you waiting for?” persisted Tom. “I'm ready.” “Yes,” said Bunny, “I know you are; but I’ve changed my mind.” “Changed your mind?” echoed Tom in astonishment. “Yes,” said Bunny sweetly, |‘ Vernon said he would take me home—and I’m go- ing back with Vernon.” hat was all she said, id, bus it was enough. Tom gave a half-repressed start. Vernon cleared his throat. ugh it was difficult to see, he could feel Tom's eyes ow him through the dark, and Tom’ s stu tion seemed to mingle with his own. thing, some unseen element had abated ORAWN By WALTER OG MANIS The Modern Poat’s Inspiration 157 into the plan of things and warped it, some- thing which was beyond them both. Ver- non knew he had never asked her, and yet she had said—she had certainly said - “What!” exclaimed Tom. “What? What's that?’ asked Vernon. But Tom was quick to recover hirnseif. He was a. very quick. “Look he said, “I don’t under- stand you, ae If on want to have by, Bee wee , all right. But why?” Iderment was so obvious that Suan tiene and as for Vernon, it was all beveed him until he heard her answer, sky. and soft, but like clear music from the em you're much too clever, Tom,” she said, That was all, but it was enough — enough for them all to understand. Tom stared at her in a startled way and Neg caught his breath. He seemed to be in some great, beautiful and unexpected light, suddenly transported from the ae of Despond up and up, where everything was right and justice held undisputed sway. Too clever oe clever—it was the last thing he had thought of; even his mother had never thought of it. It was all too clever for such as he, all so clever that he knew that Tom had never et Vernon heard him give a low exclamation and saw him poise him- self to speak. **What’s Vernon been yoy? you?” Tom demanded. “We better get this straight.” What had he been telling her? Clumsily, Vernon racked his brain, but he could not think. All he knew was that right before his eyes Bunny was throwing down Tom Rogers. She oad seen through it all—he knew and Tom knew. “He didn’t tell me anything,” said Bunny. “How could he? Of course you knew he couldn't.” “But then’’—even Tom’s skill had gone as he answered— “but then, you're just It was all too fast for Vernon. He heard ool answer lightly and it was enough for om. “Do you think I need to guess? Don't wn think I've been watching eo work? hy does any man, even the clever ones, always take it for granted a girl haan’ t any sense? Come, Vernon, let's “Bunny, ’ ” cried Tom—“ Bunny, won't you wait?’ It ee to Vernon that Tom's voice was exactly like his as they moved down _ wh 94 and Bunny did not answer. In- took his arm and held it very tight, “Hurry!” she whispered. “ Do let’s get away! lease hurry! Don’t you see | can't stand him?” Vernon did not see. It waz still all too fast for Vernon. They were walking down the drive toward the automobile shed, and she kept pulling at his sleeve. “Oh,” she sighed, “I’m awfully glad you're stupid—awfully glad!" And though Vernon was dazed and be- wildered, he, too, was glad he was stupid and yet endowed with sufficient senses to real- ize that she was beside him. “TL wish you'd tell me "began Vernon. “Oh,” she said with a little laugh, “I'm so glad you're not clever. If he hadn't kept on and on with you like a—like a mata-- dor ——— It was dreadful. And you you ‘re too nice to be clev er, Vernon dear.” “But I don’t see an Vernon again, for he had a hard time leaving any subject. “Don’t let’s talk about it,”’ aaid Bunny. “Don't you see I knew everything Tom was doing} Do let’s talk about something “But how?” said Vernon. “T know i’m siow, but won't you tell me how?" She hesitated, clung closer to his arm, and answered very softl ys “Because—because I've always liked benides u better, really, almost all the time, and Besides what?” asked Vernon. Though Vernon was always vague about it, at least he was always himself. “Oh, dear,” said Bunny, “wasn’t I just telling you? No man ean ever fool a girl unless she wants him to, and Don't you see? Don’t you see I didn’t want to 9" It must have been some involuntary re- flex motion that made Vernon put his arm about her, for he was never conscious he had done so until he saw he had done it. “Yes,” said Bunny softly, “except il “Except what?” said Vernon. “Except you never would,” said Bunny,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 Ne re-roof or remode _ hs a ; n easy payments PO GFP PIII FI GIF FA FFP FIFI FI FF FFI FIFI FI FIFI FI FF FIFI FI BEAVER PRODUCTS

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fir VALL Why put up with a leaky, shabby-looking roof another year, another month? Re-roof now— pay later—save the cost of delay! Why put off a more modern, more attractive, more convenient home, office or store, when you can remodel now and pay the convenient Beaver way— without touching savings or other investments? THE SATURDAY EVENING POST favorite roofer or carpenter—or let the contrac- tor handle the entire job. You pay in convenient monthly installments, yet the dealer and contrac- tor get their money on the completion of the job. Through this easy financing plan arranged by The Beaver Products Company, Inc., there is no red tape—the plan is amazingly simple. frROOFS Beaver has made this possible for every build- ing owner for the first time. Beaver has given to the building industry the advantages of deferred payments which have proved so convenient and so successful in the purchase of furniture, auto- mobiles, washing machines, vacuum cleaners, etc. Think again what this means to you! That new roof now—a needed addition—a garage—a sum- mer home—new beauty and convenience throughout the home or other buildings—with a small down payment and convenient monthly installments. Never before have you had such an opportunity. Mail the coupon today for full particulars. Now you can get the materials through your local dealer—have the work done by your THE BEAVER PRODUCTS CO., Inc., Buffalo, N. Y. Dealers and Contractors Home owners will be quick to see the advantage of Beaver’s new financing plan. Be the first in your city to offer it. Mail the coupon for complete particulars. & ¢? , THE BEAVER PRODUCTS COMPANY, Ine. Buffaio, New York Address Dept. A-4-2 Gentlemen: Pleese send me a complete explenation of your new ‘‘Partia! Paymert es aS Plan.’’ I am a () Homeowner C) Roofer () Carpenter [] Con- tractor [] Dealer. Yours truly, Y |Name 0 a a ee for WALLS Beaver Fibre Wall Board Beaver American Plaster Beaver Tile Board Gypsum Partition Block Beaver Plaster Wall Board Beaver Architectural and Bestwall Industrial Varnishes and City State Beaver Gypsum Lath Enemels I am particularly interested in making the improve- for ROO S ments listed below: Slate-surfaced Shingles and Slabs Slate and Smooth-surfaced to meet every requirement of Roll Roofing—in weights oe and finishes for every use Built-to-order Roofs Roof Paints and Cement color and design Special Re-roofing Shingles wre wn math a

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What's Wrong With Shorthand Secretaries say:— He talks so fast, Ul! be getting writer's clamp soon No one else can read my notes.”’ Cold noves are maddening.” Shorthand is nothing to boas? ot Swell chance of a raise, ft’ ve no time to show initiative!” I'm 16% secretary and 90% slave to my notebook.” Personal business calls always mtereupt when | am taking heration.”* Those awful waits while he chars wer the phone! Hours wasted while he's m con- ference Nothing doing until i, ind then two days work.” Yes, ' do mind staying late Mr, Dunbar's sec ’ can be a real assistant to i him now, because she } doesn't have to take his | | dictation in a shorthand \ note book —— When « theught comes to mind J can register it immediately. If 1 had to wait until my secretary was through with work which I do nor feel free to call her from, my ideas would cco} off and 1 would have to retresh my memory by re-read ing corre spondence or data "With The Dictaphone | do noe lageany of my best thinking wattiog Get my Secretary Cc. t. Danhar Double your usable time— at our expense, retary | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 r Ce BUSS CSU ee ne ” Charles E. Dunbar \ is Director of Sales for Johnson- i | Cowdin-Emmerich, Inc., largest man- i . : © ufacturers of silk ribbons in the world | Executives say :— ) (established 1884). Medals from Art | iris T ede need thee. she's Museums testify eloquently to the dis- | gone.” . », tinguished beauty of these goods. 4) What’s Wrong With Shorthand / “She's busy now. Let it go.”’ oe _ x e of “Has all she can write today.” i “T used up her time dictating.” “She can't get out all she's taken.”’ “How do I know what I said2"’ “She can't help me with other things.”’ “Forgot it before she came in." “She was out to lunch.” “If I could only dictate while it’s fresh in my mind.” “Out sick, so my letters have to wait. “ When here alone, I’m helpless.” i They faced the facts— and shorthand had to go How much more work does a man turn out with The Dictaphone than the same man shackled by the delays and mistakes inseparable from shorthand ? They were delivered by PirTy per cent. is a conservative estimate. That's apparent when you consider how neatly The Dictaphone solved the problem of C. E. Dunbar, Director of Sales for the largest silk ribbon manu- facturers in the world. Millions of dollars’ worth of sales are cleared through Mr. Dunbar's office. It would be next to impossible to direct this mass of correspondence without maximum efficiency. In addition to actual sales an enormous volume of inquiries received daily must have immediate attention. And, most impor- tant of all, Mr. Dunbar is responsible for the making of prices, directing of salesmen and seeing impor- tant customers. Saving his time, therefore, was the essence of his problem—the very problem which confronts thousands of other executives. Mr. Dunbar solved it by a natural line of reasoning which he incor- porated in the Foreword of his own official Sales Manual for Johnson-Cowdin-Emmerich :— “ Day before yesterday our great-grandfathers wrote their letters with quill pens. riders on horseback. Yesterday our grandfathers wrote their letters with steel pens. Today we do not write them at all—we talk them into a machine and twenty letters are written in less time than it took to write one yesterday.” The Dictaphone! To Mr. Dunbar it is not new. Years ago he sensed the value of The Dictaphone and lost no time in instituting a modern system in place of antiquated methods which slowed everything up. While he dictated to The Dictaphone, his secre- tary handled other vital work in the time she for- merly wasted taking his dictation in shorthand. He didn’t have to put off the bulk of his dictation until routine work was out of the way. He found that he got through the morning mail in half the time because he could answer letters on first reading. It’s obvious, of course, that since his secretary no longer wastes time in writing every letter twice— once in shorthand and once on the typewriter—she now relieves Mr. Dunbar of far more detail than was possible in the shorthand days. Isn't a man’s executive ability measured by the manner in which he delegates detail—cuts out lost motion and loose ends? Anybody who really cares to can easily find out how shorthand dictation is delaying and Book for nearest office hampering him--wasting usable time in unnecessary detail. We'll gladly lend him The DICTAPHONE SALES Dictaphone to try out at his leisure. And it won't cost him a cent or place him under any CORPORATION obligation. If you find /; indi ble we can arrange terms to suit your convenience. Phone 154 Nassau Street, New York City or write the nearest Dictaphone office to lend you a New Model 10. Look in your Telephone DICTATE to THE DICTAPAUONE and double your ability to get things done

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“Why, it never is,” said Alice. “But they have to tell you it is, otherwise you'll think the show was a failure and you wouldn’t want to go.” “This is most amazing,’ said the Mad Hatter. “T should think the proper place to buy theater tickets would be at the theater.” “You certainly are behind the times,’’ said Alice. ‘‘ I suppose you’d buy candy in a candy store, wouldn’t you?” ‘‘Why, of course. Where else?"’ ‘“‘In a cigar store, foolish! They do such a big candy busi- ness in the cigar stores nowadays that if you want to buy cigars or tobacco you have to go to a drug store.” “T never buy tobacco in a drug store,” said the Mad Hatter. “Perhaps not,” said Alice. “‘The drug store you patronize is prob- ably too busy sell- ing tdys and books to bother much with tobacco. A cousin of mine had a sad experience recently.” “What wasthat?”’ asked the Mad Hatter. “Her old mother was sick, so she went around the corner to have a prescription filled. ‘I'd like to have this filled,’ she said timidly to the young lady behind the ‘You'd better ask the jewelry counter. floorwalker,’ said the saleswoman. standing over there near the lunch counter.’ She approached the floorwalker. ‘I’d like to have this prescription filled,’ she said. ‘Go right down through the sporting-goods de- partment,’ said the floorwalker, ‘and when you reach the haberdashery department it’s the second aisle to the right.’ “My cousin followed his directions and after pushing her way through the crowded THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES (Continued from Page 36) NO HOME 15 COMPLETE witrHour THIS BEAUTIFUL LAMP AND UMBRELLA COMBINED Seno Fen Carateeue ane t “a he - gorse % 2" oie iS a+ i lll alae lol OTE SS NS, = dito. te DRAWN BY ART YOUNG Still Another Invention, or Our Own Contribution to This Inventive Age - department where they were Raving a sale of mechanical toys she found herself in front of a counter stacked with electrical “*They told me I could have this pre- scription filled,’ she said. The saleswoman gave her an amazed look and burst into laughter. of a store do you think this is?’ ‘A drug store,’ my cousin replied. ‘Sure,’ said the saleswoman, ‘but you certainly don’t ex- pect to get a prescription filled here, do you? We had to move out our prescription department a month ago to make room for this new line of electrical appliances. Here’s a swell coffee percolator I’d like to sell you ——’”’ “What happened?” said the Mad Hatter. ‘He’s Autumn, Albert, appliances. 7 Fallen arches, Prince of Wales, —Oliver Lea, “After wan- dering around the pv bane 38 said ice, “the poor child finally man- aged to have the prescription filled at a near-by laundry. But it was too late. When she arrived home her old mother was dead.” “That's a sad story,” said the Mad Hatter, wiping his eyes with his handker- chief. ‘*‘But how about that show we were going to see tonight?’’ said Alice. “*That’s so,”’ said the Mad Hatter, ‘‘What have you picked out?” ‘*Let’s go around the cor- ner to the butcher,’’ said Alice, “and see what he has tick- ets for.” —Newman Levy. The Lure of the City JACK RAB- BIT, blithe- ame and ‘pper, Was caught by a cunning trapper. Now he’s seeing the town i As a boa—marked down— On the neck of a Manhattan flapper. —Otto Freund. Famous Falls ‘Say, kid,’ she said, ‘what kind J > Roman Empire, iagara, The German mark, Humpty Dumpty, London Bridge, Fall River, ORAWN BY DONALO MC KEE Bride (to Soliciting Grocer) —""No, Thanks; We're Going to Raise All Our Own Food" Author of “Man-Size,” “The Fighting Edge,” “The Sheriff’s Son,” “A Man Four-Square”’ and other real man-sized stories of the West. The Land that Time forgot et by Edgar Rice rhe cates Soe . mous arzan stories at. his best ! Wild . ona ind. flash and l’s heart Miche walle che bee sword fights for the ‘honor of Deanna: The b a wor Tarki ooth Tarkington Those who, have chusk? “Seventeen,” “Ge of Julia” "and “ be ucaire,”’ a d fele. alt the sweep of power in? “Alice Adams” and the ‘Magnificent Ambersons” will know what to ; in this new Tarkington book. “The Two Vanrevels” and “The Quest of ear are also out this month in G & D 75c edition. WILLOW CREEK ag soma Reynolds Yi heart of a small \7 American town. It is the answer to Sinclair Lewis’ novel and shows beauty and happiness on the other side of “Main Street.” Also available in 75 cent editions: LADY by Willa Cather THE DANCERS LEGION z by Hubert Zane Parsons Grey See reverse side of any G & D wrapper for com- plete list of famous books by famous authors. are

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debts, internal and external. They seem very large. Thought of paying them is extremely disagreeable. There is the natu- ral impuise instead to reduce the external debt by propaganda. It is forgotten that what was borrowed from other countries during the war was not all delivered to the maw. Much less of it was shot away than is commenly supposed to have been the case, The rest is represented by new indus- trial equipment which not only is wealth in itself but means to the creation of fur- ther wealth, progressively. But if rs want to test it, ask any thoughtful Italian whether he would, if by wishing he could, wipe out the-war with all its consequences to Italy. He will almost certainly say no. And it is even clearer to an outsider than to him why he should say no. After the war there was much disorder of mind and function. It continued during four years and became more and more alarming as one dazed government suc- ceeded another and authority declined. One government laid its hands roughly upon capital and profits to appease the »roletariat, and industry fell into a panic. hen the proletariat laid its hands upon the factories. This was thought to be com- munism. It was not. Evidence tHat it was not is that afterward communism as such was mobbed with popular fury. What it was cannot be clearly defined. if may have been a gesture of simple rage toward the futilities of politics, the workers thinking industry was moved by its wheels, which they could turn for themselves. Nobody else appeared to have any solution and that at least was something to try. There were riots and strikes without end, and yeu would have imagined Italy was falling apart. Above the streets, among the polit- ical leaders, was the sound of violent, fatuous quarreling. They supposed. there was a political solution, and that was as childish as any idea motivating the angry proletariat. There was nothing reatly the matter except that authority was wanting. The Master Craftsman of Politics Out of al! this uproar came Benito Mus- solini, a complex phenomenon, combining in himself every idea of the monument, par- ticularly action, power and nationality. He had been thought a revolutionary. Well, what of it? Revolution is prefigured on the altar. He had a cynical philosophy, Mach- javellian, disbelieving that pure wisdom abides in the masses. But there is nothing on the altar to aay that philosophy shall be cynical or otherwise; simply, philosophy is enshrined there. He had been for gettin Italy into the war, for her own sake, anc was once arrested in the streets of Rome for saying so. But again, it is the figure of war that stands on the altar, and one may say what war one prefers. And as for politics, Mussolini, unawares, was the master crafts- man, His followers, who had been radical so- clalists, became radically conservative be- cause he knew the way to lead them. That was ali they wanted. He led them to Rome and its gates swung open, The Kin the government of Italy into his hands, and he was not in the least flattered. He, Benito Mussolini, already was the govern- ment. He had that power, and the source of his power was the will to decide, The first thing he did in Rome was to put the parliament in its place, on sufferance. He said to it, “I could have turned this gray hail into a bivouac of Fascist battal- ions.” That was a language they under- stood. He added: AN the problems of Italian life have been solved on paper. Only the will to deeds is lacking. The three principles of internal politics shall be econ- omy work, discipline.” ith that, he abolished disorder, riots and strikes. ‘He decreed work. What this meant may be indicated statistically. In the year before Mussolini the number of strikes in Italy had been 1223 and the num- ber of working days lost thereby had been more than 8,000,000, Thus production had been intetrupted. by quarreling over divi- sion, Unleas this were stopped there would soon be nothing to divide. In the year after there were only 156 strikes in Italy, and the number of working days lost was less than 260,000. He abolished politics, too, by the simple expedient of total appropriation. None but Mussolinis. One blessing that fol- lowed was that he was able to cut away gave THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FROM CESAR TO MUSSOLINI (Continued from Page 7) thousands of superfluous civil servants, thereby at one stroke reducing the govern- ment’s pay roll and causing a lot of people to go to work. Next, so far as possible, he ot the government out of business, turn- ing back to private hands various economic functions that had been wastefully per- formed under public management. What Italy needed, had always needed, was after all a thing that belonged to the past. That was an instrument of authority, one human will above the rest; and Mus- solini was its manifestation. He is perhaps a sport of the old Roman blood, running deeply through all these years. Maybe not. There was a celebrated Italian bandit of the same name, which, so far from seeming a blemish at all, gives him an extra touch of romantic luster in Italian eyes. Probably many strains of ancient Italic blood are in him. There is no doubt he comes from the deep. He knows the Italic people much bet- ter sopomety, or perhaps only more con- sciously, than they know themselves. This he proved in a theatrical manner, though with the true genius, in a recent crisis. The Withered Apple of Glory To comprehend what now occurs you must remember their background. Per- sonal glory had been always their superior nourishment, more appeasing than food, and Rome the arena in which that fickle, ravishing bauble was most free to compe- tition. Ses will see this confirmed in the ancient ruins. The pyramids were imper- sonal, but the great structures of pagan Rome were projections of the human ego. If you did not know better, you would im- agine that such colossal creations as the Caracalla Baths, the ruins of which, irre- ducible by time, are comparable only to the Garden of the Gods in Colorado, had been built by men who were fifty feet high. They may have thought they were. ot one of them, however, was interested in another's stature except as it scaled his own. Never was there any such thought among them as to render unto Cesar the things that were his. There were only two ways of the Roman ego with Cesar. One wry was to say, “I am for him,”’ which was to put one’s pri- vate seal upon him and gave one for the moment the sense of being even greater than he. The other way was to say, “I am against Cwsar,”’ with a thought to destroy him; and of course if one could do that, or lausibly imagine it in secret, one certainly elt greater than Cesar. The apple of glory is withered; the taste for it is undiminished. And the two ways of the Italian ego with Mussolini are not in fact different from the two ways of the old Roman ego with Cawsar. The first is illus- trated by the dramatic act of the venerable old sculptor who emerges from his retire- ment, saying, “‘ Mussolini is great. I am for him. Therefore I have made him immortal in marble.” Thereupon he presents a he- roic bust of the man, It is set in a public place. Huzzah! The other way is illustrated by the act of an unknown person who comes in the night and paints beneath the bust a dagger run- ning with red blood. This symbol is for all that other ego, which is saying, “I will kill Mussolini.”” Whether it is meant literally or figuratively does not matter in the least. These things occurred. The bust may have been unprompted, spontaneous in motive and origin. The dagger apparently was premeditated, for simultaneously with its appearance be- neath Mussolini's bust there was discov- ered a plot to overthrow him. His principal enemies had made a truce among them- selves in order to combine their strength and accomplish his political death. But this Cwsar, knowing his people, trusting none but himself, was greater than the sum of his enemies. First he suppressed the newspaper through which the conspir- ators erg es the mob, meaning to turn i im; then, lest his followers it ainst should have a sudden impulse to violence, he put a guard of soldiers around the prop- erty. No violence. It is not permitted. No destruction of property. Merely a hand clapped on the mouth of intrigue. So far, well. The sting of the reptile had been plucked out. There was still the heart of it to be paralyzed. Mussolini thought: “What can I do to show them once for all what lam? Shall I face my enemy's mob? No; I have done that before. Besides, it is a dirty, viperish little mob, not deserving to be so flattered. But this is the ripe oc- easion, What is the thing?” Now one of the secrets Mussolini knew about his people was the extraordinary significance of the lion symbol in their imagination. Victory on the altar, you re- call, is supported by two lions. It goes all the way back through Italic lore and fan- tasy that triumph of man over lion in com- bat is the supreme test; but if the lion, face to face with the man, is cowed, that is the very pinnacle. His will is supreme in Nature. Ah, that was the thing! And having re- membered it, Mussolini, in riding breeches, unarmed, goes straightway and gets him- self pre in a cage with five lions, petting one of them on the head. This pic- ture, when it appeared in Rome, even on the wall of the suppressed newspaper, produced a marvelous effect. eople clapped their hands to their foreheads, stared at it with all their senses, and cried, *“‘See! That’s Mussolini! Look at him! He has no fear! His enemies will die!” Instantly there was no more talk of kill- ing Mussolini, literally, politically or other- wise. The authority of one fearless human will was renewed in Italy, tranquillity was restored, people went on with their work. Such being the case, one may return from regions of painted mist and look to the common earth. What is the economic condition of Italy, with the sun rising? What is the state of living there? Are peo- le in the average better or worse off than fore the war? The answer is definite. The: off. Here, as elsewhere in standard of living is higher. In 1923, at Triest, the best financial and economic minds of Italy gathered to discuss the future, and their ground was this: “No country in the world requires more than Italy to increase her foreign trade. After Great Britain and Japan, it possesses the greatest density of fe ogee The growth of population and the gradual im- rovement in the standard of living have ed to an increase in the consumption of foodstuffs and industrial products. Under the circumstances, she must produce more, export more and find new foreign markets for her products. She must produce more not only in order to provide the means to pay for her imports but also in order to utilize the new industrial plant which she has introduced.” are better Surope, the Improved Living Conditions This is very interesting. Italy must in- crease her foreign trade because the stand- ard of living has improved and in order to utilize her new industrial plant. Effects precede their cause. She already has the rising standard of living; she already has the industrial equipment to produce a sur- plus of goods for export. She already has the imports. Her imports of wheat are running one and three-quarters times the prewar quan- tity; her imports of corn, or maize, are a fifth greater; of cocoa, one and three- uarters times more; of tea, more than ouble the amount; and of coffee, four- fifths more. Not only has the amount of imported food increased, in total and per eapita both; a better quality is required. On the occasion of an outcry against the rice of the loaf in England, the London Daily Mail of February fourth called on its foreign correspondents to report the price of bread in other countries. Its Rome cor- respondent reported as follows: “Bread here is made in two qualities, pane and luxury. The price of the ormer from next Monday will be equiva- lent to seven pence for four pounds, while a similar weight of the best luxury bread will cost nearly eight and a half pence. The latter variety is more than 90 per cent of the total sale.” It is unmistakable. In all physica! as- pects living is better in Italy. Mussolini once was editor of a socialist newspaper. Some may take that to ac- count for the fact that he has economic understanding. Many socialists have such understanding, but no wisdom with it, or not enough to keep the simple principles clear. The business of government is to in- crease the common welfare by practical means. This Mussolini knows, and it is April 25,1925 enough. If he knows too much, he puts the riddles away. Imposing first of all discipline, he sup- pressed in Italy that disastrous quarrel over division which is the curse of Europe. By economy he stopped the wasteful ex- penditure of government funds. And by turning people to work he increased the product to be divided. Those were his three principles. The re- sult of their application is that the nation has more of such things as cotton fabrics, woolen textiles, artificial silk and motor cars to sell abroad, and therefore greater means wherewith to buy abroad the other things it needs. Then the lira stopped falling. The na- tional budget was balanced by two very simple methods. One was to collect suffi- cient taxes in a rigorous, equitable manner; the other was to reduce government ex- penditures and step borrowing. As soon as the government ceased to borrow its debt stopped growing and the savings of the people became available for productive urposes—that is, to build and equip more actories, to } pene: more electrical energy, to drain and irrigate waste land, to build ships, to increase their power of wealth. Confidence returned. Savings-bank de- posits at their gold value now are greater than before the war. The number of new companies formed in 1924 was 1596, besides which more than 1000 increased their capital. The total amount of new capital invested last year in commercial and trading enterprise was more than 4,000,000,000 hee. Nearly all of it was found in Italy. Italy’s New Industrial Plant Exports in 1924 were more than half again as great asin 1921. The total of im- ports at the same time was not much in- creased because, although more food was bought abroad, the Italians were satisfying by their own manufactures a larger propor- tion of their own wants. With exports ris- ing and imports falling, the chronic debit balance of trade, meaning the excess of their purchases abroad over their sales abroad, fell from nearly 9,000,000,000 lire in 1921 to less than 5,000,000,000 in 1924; and very largely this apparent adverse bai- ance of 5,000,000,000 lire against her on the exchange of ponderable goods with the world was offset by remittances from Ital- ians abroad, the Seay | brought home by returning emigrants, the money spent by tourists in Italy, and the returns from Italian shipping services, which are notably increasing. Taking all these matters into account, Italy in 1924 perhaps came out ahead. Italy’s industrial machine, postwar and all new, must now be seriously regarded by all the other fabricating nations. It is geared high in textiles of cotton, wool and silk, especially artificial silk, which is made from the chemical residue at the base of certain coarse vegetable fibers, like wood pulp, that only a few years ago had no value whatever. This is one of the wonder industries of the world, increasing from ear to year in a fabulous manner. It is ideal for Italy owing to the fact that the raw material, which she has to buy, is cheap. Its cost in proportion to the fin- nished fabric is nominal. The value is in the labor. Three years ago Italy held sev- enth place in the artificial-silk trade. Last year she was fourth. Next year she expects to be second. You would not expect Italy to be com- peting in an effective manner with such countries as England, France and Ger- many in the motor-car trade of Europe. Yet she is doing it. What enables her to do it is that a tradition of fine craftsmanship has survived from those old Roman artif- icers of iron and brass whose descendants may stil! be seen, bending over their anvils, in little black niches about Rome. Italy is selling motor cars all over Europe, both very fittle ones that are like ants for run- ning uphill as fast as down, and luxurious high-powered cars that are proud in any class. The national intention for industry is clearly understood. It is to increase the sale of fabricated goods in foreign markets in order that the growing Italian popula- tion may be able to buy abroad the staple food commodities it cannot, or does not, (Continued on Page 167)

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For the purpose of protecting the name of the individual who commit- ted this alteration we have removed the name from the payee line. T WAS one of several written by hand and given to a servant girl. Days passed, and then the balance furnished by Dr. Thompson's bank did not agree with the balance he had kept. The canceled vouchers told the story! Check No, 709 had been raised to $20 and paid for $20! ' As Dr. Thompson writes, “The girl, although an ordinary domestic servant, without any par- ticular ability at penmanship, was able to twist the word ‘ten’ into ‘twenty’ and the figure ‘1’ into a ‘2’ without rubbing anything out or leav- ing any particular evidence of the change.”’ The New Personal Protectograph guards personal checks at the amount line Is there any wonder that Dr. Thompson now writes all his checks on the Protectograph! So would you, if you had ever had a check “ raised”’ by pen changes. But the fact that none of your checks has as yet been raised should not prevent you from availing yourself of this certain and reasonable protection. You may be the next to sustain personal loss! Every check you write passes through the hands of unknown and, very likely, uncertain people on its way from you to the bank. Any one of them may raise the amount —unless you use the Personal Protectograph! THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The new Personal Protectograph ‘15 (Plus carriage) rey Same method used by big business The Personal Protectograph shreds the amount itito the very fibre of the paper. It writes, in large, clear figures, with indelible ink. Erasure is impossible. It operates easily and quickly. Its clear, closely spaced figures give positive protection against raising the amount, even by “pen changes’’—the clever method that does not need erasures. Most reasonable in cost The Personal Protectograph places at your personal service twenty-five years of experience in the specialized field of check-protection. Only by Todd manufacturing efficiency could a ma- chine so complete, so durable, so faultless in operation be purchased for the remarkably low price of $15.00. At this reasonable figure no one with a personal checking account need be without the Personal Protectograph. Send for “Check No, 197” Your name on the coupon will bring to you a copy of “Check No. 197,” an interesting book- let on the adventures of a personal check, as well as detailed information on thé Personal Protectograph. The Todd Company. (Estab- lished 1899.) Rochester, N. Y. Sole makers of the Protectograph and Todd Greenbac Checks. THE TODD COMPANY 1144 University Ave., Rochester, N. Y. Gentlemen~Please send me a copy of your booklet, “Check No, 197," and detailed information about the Personal Protectograph. | Name .... Wh nsainias sedtchdvigSidddecerbepattnisinviiianigaiie © 1925, Todd Protectograph Co., Inc. The Protectograph, it is estimated, eliminates at least one-third of all check frauds by prevent- ing raised amounts, The Protectograph is made in a variety of standard models, one for every type of business, priced from $37.50 up. Only Todd can make a Pro- tectograph. Todd Greenbac Checks, with their patented self- cancelling features, elimi- nate another one-third of possible check losses by payee’s name, date and number and **counterfeit- ing."’ Todd checks for business and personal use : are reasonable in price— % . even in small quantities. TODD SYSTEM OF GHECK PROTECTION preventing change of Standard Forgery Bonds cover the remaining check-fraud possibilities. namely, forgery of mgna- ture and forgery of en- dorsement, Qualified Todd users receive poli cies at the most advanta- geous discounts from the Metropolitan Casualiy Insurance Company.

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SATURDAY EVENING ¥ PITTSBURGH SL. ~~ ‘agi PX POST April 25,1925

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 2 N paddles the severest test for varnish! Sub: verged in water — scoured by sand,” sera ped by yf) / Hi , | = ll left bakingin the sun! Varnish that stands that, stands anything on floors and furniture— any Where Stood the test for 438 miles. “The pad- | Whatever you need-—~Glass, Paint, Varnish or Brushes —the Pittsburgh Plate Glass Company dles came back to us good as new, the hapa troduciiial i Re veladequiteoens, skin @f your Water-Spar Varnish un- — goidt bepiigad by eae erd broken, while a made by uides. ©. y ee y exacti — wept to pieces,” writes Albert Winslow — , ompany, Manufacturers of Paddles} LOOK FORTHIS «© WATERPROOF TEST IN YOUR DEALERS STORE ¢& “i woh, Paint and Varnish Factories Milwaukee, Wis. Newark.N. J. Portland, Ore.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST As with diamonds— The collar is pressed and shaped on a special collar preas. so with men A child, playing with what seemed only a piece of glit- tering gravel, led to the discovery of diamonds in South Africa. To the child, the rough, unpolished gem was nomore than it appeared to be—a pebble. Pol- ished, it became a diamond appraised at $25, 000. But while still ‘‘in the rough’’ its true value went unsuspected beneath its coat of clay. Sowith men. The world seldom rec- ognizes real worth that is concealed by careless appearance. Fortunately, however, most men know this, and realize how important it is in business—and in social life also— to be presentably dressed, and pressed to look like what they are. It is for such men that Valeteria pressing service has been developed. Valeteria not only presses clothes—it shapes them. Instead of the graceful curves of your coat being flattened, as with the handiron, each detail is shaped on a press designed for that particular part. Instead of a single, flat iron, there is a battery of six specially shaped presses —exactly the same equip- ment as is used in the shops of the country’s best known makers of cloth- ing. Indeed, this is the pressing method employed in these establishments for pressing and shaping the finer suits. cially designed for the left frong. left front of your cvat is pressedand shaped on a forming press ape- And, too, Valeteria offers you a san- itary pressing service —hot, dry steam is caused to surge through the fabric, raising the nap and restoring its fresh- ness and lustre, after which this steam is drawn off, and the garment quickly dried by the exclusive Hoff-Man vacuum process. Your suit is pressed, shaped, steamed, vacuum-cleaned —a quadruple pressing service obtainable only from Valeteria equipment. Clothes pressed by the Valeteria method keep their shape, and stay pressed longer. Telephone the Valeteria shop in your neighborhood today for a trial pressing. Your clothes will bear witness to your wisdom. If there shouldn’t be a Vale- teria close at hand, call any modern dyer and cleaner, ask for Valeteria serv- ice, and he will see that you are served. A tag, bearing the words, “‘Pressed by the Valeteria Method,”’ is attached to every Valeteria pressed suit. United States Hoffman Machinery Corpora- tion, 105 Fourth Ave. , NewYork, N. Y. April 25,1925 Overcosteare Rineled ou Troasers (of skirts) are pressed on a press made tor trousers (or skirts) he right front is pressed and shaped on a specially designed form- me press for the right l You will find this tag at- tached te oe, suit Premed by the F Mathed. **A Long Life and a Merry One’’ If you want your clothes to have ‘‘a long life and a merry one,”’ give them the benefit of expert dry- cleaning as often as you possibly can, Send them to a modern cleaner and dyer. They will come back not only looking better but feeling better, too. THE PRESSING SERVICE THAT SHAPES YOUR CLOTHES @ 1925— United States Hoffman Machinery Corporation

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(Continued from Page 162) produce for itself. What happens naturally is that more goods of Italian manufacture are consumed at home. Internal activities thereby are enormously stimulated. Perha the readiest measure of what has already taken place in that respect is the movement of freight on the Italian railroads. It has increased roughly one-half in three years. This means but one thing—namely, a larger exchange of goods, both internally and ex- ternally; that is to say, in both domestic and foreign trade. People are producing more, not per man or woman per hour, perhaps, or at least that seems to be very doubtful; but cer- tainly the total national production is greater than it ever was before. More peo- »le are working; they may work fewer hours per day, but they work more days per year, and new tasks much more pro- ductive than the old ones have been pro- vided. They are consuming more, too; yet they do not consume the whole of their increased product. That is proved by the amount of capital they find among themselves for investment in the means to further produc- tion, as, for example, in works of electrifi- cation. Since Italy is without coal of her own and at the same time rich in waterfalls, it is important that she should develop hydro- electric power in a scientifie manner on a large scale. This she is doing. The amount of electrical energy produced—white power in place of imported coal—is more than three times greater than before the war. It has doubled since 1920. Imports of coal therefore are relatively falling. Reclamation Projects The potential supply of hydroelectric energy in Italy is equal to 40,000,000 tons of coal annually. ‘Her largest import of coal hitherto has been 11,000,000 tons in one year. So it appears that an industrial machine three or four times as large as the one she has might be electrically equipped. Her zeal to exploit this enormous natural resouree is a symptom of the new spirit. It looks in other directions. She is seized at the same time with an idea to reclaim her waste land by irrigation and drainage. Under a six-year program begun in 1919 the reclamation of more than 2,000,000 acres is indicated. There is more to be re- claimed, including the Pontine marshes near Rome. This classic ooze, neither land nor water, is believed once to have been under cultivation. There are certain signs tc that conclusion. But the fact, if it is a fact, was long ago forgetten. It is esti- mated that there is enough hitherto neg- lected land in Italy to grow all the grain she now buys abroad. Kiso important port developments are taking place. A country thet has pitched its destiny in foreign trade must have proper port facilities, ex- panding as commerce does. All these schemes—hydroelectric-power development, great storage reservoirs, drainage, irrigation, aqueducts, roads, port improvements—involve both private and public capital, and are carried forward under two heads—current and deferred. The deferred work is that which will be- come active only when private industry is slack. This is a forethought against the evil of unemployment, fear of which is constant. The extraordinary fecundity of the peo- ple is both an asset and a liability. By reason of it they are imperishable; but with births exceeding deaths at the rate of nearly 500,000 a year and the great Amer- ican spiliway no longer free, the oldest and most troublesome question in the world reas in an ancient place. How shall a race of virile people with an unlimited power of procreation be geo- graphically confined? Deduct Ohio from California and what remains is nearly equal to the area of Italy. The population of Ohio and California to- gether is less than 10,000,000. The popula- tion of Italy is 40,000,000. At the present rate of increase the pop- ulation of Italy by the end of the century would be greater than the total existing population of the United States. No such thing is likely to happen. The counter- acting forces are both social and biological. Almost any form of life would displace upon the earth every other form of life if its impulse to do so and its power of increase were unrestrained. But they are restrained in a thousand ways. What else will happen in the case of Italy you cannot precisely THE SATURDAY say. Probably as the country becomes more intensively industrialized the birth rate will tend to fall. Certainly as the standard of living rises it will fall. That is proved by all experience. The future to its own invention. Life is meanwhile; and it is important to know that the possibilities of life have not yet been exhausted on any given area of the earth’s surface, no matter how densely it may happen to be Far ge So far is it otherwise that we do not know, have per- haps not even guessed, the utmost power of the earth to sustain life. We do know that we have already enough unutilized knowledge to increase the means of life two or three fold; and the body of knowledge is still increasing, faster now than at any time past. Italy, for example, now and no doubt for a long time to come, could be self-sustaining in food. She-has only to improve her agri- culture. The practice of it is very old and for that reason inefficient. The Italian farmer milks his sheep and does not spray his fruit trees. His apples ought to be the finest in the world. They are not; they are such as might be rejected at the cider press in the United States. Europe imports grapefruit from across the Atlantic. The Americans abroad eat it, and it is dear. Italy could supply all Europe with grape- fruit. She has never thought of doing it. The Minister of Agriculture goes to the International Institute of Agriculture at Rome, founded by David Lubin, an Amer- ican, and asks for access to the knowledge accumulated by the United States Depart- ment of Agriculture, with which there is nothing comparable in the Old World. He learns how by selection and better cropping the yield of wheat may be in- creased one-fifth, as by magic; or how wool, of which there is a deficit in Italy, may be ot as a by-product of the sugar-beet field. {fe tries it on his own farm, and it is true, But there his problem begins. How shall the knowledge be made operative in the minds of several million Italian peasants? They are fixed in superstitious reverence for the old ways and averse to the sacrilege of exploiting their soil by new methods. It is not that their minds are inert or dull, You cannot say that a people are un- imaginative who work beautiful color de- signs on the exterior of their dwellings, who treat every sunrise as the beginning of a new adventure, as if it had never happened before, and who sing for sheer zest of living. They are probably the least bored people in the world and the richest still in simple happiness. But they have for all these reasons a most uneconomic habit of living one day at a time. Natural Resources This is true not only of the peasant; the trait is characteristic. When the hour comes to think of other things the mer- chant puts up his shutters, strips the till and goes to his pleasure. That day is done. Tomorrow will be a new time, and may— who knows?—never come at all. If it does, the till must fill itself again. So it may easily happen that if you go to a first-class shop in Rome to make a small purchase in the morning, — will be unable to get change for a fifty-lira note. The idea of opening shop with money in the till to make change with is difficult for the Italian merchant to grasp, for that means relating one day to another continuously. PHOTO. BY CLINTON M. MCKS Diamend Head, Honolulu EVENING POST There is a proverb, beginning with the Italians, that Italy is a poor country. It has no coal, no iron, not enough land, no rich colonial territory, only what the other nations did not want to bother with. This notion hinders them. When you talk to them of what they might do, or of how they might do differently with what they have, they say: “That is easy for you to say. You come from a rich country. It is hard for a coun- try as rich as America to understand one as poor as Italy.” ut Italy is not poor, She is rich in water- falls, in climate, in situation, in youth, in labor that is strong and persevering, with a traditional cunning of the hand. In tech- nology, in ways of new thinking, she is poor. The French silk trade of Lyons has been supported for many years by raw silk from pn but when Italy weaves silk she must send it to be d in Lyons. The art of dyeing may be learned like any other. She does not know the taste of the world in color and design. That also may be learned; and until it is, the textile ind of Italy will be confined to the staple fabrics of common commerce in which there will always the hardest competition and the least profit. She does not know how to sell what she has, And until she learns this she will trade at a disadvantage. She has the talent to add boa A to anything she makes. How to merchandise ity she does not know at all. She is selling the products of her industry as she used to sell oranges in the United States and now sells them in Europe—poor, middling and fine all in one box together, the run of the loom, for an average price. Packing, grading, how to add the sign of premium, she has yet to get the art of; but it is easily acquired. Undiscovered Riches And as for her natural resources, she does not know what she has. The country is unexplored in any modern scientific sense. What an intensive geological survey would discover in this old volcanic region nobody can imagine. There is superficial evidence of a little of everything. Where there is a little of everything there is likely to be much of some things. There is much sul- phur, and it is badly exploited. Sulphur is still carried out of the mines of Sicily on the backs of men. She is buying potash from Germany, both for fertilizer and commer- cial purposes. Yet in her leucite deposits, which until recently were unknown to exist and are perhaps even now better known in America than in Italy, she has enough pot- ash to supply the whole world for hundreds of years. The lie unworked. And along with the potash are immense quantities of aluminum. Not long ago an American corporation proposed to the Italian Government to ex- plore the country for oil on a sharing plan. Oil has been found in Italy. There may be a great deal of it. The Americans were willing to gamble for it. At the last minute the Italian Government said no. If there was oil it wished to have it all for Italy. Quite right. The sense of proprietorship is very strong in Italy. When it came to writing a law that should encourage for- eign capital to invest itself there, they made an interesting distinction between creditor capital and proprietor capital. In- terest on foreign loans is exempt from tax—loans only. The exemption applies to bonds and annuities which may be paid off, but not to shares, which are forever and represent a proprietor interest. That ma seem both wise and intelligent. Bondhold- ers are creditors; they may be got rid of. Shareholders are partners; they cannot be got rid of. The only point of the instance is that the Italian Government, having declined the American gre pone very wisely per- haps, is not itself exploring the country for oil. She does not know whether she has it or not. And when you call attention to the fact you get the familiar answer—Italy is vr. It is very costly to sink oil holes at the bottom of which you may find nothing for your trouble. At the same time, how- ever, the government is building brilliant new embassies in foreign countries. Thinking more of monuments than of oil holes. What a pity they cannot go on in that romantic manner! Unfortunately, it may be, they have come awake and pro- pose to compete in a world where people think a great deal, too much perhaps, of ugly oil holes, Protecting Plies EE how GOOD LUCK hose is made! Around the live rubber tube are six tightly wrapped layers or plies of stout cotton fabric filled with rubber gum and encased in a tough cover. Tube, plies and cover are all vulcanized together into a solid yet flexible wall. The result is a light, strong garden hose which gives years of service around the house or garden. GOOD LUCK hose is “built to stay alive,” be- cause it is built of live materials combined with long manufactur: ing experience. GOOD LUCK Garden Hose has a %"' water channel, because this is the logical size for hose to be used with house or lawn silcocks. Sizes smaller than ¥%" will not de- liver all the water from '/2" hose fittings, and larger sizes will not deliver enough more than %" to justify their increased weight and expense. Ask your dealer to show you GOOD LUCK hose. To use with it, buy a Boston Nozzle —‘‘Stream, shower or mist with a twist of the wrist.”” SEND 10 CENTS in stamps for our book, “Making the Garden Grow.” 48 pages, three colors, richly Ulustrated. “A profes- sional handbook for the gardener’ BOSTON WOVEN HOSE & RUBBER COMPANY Makers of the Famous GOOD LUCK Fruit Jar Rubbers . 170 Portland &:., Pr . Cambridge, Mass. es \ Wrapped Like f a Tire

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 LUMBERMEN SINCE 1875 HE Long-Bell Lumber Company began business April 30, 1875, with a single retail lumber yard—fifty years ago. Today its mills in the South, the West and Pacific Northwest share responsibility in helping to shelter a nation and in meeting the require- ments of an ever-expanding industrial development. Stmce 1875—each mile- stone a pride-mark of Time, setting its own standard for the future. 285 LONG-BELIL LVEMSBER COMPANY R. A. LONG BUILDING KANSAS CITY, MO,

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The gigantea, or big tree, is of no com- mercial importance whatever. Too many have been cut, but they are uneconomic as lumber; and besides, the bulk of them will never be cut, because a large portion are within national-park limits, and others are likely to be placed there, The redwood is a commercial tree, is economic to cut, and except for relatively insignificant areas pur- chased in the last few years for preserva- tion, is entirely in private hands. Despite the enormous extent of the national forests, there is no national forest within the red- wood belt and no redwood national park. The redwood is taller and more graceful than the gigantea, or big tree, less ponder- ous and massive, and somewhat younger. Yet the virgin redwood forest is practically the same today as it was 1000 years ago. The oldest trees are possibly 2000 years of age, with those of 300, 500, 800 and 1000 years very common. As the older trees have fallen from wind and rot, those which were younger have grown up to take their places. Very few of the works of man are as lofty as these trees. Thousands of them are higher than was the Tower of Babel. A few are twice as high as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. They stand close together, in a noble sort of density, suggestive somehow of mythical gods. Yet the redwood grows so gracefully and symmetrically that the impression is one of beauty and majesty rather than of mere size. Perhaps this quality of gracefulness is due largely to the fact that the trees rise to such extraordinary heights without abranch. The first limb on one well-known tree is 264 feet from the ground. Trunk upon trunk tapers far up into the heavens, without a break; always the crown of the redwood seeks the light. But this same quality of being clear is what makes the trees so commercially desirable; there is so much more to cut. Yet do not minimize the redwood’s size. A church to seat 500 people has been made from the lumber from a single tree; small houses have been carved out of a single sec- tion of a tree. One tree covers a long train- load of flat cars. An especially large burl, or excrescence, from a redwood was moved only when twenty-two horses es- sayed the job. THE SATURDAY REDWOOD DIVIDENDS (Continued from Page I!) understand his remark in view of appar- ently authenticated cases where trees felled by the wind from 200 to 600 years ago have been hauled to the mill and made into useful lumber. How long it will be before all the red- woods are lumbered off, except the few small tracts preserved through purchase or gift, is difficult to say. Roughly, about 500,000 acres have been cut off; something like 900,000 remain. Possibly the public has received an erroneous impression that the redwoods are nearly gone. But prior to 1921 only something like 1000 acres out of the original area of nearly 1,500,000 had nm permanently saved from the woodman’s ax. Until 1919 none had been saved in Humboldt County, which contains the largest stands and possi- bly the oldest and 1 t individual trees. Years of education and agitation have been required to bring about the saving of 9000 acres in all, with possibly another 1000 in sight, or roughly, 1 per cent only of the present stand. How long the privately owned trees, which form 99 per cent of the whole, will stand depends, of course, entirely upon the rate of cutting. If it does not increase, the last tree will not go for something like a century. But an increase in demand, as other woods are depleted, might well clear off the whole vast area, except for the few small parks, in fifty years. Although the oldest tree on the continent, except for its uncommercial cousin the gigantea, the red- wood was the last to be put to extensive service. It was not cut for the market at all until 1850. Not until ten years ago did a railroad penetrate the more northerly and heavily timbered of the redwood counties, and the highway is even newer. Nor has it yet been brought up to anything resembling trunk- line standards. Until the railroad went in, Eureka, the county seat of Humboldt, was the largest town in the country without railroad con- nections, and they still ask you there whether you came overland—in the old days by stage—as distinguished from a sea voyage. On the as yet imperfect highway the average motorist can now make EVENING POST twenty-five miles an hour, although the towns are about that far a ; Until 1915 redwood could be placed on the Eastern markets only by water ship- ment to San Francisco or ies, where it had to be rehandled and reloaded for rail, a slow and unsatisfactory process. But almost simultaneously with incom- ing of the railroad was the opening of the Panama Canal, and it became possible to | send small lots directly to Eastern buyers. “Placed thus within the reach of all,’”’ says the trade catalogue of the largest manufacturer of this lumber, “the natural and distinctive advantages of redwood are certain to become better known, and, as it is more fully appreciated, redwood will be used in ever-increasing quantity. With the constantly developing new uses and new markets for this wonder wood, it has be- come known and accepted as a standard specialty lumber in all parts of the United — and in the principal foreign coun- tries.” But, however long before the last of the poveny owned redwoods fall, there can e no question that the best and most ac- cessible of them will go first. Naturally, it is cheaper to cut those nearest the highway and railroad. These two arteries of travel are not far apart, and both tend more or less to follow river courses. But the tallest, straightest and largest trees grow on flats or bottoms near the rivers. Moreover, they grow in denser stands in such places. A General-Utility Tree These are the profitable trees to cut, and thus — scenic an far less than fifty years—perhaps in ten. After the trees are cut, of course, there is no argument about saving them. Trees cannot be saved in the past tense. New ones, it is true, may be wn in 500 or 1000 years which will reach an equal height and girth. But that is rather long to wait. It is difficult for the native or early Cali- fornian to think of the supplies of redwood as other than inexhaustible. It was in former days so abundant, of such high quality and so exceedingly cheap that, as one native son, Prof. Willis L. Jepson, the botanist, has said: The oldest trees are found where there is the most moisture and shelter, on the flats near the rivers. There are authorities who say there is no other region in this country so favorable for the growth of trees as the redwood belt. There is a long mild growing season, endless fog and an annual precipitation of from forty to seventy inches. Living Memorials In connection with the red- wood groves preserved as living memorials to such men as Frank- lin K. Lane and Col. Raynal C. Bolling, it has been remarked more than once that these forests are redolent with the very idea of immortality. This statement is true in more, or at least in other, than an esthetic or spirit- ual sense—a fact recognized, of course, by the botanist who gave the treeits scientific name,sempef- virens. It is easy enough to cut down a redwood tree, but very hard to kill redwood life, either in the stump or even in the lumber. Few if any other trees: have stumps which sprout so readily. Upon a fallen redwood giant as many as twenty spruce trees of commercial size have been known to grow. Though fire does now and then conquer even a full- grown redwood, few trees are so resistant to its effects. Even red- wood lumber holds off fire, as proved in the San Francisco dis- aster. Redwood construction has about it an uncanny permanence. Grapes packed in its sawdust keep as well as or better than in. cork. Gutters are made from it. Alum- berman told me that man does. not live long enough to under- stand the redwood, and I could COPYRIGHT BY PROFESSOR METCALF. FHOM SAVE-THE-MEDWOOOS LEAGUE Bull Creek Fiat “We came to think of it as of the natural order of things, as of something which we should s always have as a matter of course, like the rising of the sun over the Sierras or the breath of the after- “T am a Californian. cradle made of redwood. I lived in a house largely made of red- wood, went to school in a red- wood schoolhouse, sat at a desk made of redwood, used a slate bound in redwood and wore shoes the leather of which was tanned in redwood vats. The clothing which I wore, the books for my juvenile library, the saddle for m riding pony, were brought in rail- ties, their course controlled by wires strung on redwood poles. touched redwood, one had to do with redwood. Boxes, bins, bats, Poles, posts, porches, porticoes, ergolas, pails, pencils, pipe ines — sometimes even police- men~—were made of redwood. It entered directly or indirectly into ‘every phase of our lives. And when we come to die—we Cali- fornians—unless we are profiteers, we are buried in redwood coffins. It is a fine wood.” Naturally, with such an abun- dance of resource, the local atti- tude was until recent years much like that of the colonial settler. A tree was something to be cut down, got out of the way, so many boards. With a few excep- tions no one thought of looking at redwoods No beauty was to be seen in anything so common. Even today, if one of the local newspapers is to be believed, noon trades in the Great Valley. | I was | rocked by a pioneer mother in a | of the best areas from both the | commercial viewpoint will go in | way cars largely made of redwood, | running on rails laid on redwood | Everywhere about one one | barns, bungalows, barrels and | bridges were made of redwood. | our first-hand infor- mation will save you time and money. The Santa Fe will offer low fare summer xcursions {fo ifornia olorado Arizona and New Mexico Rockies. - the “Off the Beaten Path country” and to your National Parks. __ PR | W. J. Black, Passenger Trafic Manager anta Pe System ; 1216 Railway Exchange, Chicago, Ulinois Please send me Santa Fe picture-folders of tip to D centmmpeie a ———o singninecti } | ——

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THE SATURDAY Health and energy go with sound teeth, Keep your teeth not only white but safe—with The new natural way to prevent Dry Mouth and keep your teeth safe This tooth paste increases the natural protective fluids Mew anv women are finding that the only way to keep the teeth permanently safe is to keep the mouth glands working. In hardly any instance do these glands flow normally to- day. Modern foods are too soft, too hastily swallowed. From sheer lack of exercise the inouth glands dry up. Yet their alkaline fluids are nature’s method of cleaning your teeth. When they flow normally, they completely neu- tralive the that decay. acids cause cn + * Physicians and dentists today say brushing alone cannot pro- tect your teeth. Five minutes after you stop brushing, the acids of decay begin to form again. ‘To keep your teeth per- manently safe you must restore the natural protective fluids of the mouth glands. Gently stimulate the glands With this tooth paste you can gently stimulate the glands to flow normally. As soon as Pebeco enters your mouth you feel the difference. All dryness is gone. With daily use Pebeco completely restores the normal, protective action of your glands. Good healthy amounts of alkaline saliva flow continuously, The acids of decay are neutralized as fast as they form. ‘Temporary cleaning is now recognized as insufficient. Everywhere people are using Pebeco to keep their teeth permanently safe. Send for a trial tube of Pebeco. Made only by Pebeeo, Inc. Sole Distributors: Lehn & Fink, Ine. Canadian Agents: H. FP. Ritehie & Co., Ltd., 10 MeCaul St., Toronto, Ont. All druggists. Send coupon for free generous tube Lens & Fink, Inc., Sole Distributors Dept. E-26 635 Greenwich St., New York, N. Y. Send me free your new large sized sample tube of Pebeco. Name iy Street City | “people still live in | attitude, la | a fourteen-mile stri | been saved it is locally known as the High- | way of the Giants. It is a main north-and- | south trunk line, connecting San Francisco | with Oregon, and should eventually receive | a large share of the vast traffic that pours | over the Pacific Highway, through Sacra- | mento; which route, of course, has no such | trees to attract the tourist. EVENING POST — County unable to see anything in a redwood tree except so many thousand feet of merchantable timber,”’ redwood-board-minded people, as it were. But there has been a revolution in local ly because of highway devel- opment. It is only within the last few years that an automobile road has penetrated the entire redwood belt, a distance of some 400 miles north of San Francisco. Only a rela- pe Bc part of this road is paved as yet, but most of it is passable a in the rainiest winter weather, and is satisfactory in the com tively dry summers. Much the an timber adjacent to what is now the highway has been cut off, part of it long ago and portions very re- cently. The writer saw one tract being cut late in the winter of 1925. But numerous primeval forests, a few for distances of quite a number of miles, do line the road. The groves that have been saved, which are relatively narrow strips, but very beautiful, will never be cut off. In general, the coun- try becomes wilder and more primitive and with denser stands of trees the farther north one goes. So often has the redwood forest been likened to a cathedral that the present writer hesitates to use such a threadbare simile. Unfortunately there is no other equally exact comparison. The redwood forest should be compared perhaps to a series of cathedrals; nowhere else could one find so long a lane through architecture so sublime. But unlike man’s creations of stone, the motorist can go right through these living edifices. The tourist and his toy engine are dwarfed by the giganteas of the Sierras, but these are scattered; they do not, like the redwoods, present a seemingly endless vista through almost solid walls of trees blending | into a perfect grace and symmetry. Now this road bears the official name of Redwood Highway, and in one place where of virgin trees has In the last two years travel on the Redwood Highway has inc 100 per cent. Upon even the puniest intellect the thought gradually dawns that if all the redwoods are cut from along the highway it would, to say the least, become a mis- nomer. drawing attractions of a mere redwocd-stump highway ht be less. It is true the stumps are p' iously large; it sometimes costs $150 to blow one out. - one mag has mi Rh in — their dignity was—well, appalling.” But to speak less cally, automobile tourists never make long wy, ee see stumps. There — to wonder why Cali- fornia should plan to spend a total of $250,000,000 u scenic highways, with at least $70,000,000 already ceptemen, if the scenery is to be . M. Toy, now chairman of the State High- way Commission, said to the writer: ‘I don’t see the sense of high-priced roads through devastated country.” A Step Toward Preservation In the mania for highway construction — seems to have the highs —. regard or anything except way. It must be as straight and broad as possible to way for the greatest amount of traffic, regardless of what happens to ad- jacent features. Under a former commis- sion, hundreds of t redwoods were sliced off on a most generous scale to make a few inches more of roadway. Anyt to make a , even in a cai What matters it if a 2000-year-old buttress is hacked and scarred, provided two cars are thereby enabled to pass each other at a trifle — speed? |. Mr. oy has had introduced into the a bill giving the State age ine nema power to condemn der rights of way than , @s- y where covered with unsightly | shacks, which is so often the case. April 25,1925 The widely accepted theory that a scenic highway needs only a narrow strip of trees requires modification. The redwood has extremely shallow roots; it stands because of the protection given by its fellows, in close, dense, soldierly ranks. When sud- denly exposed by a new edge, the danger of wind-throw is greatly increased. Strips or screens of 100 yards or so are inadequate; except where topographical protection is favorable, it is said that at least a quarter of a mile is needed. There are still many tracts of wonderful timber extending for miles along the high- way which will have to be preserved if the scenic beauty of the route is to be kept anything like intact. It has been a hard struggle to save the fourteen-mile strip which constitutes the first and as yet main and only unit of the Humboldt State Red- wood Park. Generous timber owners have given tracts, the state and county have provided part of the funds, wealthy private donors have given groves, either as memo- rials or merely to add them to the park, and women’s clubs have collected small sums from many people for the same purpose. A Wise Public Policy The areas saved thus far are almost en- tirely on the east side of the highway, for on the west the road touches at many points the South Fork of the Eel River, a gentle, sparkling stream in summer and at times in winter a raging torrent. On the opposite, or west, bank of the river is as virgin and untouched a forest as the eye of man will ever again be privileged to see—a great, compact body of timber of the high- est value, but inaccessible for lumbering until now. One strategic tract, but in itself a small fraction of the total forest, will probably be saved; but the great bulk of this lone stretch on the west bank of the river is cer- tain to go, for there is no money to buy it. Anyone with a few thousand dollars to spare can purchase a proud estate on the west bank of the South Fork of the Eel. It is an estate that will last about twenty times the life of a human being, at any The redwood forest across the river a pears from the highway to be a prodigiously high and thick battlement of green. I have never seen such an effect of sheer mass, mile upon mile, of colossal nm wall. On one prominent projecting point there is 100 acres of close serried ranks of these giants, to be had for the price of a couple of racing automobiles. But the Save-the-Redwoods League needs all available funds to purchase three stra- tegic groves, only one of which is on the west bank of the river. A few years hence, instead of miles of dense, vast, living things, the tourist will gaze upon desolation and carnage that no strip between road and river can hide. I am not dealing here with the sentimen- tal aspect of the subject, with that very natural but purely negative and impracti- cal attitude of those who regard the cutting of any big tree as an outrage, an act of vandalism. I am merely trying to make the simple and, it would seem, eminently prac- tical point that a wise public policy should see to it that enough redwoods are left along the Redwood Highway so that in course of time it will become one of the few highways that the whole nation will want to see. For let there be no mistake about it— there is no one living in the northwestern of California, or who in any way comes in contact with this tree, who does not ap- preciate, consciously or unconsciously, its importance. During four or five days spent in the redwood belt I did not visit a single business office that. failed to display as its chief ornament a superb vcesene not of oy es stumps, but of dense virgin for- est. Banks, county offices, hotels, chambers of commerce, lumber company offices—in all of them were pictures of = redwoods. But why the pictures, if the only purpose of such trees is to cut them down? pictures of youthful second h? A rep- resentative of a state normal college located in one of the northern counties said that it was very difficult to attract students from other and more populous portions of the state—“ But we find that redwood pub- licity helps more than any other thing to attract students.” “I went East last summer,” said a law- yer, ‘‘and wished to cash a check in one of the largest banks in New York. They had (Continued on Page 173) hy not

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SATURDAY EVENING POST “ohe world’s effort to supply you with good food centers here If the final preparation of eatables for your table is not accurately and skillfully done, the pains- taking and expensive effort that has gone before is largely wasted. The modern kitchen cabinet is probably the most important device that has yet been developed for the efficient and scientific preparation of good food. It is in very truth a modern necessity in every home. Investigate and you will find that it focuses a remarkable power for outstanding betterments and downright economies. %, a _ BS . eG g7 tig 2 re + iE & 7 ; j SELLERS KIT Ceo ew. CA PEN E TS You will joyfully welcome this handsome economizer in your home In the deft handling of raw materials to produce tempting results, this Sellers cabinet fills a timely and most urgent need. ‘Fifteen famous features,” each a tireless worker for the woman who demands superb equipment suited to her strenuous needs. From ant-proof casters tomatchless expanse of white porcel- iron, this cabinet is packed full of time-saving con- veniences. Booklet P-4 gladly sent by G. I. Sellers & Sons Company, Elwood, Indiana. Canadian branch, Brantford, Ontario. Dealers offer convenient terms. -

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Bo SSC) The Headlight That Is Bringing Revolution In Motor Car Lighting E, & J Type 20 is undoubtedly the greatest advancement ever registered in motor car road illumination. Everywhere it goes—as each new E & J trade connection is established —it is being welcomed for the qualities which are peculiar to it alone. For E& ] Type 20, with its far-reaching, penetrating illumina- tion, positively without glare, spells lighting safety for those driving with this wonderful lamp and for those driving toward it. For years, the motoring public has wanted and sought a lamp that would provide full illumination without dangerous blinding glare. That is why Type 20 sales to car-owners are mounting daily, and why responsible dealers are applying by the score for E & J sales rights. As rapidly as responsible outlets can be secured, E & J Sales oo E & J] Type 20 Makes Night Driving Safe The exclusive attributes of Type 20 are— Positive non-glare. 500 feet or more of white light penetration. (Twice the distance of ordinary lights.) Iiluminates the way even through fog, dust or smoke. Uniform illumination from the very front of the car. Illumination which extends be- yond both sides of the widest road. Manufactured under Bone patents, 50-21 and 1-15-24, other patents pending) and Service Stations are being established. We welcome applications from responsible business men. Desirable territory is still available. The story of Type 20 results is simple. Age-old optical laws have been applied for the first time to a motor car lighting-unit. That is why E & J Type 20 gives you illumination 500 feet down the road; why it penetrates dust and smoke and fog; why on-coming drivers see only two softly-glowing amber balls instead of a dazzling glare; why you drive with the Type 20 full-on all the time and never dim. Eighteen states have already passed rigid lighting regulations, recognizing the danger of both dim lights and glaring lights. Not another day should pass without E & J Type 20 on your own car. Any one of 7200 motor car dealers or E & J stations —and the number is growing rapidly—can fit you out. Dealer inquiries should be addressed to the Sales Department. April 25,1925 “The Safest Light in Motordom” When ordering a new car, specify E & J Type 20 headlights and the car dealer will give you credit on the regular equipment. EDMUNDS & JONES CORPORATION DETROIT, MICHIGAN

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i u 7 (Continued from Page 170) never even heard of this town, although it is the county seat, or of the bank here. Sud- denly it occurred to me to say, ‘That's where the redwoods grow,’ and they said, ‘Oh, we have heard of those.’ They kept me there half an hour talking about the trees. “‘T traveled all over the country by auto- mobile last summer. Why, in New Eng- land they cut ten-inch poles and call it lumber! It was not until we came home that we saw the real forest. We didn’t grow these trees, we didn’t even protect them. We should leave a fair share of them.” The present Humboldt State Redwood Park runs along the highway in the basin of the South Fork of the Eel. Two heavil timbered areas, known as North and Sout Dyerville Flats, which are not yet in public hands, stand at the junction of the main branch of the Eel River and the South Fork and at the point where the railway meets the state highway. Across the South Fork, and but a little way from where the junction of rivers, rail- road and highway occurs, stands Bull Creek Flat, commonly considered the most per- fect remaining 2 gaa of a primeval red- wood forest, and one of the densest stands of timber of any description in existence. All three groves, or flats, are in the hands of a single owner, which happens to be the largest of all the sae redwood com- anies, and which has been anxious for a ong time to cut these stands. On one a tion of the Dyerville area, lumbering, close to the highway, was begun a few months ago, but later halted through local pressure. Efforts, extended over a period of years, to induce the company even to consider sell- ing these tracts met with no success until very recently. The Klamath River Region The company was willing to give one of the two Dyerville tracts, about 290 acres, as a park; but it hoped that those “seeking to acquire other such park areas would look elsewhere than amongst our holdings.”” At present a large sum is available to purchase the three flats, or large portions of them, and negotiations to that end are expected to begin shortly. Several years ago a committee of three experts, consisting of an assistant district forester of the United States Forest Serv- ice, the deputy state forester and a pro- fessor in the state forestry school, investi- gated the entire redwood region. In their report it was said of Bull Creek Flat, ‘The investigators have never seen as fine a stand of timber on any single area.” It is probable that the tallest living trees on earth are in the Bull Creek Flat, a-few being not far below 400 feet in height. They grow so thickly that no underbrush or even ferns impede walking. The writer visited this flat during! one of the worst rainstorms in years, a eontinued downpour that had already’ washed out the railroad and highway and had stopped most logging operations. { But I do not think that any mere climatic conditions could: add to or subtract from the effect of Bull Creek. So many pro- fessionally eloquent pens have described these trees that it seemed worth while to get a different slant—that of people whose business is neither-to: write nor to make speeches. Said a local business man: “I never get tired of going in these woods. They are different somehow from what man can build, and .I know lots of other local people who feel that way.” “When I go there I feel as if I were in heaven,” said another, “‘and I don’t see how anyone who’s normal and human can look at it any other way.” Bull Creek is most accessible, being about. a mile from a railroad station and the main highway, yet off the beaten track and un- touched by traffic. The area represents a natural drainage basin, which is compact and protected. The setting is singularly tranquil. On the north is Bull Creek, a stream of perennial flow, while on the east are the smooth waters of the South Fork of the Eel, a great bend at this point adding to its charm. On either side of the flat, steep well-wooded ridges form high barriers which lend a delightful feeling of seclusion. From rim to rim of the valley, except where the rivers flow, stand the aged redwoods, tier upon tier. Bull Creek has been called the climax in forests. Surely it is within reason to say that the preservation of this grove, or bot- tom, together with the Dyerville Flats, is THE SATURDAY essential to the integrity as well as the roper rounding out of the first unit of the umboldt State Redwood Park. Public opinion could hardly take a different view. . On a — hand, the sop ee ave frequently memes that persons de- sirous of saving redwoods should concen- trate and confine their efforts to areas more remote from operating zones. About 100 miles farther north, in Del Norte County, on the banks of the Klamath River, are virgin areas which could be purchased much more cheaply. On the whole, these trees are youn and more vigorous, and not quite so large, although many large ones are to be found among them. If the tourist did not see Dyerville and Bull Creek Fiats first, he would think the redwoods which line the banks of the Klamath the finest in existence. No rail- road enters this or much of the adjacent Oregon country to the north. The highway is very new and incomplete. It is a region as yet utterly untouched by the lumber- man, safe until now use inaccessible to him. In the thirty years from 1890 to 1920 the population of this county grew less than 200. The Klamath River redwoods can be bought for less than Bull Creek and Dyerville Flats, and will cost more in the future when the operating companies have extended their equipment into this region. No doubt there is opportunity on or near the Klamath for a redwood park, state or national, on a much larger scale than the few thousand acres of highway screenings farther south. Its inaccessibility, the lack of a railroad, will make no difference, the lumbermen ie, to the motorist, to whom 100 miles additional means nothing. But such organizations as are interested in saving what they consider an adequate area of redwoods are not thus to be put off. They regard the idea of the Klamath Park as an additional rather than an alternative a The integrity of the Redwood ighway, and of the areas already saved only in consequence of years of persistent effort, depends upon preserving these more accessible a Naturally, the lumberman prefers that the more distant areas be saved. He is less concerned with what he may want to cut a or thirty years hence than with what he knows he may cut tomorrow. The forests to lumber now are those which com- bine high quality with convenience and accessibility. In the process, it is true, the tourists ma be obli to ride past miles of ragged slas to reach the larger park. If one has to go clear to the very end of the 400 miles of Redwood Highway to see really extensive forests of these trees, the name Stump ——- may in fact become more appro- priate than the official title. The Lumberman’s Viewpoint When. the. question of preserving scenic areas, now in the hands of private owners, comes.up for discussion, the point is often made that a high = must be paid for something whi: he Government orig- inally gave away for ‘nothing, or almost nothing. Attention is arrested by the strik- ing fact that the public, which less than a a ago practically made a gift of the lands for-a few dollars an acre, is now buy- ing them back for several hundred, in some cases even thousands of dollars an acre. It may be that Federal and state govern- ments were sh ted in earlier days, and in their —— give every man a chance, made a crazy bargain in disposing of lands so cheaply. were wasteful times, when. treasures were to be had for the ask- ing or taking, and ity’s heritage was carel dissipated. But all this has noth- ing to.do with the present, even if the Gov- ernment was not always too exacting in the restrictions with which it hedged its sales about. However cheap the original price paid, or however sketchy in occasional instances were the titles, the present owners may have been paying taxes, and in some cases heavy interest , for years. The operator eannot build a mill or railroad un- less he has thousands of acres of n tim- ber to back it up. But upon all this land taxes must be paid to support county ac- tivities, and even if interest rates on the capital required to run the enterprise are moderate, the land must double in value in a comparatively few years to meet the charges. The lumber industry, like any other business, is based upon getting out produc- tion--in this case, trees. The company EVENING POST which owns the Bull Creek and Dyerville | Flats has invested millions in mills, rail- roads and other equipment. It has built a modern costly hospital, bank, motion-pic- ture theater and 350 houses for its employes in one town alone. The statement is literally true that every tree owned by this company is burdened with part of the cost and liquidating value of its great expensive plant. Thus it is jealous, and has a right to be jealous, of all its Ke pes timber. in o one proposes, naturally, to take away the lumberman’s necessary timber without paying him a fair . But in his mind there is doubt w outsiders, the public in general, realize the fact that timber is worth all the way from zero to the most fancy figures. The public, the lumberman feels, has little understanding of the rela- tion between standing timber and the liquidation value of railroads and mills plus fixed charges and taxes. After all, the pub- lic often gets a vague idea that the lumber- man is nothing but a vandal, and that this outr cutting of trees should stop—an attitude that hardly makes for judicious analysis. Arguments Pro and Con Now it so happens that the very circum- once which make Bull Creek and Dyer- ville bering. They form the cream, the very heart of the operations of a corporation which has made unusually large invest- ments in modern equipment, and which no doubt has preset future profits upon these, the choicest of its holdings. It is natural for an owner under such cir- cumstances to fear that to ask a suitable rice might seem, to the uninformed pub- ic, grasping and outrageous. These flats are within a mile of a main railroad line, owned by and connecting with two of the great transcontinental systems. Only a minimum of additional investment by the lumber company itself is required to reach these trees. Being on flat land, the cost of logging is but a small fraction of that on the steeper slopes. If the flats are sold to the public to Flats so desirable for park and scenic | areas render them equally choice for lum- | | j | | yoy are no longer limited by the be preserved as a park, the company will | have to build much longer lines of railroad | to run through or around the park areas to its extensive reserves Then, too, these trees will cut more clear lumber per acre than aay oer piece in the county. It is clear lumber, big sizes, that brings fancy prices. Finally, these giant ond the flats. | trees stand in greater numbers here than in | any, other spot. 0 all of which the citizens who desire to save these areas reply that, valuable as they are, they constitute less than a year’s | automatically-—-a necessary supply out of something like forty years’ | reserves owned by this operator. Plenty of, other reasonably accessible | timber may be purchased. It is not so con- venient or fine, perhaps; but if the price received for the park areas is large enough, | the company can purchase a much larger area for the same money elsewhere. In an case, the company’s ultimate reserves will not be reduced. These arguments, pro and con, seem at first mg to have but slight importance in other than a local way. Yet this whole question of saving redwoods serves to raise in pointed fashion the broader and more general issue of what is a balanced normal ratio between commercial utilization, which in the case of lumberin ly involves a certain amount of ction, and the her functions which we know that natu- ral Tesourcés are intended to perform It is natural for the lumberman to want | | | | | to know where saving will stop. Is public | opinion going to demand that an increasing | proportion of the forest be set aside? He argues that in order to show posterity how the redwood grew, it is not necessary to save extensive areas. Specimens, he thinks, are enough. If scattered in with second growth, the average tourist, he argues, wil! not know the difference. Is it unnatural that he does not altogether enjoy “pm out- | siders tell him what property he shall sell? The lumberman ta that he is per- forming a service in developing the coun- try, and that he is an important part of the existing economic order. His point of view must be understood before we can arrive at-a norm, or ratio, between cutting and saving. Editor's Note—This is the first of two articles by Mr. Atwood. The second will appear in an carly number | checks, orders, waybills, tags, ete. 173 Bates : Indexes : Place Information 2 Literally at Your Fingers’ Tips Bates Telephone Index realize how much time a Bates Telephone Index can save you, you need only see one in action, Spin the knob and follow the red line are. the simple direc- tions. The best Stationers and Department Stores sell Bates Telephone In- dexes, from $2.50 up and will gladly show you them, Bates Radio Index Gl Gi Gl i im mm Co Go Oo 00 Duplicate necessarily small list of broad- casting stations published in your local paper. The Bates Radio Index is a complete log as well as a direc- tory of all stations in North America Spin the knob and follow the red line to the first letter of the city where the station you want is lo. cated. There you will find the cail number and wave length of each station in that city with plenty of room to enter your own dial reading. Stationers, department stores and almost any good radio dealer sell them. Price $3.00 East of Rockies. Bates Ajax cAutomatic EFyeleters EEDS the eyelets, punches the holes and crimps the eyelets appli- ance for the office—thousands of manufacturers also are using it for eyeleting samples, tags, bags, and many other uses. Price $7.50 Fast of Rockies. Bates -Automatic 415 NUMBERING MACHINES 46 HEREVER there is an office, 4'7 a retail store or factory, there is time and money saving work for OV@BBM VE EAIH jab °o 10. Jon ecutive 14 one or more Bates Numbering Ma- chines, Railroad and steamship lines use them for numbering tickets, Advertising agents use them for orders, receipts, bills, correspond- ence, etc. Librarians find them in- dispensable for books, index cards, Hundreds of thousands of Bates Numbering Ma- chines are at work all over the world. Once you get one you will find profit- able uses for it in your own work that you never dreamed of. Bates Number- ing Machines are REREREY sold by Stationers and Rubber Stamp 21 Dealers every- RA. where. Prices A. $13.00 up, hs THE BATES MFG. CO., Est. 1891 Orange, N. J. New York Office, 50 Church Street We crll gladly send you on request deseriptioe booklets on any or all of the Bates Appliances

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THE SATURDAY For quickest shaving— lather must stay WET: TiS LATHER—very wet, stay-wet shaving lather that has given Williams its huge following. Men have tired (perhaps you have) of thin, quick-drying lathers. Then they try Williams! teach is in the tube of Williams offered you today. It is a pure, white shaving cream entirely free from coloring matter. A free trial tube of Williams will be sent on re- quest. Use coupon below or a postcard. Large-size tube 35c. The double-size tube at soc contains fwice as much cream and is the most economical tube you can buy. Ask your dealer for it. --Jts wetness quickly pene- trates all of every hair. — Its bulk piles upon the face. ~-d¢ strips the oil film from the beara at once. —Its mildness gives the skin not only a shave but what really amounts to a treat- ment as well. Address The J. B. Williams Co., Dept. 44-C, Glastonbury, Conn, If you live in Canada, address The J. B. Williams Co., (Canada) Ltd., St. Patrick Street, Montreal. Everything that years of specializing in the making of shaving preparations can | Williams Shaving Cream MAIL THIS COUPON FOR FREE SAMPLE Send me free trial tube of your shaving cream. (Sample does not have Hinge-Cap) POST 4-25-25 2S Aqua Velva is our newest triumph—a scientific after-shaving preparation. Trial bottle free—Write Dept. 44-C EVENING POST April 25,1925 THE FARM MORTGAGE— 1925 MODEL (Continued from Page 15) companies. Elsewhere in this article will be adduced a legitimate and lucrative field for private capital and enterprise in this rela- tion. Although the total valuation of farm property in the United States is now well over $78,000,000,000, of which $66,000,- 000,000 represents farm lands and build- ings, the total farm indebtedness is esti- mated at only $8,000,000,000, or about 12 per cent of the physical valuation. Railroad securities, usually a stable medium, some- times represent half or three-fourths of the physical valuation. iculture is actually carrying a much 8 er proportion of indebtedness than any other business of importance. The av- erage farm security is therefore the best in the world. And yet farmers have had to pay from 7 to 10 or even 12 per cent interest on first mortgages or short-term loans in the greater part of the agricultural area of the country—the Middle West, Northwest and Pacific Coast states. Extreme cases of 20 per cent interest are cited. National and state banks in most of these states are restricted in their power to lend money on land, and a little reflection | discloses why the restriction is wise. The Eastern money lenders do not wish | to risk their loans on individual Western farms at a low rate of interest. You can’t blame them for that. They are using good business judgment. If they lend money at all in that way, they must have a substan- tial rate of interest to allow for cornmis- sions, much handling of paper, appraisals, inspections, a margin for risk, and the like. Farm-loan companies in the past have been in the grip of a system, or rather the absence of a system, ond they were powerless to im- prove the condition. Under this system the private investor is compelled to risk money on the integrity and ability of the individual, preducing what is called the single hazard, which, be- cause of its variable nature, necessitates a high level of interest charge and unusual recautions as to security because of the rozen nature of the assets. Many states have long-time redemption periods for farm mortgages, and this fact is an added disadvantage to the investor. The average department-store or imple- ment merchant, even in the smaller towns, has been able to borrow money for 5, 6 or 7 per cent interest on security which in value and stability does not equal farm land, or on personal notes. Brokers and financial operators borrow money at still lower rates. All of which is a highly paradoxical situation. The best security on earth be- came in practical operation, the poorest. Frozen Loans The low commercial rates have been made because the loans are liquid. They are quickly called and furnish a flowing stream in the arteries of the nation’s busi- ness. The land mort; is vastly different. It becomes a sluggish or frozen asset under the individual-loan system. And yet it is pees mae unfair that the farmer, of all ple, should have to st le along under igh rates and unfavorable borrowing con- ditions when his security is unquestionably superior. he trouble has been that there was no scientific or efficient codrdination of farm- loan — whereby the investor might ~~ a freely flowing, negotiable security at a low rate and get the money into the hands of the actual farmer at a low rate with a small n for commission and ad- ministration. ‘he problem of getting around the slow repayment of farm loans, virtually melting a frozen asset by spread- ing the loans over the entire country, has been solved. The Federal Land Bank is the hero that rushes in at the crucial moment, waving its ready cash. It did the work in such an une- motional and undramatic manner in the recent agricultural depression, however, and its machinery is so coolly methodical and huge that its act bore no element of heroics. __ For the purpose of this article the Wich- ita branch of this bank, serving the four states of Kansas, Oklahoma, Colorado and New Mexico; is taken as an exampie of the twelve branches in the United States. Its district includes all conditions and cli- mates, from the amply watered potato and cotton fields of Eastern Oklahoma to the semi-arid regions of New Mexico or cold and rocky plateaus of Colorado. This bank bore the brunt of a test case intended to knock out the whole Federal system in 1920 and 1921. It had the distinction of issuing Loan Number 1—the first ever issued by an institution of its kind in the United States. Hence it is a representative institution whose record may be studied profitably. This bank was started February 20, 1917. It received its charter March first and made its first loan April tenth of the same year. In brief, the fundamental principle of the Federal Land Bank is the pooling of a great number of farm loans under conservative supervision and issuing bonds upon the basis of the combined securities. The farmer pays 6.5 per cent; and out of this goes the interest paid to the bondholder, the ex- pense of administration and a small frac- tional margin to the bond broker, and pay- ments on principal, which begin at 1 per cent and increase each year as the principal itself it decreased, the indebtedness being constantly decreased according to the prin- ciple of amortization. It takes thirty-four and a half years for the farmer to retire the full amount of principal at that rate, but he may pay off the full amount any time after five years, if he desires, and thereby stop interest. Farm Financing in Europe There is steadily coming into the bank a stream of money on principal, so that the security as a whole becomes virtually liquid without the individual farmer being pressed for payment, the bonds being readily nego- tiable. The rotating fund is spread over such a broad territory that it responds readily to the needs of farmers of entire states in times of financial depression. In 1892 the Department of Agriculture published a study of codperative farm credit in certain European countries, based upon the experience of the German Land- schaft, the nch Credit Foncier, the In- stituto di Credito Fondario of Italy and other similar institutions. The subject was revived during the latter part of President ss Administration and was studied more and more intensively until 1912, when the Southern Commercial Congress ap- pointed a commission, called the American Commission, to investigate the European land banks. In March, 1913, President Wilson, under an act of Congress, ap- pointed an official commission known as the United States Commission to act in conjunction with the American Commis- sion. The two bodies, under one head, spent several months in Europe, exhaus- tively studying the subject; and upon the basis of their findings the Federal Farm Loan Act of 1916 was built. The Prussian Landschaft, the original land bank, was established after the Seven Years’ War. Owing to the ravages of the war, agriculture was paralyzed. Frederick the Great took the suggestion of a mer- chant named Buring in 1779, and by virtue of his absolute power decreed that large landholders in Silesia become members of an association under a blanket lien which was to be security for debentures. A mem- ber, to borrow money, was compelled to mortgage his property to this association, the Landschaft. The loan matured in small annual payments. It was a rousing success, and gradually the principle spread to Den- mark, Switzerland, France, Sweden, Hun- gary and other countries. Although economic conditions are vastly different in these days, there is a striking parallel in the matter of war crises. As with the Seven Years’ Wer, the World War brought about a profound economic dis- turbance in the United States, which first led agriculture up on a high mountain and poe * eg pa to throw it off the top of a cliff. The American land bank was established and had its first experience in a time of in- flation. Chance gave it the most unfavor- able time for birth that can be imagined. It was attacked in the courts at the most critical period. But it has come through its (Continued on Page 177)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Engineering Skill Applied to Box and Crate Design is Saving Millions of Dollars HE same type of engineering genius that has brought transportation from the oxcart to the airplane has been ap- plied to containers of shipped goods. Years ago, the theory that lumber thick- ness determined box strength did not lay a heavy burden upon adver Se was cheap. Labor was low. Markets were largely local. Transportation cost did not play a big part in the final cost of goods. But conditions changed. Markets broad- ened and transportation expense took on new importance. Lumber prices rose, Labor costs increased. Design More a than Weight Boxes and Crates began to receive seri- ous consideration. Engineers found that proper design and correct nailing were more important than thickness of lumber. Further experiment led to the use of steel strapping that petmitted the use of thinner lumber and resulted in a lighter, stronger box. Finally came the development that has been adopted by thousands of large man- ufacturers—the invention of the wood box and crate bound with steel wires. The thickness of lumber used is the mini- mum consistent with protection of the con- tents. Lumber is saved. Freight costs are cut. Strength is increased. Loss, damage and petty theft are reduced remarkably. This type of container—the Pioneer—is made in box or crate form in many sizes and shapes. Shippers in almost every in- dustry are using it. The reductions in lumber thicknesses are graphically illustrated by the compari- sons in the circles to the left, alongside the different stages in box design. Leaders in Developing Better Containers In the development of safer, more con- venient and less expensive shipping con- tainers, it is only natural that we, as the largest wood box manufacturer, should take a leading part. General Box Company has a boxing and crating service that is complete—from standing timber to the practically as- sembled box laid down at your door. Twelve factories, located in different sec- tions of the country, make available to you a source of supply unparalleled in - box and crate history. Engineering Service Back of these manufacturing facilities is a corps of practical box engineers. They analyze shipping methods, and recom- mend the type of box or crate best adapted to the needs of the individual shipper. This service is available to you without cost or obligation. Write us and we will gladly make an appointment with you and your shipping superintendent. You may save thousands of dollars. Let us have your address and we will send you ‘‘General Box Service’’— bulletins that tell how others—some in your own industry—have cut shipping costs. GENERAL BOX COMPANY 508 North Dearborn Street, Chicago, Illinois Note to Receivers We have just published a booklet ‘‘Incoming Shipments,’’ that visualizes how receivers of boxed or crated goods benefit through the use of correctly designed shipping containers. It will be sent you free on receipt of your request.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST RISING WATER! Swirling eddies from a river-run-wild, usurped the main Pusiness streets of Cumberland, Maryland, in the famous howd of Murch 28 1924. At flood stage, the invading water stood seven feet deep in the lobby of the Fort Cumberland Hotel, the large building vou see in the sermi-hackground af this picture SINCE origi the Forest Products Laborate t méwersity of Washington, this fo mows Laminex water test has bern successfully repeated by Dayton Sashand Door Company, Dayton Ohio; McPhee and McGinnity Denver; Hortman Company, New Urieans; Tacoma “Own Vour tlome’ Exposition, Tacoma ; C ols Manufacth@ing Company, Mem phis; Macaulay, Brooklyn ; Cali fornia Industrial Exposition, San Francisco; South Texes Fair Beaumont. by other leading door distributors and building material expositions. Under this rigorons test no Laminex door has war ped or come apart Laminex water test YOUTSCLE she compan THe Witerncer, Oscoop Company, Tacomn, WW ashington (rentlemen Piease send free booklet on Lamincx doors and sample of Laminex wood. I wish to make the water test myself to prove that Laminex does not warp or come apart Name Address Am interested as a (Please state whether Home-owner, Architect, Contractor, Dealer or Realtor) April 25,1925 Laminex doors were fested in the great Cumberland flood! N che great flood at Cumberland, Maryland, on March 29, 1924, Lami- nex doors again proved that, no matter what punishment they undergo, they will not shrink, swell or warp! A large sash and door warehouse in the heart of the stricken area was gripped in the clutches of the flood demon. A ten of twelve foot head of madly rush- ing water surrounded it—penetrated it submerged large portions of its stock! All doors in the basement and a great number on the ground floor were under water for several days. Doors of many manufacturers were represented there. The water receded. Doors of other makes were more or less corrugated. But not 4 Laminex door had a peeled face not one had open joints—not one had buckled or blistered panels! Moisture menaces doors Your house may never be in such a flood. But you want to make sare that your doors will not succumb to attacks of moisture from wet plaster or from changes of humidity to which all artificially heated rooms are subjected. Laminex—the only door that will not shrink, swell or warp—costs but little more than ordinary Toben! The cost of Laminex doors throughout is much less than that of rehanging or replacing just one warped or iwineed dooce! Making Laminex warp-proof Laminex doors are built up on a scientific principle. Put a piece of wood under the microscope. You will see tiny cells, or tracheids, running length- wise of the grain. When wet, i. tracheids expand in width but not in length. When dry, they shrink. By crossing, at right angles, several iayers of wood, and by uniting under tre- mendous pressure with a wonderful waterproof cement, we overcome ex- pansion and contraction. Every Laminex door bears our definite replacement guarantee label. Ask your building material dealer, architect or contractor about Laminex. Mail the coupon for free illustrated booklet and foran actual sample of Laminex wood, so that you can fakes the famous water test yourself. Sales Offices: New York, Chi- cago, Memphis, Los Angeles, San Fran- cisco, Spokane and London, England. Tue Wueever, Oscoop Company, Tacoma, Washington _ LAMINEX “DOORS Will not shrink, swell or warp

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(Continued from Page 174) vicissitudes unscathed. In a few para- phs, the nature of the Federal Land ank will be described. The United States is divided into twelve districts, in each of which is established a central bank, ail of them being under the — direction of the Federal Farm Loan oard at Washington. The following cities have these banks: Springfield, Massachu- setts; Baltimore; Columbia, South Caro- lina; Houston, Texas; Louisville, Ken- tucky; New Orleans; Omaha; Spokane; Berkeley, California; St. Louis; St. Paul; Wichita, Kansas. At the time of the inception of the district banks the United States Government started a rotating fund in motion by sub- scribing stock to the amount of $750,000 in each bank, which was to be reduced by each bank to the extent of 25 per cent of its subscriptions taken by debtors. This government fund has been practi- cally all repaid, and the institution is self- supporting. ns are originated by the formation of local corporations called National Farm Loan Associations. These are formed vol- untarily by farmers who desire loans. Each farmer must purchase stock of the associa- tion to the extent of 5 per cent of the loan he desires. The association must indorse the mortgage notes of the members, which are forwarded to the Federal Land Bank with first farm mortgages as security for the loans. After appraisal and examination the bank advances the amount agreed upon, not to exceed 50 per cent of appraised value. Loans are amortized semiannually or an- nually. The district bank is managed by seven directors. The president must be one of the directors. Three of these are appointed by the Federal Farm Loan Board at Washing- ton. Three are elected by the constituency. The other, a director at large, is nominated by the constituency and appointed by the Federal Farm Loan Board. The district bank in Wichita occupies one floor of a large office building and is managed exactly like a large state or na- tional bank, except that it is not a bank of deposit, but devotes all its attention to the twofold job of lending money and selling bonds to provide money for the loans. A force of about 100 persons is employed. There are no tellers’ cages, of course, but a suite of offices for the president, treasurer and secretary, rooms for appraisers and other officers, and desks for clerical help. The appraisers spend practically all their time in the field, and are practical farm- loan men who understand the difference between hard land and sandy loam; who know what a silo is; who can sound the sentiment of a community as to financial responsibility; who know land values. There are 461 of these in the four states of Kansas, New Mexico, Oklahoma and Colorado, which states are served from this central institution. Early Difficulties The first appraisers in the field met with unique experiences. One of them, who op- erated in the thinly settled districts, makes these observations: “In much of the territory no precedent had been established for loan values on the lands offered for security. The land was newly settled. Loan companies had not yet accepted it as being agricultural land and therefore would not make loans upon it. As a result, the local banker was able to get a high rate of interest on the loans he could place and the farmers were being badly handicapped in financing their operations. They made application in large numbers and for amounts that were in many cases very unreasonable, “There was an impression in the minds of many of them that the Government was furnishing the money to lend to them and they were entitled to all they needed or in some cases to all they wanted. “In Western Colorado and in parts of New Mexico we met many people who were trying hard to build homes under great difficulties. In some cases they were located on poor land, with only half a dugout for a house. Some of them were fifty miles from a railroad, in thinly settled communities. Their stories of hardships were almost un- believable, and it was sometimes very hard for the appraiser not to allow his sympathy to influence his judgment, for there was no doubt of the great need of money. How- ever, of course, the great ge i | of farms in the district covered by the land-bank THE SATURDAY system are productive and are operated by a thrifty and contented class of people.” Conservatism has been a marked charac- teristic of the Wichita institution. Natu- rally, many of the borrowers or prospective borrowers think it is entirely too conserva- tive. It has returned to the Government all the original funds for stock furnished in the inception. It has lent more than $90,- 000,000 since its origin. In 1880 the population of the United States was 50,155,783 and 28.6 per cent was urban. In 1910 the population was 91,972,266 and 45.8 per cent was urban. In 1920 the population was 105,710,620 and ——_ cent was urban. According to a statement made by L. C. Gray, economist in charge of the Division of Land Economics, United States Depart- ment of Agriculture, in 1923, the population will be about 150,000,000 in 1950. It is not likely, he says, that we can expand our —_ acreage sufficiently to provide for such a large population without encroach- ing upon the 50,000,000 acres now em- ployed in producing for export. Free Land Almost Gone “It should be noted,” he said, “that for the past twenty we have been reduc- ing our crop and pasture acreage per cap- ita. This reduction reflects the fact that our area of virgin land available for the easy expansion of our agriculture has been exhausted.” The era of free land is about over. The homestead period was a t little period while it lasted. Under its beneficent régime there was developed one of the fin- est classes of citizenry ever seen on top of the earth. The fears of those who saw too much paternalism in the scheme were found to be groundless. Proving up a claim was a man’s job and it tried the mettle of the settler. It furnished equality of oppor- tunity. The tenant farmer or hired man was given a show for his white alley. But it is a thing of the past. Land is get- ting higher and higher priced. In 1880 the average value in land and buildings per acre of farm land was $19.02, In 1910 it was $39.60 and in 1920 it was $69.38. In order to keep up with the require- ments of the rapidly increasing urban con- sumers it is necessary to have greater production. This will require ter capi- talization for farm operations. Coupled with this fact is the rapidly increasing price of land as indicated above, and the increased cost of machinery and everything else used on the farm; and if the United States is to continue as an exporter of icultural products, the problem is intensified. The inevitable answer to the riddle is that there must be a tremendously expanded credit for farmers; not the kind of credit that en- courages speculation or extravagance, but the conservatively supervised credit that pra er 4 needed machinery BS large production; that permits greater efficiency, speeding up and Sasened yoleme of pro- duction, such as is made a part of our national industrial mechanism. Until re- cently, agricultural credit was fifty years behind business credit. The anachronism was absurd. It was like making a team out of an ox and a gasoline tractor. The United States was the last great agricul- tural nation to adopt the government land bank. The question now is not whether the land bank is a thing, but whether the principle should be enormously expanded. When it was first established, in 1917, the state and national bankers as a rule op- posed the land bank. They thought it might hurt their business. They viewed with alarm the low interest rate. But now they have changed their tune. This espe- cially is true in the small country towns, where banks are most directly dependent upon the welfare of the farmers. “The Federal Land Bank saved my in- stitution,” said the president of a state bank in a small Kansas town to Milas Lasater, president of the Wichita Land Bank, recently. ‘‘When the depression of 1922-23 hit our district we couldn’t get any money from the city banks, no matter how g our t paper was. They just didn’t have it, or were swamped with demands from merchants or jobbers. Natu- rally, the city bankers favored the mer- chants and jobbers because their security was more liquid. What were the country banks to do? We had all lent money on farm land, cattle and other chattels as far as the law permitted. In any case our money was frozen tight. EVENING POST “Many of the farmers in our neighbor- hood then turned to the Federal Land Bank and em pry Ba a low rate of inter- . They paid off debts. They paid off our loans. We were able to lend money to our home merchants. They, in turn, paid their wholesalers and jobbers and manufacturers. The of one di , according to well-known workings, liberated five other dollars.” This instance could be multiplied innu- merably, according to Mr. Lasater. So the injection of $37,000,000 into the commercial arteries of the four states of this district in 1922-23 was a profoundly a og fact. e loans issued by the Wichita Land Bank in 1919 amounted oot in 1920 the amount was $5,324,400; in 1921 the amount was $7,672,900; in 1922 the amount was $19,815,000; in 1923 the amount was $17 yo and in 1924 the amount was $17,072, . It will be noticed oa = Rogpone m 9 s the most , bioee wa ion, and the money went directly to the spot where most needed—agriculture. sled bor eale-tonlipemetnaatier edits or only four p' —for purchasin farm lands, for purchasing livestock an equipment, for i ts or for liqui- dating existing indebtedness. In the case of the purchase of land, the prospective owner must have enough money to pay 50 Ay: cent of the value, as a loan will be for not to exceed 50 per cent. This provision is established inorder to protect the bank against possible shrink- age in value. Equipment may include implements or other articles necessary to oper- ations. _Improvements may include plowing, tilling, irrigating, fencing, erecting build. ings, planting trees, and the like. nder the head of liquidating existing indebtedness some knotty problems are occasionally encountered, ne of these came up to Milas Lasater, president of the Wichita Land Bank, for decision not long ago. It concerned the application for a loan from a farmer, one of whose purposes was to pay for an operation upon his wife. After analyzing the question, the president and board decided to make the loan on the ground that the wife’s health was an impor- tant consideration in the conduct of the farm, and therefore the expense of an operation was a legitimate one. In all cases the moral hazard is carefully weighed. More than 99 per cent of all the borrowers have turned out to be good moral risks in the Wichita district, according to Mr. Lasater. Of course, the standard in this respect is due largely to the care which is exercised by appraisers and examiners. Political Influence By enabling farmers to build silos, barns and other needed equipment, to improve the breeds of farm animals, buy ferti- lizer, drain pipe and irrigation equipment, the productivity of farms already in oper- ation is inc ‘ The economy and efficiency inherent in the land bank is brought about by the di- version of capital direct to the farmer by reducing the cost of loans, by the removal of the single hazard, and by the reduction of expense by maintaining a large and per- manent personnel of investigators and agents who cover a larger field and are con- stantly at work. Do polities enter into the Federal Land Bank? This question was asked of Mr. ter. “Yes and no,” was his cautious answer. “In theory, the institution is nonpolitical. | co hie Ia ena anne eeones to law, is ree jubiicans, three Democrats and the Secretary of the Treasury, who at this time is a Republican. I have seen direct evidence of the fact that Mr. Mellon is absolutely uninfluenced by political considerations. I am a Democrat myself, I don’t know the politics of the employes. Nothing is said about politics. “At one time Senators Borah and La Follette directed a questionnaire to all the district land banks to see whether politics had entered in. No were ever made on the subject in Congress, so I sup- pose the matter was dropped for lack of material. es ae ol there is no appre- ciable manifestation of undue political influence in the various district banks. “T am convinced that the whole structure is built on merit rather than political pre- ferment. However, it would be possible, as | WHERE NONE GROW NOW! How? Merely by taking advantage of a few square i of your un- used floor space. For many years 0 nome pip have so to invest sums to Sally profits from the famous Saree Kist Popcorn Machines. 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Fill in and mail the coupon. HOLCOMB & HOKE MFG.CO. 2601 Van Buren St. + Indianapolis, Ind. Holcomb & Hoke Co, 20601 Von Buren St., Indians polis, i ad. Saige Sooee yout new MONTYMAKER Machine at the new, . Nameé........ Street City. iene Kind Of Businestco.ceccccecsscccereeesesereesetecsnns

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geptaTatetarst stat aT TiLwVaeseTs os = 2h. THE SATURDAY i i ; coe, | ' . 8 : ' ' Men,Method and. Machines Adequate brakes can only be obtained with the right men, methods and ma- chines. Raybestos Brake Service Stations offer you real Silver Edge Raybestos to- gether with the valued knowledge of brake experts. High Speed Raybestos Brake Relining Equip- ment, electrically driven, is used to drill and countersink the lining so that the Raybestos Tubular Brass Rivets can be sunk below the surface. You obtain quality brake lin- ing, properly applied by men who know, which means tee brake life, better brakes and SAFETY! Avoid doubtful brake lining and ’ the old-fashioned way of applying it. Send coupon for the name and address of the nearest Raybestos Brake Service Station and be sure about your brakes, THE RAYBESTOS COMPANY Bridgeport, Conn. The Canadian Raybestos Co,, Ltd. Peterborough, Ont. py Led. andon, England * 4 1D " * " t ” * D ¥ ” ¥ v * 4 * 4 Tue Rayaestos Company, 4/25/'25 w Bainogrort, Conn. , aia : Please send me the nar ee ie Raybestos Brake Service Sta- %, tion in my vicinity. y My Name ii EL} Address Ld a 24° aractet? EVENING POST with almost any official or semi-official ion, to inject politics. This might be wholly innocent, and nevertheless there might be a distinct political complexion in some ces. A man in public or semi- public life naturally makes more friends among men of his own party. In making appointments he is more likely to choose ean net ene garty es from the oppo- tion. | “It is ase therstore that 4 one party remains in power long enough, its slight | preponderance is likely to be reflected in | the nnel of the various banks. “T think the Federal Land Bank as a whole has been very fortunate in keeping Mellon idly ex- ip from the affairs of the out undesirable politics. | and the Farm Loan Board have | cluded | institution.” | Out of approximately 30,000 farmers having loans from the land bank at Wichita, | only 44 have acquired under fore- | closure in the eight years of its existence. | In a single county in Oklahoma alone more | than eighty foreclosures were made by Ee | vate mortgage companies in the year 1924. | Under the modern land-bank system the Shylock therefore becomes the remoiest possible contingency. Three Great Benefits | The three test benefits, according to | the opinion of a former Federal Land Bank | official from the St. Paul institution, are: The low interest rate as compared with the old high rates once prevailing; the amor- tization feature, providing easy repayment; and the fact that 30 per cent of the farms examined have been relieved of clouds on their titles because of examinations by land-bank appraisers. “T know of cases in North Dakota where farmers ot ye ing as high as pl go cent interest,”’ sai this man; “10 and 12 per | cent was not unusual before the land bank | came. Thousands of farmers were sur- prised to discover that there were defects in their titles. If these had been allowed to | remain, some sharper might have come | along and deprived them of their land. Our | appraisers and examiners made them cor- | rect these defects before approving the loans. This service alone has been worth millions of dollars to the farmers of the Northwest.” A. L. Stockwell, the farmer near Larned, Kansas, to whom Loan Number 1 was is- sued in 1917, exemplifies the fact of increased production brought about by the use of conservatively supervised farm credit. He is now feeding 5000 sheep direct from the range, along with cattle and horses, and has large and well-equipped barns and silos. The barns are equipped with electric lights, overhead feed conveyors, self- feeders and a water system. “Nearly all the alfalfa hay and about half the ensilage produced on this farm is fed to sheep,”’ says Mr. Stockwell. ‘It is a factory, so to speak, converting our farm products into high-priced mutton and wool. This feeding plant was built in 1922, or since Loan Number 1 was placed on this farm. “One point that I wish to make is that a properly financed farm, like any other busi- ness, takes out a lot of uncertainty from farming. Too many farmers have an over- investment in land and not enough avail- able capital for o ting.” Mr. Stockwell has a large modern home, with hot-water heating, electric lights, run- ning water, electrically driven cream sepa- rator, electric washing machine, electrically driven pump, portable heaters, electric range, sweeper, ironer and ice machine. On the farm are electrically driven silo fillers, alfalfa mill and irrigation pumps. A power ensilage cutter cuts Kafir corn in thin slices from standing stalks-and blows this feed, thus made into ensilage, into an accompanying wagon. This in turn is emptied into a power silo filler which an- nually fills four concrete silos with a com- bined capacity of 1000 tons. Mr. Stockwell, it will be noticed, went | through the 1922 agricultural panic with colors flying. “The av farmer is receiving bene- fits from the land bank, wheter ba pro- | cures his money from this bank or from | mortg companies,” sagely observes A. N. Rochester, treasurer of the Wichita institution. “It was through this bank that the interest rate on money loaned to farmers has been reduced ma since | vid when the Wichita bank was insti- tuted.” April 25,1925 Aside from the indirect benefit to the country at large that accrues from a more healthy state of iculture, a decided direct benefit goes ly from the land bank to pecple who may not know the difference between a singletree and a ruta- baga. This is in the availability of a stable tax-exempt bond bearing a satisfactory interest and backed by the best security imaginable—the composite soil of the United States of America. Because of the fact that the $66,000,- 000,000 worth of farm land in the United States bears an indebtedness of only $8,000,000,000, the composite farm mort- gage is an attractive security. ‘Life-insurance companies have been largely instrumental in establishing the farm outer as a premier investment in the Uni tates for safety of principal and reliability of income,” says William H. Kingsley, vice president of the Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company. In 1922, 17.92 per cent of the total assets of the principal life-insurance companies of the United States was invested in farm mortgages. The bonds of the Federal Land Bank usu- ally sell at a slight premium and yield from 4.32 per cent to 4.45 per cent for the 4.5 per cent class of bonds after deducting commissions, and so on. The small margin for handling shows how readily the bonds are selling. When the land bank was established and announced that it would do business on \4 per cent profit, the private money lend- ers said it was absurd, it couldn’t be done. But it is being done. The brokers get the difference between 4.5 per cent and the market price of the bonds. The bank takes 1 per cent, the difference between 4.5 and 5.5 per cent. Out of this it pays all its administration expenses and dividends to members for the stock they hold. The ex- nses amount to \4 per cent and the prof- its and savings amount to % per cent. Then there is an added per cent for princi- pal, and thus the total payments made by the borrower amount to 6.5 per cent annually. The Old Homestead Law In view of the passing of free land, the continually rising price of land and the in- creasing demand for food because of greater pulation, it is the writer’s opinion that ederal farm-credit machinery and philos- ophy will yet see one more important stage of development—the utilization of more marginal lands and the more intensive cul- tivation of proved lands by means of an increase in farm operator ownership. Mar- ginal lands are those which require irriga- tion or dry-farming methods, it might be explained. ntensive cultivation and the develop- ment of marginal lands are not often found where tenantry is extensive. Farm owner- ship is the great incentive for that good farming which leads to increased produc- tion. The old homestead law was one of the peat makers of citizenship the nation as seen. It developed a hardy, self-reliant race of empire-building farmers who showed their stuff by proving up homesteads in five-year periods, at the end of which the Government gave them the land they were farming. This law was the antidote and preventive of farm tenantry. But in recent ears tenantry has been coming back with increasing and discouraging speed. Ten- antry makes for lower production per acre, a slacking up of initiative and a decline in > Through the Federal Land Bank system, or an adjunct of that system, the Govern- ment could take a new hitch on the home- stead idea by buying up marginal lands or idle lands in proved areas and giving tenant farmers or young hired hands a chance to show their mettle in a period of proving up. The title to the land would remain with the Government. If the occupant, starting with nothing, could make enough in a given period—say, five years—to pay 50 cent of the value of the land, then the d bank as now constituted could step in and start its present routine procedure by taking a mortgage and giving the man a deed. In this way an ambitious man would have a chance somethin § like that given the homesteader in the old days. He could start with virtually nothing and hew out his own destiny, confronted by a challenge which would test the best qualities in men. That such a philosophy builds citizenship (Continued on Page 180)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING L. J. JOHNSON definitely took the “‘ifs’’ out of outboard motor-boating in 1920 with the Johnson Motor. In designing the Johnson, he approached the outboard motor from the marine engineering standpoint. Asa means of transportation—not as a clever novelty. He demanded absolute dependability—and nothing short of it. And he got it. a * More Johnsons were sold during 1924 than any other make. The reason is easy to see when you consider these Johnson features: Adaptability—The Johnson is the only outboard motor that can be instantly attached to all types of boats and canoes without altering some styles of boats. Power—The Johnson drives a rowboat from 7 to 9 miles per hour, a canoe from 9 to 12. Portability—The Johnson is the only really portable out- board motor. Itscomplete weight—ready to run—is Only 35 Pounds The Johnson is vibrationless. Its only sound is a gentle purr. It is easy to start and safe to start at any temperature. Its float feed carburetor and rope starter take care of that —no knobs or handles to catch hands or clothing. Johns on OUTBOARD MOTORS GET INTO THE BOAT AND SEE FOR YOURSELF When the Wind Dies— A Johnson Motor brings you home surely and comfortably. Auxiliary power compact enough to stow away easily. The Outboard Motor without an If” Power Increased in 1925 Model In the 1925 Johnson power has been increased 25-30%. Improved Super-Quick Action Magneto makes starting easier than ever. Johnson Shock Absorber Drive (Patented) is standard equipment. This Drive permits running over submerged obstructions without injury to motor or propeller. Yet the remarkable ready-to-run weight of only 35 pounds is retained. . | There’s a Johnson dealer near you who will be glad to give you a free demonstration. If you don’t know him, mail us the coupon below and we will send you his name and the 1925 Johnson catalogue. JOHNSON MOTOR COMPANY 882 Sample Street, South Bend, Ind. Eastern Distributor and Export: N.Y. Johnson Motor Co., Inc. 4 West 61st Street, New York City, N. Y. Canadian Distributor: Peterborough Canoe Company, Peterborough, Ontario Use Your Johnson While you pay for it Payment Plan from your Pa dealer—or direct from us. a“ Pi i: a“ “ rk ag Johnson Motor Cc., Ps 882 Sample St., cy. South Bend, Ind. A Gentlemen: ae Kindly send me the name of the nearest Johnson dealer, your free catalog and details of the Deferred Payment Plan. Name Address Get details of our Deferred a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST COMPLETE TRUSCON BUILDINGS Standardized for Ei very Need eee er A Truscon Standard Building will solve your building problem, no matter how exacting the require- ment. The Truscon organization of skilled engineers specializes in satisfying particular demands. Years of experience in codperating with clients on their buildings fit us to understand and solve your prob- lems. Whether you propose build- ing now or in the future consult Truscon at once. Let us demonstrate the economies and superior merits of Truscon Standard Buildings. Return coupon for full information TRUSCON STEEL CO., YOUNGSTOWN, OHIO Warchouses and Offices in Principal Cities Canada: Walkerville, Ont. Foreign Div.: New York USCON STANDARD BUILDINGS TRUSCON STEEL CO., Youngstown, Ohio | Flat Roofs | PitchedRoofs | Monitors or | Sawtooths | | Series “B” Truscon “Steeldeck” Send me building catalog and suggestions on Truscon Standard Building to be used for A Special Catalog for All Industries Height Width (Continued from Page 178) | of high order and does not encourage going | Mr. Lasater does not thin into debt or drifting with the tide has already been proved. I am presenting this as ja d own scheme. the Federal Land Bank should extend its operations that far. He believes that the institution should be a very conservative one, confining its functions to the traditional realms of secure banking. “T do think that the land bank has re- tarded the otherwise rapid increase of farm tenantry,” he says, however. “Farm ten- antry is a serious problem. I do not think it can be solved by our bank. But I am sure there would have been more tenants had it not been for the land bank, which stepped in and offered cheap money to hold m farms for the owners, with lib- eral amortization terms.” In Western Kansas there are hundreds of thousands of acres of level silt land, washed down from the Rockies in countless geo- ages. These are very fertile, but need irrigation or special 4 arm methods. This land is still cheap. It will raise sor- ghums and various other specially adapted crops practically every year, and frequently an excellent crop of winter wheat. By the use of silos and a rough-forage system of a it can be made profitable as a diversi- fied farming, dairying and ee as section. Its possibilities cannot be ignored. This furnishes an instance of a great raw material for the agricultural factory, so to ws, needing the injection of additional capital. Jhen the land bank was established, many of the eee mp, ¥ companies and some of the banks opposed it bitterly. The opposition crystallized in the form of a suit attacking the constitutionality of the law, filed against the Wichita Federal Land Bank in 1920, in the Federal District Court at Kansas C 4° Charles E. Hughes was the principal at- torney for the land banks, and he won a complete victory, vindicating the constitu- tionality of the act establishing the institu- tion. W.G. McAdoo and other well-known attorneys also were in the case as defense counsel, acting for interveners. During the pendency of this case the land banks practically ny rcp their opera- tions as far as issuing loans was concerned. | This slowed up the whole project greatly. | But as soon as the case was decided by the | Supreme Court of the United States, in 1921, business was resumed with a rush, and | 1922 was the biggest year up to that time. One of the interesting accompaniments | of the Federal Land Bank system is the | Joint Stock Land Bank. Joint Stock Land Banks This is the Government’s reply to the cry | of paternalism which was hurled at the land | bank as soon as it was proposed. It is also | a check against the Federal Land Bank to | prevent it from becoming inefficient or | polities-ridden, by the sheer force of ex- | created w ample. By this means a healthy rivalry is ich is, in some respects, com- | parable to the rivalry between national and | stitutions o state banks. Joint Stock Land Banks are private in- rated on the same principle as | the Federal Land Bank. They wr i be the established anywhere by approval o Federal Farm Loan Board. The super- vision of the Federal Farm Loan Board over the Joint Stock Land Banks is mostly perfunctory. The Joint Stock Land Bank furnishes to | private farm-loan mortgage companies the | Opportunit | with the to do business in competition ederal Land Bank upon equal | terms. The purposes for which money may be | borrowed from the Joint Stock Land Banks | Stock. The | are more liberal than the terms of the other | institution. The Federal can lend not te exceed $25,000 to one farmer. A Joint Stock may lend as much as $50,000. The loan in case of the Federal is restricted to the use of the farmer actually owning and Pa ip the land. In the cane of the Joint ock, any person owning a farm may cure a loan, even though he may not oper- ate it. The formation of a local association in the case of the Joint is a mutual institution, the Government having the major voice in management. he Joint Stock is ‘ Sere. ration operated for private profit a directorate elected by stockholders. The latter may be incorporated upon the sub- scription of at least $250,000 capital stock is not n April 25,1925 and is limited in respect of territory to two adjacent states. There is no guaranty of the bonds of the bank by any other cy, while in the case of the Federal the bonds are guaranteed mutually by the entire system of Federal Land Banks. a The interest pe by the Joint Stock is therefore a little higher—usually one-half of one cent—than that paid by the Federal d Bank bonds. The usual rate for a twenty-year Federal Land Bank bond is 4.5 per cent and for the same term Joint Stock d Bank bond the usual rate is 5 per cent. If bought from brokers, the net yield will be about .15 to .30 per cent lower, to allow for commissions. Federal Land Banks may purchase Joint Stock Land Banks, and in several cases have done so, absorbing the business of the latter. There are a few more than sixty Joint Stock Land Banks in the United States, and their combined capital on December 31, 1924, was $34,487,185, their outstanding bonds amounting to $435,067,400. On the same date the combined capital of the twelve Federal Land Banks was $49,- 582,045, and the outstanding bonds amounted to $914,763,416.25. On December 31, 1924, the total assets of the St. Paul Federal Land Bank were $119,632,235.14, this being the largest fig- ure of the twelve banks. Intermediate Credit Banks An afterthought connected with the Federal Farm Loan system was the Inter- mediate Credit Bank, established in March, 1923, for the purpose of extending the farm- loan principle to chattels. These institu- tions are conducted by the same officers and in connection with the Federal Land Banks. These have the effect of further relieving the farmer in times of stress. Special con- sideration is shown for farmers having dairy cows and breeding stock. The capital of the twelve Intermediate Credit Banks of the country is $24,000,000 paid in. The Intermediates, although they have not attained an imposing stature, form a very significant feature, as evidenced by a quotation which is to follow. In summing up the effects of the farm- loan agencies mentioned in this article, and comparing them with the functions of state and national banks, an important fact be- comes evident and is stated by the presi- dent of one of the largest banks in the four states of the Ninth Federal Farm Loan District. He says: “The tendency of state and national banks is away from farm loans; not only on land, which are already very restricted by law and by common-sense banking princi- ples, but on cattle. “The best banking practice in banks of deposit requires liquidity of loans. This practically excludes real-estate security, and it also counsels the strict limitation and perhaps elimination of cattle loans. “Our best loans are on quickly moving merchandise, such as stocks of goods or raw material in process of manufacture. The logical field for our business is with business men, in big and small towns, whose stocks in trade turn over quickly. We are there- fore not averse to the government agencies taking over the loaning of money to farm- ers on land and cattle, which can be made the basis of bonds backed by diversified and stable security.” It is only fair to say that this represents the views of an individual. The views of all the bankers could not be ascertained. How- ever, there are indications that these views are becoming more and more general in the banking fraternity. It is apparent, of course, that the safety of banking, where ready cash is at the mercy of depositors who may withdraw millions in a week or two, is dependent upon the ability of the banker to call his loans on short notice. The Federal Reserve has helped wonderfully by providing a reservoir for lending money on rediscounts, but the Federal Reserve cannot do it all. Individual banks must frame their policies so as to meet emergencies. Shorter and shorter term loans, with more and more liquid assets, mark the development of the state and national banking business in the agricultural regions. The coming of the nation-wide farm-loan cies constitutes a development of major importance in the financial world, furnishing at once a new form of security of unquestioned merit and stability, and a relief to the basic industry of agriculture which will react favorably upon all other business.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Make Your Kitchen Hours a Pleasure Adecorative kitchen, well-plannedand properly equipped, is a good investment. It pays dividends in pleasant hours; tastier food; better housekeeping; contented families. In planning kitchen improvements first thoughts are of the cook stove. It must provide complete cooking service as well as beauty. The Nesco Oil Cook Stove solves this problem. In grey and black with turquoise blue chimneys, it is very deco- rative and harmonizes with almost any good color scheme. This stove is remarkably efficient, too. It burns an intense blue gas flame that contacts with cooking utensil just asa gas stove flame does. It fries, bakes, broils, boils, yf toasts clean and can simmer. One burner burns 25 RN hours on a gallon of kerosene. The patented Rock- NESCO ROYAL GRANITE weave Wick is non-burnable. It needs no trimming—only an occasional cleaning. No priming—no smoke —no odor. For your cooking utensils, Nesco Royal Granite Ware— deep blue-grey and beautifully mottled—will add both color and serviceability. This ware is easy to clean, will not discolor food, and is safe, durable and inexpensive. A new book has just been published, which will help to make your kitchen hours a pleasure. It contains practical, helpful suggestions for refurnishing and redecorating, or for planning new kitchens. Ask your dealer to lend you his copy of ‘““Nesco Better Kitchens” or send us 25¢ for one containing a coupon good for 25¢ on the pur- o> chase of any piece of Nesco Royal Granite Ware. Oil Cook Stove With the Blue Gas Contact Flame WARE NATIONAL ENAMELING & STAMPING CO., Inc., 910 St. Paul Ave., Milwaukee, Wis. Milwaukee, Chicago, Grenite City, Il., St. Louis, New Orleans, New York, Phi'adelphia, Baltimore Canadian Manufacturers », Penetanguishene, Ontario, Canada

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ELCIN THE SATURDAY EVENING POST © £.N.W.CO DOES THE WATCH DATE THE FASHION OF THE MAN? Beau BRUMMEL maintained that a man’s style is rated by the details of his dress. Thus, his time-piece is as important as his tailoring in establishing his claim to correct taste. An old fashioned watch suggests an old fashioned wearer—lagging behind the thought and method of his time. But still more important, a cumbersome design very often means lumbersome ser- THE CORSICAN ELGIN With famous Lord Elgin movement. White or green gold case. . . . $175. vice. For in watches, as in motor cars, efficiency often increases as ugliness goes. That is why Eterm, for sixty years the world’s standard in watch accuracy, is equally the world’s most beautiful watch. In its greater beauty lies greater utility. An ultra accoutrement of fashion, it is equally the sturdiest, truest and most de- pendable of all time-keeping instruments. ew EF LCI N % THE «WATCH +*WORD-:FOR‘ELEGAN CE:&:EFFICIENCY ‘NATIONAL: WATCH: COMPANY * ELGIN April 25, 1925 ‘ILLINOIS

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Pe] far from unaware of the honor. Still, as Swinburne entered the room and greeted me once more with that beautiful courtesy, I was imp as never before by the pecul- iarities of his figure. He was a rather short man, with incredibly narrow “champagne” shoulders, a disproportionally long and slightly exuberant trunk, and short tripping legs. His splendid head seemed far too big for his body, and gave him the se Seg mews one of those caricatures in which a fantastically large head is placed on a diminutive figure. His head, too, lolled to one side, as if too heavy to carry, and the lower part of his face was disastrously unfinished, almost chinless; and from the wrinkles of his rather disagreeably inadequate chin grew out a scant beard of thinly scattered hairs. (As a compensating feature, a large, command- ing, aristocratic nose must not be omitted.) Seated at the table, he continually jerked his body in a nervous way and his hands twittered before him in an uncomfortably weird manner. He had come to the table waving a copy of the St. James’s Gazette with consider- able excitement, even irascibility. Some- THE SATURDAY THE ROMANTIC °90°S (Continued from Page 25) and then shouting loudly to him in her turn, she said, ‘‘ Mr. Watts-Dunton, it’s not black currant.” Then, louder still, “It’s GREENGAGE!” Perhaps the reader may not see much to laugh at, but to me it seemed irresistibl comic; and, had the reader been there, think he would have found it as hard to keep his face straight as I did. Lunch being over, Mr. Swinburne invited me upstairs to his study to inspect the col- lection of rare quartos of the Elizabethan dramatists which was the apple of his eye— Ford, Webster, Dekker and the rest; and it was y 4 happiness and honor that day to add to that cherished collection by a very scarce quarto of an obscure play by Thomas Kyd, Soliman and Perseda. I had picked it up for five shillings. Such finds were possible to short purses in those days. I had brought it as an appropriate tribute to the altar of the Master, but I had great difficulty in persuading him to accept it, for, of course, he knew its value. When, however, I had overcome his courteous scruples, the boyish pleasure he showed in EVENING POST give me the manuscript when it was com- pares, a promise which I value none the | ess because it was unfulfilled. By this time, he had grown more accus- tomed to voice, so that we were able really to talk together, on a subject, too, which was peculiarly his own, I had re- marked how little of romantic passion, as distinct from mere eroticism, there was in English poetry. He kindled at once at the theme, and together we went over the names of one English poet after another, ending jo rejecting all but a very few, chief among which were Marlowe and Donne and Keats, Even Shakspere he considered inade- quate in that particular quality, in which, | needless to say, Swinburne himself stands preéminent. French poetry, he agreed, was even poorer than English in that respect. Up-and-Coming Biographers To talk with Swinburne on passion in poetry was, indeed, a wonderful experience, and I regret that I took no notes of his glowing talk and that it now remains but a vague glory in my memory. thing he had been reading had evidently roused his indigna- tion. It was a review of a new poet for whom he expressed a true Swinburnian, Olysyllabie scorn. fe read aloud to us some extracts, with his high, singing voice, breathing hard and spasmodically; and, catching sight of the paper afterward I noti that he had written in French on the margins remarks of a highly objurga- tory nature. The poet, I regret to say, was Francis Thomp- son. (I kept to myself the fact that, as Mr. John Lane’s reader, I was responsible for the publication of the offending poems!) I forget what Mr. Watts-Dunton had to say by way of sooth- ing agreement and mild rebuttal; and I remember better the conclusion of the lunch, which struck me as delightfully funny, though I rather despair of con- veying the fun of it to the reader. Tarts Mr. Watts-Dunton was seated at the head of the table, and did the carving, Mr. study I descended to Watts-Dunton’s, and he talked to me in his familiar discursive déshabillé fashion of Rossetti, whose most intimate friend he had been, while around us on the walls dreamed those strangely lovely faces Rossetti had made his own, draw- ings and paintings ing mid-Victorian room, suggestive of anti- macassars and horse- hairfurniture. As the afternoon light faded and the dream faces glimmered in the dusk about us, Watts- Dunton talked of the life of Rossetti, which he was always writ- from Rossetti’s own | hand; and dominat- | 1 was an im- | mense cabinet of | black oak, with deco- | rative panels also by | Rossetti, making a | romantic contrast to | From Swinburne’s the otherwise prim and commonplace atmosphere of the | e ing, but which his | fe Af ) easy-going indolence | never allowed him to | write. Rossetti had already been dead for several years, but the book never seemed to get any nearer. Two iographies had long since appeared—so promptly, indeed, Swinburne on his right and myself on his left. Mr. Watts-Dunton was a tiny man whose careless clothes always seemed too big for him. His face was as small as Swin- burne’s was large, a good brow, with keen kindly eyes and a long rat-like—or I had better say Mongolian—mustache. I have remarked on Mr. Swinburne’s impenetra- ble deafness. Now Watts-Dunton also was deaf—deaf encugh for all practical pur- He was also very nearsighted, so that when a dish was put before him he had to bend his head close down over it, scanning it as nearsighted ple scan small print. Well, at the end of the meal, the maid who waited upon us placed before him one of those tarts with crisscross open-work pastry through which the jam of which it was com- posed was plainly visible—the color of it unmistakable. Bending over it, and scanning it as though it were some obscure Greek text, Mr. Watts-Dunton turned to Mr. Swinburne with that ceremonious address which they always observed one toward the other, and called out in a loud voice, “‘ Mr. Swinburne, this is your favorite tart—black currant.” The maid touched Mr. Watts-Dunton, his new acquisition—I might say toy—was exhilarating to see. That eager boyishness, which even as an old man he never lost, was one of the most charming and remarkable of his character- istics. His blue eyes seemed suddenly to flower in his face, and his whole counte- nance became so irradiated with interior light that one seemed to see the welling up of that deep lyric fount from which the most impassioned song in the English lan- guage had come. Certainly that afternoon I saw Shelley plain, saw the white fire that burns in a great poet’s heart, and realized what it means to be inspired like the poets of old. All the absurdity, on which I hope I have not laid too much stress, disap- peared in that strange transfiguring light, which grew even brighter as he read to me—or rather chanted—with intense ex- citement, some scenes from the play on which he was then engaged, the Duke of Gardia. How he reveled, with an utter absorbed unconsciousness, in the glory of the streaming jeweled words, evidently for- etting they were his own, loving them just or their own sake! He ended by lifting me into the seventh heaven by promising to after Rossetti’s fu- | neral, that Oscar | Wilde, whose epi- | grams were already wi London dinner tables, once said to me, “‘ Whenever a great man dies, Hall Caine and William Sharp go in with the undertakers.” The last time I saw Swinburne he did not see me, and perhaps it is telling tales out of school to recall the oceasion. Still, as I consider the reminiscence far from derog- atory to him, and believe too that the reader will regard it with me as are ge | him in a brotherly human aspect, I wil hazard it. Swinburne, like some other poets of the time—Tennyson and Meredith, for in- stance—was a great walker. Putney lies at the foot of Wimbledon Common, and it was Swinburne’s custom to walk every morning from his house to the top of the Common and back. It chanced that one morning I had been out early bicycling, and I had stepped into a shop at the top end of the Common to buy a newspaper, Who should I come apts, leaving as I was entering, but Swinburne! He did not see me, and I had no thought of disturbing his morning meditations. But when I came out of the | shop, I saw him ahead of me on his way home. 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184 manner of walking and heard those profane carters laughing at the great man of whom they knew nething. As I watched him dancing oddly on his way, « profane idea struck me. I remem- bered that there was at the head of the Common, a short distance away, an old inn called the Rose and Crown. I have re- ferred to that bottle ef Bass’ which was all that the protective Watts-Dunton, ever thoughtful of his well-being, considered good for him. Swinburne, needless to say, was no ordinary drunkard; but for him, as for so many other poeta, strong drink was a mocker, and for hira, with his orgiastic tem- perament, it was more potent and dan- gerous than for less sensitive men. Thus, as | remembered the Rose and Crown, I could not help wondering if, now that he was out of the clutches of his friend, he might not be inclined to a little human truancy. So I hung behind till the inn came in sight. “Wiil he go in?” I smiled to myself. 1 was not long left in doubt, for, as a billiard ball glides into the pocket, the author of Atalanta in Calydon suddenly disappeared. There was no one but me and the carters to see. I laughed to think of Watts-Dunton at the bottom of the hill; and, after waiting a few mo- ments, | myself entered the inn. It was one of those old inns in which the tap- room is partitioned off into various cozy sections, | glanced into one and another of them, but there was no sign of my illustrious friend. Perhaps I had been mistaken, after all, Then, leaning on the bar, | ordered my own “morning,” as Pepys would say, from the gay young barmaid, and presently bringing our conversation round to the gentleman who had entered before me, I remarked that I was acquainted with him and wondered what had become of him. “Oh,” she replied, “the gentleman never drinks at the bar.” But ever morning at the same hour, she confided, he dropped in and, repairing to a private room, punctually consumed a bottle of Burgundy, alone with his thoughts. Needless to say, he did not fall in my estimation on that account. On the contrary, it but made him the more com- radely human, and I rejoiced, too, that, in spite of his friendly jailer, the poet did contrive thus to warm his veins with that generous ichor. I waited around on the graas outside for perhaps three- quarters of an hour, and then suddenly again there was the divine “Algy” once more on his homeward way. 1. have eaid that I “commenced au- thor” with a book on George Meredith. Today it seems to me a very youthful performance, as is perhaps not surpris- ing, for I was very young when I wrote it--too young orohebty to tackle so diffi- cult a master. However, I am proud to have had the assurance that it served its purpose of introducing so great a writer to many who at that time had scarcely heard his name, For his poetry in particular, then unknown except to that “acute and honourable minority’ to whom he ad- dreesed it, t am glad to think that it did some missionary service, as Meredith him- self graciously and generously acknowi- edged. I mention these details, because it was that little book which won me the friendship of perhaps the greatest person- ality, as certainly the greatest intellectual and spiritual influence, of the time. Az invitation to Box Hill George Meredith is one of the most con- apicuous instances of deferred recognition in literature. For years Richard Feverel ané The Egoist fotind an audience fit, in- deed, but pitiabiy few, and for more than thirty years the creator of such master- pieces was constrained to plod along as a publisher's reade> for a paltry two hundred pounds a year. This neglect, borne with philosophic courage, not unmixed with _ scorn, Waa not, however, without ita em- bittering effect, so that when recognition did come Meredith had grown haughtily indifferent to it. The neglect of his poetry was & matter on which he was particularly sensitive, as an extract from one of his letters to me will show. I had asked his permission to include some of his poems in an anthology for which I was doing some work. Here is his answer: “Box Hii, Dec. 22, 1891. “Dear Mr. Le Gallienne: It is an old apology for unhappy refusals, but true, that THE SATURDAY I would concede to you what for no other, if my objection were not invincible. I have declined many invitations of the sort, and I cannot give way in this instance. I have not really a place in the Anthology; it would confound the public to see me in that midst, and as I dislike mere collections, why should this other annoyance be added to the list attending my silly publications of verse?— poetical matter, not poems, as it has been said. Your Narcissus gave me very t pleasure indeed. It is as richly rrulous as a May blackbird, limpid as a rook, promising masterpieces in the rarest style of essay. “If your wife would honour us with her company some day in February, I should much like to welcome you both for a night, that we may converse. “Very truly, “GEORGE MEREDITH.” EVENING POST A brilliant and fantastic talker, one needed to be nearer his age and more his intellec- tual match, to follow him through his daz- zling verbal sword play and whimsical so- —— But = he spo sp bt a quite atherly sympathy, and soon put me at m ease; t h, as his talk was exactly like his books, elaborately fanciful, knotted with thought, a thicket of thorn bushes hung with sudden starry blossoms, one had to snatch at what ene could, magnetized by the rush and verve of his resonant voice and dominated by his lerdly manner. It was a manner, it seemed to me, slightly theatrical, almost affectedly bravura, and made one think that he must be very like his own Roy Richmond. I refi , too, that Ul must have been such a man— a tall, lean, rugged fighter, with that far- wandered, crafty, searching look in a face that seemed to me characteristically Welsh, In another letter he has a similar refer- ence to his novels, as well as an affectionate reference to Robert Louis Stevenson, who was one of the earliest of his disciples: “Box Hitt, DorkiNG, Dec. 21, '94. "Dear Mr. Le Gallienne; If you should be disposed to come to me the first week of age | you will be warmly welcomed, and ou will help to animate me at least. hether I shall make the return for it, I can't foresee. I have just concluded a novel likely to share the fate of my others with the reviewers, but the latter part has worn me, owing to my state of health more than the task. I trust that the report of Louis Stevenson's death may be untrue. It is I who should go, not he, who is young and loved, The signs of the love are pleas- ant. Your faithful “GEORGE MEREDITH.” At this time locomotor ataxia was begin- ning to threaten him, as his handwriting perhaps gives evidence, and soon he, the mighty walker, who loved especially to walk in the rain of a southwest wind, was to resign himself to a Bath chair. When I first knew him, however, he was still ac- tively on his feet. His pretty cottage in one of the most beautiful parts of Surrey was perhaps the most famous place of pilgrim- age in the 1890's. Thither every week-end some of the finest spirits of the day used to ange to do him homage. It was, there- ore, with no little trepidation that I, too, received the royal invitation, one amazing morning, to repair thither. Meredith was rather an overwhelming personality, particularly for diffident youth. roughly bearded, high-browed, with keen gray eyes and slightly upturned fighting nose. An immense intellectual alertness, that seemed to pervade all his vigorous frame, was his most characteristic expres- sion. His portrait by Hollyer, now known to everyone who reads, is exactly himself. Meredith’s talk, as I have hinted, was largely of the nature of fantasia. Epigram- matist as he was in his writings, it con- tained little detachable epigrams, being in this respect entirely the opposite of the elab- orately built talk of Oscar Wilde. Therefore it was difficult to remember. It was like an impromptu played by some great violinist, of which one can carry away little more than the general effect. Thus I can but dimly indicate it by a fragment or two which I recall from the dinner table that first evening. There were several other guests present, including Mr. John Lane, who was one of the earliest and most enthusiastic Mere- dithians, and to whom my little book owed an elaborate bibliography, which I now re- gard as its mos valuable part. Seated at the table, too, were Mr. Meredith’s beauti- ful oung daughter, who then kept house for him in his widowerhood, and his son, really a — modest young Englishman, whom he had a rather cruel way of teasing and whom he addressed as “the Sagamore.” With a kingly wave of his hand toward him, he would say, “‘ Behold the Sagamore! Mark that lofty brow! Stand in awe with me before the wisdom that sits there en- throned!” And he would proceed merci- lessly to ae vise on the sublime serenity of wise youth, seated there so confidently at the top of the world, till the poor tortured April 25,1925 “Sagamore” would blush to the roots of his hair. I, myself, on a future occasion was to experience a touch of the lash of that relentless mocking tongue, as I shall tell later. Meredith was somewhat of a connoisseur of wine and prided himself on his small but choice cellar. I forget what the particular wine was that we drank that evening, but the fact that one bottle had been finished and stood empty at Meredith’s right hand gave him an opportunity for a character- istic fantasia, of which unfortunately I can remember but the bare theme. aving toward the bottle with a magnificent ges- ture, he addressed the maid who waited on us, and who—being, of course, familiar with her master’s eccentric eloquence— broke at once into expectant smiles. “Mary,” he said, “you behold here a sy 3 from which the soul is departed. body without a soul! Mark it there, empty and useless, of no value to gods or men! Once full of genial fire, golden warmth for heart and brain, alive with inspiring ichor, the Hymettian fount of noble talk and soaring thought, the elixir vite of wit, making of man’s dull brain a thing of magic and dreams, lifting our dull mortality into the highest heaven of invention! But behold it now, a hol- low echoing shell, a forlorn cadaver, its divine life all poured out of it, no laugh- ter in it, no wisdom, no human kindness in it any more forever! What shall be done with it, Mary? A body from which the soul is departed! What do we with such? What is there to be done but to hurry it out of sight, mournful reminder of feasts that are at end and dimming candles?’’ Not all these were his actual words, but such was the gist of them, such his way of playing with an idea. And so for some minutes he went on, piling fancy on fancy, till, with a fina! gesture of dismissal, he concluded with “ Mary, remove this bottle!’ The Wrong Thing to Say On another occasion when I visited him he took me with him up the hill that rose behind his garden to where stood a little chalet of two rooms picturesque! situated under the lee of some wood ae | Here he did his writing. The room was furnished mainly with bookshelves, chiefly filled, I noticed, with French and German authors. And here, for an un- forgettable hour or two, he read me some ey ore of The Amazing Marriage, and his latest poem, The Empty Purse, one of the most difficult of his writings, and hard enough to follow even in print. As he read, sonorously and rapidly, with an eye alert for intelligent comprehension in his listener, it was a scrambling business to follow its drift; but I contrived, I hope, to make some show of grasping it, and to make some comments not too hope- lessly astray. Of course, the wonderful thing was that the novelist who wrote of Lucy and Richard by the river and the poet of Love in the Valley should be actually reading to me at all. Tt was almost like lis- tening to Shakspere reading Hamlet. As we strolled down to the house once more, I took courage to ask him if some day he could spare me a piece of his manu- script, a request to which he gave a ready assent. The manuscripts of several of his novels, by the way, he left as a bequest to his gardener, to whom they proved a valu- able legacy. Lunch was afoot when we entered the house, and I was to leave by the afternoon train. Two ladies, poets who collaborated under the name of “ Michael Field,” were m fellow guests on this occasion, and I still remember with gratitude their pleas on my behalf in the little scene that followed. We were — e end of the meal, and, keep- ing-Meredith’s promise of a page of manu- script in mind, I ventured to remind him of it, and with well-meant diffidence I said, “Of course, Mr. Meredith, I don’t expect anything important. I don’t expect—I don’t expect the manuscript of The Egoist or Richard Feverel.”’ And then, in an evil hour, I added, “Only a little poem.” The ignominy of the moment is with me et. Immediately I realized how tragically Thad put my foot in it. The air seemed to grow still as with imminent thunder, and then, with merciless sarcasm, he let loose his lightnings upon me. “Oh, I see,”’ he said, turning to my fellow guests. “ Mark you that! Hewants nothing (Continued on Page 189)

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“Shien Rpaereeee ote as? Ly ae ea Brae S MEN who buy paper have “Approved” the Specification Chart. More than 400,000 of these Charts are in use today. The standardization of bond paper grades by The American Writing Paper Company was a great forward step. The Chart brings the correct application of these grades within the reach of every paper buyer—'‘the right paper for the purpose” being automatically suggested. The’ production of these standard grades in volume by the world’s largest makers of fine writing papers insures the right paper at the right price, QUALITY-STANDARDS le This watermark identifies Eagle-A Bonds SATURDAY EVENING POST Bond Pere oe Entire Contents es , @ 1925, A.W. P. Co, This combination of the right paper and the right price gives you the economy the budget requires and the efficiency ptesent competition demands— neither factor suffering at the hands of the other, as is so frequently the case. May we send you these three paper buying guides — The Chart, a cp) of '"The Correct Use of Bond Papers’’ and the Sample ‘ 1M rifolio of Eagle-A Bond Papers ? AMERICAN WRITING PAPER: COMPANY Makers of Eagle-A Bonds, Linens, Ledgers, Covers, Book Papers and Announcements Holyoke, Massachusetts AGLE-A PAPERS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 | : Out of about 9,000,000 Balloons runnind ” Reliable estimates indicate that about 9,000,000 balloon tires are now running thruout the world. Of these 3,000,000 are Michelins. The first public display of balloon tires was by Michelin at the Paris Automobile Salon, 1923. At the 1925 New York and Chicago Auto Shows, 90.4% of all the cars were balloon-equipped. The balloon era is here and Michelin is its leader. Michelin Comfort Balloons have proved their superior comfort and durability. They cost practically the same as high-pressure tires. You can change to them one tire at a time. pe ee eng SD Wigan

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 3000000 are MICHELINS

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Next time you need a tire, buy _ process on front wheels. If, in the a Michelin Comfort Balloon and meantime, it becomes necessary mount it as a spare. Then when _ for you to run with a Michelin you put this spare into use, buy Comfort Balioon and a high a second Michelin Comfort Bal- pressure tire opposite one an- loon and put the two balloons _ other, you can do so temporarily on your rear wheels. Repeat the = without harm or inconvenience. Michelin makes Comfort Balloon tires for present rims and the new small-diameter wheels. Also high-pressure tives and the famous Michelin Ring Shaped Tube. MICHELIN TIRE COMPANY Milltown, New Jersey

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST acs One Oil! caves Poses? wT A Window 60 x 65 Feet ‘Think of washing a window over three times as large as the entire front of an ordinary three-story house! Yet that is what every woman, living in an average-size house, has to do, even if she washes her windows only 10 times in a year. * Why not make that big job as easy as possible with the new, revolutionary method, using 3-1n-One The High Quality Household Oil This wonderful new way to wash windows was discovered by a woman who used 3-in-One regularly for many other purposes. Out of curiosity, she decided to try it for wash- ing windows, She knew it wouldn’t do to rub oil directly onto the glass, so she poured a little in the wash water— and right there, window washing was revolutionized! When this smart housewife dipped her cloth in the water, some of the 3-in-One clung to it. Wringing the cloth almost dry she rubbed it over the glass—and off came all the dirt and fly specks, clean as a whistle! Polishing with a dry cloth produced a spar- kling cleanliness that eclipsed all her previous results, with no dry powder along the edges and on the wood. THREEAIN-ONE OIL CO.,, 130 CP. William St., New York, N. Y, Factories: Rahway, N I ————— | es § *This estimate is based on a house having 26 windows averaging 15 sq. ft. per window. When costs were compared, it was found that the 3-in-One way cost only 1-10th as much as when using the best other products, made especially for cleaning glass. Try this woman's discovery for yourself, on windows, mirrors, cut glass and ordinary glassware, glass desk tops, store show cases, glass partitions and porcelain table tops. You'll be surprised. 3-in-One is sold at good stores everywhere, in 1-oz,, 3-oz. and 8-02. bottles and 3-oz. Handy Oil Cans. The 8-oz. bottle is most economical because it gives you more 3-in-One for your money. Sample and new special circular, “79 FREE-; Uses In The Home.” Use the coupon or make your request on a postal, i. J. and Montreal Street Address or R. R. City Name____ April 25,1925 FREE SAMPLE AND CIRCULAR Three-in-One Oil Co., 130 CP. William St., N ¥ Please send sample of 3-in-One Oil and Special Circular, “°79 Uses In The Home” to

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(Continued from Page 184) important. Only a little poem! How truly, after all, he speaks! Everyone knows the unimportance of my poor poems—* poetical matter, not poems ’'—as some m of in- sight has acutely said. Yes! Nothing im- portant-——only a little a So he went on, while I expostulated in vain, humbled in the dust. The two kindly ladies came staunchly to my rescue, but the damage was done. There was no mending the matter that day—and I never got my manuscript. So I tasted the whip of his cruel tongue— all the more cruel, I could not help reflect- ing, because I had, as he well knew, done my small best loyally to champion those very he accused me of belittling. But, after all, it was only a rather pathetic sign of how deep the iron of unappreciation had entered into his soul. Nowadays one may somewhat doubtfully wonder whether he would be pleased to find that his poems are read more than his novels, which prob- ably Modern Love and Love in the Valley will long survive. On my next visit to Box Hill, Meredith received me with his usual kindness; but needless to say, I never revived the subject of my “little poem.” On that occasion he was in a reminiscent vein, and talked much of Tennyson, whom he admired as a poet, but of whose Cf peg he had little good to say. He told me several anecdotes of his egotism and boorish manners which were highly amusing. Tennyson, like not a few of the genus irritabile, was inordinately sen- sitive to criticism. As was said of Byron, the praise of the greatest could not console him for the censure of the meanest. The Sting of Criticism Meredith, when a comparatively young man, had visited him in his house at Haslemere, and, one morning after break- fast, had gone out walking with him across the downs. He had hoped, he confessed, that the great laureled poet might take some friendly interest in the work he was doing — Meredith’s own sympathy toward young writers was generous, indeed—but no! By the mail that morning there had come some quite unimportant criticism by some quite unimportant person, and Tennyson could think of — else. Meredith described how, as they walked side by side, Tennyson’s deep voice went booming along the hills: ‘“‘Appolodorus says I’m not a great poet! Apeeea says I’m not a t poet!’ till Meredith got tired of it, and ventured at last to express his surprise that Tennyson should consider the criticism of the insig- nificant Appolodorus worth thinking about. But it was no use, the deep voice continued to boom on: “Appolodorus says I’m not a great poet!’’ And that seems to have been all that Meredith got out of his visit. A remarkable instance of the boorishness of his manners related also to this same supersensitiveness to criticism. Tennyson— then Lord—and Lady Tennyson were guests at lunch in a certain t house where many distinguished people had been THE SATURDAY invited to meet them. All were gathered together in the drawing-room, chatting ram 200 lunch, Tennyson taking no , but prowling about the tables on which lay the new books of the day, picking up this one and that, ignoring his surroundings. As his hostess watched him, a sudden alarming thought came over her. There had just been published a famous book on Tennyson by the learned scholar Churton Collins, in which he had made a nt of tracking dewn Tennyson’s considerable indebted- ness to the classics, quoting Tennyson and this and that Greek or Latin author in parallel * Instantly the hostess remembered that this offensive book was there on one of the tables. She had ey ane to remove it, and now in a panic she looked wildly around in the hope that it was not too late. But alas! Tennyson was already bending over that very table. As by instinct he had scented out the very book. It was alread in his hand, and he was glaring at it wit infuriated eyes. There was nothing to be done but to await the event, which was not long in coming. Presently with a deep age of indignation, Tennyson turned to is wife, and made for the door of the drawing-room. “*My dear,” he boomed out, “I'm afraid we must be going. And actually, without a word of explana- tion or excuse, they went. Which, to adapt what I once heard Meredith say of a picnic ruined by sudden rain, as the drenched picnickers trailed back over the hill— ‘Funeral of picnic!’"—was decidedly the funeral of the poor lady’s lunch. Next day she wrote to Lady Tennyson gene y em incident. But still no apologies, and Lady Tennyson’s only response was that it was, indeed, a distressing occurrence—and that Alfred had been ill in bed ever since! Tennyson, though affecting to dread ob- servation, was none the less no little vain, a weakness of which Meredith gave me this amusing illustration. Teanyson and William Morris were once walking together on a road in the Isle of Wight. Suddenly in the distance appeared two cyclists wheeling toward them. Tennyson immediately took alarm and, turning to Morris, growled out, “Oh, Morris, what shall I do? Those fellows are sure to bother me!”’ Thereupon Morris drew him protectively to his side. “Keep close to me,” he said. that they don’t bother you.” The cyclists came on, sped by with- out a sign, and presently disappeared on the horizon. There was a moment or two of silence, and then Tennyson, evidently huffed that he had attracted no attention, once more growled out, ‘‘They never even looked at me!" Very likely Meredith, with his dramatic sense, heightened these stories somewhat; but there is little doubt that they were sub- stantially true, and characteristic; and I myself once heard a story from one who took part in it that completely confirms them. “T’ll see EVENING POST At one time I rented a little cottage in Surrey, some five miles from Haslemere. My landlord, whose name was Ward, was a modest little man, a builder by trade, of some cultivation. He told me that one summer two ladies from the North of Eng- land had come to visit him and his wife, and, hearing that Tennyson’s house was in the neighborhood, ex the wish to see it. Mr. Ward, knowing all the conditions, attempted to dissuade them. It was a very hot July day, he reminded them, and it was quite a long walk. Also, Tennyson's house was invisible from the wert ded ina girdle of pine wood. Besi the gate was plastered with notice boards warning off strangers—not exactly “Visitors Will be Shot,” but words somewhat to that effect. Warned Off The ladies, however, were persistent. Surely the great poet could not object to their seeing *6 the outside of his house, and so on. Mr. Ward gave in, and they started out. After a long hot walk, they at length arrived at the gate, and Mr. Ward inted out the minatory notice boards. hey could see what they had to face! However, if they cared to take the risk, he was willing. So they pushed the gate one proceeded along the winding age rive. But they had not gone very far when two reat hounds came pad round a curve, ollowed by the sound of two sticks on the gravel. Then suddenly round the corner appeared the bent figure of a tall old man, dressed in a great cloak and wide sombrero hat. They were in for it, and there was nothing for little Mr. Ward to do but to face the music. Hat in hand, he ap- proached the great man, who stopped short and sternly surveyed him from under the brim of his sombrero, with deep old weary eyes, like an old mastiff’s. Humbly the lit- tle man explained that these la had meant no intrusion, that they were t admirers of his poetry from the North Country, and being in the neighborhood, it had been their great desire just to look at the outside of the house where lived the poet who had written “ Kind hearts are more than eoronets’’—that, of course, they had not dreamed of disturbing him, or any- thing more than that. eanwhile Tennyson continued to look him up and down, and presently rumbled in his great voice, “Did you see the notice at the gate?” > Mr. Ward admitted that they had, but that they had ho that under the cir- cumstances—-and Mr. Ward repeated what he had said before. For a long while Tennyson stood pondering, as though some great question of state hung in the balance, and then at length, with solemn shaking of his head, announced his decision. “It can’t be done!” he said. “It can’t be done!” and waved them back toward the gate. Editor’s Note—This is the first of a series of arti- cles by Mr. Le Gallienne. The next will appear in an early issue. THE TERROR OF BASCOM HILLS The floor of the basket seemed, a mo- ment later,.to be pushing up under them. Bill Squire nodded, glanced at the instru- ments secured to the rigging; then, satis- fied with the way the balloon was riding, he perched on the edge of the basket, leaned back comfortably against the ropes. “It’s better to ride out ts, unless they’re too bad,” he said. “Of course you can check a down gust by dumping ballast, or an up gust by valving gas. But the point is to save ballast and gas just as long as you can. You may need ‘em in a pinch, to drag you out of a tight place.” Anne Farquhar’s head shook sadly. “That’s ond me,” she admitted. “But I wish you'd explain it to me. I’m really pretty good at understanding things. Do you mind if I sit on the edge too?’ Before he could hop down to help her she had grasped the guy ropes, just as he had done, and swung herself up. He resumed his seat opposite her. Anne, glancing far off over the world, sighed luxuriously. “This,” she exclaimed, with sudden violence of emotion, “is un- beatable!” A contented smile, regally contented, passed between them, and they lapsed into a friendly comfortable silence. (Continued from Page 23) Her head was thrown back against one of the ropes which radiated from the arate concentration ring over them, her eyes half closed and her lips slightly parted. Bill Squire, who had intended to devote the morning to considering the mechanical dif- ficulties of mounting an aeroplane engine upside down, found that cool thought was diffieult. His gaze went back repeatedly, with no command from himself, to Anne Farquhar. He had found her amusing and interest- ing from the moment she had come tres- passing upon the field; and now that she was trespassing upon his balloon he began to feel a genuine liking for her. That sug- estion of angry petulance which had urked in her expression was gone, as though it had dropped away with the cares of the world. She seemed delightfully sure of herself, sure of her precarious perch five thousand feet from earth. He admitted to himself, in his appraisal of her, that she was doubtlessly a bit hoy- denish, and yet it was what one might call an exquisite hoydenism. She had an air of being not more than ten minutes out of a bath, where she had been soaped and scrubbed furiously by some Amazon nurse- maid. Her tanned skin had a clear childish healthiness. Her hands—small and slender, but without that suggestion of delicate use- lessness which small hands so often have were beautifully cared for. One of them, clutching a rope, showed a slight swelling of muscle. Anne Farquhar’s eyes drifted shut. “Don't go to sleep there,” he pleaded. “You might tumble overboard.” “T won't go to sleep,” she answered slowly. ‘But I could easily. It’s so glori- ously quiet up here.” “Was that honest-injun about havin something you had to think out?” ask Bill Squire. “Sure enough! But it’s so peaceful,” she explained, “that things don’t seem impor- tant enough to worry about. And, any- how ’’—she paused to reflect-—‘‘I guess it’s all decided.” “What?” Anne considered the matter, smiled to herself. ‘You'd be surprised,” she an- swered. ‘‘ How about your little problems? Any luck?” “None at all,” he confessed. “Let's let ’em blend, then,”’ Anne pro- posed. “We'll just enjoy ourselves.” “Righto!” agreed Bill Squire. “Off on a binge! Let’s start with something to eat.” i ~ STOP | Ford Vibration Please send me : | Dr. Simm's Arch and Ankle Supporter Name. ‘ Address of R. F. 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© Van Olinda The Greatest RAILROADS in the World! {An Acknowledgement by Seattle} ‘SEATTLE and sister cities take just ty pride in the excellence of the trans- continental railroad service to the Pacific Northwest. These railroads, which have helped transform a wilderness into a highly productive region, have no su- periors in the worid, When you travel to Seattle and the cool, evergreen Charmed Land this sum- mer you will find these forward-looking systeme have provided a standard cf trans- portation worthy of the great country they serve. Seattle, fifty years ago, an isolated ham- let of 830 souls and today a terminal of four great transcontinental lines with a population of 400,000, pays grateful tribute to the initiative, the vision and the courage of the railroads which have made possible the development of the Pacific Northwest. Sections of it would be a wilderness today if the present restrictive federal and state legislation had been in effect a generation ago when rails were pushed from the Middle jest to Puget Sound. More Deve'opment Needed The growing Pacific Northwest needs more trackage, extensions, terminals, — stock. It wil take hundreds of millions dollars to finance these vital requirements. | If the railroads are not allowed to make fair returns they cannot borrow money for these essential purposes. The life of Seattle and the Pacific North- west are so closely linked up with the well- being of our transportation systems that we plead for a national consciousness that the railroads, owned by two million large and small investors in all parts of the na- tion, are vital American institutions de- serving fair and reasonable treatment both from the public and our law makers. World's Cheapest Transportation The railroads serving Seattle and up- building this Pacific Northwest give you cheaper transportation than railroads in any other country, Each summer special reduced round trip excursion tickets are on sale daily. The low cost of this trip will surprise you. Come out to the “Charmed Land” this summer~-one of the finest railroad journeys in the world, You will be a better American because you will see a mighty new Empire in the making, the Zone of Plenty, the Storied Northwest. Write Room 101, Szatile Chamber of Commerce, Seattie, Washington, for free booklet describing Seattle and “ The Charmed Land.” Seattle Metropolis of The Pacific Northwest WD GF | ' THE SATURDAY Over sandwiches and coffee—sharing the cap of a vacuum bottle—th i bal- looning. Altimeters, vertimeters, stato- scopes, gas valves, ballast and drag mw He oy sy his lecture to remark, “The wind’s shifted and we're heading for the Sound. Not so good! We'll try it higher.” He made a rapid survey of their tion, tore paper into little scraps which he set adrift, watching their flight. To the north- ward, almost o' in a grayish-brown haze, lay the widening expanse of the Sound. A faint ghost of a steamer spewed out a black plume of smoke which drifted toward the opposite shore. “I'd rather land on this side,” he said. “We're going to get a down gust as we go over the bend of the river, then we'll get a strong up gust over Sheltonville and ride it to about eight thousand feet. We ought to find a wind up there that'll edge us east- ward. It’s going to be a fast trip down and up,” he warned her. “Stand by to travel.” “Right with you!’”’ Anne assured him, eyes shining. The basket dropped from under their feet. The statoscope bubble splashed about in the tube and began breaking downward; the vertimeter showed them that they were dropping in this invisible hole at the rate of eight hundred feet a minute. It was se- renely quiet, and yet, all about them, was the sense of violent activity. Then the ropes strained and the basket creaked, and their weight upon the floor seemed tripled. They had caught the up gust of heat re- flected from the sprawling mill buildings of Sheltonville and were soaring upward. The statoscope bubble reversed itself in agita- =, the altimeter needle commenced to climb. Bill Squire leaned far out and gazed up- ward. He ducked back. “We're in for a cloud bounce!” he an- nounced. He caught the valve cord, began to let gas escape, checking their ascent. “‘We’re coming up under the cool side of a cloud,” he explained. “Gas’ll contract and give us a drop. Just like throwing a tennis ball against the ceiling.” “ Anything I can do?"’ asked Anne. “ Nope.” The shadow of the cloud, between them and the sun, came as an instant’s warning; then the ro slackened and the basket gave a lurch. They plunged downward, almost vertically. It seemed minutes be- fore the careening basket decided to remain a basket rather than become the tail of a kite. Bill Squire had tightened the appendix cord against the danger of the rapid drop causing the lower hemisphere of the balloon to cave in; and now, eyes darting to his in- struments, he began dumping ballast. The sand appeared to float in the air, as though gravity had lost its pull earthward. The girl, pressed against her own side of the basket, watched him silently, intently. “Hum—damn!” muttered Bill Squire, feelingly, as the bounce ended and stato- scope showed them they were ascending again. ‘You see,”’ he told her, “we lost both gas and ballast on that play. It was bad piloting.” She liked that. There was no alibi, no excuse offered; just bad piloting. “I should have spotted that cloud sooner,” he went on. “Then we'd have been able to get out from under. It's nning to cloud-up aloft and the wind’s hauling some more. We're getting blown out over the Sound again, but we'll go higher and see if we can pick off some west wind. Then, if we can’t, we'll come down and ride that in- shore breeze to the other side.” They climbed steadily until, at last, they hung motionless in the cool air at seven thousand feet. Bill Squire shook his head disgustedly and reached for the valve cord. “We could go higher if we shot out all the ballast,” he said, “but we may need that later. Can you swim?” “ Yes “I don’t think you'll have to,” he added, laughing. “I hope not. But I wanted to know.” He continued valving out, losing buoyancy, and they sank toward the haze of the Sound, drifting seaward and huntin for the lower surface wind which woul carry them to shore. “Do you like ballooning as well as you did?” he asked. “You see, it isn’t all just sitting | pretty. Sometimes it’s a tough me. “ Anything that'd be just sittin couldn't be much fun,” returned The wrinkled sonny water of the Sound slid up toward them slowly. Bill Squire pretty nne. EVENING POST lanced aloft, scowled at the sky. The white uffiness of a few minutes before had be- come definite cloud banks, changing from a soiled gray to black. It had been a race to get down from that high stratum of wind which was carryin them out to the open reaches of the Soun and to reach that lower inshore breeze be- fore it died down or was swept away by con- flicting currents of air. Now it ea contest inst the cooling effects of a rain storm, which would contract the already diminished gas of the balloon and give them still less buoyancy. “Tf I yell ‘Ballast out!’” ordered Bill, “T want you to throw over everything you can get your hands on—instruments and i as else. We may get a ducking yet.” They had caught the inshore breeze, but land was eight miles away and already a flurry of rain was splashing about them, pock-marking the surface of the water. Sand was streaming out in a continual brown drizzle, but the needle of the altim- eter hung as inert as if the instrument had gone dead. They were, for the moment, neither gaining nor losing altitude. Coun- teracting the ballast which went overboard was the shrinkage of lifting power due to the cold, They began to settle slowly. “Ballast out!” he ordered abruptly. The remaining sand, empty sacks, vacuum bottle, instruments and leather jackets spattered down upon the water. Anne Farquhar straightened up, looking for something more to jettison, but the basket had been swept clean. She fell to studying Bill Squire’s face. Except that his eyes shifted so quickly, surveying every element of their situation, he might have appeared phlegmatic. It occurred to Anne that under the circumstances she might well feel some apprehension, at least, of danger, if not actual fear. But it was curi- ously lacking. There wasn’t even that slight quickening of heartbeat she some- times felt when she headed Roxy on to- ward a particularly tough jump. She felt simply—and she was aware that she felt it—a blind confidence in Bill Squire. She asked calmly, “Are we in for a ducking?” : “Looks that way. But we'll wangle through. If the rain would stop—which it enc gory to do—we’'d stay aloft.” He pulled at a cord, and the long drag rope, which had been coiled against the Set cory dropped lankly beneath them. The end of it skipped over the water, making a gash of white foam. The rope would float for a time, relieving the balloon of a little more weight. But it was not enough to do any good, so he cast the end overboard. The rope went into the water with a plop, lay like a very tenuous serpent sinking below the surface. “Come here!”’ ordered Bill. He grabbed her arm, pulled her in front of him. ‘Bend your knees and crouch down!” She did as he told her unquestioningly. She felt his body bear down suddenly upon hers, the basket gave a lurch, ropes slack- ened and snap taut. They were stand- ing knee-deep in water. “All right,” said Bill. She straightened, saw that he was winc- ing, nursing his left shoulder. “*Fraid you'd get soaked by that con- centration ring,” he said. ‘‘Comes down like a blackjack.” “Did you?” she asked. “Nothing much.” The gas bag was lying over, wallowing in the water, weaving, bobbing. The big concentration ring which had slugged him was lashing back and forth, yanking at the ropes, dragging the basket fitfully through the water. The basket turned and they were thrown together on the lower side. “T’ll have to get into the rigging and cut loose,” he told her quickly. “You can come with me or stay by the basket. It’ll float ten or twelve hours. I'll come out in a boat.” , She seized his arm. “I want to stick by you!"’ There was no time for discussion, argument. “Up you go, then!” He stood on the edge of the bucking rolling basket, which threatened to spill them out at any minute, took her hands and pulled her up, boosted her through the ropes, holding the rin until ske was perched upon it. He follow her, drew a knife and slashed through the ro , ——— the ring = harpoon % e repe gave way with a , the bag lifted its head and eaiued Ux Fo" from the five-hundred-pound sea — which had been holding it to the water. April 25,1925 In the silence of their upward flight she heard him draw a deep breath and exhale it as though it were the first in minutes. “You're a game kid!” he said feelingly. His hand covered hers for a moment. “Right with a the time!” she answered, a slight telltale quaver in her voice. ‘Where do we go from here?” “Shore—God willing, and a lot of good luck!”’ answered Bill Squire, getting ready te valve gas, clearing his - cord, : He valved gas as though he were arguing with the balloon, persuading it against its will not to climb too high and enter that ocean-bound wind; and the gas bag, heavy with rain, flabby from loss of gas, insuffi- ciently ball beneath, made its way in a sort of drunken perversity. The shore, a dark gray rim against the lighter gray of the mist, drew closer. “Wind's dying, but we'll make it,”’ he announced. “We could swim it from here,” said Anne. “We may have a chance to try. You'd better get those boots off—and get your clothes loosened so you can get out of ’em.” She struggled with the boots, but by the time the first was off the line of the beach had crawled under them. A fresh gust of wind shook the balloon, carried them sidelong. Another gust slapped against them, — them inshore. “Here goes!” yelled Bill. “Hang tight!” He valved out again. A row of trees shoved up directly ahead; then a yank at the rip cord brought the whole balloon col- lapsing about them in a maze of ropes, fabric and trees. Anne felt herself yanked up, turned over and pinioned fast. Bill Squire had his arms about her, she discov- ered, protecting her, dragging her out. And, somehow, she found time to reflect that they were strong arms to be in. He stood her, in the manner of one who puts something right end up, on her feet and looked her over. “All right?” “ Yep! , “How do you like ballooning?” “Great!” “Shake!” It was dusk by the time they found a farmhouse, persuaded the ancient farmer to drive them, in an equally ancient surrey rig, to the nearest village. In complete abandonment to comfort, Anne Farquhar slumped down beside Bill Squire on the back seat, head alluringly thrown back. “Gee, I’m happy!” she breathed. “I mean—really happy!” Bill looked down at: her, smiled a little awkwardly. The impulse to kiss her came with such incalculable rapidity that he was totally surprised to find himself doing it. He felt her arm slip about him, tighten; then the other arm. The farmer’s voice broke the silence; “Giddap, Dolly.” The sleepy horse gath- ered in its pendulous lower lip and per- suaded its legs into a dwindling trot. “Well!” exclaimed Anne a little breath- lessly, straightening in her seat. She had been awfully afraid that he wasn’t going to kiss her; then, right at the last instant, awfully afraid that he was. Both fears had been swept away. “Under the circumstances,” began Bill, reaching for her hand, ‘‘it might be a good scheme if we knew each other’s names. Mine’s William Harrison van Dorn Squire. They call me Bill.” “T know. I’m Anne Farquhar. I was one of the admiring near-flappers when you came back from the war. Your sister and I went to Miss Dennet’s together.” “Anne Farquhar! Anne Farquhar!” He stamme a bit in his confusion. ““Why, Mary wrote to me—she’s in Euro with mother—when she heard I'd bought a place at the Hills—to look you up. I in- tended to look you up, but I’ve been aw- fully busy, you see, and —— “That doesn’t sound like the truth to me,” she interrupted sternly. ‘“‘We’d better be straight with each other.” Bill grinned. “‘How did I know,” he protested, “that a gangling, spindle- shanked kid would grow up into a very satisfactory young woman who'd want to g \ in balloons with me?” “That’s much better,” replied Anne, with a sigh of relief. All of which led up to their homeward- bound conversation, when they discussed whether or not it would be possible to per- suade friends and families to forgo the usual silver candelabra and tea sets, and concentrate on an eighty-thousand-cubic foot balloon as a wedding present.

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_ a rn + gpnrccte The eternal silence of the Rockies, Glacier National Park THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BI HWEST Down among the islands, Puget Sound ~ , — nel 4) , D> pees ha ith ss ae a Ce gegr r. ‘ead + ? A vacation that’s a great adventure You have often dreamed of a vacation like this—a vacation that would be a really big, thrilling, wholly new experience. This summer take it! It’s waiting for you in the American Wonderland—in a glorious mountain world of snow-capped peaks, flower-flooded valleys, sunny beaches, Alpine lakes, woods and streams and waterfalls. The cli- mate’s a perfect combination of cool, sun- shiny days, and nights that call for blan- kets. Sports without end—golf, fishing, boating, mountain climbing, surf bathing, horseback riding, motoring, tobogganing. Charming cities and excellent hotels. ‘The Chicago Burlington & Quincy RR. ‘The Great Northern Ry. ‘The Northern Pacific Ry. Come this summer. Come and know the thrill of these great scenic features: Glacier National Park Yellowstone National Park Rainier National Park Crater Lake National Park The Alaskan Tour You can visit Yellowstone or Glacier on your way out or back. You can include the famous Cody Road through the Buffalo Bill country, the Columbia River Drive, the Spokane country, the Oregon beaches, the Puget Sound country—or any of hundreds of other fascinating vacation objectives. Low round trip excursion rates this summer. Through trains providing a serv- ice which anticipates your every travel wish. You can go one way and return an- other. (Through Scenic Colorado at no extra transportation cost.) Stop off where you wish along the way. Mail the coupon now for the free illus- trated book, ‘““‘The American Wonderland.” FREE TRAVEL BOOK ui » Route Name. f> Travel Bureau, Dept. 20-P Burlington Railroad Bidg. Chicago, Il. Please send me without charge the / illustrated book, Wonderland.” Address “The American # hed

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street in Hollywood known in the trade as Poverty Rew, where movies are made for two thousand dollars and sold the next morning for three, Ollie was a hollow-chested, deep-voiced man with a cast in one eye and a perpetual smile. He had successfully avoided the responsibilities of life and was proud of it. When seber, he had earned money easily and tossed it away without a thought, and he delighted in abrupt and bizarre c arities. He had drifted to California from New York, and after learning the tricks of the movies he had slipped into the careless nabits that later barred the doors against him. Studic managers fled when they saw him coming, and in the old days it was the official custom to lock him in a hotel room with a guard and supply him with food until the — job was done. With his seript ounees eted, they paid him off and no one would likely to see Ollie Judge again until poverty drove him back to work. Even in the days of his disgrace his kindly manner never left him; and it was quite true, as Gil indicated, that Ollie stood alone when it came to devising cellu- loid situations of a sad character. “I'll guarantee him,” the star said, to- ward the end of the conference. “I want him to do this next sc ies and I'll be res sible. We've had one talk already and nd Ollie knows this is his last chance. He can't monkey with me.’ “You're getting into something,” O’ Day maid yremnr “1 know what I want,” Gil replied. Ollie Judge came to work. He shuffled into the studio, a gawky, ill-kempt figure, 4 Brym Wlkoe “Some Dog!’’ and slouched down at the desk in Horace Raacoe's office, which was at the end of the line of cocps provided for script writers. “Where's your story?”’ he asked Gil, in hia husky’, rumbling voice. “H'm,” said Gil, while the rest of us grinned. “We're a trifle shy on story this time and you'll have to come across with most. of the plot.” “What kind of plot?"’ asked the gaunt- eyed man behind the desk. GU Said Admiringly THE SATURDAY EVENING POST LITTLE DROPS OF WATER (Continued from Page 18) “A good plot,” said Gil. “It’s got to be a zippy comedy, but it must have pathos. I’m laying emphasis on the pathos, and you're here because I know that’s your meat.” “It always was,” agreed Judge. “If I can’t make ‘em cry, then they can’t cry.” “Tf this picture ins to look good,”’ Gil continued, “we may stretch it to four reels. Slapstick is all right and we're going to sprinkle in plenty of gags, but I want to mix up the tears and the smiles. Make 'em wee , then make ' em laugh. Get me?” ‘got you.’ “Shorty oan myself and Parkman will dig up the ou spread yourself on the sad st i Oe ey eesiiaiie Ollie. “I write the sto’ eh?” “Exactly.” “Put a little girl i in it,” suggested Shorty Hamp brightly. ‘Maybe she’s a white- faced orphan suffering from lung trouble and sta: ving in the snow, and maybe I rescue her.’ “Exit,” said Gil, thrusting Shorty out ahead of him. “Think it over, Ollie, and if anything good occurs to you, dash down to my office and let me know.” Mr. Judge, the retrieved genius, rolling endless cigarettes and evolving. following afternoon he shuffled along the asphalt path, pushed into Gil’s sanctum, spread h mself over a chair and outlined a scheme of action. The star’s countenance a ae with pleasure and astonishment. e beamed upon his continuity man. “Zeke,” he paid with hearty approval, “did I or did I not tell them you had what we want? That’s a duck cutter of a story, if there ever was . Go back and down on paper you forget it.” “IT don’t think much of that,’’ Shorty opined. ‘If you did, it wouldn't be any good.” Ollie returned peace- fully to his lairand Mr. Gilfillan strode in tri- umph to the front office. O’Day and Grogan, both dubious about Mr. Judge, lis- tened in silence, and Gil ran breezily through the ground plan of the new story — the pathos- soaked tale which would more or less change the fashion in comedies, “‘ And here’syour sad stuff,” Gil explained. “He's got a bedraggled dog in this story, and when he gets through with the dog stuff we’re going to have a world beater.” “We've used dogs before,” Grogan an- swered without enthu- siasm. “Only for comedy. Around this cur, which is the saddest pup ever used in a picture, Ollie has woven a story rich in genuine pathos. The big Ph ahead of me is to find a suitable dog and a dog that’s going to look miserable enough to play the iy Any dog won’t oO Mr. Judge, being again assured by Gil- fillan that he had un- folded a master story, proceeded with the continuity; and Fea | to O’Day's ex- pectations, he behaved himself perfectly, came to work on time each morning and at- tended strictly to business, betraying no sign whatever of his besetting weakness. “T told you so,” Gil said complacently. “This will make a snappy four-reel picture. It’s too good to toss away on two reels.” “T haven't much to do in it,”’ Shorty com- plained. “Somebody ought to tell Judge that I still work for the studio.” é. “You're getting paid, ain't you?”’ snorted Gil. “Any money you take is petty larceny and always was.’ “Read the fan letters if you want to know how good I am,” answered Shorty. “Tf it wasn’t for me, you'd | be right ton working for the livery Horace Rascoe ha sor a and silently withdrawn and taken himeelf off on a vaca- tion which was to last until Gil sent for him. My own job was gone. With Ollie Judge fashioning the tale, writing the script and generally in charge, I had no more to do than a Detroit horsefly. The Gil-and-Shorty company prepared its sets before the script was written and it became apparent to all that the dream sequence would be the high pot. “Ty make that dream thing a wonder,” Gil prophesied. “It ought to be a spectacle such as you rarely see in any movie, and certainly never in a comedy. “Great!” said Grogan, Swe he realized what the dream would do to the corpora- tion’s balance. The Grogan and O’Day set designer, who never stoo ordinarily to mix with vulgar comedies, but devoted himself and his talent to the elegant drawing-rooms of high so- ciety, was called upon for a superset to adorn the dream episode. He re- sponded nobly. ere arose pres- ently on Stage an inspiring spec- tacle, clothed i magnificence and costing eventually the formidable sum of eight thousand seven hundred and twelve dollars be- fore the final pane of glass wasin place. Gil was proud of that set. Never before had he, a lowly comedian, worked with such lavish material. It contained a castle of ancient times and a moat with a drawbridge, wind- ing stairways, fluted towers, dun- eons, ancestral alls, suits of clank- ing armor and all the panoplied ex- travagance that the set man and his associates could find in their picture books. When the harassed hobo, sleeping beneath a coal car, dreamed he had died and gone to paradise, this was where he landed. With him was his faithful mutt, the yet un- found canine. There was contem- plated a lively bit of business, with the hobo demand- ing entry to this Valhallan palace and a celestial guard opposing im, the guard be- ing finally chased around the castle walls and into the moat by the dog. A happy abiding place was tc be dis- covered for the ani- mal toward the end of the sequence and the hobo would be seen in his moment of triumph, ding in a palanquin pure gold, sup- ported by angels and fanned by ex- tra girls carrying peacock feathers. orgeous it was, and full of joy in the contemplation. April 25,1925 On earth, before the dream sequence began, Ollie Ju ome lastered in his pathos. Hobo and d all the worst of it. They were rebu ky and insulted at every turn. “Where can we find a dog?” Gil inquired of his staff, and for several days envoys combed Los Angeles, going into the high- ways and the byways in search of distressed pups. The star sat patiently in his office and examined hairy candidates for the job, and not one was found acceptable in the first week, booms none was woeful enough. As Gil repeatedly explained, the animal had to be the sa Rest dog any human eye could rest upon. “Go down to the Mexican settlement and look around,” he commanded in irritation, and his henchmen prowled through the city’s slums, seeking a pathetic cur. It was Shorty Hamp who came to the rescue. He drifted into the studio one morning when the dog quest was at its height, followed by a square-jawed weather- he introduced to Gilas Oscar Klump. Mv. Klump held a string in his jasee, and drowsing on the other end was a specimen of dog wreckage beyond the limited and feeble powers of human description. He was by (Continued on Page 197)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 Me Circle That Widens with CIVILIZATION O George Westinghouse, forty years ago, came the vision of electricity as a universal servant, improving and enriching civilization, and constantly impelling its growth. Forty years ago he championed and perfected the alter- nating current system as a practical means of making that vision a reality. Today 95 per cent of electrical energy is in this form. Forty years ago he founded this company. Its products show the vital part it plays in every field of modern life. The list opposite is an index of your electrical needs. The Westinghouse circle of service expands as new -electrical methods cause civilization itself to expand. WESTINGHOUSE ELECTRIC & MANUFACTURING COMPANY Offices in All Principal Cities + Representatives Everywhere Localized Service — Men, Parts, Shops Where Westinghouse Serves The above illustration, symbolical of the civilization in which you live, is also sym- bolical of the community in which you live. The heart of the community is your electric service company. Serving it, and also serving all communities, are Westing- house sales and service offices, jobbers, dealers and complete warehousing facilities. Through these channels of distribution and service, Westinghouse electrical products reach everyone, everywhere.

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In Pris Thenies papeamoceme lotor Generators Pre-set Switchboards ectifiers Susie See on oe a i ig ou0 Automatic ‘Substati ions cae Heating Locomotives Manual Substations Mazda Lamps eters Micarta “ss for Hoists, ae necus Generators Portable Substations Relays Safety Switches Switchboards Synchronous Transformers Ventilating Outfits Westinghou Generating Equipment eee | ng Material Light and Power A ae Motors and Con’ Ovens, Ranges a Galley ipment Switch! Equi Turbine-Electric sion pment Automatic Substations THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Air Heaters anes Ovens Chocola armers pepeatere and Control Fans Citing Ba ighti uipment Stesde Lamps Meters Motors for Adding Machines For Electric Railways Materials ers Babbitt Metal Baking Ovens Circuit- breakers Contr Switch Fans Fuses Gears and Pinions } Ammeters Electric Vehicle Equipment M Poe Electric Service Companies Auxili Turbines Circuit-breakere Condensers inouteees Material L ipment Poy came Saleares Motors Motor-Generator Sets Ofpuritying Ea ying Equipment Pane!s and Switchboards Pumps Relays Steam Turbines Stokers Switchboards and Switching Equipment hronous Converters Transformers Turbine Generators Voltage Regulators azda Lamps Micarta Propellers Wheels Timing Gears In Buildings Generators Glue and Solder Pots Kitchen Equipment Bake Ovens, Hot Plates, Ranges ‘For ak Railroads es Mills and Factories Power House Street Lighting Equipment Cables and Conduit Control Apparatus Mazda Lamps Ornamental Posts Street Hoods Transformers for Shops Fans Apperatus Gears and Pinions Safety Switches Generators Solder and Babbitt Headlight Equipment Pots Instruments Stokers ae re na peeutee Lightning ¥ Switchboards Apparatus Glue Cookers Space Heaters soonene Materials Static Condensers Knife itches Stokers Lighting Equipment Turbines # Turbine Generators Mazda Lamps Transformers Meters Ventilating Equipment Lightning Arresters Motor Generator Sets Service Mctors and Control for R Coal and Ash-Handling ay Switches Equipment Switchboard Apparatus Com; Circuit-breakers Elevators Disconnecting Fan and Blower Switches Service Instruments and Fire, Hot and Relays Sump Pumps Tran iountsy Equipment sere rigerating netryment Equipment Power Vacuum Cleaners Switches Panel Boards ‘otary Converters Sse © 1925, W. E. & M. Co.

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j f i. P 1 Seana —— —— oot (Continued from Page 192) far the most forlorn and scandalous mon- grel Gil had yet beheld. One eye looked east and one eye looked west and both were red and watery. He was gaunt and his lower jaw sa unhappily. His hip bones stuck out and one seemed fractured, though it was not. His flanks sank in, his ribs were visible and, worst of all, he was far gone with the mange—so far indeed that it seemed a shame not to chuck him at once into a friendly gas tank and end his obvious distress. “Some dog!” Gil said admiringly. “Some dog!’’ Shorty echoed. “I was just gonna take him to a dog doctor,” asserted Mr. Klump, “but Shorty here says maybe you would want to hire him offen me. I like this pup and I was gonna git him cured up.” Gil shouted. “Hire him! I should say we do! This is the mutt I’ve been hunting for and no mis- take. What's his name?’ “Bones. He’s a mite mangy, ain’t he?” “And that’s why I want him. That mange is worth money.” “1 was gonna have him fixed up,” re- peated Mr. Klump, a certain pride in his manner and his mind on financial matters. “Of course, if you want to rent him, that keeps me from curing him up. What would you be thinking of paying me?”’ “We'll only n him a few days,” Gil poe staring in undisguised admiration. ‘We'll rush through the dog stuff quick and hand him back to you, Mr. Klump. How about fifty dollars a day?” “Fine!” replied Klump, who had been multiplying days by ten. The deal was concluded on the spot and the happy dog owner departed. “You take charge of him,” Gil said, handing the string to Shorty. “Lay off—lay off!’ Shorty responded, backing away. “I’m no hound hostler. Where do you get that?” “You're to take charge,” Gil repeated sternly, “and it’s mighty important. At night, let him sleep in that room off the laboratory where the carpenter keeps his cats.” “Lucky for me you ain't renting any ele- phants,”’ Shorty grunted. “I thought fod an actor.” “You got a monopoly of that thought. Take this dog and take care of him.” Mr. Pon | became official dog tender, reluctantly, for the life of the picture, and Bones entered upon his film career without external signs of excitement. He was mel- ancholy and continued to grow more so. “And don’t feed him too much,” Gil warned. “‘Keep him skinny.” The comedy unit attacked the dog drama and Gil shot seventy-six scenes the first day, which was the studio record. The story opened with Hobo Gil trotting along the top of a freight train and a brakeman in pursuit. On the ground, Bones barked and galloped beside the train and the action was brisk and interesting. It was one of Ollie Judge’s sobby tales, portraying the efforts of a frayed tramp to reach the home of his invalid daughter be- fore she died, in defiance of the well-known fact that tramps never have children. Among the causes of the child’s illness was the theft of her beloved dog, the dog nat- urally being Bones, who encountered the returning parent and joined up. The two of them went along together, meeting with three reels of rebuffs and dis- couraging adventures, splashed with humor of the ordinary Gilfillan brand, and the whole forming, as the star demonstrated, a hap blending of slapstick and tear- compelling drama. In Horace Rascoe’s tidy room, Ollie Judge toiled on the script;, but after his first brilliant outburst, whith resulted in fifty written scenes, the sob’ expert slowed down and copy came thenceforth in pinches and driblets. Gil accepted the fifty scenes and began shooting, with full knowledge of what was to come. Each day at noon he took the long walk from Stage Five, down by the carpenter shop, around the labora- tory and into the lane that led to the scenario coops, and there he conferred with his script man. “You're doing fine, Ollie,’”’ he said daily. “Keep it up.” The dream set being completed and at a cost that chilled Vice President Grogan, Gil hurried into the paradise scenes, and Bones dutifully chased the portal guard into the moat. Shorty Hamp was the guard, and he enjoyed a wet morning, in as much as they took a dozen shots of the dive, long shots, close-ups, high-speed and slow-motion. Angels fluttered realistically through the scenes in the hazy b d. Dragons spouted tongues of flame, this being one para noted for its dragons and on the third day Gil set fire to the over- head diffusers and all but burned O’Day and Grogan to the ground. The Holly- wood fire department rushed to the scene and saved the studio. “How much did that accident cost us?” Grogan asked his efficiency man. “Seven hundred and twelve dollars.” Mr. Grogan put the figures down in a small book and anew. Mr. Ollie Ju justified Gil’s faith in him by working steadily to earn the thou- sand dollars he was see paid for the story and script. He abj the flowing bowl and whacked away way until late each afternoon. On a certain Monday morning he sent a boy to Gilfillan, with whom he preferred to deal. Gil appeared and Ollie announced with pride that the continuity was finished. “‘T wrote the last scene this morning, and you are going to have an unusual and in- teresting picture.” “Good!” said Gil. “‘I’ll see that Grogan fixes up your check.” “When can I get it?”’ Ollie inquired, hav- ing come thus far with Spartan courage and without a dollar. “Today,” Gil promised, moved to warm enthusiasm by Ollie’s good behavior. At eleven o’clock President John O’Day sent for Mr. Judge. : “You did an excellent job on that script,” he said, “and it is a distinct pleasure to hand you this check in full payment. You are one of the few writers in this business who know the value of real pathos.” “Thank you,” Ollie said, taking the check. Vice President Grogancongratulated him, and General Manager Breyton shook him by the hand, having previously loathed the sound of his name. The tall scenarist de- parted from the studio, cashed his check, ate his lunch and fell from grace. No one knows where he went or what he did, but there is evidence indicating that Mr. Judge fell off the water wagon at about nine min- utes after the stroke of noon. He returned to the O’Day and Grogan studio in mid-afternoon to pick up his longings and clear out his desk, and he then departed permanently. A young lady ste- nographer who stepped into his office while he was packing up observed that he seemed strange and a trifle mellow in his manner and smelled strongly of a quaint old bev- erage that veteran steam fitters used to call whisky. He left Rascoe’s office with the cryptic statement that if a nose bag was good ona for a horse, it was good enough or an y I Gil Sposa up and each day broke the former studio record for script scenes shot. On the morning following Mr. Judge’s de- parture he attacked the sequence wherein the dream hobo is borne aloft by cherubs, and ——— Shorty Hamp to the room off the labora wherein Bones resided. “He's gone,” Shorty said, returning on the run. ““Who’s gone?” asked the star, who was desperately trying to make Miss Bessie Bellair look and act like an angel. “Bones—the mutt.” Gil stared. “Where'd he go?” “T dunno. He ain’t in his box, and I cer- tainly put him there last night.”’ Gil walked toward Shorty, who backed slowly away. “Listen!” said the comedian. “You go find that dog and be back here with him in four minutes, I put you in charge of him, and if anything’s happer.ed I’ll break both your legs just above the knee.” Shorty rushed off in alarm and searched the studio, prying into strange crannies. Others joined him in the hunt. The alarm spread, and O’Day came out of his office wearing a worried air. It was completely demonstrated in thirty minutes that Bones had lay 1 ros his moorings and gone afield. “This is a grand little mess,” Gil stated when he returned to the use of normal lan- guage, and Grogan agreed and added that it even contained elements of tragedy. “T hope you find him,” he said. “If you don’t find him, what shall we do?”’ The star glowered. “Well,” he said, trying to remain calm, “T suppose we'd all better get a sharp razor and cut our throats.” As the afternoon wore on and no Bones appeared, the seriousness of the situation THE SATURDAY EVENING POST became apparent. O’Day and Grogan held a conference behind uns doors. Gil rushed about in frantic circles, and progress on the picture came to a complete halt, be- cause there was nothing to ned by shooting further scenes. Shorty Hamp re- mained in hiding, fearing not only wrath _ a wordy chastising but likewise bodily arm. Twenty-four hours slipped into the void of eternity and the studio broiled in exas- peration, with carpenters, electricians and scene painters hunting the dog. Searchin arties patrolled the streets of Hollywood, ut in vain. That which was lost remained ost. “This is the situation in a nutshell,”” Mr. Grogan announced at one of the emergency conferences: “We have already put twelve thousand dollars into this pathos picture, most of it going into Gil’s extravagant set.” “That set was necessary,” the star as- serted. _ “No matter. We are in twelve thousand, including the thousand paid Judge. Now what are we going to do?” “Find the dog,” said Gil, outwardly bold but inwardly weak. “What if we don’t find him?” “We got to find him.” “What if we don’t?” Gil stared gloomily at the carved ceiling and made no answer. “Couldn’t we get another dog?” “No dog that ever lived looked like Bones,” Gil made reply. “And he’s regis- tered so often and so plainly in all the stuff, even to the close-ups, that the idea of ting another dog is out before ee start. © is parti ; ed at the paradise reel," O’Day. “The mutt’s all through it—every- where.” “And if we don’t get him back, the set is a total loss,” mourned the vice president. “This is what we get for listening to Gil. He wanted pathos. Well, we got it. If this isn’t a pathetic situation, I don’t want a cent.” Another dogless day followed, and still another, while hunting parties combed the town feverishly and b ht in table canines, gg Sey them would be the missing pup. The Gilfillan unit remained as a as a akan ted - 1 upon the equally famed painted ocean. walked slowly about the studio, a in disgrace, a guilty character who had unex- pectedly cost his vee a large sum of ye and Shorty Hamp, the real culprit, did all his studio business by telephone, being fearful even to enter the grounds. A week slipped by, a second week fled. Other studios heard of the impasse and sent in jocular insults by mail, ers. lend any ae —_ — ch morning Vice ident Gr passed through § Five and senned belucs the silent set, staring at it with the bitter look of a man from whom the milk of human kindness has totally departed. Studio cats prowled about the deserted ogg mee of the noble pile, dust settled upon its flu ted towers, and the sun beat cheer- lessly into its waterless moat. “About nine thousand dollars,” mut- | tered the vice a een “close to ten, | counting everything—say, about ten. Ten | thousand dollars’ worth of pathos! Suffer- | ing buzzards!” o add to the eral distress of the O'Day — Mr. Oscar ees $e one but- ting in frequent a rances, and present asked for Mr. Gilfillan, z “How’s my dog?” he inquired cheer- | fully. “There’s a mighty useful dog to you movie ple.” “He's fin2,” said Gil abruptly. “You through with him yet?” “No-o. The dog stuff is taking « little longer than we ex We are going to need Bones a few days longer.” “’Sall right with me,” the owner. Ma 4 take good care of him. How’s his health?” “TI never knew a dog to have better, | health.” “Good, Long as you take good care of | Bones, it’s O. K. with me. I'm fond of that mutt, and if I hadn’t been a mite short of | money I’d had him fixed up.” “We are taking good care of him, don’t | worry.” “And speaking about money,” continued | Mr. Klump, “I'd like to get paid for the | time you used him.” “Certainly,” said Gil. Mr. Klump left a half hour later with a | check for so many days’ rental at fifty dol- | lars a day and happy knowledge that other | checks were coming. Don’t take our word for it— ’ I SHERE’S only one way to find out whether it will pay you to use Grinnell Hargers. Try them. Buy a dozen and use them on « part of some job. Compare labor expense and the finished work with the balance of the piping. You're the judge and the jury. Put Grinnell Hangers on trial, See if they are not fully adjustable, easy to put up, sturdy, well made, with perfect threading and you'll see why they make better jobs with less labor. Send for our free 120-page catalogue. If your jobber doesn’t stock Grinnell Hangers, ask us for the name of the nearest distribucor. Ad- dress Grinnell Co., Inc., 302 W. Exchange St., Providence, R. 1. GRINNELL Adjustable PIPE — | rite right | ONGHAND is out of date, Corona is quicker, easier, more legible—and pro- vides carbon copies. 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Write Today to THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY, Sales Din. Philadelphia, Pansastvenis Pennsylvania ANFORD'S The Original FOUNTAIN PEN Z 2 ALWAYS GOOD ALWAYS THE SAME THE SATURDAY “This has to end,” Mr. O’Day an- nounced to Gil. “We are not going to pay fifty dollars a day for a dog we haven’t even got around the studio. It’s bad enough without that.” “‘Well, what are we going to do?’’ Gro- gan asked. “Find him and finish the picture,” Gil said grimly. “As far as it goes, it’s a cork- ing movie.” “You us into this, Gil,’ President O’Day said reproachfully. “And look at the cost. Those two reels have set us back twelve thousand, anyhow, and they aren’t worth a dime.” “Thirteen thousand,”’ amended Grogan. “There’s but one thing to do,” Gil stated. “We will have to advertise for him—put an | advertisement in the per.”’ “Why didn’t you think of that before?” “I did,” said Gil. “Don’t worry. I | thought of that before, and I thought of comers that goes with it too.” vi The ertisement appeared the follow- | ing morning, a carefully worded statement, with full description of the missing mutt, and it brought results. Before ten o’clock Oscar Klump sent in his name and Mr. O’Day sent for Gil. “IT knew this was coming,” Gil said mis- erably. ‘But there wasn’t any way out of it.” They waited. “So,” said Mr. Klump, entering and keeping his hat on, which was a new touch in his manner, “you lied to me. Bones is lost, is he?”’ “He certainly is," Gil said. “All right. This is strictly up to you, and you find him. You lost him. That d is a rare dog and I think a heap of him, an through your carelessness he’s gone. So where do I get off?” “We intend to find him.” “See that you do,”’ snapped Klump, in whose very tones one might detect a note of belligerency. ‘‘ Because if you don’t, I’m here to announce that I’m gonna sue this corporation for fifteen thousand dollars, which is the value I put on my dog.” ‘How much?” Grogan asked in pain. “Fifteen thousand bucks, There ain’t many dogs ike Bones.” “There ain't fifteen thousand in this studio, either,” answered Grogan. “You get out of here.” “I’m warning you,’’ muttered Klump, reaching for the door. ‘‘Bones, alive and well, or fifteen thousand smackers. And maybe more. I'll see my lawyer about it.” his news spread—word that Gil had finally plunged his kind-hearted employers into a nasty lawsuit. “He wanted pathos!’’ Grogan howled. “Make ‘em weep! Now look at us!” “Tt was an unlucky day when I said yes to that enterprise,” mourned Mr. John O’Day. “ Well, live and learn. From now on, I run my own business without help from comedians.” “And we've got a lawsuit to keep us company,’’ moaned his partner, ‘‘We had everything else in the world, and now comes a suit, which we will probably lose.” Dogs arrived at the studio in droves, packs, flocks and shoals, answering the newspaper appeal; but none of them was the missing one, which had apparently dis- appeared off the face of the earth; and not one of them resembled Bones or looked like him sufficiently to justify going ahead with the ruined movie, using a new canine. In mid-afternoon a stranger appeared, carrying a copy of the newspaper. “Who are you?” asked the gateman. " My name is Hall. I want to see Mr. Gil- fillan.’ He was presently admitted and Gil glared at him. “My name is Hall,”’ repeated the new- comer. ‘Is this on the level about the five hundred reward?” “Yes,”’ said Gil. “ You think we adver- tise for the fun of it?”’ “Get the money then,” said Mr. Hall. “I got your dog.” “Where is he?”’ “Out in the car.” “Where'd you get him?"’ “He was brought to sg Boge ' How do you know s the dog we ost?” “T never make mistakes about com, And 0 furt ore, he answers the name ones | when you him.” | “So do nine thousand other dogs,” said | Gil irritably, | “Likewise, he was the mangiest dog in | the world when he was brought to me, and | besides that you can't fool me about dogs.” EVENING POST “ Let’s look at him,” said Gil, anxious to have it over. He had been disappointed by so many hopeful dog-bringers that he had not the slightest belief in the confident st 7 arose, down the lane, picked up Shorty Hamp on the way and went th h the gate, Gil gloomily silent and Mr. Hall still airy. Just outside the bars the procession passed Mr. Oscar Klump, who apparently had returned for further discussion about his ae lawsuit. Klump was having trouble with the gate- man, who had the reputation of being the sourest, , dreariest and most pessi- mistic creature in California. “Have you found my pup?” Klump de- anded. “No,” said Gil, hurrying by. “I want to see you, Mr. Gilfillan.” “Wait till I get through with this man.” Halfway down the block from the studio entrance a small closed automobile stood beside the curb, and thither Mr. Hall led Gil and Shorty. “There’s your dog,” he declared, open- ing a door and pointing within. Gil stepped off the curb to look. Short passed around the car and peeked throug the glass. : “What are you | to do?” Gil asked, turning in wrath. “Kid me?” : “There’s your dog,” the man repeated in firm, even tones, and Gil glared at him. Inside the automobile, with a collar around its neck and a dangling chain, was as fine and handsome a dog as ever won a blue ribbon and had his picture taken with his mistress holding him aloft. His skin was smooth and glossy with the true radi- ance of ect dog health. His hair was short, to be sure, but it was high-grade hair, worthy of a thoroughbred. His ears were short and shapely and had evidently been clipped, and his rounded flanks betokened plenty of beef bones and dog biscuit. His tail was brief and straight, whereas the tail of the decamped Bones was a crooked and disreputable appendage and rather long. “Pshaw,” said Gil, using another word meaning the same thing, and preparing to go back to his studio, “why don’t you peo- ple have a little sense instead of wasting my time? The dog I advertised for was a manty wreck, not a prize winner. Did you read that advertisement, or can you read?” “This is your pup,” insisted Hall, “and I know it. Sure he had the mange. Only he ain’t got it now. Why ain’t he? Because I cured him, which is my business. If there’s anybody in America knows mange, I’m the man. I’ve written a book on mange.” Gil stared again in bewilderment, first at the contented canine and then at the man who brought him. He moved nearer the car and studied the beast at close range. “Shorty,” he said, “tell that guy Klump to come here.” Mr. Klump ee in- stantly. “Isthat your dog?’’ Gil demanded, pointing into the car. Mr. Klump stared in astonishment. “ Certainly not,” he said. “‘ My dog ——” “Call him.” “Come, Bones,” said Klump, and the animal raised its head and leaped blithely upon its owner, for it was indeed Bones, the dog. “My good gosh!’"’ Klump gasped. “B olly, it's him! Whatever did you do > im? “TI cured him, of course,” said Hall proudly. ‘“Here’s who I am.” He handed out professional cards, which stated in precise English that Mr. Hall owned and operated the Bide-a-Wee Hos- ital, an institution for small animals, and it was there, obviously, that Bones had been renewed. “Where the omitted-double-blank-triple- left-out did you get hold of that dog?” Gil stormed, bewildered and yet beginning to believe. He realized as he talked that the overhauled animal, Bones or no Bones, was totally without further value to the crip- pled movie. “Man brought him in and asked me would I fix him up, and I sure did. He agreed to pay me two dollars a day, but I’m satisfied with the five hundred reward, and let the other go.” “What man?” Shorty asked. “A kind-hearted fellow named Judge,” said Hall, and Gil started violently and half swallowed his cigarette. “Judge?” he said. “Not Ollie Judge!” “Him and no other. Tall man with a kind heart, saan about animals, be- cause after all this wasn’t his dog, as he said, and yet he was willing to pay me two dol- lars a day.” m “T should say it wasn’t his!’’ Gil moaned. “Ollie Judge pote,» ‘ou that pup?” “Yes, sir,” said al, “and it shows you how he loves animals, even if he was a little mildly ossified at the time. He worked right here in Hollywood for some movie studio.”’ “For this studio,” said Gil feebly. “‘Go on with the news.” “He quits his job,” Hall continued, sur- — at the interest in his narrative, ‘and e comes out of his office that day to go home—little lickered up, but nothing to speak of —and walking out of his office he comes on a sick and miserable dog, dying right there before him with the mange.” Gil groaned afresh. “Get it over with,” said Shorty. “Mr. Judge picks up this stray mongrel waif in his arms and personally carries him down the street to my hospital, and you can believe me or not, when he walks into my place with this dog the tears were streaming down his face.” _ “T believe it,” said Gil. “In fact I know it.” “He pays me two dollars a day to take this friendless pup and cure him, and I leave it to you if I did or not. I certainly know the mange. Hall on Mange—that’s me. Judge didn’t leave the money, but that’s all right with me now, seeing I get the five hundred.” “Come on,” said Gil, just above a whis- per. “Bring the dog in so Mr. O’Day can = him. e’s going to want to see that og. “T’m coming too,” added Mr. Klump, who had been standing by in excited ad- miration of the miracles of modern medicine. “He’s my dog.’ Gil dismally led the way and found Gro- ganproving to O’ Day with pencil and paper that the studio would probably be closed by the sheriff within six weeks. “‘Here’s Bones,’’ Gil said abruptly, wish- ing to have it over with. ‘‘This man cured him in his hospital.” Vice President Grogan looked at the mutt, sat down, wiped his spectacles and had a fresh view. “That's not the dog you used in the big “Same dog.” “What—what good is he to us now?” “No good,” Gil admitted. ‘Not the slightest good in the whole wide world.” “Who got him cured up?” “Ollie Judge,” said the star. “Little Ollie did it, all by himself. You better make out a check for this hospital man.” “All I have to say,” Grogan continued, choking as he reached for the check book, “is that you started out to make people cry and you did, Gil. You sure did. If it wasn’t unmanly, I'd sit down now and weep you about four dollars’ worth of first-run tears. Who gets this check?” “T do,” said Hall briskly. ‘Much obliged.” “T’ve got some coin coming too,”’ added Mr. Klump brightly. ‘‘How many days is it now, at fifty a day? Let’s see r “Sure,” said Grogan bitterly. “Look in the hall and see if there’s any more.” Gil moved out quietly through a side door and left the executives to their sorrow. One week later he was hard at work on a new two-reel comedy, a comedy without the faintest trace of pathos; a mere slap- stick and no dog in it. A boy came to his set with werd that he was wanted on the long-distance telephone, and Gil followed to the office. “Hello!” he said. : - this Mr. Gilfillan?” a voice asked. “ t is.” “This is the police station at Tijuana, Mexico. There’s a friend of yours locked up here, pretty sick, and he says to call you up and you'll get him out.” “What's he in for?” “Disorderly conduct and creating a dis- turbance.” “What's his name?” “Ollie Judge.” Gil’s hair seemed to move slightly. “Ollie Judge, hey? And he says he’s a friend of mine?” “Yes, and that he’s feeling pretty bad and you'll get him out.” Gil paused. “How many cells have you got in your jail?” he asked. “Twenty-seven.” “Go back and tell that py I hope he dies in all of them,” said Gil. Gilfillan returned the instrument to its none and smiled for the first time in four weeks.

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200 are interested primarily in the development of their present tools. Porce of habit and natural human con- servatism do not dominate scientific men in the same di that they affect others, because the scientist is by nature an ex- plorer, te risks what he has to find some- thing new; the vast majority of the human race must hold tight to present possessions, Shortiy after a new invention appears, thousands of men are able to duplicate the origina! model; comparatively few would ever improve it, Traditionaliy, the manufacturer and the inventor have served entirely different pur- poses, and in that fact lies the basis of their instinctive prejudices and hostility toward each other. One serves the tangible, visible world immediately around him, and with the tools at hand. The other serves the future and a far more general public. Some- times he doesn’t come even that close to earth-—he is looking for abstract truth; practical inventions, if any, are by-products. Because of this detached attitude, the oe oe inventors and scientists invariably righten people. Most of all, they frighten the men whose industries are destined to be revolutionized or perhaps wiped out of ex- istence. Consider for a moment, in this connection, the introduction of synthetic dyes and what that did to thousands of agriculturists who were engaged in growing the plants from which dyes had been made for hundreds of years. Those people went broke. The person who profits most from scien- tifle achievement is always that remote, inarticulate fellow called the general pub- lic. He takes whatever you give him, usually without expressing thanks, and promptly forgets, One thing must be said for him, however—he peys cash. But he isn’t a warmly humen, affectionate sort of person. Apparentiy he will pay tribute to a burglar just as willingly as he pays a surgeon for saving his tife. He's a cold, practical, clammy person with whom few fall in love. But the scientist serves him tirelessly. In- deed he is ruthless in his disregard for the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ANCIENT ENEMIES (Continued from Page 19) individual manufacturer because of his weird affection for that ice-blooded crea- ture, the general public. For the sake if gvae let us deal with an imaginary but typical case. We will assume that 100 skilled men work 100 days in order to produce a certain article, usin in the process $100 worth of raw material. An inventer comes along and shows how ten men with ten dollars’ worth of raw ma- terial can orm the same operation in ten days. That puts the old process on the junk pile, but the manufacturer who uses the new one is delighted. Being an individual and therefore given to emotion, he says to the inventor, “You are my friend and I am your friend. You are making me rich and I am making you rich. Let us congratulate each other and encour- age marriages among our children.” Imagine his astonishment when the in- ventor replies, “‘I have a new process b which one man and one day and one dol- lar’s worth of raw material will get the same results,” The Example of Tiberius Many a manufacturer before the present era of scientific merchandising, facing such a situation, has replied, “Let's take that new process out in the back yard and bury it. We're doing well. Why worry?” There are legends in nearly all industries of valu- able processes having been lost in precisely that =: For instance, it is related of the Roman Emperor Tiberius that he beheaded a man who came before him with a process for making nonbreakable glass. ertain provinces paid their tribute in glass, and it was extremely valuable, both because of its rarity and tage? Tiberius saw very little profit for the emperor in glass that wouldn’t break. He was in the glass busi- ness, but rather lacking in the poh point of view. With national distribution and better advertising methods, he might have made more money out of glass than out of vernment, but he didn’t see it that way. t any rate, he followed precedent. As a striking example of the opposite course, manufacturers of electric-lighting supplies are constantly at work trying to give more light for less money, and with each new economy the demand for electric light shows an increase. Theirs is now one of the biggest businesses in the world. The cheaper and better they make their prod- uct, the more they sell, not only in kilowatt hours but in dollar returns, This interesting situation has something to do with the new friendship between in- dustry and science in the electrical field. To digress for just a moment, it also has a great deai to do with the modern revision of ancient theories about socialism. At one time socialists contended that machines merely enriched the few and actually in- creas2d the poverty of the many. Except in a few places, they have been forced by the overwhelming testimony of the bald facts to abandon that theory. They still argue that the worker doesn’t get his fair share, but they had to give up the plea that he was worse off than before. The new alliance between invention, science and manufacturing is still quite young, so sung. in fact, that very few persons vealon the breadth of its scope. It Is my pu here to point out the extent of the alliance rather than its brilliant achievements. Consequently, a large num- ber of industries will be mentioned briefly, with what may seem inadequate emphasis upon those whose accomplishments are greatest. This course is necessary, because volumes could be written about any one of the three conspicuous leaders, These lead- ers are the electrical, chemical and metal- lurgical industries. I name them as leaders because they have taken the final step in the partnership with science by making pro- vision for research in pure science as distin- guished from applied science. There are now more than a few well-equip labora- tories in this country where a college profes- sor, for instance, would be permitted to spend his sabbatical year, if he cared to, conducting experiments of no known prac- tical value. is is particularly true of the aN April 25,1925 electrical field. One large company em- ploys annually from 400 to 600 graduates of technical schools and permits them to change jobs bey J frequently, in order to find something they like to do. Less than half remain employes; nevertheless the company considers Ris oiamal policy worth while for the advancement of scientific edu- cation. The recruiting of employes is a secondary consideration. For the most part, industry seeks only practical applied science, but it will never be able to achieve that desire, no matter how hard it tries. The scientific mind will give just so much to the practical and no more. The rest will be devoted to the future, though the scientist die for it. Con- uently, having bowed to applied science, industry has, in effect, no matter how in- directly, bowed also to pure science. Some industrialists may not know this, but they will admit it in time. With a little more time, they may follow the example of the present leaders by appropriating funds for the advancement of pure science, accepting the gambling risk as to its future usefulness. Salaried Scientists Recently I discussed this subject with a member of the board of directors of one of the largest manufacturing corporations in the world. He said: “We have ten or twelve internationally famous scientists on our pay roll. I do not know what they are doing. At one time one of them was measuring electrons. At least, that was the way I understood it. Our point of view, briefly, is that in the long run the results of this work prove profitable. From a strictly business point of view—or even, let us say, from a cynical point of view—I would still defend this course on the ground that we cannot pcs- sibly stop scientific investigation; therefore we had better keep in touch with the van- guard lest it march over and destroy us.”’ Volumes could be written on the amazing achievements in any one of five or six in- dustries, but the wide scope of this modern (Continued on Page 295) In Scientific Achievements of Practical Value the Future Seems to Belong Largely to the Chemist en eer

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Second Floor Plan

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST on small home costs . furnace comfort without basement expense made possible by Heatrola Picrer once more that ‘dream home™ of yours. Only now imagine it built, not from the basement up, but from the ground up—snug against the earth—cellar- less! How much more pleasing to the eye how much more convenient, and how much more economical to build. For by omitting the basement, approximately 15 per cent is saved on construction costs—$700 or more on a $4500 house. Where, you ask, will the heating plant go? On the first floor, for Heatrola, the modern heating unit that makes practical the cellar- less house plan, is installed in a downstairs room. From this location, it gently circulates heat to every room. Cheerful furnace com- fort the whole house over, “‘cellar-stair-run- ning’ ended—money saved! Thousands already built Naturally, to thousands of home-seekers, this $700 represented the difference between “building air castles” and building homes. Often it has saved a second mortgage, or purchased a better lot in a better location. Perhaps it’s just the amount you need to start your own “dream home.” Building “from the ground up,” you will not only save on construction costs, but by installing Heatrola you will be certain of cozy furnace comfort throughout the house. The secret — circulation Stoves heat by radiation—that’s why they blister your face and leave your back cold. But Heatrola heats by circulation the furnace way. Warm, moist air is in constant circula- tion throughout the house —more than 16,000 cubic feet of air passing through Heatrola every hour. Corners distant from Heatrola The Intensi-Fire— exclusive with Heatrola Ait Estate Hearrola is as ine ion and rformance as it is in appearance. Note particu- larly the DOUBLE air geeinvigs produced by these exclusive Intensi-Fire Air Ducts, built into the Heatrols, directly in the path of the flame have the same inviting warmth as the room in which Heatrola stands. Stores, restau- rants, halls,. churches and schools also are heated by this modern method. Modernize your present home In new and old homes, the Estate Heatrola blends with the quiet beauty of today’s mode in interior decorating, adds to the appearance of the room in which it is placed. Heatrola is as attractive as a fine mahogany cabinet, and, with its vitreous enamel finish, smooth as glass and ever- ing. And no dirt, no dust in the house — Heatrola’s patented construction prevents this. An end to big fuel bills Heatrola is made to burn any kind of coal, also wood. it does the work of a basement furnace, yet uses no more fuel than a stove. In cellarless houses, where the floors are properly insulated, this fuel economy is par- ticularly noticeable—the insulation makes the house unusually easy to heat. See these home plans today Plans for seven cellarless houses, prepared by the Architects’ Small House Service Bureau, are on display at your Heatrola dealer's. The makers of Heatrola have arranged to absorb part of the cost of each set of plans, making them available to you at much less than the usual price. Ask your dealer to show you these plans Then ask about the convenient terms on which you can purchase a Heatrola. Or mail the coupon for free booklet describing Heat- rola-heated cellarless houses and telling you how you can save $700 or more on your new home. lasting, it is as easy to keep clean. Dust it off with a Illustrated Booklets FREE , cloth, no polishing or shin- THE ESTATE STOVE COMPANY HAMILTON, OHIO | Nome Pacific Coast Office and Display Room, 366 Post Street at Powell, San Francisco, Cal Builders since 1845 of the famous Estates. A stove, furnace and range for every requirement —for cooking and heating’ with coal, wood, gas and electricity. Permanent display in American Furniture Mart, Chicago, Illinois Bae Office THE ESTATE STOVE COMPANY | HAMILTON, OHIO Please send me copy of “Seven Modern Cellarless Houses —Heatrola-Heated.”’ Tell me how I can heat my present home with Heatrola (Check the one you wish) | Street No. or R, F. D Stat 402 HEATROLA |

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 imodat } fixtures are 4 hike « fon a f Té n raat in > Of an eles You may lit } tricta Inspection of oursell ulpment 1s e right treatm t. the results 7) i re . notn Thi pore iil ire preven- kaulty elects in, the North ( tis a spectalist tn Consult him on all relating to property ' , rotection. He will make no ‘ elects ( il probl for inspecting vour fire ain who understands el ly t\ Kkven such appare Hecan give vou adequate iC Matters as CATCHSION tO CTION it mintswum cost TovebwbeCuem Greenlee venue) I foucematenoute PHILADELPHIA arid ti

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BE DI sve — Ses (Continued from Page 200) tendency will best be shown Ly Sep e ing the less conspicuous examples. Let us begin with copper. The World War demanded such enor- mous quantities of this metal that a slump was inevitable after the Armistice. A little more than three years ago there was formed the Copper peat Brass Research Associ- ation, which is merely a clearing house bah which technical problems are re- fe to scientific staffs, usually of the various interested companies. Both pro- ducers and the larger users of copper pool their scientific resources in this way. In three years, according to trade estimates, the American consumption of copper has increased more than 100 per cent. Part of this result is due to the work of scientists. By far the larger portion of their work has Bo. 4 directly in codperation with the selling end of this business, but some of it is not. For instance, experiments are now in progress to determine the effectiveness of copper as a protection for marine piling against a certain little water animal called a borer. This busy little bug destroys scores of millions of dollars’ worth of piling every year. It would be too expensive to cover the piling with copper sheets, but preliminary investigation showed that the bug in ques- tion didn’t like the taste cf water that had come in contact with copper. Immediately the scientists wrapped copper wire around certain pilings and began to observe results. Around other piles they put copper bands of different sizes and at different distances. Also they used copper of several different grades. At present all they have to say is that the experiment shows promise. If it succeeds, it will be worth a few million dol- lars to the copper manufacturers and vastly more to all others directly concerned, in- cluding the general public. Technical staffs long ago performed sev- eral marvelous feats for the copper busi- ness. One of them is to dissolve copper ore in water and then gather the particles of metal on electrically charged metal plates. The amount of copper recovered from ore today is vastly larger than before this method was devised. You might not suppose that the business of importing bananas calls for very much scientific skill, but quite the opposite is true. The banana leads its own life, hum- ble as that may be, and has a whole code of habits and customs. During a sea voyage the banana breathes; if not, it isn’t a highly desirable banana on arrival. Scientists have found out just what sort of air the banana likes, ard why. As a result, the mortality rate among bananas on the high seas is very low today, and the survivors are pro- portionately cheaper for the consumer. Absolute Alcohol Among the young giants of modern in- dustrialism, few are taller than the beard- less youth, cement. It also has its staff of scientific trainers. I shall mention just one of the 200 or 300 things they are doing for it. Cement was born with a gray com- plexion that is well enough in some places, but not always desirable. Today it can put on more different colors than a flapper, or even resemble marble. In addition to hard work, it aims at artistic achievements. To a person unfamiliar with cement, coloring it may seem very simple; but it isn’t. Cement is quite temperamental. In its earlier days some imposing piles of it fell down because it had been mixed with im- pure water. Many of the same pollywogs that cause trouble in the human stomach also take the strength out of cement. One of the most important articles used in scores of industries is alcohol. At least a dozen different kinds are produced for industrial use, but until about three years ago there was very little pure alcohol, ex- cept at twenty dollars a gallon. At the time of its first production pure alcohol was an interesting scientific achievement of no commercial value. It ranked as a clever chemical trick, and tiny bottles of. it were sold to scientists. Today pure alcohol is sold in tank cars at about one dollar a gal- lon. It is vastly more useful than ordina: alcohol, because it contains no water at all. The very best that had previously been dome ~ : reduce ~*~ water content of a per cent. For most purposes that is adequate, but whole new fields of usefulness were opened when the last trace of water was removed. Next to water, al- cohol is the most important solvent known to science, and it is, of course, very impor- tant to have chemically pure solvents. THE SATURDAY So many things are being done by scien- tists in the automobile industry that I shall mention only one subject of investigation here. From the viewpoint of the engineer, quite a bit is known about the performance of the gasoline engine; but the chemist looks upon that field as dark and unex- plored. He knows in a general way that a charge of gas explodes in a cylinder when the spark hits it, but he doesn’t know pre- cisely what takes place. Both the chemist and the engineer agree that it ought to be possible to get a t deal more power out of gasoline than is actually obtained at the present time; but the chemist thinks he will point the way to at least thirty miles to the gallon just as soon as he can find out what goes on in the cylinder while the aero is in progress. he mention of gasoline engines suggests the varied activities of technical staffs em- ployed by the oil companies. From the practical point of view, one of the most im- portant things they have done is to blend different grades of oil for different uses so that the engine may have enough light oil to function promptly and enough hea oil to give power. a vesult of their wor along these lines, some of the refineries now mix with their gasoline various chemicals derived from sources other than petroleum, in order to increase the efficiency and power. One of these chemicals is derived from lead. Cracking Petroleum The scientific staffs are also constantly at work devising improvements on the methods now in use for cracking petroleum. This process is an achievement of pure science, and the story of it is not greatly different from a detective yarn. The clew in this case was the theory that gasoline resulted originally from heat and pressure. If that theory is true, said the scientist, then more heat and pressure applied to the crude petroleum ought to develop a higher gasoline content. Accordingly experimental plants were built, and the outcome proved that the scientists had guessed correctly. Cracking petroleum doesn’t mean taking out the known gasoline content; it means changing the chemica] nature of petroleum and actually producing gasoline that did not previously exist. But for this process, the well-known bugaboo of gasoline famine would long since have arrived. Scientists are intensely interested in crude troleum and feel that they know very ittle about it. Theoretically, they say, there is no reason why it shouldn’t make excellent butter, lard, sugar, starch and even proteins, as well as gasoline. However, most of us will be just as well pleased to learn that none of these products has yet been developed. Lubricating oil still claims most of the greases in petroleum, but here again pure science finds an unanswered problem. Why do these greases attach themselves with such persistence to metals? We all know they do, but the chemist would like to know why. When he finds out in his own way, it is not at all improbable that lubrication will become a science. He has already poked his theories and test tubes into crude oil until when he gets through with it nothing remains but coke; but there is no way of guessing what he’ll turn up next. On one subject, however, I have found him incurably optimistic. He doesn’t think there is any chance whatever for your automobile to lack fuel—anyway, not while he keeps his head. The business of killing meat animals, freezing the carcasses and selling them to butchers doesn’t at first glance appear to demand a scientific staff; but some ex- tremely interesting work is being done at present in and near packing plants. For instance, it may interest the consumer of bacon and eggs to know that the pleasingly decorated container in which Dis sliced bacon arrived at the kitchen door was packed in a room in which the air was ab- solutely free of bacteria. It doesn’t require many words to make that statement, but it is none the less a very neat achievement. Recently the packing plants have been called upon to march in step with scientific advances in a totally different field. You may, perhaps, have heard quite a bit of conversation during recent months about glands. Doctors and surgeons have been looking into glands and finding some interesting secretions. Also they have dis- covered that insulin is valuable as a remedy for diabetes. They go to the packing plants not only for i but for several other gland products, so that these establishments now havegland departments. There wasn’t EVENING POST anything else to do about it. In addition buyers of » packers also to the t the number * customers the manu- facturers of age age de- pend upon them gelatin. gelometer. By the use of this machine each customer the kind of gelatin he wants. Tneidentally , gelatin is not made out of horns and hoofs, as commonly reported, but out of the white fibers of connective tissue which are found for the most part in fatty tissue and bones. at a quarter of dressed beef and ask, “ What i that consist of?’ hips 4 are a queer so they enjoy ng plants. The tanning of leather is another indus- pa that has enlisted its scientific staff thin comparatively recent years, though tanning is one of the oldest arts. ly en , however, the scientists haven't the old foundations, They can tan leather much more quickly than anyone’s grandfather evendid, but they are not yet satisfied with the performance. Thus far their greatest achievement has been to analyze and test the various ma- terials used and thus save the old-fashioned tanner from expensive and needless errors. Marvelous improvements are now being made in the quality of glass. Many living persons remember when the cheaper grades of window glass were rather f and fre- quently contained bubbles. present efforts tend mainly in two directions, one to fe ordinary er or way mately as good as plate g the other to achieve better somults in coloring. adam a notable recent ocharcement ie oring is a new ruby glass which gets its brilliance from a waste product of he go refining, It is not cmon § to travel far lost art; eventually we be able to bounce a glass tumbler ona ul floor. Science and the Metals Science is already well established in the metal industries. A great known about the com of steel, for instance, than of ei or petroleum. I sacle gga bh ogy om ms ing iron is a mere of dough. He’ undesirab) out of it the im automobile tire, is a very distant relative oe ee ee eee processes: undergoes e course of manufacture effect changes of such a fundamental nature that one can used in this country, surprise is expressed. One cannot avoid wondering where all flowers are grown that must go manufacture. For rs — not grown. or other ) do good perfume. So long as there was no other perfume _ the breath Delightful flavor, aromatic and fragrant, Valuable for singers and speakers. NEW VEST POCKET MACHINE ble Adding Mach. ©, Washington St.. © Here's a wants one. for special offer. i ae ee coer ¢g Fluid to Fabric or Color 20s We 60: 1 Sine Botte a all Drag Stores NORWAY and SeIMAY CHORTEMAD CO cu- wih bh dt ys RRANEA ‘gies wy, &. % AN VLVANIA, 62 DAYS, $600 to CLARK, Times uliding, New York

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THE SATURDAY Retriger: EVENING POST source for these pleasing odors, the world had to worry along on small rations of sweet smells. The principal source of per- fume is the chemical laboratory. For raw material it is not even necessary to have a delightful aroma. The chemist attends to the little matter of rearran ing molecules so that the odor becomes delightful. This statement may arouse suspicion, but vir- tually all perfumes as finally delivered are not only harmless but excellent antiseptics. hed ner a plant enna esiige 5 feed consists of little more than a group of chemi- cal plants operating as auxiliaries to one another. The work of their technical staffs has also made it possible for these plants to produce artificial siik and rubber as well as guncotton and other cellulose products. However, the paper industry has for a long time been struggling with a very difficult and interesting problem growing out of the enormous quantity of material it wastes. Paper, of course, is made by cooking wood, saving the fiber and washing away approxi- mately 50 per cent of the original tree. This heavy percentage of waste flows off, held in solution by thousands of tons of water. It is estimated that about 4,000,- 000,000 pounds of wood disappear annually in this country alone in this way. A large number of products could be salvaged from this wooden soup, but the cost is so high at present that thus far approximately nothing is being done. American Dyes The most dramatic work of science co- operating with business has been done re- cently in building the American synthetic dye industry. This country was very rich in coal tar, and there were enough scientists to begin operations; but they lacked prac- tice owing to the fact that Germany, pre- vious to the war, had produced three uarters of the world’s supply of synthetic p mort Nevertheless, they began operations. With some colors they were instantly suc- cessful, with others they failed repeat- edly and won a bad reputation for their firms. Gradually, however, they made progress, until at present 96 per cent of the dyes used in this country are American made. In 1914, according to the United States Tariff Commission, seven American firms produced 6,619,729 pounds of dyes. In 1923 eighty-eight American firms pro- duced 93,667,524 pounds, which was an increase of nearly 30,000,000 pounds over the preceding year. The price has decreased from an average of $1.26 in 1917 to an average of 541% cents the pound for 1923. About 18,000,000 pounds of American dyes were exported last year. The capital in- vested in this business is approximately $125,000,000. There are now very few dyes not obtain- able from American firms. The speed with which this development was accomplished is shown by the fact that 175 new dyes were announ by American firms during 1923. Among these are many that Germany never = and presumably doesn’t know ow to produce. Imports from Germany reached about 3,500,000 pounds in 1920 and rose to more than 4,000,000 pounds in 1921. Since then they have been declining and are now under 3,000,000 annually. This whole industry is founded upon a waste product of coke ovens that was once so offensive as to be the subject of legisla- tion declaring it a nuisance. Literally hun- dreds of valuable products are now recov- ered from coal tar, but pure science is still puzzled about it. I shall mention here just one phase of the mystery. It is that slow coking with low degrees of heat produces, in the tar, contents entirely different from those found when higher degrees of heat are used. Apparently the possibilities of coal are less than half known. It is in this industry, and the electrical, where pure science works side by side with April 25,1925 practical science, that some of the most amusing situations arise—amusing, that is, to the layman. The relation of the prac- tical scientist to his friend across the hall is more or less that of a detective. It is up to him to know what to do with the latest harvest from the unknown. The question he tries to answer might be stated thus: “Now that we know it, what shall we do with it?”’ The answer to one such question produced the mercury engine. : Scientists have long been interested in boiling or vaporizing all sorts of liquids and metals. They like to reduce elements to their gases in order to see what they are made of. In the course of these experiments they boiled mercury, among hundreds of other things. Now it happens that mer- cury is very responsive to heat and Ee duces a vapor that will operate a turbine engine. This doesn’t interest the men work- ing on pure science, but the practical men began to speculate on the fact that thers is plenty of mercury and no very g reason why it shouldn’t be used. The prin- cipal difficulty they encountered was to confine the vapor to the engine, since no known method of packing pipe joints will do this. They overcame the difficulty by welding every joint of the engine. They were then ready to produce power with approximately one-quarter the amount of coa! required for an ordinary steam engine. But there is another feature of the mer- cury engine perhaps equally interesting— the vapor from the exhaust is sent into a condenser where its high temperature pro- duces superheated steam. The latter, by the way, can be cooled in a water con- denser and produce ordinary steam, The first mercury engine was installed for the Hartford Electric Light Company, of Hart- ford, Connecticut, during 1923. With its success demonstrated, larger engines are now being designed. Changes Unwelcome I mention this achievement because it may some day take its place in the history of the age-old quarrel between science and industry. It may mark the new era in the relations between the ancient enemies. If it does, the fame of the mercury engine will be far more enduring in that connec- tion than because of its mechanical effi- ciency. In all probability it will, as an en- ine, have its ¢ | and pass on; but the act will remain that it was produced by a company primarily interested in the de- velopment of other kinds of power plants. And why is that interesting? Well, the scientists say that one of the most distress- ing characteristics of manufacturers is that they will never do anything revolutionary. Historically, it is true. At the present time it is at least partly true. How long it is going to remain true is a matter for specula- tion. In scientific achievements of practi- cal value the future seems to belong largely to the chemist and nearly everything he does is astounding. We may admire a new kind of pulley, but the ordinary mind read- ily grasps whatever idea is behind it. Not so with the miracles of chemistry; and yet they are becoming as common as weeds. It is not at all unusual nowadays for the technical staff to undertake rearrangement of atoms in a basic material in order to achieve utilitarian results. The quality of many metals is now disclosed by use of the X ray, which shows whether the crystals are properly placed. If they are, there is no need to bother with tests for strength or drops of acid. Already the men of science have made their mysteries part of the familiar daily rformance for thousands of the so-called ard-headed business men. As for the future, almost anything seems probable, in- cluding the possibility that the ancient enemies may become firm friends. PHOTO. FROM H. G. WATSON “Storm Brewing," Sitka, Alaska

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I aa rN en

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

HOUSANDS of men do. Business clubs, athletic clubs and private houses contain all kinds of equipment to give exercise to the tired business man. Doctors say he must stir up his liver, and stretch and jar his spine, the seat of all nerve centers. Why is this? Our life today is too soft. Our subways, elevators, motors take us everywhere, mostly in a sitting posture. We don’t walk enough—we don’t put our blood in circulation. Are we to be- come a nation steadily deteriorating in manly vigor? Get out in the open air. Walk to your Do You Ride An Electric les ? office. Hike home again in the after- noon. Learn to stride right—in a cor- rect bodily posture. Hit the road ina manly, vigorous way. Walk on solid leather soles and heels. They help you to walk right. They are comfortable, winter and summer. They protect your feet. Foot health means right walking. Exercise means long life and happiness. You won’t need an electric nag if you walk as you are meant to walk—as your father walked—as your grand- father and all your great great great grandfathers walked—in sturdy shoes with leather soles and heels. ‘Nothing takes the place of LEATH Leather is fibrous with millions of tiny nostril-like air spaces which inhale and exhale with every step. This allows the feet to breathe. Air is also a non-conductor of heat, hence with leather soles your feet are cooler in summer and warmer in winter. AMERICAN SOLE ann BELTING LEATHER TANNERS, Inc. ONE MADISON AVENUE, NEW YORK, N. Y.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 The New Auburn Brougham 888 $2250—Portrait by Palenske Think of it—this smart Eight for less than many of the big-pro duction Sixes. No wonder people say Auburn is two years ahead in style and price. No wanda dealers say Auburn gives the greatest value for the money. Daringly original it stands out with silhouette distinction against the beclibeound of the commonplace. Its performance is a revelation for discriminating people who have become automobile-blasé. Because, it is more than people arealsoshrewd buyers. Buyingan Auburn isan extraordinarily good investment. Why pay more and get less? We claim to give you the most efficient Eight—finer materials—better workmanship—ad- vanced design—more comfort! Of course it has more power a speed than you will probably ever dare to use, wider doors, easier steering, freedom from vibration, four-wheel brakes;Murcote finish, Ross steer- a beautiful new car—it is a new experience—a new mode of travel—a new era of comfort! Here is a car especially designed for men and women who no more want their motor cars exactly like their neigh- bors’ than they do their homes or clothing. These $2290 Freight and tax extra ing, McFarlan body, and everything necessary for prolonged service and lasting economy. All we ask is for you to see it—drive it—put it to every con- ceivable test—make comparisons—ask experts to go over it with a fine tooth comb—and if the car does not sell itself, we will not ask you to buy. 8-88 Sedan $23 5¢ 8-88 4-door Brougham $2250 8-88 Sport Roadster $1975 freight and tax extra. Also complete line of sixes at moderate prices. AUBURN AUTOMOBILE COMPANY, AUBURN, INDIANA EIGHTY EIGHT

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_ — =e THE RECOLLECTIONS OF Al. CONSUL (Continued from Page 41) anyhow, the exhilaration of a complete change of surroundings. To go from one dreary place to another, if your luck is not in, is at least to get out of a rut; and by the time you are firmly set in the new rut, hope revives; the same reveries, the same eager exchange of an- ticipations. It is the consul’s own fault if he always draws blanks. The Department of State holds the view that the best work is done amid congenial surroundings and endeavors to put the right pegs into the right holes. Politics has nothing to do with it. The pitiless efficiency record is either the Nemesis on the trail or the bright star that guides to success. The red tape of the service is unbelieva- ble, but I know no detail of it that is un- necessary. Every step an official takes is in pursuance of law or regulation, and records must prove this. A lawyer or merchant, at possible peril to his pocket or reputation, may be careless with transactions or rec- ords; but a government never. The State Department does not expect detail work from a consul after a certain apprentice- ship, but distasteful filing and recording are often forced by conditions on an experienced consul—so often, indeed, as to constitute the most serious existing objection to the consular service. There is a simple remedy for this. If Congress would permit salaries for clerks up to $2000 to be paid to non-American citizens, middle-aged consuls who think they have some brains would be spared long hours over mechanical duties, and young American citizens, who accept clerk- ships at $1800 a year, would be spared much misery. These young men cannot live on their salaries unless in isolation or with un- due self-denial, and easy credit often leads them into debt. If illness, leave of absence or transfer deprives the consul of their help, he must do their work; and if they are in- dolent or incompetent, he is at their mercy. But efficient foreigners, locally resident, can be had almost everywhere. They are local fixtures, entail no cost for transporta- tion, can bereadily replaced, are not forced— as is an American clerk, even against his will—into maintaining some kind of social status and have no secrets to betray. A consul has his confidential files closed even to his American clerk, as is also the cipher code; so that objection falls. Handicapped by Salary Laws The Americanization of the service is right and proper; but where should it end? With the janitor, the office boy? That would be fanatical adherence to an ideal. With the typist, the under clerk? Congress says yes—so long as the salary does not exceed $1000 per annum. But these youth- ful foreign assistants, if they are any good at all, are always seeking another job with a better prospect. For most of them, $2000 a year would represent the peak of ambition, and if they could rise to this by merit, they would be permanent. This slight change in the law, not a change of principal, but merely of amaximum wage, would quite dis- proportionately increase the efficiency of the service, bring content to consuls in the smaller offices—for nothing I have said ap- plies to the higher positions—and save young men from being lured abroad on starvation wages. The second great advantage the foreign service offers is the opportunity of meeting interesting people. So broad is the halo which surrounds the head of the youngest secretary of embassy that intelligence and a receptive mind will bring him in touch with the great in the arts, in statesmanship and finance. In far lesser degree, the same is true of consuls; but even a consul, in his progress through the world, may make many stimulating mental contacts. An American professor, who did not care for power, once said to me that the sole advan- tage of wealth was the chance it gave its possessor of meeting big-brained people. A consul, without wealth, may meet all the best that comes to his city; and in Europe, . at any rate, he is within a few short hours of some interesting capital where he may, if he has the desire and some social initiative, form interesting affiliations. On the diplomatic side of the foreign service, it is impossible, and always will be, to do the best work or to get the most out of this attractive career without a private income. Success in business is usually in part achieved by founding friendships on | common interests; but now and again great ability may bring success to a lone hand. But a hermit » Revo could not succeed; and if he is poor, he is forced to break one of the cardinal rules of life. He must habitually consort with richer folk, at the ope of sycophancy or bankruptcy. The extreme instance of an effort to end illogical conditions is to be found in the instructions of the Soviet Government to their foreign representatives to refrain from social relations with colleagues of other nations. This fanatical policy is doomed to ultimate failure, but it is inspired in part by perception of this hard fact—that no government will ever pay $10,000 a year to a secretary of embassy, and that no secre- jy ina t capital can hold up his end on less. reer of diplomacy is planning for a life of endless petty and narrowing worries. His | position is set out with more wit than deli- cacy by Washington hostesses, who call | young attachés at the various embassies the bread line. On the Social Warpath Wealth, power, initiative, stern business battles, civic conflicts, lifelong intimacies— these are denied to the foreign-service offi- cer; but there are compensations. To many temperaments, it is pleasant to be on a hilltop and watch the | ror struggle in the valley. No matter how long a diplo- | mat may remain in a capital or a consul | stay in a city, no matter what intimacies either may form, no matter what political predilections either may conceal, they are observers always, denied participation by the nature of their office. I was appalled by the hatreds born of the general election on the first Home Rule Bill. These were deep and lasting. Life- time intimacies were abruptly severed, old friendships cut short. I lost no friend, but my weekly whist table was broken up. As I was the only consul of career in Bristol, I think I may truly say that I was the only man among 400,000 people whose daily affiliations were not more or less altered by the political passions of the hour. My friends were regrouped, that was all. A Conservative would be sure to trump his Liberal partner’s ace. The consul has no competitor. Hence his life is free from the jealousies incident to commercial life and his wife exempt from | the antagonisms of social progress. A lady who had expanded with her husband’s suc- cessful career told me that she had shed her friends three times before she got to the top in her Western city. “What do they think about you?” I | asked. “T’m not worrying about that,”’ she an- swered. ‘I had to do it to give my daugh- ters a chance to marry well. Were they and I to stick in the $3000 set while my husband was with the $30,000 a year lot? No; I fought without gloves for my aims, just as he did for his. And I'd do the same over again. right.” But a consul’s wife need not go on the warpath. With a good manner and some social talent, she may select her friends in any foreign city, and she is not expected to be competitive in her entertainments. Tacit allowance is made and cutlet for cut- let is not demanded. I once gave a merchant a lift in my pony | trap. As we passed the offices of one of his competitors, he shook his fist at the sign. ‘All right, my friend,’’ he muttered with rofound contempt. ore another office. “‘What’s it all about?” I asked. “Smith,” thirty years ago. Brown has done me dirt at every chance. My last year’s balance sheet was made up today and my profits are $130,000. I’ve beat ’em both and they’ll know it all right.” I expressed my genuine astonishment that the first thought over the proof of a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST he Department of State will no | doubt assign its men without looking into | their pockets; but unless these pockets are | lined, the young man who aspires to a ca- | Oh, I wielded the tomahawk all | He repeated this be- he answered, ‘sacked me | “It was not like this in the olden days” THERE was a time when taking castor oil disturbed the whole family! You rebelled. Mother coaxed. Father threatened. Finally orange juice came to the rescue. That was in the olden days! Today you can buy areally tasteless and odorless castor oil of highest purity and greatest medicinal value—Squibb’s Castor Oil (Tasteless)— a castor oil that remains tasteless and odorless. Squibb’s Castor Oil has been purified by special processes. It has none of the dis- agreeable features that mark the ordinary product. It is one castor oil that the whole family will find easy to take. When you buy requirements for your medicine cabinet insist on Squibb’s Castor Oil (Tasteless) and other Squibb Household Products. Each Squibb Product is distin- guished by points of superiority which you will instantly recognize and appreciate. All Squibb Products are made to meet the most exacting demands of the medical profession. Be sure to get: Squibb’s Cod-Liver Oil (palatable, vitamin tested), Squibb’s Epsom Salt Special (slightly effervescent, palat- able), Squibb’s Bicarbonate of Soda and Squibb’s Milk of Magnesia. At drug stores. For those who prefer it—Squibb’s Castor Oil, Aromatic Ask your druggist today for an entry blank to the Squibb Healthy Baby Contest. E. R. SQUIBB & SONS, Manufacturing Chemists to the Medical and Denta! Protessions since 1858 >

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WHEARY the new 1925 models in The “Continuous Dust - proof Valance” is anew Wheary fea- ture. When the trunk ) (Ch and dustproof joining. dust can enter your trunk. New Trunk Book FREE! Wheary Trunks and their in fious and exclusive features illustrated and described. Get this book before buying a trunk. WHEARY CUSHIONED TOP Wardrobe ‘Trunks You can see, in leading lugga styles, finished in washable Fabricoid, silks, cretonnes; AMERICA’S FINEST WARDROBE TRUNKS is closed, this valance forms an air-tight The daintiest apparel is safeguarded from soiling, no The “Inner Locking Device” is another important Wheary invention. leases, or locks, all drawers by opening t . or closing the lock in the top drawer. shops and department stores, heary Trunks; 80 different serviceable, beautiful linings. You'll find many new, exclu- sive, patented features not found in any other trunks; things you've wanted. There are no better trunks made than Wheary trunks. It re- This Wheary system anchors both sidesof each drawer to the steel drawer slides riveted inside of trunk body. Wheary “Multiple Control Master Lock” gives absolute protection. Contains the Wheary patented seal- ing device. Snapping the lock shut automatically clinches a keyless lock- ing mechanism and secures the trunk at eleven points. WHEARY TRUNK COMPANY RACINE, WISCONSIN Send me your free book, ‘America’s Finest Wardrobe Trunks.”’ ky consul,” he said; “outside of it all. And yet, I don’t know. There’s unholy joy in getting even. Watch me next year!” I watched, but all I saw was a bigger house, bigger dinners, bigger diamonds on the wife’s fingers, and ultimately affec- tionate exchange of kisses with the wives of the two competitors. He had arrived. The hatchet was buried. All was peace. But the next year his profits were enor- | mous. He bought an estate in the country, where city supremacy meant nothing; so | they must begin again at the foot of the | social ladder. | the like; They are still struggling. Perhaps it is worth while, as so many do but the consular career is safe from any such temptation. Consuls are free from wounds incident to competitive life and their wives escape many of the heartaches of ambitious women. It is a legitimate attraction of the foreign service that you are somebody. High talent or much money, or sometimes heredity, is required in your home town to make you a prominent citizen; but in your foreign community you are a marked figure and enjoy without effort some of the attributes of power. It does not matter that you have not the power or that it is your Govern- ment nd our position to which the police- man touches his hat; you thrill to the salute if you are young and human. It is pleasant to open the ball with a visiting princess, or to hear nine guns thunder when = leave your ier: battleship, or to ave a king tell you that he has met you before, naming the time and place. He doesn’t remember, of course; but you are important enough to be on the card index. You may not have been great at baseball, but you ay | pitching the first ball to a duke at the bat, with Papa Spalding be- hind him, while papa’s two nines grin at W. G. Grace, king of cricketers, as he knocks sky balls about. You enjoy being asked to Paris “to meet Monsieur Bartholdi, on the occasion of his completing his colossal statue Liberty En- lightening the World, or in taking the chair when Henry Ward Beecher—yes, as far back as that—lectures in your town; or iving a dinner to Nansen or Admiral eary or Colonel the Honorable William F. Cody; or in playing tenpins all night with Sir Henry Irving, on a rare occasion when he laid aside his stately dignity; or in con- ducting Happy Fanny Fields over a cathe- dral; or shambling on hands and knees in a medieval chapel with a distinguished ambassador, searching the worn stones for tablets marking the graves of his ances- tors—typical instances, these, chosen at random out of hundreds that flash to memory. Hands Across the Sea Philosophers will tell you that you are small-brained to find continuous enjoy- ment in vicarious honors. Eager seekers after wealth or political prizes will teli you that you are squandering abilities which might earn high rewards. But you, follow- ing a career which offers to a slender purse many of the advantages of wealth and traveled leisure, are content to smile. You serve your country with a unique direct- ness. Your country’s flag flies over your office. Your country’s coat of arms is on your walls. Your chief in Washington is so far away that you fancy yourself your own boss. You cherish the useful and invigorat- ing idea that you are somebody, doing solid service for your country. The American ambassador in London has for audience the English-speaking world, | with occasional echoes filtering in transla- tion to other tongues. The keen-eared among his hearers are the representatives of home journals antagonistic on partisan or personal grounds. “There is nothing I can catch hold of,” said a ee gee newspaper man to me, after loudly applauding a charming ad- dress; but I saw afterward that his editor had twisted a sentence on which to found a vitriolic editorial. As the matter must be noncontentious, the aim is to say nothing in the most ef- fective way; but Mr. Russell Lowell ex- hausted the fount of language in doing this and no successor so happily and continu- ously talked Hands Across the Sea with variations. A sentence lingers in memory. “T will not say ‘Mater pulchra, pulchrior filia,’ he said; “but I will say that in the countenance of the daughter you may dis- | cern the lineaments of the mother.” April 25,1925 Can you beat that for mellifluous ele- gance? Mr. Lowell’s task was the hardest of all, for the Irish question was acute dur- ing his later _—- He was truly beloved and honored by the British people, and his t influence was 7 backed by Brit- ish political leaders and the press. In those days when a revolutionary movement financed across the sea was erupting in spurts, there was an air of unreality about the social gatherings at which the health of the representative of the United States was to be drunk. A common language, a com- mon origin, a common law—everybody grazed all over the common until the herb- age was short. No wild ass ever kicked up his heels and strayed over the border into facts, but these facts were behind the minds of most listeners. “If we face you,”’ said one such listener to me, “and have a thundering good row, we shall get a knife in the back from an antagonistic Europe. But why can’t we be allowed to suffer in peace and not have to chuck all this dosset about?” Lowell’s Oration on Cheese Dorset butter is of supreme excellence, and the expression “ chucking dosset about”’ came from the highly successful play, Our Boys, produced in the 70’s. The English so deeply dislike extravagant speech as to consider the usual American expressions excessive. It was in 1883, I think, that Mr. Russell Lowell asked me the way to Valhalla. “Take the 2:40 train at Paddington,” I answered, ‘‘and get out at Taunton in Somersetshire.” “And do warriors ry all day there, dine on inexhaustible wild boar each night and stay dead till morning?” “It is a museum where Sects of deceased worthies perpetuate memories and where Your Excellency is expected to unveil the sculptured Fielding, with appropriate cere- monies.” That essay, delivered at Taunton as an address, may be justly regarded as one of Lowell’s most finished productions, but Fielding was overshadowed that day. Arch- deacon Denison, Lowell’s delightful fooling, an amused press, and a local public which knew more about dairy products than about the father of the English novel, transformed this Fielding festival into a glorification of cheese. Archdeacon Deni- son, vicar of a parish near Taunton, was a national figure through his tremendous fight against the Tractarian movement, his friendship for Gladstone and his command of forthright language. His foible was the local cheese and he had on his hall table, under glass, a piece which had rested there forty-one years. This interesting and his- toric relic, still edible according to its pre- server, was shown with a high pride to the distinguished visitor. Lowell, much amused, built his post-banquet speech on Cheddar cheeses and there were brave passages of wit over this product of the lush pastures of Taunton Deane. So it followed that local papers condensed the essay, reported speeches in full and wrote the editorial about the cheese. No American representative since Lowell has won the place which he held in English estimation. He was a kind of superman to them, and his lightest word carried weight. His successor, Mr. E. J. Phelps, won high regard for legal talent, and especially for ability shown in the fisheries negotiations; but to the general public he was little more than an honored name. On his departure, in 1889, a farewell dinner was given to him by the Lord Mayor of London, and the Egyptian Hall of the Mansion House in the City was said to have contained that night the most brilliant and representative gath- ering ever assembled under its roof. Though this splendid ovation and inno- vation, the cause of much heartburning among embassies and legations in London, appeared to be a spontaneous tribute, it was in truth a detail of British Foreign Office policy. The Irish matter continued to be an in- ternational irritant and the vexations of the decade had culminated in the abrupt dismissal of the British minister from Washington. The necessity and justice of this dismissal were understood in England, but the Sackville incident, naturally enough, inflamed antagonisms. British policy was unflagging in seizing every chance to ex- ress good will. Important visiting Amer- icans were paid great attentions and the cables hummed with accounts of honors (Continued on Page 213)

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Glass Stopper Lip Jug finished in vari- ous colored enamels or in full nickel- plate. Quart and ) Pint Sizes. Priced from $8.50 up. Chicago San Francisco THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Thermos announces anew line of Vacuum Pitchers and Jugs T is surprising and gratifying to realize how broad is the scope of the great “Thermos Service” which first gave portability to hot or cold food. The contributions which this Service makes to our daily living seem to be endless. We are not judging from our own experience but from letters which we have received from thousands of cus- tomers who long ago accepted “Thermos” as a necessity. Among these letters, many have voiced, in various forms, the same request. “Why not a ‘Thermos’ that will go with the other silverware on the dining room table or the appointments of the drawing room?” And so it is that the people who already know “Thermos Service” are GENUINE -THERMD REG. U.S. PAT. OFFICE Norwich, Conn. Huntington, W. Va. the ones who inspired these new and latest additions to the genuine Thermos Vacuum Bottle Line—the Silver Plated Pitcher Sets, the Jugs with trays to match in colored enamels to match the hangings of your home. The jug and pitcher shown on this page are two of those we have selected after considering a great many designs and finishes. Either of these new pieces will supply your guests with “Thermos Service” in a most attractive manner. ’Tis ‘“Thermos”’ or ’Tisn’t “Thermos” Remember one thing when you buy vacuum bottles. All vacuum bottles are not Genuine Thermos Vacuum Bottles The genuine is stamped with the “Thermos” Trade Mark. It is put on the bottom of every Genuine Thermos Vacuum Bottle for your protection. There is a Genuine Thermos Vacuum Bottle to suit every need and pocketbook $4.25 each. VACUUM BOTTLE THE AMERICAN THERMOS BOTTLE CO. 366 MADISON AVE. NEW YORK Thermos Limited, London, England No. 6Q Quart Bottle. Finished in full nickel-plate, “Thermos” Pitcher Set. Silver Plated. Pint Size. Martelle Design. No. 363, $35 each, Thermos Bottle Co., Lted., Toronto, Canada

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SY OVS a: Daa or : % . > . > c NO) BO 8 BD BO BO BIA a tate ies Soe ed By Was be le

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

April 25,1925

Brand New- and Knockouts, too! Nothing compares with an open roadster for smartness and dash. For years everybody has wanted one. But the seating capacity has kept many back. Now Moon with this new design presents some- thing entirely novel, chic and practical—a front seat wide enough to hold three and a concealed rumble seat to hold two more. The new Moon engine has been especially de- signed for modern road conditions. Today you find hard fast roads everywhere. They mean higher speeds for longer periods. With Moon’s new type pressure lubrication, and with the Moon counterbalanced crank-shaft and four big main bearings you can hold your speed- ometer at 50 to 60—or better if you dare— without vibration. At the same time Moon cars are also designed to

The Cabriolet as well as the Road- ster has the disappearing rumble seat also latest one piece ventilat- ing windshield, Pright finish black leather top, brown striped mohair upholstery to match the two-tone tan finish, new instru- ment board and patented rear window regulator. MOTOR CAR All Moon cars have six cylinders, 4-wheel hydraulic brakes, balloon tires, patented casy-parking steer- ing gear, Duco finish. Priced from $1295 f. o. b. St. Louis and upwards. GOMEAN ET : ¢ive: ¢€ BAZ meet modern metropolitan usage. Women just love to drive this car. With Moon’s specially de- signed steering gear all that is needed is a small space at the curb and an easy twirl of one hand to park and unpark. There is a roomy compartment in the rear deck for golf clubs, guns, bags, what-you-will. Men and women will find this an ideal utility as well as a sport car. The Cabriolet is the same new idea in a closed roadster. With a rear window and seating ar- rangement that for the first time allows real socia- bility among all five passengers. These cars fairly ooze distinction. You will thrill to their looks—and even more so to the marked superiority of their road performance. And as for value you will find them incompa- rable at their respective prices. See them today and prove what we say.

MOON

Lous, . VU.

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a a one ee (Continued from Page 210) rendered by court, press, society and the ple. Oliver Wendell Holmes would have ad a fine welcome in any event, but the delightful octogenarian bathed in the splen- dor of his triumph, never suspecting that he was in part a political counter and that the word had quietly gone forth to render homage which should please the American people. , But Mark Twain knew. Coming to the Savage Club one night in that white suit which he affected sometimes in later years, he said to me, “ Across the water, I am only Mark Twain. Here I am forty-six states and some territories under one hat.”’ Incidentally, Twain was much better known in England than Holmes. I heard him roundly taken to task one night at the Savage for wasting his talent on exposing the mistakes of Fenimore Cooper, still read in England with pleasure. On that same night, oddly enough, a patriotic Welshman, steeped to the neck in the legends of the Mabinogion and the Red Book of Hergest, made a fiery attack on A Yankee at the Court of King Arthur. Twain, little accus- tomed to criticism and born without rev- erence, was genuinely interested in this devotion to a long dead writer and, as he said, to a king who had never lived. To return to the Phelps’ dinner. The Lord Mayor, Mr.—afterward Sir James—Whitehead received “from high quarters an intimation to the effect” that the court could not single out for special honor the representative of any one country. Could the City express the national senti- ment by a farewell dinner? It could and did. Each of the 300 guests had achieved something; what I had achieved, it is necessary to explain for modesty’s sake, was an invitation—the sole requirement, after all, for any dinner. On arrival, I slipped aside and watched the scene. The Lord Mayor, in his bullioned robes, was welcom- ing guests whose names were announced in a loud clear voice by the liveried servitor. About his lordship were grouped guests who watched the new arrivals and clapped hands as they heard familiar names, Well.Arranged Applause “The Lord Chief Justice of England” — applause; “Sir Arthur Sullivan’’—wild applause; “‘Mr. Russell’’-—-moderate clap- ping for Bull Run Russell, the veteran war correspondent; ‘‘Mr. Morley’”’—a most modest greeting for this writer and rising statesman; “the Lord Chancellor’’—a re- spectful salvo; ‘Mr. Gilbert’’—tumultu- ous applause; “Mr. Somers”—a silence, for nobody knew Mr. Somers. I remember this Mr. Somers, whoever he was, humbly crossing that ten feet of desert in solemn silence, conscious that 200 pairs of eyes of great men were fixed compassion- ately on him, while their owners wondered how the dickens an unknown had crept among them. The lonely traveler shook limply the hand of the Lord Mayor and dived into obscurity behind the massed ranks of the great and successful. A lesson in humility, this reception. “Sir Edwin Arnold’’—loud acclaim to the editor of the Telegraph and the author of the Light of Asia; then I gritted my teeth and followed: ‘“‘Mr. Lathrop”’—to my astonishment, vigorous clapping. I was sure that I was mistaken for some- body else, but that applause was the most welcome that ever came to me. Then I found that Fred Penfield, United States vice consul general, afterward to be diplo- matic agent at Cairo and ambassador to Vienna, had organized a little clique of Americans, that no fellow countryman should cross that strip of hall unwelcomed; a kindly thought, that. The Egyptian Hall at the Mansion House is 200 feet long, 80 wide and 60 high, and its dining capacity is 300. It is usually set with one long and eight transverse tables, on which the massive civic plate gleams beneath the light of seventy-five chandeliers. It is a glittering and attrac- tive sight, but it is history, tradition and association which make its gatherings unique. At the court end, the West End, of London, all is heredity. At the Mansion House, only successful individual achieve- ment counts. Many lord mayors have built their great fortunes from nothing. They serve but for a year and their duties are principally cere- monial and decorative. One lord mayor told me after retirement that he had not brought one friendship away, formed dur- ing his year of office. He had felt himself, THE SATURDAY he said, merely an unconsidered unit in a long procession marching to the just glory of commerce, a mere prop on which to drape the robes of a great tradition. Some lord mayors are less genuinely modest. I re- member one who went across the Channel and visited in semistate, with some of the trappings of office, a town in France. Here he made a speech which touched on inter- national relations and was criticized with such sharp severity wf the London press as to recall him promptly to the square mile over which he nominally ruled. At this dinner to Mr. Phelps he got off an epigram which has lived ever since; and after thirty years, I saw it quoted with proper credit in a London newspaper. Making the excuses for shortcomings which are inevitable in a farewell address, he wound up by saying, “‘ He who never makes a mistake, never makes anything.” In the course of a lifetime I have been present at the delivery of but one other sentence which became current coin for a generation. Lord Long of Wraxall, then Mr. Walter Long, shortly after the South African War, said, ‘‘We have muddled through some- how.” For some reason unperceived by me, this utterance, true of all wars, excited hot criticism and the man who drove rabies from England for once in a long and useful life tasted unpopularity. Browning's Bitter Retort Robert Browning was a guest at the Phelps dinner and was the object of special interest by reason of his lately printed bit- ter sonnet on Fitzgerald, the creator of the English Omar Khayyam. Fitzgerald’s letters had just been issued and contained a sentence which I quote from memory and which might perhaps have been omitted, as Browning still sur- vived: “Elizabeth Barrett is dead; no more Aurora Leighs, thank God.” The poet’s harsh retort ended thus: “Were yourself alive, good Fitz, How to return your thanks would task my wits. Kicking you seems the common lot of curs, While more appropriate greeting lends you grace; Surely to spit there glorifies your face— Spitting from lips once sanctified by hers.” The last of these Mansion House dinners which I attended was that given to Mr. Choate in 1905. The consular service was beginning to be reorganized and it became impossible for a simple consul from the country to appear at gatherings to which colleagues were not asked. I had achieved my ends by no other means than knowing the ropes, and I could no longer pull these with impunity. I am glad that I made these chances for myself and recall with vivid pleasure brief chats on these occasions with Browning, Thomas Hardy, William Black, Lecky, Kipling and a hundred others important in the world of artistic or material achieve- ment. I recali with amusement informa- tion given to me at one of the banquets by an elated successful man, somewhat cynical of mind and blunt of speech. “T saw H. R. H. last week,” he said— | meaning the Prince of Wales, after Ed- ward VII—“‘and he said, ‘———- would you like a honor?’ and I said, ‘Very much, your royal ‘ighness,’ and he said, ’Ow about a C.B.?’ and I said, ‘I think it ought to be a knighthood; I think I’ve earn and he said, ‘ You shall ’ave it. Misplaced h’s are most uncommon now, and the general spread of education leaves no chance for comedy to make gibing con- trasts between the courtier and the citi- zen or between the lady of the court and the mistress of millions who never had a grandfather. It is possible for a limited few, given to aspirates in the wrong place, to use them correctly for a limited time. I once knew a member of parliament whose conversation was a ‘“‘’ash of haitches,’’ who never misplaced one in a public address. When I heard him speak, I used to think of the rheumatic actor who stumbled to the wings on crutches, and on hearing his cue, strode manfully onto the stage. The actor’s temporary triumph over physical ills is easily understood, but I often won- dered if the orator preceded each public utterance with a resolve to speak correctly. The subject was too delicate for personal inquiry and I leave the problem to psy- chologists. The American representative in my time who was the most instantly and happily in ’” that, sir,’ | accord with the aristocracy of England was EVENING POST LOOK FOR THE Red Handle With THe Black Head (Color Combina tion Registered ar Trade Mark, US. Pat. OF} EXCLUSIVALY PLUMB Infantry Sheath, as illustrated, protects 5 blade and may be carried on the belt. =i Take along the Plumb Scout Axe HEN you go fishing, hunting, camping, touring, take with you the handy Plumb Scout Axe. Like coffee pot and fry pan, this axe is standard equipment for hike or camp. Hunters designed it for service, to wear in a sheath on the belt. Plumb forged it for them, from Plumb Special Steel. American soldiers in France knew it as the Plumb Camp Axe. And the Boy Scouts of America made it their Official Axe. It has served them "wy since they started, 15 years ago. a) The Plumb is the one Scout Axe \ with the Plumb Patent Take-up Wedge, which keeps the black head tight on the red handle. Plumb Scout Axe with Infantry Sheath, $1.65 (except in Far West and in Canada.) At hardware and sporting goods stores. FAYETTE R. PLUMB, Inc., Philadelphia, U. S. A. DOUBLE LIFE Hammers Hatchets Files Sledges Axes

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Many of the largest buildings in the country are equipped with it, such as the Washington University buildings in St. Louis and those in Central Park, New York. Showing cross sectron of grip applied to door stop, Note tt ss pressed firrn!y agamst door, chang- tng position of arp. Easy to Apply —Simply Tack On You can install Home Comfort. Weatherstrip your- self. A tack hammer is the only tool required. (Sufh- a eae oe cient tacks accompany Home Comfort Weatherstrip). ; No need to take down doors or windows. A few Comfort Weatherstrip : éutomatically fils up hours of easy work and you can have your home fee ee efficiently ‘Wweatherstripped, affording comfort and a saving of fuel bills for many years. wf | warps ov settles, leaving an open space, Home Get Home Comfort Weatherstrip from your nearest hardware or building supply dealer. The average window or door requires about 20 feet. The cost is 1oc per foot, including tacks, for the maroon and 13¢ for the white. Home Comfort Weatherstrip comes in a continuous length, assuring no waste in left over ends. Complete instructions for installing accom- pany each order. WIRFS ORGANIZ + Sole Manufacturer and Pacentee PATENTED f Prove ease of making corner tur. No mitering or sawing. Pas. Jan. 22, E. J ‘ ATION 1024 193 Sours r7te Sr. Sr. Lous, Mo WIRF ‘Hewwe WEATH ERS TRIP THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Mr. Bayard. This sunny-hearted old gen- tleman of charming manner, a kind of hereditary senator from a small state and afterward Secretary of State, had been spared the rough-and-tumble of life and was a natural aristocrat of the best type. He delighted rather in expounding the Con- stitution or in peaceful study of a treaty than in the practical conduct of affairs; but too much must not be expected of one whose amiable presence and courtly dig- nity were in themselves an international cement. This man, persona gratissima to England, was uncertain on his appointment that he would even be persona grata. He had been Secretary of State when Lord Sackville had been sent his passports and he told me himself that he had not been unprepared | to hear that Lord Rosebery, then Forei | Secreta | sent. | heard your ambassador again. , preferred that somebody else he consul general was in similar case. “There exists somewhere,” said Pat Col- lins, “a picture of a slim boy taken in his hot and fiery youth, dressed in a Fenian uniform.” It is unprecedented, I think, that ap- pointees to the two chief English positions should simultaneously have been doubtful of their reception. Each deserved and won unusual popularity, proving how little vin- dictive is English memory. Mr. Bayard’s egy Ming let Mostyn Pigott describe that. Pigott, barrister at law and delightful verse maker, was the most diverting after-dinner speaker of that day in London. 2 have heard the new ambassador,’’ he said; ‘a noble presence, good matter, an effective delivery, a pleasing mannerism. He pauses, lifts his eyes to the — searches for a word and finds the inevitably right one. All this so quick as not to delay, and it adds to the effect. He had prepared the skeleton, no doubt, but he clothed it in our presence.” A week later: “I have Splendid! He shot the ceiling just the same and al- ways bagged the same word.” Mr. Bayard had in truth delivered word for word the same speech twice over, but such was his art that it appeared each time to be extempore. He was confronted by a sharper task than had ever ambassador te meet in my time. On the day of a speech in Edinburgh, the Venezuela message — in print. It will be remembered that this message was sent, not to Lord Salisbury, but to the Congress, and that Mr. Bayard had no knowledge of it. An angry and inflamed Britain—the only time in my thirty-seven years of residence—awaited his words with tense and incredulous curiosity. But what could he say? He could no more than stum- ble out the belief that his chief must have been misinterpreted. An Eccentric Visitor British municipalities, and important in- stitutions in them, make great efforts to secure the American ambassador on cere- monial occasions and it sometimes fell to my lot to set out as engagingly as condi- tions permitted the special reasons why his excellency should come to my district. I could not succeed with Mr. John Hay, the representative American whom I most | admired of any man I ever met in public | life, nor with Mr. Choate, who said, “I | have kept your committee's letter for six | weeks that I might appear to give it suf- ficient consideration, but I never had any intention of going.”’ It was not hard, how- | ever, to lure ambassadors to Bath. The old city had a most persuasive system for attracting celebrities. As every- body who was anybody through two cen- | turies ‘took the waters”’ here at least once in a lifetime, innumerable mural tablets | mark the respective dwellings of these visi- | tors, reading, “‘ Here dwelt,” | was transient, “ when the visit Here lived,” for a resident or habitual frequenter. Tablets were pre- pared as addresses were ascertained and there were usually a score or so of these stowed away for the right moment. It was thus possible, in persuading Mr. Whitelaw Reid to come and unveil a tablet, to offer a choice of twenty subjects, and he chose Edmund Burke. A Bath official who | went with me to Doughty House in Park Lane was so deeply impressed by the glit- tering splendor of His Excellency’s home that on his return he arranged tentatively for an open ome drawn by six horses, three of which should each carry a postilion. Mr. Reid, subsequently told how narrow April 25,1925 was his escape from royal honors in respect of equipage and other details, was cheer- ma grateful and prom tly made up in ination a page of a Sunday edition of ron inimical New York newspaper. His ungent comments on himself disclosed no fos of journalistic ee In San Francisco, in the 70’s, I dined a successful prospector and introduced aspar- agus to him. As the dweller in deserts savored the novel vegetable, he cried with fervor, “Well, dang me!” So, the same expression was forced not in awe but in wonder and amaze from a Nevada miner d with me into the hall of Doughty House and faced for the first time a platoon of liveried and powdered foot- men. Our little matter satisfactorily ended, we strolled away; and round the corner saw, across the street, a footman whose smoking pipe proclaimed him off duty. “Supper at the hotel at seven,” my friend said, and darted across. who step A Well-Remembered Laugh I watched a friendly chat and saw the two, arm in arm, enter one of those glitter- ing Mayfair saloons, supported in part by the menservants of the neighborhood. At dinner that night my Western friend said: “He’s human all right, but kicking like a mule at everything—at his fourteen-hour day every other day, at his grub, at the shakedown they give him in the pantry, at his wages. I offered him eight dollars a day in my mine and to pay his passage money. ‘Not in mine,’ he says, meaning no pun: ‘I had an uncle,’ says he, ‘went to them parts as valet toa governor general i in Can- ada and the mosquitoes done’ im something cruel; oh, no, not me.’ I told him mos- quitoes didn’t bite underground, but he said old England was good enough for him.” We were dining, not at my friend’s hotel, but at the Savage Club, and newspaper men listened with interest to his naive im- pressions. He never bought a guidebook or a catalogue, but had gone about “seeing what he liked.” “A big church on a hill” had interested him. “It had a statue of a queen in front and heaps of pigeons.” “St. Paul’s Cathedral,”’ we said. “TI guess that was it,” he agreed. “It was pretty big, and a marble soldier was laying on a tomb in it like the undertakers had just been there.” “Gordon’s recumbent statue,” an art critic said, “‘and anatomists have made just that comment.” He had strolled into a big gallery “near where the lions are.”” He had been greatly struck by “some pictures of the country with big solid trees and hay. wagons and little houses with straw roofs.” “The Constables in the National Gal- — we said. es, that was it, Constables. They had plenty. Could he buy one or two? “T’ll find you some,” said Jimmy Orrock, art dealer, whose Bloomsbury house was a museum of wonders and who gave an an- nual pork-pie supper to O’Dell, the oldest actor in the world. Orrock is dead and O’Dell, who closed the Savage Club every night for two gen- erations, is now like Colonel Newcomb, a brother of the Charter House, and has to be in by half past nine. I went in 1923 to visit the white-bearded courtly old bo- hemian in the medieval precincts of the Charter House and was taken to call on a newly made brother, a young man of nearly eighty, with bright eager eyes and a ringing laug or heard that laugh in the 70's in San Francisco, Mr. Horace Lingard,’’ I said, “and I remember your wife, Alice Dunning, and your sister, Dickie.” I told him how a boy of twelve, rum- maging boylike in a sitting room, had stumbled on a pile of photographs which he had gazed at in wonder, and how his fat hostess had come in and he had cried out, amazed, “‘Here’s a — of your face on top of Alice Lingard’s body,” and how the angry lady had boxed his ears and then bribed him to silence with a seat in the parquet for that night’s performance. “Don’t you dare to tell anybody,” had said the stout lady, her ample bosom quiv- ering; “they ain’t fer local use, and I don’t never expect to see my daughter again way back East, and I want fer her husband’s folks to see her ma as I was when I was her age. “Precocious boy!” said the old actor. “To know Alice with another head! She was a good wife to me, and a good actress, (Continued on Page 217) a ee i

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t \ ‘ ee me at Diletta steele oor ee ee eee ee ee asta ‘ ‘ ) PIS-3 n e tok >s aS acax BUILT IN AKRON, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Hundreds of thousands of car owners are enjoying the advan- tages of low pressure without having changed their wheel equipment — they are using General’s low-pressure Regu- Jar Size Cords. It was back in 1919 that General produced their first low-pressure tire—the General Jumbo 30 x 3% cord, requiring only 30 pounds of air. Since that time General has : " [ ch ead j ® e; é Aili. . é ~ Nek a tht] k a eat - G & ar Te as E Wren a on N Bb L f i a NERAL G You can enjoy low pressure and still use regular size tires specialized in low-pressure con- struction. This is the sixth year of it and only such long-standing experience can explain General’s singular success with low pres- sure—in all Regular Size Cords as well as Balloon Cords, both 4-ply and 6-ply. Talk with the General dealer in your city. He will gladly demonstrate the low-pressure advantages of the General Cord for your Car. Paco ity nl C) fi ‘> } \, = ey CORD —goes a long way to make friends OHIO, BY THE GENERAL TIRE AND RUBBER COMPANY

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ¢ THE WILLS SAINTE CLAIRE ° IS REVIVING THE NATION’S * ¢ LOVE OF MOTORING ° ° How long has it been since you went out in your car just for the sheer love of driving ? Are you one of the thousands who have about come to the conclusion that there is no longer any satisfaction in driving a car? Frankly, aren't you at this moment debating the question of getting rid of “the big car” and picking up some kind of a small car that you can “turn on a dime and park with a twist of the wrist” —regardless of how it looks? eo ¢ In this new Wills Sainte Claire Six, C. Harold Wills, himself a motorist, has given you the answer. —all the convenience of the small car, and its ease of parking —all the aristocratic dignity and sumptuousness of the finest big car —all the superb style, quality and stateliness without the clumsiness and excessive weight —the real, scientific solution of the modern traffic problem. One ride in a Wills Sainte Claire will give you the old thrill and completely revive your interest in motoring. WILLS SAINTE CLAIRE, INc. Marysville, Michigan WILLS «Motor April 25,1925 E CLAIRE

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p! f J

(Continued from Page 214) and she knew how to dress. She’s been dead many years.” He turned to O’Dell. “You acted with me in Newcastle in 1859,” he said; “I came across the playbill.” 2 . Did 1?” was the eager query. “What in ” Lingard pondered and shook his head. “And I laid aside the playbill to show you and now I can’t find it.” : They fell to rummaging and I with them, and we searched the heaps of disordered programs that blazoned the wanderings of a star. To no avail; the two ancients could find no record of the hour in which they had trod the boards together more than sixty years before. To return to my visiting man of the mines. It will give the measure of the Sav- age Club when I say that no man there made overt or secret jest of him or his words. His oa een OF is fearless earnest- ness, won respect. ed what had most impressed him in London, he answered, “Mr. Whitelaw Reid.”” Asked why, he ex- plained: “A sure enough diplomat. You get held up by a squad of men dressed like earls in pictures, and you’re passed a line of ’em, and you think if this is the ginning, the end must be a throne and him sitting like an idol, and you wonder if you'd ought to get on your knees; and then you meet a man like yourself, dressed like you are, and man to man, and you feel so re- lieved you want to give him everything you've got. It wouldn’t work in my coun- try; but you mill some ores and some you roast, pond ¢ if roasting’s your way here, go to it and pile on your footmen.” His exit speech was acclaimed. As he turned to go, asked for his general impres- sions of London, he said almost reverently, “Gentlemen, it’s a permanent camp.” Each visitor to rir has his special interests, his individual hopes of pleasure, his plans for learning something, his mem- ories to be revived or the traditions of his ancestral race to be reimbibed at the foun- tainhead. Scholars, students and artists specialize in their aims, but never have I witnessed such concentrated devotion to an ideal as was displayed by two men who were neither scholars, artists nor students. They kept a pool room in New York and came into $64,000 by a successful specula- tion. They decided to close the 1 room for a month and spend that windfall in Eu- rope. For two weeks they would be million- aires, not exclusive starchy millionaires, but real fellows, kings in the only world they knew, the underworld, and after the manner of that world. High Play I heard about it through an accidental meeting with one of the most ificent- looking men I ever knew. I saw him in the illgoom of the Café Royal, where I was aving supper after the theater, and I went to his table and said, “‘The last time I saw ~~ was when you were calling the num- rs in the Mercantile Library lottery in San Francisco twenty-five years ago.” “The hardest day of my life,” he said. “I know of $50,000 that changed hands when I stuck it out. I wouldn’t back my- self till I had got the pitch of the hall. I fixed my eyes on a fellow way up in the rafters in the farthest corner and I told him the first number drawn, and I could just make him out looking at a list in his hand; then I knew I could last the day and raised my hand, and that won me ten thousand.” This man was George Smiley, who had been caller of the San Francisco stock board in its earlier frenzied days, and as we supped, he talked of old times; and he told me, among other things, how he had pares to build a tent about dying Senator Broder- ick, shot “on the field of honor” by Terry in what was in reality a duel between Northern and Southern Democracy. As we rose he said, “Come and see two men spending $4000 a | without movin from their rooms”; and as we went he tol me the tale of the keepers of the 1 room on a vacation. We entered the Hotel Con- tinental, then in the dazzling blaze of a success soon to be quenched by the police, and went to a gilded room whence came laughter and chatter borne on waves of cigar smoke and patchouli. Twenty or thirty people were there, some watching a poker game, some helping themselves at the buffet, some sipping champagne. Liveried waiters constantly replenished the sideboard, bringing Perigord pies, paté de foie gras, boned turkey and all the regu- inties that you read about in lation

THE SATURDAY novels that describe the feasts of the fast. A dozen untouched open bottles of cham- pagne fizzed their wasted lives away on the chimney piece. Choice Havana cigars were scattered about in a hundred boxes. I saw one gentleman gut a full box; his dress coat was humpy with the spoil. I stood on a chair—I might have stood on my head if I had wished—and looked over the crowd at the silent players. The limit, I inferred, was twenty pounds—say, $100—and as the winner of a eg on drew in his counters, four bare arms shot over his shoulders, bejeweled fingers twitched, and I heard a voice: “Just one, for luck.” The player twisted his head backward, recognized one face, said contemptuously, “Which claw is yours?” and when a hand straightened out in front of him, he thrust a chip in it. “Cochon!”’ said one of the disappointed, as she drew her arm away with a jerk. And then came Mr. Smiley with one of the hosts and presented me. ; ae are having an original vacation,” said. “We thought,” he said, as he looked proudly over the scene, “‘we’d show ’em what New York sports is like.” “Have you seen Westminster Abbey,” I asked, “or St. Paul’s Cathedral?” “We ain’t much on churches,” he an- swered, shaking his head. “Have you been to the Tower or the Na- tional Gallery or the Houses of Parlia- ment?” He laughed. “We ain’t had time,” he said. “We ain’t been out of the hotel one to the Turkish bath. We sleep there all day and we're here all a” “You're off tomorrow, I hear.” A Well-Deserved Rebuke “That’s right. The wad’s melted and we've seen Europe, so it’s little old New York for us.” Then came the lady to whom had been presented the counter. He redeemed it with four five-pound notes—‘“‘ And another, just for luck.’ “Why not two?” said the bejeweled lady, eying hungrily the big bundle of notes in his hand—so near and yet so inaccessible. The host snatched the extra note from her hand. “Some of these dames ain’t got no man- ners,” he said as he turned his back. But I have wandered far from those scenes of decorum in which ambassadors | move in stately dignity with their entour- ages. I called once on the newly arrived wife of a new-made secretary and was re- ceived with such warmth of cordial regard that I told lf that the lady had yet to learn how i ificant were consuls. “Cream an aaeee, my lord?" Mrs. X purred as she delicately poised the sugar tongs in solicitous inquiry. ow could I maintain an imposture so pleasing to my hostess? Prompt confession was the only way. “Who do you think I am, Mrs. X?” I asked humbly. “Didn’t the man say Lord Latham?” she asked a little sharply. I owned up. I gave my name, my official status. My hostess, to do her justice, made a gallant effort, but disappointment and chagrin could not be entirely hid. Without repeating her question, she gave me two lumps and milk. Now I never take either, but I dared not protest. During the war there was neither time nor opportunity to know or to appraise Mr. Page. It was not until his biography ap- peared that I realized how fine a character and how strong a man had represented our country in London. I remember how my English friends followed in imagination the course of the contraband-laden vessel os- tensibly cleared for Germany from New York, but in reality headed for British capture and international complications. I recall the excited laughter on the Shipping Exchange at Cardiff when it became public that a ch cruiser had seized the vessel. Few knew until the Life appeared that this ingenious solution had been the fruit of one of those all-night lonely vigils of Mr. Page. “He should have a statue in our city for that alone,” said one to me in that great —<—— port, whence vessels sail to utter- most harbors and where the laws of the ocean, in war and peace, are known and understood. Editor’s Note— This is the fourth of a series of articles by Mr. Lathrop. The next will appear in an early issue. EVENING POST cA lavatory of utmost d hi Madbury Lavatory impresses the guest by its visible evidence of qual- ity. Itis ajoy to the housekeeper because it is so easily kept clean. All exposed parts are of pure white vit- reous china—no nickel to polish. The concealed inlet eliminates projecting fau- cets and provides a single stream of water at any desired temperature. There is an automatic device for cleansing the overflow drain. The bowl is unusually large, and has a style of rim that pre- vents splashing. You are invited to write for our new booklet, “Maddock Bathrooms.” This booklet gives suggestions for placing dif- ferent combinations of fixtures in spaces of various sizes and shapes.

“Why \ vitreous china Vitreous china does not require constant scouring. It will always retain its snowy, glistening white- ness. Soil does not cling to it. It does not become roughened by use. It will not chip, split, crack nor stain; even acids cannot harm it.

e

F COMPANY. Trenton.N.J. MADDOCK Bathroom quipment Avoid doctor bills by more intelligent use of the plumber

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218 _ Ask theFo¥d dealer Atiantea-Houdaille Co. - Atianta,Ge. Transmission Sales Co., Stockbridge, Mich. C.G. Spring & Bumper Co. New YorkCity Wade and Dunton Motors Inc. George Dietrich - - ~ Spokane, Wash. Dine DeWees Co. - - - Canton, Ohio W. Co., - ea Pa Dyke Motor Supply Co. - Pitts! Pa. Warford- t Co., - Seattle, Wash. Poster-Warford Co. - - Auburn, N.Y. Wi Pacific Co., - San Cal Hall-Warford Co. - - Charlotte,N.C. War Sales Co. of S. Carolina ae Co. - Leos gat. w we bia, S. C Kenne aqeigmant Co., Indiana: nd. ‘atford-Western Co., - Kansas City, Mo Houdallie ik Co, ~ + Tallee hence Wayne Spinks Co.. - - Memphis, Tenn. McGee-White C Minnea Minn. Wholesale AutoSu House, Tampa, Fla McMahon Bros. - += M Vt. Woodward Sales Co. - ~- Portland, Ore M te Warford Co. Haverhill, Mase. Motor Spociohtiae Co. - Denver, Colo. In Canada: — W. C. Nabors - + Mansfield, La. The Warford Corporation of Canada, Ltd. Fgh Service Co 5 Wichita, kan. ggg Ong Ont., entre, - + * Davenport, Iowa c., a, . Vancouver, B. C., Sieg Warford Co. . - Chieago, Ml. Calgary, Alta. to let you \ Ford Car ec with the Warf@® d Tee THE SATURDAY tippe If your dealer hasn’t it—ask the nearest Distributor Warford AUXILIARY AN&SMISSION ivea, The Warford Corporation Wortd’s Leading Producers . 44 Whitehall Street, New York Truck Transmissions Of Auxiliary Neither The Warford Corporation nor its manufacturers have any con- nection whatsoever with v any company manufacturing motor cars. EVENING POST April 25,1925 THE ELEPHANT (Continued from Page 2!) “Come cn,” said the keeper. “Nothing to hurt you, George, old man. Come on. And George decided it was all right and come lumbering up beside the tractor. It was worth ies a long way just to see walk, and observe the way he han- died his He didn’t raise his feet more than an inch when he took a step, so he seemed to be sort of — and shufflin along. His hind legs had knees whic bent forward just like his front legs; no hocks at all like on a horse. And his feet wasn’t really feet at all; his legs come down the same size all the way and ended like logs that have been sawed off; and where the bottom ends of his legs touched the ground there was a few toe nails and that was his feet—no larger around than his legs except when he stepped on them and they would spread out just the least bit. e was put together all kind of loose, and you could see his thick scabby skin sliding around over the bones and muscles underneath every time he took a step. There was very little hair on him—no more than on one of these Mexican hairless dogs— and I remember that the edges of his ears was irregular and frazzly looking. When he got behind the tractor, he turned his head halfway around and looked at me with one little brown eye. He didn’t say anything or do an hing: but I had a feeling that he was doing a lot of thinking behind that long solemn poker face. Sam set up his camera and came over to the tractor with a cigarette in his mouth and a match in his hand. I got down to help fasten George's collar chains to the draw- “Get away from there!” yelled the keeper. ‘What doyou think you're doing?” I looked up, and he was talking to Sam. “Can't I ight a cigarette?” asked Sam, | bar of the tractor. © | very much grieved. “Yes,” said the keeper, ‘“‘but don’t let me catch you striking any more matches on George.” So Sam went back to his camera, and I went over and saw that he got it placed where he could take a good picture, and then I went back, and by this time the tractor was all hitched up to George. The tractor was pointing north and George was pointing south, and the two was connected by the two big trace chains on George’s collar. About a dozen men from around the circus buildings had gathered to see the excitement. The weather, as I remember, was clear and sunny—a very pleasant March afternoon. I started the motor, and George give a little jump and looked around. “Steady, old boy,” said the keeper, “steady!” And George didn’t run away or anything, but he seemed to be getting a bit nervous. Over my shoulder I could see him sway- ing from side to side, shifting his weight from left to right and back again. He didn’t lift his feet from the ground, just swayed his body and let his trunk and his tail swing back and forth. “All right!’ yelled the keeper. Look out!’’ I called back, and I started to let in the clutch. The keeper prodded George a little. George leaned into his leather collar and the tractor rolled backward about a foot. | But then as I shoved the clutch all the wa’ | in and o ned the throttle, the tractor too! hold and slowly moved off, dragging poor old George along behind. I kept my eye on him as much as possible. He seemed sur- prised. He pushed into his collar harder than ever and began to grunt and wheeze, shifting his clumsy feet around here and there, trying to get a foothold. But it was no use; the tractor was too powerful, and slowly and surely we drag him back— ten yards, twenty yards, fifty yards, and more, until finally poor old George just bent his knees and laid down. “Stop!” yelled the keeper. I pulled out the clutch and turned around, and there was George laying on his side and looking at me sort of reproachful. “I’m glad that’s over,” said the keeper. “It’s no way to treat a good elephant. If he could only get a good foothold, he could pull you all over. But he ain't got no chance on this soft sod.” I stopped the motor and yelled to Sam, “What kind of a picture did you get?” “Picture?” said Sam. “You never told me you was ready for the picture. I was waiting for you to give the word.” “What?” I yelled. ‘“ Didn’t you get any picture?”’ : “I’m sorry,” said Sam, “but I didn’t know you was ready. I thought this was just a rehearsal or something. You didn’t tell me you was ready, so how could I know?” ’ Aye cross-eyed bullfrogs,”’ I said, ‘we got to do it again!” “No,” said the keeper, “‘George has had enough. You said you was going to have one pull and you didn’t say you was going to work him all afternoon. up, George,” he said, “and let’s see how = look.” George began shifting his big feet around and grunting, and finally he stood up again and shook himself a little to get the dirt off. “Look at him!” I said. “Fine as a daisy! Just once more won’t hurt him, and this will be positively the last time. If I wa Fe man ta Gee Yr “3 “That ain’t my fault,” said the keeper. “Listen,” I said, ‘“‘we won’t count this first time on the fifty-dollar bet. d maybe next time George will get a better foothold and drag the tractor.’ “Yes,” said the keeper, “‘maybe he might.” “Tt ain’t fair not to give him another chance,” I said. ‘‘Look at him; he’s just be - A to show what he can do.” e looked at George, and there was George still as solemn and mournful looking as ever, and nobody in the world, not even his own keeper, could tell what he was thinking about in behind those little eyes. “Tf it was just for the picture,” said the keeper, “I wouldn’t do it. But if it’s to give George another chance, we'll go ahead.” We unhooked the chains and the keeper took George back to the starting point. I started up the motor, put the tractor in reverse and backed up right behind George. Then I went over and give Sam a piece of my mind. “This time,” I said, “you take your pic- ture. You grind your old crank, or what- ever it is you do, and you run your film through there and you make g and sure you are getting a picture of us, and a good one too, use if you don’t, I'll have them bring George over here and walk on your face.”” Then I ran back and jumped in the tractor. They seemed to be having a little trouble this time hitching up George. He was — from side to side, with his trunk and tail swinging, like when he had first got scared at the noise of the motor. Only now he was shifting his feet around too, dancing one of these new-style dances—all in one place. Every once in a while he would make a little snorty noise in his trunk; and his ears, which had formerly laid flat against his head, were now commencing to stand out like the sails of a ship, The keeper was hollering to him to stay’still and trying to hook the chains onto the tractor. I n to feel a little uneasy. I looked up at George’s big rear end, heaving back and forth, and all at once I remembered how years before I had once stood behind a mule out in Tarkio, Missouri, and how that mule had give me a kick that like to finished my career. And here I was, standing be- hind George just like I had once stood behind that Missouri mule, and George was ten times as big. And for all I knew, an elephant could kick out behind just like a mule, only with ten times the power. I got to looking at George’s hind legs, built like a couple of telephone poles, all covered with thick scabby hide, and with each toe nail as big as a mule’s whole hoof. And then I noticed again how George’s body was sway- ing from side to side like he was working himself up to do something violent, and finally I got down off the tractor. “Is there any danger,” I asked the keeper, ‘‘of him kicking out behind like a mule?” The keeper laughed like he thought I was a dumb-bell. “No,” he said. ‘When you're behind him, you’re safe. But if he turns around and goes for you with his tusks, then you want to look out.” I got back on the tractor. And pretty soon they got the chains hooked up and I grabbed hold of the clutch lever. On an Earthworm tractor, the clutch is shifted George a little poke. — (Continued on Page 221)

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Piro tome THE SATURDAY EVENING POST * | ANURDASSING phievement HOM Co ROALOCME DMT MORO CHOON OC HES. x“ We announce to the women of America a remarkable achievement —the development of a vastly improved method of electric cleaning. Here is an achievement of which we are justly proud—a super- cleaner—a scientific and mechanical masterpiece that upsets all previous ideas of cleaning efficiency. With absolute assurance we say that you have never seen an Electric Cleaner like the Royal—such a masterful combination of cleaning power, nimbleness, convenience and durability. It is the cap-sheaf of over 15 years’ experience in cleaner building. The new Royal is the final result of centuries’ old development of cleaning devices. First the besom—then the broom—then the carpet sweeper. Then suction cleaning—and now—a miraculous Royal that cleans by air alone more speedily—more easily—more thoroughly than ever before. Until you have seen this new Royal you cannot realize what real electric cleaning is. You'll see results you never dreamed were possible. A cleaner so light that a child easily carries it, of such super power and speed that cleaning becomes almost automatic. Write for Our New Book on Easier Housekeeping—FREE Full of interesting information about cleaning and how to lighten the labor of housekeeping. Mail the coupon below! The P. A. Geier Company, Cleveland, Ohio BOSTON NEW YORK Manufactured in Canada for Canadi by Continental Electric Co., Led., Toronto Also Manufacturers of Royal Vibrator, Royal Hair Cutter, Royal Drier, Royal Clothes Washer Gets ALL the dirt by Air Alone 219 = _f The P. A. Geier Company Cleveland, Ohio Please send me your Free Book on Easier Housekeeping Name Address CY iccttpressesss “As

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 = ere SG we — ——_ ar iting inci wR os Soa og 2 >= mo Sram ln’ ¥ ~~ = eta ea: w 2 No Flight of Fancy Can Picture the Fascination of Bryce Canyon Come with us to Southern Utah. Let your imagination play and you'll see thousands of fantastic giants and gnomes in bronze and onyx! Spires hi than the tallest skyscrapers! Minarets, pagodas, obelisks, cathedrals! cities fashioned with the most intricate artistry'!—all gleaming with nl less colors of celestial radiance. But Bryce Canyon is only part of the picture. There is a trio of new Send for wonderlands in Southern Utah— Free Booklet in Natural Colors bein din. caly wh re cod Bryce Canyon—Cedar Breaks—Zion National Park tell you of the unbcliev- able coloring of this Season May 15 to October 15 unique land; also contains complete practical infor- mation Only a few have been there. It’s still a frontier country but is now reached with all the comforts of modern travel. The Union Pacific has opened the way by providing sleeping car service, regular Side trip may be arranged to the North Rim rr, if ' of Grand Canyon through the Kaibab at Forest. The trip is a vacation adventure in itself, or may be made in connection with tours to Salt Lake City, Yellowstone, automobile tours over good roads and the latest style of National Park lodges and dining rooms. Address nearest Union Pacific Representative, or General Passenger Agent at Salt Lake City, Utah =: Omaha, Neb Union Pacific California and the Pacific Northwest. Ask about low round trip fares and per- sonally escorted all-expense tours. Portland, Ore. :; Los Angeles, Cal.

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(Continued from Page 218) : I shoved in the clutch. The tractor started backward and bumped George right in his large rear end. He let out a little squeal and whirled around. As I saw his trunk swinging over my head with them two big ivory weapons on each side, I let go everything and made one jump out of that tractor. As I went through the air, it come over me what had happened; the gear-shift lever was still in reverse. I lit on a rolling cobble, turned my ankle, fell flat, and rolled over just in time to see the tractor, still in reverse, hit George again, this time on his side. George shied off and started down the field, still har- nessed to the tractor, which backed along behind him at an even speed of three miles an hour. Across the whole field they went, with George pulling like a locomotive, and the tractor following. I tried to run after, but couldn’t make it with my hurt ankle. Finally George gave an awful sidewise jerk, broke his leather collar, got loose, turned around, lifted up his trunk and let out a squeal as loud as a factory whistle. Then he curled up his trunk, put down his head and butted the tractor from the side, spinning the rear end around so that it backed into a telephone pole and stopped with a crash. This seemed to satisfy ret as far as the tractor was concerned. e lifted his trunk, let out another blast of his whistle, then curled his trunk up again, stuck his ears straight out from the sides of his head and started for us. I forgot my turned ankle. The next I re- member I was inside the big elephant house, hiding behind the bars in one of the stalls. I must have streaked in there in about one-fifth of one second. Outside I could hear the keeper hollering and catch a glimpse of men running with pointed poles, and finally they drove old George, squealing and fighting, back into his cage. I crept out of my hiding place and found the old keeper. He was mad and pleased at the same time. “It’s no way to treat a self-respecting elephant,” he said. “Fortunately, nobody got hurt, and George will calm down pretty quick now. And he sure dragged your tractor around, didn’t he? You owe me fifty dollars rent and fifty dollars on the bet.” I didn’t have the heart to argue with him, and I wouldn’t have dared ask for an- other trial, even if the tractor had been all right, which | didn’t think it was. I paid him the hundred dollars, wondering just what the boss would say when he saw it charged on my expense account and found out we had got no picture and smashed the tractor besides. I went outside, and Sam and the camera had disappeared completely. One of the men told me that Sam had got a fine pic- ture of everything while George was drag- ging the tractor. About the time George broke loose, though, Sam got scared and quit cranking. And when George started in our direction, they said that Sam took the camera and sprinted out the gate so fast they could hardly see him. “And he better keep right on going,” I said, “‘ because if I find him I’m liable to kill him.” I looked over the tractor. It was not seriously damaged, but would need a few extra parts from New York to put it in shape to drive back to Mount Vernon. It was then five o’ciock in the afternoon, so I ot on the train and went back to New ork, and not a sign of Sam did I see. Next morning I reached the office a little late. I was gy | along on a game ankle and I was not at all happy. “How was the demonstration?” asked the boss. “Not so very good,”’ I said. “What was the matter? Couldn’t you pull the elephant?” “Sure, we pulled him all right. But we didn’t get a picture.” “No picture?” said the boss. “‘Why, a roms man from the film company arrived alf an hour ago with the film and a pro- jection machine. He’s setting up the ma- chine now in the stock room, where he can throw the picture on the big white wall. Says he has a fine picture to show us.” ‘He’s a nut,” I said. “But wait till you see it.” “‘ All right,”’ said the boss. “‘I’ll be in there in a minute.” I walked back into the stock room. The lights were out and they had hung blankets over the windows. I couldn’t see much, but several of the salesmen seemed to be in there. I heard Sam’s voice say, “All right, here she goes!’’ And the machine began to click. Then I heard the boss’ voice behind me in the office. “Come right in, Mr. Stuart,’’ he said. “You are just in time. We had to have the test yesterday—couldn’t get the elephant any other day—and we have motion pic- tures of the whole thing. My mechanic tells me the little five-ton tractor pulled a large elephant all over the lot. He said something about the pictures not. being quite satisfactory, but they ought to show something. Come right in. The young man is running them th h now.” Dimly, through the darkness, I could see the boss and Mr. Stuart entering the stock room. I had to think fast. I couldn’t very well throw them out, but at least I could knock over the picture machine. I started toward it across the room. “Tt sure is a peach of a picture,” came a voice out of the darkness. It was one of the salesmen. “Look at that little five-ton tractor,” came another voice, “pulling that big ele- phant right along!” : I took a side glance at the picture. I THE SATURDAY EVENING POST stopped in my tracks. The picture was clear and fine; there was the tractor, and there was old George, big as life. And the tractor was dragging George backward slowly and steadily. There seemed to be something funny about the picture, but I couldn’t tell just what. George was pull- ing hard. He was leaning into his collar and | shuffling his feet as if walking, but he was moving to the rear. Then I heard Sam's | voice: “Oh, I know what's the matter. I’ve got this film running through backward. Just a minute; I'll change it.” One jump took me to his side. “Keep on’ turning,”’ I whispered in his ear, ‘‘and keep your mouth shut or I'll mur- der you.” ut,” began Sam, “I’ve got it ——”’ : “Shut up,’ I said, ‘“‘and keep on turn- ing! Sam shut up and kept turning. “What’s that he said?” asked Mr. Stuart. ‘Something about something go- | ing backward?” “He said the tractor is pulling the | elephant backward,” I called out, remem- bering the deaf man in the old home-town cartoons. } The picture went clicking merrily on. Mr. Stuart came over near the projection | machine. “T say,” he remarked, “it’s a most | extraordinary picture. And the way that | elephant moves his feet as he is pulled backward is most remarkable. I never saw anything quite like it.” Yes, it was remarkable, all right. When you take a moving picture of an elephant | walking forward, and then run the film backward, you get some funny motions of | the feet. But I didn’t want to explain this | to Mr. Stuart, so I just said, ‘‘An elephant always moves his feet in that curious way when he is being dragged. I take it you have never before seen a tractor pulling an elephant?” “No,” admitted Mr. Stuart, “I never have. And by the way,” he went on, “I notice there is no operator in the tractor. Most extraordinary, I should say.” “Yes,” I said, “on level ground it is ossible to set the tractor so it will run by itself. I had got out to make sure the pic- tures were being taken properly.” The show went on, Everything was hap- pening in reverse order; it had started down at the far end of the field and was working back to the center, where I had made that flying leap out of the tractor. All at once it come over me how that jump would look if run through backward. Already, in the corner of the picture, I could see myself lying flat on the ground. If the picture kept on, it would show me suddenly jumping back- ward from that position straight up into the air about eight feet, and landing sitting down in the tractor. And even this dumb at Stuart wouldn’t swallow a thing like that. I leaned over and whispered to Sam, “Stop that picture and keep your mouth shut!”” Sam stopped the picture. ‘That is all, gentlemen,’ I shouted. “Lights, please!”’ The lights were turned on. “The cameraman here,” I announced, “‘is sorry, but he has a very important engagement uptown and can’t stay to talk to you.” Sam started to open his auth, but I give him a look that made him shut it. “Here is your hat,” I said. I made him ick up his projection machine, and I took is arm and led him out the side door. } ORE TRADE MARK 7 y, id 7 The New Sport Shirt that leads a double life! To see PLAYMORE Shirt on the street or in the of- fice, you'd never suspect that it had mo tails. For it looks like any other custom-made shirt. But at tee or net—in cockpit or club—with its wide, springy, pure-wooi belt worn over the trouser-top, it's the most stunning Sport Shirt that ever put pep in your play. No matter how much you bend or twist PLAYMORE stays in place. And its tailored collar is a marvel of elegance for street-wear and wide-open airiness for sport. PLAYMORE isjust oneof PLAYMORE is now being the complete WHITNEY shown at better shops ~in Line of fine shirts that flannel, oxford, broad- meet every dictum of cloth and other materials, fashion and fancy. with white or colored belt. Send For Wustrated Folder —Free WACHUSETT SHIRT CO., Dept.C, Leominster, Mass. Makers of fine Shirts, Pajamas and Nighishirts for over 40 years.

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ny THE SATURDAY build fo} tomorrow and Use Sareenl Hard VUNrl Buritp so that you will still love your home and revel in its comfort when tomorrow comes. Build so that your investment in property is secure. A tiled bath, of course! And plenty of closets and a gracious entrance porch! But don’t leave the selection of hardware to the last, when your appropriation may be exhausted and your patience sorely tried. Select hinges that will support your doors adequately and move them without complaining. Knobs that will look well and turn ¢asily—always. Locks that will give real protection and stay in working order. Select Sargent Hardware of solid time-resisting brass or bronze for lasting service and security. Consult your architect about appropriate Sargent styles. ‘“‘The Colonial Book’ suggests many hardware designs in good taste. It is free. Write for it today. SARGENT & COMPANY Hardware Manufacturers 33 Water Street New Haven, Conn. SARGENT ~ \ U“iUdiwuit EVENING POST “Sam,” I said, “you did a pretty good job after all. But it ain’t safe for you to stay around here. You run ry back to your office, and I’ll be around later and settle with your boss and give you a good tecommendation. “But don’t you stick your nose in here again, because somebody might shoot you. Good-by.” I watched him till he got out of sight, and then I walked back and listened outside April 25,1925 the boss’ private office. I could hear Mr. Stuart’s voice inside. : 3 ; “That was most extraordinary,” he said, “most impressive. I had almost made up my mind anyway, but after this visual proof, I no longer have doubts. Seeing is believing. I have decided to purchase six of your five-ton worm tractors. There followed a faint scratching noise which I knew was a pen traveling jerkily along a dotted line. MAKING AMENDMENTS (Continued from Page 35) for the purpose of earmining the policy of the Government and of crystallizing the sen- timents of the majority into legislation. It seems to be trifling with the rights of the people when their mandates cannot be obeyed within a reasonable time. It is un- fair to an administration that the legislation which it thinks essential to the iy aie | of the country should be so long de ’ It is true an extraordinary session may be called early in March, but such sessions are limited generally to one or two subjects, which PP gave | wastes the time of each | House, waiting for the other to consider election of the succeed and pass the measures. At the present time the second regular does not convene until after the ing Congress, Asan election often changes the political com- lexion of a Congress, under the present aw we frequently have the injustice of a Cc that has been disapproved by the people enacting laws for the ple op- posed to their last expression, Such a con- dition does violence to the rights of the majority. A member of the House of Representatives barely gets started in his work when the time arrives for renomina- tion. He has accomplished nothing, and hence has made no record upon which to go before his party or his people. This is an injustice both to the members and to the people. The record of a representative should be completed before he asks an indorsement. Under the present system a contest over a seat in the House of Representatives is seldom decided until more than half the term, and in many instances until a period of twenty-two months of the term has expired. For all that time the occupant of the seat draws the salary, and if his oppo- nent be seated he also draws the salary for the full term; thus the Government pays twice for the representation from that dis- trict. But that is not the worst feature of the situation; during all that time the district is being misrepresented, at least politically, in Congress. An amendment should be adopted elim- inating the short session of Congress. The short session is not a good institution. It has been the source of much criticism and ought to be abandoned. No vital gcvern- mental questions can be considered during a short session. The President and the Vice President | should enter upon the performance of their respective duties as soon as the new Con- gress counts the electoral votes. It is the old Congress which now counts the elec- toral votes. It is dangerous to permit a defeated party to retain control of the ma- chinery by which such important officers are declared elected. January Weather If no candidate for President receives a majority of the electoral votes, the Consti- tution provides that the House of Repre- sentatives shall elect the President, each state having one vote. At the present time it is the old House of Representatives that elects the President under such contingency and thereby it becomes possible for a politi- cal party repudiated by the people to elect a President. Under the present provision of the Constitution, in the event the House fails to choose a President before the fourth of March, then the Vice President becomes President for four years. This affords a temptation by mere delay to defeat the will of the people, and if it is ever exercised it will lead to grave consequences. January weather might be inclement for an_ ina parade, but that is a reason too: ii ificant to constitute a serious argument against a constitutional amend- ment which would convene the new Con- pee in the January following their election. early all the governors of states are inaugurated in January. The pomp and ceremony which usually attend the corona- tions of monarchs are at least not necessary to a republic. : : In my opinion sound public policy re- quires that each amendment to the Con- stitution hereafter submitted should contain a limitation of the time within which the states may ratify the icular amend- ment, as was done in the Eighteenth Amend- ment by the following provision: “Section 8. This article shall be inoper- ative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of the several states, as pro- vided in the Constitution, within seven — from the date of the submission ereof to the states by the Congress.” It is startling to reflect upon the com- plexities thet have come and that may come in the future by a continued failure to set a time limit within which a proposed amendment may be ratified. Amendments Pending Five different amendments proposed by the Congress. are now gunn before the states for their action. These amendments are as follows: One, proposed September 29, 1789, one hundred and thirty-five years ago, relating to enumeration and representation: “ARTICLE I. After the first enumeration required by the first article of the Constitu- tion there shall be one representative for every 30,000 until the number shall amount to 100, after which the proportion shall be so regulated by Congress that there shall be not less than 100 representatives, nor less than one representative for every 40,000 persons, until the number of representa- tives shall amount to 200, after which the proportion shall be so lated by Con- gress that there shall not be less than 200 representatives nor more than one repre- sentative for every 50,000 persons.” nnethans propane September 29, 1789, one hundred and thirty-five years ago, re- lating to compensation of members of Con- gress: “ ARTICLE II. No law varying the com- pensation for the services of the senators and representatives shall take effect until an election of representatives shall have intervened.” Another, erepene January 12, 1810, one hundred and fifteen years ago, to prohibit citizens of the United States from accepting pee pensions, or titles from princes or rom foreign powers: “Tf any citizen of the United States shall accept, claim, receive or retain any title of nobility or honor, or shall, without the con- sent of Congress, accept and retain any present, pension, office or emolument of any kind whatever, from any emperor, king, prince or foreign power, such person shall cease to be a citizen of the United States, and shall be incapable of holding any office of trust or profit under them, or either of them.” Another, proposed March 2, 1861, sixty- four years ago, known as the Corwin Amendment, prohibiting Congress from in- terfering with slavery within the states: “No amendment shall be made to the Constitution which will authorize‘or give to Con the power to.abolish, or interfere, within any state, with the domestic institu- tions thereof, eat that of ms held to labor or service by the laws of’ said state.” (12 Stat. 251.) Pp ‘feo Ge © And still another, June 2, 1924, the Child Labor Ameridment: °) @ “SECTION 1. The Congress shall have power to limit, regulate and prohibit the (Continued on Page 225)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “The Better the Brush, the Better the Worki"’ (Photograph of an Actual Test) And the Paint Brush Won! What a tug-o’-war these bristles stood! Twelve men, weighing 2040 pounds, tugged and pulled and twisted and strained but never budged a bristle! For this was a WOOSTER BRUSH and the bristles were put in to stay in by the Foss-Set process. Foss-Set, the most remarkable setting ever developed for paint and varnish brushes, permanently holds the bristles in the brush. The Foss-Set process is guaranteed and is used only in Wooster Brushes. And what pleasing brushes they are to use! Easy bal- ance, comfortable to your hand; sleek, springy Chinese hog bristles that flow the paint on evenly and smoothly; bristles that wear and wear but don’t come out. Skilled or not, you make sure of good results with a Wooster paint or varnish Brush. It’s well worth while to get a WOOSTER BRUSH. THE WoosTER BRUSH COMPANY Since 1851—One Family—One Idea— Better Brushes WOOSTER, OHIO Illustration shows the manner in which tug-rope was attached to Wooster Brush. Note that full strain of the pull came on the bristles and setting of the brush. Save the (essa Diy | WOOSTER BRUSHE. FOR PAINTING ~VARNISHING = KALSOMINING

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25,1925 INSTANT KNOWLEDGE OF POSITION —THROUGH ELLIOTT - FISHER ACCOUNTING MACHINES weege Se ae te Se ee, Ot a Gein ; SO eve Pe a al QS emanate -T rr NM ODERN mechanical means supply the train dispatcher with instant knowledge of the exact position of all trains on his division. Elliott-Fisher accounting machines give you exact and instant knowledge of the position of every unit of your business. Accurate knowledge of the present position of your business gives you the key to its control that enables you to direct its future with confidence. All over the world, successful business enterprises, both large and small, depend upon Elliott-Fisher service IS THE KEY TO BUSINESS CONTROL for that instant knowledge. Only Elliott-Fisher machines have the flat writing-surface. That is one reason why they do more kinds of work, and more work, than other accounting machines. The speed, economy and adaptability of Elliott-Fisher account- ing machines are the result of thirty-one years of improvement by the largest exclusive manufacturer of accounting machines in the world. Elliott-Fisher Company, 342 Madison Ave., New York, N. Y. Branches in principal cities. Service and Supplies are second only in importance to machines. You can “The Klearflax Linen Looms, Inc., says: “We have used Eftiott-Fisher equipment for the past five years. The main reason for changing to Elhott-Fisher was to give us a better and more prompt control of our business, We like to have essential figures each day, and we now have the ‘assurance of knowing at all times our exact condition.” depend absolutely on E-F Service and EFCO Supplies Elliott - kisher ACCOUNTING MACHINES with the FLAT WRITING SURFACE

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(Continued from Page 222) labor of persons under eighteen years of age. “SECTION 2. The power of the several states is unimpaired by this article ~ that the operation of state laws shall suspended to the extent necessary to give effect to legislation enacted by the Con- gress.’ On September 29, 1789, twelve constitu- tional amendments were proposed by the First. C . The requisite number of states ra p articles numbered 3, 4, 5, 6,7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12 within two years and three months, while Nos. 1 and 2, although proposed one hundred and thirty- five years = have not, according to the latest available returns, received favorable action by the requisite number of states and are yet before the American people or the states; rather, have been for one hun and thirty-five years, and are now subject to ratification or rejection by the states. After these two proposed amendments, to wit, Nos. 1 and 2, had been in nubibus—in the clouds—for eighty-four years, the Ohio State Senate in 1873, in response to a tide of indignation that swept over the land in opposition to theso-called back-salary grab, proposed amendment No. 2 and passed a resolution of ratification through the state senate. No criticism can be visited upor the Ohio Legislature that at- wematen to ratify the amendment — in 1789; and if the amendment been freshly proposed by Congress at: the: time of the back-salary grab, instead of having been drawn forth from musty tomes, where it. had so long lain idle, stale and dormant, other states doubtless would have ratified it during the period from 1873 to 1881. Contemporaneous Action Thus it would séem that a period of one hundred and thirty-five years within which a state may act is altogether too long. We should not hand down to posterity a con- glomerate mass of amendments floating around in a nebulous haze, which a state here may resurrect and ratify and a state there may galvanize and ratify. We ought to have homogeneous, steady, united exertion, and certainly we should have contemporaneous action with refer- ence to proposed amendments. Judgment on the case should be rendered within the lifetime of those interested in bringing about the change in our fundamental law. Final action should be had while the discus- sions and arguments are within the remem- brance of those who are called upon to act. The amendment proposed on January 12, 1810, was submitted to the states under peculiar auspices, It is probable that the Con which submitted that amendment believed that when officials accept presents of value they dissolve the pearl. of independence.in the vinegar of obligation. Unfortunately, the annals of Congress and contemporary newspapefs do not give any of the debate upon this interesting proposition. The only light thrown upon the subject by the annals is the remark of Mr. Macon, who said “he considered the vote on this question as deciding whether or not we were to have members of the Legion of Honor in this country.” What event connected with our diplo- matic or political history suggested the need of such an amendment is not now apparent, but it is possible that the pres- ence of Jerome Bonaparte in this country a few years previous, and his marriage to a Maryland lady, may have suggested this amendment. An articie in Niles’ Register— Volume 72, Page 166—written many years after this event, refers to an amendment having been adopted to prevent any but native-born citizens from being President of the United States. This is, of course, a mistake, as the Constitution in its original form contained such a provision; but it may be possible that the circumstances referred to by the writer in Niles’ relate to the p e through Congress of this amendment. The article referred to maintains that at the time Jerome Bonaparte was in this country the Federalist Party, as a political trick, affect- ing to apprehend ‘that Jerome might find his way tothe Presidency through “ French influence,” the amendment. The Federalists thought the Democrats would oppose..the amendment as unnecessary, which would thus appear to the public as a further proof of thelt subserviency to French influence. The Democrats, to avoid this THE SATURDAY imputation, concluded to carry the amend- ment. “It can do no harm” was what rec- onciled all to the amendment. That amendment was submitted by Congress one hundred and fifteen years ‘o, and it was ratified within two years by aryland, Kentucky, Ohio, ware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Vermont, Ten- nessee, ia, North Carolina, Massa- chusetts and New Hampshire. It was re- jected by two or three of the states. At one period of our national life the histories and the public men announced that it was a part of our o ic law, and this error arose because in the early days of our Government the Secretary of State did not send to Congress announcing rati- fication and did not promulgate any notice as to when an amen t e a part of the Constitution. I have caused the jour- nals, records and files in the Department of State to be searched, and there may not be found any notice of any proclamation of the ratification of the first ten amendments to the Constitution. The states assumed— it was not an unwarranted or violent as- sumption—that when the requisite num- ber of states had ratified an amendment it was then and there a part of our organic w. On March 2, 1861, the Corwin Amend- ment, quoted above, was proposed by Con- gress. There are nota hundred persons in the United States: who know that such an | ding before the vari- ous states of the Union for their ratification. The amendment was ratified by the state of Ohio and by the state of Maryland through their legislatures, and was attempted to amendment is now’ ratified by the state of Illinois in 1862 by a | convention. Thus we perceive that a system which permits of no limitation as to the time when an amendment may be voted upon by the state legislatures is not fair to posterity or to the present generation. It keeps his- torians, publishers and annalists, as well as the general public, constantly in doubt. eves searched closely as to whether there is in the Constitution itself any ex- pressed or implied limitation of time as to when an amendment may be adopted, I am driven irresistibly to the conclusion, with all due deference to the opinion in Dillon versus Gloss, 256 U.S. Reports, page 368, that an amendment to the Constitution, once hav- ing been duly proposed, although proposed as remotely as September 29, 1789, may not be recalled even by the unanimous vote of both Houses, if the Congress wished the same recalled, because the gover to submit an amendment is specifically pointed out; but no power is given to recall the same, and silence is negation. I am of opinion that a state which rejects a proposed amendment nay of course, at any time thereafter ratify the same, and a state which adopts or ratifies a proposed amendment may withdraw its ratification, provided it. withdraws such ratification be- fore the uired number of states shall have ratified. Sixty Years of Immobility Neither the legislatures of the various states nor conventions therein should be eligible to ratify proposed amendments to | the Federal Constitution. electors themselves should be the only au- thority eligible to ratify proposed amend- ments to the Constitution of the United States. Amendments have come by amendment epochs. For all practical re the first ten emendments—the Bill of Rights—will be herein considered as a part of the origi- nal Constitution. The Eleventh and Twelfth amendments were. adopted in the ten-year period between 1794 and 1804; the Eleventh was brought about by the de- cision of the Supreme Court in the case of Chisholm versus Georgia (2 Dallas, page 419), which held that a state could besued by an individual citizen of another state; the Twelfth was brought about by the tie in the Electoral College between Thomas Jeffer- son and Aaron Burr. Call that the first amendment epoch. Then, notwithstanding that many score of amendments were intro- duced in Congress and two were submitted between 1804 and 1864, no amendment was | § adopted; thus there was a sixty-year period of immobility with respect to amending our Federal Constitution. Then came the second amendment epoch, which n in 1865 and lasted until 1870. In that five-year period the Thirteenth, The qualified | EVENING POST Re See A shoe that relieves strained arches — strengthens weakened muscles —gives added comfort with FrorsHem style. The light arch of steel is flexible when you walk—rigid when your foot bears down. SKELETON LINED FOR COOLNESS Che Wenster ~ Style cM-172 ‘11 THE FLORSHEIM SHOE COMPANY Manufacturers - CHICAGO Cyclone awn Fence o and Gates: The gate clicks shut—then, com- plete privacy; enjoyment of home remises without any outside inter- erence. A safe place for children to lay. Trespassers and burglars don’: fike Cyclone Fence. The great pro- tection and beauty of Cyclone Fence have made it the preferred enclosure. Cyclone Fence includes attractive fab- rics for erection on wood posts; “Com- plete Fence” with steel ome work, $, fabric and fittings; and Wrought ron Fence in beautiful designs. There's a Cyclone Fence Dealer Near You CYCLONE FENCE COMPANY Factories and Offices: Waukegan, Ii Cleveland, Ohio ewark, N. J. Fort Worth, Texas test for be Western Distributors: “ Red-Tug” Standard Feace Company, Oakland, Calif. Northwest Fence & Wire Works, Portland, Cregon JPERTY PRYUTECTION PAVS

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on THE SATURDAY Would your safe be safe? Fie would tell the story; and it + Lome yeatinity Mxerene or ap oe yoni nventories ledgers, oan records vital after a fre, in the safe that never loses "Wand BB" Le Fl et Sale ce fom mo " e the 1b | em» agg «ge Sag write Yawman and Erbe Mfg. Co., 432 Jay St., Rochester, N. Y. Canada: gee Cee Reuter Mfg. Co., Ltd., Newmarket, Ont. EVENING POST Fourteenth and Fifteenth amendments were proposed and ratified. Then came over forty years of immo- bility; and then came the Sixteenth, Seventeenth, Eighteenth and Nineteenth amendments—the third amendment epoch, 1909 to this date—showing that these amendments move in cycles. The Federal Constitution conserves and pee all that Americans hold precious; t should not be changed by legislative caucus. There is not a state in the Federal Union whose constitution may be amended by the state legislature. The State of Delaware is an apparent but not a real ex on, as Delaware requires that an _ t to the state constitution must be proposed by at least two-thirds of one | ture, then there must be notice to the electors for a certain period before the next election so that if they desire they may express their will at the polls upon the proposition; then the amendment must be ratified by a second legislature by a two-thirds vote, which gives the people an indirect vote. The va- ae state constitutions may be amended by the electorate of the state. How c, therefore, it is to deny the electo- uae an gs taney to express itself upon pro anges in our fundamental te. If the consent of the voters be required to alter and amend a state constitution, a fortiori the vote of the people should be re- quired to change the Federal Constitution. It is vital to our American system that the voter should have an opportunity to say at the ballot box under what form of government he desires to live. If we are not willing that the state legisla- tures should choose United States senators, April 25,1925 for a much stronger reason the os ag should not change our fundamental law. Every ment in favor of the election of senators by a direct vote of the le is a stronger argument in favor of ting the le on constitutional amendments. I favored the amendments providing for the income tax, direct election of —. prohibition and woman suffrage. I believe they were wise amendments, rev that ey pe wth se th macho ony pod rity and p ve a maj of our countrymen; indeed, I believe those amendments were demanded by the people and were not forced upon the people. If a referendum to the people on the Prohibition and Woman Suffrage amendments could have been had, each poser se would have been ratified by the electors. According to the data of the f bg See ki 1919, ball te membership of the states was 7403 wh da va er ot majority of the membership of the legislatures in three-fourths of the several pom plus yrbetgcae y" of the 531 — of Congress, may and do pro; and ratify amendments to the Federal Constitution. Thus about three thousand men could change the structure of our Government to any form their fancy suggested or the lob- byist dictated, and the people would have no opportunity to defeat or reject the pro- amendments. Our American system and public right should not be at the disposal of legislative caucuses, but should be guarded by the free ballot of all the citizens. Constitutional amendments should be ratified by the qualified electors in each state, and not by the legislatures of the states. The Poets’ Corner Heart's Vision i ary to think of you when you were just Bowel’ I ever knew "vm heard your name your mies & spn learned what life is made of — love and pain and joy— And that was years ago, my dear; a long, long while! But rainy Sundays when sit and whittle, I have a glimpse of you when you were little. Head byw against the western light, that boy 0. Carves mogie chains, beguiling boxes, for our tiny maid ; ee ae his pal in ‘slow, soft whistling, deep- wit h pride i in his technic and in his sharp- Ween I think I see him, earnest, litile, Out in the woodshed, learning how to whittle! I love your ease pastors, and the scared one ten months old ; ; The kilted chap of four—he wears your own siraight, steady look— The ye graduate’s stiff pose; shy mouth, demeanor bold. But, oh, the lad I'm seeking isn't in that book ! Snore, Eee rainy Sundays when you w ’ He sits there too, so lovable, so little! —Katharine Sawin Oakes. Regret T IS a little sad, I think, That though, when first we met, Our spirits touched—yet now apart They move—and we forget The loveliness o p Ae we things, The shadow hands that drew Us on—the far-off sound of wings— And what was almost true. It is a little sad that we, So close to paradise “+ lose our wg es and stumble past he gates, with d eyes. — Mary Dizon Thayer. The Wind USTILY over the hills Does the wind go by, one iemmgenema Spindrift, veiling the stars, Trembles like mist On the face of the fading rose That the frost has kissed. "hes ona hundred hills; downs And the surge and thrill of the wind In the heart o” me. Shaken, the lamp’s bends Where the gale whirls in; The chimney's throat is a sigh And the soot blows thin; The dog on the hearthrug whines With a note of doubt ; In hollow and haunted wood Are the witch fires out. Wild is the voice of the wind In the night abroad, Laughing across the hill And adown the road; Stirring the autumn grass Where the dark leaves fall Over the ancient graves By the churchyard wall ; Rippling the sullen face Of the long lagoon, Till the si break and flee, And the ghost of a moon Steals up at the midnight hour From the world’s dark rim; And the chant of the wind swells high Like a pagan hymn. Endlessly, all through the night Does the wind go by, Singing old songs that we loved nder the sky; Over the haunted wood And the long dim shore, ange calling your name, ho will come no more! — Mary Lanier Magruder,

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‘nna sit 2 tig TE 3 jd) THE SATURDAY EVENING POST iene oT ane A New: I[aste-— The true wheat taste BRAND’NEW FLAVOR in wheat . . . the A age-old food . . . How the rich flavors which soil and sunlight store in ripened grain are conserved by a new process. . . Why this new delight in crisp, fresh, full- flavored wheat-crackers is winning the favor of the nation! Freshness is the vital quality in food! The finer flavors in grains as in vegetables and fruits are contained in aromatic oils, These oils are delicate. They evaporate when exposed. They perish with age. That is why fresh-ground coffee is richer and more appetizing than old-ground coffee—why strawberries, fresh and dewy from the garden, are so much nicer than those which have lain in crates—why fresh eggs, fruits and vegetables are so different from the storage kind—why fresh-milled flour is so rich with flavor while old flour is such a lifeless starch. Capturing a Flavor Years ago we learned how to bake fresh-milled flour. Whereas other bakers held that flour must first be aged. That gave us the most popular cracker in the territory where it was sold. Then. we discovered a new form of package. We This is a microscopic photograph of a grain of wheat. It is enlarged many times the actual size. Notice the way nature protects the precious kernel of the wheat (see picture). There are actually six layers of bran which form the outside cover or shell of the wheat. As long as these bran coats are left intact, the contents will keep. But once broken, the oils which contain the flavors are exposed and evaporate. ¢ only way to save the flavor is to bake the flour, fresh from the mill. ja Grain of wheat magnified 15 diameters EDGEMONT : Crackers S.E RV E D "—old and young—at all times of the day. “Ed. A tested it in a hundred ways. Crackers were sent to South Africa and back, crossing the humid equator twice. They returned fresh and crisp. Other packages were left all night in a drenching rain and immersed for twenty-four hours in water. The crackers came out just as they went in. So that now we deliver crackers across the United States in as fresh and crisp condition as across the street the day they are baked. The Edgemont Process captures these rich oils— bakes the full fresh flavors of wheat into crackers— packs these crackers hot from the oven—seals the flavors in and keeps all moisture out. So that you have delivered to your table fresh, crisp Edgemont Crackers with flavors that you never before have tasted. No other crackers are so made or so delivered. Crackers now have Flavor— 227 ‘ After centuries of waste, the finer flavors of wheat are now’ CAPTURED! BAKED! SEALED! DELIVERED! Few people of today know the rich wheat flavors enjoyed by ancient Orientals. For while their wheat was crushed with flat stones, their appetites were not crushed with flat tastes. They could bake with fresh-milied fleur! What have you ever tasted that was baked with fresh-milled flour? Wheat comes into the Edge- mont Bakeries one day and s out as crackers the next The flour is milled in four } minutes!—quickly mixed and sealed in the dough! — baked while fresh and jull of flavor! Thus you get the true whea? taste in Edgemont Crackers. such flavor as you never before have known— the true wheat taste Wheat is now made so delicious that people eat hungrily onts are served to children after school and instead of bread at meal time. People find that these oven-fresh, wheat- crackersadd a touch of appetizing zest to the entire meal. “Edgemonts” come as though you had just baked them from fresh-crushed wheat. They come with the bloom of the oven, done to a golden brown. Packed 1% pounds to the package, they cost about the same as ordinary crackers. You will find them where good foods are sold. THE GREEN & GREEN COMPANY Dayton, Ohio BR Esher D Just as nature protects the elusive flavors of wheat with six bran coats, we protect these full flavored ** Edgemonts™ with three coverings. Our triple-wrapped package is patented (U. S. Patent No. 1,454,888).

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “The Holes Go Clear Through This exclusive feature of Lambert ““Trublpruf” Tires adds resilience and long life to their uninterrupted service and freedom from upkeep cost. The elimination of punctures and blowouts is only one of the savings made possible by Lambert ‘‘Trublpruf” Tire construction. By means of the holes that go clear through, Lambert Tires approximate the resilience of fully inflated pneumatics and carry off the frictional heat which shortens the life of ordinary tires. While the Lambert guarantee is for 10,000 miles of uninterrupted service, users report an average of nearly 30,000 miles without tire trouble or tire upkeep cost. This combination of resilience, long life and freedom from delays has brought tire savings of 25 to 60 percent to Lambert users in every line of business. A condensed report of user opinions is contained in our booklet ‘‘The Evidence Rolls On.”’ A copy will be mailed by the nearest Lambert Distributor or LAMBERT TIRE & RUBBER COMPANY, Afron, Ohio Originators of a Cushion Tire Built on a Demountable Rim JAMBERT [1 REf |“TRUBLP RUF This is the second advertisement of a national campaign which will continue throughout 1925. Lambert dealers ate averaging 100% increases in Lambert Tire sales, each year. Tire dealers, auto dealers and business men seeking a profitable commercial tire connection are invited to write for our dealer proposition. April 25,1925 The Business Tire Lambert “Trublpruf’’ Tires are being used by— Auto Deaiers Furniture Stores Bakers Gas Companies Baggagemen Groceries Banks Ice Companies Butchers Ice Cream Cos. Bottling Cos Tron Works Bus Companies Laundries Creameries Lumbermen Coal Companies Meat Packers Contractors Movers Commission Men | Oil Companies Canning Cos. Paint Makers City Utilities Public Utilities Dry Cleaners Railroads Doctors Retail Stores Dairymen Rural Mail Men District Schools Road Builders Farmers Salesmen Fire Departments | Wholesalers They are built in all stand- ard demountable sizes for cars and light trucks. Changeover is as simple as putting on a spare. There are also press-on Lamberts to replace solid tires. Lambert Distributors Akron, O. Trubipruf Tire Co., 25 ge Prospect St. Albany, N.Y. J. Co. gt Coen. 222 General A Atlanta, Ga. Lambert Ed, Birmingham, Lambert Ala 400 So. 21 Trubiprut Tire Co., ‘Trubiprut Tire Co., Boston, Mass. J. W. Coyle ae Cincinnati, O. Lambert e St. Trubiprut Tire Co., 307 E. Fifth S Chicago, Il. Lam “Trublprut” Tire Co., bert‘ 2007 S. Mich. Bivd Cleveland, O. Lambert Trubiprut Tire Co., 1820 Chester Ave. Columbus, O. Lam Trubipruf Tire Co 5 E. Spring St. Dayton, O. —y Co., 46 E. Second St Denver, Colo. bert Tire Co., 18 Broadway. Detroit, Mich. Gray-Molitor Co., 440-450 Illinois St Des Moines, la. Trubipraf Tire Co., 627 E. Grand Greensboro, lrubipruf Tire So N.C ‘ Amer. Bank ide. Hartford, Conn. Lambert ‘Trobiprut ire Go., 4 Albany Ave Houston, Tex. Be os 1 if Cushion Tire Co., Indianapolis, petee "Trubipruf Tire Co., n New York St. 29 Jackson, Miss, Trubiprut Tire Co 119 So. State St. Jacksonville, Porter E. Ramsey Fla 2 W. Bay St. Kansas City, Trubipruf Tire Co., ° 8 srand Ave. Lansing, Mich. Capital Tire Sales Company, 23 E. beer my Ave Lexington, Ky. Tru ph iagto: Little Rock, Ackanene’ Trublerut zien Co., Ark 1001 East spots 3 Los Angeles, Lambert Sales Co: Calif uses. H mee & Giull, 1225 East h St. Louisville, Ky. Six- Thirty. Sant Tire & Vule. , 629-635 3 Memphis, Tenn eV Thing Eine Tire Cor. Union & Sy. wed Sts. Tire Co leventh St. Minneapolis, ae Minn New s.. aven, i w. Co: ody Ce % Whe New “Orleans, Wetter A. La 35 Ca New York, N.Y. Lambert a St. Trubipruf Tire Co., St. at Patchen Oklahoma City, Trabiprat Tire Co., Okla 9 So. Robinson St. Corp., Oakland, Cal. sneieest 2 2ist St Parkersburg, Stuart S. W. Va 1727 Seopa Peoria, Il. Lam 508 Philadetphia, Lambert T Pa Broad & P itteburgh, Pa. Lomsbert hee Bigelow Blvd. at Af Washington. Portland, Ore. pease: S Sales Co Providence, Lambert‘ ‘Teubiprut” Tire Co., RI 5e B. way. Rochester, Kiefer-Trimmal Corp., N. ¥. 289 W. Main St. St. Louis, Mo. Lam bipruf" Tire Co., Salt Lake City, Lambert bert “Tre 3123 Washington Ave. Trubipruf Tire Co., 351 So. State St. San Francisco, Lambert Sales Corp. ringfiel’, © G. Or Gaucher Spri . uc! . Somnes 35 Gauche er St. Toledo, O. Lambert Trubiprut Tire Co., Washington, Fad pene Teably it Tire Co. m ru * D. Cc. 2203 Fourteenth St., N. W. Worcester, J. W. Mass. 862 Main St.

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THE SOCIAL ATLANTIC (Continued from Page 14) This conversation has been conducted in loud tones in a rather small restaurant, where other less conspicuous cans have been lunching with French or English friends. Is it any wonder then that the for- eigners turn with tactful manner to the quiet Americans and say, meaning to com- pliment them, “I’d never know you were American”? And can we condemn com- pletely the American who is thereby flat- tered? At the same time, of course, he could not be truly pleased with the per- sonal compliment if he was not chagrined by the implied criticism of his fellow coun- trymen. Foreigners who have never been in the United States, and who therefore judge Americans solely by those whom they see abroad, are the critics who insist that the loud, nasal-voiced, boasting American is the typical American, and that the quiet, walkie’ and. well-mannered American is the exception and is not typical. There are at least three reasons for the persistence of this erroneous belief. The first is the obvious fact that one aggressive, bumptious and antagonistic person at- tracts more attention and implants his image more vividly in the mind of the on- looker than twenty nice poe Secondly, Europeans can never fully realize that the possession of sufficient money to travel widely and to stay at the most expensive hotels and to wear the largest pearls does not necessarily imply, in America, the pos- session of standards of culture or manner. Every country, of course, has its quota of nouveau riche; England has a large share. But the significant difference is that in England when a man without educational or environmental advantages has worked his way up to the top of the financial world he usually wants to taik and look and act like the traditional Englishman of the lei- sure, cultivated class. This is true of the newly rich of most European countries. It is not nearly so true of Americans. It comes back, as do so many of the social differences on the two sides of the Atlantic, to a feeling of democracy. The third reason is that a great number of the so-called typical Americans whose voices and whose unsym- pathetic ideas seem to fill the air of the Euro- rae eee centers are not true Americans at all. This is not because their ancestors have recently arrived, for this is of no con- sequence, but because the motives which brought them and the standards of their citizenship are quite unlike the motives which impelled the true pioneers and under- lie the best American life, regardless of ma- terial. prosperity. Americans in Name In Vienna, a short time ago as I came out of the opera I heard a group of three or four men and women loudly discussing the merits of the soprano. I wondered at first why they all attempted to speak English, for they not only looked foreign but their accent made them almost unintelligible. Then one of them said, “Vell, ve should tell them about he: v’en ve get home to Amurica.” Of course they were Americans in the sense that they had passports which so stated, but from their further conversation, which it was impossible not to hear, it was plain that they were, in every respect except the one of technical citizenship, aliens. In the hotel lobby of another European capital we encountered a man who insisted upon talking in embarrassingly penetrating ae about the superlative little old New ork. “Why, they don’t know what living’ is over here!” he proclaimed, to the amuse- ment of the bystanders. “ Will I be glad to get back to the U.S. A.? Well, I just guess I will! I went to the best show in town last night—they thought it was good! Gee, Belasco would have died laughing.” He went on and on, until the handful of Americans whom he was addressing, dis- appeared one by one. Later when we asked the — of the hotel who he was, he laughed. “I am sorry to admit it,” he said, “but he comes originally from this very town. He was a little boy when his father went to America.” “Write that on a bulletin for all our foreign friends who think he’s a typical American,” said one of the group who had suffered from his monologue. We fell into a discussion then of the habits of Americans abroad; all of us had lived in Europe for some time and had reached nearly the same conclusions about our fellow countrymen. “The whole trouble,” someone summed it up, “is that the essence of all good man- ners is simplicity. At home we are simple— at Jeast American men ways are—and we have an idea that it’s easy to just be ourselves, but it’s the most difficult thing in the world to be simple and natural in unfamiliar surrou . When everyone speaks a la you don’t understand, and there are differences apparent even in the details of eating and shaking hands, it’s almost impossible to be at your ease unless you've got tremendous poise and experi- | ence,” Another man said, “I'll confess that my | own first few months over here were almost | ruined because I couldn’t reconcile myself to eating breakfast in ef room. I wan to go down to the hotel dining room and eat fruit and cereal, bacon and eggs, and coffee with cream, the way I'd owt done at home. I ets > no one but invalids and actors had brea’ I insisted at first upon going downstairs, but there was never anyone around, and it took half the morning to scare up a waiter and get a table laid in the dining room. Then I felt as if I were in the middle of Sahara Desert, for no one else ever ap- peared. Finally I gave up and had it sent tomy room. As a matter of fact, I find that as I have dinner so much later here, I _ want the customary rolls and coffee wit hot ey and nae hn — J. my oe accord given up the heavy breakfast whic at home L really need.” Continental Manners “Tt’s funny how your ideas do change,” said the first man. “I'd been over here about four years without once going back tc America. Then last year I went home, and m youngest. sister undertook to re- vise al with everybody any time you see them,’ she said. I told her I had carefully trained myself to do that over here where it was expected, and it had become a fixed habit.” “T admit that one must do a certain amount of adapting oneself, in order to get the best out of living over here,’’ said a woman journalist, “but I hope none of our American men will ever adopt that boorish custom of going ahead of women, the way some of these men do, Of course it springs from their low estimate of women.” The American wife of a diplomat from one of the Balkan States interrupted. “But, my dear, it does not spring from any- thing of the kind, At least in my husband's | part of the world it comes from a chival- | rous attitude toward women.” “But how can it?” said the journalist. “Chivalry means giving precedence to women.” “It depends upon the surrounding cir- cumstances,”’ the diplomat’s wife answered. “T admit, though, that I was as shocked as | you when I was first married and went to my husband’s country to live and found that when we left the house together he always went ahead of me. At last I spoke to him about it, and he explained that they | | had always considered the danger of being attacked as they left the house, so the man went first, in order, if necessary, to be able to protect the woman.” any of the other differences in manners which puzzle Americans when they go to Europe, and are equally difficult for the Europeans who come, though in less num- ber, to our country, can be traced to real differences in the economic and social | foundations which underlie a nation’s origin. | Many times customs which have long | f purpose | ceased to serve their utilitarian have become through habit an integral part of a people’s code of good manners. The custom of shaki in the desire to prove that a man was un- armed. A t many other differences in habits are due to the existence of a definite servant class in Europe and the gradual elimination of trained and contented per- sonal servitors in America. In a typical English country house a maid comes quietly into one’s bedroom early in the morning, closes the windows, ast on trays in their rooms. | my manners. ‘You shake hands | hands, for in- | | stance, which on the Continent is carried to | an extreme, is supposed to have originated | written THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | Saree pair of Smartsilk Hosiery carries, first, a ntee of satis- faction from the maker— unlimited, unqualified — Behind this guarantee stands a second tee, anironclad bond makes assurance doubly sure: The National SuretyCom- heen are world’s strongest ing organization, has: sources, for a bond, you know that before favorable action is taken there must be issued us a bond, backed by its:immense financial re- guarantecing the fulfillment of the Smartsilk guarantee. If you have ever applied This Double Guarantee Insures Your Satisfaction a rigid and penetrating in- vestigation. The National Surety agen yt made just that sort of investigation, and then bonded our uarantee of Smartsilk osiery— Thus insuring you the _completest po satis- faction from every pair of Smartsilk Hosiery that you buy from our bonded rep- resentatives. You can’t buy Smartsilk Hosiery from your dealer. It comes direct "g rie e line of high-quali f Si hostery, Wa “che oe 4 shades approved, ; by fashion, and at prices which will please you. a Every Smartsilk Representative wears this button SMARTSILK HOSIERY MILLS, Inc., Newark, N. J. martsilk Hosiery FOR MEN AND WOMEN . (30) (exit: IA your appetite insists, for Every Camper! A Coleman Camp Stove for plenty of well cooked “cats’’—~whenever A Coleman Quick-Lite Lantern for all the good light you need—anywhere, any night, in any weather. The Coleman Camp Stove — regular model No, 2, illustrated above, is acknowledged by out-door experts as the finest camp cooker made Coleman Hot Blast Starter, Swinging Fuel Tank, Built-in Oven and Drum Heater, Built-in Wind Baffle and Warming Cabinet, Spreading Burners—everything you need for easy, quick action camp cooking, uill-in Air motor gas for fuel. Other models—No. 9 without built-in oven or drum heater. Prices in U.S.A Model No. 2 only $12.50; Model No. 9 only $9.00. The Coleman Quick-Lite Lantern — Lights up the whole camp. Brighter than 20 oid style oil lanterns. Has mica chimney —is wind-proof, bug-proof, rain-proof. Makes and burne its own gas. Sturdily built. Can't spill fuel even if tipped over. More than 40 hours service per gallon of fuel (common motor gas). U. S. Price $7.50. Ask your dealer to show you both the Stoves and the Lantern. Descriptive literature on request. Address Camping Dept. P.30. THE COLEMAN LAMP COMPANY, chocsi omer: Branches: Chicago, Philadelphia, Los Ang : a miniasare gas range with everything built-in Pump and Pilling Punnel, Speedy-Heat Flame Uses common Wichita, Kansas c dian Factory: Toronto, Ontario man WISI wu n Camp Stove NY

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ei eetnaad KEAPS THE HAIR IN PLACE Free Offer long your hair stays just as you want it. And Stacomb is actually beneficial, especially to the dry scalp. It helps prevent dandruff, keeps your scalp cleaner and healthier than ever before. Not sticky or gummy. - In jars and tubes (or the new Liquid Stacomb) at all drug and department stores. Readers in Canada should address Standard Laboratories, Ltd., 727 King Street, West, Toronto, Dept. A-57.

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lights the open fire, and leaves cans of hot water near the washstand. Later she comes | in with a tray of ne which is to be con- sumed in bed. After the tea has been drunk and one’s letters read, the room is warm enough so that one may get up and dress, and go downstairs to a pleasant breakfast, which does not begin, but ends, with fruit, and includes one or two substantial hot dishes on the buffet, to which one helps oneself. “Of course in America yes have so many bathrooms!” the English are apt to say almost accusingly. “But here you have so many servants,” one replies. ‘We couldn’t get enough maids to carry hot water to our rooms if we wanted to. We've had to invent all sorts of mechanical things to take the place of human labor.” This, too, comes back to democracy. The difference in the interpretation of hospitality is another which to some extent depends upon servants. An American friend of mine was aston- ished one day to receive a telegram from an Englishwoman who was visiting in New York, asking if the American could have her for the week-end at her country place. “But I scarcely know her!” said my friend. ‘I shouldn’t think of inviting her to my house on such a short acquaintance. I did say something about hoping she’d come here later, but now she’s invited her- self. Isn’t that a strange thing for a well- bred. person to do?” | Of course the Englishwoman, t6 use her own phrase, proposed herself without re- alizing how much more difficult it would be for the American to entertain her than it | would be if she were living in England. She assumed that the wish to see her in the | country meant that when she found herself | free she should so notify her hostess, who in turn would let her know whether her house was full or not. As they were women of about the same yearly income and much the same habits and tastes, it was interest- ing to see the differences in their manners. | “]’ve never seen so many bathrooms!” said the Englishwoman when she arrived. “Tt seems so luxurious to have one all to myself. At home, you see, we have only one for the entire family and our friends too ”

But she came down late for dinner be- cause she couldn’t find a maid to hook her gown. Her hostess, having prided herself on her knowledge of English habits, persuaded the waitress to take a tray of tea up to her the next morning, but the second day the girl gave notice because the guest came down so much later to breakfast than the family, and as they were not equipped with alcohol lamps to keep the food hot, in the English fashion, it meant a delay of all the rest of | the maid’s daily routine. Domestic Service My American friend confesses to humilia- tion that the visit of a person with whom she really had much of interest in common could have been almost marred by the | difficulties of material things. “It’s a shocking thing to admit,” she said, “but after years of struggle to find a satisfactory waitress I felt I could better | forgo the visit of my English friend than to lose such a perfect maid. Ten years ago I should have refused to speak to anyone who would have said such a shocking thing. I was brought up in the best American tra- dition of open house and hospitality gener- ously extended. But we lived in the South with plenty of colored servants. Now that I've oval, for the sake of the children, to a suburb of New York, I simply can’t have the way we used to at home.” “How did you solve the problem?” I asked. “The maid is still with you.” She laughed. “Well, my guest never did know it, but I took up her tray of tea my- self, tiptoed into the room, closed her win- dows and turned on the heat before she was entirely awake. Then I just bribed the cook to keep her breakfast hot. In that way I managed to have a really delightful visit with her.” About a year later I ran into this same American woman in London, just after she and her husband had been staying with our English friend in her charming country place. I listened attentively to her account of this visit, particularly because, as I have said, the incomes and back nds of the two families were so much alike. “Instead of our two begrudging servants | and a governess,” began my American

April 25,1925 friend, “she has five perfectly trained serv- ants as well as a ess and a nursery maid. Her home is delightful; say what you will about our modern houses, they never achieve the atmosphere of these Eng- lish places.” She interrupted herself by a series of sneezes. “But I was never so cold in my life!” she went on. “Do you remember how Lady M suffered from our steam heat last in America? Well, I nearly per- ished with the cold at her house. en I first got there everyone. was having tea around an open fire in the drawing-room, and I thought how charming it was. I al- most decided to have our furnace taken out when I got home, But I had tea with my. wraps on. Later we went upstairs to dress for dinner.” She laughed. ‘Well, of course I ought to have been prepared, but it’s years since I’ve been in England, and I’ve grown so America to doing everyt for myself that I’d quite forgotten the differences over’ here. When I went upstairs, to 2 very at- tractive single room with bright chintz and an open fire, I found a very correct maid taking the last things out of our bags. I’m a poor enough packer ordinarily, but we had been so busy in London the day we left that I oary threw my. things into our bags; my husband put some of his shoes in with mine, and I put some of my clothes in with his. His room, as we now discovered, was some distance from mine, and the only bathroom in the house was miles from either of us. To complicate matters further he found he had forgotten to bring a dressin gown, so before he could take the bat which he had signed up for, much the way we sign up for a tennis court at the club, he had to dress himself completely and come down to my room to borrow my kimono. This made him late and delayed all the ~— baths, and so everyone was late for inner! High-Pressure Entertaining “However, finally we all got down, and I assure you I was nearly congealed in the dining room, in a low dress without sleeves, sitting at the right of our host, as far as possible away from the open fire.” She sneezed again, ‘Then after dinner they all agreed, even those with the worst gout, that our American houses were kept u thily warm! Of course,” she added quickly, “I reaily had a delightful visit, and much as I had liked my hostess before, I liked her even better after I had seen her in her own house. No one could have been a more per- fect hostess. I learned from her, too, that the art of entertaining lies almost as much in par tke when to let your guests alone as in doing things for them.” I have heard foreigners who have visited the United States say that their American hosts erred only in one of ‘hav- ing their guests too much on their minds, Sometimes minute programs, covering ey- ery second of their days, would be presented to the bewildered strangers; in less formal households, when the visitors would try to go to their rooms to rest or write letters or just to be alone, a member of the family would follow to make sure the guest was not lonely. “The most tantalizing part of my visit to your country,” a well-known European woman told me, “was the stack of new and interesting books that were put in my room and which I longed to read. But I never was allowed long enough time to get beyond the first chapter during the day, and at night I was much too tired to read.” e live at higher tension, of course, than any other people in the world, and this in-’ tellectual steam heat which distresses' the foreigner arises not only from our greater preoccupation with business but it is also generated by our serious attitude toward those things we call recreations, whether bridge, golf or cross-word puzzles. An Italian woman who has been over here a good deal, visits among other Amer- icans a family who have.a beautiful coun- try place in the hills. While she is there she likes nothing so much as to f° outdoors and sit tranquilly in the sun with no occupation other than medita on the pleasant be ama. ed pean ie view. “But the kind things arrange for me,” she declarés, “this one hI en- joy so much is the most difficult inner, picnics, dances, : golf or tennis, yes. But that a ‘woman should enjoy best doing nothing, they can- not understand. It is simply a matter of (Continued on Page 233)

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-_ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST RD PLAYER ACT

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& ‘ 7 Lopate * io Aha cell eRRRNNNN eemenmmenmnaDin MemetmRaRtS; SS Gasins Yoalplanitn-seemeomae soar THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 25, 1925 Radio Music Now Perf By a New Kind of Repr. This announcement of the beautiful new Crosley Musicone is the biggest radio news since radio became a fixture in our homes. For the Crosley Musicone, designed and built on entirely new principles, covered by basic patents issued and pending, reproduces music and the speaking voice true to life— Without distortion, extraneous overtones, resonance vibrations or other horn noises; Over the entire musical scale, from lowest to highest notes, on any instrument; Without overloading; and without chatter- ing, because its diap ragm is a floating cone; Without adjustments or additional batteries ; Without directional properties or a horn; And at a price that is revolutionary. The Crosley Musicone gives you all music and the voice precisely as they are heard at the microphone in the studio. Performers and speakers seem to actually in the room with you. Sound from it fills the entire room, the notes clear and round and mellow. No need to cluster round. Every note comes in at its true musical value—in solo, duet, chorus, orchestra and drums. Before this year is out, we expect to sée the Crosley Musicene replace at least half a million of the best of present-day devices. Undoubtedly, it will also be the means of intro- ducing radio into homes which heretofore rejected it largely because of the impossibility of getting the life-like. reproduction which the Crosley Musicone makes possible at last. Yous own radio set—no matter what circuit nor how many tubes—needs the Crosley Musicone; and until it has this instrument, it can never give you the best that its maker built into it. Ten thousand radio dealers are now displaying and demonstrating the beautiful Crosley Musicone. By all means hear it, and know how wonderful radio music can be. Then equip your set with this beautiful, compact reproducer and no other. Write for complete description. The Crosley Musicone is artistically beautiful—an ornament in any home. The Crosley Radio Corporation, Cincinnati Powel Crosley, Jr., President —— 4314 Sassafras St. . Guarantee Dealers are authorized to sell the Crosley Musicone on five days’ trial in your home. Satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded upon return. Crosley Musicone. No | oll ation to buy. Then you are i y to enter our Advertising n bg ay Grand Prize— Siegen n sub- mitted. fn Pris 5 for the ee wy = from each oonte —= tie, identical prizes will " CE to contestants, Contest closes in Ci at midnight May 25, 1925. Write for details. Crosley manufactures receiving sete which are licensed under Armstron U. 5S. Patent No. 1,113,149, and oe from $14.50 to $65, without accessories, — Shotdadaeange pate et Se will eseteten ewer

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(Continued from Page 230) different ideas of entertainment,” she con- cluded, “for Americans are at heart the kindest people in the world.” While I was meditating on these last words, which have been uttered many times by all manner of disinterested people, I happened to be present at a dialogue be- tween an American woman whose husband held a high diplomatic position sbroad, and an Englishwoman, similarly placed. They were discussing the question of inviting or not inviting to their houses a certain woman whom’ they both disliked, but who was clamoring for invitations. Finally the American womansaid, “ There is no reason in the world for asking her, ex- — her insistence, and I’m not going to 0 it.” “I dislike her quite as much as you do,” said the Englishwoman, “but I shall invite her. However, when she comes, I shall treat her very coldly.” The American woman was plainly shocked by this point of view, for she had been brought up to believe that courteous treat- ment of guests under one’s roof was an implicit obligation of the act of extending hospitality. “One has a right to exclude people who are undesirable,” she said later when we were alone, “(and this particular woman that we were discussing has no official con- nections—she is simply a vulgar and ob- noxious climber or she would not be in the position of seeking invitations. But it out- rages my American sense of hospitality even to consider asking her and then de- liberately plan to treat her coldly.” In order to see if our standards of hospi- tality and those of other countries really differed on this point, I put this problem hypothetically to various people, being care- ful not to reveal the nationality of the two disputants. ithout exception every American whom I asked was in complete sympathy with the point of view expressed by our country- woman. The English, on the other hand, saw nothing especially reprehensible in the attitude of their representative. One of them said, “Of course you’ve heard that definition of a gentleman—‘ one who is never rude unintentionally’?” The Art of Being Rude When I threw this controversy into the casual conversation at a luncheon table of —- flavor, the discussion grew heated. An Englishwoman had just said, describ- ing the English wife of a foreign es. “She is most awfully well-bred. She can be most frightfully rude.” At this point I launched the hypothetical question regarding hospitality. “Of course,” said the same English- woman, “rudeness is, after all, the best possible social weapon.” “That is because in old and overcrowded civilizations,’’ said another European, “‘so- ciety is based upon a defensive policy. The vital thing is not whom one ean inelude but only whom one can exclude, Therefore it seems more important to be able to rebuff people rather than to weleome them.” “That doesn’t fully answer this ques- tion though,” said a serious American. He turned to the Englishwoman: “Do you really mean that you gauge people’s breed- ing by their ability to be rude?” “In other words,” said an Irishman, “that good manners consist in having bad ones?” “One must define manners,” said the hostess, hoping to be conciliatory. But everyone began talking excitedly, all together, all apparently in violent disagree- ment, until at last when the conversational smoke had blown away, two fundamentally different points of view were osed., The Europeans held that manners con- sisted of a well-defined set of customs and habits, which could be taught. “There is a technic,” explained a French- man. “Just as one may learn the rules of golf, so one may acquire the technic of good manners.” “But manners are not a game,” said the spokesman for the Americans. ‘“ Manners are much more than ease in entering a room and knowing whose hand to kiss and all those things which ean, of course, be taught. In that respect I grant you that Americans do not shine. But we believe that truly good manners spring from the heart.” This is, I believe, the crux of the social differences which separate us from Europe. By and large, Europeans have much more THE charming manners, and they are apt to have greater poise and savoir-faire. As a nation we do not pay enough attention to the details; or as the Frenchman, whose manners cannot be excelled, put it, the tech- nic of good manners. But the standards to- ward which we aim are those of kindliness of heart, loyalty to our friends and gener- osity. Of course it would be hypocritical to pretend that anyone is always able to live up to these or any other standards, but they have, nevertheless, stamped them- selves upon our national c ee The surest by 4 to learn a people’s ideals is to see what they desire to inculcate in their children. As a whole we are apt to stress those qualities of courtesy which come from innate kindliness, For instance, | a young woman who is keenly interested in the development of her children was talk- ing to her small daughter the other day on the subject of ng. “You can do it or not,” she said. ‘It’s | become the fashion, and considered awfully English, although it’s done even more in Germany. But the thing that I do care | about is that when peop e come into our house you should look them in the eye as | you take their hand, and make them feel | really welcome,” Usually, however, we do not follow the | method of this mother who tried to teach the technie by which kindliness could be | best expressed. Perhaps it is for this reason that we are accused as a nation of spoiling | our children. This is more especially the | accusation of the English, and there seems | to be much justification for it. A prevalent | theory in England is that a well-brought-up child is one who leads its own life of the | nursery, with a competent governess, al- | most apart from the life of the family, and in the case of a boy, is one sent to a board- ing school at an age so early that it seems | to us sometimes cruel. Bringing Up the Children An American friend of mine whose hus- | band is an English diplomat rebelled furi- | ously at the prospect of sending her elder | son, who was not yet eight, and not physi- | cally strong, thousands of miles away from their foreign post to boarding school in England. Her rebellion was futile, for her husband sincerely thought it was the only course possible for a well-bred English boy. “You certainly wouldn't want him to be | brought up like a spoiled American child?”’ | said the husband. “But why must we—his parents—refuse | to shoulder the responsibility of his bring- ing up?” retorted the exasperated wife. | “You English are so proud of the way your children are brought up, but you don’t do it een —you leave it to governesses and schoolmasters!”’ It was hard for her to realize, as it is for most Americans, the social gulf which the English have created between the public- school boy and all others. By public school they mean, of course, the most exclusive rivate boarding schools, such as Eton, | arrow and Winchester. Many of these arbitrary distinctions which seem unbear- | ably snobbish to us, with our warm admira- tion for the self-made man, are based upon | economic and political conditions which | differ widely here. On the other hand, some of the demo- | eratic qualities upon which we pride our- | selves are not universally admired; as, for | instance, the peculiarly American habit of | making chance ence upon trains and steamers. e maintain that this springs from a generous open-heartedness; | foreigners put it down to lack of discrimi- | nation. A Roman friend of mine who has visited in America wes freatly perturbed when | some people he had met there came to Italy and invited him to dinner. “T like my hosts very, very much,” he said, “and at their house in the States I met only the most delightful and cultivated | Americans. But here! Well, I will try to tell you the kind of Italians I met at dinner. Of course I did not want to say — directly to my American friends, but asked them how they came to know these people; and I found they had met one | couple on the steamer, and another they | had run into, as they said, while buying some antiques. He had so politely inter- preted for them and saved them a great | deal of money, so they had kindly invited him to dinner. Now I became curious to know just what the game was of these Italians, for I saw the moment they en- tered the room that they were not the sort | SATURDAY EVENING POST saa oa | I Buttonless Front Work Suit Opens and closes as fast as you can move the fastener up or down, Dust and dirt proof. Slips on and off in a jiffy—a speedy suit for every man that works. No buttons to catch or come off—no but- tons to sew on. It saves time, clothes and money. Handy for motorists or for work around the house and gar- den. Every man should have one. If your dealer does not have it in stock we will ship post- paid on receipt of price- - Free circular shows styles for men and boys $495 JIFFY GARMENT COMPANY SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA # 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 Orympic = Style M-167 Most Styles 10 Booklet “Styles of the Times” on Request THE FLORSHEIM SHOE COMPANY Manufacturers - Cuicaco - “~who- ca res ~ ing ee a

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se know real garter comfort you must wear Bostons: When you ask for Bostens therefore, insist on getting them. Remember that when better garters can be made Boston will make them. The All-Rubber Oblong Button, the pad without a pucker, the fine quality of web and workmanship and the attractive colors are the superior features which make Boston Garter popular the world over. Wide or narrow web. Single or double grip. For Sports Wear—Knicker Bostons GEORGE FROST COMPANY, Boston | Makers of Velvet Grip Hose Supporters for Women, Misses and Children i ae In Canada—Glassford Bros., Limited, Montreal THE SATURDAY EVENING POST m Mand en OW comes Verticolor to add new and desirable color contrast to the porch. Broad ribbons of soft, water-proof colors, hand-blocked on Aerolux Shades, will set off the house perfectly and bring it into closer relation to the grounds. This new development of the makers of Aerolux Seo Porch Shades will give the same comfort features Porch Shades at and full length ventilation that make Aerolux the * ie ht gra “Stone porch shade, with the added exterior Gees ag NSener auty that decorators want. Look for the Aerolux patented features that make it easy to install, easy to operate and that make it impossible to whip or rattle in the wind. See Verticolor, the Aerolus The Aeroshade Company, 2520 Oakland Ave., Waukesha, Wis. [VENTILATE FROM TOP TO BOTTOM] —s of people my American hosts would have tolerated had they been Americans. So I resolved to find out, and learned quite eas- ily that the couple they had met on the steamer are famous only for their skill in cheating at cards. The man has been turned out of clubs and is not even allowed in cer- tain hotels. The other Italian, whom my friends had run into in the antique shop, was nothing more or less than a very clever interpreter who made a profession of ap- pearing to bring down the prices, which, of course, he does by being in league with the proprietor and dividing the profit later.” “Have you told the Americans the sort of ple they were entertaining?” e shrugged his shoulders. “No! If they had wanted to know they could have found out before they invited them to din- ner. What would they think of me if I went | to them and criticized their other guests?” He laughed, “ Moreover, you see, they met me upon a steamer too!” I have heard many other penenepens who | have American friends declare that when these Americans visit their country in | Europe they never, if possible, attend their | parties, so certain are they of meeting com- letely undesirable fellow countrymen. hese mistakes of judgment are not, of course, confined entirely to Americans, as | all people are apt to err regarding strangers | of other nationalities, but we are peculiarly susceptible for the additional reason of our hail-fellow-well-met standard, which is , especi true in the more recently settled our country to which a newcomer is really an asset and is welcomed by the community. Our population is extraordinarily wide- spread and we are becoming more and more nomadic, so that even our most conserva- tive communities have come to realize that newcomers are often a welcome addition. In a country where democracy wins such dramatic social victories and the social status of one generation sometimes gives no clew whatever to the social status of the preceding one, we are bound to accept peo- ple more upon their face value. But as a whole, particularly when we are dealing with foreigners, we are too apt to believe what people tell us about themselves. The average twenty-year-old Italian, French or Austrian youth has more cool judgment about ple than the average American twice that age. We call that cool judgment skepticism, and attempt to condemn it as cynical, but nevertheless it forms an ef- fective armor of personal protection. Countesses Boarded Free Perhaps it is for this very reason that titled foreigners, some of whom can be found in Burke’s Pee or the Almanach de Gotha, and some who cannot, usually find a rosy path of endless entertainments and lavish hospitality spread before them once they reach our democratic shores. Not long ago I heard a young woman whose father is the bearer of a modest title in Europe say that she lon; to visit April 25, 1925 ambitious American woman who. had not yet achieved the desired sre near the top of the crowded social ladder, invited her to spend the entire winter in her lux- oniete — The Euro ee ee cepted. The pers photograp er, interviewed her, f raised her title to pemenie, and the pop’ ity of her hostess received a impetus. A very dlllocest tory which ecpually deen- onstrates our attitude toward rank, how- ever, was told me the other day by a titled Dutchman. He has recently been touring the United States, and on a Western train the conductor was so courteous and helpful that the baron desired in some express his appreciation. He had n warned that in this country it was not cor- rect to offer money, so with the usual formula he presented the conductor with an excellent cigar. The next day, just before he arrived at his destination, the conductor came to his seat, told the foreigner how much he had en- joyed meeting him, and in turn presented im with a cigar. “It couldn’t have happened in any other country in the world,” said the Dutchman. “And it was one of the pleasantest memo- ries of my journey!” Society Play-Acting Americans who go abroad a good deal are apt to fall into the habit of bemoaning the lack in their countrymen of that which they term-finesse.or,polish. A woman who typified this group talked to me at length on the subject one afterncon at tea at aforeign embassy. She was par- ticularly impressed by the gaucheries of certain of our compatriots because she had just been talking to a titled woman who ad deeply impressed her. “She is the quintessence of charm!” she declared enthusiastically. ‘Her manners are exquisite, She knows so exactly what to do and what to say on any occasion, and her conversation is so amusing too!” As the butler announced the arrival of another woman guest with an impressive title, the interested American suddenly stiffened. “It isn’t possible!” she exclaimed. The woman whom she had just praised so warmly had risen and gone toward the new- comer with open arms, kissing her on both cheeks, and drawing her affectionately to a seat beside her.. “But only a moment ago she was telling me the most frightful things about her!” whispered my bewilde compatriot. *“* How can she now rush up to her like that?”’ After a moment’s meditation she con- cluded, “ Well, this forces me to believe that all that graciousness and charm which I have been admiring is nothing more than a highly developed form of acting. They don’t mean anything!” This emphasis upon good manners mean- ing something is peculiarly American, and places a great responsibility upon us,in molding our own, for we like to be- the United States, but couldn’t pos- sibly afford to live at our hotels. “If you've the money for a first- class ticket on an expensive steamer,” an American an- swered, “you won't even need taxi fare after you land— provided, of course, you have yourself put down or the passenger list as countess.”” “But it is not proper to so do,” she answered. | “Mamma is the countess—not I.” “But they'll | never know that!” | he answered. “We peniek, bother es | people up in and things the way ou do over here. ou’ll have a won- derful time!” His prophecy | turned out to be ac- | curate. o days | before she landed | in New York an PHOTO. FROM C. JONES Marine Drive in Washington lieve the assertions of many foreigners who have seen us in our own setting, that we are asa na- tion unusually kind-hearted; and we also believe that really good man- ners proceed from the heart. The thing we sometimes fail to realize is that good intentions alone are not enough to pro- which vil ‘satisfy whi will sat this high stan ‘ Resourcefulness, uick wit, and, above all, ability to perceive the view- point of others, are uisite, here is an Ori- ental proverb worth our pentoriag. which says that there is no such thing as a rough diamond —that a diamond proves it- self a diamond only through its ability to take polish.

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In the “ Round the World Flight’’ which left California March 17th, 1924, "XX" Liquid was procured for each aeroplane and extra cans shipped to the vartous landing stations on the route by order of the Flight Engineer. “a Liqusd was used to repatr tj Cracked Steel Water Jacket of U. S. Navy Seaplane.N. C. 4 when forced : down in Portugal on its trans-Atlan- La tic Flight, May 16-27, 1919, and car- If ried ready for emergency by the U. S. dye f Army ; feroplane ey 20n its Ocean-to- You go Ocean Non Stop Flight, May 3, 1923. 2 Qn automobile for-anyway: SK a car owner that question and he'll snap right back: “To get me where I want to go—at any time I feel like going —with little expense and plenty of comfort”. When a man’s radiator leaks he doesn’t go—or, if he’s on the road he stops. He can get home on a flat tire, BUT NOT WITH A DRY RADIATOR. 4 can of “X” Liquid in the tool kit means no stops, "X" is a LIQUID. Ircaneven M0 laying the car up for radiator repairs. be poured through a cloth as "X’”? conagint no bower, meal. sieve“ X" LIQUID is the simple, economical and effective fess t0 metal, rabber and leat means to PERMANENTLY repair a Cracked Cylinder, AN Water Jacket or Leaking Radiator while the car is running. For Fords, tm ars, Chevrolets, etc. For Larger Cars Use 75c. Size Use $1.25 Size “X” LABORATORIES, 25 West 45th Street, New York Factories: Boston and Montreal Agents, England and the Continent Thomas & Bishop, Ltd., 37 Tabernacle St., London, E. C. 2 REPAIRS LEAKS IN AUTO RADIATORS, CRACKED CYLINDERS WATER JACKETS AND STEAM AND HOT WATER HEATING SYSTEMS EVENING POST April 25, 1925

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WANTED=A SUBSTITUTE THE FOR WORK (Centinued from Page 46) educated’ or polished person of another race. For seventy-five years the flood of foreigners who have come.to our shores have poor, gen humble and quite willing to do the jobs that the old Amer- ican stock consid menial or unprofit- able or both. I recall a remark made long before the war x a second-generation Ger- man whose family had done well enough in America to send him to a German univer- eey and allow him to spend several years in pean ca pitals. “*Wherever I traveled on the Continent,” he said in-his precise half-foreign accent, “I could always tell a veritable American as far as I could see him. It was the way he walked, with his shoulders high, like a nobleman.” This observation seemed highly flatter- ing. The second-generation German him- self, I sensed, was vastly pleased at being a citizen of a country whose travelers car- ried their shoulders high, like noblemen, and who regarded foreigners with a rather amused ead aphvchiees interest. Events of-the last decade have tended to increase this feeling of superiority. Before the war we were merely better dressed, better educated, more polished than the immigrant foreigner, who was practically the only foreigner we knew. Suddenly, when one European nation after another began tearing at its neighbor’s throat, the conviction was forced upon us that we must be infinitely more virtuous than an race of foreigners whatsoever. We of all the world did not covet others’ lands or riches. Had we not lived on peaceable terms with our good neighbor, Canada, for a century? Once the conviction of our moral superi- ority was established, it was but a step to the sentimental wish that others might recognize it also. Even after we entered the war ourselves, one remembers the serious proposals that we should send clouds of airplanes over the German lines, not to drop bombs, but to release millions of pam- phlets describing the American character. One also remembers that it was mainly the old-stock American who favored these easy gestures. Our foreign-born, with genera- tions of wars in their past, knew better. Too Much Organization One of the dangers of overorganization is its tendency to perpetuate itself after its period of usefulness is over. During the war we were obliged to organize inten- sively, not only cultivating the habit, but in many in cases creating the belief that organization has a mysterious power of its own. With such a multiplicity of business organizations, it is naturally difficult to find enough serious work to supply necessary in- terest and maintain attendance so vital to satisfying gesture and to the continuation of the salaried secretary’s job. Hence the golf tournaments that are a feature of so many first-class conventions. It is a trait of human nature that laxness inevitably leads to a desire for artificial stimuli. The idle man is more addicted to alcoholic drink than the busy one; the overly shielded woman becomes a prey to sentimentality. Far be it from the purpose of this article to decry any serious move- ment toward the betterment of mankind; but it can hardly be denied that some fields of uplift are being rather overworked by organizations originally formed for busi- ness purposes, but which, for lack of mate- rial, have turned toward emotionalism as a means of artificial stimulus. It goes without saying that work for the betterment of mankind is good work; but efficiency never goes with sentimentality, which is precisely the craving to see oneself in a noble or charming attitude. Coépera- tion with the regular philanthropic or reli- gious organizations can be depended on to bring results; the organization divided be- tween business and uplift usually does both ineffectually. We have Boys’ Week asa na- tional institution along with Buy-a-Book Week,»Suspender Week and More-and- Better Steam Laundries Week, and similar publicity methods are used for all. One wonders if the practice of making a boy mayor.of a city-for a day can vee | bene- ficial to the @o chosen; or if the wel- fare of the boy is overlooked in the unconscious desire of those behind the movement to obtain a satisfying thrill. Aside from the questionable taste of the incidents descri is not in them | even the element of good business. A | drunken person is never so efficient as a | sober one, even though his drunkenness | consists cay an occasional spree of senti- mentality. Nor is the man who depends on his trade association, or his hired inspira- tional oratory, or his 100 per cent American ancestry, a match for the competitor who does his uplift without gesture and who sticks d to his factory or his shop = business hours and depends en him- | self. | Gesture, no matter how noble or self- satisfying, can never take the place of work. | It is true that the sons and grandsons of | immigrant citizens may adopt the same | ways as their fellow Americans of older stock; but this indisputable fact remains: | The immigrant gets along in America in | spite of his hampering lack of education, his imperfect knowledge of the language, his ignorance of conditions and his usual lack of capital. _He makes up for these things by | pow intention. His harsher background has instilled it into him that. he cannot do two things at once. The success of the immigrant in America has a deeper | significance than the changing of names on the signboards. The immigrant gains his success through the use of the same direct methods that he learned from the business men of his native country. A French Trade Convention A few months ago ! was permitted to be | resent at the annual convention of a rench association of hardware dealers in one of the large southern cities of that coun- | try. To one used to more spectacular | methods, this — of 300 Frenchmen | was a rather colorless affair. Some of them | came to town the evening before, but the majority arrived the morning of the con- vention, many of them starting at surpris- ingly early hours to be there on time. As | the crowds flocked up the street from the | railway station, it was easy to identify the | delegates, for each had tightly clasped under his arm a brief case stuffed with papers. The convention began at ten o’clock and was opened by the mayor of the city with a five-minute speech of welcome. Then the delegates got down to business. The hall had been provided with little desks borrowed from some school building, and during the session the Seepetes sat crouched over their piles ot papers. ooking for all the world like a lot of students at examination time. At one o’clock there was an hour’s adjournment for lunch. At six the business was finished and the convention adjourned. The Lyons hardware manufacturer whose courtesy had made it possible for me to at- tend this gathering explained the view- point of the delegates. “Tt isn’t that they don’t appreciate a | good time,” he said. “ Many of these same men close their places of business for a week in the summer and everyone connected with the establishment goes fishing. Merely, they don’t believe in mixing pleasure with business, and they regard their annual con- vention as business,’ The United States has been passing SATURDAY EVENING POST through a period of easy affluence that | sober sense teaches us cannot last forever. | The time is rapidly approaching when we shall have to compete on even terms with the rest of the world, and if we wish to maintain our standard of living we shall have to regard business as seriously as our competitors. Professional optimists like to say that the mass production which we have so amazingly developed will of itself allow us to continue to live more luxuri- ously than other nations. But mass produc- tion has a weakness. It is the easiest thing in the world to imitate. Even where the foreign business man has not the ability to organize his mass production from the und up, it is quite possible for him to uy his automatic machinery in the United States and install it in his own community, where his cheaper and more patient labor gives him a tremendous advantage. This, recisely, is what is being done in many creign countries today, as many an Amer- ican exporting manufacturer is learning. Courtesy Jour in One Step late All the running board needs—in one unit—step plate, kick plate, footscraper and Courtesy light. Four necessities for the price of one. Six models, with or with- out Courtesy lights —fit all cars. Who has the right of way? Where there is no traffic officer, this ques- tion must be decided just the same-—- without guesswork—if accidents are to be prevented. At street intersections and crossroads, where the danger of night driv- ing is greatest, Courtesy lights command instant attention. They instantly tell both you and other motorists who has the right of way. For your own protection, and greater safety in night driving, get aset of Courtesy Illuminated Step Plates. If your dealer cannot supply you, write us direct. DUNHAMETER CORPORATION 232 East Ohio Street CHicCago Licensed Canadian Manuf ers SULLY BRASS FOUNDRY, LTD. 2388 Dundas St., West, Toronto, Ontario, Canada vane Mr. G. S. MAc- GREGOR of Canada found our spare time plan so profitable that he is now working for us under a yearly contract. HEN you “square up” at the end of the week, do you have all the money you need? (Don’t answer that question, except to yourself.) Can you use a little extra money, say $5.00, $25.00 a week? (Send us the answer to that question.) Extra Cash for You For we will tell you how you should be able to make, as do literally scores of our workers, $5.00, even $25.00 a week ex And that’s extra money, earned easily, pleasantly and in odd hours— tra. just for sending us renewal and new subscriptions for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal end The Country Gentleman. You do not aeed previous experience to succeed. You do not need capital. What you do need is the willingness to try—to prove to yourself just how prof itable our plan can be. The first step is to write for details. Here's a handy coupon: THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 614 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ; I can use more money. Tell me, but without obligation, how I may earn it. Name__...- Street City.

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i of durable, weatherproof . PIOTER bmateral and 2 wristers ind pad : ‘The Sport Blouse is a necessary artl- cle of ponaring apparel for all outdoor Write for descriptive circular fy and samples of RADIOTEX and name of your near- oo all eenboiied ta this ~ hy Strong canvas upper and rug- . ged crepe soles _ AMBRIDGE RUBBER CO, CAMBRIDGE. MASS. BOSTGR = NEW YORK CHICAGO . es & 127 Downs dt, 327 W. Meares $i. RADIO SPORT SHOE | | | } j | THE SATURDAY The success of the newly arrived immi- rant, schooled in foreign ways, shows we ave something to learn from abroad. No one will deny that organization is a thing; the trade association or the fal usiness man’s club can perform construc- tively and public-spiritedly in its proper field, which is that of eliminating waste and cultivating economic business prac- tices. But organization can be oversold; and it is oversold when, to maintain itself, it is obliged to bring in extraneous enter- tainment or emotionalism or to make its ee Lapeer parties rather than se- ness conferences, Discussing these things recently with a successful New York ness man whose active experience goes back over a period of nearly ay you he said this: “The United States is a big country and perhaps our 1800 trade associations and ond 15,000 conventions a year are neces- sary. This can easily be ascertained if every individual business man will appoint himself a committee of one to interview himself on these questions: ‘Are my trade associations and my conventions concern- ing themselves with strictly business mat- ters, or is there a tendency to mix business with jazz in order to keep up interest and attendance? When I appropriate my time during working hours to trade activities, am I doing it with the sole intention of so | increasing my efficiency that I can produce | and sell my oods at a closer profit?’ “One of these days the United States will have reached the limit of its easy ex- ploitation of natural resources and then we EVENING POST shall have to com on even terms with the rest of the world. Then, if we have not learned te economize our efforts, we shall have either to reduce our standard of living to the level of other countries, or to try to earn a living by selling only among our- selves. The former we don’t want to do, and the latter is nearly impossible. Every uneconomic practice that we let ourselves in for is bringing that time nearer.’ The great. buying public—which is every- one—does not care who produces the goods it buys; it is only interested in buying at — that have not been inflated by use- ess gesture. It is even possible that some organizations might gain in influence and membership by limiting themselves strictly to business purposes. The writing of this article was inspired wy a letter from a business man in a New ork State city, which letter I quote ver- batim: ws! to belong to the state associa- tion of my trade, but I don’t any more. The last convention I went to lasted three days and I kept books on it. We had half a day for inspirational speeches; half day for a clambake and a baseball game between the fats and leans. The local committee took us for a ride around town to see the courthouse, the park, and to listen to a song service of grade-school pupils. We spent half a day deciding on a snappy slogan that would create sales in our line; then half a day of real business. If the con- vention of my trade was limited to a one- another | day meeting at which we just tended to | business, I would join again.” THE SATURDAY never authorized. (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. quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is EVENING POST The use of our articles or Open Season—Salisbury Field Table of Contents April 25, 1925 Cover Design by Edmund Davenport SHORT STORIES Much Too Clever—John P. Marquand The Old Folks at Home—Frederick Orin Bartlett Little Drops of Water— Frank Condon . The Elephant— William Hazlett Upson The Terror of Bascom Hills—Austin Parker The Channay Syndicate— Martin Fogg Persists— E. Phillips Oppenheim 28 The House in the Laurels—Mary Brecht Pulver 30 Peregrine— Herbert Ravenel Sass ; 32 The Laughing Death—Nunnally Johnson 49 The Old War Horse— Margaret Culkin Banning 56 ARTICLES From Cesar to Mussolini—Garet Garrett 6 Redwood Dividends— Albert W. Atwood 10 The Social Atlantic— Maude Parker Child 14 The Farm Mortgage—1925 Model—E/mer T. Peterson 15 Ancient Enemies— Chester T. Crowell 19 The Romantic '90’s— Richard Le Gallienne 24 Making Amendments— Henry Fountain Ashurst, United States Senator from Arizona 35 The Recollections of a Consul—Lorin A. Lathrop 38 Rug Hunting in the Orient— Jordan Strand 42 Wanted—A Substitute for Work—J. R. Sprague 46 Friend Husband 52 The Adventures of Old Things— Fairfax Downey 74 SERIALS The Reluctant Duchess (In four parts)— Alice Duer Miller oo OE eee Once in the Saddle (Conclusion)— Eugene Maniove Rhodes 26 MISCELLANY Editorials 34 Short Turns and Encores . 36 The Poets’ Corner . 226 address label from a recent copy. 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. i 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 Duplicate copies cannot April 25, 1925 She Wanted a Profitable Dignified Position HAT is why Mrs. Jessie Mack of California wrote to us for our plan. It enabled her easily to earn $2.00 in a Single Hour “I certainly would advise others to take up Curtis work,” says Mrs. Mack. “It is a dignified and congenial way of earning extra money. Another reason why I like your plan is that I can give as much or as little of my spare time as I find conven- ient. I spend the money on the little ‘pretties’ every woman loves, but which otherwise would be an ex- travagance.” Mrs. Mack, as you may have guessed, is our local subscription repre- sentative for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Fournal and The Coun- try Gentleman. Like Mrs. Mack you, too, can earn More Money when you want it. We need more part-time represent- atives—both men and women—in your territory right now. For full details Mail this coupon today The Curtis Publishing Company 621 Independenc Philadelphia, Pennsylvania I am interested in a wholesome, digni- fied plan which will pay me liberally for spare time. Please tell me about yours, but without obligation. Name Street City State.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 239 Lockheed 5 nparalleled Success Eighteen Months Ago One Hydraulic Brake Adoption— Today Forty Manufacturers Equip with Lockheed Lockheed Hydraulic Four-Wheel Brakes have registered a success unprecedented in the automo- tive industry. A little more than a year ago, there was but one manufacturer using Lockheed Brakes. Today 40 groups of engineers unite in their judg- ment that these brakes are superior to all other braking equipment. Today 40 manufacturers, by means of this hydrau- lic brake equipment, are giving to the automobile owner a degree of safety, simplicity and certainty in braking hitherto only dreamed of. The Hydraulic Brake Company announces below a partial list of licensees. Announcements will be forthcoming from other manufacturers who have adopted Lockheed Hydraulic Four-Wheel Brakes. Passenger Cars Moon Wills Ste. Claire (Six) Motor Trucks Chrysler Six Paige Wills Ste. Claire (Eight) Maeeleid Hupmobile Eight Jewett Velie He Jordan Six Cunningham Stutz artor Jordan Eight Balboa Westcott 3 ¥ Mc Farlan Roamer Elcar Axle Companies K Delling Steamer Duesenberg du Pont ete : Staley Steamer Stearns Meteor r imken-Detroit Axle Co. Davis Case Lexington Salisbury Axle Co. Kissel (Six) Huffman Peerless (Six) Columbia Axle Co. Kissel (Eight) Sterling Knight Peerless (Eight) Flint Motor Axle Co. Braking equipment has come to mean so much that you are urged to study especially those cars which, following the trend of the industry, have been equipped with Lockheed Hydraulic Four-Wheel Brakes. Hydraulic Brake Company, Detroit, Michigan C The Answer | LOCKHEED HYDRAULIC Four Wheel Brakes

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Star AST year two and a half million babies were born in the United States—-our future citizens—the men and women who are to be entrusted with the affairs of tomorrow. Precious - as these little lives were, not only to their parents but to the country itself, one out of every thirteen died before its first birthday. This tragic waste of human material must be checked. It must be made easier for babies to pass their first mile- stone and for boys and girls to have a happy, healthy childhood. A gigantic plan is under way to bring this about. Every mother and father, everyone in America who loves children and his country, is asked to help. May Day, which has always been one of the banner days of childhood with its picnics, its gayly-ribboned May-poles and its fun, is hereafter going to be a momentous day for our boys and girls. It will be known everywhere as National Child Health Day, a perma- nent American institution, a day for community stock-taking of child-health conditions. May-Poles—Symbols of Health When you see the May-poles think of them as symbols of sound health for children. All over the country hundreds of thousands of men and women are pe ning to make May Day memorable in the history of our nation. Members of religious, business, fraternal, patriotic, labor and other organizations are work- ing to make Child Health Day a success. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST t May First Herbert Hoover’s Plea The purpose of the May Day Celebra- tion is to focus attention upon our most precious national asset—our children*** The ideal to which we should drive is that there should be no child in America that has not been born under proper conditions, that does not live in hygienic surroundings, that ever suffers from undernutrition, that does not have prompt and efficient medical attention and inspection, that does not receive primary instruction in the ele- ments of hygiene and good health. It is for the reiteration of this truth, for the celebration of it until it shall have become a living fact, that we urge all people of good will to join in the cele- bration of May Day as Child Health Day. Hk t Roan, There will be celebrations and festi- vals, public gatherings and speech mak- ing. Stores from coast to coast will have special window displays calling attention to Child Health Day. Busi- April 25,1925 ness concerns, mills and factories will have important health demonstrations. The men and women who are working for an improvement in child-health are painting a vision which shall and must be made real. They are working for more sanitary school buildings, more thorough health inspection in schools and better playground facilities. They are taking steps to safeguard the right of every child to reach maturity in good condition physically, mentally and morally. Find out what your community is do- ing to celebrate May Day. Let's not have a slacker town or city in all the country. Every Home a Health Center It is time to dismiss the old foolish notion that children have to have the diseases of childhood. They can be pro- tected by the proper precautions. Keep your children well. Have your boys and girls physically examined at least once a year. See that they eat the right body-build- ing food. Make certain that they play every day in the fresh air, sleep hang hours with open windows and establish healthy body-habits. Give them buoyant joyous health. Endow them with strong, sturdy bodies. aa But remember that the t +4 dreams you dream on May ; WAT * First and the plans you make .\, "4 must be carried out every 4 Rh @ day in the year to give your itt % ats? S/S children the best possible chance in life. There are upward of 35 million children in the United States—practically one- third of our population—who are subject to dangers in many communities by failure of community safeguards. In some sec- tions of the country impure water and impure milk are supplied. In other com- munities inadequate provisions for health inspection are made. Again, too few play- grounds are opened or too many children are permitted by law to be at work in factories when they should be in school. Great advances have been made in national hygiene, but even today three out of four children are suffering from some physical defect which: might have been prevented or corrected. At least three million of our children, probably more, fall so far below the normal standard of weight that their condition demands im- mediate recognition and attention. Six countries have lower infant mortality rates than the United States. The country which stands first loses a one baby in twenty under one year . There are many countries which fewer in childbirth than we do here in the United States. We need more prenatal and maternity care and instruction; closer supervision of health in schools; nutrition classes; more playgrounds and a wider system of public health measures. The New May Day brings a plea for safe- guarding the welfare of our children. The Metropolitan Life Insurance Company has published a booklet, “The Child”, which is a guide and help to mothers. It will be mailed free, to any one who asks for it, to- gether with a Child Health Day program by the American Child Health Association. HALEY FISKE, President. Published by METROPOLITAN LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY ~- NEW Biggest in the World, More Assets, More Policyholders, More Insurance in force, More new Insurance each year ~e Bn aight .

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When appetites ale keen - when bodies are getting the healthful exercise of trail and camp, the same wholesome, well-balanced food they have at home is more important than ever. Pet Milk makes such food possible. The pure, fresh milk, sterilized in sealed containers, provides flapjacks, scrambled eggs, cream gravy—wherever the camp may be. And Pet Milk blends with orange juice to make a wholesome, refreshing drink that is readily prepared anywhere, Concentrated—more than twice as rich as ordinary milk— Pet Milk will serve in place of cream. Diluted with an equal part of water, it is extra rich milk. With two parts of water added, it is better than ordinary cooking milk, For-every milk or cream need—at home or in the camp, Pet Milk is Milk at Its Best. It costs no more than ordinary milk,- All grocers have it. Pet Milk Pancakes 1 cup flour 4 teaspoons baking powder 1 tablespoon sugar 29 cup Pet Milk Lg teaspoon salt le cup water Mix dry ingredients, add diluted milk, beat well, and bake on hot griddle lightly greased. Send for free booklets of recipes, and sugges- tions for mixing Pet Milk and Fruit Juices. PeT MILK COMPANY (Originators of Evaporated Milk) 836 Arcade Bidg., St. Louis, Mo, ANZA LRWis

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ie OF eae How absurd some of them seem to be, when we look backward! j Would we be willing to adopt the grotesque styles to which our grandfathers submitted? It would take a constitutional amendment, at least, to drive us to such things. Some fashions are accepted because they promote comfort or reveal graces, but what impulse could have ae , brought facial fur trimmings and hazardous hoops ¥ into favor? There must have been a tremendous ites “ compelling force back of whiskers that reached from 3 y ear to ear, and skirts that left no room for doubt. If the underlying purpose of such encumbrances was ‘ to eliminate difficulty in telling the sexes apart, its N effectiveness can hardly be questioned. + Here a disturbing thought intrudes. Since women have gone in for knickies and bobs and gubernatorial authority, it is conceivable that whiskers may in time have to serve again, as they served originally, to show that men are men. The horror of such a possibility becomes evident when we see how the well-groomed man of to- day would look with such whiskers as were fashionable sixty years ago. A clean shave daily has become a business, as well as a social requirement. What a difference a few years make in fashions! ere ruth. in advertis ing eeeteleu=r— hone sty in manufactur: TODAY~ | The middle-aged man looks young k shaves every morning. Colgate’s Rapid-Shave Cream makes it e close, moist lather goes to the base of the be softens it instantly where the razor’s work is Colgate’s is soft and creamy; it does not c the brush, and it is most quickly turned into la It leaves the face scothed and velvety. ** Let.us send you a trial tube of this mar- velous cream —enough for 12 better shaves than you have ever had. Just fill out and mail the coupon, with 4c. COLGATE & CO. Established 1806 NEW YORK