The Saturday Evening Post 1927-07-09: Vol 200 Iss 2

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THE SATURDAY Ey OST JULY 9, 1927 Alice M. Williamson — Richard Washburn Child —Thomas McMorrow Glenna Collett —Joseph Hergesheimer — Fannie Hilbourne — R. G. Hirk

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the Sampler after Sports —A wee bit of fatigue —a touch of appetite. The varied candies in the Sampler take care of both. Give “pep” to the players and contentment to those who look on. Chocolates ee Sold thronghisslécted agerits everywhere. Each agency served direct. 4

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST JOU will like this new model Pocket Ben. The service it will give you is equalled only by its good looks. It is handsomely designed and you will especially like its attractive, easy-to-read dial. WESTERN CLOCK COMPANY, Factory: Peru, Illinois. Jn Canada: W ? / rice lightly Aigner LA SALLE, stern Clock Westclox cw She new model Pocket Gen It’s a sturdy, steady, faithful friend—the watch you will want to carry every day. The new model Pocket Ben is sold everywhere. Price $1.50. W ith luminous dial that shows correct time both night and day, $2.25. [LEN OTS... Bs— As Company, Limit

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 "I adore your tea and your kitten—but I like c your teaspoons best of all...” » **My dear—it’s a secret-—but that whole silver 4 ‘ } set came out of last week § pa) envelope er MADE BY THE MAKERS COMMUNITY PLATE 7PAHE BACHELOR-MAID who must support her picturesque | . ae JL tastes on her own salary, finds in Tudor Plate lovely services and occasional pieces that soothe her aesthetic cravings, without putting /v0 permanent a crimp in her annual income. Four patterns... all lovely .. . chic— correctness — beauty . . . at nothing-to-speak-of each! Services of Tudor Plate prove again the fad that good taste in appointments may be independent of income... FOR INSTANCE: the ‘'Honeymoon Set”’ of silverware for four covers, in Tudor Plate—20 pieces, smart as next month’s vocue—costs as little as $9.75... and ever) piece is guaranteed for twenty-five years of use. The MARY STUART DESIGN ILLUSTRATED

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netncrinn THE SATURDAY Company } | Cyrus H.K. Curtis, President | C.H. Ludington, Vice-President and Treasurer P.S. Collins, General Business Manager Wal s alter D. Fuller, Secretary | | Williem Boxd, Advertising Director | Independe nce Square, Philade Iphia Founded APD! 1728 hy Be London: 6, Henrietta Street Covent Garden, W.€ Copyright. 1927. by The Cure | Patent Office and Foreign Countries. Entered os S«

Publishing Company in the

Volume 200 Jal Q IN lg ¥ MIO O N 1 HI eyes ola and Italian-speaking young men in Cavaroni’s Banking and Tourist ILLUSTRATED BY MA Agency turned upon

the she strode Is tne word. Her heauty, her clothes, her con- iousness ol both, herwhole ai ever lan I party car

She was followed, as a kite is followed by its tail, at some listance by a female, also well-dressed, but without an air of any kind, unless perhaps a suggestion that she would be happier, more at peace, in a home for distressed ’ gentlewomen,

than trailing across Kurope after a girl ld have tried to put Queen Eliza- beth in her place.

who woul The girl was Gail Grant, one of the prettiest, and by all odds, the most disa- greeable young woman in the United states. But the clerks at Cavaroni’s had never yet heard of Gail Grant. This was her first day in Venice, therefore they had no idea how disagreeable a beautiful girl can

They were

that this was an earl) uncrowded hour, that they might look at her without being obliged to attend po- litely to the dull needs of ordinary people Germans and others. Signor Enrico Bueno was selected at te- a glance by the whi clad vision who strode as queens should stride, but don’t. He had more presence and aplomb than his younger colleagues, and Miss Grant steered straight for him. The favored one bowed, awaiting commands, ready to respond in almost any tongue. Most clients of Cavaroni began with ‘‘Good morning”’ or ‘“‘Good afternoon” in the language they knew best, but not Miss Grant. She hadn’t been brought up to waste greetings upon her inferiors, and she aimed abruptly for the point, while her companion hovered, helplessly disapproving, in the background. “I’ve just come to Venice,” announced Miss Grant. Not “we,” mind you, but ‘I’! “I’m at the Hotel Danieli, and I may sta

y several weeks.”

Oc. THE Copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., JULY 9, 1927

o be a gentleman, reall) That means he n history I don’t care so muc! I've had guides who answered mj their shoulders in that fore

be able to get me in ev th anyone shabby

George Horace Lorimer EDITOR Frederick § Bige low Thomes B. Costain, Wesley W. Stout, B.Y. Riddell, Thomas 1 Ass ate Eciit “Ne dA bee | I Office P} ‘ IS7T9. Add ' tr i ™ cr ! w. Mich De Mou , Wis.. St. F ir n" C ity, Mo. Seve \ " Te c j t f Ne 4 Ang < $2.00 By Aste ti

Number 2 lal Al IU Ie ; f all the English-speaking, ° ° ° Hi: French-speaking, caitinmemiiiens By Alllice MI. William 2SOMmM wou

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A good thing it was! thought Enrico Bueno. If she’d required more she would have been wanting Saint Mark, to undertake the job, though Saint a suitable partner for a thé dansant at patron ol Venice, Mark would not be the Hotel Danieli. The most responsible man at Cavaroni’s, however, had . born yesterday, and the slogan which made Cava- ‘’s what it is today was: ‘‘ Never discourage a client. Promise him what he asks for and make him believe he has not | r ot bee he said, in his correct English, 1 by a Brooklyn accent which he had picked up , before the war. “‘I see just what you want, n supply exactly the right gentleman, if he is not uch engaged already to take up the work.” ‘oo much engaged?” almost snorted Miss Grant, grow- in the cheeks and at the tips of the ears. ‘“‘ Do > what you want Rag signs of nowed on the of Miss Gail Grant, painted her a deep rose \ and ght sparks of sapphire light into immense blue ‘My name nt. Miss Most In most Gail Grant people countries have heard of my father, G whether \ » engaged or disengaged? If you haven't got the right person ready I'l for me someone Nas At the period of acquiring his B r act r 1. . + srooklyn ent 1 Bueno hat Signor the | name ol Gaillard Grant, in seen connection with a certain chewing n, flash nightly in jeweled colors along the Great White Also, he had chewed the gum. And, besides, the hter of Gaillard Grant was more brilliantly beautiful parent’s electric sign. For these reasons for the reputation of Cavaroni, he kept his temper ( ontrol. in her ‘The gentleman I think of for you is not a professional and is not in our employ, Miss Grant,’’ Bueno ex- ‘“No one else in Venice could possibly fulfill all and if I may say so, no one except could possibly obtain such services. As a favor his gentleman might possibly accept an offer from “julremenits, cious! To hear you, you might be talking '” again almost snorted Miss Grant. Upon exclamations of hers would have ips these fied snorts ntleman in question does happen to be a ly returned Enrico Bueno. subdued Gail Grant for four companion to look more alive than of time. Silence reigned in the save for the breathing of eight young light rustle of celluloid and paper niormation nd 1 caused her even “ame pace And willing to be a guide?”’ re- peated Miss Grant at length. ‘‘Pickings for princes must " . ” be pretty poor, then, in Venice. Oh, a prince, i admitted the agent, “for This one was a distinguished soldier, Postwar pickings are,” es ar j ott ers, but the family fortunes—never immense in his day— have—er—diminished. What would you be prepared to offer him?” “What would a prince ask?” retorted the girl with in- herited shrewdness, prepared to beat down whatever it was, on principle, as she had been advised one must do with everything Italian. But Cavaroni’s prize young man was also shrewd, with true Venetian shrewdness. ‘‘Begin high and never go low”’ is a motto, entirely without vowels, in the ancient dialect of Venice. ‘‘The prince, if he accepted, would cer- tainly not look at less than one thousand lire a day, if that,” Bueno announced firmly. ‘It would be of no use to ap- proach him with a less generous suggestion.” ““My dear,’”’ ventured Miss Molesey, the companion, “that is a great deal of money to spend on a guide every day—even for a prince, and counting in lire.” July 9, 1927 “Well, when will you know about it?” she changed her mind and inquired. “Within two hours. Would you wish to return here, madam, or shall I telephone to you at Danieli’s, just before midday?” “Phone,”’ decided Miss Grant. ‘‘Come along, Mole.” The kite then sailed away, followed as before by its humble tail. “Dio mio! What a devil of a girl!’ remarked a colleague when the door had shut. “She brings equinoctial to Venice! With all her beauty, I would not be in the prince’s shoes if he takes her on—no, not if she gives him gold ones studded with diamonds! It is Dantarini who is in your mind, of course, Bueno.” “Yes, itis Dantarini,’’ admitted Bueno with reluctance, for if he could have hidden the name of the candidate he would have done so. That, however, was impossible. The agency did busi- with Danta- rini, and in the beginning it had come through Bueno. All knew that Bueno adored Dantarini, under whom he had served in the war. In every way he strove to promote Dantarini’s ness inter- ests, such as they were. It was Dan- tarini and no other he had thought of for this beautiful she devil. Poor Dantarini! And yet, one thousand lire a day, possibly for weeks, toa man in Dantarini’s present position as they saw it—well, he had been a good He had decorations. soldier war At least he not those! would have sold He might need to gaze at them now and then, to revive his courage, for after all a soldier is not invariably a suc- cess as a tamer of tigresses. As business was slack at the end of the season, Bueno For the First Time Since She and Mole Had Arrived to Do Europe, Gail Grant Took an Interest in History If she had not spoken, Miss Grant might have uttered the same opinion. But to hear it from Miss Molesey made it beneath contempt. The girl’s look darted blazing sap- phires at poor Miss Molesey. It commanded her to “Shut up!” as plainly as eyes can speak. ’ “What is the exchange?” she inquired aloud, and the agent quoted the current rate for that day. “All right, I'll give that if the man suits,”’ she agreed, “though not a cent more, so he needn’t ask. Except, of course, I'll give a good tip at the end,” she added, intend- ing, and showing that she intended, to put Venetian princes on a level with American chauffeurs. Gail Grant hadn't been able, with all her money and looks, to marry an English duke, or even anything in the marquess or ear! line. She would find a bitter satisfaction, therefore, in employing a Venetian prince as a guide. “T do not think it would be wise to offer this prince a tip,”’ suggested Enrico Bueno. ““Pooh!”’ said Miss Grant. “I haven’t seen anyone in Europe yet it would be wise to offer a tip to, if you didn’t want him to accept! What’s your prince’s name?” “That I cannot mention until, and unless, he wishes to engage himself,”” returned Bueno. The girl looked Cavaroni’s employe up and down. He was to her an insignificant pawn on the chessboard of her life; yet the expression of his mouth and violently Brooklyn look in his Italian eyes convinced her suddenly that she would gain nothing in a dispute with him. It was a look which she seemed often to produce, and when it came into eyes nothing further could be done. went out, leaving the office in charge of his subordi- nates. Until the next customers came the place buzzed like a beehive, even the bank department making bets for and against the Dantarini-Grant event. Meantime it had not been worth the ladies’ while to return at once to their hotel. Though the month was October and a cold snap had drawn the summer crowds away, the softness of September had come back to Venice. The place appealed to Gail Grant as no place had appealed before. She did not know why this should be so, for it was her pride to belittle the beauty spots of Europe. Yet Venice was to her like nothing else on earth. In fact, it wasn’t earth! It was all sky and water, and palaces that were not real but ghosts of the past. The girl felt her native restlessness leaving her, and rather resented the feeling, yet sensed something exquisite—something like a dream from which one didn’t wish to wake. She had arrived only last night from Florence, and the rose sunset and silver moonrise on the Grand Canal had affected her oddly. She had decided that she would like to stay and see things and find out things. “There’s time to take one of these gondolas and row about for nearly an hour before lunch,”’ she said to Miss Molesey. Miss Molesey had been in Venice before. She had been almost everywhere before. That was why she was Miss Grant’s traveling companion, as she had been the traveling companion of other rich women and girls, though never one who paid so much and flattened her out so utterly as did Gail.

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, | “Oh, let’s take one with two gondoliers, dear,” she ventured. “It’s such a different motion with one. You can get quite seasick. I remember feeling : **Pooh!”’ sniffed Gail. “Of course, a gondola with two rowers is twice as ex- pensive!’’ Miss Molesey remembered to be tactful. “Oh, all right. I'll have two then,” said Gail. So they had two, and Miss Molesey, who was an English- woman by birth—very good birth—and knew a little Italian, told the gondoliers to row alonz the Grand Canal till they were bidden to turn. It was a nice gondola and the rowers were fine, upstand- ing men. They had no horn, but when warnings were needed to keep off other gondolas, they bellowed melodi- ously, like benevolent bulls. Their oars made a delicious, plashing sound, and in the water which mirrored the sky’s blue, lovely colors moved. They were like broken bits of rainbow, Gail almost sulkily told herself, or else drowned flowers. She felt queerly happy. The gondoliers, however, annoyed her by pointing out things. She hated to have it thought by such people that there was anything they could tell her which she didn’t already know. She had the impulse to admire something which had not been pointed out. ‘Tell them to stop here,’’ she commanded Miss Molesey with a gesture. ‘“*Here’’ was a miniature Gothic palace, a mere pink and gray slice of a palace, squeezed in between two other large and important palaces. It was as delicate in its archi- tectural carvings as petrified lace. But even to Gail Grant's eyes, untrained as they were, the building had an exquisite and appealing beauty. The water almost lapped its portal, and underneath the moving crystal, moss-stained marble steps gleamed mys- teriously. When the distant lagoon drank the tide these steps would be uncovered, but now the gondola could glide between graceful, painted posts, almost to the level of the doorway itself. It was a perfect doorway, with two ancient wrought-iron doors thrown wide. So narrow was the toy palazzo that it had only one window of intertwined arches on each side of the door, but above was an adorable balcony with slender marble columns and a row of little marble lions looking down with sad, dignified faces—very old faces, hundreds of years old, and utterly disillu- sioned. The excuse for stop- ping was an unobtrusive sign in gilt letters under the balecony—‘‘Anti- chita’’—and in the windows some green eighteenth-century Ve- netian chairs, with a few folds of ancient em- broidered brocade flung overa gilded console. ‘‘That brocade wouldn't make a_ bad evening cloak to go with my rose velvet dress,” said Gail. “I think I'll buy it.” The hands of the younger gondolier helped her to alight on the marble portal. Miss Molesey somehow fol- lowed. They passed through a vestibule of old colored marble di- rectly into what had once been a fine recep- tion hall. It was fres- coed on walls and ceiling by some great master, as Miss Molesey guessed. But it was no longer a reception hall for noble guests. Itwas an antique shop where all guests were welcome. At the back were double doors which stood open. These showed a room, appar- ently unfurnished, with a wide window that looked out on dark trees and a garden court witl a lovely wellhead in the center. “Well, it Seems THE SATURDAY EVENING POST As Gail and her companion entered the converted hall now a shop—a man came in from the room at the back and closed the doors behind him. Gail didn’t notice him muct at first. She was glancing about to see if there were bro- cades which she liked better than the one in the window The man was just a shopkeeper, and one didn't look at shopkeepers as if they were people. There were other bits of brocade, but none that caught her fancy as the first had done. There were also a few more of the flower-painted, eighteenth-century green chairs, some dark old chests of drawers, a graceful settee or two, a group of statues, a couple of tall gilded lamps, and not a great deal besides, save the magic gold network of light from the canal that hung like a waving canopy over the ceiling and walls. Miss Molesey addressed the man in her school-teacher]y Italian. “I speak English if you prefer it,”’ he said. Gail looked at him then, for his voice had an unusual quality, something authoritative in it. His accent was very like that of the young English duke who had been nice to her for a few minutes and then had hurried away, never to return. Funny an Italian should have an accent like that! He might almost be an Englishman—one of thos Oxford or Cambridge men who drawled as if they owned the whole world and you were dirt under their feet! He was a tall man, spare, though strong of build. His face was rather long and very brown, though his hair had red lights in it. He had those smoke-gray eyes of Northern Italy which can be as cold as the sea or hot and stormy as sirocco. “How much is that big piece of rose-colored brocads embroidered with silver, in the left-hand front window? Gail inquired. “Ten thousand lire,”’ the man answered. “Oh, nonsense!”’ sneered Miss Grant, living up to the precept that you must beat these Italians down. ‘“‘I’ll give you four thousand.” “TI am sorry, madam,” replied the man, ‘“‘but I have only one price for my things.”’ “‘Is this your shop, or are you a clerk?”’ Gail wanted to know. to Me Like a Fraud to Cail Yourself a Prince When You're a Shopkeeper’’ “Tt is my shop,” said the man. “Well, it’s ridiculous to ask all that money for a bit old stu ’ Gail protested ‘I'd have to cut it uy to make a cloak of it.’ ‘It would be worse than ridiculous, madam, to up,” the shopkeeper dared to crit U ‘That i pe fifteenth-century convent work, worthy of a museum “Well, you have a nice way of se ng your goods'”’ « ploded Miss Grant. “Telling customers what to do wit! them!” ‘I would not need to tell a connoisseur what to do wit} that brocade,”’ returned the shopkeeper It isn’t your fault that you are not a connoisseur, but Iw eter to se the brocade to someone who ts ‘Well, I test ou now I w give t } for the stuff, to be cut up for a cloak! ‘I will not se t to be cut up,”’ was the mar iitimatun “You won't? “No, madam, I won't. Not that I wouldn't be zlad t sell. I’m anxious todoso. I'm really sorry to offend a cus- tomer. But this is an unusual case. It can’t be helped That bro ade is wortny to nave a room fh tt Ww t off. If you can afford it, why don’t you build one ‘Well, of all things!’” murmured Ga ‘Suppose I told you, now, I'd buy it and wouldn’t cut it up, would you se t to me? ‘Yes,”’ said the man, “with pleasure ‘How would you know that I'd kee p my wo Yo ‘You are too—abrupt, I think, to be a liar, madam.” ‘My gracious, you are a queer shopkeeper !"’ Gail} gasped ‘I may be ‘Do you wish to buy the brocade It’s my misfortune.”” He smiled grimly ‘And give you my word not to cut it up ‘Yes, just that.” The girl burst out laughing. She had a dormant sense of d Gaillard. “* We remember Venice and a crazy shopkeeper by, I will Luckily I got a lot of American money changed today She bought the brocade, pa d for it, and hi humor, handed down by o , yes, just to chase wrapped to take away with her in the waitins The man, who wrapped it himself, seemed quite sorry t part from the old thing. He looked at it, as you mig lovingly But perhaps he did that to show off Ft was time to returr to the hotel, as a mes- sage might come before long from (avaronis The shopkeeper did not stand at the door and bow. Far from that. As soon as he decently could he turned his back and went into the room be- hind the shop. An old lady sat there on one of three beautiful chairs, her elbow on a rare re- fectory table which com- pleted the furniture of the almost dismantled apartment. Aman stood talking to her with the air of one whe would not sit in the Presence. The sunlit window, with the trees and the court, and a glimpse of that carved marbleand wrought-iror wellhead, was like a grea lighted picture on the dark wal 7 eee — Did she see me? Did she speak o mered the man who stood by the table “No. I do not thin! she saw r yne.”’ ( turned the shopkeene But why I forgot exp ‘ Enrico Bueno You don’t understand. That is the Miss Grant I came here to talk about. If you thought of accept ng, it would be bett that 0 . I he ett i. ‘ ore re efore Continued on Page i116)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST QO MUCH ROM the isleted, inleted, rocky coast of picturesque ‘Da!matia to the drab grime of Ironville, Pennsyl- is a considerable sail; but little George IIli¢ enough to make it. It is also a considerable for the Illyrian shore is incom- spt at night, when the mill blazes As an Adriatic sailorman, lié just about earned enough to live—on fish. 1 rigger hand, who knew his ropes; as pusher, even, i rigger gang of fellow countrymen at Susquehanna , George made enough not only to live—on meat once every day if but to save up swiftly for the day when it would be possible for him to go back to Dalmatia to sail a boat from that time on, on the entrancing Adriatic water, for pleasure are compensations. he desired purposes only, and be damned to fish. Personally, I have my doubts about George é ever going back. If he does, I shall not to blame him if he takes a few thousand an dollars out of the country with him goes. For every dollar George might away, he’d leave behind a fine square he one Amerie when he take worth of work, good honest Slavic and dollar’s worth of work compares, I’ve found, most favorably with any other dollar's worth I’ve ever purchased. But I don’t think George will ever leave. Dalmatia is beautiful, no but Pennsylvania is not without its a share to make Dalmatia any other region in the world extend itself match. Ironville itself is terrible; but if you will climb the hill behind it high enough to see above the hulking mills, and if there is wind enough to blow the belch- ing smoke down flat, there before you lies the Susquehanna, beautiful as its name. Islands of emerald bedeck it, high green hills hem it, to the north a handsome city dollar's measure; a Slavic George likes it here. aoubpt share of loveliness tands, where men have flung across the water structures which, strangely, do not mar the work of God. Span upon span men have made ways from bank to bank, add- ing charm to the scene, so that those who ook can give a silent prayer of thanks for at least one human device almost impos- sible to make unbeautiful—the arch. No; an inborn love for beauty need not take George Iili¢ out of Pennsylvania. Only that inborn love which all men have for native land need dothat. And George’s children, who after all will govern George’s actions, do not have this feeling for Dal- matia. George's children are Americans and good ones, George being a good Dal- natian, and man No, George will stay. And the fact that his few thousand will remain here with him means not a thing tome. America has lots of dollars, but men as good as little George are always at a premium in any country. Unless George finds it suddenly expedient some dark night silently to depart our shores, George will stay on. But twice now that I know of George has seen it necessary to remove certain persons out of lives of very And sometime George's tech- ip up on him, and someone besides me will find One of the times I know about, a man was tampering with his home. The other time aman tried andedly to kill his friend. I, personally, with heart, approve of how George goes about saving Sooner or later both these vees would have become criminal charges on the But the law courts are jealous of prerogative, f George ever runs afoul of them, he may depart for r Dalmatia at I helping him; for, as say, I heartily approve of George and all his works. And he should take a hundred thousand good American dol- lars with him as he goes, it would be jake with me. He from America when he rid America of questionabie usefulness. nic will sl him out money Oi us taxpayers high speed earned that much Andrija Vasi Andrija Vasi¢ was young and strong and handsome, and only two pounds lighter than a mule. He had also brains. But he was loser, and that let Andrija out. There ny things worse than a poor loser. One of them 6 nner 4 ir oor W ner. Andr a poor ija was that also. By R. G. KIRK ILLUSTRATED BY BARTOW V.V. MATTESON Charlie Simms, to be sure, made a big mistake ever to wrestle with that strapping Serb. But Charlie was only a transit man at the time—a kid fresh out of college, and he simply could not resist the fun of going to grips with a fel- low bigger thau he was. You can’t blame Charlie. He seldom ran across a man that big. And he was too full of the joy of life to give thought for the day when he would be bossing these same men, and that there were limits to the familiarity an executive may indulge toward his men. **Janko or Andy or Gunga, You're a Better Man Than I Am. Shake, Dominic!"’ It was lunch hour, and the survey gang was putting the shot with a broken piece of pig iron they had found. Char- lie Simms was away out ahead at the final throw, when he noticed a big Slav laborer watching. “Here, Janko,”’ Charlie invited, “‘you try push’m little bit.’ The man sullenly shook his head. ‘‘ You’re big enough to heave it off the plant,’”’ insisted Charlie. ‘‘Come on, push, Janko.” The big fellow stepped forward a little farther before his gang of resting countrymen. ‘No versteh dot push’m,” he said. ‘‘ Plenty versteh dis business, me.’’ And he took hold of one of his buddies that just then came up beside July 9,1927 LeCLRIEC him, put a neck hold on him and downed him with a quick twist that made the fellow yelp with pain. asked the big Slav insolently. What, I’m asking you, was Charlie Simms to do? Go over there and take him, nothing else. But Charlie didn't He got taken. That big young Serb threw Charlie for a loop, and nearly broke Charlie’s neck doing it. never saw the combination of a worse winner and a better loser than the end of that fall witnessed. Charlie got up. He felt of his neck and dusted himself off. He revolved his head a time or two to make sure the thing still worked. Then, grinning ruefully, he walked after Vasi¢, who had turned his back on the vanquished and stood now receiving the congratulations of his country- men. Simms tapped him on a shoulder and put out a hand. The big Slav turned. ‘*Shake, Janko,’’ Charlie said. Vasi¢ kept hand at side. ‘“*No Janko my name,” Vasié said. ‘‘ You t’ink « man be Hunky John—t’ink every Slavic man No good Stephan, some be Jura, some Alexande Pavel. Everyman different. Every man be self no mule. Me, I be Andrija Andrija Vasi¢.”’ Charlie Simms grinned. ‘‘Who gives a damn?” asked Charlie. Andy or Gunga, you’re a better man than I am Shake, Dominic!” Dominic! Andrija Vasi¢, the Slav, could see no humor in that sally. He turned his back to Charlie Simms. Half a step away, one foot still raised, a h: fell on his shoulder and he spun Charlie Simms still confronted him, hand out to shake. ““No shake hands you,” said Vasié. ‘“‘ You try make fool for me, so every man you gang laugh. Me, I push’m you down for dirt. Today | push’m you; maybe tomorrow push’m you just asam¢ Aht’s no today, tomorrow, no time. ‘You like?” Sut you very labor be same like jackass. some be r, Joza, ‘Janko or Organ-grinder name! about Some day you gon’ be big boss engineer why I be ’fraid for you Go to hell, you.” Every race both kinds —Illi¢s and Charlie Simms was an American variety of I just happened to be a Serb. His kind is plen every race. Charlie Simms said, ‘‘Come on, Gottlieb, you shake has Vasiés hands or else In answer to which, Vasi¢, incensed, and a poor win- ner, let pride toss him a cropper. He struck Charlie’ hand away. The difference between the first set-to and the second was that Charlie Simms was mad the se mad was he in fact that he deliberately let the big Slav get that head lock on him again the Slav and the world at la break it. He nearly got himse of tin ear doing it, pulling his head out of that hold; but cauliflower ears or not, his head came out wit! such a snap that Vasi¢ went completely off his ond time. So to prove to himself, ge that he could ta . I lf « rye r ll a pal! balance, and before he could recover, Charlie had ambled up his frame and slapped a body scissors on him that drove a grunt out of him big as a bale of cotton. It wasn’t long then. Vasié didn’t. Crushed breathless by that cruel scissors, he lay black-faced and still, gasping ir Soon Simms got up. agony to get breath tohislungs. At last he crawled erect, and there stood Charlie with the grin } on his face and his hand still out. But Vasié turns his back to him again, hot murder in his hea He was as bad a loser as he was a winner. A chain boy yelled, ‘‘Oh, Charlie, going to let him get away with that, are “Bloodthirsty brat!’”’ admonished Charlie. ‘A that’s licked me’s got to shake. If he shake or not. That’s up to him.” Charlie Simms went up the line of a transit for the more delicate and better paying job of handling men. But as Charlie went along, good sportsman- ship went with him. Every man who ever worked for Charlie got a fair break, including Andy Vasié. But Vasié was a trouble breeder, a disturber of industrial peace in the construction outfit at Susquehanna Steel. And finally Charlie had to fire him off the plant—which als) was a fair deal all around to everyone, including you're ney you’ mar loses to me he car soon left the handling

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST . Vasié. But Vasié¢ got back on the plant again. The construction department was entirely sep arate from production, and as Vasié had a a and rivet guns and backing-out punches and hand sledges good head on him, he found no trouble getting ad Sinalls Charlic Had to Fire playing their mad trap drums the terrific orchestra of a job. He was holding down a job as crane- Him Off the Plant — Which Was a steel had hammered the resilience out of Pap’s tympanum man in the boiler shop when we went in there Fair Deal All Around to Everyone Sut the strange fact was that Pap could almost hear you to do a lot of work. whisper when you talked with him in the deafening racket ; Charlie Simms was a resident engineer in construction overhead bridge crane. It hangs to one side of a mill like of his boilershop. At first I used to think t no phenome- f then, and as I knew that he and old Pap Danna, boss at an octopus plastered up against the glass side of an aqua- non, but mere lip reading. But I soon found that he really | the boiler shop, went as well together as beefsteak and po-_ rium, and it crawls along the mill wall from end to end heard. Nature had evidently worked another wonder of ) tatoes, I gave that work to Charlie. under the bridge cranes’ lofty span, reaching atentacle out adaptation. She had, no doubt, in protection, adjusted the : Pap Danna, chief at the boiler shop, was a prince. He and down to snatch up what delectable thing it may. tension in Pap’s eardrums so that they functioned best } didn’t look it. He looked more like something that the One thing Pap Danna wanted in connection with these while vibrating to his shop’s unearthly din. At any rate, \{ cat had just dragged in. Just the same, he was a prince. new wall cranes. He wanted them rigged up so that the n his shop, his ears were absolutely keen. To which trait, | Princes, as I am given to understand, do not as standard could not only be operated from their own small operator's difficult of belief, Charlie Simms owes many a grand equipment have just one eye, and they are not usually cage but from the cages of the bridge cranesthat ran above salaam. Except for that peculiarity we would have had | deaf, nor do they usually lack two middle fingers of ahand. them. Wise Pap—planning against theday when the com- to measure Charlie up some years ago for one of thoss You think of them as young and sprightly, lithe and deb- ing rush would be over and he could cut down one operator, plush-and-lumber sleeping garments onair. Pap wasn’t young or sprightly, lithe or debonair. the bridge-crane operator being able to control the wa, For on a certain day the lengthening of the boiler shop There are no young wrecks, sprightly wrecks; and physi- crane under him without leaving his high perch. was done, and the wall cranes were up, and the electrica cally, Pap was mostly wreckage. But spiritually and We gave Pap what he wanted, but it resulted in a very department had Charlie Simms’ O. K. to turn on the juice mentally, he was all there, as you could very easily find out elaborate system of wiring and controls, and made neces- next day and try them out. Before that day was over it | by going into the boiler shop and starting something to find sary the installation of a great array of conductor bar was C ie’s job to make a thorough inspection of all the out who was boss. Pap’s name was notinthe Almanachde along the building sides. Light angle irons, they were, run- work which he was responsible. ’ Gotha; but if the Almanach had been compiled on a basis _ ning the full length of the building, on which electric con- If a crane-rail stop was not securely bolted, or if some | of ‘“‘what”’ instead of “‘who,”’ Pap tact shoes would slide, delivering power, squarehead had left a wrench where it would fall into a } would have topped three-quarters if desired, through the controls of the set of gears when the cranes were tried, Charlie was due | of the names it recorded. Pap—we moving bridge crane overhead to the for the riding of his life 1 admit it in the final estimates—— had wall crane operating under it, and per- So, late that afternoon, down at the far south corner of | a nose and chin to make him readily haps the full shop length away. Eight the shop, Charlie started to climb the gable end of the \} mistakable for Mr. Punch; but z or ten of these long angle bars there building. He reached almost the leve! of the iowest of the | ust the same, we hold our ground. were, supported on small brackets to ladder of conductor bars. Today was his last « to ust | Hewasa prince. Whoever claimed the building columns, placed one above that easy way aloft. With one hand on a little channel bar |} he was Prince Charming anyway? another. that acted as a gable-window slide, he reached cross cor? H | Prince Charming would have Little George Illié and his rigger gave a daring little upward spring, and with his body free ] lasted forty-two minutes in asteel- gang of Adriatic fishermen swung of all support except the light touch on the gable channel, ey | | works. Pap Danna had lasted those angles into place for C lie, iught the lowest angle of that ladder of conductor bars \ forty-two years and still was and as they were being erected to have death, grim and horrible, go tearing, ripping \| going strong. He was still Charlie often used them foraladder through him. He tried with all the power in him to let go i | giving his old shop Hail as he climbed up and down the shop but handclasps out of hell itself had hold of him and would } Columbia, shooting the stuff walls to reach the new wall-crane not let him loose { through at such a rate that rails and girders, and the cranes Most deaths by electricity are by high-petential stuff | finally he got the job of fabri- themselves, to keep an eye on _ stuff that hits so hard, so blastingly, that a man is flung off cating all the steel for the new the work. dead before he ever has a chance to know death's menace. || open-} building now on And one day old Pap Danna__— But with four-forty, alternating current, he knows. Four paper in the drafting room. cautioned him. hundred volts, A. C., will kill you slowly. It holds, and you ‘*Can you swing it?”’ L asked “Don’t you forget,’’ admon- an no more drag your hands out of its cruel clasp than if Pap, after it had been all de- : ished Pap, “that some day some huge vise crushed your finger bones. And asthat giant cided that he could. : . i. there’s gonna be four hundred _ holds, it seems to shake you literally to death A racking Pap sized up the job in- ee ; ’ - . | and forty volts A. C. hopping terror rages through your every fiber; a hideous millior stanter. ‘‘You gimme a couple - ; ~ through them angles. Don’t shocks a minute that you can bear and live —live less and extra bays’ length to my old you go using them for alacder less and less, while they claw their way back and fort | hang-out, and a couple wall then.” through blood and bone and flesh and nerve. You stay cranes to work under my bridge “Fat chance,”’ d conscious for a while, feeling the strength o i yy cranes, so l’]] have enough hoist Charlie. ‘I’m the pped to rags, feeling the mental strength of vou minced drums overhead to handle the going to give the s to bits, feeling the very blood of you electrolyzed and your tuff, and then bring on your open- orders toturnonthejuicewhen heart slow down—slow down. If you could just let go! | hearth blue prints.” they’re all O. K. After that If you could just let go! You would fa onscious } As usual, Pap had whacked the they’ll be dynamite and I'll thirty feet or more, to the hard floor of the boiler shop; but nail head. We had already planned know it. Don’t worry. I'll find that is nothing—nothing. If you could only, only drag to give him just about these things. another way aloft.” your fingers out of that hideous cursed grip! So we went to it. Steel, as we say, had used up I was talking to Pap Danna that day in his shop. Little { Charlie Simms drew the job. much of old Pap Danna. Pap w George I was beside us How you hooked up?” I had And Charlie, working hand in glove cheating the undertaker. Pap had ist asked Pap quietly with old Pap Danna, fairly sneezed a flying start on the old grave lo go ef,’ he had answered in my ear You s up the two-bay addition to his digger. Much of Pap had long. wher shop, and the two new wall cranes. since gone the way of mortal fles} ‘Where's Simms?” I shouted then to little George hes t } rere A wall crane is a funny kind of although at that there was more “Charlie jus’ gone up for wall-crane track,” said Ge % onar rill fr . . animal. It doesn’t spanamillirom I Have My Doubts About George Tilicé respectable Ever Going Back ol us who will eventually de er Continued on Page 145) real man left in Pap than In most “Inspect ‘em last time little b

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Inquiries Imto SKING questions is a!l the rage at the in- moment. Large companies of information addicts are earnestly seeking the absolute low-down on such throbbing problems many stomachs has a cow, how high is the tide in the Bay of Fundy, and who were the daughters of Macbeth. The search for light on these and many quisitive is how other essential items is feverish and continent-embracing. WY When we 1 +2 66 who said discover what French king it was I am the state,”” who invented the and detained the Israelites in the wilderness, we score six; but if e fall down on who was Button Gwinnett, what the difference “‘asphyxiate”’ and ‘“‘aspiculate,”” or what had Buphagos, Adephagus and Vitellius in common, our humiliation is When we, as a people, after knowledge we not be deterred. is why we know so many lothespin, how long Moses between great start out will ngs that are not so It has long seemed to me that field for a profitable inquiry raced in the subject of the drinking of liquor. from concern it shown by is emi This, judging vast our llxr all ally all practic izens, of whatever x, is a topic of vital Yet I have examined several of the popular question and find but few queries relating this hooks matter, and those of an academic This is an that is un- character omission explainable, for the dominant trend of all American conversa- on in certain circles lor the past seven -or ght years has been mg alcoholic lines, and the lack f American information as a base this conversation has been, and | prodigious. Hence, it meet, at this period of question making, to make a few questions myself and seek for the answers; because, I am frank to say, I do not understand why liquor, in any aspect of it, has become of such importance in the life of a part of the United States. Personally I am well acquainted with liquor. I know itintimately. I know how t is made, why it is made, why it is drunk and all about t in most all its forms. I have a wide and comprehensive knowledge of liquor, personal and particular and specific. I know it from both angles, as a drinker of it and as a non- of it. 1 know its actions, reactions and reflexes, on myself as an individual but on my fellow man both individually and in the mass. Anyhow, seems drinker not only and woman, Who is John Barleycorn? What is He? hye )WING these things, [am puzzled over this pother this nation-wide exclamation over it, this ion to it by large numbers of the people, this this placing of liquor to the front as one of important and essential attributes of life, this cing a fetish of liquor, of bowing down and worshiping t, this setting up of liquor as a prime factor in the progress of our civilization, this spell of booze, this how] for hooch, this frenzy over alcohol, this scheming, contriving, reckless collusion, disregard of quality or to sources, contempt for physical re- stent, unsane if not insane devotion at has developed in certain circles Amendment went into effect. puzzled, I ask my ‘tions and earnestly seek for ive and convincing answers, and the first of those is this: What is this priceless boon that the of the United States, by authority of the Congress, which Congress was, in turn, authorized by two- thirds of the states in the Union, seeks to keep from the about liquor, addict ragy els AiZY Cla fanatic mor, the most mak expenditure, criminal price, indiff ictions thi John ce the Eighteenth erence s wild, insi Barleycorn th Thus ques tormat lestions Government By SAMUEL G. BLYTHE CARTOONS BY HERBERT JOHNSON Gastritis Has Now Joined Up With the Other Painful Little Playmates of Continued Drinking people? What is it? Is it some elixir of life? Is it some fountain of youth? Is it some panacea for all diseases? Is it some vital and indispensable factor in progress? Is it some great economic force? Is it absolutely necessary to all human well-being? Are the happiness, the prosperity, the mental, spiritual and social growth and perfection of the country dependent on it and clamorous for it? What is this stuff, anyhow, that has so obsessed the American people? Is it some marvelous elixir that makes for brilliant conversation and mental effort and for vast creative accomplishment? Is it a great arcanum for thrift and accumulation and fortune? Is it aspecific for health and a remedy for diseases? Is it necessary for the speedy and successful conduct of business and does it hold the secret of opulence? Is it a corrective for sociological, physiological and psychological ills that afflict us? Is it a cure for poverty or a prescription for affluence? Is it imperative for social intercourse or a restorative for poor trade? Does it make for better citizenship, a higher standard of living, a wider education, a cleaner politics and a wiser government? What is it? Is liquor the panacea, the restorative, the long-sought redress and cure for what ails us? Is liquor any one or all these superlative and admirable adjuncts to American life, or is it just booze, just whisky, gin, beer, wine or some other alcoholic brew or distillation? Is liquor the great desideratum of life, the supreme requirement for happy, successful existence, or is it merely stuff with which and on which one can get drunk? Is drinking liquor a prime requisite for business, health or pleasure, or is it a practice that creates an artificial elevation for a time and provokes a real depression as an after result? Does drink- ing liquor improve the mind, improve the body, improve the conduct or improve the morals; or does it degenerate all four of these somewhat important human attributes? July 9, I ask to know. I have not tasted liquor in more than sixteen years, and possibly I have been missing something. When I see all this liquor excitement, hear all this incessant liquor conversation, note this liquor obsession, observe all the trouble, expense, danger and devotion many of my fel- low citizens, both male and female, put themselves to, to get it, I wonder if my viewpoint is wrong, and if I have not deprived myself of something desirable, even pre- cious. When I note all this outlay of money to get liquor, this wide sweep of bootlegging, hijacking, robbery and murder to obtain it, it gives me pause. When I see what many ordinarily prudent and thrifty fel- low Americans are willing to pay for it, for the privilege of clandes- tinely gulping it down; when I know from my chemist friends and my medical friends the health risks they are taking for the sake of liquor; when I find men and women and boys and girls who carry flasks of liquor with them as habitually as they carry handkerchiefs, talk about liquor constantly, consume it assiduously, make it a paramount fea- ture of their lives in- stead of an incidental one—I debate with myself over my posi- tion as a teetotaler and inquire earnestly if I haven’t a wrong slant on it all. I claim to bring an open mind to the consideration of this matter, because I have had experience on both sides of the line. I was a good workmanlike journeyman drinker in my drinking days and I have been a consistent abstainer in my nondrink- ing days. The trouble with most stu- dents of the habit of drinking is that they are usually special pleaders. The advocates of teetotalism never had, for the most part, any experience as drinkers and the witnesses for John Barleycorn know nothing about abstinence. I put in twenty years as a conscientious experimenter with liquor in its various forms, not as an addict, but as a practitioner of drinking in its usual social and convivial manifestations. I know all about drinking, save in its continued spree, periodical or addiction manifestations. I had the habit, never was in that distressing physical condition where liquor was necessary, but took my drinking as a diversion, and did plenty of it, meantime going on success- fully with my work and my social and business contacts. never Twenty Years as a Serious Drinker INE was versatile drinking and cosmopolitan. I did it all over the world and with all sorts of drinks. I accumulated a far-flung line of drinking acquaintances and companions, and investigated the subject of alcoholic stimulation and consumption from about as many angles as it has outside the angle of the addict. There is a phase of drinking that gets to be a disease, and that is beyond the scope of anything I have to say, and is to be considered only in its pathological aspects. Of course anybody who has knocked about as much as I have has seen somewhat of that sort of thing also, but acute or chronic alcoholism is one thing and the drinking I am talking about is anothe although it was good, workmanlike drinking at that. It was an interesting and amusing side line in my activi- ties for twenty years or so, and until March, 1911. Then I quit. From that time until July, 1919, our national drink- ing continued in the conventional and established manner with which I was familiar—save that, from a angle, I was observing it trom a seat on the water wagon instead of with my foot on the brass rail of I found sincere, personal a bar.

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nothing to puzzle or excite me. Most of my drinking friends, and most of the drinking populace, were drinking in the same old way. Here and there a chap lost his job or his wife or his health because of his boozing. Quite often I went to funerals of fellows of about my age who had been hearty, handy drinkers in their prime. It was all a part of the game — nothing to get agitated about, common- place as walking in and asking Billy to set up the black bottle that held the Old Hoofus you fancied after Billy had inquired: *‘What’ll it be, gents?” Few of the men that I knew or saw and I knew and saw hundreds of them, because I was moving about all over the place and my contacts were with men who do things every- where—considered drinking anything but an incident in the day’s routine. Of course now and then and here and there the boys went out on a bender and made a good, moist night of it, got all lighted up and did some Sweet- Adelining and all that sort of thing, or didn’t get home to dinner because they were detained by some momentous discussion in front of a bar that entailed considerable high- balling, and so on; but that was about all there was to it. Next morning they were mostly all at business——a bit katzenjammery, perhaps, and needing some of the hair of the dog, but there, and things went on as usual. From a Means to an End JOOZE wasn’t the paramount interest in their lives. ) Booze was a diversion, an incident, a five-o’clock relaxa- tion. Those who made it more than that suffered the con- sequences, which were the same then as now, accentuated now by the villainous quality of a good deal of the liquor that is drunk. You took one drink, two drinks, half a dozen drinks, and went on your way. If that way wound up in a Jamboree, as it sometimes did, that was fun while it lasted, and not so funny when it was over; but, either way, it was nothing to turn in a general alarm about and of no particular importance in the general scheme of things. Very few average Americans did any drinking to speak of at home, and women who drank were not numerous. Drinking was then a certainly conspicuous feature, but not an imperative of American life. It was a phase, not a domination. We drank for whatever our various reasons were, and while with many the compelling reason was the crass one of getting drunk, in a majority of cases getting drunk was incidental, even acci- dental, and happened during an evening of conviviality. Then, as now, of course, a cer- tain intake of alcohol, varying with the indi- vidual, caused intoxica- tion; but intoxication was not always the goal. The chaps who went out deliberately to get drunk were few in ratio to the chaps who acquired a jag without any plans in the matter whatso ever, but merely as the night wore along, or as clircum- stances and envi- ronment dictated or induced. Then came war- time prohibition in July, 1919, and THE SATURDAY EVENING POST following that, national prohibition by means of the Eighteenth Amendment and the Volstead Act. Then the national American attitude toward liquor changed. The change was not so marke at first, because, in the first days of prohibitior liquor was to be had. It was not so easily ob tained as in the days of the saloon and the har, but there was considerable of it around and about. As the difficulties of liquor getting increased, the new American attitude toward liquor developed Liquor, which had peen a boor companion of dubious respectability and merit, was hoisted on a high throne to be bowed down to, worshiped and attended There was nothing new about it fer had had liquor since time began. There was no novelty about it save, it may be, the novelty of poisonous fraud in the making of most of it In most of its quantity it wasn’t even good liquor. It was cut, doc- tored, bogus, noxious stuff. The cost of it was anywhere from ten to i twenty times greater than it for- merly was -often more than that. The effects of it were debilitating instead of exhilarating. The effort of securing it was greater than the effort of making the money to buy it. The processes of consuming it became a sodden, sullen task instead of a diversior And liquor did not provide a single new thrill, develop any new faculty, exhibit any novel phase, save the poor quality of it, apparent to the nondrinking and experienced observer— not one. Wherefore, as a student of life, as a citizen who ardently desires to get all that is coming to him in the way of experi- ence and pleasure, as a teetotaler who is puzzled over this change in the attitude a toward a matter about \ i which he ought to know a great deal, I have examined into our present methods of drinking; I have an- alyzed the attitude of Americans toward ¥ = RY liquor; I have delved into the psychologies and physiologies of The Fact of Prohibition is No Real Reason for Their Transition to Drinkers Who Drink Like Lunatics We May be a Hard:-Headed Business Peopte in Many Ways, But Not With Booze. With Booze We are the Supreme Simpletons of the Universe drinking as now done in the United States: I have sought to discover and understand what there is about drinking ind liquor that differs so materially from drinking and iquor as I knew them back in 1910 and for twenty years before that I have studied the subject in all its phases at first hand I have tried to find out why liquor, which was merely whisky, gin or what not in those old days, a drink that made you drunk if you took enough of it, has become the Continued on Page 146

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9,1927 SIAGAL IRILIE STO INT By Joseph Hergesheimer TLLCVUSTTRATE DO BY . GRUGER A Lady Was Waiting to See Him in the Hall T BROAD STREET and East Bay the ranks of the boy; he had a sensitive boy’s questioning candor; and his “It’s no good going on with that,”’ Irvine added. ‘‘ We Carolina Rifle Club broke, and its members gath- voice was as gentle as his air. He contrived, when it was are only too familizr with it. Charleston has been under red about the entrance of the Trenholm banking _ possible, even in the Carolina Rifle Club, tostay unnoticed. nigger rule for six years. Their companions in parade—the older Schiit- It was strange, Fearnes thought, that he had been elected serious.’” He paused. ‘‘ Mingo Harth is back. Openly.”’ continued in marching order toward the Battery. rifle master. There were twenty men in the club better Ashton Charville asked sharply, ‘‘Do you mean the I ‘arolina Rifle Club carried canes and fitted for that responsibility. In fact, he had protested Postle?’’ Yes, Irvine replied, he did. f violets; the bouquets became a difficulty, and against accepting it, but no one had listened to him. He Charville thought he had been executed. ‘After the were temporarily left in a fragrant heap by the door. didn’t, for one thing, like rifles. They, too, filled him with conspiracy with the Haiti slaves. I remember he wa men wore black felt hats, turned up, with green ro- a vague dread; and yet he was in charge of them. Aserious proved guilty.” rray coats of Kentucky jean, huntingshirtswithgreen position. It was enveloped, like all life now, with an un- | black trousers;- but John Fearnes, who was rifle pleasant, a mocking aspect of humor. id a horn in green worsted on his arm. The oc- Walker Irvine had reached the clubrooms before him; id been under the command of Walker Irvine, the Rondelet was there and Dobbs Fenwicke. When the meet- president; and, addressing Fearnes, he directed ing was called to order ten men were present. ia special meeting in the clubrooms above. Irvine spoke: “‘I was sorry to ask you to parade today; had kept his violets, and, going slowly up. it’s troublesome and dangerous, and looked particularly k stairway, he had a feeling that he was partly useless now. I did it for the reason we always show our- negroes know him. They ought to make it impossible.” heir sweetness. He loved flowers, and peace, selves publicly—for effect. But that, I must admit, was Irvine continued: “‘He was with Banks Knell and later himself. The truth was that he loved every- small enough in the election. With Moses successful with Simril—the two most political negroes in the state. owers suggested——quiet gardens and hours; the Franklin J. Moses governor of South Carolina! We can There was a meeting of some sort. I was assured Harth poetry of Thomson's Seasons; drawing-rooms with hardly add anything to that. But he isn’t the business of was truthful. For the moment. If he is we have had no ‘oses, and low charming voices. this meeting. Gentlemen, we are completely in the hands trouble at all yet. None. charming voices, he further realized, were allin of the North. We thought it was bad under Scott; it will rround; perhaps the one really fortunate circum- be worse with Moses. God knows what will happen to the the tragic present was the fact that he owned no state debt. Last year it was over twenty-two million dol- t to a woman. None was dependent on him. lars. Gleaves, one of the worst niggers in South Carolina, he was not concerned by that. Women had is lieutenant governor. Beverley Nash, the Republican strongly attracted him. Through all the forty leader in the state Senate, blacked boots. He was respec- he could remember he had been equally retir- table compared with the senator from Georgetown. The nt. If—before the war, of course—he had president of the Senate is a negro. The Speaker of the Thank God, I haven’t got a black mind. We are here to would have been a teacher of literature or House isa negro. Sois the statetreasurer. Wright, anigger, discuss reality and not superstitions. The reality is bad ; it was he had become, he had always been, is a justice of the Supreme Court. The attorney-general, enough.”’ . man who hated noise and contention; who Elliott, is black, and Grant has put a black postmaster “It seems to me our duty is clear,’’ Charville spoke frightened by brutality; who was frightened in Charleston. Our degradation is almost complete.” again. ‘“‘The Carolina Rifle Club was not organized for rliness. . Why, Fearnes wondered, irritably, did Walker Irvine parades.” ally he was slight, with a pale thin face, slightly repeat what they all.knew? It was clear that the state, as though by the memory of pain, and fragile that Charleston, would be accumulatively worse under nds for the brittle But now our position is more Irvine replied shortly, ‘‘He escaped. That was the last time he was in Charleston until yesterday. He says the Union Republicans are going to elect him mayor.”’ There was a general stir of incredulity. “Why,” Holt Gaddens declared, ‘‘the Postle would cut a Yankee throat just as soon as mine or yours. Sooner, because there would be money in a Yankee’s pocket. The iy I know him better than anyone else does here. The blacks won’t, as Holt suggests, finish him among themselves, because they are afraid of him. He isn’t an ordinary nigger. His name shows that—the Postle. He got most of his influence selling charms. The last time he was beaten for it he insisted they were love charms. But there was a healthy doubt. I ought to say, an unhealthy doubt. Juju, I was told. But I paid no attention to that. Irvine answered decidedly, “Harth is too cunning. He won't expose himself. If he’s nominated he will have an pages of old books. His hesi- Moses than it had been when Scott was governor. Every- escort—soldiers at the door. No, it would have to be { mobile expression remained those of a thing in South Carolina was worse. stopped at Columbia, if possible. I needn’t point out the

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—— SS consequences if he was elected. He hates us all generally and some of us very much in particular. By name, I might say. That isn’t specially important. 1 mean what he could do to us individually. We face that every day. It’s other things. I couldn't even suggest them. I don’t know what they’d be. He has imagination. But we are getting no- where. Do any of you remember Beverley Nash?” John Fearnes unhappily admitted that he had encoun- tered Nash at the Pavilion and on the sloop Annie Walker Irvine was obviously relieved. ‘‘Then, Colonel Fearnes, it is my suggestion you go to the capitol and see Nash privately. Point out to him that the present condi- tion can’t last forever. His carpetbagger friends have left already. Tell him he will soon need the support of his own state. Promise it to him, in reason, if the Postle isn't nominated.” Fearnes agreed. ‘‘ Very well, if that is your decision. I will do what I can, Walker, but 1 haven't any confidence in my success. You won't think I am trying to avoid a dis- agreeable duty.” Irvine smiled. ‘‘Hardly,”’ he said. ‘“‘Not after your record in the war, under fire. John, I am going to be even more unfeeling and turn Mingo Harth over to you per- sonally. You can exercise your ingenuity on him. The re- sources of the club are back of you, of course, but there is no need to spread that on the minutes. We can’t, unhap- pily, wear our bays publicly. Draw, when you have to, on the special fund, and remember we are only a senti- mental rifle club—with bouquets.” John Fearnes walked slowly past Elliott and Tradd streets to the East Battery; the paving and tracks were broken and the openings choked with weeds; the wharves— Boyce’s, the Adger’s and Vanderhorst Wharf were empty and dilapidated; the Cotton Press opposite and a house on Stoll’s Alley had been hit by shells. Be- yond, the water of Charleston Harbor was an idyllic blue The city itself, Fearnes thought, was stagnant; there was no movement in the air; it seemed to lie thick and dead on the roofs. He had been away from Charleston through the last three years of the war, with the Nineteenth South Carolina Infantry: but he could imagine that it had been better through the siege, heroic and unfallen, than it was now. The tonic smell of gunpowder in place of the smell negroes. It was curious—in the past he had liked negroes; he had liked to think that he knew them a little. THE SATURDAY EVENING No one who was white could know more than a little abou negroes. Vague perceptions. Guesses. Fantastic dedu tions He remembered Walker Irvine’s disdain for juju. H own feeling was different; he wasn't as certain about Walker In the past—the incredibly happy past - the truth was, he had been interested in such black mag Only he had called it primitive rel right description. But opy ortunities for finding out about it pract didn’t exist; aside from a price he had beer f congenit unwilling to face. The fact that it ever curred to him had frozen him with f atior Ar with enormous relief, he had given the whole affair up, ex with the horror, it held an undeniable fascir cept for things he accidentally saw and heard. He had at times been able to put scattered hints and words together But, he realized, to no reputable result. He had denied himself the further study of primitive powers 3ut he had, Fearnes insisted, liked negroes until now And what had happened was not their fault. They were bad at present because they were neither slaves nor free That, he saw, might with equal justice be said of himself However, slavery was gone, the old serene days were gone. A new and shameful time, with its corruption, was everywhere evident about him. Fearnes reached the Sout Ahead the White Point Garden, its crépe myrtles set against the blue tide, Battery walk and turned to the right was seductive with a false appearance of peace. The walks were cool in shade, the iron benches commanded tranquil reaches of foliage and water. But it was all, the truth was, treacherous; the retreat of vileness and imminent danger The open Battery walk, in reality, was not safe. He never, at nignt for example, went out alone Yes, the air—now that it was no longer purified by fire was heavy; it was debased like mixed blood. There were, occasionally, muskets discharged into it, but y were muffied and surreptitious; the dull sounds of murder. It would be no better, he realized, in Columbia. Sherman, as usual, had been effective there, utter destruction, use- less. He had engaged himself to preserve the city, but burned it at the signal of three rockets. Soldiers hacking at the fire hose. Breaking the water tanks. Still that, John Fearnes remembered, was war, frightful. He didn’t, now, see how he had lived through it—three years without a conscious moment free from horror, actual and mental Not, though, that one was less real than the j The Chant Was Like the Broken Breathing of an Inconceivable Animal, POST ome yy ‘ M Ha W t ge Hart é ( rse, Wa 4 M ler v ‘ mr gr ‘ ( ‘ ‘ ’ ‘ sed garde ‘ nt ‘ ' ur t was masse \ t ming ‘ et se i roses were the or ng , : ae t Within, th gi all w en hair stood by a tall dusty mir and ti were ments of paper on the floor. John Fearnes went second floor, to an impressive drawing-room wit} length open in long windows on the Batter here was a China carpet, with a design in rose and indig i dull orange on a white ground, the wa were paint terra-cotta red, and tnere were two great it-gias deliers. At the farther end an old man looked up fron table deep in papers. It was Allds Fearnes, John Fearn father. He was making a register of St. Phi The younger asked, ‘‘ How are you getting along ‘I am having the a of a time with the Greens ar tne Greenes,’ he replied ‘There is no difference obser, n the spelling at a It was like that, perhaps you w remember, with the Faulkners. Looking ahead I can see will be the same with the Lees. I may ha o index then all as Leas. Then, on September second, 1732, Childermu the son of Abraham Croft and Ann Maria, was bort in 1732 Ann, the daughter of Childermus Croft and ¢ erine his wile, Was Dorr hut I can’t e ou hat mont It is blurred. I must know when it was His voice and brow were worried, and John Fearne a hand on nis shoulder “he light is fading he explaine “Put the records away until tomorrow and then it w ord until your arm droppe was no one to hear a bell, a fact Alids Fearne forgot The servants are a gone,”’ tt man patiently explained. “‘We have had nor > war began.” Continued on Page 44 per Fearnes Was a Part of It. ‘‘Efe Bruton, Efo que Name Rulon!

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12 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9,1927 GOLF WE WOMEN PLAY Virginia Van Wie OMAN has been golfing, in a serious mood, only thirty-two years, and already in America her progress has attracted such polite notice that the idea of a woman’s winning the Open Championship in competition with the sterner, longer-driving sex, is not so fantastic as it may seem. When the first Women’s Cham- pionship was played, in 1895, Mrs. C. S. Brown won with the amazing score of 132 for eighteen holes. But that performance was not as amusing, viewed from the present state of affairs, as the statement appears to in- dicate. There were mitigating circumstances. When the announcement of the first Women’s Golf Championship was made, there were not more than a few hundred lady golfers in all this land. Only thirteen entered the tourna- and under such ominous auspices, it is not surprising that the winner needed an average of seven strokes a hole. The play was on the nine-hole course of the Meadow- brook Club, which was the longest and most difficult course in America, and there were no women’s tees. Golf did not then take women seriously enough to clutter its On the same course few men aside from the English and Scotch pro- fessionals, could consistently break 100. Last year at Philadelphia, on a rain-soaked course, twelve of the thirty-two women who qualified scored under 90, and all who were so care- less as to require more than ‘ ment, courses with two sets of tees. in the country, By GLENNA COLLETT of this than the women who golf. It is always a man who asks: ‘‘ Will the best women players ever be able to com- pete with the best men?”’ The ideal lady champion who could play a close match with Walter Hagen or Bobby Jones does not, of course, exist except in the imagination of speculative golfing fans who do not play golf. Women lack the strength to play golf as well as men, and there the matter rests. Ifa golfing amazon should appear on the horizon with a consistent drive of 250 yards, there is no reason why she could not tee up with any man in the world and expect to win. As a matter of record, when the difference in strength has been equalized, women have held their own. Miss Cecil Leitch, playing from women’s tees about thirty yards closer to the pin than the men’s tees, defeated Harold Hilton, when he was the British Amateur Cham- pion. Onanother occasion, playing from the same tee, she defeated one of the best English professionals with a handicap of a stroke every other hole. She took a stroke on the even holes, and won 6 up and 5 to go, but in reality she played an even match with her opponent for the thir- teen holes, her margin of six holes exactly balancing the six strokes her handicap had given her. Without any hand- icap at all the match would have been square on the thirteenth green. The Bisque System HEN I played in England in 1925 in the British Women’s Championship, I was very much interested to discover that the leading women players constantly play with the best men, on a handicap basis, and they fre- quently win with a handicap of fewer strokes than the mythical ten that is sup- posed to mark the difference between the golfing prowess of the sexes in America, as estab- lished by the conventional ten strokes variation between men’s and women’s par on most courses. Before playing in the Women’s Championship, in which I was defeated in the third round by Miss Joyce Wethered, the British champion, I played a num- ber of practice and exhibi- N 93 strokes failed to qualify. The average score of the thirty-two ladies who qual- ified was 90. The average in the first championship tournament was about 150. A reduction of sixty strokes in thirty-two years natu- rally leads to speculation as to how many more strokes can be eliminated in five or ten years. Women’s Par » ¥ ip DAY, on most courses, there is a difference of about ten strokes between men’s parand women’s par. That curately difference between the av- erage man golfer and his golfing and under conditions it is not expect a suc- ! confess, pretty ac- represents the sister even reasonable to cessful feminine assault on tion matches, inc'uding one with Cyril Tolley, former amateur champion of Great Britain. I had the usual handicap of a stroke on the even holes, and won the match on the final green. Peculiarly, on the sixteenth and eighteenth holes, in which I was entitled to a stroke advantage, I did not need the handicap. The cards for that match are interesting and are here reproduced from my scrap- book: Collett, out .4 Tolley, out .4 5 Collett, in . .3 Tolley, in ..4 My card includes the handicap. My actual score would be shown by adding a stroke to second, fourth, sixth, eighth, tenth, twelfth, fourteenth, sixteenth and eighteenth holes. Though the world’s golfing honors. No one is more NATIONAL NEWSREE convinced Cecil Leitch of England I actually received a hand- icap of nine strokes, the Glenna Collett in Action and in Repose card reveals that on the seven holes I won, the second, third, ninth, tenth, twelfth, sixteenth and eighteenth, the handi- cap was of actual value on only three holes -the second, tenth and twelfth. As a mat- ter of fact, I could have won that match with a handicap of only six strokes, because on three holes— the sixth, sixteenth andeighteenth — thestroke hand- icap was of no value to me. I recount this not as a personal tribute but as proof that the ten- stroke margin now prevailing between men’s par and women’s par is some- what artificial, if not obsolete. And the fact has come to be recognized, for now tie best women players are satisfied to engage the best of the men if they are given six bisques in an eighteen-hol match. The bisque system of handicap permits the woman to select the stroke given her on any hole she wishes, rather than arbitrarily receiving a stroke on specified holes under an advance agreement. Thus, in my match with Mr Tolley, I had a six on the sixth hole, and as I was entitled to a stroke, my corrected score was five, but the stroke was of no assistance because my opponent played the hole ir four and won it. On the sixteenth I had a three and had to accept a stroke that was not needed, because Mr. Tolley had a four; and on the eighteenth I scored a four ; Mr. Tolley’s five and so wasted the stroke handicap that made my corrected score a three. Had we been playing bisques, I should not have needed these three strokes. gainst Making Every Stroke Count N THIS same day Miss Wethered played S. F. and with a handicap similar to mine, defeated him quite easily. Later in the day Miss Wethered and I teamed against Storey and Tolley and, with a handicap, defeated them in a best-ball match. The greatest weakness in a woman’s game, aside from her lack of strength, is a tendency to be erratic. I have frequently scored a 35 or 36 on one nine of an eighteen-hole match, and 45 on the other. It is not at all unusual to se¢ 2’s and 3's shoulder to shoulder with 8’s on a woman's card. Men as a rule are more consistent, and that is why a woman player prefers six bisques to a stroke every other hole in an eighteen-hole match against her male rivals She can use the bisques on the shorter holes where her play is up to the best masculine standards, and when she has erratic periods she saves the bisques for the time when her nerves have quit fluttering. Storey, 7’s and

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Last summer after Bobby Jones had won the British and let them have it and were still one up. The s American Open Championships, he played a match against halved, and the eighth also, when we used our second Hag ( nd one igh ¢ | Miss Maureen Orcutt and me. The provisions were that bisque. The ninth went to the men by a two-stroke mar ume me ( greate i ilt Miss Orcutt and I were permitted to count our lowest gin and the match was square Hag A that he did ' score, on each hole, be it Miss Orcutt’s or mine. We drove Going into the second nine we had four } ies left. The made é from the same tees and asked no bisques or other handi- tenth hole was halved and the eleventh also, with the aid o caps. The advantage of this arrangement, from our stand- a_ bisque \ two-stroke advantage gave the men the Di e her unv t g M gw ) point, was that the well-known erratic tendencies of women twelfth and made them one up. The thirteenth was |} ‘ , golfers would be lessened, because Miss Orcutt and I and the fourteenth also, with a bisque. We were one dowr x les, al £ t would é ried ( would not be nervous, and show it in our scores, on the with four holes and two bisques left. The match wa mat to t il g efore g by a mars f one same holes. squared on the fifteenth with one of our two bisque W ; The match was played on the course of the Oakland However theoretical all this may tist nly method Golf Club, Bayside, Long Island, and Bobby maintained 7 if getting mu ght on the re 1 ng query of the re at male prestige, winning from us by a margin of one hole. ——— ind stamina of men and womer t! nk Ir Bobby was not at his best, but neither was Miss Orcutt. The trouble with the women that day was too much standardization of play. Miss “ Orcutt and I halved fourteen of the eighteen l holes, so that we really had only four oc- f ‘ ? hat high casions to choose the lower of our scores. n ‘ er wor D That enabled Bobby to win with 77, golf, to the amusement the men, it which is not at all a typical Jones was thought that they were deficient round of golf. i the et In otk One of the matches which word ‘ wert oor putter brought the sexes into competi- hey were t lighty to concer | tion was played at the West- trate serio on the short gan } | chester Biltmore Club at Rye, But I t k that view is mis | New York, a few years ago. The | taken. My observation has been male standard was carried by that women are unusually good ] Walter Hagen and Gene Sarazen, at putting — bette n the whole and in that year they were just t mer Phe short gam about the best men golfers in the mply must be good, because it \ world. The fair sex was repre- out all the game women car sented by Alexa Stirling, who had play On most courses, as nov won the national title three years in ’ it. a woman needs an aver " succession and was the best American N wwe of one stroke more than a ma player. I had won the women’s title to reach the green. Ones the gree the year before and so was asked to aid N tj e asks no quarte Alexa in the argument with Sarazen and After Miss Orcutt ily ( hest-ba Hagen. mat with Bot Jone ‘ he |} ¢, The men had agreed to play us a best-ball four- ~ A eved the womer uuld make go ery inte i ome, and give us six bisques, and, I am confident, esting for the me fa match were played with the they expected to give us a beating. I am not sure just women dr g from the forward tee. That would er what came up to interfere with that program, but as the ible her to J he econd sho om approximate the J match finally was played, Sarazen and I played a four- dates Callas at the Debdis a tae Mints aon same general position as her male opponent | yme against Miss Stirling and Hagen. Championship, Played at Baitusrol, New Jersey, But I still have the scores, and I shall always have them in September, 1926 From Golf Game to Slugging Match to support the contention that six bisques will equalize the if] sexes on the golf course. The cards show Alexa was far used our last bisque on the sixteenth to win the hole, and \ OST courses in America were designed for men. The } from her best form with an 88, and I took two 42’s for an became one up. Then, on mere golf, without bisque o 4 l holes are long, and steady driving of 250 to 300 ) 84. Our best-ball card was 40-38 -78. Hagen and Sarazen favor of any sort, we won the hole with a four to the men’ yards is demanded if par is to be threatened. But thers each had a 79, and their best-ball score was 69. Still, with five, and thus won the match, two up and one to go are few women who can drive that distance An aver- the six bisques, Alexa and I could have overcome the nine With the judicious use of six bisques I could have age of 200 yards is unusual in women’s golf | strokes difference in the The result is simply best-ballcards ~wehad u In a mixed matcl {| 78 against 69 for the 4 1 ¥ ial find | men. Not only that, e man playing } q | we would have won the ecol , ul ' } | match, two up and one while e Wor fa i to go. That would ther | _ sad e \ have been possible be- her woods. W gives ( cause on four holes e great ance } Hagen’s and Sarazen’s bu s not easily i) best-ball score was two controll , . Hf strokes under mine and hot. he a f Alexa’s. That was one yoman must more of i stroke wasted on each ten call on he en nit | of those holes. The clut e prete . | cards were like this: to pla fe. take tw s es wit ‘ $5 { ns, because she ! 1 Ha , get the distance i $3444 ii tenes diane alte’ gre € engt 145-387 That is what } 1 P ) ‘ a in r i Putting oa q | sv ' ov WE WERE one up ng that it was ’ on the first hole, ite itg inder the halved the second and ms t su third and were two up a siugging matc! j at the fourth with not Whe golfer ‘ | a bisque used. The men stant tdistanced | won the fifth, but a nis tee s! he pre | hisque gave us a half. on his st is, and 1] By this time the men bout the worst thing 1 were annoyed and wor you i the sixth hole by two Whe 1 t strokes, and as nothing y ‘ could be done about it, = couak sae, ak ak Continued on even with a bisuue, we Glenna Collett Pulling Out of a Sand Trap Page 100

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14 PEOPLE AIG said Gilbert Cecil Cortenay, lis voice was low and vibrant. Miss slender and aristo- ratic hand that had captured one of hers. An arm of his was about her shoulders at once; her head sank back and she looked up into his eager Bondy pressed the Ace His large gray eyes were oft and pleading. He “ne ave would have kissed her. rted and arm; the did not give propriety to a declaration The cham- they stood was her face lipped from his poignance andatirstembrace. er in whicr magnificent indeed, vast, high, softly but powerfully illumi- nated, with huge marble stair- movie director, not its identity, would loved it for a do- high life. resounded with people were But it didn’t suit Miss Violet Bondy, because it was the Grand Centrai Station. “T’ll miss my train,” definitely putting aside ion with a mastery that cases a KnOWINg have just mestic interior in And, too, it embraces; kiss- ng all over. she a woman ever achieves. y walked toward the gate to the Stam- was tall and carried himself well; and his dab of brown mustache, and his touch suggested the foreign army officer in civilian sne admitted eal. He 1, but us Carfriage, or insolence, of sturdier type, threatening to become with maturity. Her physical assets were youth and was stately and good nature; her health atures were too pronounced; she had been beau- a moment, just after said, ‘‘I love you.” he asked him, with a new that where he lunch. He through the gate, ‘‘ At the Carl- ton with an Oxford Martin. on pleased them going said, passing her interest both, was to Terrace riend— Sir George You'll be in town Tuesday?” Cortenay walked over to the Subway — walked swing. A tender and reminiscent smile stil! parted his black-fringed gray eyes. And then his humor he said aloud, raising his weakly clenched hand,“ For her,and by gravy, all!’’ He would have looked stern, and even grim, but he did not register strong emo- in spite of a large, straight and bony nose, his was effeminate—his chin and his forehead retreated, ng this bold nose. ie rode downtown-to Fourteenth Street. He entered a drank a fair quart of lager beer for five », for a dime more, a businessman’s lunch of and cold slaw with pickled onions; he did not ir George Martin the Oxonian. He went then took a seat that was screened by a ish receptacle of the department of street cleaning, is money. He had forty-eight dollars and ixty cents. The time was well within banking hours, and yet he regarded this inadequate sum total with solemnity, vith fatalism; it was evidently all his available cash. Hey, boss, throw us a cent, will you?” whined a beggar. “On your way, bo,"’ said Cortenay, putting his fortune nto an inner breast pocket and buttoning vest and coat He rose, lifted his trouser legs and brushed his tightened his cravat, and again Broadway with a his lips and animated Was sit klied o'e a. tions well; there anc witl nto Union Square Park counted } above it rear Of fils SOCKS, ILLUSTRATED “I’m Taking You at Your Word, English. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST INST CORTENAY By Thomas McMorrow BY RAEBURWN VAN , Welw Pagen Don't Double:-Cross Me’’ sauntered out into Fourteenth Street, then west to Sixth Avenue, and then southward. He paused on Sixth Avenue several times to look into pawnshop windows, looking at the displays of ticketed jewelry. He stopped for the last time before a curiosity shop that was within a stone’s throw of Jefferson Market Police Court and jail. He pretended interest in a row of human heads that were exposed for sale in the window. These heads were on sale at ten dollars apiece, and for anybody wanting a human head other than his own, they were unquestionably good value. They were the heads of South American Indians, and were as small as fists, having been shrunk, and were devilish looking. There was also a hand from the land of Egypt, with a horrid history written plainly on a card. For people of more brains and decency there were shown trays of loaded dice, marked cards, pistols and dirks. The display graded up through Confederate money—one was urged to flash a big roll and impress one’s friends—to BUREN I’m Hetping You to Go Straight. July 9, 1927 merchandise that could conceivably appeal to civilized people. There were old coins, sporting goods, optical goods, musical instruments, wood ‘arvings, jewelry. It was a double store; its show windows were separated by the entrance. In the other show window was displayed silver, and a staggering lot of it for such a store and neigh- borhood. Real silver was evidently nothing to brag about and to swathe in soft tissues; several hundred weight of it was there, and most of it blackened and tarnished. It was secondhand goods, like everything in the store, but it was a fair ten thousand dollars’ worth. The proprietress’ name M. A. Bonn—was on both windows in broken white letters. Cortenay saw her in the store. He went in. She looked up from a sporting paper, said cordially but not effusively, ‘Hello, English, how’s the rush?”’ and resumed her reading. “‘Good afternoon, Mrs. Bonn, and how’ve you been?” “‘Sick abed,”’ she said, looking at him sharply for an in- stant. She was middle-aged and masculine in appearance and manner; she was power- fully built, and spoke with directness and assuredness. And yet her manner and her deep voice, and theself-reliance shown in the glance of her gray-green were rather pleasant, were appealing in a storekeeper. ‘‘ Have we been introduced, Mr. Cortenay?”’ **Ma,”’ he said, giving her the name that she evidently preferred, “let me see diamond rings, please.”’ “Solitaire? Fora woman?”’ “If you please.” She put a tray of rings on the counter. He asked the price of one he fancied. ‘‘On¢e hundred and fifty,’ she said. “To me, ma?”’ “Try to buy it for two-fifty on Fifth Avenue, English.”’ “It’s more than I can pay, really.” “Don’t be a piker; it’s only once in a lifetime. She may keep it for some time, and you don’t want her ever to be ashamed of it. Where you been keeping yourself?” “I’m not stepping out any more, ma.” She looked at him fixedly. ““Can’t you get a job?” “T don’t want one. you I’m through.” “Marrying money?” “She has money,”’ said Cortenay. Hiseyelidsdrooped satiricallyand he said, ‘‘Her old gentleman has, rather.’’ Then he caught her hand impulsively. ‘‘Ma,”’ he said, “‘that isn’t it. It isn’t the money upon my word. She’s the dearest, sweetest Ma Bonn laughed cheerfully and heartily, and said, “‘ English, you’reall right. Love her, coyou? Ifshe hassomuch money, why don’t you touch her for the price of the ring?” “‘Ma, you have no sentiment,” said Cortenay. “It would be repugnant to every fine instinct to borrow of her at this time.” “Do you owe me any money, English? “Oh, no, indeed, ma.”’ “You'd say that.’”” She put the tray away and stepped aside into a glass-inclosed office. She returned. ‘‘ You owe me two hundred and twenty-five,”’ she said. “‘And do you want that ring? Take it with you. The price is a hun- dred and fifty.” “Thank you, ma, thank you. word.” “Who is she, English?”’ “Her name is Doris Slagle, and her old gentleman has a large ice business in Astoria and College Point,”’ he said readily. “‘She must be nice if she’s nicer than your wife.”’ “Oh, that was not my wife! Which one, ma? dear, no.” eyes some have I tell I'll pay you, upon my Oh,

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST int uid It’say } You | 00r TISk Was a Ary-goods io! wetter jump out Cortenay rode to F Fortieth Street and entered a you I shan’ r on of fi 0 lowers alt I tel] out “If you only made twenty dollars And it a week, } ‘oul al 1 been opened to trade sO much every Saturday. would make ; re. Crogan dismissed thr Witt your “Ah,” he undecided but that I shall try something of the sort } ” 1¢ In-laws who danced torward to try said, and was “T don't know, ma, marched th rough the shop to t I suppose it is faced man wit ing to do, eh? Upon my word, I have done my last Never again, ma I shall was t! “Hello, Joe,” hand and elbow and squeezing f I'm done wit} sporting a look about for some light an g , Such as a stock broker a young friend of mine whom I w B hat’s wrong with your own racket ‘lerking in ; me some other time, Joe tore? Don’t worry; they're opening new stores every good? T TI ‘Have you had sales experier dC ‘D ver thought of selling in day. It just so happens that there’s a party in back right Joe Broadway, Jor now who knows of a grand situation that’s looking for a 1] ] Se il i promising young man ing in a swell Fifth Avenue spe- ‘Sorry,”’ sa ortenay cialty shop. Tell your new father-in-law that you're get- ting mercantile experience. How about it, ? , no, I've She stepped along the counter, and it would seem that she English had amused, but slis i “The type,” said Crogan no experience htly indignant signaled; a door in the rear of the store opened and ; man came forth ‘Crogan,”’ said Ma Bonn, “ “il ¢ ortenay a drop for a week so, He’ He leaned Crogan, you have a customer up on Fifth ‘‘He’s related to the Ey glish nol Put English in there.’ rich—that is, the branche ma,”’ said Crogan with : f hesitation ht,”’ said Ma Bonn. ‘“ Engli h } walked or and the ° ] } ? + 1} ] i] meet Englist Bert Culbert be deadly Cr Avenue who’s looking for a clerk. other mind that blal his story—he ‘As you say, about “It’s all rig she as taken the counter, clapped and shook his hand. needs the job.” t Vil at eign cure,” from behind the “TI don’t need him, bu Drubel. pu Cortenay on the back “I’m taking — said “Report : you at your word, English. I’m helping you to go straight Cortenay Don’t double-cross me. Don’t let me hear. through some- pped “We had good luck with that s body else, that you've st out again. I'll That being said, do you need money? know where's the s ruin you, W he n you do, you ugar barrel.”’ ““No, Joe, I forgot to tell you, Crogan was a and | archly large ausible gentleman, florid, probably younger than he ] 1 j heavy-faced and handsome, anc to raise i:mmediate cash. “AmIr wanting t Pleased to meet you.”’ looking at the jobber with intentness. makes that silk and I've forgotte “I told you that silk was put out under the market Now if we people that got int ) ¢ eucedly sorry, a shop until just la th j '’ He looked e 1dea ) ght Let } I those eyes-—that m eaves air forward and whispered, bag lity these goods are anda Don't Peo; le f the fabulously . : fam ty ey experience t Ss Oo er 100K In tl Oo get at's doesn't care whom fhe property I’ve t got t him on if you ask me, : tnree t o'cl Monday, Mr He drew Crogan asidk he aoz ock hundred ante ilk you sold me,” said, “You told me who n.”’ you mean,” said Crogar W it were ular Continued on Page 77 ByiDanen ~ \ Ma Bonn Took Hold of the Reluctant Hand, Pulled the Glove From it , and Exposed a Narrow Band of Gold on the Third Finger

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9,1927 Keeping the Mississippi im Its Banks and Out of Politics is ; " . | o the future se- ;. « The rnment has already ich over a long period and made an expenditure for s m nseparable an work to Govern- dy been ) } pana ior sub- contribution / some 25,000 /Usquaremlies, ; great popula- Every year re of that em- ore valuable, juare mile has more inhabi- Livery additional or security Federal Govy- improvements for navigation and flood on that now is mounting far over $150,000,000. ne doubts that there is some measure of national re- lity toward the flooded areas of 1927. Just what be demanded fairly and just what self-help the tates or localities should contribute is a matter for equity. T+ not only a matter for equity, a matter which involves limited ability of some local ities to bear further tax justnow. But just as soon », flood control is a neces- f our national] responsi- to some extent the meas- national obligation are » vast extent of territory at number of citizens he territory ad from a ex-Senator 1, in 1916: area of those alluvial wil] be protected is 5,900 square miles. It is to comprehend the full ng of big figures without stat- iiicance, Waiting in Line for a Hand:Out Rhode Island and Massachusetts; it is larger by one-third than the two states of New Hampshire and Vermont; it is almost as large as the great state of Maine or South Carolina, and, in fact, larger than West Virginia. It is equal to the combined kingdoms of Belgium and Denmark, larger than Greece and Servia, and about the size of the Netherlands and Switzerland combined.” NATCM “ Unioading Life:Saving Boats From New Jersey Coast Guard Long ago some de- gree of national obli- gation was realized when local need and local inability to bear the whole burden affected the whole na- tional welfare. John C. Calhoun, in 1845, because at that time there was nothing assessable from the localities, said: “It is the genius of our Government, and to me its beautiful feature, that what in- dividual enterprise can effect alone is to be left to individual enterprise; what a state and individuals can achieve together is to be left to the joint action of states and individuals; but what neither of these, separately or con- joined, are able to accomplish, that, and that only, is the prov- ince of the Federal Government. This is the case with the Mississippi River.” Reciprocity N 1848, Lincoln, criticizing Presi- dent Polk’s veto of the Rivers and Har- bors Bill, said “The instances of the Navy and the local advantage in the most general objects. But the con- verse is also true. Nothing is so local as to not be of some general benefit. The just conclusion from all this is that if the nation refuse to make improvements of the more gen- eral kind because their benefits may be somewhat local, a state may for the same reason refuse to make an improve- ment of a local kind because its benefits may be somewhat general. A state may well say to the na- tion, ‘If you will do nothing for me, I will do nothing for you.’ Thus it is seen that if this argument of inequality is sufficient anywhere, it is sufficient everywhere, and puts an end to improvements altogether. I hope and believe that if both the nation and the states would in good faith, in their respective spheres, do what they could in the way of im- provements, what of inequality might be produced in one place might be compensated in another, and the sum of the whole might not be very unequal. But suppose, after all, thereshould besome degree of inequality. Inequality is cer- tainly never to be embraced for its own sake; but is every good thing to be discarded which may be insep- arably connected with some degree of it? Ifso, we must discard all gov- ernment.” When the equities of divided re- sponsibility for flood control are considered one must not forget that

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a the Mississippi River, if measured by its longest tributary, is the long- est river in the world. Trace the length of stream up the Missouri, then up the Jefferson, up Beaver Head River, up Red Rock Creek, and through Red Rock Lakes to the longest feeding stream, and there are 1205 miles. The Amazon, according to accepted figures, is 3800 miles long, the Nile about thesame length, the Yang-tse-Kiang and the Yenisei about 3350 and the Congo not over 3000. The tributary laterals of the river fan out so that, astounding as it may be, it is none the less the fact that they carry into the Mississippi the drainage of more than 40 per cent of the territory of the whole United States. That water flow that drainage—is not a benefit only to the states on the lower reaches of the river. Sometimes, as we have just seen, that system brings to the alluvial delta district a titanic dis- aster. At all times that drainage system is the most valuable asset of the whole drained territory. The general rule of thumb of law is that the occupant of higher land has no responsibility for water which, under natural conditions, leaves his land and descends upon his neighbor’s, but probably it is true that if he changes the natural conditions so that greater burdens of water dam- age are put upon his neighbor, the neighbor has a cause for complaint. Following this principle the states of the lower Mississippi would have an equitable claim for con- tribution toward flood protection against all that territory which, by deforestation, artificial drainage, increasing the speed and quantity of discharge, by occupation or nar- rowing of the natural river beds or by other changes in natural conditions, has increased the danger of flood in the valleys below. Ain Inch at a Time N PASSING, it may be said that no one knows that these changes have increased that danger; the history and the bed of the river record flood stages larger in ex- tent than any known since the character of the drainage territory was changed by man. But in the last anal- ysis the subject of Federal interest in flood control is not one for hairsplitting or for playing jackstraws. There are four domi- nant and pregnant reasons why Uncle Sam has already put and should put deeper— his hand into his pocket to improve and tame the Missis- sippli: First. Extent of territory and its value and numbers of pop- ulation involved make he problem national n aspect. Second. The pock- etbooks of the states, communities and dis- tricts cannot as a whole bear the bur- dens alone. Third. Flood con- trol has already suf- fered the tragedy of insufficient scope of plan and of work done and standards main tained. As Secretary Hoover said to me as we passed along the river by a series of levees, some strong MISSISSIPPI and some weak, “‘No “Once Upon a Time."’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Mess Line chain is better than its weakest link.’’ And unless the Mississippi problem is treated as a whole, there will be no effective lion-taming. The agonies of the past, to speak in plain terms, have arisen from the piecemeal job done. As one planter in Louisiana said to me while the waters of the Red River and the Mississippi joined to put their tongues over a levee topping, in order to lick out a roaring crevasse: ‘‘ Money on levees has been spent by all of us—local districts and the Government—in order to save pain. But it’s like the man who, to save his hound misery when the dog’s tail had to be amputated, cut an inch off every now and then! And we are more foolish than that. Our dog’s tail is growing longer every year!” Fourth. The problem of building a levee system and of putting down blankets or revetments, as bank-protecting mattresses and other like devices are called, is inseparable from the prob!.in of navigation. Banks that do not erode An Otd French Lady Telling Stories to Children in a Refugee Camp Page 108 narrow the current keep navigat channels clean. The United State controls its navigable waters. A time goes on and the country, | increase of poy ilation and i Af Crocodile Tears a ppt anvone with a few poor a> fuls of commor sense wouid suppose that an int ate and giga ti problen such as the contro! of Mississippi floods, and the detern nation of the question of how mu the nation and how much the loca prope rties shoul t contribute, would rest upon the recommendations of engineers who know the river, or the one hand, and, on the other, upon the recommendations of a f board of apportionment constituted of the best men we could find, who, in addition to integrity and legal and economic knowledge, would bring to their task nonpartisan and nonpolitical common sensé¢ If that were done and political vultures did not hover over the dev- astated alluvial delta, if woe wails were not lifted to the skies by those who see in the Mississippi disaster a chance to get in a fist if the Treasury door opens a crack fo + deserved aid, if political-party leaders did not Mississippi flood to dress up a semblance of time when they lack issues, then the Southern States that bear the brunt of the flood menace would get a maximum of aid with a maximum of promptness. A distinguished leader in one of these states gives me his opinion: ‘We would be fools to let this question g into politics. Many of those who called loudest for an extra use tne an issue ata session of Congress and shed crocodile tears onto us ars not from the flood district at all. They tried to make out that rescue work had taken the bulk of the Red Cross millions and that the Federal Army, Navy, Coast Guard and all their services and supplies were not at our disposal to the tune of millions of dollars. Anything to get their feet into ourtrough! And if we have any sense we’ Ket p our cause sep- arate from their at- tempts to get into the grab bag. “The sentiment of the country is wit! us now. It would swing away ifitlooked as if we were standing I am certain that he s right Some f the pudest eams for Federal largesse ior the M ississ ppl states came from those whoare using the flood disaster to open uy the honey pot on whicl the Coolidge sense oF temperament, ¢ whatever one ca as screwed dov lowi ig dogg re " may contain morse truth than poet Continued on

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18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST With «a Moe AIRE might have been more dis- eet about Edward Cheney if she / had known that he had a jealous wife. mes have changed, of.course, since the melodrama ‘ f g girl w il- 1 tinto a w- m, Christmas Eve But cnew weli enougn tnat ancient melodrama bobs eve now ana tne r dern trappings I e the len-haired stenographer é d known in the Miller \ an excellent stenog- pher and as blameless as e was beautiful. She was t even erring, yet life for rl was Just one She seldom held a job two weeks after he boss’ wife had seen her Claire had plenty of testi- ony along this line, and ough she discounted nine- tenths of it knowing that 1t 1 ter to believe one $s pleasanter has been cast out of the oi for one’s charms rather than one’s spelling-—-she might have considered the one au- ntic tenth and realized 1] , that 10 IS always well to re- enforce virtue with caution. Surely she was quite clever noug! to have foreseen how things were going to look to Mrs. Edward Che ney. The reason she did not was robably because she was omple tely engrossed in con- idering how things were going to look to D. E. Gibson. She was whole-heartedly con- erned with making good as idvertising manager for the D. k. Gibson shoes Edward Cheney, she knew, could as- ly in this. And return, she could do for ist ner vast n fifteen years of lesigning, he had not le to do for himse in any but the most profes- onai sense, there was prob- ibly nothing in the world that interested Claire less FELRLveF TRA TB O i s H. J. Oo erm JLeadi By FANNIE KILBOURNE «is sioc.'d: eGo bat earns M OWA T July 9,1927 aly lesson from the automobile manufacturers who make a name with a super-twin-six and then cash in on it by get ting out also a good medium- dward Cheney's po- a tentialities for error. uugh the D. EF. Gibson hoes were smart and sophis- ticated, right up to the minute, and often a French boat or two ahead of it, D. E. Gibson himself was an old-fashioned His ideal in women was the weak, sweet, home-keeping sort. He had never had a saleswoman in either of the luxurious Fifth Avenue shops and in the executive offices he would have greatly preferred men tenographers. He was, however, an excellent business man, and he had learned long ago that for the same steno- graphic and mental equipment he could get a girl for much 3s than ne would have to pay a man. very idea of having a woman advertising manager ho and offended his every sense of the fitness of § But he had allowed a dozen different applicants for the position to submit trial copy and had picked C. Deming’s as unquestionably the best of the dozen. When he found that ¢ Deming’s name was Claire and that she was a young woman, he had conscientiously tried to change his de on, but he had been too excellent a business man to be able to do so. The fact that she held out for a salary high as he would have had to pay any one of the men had struck him two wa Coming from a young woman, it naa seemed snockingly, outrageously presumptuous, At the same time, it had, though reluctantly admitted, firmed him in his suspicion that she was probably good. Claire had known at their first interview— young women being successful in business, the professions or the The Principal, a Dreamy:Eyed, Hard:Headed Little Dancer, in Fact, Put Rather Particularly Nice to Ed Cheney arts are likely to have highly sensitive mental antenne just about how D. E. Gibson felt. And after she had held the position for three months, apparently satisfactorily, she still felt far from wholly intrenched. She realized that she was still in the process not only of selling D. E. Gibson shoes to the public but also of selling herself to D. E. Gibson. She had been in the office just three months when the possibilities in Edward Cheney suggested themselves to her. That, however, is not an accurate way to express Claire’s idea. The possibilities that Claire suddenly saw were not, strictly speaking, in Edward Cheney at all. They were, rather, in Claire herself. Audacious, independent possibilities, entirely her own ideas. But they needed a lay figure to be draped upon, and Edward Cheney’s tall thinness offered the obvious figure. ‘Play up Ed Cheney!”’ Gibson had protested, shocked, when the idea was first suggested to him. Claire smiled. ‘‘ We couldn't play him up as Ed Cheney,” she admitted. ‘We'd have to give him a French name. Let’s see—Ed—Edouard. Cheney—Chenet. Edouard Chenet. That’s a good French name.” Gibson considered for some few minutes this de- nationalizing of Ed Cheney. “Of course,"’ he admitted, “if we really could get a lot of publicity we'd feel it in the fifteen-fifties too.”’ price car. The shoes which Gibson sold for fifteen-fifty were excellent shoes, bench made, honest; probably as good shoes as could be bought in any Fifth Avenue shop for fifteen dollarsand fifty cents They were advertised in the newspapers In quietly gente l advertisements, always men- tioning the price, and were sold also in branch shops in Boston, Washington and Philadelphia. Excellent shoes and varied; from square-toed alligator-skin sports shoes to slim-heeled, gold kid dancing slippers. High-class, honest, valueful shoes. But beside their hon- est value was the gilded glamorous charm of their be- ing Gibson shoes. For there was, as most of the buyers of the fifteen-fifties knew, another kind of Gibson shoes. Advertisements of these did not appear in the newspapers, but in Attire and the two or three other ultra-smart mag- azines ‘read by the lashion- able woman. These Gibson shoes were inspirational, suave, audacious blac satin slippers with a delicate inlay of golden leaves; pastel suedes, orchid, gray blue, rosy tan, with the finest lines of black or brown or gold or silver kid. The price of a pair ol these Gibson shoes was, if mentioned at all, printed down in one corner in the most obsequiously in- conspicuous of figures. Or, occasionally, there would be no picture in the advertise- ment at all. Just, in the most impeccable of printing with plenty of white space to set it off: ‘‘Gibson Shoes. Twenty-five to fifty-five dol- Herself Out to be lars a pair.” Ed Cheney designed all the Gibson shoes; these as well as the fifteen-fifties. The Gibson offices were above one of their shops and Ed had a large north-lighted room at the back. middle of the afternoon to consult over the latest creation in satin or suede or brocade. The day on which her in- Claire dropped in there occasionally in the spiration came Ed was working on a knotty problem. D. E. Gibson was to shoe the chorus of the Frivolities this season. “They want electric lights in the slipper heels!’’ Ed pro- tested to Claire. ‘*Can you beat that? For the Roaring Forties number. The stage will be dark, and when the lights begin to flash, who’s going to know whether the lights are in the rosettes or in the heels? How are you going to get a light in a heel that’s solid enough to support the shoe?”’ Claire yawned as she crossed to the drawing board cov- ered with a dozen tentative heels. She had been over in Brooklyn at the factory all the morning and in Washington the day before, conferring with the manager of the branch there. This making good on a job is an exhausting busi- ness. Her predecessor, a hustling young newspaper man, had done a very good job of it. Claire knew that she must outdistance his record in order to convince Gibson that he had not been mistaken in engaging her She had turned down two other positions on the chance of getting this one, had written the trial copy she had

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ubmitted while she was trying to make her last twenty- five dollars hold out, eating fifteen-cent lunches and thirty- cent cafeteria dinners. It had taken courage to turn down the second position offered. She was down to her last two dollars and she could have stepped into the job the very next day. Instead, she had spent one of the two dollars to have her suit pressed and her shoes shined, and had gone to call on D. E. Gibson. Gibson would have liked her much better if he had guessed at the half-frightened eager girl hiding behind her poised, well-tailored exterior —would have liked her better, but would not considered hiring her. If he had dreamed of the anxious days, living on borrowed money Claire had enough of worry penuriously over borrowing have the old-fashioned woman in her to had dreamed of the breathless suspense with which she awaited his decision, it would have called out all that he had of gallantry and pro- tectiveness. But he would have laughed in a gallant and fatherly fashion at the very idea of paying her the salary she was asking. Oh, Claire had undoubtedly played her But she knew that getting the position There was the rest of the cards right so far. was but taking the first trick. hand still to be r layed Claire glanced over the drawing board, with its pictures of enlarged, skeleton heels; listened half absently to Ed’s grumbling. ““D. FE. will tell °em we can do any preposterous thing in the world,”’ he certainly, we can man- age that all right, Then he dumps it all on me. ‘They want electric lights in the Ed.’ Like that; as though it was the easiest thing in the world. He just takes it for granted that I can do the impossible.” ““You usually wind up by finding some way to do it, at that, don’t you?”’ Claire asked. Cheney did not respond to the flattery of the question. ““And where does it get me if I do? _I design a shoe that'll make a 5 C foot look like a 3 AAA, and who gets the credit for it and makes the money out of it? D. E. Gibson. I'll work myself to skin and bones now figuring out how to get electric lights in slipper heels, and what'll it say on the “rivolities program? ‘Shoes by D. E. Claire shrugged her shoulders. “Well, for that matter, what credit do I get for the literary gems I write about your creations?”’ complained. ‘‘‘Oh, ’ he'll say. heels, Gibson.’”’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST "said Ed ¢ neney, sentirel liflerer 1 creative artist In my owr “How do Claire asked. you know I don’ “We all have our illusions, you know.” But she laughed good-naturedly “That Savigny moire,” she was a perfectly beaut | slipper added generously. It was then, really, that the seed of Claire dea w sown in her fertile mind. She herself, however, t, strolling back to her own sma rlass-ir ys recognize |} ing t office For two or three days she was more : , busy with the regular routine Slippers to be 1 tn graphed and cuts O. K.’d, the silver-paper leaflet w was mailed monthly to their charge istomers t written, a factory survey to be studied ove And then sudder ly the seed had emergs 1 thusiastic young plant, poking its head up into ness. Claire waited a week after that, however, to make sure that the tender shoot wasn’t just a weed, befor: speaking about it to D. E. Gibson It was we that she waited for the courage of her convictions, because Gibso at first was inclined to regard it as the rankest and wildest of weeds ' ‘Play up Ed Cheney!” he had protested in the ton usually reserved for the mention of prophets in their own country. “Edouard Chenet,”” Claire substituted. ‘All the pub- licity we can ever get for Gibson shoes is regular adver- pay for. expresses himself in shoes!”’ Clai tising that we But for a French artist who re's gesture blew an airy kiss to the sky as the only limit “‘T can think of half a dozen bits of publicity right off the reel,”’ she went on enthusiastically; “‘the kind of publicity you couldn’t possibly buy, that won’t cost a cent.” “As for “Newspaper begin through, who knows? We may wind up with a page per- sonality story in Attire! They have stories on the great dress designers and on famous milliners. Why f instance?”’ stories, to with. 3efore we're 71) famous creator of shoes‘ “‘Ed Cheney isn’t any famous creator of “But Edouard Chenet can be—if you'll let me n him.” i hy T I Ed ( ( : 7 ‘ ‘B T , I é nmr ‘ vw 1) ate NJ ~ ‘Abo is the j te Today's lur Mrs. Che tween ( ( itantes, on pret 1 he primrose paths along t} YY in town ¢ } ry | 1e@ GOWN LOW osno I Continued on Page 92 ( 1 ne rograr ‘ t “ r A rm And S aire ne ng g the wn I'r i ou vy as soor no of . ) x Ta r re pea oO rood no erved 0 iT jestion- -smart re m It Wa ping ‘ mpeccable e. Wher took ner It Was Then, Really, That the Seed of Claire’s Idea Was Sown in Her Fertile Mind

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HE abrupt and, indeed, somewhat explo- sive termination of young Ira Hamiiton’s courtship of Miss Dorothy Blackmar—a termination which, incidentally, was quite in- ehensible to him—may be traced to the uring on unfamiliar fact that in it he was vent ground — Broadway his is not his territory Until then harmless prowls his amiable and after “Om “@ } 1 Lee act of omance had been east of Fifth Avenue exclusively. north of Fiftiett and south of Fightieth Street, he was at T} ere, home. He knew , as they say on Park Avenue, his truffles. The rules and ethics were clear, and where the rules and ethics were clear, Ira did not mind jeopardizing his heart and _ happi- ness, as very fre- juently he had. But of Broad- way’s rules and ethics, when any, he knew little. He was an innocent as he invaded the Sucker Belt this pleasant spring morning, and con- sequently quite happy. It hap- pened that ¢n this very morning he had, after some solemn reflection, come to the conclusion that the time had come when he should turn his attention to something more solid than omance. Too long, he decided, had he played—he used that term—at life. Youth was passing. He was already twenty-four. There may have been a stern glint in his clear blue eye nd a firm set to his smooth jaw as, still strolling aim- essly, he turned into Forty-eighth Street. He definitely vas in that mood. Then, in front of the Merry Theater, a frame of photographs of young ladies in the Merry Revue 1ught his attention, and something of the sternness dis- appeared from his face as he paused to inspect the exhibit with an interest deep but wholly wxsthetic. They were, all of them, mostly sightly young attrac- but there was one, suddenly holding his leisurely glance, who seemed to him at that particular moment to have gathered all the loveliness of two hemispheres into her dark eyes. He peered more closely, to learn that she was a Miss Dorothy Blackmar, and this view was of her as she represented the Spirit of Asia in the magnificent Spirits of the World number. And he felt, as he continued to inspect Miss Blackmar, that never before had he got such a per- onal, such a stirring concept of that continent. He straightened up then, and it is likely that this would have been the end of that potential emotion had not, at his notice been drawn to one of Broadway's more public commonplaces—a gent bawling out a lady. He regarded the scene indifferently until, with a perk of interest, he suddenly recognized the lady, now backed sullenly against a lingerie store window, silent in the face f ominous raucousness of her eggish-looking gentle- man friend. She was Miss Blackmar. At once and involuntarily he was fired with a form of chivalry. At the same moment the man brought his lec- »}anend with: “Yes, an’ t’ nex’ time anything looks phony y’ gonna get a swif’ slap in t’ mouth, see?"’ Then | warning glare, he turned and walked away toward Broadway, leaving the erstwhile Spirit of Asia looking somewhat like the Spirit of Last Week’s Laundry. Ira indignantly swung his walking stick in their direc- tion. “Hi!” he called, but the man strode on, giving no ign that he heard. “Hi!” he repeated more loudly —but very little more. ‘‘I say there, you can’t do that, you turned the corner, oblivious to the tions: S juncture, tire ¢ ture with a fina Ss know!”” The man impromptu Galahad. ILLUSTRATED Br . mM. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST I3 JRO AID WAY By imma Johnson BRINKERH OFF A Happy, Calm Smite Came to His Face and He Stepped Forward, Hand Extended. Ira elected not to pursue farther. The man had plainly been routed; generosity forbade greater humiliation. He turned to the lovely Miss Blackmar, still leaning against the window, and raised his hat with his most devastating grace. ‘‘Ah!”’ he said meltingly. Miss Blackmar looked at him out of fish eyes—Broad- way’s eyes—and then and there he should have taken alarm. “Ah!” he repeated, lest she hadn’t understood the first time. ‘‘Ah, Miss Blackmar!”’ She smiled slightly, automatically. my name?”’ she asked. “Ah!” he answered, delighted, “‘I recognized you from the picture.’”’ He paused for further conversation, which did not follow, and then spoke again: ‘‘Ah!” The sublime intellectual height on which he had pitched his remarks appeared to baffle her completely, however, and she remained silent. And, indeed, it was with some- thing of an effort that he himself managed to maintain its dizzy standard. “That fellow a fellow.” That seemed to cover the situation so thoroughly that little more remained to be said on that score. He shifted then from one foot to the other, obviously at a loss for small talk on this side of town, but continuing to bestow upon her a horrible leer which he fondly believed to be an ingratiating smile. Miss Blackmar gazed abstractedly toward Broadway. “It’s quite a day,”” he ventured presently. But not even this tempting morsel aroused her interest. Her thoughts obviously followed whatever problem was contained in the eggish man, so obviously in fact that Ira saw that little short of a rarely arresting remark would serve to make her conscious of his presence. “That fellow,”’ he said then—‘‘he seems to be quite a fellow.” The girl straightened up. she could look for nothing stimulating here. But she re- warded him for his interest with an absent-minded smile. “Oh, no!”’ he exclaimed, alarmed at the idea of separa- tion. “I'll take you wherever you're going. That fellow, you know!” ‘Just as you say.” He walked along happily then at her side, rummaging his brain for a likely topic of conversation, and as they ““How did you know ,” he said finally—‘‘he seems to be quite “‘Uncle Morton!’’ He Said Cordially. Apparently she had concluded July 9,1927 turned north on Broadway his eyes brightened. “Broadway,” he said—‘‘it’s quite a street!” She did not reply, which left the topic ex- hausted, and thereafter as they proceeded up Broadway, to turn east on Fifty-fourth Street, j Ira contented himself with the happy and unsus- picious reflection that he was strolling with a more than beautiful young show girl. They halted then in Fifty- fourth Street between Fifth and Sixth avenues, before a converted brownstone house next door to the notorious Club de Paree. Ira inspected the building. ‘‘It’s quite a house,”” he commented. For the first time Miss Blackmar seemed to be- come definitely conscious of his existence. For a moment she studied him speculatively. ‘‘It was very sweet of you,” she said then. “I can’t thank you enough. Perhaps,” she added, ‘‘you’ll take me to lunch some day.” “ant” “Tf you'll give me your card “ He produced one with the speed of a startled antelope, and after glanc- ing at it, she extended her hand. ‘‘Good-by,’’ she said, smiling. Ecstatically, hs. watched her run up the stairs, and then, glowing happily, he set out for Fifth Avenue. The smile disappeared from Miss Blackmar’s face as she shut the door behind her. Her eyes grew hard and she hesitated a moment, as though to collect her courage, be- fore entering the apartment on the first floor. The eggish man looked up quickly. ‘‘ Well?” “Now don’t start getting tough!”’ Her mirthless smile was conciliatory. ‘I’ve told you, Mac, I’m regular. I am. If you could only get it into that thick conk of yours ag ‘*Unclte Morton"’ The eggish man’s lips curled. ‘‘Look, Dot,’ he said; “this is no small-time racket. This is big stuff, see? There’s twen’y grand wrapped up in this load of booze twen’y thousan’ smackers! You may be reg’lar an’ you may not. How do I know? But I ain’t gonna take any chances. A fine-lookin’ sucker I'd be if you was to “ ““Mac, I hope I may fall dead 7 “Well, just tell me what’s t’ idea of goin’ out wit’ that mug from Chicago. If that was Eddie Flynn you was wit’—an’ you admitted it was—what kin’ of a racket are you pullin’? An’ if you ain’t wise to what Eddie Flynn’s in N’ York for, I'll tell you—he’s here wit’ his mob to hijack that load, see? That’s what he’s here for.”’ “Mac, I'll swear “Go ahead an’ swear yourself poiple in t’ face! That’s what he’s here for, an’ if he ain’t usin’ you t’ get the lay then you’re usin’ us! Now whichisit? What’st’ straight?” Dorothy looked at him thoughtfully and then took a deep breath, as a swimmer might before a plunge. “Mac,” she said, “‘this is the straight: Eddie is here with his mob to hijack that load—you’re right. And he’s trying to use me to get the lay—you’re right there too. But, Mac, I’m regular, and I'll just show you how regular Iam.”’ Mac continued to look at her. “If I were to frame Eddie,”’ she said slowly, still looking him straight in the eye, “would you say I was regular then?”’ **Go on.” “Say you were turning the job Sunday night at ten o'clock. You're taking the load to Philly, aren’t you?” “Go on.” “Suppose I planted Eddie upstairs in my apartment Sunday night at ten. Suppose I slipped him the word that the job was set for Monday night. Wouldn't that lose him? Wouldn’t that show whether I was regular or not?”’ Mac stared at her thoughtfully. ‘‘ You was soft on Eddie ” once, ee set lie a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Ce hl $ + “That was in Chi, tiently. ‘“‘That’s over He did not press the point. years ago,” sne interrupted impa- Instead he walked over to the window and looked out at the straggling miscellany of the human race that passed in Fifty-fourth Street She that he for nor- mal citizens. knew was trying to decide whether she was lying or not, and her lips tightened grimly and she began to pick nervously at her finger nails. At length he turned and came back to her. she rose. Automatically, He reached out both hands and caught her white neck in his strong fingers. “All right,’’ he said, “‘ you plant ‘im here Sunday night.” He paused and looked steadily into her frightened face. ‘You plant ‘im the foist sign of anything phony He did not finish the sentence, but his fingers tightened slightly, just enough to make her wince. ‘‘Un- derstand?”’ he asked, smiling ironically. “T. do!” He released her and she rubbed her throat as she turned away to hide the fact that her dark eyes were blazing angrily. an’ at Returned to the east side of Fifth Avenue, something of the glamour of this venture into the Broadway district began to creep over Ira, and a warm excitement mounted rapidly as he reflected upon such an unusual circumstance as his being involved in the combination of a sinister look- ing man, a beautiful show girl, a rescue, a chance recognition, and a pleasant stroll along Broadway itself with the young =at-Ay “But, Mac, I’m Regular, and I'll Just Show You How Regular I Am" lady. This, indeed, was something out of the ordinary, and verx well worth recounting to Carter. Carter Gillian was the pleasant young man with whom he shared the Messengers’ apartment while the Messen- gers were at Aiken. The two had much in common, includ- ing an appalling ignorance of matters in the vicinity of Long Acre Square, and at the same time an eager curiosity as to the lives and habits of those absorbing people who frequented that area. But it was not until the next morning, shortly before noon, that Ira found the proper opportunity to recount the adventure under the best auspices. By then, it seemed, its proportions had, somehow and through no voluntary wish on Ira’s part to deceive in any way, increased perceptibly. But it may have been that he simply felt, subconsciously, that in no event could Carter believe more than a fraction of such a staggering account, and that thus would there be no actual deception or even exaggeration. ‘I mean actually beautiful!’’ Ira declared. there was something about about her. “T mean something, you know, You see what I mean?” I really should have!” Carter tried profoundly to find the name in his memory. “Well, there she was, standing there, and this chap lacing into her terrifically, right in public, you know! her ‘I should have heard of her Fearful-looking chap, too. Enormous!” “Yes?” “‘Well, that was a bit too much, you know. walked over and said, ‘See here, you'll you know!’ Not offensi “That was right,’’ Carter approved. “He answered something — I forget now temper up quite a bit, you know. just a bounder, that’s all! what I said to him!”’ “Splendid!” Ira paused ar cted. chap, you know, and I have I simply have to stop that, vely, understand —just quietly.” but it got my I said, ‘See here, you're You're just a bounder!’ That’s “He was quite a good-sized fess’’—he smiled a little have to confess I didn’t know whether But that’s to con self-consciously I was going to bi to handle him or not. I said, ar yway. J re jus Well, with that he « at ‘Fists?”’ “Absolutely fists!"’ He gorously and fell into an eloquent fighting pose. “ Fists nodded \v ! J dropped into a to note the effect of the pugilistic term on Mr. Gillian, and Mr. Gilliar tled widen ng of flying crouct ’ He everywhere paused again, rewarded him with a sudden star- the eyes. “Yes, 1 dropped into a crouch and got set.” “What about your clothes?” “My clothes?” Ira was puzzied. about my clothes?”’ “What “Your clothes, you know. Fighting around like that—I mean, didn’t you tl tearing your clothes or anything? “Oh, no!”’ Ira was vaguely relieved. “‘Oh, no! Word of honor, didn’t give a thought to my clothes! “Oh!” “Oh, absolutely! me, fists flying, and bellowing he was gonna kill me! Enormous chap! But I was set had him timed to a split second! I side- stepped as neatly as you please!” “Well!” “Absolutely! But back he came, fists flying, and this time I raised my guard, right ink about Had no time, don’t you see!”’ The fellow came right at side-stepped again and shot a straight to his chin as he passed.” The effect of this blood-curdling narrative on the pacific Mr. Gillian was all that Ira could have desired. Carter sat pop-eyed on the divan as Ira demon- strated an old-fashioned haymaker that threatened all the loose crockery in the room. Indeed, this look of honest admiration halted Ira for a bare second, caused him a touch of conscience as he became aware, suddenly, of the lengths to which He re was entirely too much attention, awe and esteem to he had gone; but it was for a bare second only be cast aside for the sake of a bare fact or two. “Well, there was quite a crowd about by then, Dorothy was crying and calling to me to defeat tl bounder. I felt great, absolutely Blood zipping through my veins, smell of battle war-horse stuff, you know, and not a fear ir world! at all Carter, You see, he had no science, Carter, no science just brute strength.” Carter nodded wisely. agreed. “Absolutely! Animal courage, strong as a but no science at all. Well, I saw there could be but one outcome. had him from the beginning!”’ “Naturally!” “But I played him a bit, drew him on, forced him back, tapped him now and then, and when he swung I feinted.” “Fainted!”’ ‘F-e-i-n-t-e-d—feinted. Then when I saw he going to give up, why, there was nothing left for me to do “Science is the as soon as I| re; I had h wasn't but give him the old one-two.” “The old one-two?” “The old one-two,” “You know the old one-two.” “Tean'tsay id “tere!” He rushed at a ra repeated proudly. He Rushed at a Defenseless Stuffed Chair and Deatt it Two Swift, Annihilating Blows, Warranted to Brain a Bison. ‘How Did You Know My Name?" She Asked. Answered, Detighted, ‘‘I Recognized You From the Picture" “Ahi He defenseless stuffed chair and dealt it two sw ing blows, warranted to brain a bison. ‘“‘( “Oh!” “Well” “some of he wiped his forehead wit} his friends took him away. Said I'd saved her and all! Orphan, she said. Nice family, ev poor kid! aer Broadway together. Had quite a cor Carter breathed easily again. “‘ We adventure,” he de “It certair But now Ira’s face had become gr lared slightly, he sat somewhat limply, star andirons And wher ice. “The truth ve Dorothy re presentiy he spoke, it was | is, old man,” tly lowe I could For he sa Ss § VE I'm my life, I believe, I’ve re ally love her. irst time in ” He ga ro wisl you could Se€ Honestly, she’s wonderful. the hearth. Carter was prope rly sympathnet nfatuatior es ‘Infatuation!”’ He 67 ~~? ; 1 ’ ‘Don't be ridiculous but don't let ar ST aj ped I'm not,” } know.” Carter did not repls ply. *There’s somethin ean and frest tinued then the country, of dew early in the morning, and arefully, “‘something that remit meadows you know. On Broadway she seemed just iike a delicate flower among—among weeds.”’ He stopped a moment admire this poeti ‘*Somehow I uld t picture her swinging lazily in a hammock he veranda of some old Colonia! home, with a kid dog or two.”’ His voice } aog, Continued on ““One:Two! e Page 5!

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22 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WANT TO BUY A DOG? t lay present for wife. The dealer ired Smith the pup gh-ancestried in extra ve him ga four-generation ped- rree to prove it A } - A few months later a e pe young- , ! f na rown his pea abyllke finess and was a nt ar d rangy crea- ture with ‘“‘nonde ript’’ stamped over ever nch of him P y he Was aS muct olile 1 any- g else, but his col enes Wa by no mea € xelt Smith studied the dec- orative ped gree. The pup’s sire was cited as ‘Champion Howbold lant.” That is much an alias as “Smith.” But I am By Albert Payson Terhune 1 > »mllie speaking of a collie his day. cintillant’s owner was mentioned in the document as Fred Highton. At the next Westminster dog show, Smith appened by chance to run across Highton, and said to “T have a six-month-old son of your great Scintillant. He is a mutt.” “No,” gravely corrected Highton. ‘He is a miracle. You say he’s only six months old? Scintillant died five Choose the One You Like the Best be \T was only one of numberless instances of faked pedi- grees—in the days before the American Kennel Club put a sternly effective wet blanket on the gentle practice by es- y i tablishing the fact that falsifying the pedigree of a dog, for which cash value has been given, is a form of forgery in ome states and is a punishable fraud everywhere. Since or sport of pedigree faking has waned in pop- irity. The profit is no longer worth the penalty. Moreover, by taking or sending a log’s pedigree to the offices of the American Kennel Club, 221 Fourth Avenue, New York City, its statements in be checked up with precise accuracy \’s forbears were registered. A certified pedigree can also be ob- ned there for a small sum. Smith fooled not only on the pedigree it on the price charged for it by the iler. By American Kennel Club law ler red to furnisl a correct pedigree, free, to the purchaser of a pedigreed dog. Ignorance of this just rule has caused many a greenhorn to it usele payment. Pedigrees ire mighty important—enough so to a suit and many a punishment they are less portant than several other angles nected with buying a dog. I am £ I round among a fe W of t ‘ ‘ ud mind, in the j ‘ 1 tr art f Among the host of things I don’t nderstand about dogs is the way they ire mixed up with the whole span of Sunnybank Puppies a pal of him. There is not one man in ten who does not look forward to the day when he can retire to a life of impossible ease—usually in the country—with a dog as one of his household’s chief features. In between is a world-wide army of dog owners and dog desirers. Then there is the rest of humankind, divided about 96 per cent to 4 per cent—the 96 per cent knowing nothing at all about dogs, but liking them much; the 4 per cent knowing nothing at all about dogs, but not caring for them. So when I ask “Want to buy a dog?”’ I think the ayes have it to such an overwhelming extent that most of them will care to listen to these rambling suggestions of mine. First of all, remember the dog is to belong to you, and not to any of the people who advise you to have none ex- cept of their own best-liked breed. Anyone can prove to you, noisily and conclusively, that his special breed is the only kind worth having and that dogs of all other breeds combine more worthlessness and meanness and stupidity than words can describe. But keep on remembering that the dog is to be yours and yours alone. Pick out the kind that you yourself think you want most. Ifyou find you have made a mis- take, or if you want variety, there will be plenty of time for you to make a change in breeds later on. At best, your dog’s life will be pitifully brief. There will be scope for many successors to him. Meanwhile, choose the type you like best, not the type you are urged by someone else to select. That is the first and foremost rule of dog buying. Suit yourself; don’t go by advice. If you are go- ing to be dissatisfied, it is far better to have yourself to thank for it than anyone else. Puppy Panics Ripe you set out to buy a dog you can have no idea at all of the dog-selling in- dustry’s enormous ex- tent. A single minor dog mart on Manhattan Island averages a monthly turnover of more than $2500, and there are scores of such marts in New York alone. There are dogs for every taste and dogs for every purse. The big majority of the breeders and sellers are honest. Crookedness—the brand of crookedness which the civil law or the American Kennel Club can penalize—is in the semi-negligible minority. There is an overwhelmingly strong chance of your getting pretty much what you pay for. That does not mean always that you are getting what you think you are paying for. In your mind is a wonder dog; loyal to you alone; wise, playful, supremely well trained; magnificent of beauty, bristling with champion- ship points. In other words, the ideal dog whose image you have unwittingly been shaping ever since you were a child, and which you have embellished from every dog story you have read and from every bench show you have attended. You make your purchase. You open the crate, and out flounders ascared and frowzy puppy, cringing in his strange surroundings, not improved in looks or health or disposi- tion by a long train ride in a joggly little box. He does not step forth ma- jestically and walk with unswerving steadfastness up to you, his eyes alight with the adoring expression of one beholding at last his human god. He does not refrain from howling dismally on his first night in foreign quarters. He is addicted to ardent flea quests. Not knowing you from Adam, he fails to obey you on first acquaintance. He is not housebroken and he does not know how to climb stairs or to lie down at command or to do any of the fine things your dream dog was supposed to do. In brief, he is a frightened or ill-at- ease stranger in a strange land—a land whose customs and folk and language are harshly unfamiliar to him. His heart is sick for the kennel of his babyhood, and for his lost mother and brethren, and for the humans he knew and loved and obeyed. How would your own five-year-old son comport himself in like conditions? Would he win all hearts at once by his iman life. There is not one small boy J splendid poise and personality and his Shen aol 1 ‘ ‘ Rain, eae ; ama? Ale ’ " ty who nas not yearnea to bring The Master With Bruce, Wolf, Lady and Lad. Three of These Dogs Were exquisite manners? Also, would the me some strange street cur and make Heroes of Books Bearing Their Names child’s first panic-stricken behavior be July 9, 1927 ———S

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THE bettered if he could sense, as a pup can sense, the fast-growing disapproval and hostile dis- appointment of the people about him? If you are not an experienced dog man your first reaction on making your pup’s acquaint- ance is prone to be of chagrin, followed by a suspicion that you have been cheated. Here is an angle of sanity which may be of use to you at that moment of disillusion: Tell your- self you are a sculptor who has just bought a lump of living malleable clay; that the clay can be molded by patience and common sense into a most desirable and beautiful shape; and that by harsh or careless or impatient handling it will harden into something uselessly un- couth. You have sent for a puppy of a certain breed. Don’t invite a bunch of rackety friends in to witness his arrival. They will confuse or excite him. First of all, decide on the quarters the pup is to occupy, and have those quarters ready for him beforehand. The quarters differ somewhat with different breeds. The man you buy him from will tell you the kind most suitable for your own pup. When the youngster arrives be there alone to receive him. Let yours be the hands to take him out of his crate, to release him from a prison he has grown to hate. That will be your first claim on his liking and gratitude. If pos- sible, have none of the family around. Be alone with him. Treat him gently. Don’t paw him and maul him and get his frayed nerves in worse shape than they are. Give him a few minutes’ run, to get the cramp out of his legs. Then take him to his quarters and give him some warm—not boiled—milk to drink, and some bread and milk to eat, and perhaps a puppy biscuit to gnaw on. Leave a pan of fresh drinking water in reach. More often than not, he won't eat just at first; though fatigue and nervousness will have made him thirsty. He is due to arrive at your house today. Molding the One:Man Dog HEN go away and leave him alone. He is tired out, whether he seems so or not, and he needs rest and quiet. Come back once or twice during the day and evening to see how he is getting on. If he is awake, speak to him or pat him. But for the most part don’t bother him for at least a day. Above all, don’t let anyone else disturb him or come near him during this time. Thus you will begin your association by impressing on his fuddled mind that you are his rescuer from the bondage of the crate and that it is you alone to whom he must look for food and drink. Thereafter, if you can arrange it, let nobody feed him or romp with him or pet him or exercise him except yourself, for the next two or three months. By that time, if you have used common invariable patience, he will have come to regard you as his deity, and as the source from which all his needs and his fun are to be expected. In other words, you will have be- his master, not merely his owner. There is a universe of difference between the two terms. There will be plenty of time, for many years there- after, for him to become a family dog and to make friends with the household and with its guests. But in the first formative months it must be you who doeverything for him and you alone who exercise and play with him and him, if he is to be- your dog in any except one of mere sense and come train come sense property. If he is at the beck and call of everyone from the start, he will be every- one’s dog. If you want Four Prize:-Winning Sunnybank Collies losing the strongest and best phase of the chumship be- tween dog and man. A one-man dog is a prize beyond cash price, to him who is lucky enough to be the one man. And anyone can become so by making the right start. A few years ago a man and his wife came here to Sunny- bank to buy a female collie puppy. I had only two such pups for sale just then—a pair of tricolors, about five months old; twin daughters of Sunnybank Gray Dawn. The buyers liked both of the pretty pups, and asked that the pair be let out of the yard to play with them. I opened the yard gate, saying: “One of these two pups is worth ten times as much, fora chum, as the other. You can decide for yourselves which one it is.” Out frisked the two puppies. to the strangers, jumping about them, fawning on them, coaxing them to play with her, reveling in their petting, doing a hundred winsome stunts. The other pup trotted up to me, with not a glance at the She did not shrink from them, but she gave them no heed at all. Quietly she stood close beside me, watch- ing her sister’s gambols, and now and then thrusting her cold muzzle up into my cupped hand for a word of recog- One of them rushed across visitors. nition. After they had played awhile with the first pup, the buyers came over to inspect the second. She moved away from their outstretched hands and would not respond to e that kind of dog, well and good. But you will be ROM DREW-BYNUM-PETERS, NEW JERSEY NEW Starting Out on a Morning Hike at Sunnybank SATURDAY EVENING POST im wt nm would nay things to you that the di their masters and mistresses. You w fect one-man dog as long as she | that loves everyone in general and nob It isn’t too late for you to change your mind you can take this one instead of the puppy 3 The woman seemed to think I was try At all events, she kept the pup she had man pup is still the worshiping comr bought her soon afterward. More Than Money Can Buy AR more often than not, the one-man qu And in trained pup it can be developed. The trait oped rather than inborn almost to any dog owner, and it cannot be purcha Kipling, a student of dog as well as of mar sentimentally than sensibly: Buy a pup Lot Perf By a kick Your money will do nothin Your You yourself t won't pup tne knows of the have money W lg must do the } the ribs.’ rest. As for ‘“‘a kick in your inferiority dog In bett mane way ing him. No to rowr Continued con Page 86 er ana more s than by

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24 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MY DEAR At Last She Seemed to Settle Upona Theme of Liszt's in Much the Way Thata Butterfly Selects and Fastens Upon a Flower vil Mr. Simmons had been kind that after- noon, running counter to his best sts He humanity such He had worked this great rangy young man to the limit d member of the manual-working now have expressed his feelings lus- ciously and without doubt to Mr. Simmons, and left the yb. But this Prey to a natural clination to bait him, because of his obvious and hateful eriority business inter- had been urged by a great wave of as seldom washed over his rocky shores. and beyond it; any true ciasses would he fore 1 t young man had endured. accursed education and his li-da accent, Mr. Simmons had left no device untried, ) straw unbestowed, to break this camel's back. But the ack of this particular camel seemed to strengthen and tiffen under persecution, and its temper to stabilize and now, privately confessing himself beaten in atural efforts, Mr. Simmons concluded that there bably something in the young fellow beyond his that a gentleman, sufficiently goaded, might be of class and his narden. So ble of unexpected things; and he softened and gave a ng admiration to his helper. ‘to be married tomorrer, ain't yer,” he added, “‘to Well, you done the main of the work; the and you can have from five o’clock off likes. You may likewise take these here sung lady, with my good wishes; and u're marryin’ one of the best.” en—while Jenny exchanged arguments ed cutter, who never stopped snipping his words poured out—found Danby ve Alley, planning to make such simple s wedding as the rest of the population tdo. To take a solemn hour and old water and yellow soap; to id, that y od mig ver witl ugh it was already beyond all ablution- help, and to get a hair cut. Already he saw completely, out formulating the idea in words, under what diffi- poor as these presented a fine clean front at like weddings, christenings and funerals. Already id that the rich, from their coming suave ILLUSTRATED homes to teach the poor better management of the un- manageable, are often intruders of the grossest imperti- nence, ignorance and stupidity. Already he admired —again without formulating the admiration in words—the cour- age, defiance and pride of these, the poorest poor. His mind, still new to these lessons, was absorbing without knowing that it learned. He had Mr. Simmons’ gift of apples in a large flag bas- ket, and he thought simply, and with pleasure, that Jenny would be very pleased indeed with them. Indeed, the apples as a spectacle were more beautiful by far than any of the other wedding gifts. With the apples, with what was much more precious—these extra hours of freedom—he came home. Inside the dark odorous entrance of the house a letter was lying, a white square on the dingy floor. He picked it up and made out dimly that it was addressed to him. He dropped it in his pocket, climbed the stairs, left the apples in Jenny’s room, and then shut himself into his own, with his mind fixed on the most stringent ablutions. Like any other bridegroom in Greengrove Alley, he was going to mark the occasion by having a really stern wash. Oh, he thought, what a funny life! What a darn funny heartbreaking business! If Philip could see him now. Be- ing dead, perhaps he could. That was rather a great thought. And then he drew the letter from his pocket. It might be Matthew Hamilton penning a severe exhortation to him on the eve of such a terrific happening as marriage with Jenny; since who else in all the world would be writ- ing tohim now? Then the blood rushed all over his body. His fingers, at the seal, felt the familiar crest upon it; and his eyes saw Lucas’ handwriting staring out, as if immense, from the familiar note paper. Lucas, writing coldly: Dear Jack: you sent it. Yes, I have lost Philip. I appreciated your letter and the way in which BY July 9, 1927 By MAY EDGINTON ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN If you think y seriously, ou would like t y, over the future, I will r at Beverley Place, as soon as y a while, and feeling very purpo There are Philip’s empty sl opinion of you, I should sugge Sut I suppose that remains to be seen, on our meeting, if t to vou that 1 to meet again, On receipt of this letter I telephone to apprise me, and the arrangements permit. You know as well as anyone You are no fool, in spite of all suade us all to the contrary. He was fond « to see my ambitions fulfill f what ambitions I had for P! your lamental ffort Lucas RIvt RSIDE. Now Bad Boy Danby was seized with a delirium. He blazed with excitement, emotion. A marvelous panorama of the future passed before him; all the old splendid life, old splendid days again; hopes and joys and fortune. He was resurrected. As if a force too strong to let him hes over any considerations whatsoever drove him, his mind swept onward. The last months, madness. This squalid poverty, unutterable. “Free! Myself again! Out of all this! night—tonight,” he kept crying aloud. This very night he might be sitting with Lucas. Good talk again, soft wines; the treasures of the world to plunge one’s hands and heart into! Philip’s shoes! He walked up and room, stopped and looked from the window. dirty stream; tate misery. This weddi down the quivering The all all these mean streets like dirty streams, bearing along helpless leaves and rubbish, flotsam and jetsam, bearing along these people with how no more vo of destiny than animals; could he ever, ever have thought it possible to It would never have been possible. It was suicide. It was madness. And then as his thoughts whirled on and thi

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST certainty of that fine life ahead, if he could only take it, fixed like a great star before his sight, he paused a moment, as a lord of the earth might pause to regard some little poor thing, and he regarded, in his mind, Jenny. He thought of her with strange, little, tender, flying thoughts that already put her far away from him. And while those strange, little, poignant, misted thoughts of Jenny clouded the bright skies of his mind, he remembered time. It had been five o'clock when he opened the letter. Time! So much hinged on time; on swift resolutions, retreats. He felt, in his pocket, the money there. Enough. Plans ran of their own accord into his head. She might be back from Dealy’s at any moment. He had written the brief note, left it, pinned down from the breeze by the flag basket of apples, upon her table. Her room had lost all its sometime loveliness for him. Her machine stood under its cover on the table; on all was the stamp of poverty; the geranium no longer flowered like lotus land. How could he ever have dreamed Hot blood, seeing her there day after day as she nursed him; hot blood, roused by combat with Heiner; hot blood, heated by the flame of her nimbus of hair—hot blood had done it. Hadn’t his blood ever raced for a girl before? It had. He was out in the street, walking swiftly, taking the opposite way to the route by which she returned from Dealy’s, not pausing for a half mile; and then, looking for a telephone booth, he went in and telephoned to Sir Lucas Riverside, at 16 Beverley Place. “Tell Sir Lucas that Mr. Jack Riverside will be with him at eight,’”’ he said. ‘‘ How is Sir Lucas?”’ The servant answered, “Sir Lucas is fairly well.” vir E HEADED west, traveling by omnibus. He seemed to live ecstatically through happy lambent years of time before he came to Jermyn Street. And once there, in the very heart of well-to-do masculine life, club land, bache- lor chambers for the rich, and almost within a stone’s throw of the Ritz, so stately and serene, he feared lest he should meet some old acquaintance who might recognize him in spite of his deplorable suit. Thus, according to the habit of the last few months, he pulled his hat brim very low over his eyes as he hastened along, bound for the old-fashioned house of gentlemen’s chambers which old Stone, the retired butler, kept and ran so impeccably. He had an uneasiness lest Stone should be out, but the old butler opened the door himself. He stood looking sharply for a moment, and then rather uncomfortably, if kindly, recogni- tioncame, Jack perceived the discomfort. He was faintly dismayed by it. The elderly servant, after his years of faithful service, now launched on his own enter- prise, was not unnaturally wondering if Mr. Jack Riverside were here for a little accommodation for which he could not pay; even a little financial loan. For She Was Looking Up at the Cake—the High, White, and Gorgeous Symbol, He Read, With His Kind and Hungry Eyes,All the StoryofWoman's Love, Amazement, Sorrow and Despair in Her Face young gentlemen had been known to Jean on old servants who had feathered their nests, ing degree. Stone knew of the break between Sir Lucas and his d nephew. It was after his time at Riverside, but he knew all about it. It wouldn't be likely that Sir Lucas would pay out anything on the young gentleman's account any mncert- sometimes to a dis¢ more, Yet, thinking all this quietly as he stood with } on his respectable door, Stone was still kindly is hand still tolerant and deferential. He had always had a twinkle for the peccadillos of boys. Jack looked back at him under the battered hat brim, and a smile passed between them, suddenly and easily Dear old Stone! “Hullo, Stone. How are you? Get a winner today “How are you, Mr. Jack? Yes, I had a bit on Cleopatra for the three-thirty. And you, sir?” “‘T’ve given up all my bad ways, Stone. Leave them to you ig The door still held dubiously between them, Stone asked, ‘“‘ Were you coming in, Mr “Tf you'll ask me, Stone.” The door opened, but its movement was still dubious. Jack understood the ex-butler’s hesitation. He had saved his sufficient pile, invested in this old house in Jermyn Street, and was unwilling to have a deadhead on the prem- if he were one of the Riversides. Stone had to live, and equally of course, he hoped to live with profit. This was natural, if a trifle humiliating. “All right, Stone; it’s all right, you know,” Jack said, passing in, glad to be out of the publicity of that particu- larly intimate street. They stood in the most spick-and-span hall, which was but economically lighted, and again Stone looked his visitor very closely and gravely up and down. “T want you to do something for me in a hurry, I thought of you at ones Jack ? od ises, even Of course stone. ay l 1e, don't be onight.” the air relaxed ! Then y Jac K resp Beverley Place indeed ad “Oh, impos like that.” “Help me, Stone, will you? ¥ could fit who'd bring the things round here; Time's short, y ou must know someone who new or secondhand } u'd let me dress me up somehow ana y here, wouldn’t you, eh? time’s short; and so’s money It was wonderful and reassuring to see how the old fellow now jumped to the “I've got clothes to He room here; makes the best of his old things. I sell ‘em for hin ju see, Stone emergen some sell for Captain Shell, sir, here r to a dealer 1 know sometimes. Roughly, ab« But And again the faint doubt glimmering Jack pulled out Sir Lucas’ letter, you?” ut your hgure I should say “Is this a tale? Read that, will With gestures of apology and deprecation, Stone did so satisfying himself. Jack watched his clean, gray, pendu reverer tly From doub lous face bent over the letter, hel 80 wi and 1, father] torial smile spirat young gentieman “I knew if I came to you, you'd manage some thing for me ‘Gi to Stone,’ I said t Continued on Page 132

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26 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AEG. U. 5. PA FOUNDED A°D' 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR Five Cents the Copy From All Newsdealers. By Subscription: To the United States and Possessions, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Coéta Rica, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Guatemala, Haiti, Isle of Pines, Labrador, Mexico, Newfoundland, Niceragua, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Salvador, Spain and Uruguay, $2.00 the Year (52 issues). Remit by U. S. Money Order, Express Money Order, Check or by Draft, payable in U. S. Funds lo Canada—By Subscription, $2.00 the Year (52 issues). Single Copies, Five Cents—Canadian o- U. S. Funds. To Foreign Countries, exclusive of those mentioned, by subscription, post paid, $6.00 the Year (52 issues). Remittances by Postal or Express Money Order or by Draft on a bank in the U. S., payable in U. S. Funds. PHILADELPHIA, JULY 9, 1927 A Primer of Local Taxation HE tax situation in Middlesex County, state of New | Jersey, is not much worse nor much better than it is in scores of other counties in the Union. It is different, how- ever, thanks to a public-spirited manufacturer, in that it has been scientifically studied and the results of a careful survey have been boiled down into an attractive little book which shows in the clearest terms where the system falls lown, where it presses too lightly and where it bears down too hard. This report to the taxpayers of Middlesex County is conceived in such a broad spirit and is so much oncerned with fundamentals that it contains all the mak- ngs of an excellent primer of local taxation. In New Jersey, as elsewhere, “the principal source of tax receipts are the people who think they do not pay taxes.” Those whose income is under $5000 pay more for taxes than they do for clothing; and families which are rubbing along on half that amount pay more for government than for what they buy from butcher, grocer, baker and milk- man. Reduced to a per capita basis, the citizens of Mid- dlesex County paid in 1926 a direct tax of $50.79, or a direct charge per family of $253.95 a year. About $131 of this went for school purposes. Adding Federal taxes to those for state and county, the charge to each taxpayer would be $86.79, or $433.95 per family. By an interesting ‘oincidence this sum closely approximates the average rent paid by Jerseymen. The figures quoted do not include the joker taxes—those invisible levies which are not itemized as taxes, but which i enter into the price of food, shelter, clothing, transpor- tation and commodities of all sorts. It cannot be far from the truth to estimate that a family in moderate circum- stances which is paying four or five hundred dollars in di- rect taxes is unknowingly paying about the same amount indirectly, for about twenty-five per cent of its total ex- penditures go to pay taxes of one sort or another. If the poor endure these very burdensome exactions with more equanimity than the rich, there is a good reason for it. A man whose income is $100,000 a year discharges most of his tax liability by check. His tax is direct, visible and ex- ceedingly painful. Just because he can spend forty times is much as one of his $2500 clerks, he is not likely to pay forty times as much rent, spend forty times as much on the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST family clothing or eat forty times as much. If he did, the loudness of his outcries would be multiplied fortyfold. The poor lose no more sleep over the taxes paid by the rich than over those which they pay themselves, for under the prevailing system of raising money for government the taxgatherer operates upon persons of small means while in a state of coma; but the rich have small benefit of anws- thetics. Proportionably the poor fare much worse; but they rarely miss that which is taken from them invisibly and painlessly. The gravest menace which hangs over the head of the lit- tle fellow is a circumstance which he is likely either to re- gard with approval or to ignore entirely. This is the burdensome taxation of corporations. Middlesex County is a center of highly competitive industry. Fixed charges swollen by taxes must be figured into the selling price of goods; and the higher those charges are, the less able are local manufacturers to compete successfully in the markets of the nation. Here, as elsewhere, taxation keeps wages from going as high as they might go if fixed charges were lower. Restricted wages mean restricted purchasing power, and this is a factor which affects the well-being of the en- tire community. According to Mr. Samuel Crowther, who wrote the report under discussion: “‘ The chief political bar which may be interposed against increased industrial ac- tivity is in the form of ill-advised taxation. To take away the earning power of a corporation through heavy taxes is not a method of helping the poor man. It is a method of making him poorer, because it closes to him the gate of opportunity.” In New Jersey, as in other commonwealths, the report intimates, the people like to fool themselves on taxes and will keep any group in office provided they spend money liberally and tax in such fashion that they are not caught in the act. Their tendency is to get all they can, provided the other fellow does the paying, and to accept the popular theory that what they do not know does not hurt them. This sharp arraignment concludes, as is right and proper, with a clear statement of certain basic principles which, if faithfully observed, should put all taxation on a much firmer footing. Lay the taxes where they will do the least harm. Make them as simple and cheap in collection as possible. Make taxes not only highly visible but also uni- versal, so everyone will pay a tax and know he is paying it. Make taxes certain so that they may be provided for. Do not tax utilities in such a manner as to bring about higher rates and poorer service. Remember that exemptions from tax are not really exemptions at all, but requirements for involuntary contributions from those not exempted. Tax exemption is taxation without representation. When recognition and adoption of these elementary principles have become universal the small taxpayer will come out of his twilight sleep and begin to realize what was being done to him while he was in a state of semiconscious- ness. His discoveries will scarcely be calculated to make him an advocate of painless methods of taxation. Unofficial Ambassadors HE AMERICAN LEGION will go to Paris under f Syreaticeen happy auspices. Thanks to young Captain Lindbergh and to his astute mentor, Ambassador Herrick, all France has a warmer feeling for Americans than at any other time since Woodrow Wilson first went to Paris. The services of Captain Lindbergh in kindling the smoldering embers of French sympathy and good will can scarcely be overestimated. His grit and daring and the success which crowned them could not alone have produced such results had he been a less admirable type of young American. His modesty, his consideration for others, his faultless tact, his ability to say and do precisely the right thing, contributed to his popularity almost as much as his great exploit. No doubt he owed much to the counsel and suggestions of Mr. Herrick; but if he had not been blessed with a knightly heart and an unusually engaging personality all the coach- ing in the world would not have enabled him to capture the French imagination and endear himself to the French heart to the degree that he did. All the world does homage to valor and heroism; but France esteems niceties of be- havior almost as highly. The only fault that can be found with Captain Lind- bergh’s career as an unofficial ambassador is that he set so high a standard of performance that many who follow him will be half beaten before they start. At the same time they will have the advantage of finding the stage all set for them and the French people ready and willing to meet them more than halfway. The opportunities for increasing American popularity and prestige which lie open to the members of the American Legion during their stay in Paris arealmost boundless. If they take them seriously and apply to them half the good sense they apply to their own personal affairs, they, too, will render their country no mean service. Too Little of a Good Thing 8 scone the short session of Congress immigration matters remained virtually at a standstill. Efforts to hamstring the Johnson Act were abortive, and sundry attempts made to strengthen it got nowhere. The enemies of reasonable restriction of immigration were tireless in their attacks upon it and displayed extraordinary zeal and resourcefulness. In no activity did they manifest greater skill than in the systematic manner in which they played up and magnified in the daily press every known instance of hardship sustained either as a result of the formalities of Ellis Island or because aliens who volun- tarily left their relatives in Europe were unable to bring them into the country. The tremolo stop was used with great effect in these recitals; but for a long time organized and subsidized pathus has been overplayed and most of the virtue of the old-fashioned sob stuff has gone out of it. The fourth annual report of the Committee on Immigra- tion of the Allied Patriotic Societies has just come from the press. The elaborate and painstaking studies of this committee are well known and its reports are examined with interest in both houses of Congress. The docu- ment in question recalls the fact that during the last days of the session a relief biil, founded on a sound principle, which would have given preferences within the quota to near relatives of aliens was passed in the House, but failed of passage in the Senate. This bill, which would have helped unite families without increasing the total immi- gration, was opposed by Senator Copeland, who had in- troduced numerous bills to let in relatives of aliens outside the quotas The report goes on to say: ‘“‘There is good reason to believe that races which are pressing hard for a larger im- migration to the United States are seeking by carefully worded appeals to sentiment to bring about increases in their total immigration through wholesale exemptions from the quotas in favor of all kinds of relatives. In view of the fact that approximately eighty per cent of all im- migration to the United States consists of relatives of those already here, it is clearly necessary to confine within the quotas the admission of such relatives, if we are to con- tinue to have any real restriction. Already the law con- tains a liberal quota exemption for the wives and minor children of United States citizens, by virtue of which exemptions no less than 11,154 alien wives and children were admitted during the last fiscal year, outside of the quotas.” The Johnson Act has had such a full and fair trial, and its adoption has brought such signal benefits to the coun- try, that it is inconceivable that we should ever return to our old free-for-all policy. The country looks forward, not back. Changes in the immigration law are bound to come, but they must be progressive, not regressive. There is already a strong sentiment for further restriction of numbers. The feeling is growing that Mexico and other parts of Latin America should be put upon a quota basis. Some form of registration of aliens will presently be forced upon us as a virtual necessity. Deportation of undesirables must be made an easier and simpler process. Fraudulent entries must be more effectively controlled and the use of forged and stolen papers discouraged. The Border Patrol, which is now doing excellent work, should be brought to a still higher pitch of efficiency. There is plenty of new immigration business awaiting the attention of the next session of Congress. July 9,1927

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST New Myths Albout Uncle Sam IME-HALLOWED legends play an astoundingly im- myths and portant réle in international rela- tions. Diplomats and executive heads of governments have to deal with them no less than with the facts of any pend- ing issue. If one-third of the people of one country were to choose to believe that the people of another are fond of eat- ing boiled infants, then that yarn, no matter how utterly absurd and unsupported by evidence, would become a fac- tor in the relations between the two countries. Treaties and covenants are no longer dictated by sov- ereigns alone. The world has gone democratic. Not only must the opinions ot thinking people be taken into consid- eration but every bias or prejudice of the most unthinking as well. Probably this has always been more or less true, for there is ample evidence of mob hysteria forcing kings into disastrous ventures against their better judgment, even in the days when they would not permit parliaments to limit their power or criticize their actions. Nowadays the force of public opinion is even greater, and its strength rests upon numbers, almost exclusive of every other con- sideration. By CHESTER T. CROWELL Until quite recently the myths and legends about Amer- icans cherished in various parts of the world made very lit- tle difference, but within a decade that whole situation has changed. Being the richest nation on earth, the United States is, from a conservative point of view, the most pow- erful; but it is absolutely committed by usage, opinion and fundamental law to the preservation of private property, and the principle of private property is under fire. Our Government also rests upon the ballot box and a Constitu- tion, both of which are under fire the adopted, the United States has gone like a rocket through Thus, in few years since our Constitution was a process of evolution, beginning with the experimental stage, then advancing to the position of torchbearer, and most fa- that it stands for is challenged, and yet the world still does busi- now regarded in many parts of the world as the natically and frantically conservative on earth. All ness as we do it—either that or very little business is done. Nevertheless, from a good-natured, glossy young cub, Un- cle Sam has grown into a bearded giant capable of scowling ominously. Hence the myths and legends about him un- dergo certain changes. He is said to clutch and grab. Worse still, he is said to approve of clutching and grabbing, THE SKYWRITER aiso gouging, 4nd lO Dack up 8uC tices at times with his Army and Nav} This tradition, now about ten years of age, is making a great deal of trouble for Americans, ~~ espe a, where it is being spread with great cially in Latin Ameri energy, shrewdness and Our Government persistence provision for foreign propaganda, Dut some makes no others do, and not only do they carry it into contested field but into the United States as well, boldly appealing to the public over the heads of the President and Secretary of State legend to the effect that As a result, there is now a fairly well established American business interests ir Latin America frequently promote revolutions and other wise upset or harass governments to obtain or retain prop erties, strengthen their positions and generally to increase their profits No specific instances of successful revolutions are cited and so far as I have been able to learn, none has ever beer cited. Reiteration of the story in broad generalities seems to be sufficient. And why not, since on its face it appears to be not impossible? But as a matter of fact, it really is impossible. On the very few occasions when such efforts have been attempted they failed dismally, without produc- ing even so much as a first-rate disturbance. And even these few efforts were sponsored by intrepid adventurers not by banking or large interests good mining or commercial There are very reasons, quite aside from decency J 1 : and morals, why such interests would not engage ir Continued on Page 123

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THE Father and the Bathing Wardrobe ) 1.GHTER, if you must woo fle res, —_ } > , , your Old Man Tr? i} } Veverthele 1 0 I 1 for every dar j P ) or yu hadi nT ) Yo ry 7 yy elf for some bea yarad. ty T ¥ : ) ror f One nleé é i ‘ I ] Pray do not make ut too minute; fear no Diana. Yet if you do go out to swin By my consent and mamma 8, Hang what you will upon each limb, But spare us those beach pajamas. —Fairfax Downey. A Suggestion “LOGAN for hosiery manufacturer: \) Wear our hose and have con- tented calves. The Dead Line ] 1M an easy mark, 'lis true, . ie “77 But not for him who ill-requites re There's one fool thing I will not do That i , lo feed the hand that hites me! Strickland Gillilan. Who Knows? MES: SKINNER, the wife of Ezra — and Skinner, the most prosperous i also the most parsimonious farmer of Blank County, suddenly be- ame insane and had to be put away. It was a hard blow to Ezra in more ways than one, for it became necessary to hire both a ‘ook and a housemaid to take care of the duties formerly SHORT TURNS PU MOVING-PICTURE BLISHERS ~ PRODUCERS TO LINDBERGH: Chorus—‘‘ Give Us a Slice!"’ ““Darned ef I can see. She ain’t been outside the kitchen fer thirty-two years.” —Timothy Sullivan. his wife’s. A few days after Mrs. Skinner’s sudden de- rangement, the minister called on the husband to express lis sympathy. ‘“What in the world do you think could have happened to your wife, Mr. Skinner?’’ the minister a deringly. ™ No, Dearie, He is Not a Movie Star; He's the Inventor of the Refiliable and Noncollapsible Confession Story Oh, Joy! Oh, Happy Day! NV R. WAGSTAFF, with a sinking heart, perceived in 4V1 the morning mail one of those square envelopes of such fine quality that the corners puncture pestmen’s sked won- Yl SS Wbunsote HAWN BY PAUL RENLLY BROADCASTING COMPANIES » Paget jy f/ f AY SATURDAY EVENING POST THEATRE OWNERS “George! Sit right down and write Percy a nice letter! CORES July 9,1927 hands. He worked at it with his thumb for two minutes and then sur- rendered to the paper manufacturers and used the butter knife. He drew out a second envelope. “‘A wedding invitation!”’ cried Mrs. Wagstaff in consternation. “Tt’s Percy Dippel. Goingto marry that Sloper girl on June second. I suppose he expects us to give him a present. I’ll be cursed if I'll give him a present.” ‘But, George, he was one of our ushers.” “Curse him! My insurance pre- mium is due on the first. If he wants a present he can take back that elec- tric waffle iron he gave us. “No, we'll have to give him a nice present. Rosen’s is having a sale of tea sets with one or two slightly cracked pieces. We could send one of them and blame the cracks on the delivery boy.” “How much?” “We could probably get out of it for about twenty dollars.” “Curse him! What’s he want to go and marry that comic strip for? She’ll lead him a merry life. She’s so mean she swipes the public pens out of post offices.” “T’ll have to have a new dress to wear to the wedding.” ““You won’t need any new dress to send your regretsin. I'll stay right here at home on his wedding day and wear my flannel shirt and old pants and you'll do the same.” “You'll have to borrow Uncle John’s cutaway coat again, unless he’s been asked too.” “Curse Percy and his bride and Uncle John, and you too! I hope the girl robs him and beats him and spends all his money on antiques and runs away witha bus boy! Before I'd go to his wedding I'd be a judge in a baby show! And before I'll give him a present I'll see him sizzling in the place where ‘ Mr. Wagstaff then sat down and wrote the following letter: Dear old Percy: Well, old pai, it certainly is great news to hear that you're going to put on the ball and chain. The wife and I gave a regular whoop of joy when we got your wonderful an- nouncement. She's a marvelous girl; I’ve been crazy about her (Continued on Page 49 Popular Song Writer: ‘‘If You Want to Follow in My Footsteps, Don't Let Them Learn You No Grammar"

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The flavor secret about beans There’s a definite, delicious flavor in slow-cooked beans which has won a tremendous public. It is the flavor which leads hosts of people to insist on having Campbell’s Beans always. It is produced by long, slow, thorough cooking which goes to the very heart of the bean and makes it tender, yielding and digestible. This slow-cooking brings out the full rich bean flavor. And then our famous Tomato Sauce, with all its sparkle and appetizing zest! No wonder so many house- wives consider Campbell’s Beans in a class by themselves. If there are children in your family, you should be especially careful to serve them beans which are cooked and prepared in this wholesome way. | | Aad a S— on , With Tomato SAUS Ry) A ron 4 n yc CAMPBELL Sour COMPANY CAMDEN ,NWV.U.SA A 12 cents a can Except in Rocky Mountain States and in Canada Serve hot Serve cold SLOW -COOKED DIGESTIBLE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST JR OTIV. x { ling statement re- m Marcus not asa new and inexpected stunning blow ature of a stimulant. Per- rved the acknowledged prin- yunterirritant, or its similar ‘chologic principle. For the moment, however, he could merely gape. Gregory looked even more bewildered. Then he turned vexedly to his sister. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you had an 3ecause Mr. True was so absolutely ire, and you appeared entirely willing to accept his reconstruction.” “T believe I asked you if you had nything to say,”’ Gregory snapped. Yes, and ! answered ‘Nothing.’ I yvanted to think it out alittle more. To tell the truth, I wasn’t quite easy in my mind about yourself. It all hung to- thersomarvelously. Seemed to check at every point.” ‘Well,”” Gregory said, “if any of you any lingering doubts about. my lo- n, all you need do is to call up the ersity Club and ask when they saw last. Or thebank. But what about yur gloves, and that green paint on your sleeve-—that matched this?” He ched round and picked up the brief case ‘My gloves were a disgrace, I'll ad- ’ Beatrice said with a faint smile. ‘] decided to come at the last moment, and got off in such a hurry that I grabbed up the wrong pair—some I'd been using to fight an outboard detach- able motor. I didn’t bother to buy a pair. And the green paint must me from the canvas boat the went with. It was quite freshly al “You really t to have told me this aboard the he said sadly y,”’ Beatrice answered. fter the - adful news to be accused of all that ff was not por mad- 10t seem worth deny- is shook his head. link it was what made t iarcus admitted % ‘i ’ 4i ~ S rrible thing I did next. ‘ aa § Ga ~h eas 6 Ge a “AN your sense of propor- hurt you terribly, through ne, then insulted you ibominably, through every fault of | hope some day you may forgive me. You weren't x what happened afterward.” said Gregory impatiently, “‘then if it wasn’t s, who the deuce was it who maltreated Mary will?” ‘hat question,’’ Marcus said, “ puts us back where we about fourteen hours ago—when I was getting itched into the lake.” Mary Brown said quietly, “It has reopened another ry and Beatrice looked at her inquiringly, but diately understood. He saved her the un- sity of answering. “As long as we sus- t i s prowler was Gregory, who for some reason id chosen to slip back here and reconnoiter the premises und what might be going on, there seemed no cause to sus- ct that Mr. Orrin’s death could be from other than natural causes. Especially as it had been so singularly peaceful. His appearance was that of a man who had fallen asleep, and, for that matter, who was still asleep. The doctor commented on this fact. But now we can no longer be so sure iid, lowering his voice. For a moment Gregory looked startled; then his face hardened. ‘That's so. As the facts now stand, a masked prowler was outside the open door of his room and flung Mary into hers immediately before it was discovered that i | , ‘*Take This and Lock it Up Somewhere, Sheriff; ona Charge of Stealing the Will’’ ‘And Simpson was with him not five minutes before,” said Mary Brown. In the face of this fresh development, whatever arrange- ments had been arrived at during Marcus’ absence were set aside. Gregory leaped down and went into the house. The others followed. ““Vogel!”’ he called. The manservant came from the pantry. “Yes, Mr. Gregory?” “Has the undertaker started to prepare the remains, or have they been in any way disturbed?” “‘No, sir. Doctor Miles telephoned, while you and Mr. True and the ladies were in consultation, to order that the remains of Mr. Orrin were to be in no way disturbed. Doctor Miles telephoned to the undertaker himself just after you had gone into the library.” “Why wasn’t I informed?” “Doctor Miles requested that nothing be said to the family or others until he called, sir.’”’ “Did he say when that would be?” “No, sir. But the doctor mentioned that he would come as soon as he could get in touch with one of his colleagues, sir.” “When Doctor Miles was here last night,’’ Marcus said, “he spoke of a colleague who was an expert in post- mortem examinations, and said that he would, as coroner, detail him for the case. But later the sheriff told me when I talked with him on the phone that there would be no autopsy performed.” July 9, 1927 By Henry C. Rowland ILLUSTRATED c. D. WILLIAMS “When he had made up his mind that I was the village cut-up playing May Day pranks,”’ Gregory said bit- terly. ‘“‘Did he suspect that it might possibly be Beatrice?”’ “Not from anything I told him, Marcus said. ‘But even if he had, it would have amounted to the same. think he has struck a fresh scent.” “He spoke about leaving town,” Beatrice suggested. ‘“‘I thought he meant something else, but it may be that he is after his man.” Marcus suddenly remembered the sheriff’s brief mention of Sam Cum- mings. The sheriff, Marcus thought, probably was running this trail alone, mentally at least, and so far as Marcus was concerned there was no danger of further interference. Mary Brown evidently guessed at what was passing in his mind and de- sired to apply a balm, for she said quietly, “All of your last night’s deduc- tion that led to your getting back the will was right, Mr. True, except the one point of identity, and you hadn’t de- cided positively on that until you got what seemed the perfect check of Miss Orrin’s gloves and the paint smear.” “And laugh,” Beatrice said. ‘That wouldn’t be exact,” Mary Brown objected; “‘ because his ears musi have been full of water. But the other details were precise. Assuming that the bloodhound recognized the sound of the car, the masked person must have been the one who drove it, and known to Sam Cummings and familiar with the prem- ises. The sheriff then decided to ask for a post mortem.” Marcus nodded. ‘All the same, I can’t believe that Mr. Orrin was mur- dered, or even suffered a mental shock. When I looked in on him it was hard to believe that he was dead. His features were entirely reposed and his eyes closed, as if he had fallen into a quiet brought me back here? ‘To make a true copy of the will,” Gregory said. “My sister has finally got back in her right mind. She did not destroy the will at all, in whole or in part. After she had knocked you senseless she shoved the will into her dressing bag, then burned atime-table to put you off.” “The sheriff was right,’’ Marcus muttered. ‘I might have guessed something of the sort if I hadn't been a fool.” ““We think now,” said Gregory, “‘that to play safe there had better be a true copy made and duly attested. Miss Brown can keep that and you can take the original with you.” ‘But we want you to go to bed and get a good sleep be- fore you start back for Boston,”’ said Beatrice. Marcus nodded. ‘‘Perhaps you are right. I do feel pretty queer and I don’t want to pass out on the train and possibly lose this precious document again. Let’s get about it.” His head was beginning to throb again, though his brain was clear—unnaturally active, as it seemed to Marcus. They went into the library, where Mary Brown quickly made a copy of the will on the typewriter. The signature was duly attested, Marcus affixing his seal of notary. He folded the document and handed it to Mary Brown. “Tf Sheriff Clark is right,”” Marcus said, ““we may find that Mr. Orrin’s real intentions toward his son and toward Mary Brown were entirely apart, and his hope that they might marry, a secondary consideration.” The three looked startled. Then Gregory asked, “ What do you mean by that?” “Mr. Clark may tell you when he gets ready,” Marcus said wearily. ‘‘He seems to have had the right answer to all this mess from the very start. Most professional de- tectives and all of us soi-disan/ amateur ones could sit at _ sleep. Doctor Miles reported the same.”’ 7 { He turned to Gregory. ‘“‘ Why have you A ) 3 ; fie S i (Continued on Page 32) er ee ee

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Continued from Page 30 sheriff applies the principles of s fee ‘ Ihe woodcraft to his reasoning. But then, he’s a woodsman.”’ Be: e rose. “* Well, that can wait. Come, please, Mr ‘ i e next few hours you've got to consider me dur nu Phe ng is for you to get to bed.” é it vay out and to the stairs. Marcus was con- scious of a sudden curious exaltation of feeling that was not only mental but physical. It was as if the recovery ot the will, intact and undamaged, had eased him out from inder some tolerable and crushing burden He felt astonishing ght of mind and body. There was an eerie mp on of special senses reaching far beyond their ormal scope, as though he were suddenly clairvoyant, iudient, and with an infinite projection of the tactile ensé hieving a sixth one. Also his body seemed to have lost its ponderosity, so that he was buoyed up, floating. There was no perceptible weight to the tread of his feet. It occurred to him that his mind, soul, whatever ani- broken through its material bar- must have out delightfully into some other and id was reaching less restricting dimension. But this, instead of dismaying him, was infused with satisfaction, a sense of really living for the first time. There was a transparency to surround- ng objects, or a luminosity that seemed to promise their removal at any moment as textures of a limiting capacity. All pain, discomfort faded into utter well-being as he followed Beatrice down the hall. Then, opposite the door of the room in which lay the body of Mr. Orrin, Marcus paused. The door itself was open, but a light curtain was irawn. The interior was, of course, darkened. Beatrice looked back over her shoulder. At sight of Marcus’ face her own went suddenly white. She had for the instant the curious impression as of looking at some not a ghost or specter, bu‘ a Marcus was standing His face was serene visitant from another plane; presence of supermortal attributes st fly erect, one hand slightly raised of features, but there was an amazing brilliancy in his , not steely but rather slaty, eyes Actually of an iron gray they looked now to be a luminous black “Come, Mr. True,’ Beatrice began tremulously. ‘That’s father’s room.”’ Of course,"’ Marcus said. “Just a minute. I want to tell him that it’s all right.” hands flew up to her face. The worst, she Beatrice’s two , : ; ’ feared, had happened. Fatigue, nerve strain, worst of all, “It’s All Right, Sir. We All Lost Our Heads for -a Few Hours, But We've Come to Our Senses Again’’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST the fearful result of her own mad violence, had finally accomplished its dreadful result. Either Marcus had gone insane, or else he was in the first grip of what the sheriff had so evidently feared. Beatrice felt herself to freeze as she stood, repressing the impulse to scream. Marcus laid his hand on the curtain, drew it aside, stood peering into the darkened room. Then he said gently, “Tt’s all right, sir. We all lost our heads for a few hours, but we've come to our senses again.”’ Beatrice was unable to move. “‘ Mr. True, “Oh, Mr. True!” Marcus made a little reassuring gesture with his hand. ‘““One moment, please.’’ He was still staring into the room. “TI think, Mr. Orrin,”’ he said gently, “‘it would make it easier for everybody if you were to say just why you wanted Mary Brown to have : Beatrice could stand it no longer. She drew toward where Marcus stood, her feet dragging on the floor. “Oh, Mr. True . . he can’t understand . . . he is dead.” she moaned. Marcus turned and looked at her with a faint smile. ‘‘ He is nothing of the sort. That was all a mistake. I realized it as I got to the top of the stairs. You had better go in. Don’t bother about me.” Jeatrice, suffocating, took him gently by the arm to draw him away. But Marcus stood fast. Slowly then he reached up and slid back the curtain of the door. ‘‘ Look!”’ Beatrice looked, half smothered by the pounding of her heart. Then, as she looked, the head of her father turned slowly or its pillow in a movement infinitely weary, and his kindly eyes, bright and alive, looked questioningly at his daughter. ‘Beatrice, darling,’’ he said faintly, and smiled. xI ™REGORY and Mary Brown were startled by the sound J of ascream. They rushed out and up the stairs. Mar- cus, on his feet but swaying unsteadily, clung to the curtain of the door. As they reached him, almost together, a weak voice, but in accents lovingly familiar, reached their ears. “There, there, Bee dear, this happened to me once before—in the Philippines.” Mary Brown rocked back as she stood. Marcus slipped slowly to the floor. Gregory plunged into the room. Bea- trice, sobbing silently, knelt by the side of her father’s bed, his face against her own, their arms entwined. July 9, 1927 None of them heard the car as it entered and stopped at the front door. Neither were they aware of the presence o Doctor Miles with another keen-faced man as they paused for a moment on the threshold, then entered Gregory, whose nerves were strongest at that moment, was alone conscious of what the old country doctor was saying to his colleague: ‘‘ Just as I felt, somehow, thoug! scarcely dared to hope. I wasn’t satisfied at getting no vital reaction of any sort, because, you see, there wasn’t any post-mortem change at all. There was such a case that had us all guessing for thirty-six hours when I was doing my hospital-interne service years ago. : expert of whom they examination, but physica One who might be able to pronounce with cer It dawned on Gregory then that the Doctor Miles had been in quest was not, as sumed, had as one in post-mortem diagnosis. tainty as to whether there was here a mortal issue or one of those rare but sufficiently proved and admitted cases of suspended animation, catalepsy. But of joy, amazement, he thought of Marcus “Mr. True is in a bad way, doctor,”’ he said. ‘It isn’t just shock at what’s happened. He’s had a fearful blow a physical one, I mean.” Beatrice looked round. anything happens ae even in his rust ‘Yes, and it was my fault. If ‘*Hush,”’ Gregory said shortly. He caught her eye, mo tioned toward his father. Beatrice nodded, slipped gently from that close embrace, rose and went out the door. Her face was drawn and white. She and Mary Brown. -botl strong young women._— picked up the unconscious Marcus and carried him into his room and laid him on the bed Doctor Miles did not appear alarmed over Marcus’ con- dition. ‘‘ Fatigue and mild brain concussion. He’s and healthy and ought to sleep it off.” young ‘*What about his feeling that father was alive?’’ Beatrice asked. “Dave Clark and Simpson had the same, and they hadn’t run into any tree in the dark. True’s special senses were hyperacute just then. Receptive to higher percep- tions—-like a radio set tuned up. He sensed your father alive, and forgot about his supposed death. He w sleep it off, then rise and shine.” This prognosis proved itself. Marcus put in twelve hours of that kind of sleep which is the great reward of clean living, the first ten hours of it profound and the last two in a changed position of the sort that seems to rest a person from the effort of sleeping hard from this stretched, He awoke luxuriously, yawned, blinked, rubbed his nose and passed generally through the stages of a healthy man in getting whe re he be- young good condition back to longed Whatever the psychol- ogy, Marcusremembered all that had happened up to the yielding to an over- moment otf l powering urge to sleep. t It was as if on nearing that word “catale psy,” and appreciating its sig- nificance, Marcus had gone thankfully off watch He now found himself refreshed, fit for what- ever might next happen, thirsty and a little hun- gry. A bottle of milk on his night table both His room was un- sweet relieved these wants lighted except. for the sheen that came through his open window Irom ar Mar- cus lay fora few moments other bright night pondering oO what had happened, ther to the passed problem of who the masked man could have been, and what his motive in prowling round the premises. With his mind now free stress of from the per- sonal considerations, (Continued on Page 68 |

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A cars reputation like a man’s character, is built-not conferred A man’s character is what he makes it. Every act, every thought plays some small part in its building throughout his lifetime. Similarly, a car’s reputation must be earned, not by its performance for one year, or two— but by the pertorm ance of every model, every year, untila known standard ot excellence has been created and maintained. For 23 years Buick has been making each car better Buick. Moror Cox Fut, M x +° Dn Motor BETTER AUTOMOBILES ARI than the last; seeking always to give the public the greatest value Every car produced during those | produced today, has added to Buick’s 1 Reputation —charactet build publi Public satisfaction with Buick motor « ynsible for t quarter of a century 1s resp worldwide leadership that Buick hi

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 35 CLEANING UP 2y JOHN GOLDEN In Collaboration With Viola Brothers Shore EARS of acting and gaining business ex- perience and writing songs would not seem From Gags to Riches to point irrevocably toward a career as a producer of plays. But as I look back I see one thread running parallel with the others in the skein, occasionally obscured by the more pressing Se call business of making a living, but leading directly, if tenuously, into my destiny. And that was the line of experience I continued to gather in the ac- tual business of producing plays ee eel Following my first rather limited experience, as —— manager of New York University’s first theatrical venture, came a second with a somewhat wider scope, since it not only got into what we might, ny by a little stretching of the term, call an uptown you mig would nat —— theater but broke into the social side of New York life. For my second managerial experiment, pro- duced at the Strollers’ Theater, 67 Madison Ave- the Theater an im- posing array of names that began, as they should in 1904, with Mrs. Astor, followed by Mrs. John Jacob Astor, and then went down through a list that included Mrs. James A. Burden, Jr., Mrs. Henry Clews, Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish, Mrs. Elbridge T. Gerry, Mrs. Theo. A. Havemeyer, Mrs. Cam- bridge Livingston, Mrs. Clarence H. Mackay, Mrs. Hermann Oelrichs, Mrs. Alfred G. Vander- bilt, Mrs. Whitney Warren, Mrs. John R. Drexel, Mrs. J. W. Gerard, Jr., Mrs. Ogden Goelet, Mrs. C. Oliver Iselin, Mrs. Lorillard, Mrs. Ogden Mills, Mrs. Whitelaw Reid, Mrs. W. K. Vander- bilt, Jr., Mrs. Wm. Seward Webb, and fifty more. Com- nue, brought forth as patronesses Guild today would call them subscribers The Strollers were a unique institution. posed originally of a set of young fellows inter- ‘sted in college dramatics, it had outlived its early purpose, and long after its founders had forgotten all they learned at college, it flourished as an ac- ve social institution under the powerful leader- that extraordinary personality, Robert Cornell Sands. Due solely to his efforts, the Strollers have been kept alive to this day. And though they have long since ceased to function as play producers, they still meet once a year under the strong, guiding hand of “‘dear old ship of Bobbo.” On every night of the week of May 2, production entitled Round Herald yours modestly, in collaboration with another young man, was presented to New York’s most fashionable audiences. 1904, a musical Square, written by Round Herald Square had as its comic central figures those two once-famous, bigger-than-life-size bronze blacksmiths who, decorating the front of Mr. Bennett’s Herald news- paper building, were so arranged mechanically that they swung hammers which struck the hours on a bronze bell. Bringing those two figures to life and sending them through what was one day to be the White Light District, was the idea of a bright-eyed, quick-witted, entertaining and modest boy who was then, as he is now, known as Rupert Hughes. I staged, managed and directed what I believe I am safe in saying was the first full-length musical play that either Mr. Hughes or Mr. Golden had been able to get before the public. A Tour to Save the Old Homestead T WAS during the production of Round Herald Square that another since-celebrated man crossed my horizon. And I have always taken the greatest pleasure in stating that it was the luckiest day of my life. Since then, when- ever I have been asked what I recommend as a prime requisite in the business of successful play producing, my answer has invariably been, ‘‘Get like Win- chell Smith.” The first meeting of the future firm of John Golden and Winchell Smith came at a time when Golden, the stage- struck young actor, was enjoying his first taste of success as a partner a semiprofessional producer, and, as general manager, co-author and composer of a Strollers show, was not a little impressed with his association with the élite of the day. Smith was a lean, struggling young fellow, trying to prove to American audiences, with the assistance of a few thou- sand dollars loan¢ m by his brother, Dr. Oliver Smith, of Hartford, that there was a playwright named Bernard He and his star, Arnold Daly, whose untimely and he last few months shocked the Rialto, ure of presenting Shaw’s plays im a little ‘ty-fourth Street, near Fifth Avenue, called Shaw. tragic deat went into hous on Mr. Goitden Reviewing a Show Quer the Radio Mrs. Osborn’s Playhouse— Mrs. Osborn being a fashion- able dressmaker who had invested in a theater previously known as the Berkeley Lyceum. To the surprise and delight of Daly and Smith, people So many people came, in fact, that the fire department came to their offering. the attention of t was called to the theater, which was pronounced unfit for use and the Shavian enthusiasts were given a week in which to close their show and get out Smith, for the first time in his life seeing a chance at real money, went looking for another place to house his plays. And one day, through my position on the theater commit- tee, I received a note addressed to the Strollers’ Club and signed Winchell Smith, asking leave to use our theater until they could find some place to continue their run A cadav- ’ erous young stranger met me by appointment at the little I replied that I would see this unknown Smith. theater. And in that way was brought about the meeting which has had such an effect which, perhaps it is not immodest for me to say, has its bit in history. upon both our lives and done the making of contemporaneous theatrical Smith told me his troubles and what it meant to him to prove the value of Shaw to American theatergoers, and he asked me to help by letting him have the house. I r sponded that I was interested in his project and sympa thized thoroughly with his aims. He might have ou theater by giving us almost the entire gross receipts for the week. Although, of Smith demurred, but he finally did conse Years later I said to Smith, “I don’t ling to have me for a partner I gave you the first time I met y To which Smith replied, ‘* Well, was a fellow like you around loos¢ I'd rather have ng wi The Lambs’ Gambols are I was beginning to show managerial ter course, I left him enough to pay 1 ever Wl er al him pull th me tl world-famous playwright owes his start to some sketch tr little stage before this most critical audien« ater. Many ar in some s the wise ones of the the vein of humor or tragedy t} ffoir LIODS© Aallailds. for one of For ten years I served on the committee of tl Gambols, gaining managerial experience I would not for any part of what I like to call my education. The to learn a thing is to do it. him. An i A bit of fluffy, qaown at made too Augustus Thomas charge of these Lamb was to m) tribute experier a good part of ness of deal I hi bit in his play, ng with the AN grit who brought the Lamb f it Gar ducing tne rst the ever assembied, pla\ touring country wit! aggrevatior BRIERE rices then known, and bring old mortgage I shall jawed, great man ol t ater ndiing a com never pany of stars as ; Die Once at a big l most exclusive clubs James Elverson, owner of the Philadel Thomas stood over the boys like the nth Le gree of hardheartedness. said, “‘drink your drinks, and “Get your grub,” he then train.”’ Th ey were traveiung in car special private train, wl Some of the naughtiest boys, like Andrew Mack and Eddie Foy, party and a little less of being treated like they were all child: back to the a SIX ich remained their headquar- Raymond Hitch- wanted ters. COCK, a little more children. But them neatly tucked in their trundles with their pretty little pretty little white coverlets up under their Managing an All-Star Gambol N 1911, when I took realized with some misgivings that I had a tremendous Thomas’ pla as chairman, and public all-star Gambol on my hands, I went businesslike way. Taking a leaf from my predecessor's book of tricks, I secured the signature of every star in that ng that it contract he migt t And the offered performance to a contract with the understand was to take precedence over any other sign, at whatever salary might » offered him amounts that could have been and actually were contracted list reac i into the hundred y more thar studied, re nm reads: this Gambol was in arge of the famous In his day Continued on Page 5 Ker ce] \ tne foremost

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “The Great Chimney”’ We are privileged to re- produce here one of a series of drawings of industrial subjects by the late Joseph Pennell, one of America’s great artists. Courtesy of the J. B. Lippincott Co. July 9,1927 O MANUFACTURERS O F QUALITY PRODUCTS Forty Years Ago—and Now OU KNOW the one difficulty of the Quality Manufacturer—to convince the h public that the slightly increased cost of your good article is saved over and over, againand again, byits better service. That conviction, you have found, takes root and vrOwWws W € TOG have found this to be so. Forty years ago we printed and pub- lished the following doctrine, which has since carried us to a position of world preeminence in our field. I The Doctrine of Vacuum Oil } - Che orig inal printing is ona well-thumbed card. It reads Vacuum Oil Company BROADWAY, NEW YORK “WE SHALL always work on the line we have followed for twenty years: inventing and making oils to put friction down as low as it can be put down. ‘We shall always teach, as we have been teaching .. . that the proper service of oil so far exceeds its cost that the best is cheapest, ten to one, perhaps twenty to One, sometimes perhaps fifty or even one hundred to one. The only question is how fast the man most nearly concerned will act on the fact—we mean the consumer. We make a few cents a gallon. He makes a few dol- lars a gallon.” BRANCHES AND DISTRIBUTING WAREHOUSES THROUGHOUT THE SPECIFICALLY correct oils will do this: prevent the chief cause of wear; limit the chief cause of repairs; save excessive use of power. Obviously, the broad-sighted manufacturer wants the most economical lubrication available. When we are engaged to supply lubri- cation, our engineering staff keeps in regular touch with the plant staff; and, withthem, carefully watches lubricating efficiency. Our oils and our services are at the command of your plant. Lubricating Oils for Plant Lubrication COUNTRY

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OLDEN STALLION HERE are two secrets concern- ing Man o’ War, the golden stallion, the By W. O. McGeehan notre e been g for they ontinued to register whose Thoroug! breds horse of a million and the million-dollar horse, that may be told, now that his winged hoofs never will fly along the track again and now that his prog- eny are established as princes of the blood. There always was a certain mystification over the retirement of Mano’ War so ab- ruptly. Various rea- sons were assigned. It was insisted that the greatest prospective sire in the history of the turf could not start to perpetuate himself too soon. The real reason for his retire- ment was that he had broken down, in the parlance of the turf. Man o’ War went to the post in his last race with a slightly bowed tendon. He finished, not an actual! cripple, but he never would have been at his best again. If they had con- tinued to race him, Man o’ War would have been doomed to an inglorious defeat. They had other and wildly ambitious plans for him, but after that race at Windsor, Canada, the news was given out that the tracks would see Man o’ War no more. The other secret, which is no particular secret to the students of horse breeding, will rouse indignation against the snobbishness of the English turf. In spite of the fact that the ancestry of Man o’ War can be traced back two hundred and fifty years, he would not be accepted as a Thoroughbred in England; at least not without an argu- ment. By British standards there is a bar sinister on his escutcheon. There is cold blood in his veins—only a few drops, perhaps, but enough to raise the quibble as to whether or not he actually is an equine aristocrat. TOS. SUPF NTERNA Man O’ War’s Family Tree I ESPITE his achievements on the track, his shattering of records, his glorification by his whole life of the sport of kings, those studbooks are remorseless. They cold- hbloodedly insist on the matter of the cold blood in the veins of the king. It may have been that these few drops of cold blood made Man o’ War greater than those whose blood was entirely blue, but the authorities would only sneer at this suggestion. But why not, if royal blood of the human family may be enriched by mingling with the blood of a commoner? On the maternal side Man o’ War goes back to a dam known in the old yellow tomes as Mr. Layton’s Violet Barb Mare. Obviously there never was a mare with a violet coat, consequently this entry is translated as mean- ing Mr. Layton’s Barbary mare, Violet. Weatherby’s Studbook, an ancient edition of the equine Almanach de Gotha, refers to her merely as Mr. Layton’s Barb Mare. Breeding historians, delving far back, have pieced out the information that this mare was owned by Lord D’Arcy in the time of Charles II. It is recorded that she produced a filly foal of which Dodsworth, a King’s stallion, was the sire, and this filly was nameless as far as the records go. On the maternal side, my informant, Mr. Guerney Gue, the great authority on horse breeding, names only the dams. There are such colorful names as Bay Bloody Buttocks, the Slayer’s Daughter, who was sired by Cain, down to Mizpah and Merry Token, the more recent an- cestresses of Mahuba, the dam of Man o’ War. But the first of the strain on the maternal side was a mare brought to England from Barbary. . Le ey NAL NEWSREEL, N.Y. C Man o’ War With Jockey Kummer Up. At Right— Mr. Samuel Riddle With the Golden Stallion On the paternal side Man o’ War’s first known ancestor was Godolphin Arabian, a bay who was running on English turf in 1724. Before that the ances- tors of Man o’ War from the Fair Play strain ranged through the Arabian desert. It is many a furlong from Araby and Barbary by way of England to the blue-grass country of Kentucky where Man o’ War firstsaw the ancestry was af ve as Man o’ War, i provided ent stock stered regi the rule was I wonder if have War not get the j would barred Mz 0" They did opportunity, though they came near it. It will be interesting to see how the first of his get, back-tracking to the turf of tors, Will be his ances- received Of course, all this is of more consequence in the history of Man o’ War than any of the sordidly commercial matters that might be mentioned in tion with him. fact that he earned his connec- The will have owner in purses and in stud fees, if he reaches the nor- mal years of a Thor- oughbred stallion, more than $1,000,000 is a slight matter as compared to his lineage In the winter of 1919, Man o’ War on the Riddle farm worried not at all over any bar sinister on his es- cutcheon nor about anything else He wintered remarkably well, as the horsemen say. He carried himself like a prince of the purest, and his ancient retainer, Major Treat, knew that he was. Even the most ignorant stable boy knew that Red was of the very deepest purple. The Greatest Race MERICAN turf history considers that the greatest run by Man o’ War, which, of course, the greatest race on American turf misnomer, for Americar race means another light and where he will end his days, but some day descendants of Man o’ War will race Lord Godolphin’s Arabian raced on English soil and they will be recognized as princes of the blood. The ancestress whose social status causes the embarrass- ment to those who trace Man o’ War’s lineage in the stud- book was a mare called Aerolite, a daughter of Lexington. It is admitted that she had good social connections and that she was a good mother, for she was also the dam of Fellowcraft and Rutherford, two first-class stake horses. Her full sister, Idlewild, was a great four-miler some sixty years ago, when they thought more of horses who could “go a distance”’ as they say. The ancestry of Lexington, of course, was without ques- tion, but his mate, the dam of Aerolite, was not recorded in the equine social register. She might have been ac- cepted in the American studbook, but she would be barred from the English studbook. Not all of her blood were barred from England, however, for Richard Croker’s Orby, a Derby winner, was of that same plebeian strain. He had a greater quantity of this blood than there flows in the veins of Man o’ War, and be sides, there were other traces of cold blood in him. After he won the Derby there was a great hue and cry, and the English turf authorities decided to bar the future any of this strain. where registration of Thoroughbreds havi: This created considerable acrimony. There were those who held the opinion that this was done to promote the sale of credence might English sires in the United States. Some races are not run on tur!-—was the race against John P. Grier his rivals of the two-year-old days. This became one of a match race, because these were the only two colts left in the Dwyer Stakes at Aqueduct that year. Asa matter of fact the Jockey Club prohibits match races, but these things can be got They managed it in the heralded match race American Zev, and the English colt, Papyrus, which was looked forward to as a around. between the colt, glamorous spectacle, but which turned out to be a run Of all the colts that there seemed to be only this one, John P away floundering race in a sea of mud showed in 1920, Grie The racegoers seemed to sense the fac r, who might give Man o’ War a race, t that this was t be the race of the century, for if prize fighting produces fre quent battles of the century, the turf must be allowed it races of the century. They crowded into this inadequats course to the number of 40,000 or more rhe distance of the Dwyer is a mile and a furlong. It was not a fitting setting for the glamorous melodrama that was to be enacted for Aqueduct at its best is one of the least sightly in the East. the King’s Cup, or at least at Belmont or Saratoga. But course This race should have been staged at Ascot for the Dwyer Stakes that year was valued at something mors than $4000, which I am afraid was a considerati the racing dates dictated that the race n Aqueduct They needed police reserves that day to forn rings for the saddling of the colts. Whil addling Man o’ War, i Samuel R

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Harry Payne Whitney was watching the saddling of John P. Grier. Riddle held out his hand to Whitney and made a strange admission. “T think that your colt is better than mine and I hope you win,” he said. ‘That's good of you,” returned Whitney. “But I am juite sure that you have the better colt and I hope that you win The few who heard this conversation could It seemed to go against the very icing. Of course, the motive of the game is difference of opinion between owners, but always in a posi- hardly believe their ears. spirit of horse ; tive and never in a negative sense. Clarence Kummer was riding Man o’ War. Ambrose was up on the Whitney colt. The 40,000 stirred as they were walked by the stands, and then settled into a tense silence as they moved toward the starting point. This time Man o’ War. was comparatively quiet as he faced the bar- ier for a few moments only, for it was sprung quickly and the two colts sprang forward looking like one animal in profile. This time it was a perfect start. They were moving as though welded together. But for the speed, they might have been cavalry horses trying to keep an alignment. All of the 40,000 looked for the great strides of Man 0’ War totake him into the lead. According to C. J. Fitzgerald, of the Jockey Club, one stride of Man o’ War covered twenty-four feet six inches—an abnormal length. But that Whitney colt had speed and stamina. Man 0’ War, on the inside, was pounding that track, but John P. Grier clung to him tenaciously. The men with the watches gasped as record after record for the fractional distances fell. Rounding the turn they were still so close together that John P. Grier was utterly obscured by the massive flying figure of the big red colt. Not even the nose of John Into the stretch they came neck and neck. Suddenly a few voices in the stands shrilled, “Man o’ War is beaten.’”’ In the infield Louis Feustel moaned, “ He’s beating Big Red! Big Red is gone!” It seemed true. John P. Grier began to move to the front. It seemed that Man o’ War had given all that he had and that it was not enough. The pace had been murder- ous all along and the red-gold one seemed to be killed by it. “We're beaten! !” moaned Feustel. His P. Grier could be seen. We're beaten! figure sagged. Clarence Kummer brought down the whip. Man o’ War seemed to take the form of a golden flame. Feustel standing beside the rival trainer, Rowe, began to dance like a madman. He called to the horse, who could not hear him, his voice drowned in the surge of sound, “Come on, Red! Come on, Red!” Nothing in Araby, nothing in Barbary ever ran like that golden chestnut then. The invisible wings that always seemed part of him almost were outlined clearly. He was a golden Pegasus and nothing of mere horseflesh could withstand him. John P. Grier did not falter, but Man o’ War rushed by him as though he were standing still, to win by two full lengths. The watches showed a new world record for the distance of 1 minute 45! It was the most spectacular of the races of Man o’ War in many ways and it showed the attribute more admired than his speed—his lion courage. He was beaten, but he won. He could come from behind when all but him conceded defeat —even the trainer who had known him from a foal and who knew better than any- body else in the world the soul of Man o’ War. seconds. Injured in a Sea of Mud UT Feustel always contends that it was in a more obscure J race that Mano’ War showed at his best. Also, it was a race that played a prominent part in his history, as it vroved afterward, for it was after this race that he showed of the trouble that ended his active days prematurely. is was the Potomac, at Havre de Grace, on the Susque- hanna. That day the track was a sea of mud and the skies were sodden with rain. Man o’ War was burdened by the handicapper with a weight of 138 pounds, an unheard-of burden to carry in such a race on such a day. At the cry ‘“‘They’re off!’’ Feustel’s spirits drooped, for Man o’ War had been left flat-footed at the post and he lid not seem able to get into his stride. The mud clung to him like thick tar and the weight pressed him into the oft track. But he began to make up and he won under restraint, Wildair, carrying only 108 pounds, and Blazes, only 104 pounds to take through that mud. He seemed to be winning easily, and when Feustel looked him over after the sponging he seemed to be the same per- -d golden thing. But as the hand of the trainer passed along one of his legs, he felt just a slight protuber- ance that had not been there before the race. He could have detected anything of that sort in the dark, so used was he to the feel of the colt. He looked closely. What he yund was the first sign of a bowed tendon. ‘I knew then,”’ Feustel said long afterward in the dialect the horseman, “that Red was fixing for to break down, i that it might not be so long before he would.” r t gns Th irom with fectly molde Of course, the golden stallion never lacked for attention, but after that he was treated even more tenderly. Feustel concentrated on the tendon that had started to bow, but when Man o’ War went tc Windsor, Canada, he was what would technically be called a patched-up horse, but even in this status he was still champion of all the equine cham- pions and worth his weight in the metal the color of which is the same as his burnished coat—and Man 0’ War’s is no slight weight either. The secrets of the Glen Riddle Farm were well kept. This particular secret has not leaked out until now, for the owner of Man 0’ War is even more close-mouthed than was his trainer, and cautious to a degree. One of the best- known veterinary surgeons in the East tells an amusing story on himself to illustrate the precautions gone to by Samuel Riddle to watch over Man 0’ War. This veterinary had to go over the colt from time to time, and every time he inspected Man o’ War he was watched by a detective in the employ of Riddle. The owner once had heard of a horse being sponged by a veterinary and would trust nobody where the million-dollar colt was involved. Man O’ War’s Last Race HE last race of Man o’ War was the International Race at Windsor. Commander J. K. L. Ross, the Canadian millionaire sportsman, owned Sir Barton, who had won the Belmont when Man o’ War was a two-year-old. The prize was a $75,000 purse, with a gold cup thrown in as a trophy. But it was the purse that caused Man o’ War to be sent to the Kenilworth track, with Major Treat, the old hunter, and a retinue as numerous as that of the various Baron Renfrews. According to the plans of Samuel Riddle, this was not to be the end but almost the beginning of the racing triumphs of Man o’ War. After this race he was to be shipped to England to race over the tracks where his ancestors used to run. He was to be made the most famous horse in the his- tory of the world. After that he would return to the United States and race for years more. Why not? They had said that Man o’ War could run on forever. He was not mere mortal horseflesh. As one said of him unpoetically: “‘He is steel with horsehide stretched over itanda dynamo inside that never will run down.” But this prophet, being prosaic, did not know the story of the tendon of Achilles. The tendon of Man o’ War was not any more durable. Feustel was worrying about it when he accompanied the colt to Windsor, but this was such a miracle colt that he could not believe that the injury would grow into anything serious. He worked at that tendon tirelessly. Never was a king or a president more carefully guarded agaiast cranks than was Man o’ War on this journey. Everywhere he was furnished with extra police guards in addition to the detectives that Riddle had hired to watch over him. Waking and sleeping, there were always several on guard at the car or the stall of Man ’o War, not counting the old hunter, Major Treat, who would let no strangers near his prince, and Major Treat could still throw a fairly accurate pair of heels. Earl Sande, the greatest of the jockeys of that time and mentioned as the greatest who ever rode, had been asked to Windsor, and fully expected to ride Sir Barton. But on the day of the race he was told by Guy T. Bedwell, trainer for Commander Ross, that Keogh would ride the Canadian horse. Sande was so hurt that they said he actually wept over what he felt was a slight. Since then he must have been glad that he was not asked to ride. It was a great gathering, but not a horse race. Nobody seemed to feel that it would be. The Canadian betting is of the parimutuel variety. By Canadian law the better cannot be paid less than five cents on the dollar, conse- quently Man o’ War is recorded as being a 1 to 20 favorite. As a matter of fact, he was 1 to 100, and the Canadian Racing Association lost thousands of dollars in making up the difference. The stands were decked with American and British flags and there was the mingling of American and British airs and all the amenities of an international sporting affair. Before the race Trainer Bedwell instructed Keogh to make Sir Barton work. ‘He can stand a lot,” he said. ‘He is a big-game horse and can be made to win if you make him.” The instructions of Feustel to Clarence Kummer prac- tically were: ‘Let Red do about as he pleases. Let him alone.” It was a runaway race from the start. Man o’ War started out with those long, easy strides and was leading after the first few jumps. The distance increased steadily and rapidly. It obviously was so certain that the crowds began to surge into the track near the finish line and to close in behind Man o’ War. The track began to become so cluttered that Kummer became worried. He was whirling about to see that the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 finish was clear and then back again to see to it that Sir Barton was not closing up. There was little danger of this, for Man o’ War finished at something like seventeen lengths, before Sir Barton clattered up, a very weary and discouraged animal. Then the the surge was around Man o’ War, the greatest horse in the world, the greatest horse that ever lived. The police fought to clear a passageway. Man o’ War was led up to where Samuel Riddle was re- ceiving the gold cup. “It was foolish of me ever to believe he could be beaten,”’ said Riddle. “He never will be beaten,’’” Commander Ross was ac- quiescing. Man o’ War was being held near by by Feustel. Some of the stewards had started popping champagne corks, for they were about to fill the golden cup so that the health of the golden stallion might be drunk by those present. Man o’ War was thirsty after his work. He heard the gurgling of fluid and he forced his way to the table. He thrust out his muzzle in the direction of the cup. Samuel Riddle seized the trophy, which by this time was half filled with bubbling wine, and dashed its contents to the earth. “Bring some water,”’ he said. The well-trained stewards felt that this must bean insane gesture from a prohibition advocate from the country across the border, but they complied. Riddle filled the cup with water and held it out to the colt. Man o’ War drank gratefully out of his own golden cup. “‘He won it,”’ explained Riddle. ‘It is only fair that he should have the first drink out of it.””, Then the cup was filled with champagne and the admirers of Man o’ War drank after him in the order of their rank on the turf. Riddle had all arrangements made for what was to have been the triumphal trip of Man o’ War to Europe. He would race him at Ascot, at Newmarket, at Longchamps and Chantilly. He would leave a few days after he arrived in the United States. All that he wanted to do first was to show him at the horse show at Philadelphia. Man o’ War would stand the trip; nothing could stop the golden stallion—nothing, indeed, but the same sort of trouble that stopped Achilles the invulnerable. The appearance of Louis Feustel that night was the skeleton at the feast. Feustel had planned to return immediately to the United States with a fow friends. They were awaiting him at the hotel. Feustel called them up and sobbed over the wire: “T can’t go. Something has happened to Red. I can’t tell you what it is, but I am afraid that it is something very, very serious. You must never breathe a word of it, and I shouldn’t even be talking to you, but I had to say some- thing to somebody.” And that is all that leaked out to anybody at the time. Man o’ War returned to the United States in triumph. Samuel Riddle was able to wear a complete mask. Man o’ War was shown on schedule at Philadelphia, and he won the first prize, even though he was shown in the ring with bandages around all four legs. There was a reason for this, of course. judge of horses might detect the bowed tendon. Riddle wanted to keep that secret as long as possible. He still hoped against hope and against the positive verdict of the trainer, that Man o’ War would be able to race again after the winter’s rest. Nobody outside of the stable even dreamed that this anticlimactic race at Windsor would be the last for Man o’ War. They were looking forward to the breaking of all records by the golden stallion, who was just about to come into his greatest racing form. Some shrewd To Carry on Their Sire’s Work HEN it was announced that Man o’ War would be re- tired to the stud. Even then they felt that this would be only temporary, and for some time afterward it was an- nounced that Man o’ War might return again to the track for a match race with some upstart successor. But the golden stallion remained in the charge of Miss Elizabeth Daingerfield on her Kentucky farm. His racing career was closed. The remainder of his destiny was to become the sire of another golden stallion. The first foals sired by the golden stallion were twins. They died soon after birth. The breeding authorities were skeptical as to what Man o’ War would produce as a sire. Now the verdict seems to be that the golden stallion will be the greatest sire of all time “That is too sweeping a notion,”’ some of the conserva- tive students of breeding insist. ‘‘ You have to wait several generations to find that out. But it does look as though Man o’ War promises very well indeed.” Miss Daingerfield, an unquestioned authority, insists that Man o’ War will prove to be one of the greatest, be- cause of the early age at which he was retired. He began his work of reproducing himself years before the average breeding stallion. When they have studied the results and they continue as promising as they have been, it may (Continued on Page 158)

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40 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By MAJOR GENERAL HUNTER LIGGETT, U.S. Aes RETIRED, WITH WESLEY WINANS STOUT Sl. Io Iie HY is a staff? Officers and men of the line drag- ging themselves down a road after days or weeks in hell, fighting day and night, lousy, muddy, unutterably tired, emotionally shaken, their com- rades dead or broken, now and then encountered a spick- and-span staff officer sizing them up with a presumably critical eye. An occasional ass will creep into any organi- zation, so that eye actually may have been coldly critical, but with rare exceptions the criticism existed only in the imagination of resentful minds in racked bodies. ‘“Who the hell is he?” the line asked profanely of one another, and: ‘‘What’s the large idea?’ I’d think a lot more of you, you swivel-chair warrior, if you were as dirty as I am and had been where I’ve been.” When the line is not bitter about the staff it is inclined to he humorously acid, and it is asking a little too much of human nature in the mass, I suspect, ever to hope that it will change. Even the old soldier who knows exactly how the staff is, and the line soldier who has seen staff duty himself, are not always able to choke down their instinctive resentment at the contrast in the relative comfort and safety of line and staff. Yet it is just as illogical of a line soldier to hoot at the staff as it would be for a railroad fireman to mutter at the superintendent of motive power or at the chemists who test the thermal units in his coal and the lime content of the water used in the locomotive boilers. Without a staff an army could not peel a potato, let alone fire a shot. In all its branches the staff is nothing more than an instrument for the service of the line, and the more mechanical and com- plex war grows the greater importance the staff must take on. It is the nervous system and the brain center of the army. In organization an army is essentially no different from industrial corporations as the United States Steel Corporation, the General Motors Corporation or the Penn- ylvania Railroad, except that a modern army is larger and more ramified than any or ail of these. An army’s to make war; these corporations make steel, moter cars and operate trains, respectively. Line soldiers make war only in the sense that puddlers and blast-furnace crews, for example, make steel, lathe operators and valve grinders make motor cars, and train crews operate trains. Rack of each is an army of technical men, executives, clerks, accountants, purchasing agents, salesmen, drafts- men, legal advisers, and the like. Line troops are the laborers, machine workers, their foremen and superintend- These are the men who perform the primary func- tions of the organization, but without their staffs they could not turn a wheel. The treasurer or the metallurgist has no more business on the shop floor, except as an on- ooker, than the staff officer has with a machine gun. In times past an iron furnace was set up alongside an ore bed and a few men, perhaps a family group, mined the ore, smelted it, wrought it into homely useful and elemen- tary forms and sold it at the shop door. In times past armies lived off the country over which they fought, for- iging, pillaging and exacting tribute, paid in loot, fighting nly with swords or pikes, and as oblivious of transport, echnical aids and administrative services as the original iron master was of advertising appropriations. As indus- try has changed and expanded, war has evolved with and n direct relation to it. invaluable such business is ents A Better Showing Than in Previous Wars W* REGAN life as a people with an ingrained distrust of standing armies and.of compulsory military service n peace or in war, and we held to that prejudice in the face Then, for the we enforced equal liability to military service, results that, revolutionary as it vould have seemed to an American of John Quincy Adams’ r of Grover Cle, Administration, it now is an accepted theory and practice of our Government. In our great war the draft will be all inclusive and there will volunteers. I see no signs, however, of any growing willingness on our part as a people to support a standing army remotely adequate to defend us in war, or to prepare a citizen soldiery for war. at least, our Regular Army will and the skeleton of repeated disaster down to the last war. first time, such witl incontestable eland’s next be no \ n peace, by universal service, SO tor some time to come, continue to be a national! police force rganization of an army The Nav apparent for war. y being our first line of defense, and it being but the dullest wits that battleships and ews cannot be conjured out of a hat upon a decla- a fleet not strong enough to all their cr ration of war, we support a fleet for safety, but strong enough to give any foe pause for thought. We go on, however, expecting the Army to sow dragon teeth at night and reap a great harvest of trained soldiers tomorrow. There is not and never can be any sub- stitute for training and experience for fitting men for any task, and as the task grows more complex the training becomes that much more imperative. I do not know how better to describe the Old Army’s predicament on the out- break of war than to compare it with a country doctor restricted for years to a pharmacopeeia of salts, calomel and quinine, and an equipment of a clinical thermometer, a pair of forceps and a horse and buggy, expected to impro- vise instantly a motor car, a supply of antitoxins, a corps of assistants and the medical skill to combat a virulent epidemic of diphtheria. The notable thing is that the Army did, with the whole-hearted backing of the nation, after a fashion accomplish something like this in the last war. In this war we made an incomparably better military showing than in any previous war; not so much that we were so good this time as that we were so bad in the past. There were three simple reasons for our better showing. The first was that we had Allies to sell us the war materials we lacked and which we could not make in time, and to stand between us and the enemy until we were ready. The second was an immeasurably more intelligent military policy on the part of our Government, together with a greater unanimity among our people. The third was that we had, for the first time in our history, a skeleton corps of officers trained in theory to high command and staff duties. Postgraduate Schools for Officers HERE is no finer school in the world than the United States Military Academy, sweeping as this statement is, but I trust that the taxpayers do not suppose that it takes boys in their teens and in four years makes of them military experts competent to the defense of the nation. Does the University of Pennsylvania Medical School graduate hos- pital chief surgeons, the Harvard Law School corporation counsels, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology con- sulting engineers? After four rigorous years West Pofnt turns a boy out with a sound academic education, a disciplined character, a soldierly physique and an apprentice’s training in the profession of arms. That is a foundation that goes down to bed rock, but what the fledgling second lieutenant builds on that foundation depends upon the second lieutenant. His real education begins where West Point leaves off, and in the time of my eighteen years’ service as a lieuten- ant, a not uncommonly long novitiate in the post-Civil War period, that education was left solely to the initiative of the individual. There was no study of war problems in the academy's curriculum then. There is now, but it must of necessity be only a passing glance at the subject. There is a magnificent military library there, but the cadet’s time is so fully apportioned that he has the scantiest opportunity of using it for general reading on his profes- sion. I graduated several points lower in my class than I should have, had I spent less time in the library reading on matters not directly applicable to examinations. Many of the best of every class resigned from the Army as soon as they could, to exploit their education, character and self- discipline in civil life, where they brought higher dollar returns. Some of those who remained regarded their schooling as finished and drifted into poker playing, garri- son small talk and a despairing clinch with boredom. A young lawyer, doctor or engineer goes on with his education automatically—he can’t avoid it if he practices his profession—but the duties of a young officer in the Old Army in peacetime demanded little of him that he had not mastered at West Point. If he went on, his own intellectual curiosity and ambition had to supply the motive power. When I graduated from the academy in 1879 there was not one postgraduate army school. Today there are more than thirty, beginning, from the top downward, with the War College, then the General Staff School and the School of the Line at Leavenworth, and the various special service schools—Infantry at Fort Benning, Georgia; Cavalry at Fort Riley, Kansas; Field Artillery at Fort Sill, Okla- homa, Camp Bragg, North Carolina, and Camp Knox, Kentucky, Engineers at ge Humphreys, Virginia; Signal Corps at Camp Vail, New Jersey; Ordnance at Watertown Arsenal, Massac husetts, and Raritan Arsenal, New Jersey; Aviation at Fort Sill, Langley Field, Vir- ginia, Chanute Field, Illinois, and Ross Field, California; Coast Artillery at Fortress Monroe, Virginia, and fourteen other special-service schools. July 9, 1927 All these had their faint beginnings at Fort Leaven- worth in 1881, when General Sherman, then General of the Army, founded the School of Application for Infantry and Cavalry. The first-year course was little more than a re- view of the students’ elementary schooling, concerning itself with such fundamentals as penmanship, arithmetic and grammar. The second and final year was given over to the study of certain books on the science and art of war, the preparing and reading of papers by students and pro- fessors and some practical field work in surveying and rec- onnoitering. The assignment of faculty and students was haphazard. For seventeen years, or until the Spanish- American War, Congress did nothing more for the school, but with the assignment of the gifted young lieutenant, Arthur L. Wagner, in 1886 to be instructor of military art, the institution began to take form and purpose, and his work was continued and developed by General John Morrison. From the impetus of these courses a demand arose for instruction in the specific technic and tactics of the various arms, to supplement the study of strategy and tactics in general, and the first of the special-service schools—for cavalry and light artillery—was authorized by Congress in 1887, after much persuasion, but was not established until 1892, at Fort Riley, Kansas. The graduates of these early rudimentary courses pushed to the front so quickly in the Spanish War that Congress in 1900 authorized the creation at Washington of the Army War College for ‘“‘the direction and coédrdination of the instruction in the various service schools,”’ a graduate school for all branches of the service and for higher work in strategy and military infor- mation. Three years later we finally obtained an Army General Staff to anticipate the defense and mobilization problems of war, and with it an Army Staff College at Leavenworth to instruct specially selected officers in the duties of the General Staff and for service in the War Col- lege faculty. A School of Fire for field artillery was estab- lished at Fort Sill in 1911, and at the same post, two years later, a School of Musketry was founded. This was the germ of the present great Infantry School at Fort Benning. By no great feat in arithmetic it will be seen that 1913 was only one year before the outbreak of the World War, and most of the special-service schools date well after this. My first opportunity of attending one of these schools came in 1907, when I was assigned to the Thirteenth In- fantry at Leavenworth. Though not detailed as a student, I managed to assimilate most of what the School of the Line and School of the Staff had to offer. Two years later I was sent to the War College as a student, graduating in 1910, assigned to the faculty and later made president of the college on the recommendation of General Wother- spoon, at the same time serving as a colonel on the Gen- eral Staff. After five years at the War College I asked to be relieved and was sent to Texas City to command the Fourth Brigade of the Second Division, concentrated there against eventualities in Mexico. Solving War Problems in Peace HE one year’s course at the War College began in early September and continued until the following July, with a fixed schedule of instruction for every day of the course, adhered to strictly. The classes of thirty to fifty officer students were selected from all arms of the service on the recommendation of regimental commanders, and the like. They included the best of the graduates from the Leaven- worth schools, and we usually had two or three naval offi- cers in a class. The object of the course was to prepare a graduate to grasp the fundamentals of any conceivable war problem, and how to go to work on it. The first month was given to a study of the Franco- Prussian War, with special emphasis on the siege of Metz and its bearing on the Sedan catastrophe. Thereafter for defensive problems we defended the North Atlantic, Gulf and Pacific Coasts from imaginary invasions, and organ- ized hypothetical expeditionary forces for offensive theo- rems. On the defensive our first task was to resist the land- ing of the enemy, if we could, with our small and scattered Regular Army; but to delay and impede him in any event while we rallied the strength necessary to overwhelm him. A force of several divisions usually was predicated as the invading unit. No one dared breathe the word “‘draft”’ fifteen years ago; we put our reliance, as in past wars, on the National Guard and volunteers. There was nothing of the old-time Fourth of July sham battle about the work, and much more than strategy and tactics was in- volved. The problem included everything in the art of Continued on Page 42)

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fifteen minutes is all it takes to find this Marmon 8 1s t est performer THE SATURDAY EVENING POST CY She XO ee ofp, C GtTCales [ in the world today — — HELE DDD Phe bebe? a CLJOITNET AT 1LOWVE THAT’S THE ONLY STATEMENT THAT ADEQUATELY TELLS THE STORY I he SC many imp In a word, here’s what the Marmon 8 is, and here’s what you get the greatest degree of usable speed correct ever offered in any car Q honest miles of a tull-equ per hour and everything that goes with it / brakes of the same type as used on the large Marmon 75, deliv- ering dependable stopping power at all times in proportion to the speed of the car, with a liberal plus factor fOUV-WhEE power and acceleration when want them. When you clamp the thrott to the floorboard, in traffic or on a hil something really happens not a sluggish, hesitating and oft dangerous three seconds while you waiting for the motor to “get its breath”’ but an instantaneous flow of super power and flashing pick-up with tenacity closely approximating that « electricity or steam. MARMON MOTOR CAR CQ PERFORMANCE RESULTS 7O honest miles per hour, Lightning acceleration, Handling, | in entirely new type of smooth, bounceless riding

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Continued from Page 40 supply, equipment, transport, mobilization of both troops and industries, recruiting, training, replacements and dis- position of the rapidly expanding army. Offensive problems reversed the picture and introduced the organizing of sea transport and other new factors. The first necessity of such theoretical fighting is absolutely complete and accu- rate maps. New countries, poor maps; old countries, good maps, is a cartographical axiom. The ordinary atlas map of com- merce is no map at al! to a soldier; it is made for the layman who is interested only in the relative location of Altus, Oklahoma, and Quanah, Texas, the approximate course of the main roads, railroads, perhaps the more important streams and the imaginary state line. A railroad folder map on which the B. C. & D. is shown in geometrically straight lines and its competitors largely ignored would be only a little less useful in war. A proper military map is so intricately comprehensive that it is forbidding for ordi- nary lay uses; the untrained eye cannot see the forest for the trees. The most complete map can be no more than a flat projection of the ground, but a good one gives a per- fect picture in perspective to those who know how to use it. If the trained eye can- not recognize every major feature of the landscape after an hour’s preparatory study of the projection the map is of little value. It must be photographic in its ac- curacy; delineating, for example, every elevation, where the ordinary map is ob- livious of anything less than a mountain range. Obviously an officer cannot afford to guess at what lies over the hill from him. He should, in fact, be able by study of the map, to foretell pretty nearly what his op- nonent will do and where he will go under any given condition. Iam as much at home with a land map as an astronomer with his I was map minded to begin with, West Point gave me a good working course in cartography, I practiced map making as 1 young officer on the frontier where the country still was only superficially charted, and I have studied maps perpetually out of an innate interest, as well as professional need. x the war tne tare Stars. A Visit to the Battlefields The French and the Germans are the best map makers in the world, the Germans have written the best military textbooks, and beth countries have been the scene of repeated campaigns. For all these reasons we used French and German maps for the most part at the Leavenworth schools and the War College, with the result that many of us found Western Germany, Lorraine and much of France as familiar as the hills and valleys of our boyhood. Much of the effective artillery firing in France in this war was from marvelously complete maps made by French topographical engineers in peacetime. We have nothing comparable in America. The only first-rate maps of the United States are those of the Coast and Geodetic, and the Geological surveys. The former has not penetrated far inland and the latter has mapped only sections of the country. Tiring of fighting all our battles in France and Germany, we shifted occa- sionally to the Coast and Geodetic maps of the Massachusetts, Rhode Island cnd Connecticut coastal regions. At other times we disguised maps of such Civil War battles as Shiloh with German names, with- out a student recognizing the operation. For Mexican problems we used Mexican Government maps, which are reasonably good On May first the War College class was divided into sections and each section as- igned to an intensive study of some Vir- ginia, Maryland or Pennsylvania campaign the Civil War. Papers detailing every movement of troops on both sides were pre- pared to be read later on the battleground. Then, about June first, the whole class took to the saddle for staff rides over these bat- tlefields. A detachment of negro cavalry from Fort Myer, across from Washington, took care of the horses, served as orderlies THE SATURDAY and manned the wagon train which carried our food, camp equipment and personal baggage. Fredericksburg was the first stop. First reviewing the general nature and purposes of the fight, class and faculty then would follow the course of the battle from point to point. This done, the students were set the problem of what the course of the battle would have been under the changed condi- tions of modern warfare. The same order was followed on the successive fields of Chancellorsville, the Wilderness, Spottsyl- vania, North Anna, Totopotomy, Cold Harbor, McClellan’s Seven Days’ Cam- paign on the Chickahominy, and Peters- burg, with special emphasis on the transfer of Grant’s army from Cold Harbor to the south side of the James River, a splendid job of staff work that would have been in- conceivable in the early stages of the Civil War. After Petersburg, we rode to the Shenandoah Valley and followed Jackson’s valley campaign, then the first and second battles of Bull Run, Antietam, South Moun- tain and Gettysburg. This concluded the course, but the faculty had to give the bal- ance of the summer to preparing the next year’s course of study. The Policy of the South On one staff ride Colonel Faison, a mem- ber of the class, suggested that the distin- guished Confederate cavalry leader, General Munford, was living at Charlottesville, and that it would be mutually interesting if the veteran should accompany us. Gen- eral Munford accepted our invitation eagerly and joined us at Fredericksburg. At Chancellorsville he had been with Fitz- hugh Lee, whose cavalry brigade had cov- ered Jackson’s march against the right flank of Hooker's army. There he led me to a little hill in the angle of the Brock and the Plank roads and showed me where Jackson, whose army was moving up the Brock road, had ridden to the crest of the hill and looked directly down along the length of Howard’s lines not 500 yards away. The Northern troops had stacked their arms and were smoking and lounging while the cooks butchered cattle and prepared the evening meal. Jackson ordered Mun- ford and the courier to remain under cover, but he himself stood for five minutes studying the Union positions without be- ing observed. Turning to his courier he ordered him to go back and instruct Gen- eral Rhodes, commanding the advance of Jackson's column, to continue up the Brock road to the turnpike, where he would join him. Jackson did join Rhodes there and turned his column down the turnpike. Where he would have attacked Howard's corps obliquely, but for his discovery, he now struck the Union forces in reverse as well as in the flank, and routed them. Howard's corps, of course, should have seized the hill as an elementary precaution, commanding the two roads as it did. Had they used the observation it offered they would have seen Jackson coming. It was an inexplicable case of negligence, for Howard was a good soldier. Theaged Confederate wasgreatly touched when the class, Northern and Southern born, alighted in the Wilderness to renew the cairn an earlier class had built of rough stones to mark the spot where the Confed- erate general, Jones, fell in the first day of that battle. Each year the children of a near-by school would scatter the stones, knowing nothing of their significance, and each year the class would gather them again into a cairn. The students needed the trip to send them back to their troops physically and mentally fit after the long winter grind in school. No officer who took these staff rides failed to appreciate their immense advan- tages mentally and physically. This is a fragmentary picture of the methods by which the army prepared, as best it could, for the unknown task that lay a brief way ahead of it. The total the treasury has spent on the War College, the EVENING POST Leavenworth schools and all the special- service schools since 1900 would be an in- considerable item in the Federal budget, and the Government rarely has bought more for so little. There was confusion, waste and bungling in our war effort, but for a proper perspec- tive it should be compared with what we have done in the past. The average literate American understands that the North did not do so well at first in the Civil War, but how and why he never has known or long ago forgot. The Union’s floundering in 1861 and 1862 makes a sorry story, but it is not one that the nation should be per- mitted to forget, for it was characteristic of all our wars until the latest one. There is no mystery as to why the numer- ically and mechanically inferior and be- leaguered South held off the North so long and defeated greater Union forces so often and so soundly, nor was it due, as roman- ticists believe, to the fact that the South- rons were a more warlike people. It is true that there was a more militant tradition in the South; the prevalence of military academies below the Potomac is one evi- dence of that. It is true that there was a more general familiarity with firearms and a distinctly superior horsemanship in the agricultural and baronial South than in the industrial North, and that Dixie had more visibly at stake in the quarrel, but these were superficial advantages. The controlling difference was that the South knew precisely what it was about and had an enlightened military policy as an instrument of its purpose, while the North, betrayed by Buchanan’s Administration into an initial disadvantage, sedulously cul- tivated that disadvantage by its own weak- ness of will, confusion of purpose and ignorance of the A B C’s of war. While Lincoln was making his way incog- nito to Washington to take oath of office, the Confederate Congress was electing a trained soldier to the presidency and au- thorizing him to call as many one-year volunteers to the colors as he thought nec- essary. He called out 100,000. Two months later President Lincoln called out 75,000 militia for three months’ service to suppress a force one-third larger and enlisted for four times that term. In less than a year the South, which had gone to war in de- fense of states’ rights as a general policy, abandoned it utterly as a military policy, made Jefferson Davis the powerful execu- tive of a highly centralized government and drafted every able-bodied citizen between eighteen and thirty-five into the army. It never had permitted troops to elect their officers or governors to appoint them above the grade of captain, and now it took away the appointive power of the state execu- tives entirely. Davis was a graduate of West Point, a veteran of distinction of the Mexican War and a statesman of long service in Senate and Cabinet. He thus was equipped to make intelligent use of his unprecedented wartime powers. The South was more nearly united on the war than was the North, but its solidarity was due as much, I think, to the Confederate Government’s stern suppression of dissent as to any unanimity of sentiment among its people. In the North Lincoln, a novice at arms, although a volunteer in the Black Hawk War, had to lead a nation split into a series of contentious factions tactfully into war, hampered and bound on every side him- self with the restrictions of the Constitution and tradition. Political Commissions The firing on Fort Sumter found 183 of the Army’s 198 companies scattered in 79 different posts on the far frontier, the re- maining 15 companies protecting the At- lantic Coast, the Canadian border and manning 23 arsenals. General Twiggs, in command of the Department of Texas, sur- rendered nearly one-fourth of this army and all the public property in his care to the South on demand. While Buchanan and his Secretary of War, Floyd, sat supinely July 9, 1927 by, the South seized 235,000 army muskets from various arsenals. Its infantry was well and uniformly equipped with arms, while Union infantry went to war with flintlocks, old English Enfields, German and Belgian smoothbores and almost every other relic that could be picked up here or abroad. In the division of the trained soldiers of the Old Army it is agreed that the South got much better than an even break in quality, but the more I have studied the Civil War the more I have come to wonder if the true inwardness of this advantage may not have been more that the South knew what to do with its trained soldiers and the North did not. It is true that the Union did not produce, until late in the war, generals comparable, on their records, to Lee, Jackson, Longstreet, the two Johnstons and other Confederate com- manders; but was it the fault of the officers or of the system? Of a total of 900 officers in the Old Army 269 resigned to join the South and 26 were dismissed for disloyalty. Of these 182, or 62 per cent, rose to the rank of general officer of the Confederate Army, among them the five great soldiers I have just named. Of the more than 600 officers, num- bers of them Southern born, who remained loyal to the Union, only 142, or less than 24 per’ cent, rose to general-officer rank. More than half of the loyal 600 failed to reach the rank of colonel in the Union Army in a war that lasted four years. The Union Army, being almost entirely volunteer and no provision having been made for utilizing these trained soldiers to command volun- teer troops, several hundred men who had spent their lives preparing themselves for such an emergency were submerged and lost in the welter of state-commissioned and political soldiers, intrigue, wire pulling and military chaos. It was no fault of the Government that the services of Grant, the greatest of the Union commanders, were not lost; he got a commission only by chance that he was known as a former sol- dier to his neighbors in Galena, Illinois. Is it not likely that other great soldiers sank without trace in the confusion? It is a rela- tively small detail, but a significant one, that on the Southern side a full general commanded an army, a lieutenant general a corps, a major general a division and a brigadier a brigade, while the North had only major generals and brigadier generals for all four units, and a general command- ing in the field had to apply to the governor before an officer of troops of any state could be promoted. Barracked in the Capitol The single battalion of regular infantry and the few companies of regular artillery and squadrons of cavalry in Washington were swamped in the 40,000 or so uniformed citizens that poured confusedly in on the cap- ital. Major Ganoe in his History of the United States Army has described how the Capitol and other public buildings were turned into barracks for troops that did not know how to take care of themselves in camp nor have the necessary equipment. A German regiment occupied the floor of the House. Beds were in the corridors, a sergeant sat in the Speaker’s chair, murals were defaced, members’ desks broken up and the congressional hall given over to pillage and abuse. Uncontrolled drunken- ness made the residents of Washington more fearful of friend than enemy. The farmer colonel and the apothecary major in many cases strutted in bar and lobby, drew their pay and did not go near their regiments for weeks. It is possible that they earned their wages better by their absence. Already the country had spent in these few months enough to have supported a sufficient trained force for the ten years preceding. Recruiting posters promised that ‘‘as this regiment is to be constantly garrisoned in the forts around Washington, those anxious to enter the service will find Continued on Page 156) —=

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His father said, ‘‘That’s so, the rascals. It won’t stay in my mind. I hope the woman still comes in to cook. A gentle- man may cook on a military campaign, but not in his own house. Where were you all John Fearnes told him that the Carolina Rifles had been parading with the Schiitzencorps. ‘‘ You did say that,’’ he admitted. ‘John, I’m tired, and I’m not a third through the register. If I don’t live to finish it, you must take it up.”” They were seated on a balcony at the back of the Below, a garden had grown into confusion. There was the heavy scent of a banana shrub. A musical cry came from Legare Street, ““‘Sweet rose tomaytoes!”’ There was another, far off, “She craib she craib—she craib!’’ The elder Fearnes repeated, hardly above his breath, ‘‘ Load my gun wid sweet sugar plum. An’ shoot dem nung gal.” “TI will have to go to Columbia tomor- row,” John Fearnes said suddenly. “I must be away two or perhaps three days. I hope you will be all right. I will give you some money, only you must be careful with it. Let Saby in by the side door. I don’t like to leave you, but it can't be helped.” Why, his father demanded querulously. “T can take care of myself. I always keep a pair of loaded pistols by me. It’s safe to kill almost anyone now.”’ His hands, on the arms of his chair, were remarkably like his son’s; but the skin was like the rind of a lemon; the veins were indigo. A mocking- bird sang with a sustained liquid sweetness. “You never hear a chuck-will’s-widow any more,” Allds Fearnes complained. ‘They used to come with the dusk.” afternoon?”’ house. The rebuilding of Columbia, Fearnes saw, was confined to the main street: the heaps of fire-blackened bricks and charred rafters were being hauled away and new stores were in course of construction. Co- lumbia, like Charleston, was sunk in a careless and exhausted lethargy. Walking toward the State House he passed imposing and dilapidated mansions set back in mel- ancholy neglected gardens. Urns and stat- ues were overthrown and broken, paths were unraked and lost, the porticoes were empty. Soon, however, he was caught in an increasing activity of negroes. A rough fence inclosed the littered and barren grounds of the State House. Near by a white officer from the Army of the North was drilling a black company; there were groups of negroes in serious consultation; others—legislators--slept sprawled on the grass; a solitary statesman in an old black frock coat, with a rusty high silk hat and a torn woolen scarf about his throat, paced muttering loudly te himself. There were shouts of laughter, high calls, even a wail of song. Where, John Fearnes asked a decent- appearing negro, could he find Beverley Nash? It was hard to say about Mr. Nash, he was informed. Mr. Nash was busy with near everything and everybody. He might be in the Senate Chamber, and then he might be in one of the committee rooms. Sometimes he stopped next to the office of the Clerk of the Senate. That retreat, Fearnes discovered, was completely fur- nished with senators and representatives, wines and liquors, cold dishes and cigars. There was no formality in the frankest satisfaction of personal appetites—there were negroes with champagne and corncob pipes, negroes with whisky and Havana cigars, negroes happy with beer and sliced hicken, negroes with unrestricted gin and Virginia ham. They were neither sober nor k, but united in a spirit of amazed and leasure. They were not only con- tinuously eating and drinking but begging one another to drink and eat just a little more Where, Fearnes asked again, was Bev- erley Nash? Beverley had been in that very room not a minute ago. Probably now he A white friend of was back tn the Senate THE SATURDAY CHARLESTON EVENING POST (Continued from Page 11) Senator Nash’s was looking for him. ‘“‘ Here, boy!’’ A ragged negro child was captured. “You're one of the Senate pages. Take this gentleman where he can find Mr. Beverley Nash.”’ In the Senate Chamber Nash was discovered to have gone to the House. There the floor was in an uproar. A dozen members were on their feet at once in a shouted confusion of parliamentary terms. ‘A point of order! A point of per- sonal privilege! The gentleman from Laurens County! The chair, please, and I was talking first.” The gavel fell in a sustained minor thunder of warn- ing. The confusion slowly subsided. There were scattered laughs. The members, in every variety of dress, were seated in every possible attitude; in a majority of cases incredible feet were elevated on the desks. There was a general eating of bananas and peanuts. Banana skins, peanut shells, were dropped over the floor. A representative was speaking: . ‘Con- gress has passed the Force Bills. The Ku Klux trials came to the right end they came to. For one I am not in favor of delving into the past. The present is what this honorable body is engaged with. For that reason I am opposed to devoting any large sum of money on the Ku Klux and our scat- tered country brothers. Let us concentrate our money and our power. There is too much personal talk here. Take it to Cap- tain Hubbard and the state constabulary. See the committee on contingencies. Don’t burden us with your aches and pains and troubles x4 He was interrupted by a second law- maker: The honorable gentleman forgot that he was once a scattered country brother. Did he ever have the Ku Klux wang in his door? Did the honorable gen- tleman ever see a Ku Klux in the middle of the night with red horns a foot long? The gavel fell. Speeches on the floor were limited to five minutes. In a corner, silent and bewildered and grim, sat the few white Democratic members of the House. They were from the mountains—a useless sacri- fice in the magnified black chatter. John Fearnes identified the seven white men who supported the negro party. They, rather than the negroes, were growing rich in the universal stealing. The entire appropria- tion for the state insane asylum had dis- appeared. There was a new issue of fraudu- lent state bonds at every session. He approached a small group of white men at the rail. ‘I am looking for Beverley Nash,”’ he explained. There was no an- swer. John Fearnes repeated his words. An individual in a wide battered hat, his lips brown with tobacco, replied that he was damned if he cared who anyone was looking for. *‘Nash is over there,’”’ another member of the group said. “‘You can just see his head. Now, Crews,”’ he returned to a confidential discussion. That, then, was Joe Crews, the ex-nigger trader. He had been in the legislature, a commissioner of elections and a trial justice, and military aide to Governor Scott. Crews had armed the negroes of Columbia with six or seven hundred stands of improved Springfield rifles and ammunition. The taller man, with the patriarchal beard, Fearnes de- cided, was Whittemore. Fearnes recognized Beverley Nash. **Nash,” he said, ‘‘I am Colonel Fearnes, of Charleston.’”” Nash, who was a tall and handsome negro, carefully dressed, looked down on John Fearnes. He didn’t, he re- plied, appear to remember him. He hoped, however, Fearnes had been colonel on the right side. ‘“‘In the sacred cause of liberty.”’ Fearnes ignored that. “I came to Colum- bia to see you about a rumor in Charles- ton.’ Nash interrupted him. He wasn’t, he said, interested in Charleston rumors. Charleston, it was known, was disloyal to the Union, and as far as he, Beverley Nash, was concerned, the city might be excised from the map. Things seemed as if it might be. That, too, John Fearnes over- looked. ‘“‘I want to talk to you,” he re- plied more decidedly; ‘‘and this doesn’t seem to be the place.’’ Nash, it appeared, couldn’t talk to him now in this place or any other. He had three committees that afternoon. This was Tuesday—he might see him on Friday. Yes, it was barely pos- sible he would be at liberty, for a very little while, on Friday. Fearnes said, ‘‘ Today or tomorrow.”’ His voice was low and cold and quiet. Beverley Nash started to speak more loudly; it was possible that in a mo- ment more he would be shouting; but suddenly his manner changed; it dissolved before Fearnes’ level stare. The best Nash could do was that night, and then it would be very inconvenient. Governor Moses was having a ball, and if Colonel Fearnes would come to the gov- ernor’s mansion at about eleven o’clock he would contrive to see him. That, Fearnes realized, was final. He agreed shortly: “Very well.”” He left the State House as quickly as possible. His face was whiter than usual, and his knees were weak. His lips were pinched. From the United States barracks, on the outskirts of the town, came the strains of a military band playing John Brown’s Body. The street was full of negroes on foot and in gigs going out for the parade and sunset music. Even war had been corrupted. John Fearnes thought with envy of all men killed in action. His mind was haunted by the insane spectacle of government in the negro House of Rep- resentatives, by the greed, the political malice, of the North. Mingo Harth was the symbol of Union, a black seal on the fate of Seuth Carolina. Seated in an alcove of the mansion lately acquired by Governor Franklin J. Moses, waiting for the social activities of Beverley Nash to reach a pause, John Fearnes’ faint constant sense of horror was increased by the grotesque unreality of his surround- ings. The governor, in a florid version of evening dress, passed accompanied by his aides, negro and white, in uniforms bril- liant with looped gilt cords and buttons, and the lieutenant governor, Gleaves, in a violet coat and hair pasted across a black forehead. The orchestra, in a farther room, played a triumphal march, and the dancers crowded respectfully forward to view the imposing cortége. It was followed by ex- clamations of satisfaction and wonder. Most of those present were negroes—ne- groes of every conceivable shade; there were girls so pale, so gracefully lovely, that even Fearnes was in doubt about them; and men with the dry blackness of char- coal. The girls wore bright colors—green and primitive red and sunflower yellow— their light or dark bare shoulders were gray with powder. Their necks and wrists hung with gold and barbaric stones, and they were drenched with heavy perfume. The men were more variously garbed; there was an extravagant elegance and bright shabby makeshift. Against a background of music a continuous bass and treble laughter rose in an eager stammering pressure of pleasure with a threatening undertone of hysteria. None of this would have caused John Fearnes the slightest uneasiness; it was familiar and merely distasteful; but as the body of a ball in the executive mansion of the state it was, briefly, monstrous. The degraded white element, he decided again, was what gave the occasion its air of corruption. He was repelled by the animal vigor of the negroes; but, following with a cold curiosity the white figures in the throng, his face was bitter. He saw a woman in pink tulle, unmistakably blonde, dancing with Cardoza, the mulatto state treasurer. A Northern captain in uniform was dancing with a young girl with the rich negro whiteness of a gardenia. She wore a honey-colored dress and long earrings of topaz and pale Spanish gold. A Gulla negro of the Fifty-seventh Massachusetts Regiment roughly shoved aside a carefully dressed and apologetic white man. Bev- erley Nash stopped in front of Fearnes. He referred to John Fearnes as his nemesis, and doubted if, after all, he had time to confer with him. “Tt will only need a few minutes,” Fearnes proceeded. ‘There is a rumor in Charleston Mingo Harth is to be nominated for mayor on the Union Republican ticket. If he is elected it will be fatal for the negro cause in South Carolina. At last. There is a limit, Washington will discover, we can’t go beyond. I'll remind you that none of this was Mr. Lincoln’s plan. The Union League and Freedmen’s Bureau, the North, are only interested in your vote. In separating you from the Democratic Party. Before the war norespectable negro would recognize Mingo Harth.’”’ Nash interrupted him to say that if he had known what the colonel was after he would not have granted him an inter- view. Beverley Nash repeated that he had no concern with Charleston. Mingo might be bad, but he couldn’t be bad enough for that white sepulcher. Besides, times had changed; what was low had become high, and Mingo Harth had come up. He would, today, get a big vote, for several reasons. John Fearnes saw that it was useless to go on. Probably Mingo Harth would be mayor of Charleston, for a little. However, the damage in that short period must be incalculable. He was sorry, Nash said, but he could wait no longer. Governor Moses wanted to consult with him, and there were others. Very different. But there was no reason for the colonel to hurry away. He had bet- ter stay and enjoy himself. If he took a fancy to anyone in particular say that he was Beverley Nash’s guest. John Fearnes made no reply; his face was set like a death mask; and Nash suddenly uneasy with- drew. He must goat once, Fearnes realized, but for the moment he was incapable of movement. He was crushed into his seat by the whole weight of present tragic mis- fortunes. The dance continued. The music and voices grew louder. Joe Crews, his planter’s hat arrogantly across his eyes, passed. Fearnes saw the bearded and reverend-appearing Mr. Whittemore. Car- doza, who was from Charleston, stopped and spoke civilly; he presented the woman with him. She was a Mrs. Dembo. She came, Cardoza proceeded, from Havana. John Fearnes acknowledged this ade- quately. He was standing, turning finally away, when he happened to see an artificial blue mark in the palm of the woman’s left hand. She was slight, graceful and pale; her skin was uncommonly bright, almost orange, in color; and her eyes, no more than half opened, were amber, somnolent. She spoke in a low and indifferent voice, with a trace of Spanish. Her whole bearing was indifferent, supported by the insolence of some hidden pride or power. Perhaps Mrs. Dembo would like to talk to Colonel Fearnes, Cardoza proceeded. He bowed ceremoniously and turned away. She didn’t, she said, like the party or the people around them. The men had the manners of field hands, the women were frightfully dressed, and the music horrible. In Ha- vana such an occasion would be very dif- ferent. Did he know the danzén? “T have never been to Cuba,” Fearnes acknowledged. There was a fine gold chain about her neck, its ends disappeared into the lace at her breast, and he speculated upon what was hidden. He had given up the intention, neglected the need, of leaving immediately. Mrs. Dembo fell into a silent remoteness. In repose her face was haggard; her mouth was bloodless and malign. She was in reality curiously hideous. Her grace, her bright and surprising color, ordinarily hid that. It was impossible to guess her age. At first John Fearnes would have said Continued on Page 46 = a ae ee ———— = - -

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(Continued from Page 44) thirty; now he saw that she might be fifty. She wasn’t, of course. He asked her, for- maily, if she cared to dance. He found that she danced better than well, with a complicated perverse rhythm within the time of the music. She was ex- traordinarily light and cold in his arms. A wave of giddiness swept over John Fearnes; the weakness in his knees returned; his breath, he thought, had turned solid, choking him. The room was packed with dancers, hot beyond support. The music had become horrible. He turned sharply to avoid collision, and the object at the end of her chain swung into view; it was a small crucifix of black lava, every carved agonized detail was perfect, but it was at- tached to the chain at the bottom. It hung upside down. The time had come to speak. His lips were close to her ear: ‘‘When the rooster sings the Ave Maria I give thanks to God that let me into the day with breath.” She sighed faintly. There was no other evidence Mrs. Dembo had heard him. The music tore at him with a feverish and de- structive intensity. He had failed again. Mrs. Dembo’s fingers tightened on his wrist. She was replying. Kill the rooster and give the blood to the Bongé. Fearnes continued, “Come with me. Where did you leave your feet?” There was an amber glimmer between her eyelids. “Where I left my head.” He said, “lamba and Mocongo are well. They are working inside.” The cru- cifix had vanished. His giddiness changed to an acute sickness; it was absolutely nec- essary for him to get out into the air. He led Mrs. Dembo to a side door, and they stood at the top of a narrow flight of steps leading into the garden. The noise behind them lost all sense; it became an inarticu- late jabber; at intervals he heard the low beat of adrum. A darkness of massed and neglected shrubbery lay below them. “I must speak to you,” Fearnes said. He al- most laughed at the commonplace ab- surdity of his words. Returned to Charleston he found the iron gate and doors of his dwelling uncere- moniously open. There were negro soldiers in the hall. The old man, they casually informed him, had been killed last night. They knew nothing more than that and sul- lenly resented further questioning. John Fearnes saw Saby and cried at her, ‘“What has happened to my father?” She, too, was ignorant; half insolent in manner. There were negroes in the drawing-room above, rifles and belts in the corners; but Allds Fearnes, incredibly emaciated, was alone. When his body had been carried away, under a guard of honor from the Carolina Rifle Club, John Fearnes began an existence of complete solitude. Saby had gone, and he conducted all the practical details of living. The negroes continued to inhabit the lower floor; he drove them out, but they returned. A formal request to have them moved brought no reply. They gambled and slept and argued—turning his hall into a kind of guardroom—and, except for stealing his food and clothes, paid very little attention to him. Fearnes, against urgent advice, stubbornly remained. He sat mostly on the rear balcony, listening to the mockingbirds and the musical cries of He kept his father’s papers together—if Beverley Nash and the black Republicans were successful in totally ob- literating Charleston the Register of St. Philip’s Parish might be valuable. The spirit of Charleston, however, was not entirely dead. There was, for example, a changeless love for it in himself—for its wharves and water and tranquil streets, its ingle houses and walled gardens. It was closer to him, more actual, than any ab- traction of union. South Carolina was a reality, its history was his history, its an- nals names of his ancestors. Charleston was the evidence of its pride and richness, and of its fall. It had fallen. Oh, very decidedly. It could never be born None of Fearnes’ associates agreed the streets. were the again THE SATURDAY with him; they insisted the state would survive, glorious; Charleston, they con- tended, would be built again. Never, he knew, in the old form and mold. The very shape of life had changed. The cotton warehouses on East Bay Street would never be filled again--cotton had moved South and West. There could be no plantations without slaves. Without plantations the familiar cherished facts of South Carolina would become a tradition. That, though, would live forever; Charles- ton would be deathless in the history of lovely cities. Its tradition was as tangible as stone and brick. He had fought—a last act of veneration—to leave it perfect. John Fearnes hadn’t, through the years of the war, realized that. He saw now that suc- cess had never for a moment been possible. It wasn’t the North but the present which had conquered him. He didn’t, at the last, very greatly mind. He preferred to belong to the past. There was a noise in the room behind him, and he found three negroes in uniform bending over an opened drawer. They were visibly confused and, mutter- ing they had thought he was out, left quickly. There was a long-drawn call outside: “Fresh whiting!’’ The fishermen had re- turned from the bay. Later he encountered a negro soldier, a captain, of a different spirit, on the stairs. He wasn’t a colonel, Fearnes was told; Fearnes was nothing. If he got in the way he would be less. The captain’s sword was bare. There was no one else near, the hall was darkening with evening, and John Fearnes said rapidly, ““No one outside the famba has any power here. If your body is filled with pins, it will be for a reason.” The sword fell and slid clattering down the bare steps. The negro flattened himself against the railing for Fearnes to go by. His feeling of sickness returned, accom- panied by self-hatred. John Fearnes told himself that he had betrayed his birth; he was sinking deeper and deeper into infamy. He was tormented by what he knew. Yet the reason for his interest in—in primitive religion, his plans, justified it. He recalled Walker Irvine’s command; his assertion that the Carolina Rifle Club must be obvi- ously innocent. He was therefore proceed- ing in the best way open to him. What frightened him were the dark implications of the world he had entered. The magic of poisonous words filled his head: Mama Lleneca, guanafiongé acué, Efé Bruton Ef6, Otan que Ibane—Words older than history—Bricamé. He opposed against them —for the escape of his soul —the serene and familiar phrases of the Book of Com- mon Prayer, but its beauty was remote from him, like its heaven. That region, spun of gold and blue, was hidden by an imminent pall. John Fearnes had a de- structive illusion that his skin was turning darker; it was, of course, nonsense; but it persisted at the back of his mind. He woke suddenly at night and, hearing the negroes below, lost all sense of his identity; he might be black or white, living or dead. He didn’t immediately know. He fought off an impulse to light a candle and, getting the yellow chalk he kept hidden, draw an indi- cated pattern on the floor of his room and step within it. If he did, he argued, he would never come out again. John Fearnes would be visible for a moment and then his place taken by—he couldn’t quite face that, yet. Anyhow, it was nonsense. His actual plan couldn’t be hurried. Negroes couldn’t be hurried. He put him- self in a position to see Mingo Harth—a powerful negro, pure in blood, with mad eyes—and heard echoes of his existence: Harth was to be nominated for mayor; he hardly ever left the house where he stayed on Calhoun Street; his supporters were always around the door. It was openly said that a year after his election there wouldn’t EVENING POST be a white inhabitant in Charleston. That, it appeared, was Mingo Harth’s political creed. It wasn’t, John Fearnes thought, entirely fantastic. It wasn’t fantastic at all, if Harth was elected—if, in other words, he lived. For the present there was nothing Fearnes could do except to remain alive himself. That was not to be taken for granted. However, the negroes in his house left him and his belongings severely alone. They never now went above the first floor. When he passed through the hall there was an uneasy silence and rolling eyes. His house, in reality, lost favor as a place of congregation; the negroes moved out to the exterior steps, to the garden at the back, and began to fall away in numbers. He was even conscious that long glances, mut- tered syllables, followed his passage on the streets. He stayed away from the meetings of the rifle club, avoided people and places he knew. Fearnes walked about Charleston at unusual hours—early in the morning and at dark—he had lost all consciousness of danger. He discovered remote and unfa- miliar waterways by the ponds on the Ashley River, at the end of Cannon Street and along Beaupain; he grew familiar with the marshes of Town Creek, the old parade ground and King Street past Sansouci. He discovered Rose Lane and Sires Street, the Mall and Aiken’s Park, secret alleys and stone courts like traps. The arrogant or furtive or drunken negroes never interfered with him; instinctively—like the captain on the stairs—they pressed away from his passage. Fearnes was, accordingly, sur- prised when a negro came through the upper room to his baleony. Colonel, he said, a lady was waiting to see him in the hall. A colored lady. ‘‘Who is she?”’ Fearnes de- manded. The soldier didn’t know. It was evident that he’d had no intention of ask- ing. He was very much frightened, and, his message delivered, he quickly and si- lently vanished. Very much later John Fearnes slowly walked up King Street, and at Tradd he stopped before a negro fire house. It was the center of the criminal black spirit of Charleston; usually it was lighted, filled with activity, until morning; but Fearnes found it dark and deserted. He discovered, however, an uncertain thread of light at a door and entered. He was instantly halted by a vague figure. “In Guinea,” Fearnes said, ‘‘my mother was a monkey. Here she wants to be human.” He proceeded up a totally dark, boxed stairway to a large room with a float- ing light of candles against a black curtain hung across a corner. There were other men present, all negroes and silent, and, he dimly saw, a single woman. She was seated alone, motionless, in a formless cape. A growing excitement invaded him, an anxiety of eagerness and fear. He felt, too, curiously lost, as though he were in a totally strange and primitive world; it seemed to John Fearnes that he had fallen through a horrible chasm of time, into the universe before light. Light became a thing of dread; he slipped aside from it merely as an idea; he wanted to wrap himself, to hide, in shadows. The rays of the sun, he felt, would pierce him like steel; the stars were bright-barbed fatal arrows. John Fearnes crouched instinctively in a corner. The feet of the negroes were bare and noiseless; he dragged off his shoes—he couldn’t, now, support the betrayal of their clatter. He must move quickly and secretly; his collar was tight about his throat, his coat caught at his shoulders and wrists. It was better without them. His sight grew sharper, and he saw Mingo Harth. A small negro, totally naked, held a struggling rooster that kept up a smoth- ered hysterical protest. Facing the black July 9,1927 curtain the negro said, ‘“‘This is Bibi. The palm is here.”’ He rubbed the rooster with his hands, strangled it and quickly covered the body with a variegated cloth. He drew a yellow pattern on the floor and raised a singsong voice: “‘Ef6é baptized Efé and Efé baptized Efé.”" Mingo Harth advanced, bare to the waist, and the singer drew symbols in yellow on his head, his arms and on his back. He then led Mingo into the circle of chalk. Fearnes was shaking with excitement; if the Postle could stand erect there he was invulnerable. There were gasps in the dark- ness, but the seated woman was unmoved. The curtain had been dragged aside and a profane altar exposed; on it were three small figures of clay —figures with distorted heads on long stems—above was a cross in bright metal, with four black-and-white feathers. There was an indiscriminate col- lection of ordinary objects—a new tin cup, a broken blue vase, a pair of recumbent china deer, part of a holy figurine. Hang- ing on a string, by the neck, was a child’s rag doll. The ceremony before the altar proceeded slowly. John Fearnes was filled with a sense of mystery, of unseen omnipotent things. They were not benevolent. He had a feel- ing of fingers on his face, of heads like the heads of the images advanced toward him. The shadow of Harth was independently alive. It had Mingo Harth by the ankles. Suddenly there was a flare of cruel light, an open explosion of gunpowder. The small negro interrogated his companion: Did he swear to tell the truth in all he was asked? Yes, sir. With what idea did he come to this part? It was with the idea of helping his brothers. The woman, at last, stirred: her cloak fell away and she moved forward, squat- ting outside the yellow circle. She inter- rogated the gloom, swaying on her hips. Her voice grew louder and the swaying more pronounced. It had a_ perverse rhythm he was already familiar with. Voices joined in her flat singing, but she easily dominated them. The chant was like the broken breathing of an inconceivable and immense animal. Fearnes was a part of it. ‘‘Efé Bruton, Ef6 que name rulon!” The sound and movement were in his blood. He was conscious of a new power rising through his veins, a hotter tide of life than he had ever before known. He was filled with a bitter vitality. The swaying body of the woman dominated his being. He was strong, but she was stronger. She was a palm tree. She wastheearth. An irresist- ible impulse possessed him to be near her, and he slipped forward without a sound. The others were drawing nearer. John Fearnes was close behind her sweating and convulsed back. He, too, was squatting and swinging on his hips. Only the Postle was erect, a massive and stolid silhouette against the faintness of the candles. A slow hatred for him pos- sessed Fearnes, a wish that he could be forced out of the protecting circle. He tried, by the sheer weight of his will, to move Harth. He thought of his will as a great wind—a wind bending the palm trees to the sand. The singing grew louder and more savage. It was beneath words, pas- sion itself made audible. They would blow Mingo Harth out of thecircle. The woman's head was now sweeping the floor. But she was still coherent. The impure burn in their own blood. Mingo Harth had lost his erectness, he was crouching, immobile. A name floated independently into John Fearnes’ memory! Mrs. Dembo. A mu- latto woman at the ball given by Governor Moses. She was, suddenly, still. The voices died away, but the tension was increased; the silence was charged with a tangible menace gathering, rising, about Mingo Harth. Mingo Harth would be driven out of the circle. This, in Fearnes’ thoughts, was taken up, magnified into a cry. It beat on the bare walls of the room and it beat on Mingo Harth. He was bowed down with his head in his arms. The smaller man had (Continued on Page 49)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ee ek he ee ek ee ee ee = ” EE OLA TTT ITI SS TLS ee Sl SSeS ——————— AIO OOO Se a PO DDO DP 0D DOD DDO D990 99 9790990097? 0 PW? 99 99907900000 00070 Bae OAL AKI IAI Creer ror od oO OP 8 87 0 000 CAA OAPAMA MAAK. AI OA POAC AOA . M AMATEUR CORN ja Amateur Corn Paring is a flirtation with THE (FRAY SPECTER OF INFECTION A leading toot-specialist of New _ wend the: Che cool felt pad relieves the pres- ~ sure,as only a pad can. [he pain stops at once. If the York sounds the tollowing warn- first plaster does not conquer the corn, a second or third, costing lessthana nickel each, will dothe work. Ing: ; a Ending a corn the Bluesjay way often costs less than a nickel and seldom more than 1§c. Your “*Blood-poisoning frequently results from amateur corn-paring. And such infections have many — frightful possibilities. I cannot say this strongly enough: Corn-paring is a chiropodist’s work. No layman should attempt it.”’ vas the » »- Blue-jay . with Apbo-pH KasviNner, 6 Saint Marks Place, New York City Year in and year out Blue-jay advertising has spread this advice: “Don’t try to be your own foot-surgeon. e If you would treat your corns by the paring method, U Ce - d = % go toa chiropodist. But when it is more convenier Bh 7 1@:7. for you to treat your corns at hom« ie Jay 1 weninuaee Blue-javy way.” sidered a Chat way is sensible, ¢ no guesswork. No possibility « medication. Each plaste1 ment, with just the right ar

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A lecture to the whole family on Motor Oil o buys the family motor oil | SISTER is quite frank about it. She always gets Excello Oil because the dealer is too good- looking for words. MOTHER buys on price. A bargain is a bargain, whether it is salad oil, cooking oil bargain, whether it is Salad oll, cooking oll or motor oil, SON'S /oyalty to Blank Oil is unshakable. The Baseball Captain will endorse no other. Dab, whe should know better, buys X Oil because the dealer is nearby and not too pressing about bills. ¥ ry 7 F' JUR good people with four bad reasons for buying a motor oil. Yet thousands of motorists do buy second-rate oils for just such reasons. And that explains why the car owners of this country pay more than a billion dollars each year for repairs that correct lubrication would have prevented. Only one reason for choosing a motor oil When you choose a motor oil there is factor worth considering — How thoroughly will the oil safeguard your motor from deadly heat and friction? ( ynly Ne A motor oil does its work by forming a thin film between all the whirling, flying motor surfaces. As long as the film remains unbroken, your motor is protected. and WHY ? But the oil film itself is subjected to ter- rific punishment. It must withstand the lash of searing, scorching heat, the threat of tearing, grinding friction. Under that two- fold punishment, the film of ordinary oil breaks and burns. Through the broken, shattered film, vital motor parts are exposed to the fierce attacks of heat. And insidious friction begins its work of destruc- tion. That means excessive wear, swollen operating costs, ultimately big repair bills. |VEEDOL Tine FULL 9f PROTECTION ECAUSE the whole problem of correct lubrication lies in a film of oil, Tide Water technologists spent years in studying not oils alone, but oil fi/ms. Finally they perfected, in Veedol, the oil that gives the “film of protection,” thin as tissue, smooth as silk, tough as steel—the film that masters deadly heat and friction. To maintain the fighting quality of that “film of protection,” Veedol is tested to withstand heat 100 degrees hotter than the hottest friction spot in your motor. It is Veedol’s super-heat resistance that makes it the safest lubricant for all motors of the modern high-speed type. To the man who foots the bill pesca the new complete Veedol Lubrication Service it is now possible to have that added Veedol protection at every friction-spot in your entire car. A dealer near you specializes in this service. Let him take entire charge of your car’s lubrication. You will know him by his orange and black Veedol sign. ‘ Always ask for Veedol Lubricants by name. Ford owners should ask for Veedol Forzol. Tide Water Oil Sales Corporation, 11 Broadway, New York. Branches or ware- houses in all principal cities. ©@1rwosec: July 9, 1927

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Continued from Page 46 vanished. Harth would be outside protection of the juju. Until then, Fearnes realized, they were helpless. The woman raised gleaming arms—arms with a clinging pale cold fire. The cry rose and fell: ** Mingo Harth! Mingo Harth!”’ strong as the great apes the boards under him, break down the walls of the building. Suddenly Harth stood erect; he turned with his face blank against the body of voices; there was no mark of his eyes, no living gleam. He took a step forward, he moved again, and there was a screaming tumult and huddle of men Mrs. Dembo had disappeared, and an utter panic drove John Fearnes cold He blundered desperately to where he had left clothes and struggled into them. He couldn't find the door to the stairs, and felt along the walls with his heart jumping The stairs, he had a crazy illusion, had gone. There was no escape. He could see only the altar under the lighted candles. The rag doll hanging by its neck revolved slowly. A thin brightness was reflected from the tin cup. The shrill uproar and struggle had stopped. There wasn’t a stir. He searched again for the door and, finding it at last, fell more than halfway to the floor below. A solitary negro, nothing remark- able in looks or bearing, was standing on the corner. He showed no concern in John Fearnes’ abrupt appearance. King Street reached familiar and deserted toward the South Battery. The sky was softly lumi- nous with stars. A salt and cooling air had set in from the sea. But Fearnes, hurrying over the brick sidewalk, felt he was alien to it; he was an outcast in Charleston. There was a sensation of cobwebs on his face. He tried to brush them away. A long shudder seized him. Then he laughed loudly and uncontrollably—he, John Fearnes, was rifle master of the Carolina Rifle Club. He marched upright and honorable-appearing carrying a bouquet of Charleston violets. He was Col. John Fearnes. Soon Fearnes was as He could tear up The next day his loneliness was intensi- fied; a complete stillness seemed to have fallen about him; he was the sole inhabi- tant of a circle without horizon or perspec- tive. He unwrapped one of his father’s pistols, rammed into it a heavy charge of powder, a heavy ball, and then sat with it before him on a table appalled by the noise it would make; it would, he thought, shatter the sky. He deeply engaged with the problem of John Fearnes was Wa first moment I saw her, and you cer devil to get her. The all the happiness there is need our wishes, such a disposition life is bound be just one long dream of bliss. Well, old you'll get a little present from us before it isn’t anything very much but I said to fe, it isn’t every day that old Perey Dippel narried. We'll be at the wedding, of I'd rather lose my right foot than not hand when old Percy puts his head in Well, as I before, this is the news I've heard in years swear to that luc KY id I wish you guess you don’t re the because as hers, said I can honestly and sincerely Mr. Wagstaff then cursed savagely for some time, and then called up his Uncle John to ask for the loan of his cutaway. Morris Bishop. News of Ranch Neighbors Q' T in the West where men are I can mention eight or ten ’ One jerked the leg off hi dearest friend, And beat him t eal ith the men, gory end, A grub-line rider is Shorty Bunn. He He wi But beans, Lys, have no rideé for tood d he ride for fun, fond of bacon, likes his veal, ex appeal, walked the flo r, g, her qui THE SATURDAY how to accomplish his end without an un thinkable uproar way to do that; he loaded, until He turned from it to his father’s papers, the Register of St. Philip’s Parish. Allds Fearnes had reached the tenth of May, 1731. His hand- writing at the end was thin and crumbling, but it preserved a certain elegance. It broke off at the middle of a page. At the table he had left, with the same pen, John wrote: “Ann Daughter of s Joseph Wragg and Judith his wife was born i There must be some put the pistol away it occurred to him Fearnes It was noon and he copied, from his father’s notes, the records of forgotten Charleston births and deaths until the room was dark. He rose suddenly, cramped and with aching eyes, and the drawing-room to the bell rope. He was in the act of pulling it sharply, to inquire why the candles hadn't been lighted, when he remembered there was no one to light them. The servants had gone. Even Saby no longer came to the house. However, he could light the candles; it was better to do that himself, unconquered, than to sur- render to General Grant. Charleston hadn't surrendered. It would be necessary for him to prepare supper, and he hoped no one would find him at that. While it was proper for a gentleman to cook on a mil tary campaign, it was a very different affair in a Charleston mansion Carrying a candlestick in the vast high darkness of the house he carefully closed the shutters of the kitchen. Later he re- turned to the balcony above. The night was quiet, close and heavy. He would sit a while and rest, he thought, and then re- turn to the Register of St. Philip’s Parish. John Fearnes was bothered about the spell- ing of the various Greens. The original recorders had been criminally careless. He was bent over his table, it was late after- noon, when he heard the passage of feet on the stair. Fearnes rose impatiently —it was Ashton Charville. He had had, he said, no idea what John was busy with. A list of old Charleston names! He would have to put that aside and come with him to the rifle club. A son had been born to Dobbs Fenwicke and there was, as customary, a bow! of punch at Fenwicke’s expense. Fearnes protested, he couldn’t leave his but Charville, with a positive good humor, forced him out of the house. The rifle clubrooms in the Trenholm building were full of men and raised voices ( rossed records: It was far too noisy and crowded for John SHORT TURNS EVENING POST Fearnes ne wit! seat Walker “John,” he pro was glad the P le afla tdid. You were I heard when Hart! house he way was literally } ng elise, too master; we f ol yo The re was somet! ng rifle really, because liked be f you, sense of duty ir extraord your character agree that if you can't stop you.” He thanked Walker I: like to have more time knowledged. ‘‘I am fir of St. Philip’s Parish beg It is very want to g difficult beca weren't accurately entered by the parish. When that is d might be active in the ch Irvine said, ‘Of « highly thought of than you escaped with a house, the punch bowl, was delightfully still fully closing the kitchen shutters he a small satisfactory supper. Then he turned to the register. There found, omissions in his father’s whole lines left out; and, after a week of tremendous thought, he saw that all the work would have to be done again. Ir stead of taking up Allds Fearnes’ task he must go back to the beginning. The not he had were untrustworthy; he'd hav refer to the originals. It got, he thought, cold very soon; there were high winds and rain; the waves broke over the South Battery wall; Charleston Bay was white. He had a small recurring sum of money from Georgia through his mother’s estate, and he was obliged to spend most of that for coal. He moved his table close to the open fire in the drawing room; he deserted the balcony and stayed longer by the stove in the kitchen. Then, by an opened window, he heard a cry from the street: ‘‘Whiting—fresh whiting!” The fishermen were back from the outer bay. What was the negro rime his father had liked to repeat? ‘‘Load my gun wid sweet sugar plum. An’ shoot dem nung gal.’’ The warm evening, the singing of the mocking-birds, entered his blood, and he determined to go to Louis Kenake’s Res- taurant on King Street and have shrimps and Egyptian peas for supper. Greatly to his surprise Louis Kenake had He asked a man, standing in front of ourse sensath after conf COOKE were, he Work, gone AIND ENCORES Continued from Page 28 The cowboy thought he'd stood a lot, And he yelled at his consort, ‘‘ Fer Gawd's sake, trot!”’ “Tt sure foaments,”’ said Daddy Spence 7 ’ i As he leaned upon his hi jh worm fe nce, “Tf you look in the keg in my mountain home JY j i] ’ You'll see an inch or two of foan Johnny wears chaps of leopardine, Anda four-quart hat: he sure looks n He's a bronco buster, but not for hire; He bre ak s his brones by the fir kitchen The schooln a’an look 8 over he ré pet { brim Aud says to her pupils, “ Say ‘clumb,’ ‘clim,’ And never ay ‘knewed’ when ‘knowed.’ The y'll have learned a lot by { ) growed! gy i. 4 bronco twister is Smoke j Grang He has the longe st feet on the When he hit: You'd shafts the breeze to rou swear that hi pony She’ She's on the prod, she’ ad dar) good hou heck. When She get the listens in ov mn eartul ever Clickety, clack Clicket She lopes Tell her If you're F ’ Here pony fron your gossip and sca willing What Price Citizenship iy I maka da automob a VERYBODY he has afr al actoree, and dey say w so I get no paper. I no got, go to da governors-mint ar f Day say I wanta llar, but I get | fust paper itizer rned yurned them wait fo some whiti 1 have supper What the devil thought —what dey The Breakwater was so nome changer zed it Chisolm he wouldnt have recogr mill was totally different; Toale’s fa tory simply didn’t exist He went hz mental was, queer + otner and door Ve ry soon they would be gol mass of banked the ste ps a burning pale blossoms lasted only a littl surprising how soon the petal vered the stone However Roses very satisi y at wa) He ry littl rred to sit at they'd come bac} were saw pre use, h. for he f the } of them, thou the back « on alcony where he | played as a very hild. But there were now no chuck will's-widows, birds that softly crying, with nad used to come . the dusk John Fearnes sat on the baleony for he was there table His eyes made the copy ing very laborious; his hand trembled w accountably. In addition he was tired His cooking was very simple now—by the time he carried the coal from where it was left on the side porch to the kite! to be damned heavy. It was j to the second floor. Well, why not? Fearnes looked querulously into a mirror He saw a very old man. His hair was white But there was still a trace of youth, of can dor, in his faded gentleness and a slight wonder was scarred, drawn, as though by memory of insuperable pain longer periods than formerly; in summer more than at the Philip’s Register over Nt en it got a long journey John eyes, an expression of His face the Can you be da I tell dem I tink so I study and den I I gotta Work In Ga mi senatora, know dey ask mister, EKef da president he die de president she take his place nice president die, please, miste Dey

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$]00 all tied for you SO* - 735% The motion picture star must be more than merely well dressed. He ; must be smartly and correctly ] dressed. Reginald Simpson 1s al- ] } ways correctly dressed, as you who have seen him in Fox Films knou With Mr. Simpson here is“ Irene™ of Irene and Darion, who have danced in many motion pictures peer or a n wa lee oe ae Sh PL ENT gy es seg) iSite ccc ted peel As Sparkling Gay as Dancing Waves THE SATURDAY EVENING POST as well as Smartly Cool OR summer comfort, choose a shirt with the lowest, softest, coolest collar you can r find. Put on a Spur Tie, and make that com- fort smart. Choose any Spur Tie patterns. Then you can stroll’ the entire length of the smartest bathing beach on iny ocean, and never find a masculine neck so coolly clad and smartly gay. For good form, the Spur Tie fears no competition even on the bathing beach. Here is one tie that keeps tts shape. It comes to you all tied for you, to look more like a hand- tied tie than a hand-tied tie. It keeps its shape, for in it is the H-shaped Innerform, a This label is every Spur tucked Te for patented moldable form that makes the Spur Tie keep its smart good looks with never a roll, curl or wrinkle. Spur Ties are displayed in smart shops for men and in men’s wear departments. If you do under the knot of not see them, ask for them by name. Feel in the wings of the ties you buy for the H-shaped Innerform. Make sure that it is the real H-shaped Inner form in the real Spur Tie, by looking on the back for the red Spur label, at left. HEWES & POTTER, Inc. 65 Bedford Street, Boston, Mass Pacific Coast Off J Stock 120 Battery Street, San Francisco, Cal Made in Canada by TOOKE BROS., Lid., Montreal July 9, 1927 This 1s the nation’s leading tie style, the Spur Tie Band Bow, shown here about two-thirds natural size. This silk pattern was woven specially for the Spur Tie, to make sure that it is as correct for sport and business wear as it 1s in black and white for formal wear. BULL DOG SUSPENDERS, GARTERS. BELTS AND BUCKLES ~ LEADERS FOR 38 YEARS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Al LADY OF BROADWAY in silence, and the next minute the outside door slammed. Carter sat in sudden anger and disappointment. This, he ruminated bitterly, as he gnawed at his mustache, was scarcely the behavior of a trusting friend. But Ira had got a taxicab and was pres- ently drawing up in front of the English Inn in Fifty-third Street. Before debarking, however, he glanced cautiously in both di- rections. The eggish man was not in sight. He found Dorothy Blackmar smiling a wel- come and looking as lovely as he had pic- tured her to Carter. And then again over him settled that distressing embarrass- ment in the presence of a Broadway girl which had before reduced his conversation to something less than brilliant. “I just know,” she confessed prettily, “‘you think I’m the boldest girl you ever knew, calling you up like that. But I just wanted to—that’s all. I just felt ——’”’ **Oh, I love it, you know!” She beamed on him. ‘You're so darling to say so, but I knew you would. You know, Ira—you don’t mind my calling you Ira, do you?” “Oh, no, not at all!’ “Well, I just thought I'd like to see you, Ira, that’s all.’’ She stopped. ‘‘No,’’ she corrected herself, “‘that’s not all, either. I want to talk to you about something— something very important. But first I’ve got to telephone—a girl friend, you know. Will you be a dear and order for me—I’ll like anything you order—and I'll be back in one little minute.” He jumped to his feet, smiling dizzily, and nodded happily as she made off toward the front of the restaurant. Just beyond a screen she found the eggish man lounging well out of sight. “Well,” she said shortly, “did you get a look at him?” Mac chuckled. ‘You certainly must of had a weakness for saps when you was in Chi,” he said. “Sure, I seen ’im, and I never seen a sillier-lookin’ mug. Y’ mean t’ tell me he’s bad?” “Ask ’em in Chi,” she retorted. ‘Did anybody ever tell you Eddie Flynn was soft?” Mac peered speculatively through a crack in the screen at the innocent Mr. Ira Hamilton. “I’d never of guessed it,”’ he admitted. ‘He looks like a floorwalker to me.” He lighted a cigarette. ‘‘All right, kid,” he added, ‘‘do your stuff.”” Then he lounged out of the door. Dorothy loitered another minute in the promenade and then returned to the table. The luncheon had been ordered. “I’m so hungry, ducky dear! Let’s eat, and then talk.’’ She looked at him hope- fully. “You don’t mind my calling you ducky dear?”’ Speechless before this intimacy, Ira indi- cated with a happy smile that nothing could be more charming. So she ate—ate with a fine abandon, and the date was a success. Indeed, encouraged by her masti- cating attention, he astounded himself with the brilliance of his comments on the soup, the decorations, the salad and the parfait. Until, at length, coffee came. “T’ll bet,” she said then, leaning back with a cigarette—“‘I’ll bet you’re just dy- ing to know why I called you.” She en- joyed his blank smile for a second and then leaned forward, suddenly serious. ‘‘Ira, I need advice.” He cleared his throat. ‘‘Advice?” “‘T knew I could depend on you! I knew it!” She overwhelmed him with her warmth. ‘‘The minute I saw you, the way your shoulders were so broad and so good- looking, I said to myself, I said to my girl friend, that is, I said to Ida—that’s her name—I said I’ll just bet he’ll help me!” “Did you, really!” “Yes, Idid!’’ She was obviously pleased with his pleasure. ‘‘That’s exactly what I said! I said, ‘Ida, he’s adorable—so tall and handsome and such wide shoulders!’ Well, was she jealous!’’ He beamed. ‘Oh, Continued from Page 21 wasn’t she, though! Positively green, my dear! And I said to her, I said, ‘I'll just bet he’s the one to help me out of my trouble.’”’ She stopped. Ira’s smile had disap- peared suddenly. A faint vague suspicion was creeping into his eyes. She was hurt. “Why, Ira!’’ She looked at him reproachfully, her eyes wounded. ““Not money, dear—not anything like that! Ira, what kind of a girl do you think Iam?” He relaxed, reassured, but she was still slightly hurt. ‘I’m sure I never gave you any reason to think anything like that.” She was silent. Then: “I’ve got plenty of money —that is, enough.’’ She smiled then beatifically and he melted. “You see,”” she went on confidentially, “I don’t have to work for my living—in fact my family is much against it. And that’s the whole trouble. Now you have it! That’s the trouble I’m in!” But no comprehension showed in Ira’s eyes. He didn’t get it—not at all. “Don’t you see, ducky dear? Don’t you see that’s the whole trouble? My family my family’s very, very wealthy. They live on a plantation and they just want me to come back and lead a society life, you know. But I won’t doit. I wantacareer. Every- body tells me I’m awfully good in the show, and if I’d make up to the producer the way some of the girls do I’d have a speaking part. But I won’t play that way. I’m just not that kind of girl, that’s all.” Ira nodded indorsement of this. “But about your family,” he prompted her; “there must be quite a row.” ““Oh, yes!”’ She was such a dainty, help- less creature, he reflected, as she skimmed about the conversation. “‘I was going to tell you. Well, you see, it was like this: I was a society belle in Norfolk— Virginia, you know—and we lived on a plantation just out in the suburbs, a very exclusive suburbs, and I just got all tired out with that kind of society life. I think that that kind of society life—balls and everything— is very boring, don’t you?” “Yes, indeed!” “*So, against my parents’ will—you know how those old Southern families are, par- ticularly Virginia, they don’t want their daughter to work because that would be a disgrace, you know—well, they didn’t want me to work, even at a career. They kept saying, ‘You got all the money you can spend; you got your gentleman friends all right here in society; you got your horses and your polo and your golf and all them things, you know, and why should you go out and work with the riffraff?’ That’s what they said, see?”’ “Yes, indeed!” “So I just ran away. I came to New York ——” Suddenly her roving eye caught a glimpse of the clock and she started. ‘‘Oh, goodness, I got to go! We got a matinée and I got to hurry. Oh, I did want to finish ce “Well,” he ventured, somewhat con- fused, ‘another time < “Oh, would you?”’ She gave him her most adoring smile. ‘“‘Let’s see—let’s see now!”’ She thought furiously. ‘‘Sunday! Sunday evening! We got no show, and we can spend the whole evening in my apart- ment. Next door to the Club de Paree, on Fifty-fourth Street!—9:30. Will you come?”’ “Yes—yes!’ “That’s so sweet of you—so sweet! But I got to hurry now, ducky dear. Don’t for- get, and don’t fail. Sunday at 9:30." She scurried into her wrap and was off as Ira stood nodding and smiling happily. As she came into the street the eggish man, still lounging, edged to her side. He jerked his head questioningly. “‘He’ll be out in a minute,” she said shortly. ‘Tail him if you want to.”’ She hurried on and the eggish man went across the street and posted himself to wait for his quarry. ’ Such events as those that were crowded into that June Sunday evening are not rep resented as commonplace even on Broad way. Indeed, a fortnight might pass with out asimilar exhibition. The fact that they may be even that unusual, though, could have offered little comfort to Ira It happened that he was not accustomed to such disorders—the fault, no doubt, of the neighborhood in which he lived. They struck him consequently with a great deal more force than they would have or did those who had, during the past few years, become familiar with them. It was scarcely their responsibility then for his unhappi- ness. If he were not prepared to be Broad- way, why had he not, they would ask, re- mained where he was? The only answer to that is that Ira wished he had. On that Sunday evening then, something after nine o’clock, Dorothy Blackmar, in her second-floor apartment next door to the Club de Paree on Fifty-fourth Street, was endeavoring to hurry a tall, thin young man with straight black hair out of the door which led to the rear stairs. He was, ap- parently, reluctant to leave. “Please, Eddie!’’ she begged. “It’s nearly half past. Won't you please get out?” “You're sure they ain’t wise?” “They’re coming straight here from the warehouse,”’ she repeated patiently “They've got to—they’ve got to pick up Ike and Hymie at the club, to go with ’em to Philly. I tell you, Eddie, there isn’t a chance in the world of a slip-up.” Still he was not satisfied. “‘What about you, honey? How you gonna get outa here? How do you know they ain’t got this place planted?”’ “‘Look!”’ She was getting sharp. “ Look, I know they don’t trust me! I know that! But aren’t they doubling on me? Haven't they been tailing that sap Hamilton for three days? Don’t you see they think they’ve got you planted?”’ She laughed contemptuously. ‘Just a couple of smart New York mugs—can’t be gypped by a woman, eh?” ‘But, honey, won’t they be up here after you the minute we turn the job?” “T’ll be out. I’m going over the roof, kid! I got my fire escape all picked out. Don’t worry, I tell you—and beat it!” Eddie Flynn hesitated again. ‘“‘What about this sap?’’ he demanded. “‘ Where's he gonna get out?”’ She smiled, again contemptuously. “*That,”’ she said, urging him toward the door, “‘is a little problem he’s going to have to work out all by his little self. Now beat it, kid, please!” He moved out into the back hallway. ‘Sayin’ everything breaks right,’’ he said, “T’ll pick you up in Buffalo tomorrow night an’ we'll catch the express for Chi that right?” She nodded and closed the door behind him, visibly relieved, and a minute later the doorbell rang. She pressed the button, smoothed her hair and opened the door, to be rewarded by young Mr. Ira Hamilton. “Ducky dear!’’ Had it been John Bar- rymore, there could have been no more pleasure and surprise in her voice. “I’m so tickled! You're right on the minute! Let me have your hat and stick.” Once more somewhat fussed by this un accustomed effervescence, he could only smile broadly and happily as she fussed angelically about, fixing him in a comfort able chair, mixing for him a highball, draw- ing to his chair an ash tray. “T don’t drink myself,”’ she explained. “T just couldn’t get used to the taste. Ugh!" She made a pretty moue. ‘‘Aren’t I old-fashioned, though?”’ “No! No!’ He was shocked. He glanced about the room, which was notice ably bare, for what Dorothy Blackmar wanted there had been packed that after noon and was now resting in two trunks in the baggage room at the Grand Central Watch This Column Our Weekly Letter The moving-picture has created for the masses of the earth so much happiness and education, which they could not secure in any other way, that I'd rather be President of Universal than the head of any other great industry in the world. Previous to the advent of moving-pictures, millions were denied theatrical entertainment because they couldn't afford it. The prices of ad mission were possible only for the well to-do. Today, a man may take his wife and children, enjoy a com plete and varied program consisting of high-class music, animated cartoon, news reel, comedy and elaborate feature pic ture, such a production as the stage could never present, and the family income doesn’t feel the burden. Tocountless thou sands of families, the moving-picture thea treisa veritable daily and weekly vacation There 8% a tremendous in- spiration in all this, particularly in creating the pictures which afford so much entertainment and actual happi ness. I get a great thrill out of my part in it, and so, every year, I try to make Universal pictures better—so much bette: that there can be no chance for reproach Universal has been part of the motion-picture industry since its earliest days, and I feel that its growth into a world-wide organ tion brings also the responsibility of str to be worthy of your confidence. inceasingly This coming season will witness many of Universal’scrown ing achievements, and I will see that y get a list of them if y line and give me your 1 Keep the list when y« find out from the manager of y ite theatre just when the will be played at his house (To be continued next week) Send 10c for autographed photograph of your favorite Universal siar If you want to be on our? iailing list send in your name and address UNIVERSAL PICTURES 730 Fifth Ave., New York City

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“This place.”’ place,” he said—‘‘it’s quite a She glanced at a clock. ‘“‘Let’s don’t talk about the room,” she said; ‘‘it’s just a ol’ roomy room, that’s all.”” She stopped. ‘But I'll bet you don’t want to give me any advice! I'll bet you don’t! I'll bet you are bored ig “No, no, no, no!”’ “No?” **Well, let’s see.”” She knit her brows in a funny little frown. ‘I was telling you about my parents—awfully well known around Norfolk, you understand—how they objected to my career. Well, I just ran——”’ “‘T beg your pardon?”’ Ira poised a ques- tion which he hoped would clear up the only doubtful circumstance he could find in the case. ‘But that fellow you were talk- ing to the other day—who was he?” “IT knew you'd ask that!”’ She smiled appily. “He's the one that’s causing the trouble. That’s my Uncle Morton.” “Uncle Morton?” ‘“My father’s brother. You see, when I ran away, they wrote me and wrote me and wrote me, and promised me everything I could want in the world, if I’d come back. And I said no, I wanted a career. And then, last week, father-—they call him Colonel Blackmar—father sent Uncle Morton up here to bring me back.”’ “Put that accent— was that Southern?” “He's lived a lot in Cincinnati, see?”’ He nodded, satisfied with the explanation and now thoroughly absorbed in the excit- ing adventure into which he had fallen. Dorothy looked at the clock again. She got up suddenly and sauntered to the front Parting the drapes, she looked treet. Three taxicabs, she noted, were parked at the opposite curb. Her lips tightened and she turned and W alked back. window. down into the she continued, “first Uncle Morton argued with me, and when he saw I was determined he began to get awful nasty. Oh, he’s been frightful, but I realize it’s all because he thinks it’ll all be for my own good. He means well,” she granted generously, ‘‘but he’s rough. Now what I want you to do,” she went on, “is just to go over the whole thing in your mind. Just sit there and drink your highbali and look at it yourself, and then tell me what to do. I’m going to leave it all to you, ducky dear. Ought I to go back with Uncle Morton and just be a society belle all my life ——” From the street below then came the heavy beat of a truck motor, and Dorothy, beginning to breathe a trifle faster, edged again to the window. A heavy van slowed down as it reached the Club de Paree and then stopped directly in front of her win- dow. She noted that a chauffeur stepped idly from one of the taxicabs. : all my life,”’ she continued ab- stractedly, peering into the street below, ‘‘or defy them and have my career.” Somewhat puzzled by her continual absent-mindedness and visits to the win- dow, Ira felt moved toinquire. “‘Isay——’”’ he began, and Dorothy turned quickly, nervously. “Forgive me, ducky dear,” she said. “I’m looking for my girl friend. Her name’s Ida. “You see,” She’s in the show too. But you see what I want?”’ She paused to listen intently. “Ty { just want you to advise me. That’s what I said to Ida. I said, ‘I'll bet he’ll be able to advise me.’”’ He was entirely mollified. ‘‘I’d really,’ he said, “be deciding your whole life. That’s quite a job!” ‘But you could—you could do it, ducky dear,”’ she replied hastily, her eyes still drawn to the front window. “Try!” Ira picked up his highball and inspected it thoughtfully before taking a sip. He leaned back and gave himself over sol- emniy to profound deliberation. He began lining up in his mind all that he had heard and observed of Dorothy Blackmar. Restless now to the point of trembling, she had walked automatically back to the window. Drawing one of the drapes so she n against the light, she saw could not be see THE SATURDAY that two men had got off the truck. One she recognized by the faint light of the street lamp as Mac. The other, she guessed, was Louie, Mac’s watchman. They stood talking together a moment, obviously un- suspicious, and then a short, thick-set man wearing a derby came out of the house she wasin. This, she guessed, was the man who had been shadowing Ira. She turned and glanced back at her guest. He was blandly taking another sip of his highball and apparently in something of a trance. She turned to the street again. The shadow reported to Mac and all three glanced up at her windows. She drew back cautiously. Then they started into the Club de Paree. Instantly there was action across the street. The chauffeur who had stepped idly from his car sud- denly sprang around the back of the ma- chine. “As I understand it’’—the voice came, startlingly, from her adviser—‘‘ your social position in Norfolk was inherited and as- sured.” “Yes,” she gasped; ‘‘yes, indeed!” “T just wanted to know,” he explained, and sought nourishment again from the highball. Another man hurried across the street after the first. She put her hands to her mouth. The second man was Eddie. He had his hand on his hip. A third man fol- lowed. Then the first was clambering up to the driver’s seat of the truck. The others were climbing - “About your talents’’—again the voice came from behind her—‘‘have you con- ferred with any qualified authority?” “Yes, yes!” “T just wanted to know —— that?” A dull, muffled thump had left the girl pale and trembling—and puzzled. ‘“‘Oh, a motor back-fired,’’ she managed to reply. But she knew better. It was a pistol re- port, and from the Club de Paree. Eddie and his mob were already on the truck, looking anxiously toward the door of the club, while the driver struggled at the shifts. “Tf you haven’t conferred with some competent judge of theatrical ability pa The truck started with a roar. It had gone two hundred feet, perhaps, picking up speed with every turn of the wheels, when the doors of the Club de Paree swung open. Four men burst forth, but it was not after the truck they ran. It was toward Sixth Avenue. Bewildered, nearly frantic with fright, Dorothy stepped back into the room. Whatever was happening in the club, she decided, was nothing to her. Eddie had turned the job and was off. So should she be. “Tf you have conferred —— She bothered no longer to listen. From a day bed she was gathering a green turban and a light coat, scrambling into them, and Ira became suddenly conscious that things were not as they had been. “Why, I say ——”’ he began, rising in some alarm. At the same moment there came the clat- ter of feet on the rear stairs. A little scream escaped the girl’s lips, and Ira turned pale. “Tsay ” he began again, and stopped. The noise grew, became a blurred scuffling. Hoarse, excited voices rang in the hall, and an occasional oath, and more scuffling. Dorothy’s eyes shot to the front door. Then with a sharp snap the rear door crashed open and the eggish man, a short black gun in his right hand, backed into the room, never taking his eyes from the head of the stairs outside. He was panting, his What was hat was gone and his lips were tight. Doro- thy, cowering against the wall, began sud- denly to whimper: I didn’t!”’ “I didn’t, Mac! I didn’t! EVENING POST “Shut up!”” He gave the order grimly, his face still toward the door. ‘‘There’s all hell t’ pay. Somebody beefed. There’s ten dicks ——”’ “T didn’t, Mac! I’ll swear — “Shut up! They’ll be through that door in another minute. We gotta get outa here. Where’s that fire escape?”’ ‘ Another man—Louie—panted up the stairs. ‘‘They gotta ax,”’ he reported. “I'd like to know who tipped this off.” ““T’ hell with that now! We gotta get outa here. Afterward we'll talk about that.” It was at this particularly unpropitious moment that Ira saw it all—saw it all very clearly. His first fears disappeared. Re- lieved, he drew a deep breath. A happy, calm smile came to his face and he stepped forward, hand extended. “‘Uncle Morton!”’ he said cordially. ‘‘Uncle Morton, if I may so call you, I want to introduce myself. I am ——”’ Those might very well have been his last words. The eggish man spun as though touched by electricity. He got one glimpse of Ira’s amiable smile and then the short black gun roared. ““You!”’ the astonished Mr. Hamilton vaguely heard Uncle Morton thunder. ‘‘So you’re the mug that tipped this off! You ——” He may have said more. The matter is of no consequence. Untouched—by grace of a nervous trigger finger—Ira was never- theless practically dead of fright, certainly in no frame of mind to carry on a conversa- tion. Indeed, all left to him was reflex action. This took the immediate and under- standable form of a mad dash for the door through which he had entered the apart- ment so unsuspiciously but a short time before. The man got a second opportunity for murder when Ira erred in pulling fran- tically on a door that opened outward, and the bullet plopped into the wall at his side. There was to be no third chance. For at that moment there came a crash below stairs as the raiders and their axes broke down the ground-floor door. Ike and Hymie burst into the room, and Mac, hastily abandoning his idea of slaying Dorothy Blackmar’s guest, headed for the window that led to the rear fire escape. At his heels came the three other men. The leader paused briefly at the window to fire a warning shot into the back hall, a shot that was promptly answered by two from outside. Then the fire escape rattled with the click-click of rushing feet. By then Ira had mastered the intricacies of his door. Somewhat demented, and aware only that shots were being fired in anger behind him, he knew nothing of the complete change of plans on the part of Uncle Morton. This, to him, was a room in which numberless guns were bombarding him, and such a room was far, far from his liking. He leaped at the top stair. Escape clear then through the front of the house, Dorothy Blackmar, the last in the apartment, darted through the door which had been so unhappily obstinate for Ira. She heard him ahead of her, stumbling and falling down the stairs, moaning slightly as he shook the banisters in his caroming descent. Then she heard the front door open. It was one of the raiders, gun drawn. He was, he thought, prepared for immediate action, but, as it proved, not for action so immediate and so overwhelming as the panic-stricken force which struck him squarely as he entered the door. He went down, the breath knocked out of him, and his gun went off; but with a terrorized gasp the moving force trod on and over him and was hurtling down the street steps. Dorothy came a few seconds behind him, easily eluding the grasp of the bewildered July 9, 1927 and half-stunned officer, and down the street toward Fifth Avenue she could see his tall form, running and leaping and mak- ing miraculous progress. She called to him vainly. Behind her she heard the furious blasts of a police whistle and the sound of run- ning feet. Speeding then herself, she looked quickly in both directions on Fifth Avenue. Ira had disappeared. A taxi drew to the curb at her hail. “‘Grand Central, buddy,” she said, “‘and step on it!’’ At 10:15 Carter looked up from a book with which he had been trying to divert himself through an evening at home, to see a peculiarly poignant figure enter the door. This figure had no hat. Its hair was rum- pled. Its face was scratched. Its tie was pulled out, its shirt rumpled, and in its sad eyes was the light that comes only after a man has contemplated and participated in events a bit too complex for him to grasp with any degree of certainty. “Tra!’’ Carter, horrified, was on his feet. ‘“‘Ira, where’s your walking stick?”’ Ira stared at him blankly. Somehow the question lacked something of intelligence. Then he heaved a deep sigh and sat down stiffly, stretching out his tired legs. “Tsay, old man’’— Carter was insistent ‘‘where’s your hat?’’ ““What?”’ “T say you’ve lost your hat!’’ Nor, to Ira, was there a great deal of im- portance in this statement. He brushed abstractedly at his rumpled hair, but other- wise he ignored the matter. Slumping down in the chair, he closed his eyes wearily. ““T say ’’—Carter chafed at this provoca- tive silence—‘‘but I say, old man, what is it—what’s happened?’”’ Presented thus, it seemed a simple in- quiry, calling for no extraordinary mental research for answer. And so, at first, it struck Ira. He even framed his mouth to reply, and then suddenly he closed it. He started again to answer, and again paused. What had happened? He tried swiftly to run over the events in his mind, to reduce them to some coherent entity. Carter waited impatiently. And still again Ira started to speak, and stopped. Up to the point when Uncle Morton had begun shoot- ing, he ruminated, it was reasonably clear. What happened after that seemed a bit confused and unintelligible. In a way, he felt, he knew, but not precisely. He struggled feebly with the matter for a couple of minutes and then he gave it up. What was the use? “Nothing,” he said; “nothing at all.” Carter looked relieved. ‘I thought per- haps you’d had some trouble.” “No.” They sat then silent and thoughtful for perhaps fifteen minutes. Finally Ira straightened up in his chair. He'd recovy- ered his breath and in a measure felt better. He reached stiffly for the telephone and slowly dialed a number. Carter watched interestedly. “Hello! Hello! Is Miss Winshipin? ... Mr. Hamilton. Thanks.” He turned to Carter. ‘‘ Marvelous girl,”’ he explained. ‘‘Met her last week and promised to phone her. Something awfully attractive about her.” “But what,’’ Carter demanded, “about Dorothy?” ““Dorothy?”’ Ira reflected. ‘‘ Dorothy?”’ he repeated. ‘Well, I'll tell you, Carter; you know how some Southerners are~—al- ways a lot of family, you know. I met some of Dorothy’s this evening—an Uncle Mor- ton and some others, cousins, I believe.” He sat for a moment in melancholy silence. “T saw right away,” he said thoughtfully, “that sooner or later there would be trou ble; it’s always the case when there’s that close family spirit. Especially in the South, where they’re soso hot-headed and im- petuous. But this Miss Winship, she’s an orphan—no relatives at all, I understand.” “Broadway?” Carter asked. “No!” Ira replied very, very firmly. “Park Avenue.”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST on WV } 1fe@ Sh OCS Ss so easy to make them clean and snowy white when you use magic Bon a) UMMER herself wears nothing more charming or half so smart—as pretty frocks set off by dainty white shoes. But those shoes must be snowy white. And here again Bon Ami is a “good friend” and helper to women who love everything immaculate. Bon Ami is a wonderful cleaner for all white shoes, excepting, of course, kid. Grass-stains, spots and smudges vanish when Bon Ami gets at them. Its magic touch adsorbs the dirt and brings snowy whiteness from heel to toe. Best of all, your shoes don’t have that ugly, caked-over look. Bon Ami actually cleans them, instead of merely coating them over. And does it all so quickly and easily. Just take a wet brush and with Bon Ami Powder or Cake give the shoes a light scrub- bing—when dry, dust off with a cloth—and presto— they’re once more as white as a Christmas snowdrift. THE BON AMI COMPANY... NEW YORK Canada BON AMI LIMITED, MONTREAL “Why send money | for s pecial cleaners when vou always have Bon Ami on ‘ o« hana?’ oon, , , , They're really lovely, Betty. You made them iif sf as wer Atte a Wii most housewives use seers tes Antes Dee Bes musing rhvme with n

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 “85,000 miles-no repairs” Narrow Body Pillars at Windshield — For greater vision. When all other cars have this feature, accidents will be greatly reduced. So writes one of the many thousands of enthusiastic Willys-Knight owners in com- menting on his—¢ypica/—carefree motoring The cars here illustrated—the iis = 138 Cabriolet Coupe and the Great Six € xperience. Varsity Roadster, both of 4-passenger capac- ity—with their distinguished body design, their lastingly attractive color combinations— are two of the models which have brought the Willys-Knight line to its high position | in the public mind. No other car offers ail 1 these adv antages The Knight Engine— Constantly gaining in smoothness, quietness, power. The only type that definitely improves with use. Banishes vibration. 7-Bearing Crankshaft Skinner Rectifier—The device that pre- vents dilution or contamination of oil. 4-W heel Brakes— Positive, mechanical-type act ina flash. For maximum driving safety. Belflex Shackles— Prevent chassis squeaks or rattles. Remove the need of greasing and adjustment. Eight Timken Bearings in Front Axle— Most fine cars have but four. Result—the Willys-Knight steers without conscious effort. Light Control at Steering Wheel — You dim without removing your hand from the wheel. Shock Absorbers— Air Cleaner. static Temperature Control. Finest quality upholstery. Thermo-

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WILLYS-KNIGHT ENGINE GAINS IN EFFICIENCY = | MILES 15.000 30.000 45000 #0.000 “seve os | i = a ma | ] saneat VALVE ENGINE —— THE ENGINE IMPROVES WITH USE—IN 79" Wily sigh Si, $295 10 $1495. Wily Kiet to $2950. Prices f. o. b. factory and sp a , SMOOTHNESS, QUIETNESS AND ECONOMY en a

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*Course She Can!—the fin- est home-made candy ever made. ’ Here’s How! FUDGE CENTER: 1! cups pure cane sugar; '9 teaspoon creamery butter; 1 cup rich, full cream milk; 1 cup corn syrup; white of one egg CARAMEL LAYER: 4 teaspoons creamery butter; 154 cups corn syrup; 3 cups rich, full cream milk; 4 tea spoon salt PEANUT LAYER: 3 cups prime No. 1 Spanish whole nuts, roasted in oil (hulls removed) CHOCOLATE COATING: Melt one pound pure milk chocolate Did anything ever taste so good as home-made candy? Nothing but Oh Henry! And the reason Oh Henry! tastes just like home-made candy, is that it is made on this original home recipe, multiplied thousands of times for the folks who know what’s good! CANDY MADE THE HOME-MADE WAY | beside | “Don’t you feel well, Gus? You look kind THE SATURDAY composer of light opera in the country. It was as the Salvation Army Girl in Kerker’s best-known play, the Belle of New York, that the daughter of a postman in upper New York State, by the name of Edna May, captured both our country and England with her beauty and charm. There is a story that has lived around the Lambs’ Club since the days of the re- hearsals of that Gambol. Kerker came in one sunshiny spring after- noon, wearing a beautiful near-panama. I happened to pick it up from the conductor's stand later, and trying it on before the | mirror, I realized that it had just the tilt and flare and width of brim demanded by | my rather fat face. After rehearsal I said to Kerker, ‘‘I’d | like to buy that hat from you.” But he replied, ‘‘ Why don’t you go to the shop where I got it and buy one from the hatter?” That seemed a fairly simple matter, and making a memo of the name, I went over to a certain Broadway shop and purchased a hat which I thought was an exact replica of Kerker’s. But it appears, as I learned to my sorrow, that no two panamas are ever exactly alike. I didn’t know, until too late, that there was perhaps an eighth of an inch difference in the size of the brims. But I did know that I hated my hat. A few days later I sat at a corner table in the clubroom with a gang of cronies, in- cluding Tom Wise, Gene Buck, Henry Blossom, Willie Collier, Hap Ward, De Wolf Hopper and David Warfield. Kerker entered wearing the hat I wanted, the near- panama with the brim which looked so well on my fat head. He passed us with a nod and went to the bar—the hat with him. I told my friends of my trouble. I wanted Gus Kerker’s hat. “Why not hit and run?” suggested Willie Collier. But I had a better idea, and when I confided it to them they all agreed to help me. After a short rehearsal, to avert suspicion and so that we might attack him from different points, we broke up. Warfield was the first to accost him. | “Hello, Gus,” he said cheerily, and then broke into the opening line of a popular song—‘‘ Where did you get that hat?” “Quit kidding,” replied Kerker. ‘‘ There’s nothing the matter with that hat.” Your Neighbor’s Hat Turning, he almost ran into Hap Ward. “That’s an awful-looking thing you have on your head,’”’ commented Hap. “I don’t think so,”’ snapped Kerker. Tom Wise edged up to him soon after | and, pointing to his headgear, inquired lightly, ‘‘ Election bet?”’ “It’s good enough for me,” growled Kerker, as he pulled it down tighter on his head. However, when Willie Collier stopped | dead in front of him, looked squarely at the hat and burst into uncontrolled laughter, | grim marks began to appear around Ker- | ker’s mouth. Each of the others delivered his line, and | mine was the tag of the piece. Seeing him lean disgustedly against the bar, I drew up him and said sympathetically, of sick.” ‘It’s this dashed hat,’’ he exploded, re- moving the offending article. ‘‘I look all right when I take it off, don’t 1?” “I think it may be the hat,” I admitted thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it’s a bit too wide for you—makes your face look a little thin and peaked. Try mine—the brim is nar- rower.” He tried it on, looked into the mirror be- hind the bar and said, ‘“‘ You keep mine.” And without another word he ran out of the club. Most of the important associations of my life, even the home where I now live—at EVENING POST CLEANING UP (Continued from Page 35) Bayside—are in some way woven into and around the Lambs. Twenty-odd years ago, when I joined the Lambs, they had as their Shepherd that dear, well-known Californian, Clay M. Greene, who had made the Lambs’ Club possible by his generosity during its impov- erished years. When he came into posses- sion of a magnificent place in Bayside, said to have the biggest waterfront acreage of any private estate within the limits of Greater New York, he wanted to share his riches with his beloved club. So he ar- ranged that each year the Lambs were to be cleansed—washed in the water of Little Neck Bay on the shores of his estate. And he inaugurated the annual ritual in vogue today. As a poor song writer I went down to this beautiful estate of Clay Greene’s, and though I cannot say I envied the kindly owner its possession, for it seemed far be- yond the borders of envy, still it occurred to me that if I could have one big wish outside the theater, it would be toownsuch a place. After Greene lost his estate there were no more annual cleansings. Each time the place changed hands, belonging for a time to Pearl White, the movie star, and then to Mesmore Kendall, promoter ana builder of the Capitol Theater, I watched with a pang, wishing I were going to own it. Finally my dream came true, and I was able to buy the estate which to my boyish eyes had seemed the height of magnificence. Assembling Brewster’s Millions One day while we were working on the plans for the Atlantic Yacht Club circus, Fred Thompson said to me, “‘ John, read this book, and see if you don’t think it’s good. I have just wired the author, George Barr McCutcheon, $5000 for the dramatic rights. I am going to get somebody to make a play of it.” I read it and told him I didn’t think there was a play in that book. I was far from right. In fact, I was wrong. But for months it didn’t look that way. Thompson engaged not one but five or six authors to write his play. One script after another was rejected as unsatisfactory. However, Thompson, who was a very practical man, having read in the book that there was a big storm scene on a yacht at sea, had in the meantime ordered a yacht built and a storm effect around it. He was so practical that he built several other scenes which he knew would fit into the play. And he showed me lithographs, folders and bill- board picturizations which were to startle the various towns where this play, not yet written, was to be offered. He went even further. He engaged ac- tors to fit the characters in the book before their parts had been written. One in par- ticular whom he decided to star was Ed- ward Abeles. And there was, and still is, a young man named Jack Deveraux, the husband of John Drew’s daughter. I re- member that at one rehearsal, Deveraux, who played the juvenile réle, came on the stage rather heavily. “Wait a minute!” cried Thompson. “That won’t do. You know I engaged you to play a young man.” “And that’s what I was,” replied Dever- aux, ‘““‘when you engaged me.” It was Abeles, the star, who— prompted no doubt by his sense of humor— suggested to Thompson one afternoon that since they now had everything but a play, they ought to have a stage manager. ‘By all means,”’ responded Thompson, who was in earnest. “Whom would you suggest?” Abeles suggested Winchell Smith, whose name was beginning to be known in the the- ater, but whose first success had not yet been born. And through my friendship with Thompson, the man who was to play so important a part in my life again crossed my path. Thompson engaged Smith. And July 9,1927 there he was, billboards, lithographs, storm effects, shipwrecked ships, scenery, stage manager, star, cast all ready — in short, there was nothing he didn’t have except a play. As a matter of fact, he had engaged author after author to write it, but none of the dramatizations satisfied him. When the fifth version had to be rejected, Thompson, in desperation, turned to his stage manager. ‘‘ Winchell,’ he demanded, “‘why don’t you write this play?” “I don’t think I can write a play,’ re- plied Smith. “Of course you can,” said Thompson. Winchell finally agreed that if he had Byron Ongley to help him he would try. And Smith did try, and Smith succeeded, and Brewster’s Millions was eventually a great success and proved how much I didn’t know about picking a script and how much Winchell Smith did about dramatizing one. From that moment there began to grow between us a friendship that made Damon and Pythias look like a couple of amateurs. When he was writing plays and I was doing musical shows, I was to be found more often at his home than my own. I know I ate more meals at Fifty-fourth Street and Broadway than anywhere else, which may in some slight measure have been due to the way a certain unforgotten old Southern cook prepared certain unforgettable old Southern dishes. His determination to leave New York and go back to live in Farmington, Con- necticut, left a tremendous void in my hab- its and an even deeper one in me. And whenever I had some heavy problem or worry, I would call him on the long-distance wire and he would unhesitatingly help me with advice and sympathy or anything I re- quired. My greatest pride was in the fact that he thought my opinion worth having on the plays he was writing. One day over the long-distance phone came Smith’s anxious voice, “Can you come up here immediately? There’s a train at 3:47.” “‘What’s the matter, Bill?’”’ I asked. “Trouble?” “Yes,” said he. “I need you!” “T’ll be there,” said I. On the train a thousand uneasy conjec- tures chased themselves through my brain. What could have happened to poor old Bill? Illness? Domestic complications? Money losses? At last the train pulled into Hartford, and there was Bill at the station. “What is it, Bill?” I asked. “T can’t tell you now. Wait.” A Dash for The Boomerang I looked at his pallid, drawn face and thought perhaps I had better let him tell me in his own way and in his own time. We reached the house and went up to his den on the top floor. Winchell patted a pillow, led me to the morris chair in the corner, placed me tenderly in it, walked over to his table, picked up some papers and said, “The Boomerang.” “Wait a minute,”’ this?”’ “IT told you—The Boomerang. Act “But—but making me dash for the 3:47 a “Well, I wanted you up here as soon as possible, and that was the next train.” “But—but I thought you were in trou- ble.” “Tam. That’s why I want you to hear this.” I was still dazed. look *¥ “Tired, perhaps. I promised Belasco I'd bring him this second act next week. Remember, you liked the first?” “Then,” said I, recovering slightly, “all that talk about trouble was just to get me up here?” ‘Sometimes,’ he breathed admiringly, “T really believe you have second sight! (Continued on Page 58) said I. ‘What is ““And the way you

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Tere is a happy suggestion of home itself in a closed car upholstered in CA-VEL, the vel- vets of enduring beauty. As you step into the car’s interior you are not conscious of an abrupt change in atmosphere. It is as if you had merely moved’ to another corner of the living room. All the intimate charm and good taste, so keenly appre- ciated by women, are there. Soft, AN 2) p p y Succes Home luxuriously comfortable seats glow with animate color. The luminous surface reflects the changing light, like choice dra- peries in a drawing room. CA-VEL is a development of a kingly fabric that glorified the middle ages, but it has practical advantages never possessed by those ancient textiles. Its beauty endures through years of hard service, outlasting the life of the car itself. It isa pile fabric. The forest of fibres on which the body rests is as elastic as a bed of resilient springs. The surface, therefore, never becomes ruffled. When you examine a new closed car ask if the upholstery is CA-VEL. It probably will be, because more yards of this tex- tile are used for this purpose than of any other fabric. Collins S& Aikman Company, Estab- lished 1845, New York City.

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95¢ at all Drug and Dep't Stores | thorne, U. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 56) Now keep still and listen to The Boomerang, Act IT.” I remember the scene opened in a golf club and a lot of new characters were intro- duced—golf fans, talking golf. As I lay there listening, little by little a feeling of disappointment began to steal over me. And by the time he had read about two- thirds, I had come to the definite conclu- sion that I did not like that act. Instead of listening closely, my mind be- gan to busy itself with a debate. ‘This is Belasco’s show,”’ said John to Johnnie, ‘“‘and Belasco likes it. If you say you don’t—(a) you will disappoint Bill, (b) you may even offend your lifelong friend and c) there is a mighty good chance that you’re all wrong.” “But he expects me to tell him what I really think,” said Johnnie. “Of course, he does,”’ agreed John. “But on the other hand, he’s clese to this thing and knows a lot about it. Whereas you come in cold and what do you know? If he thinks it’s good, it probably is good, and your little viewpoint may only throw a monkey wrench into the works.” ““That’s right,”’ admitted Johnnie. “I'd better tell him it’s all right and take the next train for New York. If it’s a success, I won’t have hampered him. If it’s a fail- ure—well, I can say I liked it anyway.” And I recalled the story of the rich Mr. Cohen whose daughter was about to make her debut at Carnegie Hall and who, in his optimistic enthusiasm, promised his friends a banquet at Sherry’s after the concert if she were a success. The young lady unfor- tunately was a ghastly failure. Hurrying to countermand the order he found all his friends busy with the feast. ‘Here, here!” he cried. “Wait! I only said I’d give a dinner if she was a success.” The nearest guest removed a leg of duck from his mouth long enough to reply with a shrug and an outgoing gesture of his un- occupied hand, “‘ Well, we liked her.” That was going to be my criticism of The Boomerang. With relief that my decision was definitely settled, I listened as Smith’s voice droned through to the end. And it was one of the greatest shocks of my life to hear somebody say, “‘I don’t like it at all.” And the shock was doubled when I realized that that somebody was I, and that my voice was going on: “I don’t like that golf-club idea. It seems to me that you ought to start playing the second act in the home of the lovesick boy,” and so on, and as Ring Lardner would say, and et cetera far into the night. Fairbanks Drops In The theater is full of electricians, car- penters, stage hands, and minor actors who give a suggestion and not only think they have saved the entire play and been respon- sible for its success but say so in no uncer- tain language. Albeit an outside suggestion does often help a play enormously by pro- viding a curtain or even a good laugh in a bare spot. One of the best jokes in Lightnin’ was suggested at rehearsal by Billy Post, one of the actors. This was where Frank 3acon, asking another character to cash his pension check, said, “You see those names on there? Secretary of the Treasury and everybody? Well, it ain’t no good un- less I sign it’’—which always got one of the biggest laughs in the piece. Smith took my suggestion and the play was one of Belasco’s biggest hits, but I am certain that without my help Smith would have happened on the same idea or some- thing equally good. So I don’t claim I helped The Boomerang. I only claim that a man may be so closely bound in friend- ship to another man that when his con- scious mind decides and desires to take the easiest way out of a dilemma, he still has to reckon with his subconscious. About this time Smith had been engaged to rewrite and stage a play called Haw- S. A. An investment of a few thousand dollars entitled me to a 25 per cent interest in the affair and made me EVENING POST a partner with George Cohan and Sam Harris. Unfortunately, the play made no money, and my first investment in the show business was a total loss. That is, from a financial point of view. But I had at least a few thousand dollars’ worth of experience in play fixing and managing, not to mention the valuable association with the gentlemen aforementioned and one other. That other was that dynamic, electric personality known to his friends at large and the population of the whole world, including the Scandinavian, as Douglas Fairbanks. In those days Doug was my friend, and in fact, until the ap- pearance of this article I have had no rea- son to put it in the past tense. One of my tasks was to keep him quiet and prevent him from breaking his neck before the play opened, which, I assure you, was no light undertaking. I remember on one occasion I was sitting in one of those old-fashioned high taxicabs with Governor Davis, of Ohio, when something came _ hurtling through the air and landed in our laps which, on being disentangled, proved to be Douglas Fairbanks, desirous of convincing himself that he could leap from the side- walk and vault over the top of the cab. “How’s that for a jump?” he inquired as though that were the only aspect of the affair under consideration. The Partnership Contract Another day I was lunching at the club between rehearsals, when I became aware of a commotion on the street and presently some of the Lambs burst in, full of excite- “ment. “T never would have believed it,’’ one of them said in my hearing. ‘‘Darned if he didn’t walk right up the front of the building.” “Who?” I asked, but I hardly needed the answer. “Fairbanks,” replied the man. Alas, I knew it! Never would we keep him alive till the opening night. “Did he walk down again?” I managed to inquire weakly, with visions of my in- vestment already charged up to profit and loss. And leaving my lunch untasted, I found him in the center of a dwindling but still admiring crowd, a little soiled, but apparently none the worse for wear. “Doug!” I cried. ‘You didn’t climb up the front of the building?” “Oh, I didn’t, didn’t I? I'll show you whether I didn’t,’’ and before I could say Jack Robinson, let alone anything more to the point, he had seized the lamp-post, swung over to the iron grating on the first- floor window, pulled himself up by one arm to the flower boxes on the second, up the Indiana-limestone columns, across the ledge of the third floor, and from there, holding onto a piece of window frame, he called down to me, “‘ Believe it now?” I admitted that he had cleared all doubt from my mind, so would he please not dem- onstrate his ability to come down the same way, but go in through a window of the third floor, if he had to break the glass? But he came down as he went up. Once, I remember, Fairbanks and Smith and I were sitting in the Lambs’ Club dis- cussing a revival of the play The Henrietta, under the management of dear old Joe Brooks. Later Winchell Smith, Marcus Loew and I produced it in pictures as The Sap Head, with Buster Keaton. Joe Brooks joined us and broke the news to Smith that the play was coming into the Knickerbocker Theater in New York. “For heaven’s sake, Joe,’’ said Smith, “the Knickerbocker Theater is too big.” ““Nonsense,”” replied Brooks. ‘‘ Don’t you know that the Knickerbocker is fa- mous here in New York for its regular clientele?” “T don’t think that’s important,” re- joined Smith. ‘‘A play will either succeed or fail by itself.” “That shows,’ argued Brooks, “what you don’t know about show business. The clientele of the Knickerbocker can put anything over.” ’ July 9,1927 “Wait a minute,” said Smith. “‘There’s a play running there now, and it’s a failure. What about that one?” “Oh, that,” said Brooks. ‘Well, the clientele didn’t come to that one.” I had a feeling that Winchell Smith knew more about the theater than any man liv- ing, and I felt that I knew something about the theater too. So when one day Winchell said to me “Let’s produce a play,’ no considerations of modesty arose to obscure my decision. We agreed to go fifty-fifty, shook hands, and so formed a play-producing organiza- tion which since then has handled millions of dollars. In the biggest motion-picture deal that has ever been made—when Smith and I transferred to the Fox Film Company seven successful plays—the lawyers in the transaction insisted on seeing the original written agreement by which Smith and I had gone into business and our rights to transfer these plays. As we never had made a written agreement I could show them none, and besides, I thought I was doing enough in delivering the plays. But lawyers will be lawyers and we came to an impasse. One of the attorneys for the Fox interests seemed willing to let matters go. But some of his many associates were insistent that some document showing the partnership or business agreement between Smith and Golden be incorporated in the records of this important legal transaction. “We must see Smith’s agreement with you,” said they. The photographers were there, since this deal was considered important enough to go on the news reels. I said to the camera- man, “ Keep on grinding, boys,” and held up my hand. “ Now, go up to Hartford and photograph Smith’s hand, and you will see the original agreement between Smith and me.”’ For the only agreement we ever had was when those two hands were brought together in the square handshake of a couple of pals determined that they would go into the venture of producing plays. Out to Get a Hit After Smith and I had agreed to become producers I asked him, “Just how do you think we ought to go about it?”’ “That’s an easy one,” replied Smith. ““We haven't a thing to do but go out and get a hit.” We were going into this thing in a big way, so my first proceeding as a manager was to go and order some very fine sta- tionery. Our next problem was to get an office. Gambling, as we were, on a large scale, I felt we could take a chance on pay- ing Mrs. Henry B. Harris, our landlady, at the Hudson Theater, twenty-five dollars a month office rent, which was one-third of what I had spent on stationery. But whereas letters from the firm might go into all sorts of high places, who would ever come into our office except jobless actors? And it was hardly necessary to impress them. Luckily, Mrs. Harris had a desk on which there were at the time no managerial feet. It was moved into my palatial one- room suite and there I was—a manager with an office and highfalutin stationery. All I needed to be a great success was a hit. Perhaps the most fortunate thing that ever happened to me was the fact that Digby Bell and De Wolf Hopper, uncon- vinced by my stationery, continued to be- lieve that I was just a song writer and a piano player. For on the second of July, 1914, as I sat in the Lambs’ Club, Hopper and Bell came over to my table, and Hopper said, ‘“‘We need somebody to play the piano up at the Nantucket golf links for our Fourth of July benefit, and we've de- cided to pick on you.” “Sorry, but I’m a manager,” Hopper, not without my pride. “T’m a rajah myself,’ he responded. “No kidding,” I insisted. “I’m a man- ager and have a regular manager’s office, and all Smith and I need is a good play, and we are very busy looking for one.” (Continued on Page 60 I told

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_—- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “ Cloner lin The , YEAR ago there came to Reo the most distinctive honor ever received by any American automobile. It was proved that Reo was America’s Longest Lasting Car. This year, again unsolicited, there came to Reo a tribute of equal im- portance to anyone about to buy a motor car. Here’s What Happened In January, 150 automotive engineers, members of the Metropolitan Section of the Society of Automotive Engineers, held a contest to determine the specifications of an ‘‘Ideal’”’ American car. The dreams of 150 engineers were synthesized into specifications for the kind of automobile these engineers would like to have built. Then it was discovered that in describing their “Ideal” car, they had almost re-written the specifications of the new Reo Flying Cloud Sedan. Check the Lists for Yourself In the columns at the right, you will find the detailed specifications for the “Ideal” car, and those of the Flying Cloud. Note the similarity. No other automobile in the world even ap- y I proaches the Flying Cloud in its identity with this “Ideal” car of 150 leading engineers. Then try out a Flying Cloud. At once, you'll realize why engineers consider such specifications ideal, why a car so designed fulfills the needs of American conditions. Start it, step on it, stop it. In the float- ing comfort of its swift, hushed speed, learn what motoring can be to- day, and for many, many years to come. The REO FLYING CLOUD The Finest, Fastést ape of Asneghas Longest Lasting Car REO MOTOR CAR COMPANY LANSING MICHIGAN OTHER AMERICAN LASTS + AS + LONG Comparison of Specifications for M.S.S. A. E. Ideal Car and The Reo Flying Cloud Sedan Points of Ideal Car of he Reo Comparison M.S. 8. A. E. Flying Cloud Wheelbase 121 Number of Cylinders 6 ¢ Type of Motor lL. Head L. Head Crankshatt 7 bearings Bore Stroke 5 inches Piston Displacement #9 ou ‘Pou S. A. FE. Rating } 5 i Actual Horsepower 60 65 Motor Speed at Max imum H. P Soo Gear Ratio 4.¢ 4.58 Pistons Aluminum A laarrcireacrn Final Drive Spual f Bevel Gear Heve Lubrication Pressure All Pressure and Splash Location of Valves Ac Side Ar S Intake Valve Material Silchrome S Faxhaust Valve Material Sdet Pressed Stee! Frame Yes Yes Propulsion Through Springs ° Yes Yes Torque Through Springs Yes ve Half-elliptic Springs. Yes Yes Rubber Spring Shackles oc « 58 Ni Balloon Tires ° Yes les Artillery Type Wheels Yes \ Brakes 1. Foot Internal, Direct 4wheel . Mechanical 2. Hand-Faternal Drive Shaft. . Yes Yes Cam and Lever Steer ing (rear. . oo Ves Single Dry Plat Clutch ° Yes Yes Gear Set Unit with Engine Yes Yes Three Forward Speeds Yes Yes Location of Piston Pin Bearing in Piston Yes Yes Piston Rings , Four Th Integral Crankcase Yes Yes Upper Half Castlron Yes Yes Lower Half Pressed Steel. . oo we Yes Engine Supports . Three hour Chain Timing Gear Drive Yes Yes Counterbalances\ sed Yes Vibration dam Oil Pump . Yes Yes Oil Cleaner. . . Yes Yes Oil Rectifier . Yes No Water Pump . Yes Yes Thermostat. Yes Yes Water Capacity 4G al SOM « 2 0 - Ves } Carburetor . . . 1% inches I Vacuum Fuel Feed Yes ’ Air Cleaner~—-Inertia Yes \ Cigar Lighter Yes No Battery, Generator and Starter . Yes Yes Sedan Body o « Ves Yes Four Doors Yes Ye Covering Materials, Broadcloth phol stery, Top and Body Finish Nc One-PieceWindshield Yes Ye Snubbers or Shock Absorbers Yes v Car Heater Yes No Bumpers Ye Yes Windshield Wiper Yes v Cowl Ventilator Ye ’ Dash Gas Crauge de N B 1 Since four-wheel, inter: Ave ° ing hydraulic, two-shox their first public appearance Cloud, they have been acclaimed by automotive er gineers and technical experts as the last word is automobile brakes N., B. s standard equipment, the Reo ~ Flvine Cl mad carries four hydrauli shock absorbers of a type heretofore tound only on the most expensive automobil: AS . REO NOT - ONE

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Continued from Page 58 “Of course you are, my dear boy,” he said soothingly, ‘and that’s why you're coming up to play the piano for my song, Oh, What an Imp!” There isn’t a living or dead Lamb who hasn't heard Hopper sing that song, written and composed at the club many years ago by Sidney Rosenfeld and Jack Hiller. | had heard it so often that I knew, and he knew I knew, the accompaniment. But I preferred to stay in New York and be a manager. “Well,” I replied, “if Smith will go along to Nantucket with me I'll go.” Smith was rehearsing The Fortune Hunter and I knew he wouldn’t go any- where. Turning to Smith, Hopper said, ‘You'll go along of course, won’t you Bill?” Perhaps it was because I shook my head behind Hopper’s back and Smith decided to be contrary, or perhaps-—-and this I like to believe— because that decision was going to alter our entire careers, that Smith looked blandly at Hopper and said: “Of course I'll go. John and I will be glad to appear at your benefit.” A Producer’s Holiday And so it was settled that Smith was to accompany me on the trip and I was to ac- company Hopper on the piano for the bene- fit of the Siasconset Golf Club, July 4, 1914 On the third of July—a hot, sticky day as Smith and | were leaving with golf clubs, bags and general country-sport impedimenta, there approached a young comic named Hazzard John EF. Hazzard, to give him all he is entitied to. “Whither bent?” inquired Hazzard. ‘ Off for a bit of a holiday,” replied Smith. “Yes,” said I. ‘“‘We have an appoint- ment with some fresh air, cool breezes and ocean bathing down Nantucket way.” Though Jack had become famous as a featured musical-comedy player he was at that particular time in that frame of cir- cumstances known us between seasons or, us actors are pleased to put it, at liberty. “Ts there any reason,” said Jack, ‘““why you shouldn’t take me along?”’ Is there any reason why we should | want to go, and I’m a nice, bright young fellow : “All right,” said I. ‘* We'll take you on one condition. You must make us laugh.” | have always had a king complex. A court jester seemed an appropriate bit of prop- erty for a couple of prospective great pro- ducers. “So long as you keep us amused, my boy,” I said right royally, ‘“‘ you may trail along. You can go as far as the station, or you can go to Bridgeport or New Haven or Nantucket. But the moment you cease to be funny off goes your ticket, or some- thing.” We had driven as far as the railroad station when Hazzard’s act began to flop. He was called to account and warned be- fore the tickets were bought for New Bed- ford. Several times on the train windows were opened threateningly. But he always seemed to think of something funny in the nick of time. It is quite’a trip to Siasconset. As I re- call it, you take a taxicab, several railroad trains, a ship or two, then more railroad trains, and then some queer vehicle after that. The only thing you don’t take is a sleeping powder. I think we paid eight or But Jack earned them all. He had, a season or two before, done a monologue in vaudeville and he went through his entire routine. However, all his jokes were gone by the time we reached New Bedford. And it was on the New Bed- ford boat that, because he couldn’t think of anything else -or perhaps it was all a well-laid scheme to get a big manager away from his botrowed desk and tell him of his play — he told us a story that was de- lightful, that was funny, that easily earned him all his car fare right to Harry Wood- ruff’s house, where he had an invitation to “guest” himself. The name of his play 9 “Sure. nine different fares. THE SATURDAY was Like Mother Made and before Siascon- set was reached, Hazzard had an agree- ment that assured him of a royalty and $500 advance. In connection with that $500 he did what I have always considered a fine and beautiful thing. He told me that he didn’t need money at that particular moment, since, as a professional guest, he had his entire summer itinerary mapped out. His route after playing a short run at Wood- ruff’s, included John Drew’s home at East Hampton, William Farnum’s at Sag Har- bor and one or two others I have forgotten. But I do remember that Jack and his jokes were much sought after. “No,” said Hazzard, “‘I don’t require any coin just now. So suppose you send the check to the Old Lady.” And to his credit be it said that it went to his mother and that Hazzard never saw a nickel of that $500 advance on Turn to the Right. Hazzard wrote his famous story of the crooks and I liked it. I was in favor of the title under which he first submitted it Like Mother Made—and would have kept it, only I found it wouldn’t stick in people’s minds. There seemed to be a concerted design on the part of everybody to change it. I had a letter from William Harris, the well-loved father of Henry B. Harris and Willie Harris, Jr., in which he wrote, “I hope you will bring your play, Like Your Mother Made, to the Fulton Theater.” And when Erlanger phoned me one day to say “‘How soon will you be ready to open What Mother Made?” I decided it would have to havea name people could remember. It was one afternoon before we brought the play to New York, when it was being tried out in Asbury Park, that 1 told Smith of my dissatisfaction with the title. Joe Cawthorn had loaned me his motor on my promise to treat it kindly, and I was driving Smith along the road to Long Branch, when he said, ‘‘ Well, if you want to change the name, my wife thought of a title, but I never mentioned it to you because I didn’t think you would like it.” “Why wouldn't I like it?’ I inquired absently, holding on to the wheel, for there was a sharp turn ahead. **What do women know about naming plays?” said Smith, looking behind him from force of habit. “What was the name she suggested?” I] asked. “Turn to the Right,’ said Smith. I did so. “Well,”’ I inquired, when the change of direction had been accomplished, *‘ what's the name your wife thought of?” “I told you —Turn to the Right.” “‘T just did,”’ I cried indignantly. Then suddenly realizing what he was driving at: “By gosh!” J exclaimed, stalling my en- gine. “That's the name of the play!” Smith said, ‘‘Go on!” incredulously. I did so. On the New York opening night at the Gaiety Theater, August 17, 1916, the audience did something I had heard of fre- quently but had never seen. They stood up and cheered. Jack Hazzard, Winchell Smith and John Golden cheered too. Congratulations, Qualified And so, due to Hazzard’s story and Smith’s rewriting and stage direction, | found myself a successful New York pro- ducer. Even more than I needed a first hit to become a producer, I needed a second to EVENING POST remain one. Although money was rolling in and Turn to the Right in its second year was playing to capacity at the Gaiety Theater, the Rialto was not convinced. “An accident,” said Broadway. “ Begin- ner’s luck. He can’t do it again.” I remember Ray Comstock— Morris Gest’s silent partner—met me while 1 was still heady with the flush of our sudden success, and with the cheery good fellow- ship of a Frank Campbell, said, ‘‘ Congrat- ulations, old boy—a great piece of luck. But chances are you won’t ever strike it again.” That night at the Century Theater, among a number of friends who were con- gratulating me on our success was Bob Hilliard. “Good for you, John,”’ he said, wringing my hand enthusiastically. “‘But try to do it again!” I admit that they had me somewhat scared. In the sweet cup of my triumph was the bitter drop of doubt. Had it been sheer luck, or could we do it again? As it turned out, the two men who were first to question that Winchell and I could hit the gong a second time were the first to come and tell us some time later that we had. How does a manager set about securing ahit? You hear a great deal concerning the difficulties the unknown playwright en- counters in trying to bring his product to the attention of the manager. We have a rule in my office that all plays which find their way in through the mails or from any unknown sources are returned to the sender with the seal unbroken. Hard-hearted, arbitrary not at all. Self-defense and common sense, based on personally accu- mulated statistics. A Census of Playwrights I have always had a great sympathy for the struggling worker, for the unknown with the long hard hill to climb. I have always felt it would be a great pleasure to lighten his load, besides the triumph of discovering a genius and the material ad- vantage of finding a gold mine. I really believed for a long time that there must be dozens, nay, hundreds of good plays lying in desks or trailing the weary rounds of outer offices awaiting only the discovering eye of the astute producer. And so for many years I conscientiously and optimis- tically waded through the deluge of plays that inundated my office. I know that I personally have read manuscripts number- ing into the thousands, not to mention the effort expended by Martin Mooney and Jill Hymers, the hard-working play readers on my staff, in weeding out the more hopeless offerings. In all that time I never found one play, one act, one scene, one situation that I used or could use, or had any in- spiration to use. I consider the average of no per cent sufficient reason for concluding the experiment of seeking for the unknown genius by way of the unsolicited manuscript. For every person in the world who thinks he can paint, there are 11,000 who think they can write. And for every one of those 11,000 who feels he can write a book there are 9,657,098 who know they can write plays. Occasionally there is a man who realizes that he may not have an Arlen facility for weaving a descriptive phrase as elusive as the dance of rainbow colors in the spray of a fountain. But a play is nothing but talk, and anybody the cook, the janitor and the plumber can talk, so it naturally follows that the July 9,1927 cook, the janitor and the plumber can write a play. I am convinced, doubtless because of my policy of producing only clean and Amer- ican plays, that I have been the greatest victim of the plumber’s spare time in this country. Every day I receive letters from some undersigned who approves heartily of my policy of American plays, and who is an American, having been naturalized a month ago. If any further recommenda- tion be necessary, his play is clean, not a bedroom or a cuss word in it, proving con- clusively that it must be exactly what I am looking for. For eight long years which is one year longer than Jacob’s record —I had patience, hoping I would be the means of removing the bushels from great lights. I never found one that was even a lightweight. Now I have a gate across the entrance to my stairway and the postman has orders to take back his manuscripts and sell them somewhere else. Nobody can ever wring my heart again for the unknown play- wright who, if he did find his place in the theatrical sun, would, I am sure, not like it. I admit it is hard getting into managers’ offices, but there are play brokers and there are ways, which must and can and will be found, of getting a good play produced. The amateur playwright must realize that we have some rights, too -that the play producer is a poor, tired man who is being asked in an offhand way for three or four hours’ study of a script. I doubt if any other business man would be requested to spend thousands of hours of research along lines which years of experience have proved were absolutely sterile and led, moreover, to frequent lawsuits. It is a simple matter, for instance, for the tyro’s heroine to say to her too heavy lover, ““ How dare you?” “But,” the lover replies, “‘1 love you.” Whereupon the tyro sends his finished play to John Golden, who reads it and sends it back. And then it comes to pass that three years later John Golden pro- duces a play in which the heroine says to her too heavy lover, ‘‘How dare you?”’ “But,” says the lover, ‘I love you.” Ah, the bad, unscrupulous, rich manager who has returned the poor, downtrodden, unknown playwright’s piece after stealing the ideas in order to save paying the p. d. u. p. his royalties! If the heroine so much as kisses the hero at the last curtain there is no chance of avoiding the courts It is an embarrassing, expensive and time- eating affair to be called into court. One of the cases in which I was involved was a suit over Lightnin’. As the few people who saw Lightnin’ may recall, part of the story had to do with jumping across a state line to avoid the sheriff. It seemed there had been other state-line plays — none, however, so successful as Lightnin’ —and the author of one of these sued us on this point. Where Do Plays Come From? But if we do not get plays from unknown authors, how do we get them? They do not fall as the gentle rain from heaven into the lap of the manager who needs one, nor does the latter, when the spirit moves him, call up a couple of journeyman playwrights and order a good job of comedy or farce. I can only recount how I found the plays with which I have been successful. Though in the rejection of scripts a man may be required to exercise judgment and shrewd- ness, the finding of a good play is as much a matter of chance as stumbling on any other kind of gold mine. I have told how fortuitously Turn to the Right entered our managerial net. The next to cross our horizon was a more or less popular little effort which eventually be- came known under the title of Lightnin’. The great Panama Pacific World’s Fair and Exposition which took place in San Francisco in 1915 served as a good excuse for two energetic young men-— Winchell Smith and John Golden—to make a pil- grimage to California. Winchell had a play Continued on Page 65

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These cars are fac- tory-equipped with AC Oil Filters Buick Cadillac Chandler Chevrolet Nash Oakland Oldsmobile -aige Pe erless There ts alsoan AC Oil Filter for cars not factory-equipped. ASK YOUR DEALER THE SATURDAY EVENING POST If your automobile could talk what would it say about your AN has learned it pays to take care of a horse—even a work horse. Feeding a horse isn’t everything; nor is it enough to give your car gasoline and oil. It pays to take care of a motor car—your motor Car, In keeping a car fit, there are certain elementary things that every owner ought to do. These precautions mean much towards insuring that sturdy performance which every owner wants, besides avoiding heavy repair bills. Take, for example, the oil filter. It will keep your oil clean for thou- sands of miles without attention. But when it becomes filled with the dirt it has taken from the oil, it ceases to function. Only by installing a new cartridge can the oil be kept clean, thereby elimi- nating excessive engine wear and frequent oil changing, thus min- imizing repair bills and oil expense. Have your oil filter checked today. Another simple thing is inspection of spark plugs. In time, they deteriorate and need to be changed. When your engine misses, starts hard or in any way does not perform as well as it once did, the first and surest thing to do is install a new set of spark plugs. Many times expensive repair bills are incurred; and it is afterwards found that all that was needed was a new set of spark plugs. It’s amazing, what you can get from a new set of AC’s. Do these things because it pays. It pays in improved performance, in lowered operating cost, in decreased repair bills. AC Spark Plugs and AC Oil Filter Replacement Cartridges are available through AC Dealers everywhere. These dealers will gladly help you in finding just what your car requires. Insist upon AC quality because AC is standard of the world. AC Spark Plug Company, FLINT, -ACichigan AC-SPHINX AC-TITAN Birmingham Levallois-Perret ENGLAND FRANCE World's Flying Record Broken with AC Plugs Bert Ace Chamberlain, on ( en ‘ x pri fiving a Belianca Plane Long Island, established a r /” ‘ , > > Over 200 of the world’s most successful manufacturers use one or more, or all of these AC Products Xe SPARK PLUGS © 1927, AC Spark Plug Co. AC AIR CLEANERS AC SPEEDOMETERS AC OIL FILTERS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9,1927 | ESSEX Tops its 2 aan .* ag yy i asaranal “a Ag fe \ *€

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Greatest Triumph with even Greater Values At the highest pinnacle of Essex popularity — with the record-breaking sales of all time—with stocks swept clean, and thousands upon thousands of unfilled orders —we abruptly stopped the largest production in our history, to give this Greater Essex right of way. The industry does not record a like decision. Yet one glance—one ride in the New Essex Super-Six reveals the startling reasons that prompted it. If thousands praised the former Essex, then tens of thousands must applaud the new. If all sales records were surpassed by the former Essex, then even higher marks must reward the new. No previous car—no previous value—gives any- thing by which to judge it. It is the greatest achievement in Essex history. Dealers every. where are now showing it. We could say it is longer, roomier, more luxurious, with greater power and performance yet that does not express it. We do say: ‘‘See it and ride in it with greater expectation of fine things than you ever held for any but the costliest cars’’, You will not be disappointed. Only by ordering promptly can you insure de- livery ahead of increasing thousands who want it.

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BEAVER, Up The Beveled Edge insures smooth, seamless, keyed in joints THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The only plaster wall board edge with the What four-wheel brakes meant to the motor car, the exclusive BEST- WALL BEVELED EDGE means to plaster wall board. BESTWALL BEVELED EDGE in- sures perfectly smooth, seamless joints—invisible—despite irregu- larities of joist or studding. Beaver Bestwall withthe BEVELED EDGE was first introduced in the East. Its advantages were immedi- ately seen. So rapidly did the de- mand grow that our entire Eastern mill capacity has been required to meet it. Now, with more millsand greatly increased facilities, this superior plaster wall board with its im- proved edge is obtainable ANyY- WHERE IN THE UNITED STATES. Remember Beaver BESTWALL is the original plaster wall board —with the pure gypsum rock core —with the exclusive, tough Beaver fibre facing that adds greatly to strength and takes decoration bet- ter. It is a remarkable insulator. It is fire-resisting—approved by Underwriters’ Laboratories, Inc. Don’t be satisfied with just “plas- ter wall board.” Call for Beaver BESTWALL by name. Demand to see the CREAM-colored surface and the Beaver trade mark. Ask to see and test the Beveled Edge. Beaver Bestwall with the square edge is available for those who desire it. For sample of the BEVELED EDGE and literature, address our Dept. 1007, THE BEAVER PRODUCTS Co., Inc., Buffalo, N. Y.; Thorold, Ont., Canada; London, England. July 9, 1927 BEAVER BES T- WALL THE SUPERIOR PLASTER WALL BOARD Manufacturers also of Beaver Board, Beaver American Plaster, Gypsum Lath, Gypsum Block, Thermocrete (Cellular Gypsum), Varnishes and Enamels, Beaver Vulcanite Asphalt Shingles, Mineral and Smooth Surfaced Roll Roofings, Asphalt Paints and Cements

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=. — (Continued from Page 60 out there — The New Henrietta— which may have influenced our going. Certainly I had no notion I was traveling out there to pick up a play. We were welcomed by many old friends Fred Niblo, Douglas Fairbanks, David Wark Griffith—all sorts of people we had known in the East who were now making good in the West, and among them was a great admirer of Winchell Smith’s, a sweet little white-haired man who must have been a lineal descendant of the original model for the word ‘‘ quaint.” This kindly little man, working out in California on an occasional picture, had written a play called A House Divided. He had gone up and down Broadway for nine long years offering A House Divided toevery manager who would let him in, without finding one theatrical house in all that time even divided as to its merits. It had been unanimously turned down. He came to visit us and told Smith he had been offered a few hundred dollars for the use of his play in motion pictures and felt he ought to sell it. Smith agreed to read the play and advise him. When we were leaving for the East he came into our drawing-room to say good-by, and throwing down an envelope, “‘There is the play,”’ he said, ‘‘and there is a good part in it for me.” Two Years on a Two Weeks’ Job Smith laughed. ‘“ Have you written ina good part for anybody besides yourself?” “Oh, yes,” replied Frank Bacon ear- nestly, “‘there are plenty of good ones in it’’--and there were. As the train pulled out, Smith carelessly opened the envelope. I was just dozing off when I heard him laugh. I hate to miss a trick. “‘Who died?” I asked, waking up. “Listen,”’ said Smith, and he began to read me Frank Bacon’s A House Divided We both liked it. There was a lot of re writing obviously necessary, but Smith was enthusiastically sure he could do it, which ] may say is an unusual] thing for him. He has always been modest and a little timid. ‘I could rewrite this into a good show in two weeks,” he announced, then added, “Do you think I ought to put off writing the other one and do this first?” Smith, who, I believe, is so simple- minded he really values my opinion, has always consulted me about his writing plans. For some time he had had what I con sidered a marvelous idea for a play, to be called If I Were You. And every time an- other proposition arose he would say, “ Do you think I’d better do this new one or shall I keep at If I Were You?” ‘Well, if I were you,” I said importantly, I'd do this new one if it is only going to take two weeks."’ That was in September, 1915. I sent word to Bacon that we would do his play and advised him to come to New York. He came, and with him came a large family consisting of his wife and his daugh- ter, Bessie Bacon, and her children, and Aunt Em, a loquacious, philosophical little old family favorite whom Frank would no more have left behind than his shoes. One of Bacon’s first questions on arrival was: ‘‘When does my salary begin?”’ I couldn’t tell him, because I didn’t know. And as Frank’s resources in those days were not inexhaustible and time kept behaving as it always does and Smith kept behaving as he always does when he writes a play, Frank developed into more or less of a problem. He had once played a part in a Number Two company of The Fortune Hunter, and Smith was sure there was star-making stuff in that little man. So, wishing to find some- thing for him to do until the House Di- vided was ready, I had my friend, Colonel Jim Elverson, owner of the Philadelphia Inquirer, dig up a copy of Frank Mayo’s dramatization of Pudd’nhead Wilson, “ THE SATURDAY which he controlled through his wife, Mayo’s daughter. It seemed to both Smith and me that Pudd’nhead Wilson, the sensation of its day, would be a play for our quaint little man. But when we read it we found it full of claptrap, side speeches and monologues belonging to the dusty, musty theater of yester decade. John Taintor Foote had written a beau- tiful little play called Toby’s Bow. There was a sweet old character —a sort of Uncle Tom’s Cabin negro—who dominated the story, and I thought that Bacon, with the judicious application of a little burnt cork, would fit admirably into the réle. The play, afterward produced with George Marion in the main part, was well liked. But our tryout of Toby’s Bow never ripened into a successful acquaintance with Broadway. Finally, in January, 1918, or two years and four months after Smith had under- taken the task, Lightnin’ opened at the National Theater in Washington—to run more than 1200 performances in New York, establishing a long-distance record never equaled or passed in America except by that hardy perennial, Abie’s Irish Rose. In my opinion, to Smith’s rewriting and staging is due much of the credit of that record-breaking success— Lightnin’. Scene after scene he wrote, only to destroy them. One whole act, I remember, representing forty pages of hard work, he read to me on a train going from Hartford to New York. He hadn’t reached the middle before I, his best friend and severest critic, was fast asleep. I woke to hear him say, ‘* Well, then, you don’t like it.” **Not so bad,” I evaded. “It couldn’t have been any good,”’ said Smith, ‘‘or you’d have stayed awake.”’ So we talked about it some more and again Smith went back to the work bench. I have never known a playwright more open to suggestion than Winchell Smith. Nothing he writes is so precious that he will refuse to rewrite it. And that, I be lieve, is one of the reasons he has been so successful. And that is why it took so long before he finished the work of rewriting and brought to New York ready for re- hearsal the completed script of A House Divided. When Bacon first submitted A House Di- vided, I did not think the title had any par- ticular punch or box-office appeal. I don’t contend that a fortunate title can make a success out of a poor play, but I do believe that a satisfactory label will go a long way toward creating a market from a box-office standpoint. Lightnin’ Strikes Twice When I was a little boy out in Wauseon, Ohio, | was very fat and slow; but per- haps not quite so thick in the head as I was around the waistline, for I had it figured out that when my mother sent me for Seidlitz powders, if I hurried back she would only send me out again for some- thing else. So I never hurried. Especially, I liked to linger about the drug store among the fascinating jars of colored water, listen- ing to the music of the soda fountain. One day when I was particularly loath to de- part, the drug clerk lost patience, and drawing something shiny from under the counter and aiming it at me, “‘If you don’t run home with that medicine,” he cried, “T’ll shoot you!”’ Frightened, I turned torun. Too late. I felt a stinging impact and myself all wet with what must be blood! If you have ever felt the full force of a siphon of seltzer, you will agree that rum is not the only hard liquid in the world. As I ran screaming to the street he yelled ‘Lightnin’ Johnnie, that’s what you are!” called me Lightnin’ Johnnie When Smith and I came to the scene where Bill Jones went to the post office to get the mail and came back hours later without it, I thought of Lightnin’ Johnnie. Smith did not actually object to the title Lightnin’, although he wasn’t exactly and ever after he EVENING POST strong for it. But it almost broke Bacon's heart. t seems a trick of fate that the man who later was christened Lightnin’ and who died with that name on the tongue of the whok nation, should have fought so against the use of the name. However, in Lightnin’ I created a great title for a play which I am sure would have been just as successful under the name Humpty Dumpty. I had had the idea that a second success would make me incontrovertibly a mana- ger. But the hardest people to convince are one’s friends. They were certain, and in a measure so was I, that Lightnin’ hav- ing hit twice in the same place, could not a third time be decoyed. Reckoning my gambling chances, my third, and doubtless my fourth and fifth ventures were doomed to failure. But again enters the well-known element of chance. Luck was once more headed in my direction. Austin Strong is a fine play- wright, but so outrageously modest that to this day, although we are good friends and he is brave enough after the first cold plunge is over, still I see him blush when he meets me with his little, troubled cough. This shy, boyish, romantic step-grandson of Robert Louis Stevenson had written a play called Three Wise Men of Gramercy Park, and from all I have learned since, had tried fifty-six ways to get somebody to arrange for him to meet me. One of the fifty-six was one of our best and most suc- cessful stage directors--Robert Milton. Titles by Golden He came into my office one day and said, “‘I had a wonderful play just read to me by Austin Strong, to which you surely should give the well-known once-over at your earliest opportunity. It has excep- tionally interesting characters, beautiful dialogue—in short, a remarkable play.’ “You are quite a describer,”’ I replied “Tell me more. What is the story?” “The story,”’ said Milton, “is —er, out- standing. It’s about—ah other it just slips me for the moment.” ““Where is it laid?’’ I asked him. **You mean the script?”’ said Milton. “I think he has it down at the Players Club.” “‘What are the characters?"’ I inquired. “The characters—oh, the characters! Why, I-—-er—they’re delightful,” said he; “absolutely delightful.”’ ‘Wait a minute,” I said. ‘‘ Do you know anything about this play, or has Austin Strong hired you to press-agent it to me?” “Well, as a matter of fact,’’ admitted Milton, ‘‘ he told me he wished I could fix it so that he could meet you.” We are threatened with all kinds of pun- ishment if we use the long arm of coinci- dence in the making of plays, but Mr George M. Coincidence was certainly work- ing that day, for Milton had scarcely left my office when I walked across Forty- fourth Street and literally bumped into a well-dressed young man carrying under his arm what to my trained eye looked suspi ciously like a play. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Golden,” said the young .man, coughing apologetically and blushing. “You did it on purpose,”’ said I “Oh, no,” he began “Yes, you did. You did it so that I'd somehow or read your play, Austin Strong. Well, | won't. But I'll tell you what I will do Come back to my office and I'l] let you tell me the story And Strong, dare-devil that he was, took the bull by the horns and followed me And his play was bought before t had read it. Strong has always felt that he owed a great deal to Winchell Smith for the very important part the latter played in de- veloping and reconstructing that story into the colossal seven-year success that it eventually became When Austin Strong brought me his play it was called Three Wise Men of Gramercy Park. I wasn’t rich enough to consider putting that much money into electric lights, so I tossed away the Gramercy Par} hard olled COVER Croodyear knows where to vet the right rubber tor every purpose , knows how to compound it scientifically to vet the best results. The new Goodyear Goll Ball is a triumph of this ex pert knowledge. It is a long ball and an accurate ball, of course, but. its extra-tough cover is What appeals to most players. 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ae Se. {KNAPP-FEL HATS for MEN a HEcomfortable custom of wear- ing a pleasant feel- ing soft hat in a light weight, mellow Knapp-Felt during the heated term isa growing habit with well dressed men. The New Knapp- Felt for Summer is the Easy Lite It will be shown Everywhere Friday, July 8th The Knapp-Felt Easy Lite is the hat for the cool of the evening, for motor- ing, for travel, for sports, for the coun- try lanes, or city streets. Knapp-Felt Soft Hats are made in several sunshiny colors especially attrdc- tive for Summer wear. THe Crorut & Knapp CoMPANY JOHN CAVANAGH 620 Fifth Avenue ‘President New York City THE SATURDAY forever, and my announcements in the New York papers read, ‘‘A play by Austin Strong called Three Wise Men.” Searcely had the notice been printed when a lady appeared at my office, all ex- ercised over the fact that her husband had written a play under that title, and accusing me of everything in the criminal docket from plagiarism to piracy and points south. “Don’t talk foolishly,” said I. ‘Your husband has never made a production of his play and I have announced mine. I have a prior right.” This she denied. ‘“But,’’ I said, ‘‘any- body will tell you you have no case.” “Oh, don’t be a fool,’’ she answered crossly. Perhaps this use of the word “fool” started something in my subconscious, for suddenly, right in the middle of the argu- ment, I stopped, bowed to the lady in my knightly —if not daily—fashion, and said, ‘‘Madam, the title is yours.” But I was not being noble. I had thought of a better title —and the play appeared as Three Wise Fools—Austin Strong, the author, having no idea of the name of his play until he saw it in print. He raised no objection. It was probably too late. A Study in Blues Now that I had had three successes the thing must have entered into my blood, for I began to look for a fourth just as desper- ately as I had wanted a first, second or third. Thank-U, which ran for a year in New York and four more years throughout the country, was probably the most acci- dental find of the lot. Tom Cushing, who had written a play or two, was not unlike Austin Strong in that he was retiring, mod- | est, gentlemanly, competent and good- | looking. Several times I have offered him | ajob asasheik. He had succeeded in inter- | esting Winchell Smith in the idea of col- | laborating on a war play to such an extent | that Smith had told him to bring it to me. So Cushing wrote a good part of an act, | sent it down from New Haven, and then, | sitting in the same big armchair where so many contracts have been signed, where Menkens, Hamiltons, La Rues, Carrillos, Westmans and Strongs have had their hopes raised, dashed or seesawed, he told me more of his great war play. Swept along by his enthusiasm, he failed to no- tice that I was not equally carried away. He was reaching a great climax in the most thrilling part of his story, when I said, “You needn’t tell me any more. I’m sorry, but I don’t think that this is just the time for another war play.”” That chair has seen many expressions of disappointment and dismay, none of them easy to watch. “But,” cried Cushing blankly, ‘‘ Winchell Smith said you would like it!’ “I do,” said I, “but I don’t want to pro- duce it.” Cushing's face was a study in blues. ‘Why, he was so sure you'd take it, he told me I could count on a $500 advance.” “If Smith told you you could have $500,” I said, “‘here it is,’’ and I wrote a check. “T ought to give you something for this,’’ said Cushing dubiously. ‘“‘What have you got?” I asked. “Want to hear the plot of another play?”’ he suggested. “No!” I cried. “All right,”’ said he, ‘‘but do you know that the average minister throughout the country doesn’t get as much salary as a chauffeur?” EVENING POST “No,” I replied, ‘‘but I don’t see that there’s anything I can do about it.”’ “Yes, there is,’’ said he. “Something I can do—what can I do?” “You can do my play—the one I wanted to tell you. It’s about a poor minister and his niece who, being a French girl, doesn’t know that ministers are paid so poorly in this country that they are sometimes looked down on socially by their own congrega- tions. My idea is to bring home the point that you can’t look down on a man six days of the week and then look up to him on the seventh.” “T’ll take that play,’’ I said, and then and there Tom Cushing signed a contract, dated August 5, 1920, for the sum of $500 to be regarded as advance payment on royalties to accrue from the making of a church play called X. He went back to Connecticut and six months later Winchell Smith and he had written the play. Under Smith’s able direc- tion we produced Thank-U, which probably did more to keep me tied tight to my ‘clean”’ stand than any other, or even all the other plays I produced. We opened the play at Elmira, New York. I remember sitting in the box office at just about the time the curtain was go- ing up. There was a line of 100 people out- side the box-office window, where Mrs. Fitzgerald had told her fellow townspeople there were no more seats. Some more persistent one asked, “* Aren’t there any reserved for anyone who hasn’t shown up?” To which she replied, ‘‘ Yes. ‘*Whom are they for?” “Well, there are some here for the Seth Winners, the Elwood Crockers and the Alexander Divens.”’ “They’re not coming,”’ cried another. “Give us their seats.” “T can’t do that,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald. “T have to hold them until 8:30.” “No, you haven’t.”” And the next thing I knew the box-office door was crashed in. Money was thrown on the counter and the remaining tickets carried away. “Well,” said I to myself when the excite- ment had subsided, ‘“‘Thank-U must be a sure-fire hit.” ” Too Many Friends But unfortunately I waswrong. Elmirais known in theatrical parlance as a one-night stand. Few if any plays can afford to stay there more than a night. But for the past years I have sent to Elmira every one of my productions in tryout form, and played at least four performances to capacity houses. These tryouts are done for exactly what the words imply—to try out before a public the value of a new production. But I have reached a state of mind where I fear to take a play to Elmira, because their friendship is so deep and their desire for our success so genuine that it seems to warp their judg- ment. Winchell Smith and John Golden can’t produce a failure, according to the Elmira critics, and I have no way of gaug- ing the actual drawing power of an attraction. Thank-U was hailed by ministers and educators as a powerful argument for the underpaid professions and as the best friend inside the theater that the clergy ever had. But only after the hardest up- hill battle I ever fought did I make a success of it. The First Year was produced because Frank Craven happened to mention to me one day that he had no engagement at the July 9,1927 time. I suggested to him that if he would write a play I would produce it without reading it. He said he did not care about the last clause, as he preferred to have me know what it was all about, and go along with him. But the net result of my rash wager was that eight weeks from the date it was made Craven was rehearsing The First Year, which eventually proved to be, according to the unanimous verdict of the critics, one of the finest examples of folk- play writing ever brought forth by an American. One day Arthur Richman and Robert Milton came in to see me, with a play by the former. I had to admit that I thought it a good play, beautifully written. And though it was a little out of my line, since I had become associated with plays about plain, everyday, American people, and this was about sophisticated English folk, I thought it ought to have a good chance if they could get a great actress to play it. Employing a process known as “letting the author down easy,”’ used when a man- ° ager has no legitimate excuse for refusing a play and yet wishes to get out of doing it, perhaps for no better reason than a desire to enjoy a little holiday out of New York, I said, “I’d do it myself if you could get Marie Tempest, for instance, to play the lead.”’ An Unexplained Failure Marie Tempest was at the time in South Africa at the head of her own company, and the chances of getting her to America to star in Arthur Richman’s play seemed reas- suringly slim. I left for my annual trip to Florida, thinking no more about that casual remark, even though Milton and Richman had embodied it in the form of a promise. When I returned in the spring I found a cablegram from Marie Tempest: ‘‘ De- lighted to be with you. You will find me most obedient of stars In my absence, on the strength of my promise, Milton had cabled, and in this haphazard manner I found myself about to produce a new play, with a world-famous actress traveling all the way from Africa to appear in it. The greatest stars on the West Coast, city officials and all sorts of movie folk met Miss Tempest as she arrived at San Fran- cisco—with the news-reel cameras grinding. Miss Tempest had never in her career had such an ovation as was arranged for her along the route of the special train which brought her from California to New York. When The Serpent’s Tooth was an- nounced I received hundreds of congratu- latory telegrams from practically every important person in the theatrical world. “John Golden deserves the médaille d'honneur for bringing Miss Tempest to us,’”’ said Henry Miller. Douglas Fair- banks wired: ‘I bow across the continent to one who has given our stage such great distinction.”’? Billie Burke sent me ‘‘the gratitude of the public for bringing that darling back.” But in spite of the fact that the play was a splendid piece of writing, that the cast in- cluded the best names in the theater, that we tried to give as fine a production as we could, and that this woman was acclaimed the greatest English comédienne, the public failed to respond. And so, after four months, I had to close The Serpent's Tooth. Editor’s Note—This is the fifth of a series of articles by Mr. Golden, written in collaboration with Viola Brothers Shore. The next will appear in an early issue.

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First onthe Scen ) First onthe Screen China seethes and boils. Columns of cable despatches on the first pages of all the newspapers in the land. The biggest news of the day, coming from a country across the world! Yet you go to your favorite motion picture theatre and there on the screen Pathé News show's you the news as it happens. How can this be done? Only by a world-wide organi- zation, with cameramen posted that wherever the news is breaking a Pathé News man is there. so Only by torethought which sees in advance that which is about to happen, and provides against , § the day it does. Two Pathé News cameramen were already in China with the outbreak, and another on the way. More than Luck enters into the making of the world’s best- known motion picture. It is the comes from brain power, man that sixteen years’ experience as the power, coordination pioneer news reel. Unless you see the Rooster, you do not see the Pathé News. Ask for the ‘Pathé News at your favorite theatre PATHE EXCHANGE, INC. 35 West 45th Street, New York THE SATURDAY Marcus found himself able to think more clearly. He perceived that the changing of the will could not have played any part, because so reticent a man as Mr. Orrin would not have told his plans to anybody. No mere thief would have chosen such a moment for entering. It must, Marcus quickly decided, have been some man who was interested in Mary Brown, and who de- sired to discover just what her status there might be. This idea was not entirely a new one, though Marcus’ mind had not previously dwelt on it, because there had been other and more plausible theories. But now, with Beatrice and Gregory eliminated, it pre- sented itself as a sort of reductio ad ab- surdum. A young woman of such charm and capabilities as Mary Brown might be expected to have a number of suitors, and it was possible that some crank amongst them might have felt impelled to spy on her, and to ascertain just how serious Mr. Orrin’s condition might be. Surprised in his espionage by Mary Brown, he might have acted on a desperate impulse to es- cape unidentified, and so have thrust her back into the room and locked the door. Moreover, Marcus was by no means sure that Mary Brown had failed to identify this person, nor that she might not have wished to keep him out of the affair. Perhaps, after all, it had not been Gregory whom she suspected. It was at this stage of his contemplation that Marcus heard a curious little sound in the room. It started close to the long French window which was wide open, and the slight noise suggested a small animal scampering across the rug. There would searcely be rats in such a house, nor would a squirrel be apt to venture inside. Be- sides, Marcus’ nature readings told him that squirrels were not nocturnal animals, except flying squirrels perhaps. The noise came again, but this time it was different. Something clicked off the rug onto the parquet, where it rolled along. Marcus sat up suddenly in bed, the sig- nificance of these sounds now apparent to him. Somebody outside, under the window, was tossing in small pebbles from the gravel path, a classic method for awaken- ing quietly the person supposed to be sleep- ing in that room. Very likely, Marcus thought, Mary Brown had stepped in to see how he fared and to secure the window against swaying. The prowler outside might have observed her in the act and concluded therefore that this must be the hedroom assigned her. Another pebble flew through the window, this time landing directly on the foot of the bed. Nobody, Marcus reflected, was going to stand outside and pelt pebbles into a room supposed to be occupied by a member of the family or its personnel. That Bea- trice might be the object of such attention did not occur to Marcus at all. This suitor of Mary Brown, the prime disturber from the start, desired urgently to communicate with her, and he had chosen the wrong room. Here, as it seemed to Marcus, was the splendid chance not only to solve the mys- tery, tie off the last loose end, but to square his debit account of great mental pain and agony with a good deal of suffering that was physical. He owed this prowler for the theft of the will, getting pitched into the icy lake, knocked senseless by the robust knee of Beatrice after having built up a silly and highly injurious case against her on circumstantial evidence. There were also Mary Brown’s bruised shoulders to consider, but Marcus did not at the moment rate this injury as so very grave. He seized quickly on the chance for de- coying this skulking rascal into a trap. To impersonate Mary Brown in her robe de nuit, Marcus slipped off the tunic of his pajamas, then tugged a sheet from the bed EVENING POST MOTIVE POWER (Continued from Page 32) and draped it about his torso in such fash- ion as to leave bare his arms to the shoul- ders. Then, stepping to the window, he leaned partly out, one hand raised to his face. The moon was on the other side of the house, this facade of it was in shadow. But there was light enough to reveal dimly a figure standing against a mass of shrub- bery on the edge of the path. Then, as Marcus looked down, his bare arm gleam- ing through the murk, he saw this figure beckon. Marcus nodded, made a downward ges- ture, then stepped back away from the window. Here, it appeared, was the vindi- cation of the last of his many theories. Re- mained only to seize this cause of all his trials and to expose him for the skulking sneak that he must be. Marcus acted then with more haste than caution. He doubled the sheet and drew it round him like a toga, went softly out of his room, slipped along the hall and down the stairs. He went out the front door, passed round the corner of the house to the side on which was his room, where he stood and beckoned. The dark figure slipped out from the flanking bushes. Marcus turned and walked rapidly across the lawn toward a cluster of ornamental trees, hoping that this apparent indiscreet behavior would not arouse suspicion of the trap he was set- ting. Then, reaching the trees, the other following some fifty yards behind, Marcus made a slight detour toward a little sum- merhouse that was at the far end of the garden. Glancing back, he saw that the other still followed on, though not attempt- ing to shorten the distance between them. Reaching the summerhouse, Marcus paused and waited. But as he stopped, so also did the other. Plainly the fellow was no longer so sure about the identity of the white-clad maiden who had been leading him along.at such a pace. The summerhouse was all of three hun- dred yards from the house, and no doubt the fact of being led so far away, or per- haps something in the stride and general impression Marcus gave, did not check with that of a girl of even Mary Brown’s athletic habit. Then suddenly and without a sound the follower turned and bolted. Marcus’ ruse had most evidently failed. Perceiving this, he flung off the sheet, and clad only in pa- jama trousers and bedroom slippers, Marcus leaped in pursuit. The man ahead struck across the lawn and made for that trail now entirely familiar to Marcus, which was the lane. He ran like a turkey. Marcus, a former track athlete and stripped down for just such a sporting event, could not see that he gained much in the first two hun- dred yards, at the end of which his quarry dived into the lane. A pretty fair sprinter, whatever else the scoundrel might or might not be, Marcus was forced to admit. The danger lay now in the fellow’s beating Marcus to the lake shore where, if he had left a canoe handy, he might for the second time give Marcus the laugh. But he did not. Reaching the fork in the lane, with the lead, if anything, increased, he broke out across the rough meadow where Marcus had first sighted Mary Brown, and running like a rabbit, scurried up the siope, though this naturally slowed him down. It spoke well for Marcus’ com- plete recovery to strength of wind and limb that he was now able to hold the pace, especially since he was handicapped by felt slippers which though well-fitting enough were yet unadapted to this sort of cross- country marathon. Marcus began to won- der how long they would last. Reaching the crest of the slope, a little winded but still running, Marcus saw the other scurrying for the spot where the lane entered the woods beyond. He drew in his stomach, tightened the cord of his pajamas and held on in pursuit. The man ahead reached the dark entrance and disappeared. July 9,1927 Marcus, afraid that he might plunge into a thicket and hide, put on a burst of speed, and on arriving at the spot, caught sight of the other as he disappeared again around a bend in the lane. And so this midnight chase continued, Marcus always managing to keep the other in sight, until presently the lane debouched on the road about a mile from the inn on the porch of which Marcus had sat with the sheriff. For the first time then it occurred to Marcus that, if success- ful, the end of his hunt might be fraught with some embarrassment. There was a certain lack of dignity for one of his posi- tion to be running to bay his quarry and tackling him in a populous community, clad only in pajama trousers. It was rather like one of those dreams in which a person finds himself in such a predicament, half naked and very much ashamed. There seemed no help for it, however, so Marcus held on, trying now less to overtake the other than to keep within his wind, which might be sorely needed for a final grapple. The other slowed his pace and so did Marcus. It occurred to him now that the Fisherman’s Rest was not so far ahead and that the sheriff abode there. It would be not only convenient but entirely gratify- ing to grab this source of all his trouble and perplexity right under the nose of the elder hound who had been associated with him in the first attempt to disentangle the baf- fling trail. This now nearly happened. Whether winded, or desiring himself to escape as much publicity as possible, Marcus’ quarry stopped suddenly, turned and stood in the middle of the road waiting for him to come up. Marcus slowed to a walk and, breathing heavily, approached him. It was fairly dark right here, the moon having gone be- hind a big heavy cumulus cloud and the trees shading the spot from what light there Was. As Marcus approached slowly and warily, not knowing with what sort of character he might have to deal, the other man said pantingly: “Oh, lay off, Greg! square myself with Bee. your father was dead.” Marcus stopped. He wanted to hear more before revealing his identity. The other stared at him uncertainly, then said: “You know I’d never have put anything so raw if I’d had the least idea of what had happened. When your father phoned the bank that he wanted Mary Brown, I took it for granted that Bee must have come here, so I thought I'd come up to see her and find out how your father really was. Then when Sam Cumming: told me Bee wasn’t here, I thought I'd ride out with him and--and He stopped, pantingly. Marcus walked closer. ‘And do a little spying round, you dirty sneak.” His voice was still breathless, so that the other did not discover the error of identity “Nothing of the sort,’’ he protested. “‘But your father’s been off me lately for some reason, and I was afraid it might up- set him to know that I was here. Mary Brown had got me all wrong too. Honest, Greg, I hadn't the least idea of starting anything. I thought Bee might have come without Sam Cummings’ knowing it. Mo- tored from Portland, perhaps. I wanted badly to see her and to find out about Mr. Orrin ‘*And Mary Brown,” Marcus said. The other leaned forward to peer at him. “Who the devil—holy cats!”’ He turned suddenly and bolted down the road. The quick dash distanced Marcus a little, then he began to make it up. They passed a house or two, these dwellings natu- rally dark, and then the inn bulked up somberly under its sheltering elms. In the middle of the road, right at its short turn, Marcus’ quarry stopped, spun round and struck at him. The blow brushed over Continued on Page 70) I just wanted to I never dreamed over

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Look up a MippisHape cloth- j nd send tor the style folder with serge samples. nan THE MIDDISHADE CoO., Inc., PHILADELPHIA MIDDISHAD The specialized blue serge suit | | | (Continued from Page 68 Marcus’ shoulder and they came together in a clinch. Marcus broke out of it and | swung at his antagonist, who ducked under his fist and landed a short jab on Marcus’ ribs. For the next few moments a very busy little fight went forward there in the middle of the road, under the shadow of the elms. Somebody came to a front upper window of the old hostelry, raised it a little higher and leaned out to watch the sporting event so singularly staged. Marcus was unaware of this silent spectator. He was having a busy time of it, sparring a little warily to protect if possible a jaw already sore enough. A left hook finally landing on this sensitive point, though with no great force, was pre- cisely the stimulus Marcus needed to finish the affair. His reaction to the rush of pain and rage came in the shape of a perfectly good uppercut, gymnasium trained, but efficient. It landed under the chin of the misguided young man with whom he was engaged, rocked back his silly head, then let him down in a heap. He stopped where he fell. Marcus looked round to see the half-clad sheriff who was swaying back and forth with silent woodsman’s laughter. “Well, Mr. Clark,”” Marcus said, ‘‘there it is, sealed, signed and delivered.” The sheriff choked. “‘And at my very door. Well, Lawyer True, all I can say is that you are some efficient. And me lyin’ awake worryin’ about your havin’ brain fever.’’ He went off into another noiseless gust of mirth. “Who is the hound, anyhow?” asked. “‘Law, Mr. True, he ain't any hound. Jes’ a measly varmint that’s been run down and shook up by as good a trailer and scrap- per as ever I see."’ He reached down, seized Marcus’ late quarry by the scruff of the neck and yanked him to his feet. “‘So this is the way you square yourself for past kiad hospitality, young feller. Well, you're my meat now.” “But look here, Mr. Clark Marcus ” began | the misguided trouble maker, when Marcus interrupted with impatience: “Take this and lock it up somewhere, sheriff; on a charge of stealing the will. Then, if you'll be so kind, please get out your car and roll me back to Lake’s End be- fore anybody sees me in this next-to-nature state. We lawyers like to preserve our dig- nity, when possible.” “*Spose we do that first,’’ said the sheriff. “Don’t want ’em to look in and find you gone back at the house and get all in a stew. No darned use to bother with this dum’ fool. I know where to get him if we want him, which ain’t likely, since his father is vice president of Mr. Orrin’s bank.”’ The sheriff spat. ‘‘ He works there too.’ Marcus surveyed the abject prisoner with the disgust of a kennel-bred dog of pure strain but no field experience that has chased and caught a skunk. The sheriff added laconically, ‘Sort of ajohnny cut-up, this young feller. I took it for granted you'd nosed him out when you phoned me you’d got back the will. Come on in, Mr. True. I'll cover your nakedness a mite and run you back.” XII OGEL discovered at nine A.M. that Marcus was awake and in the mood for a solid breakfast. “ Bring me a whole lot of food right away, Vogel,’’ Marcus ordered, ‘ before somebody tries to get between me and it. How is Mr. Orrin?” “Completely restored, sir. It seems as if the seizure had rested him.” “Why not? Short of the tomb, one can scarcely imagine more complete a rest, though psychologists differ about that.’ ‘You seemed pretty far gone yourself, sir,’ Vogel said ; “| was all in, what with shock and worry and lack of sleep and a bad fall I'd got and running into a tree out in the woods.”’ This last was an imprompt eount for one or tw invention to ac- itusions Marcus July 9, 1927 feared might be in evidence Sut I’m all right now.” Vogel went out. Marcus sprang up, took a shower and was pleased to discover no obvious signs left by his athletic event of that morning’s early hours. He had man aged pretty well to guard his face. Nobody in the house could be the wiser for his sortie, as the sheriff had dropped him at the en trance to the grounds, and the front door was on the latch. He was back in bed again, fresh as spring flowers, when Vogel entered with a generously garnished tray followed. “You look,” she from the mint.” “‘T feel that way,’’ Marcus said of large denomination.” Vogel went out and Beatrice seated her self. ‘‘ Father has had two such seizures be- fore,”’ she said, “‘ but long ago and of shorter duration. He was sensitive about telling anybody. Doctor Miles did not know this but he suspected catalepsy almost from the first.” ‘Remains now to explain that masked man,’’ Marcus said, and drank “Have you any theory about him? Beatrice asked. “Yes. It must have been somebody who had an interest in just what your father’ condition might be. Mr. Orrin is a very important man financially, and to some ex- tent in politics. The state of health and personal affairs of such a man are subject to close scrutiny.”’ “What do you mean,” “by his personal affairs?” ‘Just that,’’ Marcus said. ‘‘ Mr. Orrin’s sending for Mary Brown when he was very low might have been misinterpreted.’ “In what way?” Beatrice asked. “In suggesting that he might have some deep personal interest in her. As Mr. Or rin's character is known to be above re proach, the only possible suspicion case would have been that he might have wished to marry her.” “Your theories are running wild again,” Beatrice said. “Well, have you any cus asked. “What if this prowler were a man who wanted to marry me, and who thought that he might manage it if he could discredit father in such a way that his influence wit! me would suffer?” “That sounds like inside Marcus said. “It is. I suspected from the moment | heard what Gregory had to say. At first I was afraid it might be my brother, and that’s why will.”’ *T see,”’ Marcus said that Gregory might have tampered with it but you reasoned that without the will t prove this, no action could be taken against him.” “Te. “But when you met Gregory and knew that you had misjudged him, then you thought of this keyhole observer “‘Naturally,”’ it tallied, just as you had worked out the case. It had to be somebody familiar here.” “Of course. Beatrice said, “like money new “Specie is coffee r Beatrice asked, insucna better one?”’ Mar Jeatrice suggested formation,’ I was determined to get the ‘You were afraid Jeatrice said. “‘ The rest of Such a person should have been my first choice. I might have known that the clause in the will about your mar riage was due to a present danger from some particular source, and not a generality Such a man as Mr. Orrin would only have made such a condition to prot: 1 from a man he thought fairly rotten.’ ““Completely rotten,”’ Beatr heat. ‘“‘The worst of it is he persuaded me to marry him He is th family friend. His father cashier of father’s bank, and | hadn't been for this vice president. They have the lake.”’ ‘“*How could a young man like t! down to anything so low?”’ Marcu “T don’t know. Got desperate pose. He knew that father had no Continued on Page 73

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& ° . ak Neglect your car, fail to lubricate it prop 7) ) erly, and sooner or later you'll turn the Ce || corner and the bill for your share of these unnecessary repairs will stare you in the face. Save yourself this needless expense There’s an easy way to avoid that bill. b, You merely lubricate your chassis bearings every 500 miles. That’s all there is to hard-working, dust-exposed bearings prop { it. Just keep those | erly lubricated and you're rid of 80°, of val ' your repair bills. In addition, you'll cut

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SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 In Sunr Davenport Bed No, 1545 LIVING ROOM SUITE N 88 Choose your furniture for style and beauty but first be sure the inside is conscientiously built The folding bed frame is all Stecl, fitted with a sagless cable fabric and helical Ample room for a thick, removable mat- because of exterior nake that guarantees furniture—which must - than your motor car ‘“‘make’’ that is recognized for s line choose what your 1 beautv and charm are buving ‘‘Kroehler because the name because the smart styles “ trictly quality built. Its itiful for years and years. { nport and chair 1s built on a frame of carefully selected, kiln-dried hardwood, strongly braced, glued and with doweled , fp joints not sofi 04 Merely Nailed together. Hidden qualities are of heavy, interlocked with a flexible, spring steel understructure firmly Resilient, scat high carbon wire of Premicr quality, non-sagging springs , attached to the hardwood frame. Far ronger than / . l 1 #y , + hhin » “ushd of Sterilized flax fiber, best MmoOss and Seat cushions are filled Filling is felted cotton } ented, resilient, soft-vielding coil springs—thickly padded with clean, white, felted cotton with pat- Davenports with concealed beds with a ‘pes: Krochler davenports may be had, if desired full size comfortable bed entirely conceal cr the scat cushions. springs. tress and bedding. See your furniture dealer. He can show you a variety of popular designs. You may choose coverings of silk damask, tapestry, mohair, Chase Velmo, Baker velours, jacquard velours, linen frieze and moquette, leather or Chase leatherwove Do not accept a substitute. Demand to see the Krochler name plate. Easy payments if desired Upon request we will send name of nearest dealer and a copy of our book, * Enjoyable Living Rooms.”’ K RoeEHnLER Mra. Co., Chicago, Ill., or Stratford, Ont “4 “4 e, Ill.; Bradley, TIll.; *xas; Los Ang Canadian Factory KROEHLER Living Room Furniture 3@ 210) 3 =R | MADE } LOOK FOR THIS KROEHLER NAME PLATI

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——_— Continued from Page 70 for him and meant to send him out to San Francisco.” ‘**Do you mind my asking if you are if you care for him?” ‘You've got a perfect right to ask any- thing,’”’ Beatrice said. “I thought I did. He was in Gregory’s class at Harvard, anda star athlete, and brilliant, and I’ve thought he was a wonder ever since I was a little girl. He may have been a little wild, but he never drank and always kept himself fit. We've been good pals here. He's the comedy sort. Keeps you laughing. Court jester, king’s fool, always up to tricks. He might have laughed me into marrying him.” Marcus nodded. ‘I suppose he was tucked away somewhere and saw where | put the will, and grabbed it merely to see how it read. He left it in the cabin when he pitched me into the lake, because he had no idea that Mr. Orrin was supposed to have died.” ‘“*Probably,”’ Beatrice said. “If he had thought that your father was dead,’” Marcus continued, ‘“‘do you think that he would have destroyed it, after see- ing the clause that made your choice of hus- band conditional on the approval of the trustees?” “IT don’t know,” Beatrice answered, but something in the expression of her eyes led Marcus to doubt this statement. “*He sounds to me,’”’ Marcus said, ‘‘ more fool than scoundrel. Like a prankish boy that hasn’t yet grown up.” “That describes him,’ Beatrice ad- mitted. ‘But it’s time he had grown up. Some boys never do. What gets the boy thrown out of college may get the man thrown into jail. I’ve helped him out of lots of scrapes. But never again. I’m through.” “Does Gregory know about him?” “Yes. He's furious. But there’s noth- ing to do about it. We don’t want his par- ents to know.” They were silent for a moment. Then Marcus asked, ‘“ Have you forgiven me for the case I made out against you? All that silly reconstruction?” Beatrice smiled faintly. ‘I think it’s the other way about. I nearly killed you. | can't see how I ever did such a thing.” “Call it protective impulse,”’ Marcus said. ‘‘All you thought about was saving your brother. The fool case I'd built up was a pretty snug fit.” ‘It sure was that,’ Beatrice admitted. “And I had no way of knowing what a portsman you were. You looked like noth- ing but hard-boiled lawyer to me.”’ “Well,” said Marcus, “if I had a sister I'd want her to do the same for me, and be mighty proud of her if she got away with it. ‘Family first’ is a pretty good slogan.” For the first time Beatrice looked at him shyly. ‘“‘I’ve always used Gregory as a standard gauge to measure up other men, but I think I'll have to get a new one.” Marcus shook his head. ‘Not for com- mon sense, at least. I’ve blundered through this case like a cow ina bog.” “Oh, Greg never had any common sense,” Beatrice exclaimed; ‘‘and he’s got a hollow where his bump of money sense ought to be. Greg's trouble is gambling. Anything from craps to oil, and no record of any winnings Father was right about that. He'd go through a fortune like a circus rider through a hoop.” “That’s what your father intended t prevent,’ Marcus said. ‘‘He would never have cut him off otherwise. And he didn’t want to make him an Easy Street remit- tance man. That would have kept Gregory from getting down to work.” “Yes,” Beatrice admitted; and added naively, “Since I’ve known you better I can see whole subdivisions for improvement n poor Gregory. “If you pour balm on me like that my head will swell,” Marcus said, “ 10 more offensive sight in art or nature and there’s than a conceited lawyer.”’ Beatrice looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I think your system can do with a little ap- preciation besides as a lawyer and the ‘nice young man’ I’ve heard you called.” THE SATURDAY “Who calls me that?’’ Marcus snapped “You sat tight and got knocked cold | a foul knee punch rather than use force against a girl,’ Beatrice said ‘Protecting my reputation as a nice young man.” a ‘You stood to foot the billfor the will,” Beatrice continued “Professional pride ‘*Professional honor,”’ Beatrice retorted “Then you passed out and were put to bed and got up a few hours later and went out and ran down the fool that had made all the trouble and licked him to a frazzle.”’ *What’s that?’’ Marcus sat up. “Who's been telling you?” ‘The sheriff. He’s here, talking to father. You stool-pigeoned that sneak away from the house, then chased him clean into town in your pajamas. Ran him ragged, then made him look like the trim mings the butcher sends for dog meat.” **Well, I owed him for a spill in the lake and a smash from your knee, and there was a little account of Mary Brown’s 4 “Of course. He had it all coming, thensome. And he’s always kept himsel good training and fancied himself a whole lot as an all-round athlete and scrapper. Fooled me into thinking he was the real thing.’’ Beatrice’s violet eyes were deep purple. ‘“‘ You may be a darned good lawyer, Marcus True, but I’m here to state that you've shown us all that your stuff doesn’t stop there. Besides,’’ she rose, turned and looked at Marcus with eyes that had sud- denly softened, ‘“‘you’re’’--she moved to- ward the door—‘“‘you're a a ‘*Let’s have the worst.” ; a dear,”’ Beatrice said, and went out. XII ARCUS finished his breakfast, then got up and dressed. Going down the hall and caught the low hum of a out he passed soothing resonant voice as he came abreast of Mr. Orrin’s room. Glancing in, Marcus saw the sheriff sitting in a at Mr. Orrin’s bedside The sheriff looked round and saw him. ‘Come in, Lawyer True you fe Marcusentered, greeted Mr. Orrin quietly and was surprised at the strength in the position oft ease Just talkin’ about pressure of his client’s handclasp. “You tell him, Dave,” *‘Even after all these years, I still shirk it.” The sheriff motioned Marcus to a chair. 2 My shot about there being some old score Mr. Orrin had to settle, nicked the bull’s eye. It was an account that he’d have ruled in red ink long ago if he could have lo- said the banker Ol cated his creditor.” ‘*Mary Brown’s father?’’ Marcus asked. “Yeah. The directory of every city of any size has got about a page of William Browns, and there’s quite a |} f this country. Mr. Orr ap of cities in n never located the right one until about ten days ago, when Mary Brown was taking his dictation about some business that had to do with some al veteran’s insurance his bank was handling When she finished she tion how her father was all cut up by bolo } ippened to men knives in the Philippines nigh onto thirty vears ago.” Mr. Orrin took up the narrative. ‘Her father saved not only my life, which wasn’t so Important then, but my honor, which ts +} } worth a lot toatam ly nat t bright. I was actir time and he was sentry outside my quar ters. The Filipinos launched a surprise at 1as always kept adjutant at that tack at night, and nearly before the men were roused out of the nipa huts where they s “All in a black g sheriff, as Mr. Orrin halted ‘“‘I was worn ragged from a hike,”’ Mr. Orrin went on, 1 I think I must have fallen into one of these cataleptic states, got away with it were sieeping steaming rain,” said the cause the sentry, Private Brown, told me afterward that when he heard the natives yelling and tried to rouse m that I had died. I was in the of a hemp-planter’s hous¢ dwelling. The sentry jumpec of the stairs and stood off the rush of bolo EVENING POST men det ed to mass eu et ¢ The the tw 1 rur j i t me The sent managed t j int tne iK Wi lise " te a I 4 i ea ly il ] \ 4 ate ird the hospital ship Relic t ipper ] ‘ ng ofl eT awe I l nate | ame ] e| e tne the ‘ got Mr. Orrin’s voice dwindled M could realize how hard it was for a1 s pride and family traditions to describ« this episode ‘There were no questions asked at the time, everybody having been too busy wit} his jol Mr. Orrin continued. “It was ¢ taken for granted that I had been on mine, and in the pitch darkness, with the rain sluicing down, nobody ever knew the differ- ence. Brown was sent back across the Pa- cific aboard the hospital ship that sailed soon after with a load of wounded. I learned too late that he had reported me as Evi was alive, and What he actu ‘that I was drunk. Like most of the rest, I used to indulge oc- dently wanted to save my credit ally thought was proba cas onally out there ‘A good man,”’ Marcus said. tather more than that,”’ said Mr. Or- rin, ‘“‘because several times I had been pretty sharp with him, and had recently re- duced him from corporal to private for poor discipline. But for some reason he had a friendly feeling for me; or perhaps it was mere loyalty to his superior officer. When 1 got home I tried to trace him, but never could. He had been mustered out and dis- appeared.”’ ‘*And some folks claim,” said the sheriff, ‘that there’s no such thing as fate.”’ “What Mary Brown told me,” said Mr Orrin, “‘ proved her father to have been this William Brown with no possible doubt. | could not square my debt to him directly e had died I did not care to go into details, because it might have been be und for my having been saved a charge of drunk- Nobody would have believed that I had been so exhausted as ti have sk pt tl rough that attack, then beer actively in evidence immediately it was he cause | lieved that this was a conscience f if enness or coward ce over. I had my own idea about it, becaus once in college, after a boat race in which ] p illed an oar, the same thing |} appen¢e d It seems to have been the result of overfa- tigue, and in this last case it of the shock of my accident on a capricious heart I did not care to tell even Mary Brown.” was the effect ““She would have understood,”’ Marcus said. ‘‘She’s not the ordinary sort of girl A lot of her father in her, I should Say “Well,” said Mr. Orrin, ‘“‘I had decided finally that Gregory's trouble was too much money He would have corrected that automatically by gambling his fortune away. I did not want that to happen, nor did I want to make him a mere remittance man. I wanted him to get down to work, make a fortune for himself He has the abilities. The next choice was that his for tune should be in strong and capable hands but not those of trustees. I knew that he was much attached to Mary Brown and was showing her attention, and I hoped that he The sheriff grinned. ‘Looks like you Andrew ‘It looks,” said Mr. Orrin warmly, “‘as if were going to have your wish, during my lapse of consciousness all of my dearest desires had been administered } W nderfully st ng and wise and devoted friends and counselors—or counselor,” he amended with a smile at Marcus The sheriff from behind Mr. Orrir favored Marcus with a wi ing wink, a slight negative movement of his head and a finger tapped against his lower jaw. Fror which gesture Marcus gathered that client was in ignorance of all the det the se ce those interests « sé eart He rose Sheriff Clark is a sort of sé blite seer, Mr. Orrir His kee leduct Continued on Page 75 In the ‘Levzathan pool, they swim in Jantzens/ SW lil l Ja { () largest ship, 1 ! i tl Malolo to Hawa i { Jantzens b olors | () i p rchase ¢t ul ! smart shops of Pa ) ! | } I wher OVCTSCa Jant CI I irts I I ithleric | Ol Wi k | | { On sal tl fan i i DV-W nt sy ( { \ } I ker O1 (wo ‘e { SCI requ The suit that changed bathing to swimming

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 The Beauty Men Admire Is natural beauty—which to thousands means “that school- girl complexion”’—kept and guarded in this simple way GOOD complexions are too priceless for experiment. Remember that before Palmolive came, women were told: “Use no soap on your faces.” Soaps then were judged too harsh. Palmolive is a beauty soap, made by experts in beauty, for one purpose only, to safeguard your complexion. In your own interest, don’t take chances. See that you get real Palmolive for use on your face. 10¢ Palmolive Soap is untouched by human hands until you break the wrapper—it is never sold unwrapped ATURAL skin loveliness is the clever woman's goal. For she knows that thus alone true attractiveness is gained. For that reason, present-day beauty culture is based on natural rules in skin care—soap and water, a clean skin, pores kept free of beauty-destroying matter. The only secret is in knowing which soap to use, to be sure that only a proved complexion soap touches the face. A good complexion is too precious to risk to any other sort. Thus, millions, advised by beauty authorities, use Palmolive and no other on their faces, a soap made of rare cosmetic oils, a soap made to be used freely, lavishly, on the skin. The rule to follow if guarding a good complexion is your goal So, largely on expert advice, more and more thousands of women turn to the balmy lather of Palmolive, used this way. Wash your face gently with soothing Palmolive Soap, massaging the lather softly into the skin. Rinse thoroughly, first with warm water, then with cold. If your skin is inclined to be dry, apply a touch of good cold cream—that is all. Do this regularly, and particularly in the evening. Use powder and rouge if you wish. But never leave them on over night. They clog the pores, often enlarge them. Blackheads and disfigure- ments often follow. They must be washed away. Avoid this mistake Do not use ordinary soaps in the treatment given above. Do not think any green soap, or one represented as of olive and palm oils, is the same as Palmolive. And it costs but 10c the cake! So little that millions let it do for their bodies what it does for their faces. Obtain a cake—then note the difference one week makes. The Palmolive- Peet Co., Chicago, Ill. KEEP THAT SCHOOLGIRL COMPLEXION Ps ‘ FS TE ey I OO am ee — is , ! p |

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(Continued from Page 73) back behind a smoke screen of guessing while he watches the rest of us try to puzzle things out. I'll bet he suspected all the time that you weren’t so very far away. Come now, sheriff, did you really believe from the start that Mr. Orrin was dead?” The sheriff shook his head. ‘‘Why not?” Marcus asked. “T applied a test of my own. ’Tain’t in the medico-legal library.” “What?” “The morning after you left I sneaked back here and got Chimes, the bloodhound, and brought him up to Mr. Orrin’s room. I ent out Simpson and shut the door. The dog moved up to Mr. Orrin’s bedside, sniffed his face, then gave it a lick or two. That settled it for me. A dog wouldn't lick a corpse. He’d sniff at it with his head stuck way out, then whine, likely, or even howl. I see the dog wanted to wake his master up.”’ “Did you tell the doctor that?” “Yes, but nobody else, because, for all we knew, Mr. Orrin might not have made up his mind to come back. No use in raisin’ false hopes.” ““My word,” said Marcus, then bade them good-by and went out. ” xIV = Y WALK to the station by the lane 4V1i was spoiled the other night,” said Marcus some hours later, “but except for the moon being a couple of hours lower, there’s not much to choose. In some ways I’m a persistent beggar, so I want to walk to that same train tonight.” “May I go with you?” Beatrice asked. “How about coming back?” “We'll all go,”’ Gregory said. ‘“‘The car can meet us there and bring us back.” The four set out in the same clear air that had so delighted Marcus, and with the moon just rising over the low hills across the lake. Gregory and Mary Brown went on ahead, rapidly increasing their lead, possibly be- cause Beatrice had intimated such pro- cedure to be in order, and partly because Marcus, a nature lover, liked to pause and listen to the nocturnal moonlit-woodland sounds. Beatrice, it appeared, possessed fully this love of the open spaces. The restful aloof- ness from all human contacts but one. She moved when Marcus moved, stopped when he stopped, spoke only when spoken to, re- vealed herself, in fact, as a sort of sympa- thetic and substantial complementary part that echoed not only his movements but his thoughts. This was a phase of her as surprising to Marcus as it was delightful. In his ignorance of girls, young women, he had committed that common error, which is to classify them, sort them into types and families and genera and species and sub- species, like other fauna. Having, with good reason, card-indexed Beatrice as the neolithic cave-dwelling type, her subse- quent gentleness, with evidence of emo- tional traits, had not at first impressed him. Cave women were no doubt capable of tenderness with their kinsfolk, their mates and their young. But the soft and melting response of Beatrice to this lovely night and the hushed thrill of her accord with Nature’s whisper- ings soon began to thrill him in return. He had not considered the possibility of there being much of asympathetic nature between them. The present revelation of it charmed him. Toa young man of his type, especially

THE SATURDAY be he modest, it ing to find‘a lovely companion who likes what he likes than one who likes himself Besides, Marcus knew by this time that Beatrice did like him, whatever she might think about his general personality and attainments. On the path over the rough open pasture where Marcus had halted Mary Brown, Beatrice made her appreciation more apt to be more gratify-

personal. One does not walk through suc} scenery with a companion to whom one is strongly drawn and confine oneself entire]; to the contents of that scenery “T’ve had a wrong slant on you, Mr. True. People we both know had given me the idea that you were an oldish young man, a sort of legal highbrow. But you strike me more as a kid out of school.” “That describes me in a setting like this.” “Not a boisterous kid like me,” said Beatrice, “‘but a thoughtful one. Even more, a lonely one, though I'd say you hadn’t found that out.” Marcus looked at her in surprise. ‘* Why, no, I never thought about it. Never had time.” “Why not?” “Well, you see I was tremendously prised when my uncle died and I found he'd made me practically his sole heir and his successor in Parker, White & True. It gave me a scare, and from that time I’ve focused entirely on trying to make good.” “They tell me you have,” Beatrice said dryly. “Thanks. It’s not so hard when your work’s what you'd want to do anyhow, even if you didn’t have to.” They talked a little while sedately on that exhilarating subject for a moonlight ramble which is the practice of law. Be- atrice, it appeared, possessed ambitions to study law herself, if only to manage the considerable estate she might one day inherit. A sudden crashing in a thicket beside them interrupted this sage discourse. They had paused beside that thicket, and Marcus tossed a stone into it because he heard a rustling there. Beatrice caught hold of him and clung with an impulse entirely unlike what was to be expected of a cave girl under certain circumstances. Marcus thrilled to this gesture of a protective need. The lurking danger revealed itself as a work horse, turned out to pasture, rising to its feet. Marcus’ stone had thumped it. 3ut the incident drew their minds from the law. As they continued on their way Beatrice retained her hold of Marcus’ wrist, which in some entirely natural fashion slipped presently to his hand. There is a comfort, even to the most courageous, in such con- tact when passing through an arboreal tunnel where the shadows are black. By such inductive method the idea grad- ually coiled itself round Marcus’ mind that merely because a vigorous girl may feel called upon to knock one out by fetching one a wallop under the jaw with her knee, this act does not necessarily indict her as a young woman of homicidal tendencies, violent and ruthless. That same knee, he reflected, had later gently pillowed his sore and swimming head while she bathed his face. “‘T have been all wrong about you,”” Mar- cus complained to Beatrice. “I thought that you were self-centered and willful and rough and generally hard-boiled. There is

sur-

EVENING POST

nothing seifist u On the con- trary 1 LOOK chance of i ng I reputation fc your prot ers Sant alone I was pretty sore at Mary Brown,” Beatrice murmured ‘That was natural enough. You thought she had vamped your brother and fooled your father into thinking she was Gregory’s one White Hope. And there’s nothing hard about you either.”’ Unless it’s my kne« ‘That, I admit was forceful Sut its motive power was fundamentally kind Your object was the painless abstraction of a misguided will from the person who meant to probate and administer it. The

early Egyptian surgeons anesthetized their patients by fitting a wooden skullcap to the head and hitting it a wallop with a maul. When the patient came to it was all over, with no struggling or suffering.”’ “If they came to,” Beatrice said. “I nearly died myself. Why you haven't brain fever I shall never know.” “Well, I haven’t, so you needn't.” “Nature,” said Beatrice, ‘“‘must have realized the precious quality of your brain and taken measures to protect it.” ‘“My bones are fairly heavy,”” Marcus admitted. ‘‘ Perhaps, after all, I was fash- ioned for a physical as well as f bater. I have always loved the woods more than anything else in the world, but never learned them. The sheriff has promised to give me some lessons.”’ “T’ll help,” Beatrice said. ‘ You'll need a guide at first to keep from getting into trouble—just as I need a lawyer.” ‘I am entirely at your disposal,”’ Marcus said, a little breathlessly, though they were not walking fast. ‘‘So far, I’ve declined help in my department at the office, but to morrow I shall tell my partners that my work is too confining and that I need a capable assistant so that I may be able to get a little outing now and then.” “Will a month be time enough to break him in?” Beatrice asked “That depends.” 3ecause,’’ said Beatrice, “I'll be here from the end of June, and we might start our course in woodcraft and torts. Father and Gregory would adore having you here.”’ “In that case,’’ Marcus said, “I shall start breaking in my man at once, and have him trained by that time or break his neck.” “Then it’s a contract,’”’ Beatrice said softly, and stopped. They were at the edgs of the road. “Or is it what you call a gen- tlemen’s agreement?” “Both,” Marcus said; “but a contract is always better. In dealing with gentlemen one cannot be too careful. It ought really to be signed, witnessed and sealed.” “What am I to sign?” limpidly. *‘And where?” yrensic de- Beatrice asked “The document,” said Marcus, “must be what is generally referred to as a human one, so that there seems no tangible way of signing it. But, as a notary, I am provided with the seal.” Suddenly bold in the dark shadows of the spring foliage, he drew her closer. Beatrice did not resist. The human document so legible to the hearts of both was firml; sealed, even a copy of it exchanged. Some sleepy little birds who had been busy all day with similar affairs of their own were the only witnesses. THE END

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They don’t come any better I DIDN’T know it, but Prince Albert was just the tobacco I had been looking for all the time. I hate to think of the time we lost getting together. But let that go. We’re all set now—me and the pipe and P.A. We’ve been pals from the very first puff. I had a hunch I was going to like P. A. the minute I got that breath of Nature’s noblest gift to pipe-smokers. What a treat! It made me think of a hike through the woods, when the trees and the vines are in full leaf. I found the taste “‘as advertised” by the aroma. PRINGE ALBERT THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Cool as a customs-inspector. Sweet as the thought you have nothing to hide. Mild as a milk-shake, yet with that full- bodied flavor that satisfies your smoke- taste right down to the ground. That’s Prince Albert, Fellows. They don’t come any better. No matter how set you appear to be on a smoke-program, try P.A. I give July 9, 1927 you my word, no other tobacco that ever came down the pike ever brought so much downright satisfaction out of a pipe. ‘That fellow knew his groceries,” you'll say, or words to that effect. P.A. is sold everywhere in tidy red tins, pound and half-pound tin humidors, and pound crystal- glass humidors with sponge-mois- tener top. nd always with every bit of bite and parch removed by the Prince Albert process. CRIMP CUT LONG BURNING PIPE AND CIGARETTE TOBACCO —the national joy smoke!

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THE SATURDAY Just like a new car—and No. 7 Duco Polish did it! N HOUR ago the car looked dull and shabby—and now look at it! Just like new! The sparkle and beauty were there but were hidden beneath the ‘“‘traffic film.’”” Now No. 7 Duco Polish has brought the lustre back again! Polishing your car is not a back-breaking job any more —just use a soft rag and a little No. 7—and the trick is done! The finish will be brilliant and dry—no oily film to catch dust. No. 7 Duco Polish works well on any fin- ish—Duco, enamel, lacquer or varnish. And you can use it to polish desks, chairs, pianos, radio cabinets—in fact, any finished woodwork. It leaves a mirror-like enduring beauty and is entirely harmless to the finish. EI. du Pont de Nemours & Co., Inc., General Motors Building, Detroit, Mich.; 569 Mission Street, San Francisco, Cal. NICKEL POLISH banishes rain spots and tarnish from the radiator and other nickel parts of your car. And inside the house it’s ideal for faucets and candiesticks-—any- thing of nickel or brass. No. 7 AUTO TOP FINISH waterproofs the top of your car t is applied a brush and produces a and preserves it with shiny, jet black surface MADE BY THE MAKERS OF DUCO EVENING POST ‘“*T know all about her,”’ interrupted the lawyer. ‘‘She knows me, too, but you’d better write me an order for the tickets.” He gave Cortenay a pad and pencil. “Make it to bearer.” ‘Suppose it should be lost, counselor.” ‘‘What do you care?” said Little Amby. ‘You'll never see a cent of it again any- way. Hurry up.” Cortenay scrawled a line on the paper and surrendered it. ‘‘Counselor, need I sit here in hock? I’ve done the fair thing, and always did. What hurts me is to think I broke my word to Ma.” ‘We'll go over your story and look at the stuff,’’ said Little Amby. ‘“‘If everything is satisfactory, we'll spring you on bail.” “But, counselor,” begged Cortenay, fawning on the notorious little shyster as he rose to go, ‘‘tell me only who put me in here. You know I was framed. I tell you, counselor, I was framed.” ‘“‘That’s what they all say, Bert,” said Little Amby, warding him off. Two days later he called at the House of Detention for Witnesses, which was within a block and a half of his office. He went to interview a law-abiding citizen who had had the misfortune to witness a burglary and who was now locked up while the burglar was out on bail. He managed to interview Drubel’s colored porter without having asked to see him. “‘How do you like it here, Sam?” he asked. ‘‘Well, boss,” said the colored man, lov- ingly licking the bad cigar that Little Amby had given him, ‘‘they’s just one thing’s the matter with being in a jail house—it’s too much of the same thing. It’s nice here, but it’s too much of the same thing.”’ “You'll get used to it in a few weeks,” said Little Amby consolingly. “‘How’s ’at, boss?”’ “T say you'll get used to it in a few months, and after that the years will seem like nothing. Witnesses who have been here for some time, waiting for their cases to come up, tell me that they feel lonely only at Christmas.” ‘‘Wha—say, boss, I ain’t done nothing. Wha’ for they lock me up? How long I got to stay in here? My, but that’s a long time, no matter how long it is.”’ “You'll stay here until you give the un- dertaking to appear that the judge re- quired of you, or until the trial comes up. How much was the undertaking?” “‘How’s ’at, boss?”’ “‘What bail did the judge fix?”’ “Two thousand dollars, boss.’’ “It’s a wonder Mr. Drubel wouldn’t go bail for you, seeing that you're his witness. If you were my witness, you wouldn’t be sitting here a minute. I put my witnesses up in a fine Chinese hotel on Race Street in Philadelphia, where they have the run of the city all day, and the only rule is they must report for their dinner.” ***At’s a harsh rule, boss—heh, heh, heh! Wish’t I was one of your witnesses, boss. But look here, boss, look here—what you pay them witnesses? In this here place, we get two dollars a day, going to.” ‘“*We pay two and a quarter,” said Little Amby. “But don’t think for a moment, Sam, that I want you to be my witness. In fact I don’t want you to be anybody’s witness. I’ll take care of that undertaking for you, and you can go over there to Philly and live on the fat with nothing to do but study up schemes for spending two and a quarter a day.” In the course of the following week Lit- tle Amby called on Jonas Drubel in his shop on Fifth Avenue. “You can’t talk me over,” exclaimed Drubel, holding up his hand in anger when he learned he was facing Cortenay’s attor- ney. “I’m going to put that scoundrel away so hard that he’ll be an example and a byword for many a day. I don’t care what it costs me!” “A very proper attitude, Mr. Drubel, said Little Amby, “‘in view of the fact that you honestly believe him guilty.” “Oh, come, Mr. Hinkle,” said Drubel ” with confidence amounting to contempt of July 9,1927 any opposition, ‘‘we’re not in court now, so why equivocate and quibble? You know he’s guilty as well as I do, and perhaps a whole lot better. Don’t you now, man to man?”’ “Drubel, I’ll take you up on that propo- sition,”’ said Little Amby warmly. ‘‘ Man to man, I’ll show you a piece of evidence that knocks your case into a cocked hat; something that nobody has seen yet be- cause it was just found. You claim he stole a big bill of goods, but all you expect to hang on him is the theft of two Spanish shawls. Let me have your candid opinion of that.” He put before the proprietor a sales slip for two Spanish shawls, showing a pay- ment of a balance of one hundred and eighty dollars. The slip purported te have come from the Bombay Shop of Atlantic City. “Bah,” ejaculated Drubel, pushing the slip away stubbornly. ‘‘That’s no proof. How are you going to prove these are the same shawls?” “By swearing to it. I'll bring those peo- ple up here to identify their goods. Take the name and address, and go down there and find if they sold those shawls or not. We have nothing to hide in this case.”’ “I don’t believe it,” snorted Drubel, reddening with disappointment. ‘‘There’s no question whatever but that Cortenay was the thief. He used this half-wit of a colored man, and we’ve got him safe under lock and key until the trial.” “Where? I understand he gave the undertaking to appear and was turned loose.” “Like thunder he did. Who gave it for him?” “‘Some professional bondsmen, I dare say. You know how these things are ar- ranged, Drubel. I have a shrewd notion that Mr. Jones is away down upon the Swanee River right this minute.” “Tf he is—Mr. Hinkle, if that man has been let go, somebody is going to sweat for it! I shall spare neither time nor expense to see this thing through. Anybody that thinks I’m the sort of man to sit down tamely under an outrage like this is going to find himself sorely mistaken. Sorely mistaken, understand? And that goes for you and the district attorney of this county and the whole kit and boodle of you. I’m aroused now. I'll open this thing in the newspapers and give a lot of people some free advertising they won't like. I'll show them I’m somebody in politics too.” When the justly angry man paused for breath, Little Amby said, ‘Now, Drubel, I’ve shown you by the best evidence that my client is not guilty, and that you can’t convict him, whether he is or not. Let me now ask you a hypothetical question: Let us suppose that Cortenay is guilty. Let us suppose that he, under what terrible temp- tation none of us can judge, did hypothe- cate to his own use, steal, take and carry away, the fourteen thousand dollars’ worth of goods you lost. Let us suppose that he dissipated the proceeds of this larceny in whatsoever manner, perhaps thoroughly worthy in itself. Let us suppose that he is now bowed down with remorse and yearns to make recompense in full, and asks only to yield up to you a quarter of the goods in value, and to promise you faithfully that he’ll pay the rest with interest if fortune ever smiles on him again. Would you, as a man of heart or feeling, want to blight that young man’s career and blast him with the odious name of thief, or would ——”’ “But, Mr. Hinkle,”’ protested Drubel, “‘he is a thief. He is a professional thief — a well-known professional thief with his picture in the rogues’ gallery!” or would you not rather,”’ went on Little Amby, refusing to be robbed of his flyblown peroration, “‘ restore him to decent society, and to the empty arms of his old mother, and let him make you this recom- pense and promise that will bind him to toil until his debt is paid in full and running over. Drubel, the pangs of conscience which will be his ——”’ (Continued on Page 80

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\ a | iy f i y ! i; i y \ ‘oe io ; a i —_ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Va Dlades inthe handle chan ged in an Instant WENTY super-keen Schick blades are stored right in the handle of this razor. They come to you in a clip. To load the razor you drop this clip into the handle. When you need a new blade simply pull and push the plunger. In slides a new blade—out drops the old. A split second and you are ready to shave. These Schick blades are keener — and they are absolutely uniform. They reach your face with their keen edges unmarred by handling. Paper wrap- pings have been done away with. Even fingers never touch blades. Nothing can dull the Schick edge before it meets your beard. And what a new sen- sation in shaving comfort This compact clip holds twenty blades. To re- The Schick razor head holds the blade firmly —at the correct flat shaving angle. The blade runs parallel to the surface of your face. Without razor drag or pull, each hair is cut clean— right at the skin line. It’. a new sensation in shaving. Never again need you have a dull shaving moment. Never again need you fuss with separate parts either before or after shaving. With the Schick you don’t even remove the blade to dry it. There’s magic in this razor. Men fall in love with it before they know how well it shaves. They don’t just take it home. They carry it to the club, even produce it on the street, to show it to their friends. load razor, drop clip these new blades bring! Simply tilt the razor head, and you are ready for your shave at the skin line. in handle, Your Schick is waiting for you at a nearby dealer’s. If he has been unable to get a stock of this fast-selling razor, fill in the coupon and mail it to us with five dollars. We will send you a Schick complete with twenty biades. Extra clip of twenty blades, 75 cents. Magazine Repeating Razor Company, 285 Madison Avenue, New York City. SCHICK REPEATING RAZOR New blade? Move the plunger once—out and in, Sharp blade slides in place. Dull blade drops into receptacle for used blades. Magazine Repeating Razor Company 285 Madison Avenue, New York City I enclose five dollars. Please send me a Schick Razor complete with twenty blades. Name Address City State Dealer's Name In Canada, Rasor with 20 blades, $6.50. Extra clips of 20 blades, $1.00 Canadian Distributors, T. 5S. Simms & Co., Lid St. John, Montreal, Toronto, Winnipeg, Vancouve

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Continued from Page 78 “Poppycock,” Drubel rudely. **Make the offer 75 per cent and I'll con- sider it.” “You have my very now,” said Little Amby, getting up. “It’s too good, in view of the fact that the cork is pulled out of your case. I’ll expect to hear from you in forty-eight hours, after which the offer is withdrawn. Good day, Mr. Drubel, and glad to have seen you.” said best Iv N SEPTEMBER TWENTY-SIXTH, which was a Friday that year, Gilbert Cecil Cortenay was admitted to bail in the sum of five thousand dollars. His bail, it is pertinent to note, was Fat Ben Finkel, the same obliging and self-immolating gentle- man who was bail for Sam Jones. A certain languor and hopelessness had been infused into the prosecution; the negotiations for the buying off of the prosecuting witness were proceeding, and with increasing pros- pects of success as Drubel’s original fierce- ness was dampened by the thought that he might lose all and punish no one. It is not unnatural for a man to feel that the cost of punishing rascals should go on the taxes. In the afternoon of that day Ma Bonn, in her shop near Jefferson Market, was writing a letter to her younger daughter, then at school in Montreal. She was writ- ing at a bookkeeper’s desk in the glassed-in office. Her two shop assistants were wait- ing on customers. A black-bearded and Roman-nosed gentleman wearing a low- crowned derby and an overcoat that fell to his shoe tops entered the shop, walked rap- idly to the little office and rapped on the glass. “Hello, lady,” he called. ain’t it?” “Hey,” called one of the clerks to the newcomer. “She'll come out of there and jump down your throat. Sit down until she is ready to see you.” When the letter to Canada was duly com- pleted, Ma Bonn came out, leaned over the counter and inspected her visitor. “The name is Rifkin, lady,” said the gentleman, smiling and bowing without rising. ‘‘Might you would remember Braun of Pettis & Braun speaking of me? Mr. Braun is a very intimate friend of mine.” “What do you want, Rifkin?” Ma Bonn. Rifkin looked about him, got up and walked te the counter and leaned over it. *T’ll tell you what I want, lady. I’m open- ing a fire-sale store in Louisville—a new store—and I want a good article of dress goods for a leader. A big price I couldn’t pay, because I don’t make nothing myself. Just for a leader.” Ma Bonn looked at him as if he had been an article offered to her for sale, an article that was of doubtful genuineness. Suspi- cion narrowed her eyes and compressed her She looked decidedly unpleasant now that she had dropped her air of frank and bland good humor; she looked mean, grasping, furtive. She opened a drawer in the counter in which were several samples of cloth, and took out a piece of heavy black silk. She tossed it on the counter; he picked it up. “‘ How much, lady?” “‘A dollar and a half a yard.” fut might I would take a “Mrs. Bonn, asked lips t’ousand i'll take two thousand or none. You ll you what I'll inything. Do you r, in full.” id time a noise like asked about de- , automobile in He made for t} ing mar “T’m tra *, and I could pick it up and save a clucl ur Own way,”’ said red in five days ‘your check now THE SATURDAY to cash for three thousand dollars.’”’ She whipped out a scissors and slashed the silk in two. “Put that in your pocket and you won’t forget what you bought. Come in again.” A brightly enameled private car stopped outside in the avenue. Little Amby, in a new fall overcoat and a gray derby with a black-and-red feather in its dark gray band, entered the shop. ‘Hello, ma,” he called breezily, standing with his back to the door; his black eyes flitted rapidly over the individuals present, placing them. He drew off gray kid gloves, hooked his light cane over his forearm and went to shake hands with the proprietress. “Come in back,” she said. He followed her. The door in the rear of the shop, which secured itself behind them by a spring lock, admitted them to a dark and musty vesti- bule. The building was old and its secret and unregarded parts were in decay. Be- yond the vestibule was a solid door that gave into the first floor of a two-story extension. This entire first floor was a single room, being twenty-four feet wide and forty-eight feet long. Its furniture did not shame its stately dimensions. Two matched Khorasan carpets, each eighteen feet square, covered the central section of the waxed parquet floor; they in turn were centered by a refectory table of massive Jacobean oak, twenty feet in length. Sixteen oak armchairs upholstered in red leather were ranged about this huge table; beyond it was a mahogany sideboard that would have daunted a gang of piane movers. It was ten feet high and twelve feet wide, replete with pigeonholes and cubbyholes and little doors of beveled plate glass; its counter was a single slab of red- and-black-veined African marble. It was a piece of furniture that couldn’t have been replaced for two thousand dollars, and that wouldn’t have fetched a dollar and a quarter in an honest auction room. On the slab was a cut crystal punch bowl of some five gallons capacity; this stood on a base of cut crystal. It was re- flected in a silver waiter thirty inches long and weighing twelve pounds troy. The cubbyholes and pigeonholes were crammed with expensive trash—a Delft windmill, a red-crystal claret pitcher, hand-painted dishes, an antique Russian samovar of brass, a pair of blue-porcelain-and-gold mantel vases, a Sévres and ormolu vase, a bronze figure on a revolving pedestal of Mexican onyx, an ivory bonbon box. There was silver, and again silver; there was tor- toise shell, Cloisonné and gold. Ma Bonn switched on the lights of the crystal chandelier that hung over the re- fectory table and took her seat with satis- faction on a Chinese Chippendale sofa that had been newly upholstered in gold-and- green silk damask. Little Amby, who had been in this room before, and who was therefore neither alarmed nor delighted by it, seated himself in a high-back armchair done in black-and- gold damask. He lit a gold-tipped cigarette, threw the match on the floor, and said, ‘We sprung English Bert this morning on bail.” “What did you do with the darky?’ asked Ma Bonn. “‘He’s in Philly. I told you at the time.” “What are you holding him for?” “To release the bail after we beat the If the bail is forfeited, we'll go into court and have the forfeiture remitted. That’s discretionary.”’ Ma Bonn went to the sideboard and brought back a gold-decorated gravy boat full of salted nut meats, a decanter of port and two engraved champagne glasses. She poured wine into the glasses. ” case. EVENING POST “Tt’s strange that English Bert tried to double-cross you,” said Little Amby, hold- ing up his shallow glass. “Why not?” said Ma Bonn. stake him? If he brought the stuff to me he’d have to pay what he owed. So he brought it somewhere else where all he got was velvet.’”’ She nibbled nut meats placidly. “‘Did you think he was going straight when you put him into Drubel’s shop?” “Certainly not. He’s a born thief. He can’t help himself. I knew he'd clean out the place.” “You yourself sold several bills of goods to Drubel, didn’t you?” “‘We sold him some. He bought where he could buy cheapest. The biggest bar- gain we gave him were those Spanish shawls. They were wonderful values. How many did we get in Winckler’s?” “Shawls? Nine, I think.” “T think I'll put that stuff out in Phila- delphia. I’ve heard from a party over there who seems to be thoroughly reliable and trustworthy. He’s just done a bit in the penitentiary for fraudulent conceal- ment. How much will we have te kick back to Drubel?”’ “T’ll tell you Monday. We're having a final conference and I’m going to give him an ultimatum. You don’t want te put him out of business, ma.”’ “Oh, no,”’ said Ma Bonn, sipping wine. “Does English know who put him in stir?”’ ‘‘He may guess,” said Little Amby, pursing his thin lips critically. ‘“‘He can’t be sure; it was just luck that Crogan found those shawls.” “It will be a good lesson to the boy,” said Ma Bonn comfortably. They were companionably silent for a few seconds. **Ma,” said the lawyer, pulling a copy of the Law Journal from his pocket and pass- ing it to her, ‘“‘you’re getting famous. Give a look at yourself.” She frowned at the passage that was en- circled in blue: “Didn't I And of the dark structure that is built over against the Temple of Justice by crooked law- yers, receivers of stolen goods, thieves, profes- sional bondsmen, professional witnesses and perjurers, corrupt politicians and jurists on the bench itself, the keystone is the receiver. If there were no markets for stolen goods, there would be no goods stolen. And the receiver, it is well known, does not only supply the under- world with markets; he is also its banker, its backer, its promoter. He plans crimes, finances them, fees the lawyer who defends the trapped thief. We must strike at the receiver. We can do so by changing a phrase in Section 1308 of the Penal Law. That phrase puts upon the People the burden of proving that the receiver knew the goods were stolen—an almost impossible task. We should make the possession of stolen goods prima facie evidence of that guilty knowl- edge. No honest merchant would find hardship in identifying the source of his goods. He does not buy goods from doubtful sources. Reading further in Section 1308, you will note—and I do not comment adversely on it—that a junk dealer who buys metal used by or belonging to a railroad, telephone, telegraph, gas or electric light company is put on diligent inquiry—the burden of proof is on him. There are in New York City a great many professional receivers, people who deal exclu- sively in stolen goods. Some of them are a pub- lie scandal. I have one in mind now, a woman whom I prosecuted for criminally receiving fif- teen thousand dollars’ worth of silk. That crea- ture is doing business at the old stand today because I could not prove by legal evidence that she knew that the silk—a few yards of which were found in her store—was stolen. She is in- dependently rich today as the result of her com- merce with thieves. ‘*Bah,”’ said Ma Bonn, tossing the paper onto the teakwood stool beside the gravy boat and decanter. “It’s the speech of the district attorney before a committee at Albany,” said Little Amby. July 9, 1927 “Circus stuff,” said Ma Bonn wisely. “What they had better attack and reform is human nature. Somebody buys from the receiver. Why don’t they put the last owner on inquiry as to whether what he bought so cheap was bent? Any woman out shopping knows when she’s offered something for less than cost. Does she re- fuse it? Does she refuse to profit by some- body’s need? Suppose I'm selling clothing, and I go up here to the cloak-and-suiters, and I find a little contractor with a big or- der thrown back on his hands so that he simply got to touch money quick; I take his profit and part of his capital, ard for his suits I give him his carfare to go home. I’ve robbed that man.” “*You’re a social philosopher, ma,”’ said Little Amby. “It’s all a game,” said Ma Bonn dog- matically. ‘‘What would the world do without criminals? There would be no po- lice, no courts, no lawyers, no soldiers, no weapons except fishhooks. There would be no bank vaults, no fences, no parsons, no prisons. Did you ever try to think what this world would be without crime? What would the newspapers do and the insur- ance companies? It would be a pretty rotten world for anybody to live in; and you couldn’t even kill yourself. It takes all sorts of people to make a world, but the people with the money control the adver- tising, and they do not speak bad of them- selves. It’s alla game. There’s no penalty against digging potatoes for a living, be- cause that’s a sucker’s racket. They penal- ize the grifter to make things even and to keep everybody from going into it. People like that district attorney give me a pain. I’m open-minded and I don’t apologize for making a living. Look at English Bert; a more gentlemanly fellow you couldn’t meet, and a credit to any society. You could introduce him anywhere and be proud of him. Do I respect him any less because he has the guts to take a chance?” She was rambling on and getting rather warm, with an occasional flirt of the hand at the copy of the Law Journal, when a buzzer sounded in the room. Ma Bonn moved to rise, and then sank back, stifling a yawn. “Tt’s Crogan,” she said. ‘I sent him up- town to look at some stuff. I'll let him in. You don’t mind?” They watched the door with slight in- terest. It opened. Miss Violet Bondy stood on the threshold. “Vi!” exclaimed Ma Bonn, springing up and going swiftly to her. ‘‘What is it? What is it, child? What brings you here?” The girl walked into the room, tossing her hands outward in a gesture that was intended to dissimulate secret uneasiness. “You weren’t at home,” she said. ‘“‘And I was in the city. So ——” “‘T told you not to come here again,”’ said Ma Bonn. “You'll do as you're told, Vio- let.”” To Little Amby, who had risen: “‘ My daughter—my headstrong older daughter, Mr. Hinkle.” Little Amby knew something of Ma Bonn’s family affairs. ‘It must be lovely in the country in this weather, Miss Bondy,” he said after his preliminary bow and murmur. “But tiresome, Mr. Hinkle,” she amended, sitting on the arm of a chair. ‘‘I want to go into business, but mother won’t have it; she’s so dreadfully conventional. I tell her it’s just foolish pride; none of our friends know that mother’s in business. They don’t know, I mean, that she keeps a shop, though they see her going con- stantly into the city. Will you believe that even I didn’t know exactly what she did until six months ago? I knew she dealt in antiques, but I’d never been here.” ‘Well, what is it?” interposed Ma Bonn brusquely. “Money?” “Oh, mother, you’re a mind reader,” said Violet, with a light laugh that still did not dissipate an appearance of nervous strain. ‘‘Could you make it two hundred this time?”’ “What for?” Continued on Page 84

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST You can’t clean a tooth that your brush won't reach. Pro-phy-lac-tic is designed for one purpose - + / reach and clean all the teeth and comtortabl The bristle—the big curved handle. These are tific features that make it easy every tooth in your head with a Pro-ph in Pro-phy-la But the elasticity, t important for effective cleansing, the safe side. Try a nev compare its “feel” with t lay brushin Look for this cabinet on the counter of your favorite dealer CF “p90¢ « TCE ° An interesting booklet containing . Always sold in the yellow box valuable information on the care of the teeth |

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 The Ford Gar ss iad JE Ord (OAT differs from other cars in one important respect. In the Ford, the engine and transmission, mounted within the same housing, must be lubricated by the same oil. This oil has to do a double duty. The linings of the trans- mission bands must be properly lubricated to operate with- out vibration. Texaco Motor Oil F is compounded to do this perfectly, and it preserves the engine from wear and trouble.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST questions for every FORD owner 1 What sort of oil is best for the engine? An oil refined and filtered with such thoroughness that all carbon- forming impurities are completely removed. An oil of golden purity that } will do its work and leave the engine tree from carbon and from gummy, sticking valves and dirty plugs. What sort of oil is best for the transmission ? i An oil with the exceptional penetrative power that causes it to satu- rate the fabric linings, preserve them, and keep them free from the wear aud glaze that produce a jerky action. Is there one oil that serves both purposes? \ Yes. Texaco Motor Oil F meets both requirements perfectly. It " . . - . - : . ‘s the double-duty oil for Fords—developed after years of patient research in f The Texas Company’s laboratories—proved by test and by use. The bene- fits are substantial, the improvement immediate. The Ford car is an easy car to drive. It is notably flexible .n traffic, and universally serviceable—as everyone knows. But it does require suitable lubrication. Ask for Texaco t Motor Oil F by name. See the golden color as it pours. The Texaco Red Star and Green T marks the place to buy. “HE TEXAS COMPANY, 17 BATTERY PLACE, NEW YORK CITY H Texaco Petroleum Products CLEAN CLEAR GOLDEN TEXACO MOTOR OIL fa THE DOUBLE-DUTY OIL FOR FORD CARS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST CELLOPHANE - BRINGS-THE —S BEAUTIFUL SAMPLER Sampler by Courtesy of S. F. Whitman & Son ELLOPHANE is that sparkling. trans- parent, protective wrapper you have seen on the famous Whitman's Sampler and other fine quality candies. When you select candies. cookies. dried fruits, meats, perfumery. soap and other high grade products which are wrapped in Du Pont Cellophane. you know the producers want you to get these articles at their best. You can buy them with confidence. Du Pont Cellophane Co., Inc., New York, N.Y. Cellophane is the registered trademark of Du Pont Cellophane Company, Inc., to designate its transparent cellulose sheets and films, developed from pure wood pulp (not a by-product). It is 100% transparent, strong, flexible, grease- and oil-proof, dust- and air-proof, pure enough to eat and is not inflammable. (Continued from Page 80) “TI forgot to tell you this morning that Lily Spence invited me down to Long Island over the week-end. But I remember now that she called up after you left. We may be there until Wednesday—I have my bag outside—and then we expect to do some shopping before I go home.”’ “Very well,’ said Ma Bonn, anxious to get her out and away. “‘Good-by, mother,” said Violet, moving | to kiss her. “If you insist on putting me out, I’ll run up to Lily’s now, though I wasn’t to meet her until half-past five— | | two hours.” ““Good-by, have a good time,” said Ma Bonn crisply. “‘Good-by, mother,” said Violet, kissing her. And then she sobbed. “‘What’s the matter, child?’’ demanded Ma Bonn. ‘Oh, nothing,” said Violet, laughing now. “‘T feel so nervous I’m really silly. It’s nothing at all, mother.” She pulled down her left glove, found a tiny handkerchief and touched it several times to her nose; her head was averted, perhaps to hide starting tears. ‘“‘Now I’m perfectly all right,’”’ she said brightly. **Good-by, mother! Pleased to have met you, Mr. Hinkle.” “Wait,”’ said Ma Bonn. glove off again.” The girl pulled at the glove and then halted the movement with a sudden under- standing of her mother’s command. Ma Bonn took hold of the reluctant hand, pulled the glove from it, and exposed a narrow band of gold on the third finger. She turned the hand over; Violet was wearing an engagement ring that she had turned in. ‘What's this?” down there.” Little Amby moved toward the door. “‘T’m going, ladies,’’ he announced. ‘‘Good day, and ‘4 “Stay right here,” She added, ‘‘ Please.” She had retained hold of her daughter’s hand and was staring steadily at the ring and its stone. ‘*Who is he, Violet?”’ she said with sur- prising gentleness. ‘His name is Alan Carruthers,’ said Violet in a half whisper. She was evi- dently healthily afraid of her mother. ‘“‘Humph, that’s his name,” said Ma Bonn. A “Take that rasped Ma Bonn. ‘‘Sit ordered Ma Bonn. **Now, who is he? “‘He’s an Englishman of fine family, mother. The name he uses is not assumed exactly, but it’s the name of a younger branch of his very old family, and just as soon as he’s completed his secret mission in this country he’ll reassume his own right- ful name and title.” *“* And title,’’’ repeated Ma Bonn, after this first burst of information. ‘‘What is his title?”’ “He can’t tell me that yet, mother. He’s over here as the representative of a great English landed estate, and he is sworn to reveal his identity to nobody until he has completed his mission, which is to look up the heirs in this country. Naturally if they knew who he was he couldn’t do anything with them and get them to sign off their various small interests. They’d know how important the matter was, because the court won’t give him a penny of his fortune until all the heirs have signed off. So they might have only an interest of a hundred dollars, but they could hold him out of possibly millions.” “So he has no money now,” interpreted Ma Bonn soberly. ‘‘ But, Vi, I don’t know why you didn’t tell me this before now.” **Alan asked me not to, mother. scrupulous, mother, that hesaid he wouldn't appear before you under an assumed name.” “‘Oh, pshaw, tell him not to feel that way, Vi. Assumed names are no novelties. I dare say he’s tall and handsome?” ‘He is,”’ said Violet, smiling and blush- ing. “With He’s so marvelous eyes of English | blue ——” July 9, 1927 “Gray, mother. Oh, I’m so glad you take it this way. But he is frightfully good looking, mother, and so aristocratic.” “‘Where did you first meet him, Vi?” said her mother softly, caressing the girl’s hand and smiling sympathetically into her face. “Why, right here, mother! That was the romantic part. You remember when | came here six months ago and you scolded me so? Well, I was crying as I went out, and I met him right at your door, and he turned and followed me and spoke to me He spoke so nicely that—well, he told me later that he had promised his mother always to assist a woman in trouble. He’s odd, as those aristocrats always are.” “And the bag, Vi?” The girl lifted her head with reviving self-assertion. ‘‘We were going over to Hoboken to be married this afternoon by a justice of the peace.” Ma Bonn picked up the decanter and the gravy boat and walked with them to the sideboard. Little Amby, a faint smile on his narrow face, lounged in his chair with head back and watched the smoke from his cigarette mount into sudden visibility in a ray of sunshine from a high, barred window behind the sideboard. His alert mind had perceived the trap that had closed on Ma Bonn. ““Where are you to meet him?” Ma Bonn in a flat voice. ““At the Hudson Tube at Thirty-third Street.” “We'll go together,” said Ma Bonn cheerfully. She returned swiftly and put an arm about her daughter. ‘‘Not a word to him until I see him, Vi. Don’t prepare him. Now take your money and go and shop until a quarter to five, when I'll meet you at the Hudson Tube. Wait in a cab in Thirty-third Street, Vi. Never mind the bag now.” The girl was gone. Ma Bonn returned to the chamber behind the shop. Little Amby watched her with interest. “‘She doesn’t know your business, ma?”’ “Certainly not,” said Ma Bonn in a con temptuous whisper. ‘‘She was in a board- ing school in Canada since she was ten and until she came home to me last year.” **She’d break off with English Bert knew he was a professional.” “True,” said Ma Bonn. ‘“ Do you advise me to tell her?”’ There was a pause. ‘You could buy him,” said Little Amby. He meant that she could buy time; Violet’s enlightening as to the nature of her mother’s business affairs could be postponed, but not forever “That is, ma, unless you think you might eventually see your way to let the young people marry. After all, ma, Bert is a nice boy, and with your money and a fresh start She held up her hand. She had picked up a telephone and called a number. ‘“‘Is English there?’’ she asked. ‘‘ Hello, Eng- lish. This is ma. I hear you’re in the land of the free—say, drop down here and get what’s coming to you. You bet there’s something coming to you. . No, you have to come right away; I’m closing up over the week-end. You'll be here in twenty minutes?” She hung up. The smile fled from her face, which was suddenly pale and con- torted. She leaned toward Little Amby. “My girl marry a—thief?”’ She spewed the word from her mouth. ‘‘Get Fat Ben Finkel at once on the wire. Tell him that bail bond is to be canceled at once, and to come here and get his man and surrender him. No settlement with Drubel! Work his goods back to him and then he won't settle. Hold onto that darky. Withdraw as that dirty little crook’s attorney. We'll get him the limit.” There was aroused in her that stubborn temper that had stiffened her in her long and successful defiance of the laws. She was vigilant and fertile-minded, revolving this and that expedient as she paced the floor springily. But her strong frame was bent and her greenish eyes were unceas- ingly searching. She was terrified. called if she

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: O,. KhirTH AVENU! he strides confidently through the crowd, head up, shoulders back, well-dressed and in love with life. You will meet him, also, on a farm in Iowa, on the shaded sidewalk of a New Eng- land village, on Market Street in San Francisco. his horizon measured by town he happened to be born in, In no case 1s the or his ftture occupation deter mined by his present. Yesterday he walked, or rode on street cars. Today he is plan ning to buy an automobile, and will drive a better one year after next. Soon he will be married; will furnish an apartment; in a few years more will own a home of greater comfort and in better Today, he is a bank clerk ina small town. Tomorrow, the taste. newspaper will announce his as an official in a appointment SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘The American ONE DAY HE IS A FARM HAND, THE OWNER OF ONE FARM IWO FARM bank two thousand miles away. One day he is a farm hand, the next owner of one farm, two farms. He marches from sales man to sales manager to owner of the business. He is an American living in the American Scene—hoping, reaching, climbing. Nothing is too good for him. He will not accept limitations for him self or his family. He welcomes news of any product or service that can make his living more complete, more colorful, more efficient. In the aggregate, it is hard to overestimate his purchasing power. Population figures are merely suggestive. They leaped from 91,972,266 1n Igic i The increase In the last seven years is another thirteen to 106,710,620 1N 1g20. estimated at million. National wealth grew from 18 billion in 1go00 to 7o billion in 1925. A more understandable HE MARCHES FROM rO SALES MANAGER SALESMAN 10 OWNER OF THI I INESS estimate of the Ameri can’s purchasing power is found in the number of new products he has welcomed and put to work. yesterday he accepts as Auto- mobiles, tiled bathrooms, necessities today. radio, oil heating, electric N - e ADVERTISING HEADY NEW YORK Scene +e. 'Z % 0G 4 pf ; Wr + / Ye enae BUDE, BOA NN hie! The luxuries of W. AYER {RTERS, ROW THE NEWSP PPOINTMENT AS refrigeration, the telephone, the talking machine—to mention only a few of them. Appeal to him with news of a and he Appeal to him again tomorrow, and he worthy product today will respond if he is able. will be able. His purchasing and his have meant success for countless power interest in lit businesses already flourishing. As surely they spell success for prod ucts vet to be put on th market, for businesses still in the real c& SON PHILADELPHIA ~» CLERK IN A SMA LP ER WILI ANNOUNCH H! AN OFFIC! IN A BANK as and est In the Ameri not to of 1a¢ advertise or no longer the question, but mer how well—how efte that advertising b al aay mates and ¢ hat scene, “ft? ercise 4

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THE SATURDAY Distance lends Enchantment and accuracy --- means better golf... ITHOUT accuracy and trueness of putting, dis- tance alone won’t help your score. Here is an X-ray of a well-known make of ball. It may give you as great distance as a “U.S.” Royal, but its lopsided inside will cause you to miss many an important putt! Note the X-ray of the “U. S.” Royal. It gives as great distance as any ball. It is as true and round inside as it is outside. You can depend on maximum putting ef- ficiency with a “U. S.” Royal — its center of gravity is accurately located and permanently fixed in Sageees. ee the exact center of the ball. Do you want long distance? “U. S.” Royals will drive as far as any ball you can buy. And in addition —its trueness of construction helps to keep those long drives straight down the fairway. Do you want a ball whose sturdy cover will resist the attack of every club in the bag? The cover of the “U.S.” Royal is as tough as a golf ball cover can be made, without decreasing resiliency and distance. It is fully guaranteed. Above all, you want ACCU- RACY—and the exclusive struction of the “U. S.” Royal con- insures you an accuracy, balance, and trueness of putting found in no other ball. Play a ‘“U. S.” Royal. Seventy- five cents each. You can buy them in recess and mesh A “U.S.” ROYAL marking from your professional or golf shop. “U.S? ROYAL OLF BALLS A product of the United States Rubber Company EVENING POST July 9,1927 WANT TO BUY Al DOG? (Continued from Page 23) accept change of ownership readily enough and become grand pals for their new mas- ters. There is one caution along this line, though, that you will do mighty well to bear in mind: Think twice, and then think sev- eral times more, before you accept a grown dog as a gift; especially if he be valuable. Think this over and you will see its logic. A mere acquaintance would not give you his watch or his ring. Then why should he of- fer to give you a dog whose cash value may be greater than the ring and the watch com- bined? It does not make sense, unless the donor is forced to go for a long time to some place whither he cannot take his dog. Even then, as a rule, he must have some closer friend than yourself with whom to leave his ca- nine chum. If you accept such a dog you are more than likely to find it is you who have granted a favor in taking him, not the owner in giving him to you. Again and again, fine and highly trained thoroughbred dogs have been offered to me. Always, I have refused the generous gift. Here is the history of two cases where my refusal was fortunate: A man on whom I had no claims at all wrote me that he was taking the liberty of presenting me with a prize-winning dog of a popular breed. I wired him that I could not accept the offer. Accordingly he gave the dog to another acquaintance of mine, who was inordinately delighted over his own good luck—until the new dog attacked a little girl who lived next door and mangled her so terribly that she was in a hospital for weeks. Her father made inquiries. He discov- ered that the prize-winning dog had torn and injured three children in his former master’s neighborhood, and that the mas- ter had had a choice of shooting the brute or of sending him out of town. He had been too soft-hearted to shoot. So he had palmed him off on a business associate, without mentioning the animal’s defects of temper- ament. Another dog—a beautiful collie—was of- fered to me by a man I scarcely knew. As usual, I refused. Later I found the collie had a record as a wholesale killer of chick- ens and other small livestock, and that he had a way of slipping out at night to ravage hencoops and lamb folds. The crime was brought home tohim. His owner paid heavy damages and was ordered by the local mag- istrate to get rid of his collie immediately. So he offered him to me, modestly refrain- ing from telling me why he was disposing of such a fine dog. Had I taken the gift our farm region might have suffered the loss of hundreds of chickens and the like. I would have had a steep bill to pay, besides giving my own tolerably law-abiding collies a black eye in the neighborhood. Show Dogs and Culls I could cite a dreary list of instances along the same line, each and all of them showing the crass folly of accepting a full- grown gift dog. I do not know whether or not there is any legal penalty attached to this kind of present. There should be, if there is not. If you want to buy a dog, grown or other- wise, decide on the breed you prefer. Then find some kennel which deals in that breed. If possible, go to the kennel yourself. In that way you can pick out the dog which appeals to you most. You can see him in action and you can study him. It is infi- nitely better than to handle the transaction by mail and thus never set eyes on your purchase until he is taken out of the crate at your home. If you cannot go to the kennel—and in the long run it‘is worth the sacrifice of a day’s absence from the office— write, telling the breeder just what you want, and ask his terms for such a dog. If the sum is more than you care to pay, tell him so, and ask if he can give you what you want at your own price. You will be surprised to find how often he can stretch a point and do this; unless the amount you name is too absurdly small for consideration. At worst, he can recommend you to some good kennel whose prices are lower than his—a kennel just starting in business and thus on a low- tariff basis. Tell him whether you want a dog for pos- sible showing and breeding or merely for a pet. Dogs with high show points are more than twice as costly as the culls or seconds of a litter, and they are no stronger or hand- somer or cleverer. More than 90 per cent of the pure-bred dogs you see on the street or in cars or in their owners’ front yards are culls and seconds. Seldom will you see a true show dog owned as a chum. The great majority are the in- ferior pups of a pure-bred litter; though their inferiority is largely an imaginary thing and observable only to the eye of an expert. They have not the arbitrary physi- cal peculiarities which the judging stand- ards demand. Hence, they sell at bottom price. Unless you plan to go in seriously for breeding pedigreed dogs or for exhibiting on the dog-show circuits, you may as well save money by getting a cull. Not one ob- server in 500 will know the difference. One of the myriad elderly and nonkill- able lies which pass current about dogs is that a show-type canine has no sense, and that character and brain have been thrown away for points. Beauty and Intelligence I sold a beautiful young female collie to some people who motored here from a West- ern city for her. She won blue ribbons at every show they took her to, and she was one of the best show-type dogs I have been able to breed. They went to Europe for six months, and sent her out to a ranch to be cared for in their absence. When they went back to the ranch to get her, the foreman begged eagerly for leave to keep her there. In that half year, and with almost no train- ing, she had become the best sheep-and- cattle dog in the township. Mind you, up to the time she went to the ranch, neither she nor any of her immediate ancestors had set eyes on a sheep, and she had had no ex- perience in cattle driving. In England and in Scotland and in North- ern California, I have seen, working bril- liantly along with the squat little black sheep dogs, several collies which would have won blue ribbons in any show. There is ‘nothing in physical perfection to exclude intelligence. But the average show dog is brought up with little more chance to cul- tivate his keen brain and his instincts than has a prize hog or a milking-record cow. If you are buying a dog for a chum and if you pay only a chum price for him, don’t expect him to develop into a prize winner, and don’t feel disgruntled if a show judge gates him. The lowly cull puppy—the ca- nine ugly duckling which late. sweeps its triumphant way to a championship—exists in large numbers; but chiefly in fiction. There are very few exceptions. Barely once in a hundred times in real life does he grow into anything much greater than he gave promise to. Anyhow, there are only a few shows in the course of the year, and your dog is your pal every day in the year. If I could have but one kind of dog, I should prefer immeasurably to have a chum rather than a champion. As to price—it ranges anywhere from three or five dollars up to infinity. Richard Croker is said to have paid $10,000 for his imported bulldog, Rodney Stone. Unter- myer was reported to pay $6500 for the supercollie, Squire of Tytton. J. Pierpont Morgan, Sr., went somewhat high in the thousands for several of his best dogs. Buta really fine-quality chum dog of any popular (Continued on Page 88)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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Continued from Page 86 breed can be purchased in puppyhood for $200 or less; often very considerably less. I have read advertisements of registered- stock pups on sale at from $5 to $15; and thence on up to $50 or $75 or $100 or $125 and more. These ads are from repu- table kennels. Sometimes they represent the advertiser’s rock-bottom prices. Some- times they do not. Many a breeder finds himself in a financial pinch where he must sell good dogs at considerably less than their advertised price. As a rule, you will rnake no grave error in tactics if you haggle. Before you complain that the professional breeder is descended from Ali Baba’s forty boy friends because of the prices he asks for a pure-bred pup, stop to think what that pup has cost him. Its dam, if she is of qual- ity, was bought by him for a goodly sum, or else her upbringing and her keep cost him even more. The stud fee alone was from twenty-five to fifty dollars. Count, too, the cost of the ad that caught your attention. Also the fresh milk and eggs and other weaning foods for the pup were not free. Add to this the share of general kennel ex- penses which the pup’s sale must cover. Then remember that several pups out of the same litter may have died before they were a week old—the first week takes more puppy lives than do the next six months and the losses the breeder has sustained in other litters that died at birth, and in the feed and care of pups that for some reason he could not sell, and in distemper epidem- ies which may have killed half his stock. You will begin to see that the pup cost him perhaps fifty dollars or more before it was eight weeks old, and that he loses money by selling it for less. A nonprofessional whose female dog of fair quality has six or eight pups can afford to get rid of the surplus youngsters at a nominal sum. Often they are of only nominal value, at that. But the man who makes a business of it, and whose prestige rests on breeding only excellent puppies, cannot sell for a song. I have been talking about pure-bred dogs. But there is another dog which often is a better comrade and guard and worker than almost any registered-stock prize-winner. He is the mongrel, the crossbreed, the so- called mutt, the cur. And every one of those terms, except “‘crossbreed,” is a dirty in- sult to a splendidly clean and worthwhile dog. So hereafter let’s speak of him by his rightful title alone—the crossbreed. There are more crossbreeds owned in America than pure-breds of all kinds put together. And the average crossbreed is as fine a dog as any human can care to own. I have found him healthier and hardier and cleverer than most pure-breds. That is the chief reason you will find more of him in an- imal acts than you will find of his pure- bred half brother. He learns more quickly and he stands the cruel gaff more hardily. if you own a crossbreed dog, don’t be ashamed of him or say apologetically, ‘‘Oh, he’s just a mutt, but we like him! Crossbreeds of Yesterday Be ashamed only if you have been too stupid or too careless to bring out all the grand qualities that are lying dormant in his alert brain, waiting to be developed. Treat him, from the start, as you would treat a $200 puppy, and lavish on him all the care and patience and common sense you would give the more fortunate pup. He will reward you a hundredfold. Yes, he is mighty well worthwhile, is the crossbreed. it isa queer trait of human nature to value and cultivate any possession in direct ratio to what it cost. If you pay several hundred doliars for a baby canine aristocrat, you feel you ought to do all you can to enhance his value and to bring out his every good qual- ity, mental and physical. But when you pay a dollar for a nondescript crossbreed puppy, as a playmate for your child or as a future watchdog, you are likely to let his upbringing take care of itself. It is an error by which you lose far more than does the dug. You have it in your power to make THE SATURDAY him a veritable treasure to your household and to yourself. Itis wholly up toyou. And don’t forget that some of the best and most popular breeds in the dog shows today are the crossbreeds of the day before yesterday. Take the Airedale; a gallant and loyal and bright chap. In my childhood there was no such dog as the Airedale at our shows. But there were otter hounds and various terriers, and so on. A blend of these went into the evolving of the clean-cut Aire- dale of 1927. British pit workers used to revel in dog fighting. They set about to combine several different strains into one dog which should have all the best warrior traits of each. The Airedale was the result of this scientific mongrelizing process. The lovable Boston terrier is another evolution of three or four different breeds. So is the wirily handsome Doberman Pin- scher. So are other show-ring favorites. They are merely standardized crossbreeds. If you could be proud of owning one of them, be proud also in the ownership of your cleverly friendly crossbreed. Don’t call him a mutt oracur. He is neither, or, if he is, the fault is in his upbringing. A pure-bred would be quite as worthless if you had given him no better or wiser training. I have read an odd derivation of that word ‘‘cur.”” In medieval Europe, at one time a special tax was levied on dogs’ tails. To avert the ignominy of owning a tailless tike, folk must pay a yearly impost. The well-to-do paid it more or less cheerfully, sooner than amputate the handsome tails of their pets. The poor could not afford to pay. Nor did the poor want to give up their watchdogs. They avoided the tax by cut- ting off the tails of these dogs. A poor man’s crossbreed became known as a “‘cur- tailed dog.”’ This was shortened into ‘cur dog,’”’ and thence into “‘cur.”” In time the name designated any dog of doubtful value. The word ‘“mastiff,’’ by the way, is sup- posed to be derived from the old French term ‘‘ Mestif,’’ meaning ‘‘mongrel.’’ Score one more for the standardized crossbreed! Barks and Growls Interpreted I spoke of the swarm of solemnly accepted dog lies which pass current. Among these is the one about a black mouth roof proving a pure breeding. It proves absolutely noth- ing except that there happens to be black pigment in the skin in the roof of the dog’s mouth. I have seen crossbreeds whose an- cestry was a matter of the wildest guess- work, which had jet-black roofs to their mouths. Their owners pointed out this pe- culiarity to me with much pride, as attest- ing their dogs’ perfect breeding. On the other hand, I have seen dozens of flawless pure-breds whose mouth roofs were pink or yellow or piebald. My great collie, Sunnybank Alton An- deen, had an unbrokenly pure ancestry back to the very beginnings of the official stud- book. Incidentally she was one of the three finest show dogs I have owned or shall own. She was close to collie perfection in every way. The roof of her aristocratic mouth was a pale pinkish-yellow, with not a dap- ple of black. Another belief is that a pure-bred dog will not eat fish. If a pure-bred dog does not eat fish, it is merely a sign that that es- pecial dog does not happen to like fish. Nearly all pure-breds will eat it greedily. The canine fallacy which comes nearest to truth is that ‘‘a barking dog will not bite.”’ As a rule, this is true. But some- times the bark may merge into a growl. Then the safety zone has been passed. A growl, except in the course of play, means but one thing: It means trouble. Here are some trouble-dodging sugges- tions which may be of use to you, if you will bear them in mind: When a strange dog comes galloping to- ward you, barking and with his head up and his tail flying, there is no immediate danger to be feared from him; unless you turn and run. In that case, even if he be a fairly good-tempered animal, your chances of a bite are growing brighter at your every step. EVENING POST It is dog instinct to pursue anything or anybody that runs away. Never run from an oncoming dog. Stand still, facing him, and with your hands laid quietly on your upper chest. Don’t shrink and don’t yell. Nineteen times out of twenty, that move- less stance will confuse the purpose of even the most vicious dog, and will keep him from sinking his teeth into you. There is nothing movable for him to pursue. There are no flutteringly outthrust hands for him to grab. There is no frightened clamor to excite him. If you can speak to him quietly and soothingly, do so. But if you can’t trust your voice not to break, say nothing. A bark is a gay challenge or a greeting or any of several other things which dog men learn to read and to differentiate. But it is notamenace. It is delivered with the head up. Indeed, a dog cannot bark or how] with any fervor without raising his head. And an angry dog does not raise his head as he runs to the attack. It is dog instinct to go into battle with head held low enough to guard the vulnerable throat. So when you are met by a dog with up- held head and waving tail, and which greets you with a salvo of barks, there is far more of friendliness than of threat in his approach. But if his head is lowered and his tail is held ramrod stiff, and if he growls, showing a glint of eyeteeth, it is an extremely good time for the menaced human to stand stock- still, with hands on chest or shoulders, and to hope for the best. I have been speaking about your chum dog as ‘‘he.’’ I suppose I have done that because a dog, for some reason, seems al- ways to be referred to as “‘he,’’ just as the cat invariably is ‘“‘she.”” I don’t know why; any more than I know why a girl is mildly pleased to be called a kitten or why a man is more than mildly displeased to be called a puppy. But assuredly J have not called your dog ‘“*he”’ with any implication that a male dog is a better pet or guard or comrade or worker than a female dog. He is not. The female dog is likely to be an ideal housemate and pal. She is as well worth having, in every way, asis her brother. In England this has been recognized for many years. Over here it is just beginning to dawn on most people. I can remember when it was almost impos- sible to sell a female dog as a pet. Now she is in almost as much demand as is a male. Indeed, she has several strong advantages over him; several traits in which she excels him. She costs less too. Breeders charge from 25 to 40 per cent less for their female pups than for their males. Of old the cost difference was greater. Females, in those days, were so hard to dispose of that many of them were drowned at birth; even females of high ancestry and good show possibilities. Feminine Attraction The disgusted refusal, ‘I wouldn’t have a female dog around!”’ had its origin many centuries ago. In early days, throughout Europe, the female dog, even oftener than the male, was the house pet and watchdog and hunter. Her chum value was well un- derstood everywhere. Then came the Crusades. In the Orient, as you know, a dog was regarded as some- thing unspeakably unclean. True Moslems were forbidden to touch him. He was al- lowed to live on only as a public scavenger. The female dog, as potential mother of fu- ture generations of unclean animals, was held in special abhorrence. The Crusaders brought back to Europe with them several things they had not gone to Palestine for. One of those things was the rose; almost unknown to Europe be- fore then. Another was the Moslem con- tempt for female dogs. For centuries that causeless prejudice hung on—as long after- ward did the equally insane idea that opals and peacock feathers are bad-luck bring- ers—and the female dog was relegated in disgust from the hearthside to the breeding kennels. Gradually she crept back, a wist- ful little figure, to her lost esteem. The English rediscovered her value as a hunter. Learning to like her in the field, they brought July 9,1927 her again into the house. It was much the same in other foreign countries. America at last has begun to fall into line. Thou- sands of female dogs are bought each year as chums. If I have dwelt on this theme to perhaps wearisome length, it is to show you one more way whereby you may save money in buying your house dog. The female will fill all your requirements as well as will the male, and she will cost you less. Some years ago, here at Sunnybank, I sold a lovable female collie—a born one- man dog-——to some people who lived about six miles away. They took her home and kept her tied up for a week. Then they let her loose for a run. The run brought her back to Sunnybank inside of an hour. I telephoned the owners and they came here and took her away. Twice more, inside of a week, the same thing happened. Then they built a wire runway, high and spacious, and kept her in that. Nor was she let out, except on the leash. In the course of six months the wire in one corner of the inclosure rusted brittle. She pushed at the weak strands with her furry head, until she had forced a hole large enough to squirm through. In another hour she was capering gleefully down the driveway of Sunnybank. The yard was mended and she was returned to her prison. A month later her owners moved to another home, several miles farther away. There, in the wire yard or on the leash, the little collie was kept for an entire year, A Confirmed Jail Breaker One afternoon in late November, when the wire yard was undergoing repairs, she was taken out and tied by a long chain toa veranda post. Her owners forgot she was tied there, and went out for the evening. How she guessed the porch post was rot- ten, I don’t know. But she gnawed at it and then yanked at it for hours. At last a four-foot section of the post gave way. At once she started for Sunnybank, dragging the heavy and cumbrous mass of rotten wood behind her. She had never traversed the road from her newest home to Sunny- bank. But she seems to have traveled in a straight line. Her course brought her to the far edge of the lake, bitter cold and with a skim of ice beginning to form at the edges. In she plunged, with her four-foot wooden burden and her stout chain to handicap her. Collies usually are not good water dogs. This one, from babyhood, had hated to swim. Yet she made the long lake trip, lugging the post behind her. I was working late that night. On the side veranda I heard a most ungodly bang- ing and thumping, interspersed with fast pattering footsteps and an eagerly plain- tive whining. I opened the door. Across the threshold dashed the little dog, soaking wet and shivering. As she jumped at me, the post caught transversely on the door- frame and flung her heavily to the ground. But she was up on the instant, leaping all over me, screeching in crazy delight, lick- ing my hands and boots; out of her wits with happiness. I unfastened the cum- brous chain and post, and brought her into my study. There she subsided presently into a whimperingly ecstatic bundle at my feet, quivering all over and staring up at me in idiotic rapture. She was at home again. Nothing else mattered. Next morning I was foolish enough to drive over to her owners and to buy her back from them at a price considerably more than she was worth. She stayed on at Sunnybank for the rest of her short life, running away only once. ‘That was when her former owners called on us one day. She bolted for the woods at sight of them, and did not come back again for hours after they were gone. She was taking no chances on another exile. Yet they had treated her kindly and they had given her a comfort- able home. But she had been nearly three years old when I sold her to them, and, as I said, she was a born one-man dog. In other words, she had been too old to swear alle- giance to another one man.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ight up....for securi For your own safety and the safety of others, carry spare H lamps—ic the handy } Edison MAZDA Auto } Lamp Kit. i HENEVER you drive with one headlight research and experiment in the Laboratories of out, you are in danger—not only of arrest General Electric are given exclusively to lamp f' but of injury to yourself and to those with you. manufacturers entitled to use the name MAZDA. i . a ~h- “- ‘s r or. » ie - 4 a ¢ > ~ 3° So take no chances. Carry spare lamps and be sure Ask an Edison MAZDA Auto Lamp Dealer to to keep your headlights adjusted. show you the handy Edison MAzDA Auto Lamp Light up for security with the improved Edison Kit and to fit it out for you with the proper lamps (| MAZDA* Lamps. They are the product of MAZDA gg =~) to use in your particular kind of car. For his iden- " ° ° of ) for your cat - ° " ° 4 ‘ Service, through which the benefits of world-wide 1/° mats id tification he displays the emblem shown at the left. *MAZDA—the mark of a research service + EDISON MAZDA LAMPS insicincititain, altel

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Veta TO ot “ bes ndltada a) oe oe ee ee se ee es ee oe th cy stay crisp in milk or cream “wlr Eat. T — ' crisper corn flakes. Hear them crackle as you pour them in a golden stream from the package to the bowl. And Post Toasties stay crisp ! even in milk or cream. That’s why they | taste so good. Post Toasties are made from the succulent hearts of white corn, delicately and carefully seasoned. They : yos \s por yo* yo’ exe’ : see ast” oe Oe a Postum Company, Inc., Battle Creek, Mich. Makers of Post Health Products: Post's Bran Flakes, Grape-Nuts, Instant Postum, Post Toasti Post’s Bran Chocolate and Postum Cereal. Canadian Address: Canadian Postum Company, Ltd., 812 Metropolitan Building, Toronto 2, Ont 7, P. Co., Inc @ io CHEF ' REO EI Bm 2 ae . . i . Sosa ‘ me THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ee nt «elle Release Aliases i — sath na Delicious Corn Fakes toasted double-crisp Post Toasties are and full of flavor . WAEROwuEwewe rw i er. Se 7 & . a « ~- are toasted double- ; crisp to keep the l . . . . t delicious flavor in each tempting flake. f Crispness and flavor! These are qualities that make corn flakes a real delight. If you want corn flakes that have the true corn flavor, corn flakes that stay crisp in milk or cream, ask for Post Toasties in ee the red and yellow, wax-wrapped package. 20 cre Se: © nn Oe EE NL ef a

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One Business Man in Your Town Who Can Help You in Your Business He’s the office furniture dealer— the fellow who sells you chairs and desks and filing cabinets. And he serves while he sells — if you let him. He knows that better offices mean better can help you plan offices. He can show you down on floor space occupied clerical w and yet increase ir comfort and efficiency. He can int out little superiorities of design— a chair for that free execu- clock fatigue”’ » deeply into profits. And when he recommends Sikes Office Lasy Chairs he does so because he knows their omfort, appearance, material, rkmanship, durability and special » dividends in satisfac- n and reduce cheir costs to the min For your office furniture dealer interested in service that results in many sales than salesmanship that ’ business—and he better t t »cut rker rKerTS instance tives fi “tour m the that its s ires pay big more makes just one with the ce furniture He’s a good to know Sih acquainted progressive SIKES COMPANY sualgseesie. PHILADELPH Coupon BETTER OFF\ bs THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 WITH AA MODERN LEADING LADY to lunch, usually with disastrnus conse- quences. She always came out of the Ritz or the Lane or Pierrot’s plaintively discon- tented with her own hat or dress or suit or hand bag; a discontent which frequently spread like hot butter, till, by night, it cov- ered her entire life— her uptown apartment, the fact that she could keep but one maid, that Ed wasn’t getting ahead as she thought he ought to, that she was fifteen pounds overweight, that she would be thirty-eight her next birthday, and that that new girl at the neighborhood beauty shop had given her a perfectly terrible wave. And she could never be taken to lunch without due time for preparation. An impromptu invitation, Ed had found, al- ways met with horrified protest: ‘“Pierrot’s! In this old coat! be crazy.” It was oddly surprising to have Claire turn so casually, as unconscious of her- self or her clothes as a healthy, interested fifteen-year-old boy. Over the luncheon table Claire outlined her plan. No longer was the artistic cre- ator of the D. E. Gibson shoes to languish in obscurity, anonymous, invisible. He was, instead, to be a conspicuous figure, as well known as the new advertising manager’s industry and ingenuity could make him. Ed Cheney was delighted with the idea. “You know,” Claire dutifully passed on D. E.’s warning, “it won’t mean any more money for you for some time anyway. The whole experiment is a gamble. It will cost Gibson’s some money and it may not prove of any commercial advantage at all. If it does work, of course, it will be greatly to your advantage in the long run. If it flivs out you don’t stand to lose anything.” Ed Cheney expressed himself as com- pletely understanding and willing to shape himself into Claire’s plans like water into a bowl. Sothe campaign began. During her agency days Claire had worked on the ae- count for an exclusive imported perfume, and the technic, the carefully worked-out steps of the campaign served her in good stead now. The choice of the container for the perfume had been considered and debated with all the respect due any ques- tion of state, and now Claire turned her attention first to the proper setting for Monsieur Edouard Chenet. Considerable ingenuity, both profes- sional and housewifely, on the part of Claire went into the changing of Ed Cheney’s workroom into a fashionable studio. Claire’s knowledge of the correctly artistic in studios was a bit hazy and she knew that D. E. would rebel at the expense of a fashionable interior decorator. He was but half sold on the whole idea, at best. But Claire knew that the background must be right. Fortunately a newspaper re- porter friend of hers had an assignment to interview one of New York's most fashion- able portrait painters, and Claire persuaded her friend to let her cover the assignment in his place. She sat up till two o'clock writ- ing the interview, but she had had the chance she needed to study the smart, artistic background. In the place of the two old-fashioned sash windows beside which Ed had worked ona plain deal table, a great window was cut, high and broad, across the whole north side of the room. The shabby soft pine floor into which Ed Cheney in dull moments of creativity had sometimes amused himself by plunging his knife, mumble-the-peg fashion, was overlaid with hardwood, stained and waxed to a gleaming dark rich- ness. No bride furnishing a first suburban home ever worked over it with more en- thusiastic or exacting economy. Claire spent most of one Sunday with Ed and a painter, struggling over the walls, Ed con- tributing his exact eye for color to the mixing of the paint, Claire holding the un- sympathetic painter to experiments with too thick paint applied with a broom. The You must Continued from Page 19 final result was a wall warmly neutral in tone, much like rough plaster in texture. The rich velvet hangings Claire had made by a cheap little upholsterer up in the Bronx. This necessitated a good many eve- ning trips uptown for her and a good many anxious qualms as to the result. The hang- ings proved, fortunately, quite satisfactory, furnishing the hoped-for note of expensive luxury. Ed himself was easy. All it took was a blue smock, the growing of a small, dark pointed beard, to make him fit into the pic- ture. With these, his dark skin seemed olive instead of sallow. The querulous lines about his mouth seemed merely sensitive and temperamental. The studio at last was completed and Ed himself fitted into its exotic background, and it was time for the next step. The salesmen were instructed to arrange for a few moments’ consultation with rare and socially exalted customers. “This same model, only in silver?”’ The clerks were taught to answer requests for forty-dollar slippers not in the stock. “I believe we didn’t make up any in silver. Monsieur Chenet decided that the heel line was more effective in gold. But perhaps would you like to ask Monsieur Chenet himself about it?” The customer invariably said that she would. Whereupon the clerk immediately arranged the meeting; arrangements as obsequiously formal as though he were bringing together the King of England and the Japanese Mikado. The studio had once been a bookkeeper’s balcony at the back of the shop and a curving flight of steps still ran from it down to the sales floor. After preliminaries sufficiently long to be impres- sive, Monsieur Chenet was found to be, fortuitously, at liberty for a few moments only, and the customer was ceremoniously escorted to the balcony steps. Less fortunate customers who chanced to be in the shop at the time were favored with the fleeting glimpse of the great de- signer as he appeared in his blue smock at the top of the curved stairs, graciously to welcome the arrival. The effect of the studio was almost hypnotic; the cool white north light and the cool blue of the hangings after the August sun of the street outside. Later, in the fall and winter, there would be a fire behind the tall Italian firedogs, shin- ing on the one really expensive piece in the room —a dark medieval chest. The inter- views were always carefully of the briefest. If a customer seemed disposed to linger at all Monsieur Chenet would receive an ur- gent message by office boy, would be forced, most reluctantly, to excuse himself. These brief glimpses of the studio permitted to the chosen few of the clientele were just long enough to begin the spreading cf its fame by word of mouth. Spreading the fame of Monsieur Chenet through the public prints, however, was a more difficult process. Never in her l:fe had Claire worked harder. Fashion-magazine editors, writers of newspaper fashion syndi- cates, dressmakers’ conventions, were plen- tifully supplied with Monsieur Chenet’s opinions on footwear, illustrated with photographs of Monsieur Chenet in his studio, standing, shoe in hand, against deep velvet curtains, or perhaps trying a slipper against a background of shimmering bro- cade. Magazines of theatrical personalities were bombarded with bits of repartee of this chorus girl or that in the Frivolities and Monsieur Chenet; courses in costume designing were supplied free, with little ar- ticles on the designing of shoes by Chenet. These all had to be written by Claire. Ed Cheney was an excellent shoe designer, but he was as inarticulate as an oyster. In- articulate because he never had the least idea of what he was doing. He worked en- tirely by instinct and the ancient trial-and- error method. In reality he had plenty of working principles, but he didn’t know what they were. He recognized them visu- ally and emotionally, never mentally. Claire’s first task was to discover and for- mulate these principles. This required both research and field work, more field. work than research. For an occasional evening spent in her furnished room, poring over a book on abstract design, she spent hours with Ed watching him work, drawing him out on why he preferred this particular type of heel in kid and not in brocade, why he could combine some two surfaces and not some other two. Frequently, after days when Claire had been too busy with the routine of her job to spend any time in the studio, she and Ed would have dinner together in the little Armenian restaurant around the corner and over their shish-ki-bab and wheat pilaff dis- cussed the adding of a tan kid collar to a white afternoon shoe, or the whimsically practical idea of importing Japanese woven- paper hats and cutting the foyo up for sport shoes. They would go back up to the studio, where Ed could make his point much more clearly with a dummy, a wooden last or a bit of silver-kid scrap in his hand. Long after Ed would have left for home or poker or pool —Claire had as little curiosity as knowledge of how he spent the remainder of the evenings —she would sit at her office typewriter, getting down in definite black and white the hazy, indefinite workings of Ed Cheney’s mind; letting herself out through the dark sales floor after midnight. She had been working along these lines for several weeks before she had a definite sign of success. Then it was a minor sign minor, but authentic. A visiting scion of royalty observed in a newspaper interview that, despite the growing boyishness of styles in women’s clothes, their shoes re mained feminine. The newspaper sent a reporter to get a follow-up story from Mon- sieur Edouard Chenet. This incident impressed D. FE. and gave Claire her first definite evidence of the suc- cess of her publicity campa‘gn. It however, gave her still another job had to coach Ed for the interview like a movie star. He was appalled at the ordeal ahead of him and Claire had to tell him exactly what to say and how to say it. She managed a provocative interview, some thing or other about the foot’s showing, both in its natural structure and in the way in which it was shod, the difference between the type of woman who has evolved through sex antagonism and the type which, from the amceba down, has been longest on lure. Not so good as science, but not so bad as publicity. A magazine devoted largely to the cause of making women more beautiful sent one of its staff to get Monsieur Chenet to elaborate his view along this line for their readers. He was asked to speak over the radio and to address a Bronx women’s club Claire managed adroitly enough so that always “designer of D. E. Gibson shoes”’ followed the growing personal fame of Monsieur Chenet, like the tail of the comet D. E. Gibson himself began to feel the re- sults of the campaign. The manager of the branch store in Boston wrote asking to have Monsieur Chenet come up and be photo graphed in the Boston shop. He was begin- ning to have inquiries, he wrote, as to whether their shoes were all designed by Chenet himself. What about the fifteen- fifties? It was decided that Chenet should make a flying trip to Boston and that Claire should go with him. She had one or two newspaper friends in Boston and it was possible she might be able to manage an in- terview or so there. Claire happened to be in the studio when Cheney was telephoning to his wife, and in some mention of the coming trip, Ed re- ferred to ‘“‘Mr.”’ Deming. As he hung up he explained, a little shamefacedly, to Claire: ‘You see, the advertising manager's al- ways been a man before, and Mrs. Cheney takes it for granted that youare. I thought it might be just as well.” also, She Continued on Page 94

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Try th Sunday night supper is, as a rule, such an unsatisfactory meal. Everyone wants something to eat. No one knows just what, and in most cases no two people want the same thing. So try this for next Sunday night's supper. Surprise the family with golden brown waffles and Log Cabin Syrup. Here isa tasty supper that will delight every- body. Light enough not to make you feel “stuffed.” Heavy enough to tide you over comfortably until morning. A delightful change to all the family and easy to prepare. To get the most enjoyment, however, use only Log Cabin Syrup. For it’s the real secret of delicious pancakes and waffles. So many syrups fail—because they're merely sweet. You want more than that. That’s why everyone adores the Log Cabin flavor of real maple that is only to be found in Log Cabin Syrup. Why millions prefer Log Cabin Syrup just naturally makes pancakes and waffles delicious. For it has the luscious flavor of pure maple. An enticing maple flavor that permeates every bite with rich goodness. That is why it is the most popular high-grade syrup in the world. We use only the two choicest kinds of maple—New Towle’s SATURDAY EVENING POST Log Cabin Syrup on Cereals Log Cabin Maple Puff—e a hotorcold Children ove it.Adde a deeneré. Oe Ca night’s supper gland and Canadian. These are blended with purest granulated sugar. By the f 40 ld Towle 1 css Noth y € i ] H he ] t flavor—rare and melting Make this test We are so sure that you will be delighted with Log Cabin Syrup that we make you tl fer. Order n from your ‘ er tod ] kes or wat! It t | ( td i ul yu ' . ) erates ( S e sizes. Order from your gro ‘ “ee If ‘ end us his nat nd we will see that you are supplied at onc Free Offer: “24 « to vary the menu.” Write t iy for these new, delightful Log Cabin recipes. Send THE LOG CABIN PRODUCTS COMPANY Dept. 20, ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA THE CENTER OF NORTH AMERICA CABIN Sprup

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THE SATURDAY Good Buildings Deserve If your home calls for Colonial Hand-forged Hardware in iron—Corbin can supply that too A truly Colonial doorway is known by the hinges that gracefully by swing it... by the latch that gives it picturesque security .. . the knocker that suggests hospitality and welcome within. You can give your home an old- time charm and quaintness with this new Colonial hand-forged iron hardware by Corbin. A newsy booklet (S-7) we'll gladly send you tells all about it. Better still, see this interesting hardware at any Corbin Dealer’s. P. & F. CORBIN YAIATE TY! C4 Good Hardware TM) EVENING POST Continued from Page 92) “But why?” Claire asked. “Oh, well,” Ed was a little hazy. “‘ You know how women are.”’ He seemed quite unconscious of the fact that Claire did not belong to his own sex. “But don’t you think it’s rather foolish,” she asked anxiously, ‘‘to build up a decep- tion when it isn’t necessary at all, and espe- cially where it’s bound to come out sooner or later?”’ Ed propounded, a little vaguely, his theory of marital felicity, which appeared to be a philosophy based upon letting sleep- ing dogs lie and crossing bridges when you came tothem. Claire, who was as direct as a boy in all her personal relations, felt un- easily that this was a mistake. It was not, however, she thought, any of her business; failing to consider the ancient adage to the effect that, even when situations are merely misunderstood, it is the woman who pays and pays and pays. The Boston trip was so successful that she and Ed made two others—one to Wash- ington and the other to Philadelphia, both highly successful. In New York the effects began to be accumulative. The more in- telligent publicity one has had, of course, the more easily one can get more. It would have been quite out of the question to have secured a newspaper snapshot of Ed Cheney chatting at the dock with a rather well- known singer, newly arrived for her first American tour, but for Monsieur Chenet, Claire was able to manage it. When she and Ed went to one of the last rehearsals before the opening of the Frivoli- ties—Claire going in the hopes of finding some new angle for newspaper stories —sev- eral of the chorus and even one of the prin- cipals apparently knew who Monsieur Chenet was. The principal, a dreamy-eyed, hard-headed little dancer, in fact, put her- self out to be rather particularly nice to Ed Cheney. “Better have a care about Bobbie Du- leen,”’ Claire jokingly cautioned Ed on their way back to the office. ‘‘They say she can get a diamond bracelet out of a Scotch- man.”’ Ed laughed, a pleased laugh. The ex- perience of being teased about a star in the Frivolities was evidently startlingly new and highly pleasing. “Don’t worry about me any,” he ad- vised Claire. ‘‘I was running around New York when you were going to high school in loway, you know.” ‘*Well-l-l, I’ve learned something since I went to high school too,” said Claire. ‘Oh, our conversation was purely busi- ness,’’ Ed went on, obviously hoping to be teased further. ‘“‘She was showing me some of her shoes; said she’d been dying to ask me what I thought about them—she had them made to order at Gantz’s. I told her that while I had no doubt they were excel- lent shoes I didn’t think they suited her type.”’ Claire hid a little smile in the autumn dusk. Do You Shoe as Well as Dress Your Type? had been the heading for an article she had written and succeeded in placing in one of the very good fashion magazines; signed, of course, by Edouard Chenet. “That’s a good line too,”’ she observed. ‘“Was Bobbie crushed?” “Mind if I smoke?”’ Ed was elaborately casual. ‘Why, I’m dropping in at her place late tomorrow afternoon. She wanted me to see some of her street shoes—they’re quite different.” “Well, don’t put anything in writing.” Ed laughed again, a distinctly flattered laugh. It was all in jest, and Claire, going back up to her office to finish up copy for the little silver monthly booklet, dropped it out of mind the instant she had left Ed. Later, however, in the light of what fol- lowed, she recalled the incident and recog- nized it as the exact day when Ed Cheney began to lose his head. Not that he lost it over Bobbie Duleen. Bobbie didn’t give him any chance to. She got what she wanted, a bit of expert advice in return for a cup of tea and a smile, and danced on to larger fields. It was, however, shortly after July 9,1927 that that Claire began to suspect that the fame of Monsieur Chenet was going to be more than Ed Cheney could carry without losing his balance. This thought persisted in her mind as an annoying undertone all the time that she was engrossed in making that fame weekly, almost daily, greater. The snowball of pub- licity was rolling gratifyingly large —news- paper stories, trade-paper articles, radio, syndicate, even some magazine fame. But Claire was not satisfied. She longed to have Edouard Chenet recognized by Attire and Savoir-Faire, the two great really smart fashion magazines. To achieve this she knew that she must have something new and distinctive to offer. The Royal Line was her final inspiration Each one of the dozen models in this line was founded on a shoe worn by some famous queen. It was Claire, of course, who hunted up the originals; a few to be found in museums and private collections, others available only in colored plates in books. Ed made the adaptations, clever designs which kept the authentic lines of the origi- nals, yet succeeded in making them smartly modern. Worldly-wise enough, some of these slip- pers, that had danced through court in- trigues. Quaintly young, others, deliciously naive. Some were frail, amusingly sturdy. A scant two dozen pairs of each model were all that were made up—the line must be kept exclusive, Claire knew—and the first pair of each was not sold. It was placed. Gibson’s best salesman, a white- haired gentleman with the manner of an ambassador, called personally on the thick- est cream, socially speaking, of the Gibson clientele. It is the rare woman who could resist being told, subtly and charmingly, that she had been chosen as the modern woman most truly the type of the lovely Mary Queen of Scots. Not one of the offered pairs, each made up to fit and to or der, of course, was declined. The names of the owners of the original models read like a patroness list. “We really ought to have a side line, inspired by Du Barry and Nell Gwyn,” said Claire wickedly. ‘‘I fancy we’d know where to place those too.” But Ed Cheney did not get the point and Claire wasted no further words on flip pancy. She was all seriousness in her un certainty as to the next step. She thought it would be possible to get a newspaper story on this Royal Line. But would it not be wiser to hold off on this, on the still slender hope of interesting either Attire or Savoir-Faire to the extent of a personality story about Edouard Chenet? The two magazines used stories of modistes and mil liners, of theatrical scene designers, even of hairdressers. Surely it was not too much to hope. But the question was whether to go ahead with the newspaper publicity and await the natural and possibly much de- layed action of the magazines or to make some definite move along the line of Attire or Savoir-Faire. While Claire was considering this prob lem she was outlining a first advertisement for the Royal Line—a picture of a slipper worn by Catharine the Great. As authen tic as an antiquarian’s guide. Beside it, the Gibson version. Truly a copy, yet as chic and modern as next month’s hat. And in the most chaste and elegant of script, ‘Copied and adapted by Edouard Chenet for Mrs. Stuyvesant Verplanck, Junior.” While Claire was working on this adver tisement, still uncertain of the next step, she was also worrying a little about Ed Cheney. Ed was not carrying his fame well. There are men who cannot stand fame, and Ed was giving daily signs that his was going to his head. Working with him as intimately as Claire was, she was able to see these signs where D. EF would not. For one thing, he was spending less and less time in the studio, strolling i: at half-past ten or eleve: the morning, being out two hours or more at luncheon and often departing by four the after noon. cobweb others Gibson Continued on Page 97

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Whatever you call it—Tet this simple, inexpensive installation take tt out of your car to} = HE last serious obstacle ~~ ~~ oka * 3° “~S aay to complete riding com ‘ We fort! Probably you har e a name of your own for it. Most motorists have. For “galloping, bouncing, bobbing, jiggling ’’-——whatever you may have heen calling it—is one of your most familiar experiences You feel it every time vou drive. Even on the smooth est roads you can not escape it. Annoying to you—still more an noying to those in the rear seat Why your car “gallops” What makes yourcar™ gallop” ? Every road, however good, is full of mini ature bumps—so small vou don't see them in the daytime But you have seen them hundreds Bright lights and hea \ shadows throw into relief count of times at night less rises and depressions in concrete, aspualt, macadam Small as these are, they are large enough and numerous enough to keep the whole car almost continually hobbing up and down with an un comfortable, mushy, see-saw motion. No more “galloping”: Why continue to put up with this dis comfort? For now you can rid your car of it, quickly and at little cost, hy installing a set of the new Hasslers! The NEW 1927, Hassles Mig. Co., Inc. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (;ALLOP. Bounce, Bob, Jigele” Ruggedly built to stand the hard est use, thoroughly effective in the control of the severest shocks on rough roads—the new Hasslers are at the same time so delicately re sponsive that no inequality is too small to bring their corrective action into instant play So swift in recovery that they keep your car in constant readiness for the closest possible succession of bumps, large or small So perfectly adjusted that they preserve the full resiliency of your springs, while vet effectiy ely check ing rebound. A Spe cial fy pe for your car There is a set of Hasslers specially designed and adjusted forevery pop ular make of car, including the one NO MORE re vou drive \ Chevrolet set for a Chevrolet. An Essex set for an Essex \ Dodge set fora Dodge. And soon Inexpensive, easily and = quickl installed, the new Hasslers will give you an entirely new experience in riding comfort Have a set installed when you buy yvour car, or on the old car how Learn how much the new Hasslers add to the pleasure of riding. How much play and movement they pet mit your car to retain while giving you a thoroughly smoot! and per fectly rhythmic ride Sold by the dealer who sold you your car, OF at the Hassler Sale s and Installation Station near vou. [Hf you can not find the new Hasslers, write lS We'll see that vou are supplied Hassler Manufacturing Co., | Indianapolis, U.S. A LLOPING y in th , y Ilasslers are water-tight. f y l nal mechanism is sealed f Y t lestructive dirt mud, | ’ ; y u sh. This insures noise- } q Y ition under all cond ’ It eliminates the broken y uugaboo. It safeguards the t ; = ¥ i ‘ adjustment necessary to give u pring action and cantrol and makes pos v ininterrupted service for the life of Y No readjustment is « r necessar\ vy v 1} we , . Hass! is equipped w y \lemite or Zerk fitt Y with high pressur Y lubricant This kee vy ’ u | mechanism m perte . titi i il y j aot s it fror v i of th Ha ‘ ’ - 2 \ ‘ . Vv u I + Exce] tor Y f “ i i ' Y Y Y v v

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96 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 WORLDS LARGEST GROWERS AND CANNERS OF HAWAIIAN PINEAPPLE oe ee th BS Ee _ LSND OF : , o LANG ! ie 4 wisp ‘Sar “Spe : The purchase of Lanai—an entire island in the South Seas—adds another romantic touch toa great business already rich in romance. Lanai, long unpopulated, now bristles with industry. Cactus wastes give way to the plowshare. Pineapple is King. Incidentally—of acres on Lanai, only about 20,000 are suited to growing the kind of Hawaiian Pineapple we have been serving you. Qpending $5,000,000 to keep pace with your taste for Pineapple America likes Hawaiian Pineapples so well that five years ago 3 .& we had to find more land on which to grow them. ~ ¢ <-. — Yet in Hawaii it seemed that not one more acre was to be had. Even then we controlled our share—the largest part of the finest land. HAWAIIAN ae PINEAPPLE We looked again. This time in our own back-yard, and there was the Island of Lanai—long neglected, and over-run with cactus. No one had taken Lanai seriously. We did! We bought it, cleared away the cactus, built roads, reared a city, blasted a harbor out of the rugged coast, and added 20.000 marvelous acres to Hawaiian Pineapple production. It is costing us $5,000,000 to do this—to keep pace with your taste for Hawaiian Pineapple. It is our promise that you need not want for this luscious South Seas fruit. You ean thank “Jim” for canned Hawaiian Pineapple L vguaccet « HAWAITAN PINEAPPLE COMPANY « anwar fi

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Continued from Page 94) “Out at a little party last night,”’ he would tell Claire with ill-concealed pride. “A couple of Frivolities girls. Do you re- member Gale Kennedy? And Iris Van Cleve?” Claire did not remember Gale and Iris, and the next little party Ed reported, it would be Greta and Helene or Gertrude and Pirelle. Oh, it was obviously no grande passion which had caught Ed Cheney; little, in fact, to do with sex at all. He was no more pleased by the fact that chorus girls had found him suddenly worth play- ing up to than by the startling discovery that the head waiter at the Algonquin knew him by name. He was simply a little drunk on flattery. Every phase of it was intoxicating. The studio, for instance; Ed had worked in the old north workroom, absorbed, completely oblivious of anything going on around him. The head salesman and a boss from the factory might be carrying on a loud dis- cussion over one end of his very worktable, and Ed had not used even to hear them. But now, in the velvet-hung exquisiteness of hisstudio, it required the merest crumpled rose leaf to disturb his concentration. He would charge into the outer office in his blue smock, his eyes wild, his hair awry, and berate an overworked stenographer, clicking away at her machine. “How do you think an artist can work in this clatter?”’ he would demand furiously. “I’m working on a new model and I must have quiet. Absolute quiet!” “T’ve got to get these letters out to- night,”’ the stenographer might protest. ““Then you'll have to do them after five o’clock,”” Ed would declare. “‘ My time is precious and | can’t work in a racket.” He had used to be most codperative with the mechanical departments, but now he regarded any protest or suggestion from the factory as a gratuitous insult and was aggrieved and sulky about it. To his sal- ary, of which he had been rather proud, he now referred as a pittance. “Why, a man of my standing ought to be getting ten times what I am,” he told Claire. His attitude toward Claire was chang- ing the most of all. During their dinners together it became increasingly difficult for her to get from him any point on shoe de- signing of which she could write. He did not wish to talk to her about shoe design- ing. He wished to talk about himself, his opinions on finance, on the drama, love or politics. When she would insist upon drawing the subject back and back again to shoes, his manner was half indulgent, half irritated. His whole attitude sug- gested that she was exploiting a great urtist for selfish purposes of her own. This was trying, of course, but Claire had considerable of an ability popularly denied to women the ability to keep her eye on the ball; of refusing to be diverted into personalities. Steadily she plugged away at the one task, that of making Edouard Chenet famous. Once or twice, to be sure, she was moved to sharp protest. Once was when she went into his studio for some new models. The photographer’s boy was waiting in her office and she took the two slippers Ed handed her and was about to hurry out. She needed three models, however, and paused to ask “What about that stunning red thing you had in here yesterday? The one with the rhinestone heel.” “That? Oh—er, that didn’t come out so very well,”’ Ed answered. “Didn't come out? Why, it was all done.” Claire, at first, was puzzled; then, see- ing Ed's embarrassment, suspicious. “Are you making designs for anyone outside of Gibson’s?”’ she asked directly. Ed flushed. ‘Certainly not,” he an- swered. And then defiantly: “‘There’s no reason, though, why I shouldn't design a ww and then if I happen shoe for a frien to want to, outside office hours. I’m not a slave to D. . Gibson, you know. Any- body’d thi river vel been sold down the THE SATURDAY Ed’s answer was revelatory to Claire. She had wondered what the Gales and Gertrudes and Irises of the Frivolities could possibly see in Ed Cheney. Of course, he was giving them individual slip per models. Having a pair at a time made up, as though for a model, in Gale’s or Maude’s or Beatrite’s size. A limited edi- tion, indeed; limited to the single pair. It was possible even, Claire thought, that the girls might be selling these models to some large theatrical maker, like Gantz. “There’s every reason in the world why you shouldn't, and you know it,” said Claire angrily. “It may not be any of my business, but if you're giving your original designs away, outside of Gibson's, you're doing a very dishonest thing.” “Well, I'm not,” said Ed, angry, too, “and even if I were you're quite right in saying that it’s none of your business.” Claire said nothing, taking the two slip- per models back to the photographer's boy. There was another time, too, when a re- porter from one of the trade papers came to interview Monsieur Chenet and Ed in- sisted upon giving his own interview. What he said had so little to do with shoes that the paper simply did not publish the inter- view, so no real harm was done. But Claire, fearful of a repetition of the inci- dent sometime when the loss of the story would be deplorable, made such an _ issue of her right to direct all publicity that Ed was sulky for days, so sullenly noncom- municative that Claire could get nothing at all from him to use. “That is always the trouble with giving a woman a little authority,’’ Ed had been haughty about it. “It goes to their head and they don’t know where to stop.” Oh, there is no doubt that Ed was be- coming very difficult to work with. He was going down to the Philadelphia branch for a week and Claire looked forward with some relief to the brief vacation from him. Late in the afternoon of the day Ed was to leave —he was taking a night train that did not actually pull out till two or three the next morning —Claire was working in her little glass cage, when a telephone call came—a call for which she had almost ceased daring to hope. Attire wished to send one of its staff to interview Monsieur Edouard Chenet. Ed seemed at first not quite to appreciate the importance of this event. “They're putting off the interview till you get back from Philadelphia,” said Claire, ‘‘but we'll have to get together this evening before you leave and dope it all out.” “Well-ll,”” Ed was dubious, “I was going to show the wife a good time dinner and a show — tonight, before my train left.” “It’s a shame,” said Claire sympatheti cally, ‘* but you see how this is. This is really the climax of the whole campaign. This story has got to be absolutely right. And there'll be no time after you get back.” “Oh, well, couldn't I Ed began. He had quite lost his awe of interviewers ‘You could not,” said Claire bluntly. “This interview has got to be perfect. Per fect and absolutely water-tight. If this isn’t right, everything we've done so far has been wasted. Your life story as it comes out in Attire has got to be picturesque, inter esting, unique. But it’s got to tally with your own life weil enough so that there can’t ever be any comeback.” Faced with these requirements, Ed evidently realized that the task might really demand a subtlety greater than he could achieve own corner through the outer office, heard him breaking the engagement with Mrs Cheney. “l've got to sper d the whole evening Claire, going back to her with Mr. Deming,” he said. ‘‘ He wants to get this interview worked up just right.’ There was a little pause which queru lous distrust seemed almost to float into the studio over the wire. Then Ed’s voice~ a stenographer stopped to ask Claire about a letter she had dictated and, pausing, she could scarce} more than a little bullying . ring —resentfi avoid ea y esentiul, EVENING POST No, I haven't got a late wit " girl. I tell you I’ve got to stay right he at the office and work with Mr. Deming.” It was half-past eight when Ed and Clair« got back to the office after dinner. She had been delayed in getting away from the office and the Armeniar restaur int had been crowded. They did not trouble to wu ] lock the large dark salesroom, but went up the outside hall stairway instead. Th Gibson Shoe Shop was in a modernized brownstone and a door from Ed's studio still opened upon the old-fashioned ha Ed put on the tising manager faced each other across the lights and he and the ad shining, carved-legged table, ready for ar evening's work By half-past ten Claire was realizing the difficulty of their task. To find anything picturesque in a life which, to any degree at all, paralleled Ed’s own, was a job for a Titan mind. A knack for designing shoes he assuredly had, but aside from that, his experience in the past and his ambitions for the future might have been those of a su cessful butcher or broker. He liked to talk and think of himself as an artist, but in art, manifested in any area other than shoes, he had as little real interest as he had in pas- try cooking. He had lived thirty-five of his forty-three years in New York City and he had never set foot in the Metropolitan Mu seum. He was more at home really in the Gibson shoe factory than he could possil be in any studio but his owr That, however, was neither here nor there. A picturesque story had to be written about Ed Cheney, and Claire was after it with the scent of a bloodhound and the stick-to-it-iveness of a bulldog. At half past eleven, her chin cupped in her hands her elbows on the polished table, she was tenaciously following one clew after ar other. ‘Now, let’s see, this old man who first asked you why you didn’t try making your own kind of slippers what was he like?’ And: “Your grandmother was a profes sional dancer— that’s good stuff—it’s too ‘What about that time you took an art course — were bad you never saw her.”’ Or there any people in your turned out famous?" And so or nde fatigably The studio was ch lly The furnace fire banked for the night, was only enough to keep off actual cold. Claire put on her coat and Ed threw his around his shoulders. Th: logs for the studio fireplace had not as yet been delivered, but shortly after midnight Ed remembered that some shoes had bee delivered that day, and he went down to the little storeroom back of the sales floor and broke up a half dozen wooden boxe They built a roaring fire the studio fire place and relaxed a little as its gratefu warmth filled the chill room Ed lit his pipe and Claire dropped dowr for a moment upon a shoe salesman’s stoo which had somehow found its way up int the studio. She must, she knew, begin right away again on the pursuit of the sto But for the briefest moment she allowed herself the of he tired clasped her hands about leaned her head against the warn the firepiace Her weariness, her pose, the fire t reddening the smoothne f her chee shine ot he i Y l ‘ ankles, broug 1 m " C] e some emir t is ider | ness suit f een, SCX1eSS ess manne snes t ther i y y at es hd ‘ i ; dart igainst he et el ( scious of Ed's eyes upor ) ilmost start | ts ! ‘ re on ne ! T Sudder ( iire mM 1 eye eyes ed N he tior burned , a xed wv nes ( é ) warmt! | s | ( ire ‘ head wit! ne ] Lif ¢ nil t 1 ( Continued on Page 99 As physictans do —stop the torture of SUNBURN ... heal the flaming skin LONG the beach, by lake or stream — anywhere under the bright skies in summer: these are days to cherish Blistering sunburn need not steal precious hours. On guard At the first sign of redness— spread on the dressing hospitals use—stop the smart at once- Unguentine! Soothing Unguentine halts in fection instantly — counteracts the dangerous poisons generated in the injured tissues—swiftly heals the tenderest skin. All out p 1 1c 4 IT oar OTS 18 yours aga outdoor adays & this famous dre ul Poa £

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MONARCH is the only nationally adver- tised brand of Quality Food Products sold ex- clusively through the men who own and op- erate their own stores. Branches New York REID, MURDOCH & CO. General Offices: Chicago, U.S. A. Our MONARCH Coffee comes to you in sanitary, air-tight, moisture - proof 1- Ib. and 3-lb. containers, under four seals. It is never sold in bulk. Phoenix Los Angeles } Asparagus Points July 9, 1927 3C ; ¢ nae 2 A Mark of Purity and Excellence Every genuine Monarch pack- age bears the original Lion Head, the oldest Trade Mark in the United States covering a complete line of the finest food products obtainable Monarch Specialties COFFEE TEA COCOA Grape Juice Ginger Ale Sweet Pickles Sweet Relish | Sweet Cucumber Slices CATSUP CHILI SAUCE Salad Dressings Salad Mustard Preserves Jellies Baking Powder Spices Flavoring Extracts Cake Flour Jelly Powder PEANUT BUTTER Orange Marmalade Figs in Syrup Olive Oil Cooked Spagh etti Yankee Beans Pork ar Food of Wheat TomatoSoup Vegetable Souy Canned Fruits Apricots Pineapple Fruit Salad Grape Fruit i Peaches Pears Plums Raspberries Strawberries Blackberries Gooseberries Loganberries Blueberries Cherries Seedless ( iT ipes Cranberry Sauce Apple Sauce Prunes Canned Vegetables Peas Corn Tomatoes Asparagus Spinach Beans Beets Okra Hominy Succotash Carrots Sweet Potatoes Sauer Kraut Sea Food, Fish and Meats Salmon Sardines pered Herring thicken a la Kir Monarch Teenie Weenies ; Sweet Pickles Sweet Relish | Sweet Ringlet | Sweet Chow Sweet Onions | PEANUT BUTTER Sweet Peas Early ] ine Peas Green Beans Lima Beans Sweet Corn | Diced Carrots Beets @A few choice positi young men wit! ) knowledge of the I ness wh »>can I irt is] 4 JUeS- tioned references and ar ing a broader field leading t salesmanship and mat a —

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Continued from Page 97 opened doorway was a woman, looking at the two of them there before the fire, with triumph and with hate “Well, this is just about what I ex- pected,”’ said Mrs. Edward Cheney. ‘‘Good evening, Mr. Deming.”’ Claire never knew, of course, exactly what took place in D. E. Gibson’s office the next morning. Ed had gone on to Philadel- phia according to plan. Mrs. Cheney, ar- riving at ten, was ushered promptly into Gibson’s private office, and was closeted there with him for an hour or so. Claire, pretending to work away in her own glassed corner, could only guess at what was going on in the other office. But she made a fairly accurate guess at that. She was sure that, with unerring feminine insight, Mrs. Cheney was appealing not to the owner of the D. E. Gibson Shoes but to D. E. Gibson, the old-fashioned man; to the D. E. Gibson who liked women to be weak and sweet and home-keeping, who had always felt really that there was something so irregular as to be almost immoral in a young woman’s receiving the same salary that a young man would for doing the same work; to everything in Gibson that was male and gallant and protective. No great keenness of accurate guessing in that. One would have known from the very way Mrs. Cheney had dressed herself for the interview—a quiet gray dress with soft white ruffles at the throat and wrists that she was going to be pathetic and help- less and self-pitying; that she would proba- bly ery. Claire who had, for herself, a young man’s fierce proud shame of tears, knew, however, that the woman who doesn’t mind crying always has a great ad- vantage. Through the thick oak partition she could almost see Mrs. Cheney dabbing at her eyes with a bit of scented, lacy linen, could almost hear through the solid wood Mrs. Cheney’s feminine, soft, quavering voice: *.'e’s never been the same since he met this woman—out all hours of the night. She’s in his studio all the time. They have dinner together half the nights. Oh, he was brash enough about telling me how many evenings he had to spend with Mr. Dem- ing. To think he should have deceived me! Trips alone, the two of them, to Bos- ton or Washington. He takes no interest in his work any more—or in me and it’s all this woman. Oh, Mr. Gibson, I’ve come right to you because I knew that you would understand—that if you once realized what has been going on you'd put a stop to it.””, And so on. Claire, sitting at her own desk, trying to write chattily about rhinestone slipper heels, knew, with a sense of icy fingers clutching at her heart, just what was going on in the big private office; knew how very little her honest devotion, her honest work was going to count in the scales. Suddenly the oak door opened and Mrs. Cheney came out. She did not look through the glass wall as she passed Claire’s office, but she did not need to. Anything that a look could have told was in her walk—virtue, victorious, light stepping, self-pleased. A very aura of smug triumph floated about her like a wed- ding veil. It was four o’clock before Claire was sum- moned to the oak office. D. E. had at least believed that he had taken time to make his decision. Before she had closed the door behind her Claire knew what that decision was. **M’m and while I’m extremely sorry—I realize how very hard you've worked,” he finished, ‘‘and I know, believe me, Miss Deming, that there has never been anything wrong in your heart; still, there are appearances to be considered. There is the example, for one thing, that is being set to all the young girls here in the office. Moreover, Mrs. Cheney assures me that her husband's attitude toward his work is being seriously affected. I realize, of course, that this is nothing you have consciously done, but I have always felt THE SATURDAY that it might be unwise to have a young woman in so important a position He paused uncomfortably, hoping that Claire was going to be sensible and not make any scene about it “I’m sure you understand how I feel about it, Miss Deming. And how much I regret the stand I feel compelled to take. There is no lack of appreciation of your work or your—or—character, but I—I really feel that it will not be wise for you and Mr. Cheney to-——er—be working in the same firm.” He was uncomfortable, uneasy about it, and Claire realized suddenly the resource, the power this put into her hands. Gibson was not completely sold on his own stand She could appeal to his masculinity, his chivalry, as well as Mrs. Cheney. She could play up, with a tremolo in her voice, her hours of overtime work, the fact that she had been doing her very best in what she believed was Mr. Gibson’s best inter- ests; she could even play up pathetically her own position—a young girl, utterly alone in the world with her way to make. She might even hint piteously that she had given up some other positions, that she had scrimped and worried and gone very nearly hungry while she had waited for this posi- tion—oh, the tremolo possibilities are seldom all on one side. If Claire could out- cry, out-appeal, and out-woman Mrs. Cheney, quite possibly she could keep her job. And not for one single tempted instant did Claire consider doing it. There was not the faintest hint of the hidden soft charm of femininity that had peeped out for that brief fire-lighted moment last night, as she faced her employer. There had been no dressing for this interview; her dark blue coat and gray silk shirt were plain enough foraboy. Boyish, too, was the square direct- ness with which her eyes met the man’s. “IT think you're quite right, Mr. Gib- son,’’ she said quietly. No tremolo of fem- inine appeal, no making him uncomfortable by very helplessness, by womanly sweet- ness and need. Here, instead, was a mettlesome, proud young human being who would ask no quarter, who would win gallantly or go down with the flag still flying. “I think you're quite right.” Gibson’s sigh of relief showed how much he had feared she would not be sensible about it. “It’s too bad, of course,’’ Claire went on, ‘but if a man’s attitude toward his work is going to be shaken by every breeze he would have let you down sooner or later anyway. And ifit had to come, this is really a rather fortunate time.”’ D. E. Gibson was too good a business man to look as surprised as he felt; and it was to the business man that Claire was talking. “There is no point in your making an ex- cellent position for a man if he’s merely going to turn around and bite the hand that feeds him. And after this Attire article comes out it would be much more difficult, of course, to make a change.” “Are you talking’’—-Gibson could not keep the startled amazement out of his face-—‘‘are you talking about my letting Cheney go?” “It seems too bad after so many years,” Claire acknowledged, ‘‘ but if he isn’t going to be big enough for the position that his is growing into you'd come to the point where you'd have to, sooner or later, anyway. Wouldn't you?” Being an excellent business man Gibson was diverted for a moment from the moral issue involved. “Let Cheney go,”’ he echoed, “and lose out on all the publicity we’ve got him!” “The publicity would help Mr. Cheney greatly in getting another position, of course,” said Claire, ‘but I don’t see that you would stand to lose so much by it.”’ _ “If there’s no disadvantage in losing Edouard Chenet, what’s been the point of all this reputation you've been making for him?” “You can’t lose Edouard Chenet,”’ said Claire. “I copyrighted him.” oby iously Gibson EVENING POST could not quite keep from looking sur prised. “I copyrighted the name,” said Claire, “just on general principles, when | had the first line printed about him. Ed ouard Chenet isn’t Ed Cheney. Edouard Chenet is the designer of D. E. Gibson Shoes.” Gibson looked at Claire for some mo- ments in silence ‘In that case,” he said, ‘I could simply get a new designer.” “None of the photographs of Ed that have already been published,” said Claire, “show his face very « learly. The few people who have met him personally wouldn't count——they’d just figure they’d made a mistake somewhere. There’s a very clever young Frenchman who's working for Gantz right now,”’ she went on, “‘that everybody says is a comer. I’ve seen some of his shoes and they’re lovely. Naturally, he wouldn't be working for Gantz if he weren't good. Also he’s young and ambitious, and I'm pretty sure he’s got a level head.”’ “The thing to do,” said Gibson thought- fully, ‘would be to sew him up on a long contract. We ought not to be changing Chenets every whipstitch.”’ Claire nodded, then laughed. “He's a bachelor, too,”’ she observed. “It’s too bad you can’t get it into the contract that he’s to stay one.” Which flippancy routed for the moment D. E. Gibson, the modern business man, leaving in his place the old-fashioned gal- lant who had been melted by Mrs. Cheney's tears. Ed, Mrs. Cheney had told him quaveringly, had never told her that Claire was 4 young woman, had always spoken of her as ‘Mr. Deming.”’ It was a bit diffi- cult for an old-fashioned gallant not to feel that this was, in some indirect way, the young woman’s fault. He fixed suddenly disapproving eyes upon Claire. “What I deplore in this matter of Mr. Cheney,”’ he said, “has been the decep- tion.” Perhaps Claire failed to recognize that right now D. E. wasn’t talking business, or perhaps she deliberately refused to recog- nize it. “T’ve felt that wasn’t fortunate, either,” she agreed without a change of tone. ‘I’ve felt right along that if a designer is to be played up as French, he ought to be a Frenchman. I’ve always been afraid some reporter or some rich customer might try to parley-voo with Ed.” And that was, for all practical results, the end of the interview. D. E. was pre- eminently a business man, and he knew good business when he saw it. But he did shake his head deploringly over Claire for several minutes after she had left the office. The whole affair might be good business, but it was shockingly irregular. Even a modern young woman who had practically lost her reputation ought to appear at least to notice she had lost it. Going back to her own little glass office, though, Claire was walking in no floating veil of triumph. She was really feeling very sorry for Ed, cast out into the snowstorm of ancient melodrama. Even though he had, undoubtedly, brought it on himself. At her desk, however, she shook herself briskly out of it. Sentimentality and busi- ness do not go together. Ed would not have the slightest difficulty getting another posi tion, perhaps at a better salary than Gib son was paying him. And if the experience would be shockingly unpleasant to him, it would also be shockingly wholesome, in the long run. Claire looked at her little office clock, at the pile of unfinished work on her desk. The monthly booklet had to be ready for the printer the next morning; she had been too nervous all day really to work. Oh, well, she’d go around the corner to the Ar- menian restaurant and come back and work tonight. She could build up a fire in the fireplace and work in the empty studio. It would probably be very late @efore she got through. But that wouldn't make any dif- ference. Claire stretched comfortably. “Thank heaven,”’ she said, ‘I haven't got a wife.” rement eee JEWELRY FOR MEN ( ORMAL attire and correctn , 7) invariably go together. To the ~ well informed man, omission of a single letail is intolerable For instance, his studs, links and vest but tons alway match—an inflexible rule of convention Naturally, his choice is Krementz Evening Jewelry. It correct! The rich designs and varied shapes, the fine quality and finish, have a won derful appeal. Each stud and vest button is fitted with the sure-holding, easily inserted bodkin-clutch back. This alone has done much toward making Krementz Evening Jewelry a favorite among men. Krementz sets are beautifully cased — ideal for gift purposes. At the better shops, or write for booklet and name of nearest dealer. KREMENTZ & CO. NEWARK, N. J she BODKIN- CLUTCH Nik Krementz Collar Buttons are guaranteed to wear a lifetime Krement3 COLLAR BUTTON 256 : “) am

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control, as well as your equilibrium, be- cause pressing is a sure sign you are an- noyed at your inability to get distance in your shots, and have made up your mind to do it whether you can or not. I well recall! the match in the semifinal of the Women’s Championship a few years ago, when I met Mary K. Browne and lost to her. I will tell you a secret about that match. I didn’t expect to lose. I did not know that Miss Browne was as good as she proved to be. She was driving well—get- ting quite a great deal of distance from the tee—and was adept with her irons, which surprised me somewhat, for I had supposed, along with many others, that Miss Browne was a tennis player, and not a golfer. But on the greens she demonstrated that tennis was not her only love. So I decided I would force a few more yards into my drives, and lay my mashie shots closer to the green. I would put pressure on Brownie and have it over with. So I started to outdo myself. I sent a great drive on its way. I put all I had into my swing. The ball was not only in the rough but had perversely come to rest behind a fringe of trees. I would have to pitch out to the fairway and then continue my way to the green. Ushered to the Gallery But when I reached my ball I saw an opening between the trees. It was pos- sible, with a brassie, to go through the trees to the green, or thereabouts. And grimly I decided that was what I would do. On my first attempt the ball hit a tree to the right and bounded back a few yards farther than it had been originally. The second shot hit atree tothe left. The third did get through, but not to the green. I think I had an 8 on the hole. All that was the result of pressing. An opponent who will not be left behind tempts to pressing. In a mixed match, be- cause she cannot get the same length in her tee shots as a man, a woman will always be at that much disadvantage. If it is more than the thirty or forty yards she is out- driven. Suppose every par-four hole on men’s courses were about forty yards further than the best players could span with the conventional drive, mashie shot and two putts. The result would be press- ing. The men would lose control and few would make par. So par would not be four, but five. That is exactly why woman’s par is a stroke higher than men’s par on eight or ten of the longer holes of every eighteen- hole course. Still it is a tribute to woman’s golf prog- ress that she is only ten or so strokes be- hind man in the ancient game. Thirty years ago a comparison of the sexes in a golfing way would have been purely aca- demic. The ladies who teed off in the first championship in 1895 would have been given a handicap of two or three strokes a hole and beaten, if any man had taken the challenge seriously. But then such ques- tions were irrelevant. Indeed, they were not even thought of. And it is conceded that men have made much progress in America in thirty years, but not nearly so much as women have. Now all we ask is six bisques. There is one woman golfer who does not need six bisques from any opponent. She is Joyce Wethered, the English girl, who is the most perfect golfer I have seen. As a stylist she is as fine as Bobby Jones. She has the unruffled calm of Walter Hagen, the confidence of Gene Sarazen and the fighting spirit of Jesse Sweetser. Give her four bisques and she will make any of that famous quartet of men press. On her best days I believe she would need no bisques at ali. American women played golf about thirty years before anyone broke 80 in the eighteen-hole qualifying round of the Na- tiona! Championship. It happened that I THE SATURDAY EVENING POST GOLF WE WOMEN PLAY Continued from Page 13) was the first to cross that barrier. The 1924 tournament was held at Nayatt, Rhode Island, on a course I knew well, and I scored a 39-40—79. The next year, at Clayton, Missouri, Alexa Stirling led the qualifying round with a score of 77, and I was in second place with 78. The average for the thirty-two who qualified for match play was only 87. I have scored as low as 73, on the south course of the Westchester Biltmore Club, and a few 76’s, 77’s and 78’s on standard courses. But not often, and they were such momentous events in my life that I can describe each round, play by play, from memory. But in England no stir is created when Joyce Wethered scores under 80. It is con- sidered quite ordinary for her to play such courses as St. Andrews, Gleneagles and Hoylake in 72, 73 and 74. We met in the third round of the British Ladies Cham- pionship at Troon in 1925, on a rather long course with a bogey, or women’s par, of 79. At the end of fifteen holes of the best golf I have ever played—I was just one stroke over par at that stage—I was out of the tournament, beaten by four holes. My il- lustrious opponent had played the fifteen holes in even 4’s and was five under par figures. If we had played out the round and Miss Wethered had maintained her pace, she would have had a 73 for the round. So it is not mere gossip that credits the English girl with rounds of 72, 73 and 74. I played almost perfectly that day. I foozled two tee shots and my approaches rolled into the bunkers twice. Each mistake cost me a hole. Miss Wethered was never in the rough, never in the bunkers, and never did she need. more than two putts. She was over par on only one hole, but had six birdies, four of them in a row. If she had been put to it more, I have no doubt she would have done better. I did what I could, reaching the turn one under par, and one down. Golfing writers in England said this match was “‘the greatest in the history of the British Ladies Championship.”’ I can- not imagine any more perfectly played round in competition than Miss Wether- ed’s, so I do not question the encomium. Here is the card: Out Par 44553643 5—39 Miss Wethered 44453544 4-37 Miss Collett 44354643 5-38 In Par 5454356 3 5—-40—79 Miss Wethered 434435 Miss Collett . 6544465 One of the most pleasant events in Amer- ican golf would be a visit to America by Joyce Wethered. It is futile to attempt to tell you the golfer she is. I would want to have you see her in action. That first visit to me will always be wrapped up in that one match with Joyce Wethered at Troon Joyce Wethered, queen of British golf. A title earned! Many golfers have ushered me to the galleries, but this memory lasts the longest. The Best Ever Joyce Wethered is English. Typically she is all that you would expect a real Eng- lish lady to be. Affable and pleasant, courteous, reserved, gentle mannered. And golf! Well, it was too good for me. She is as near perfection as I ever dreamed of being when I sat in a deep-seated rocker on the front porch and dreamed my best dreams. Her drives travel straight down the fairway, her irons run safely to the greens, her little chips drop dead to the pin. Perhaps she gave me two semichances to take in my tricks, for twice she took three putts. After I had played two perfect 4’s and followed up by getting a birdie three on the third, I must have rested on my oars, being then one up. Bad policy, play- ing with Joyce Wethered. We were both on there in two, but her first putt was weak. Mine ran about two yards past the cup. I tried to coax it in and failed, when I should have played it boldly for the back of the cup and been two up. We squared the match at the eighth and then I made another blunder. Just an or- dinary, common, garden variety of error— flubbing a drive. Well, one cannot do that with impunity when playing Joyce Weth- ered. And when I made my other error, she again walked in the open door. She ushered me to the gallery, as I said before, and as a reward I was enabled to see her in the finals matched against Cecil Leitch. Miss Leitch seemed to throw away any fear she may have labored under for her worthy rival, for the match was such as one would cross even an ocean to wit- ness. Joyce Wethered again proved her worth and Cecil Leitch proved her mettle as a worthy opponent. Outnumbered in Experts The English gallery, to a player intro- duced to it for the first time, gives room for reflection. It is large. Not that the galler- ies of our own States are not large, but they really are a bit different. In Scotland on a day such as the Ladies Tournament the towns round about Troon close up shop and all fare off to witness the match. Not only the men who play golf, but women and everybody. It is a gala day. In following the finals that day of Miss Wethered and Miss Leitch I got a close-up of the intensity of the interest of the gal- lery. The player never sees her ball from the time she hits it until she comes upon it again. No opportunity to get a line on the distance and the direction of the next shot until you come to it. This calls for rapid judgment. A bevy of eight or ten girls formed a circle around the finalists after each had made her shot, to keep the player from be- ing hurried along with the crowd. It was all quite exciting and memorable. Besides all this, there was our American flag float- ing proudly in the breeze beneath the Union Jack, and of a necessity you feel that you are called upon to do your utmost for your country. Of course, we all know how strict they are in England about being on time for the matches. If you are not on the tee when your name is called you lose by default. One of the girls in our party was at Tee Number 1 fully an hour before her starting time. Pale she was when she first arrived, and as the minutes ticked themselves away she grew white and more white. She was the first of the American players to tee off, and as she represented one of the invading team, the gallery grew greater in size every minute, waiting for the American to tee off. As the girl had never broken 100 and was on the party purely for the pleasure of the trip, it can easily be understood how much she must have been worried. Mae O’Gor- man of Providence will never forget that ordeal. After they had played several holes a player asked her how she stood. ‘How many holes have we played?” she asked. On being told, she replied, ‘‘ Well, I’m that many down.”’ Her pallor seemed to be on the increase. A_ solicitous Englishman asked if any of her friends were m the gallery. ‘Oh, yes, indeed,” she replied. ‘‘ They are both in the clubhouse.”’ You see, a strange gallery in a new land has a ten- dency to take the wits quite away from one. Everyone who has performed under such circumstances can readily appreciate these facts. The first thing that is driven home to the American woman golfer playing in Eng- land for the first time is the very large num- ber of women that are active in the sport. And of that number, a strikingly large part of them are of the highest caliber. We hear July 9,1927 little in our press about many of these ex- ceptionally fine players. There are more great golfers in the British Isles than Joyce Wethered and Cecil Leitch. When we Americans held our first na- tional tournament in 1895, those in the British Isles had been holding them thirty years previous to that date. That start reveals itself in the increased skill of a larger number of women players. Such names as Joy Winn, Joan Stocker, Molly Griffiths, Mrs. Alan Macbeth, Molly Gour- lay, Mrs. Temple Dobell, who, as Gladys Ravenscroft, won our championship, and scores of others are ready to fill in the places when there is any open space left at the top of the ladder. And worthily can they defend the honors that the heights call for. Relatively speaking, the English players outnumber us in regard to the numbers of the truly expert. I think it is noticeable also that the ma- jority of these British golfers are players who are self-taught. They began the game when very young and as the American boy learns baseball, after that manner have they learned their golf. Hence they are more independent in forming their judgments and more self-reliant in all phases of the game. Unlike many American golfers, they are not dependent on a pro to explain and to correct their faults. In England a visitor will notice less stand- ardized styles of golf than we have on our side. But the tendency among us is to strike out for ourselves. Very few players are there who, as they pass along the fair- way of golf, do not put on a bit of individ- uality to their style. In my own game I feel conscious of the changes that have passed over it, and if | have found a form for my game at last, I am not at all certain that the form will bea permanent institution. To compete successfully in British golf the American player has found that it is essential to know well the running-up type of approach. This type of shot is excellent on many of the holes that are found on the famous English courses, all of which a visitor would be anxious to play. At Stoke Poges, Prestwick, Westward Ho, and those of Walton Heath. The success that a strange golfer has in making this shot may have much to do with the tender feelings that he is apt to carry away with him from these historic places. What warm feelings Bobby Jones must hold for Sunningdale. I find that on English greens the golfer feels the necessity of coaxing the ball into the cup rather than, as in our country, of hitting boldly for the back of the hole. All of which observations might be tempered with ‘‘It all depends’’—that is so. It’s Going to Rain Some More Now, who ever spoke about golf in Eng- land without prefacing or concluding the remarks with comments on English weather? To me that is a volume that could be com- piled all by itself. England has weather, especially in spring. Of course, Maytime is the season for blossoms and daisies and posies, but there is also connected with it some weather. It is apt to rain in England. Not exactly wet rain—just a drizzle. With the custom- ary tweeds and a woolen jacket, you really do not mind it. But it rains. Sometimes it is expected, sometimes not. But it seems safest to expect it. When you get used to expecting it, you really do not mind it a bit. Besides, the English weather makes you buy the best sort of shoes for golfing. Also umbrellas—large ones that will cover the bag, the caddy and yourself; bright ones, with red, blue and green stripes. Quite colorful on a gray drizzly day is an English golf gallery. On every visit to England a player is surely tempted to add another umbrella to his kit. As I have said before, I am looking forward to having a third for Continued on Page 105 —— SS ee —o ~~ a ee es er

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— — Sg aR I ag ee ae —— ——~S 2s SATURDAY EVENING POST PIPE ITI2ZON , WIAA T AWWA : Dawn (ey tes Bang ; - 7 Me | V Vhere , ‘Protection is vital, Byers is chosen f 4. ¢. ‘ MASSIVE structure of inspiring architec- phone Companies in many important cities. most vital parts of the plumbing system, and ture is the new 22-story building of the Ohio Bel! Telephone Company, in Cleveland. Withthetelephone equipment whichitshelters, it represents an investment of nearly eleven millions of dollars. further, also for the return lines in the heating Byers Pipe was installed for cold w ater supply system. and drinking water lines, refrigeration, soil stacks, waste and vent lines, comprising the In all of these services, experience has amply demonstrated the advisability of using pipe of more than ordinary rust resistance, and Byers has notably proven its economy by hap pily combining moderate first cost with long life in service. Modern plumbing and heating systems, de- signed for the health and comfort of some 2,000 workers, form an extensive network of a concealed behind walls and beneath oors, throughout the building. It is common experience to find genuine wrought iron pipe of Byers quality only superficially corroded after upwards of 40 years’ service in buildings and underground, in every part of the country. These records indicate a probable life of upwards of 75 and 100 years for most purposes where Byers pipe is sub- ject to corrosive attack. Backed by such a record of service, it is only logical that Byers should be chosen Such systems, in such a building, must at all hazards be designed to resist rust from within, if untold damage to the premises is to be pre- vented in future years, and the public is to be served, without interruption, according to the high standards of the Bell Telephone Com- by the most experienced architects and engineers, ° - ° ° for the pe rmanent protection of building investments. pany. Hence the extensive use of rust-resisting Byers Pipe, in this as in other monumental A. M. BYERS COM PAN ¥ buildings erected in the past by the Bell Tele- Established 1864 PITTSBURGH. PA. ad RE : Sy Xe cae Sh : eee — protects you against omnes eee So? ae fe Rivals - 3 “ 4 3 : mistakes Pritt substitution 0 bet pak, Fie ane AEE, * t Als name and 4 Messrs. Hubbel & Benes, of Cleveland > j “ in metal Associate Consulting Engineer; and Smit/ were the Architects and Engineers; Mr. > Oby Company, of Cleveland, Plumbing Isaac Hathaway Francis, of Philade lphia, and Heating Contractors

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9, 1927 ae + # a ~h a a -¢ ims | 5 . a Firestone Dealersat one of the Firestone Repair Schools learning latest methods of repairing injured tires under per- sonal direction of factory instructors. % =“ Can Save You Money Tire conservation—getting out of tires all the mileage built into them at the factory—is an important part of the service of Firestone Dealers. They have modern repair equipment, specially designed by Firestone, to assure car owners quick, uniformly dependable repair service. Firestone Dealers are trained in the latest tire repair methods at the Company’s Repair Schools, conducted at the Factories and in principal Branch Cities throughout the United States. They are experts in rebuild- ing, at lowcost, tires that have been injured, protecting tire users from loss. Firestone Dealers have also had the advantage of Tire Educational Meetings, where by means of motion pictures, charts, tire samples A M EB RICAN S&S S H O U L D P R O D U C CE

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a —.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

» = r . ‘. :, : 2 ! 3 ; mSTRUCTOR a ~. . wes Ls By : _ ~Sa & PL, Nee Pinca len of vuleanizing Sealer jan Serve You Better and engineering data they learned details of tire design and construc- tion. This keeps them up-to-date on all matters of tire development, from the source best qualified to give it— Firestone. ¢

Firestone Dealers are in position to give you better service, for they receive their Firestone Gum-Dipped Tires and Steam-Welded Tubes direct from the nearest of 148 Factory Warehouses. They also receive, from these same warehouses, Oldfield Tires and Tubes which we de- signed and manufacture for Firestone Dealers only. Regardless of the price you want to pay for a tire—the Firestone Dealer can save you money and serve you better. , T HEIR O WN ru BB ER. ery diruroat

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re ah _ = XN, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TRADE MARK REG US PAI OFF CSS Se ee RR pa: Each day it becomes more apparent that Gas is the fuel which can be considered ideal for heating requirements of the average American home. Its fair cost, its cleanliness and its great convenience are advantages which cannot be overlooked by a nation which is working toward an efficiency ideal. Before long, we predict, every home that pretends to be strictly modern will be completely heated by Gas. No public utilities are more essential to national welfare than the great Natural and Manufactured Gas Compa- nies. They are, in the fullest sense of the i term, Public Servants of the Nation. GENERAL GAS LIGHT COMPANY, Kalamazoo, Mich. New York -44 West Broadway San Francisco- 135 Bluxome Street . / mi ~ Pittsburgh Buffalo Cincinnati Atlantic City \ \ . \ A / July 9, 1927

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—— (Continued from Page 100) my collection. At least I can collect um- brellas. Caddies in England and Scotland are also a revelation. I wonder how they would thrive in our golf setting. My caddy in Scotland was much older than my father. He knew Troon much better than I did. I fear he felt he would like to play it for me. Brought up in the business and earning a living by means of it, they become very adept at the game. He probably gave me the best of instructions and advice, but the truth of the matter is I was short on Scotch dialect. I am not yet certain that I know all he said. Then, golf and English weather means a number of introductions to King Boreas and his coterie of winds. When the winds sweep across from the ocean and play havoc with skirt and hair, the effects on the golf equilibrium are not slow in being felt. The game of golf is not what it ought to be when battling with the winds. Alexa Stirling’s Record We gathered together our party after one of these windy encounters, and for the mutual good of the group we broke rules and talked shop. Finally we nailed our- selves down to these facts. It appeared, after deliberation, that when playing in winds in England it was best: 1. To keep well within yourself. No lunge, no jerk, no jump, no overbalance, no overpull, not a thing that would be abnormal. 2. To aim to get a straight low flight to the ball, by keeping hands ahead of ball at address and striving to swing straight through. Differences in greens and these differ- ences in playing conditions are all to be expected on a golfing trip to the British Isles. The golf in the woman of their land is essentially high class, and though there is but one Joyce Wethered, England has many players from whose encounter Amer- ican women could learn fine points. Many good golfers have come to our shores from England. Mrs. Dorothy Campbell Hurd and Mrs. Ronald Barlow have come to stay. Visitors who have left their imprint on golf’s story are Cecil Leitch, her sister Edith, Mrs. Gladys Ravenscroft Dobell, Mrs. Rhona Adair Cutbell, Mrs. Muriel Alan Macbeth and Mrs. William Gavin. Mrs. Hurd has won our national title three years. Once Miss Ravenscroft took it to England. The American woman golfer who first drew the attention of the world to the genius of her play was Alexa Stirling, now Mrs. Fraser. She was in her youth a neigh- bor of Bobby Jones in Atlanta. She was also of Scotch parentage. These circum- stances may help explain the heights she scaled. When she gave her full attention to golf, which unhappily she no longer does, she was almost invincible, and when her powers were at their crest she went un- defeated at match play for more than two years. Her record includes three successive championships, and in six of the nine na- tional championships she entered she was a finalist. She holds the record medal score for the National-——-her 77 scored in 1925. She was also the medalist in 1919 and 1923 and 1924. Her medals and cups for lesser tournaments must be legion. Her form has been the model for count- less women golfers whom she Has inspired to better games. I succumbed to her in- fluence from the moment I saw her play, and I am not so sure of anything as I am that I steadily improved in the game after watching the effect of her perfectly played strokes. A golfing temperament better than hers would be difficult to find. I never saw her flustered or hurried. She was businesslike always, and expert, and sure of herself. When she was beaten, it was because her own remarkable play had inspired or driven her opponent almost to perfection, or as near perfection as anything can be in golf. In many respects the National of 1925 marked the highest peak of women’s golf THE SATURDAY achievement. Mrs. Fraser began the spec- tacular performances with her medal score of 77 in the eighteen-hole qualifying round. I was one stroke behind Alexa, and seven others broke 85. Fourteen had scores between 85 and 90, and the remaining nine of the thirty-two who qualified, scored between 90 and 93. As I recall, several were tied with scores of 93, and three of them were eliminated in a play-off. The average score of the thirty-two ladies who qualified was 87, and women’s par for the course was 81. In what tourna- ment in men’s golf annals has the average of the field been within six strokes of their par? A few years before, the men’s National Amateur Championship was played over this same course. Men’s par was 71, and Francis Ouimet was medalist with a round of 72—one above par, as compared with Alexa’s four under par. The average of the qualifiers was 81!>5 strokes, ten and a half strokes over their par as compared with our record of six over par. In the match play there were some ex- ceptional performances. Alexa had a nine- hole card of 37 against Mary Browne. I was playing as well as I have ever done, and had scores of 36, 37 and 38 in several matches. In spite of this unusual good for- tune, I had difficulty in winning my matches. I barely defeated Miss Stifel, although I played exceptionally well that day. In my match with Ada Mackenzie, the Canadian champion, we had 36’s for the first nine, and were even. During the second nine the rain came down in torrents, and, although the golf was not so good the match was just as close. I scored a 44 and won by two up on the last green. But I will always thank the elements. Miss Mac- kenzie was wearing a knitted suit which reached just below her knees. But as the rain fell harder the soaked skirt grew longer, and finally reached her shoe tops. It is no simple matter to drive with a soaked skirt clinging to your legs. Mrs. Fraser and I reached the finals after many trying experiences. It was my second chance at the title and Alexa’s ninth. She had won her championship first in 1916. I had won my first championship in 1922. The final round was thirty-six holes, and the result depended largely on stamina. Alexa was quite tired, although she would not admit it, and for that reason I was able to win quite easily. For sustained effort I have never equaled my performance in that championship round. I played out the thirty-six holes, and my card for the two rounds was 77-75, made up of a 37-40 in the morning and a 36-39 in the afternoon. Among the Best for 50 Years This tournament was also notable for the appearance of the most heroic figure of all golfing history— Mrs. Caleb Fox. Mrs. Fox was a finalist in the National Cham- pionship of 1899, and that is sufficient evi- dence that she was then a golfer of note. In the 1925 tournament she qualified with a score of 88. Where are the men of three score and ten who will shoot an 88 with no putts conceded? I have often speculated on what Mrs. Fox would have done to the rest of us these last few years if golf had come to America when she was a girl. In 1895, when the first women’s championship was held, Mrs. Fox was well over thirty. Even with the handicap of her late start, she has contrived during the last twenty or so years to defeat all of the champions. If it is true that golfers are born, it is true also that they are occasionally born in pairs. The year 1923 was responsible for the rise of two such teams. America fur- nished Edith Cummings, of Chicago, win- ner of the Women’s Championship, and her brother Dexter, who wou the Intercollegi- ate title, under the colors of Yale. England had the Wethereds—Joyce and Roger, the greatest brother and sister golf has known. The appearance of Miss Cummings on the golfing fields brought word to the coun- try that the West must be reckoned with. EVENING POST Last year it was Virginia Wilson, and now the West has produced Miss Virginia Van Wie. Marion Turpie, of New Orleans, and Maureen Orcutt are also types of the younger golfers who are bringing a new method to the game. These young players are the hitters of the game. The old-style sweeping stroke is disappearing as youth brings in crispness and directness and en- thusiasm. When they have had a few years’ more experience it may be possible that the lady golfers will not require six bisques from their lords and masters. Perhaps four will suffice But women will not reach that desirable goal—if it is desirable—by aiming defi- nitely at it. Women need to develop nat- urally. They must direct their attack on women’s par, not on men’s par, and must do so on courses designed with some atten- tion to the shorter game. Today, so far as I know, there is only one course in the United States laid out with short holes for the requirements of women’s short game. That is the women’s national course at Glen Cove, Long Island. Another one is in the process of organization at present in Westchester County, New York. We hope to have it ready by next season The Giant Killer of the Links In Chicago is the Bob-o’-Link Club which has disbarred women from its courses. It is one of the many Eveless Edens in the country. But it is no matter, for Chicago still seems to dig up a new girl or so each season. The metropolis of the Midwest has also given the game its chief usher of golf celebrities. When you win your match in a tournament, according to the quaint phrasing of the ancient game, you usher your opponent to the gallery. Mrs. F. C. Letts, of Chicago, has never won a title in the National Championship, nor even reached the final round, but she has caused many heartaches in her attempts. The draw has not dealt kindly with her and she has retaliated against fate by ushering out a fair proportion of the golfing giants she has had to face. That is why she is known on the links as the Giant Killer. A few years back when Cecil Leitch, then the British champion and the best of women golfers, came to the United States to add the American crown to her trophies, it was freely conceded that no American player had a chance to defeat her except Alexa Stirling; and the country was none too sanguine about the chances of Miss Stirling. Miss Leitch had held her own against the best men players of Britain, she was sure to outdrive Miss Stirling and match her shots on the fairway and green. Of course, Mrs. Letts had to face Miss Leitch in an early round. It was unfor- tunate, but no new experience to the long- suffering Chicago woman. However, she took it all philosophically, and was proba- bly the only person in America who was not surprised when she ushered Miss Leitch to the gallery. The next year it was Mrs. Dorothy Camp- bell Hurd that the draw set before Mrs. Letts in the early rounds. And scarcely anyone was surprised when Mrs. Letts put her out also. Having mentioned a formidable list of young players, and spoken highly of their long hitting and enthusiasm, I perhaps ought to explain why the present American champion is Mrs. G. Henry Stetson, a charming matron of Philadelphia—a mother with grown children. A golf champion must have a sound game, and a genuine love for it and its traditions. Mrs. Stet son's qualifications are precisely those. Women are improving their golf much more rapidly than men. The present ten stroke difference in men’s and women’s par must be revised downward, else we may be barred from more courses where masterful males feel uncomfortable in the presence of females who break 80 now and then. Men have reached the point of diminishing returns, while women still have room for im- provement. But though the margin of dif ference can be narrowed, the gap will never Acids Liquids Bulbs in Trickle Modernize pour charger with KUPROX [ Wo Bulbs + No Liquids + NoNoise ) METALLIC REPLACEMENT UNIT HROW away the acid jar in your trickle charger. Replace it with the new KUPROX all- metal rectifying unit. KUPROX doubles the charging rate of any electrolytic rectiher elimmates the attentien all such units require KL PROX - equiy pe 1, your trickle charger requires no watching or waterng and will last forever The KUPROX all-metal Replacement can be attached to any standard tnckle charger or power unit less than two minutes Ask any radio dealer for KUPROX. Write to us for literature in ~ Unstall Ut ‘Forget Tt Dealers—Jobbers — Power Unit Manufacturers Write for complete trade details and dis counts. Sample orders accepted for immediate delivery. THE KODEL RADIO CORPORATION CINCINNATI, O#110 KUPROX ORY METALLIC DOISC RECTIFIERS

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So we make this astonishing offer :— Mail us twenty cents today and wewill send youa mint- ature “grip-full of shaving aids" —containing the stand- ard Ever-Ready Razor with Ever-Ready Radio Blades, and two other shaving requi- sites. This trial offer is strictly limited — better write today. Ever-Ready Blades sold every- where. Ever-Ready De Luxe Razors, $1 complete. AMERICAN SAFETY RAZOR CORPORATION, Brooklyn, N. Y. Ever-Re THE SATURDAY ady Blades EVENING POST be bridged until golf breeds an Ederle, with her physique, her deadly seriousness and her superlative confidence. There are 5000 golf courses in the United States. Give a professional to half of them, and a few assistants, and you have a group of 3000 men who think golf and play golf twelve months of the year. They put their best efforts into making their game ap- proach perfection. They have ample op- portunity by tournament play to try out their skill. No mention do I make of amateurs. Now, I ask you, could an army of 3000 women be found who are taking a like opportunity? The obvious answer is “‘ No.” There seems little likelihood of women ever giving much serious attention to golf as a means of livelihood. The broom and mix- ing spoon are more likely to hold their attention yet awhile. Second. Talk to Devereux Emmett, Don- ald Ross, Wayne Styles and others whose business it is to lay out golf courses. I won- der if these builders will not admit that the courses are laid out for he men—many holes conforming to the idea that the mod- ern rubber-cored ball can be hit a mile. Full plenty thought and brains are given to making the one-shot and the two-shot hole, but even these are stretched enough. Taking it for granted that a goodly per- centage of the holes can be made as low by a woman as by a man, isn’t it possible to believe a premium is put on length rather than average distance plus skill? Third. When the great prairies of the West boasted of no golf courses, and when the present ones of the South still were but swamps, England had her Kirkcaldys, Willie Parkes, Sandy Herds, her Vardons, Rays and Hiltons, far ahead of American prog- ress. Yet today the golfers of this land have already caught up with their erstwhile betters, and as their peers they contest comfortably for the Walker Cup, and have been successful in lifting other prized crowns from the British lion. A Bas Sir Walter Would it not seem possible that time, too, will have its bettering effects on the woman’s game? Remembering always that man’s golf must be nearly at its height, there is not much leeway for improvement, while woman’s game is only in its ascend- ancy. Its ebb tide has not even heaved in sight, and after the high tide there comes | an ebb. A type of woman golfer can be found, and my mind gleefully fashions this hypo- thetical player. Not at all Amazonian in build, but possessed of a full quota of phys- ical stamina, golfing ability and a lion’s share of golf sense. The picture would be somewhat as follows: A player who could drive as consistently long a ball as can Vir- ginia Van Wie and Simone Thion de la Chaume; and added to that, the ability to dispatch a screaming brassie such as Mau- reen Orcutt’s and Cecil Leitch’s; then there would be needed in the player’s make-up the irons as Alexa Sterling Fraser or Edith Cummings can play them. And, as in all good tales, I save the frosting for the last that player of mine would have to have the approaching genius and the putting skill of Joyce Wethered. With that equipment success would come, for such a player would have my other essential — golf sense. Many times it has fallen to my lot to try out my game against that of a male oppo- nent. The best known of these efforts of July 9,1927 man versus woman are held each summer at Fairfield, Connecticut. The prestige of the male sex has never been seriously in jeopardy, although three years in succes- sion success crowned the efforts of Edith Cummings in her combats with Max Marston. In these yearly encounters the men give the women five bisques. After such chiv- alric conduct on their part, they start right in to turn the trick and feel no need of playing any Sir Walter Raleigh act, and proceed to prove their superiority. It would be toying with the facts to say that women were superior. If girls could play their very best game there would be a chance of defeating a champion if he was a bit off his stride. The facts as they mani- fest themselves to me seem to point to the truth that although we women may make a display of mannish-appearing golf, we cannot keep it up. We lack the strength of forearms and wrists that makes for the long carry. Except in very rare cases, our game has an element of inconsistency in it, and this is apt to display itself when most undesired. Not Even Thinking About It The best in the women’s ranks can com- fortably keep up with the better-than- average man golfer, but as yet needs must accept handicaps from those on the top rungs of the ladder. Admitting, however, the difference in the two games, I can dis- cern a faint trace of possibility of making them even. The type, of course, might in time be on different lines from those now in vogue. A premium may one day be placed on ordi- nary yardage and on skill. The contention that a woman cannot get back spin, fade- aways and what nots is not backed up by facts. You ought to see Joyce Wethered make the ball back-spin! Then, too, women are making improve- ments in every line of athletics. The prog- ress of woman’s rise in athletics has kept pace with her curtailment in habiliments. Examples are the one-piece bathing suit, the sleeveless tennis costume, the boyish figure of the golf attire. The more com- fortable the clothes have become, the more marked the improvement in sports. To win the race is worthy of achieve- ment, but picking up the golden apples along the way also has its major attrac- tions, and herein lies the true reason no woman has yet raised her eyes toward man’s golf Olympus. I never heard of a woman who ever gave it a thought. No woman would care to make the grade. Cut off our hair to keep the flying ring- lets from bothering while we putt; train our muscles to obey the brain’s behest. But to make our bodies hard as nails by muscular training, or to get our heads to the state of baldness to acquire greatness on golf, is far beyond our desires. Mine is not the task to tell by whom or when or where the Rubicon that separates the games of the sexes is to be crossed. Yet I might be truth-telling if I made the state- ment of its possibility. Jules Verne was not accepted as a truth-telling individual when he wrote of trips under the ocean. Yet when the Deutschland poked her periscope through the waters of New London Bay after her journey across the Atlantic, I, in truth, would have hailed him as the coun- terpart of George Washington. When women think about the winning of every- thing in golf, it will be time to worry. Meanwhile we await developments.

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_s, SS ee foe T89g THE SATURDAY EVENING POST When you consider the work UNITED STATES [RUCK IiRES are doing, you will easily understand why they are the most praised truck tires in the country todap- Talk to the United States Truck Tire Dealer. There are two things he can do for you. He can give you the type of | tires best adapted for your truck and _ the service you demand of it. He will | give you the best tire of its type—the United States Truck Tire. United States @ Rubber Company UNITED STATES TRUCK «- TIRES - ARE GOOD - TIRES

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108 KEEPING THE MISSISSIPPI IN ITS BANKS AIND OUT OF POLITICS (Continued from Page 17) ind from far-off corners Solons sweetly sing, “ Here's the old pork barrel, boys! Flood control's the thing!” The memory of a republic’s people is short. If it were longer we would all re- member that the trunk containing the ques- tion of improvement of the Mississippi never is opened without its being filled with a hodgepodge of claims for the improve- ment of Myrtle Creek and Dog-gone Har- bor, the reclamation of Stagnant Desert for the raising of camphor trees, and of other deserts which in many cases already have eaten up, with no particular return, great sums of Federai assets. It is true that in the 1912 campaign Roosevelt said: ‘We, the nation, must build the levees, and build them better and more scientifically than ever before.”” And that Wilsonsaid: ‘In the case of the Missis- sippi River, that great central artery of our trade, it is plain that the Federal Govern- ment must build and maintain levees and keep the great waters in harness for the general use.”’ And that Taft said: “I am strongly in favor of spending the money to save that part of the country from floods in a reasonable time and to provide a proper levee system.” But any one of them might have added, ‘“‘And here come the joy rid- ers!”’ The moment a Congress is assembled to make a political question of Mississippi flood control —be sure of it!—unless there are at hand the highest-grade information, the most assured and unassailable plan, and the best possible apportionment of equities and of contribution obligation as between states and between the states and the Fed- eral Government, not only will Coolidge and the taxpayers see a general gold rush aimed at their economy program, but any com- prehensive Mississippi flood control project will be delayed, dismembered, politicked, logrolled and covered from head to foot with leeches. All-Inclusive Plans Sic semper gold-dig! If the past is any indication of the future, any relief to the Mississippi Valley proposed by any method other than by a noncongressional, sound and sane, nonpartisan and equity-balanced plan, well matured and presented with the confidence and sentiment of the country in its favor, will contain: Hydroelectric developments in distant corners. Swamp-drainage schemes. Canal systems on the coast. Great Lakes dredging. Tree forestation. Purification of stagnant waters. Chicago-to-the-sea waterways. Docks for sick harbors. Protection for the shrimp industry. Irrigation of mountain slopes. Free railway grading Impounding of the waters of Tiddledee River. Under such conditions the clamor for an extra session of Congress, usually accom- panied by the tears of the crocodile, was, in many instances, a clamor inspired by hunger to get more noses into the Federal feed bag, Or it was party campaign tac- tics. It was like the clamor for Coolidge to go to the scene of the flood, a demand which was intended by partisan politics to create a situation where the President could be painted as a heartless glacé if he stayed on his job, er could be put into the position of a political soft-soaper if he went. If one is a common citizen and feels sin- cere interest in the future of this flood- menaced empire of ours, why not look to those who will tell the unveneered truth about Mississippi floods, and who after years of study know most about what can be done to control them? No doubt it is good policy for those who know the subject-—-men like Hoover and the Secretary of War, General Jadwin of the army engineers, and members of the Mississippi River Commission—to take the THE SATURDAY position that they will listen indulgently to every suggestion and every plan for flood control. No doubt it is good policy to have hearings and receive all the counsel, good or bad, which is obtainable. The chances that any of this counsel and advice will be any news to those who have been studying the subject for years, or would even have been news to their prede- cessors, are slight indeed. The taxpayers of the United States should be told with some unhesitating frankness that most of the amateur sug- gestions, whether offered, as many are, with sincere benevolence, or for self- advertisement, or as an advance agency for some congressional lobby of water- power projects or contractors or selfish local interests, may be novel, but are not new, may be as ingenious as Jules Verne, but are as impractical as sewing handkerchief pockets on young pigs. Plenty of Expert Opinion There is a very general idea all over the country that flood control of the Missis- sippi is quite a new problem. The flood of 1927 comes, and everywhere there are per- sons who spring out of their boxes to say that the subject should be studied and American ingenuity invoked. ‘‘ Never let it happen again!” Editorial writers are shocked and con- gressmen hold that the army engineers and river-district veterans must be taken to account for the heavy rains which so far have not obeyed either congressmen or en- gineers. There is a demand for some great engineer to come galloping in all covered with foam, with a blue print in his manly hand, and then learn overnight the hard cold facts. Months and years of study of trial and error with the Father of Waters is necessary before any such Moses would know as much as a levee foreman—unless those who had been at it told him. And those who have been at it are glad to tell. The army engineers are glad to tell. Col. Charles L. Potter, now president of the Mississippi River Commission, who has had twenty-seven years of knowledge of the problem, is glad to tell. Col. C. McD. Townsend, his predecessor, who knows about flood control all over the world, is glad to tell. The weather experts of the Government are glad to tell. The railway engineers are glad to tell. Therefore why listen to the president of the Reno Sewing Circle or to Congressman Wicklight, who started with dentistry and ended with a law office over Tolliver’s drug store? The statement of what has been done in study of flood control and of the body which has spent nearly $200,000,000 on both construction and maintenance is given in a report to Congress. In answer to the demands of those who were interested in both problems—that is, in navigation and also in flood protection Congress, in 1879, created the Mississippi River Commission. It was made the duty of the commission, by the act creating it, “to take into consideration and mature such plan or plans and estimates as will correct, permanently locate, and deepen the channel and protect the banks of the Mississippi River, improve and give safety and ease to the navigation thereof, prevent destructive floods and promote and facili- tate commerce, trade and the postal serv- ice,”’ In other words, the commission was to make a thorough investigation and to devise and report a plan by which the problems, both of navigation and of flood control, could be best and mosteconomically solved. This was a mixed commission— that is, was composed of three engineer officers from the Army, one from the Coast and Geodetic Survey, two civilian engi- neers, and one civilian who need not be an engineer. Since its organization there have EVENING POST been thirty-two members of the commis- sion all told, and sixty-five engineers con- nected with it. After an elaborate study of the river and many experiments the commission at last arrived at the conclu- sion that there was but one economical plan by which either problem could be solved, and that plan, if carried out, would solve both. The engineers agreed, as have all the engineering commissions heretofore ap- pointed by the Government to study the problem, that these floods can be con- trolled and passed in safety to the sea by means of levees built along the banks of the river and by preventing those banks from caving into the river by the building of works of revetment. They were unanimous, also, in the opinion that these floods can be controlled by no other means. They were also of the opinion, and equally unanimous, that a navigable channel of sufficient depth to carry the commerce of the future could be maintained economically by these same means and in no other way. Maj. E. M. Markham, testifying before the Committee on Commerce in 1916, com- mented wisely upon the newcomers who approach the problem with gestures of brand-new opinionation. He said: “IT think the matter has perhaps gotten into a state of confusion for a number of years, due to the fact that the advocates of other methods have merely stated generali- ties and have never gotten into details, so far as I can see; but I have convinced my- self very earnestly that there is no other method of controlling the floods except by levees and revetments.”’ And that is just the trouble. The aver- age conclusions of these newcomers are brilliantly conceived but unfortunately are based upon a river as they conceive it and not a river as it is—upon waters as they wish they were rather than upon waters as they are. The innocent or the wily volunteers of various plans for flood control are usually even ignorant of the Mississippi River Commission, its organization or its extent of investigation and experience, in which it has not only the aid of the army engineers in charge of the various districts of the river but a tremendous accumulation of data as to rainfall, drainage, cubic second- feet of flow, flood gauges and proved-good and proved-bad methods and devices. There is no proper realization yet that the Mississippi River Commission has been operating for nearly fifty years and is not a sitting-room body, but an organization covering a tremendous territory and em- ploying hundreds of experts and thousands of workers. Persistent Fallacies After two years of contact with the river before the war and two weeks of intensive observation of this flood between the arti- ficial crevasse below New Orleans and the office of the commission in St. Louis, I would no more think of offering any of my plans for flood control than I would think of offering the Navy the blue prints for a battleship. I have learned that my secret plans for flood control were no more prac- tical than would be my plans to teach Chinese spelling to General Chiang. But now, stepping on the tail of the 1927 flood, along comes every misconception, every myth, every persistent fallacy with which those who know the business have had to deal year after year. Let us discuss a few. There is the fal- lacy which persists with all the tenacity of the most persistent lie in the world. This fallacy is that levee building is a dis- couraging work because the higher we build levees the more the bottom of the river rises. The river engineers dismiss this with an amused statement that this bit of nonsense came about because dwellers in the valley saw levees gradually built higher July 9,1927 and higher for better flood protection and merely assumed that the higher levees were made necessary by a general rise in the whole bed of the river. Those who know have no hope whatever that this fallacy will ever die. There is the fallacy that European expe- rience has demonstrated that other than levee systems can be depended upon to control floods. The exact contrary is true. The Po, Rhine, Rhone, Danube and the other rivers where flood control is a prob- lem have been successfully treated with levees as the main line of defense. . The Mississippi and the Nile Then the fallacy of comparing the Mis- sissippi and the Nile. Colonel Townsend dismisses this easily. He says: ‘Many persons in the United States some even in the Mississippi Valley —argue that as the heights of floods have increased as the land has been reclaimed, this is suffi- cient evidence that there are no limits to the heights which the river will reach, and that levees should therefore be abandoned, mounds constructed to preserve cattle and other farm animals during the floods, and the cultivation of the country confined to periods in which there is no overflow. Such critics point to the Nile as an example, and argue that as this method of handling the Nile has been successful, it should be ap- plied on the Mississippi. “It is unquestionably true that the flood waters of the Nile have for ages been per- mitted to spread over its valley with bene- ficial results, but it by no means follows therefrom that other rivers should be sim- ilarly treated. “The Nile rises near the equator and flows from a tropical toward a temperate zone. This characteristic differentiates it from most of the other large rivers of the world. Its floods arise from tropical storms during the early winter months, which reach its mouth early in the spring. It therefore deposits its silt on the land and subsides before the agriculturist is prepared to plant his crops. In fact, as there is little rain in the Nile Valley, it is impossible for the crops to grow until the river overflows. “The conditions on the Mississippi are the reverse. Its sources are in the ice- bound north, and it flows toward the tropics instead of away from them. The snows at some of its sources are beginning to melt when the floods of the Nile have reached the sea. Bounteous rains occur in the lower valley, and the crops are there- fore well advanced before the flood arrives. The floods of the Nile prepare the land for the farmer, while those of the Mississippi destroy the crops he has planted. “Men have lived and could live again under such conditions, but not comfort- ably, according to modern ideas. Such abandonment of all attempts at control of the river would leave it free to work its own will on its banks. It would wander hither and thither around sand bars which it had built from material taken from its caving banks and which it would be unable to re- move. It would behave as it did in the ages when it was building the alluvial valley. The same law of sedimentary deposit which obtained then would be present and con- trolling. A narrow margin of land adjacent to the overflow would be built up, beyond which would stretch interminable swamps filled with water. No intelligent man can entertain seriously such a proposal as this.”’ But it is often made. In the recent flood, letters galore, citing the Nile, passed over the desks of the President, of the army engineers, of Hoover and Davis and the Mississippi River Commission. There is the fallacy that the big floods on the Mississippi are caused in the main by waters, rains or thaws coming from the north southward. The fact, is that the biggest contribution of water in these (Continued on Page 113)

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“For three years was a slave to cathartics “PILLs them with no resuls. AND Tonics—J spent many dollars on After I had gizen a dozen of g these re medtes a fair chance I wasn't any better. “T was actually taking a laxative every night that was the state I had reat he da aresult of chronic constipation, indigestion and biliousness. “TI often wished that I never had to eat, I felt such dai stress afler every me al. “Then I started in with Fleischmann’s Yeast more lo plea Ca couple of my fi rT nd. other reason. They argued that Yeast had helped many others—that it wouldn’t do me any harm. I followed their advice three months ago and ate my y | on * - = three cakes regularly every day. § than for any “Today I can honestly and truthfully say that my whole constitution has been marvelously helped. I absolutely forgot about laxatives after seven weeks! I once more really enjoy my meals.” Joun L. Porter, San Francisco, Calif. HIS is the way yeast works—ge ntly but surely overcoming constipation and its attendant ills. Almost before you know it you really feel like a new pe rson, Mysterious?—not at all. Yeast is simply a cor- rective food. Each cake consists of millions upon millions of living plants, grown in a nutritious ex- tract of malt and grain. Unlike drugs, which merely stimulate the body to temporary, abnormal activity, yeast keeps the whole system clean—and active. It purifies the digestive and intestinal tracts, checking the absorption of dangerous poisons by the blood. It gradually strengthens the sluggish intestinal mus- cles, aiding the processes of elimination. Howarp CHanpter Curisty, noted American painter, in his beautiful New York City studio “TAM PROMPTED t benefit which I hav ing portraits all day long a great expenditure of vitality is required. restoring my energy I find the use of your Yeast 1s a great benefit in and in keeping enjoyment of The S | Lif CHANDLER Curisty, New Yor« Crry. > P write you this letter of appreciation for the ived from using your fresh Yeast. In paint- ‘ : h for the work, and a-plenty left over for THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1g a family in the United States and Canada is a user of this truly amazing food! Start today: make Fleischmann’s Yeast a part i See how your constipation One person in every third of your regular diet. gradually disappears and with it that constant dis- couragjng feeling of weariness. You can again enjoy a normal digestion, a fresh healthy skin. All grocers have Fleischmann’s Yeast. Buy two or three days’ supply at a time and keep in a cool ; aye dry place. Write for a free Copy « f the latest booklet on Yeast for Health. Health Research Dept. D-41, The Fleischmann Company, 1 Washington St., New York City. BELOW MRS. CHAMBERS WRITES: “For two or three years my two little girls had sever tomach ar sk t Certa things they ate invarial pset them. I tried: licines, dieting, but nothing seemed to | xcept temporarily I had noticed Fleischmann’s Yeast advert 1 for such tr ’ ind decided to try it. I gave them two cakes a day and in thr weeks the skin eruptions had entirely disa ired—a of them has had any since. As to their st achs, th wea vthing short of nails. I still feed th a cake of Yeast a day just to be safe Mrs. Lot © CHame . Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Chamber nt ; rt Lauderdale, Fla “MY STORY who for tw I ha hits Physics, catharti I had even t: fashior After rea enthusiasts I —_ Sear One person in every third American family keeps well this new easy way

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July 9, 1927 epee cae terete anahe ss al . 7 sande baad cantly ee peat a ™ 7) ° a, 16) 2 ray ~ & Q & ~ & gq 7 a! = & eS — yw a cet ttt ME eit a List) tee OS ans Tih rcxasuenanensnneanent a p swat , - 4 a % £

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Gasoline Sellers—! The attention and interest of the entire gasoline industry is focused on the amazing array of advanced features incorporated in the Fry Super-Twin—the latest and greatest achieve- ment ever offered in a gasoline pump. Every gallon measured visibly. That gains gallonage! Every gallon measured with positive accuracy. That gains gallonage! Elimination of the wet hose evil—Con- trol at Nozzle. That gains gallonage! Every gallon is recorded. That gains gallonage! Continuous flow—1 to 1000 gallons without stopping. That gains gallonage! Every measured gallon is positively de- livered. That gains gallonage! It is power-operated and has pressure discharge. That gains gallonage! The speed is amazing. That gains gal- lonage! The design is unusually beautiful. That gains gallonage! What is probably one of the greatest single contributions towards the further devel- opment and betterment of the thousands of already excellently equipped and well- managed gasoline filling stations, is the introduction of America’s newest gasoline pump—the Fry Super-Twin. Knowing the puzzling problems of every gasoline station owner, Fry undertook the responsibility of developing a more ad- vanced pump which would make market- ing of gasoline simpler, speedier, snappier, more attractive and more profitable. At last this new pump is ready! For the development and perfection of the aston- ishing Fry Super-Twin eliminates in a most sweeping manner practically every single problem that has ever confronted you in connection with the sale of gas- oline. Think that over—then read on! This new and advanced pump is truly the answer to every pump buyer’s dream. Never before in the history of the entire pump industry has a pump been offered in which are incorporated so many refine- ments, each one of which is specially designed as a profit-producing aid to your business. Already the more thoughtful buyers in all parts of the country are installing this latest pump. Now more than ever, Fry pum} ; is recognized as the outstanding authority on service-station equipment. The Fry Super-Twin, like all modern in- ventions, is a great aid to both the buyer and seller. It gives the buyer of gasoline —the motorist—faster, more economical, always accurate service. It gives the seller an opportunity to widen his business, 1n- crease his profits, and to make himself known as the most progressive, most alert and most deserving filling-station operator in his vicinity. Write today for descriptive literature. Now more than ever motorists will buy from a Fry! GUARANTEE LIQUID MEASURE COMPANY ROCHESTER, PENNSYLVANIA FRY EQUIPMENT COMPANY, LIMITED, 10 King Street East, TORONTO, ONT. “Always Accurate” s onan, Cre 1, ) ss peseeey a a yen AMEN I | "4 | ava oh ERT PVE GR sees, sadlg gap vraag sea NNR & ming

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FIRE IS A GOOD SERVANT As a servant, Fire does good work for all of us. He heats our homes, cooks our food, pumps our water, carries us back and forth to work. Without the help of Fire, the world, as we know it, would disappear over night.

Respect Fire as a good servant. Hate Fire as a dreadful enemy. Keep him in his rightful réle of servant by doing everything you can to balk his villainy. Be careful. Be watch- ful. Always. if each one of us was as careful as he could be about Fire, hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of property would be saved every year. More than half of our annual fire losses are due to carelessness.

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July 9, 1927

Ras ES mes ee ee A < _ a = FIRE IS A BAD MASTER As a master, Fire threatens all of us. When he gets loose he burns our

homes, murders our neighbors, steals our money, takes away our jobs. Without the hurt of Fire, the world would be a far happier place.

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- SS. Oo eer — <a S

(Continued from Page 108) lower-valley floods which spread destruc- tively toward the Gulf of Mexico has just come from the Gulf of Mexico. It has ridden in the Zeppelins of the clouds and knows nothing whatever of what is going on in the upper valley or the upper tribu- taries. A former president of the commission has said of the greatest of the various floods: “The greater Mississippi Valley is bounded on the east by the Appalachian chain and on the west by the Rocky Moun- tains. These mountain ranges exert a great influence on its floods. The winds blowing from an easterly direction deposit most of the moisture they absorb from the Atlantic Ocean on the eastern slope of the Alle- ghanies, and therefore cause little rain in the Mississippi Valley; the Rocky Moun- tains intercept the moisture from the Pa- cific Ocean. Though showers occur from winds blowing over the Great Lakes, the original source of the floods of the Missis- sippi is to be sought in the Gulf of Mexico. Trees and Floods “During the winter and spring the land of the Mississippi Valley, no matter what its soil or the nature of its covering, is cooler than the waters of the Gulf, and a southerly wind, becoming saturated with moisture as it passes over the water, will precipitate that moisture on the land in copious rains, or in snow when the tem- perature is sufficiently low. A wind from the southwest sweeps up the Ohio Valley; one from the south carries moisture to the upper Mississippi; one from the southeast to the valleys of the Arkansas and the Missouri; but in all cases there is a ten- dency for the greatest rainfall to occur near the coast, and gradually to decrease as the wind currents travel inland. Thus the average annual rainfall at New Orleans is 60 inches, at Memphis 52 inches, at Cin- cinnati 42 inches, at Pittsburgh 36 inches, and at St. Louis 40 inches. At the head- waters of the upper Mississippi it is but 25 inches, and at the headwaters of the Mis- souri but 13 inches. Though floods do not arise from mean conditions but from ex- ceptional rainfall, when 6 to 10 inches fall in a week, these figures are good indices of flood volumes as we find from observation by the Geological Survey at Williston, North Dakota, that the flood discharge of the upper reaches of the Missouri is about one second-foot per square mile of drain- age area; measurements at St. Paul give an extreme flood discharge of the upper Mississippi of slightly over two second- feet per square mile. In the Ohio it is about six second-feet, and in the Ouachita, St. Francis and Yazoo rivers from eight to ten. ‘From the above it will be seen that the rainfall is very unequally distributed over the Mississippi Valley, being least at the upper sources of the tributaries, and rapidly increasing as you approach the main stream.”’ The 1927 flood raised its havoc without being affected by any abnormal contribu- tions from the upper river or the Ohio. The dismissal of that fallacy brings us to the dream of reforestation as the key or important auxiliary to flood control. There is no doubt that reforestation, standing on its own merits, is important to any country, but the recently published statements from the Department of Agriculture give the general impression that reforestation has an important and practical place in control of such floods as came in 1845, 1912, 1922 and 1927. The importance of forests in this re- spect has long been emphasized, says the department, but until recently very little attention has been given to the effect of the continued destructive washing of large areas of cultivated farm land and pasture lands. ‘Reforestation and forest protection,” says E. A. Sherman, associate forester of the Forest Service, ‘will unquestionably enter into any plan for the future control of THE SATURDAY the Mississippi. Claims that the present flood is due to forest destruction or claims that reforestation has no bearing upon flood prevention are both exaggerations. Every acre of land in the immense catchment basin of the Mississippi system contributes in one form or another, at one time or an- other, to the flood problem. It is idle to say the scores of millions of acres of forest land within this basin have no relation to the flood problem. The plans for preventing a recurrence of a flood of this magnitude must, as one of their essential factors, in- clude the reforestation of the headwaters of the Mississippi and its tributaries.’ There are several facts which would ap- pear to prick the hopes of the forestry advo- cates. Let us cite a few of these realities: First. Flood control is needed today as well as after the hundred years of forest growth needed to accumulate the leaf humus which is supposed to hold water like a blotter. The problem is of this century, not the next. Second. The largest flood known to man’s memory, and even larger floods re- corded in the behavior of the river in pre- historic periods, happened before forests were cut off. Third. Any reforestation extensive enough to touch the problem would require that agricultural and _ industrial land wrested from the wilderness should be re- turned to the wilderness. Farmers and business men volunteering to give property, please, step forward! Fourth. The territory of rapid, heavy winter and spring rainfall which can make a devastating flood all by itself, as it has just done, is territory which even Nature herself did not dedicate to trees. Fifth. It is not certain that forestation does the slightest good. Colonel Potter, president of the Mississippi River Commis- sion, has an example of accurate observa- tion which he introduces by saying, “I have never been able to decide whether rainfall produces the forests, or the forests the rainfall, but I have evidence of the effect of forests on run-off.” He gives this evidence in the Engineering News Record. The territory in question has 3265 square miles, and he says: “The run-off percentages were as follows: PER CENT 1885-1891 Primeval conditions — . + TZ 1892-1898 Deforestation begun oe 22.7 1899-1905 Most active deforestation eC 1906-1912 Partial relapse to scrub 23.7 “This indicated that deforestation had done its worst, and that relapse to scrub was bringing the run-off back to its prime- val rate. I looked for even greater im- provement as time advanced. Farms Better Than Forests “‘T have recently obtained the records for the past eleven years, bringing the data down to date. For the full eleven years the rate of run-off has been 23.1 per cent, a drop of .06 since 1912. Taking the past seven years, for comparison with my original seven-year periods, the run-off is reduced to 19 per cent, or 1.2 per cent below anything recorded. A visit to this area in the sum- mer of 1923 showed a full growth of scrub and increased farming. This is why I main- tain that land cleared of timber and gone back to scrub, as has probably 80 per cent of this area, is equal to, if not greater than the original forest in reducing run-off. As more of this land goes under cultivation, the run-off will be less. This brings me to my early theory that farms are better than forests in reducing run-off.”’ Then comes the fallacy that farmers in the whole drainage territory can be induced to engage in contour plowing, can be whee dled into turning a back furrow every yard, can be asked to abandon the drainage sys tems they have constructed and to restore or maintain their swamp land. All this would help a little, but it is as practical as asking the owners of nearly 40 per cent of the United States to bottle the water that falls on their property and send it by rail freight to the Atlantic Seaboard.

EVENING POST The fallacies that hook most inexper enced opinion are those which attempt to solve flood control by tw » steps of thought rhe first thought is to turn away from measures such as levees of sufficient strength and height—the accepted of taking floods safely away The second thoug} tistoturnt ward any scheme aimed at holding floods back Among those errors of ingenuity, the proposal to solve everytl ng D impound- ing water in reservoirs up the river and up its tributaries is the commonest. Broadly considered, the fallacy in this is that the reservoir sites where the cost of impounding areas would not be prohibitive are in dis- tricts which are the least valuable. And ) where would those districts be? the areas where the rai l i able! in territory where the rainfall is greater, the cost of the land occupied by reservoirs would be staggering. It is often pointed out that the St. Lawrence has its natural reservoir system. TheSt. Lawrence drainage is about one-quarter of the Mississippisystem. And its impounding system is the Great Lakes.

If the proposed region of reservoirs is The Reservoir System Colonel Potter, in the quoted, presents the following facts: “It has been estimated that, in order to reduce flood level three feet at New Or- leans, a reservoir fifteen feet deep at Cairo would have to cover 7235 square miles, or 4,630,400 acres—seven-eighths of the area of the state of Massachusetts—having a capacity of more than 3,000,000,000,000 cubic feet. In the rolling lands of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Kentucky and nessee, it is doubtful if there could be found large reservoir sites where an average depth of fifteen feet could be stored. Assuming it could, land for such reservoirs, covering rich farms, highways, railroads, and even towns, could not be had for less than an average of $200 an acre, representing a cost for land and damages of nearly $1,000,- 000,000. If we double that, to provide for all the storage in one-half the area—shown above as possibly necessary—we are piling up costs unknown to anything but war, running the Government and bonus legisla- tion. In the mountainous regions reservoir sites could be found giving greater depths, but less area and with less value to lands. But if the rainfall occurred largely in Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, as in 1912, reservoirs in the Appalachian Mountains could not do much good. However, the cost outlined is for land and damages only, and there are many other elements of cost besides these.”’ Another eminent engineer, with half a lifetime of experience with the Mississippi floods, points out that the largest system of reservoirs built in any country and havy- ing twice the capacity of those proposed by the Pittsburgh Flood Commission are successful to control high water and aug- ment low water. But he says, “‘ While these Upper Mississippi reservoirs materially increase low-water discharge at St. Paul and markedly reduce flood heights, yet 100 miles farther down the river it is impossible to detect their influence during either hig! or low water.” Said Colonel Townsend in 1912: “I have recently been appointed a member of a board to investigate the use of reservoirs to protect the city of Pittsburgh from overflow. The Pittsburgh Flood Commis- sion has a carefully prepared project which , ] . survey already on aen- proposes to store in seventeen reservoirs 59,000,000,000 cubic feet of water, at an estimated cost of about $21,000,000, which I consider very Fifty-nine thousand millions is a pretty large-looking figure, but I made a little computation to see what it meant when translated into a unit applicable to the Mississippi River, and found that during less than seven hours 59,000,000,000 cubic feet of water flowed by the latitude of Red River at the crest of the recent flood.” In other words, in the flood of this year the whole great heralded salvation of im- pounding waters by this project would be reasonable. Yy yo time,withample visibility tothe lett u What Automotive Engineers Have Been Trying for Years r Attached above wind- Throws a shield. deep, restful shadou over eyes.

if you return - int $1.5 —f . THE FULTON AERMORE Try at Our Risk! Put a Fulton ples, the Fulton Look-Un look under the top—not through it. You see all of

to Accomplish nT trt ire Stop biots out glare keteiy Dut iearve the road istble! Blinding headlights iching cars are subdued bed of their glare, yet flood id with light. And you can drive int the of the sun without dis tor eye st Fulton Glare i side of the road all of the Fiat against roof of car when not in use Look-Under Glare ¢ it u rel t « } tic ' rr t t tite ' 10UuT ] er car you, we j t t . } . [ sty 1 ares ted ot $ } receipt of ler rQGila Stop Sak ’ well as for fort. © el fits ) ‘ » t I t . yt il yt it n tcars Way * HORN

FULTON A=: UNDER “GLARE *-% STOP Look Under-Not Through

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Pinaud, 204-206 King Street, East, Toronto. PINAUD’S LILAC { Lilas de France ] THE SATURDAY sucked off to sea from the lower reaches of the Mississippi in less time than it takes the sun to dry out a flannel shirt. No one opposes reservoir developments which are built locally to control local con- ditions. If the Federa! Treasury is not tapped in cases where the national Gov- ernment has no equitable responsibility, who will complain? If hydroelectric or irri- gation developments will pay the cost of impounding water, let private concerns or local public enterprise lay hold. But any proposal to impound water as a major operation to prevent floods such as this one of 1927 will smell enough like the pork barrel and a lobby of special interests to make every sensible taxpayer in the United States rub his eyes and prick up his ears. Just as the impounding of water interests the upper reaches of the river system, so do spillways into the Gulf interest the lower reaches of the system. Just as reservoirs do little good a distance down, so, also, spillways do little good some distance up. The spillway is merely a device to give a new outlet near the mouth of the river. The proposal for permanent spillways has been in the hands of a special commission, and studies are still continuing, with real hope that Louisiana may find relief through per- manent spillways. Three main proposals are made. One is to cut a spillway above New Orleans into Lake Pontchartrain and thence to the Gulf. There stand in the way objections of | local interests. Another proposal is to cut into the Gulf below New Orleans. Against these discharges toward the Mississippi shore of silt-bearing waters, destructive to oyster, shrimp, resort and other coast in- terests in Mississippi, there is certain to be protest. A third ambitious proposal is to | go up the river above Baton Rouge where, | on the west side, the Red River and the Mississippi join. Anyone can find it on the map. There is the Atchafalaya Basin; there is the district which during this May was inundated. From there to the Gulf is about 160 miles, a somewhat shorter distance than the present course of the Mississippi. Indeed, it is quite probable that this old basin was the former bed of the river. And now the spillway proposal becomes interesting! Suppose this spillway was dredged out again, regardless of cost? Is there any guaranty that the Father of Waters might not desert its present course and heave over into its old bed? Yes; con- trol devices shutting off the flow down the Atchafalaya when necessary. A Short Route to the Sea But no one knows what such control de- vices would cost; no one knows how se- curely they could be built. And it is not beyond the realm of imagination that New Orleans might lose her river! If she did the Gulf would immediately throw back into the passes a complete stopper of silt. In May I went over the upper end of the Atchafalaya basin when the flood was just bursting its way into it. One old levee engineer said, with impressive solemnity, ‘It wouldn't take a great deal of encourage- ment for the Mississippi to come this way, and if it did, there might be a port called Atchafalaya City to make new history!” In 1912, testifying before the Committee of Commerce, Capt. Charles H. West of the M. R. C. did not regard this speculation as absurd. He was speaking of the same situation which arose in 1927. He said: “It is impossible for anyone to foresee accurately what will be the effect when the water escaping through the crevasses in the upper Tensas Basin finds its way down to the lower end of Red River at the head of Atchafalaya, and there meets with the waters that are kept between the levees. | There is almost certain to pile up a great | head of water at the upper end of Atchafa- | laya Basin, and no one can possibly foresee | what may be the result. Should the levees | at the head of Atchafalaya give way before | this great wall of water, practically all of | the Atchafalaya Basin, the largest of all the basins, would be flooded; and as the route EVENING POST to the sea by the Atchafalaya River is about 100 miles shorter than the route by the Mississippi, it is possible that it might form a new channel that would change all the conditions below the mouth of Red River.” It is true that spillways may offer relief to the lower reaches of the river. And there is no one who fails to hope that they will. It is true, however, that there will be certain opposition to any spillway plan, contending interests between states and some startling and perhaps unforeseen results of fooling around the old Mississippi’s mouth. Colonel Potter has this to say of spill- ways in his article in the Engineering News Record: “It is the function of the engineer first to apply figures. Even if figures prove him right, he must study precedents. If prece- dents are lacking, he must study analogies. Figures prove the spillway a success; prec- edents are lacking; but unfortunately we have had analogies in many crevasses in the levee line. These are natural spillways, with the crest of the weir at bank level. Many surveys have been made and there is no doubt that the immediate effect of a crevasse is to form a bar in the river below it, and that in a short time the water levels rise again, due to the reduced capacity of the stream. The spillway enthusiasts claim that a controlled spillway will not act like a crevasse. The commission cannot see it that way. In fact, the crevasse has the ad- vantage of getting natural relief from the obstructive bar formation below, and con- sequent increased head, by widening out and carrying an increased volume of water.” A Synonym for Control “If a spillway is to be installed near New Orleans, it should be above rather than be- low the city. Practically the entire New Orleans front is built up with wharves. The underwater bank is very steep and the water very deep. The banks have been formed by the river through the ages, and under conditions of normal current. Their equilibrium is none too stable; many sec- tions have had to be revetted, and some have had to be buttressed under water to prevent settling under the added load of the wharves. New Orleans had better be in the region of the reduced current— below the spillway—rather than in the region of in- creased current—above the spillway—for the safety of its wharves.” The bald truth is this: Flood control of the Mississippi, as well as better naviga- tion, is synonymous with better levees. The taxpayers of the United States will do well to keep their eyes on that ball. That is the whole foundation of flood con- trol. The hundreds of engineers who for more than half a century have studied flood control say this. If the taxpayers’ money is to be spent be- cause of a national obligation toward a great territory appealing to our humani- tarian sympathy and to our national eco- nomic self-interest, any attempts to drag that money off into strange corners may be diagnosed as a sign that a nose is in the pork barrel. And what is the truth about the present levee system? First of all, the levee system is a standing proof of the fact that it is not the river in its flood stages which steals the property of mankind; it is proof that mankind has been the invader of the natural domain of the river. It may be idle to say so, but almost every acre of the flood areas is land which was taken from the river or its tributaries, on the bargain that its owners should keep the river back by levees. The system of levees was begun when, in 1717, Le Blond de la Tour, the engineer who laid out New Orleans, planned a levee, com- pleted after ten years, which protected the city from overflow. From that day until about a half century ago the building of lev- ees was done exclusively by local initiative. The early history, and, indeed, the long history of levee building—do not forget this— presents a piecemeal and hodgepodge advance from little levees to larger, from July 9, 1927 one district to another. Even during the years of existence of the Mississippi River Commission, there has never been quite enough expenditure, quite enough compre- hensive, prompt construction, quite enough ability to make local levee boards raise the money required by law before the Federal Government spends its own share. The re- sult today is that the levee system is not quite good enough, and this flood of 1927, though it may not be paralleled for a cen- tury, proves it. I saw great, adequate Gibraltars of levees shoulder to shoulder with weak, thin, sloppy levees. That means that the money put into the good levee is al- most a waste until the bad levee is as good as the good levee. This May no one would, and no one could, estimate accurately how much work is needed to complete a whole comprehen- sive levee system that will spell flood con- trol, or how much it will cost to build up the present levee system to such a standard. Probably a few feet more will be required on most of the levee top, and that means a much vaster addition to the bases of the in- adequate levees, because for good perma- nent work you cannot wisely raise unless you generously widen. There are now in the hundreds of miles of levees—so say engineers, figuring roughly 450,000,000 cubic yards of contents. It is estimated that as a piece of property it is worth about $135,000,000. To do a com- prehensive job and make a four-foot rise which is the engineers’ guess as to full security—would cost between $80,000,000 and $100,000,000. Is that expenditure worth making? Who will bear it? As to the first question it ap- pears rather plainly that the investment is worth making. If 25,000 square miles of rich alluvial land, with its towns, industries, farms and forests, is worth only $50,000 a square mile, there is a value of $1,250,000,- 000. The territory is probably worth sev- eral times that amount. Suppose that it can be protected forever by an investment of $100,000,000. Little data can be had as to maintenance of levees, but it is a trifle when levees are good levees. In the Yazoo district the cost of maintenance is only equal to the value of the hay cut from the banks. If $100,000,000 is all that is required the investment is probably much smaller than the damage by flood in a single record year. Low:Premium Insurance If a comprehensive, one-piece, vigor- ously directed system of levees, brought up to standard, can be bought by the Federal Government for $100,000,000, or even $200,000,000, that insurance to the prop- erty of 25,000 square miles and to a popula- tion soon to be climbing toward 1,000,000, could be made cheap insurance. Consider it so for a moment. The Federal Government puts up the money; the localities, the states, pay the interest and amortization, say, at the rate of 4 per cent and 2 per cent respectively. This would be buying insurance, or what is better, protection, at a reasonably low rate. If $100,000,000 were advanced by the Fed- eral Government it would cost $6,000,000 a year to carry it. If six states were involved it would cost an average of $1,000,000 a year apiece. This may be too great a bur- den, but it must not be forgotten that we should strive for two ends: First. To build a system good enough, promptly and comprehensively. Second. To do, as a nation, what we ought to do, and yet require of those local- ities which reap the harvest of security and increased property values a full, fair share of the carrying and amortization charges of our investment. The hardpan of flood control rests on the fact that the Mississippi has been taken out of its natural bed and squeezed into a trough. The main solution of the present situation is simple: Build the sides of the trough high enough and strong enough and straight enough. And watch the pork barrel. Me i On ae ae i Lu : ea — —S —

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i116 3efore she finds out that I sell antique furniture and brocades,”’ said Prince Dan- tarini. ‘‘I don’t see that it matters. Amer- ican ladies cannot expect to hire an entirely undamaged prince, even for a thousand lire a day. There must be some stain! It is my stain to keep a shop.” “T heard everything, Pietro. The doors were not tight shut,’’ said the old lady. ““What a terrible young person, though so handsome. I wish you hadn’t sold her our beloved brocade.” “The money will come in very well,” said the prince. “‘Our own old treasures are now almost exhausted. This will help me to pay something down and secure the Medici bedstead. Bueno thinks Cavaroni has a client for it. The terrible young person will not, in any case, be terrible enough to cut the brocade.” “T wouldn’t put it past her!’’ sighed the princess, his mother, who was Irish by birth, though she had almost forgotten it. “But at least now that you have ten thou- sand lire and you have seen what the girl is like, you will not hire yourself out as a guide— practically a servant—to such an impossible creature. Oh, not for any price! It would be unbearable!” “‘T shall soon know whether or not it will be unbearable,” returned Dantarini, “for I shall take the precaution of engaging myself to the ladies for one day at a time.” “You are going to do it then?”’’ moaned the princess. ‘After such an experience with the young female?” “T am going to do it, and after such an experience,’ echoed her son. “That is, if the young female wants me.” “Shall I go back to the office and phone Miss Grant that you accept?” inquired Bueno. “Yes. Say I will call on her to discuss the business at three o'clock, if that suits And if this affair comes off, Bueno, 10 per cent to Cavaroni, of course, the same as in the matter of clients for the antiques.” ** Dio, colonnello mio!”’ protested Bueno. “Judging from the lady’s manners, we ought not to accept a soldo. It would be blood money.” i HEY were talking about her in the salle d manger at the Hotel Danieli, two elderly ladies whom she had purposely not noticed at their wall table, as she stalked out ahead of Miss Molesey after lunch. ‘There, my dear— there she is! What do you think of ,her?”’ whispered Lady Drum- kilbo to Mrs. MacArthur, whom she had invited to come over from the Hotel Regina on purpose to gaze at Miss Grant. “Well, she’s beautiful to look at,’ re- plied the guest. “‘You didn’t exaggerate about that.” “One can’t exaggerate anything about that girl,’ pronounced Lady Drumkilbo. “It gave me quite a shock when she sailed into the room for dinner last night, dressed as if for a ball. This isn’t the time of year one meets people at Venice, especially such people. I am here only on my way from Vienna— where I've been taking a cure— to Genoa. | sail from Genoa to the States, you know, to deliver more lectures on postwar London. The first series made such a success! It was then that this girl was brought to see me. I was warned against her, but I’m afraid I was pigheaded. Just as you do, I thought her so beautiful it seemed she must make a success in iEengland. ‘I arranged about her presentation at court and introduced all sorts of men to her— unmarried ones with titles! That was what the unfortunate Fanny Molesey hinted to me the gir! wanted. She was out for a title. You would say, at sight, that he could pretty well have her pick, with th But, no! She was too impossible. Such an opinion of ! She insulted everyone without she’s been so horribly Why, she can’t even keep a at face and those millions herself “ven knowing it THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HONEYMOON HATE (Continued from Page 5 maid—has given up trying, Fanny said. I believe her father adored her—mother dead, only child, and all that sort of thing. She was given her own way invariably; simply encouraged to waik over her fellow beings as if they didn’t exist. That kind of stuff won’t do with the type of men she was after. ‘We worked down the scale, from the Duke of Dundee, as far as my cousin, Sir Bobby MacLure. She’d been such a fiasco from beginning to end that I fancy she would willingly have accepted a mere baronet. Church mice are rich compared to Bob, for they have no responsibilities, and he was ready to grab at her. At least, he thought he was. Then he happened to hear the girl ordering Fanny Molesey about. He had an idea that he and Miss Molesey looked alike—not much chin or vitality, you know. He couldn’t stick it, my dear. He said Socrates would never have married Xanthippe and made her classic down the ages if he’d known in time what she was really like. It was only a few days after Bob faded away that the Grant girl was very rude to me, and I told her once and for all what I thought of her. That finished our connection, and I was thankful, though I must say I made a good thing out of the young woman. She doesn’t care what she pays—and why should she? But she will have to learn that there are some things not to be bought with money.” “IT wonder if there are, in these days?’ pondered Mrs. MacArthur, whose husband was an artist, painting Venice now that the tourists had gone, and the only crowds were the pigeons in the Square of San Marco. “So, at least, it would seem! The most desperately hard up marquis in France couldn’t swallow her when she tried her luck in Paris after England. I should like to know what has brought her to Venice.” ‘Is there anybody here worth her while?”’ “T should say not,”’ opined Lady Drum- kilbo. ‘‘But we shall see. At least, you will. Unfortunately, I’m going tomorrow. Do question Miss Molesey, if you get a chance; though I fear that’s not likely, as you're at different hotels. The miserable little creature is a slave! But there’s one comfort: She must be saving enough to retire on soon, poor soul!” At three o'clock —not four minutes before three or five minutes past—came a knock at the salon door of the royal suite at the Hotel Danieli—for of course Miss Grant occupied the royal suite. Had there been an imperial suite, she would have been in that. Miss Molesey scrambled anxiously across the room and opened the door for a page boy, who presented a card on a tray. “Principe Dantarini,’’ Gail Grant read. Too grand an old name, it would seem, to be bandied through a telephone! It must be borne through halls and corridors on a salver of silver. “Thinks something of himself!’’ she mumbled to Miss Molesey, and gave per- mission for the prince to come up. He would be, she imagined vaguely, an Italian version of a Parisian gigolo, small, slender, ineffably polite, with dull dark eyes and hair like a jet helmet. Perhaps in reality he wasn’t a prince at all. She would catechize him and find out whether he was worth his daily thousand lire. Another knock; the same page boy an- nounced, “Il Principe Dantarini.”’ How theatrical for a hired guide! But Miss Grant would soon show him how little he was able to impress her with his princehood! It might earn him butter and sugar on his bread, but even that was for her to decide when she had interviewed and looked him over. She sat by a window, her back to the door, and intended not to turn, thus forcing the caller to present himself in front of her. But Miss Molesey’s surprised “Oh!” tempted Gail to twist her neck. Then, before she had stopped to think, she had wheeled round completely. ““Why, you’re the man who keeps the antique shop!’’ she exclaimed. “T have turned the Palazzo Dantarini into an antique shop,”’ answered the tall man with the dark red hair and the hard gray eyes, who had somehow made her promise not to cut up his beautiful brocade. “Well,” said Gail, angry because it seemed that she had been fooled, and yet interested to the point of excitement, “‘it seems to me like a fraud to call yourself a prince when you’re a shopkeeper!” “T do not call myself a prince,’’ replied the man. ‘Others do that and have called my forefathers ‘prince’ since the gold book of Venetian aristocracy was printed. If I were rich as well as called prince, I should not be hiring myself out as a guide. If you desire a guide who is a prince, you must put up with what you can get in Venice. You cannot pick and choose here. And that is where I have the advantage over you.” “What do you mean questioned Gail. “T can pick and choose a patron. There are many more tourists in Venice than there are princes. Shall I bid you good afternoon, or do you wish to engage my services?”’ Gail would have liked to insult him as he seemed quietly to be insulting her, but the man’s cool audacity intrigued her. “You are very —independent!”’ she ex- claimed. She almost said rude, but instinct warned her of what he might retort. “The one privilege left to my prince- hood!’’ He bowed slightly and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, but there was some attraction init. Gail suddenly decided to omit the catechism she had planned. She couldn’t help wondering what this man, as a guide, would make of Venice for her. And she wanted to find out. She couldn’t afford to risk losing him before she had found out! “All right, you’re welcome to the privi- lege so far as I’m concerned!”’ she informed him. ‘I don’t know how long I shall stay here, but I'll engage you for a week. Then we can see about going on.”’ “You are very kind,” said Dantarini. “T think it will be best, however, for you and for myself to make the arrangement by the day.” Gail stared at him with the immense blue eyes whose brows and lashes were dark in contrast to the sculptured curve of her bronze bobbed hair. She was far more beautiful and girlish-looking without than with her hat, as it was impossible for the least friendly critic not to notice. ‘‘ You mean that you're to be free if you want to back out any minute and let me down?” ““Not more free than you would be.” “That idea’s no good,” said Gail. ‘It doesn’t suit me.” “‘[’msorry,”’ said Dantarini. ‘‘ Nodoubt Bueno of Cavaroni’s can find you a sub- stitute glad to accept any arrangement you suggest.”’ “Another prince?’’ Gail asked this question in sheer curiosity to hear what he would say. ““No, not another prince,” he replied quite gravely. ‘‘But isn’t that a detail? Allow me to bid you good day.” “Wait!’’ Gail commanded. ‘On the whole, it might be convenient for me to take you on your own terms. If you didn’t suit 46 “Exactly!” “Very well then, we'll try it. Have you got someone ready to look after your shop while you're out with me, or are you going to shut the place up?” ““My mother will look after the shop. I can't afford to shut it up.” ‘“*Your mother! How will she like that?” ‘She will not mind in the least, for she is as great a lady, I think, as ever lived. Therefore, nothing can demean her. She can console herself by remembering that 9 advantage? July 9,1927 the first princes of Venice were merchant princes, trading with all the world. The difference with us is we trade only with tourists.” Somehow, Gail felt this speech an in- direct reproach. She considered herself a very great lady, and she would object ex- tremely to serving customers in a shop, even a shop that had once been the family palace, and even if the early aristocracy had been merchants, serving the world. “Would you care to begin work this afternoon,” she proposed, “‘and call it half a day? It’s late to go out anywhere, but there’s a tea dance in the hotel. I like to dance. I like it very much! Do you know how?’’ The guide prince smiled his baffling smile It occurred to Gail that most men would smile at the word ‘“‘work”’ connected with her and dancing. But his smile didn’t mean that. “It is some years since I danced,’ he said. ‘In fact, not since the war, not since I opened shop. But if one loves music, one does not forget how to dance. If you will try me as a partner, I’1] not disgrace you.” ““You do speak English like an English- man!”’ Gail said suddenly. ‘“‘I’ve been wondering about it.”’ “T went to Eton and had a year at Oxford before the war, so it would be strange if I didn’t.” “Oh! Well, I want to learn your language. Let’s hear you talk Italian.” He turned to Miss Molesey, a chaperon- ing shadow in the background, and ad- dressed her with a gentler expression in his eyes than he had for Miss Grant. Gail could not help remembering the sweetness of his voice in its native tongue. She understood not a word of the many which rushed from his lips, but their meaning was clear to Fanny. The small worried face brightened. Miss Molesey actually dared to laugh. What could the man have said to her? Gail de- termined to learn Italian faster than she had ever learned anything, and that would be very fast indeed. She would not be outdistanced by Mole! It was too early yet for the dance. The prince remained and talked of Venice. He suggested books which Miss Grant ought to have and which he would get for her. He vetoed her idea of a motor boat hired by the day which would “get them quickly to places.”’ ““You do not here,”’ he said, ‘‘wish to get quickly to places. To do so is against the spirit of Venice. I will find for you a private gondola,”’ he promised, ‘‘to be at your dis- position while you remain.” “Perhaps you’ve got one to rent your- self?’’ Gail questioned with suspicion. These Italians, always on the make with Americans! ““No!”’ Dantarini answered. ‘“‘ My gon- dolas, or rather my mother’s, were sold long ago. We used to have two, so that, if we went for a moonlight picnic on the lagoon with friends, we could take a couple of house servants in one and dishes with hot food. We would have music while we dined and the moon rose. Those were pleasant times!”’ There was sadness in his tone, yet he was not asking for pity. Gail Grant was some- how sure of that. She determined to have picnics on the lagoon, with two gondolas and servants, and music. Yet she had no friends to invite. There would be only this hired guide man and Mole. Yet the pros- pect did not seem unattractive. By and by they went down to dance. Gail had not intended to invite Miss Molesey, but the prince person evidently expected that she would come, and it seemed crude, even to Miss Grant, who dealt in crudenesses, to say: ‘‘ You can stay behind. I don’t want you, Mole.” A good many people who didn’t dance were looking on, and Miss Molesey found Continued on Page 121 — Ce ee I ma a~ eo ~ |

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eS , > -f" ' ; J | \ \ others Who Know~ Mothers, who are familiar with the healthful, nourishing qualities of peas, serve them regularly to their children. ~_ They know that the energy-building nutrients—the vitamins, proteins, carbo- hydrates and mineral salts—contained in peas are of vital importance to the proper development of growing bodies and active minds. Direct from the nation’s finest pea gar- dens, where they are grown aie con- stant supervision from pedigreed seed, Hart Brand Peas are fresh garden peas in every sense of the word! Even peas-in- the-pod cannot compare with them in st sal or nutriment. As tempting as they may appear, caetieghose cig are invariably 24 to 96 hours old when they reach your kitchen, and it is a recently discovered fact that home cooking of such peas destroys a considerable por- tion of the vitamins that are so valuable to physical well-being. YS Hart Brand Peas are packed in her- metically sealed cans within two hours after picking, so that the natural fresh- ness, flavor and food values are preserved when you serve them on your table! This is why many prominent physicians, die- titians and domestic science teachers recommend the use of canned peas over peas-in-the-pod. You will find, at leading grocers’, the 11 popular sizes of Hart Brand Peas shown on this page. Look for the “Hart Brand” name and red heart on every can. 7. @2. @0ace & CeORBPrAN YT Grand Rapids, Michigan

€ * os VEGETABLES(E) AND FRUITS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1 ff \ Varieties of HART BRAND PEAS LITTLE DOT (Smallest peas packed) LITTLE QUAKER Very small early variety) SIFTED JUNE PEAS (Small early variety) TINY SWEET (Smallest sweet peas packed) OXFORD GEM (Very small sweet variety) DIMPLED DAINTIES (Small sweet variety BLUE BELLS (Medium sweet variety) TELEPHONE (Popular sweet variety) SMALL UNGRADED SWEET (Smallest ungraded sweet peas packed AUTO Selected ungraded sweet variety) SWEET WRINKLED (Ungraded home style sweet variety) Most grocers carry a com- plete line of Hart Brand Vegetables and Fruits. Ask for them by name

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HEALTH FLY-TOX > Then they do not crawl over baby’s tear-wet eyes—suckat its little mouth—torture and infect it. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PRIDE AND PLEASURE As fine linen and lustrous silver are symbols of culture, so the fine fragrance of FLY-TOX is the accepted token of immaculate cleanliness. Sih CLEANLINESS In that one ‘word is expressed the hope of every housewife. FLY-TOX is the economy of cleanliness. It quickly destroys those in- sects that make true cleanliness impossible. * Cellar > Send one fragrant cloud of FLY-TOX after another into those dusky nooks and far cor- ners. FLY-TOX the preserve closet. Besides killing flies, FLY-TOX will destroy mosqui- toes, ants, spiders, and other unclean insects. + Kitchen - FLY-TOX up, down, and around. FLY-TOX kills flies, mosquitoes, ants. And every other objectionable household insect. That makes the kitchen spick and span, gleaming white, alluring, with food untainted, pure and delicious. * Dining Room - Kill insects in their hiding places. FLY-TOX behind draperies. Beneath the table. Upon the screens. Make the dinner table sparkle with cleanliness. + Living Room - FLY-TOX screens and draperies. That kills flies and mosquitoes. Give every vagrant moth miller a touch of FLY-TOX. FLY- TOX the upholstery. That destroys moths. FLY-TOX leaves a subtle scent of cleanli- ness everywhere. » Sleeping Chambers - FLY-TOX screens, draperies, inside closets, corners of the rooms. FLY-TOX kills mos- July 9, 1927 Wherever there are Flies use FLY-TOX quitoes. Makes possible deep, restful sleep. Protects defenseless sleeping children. + Attic and Storeroom + FLY-TOX these rooms bountifully,especially theunsealed dark recesses under the roof. That kills insects. Dispels their musty tainted odor. ° Cottages and Summer Houses - That have been closed for months seem filled with insects. FLY-TOX kills them all. Fresh- ens the whole house. * Summer Camps . Spray every tent, bungalow, cabin, kitchen and mess tent. A single fly may poison food of a whole camp. Mosquitoes destroy vacation’s joys. And, too, you can use it on dog or cat. Dip a comb in FLY-TOX. Draw it gently through the fur. That will get the fleas . .. FLY-TOX the garbage can. . . That kills insect life— especially that from decaying fruit . . . FLY- TOX is not guaranteed for outdoor use, yet many use it successfully, spraying dark, damp laces behind buildings where mosquitoes ~— . . . Others have used FLY-TOX to kill hordes of burrowing ants migrating up trees . . . When touring, take FLY-TOX with you—spray every sleeping chamber.

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Not alone aModern Cleanly Refinement, but a household necessity FLY-TOX KILLS FLIES and MOSQUITOES Colored servants in fine livery used to fight flies. They were the style. At great dinners, they deftly waved long sticks bearing streamers of gay colors. That was refinement. Today, more than ever before in history, freedom from insect taint is significant of intelligence and culture. To everyone everywhere the spicy scent of FLY-TOX is an agreeable confirmation of the sweet, undefiled cleanliness—of a room, or an entire house. But FLY-TOX was created for something bigger—greater, more important than re- finement—for the most vital of all things in life—health. Since Cao’s report in 1903, the record of every new research is a repeated indictment of the unspeakable filth and sickening con- camination of flies. Dr. L. O. Howard, America’s most distin- guished entomologist, declares that flies feed upon the feces or sputum of sick people. They carry bacilli upon the hairs of their legs to human food, to children's eyes, or open sores. They may carry these germs for miles. Like the mosquito that injects a thinning liquid beneath human skin so he can drink the blood, flies also regurgitate. They eject drool, sometimes to soften food like sugar. Bacteria live in those “vomit spots.” They infect food, poison and de- stroy human kind. Inthe United States the yearly toll of death caused by flies mounts into the tens of thou- sands. And there are hundreds of thousands of diseases transmitted by flies that cause but temporary indispositions, fevers, and various illnesses oftener attributed to food. And there are thousands of other germs car- ried by flies, some that cause wasting diseases —others that cripple and deform. Flies must be killed. It is one of those big, little things that duty demands. And to do that many authorities pay a special tribute to FLY-TOX. The astonishing ease with which FLY-TOX is used—its marvelous efficiency—its fragrance—appeal to them They know it is scientifically prepared and satisfies a definite need. FLY-TOX is safe, sure, dependable, stain- less, easy to use. FLY-TOX is harmless to humans. But sure death to flies. FLY-TOX< is always put up in glass. Its crystal-clearness is plain. There is no sedi- ment—nothing to stain. Used with the new FLY-TOX hand sprayer FLY-TOX atom- izes like magic. Flies breathe through their sides, consequently this greatly increased atomization destroys insects more quickly FLY-TOX kills flies. It is the guardian of health, promotes comfort, insures cleanli- ness. The price is now within the reach of everyone HAr Pint 50c « Pint 75c «Quart $1 25 -GaALton $4.00 Gallons in glass jugs ave especially suitable for botels, restaurants, summer camps, institutions The Rex Companies: The Toledo Rex Spray Co., Toledo, Ohio ; The Rex Company, Kansas City, Mo.; The Rex Sales Co., Kansas City, Mo.; Canada Rex Spray Co., Ltd., Brighton, Ont.; California Rex Spray Co., Benicia, Calif., and Wenatchee Rex Spray Co., Wenatchee, Wash POST

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DE SP aS — (Continued from Page 116) herself settled near Lady Drumkilbo. She bowed timidly, because there had been scenes between Her Ladyship and Gail toward the last of the London season. But Her Ladyship beckoned and Mole darted into a suddenly vacated chair. The two so-different women exchanged greetings; and then Lady Drumkilbo came to the point. Mole, though with the ad- vantage of British blood, was a bore. The baronet’s widow had not summoned her through sheer kindness. ‘‘Equinoctial in Venice!’’ smiled Her Ladyship; for the young man at Cavaroni’s had inadvertently hit upon one of several behind-the-back nicknames of Gail Grant. “Yes, she thought she’d come,” said Mole. “With her, to think is to do! But, tell me, my dear, who is the man she’s dancing with? He is the image of a young Prince Dantarini—Prince Pietro, he was called before his father died, and he was very young then—TI used to know in England. He was the son of a girl I was at school with. Lady Clodagh O’Hara, daughter of the poor, dear, charming bankrupt Ear! of Donnemara. She made the most romantic marriage with Prince Dantarini and came to live in their historic palace in Venice. I’ve not seen it, but I’ve heard it was divine. She never put her nose out of Italy again. One of those devoted, domestic women, adoring her men. They don’t come like that nowadays! Fortunately for her, as she hadn’t a farthing, Dantarini was fairly well off. He, too, had some British relations. All the Italian nobility have! So Pietro came to school in England, and to Oxford too. I had him up at my place in Scotland, just before the war broke out. Then he bolted for home and I’ve heard nothing since. He may have been killed for all I know. But this man our savage child is dancing with looks like him grown older.” “It is Prince Dantarini,’’ admitted Mole, becoming tremulous because she knew not how much she ought to tell. “Oh, that explains why she is here! exclaimed Lady Drumkilbo. ‘I suppose she had letters to his mother. Well, it’s a step down from an English duke, or perhaps even an earl, because with the British you know where you are. Still, the Dantarinis are a grand old family. They were at the top when we had only just begun to have dukes! I suppose she’s fallen back on him.” ‘Fallen back?’ breathed Mole, looking at the pair who danced together. They might have been dancing partners for a year. Dantarini was tall and lean enough to make Gail look very feminine, almost small. “‘T mean, we'll soon read, I suppose, that a marriage has been arranged! They seem to be getting on perfectly, if it can last. Though, with her, one never knows!” “Oh, dear, dear Lady Drumkilbo,”’ breathed Mole, ‘it would never do for her. She is thinking of no such thing.” “Tf I were an American I should say ‘apple sauce!’’’ retorted Her Ladyship. “But I assure you,” protested Mole. ““You don’t know. You don’t understand.” ‘“‘What don't I know or understand? Is Dantarini already married?” ‘‘Not that I’ve been told, but “But what?” “Why, he--it appears his family has now lost everything. He has turned the palace, which is lovely, into a shop, and I imagine, from what he said, that he has been selling off all the ancestral possessions. By the look of the place he hasn’t much left. Soon the palace will be like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard in Mother Goose—bare!”’ ““Good heavens! I'd no idea of it sighed Lady Drumkilbo. “And is he trying to redeem the family fortunes by marrying the American heiress—a Petruchio and Katharine! Considering her unfortunate bringing up, she might do worse than marry He had an ancestor ” rary even a pauper prince who was Doge of Venice! ‘I assure you there is no question of marriage,” insisted Mole. ‘The poor young man has come down to such a low ebb that he has hired himself out to Gail as a sort of —sort of —super-guide.”’ “Mon Dieu!"’ murmured Lady Drum- kilbo, which didn’t sound at all profane in French. ‘‘‘What a fall was there, my countrymen,’ as Mark Antony or somebody said. And yet —and yet he looks every inch a prince, doesn’t he? Certainly he’s not got shabby yet!” “‘Even if he had, I can’t think he’d look shabby,” said Mole. They both fell silent, their eyes following one couple through the dance. They were indeed perfect together “‘T used to think him a remarkable boy,” reminisced Lady Drumkilbo. “A nephew of mine at Eton said they used to chaff Pietro Dantarini and call him Dictator. Let me think, what was the motto on wonderful old seal ring he wore? O} ‘We shall be obeyed!’”’ “‘He’s probably sold the ring by now, said Mole. “Perhaps, but you can’t sell a family motto! I’d look up his mother if I weren’t going tomorrow morning. Perhaps I'll try to anyhow! A guide, you say? a Sut still well, it is interesting! Do write, my dear, and let me know what happens.”’ “Of course, nothing will happen,”’ said Mole. “T wonder,”’ said Lady Drumkilbo. “He was such an extraordinary boy. And that motto ““What was that old hag haranguing you about, Mole?’’ Gail wanted to know after the dance, when she and her companion were in their royal suite again. They were to go to the theater that evening. Dan- tarini— Prince Dantarini—let one get one’s money’s worth out of his title!—was securing 2 box. “Oh, nothing in particular—just talk- ing,’’ stammered Mole. “That’s a lie, I know!” said Gail. ‘‘ You look guilty. Out with it! I always get things out of you, you know.” “Well, then, it was about the prince,” confessed the unfortunate one. ‘It seems Lady Drumkilbo knew his mother, the daughter of an Irish earl, and he visited her in Scotland as a boy. She was shocked to hear that he had become so poor. Still, she says it is one of the finest old families in Italy and the palace is most historic.” “*So much to the good. Makes the man better worth the money !"’ pronounced Gail. “What else did she say? I can see by your face there was more. You're bursting with it.” “Oh, I'd really better not tell you the rest, dear! It would make you so angry.” “You might as well chuck it off your chest now as later.”’ “Well, then, if you’re determined to hear, don’t blame me. Before I'd explained to her that the Dantarinis had lost every- thing, Lady Drumkilbo asked me—she im- agined there might be some question of marriage; she thought—er— Princess Dan- tarini, and having a lovely palace, might not be so bad, even for you. But, of course, she hadn’t understood. Now, you would make me tell you, so don’t be cross!”’ “‘I’m not cross,” said Gail. ‘‘ You’ve put an idea into my head. I’ve read that in some parts of Italy, if you buy a palace belonging to a titled family, you buy the title with it. H’m, that would be some- thing to talk about when I got home! Princess Dantarini!”’ **Oh, but would he sell, even if the law is like that here?’’ Mole hesitated ‘*Every man has his price,”’ old Gaillard Grant’s daughter replied. But she re- membered the brocade. mi JENICE had an extraordinary effect upon Gail. It softened her, mellowed her. She was not more actively agreeable but she was less disagreeable. There was nothing sweet about her except her beauti- ful face, which suggested a promise it never fulfilled. Yet she was not her usual sharp self, with a chip on her shoulder ready to be knocked off, an acid speech at the end of her tongue ready to drop THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The dreamlike perfection of the place seemed to softer the iT She too dreamed. The harsher side f her nature + slept. For the first time since she and Mole had arrived to do Europe, Gail Grant took Not that she would She was far too impatient for that an interest in history read it But floating along the Grand Canal in a gondola or slipping through rios to find hidden beauties, she liked to hear Dantarir tell about the wicked or extravagant nobles and the beautiful women who had helped make undying fame for the lovely old doge! And D ni had an eve more inter esting ancestor than that ‘All the men of the Giustiniani were killed fighting against Manuel Comnenus” he told her the story in front of the palace where the family had lived all except a young monk to become a monk, but he was forced into a monastery while he was stilla boy. He had wanted to live : content himse when all dead, it seemed a pity to the pope that such a famous line should break. You see, the Giustiniani were descended from the Em- peror Justinian. ordered that the young monk be released from his religious vows for one year and marry as soon as he left his monastery. ‘“‘In those days the gondolas were gor- geous affairs. It was only when Venetian extravagance had to be checked after some disastrous battles that the republic com- manded them all to be black, as they are now. Then they were colored and gilded, as the fronts of the palaces were, and you can imagine what a picture of beauty a blond girl would make, looking out under trailing draperies of blue and gold, that trailed like a peacock’s tail in the water. The monk in his monastery had seen from his window such a beauty and idealized her. When he was released, his marriage with the daughter of Doge Vitali was de- creed for state reasons. But destiny had decreed that this girl should be the monk’s dream beauty of the passing gondola. Imagine that year for them both—loving passionately and knowing what the end must be! When ason was born, the parting came. Nothing could avert it. The powers had no mercy, as the lovers knew. Back the man went to the monastery. But the wife had his child and he had his memories. There’s where my connection with a doge comes in; from this most romantic match. A girl of that family married a Dantarini.”’ Gail made no comment upon the story. She sat still in the gondola looking up at the palace, her eyes very blue Sut a thrill went through her. For the first time in her spoiled, overpetted and petulant life of twenty-one years, she was feeling the tre- mendous power of love and beauty She was existing in a dream of dead romance But it was not all dead. It lived and breathed close to her, around her. She saw They say he hadn't wished id to love. He could never is the years went on. Then, the other Giustiniani men were So he—the pope + it in Italian eyes—eyes of men that gazed into the eyes of women She was ashamed of herself because she felt this influence of Venice, but she could not shake it off. And gradually the figure of Pietro Dantarin became the center round which her thoughts focused Dantarini and his beau tiful old pink Gothic palace Not that she wa n ilove with hin It did not even occur to her. She had never been in love, thoug! e had fancied boy and men here and there, and been bitterly hurt when her ways, which she couldnt hange, she oug ar lidnt want to change, | irned them against her. But always she was t ng of Dantarini, and with ne eyes it € ould see his eye old and gra it gla er t she wor dered sometimes, and brushed the fancy away, whether those eyes could Kindle wit! warmth, and whether they had ever Kindied for any woman Chey went everywnere together, gene ally wit! Mole, but sometimes without her —to all the famou hurche to the Accademia, to the Doge’ Pala t and to y | r gia i he eve é ) § ( é agoor e ever yt t a eo & ts not tne eal time of ear and ain ever ternoor é i ¢ att e Danie The three weeks wl Gail had vagus planned t« end sightseeing in Venice passed, and a fourth wee If it had been the season, people who knew the girl would havet ed, Du October wit { \ rr t} T rr I g ) t rnes tourist Few such were numbered a ances, and ly er let herself make which blew through ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,”’ Gail answered « rossly, more rossly than she had spoken for some time. TT . . J They were feeding the pigeons in the Piazza, waiting for Dantarini, whose daily hour was eleven and who was to show them some wl ite coral for whicr he had been gaining Almost as she spoke he came, very tall, very smart with his siim, soldierly waist, . Ly Italiar The sun lit up his hair with the kinky wave in it as he took off his hat, and painted it red as any head of Titian’s. **We’ll look at the coral later,”’ in her abrupt way as we'll probably leave soon, I'd like you to take me to your shop again. There might be some more things there I'd care to buy.”’ “Oh! Tomy shop! Certainly,” agreed the prince with a certain dryness. “ You wish to go now?” “Yes,” said Gail. “I teld you not to have the gondola call for me this morning. But we can engage an ordinary one. Mole, you do not need to come.”’ “Very well, dear,”’ answered Miss Mole- sey. Knowing the girl thoroughly, she noticed something peculiar in her look and manner which others might have missed “Heavens! Can she be going to make him an offer for the palace?’’ the little woman asked herself. Instinct had told her, the day when she repeated Lady Drum- kilbo’s words, that the thought of buying the Palazzo Dantarini had taken root in Gail’s mind, though the subject had never been mentioned since then Instinct was right. The girl longed to keep some link with this place, this Venice that had given her so many new emotions She wanted the Dantarini palace and she wanted the sensation of buying it from its beggared owner “Where’s your mother?” Gail asked when, for the second time, she entered the 4” rather En; in face Gail said ‘ ‘I was just thinking, hall with its marble floor, its frescoes, and its few, but well displayed, antiques. ‘I thought” ind she glanced at the insig nificant young man who ame lorwara t t ( mother Was aiter the shop fo ou She was, at first,’’ replied the Prince B ] ave earne ¢ yu money trom ou to give her a res rt y¢ man | now n nderstu W ire n¢ ioing mu t ( eason, but I ) ave ed see a magnificent xteent er IY ed l houg! ce ou vere ‘ I could r ecured it if it adn't be rr your pa nts to me, Mis Gral I iit the other i and 1 Vé we sou a ( rs f was pre precario though!”"’ remarked Ga te igged ilder ~ S$ al ) fe You could sé tr i e and ma enoug! te nee ’ 4 a ‘ mo } the rest ¢ yur da vithout Ww g ar I e got the abit of wo he ar swere Be le t ) i i Se t palace I wo no Continued on Page 123

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 4 NN 1 Leads theW@grld oa ‘ A Car That Jvstant/y Catches the Eye The Advanced Six Coupé with Rumble Seat Nash has risen to new heights of body artistry in this smart Coupé with its luxurious aspect of length and lowness, its graceful French-type roof and back, and sweeping rear deck bright with nickel mountings. Comfort, as well as beauty, is a welcome attraction of this model, for the deep, broad driving seat resembles nothing so much as a big restful davenport. [t is upholstered in fine dark green mohair, heavily tufted. The genuine walnut steering wheel matches the inlaid walnut window panels, the crown panel of wal- nut above the instrument board, and the walnut fin- ished instrument board. Two further passengers are amply comfortable in the big rumble seat. This Coupé is handsomely finished in two harmoniz- ing shades of green—a lighter shade in the hood and body proper including the deck, while the upper body, tenders and running gear are in darker tone. In the rear of the car, opening on the curb side, is a large compartment under lock and key with plenty of space for luggage and packages. The rear window looking out on to the rumble seat may be raised or lowered by simply turning an attractive silver finished window lift. Powered with the big Nash 7-bearing motor—the world’s smoothest type—the Coupé also offers such features as Watson Stabilators at front, 4-wheel brakes, and 5 disc wheels, and the price is surprisingly moderate. July 9, 1927

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(Continued from Page 121) “Does the title go with it?” the girl asked bluntly. ‘No, that sort of thing doesn’t happen in our part of Italy.” “Well, even without the title, I would like to buy this palace.” Gail laid her cards on the table. “It’s awfully small, and I expect it needs lots of modern improve- ments, but I’ve taken a fancy to it and it would suit me very well to furnish and come back to for a couple of months every year.” “T thank you for the compliment you pay my poor palace,” said Dantarini, “‘but God defend it from modern improvements. And if you offered me one of your mil- lions—I don’t know how many you have I wouldn’t sell to you.” For a moment the two gtood in the beau- tiful, bare room, looking — almost glaring into each other’s eyes. They were alone. The understudy had slipped away. A deep flush mounted to Gail’s face. The prince’s face was pale. “You wouldn’t sell tome! Why, do you think I’m what you call a vandal?” “‘T wouldn’t sell to anyone, but less than auy, to you.” “You are very rude!” “T am sorry, but you have often been rude to me.” “That’s different! If I have, I’m your employer.” “‘A few centuries ago your people might have been servants to mine.” “Upon my word!” stammered Gail. “This ends it! I’m going. Don’t come with me. I’ll send you your money.” “Do not dare,” said Dantarini. “I will not take another soldo of your money, for I have had all that I have earned. Shall I put you into your gondola, or would you prefer to go unassisted?” “*Unassisted,”” answered Gail, trembling from head to foot, and afraid that she might faint. ‘This is the end indeed. It— it’s a pity. I hoped to do you a good turn.” ““To buy my palace and my title! If you want them, Miss Grant, you can secure them only in one way.” She had got to the door and turned on 9” him: ‘“‘What do you mean? THE SATURDAY “T leave that to your imagination,”’ he replied, the crackle of ice in his voice. ‘‘ You will never learn my meaning from me, un- solicited. Good-by.” She almost fell into the waiting gondola. Furious tears burned her eyelids. She had not cried since she was a child. “*He can go to the devil!” she said, half aloud, choking on the words. Yet, what cause for gratitude to her had Dantarini, a voice seemed to ask. And it could not have been the voice of the gon- dolier. That astonished man was merely inquiring in polite, vowelless Venetian whether the signorina had addressed him, and if so, what she had said. **Niente, niente!"’ she aired her Italian. Upstairs in a room looking out upon the balcony guarded by little, sad lions, sat the old lady. She was not, as a matter of fact, so terribly old in years. Her eyes were young enough to do, without glasses, what she was doing now—mending weblike Venetian point lace to be sold in the shop. But a com- bination of great love and much sorrow had aged the once beautiful Irish girl. Dantarini walked in and drawing up a chair near hers, took the lace flounce gently from his mother and began rolling it up. “If you work,” he said, ‘“‘we cannot talk. I want to talk.” “‘But what about your own work?”’ the princess asked with a welcoming smile. ‘‘It is long after eleven o’clock. Where is your fair taskmistress, my Pietro?” “*My fair taskmistress has gone to her hotel in a rage,’ Dantarini calmly ex- plained. “I have no longer any tasks. I am discharged.” “‘Ah!” cried the princess. bomb was bound to explode. did not long ago!” “Tt has, so to speak, exploded from one form into another by a curious chemical phenomenon.” Dantarini took up his own simile. ‘‘I think the next development will be an order from Miss Grant for me to marry her.” ** Dio mio!”’ joking!” “Not at all. I have felt it in the air for some time.” “Well, the I wonder it gasped his mother. “‘ You are EVENING POST “You mean it, Pietro? The girl will pro- pose — marriage?” “She will command it.” The princess grew red and then white. “Has her family a crest and a motto?” she asked of the air. ‘‘What could they have but a stick of chewing gum rampant, and beneath gules: “We make the best.’ Amelia Drumkilbo told me all about this Miss Grant when she rushed to see me at the last minute before she left Venice. She asked me not to repeat her gossip to you, as it might be upsetting. But I gave her no promise, and even if I had—Pietro, you mustn’t fall in love with this cold, cruel girl, wrapped up in herself and her millions.”’ ‘Underneath, mother, I believe that she is not so cold or cruel. It would be interest- ing to unwrap her and find out.” **Then you do love her? You are break- ing it to me?” ‘**DoI need to break it, dearone? Haven't you guessed?” Two tears rolled down the princess’ cheeks. ‘I hoped I was mistaken. My boy, she wouldn't look at you if she hadn't failed to get what she was out for. Those are Amelia’s very words. She is determined to have a title. She doesn’t know how to love!” “One might teach her that, and many things. You speak of her family motto. Well, we have one too.” ‘Yes, yet you say she will command you. And apparently you mean to obey. You, whose motto is ‘We shall be obeyed.’”’ “That might come in usefully later.” “‘Come in usefully! That was what you said about her money to Bueno.” “‘T had to say something. I couldn't tell Bueno that I was taking on the job only because I had seen the girl. You must have realized, mother, that though money is useful, I would never have accepted hers and turned myself into a paid servant if I hadn’t wanted to know her. And destiny had given me that one way.” “‘T see no happiness ahead of you, my poor son,”’ the princess prophesied. “If there’s ever to be any, I'll have to earn it,”’ Pietro said, ‘‘and earn it hard.” TO BE CONCLUDED) NEW MYTHS ABOUT UNCLE SAM revolutionary gambles, even if they were so disposed. First of all, the costs are out of all proportion to the hope of profit. Second, endowed revolutions havealways andevery- where had a mortality rate perilously close to 100 per cent. Third, the business ex- ecutiy : has an entirely different kind of mind from the successful politician, and is about the poorest person on earth to go to for advice about the political situation. He is not shrewd at picking winners, and as a rule knows it. Fourth, the issues out of which revalutions grow are generally of such a completely internal and nationalistic nature that any sort of foreign interference would be hotly resented by both sides, and very properly so. That point ought to be very clear to all Americans in view of the fact that a candidate for almost any office in any state in this country would be seri- ously hurt by the charge that Wall Street, whatever that means, was contributing generously to his campaign fund. Fifth, the relatively undeveloped countries of Latin America do not offer wealth that omeone can grab and run away with after winning a revolution. On the contrary, what they have to offer foreign capital is opportunities to create wealth by the very expensive process of developing unused and generally remotely situated natural resources. This means the sinking of money into the ground in such ways that it cannot be carried off, although it can easily be destroyed by a short period of disorder. Stable government, even though rather poor, is vastly better for capital so invested than any kind of revo- lution. Consequently, to the extent that (Continued from Page 27 American interests in Latin America have gone out of bounds, it has almost invariably been to support existing governments. This support takes the form of advances of money. To cite a specific example, American oil interests in Mexico advanced $6,000,000 in gold to President Alvaro Obregén against future tax levies at a time when they were bitterly contesting proposed changes in the oil laws, which they felt would rob them of their lawfully acquired rights. They didn’t like Seior Obregén, but they vastly pre- ferred him to a collapse of his government. There was a certain measure of risk in making that advance, for if his govern- ment had collapsed in spite of it, the suc- ceeding government might not have been willing to recognize the obligation as na- tional rather than personal. ° Similar but smaller advances were made to President Carranza, who was passion- ately—indeed, almost fanatically—anti- American, and his government fell anyway. Quite a bit of negotiating was necessary before the evidences of money advanced to him were accepted in payment of taxes. And in spite of what he had received, Car- ranza carried on a very active propaganda both in this country and throughout Latin America, asserting that American business interests in Mexico had fomented and financed revolution against his government. Although there was subsequently an in- vestigation of the whole Mexican problem by the United States Senate, and a volumi- nous record of sworn testimony is now in existence to deny that charge, it is still being made. I have before me the stenographic report of a debate on the Issue in Mexico which took place in New York City, February 27, 1926, and the ancient charge about Amer- ican interests financing a revolution against President Carranza was there repeated. American oil corporations, said the speaker, amid applause, “‘have even gone so far in their evil ways as to employ armed bandits to continue disturbance in the oil region and thus obstruct the enforcement of Mex- ico’s laws, and this has been done with full knowledge and even the approval of the State Department of this nation.” Such a declaration in 1926 about events in 1917 is the more astounding because the whole story of what happened has for years been a matter of public record, covered by the testimony and depositions of all the material witnesses. What happened is briefly this: President Carranza did not have control of the oil regions referred to. They were held by a revolutionist—to be specific, General Pelaez, who confidently expected to overthrow the government of President Carranza. He had already set up a de-facto government of his own and car- ried it around with him. Having marched in and captured the oil fields, he demanded taxes. This demand was instantly communi- cated to Washington, because the American interests there realized how serious an of- fense it would be to pay money to a rebel. A choice of two courses remained: They could either cease operations and refuse to pay tribute, or they could comply with the request. Continued on Page 126

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126 Continued from Page 123 The United States Government was asked to make the choice for them. Wash- ington realized that it was imperatively necessary to have all the oil that could be produced in order to supply the British as well as the American Navy, because the World War was in progress; so Washington proceeded to negotiate with Carranza. The result was an agreement between the Mex- ican and American Governments that taxes should be paid both to Pelaez and Carranza so long as the Carranza government was unable to dominate the oil territory. The American oil interests were there- upon instructed to act upon this advice and did so. At no time was there any secrecy. The Carranza government knew what was taking place at all sent At the time of his arrival in the oil fields, General Pe seemed to be on the way to considerable success, but from the time tribute began to be collected he made L times and gave its con- no more progress. Eventually he ceased to be a revolutionist and later held office under the Obregén government. ch for revolutions that stumble upon the wherewithal to pay wages early in t F.ven if all the charges against American interests relating to the ] evolution were admitted to be true, the record would still show that they ob- tained by it nothing more than duplicate taxation. However, the fact is that General Pelaez was a landowner widely and favor- ably known in the territory where he His prestige was ample to enable him to launch a revolution, and he did ery well with it until he bogged down in the prosperity of taxation levied upon the oil tields. He was in no sense a bandit. Nothing is longer-lived, however, than a good story, and certainly there is no lack of romantic adventure in the fictitious schem- ing of intrepid men who play a lone hand in strange countries to win big stakes. Such yarns make a powerful appeal to the im- agination even while one’s sense of justice protests. A wonderful foundation for these stories was laid long ago by O. Henry and Richard Harding Davis. Their heroes en- joyed amazing adventures and exhibited rpassing shrewdness and wit. Also some of their stories were almost true. But they dealt with soldiers of fortune rather than s of finance and industry. n tneir careers. resided. Soldiers of Fortune The soldier of fortune occupies an en- tirely different position from that of the resident manager of a mining company. First, he represents no one but himself, and, as a rule, he offers his services on the t in sympathy with the Also, he ground that he is purposes of the faction he joins. generally has had some military experience; in fact, he is often a better soldier than anyone else in the army he joins. Never- theless, he does not attempt to take com- mand, but accepts orders from those who fomented the revolt. Eventually he may rise to leadership, as several American soldiers of fortune have done in Latin America, but in that event his success will ntirely upon his performance in lin council of contrast, let us see where representative of banking or mining tand. First, he cannot ' as swept into the revolt by his passionate adherence to the princi- I and moreover, if he were fool enough to make such representations, everyone would know that they were false. Next, he is not a military man, and there- fore all that he can contribute is money. small war is enor- pies of the rebels The cost of even a verv mous. If he undertakes to pay a part of that cost, he will invariably find that the army is overrun by camp followers and day laborers who would throw away their rifles and mper for safety at the first sound of firing ing Hi me irpose joining the revolt would be to direct its course as to govern- mental pr es, and that would be resented especially it would be THE SATURDAY resented because the sort of direction he would necessarily try to impose upon it, if he served his real masters, would turn it far aside from its natural course. The people of Latin America do not wage war against one another over the property rights of foreign corporations, They fight about their own affairs. But let us assume that all these difficulties were overcome and that the impossibly shrewd agent of American interests is really going to spend money for the cause. How could he spend it to the best effect? Why, unquestionably by importing arms and munitions from the nearest American port. But if he does this he will violate the very stern neutrality laws of his own country, and some day he expects to return there. Juan or Tomas or Carlos doesn’t mind tak- ing a chance on such a venture, because the risk covers only a few days in his life. Once he runs the blockade, he is back in his own country, where he intends to remain. Coming With Clean Hands But not so with the supposititious Amer- ican agent. His violation of neutrality will hang over him for the rest of his life. If anyone thinks these crimes are lightly con- sidered by American juries, let him examine the record. There is a high percentage of convictions in such cases. Nearly all these cases, however, involve naturalized citizens or free-lance adventurers. Sometimes Juan or Tomas or Carlos slips through the meshes of the law even when caught with the goods, but Bill Jones, soldier of fortune, very rarely does. He gets a new suit of clothes with broad stripes. Revolutions are a very sorry business for American citizens in any walk of life. The best thing for the representative of invested capital to do is keep hands clean so that if he finds it necessary to appeal to his own Government for protection in a dire emer- gency there will be no delay on the ground that he is yelling for Uncle Sam to pull him out of his own personally conducted riot. Clean hands in that situation are worth more to him than half a dozen subsidized revolutionary armies. One of the most successful revolutionists that Latin America has produced since I was born was an illiterate peon. He never suc- ceeded in establishing a government, but that was because he didn’t know how. As for raising armies with nothing but his voice and personality, he stands unequaled, and few men in all the history of Latin-Amer- ican warfare have won such brilliant victo- ries or so many of them. I refer to Pancho Villa, of Mexico, who started with nothing and could start again with the same nothing whenever misfortune overtook him. He had complete mastery of the technic of Latin- American revolution. Without that mys- terious ability to make men drop everything else and rally round the leader, the rest of his arts would not have been worth much, but he had all of them. Money was unimportant to him, and the opposition of foreign governments was one of his principal assets. A handful of dried meat and a skinful of water sufficed for a commissary department. He could steal horses and graze them on the growing crops. Fifty followers would start him on his way; raids brought more and victories rolled up an army which lived off the country through which it marched and armed itself at the ex- pense of its enemies. If he had ever known how to make a government, he would al- most certainly have become ruler of Mexico. As long as he could lift his voice, followers would respond, consequently there was no way to defeat the man as long as life re- mained in his body. The best that anyone could do was to scatter his forces tempora- rily. When the propitious moment arrived he would reassemble them without the aid atpnete SRE LE A —.-~ EVENING POST of money or supplies. Both Were soon forth- coming when he launched a campaign, and no one was in any doubt about the sources. He lived off the country. If at any time foreign interests in Mexico had given him financial and material support, it would very probably have wrecked his popularity. In the face of his record of armies raised, fed and marched to victory, to assume that rev- olutions must be paid for by higher-ups or big business is ridiculous. And yet there is a successful play now running in New York which tells how sinis- ter American business interests promote war in Mexico. The author doesn’t waste time arguing the reasonableness of his plot. He doesn’t have to. It is quite generally as- sumed that such things have been done, and perhaps are being done at this very mo- ment. In other words, the plot may be classed as staple goods for the dramatist; indeed, it is so widely accepted that it is al- most hokum. And yet that very sort of story is what the busiest enemies of this country are spreading throughout Latin America. Among those who are hard at work upon this task year after year are the paid agents of Moscow. That fact is no longer surmise or gossip. Their names are known and they operate openly; our State Department has their records, but cannot prevent their ac- tivities beyond our borders, while in this country it cannot prevent sincere men and women from echoing their views, more es- pecially when they do so honestly and without the slightest doubt about the truthfulness of the stories they have heard. The extent to which these stories gain credence is nothing less than amazing. I have first-hand knowledge of their being accepted without question or comment in metropolitan newspaper offices, where I should think they would be regarded as front-page sensations if true; and if they were true, it certainly would not be impos- sible to uncover the details. On the day when news was received in New York that President Venustiano Car- ranza, of Mexico, had been killed while flee- ing from the national capital, I had luncheon with the executive head of a corporation which has large interests in Mexico. On our return to his office the telephone rang and he was informedethat a reporter for a New York evening paper would like to have ad- ditional details about what was going on below the Rio Grande. The reporter made it very clear that he assumed that American business interests had engineered this rev- olution and given instructions for the mur- der of Carranza; also that they knew more about what was going on than the news- papers. At this astounding announcement my friend simply gulped and choked, where- upon the reporter began to josh him good- naturedly and urge him to come through with the story. He didn’t seem to realize that if there had been any such facts as he was asking for they constituted a crime punishable by years of imprisonment. The Wrong Road to Finance My acquaintance with American business interests in Mexico began during the latter years of the Diaz régime, when I was news editor of the Mexican Herald, a daily news- paper published in the capital. Years later, when I came to New York City, I found many of the men I had formerly known in Mexico. Frequently they would call upon me to translate a law or decree or some other important document into English. In the course of a few years I became acquainted with either the executives or general coun- sel, or both, of nearly all the larger cor- porations having interests in Mexico. During that time there was a steady pro- cession of Mexicans arriving in New York City to announce that they would soon have a 10% 7 July 9,1927 successful revolutions under way. They needed just a few paltry millions to assure quick success. Evidently all of them be- lieved that this was the way revolutions were financed. I met at least ten of these men, and not one of them ever succeeded in launching his proposed revolt for the simple reason that it can’t be done that way. They were a sore trial to the Americans they ap- proached, because they were asking the im- possible, and at the same time there was always the bare chance that one of them might eventually be president. To be friendly or brusque seemed equally hazard- ous. Some of the corporation executives made it a rule to explain courteously to these men just how impossible it would be to grant their requests. Others would not even grant them an interview lest the mere fact of having talked to them be miscon- strued. There were heated arguments among the Americans as to which was the better policy. Meanwhile several formidable revolts were launched in Mexico by persons un- known to the troubled Americans, and in every case these revolts started at the grass roots, with nothing but a proclamation and some eager followers gathered from the countryside. The Wilson Policy From Porfirio Diaz forward, every col- lapse of a Mexican Government has been viewed with alarm by American interests, and for very sound reasons. No one dis- putes the fact that the end of the Diaz ré- gime was regretted, so that may be passed over without comment. He was succeeded by Francisco I. Madero, a queer little man who blinked at the world through his glasses and uttered glittering generalities about humanity and progress. He was neither a general nor a statesman, and his gov- ernment was destined from the day of its inauguration to fall by the weight of its inef- ficiency; but he had stirred up previously dormant forces that promised endless tur- moil in Mexico, and foreign interests trem- bled at the thought of what might follow. Anarchy seemed to be the most probable outcome, so the foreigners hoped Madero would hold on. Instead there ensued one of those kaleid- oscopic changes characteristic of such polit- ical situations, and old Victoriano Huerta rode into power through the smoke and blood of a coup d’état. He was a conserva- tive, and again foreign interests were all on the side of the government. This time it was President Wilson who upset things with his announcement of a new policy in Latin-American affairs. Briefly, it was that no government which came into power by violence and the over- throw of the existing government in that manner would be recognized by the United States. And now comes the strangest paradox in the history of American foreign relations. The Wilson policy with regard to the recog- nition of Latin-American governments has now been adopted by more than half of them as a practical means for discouraging the overthrow of governments, and yet his interference in Mexican affairs is cited as proof of Yankee imperialism. Indeed, it is held up as a threat against the sovereignty of all the smaller Latin-American repub- lies. Wilson promulgated that policy solely from the point of view of a statesman inter- ested in the welfare of governments pat- terned after that of the United States. What followed in Mexico was renewed disorder and half a dozen revolutions sprang up simultaneously, just as American inter- ests there had feared. Their spokesmen were furious. In the ensuing turmoil scores of Americans were murdered, railroads were torn up, bridges bombe d, towns burned, and many people died of disease as well as from bullets. Eventually, Venustiano Carranza’s gov- ernment was recognized by the United States, and with the help of this prestige Continued on Page 130) te ne x —_ aad - ~~ i. ESS

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ew Perio “y gapoortens CYO AVISHLY blessed by nature with a structure defying the ravages of time and a strength in texture offering resistance to hard usage coupled with a charming and lasting individuality, Oak is the sovereign cabinet wood. Predominant throughout the Elizabethan Era, England’s great period of cultural ad- vancement, it has for centuries faithfully preserved artistic expression in design and the delicate deftness of the master craftsmen. Berkey & Gay, originators of furniture fash- ion, have blended the best traditions of the | past with the vogue of today and now upon receipt of the accompanying coupon. Westminster Cathedral owes much f ws ar hitectural excellence to ifs Oak woodwork, which shows but : the scars of the centuries and a time-mellowed beauty that lovelier with the passing dec- another characteristic of hu ood. i 128 THE SATURDAY EVENING THE SOVEREIGN Woon)" OAK FOR CHARM AND LIVABLE QUALITY + FURNITURE BANK OF COMMERCE BUILDING + Tl Oak Service Bureau, Hardwood Manufacturers’ Institute, J Memp/ is, Tenn present an Oak dining room suite—har- Bank of Commerce Bldg. |, monixing in every detail with twentieth century seg ‘ i ; q > shop am interested ina architectural requirements—as a harbinger not in excess of $ . . . - P * shop 1s of a period typical of this Age. A period elias destined to rank prominently in the | City - - . ° | Please send me without ol annals ol furniture conception - | page redeem Phe harm o and known as Renaissance Oak. | Name ’ eho Address i} “wn "Gry . , wT dt City Md} The Charm of ‘The Sovereign Wood os is a lovely brochure of eighty pages, with over a hundred plates, embracing, astde from elegant interior vistas, a study of period furniture. lorwarded free, POST Shakefpeare reading Hamlet to Queen Elizabeth. The English Renaissance and "'The Age of Oak”? are inseparably linked in history, the era also marking the first distinctive period of furniture, The Elizabethan.” Oak. é% bh . d” —ad new V1S10N of the soverelgn WOO SEP.I Please direct me to the local RENAISSANCE OAK suite, COsStINg My favorite furniture gation the beautiful 8 FOR YouR Designed and finished to appeal to the aes- thetic taste and constructed to measure its service by generations rather than by years, this group epitomizes the ideal combination of sturdy, trustworthy material with con- summate workmanship, which the picture on the opposite page can only suggest. See it in all its enchanting reality on display in the leading furniture shops. Or write us for the name of your nearest dealer. OAK SERVICE BUREAU HARDWOOD MANU FACTU RE RS” INSTITUTE » TENN July 9, 1927 CHILDREN’S CHILDREN LT a mentee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING he fapestry ering for the ‘ip Seats of the chairs has b ; chosen for beauty, permaner ¥: and the harmony with which it reflects the Elizabethan spirit of the design SSS Se eee a ~~ ‘ve a I bb ; All the secrecy and tomar color of the Midd {ees ’ fiect , ¢ mn u’ brows age nis f **Renaissance Oak Z ved for Berkey 4 Gay | Patr Or. 4 cvajts {\ man hol r np ny jor 4 years Oak has been called the ‘Sovereign Wood." It is a fitting title, for oak furniture it was that enriched the rooms of Elizabethan England—the most brilliant era in England's history Today Old English furniture marks a strik- ing style note in smartly furnished American homes. And *‘Renaissance Oak"’ development an exclusive Berkey & Gay rich with its old-age mellowing and authority of design, is especially appropriate i The “Francis Drake’ suite in rooms gpoogpoes antag Be “Renaissance Oak” typitics the Berkey & Gay suites range in pric . . Rais. chonized ale > Same spirit of stvlc leadership, the FURNITURE'S from 6, to as low as $2 ; sie a sill u me same care 1n the selection of choice PROUDEST Those of the lowest price, though } of the ar tinct! COAT-OF-ARMS , Eliza ree ih woods, and the same qualities of fine less claborate, receive the same ys ras ag a craftsmanship which three genera- ‘i mes it ~ careful skill of craftsmanship, the tions of cultured Americans have It is your protect r same carctul choice of materials, as ) | known and cherished o the most expensive | Berkey &’ G iu . Founded in 1853 BERKEY & GAY FURNITURE COMPANY, GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN POST —_ The charm of Oak—the sovereign wood y Furniture NEW YORK WHOLESALE SHOWROOM 11 W. 40TH STREET Such fine furniture, once the monopoly of the exclusive few, is now within the means of the exclusive many. Scientific production methods have retained the qualities of this famous furni- ture, while reducing its price to a surprising degree So today American homes with few exceptions can possess, if they choose, both the stvle smartness of Berkey & Gay's “' and the picturesque armosphere of stately Elizabethat

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 126) came intoa semblance of power, but it never controlled the whole country. Immedi- ately a new constitution was promulgated and the issues it raised with regard to the rights of foreigners in Mexico are still being debated. One might readily assume that foreign interests would have been delighted to get rid of Carranza in any way possible, but again the situation had changed. The dire threats against foreign investments con- tained in his constitution could not be car- ried into effect because his government was entirely too weak. There were two prob- abilities to be considered in the event of his government falling—first, anarchy and re- newed warfare, with half a dozen aspirants in the field; second, a much stronger man who would adhere to the new constitution and eventually carry some of its provisions into effect. Meanwhile vigorous and intelligent cam- paigns of propaganda against that consti- tution were launched by distinguished Mexican jurists and statesmen. They held that it was Bolshevist in principle and il- legally foisted upon the nation. Sefior Jorge Vera-Estanol, former Secretary of the In- terior and former Secretary of Public In- struction, issued a volume entitled Carranza and His Bolshevik Régime. It was first published serially in a Mexican newspaper. Every consideration of expediency suggested that foreigninterests should let the Carranza government wabble along to its eventual fall and’ hope for the best possible results from the campaign against his entirely new theories of government. So he also re- ceived some measure of support from foreign interests in the form of advances of money. When, eventually, he fell it was to be suc- ceeded by Gen. Alvaro Obreg6n, a much stronger man and abler executive. Car- ranza was a crossroads country lawyer full of theories. Immediately progress began to be made toward carrying into effect some of the provisions of the new constitution, but Obreg6n was a welcome relief after a man who had impressed many people as a parochial-minded fanatic. Business and the Government Obreg6n would hear and utter argument. Not only that, he brought a greater measure of security against banditry, which previ- ously had flourished in every part of the country, coming frequently to the very en- virons of the national capital. So foreign interests rested their hopes upon argument, and again supported the government, even to the extent of millions of dollars advanced against future tax levies. Eventually Gen- eral Obreg6n surrendered the government to his friend, Plutarco Elias Calles, another strong man who has gone much farther with the work of enforcing the Carranza consti- tution. As this is written he is engaged in a bitter struggle against the Roman Catholic For foreign business interests to attempt to intervene would be the height of folly and they know it. Their case still rests where it has been from the beginning—in the hands of the State Department of the United States. When the charge is made that American business interests have upset governments in Mexico it is not unreasonable to ask which government was thus upset. There are thousands of living men who know in- timately the details of one or more Mexican revolutions. For thirty years, under Diaz, there were no successful revolutions. His government fell in 1911 and since then there have been a great many, but none is ancient history. If American interests are account- able for any one of them, it would be possi- ble to produce scores of living witnesses to prove that fact. Under the circumstances, something more specific than a blanket in- dictment ought to be brought forward. In- cidentally if the Department of State has won any arguments with Mexico since 1911, those victories might also be brought for- ward for examination. I don’t recall any, and I have been familiar with Mexican affairs since before Diaz fell. EVENING POST The picture of Uncle Sam in the role of interfering imperialist invariably is offered with the following story: American busi- ness interests ‘‘invade”’ the country in ques- tion. I put quotation marks around the word “invade’’ because that is precisely the word used by the propagandists. Next, the invading business interests scoff at the laws of the country in which they have made their investments, and then call upon the United States Government, which by force of arms upsets the harassed weaker govern- ment and gives the business interests what- ever they have contended for. Then comes the citation of the fall of Vic- toriano Huerta. It is a very interesting story and rather amazing, in view of the facts. General Huerta was hailed by Amer- ican business interests in Mexico with great enthusiasm, and the refusal of President Wilson to recognize him is still condemned in unmeasured terms by the very men who, according to the propagandists, are sup- posed to have benefited. Close to the Margin Recently I listened to a Mexican orator discoursing on the Mexican problem. Con- cluding his address, he offered a few words of advice that he thought would aid the solu- tion of Mexican-American relations. ‘‘ Let the State Department,” he said, ‘‘have a more patient, friendly attitude in approach- ing Mexican affairs.” I wondered at the time just how the State Department could be more patient than it has been. About 200 Americans have been mur- dered in Mexico since the Diaz government fell. Nobody knows what the property losses have been, and that subject is open to debate, but the most authoritative and at the same time conservative estimates range from $1,500,000,000 to $2,000,000,000. President Carranza repeatedly in formal notes invited the United States Govern- ment to go and take a long running jump. Since about 1913 there has continuously ex- isted the sort of issues upon which wars have traditionally been predicated, and yet there has been no war nor any great probability of one. Three cabinets, one Democratic and two Republican, have clearly shown that they don’t want war. American business inter- ests in Mexico don’t want war and have so declared; the public has been apathetic throughout. For the past three years the much-discussed American oil interests in Mexico have been confining their operations to the pools long since developed and open- ing no new ones, although they own many undeveloped oil fields. They are on their way out of Mexico. The production figures show that beyond any question, and have done so for two years. If greater patience could be shown, whoever makes the sugges- tion ought also to furnish the recipe. All Latin America, including especially Mexico, is now being subjected to Bolshe- vik propaganda. In some of the countries it has great effect, in others very little so far as the cause of communism is concerned, but in every country the United States is violently assailed as imperialistic and threat- ening. Very often this part of the propa ganda gains a respectful hearing even when the rest accomplishes nothing. The present is a critical period in the r« lations between the United States and Latin America. More than a few of these coun- tries are economically ready for tremendous development. Capital is not going to in vade them, but it is ready to be invited and to codperate with local capital and enter- prise. These invitations are coming to American capital in ever-increasing num- bers, but investigation often develops the fact that there are two factions working at cross purposes where the investments are to be made. One faction would push forward with the development of natural resources: the other would keep the national domain a goat ranch forever rather than see for- eign capital participate in its development. These currents of opir do greatly affect American commerce: it goes on its way prosperously. But there should cross on not July 9, 1927 be more hydroelectric plants, oil fields, mines, sawmills, railroads, port facilities, waterworks and similar enterprises that call for permanent investments. If these are to be viewed with suspicion, then many of them will never be made. Communism appeals strongly to many of the rural people of Latin America, largely because it is not new to them. Millions lived under communistic local governments before Columbus discovered the New World. The sort of communism they practiced works very well under primitive conditions. It gives a man a share of the community’s water, a share of the wood and a share of thecommonpasture. Hehashislittle patch of ground also. Life on those terms be- comes communistic rather naturally. Now if that man has no conception of life beyond what this plan will afford, it suits him very weil. Communism in a country such as Mex- co, for example, is not a Russian theory; it is simply a reversion to the Indian way of living. The principal objection to it is that it does not contain within itself the seeds of progress. The fact that it is good one year does not mean that it will be better the next. On the contrary it is a static existence and always close to the danger margin— danger meaning, in this case, hunger. Out of this mode of living no universities or technica! schools can grow. Mineral wealth remains untouched under little patches of corn and beans. Potential electric power leaps from the crags and flows to the sea unharnessed. The issue in Latin America is whether the millions who are satisfied with that sort of life now and would be forever will prevent the others from going forward. In the long run they probably will not, but as matters now stand there could be an enormous dif- ference in the rate of progress. Of Public Concern The United States now offers the largest reservoir of capital on earth, and some parts of Latin America are ready to match it with more capital than they have ever had be- fore in all their history. The stage is set for rapid development if those who favor it have their way. Or, on the other hand, it is entirely possible to build up such a sullen opposition to coéperation with American capital that the whole course of interna- tional relations in this hemisphere would eventually change. Recently I discussed this situation with the chief executive of an American corpora- tion which has invested $15,000,000 in a South American country with a view to spending three or four times that much on future development. “We're not doing anything now,” he said. ‘‘Conditions are not right. There is a feeling of suspicion, a vague sort of unfriendliness. We can wait, so we are waiting. Some way ought to be found to make the attitude of our Government clearer by reiteration of its position. And I hope, also, that closer coéperation be- tween American corporations operating abroad and the American Government will develop in time. This might even take the form of regulation; certainly it ought to in- clude a better exchange of information. “For instance, when a corporation is called upon to make a decision that may eventually be reviewed by the American State Department, it would be much better if the American minister or ambassador sat at the council table when the original de- cision was made. The national interest en- ters into all these matters and they cease to be strictly private. “It is not enough to play fair and keep our mouths shut. We are entering a new era, and facing new difficulties; it is up to us to convince all concerned that the un- questionably friendly feeling of our people for all of the Latin-American nations re- mains unchanged. And we have to elab- orate that friendly feeling into fixed policies that will reduce friction. The future lies on this side of the world. It is up to us to work together with such understanding that we'll banish the talebearers and mythmongers.”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | myself directly I got that.

July 9,1927 MY DEAR (Continued from Page 25 And here you are, as you always would be, able to pro- duce anything—rabbits out of hats or any jolly old thing. Here you are with this What’s-his-name’s cast-off to market. Sell ‘em to me for this one night, eh, Stone?” “This way, Mr. Jack.” He was shut into a bedroom with a brass double bed in it—the connubial chamber of the Stones. “Bath, Mr. Jack? Water always hot at my place, night and day. I put a proper system in. The gentlemen won't be want- ing their baths for a half hour yet.” Bath! “Stone, I haven’t been in a bath for months.”’ Stone’s grieved, pendulous face. ‘Oh, very shocking. You must have suffered, sir.” Mrs. Stone came, with her pale, fat, pendulous face, up the stairs to see what was afoot. He recalled her instantly — old Snooky, cook for years at Riverside, and then she’d married Stone and they had launched out together while he was at Oxford. Often in his school holidays he had invaded her kitchen and consumed ex- tra and Gargantuan meals, culled from all the delicacies in her vast cupboards. Philip had been a favorite of old Snooky’s too. “Mr. Jack, Gertie, for a quick bath and change.”’ “Mr. Jack!” “Snooky! I look what I am, A reprobate.” “Oh, dear, dear! Oh, dear! Dear! Dear!’ ‘A bath towel, old lady, quick,” Stone re- quested, bustling about. She brought it at a trot. “Sir Lucas was too Jack. Oh, my, where “You run down, don’t I? ‘ard on you, Mr. ‘ave you been?”’ old lady, and see to your dinners. Three of them dining in to- night.”” And again Jack was alone with Stone, facing immediate problems. “Look, Stone, I want to seem decent. What’s-his-name got anything else to sell? I mean, supposing I telephoned you for a bag?” “A bag?” “T haven't got a bag. Got nothing at all. Could you send a bag round to me with strict necessaries in it for the night and tomorrow morning, supposing I tele- phoned?”’ How kind arid resourceful the old serv- ant was. How dependable. And how vastly, quickly understanding. “You mean, if Sir Lucas asks you to stay the night, you want to be able to tele- phone for your bag, Mr. Jack!”’ “Yes, and I haven't one.” Old Stone, pursing up his thoughtful features, screwing up his steady little eyes. “All right, Mr. Jack. I got a bag of my own; and I’ve always got some of the gentlemen’s shirts and suits and everything to dispose of. Gentlemen can’t afford to give their old things away as free as they used to before the income tax was what it is. All right. All right, Master Jack.” He was Master Jack again now. Not “Mr. Jack,” nor “sir,”’ but Master Jack, the schoolboy who had been the life and terror and fun of Riverside during his tempestuous invasions. Old Stone was again the benevolent monitor, winking upon just and unjust alike, as long as they captured his fancy. And Jack had a great feeling now—a tumult of feeling——that all would be well. He plunged into the bath that Stone had prepared for him. Fancy the foul months just past, when man couldn't lie down in a porcelain bath, lave himself in rivers of hot water, scrub himself with the best soap, dry himself lapped in the folds of a great thick Turkish sheet. Fancy‘the foul months gone by. Fancy the past three queer throbbing weeks gone by, lost forever! He would not think except ahead. He would not look back, only for- ward. Just in time-—just in time he had It was beastly, just the same; the way things reminded a man of other things Beastly that all this steaming lavishness o! water should recall the kettlefuls heated on a little wreck of an old hob grate in a top floor room. ‘“‘Want some hot water to wash yourself with?’’ And then, the hand- ing out of her little kettle to be emptied into the zine pan in his room—-the kind of zine pan that all Greengrove Alley washed its clothes and its children in. In the morn- ing he would think of her, he promised him- self —in the morning he would review the situation as it seemed to need it. But just now he must rush ahead. Just now there wasn’t time. The whole of the three queer throbbing weeks had been stark madness He came again, wrapped in the excellent bath sheet Mrs. Stone had provided, to the bed chamber of the Stones. And there, already, before proceeding to his tables and valeting, Stone had laid out a dress shirt, a trifle frayed at cuffs and but- tonholes; a dinner jacket and trousers, scrupulously brushed; a felt hat; alight overcoat; patent-leather shoes and somebody's well-darned socks and a couple of clean handkerchiefs What matter if all these had belonged to this Captain Shell, or anyone else? They fitted well enough; did well enough. Uncle Lucas, softened as he seemed, wouldn't have tolerated the scarecrow in the dread- ful flannels and the leaky shoes. No, Unele I would not excuse a nephew who had let himself go—who had let himself go too far, at any rate. It had been providential, this flight to wise, re- sourceful Stone, who understood Sir Lucas and his hardness; Sir Lucas and his ruth- less judgments, narrowed to the circum- stances of his own class. It had been an inspiration. Then Stone was back again briskly, re- garding the set of the jacket, saying, ‘‘The shoes ‘ve seen their best days, I know, but they're well built. If a thing’s good once it’s good always. I was selling them for young Mr. Corinder— Mr. Nigel Corinder, you know, Master Jack, what left Eton in your first year.”” And: “It’s a pity | haven’t a silk hat and dress overcoat by me at the moment; sometimes I have one or two. But these’ll look right enough— right enough for a young gentleman just going to dine quietly with his uncle.”” And: “My word, Master Jack, you’ve grown up, haven't you? Nothing of the youngster about you now.” “I’ve been learning in a school I'll bet you never went to, Stone, you old prince. Always lived on the fat of the land, haven't you?” “Well, Master Jack, thank God, me and my family before me have always served the real gentry. They're like a wall round you, I always say.” Yes. Like the wall that he had broken through. But here he was back again, and glad to be inside. ‘““Ah. And outside that wall, Stone, you old sport?” “You shouldn’t ha’ Jack.” “Shouldn't, eh?” “Every man to his own cl his other a black tie; sucas was hard; looked, Master ass and place, sir The man was right. Comfortable, com- fortingly right. You couldn't leave your herd and run with a fresh one and feel yourself at home. And he asked, “If—if I fix up anything conight, , should you have room for me here if I wanted to come?” Captain Shell’s regiment is ordered to India next week, sir. That’s why he’s re- fitting.” “So I could have his rooms?” “With pl easure, Master Jack.” “i If. Then the yearning, the mad longing, broke all over him. To be riding his own line of country; to be among his old habits; Continued on Page 135 stone

— a ae

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I IE ~~ - ( et f is difficult to say ‘no impossible to say ‘yes’ “Mrs. Soand-So is a charming | | I woman. I would not willingly ] be unkind to her —but one experi ence is enough “Some things are more than one can endure.” Although friendship may be at stake, there are times when even an intended guest of honor must beg to be excused & A tly on a luncheon table, a roach crawling on the bathroom floor any insect creeping across pure white linen—1s the world’s great est socia: error! The American attitude on this subject is definite Cleanly persons neither tolerate insect pests in their homes not care to trequent the homes of those less particular than them selves. Since the advent of Tanglefoot Spray, household hygiene has come to be considered in the ' same light as personal cleanliness Fe - 1 ¥ . 1] Tangletoot Spray is equally effec 11 7 tive in killing all common destruc She guest of honor | heos lo he ~ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST o - — , ‘ oe A Aisteas ampere _—e tive and disease-spreading Nhouse Its powerful strength kills then all. None can escape or revive Don't confuse Tanglefoot Spray with ordinary liquid insecticides, or think of it as a new form of fly paper Tanglefoot Spray is in a class by itselt. Nothing else is'so power ful, thorough, convenient, safe and tree from objectionable fea tures It harms nothing but insects. It cannot stain. Its tresh, clean odor ' 1 lingers only a moment Use Tanglefoot Spray tor combat ing flies, moths, mosquitoes, > ee = . 1 o., roache Ss, he dbug . ants and fle is Grocers and druggists sell it It costs no more than less effectiv: products and is well worth di manding THE TANGLEFO! Cow}

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a — | (Continued from Page 132 to leave the past behind like a nightmare; to forget and to begin again! What for- tune! ‘Stone, I hope I come back to you.” “Indeed, I hope you do, Master Jack. Meanwhile— just for the week, till Captain Shell leaves— you'll be staying, no doubt, at Beverley Place.”’ “Then you don’t doubt, Stone’ ily—‘‘that it’s all going to pan out all right for me?”’ “T shall have the bag packed and be sending it along on receipt of your tele- phone message, sir.” The man’s confident smile! It put into Jack the rest of the heart that he needed. He was out in Jermyn Street, fitting into the picture of the familiar evening life of the neighborhood—a young man of ex- cellent appearance going out to dine. He wished he were silk hatted and wearing a silk-faced overcoat, and that there was rather more money in his pocket than the few pence that lay there. However, the light and smart tweed overcoat of Captain Shell—or Mr. Corinder?—was good, and he only had to feel the hat upon his head to know its origin, even if he had not looked before, just for the pleasure of looking. He walked into St. James’ Street and crossed Piccadilly; passed into Berkeley Street. The familiar streets, exhilarating with memories—baskets of violets still being hawked, although it was nearly eight o'clock; women with their long, exquisitely silk-stockinged legs and their neat polished hair, going into the Ritz and the Berkeley; and then from the Berkeley Restaurant the faint croon of the orchestra; he savored it all. “Well,” he thought, ‘I have learned.” He turned the corner into Beverley Place and saw before him the tall, austere and haughty house. , husk- Ix IR LUCAS was in his study. His errant nephew followed Stone’s successor —un- acquainted, except by possible hearsay, with him and his escapades—through the hall. Cool and precise, quiet and orderly, it was all the same as ever. And he mounted, behind the servant, the staircase where one’s feet trod without noise. His heart beat like the sticks of a drum against his ribs. It would be devastatingly diffi- cult. But he was not difficult, the large old man standing on the hearthrug, hard, pol- ished, urbane; his handshake just like Philip’s handshake; his opaque look from eyes that took everything in. He was un- changed outwardly, even his immense grief not marking him. ‘Good evening, Jack.” ‘“*Good evening, uncle.” “Take a cocktail?” “Thanks.” Then they stood together on the hearth- rug, back to the fire, as they had stood many times down the years behind; first as a little schoolboy, fatherless, Jack had stood there, striding the hearthrug, beside Sir Lucas; then later, as a big boy from his public school; later still, feeling full-fledged, when he was down from the university. Only now their eyes were level; each could look into the other's eyes. Never had Lucas examined his nephew so shrewdly, so appraisingly and yet so wist- fully, as he did now. “Your mother is still at Cannes.” “Yes, so I suppose.” “Ever write to her?”’ “*T haven't since Christmas.” Not since the come-down into Summer Street and Greengrove Alley, indeed, had he sent his perfunctory duty letters for Ellaline. Lucas understood in a vague, impersonal way. But it was impossible, thought the newly lessoned young man, that his uncle should ever really understand the details of the submerged life— the cramped quarters, the cheap foods, the sudden red fighting on Saturday nights, the pawning of the last shirt with no hope apparent of ever re- deeming it again. Too vast a difference, THE SATURDAY too wide a gulf here; he might well leave out such details from the story Lucas would probably ask him to tell. They would mean nothing. He could almost hear Lucas’ deep croaky voice remarking causti- cally: “How perfectly ridiculous,”’ or ‘‘ Surely you could have done better than that for yourself.”’ It was what all the easy-living people be- lieved; what he had believed himself in the first weeks of his outlawry from the family. Surely a fellow with all his wits about him could do better than that. He tossed off his cocktail The first alcohol since Jenny broke into his life. **My new man doesn’t mix em like Stone did,”’ said Lucas. “Tt seemed all right to me “You're looking very well, Jack.”’ ‘I am extremely well, sir.” A long weighty pause. “I am glad you wrote to me.” “Thank you, sir.” Then the mellow sound of the gong, beat downstairs, reverberating softly up and down the house. “Come along.” There was the shining table with the im- mensely high candelabra; there were the glow of choice fruits and the passing of the port, just as he had so often, these past months, thought of it all. The dinner was over. What adinner! Eating a tender fillet of steak with forced mushrooms and baby green peas, he was reminded of the bits of meat Jenny used to sizzle with such care in her only frying pan. Oh, sadly, sorrowfully ridiculous! His letter would explain everything to her—so wise she was; she would under- stand all. And after tonight he would prob- ably be able to send money to clear off the expenses of that extra room they had fur- nished together. But though he could not quite banish her, only very dimly did Jenny and her ways enter just now into his ab- sorbed, impatient mind. Trifles, mistakes, were all to be swept away, and he would begin again. He knew the imperative need of that hitherto unconsidered article, the clean slate. The clean slate was what thou- sands of men direly desired. It was his! The deep, croaky voice of the old man at the head of the table, when the butler had withdrawn, said, ‘‘Now we can talk. We'll get to business. You look healthy, Jack.” Jack replied swiftly, “‘I’ve kept fit.” He could see himself, blurred black and white, in the shining table; and as swiftly as he had spoken there came before his eyes the unshaved wastrel he had seen looking at him from acracked mirror every morning but a few weeks ago; the unkempt fellow without a shirt, the starveling. She who saved him - But he didn’t tell Lucas of this. Time enough when and if the old man asked. “Tf a man keeps himself physically fit when he’s going downhill, there is good stuff in him,”’ said Lucas. “It’s the coward who lets himself go, all over, directly his pocket is a bit light.” Well, from the profundity of his igno- rance the privileged old man spoke—the profundity of his ignorance of what actually and individually happens to a man when the waters close over him. “Let it go,”’ Jack thought. ‘‘ Let it go at that.”’ “You're clean,” said Lucas, “‘ well set up; nothing of the loafer about you You haven’t gone to the dogs, as I said you would.” “Not quite, sir.’’ “T am glad I was wrong. Fill glass.” He filled it up. He knew the port —a rare vintage wine; it came up on only great occasions. And his heart seemed to draw closer to Lucas’ heart becaus¢ ture of celebration. “In your honor, Jack,”’ said Lucas, indi- cating the port “T recognized it, uncle Very good of you.” up your ges- EVENING POST Lucas went on, “You With approva look like a man who's been working “Yes, uncle. I've been working with m) hands.” He displayed them smilingly. They wer marked by the service of Mr. Simmons spite ol old Stone's hot water and veivet soap. An amused smile touched the corner of Lucas’ mouth as he looked at those hands with the short chiy ped nails, and a littl ligh tning came to Nils tired and somber eyes ‘Good! “Again,”’ thought Jack, “approval is easy.”’ And that part of his mind which had grown hot, dark and sinister in the mean life of the mean streets struggled with that part ll eager, glowir £, like the mind of a little boy anticipating good things “You went away a fool of a boy,” said Lucas, ‘‘and you have come back a man Well, Jack, is there anything in these past few months that you want to get back to?” Not” ‘You can put them behind you, forget them, and start again?”’ *“Yes.”” ‘No troubles, no bad friends touts, blackmailers, and so on—hanging on 3ecause if so, we'd deal with ‘em of his mind which wa loafers, to you? right away.” ‘‘Not one. No, I can leave my troubles behind.” ‘*No entanglements of any sort, Jack?” “‘No, sir.” She wasn’t an entanglement, that working girl already hours, #ons, behind; worlds away. No. Splendid girl, protecting, encouraging, scolding, laughing, cooking, nursing, sewing. The girl who would have been his wife this time tomorrow if Lucas hadn't written to him. A girl like that would never be an entanglement. She wouldn't want to hang on. She had pride. “I'm glad you’ve worked,” said Lucas out of a silence. “Work! Work!” Jack could hear her crying. ‘‘Any work is better than no work.” He sighed profoundly, his two minds threshing away at each other, thoughts like flails beating him. “When I had your letter about Philip,” said Lucas, speaking the sorrowful name invincibly, ‘‘all I had to guide me were the postmark and the fact that you called your- self John Danby. I got the best detective in London on the job and he located you.” “So that’s how it was done!” “No doubt you were a pretty remark- able figure in that locality, and so he got wind of you more easily than he might otherwise have done.”’ John wondered uneasily as to what de- tails the sleuth might have gathered con- cerning him. He put out a feeler: “I’m afraid I wasn’t very popular round there.”’ “T don’t know anything about that. When he had your address that was all I wanted. And now I’ve got you, Jack What about these shoes of Philip’s? Would they fit you, do you think?”’ “You want me to 5 “To go on where Philip left off; do what I hoped he would do. He was standing for Parliament, you know, when that railway The seat’s half won, ] already crash happened. should say, already. His propaganda was marvelous, though I, his father, say it. I want you to step into his place Begir working the constituency at once If ) yu'd done anything in the past to be particu larly sorry for, to blemish your reputation beyond whitewashing, it would be difficult As it is, there’s nothing against you that the public can’t forgive. I strafed you for playing the fool, but the public doesn’t mind that in a boy. That's over, eh?’ That’s over, uncle “So what I int you to do is to be a son to me, Jack. Never mind that mother of yours! Cannes is a good place for her and may she stay there! I want you to fol low out my boy’s career.” ‘Tl He proud ~ Continued on Page 137 we you fill a crack « hole with Rutland Patching looks as good as new. And the patch is as lasting as the wall itself Plaster, the wall Rutland Patching Plaster will not crack, crumble or fall out. It will not shrink as plaster of paris shrinks. It’s easier to use than plaster of paris because it does not get hard or “set” instantly. Comes ir handy cartons. You just add water and apply Paint, wall-paper and hardware stores sell it. If your dealer hasn't Rutland, we will mail a package direct and you can pay the postman 30c. plus postage Rutland Fire Clay Co Dept.B-32,Rutland, Vermont Patching Plaster you buy a etejsetemeenten's (a camera see , AUTOMATIC CAMERA ano PROJECTOR MADE BY PATHE better results -less cost Demonstration et your Dealer Sree booklet PATHEX INC. 35 WEST 45%. STR. NEW YORK CITY Clark’s Famous Cruises ( 125 days $1250 to $3000 ROUND THE WORLD ss **Caledonia”’ sailing Jan. 16 24th Mediterranean Cruise FRANK C. CLARK, Times Bidg., N.Y.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9,1927 Your old Phonograph never Gave Music like this! RUNSWICK anatrope y A ' Prices from $85 to $1,250 (Including both Exponential and Electrical types) Convenient terms HERE has been a remarkable change in music for the home. Amazing improvements have been made, both in recording and in the reproduction of recorded music. Our laboratories in collaboration with the great electrical companies have had a leading part in these new develop- ments. In the creation of the Brunswick Panatrope, we have achieved what is perhaps our greatest triumph. The Panatrope is designed ex- pressly to play the new electrical rec- ords. To let you hear the rich bass and the beautiful high notes which Brunswick electrical recording regis- wy ters but which old-type phonographs lo not reproduce — ; \s developers of Brunswick's Light-Ray” electrical recording (mu- photography) we are naturally interested in securing the finest possi ble reproduction for the new records ive developed the Brunswick Panatrope in a wide variety of beauti- fu! modeis, covering both electrical and exponential types of reproduction. The electrical type iy be had in combination with the famous 8-tube You have only to hear the Pana- Radiola Super-heterodyne. You can obtain a Panatrope trope in comparison with other re- of the exponential type the model shown here .. . for Latest Brunswick Records producing instruments to realize this only $85. Or a marvelous electrical Panatrope com- by the ‘Light-Ray"’ electrical great difference. bined in one cabinet with the famous 8-tube Radiola method (musical photography) Super-heterodyne for $1,250. are on sale every Thursday \sk your Brunswick dealer to play some choice Brunswick Records on Thus the di ligt is ot the new electrical recording may the Brunswi k Panatrope. Also ask yw be enjoyed by everyone. The Brunswick Panatrope to hear one of Brunswick's reproducing instruments in ill makes of records, old and new And to every combination, in one cabinet, with the famous Radiola brings greater range, musical quality, and a natural- Super-heterodyne. Buy no musical instrument or radio tone that will delight vou until you hear these marvelous Brunswick inventions. THE BRUNSWICK-BALKE-COLLENDER CO., NEW YORK, CHICAGO +: IN CANADA: TORONTO

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= Continued from Page 135) The butler came to tell Lucas, while they were still lingering at the table, that Lady tosamund Lacey was in the drawing- room. “Did you ever see her, Jack?’’ Lucas asked as they ascended the wide staircase. “T don’t think you did. She and Philip were —well, I'd hoped—-she’s of good stock; and I believe in these modern girls; hard as diamonds--such sense and such poise. Well, you'll see — you'll see,’’ he was mur- muring as they reached the drawing-room door. There before the pale wood fire in the Adam grate stood a girl——a young woman rather, for there was nothing about her that was girlish, save the youthfulness of her contours. She stood on the dull green hearthrug in a frock fitting like a serpent’s skin, of all rich strange colors blended into the sheet of brocade. She had fabulous pearls twined and twined about a thin, lovely neck, and little silver slippers beat- ing and digging impatiently on the soft rug. The exoticism of her, the hothouse perfection, caught Jack’s breath. This ap- parition, coming right on top of the most marvelous dinner he’d had for time un- countable, gave him a vision of future ex- hilarations. And then her eyes, bright and remote and sophisticated, looking swiftly to him from under plucked and penciled brows, were most alluring. She took Lucas by the lapels of his coat and kissed him, with her mouth like a little flower of pink lacquer. ‘‘How are you, sweet?”’ she said softly, hoarsely. She had the charming contralto huski- ness in her voice to belie the glitter of her personality, and her very thin, very white hands on Lucas caressed him gently. “Doing well, Rosamund. Nice of you to look in, dear.” ° “‘T wanted to see that you were not lonely.”” “Well, I’m lonely, Rosamund. But not so lonely as I was a few hours ago. This is my nephew Jack—FEllaline’s boy, you know — come back to help me through with it.” Then her hand was in Jack’s and her contralto voice was saying, “I’m glad of that.”’ “‘Have you sandwiched me between two parties, dear, and how long can you stay with us?”’ “‘T’ve dined at home and am just going on to the Rochesters’. And then to the embassy.” ‘‘Dined at home? You might have dined with us.”’ ‘““My mother wanted to see me, you sweet thing.”’ “Can you still remember a mere mother, Rosamund?”’ ‘*She remembers me.” The faint smile of admiration on Lucas’ face had a tinge of enjoyment in it; the first enjoyment he had been able to feel for days. “This is a great time to be young in,”’ he said. She was looking swiftly again at Jack. “‘T must be interrupting a nice evening a deux, if your nephew is only just back from * ““You’ll make me very happy by staying as long as you can. Let the Rochesters wait for you, rather than deny Jack and me. What are you going to do for us, now you’re here? Give us a Charleston exhibi- tion—asI hear you did at Lady Narraby’s?” ‘‘Not dance; not dance here tonight,” she said, giving his hand a little squeeze; and her remote bright eyes became per- sonal, intimate, sad and sorry. “I'll play to you, shall I?”’ She did not wait for their ardent replies, but going across to the grand piano at the other end of the room, sat down before it and put her hands on the keys. As her fin- gers hovered over the first chord she spoke across to Jack: ‘“‘T often run in to see if this sweet thing’s at home, and if he is, I play to him while he dreams.” THE SATURDAY “‘Dreams,”’ Lucas repeated in a low mutter to himself. Her eyes, bent upon them gravely from the far space where the piano was set, seemed to be searching for their desires in music, as her hands hovered and searched among low chords and harmonies upon the keys. And then she began to play at ran- dom, going from one air to the other; from a snatch of something old and familiar to a snatch of something incongruously new, till at last she seemed to settle upon a theme of Liszt’s in much the way that a butterfly selects and fastens upon a flower. She looked at them nearly all the time she played; at the old man and the very young man sitting over there by the fire. Jack, in the dim lights of the room, looked at her unobtrusively, eagerly, and with a thrill at the soul. How alluring she was! Thin to emaciation in the ultra- modern way, colored deeply black and sharply white, with just her mouth, like a pink lacquer flower, and the pinkness of her sensitive nostrils—which she made up—to tinge her face with rose. And the way she watched them as she played ing their hearts! He knew now how sick he had been for his own class of women, for the exotics and delicacies of her, her flair for life and her look of leisure. He became more intoxicated by Rosa- mund as she played and played than Lucas’ wines had made him. He looked across the hearth at Lucas, sunk in his deep chair. He was indeed dreaming, with his eyes staring widely at the fire. Jack wondered of Rosamund was and how often they would meet; just what Philip’s death had meant to her. And wondering, heremembered something about her; hadn’t he, reading one of those stale newspapers in which Jenny Croft carried her work home, noticed idly and uncaring, that the famous Le Maur was painting Lady Rosamund Lacey’s portrait? The actual words of the paragraph came back to him now. Lying on that narrow bed he had read it, while a few yards from him the sewing machine worked like a bee. Rosamund’s silver feet on the pedals fas- cinated him; so narrow and exquisite, like the rest of her, they expressed, somehow, perfect decision and poise and assurance; just as if those small feet knew exactly and always where they were going. It was sor- rowful when she stopped and Lucas ceased his dreaming. “Thank you, dear,’’ he said, rising, and she came over to him, kissed him again, and told him, ‘Take care of yourself, sweet.”’ “Jack shall take care of you. He will see you down.” Jack went down with her, folded her cloak around her. She said, “Of course, we shall meet again soon.’’ And she was gone. as if search-

who she “To speak of immediate matters,” said Lucas a long while after, “‘where are your things?” *“At Stone’s, in Jermyn Street.”’ “Oh, really. You’ve been there?” “T saw him this afternoon; in splendid fettle. Good old Stone.” He thought very movingly upon the old servant. “Tf you have a bag, then, Jack, we'll tele- phone for it. You'll stay, won't you?” “Thank you, uncle. my bag.”’ Lucas’ eye dwelt obser, antly on the passable dinner jacket and the slightly frayed shirt. ‘Worked with your hand: eh? Well, I’m glad you stuck to the de cencies and kept some of your clothes to- gether. It shows form, that, I always think.” “I’m glad too you, sir?”’ “T hate beggars!" How right had been his feeling and the feeling of old Stone that Lucas would have looked askance upon a dirty prodigal in rags. The prodigal returning by urgent in- vitation, decently and in some dignity, was a very different affair You hate be yyars, don t I'll telephone for EVENING POST Giadd w telephone to Stone said Lucas, naming the new butler He can send someone to fetch it.” Stone could be trusted to see that no alb- solutely necessary part of a gentleman's overnig! t outht Was missing from that bag And with a mind lulled and stimulated, ex cited and soothed, Jack found himself to ward midnight in the big bedroom that he had always occupied at Beverley Place “Tomorrow you'll find your account open at Coutts’,’’ Lucas had said, when they shook hands for good night Lucas, torn at last by emotion, had hur ried away to his own quarters Jack couldn't sleep, couldn’t rest. It was waste to squander such an epoct making night on oblivion. He wrote to his mother. He smoked cigarettes innumer- able. He read fitfully a page here and there from the French novel by Willy on the bedside table. But at last, after he had thought on everything, after he had planned, of course, to put money into an envelope and address it to Greengrove Alley directly the banks opened in the morning, he was desperately constrained to try for sleep He longed to sleep, to drive from his mind's vision that head with the gay, bright hair bent above a whirring sewing machine. Only, when he slept, he dreamed of her And when he awoke he thought “‘ My wed- ding morning,” before he realized himself. Himself, Jack Riverside, Lucas’ heir: standing in Philip’s shoes, social, financial and political. John Danby, Bad Boy Danby, had played his part and left the stage. Here was again Jack Riverside. Yet a wedding morning is a wedding morn- ing. It wasa fine day, all little breezes and sun. She would have been knocking on his door and crying this morning, if it had been the eventful morning she expected: “Look! Look at the sun! Isn’t it lovely! Aren’t we lucky! A kettleful of hot water for you, my dear.” Someone else knocked at a different door Lucas’ valet entered with tea. “Good morning, sir.”’ **Good morning.”’ Indeed, a good morn- ing. And then, later, sitting in the smaller library that used to be sacred to Philip, and where now a fire had been lighted, as in tacit recognition of a new occupant, he tried the letter that would accompany the gift of money. But he tore up letter after letter, and after he had put the money, in notes, alone into an envelope addressed to Jenny, he took it out again and pocketed it with shame. Had she ever, by look or word, wanted from him money? Was there ever anything, some smallest flicker, in the proud independence of her glance, to lead him to imagine that thus could he excuse himself? It was what many men would have done. 3ut many men were cads, fools, unconscionable beasts. Then he thought, terribly shamed and troubled —while telling himself to be sane; above all things, very sane—of four daffo- dils in a glass vase by his sick bed, and of how she worshiped at their shrine; of how, seeing her, he had thought, sick and amazed, of the florists of Bond Street, where lilies, roses, camellias, bloomed freshly every morning He rammed on his hat with the air of a man dogged with desperation and with be ing in the wrong, and went out. Oh, the sunshine! Oh, the cleanliness and candor of the well-kept West End! There were dwart lilac tree n pots, a maleas in pots, heaves of long-stemmed roses, bouquets of violet He bought lavishly, spending a sum that couldn't have been believed in Crreengrove Alley How could he ever ive thought of money! Money, cold and ( il and rd, for her who loved beauty so well! She must have flowers, not money. \ lover's gift And then this , not a bargain would be the end x ENNY came home with the tall cake, in @J its box of white cardboard, tied by the

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138 THE SATURDAY Guaranteed for 7/2 holes. We absolutely guarantee replacement of any Kro-Flite Ball = \ a which is cut through or becomes unplayable from any cause in 72 holes of play. THEY SAID SUCH A GOLF BALL COULD NEVER BE MADE = PALDING has exploded the belief that a high-powered, long-distance wD ball cannot have maximum durability. Without sacrificing a single yard of distance, Spalding has produced the toughest golf ball ever made—the new Kro-Flite. This*ball is abso- lucely uncuttable. Yet it cannot be outdriven by any other make of ball. \ process invented by Spalding vulcanizes the cover, giving it an un- usual resiliency. Instead of resisting the shock of a blow, the cover absorbs it. Therefore a high-powered center can be used which gives the ball extreme distance Kro-Flite’s amazing toughness is shown by the Spalding guillotine test. A keen-edged, heavily weighted knife drops on the ball at terrific speed. This knife has laid wide open every other ball ever tested. The worst it has ever done to a Kro-Flite is barely to dent it. Another conclusive test is made with the driving machines, which hit every ball with exactly the same force. Thousands of tests show always Kro-Flites go as far as any other make of ball, foreign Farther than most. the same results or domestic Spalding’s method of winding the golf ball around a frozen core illows a perfect sphere to be built up, at maximum stretch, from the very beginning. A ball which putts as straight as a yardstick is the Kro-Flite dimple or mesh. Your professional Or sports them A eet ee ee each cents Prices the same in Canada bi I 5 Na vu Screct, N : ‘ a result iry dealer has “¢ 4 1. SPALDIN Bs 105 ew York City FREE Plea { me vour booklet ‘Points about Golf Balls most golfers do not know \ Str State ( AG¢san S.E.P . EVENING POST married,” said the confectioner’s wife, in- dicating her husband, who seemed loath to part with this masterpiece, “‘but it wasn’t no better than yours, dearie.” Greengrove Alley was a nice place to which to return today. Linda sat at her third-story window, leaning out to see what there was to be seen, and she saw the expectant bride come walking into the al- ley like a queen, and smiled down upon her: “Hi, Jenny, what have you got there?” And there was Jenny, laughing, shining, calling back “Ah!” in triumphant mys- tery. Mrs. Leave was wheeling the baby away into the outer world of greater streets—the baby, in her chariot of soap box on old wheels; slantwise strips of wood nailed to the sides of the box, and barred with a horizontal piece for handle, to propel her; the baby in the only sort of chariot used by the carriage folk of Greengrove Alley. When the baby saw Jenny she bumped up and down in the box—to which she was tied with cord—held out her arms, and cried out sounds of love. Mrs. Leave, as she went by, said, “If there’s anything George and me can do to ’elp you this evening, Jenny, it’s as good as done.” People passed by Jenny like people float- ing irrelevantly through a dream. She did not see Matthew Hamilton pause in a door- way higher up the alley to watch her go in. He stood there, with his gesture of taking off his round black hat, holding it against his breast, as one making obeisance, but she entered her door without seeing him. He would have been but another glorified shape in the misted golden world in which she moved. Going upstairs she sang, careless of who heard; of a possible Heiner waiting to dart out upon her with lushy words of amorous- ness. He bore her no malice for his unlucky en- counters, on her behalf, with the curate and with Bad John Danby. The encounters were not humiliating to him; he could not be humiliated either by rebuke or onslaught. It all just whetted his thirst for thin, fiery Jenny Croft with her nimbus of hair. In- deed, he was there this evening—it being nearly seven o’clock—and he pulled open his door at the sound of her singing, and stood on his threshold in his dress trousers and his soft pleated evening shirt, wiping his hands, fresh from strongly scented soap, | on a dingy towel, as she had seen him do many times. “Hello, Jenny. Married and done for to- | morrow, eh? What’s the harm in running in here cd seeing me for half an hour and telling me all about it? Eh? Eh? I’m the most sympathetic feller. We'll shut the door and have a little drop of port, eh? I got a nice bottle here. Your feller’ll never know.” She went on, past him, not even stopping her singing. But this did not annoy; it tickled him. He liked a fearless, fighting, | spitfire girl. An insult from her was merely the apéritif before the feast that he still elt must come. For was he not the most prosperous fellow in the alley; with a big comfortable room all his own, evening clothes, and a ring on his finger when he went out with a girl? “If you’re hurrying along because you think he’s up there, sweetheart, well, he ain’t. He went out just now.” Still she ascended the stairs, singing. Be- low her Heiner slammed his door, laughing a laugh meant for her to hear. She did not mind if Jack were out. She was rather glad. Shedidn’twant him comingin before thecake was unwrapped and on the table. The spec- tacle of it was the biggest part of the sur- prise. If she mentioned it to him—‘ By the way, I bought a cake for tomorrow”’— it wouldn’t be the same. No, no. Let the cake speak eloquently for itself. So she went into her room, dimming in the early-April twilight. And she saw it polished and clean, peaceful and sweet home. She had kept it, after all, from in- truders—save one, the most glorious. She «s | had kept her sanctuary. July 9,1927 There was the great flag basket of apples on the table. She knew, even before she found on the top of the basket his business card with its jovial wishes for her future, that this would be Mr. Simmons’ wedding gift. She lighted the gas and drew her cur- tains. She didn’t want neighbors from op- posite high windows looking in on what would soon be there to be seen. She un- wrapped the cake and placed it, on its sil- very platter, in the center of the table. Standing off, gazing at it, her heart lifted at the sheer magnificence of life. The beauty, the strength and the song of life! There were people all around her, just separated from her splendor by the mere thickness of walls, who were bitterly afraid, bitterly despairing. She knew it. She knew that sorrows and anxieties and fears lay upon their almost resistless bodies like mountain loads. It had always seemed to her queer and sadly shameful that people could not stand more erect, live more gal- lantly. When women, turning from the eternal discussion with her, with a look of envy and longing and submission, always said, “Well, ’s different for you. You got your nice room. You belong to yourself, so to say,’’ she had understood sharply what they meant. The luxury of belonging to oneself! But then, the luxury of belonging to Jack! It was impossible to think that he would ever hurt her, ever fail her, ever kill her spirit. Somehow, in spite of all those women’s crude prophecies, life would have more beauty, more strength, more song, than ever. Then she lifted the flag basket from the table, because its roughness was so incon- gruous beside the cake, and under it she saw Jack’s note. She put the apples in her cup- board and opened the note. And as she touched it, the color of love seemed to warm not only her flushing cheeks, but all her body, so that she literally felt its warmth. Then: Jenny dear, I may as well he brief and say what has to be said quickly. You do things quickly yourself; you have such pluck. That's perhaps why I’m not so afraid of writing this to you as I would be to some girls. It's all no good. It would never do, this marriage. You know, as you've often said, that I don’t belong to your world, Jenny. I’m no mixer. You know, or rather you don’t —but I'm telling you now—my name isn’t Danby really. I called myself that because I had enough decency left not to drag my family into my wallowings Well, Jenny dear, my uncle has sent for me; he’s giving me a chance to pick up the old life; to go back. I have a future again. It’s all very dastardly, no doubt; but I tell you, ninety- nine men out of a hundred would do as I’m do- ing—they’d go back. They’d try to wash out their mistakes. I’m going to. Forgive me. You've been marvelous. I loved you, Jenny, but I simply can’t go on, now that this chance has come. It’s like a reprieve. I didn’t realize till I had my uncle’s letter. Forget me, Jenny. I hope I'm an easier per- son to forget than you are. You always stay in one’s mind so long every time one leaves you At that foul Simmons’ place I remembered you all day. But we'd better forget, both of us. And thank you. Thank you very much, and most inadequately. It wouldn’t have done, really. I believe your parson friend knew that all the time. And then he broke off suddenly, just signing himself ‘ John.” He was no longer “‘Jack.’’ He was the “John” of Greengrove Alley and Summer Street, the unknown who had led the men in mischief and thrilled the sad, coarse women in spite of themselves. He was the unknown. She had the letter crushed against her breast, going with flying steps up and down her room, halting to think, with queer flashes of knowledge and light darting in and out of her brain. Oh, he had gone! Oh, he waslost! Oh, the dreadful night coming, when she would lie thinking! Oh, tomor- row, that was to have shone so bright! His arms were gone, and his mouth that kissed her, and his laugh, and his looking to her like a little boy for her safe counsels. Her little boy was gone, her lover, her mate— he had left her desolate. And she cried out (Continued on Page 141) ——

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~~. — - : | (Continued from Page 138) aloud in terror and anguish that she had never been good enough. It had never been right. She ought to have known better she ought—she ought. And yet, was it all for nothing, those weeks; that other room—so that there might be the two rooms; a home worthy of him —the sewing of the curtains; and the evenings he’d spent on making the box ot- toman; and the Sundays of lovely hopes, walking in daffodil-starred parks, and the talks and the plans and the strange, great, new certainty of beautiful and lifelong pas- It was indeed all for nothing And confused and agonized and broken, she tried to think; wasn’t there anything to be done? No way of drawing him back? Wasn't there even any way of finding him? That truth flashed to her sharply. There was no way of finding him. He was the unknown. Who knew from what or whom he had come, to what and whom he had re- turned? Where was he? She found herself sobbing; where was he tonight? And the sense of the loneliness of the top of the tall decayed house came to her; the emptiness of the landing outside her door, and the emptiness of the room beyond. Tomorrow there would be great laughter in Greengrove Alley. Also great anger. Also great pity. Laughter and anger and pity all crudely, roughly, coarsely expressed and intermingling. But she was as yet unconcerned with the humiliations of to- morrow’s laughter, anger and pity. Only tomorrow’s bereavement filled her. No wedding day. No wedding bells. Hamilton had promised to have them rung at his own expense. “ You'd like bells, Jenny?’’ And the organist had offered to play for her. It all came crowding to her heart—the memory of great and tender expectations and the days of preparation; the wedding bells and the wedding march; and the con- fectioner’s window with women and children standing before it, worshiping the symbol of the happiness of Jenny Croft; and a woman’s voice, “I wonder if she’ll wear white’’; and her own longing to cry out to these strangers who thus seemed so close and familiar to her, “I shall wear white. I am the bride.” And standing quite still in her room with her eyes shut, yet with all these pictures crowded under their closed lids, she turned blindly and put out a hand to where she knew the frock hung on the back of a chair, just as she had hung it before she went out, after she had damped and ironed it. She knew just how it looked—lovely; asa pure white frock must look in Greengrove Alley. Her fingers touched the frock, though she did not want to open her eyes to look at it now; she did not want the tears to pour from them upon its happy whiteness. She heard a very gentle knock upon her door at last, many times repeated before its sound penetrated to her brain. For her brain seemed closed to all outside sensation or acknowledgments. And turning slowly, she said faintly, while a terrible thrill agonized her whole body—for might it be he? Might he have left the note and then come back, unable to stay away from her, unable to put her from him: “You always tay in one’s mind so long every time one leaves you’; might he, even now, be stand- ing outside? ‘‘Come in.” Matthew Hamilton came in. Her heart seemed to slump and sag, and actually her body sagged and drooped as never before. She tried to make herself rigid, brave. She gazed at him with drenched, fierce eyes from a face like the face of the dead. And for the first time he saw—as he had won- iered if one day he must see it—the desolate ook of the beaten woman upon Jenny Croft. He saw what he had dreaded to see, hoped and prayed never to see in her—he iw what he knew so well. He stood quietly, arrested, inquiring of She was fingering the sion? her with his eyes. white voile gown. His eyes went to it, and then to the table; he saw the high cake, two tiers; he was swift to know the magnificence of such a THE SATURDAY thing. And tomorrow the wedding day Yet he saw her standing there, wounded to the death. Only so many women rose from these deathbeds and went on washing and scrubbing, cooking and rearing children. Into his acceptance of the fact that she had been struck, and struck hard—like other women—stole that rage which, man of God as he tried to be, he could never quite cow when she was in question. And automatically his right hand—hard and a better hand than he needed for the peaceful exercise of his profession clen¢ hed. sut he spoke quietly, with an effect of a smile on his lips, though his eyes watched her: “‘I looked in to bring you a littl wedding present, Jenny.” From his coat pocket he took a flat small parcel and laid it on the table, still keeping his eyes upon her face. He saw the face quiver; steady; its rigid white lines break; she made a little wail. Unlike Jenny Croft, all this; unlike the gay girl warrior who had held her own fort so strongly against the predatory attacks of life. And when the little wail broke from her he started and shuddered, horrified and distraught. She took up the gift that he had brought her and bit her lips and set her teeth, and with shaking fingers fumbled at the knot of string. He hastened to produce a penknife and to cut the string for her, murmuring, “T couldn't think what you'd like best. I thought—well, you are fond of dainty little things for your home, aren't you?”’ He did not know what to say. For what had Danby done? Of course, it was Danby—no other could bring her to her knees, weeping. He had gone on a drunk; lost his job; the police had him what? Then between them, somehow, the little parcel became unwrapped, to reveal the thin leather case, and when Jenny had clicked open the leather case she saw a row of half a dozen silver teaspoons—real silver; and not the big spoons such as Greengrove Alley knew, when it knew any at all, but little spoons with richly chased handles. Afternoon teaspoons, such as a lady would use with her precious china in her drawing- room; atribute and a compliment from the thin, burning parson who knew that Jenny Croft liked dainty things for her home. The case lay open on the table beside the tall cake. Now he saw her literally on her knees and weeping. She dropped down by the table and laid her head on her arms. She aban- doned herself to her desolation. All he could say was: “Jenny, child! Jenny! Jenny! Oh, Jenny!” and all his ears heard, among the voices of the squall- ing street outside, was the sound of her sobbing. “Jenny! Oh, Jenny! You'll make your- self ill. Try to tell me.” She released what had been all the time crushed in one hand and thrust it over the table toward him. He read Danby’s letter. He sat down quietly on the other side of the table and waited for her. He wanted to take her in his arms. He had never thought of Jenny as wife—he had sworn himself secretly to celibacy; his work was his bride—but he thought now of taking her in his arms. He was a man, and he thought of putting his face down on that thick hair and kissing it and comforting her. And there were the irresistible triumph and satisfaction in his heart about Danby. The loafing gentleman of Greengrove Alley and Summer Street had deserted her; and, though he would have done all in his power to touch her wedding with beauty tomor- row, with bells and organ, and even extra flowers about the chancel, for what had just happened Hamilton praised God. He praised God that he was still to think of her shutting herself into this top room at nights, alone; that the sun would shine through her window for her and the stars twinkle and the breezes blow; and that no man should jeopardize her simple ecstasies. She was again safe He laid the letter carefully on the table again, and leaned across the table and put EVENING POST THE HYDROSTATIC FUEL OIL GAUGE ~ For tanks up to 32” deep $26.50 Over 32” and upto 66” deep $32.00 The K-S Gasoline Te age is now lard equipment on 22 leading motor cars, representing overthree-fourths of American cars sell ing for $700 orover KR rate OC / \) SY Thousands have asked for a veliable Fuel Oil (rauge has supplied the Answer/ ITH the marvelously rapid adoption burning furnace, there has | t pe Ol been an increasingly 1n- sistent demand for a really dependable gauge, which will show at a glance the amount of fuel in the tank, and sell it a price within the reach of the average home-owner Who could so logically be expected to produce such a gauge as the engineers who produced the famous KS Telegage, which has won a place, through merit only, on the instrument board of a million and a quartet ican motor cars? Amet With this background the K-S engineers attacked the prob lem. The result is the K-S Fuel Oil Telegage based on the same principle and giving th« dependable accuracy as the K-S Gasoline Telegage. You can now have a Telegage for your oil burner, handsome enough to be placed anywhere in same your home. Install it where you wish, and know at a glance the exact amount of fuel in your tank. The Red Line of Safety, so familiar to motorists, now guards the fuel supply of your oil burning furnace Your dealer can supply you, or write us, giving the loca i depth of your tank, and the tion, size and gravity of your We will send the Fuel Oil Telegage, with complete in structions for installing, on receipt of full information and pri Descriptive circulars sent free on request KING-SEELEY CORPORATION 294 SECOND STREET ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN 2450 South Michigan Ave., Chicago, lilineis FUEL OIL ago Branch Y View IW \ if . ~ * BE CERTAIN WITH THE K—~S TELEGAGE

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He will get Harvey Bumpers and Harvey Springs for you if he hasn’t them. For safety’s sake—say “Harvey.” HARVEY BUMPERS Made by the manufacturers of Harvey Springs Approved by Underwriters’ Laboratories HARVEY SPRING & FORGING COMPANY Automobile & Truck Springs, Spring Oilers, Bumpers, Drop Forgings, Hydraulic Spring Controls RACINE, WISCONSIN CHICAGO 2025 So. Michigan Blvd. SAN FRANCISCO 489 Golden Gate Ave. NEW YORK Ave. & 47th Se. Lith galt © HARVEY RACINE, WISCONSIN SPRING & FORGING CO. Hydraulic Spring Controls | lam a car owner Dealer Jobber Name Send me information on Harvey Springs Bumpers Street Spring Oilers a City State | alone. EVENING POST a hand cn her head. She looked up at him, and he saw her eyes wild with grief. “‘I had just been to fetch the cake, when ——”’ He stroked her hair without a word. She cried in humility and despair, ‘‘I was never good enough for him!” “Not good enough for him!’’ Hamilton cried bitterly. ‘‘Not good enough,” he thought. Not good enough for the young waster; not good enough, she—the flower on a dunghill, the star set above a spiritual shambles! The curate considered this with deep, grim irony and amazement. “He’s a gentleman,” she said. ‘I’m not ready for him. Don’t I know that? Only, I didn’t want to know.” Hamilton tried to clear his voice from the passions within him: ‘‘What’ll you do, Jenny?” “T can’t do anything, can I?”’ “Nothing,” he replied gladly. “Don’t even know who his friends are, you see; where he came from; or—or his right name; or where he’s gone.” “No.” She begged him, ‘“‘Go away, Mr. Hamil- ton. Please. If you don’t mind. I’m not ungrateful. But you know me. I like be- ing alone.” “Yes,” he said, rising, “you like to fight God bless you. I'll be back tomor- | row morning. You'll be my first call, Jenny.” “Tf you like.” He moved silently to the door. She still knelt, but now, sitting back on her heels, her hands hanging idly by her sides. She was looking up at the cake—the high, white, and gorgeoussymbol. He read, with his kind and hungry eyes, all the story of woman’s love, amazement, sorrow and de- spair in her face. He saw birth and death in her face. Yet he who saw all was help- less to save. All he could do was to come back tomorrow, with equal futility. As he was going she spoke without turning her head: “Your spoons, Mr. Hamilton. Please take ig “Oh, Jenny,” he said. “Oh, Jenny child, won’t you keep the little spoons?” And he went out without taking them. Some day—not today, not tomorrow, but presently—the little spoons would be a pleasure to her. Some day, surely, as | women did all the world over, she would feel a small glow of happiness and content over precious possessions. He left her kneeling there, back on her heels, her hands limp by her sides, her face upturned, look- ing at the cake. She awoke to a lovely morning of spring. She felt submerged in a great silence. The | room across the corridor was empty. Then | she got up and cleaned her room, lighted her fire and put a kettle on. She put the white dress away again in her tin trunk be- neath the bed. Her thoughts never stopped while she moved about, telling her that soon all the alley would know, telling her that she had a wedding cake and no bridegroom, and suggesting that some day the Leave children would love a feast of it; and Linda, the cast-off artist’s model, too; she would no doubt like a slice some day; and saying that Jenny had better go to Dealy’s and get | her work as usual, and that life must go on. And a hundred steady thoughts motivated | her this morning. So presently Matthew Hamilton found | her, appearing slimmer and whiter than | ever, but also more indomitable. | been to Dealy’s and got her work She had a pile of He found her able to She gave him a cup of tea, waistcoats to stitch. talk to him. | placing one of the little silver spoons in the | saucer, with a bit of a smile that went | through his heart like a spear. “What will you do, Jenny?” he ventured. “Working girls have to work.” “Yes; but ——”’ What he wanted to as- sure himself about was that she had given Danby up, surrendered. “TIT mean, Jenny, there is nothing to do but to give up all idea of seeing him again.” “Mr. Hamilton, I haven’t thought. I can’t think clearly, except about everyday July 9,1927 things. There’s the other room to give up perhaps, and the—the things to take out, if I give it up.” Here her voice trailed. “Can I help?” Wishful to be doing something, he urged her into the room across the landing. And there he saw the labors of love. John Danby had several times felt a sinking of the heart as he looked about that room and thought: ‘So this’ll be home for keeps.”’ But Hamilton, with his years of usage to squalor and filth incredible, knew it for what it was—a monument of which any girl might be proud in such a place; a haven to which any such man might be thankful to return. She showed him the curtains and the bookshelf and the box ottoman and the rug. “‘We were going to get the two basket chairs as we could afford them.” The geranium was there, flourishing. “He had that,” she said, indicating it. “‘T knew he’d been used to having things nice, so I put it here.” “Let’s take it back again now,” said Hamilton brusquely. “‘No. Not just yet. know se She was like a stranger, thinking far-off thoughts—a stranger lately come from a far-off country. Of what was she think- ing? “But you will give this room up, Jenny?” “T don’t know. I don’t know. I don't know.” Matthew Hamilton had a feeling that he was watching the beginning of a miracle; that he saw the first strange slow gropings of a work of wonder. And just as he had be- gun to suffer wretchedly from this feeling not knowing what she meant to do, or what portended—there came up raucous ejacu- lations of astonishment from the street be- low; and then feet tramping on the bare stairs; and then heavy knocking; and a voice calling: ‘‘Name of Miss Croft any- where here?’’ And he and Jenny went out through the open door of the room on to the landing, and they saw what they saw. Two men were there carrying sheaves of roses, carrying dwarf lilacs and azaleas in pots, carrying a gilt florist’s basket packed with bouquets of violets. “For you, miss? Miss Croft?’’ “In here,’’ said Jenny, very calm and white. Then the flowers were all in her own room and the door again shut upon Matthew Hamilton and herself. With his hat held against his breast Hamilton beheld the miracle of the flowers. He saw the room transformed; he saw her transformed with it into a creature of joy and light. Without a word she was placing the pots of lilacs, putting long stalked roses into jugs and violets into basins. And at last, looking up, full of color and exaltation, she whispered: “You see?”’ ““No—no note or message of any sort?”’ he responded from dry lips that would not smile an answer. “No note. But, you see?’ ““What do I see?”’ “‘Love,”’ she nodded. “Yet he left you.” “Yes. But wouldn’t some men—in his position—have just sent the money to a working girl : ed You see, I don't in mine? Hamilton fell silent. “He sent the flowers. He knows me. Now I know that at least he understands.” Hamilton thought: ‘‘What’s his under- standing worth, the selfish young brute? He knows her, she’s happy to think. It may be rather that he knows women. This is clever—damn clever,” he told himself angrily and unclerically. She was reaching for her hat and coat. “Going out?” he asked watchfully. “Going out. I’ve been blind about things. I should have taken my chances and learned more about the world. I should have been more fit for him then. He doesn’t want just a drudge of a sewing ma- chine girl.’’ “Jenny!’ (Continued on Page 145 ’

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Continued from Page 142 “That artist—that Mr. Le Maur—he’s been after me to paint me, for months past.”’ *‘Jenny!’’ “‘T’d learn something from people like that. In studios of fashionable artists you do see life; you do see a bit of the world. Linda says so.”’ He thought of the ruin of a woman who lived nearly opposite Jenny Croft. “Jenny, till now you've been dead against sitting even to a man as celebrated as Le Maur. You always said that it led no- where.”’ “Now it will lead me nearer him.”’ “Him?” But hesaw. She wasn’t giving up Danby. The flowers—the beautiful and tender gift of flowers, however heartlessly or callously conceived—had done this. She said breathlessly: “‘I shall meet peo- ple—probably people he knows. I shall learn such a lot, I shall make myself ready to see him again. I shall watch; I shall ask people—carefully, you understand; I don’t want to hurt him or his prospects. How could I ever find out anything here, just going to and fro from Dealy’s?”’ “Then are you leaving us, Jenny?” “No. I'll keep both roon ist as the are now. I'll still need everything to be as cheap as poss ble.”’ “You'll give up your work for Dealy?”’ ae keep that too. I'll need penny I can make, won't I? myself, you see.”’ every To improve “Jenny, you may never hear of him again, no matter what you do.” “T’ll be giving myself a better chance at least.”’ Then afire, for Hamilton to go into the alley together. “‘Wedding morning an’ here's the bride and the parson,” said Mrs them go out, as she scrubbed through the dark hall. But Jenny had flown too high her wings of ecstasy to care what thes earthbound creatures thought or said Hamilton paused, saying gravely, ‘I'll let people know, Jenny, shall I, so that they don’t question you?”’ And he turned bac! at once into the odorous hallway to ac- quaint Mrs. Leave; but Jenny went on into the wider streets, westward. she was waiting impatiently, They descended Le ave, seeing again or TO BE CONTINUED YOO MUCH ELECTRIC Continued from Page 7 And just then Pappy Danna said, “I hear something!” I should hope! Bedlam was loose as usual in Pap’s shop. My ear nerves fairly shrieked the record of it to my brain. And in all that pandemonium, Pap had heard something! “‘That’s a new noise,” said Pap, picking up some strange vibration out of that ear- cracking din. ‘‘Uh-huh, I got it! Down there at the other end. You ought to make them grease up those gears a little better, chief, before you let ’em try out my new wall cranes.” There came a startled cry beside me. “Veliki Boze!’’ George Illié calling out. ‘‘Boss Charlie, he’s gone up! He’s mebbe climb conductor bars. Veliki Boze! Look! See!” We followed his pointing finger as we ran. We had been standing not far from the gable end where Simms had climbed. Up in the shadowy corner we could see him hanging. I could not help but think of Calvary. His arms were wide-stretched, reaching across the corner, the fingers of one hand hooked over the flange of the little gable channel beam, the other hand clutched on the lowest of those conductor bars. His head was thrown far back, his body hanging limply perpendicular. The legs were still. The strength in that mag- nificent frame was almost gone. The shades were deepening about the glowing life that had so lately surged within it. And far up at the other end of the shop, the snarling of those wall-crane gears went on. It seemed that my ears were as keen as Danna’s now. It seemed that I could hear them through the shop din, snarling like some beast over splendid prey. Up at the far end of the shop Andrija Vasié worked his of levers—Andrija Vasié, who was quick of brain. He had been idling in the cage of the wall crane, trying the dead controls that he would soon be operating under power; and idling there, he had seen Charlie Simms, far down the shop, start climbing. “‘Hey, Andy,” there had come a voice to him, up from the mill floor—‘‘hey, Andy, get t’hell out o’ there and up into your bridge crane, where you can do some good. I want you to turn this girder over for me.” Thus a boiler maker, to Andrija Vasi¢é, who was quick of brain. ‘‘No mus’ go up for bridge crane, Bill “You t’row in dot over dere. Dot gimme juice dis I pick up girder dis new wall set called Vasié. svitch column wall crane. crane, Bill.” And Bill the boiler maker, thinking all order, nad shoved home the switch. ry I never knew George IIllié was so light- ning fast. I never knew his muscles were of steel. He seemed no longer little. He seemed big. No small man—giant spider He swarmed up that shop gable end unbe lievably, almost leaped up, as a_ hugs tarantula might leap. “It’s up to him,” breathed Danna in my ear. “If the switch were pulled, Simms would fall. It’s up to little George.” I never knew George IJlié was so strong I never knew any man was as strong as that. Charlie Simms weighed two hundred George Illié reached him. George hooked an elbow joint around a tie rod for strength of hold, and so that the thick cloth of his sleeves would insulate him. Then he took a grip on Charlie’s nearest wrist. And Charlie’s fingers, which his own torture constricted muscles could not open, lifted off the little channel beam’s flange where they were hooked, easy as lifting up an empty match box. The circuit broke. The far hand un- clenched. Simms dropped—two hundred pounds of him. Two hundred pounds dead weight swung down pendulum-wise on George Illic’s arm and banged against the gable end with a tremendous jerk. George’s right forearm was securely hooked. I knew that that would hold. But his right hand had only its finger grip on Charlie Simms’ wrist. But years of hauling ropes were in that hand of George’s. And there’s some- thing else that makes understandable the strength of little Slavic George that day. Charlie Simms and he were friends. I heard what George said when Charlie Simms’ eyes opened. “Ah dobro,”’ George said. Mist’r Charlie, you a’right. Dot time you ketch too much electric, Mist’r Charlie. You die dot time, Mist’r Charlie, I gone cry like hell.”’ “Dot's fine, It wasn’t ten days afterward that An- drija Vasié fell from the wall-crane jib, hit head first on a huge plate punch and died He was out at the end of the cantilever, oiling, so it seems, and must have got dizzy, or misstepped. But it happens that I know something interesting connected with that accident I know that the wall crane moved just be fore he fell. I alone knowit. I simply hap pened to be in the boiler shop at the time It happened by the merest, rarest chance that I was looking up at Vasi¢, oiling there, when the crane jerked suddenly a foot or two along its track. I Vasié try to catch himself, and then go hurtling So I stood quie tly and watched the cage of the big bridge crane way up overhead a Saw THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ee AL Needless Embarrassment \ noisy water-closet tank is just as needless as it is em- barrassing! Leaks, faulty operation or undue noises can be traced directly to one or more of the ‘‘gadgets’’ in the tank and be instantly corrected at small expense by installing the proper zmproved part shown below. Your plumber has them, and knows Woodward-Wanger quality. . 4 AN} VA — oO . nan: es” a" a : oj —, rue a Mushroom Parabal ) stops that gling, ~~ n leak, sy wast keeps it stopped tor three years, | | | Hard Rubber Tank vat . t ply ve tight every time. Guara China Press-Down s. Pr Tank Lever—The slight- $] est t f Outlet Valve — pert Kwy-et Supply Valve— tr t s ° Mush- ( CR re ee room Parabal. For a quiet, luxurious closet, free for years from trouble and leaks, have your plumber replace every noisy or worn tank fitting with these dependable Woodward -Wanger parts. one ° eggs The entire set $13.00. —_ —_ “o' a ty 7 > “o™ ——n- \ ee : vv o~ — 4 Ever- White Sani » . Ir Seat—t ristocrat arante of toilet seats—is hit ee ra ; net ts nor scolor for ered ¢ Woodward-Wanger Co. Philadelphia Oakland, California Chicago, Illinois

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THE SATURDAY Florsheim Kangaroo A strong, light weight leather that makes a dressy, easy-fitting shoe for Summer wear. Will not scuff. Made in many styles... all Skeleton Lined. The CLassic — Style M-248 Most Styles SIO The FLORSHEIM SHOE For the Man Who Cares Manufactured by THE FLORSHEIM SHOE COMPANY Chicago Genvine "Thermes Gullon Food Jor. Leora tarde, opening. si eel cave Gnished in atte sndmel, nicket tranmed. Keepy tit food hot two days or cold fonds tdid chree days. No. 822 A eres $14.58 S weonine “Theravae™ made aod authenticnted fy the founders of the taduvtry in Americe. treat for a picnic appetite! Ice Box. ever knew. every need and purse. + Look for the ‘*Thermos” trade - mark stamped on the bottom of the case, for only the genu- ine will give you confidence in your purchase. GENUINE VACUUM § arty THE AMERICAN THERMOS BOTTLE COMPANY, 366 Mars Chicago - Cincinnati - San Francisco - Norwich, Conn. - Huntington, W. Va in Enghand: Thermos (1925) Led., London In Canada: Thermos Bottle Co., Ltd., Toronto Delicious ice-chilled tomatoes —cold, crispy lettuce—home- made chicken salad—what a Opening the ‘*Thermos’’ Food Jar is like opening the “Thermos” will make this summer's picnics the best you There is a ‘*Thermos’’ for . = n New York EVENING POST while. I watched it fifteen minutes maybe. Then, at last, I saw the thing I knew I'd see. I had Charlie Simms come over to my office late that day and told him to bring George Illié with him. I shut the door when they came in. “George,” I said, “‘what did | that fellow Vasié have todowith Mr. Simms getting hung up on those wall-crane con- ductor bars last week?” And so, through George, we found out how the thing had happened. ‘Who told you that?’’ I asked George when he had finished. “‘Vasié,’”’ said George Vasié and nod- der fellow. What you call dis nodder fellow, English. VaitI t’ink. Oh, yes, Janko Booze- corn! Dot fellow John Boozecorn all time talk too much—talk’n fool head off. Me, I all time t’ink dot Vasié do dot t’ing by Mist’r Charlie. So I say self, me, I gone find out. So I ketch one pint visky, mebbe ““ July 9,1927 two. I give dot visky some fellow be my buddy. I tell’m buddy give dot visky Vasi¢. Dot buddy give it. Vasié, she’s drink whole bizness. Talk too much to my buddy. Tell everyt’ing. My buddy come tell me.”’ ‘“‘Well,” I said to George, “I guess that’s all for this conference. Except” and I cast a glance at Charlie Simms, who sat there, taking it all in—‘“‘except I'd like a little expert electric opinion from you on one thing. Do you think, George, that the control of the wall crane from the bridg: crane operator’s cage above is going to work out?”’ George Illié never even blinked an eye. “Vell, Mist’r Chief,” said George with a becoming modesty, “I be rigger. Me I no versteh too much electric. But I t’ink dot bizness gone vork out fine. No can be too much sure myself jus’ yet. I only try dot once.” INQUIRIES INTO Al LONG DRY SPELL (Continued from Page 9 essential essence of a section of American life, has caused this enormous change in our drinking habits. What is this stuff, any- how, that so many of the American people should be so wild about it, over it and with it? First off, we must take up the prohibi- tion answer to my inquiries—the prohibi- tion reason, excuse, alibi and justification for the kind of drinking the American peo- ple are doing nowadays. That is stock re- ply and assertion to any question as to what it is all about: That the iniquitous Eight- eenth Amendment and the thrice-damned Volstead Law are directly and solely re- sponsible for the state of the public mind as to booze, the state of the public habit as to booze, the state of the public attitude, practice, consumption and apotheosis of booze. That is to say, if there had been no prohibition there would have been no change in our manner of taking liquor, nor this increase in the consumption of it in certain circles. Prohibition did it all. Now that is open to argument and may | be argued somewhat later in this article, but as an answer to my inquiry it is of no | explanatory value, because my inquiry does not comprehend, at the moment, any | governmental or economic reason for the present attitude of the drinking section of | the American people toward liquor and is concerned solely with the personal and social side of it, with liquor per se. What I have sought to discover is what there is about liquor, under prohibition, that makes it more desirable, more neces- sary, more agreeable, more healthful, more peremptory, than it was before prohibition came. What change has come over booze that makes it indispensable? Why are drinking Americans in such a furor over it? What is there about liquor now, save in the decrease of the purity and potability of it, that did not exist in the liquor of the pre- prohibition days? The Three Phases of Drinking There must be something. It is incred- ible that a portion of our people should go into this frenzy over a practice and the | means of employing it that have existed | since the beginning of time; that, in the materials for its gratification, has not changed, except in the multiplicity of its concoctions, for hundreds of centuries. It begins to seem plausible that we fellows who drank in the days before prohibition | and do not drink now are missing some- | thing, are overlooking an essential social bet. So for the benefit of all concerned, I herewith set down the results of my obser- | vations of and examinations into this impor- tant matter, which have been national in scope and comprehensive in character. Drinking as a habit, a diversion, a prac- tice, an occupation or a career has three major phases, which are: First, how we do our drinking; second, what our drinking does to us; and, third, where and when and what we drink. These three heads cata- logue drinking either as an entertainment or an avocation and formed the bases of my investigations. Necessarily, we do our drinking at least semiprivately now. That is to say, drink- ing was a public matter in most of its mani- festations in the old days. It was done in bars, in restaurants, in drinking rooms, in clubs and in many of the places where peo- ple congregated for purposes of relaxation and entertainment. In as much as prohibi- tion made the purveying of liquor in such public places unlawful, or tried to, it be- came necessary for those who had drinking to do to do that drinking in more or less seclusion. Now entirely apart from the justice or injustice of a law that proscribed public selling of drink and public consump- tion of it, the interesting feature of this new social situation is not the cause of it but the effect of it. It almost immediately created a new sort of drinking and a new set of drinkers. It revolutionized American drinking, and the question is: Why? Everything in its Place The situation can be illustrated excel- lently with cocktails. The cocktail is nor- mally a before-dinner drink, an appetite excitant, an apéritif. It is a concoction, in its best form, of gin and vermuth. There are infinite variations of cocktails, but none superior to gin and vermuth in proper pro- portions. At that, it has a celebrity it does not particularly deserve. There is a lot of nonsense talked about the cocktail, but properly made and properly drunk, it has its merits. We knew the cocktail in its best and most palatable and most meritorious forms in the old days. There have been many changes in its composition, and many mixtures messed up to flaunt under the name of cocktail since the days of the real Gibson and the real Bronx, but no improve- ment of those has been achieved. When I was interested in cocktails we took one before dinner, possibly two. That was enough. Drinking more than two was silly, because twe were sufficient to give the required tilt before the meal and more than two meant simply consuming liquors that were not made to be consumed in such quantity at such times, and had no place in any rational drinking program. There was no sense in more than two cocktails unless the drinker wanted the devastating experience of getting drunk on gin and vermuth, or whisky and lemon peel and bitters, or something of a similar nature. Cocktails were not invented to get drunk on. They were for fillip purposes, not me- diums for intoxication. A drinker who got drunk on cocktails was si There were better mediums. Continued on Page 149) Fo 2 eee = I, metic. lie —_

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST } 66 | never believed that making Movies could be so simple Fae 42” }7e—eOee ee ee _ 4 Today Home Movies are as easy to make as ordinary Kodak pictures. cy, - a 99 You press the button—we do the rest a, a Something New To supplement your pro . pee can make good movies with a Ciné- teur actors re-act rram of personal movies, Kodak. It is all as easv as this: In your hand their parts. Home Kodak Cuin« iphs vour Ciné-Kodak. Before you is your moving incidents happen foot reels covering a \ ae over again. ‘ ibject ‘ ‘ ~ @ ‘ There is a stir of ay ! You sight your camera. As you press a button, surprise—a murmur A clich of the switch on your Kedescope projector, ond she cdy, drama, travel s| whirls inside, and the film slides swiftly of interest—a ripple _ actin Maa in Ribena cc ays Maca ons, arcno ipl ] eA lag Dp, aye the ever-focused lens. of sudden laughter vour deal I S 1 ' ; then silence— pel Instantly and continuously every action within fs ms ia ) “gee ; then applause. Then: Run that one over again comes a permanent feature of your iry the scene before you, every changing sequence of ' , . ; Te wall } ‘ light and shadow, every expression of individual- You are showing your own Full length ( ft t ’ 1 | in fy ! re . . itert nent it ! l nk I ity, is registered for all time on your film. You are Motion Pictures entertainm taking vour first movic! oy yr? ; screen successes OF! stars, May f Your own movies It is all as casy as that it, aiaieeell Mecuie l reat i . 7 ‘ ; modest ntal n tne Ca . LS¢ y Another touch of your finger, and the shutter For the day of the new sport, the new art, the new , > : | > re . ] hen nth * Your movie is made. You are ready for personal ability. is here. The months A complete outfit, for movie taking y at One and vears Of experiment are past and projection, may be had for etida The Cine Ko ik 18 not 1 TOV It S as little as $140 You press the button... in efficient. compact and simplified ’” ca he } r lere WA te we do the rest Kae wale I sands of Koda ( oe show and explain the Ciné-Kodak to 4 If vo Then, no troublesome developing. “aaegy , T} ’ ] 1 cal snot \ ( € rtLIS, Ss i No mistakes. We finish your films at ; : k ; i he odak 4 “é ( Hit K dak FASTMAN KODAK CO., Dept. D, Rochester, N. ¥

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the >) CO’ completes 25 years of service When the fleets of CENTURIES left Chicago and New York on the afternoon of June 15, the 20th CENTURY LIMITED service began its second quarter-century. What in 1902 was a bold experiment in long- distance passenger service, has become, after more than 9,000 nights of operation on the water level route, one of the essential necessities of the day’s work of American life. The CENTURY is a national institution, recog- nized the world over as the highest development THE SATURDAY EVENING POST America’s premier train Century_Limited in railroad transportation. The precision of the operation of this fleet of trains, night after night, from year-end to year-end, is one of the marvels of this age of machinery. The generous measure of public favor which has been accorded this leader of the New York Central fleet is a source of pride to all New York Central men, who look upon the CENTURY as a thoroughbred of the rails, typifying the spirit of American transportation and American achievement. July 9,1927 . — ; a nat ry a The first section of the eastbound Century leading the way down the Hudson River Valley. —From a paintine by Walter L. Greene New YORK CENTRAL LINES BOSTON & ALBANY::+ MICHIGAN CENTRAL::: BIG FOUR::: PITTSBURGH & LAKE ERIE**> NEW YORK CENTRAL AND SUBSIDIARY LINES

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Continued from Page 146 this rational use of cocktails has developed into an irrational use of them that is lunatic. I have watched the growth of cocktail consumption, with an expert knowledge of what the cocktail was in my day, and what it was for, and a total lack of understanding as to the new uses of that concoction. The cocktail isn’t used as an apérilif nowadays, to be taken before dinner as a fillip, but is used as a mixed drink to be swilled in vast quantities any time of the day or night. With a thorough schooling in drinking in all its decent phases, I have watched culti- vated and educated and polite and seem- ingly civilized men and women drink six, seven, eight, ten and even more combina- tions of what passed for gin and what was palpably bogus vermuth before going in to dinner, and many times to the elimination of dinner. I have seen cocktail shakers grow from the usual and adequate utensils of my time to great things holding two or three quarts of these mixtures, and have never yet had a satisfactory answer to my question: Why go to the trouble of serving these messes in cocktail glasses in as much as you are going to drink a dozen of them? Why not serve them in highball glasses? for certainly you are delaying your souse by this method of taking the stuff in small portions, and unquestionably the object of this meeting is for all hands, men and women and children, to get soused as quickly and completely as possible. Now what about the cocktail itself? Has prohibition changed it any except for the worse? Is there some marvelous new virtue in this mixture? Does it produce new sensations, differing from those of the old days, give new thrills, add anything to the drinker’s itinerary except a worse head- ache? Nothing! Indeed, the ordinary cock- tail, as served in American homes and in American drinking hide-outs, lacks in purity of materials and in expertness of service much that the old-time cocktails had. Ninety per cent of the gin used in Amer- ican cocktails at the present day is bogus, Most of the vermuth is However, even poisonous. Imitation. Still, when you go to a dinner party the host and hostess, grotesquely officiating with these great shakers, shove cocktails at their guests interminably, and the guests lap them up avidly. Often they drink six or eight. Often they drink a dozen. Al- though the only civilized place for a cock- before dinner, with sometimes a dispensation for one before luncheon, they serve cocktails whenever there is a shaker handy, and some of their poor gin and poorer vermuth, or any other makings, from benzine to hair tonic—at midnight, if you please, and in mid-afternoon, and so on. tail is The Same Old Story I have sat on the nonparticipating side- lines of probably a hundred of these cock- tail American homes, at country clubs and in similar places where highly rated Americans gather, in all parts of this country, seeking to discover what there is about the cocktail now that the cocktail of my drinking days did not have, and I found no novelty. There are no new cocktail reactions except such as come from bad liquor. A high-born lady with six cocktails under her belt is just as silly as any exalted dame of my day would have been if she had taken as many as that. Tired American and professional men, gulping eight or ten of these mixtures, show noth- g novel. They do exactly the same things, lapse into the same idiocies, chatter the same gibberish, develop the same re- flexes as all tired business and professional men would have developed in 1900, pro- vided these men had been foolish enough to guzzle so many so-called cocktails in- stead of taking the honest rye or bourbon of carnivals in business those days The explanation is that cocktail mak- ings re easier to get under yrohibit on than decent liquors, and that more kick is to be obtained by these mixtures than b; the consumption of other less potent and less plentiful booze. There is, the y tell me no addition to the virtue of the cocktail; but it makes for expedition, and hence is offered and consumed in these amazing quantities. Admitting that, what is the explanation of the situation that exists whenever a new bottle of so-called Scotch, let us say, is opened anywhere in any sort of gathering? Why is it that instead of taking a highball or two, as we used to, the party present at this opening immediately and feverishly kills that bottle, drinks all the liquor in it as quickly as they can pour it down? Why is that? Ask any man who has a bottle of Scotch, say, or any other whisky, what becomes of it if he is improvident enough to open it ir the presence of drinking friends or visi- or two bottles—or as many bottles as he has and opens. Isany left? Notadrop! They hurl it into themselves as rapidly as they can assimilate it; and most of these hooch hounds are highly proficient similators, without conviviality, without sociability save interminable chatter about hootleggers, bootleg booze, and so on, and many cruel and cutting remarks about pro- hibition, with the grim and boorish de- termination to get as much of it as they can lest someone else should have a shot at it. tors as- Drinking With a Purpose If the function of present-day cocktails is to produce the immediate kick, isn’t that the reason for the leaping on and strangling of every bottle of liquor of any sort that shows in the quickest possible fashion? Isn’t that the only function of liquor at the present day? Haven't we degenerated into drinking solely for the purpose of drunkenness, throwing aside as unworthy of our attention or cultivation such sociability, conviviality, companion- ship and pleasure as drinking may have developed in the old days? We have. There is no disposition on my part to minimize the fact that prohibition has revolutionized the method of our na- tional drinking. If we must drink, and we cannot drink in public, we are com- pelled to drink in whatever secretive man- ner can be arranged. The point that has interested me is not the method of our drinking, but the manner of it. Drinking has taken on a new form in this country for one of two reasons: Our drinkers are drink- ing in the utterly incomprehensible way they are drinking because of their protest over prohibition, or they are drinking be- cause of some new quality that has attached itself to liquor and drunkenness since pro- hibition came in. The first reason is advanced by old drinkers with some show of a natural re- sentment but with small show of logic, but does not hold when applied to the crop of new drinkers that has developed in this country since 1920. What dotthese women, boys and girls, who are drinking now, know about or care about prohibition as a reasonable excuse for a resentment against a law that forbids drinking? They had no—or small—experience of drinking before prohibition. Many of them were mere children then, and many of the women who now guzzle highballs and cock- tails did not drink at all, or very little. And even if prohibition is a legitimate ex- cuse for drinking now, what is there about prohibition that should change the prac- tice of drinking into the incredible, the degenerating, the sodden, silly, expensive, hysterical practice it is now and has been for some years? Three men came in to see m¢ long ago, each man a successful college graduate, aiso these

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150 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | eit. parila. wycurr moteorc_ PISTON RINGS Compression rings and oil rings PISTONS Gray lron- Lynite-Netson Bohnalite PINS A pin for every piston BEARINGS Crankshaft and connecting rod McQUAY-NORRIS MANUFACTURING CO. General Offices: ST. LOUIS, U. S. A. Factories: St. Louis, Indianapolis, Connersville, Ind. (Two); Toronto, Canada O POSSESS a dining room furnished with the creations of Van Raalte craftsmen is a pleasure which increases with each succeeding year of proud ownership. For in each production, beauty is rendered enduring by craftsmanship of truly unusual perfection. Your dealer will show you many lovely suites—not as costly as you might expect. CHARLES P. LIMBERT CO., Holland and Grand Rapids, Mich. LIMBE RT Furniture pesrone a | | vital to their comfort. Each one talked in- cessantly the usual blather about booze, where to get it, how to procure the genuine old stuff from honest and impeccable boot- leggers tney knew, simple, kindly, guileless fellows who wouldn’t cheat them—not them—but purveyed hooch exactly as represented—look at the labels—and all the rest of the interminable booze chatter that always comes to the surface whenever two or more drinking Americans are gath- | ered together. Each man took a drink from each man’s flask, amid much boasting over the supe- riority of each man’s liquor, and the time was the forenoon. Those men, before they joined the far-flung fraternity of American booze maniacs, never took ten drinks, all told, in mornings. Now they tote big flasks of what they say is liquor and take a dozen drinks a day—and they look it. Something or other has changed these men—and women too—from rational and reasonable drinkers to irrational and silly drinkers, to say the least of it. The drinking of today isn’t drinking at all. Itissousing. It is the mere swilling of liquor, of whatever sort, in whatever place; and although the procedure is new, there is nothing to justify it in the way of new sen- sations, new reactions, new benefits, new results. Indeed, the asininities, the loose- | ness of talk, the stupefaction of the senses, the disarrangements of the body, caused by booze, are increased by the liquor they get nowadays. Now these drinkers know this. They are getting no new good out of their new sort of drinking, and are accentuating al! the old bad. To hear them talk and watch them drink, | one would think that booze, after five thou- | sand centuries of existence as a beverage and a stimulant, with every reaction and reflex known and tabulated, had suddenly become some priceless boon to mankind, | and must be taken constantly and in great | quantities so the golden harvest of its nepenthes may be garnered before some- body else gets a whack at it. I have seen as much drinking as any man, since prohibi- tion came in, and more than most, because I have been around in many parts of the country where drinking is done, often wholesale. I admit that I have not understood this sudden access of intense loyalty and devo- tion to John Barleycorn that has developed since 1920, but I have tried to understand it and interpret it for various reasons. One, as I have said, is to find out whether I have been missing anything because I haven't been drinking myself. Sweet Adeline to the Old Tune This brings me to the second stage of my investigationsto wit, the inquiry into what liquor now does to the drinkers of it. It does the same old things in its ordinary manifestations. There isn’t an improve- | ment, a novelty, a new gadget about the entire booze performance or performers. They babble and gabble as they used to back yonder; talk as interminably, laugh as indiscriminatingly, weep as copiously, brawl as promiscuously, become reconciled as fervently, tell the same stories and sing the same songs. They are tragic over the same trivialities and trivial over the same tragedies. The unimportant is always of the utmost importance and the important as paltry as in the old days. The same in- coherencies, fixed ideas, fatuities, redun- dancies, repetitions and alcoholic activities are to be noted. I have listened in on a great number of booze conversations, conferences and con- fusions in these postprohibition days, thinking there might be some new and ap- pealing quality adduced that would ex- plain, in part, this devotion to liquor among | our drinking classes, some added brilliance, } some increase in intelligent discussion and | disputation, some brighter badinage, some better jokes and cleverer comment. Each investigation was a washout. It was all the same old stuff, in type. Possibly they got tearful about home and mother and the July 9, 1927 dearest little wife in the world earlier than they used to, or became intensely insulted or full of brotherly love quicker than was their former wont, but, in general, there wasn’t an improvement or an innovation not one. Physically, there is no unique feature ex- cept perhaps the addition of gastritis to the list of derangements John Barleycorn dis- tributes so lavishly to his steady patrons. It may be that is an impelling reason for our new style of drinking. It is possible our earnest drinkers desire a bit of gastritis to go on with. It doesn’t seem plausible, but neither does the rest of it. Anyhow, gas- tritis has now joined up with diabetes, Bright’s disease, cirrhosis, sclerosis, gall- stones and the other pathological pals of booze that have been the painful, not to say devastating, little playmates of continued drinking since the first man took the first drink of the first alcohol he distilled out of something or other. Secret Drinks for Secret Drinkers As for the rest of it, liquor has not altered its economic effects, transmuted its social defects or modulated its physiological or psychological effects a particle so far as I can discover. There may be some new benefits in alcohol that were not apparent in my days of communion with it, but if so, they are carefully concealed. Pains- taking investigation does not reveal them. If they are there somebody who knows about them should step forward and tell us what they are. It is still the champion time waster of all the world, the prize funeral provider, th« superior physical degenerator, the exalted mental disturber, the high-class manufac turer of futility, fatuity and folly. Anybody who knows anything knows all this, albeit there are many who will not admit they know it and refuse to believe it, and that is what makes this spectacle of the drinking section of the American people so difficult to understand. Not that the drinking sec- tion of the American people drinks—-that is understandable enough. There was plenty of drinking before prohibition—-but that the drinking section of the American people drinks as it does. The hypothesis that there is some new quality to liquor does not hold. There is nothing new about liquor. The newness comes in the attitude toward liquor. Consider where we drink, and when, and what. The public places for drinking have vanished, save in those restaurants and night clubs where liquor is served in various disguised receptacles or consumed from flasks. There are many blind pigs, of course. The profit on some horrible mixture made in the cellar and sold, with counterfeited labels on the bottles, as genuine stuff for seventy-five cents a drink is too great not to attract many a shifty merchant to the retailing of it. There is nothing to be said about that. Any drinker who goes into a secret drinking place goes in for a secret drink, and that is what he gets—a secret drink that is a dark secret so far as its com- position is concerned unless it gets into the hands of a chemist. The amazing part of it is the drinking in homes, the drinking in clubs, and so on. In a large number of clubs where there are rooms available outside of the public rooms, there are within its walls anywhere from half a dozen to fifty clubs within clubs. This means that certain groups of members have organized drinking coteries and taken club rooms to do that drinking in. That is a norma! development of the alcoholic situ ation in the United States, and well within club rights, no doubt. The abnormal phase of it is the sort of drinking that is done in these drinking It isn’t the sort of drinking they used to doin clubs. It is excessive drinking, all spurred on by that unfathomable urge to consume as much liquor as possibly can be consumed in the shortest possible space of time. It isn’t club drinking at all. It is (Continued on Page 153) places (]

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST July 9,1927 A Simple Act~a Great Fact ‘ VERY simple things sometimes have far-reaching consequences. Someone cuts an expense and can therefore make a better product. The cost of distributing a product is pure expense. For years no one developed the use of existing facili- ties for the distribution of tires in a big, national way. Now Mansfields reach every nook and corner of the country—at less expense than ever before, for such extensive and thorough tire distribution. A very simple thing that made possible a better tire that really does go a great deal farther—and usually without any trouble of any kind from start to finish. The MANSFIELD TIRE & RUBBER Co. Mansfield, Ohio alloon Cords Truck Cords Heavy Duty Cords The great Hardware Wholesalers of the country haveinasense combined to §give this exceptional tire the widest, most thorough, most economical dis- tribution ever enjoyed by any tire. The Cost of Distribution is Lower = The Standard. of Quality is SA asi IANSFIELD Built — Not to Undersell, but — to Overserve

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(Continued from Page 150 quantity drinking, not quality drinking. It sa typical example of what those Ameri- cans who can afford to patronize the boot leggers are doing every day and every night In this country. And it is the same in many of the homes where liquor is kept The success of the dinner party, the bridge party, the tea, the dance—any social what not—is predicated on the quantity of liquor put forth by the hosts. If the hosts are stingy with their liquor the guests bring liquor with them. They must have their liquor; the men must have it, the women must have it, the youths and young women, the boys and girls. The old-time dinner, with a cocktail before it and a moderate but sufficient accompani- ment of wines, has vanished from American homes almost entirely. The dinner guests now expect, and get, a dozen cocktails and as much liquor as they can held—often more than they can hold. The host who gets everybody drunk is the perfect host. It is new social stuff. Investigation does not show that this development is due to any recently discov- ered and applied benefit, pleasure, incre- ment or advantages in drinking. There is none such. The boy or girl who gets drunk at a party is still as pitiable and pathetic as the boy or girl who got drunk ten years ago. The young man or young woman who takes too many cocktails is still as silly and de- plorable, and the maturer ones who get drunk introduce no new features, put on no new stuff, and are just the same in their re- actions to liquor as their fathers and mothers were before them. There is this added feature to drinking not one to induce a nondrinker to become a drinker in my opinion, and that is the maniacal and stupefying quality of a good deal of the liquor that is consumed. Of course in the old days a potential maniac accentuated his aberration by liquor; but save in extreme cases, dementia was not in- duced by liquor, nor frenzy fostered. These very qualities are in much of the liquor drunk in these days, as the pages of any newspaper will show on any day, as wit- nesses of some of these drinking bouts will testify, added to the quality of complete and sudden stupefaction that lurks in a lot ot it. One wonders if those are reasons for the present habit of American drinking. It seeris incredible. But there they are. Your Friend the Bootlegger And when do they drink? Whenever they can get it. They drink in the morning, in the afternoon, at night, after midnight any old time. And what do they drink? Anything the bootlegger hands them. Here we are, a go-ahead, prosperous, successful, hard-headed, shrewd, businesslike and crea- tive people, who have built up a marvelous country from a small veginning to the top of the world; here we are, adepts in busi- ness, in finance, in manufacture, in scien- tific and mechanical development, who ave constructed on this continent a gov- ernment and a country that came to their great power and prosperity because of our shrewdness, our business ability, our adapta- bility, our good sense and our efficiency and what about us in this drinking busi- ness? There, in one imbecile moment, we became the world’s greatest aggregation of uckers, and so continue. It isn’t necessary to go into the matter of the supply of liquor to our fatuous drink- ers, nor into the methods of the suppliers. Those have been broadcast across the country and everywhere abroad since the first bootlegging days back in early 1920. One of the most amazing spectacles of na- t | insagacity the world has ever known began in those days and remains to this time. Despite the authenticity of the dis- sures of bogus liquor, forged labels, poi- is and manufactured brews and i ations, and all the fraud and crooked- ness that gowith the selling of liquor in this country, the American drinker puts a blind trust in any crooked, thieving bootlegger

he meets, takes his word for gospel, tak« his counterfeits for authenticitie spurious goods for real, takes his lies for s, takes Nis truth, takes and—can you beat it?——drinks the stuff that is handed to him with tl faith of a little child in his parents. We may be a hard-headed business peo- ple in Many ways, but not with booze With booze we are the supreme simpletons of the universe We hand out huge sums of money on the flimsiest stories of the origin of what we buy. We accept guaran- ties for purchases of hundreds of dollars that we wouldn’t accept for a nickel’s worth of clothespins in an ordinary business trans- action. We deal with thugs, thieves, crooks, counterfeiters, hijackers, and swallow any story they tell us. We know that the stuff we buy is bogus, but we buy it just the same. We assume expert knowledge of brands, bottles, sources, and so on, and blandly give up our money for rotgut of the worst sort. Add that up. I cannot Anything for booze, it seems, and heaven bless the honest, kindly, philanthropic, beatific bootlegger. A Call for Diogenes Helpful chaps, the bootleggers, and com- passionate. A man I know paid one of them twelve dollars for a bottle of Scotc! the bootlegger told him was directly from Scotland, ten years old and ab-so-lutely genuine. He believed the bootlegger, and he drank the Scotch, so-called, and almost lost his eyesight as a consequence. He just missed going blind, temporarily at least, by the narrowest margin. The bootlegger heard of .my friend’s trouble and came around to see him. “I am sorry this happened,” he said. ‘‘I can- not tell you how sorry I am, and I am will- ing to make it right. I'll tell you what I’ll do. I'll let you have another bottle of that same Scotch for only nine dollars.” Any chemist, any man who knows what liquor should be, will tell you that 90 per cent of the liquor sold in this country is no more pure liquor than it is attar of roses. Every record in every place where booze is considered will show that. All this vast business of bootleg distillation, label manu- facture, and so on, provesit. I can take you to a place in a city not far from where this is written where every known label and typical bottle of every current kind of booze, faithfully counterfeited, is sold, and my bootlegging friends tell me there are hundreds of such places in this country. And despite this, the smarter they are the harder they bite. The ordinary bootlegger of every other person may be a crook sell- ing bogus booze, but not your bootlegger. You have the one honest bootlegger in the nation, and your stuff is right. From the time the world began till now, there never was such a spectacle of national fatuous- ness; there never was so great an aggrega- tion of suckers beneath the shining sun all except you, of course. Your bootlegger is the one honest John. Today’s drinking adds no new pleasure, thrill, stimulation or satisfaction to what- ever merits of the sort liquor ever had, and it increases, intensifies and exaggerates all the demerits of liquor, which were many even at its best. The lightest hand that can be laid against it in its present manifesta- tions is that it is incredibly silly, foolish, lunatic. The harsher indictments are that it is a degenerating, debasing, debilitating excess, specifically injurious to the health and without warrant by any civilized standards of decency, common sense or ap- petite indulgence. It lacks any social em bellishment. It has little of the conviviality that should go with taking liquor if it is to be taken at all. It isa sullen and sodden ora frenzied and fatuous practice, a vicious and vulgar perversion of decent drinking, as drinking was decently done in this country. voracious,

Prohibition doesn’t excuse it or justify it. Prohibition gives no warrant for flask tot- ing, cocktail carnivaling, bottle killing, party orgies, girl-and-boy drunkenness, In- ordinate lapping up of THE SATURDAY EVENING POST CLARK

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THE SATURDAY The more you enjoy fine chocolates, the more you joy Gilberts. The more discriminating your taste, the more quickly you will recognize that “’some- thing different” that distinguishes them from other chocolates. will en If, by chance, your dealer does not have these wonderful chocolates, we will mail you a package of Very Best or Panamas for $1.50 per pound. Other Gilberts $1, $1.25 and $1.50. John O. Gilbert Chocolate Company, Jackson, Michigan. Name Stree Cily._— THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 920 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Please send me the same supplies you sent Mrs. Gibson so I can earn some extra money, Cnenemcemnmeress g that longed-for extra generously in this pleasant, dignified way, ; than five minutes I had why shouldn’t you trv it too? rintions he dies’ o oo ae / pra You Can Profit too! Our records show that she has sent us as many as forty-nine renewals and new sub ‘ scriptions for The Saturday k ening Post, hrst th hours of The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country ore subscrip- Gentleman in a single dav, her commissions I SIXTY-SIX being $21.75! “I Simply Had to Have More Money” 7 H, how often I read and re- read your offer! I was so interested. “ But limagined it wasimpos- sible for a mother with three small children to carry out your instructions. “ Then, a year ago last Christ- mas I found myself in a posi- tion where I just simply Aad to have more money.” cleaning is a joy now, with so many new and pretty things I could never have had with- out your help!” If Mrs. Gibson of Wiseonsin can profit so Mother was entertaining suggested —halfin fun And now write how successful | nore money. How would vou like to have $25 extra one month? The coupon will bring you full details. ws what the Curtis pub- h makes it easy for the in house cD crnsceaitindetedsion State EVENING POST these vicious manifestations of present-day drinking. Many Americans drank before prohibition, and are still drinking. The fact of prohibition is no real reason for their transition from drinkers who drank like gentlemen to drinkers who drink like luna- tics. It isn’t prohibition. That is the alibi. It is something else, and whatever else it is, it is as bogus as the stuff that promotes it. Are we nondrinkers missing anything? Not a thing! John Barleycorn is putting on the same old show we walked out on in | all its main features, with some added vil- lains in the cast in the way of rougher reac- tions and quicker debilitations, with poorer props and other unlovely features. If we are going to look at it at all the seat atop the water wagon is still the best seat to oc- cupy for the view. At that, this new drinking occasionally discloses a certain kindliness of spirit and willingness to be helpful to the fellow man. I cannot recall without emotion the day I went, with some friends, to the house of a man we all held in high esteem. It was a cold day and we drove there in an open automobile. As we entered his great living room one of my companions saw a whisky bottle on the mantel and made for it. Just as he was about to pour himself a drink the host shouted, “‘Here, don’t drink any of that! It’s poison! It will make you blind!” ** Make me blind!” snorted the man who wanted the drink. ‘‘That’s a happy note. What’s the idea of keeping it here in plain sight if it’s as bad as that?” “Oh,” said the host, ‘‘I am keeping that for a friend of mine who is blind already.” Thus, having shown that this post- prohibition drinking is neither explained nor justified by the physical, mental, spir- itual or convivial effects of it, nor by the superior qualities of the alcoholic mediums for it, nor by the economic benefits of it, nor by any other rational reason whatso- ever, we come to prohibition as a fixed governmental policy, and that doesn’t ex- plain it either. Prohibition is an alibi used by many of these drinking lunatics, but to say that prohibition has increased drinking in this country, save among a certain sec- tion of the people, is as far from the facts as to say that because numerous noisome night clubs flourish in New York the entire population of the United States spends the hours from midnight to dawn paying six dollars for twenty-cent sandwiches and twenty-five dollars a bottle for hooch made in East Side cellars. A Local Inflammation It is true enough that in certain sections, among certain people, and in certain places such as fashionable summer and winter re- sorts, country clubs, and in various phases of urban night life, drinking is more evident than it was when drinking was a diversion and not a dementia, but it is not true that prohibition has put this country on a na- tional debauch. On the contrary. A felon on a man’s finger doesn’t mean that that man’s entire physical being is degenerate and diseased. It makes the finger very sore, but it has no effect on his heart, or his lungs, or any of his other operative and es- sential organs. This drinking that the American people are doing now is the felon on our national finger. Various persons, for various reasons, diagnose that felon as a sure sign of a na- tional disease, caused by prohibition, that will bring us down to disaster and decay. But it is a local inflammation, not an or- ganic deterioration. The truth about prohibition is that in- stead of increasing drinking nationally, it has decreased drinking nationally. Taking the country as a whole and the people as a whole, which is the only way to consider the matter, there is less drinking and infinitely less drunkenness in the United States than there was before prohibition went into ef- fect. Make an investigation for yourself. How many drunken men have you seen on the streets in the past year? How many did you see in any year before prohibition? July 9,1927 I go about this country a great deal. For example: I have recently been in New York, Chicago, St. Paul, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Antonio, New Orleans, St. Louis, Detroit and Cleve- land. And way stations. Also, in places in these cities where, in the old days, a drunken man in the streets was not an uncommon sight. I saw two drunken persons. One was a poor lad who, too young to know what he was doing, evidently had been overcome at some gathering of a social nature, and the other was a man palpably so down and out that it made no difference in the general scheme of things whether he was drunk or sober. Now, mark you, I am speaking of the average American, the peo- ple who do our business, run our stores and factories and so on. What I saw among the wasters, and the idle rich, and the society set doesn’t count. Those men and women do not mean anything in terms of our prosperity, our productiveness or our s‘ xbility. An Economic Question Separating prohibition from all the hokum that has been piled on it; drag- ging it out from under all this blather of for and against, this shouting of it as an ethical prop by many and as an anti-liberty fire- brand by many others, this cursing of it as a calamity and this hailing of it as a moral panacea, what do we find? This: The real status of prohibition as an American policy is its status as an economic policy. It isn’t a political question, nor a moral question, nor a religious question, nor a social ques- tion save in a relative sense. Prohibition is an economic question. Considered in that light, which is its proper light, the person who will say that prohibition is not a success in the United States, economically, has no acquaintance with the real operations of it. The present prosperity of the United States is in part due to prohibt:on. The present produc- tiveness of the United States is due to pro- hibition to a great extent. So are the vast increases in savings, the vast absorption of automobiles, for example, the enormous expansion of home building and home buy- ing, and practically all the economic props that hold us in our paramount world posi- tion. A new and gigantic purchasing power has developed in this country since we have had prohibition that accounts for the prosperity of our railroads, our manufactories, our trade in all directions. That, in a large measure, is a purchasing power derived from the diversion of former booze money into economic channels. It does not come from the very rich, nor from the very poor, although it has decreased the number of the very poor, as any student of economics knows. It comes from the great average American citizen, the blood and bones of this country, and it comes in part because booze is no longer an article of legal mer- chandise in this country, because the sa- loons are gone, because liquor, to the aver- age American, is not worth the money and the effort required to secure it nor worth taking the risks that go with the drinking of it. Hence, the individual, his family, and general trade get the benefit of the wages and profits that formerly went to the non-productive saloonkeeper. Prohibition is an underlying economic cause for our prosperity, our productive- ness, our high wages, our great savings- bank deposits, our high standard of living among the great mass of our people. Pro- hibition has not stopped drinking. Pro- hibition never will stop drinking entirely. What prohibition has done is to help give this country and its people an economic impetus and stability that make us the most prosperous, the most productive and the most powerful nation in the world. Prohibition isn’t a political question, nor a moral question, nor a sociological question save in its incidental aspects. It is an eco- nomic question, and that is the only ra- tional and candid way to consider it.

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H E A V Y D U T Y T THE SATURDAY EVENING POST - (Re Eee B Y LE E of Conshohocken , — Ir¥ JAZ

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THE SATURDAY 7) ‘= >) Why @tr’s have been official side-arms of the U.S. Government since 1847 ENERAL ZACHARY TAYLOR established a prece- dent when, at the outbreak of the Mexican War, he ordered one thousand Colt Revolvers for the U. S. Army. From that day to this Colt’s have remained the official side-arms of the U. S. Army, Navy and Marine Corps, ‘‘in consequence of its marked superiority to any other known pistol.’’ (Official report, Board of Officers, March 20, 1g11.) The selection of a fire arm by a government, a municipality or a knowing individ- ual is never based upon sentiment. Absolute, 100 per cent reliability governs the purchase. Exactly the same grade of manufacture furnished by Colt’s to the U. S. Government, police departments and protective agencies is available to you. In the item of safety, too, Colt’s are paramount. The Colt Positive Lock and Colt Automatic Grip Safety discount care- lessness by absolutely preventing accidental discharge. Responsibility for the protection of your property, your home, your loved ones is too serious a matter to be entrusted to an arm of doubrful lineage. You know Colt to be a sturdy American product whose stern protection is recognized the world over. COLT’S PATENT FIRE ARMS MFG. CO. HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT till preferred Phil. B. Bekeart Co, ar Pacific Coast Representative tdoor men 717 Marker St. San Francisco, Cal. Colt's Government Model cal .45 Automatic Pistol. The reg ulation side-arm since 1911 THE ARM OF LAW AND ORDER Will He Bring $50.00 mer to YOUR Home? T first reading of the question above you may murmur, “ No such luck.” But wait a minute—it may easily be true! If you will but ask us— today—we will promptly send you full details of three sure ways to profit: (1) For- \ warding the renewals of present readers in your locality for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman; (2) securing new subscriptions, and (3) accepting the orders of folks who desire to send subscriptions as gifts. "ACakers or Glistory 1 hook f adventures m which Colt's have figured. May we mail it fo you with our Cataiog Hundreds of our workers will en- joy $50.00 or more this month No Experience Y Necessary If we could get together and talk this over, we could doubtless quickly convince you how easily you may win an extra $50.00 or more. As we can- not, do the next best thing and mail the coupon. easy RP THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 921 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania lease send to me by first class mail everything I'll need to make an extra fifty or more. Name Age Street City State . en EVENING POST July 9, 1927 fl. Ee. Fe (Continued from Page 42) in it the inestimable advantage of exemp- tion from the hardships incidental to camp life.” The first of the three months’ sol- diers quit and went home. General Pat- terson, who had occupied Harper’s Ferry and then been forced to abandon it, tried to rally his men to remain beyond their enlist- ment period. He finally got to an Irish regiment and made a powerful appeal to them, knowing the Irish character very well. He carried them with a sort of shout, but hardly had he turned his back when they holloed out, ‘‘Shoes and pants! Shoes and pants!”’ Soldiers turned out for drill if and as they pleased. Pay was irregular, supplies scanty and orders were given only to be countermanded. The Quartermaster, Commissary and Ordnance Departments had neither means of supply nor subordi- nate officers who knew their duties. The men ate and drank unwisely, knew not even how to care for their feet, sanitation was that of a picnic ground, and sickness and disability got in their work at once. It was with such a paper force of 30,000 men that McDowell, an able soldier, was given, on eight days’ notice, the task of marching against Beauregard at Bull Run and defeating him before Joseph E. John- ston, whom Patterson was supposed to be keeping busy in the Shenandoah Valley, could join Beauregard. His raw army car- ried everything it could pack as it left Washington and threw most of it away the first day as the heat and physical effort told. Men fell out when they felt like it to rest their feet, get a drink of water or raid a vegetable patch. Mixed in with the ama- teur army were the wagons of sutlers—the | army’s refreshment concessionaires—pic- nic parties of congressmen and their ladies in barouches and carrying opera glasses for a better view of the show, and a strange assortment of other sight-seers and camp followers in carts, on horseback and afoot. En route, Tyler, commanding one brigade, attacked without orders at Blackburn’s Ford, was whipped, with no reassuring effect on the army, and forced McDowell | to shift his plan from an attack on the Confederate right flank toa left-flank opera- tion. An infantry regiment and a battery of militia turned for home in mid- March, their three months’ term being up. These misadventures, together with his lack of proper maps or guides, forced McDowell to stop for two days, permitting Johnston, who had no reason to fear the impotent Patterson, to leave Winchester with his 6000 men and join Beauregard on the twentieth. Shot With Their Own Guns McDowell’s was the caricature of an army, yet the Southern forces were little better. That little lay partly in the fact that Virginia always had taken its militia seriously and had much the best trained and disciplined state troops, South or North. Jackson commanded a brigade of four Virginia state infantry regiments in | position on Henry House hill, and J. E. B. Stuart commanded the Virginia cavalry, a body of long tradition and excellent horse- manship. The relative excellence of these partially trained troops and the accidental arrival of General E. Kirby Smith’s com- mand of 4000, who, hearing the sound of battle, leaped from a train on the Manassas Gap railway bringing them from the val- ley, and attacked the right flank of the Federal advance, saved the day for the South. At first the Union Army came on awk- wardly but determinedly, and by McDow- ell’s good generalship turned the flank of the Confederate Army of equal strength en- trenched in strong position of its own choos- ing. It was when Jackson held his brigade firmly in hand on Henry House hill in the face of destructive fire, while other Confed- erate forces were going to pieces around him, that General Bee pointed to Jackson and shouted to his men, ‘“‘Look! There stands Jackson like a stone wall,”’ giving to Thomas Jonathan Jackson the name by which he was known ever afterward, and rallying his own men by Stonewall’s ex- ample. McDowell alone had rifled field guns, and his artillery could have shelled Jackson off the hill and won the battle, but through some fool order two batteries of twelve rifled guns galloped on the charge to within 200 to 300 yards of Jackson’s position and prepared to go into action front with open sights. Stonewall’s men rose and shot them to pieces with one volley. Turning the cap- tured cannon on McDowell's army, they began his rout. At first the Union forces merely quit and walked off in disgust. They had suffered a loss of only 5 per cent and were not disorganized, but the captured ar- tillery set off the panic that turned the re- pulse into a disgraceful flight, covered by the one battalion of regulars. Five or six regiments of seasoned regulars would have destroyed the Southern Army, but it was just as well for the North, under the cir- cumstances, that there were no such regu- lars, for in the long run the Union was the victor of Bull Run. The North Awakens It rallied the amazed North to action as nothing el e could have done, and deceived the South into underrating the resolution and potential power of the Union. Num- bers of Confederate soldiers went home after Bull Run, convinced that the North had been taught its lesson. McClellan now took command of the Federal forces and be- gan the job of building a serious army, a greater task than that of Washington at the outset of the Revolution, for some 300,000 troops of one sort or another were collected in the East now, with only 5000 regulars to train and season them. Such a lassitude fell over the South that volunteering had to be abandoned. For a year both sides skir- mished and trained without a real clash. Jefferson Davis was not idle, personally overseeing the mobilization of the South’s limited industries in order to supply his armies with arms, munitions, clothing and everything needful to war in earnest. If this digression into history has con- trasted 1861 with 1917 for the reader, it will have justified itself handsomely, and | shall return to staffs. In picturing a staff I naturally fall back upon the one I knew best—that of the First Army Corps. The staff of an army corps consists of only 54 officers and 415 men, though the First Corps commanded as many men as the combined armies of Lee and Meade at Get- tysburg. The chief of staff has under him three chiefs of sections—the G-1 in charge of supply, the G-2 in charge of information and the G-3 in charge of operations—each with the necessary commissioned and en- listed assistants. My chief of staff, Malin Craig, was an army boy, reared in posts, and a graduate of West Point, the Leaven- worth schools and the War College. By diligent study and native ability he had made of himself one of the most accom- plished officers in the Army, regardless of rank. I first knew him when he was aide- de-camp to General J. Franklin Bell. Later he was a student in my War College classes, then an assistant instructor. Soon after I was assigned to the command of the Forty- first Division, Craig appeared in San Fran- cisco and announced that he was going to be my chief of staff. I had not yet asked for one, but I could not have imagined a better. When I was given command of the First Corps, with the necessity of organizing a corps staff, I naturally asked that Craig ac- company me as chief. In two years in Europe he never had a day’s rest and he never saw Paris except the one night we slept at a hotel there on our way to the British front. The same was true of most of his staff.

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2, | 1 | meee RUSEE, “wn {s CRACKPROOF “** taamersce 6 The garden hose which renders Maximum Service Sunproof is the same hose with an attractive red cover Your dealer can supply CRACKPROOF SUNPROOF Manufactured PIONEER RUBBER MILLS ily Decomang the New York Chicago San Francisco Seattle Tacoma Portland Salt Lake City Denver Los Angeles ZENITH“ FUEL FILTE x TROIT CORPORATION | ZENITH-DE ZENITH CARBURETORS i DETROIT, U \ ee —— ——— i; OC f A OA iN / Gs 4 % s y ye Perhaps all bird seed looks alike to you, but just change to French's and see how quickly your canary perks up, how much more joyously he sings. French's Bird Seed is air-cleaned to free it from impurities and labora- tory tested to insure bird-healt A French's Bird Biscuit free in each package. At your dealer's or send 156 for full size package, postpaid. THE R. T. FRENCH COMPANY Mustard Street, Rochester, N. ¥ = | THE SATURDAY He chose as his G-1 Major George Gru nert, on the recommendation of General Frank McCoy at G. H. Q. and of General Harbord. Grunert, who was thirty-eight in 1918, had enlisted at eighteen in Battery B | of the Second Field Artillery on the out- break of the Spanish War and won a com- mission in 1901. Although he was unknown to Craig or me, he had acquired a military reputation that spoke for him. Harbord had served with him in the Eleventh Cav- alry and spoke glowingly of his ability. A G-1 really is the general business manager of his unit, and in the Corps and later in the Third Army, Grunert proved himself a busi- ness executive of the first rank. Able men who are not loyal are not uncommon in the Army, loyal men who are not able are more frequent; not many combine ability and loyalty in the proportions that Major Gru- nert, now serving on the General Staff at Washington, did. Maps While You Wait Our G-2, or intelligence officer, Major tichard H. Williams, also was a stranger to us, who came on the recommendation of G.H.Q. Williams was the hero of the secret- service story I told in the previous article. Like Grunert, he was an enlisted man in the Spanish War, serving in the New Jersey National Guard and winning a war commis- sion and later a regular army commission on his record in Cuba and the Philip- pines. Again like Grunert, he is serving on the General Staff at Washington today. He was indefatigable and indispensable and had a special genius for his job. What he and his organization did not find out about the enemy was not worth finding out. He was affectionately known to his messmates as “‘Houdini’’ by virtue of the gum-shoed mystery with which he cloaked his opera- tions, and they told many yarns at his expense. One of these stories concerned Gen- eral Neville, who commanded the Marine jrigade at St.-Mihiel. Marine officers af- fect an overcoat more gaudy than their Army brothers. Neville’s men had just driven the enemy out of a village, and the | general, setting out to inspect the captured position, hung his new overcoat on the door of a dugout for the better freedom of his legs. Williams happening along, on the alert as always to identify the enemy units against us, spied the overcoat and failed to recognize it as American issue. He cut off one brocaded sleeve, carried it back and, | after a minute examination, pronounced it evidence of an Austrian division. General Neville meanwhile was demanding what infernal vandal had mutilated his new coat. I do not vouch for the story, but I do for another about Williams. Before the attack on the Argonne we were anxious to know precisely what troops the enemy had in the forest. We had identified a second-rate Landwehr division there several days be- fore, and it was necessary to know whether this unit still held the line or had been re- placed by a crack division. Every effort failed, but about twenty-four hours before the attack the G-2 of the Liberty Division telephoned Williams that a German had been killed and was lying in front of their lines. Williams directed them to recover the body at all hazards, and they pulled it in after dark, but reported that there was not a single item of identification on the body; everything had been removed from | the soldier’s clothing before the raid with that very precaution. Williams refused to be satisfied with the report and ordered the divisional G-2 to rip the clothing apart at every seam. Doing so, they found the round rubber stamp of a clothing depot on the inside of the lining of the coat, and sent it to Williams. Our Intelligence knew that in the methodical German Army every or- ganization had its own clothing depot, anda list of these depots was in our hands. By means of this list Williams identified the } dead man as a member of the Landwehr division previously noted in the forest, and the attack plans were not changed. As G-2, Williams was in charge of maps, and he had a rolling factory on motor EVENING POST trucks that turned out maps as Detroit makes automobiles. As an old soldier and map student, I never had seen anything like it. Lieutenant Colonel Alexander, now a member of the faculty at West Point, was the G-2-C, or map officer, at G. H. Q. He had under him a Major Kirby of the Engi- neer Corps, a temporary officer from the Coast and the Geodetic and the Geological Surveys. Major Kirby was the designer of these mobile map factories, and one outfit was loaned to Williams for try-out pur- No one was able to shake him loose from it thereafter, and when it caught fire from a short circuit and burned one after- noon at Moucheton Ch&teau, Williams scurried up another in three days. Maps were made from airplane and ground ob- servation and from every other conceivable source of information, photographed onto a plate and reproduced in several colors with amazing speed, although each color necessi- tated a separate printing. A Lieutenant Taylor, also a Coast and Geodetic Survey man, was the expert G-2-C in immediate charge of our rolling plant, with trained men from lithograph houses as his helpers. poses. Every sergeant and corporal of the line, as well as all officers, went into battle wit these maps, which not only were excellent projections, but carried such warnings as “‘machine-gun nest here,” “this trench will be empty,” “this trench lig} tly held,”’ and ‘this trench heavily manned.” Every ser- geant of front-line troops was given an oblique photograph of the country im- mediately ahead of him, taken by aerial photographers. At St.-Mihiel I don’t think anyone in a combat unit lacked one of the 1/20,000 scale maps printed by Taylor and his men. They always turned them out in quantities beyond First Corps needs. Gen- eral Pershing happened into Fifth Division headquarters one day, saw a stack of photograph maps in a corner and de- manded to know why they had not been distributed. He learned that the heap was the surplus after everyone had been sup- plied. Besides the rolling plants, we had a base plant at Chaumont which was the greatest map-reproduction establishment in | Europe, equipped with apparatus undreamt of by the French. Engineers Save the Day Our first G-3 was Stuart Heintzelman, | whose grandfather was a distinguished corps | commander in the Union Army. An army boy and West Point graduate, I had known him for years. He was forty-two in 1918, the primest age for war for officers above the rank of company commander, but he | Shortly he | was too good for us to keep. was promoted to be chief of staff of the Fourth Corps-and then to be chief of staff of the Second Army. He was succeeded by Major Barber, who was followed by Colonel Montgomery, promoted to that rank while with us for conspicuous service in the Meuse-Argonne. Part of the Thirty-fifth Division was being hard pressed by a formidable German counterattack near Baulny on September twenty-eighth. Mont- gomery, who happened to be at the front, dropped his staff duties, gathered an emer- gency force of engineers and led them to the rescue of the line troops, saving the situa- tion. Twice American engineers had been called into a breach in British emergencies, but this was the only time we had to turn our engineers to combat duty. Just before the Thirty-fifth Division was relieved i divisional engineers were serving in the front line, replacing the division’s heavy casualties. Montgomery became G-3 of that Third Army which did not exist on November fifteenth, and which marched 350,000 men seventy kilometers toward the Rhine on November seventeenth without a hitch. The office of G-4, dealing with supplies, transport, labor and hospitals, properly is a field-army staff section, but until the First Army was organized, Major John L. De Witt served with the First Corps as G-4 When I took command of the First Army later, I was reunited with him. De Witt, 157 ” BARKING DOC SMOKING MIXTURE’ NEVER BITES: A Ow Can’t smoke a pipe? at you mean is you can't smoke some tobacco/ That discour- aging, hot, bite-of-the- tongue may not be the briar. ~- Sry Barking Dog €} It never bites # 25¢ atall smoke shops We'll gladly send a pipeful or F sess, bo h ie taste-and-ton¢ue trial. Free of course, and “the notadle pedigree of a friendly pup- well worth reading. ~ "Write for them - Continental Tobacco Co. nc. 44W18strect, New York City } Ct 4 \ This Chassis rt 8 wheel styles + 40 body designs makes the “Hallowell” interchangeable steel floor truck (green chassis, orange running gear) Can’t work loose in the joints, there are none! 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Write quick The Joha Leed mee ompany, 70 E.1 th st, Dep't 114 114, Chicago, » J am a Tork Clock | ) eere WIEDOW lights and elec NS and f regularly at times set. | am an economy and a comfort « OLL BUR NER 1 am used and sold g i electrical dealers everywhere.” Tork Clock Booklet Free TORK COMPANY, 12 East 41 St. New York SAVES ‘s THE COST. Lacquer Ur . painted WIS & FREEMAN, 5322 St. Clair oo , Cleveland, Ohio. THE SATURDAY who was thirty-eight in 1918, was an army boy, the son of a military surgeon. Al- though not a West Point man, he was a graduate of all the higher army schools. I first remember him clearly when he was a young lieutenant of infantry serving as aide-de-camp to General William Carter. I was adjutant general of the Lakes De- partment at the time and I attended ma- neuvers at Fort Benjamin Harrison at Indianapolis, where Carter commanded. I noticed that the general relied so heavily on his aide that he assigned to the young lieutenant any job that no one else seemed capable of doing, and his earnestness and skill in doing these tasks left a lasting im- pression on me. De Witt also is serving on the General Staff today. The Rewards of a Soldier My corps adjutant general, Major Wil- liam A. Haverfield, I have spoken of else- where. He was the former sergeant major of cavalry who was given a lieutenant’s commission in 1917 and whose most cher- ished ambition was to return to his old First Cavalry after the war as captain and adju- tant. He got the job. A regimental ser- geant major is the adjutant’s right-hand man; frequently he is the actual adjutant, and Haverfield knew the paper work of that office as few officers ever did. During the later stages of our advance from the Marne to the Vesle my advanced head- quarters were at Fere-en-Tardenois while the adjutant general’s force and the other noncombatants of the second echelon re- mained six miles or so in the rear, where interfere with their work. The Germans suspected that some headquarters would be found at Fere-en- Tardenois and shelled it persistently. From his headquarters Haverfield could see the shells plopping about us and he protested to me that there was no excuse for taking such chances. That was his way of showing that he was angry because he was not per- mitted to move up with us. My original personal aide, Captain James G. Ord, son of a famous army family, was a West Point graduate and a soldier by career. To restrict him to aide duties in a great war would have prejudiced his fu- ture, and I insisted that he go into the various sections of the staff and learn the duties of all. One day Frank McCoy, former White House aide and close friend of General Leonard Wood, telephoned me from G. H. Q. that he had a likely aide for me, a young field-artillery lieutenant froma training camp, in civil life a Boston lawyer. I went to Chaumont to have a look, and EVENING POST P. L. Stackpole became my personal aide for the balance of the war. I have had many aides in my time, but never his equal. A Harvard graduate, a successful lawyer and a man of mature mind, he not only was a thoroughly efficient aide but an admirable companion. It meansa great deal to a gen- eral officer in war to have as his only close companion a man of education, character and culture who can talk more than shop. Stackpole was of the highest type of young American who served as officers in the war. He had an intuitive social sense, which I lack, and a shrewd judgment of men, and he took off my hands the social responsibili- ties of my position which, in serving with the French, are most important. The Army deserves well of the country. The Chief of Staff, General Summerall, speaking informally to the House Military Committee recently, said so well some things about the service that I shall quote them as a benediction. “The Army exacts all that an officer can give in peace and it may take his life in war,” he said. ‘“‘The Government should recognize this and give it a status in ac- cordance with its mission, with what it has done in the past, is doing today and may have to do again in spite of all our efforts to avoid it. No man can command success- fully American soldiers or officers unless they have confidence in his sense of justice. The Government, above all, must show them that it treats them according to rea- sonable standards of justice. You cannot treat any man unjustly without arousing in him a sense of bitterness, resentment and antagonism that will injure whatever native ability he may have. You can apply it to your business or your professions and the result always will be the same. While we cannot pay in money for the services of an army, there are things more prized by the soldier than money, property or civic rights and power. Among the basic elements of human nature are ambition and a sense of justice. These are the stuff of business efficiency and they are no less indispensable in the military service. All countries have adopted a system of military grades, thus giving to each officer an opportunity to rise to a position commensurate with his ability, age and length of service. This is called ‘promotion’ and ‘rank.’ Relative to the high positions of civil life, such rewards are small, but they are more precious to the soldier than any material consideration. ‘An illustration comes to me. When I was a second lieutenant I served as aide-de- camp to a general officer. He was one of the finest soldiers and most dominant char- acters I ever have known, and if I have July 9,1927 been able to apply knowledge of the profe S- sion of arms to any degree, it is very largely because of his example and principles. He was a distinguished officer of the Civil War, in command of an artillery brigade. He lin- gered many years after in the grade of fi officer and toward the end of his life he was made a brigadier general. It was a very parsimonious reward to be doled out to a man whose services to his country had been inestimable. He fell ill in 1917, in very ad- vanced years, and Congress passed one of those humane pieces of legislation that are farther-reaching in effect than you gentle- men know. It permitted three officers on the retired list of Civil War service, of whom he was one, to become major gener- als without increase in pay. I was in the War Department when I heard of it, and I took his commission immediately to the Secretary of War and to the President and asked them to sign it. Then I carried it to his home where he was lying unconscious, death close at hand. Standing over his bed, I said, ‘General, I have brought you your commission as a major general.’ Con- sciousness came to him and he looked at me with complete recognition. He clasped the roll to his breast, a tear trickled down his cheek and he died while I was in the room. That piece of paper was the realization of a life’s ambition. I repeat, to maintain an unhappy army of low morale would be the greatest extravagance in which the Govern- ment could indulge.” Eternal Vigilance Money and machinery are the two pana- ceas of our national medicine chest. Neither can defend liberty, except incidentally, for only men worthy of liberty are equal to its defense. A nation that is rich, vain and un- protected only provokes war and hastens its own ruin; the richer it is, the more it tempts the envy of poorer, sterner peoples; the richer it is, the more likely its people are to be soft, indolent and arrogant. Nor have mere numbers ever saved a nation grown effeminate. It never troubles the wolf, Vergil observed two thousand years ago, how many the sheep be. As with men, so with nations; it is the fate of the indolent and the timid to see their rights become the prey of the active and the bold. Or, as John Philpot Curran put it: “The condition upon which God has given liberty to man is eternal vigilance; which condition, if he break, servitude is at once the consequence of his crime and the punishment of his guilt.” Editor’s Note— This is the last of a series of arti cles by General Liggett and Mr. Stout THE GOLDEN STALLION revolutionize some of the theories of breeding Thoroughbreds. Many of the greatest and most promising will be retired earlier. At any rate, for the present there is a high demand for some of that plebeian blood which they claim is in Man o’ War. As a sire his fees are the highest ever paid for a stallion anywhere, despite the cold blood that is mixed somewhere with the ancient Arab and Barbary strain. Some of his get best known are Crusader, American Flag, Edith Cavell, Mars, Flagship, By Hisself, Lightship, Volunteer, Scapa Flow and Maid-at-Arms. Riddle himself has had little luck this year as far as drawing progeny by Man o’ War. Ten two-year- olds fell to his lot, and of these nine are fillies. The legend is that every great stal- lion reproduces himself just once. There is little chance of a filly being a reproduc- tion of the great Man o’ War. In all, Man o’ War started officially in twenty-one races. He was beaten in only one. As a two-year-old he won the Keene Memorial, Youthful, Hudson, Tremont, United States Hotel, Grand Union Hotel, Hopeful, Futurity and the overnight event | that was his first race. (Continued from Page 38) “Tt was in this first race that I had a hunch as to how great he might be,”’ said Louis Feustel, the trainer. ‘‘That was in the Chute, so that not many people saw what was happening. ‘*They thought I was overcautious when I insisted on trying him out at starting in the Chute the morning before the race, but it is lucky that I did. When we tried him out there he would not start at all. He was almost as mean as he was the first day I put the saddle on him. Somebody said, by the way, that it took weeks to get the saddle on Big Red. That is nonsense, of course, for if you do not master a colt the first time you never will master him. We got the saddle on Red the first time all right, but that was about all for the day. “In the real start of that race Red was almost as fractious as he was at the school- ing. He backed away from the barrier at the start and was left nearly eight lengths. Then suddenly he started to go, and how he went. It was a lot of ground to make up in the dash, but he did it, and the others were only standing still.”’ It was on the strength of this first race that Harry Payne Whitney, knowing the breeding of the new two-year-old, sent out agents to buy his obscure sister, Mazda, at any price. If Whitney could not have the golden chestnut, he was willing to pay well for any animal containing some of the breeding that would have been refused entry in the English studbook. As a three-year-old Man o’ War started eleven times and was victorious in every start. These victories included the winning of the Preakness, Withers, Belmont, Stuy- vesant, Dwyer, Miller, Travers, Lawrence Realization, the Jockey Club, Potomac and the Kenilworth Cup, which was the last race at Windsor. His owner did not send him to the Derby at Kentucky. That year it came too close to the date of the Preak- ness and at the time this event was of equal importance. In his brief career on the track he made five American records. These were the Withers, a mile in 1:35! Belmont for a mile and three-eighths in 2:14'5; the Dwyer for a mile and a furlong in 1:49!;; the Jockey Club for a mile and a half in 2:28's; the Lawrence Realization for a mile and five-eighths in 2:40*5. Horsemen sigh when they think of what he might have done to other records in (Continued on Page 162) a Ee ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 159 PLANTERS - SALTED PEANUTS _cc.beal] 4 ..» Properly Salted... HERE’S a salty tang to Planters Peanuts that makes them as irresistible as the surge and sweep of the open sea. They awaken appetite as sea breezes do. Brown as the shifting sand—crisp and fresh and wholesome as the good sea air. The biggest, plumpest peanuts in the whole crop. é ye ; They are not Planters Salted Peanuts unless they are in the glassine bag with the Planters name and Mr. Peanut on it, but you can get them everywhere. 5c. PLANTERS NUT & CHOCOLATE COMPANY Suffolk, Va., Wilkes-Barre, Pa., San Francisco, New York, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia Canadian Factory: Toronto

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160 numbers will safeguard your business oS" 140 ' .) Cay 2\~ Cigesenvict 2 Op” OU don’t have to be a railroad man to appreciate how numbered printing protects the income of the railroads. The serial number on every ticket represents an automatic and un- erring check on receipts. Systematic methods of record-keeping are the best protection for any business. Globe num- bered printing is used not only by railroads but by every type of business organization. Globe service enjoys a world-wide reputation for accuracy and scope of helpfulness. Globe numbered printing can help safeguard your business. Discuss with us its uses. Our long ex- perience in the design and production of serially numbered tickets, labels, checks, etc., is at your command in installing the safest and most systematic methods of record-keeping. Our specialized equipment assures accuracy, economy and prompt service. Specialists for half a y) century \ TICKET COMPANY 112 North Twelfth Street PHILADELPHIA CLEVELAND NEW YORK BOSTON BALTIMORE LOS ANGELES Numbered printing can help you. Ask us how! accurate THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Index of Advertisers July 9, 1927 PAGE AC Spark Plug Company 61 American Floor Surfacing Machine Co., MM 6 di vieee's'4 ae SP American Safety Razor Corp ... 106 American Thermos Bottle Co., The 146 Artcraft Studios. ... 137 Autocall Co., The a 75 Ayer & Son, N. W...... Mv 85 Bassick Manufacturing Co., The..... 71 Bauer & Black ape {! 47 Beaver Products Co., The 64 Berkey & Gay Furniture Company... 129 Bon Ami Co., The 53 Brunswick-Balke-Collender Co., The. 136 Buick Motor Company............. 33 Byers Company, A. M vs ae California Fruit Growers Exchange scien IV Cover Campbell Soup Company ‘ 29 Carryola Co. of America....... 149 Chrysler Sales Corporation 124, 125 Clark & Co., Inc., W. G....... 153 Clark Co., The Fred G.......... 132 Clark, Frank C (acs 135 Collins & Aikman Company....... 37 Colt’s Patent Fire Arms Mfg. Co... 156 Congoleum-Nairn Inc. ‘Se Continental Tobacco Co. Inc.........157 Corbin, P. & F. ; . cee ae Crofut & Knapp Company, The...... 66 Cyclone Fence Company............140 Detroit Steel Products Company. ....161 Dodge Brothers, Inc.... bof 87 Double Rotary Spripkler Co ee | Du Pont Cellophane Co., Inc....... 84 Du Pont de Nemours & Co., Inc., Rar Bene centoit ann deetinne +p cueies~ 78 Eastman Kodak Co.................147 Eclipse Machine Company Sites 151 Edison Lamp Works............ 89 kureka Vacuum Cleaner Company 144 Evans & Co., Victor J kes eadeantot Evaporated Milk Association 104 Firestone Tire & Rubber Co 102, 103 Fleischmann Company, The 109 Florsheim Shoe Company, The 146 Franklin Automobile Company .,139 French Company, The R. 1 157 Fulton Company, The.. ’ 113 General Gas Light Company .. 104 Gets-It, Inc.... pater 123 Gilbert Chocolate Company, John O..154 Globe Ticket Company............ 160 Glover Co. Inc., H. Clay.......... 58 Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co., Inc., The 65 Graybar Electric Co........... 131 Guarantee Liquid Measure Co.. .110, 111 Hartford Fire Insurance Co me Harvey Spring & Forging Co 142 Hassler Manufacturing Co., In .. 9 Hawaiian Pineapple Company....... 96 Hewes & Potter, Inc...... ee Homeland Tailoring Co. In 158 Hudson Motor Car Company 62, 63 Jantzen Knitting Mills.............. 73 King-Seeley Corporation............ 141 Kodel Radio Corporation, The.... 105 eg a rae 134 Krementz & Co. pug euleneonee 99 Kroehler Mfg. Co........ den PAGE LaSalle Extension University 123 Leeding Company, The John 158 Lee Tire & Rubber Company 155 Lehn & Fink, Inc 143 Leland & Co., Benjamin 77 Lewis & Freeman 158 Libby, Mc Neill & Libby 31 Limbert Company, Charles P 150 Log Cabin Products Company, The 93 Lorillard Company, Inc., P 114 Magazine Repeating Razor Company. 79 Manstield Tire & Rubber Co., The 152 Marmon Motor Car Company 4] McQuay-Norris Manufacturing C 150 Middishade Co., Inc., The 70 Mulkey Salt Co., The 102 Nash Motors Co 122 New York Central Lines 148 Norwich Pharmacal Company, The 97 Oakland Motor Car C 39 Oak Service Bureau 128 Olds Motor Works 45 Oneida Community, Ltd 2 Packard Motor Car Co $3 Palmolive-Peet Co., The 74 Pathé Exchange, Inc 68 Pathex Inc 135 Phillips Chemical Co., The Char H. 149 Pinaud Incorporated, Ed 114 Pioneer Rubber Mills 157 Planters Nut & Chocolate Compar 159 Postum Company, In¢ 9), 91 Process Engraving Co., Inc., Th 137 Pro-phy-lac-tic Brush Company 81 Reid, Murdoch & Co QS Reo Motor Car Company 59 Rex Spray Co., The 118,119 Reynolds Tobacco ( ompany, R. | 76 Rhodes Mfg. Co 123 Roach & Company, W. R 117 Ross Gear and Tool Co 1603 Royal Blue Line 137 Rutland Fire Clay Co 135 Savage Arms Corporation 120 Schrader’s Son, Inc., A 127 Sikes Company. Q2 Spalding & Bros., A. G 138 Standard Laboratories, In« 158 Standard Oil Co. (N. J 115 Standard Pressed Steel Compar 157 Sun-Maid Raisin............ LIL Cover langlefoot Company, The 133 lexas Company, The 82,83 Tide Water Oil Sales ¢ ‘orporat 1or 48 Tork Company..... : 158 United States Radiator Corporation. . 67 United States Rubber Company. . 86, 107 Universal Pictures 51 Vacuum Oil Company 36 Weldon, Williams & Lick 130 Western Clock Company 1 Whitman & Son, Inc., Stephen F.. II Cover Williamson Candy Company, Th« 56 Willys-Overland, Inc 54,55 Woodward-Wanger Co 145 Wrigley’s 69 Zenith-Detroit Corporation 157 While every precaution is taken to insure accuracy, we cannot guarantee against the possibility of an occasional change or omission in the preparation of this index July 9,1927

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THE For Sale-A Sea! Once upon a time, long, long ago, a salty sea gleamed in the sun of Michigan. The older and smaller it got, the saltier its sparkling waters. Then whole centuries passed and tall trees grew where waves had splashed. And now, almost as in a fairy tale, the men of Mulkey’s offer you dried waves in a box — true sea salt—brought up from the bed of that ancient ocean —enriched with iodine —and purified by such fine meth- ods as only the love of our work could lead us to develop. For your family’s sake, use Mulkey’s to prevent goitre. At All —— True Sea Salt + FLAVOR-FULL ; — . The Mulkey Salt , Detroit f oO din e Alse Makers of See =GA L [ Free Run- a ble SATURDAY | Fair Play | inherit the weakness of the soft feet. | of them yet has shown with any degree of EVENING POST (Continued from Page 158) another year. Impressive as this showing is, they feel that the golden stallion had not yet begun to run when they retired him. Until a few of them began to suspect, they would not forgive Riddle for withdrawing him in that apparently senseless fashion. In the matter of purses Man o’ War was | excelled by several, including Exterminator | and Zev, but when the career of Man o’ War in his final capacity is ended he will have proved himself the most valuable piece of horseflesh that ever was foaled. | There is nothing in which he did not ex- cel—racing, looks and actual value on the hoof. They tell me that the get of Man 0’ War inherit his weakness to some degree—that nervous indigestion that came down from just as all of the Star Shoot get None adequateness signs of having inherited his all-round greatness. It is a strange circumstance that a woman figures prominently in the finish of Man o’ War’s career, as well as at the be- ginning. It was a woman breeder who brought about the birth of Man o’ War Mrs. Elizabeth Kane, and who first saw him as afoal. It was toa woman they gave him when it was settled that he should round out his career as a sire of great horses—- Miss Elizabeth Daingerfield. Also, it is quite likely that he will end his days within a few miles of where they began, in the blue- grass region of Kentucky. Though Man o’ War is still very much alive and the most vibrant and the most July 9,1927 vital creature in the biue-grass country, they speak of him in the past tense. But his performances still stand, and they sigh for another Man o’ War at the race courses to thrill them as this one did. There could not be his like again, yet now and then there comes up a red-golden chestnut, a big one, with some of his mannerisms, some of his regal carriage, some of his eagerness to be off. Once in a while, though, when someone of this generation speaks of Man o’ War, and cries ‘‘There was a horse!”’ some of the elders will look into the distance and smile knowingly. Sometimes one of these will say stub- bornly, “‘Oh, yes, quite a horse. But I should like to have seen him against Sy- sonby, or maybe Colin.” But on these occasions the old ones are not treated with the respect that is due their years. The records show from the time of the Barbary Mare and the Godolphin Arabian the speed of the strain has increased and that the breed has improved according to the legend. But the question is: Can it improve beyond the golden stallion? The law of the game says that it can and will. Therefore, some day there will come a red- golden-chestnut colt, with no tendon of Achilles, who will outrun Man o’ War. No doubt he will come out of the blue- grass country, and behind him there will be the shades of the invisible herds from Araby, from Barbary and from England. The spirit of the golden stallion will speed on through the ages with winged hoofs. ~ Editor’ s Note—This is the last of two articles by Mr. McGeechan. THE SATURDAY never authorized. (More Than Two Million Six Hundred Thousand 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 Too Much Electric—R. G. Kirk Charleston— Joseph Hergesheimer. Inquiries Into a Long Dry Spell— Golf We Women Play- burn Child Want to Buy a Dog? Cleaning Up—John Golden ley Winans Stout Honeymoon Hate (In two parts) My Dear (Third part)— May Edginton Motive Power (Conclusion) Editorials Short Turns and Encores Table of Contents July 9, 1927 Cover Design by Revere F. Wistehuff SHORT STORIES People Against Cortenay— Thomas McMorrow With a Modern Leading Lady— Fannie Kilbourne A Lady of Broadway— Nunnally Johnson ARTICLES Samuel G. Blythe Glenna Collett Keeping the Mississippi in Its Banks and Out of Politics Albert Payson Terhune New Myths About Uncle Sam— Chester T. Crowell The Golden Stallion—W. O. McGeehan A. E. F.— Major General Hunter Liggett, U. S. A., Retired, With Wes- SERIALS Alice M. Williamson Henry C. Rowland MISCELLANY PAGE Richard Wash- 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. 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

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er fe THE SATURDAY EVENING POST DOUBLES YOUR ABILITY TO HANDLE YOUR CAR truck ‘handle’ with imagine C i i UGE TRUCKS with the weight of ten-ton loads on their broad tires are easily handled with Ross Cam and Lever Steering Gear .. . Think what that same steering gear would do in the car you drive. . . Steering is the only continuous effort demanded of you by your car. Ross doubles your ability to handle your car—gives greater ease and increased safety .. . Know these advantages for yourself! Drive a (am and Lever EASIER STEERING--LESS ROAD SHOCK “The Ross Steering Gear makes this big ease ~ ‘Koss Mm your car!” Ross-equipped car before you buy again. Drive it over bad roads—through heavy gravel and over ruts and bumps and railroad tracks Your steering wheel remains firm in your hands and the car holds true in its course . . . Road-shock, with its resultant fatigue, is re duced to a minimum .. . Then, learn how amaz ingly easy Ross makes parking . . . The secret of all these advantages lies in the long lever arm RQSS Steering Gears ly Ross. Already, thirty-nine automobile manufacturers and variable pitch of the cam—exclusive and practically all bus and truck manufacturers have adopted Ross as standard equipment Mail coupon below for a roster of Ross equipped cars, buses and trucks, and an interesting free booklet on steering M% o“s ROSS GEAR AND TOOL Cr Latayetre, [1 Please send me y fre n Ros

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HERE women once climbed cellar stairs, we now have only to open the pantry or refrigerator door. How many steps we save that they could not avoid! How much we have learned that they didn’t know, not only about saving labor, but about better food for our families! How many preju- dices we have thrown away! Our grandmothers, for example, were prejudiced against food in cans. We all know now, on the word of the greatest scientific authorities, that food in cans is as safe as food can be. We know the can does no damage to the food: We know that it 1s a guarantee of freshness and purity and cleanliness. Have you brought your milk supply up to date? You that the milk you use need to kn ig pure, and fresh, and sweet, and always absolutely clean. You } 2 ily need to know that it C¥AE: CAN <r * contains, always, all wa eee” . . io the food elements of ~ milk—all the a sub- stances which make milk nature’s most We do know to-day perfect food. that Evaporated Milk guarantees all these essential qualities. We know that it is one of the modern accomplish- ments through which science has given us safer, better foods. It is pure milk. Evaporated Milk is pure milk. Nothing is preserve it. Not a thing is taken from it but some added to of the water which is the greater part of all milk. All the food qualities of the milk are kept in it. None of them is harmed in any Way. Always fresh and sweet and absolutely clean. The milk the best dairying sections of America. It is received in sanitary is produced under the supervision of experts on farms in plants in the country within a few hours after it comes from the cow—while it is fresh and sweet. It is carefully tested for purity and cleanliness. Then part of the water is removed—it is concentrated. Finally, it is put in containers The cream begi ‘ , keke and sterilized — protected to as the separ ite as soon K comes trom everything that can mpair its freshness and Neg purity. In from the cow. | weetness ana PROTEIN SALTS \ inere are other ways today "Pp this condition it comes to your pantry—fresh and sweet and absolutely clean. With better richness. 8714% of natural cow’s milk is water. The remaining 122% is composed of butterfat (cream), milk sugar, proteins and mineral salts. 60% of the water of cow’s milk is removed in making Evaporated Milk. The food content of Evaporated Milk is, there- (solid ) fore, more than twice as great as in ordinary milk. And every drop of Evaporated Milk contains a// the food elements of milk. There is no cream line. The cream never separates. It milk. Evaporated Milk is stays in the never skimmed milk. It is always more- than-double rich in butterfat and a/so in the bone and tissue- building substances—in all the ele- g ments which make milk nature’s most perfect food. For every use. Wherever you need milk, Evaporated Milk will deter fill the need. In cream soups, for creaming vegetables, for sauces and gravies, In breads and cakes, in cocoa, use milk iced or hot—wherever you Evaporated Milk serves as nothing Evaporated Milk else will serve. serves in place of cream for coffee, in ice creams, for desserts—wherever you need cream (single or double). The adaptability of Evaporated Milk to every milk and cream use will be an astonishing revelation that will surprise you and delight you. The modern cream and milk supply. Undiluted Evapo- | rated Milk serves in place of cream—at less than half the cost of cream. It can be diluted to suit any milk need, and costs less than ordinary milk. You can buy it from grocers everywhere. The supply on your pantry shelf is always fresh and sweet and absolutely clean—equal to every need you have for cream and milk. It is the modern cream and milk supply for everybody, for every use. Let us send you our free In} vaporated M ~ the cre booklets telling you more about the good quat- ities and varied uses SROTEDN . of Evaporated Mile. SALTS FAT FOOD i / FAT SUGAR ORDINARY MILK EVAPORATE MILK ASSOCIATION | ————————_—e— 231 So (SOLIDS) SUGAR EVAPORATED MILK LASALLE ST. CHICAGO

July 9, 1927

ILLINOIS

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A Ne ee RR ee me Good things we get from bakers —raisin breads, cakes, sweet roll;—are liberally filled with Sun-Maid raisins ~ ~ ~ - From them come the luscious raisin grapes whose full flavor you get in Sun-Maid Nectars, in Sun-Maid Puffed There’s a bustle of activity in California’s Raisin Land. Seventeen thousand Sun-Maid vineyardists are beginning their harvest. A mighty harvest it is, and it needs to be, to supply all the world with its finest raisins— — with Sun-Maid Nectars, seedless raisins that have the fragrance, the flavor and plump tenderness of grapes full ripened on the vine; —with Sun-Maid Puffed, seeded raisins SUN-MATID Never was the demand so great upon these Sun-Maid vineyards Millions of house wives know the joy of cookine with Sur Maid Nectars and Sun-Maid Puffed, use them the year around that aren't sticky, that hold all the rich flavor of muscat grapes. The fame of these two products has spread afar. In America, nine out of ten grocers sell them. Housewives throughout the nation buy and use them the year around. By carloads, instead of car tons, bakers use Sun Maids for their 4 ‘t*¢6er a ee DT SF F pai y y i Confectioners feature raisin / candies in thetr fineassortments now. They find Sun-Maid Nectars perfect for Lheir wie raisin breads and sweet goods. Many fine candies that start you searching the box for duplicates, owe their lure to the Sun-Maids they contain And women in foreign lands are no longer content with ordinary raisins. They and their grocers have become as familiar with red and blue Sun-Maid cartons as you and your gro cer are. No wonder then that Sun-Maid vineyard- ists are busy. For other millions of people, like yourself, have learned to use Sun-Maid Nectars and Sun- Maid Puffed to bring sparkling flavor to the foods they serve NECTARS [Seediless Raisins | in the red carton PUFFED (Seeded Raisins 1 in the blue carton

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kor Appetite, Digestion . --and generally * Better Tone/ — - HY do orange juice so often?—I tell you: I drink California will “First, for its organic salts and acids that are fine, natural appetizers and direct digestive aids. “Second, for its vitamins—fresh, potent food essentials that help to balance every- body’s diet. “Third, because oranges, although known as ‘acid fruit,’ have an a/kaline re- action in the blood and thus actually tend to offset and counteract the acidity caused by an excess of such good, though acid- forming, foods as fish, meat, eggs, cereals, breads, et cetera. “And fourth, simply because I /ike the luscious flavor of this delightful drink. *“As to the benefits I’ve mentioned, I refer you to your doctor. Mine told me about them—and if my generally ‘better tone’ since | began my daily orange juice Look for this Machine is any indication, then he did me a service that is worth a lot. “Why California juice? Well, chemical analyses have shown that it is richer in the soluble solids that carry all these benefits. “And I like the California flavor bet- ter, too. Try ‘Sunkist’ Oranges. They’re the selected grades from California. “You can identify them by the trade- mark ‘Sunkist’ on the wrapper and now also directly on the skin ot the fruit. “Every first-class dealer has them, fresh the year ’round.”’ To be sure of getting Cali- fornia Sunkist Oranges of uniformly good eating qual- | ity, look for the trade-mark on | the wrapper and on the fruit. | Richest Juice Orange Juice It is being distributed by the growers of Sunkist Oranges and Lemons to enable cafeterias, restaurants, hotels, clubs and soda fountains to more quickly and conveniently make for you pure, wholesome orange and lemon juice drinks. made to your order from fresh oranges and lemons. Watch for this mz in t is your visible assurance of purity Prospective Buyers: [carn about our unusual cost- price proposition on t ick, efficient achin Write The dealers using the Sunkist (Flectric) us for complete information Terms 1. State Fruit Juice Fxtractor serve real orange | and lemon juice drinks line of business Catirornta Feurr Growers ExcuanaGe, Dept. 107, Box 530, Station “C,” | . :