The Saturday Evening Post 1928-04-28: Vol 200 Iss 44

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THE SATURDAY EVEh@aigs POST -ekly Fou s mj. Franklin. Volume 200, Number 44 eS — 2 APRIL 28,1928 OR gs: RTO, = . a me , , <— 2 4 im ') \ oni(tc - ‘6 a ¥ ' 4 Garet Garrett —Albert W. Atwood —Joseph Cummings Chase—Thecdore Dreiser Clarence Budington Kelland —F. Scott Fitzgerald — Struthers Burt — Day Edgar

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The Muffet, you'll know. You’ve met your future. From now on you've a favorite breakfast! Muflin-shaped. Butternut brown. Just fits your cereal dish—the right minute you see a portion for the morning's appetite. Look closer. Light as a crum- pet! Whole wheat. cooked. drawn to a lacy ribbon, thin as flakes from the flufhest shortcake. Wound round and round, layer upon layer —three yards of it! Baked. Toasted, both sides. Taste it! Crisp as potato chips. Crunchy! Crumblesin your mouth. Serve with cream and sugar. Or add fruit, fresh. stewed. preserved. You've calories, body-building minerals, bran, digestibility—plus food you'll enjoy any morning in the week! One Muffet, and you’re a Muf- feteer! Tomorrow, win the glory of introducing to your family their first really new breakfast in years. The Quaker Oats Co., Chicago.

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} RENDEZVOUS londe THE SATURDAY EVENING satin, and Holeproof stockings in jine-gauge chiffon number with picot edge. Lucile tea gown of beige chiffon and matching lace Caprice color. In America, The stocking $1.95, 1s Sli ppe a POST 1 Lue IL€ in CPawuis HOLEPROOF in America Design these Lovely Stockings Krom Maison Lucile, 11 Rue dela Penthievre. come Holeproof’s new hosiery shades each season. ‘That is why these stockings look so like the expensive French ones you have seen...why Holeproof shades are invarialsly so many months ahead. r new “wee before America sees the ip- proaching season's colors in shoes and fabrics, Lucile inspects therm crit ically Then this artist de la Mod | creates her stoc king shack Phus she adds to the smartness of her own ensembles as she herself will tell you. Ordinary shades may seem to match | the mode, but Lucile asserts that in twenty tans often one alone will be correct. So every Lucile shade has its own specific purpose As each new tint is finished it is —— rushed to Holeproof to be quickly reproduced in exquisite hos This ea ables American women to wear them within a fortnight after they are seen in Paris. It sets up a style authority and guide that assures the cor rectness ol the color cnst mble in Cat h le tall For weaving sheer, lovely stockings, Holeproof has won world-wide recognition In quality these hose far excel the French. That's why many smart Parisiennes will wear no other kind But for color Holeproof turns to Lucile. Thus not wholly American entirely these fine stockings are In their shades they are French. THe New Frencu SHADES Topay new Lucil other fine Lucile cre Smart stores have just received ning Chey will delight you. No can offer them for months no one else shades. hosiery ates for Holeproof Choose from filmy chiffons with picot edges o1 heavier service weights Non-fading and free from imperfections. Prices from $1.00 to $2.95 OH. Hu « a Holeproof Hosiery - New York City; and London, Canada

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April 28,1928 get business tion help you you for for recrea to get into the spirit of play We've created hundreds of nek them are shown in ness if Oxbloods, Gram merchant who has Marx clothes can Es th ‘Soe sack weaves, May- — you'll enjoy them more gerian secu, Greyhounds, Lovats, ws ® °o Q, ©) ” — z ta) > ra > & Q m ~ & 9] ty es ~ occasionally. And clothes made sport; Tweeds, Hop fair Corners ~ You're a better man for s H - “ 4 ae é. at. Fl pra ae ss View : i é IB yam t oe -- Y * a 3+ TA " 4 er OGIOLOS Er | FPPC ORR MEAN ANE 4 ' te e ee. a . a > 5 ann re é -_ ‘ on . c . bs a re € ~ ae, ny a s he sh pe 5 tos ee > Bot i te 7 y c

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PN AIG RL YS aE EY PON NET RO 4 Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President George H. Lorimer, First Vice-President William Boyd, John B. Williems and Walter D. Fuller, Second Vice-Presidents Philip S. Collins, Treasurer Independence Square,Philadelphia London: 6, Henrietta Street Covent Garden, W.C. THE SATURDAY Founded A’D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin Copyright, 1925, by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United States and Great Britain. Tithe Registered in U.S Patent Office and in Foreign Countries. Entered as Second-Cless Matter at the Post-Offce Department, Ottewe, Can George Horace Lorimer EDITOR Frederick S. Bigelow, A.W. Neall, Thomas B. Costain, Wesley W. Stout BLY. Riddell, Thomas l Masson EVENING POST =. Associate Edit ° h.Ge , De ‘ ie He.F New Or Le.t f Cal., Richmond, Ve,.B ‘ Volume 200 Sc. THE copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., APRIL 28, 1928 By Sub $2.00 "oan Number 44 Lille SCANDAL DETECTIVES T WAS a hot afternoon in May and Mrs. Buckner thought that a pitcher of fruit lem- onade might prevent the boys from filling up on ice cream at the drugstore. She belonged to that generation, just now in the process of retirement, upon whom the great revolu- tion in American family life was to be visited; but at that time she believed that her children’s relation to her was as much as hers had been to her parents, for this was al- most twenty years ago. Some generations are close to those that succeed them; between others the gap is in- finiteandunbridgeable. Mrs. Buckner—a woman of char- acter, amember of society ina large Middle-Western city carrying a pitcher of fruit lemonade through her own spacious back yard, was pro- gressing across a hundred years. Her own thoughts would have been compre- hensible to her great- grandmother; what was happening in a room above the stable would have been entirely unintelligibletothem both. In what had once been the coachman’s sleeping apartment, her son and a friend were not behaving in a normal manner, but were, so to speak, experimenting in a void. They were making the first tentative combinations of the ideas and materials they found ready at their hand—ideas destined to be- come, in future years, first articulate, then startling and finally commonplace. At the moment when she called up to them they were sitting with disarming quiet upon the still unhatched eggs of the mid- twentieth century. Riply Buckner descended the ladder and took the lem- onade. Basil Duke Lee looked abstractedly down at the transaction and said, “Thank you very much, Mrs. Buckner.” ** Are you sure it isn’t too hot up there?” ““No, Mrs. Buckner. It’s fine.”’ It was stifling; but they were scarcely conscious of the heat, and they drank two tall glasses each of the lemonade without knowing that they were thirsty. Concealed beneath a sawed-out trapdoor from which they presently took it was a composition book bound in imitation red leather which currently absorbed all their attention. On its first page was inscribed, if you penetrated the secret of the lemon-juice ink: ‘THE BooK oF SCANDAL, written by Riply Buckner, Jr., and Basil D. Lee, Scandal Detectives.” By F. Scott Fitzgerald ILLUSTRATED BY HENRIETTA McCAIG STARRETT ips fi hie # The Diffused Magic of the Summer Afternoon Withdrew Into Her Suddenly —the Soft Air, the Shad: owy Hedges and 2anks of Flowers, the Orange Sunlight, the Laughter and Voices—the Magic Left All These Things and Meited Into Imogene as She Sat There Looking Up at Him With a Smile was the record of his past. In this book they had set down such devia- tions from rectitude on the part of their fellow citizens as had reached their ears. Some of these false steps were those of grizzled men, stories that had become traditions in the city and were embalmed in the composition book through indiscreet exhumation at fam- ily dinner tables. Others were the more exciting sins, con- firmed or merely rumored, of boys and girls their own age Some of the entries would have been read by adults with bewilderment, others might have inspired wrath, and there were three or four contemporary reports that would have prostrated the parents of the involved chil- dren with horror and despair One of the mildest items, a matter they had hesitated about setting down, though it had shocked them only last year, was: “Elwood Leam- ing has been to the Burlesque Show three or four times at the Star.’ Another, and perhaps their favorite, because of its uniqueness, set forth that “H. P. Cramner committed some theft in the East he could be imprisoned for and had to come here’’—H. P Cramner being one of the old- est and most substantial citi- zens of the town. The single defect in the book was that it could only be enjoyed with the aid of the imagination, for the invisible ink must keep its secrets until the fatal day when, the pages being held close to the fire, the items would appear. Clos inspection was necessary to determine which pages had been used—already a rather grave charge against a certain couple had been superim- posed upon the dismal facts that Mrs. R. B. Cary had consumption and that her son, Walter Cary, had been expelled from Pawling School The purpose of the work as a whole was not blackmail. | was treasured against the time when its protagonists should “do something” to Basil and Riply. Its posses- sion gave them a sense of power. Basil, for instance, had never seen Mr. H. P. Cramner make a single threatening gesture in Basil's direction, even hint that he was going to do something to Basil, and there preserved against him It is only fair to say that at this point the book passes entirely out of this story. Years later a janitor discovered it beneath the trapdoor, and finding it apparently

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gave it to his little girl; the misdeeds of Elwood Leaming and H. P. Cramner were definitely entombed at last be- neath a fair copy of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. The book was Basil’s idea. He was more the imagina- tive and in most ways the stronger of the two. He was a shining-eyed, brown-haired boy of fourteen, rather small as yet, and bright and lazy at school. His favorite character in fiction was Arséne Lupin and his ambition in life was to be a gentleman burglar, a romantic phenomenon lately im- ported from Europe and much admired in the first bored decade of the century. Riply Buckner, also in short pants, contributed to the partnership a breathless practicality. His mind waited upon Basil’s imagination like a hair trigger and no scheme of Basil’s was too fantastic for his immediate ‘‘ Let’s do it!”’ Since the school’s junior baseball team, on which they had been pitcher and catcher, decomposed after an unfortunate April season, they had spent their afternoons struggling to evolve a way of life which should measure up to the myste- rious energies fermenting insidethem. Inthe cache beneath the trapdoor were some slouch hats and bandanna hand- kerchiefs, some loaded dice, half of a pair of handcuffs, a rope ladder for rear-window escapes into the alley, and a make-up box containing two old theatrical wigs and crépe hair of various colors—all to be used when they decided what illegal enterprises to undertake. Their lemonades finished, they lit cigarettes and held a desuitory conversation which touched on crime, profes- sional baseball, sex and the local stock company. It was at this moment that they became aware of footsteps and fa- miliar voices in the adjoining alley. At the window, they investigated. The voices belonged to Margaret Torrence, Imogene Bissel and Connie Davies, who were cutting through the alley from Imogene’s back yard to Connie’s at the end of the block. The young ladies were thirteen, tweive and thirteen years old respectively, and they evidently considered themselves alone, for in time to their march they were rendering a mildly daring parody in a sort of whispering giggle and coming out strongly on the finale: ‘“‘Oh, my dar-ling Clemen-tine.”’ Basil and Riply leaned together from the window, then remembering their undershirts sank down behind the sill. ‘*We heard you!”’ they cried together. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST own children had long grown up, but their yard was still one of those predestined places where young people gather in the afternoon. It had many advantages. It was large, open to other yards on both sides, and it could be entered upon skates or bicycles from the street. It contained an old seesaw, a swing and a pair of flying rings; but it had been a rendezvous before these were put up, for it had a child’s quality—the thing that makes young people huddle inextricably on uncomfortable steps and desert the houses of their friends to herd on the obscure premises of “‘ people nobody knows.” The Whartons’ yard had long been a happy compromise; there were deep shadows there all day long and ever something vague in bloom, and patient dogs around, and brown spots worn bare by countless circling wheels and dragging feet. In sordid poverty, below the bluff two hundred feet away, lived the ‘‘ micks’’—they had merely inherited the name, for they were now largely of Scandinavian descent—and when other amusements palled, a few cries were enough to bring a gang of them swarming up the hill, to be faced if numbers promised well, to be fled from with laughter into convenient houses if things went the other way. It was five o’clock and there was a small crowd gathered there for that soft and romantic time before supper, sur- passed only by the interim of summer dusk thereafter. Basil and Riply rode their bicycles around abstractedly, in and out of trees, resting now and then with a hand on some- one’s shoulder, shading their eyes from the glow of the late sun that, like youth itself, is too strong to face directly, but must be kept down to an undertone until it dies away. Basil rode over to Imogene Bissel and balanced idly on his wheel before her. Something in his face then must have attracted her, for she looked up at him, really seeing him, and slowly smiled. She was to be a beauty and belle of many proms in a few years. Now her large brown eyes and large beautifully shaped mouth and the high flush over her thin cheek bones made her face gnome-like and offended those who wanted a child to look like a child. For a mo- ment Basil was granted an insight into the future, and the spell of her vitality crept over him suddenly. For the first time in his life he looked a girl in the eye, realizing her com- pletely as something opposite and complementary to him, April 28,1928 and he was subject to a warm chill of mingled pleasure and pain. It was a definite experience and he was immediately conscious of it. The diffused magic of the summer after- noon withdrew into her suddenly—the soft air, the shad- owy hedges and banks of flowers, the orange sunlight, the laughter and voices, the tinkle of a piano over the way— the magic left all these things and melted into Imogene as she sat there looking up at him with a smile. For a moment it was too much for him. He let it go, in- capable of exploiting it until he had digested it alone. He rode around fast in a circle on his bicycle, passing near Imo- gene without looking at her. When he came back after a while and asked if he could walk home with her, she had for- gotten the moment, if it had ever existed for her, and was almost surprised. With Basil wheeling his bicycle beside her, they started down the street. “Can you come out tonight?” he asked eagerly. ‘‘ There'll probably be a bunch in the Whartons’ yard.” “T’ll ask mother.” “T’ll telephone you. I don’t want to go unless you'll be there.”’ “Why?” She smiled at him again, encouraging him. “Because I don’t want to.” “But why don’t you want to?” “Listen,” he said quickly, “‘what boys do you like better than me?” “Nobody. I like you and Hubert Blair best.’’ Basil felt no jealousy at the coupling of this name with his. There was nothing to do about Hubert Blair but ac- cept him philosophically, as other boys did when dissecting the hearts of other girls. “IT like you better than anybody,” he said deliriously. The weight of the pink dappled sky above him was not endurable. He was plunging along through air of ineffable loveliness while warm freshets sprang up in his blood and he turned them, and with them his whole life, like a stream toward this girl. They reached the carriage door at the side of her house. “‘Can’t you come in, Basil?” “No.” He saw immediately that that was a mistake, but it was said now. The intangible present had eluded him. Still he lingered. ‘‘Do you want my school ring?” “Yes, if you want to give it to me.” The girls stopped and laughed. Margaret Tor- rence opened and shut her jaws several times to indicate that they were chewing gum, and with a purpose. Basil imme- diately understood why. “‘Whereabouts?” he demanded. “Over at Imogene’s house.” They had been at Mrs. Bissel’s cigarettes. The implied recklessness of their mood interested and excited the two boys and they prolonged the conversation. Connie Davies had been Riply’s girl during dancing- schoo! term; Margaret Torrence had played a sentimental part in Basil's recent past; Imo- gene Bissel was just back from a year in Europe. During the last month neither Basil nor Riply had thought about girls, and, thus refreshed, they became conscious that the center of the world had shifted suddenly from the secret room to the little group outside. “Come on up,” they suggested. ‘Come on out. Come on down to the Whar- tons’ yard.” * All right.” Barely remembering to put away the Scandal Book and the box of dis- guises, the two boys hur- ried out, mounted their bicycles and rode up the alley. The Whartons’ _—___ “T’ll give it to you to- night.”’ His voice shook slightly as he added, “That is, I'll trade.” “What for?” **Something.”’ “What?” Her color spread; she knew. “You know. Will you trade?” Imogene looked around uneasily. In the honey-sweet silence that had gathered around the porch, Basil held his breath. “You're awful,’ she whispered. ‘* Maybe.... Good-by.” a T WAS the best hour of the day now and Basil was terribly happy. This summer he and his mother and sister were | going to the lakes and next fall he was starting away toschool. Then he would go to Yale and be a great athlete, and after that—if his two dreams had fitted onto each other chronologically instead of existing inde- pendently side by side he was due to become a gentleman burglar. Ev- erything was fine. He had so many alluring things to think about that it was hard to fall asleep at night. That he was now crazy about Imogene Bissel was not a dis- traction, but another “Basil the Boozile! Hello, Basil the Boozte!’’ good thing. It had as (Continued on Page 178) ———E

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STAKE aS RES THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 5 PEASANT BLOOD NNA! Anna!” Anna saw the small black sunshade ad- vancing among the box- bordered paths and hoped that it would thread the maze and return to the house. But it came on through the flower garden toward the vegetable garden, and under it her mother-in-law, Madame Chandler, tall, black-haired and sharp-eyed. Her figure had the erectness of youth, but her face was covered with a fine network of wrinkles. She was dressed in black silk made in polonaise fashion, with pleatings which seemed to have taken pattern from the reticula- tions of her skin. Anna lifted her head and body from their bent position above a bed of cucumbers which covered half the large garden. Perspiration ran from her face, dripped upon her breast and coursed in a score of rivulets beneath her clothes. She had been at work since five o’clock and experience as a trained nurse as well as her own sensations told her that she had worked enough for a day in the heat of a Southern Virginia summer. Born and bred in Northern New York, she found acclimation difficult. The heat af- fected her mind as well as her body; she had to guard her lips so that she might not speak out what was in her heart. “Yes, madame!”’ Her voice was respectful, the title that which Mrs. , 4 , Chandler preferred. * Pevunts “This is no place to be on Sun- ~ 7 ’ ; s¥ day morning.” “T’m coming in in a few min- utes,’’ promised Anna. ‘Please be suitably attired when the guests arrive.” “Yes, madame.” The sunshade turned, maintain- ing its even line above the boxwood. Anna bent her back again. “This is no time for company,” said she. “Mother! Mother!” This wasa young voice, a laughing voice, com- ing from the boxwood labyrinth. She straightened her back instantly, regardless of pain which made her wince. ‘Where are you, mother?’’ The child’s language had no r’s; it was indescribably musical and sweet. “Here, darling!” A little boy came into view, his face crimson, his black curly hair damp, his eyes shining. He flung himself upon Anna, and as she bent to receive his embrace her sun- bonnet slipped off, showing a broad face with high cheek bones. Her hair was brown and her eyes blue. There was intelligence in her forehead, steadfastness in her gaze and strength in her body; otherwise she had little beauty. Marshall was beauty itself; it was hard to believe that he was her child. He had been to Sunday school at the Methodist chapel a mile away, sent thither contrary to his grandmother’s will, to whom there was no Christian church but that body which she called the Church of Eng- land. “They said why didn’t you come, and I said because of company. Are they here?” Marshall spoke with awe company Was rare. “Not yet. Go in and brush your hair and wash your face and keep very cool and quiet.” ‘‘Why do you work on Sunday, mother?” ** All these little cucumbers will grow too large. by to- morrow. They must be picked, and Henry’s busy.” ‘‘Why do you plant so many, mother?”’ ‘So that I may sell them and get money to buy a rabbit skin to wrap my Baby Bunting in.” Marshall laughed and gave a little skip and disappeared. Anna remained upright until sne heard a door slam, then she moved her basket and bent again to her work. They Covered Their Surprise With Extra Warmth. The Woman Looked Like a Trained Nurse! ‘* Miss Anna! Miss Anna!’’ Here was still another sort of voice—old and cracked. Down a path which led directly from the kitchen door to the vegetable garden came an aged negro in a long-tailed coat. ‘De madame say to remind you ob de comp’ny.” Anna straightened her back for the last time. ‘Yes, Henry. You take this basket.” The old creature obeyed sulkily; he regarded her, she knew well, with tolerance only. She was not aristocracy, she spoke quickly, her pronunciations were harsh, she worked with her hands. Her introduction to the family had been in a menial capacity; a famous surgeon who was madame’s cousin had sent her from Baltimore to take care of Marshall’s father when he had been thrown from his horse and terribly injured. The marriage was a blow to madame, to the kinsfolk, to Henry. “‘Han’s what wuk ain’ ladies’ han’s,” said Henry. Anna proceeded up the short path; there was no time to take the white folks’ path. It was after eleven o'clock and dinner was to be at one. She must bathe and dress and superintend the setting of the table and supervise the cocking. Henry was a feeble and untidy houseman and the colored women hired for the day were careless and slatternly. When she was very tired, she saw visions; she saw now, as clearly as though it were a mirage, a kitchen like a hospital laboratory. This afternoon she would pack the cucumbers into bottles and pour over them the hot dressing which was a Chandler secret. That would be a rest; the guests would be gone, the black women would be done, she could move ILLUSTRATED ar By Elsie Singmaster GRANT REYNARD about in quietness and peace. Madame would sleep ji drawing-room, Henry would sleep in his cabin near th kitchen door, Marshall would bring his book and read aloud while she worked. At such moments the ancient house, with its clambering vine and overshadowing trees, had beauty even for her. Everything in the house was old—the furniture which she often mended, the por traits which were unc! ed a almost unrecognizable, the silver which there was no time to polis! Such moments were rare; she was too harassed, too burdened by re ponsibility, too intent upon the weather, the ravages of insects, the danger of devastating epiden among fowls or swine. If fertilizers failed or insects or germs tri- umphed, there would be no funds upon which to live. There was no ome except what she produced Another and more serious anxiety was beginning to press upon her. “Grandmother says I’m not to do errands,” said Marshall. “I don’t need to study,” said Mar- all. “I can easily keep ahead of all the rest She saw another vision, a tall fig- ure, a beautiful face and head, and idle hands. She heard a lazy, lovely voice: “‘You see, I had no compe tition, darling; he was mocking her—‘“‘nothing to bring out my talents.” One of the stout colored women was peeling potatoes, the other was shelling peas. The season for peas was properly over; these were the product of late planting and cop ous watering. The women did not look up; like Henry, they regarded her as far beneath the family into which she had married their labors had estab! Already hed confu- sion where there had been order. In the dining-room, she felt a chill; high as the temperature was, it was much lower than the tem- perature in the sun. She stood still until each detail of the room came into view—the great bare table, the sideboard, the court cupboard, the cellaret, the fireplace, the portraits, and last of all the design on the paneled wall, copied from a wall in the tidewater home of the Chan- dlers, far away, and long since de- stroyed by fire. Clearest of all was the frill of a white cap in a portrait in the darkest corner. The face of the subject was round; it showed neither birth nor breeding, but it had shrewdness and strength. The other portraits had a general resemblance to one another; the faces were long or oval, almost all were dark-skinned A damask cloth, many times mended, had been freshly laundered and lay folded on the sideboard along with the silver and china which had been made ready yesterday The door into the hall was open and through it came first the sound of voices—the madame and Henry were talking together; then the sound of shuffling feet-- Henry was ad- vancing to assist in the laying of the cloth. He came through the door, the whites of his eyes and the dingy white of his shirt front presenting him as a queer drawing ““Where’s Marshall?” inquired Anna. It was a questior she asked frequently. The aged woman with her strange ideas and the aged colored man who seemed to belong in a tree were no companions for a little child-—“‘a white child,” she said with passionate unreason. “He sittin’ wid he gran’ma,” answered Henry. A glit- ter came into his eyes and a faint smile to his lips. The two spread the broad cloth. “Dis specially weabed for de table,” said Henry. ‘“‘Guess you didn’t see nothin’ like dis befo’.”” “Never,” answered Anna with generous admiration. “Isn’t this heliotrope lovely?”’ Continued on Page 169

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HE spirit of man is in his machines. He sees it and | is afraid. So also his spirit was in pyramids and temples. Yet these evoke simple feelings of awe and admiration, whereas the machine inspires a sentiment of dread. Where lies that difference? The wonder of a pyramid is monumental. The wonder of a temple is beauty. But the wonder of machine is func- tion. There is the difference. The machine is the will of man engined. It is the free extension of himself in a new dimension, and that is the dimension of force. Having, as out of a dream, raised up this power, the spirit of him ex- ternalized, and seeing how for good or evil it may be mul- tiplied by itself without end, the conjurer has moments of terror. It is not the machine he fears, even though he says it is. First and last, he has believed in many jealous gods, all inhabitants of this dimension. He has not yet met one of them face to face, but as he stands on the rim of knowledge where light ends, groping for more ele- mental! facts, and remembers that he knows only how force acts and nothing at all about what it is, then—well, noth- ing that might happen would greatly surprise him. There is that. But much more it is that he fears his own nature. The history of the human spirit is that very often knowing the better way it will take the worse. As the spirit is, so must the machine be. Demon spirit, demon machine. Thus there wiil be good and evil machines and some good and some evil in any of them. The machine itself is not terrify- ing. What possesses the machine may be. This is man afraid of himself. Fear moves the whole theme against science. Any one of its many variations may be so referred back. And that few are entirely free of it may be inferred from the fact that protagonists of science themselves con- tribute to the fear theme, as in the following expres- sion, which is representa- tive: “Already the applica- tions of science to human affairs have far outrun the ability of man to use them wisely. The engineer has provided agencies of in- calculable value in time of peace, but they are also endowed with prodigious powers of destruction which can be loosed in time of war. Unless we solve the problems encountered in man him- self, the outlook is dark, indeed, and it may even be questioned whether our civilization will endure.” This was said recently in an atmosphere of science by one of a board of trustees named by the National Academy of Sciences to collect and administer a national fund for the support of research in pure science. The speaker sub- scribed to the thought that “science carries within it not only the seeds of its own destruction but the seeds of its own salvation.” Therefore, he said, he was optimistic; he proposed toward salvation more knowledge, especially scientific knowledge of human behavior. His optimism, contemplating a social organism with million-minded knowledge and power, would appear to rest on the as- sumption that knowledge increases wisdom. Yet the problem, as he himself had stated it, was that knowledge already has far outrun human wisdom. A. Holiday for Science VERY other variety of the theme is pessimistic. Re- ligion, advancing the claims of faith against reason, complains of scientisr that it absorbs man’s idea of God and leaves him spiritually desolate. It takes away his beautiful myths, the inner truth of them along with the tale; it has made him to regard himself as an ascending beast, responsible only to his wayward will; it has de- livered him in bondage to his senses and reason, with all of life that proceeds from the heart left out and no way to satisfy the transcendental cravings of the spirit. Among ardent religionists and modern mystics are those who propose a science holiday for so long as may be THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | 2 // oe “4 JP bac necessary to restore the lost prestige of the soul. Some would make it forever, wishing for mankind a return to the Middle Ages, when faith and reason were reconciled in one body of knowledge, and human thought reached to heaven. Yet even these will speak of a science of religion, a science of morals, ascience of ethics; and theirscience holiday would turn out to be a selective suppression. They would doubt- less wish to keep alive the sciences that pertain to hygiene and medicine and perhaps as much of the science of biology as could be limited to plant and animal life. They would admit astronomy and orthodox philosophy as belonging to the tradition of classical learning. Mathematics, that once had equal rights in that estate, would have first to be puri- fied, because it has latterly been a powerful tool in the hands of the profane. Zones free and forbidden would be necessary in chemistry, a little of which is i needful to medicine. This, of s course, leads to hopeless confusion. It is not science they are talking about. Only certain effects of science are deemed sinis- ter. In any case, new knowledge of a kind to in- crease man’s ecstasy of self- extension in power on earth. The forebod- ing of the Prt scientist is that with too much knowledge man may be tempted to de- stroy his civili- zation. What will save him is wisdom. Religion’s fore- boding is that with too much knowledge he will destroy his soul. All that can save him is faith. It is true that knowledge will alter man’s ways of think- ing about Nature and God. That has nothing whatever to do with his religious feeling, which, though it may be intel- lectualized, has not its source in the intellect. Great scientists have been believers and nonbelievers, always in the individual case for a reason that could not be given. Faraday, who captured and delivered to inventive man- kind the force of electro-magnetism, belonged to a small sect that hired no preachers; and if the world where his fame was had wanted to find him on Sunday it would have been obliged to look for him in the pulpit of a little church in some unheard-of village, preaching a sermon on the soul. April 28,1928 By Garet Garrett ILLUSTRATED Br WYNCIE KING Steinmetz, a recent worker in the field opened by Fara- day, once drew a map to represent the idea of sequence in the wave phenomena of cosmic energy and so divided it into octaves that it suggested the keyboard of an organ. Other scientists, seeing it, wished copies of it and so it got scattered around. / A man at the top of a great private research laboratory accidentally turns up his copy in the way of looking for something else and thinks you may be interested. Beneath the chart is a typed text, pasted on: “Did Steinmetz write this?’’ “No,” he says. ‘“‘I did that.” The text for the keyboard will be found at the bottom of page 110. Some heavenly creatures once came calling on Ezekiel in a vision. Each one of them had four faces—cherub, lion, ox and eagle—and they were in other details wonderful. But Ezekiel particularly noticed their celestial motor ve- hicle. The rims of its wheels were high and dreadful, set with eyes, and: ‘‘The appearance of the wheels and their work was like unto the color of a beryl; and they four had one likeness; and their appearance and their work was as it were a wheel in the middle of a wheel. When they went, they went upon their four sides; and they turned

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OOPS ET FEES ID not when they went.”’ He concluded that the spirit of the creatures was in the wheels You would hardly expect a prophet to seize at a glance the physical principle of a four- sided wheel that seemed to go on its four sides without turning. That principle may yet be discovered. If this ever happens we shall call it science. But with that kind of wheel in his hands, and though he were moving the traffic of the world by means of it, still would the true scientist admit rationally what is stated emotionally in the negro spiritual: Ezekiel saw the wheel Way up in the middle of the air. Little wheel run by faith, Big wheel run by the grace of God, Way up in the middle of the air. Here, besides the rare wsthetic perception to make poetical use of a mechanical image, is a profound truth. Every wheel we have is a wheel within a wheel. Every wheel that runs does run by faith, though you take it to be only the faith implicit among us that the big cosmic wheel will run true and not fail. And what makes the big wheel run at all nobody knows. Do you know what happens when you turn the switch to light the house or cook the food or start the electric motor? At the power station they know many more facts about it than you know. In the laboratory they have some scientific theories about it. But at last, really, no one knows any MACHINE POWER —— ——_ a more about this force of electro-magnetism now touching our everyday existence at every point than you know yourself when you turn the switch. You know what will happen. You know what that force will do. You do not know what it is, nor does anyone else know. The Offspring of Philosophy ERTAINLY no one would hold that science is more un- religious than art—especially modern art. Yet art sup- ports the case of religion against science. This it does on wsthetic ground. The machine is making the world ugly. Machine civilization, with its standards and methods of mass production, is sunk in idolatry of a fabulous material- ism, power, wealth, success. Where is culture in this vulgar scheme? Where is Nature? But what art fears is that its own world of remembered images, ideas and relations will be swallowed up; and it cannot imagine how to create another that will contain this new reality. The world of machine civilization is set with strange forms. These are not symbols. They are direct facts, unhaunted by human experience. They have no analogies, no associations, no past. They exist for the first time originally in the present; therefore they recall nothing. That is why they are not symbols. Their mean- ing is not in them; it is outside of them, in their functions. There is no art tradition of how these machine forms may be seized by the esthetic sense and made into art forms, nor of how people may be related to them in feeling. f (o% | . THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Ruth gleaning in the fields of Boaz stands in a simple threefold relation to the universe, to the earth, to her man. She may be perceived esthetically. Art can tell her something she would not otherwise know about herself. Ruth in three ounces of rayon minding a machine for capital—how may she be perceived? That was life, and art included it. This is life, and art excludes it. Man interrogating the serpent is art material. Man interrogating the atomic table is not Art has nothing to tell him about himself. It does not see him wxsthetically, which is the only way of seeing that can justify art; and therefore it is probable that he will not see art. Neverthe less, he will see many wonders. Philosophy, too, has a case against scien- tism. This is high altitude. Philosophy once contained physical science and then set it off as a satellite. Now the moon behaves in the manner of a planet, expecting other bodies to revolve around it. Between philosophy and science, nevertheless, is a work- ing relation that cannot be broken. Whenscience cannot get any farther with facts alone, and is blocked for want of new ideas, it takes its facts to philosophy, asking for another hypothesis to fit them. Philosophy proposes a new hypoth- esis. It may or may not be true, but science, returning with it to the field of experiment, says, ‘‘Let’s behave as if it were true and see what will happen. At least we may be able to knock down some new facts.” That is gen- erally what happens. True or untrue, the hypothesis is a weapon for prizing new facts out of the unknown. Facts =" F te are required to prove it either true or untrue. The facts that prove it to be untrue may be strange enough to suggest a new hypo- thesis, and so the procedure is. All this, says philosophy, is quite right. That is as the relation should be. But when science becomes impatient with the rate of progress in the region of pure thought, where the hypothesis should come from, and enters it to find one on its own account, it very often forgets what it came for and ends by inventing a whole new system of thought, generalized from physical facts, and that is not its right business at all. It is the affair of science, says philosophy, to explore the causes of phenomena; whereas it is the affair of philosophy to consider the cause of cause. It is not for science to com- prehend philosophy, since philosophy comprehends every- thing—the whole, that is to say—and of the whole, science, for all its luminosity, is merely one part. Philosophy com- prehends also religion, art, ethics, first cause, the purpose of life and the meaning of meaning. Science, not knowing its own limitation, is likely to betray man with the delusion that an account of the universe in physical terms is an ac- count of everything in it, including himself. That is a dis- aster philosophy dreads. Here is dangerous walking for the common lay per- son. Heshall watch hisstep. Yet he may trust himself to recognize feeling in any language, and it is with feeling that philosophy argues the matter. For this purpose it takes anything it likes from religion, art or ethics, as it rightly may do, since it comprehends them; and then, as it com- prehends science also, it is in a position to scold science out of its own text It remembers many thir gs about sciences that science itself would just as soon forget. There was a great scientist who reduced the universe to a mechanisn and said, “‘In this system there is no need of a god H was right unawares. There was no need of a god ir mechanism for the reason, as it turned out, that there wa no such mechanisr It would not work and had to be thrown away. Mathemat is the scientific mind’s tool of precision Yet more than once with that tool spe “ulative science has proved the existence of a nonexistent universe Discoveries Put to Use HILOSOPHY accuses science, moreover, of idolatry and confusion. It has been heard worshiping a god named ether that had promised to explain all the myste- ries of the physical world. This god was invisible; his ex- istence could not be proved. But science said his existence was not at all important as a fact, only as an idea, and it proposed to behave as if the idea were true— proposing, therefore, to found a physical doctrine on a metaphysical assumption. At another time science has seriously con- sidered matter to be nothing but a series of holes in ar imaginary medium. First it tries to explain the unknown by the known; then it proposes to explain the known by the unknown. There seems one heroic solution. It occurs even to the stupidity of the lay person. The world is toc complicated. That appears to be the trouble. So why not take it that both Berkeley and Hobbes were right One reasoned away matter; the other reasoned away mind. In that case there is neither mind nor matter, neither materiality nor imma- teriality. There is Ss nothing left to explain. Nothing exists. Then science perhaps could make a world fit for human understanding. Now science, in- jured in its feelings, will be heard from in its own case. In the ‘ first place, if it were stupid it would not have this immense au- thority to be chal lenged. There is a certain structure. At the top is speculative science. There the mind is intellectually naive pur- posefully. It will take anything to be true, or one and the same thing to be ~\ both true and untrue or neither truc \ nor untrue. This is the mind that may say: “‘ We \ know by our senses that the world is \ round. But let us suppose it is flat —_— and look at it that way.” It is perhaps unfortunate that what happens in this region of thought be- comes audible. No matter. From a beam of light passing for the thousand and first time through a prism, from the chance contact of two pieces of substance or from one instant of irrational curiosity, may come a fact that will open suddenly a whole vista of strange knowledge. This is discovery and there is no technic of it. Galileo in a cathedral, gazing at the swinging lamps, perhaps because he was bored, discovered the law of the pendulum. This was of no practical use whatever. Merely a fact. Then someone invented a clock—all but one troublesome detail. How could the revolutions of its wheels be regulated? Ah, the pendulum! Many years ago a physicist named Lagrange might hav« been seen in his laboratory playing with a stretched string that had been loaded with tiny weights at equal intervals He would have said he was trying to make a mathematical analysis of the behavior of mechanically vibrating bodies He noted certain facts of phenomena, gave them large names and reduced them to a generalization that had no relation whatever to anything real that people were then wanting. Later the telephone was invented. People did want that; and having found how convenient it was in the neighbor hood, they wished to extend it over wide areas. Then the problem of how to transmit electrical vibrations long dis- tances over a tiny wire. In the search for a solution of this problem Lagrange’s work was remembered. In view of anal- ogies discovered since his time between the behavior of me- chanically and electrically vibrating bodies, what did those little weights on his string suggest? A device now called the loading coil. Without loading coils along a telephone wire, behaving as the little weights behaved on the string, long-distance telephony would be practically impossible Continued on Page 110

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8 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST LOSE to quarter of a century ago I was waiting at the edi- Y, April 28,1928 ears in Sports By BOZEMAN BULGER helped organize the present Southern League in 1901 and had been the sporting editor of the Birmingham torial door to the old Eve- ning World office in New York, hankering to be a great political writer. A week before, I had received a bonus of five dollars for an interview with William J. Bryan—just returned frorn Russia — on the Kishinef massacres and thought I was all set for a regular job. I was determined not to dis- close the fact that I had been a sporting editor down South. Itseemed so terribly inconsequential. Finally a smiling young man came out—not the great editor I had expected. “I’m Vincent Treanor,” he announced, “‘in charge of the sporting desk. I was down in Perry’s awhile ago and heard you give Tim O’Brien the recipe for mak- ing a real old-fashioned egg- nog. It sounded good and tasted even better. What’s on your mind?” To him I confessed my ambition, and thought I had scored a point when he told me that he had once heard my father make a Fourth of July address at Tammany Age-Herald. This was a side line, though. I was also night editor and wrote the baseball story in the after- noon just because I liked it. Among my other boyish activities I had given away the franchise of the Bir- mingham club to a group of men because I thought them good fellows. The club is now worth around $200,000. That will give the present- day fan an idea of how un- important were regarded twenty-five years ago. For years I actually felt embarrassed at telling anybody I was a sporting editor. My aim, influenced perhaps by my father’s friends, was what I then considered higher. Within my time of dis- covering, exploiting and joshing heroes, the space devoted to sports has in- creased from a bare two col- umns in some newspapers toeight pages. The editorial staff of a metropolitan sports department is now sports Hall. Instead, he inquired rather abruptly, “Do you know anything about the spitball, this new curve that Jack Chesbro is pitching?” I admitted that I did—that I had really experimented with it myself. It developed in a moment that my political writing ambition had suffered a setback in advance. ROWN BROTHERS, WN. Y. ¢ A Neat Fortune Given Away tana in a group of baseball writers who had been touring in the South witha New York team, including the late Allen Sangree and the late Langdon Smith, author of the famous poem Evolution, or the Tadpole and the Fish, had written Treanor a note telling him: ‘A young fellow from Alabama who understands baseball is coming to see you. You might be able to use him as a sports writer.” “‘Come in here and talk to me,”’ Treanor directed. ‘‘I’d like to have you see Clarke Griffith and get photographs of the positions of a pitcher’s hand in throwing the spitball. Then you write a story about it.”” I hesitated, still clinging to my idea of writ- ing politics. ‘‘Everybody knows about polities,’ he told me, “but dog- goned few know about the spit- ball. In this town Jack Ches- bro is a much more important man than Will- iam J. Bryan. You can make more money writing about him.” I learned that the Evening World had been waiting for two years to get a man to write Fence-Busting Young Mike Donltin When Tris Speaker Was Young and the Boston Red Sox Were Champions baseball regularly. Imagine that! Nowadays each paper has from two tofour. Treanor was really testing my knowl- edge of the game, though I didn’t realize it. Having known Clarke Grif- fith for a long time, I bustled up to the office of the New York American League club, then called the Highlanders. I pro- cured the photographs quickly and rushed back to the Eve- ning World, where I elabo- rately explained the principles of the spitter as distinguished from the ordinary curve which takes its spin from the tips of the fingers. The spitter, you know, slides off the finger tips by the use of saliva as a lubri- twice as large as the entire staff of the first daily news- paper on which I worked, including the editor and the owner. Evolution of this news- paper feature has changed the old “sporting editor’’ into a ‘sports editor.”” He is now an executive, no longer a writer. Sports Make a Hit O FORTIFY my own impres- sion and consequent statements, I checked up with the foreman of one of the New York newspaper composing rooms the other day and learned that more columns of mat- ter are now devoted to sports than to any other class of news printed. Long ago it passed the market and financial pages, and rivals the gen- eral report of current events. Within my personal acquaintance there are four sports writers, for- merly earning no more than fifty dollars a week, who now pay taxes COPYRIGHT BY BROWN BROTHERS, N. Y, ¢ cant and takes its wabbling direction from the thumb. “You’re hired,” I was told, “at thirty-five dollars a week.” With a bank roll worn down to twenty dollars and a wife and baby waiting uptown to hear the news of my New York triumph, I broke the running-broad-jump record for the telephone booth, there to be initiated in the most hu- miliating manner. The office boys, according to years-old usage, had filled the concave top of the stool with ice water, which I promptly sat in. All new men were initiated that way. Another bit of office humor in those days was always dis- played when a writer went on his first trip out of town. While the self-conscious young man was bidding everybody good-by, an office boy would cover the door knob with pre- pared mustard from the office restaurant. The climax of the farewell was to grab that door knob and get a handful. This had a most chastening effect on the noisy exit. They don’t haze the new men in the newspaper offices any more, and I am sorry for it. The reason I could write familiarly of baseball then was that I had been a fairly good amateur pitcher; had been manager of a semiprofessional team down South; had The Late Christy Mathewson as a Recruit From Bucknell College, and a Younger John McGraw on incomes of more than $25,000. Better to illustrate the growth of baseball, for example, as a definite factor in civic life—when the first World’s Series was played in 1903 it was with difficulty that the municipal authorities were persuaded to give it a tumble, as we would say on the sports pages. In 1924, when the New York Giants and the Washington Senators played for the world’s championship, the President of the United States threw out the first ball. He also attended every game played in Washington. Moreover, Mr. Coolidge had his picture taken with the players of both clubs grouped about him. President Harding once owned a ball club. Going through years of newspaper clippings, I find a three-inch notice—the largest of the lot, by the way—de- voted to an announcement of the death of King Kelly, the greatest ball player of his day, also responsible for the fa- mous cry of ‘‘Slide, Kelly, slide!” Two years ago the front pages of metropolitan newspa- pers were filled with alarming stories of the sudden illness of Babe Ruth. That incident got much more prominence than a proposed settlement of the French financial situa- tion, an international disarmament scheme and a governor's message to a state assembly.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 9 That observation is not a figure of speech. We measured the space as well as the sensation horse power of the headlines. Besides, there were many action photographs of Ruth and one of a line of street urchins waiting outside the hospital. I ven- ture the opinion right here that today more members of the finance com- mittees in the House and Senate at Washington know the latest home- run record of Babe Ruth than could tell you the actual indebtedness of France. In the winter of 1926-1927 there was an unsubstantiated charge that Tris Speaker and Ty Cobb had been guilty of some misconduct in baseball many years ago. This aroused such intense public interest and indigna- tion that an effort was made by two or three congressmen to take the mat- ter up on the floor of the House of Representatives. Several newspapers in New York and others throughout the country printed the complete stenographic would get into argument ir and after betting large sums of mone would telephone for the sporting ed itor to come around and sett!s I remember one night two excite mer calling at the I e ft have dispute settled as to whether the tortionists in a circu rea } } Snake Oli to make them supple It took nearly a week to get circus man—and then he flippant wrote that the contort ymnists buzzard grease. There was no such thing a ing staff then. On the very big pape the sporting editor had an assis but it was the function of the editor himself to write all the stories and decide all the bets. He had to be ar expert on baseball, racing, boxing fight , gy he I rir ted football, bicycling, chicken and poker. Whatever the paper was accepted as final At that time the Cincinnati En quirer was the supreme authority and appeals went te the sporting editor of that paper, its two most famous report of the testimony before Judge puor Landis, the baseball commissioner, paying telegraph tolls on more than eight solid columns of matter. It drew the same promi- nence and space as a President’s message. Another evidence of growth: When I first began writing baseball the Associated Press limited its reports of games to the bare score. That is really why the newspapers en- gaged experienced writers to cover these events in detail. Within the past few years the conservative Associated Press has introduced a complete sports-news service, even to winter gossip, and so have the United Press, the Inter- national News and other news-gathering agencies. This has not lessened the number of special writers. In fact they have increased. The Final Authority on Sporting Events Y FIRST chance for a sports career came in the fall of 1898, when I was working as a clerk in the state legis- lature in Montgomery, Alabama. There was to be a big football game there between Sewanee and Auburn, an event ranking in importance, comparatively, with Yale and Princeton in the East. My brother was on the Auburn team, which had John Heisman, later nationally famous, as a coach. Robert McDavid, correspondent for the Atlanta Constitution and later secretary of state, had orders for a complete story of the game. Incredible as it may sound now, there wasn’t a newspaperman in the state capital—with the legislature in session, too—who knew how to write a football game. The late Sewell Haggard, then a correspondent and after- ward editor of several metropolitan and English magazines, knew that I had played football on a scrub team and told McDavid about it. ““You don’t have to know how to write,’’ McDavid told me. “If you understand the game and will merely put down the plays on a pad of paper, we will make a story out BY BROWN BROTHERS, N. Y. ( Ain Overflow Crowd, of About 1904, Watches the Navy Near the Army's Goal of it and I will see that you get ten dollars. I can’t find a man in town who can do it and there isn’t time to have one brought on.” Heisman agreed to let me stick right by his side, but I didn’t—that is, all the time. I was so innocently intent on putting down the most inconsequential details that I ran up and down that field until my tongue was hanging. But I got all those plays, and with such average accuracy that Heisman later used my notes to figure out gains and losses of ground. McDavid fixed up a nice flowing lead which I admired greatly and the next day I saw my first sporting story—as dreary as it was—in print. I wonder if any newspaperman ever forgot that thrill of seeing his first effort in cold type. No, he couldn’t. The local Montgomery papers carried stories of about 500 words which McDavid helped them put together. To- day a game of similar importance would get from two to three columns in the Montgomery Advertiser and a lot of feature stuff besides. ah When the legislature adjourned, Hag- gard got me a job on the Birmingham Age-Herald at ten dollars a week and I’m not so sure that I wasn’t overpaid. The sports editor of today isn’t what he used to be. In 1899 we were called sporting editors, the title carrying with it the suggestion that anything of a sporting nature whatso- ever was our meat. One of the sporting editor’s duties was to settle all bets, whether related to sports or not. Often men authorities being Harry Weldon and then Ren Mulford. In the East, the recognized authority was the New York Sun—and, of course, the Police Gazette, with its ac- companying photograph of the town’s sporting barber Testing the Knowledge of the Readers HE public, for some reason, had the firm belief that a sporting editor knew everything or could find out or a moment’s notice. Today the fans are so well informed that they frequently call up to test the sporting editor's knowledge rather than to increase their own Undoubtedly the fans have a better technical knowledg« of baseball than any other sport. A writer may make a careless error in the description of most any other event but he had better not make the slightest mistake in base- ball or his desk will be piled with indignant and sarcastic letters. A few years ago one of the leading magazines ran a fic- tion baseball story. In an unimportant part of the plot the author became entangled in the playing of an inning and wound it up with four men being put out instead of three. The ed- itor more than 100 from fans, jubilantly tion to the slip. In desperation, he finally reprinted that section of the story with the rather in- that the purposely received letters calling atten- explanation had been as to test watchful- He then con- genious mistake made so ness of the fans. gratulated them on their keen knowledge of the game. Being without a league ball club that first year in Birmingham, Continued on Page 186 FROM KEYSTONE VIEW CO., INC., N.Y. C. Roger Bresnahan at Batting Practice Mathewson at Bat at the Polo Grounds In Circle—Ty Cobb When His Speed Was Burning Up the American League

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F 8 bs THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 California hills called him, was nearly seventy be- fore he caught a good-luck ticket. It was time. “When you go back China?” pests would ask, reminding poor old Hum of his hopeless heart’s desire and recalling a home stake that had vanished with a busted Chinese bank. ““Nebber go back China. What you want? Better you go 'way from my kitchin. All time talkee talkee talkee. Hully damn!” Before Hum Ding had left China to begin his personal conquest of California, the neighbors had rallied at his father’s house with advice: ‘‘There are riches in the Cali- fornia land, and where men feast even dogs get fat.” Continuing this theme, a slant-eyed recruiting agent for a labor contractor crouched in a thatched hut on the shore of the Homeless Sea and made converts: ‘In the springtime of life must the seeds be planted to insure for old age a harvest of peace. Why plant the seeds of happiness in this barren soil? Tons of gold remain in the hills of the barbarians’ country. Follow me and ye shall gain wealth.” ‘‘& man with money speaks the truth.” “‘Aye, but the head of a snake cannot creep without a body. He needs us, perhaps, for his own ends.” “A crooked-mouthed trumpet player forever creates discord.”’ ‘But you cannot quench your thirst by looking at a plum tree.” ‘True enough, but the traveler is in trouble all the time.” ‘**Gold cures trouble,’” Hum Ding decided. ‘‘I, for one, will go to the barbarian land and seek my fortune.” He led a rush which resulted in a dozen new recruits for the labor contractor. ‘Say nothing of my success,"’” Hum Ding advised his father. “A rich man living on a mountain top will be visited by relatives coming for a thousand miles. We are to be rich.” ‘“*Meanwhile,”” observed the paternal parent of Hum Ding, “I shall continue to work for copper wages until you return with your gold. If I am diligent the rice field will not be lazy, and we shall live. Of three roads, choose the middle one. Retain your umbrella even when the weather is fine. Seek thy fortune, give no thought to me. Peace in a thatched hut—that is happiness. My son, I await your returning.” Hum Ding halted in his journey for a while in a port on the China Sea, virtually a prisoner of the labor contractor with whom he had signed on for a journey to the United States. He was a prisoner because he had pledged his word to accompany the slaver, but while the last consignments of the human cargo were accumulating he was free to roam at will through the labyrinth of humanity which for cen- turies had congested the great port. Here he saw strange sights and learned strange things. He saw a sneak thief with greased body packing his queue with needles to render his capture more difficult. He stood HOMING OF By HUGH WILEY UM DING, or Humdinger, as the he men of the ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY J. SOULEWN “In the Springtime of Life Must the Seeds be Planted to Insure for Old Age a Harvest of Peace. Why Plant the Seeds of Happiness in This Barren Soil? Tons of Goid Remain in the Hills of the Barbarians’ Country. Follow Me and Ye Shall Gain Weaith"’ on Kwanyin Hill beyond the North Gate and saw a funeral procession carrying the white lotus as a badge of mourning, with a sprig of growing bamboo to signify that the soul of the departed would sprout again in another world; and this procession moved toward the field of graves which extends up the slope to the White Cloud Hills. Professional mourners, dogs of the devil, wearing white sheets over their shoulders, wept real tears and howled continually except when their mourning changed quickly to a smile and a nod to some passing acquaintance. He saw the execution of a pirate captured on the West River. The captive was given an opiate and made to kneel. His neck was drawn out with a rope. A sword flashed in a golf stroke and the execution was over. Gambling seemed as much part of the local life as breath- ing. Cricket combats, scorpions and lizards; turtles racing under the impulse of glowing coals in canisters on their shells. Cockroaches drunk with sugar and alcohol, with partisans betting as to which side of a line the inebriated insect would fall. Betting on the number of seeds in an orange, after their copper cash had gone and when the gambling houses were therefore closed to them. Men bet- ting their ragged raiment and losing it; then, naked and hungry, signing on with the slaver as companions for Hum Ding and the other hillmen of the labor crew. Here in this rich field of human distress the slaver made quick work of assembling his cargo. At the hour when the ship sailed, Hum Ding realized that the one ambition of his heart was to return to the land of his birth. Through the long succession of troubled years which followed, his desire to return to China became more intense. “Until tomorrow becomes yesterday men will be blind to the good fortune of the present,” he reflected. Late on the evening of his departure from his homeland, seated near a rice kettle for one brief hour on deck, he saw a glimmering light fade from a headland to the west, and that was the last he saw of China for more than fifty years. “Wealth and peace await us in the new land,’’ some un- fortunate optimist predicted, writhing in the tortures of the ship’s hold, en route to the promised land. “It is a land of peace and plenty. Evil days come not, and every man discovers a haven of tranquillity.” Among other items of interest noted during the week of Hum Ding’s arrival in his California haven, the criminal calendar recorded the forfeiture of the bail bonds of Chung Yung, Ah Tuey, Ah Yum, Ah Tim and twelve or fifteen more alleged felons. Chung Wong was shot in Washington Alley. Ah Hee, alias Cockeye, sentenced for six months, stabbed a jailer to make it all worth while. The play at the Chinese theater ended with three real murders. Yow Mow from San Luis Obispo failed to awaken after a banquet, after which Sam Yit, proprietor of the restaurant on Du- pont Street, was murdered by another guest. Five Chinese suicides preferred to beat the game in their own way. Lotteries, auctions, hoodlums, escaped crimi- nals, a barrage of bricks and clubs, and plenty of blood- shed formed a maelstrom of activity under which, in a basement below the kitchen under the stage of the Grand Theater, Hum Ding found refuge. Below the stage of the Grand Theater was a kitchen for the gambling rooms. The rest of the space was divided into two rows of rooms from east to west with passages in the rear from one end to the other. There was a passage through the room under the stage. The way from the audience room of the theater to these rooms was barred with a heavy plank-and-iron door. The gambling rooms under the audience room had an exit through plank-and-iron doors, and from the west, under the dressing rooms, through similar barriers. For a while Hum Ding helped the cooks in the gambling- room kitchen. Life seemed to be hedged about by iron- barred doors. But after a year in this refuge, Hum Ding, attaining luck and some degree of culinary skill, was sent as a cook to a new employer on a mountain ranch. Here, by comparison, save for its loneliness, was paradise and peace. True to form, Hum Ding’s earthly paradise hit the rocks shortly after he discovered its beauties. The ranch went broke, but the financial disaster suffered by the rancher failed to dislodge Hum Ding from his six-by-eight sanc- tuary adjoining the ranch kitchen. He liked his room be- cause it was small enough to get around in. Ten feet from the kitchen, under a shed, a two-inch pipe dribbled into a tin can the collected waters of a hillside spring which seeped through the gravel a hundred feet up a cool and shaded ravine in the red-hill country. Search for a more definite outlet of the spring had been unavailing and it had been abandoned; but summer and winter, without appreciable variation, the water supply in the two-inch pipe, emptying into the spring house back of Hum Ding’s kitchen, ran cold and clear.

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PET eae THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 After some years of easy living with hard luck, and ra- tions enough to add a mere twenty pounds to his weight, the proprietor of the mountain ranch hit pay dirt in a proj- ect where, by retailing the local rough stuff of life at city prices, he became a going concern. The mountain ranch was turned into a summer resort. Then for the first time since he had arrived at the place, Hum Ding got some wages from his employer at the end of the year. With money in his pocket, he felt justified in be- ginning a series of calculations in an endeavor to discover just how soon he might have enough wealth to justify his return to China. Ten thousand dollars was the sum of his ambition, and the clicking beads of his abacus revealed that he would be ninety years old before the ten-spot could be accumulated. Hum Ding felt that the results were dis- couraging. Living to be ninety seemed to be a risky busi- ness. He felt that seventy was about the best he could do, and transferring obligation, he disclaimed responsibility for any tricks that life might play on him after that age. “Time is like an arrow. Unless I make haste with my fortune my bones must lie in this barbarian land.” Then, forgetting his helplessness, he sought deliberately to enjoy the tranquillity of his surroundings. He compared his present status with the perils of his former days and was content until, into the even program of his life, came a series of annoying interruptions which left nothing settled in his march to wealth and ease. Lady hikers craved early breakfasts; delayed couples came in late for supper; and when it seemed that solitude was most precious, chattering humans came to his kitchen and insisted on talking. ‘‘A grain of sand can hide a moun- tain.”’ Except for one great tie which bound him to his job, the weight of the chattering tongues would have battered him loose from it. “‘Well, the big fish shun clear water. I will submit to these trifling annoyances without complaint. Presently the winter will come and then there will be an end to these talking men.” He employed himself with a new set of calculations on his cold-blooded abacus, but the results yielded no encour- agement. He con- firmed the fact “‘Here you are, Humdinger—-see can you read them chicken tracks.” Hum Ding took the paper and stored it in his bedroom. He noted that a draft of air was coming in through a loose window and made haste to chink up the crack with a dis- carded necktie which some tripper had abandoned. That night, when the camp was quiet, following his usual! routine, Hum Ding lighted a candle and made his way to the little spring house near the kitchen, where the two-inch pipe dribbled the water supply from the distant spring The water flowing from the pipe plunged into an empty coffee can which was suspended by a bent wire looped over the pipe. The water, icy cold, flowed over the edge of this tin into a tank wherein were submerged half a dozen stone- ware jars containing some of the more perishable stores from Hum Ding’s kitchen. Two or three tame carp swam in the dark corners of the pool, but Hum Ding paid no attention to these emergency rations. He lifted the coffee tin by its wire bail from the end of the water pipe, and after pouring most of its liquid contents into the pool, he carried the tin to his room. He set the coffee tin on a rickety table against the kitchen wall of his kennel, and from beneath the straw tick on his bed he fished a tightly corked whisky flask half filled with quicksilver. He poured a jigger of quicksilver into the water remaining in the coffee tin. Thereafter for half an hour he sat on his bed shaking the quicksilver around in the bottom of the tin. After this, with a nice skill which spoke of long practice, he tilted the coffee tin until nearly all of the remaining water escaped and with it a heavy sediment of black sand. The quicksilver in the bottom of the tin seemed to be more sluggish now than it had been in the whisky flask. He held a piece of buckskin in his left hand and poured the lagging quicksilver into it out of the coffee tin. Deftly he picked up the four corners of the buckskin and from the pouch so made he squeezed the quicksilver out into a little China bowl. From beneath another section of his straw tick he dragged out a polished teakwood case in which was stored a set of that he must needs live to be ninety to enable him to save enough to jus- tify his return to his home. He dreamed of his home in Chinaand he felt the pull of some instinct which drove him to achievement which would result in a tranquil grave in the land of his fathers. For a moment then he questioned the impulse which drove him to re- turn. He reflected that for half of each year he was at peace, and that through the Sierra winters, when no one could ap- proach the ranch, life held those happy things which gold could not purchase. “T am poor by condition, but by ambition I am rich. An intelli- gent man recog- nizes the will of heaven. Without hills to climb, there would be no green valleys.” Hum Ding’s soliloquy was in- terrupted by the arrival of one of the stage drivers, who handed him a Chinese news- paper. Arriving in San Francisco Late in the Afternoon, Hum Ding Walked From the Ferry Building to Grant Avenue gold scales. Into the pan of the gold scales, with an old toothbrush, he scraped a few thin flakes of gold and some traces of moistened yellow dust from the buckskin throug! which the quicksilver had been squeezed. He ran the brass weight out with its suspending thread on the arm of the gold scale and read the results of the week ear He grunted an acknowledgment of his reward in a tone, as if to question the justice of mortal “Not thlee dollah. Nevah ketchun time all same. Ketchum two dollah sickty-fi cent From under his bed he dragged one of a pair of rubbe boots. The foot of the boot was filled wit! metning that added greatly to its weight, and into this storage place Hum Ding carefully brushed the dust and flakes of go from the pan of the little gold scale He put his gear away then and indulged in a review of problem in arithmetic. He discovered that he had r chance in a million of getting home before old age overtook him. The gold supply was a constant two dollars an sixty-five cents a week. He had been reaping this harvest of two dollars and sixty-five cents every week since ‘the second year after he had arrived at the mountain ranct He had searched in vain for the source of the gold. He had sought in vain to increase the profits by increasing the flow of the spring. The gold supply was a fixed quantity, two dollars and sixty-five cents a week, and more than once t had held him to his job in spite of the chattering tourists and all the other ills to which a downtrod cook is heir Now there was no doubt in his mind about his chance of getting home before he died. He would die here in the land of the foreign devils. Adding to death’s discomfort, there was the question of his tong’s integrity relative to his bones. Some of the older members of the outfit had been buried in San Francisco in spite of the tong’s obligation to ship the remains or the remaining fragments of its dead members to China. Well, the hour was late. Al] these troublesome things could rest until] tomorrow in the jug- gling hands of various doubtful gods One bright thought lingered to heal the wounded day. Earthly peace of a sort would presently arrive with its balm, because within another month all the chat- tering tourists would retreat to the city before the winter snows. The ranch would then enjoy something approximating the silence which it had known for centuries before men had found it ‘*Heaven is away high in the sky, but this room nis of mine is here be- low, and save for what may be un- worthy ambitions, it isheaven enough for one who de- serves less.” When all the tasks of the day had been per- formed, Hum Ding found time to open the Chinese news- paper which had come up from San Francisco One page of it was crowded with ad- vertisements re- peated from week to week and never varying in their text—herb doc- tors. A second page of advertising matter held forth glittering oppor- tunities to buy dollar watches for ninety-eight cents, cigars, hair oil, vegetable seeds, overalls and shoes. Local items of a Continued on Page i174

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ILLUSTRATED NE of the strangest ideas that find expression in the flow of careless conversation is that finance is a dry subject. Those who really feel that way must have a static conception of stocks and bonds and markets; finance must represent to them a fixed, unchanging thing. Little do they realize that it is beat upon by fashions and fevers and the myriad forces that mold the living organism of human society. Thus in this changing world the wheel of time and fortune has turned again, and there now emerges, suddenly and dramatically, the newest phenomenon of the market place—the investment trust. It is seized upon like wildfire and promises to play a significant réle in future develop- ment. A few years ago it was practically unknown, under that name at least, in this country. But now so-called in- vestment trusts spring into being almost daily; their offerings are avidly absorbed by the public, which begs for more. Six years ago the investment trust was a stranger here; since that time the public has subscribed nearly $750,000,- 000, a sum not far below the aggregate accumulated in sixty years of development of similar mechanisms in Great Britain. No wonder the assertion is made that in ten— possibly even in five—years American investment trusts will have total assets of $10,000,000,000. A public official before a legislative committee said there were 1500 such concerns in his state; another official corrected him and said there were only 100. Perhaps there are only fifty or twenty; no one can count or follow such an outburst of new companies. Br WYNCIE THE SATURDAY EVENING POST KING April 28,1928 WETICE Ibert W. Altwood to the individual. In Great Britain, at least, there are no restrictions, as with AS YET our savings banks and insurance companies, i to a limited list of bonds, and the manage- THE INVESTMEN ment can shift the composition of the port- TRUST 1s HELD folio, as the group of holdings is known, APPLY 7O BANKS (| TRUST COMPANIES ANO INSURANCE COMPANIES One of the first of the American investment trusts showed only a mediocre growth until three or four years ago. For some time its resources hovered around $500,000; now this and its asso- ciate companies boast of about $90,000,000. Another company formed more recently sold to more than 5000 investors four series of shares amounting to $10,000,000 within less than five months of its inception. It is barely five years since those who believed that this British investment device could be adapted to American conditions were having the utmost difficulty in educating the public to take even the slightest interest in such a novelty. Now the pendulum has swung so far in the other direction that the pressing need is for rigid discrimination, severe analysis and extreme caution. In more than twenty years of experience as a financial writer I have rarely if ever seen a new development take hold so rapidly or enlist the support and eager interest of such a variety of people. Investors themselves are clamor- ing for investment-trust securities, and are practically com- pelling trust companies, banks, investment banking houses and brokerage firms to organize them. At the other ex- treme, the student is seeking to place the investment trust in the financial scheme, to find out what it is all about. Diversification Made Easy N BETWEEN are those who are organizing or thinking of organizing an investment trust. They range from the greatest of the country’s industrialists and bankers down to the pettiest of small-time promoters, the fly-by-night opportunists who hop from one money-getting device to another while the hopping is good. Motives range from actual altruism all the way down to the most sinister desire to separate the public from its money while the separating lasts. There are invest- ment trusts to work the investor and there are others to work for him. The idea, which originated in Belgium and Switzerland but has been most highly developed in Dundee, Edinburgh and London, is simplicity itself, and therefore makes a swift, direct ap- peal. The funds of numerous subscribers or par- ticipants are combined and invested by skilled managers with the object of not only obtaining safety of principal through diversification of risk but higher returns than would be available OOwWN BY NO SUCH LAWS AS as circumstances warrant. It was logical that we should adopt or adapt sooner or later this European idea, just as we have incorporated in our Fed- eral Reserve banking and joint-stock land- banking systems other financial principles from abroad. It was a natural part of the spreading out of our markets. The array, the variety of securi- ties is now so great, so complex, that the individual in- vestor is confused. He does not know how to choose among so many; it is natural for him to turn to those who profess expertness in choosing for him. The investment trust has come along at the very time when the investor wished to shift responsibility but did not know how or where to shift it. There are said to be several hundred thousand seasoned, mar- ketable securities in the world. Then, too, the investor has read and heard much about the advantages of not putting all his eggs in one basket; the investment trust looks like a positive method of avoiding that danger; he receives a single share or certificate instead of many, and the managers do the diversifying. A Post-War Clientele HEN, too, the investor has read and heard much about the fortunes made from buying common stocks. But he is timid about placing his small savings in a few common stocks after years of rising prices. But why not turn the job over to experts, to professionals? This is the age of specialization. One goes to a lawyer for legal advice and to a doctor for medical counsel. Why not go to an investment trust for investment assistance? It boldly proclaims specialization and diversification, in both of which the in- vestor believes. He is sorely perplexed on his own ac- count; here seems to be a way out. It is only since the war that the small investor has emerged as an important direct factor in our markets. Before that time there was no large class of people here to patronize such an institution as an investment trust. But in Great Britain there had long been a leisure-class group who preferred to follow a few established leaders, like Robert Fleming, instead of their own individual financial judgment. Our larger capitalists were imbued with the individualism of a pioneer country and preferred to do their own investing. But now we have veritable armies of small and moderate sized investors, most of whom are eager for fortune- building devices. Then, too, the redemption of the Liberty Bond issues throws myriads of recruits into the ranks of potential clients for the investment trust. Mellon’s oper- ations here are not wholly unlike Goschen’s famous fund- ing of the public debt, and it was at that time that the

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 k British trust company was stimulated into its great de- = velopment. Nor would one expect this country to assume a creditor 2 position without the growth of new agencies for foreign in- vestment. Most of the concerns thus far organized have placed the bulk of their funds in domestic securities, but there are exceptions to the rule. If the investor is at- tracted by the high rates of interest on foreign stocks and bonds, he feels safer in making the venture through the protecting medium of an investment trust than on his own. Then, too, it looks as if the investment trust were flourishing in part because of a favorable competitive position, perhaps temporary only, in relation to other de- vices. As yet it is free from state and Federal regulation, held down by no such rigid laws as apply to banks, trust companies and life-insurance companies. There are al- leged advantages also in respect to taxation. Yet it would be the height of folly to assume that this introduction of a British device has within it the magic to abolish investment losses and spread riches on every hand. For one thing, we cannot tell as yet to what extent it is the mere child of optimism, an expression of buoyant rising markets, an excrescence of overcapitalization and inflation of credit. Any stock-buying device, disguise it as you will under foreign names, was bound to succeed in the past few years. The investment trust may have sprung up not so much in response to the other causes mentioned but as a mere manifestation of a bumptious bull market. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say that a long- established and recognized principle has merely received a new application or twist and a current emphasis in the raging markets of the past few years. It is more the term that is novel rather than the functions, which have long been operative through other parts of our financial ma- chinery. As pointed out by Dr. Leland Rex Robinson, one of the first to introduce the British investment-trust idea, as such, in this country, the money of the American people, whether in bank deposits, trust funds or life insurance, has for decades been rendered more secure by the principle of diversification. He adds, of course, that banks, trust com- panies and insurance companies exist for other primary purposes than coéperative investment and portfolio man- agement. Yet the fire-insurance companies have of recent years afforded the discriminating investor practically all the advantages of any investment trust as such. Spreading the Eggs Around HESE companies have made very little if any return on their underwriting, but have in numerous instances built up enormous profits on the handling of their stock invest- ments. It is true that premiums paid in constitute a fund from which fire losses must eventually be met. Investment here is not the sole business, but from the stockholders’ standpoint it has proved so in effect. As premiums are paid in for three vears ahead, the unearned premium, the reserve and the companies’ own capital form a very large fund for security handling. Moreover, the managements are far more experienced and astute in such matters than many of the hastily assembled and amateur directors of new investment trusts. Fire-insurance stocks, it is true, have been very popular of late, due, no doubt, to the recognition of these very facts. Yet anyone who wanted to enthuse over the investment-trust device could have done so to his ever- lasting enrichment by purchasing fire-insurance stocks five or six years ago, before investment trusts had got under way Then, too, we have a great horde of companies selling bonds against a variety of real-estate loans, and thus qualifying, in a sense, as investment trusts. There is noth- ing new about them, and while some are good, others are very bad indeed. Locally, the building-and-loan associa- tions employ the same principle of diversification; and the Farm Loan system and the War Finance Corporation are or were examples of the same precise principle applied on a large scale by the Government itself. The extreme popularity of the investment-trust idea seems to be due to the public’s sudden realizing the merits of keeping its eggs in more than one basket. But for years this has been exemplified by the great public-utility hold- ing companies. Certainly they spread their risks to the last conceivable degree. Nor does it seem possible for the element of stability to be carried farther. Surely, if a broad charter giving the directors power to buy and sell securities of any kind constitutes an invest- ment trust, then there is nothing new about it. I have seen an eighty-page investment-trust charter which seemed to consist largely of words. Its directors cannot do a single thing which was not granted far more effectively and in fewer words to the United States Steel Corporation by the state of New Jersey on February 25, 1901. A few short paragraphs in that charter grant every conceivable power. Then, too, there are companies formerly engaged in other lines of business which are now Simon-pure invest- ment trusts, and in fact were such for a number of years before anyone even thought of a so-called investment trust. The Adams Express Co., organized in 1850, was originally in the express business, but for the past ten years has been an investment concern. The American International Cor- poration was organized during the war to engage in foreign trade, shipping and similar activities, but in the past few years has devoted its large resources solely to investments. Both these companies have or have had distinguished financiers on their boards of directors. Then, too, while the Union Pacific Railroad operates an extensive railroad system, it also owns vast amounts of common stocks in several other great separate systems, such as New York Central, Illinois Central and Baltimore and Ohio, constituting to that extent a Simon-pure investment trust in railroad common stocks. Moreover, there is the Bancitaly Corpora- tion, which, though organized originally and primarily perhaps to promote branch banking, owns hundreds of different bonds and stocks of railroads, utilities and industrials in many countries and, as a matter of public record, on a far vaster scale than any so-called investment trust. It may be objected that most of the insti- tutions and companies I have cited were not formed originally with investment the sole and primary intention. I do not see that this mat- ters. The point is that investment trusts, in fact if not in name, have long been available to the American public, and, under the control of experienced managements, their exact standing has long been known to the whole financial public. The Newest Phenomenon of the Market Piace Sesides, smaller informal private and semiprivate invest ment funds, really more similar to the early Scotc} anisms than many of the widely advertised and formalized creations of the past few years, are a \ new, this country. One such fund available to the story in general public boasts of average dividends of nearly 14 per cent for twenty years, without calling itself an investment trust, without employing salesmen and with only a mir mum of advertising. Really then what has set the financial public's imagina- tion on fire is not so much a new idea or a principle, or ever a practice. It is the sudden introduction, promotion ar as the attornev-genera! of exploitation of a name, which, New York points out, conveys the impression of more sta bility and integrity and possesses more strength than any other two words that could be chosen A Rejected Name HE real appeal then is in a symbol, a label, a term, a title. But essentially the term is a misnomer. What called an investment trust is in reality either an investment company or a mere speculative pool, a trading jack pot Large numbers are of the latter variety. But even if the in- vestment idea predominates, the correct term to apply is that of investment company or corporation; or if its or- ganization be informal, then perhaps the word “‘fund’ applies with accuracy. The reader need not be told that the great new brood of investment trusts are entirely different institutions from what are called trust companies in this country that in the early days of the American trust company, func- tions were performed quite similar to those of the new so-called investment trust. The point to make, however, is that the idea of trusteeship as understood in this country does not necessarily have any place in an investment trust so called. The essential fact is that we have borrowed a name or term from British practice and applied it wholesale to every conceivable manner of enterprise. There is danger in such a wide application of this appealing and confidence-inspiring name to a hybrid multitude of It is said grave (Continued on Page i151

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14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HE trouble,”’ said Martin Knox, president of the Board of School Trustees of Lombardy, “is that you hain’t orthodox. It’s causin’ talk.” “What,” asked Solon Breeze, teacher of the Eighth Grade in that village, “‘is orthodoxy?” Martin chuckled. ‘‘It’s doin’ everythin’ jest like your granddad done it. A woman hain’t orthodox when she uses bakin’ powder instid of sody and cream o’ tartar. That’s the general idee. You hain’t it, because you allus got a parcel of boys traipsin’ around after ye, and because you hain’t wore out a single saplin’ on’em. The cry’s goin’ up that you're pamperin’ the youth of the community.” “That,”’ said Solon, “‘is dangerous. They killed Socrates for it.”’ ‘Socrates who?” asked Mr. Knox, but did not pause for a reply. ‘‘Now mind ye, I’m fur ye, hoss, foot and ar- tillery. We got ye here to keep them young sprigginses in school and to teach ’em suthin. No- buddy else ever contrived to do it. As fur me, I don’t care a tinker’s darn how; it’s what, that I’m in- t’rested in. I hear Peewee Tub- bins passed him an examination. The like hain’t never been known. You're keepin’ ‘em in school and teachin’ ’em this and that. But there’s opposition to ye. There’s them on the school board that wants ye to git through.” “Do you advise me to quit?” asked Solon. Mr. Knox cocked a keen gray eye at the young man. ‘Kin ye stomach a rumpus’”’ he asked. “I think,” said Solon, “TI could digest a little one.” “This won't be no lit- tle one. The’ hain’t no rumpus like a school- j district rumpus, and the’ ht never was. Folks kin git up more venomosity over school elections’n they kin over line fences or quarrels amongst heirs. A school fight is a mean fight,.and if ye hain’t of a mind to fight mean, ye better pack your grip.” “Then,” said Solon, “let’s step out and shed blood and not bother with buckets. Is one allowed to bite in the clinches?” “And backbite in the grocery store,’ said Mr. Knox. ‘Shake, young feller. Now here’s how it stands: In a school fight mostly the parents is with the board, and them that pays taxes to support the schools but don’t derive no benefit is agin. But here the board’s split. The’s three fur ye and three agin ye, and me a-settin’ on the driver's seat holdin’ the team in the road. I got the decidin’ voice.” “But what follows?” “School meetin’. Two trustees to be elected. Them that’s agin ye is goin’ to try to elect two of ’em, and if they do your goose is cooked.” “I’m wondering,”’ Solon said, ‘if it’s worth while.” “Is what worth while?” ‘Making the effort,”’ said Solon. “I came here to try myself out. I wanted to find out things about me—and the Eighth Grade has taught me considerable. It has taught me, for instance, that I can do the job. I can teach those kids and make ‘em like it.” “Ter “T’ve proved that. So what’s the use getting all mussed up in a village row? It’s a large world and I can get along in it. I even venture to think there are places where I would be welcome in some capacity.” “Huh!” Mr. Knox grunted, and tl.en he snorted. He was a man capable in the line of strange noises. ‘‘ Was you lookin’ fur appreciation?” he asked. “No.” ILLUSTRATED Br By Clarence Budington Kelland STARRETT HENRIETTA McCAIG ““*Cause nobuddy ever gits it, teachers in special. Take most anybuddy you kin think of that amounted to suthin— there’s Abe Lincoln, fur instance. Did he git any apprecia- tion till after he was dead? Didn’t they try to kick him out of his job? And soon and so forth. I cal’late this here question comes down to this, Mr. Breeze: Be ye satisfied with doin’ a job fur these here harum-scarum boys, or do you want a parcel of growed folks to stand off and sling posies at ye? Is it wuth while to do a rip-snortin’ hunk of work jest fur the sake of accomplishin’ it, or must ye have **‘We Dassent Do Nothin’ That Folks in Gen’ral’ll Git Down on Us Fur,’’ Said the Wise Woodchuck hymns of praise sung fur ye so they can resound soothin’ in your ears?”’ “That,” said Solon, ‘‘was a good speech. You win.” “Then,” said Mr. Knox, ‘‘you go about your business and we'll see what’s to be contrived.” Solon got up from his chair and left the office of Mr. Knox’s hotel for the street. Hardly had he walked a dozen paces when stealthy footsteps approached from behind and he felt a crumpled paper thrust into his hand. He did not turn his head, nor did he give any outward sign that he was aware of this strange proceeding. Presently, with ostenta- tious pretense of caution, he opened the paper. All it con- tained was a small black star done in ink. Promptly he touched his right shoulder with the index finger of his left hand, thrust the paper in his mouth, chewed it to pulp and then cast it from the bridge into the river. He had received a summons from the Black Star Order! It called him immediately to the secret rendezvous of that occult organization, and the pains and penalties for dis- obedience were such as to make strong men tremble. Solon turned the next corner with intention to climb the hill on his way to the place of meeting—which was a dis- used sugar house in the maple orchard belonging to Gummy White’s father. One did not arrive at this spot by April 28,1928 theshortest route, but deviously. The supposition was that none but sworn members of the order were aware of its existence, and the secret was kept to the death. But he was delayed briefly, for a young woman came out of the bank and met him face to face—the Seventh Grade teacher, who carried on her profession in the room adjoin- ing his own. He had seen her—and heard her—on the first day of his teaching in the school. His methods, she had made evident to him, did not meet with her whole- hearted approval, and his rejoinders to her protests had not been of a character to make him dear to her. There had been a coolness since that day; she had held aloof, ignoring him when it was possible to do so and conducting herself as a very superior person when his existence must be noticed. But now she stopped. “‘T hear,” she said sharply, “‘you are going to quit.” **How news does travel!’ said Solon. “Ts it true?” “Who am I,” he asked, “to impugn your sources of information?” ““You mustn't,” she said imperiously. ‘‘ You must stay.” “T thought you spent your waking hours looking forward to the day of my downfall.” “Tf,” she said, ‘I ever think of you at all, it is when you are forced on my attention.” ‘“‘Which,”’ he said, “I gather has happened.” “Tf,”’ she said, ‘‘ you let them force you out, I don’t see how you can ever look yourself in the face again.” “I shall grow a beard and lurk in the shad- ows.” “Those boys,” she said, “adore you.” “A peculiarity,” hesaid, “which is not shared by girls, big or little.” “‘They trust you,” she said. ‘*Whither are we drift- ing?’’ Solon desired to know. “Tf you quit ’’—she put an amount of scorn into the word “quit”? which was quite astonishing “they will feel you have betrayed them. It will hurt them.’’ She hesi- tated briefly. ‘‘One may dislike a man and still re- spect him. If yougoaway now, just when those boys are depending on you, I shall despise you.” “‘A gracious alternative,” he said. ‘‘I can stay and be disliked or go and be despised.” “‘T don’t suppose you have stopped to realize there are twenty mothers here who are very grateful to you.” “*T should like to believe it,’”’ he said gravely. “Tt’s true. And you will stay?” “The matter seems to be in the hands of higher author- ity,”’ he said. ‘‘ But supposing I agree to stay —shall there be a reward—a what-do-ye-call-it?—guerdon? On the thirtieth of every month, will you agree to smile at me fora period of eleven seconds? You may continue to frown the other twenty-nine days. I am merely asking a slight break in the monotony.” “For the life of me,’’ she said viciously, “‘I can’t see how anybody can like you—even a boy.” “Some day,” he said, ‘“‘when I've lots of spare time I'll explain it to you.” “Oh!” she said, and came very close to stamping her. foot. “By the way,” he said, “‘now I come to notice it, you don’t look like school-teaching. You have more the aspect of thés dansants and caviar sandwiches and six men cutting in to the dance. How come molding the juvenile mind?”’ “To eat,”’ she said shortly. rr ec | ‘ SS

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ret ei | ‘ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 15 “The influence of food on the careers of beautiful women! Now there’s a title for a thesis.”’ “Was that a compliment?” she asked shortly. “No,” he said; “‘merely a what-do-ye-call-it.”’ “T’m sorry I stopped you,” she said. ‘“‘But it seemed necessary.” His eyes came to rest in her eyes and the quizzical light faded from them, leaving them grave—so grave and so dark that her resentment vanished for the time and another emotion took its place—an emotion which was not exactly sympathy, certainly was not admiration, which might have been curiosity, but was in reality a sort of blend of the three, with astonishment added. It was impressive. It established him as a personage. Please,”’ he said, ‘‘do not be sorry. There are not so many gracious actions in the world that one may venture to regret the very slightest of them.” “Oh!” she said, but in a very different tone from before. ““And so, Miss Seventh Grade,” he said with his old, irritating, semihumorous air, “‘you may tie a knot in your tie. You’ve done your day’s good deed.” “Good morning,” she said. A great many young men—practically every young man—would have asked if they could not accompany her. Solon did not ask. His lifted hat closed the incident. Presently she turned to look at his back as he ascended the hill, and though she would have gone to the stake before admitting it, she was distinctly nonplused. Solon, with all the cunning of an Indian, approached the sugar house and rapped upon its rickety door in a peculiar and significant manner—one rap, then a scratch with the nails, then two raps. From within an important voice called, “* Who’s rappin’ for admittance?” “One,” said Solon, “‘with the right to enter.” ‘“*What color be ye?” “Black.” ““What shape be ye?” “A oar.” “How many p’ints?” “Five.” “Enter!” He opened the door and stepped into the semidarkness of the cluttered little room, where —his eyes ““ ‘*Those Boys,’’ She Said, ‘‘Adore You" growing accustomed to the light—he made out the fig- ures of the full membership of the Black Star Order, with Woodchuck Collins in the chair. “The meetin’s opened,” said Woodchuck. “‘ The main object of this here order is to pertect its members from their enemies, and to bust in and rescue ’em if necessary. Wework secret and nobuddy ever knows what we do or how we doit. Butaunknown hand strikes terror.” 4 “Git to the p’int,” said Gummy White. “The p’int is that the ene- mies of one of the members is strikin’ at him behind his back and we got to go out and make ‘em wish they never done it. Number 21, which is Mr. Breeze, is practically surrounded. Ol’ Man Whortle and Ol’ Man Bowen is the ringleaders of this here plot to git Number 21 fired out of his job teachin’ the Eighth Grade, and what be we goin’ to do about it?” “So this,’ thought Number 21, “is the object of the meeting!”’ His heart grew warm. These boys really liked him, and underneath this boyish ritual which must make a thrilling game of the event there lay a splendid loyalty which he was well able to appre- ciate. He did not speak, but waited. “T betcha,” said Peewee Tubbins, “‘we kin make them men wisht they never was born.” ““We kin do that,”’ said Wood- chuck, “but it won’t git us no’eres. What we got to do is to keep Number 21 from gittin’ fired. We got tothink upaplot. If it don’t work, and Number 21 has to git through, then we kin take our re- venge. And mebby we won't do it! But the main idee is to keep him hangin’ onto his job.” ““You betcha,” said Banty Mor- ton. “If they, now, fire him, I betcha we kin bust up the ole school. I betcha my pa don’t want him to git through.” “‘T betcha my pa don’t want him to git through more’n yourn don’t,” said Pazzy Boomer. ‘I betcha my pa thinks he’s a better school- teacher’n anybody else does.” ““When I up and passed that ex- amination,” said Peewee Tubbins, “‘my pa he says Number 21 must be more’n human. He says Num- ber 21 ought to be president of a college or suthin’, because no other teacher ever got me to pass no ex- amination. Hesaysanybuddy that kin git me to understand arithmetic kin do miracles.” ““What be we goin’ to do about it?” asked Woodchuck. ‘We got to contrive to surround them enemies and hem ‘em in,”’ said Gummy. *“Mebby Number 21 has got some idees,”’ said Woodchuck. It was no simple situation for Solon. Here was a loyalty which was fine and unselfish, and these boys must never know that it was ‘ embarrassing to him, or that any action they might take along the imaginative lines appealing to boy- hood might prove disastrous to him. Most important of all, he must not permit them to lay up trouble for themselves. He frowned and knitted his brows. ‘‘The Black Star Order,” he said, “has got to live up to its laws.” **You betcha,” said Peewee. “*‘We Hain't a:Goin’ to Say Nothin’ Right Out, But Seein’s it’s You, We Dast TeliYou The's a Perty Pow: erful Secret Organization Behind This Petition” “‘And Number 1"’—this was Woodchuck—“ was right when he called this meeting. There is a plot, and I, as a member, am entitled to the protection of the order, or to its vengeance if the plot succeeds. But we must go slow. It seems to me the first thing to do is to find out all about the plot. We must be sure who is in it and just what they are planning. Then we must think up some way to upset their apple cart. But the order mustn't do anything to get itself into trouble.” “The main thing this here meetin’ was called together fur,’’ said Number 1, ‘“‘was to find out if you wanted to keep your job.” “You bet I do!”’ said Solon. “*Then,”’ said Number 1, “I cal’late we kin adjourn and spy around into this plot and get all set. The rules is we leave one to a time so as nobuddy’ll git onto our meetin’ place. Number 21, you come last, so you kin go fust.”’ Solon walked to the door. “I’m much obliged to the order,”’ he said. “The star will be stuck into your hand when the next meetin’s called,” said Number 1. The members of the order squatted in their places while Solon made his way back through the sugar orchard. Pee- wee, from the window, reported him as reaching the road **Now,’’ said Number 1, “‘ we kin git down to brass tacks He’s a-scairt of gittin’ us into trouble. He thinks he kin fool us into keepin’ quiet. Well, he can’t do it, nor nobudd; else neither. The order’s in this here fight to stay.’ “Yes,” said Gummy, “‘and they kin lick me with a gad every night for a year too. But I won’t—not unless I git caught at suthin’.”’ “My pa,” said Pazzy-- Number 6 — “‘says it all on this here school election, and if enough folks is fur Num- ber 21, then he can’t git fired.”’ “We kin go round gittin’ votes,”’ said Banty Morton Number 4. It was then that Number 1 hit upon his great idea. He was not Number 1 for nothing: ‘“‘Fellers, I betcha I know the thing todo. I betcha, if we kin work it, he won’t never git fired.” “Spit it out,”’ said Gummy. But Number 1 loved to work up to a climax. “‘I betcha folks’ll pay some attention to the Black Star Order then, (Continued on Page 162 depends

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“Isn't Everything Just Too Exciting?’’ ef a ¢ STUDIOUS, religious hush pervaded the shadowy interior of the university library; but Mr. Amos Parke, sitting alone at a table in one of the many aleoves, completely ignored the book spread between his elbows. Instead, his cheek on his palm, he gazed dreamily at the green shade of a reading lamp suspended within a few inches of his nose. ‘*Gosh!’’ he murmured happily. through at last.” Because one of his potential triumphs hinged upon Euro- pean history, Amos Parke’s gaze presently dropped to the printed page. Not even this reminder of a subject he de- tested-—a course he had elected under the impression that it would require little study—could depress him as he closed the history book and began inserting sheets of newly written notes into his black leather binder. At the sound of steps, a soft padding on the rubber run- ners, Parke looked up and saw two freshmen, each with a book in hand, walking past. Even from that disinterested glance he learned that one of the freshmen, before turning into the next alcove, had recognized him. A familiar dis- content stirred in Parke’s breast. This discontent pres- ently increased; for from the adjoining alcove came the sound of books dropped on the table and then, in hoarse whispers, a dialogue which fell distinctly upon the ears of Amos Parke: “Did you see that fellow we passed?” ““You mean the tali skinny one at the table?” “Yeah; know who he is?” “No.” “Don't you McMaster!” Yes, Amos Parke sourly reflected, Ed McMaster’s room- mate. The freshman intended it as a high compliment, and the identification was not a new one to Parke. It had begun in sophomore year with McMaster’s rise to prom- inence as first-string center on the varsity football squad; throughout junior fall, while McMaster’s fame increased, Amos Parke had stood pleasantly in reflected glory. This gave him importance on the campus—an importance heightened by McMaster’s election to the captaincy. Be- cause the abode of the football captain was a campus shrine, friends of McMaster gathered every afternoon and evening in the rooms he and Parke shared. Parke in this way met an athletic element in the class which otherwise would never have noticed him. It had been pleasant to know these heroes, pleasant during the past fall to sit in the room and hear a discussion of the previous Saturday's game by the Olympians themselves—a highly technical discussion of mistakes, strategies and triumphs not in- ‘luded in the press accounts. The final Saturday that season had brought victory and championship to the uni- versity; to Ed McMaster it brought All-American honors and the emblematic white sweater, after which all life recedes and levels out into undramatic plains. The light that beat upon the championship captain also illuminated his roommate; but his share, Amos Parke gradually learned, could become a disadvantage. This em- bittering knowledge had driven him weeks ago into several resolutions--resolutions to which he clung grimly as he now slapped on a drooping felt hat, thrust his arms into a limp yellow slicker and went quietly down the corkscrew iron stairway to the ground floor of the ancient library. From the front vestibule he emerged upon a campus steeped in warm March fog. His gait increased when he “I’m going to crash know him? Why, he rooms with Ed THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By DAY EDGAR ILLUSTRATED BY R. mM. CROSBY saw, by the tower clock just ahead, that it was five minutes of four. He hurried along a damp cement walk, passed under an arch and was presently manipulating a tiny brass knocker-—molded in the form of a negro mammy with arms akimbo—upon a door at the end of a corridor. A slight nervousness disturbed him. He had never felt at ease in the presence of Roy Telfair, for to Parke there was always something impressive about the editor of the university’s seriously literary magazine. And because he had more at stake today, he became unusually apprehensive as he pushed the door inward. “How are you?” Parke began. about that poem I submitted.” Roy Telfair, seated in shirt sleeves at his redwood desk, had turned; from behind shiny gold-rimmed spectacles his slow black eyes rested upon Amos Parke with imper- sonal amiability. “Will you see if it’s in that basket?” he asked. ‘‘I'll be through with this in just a minute.” Holding a strip of cracked yellow leather, he turned again to the tattered book from which rose the smell of glue, and Amos Parke bent over a wire basket filled with manuscripts. How often he had done this! For almost four years, dealing with four different editors, he had stubbornly offered his poems, each with fresh hope of success. Always, on the day appointed for contributors to call for unwanted material, he had received back his manuscript. They were humiliating occasions for Amos Parke. Especially did his cheeks burn from shame if there were other contributors present; and now, thankful that he was alone, his hands trembled among the papers as he hurried lest a second per- son should arrive. He came to the bottom of the wire basket, then scanned the manuscripts in reverse order. “Did you find it?” Roy Telfair, as Parke straightened, spoke affably, but remained occupied in arranging a heavy inkstand on top of the glued strip of leather binding. He drew back from the finished work, viewed it with gentle enthusiasm; then, rubbing his hands with a handkerchief, he faced Parke inquiringly. “The name’s Amos Parke, but I can’t find my stuff here. It’s entitled Lines to an Uncertain Lady.” “Oh, is that sonnet yours?”’ asked Telfair warmly. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know you were Amos Parke. Why, yes, we're going to use that.” From a desk drawer he drew a red folder and soon Amos Parke, almost unmanned by joy, was looking at the familiar manuscript of an extremely familiarsonnet. And yet how different it seemed now! That single sheet of white paper had acquired KH warmth, richness, significance; it fairly exuded personality. \ “I’ve marked a change here in the Lb octet,”’ Telfair was explaining. ‘‘I hope you don’t object.” Object! No, Amos did not object. They might change every line—they might cut, expand and edit i every word so long as the sonnet still ful- filled its main func- tion of getting the name of Amos Parke into public print. “I dropped in to see April 28,1928 ‘What number do you think it'll appear in?”’ Parke asked carelessly from the doorway. ‘The Commencement Number,” said Telfair about the first of June.” The best time of all, Amos Parke told himself as he hurried jubilantly toward his room. His printed name would be on library tables in the upperclassmen’s clubs, in dormitory rooms, on the town news stands; it would re- main on view during senior vacation and commencement week, when town and campus were crowded with friends and relatives. A professor in the English department would review the issue for the campus daily, and once more the combination of letters identifying Amos Parke would be spread before the people. He wanted to stop and perform a jig on the cement walk; he wanted to send a rock hilariously through the chapel window at his left, not because he disapproved of compul- sory chapel, but in natural obedience to the delightful, suffocating pressure that beat exultantly against the walls of his chest. “out m HIS pressure persisted while he took a stingingly cold shower and ran upstairs to his room. Here, clad only in plaid golf stockings and a union suit, he heard the approach of loud, familiar footsteps. The door swung open and in came Ed McMaster, one hundred and ninety- five pounds of bone, muscle and popularity. “Hello, Parkey,”’ he said breezily. ‘‘Where’ve you been all day?” “Up in the library, Ed, making an outline for that his- tory test.” McMaster settled into their biggest easy-chair; Parke, his tan shoes now on, planted one foot on a protruding drawer of the desk and began tightening the laces. “That course certainly eats into your time,”’ remarked McMaster. ‘‘Don’t see why you ever signed up for it.”’ “‘T hopped it for a gut,”” Parke explained, ‘‘and the darn thing back-fired.”’ ‘**Have you tried to get out of it?”’ “Oh, as long as I’m in it,” said Parke, changing to the other shoe, “‘I might as well stick with it till June.” **How do you stand in it so far?”’ “‘Been getting first and second groups.”’ “You have?” exclaimed McMaster, perplexed. ‘‘Then why the devil are you killing yourseif over it?” **Oh, well,’’ said Parke evasively, ‘‘I’d just as soon get a good mark as a bad one.” “I know,” conceded McMaster impatiently; ‘‘but you could slide by with a fourth or fifth group and not do any work at all.” When Amos Parke Saw the Number Typed Opposite ~ His Name He Made No Exclamation. Instead, He Turned, Pushed His Way Through the Crowd and Went Straight to His Room

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ee et: = THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17 “As a matter of fact, Ed,” said Parke quietly, “I’m try- ing for Phi Beta Kappa.” For several seconds McMaster stared. ‘Well, for heaven’s sake!” he said, slowly and with emphatic disgust. Amos Parke, buttoning the collar of his clean white shirt, uneasily avoided his roommate’s eyes; then a mild irrita- tion spread through him. After all, why should he feel embarrassed? It was his business if he wanted to work hard and stand with the best scholars of the class. He intended to make no apologies to Ed McMaster or anyone else. But he realized that not even their friendship would permit him to say: “I’m trying for a key because I’m sick and tired of just being known as your roommate. I want to grab off a little glory of my own before I graduate.” Because the truth was unspeakable, Parke gravely lied: ““My father was talking about the key last time I was home, and it would please him if I got one.” Ed McMaster shook his blond head in silent disapproval; then he looked shrewdly at Parke. ““T bet I know what’s wrong,”’ he said. ‘‘Some profes- sor’s been talking to you.” “‘After all, Ed,” said Parke briskly, ‘‘there’s a certain amount of distinction in winning a key.” “‘How do you figure that?” “Why, anything that only twelve per cent of the class can have is an honor. Take the varsity letter—it’s be- cause so few fellows have it that you were willing to get out there and fight for the privilege of wearing one.” “That’s entirely different,’’ said McMaster patiently. “A varsity letter means something, but the i “The Phi Beta Kappa key means something too.” “‘What’s it mean then?” Because of recent talk with his faculty adviser—the same professor who had first pointed out the possibility of his election to Phi Beta Kappa—Amos Parke found him- self armed with information and argument. ‘*Well,” he began carefully, ‘‘Phi Beta Kappa, of course, roughly translated from the Greek, means Philosophy, the Guide of Life.” i “Yeah,” agreed McMaster belligerently, ‘‘and what's all that prove?” “Well,” Parke began again, buckling his brown knicker- bockers at the knees, ‘‘a Phi Beta Kappa key on your watch chain shows that you belong to a sort of intellectual aristocracy. It’s known the world over—in lots of places where your varsity letter wouldn't get a tumble—and wherever the key is seen, it’s recognized as a symbol of superior intelligence. It proves that the wearer has brains and has made use of them at ég “That’s the bunk!’ McMaster exploded scornfully. ‘‘ All it proves is that you've stayed home from the movies at night, and stayed in over week-ends so you could plug away at the books while the rest of us were relaxing. The Phi Beta Kappa key,” he concluded emphatically, “‘hasn’t got anything to do with brains. It simply proves you were good at staying home from parties.” ‘‘About Me?" Cried the Dark Lady of His Sonnet. ‘‘Oh, Parkey, I’it Simply Die!’ Amos Parke silently peeled the price tag from a new maroon necktie set with little silhouetted wolf heads; then, preferring almost any other topic, he switched into levity. “For a fellow who’s roomed with me all these years,”’ he said lightly, “‘I must confess you show very little progress.” McMaster had moved to the desk; and now, absorbed in the rapid composition of a letter, he was obviously unaware of everything else that existed. For a moment Amos Parke was tempted to break the news of his afternoon's triumph. He refrained, however, from mention- ing Lines to an Uncertain Lady; for if he told about it now, dragged it into the conversation, he felt that he would be revealing how much he himself was impressed by his success. The effect would be infinitely more satisfying if he waited until publication. He withdrew to his bedroom, where, having completed dressing, he stood in front of the mirror and subjected his upper portions to a critical scrutiny. He discovered, at last, one flaw. Hold- ing a hairbrush in his left hand, he sprinkled on the upturned bristles a dozen drops of a mildly fragrant dress- ing. His free hand held protectively against his necktie, he leaned forward and pushed the brush again and again across his right temple until the offend- ing hairs became an indistinguishable part of the glistening black surface. With equal care he settled his drooping gray felt hat upon his head and five minutes later stood, surrounded by dense white fog, beneath a consecrated elm tree at an unfrequented corner of the campus. As quietly as a ship emerging from a mist, a familiar blue roadster was presently bearing down upon him. The roadster, plainly under control of an expert, rolled to a stop so that the nickel door handle was exactly in line with Amos Parke’s heart; without moving, he was looking straight into a pair of black eyes gleaming above an alert, expectant grin which breathlessly inquired, ‘“‘Isn’t every- thing just too exciting?” As they moved off through the fog Parke produced his telescoping leather cigarette case and Mary wordlessly di- minished the speed of the car. By the time they resumed their pace two cigarettes were providing two sources of smoke which drifted to the sides and flew backward to mingle with the fog. “Tt’s great to get out in the fresh air,’’ said Parke relish- ingly, and drew a mouthful of smoke deep into his lungs. Mary nodded—short rapid nods which gave a more enthu- siastic confirmation than could be found in speech. Mary, ‘For a Fellow Who's Roomed With Me All These Years,’’ He Said Lightly, ‘‘I Must Confess You Show Very Little Progress’’ in fact, showed less dependence upon the spoken word thar anyone else he knew; with her black eyes, with her brows and eyelashes, with the inclination of her head, she could express attentive interest, delighted agreement, emphatic admiration. And Amos Parke invariably acquired from her presence a sense of personal importance which received scant nourishment on the campus. : She was showing now her genius for keeping her eyes on the road; even when she half turned to nod or lift surprised brows, her gaze remained on the wet concrete that stretched away into white obscurity. Hence, Amos Parke was en- abled to indulge his inclination to look at her. He saw, on the other half of that black leather seat, a gir! whom beauty had passed by. Instead, her heritage had been a measure of cuteness and a shy desire tebe informed Her continuous smile drew her cheeks up into little red knobs; her body was outlined by contours which curved just in time to save her from being roly-poly. "The hem of her green dress now reached almost to the upper rim of a rounded kneecap; for the next two inches pink silk took up the responsibility; and then a fawn stocking, smooth and glossy, ran down to a small foot incased in a slipper of alligator hide—a foot which could press the accelerator only when the corresponding hip codperated by sliding a little forward on the leather cushion. Amos Parke now speculated upon a question which had occupied him before. He liked Mary, he re- flected—liked her alot. But was he in love with her? She was the only girl he bothered with at ail. He thought about her quite often. In fact, whenever things got unbearably dull around the room, his thoughtsturnedto Mary. That, he supposed, was a sure sign of love. This discovery endowed Mary with a new, fasci- nating importance. He slid a little closer to her, regarded her as though he had never seen her before Then, with the feeling of having been overheard, he looked quickly to the front. In the little mirror above the windshield their glances met. “Hello,” her eyes said. ‘‘And who are you look- ing at?” For more than an hour they drove slowly in a great, irregular circle that took them, with the hum of tires on wet concrete, down shallow valleys, along straight stretches, around banked curves, and brought them at last back to the white iron bridge spanning the lake which, in a few more weeks, would be crowded by spectators of the spring regatta Twilight had arrived, and now, as they drew near the campus, the fog became for Amos Parke a cur- tain veiling mystery and high romance. On all sides, just out of sight, he felt that rare adventures were in the making, that terrifying heroes, astride armored palfreys, rode out from the pages of children’s pic- ture books and magically haunted the mist. Even the undergraduates acquired a flavor of romance; singly or Continued on Page 77)

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18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST RUS T IS four o’clock of a December afternoon in Moscow —the time appointed for your inspec- tion of a quite new group of apartments for workers—the what-communism-is-doing-for-the- workers kind. The Russian labor day is eight hours, and, since it often begins at 7:30, ends at 4. You have seen the rooms of perhaps twenty families, all in one group of build- ings. They have each a room cr two, according to the num- ber of pecple in the family. Never less than three for one room, ordinarily five or more for two. And furniture which for lack of beauty or taste or real comfort almost defies description. So poor have been the working classes heretofore that they have never had any furniture worthy of the name, and so have really scarcely created a market for any. And the apartment in which you are invited to dine, and which is occupied by two brothers-in-law and their wives, consists only of two rooms, equipped with two single beds, a baby carriage for a newly arrived baby, a sewing machine, a table two by three feet, and three chairs and a box. A mixture of propaganda prints, some photographs of Lenin, Marx and Lunacharsky, and lithograph reproductions of old-time bourgeois paintings, ornaments the walls. But no bath. There is a communal bath in the basement of the twelve-apartment building. And no kitchen. You learn—with surprise if it is for the first time—that there is also a communal! kitchen-—one for every six apartments and that supplies for every single family kitchen are to be found in a closet or cabinet labeled with the owner’s name and ranged, along with the others of this communistic group, in the general kitchen on this floor at the rear. “But isn’t this a hardship on the woman who does the cooking—to be compelled to go outside her apartment and along with five other women share a com- mon kitchen?” I was talking to my com- By Theodore Dreiser full and being brought to a boil; with another—with al- most all, I might say—the inevitable Russian pot in which some general family stew was being prepared. Here, too, were potatoes being boiled; there, bread being toasted. In one skillet was a well-known Russian sausage, watched over by a very old man who was at the same time boiling water for his tea. And the conversation! Although I could understand no word, I was reminded of Dostoievsky’s weird and talkative groups. I could sense the intimacies, for although I was a stranger and my COPYRIGHT BY R. HUMFREY presence made a matter of general ex- position by my mentor and my two hostesses, still no trace of embarrass- ment on the part of anyone. On the contrary, a very general and, as it seemed to me, gay curiosity. ‘Oh, an American, and he wishes to learn Russian ways.” “The old man over there,” ex- plained my guide, indicating, “says that a Russian kitchen is as good a place as any.” And from the dry look around the old peasant’s mouth, I could guess that he had delivered himself of an ironic truth. ‘“‘And what are they talking about?” I asked. April 28,1928 “This one,”’ my secretary informed me, indi- cating a girl who was next a frail old woman, “asked her just now if her son had found work. And she said no. And that stout old dame there insists that there are too many people in here, that the rules really call for only one each from a family. And’’—after listening again—‘‘those two are talking of the number of influenza cases here now. And that one is saying the let- tuce she bought is of poor quality. It is the usual kitchen gossip, I think.” “And you really mean to say there is no sense of incon- venience or personal dissatisfaction in being compelled to 9” commune in this fashion? a : aaa, | munist guide and secretary, also a guest at the time. “Be of good cheer. You do not under- stand the Russian temperament. Far from this being a hardship, it is a social pleasure, one of the daily reliefs from ennui. Here are our two hostesses now. As you see, they are preparing the feast for us. Let’s go back with them and see how it is done. It won't annoy them or their neighbors in the least. They will accept us as addi- tional company.” Together we go back into a fairly large general kitchen, occupied by two large wood-burning ranges, six closets and sev- eral sinks fer washing and drying dishes. And gathered about these, a dozen or more persons—women, children and a few men, young and old. Closest the stoves proper were the mothers, or wives, or daughters, or grandmothers, each busily engaged with the peculiar culinary business before her. With one it was a large water kettle, The Old Clothes Stall at Moscow. At Left—Women Prisoners Receiving Choral Training in the House of Correction in Moscow, It: lustrating How the Russian Government is Treating its Lawbreakers “On the contrary, I assure you there is something in the Russian peasant, perhaps in all Russians, which makes them rather crave than dislike this. They are innately social. In here they lend one another dishes and food, trade their sor- rows and joys. If you were to live here a year or so, you would see. They like to eat in groups, travel in groups, play, and even sleep, in groups. It is no hard- ship. It is a pleasure.” The meal that followed illus- trated even more of this—neigh- bors coming in to share the com- py FROM PRESS CLICHE PHOTO. #UREAU, MOSCOW A Soup Kitchen in a Caucasus Village PHOTO. BY HERBERT PHOT NC., N.Y pany of the strangers, to offer delicacies from their own tables, to ask us to come again and eat with them. But I am dis- missing that, for when all was said and done, the most truly communistic color of the house was the kitchen conclave I have just described. am NE cannot help contrasting Russian and Western equip- ment, since in Russia they are always talking of what they are going to have, how soon Russia is to be industrial- ized, and then how every up-to-the-minute device will be at everyone’s door and elbow. And truly, in the most amazing places—in the heart of Siberia; in Tashkend and Samarkand, capitals of that central Asiatic region east of the Caspian; in Daghestan, Azerbaijan, Georgia, and where not else—one comes upon the most modern things side by side with the most ancient. The modern sleeping car, say, and Alexander the Great’s own military strong- hold in Samarkand; hotels and restaurants with bath tubs and electric lights and the mosques and tombs of the Abbasids, as in Baku and Tashkend—relatives—some of them contemporaries—of Mohammed—autobuses, auto- mobiles, street cars and the tomb of, say, Timur, the mys- terious and almost mythical. But perhaps more interesting still—the thing that gave me the most vivid sense of change — ee

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= “ and yet of changelessness, of time in which everything and nothing happens- -was to walk in the Ulitza Karla Marxa of Samarkand—English: Avenue Karl Marx—and this not more than half a mile from the reputed tomb of Timur the mythical, and there to see, through the green-curtained window of a commonplace store, not one but four Mergen- thaler linotypes, side by side against a wall, all electrically lighted and all busily operated by as many Samarkandish union linotypers, who from time to time would bend back in their standardized spring-back linotype seats to consult copy typewritten in the Usbegistan language, for this was the language of this particular paper—the daily Serwachan of no less a place than Samarkand the glorious—popula- tion, 1926, 100,000. And the news of the Soviet world was as fresh there as anywhere, and called out by street boys on the corners as in New York, London or Paris. Yet, passing near me, women and girls in white or black shawls, their faces covered. And Russians in blouses and boots and caps. And Persians in gowns and shawls of THE SATURDAY EVENING POST there. But of course, the danger of arrest -say three months in jail for the first offense, six for the second, more for the third. And yet, all over Russia you wil! see them being marched off in this fashion. It’s the old trading in- stinct, strong even here under communism. They are pressed by ambition or poverty, or both, and trying in some way to get a small start.”’ And as he asserted, so, all over Russia, I saw him —in Leningrad, Moscow, Odessa, Sebastopol, Baku — being marched off by soldiers, under his arm his pathetic little bundle, his captured and no doubt later confiscated stock, the telltale evidence of his crime. iv T IS in the Bolshai Moskausky, the largest and most ex- pensive of all the hotels in Moscow— or Russia, for that matter. There is some very little thing wrong with the bathtub—one of the eight or ten in a hotel of literally hundreds of rooms. It chances to be my private bath The stopper is too small and the shower leaks hot or cold water con- Natives of a Rural District in Russia Listening in on a Radio M : # Program Broadcast From the ieee . ‘ Kremlin, Moscow. TheKrem: tey 8 lin Houses Soviet Russia's Official Broadcasting Station. At Right—The Sukharevka Market, Moscow various colors, as well as modern dress. And Usbegs and Af- ghans and Tadischas in occa- sionally peculiar caps and coats or capes which I might better sketch than describe. But arc lights at the street corners, shops with cameras, radios, phono- graphs, typewriters, and what not other modernity. And auto- ‘. mobiles, trucks, busses, street te cars, as well as the Russian droshky! ui pe} T IS the city of Rostoff—on the Don—sharp and vigorous - in early January. A great bell tinuously, due to an obviously worn leather washer in connection with its lever. Consequently, two little things are needed which in America at least a plumber or any man handy with a pair of pliers or a Stillson wrench could adjust in no time. I ring for the floor servant and by signs indi- cate the need. He is one of those blond, German-looking waiters so numerous in Russia, and utters a few **si chaases,’’ meaning ‘‘immedi- ately’’—the most used and also abused word in all Russia. For no Russian ever comes immediately, anywhere. wae : I partake of my breakfast, then de part for various scenes. At night, returning, there drips the water tink, tink Once mor the bell. Once more assurances. But although a secre tary arrives and reénforces this request in Russian, stil) by the morrow no change. I fir ally go to the office myself There is one man who speaks Englis! I assure you it wi!] be attended to yet today,” he says We have an engineer. He must have eT isy with some other things. But today, yet I depart, and returning at three find a convention in my bathroom It is not so large a bathroom at that, but in it are crowded eight men-—three in overalls and the rest ir workingmen’s clothes and with overcoats and fur hats o They are consulting. I exclaim in astonishment, but sud denly reflect that it must be something else, some larger defect of which I know nothing, for the conference goes or ten, fifteen, finally thirty-five minutes, after which all file solemnly out, two or three nodding as they g ut sti “tink, tink.”” And no stopper The tub is real y of no us to me that night either And so the next morning I am angry. “See here”’—a secretary does this for me, but in Englist to the English-speaking clerk—‘‘ Mr. Dreiser must have a bath. It is three days now. It is only a matter of a new plug and a new washer in the shower, he says. Cannot this be fixed now?” “‘One moment, one moment, I will call you back.’ In ten minutes the call. “Yes, you see it is this way The engineer has no plug. Besides, this is the business of the plumbers. You know how strict the union rules are here. But this morning sure they are coming. They said so yesterday.” “Who?” “The plumbers.” change between myself and my secretary concerning ‘‘ Why plumbers? Why not one plumber? What is all this non- sense about plumbing, anyhow? What were those eight These last two remarks are an ex- plumbers doing in here the other day?’ As to that, no word, for she did not know. But as to plumbers and unions in general, she would like to explair It is this way. In Russia no one branct of union workers may infringe upon the duties of any other branch. It is the rule, the underlying base of all union government and, in fact, all government in Russia, since the unions control the government. But will I not wait? She be adjusted } has been assured that all will today. And then at two P.M. another nece return on my part. I am to find a letter sary and receive a guest. But in my bathroom now three men, in overalls and with vari- ous tools and some lighted candles. They are busy talking. And continue to talk and tinker until four P.M., at which time they all file out. Union hours. And curi- ous as to all this, I hurry in to see. True enough, a new rubber plug has been at- tached to the chain and the shower leak stopped. In fact, I can see where a Stillsor iy , | . wrench has been applied to the joint where the new washer should go. But why three men? And previously to these, eight? Continued on Page 80 in a church is mumbling deeply. Along the chief business thor- oughfare, in the snow, comes a corporal’s guard of Russian soldiers, their long coats almost touching the snow, their peaked gray wool caps revealing their pink ears, the latest model of a Russian rifle carried indifferently over their shoulders, and inclosing three commonplace specimens of Russians, poorly clothed—worn leather coats and caps, not too good boots, gloveless hands—but each carrying a bundle under his arm and each wearing a subdued or, bet- ter yet, ‘‘arrested’’ expression. “And now,” I say to my guide and interpreter, ‘what do you suppose they are being taken up for?” “T can tell you now, but I will verify it afterward. They are petty traders, operating without a license.”’ ‘‘What sort of traders?” ‘*Well, just above here is a bazaar. In it are all sorts of people who, in spite of the coéperatives, hope to make a living selling anything—ties, shoes, keys, caps, antiques, secondhand utensils—anything, everything. But to oper- ate requires a license. And worse, a long session with Rus- sian officials— papers to be made out, clerks to persuade, perhaps two or three days in line. How much cheaper to obtain some small stock from a more successful and licensed trader, and, laying it over your arm, peddle it here and HE PHOTO, BUREAU, MOSCOW COPYRIGHT BY PRES Young Communists From Central Asia in Moscow for the Thirteenth International Youth Congress

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20 THE SATURDAY UT I tell you,” roared J. Cesar Clump, “that us ought to do it!” Orifice R. Lati- mer, portly presi- dent of Midnight Pictures Corpora- tion, Inc., shook his head slowly. “How come you to say that, Cesar? *Tain’t dignifried fo’ no such ’stablished concern as us to mix up in no male beauty contest.” ‘“‘There’s plenty reasons why Ise holdin’ out fo’ it, Orifice. But on’y one of ’em is im- pawtant. Does us do this thing we git rid of Florian Slap- pey!”’ The eyes of the chief executive opened wide. ‘*No?’’ he said hopefully. “Yes. Mos’ poso- lutely, yes. Can you *"magine a men’s beauty contest in Bumminham with- out Florian Slappey enterin’?”’ ““No-o.” “Nor neither can I. An’ if us gits be- hime it—what does ~ he have to do befo’ enterin’?”’ “What?” “‘He’s got to re- sign away fum Mid- night—tha’s what. ‘Cause we passes a law that nobody which is connected with Midnight is allowed to complete.” The countenance of the president broke into a smile. “Hot ziggity dam!” he exclaimed. “I think you has thunk a thought.” “You is dawg-gone tootin’, I has. Now git me right: I ain’t got nothin’ against Florian, ’cept that he’s too uppity an’ he tries to run my business an’ he’s always buttin’ in an’ he thinks he’s an actor an’ he’s always struttin’ aroun’ gittin’ in the way an’ sf “T ain’t got nothin’ against him, either,”’ interrupted Latimer, ‘‘*cept he always has stuck in my craw. Ail he’s been doin’ is drawin’ a sal’ry fo’ bein’ Excelsior Nix’s guardeen, an’ on account of same, us cain’t put him off the lot, an’ ——-”’ His eyes narrowed. “‘Brother Clump, did you ever stop to consider that if Florian entered this heah contest he’d be boun’ to win?” ““Sposin’ he did. All the winner gets is a chance to act in one Midnight two-reel comedy. Becomin’ an actor is the most ambition Florian Slappey has got. An’ was he to win he’d git his tryout. Bofe of us knows that he woul’n’t make good. Then we'd be rid of him an’ he coul’n’t never step on the lot again ’cept by special invitation, an’ we’d be saved fum payin’ him the twenty-five dollars a week he draws as the guardeen of our chile progeny.” “T know. It soun’s swell, Cesar. But it would be better if Florian didn’t even win. That’d sho take him down a peg.” “Then he don’t win!’’ snapped Mr. Clump. “How you gwine fix it?” “Easy. Us appoints the judges. One of them is gwine be Welford Potts.” ““Weiford’s suttin to vote fo’ Florian. Them two is buddies.” , ““Tha’s one reason Florian is shuah to enter. The second judge will be Opus Randall.” **An’ Opus would rather vote against Florian than eat.” ‘You said it. That gives me the decidin’ vote. An’ Ise gwine vote against Mistuh Slappey.” ’ “‘I—I Reckon They Ain't No Use Askin’ if You Has a Heart, is There, The eyes of President Latimer were glowing with an un- holy light. There were times when he was rather partial to Florian, but recently he had awakened to realization of the fact that Mr. Slappey was considerable of a nuisance around the hustling, bustling Midnight lot. “‘ Just sposin’ us took up this beauty contes’ an’ Florian didn’t enter.’’ Director Clump made a gesture of impatience. “‘Great wiggilin’ tripe! Orifice, don’t you use yo’ brains fo’ nothin’ mo’ than to have headaches with? Has you knowed Florian all these yeahs without reelizin’ that he coul’n’t no mo’ not enter a beauty contest than he could fly? Why, he’d rather be chose the han’somest cullud man in Bumminham than be a millionaire’s hair. He sho would. So I suggesses that us git in touch with Isaac Gethers, the Grand Magnificent High Potentate of The Sons & Daughters of I Will Arise. We tell him that we’s willin’ to go ahaid, an’ we lays down the rules. The lodge is to conduck the contes’ at its own espense, givin’ us a slice of the profits. They choose the two bes’ candidates an’ on the final night our judgin’ committee goes down to the Champeen Theater, where the two fellers which has been selected is to appear befo’ us fo’ final decision. But we got to work fas’.”’ “Go to it, Cesar. Take the afternoon off an’ git things arranged.” Two days later placards appeared in various places of prominence throughout Birmingham’s Darktown. They brought a thrill to each and every beholder: GRAND BEAUTY CONTEST FOR MALES (MEN) TO BE CONDUCKTED UNDER AUSPICES OF THE SONS & DAUGHTERS OF I WILL ARISE WINNER GETS TRYOUT IN A REGULAR TWO-REEL PICTURE OF MIDNIGHT PICTURES CORPORATION, INC. FREE OF CHARGE ENTRANCE FEE—ONE DOLLAR HERE IS YOUR CHANCE TO BECOME A REAL STAR FOR EIGHT BITS EVENING POST ILLUSTRATED Br J April 28,1928 By Octavus Roy Cohen GOULD EASIEST WORK IN THE WORLD—BIG MONEY IN THE MOVIES FOR JUST HAVING YOUR PICTURE TOOK APPLICATIONS MUST BE FILED WITH ISAAC GETHERS GRAND MAG. HIGH POTE. ENTRANCE FEE PAYABLE IN CASH ONLY (NO CHECKS OR PROMISES ACCEPTED) BE AN ACTOR FOR ONE DOLLAR SEE IF YOU AIN’T THE HANDSOMEST CULLUD MAN IN BIRMINGHAM One of these placards was duly attached to the mirror which faced the lunch counter in Bud Peaglar’s Lunch Room & Billiard Parlor. And so it came to the attention of Mr. Florian Slappey. Mr. Slappey was a person of parts. He was lithe and graceful and most marvelously haberdashed. Because of the fact that he did not toil or spin, his hands were soft and well tended. His clothes were always three jumps ahead of Dame Fashion. At the present mo- ment he was garbed in a light-brown concoction which bordered on yellow. His coat was broad across the shoulders and fitted snugly about his slender hips. His trousers flared at the cuffs not vulgarly belled, but expanded suffi- ciently to be modish. His shirt was of faint tan, and he wore tie and breast- pocket handkerchief to match. A brown felt hat topped his well-shaped head; his tan shoes gleamed gloriously; a gar- denia smiled from the lapel of his coat, and he tapped his ankles witha whippy little cane. Bud Peaglar, lopsided proprietor of the flourishing estab- lishment, limped forward and accosted his best customer. “*Gwine enter, Florian?” Mr. Slappey shrugged. ‘‘Dunno, Bud. Ise speculatin’ on same.” “You sho ought to. Ain’t no cullud feller in Bummin- ham would even have a chance against you.” Mr. Slappey expanded under the flattery. ‘‘’Tain’t somethin’ to consider too hasty, Brother Peaglar. You see, there ain’t nobody hired by Midnight allowed to enter. So if I did, I’d have to resign away fum my job.” Bud gestured. ‘“‘ Was I the han’somest man in Bummin- ham, Brother Slappey, I’d pass up anything to git ac- knowledged such.” Florian was rather of the same mind. He absorbed a bowl of Brunswick stew and then emerged into the clatter and clangor of Eighteenth Street, on which thoroughfare Darktown transacted most of its important business. Wherever he turned he was greeted by friends; some frankly admiring, others a trifle jealous of Mr. Slappey’s gorgeous raiment. Several questioned him concerning competition in the forthcoming beauty contest and even those who openly disliked him agreed that victory would not fail to perch on his standard. Florian was not an egoist. But fashion and pulchritude constituted his philosophy. Just as men labor to become doctors and lawyers, so Mr. Slappey had devoted himself to the task of being the best-looking and best-dressed man in all Alabama. Here was the first opportunity for that public acclaim which would mark his efforts with official success. Besides, the secondary reward was not inconsiderable. In common with most of his brethren, Florian long had entertained the idea that the screen was being robbed of its most eminent actor through Midnight’s refusal to cast him in a leading réle. The fact that he daily associated on terms of intimacy with the great and near-great of colored filmland merely added gall to. the wormwood. Florian?’’ SS eee oo

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Fresco Had an Air. He Was Distingue Once, and once only, had Mr. Slappey played a regular part in a Midnight two-reeler. That had been more than a year ago while the company was resident in Paris at the very tail-end of its European tour. His work as a colored gendarme had been good, and ever since that time he had put forth his claims loudly and constantly. Now, should he win this contest, he would not only be the acknowledged Beau Brummel of dusky Birmingham but Midnight would be forced to screen him in another picture. He possessed a calm confidence in his ability. It seemed certain that once he had attained this end no person as keen as Orifice Latimer could fail to see the box- office value of Mr. Slappey’s face on his flicker output. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST But a job wasa job. Twenty-five dollars every Saturday night was no trifle to be tossed into a creek. Mr. Slappey did a little investigating and then called upon his friend, Welford Potts. He found that gentleman camera misery on the busy Midnight lot “Welford, you is gwine be a judge in this beauty con- test, ain’t you?”’ “Uh-huh.” “I an’ you is really friends, ain’t us?” “Tha’s the one thing we ain't nothin’ else but “Well, tell me, who do you think is the handsomest cullud man in Bumminham?” Mr. Potts did not hesitate. phatically. “Hot dawg! Thanks, Welford. A friend like you is sho worth two in the bush.” Mr. Slappey’s next move was negotiated a trifle less openly. He waited until Opus Randall went into his dress- ing room for a cigarette and change of costume. Opus possessed a moonlike face and an amazing girth. His intimates asserted that, off the set, he wore an inner tube strapped about his middle to make his circumference less prominent. Certainly he was tremendous; rolls of fat and pudgy, wabbly legs. Coupled with his excess tonnage was a very distinct ability as a comedian. Of all the Mid- night roster, Opus Randall was the most popular with screen fans all over the couftry. On the lot, however, Mr. Randall was thoroughly detested. Opus possessed a large measure of screen temperament. He knew his value and sang his own praises. Most par- ticularly he despised Florian Slappey because of the fact that that slim and elegant gentleman typified everything which Opus would like to have been. And Florian returned Opus’ dislike with huge interest. Their enmity was no secret. Every man, woman and child in Midnight knew that the antipathy between them was constant and fierce. Most of the outsiders knew it. Certainly Director J. Cesar Clump could not have figured more cannily in selecting a judge who was certain to vote against Mr. Slappey. But in matters of sheer cunning Florian was usually three up on the heathen Chinee. He entered Opus’ stuffy dressing room and stared level-eyed at his huge béte noire. “IT need money, Opus.” “Tf tha’s the troof,’’ growled Mr. Randall, “then bofe of us ain’t got none.” “T got to have some”’ ““soon.”” “So do I.” “You bet yo’ sweet life you do. ‘Cause I got a note which says you owes me one hund’ed dollars, an’ you got to pay it, else git into trouble. Now, how about it?”’ Little beads of cold perspiration stood out on Opus’ forehead. incased in “You is!’’ he declared em- Florian’s voice was chilly ‘*Polks,"” He Announced, ‘‘fo’ Many Yeahs I Has Been a Close Friend of Candidate Slappey. “*I—I reckon they ain’t no use askin’ if you has a heart is there, Florian?” ““Not hahdly. Where you is concerned at Of course = a stone “Of course which?”’ “Nothing. But a favor is a favor, Opus Mr. Randall broke forth to Florian that his present financial condition amounted to acute distress. He promised anything “You is gwine be a judge in this beauty contest, air you, Opus?” “T sho is, Florian. Tha’s the most thing Ise gwine be “Shuah. I knowed it. "Cause Cesar Clump ain't crazy fo’ me to stay in Midnight. An’ he ‘pointed you knowed you would vote against me was I to enter “Oh, is you?” “That all depen’s,” observed Mr “Cesar is gwine vote against me. Welford will vote fo me. That leaves you holdin’ the decision. Ey'’ybody is suttin that you votes against me. of line up thisaway: If you was to decide that I is the handsomest man in Bumminham not let know you decided thataway until the night come fo’ the final votin’—why, maybe I'd tear up that hund’ed-dollar note of yourn which I’ve got.” Opus rose. He was trembling with emotion. “ Y-y-you mean that was I to vote fo’ you fo’ handsomest man you'd destroy my note an’ call it square?’ “* Absotively.” into language He explained ause fie ’ ~ ror . f+ Sliappey ra Now, Opus, things sort but nobody Mr. Randall extended a limp and fishlike paw. ‘‘ Done with you, Florian Slappey.” Much elated, the slender little man moved away. But the eyes of Opus Randall followed him, and as Florian passed on, those eyes were shot through with bitter enmity “That li'l’ hunk of tripe,” reflected Opus Randall, ** is the most man I hate!” From the very outset Mr. Randall intended to double- cross Florian. Even the lure of one hundred dollars wa futile against the intensity of his dislike, and now Fate seemed to present a gorgeous opportunity. Time after time, in private and in public, trod upon the toes of Opus’ pervasive dignity. Always Mr Slappey had come out first best. He had accepted Opus’ antagonism cheerfully and outwitted him many times The usual solace of high-hatting was denied Opus. In his position as a leading satellite of the Midnight organiza- tion he was privileged to look haughtily down upon most of Birmingham's colored population, but Florian was employed by Midnight, permitted on the lot, and even had been a prominent member of the colored troupe which toured Europe through the winter of 1925-1926. Mr. Randall reflected greedily upon the imminence and completeness of his revenge. Florian must Midnight; that automatically would drop him to a social Continued on Page 70 Florian had resign from But I Has Remained Honest"

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SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 By JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER reEeLVUS TRA TE DO Br MAY wrt sown PRESTON continued. ‘‘A pool! ORAL MERY firmly inter- / rupted what showed signs of de- generating into an argument. ‘The thing for me to do,” she told Alva Par- sons, ‘‘since I have no intention of leaving Palm Beach now, is move to the Breakers.’’ Alva wassilent, thought- ful, for a moment “Tf it was anyone else,’’ she said finally, ‘I wouldn't hear of it. You are different, Coral. You're always de- cided about what you want to do. After all, it will make no difference. I simply can’ with you about Henry Samp. This is my house, since the family is away but it could never be my house again if I had him to din- ner. Father posi- tively wouldn’t get over it. He’d never forgive me. I can’t tell you why, but it was about some Kither they were worth a lot, or nothing. Father didn’t know about it and Henry Samp did.” “T'll move after Freda Roland’s ‘ tagree securities. is where a number of men agree to buy a stock and hold it for an advanta- geous sale, to create a bull market for tee Ss Se brokea pool. I said first the time had come to unload. Our price hadn't been reached and no one listened to me, so I sold.’’ Coral Mery said, “That isn’t very well thought of, is it?’’ It wasn’t Henry Samp agreed. He began, to Coral’s amazed fascination, to talk. ‘*It isn’t well thought of at all by the amateurs. Such men work together. It takes ten—fifty—a hun- dred of them to make a financier a small financier. They are like ac- counts in a savings bank—-thousands are necessary for a decent, a safe, bal- ance. At least, I am not like that. You can call it worse if you want. I haven't any inter- est in such men. I have no more in- terest in them than I have in money or in women. Money lunch,” Coral told Alva ““You have been simply swell to me; this is a swell house; I have had a swell time.” Later she said indifferently to Freda Roland, ‘Henry Samp wants you to come to dinner tomorrow night. I know where it is if you don’t and I could drag you there. I've bought a car. It is a hundred years old and it cost a dollar a year.” Freda hesitated. ‘‘I don’t know where his house is,” she finally admitted. ‘Coral, hasn’t he a pretty dreadful reputation—with men? Do you think it is a good idea?”’ What, Coral demanded—the fact that she had bought an old automobile? “If you want to go,’’ Coral continued more sharply, ‘go; and at least if you don’t, make sense. It doesn’t matter a particle to me, and Henry Samp wouldn’t know if it were you or somebody else. He never notices women. As a matter of fact, he told me to bring who I wanted. He seemed to think I was like that and didn’t want to come to his house alone. I just didn’t think I’d shock him.”’ Coral very well knew, Freda said hastily, that she would go any- where with her. It would be very duli, Coral warned her; Henry Samp hated noise and general gayness. ‘‘That is why, really, I like him. He’s as solemn and quiet asa fish. It’s very relieving after gin. I’m leaving Alva’s for the Breakers,” ‘We had a scrim—about Henry Samp, if you want to know.” There were, it turned out, only four at Samp’s for din- ner— Freda Roland and Coral, Henry Samp and a rigid young German with a miraculous strawberry complexion from South America. Samp had a small house, below the Casino, well enough furnished. It was purely a Palm The dinner service, though—whatever belonged to him--was remarkable. The silver candlesticks covered a great deal of the table, and, with their candles, practically reached to the ceiling; the plates and bowls were Spanish and evidently very old; all the glass was ex- travagant Venetian. The dinner itself was simple and Parsons. she added. seach cottage. Coral Mery Said, ‘‘That Isn't Very Well Thought of, is It?’’ quickly served. The German talked incessantly, in correct and pedantic English, principally about the changes that had lately come over Germany. He was born, he explained, in the Argentine. There it had always been different from Prussia. “In that climate you cannot live on beer and sausage and cakes. You cannot live on them in any climate. My land has found that out. It is becoming athletic. The Ger- man is now ashamed of his belly. He is mostly rid of it and it will be different.” Henry Samp, as usual, said almost nothing. He always managed, Coral realized, to attract little or no attention. His manner was good, his clothes were good; when he did speak, what he said was the reverse of sensational. That was all. Except, she silently added, for his eyes. They were pale in color and cold in glance. The palest, the coldest, eyes she had ever seen. He was never, she believed, excited, never upset. His self-control was perfect. Either it was perfect or he had no emotions at all. Coral couldn’t decide which. It was interesting, naturally, because he was supposed to be the greatest gambler in stocks in the United States. His specialty, it appeared to her, was losing fortunes. The German, Coral said later, seemed to be very happy about himself. She was seated with Henry Samp in a cor- ner of his small porch. The others were still at the dinner table. Samp said nothing. “I get sunk by your never having an opinion,”’ she went on. ‘‘It makes me feel like an idiot. Will you please say it is a beautiful night?” Henry Samp said imperturbably it was a beautiful night. Coral began to be fretted. ‘Probably I'll annoy you frightfully,” she told him. “It’s strange, too, for me—I don’t usually bother about what people say. Didn’t you break a pool or something—last winter?” He asked if she happened to know what a pool was. ““More or less,’’ Coral replied. ‘‘That is not a pool,” he is nothing and I will stop being im- polite. I'd like to again, if you want, for me Excitement per- tell you what is important but I can’t. Power might describe it. haps ” She interrupted him: “But that’s the strange thing about you—-you never seem to get excited. I’m certain you never do.”’ Henry Samp smiled. ‘Getting excited and excitement are not quite the same,” he pointed out. ‘“‘The men I was speak- ing of are avaricious; they want money; they think money is an end in itself. Watch them play roulette, pick up their winnings. Life is a game,’’ Henry Samp told her; “aside from that, it is worthless. People are worthless except to be useful.”’ Coral asked, ‘‘ What about the rules?” Samp was busy with a cigar. ‘‘ Whose rules?’’ he de- manded. ‘Yours or mine? That means nothing, though, because at bottom we are so much alike. Still, whose rules? In life you make your own game. You make your own rules—if you can—if you can. The men who can’t are the men who talk about rules. Why cry about it? I have arule. It is to take care of myself, to get what I want. I match my intelligence against the intelligence of others. That, really, is my game. It’s all I’m interested in. Sooner or later a man or a combination of men will beat me. More intelligent, do you see?” ““Yes,”’ Coral said, “I see.” She was vaguely troubled. Henry Samp had expressed what, in a confused way, she had begun to feel about life, about things. Yet it troubled her. ‘You have to pick your rules rather carefully, don’t you?” She spoke at last, hesitating. “If you got the wrong ones they would throw you.” He said yes the wrong rules would throw you. Capital punishment, he said, was an illustration of that. “‘The morality of a clerk and the morality of his employer are different.’”” The voice of the German drifted out from the house: ‘‘ Regard the by- products of coal tar Samp rose. ‘‘Perhaps Miss Roland would be happier playing chemin de fer. I intended to ask you, too, about goli tomorrow. Would you care to play?” Coral said she’d love it. ‘I’m not too good now,”’ j

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she warned him. “I won't be as bad as a hundred, if that’s any part of a help.” Gazing, the following day, at a small and extremely adequate-appearing woman in a very severe skirt and prim white shirt waist, Coral showed a not entirely pleased surprise. ‘‘ Milly Randall,” she said. ‘‘I didn’t, of course, know I was going to play with you. Henry Samp didn’t tell me. It is sheer nonsense, isn’t it?’’ Mildred Randall played golf well enough to be in the American and English championships, but not well enough to win one. Coral Mery didn’t like her. Rather, she hadn’t approved of her. Mrs. Randall, Coral considered, managed her existence much too publicly. Her divorce had been unfortunate, to say the least—the absolute least. ‘‘ Certainly it isn’t non- sense,’’ she replied vigorously. ‘‘ Anyhow, Henry is better than Benjamin Fisher.” The further truth was, Coral told herself, that she didn’t regard Benjamin Fisher in the light of a Christmas present. He was too perpetually young, too good-looking and altogether he was rather poisonous. Money, she re- flected, was all that made him even remotely possible. She spoke to Samp privately. ‘‘ What are we playing this match for?”’ she demanded. Samp studied her briefly. ‘“‘As a matter of fact,” he replied, ‘‘it’s a ten-thousand-dollar Nassau. I have a thousand a hole additional with Fisher. I meant to ask how much you wanted.”’ A hundred in the Nassau would do, Coral told him. ‘‘I’ll take it with Milly Randall.” She drove off very nicely, but Milly, naturally, was better. Coral was absorbed by Henry Samp. He played well, she discovered at once; his putting really was a mir- acle; but what engaged her was his attitude. She saw at once that his betting, any sum in itself, did mean nothing to him. Henry Samp was entirely calm. He’d be the same, play no worse and no better, for a million dollars. He simply wanted to win. He wasn’t, as he had explained the night THE SATURDAY EVENING POST before, conscious that Benjamin Fisher existed as an indi- vidual. Fisher was something for Henry Samp to over- come—a challenge. However, Fisher, who literally had dollars without end, was flushed and annoyed when he lost a hole; he was quite hysterical with pleasure and flushed when he won. A thorough swine! “I am sorry,” Coral said to Samp. They were standing beside a tee waiting for Milly Randall to drive. ‘I simply missed with my spoon. It took me two to get back.”’ He was calm and very pleasant. “‘It doesn’t matter. You hit your shot. You hit all your shots. I knew you would and that’s why I asked you to play with me. I'd rather have you than Mrs. Ran- dall. She is better, but I'd take you.” “You are playing marvelously,’’ Benjamin Fisher told Coral. They were walking through the fairway after long wooden shots. “‘I like your style just as good as Milly's She’s a dash too full of it, don’t you think? I wish I saw more of you. Really, this is the first time I've seen you at all. We must fix it for the future. Do you want to go with me to Montmartre tonight? Milly Randall is, and Samp, with his German, Von Moldt, and two girls from Zieg- feld’s show. You'll like them except they are intellectual. I wish you would--for me,” he urged her. Henry Samp walked up to them and Fisher fell silent. He left to play his ball. ‘‘ He wants me to go ona party tonight specially for him,” Coral explained. ‘‘I”. likes my style just as good as Milly’s.”” Samp advised her to remain calm. ‘He can’t make you go,”’ he reminded her. At the ninth hole Coral and Samp were one up; Henry Samp’s ball was lost within bounds; Coral topped a mashie shot and, naturally, missed a very long putt. The first nine was a half. “‘I lost you a lot of money,” she said to Samp. ‘So you did,” he agreed cheerfully. He teed his ball at the tenth hole with an utmost patient care. He drove, apparently, to the exact spot he had selected; Benjamin Fisher’s ball was fifty yards farther; Milly’s ball was as far, but close to the rough. Coral had driven indifferently. She walked up to her ball and hit it with brassy. Fisher, very ambitious with an iron, missed Henry Samp played carefully and successfully i can't imagine, Benjamin,”’ Mildred Randal! said why you think you are good for two hundred and nety ara with an iron. You're not, you know.” Bad-temperedly he returned a spoon to his caddie and played wit brassy. Asa result his ball went into the woods far beyond the hole. ‘“‘That proves everything,” Milly said satir ically. ‘I don’t mind about your money, but I do about my own.” ‘The devil!” bet won't hurt you. the a living ‘This is only golf. The f it’s not fun, what is the use? Yor Fisher replied. contract I believe out of us.’ Mildred Randall “Shut up,” she said. Talk driving back to Coral Mery was increasingly just same at you are making was admirably sensible Palm Beach.” incomforta ble. She was, as much as anything, amazed at her present situation. Naturally, Benjamin Fisher had seen nothing Why should he? of a momentary, a familiar, arrogance, and laid a chip shot of her She was conscious of the support dead to the hole They lost a hole — two holes; they were then one down and four left to play. They won the next hole; the match was even; they lost a hole-—this time it was Henry Samp’s fault—and then they won; the match was again even, with one hole to play. Coral resolutely ignored the others. Fortunately her drive was good enough; ciently long brassy shot; but when she came up to her ball she found herself facing a decidedly awkward alternative she could run up to the entrance to the green and then play for the hole or she could play over sand and, if she were fortunate, stay on the green at its narrowest part. She hesitated, conscious that Henry Samp was watching her. Mildred Randall was safely on the green in three. Coral took a spade mashie from her bag, she elevated her eyebrows she hit a suffi- (Continued on Page 8&4 ‘*The Truth is, Zinc, We Have Known Each Other Too Long. We Haven't Any Surprises Left"

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Iv RECKENRIDGE, when hunting and follow- ing the trap line through the forests of the Lower Missouri in his youth, had acquired certain precautionary habits from which he never deviated. When in hostile country he would not stand round a fire after nightfall. A man’s eyes adjusted themselves to the blaze and prevented his seeing into the outer darkness. ‘“‘It makes me uneasy to outline myself against a light to make a target for arrow or musket ball when I can’t see to shoot back,”’ he informed Brady, when the old trapper rallied him upon that point and also for the custom of taking himself off to sleep alone. “I build my cook fire early and then sleep somewheres else. An Injun can see a fire many a mile across the prairie. It holds out a promise of a few scalps that will maybe be easy to collect. Every marauding band will investigate any camp fire they set eyes on.” Brady also, in common with most voyageurs, scorned the cumbersome pistols of the period. Few mountain men car- ried them, deeming them futile and ineffective weapons. Hunter, however, had perfected himself in the use of the short gun. Wherever he rode, the buckskin holster that suspended his long-barreled pistol from the cantle of his saddie went with him. When hunting ahead of the brigade he kept his hand in by shooting game from the saddle with the pistol in- stead of resorting to his rifle. At ranges up to fifty yards he dropped deer and turkeys with unfailing regu- larity. Brady, observing this amazing proficiency, nevertheless continued to make slighting reference to all pistols. He relished his joke and Hunter did not mind. The brigade had been on the march for more than a month out of Ely’s Fort when the four hunters made camp one evening on a high prairie headland that overlooked the river. A small quantity of wood had been brought from the last patch of timber. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By HAL G. EVARTS He Rode Straight at the Sioux Chief. The Indian Met Him With Leveled Lance This, supplemented by a great pile of buf- falo chips, was sufficient for their needs. ‘A fire will show up for miles from this headland after nightfall,’ Hunter said. ‘‘ Better douse it before dusk.” “This here’s in Mandan country and the Mandans is friendly,’ Brady demurred. “Old fellows like me and Dubois need a fire to warm our bones. Anyhow, with you and Little Bull sleeping on the outskirts like coyotes, no Injun could creep up on us without tackling you-all first.” It was such callous disregard of danger by men who had faced it hourly throughout their lives, their lack of caution and their calm confidence in their own ability to cope with any situation as it came up, that cost the lives of many a fearless voyageur of the West. Hunter picked up his equipment and moved away from the fire when night shut down. “Thar he goes again—off to bed down by hisself like an old dog wolf,’’ Brady chided, as was his nightly custom. “TI figure to have need for my hair for a long time yet,” the tall Kentuckian replied. Hunter selected a buffalo wallow seventy-five yards from camp. It was dry, there having been no recent rain. He propped his saddle against one edge of the wallow to serve as a breastwork to protect his head from arrow or musket ball. The pistol was propped muzzle up against the saddle, its butt rest- ing upon the ground, while a piece of buckskin was ILLUSTRATED ay WH H. D. KOERNER spread across the lock to protect the priming against dew or frost. The rifle was taken to bed with him, shel- tered by the edge of the buffalo robes. This arrangement never varied. On any night of his life his hand could close instinctively on rifle lock or pistol butt at the instant of waking. There was additional reason for this habit of isolating himself. Sav- ages, crawling upon a camp, focused their attention upon it so exclusively that they almost invariably overlooked an isolated slumberer some distance away unless they chanced to stumble square upon him. Brady and Dubois piled a great stack of buffalo chips upon the blaze and rolled up in their robes near the fire. The horses, equipped with hobbles of buffalo hide, cropped the succulent prairie grass close at hand. Listening to them, Hunter fell asleep. It was the sound of the horses also that waked him some two hours later. The animals had started suddenly into the lumbering, awkward gallop that is acquired by April 28,1928 } | \

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ponies long broken to the hobble. They had halted after that first tumultuous start and now stood huddled together on the prairie. One animal snorted. Another stamped nervously. Hunter surveyed the surface of the prairie be- yond him. Nothing stirred in the darkness. Soundlessly he turned in his robes and looked toward camp. Were his eyes dancing, or did he actually behold a number of low mounds on the prairie? One of the mounds moved slightly, hitching forward toward the tiny remain- ing glow of the dying camp fire. Savages, a score or more of them, creeping upon the camp! The nearest was a scant ten yards from Hunter. He planned his campaign as coolly as he would have mapped out a campaign against a flock of turkeys. His rifle was trained not upon the nearest savage but upon the one that was third removed from him. At the roar of his rifle the object of his aim collapsed with a wild shriek. Crouching figures leaped erect. As if propelled by springs, Brady and Dubois, dim flitting shadows in the night, shed their robes and leaped for the shelter of the river’s bank. The startled savages discharged muskets and arrows in the general direction of the camp. Before the foremost stalkers could determine whether that first shot had been fired prematurely by one of their own number in the rear, another crumpled to the prairie as Hunter brought his pistol into play. With a mighty spring he left the shelter- ing wallow and crushed the skull of the nearest Indian with a blow from the heavy barrel of his rifle. Then, with the high-pitched war cry of his kind—a cry that was to become known almost a half century later as the Missouri yell—-he charged down upon the rear of the savages. Coincident with Hunter’s second shot a rifle crashed from sixty yards across the prairie as Little Bull went into action from his own buffalo wallow. Then, mingling with the triumphant notes of the Missouri yell, the night re- sounded with the dread war whoop of the Loup Pawnees as Little Bull charged the far flank of the attacking party. Taken thus in flank and rear, the bewildered savages fled across the prairie, and after them, wielding a mighty THE SATURDAY EVENING POST battle-ax as if it were a straw, leaped Little Bull, who split another brace of skulls before the Indians made good their escape. A towering savage loomed in Hunter's path and swung a war ax at his head. He warded the blow with the of his rifle, but the force of it knocked the weapon from his hand. He grappled with the Indian, clamping his left hand upon the wrist that wielded the war ax while with his right he sought to drive his long knife home in his adver- sary’s body. The Indian was powerful and endeavored to seize Hunter’s knife arm. His fingers caught and held. The Kentuckian twisted, forcing the pent arm back until the point barrel of the knife touched his foeman’s breast. The Indian, suddenly re- leasing his hold, sprang back, but Hunter’s grip on his antagonist’s right wrist held and he jerked the Indian toward him, driv- ing powerfully with his knife at the same instant. Three times he sent the long blade home. Then the affray was over, having lasted less than two minutes after Hunter’s opening shot. ‘““You boys hurt any?” Brady called from the river bank. From out in the prairie the voices of Breckenridge and Little Bull gave assurance of their safety “I'll bring in the horses and we'll drift,’’ Hunter pres- ently called. ‘‘Likely they’re only a small detachment from a big war party and the whole passel may swoop down on us.” He and Little Bull came driving the horses to the fire Hunter carried four fresh scalps, Little Bull three. They were burdened with the spoils stripped from their fallen foes—-three muskets, seven war axes and as many knives, in addition to other trinkets that would prove valuable as trade goods. “You two warriors counted plenty coos,”’ Brady said, eying the seven scalps. Counting coos was a custom and a term prevalent among all Western tribes, the expression no doubt derived from the French wor having been of the early Frenct Mandans was up to that sort of thing right in the “coup” yyageur I heart of afraid the Should think they'd be f their own country. brigade would wipe out a village for them They weren't Mandans. They’re Brilé Sioux — Burnt thighs,’’ Hunter said, indicating certain insignia on the captured equipment. “‘They were on a raiding p the Mandan nation and figured if they collected our hair the brigade would lay it on the Mandans. That's what made me think they were a smal! detachment of big war party. We'llmoveupriver. They figure us to fall back toward the brigade and will be looking to cut us off downstrear They packed swiftly and headed up the river. After covering per- haps five miles they haited in a depression in the river bank, a lit- tle basin graced by a cluster of stunted trees. The night passed without incident and in the Ww ouU> reoerne a | ns | 7 * morning they decided to overtaken by the brigade, with which they had last established contact until wait ten days before. Duboisshotan antelope for breakfast. Thousands of those animals were moving north across the prairie, flanking the course of the Mis- Great bands of them took to the Fleet as the wind sourl river and swam across on their native prairies, the pronghorns proved to be but indifferent swimmers, their slender legs and tiny hoofs being ill adapted to serve as propellers ir the water. Nevertheless, they plunge: hundred and gamely tackled the crossing lin valiantly by the iver. Som were swept down two or three miles by the current before effecting a landing on the opposite shore. The buffalo too, were moving north, and hundreds of these animals also swam the river. A small hunting party of Mandans appeared on the fa shore of the river to intercept the migrating game. Squaws followed with ponies that dragged travoises loaded wit! household effects sequent events soon proved. Travois poles served also as also with the houses themselves, as sub- tepee poles on occasion and the squaws erected several tepees, covering the poles with dressed buffalo skins. The red hunters shot down antelope and buffalo as they emerged from the water. Others came darting down the current of the Missouri in tiny skin canoes, each fashioned from the hide of a single buffalo. They shot ming animals with arrows or pierced them with lances the swim- (Continued on Page 92

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26 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°D! 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR In the United States and Possessions, Five Cents the Copy; $2.00 the Year— 52 issues. Remittances by Postal Money Order, Express Money Order or Check. In Canada end Newfoundland (including Labrador) Ten Cents the Copy ; $3.00 the Year—52 issues—Canadian or U. S. Funds. in Continental Europe and the British Isles, $6.00 the Year—52 issues. in Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Guatemala, Haiti, Isle of Pines, Mexico, Nicaragua, Penama, Paraguay, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Salvador and Uruguay, $10.06 the Year—52 issues. In all other Foreign Countries, $15.00 the Year—52 issues. Remittances from outside U. S. and Canada by Postal or Express Money Order or by Draft on « bank in the U. S., payable in U. S. Funds. PHILADELPHIA, APRIL 28, 1928 Quiet Workers ITTLE achievements often make more noise in the _4 world than great ones. The spectacular always cap- tures the public mind; and when it enjoys exploitation by the circus accompaniment of brass bands, big bass drums and steam calliopes, it shouts down greater and more significant accomplishments. More often than not the in- ward glow of satisfaction that follows significant achieve- ment is net only its greatest recompense but its sole reward. There are plenty of current examples that prove how commonly big things are done without the smallest glim- mer of the spectacular and without the employment of attributes any more striking than tireless patience, sound knowledge and acquaintance with men and with the work- ing of their minds. Consider what Mr. Dwight Morrow, our ambassador to Mexico, has lately done for his own country and for the country to which he is accredited. For a full decade the uncertain status of American oil proper- ties in Mexico has been one of the sorest spots in all our international relationships. The situation appeared to bea hopeless deadlock, and a happy issue seemed as far off as ever. Mr. Morrow took over the tangle not as a profes- sional diplomatist but as a highly trained business man skilled in discovering communities of interest and well schooled in redressing and reconciling conflicting policies. The other day he announced that a satisfactory agreement with President Calles had been reached. Few persons out- side the State Department know precisely how he managed to straighten out the tangle so quickly and so satisfac- torily. Everyone knows that he performed with seeming ease the difficult task which had baffled his predecessors, and he did it without invoking the assistance of brass bands, steam pianos or high-powered press agents. Mr. Hughes is a typical quiet worker, and the diplomatic triumph he lately achieved at Havana stands out among the greatest of his many services to his Government. Consider Mr. Mellon and the unexampled skill with which he has managed our national finances, refunded our war loans and guided our whole financial polity through a set of circumstances fairly bristling with opportunities both for doing the wrong thing and for doing the right thing the wrong way or at the wrong moment. It is not too much to say that Mr. Mellon’s financial genius has saved the country hundreds of millions of dollars and at the same time has kept its credit higher than that of any other nation whatsoever. The full measure of Mr. Mellon’s services will never be taken except by those students of finance whose technical knowledge enables them to realize what difficulties beset him and what consummate skill he employed in coping with them. It is much easier for a small man to damn a great man than to understand him. In Herbert Hoover we have another example of the quiet worker who does things that are vast in bulk but often low in visibility. Every American benefits in some measure by what Mr. Hoover has done to foster trade and industry and put them on a sounder basis; and yet these advantages run toward the average individual in such quiet streams that they are scarcely to be perceived for what they are. Nothing spectacular is to be found in the bulk of Mr. Hoover’s routine work. It is only when his finished output is measured that its importance becomes apparent. Consider, for example, what Mr. Hoover and certain coéperating bodies have accomplished for Amer- ican industry in standardizing sizes, shapes and designs of sundry materials ranging all the way from lumber to ware- h»use forms. Simply by discontinuing the production of 1ynneeded sizes, shapes and patterns an annual saving has been effected which has been estimated at not less than three hundred million dollars. The methods by which this economy was brought about were tiresome and prosaic. But what of it? Rich as we are, a saving of three hundred million dollars a year cannot be laughed off the national ledger. Such is Herbert Hoover's score in a single field in which he is serving his people. There are other quarters in which his genius for business is at work, and in most of them eight or nine figures would be required to express in dollars the extent to which he is helping to conserve or to expand our national income. These four figures— Dwight Morrow, Charles Hughes, Andrew Mellon and Herbert Hoover—are all quiet workers and skilled workers, men of broad horizon, long vision and sound standards. They typify the American business man drafted into public service at his best. Who Killed King Coal? HE demoralized condition of the soft-coal business has received as much study as any of the sore spots in American industry, but many of the diagnoses have been more concerned with details than with essentials. The wasteful and uneconomic methods under which bituminous coal is mined and marketed have come in for their due share of criticism. Freight tates are always blamed. The demands of the union have been fully exploited. The oper- ators are freely charged with rapacity and inequitable practices. Each side has told its story and retold it in other words a thousand times, and the uninformed outsider is bewildered by the conflict of testimony. Engineers regard the problems of the industry from an entirely different angle. They approach them as men of science accustomed to achieving their results, not by jailing people or by having them fined or enjoined, nor by heaping odium upon them, but by studying basic conditions and bettering them. In their opinion the real culprit is not to be found either in the ranks of the producers or at the head- quarters of the union. Much of the blame for the distress- ing conditions now existing they place not upon any man or group of men, but upon the recent achievements of their own profession. In the palmy days of the industry the superintendent of a power plant had to burn three or four pounds of coal under his boilers in order to produce one horse power of energy for the period of one hour. Few laymen realize the revolutionary improvements which have been made during recent years in our methods for changing potential heat units into power. The develop- ment of the turbine engine has played an extraordinary part in this increase of efficiency. Only a little while ago the engineering world stood aghast when it was announced that generating units of sixty thousand horse power were under construction. No sooner were these great units put into operation than plans were drawn for larger monsters April 28,1928 capable of delivering two hundred and forty thousand horse power, with a substantial increase of efficiency and a corre- sponding lowering of coal consumption. The engineer, worst paid and least appreciated of all pro- fessional workers, is always the last to receive full credit for his achievements. Consider the miracle he has so quietly wrought in the production of electrical power. He no longer asks for four pounds of coal in order to hand back a horse-power-hour of energy. Give him only twelve or fourteen ounces, no more than he can hold in the hollow of his hand, and see what he can do with it. Incredible as it may seem, he can squeeze sufficient work out of his hand- ful of coal to raise a weight of thirty-three thousand pounds sixty feet in the airina single hour. This is only another way of saying that he has delivered one horse-power-hour of energy. The end is not yet in sight. The greater a turbine engine of correct design, the greater is its efficiency. The limit has not yet been overpassed. Power is the one commodity whose cost is steadily falling, never again to rise. Ask any producer what will happen to his business if science devises methods for making his product go six or eight times as far as it now goes. He will be too busy shuddering to make a coherent reply. The soft-coal producers did not begin to shudder soon enough by at least ten years. They were slow to see the handwriting upon the wall. They did not play their cards as well as they might have played them. Union leadership, likewise, has not always been enlightened or endowed with long vision; neither have the men to whom it has been in- trusted been in every case able to qualify as apostles of wisdom and light. All of which carries nothing more dam- aging than the charge that our demand for bituminous coal has been supplied by ordinary business men and min- ers and not by supermen or major prophets. The real culprit who has had most to do with bringing the soft-coal industry to its present estate is modern engineering science. It is quite likely to keep on in the same direction and to do more before it does less. No such diagnosis of the situation is likely to find favor among interested parties. Men and corporations are fair targets for wrath. Changed conditions are not. When a corporation is a target, it may be possible to have it fined or enjoined. If a man or a group of men are the offend- ers, there is always a chance that they may be jailed or terrorized or beaten up. When science is the guilty one, there is nothing to shoot at. Money Needed O ONE can fail to notice that the country is always N unfinished. This applies not only to mere physical plant, to highways and buildings, but to educational, cul- tural and scientific institutions. These seem to be in a state of chronic undercapitalization. Then there are the art galleries, rarely endowed as ade- quately as their trustees desire. The museums which spe- cialize in natural history are a great educational force, one such having some thirty-eight exploratory expeditions in charge. There are learned societies, like the American Historical Association, which seeks a moderate endowment for historical research, much of it as a memorial to the late Albert J. Beveridge. There are the great city operas to be supported, and there are churches and hospitals. There is no lack of worthy ob- jects for those with the means and urge to give. Nor need giving necessarily be put on a lofty plane. Those with a surplus must either support the institutions which deserve support, or means will be found to carry on similar work out of tax moneys, which come from pretty much the same people. Rich men in our great cities support opera rather reluctantly. Would they prefer to have the Government subsidize it, as in European countries? It is a privilege to live in an age when so many institu- tions are working for the public good and the public enlightenment. Art galleries, museums, libraries, universi- ties, hospitals and other similar public corporations are making present life richer and insuring even more values for the future. But it is a privilege to make the carrying on of such work possible. Those who do so are rich indeed.

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WO or three months ago Will Durant, author of The Story of Philosophy, American, and Ber- trand Russell, philosopher in himself, and a fine one, Englishman, held a debate in which Durant main- tained that democracy had failed and Russell maintained that it had succeeded. It had failed, Durant maintained, because, as proved by the United States, it had liberated the ordinary man and allowed him to prosper in a way no cther political or social system had been able to accomplish. Both were right in their premises. Russell alone was right in his deductions. Which shows the difference be- tween a man who collects philosophy and one who thinks it. Only the actual philosopher can understand govern- ment. But right or wrong, the debate was symptomatic of a fact all thinking Americans should recognize and consider in a way they have not yet done. It is no longer possible to be merely vaguely a democrat; democracy is once more, and more perilously than ever in its history, on trial before the world. Indeed, only on the American continents, North and South, is it any longer generally believed in, and even there the ranks of those who have ceased to believe are growing. Heretofore, democracy has been on what might be called the upgrade and has been granted the sympa- thetic indulgence of all men of liberal tendencies. But that time has passed. Numerous political observers now feel, although wrongly, that democracy can be judged as a ma- ture product, and, as we all know, more is expected of maturity; less allowances are made for it. Just as with the party in power, democracy triumphant is in a more difficult position than democracy struggling. The party out of power can make promises; the party in power is expected to keep them. Moreover, newer political experiments have arisen to challenge democracy, while, by a turn of the wheel, older and supposedly discredited political ex- periments seem new once more. In England, the Liberal Party, at the be- ginning of the war securely in power, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Lille FAILURE OF DEMOCRACY By Struthers Burt is now the third in influence. To find on the map of Europe an actual democracy—that is, a democracy po- litically, socially and spiritually democratic—requires a powerful field glass. As a result, and certainly never more formidably, the inhabitants of the United States are called upon to prove the faith the majority live by. Not by ar gument alone, and certainly not by boastfulness and mean- ingless statements, but by cogent proof and appropriate action. Did he but know it, every citizen of the United States has become a walking symbol of democracy both in his private actions and in the way in which he permits his government, local or national, to function. In his goings up and down, here, there and the other place, the eyes of the world in this respect are on him and by him democracy is being judged. It is a position of trust, isn’t it? An English journalist, Alexander Mackay, publishing, in 1849, a sympathetic description of the United States, as- signs the boastfulness of that period to the fact that every American believed himself involved in the success of de- mocracy and was eager to show himself the champion of democratic institutions. In our pr present material ease, such cham} unnecessary, yet it Is needed now nm Above all, minus boastfulness! even 3ecause of its position America must still more because of its position, it must wall uprightly, for, as most people seem to fail t you become the leading proponent of a f and social system vou become the focus o those forces throughout the world who s the destruction of their own 1deas it. Half of it--the tragic preventing others from minding your business Nor, and especially nowadays, can a great nation mil own business-- exclusively, anyway ests are too interlocked for frie tion to be the most delicate common sense is used To the Tory mind powerful mind, recently rejuvenated and n most European governments—the | the horrors of democracy, mind, stands for the horrors of communism; to the liberal mind, stands for the horrors o These are no theoretical horrors merely political horrors. means the uprooting of every ideal, from hx farmer conducts democracy STICKUPS HAVE A CARE! PICKUPS MAY MEAN Life ha a question of minding your own business an half of it-—invar Internat and outside of America it is nited State just as Russia, to the demo They are To the Tory min the manners and your daughter Continued on Page i29

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Paraphrase "NYRUTH crushed to earth is deftly canned ; t seldom pays to print her views; But error, wounded, takes the stand And briskly sells the iabloid news. Corinne Rockwell Swain. Modern Farming JINANCIER: Is this one of your hired men? FARMER: Oh, no, that’s one of our in- dustrial relations experts. He is making a survey with the object of seeing that the cows are kept contented. Swami Quits Miami The Hindu philosopher was preparing tonight to quit Miami in compliance with police orders to vacate. Newspaper report. HERE is ne Swami in Miami now; The fronded palms disconsolately bou Above the sands where late the Swami strolled: There is no Swami in Miami now. The wisdom won beneath the satin trees Of far Lumbini and Los Angeles Irks the police, unphilosophical Toward un-American philosophies. Now bid farewell to promises of Power; Threw Wisdom to the jackals to devour ; The Cireuit Court has ruled you cannot buy Thirty-five dollars’ worth of it an hour. ind, yogis, cry nol at the city’s gate Your messages of truth and doom and fate . Lest, coming with uncomfortable clubs, The wrathful catch-polls cry: ‘‘ Vacate! Vacate!”’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST DRAWN BY ROBERT L. OICKEY “*Sh, Listen! She's Tellin’ That Big Mut He's Always Been Her Ideal, and He's Believing It. Can You Beat It?"’ April 28,1928 “Yes, if I do say it, they are the last word,” replied the old lady. “‘I had a chance to get some good work done at a price and I took it.” “‘And how smooth and rosy your cheeks are.”’ “I wouldn’t advise everyone to have her face lifted, but—well, in my case it was successful. This complexion I have on may or may not be all right. It’s the first time I ever tried it.”’ “Your nose, Grandmother—it looks just like Vera de Vere’s—only it’s cuter.”’ “‘T hoped you'd notice it. The surgeon didn’t hold out much hope that he could follow the specifications I drew up for him, but he promised to do his best. You can imagine how proud both of us felt.”’ It was clear that Little Red Riding- Hood had something else on her mind. ‘Go ahead, child,’’ urged Grand- mother. ‘‘ What is it?” “Your hair—the most enchanting I ever saw.” “‘T just knew you'd say that. First I had an Eskimo bob, which wasn’t so be- coming, and then I gave it two coats of flexible shellac, followed by a brown An- gora finish. Next I had it shortened back of the ears and set the whole thing with a good permanent.” David B. Park. The Point of View Z HE Garths have a house in the country, The Burts an apartment in town. One Sunday the Gs, being thick with the Bs, Invited their friends to come down. They drove to the Golf Club for luncheon Soup, chicken, fruit salad, ice cream Played bridge until five, and again took a drive To Ye Olden Gynne Mylle by Ye Streame, Where they supped—chicken salad, tobacco And tincture of hip-pocket lye. Back to Garths’ they drove then and played poker till ten, When the Burts bade the Garths a ““Good-by.”’ Yet surely local boys accept the boon Of Wisdom and wear turbans ’neath the moon; That thirty-five an hour has made them Wise; There'll be some Swamis in Miami soon. Morris Bishop. Why Wolves are Wild: A Working Theory Y, MY, Grandmother,” said Little Red Riding-Hood, leaning over the bed the better to see, ‘what lovely teeth you have.” The Meanest Man in the Wortd. He Insists Upcn Helping His Wife Take Her Daily Reducing Exercises ORAWN BY MARGE DRAWN BY DONALD MC KEE Their train had scarce gathered momentum, Ere Burt had remarked to his wife, “What people can see in the country beats me! ” Gosh! what a monotonous life! (Continued on Page 118 Sylvia: ‘‘Listen, I’m a Good Democrat, and I Won't Hear a Word Against Calvin Coolidge"’

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A position i 1900, shortly after soups were first blended in condensed form and introduced under the Red-and-White Label to the women of America, strict and careful wives and mothers were inclined to regard them with something very like suspicion. vw ww Naturally enough. For here was something entirely new and never dreamed of before. It seemed almost unbelievable that the proud women who kept such spotless kitchens and served such splendid food on their tables could simply step to their grocer’s and obtain soups already prepared WITH THE MEAL OR AS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By Achievement Soup-Chef to Her Majesty Queen of the American Household won by merit alone! and cooked, equal in every way to the soups that were made at home! ewe Turn now to 1928! See how different the picture. A nation won to the “new” way of making soup! With the exception of a woman here and there who will confess to you that she has never even tried the condensed soups, it is now the accepted and expected thing that soup-making is left in the hands of skilled chefs working in immaculate kitchens equipped just for that purpose. A swift change, this, in the attitude and customs of the country’s home-makers. A complete confidence placed in Campbell's Soups simply because they bring to the home-table a deliciousness, a quality that never disappoints. Selected everywhere as first favorite of the land is Campbell's Tomato Soup—famous for its own individual and tonic flavor—the very king of soups. Campbell's reputation has no more charming “explanation”’ than this glowing, refreshing soup. Its pure, rich tomato goodness is touched to perfection by the deft French chef. we wvwe You simply add an equal quantity of water, bring to a boil and simmer for a few minutes. The addition of milk, cream or evaporated milk, instead of water, according to the brief directions on the label, yields the best Cream of Tomato Soup you ever tasted. Your grocer has, or will get for you, any of the twenty-one Campbell's Soups listed on every label. 12 cents a can. Sees ~~. a fe , »~ Sate SA A MEAL $OUP BELONGS IN THE DAILY DIET

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Slowly He Read the Inscription on the Dedicatory Page: ‘‘To One Who Will Remember and Understand” xXxV HEN Charlie Chan rose on Wednesday morning the rain was over and the fog was lifting. Bravely struggling through rem- nants of mist,'the sun fell on a sparkling town, washed clean for a new day. Chan stood for a long time looking out at the magnificent panorama over bay and harbor, at the green of Goat Island and the prison fortress of Alcatraz. Along the water front stretched a line of great ships, as though awaiting a signal that should send them scurrying off to distant treaty ports and coral islands. Chan’s heart was heavy despite the bright morning. At twelve noon would sail the ship on which he had sworn to depart, the ship that would come finally to rest under the tower that bore the word ‘‘Aloha.’”’ There would be keen disappointment in the little house beneath the algaroba trees on Punch Bow! Hill, as there was disappointment in the detective’s heart now. He sighed. Would this holiday never end? This holiday so filled with work and baffling This hotiday that was no holiday at all? When he entered the dining room Barry Kirk was al- ady at the table, but his glass of orange juice stood before im, untouched “Hello,” said the host. “I waited for you.” “You grow increasingly kind with every dawn,” Chan grinned problem ‘Oh, I don’t know. It isn’t exactly kindness. Somehow I don’t seerm in any hurry to quaff California's favorite beverage this morning. Take a look at it. Does it strike you as being—-er—the real thing?”’ As Chan sat down, Paradise appeared in the doorway. Without a moment’s hesitation Chan lifted his glass. Your very good health,’ he remarked. Kirk glanced at the butler and raised his own glass. ‘I sincerely trust you're right,’’ he murmured, and drank heartily. ILLUSTRATED BY F. By Earl Derr Biggers GRUGER Paradise gravely said his good mornings and, setting down two bowls of oatmeal, departed. “‘Well,”’ Barry Kirk smiled, ‘‘we seem to be O. K. so far.” “‘Suspicion,’’ Chan told him, “is a wicked thing. That is written in many places.” ““Yes—-and where would you be in your work without it?”’ Kirk inquired. ‘‘By the way, did you get anything out of Duff last night?”’ “Nothing that demands heavy thought. One point he mentioned carried slight interest.”’ “What was that?” “Begging respectful pardon, for the present I will pon- der same with my customary silence. You dined here?” “No. Miss Morrow and I went to a restaurant.” “Ah, a moment’s pleasant recreation,’’ said Chan ap- provingly. “That was the idea.” “You enjoy society of this young woman?” “IT do not precisely pine in her presence. You know, she’s not so serious as she pretends to be.” “That is good. Women were not invented for heavy thinking. They should decorate scene, like blossom of the plum.” “Yes, but they can’t all be movie actresses. I don’t mind a girl’s having a brain if she doesn’t act upstage about it and Miss Morrow never does. We had a very light-hearted evening, but we weren’t blind. As we left the restaurant we made a little discovery.” ““Good; what was it?”’ Kirk shrugged. ‘Shall I ponder same with my customary silence? No, I won't be as mean as you are, Charlie. We saw your old friend, Col. John Beetham, relaxing from the stern realities of life. We saw him dining with a lady.” ‘““Ah, yes. Which lady?”’ “*A lady we have rather overlooked so far—Mrs. Helen Tupper-Brock.” Chan’s eyes narrowed. “‘That has interest. Miss Mor- row will investigate?’’ “Yes. I’m going to pick up Mrs. Tupper-Brock this morning and take her down to the district attorney’ office. I don’t look for any brilliant results, however She’s cold and distant, like the winter stars. Good Lord, I’m getting poetic! You don’t suppose it could be some- thing I’ve had for breakfast?”’ “‘More likely memories of last night,’”” Chan answered. When the meal was finished Kirk announced that he was going down to the office to attend to a few letters. “T will accompany if I may,’”’ Chan said. ‘I must produce letter of explanation for my wife, hoping it will yet catch outgoing boat. It will be substitute for me—a smaller substitute.’”’ He sighed. “That’s right,’’ Kirk remembered. “‘ You were going out on the tide today, weren’t you? It’s a shame you can’t.” “What will little Barry think of me?”’ “Oh, he’s probably sensible, like his namesake,”’ Kirk consoled. ‘‘He’ll want you to stay where duty lies. And how proud he’ll be, in the future, over your success in running down the murderer of Sir Frederic Bruce.” “Still have some running to do,’’ Chan admitted. “One more week—I give myself that. Then, whatever has hap- pened, I shift mainland dust off my shoes and go. I swear it, and this time I am firm like well-known Gibraltar rock.” Continued on Page 32 April 28,1928 ———

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32 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 30 ““A week,” repeated Kirk. ‘Oh, that will be ample. You'll be sitting pretty then.” ““On deck of boat bound for Honolulu,’’ Chan said firmly. “‘Quoting local conversation, you bet I will.” They went below, and Kirk seated himself at the big desk. Kinsey was out; “collecting rents,’’ Kirk explained. Chan accepted paper and an envelope and took his place at the stenographer’s desk by the wall. But his mind did not seem to be on the letter he was writing. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Kirk’s movements carefully. In a moment he rose and came over to Kirk’s desk. ‘Pen enjoys stubborn spasm,” he explained. ‘‘The ink will not gush. Who calls it fountain pen?”’ ‘There are pens in here,”’ Kirk said, leaning over to open a lower drawer. Chan’s keen eyes were on the papers atop the desk. Noted for his courtesy, his actions were odd. He appeared to be spying on his host. Charlie accepted a pen and returned to his writing. Still he watched Kirk from the corner of his eye. The young man finished his letter and started another. When he had completed the second he stamped them both. Simul- taneously Chan sealed his own letter, stamped it and rose quickly to his feet. He held out his long, thin hand. “Permit me,” he said, “that I deposit our mail in the hallway chute.” “Why, thank you,” Kirk replied, giving him the letters. When Charlie returned, Kirk was consulting his watch. “‘Want to hear Mrs. Tupper-Brock’s life story?” he in- quired. The detective shook his head. ‘‘Thanking you all the same, I will not interpolate myself. Miss Morrow is com- petent for work. Already I have several times squirmed about in the position of fifth, unnecessary wheel. This once I will loiter elsewhere.” ‘Suit yourself,” Kirk answered carelessly. He took up his hat and coat and disappeared. When Chan went upstairs by the inner route he found Bill Rankin waiting for him in the living room of the bungalow. The reporter looked at him with amusement. ‘Good morning,” he said. “I presume you're sailing this noon?” Chan frowned. “ Missing boats is now a regular habit for me,” he replied. ‘I cannot go. Too many dark clouds shade the scene.” “‘T knew it,’’ smiled Rankin. ‘‘ Before you go you've got to give me a story that will thrill the town. I was sure I could depend on you. A great little people, the Chinese.” “Thanks for advertising my unassuming race.” “Now, to get down to business,” Rankin continued. “T’ve brought you a little present this bright morning.” “You are pretty good.” “T’m a clever boy,” Rankin admitted. ‘You know, your rather foggy remarks about Col. John Beetham have set me thinking. And when I think—get out from under. I have read the colonel’s life from cover to cover. I imagine I need not tell you that on May fourth, nineteen hundred and twelve, Beetham set out on an eight months’ journey from Peshawar to Teheran, by way of Afghanistan and the Kavir Desert of Persia?’”’ ‘IT too have upearthed that,”’ nodded Chan. “T thought you had. But did you know that he had written a book—a separate book—about that little jaunt? A bit of a holiday, he called it. Not real exploring, but just his way of going home.” Chan was interested. ‘I have been unaware of that volume,” he replied. “It isn’t as well known as his other books,” went on Rankin. ‘Out of print now. The Land Beyond the Khy- ber, he called it. I tried every bookstore in town, and finally picked up a copy over in Berkeley.’”’ He produced a volume bound in deep purple. ‘“‘It’s the little present I mentioned,” he added. Chan took it eagerly. ‘‘Who shall say? This may be of some value. I am in your debt and sinking all the time.” “Well, I don’t know about its value,” Rankin an- swered. ‘‘Maybe you can find something I have over- looked. I’ve been through it carefully, but I haven’t found a thing.” Chan opened the book. “Interesting item flashes up immediately,’”’ he said. ‘Unlike Colonel Beetham’s other ’ April 28, 1928 books, this has dedication.”’ Slowly he read the inscription on the dedicatory page: ‘“‘To one who will remember and understand.” “T noticed that,” Rankin told him. ‘It begins to look as though the colonel has his tender moments, doesn’t it? ‘To one who will remember and understand.’ A boyhood sweetheart probably. One who will remember the time he kissed her under the lilacs at the gate and understand that he goes on his daring trips with her image in his heart.”’ Chan was deep in thought. “Possible,” he muttered. “You know, these Englishmen aren’t as hard-boiled as they seem,”’ Rankin continued. ‘“‘I knew a British aviator in the war—a tough baby; he ate nails for breakfast. Yet he always carried a sprig of heather on his plane—the memento of an old love affair; a sentimentalist at heart. Perhaps Colonel Beetham is the same type.” “May very well be,’”’ Charlie agreed. Rankin got up. “Well, I suppose my dear old chief is crying his eyes out because I haven’t shown up. He loves me, even though he does threaten to cast me off because I haven’t solved the mystery of Sir Frederic’s murder.”’ “You are not alone in that fault,’’ Chan told him. ‘“‘T__I don’t suppose you could give me any little morsel for our million panting readers?’”’ “Nothing of note may yet be revealed.” “Well, it does seem high time we were getting a glimpse behind that curtain,’’ Rankin remarked. Charlie shook his head. ‘‘The matter is difficult. If I were in Peshawar—but I am not. I am in San Francisco fifteen years after the event, and I can only guess. I may add, guessing is poor business that often leads to lengthy saunters down the positively wrong path.”’ “You hang on,”’ advised Rankin. ‘‘ You'll win yet, and when you do, just let me be there, with a direct line to the office at my elbow.” “We will hope that happy picture eventuates,’’” Chan replied. Rankin went out, leaving Charlie to the book. He sat down before the fire and began to read eagerly. This was better than interviewing Mrs. Tupper-Brock. (Continued on Page 35 ‘The Secret of That Old Scandal is Safe. By the Lord Harry, Who’d Want a Better Motive Than That!”’ .

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Continued from Page 32) At about the same time Barry Kirk was going blithely up the steps of his grandmother’s handsome house on Pa- cific Heights. The old lady greeted him in the drawing- room. “Hello,” she said. “‘How do you happen to be up and about so early? And wide awake, if I can believe my failing eyesight.” “Detective work,” he laughed. “Good. What can I do for you? I seem to have been left entirely out of things, and it annoys me.” ‘Well, you’re still out, so don’t get up any false hopes,” he returned. ‘I’m not here to consult with you, wise as I know you to be. I’m looking for Mrs. Tupper-Brock. Where is she?”’ “She's upstairs. What do you want with her?” “T want to take her for a little ride—down to see Miss Morrow.” “Oh, so that young woman is still asking questions? She seems a bit lacking in results, so far.”’ “Is that so? Well, give her time.” “I rather fancy she'll need a lot of it. affairs that should be left to the men.” “You're a traitor to your sex. I think it’s mighty fine of her to be where she is. Give this little girl a great big hand.” “Oh, I imagine she doesn’t lack for applause when you are about. You seem very much taken with her.” “‘T am, and don’t forget it. Now how about calling Mrs. Tupper-Brock? Please tell her to come and bring her hy- phen.” Mrs. Kirk gave him a scornful look and departed. Ina few minutes the secretary appeared in the room. Poised and cool, as always, she greeted Barry Kirk without enthusiasm. ““Good morning,” he said. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Miss Morrow—you met her at my dinner—would like to see you. If you can come new I’! drive you down in my car.” “Why, of course,”’ returned the woman calmly. “I'll be just a moment.” She went out and Mrs. Kirk reappeared. ‘‘What’s the matter with that boy of Sally Jordan's?” she demanded. “T thought he’d have this thing solved long ago. I’ve been watching the papers like a bargain hunter.” “Oh, Charlie’s allright,” Kirksaid. ‘‘ He’sslow, but sure.” ‘“‘He’s slow enough,” admitted the old lady. ‘‘ You might tell him that I'm growing impatient.” ‘That'll speed him up,”’ Kirk smiled. ‘IT wish something would,”’ his grandmother snapped. ‘‘What’s all this about Helen? Surely she’s not entangled in the case.” ‘I’m not free to say, one way or another. Tell me, have you given Colonel Beetham that money yet?” ‘No, but I believe I will.” “Take my advice and hold off for a few days.” “What? He isn’t in it, is he? Why, he’s a gentleman.” ‘Just take my advice began Kirk. Mrs. Tupper- Brock was in the hall, waiting for him. ‘‘ Now you've got me all excited,’ complained Mrs. Kirk. “That’s bad, at your age,”’ Kirk said. ‘‘Calm down.” ‘*What do you mean—my age? I read of a woman the other day who is a hundred and two.” ‘Well, there’s a mark to shoot at,’’ Kirk told her. long. See you later.” Mrs. Tupper-Brock sat at his side in the roadster, stiff and obviously not inclined to talk. A few remarks on the weather yielding no great flood of conversation, Kirk aban- doned the effort. They rode on in silence, and finally he ushered her into Miss Morrow's office. The deputy district attorney made a charming picture against that gloomy background. Such was not, however, her aim at the moment. Alert and businesslike, she greeted Mrs. Tupper-Brock and indicated a chair beside her desk. “Sit down, please. So good of you to come. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you.” ‘‘Not in the least,’ the woman replied, seating herself. There was a moment’s silence. ““You know, of course, that we are hunting the murderer of Sir Frederic Bruce,’’ Miss Morrow began. ‘‘Naturally.’’ Mrs. Tupper-Brock’s tone was cool. ‘“‘Why did you wish to see me?” ‘‘I wondered whether you might have any information that might help us.” “That's hardly likely,” responded Mrs. Tupper-Brock. She took out a lace-edged handkerchief and began to turn it slowly in her hands. ‘“No, perhaps not,’” Miss Morrow smiled. ‘‘Still, we are Sir Mixing up in “So not justified in ignoring anyone in this terrible affair. Frederic was a complete stranger to you?” “Yes, quite. I met him for the first time on that Tues- day night.” “Did you also meet Colonel Beetham for the first time that night?” The handkerchief was suddenly a tiny ball in her hand. “No, I did not.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “You had met him before?” “Yes. At Mrs frequently.”’ “Of course hear. Perhaps you knew him before he came to San Fran- cisco?” “No, I did not.” “While the colonel was showing his pictures you remained on the davenport with Miss Garland. You saw nothing of a suspicious nature?”’ “Nothing whatever.’ The handkerchief lay in a crumpled heap in her lap. She took it up and once more began to smooth it. “‘Have you ever lived in India, Mrs. Tupper-Brock?” “‘No, I have never been there.” “Did you ever hear of a tragic event that happened in India at Peshawar — the disappearance of a young woman named Eve Durand?” Mrs. Tupper-Brock considered. ‘‘I may have read about it in the newspapers,”’ she admitted. ‘‘It has a dimly fa- miliar sound.” “Tell me—-did you by any chance notice the elevator gir] who took you up to the bungalow the night of Mr. Kirk's dinner?” Again the handkerchief was crushed in the woman’s hand. “TI did not. Why should I?” “She was, then, quite unknown to you?” “I fancy she was. Of course, one doesn't study—er that sort of person.” ‘Ah, yes.”” Miss Morrow sought an inconsequential end- ing for the interview. “‘You are English, Mrs. Tupper- Brock?”’ “English, yes.” “A Londoner?” “No. I was born in Devonshire. I stayed there until my—my marriage. Then my husband took me to York, where he had a living. He was a clergyman, you know.” ““Thank you so much.” “I'm afraid I have been of very little help.” “‘Oh, but I hardly looked for anything else,’’ Miss Morrow smiled. ‘‘ These questions are a mere formality. Everyone at thedinner— you understand. It wasgood of youtocome.”’ She rose. Mrs. Tupper-Brock restored the handkerchief to her bag and also stood up. ‘That is all, I take it?”’ “Oh, quite. It’s a lovely day after the rain.”’ “Beautiful,”” murmured the woman, and moved toward the door. Kirk came from the corner where he had been lolling. “Any other little service I can do?”’ he asked. ‘‘Not at present, thanks. You're immensely valuable.” Mrs. Tupper-Brock had reached the outer room. Kirk spoke in a low voice: ‘“‘No word of the elevator girl?” ““Notatrace,"’ Miss Morrow sighed. ‘‘Thesame old story. But just what I expected.” Kirk looked toward the other room. “And the lady who has just left,’’ he whispered—‘‘a complete dud, wasn’t she? I'm awfully sorry. She told you nothing.” The girl came very close, fragrant, young, smiling. Kirk felt a bit dizzy. “You are wrong,” she said softly. just left told me a great deal.” “You mean?” ‘“*T mean she’s a liar, if I ever met one. A liar, and a poor one. I’m going to prove it too.” ‘Bright girl,” Kirk smiled, and hurrying out caught up with Mrs. Tupper-Brock in the hall. The return ride to Mrs. Dawson Kirk’s house was another strained, silent affair, and Kirk parted from the dark, mys- terious lady with a distinct feeling of relief. He drove back to the Kirk Building and ascended to the twentieth floor As he got out of the elevator he saw Mr. Cuttle trying his office door. Cuttle was not only the night watchman, but was also assistant superintendent of the building, a title in which he took great pride. “Hello, Cuttle,”” Kirk said. ‘“‘Want to see me? “*T do, sir,”’ Cuttle answered. ‘‘Something that may important.” Kirk unlocked the office and they went ir “It’s about that girl, Grace Lane, sir,”’ Cuttle explained when they reached the inner room ‘‘the one who disap- peared last night.”’ “Oh, yes.” Kirk looked at him with sudden interest. “What about her?” “The police asked me a lot of questions. Where did I get her, and all that. There was one point on which I was silent. I thought I had better speak to you first, Mr. Kirk.” ‘““Well, I don’t know, Cuttle. It isn’t wise to try and con- ceal things from the police.” “But on this point, sir “What point?” “The matter of how I came to hire her. brought to me from a certain person ™ “From what person?” Dawson Kirk's. He had beer to the house You and the colonel are quite good friends, I “The lady who has he The letter she From your grandmother, s m M Daw kK ‘Good Lord! Grace ane my grandmother ‘She did. I still have the letter. | A to see it Cuttle produced a gray, expé ( y envelope Kirk took out the inclosure and saw that the é age Wa written ir nis grandmother s ramped He read My dear Mr. ( The y ter is a good { e, Miss G pleased if y ild find some « 4 I have th gr f ‘ r M ‘ far above such work, but she has ha ‘ a take anything that offers. I ar peter I w uch for her in ever va Since Mary WINTHROP K Kirk finished, a puzzled frown on his face I'll keey Cuttle,”” he remarked, putting the letter “and -1 guess it was just as well you said nothing police.” “I thought so, sir,”’ replied Cuttle with deep satisfact and retired xvi IRK hurried up to the bungalow. He found Charlie Chan seated in a chair by the window, completely er grossed in Col. John Beetham’s des of The Lar Beyond the Khyber “Well,” said Kirk, “‘here’s news for you. I've just got littie ’ Chan assured hin ription on the trail of another suspect in our Case “The more the increased merriment, “Kindly deign to name the newest person who has beer performing queer antics.” “Just my grandmother,”’ Kirk returned That's all Charlie allowed himself the luxury of a moment's surprise “You overwhelm me with amazement. That dear old lady What misendeavor has she “It was she who got Grace Lane— or founded name isa job in the Kirk Building.”’ man repeated his talk with Cuttle ar letter. Charlie read Mrs. Dawson Kirk's warm indorsement wit! He handed it back, smiling been up to?’ whatever her con- The young 1 showed Chan the interest investigated track.’ ‘Grandmother now becomes a lady to be Humbly suggest you place Miss Morrow on Kirk laughed. “I'll do it. The resulting display of fire works ought to prove a very pretty sight He called Miss Morrow and, having heard his story, she suggested an inter- view with Mrs. Kirk at the bungalow at two o'clock The young man got his grandmother on the “Hello,” he said; ‘‘this is Barry. Did I her wire understand you to say this morning you'd like to be mixed up in the Bruce murder?” Well, in a nice way, I wouldn't mind. In fact, I'd rather enjoy it.” “You've got your wish after you.”’ “Mercy! What have I done?”’ “T leave that to you. Think over your sins and report here at two o'clock. Miss Morrow wants “She does, eh? Well, I'm not afraid of her “All right. Only come.” “‘Tshall have to leaveearly. Just at present the police are to question you.” I promised togotoa lecture ‘‘Never mind. You'll leave when the law has finished with you. I suggest that you come prepared to tell the trut} If you do I may yet be able to keep you out of jail ‘4 “You can't frighten me. I'll come—but only from curi osity. I should like to see that young woman in action. | haven't a doubt in the world but what I can hold my own ‘I heard different,’’ replied Kirk Remember— two o'clock, sharp!” He hung up the receiver and waited impatiently for the hour of the conflict. At a quarter before two Miss Morrow arrived on the scene. ‘This is a strange turn,’’ she said when Kirk had taker her coat so your grandmother Knows Jennie Jerome Marie Lantelme ‘Knows her!” replied Kirk They're great friends He handed over the letter Read that. Vouches for her -ir every way. Good old grandmother! Miss Morrow smiled ‘Somehow I don't believe “*I must handle her gently,”’ she remarked she approves of me ‘She's reached the age where she doesn't approve of ar y body,” Kirk explained not even of me A fine, noble character, as you well know. Yet she discovers flaws. Car you imagine!’ ‘“‘Absurd!"’ cried Miss Morrow ‘Don't be too nice to her,”’ Kirk suggest She'll like you better if you walk all over her. Some people are made that way.” Charlie entered from his room Ah, Miss Morrow Again you add decoration to the scene Am I wrong in annery as apprehended Eve presuming that Captain Fl Durand?” Continued on Page 120

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28, 1928 Repoussé, the ancient art of raising designs upon metal by hammering from the back, was exten- sively used in ornamenting early bronze armour HE famed beauty and grace of today’s Packard reflect far more than the ability of Packard body de- signers. Graceful lines, conceived by artists, are possible in the finished car through the modern perfection of tools and methods for the pressing of metal. It seems but a few years ago when every Packard body was individually Packard cars are now priced from $2275 to $4550. hammered out by wasteful hand work —the same method of beating flat metal sheets into useful and ornamen- tal forms which has been practised since the earliest times. Today great presses, some of them exerting a thousand tons of force, mold Packard body panels, fenders and other parts from sheets of special steel. The costly dies instantly form more beautiful and accurate shapes than weeks of the most expert labor could possibly produce. Packard is proud of the large part it has played in the development of metal-working tools which contribute so much to Packard beauty and long life—and aid in making Packard ownership available to additional thousands. Individual custom models from $3875 to $8725, at Detroit PAC RAR D Mm A iON = © OW N S oO N SB =e

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a

NCE there was a war. The op- portunity accorded to me dur- ing the latter part of it and the

i*-7 O

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 37 Painting the Al. By Joseph Cummings Chase

the Gailllop in a receptive mood many drawing and paintings, on the ie nee mission carried with it 1 lary At Chaumont I reported to Genera

three months following the Armistice was perhaps as romantic an adventure as ever a painter had. I had been in Washington painting for the World’s Work portraits of many men who on this side of the water were carrying the load of the war. Five of our leading illus- trators had been sent overseas earlier, bear- ing the rank of captain, to record our part pictorially. They were all well chosen for the work and produced an invaluable col- lection of pictures. But they labored under many difficulties. Reports had come back that, as captains, these illustrators were continually being delayed and hampered, owing to restrictions imposed by army red tape. For a captain to make a move it was necessary for superior ranking officers to approve and to issue orders, and our illustrators must have fumed at the re- straints put upon them. I mention this to indicate more forcibly the completeness of the coéperation which I later received. Issuing My Own Orders Y GOOD luck in this respect was due to the advice of George Mallon. For months dear old George had been in corre- spondencewith Martin Egan,whom Pershing had called over to look after the regulating PA of the war correspondents, and while ar- , rangements were being made for my going overseas, George made me realize that if I accepted the rank of captain I would surely be slowed up as were the illustrators. So when I was called again to Washington and VY, | / was offered a captaincy I explained that I did not care to be a civilian officer. A some- what higher rank was suggested, but for the / reasons already stated I did not wish even ed that. I figured out in my own mind that in me

as much as several noncombatants had gone

*

overseas on a mission for the Government, I might be entered in the same class and still operate under direct orders from G. H. Q. This did not appeal to the general officers with whom the arrange- ments were made. I was told to talk it over with General Churchill, personnel officer in Washington. So I made my way of a noon to the office of the general. The general was out for luncheon. “But, anyway,” said the man at the door, ‘‘your busi- ness would first have to be taken up with the general’s

Oe f \' ? J ‘eles a Pee pe me, -~ oe, ; “fa s —<_— ke 4

assistant.’’ Where was the general's assistant? “He is in the office ’way down at the far end of the floor.” So I proceeded twelve parasangs down the great room, turned in at the designated office and came face to face with my long-time friend, Rupert Hughes. This was luck, indeed. After the usual greetings, Rupert inquired, ‘‘What do you want here?”’ I explained, and Rupert said, ‘There is my stenographer. Suppose you sit down and dictate things just as you want them.” I sat down and sent myself on a mission for the Gov- ernment. ‘‘You must wear an officer’s uniform,”’ said Rupert. I agreed to that if I were not obliged to wear an officer’s insignia. ‘All right,” said my friend, ‘‘you can wear a correspondent’s arm band—a white band bearing the red letter C.’’ And all that was duly established by the necessary credentials. Quick Service From Washington HEN camearush to New York, a mighty effort in getting the kit ready, and in a few days I was aboard a French liner, zigzagging my way across the ocean, avoiding more or less imaginary U-boats. There were fourteen days at sea, with flu cases jamming the boat. Contributions to a fund for the French war orphans were being solicited and after the second day I settled down to painting and draw- ing portraits of benevolent passengers for that charity. Twelve days permitted the production of many of these pictures, which earned a really goodly number of francs. Arrived at Bordeaux, I started at once for Chaumont, and promptly reported at Pershing’s headquarters. My mission was to paint for the Government the Amer- ican combat generals and Pershing’s staff for the official records of the war. Also I had been asked for four paint- ings of particularly heroic doughboys to be used as posters in the fifth Liberty Loan drive. Incidentally, I had visions of sending back to various magazines which were * Pte <.

Eltinge, deputy chief of staff under Genera McAndrew. “Chase reporting on a m n for the Government to paint portraits,” said I, and General Eltinge laughed “T am laughing,” said the general, ‘he cause this is the quickest response to a re quest to Washington I have ever received It was only yesterday that I cabled portrait painter.” At that I joined hin his laugh. “‘ We are al] ready for you. Wt do you want to begin?” he asked. “Now,” said I. “Very well,”’ said he, with me.” you can begir An Error in Strategy IGHT then I made the big mistake of the adventure. I painted that portrait in two hours. General Nolan, in charge of the Intelligence Section, took me under his wing and, with complete codperation, started me upon my dizzying round. That mistake with General Eltinge resulted in the most amazing series of orders, I can well believe, ever issued to a portrait painter. From time to time an order was issued to me and dupli- cate orders were sent to the various generais selected for me to paint. Those orders, sh RM Any® Le

Sane a2 fas ig? : Ke eae being based upon the assumption that I was to paint a portrait each two hours of daylight, resulted in a layout for each day that on paper looked most like a busy barber's daily record of shaves. Because of the movement of troops, it soon developed that the spot whereat a particular general had been or. dered to sit for his portrait was a mighty long way from where he was actually engaged when the day of our ap- pointment arrived. It must be remembered that nearly 30,000 men were in the keeping of a division commander and his time was well occupied. So I made it my business to telephone a general reminding him of the imminence of his sitting and asking him if it would be more convenient for him to be painted just where his headquarters hap- pened to be at the time. And, of course, that arrangement did suit him a whale of a lot better. It may be gathered that casual calling up of generals on the telephone was one of the unexpected privileges of a man on a mission, (Continued on Page 157

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38 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1925 VI. Recipe for a Laugh=By Harold Lloyd, Directed by Wesley Stout OW do you make a picture comedy? You don’t; it grows, like Topsy. Consider the checkered history of Speedy, the current picture. The title is a nick- name of my own. My father saw a vaudeville act years ago which contained a boy named Harold. His uncle persisted in addressing him as Harold, the boy whining each time, “Don’t call me Harold; call me Speedy.’”’ Dad pinned the narme on me and we became Foxy and Speedy. When the character of the current picture began to take shape, it was seen that the name fitted it likea glove. Moreover, Speedy is brief and suggestive; therefore an intrinsically good title. There is almost no vestige left in Speedy of the original idea—an underworld story. Its origins date back before For Heaven’sSake; we wanted a big-city pictureasa change, The “boys” are Johnny Grey, Howard Emmet Rogers, Lex Neal, Ted Wilde and Jay A. Howe, the story and gag men. I sit in with them as frequently as possible. They may haye agreed upon a story or have five more of less hostile plots, and I may like all or none, or parts of this and that. The result usually is a compromise so scrambled that no one and everyone can claim the au- thorship. Our lack of method is deplorable, but some- how it works. Take a hypothetical case. We need a new story. ‘‘How about a railroad picture?’’ one suggests. We canvass the idea, agree and set to thinking in terms of railroad- ing. Let’s have the boy a country station agent, baggage man and telegrapher, but the telegrapher suggests a lineman and the lineman suggests a telephone story. A bank robbery is written into the telephone story as an incident. It grows until railroad, telegraphy and tele- phone all are crowded out, and the boy who started to be a country station agent winds up as a bank clerk. These sessions have been known to be heated and passers- by to duck in passing the gag-room window. Plots are the children of their authors, and parents are prone to resent any insinuation that their offspring are not 100 per cent healthy, handsome and brilliant. ‘‘What do you mean, that no board of directors would authorize such a blank check?” demands such a parentin defense ofanaspersed detail. ‘‘Itis done every day. If you want to pick sand out of sugar, how about that comic street-light idea of yours? They haven’t As the Boy From the Forks of the Creek in the ‘‘Kid Brother’’ being a big-city picture, I am an irresponsible, flip, scatter- brained, baseball-crazy youth of a kind the city breeds by the thousands. Now we have the character of the boy, the substance of the dramatic plot and the boy and girl for the love theme. All that remains is to add the comedy and stir vigorously, but that all is everything. Plot, love story, nov- elty are so many sprigs of parsley to dress the dish; the proof of the pudding is in the laughing, and we want ‘‘com- edy factions with a lot of hooks on them,” as we express it. The character of the boy suggests one group, the plot another group. He is baseball-crazy; that PHOTO. BY WALTER FREDEAIOK SEELY, LOS ANGELES Al Recent Picture of Gloria and Her Mother and began with a plot of New York politics, gang- sters and such. It called for a girl who should live with a grandfather oranuncle. What occupation for theuncle? Cobbler? Harness maker? Delicatessen dealer? We were searching, you see, for a shop rich in gag possibilities. Someone suggested that the grandfather drivea horsecar. A horse car is quaint, has been little used in pictures, and provokes comedy of itself. There had been a horse-car line in New York until recently, operated to hold a franchise. io ‘ ’ A * SMO ; P " . Qn me » “> is ., This suggested a plot tosteal the franchise from the old man, permitting me to step in, thwart the coh- spiracy and win the girl, after the usual misadven- tures. The franchise plot grew until it crowded out the original underworld story. But it called for a set that would cost $80,000 and for a trip to New York. The season was unfavorable for working in New York, so we filed the story away and adapted the underworld faction into For Heaven’s Sake. Faction, by the way, is our term for a sequence within a picture—any set of incidents turning on a common theme or locale. Gag, of course, isa comedy bit; for aspecific description, follow on. A Railroad Picture Railroaded FTER For Heaven's Sake we took up the Kid Brother, an idea we had been holding since the Roach lot. That done, we considered four different stories. One was a ship plot, another a shoe-store idea. We discarded both and a third, then took up a story of a reporter who, through a con- fusion of names, is thought to have inherited a fortune. The basic comedy lay in the suddenly changed attitude f his fellow townsmen, the deference paid him and the credit extended him until, when the error is discovered, he is ruinously in debt. There was no end of complications and the story declined to jell. After several wasted weeks I said, “Get out the old file, boys, and let’s see what we have left.” **Punch, Conductor, Punch With Care, Punch in the Presence of the Pas: senger’’ used carbon arc lamps for street lighting for fifteen years. And while we are on the sub- ject of relentless realism, a model T Ford fires on a mag- neto, not a battery, as you suppose. What becomes of your battery gag now?” With fur- thercomment, both technical and per- sonal, but all hypo- thetical. What type of boy I am to play is the next problem after the broad outline gives us a baseball faction in the course of which we employ Babe Ruth and shoot scenes at the Yankee Stadium. In Defense of Home and Pinochle PEEDY is a lad of many jobs. We have him drive a taxi and work in a drug store for two more factions. For another, we send him to Coney Island with his girl. They go and come on the : Subway, and the Subway is a comedy all by itself, except to those who have to ride in it. Likewise the horse car. The horse-car barn is used by the tradesmen of the neighborhood as a clubhouse. The franchise conspiracy threatens their club- rooms and they rise heroically to the defense of their pinochle game, for another comedy faction. (Continued on Page 142) of the horse-car plot is drafted. Speedy A Transportation Tie:Up in ‘‘Speedy,’’ the Current Lloyd Comedy

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—— et Sas ky MeN pes Read this advertisement from start to finish THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Seven wonderful shaves just like the one described below are yours for the asking new. seven-day tube. Test it in comparison with the shave cream you're now using. Try it with an open mind... we'll cheerfully stand the expense. .. then tell us where to send your = - a eee aa. eee tn vena ‘lial Pcl TE cialis FR aan Mail Coupon Men... Postman will bring you quick new way to shave It’sanew type of lather that soaks whiskers soft in a scientific way. Small Bubbles... that’s the rea- son. See test offer below. A LITTLE package! The postman will hand it to you. And inside you'll find a scientific answer to the age-old problem of beard-softening. Just squeeze a little on your brush. Whip it on your face, and lather up. Your stubborn beard becomes limp and lifeless .. . soft and pliable . ready for the razor. You feel no razor-pull, drag or serape. No sting or smart. Your face is fresher . cleaner... smoother than it’s ever been before. Every year this very simple test has shown thousands of men the way to a faster, smoother, cleaner shave. We simply want you to try it with an open mind and we'll cheerfully abide by your decision. So please read this advertisement thoroughly. Then mail coupon. It's a step you ll never regret. we re sure, No other shav ing cream is like Col- vate’s. No other can offer you such unique results. tea eed ik peter. N Try it, men... you'll see the difference It is, we believe, the ultimate attain- ment in the science of beard-softening. \ shaving cream based on the now proven principle that water, and not soap. is the real softener of your beard. Small Bubbles . . . the Secret that’s Colgate lather is designed to absorb more water... to scientifically drench your beard with moisture right at the base, where the razor work is done. It's a “small-bubble” lather. For small bubbles hold more water. They carry it closer to the base of your beard. ORDINARY LATHER Photomicrograph of ordinary lather surrounding single hair Note how large bubbles hold air instead of water against beard { glance at the photomicrographs proves this better than words. Note the startling difference in bubble size between Colgate’s and ordinary lather. Good-by, Razor-Pull That’s the principle, men. Now here's what it does for you: |. The soap in the lather breaks up the oil film that covers each hair. . . floats it quickly away. 2. Then billions of tiny, moisture- laden bubbles seep down through your beard ee. crowd around each whisker . soak it soft with water. Thus your whiskers come off clean and smooth. No razor-pull. No stinging and smarting. You’ve never had a shave like Colgate & Co., Dept. 502-F, 595 Fifth Awe... New York a a Please send me FREE sample of Colgate’s Rapid shave COLGATE LATHER You've never known such this before. comfort Where shall we send your free tube? Please don't wait for us to publish an other advertisement about this small bubble lather. Make up your mind right now to accept our seven-day offer Remember, it doesn t cost you a ceit We will also send a trial bottle of Colgate *‘After Shave.” Its a new lotion that’s making friends every day. You'll like the cool fresh feeling it leaves. Just jot your name and address on the >} coupon Colgate & Coa 995 Fifth Avenue Ne “ York. FREE OFFER, MEN! Crean Al-o sample of Colgate’s After Shave.” de ee a

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40 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 By George Rector ILLUSTRATED BY HARLEY ENNIS STIVERS ans Tues ~ It is One Spot in France That is France ADAME POULARD, just before she died, revealed the secret of her famous omelets. But knowing a valuable formula does not mean that you will be able to employ it for cooking or for anything else. The madame imparted her secret to some friends around 1890. ‘“My omelets have made my fortune,” she said; “so much so that I have a considerable fortune and have paid my son’s way through the University of Rennes. He has just taken his degree with honors. In my good humor I will give you my so-called mystery. My secret is merely to throw a good spoonful of fresh cream into the pan just when the omelet begins to rise. There is still another and more important secret code. The cream must be our cream —the genuine cream of Normandy.” I had never heard of this recipe, even though Madame Poulard broadcast it to the world almost forty years ago. And I know of no American chef who ever used Madame Poulard’s method. I, myself, when making the omelet, always mixed in the cream when beating up the eggs. I shall have to try Madame Poulard’s method. I shall probably fail, for the only country in which you can get real Norman cream is in Normandy, the dairy of France. All the best cheeses, including the famous Camembert, all the finest butter, milk and cream come from Normandy. Among the cheeses are the celebrated Bondon, made from full unskimmed milk; the famous Pont |’Evéque, beautiful when moist and tender, but just as good when it is dry and flaky; and Petit Suisse, a little cream cheese; also Livarot, which smells worse than Limburger—if such a smell is possible. Just a word about Normandy cream. Just off the Nor- mandy coast are the islands of Guernsey and Jersey, made famous by the cows of the same name and Lily Langtry, NORMANDY the Jersey Lily. The island cows were originally brought over from Normandy, which boasts of more cows per square mile than any other country in the world. Looking out of your railway compartment window, you can check off a thousand cows to the long mile for your entire trip through Normandy, and the farms run right to the coast. Where the farming ceases, the fishing begins, for Norman fish are the best in France. The Seine shad, stuffed, baked and drenched in a cream sauce, is the equal of our Delaware shad. Trout are plentiful in Norman rivers, and so are fine salmon. The combination salmon trout is a result of the mating of these two toothsome fish. But I was speaking of Madame Poulard’s omelets. I do not know whether to label them a farm or marine food for the simple reason that madame cooked them on an island. And what an island! It is Mont St.-Michel crowned by a Norman-Gothic cathedral started in the elev- enth century and finished in the fifteenth. The island is sometimes a peninsula, but twice a day the tide rushes in and cuts it off from the land. I did not make the pil- grimage, for the Mont was an island when I arrived at Avranches. Anyway, Madame Poulard has been dead some years, and the Inn of the Famous Omelet—Chez Madame Poulard, |’Incomparable, la Fameuse Omelette— is like Tara’s halls without the harp. When you remove the creator of a restaurant from his establishment, then the remaining walls are like a watch- case without its works—only a shell. I was glad that the tide was in and a journey to the Mont impossible. In the bloom of her career, Poulard often broke a hundred dozen eggs a day to supply the demands of her omelet worship- ers. An enormous number, when you realize that we never figured more than two eggs for a single omelet. Four eggs will make a good-sized omelet for two people. Kings have worshiped on Mont St.-Michel; and wher- ever kings worship you will find good chefs and fine inns. If there is anything a king detests, it is to worship on an empty stomach. I went out again the next afternoon to take another look at the Mont. This time the tide was at its ebb and tourists were making their way out across the road which is covered at flood tide. A little beyond the road were mud flats, with hundreds of village women harvesting the famous Normandy mussels. As the water recedes, they follow it and scrape the mussels off the slimy rocks with knives. The French mussel is much better than the French oyster, which I have found to be small, dis- colored and copperish in flavor. I am not going to try to give you a list of Norman inns, for there are many of them. Neither am I going to boost you into a trip to Deauville, Trouville or Dieppe, for they are summer resorts for the rich. The Norman peas- ant, like all Europeans, imagines that every American is Secretary of the Treasury or superintendent of the Phila- delphia Mint. The best way to eat is to stop at the little places, and even in the small taverns you will be flabber- gasted by the prices. The finest meal I had in Normandy was in Rouen, inland from Havre, on the Seine. Some gourmets contend that Norman cuisine is lacking in the masterful touch of the chefs of Burgundy and Provence, but its butter and cheese are leaders in their lines. Sois tripe d la mode de Caen, fillet of Dieppe sole and Canard Rouennais. (Continued on Page 136) Va

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Seal Step Mh HM a h il i HW HW ne nar UHHH al cpp! andsom | | I A attra vA mnt Wi HH] | HHL TW | mae | F you long to step high and handsomely on boulevard and open road, Reo | builds a car especially for you. It is the Reo Wolverine: $1195 and $1295, HI | | at Lansing, plus tax. } Wi | | | But you will not buy on these prices alone, not if you’re young enough to | | | believe that getting somewhere with speed and dash is very important. | | | That is the Wolverine’s chief motive in life. For the Reo Wolverine puts to shame the speed claims of many cars costing hundreds of dollars more. And Reo gives the Wolverine the chassis and the safety brakes that make such speeds safe and possible. Yes, this is a youthful automobile that doesn’t have to sell on price. Not with its lines, its colors, its brakes, its heavy chassis, its husky motor, its speedy “‘get-up-and-go.”” Try out this Reo Wolverine. You'll be surprised. ETT | | | REO MOTOR CAR COMPANY, Lansing, Michigan | | nn Wi oO Eh Hi V | DMN tr | I WTAE WwW | 1] ihidd a ae il ' Hii tt} | atta] rt NIH NTT | } MST PreEPtT did TT Hayy Wa ;iiid | 1} Hitt itidy i] AEeReaneanl Te 1} i] Hid] titi iti pitttaiad 1] HW wanetaae Pedal ERINE } > |=

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42 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 "Yes, Yes, Yes,’’ He Repeated Heartily. ye), iB) ARTHA tock advantage of a momentary turn of her father’s head to cast a final appealing glance at Pete-—a glance which he acknowledged with a wink—and then she sat down at the head of the table, between the two. Well, she reflected, shutting her eyes over the first spoonfu! of soup, this was one dinner that certainly prom- ised to be nobody’s bargain. Just about all that could be said for it was that here, anyway, they were together at last-—-Pete and her father—-Pete and the old gentleman himself. She prayed into the soup. It wasn't right—it wasn’t at all right—she told herself bitterly, that a girl should be afflicted with a pig-headed father and a pig-headed swain at one and the same time. It One or the other should be broad-minded, generous, expansively liberal. It wasa girl’s right to have at least one reasonable attachment. She gazed resignedly into her plate and stiffened in- wardly as her father, warmed by his soup, leaned back in his chair with that majesty that lay, really, at the bottom of his successful rise to the post of second assistant cashier of the Wheat and Metals Bank. ‘So, Mr. Taylor,’ he stated heartily, “ , was too much you are a newspaper man, eh? ‘A journalist,’ Pete agreed mildly, and she flinched at the innocuousness of the correction. ““A journalist, eh? Well, well, well! In other words, a member of the fourth estate!’’ He chuckled with satis- faction at what he felt to be a flash of sound classic wit. “Yes, yes, a member of the fourth estate!"’ He turned indulgently to hisdaughter. ‘‘ The fourth estate, my dear,” he explained, “is, in casual speech, journalism. The fourth estate was a title—a noble title, my dear—given to journalism by Pitt-—-Sir William Pitt—-it was Pitt, wasn’t it?’’ he demanded suddenly of Pete. “It sounds like Pitt,” the journalist replied. ‘In fact, it sounds very much like Pitt.” ‘Yes, indeed; now that I think it over Pitt. . . . What's this?” yes, it was ILLUSTRATED y Nunnally Johnson WOLFE BY GEORGE E. It was roast lamb, and while he gave his immediate attention to it, Pete winked again, solemnly and reassur- ingly, at Martha. ““Yes—yes, it was Pitt,’” Mr. Wheatley repeated, emerg- ing from his roast lamb. ‘Yes, Sir William Pitt, Earl of Beaconsfield, founder of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania—a splendid statesman, Mr. Taylor, a very splendid statesman indeed.” He reflected deeply over the splendor of Pitt’s statesmanship. ‘“‘Would that we had more like him to- day, Mr. Taylor; the helm of the ship of state could be in better hands, sir. As it happens, I have in mind a The clatter of a knife on a plate interrupted him and he turned smartly to Martha. ‘‘ What’s that?’’ he demanded. “‘T dropped my knife,”’ she replied quietly. “Dropped your knife?”’ “Into my plate.” “Into your plate?" He adjusted his glasses and con- firmed the phenomenon. “‘ Well!’’ he commented, appar- ently at a loss for a comment. ‘‘ Dear me!” “Oh, well,’’ she said, dismissing the matter. things go at the bank today?” “At the bank?” “Yes; how did things go?” “Oh, yes, at the bank! Very well, dear, very well!” He turned back to Pete, and Martha gave up. She’d tried—-she’d tried her best—and what had been the use? A fate that could give her a pig-headed father and a pig- headed sweetheart at one and the same time would cer- tainly be expected to provide for them the last, the worst, the most calamitous of all possible subjects of con- versation. She washed her hands of the whole affair. “As I was saying,’’ Mr. Wheatley continued to Pete, “T have in mind —— But you’re a newspaper man, Mr. **How did ‘Seems That You and the Ledger Have Been Cooking Up a Little Article or So — Nothing at All Serious’’ Taylor. What is your opinion of Haddlebury for governor?” Quietly and promptly, as she had expected, Pete laid down his knife and fork and forthwith gave himself entirely over to the matter Mr. Wheatley had brought up. ‘‘ Martha was telling me,”’ he began, ‘‘that you are an admirer of Haddlebury. Now it just happens that I’ve only recently got on the inside of some stuff about him re “*My opinion,’”” Mr. Wheatley continued, unaware that any other human voice had been raised, ‘“‘is that Haddle- bury is the man. Thomas has been in office too long. Haddlebury stands foursquare with the voters. He bends the knee to no man and he wears no man’s collar. His record as commissioner of sewers in the Elkman adminis- tration is spotless. He is a man of the people, for the people and by the people. You’re a newspaper man, Mr. Taylor—what is your opinion?” “Well, the truth is’’— Pete drew another breath—‘“‘the records I’ve been looking into show that Haddlebury is an outright crook, Mr. Wheatley. I confess I was, myself, surprised sd “Yes, yes, yes.’”” Mr. Wheatley continued to ruminate aloud. ‘‘Haddlebury seems to be the man beyond the shadow of a doubt. He does big things in a big way. He is a forward-looker, a sound man on the tariff and well up in the Moose. I can’t see how the people of this state could do better. But you’re a newspaper man, Mr. Tay- lor—what’s your opinion?”’ ‘“*Haddlebury ” Pete began again. “More lamb, Mr. Taylor? Martha, more lamb for Mr. Taylor.” “‘Haddlebury _” “You know, Mr. Taylor, I once had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Haddlebury socially. Now I flatter myself I am a judge of men Yes, my dear, I believe I will have a bit more of the lamb.” (Continued on Page 44 —s

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“Stop work,’ they told me—but I had ApvecLaipe Bett Bowman, of Long Beach, Calif. original tile mural artist. “I was so ill it was almost impossible for me to keep on with my work,” °° Read, above, her letter describing é she writes . her experience. RIGHT Jersey City, N. 7. “WHEN DISCHARGED from the army after the War I was absolutely unfit—and my skin all pain fully broken out. I took up my old work as Fireman in an engine company. But the skin trouble was a big handicap. And inoculations and various remedies didn’t help, while the irregular hours of my work made matters continually worse . . . One of the boys in the Engine House got me started eating Fleisch mann’s Yeast. I took it regularly, for 6 months. lhe skin eruptions I then had dried right up. I never expect to have them again as long as I live!” Greorce J. Encianp THE SATURDAY EVENING POST to struggle on”’ Long Beach, Calif. “My MerHop of painting on tiles and then baking them is my own discovery, and I cannot delegate any of my work to others. So when my health began to go back on me I became almost frantic. “*Stop work and rest,’ I was advised. But how could I, with orders incomplete and spaces in build- ings left vacant? “In my run-down condition, painful skin erup- tions broke out. Altogether, I had over forty of them. “Then my doctor started me on Fleischmann’s Yeast—three cakes daily. The skin eruptions promptly healed up. In a month my skin had cleared com- pletely and my general health had improved, too. I am now able to work 18 hours a day when orders are pressing.” (Mrs.) Adelaide Bell Bowman N place of medicines, doctors today are urging a corrective food—Fleischmann’s Yeast. As fresh as any garden vegetable, Fleisch- mann’s Yeast banishes constipation, easily, naturally. Corrects indigestion. Clears the unhealthy skin. At the root of all these ills generally lies an unhealthy condition of the intestinal tract. Fleischmann’s Yeast corrects this condition. It keeps the intestines clean rouses the sluggish muscles. Buy 2 or 3 days’ supply of Fleisch- mann’s Yeast at a time from your grocer and keep in any cool, dry place. And send for latest booklet on Yeast in the diet Health Research Dept. D-61, The 701 Washington free. Fleischmann Company, St., New York. pation “FOR 2 YEARS o Her appetit be “WE HAD BEEN ‘ROUGHING I two years, my mapping bou carelessness in Eat three cakes of Fileiscl every day, one before each n Eat it just plain, or dissol or any other way you like. tion drink one cake in a scalding—before meals Ir: yourself to regular j I s only n iry irtn eating habit ly back on us and cofistip a rer a 1d locatior 1 I set in tains for ning sites, result of i went Pills and aay sec Health at its best-——/shis easy way: 3 Ww rTLASS

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da THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 42) There was a short space of silence then, but Pete did not attempt to take advantage of it. He was a man who knew when to acknowledge defeat. He smiled his surrender to Martha and turned once more to his mutton. “Do you know, Mr. Taylor,’’ Mr. Wheatley demanded suddenly, ‘‘what I would doif I were Premier of Utrania?”’ Pete raised his eyebrows politely. ‘‘To tell you the honest truth,” he admitted, ‘“‘I hadn’t thought of it.’ ‘Well, I'll tell you,” he explained cosmically, stretching back in his chair. “‘I’d recall the minister to Chile.” “The minister to Chile!”’ Pete exclaimed, obviously astounded. ‘Absolutely !’” Mr. Wheatley beamed on Pete’s amaze- ment at his audacity. “Yes, sir, I’d recall the minister to Chile; and what’s more, I’d remove three brigades from Olknitz to Utrograd—at once, sir, at once! At once!” He could say no more. It was clear that he was struck speechless with admiration at the clean, clear, incisive strategy these moves represented. ‘‘Three brigades maybe four—and begin to maneuver with France and Italy for a treaty—a brand-new treaty, sir—regarding the Omsk-Ruma River Valley. It would be the only way, Mr. Taylor, the only way! No matter what you say, you won’t be able to devise a sounder plan, so it would be of little use to argue.” “I assure you,”’ Pete hastened to explain, “I hadn’t the slightest notion of arguing.” “It would be of no use,” Mr. Wheatley informed him. ‘If I were Premier of Utrania, I’d have France and Italy jumping through hoops, sir—jumping through hoops! Yes, sir!’’ He paused and silently appreciated the spec- tacle of himself making France and Italy jump through hoops. ‘“‘ Yes, sir, I’d have them jumping through hoops!”’ “T’ll bet!’’ Pete agreed; and then, feeling that one more effort would not be amiss: ‘ About Haddlebury ‘sf “Please,”” Martha interrupted, rising, “‘let’s have our coffee on the porch. Don’t let’s start talking ” She sent a significant lock at Pete. “‘Coffee?’’ repeated Mr. Wheatley. “I’ve had no coffee. What about coffee?” ““We’ll have it on the porch, dear,” she explained. They pushed back their chairs, and Mr. Wheatley ex- tended himself to the fullest reach of his five feet six inches. Then he felt in his breast pockets. ‘‘ My cigars,” he said “‘T’ve got to get my cigars; they’re upstairs. I’ll join you in just a moment.” On the porch, Martha caught Pete’s arm. Silently she looked into his eyes and shook her head slowly, hopelessly. He laughed. “That’s all,” he promised. “I’ve tried to let the old man know that he’s nursing a viper, a man whose present business is to make old Brother Haddlebury look like last year’s straw hat, and he’s refused to listen. I'll make no more efforts. From now on, dear, I pursue the pleasure of trying to marry into his family with no further qualms. He’s had his chance—and lost.” ‘*But can you beat it?”’ she asked in quiet awe. “Did you ever see a man so lost in a commissioner of sewers?” ““Never!”’ he acknowledged. ‘It’s the personal touch, I suppose—I mean, having met him face to face socially.” “He asked dad how the sewers were in our street.” “‘A politician’s interest can be no more personal than by asking how a man’s sewers are,” Pete admitted. “But aren’t you concerned? I mean, when he finds out that you are engaged in practically ruining his idol’s rep- utation—can’t you see how awkward it will be?’’ There was real worry in her eyes, and Pete’s smile softened. “‘Honey,”’ he said, “‘don’t fret. I believe that I am begin- ning to see light. One or two more experiments and I’ll be sure. If I’m right, the old gentleman and I are no less than blood brothers; he thinks he knows it all and I think Ido. If that proves to be the case, then the way is clear, even through all those terrible obstacles that always rise in the path of true, chaste and eternal love. I believe that I am describing our love accurately?” “‘It has never been better described,’’ she agreed hand- somely. ‘‘I am the most beautiful of women, you are the most gallant and brilliant of men, and our love is without a parallel in all history.” Mr. Wheatley appeared, making clucking, spitting noises over a cigar. ‘‘You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Taylor,” he said, “if I don’t keep in as close touch with matters as you newspaper men do. I’m kept pretty busy, you know, down at the bank, and it gives me great pleas- ure—a very great pleasure, Mr. Taylor —to come together with a man like yourself, one who is in the thick of things and keeps close watch on developments so I can renew my April 28,1928 information. I’ve been wanting to ask you—you're a newspaper man—what is your opinion of this Harrison Relief Bill?” “Well,” Pete ventured tentatively, ‘‘ Harrison “My opinion,” stated Mr. Wheatley, ‘“‘is that the Har- rison Relief Bill will be a burden on the taxpayers. It is being foisted on the farmers. What is your opinion, Mr. Taylor—you’re a newspaper man?” “The bill “§ “The people, Mr. Taylor, are beginning to groan under oppressive legislation. I believe I speak for the man in the street when I say ‘j Pete leaned forward. ‘‘Do you write, Mr. Wheatley?” “What?” “T say, do you write?”’ ““Write—write what?” “Articles for the magazines or newspapers.’ ““Why—ah—why, no, Mr. Taylor.”” He permitted him- self the indulgence of a dignified laugh. ‘‘Why—ah—I am a pretty busy man. I have often thought I had some small gifts in that direction, and had circumstances been different But no, I do not. Why do you ask?”’ “T ask,”’ Pete explained innocently, ‘because it just occurred to me that you have a marvelous power of ex- pression. I was just thinking of your reasons for opposing that bill. I was just wondering if you wrote You speak, you know, like a born writer.” Mr. Wheatley laughed again, self-consciously. ‘“‘ Why ah—why, no, now that you speak of it—no. Odd, too, that you should have mentioned it; because I’ve often thought - Well, perhaps had circumstances been dif- ferent - We can’t all be writers, you know.” “‘T should think you’d write now.” “Well, to tell the truth’”’—he glanced in some embar- rassment at his daughter——‘“‘I’ve often thought I might. But after all 2g “My idea,” Pete said thoughtfully, ‘‘would be that you should write a letter, say, to the Ledger, my paper—a letter to the editor -and just word your reasons for, say, supporting Haddlebury or opposing the Harrison Bill. You have such a clear, forceful style; you’ve put in splen- did words—yes, yes, don’t protest —in splendid words what a lot of peoplethink. I believe—I truly believe it would be a civic duty.” (Continued on Page 46) **We Could Run Away -— Elope.’’ ‘‘Why Do That? You Know That Would Make You Unhappy, Because it Would Make Him Unhappy”’ “‘ —o—

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CALLING CLEAR THe lonely scream of a sea-mew tn drenching darkness above a staggering deck . . . the clear, thin yelp of a coyote, or the broken song of a cowboy bedding his cattle down at sunset . the musical hubble-bubble of i metropolis beating upward against dimly outlined orange-dotted skyscrapers ... the mellow bay of an ocean greyhound slipping through harbor trafic and away to the endless hunting fields of the sea... . If sounds like these bring a quick sense of suffocation to you, the world is calling clear! You will do well to listen. For by what standards can a man measure life who does not know the outside world? More than ever before is it necessary for one of culture, of authority, of industrial worth to look beyond the cubby-hole of local satisfaction. There is so much to see!—to learn! And if you but make up your mind—it is so easy to go. Incomparable Rainier rears her white shoulders above the bronze-green forests of the Northwest—only a day or two away! Within a few short weeks you may see a Hakodate junk wal- lowing in the blue Pacific swell. Do you ever stop to con- sider that it is perfectly practicable to find yourself at some near dawn upon the green shoulder of Seneschal, THE SATURDAY EVENING glimpsing for one priceless moment provincialism are melting away the immaculate peak of Everest? beneath the rising tide of that the golden sands of Lido printed information on world with their laughing crowds are a wait- happenings. Social events in ing carpet for your feet as you face Furope ... politics in India... the the purple glory of an Adriatic day? geography of Central America .. . big that friends of yours are even now, no game hunting in Africa . . . with such doubt, strolling blithely along the Bois de — subjects practically every modern American Boulogne or hurrying Cityward past the — has at least a talking acquaintance. shadow of St. Paul’s? Those who are interested in the modern The American people alert, culti- American market... whether it is to sell trans- vated, successful are becoming more _ portation, hotel accommodation, products cosmopolitan with every passing season. of a thousand sorts, or the services of civili Automobiles, steamships, railroads zation must bear constantly in mind that and airplanes are making the — fhey are appealing to a wide world familiar to all. a better educated public, more cosmopolitan And the last stands of and more responsive than ever N. W. AYER @ SON @& ea ADVERTISING HEADQUARTERS, PHILADELPHIA SAN FRANCISCO CHICAGO NEW YORK BOSTON

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46 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 44) He leaned back, and turning, leveled a solemn and very dignified look at Martha. Her reply, even after glancing at happily reflective Mr. Wheatley, was only a somewhat mystified quirk. “Sometime, perhaps,’’ Mr. Wheatley said presently. “Tam a busy man, but if I thought my taking pen in hand would be in any way a civic duty ——” He left the sen- tence incomplete. “In my mind,”’ Pete assented, “‘there is no doubt about it. I hope you won't forget it, and I can assure you that my paper, the Ledger, though opposed to Mr. Haddlebury, would feel honored to publish the intelligent, balanced views of a sound business man like yourself.’’ He paused to watch his words sink in, and then: “But to get on, what is your opinion of the Castleton case, Mr. Wheat- ley?” Two hours later he rose. Mr. Wheatley was a bit hoarse and obviously undergoing some strain. Pete shook his hand. **You must come again, Mr. Taylor. It is a pleasure to exchange views with a man like yourself. About the letter — well, we shall see. I am a very busy man; I won’t prom- ise--but we shall see.” For a minute after he had entered the house they did not speak. Martha was studying the mask of Pete’s face. Then: ‘“‘T don’t know whether to punch you in the eye or kiss you,” she said doubtfully. ‘But if you’re being mean to my dad " ‘‘Mean!" He laughed in amazement. ‘‘Can’t you see the sublime and beneficent strategy I have been using? Isn't it clear that he is a born letter-to-the-editor writer, and haven't I shown him the way? Why, dear, your father should be under eternal obligations to me. I’ve ——” “He is such a gentleman of the old school.” ‘“‘And what, pray, am I but another gentleman of the old school? We are both gentlemen of the old school; in fact, we both went to the old school together—we are old school- mates. Furthermore, we are both writers, expounders, ego- tistical bozos. Are you trying to tell me that I can’t recognize another member of the breed?” ‘But what good— what benefit is all this? What possible use will this be to—to us?” He kissed her. “‘ Darling,” he said, ‘‘I know writers. Be satisfied with that. The series on Brother Haddlebury will be printed, your father will read them and disapprove, and yet Honey, trust me.” When Mr. Wheatley entered his bedroom he stood for a moment engulfed in deep thought in the middle of the room. Apparently he wrestled with a problem almost beyond hu- man capacity. In fact the longer he reflected, the more convinced he became that it was beyond human capacity. He studied a writing table, transfixing a pot of ink and a pen with a penetrating eye. The pot of ink quailed; the pen curled a bit in anguish. Then Mr. Wheatley walked, slowly and purposefully, toward the table. He sat down, picked up the agonized pen, thrust it into the flinching ink, and wrote: EDITOR OF THE LEDGER Dear Sir: It has been called to my attention that a number of unqualified misstatements concerning the Honorable Michael J. Haddlebury have -— He paused and considered “unqualified misstatements” ominously. Then he tore up this sheet of paper and started anew.... At two o'clock the rest of the house was dark and sleep- ing. Mr. Wheatley drew a deep sigh and rose from the table wearily. He stood almost ankle-deep in discarded sheets of writing paper, sacrifices to an artistic conscience, but in his hand he held a flawless sheet— flawless in composition, flawless in orthography, flawless in polemic skill. He was satisfied. Mr. Currier, an editorial assistant of the Ledger, one of whose duties was to find space on the page opposite the ed- itorial page for letters to the editor from the paper’s more literate readers and thinkers, was cursing softly among pen- cil and ink-written outbursts from Constant Reader, In- dignant Subscriber, Well-Wisher, Pro Bono Publico, A Mother, Vox Populi and Old Thirteenth Ward Boy, when Pete walked into the office the next morning and dropped into the spare chair. Why in the name of several things, demanded Mr. Cur- rier, could not these exhibitionists write on but one side of the paper? Was he paid, he demanded, to copy bilge on the opposite side of the paper for high-toned linotype oper- ators to set up? He would quit some day, declared Mr. Currier, and become a press agent. ... What was eating Mr. Tayler? “‘George,”’ said Pete, ‘“‘you and I are men of the world, aren’t we?” ‘Has anyone questioned the fact?’’ Mr. Currier de- manded, looking up darkly. “‘There’s not a soul living would dare,’’ Pete replied hastily. “I just wanted to be sure we understood each other.”’ Mr. Currier regarded him thoughtfully. ‘‘Go ahead.” “The truth is,” Pete explained quietly, ‘‘I have just wagered fifty thousand dollars with Harry Lauder that you have in that pile of letters a communication from Mr. Horace Entwistle Wheatley. Would you mind giving a look, like a good fellow?”’ “Harry loses,’”’ declared Mr. Currier promptly. “‘ Every- body writes to the newspapers, including Mr. Wheatley.” He held up a letter. ‘‘Could you have reference to the Mr. Horace Entwistle Wheatley who feels that a number of falsifications have been circulated regarding the Honorable Michael J. Haddlebury, and that he simply wishes to say that the Honorable Haddlebury is & sound man, foursquare with the voters, a right-thinking candidate and a credit to West One Hundred and Seventh Street?” “Tf I live and breathe,”’ Pete agreed, “‘it sounds like the man.” “Then he is a handsome fellow,” declared the editorial assistant. ‘“‘He is a sound and engaging chap. His politics and reasoning may be a little cock-eyed, but he writes on but one side of the paper. In what way may we distinguish him among his fellows?” “‘Give him a break,’’ Pete requested. ‘To put it bluntly, he is the father of the future Mrs. Pete Taylor. So give him a break. Run his letters as often as you can, and I will be glad to cancel that pill-pool debt you owe me.” “The debt is herewith canceled. I cannot allow a man’s politics to come between me and an opportunity to get rid of a fifty-cent debt.” The letter appeared that afternoon. Pete read it un- moved. Martha read it curiously. Perhaps fifty thousand other people read it, and thought or remarked that Mr. Horace Entwistle Wheatley was (a) a sap or (b) a writer of force and judgment. Letters to the editor receive such reactions. In fact, to go further into details, Mr. Haddle- bury himself read it. Like most other people, Mr. Haddlebury rarely missed his name i print. And then, after reading it, he forgot the matter—for a while. And, of course, Mr. Wheatley read it.. The first edition of the Ledger reached the streets shortly after noon, and at 12:15 Mr. Wheatley had a copy, He-Yread the letter through, thoroughly, three times, and then tossed the copy over to the first assistant cashier. “T have a little comment, I notice, on the page opposite the editorial page,” he said casually. ‘Quite a surprise to me to find that the paper considered it worth publishing.” ““Mr. Haddlebury is a fine fellow,”’ the first assistant agreed, after reading it. ‘‘He stands foursquare with the people. You have described him very well.” At ten o’clock that evening Mr. Wheatley explained to his daughter that he had a bit of writing to do before re- tiring and excused himself from the porch. Martha sat swinging in the hammock a few minutes longer and then got up and began walking slowly toward the car line. Halfway she met Pete. They sauntered idly back. “You saw it?”’ she said presently. “Tt was a sound letter—a very sound letter indeed,” he said. “‘It was written on but one side of the paper.” “‘What’s that got to do with it?” “‘T don’t know, I’m sure. But I’m informed that that’s what makes a sound letter,”’ he replied vaguely. ‘I'd like to congratulate the old gentleman, but he’s upstairs writ- ing, isn’t he?” “How did you guess?” ‘A little bird—a peacock—told me.”’ He smiled faintly. ‘Besides, I’m a writer myself, you know.” It is scarcely possible to say that the letters to the editor of the Ledger from Mr. Horace Entwistle Wheatley caused any great stir. They appeared regularly for weeks, to be sure, and they were, without exception, heartily for the Honorable Haddlebury, whom the Ledger opposed for gov- ernor. They nailed no few lies regarding that peerless commissioner of sewers, but not one of them occasioned a riot in Union Square; so they may, as a matter of record, be set down as not out of the ordinary. Mr. Currier admired them inordinately. They were clearly written, correctly spelled and maintained a-con- troversial level without recourse to untasteful invective. And they were written on but one side of the paper. He asked no more of a letter writer. “It is very clear,’’ he remarked to Pete, “‘that your future father-in-law is a man who has thought matters out pretty thoroughly and is in no doubt as to the state of his mind on Mr. Haddlebury. What I would like to know is what he is going to say to your series.” Pete gazed thoughtfully out of the window. “Blessed if I know,”’ he admitted slowly. ‘‘He’s really a nice, harm- less old gent—but a born Pro Bono Publico. If I could only talk to him a bit But no, by the time I appear in the evening he is engaged in tearing off a little master- piece of public-spirited discussion for you to read and give April 28,1928 to the world. Talking to him probably wouldn’t do any good, but it would spare him the shock of finding that he has been nursing a viper to his bosom.”’ He sighed. ““However, George,’’ he added unctuously, ‘‘one must never exert the brain with worry over problems that are not due until tomorrow. Remember that, George, for it is the daily aphorism I have promised myself to give you for your own good. The brain is a delicate organism.” “When does this sensational exposure of Brother Had- dlebury’s political methods and record start?”’ ““Monday, I believe. The brain, George, is a delicate “Is it the goods? Did you really get any hot stuff?” “On the level, it’s red hot. It’s new stuff and there’s dynamite in every paragraph. And every paragraph is backed, substantiated and corroborated with documents so official that you would call me a liar if I should show you just one of them. But the brain, George, is “And now,” said Mr. Currier—‘‘now that I have drained you of all your information, I toss you aside like a broken doll. Would you mind getting out of my office? It happens that I am in receipt of a highly important letter from one Mr. Wheatley, a letter calling for the closest at- tention and consideration, and unless you beat it I may decide simply to throw it into the wastebasket.” Pete rose promptly and strolled out, whistling softly, tunelessly. He got his hat and stick and left the building. At the corner he caught a cross-town car. He tried not to fee] apprehensive about the series and its likely effect on Mr. Wheatley. He told himself that he’d tried to explain the matter to the old gentleman. Furthermore, why should he be expected to indorse every fool idea an otherwise worthy citizen embraced? Did he hold it against Mr. Currier that Mr. Currier, in many senses an estimable friend, believed in the single tax? No; he considered Mr. Currier something of a sap for it, but he did not actually hold it against him. He felt aggrieved, unfairly treated and very, very bitter. Why in the name of all that was holy, now, couldn’t the Honorable Haddlebury go and jump in a river? The notion cheered him. Perhaps, he reflected, the series would indeed impel the honorable to do that very thing. It seemed quite likely. For this was no ordinary campaign stuff, full only of speculation, argument and exclamation points, that he had written; it was, as he had informed Mr. Currier, the goods—-facts and figures that promised very definitely to kill the Honorable Haddlebury’s chances for being governor. His spirits rose. He would himself, personally, escort the honorable to a river. He would, furthermore, select the river, relieving the honorable of all the bothersome worry of choosing a place for the suicide. In every way, he told himself, he would make the honorable’s jump into a river a matter of the greatest ease and simplicity —if, in- deed, it came to the worst, he would be glad to push him in. There was nothing too difficult, he decided, for him to do, if only it would serve to get the Honorable Haddlebury into a deep, deep river—permanently. And, as it happened, the Honorable Haddlebury was, at that very same moment, toying with almost the same idea, though the river he gloomily contemplated flowed through the deep abyss of defeat, political disgrace and ordinary labor at another and honester trade. He sat in his office, short, sallow, with bristly hair, looking dully at the carpet. A ratty young man, y-cleped Mr. Shags McManus, was explaining apologetically. “You went to the Ledger, of course,”” the honorable in- terrupted him. “T did.” ““What did they say?” “They said get to hell out,’’ Mr. McManus reported accurately and briefly. The peerless commissioner of sewers rose and began to pace nervously, in jerky little steps, back and forth the length of the room. Once he stopped and stared absently at Mr. McManus. “Can you beat it?’’ he demanded. “Tt certainly is hell,’”” Mr. McManus agreed. “‘Here I was,’’ Mr. Haddlebury addressed Mr. McManus eloquently, ‘‘all set. Here I been doing my job as I saw fit, bothering nobody and asking nobody to bother me. Some things have come up,” he said vaguely, “‘that had to be attended to—in a quiet kind of way. If I hadn't done what I done, what would have happened? There'd have been a terrible mess. But I fixed "em, in my own way, and what’s my thanks? What thanks do I get for saving the city money? All the thanks I get is that a stuffed-shirt rag like this Ledger’s got to come along and put a lot of wrong misinterpretations on my actions. Can you beat it?” “It certainly is hell,"”» Mr. McManus repeated. “‘When do they start their lying?”’ ““Monday, I understand.” (Continued on Page 61) a i ae = i

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2 i THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Standard: ized Motor Camping UTOMOBILE camping is passing through a period of sweeping changes. For one thing the camper has pretty well found himself. He has come into hisown. Nolonger does he feel a bit timid. Communi- ties in every sec- tion now take the knight of the dusty trail as a matter of course, as much a part of the order of things as radio and the airplane, which should be very consoling to the novice. In- deed he will find that, from coast to coast and from the Gulf to the green -«e timber, he will be gu iva { j ‘ k ” ] t rn } the n ies trip where ne Is necessary Ur Such trips the chances are ten t one that the itin- erant will have friends or relatives who can be relied upon for emer gency shelter ir case of an exceed ingly bad storm Hence for such elementary pur- poses the shed tent —often called the amazon or side tent —isjust about rignt This is the orig- inal auto-camper’s shelter, but its received with the right hand of fellowship every- where. For his comfort and happiness communities have established shady camping places with shower baths, laundry facilities, rest rooms, stores, sanitary facilities, play- grounds, evening entertainments, and even mail service. The camper, for his part, shows his appreciation of this new hospitality by dressing better. As a corollary to this improvement it is not at all unusual for him to spend a part of his time patronizing hotels, resorts and restaurants; indeed his natty outing attire is acceptable in the best dining rooms accustomed to cater to the tourist trade. The camper no longer feels it necessary to cling, snail- wise, to his accouterment every mile of the trip. Indeed some of the brightest spots of his wanderings are found along the side trips—climbing Pike’s Peak, excursion-boat trips to beauty spots no automobile road penetrates, horse- back rides off the beaten trail, fishing and hiking far from the camp site. The motorist does not deny the existence of myriads of worthwhile beauty spots to which no road leads. One of the most interesting parts of a Western camping trip was enjoyed when we left our cars at Brooks Lake, up on the continental divide near Dubois, Wyoming, to go via horseback trails through Two-Ocean Pass—the only place in the United States where fish can cross the Rockies—the Teton National Forest, the famous Jim Bridger country and upper Yellowstone River valley, to come out eventually at Lewis Lake near the southern entrance to Yellowstone National Park. PYPIGHT BY HILEMAN, KALISPELL, MONTANA Roughing it Smoothly MONG other innovations it is noticeable that the camper is driving a better car than he did a few years ago. Of thousands of campers’ chariots counted along main transcontinental routes, and in auto camps in every section of the Middle West, seventy-five per cent were of a better three-speed-ahead type. Campers are not only driving better cars, but they now take just pride in keeping them fairly spick and span. To aid and abet exemplary conduct, thousands of municipal camps offer the use of a free car laundry. By all means the most striking change of all, easily noted on first sight of any reputable motor camp, is the great improvement in camping outfits. Formerly anything was good enough to take camping, and it was considered quite right to set out with as little as possible in the way of equipment. I remember a school-teacher and his wife from Michigan, whom we met in a camp near Lake George in the Adirondacks back in 1922, carrying a Spartan’s outfit; a weather-beaten tarpaulin for a tent, an old carpet for the floor, a few battered tin. dishes and some eating utensils. They had no camp stove; nor did any cots or beds find a Grinnell Lake and Glacier, Montana place in their outfit; indeed they scooped away a place for their hips and slept—like the woodsman who loved to rough it—right on the ground. One sees less and less of this sort of thing. It has been found to be a great deal more fun, as one camper said, to “cut the rough stuff’’ and add the few articles needed, by scrimping on other things if necessary, to enable one to rough it smoothly. Gasoline nomads are now taking as much pride in sporting a neat, efficient camping outfit—one that they are proud to show off —as they take in their automobiles and personal attire. Another good reason for fewer outfit travesties—mat- tress-gorged automobiles, bedsprings nodding from the car top, and mile-long tent poles projecting fore and aft—is the present trend of standardization on the part of equip- ment builders. It took a long time to standardize the telephone, the radio-receiving set, and the automobile; and camping outfits have gone through the same stages Today the manufacturer, like the camper, has found him- self at last. As a natural result of gradual improvement all along the line, the problem of outfitting is now taken a bit more seri- ously, as well it should be. Outfitting for a camping ad- venture has passed the tongue-in-the-cheek stage. Campers learned, often to their bitter sorrow, that it was not as simple as it looked and, indeed, required as much careful planning, based on as many fundamental considerations, as when buying an automobile, a washing machine, or a hat With the gradual improvement and standardization of manufactured outfits to meet every possible camping need, the day of the homemade outfit is rapidly passing into extinction along with the buffalo and the wild pigeon. In a way I am sorry, for many is the good laugh that one may have at the expense of comical running-board crates, gen- erally called kitchenettes or trunks by their proud parents; most home-brewed trailers are knock-kneed and apologetic; while nothing looks so much like a comedy sketch as a misshapen home-grown tent. Then there is the funny house car that someone built with the assistance of the village blacksmith, tinsmith, and plumber. There is no need for camp burlesques any longer, for trim-appearing outfits are now available for every possible use. When the beginner selects his auto tent he should answer these five questions: Just what is the tent to be used for short week-end trips or long journeys? Is a shelter needed mainly for sleeping quarters, or will it also at times be called into service as a living and dining room? Is it ex- pected that this tent will house the camping party through all kinds of weather for four or five consecutive months, or must it wear well enough to be carried one month of the year for four or five seasons? Do circumstances require that. it shall be a one-man tent? What are the perils to big day has passed, although it is still popular with small parties, as well as for near-home trips, and also when sleeping quarters only are demanded Some of the reasons for the passing of the chummy little amazon tent are: Lack of adequate head room, relatively flat roof which sprays under the impact of pelting rain and also is liable to pocket water, the difficulty in heating it when one runs into chilly nights at higher altitudes, hob bles one’s car so that it cannot easily be driven from camp and the difficulty of giving this particular style of tent preper facilities for ventilation. If one takes an inventory of the next motor camp he may find that there are as many shed tents as any other kind, but if he takes the time to get acquainted with the owners he will find that many of them have their eyes on some other kind of shelter The Proper Tents jor Nomads F ONE needs a tent not only for sleeping quarters but also for a place in which to eat his mea! in comfortable seclusion from pests or the elements; or if he wants a shel- ter for a living room where he can lounge about in easy camp chairs, perchance reading, listening to his radio, or writing letters; then only a larger and more roomy one will answer. Either the special touring wall tent or the newer um brella shelter will meet the requirements for a more com modious living quarters. The floor-space size, which is the ld be approximately common way of referring to tents, shou ye hundred square feet for the average party of three or four people. This may mean an 8 by 12, 9 by 11 or 10 by 10 foot tent. All things considered, the rectangular tent is superior to the square one, for it enables one to arrange either two double beds or a double and two singles or four singles in positions that will give the occupants more floor space where it is most needed Old-style wall tents are not suitable for motor camping because they are not built insect proof, they rarely have floors or sod cloth unless ordered specially, have cumber- some ridge and end poles, and are not properly ventilated On the other hand the newer wall tents--thos« cially for the needs of the motor camper— have everything that a good shelter should offer, and also are constructed } built spe in an ingenious manner that eliminates the impossibl ridge poles. Some of them have additional head room inside, as a result of a new gambrel-roof feature. Other improvements include a sort of portico cloth roof made so that it will extend from the front of the tent to the car top rectangular-shaped doors that are protected with netting and storm flaps, automatic tension devices that keep th« ridge and guy ropes just at the right tension even if a rain Continued on Page 68

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Company, They told me to try RA. THEY said: “You’ve never really smoked a pipe unless you’ve smoked Prince Albert.” I divided their enthusiasm by two, and decided to take a chance. Chance? Well, if that’s what it was, I won! I knew I was “going somewhere” when I got that first whiff. A few seconds later, I arrived. Boy, what a taste! Cool as a hat-check girl when she kidnaps your kelly. Sweet as her smile when you pay her the ransom. Mellow and mild and long-burning, yet with that rich, satisfy- ing body that lets you know you’re smoking. Yes, yes! PRINGE ALBERT THE SATURDAY EVENING POST My pipe-program begins right after break- fast and runs far, far into the night. P.A. never tires my taste. Each pipe-load tastes better than the one before, if such a thing is possible. If you think I’m over-enthusiastic, you can check me up—with a pipe and a tidy red tin. —the national joy smoke! © 1928, R. J. Reynolds Tobacco Winston-Salem, N. C. April 28,1928 i CRIMP CUT LONG BURNING Pipe AND CIGARETTE TOBACCO P.A. gives you more in every way —TWO full ounces in each tin. po SS a

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ee SS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PRESIDENTIAIL CAMPAIGNS FROM AN ENGRAVING BY BUTTRE Stephen Douglas E SHALL hear no more of Bleeding Kansas. There will be no more shrieks for her unhappy destiny. I think we may safely anticipate that [the slavery agitation] is rapidly approaching a finality.” Mr. Buchanan was very confident of that in 1856, but he had not been many hours in office before Chief Justice Taney, speaking officially for the Supreme Court of the United States in the Dred Scott decision, startled the country again by announcing that a slave could not be considered a citizen, and that the Missouri Compromise “is not warranted by the Constitution, and is therefore void.”’ In the North this pronouncement was received with un- bounded rage, and the assertion was made that the Supreme Court had ‘‘descended into the political mire. It has sul- lied the ermine; it has draggled and polluted its garments in the filth of proslavery politics.”” It was even believed by some that the decision was the deliberate result of collusion between the Chief Justice and the outgoing and incoming Democratic Administrations, and widespread pub- licity was given to Justice Curtis’ dis- senting opinion, in which he stated that ‘I do not hold any opinion of this Court or any court binding when expressed on a question not legitimately before it. A great question of con- stitutional law, deeply affecting the peace and welfare of the country, is not, in my opinion, a fit subject to be thus reached.” And it was perfectly true that the Missouri Compromise and the citizenship of slaves formed no part of the legal point at issue in the Dred Scott case, in which the Su- preme Court had simply been called upon to decide the free or slave status of an individual negro. But the Chief Justice and five of his associates—including the four Southern judges—stirred, no doubt, by a praiseworthy de- sire to terminate the long slavery discussion, had seen fit to seize this opportunity for the rendering of what were considered irrelevant opinions concerning these constitu- tional questions. A Much: Settled Controversy HE South, on the other hand, and with it the Demo- cratic Administration, received the court’s edict with delight. The Terriories could not be closed to slaveholders bringing with them their human property, and no action with regard to slavery could be taken prior to the estab- lishment of statehood. Popular sovereignty in the Territo- ries, or “‘squatter sovereignty,” did not exist, and a Territorial legislature had no more right to determine for or against slavery than Congress itself. The executive attitude was well displayed in Mr. Buchanan’s later message to Congress, in which he in- formed them that “‘I cordially congratulate you upon the final settlement, by the Supreme Court of the United States, of the question of slavery in the Territories. The right has been established of every citizen to take his FROM AN ENGRAVING BY J GUTTRE The Black Republicans, By MEADE MINNIGERODE ce" “scissor property of any kind, including slaves, into the common Territories belonging equally to all the States a6 aa to have it protected there under the Federal Constitution. Neither Congress, nor a Territorial Legislature, nor any human power, has any authority to annul or impair this vested right.” Once again, then, the famous controversy had been set- tled—but in the meantime Kansas had been shrieking, and Congress roaring, more bitterly than ever before. General Pierce had already refused to countenance the Topeka free insurgents of Kansas, and Congress had recog- nized the validity of the proslavery government originally set up in the territory, a representative of which had taken his seat in the House. And now, in February, 1858, this government—by a process of undeniable deceptions—was presenting a constitution to Congress as a basis for the immediate admission of the territory to statehood, for the purpose of putting an end to the territorial conditions which for months had required the presence in Kansas of Federal troops as the only means of maintaining order. A constitution permitting slavery, adopted at Lecompton by delegates chosen in an election from which the free- state adherents had absented themselves, as they again absented themselves when the slavery clause was per- functorily referred to a popular ratifying vote. And if, “as an individual,’’ Mr. Buchanan had ex- pressed an opinion “in favor of submitting the remaining clauses to the people,”’ as an official, ‘neither my- self nor any human authority had the power,” he main- tained, in spite of promises to the contrary, ‘‘to rejudge the proceedings of the convention and declare the constitution which it had framed to be a nullity. To have done this would have been a violation of the Kansas-Nebraska Act [and of] the great principle of popular sovereignty.’’ So Franklin Pierce Mr. Buchanan, sponsoring the Lecompton Constitution before Congress, interpreted his election pledges, and not entirely inconsistently. It was simply a question of the legitimacy of the Kansas territorial government, and “‘a great delusion seems to pervade the public mind,’’ Mr. Buchanan explained, “ir relation to the parties in Kansas ‘ We ar apt to refer merely to the existence of tw« parties divided on the question of slavery’’; but the dividing line was ‘‘not between two political partie: both acknowledging the lawful existence of the gover: ment, but between those who are loyal to this govern- violent political ment and those who have endeavored to destroy {it} by force and by usurpation—between those who sustain and those who have done all in their power to overthrow the Territorial Government established by Congress.”’ This they would have ac- 1860 complished, “haditnot been . . for the troops of the United States. A large portion of the people of Kan- 1] lutionary government, under the so called Topeka constitution.” And “this Topeka government, adhered to with suc treasonable pertinacity, is a government in direct opposi tion to the existing government prescribed and recognized by Congress.’’ The Topeka men should not have absented themselves from the Lecompton election, and “if Congress for the sake of those men who refused to vote for delegates to the convention when they might have excluded slavery from the constitution, and who afterward refused vote . . . whenthey might, as they claim, have stricker slavery from the constitution, should now reject the State is manifest because slavery remains in the constitution, that the agitation will be renewed in a more alarm ing form.’ The fact that those same men had recentl) voted jointly with great success to elect an antislavery legislature, which the convention had managed to ignore was not emphasized The President's Impregnabie Position R. BUCHANAN'S position was really quite impregna ble on thesurface. He was the President of a negative, non-interfering party, and it was not for him-—unless he chose courageously, and perhaps unwisely, to do so vive the old disputes of 1855, to inquire inte the validity of that original election in Kansas when the Missourians had come riding across the border, to go behind the acts of a Congress which had accepted the proslavery territorial gov ernment, to maintain which troops of the United States were at the time encamped in Kansas when they should have been in Utah pacifying the Mormons. The Topeka to re- government was not an official government, its adherents were in “‘rebellion”’’ against the constituted and authorizé territorial government, and the latter had submitted a cor stitution, ostensibly according to law, which Mr. Buchanar

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52 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST indorsed. ‘‘With my deep convictions of duty,” he could plausibly say, “‘I could have pursued no other course.” It was not true, and a whole succession of Kansas gover- nors were there te tell him so, but it was tenable, and it may have seemed the least of several evils. The matter is important, since it was to split the Demo- cratic Party, read Mr. Douglas out of its administration wing and contribute to the Black Republican success of 1860. For Mr. Douglas would not tolerate the executive attitude. He came forward before the North to champion a free Kansas because he would. not admit—and quite cor- rectly—that popular sovereignty had been upheld by any scheme of statehood for the territory which excluded the Topeka claims—and without popular sovereignty Mr. Douglas was a procession without a banner. He went at once to Mr. Buchanan and warned him that he would op- pose the Lecompton project; and when Mr. Buchanan advised him to remember that no Democrat had ever op- posed his own administration without suffering destruc- tion, as had been shown on several occasions during General Jackson’s Presidency, Mr. Douglas retorted: “Mr. President, I wish you to remember that General Jackson is dead.”’ And the battle began in Congress. A notable battle which sometimes degenerated into a cat fight—as at the night session during which some thirty members indulged in fisticuffs—and the conclusion of the matter was that the Senate passed a bill admitting Kansas as a state. To this bill the House, however, added an amendment requiring that the constitution be referred again to a popular vote; and when the Senate accepted the change it also attached to the act an offer of public lands to be given*to the new state if it adopted the Lecompton Constitution; otherwise it was the senatorial decision that the territory would have to wait for statehood until its population reached the required limit. To all intents, a bribe of additional territory and imme- diate statehood in return for the ratification of the Le- compton Constitution—a bribe which the people of Kansas were actually to reject in August by voting down the pro- slavery document—and the passage of the measure was greeted prematurely at Washington with cheers and can- non as a great administration victory over Mr. Douglas. For the Little Giant was now an enemy; a deserter who, after supporting the Kansas policy of General Pierce, had turned against his party; a traitor, in the eyes of the South, whose popular sovereignty was only an antislavery device, and of whom rumor spoke as in secret alliance with the Black Republicans. The hand of executive vengeance fell upon his adherents in office, the Democratic press hounded him forth with abuse—some of it perhaps offi- cially inspired—and there was nothing for him to do, in the fall of 1858, but to go back to Illinois and seek re- election to the Senate. And there, awaiting him as an opponent, he found the long Abraham Lincoln. When Lincoln Launched a Fatal Question HE two candidates toured the state togethers debating jointly on the issues of the day, and it was during their Freeport meeting that the ungainly lawyer finally asked his famous question. ‘If Douglas answers,”’ he had predicted, ‘he can never be President.”” Could the people of a terri- tory, Mr. Lincoln wanted to know, ‘‘in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizen exclude slavery from its limits prior to the formation of a State Constitution?” The Supreme Court of the United States versus popular sovereignty. Mr. Douglas could not ignore the question; he could only answer it to his greatest immediate, local advantage, and let the South think what it might for the time being; he could only endeavor, with all the political acrobatics at his command, to comply with the obiter dicta of the Dred Scott decision—-as behooved a good Democrat—without abandoning the precious doctrine of popular sovereignty, which was his principal presidential stock in trade. So, on the ground that the safeguarding by the Consti- tution of slave property rights in a territory must be worth- less unless sustained by local regulations which must themselves ‘depend entirely upon the will and wishes of the people of the Territory, as they can only be prescribed by the local legislatures.”” Mr. Douglas replied that “the people have the lawful means to introduce {slavery} or to reject it as they please, for the reason that slavery cannot exist a day,or an hour anywhere unless it is supported by local police regulations.’’ Consequently, ‘no matter what the decision of the Supreme Court may be on that abstract question, still the right of the people to make a slave terri- tory or a free territory is perfect and complete under the Nebraska Bill.” Mr. Douglas had saved the day, and his senator’s seat in Ilinois, but he had killed himself in the South, and the future, with its Presidency, belonged to Abraham Lincoln. “T am now in my sixty-ninth year,”” Mr. Buchanan was writing to Mrs. Polk in 1859, ‘‘and am heartily tired of my position as President.” Kansas, Nicaragua, the Mormons, slavery—it had all been very difficult, and there was still John Brown in store. The Republicans and abolitionists were making a great noise at the North; Mr. Douglas was stirring up the trou- bled waters of Democratic faction, numbering his North- ern hosts for the presidential year; Mr. Buchanan was a weary Joshua who allowed his hands to be upheld by the radical politicians of the South. A Democratic Crisis AN D in the South a new party had been forming—the party of Jefferson Davis and Robert Rhett, and espe- cially of William Yancey. A party of action, as opposed to the negativism of the other Democratic leaders, of intense sectionalism to match that of the North. Men who cared for nothing but the South and its aspirations; a South within the Union or separated from it—it was all one to them—but an independent Southy unhampered by the interfering North, free to pursue what they conceived to be its destiny. Men who would have fought out the issue of slavery in Kansas to its bitterest end, rather than hag- gle, Toombs fashion, over local popular majorities. Men who harangued the Southern commercial conventions on the desirability of Southern political emancipation and a reopening of the African slave trade as an offset to the im- portation of cheap foreign labor into the North—so that slave ships were actually fitted out in New York with read- ily subservient Northern funds and sent out surreptitiously on their dark errands, until Mr. Buchanan, in his annual message to Congress, was obliged solemnly to occupy him- self with these matters. Men who may, some of them, have belonged to that great secret society, The Knights of the Golden Circle—ancestor of the later and quite different Northern Order of American Knights— which is known to have flourished in the South, with its lodges, inner and outer temples and commanderies, just prior to the Civil War. A society devoted to Southern interests, to the maintenance and extension of slavery, to the politically positive consolidation of the Southern States within their own borders and in the halls of Congress at Washington, where a committee of the society is reported to have sat in continuous secret conclave during the last months preceding secession. A society of which the pass- words were said to be YECNAY and NUOHLAC, in which it is not difficult to recognize Yancey and Calhoun. Men, certainly, who learned of Mr. Douglas’ verbal teeterings at Freeport with profound delight, knowing how irretrievably fatal they would prove to his cause in the South; and for whom the insane adventure at Harper’s Ferry, in October, 1859, of the blood-stained John Brown, and more particularly, the nature of its reception in the North, were a final straw which was not to be borne. For he had hoped to incite an uprising of the slaves—another Nat Turner’s massacre; although it was a curious thing how sluggishly the slaves responded—and when Northern men, among them Mr. Emerson, had the audacity to greet John Brown as a “‘new saint’’ who would make “‘the gal- lows glorious like the cross,’’ the entire South went white with horror. An attempt, supported by Northerners, to reproduce Santo Domingo in Virginia, ‘‘and when the desperadoes were arrested and punished, they were elevated to the honors of martyrdom.”’ And as for those Black Repub- licans who approved of the outrage, “‘among a people not dead to all sense of virtue and decency, such a party could not prevail.’’ The South was in a roaring fury; the Yancey press was all clarions and drums. There were feathers and a bucket of tar for every Northerner who showed his face, bonfires for any copies that came to hand of Mr. Helper’s Impending Crisis of the South—a recent book by a Southerner criticizing slavery—and on all sides the retaliatory cry arose: ‘Don’t trade with the North!” That was something the Northerners could understand— an injury to their commerce, a calamity to their New Eng- land pocketbooks. So the year turned, and it was time for a presidential election. The Democratic National Convention assembled in Charleston, for the opening on April 23, 1860, and if the raising of daily room and board to five dollars by the city landlords discouraged the attendance of many professional hangers-on, political bravoes and plug-uglies, still the town was packed to the eaves, the Mills House was overflowing with Douglas people, the Charleston Hotel was a bedlam of Yancey Fire-eaters, and the Charleston Mercury saw that ‘‘where there should be confidence and harmony, it is plain that men feel as if they were going into a battle.” The word ‘‘crisis’’ was on every tongue. It was to be battle to defeat Mr. Douglas and his Free- port popular-sovereignty doctrines. Indeed, “let him be April 28,1928 nominated and there will be such a war whoop as never was heard in the land,” some of the delegates were saying; a war whoop from Mr. Yancey’s supporters, from the parti- sans of Jefferson Davis, who had already been calling upon the Senate to safeguard slavery against the aggressions of territorial legislatures, from the entire extremist wing of the Southern Democracy, intent upon positive, uncom- promising action on behalf of the South and its institutions. “Ours is the property invaded,’’ Mr. Yancey was to tell the Douglas men in his great address to the convention, “ours are the institutions which are at stake; ours is the peace that is to be destroyed ours is the honor at stake—the honor of our children, the honor of our families, the lives, perhaps, of all—all of which rests upon what your course may ultimately make a great heaving volcano of passion and crime if you are enabled to consummate your designs.” But the Northern Democrats—the cohorts of the Lit- tle Giant—were no less determined, no less belligerent. In Institute Hall, when the convention met——under that fresco upon which, in the opinion of an eyewitness, there were to be seen ‘three highly colored but very improperly dressed females’’—the question of the con- tested delegations from. Illinois and New York was set- tled in favor of the Douglas adherents. And when the committee on resolutions brought in the platform it was the Douglas men who forced the adoption of the minority report. It had been the decision of the majority of the commit- tee that ‘“‘the Democracy of the United States hold these cardinal principles on the subject of slavery in the Terri- tories: First, that Congress has no power to abolish slavery in the Territories. Second, that the Territorial Legislature has no power to abolish slavery in any Territory, nor to prohibit the introduction of slaves therein, nor any power to exclude slavery therefrom, nor any right to destroy or impair the right of property in slaves by any legislation whatever.”’ This was the Yancey view. It was the pos- itive, aggressively sectional reply of the new Southern party to Mr. Douglas’ theories and political acrobatics, to the Northern attempts to encroach upon what the South con- sidered its rights. It was the ultimatum of a majority speaking for a group representing a minority of electoral votes; and the Douglas men would not accept it. A Long Way Round the Question OR hours, day after day, the convention argued and quarreled —discussing, recommitting, laying on the table—in a pandemonium of incredible disorder before breathless galleries, sometimes ‘‘a hundred delegates upon the floor and upon chairs, screaming like panthers and gestic- ulating like monkeys. Not a word was audible. The reporters climbed upon their tables, the delegates mounted the chairs, the people in the galleries stretched their necks and hung over the balustrade.”’ And in the midst of it all, over at the hotel, a ‘great calamity’’ came upon the Ohio delegation, for “their private whisky, of which they laid in a supply supposed to be equal to all emergencies, the nomination of Douglas included, gave out this morn- ing. . . . The Kentucky whisky, too, is nearly al! gone. The barrel in which it is contained, and which occupies an honorable position in their parlor, gives forth when consulted a dismal tone of emptiness.” As for the platform, they finally pushed through the minority resolutions, confirming the principles of 1856, and announcing ‘‘that it is the duty of the United States to afford ample and complete protection to all its citizens, whether at home or abroad, and whether native or foreign.” At the same time they rejected the only clause possessed of any real significance, to the effect that ‘“‘inasmuch as differences of opinion exist in the Democratic Party as to the nature and extent of the powers of a territorial legis- lature, and as to the powers and duties of Congress, under the Constitution over the institution of slavery within the Territories, Resolved that the Democratic Party will abide by the decisions of the Supreme Court .. . on the questions of constitutional law.” It was a complete begging of the question by the Doug- las men; the most ‘cowardly and contemptible thing,” as one contemporary saw it, “‘in the history of platforms,”’ and it infuriated a great part of the South. The Alabama delegation withdrew immediately from the convention, followed by Mississippi, Florida and Texas. Soon after, a majority of the delegates from Louisiana and South Caro- lina retired, together with representatives from Arkansas, Delaware and North Carolina. On the following day, May first, twenty-six of the thirty-three Georgians joined the seceded groups, and the three remaining South Carolin- ians were not long to brave the hisses which continually greeted them from the galleries. The Democratic National Convention had split in two. (Continued on Page 55)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST NATIONAL MAZDA petals unspoiled instincts respond with joy to the golden rays of the sun. Grown men and women too, breathe in new For ¢ literally and truly + light is life. And more light is more life. Inside the home as out of doors These pearl gray lamps give softer light. Light of greater beauty and gentler radiance. Infinitely better than old fashioned lamps : more rugged, more easily cleaned » these new :nside frosted Mazpa lamps cost less than ever before Put them in every socket and shade them NATIONAL LAMP. WORKS of Genera! lectri o., Nela Park MAZDA is a mark, not a name— the mark of the research service of General Electric Company, which has been the leader in those devel- opments which have produced the modern incandescent lamp.

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54 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 ACKNOWLEDGED ALL OVER AMERICA THE FINE CAR OF LOW PRICE Au over America it is becoming clear that Oldsmobile has done a very important thing. It has opened the fine car field to thousands once barred by price! This new car provides quiet, smooth perform- ance, and the flowing power of a new high compression engine. It embodies the restful comfort of silenced in- teriors and Lovejoy hydraulic shock absorbers. The striking new bodies by Fisher excel in smart good looks and handsome appointments. All these elements are offered in that perfect balance which has identified high priced cars. Now no one need pay a premium to enjoy them. Motordom was quick to recognize this fact. “Two years ahead,” critics said. The public took up their praise and backed it with the sincere endorsement of enthusiastic buying. And with Oldsmobile’s brilliant performance becoming a matter of common knowledge, that public acceptance has grown and grown. It proclaims this product of General Motors as more than a new car. It stamps it as the creation of an entirely new class of motor cars. It recognizes that in this class Oldsmobile stands alone—The Fine Car of Low Price! PRODUCT OF OLDSMOBILE GENERAL MOTORS

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—— (Continued from Page 52) There were great crowds in the streets of Charleston on the evening of April thirtieth, tremendous demonstrations for Mr. Yan- cey when he spoke, processions and cheers in honor of a Southern republic; there was “‘a Fourth of July feeling a jubilee. There was no mistaking the public senti- ment of the city. It was overwhelmingly and enthusiastically in favor of the seced- ers. They met at once, on that same evening, and again on May first, in St. Andrew’s Hall—ignoring the sittings of the Douglas “rump convention,” as Mr. Yancey called it—and for the next two days, as the Con- stitutional Democratic Party, they con- vened in formal session in the theater, facing a stage set for the palace of the Borgia, while “‘the dress circle was densely crowded by ladies.’ For ‘‘you see at once the patriotism of the Carolina ladies exem- plified. There were not more than a dozen of them to witness the proceedings of the Rump Convention and here they were smiling upon the Constitutional cham- pions of the South by hundreds. . . . The principal feature of the convention was the ladies.”’ The ladies, and the platform. The princi- ples of 1856 and of the national-committee- majority report, and these resolutions: That it was the duty of the Federal Government “to protect, when necessary, the rights of persons and property in the Territories”’; that ‘‘the government of a Territory organ- ized by an Act of Congress is provisional and temporary; and, during its existence, all citizens have an equal right to settle with their property in the Territory, without their rights, either of person or of property, being destroyed or impaired by congressional legislation”; and that “when the settlers in a Territory form a State Constitution the right of sovereignty commences, and being consummated by admission into the Union, they stand on an equal footing with the people of other States; and the State thus organized ought to be admitted into the Federal Union whether its Constitution prohibits or rec- ognizes the institution of slavery.” Waiting for the Last Straw And then, with speeches, they adjourned until June eleventh, at Richmond, where the expectation of certain events caused another postponement until June twenty- fifth. And in the meantime, “‘the serpent of squatter sovereignty must be stran- gled!”’ In the national convention—what was left of it—they had listened in a dazed way to some dramatic speeches from those Southern delegates who still occupied their seats. For instance, “Be not deceived,” Solomon Cohen, of Georgia, told them, “for in heart and in principle I am with those who have retired from the conven- tion. Yet I have deemed it my duty to re- main . . . with the hope that the cup of conciliation may not be drained to the dregs. . . I will stay here until the last feather be placed upon the back of the camel; I will stay until crushed and broken in spirit, humiliated by feeling . . . that the Southern States are as a mere cipher in your estimation—that all her rights are trampled underfoot.” Then, with a two-thirds rule based on the full membership of the original conven- tion, they set about the business of nom- inating Mr. Douglas, out of a field of nine, including Jefferson Davis and Franklin Pierce. But when, on May third, after fifty-seven ballots, Mr. Douglas was still some fifty votes short of the necessary number, they adjourned, to reassemble in Baltimore on June eighteenth, with the understanding that the vacancies caused by retiring delegates should be filled. There was a great packing of portmanteaus that evening, a great jam on the cars—the con- stitutional convention had itself just ad- journed—and on his train one newspaper reporter found ‘‘many distinguished pas- sengers, there being about an equal number THE SATURDAY of United States senators and keepers of faro tables, the latter wearing decidedly the most costly apparel.’’ It had been a good convention for them, and ‘“‘one gambling house realized twenty-four thousand dol- lars clear profits’”’ in eleven days. And in Baltimore, when they were not parading about the surging streets at night with bands, and insulting each other at simultaneous mass meetings in Monument Square—the Northerners calling their Southern colleagues traitors, bolters and disunionists, and the Yancey enthusiasts shouting that Mr. Douglas and his crew were “bankrupts in pocket and principle,” liars, profligates, impostors, cowards and “men without honor or decency’’—the delegates in the Front Street Theater found themselves in a furious uproar because of what seemed to many of them to bea high- handed determination on the part of the Douglas forces to settle the contests over new delegations in their own favor. ‘It now seems,” Mr. Johnson, of Maryland, ex- claimed, “as if you were going to substitute a man in place of principle.” A Simple Situation The battle went on, with outcries and panics—as when the individual in the gal- lery hung his umbrella to dry over a lighted gas chandelier, terrifying an audience al- ready made nervous by the earlier collapse of the entire front of the stage—and when the official membership of the conclave, with its seemingly deliberate Douglas bias, was made known on June twenty-second, for the second time in the history of this Democratic Convention, a pale gentleman stood on a chair and addressed the delega- tions. It was Virginia retiring from the convention— Virginia soon to be followed by most of the remaining Southern dele- gates and many also from the North. “‘California,”’ its spokesman announced, “is here with melancholy faces. California is here with a lacerated heart, bleeding and weeping over the downfall and destruction of the Democratic Party consum- mated by assassins now grinning upon this floor. . . . There have been wrongs per- petrated upon the Democracy of that deep and damning character that it does not permit California longer to participate in the proceedings of this irregular organiza- tion.”” Oregon was not far behind. “By your action today,” it decided, ‘‘ gentlemen as much entitled to seats as ourselves . are excluded from the floor. We .. . are conscious that a most grievous wrong and insult has been given to sovereign States. These States are the weak parties in this contest, and we have resolved to stand by them.” Once again the Democratic National Convention was split in two—and at Rich- mond men were watching. Left to itself, the rump of the “rump convention” finally began to ballot, and on the second trial Mr. Douglas— whose man- agers persistently suppressed, until the de- cision had been reached, his several private offers to withdraw for the sake of har- mony—was declared nominated as having received two-thirds of the votes actually present. The Vice Presidency having been refused by Benjamin Fitzpatrick, of Ala- bama, it remained for the National Com- mittee to select Herschel Johnson, of Georgia, for the office. And just at the end they found the cour- age to add a resolution to the platform “that it is in accordance with . . . the |1856] platform that, during the existence of the Territorial Governments, the meas- ure of restriction, whatever it may be, im- posed by the Federal Constitution on the power of the Territorial Legislature over the subject of the domestic relations, as the same has been, or shall hereafter be, finally determined by the Supreme Court should be respected by all good citizens and enforced with promptness and fidelity by every branch of the general government.” Amen. The delegates who had marched out of the Front Street Theater —and with them a EVENING POST majority of the spectators—assembled at once in convention at the Maryland Insti- tute; some twenty delegations, complete or fragmentary, including representatives from Iowa, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts and New York. ‘“‘The convention assem- bled elsewhere,”’ Mr. Russell, of Virginia, told them, ‘‘and from which you have with- drawn, has lost all title to the designation of national.’”’ There, in the Institute hall, ‘‘all restraint of feeling had disap- peared, and a spirit of the most cordial unanimity and harmony characterized every man and every feature.” They adopted the original Charleston majority resolutions, they nominated the Vice President, John Breckinridge, of Ken tucky, and Joseph Lane, of Oregon—nom- inations which the deferred Richmond convention immediately ratified—and then they called on Mr. Yancey, who proclaimed that Mr. Douglas could rest beneath the grave of squatter sovereignty, and that “the storm clouds of faction have drifted away.’ And many of the delegates them selves began to drift away, for Mr. Yancey went on and on, and some of them were not so pleased when he announced himself to be “‘no worshipper at the shrine of the Union. I am no Union shrieker. I meet great questions fairly, on their merits. I do not try to drown the judgment of the people by shrieking for the Union. I am neither for the Union nor against the Union. I urge or oppose measures upon the ground of their constitutionality and wisdom or the reverse.” It was all over finally, after two dis- tressing months, and Mr. Buchanan was in favor of Mr. Breckinridge “ because he sanctions and sustains the perfect equality of all the States within their common Ter- ritories, and the opinion of the Supreme Court . . . establishing this equality.” The situation seemed very simple to Mr. Buchanan. ‘The people of the Southern States,”’ he explained, “can never abandon this great principle of State equality in the Union without self-degradation. : What then have the North to do? Merely to say that they will yield obedience to the decision of the Supreme Court and admit the right of a Southern man to take his property into the Territories, and hold it there just as a Northern man may do; and it is to me the most extraordinary thing in the world that this country should now be distracted and divided because certain persons at the North will not agree that their brethren at the South shall have the same rights in the Territories which they enjoy. Let [the] principle of {Con- gressional] nonintervention |with slavery be extended to the Territorial Legisla- tures . . . and then the controversy is, in effect, ended. Hands off by Congress and hands off by the Territorial Legislature.” Resolved to Save the Country Mr. Buchanan was perfectly right —that was the odd part of it—and his optimism was incurable. ‘Shall we,’’ he asked, ‘for the sake of squatter sovereignty . . . in- cur the risk of dividing the great Democratic Party of the country into two sectional parties, the one North and the other South?” No. ‘I entertain no such fearful apprehensions. The present issue is transi- tory and will speedily pass away. . . . Should the time ever arrive when Northern agitation and fanaticism shall proceed so far as to render the domestic firesides of the South insecure, then, and not till then, will the Union be in danger. A united Northern Democracy will present a wall of fire against such a catastrophe. There are in our midst numerous persons who predict the dissolu- tion of the great Democratic Party, and others who contend that it has already been dissolved. The wish is father to the thought. It will never die whilst the Constitution and the Union survive. It will live to protect and defend both.” Mr. Buchanan, in July, 1860, was very confident of the integrity of his Democratic Party, which was already sundered into Northern and Southern factior and of the security of that Union w h another six months were to dissolve But in Mav. at Baltimore, some prudent gentlemer had as sembdied I onvent w ») [OTe@SaAW OF pe ril for the Unior i Constitutional Union Party, Northerners and Southern ers—including the long-haired delegate from Texas who had once wagered the growth of his beard on the election of Henry Clay to the Presidency —everybod) as a reporter saw them eminently re spectable, intensely virtuous, de otedly patriotic and fully resolved to save the country. They propose to accomplish that by ignoring all the rugged issues of the day.”’ A great speech-making and cheering ag- gregation, prone to “virtuous twaddle,’ bent, some of them, on nominating that “‘rather good old soul’’ General Sam Hous- ton, whose proceedings upon the adoptior of their resolutions “‘were, in fact, a long yell.” Resolutions stating that “it is both the part of patriotism and of duty to recog nize no political principle other than the Constitution . . the union of the States and the enforcement of the laws, and ; we hereby pledge ourselves to maintain, protect and defend, separately and unitedly, these great principles of pub- lic liberty and national safety against all enemies at home and abroad.” In the Black Republican Wigwam Whereupon they nominated John Bell, of Tennessee, and Edward Everett, of Massa- chusetts, the “ladies’ candidate’ — the **Kangaroo ticket,” so called, “‘ because the hinder part was stronger than the head.” With ladies showering him with bouquets, Mr. Hillard, of Boston, remarked that “ you have this day done a good and glorious work. It will send a thrill of joy and hope all over the land. It {will) be felt . . . like the breeze from the sea after a day of exhausted heat; man at the poles who is languishing after the protracted darkness of an arctic winter feels, when he sees the first ruddy spark which tells him that the spring and sum- mer is coming, so shall we at the North welcome the intelligence of this conven- tion. As the greater part of creation wait- eth for the manifestation of the Sen of God, so all over the land will the true and patri- otic citizens of America rise up and call you blessed ? In the meantime they held a ratification meeting in Monument Square, with an illuminated platform and bands and por- traits of Washington and Clay; and in November Mr. Bell carried Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia Long before the Democrats were through, the Black Republicans had met in Chicago, on May sixteenth, and performed their historic business. In the specially con structed Wigwam, a plank edifice capable of accommodating ten thousand persons, a replica of the Crystal Palace at New York, in the open spaces surrounding which thousands more were enabled to assemble and give voice to their enthusiasms Chicago, with twenty-five thousand strangers in town, was a madhouse of dust, bands and champagne. Already on the trains ‘the number of private bottles |of was something surprising like as a whisky A portion of the Republicans are distressed by what they see and hear of the disposi which appears in members of their supposed to be painfully virtuous party. And our Western Reservs was thrown into pray tion . . . by some New Yorkers who were singing songs not found in hymn books. But then the New Yorkers were a gay lot who could “drink as much whisky, swear as loud and long, sing as bad songs and get up and how! as ferociously as any crowd of Democrats. At night those of them who are not engaged in caucusing are doing that which ill-tutored youths call raising hell generally.” They were at the Richmond House with Mr. Weed, “ Irrepre ssibles”’ ballyhooing for tion to use ardent spirits ers and perspira-

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56 Mr. Seward, whose nomination seemed inevitable this time—with their tremen- dous band all rigged out in feathers and epaulets—while over at the more “‘con- servative’’ Tremont House, where fifteen hundred men were sitting down to break- fast, Mr. Greeley was shuffling about and being stared at, ‘‘as innocent as ever,”’ im- pervious to the fact that the Seward men were calling him an old ass. Mr. Greeley was filling a vacancy from Oregon, and Mr. Greeley was very busy. Mr. Seward had refused to believe it when Julius Wood had warned him that ‘‘ Greeley is cheating you; he will go to Chicago and work against you”; and the two men were still outwardly friendly, although the fa- mous letter “dissolving the firm of Seward, Weed and Greeley,”’ though not yet made public, had been written long before by Mr. Greeley —a break caused by Mr. Sew- ard’s failure to reward Mr. Greeley’s serv- ices with political offices, since already in 1840, according to Mr. Greeley, “you, Governor Seward, ought to have asked that I be Postmaster of New York.” But now Mr. Greeley was at Chicago, and very busy; nor was he to be found in the ranks of those who tramped the streets four by four, singing ‘Oh, isn’t he a darling?” in honor of Mr. Seward. And aside from Mr. Greeley’s personal grievances, there ‘was a very considerable political opposition to Mr. Seward. He was considered by some a radical, an ex- tremist, on the slavery question; it was resented by others that he had taken no leading part in the Lecompton controversy. He was felt by many to be “an organ in the hands of the organ grinder Thurlow Weed,” and he was laughed at for his various anti movements—antirent, anti-Mason, anti- slavery. “Billy Seward and his three Aunties.”” He had, Senator Wilson ex- plained to him, “‘by your ability and long devotion te the antislavery cause, excited prejudices and awakened conservative fears in the great states of Pennsylvania, Indiana, Illinois, New Jersey and Connect- icut, which are to be the battleground of the contest.”” Indeed, the Republican candidates for governor in Indiana, Illinois and Pennsylvania were proclaiming that they might as weil resign from the canvass in their respective states should Mr. Seward be nominated by the national convention. An Entertaining Thought The Republicans were out to sweep the coming election, and the determination of several delegations to rid themselves of Mr. Seward for the sake of victory—‘‘Success rather than Seward ’’—was equaled only by the obstinate self-assurance of the Seward men and of their leader. It was a solemn matter—-everything was “solemn” at Chicago—and if one reporter present felt justified in recording that “the current of the universal twaddle is that Old Abe [Lincoln] will be the nominee,” as a representative of conservatism, respectabil- ity, availability ‘and all that sort of thing,” still to many minds the logical candidate upon whom to unite was “the man who can split rails and maul Democrats,”’ the farmer lawyer of Illinois, the confuter of Mr. Douglas, the author of the Cooper Union speech, He knew what they were planning. The taste for the Presidency—that perilous Presidency of 1860—“is in my mouth a little,’’ he confessed; Mrs. Lincoln wanted him to be President—she had foretold that he would be—and “if I had not thought so I would not have married him,” she laughed, “for you can see he is not pretty.” He was ready to try, and “our policy,” he advised his friends, “is to give no offense to others leave them in a mood to come to us if they shall be compelled to give up their first love.” But he would not go to Chicago, for if ‘I am a little too much a candidate to stay home,” he was also “not quite enough a candidate to go.” But his friends went, and worked like beavers. “‘I authorize no bargains and will THE SATURDAY be bound by none,” he.had said, but In- diana was ‘nailed down” by promising “everything they asked’’; Pennsylvania was secured ‘by paying their price” in cabinet pledges. Seats were provided for the white-hatted Pennsylvanians between Illinois and Indiana in order to safeguard them against the blandishments of Mr. Weed, who was “‘a sly old fox”; and just before the convention opened they were writing to Mr. Lincoln that “things are working. Keep a good nerve. We are laboring to make you the second choice of all the delegations we can, where we can’t make you first choice. We are dealing tenderly with delegates, taking them in de- tail and making no fuss. . . . Again, I say, brace your nerves for any result.” The Challenge Flung He, for his part, was willing to be Vice President, if they failed to make him President and thought it advisable. The opening of the Wigwam doors saw a fearful rush into the amphitheater and into the galleries to which only gentlemen ac- companied by ladies were admitted, so that “ladies to accompany gentlemen were in demand—schoolgirls were found on the street and given a quarter each to see a gen- tleman safe in. . . . An Irishwoman pass- ing with a bundle of clothes . . . was levied upon by an Irrepressible, and seeing him safely into the [reserved] seats . retired with her fee and bundle. Another Irrepressible sought out an Indian woman who was selling moccasins, but the po- liceman informed him ‘that she was no lady.’” Credentials and resolutions precipitated vigorous polemics, and “there has not been in any previous Republican convention sharpshooting so keen, and sarcasm so bit- ter and incisive. . . . We only occasionally hear the sentimental twang, the puritanic intonation that indicates the ancient and savory article of antislaveryism. The truth is the Republican Party is rapidly becom- ing Democratized in its style of operations.”’ But when the resolutions were finally adopted, on the second day, “‘all the thou- sands of men in that enormous Wigwam commenced swinging their hats and cheer- ing. . . . Theroarthat wentup... was indescribable. . . . A herd of buffaloes or lions could not have made a more tremendous roaring.” They presented various economic de- mands, internal improvements, a railroad to the Pacific; they condemned the Demo- cratic administration as subservient to sectional interests and extravagant in ex- penditure; they denounced the “lawless invasion by armed force” of any state or territory as “‘the gravest of crimes’’ —their amende honorable for John Brown—they required the admission of Kansas as a free state. They declared that “the new dogma that the Constitution, of its own force, carries slavery into any or all of the Terri- tories . . . isadangerous political heresy’’; that ‘“‘we brand the recent opening of the African slave trade under the cover of our national flag . . . as a crime against hu- manity and a burning shame to our country and age’; and that ‘‘the normal condition of all the territory of the United States is that of freedom and we deny the authority of Congress, of a Territorial Legislature, or of any individual to give legal existence to slavery in any Territory of the United States.” There it was. They were not concerned with property rights, with popular sov- ereignty, with Supreme Court interpreta- tions of the Constitution, and the challenge was flung at Charleston. Not violently enough, perhaps, for the extreme abolition- ists who were to refer to Mr. Lincoln as “the slave hound of Illinois,” but with sufficient clarity to alienate from a Repub- lican victory any thought of Southern acquiescence. The delegations were in a ferment during that second night, prior to the nominating session, and the dawn found many gentle- men still hurrying from room to room, EVENING POST trafficking in solemnities. The Seward men, positive of the morrow’s triumph, had “‘a champagne supper in their rooms at the Richmond House . . . and . . . bands of music serenading the various delega- tions. . . . Three hundred bottles of cham- pagne are said to have been cracked at the Richmond.” It looked like Seward, but the Lincoln managers were leaving no cork unpulled—they were even having special admission tickets signed, so that access to the Wigwam might be made possible for the army of ‘‘shouters”’ for whom they had procured reduced excursion rates on the railroads—and Mr. Greeley was shuffling about—shuffling about. “*Massachusetts was right in Weed’s hands,”’ he wrote afterward. ‘It was all we could do to hold Vermont. . . . The rest of New England was pretty sound, but part of New Jersey was somehow inclined to sin against light and knowledge. If you had seen the Pennsylvania delegation, and known how much money Weed had in hand, you would not have believed we could do as well as we did. . . . Ohio looked very bad, but turned out well, and Virginia had been regularly sold out; but the seller could not deliver. We had to rain red-hot bolts on them, however, to keep the majority from going to Seward. ; Indiana was our right bower and Missouri above praise. It was a fearful week, such as I hope and trust I shall never see re- peated.” The next morning the Seward men came swinging down to the Wigwam behind their ‘Oh, isn’t he a darling?’’ band; the Lincoln “shouters’’ went shoving into the galleries ahead of the New York “boys,” who had been making all the noise during the first two days; and nominations were in order. Eight of them, but “everybody felt that the fight was between [Seward and Lincoln] and yelled accordingly.’”’ There was “absolutely terrific’? applause for Mr. Lincoln’s seconder, but when Mr. Seward’s turn came “‘the effect was star- tling. Hundreds of persons stopped their ears in pain. The shouting was absolutely frantic, shrilland wild. NoComanches.. . ever . . . gave screams with more infernal intensity. Looking from the stage ’ nothing was to be seen below but thou- sands of hats.” Drowning the Cannon’s Roar But the Lincoln “‘shouters”’ were not in the galleries for nothing, and “‘now the Lincoln men had to try it again, and .. . the uproar was beyond description. Im- agine all the hogs ever slaughtered in Cin- cinnati giving their death squeals together, a score of big steam whistles going. . . . The Lincoln boys were clearly ahead and feeling their victory . . . and gave a con- centrated shriek that was positively awful, and accompanied it with stamping that made every plank and pillar in the building quiver. The New York, Michigan and Wisconsin delegations sat together, and . . . many of their faces whitened as the Lincoln yawp swelled into a hosanna of victory.” Down on the floor they were balloting, and on the first trial Mr. Seward had one hundred and seventy-three and a half, Mr. Lincoln one hundred and two. On the sec- ond ballot Mr. Seward had gained eleven votes and Mr. Lincoln seventy-nine, in- cluding the entire vote of Vermont, so that he was only three and a half votes behind Mr. Seward. “This was a blighting blow upon the Seward interest; the New York- ers started as if an Orsini bomb had ex- ploded’’; and “it now dawned upon the multitude’ that Mr. Seward was done. On the third ballot he had only one hun- dred and eighty, Mr. Lincoln two hundred and thirty-one and a half—one and a half less than the required number. People were going crazy, Mr. Weed was shedding tears, and it was Mr. Medill of the Chicago Tribune who, according to Mr. Sandburg, turned to the Ohio delegation and promised them anything they cared to ask for Mr. Chase if they would change a April 28,1928 sufficient number of their votes to clinch the Lincoln nomination. The Ohioans had four votes to contribute; “‘there was a moment’s silence,” then ‘‘there was a noise in the Wigwam like the rush of a great wind in the van of a storm—and in another breath the storm was there. There were thousands cheering with the energy of in- sanity.”” Abraham Lincoln was nominated. The cannon on the roof was fired and the crowds outside began to yell; the sound of their roaring was added to the tumult within the hall, ‘‘and the shouting was re- peated with such tremendous fury that some discharges of the cannon were abso- lutely not heard by those on the stage.” State standards were being torn up—but not that of New York—hats were being smashed; men’ standing a few feet apart were screaming inaudibly at the top of their lungs. Someone rushed out and tele- graphed to Mr. Lincoln: “ We did it, glory to God!” Inside the Wigwam Mr. Evarts, of New York, was generously moving to make the nomination unanimous; Hannibal Hamlin, of Maine, was being chosen as Vice Presi- dent; Carl Schurz was declaiming some- thing about “defying the whole slave power and the whole vassalage of hell.” Delegates were staggering around like drunken men, overwhelmed by the reaction of exhaustion; the Seward supporters were “terribly stricken down. They were morti- fied beyond all expression.” As Others Saw Him Mortified and furious. Horace Greeley was the man to blame. Greeley, who had exclaimed “‘Now I am even with Gover- nor Seward,” and who was being cheered wherever he went because he had “‘slaugh- tered Seward and saved the party.”” He was the one they considered respcnsible for the selection of the “prairie states- man,” and the Seward men— Mr. Seward himself—would not forgive him. “The past is dead,” he was to write soon after. “Let the dead past bury it, and let its mourners, if they will, go about the streets.” Yes, Mr. Weed retorted, and who were they, these mourners? They were ‘“‘the rank and file as well as the intelligence and patriotism of nearly every Republican State in the Union.”’ And to others, too, it seemed ‘‘the triumph of a presumption of availability over preéminence in intel- lect and unrivaled fame.” It was, in other words, a fearful come- down for Mr. Seward—the overconfident Mr. Seward who had declared that “if he was not nominated as the Republican can- didate . . . atthe . . . convention, he would shake the dust off his shoes and re- tire from the service of an ungrateful party for the remainder of his days’’—and Chi- cago was “wild with delight,”’ crashing with bands, roaring with jubilation. One hundred guns were fired from the roof of the Tremont House, the Chicago Tribune office was illuminated, ‘‘the Old Abe men formed processions and bore rails through the streets,”’ and “‘torrents of liquor were poured down the hoarse throats of the mul- titude.”” Abraham Lincoln was nominated. “A horrid-looking wretch he is,” the Charleston Mercury thought, ‘‘sooty and scoundrelly in aspect, a cross between the nutmeg dealer, the horse swapper and the night man. . . . Heisalank-sided Yankee of the uncomeliest visage and of the dirtiest complexion. Faugh! After him what de- cent white man would be President?”’ It was to be a violent campaign, without mercy on either side—in the South they would even have it that Mr. Hamlin was a mulatto—and already in April Senator Hammond, of South Carolina, was writing from Washingtonthat “‘sofarasIknow ... every man in both Houses is armed with a revolver, some with two, and a bowie knife. Seeing the oldest and most conservative senators . . . get revolvers, I most reluctantly got one myself.’’ And yet the slavery question was not exclusively emphasized, nor did the Black Republicans (Continued on Page 58 ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THe Woreuo's Finest Fasbric- i At Home Or On WHEEL: | 1c IS said that the early kings so each silken fibre provides cushion- prized the lovely fabrics which _ like depths that yield to pressure decorated their palaces that they yet instantly regain their shape. | carried them from one battlefield pol | to another . . . Today, velvets CA-VEL Is the ideal upholstery | of even a finer quality are found textile. More yards of at oie used in the home and the motor car; ' this purpose than of any other | and to CA-VEL, more than to fabric. Manufacturer as well if | any other material, we owe this motorist values the added prestige Hi | almost universal use. To both, its fresh beauty lends the closed }’ cases. belemiendeten tee OOO immaculate appearance and priceless charm. when the car is old. A CA-VEI interior invariably means a higher Its lustrous surface mirrors an _ valuation at re-sale—an important } ancient heritage of eternal loveli- fact to remember when buying i} ness, lasting longer than the car your next car. Collins @ Aikman f itself, and resisting dustin aman- Corporation, Established 1845, i ner peculiar to pile fabrics. And New York City. C A=V I I H_ VELVETS OF ENDURING BEAU

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58 Column Our Weekly Chat “‘We Americans” Few of us realize the troubles and heart-aches emigrants experi- ence in fitting them- selves for citizenship and adapting them- selves to our laws and rules. Hence, Universal’s picture, ‘‘We Americans’”’ will prove decidedly interesting, because it makes the sub- ject clear. It is dra- matic, pathetic and contains a world of humor. In order that such an intense theme should not be bungled or lose any of its charm, we have cast it with talented players such as GEORGE SIDNEY, PATSY RUTH MILLER, BERYL MERCER, GEORGE LEWIS, EDDIE PHILLIPS, ALBERT GRAN, JOHN BOLES, KATHLYN WILLIAMS, JCSEPHINE DUNN, and others. “‘We Americans’’ is adapt- ed from the Broadway stage success by Milton Herbert Gropper and Max Siegel. Edward Sloman directed it and Carl Laemmle Jr., supervised it. You can see this picture at the following theatres beginning April 28th: Rialto Theatre, Washington, D. C., Alhambra Theatre, Milwaukee, Wis., Columbia Theatre, Portland, Ore., Columbia Theatre, Seattle, Wash., Clemmer Theatre, Spokane, Wash. One of our esteemed cor- respondents writes that he is “‘tired of seeing old, white-haired and wrinkled faced actors and actresses playing lovers roles.’’ I beg to assure him that I agree with him and to call his atten- tion to the fact that Universal casts only young people in such parts, such beautiful young wo- men as LAURA LA PLANTE, MARY PHILBIN, DORO- THY GULLIVER, BARBARA KENT, MARIAN NIXON, and such pleasing young men as REGI- NALD DENNY, GLENN TRYON, GEORGE LEWIS and others. The wonderful press-notices that LAURA LA PLANTE is re- ceiving throughout the world, confirms all I have said concerning the beauty and talent of this extraordinary young woman. And I am glad to note the splendid reception accorded GLENN TRYON, the “ Different Come- dian.”’ It will pay you to watch for him in your neighborhood. Statesmen and prominent men who knew conditions at the time “*Uncle Tom's Cabin’’ was written, have seen it in picture, and their praise is rather remarkable in my opinion. I am proud of it my self—very proud. You will be charmed when you see it Because of press- ing demand I am re- issuing ‘‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame,’’ starring ‘Lon CHANEY in his greatest char acter. This time you must see it - Laemmle, President lf ant "m our mating it t send in F your name and addre UNIVE RSAL PICTURES “The Home of the Good Film” 730 Fifth Ave., New York City George Sidney Patsy Ruth Miller Lon Chaney as “The Hunchback” Watch This THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 56) enlist the support of many radical aboli- tionists. In the pivotal state of Pennsyl- | vania the real issue was the protective | the action of Congress . . . | the passage of any law,” tariff, and Republican ammunition in gen- eral was expended primarily in attacks upon the wasteful and corrupt character of the Buchanan Administration. Attacks made possible by the findings of the Covode congressional. investigating committee, established for the purpose, among others, of ascertaining “‘whether the President . . . or any other officer of the government, has by money, patronage or other improper means sought to influence for or against and of inquiring into the nature of alleged abuses in the post offices and navy yards, and in the matter of moneysspent “to carry elections.” And the Covode report was not a pretty thing. Nearly a million dollars had been misspent on government printing contracts and in support of administration newspapers; the Philadelphia and Brooklyn Navy Yards were sink holes of political corruption; the Post Office and War Departments were in- volved; and Mr. Buchanan’s personal awareness of these conditions was implied in much of the testimony. “TI charge,” one orator proclaimed—a Bell and Everett man, as it happened— “that Buchanan’s is the most corrupt and profligate administration ever known to this Government since its organization; nay, that ours is the most corrupt govern- ment in the civilized world.” To which Mr. Buchanan, in the midst of his official protestations, could only reply—in a pri- vate letter seeking the assistance of the New York Herald—that “‘if this dragoon- ing can exist, the presidential office would be unworthy of the acceptance of a gentle- man. . . . In performing my duties I have endeavored to be not only pure but unsus- pected.” Pure he may have been, this elderly gentleman who was rapidly becoming a nonentity, but unsuspected he was not, and administration ears were ringing with the Republican cry of “scoundrels and cor- ruptionists!”’ Out of the Wilderness In other respects the campaign was color- ful and noisy. Mass meetings, rail-splitter emblems, rings and pins, transparencies, processions and torchlight parades, North and South, they were marching. The Douglas Guards, the Little Giants, the In- vincibles, the Ever-Readys—‘‘Cuba must be ours,” “‘ We want a statesman, not a rail- splitter, as President ’’—and for the Repub- licans the famous Wide-Awakes who had set the fashion. Political marching clubs in military formation, these Wide-Awakes, wearing glazed hats and oilcloth capes copied from the original black cambric coverings assumed on the spur of the mo- ment by some marchers in Hartford in order to protect their clothes from the dripping torches. The costume had at- tracted attention, and the Hartford boys had been the first to adopt the substitute oilcloth garment, in which they escorted Mr. Lincoln himself when he came, in March, to address them. And now the black-caped Wide-Awakes were every- where, and the song: Old Abe Lincoln came out of the wilderness, Out of the wilderness, out of the wilderness, Old Abe Lincoln came out of the wilderness, Down in Illinois! And since the North had military forma- tions, the South must have them, too—the Breckinridge Minute Men, with blue nulli- fication cockades on their hats; a secret society formed in every district of South Carolina, its members pledged to provide themselves with rifles and revolvers, and to march to Washington, if necessary, to prevent the inauguration of a Black Re- publican President. For, as a Georgian put it later, ‘“‘to talk of the settlement of this slavery question is folly; to talk of a compromise upon the subject of slavery is EVENING POST worse than folly. We will never submit to the inauguration of a Black Republican President.” If Mr. Lincoln were elected the South would secede. They would not believe it at the North. Mr. Seward, who was doing his pale duty with speeches in the Republi- can campaign, could be quite facetious about it; Mr. Greeley was, before the event, quite composed and broad-minded; but in the South they were not pretending. When they looked at the Black Republi- can Abraham Lincoln, Southerners saw only “the nigger in the woodpile”’ of his cele- brated rail splitting. Mr. Lincoln was far from being an abolitionist—much too far for the abolitionists themselves—but when Southerners read of his belief that ‘this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free’”’ they saw in the words a determination to exterminate slavery, to destroy the South, in the speaker the concentration of abolitionism, politi- cally, intellectually and socially. It did not matter, the Richmond Enquirer was to say after the election, whether the South was to be “governed by a gentleman or ruled by a baboon,” but with Abraham Lincoln “comes something worse than slang, rowdyism, brutality and all moral filth; something worse than all the rag and tag of Western grogshops and Yankee fac- tories’’—with these “‘ comes the daring and reckless leader of the Abolitionists.” The Lincoln Victory The Democrats tried to offset his mani- fest strength. In the close Northern states they contrived fusion tickets; Mr. Douglas, in September, proclaimed that “‘if the with- drawal of my name would tend to defeat Mr. Lincoln, I would this moment with- draw it”; but to an earlier proposal by Jefferson Davis that he withdraw—in com- pany with Mr. Breckinridge and Mr. Bell who had already agreed to do so if a more suitable union candidate could be found— Mr. Douglas had replied that ‘‘the scheme proposed was impracticable because his friends . would join in the support of Lincoln rather than of anyone who should supplant him.” Then, in October, after the Republican successes in Pennsylvania and Indiana, Mr. Douglas became genuinely alarmed. ‘“‘ Mr. Lincoln is the next President,’’ he an- nounced. “‘ We must try to save the Union. I will go South.’”’ Unlike Mr. Lincoln, whose one plea had been that ‘‘you will kindly let me be silent,’”” Mr. Douglas had been vigorously on the stump. Now he canceled his engagements; the Union, he clearly saw, was in real danger; his own candidacy was no longer worth troubling about; Mr. Lincoln would certainly be elected and the South must not secede. With courage, with patriotic energy, and with a final impulse of admirable unselfish- ness, Mr. Douglas traveled through Mis- souri, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama and Georgia, speaking from his car platform, from balconies, anywhere, asserting that “I emphatically answer, ‘No!’’’ when they asked him about secession. The Union, he April 28,1928 thought, “ would be safe under Mr. Lincoln, if it could be held together long enough for the development of his policy.” Mr. Douglas was possibly not the man to appeal to the South; he was only to carry one of the states in which he spoke, and that one by four hundred and twenty-nine votes over his closest opponent. If Mr. Lincoln had been willing to clarify his future intentions, perhaps something could have been done. Probably not. They went to the polls, and Mr. Lincoln was elected. With the vote of South Carolina un- recorded, he had not quite two million popular votes, as against nearly three mil- lion for his three rivals. Of these, Mr. Douglas was still well in the lead, although in the electoral count he only secured twelve votes, from two states. Mr. Breckinridge had seventy-two, from eleven states; Mr. Bell thirty-nine, from three states. But Mr. Lincoln’s minority popular vote brought him one hundred and eighty electoral ballots—eighty-five of them from Ohio, New York and Pennsylvania alone with not a single popular vote in ten states, not an electoral vote in fifteen. The South could say that he was a minority, sectional President; and yet, though a Democratic fusion would have overwhelmed Mr. Lincoln in the popular vote, the electoral difference would have been negligible—seven votes from two states. Only a change in the vote cast by the Northwest—a not very considerable change from Mr. Lincoln to Mr. Douglas could have thrown the election into the House—where no one knows what might have happened, for, as it was, they thought it best to guard Congress with troops during the official count. The committee in- structed to wait upon Mr. Lincoln might be directed, so Mr. Hindman, of Arkansas, thought at the close of the ceremony, ‘to inform General Scott that there is no further need for his janizaries about the Capitol.” The tar barrels were blazing all over the North; everywhere a song was booming: Oh, ain’t I glad I joined the Republicans, Joined the Republicans, joined the Republi- cans, Ain't I glad I joined the Republicans, Down in Illinois! Down in Charleston they were leaving the Union, as a matter of course. They had watched the returns on November seventh, and as soon as the result was known the collector and the surveyor of the port, the judge of the United States District Court and the United States district attorney resigned; the grand jury reported that the Federal authority had ceased in South Carolina; the postmaster and the navy agent announced their unwillingness to serve under a Republican Administration. Crowds in the streets were cheering a red flag with a palmetto and a star; out in the harbor salutes were being fired. Emphatic Advice It was done officially on December twentieth, in St. Andrew’s Hall. Resolved, that ‘“‘the Union now subsisting between South Carolina and other States, under the name of the United States of America, is hereby dissolved’’-—the ordinance of seces- sion. There were crowds again, and pro- cessions, guns, bands and illuminations. In the midst of it all someone began to play Auld Lang Syne on the bells of St. Michael’s. And Mr. Buchanan had his warning. “South Carolina, I have not a doubt will go out of the Union,’’ Mr. Rhett had written to him on November twenty-fourth. “‘ And it is in your power to make this event peaceful or bloody. Jf you send any more troops into Charleston Bay, it will be bloody. Now, in giving you this information and opinion, I trust you will not suppose that I intend to direct your judgment as to your course of duty, but simply to inform it. If you have any hopes of reconstructing the (Continued on Page 61

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; | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Avoid REAL Trouble! Cha O SUMME LusprICANT in your car! Save your gears from grind- ing and rasping. Protect your car from growing old. Save 80% in repair bills. E are spending thousands of dollars to publish this warning to motorists, in their interest as well as our own, to forestall heavy Summer repair bills; to eliminate unnecessary ruining of gears Go today to any station displaying the sign below and have your car A/emited. That station has a special machine, the Alemite Gear Flusher, that sucks out the old, thin and worn out winter grade lubricant from the differential and transmission of your car. That sucks out with it the chips of steel, dirt and grease accumulated there. Then it fushes out those parts with kerosene; cleans them like on a new car. Alemite Gear Lubricant for the Summer is then forced in. It takes only a few minutes. It will prevent your gears from burning out. It will save you, 80 chances in 100, a major repair bill. Improper lubrication in Summer ruins gears. It runs them down. It makes them raspy—noisy—takes the joy out of driving. 80°C of all repair bills are due to lack of proper lubrication. Take care, though, that you go to a genuine A/emite- ing station. Don’t go to an ordinary “greasing” station. Avoid inefficient mechanics and cheap greases —greases filled with soap, “fillers” and acids; danger- ous greases that are flooding the market since the universal adoption of the Alemite High Pressure Lubricating System on cars. 928 APRIL | s Alemite-ing—True Protection So, to protect your interest, and our own, we developed a special Alemite Gear Lubricant and a special service called ‘“‘ Alemite-ing.’’ The word ALEMITE-ING (trade- marked) means to have your car lubricated with genuine Alemite lubricants. The development of speedier cars—cars with more closely meshed gears—has made the reduction of friction a serious problem. Alemite Gear Lubricant clings tenaciously to the tightest fitting gears, leaving a cushion of lubricant between them. All dealers who give you genuine Alemite-ing service, display the sign shown below. They use genuine Alemite lubricants. The sign shown here This picture shows the Alemiute Gear Flush _ is their franchise and eaicsbscmenenemean are then sucked out with a powerfus vacuum We Use Genuine ALEMITE Alemite-ing Costs NoMoreThan Ordinary Greasing WELD Pritt FR! ~ ead a - Rasping noise qua from improper from 1 f proper gear lubrication 1st ubrication your protection. Look for it as one and ask to have your car Alemited What lo Ask For Genuine High Pressure Alemite-ing consists of following Service Bassick Manufacturing Company Division of Stew Warner, 2068 N Canadian address: The Alemite Prod Canada, Ltd., Belleville, Onta Crawtord Avenue, Chicago } | 1 4 - ~Jat Alemite and Alemite-Zerk equally adaptea for Industrial Lubrication cts Company « the 1. GEARS By means of the Alemite Ge I h h ator thors ly cleans o ur diff removing all grit, dirt and a hiy t H new Alemite Gear Lubricant rhe use of Alemite Gear Lubricant usually a 1 miles per gallon asoline I z 2. BEARINGS: —Genuine Alemite C1 into the heart of every chassis bearing I car picture shows how this is done Phis lubricant, special for high pressure lubricating, stand [ r 3.000 px p r Averag i ! it p It re he 20 ) greas teral rl iy “ It will lubrica r bear i below zer Thi i 1 wa an rT t I ing ir car 3. SPRINGS Ha Alemite Graphit P ) ‘ 3] rir , +} sprul I acl it of graphite between the i Mak r ride easier a elit g k Wherever you see one ot the lrive your car in and try this service. You will noti an immediate difference in the wa uu ar runs Dt

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Land her records have never been equalled On August 31, 1851, the famous FLYING CLOUD arrived in San Fran- cisco, 89 days and 21 hours out of New York, anchor to anchor. No other sailing ship ever equalled that. On April 20, 1854, she sailed into San Francisco harbor in time to beat her own record. The new mark was 89 days, 8 hours, anchor to anchor. That record still stands, as do many others that she set here and there across blue waters. For her, the fastest long-distance sailing ship the world has ever known, was named the Reo Flying Cloud. xy 99 Pay REO FLYING CLOUDS FAR AHEAD OF HER TIME On her first voyage she lived up to the reputation of her famous fore- runner, the clipper ship whose mem- ory still rules the waves. And, as the new Reo Flying Cloud of 1929 sets sail down the highways of America, new records will be estab- lished after the manner of the ship for which she is named. Just as the skippers of ordinary ships, riding out a storm with every precaution taken, saw through the mists the sky-touching “Cloud” booming by on her way to everlast- ing fame, so men in ordinary automo- biles, traveling as best they may, will watch the Reo Flying Clouds sail by. April 28,1928 Roads may be paved or rough, be level or rise in great grades; the day may be sunny, rainy; or there may be ice and snow; yet the owners of Reo Flying Clouds will set a pace that few of the venturesome will try to keep. Why you can travel thus in a Fly- ing Cloud of 1929 you can best find out by driving one. All the words in all the dictionaries could not give you the feeling of her ease and power, her speed and comfort, that a drive will reveal. There’s one waiting for you at the nearest Reo dealer’s. We invite you to try it out. REO MOTOR CAR CO., Lansing, Mich.

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a ——— = Sn ee = “ir = ee ———— — a — it i re ——— (Continued from Page 58) Union, after South Carolina shall have seceded, they will, in my judgment, be utterly defeated by any demonstration of coercion in the Bay of Charleston.” But on December twenty-sixth—in de- fiance of verbal assurancesapparently given by Mr. Buchanan to the South Carolinian commissioners who had come to Washing- ton to treat for the delivery to the state of the Charleston forts—the Federal com- mander in the bay abandoned Fort Moultrie and threw himself into the more powerful fortress of Sumter. Mr. Buchanan did not order him back to Moultrie—there would have been too many Northern resignations in Washington. Mr. Buchanan, in January, allowed a ship to be sent to Charleston with reén- forcements and supplies, and guns were fired to drive her away—but the resigna- tions that followed this incident were those of Southerners only. Mr. Buchanan was “pale with fear’ these days, and divided his time ‘‘ between THE SATURDAY praying and crying”; Mr. Buchanan com- plained to the South Carolinians that “ you don’t give me time to say my prayers. I always say my prayers when required to act upon any great state affair.” Mr. Buchanan was a pitiful figure. On March 4, 1861, Mr. Buchanan was no longer even a figure. Mr. Lincoln was there —and of him, during the last months, many men had been mistakenly thinking that he was a “Simple Susan” with his absurd optimism, his “there is no crisis but an artificial one there is nothing going wrong’’—and with Mr. Lincoln there came Mr. Douglas, to stand with him sectionally on his inaugural platform and hold his hat; and Mr. Chase, of Ohio, as Secretary of the Treasury, that post which had been so diligently promised by Mr. Lincoln’s convention managers; and Mr. Seward as Secretary of State, an office which for some weeks he evidently confused with that of Prime Minister, or even Chief Magistrate. And because Mr. Lincoln, in Mr. Seward’s estimation, had not seemed EVENING POST to know what it was that he had todo, Mr Seward undertook, for a while, to do him. And Mr. Seward would have with the South and save the country; he would surrender Sumter; he would preve any Federal expedition for the relief of the fort. Mr. Seward so led the South Caro linian commissioners to believe. But Mr. Seward did none of these things Mr. Lincoln remained in « of his ow: administration; and in April the Bay of Charleston was roaring with guns wh:ch might perhaps have been kept silent. A peaceably intended retirement from a Union become inexpressibly irksome must first run the gantlet of bayonets. So, in 1861, it was decided. Mr. Douglas came to the White House Mr. Douglas went away. “There can be no neutrals in this war,” the author of popular sovereignty pro- claimed; “only patriots or traitors."’ Soon afterward he died. peace ontrol Editor’s Note—This is the last of a series of ar ticles by Mr. Minnigerode THE DIVINE AFFLATUS The commissioner sat down impatiently and set a fist emphatically on his flat- topped desk. ‘‘ Well, something’s got to be done about it,”” he said. ‘“‘Who’s this Tay- lor? I seen him once or twice, but who’s he? I ever do anything to him? Ain’t there anything on him?” “T can’t find anything,’’” Mr. McManus admitted, very unhappy at the complete- ness of his failure. ‘“‘ He’s one of the sheet’s aces—that’s about all. A smooth bird, but he ain’t been mixed up in anything so far as I can find out. He goes with a girl.” ““What kind of girl?” “All right, I hear. and lives in Edgehurst. ried, I understand.” ‘““Wheatley?”’ The commissioner tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. ‘“‘I heard that name before. Where’d I hear that name before?” “‘T don’t know.” The commissioner went to a filing cab- inet and pulled open a drawer. Presently he returned to the desk with a dozen or more clippings. Sitting down, he spread them before him and studied the exhibit. A look of puzzle- ment spread over his face. ‘You reckon this can be the fellow?” Mr. McManus looked over his shoulder. “That’s him,” he said. “I remember that triple-barreled name, and it’s Edgehurst. What’s he doing all this writing for?” “He must be literary,”’ the commissioner hazarded. ‘What's eating me is why he’s doing all this writing for me. It looks like,” he added modestly, “he likes me.” He leaned back, his eyes still on the clip- pings of Mr. Horace Entwistle Wheatley’s letters to the editor of the Ledger. Mr. McManus continued to read them, with al- most as much difficulty as interest. Then the commissioner pushed him aside. ‘Get hold of this fellow,”’ he said. ‘Get hold of him now. Give him my compli- ments and tell him I been reading his let- ters and I’d like for him to have dinner with me this evening. Tell him maybe he can give me some advice— he sounds like a guy that’d like to give somebody some ad- vice.” He sighed. ‘‘Maybe we can get something off him, and maybe not. If we don’t, it looks to me like we’re sunk. I'd like to bean the editor of this Ledger and his smart Mr. Taylor with a brick.” Name’s Wheatley Going to get mar- By nine o'clock that evening the Honor- able Michael J. Haddlebury had listened to one of the longest and loftiest discourses on civie duty and the public servant that he could remember. It had been his plan in the first place to postpone discussion of the foremost issue at hand until he should have had time to study his militant advo- cate, and Mr. Wheatley, to the last detail properly dressed for dining out with a (Continued from Page 46) commissioner of sewers, had made this ab- surdly easy. Having commended the Hon- orable Haddlebury in no uncertain terms on his skillful manipulation of sewers, he had launched forthwith into a lengthy homily on political service which occasion- ally baffled the honorable’s understanding of the subject. “And in conclusion, Mr. Commissioner,” he was stating, as the commissioner dis- creetly began edging his chair back from the table, “it is my opinion that Abraham Lincoln spoke no more than the truth when he favored a government of the people, by the people and for the people. Open cove- nants openly arrived at, Mr. Commissioner, is the keynote of political success. Secret diplomacy is a cancer on the body politic.” He followed the commissioner to his feet, when suddenly and to his surprise, the Honorable Haddlebury came around the table, grasped his right hand and held it fervently in both of his. ‘Mr. Wheatley,” he said solemnly, ‘“‘I think I got you sized up. I been looking you over and I think I got you sized up. Am I right?” “Why—ah— Mr. Commissioner Mr. Wheatley endeavored to accept the honor modestly. “Yeh, I think I got you right, Horace. We're party men, you and me, ain’t we?”’ ““Why—ah—yes—that is oe The Honorable Haddlebury raised one hand significantly and Mr. Wheatley fol- lowed him, out of the dining room of the Empire Hotel, across the lobby, into the lounge. There the commissioner selected two chairs in a deserted corner. “Horace,” he said confidentially, when they were seated—and at the second use of his given name Mr. Wheatley began to glow warmly—‘“‘Horace, I been following you ever since you began writing those letters to the Ledger. I said to the chief then, I said, ‘Chief, there’s a man it’l! be worth our while watching’: and he said, ‘I seen the letters,’ the chief said, ‘and you're right, Mike. Keep your eye on Horace Entwistle Wheatley. He looks like the kind of man the party needs,’ the chief said.” Mr. Wheatley made an even greater effort to look modest. “‘The chief?” he said. ‘‘You mean % ““Yes,”’ the commissioner replied. “‘The chief said that. And now, Horace, some- thing’s come up where you can serve the party, and through the party the people, and maybe”’’—he paused and looked mys- teriously at Mr. Wheatley—‘“‘and maybe the party can serve you. There’s room, way up, Horace—way up in the service of the state—for men like you.” ““Why—ah— Mike,” Mr. Wheatley said, “in whatever way I can serve the people of my state 4 The Honorable Haddlebury leaned for- ward in his chair. ‘“‘Horace,’’ he said, “I ” understand you know a young man, a news- paper reporter, named Taylor— Peter Tay- lor.” ““Yes—ah— Mike—but what The commissioner began to speak, in low tones and indignantly, and Mr. Wheatley listened with amazement and horror. The commissioner spoke steadily for thirty minutes. At 10:30 the Long Island Railroad train paused at Edgehurst and Mr. Wheatley got off. His mind was teeming with dis- order. He was not accustomed to high drama. What he had heard and what he had to do were matters entirely without precedent in his life. There were but one or two clear ideas in his head, and the foremost of these was an exclamatory wonder as to what an unprincipled rogue and scoundrel was this young Mr. Peter Taylor! What dishonesty, never to have spoken out like a man and confessed this abominable raid upon an honest and distinguished states- man’s reputation! To have invaded Mr. Wheatley’s home, to have courted his daughter, and all the time to have harbored this wicked secret! He told himself, as he walked along Con- cord Avenue toward his house, that it would be exercising the most miraculous of self-control, the most amazing of behavior, not to seize young Mr. Taylor by the collar and boot him into the street; but, as the Honorable Haddlebury had said, one must learn to suffer for the party. He must be calm, beguiling, persuasive, effective. He must use finesse. Pete negligently removed his feet from an adjoining chair as his prospective father-in- law mounted the steps to the porch and murmured a courteous good evening. Martha said nothing, but both studied the old gentleman curiously as he eased him- self into a chair. They were waiting waiting for the results of this unexpected engagement concerning which he had tel- ephoned his daughter earlier in the evening. “Well,” he remarked with engaging in- nocence, “I just had dinner with Mike Haddlebury—the commissioner, you know. Quite a remarkable man— Mike.” “Yes, indeed,’’ Pete agreed, and Mr. Wheatley felt an impulse of indignation. ““A very remarkable man,” he repeated stubbornly. “The word is almost inadequate,” Pete seconded. There was a long pause, and Martha looked at Pete and sighed. For answer, he smiled and made a long face. “‘By the way, Mr. Taylor’’— Mr. Wheat- ley spoke suddenly, as though the matter had almost slipped his mind--“‘ your name came up during dinner, and I was very glad, for it may have been the means of saving you and the Ledger from a bit of an ee 2s a se es aw is. Ee Not this... if screens are of bronze No sudden holes. No rust. No frequent replacement. Anaconda Bronze Wire is rust- proof, permanent. Itis specially strengthened copper. Bronze screened doors, win- dows and porches mean not only perfect protection and relief from annoyance, but a yearly saving of $7.00 in up- keep for the average house. No more painting. No patch- ing. No sagging or bulging. 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error. Yes, I was very glad, indeed—in view of the circumstances.”” He looked around roguishly at Martha. “Brother Haddlebury generally has my interests at heart,”’ Pete confessed, and Mr. Wheatley was encouraged. This was the reasonable kind of reception he wanted. It might not be difficult, after all. “Yes, yes, yes,” he repeated heartily. ‘Seems that you and the Ledger have been cooking up a little article or so—nothing at all serious, I understand—but possibly em- barrassing. I told him I’d speak to you about it.” The smile went away from Pete’s face and his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘‘ Yes?” “Yes, yes,"” Mr. Wheatley said indul- gently. “I know how it is, my boy youthful exuberance—ah, youth, youth!” He sighed heavily. ‘‘Of course the papers have to have something to print, and you young gentlemen of the press are busy look- ing for it. But as Mike was saying, now and then a cooler head should be allowed to offer a word of advice. I told him I'd speak to you about it.” “ae Yes?” Mr. Wheatley drew on a cigar, slightly nonplused at the absence of commitment in the second yes. Young Mr. Taylor should be meeting him a part of the way. “Yes,” he said nonchalantly, “I think you'd better not run the articles.” Pete was silent. ‘Better tip the word to the editor,’’ Mr. Wheatley continued with somewhat trans- parent blandness, “that it’s all a mistake. Somebody was probably joshing you a bit— you're still a young fellow, you know and probably be better not to be too hasty about it. You don’t want to throw mud on a clean reputation, you know.” Still Pete did not speak, and Martha shut her eyes hopelessly. “Oh, Mike wasn’t angry, if that’s what you're thinking,”” Mr. Wheatley hastened to explain. ‘‘Oh, no, not Mike. Mike un- derstands young people—once a young fel- low himself, you know. No, Mike was very nice about it-—just felt you’d appreciate his tipping you off that you were wrong.” “Did he mention the way the drovers’ strike was settled?’’ Pete asked. “Oh, yes, that was all just a misunder- standing,”” Mr. Wheatley endeavored to dismiss the drovers’ strike. ‘ Just a misun- derstanding.” ‘“‘What was a misunderstanding about it?” he whole thing.” “How?” “Why, it was ail just a great big misun- derstanding, that’s all. We didn’t go into it. But you don’t think a commissioner of sewers would lie about it, do you?” Pete refused to commit himself. ‘‘ Well,”’ he said slowly, ‘was there any other mes- sage he sent me?” Mr. Wheatley shifted uncomfortably. “you don’t seem very appreciative,’’ he -ymmented. “‘Here’s a big man, way up in the Moose, and he takes the trouble to set you right so you won’t make a mistake you'd always regret, and you seem quite indifferent to it.” “To tell you the truth,” Pete acknowl- edged, ‘‘I am. What's more, I think he’s the most transparent boob I’ve ever heard of, in addition to being a crook of the first order.” Mr. Wheatley gasped and sat erect. “Boob!"’ he repeated, horrified. “Well, sap then,’ Pete amended his description amiably. “You mean—you mean you won't stop the articles?” Pete sighed. ‘‘In the first place, Mr. Wheatley, I couldn't if I wanted to. I have nothing to do with matters like that on my paper. In the second place, I don’t want to. If I'd had any such notion before, I wouldn’t have it now—not after this child- ish maneuver he’s inveigled you into. He's a fool.” Mr. Wheatley was crushing his cigar in a nervous grip. His face was crimson with indignation. He glared at Pete. “You won't stop the articles?” ““What did he promise you—a place 'way up in the service of the state?” Pete rose. “There’s no use of our discussing it, Mr. Wheatley. I have nothing to do with such ——”’ “You could tell your editor you were mistaken in your information.”” He was desperate. He’d never considered the pos- sibility of an outright refusal. Martha spoke: ‘“‘Dad dear, can’t you understand that Pete is only a reporter?” Mr. Wheatley stood up. His eyes were blazing. His cigar was broken in two. He continued to glare at the younger man. “Mr. Taylor,”’ he said hoarsely, ‘‘I under- stand this, that for a twopenny thrill you are willing to traduce the reputation of a fine man. To me that shows that something in your soul is rotten—incurably rotten. At heart you are bad, Mr. Taylor. And what you come in contact with you soil.” He paused fitfully. ‘‘I hope you under- stand what I mean—I mean that you soil my home when you enter it. You soil me when you come near me and you soil my daughter when you come near her. I hope you understand.” “You are trying to tell me, probably,” Pete interpreted, ‘that you’d thank me for keeping away from Martha.” “Exactly.” “You know”’—he spoke easily, but his face was pale—‘‘I suppose you know that Martha and I intend— intended to be mar- ried.” “That is ended.” Pete turned and picked up his hat. ‘‘ Are you,” he asked, smiling pleasantly, “going to ask Brother Haddlebury whom Martha may marry?” ‘“*Pete,’’ Martha appealed to him, “‘ please go. Tomorrow—another day—we’ll all be in better humor.” “Martha, keep away from him!” “Very well. Good night, Mr. Wheatley. I’m truly sorry I’m in no position to do any- thing about this. Good night, Martha.” “‘T’ll walk to the corner with you.” “Martha!” “Yes, yes, dad, I hear in a minute.” They left him standing there on the porch, fuming with helpless rage and indig- nation, and then a box hedge hid him from them. Martha stopped wearily and laid her head on Pete’s shoulder. ‘‘Oh, Pete!” she wailed. ‘“‘Isn’t it terrible~ a If there was the slightest apprehension in his mind, not the least evidence of it showed in his voice and amused smile. ‘‘ Honey,” he said, ‘‘haven’t I told you not to fret? Haven’t I told you that he and I are brothers under the skin? You really mustn’t # “We could run away—elope.”’ ““Why? Why do that? You know that would make you unhappy, because it would make him unhappy. Why not be married with his consent, his approval and his blessing? Wouldn’t you like that?” She raised her head curiously. ‘‘ What is all this anyway?” He laughed evasively. ‘‘You must al- ways think of me, darling, as your great big wonder man, capable of anything. Think of me as John Gilbert or Richard Dix or Emil Jannings, and don’t fret--and good night before he decides to resort to vio- lence!” Mr. Wheatley was not a man who had many resources for entertainment or pleas- ure. He was at the bank until five, and never, save on such great occasions as the engagement with the Honorable Haddle- bury, did he dine away from home. While and I'll be back THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Mrs. Wheatley lived, his evenings were very pleasant indeed; he told her precisely and at great length what he would do were he Marshal Foch, David Lloyd George, President Harding, the Prince of Wales or President Coolidge. He explained complex international situations to her and solved problems which were baffling premiers and presidents. He analyzed elections and showed her how, as he had predicted, it was and had been from the first impossible for the losing candidate ever to have won. He disposed of a great many matters for Mrs. Wheatley. Of more recent years, since his bereave- ment, he had been quite lonely, quite alone somehow. It did not seem to him that his daughter assimilated his discourses with the same intelligence, sympathy, appreciation and understanding he had got from her mother. For some reason she always seemed less than agog over his revelations. Nor were the young men of this newer generation, as he saw them calling upon Martha, as profoundly absorbed in these really higher, more cultured subjects as they might have been—none, that is, ex- cept young Mr. Taylor. He had few friends that were more, ac- tually, than acquaintances. He could not understand this, for he was certain that he was not a bad conversationalist. And al- ways, on meeting strangers, he endeavored in every way to show them that he was not a stupid fellow and that he kept abreast of the times. In fact, in more than one in- stance, he had demonstrated to them that they were quite wrong in their views on the farm-relief bill or the prohibition issue or the Sacco-Vanzetti case. Small thanks, however, had he got for this assistance. It was a pity, he reflected, that this young Mr. Taylor had turned out to be such a cad and bounder. He had enjoyed his conversations with him. But, after all, there was a limit, of course. Monday afternoon he got the Ledger. The series concerning the Honorable Had- dlebury’s political record and methods be- gan on the first page, and he read it with many disapproving shakes of the head. He had to grant that at first sight the charges appeared pretty staunch, but one should take into consideration also, he felt, the polities involved. He read Peter Taylor’s name over the article with visible disrelish. “Your fine young man, my dear,” he said to Martha at dinner, “began his con- temptible mud slinging this afternoon. We are well rid of such a man, Martha—very well rid of him. . Will you have my coffee served upstairs? I have a little writing to do.”’ It was, he felt, one of the finest of his compositions that evening. He took up the charges against the Honorable Haddlebury one by one and disposed of them singly and in toto, basing all argument on the state- ment that a gentleman would never do what the Ledger charged the Honorable Haddlebury had done. It was a bit long, covering seventeen pages, but he scarcely saw how he could cover the ground in less space. He mailed it that night. Mr. Currier carried it across the hall to Pete’s desk and held it out tohim. “I just wish to show you,” he said, ‘‘and to have you witness the first step.”” Then, with the greatest deliberation and care, he tore Mr. Wheatley’s work of four hours into three hundred and forty-four small pieces and tossed them into a wastebasket. ‘‘See?”’ “It does seem a pity,”” Pete commented. “Be hard, man, be hard!’’ commanded Mr. Currier. ‘‘The ends will justify the April 28,1928 means. You and I, my friend, have just begun to fight!” “You really think “Pete, my boy, I know letter writers!” Mr. Wheatley searched the Ledger that afternoon, at first carefully and then fran- tically. He had just mailed another letter, dealing with some points not fully covered in his first, and he had rather planned in his mind a counter campaign against Peter Taylor’s articles; as he saw it, the lying, biased, prejudiced articles on the front page, the cool, dispassionate, overwhelming letters from a masterly layman on the in- side. The intelligent public would be able to judge their comparative worth. Now it would all be off schedule. He looked the next afternoon, and still there was no contribution from Horace Entwistle Wheatley under the caption Let- ters to the Editor. He looked on Wednes- day and Thursday and Friday and Satur- day. Mr. Peter Taylor’s articles continued, but Mr. Wheatley’s never began. On Saturday the first assistant cashier mentioned the fact. ‘‘Haven’t seen any- thing from you in the Ledger recently, Wheatley. What’s the matter — lying down on the job?” “The Ledger’s scurrilous articles,’’ he re- plied, ‘‘should not be dignified with a reply. I trust that Mike—that is, the commis- sioner-—will ignore them.” “Tt looks as though he were going to have an opportunity to try to ignore a grand jury,” the first assistant commented. Mr. Wheatley went home in a morose state of mind. He went immediately to his room and remained there until dinner. He returned to it as soon as he had finished his coffee. He did not emerge again until! morning. He found Martha seated in the hammock, surrounded by the Sunday news- papers. She salvaged one as he appeared. “*Look, dad,” she said. It was the Sun- day Ledger, the editorial section, and she was indicating a brief letter to the editor. Mr. Wheatley seized it eagerly. It read: Dear Sir: A number of us in the Havermere section have missed the fluent, balanced, well- reasoned letters of your correspondent, Mr. Horace Entwistle Wheatley. If this is printed and he should see it, we trust he is well and will soon again entertain and enlighten us with his sage comments On current events. AN OLD SUBSCRIBER. “T think that’s awfully fine,’”’ Martha said. ‘It shows that your letters were at- tracting attention. Aren’t you writing any mere?” Mr. Wheatley cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been busy with some other matters, my dear,” he said. ‘‘ But I have in mind a few remarks I feel would be welcomed by the paper, and this would probably be as good a time as any other to set them down.” He returned to his room, a grim, pleased smile on his face. Now they’d print them! Now they'd pay attention to his letters! They couldn’t very well ignore a public demand for them; no paper could do that. He completed an exceptional effort by seven o'clock and mailed it by eight. And it, too, Mr. Currier carried to Pete. “Just to show you,” he explained, “how beautifully he reacts to the will of a supe- rior fellow. Watch!” And he tore the exceptional effort to bits and dropped the refuse in a basket. “‘I give him a week now.” “Poor old boy,” Pete said. “It’s for his own good. . . . seen Martha?” “Yes. She says he seems to be begin- ning to crack under the strain. She showed him the note from Old Subscriber.”’ “My own idea,” Mr. Currier said mod- estly. “You see how it worked. Ill try another tomorrow.” When Tuesday afternoon came, and with it Tuesday’s Ledger, and no letter to the editor from Kim on the French debt sit- uation, Mr. Wheatley suddenly found that the situation was beginning to tell on him much more seriously than he had imag- ined. All at once, after reading the arid paper, he felt very lonely, very humiliated, (Continued on Page 67) Have you ' i Ny i ;

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9 a ere : a Ee eee SS I a " a | t 4 | i \ (Continued from Page 62 very discouraged. He missed the always- ready air of the departed Mrs. Wheatley. He felt bitter toward the Ledger; his really original views on the settlement of the French debt situation deserved better than this. Behind his back, as he brooded in an armchair that evening, Martha threw him a tender kiss. She wanted to comfort him, and to ask him to tell her all about the French debt situation; but she forbore’ It would all soon be over. Wednesday for him was worse. The first assistant again spoke of the absence of his letters from the Ledger; another brief note from a resident of Flatbush asked about the missing correspondent, Mr. Horace Entwistle Wheatley, who had dis- cussed current events with such soundness; and the president of the Wheat and Metals Bank, himself, in person, mentioned that he had seen nothing of his messages in the Ledger recently. And shortly after three o’clock he made a bold move. He telephoned the Ledger and asked to speak to the person in charge of letters to the editor. Presently a curt voice spoke ‘‘ Well?” ‘*Why —ah—I am Mr. Horace Entwistle Wheatley,” he said, “‘a subscriber and oc- casional contributor to your department. I have written—that is, I was wondering I mean, I have written a letter or two to you and—that is, they haven’t appeared. I was just wondering if you had received them. I was just wondering—that is all.” Mr. Currier smiled. ‘‘I remember you, Mr. Wheatley—that is, I remember your letters. Very glad to get them too. The truth is the mail delivery is very bad here. I'm awfully sorry, but they must have been missent.”” He paused. ‘‘Why don’t you send them by Mr. Taylor— Mr. Peter Tay- lor? I mean, he was telling me that he knows you. Why don’t you send them to him? Then they’d be sure—very sure—of getting here—and in.” There was a silence, and then: ‘“‘ Thank you, sir. I just wanted to find out. I'll think—that is—thank you very much.”’ He hung up the receiver thoughtfully. He went back slowly into his office and got ORAWN BY WILL CARROLL AND M,C. A Fanciful Conception of How F. R. Gruger Could Guard His Famous Technic From the Hundreds of Ambitious Young Artists Who Would Possess It. (Note: Mr. Gruger Keeps His Technic Locked in the Strong Box on His Work Table THE SATURDAY his hat and coat. His face was a study as he rode out to Edgehurst. Martha, watch- ing him closely during dinner, saw no signs of the worry that had been in his eyes, but over him hung a heavy aura of deep and desperate reflection. He went to his room. From the lower drawer of his bureau he brought out a scrapbook, sat down at his writing table and opened the book to the first page. He read the clipping pasted there. He noted the clearness, the impres- siveness, of his name spelled out in cap- ital letters: HORACE ENTWISTLE WHEATLEY. He turned the page and read the next clipping. He repeated one or two of the sentences aloud and admired the rounded eloquence of one of the ex- pressions. Page after page, he went through the book. Occasionally he paused and stared at the electric light. But back again presently he went to the book. There were fifteen clip- pings in all—thirteen letters signed Horace Entwistle Wheatley and two from other correspondents asking what had become of him. He admired the name; it was long and full and rich. It was impressive, and in print it seemed more impressive than spoken. He sat before the exhibit for two hours. He read all the letters over, and then again He lingered lazily over this one or that, trying to recapture the mood that had inspired this phrase or that turn of a sen- tence. Then he closed the book and sat staring at nothing. ; At 9:30 he came downstairs with some- what ostentatious casualness, whistling tunelessly, and sank into a rocking-chair on the porch near Martha. He rocked vigorously a moment or two and then spoke. “By the way, Martha,” he said suddenly, with disarming candor, ‘‘what was the name of that young newspaper fel- low—that reporter— Taylor?” “Taylor,”’ she replied dutifully— ‘‘ Peter Taylor.” “That was it—Peter Taylor.”” He rocked more vigorously and resumed his whistling. Then: ‘“‘What ever became of him? Why doesn’t he ever come around any more? I haven't seen him recently.” He continued to rock innocently. EVENING POST Martha smiled in the dark. ‘Why, I don’t know,” she replied vaguely. “‘ You said something about not liking him — said he was bad at heart or something of the sort, and : Mr. Wheatley laughed indulgently. “‘What nonsense! I said he was bad at heart? Why, it must have been in the heat of a political argument! As I remember | him, he was quite a fine fellow. Why don’t | you have him around again sometime?” He paused discreetly and whistled a single bar. ‘‘For that matter, why don’t you call him now? Maybe he has nothing to do. Give him a ring.”’ She went inside and called the Ledger number. She wished to speak to Mr. Tay- lor A silence. Then— Mr. Taylor was busy. Would she leave a message? Was Mr. Cur- rier there? Yes. Then she'd speak to Mr Currier. Presently he spoke. ‘George, this is Martha Wheatley. Where is Pete?” “‘He’s busy. Can I take a message?”’ ‘“‘Busy at what?” She heard Mr. Currier chuckling. “‘ Well, it seems,”’ he said, “that by some error his | name was left off his Haddlebury story in one of the out-of-town editions. He is at present bawling the make-up editor out about it.’””, He knew she was smiling. “‘ You know how writers are,” he added. “Yes,” she replied, still smiling into the mouthpiece, ‘I know how they are. Will you tell him to come over as soon as he can?" She paused. ‘Tell him father was asking about him and also asked me to call him.” “‘He’ll come,” Mr. Currier laughed. “I suppose I'll receive something in the way of a communication to the editor si “That's all,’ she said primly, and hung up. Mr. Wheatley came into the room from the porch. “‘T have a little idea that the public might be interested in,” he said. “I think I'll run upstairs and knock it off before he comes. He could take it down to the office himself then.” “T’m_ sure,” glad to.” Martha said, “he’d be The Perfected Lacquer for Motor Cars, Furniture and Ali Uses PITTSBURGH PLATE GLASS @. Paint, Varnish end Lacquer Factories: Milwaukee. Wis. Newark, New Jerse Portland, Oregon, Los Angeles, Cal, PITTSBURGH 7 ucts -

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their owners agree on this! Most of ihe men we know who are dog lovers are smokers. Their ideas of beauty and use- fulness in dogs vary from the Dachshund to the Great Dane. Is it strange that these dif- fering tastes find one common liking for Firefly Lighters? Not at all. pocket lighter that always Smokers need a works. !t must be safe from accidentally lighting in or out of the pocket. It should not smudge the thumb, as some do. Firefly Lighters have all these good points and also that air, that character which, in a dog, would be called breeding. Every line of a Firefly and the splendid finish are silent proofs that this was made by a jeweler. Fireflys sell $4.50. If your local shop does for as low as not sell them, write to us. Clark Lighter Co., Ine. 580 Fifth Avenue, New York FIREFL A CLARK LIGHTER ALWAYS WORKS yr | serious business. does shrink the ropes, and built-in floor cloth or sod cloth with removable canvas floor. A very popular tent with many campers is the umbrella, sometimes called the “ pal- metto”’ or “‘marquette.”” The term umbrella first was applied to this type of shelter be- cause the top frame was constructed a great deal like umbrella stays and braces, also it was supported by a central rod. One of the latest developments has been to devise the umbrella-tent frame in such a way that the center rod is eliminated, but this is al- ways done by adding e:ther two or four rods to support the top frame. Some campers declare that the center pole does not give them any trouble when arranging the fur- niture inside the tent; while others claim that they are glad to carry more poles, and take a little longer to erect or take down the tent, in order to get rid of the bothersome center pole. Umbrella tents without center poles have been incorrectly called “‘pole- less.”” They are really center-poleless. No matter which type, pole or poleless, one’s personal preference dictates that he should select, it is safe to say that he will be well pleased with his nomadic domicile. One should remember that on a mara- thon camping trip his tent is his castle. The best one—no matter what style one chooses, so long as it is roomy and specially designed for the exigencies of camping—is the safest and cheapest in the end. There are a great many different makes of auto tents that will take one safely through every vicissi- tude of the weather, and stand the wear and tear of daily use—tents that will protect your loved ones from every ordinary hazard of a transcontinental expedition or a winter in the South; and such a tent, according to material, style, and size, will cost from fifty dollars to seventy-five dollars. One can buy at retail tents that may appear al- most exactly the same to the casual ob- server, but beware of shoddy shelters for Few argonauts of the automobile are willing to risk the ruin of a vacation by placing confidence in cut-price outfits. “How can I distinguish a good tent?” asks the tyro. Tent Materials One of the easiest tests is to step inside a tent and examine the material while look- | ing toward a strong light. Good cloth will | show up as tightly woven, fairly opaque, | and of uniform thickness throughout. A shoddy material will be less opaque, and the light will shine through much brighter in | places so that it will present a blotchy ap- pearance. If one can secure samples of tent mate- | rial he can learn far more by holding the | cloth before a light than by feeling of it or | even soaking it with water. Compare the materials used in a seventy-five-dollar tent and a twenty-two-dollar-and-ninety-nine- cent tent, made to meet the demands of the trade, by this light test. There used to be a great deal of talk | about the weight of canvas; indeed, weight | was used as the yardstick of quality. | Though it is still true that a ten-ounce can- | vas duck will be superior to a six-ounce | cloth of the same grade, nevertheless it is | often a fact that a superior six-ounce canvas may have better rain-repelling and wearing qualities than a ten-ounce cloth of inferior fabrication. So weight does not have quite so much importance as formerly; indeed, both weave and waterproofing are more essential considerations. A good weave is one that is at least double fill and it should havea fairly high count—thatis, a relatively large number of threads —furthermore, it should be pulled closely together. A frequent query is: “Is duck superior to drill?’”’ For some reason a drill—often called twill—easily recognized because the threads run diagonally, or on the bias, never has become quite as popular as canvas duck. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 49) Canvas drill can apparently be woven much tighter than duck, and therefore appears to be thinner than the corresponding weight in duck. Because it is tighter, it is also stiffer and more likely to crack. Drill is somewhat more easily punctured than duck, and it is to be doubted that drill wears with the iron qualities of a good duck. There are a few fine drill-cloth tents on the market, second to none under every test, but the vast majority are made from stand- ard canvas duck. Frequently the consideration of ease in erection is what sells a tent. Veteran campers agree that nothing is faster in the one-man tent than the umbrella. One sim- ply spreads the tent on the ground where he wants it erected, drives the four corner stakes, and then steps through the doorway to set the center pole or top frame in place. One old-timer avers that he can set up his umbrella tent alone and blindfolded in five minutes, and I thoroughly believe him. The modern touring wall tents are almost as easily pitched. Size considered, the shed tent is as balky as any. Another thing to decide is whether or not one wants to hobble his car in one place when the tent goes up, or select a shelter that will only indirectly attach to the car top, so that the automobile may be driven about without disturbing the camp. The best auto tents are thus adaptable. The Gasoline Stove Tent pegs have even come in for their share of improvement. Old-style wooden ones are passing. In their place has come the unique angle-iron peg with its handy hook or ring. Where the wooden peg held best when leaning toward the tent, the newer metal ones are made with a broad shoulder which makes them hold best when driven into the ground to lean away from the shelter. Ingenious makers of these new pins must have recognized the tendency of almost every beginner to drive his pegs in the wrong direction, so, Yankee fashion, they made the wrong way the right one. A trip afield would be stale as week-old bread without the inevitable camp fire. While the wood fire is unquestionably the most picturesque, still one might as well face the fact that it is often very difficult to find wood for fuel. The open fire blackens the cooking utensils anyhow. The modern pressure-feed folding gaso- line camp stove fits into one’s holiday scheme better than any other. Indeed, it is an outfit that brings the camp fire up to date. Generally the weather is warm, but the use of the gasoline stove does not work any hardship on this score; nor does it leave a bed of smoking ashes or live coals behind. If I were asked to name the particular article that was most typical of the camp- er’s outfits—the handmaiden of motor camping—it would have to be the merry little gasoline stove. It has come to be as important an adjunct to camping as the self-starter is to the automobile. The male members of the camping party welcome the gas stove because it is a great deal easier to siphon fuel from the car tank than to rustle firewood. The women like the gasoline stove because it makes camp cookery al- most as simple and easy as cooking over the kitchen range. The accepted gasoline meal-getter has two burners, a warming closet and wind- break, and the cooking top is elevated con- veniently by means of a collapsible metal stand. One learns to generate the master burner and get the stove going readily enough with a little practice. It is a mighty good plan for the tyro thoroughly to famil- iarize himself with his gasoline stove before starting on the big journey; indeed, it is also important to have had some experience with every part of his camping outfit, from tent to nesting utensil outfit. To this end a good meny follow the excellent practice of OUT-OF -DOORS April 28,1928 taking several short trips over week-ends near home. By the time they are ready to hit the trail in earnest, they have become seasoned campers. Cooking and eating utensils are fre- quently taken from home, but by far the more satisfactory practice is to have one special set for camping. Miscellaneous dishes never will get the least bit chummy, when it comes to packing them up in a rather small space. One has the option of aluminum kits of both cooking and eating utensils or enamel-ware eating dishes, to which may be added either aluminum or steel enough to take care of the cooking. For a four-party outing the following is essential: two ten-inch frying pans with detachable handles; three stew pots of eleven, nine, and seven quart capacity, as well as a two-quart coffee pot; four each of knives, forks, spoons, tablespoons, plates, cups and bowls; with a salt-and-pepper service. Such an outfit may be had in a heavy waterproof-canvas case in aluminum; and about the same dishes for eating purposes only can be obtained in enamel ware with the entire set packed into the largest pail. To such a set should be added such odds and ends as kitchen knives, long-handled fork and spoon, sheathed knife for meat and bread, pancake flipper, canvas bucket, camp ax in sheath, can opener, dipper, soap and towels. For his food container one may select either a neat running-board trunk or kitchenette, or he may use a reed refrig- erator basket or running-board ice chest. Thermal jugs, serving dishes, or bottles are very popular. The auto camper carries his perishable food on ice, and lives in camp on just as varied a diet, cooked in as many appetizing ways, as he enjoys at home. His baked goods he buys en route as needed, What to Sleep On A great many tyros find that one of the very hardest tasks is to get to sleep. A really comfortable camp bed with plenty of warm bedding makes it easy enough. The folding cot, with frame of seasoned hardwood or enameled steel, which may be had in either single or double width for adults as well as in a junior size in certain kinds for children under twelve years, is more widely used than any other kind of foundation for a good night’s sleep. A good many ask how to distinguish a camp bed from a cot. The cot always has a canvas top, while the bed boasts steel springs. Some beds look very much like cots, be- cause the springs are incased in a canvas envelope. Almost invariably the beds are built double width, either forty-two or forty-eight inches wide, and a single camp bed is the exception. While folding cots are all built along more or less the same pat- tern, camp beds are constructed in scores of different types, most of them excellent, but some lacking a suitable tension device to keep the bed from sinking near the middle, or “hammocking”’ as campers say. Tens of thousands of campers are using pneumatic beds, bed pads, and mattresses. The air bed is placed directly upon the ground and is a sort of sleeping pocket with a wool lining and a waterproof cover. Pneumatic-bed pads are used on camp cots, or any form of bed for that matter, and so are the larger air mattresses. The beginner who uses an air bed is prone to spoil his comfort by inflating it too hard. The only hard-and-fast rule to remember with respect to camp bedding is this; Put twice as much bedding beneath the body as is needed over the sleeper. Otherwise one is sure to sleep cold, if at all. Some campers place paper under the bedding and find tiis satisfactory insulation, but even then more should be under the body than is needed over. Eider-down blankets are the very warmest and lightest-weight bedding. FRANK E. BRIMMER.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST mR, /[y siraght i Sight at the opus of a Nix. . New Marmon 68 Five-Passenger Sedan S , 3 9 5... a car your friends will admire and which will give your family that feeling of superiority which comes from association with fine things —s— The great- and upward, f.o.b. factory. De luxe equipment avail- able at moderate extracosts @St performance of the day afforded by eight THE NEW cylinders rather than six, but at same price —s— Full size, full MA R M () | ’ ae F ae tread, ample room for five ~— Uses less gas than any six of — _— . equal power —z— Enjoy ownership under convenient credit plan. (, aa. . Also, the new 78, $1895 and upward, f. o. b. factory

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plane below the one which Opus inhabited. Secondly, Mr. Slappey fondly believed that he would be chosen winner of the beauty contest by reason of Opus’ vote. But Mr. Randall knew better. He intended to keep Florian perfectly confident and then on the last night, in the bitter glare of public ob- servation, throw him down. So that Florian would be out of Midnight and also a defeated candidate in the race for hand- somest man. Mr. Randal] was in exceedingly fine fettle that night. Next morning he felt even better when he learned that Florian had tendered his resignation to President Lati- mer and filed his formal entry in the male beauty contest. It was Welford Potts who approached his friend and remonstrated: ** Ain’t you been kind of hasty, Florian?” “*T don’t think so.” ‘Well, I do.” “How come?” “Did you know that Cesar Clump an’ Opus Randall was the other two judges?”’ “T’ll say I did.” “Cesar’s shuah to vote against you.” “‘T know it.” **So is Opus.” Florian chuckled. ‘‘Not ezackly, he ain’t.”” He then proceeded to sketch his scheme. But Welford did not enthuse. His head moved mournfully from side to side. *‘Sometimes, Brother Slappey,’’ he ob- served, ‘‘you shows less wits than none at all. Do you akchelly tell me you b’lieved Opus?” “Shuah. dollars - “Boy, he’d give a thousan’ to git you in Why not? Fo’ a hund’ed this fix. Cain’t you see where you stand at? I votes fo’ you, an’ Cesar votes against. Then, right out in public, Opus slaps you in the face, an’ where is you? You cain’t even come on the Midnight lot no mo’. Think it over, Florian; refleck upon it.” Florian did, and the more he reflected, the more certain he became that Welford was right. He cursed the self-confidence which had impelled him to forgo so blithely his eminently satisfactory strategic position. Of course Welford might be wrong, but Florian knew that he wasn’t. It behooved Mr. Siappey to do some- thing and do it fast. He surrounded him- self with large quantities of solitude and filled his head with thoughts. And eventually an idea came to him. It came in masculine garb from the inner- most recesses of his memory. He even re- called the man’s name— Fresco Bitt. That was it—- Fresco. Florian departed from Birmingham at midnight that night. Morning found him wandering through the colored section of Memphis, hunting for Mr. Bitt. The gen- tleman was not difficult to locate and when they faced each other an onlooker would have been amazed at the effect presented. If Florian was easy on eyes partial to masculine pulchritude, Mr. Bitt was a posi- tive delight. He was not much larger than Florian and had a similar figure, but there was a vague, intangible difference which imparted to Fresco that distinguished air which had ever been the despair of Mr. Slappey s ite, Perhaps it was the faint penciling of a mustache which Fresco sported; perhaps the slightly greater breadth of shoulder; perhaps the more perfect grace. Actually it was no one of these, but all combined which caused the Memphian to stand out above Florian like a midsummer sun over an attractive but unimportant flower. To Fresco, Florian stated his mission. He offered to pay Fresco’s expenses, and something over, for one week in Birming- ham. ° Fresco was to enter the beauty contest. It was inevitable that he and Florian would be the two men selected by the lodge com- mittee as contestants in the final voting. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST BLACK BEAUTY (Continued from Page 21) Florian’s scheme from then on was superb in its simplicity. Everything was to be made ready for the final balloting in the Champion Theater. The public would be present. The committee would attend armed with pencils and dignity. It would gaze upon Florian, and—it would gaze upon no one else! “You see,” explained Mr. Slappey ear- nestly, ‘‘time comes fo’ them to vote an’ you goes up to the Terginal Station an’ takes the train fo’ Memphis. Ise the on’y feller there. So what can them committees do ’cept vote fo’ me? The answer is nothin’. Even Cesar Clump will have to vote fo’ me, ’cause Ise gwine be the on’y one lef’ in.” Fresco was quite delighted. He had visited Birmingham only once, but was ex- ceedingly fond of the place. He liked the excitement of its colored loop, he enjoyed associating with a negro populace comprised mainly of men engaged in the mechanical jobs of a vast industrial district. Birming- ham colored folks seemed to have more ready cash per capita than those of any other city Fresco had visited. “You understan’ clear,” repeated Flo- rian, “‘that all I want you for is to make shuah nobody else won’t git in the final two which gits judged?” “I comprehen’, Brother Slappey.” ““An’ befo’ the final judgin’ starts, you has got to exodust fum Bumminham.” “T git you.” Next day they arrived in Birmingham. Acting under Florian’s orders, Mr. Bitt sought his own friends. It was no part of Florian’s scheme that his enemies should know what he was planning. He financed Fresco and that gentleman proceeded to have a glorious time. He duly entered the beauty contest and received the enthusiastic acclaim of all with whom he came in contact. One or two even ventured to condole with Florian. That person nodded cheerfully. “Shuh,” he said, “it woul’n’t be no disgrace to git out-beautied by such a swell-lookin’ feller as Fresco Bitt.’’ Within a few days it was generally con- ceded that Fresco and Florian were the only two men with a chance to reach the finals. The city, as a matter of fact, ac- cepted the fact that Fresco was to attain the enormous reward of victory in the con- test plus a chance to act in the movies. Two or three even told Fresco that they bet he’d make the swellest movie actor that ever was. The casual remarks caused a thought to be born in Fresco’s brain. He cultivated the acquaintance of Forcep Swain, Mid- night’s official author, and was taken on a tour of the movie lot. He was vastly im- pressed by the efficient chaos. He glimpsed garish sets brilliant in the glare of Kliegs and flood lights, actors gravely strutting in the habiliments of slapstick comedy, elec- tricians and mechanics in dusty overalls, elegantly puttied directors, property men, gorgeous damsels—fairyland. It occurred to Mr. Bitt that there might be many worse professions than picture acting. The idea, once born, developed swiftly. Even before the officials of The Sons & Daughters of I Will Arise had completed the formality of selecting Fresco and Florian as first and second choice, respec- tively, Mr. Bitt had determined, calmly and unblushingly, to double-cross his sponsor. Mr. Bitt was nobody’s fool. He spoke first with Opus Randall. That gentleman assured him that his vote was pledged to Florian Slappey, but he accompanied the assurance with a prodigious wink which bore out the rumor Fresco had heard. Then Mr. Bitt sought Welford Potts. He found the emaciated little actor filled with righteousness. ‘Does you an’ Florian enter them finals, Mistuh Bitt, I votes fo’ you.” “But somebody said i “‘____. that I was a friend of Florian’s? Sholy Iis. But I ain’t gwine straduce my- se’f fo’ him nor neither nobody else. I votes honest, an’ they ain’t no question in my mind that you is the handsomest man.” It was then that Fresco definitely de- termined to remain in the city for the final judging. He happened, however, not to mention the subject to Florian. Opus sought Welford. He discovered that Mr. Potts had been approached by the out-of- town candidate. “*T said I would vote fo’ him,” announced Welford candidly. ‘‘Ain’t no question "bout him bein’ the handsomest man, an’ ——”’ “But ain’t you a friend of Florian’s?” “Sholy, but I ain’t no liar.” News of Welford’s decision to vote for Fresco reached the ears of Mr. Slappey and caused him not the slightest worry. Why should he be annoyed by Mr. Potts’ high principles? When the night for final judg- ing rolled around, Fresco was going to be en route to Memphis. Florian knew that he would be the only candidate remaining and therefore certain to receive the unanimous award. He was really very happy and quite unsuspicious that his importation might seek to do him dirt. Already the management of the Cham- pion Theater had been approached by in- fluential colored citizens for places of prominence on the night of the final judg- ing. It was certain that the house would be sold out. The affair was taking unto itself aromantic glamour. The idea was new and intriguing. Florian’s friends intended to be present to root for their idol. His enemies were even more keen to lend their support to the first person who ever stood a chance of publicly stripping from Florian some of his conceit. Florian was prepared for the finals. Even though he knew he was to be the lone con- testant, he wished to dazzle the multitude. Preliminary judging had taken place in ordinary street clothes. The finals, on the stage of the Champion Theater, were to be vastly more impressive. According to the schedule the candidates were to appear three times each. First they were to step before the footlights in bathing suits, then in sport costume, and finally in all the glory of full and formal evening dress. Florian bought a new bathing suit; he sent full dress and flannel sport costume to the cleaner. He purchased a new lavender silk shirt and a lavender necktie. He gazed pridefully at his wardrobe and knew that he had builded well. Midnight job or not, for the first time in his life he was to receive the formal accolade. They were to bestow upon him the official title of Champion Handsome Colored Man of Bir- mingham. The day of judgment dawned brightly. Florian rose early and breakfasted heartily at Bud Peaglar’s place. Then he visited the bank and withdrew sufficient money to square accounts with Fresco Bitt. He sought that gentleman in his room at the Cozy Home Hotel for Colored. Mr. Bitt was resplendent in a suit of flowering pajamas. He greeted his visitor languidly. ‘*Heah’s yo’ money,” announced Florian crisply. ‘“‘ You has done fine. Point now is that you ain’t to say nothin’ to nobody "bout gittin’ out of town. Just go! That'll fix things so until the last minute they won’t know nothin’. Then it’ll be too late to git another candidate to run against me.” Mr. Bitt lighted a perfumed cigarette. ‘‘Nemmin’ givin’ me no money, Florian.” “Says which?” “Says I prefer not to assept no money offen you.” “How come not?” “**Cause I kind of like Bumminham an’ I aim to remain heah awhile.” “But, Fresco - “Don’t but me, slim boy. I is gwine re- main where | is at.” April 28,1928 Florian stared at his Memphis friend. He saw that Fresco was planted firmly on his feet and that there was a pugnacious squareness to Fresco’s jaw. True, Mr. Bitt wasn’t much larger than Florian, but even if Mr. Slappey had been pugilistically in- clined he realized that black eyes and split lips do not enhance one’s natural beauty. Florian was beginning to understand. He was commencing to see that a disaster was about to happen to him. Even yet he was loath to put it into words. “You don’t mean ” he stared in- credulously. “T does! Since I arrove in Bumminham I has decided to become a pitcher actor. It’d be a downright shame fo’ any feller as handsome as I to keep out of the movies. Co’se Ise sorry fo’ you, ’cause it ain’t yo’ fault that you look like ten cents’ wuth of tripe.” A cold and bitter anger assailed Florian. He turned steely eyes upon the friend who was now his enemy. “Was I to espress my ’pinion of you, Fresco Bitt, I'd te " git throwed out of that window, Florian. Tha’s what you'd git.” “But I brung you heah an’ paid all yo’ espenses, an’ si an’ you gits the glory of comin’ out secon’-best in a beauty contes’. You said yo’se’f that it ain’t no disgrace to git beat by me.” Florian bethought himself of his agree- ment with Opus Randall. He knew that Welford would vote for him. A superior smile creased his lips. “All right, perfibious feller!” he de claimed. ‘Tonight us will see.” “You is dawg-gone tootin’ we will. Cesar Clump votes fo’ me an’ so does Welford Potts sad “Says who?” “Welford Rotts.” “‘Foolishment what you utters between yo’ lips! Welford is my frien’.”’ “Just the same,” announced Fresco calmly, ‘“‘he tol’ me with his own mouf that he was gwine vote fo’ me.” Florian vanished in search of Welford. He found that gentleman just knocking off for the day. “‘Welford,” he pleaded, ‘‘tell me it ain’t true.” “Tell you what ain’t true, Florian?” “*What Fresco said.” **What was that?” “He said you was gwine vote fo’ him in the beauty contest tonight.” Welford was of tiny stature, but he pos- sessed a mighty moral courage. “Tha’s the troof, Florian. Gosh knows, I hate to admit it, but I done pledged myse’f to vote fo’ the han’somest man, an’ Mistuh Bitts is him.” Florian gave vent to a deep, sepulchral groan, and Welford dropped a friendly hand across his shoulders. “Ise sorry, Florian; b’lieve me, I is. Outside of bein’ dishonest, I’d do anythin’ in the whole world fo’ you. I'd fight fo’ you or die fo’ you Pe “Go ahaid an’ die then,” urged Mr. Slap- pey. “‘They’d have to appoint another judge.” ‘* Aw, please! Cain’t you see the presition Ise in?” “Yeh! An’ cain’t you see the one I oc- cupies? Heah I is—I has lost a good sof’ job with Midnight an’ high-hatted aroun’ tellin’ ev’ybody I was gwine win the beauty contes’. An’ when it’s over, where is I? Busted, out of a job, an’ not even good- lookin’!”’ “Yes, you is, Florian. On’y not so good- lookin’ as Fresco Bitt.” “*You sholy is encouragin’, Welford. I reckon a feller never knows his friends until ie ‘*Now, listen, brother. I honest crave to do somethin’ fo’ you.” “Vote fo’ me, then.” Continued on Page 78) oe =a See Se a _S tete

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aa rnin es ee = re ———— a Soot SES eres ee ae he feel of velvet and the wear of iron UR headline may be a trifle florid to say about a shoe. But, we are speaking about Smith Smart Shoes. And men who have worn these shoes are inclined to be the least bit extravagant in their talk about them. Anyway, they are very good shoes indeed. They fit well and kindly. They wear long. They stay shapely. Shoemakers who were not a little rie eS YOU CAN?’ This new custom model savors of London’s exclusive clubs . THE SATURDAY EVENING POST happy and proud of their work could not possibly turn out shoes exhibiting so much care and finish in even the little things. The smooth-fitting linings are hand- tailored. The style and staunchness are double-stitched in. The per- fectly matched uppers are cut from lustrous leathers so choice that only eight per cent of the world’s tannage will do. Ly LOOK oa S 4 \ - Shown in Tan Calf (No. 206) and Black Calf (No. 406). WD Sinarl Shoes The quailty ma A ine J P. Smith Shoe Company, Chicago, Illinois, makers of J P sn WRITE FOR STYLE BOOK AND NA 4 mith Shoe C® ME OF NEAREST DEALER

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72 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 Ved; Yb fg * ee Sa ee = wen eS a * n 7 Pm, cS | i { Y eee ~ j Ni it / af a Te ; iii jf VWs Oey [is ‘ Be «& . | Lovejoys are standard equipment on the following: Marmon - Cadillac - Reo Flying Cloud - Reo Wolverine - Locomobile f Gardner Series 85 - Chandler - La Salle - Buick - Durant-75 - Pontiac - Oakland All-American Six - Oldsmobile Auburn - Stutz - Elcar-8 - Velie - Yellow Coach - Mack Bus - AC F Coach - Graham Brothers Parlor Coach i Note—lIf you wish to modernize the riding qualities of your present car, a set of Lovejoys can be quickly installed by the nearest Authorized Lovejoy Distributor of United Motors Service. The cost is small. And you will never make an investment which will pay bigger returns in motoring satisfaction. For small cars, $25 per set of four. For all other cars, $40.

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74 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST rs t stays underfoot / BA Aoor Varnish IGGING HEELS, tapping feet, dancing toes meet stout resistance when they come incontact with “61 Floor Varnish. It stays underfoot long after cheap floor finishes are but a memory of labor and expense. Where the wear is hardest, at the front door, in doorways between rooms, under the piano pedals and where children play, that is where “61”’ Floor Varnish demonstrates its long life. It is heelproof, marproof and ” waterproof. Spilled liquids, hot or cold, become passing incidents with “61” on the floor. They do not dim its rich luster. “61” Floor Varnish was originally made for just one purpose — floors. Its extreme durability, its resistance to actual ill treat- ment and abuse on floors quickly popular- ized it as a general utility varnish for furni- ture and woodwork of all kinds. It greatly prolongs the life of linoleum, brightens the pattern and makes it easy to clean. When you have “61” Floor Varnish on your floors it is a great relief to know that they are really finished to stay finished for a while. They require no frequent renewal, April 28,1928 From a drawing by L. V. A, Guild no constant care or polishing, no attention whatsoever. For cleaning, the use of a dry mop is all that is necessary, but soap and water, if you prefer them, make “61” Floor Varnish smile all the brighter. Besides the lustrous Clear Gloss and the popular Dull Finish, “61” Floor Varnish comes in six woodstain colors, which stain and varnish in one stroke of the brush. SEND For FREE SAMPLE PANEL finished with «*61’’ Floor Varnish. Try the ‘*hammer test’? on the panel! Color card and names of dealers in vour vicinity will also be sent you. GuaRANTEES If any PSL Varnish Product fails ve complete satisfaction you may hat é your money back. PRATT & VARNISH PRODUCTS P&L, Varnish Products are used by painters, specified by architects and sold in all size cans by paint and hard- ware dealers everywhere. Pratt & Lambert-Inc., 83 TonawandaSt., Buffalo, N.Y. Canadian address, 25 Courtwright St., Bridgeburg, Ont. —, —— 66 - 99 V7 acquer Enamel Wherever a quick, durable, opaque enamel finish s desired, use “O61” Lacquer Enamel. Drie almost immediately. Brushes and flows easily, Will not crack, chip or peel and 1s waterproof. ve the surface and 3 nmi “$a y save all” Bint sVarncsh ; E yo LAMBERT aT a ae = ona i a Fy) 5 ~ — = pe en Se ees }

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| } Wi my nay | iK j i} / : P| i (Continued from Page 70) ‘I cain’t! But anythin’ else—anythin’ you can think of.” Florian stared raptly off at nothing. ““You-—-you sort of remind me, Welford, of a feller which busts somebody in the mouf just so he can have the fun of apologizin’.”’ News of Welford’s ineluctable honesty came to the ears of Opus Randall. That large and pompous gentleman sought his co-star and verified the rumor. Mr. Ran- dall had no sympathy whatever with such absurd honesty, but his eyes narrowed craftily as he determined to divert it to his own ends. He sought President Latimer and begged permission to vote after Welford that night. Latimer was quite agreeable —it didn’t matter particularly to him who voted first. Meanwhile Fresco Bitt was having an exceedingly good time. He sought out the three judges and tried to become friendly with them. Clump, as befitting a person of his eminence, was not particularly warm, but he assured Fresco that he didn’t see why he shouldn’t win. Opus Randall merely grinned and informed Fresco that he sholy was the best-lookin’. Welford Potts was even more frank, but less friendly. ‘Florian Slappey is a friend of mine,”’ he announced curtly. ‘‘An’ wasn’t I so honest, I’d vote fo’ him.” “Then you mean és that I votes fo’ you. Yes. “Hot dam! Han’some feller what I is.” Fresco linked his arm in that of Welford, and Mr. Potts patiently bore with his new friend. He even walked down the street with him toward Bud Peaglar’s place while Fresco talked long and earnestly. Opus Randall was very happy. He had a scheme of his own. From the very first he had determined to double-cross Mr. Slappey, but now that didn’t seem neces- sary. J. Cwsar Clump was certain to vote against Florian. So was Welford. To make assurance doubly sure, Opus had arranged that Welford cast the first vote, and Mr. Randall was determined that if Welford actually did vote for Fresco, Florian was to receive the Randall vote. By that excellent bit of strategy Opus would be in a position to demand the return of the hundred-dollar note which Florian held. He hadn’t promised to elect Florian; his pledge had been merely to vote for him. Mr. Randall chuckled. It was indeed a queer twist of events when he alone of the Midnight organization was destined to stand forth as champion of the Slappey cause. As for Mr. Slappey, that personage was wallowing in the nethermost depths of despond. In every conceivable way and manner his excellent scheme had gone awry. Jobless already, and about to be made ridiculous. Selection as Birmingham’s outstanding colored man would have repaid him for the loss of his position with Midnight, but now even that was to be denied him. And he already had forsaken the prestige which was an inevitable concomitant of a job with Midnight. The present seemed a drab and dreary thing, with the future painted in flat, dull gray. Everything was wrong and giving promise of getting terrible. Mr. Slappey was hopelessly crushed. Of course, he had not ceased to fight, but his efforts in the face of such overwhelming disaster seemed puny and futile. Even Welford -well, Florian didn’t doubt that Mr. Potts was his friend, and by the same token, he did not doubt that Welford fully intended to cast his vote for Fresco Bitt. That was what hurt most—that his dear- est friend and staunchest ally should be the person to cause his greatest misery. One hour before judging time the Cham- pion Theater was filled to capacity. The good-natured, highly excited crowd ap- plauded the feature picture and laughed uproariously at the antics of colored actors in the new Midnight comedy which served as hors d’ceuvres to the program. ” ” THE SATURDAY All the elect were in attendance: Lawyer and Mrs. Evans Chew, Dr. and Mrs Brutus Herring, Sis Callie Flukers, the Rev’end Plato Tubb, Keefe Gaines, Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Boscoe Fizz, Epic Peters, Jasper De Void, Semore Mashby body who amounted to anything in Bir- mingham’s Darktown. Near the front of the theater was a special section which was occupied by President Orifice R. Latimer and the three judges. Beside Director J. Cesar Clump sat his resplendent wife, Sicily; both looking as though the domestic bark had been sailing other than a tranquil course in the very near past. Next to Sicily was Welford Potts, and on the end was Opus Randall, looking fatter and more important than ever before. At nine o’clock the house lights were flashed on and President Latimer made a verbose and sonorous announcement. He paid lavish tribute to The Sons & Daughters of I Will Arise and even greater tribute to Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc. He outlined the history of Birmingham’s first dusky male beauty contest and informed the assemblage that the final selection was now to take place, the surviving contest- ants being Mr. Fresco Bitt of Memphis applause—and Mr. Florian Slappey of Bir- mingham, Alabama—wild acclaim sprin- kled with hisses. Then, amid a tense hush, Mr. Slappey walked on the stage clad in a cerise bathing suit. His bronze figure gleamed, and he struggled heroically to conceal the cer- tainty of defeat which hovered over him like a sword of Damocles. His appearance evoked cheers and catcalls. He retired and immediately Fresco walked on. Fresco’s bathing suit matched his com- plexion. There was small doubt that he was Florian’s superior in the matter of physical attractiveness. He was a trifle broader, a wee bit taller, and infinitely better muscled. Meanwhile, as Fresco strutted his stuff in the glare of the spotlight, Florian was busy changing to sport costume. For this entrance he had chosen tennis flannels, and at a signal Fresco walked off to make his change and Florian minced on, waving a somewhat dilapidated tennis racket in imi- tation of a Davis Cup player. No question that Florian’s costume created a sensation, and Mr. Slappey was momentarily heartened. But when he walked off it was in a thunder of applause which greeted Fresco’s sport-costume ap- pearance. Mr. Bitt had chosen what appeared to be a riding habit: Soft shirt, lavender necktie, voluminous knee breeches and shiny putties. He carried a riding crop which he tapped insouciantly against his leather-clad legs; and the wild burst of every- EVENING POST applause indicated beyond any shadow of doubt that Florian’s tennis impersonation was completely and absolutely eclipsed by Mr. Bitt Now Florian appeared for the third and final time. He was immaculate in full evening dress, a slim and attractive brown orchid with black and white trimmings Across the gleaming bosom of his shirt a From his friend Welford he had borrowed a large medal, red ribbon was suspended and he wore his most cherished possessior a monocle purchased more than a year since in Paris. He was a riot, but not nearly so much of one as Fresco Bitt, who followed him onto the stage medal! and no monocle, but he had an air He was distingué. When the applause died down, both candidates were called to the footlights and President Latimer announced that the formal judging would now take place. “The first vote,” proclaimed Latimer, “‘will be casted by one of the greatest cullud screen actors in the world — Mistuh Welford Potts.” Welford rose, a slim and perturbed gen- tleman. He appeared entirely unhappy. “Folks,” he announced, facing the silent house, ‘‘fo” many yeahs I has been a close friend of Candidate Slappey. But I has remained honest. Therefore, I casses my vote fo’ Mistuh Fresco Bitt!”’ There was a hush, then a burst of ap- plause, and Mr. Potts reseated himself, mopping at a perspiring forehead with a pink handkerchief. President Latimer was presenting the second judge— Mr. Opus Randall, greatest and fattest of Afro-American screen stars and during the oration Opus was thinking fast. The situation had developed very much to his liking. Welford had made good —his vote was definitely and irrevoca- bly cast in favor of Fresco, which assured a victory for the Memphian. There was no reason now why Opus should not fulfill his pledge to Mr. Slappey. Florian had not promised him the hundred-dollar note in exchange for victory —he had offered it for Opus’ vote. Opus was pleased with himself. His eye focused on the third judge — Director Julius Cesar Clump—who was sitting tensely in his chair, glaring balefully at the stage. With Welford and Cwsar voting for Fresco, Opus knew that he was shaking hands with a hundred-dollar opportunity. Whereupon he hoisted himself to his feet and speechi- fied: “Folks, fo’ many yeahs I an’ Mistuh Slappey ain’t been good frien’s at all. But I reckon I is nigh about as honest as Wel- ford Potts claims to be. So I casses my vote in favor of Mistuh Florian Slappey!”’ Fresco wore no red ribbon, no 2:45 A.M.—Horace J. Centipede Contemplates Removing His Shoes Before Entering the House Fil é t hopetu srnile Onpu ‘ the j + im- pnhant He w yre t ers and boos Now J is Ca Clumy e t " Know ledg Pre f atime t lu tion. He was a grim and relentl figure and there were few in the e who did not understand that his vote for Fres Bitt was a mere matter of formality Mr Clump seemed la ring under great stress He was tren g wit ent emotion, but his stentoriar t armed to the uttermost cranny) th stuffy theater ' ‘] casses my third an’ decidin’ vote,”’ he shouted, “‘fo’ Mistuh Florian Slappey! Silence —an awed, terrible silence! Ff rian was beaming. Fresco Bitt was crushe The spectators refused to believe their ear Opus Randall merely stared His The horr idea was coming to him that he had elected Florian Slappey Birmingham's handsomest colored man. But Cesar Cwsar-—the man who had involved Mid moved, but no words emerged Cesar Clump of all persons night in this affair for the sole and single purpose of getting rid of Florian Slappey! Someone in the rear of the house hissed Ancther took it up. In asecond the theate: sounded like a giant steam valve gone wrong Director Clump faced the audience, a thin, authoritative figure. He held up his hand. ‘Listen to me,” he ’splain somethin’. I know what you-all is thinkin’. You is thinkin’ that I is blind You think Fresco Bitt is the handsomest man. Well, maybe he is. But I ain’t never gwine vote fo’ no such a wuthiess hunk of tripe as Fresco Bitt!”’ The hisses had been stilled strained for Cwsar’s next word “This mawnin’,”” announced Director Clump with deadly calm, “somebody busted into my house an’ performed a burglary. What they stole was two suits of clothes. One of them was my directin’ coschume an’ the other was my full evenin’ dress. Ladies an’ gentlemens”’— he turned and pointed a quivering finger at the cowering Fresco—‘‘yonder sits my full dress suit. The sport clothes which Fresco Bitt wore was the directin’ suit which was stole out of my room. I ask you folks, was I right to vote against any feller which would do such as that?” He seated himself. On the stage, Mr Bitt was pop-eyed. And then the house roared. In a huge, threatening voice it ex- pressed its opinion of Mr. Bitt. made a loud remark anent manhandling Welford Potts leaped to the stage and grabbed the inert Fresco by the arm. With Florian’s assistance, Fresco was hustled barked, “while I Every ear Someone into a dressing room, and there Welferd Potts took charge. “Git out of them clothes an’ out of Bumminham befo’ the crowd out yonder pufforms extermination on you, Mr. Bitt hastened to obey the first order. He had gazed into the hostile eyes of the mob and he had no doubt as to what he Fresco was up against But as he changed, he wept. He was a limp and abject mass of human fles! ‘I -I didn’t do nothin’.”’ ‘““What if you didn’t?” snapped Welford Potts * Befo’ you could make the crowd believe that, they’d have you all tore up into li’ “Oh, Lawsy, I has done wrong, an’ I admit it. B-b-b-but, Welford, you know yo'se’f I never stole them clothes off Cwsar Clump. You an’ it was you who got them!” ‘Sure I did,” confessed Mr. Potts cheer- fully. l’ pieces.” you offered to help me out, “But why,” wailed the crushed Fresco “why did you have to swipe them clothes from Cesar Clump?” “I didn’t have to,” Potts candidly. “In fact, I never would have thought of it if my friend Floriar Slappey hadn't suggested that it was a answered Welford good idea.””

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IN SENIOR SPRING in groups, they appeared without warning and passed again into mystery, some laugh- ing and talking, some sadly, like wraiths in wistful search. : Mary turned the car to the left and they were moving up the broad glistening main street, spangled on one side with shop win- dows that shone through the fog; on the other, glowing like burnished jewels, Parke saw the lamps of the campus, each ringed by a gleaming halo of luminous mist. Ona side street the car came to a stop at the curb and Parke held his wrist watch close to the dash light. “Can you eat all you want in nineteen minutes?” “You bet!” said Mary, snapping off the ignition. ‘‘We don’t want the freshmen to get all the best seats.”’ At the Teapot, amid a cheerful blending of subdued voices and clattering dishes, they hurried through the early supper; and soon, having once more parked the road- ster, they were part of the current surging in through the double doors for the first show—the show belonging by tradition to the undergraduates. Towing Mary by one hand, Parke forced his way through the crowd going up the balcony stairs; out of breath, they settled triumphantly into two of the roomy wicker chairs in the first row. The lights snapped out. As darkness, like a thrown cloak, fell upon the audience, the customary howl rose and smote the ceiling. It was a how] of joy and derision, a howl accompanied by the usual barrage of torn paper and hurled pop corn—a howl caused only by a temporary absence of care and an opportunity to holler in public. The play was on. “It’s a darn shame,”’ Amos Parke said indignantly, ‘‘that they cut out smoking at the movies.” He thought regretfully of the ancient days of his freshman year; then it had been possible of an evening to sit in one of these comfortable chairs with your feet stuck out on the balcony railing while, without fear of bringing down sophomoric reprimand, you smoked and occasionally contributed a bon mot to the stream of acidulous dramatic criticism. The authorities, on some trumped-up pretense about state fire laws, had prohibited the smoking; but no legisla- tion denied Amos Parke the luxury of audible, raking comment. ‘Look at that Laplander!” he said of the silent lover. ‘‘Remove the hat, Cuth- bert!’’ Others made known their opinions, especially at the first appearance of the heroine. “Look at that face! ““You look--I can’t bear it.” ““Money back, money back!” Halfway through the picture, Mary, at one of Parke’s comments, abruptly let loose a burst of contralto mirth which, even in those surroundings, attracted attention. With both hands she squeezed a handker- chief to her mouth and held it in readiness during the rest of the picture; for there- after Parke’s lightest word could double her into hysterical agony. Amos Parke was delighted; he had never dreamed he could be sofunny. A pleasant, vagrant thought engaged him. Had he been wasting his time at poetry? Perhaps he should turn his pen to humorous sketches, something light and exceptionally funny. This question continued to entertain him after the lights came on; but as he and Mary descended the stairs he saw, down among the chattering audience, the figure of his roommate. Ed McMaster, moving with a circle of friends toward an exit, fulfilled the ideal of the romantic 90's. Instead of peg-top trousers and a turtleneck sweater, however, he wore a knickerbocker suit of light gray, a fashionable suit made for him and pre- sented to him by a leading campus tailor who thus acquired something of the profit- able prestige an English tailor acquires through an appointment to His Majesty. (Continued from Page 17) Instead of hanging in shaggy locks, McMas- ter’s yellow hair was closely shorn. The people near by regulated their steps that they might exchange a greeting with him, just as professors, and even the young and austere instructors, would wait on campus paths in order to walk beside him and use his nickname. And Mr. Amos Parke, seeing once more the evidences of his roommate's preéminence, was sharply depressed by a familiar feeling of personal unimportance. While he and Mary drove away from the crowded sidewalk, his thoughts, as if seek- ing reassurance, turned to his own triumph. Several times that afternoon he had defi- nitely put aside the temptation to tell Mary about the sonnet, but now he again consid- ered the plan. He considered it, however, only fora moment; without having reached a decision, he was in the midst of his news. Mary’s eyes opened wide; for an instant they almost turned from the road ahead. “Really, Parkey?” she cried. ‘‘Why, how perfectly splen-did! Good for you!” The sonnet remained the one topic of conversation while they toasted soda crack- ers for cheese sandwiches in the kitchen at Mary’s house. Presently, after another los- ing battle with himself, Parke told her the more precious half of his secret she her- self was the person described in the poem. With a half-toasted cracker balanced on a fork, Mary turned and faced him. Her black eyes opened wide, and into her face came the awe, the incredulous delight, the unspeakable gratification of the woman who learns that her lover is about to woo her in public print where other women may read and envy. “About me?” cried the dark lady of his sonnet. “Oh, Parkey, I'll simply die!” ami S AMOS PARKE joined the students in front of the bulletin board he caught some of their excitement. He elbowed his way among the others, each man eagerly scanning the posted lists to discover his own mark. On all sides Parke heard the in- evitable exclamations of relief, unrestrained celebration, blasphemous protest. “‘A second group for me!” “T got a fourth!” “Look! Tom Allen drew another flunk!” “He's out.” “Yay! A fifth—hurray for me!” “What the hell? Say, Lee, I was gypped!” “*Make ’em reread your paper, Undy!” When Amos Parke, across the shoulder of the man in front, saw the number typed opposite his name he made no exclamation. Instead, he turned, pushed his way through the crowd and went straight to his room. Here, for a long time, he sat by the window and looked out at the sky. He was still there at the entrance of Ed McMaster, who, upon noticing Parke’s expression, abruptly stopped. ““What’s the matter, Parkey?” he asked quickly. ‘ Anything wrong?”’ “T got a fourth group in that history test,”’ said Parke slowly, bitterly. “A fourth?” repeated McMaster. Parke nodded. ‘“‘There goes my chance for Phi Beta Kappa.” “Can’t you make up for it?”’ “No; I'd have to get first groups from now till June.” “Oh, well,”’ said McMaster, “the darn thing’s off your mind, anyhow. Now you can have a little fun during these last few months.” For a time neither spoke; then Parke, still staring out at the sky, broke the silence. “Say, Ed,” he began, ‘“‘I’ve been think- ing about what you said.” “You have?” “I mean about Phi Beta Kappa.” “Oh, I see.”’ “T believe you were right about it.” “Why, sure I was!” “T don’t want to holler sour grapes,” added Parke, ‘but I’ve been thinking the thing over, and to tell the truth I’m glad I'm out of it.” “You're too good a fellow, anyway,” said McMaster, ‘‘to waste your time studying.” Again a silence settled over the room while they smoked; again Parke ended it “Say, Ed.” “Yeah?” “| never told you the real reason why I went out for the key.” “You mean on account of Mary?” “No,” said Parke quietly. “‘It was be- cause I wanted to have something I could write down on my record in the Herald. I didn’t want to graduate from this place without having done something—at least some little thing to prove I was in the class.” “That so?"’ asked McMaster uncom- fortably. ‘Almost everybody has done something except me,”’ Parke went on. “I’ve never made any of the teams, I’ve never been elected to any office, I've never even been on a committee.” McMaster leaned forward from the edge of his chair. *‘ That doesn’t matter, Parkey,”’ he argued. ‘All the fellows like you, and that’s what i ‘Yes, it does matter,”’ Parke insisted. “I won't even be able to say that I was as much as assistant manager of the freshman chess team. All I'll ever be known for I’m not blaming you—is that I was your roommate. Amos Parke? Was he in '27? Oh, yes! He was the guy that roomed with Ed McMaster.” Parke broke off abruptly, then faced his roommate. ‘‘ Ed,” he asked in a changed voice, “‘did I ever tell you I have a poem that’s coming out in the Lit?”’ McMaster sat up. ‘“‘ You have?” he ex- claimed with surprise and admiration. ‘*Well, what better do you ask than that?”’ he added aggressively. ‘‘ There are darn few fellows in each class that get stuff in the Lit—a darn sight fewer than the gang that gets the varsity letter!’ The enthusiasm in the voice brought a measure of solace to Parke’s mood. He was surprised by the value McMaster set on his success with the sonnet; he was cheered by McMaster’s praise and by his prediction that the poem could not help but attract a lot of favorable attention. The atmosphere of the room became exceptionally mellow, afternoon shadows stealing into the corners while they talked andsmoked, until presently aknocksounded on their door. “Come in!’’ McMaster called, and into the dim room came an unidentified sopho- more. “*Does Parke live here?” he asked diffi- dently. “Right here,”’ said Parke, retaining his comfortable position. ‘“‘What’ve you got there for me?” “Roy Telfair told me to give you this,” replied the messenger, handing Parke a folded paper. ‘‘He said to say they got a full-page ad at the last minute, and he said to say that he’s very sorry and otherwise he said he would’ve been very glad to use your poem.” Amos Parke, holding the rejected manu- script, watched Ed McMaster rise majesti- cally to his feet. The football captain, con- centrating upon the messenger, delivered a brief, forcible opinion of Roy Telfair. “‘And what’s more,’”’ McMaster con- cluded, “‘ you tell him this: I’m not the only one on the campus who says the Lit’s never been as rotten as it has since he’s been run- ning it.” The messenger, still nodding rapidly in eager, frightened acquiescence, moved side- wise to the door and disappeared. McMas- ter snapped on the yellow reading lamp. Holding the manuscript beneath the light, he again raised his head. ‘*What I want to know,” he said viciously, “is this: Who gave Roy Telfair the author- ity to set himself up as a judge of what’s the best poetry?” Continued on Page 79) We Guarantee Your Dog Will Eat Sergeant’s Dog Food It is not only natural that the makers of Sergeant's Dog Medicines should make a Dog Food, but it is equally natural that they should make the best dog food on the mar ket. 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Choosin-up sides SNLOWLY at first, then rapidly and with more cunning, black- knuckled hands mount the bat. A shrill triumphant cry of “Full hand or nothin’” comes a fraction of a second before the opposition yell of “Chicken claws.” Thus is decision made. To similar chance is left the settlement of far too many human affairs, affairs that vitally affect the health, comfort, and purse of the family, affairs which once decided cannot readily be changed. With the advent of Capitol Guaranteed Heating, all reason for such unreasoning selection of boilers and radi- ators was abolished. For the first time in heating history, a company of eminent place in the industry guaranteed * in writing the exact number of radiators that every one of its boilers would satisfactorily heat; guaranteed to make good if the boiler did not. At one stroke were wiped out all the old uncertainties and guesswork about boiler sizes. The immediate success of the idea may be judged from the buying approval of the public who, in greater numbers than at any other time in the thirty-eight years of the company’s existence, selected Capitol boilers and Capitol radiators. Note well the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 significance of that word, “selected.” They and their architects and heating engineers did not trust to surmise or conjecture. They chose, not by chance or guess, but scientifically. A good contractor near you will gladly explain the money and fuel savings, as well as the certainties, of Capitol Guar- anteed Heating. Write for his name and our interesting, illustrated book, “A Modern House W arming.” “ “ “ Guaranteed Heating. Your contractor receives a written guaran- tee on the heating capacity of every Capitol boiler. No other heating equipment assures you satisfaction so definitely. The Pacifie Steel Boiler Corporation, Division of the United States Radiator Cor- poration, builds welded steel heating boilers for large installations—business buildings, factories, schools, hotels, and large apartments. LNITED STATES FADIA TOR oom TION-DetTrRoIT. MICHIGAN 6 Factories and 32 Assembling Plants For 38 years, builders of dependable heating equipment Guan feat WITH Capitol Boilers AND RADIATORS { 4

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Continued from Page 77 Still breathing wrathfully, he turned to the white sheet, read in silence, then looked up with a solemn expression. “IT don’t claim to be any great authority,” he stated soberly, tapping the manuscript with the back of his right hand, “but I know that’s real poetry. It’s interesting, it’s a nice length, it rimes perfectly and a fellow can understand the meaning of it. And that’s something nobody can say for that stuff of Milton’s about Samson they made us wade through in sophomore year.” Amos Parke did not turn toward the lighted lamp; instead, standing at the win- dow, he stared down upon the vanishing campus. And the evening shadows out there, falling like a final curtain, marked the end of something in his heart. Iv HERE followed dreary days in which melancholy marked him for her own. Everything had lost its interest. He found human companionship an irritation and avoided all who could be avoided. For long hours he brooded upon his drab record. His lack of distinction sourly whispered that he must be repugnant to the classmates among whom he had lived so long and who had withheld from him even the slightest honor. Because he had lost his desire for high marks, even his favorite courses became distasteful. He cut many lectures; in pre- ceptorials he sat so steeped in morose medi- tation that for minutes on end he was un- conscious of the surroundings. His preceptor in dramatic technic, one morning at the end of the hour, pointed out that his work had dropped far below his usual standard, that he took no interest now in the discussions. “T don’t want to meddle, Mr. Parke,” concluded the preceptor, buckling his brief case, “but if I can help you in any way I would be very glad to have you come out some evening and talk things over.” Parke, after vague mumblings about his health, wearily withdrew, and encountered, that same evening, solicitude from another source. “You're so different lately,”” remarked Mary. ‘I hope I haven’t done anything to make you mad.” Ed McMaster, too, commented upon his glumness, exhorted him to mend his ways. “‘T’ll bet I’ve had a dozen fellows ask me what’s come over you,” said McMaster. “They notice it more in your case because you always had a wise-crack ready for everything. That’s why the fellows used to like you.” Because his head felt feverish, the opin- ion of his fellows mattered less that evening than usual. He resisted McMaster’s urgent invitation to the moving pictures; and later, lying on his bed, he turned the well- thumbed pages of the class Herald compiled by the seniors who had graduated the pre- vious June. To each senior a page was devoted, his photograph at the top, his record printed below. Every one of them, it seemed, had won some distinction to add to such bare facts as name, dates and future address. Some had taken part in so many activ- ities that a smaller type was used to restrict the record to one page; others had wooed fame less successfully. But al- most all, Amos Parke enviously realized, had gleaned some meas- ure of renown. He turned, as he had done many times, to the back of the Herald, where thetraditional senior statistics were printed. Here, each June, the departing sen- iors recorded for all time a few favorites selected by vote from the ranks of the class. Pictured here were the seniors upon whom had been conferred the titles of the Best All-Round Man, the Biggest Bluffer, , THE SATURDAY the Most Entertaining, the Handsomest, and a dozen others Parke regarded all these with real envy, for he knew that every title, even those which to the unin formed implied derision, was bestowed in high compliment and admiration — whether it was the Most Thorough Gentleman or the Most Frequent Week-Ender, whether it was the Class Sport or the Most Pop- ular. Because the pictures of this score of class celebrities woke defeated longings in him, Parke derived a bitter pleasure from scan- ning them until, after nodding many times, he fell asleep over the book. When he opened his eyes, late in the night, his clothes were damp from the driv- ing rain that splashed in through his case- ment. He shivered while he undressed, shivered more violently at dawn when he sat up in bed and tried to swallow. He felt better after a shower, but a new chill struck through him when he stepped out of the entry. Halfway to his club, he suddenly abandoned the idea of breakfast, turned to- ward the infirmary. His forehead was wet and cold by the time he stood in a corridor smelling of medicine and watched a uni- formed nurse draw near. There was some- thing wrong about her: she approached with curving swoops, with eccentric re- treats, and at times she vanished com- pletely. But when he saw that she had at last reached him, was looking up with an inquiring expression, he clung to the back of a chair and said ‘“‘I think I'm sick.” For weeks he was sick—weary weeks during which he was at first forbidden to visitors. Later, Ed McMaster called; flowers and a book came from Mary. Ona Monday morning he was discharged, and upon legs inclined to wabble he went slowly toward his room. When he arrived there he learned that he had become a marked man on the campus. ““Look!”’ cried Ed McMaster, striking that morning’s copy of the weekly roto- gravure section of the campus daily. And Amos Parke looked. The paper was given over to pictures of the seniors who had been selected as the class favorites in the recently tabulated balloting. At the upper right, on the first page, Parke saw a large photograph of the smiling president of the class, a man of unsurpassed popularity who was also a letter man in football and captain of the track team. This latest picture of him had been printed because he, from among all the seniors, had been voted the Best-Natured. In an equally important position, at the upper left, was a picture, equally large, of Amos Parke. Beneath it a caption, equally prominent, explained that his classmates had by vote bestowed upon him the title, equally celebrated in tradition, of the Big- gest Gloom. “When they couldn't get in the infirmary to take your picture,’”” McMaster was ex- plaining, ‘“‘I gave ‘em that snapshot that was stuck in your mirror. You look kind of sour in it—don’t you?—but I thought that’d be all the more appropriate.”

PHOTO. BY ROE DYKEMAN Sunset on the Bering Sea

EVENING POST Amos Parke paid no attention whatever He was staring, with exclusive concentra- tion, at the most interesting photograph it had ever been his delight to gaze upor At the club, during luncheon hour, a dozen men spoke of the picture, some shout- ing their congratulations the length of the dining room. A great number paid continual tribute to his new fame while he walked back toward his room; one man, across the avenue, gayly waved a copy of the cur- rent rotogravure section. Amos Parke’s painful embarrassment gradually passed; in its place came a feeling of delicious in toxicatton. He walked less rapidly. He wished that more of his classmates would come along. One more did come along when he was just outside his entry. This was Whoops Taylor, the tall bespectacled javelin thrower and friend of McMaster. Taylor, in his frequent visits to the room, had always displayed an amiable indifference for Amos Parke’s presence But the magic of publicity had been pow- erfully at work. “Well, well!’’ said Taylor, pausing on his way past. “If it isn’t old Parkey, the Schopenhauer kid!”’ And before he walked on he smote Parke’s back with a large, powerful hand. It was a stinging blow, a blow emblem- atic of class approval, hearty admission to the brotherhood—to the group around which he had hovered for so many years with envious eyes. And because the blow sent a strange, distressing emotion rejoicing through his weakened body, he stepped hastily into the entry. He paused, breathless, at the bottom of the dim stairway. For an instant his head dropped against his hand on the wooden rail, and when he straightened he was blinking disapprovingly. Then, in that quiet, sleepy old entry, came a mur- mur that was all sincerity, thankfulness, reverence. “It’s great to feel that you stand for something on the campus!”’ he whispered brokenly. Vv HE beautiful elm tree under which Amos Parke waited, two hours later, lifted graceful branches to the warm May sun- shine. Its great expanse of young green leaves hung perfectly still. Presently, however, those leaves broke into a clamor of excited stirrings, of appropriately expectant whis- pers; for, close to the tree trunk, a blue roadster, with top down, was coming to a stop. “Well!” cried Mary gladly. ‘‘And how is Mr. Biggest Gloom today?” His return to health and especially his elevation to the peerage were discussed as the car rolled quietly along familiar roads. Above them curved a sky of pure, clean blue; the air mumuring past their ears was faintly fragrant with the mystical odors of spring, and the sun laid mild golden rays upon green fields and shining trees. It was a clear, glorified day, a flawless day appro- priate only in senior spring; and dur- ing a silence Mary, keeping her eyes on the road, tilted back her head and breathed with depth and luxury. “Oh!” she exclaimed rapturously. “‘Isn’t it a heay-en-ly day?” On the point of agreement, Amos Parke caught him- self, whipped his impulse back into place. He was a personage now, it cametohim,amanfrom whom definite things could be rightly expected. He was a public character; he would keep faith with his public. “You can’t tell,” he said warningly, looking gloomily to right and left. “It might rain yet.”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST see,’ he attempts to explain. matters as plumbing and engineering and electrical work come under different de- partment heads, I suppose. We only tele- phone to the komissar concerning trouble of any kind and he notifies the different de- partments, I suppose. Sometimes it goes | slowly. I suppose they have a great deal to do.” Millions of thrifty Home Makers from Maine to California have for years covered their roofs and floors with Bird’s Roofs and Rugs Long Service - ‘Beauty - Low Cost Tuer: is a Bird Rug moder- ately priced for every home. Colorful, enduring rugs that will beautify any floor of your home. Insist on Bird’s when you require floor cov- ering wherein charm of ap- pearance is combined with .. Bird’s Rugs and Floor Coverings can be easily utility . cleaned with a damp mop. Bird's Felt Base Rugs are obtain- able in leading department and furniture stores at prices ranging from $6.00 to $18.00. WAT E EAST WALPOLE MASSACHUSETTS CHICAGO NEW YORK In Canada Birp « SON Division Hamilron, Ontario April 28,1928 RUSSIAN VIGNETTES (Continued from Page 19) | Being curious about Russia and all its | ways, I even take it up with the manage- ment-—-the one English-speaking clerk. But he himself is at a loss, since he does not understand plumbing. “But this is a government hotel, you “Such ‘But it’s not necessary for eight men, or three either, to confer about a job like that, is it?” “‘T shouldn’t think so, but I can look into | it if you wish.” “Do, please.” But he never did. It was never straight- ' ened out. I asked him and others. And finally one American wiser than some others volunteered the information that such group visits were merely an expression of the Russian collectivist temperament. ‘Believe it or not,” he said, ‘“‘but that’s the way they are. They like to work in groups. No one individual under this form of government is willing to take the respon- sibility for anything. They prefer to go together in squads, confer by companies. It is easier, safer. They avoid personal responsibility and sleep better. And the government, since it, too, is collectivist in mood, does not mind. It really carries out its communistic notion, gives employment to many, and so long as there is enough to go round, makes everybody more comfort- able. You may think I am crazy, but that is so.” And before I left Russia I had reached the conclusion that he had told me one of the truest and most illuminating things that was to be learned about the Russian system and the national temperament be- : . hind it. surfaced shingles give years v T IS one of those cold Russian days— snow and a damp cold wind. The place is Sebastopol, on the Black Sea, and now— in January —a decidedly colorless and com- mercially lifeless world. In summer as a resort, I was told, it was more interesting. I pray so. But what arrested me this day was the number of vacant stores, the poor displays in the shop windows, the slow and not very intent gait of the pedestrians. And of a Saturday morning too. Looking for that almost nonexistent thing—an even tolerable restaurant—I am accosted by six men and two women of varying ages, but seemingly one economic level—a very poor one—each of whom in roofing needs without obligation. turn desired to know if I did not wish to rent a room. Being a passenger on a steamer in port but for a few hours, I de- cline. But not without some preliminary inquiries—always interesting here in Russia | at this time. For instance: ‘‘ How large is the room?” “Oh, a large room, fully fifteen feet square; plenty large enough for four people, if you wish.” “But I do not wish. How much for one person?” ‘No more than two rubles by the day for one. Ten by the week, if you please.” “But I thought there were no spare rooms to be had in Russia at this time, that the housing situation was bad; not enough room for anybody, really.” “‘In some cities, yes, but not here. Here | trade has decreased, and at this time of year. In summer most of the rooms are rented to summer boarders.” | “How isthat? I thought each person or | family was allowed only so much space— | some thirty cubic feet to a person—not | enough to rent to another?” | “That is true of most places. Even here in summer at times. Then one must pay a tax. But when I took this my brother was Birp’s Roors ‘give lasting protection from the ele- ments at Minimum expense. These weather-defying and fire-retarding asphalt slate of enduring service. Insist on Bird’s, if you desire roofing which blends rugged quality with rare charm and distinc- tive appearance. Bird’s Roofs are made for every type of building, and Bird dealers are always ready to estimate your AN D w EA R with me.” Or: ‘“‘My son has gone to Odessa.” “No bath, I presume.” “No bath, but a washstand with water.” “And how many other roomers have you?” “One, but he lives with us. Just myself and wife.”” Or daughter, or son. “You have another room, I suppose. “Yes, we live in the other room.” Neediess to say, this conversation varied some with each person. The number of persons in the other single room varied. The cost to me, for mine, was less, never more. But never, by any chance, a bath, and nearly always only a general toilet on the same floor. And the look and the clothes of those offering the rooms told the rest—a troubled, depleted, not too clean look. Through my interpreter I always made a satisfactory explanation and wished each one luck. But I could not help won- dering how long the principal thoroughfare of this once flourishing seaport of 35,000 would wear this dreary and hopeless look. And I could not help carrying away a part of the extreme depression prevailing. And as it proved here, so it was in some other cities included in my single tour—Simfero- pol, Odessa, Batum. ” vi T IS one of those brilliant, cold, winter days in Kieff, when the sun shining on the snow heightens and glorifies every- thing. Positively, at moments in the winter season in Russia it would seem as though one were experiencing a new kind of season or climate—not winter, not spring, not summer, not autumn, but snow in sun- light, one might call it—spotless snow in diamond light. And coming after a succes- sion of gray days with no sunlight, I cannot convey the feeling in words, I know. But to see a Russian church, with five or six or seven pineapple-shaped domes, all green or brown or blue or gold, and the sun above and the snow below! Well, anyhow, we are jogging along in a droshky, a Russian isvoschik as wide as a segment of a wall sitting soberly and pro- tectively before us on his little perch be- tween us and the wind and the view. But no matter. What a glorious thing is sun- shine in winter in Russia! How it does sharpen things up! By George, this is really a beautiful city—wide streets, pleas- ing apartment houses, handsome build- ings—not a bad city at all. These Russians are certain to come through yet. Wait and see. It is the expansive, liberalizing effect of sunshine on snow, you see. And then down this wide bright thor- oughfare, lined on either side by fairly respectable-looking shops, a sizable pro- cession of sorts. You see it coming. Two or three people in front who look like priests, now that you are straining your eyes. Those queer, flat-topped, round hats, like segments of stovepipe. And are they carrying censers? There is something gleaming like brass or gold. And behind, a long company on foot. And in the center, borne aloft, a narrow wagon with a high platform, a—not really; that can’t be a coffin with a—a—not really someone in it. No lid on it, even! Good Lord, how grue- some! How depressing! For now that the procession comes nearer you truly see that your worst suspicions are correct. These are priests—three of them the middle one holding an open book from which he is reading or chanting. And be- hind them, black-coated figures chanting or singing with the priests a most funereal air. It is most depressing—most depressing, sunshine or no sunshine. And that black, gruesome thing on that elevated platform, high above the heads of all so that every- body—the passing public—may see, and not in an inclosed deep coffin as is our custom in the West, but in something that can only be described as half a coffin, the (Continued on Page 82) —

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THE SATURDAY THE WALLOPS {No. 17 of a series. No. 18 will appear May 12} Expert Advice “I don’t believe two people ever agree on building a house,” remarked Clara Wallop to Mrs. Puckersby. X They were paying a formal call on that stately dowager, who ruled the town with an iron hand. Alady who thought first before bowing to you, and who was treated with re- spect or knew the reason why. Lily Wallop thought she looked like Queen Victoria. Lily was right. “George and I do nothing but argue over what kind of materials to use and what not to use for our new house. Take brass pipe for instance—” “Brass pipe!” snorted Queen Victoria, “what rot! People now-a-days get notions that nothing but the most expen- sive* materials can be used. Different in my day, I can assure you, Mrs. Wallop. Folks never used brass pipe and they were none the worse off either. My late husband built this house and put in good water pipes. They weren't brass either, let me tell you! And never a complaint have Not a leak, not a bit of rust, not one bit of trouble I had! in all t he years—” “Beg pardon, Madam,” cried Rivers, suddenly appearing at the door. “That old leaky pipe has busted again and it’s just pouring water all over the kitchen! Worse than last time, too, ma’am!!” ’ said Mrs. Puckersby. But all brass pipes are not the same. Alpha Brass Pipe is better because it contains more copper and lead. Plumbers prefer it because it cuts cleaner and sharper threads, making leak-proof joints. It posi- tively cannot rust, and the Alpha trade-mark, stamped every 12 inches, guarantees it for soundness and satisfaction. *Not so expensive either. For a $20,000 home Alpha Brass Pipe costs only $76 more than the cheapest iron or steel pipe. ALPHA BRASS PIPE made from a special kind of Chase Brass Ce CHASE BRASS & COPPER CO., Incorporated, Waterbury, Conn. pyright “28 ¢ B. & C, Co. EVENING POST (Continued from Page 80) other half being carried immediately be- hind by six black-garbed men—yes, it is the body of a large, bearded—really an obese—Russian man, his bushy black beard sticking out and up, sidewise and down over his chest, and his large feet fully in evidence, toes up. Not a handsome man, really; rather gross and animal looking. But all done for now, and being borne along in this funereal, eerie, reducing way. And some weeping women and children follow- ing on behind. But, Lord, Lord, why this sort of thing, anyway? Why will they? How can they? That ghastly figure! Those big hands and feet and that beard! What has become of the beautiful day, anyhow? All gone—the glitter, the thrill, the kick. For all you can think of now is why not a box of sufficient depth, in an inclosed hearse? And reti- cence? Seclusion? Evasion of this sort of gruesome theme, even though it must be? But no, this is Russia, and this is the way they do things here. No use kicking. No use being depressed. These Slavs are differ- ent, that’s all, and you might just as well accommodate yourself to their ways now as later. It is grim. It is morbid. Not a doubt of it. Useless, uncalled for, distress- ing, almost disgusting. But—oh, well —— And yet, the glorious quality of this day only a little while back. And now it is all—all gone. You will never, never forget the strangeness of this sight as long as you live. vil HE Peste, a Black Sea steamer plying between Batum and Odessa, has stopped at Novorossiisk— English: New Russia—a city of 35,000. Much freight is to go off, much to come on; also a number of pas- sengers. Always in Russia an amazing mixture of peoples, reminding one most of a fantastic chorus in some fantastic Oriental opera. The headgear! The sheetlike wind- ings of the women. The mixture of furs cut in what strange ways—on the men. Truly, here are always Arabs, Cossacks, Armenians, Persians, and who not else. You gaze in astonishment at what is being taken off. Rag bags and bundles— bedding, clothing, and some food, maybe. But where to? And why should they be moving west instead of east? Oh, well, why bother? It is Russia and you will never know. But now from within the forward hold a most odorous and pestiferous place where scores of others like those just leav- ing are still huddled on the floor— no rooms or beds third class—a most disconcerting yelling and moaning; the voice, obviously, of a girl child. What an uproar! And pres- ently, half pulled and half pushed by two thickly clothed and booted sailors, a smeary-faced and ragged girl urchin of, say, nine years, messy-haired, bleary-eyed from weeping, dirty, disheveled and obviously neglected, yet stocky and, after her fashion, pretty. But though unkempt and tortured, yet defiant; a veritable little spitfire whom you sense at once to be one of those numer- ous homeless children for whom Russia is always going to do something and never does. Money for poor, starving American miners in Illinois, say, or Sweden. Two million rubles for striking miners in Wales. Money for propaganda in China, Turkey, Germany, Poland, France, but no money for ragged, cold, homeless babies on the streets or in the vacant cellars. But what now? What is being done? Always a secretary to the right and left to inform me. It is a stowaway. Among the bundled and huddled horde at Batum she came on as one of the children, slyly hold- ing to some Asiatic mother’s skirt, very likely. But now that the crowd is thinning only four more stops till Odessa—they have found her. April 28,1928 As they carry her down the gangplank, screaming always, I ask other questions: “All right, now that they have found her, what are they going to do with her? Just put her off? She’s an orphan child, isn’t she? Where does she want to go?” “Well, wait, I will find out.” Meanwhile the mélée has been trans- ferred to the dock. The little thing is fight- ing to get to the gangplank and so on again. But regularly one of the large, genial sailors is picking her up and carrying her a little way down the dock; shooing her off, as it were. But always as he releases her she eludes him and runs screaming toward the plank. And now the other sailor repeats the process. Only, like so much of all that one comes upon in Russia, it is all so casual. No real excitement in so far as anyone else is concerned, passengers or sailors or officers all going their several ways. Some soldiers conversing indiffer- ently on the dock. Stevedores taking up hay, crates of geese, boxes of canned goods. Altogether quite a brisk industrial scene. But here is the child, still screaming and kicking. And the sailors always heading her off or carrying her away again, her ragged little skirts far above her waist, her naked legs exposed to the cold. And one sailor carrying her far down the dock to a gate guarded by soldiers. Secretary Number One has returned. ‘‘It appears she wants to go to Odessa.”’ “‘And why? Is there anyone there to receive her?”’ “No, I asked him that. to go there.” “She is a little beggar, isn’t she?” To.” “And now that she is put off here, what now?” I grow a little irritable and I cannot tell you how sad. Secretary Number One continues: ‘It seems that no one will take charge of her. The captain says he is not allowed to carry her. The company will not allow him. And the different cities do not want him to bring any more in. The government does not want them transferred from place to place. They are trying to take them up as fast as they can. The captain is sorry—everybody is—but he says that she can beg as well here as in Odessa—that wherever they are they aren’t allowed to starve. You see, she isn’t exactly thin.” “But her life, her health, her outlook, her training! What will she be like when she grows up? You mean to say that not even the police—no society of any kind—will take her up and care for her?”’ ‘*But this is such a problem in Russia. There are so many of them, and they are being taken up. It is due to the war.” “Oh, the war be damned! The war was ten years ago. And this child is nine, no more. And what about all the money for propaganda that is being spent everywhere but here for these children?”’ After that, a sudden, social, political and secretarial chill, as it were. A somewhat disconcerting type of guest I am. Am I going to end up now by criticizing com- munism, the Russian Soviet Government my host, no less? Why, the very idea! And so no answer. A few sniffs, rather. And when I suggest paying for the four stations to Odessa—say, six rubles—I am informed that that is not the answer. Why Odessa any more than Novorossiisk? The government must have its way. It will attend to these things after its own fashion in its own good time. And so, the incident, as it were, closed. And yet, in the dis- tance— outside the gate now—the cries of the child. And the Russian cold. And the Russian mood, not too tortured or dis- turbed by anything, not even this. But, of course, she will not starve. Some will feed her. She is not thin. She just wants Se ee

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84 THE SATURDAY 1,000 before you buy, try what we’ve made for you —at our expense—for 10 days Men ‘Told Us What men wanted in shaving cream. Now, GENTLEMEN: Politicians know what to expect nationally when an election goes one way or another in the comparatively small state of Maine. And so, in mer- experience teaches that the opinion of 1000 men reflects the average viewpoint of millions. chandising, decided to create a asked 1000 men what they sought in shaving comfort and efficiency set out to meet their So, when we shaving cream, we Then we requirements. They told us four things. We gave them five. Now we ask the courtesy of a test—based solely on merit—to prove to yourself the shaving delights 1 we have discovered for you. Just mail the coupon for a free 10-day test With the four objectives we had set, we started our experiments. Time after time we got a fine shaving cream result, yet one or another of the things we sought was missing. Finally, after the 129th experiment, success came. It was enthusiastically received by men everywhere. Today it is outstandingly the fastest selling shaving cream on the market. These 5 important factors 1. Multiplies itself in lather 250 times. 2. Softens the beard in one minute. 3. Maintains its creamy fullness for 10 minutes on the face. 4. Strong bubbles hold the hairs erect for cutting 5. Fine after-effects due to palm and olive oil content. Now make the trial, please No doubt your present shaving prep- aration suits you, yet there may be a better way. We've tried to find one for you, and will thank you to give it a test. Just send the coupon now. MPANY, CHICAGO, ILL. Our laboratories for 65 years have pecialized in fine soap products. One ir toilet soaps is a leader of the Others are used in countless mes and institutions everywher« THE PALMOLIVE-PEET C¢ I avir cur N 1 | ve Af i ; rmen. Does gr i “Tr um. TI t ry mar Plea 1. M ay * PALMOLIVE Shaving Cream 10 SHAVES FREE and a can of Palmolive After Shaving Talc insert your name and address and mail I B-1487, Palmolive, 3702 Iron St., Tl nts of Wisconsin should address ve : Milwaukee, Wis Please print your name and address) EVENING POST April 28,1928 CORAL (Continued from Page 23) and hit into the turf and her ball strongly and firmly. The result, very privately, de- lighted her. Immediately after, Benjamin Fisher missed a putt and Henry Samp methodically made a four. ‘“‘We were fives,’ Mrs. Randall said to Coral. ‘You won two ways and you played well.” Re- turning to Palm Beach, Coral said to Samp, “Were you certain of your four?” He waited before answering her. “I didn’t think about that,” he finally replied. In her room at the Breakers, Coral’s reasonable attitude toward Alva Parsons evaporated; she had a vague feeling that she was being badly treated. Alva, she concluded, was rather ridiculous. If she, Coral Mery, approved of Henry Samp, Alva had no reason to be difficult. She hadn’t, quite out of temper, made an en- gagement for dinner, but now she wanted to do something. Rather—it was slightly different—she did not want to do nothing. She was sick of thinking. “‘I’ll never think again,” Coral told herself. Henry Samp had practically decided everything for her. The discomfort he had created in her being, together with a great deal else, was leaving her. His philosophy, if it was rather in- human, she felt was the only one that would work. Her effort to change into something more admirable was entirely useless. That failure, of course, lay with her idea of what was admirable, possible. She had been wrong. She had been, after all, what she particularly hated—sentimental. Samp had cured her. His mind, his understand- ing, like his eyes, were incredible. He was not bothered by illusions or impossible hopes. Of course, Coral realized, he would be hated. He was hated because he was strong and free and successful. He wasn’t spoiled by a nonsense of morality sup- ported, he had shown her, by the weak in the interest of the weak. It began to occur to Coral that she might, as well, have been wrong about Mildred Randall. She, too, was a very vigorous and independent per- son. Milly plainly didn’t care what people thought or said. She lived the way she chose; that, Coral acknowledged to her- self, was exactly what she most admired. Mildred Randall was staying at the Breakers, and Coral, moved by her new at- titude, telephoned to her room. She was in and asked Coral to have a cigarette with her. “ Benjamin Fisher,’”’ Mildred said, ‘‘is like something in a bad dream. He thinks I’m going to be overcome by him. It’s an | expensive delusion. My dear, if he wants to give me money, I’m not going to make | him unhappy—at the same time—at the same time! I assure you no. Why don’t you have some Scotch? You can’t actually be serious about not drinking.”’ Coral paused. After all, she thought, why not? Her determination to stop drinking had been part of the silliness she had ended. “Thank you,” she replied. ‘“I’d like it very much.” It was, she said, perfect Scotch. ‘ “Benjamin Fisher,’’ Milly told her. “I have a case and a half in bags under the bed. But that is nothing. The thing is you are having a success with Henry Samp. You can’t imagine what a sensation that’s turning out to be. I know Henry as well as anyone. It isn’t better than not at all, but I can assure you he isn’t ambitious. He isn’t Benjamin, for example. No woman has the edge of her handker- chief on him. It’s very extraordinary and unusual in a man like that. The good ones are mostly bad. He isn’t. So you see, my dear Coral, it must be marriage. It really must.” That, Coral replied, was ridiculous. “I amuse him.”’ Mildred Randall studied her. “*T’ve seen so little of you,” she admitted. “You never liked me. Everybody insists I’m mad, but I’ve always said you were rather puritanical. I said your disagree- ableness wasn’t simply vanity. You seem to be getting over it and I’m glad. I'd like to like you. You can play golf. I wish you’d motor over to the west coast with me. We could make money. You are good at match play—absolutely good—and I can be consistent.” Coral thanked her. ‘‘I’m afraid I haven't time. I have to be in Aiken.”” Mildred Randall proceeded: ‘‘Why don’t you come to the Fays’ with me tonight? We needn’t be there until eleven. It will be contract. That I do know you can play. The Fays would practically die with joy.” She didn’t, Coral objected, know the Fays. What she meant was she hadn't wanted to know them. The Fays were frightful. ‘‘Henry Samp is going,’’ Mildred told her. ‘‘He’s stopping for me. He likes it because the Fays will play for anything. Alton Fay thinks he’s good—good with bad cards. As a matter of fact, he’s bad with good cards. All I hope is he doesn’t come to. I’ve had four or five thousand out of him now.” She was, Coral supposed, puritanical. For example, she would not, at least in the past, have let Benjamin Fisher send her whisky. She wouldn’t have dreamed of taking Alton Fay’s money—in the past. Perhaps, then, she had been only ridiculous. Life was like that. It was idiotic, probably, not to take advantage of it. She went to the Fays’, in Henry Samp’s car, an English Phantom, and it was evident the Fays were delighted to have her. Mrs. Fay intro- duced her to everyone—she introduced her twice to the same individual. There were at least twenty people present, and, with the exception of Mildred and Henry Samp, Coral hadn’t met one of them before. Some, in the most surprising bathing suits, she had seen at the Casino. Later she found herself at a table with a Mrs. Cormer, Al- ton Fay and Henry Samp. Contract bridge at fifty cents a point. She would simply have to win. Coral played with Samp; there was no pivoting, and she did win nineteen hundred dollars. Alton Fay gave her a check covering both his and Mrs. Cormer’s losses. Elida, he explained, could pay him in the morning. There was a con- tinuous buffet supper in a patio. Henry Samp, with his inevitable long cigar, sat beside her. He never ate, it developed, so late at night. “‘I was asking myself,’’ he said to Coral, “if you did everything well. Probably you do. The thing about you is your correct reasoning. I’m not referring to intuition. I don’t know what intuition means. I un- derstand correct reasoning. Everyone worth a damn has it. Have you got twenty thousand dollars where you can reach it?” Coral Mery gazed at him long and thought- fully. Why not? ‘‘ Yes,” shesaid. That, he told her, was fine—fine! ‘‘I’ll wire to New York and a man named Pfeiffer will see you. You can do what he tells you.” Henry Samp fell silent. ‘That Von Moldt’’—he spoke again—‘‘is the son of silver—silver mines. I am going back to Argentine with him. I’m supposed to be resting. That’s just bilge. I was never tired in my life. It’s business, of course; business and a party too. Von Moldt’s sis- ter and Mrs. Randall. I wondered—will you come and bring anyone else you like? We have most of a steamer.” “‘T couldn’t tell you like this,’’ Coral re- plied. ‘‘ Would it be all right later?’’ Within a week, Henry Samp informed her. ‘‘The Von Moldts, naturally, are everything you’d like. Perhaps I ought to explain that. Scandal is always a mistake. I am a very proper man.”’ She was sure of that, Coral assured him. Mrs. Fay came up to them. She was a small woman with an enormous star sapphire and an atrocious haircut. “‘It was sweet of you to come so informally,” she said to Coral. ‘‘We are devoted to Henry Samp. Do you think you could manage lunch and golf tomorrow? We’d love it. I often see you on the beach with your friends. You are staying with Alva (Continued on Page 86)

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THE SATURDAY Good - bye “now --- to Half-Clean Faces There’s pore-dirt deep in EVERY face— but watch this pink cream roll it free! Every inch of air, says the U. S. Weather Bureau, is alive with millions of tiny specks of soot. Motor puffs, chimney smoke, dusty streets—no one escapes! Washing can't budge pore-dirt. But scoop a little Pompeian Mas- sage Cream from the jar. Notice the color as you rub it into the skin... clean pink! Photograph taken under ens of powerful micro- scope showing section of skin before using Pom- peian Massage Creant. Even indoors, as you can see ina ray of sunlight, this rain of dust goes on. Works into the pores. Gets jammed It falls onto your face. down deep UNDER the skin. Electric lights, the close-up of a woman's searching eyes... yet he need not worry. You step out tonight with a face really CLEAN! Pompeian is 60 cents at any drug counter—but you're welcome to test it FREE! A two-minute massage. Out rolls the dried cream gray with pore- dirt that hid in your face! Boy how fine that massage feels! Photomicrograph of skin after using Pompeian. Note dried pellets of cream, dark with pore- dirt it has rolled free. POM PEIAN MASSAGE CREAM FRET TRIAL OFFER The Pompeian Company, Dept. 903-D $95 Fifth Avenue, New York In Canada: 72 St. Ambroise St Gentlemen: Please send me a free trial tube of Pompeian Massage Cream .. . enough for two cleansing, invigorating facial massages. Mostreal. Name Street City State___ | Ambler Dering. EVENING POST (Continued from Page 84) Parsons, aren’t you? You went to Cuba on Ambler Dering’s yacht. My brother knows I’ve seen Mr. Bent with you too. He looks very amusing. Can’t you bring Miss Parsons and Mr. Bent to- morrow?” Coral wassorry but she couldn’t. Anyhow, she was at the Breakers. ‘‘ Well, any of your friends,” Mrs. Fay said. She put her hand on Coral’s shoulder. ‘‘My dear,” she exclaimed, “‘it’s ridiculous for you to pay at a hotel! Why don’t you stay here? I'll take you up and show you the rooms.” She couldn’t, Coral informed her, move again. She felt asphyxiated. Henry Samp watched her and said nothing. Once more at the Breakers, Coral gazed curi- ously at Alton Fay’s check for nineteen hundred dollars. She hadn’t, she discovered, changed her attitude toward people like the Fays and Benjamin Fisher. They were, of course, bad news; it was simply that she felt differently about the others—those who were supposed to be better. Very good news, indeed. They weren’t. Everyone was more or less alike, tiresome and selfish and futile. She did not, however, include Henry Samp. He was plainly different. There were a few—a very few—men like him who understood what it was all about. In the end, as he had explained, they too were beaten; but that didn’t matter; in the end, everyone was beaten. She would have to decide about the trip to the Argentine. But she had, Coral told herself, already decided—she would not think of going. However, it was very interesting. It had so many sides. First, why had Henry Samp asked her? What, in other words, did he think of her? Coral was certain she could answer that—Samp liked her. Tothe extent of his knowledge, his limited interest in her, he approved of her. He had invited her for practical and pleasant and unelab- orate reasons. They might, she admitted, change. It was quite possible Henry Samp would ask her to marry him. Milly was right that far. Why, she wondered, did she keep on thinking about Henry Samp? She had decided against the Argentine; in cf- fect, she had decided against him; that was the end of that. Coral, by way of answer, repeated the obvious fact that she liked him. It wouldn’t do. It wasn’t an answer. It didn’t actually concern Henry Samp; something was happening within herself. Either she was losing a great deal or, at last, becoming really wise. If it were a loss, it was not too late to get everything back; if the second were true, she was an idiot not to go to South America. The point was that a year ago she wouldn't have con- sidered any of it. Quite by herself, for the moment, Coral was engaged with a tall glass. It was late afternoon and, in Freda Roland’s house boat, the light was at once bright and thin. The house boat, for the best of rea- sons, was as steady as a rock; it was both anchored at every point and permanently fastened to land. It was held by a gas pipe for cooking and wires for electric lights; | in addition, a solid wooden walk bound it to the rest of the Roland property. It was exactly the sort of house boat Coral pre- ferred. There was a large room with a number of pleasant and confidential places to sit, a piano, a small kitchen and pantry; and what Freda called the promenade deck, a dusty expanse ornamented with gerani- ums in pots. Her drink was practically ready when there were footsteps on the walk. It was Zinc Bent. “There is Scotch in the pantry,” Coral informed him; ‘‘the ice as usual is in the refrigerator, and there is plain water every- where.” Instead of going to the pantry, Bent sat down and pointed to her glass. ‘‘ What is that?” he demanded. “It’s a Planter’s punch,” she informed him. He picked it up and inspected it. “So it is,” Bent said softly. He went to a window and threw the glass and its contegts into Lake Worth. Then he returned and regarded Coral April 28,1928 moodily. ‘“‘That’s why I was looking for you,” he said presently. ‘“‘I heard you were drinking again. Stephen Pleyot in- sisted he saw you and a champagne bottle at Henry Samp’s dinner last night. How long have you known this Samp too?”’ Not as long, she admitted, as she had known him. “Perhaps that is why he is more interesting. The truth is, Zinc, we have known each other too long. We haven’t any surprises left.” “T suppose so,” he said. Bent, Coral thought, seemed very tired. Probably, in addition to not being sober once, he hadn't really slept for a week. That was not un- common in Palm Beach. “I have never met Henry Samp,”’ Bent admitted; ‘‘if I have any luck at all, I won’t. I don’t need him in my simple existence. And he wouldn’t care for me—not so you’d notice it. Samp wouldn’t approve of my ideas, my prejudices. They would limit him too much. He couldn’t be himself with them around. The trouble is I’d have to tell him about them. I’d have to admit that where I was concerned he was just a dirty thief. A cheap criminal, if you see what I mean.”’ Coral Mery admitted she saw what he meant. ““A lot of people have told me that,” Coral proceeded calmly; ‘“‘specially today. Mostly women who were not asked to his party and men who hadn’t been very suc- cessful. Five men, as a matter of fact, warned me about him.’’ Bent spoke slowly and coldly: ‘‘Certainly I haven’t been suc- cessful. But then—you’ll be amazed—I never wanted to be. I don’t happen to care about it. That’s idiotic, I know, but I can’t help it. I don’t think success is worth much. Like a lot, like love, it costs too much. You lose everything, if you’re not careful. Your decency first.” Coral demanded, ‘Is it decent to stay drunk for years?”” He was coming to that, Zine Bent said. “T’m coming to that; it will be useless, but I have to tell you. It’s about a long while ago—before you; yes, even before that—when I wasa child. I’ve always been crazy about my family, my name. You'd never think it, would you? I have. It be- gan with an enormous admiration for my father. His integrity was celebrated all over the East. I was his son. I wanted to have sons like him. He was very happy with my mother. She died too soon to know, but I think it would have lasted. Yes, she was like that too. Very beautiful and very Kentucky. Like Virginia, only better. More fire. A lot more gunpowder. They were marvelous together. Two tall, splendid people. I wasn’t so tall, but I wanted to be like them. Sons like them. I had it planned and it didn’t seem so hard. Not at first. All I had to do was find some- one I could love and love her—love her— if you can understand that. Probably you can’t.” “Do you have to be nasty?” Coral asked. “Do you have to? Because if you’re not, it’s so miraculous.”’ Zinc Bent laughed un- expectedly, wretchedly, and instinctively she put out a hand toward him—a gesture of protest. **And then look what happened to me,” he continued. ‘It is funny when you think about it. I fell in love with you. Can you imagine it? Ten—fifteen years ago I fell in love with you. Understand, I didn’t like anything about you. I didn’t approve of anything you were. I wouldn’t have you. Not when I remembered my father and my sons. You were hard and dissatisfied and selfish. You did nothing but spend your life on yourself. You couldn’t be in love with anyone. It wasn’t in you. You couldn’t be a thing but amused. You had lost all the rest, if you ever had it. “IT made up my mind I wouldn’t marry you. I wouldn’t have you in my house. I wouldn’t have a house with you. I didn’t want that kind of a house, if any of this is clear to you. I wouldn’t if it killed me. It nearly did. Perhaps it has. I would not ask you to marry me, and look what hap- pened tome. I tried to ask Anne Stevens, nine years ago. I couldn’t! I tried to (Continued on Page 88) Se Se SA -

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THE SATURDAY A Starched Collar alone won't put you in the President's chair—but it won't keep you out. The climb up the ladder is hard enough with- out adding unnecessary handicaps. The collar for business is a Starched Collar. The latest Arrows are low, light- weight, comfortable, STYLISH Cluett, Peabody & Co., Inc. ARROW SHIRTS, COLLARS, UNDERWEAR, HANDKERCHIEFS You—and Your Future ARROW Starched COLLARS Cc m0 EVENING POST (Continued from Page 86) marry Mary Levering two years later. No one could be lovelier. She had every quality I admired, every one I wanted. Mary might have loved me. I hoped you would get married, kill yourself—anything. I hoped you would go to hell and then I could stop worrying about it. I thought if you’d only get worse I would forget it.” His voice was flat and bitter. ‘‘You did get worse.” “ After all,”’ Coral told him, “‘you spoiled it.” She rose and went to the pantry, com- ing back with a small glass. She half filled it with rum, poured in a little charged water and drank it. ‘“‘Have you finished?” Coral asked. Hestared at her. “‘Almost. It was Henry Samp. In a day he changed you. He exaggerated all that was bad in you, what had always been bad. In asmall way, you were like Henry Samp. Your ideas sounded like his—as wrong as that. And then you began to be vulgar.””’ That was quite enough, she told him. ‘“‘I got worse, vulgar really, and so you are free. This is all, if you want to know, nothing but your conceit. How do you know what I am like inside? What made you think you knew what I wanted? Yes, it was just your rotten vanity and stubbornness. I used to wonder what was going on inside of you; everyone does; and if I had known, if I’d found out, you would have been sur- prised. I wouldn’t have had your sons for you.” “T couldn’t help hearing that,’’ Freda Roland said in the doorway. ‘I'll go back and pretend I didn’t. Practically, that will be just as good.””’ No, Zine Bent told her, she must stay. He was going. Bent bowed shortly to Coral and left. She lis- tened intently to the fall of his feet on the wooden walk. “My dear!” Freda said, sinking into a chair. Coral spoke in a mechanical sur- prise, to no one: “I love him very much.” If she did, Freda Roland pointed out, and she wanted Zinc to know it, perhaps she had better express it differently. Perhaps, Coral agreed. She couldn’t, for a moment, move; there wasn’t an atom of strength in her body. She poured out some rum and then put the glass sharply down. “No, thank you,” she said idiotically. ‘‘Zine will go North tonight,’’ she added. That, Freda replied, would not surprise her. Coral rose. ‘“‘Thank you, Freda. Zinc was explaining exactly why he wouldn’t think of marrying me. It seems that we are rather poisonous. Zinc thinks nothing can bedoneaboutit.”” Shesmiled very brightly. But, once more at the Breakers, her expres- sion was hard, her eyes narrow with de- termination. Coral’s face, like Bent’s, showed no youth. Henry Samp telephoned and Coral told him that, after all, she could not go to Mil- dred Randall’s dinner at Bradley’s. The hardness of her expression was not re- laxed. The truth was, Coral realized, that her situation was serious—worse. The sim- ple admission that she loved Zine Bent brought to her an enormously increased realization of —of everything. She stopped for a little, amazed by the strangeness of that one overwhelming fact. It seemed to her now she had always loved him. But April 28, 1928 why, if that were true, hadn’t she known it? Her heart, she had been led to believe, would ring like an alarm when that oc- curred. Or else sound like a golden chime of bells—Episcopalian bells. It had, how- ever, been completely quiet. It hadn’t warned her of a thing. All that Zine told her was surprising and true. She had rec- ognized the truth in it at once. On the other hand, what she said to Zinc was a complete lie. She wanted nothing in the world so much as to have sons for him fine sons like his father, sons like all the best things she had ever thought of. She simply couldn’t tell him that. Not then. Not like that. It would have been fatal at once. That, too, troubled her—the fact that at the most important moment of her life she had been forced to hide the truth. That must be wrong. Coral returned mentally to what Henry Samp had said, to his cold philosophy; and suddenly it didn’t satisfy her. It, too, was wrong. She couldn’t quite think why. Perhaps it simply came to the fact that the rules appropriate for Henry Samp were useless for her. They were showing themselves now to be com- pletely useless. Countless instincts and feelings and desires contradicted them, brought them, in her, to nothing. Very well, then, she would have to forget Henry Samp. It had turned out that all his wis- dom and experience were worthless for her. She had discovered that you couldn’t live alone. That didn’t, however, change the fact that you were almost always lonely. Life, Coral had an idea, was principally trying to escape from loneliness. Some- times, it seemed to her, that might be possible. For example, she wouldn’t be lonely living with Zinc Bent—not alto- gether. For one thing, she would be so busy with Zinc’s sons and with Zine. Their sons, she thought irrelevantly, might be daughters. The telephone rang again; it was Mildred Randall. Her first feeling about Mildred Randall, Coral discovered, was the one which bhe- longed to her. That was a very important fact. You had the opinions that were part of you, for people and acts and places, and the others weren’t any good at all. They were worse than no good. She didn’t like the Fays or Benjamin Fisher, and she'd have to go through life not liking them. Or else where would she be? Simply no- where. A truthful prejudice was far better than an assumed virtue. Very well then, she could not depend on Henry Samp; she couldn’t even count on herself at present. What could she do? What could she find that was dependable? She went back to the moment of her original discontentment with her life—that, anyhow, was real. She had suddenly grown sick of a stu- pidity hidden in champagne, in gin. For that reason, and for no other, she had stopped drinking. She had begun drinking again, it now seemed to her, for precisely the same cause. She hadn’t found enough in life to support her, to keep her going. She recalled her grandfather, Thomas Mery, a prudent and sober and hard, a successful, old man. She had a strange feeling of his presence near her, his presence in her. It was exactly as though Thomas Mery were (Continued on Page 90)

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 88) alive in her and bitterly protesting against all the rest. She wanted enormously to lis- ten to him, to be him. Then, she recog- nized, she would be safe. She didn’t know what she’d be safe from; but there were nameless dangers, fatalities, all around her. She tried to think of religion as a reality, but it evaded her; and, recognizing the fatality, for her, of that effort, she gave it up. At the lowest, she was not hypocritical. Her necessity was at once simple and hor- ribly difficult. Her necessity was Zinc Bent. Coral wondered if that realization had come to her too late. It might be that now she would never, never have him. It was, she told herself again, Zinc’s fault. He knew long ago that he loved her and he should have helped her with his love. How could he measure what that would do for her? How it would change her? Her world, her life, had been empty, that was all. Her body had been empty. Yet she understood him—oh, completely. There was, Coral told herself, every excuse for his attitude. It had just been wrong. The fact was that she liked him, she loved him, for it. Zine couldn’t hope to see into her heart and mind. You simply didn’t know what was hidden by clothes and habits yes, and by words. Zinc hadn’t known any of her feelings when he explained how sob- bing she was. Her image of him, her memory of exactly how he looked, exactly how he sounded, was suddenly blurred by tenderness. The sense of weakness returned and she sank, degen- erated, into tears. She didn’t know why she was crying. She never cried. Early memories of Zine Bent came back to her Zinc no more than a boy in duck trousers. She remembered things he had said, hu- | morous things, always a little sharp. He’d | had a habit of appearing unexpectedly | where she was. He came in negligently; the only notice he took of her was a light con- | tinuous complaint. Zine never was satisfied with what she said or did. But then—she was so blind—she had practically always been annoyed at him. Sharp. He was, she realized, nearly forty and she would soon be thirty —thirty very soon. Already they had lost ten years. If she hadn’t been such a | fool, they would now have been married ten years. Sons. Anyhow, she had stopped crying. A dry pain, the feeling of deter- mination, took its place. The lost years were tragic, but they were no longer impor- tant. All her thoughts turned toward the future. Coral didn’t see how, but some- thing might yet be done. She wanted, above all, to go to Zinc and tell him exactly what she did want, all that she was, the simple truth. She couldn’t. Coral recognized that. Life wasn’t so easy, so perfect. She couldn’t beg him for happi- ness. No, he would have to come to her. If he didn’t do that they’d never be happy; he would never actually love her. She could, Coral realized, make him marry her. He didn’t know that, but she could. Zinc had, that much, put himself in her hands. It would be no good. It wouldn’t work for a week. Yes, he would have to come to her. He would have to say that he had been | wrong. It wasn’t easy. Perhaps it was im- possible. ° The sense of the closeness of Thomas | Mery returned; actually, she felt that she was an old man with a stiff gray beard and steel-rimmed spectacles. That was how he looked in the photographs she had seen. There were, of course, other influences in her —her beautiful and questionable mother; her charming and indolent father. It was all very mixed up. Perhaps it was im- possible. If it was, if Zine didn’t return —— She couldn’t, Coral found, face that. It was too utterly meaningless. Life couldn’t be so rotten. After all, why couldn’t it? For one reason, she wouldn’t put up with such a horrible mistake. She would not have it. She settled into an intense frown- ing thought and then telephoned to Brad- ley’s. She asked for Henry Samp. She would, Coral said, be free at eleven. Samp at once replied that he’d send for her. Coral examined her face at length; she made it up

EVENING POST with a minute patience and more color than was usual for her. At three o’clock in the morning, Coral, with Henry Samp, arrived at Austin Blain’s. A tremendous party was in progress in Austin’s tremendous house. There were tables of contract, a game of hearts at a ridiculous stake, and chemin de fer. Evelyn, Zinc Bent’s sister, was playing contract; and Coral, with a tall glass of champagne champagne, ice and vivid sprig of mint stopped at her shoulder. Evelyn, charac- teristically, was dummy. ‘“‘Zinc left,’”’ she said; ‘‘you won’t believe it—he was sober. It was simply frightful. I think it’s a scream your drinking again. You know it’s screaming, Coral, after all you said about rum.”’ Coral saw Alva Parsons in a corner with Austin, and Alva waved at her. “I must see you later,’”’ she called. Henry Samp made a place for her at chemin de fer. Coral played and lost; she lost when the bank was hers and she lost when it wasn’t. When the game was over, and it was com- pletely bright outside, she drew a check for thirty-one hundred dollars. Henry Samp, it developed, had won seventeen thousand. He made her sick, Coral said. Alva Parsons, with Freda _ Roland, dragged her into a green and private angle of the courtyard. ‘“‘We have to know,” Alva said; ‘I’ve heard it a lot of places. Of course it’s a lie. Coral, are you going to South America with Henry Samp and that Randall woman?” Not entirely, Coral told her. Mr. Von Moldt’s sister would be with them. Alva said she was crazy. ‘Plain crazy. It simply doesn’t make sense. I wouldn’t know why, in a week, you’d be democratic—in your old age. You simply can’t do it. It’s not that I’m asnob; or I am, if you’d rather, I don’t mind which; you can’t do it. If you are going to marry Henry Samp, you can’t do it. It isn’t decent. It would be impossible for you to live out of your world. It may be poison- ous—Freda says you think it is —but it’s only poisonous in its own way. The other ways are just as bad in theirs.” “Perhaps,” Coral answered, “you may be right. You are, of course. But what can be done about it? I’m—I’m sick of what I’ve been, what I am, what you are. The other may be worse, but it will be different. At least it will be exciting.” Alva said there was more. ‘‘ You seem to have had a battle with Zinc. Freda was quite frank about it. I never thought of it, but Zinc would be perfect for you. You would be perfect for Zinc. You understand each other. You know the same things. You may hate Zinc sometimes, but he is a part of our lives. He’s always been, If you did fight with him, you must have had some feeling about it. Freda said what you were discussing was quite unmentionable. If you went that far Now don’t you see, you are absolutely ruining everything if you go to South America with this Samp? He simply won’t do. I don’t know any more and that’s enough. Coral, no one has been more disagreeable about things like that than you. You’re known to be fright- ful.” “T don’t doubt I was frightful,’’ Coral admitted. ‘I’m tired of it. I’m tired of so much that Argentine sounds miraculous. Milly and I will get some golf and bring back mills of dollars.” A servant stopped before them. Mr. Samp wished to know when Miss Mery desired to drive back to the hotel. In his car, Henry Samp was re- mote, coldly impersonal. ‘I am bothered about you,” he said. ‘“‘You are very un- happy. In addition to that, you have been . lying to me. You have no intention of go- ing to South America. I wouldn’t say any of this, naturally, if I weren’t extremely interested. I asked you to go to Argentine. What I meant was, then, would you marry me. You needn’t answer. I can see that you would not. At the same time I’m sorry you were not honest.” “I’m sorry too,” Coral admitted. “I wasn’t. I haven’t much talent explaining what goes on inside of me. I won’t now, if April 28,1925 you don’t mind. I had to be pretty desper- ate. Probably I’ve failed.”” No, he said positively, she hadn’t failed. ‘“‘You may not get what you want, but you won’t fail.”” What, she wondered, did he mean by that? She couldn’t make any sense out of it. He said further that it seemed to be a part of her plan, her desperation, to pre- tend to drink. Coral turned and squarely faced him. ‘I’m not going to marry you,” she said, ‘‘but I could. I would except for one thing.’”” That, he admitted, he was afraid didn’t greatly interest him. ‘‘If I can be of any more use to you,”’ Henry Samp added, ‘‘you won’t, of course, hesi- tate.” Instead of replying to that, Coral repeated that she liked him. “I hope you won’t forget we are playing golf tomorrow. Yes, and next year—the year after.”’ That, he assured her, it wasn’t in him to forget. “After tomorrow, though, you will forget it.” She began warmly to deny that, but she was stopped by the coldness of his face. After all, Coral told herself the following week, she had failed. She decided that she’d go at once to her mother’s villa at Antibes. She’d go quietly. She was seated on the beach by the Casino, wrapped in her varnished black cloak. Then she looked up, startled. ‘‘Where is your bathing suit?” she asked. Zinc Bent replied that he wouldn't think of going into the ocean. He was too mad. The whole thing would turn into steam. He sat beside her and put a newspaper notice into her hand. It was an announcement that Miss Coral Mery was leaving with Henry Samp’s party early in March for the Argentine Repub- lic. ‘* Well,” she asked, ‘‘what about it?” “Nothing at all,” he replied satirically. “Only that you are entirely mad —at last. Drink and the devil are doing for you what they did for the rest. Now,” Zine Bent said—‘‘now I’ve got to marry you, whether I want to or not. I'll have to for- get my early hopes.” “That is impossible,” Coral told him; ““T am going to South America with Henry Samp.” “‘Think of another one,”’ he advised her. “That one is worn out. South America and Samp would be bad enough, but when I think of what is going to happen to you I just can’t think of it. I’ve gota ring somewhere.”’ He fished about in his pockets and finally produced a deep and brilliant emerald in an old-fashioned set- ting. ‘It was one we had,” he said casu- ally, ‘‘in the family. It would be so expen- sive to buy another.”’ Coral suppressed a sharp gasp. ‘“‘It’s very pretty,’ she ad- mitted. “If you’re not careful you will lose it in the sand.” Already, he said, he had lost it. He gazed away from her into the blue distance of sea and sky. Coral was conscious of the flying, the faint harsh cries, of sea gulls. There was a low regular monotone of advancing and retreating waves. “* How gray his hair is,’’shethought. The brown skin on his face was tight over its bones. Coral gave him back the emerald. “You must find someone who would be proper for your sons.” The struggle be- tween them, she realized, had reached its acutest point. Benjamin Fisher stopped before them. ‘I don’t know you,” Bent said at once, ‘‘and you can be annoyed if you like. The truth is I'd be obliged if you’d go away. Come back some other time.”” Coral and Zinc Bent watched Fish- er’s rapidly retreating back. “I’ve already admitted I’ve loved you for years,”’ Bent half cried. ‘‘What do you expect? I’ve loved you forever and want to marry you. Perhaps we could do it—splendidly.”” He was thinking, she saw, about his father. “‘Of course we can,”’ Coral told him calmly. “Where is the family ring?”’ She put it on her finger and gazed into the dark brilliant mystery of the emerald. Her life, she thought, would be like that—marvelous and hidden, a secret and constant and purifying fire. ~ Editor's Note—This is the ninth and last of < series of short stories by Mr. Hergesheimer.

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So engrossed were they with the chase that for some time the Vv failed to observe the four white hunters in the depressed basin on the opposite shore. More Mandans were arriv- ing at frequent intervals. Then a half-grown boy, cruising midway of the stream in canoe, noticed the hunters. He put in toward them, but re- fused to land, holding his tiny craft steady in the current abreast of their camp and some thirty yards out in the stream. Pres- ently he gathered sufficient confidence to land. Hunter presented him with a long knife that he had taken from one of the dead Bralé Sioux. He related the details of the fight on the prairie during the night. the scalps with manifest eagerness, then put off in his little craft in high excitement. Presently there was a general cessation of the slaughter on the opposite shore. Tepees were hastily struck. Effects were lashed on ponies or stowed in the tiny canoes. One and all, the Mandans took to the river, a churning throng of swimming ponies. They surrounded the four hunters with vast evidence of admira- tion and extravagant expression of friend- ship. The Mandans were a harassed people. Once a great nation, it was now going into swift decline. The Assiniboins swept down from the Canadian prairies to slaughter and rob among the Mandans. The Brilé Sioux: known as Burnt-thighs from the fact that, being horse Indians, they rode with bare thighs, which were darkened to a deeper tint than the rest of their bodies by the action of the sun— harried the Mandans from the east The Indians hailed the four hunters as deliverers, declaring that the Brilés un- doubtedly had been planning a raid on a Mandan village and that their defeat at the hands of the hunters had saved many a Mandan seaip. A sizable village sprang up round the camp of the whites, the In- dians very much excited at the prospect of meeting the brigade his The boy eyed Vv ™\ CCASIONAL scouting parties were sent QO out from the brigade to penetrate the country well to either flank of the river. One such expedition returned with the news that a large war party of Brailé Sioux had headed upriver some two or three days The trappers, accustomed to read- ing Indian signs with great accuracy, esti- mated that there were probably a thousand warriors in the band. The lack of travois marks and the fact that there were no feminine trinkets along the trail were evidence that it was a war party that had passed, not the removal of a village to some new hunting country. In- signia on discarded bits of equipment and the nature of cast-off moccasins identified the marauders as Briilé Sioux. A dog that had accompanied the party, but which had strayed and dropped behind on account of been captured. The animal a light pack of extra moccasins of Burnt-thigh make, and it was customary for war parties to be accompanied by fleet dogs thus lightly packed with extra equip- ment. The fact that the war party was heading into Mandan territory, and keep- miles back from the river, fur- evidence that its purpose was to surprise some Mandan village on the Missouri, swooping upon it from the rear, while the river would effectively cut off the ctims’ retreat All this the experienced mountain men as unerr- ngly as the city dweller interprets the printed page. Also, being intimately ac- quainted with Indian nature, the trappers entertained grave fears for the lives of the If the Sioux spotted them, eemed certain in that open prairie hef« re sore feet, had t ore ing a dozen nished conclusive the trail revealed to the eyes of four hunters which country, that the brigade would b the they would be slain in the belief blame the deed upon the four Mandans. Should hunters THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FUR BRIGADE Continued from Page 25) attain to the first Mandan village, they would be in no better shape. The Sioux would surprise the village and cut down every soul in it. For two nights Ann McKenzie slept but little, and by day, as she sat in her father’s bateau, her anxious eyes were trained upon the foremost riders of the land contingent. Round noon of the third day after the dis- covery of the war party’s trail, the riders in the vanguard came upon the scene of the fight. The fact that the hunters had scalped their slain foes and despoiled them of equip- ment was evidence that they had beaten off their assailants in this first brush with the Sioux and had effected a retreat upriver, but there was no indication of the ultimate termination of the affair. A swarm of tiny dark specks was seen swooping down river toward the brigade. These specks resolved themselves into an excited array of Mandans, riding furiously and discharging their muskets in the air. They brought the news that the four hunters had inflicted a crushing de- feat upon the Brilés and were safe in the Mandan camp. Mandan scouts, dispatched by Hunter for the purpose earlier in the day, had returned with reports which verified his suspicion that a large force of Sioux had invaded the neighborhood. The scouts also re- ported that the big war party had turned back the day before. Such unaccountable changes of front and the abandonment of well-laid plans on account of some trivial mishap were typical of savage warfare. No doubt Sioux scouts had reported the rapid advance of the brigade and the leaders of the war party had feared that the white trappers would arrive in time to lend their support to the Mandans. It was evident that the attack on the four hunters had been launched by an offshoot band of young bucks, overeager for scalps, that had remained behind for the purpose. The Mandans, declaring that the pres- ence of the brigade on the Missouri had saved them from annihilation, proclaimed Hunter the mightiest of all warriors and Little Bull next in erder. Huge fires were built and round them gathered the com- bined personnels of brigade and Mandan village. Hunter was called upon for a re- cital of his victories. “‘T am a mighty warrior,” he recited with approved Indian boastfulness. ‘‘My ene- mies tremble in their lodges. My arm is strong. Two year ago I fought the Black- feet and took many scalps.” He launched into a recital of a hand-to- hand encounter with a big Blackfoot war- rior during one of the fights he and Brady had had with marauding parties of that tribe. He related graphically every move in the struggle, until, at the end, he split the foeman’s crown with his war ax. “‘T remember!’ Brady shouted at the ap- propriate point, according to approved In- dian custom of corroboration. ‘‘I myself was there. I saw the blow struck.” ‘“* Ay-e-e-e!’’ Dubois interjected some minutes later, as Hunter related the taking of Sac scalps in his youth. ‘‘I remember! I myself saw him wearing Sac scalps at his belt when he was a mere infant.” “* Hol-a-a-a-ee-yah!"’ Little Bull shanted as Hunter described the vanquishing of the Bralé warrior with his knife the night be- fore. ‘“‘I remember! His strength was great! I saw the knife fall!’ ‘I am a great warrior and the Mandans are my brothers,’’ Hunter concluded his oration. ‘‘My hand is against all enemies of the Mandans. All such are my enemies also and I will strike them until my lodge is black with their scalps.” Little Bull then recited his own victories, while his companions corroborated at ap- propriate intervals. The Mandans greeted these speeches with mighty grunts of approval. Prepara- tions had been made for an all-night scalp dance. The fresh scalps, all save one each to dangle at the belts of Breckenridge and Little Bull, were attached to the tip of a pole erected for the purpose. Huge fires were kindled. The night air pulsated with the tee-dum, tee-dum, tee-dum of skin drums that throbbed in barbaric rhythm, the triumphant chant of half a hundred trappers and double the number of Mandan bucks and squaws as they danced endlessly in a weaving throng. Breckenridge, as he danced near the outer edge of the shifting crowd after a period of performing on its inner circle, was suddenly seized by the arm and drawn to Hair: That: Shines, Her Blazing Bliue Eyes and Her Breast Heav: ing Tumuttuoustly, Addressed Him Tensely one side. Hair-that-shines, her blue eyes blazing and her breast heaving tumultu- ously, addressed him tensely. ‘What devil’s business are you at now?” she demanded, pointing to the fresh scalp that dangled at his belt. ‘‘Do you have to make a savage of yourself?’’ “*Every man takes scalps,” he answered stiffly, bewildered by this unexpected out- burst. “You know it. A white man stands that much higher in the estimation of the Indians. It is always done.” The girl knew this. The taking of scalps by mountain men was almost universal, sanctioned by custom, and it was destined to be so sanctioned for more than half a century to come. “‘Anyway, if you’re expecting to come north to gee me you needn’t come dragging gory flesh scalps with you,” she flared. As abruptly as she had accosted him, she left, disappearing into the night. Hunter re- turned to the dance, but his former en- thusiasm waned. It would not return, and presently he deserted the revelry and sought his bed. The throbbing of the tom-toms, the shuffling thud of feet and the frenzied chants of the revelers beat up against his ears till sunrise. He was at a loss to account for Nepanamo’s sudden outburst over so commonplace a thing. Why should she have singled him out from among half a hundred others as the object of her dis- pleasure? The girl herself was no less mys- tified at her own unpremeditated and impulsive outburst. vi HIS chance affray of the four hunters and the Brilés reacted very favorably to the interests of the Rocky Mountain Company. The Mandans were wont to trade almost exclusively at a post main- tained half a hundred miles upriver by the Great American, chief rival in the West of April 28,1928 Ashley’s company. The Mandans now evidenced a willingness to trade with the men of the Rocky Mountain brigade if the latter so desired. On several occasions the Great American had set up rival posts in regions that had been opened up to trade by the Rocky Mountain. Ashley was too shrewd an ad- venturer to overlook so golden an oppor- tunity. This fortunate break afforded a chance to procure a portion of the Mandan trade. He ordered a move to the next stand of timber upriver. What had been intended as an overnight stop for the bri- gade now lengthened into a stay of consider- able duration. All hands were engaged in the work of felling trees and erecting log quarters for a post. Hunter’s sanguinary encounter with the Bralés had endeared him to the Mandans. He was therefore detailed by Ashley to open trade with the tribe. Breckenridge advised a high trade schedule to the end that the Rocky Mountain should earn the reputation of lib- eral dealing and solidify itself in the Mandan trade. It was popularly believed that the Mandans had traded off their furs almost to the last pelt to the Great American, so the opening of negotiations was not expected to be immediately profit- able, but was to be conducted as the entering wedge designed to draw all possible future trade of the Mandans from the rival company. Competition among traders had roused a canniness among the sav- ages of the West. They no longer traded a beaver pelt for a fishhook. No longer would they pile beaver pelts flat, one upon another, until the pile equaled in height the length of the smooth-bore trade gun they received in exchange. The beaver was the chief item of the fur trade of the period and upon the pelt of that animal all prices were based. The atcepted range of trade prices now called for two beaver skins in return for one iron war ax, lance head or long-bladed scalping knife. Other pelts were rated at so many to the beaver pelt. Breckenridge opened shop in a large oval lodge of buffalo hides erected for him by the Mandans. There was no rush to trade as had once been the case whenever a white trader displayed his wares in an Indian encampment. The Mandans looked over Hunter’s merchandise. It made a goodly showing, as Ashley had opened the entire contents of two of the bateaus to impress the Mandans with the wealth of the Rocky Mountain Company. A big warrior, a subchief, was first to trade. Hestrode in, followed by his squaws, who carried a fairly large assortment of furs and spread them for Hunter’s inspec- tion. The white man nodded. He first took out the five beaver pelts that graced the collection. Before him was the bullet dish. By means of the bullet count the simple, unmathematical mind of the redskin was enabled to check all trans- actions while his friends looked on. Breck- enridge deposited five pieces of lead, molded in a certain design. The Mandan nodded that all was well as he carefully counted the bullets with his forefinger. Hunter next selected three otter pelts. The accepted trade ratio was that three otter pelts equaled two beaver pelts. The white man was now expected to deposit two more leaden counters in the bullet dish. Instead, he deposited three. The Indian grunted his surprise. “The Rocky Mountain men are rich. They have many goods,’’ Hunter orated by way of explanation. ‘“‘We look upon the Mandans as brothers and would share our riches with them. We are generous with those we esteem. To the Mandans, but to no other tribe, our eyes are closed when Continued on Page 96

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Pennsylvania locomotives take water on the fly, from tanks set between the tracks. An air-driven scoop, operated from the engine cab, plunges down as the train roars over the tank. The water, speed-driven, is funneled ers, upward into the tank of the tender. Such track tanks were first installed in this country by the Pennsylvania Kailroad. In the course of a year they save, for industry and tor travel an enormous amount of time 20,000,000 to get pure water for the delicate stomach of the tron Horse OU can drink water that would kill the Iron Horse. Those snorting giants that drive with such relentless power along the rails have stomachs more delicate, in some respects, than a baby’s. The wrong kind of water gives them, so to speak, acute indigestion. In the mining districts, for example, sulphur water from the mines flows into nearly all streams. When a stream polluted with it be- comes slightly acid, it may still be used without apparent harm as a source of drinking water, but it would be very destructive to locomo- tive boilers, rendering their practical operation impossible. In other districts the water is “hard’’—con- tains calcium and other salts. When converted into steam it leaves a residue which coats tubes and boiler lining. Before long the locomotive loses power; if the coating continues, there may be an explosion which will mean loss of life and the finish of 500,000 pounds of expen- sive machinery. PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD Carries more passengers, hauls more freight than any other railroad in America Water free from calcium salts and from sulphur compounds must often be piped from long distances to the railroad. Great reservoirs in the mountains, treating stations west of Pitts- burgh, wells near Washington, all form a part of the huge water system of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Properties valued at $50,000,000 are included in this system. Twelve water companies are operated by the railroad under the general direction of a separate organization, employing engineers and chemists whose sole duty is to look after the water supply. One alone in the Pittsburgh district operates a large plant with 145 miles of piping. All because the Iron Horse must have pure water. It gets it—in all about 100 million gallons a day! And the water is pure—fit for a locomotive to drink. In no other way can the trains go through swiftly, safely and on time. Leaders of the largest fleet of trains in America BROADWAY LIMITED New York and Chica 1) hours 4 THE AMERICAN 7. Louis and New )ork 4 hours ¢ LIBERTY LIMITED Chicago and Washineton—/19 hours ¢ CONGRESSIONAL LIMITED Washington and New ork ; hours ¢ BUCKEYE LIMITED Cleveland and the Last 4 CINCINNATI LIMITED Cincinnati and New York—/* hours

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Continued from Page 92) they bring in otter pelts. We mistake them beaver.”” By way of illustration, he closed his eyes and stroked the three otter skins. “‘Yes, coming from our Mandan brothers, they are beavers,”’ he proclaimed. A murmur ran through the throng of savages that looked on. Each Mandan was struggling with a mental revision in terms of otter pelts and trade goods. Several slipped out of the lodge. Ashley smiled. This young Kentuckian knew savage na- ture. His pronouncement would be pro- ductive of more otter pelts if the tribe not merely because the for possessed them price was better than the customary rate of exchange but for the reason that it was to Mandans only that the rate was offered. They were favored above other people. The Mandan then offered six finely dressed buffalo robes. These rated two robes for one beaver pelt. Hunter paid the regular schedule for these, depositing three counters in the bullet dish. A pack of beaver consisted of one hun- dred skins and brought an even thousand dollars in St. Louis. At a later date-—when the beaver had almost disappeared from the streams of the West and the fur trade had nearly perished from its own insatiable greed for pelts—beaver skins were destined te shrink in value .tto a third that price. Indian-tanned buffalo robes now brought five dollars each in St. Louis. A half century later the hide hunters of the plains were to ship millions of the dried and undressed hides of these animals for a dollar apiece and less. The Mandan displayed three wolf pelts. Three wolves equaled one beaver. Hunter deposited another counter. Next the chief offered three mink skins. Three mink also equaled one beaver and another leaden counter changed hands. The Indian, know- ing the ratio, had brought quantities of each fur that would work out in even bea- vers. He was taking no chances of becom- ing confused with fractional beavers. This end of the transaction completed, it was now time for the Indian to make his selections and pay back to the white man the counters which he had just received. The Mandan fingered the long iron lance heads, selected one that pleased his fancy and nodded. Two beavers was the price he expected to pay. Hunter casually extracted a single bullet from the dish. The Indian gave vent to a vast grunt of astonishment as he waited for the white man to observe his error. ‘‘We are rich and we view the Mandans yrothers,”” Hunter proclaimed in ringing tones. “‘Have the Rocky Mountain men not fought the Sioux and slain their war- riors, the enemies of the Mandans, so that the Mandan women have washed their faces for the first time in months and are now healing the wounds of mourning? One lance head for one beaver is the way we trade with our Mandan friends.” There were various ejaculations of as- tonishment and pleasure at this unexam- pled liberality. Those assembled watched eagerly as the warrior selected a forged iron tomahawk head. Again Hunter extracted but a single counter ment, now relieved, was expressed in grunts on the explosive. Various ;s hastened as Suppressed excite- at bordered out. iy had been when traders offered better prices to first comers in order to had produced so much ill feeling on the part of the later ar- | the killing of numerous rdy ones who felt hasten trade, but this | * tine ir hi re Aiting in trade! by incensed ta themselves cheated, that the practice had ven abandoned. Perhaps this white man was opening trade in the old way. Why else hould he pay such prices at the start? Was his tongue straight and did he pay so lib- erally merely from Mandans, as he ; admiration for the In any event, pres wished to trade early the probable contingency of a later laimed? everyone ent against ump in prices Furs and robes were produced in con- siderabie quantities Prices were main- ained. Even the pelt of a prairie skunk THE SATURDAY brought a small looking-glass and a large fishhook. Youngsters who had slain and skinned such creatures and had been per- mitted to retain them by indulgent parents hastened in to barter them off for such small prizes, taking an actual part in trade for the first time in their lives. The pelts of skunk, kit fox, mink and others appeared as if by magic. Hunter complimented various of his pa- trons, not in broadcast fashion, as was prac- ticed by many traders, which the savages recognized for what it was—a manner as- sumed for trade purposes—but wisely, as one who knew Indian nature to the core. He gave compliments where compliments were due. To one subchief he said: “You are a great warrior and have counted many coos upon your enemies. I greet you as one great warrior to another and would have you fill your pipe from my private plug of tobacco. You will inhale my friendship with the smoke.” To a winsome young squaw, considered the beauty of the Mandans, he presented a small looking-glass: ‘“*So that your own eyes may behold the beauty that the eyes of all men see in you. Man-takes-no-woman is not blind. He can see beauty where it is, even though he de- sires it not for himself. Your father will receive many fine horses and other valuable presents from the warrior who is so for- tunate as to take you from the lodge of your parents.” This compliment, coming from the lips of one notorious for his avoidance of Indian women, was considered very good. The Mandans were delighted with him. News of his generous dealings seemed to spread with the wind throughout the Mandan nation. A huge assortment of lodges, des- tined to become the largest permanent vil- lage of the Mandans, had sprung up round the new post before its completion. At the expiration of the second week of trade Hunter had collected five packs of beaver pelts, more than nine hundred finely dressed buffalo robes and a goodly quantity of the pelts of otter, wolf, fox, wildcat, mink, skunk, cougar and other animals. All told, there was more than twelve thousand dol- lars’ worth of fur in the assortment. Ashley was delighted at uncovering this unexpected vein of wealth in a tribe that was supposed to have bartered away the greater part of its furs to a rival concern. The new post was well stocked. Ashley prepared to return down the Missouri with three bateaus, taking with him the furs collected and picking up en route the rela- tively small quantities previously traded for among the Ogallala Sioux, the Iowas and the Kansas Indians on the way up- river. The brigade was to proceed on up the Yellowstone and scatter on the tribu- taries of the Powder, Big Horn and Wind rivers, assembling at the appointed ren- dezvous on the Sweetwater the following spring. Ashley himself would return up- river with all dispatch, winter somewhere on its course and proceed to the rendezvous by horse in the spring. Preparations were under way for this separation when Ashley made the announce- ment which he had reserved for a final surprise for Hunter Breckenridge. General Ashley was always very formal in his speech. His every utterance seemed in the nature of an oration. “Young fellow, you will make a great trader,” he predicted. ‘‘Your talents in that direction are wasted when you go out for a year alone to trap beaver, dodging savages to save your scalp and living like a lone wolf. Leave that to the men who know trapping and Indian fighting only. There are hundreds of that sort. Men who understand Indian psychology and can live among them and gain both their admira- tion and their trade are rare. I am putting you in charge of this post to represent the interests of the Rocky Mountain Company. Pick any two men you desire from the bri- gade to act as your assistants. Your salary will be one thousand dollars a year and that of your assistants three hundred dollars each.”’ EVENING POST A thousand-dollar salary was considered almost in the big-money class in that day. Strangely enough, the offer failed to rouse any elation in the breast of Hunt Brecken- ridge. On the contrary, it came as some- what of a shock. Money was a scarce commodity in the frontier settlements. Throughout his life Hunter had seen prac- tically all business conducted by means of barter and exchange. If one was possessed of a sufficient quantity of almost any one commodity —a surplus of corn, liquor, pork or fur—-he was in a position to barter his surplus for such necessities as he might de- sire. If one was generously supplied with the necessities of life he had small need for more. Except for the one overwhelming impulse to own land that would produce the basic necessities of life—the one seem- ingly almost instinctive urge that drove successive waves of settlers into the wilder- ness—acquisitiveness, so far as that term signified the hoarding of possessions beyond logical requirements, was not a highly de- veloped trait among the frontier families of America. Breckenridge was accustomed to think in terms of necessities—food, clothing, pow- der, lead, guns, traps, horses; for those who were permanently located on the land, as were his parents, he recognized the desira- bility of possessing livestock —sheep, swine, cows and poultry. He was familiar, of course, with the value of money as a medium of exchange, but the idea of hoarding such a medium far in excess of his requirements was foreign to his viewpoint. When the time came he would settle upon a piece of rich land which, combined with his own labor, would supply him with all that he needed in life. In common with the great majority of the fur brigaders of the West, he took the trail in search of adventure to an even greater extent than he did from any pros- pect of large gain. Many a mountain man risked his life hourly throughout the year, dodged savages and encountered incredible hardship, turning up at the yearly rendez- vous with a small fortune in furs that he had trapped for some big company for an annual wage amounting to but a mere frac- tion of the value of his catch. He might as easily have trapped for himself. Most of the mountain men, however, were each perfectly willing to bring in from three to five thousand dollars’ worth of beaver pelts, turn them over to the com- pany for which they trapped, be credited on the company’s books for a few hundred dollars and set forth again to pit their wits against savages and the elements for an- other year. That, also, was Hunter Breckenridge’s philosophy of life. He wanted to ascend the Yellowstone and trap alone or, with a few companions, on its tributaries, later to cross the Great Divide of a continent and to view its western slope. The prospect of living among the Mandans, remaining sta- tionary when there was so much of the world that he had yet to see, engaging in the humdrum routine of trade when stir- ring adventure called, was not an alluring picture. , Ashley insisted, however, arguing at some length, and Breckenridge at last gave in. This decision was destined to alter greatly the trend of his career. Leroux, who had been waiting at the Great American post upriver, came down before the brigade departed. He seemed to urge haste in the departure of the McKenzie party. Big Mack traded for horses and pre- pared to set off at once toward the north to where an escort of Assiniboins waited to conduct them to the new post. Six Assini- boin warriors accompanied Leroux. The Mandans viewed these newcomers with thinly veiled hostility. They had suffered much at the hands of the Assiniboins, but now the two tribes were presumably at peace, even though indulging in an occa- sional interchange of raids. Leroux was surlily unfriendly to the Americans. That he possessed great cour- age was unquestionable, but fearlessness April 28,1928 was merely a quality common to all voya- geurs of the West. A man lacking in un- flinching courage could not brave for a day the savage wilderness in which these men had elected to spend their lives. The Amer- icans resented his insolence, but through respect for Big Mack they tolerated Le- roux. Hunter approached Nepanamo the day following the arrival of Leroux in the Man- dan village. “Hair-that-shines, on what stream is this new post of Big Mack’s?” he asked. “I aim to stay here. It cannot be more than three hundred miles, a forced march of six days, to where you will be. Sometime dur- ing the summer, when trade is dull and the Mandans are out hunting buffalo, I will make the trip and see you.” “I do not know the name of the stream where the new post is located,” she said. “If my father knows, he will not say.’’ Leroux neared them and the girl turned to him. ‘‘To what stream do we go?” she asked. ‘‘And how many sleeps is it from here? I wish to know so that Hunter will be able to find us when he comes north this summer.” “*So you’re coming north this summer?”’ Leroux queried insolently. “It is many sleeps from here and the stream is not named. We do not tell trade secrets. It is ordered that no American should know its location. Find it if you can.” “IT will find her,’’ Breckenridge stated quietly. Leroux strode away through the village, and Hunter, not wishing to become em- broiled with Big Mack’s henchman, en- deavored to bottle his wrath. An hour later Leroux approached a group composed of a score of mixed Mandans and trappers that loitered before the trading post. His wolfish features were grim and unsmiling. He took occasion to object to some remark that Breckenridge contrib- uted to the conversation. “That’s of a piece with all American boastfulness,”” he said. ‘‘They’re all big- mouthed and windy when it comes to words. They’re poltroons and cowards when it comes to deeds.” He had no fear. Neither had any voyageur present. Any of them would have fought the man in a second—bare-handed or with war ax, knife or gun. But every man held his peace. It was evident to all of them that Leroux had come for the deliberate purpose of picking a quarrel with Breckenridge and that he was wasting no time about it. One of the trappers translated Leroux’s words into Mandan for the benefit of the Indians. The Mandans turned their eyes expectantly upon Breckenridge as he stood silently re- garding Leroux. They had adopted Hunter into their tribe. In their eyes he was a Mandan; he was a great warrior. Techni- cally the visiting Assiniboins, and through them this white man who had come in their company, were enemies. Now this man had flung an insult in the face of Breckenridge. Was it to go unavenged? Breckenridge understood all this. If he failed to take up the challenge thus cast down by Leroux, he would lose standing in the eyes of the Mandans. It would be bad for the trade of the Rocky Mountain Com- pany, from which he drew his pay. If he went through with it and killed Leroux it would bar him from all hope of winning Big Mack’s permission for him to visit Hair- that-shines. The old man depended greatly upon this chief aid of his and he would not look with kindliness upon the one who de- prived him of such an able prop just prior to his launching a new venture. But after all, Breckenridge owed his allegiance to the Rocky Mountain and this man was a hench- man of the rival Northwest. Into the silence that had become tense and almost breathless was projected Le- roux’s wolfish grin of derision, intended to convey to those assembled the impression that Breckenridge feared to take up his challenge. “‘Get your horse,” evenly to Leroux. Breckenridge said (Continued on Page 100)

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Continued from Page 96) ““And what will I do with my horse?” Leroux demanded. “IT figure to shoot you off it,’’ Brecken- ridge told him. ‘Guns, then, is it?’ Leroux inquired. “You made a bad choice. I can put your eye out from a running horse.” “I would have chosen knives,” said Breckenridge, “except that I would not foul my blade with your filthy blood. The meta! would rot away.” Leroux’s boastfulness was sincere. Breck- enridge indulged in his bravado for the purpose of further establishing himself in the eyes of the Mandans. It was Indian custom to revile the enemy with whom one was about to engage in mortal combat. “Bring my horse,’ Hunter instructed Haddock, and Little Bull set off promptly to get the trained war horse which Hunter had obtained in trade with a Mandan chief. “I spared your life once as a boy,” Le- roux asserted. ‘‘Now that you have grown up and are known as the Big Mandan, you are big enough to kill. I have waited pa- tiently.” The name by which he had just addressed Hunter was one recently bestowed upon him. He had been formally adopted into the tribe. He stood six-feet-three in his moccasins and towered above the Mandan warriors as he moved among them. The trappers, almost as ready at apt nomen- clature as were the Indians, had bestowed upon him the name of Big Mandan. Both General Ashley and Big Mack sought to intervene. One or the other stood to lose a valuable henchman through the encounter and neither was willing to chance it if the combatants could be paci- fied. “I'd be useless to you here if I didn’t go through with it now,’’ Breckenridge told his chief. “It might even result in the loss of most of the Mandan trade.” The entire village turned out in a state of high excitement. Many a venomous glance was directed upon the six Assiniboins. Hunter, observing this, addressed the head- men of the Mandans, informing them that in case he should fall, the Assiniboins of the McKenzie party were under no circum- stances to be molested. An Assiniboin called boastfully to a Man- dan that Leroux could shoot the eye from a running antelope when riding at full gallop. A Mandan jeered back that Breckrenridge could shoot into the air and bring down an eagle that soared beyond the vision of or- dinary men. All manner of such extrava- gant claims were advanced on either side. When Breckenridge mounted there was a gasp of dismay as it was observed that he carried only a pistol. All Indians and most white men consitlered the pistol inferior even to the bow and arrow. The combat- ants were to ride in opposite directions un- til the signal was given that they were a hundred yards apart. They were then to wheel their mounts and charge across the prairie, choosing their own gait and their own moment to shoot. There was mounting excitement as the two horses neared the appointed distance, an increasing rustle of eagerness that froze to deathlike quiet as the signal was given and the two riders wheeled their horses. The ponies stretched out into a furious run. Breckenridge leaned forward on the neck of his mount, as if to present a smaller target. Leroux crouched not quite so low. As the distance narrowed to forty yards he brought his rifle to shoulder. At the instant that the muzzle covered Breckenridge the Kentuckian dropped, In- dian fashion, upon the right side of his mount, only his left hand and left moc- casin remaining within view. From beneath his pony’s neck he fired point-blank at Leroux’s heart at a distance of six yards just as that worthy depressed the muzzle of his piece to fire at the head of his adversary. Leroux’s left arm intervened and saved his life. The heavy pistol ball struck his elbow and shattered it, ranging into the upper arm to the shoulder. His rifle, harm- lessly discharged, was knocked from his THE SATURDAY grasp and he was almost unhorsed by the shock of the blow. A great shout of joy rose from the Mandans and the ranks of the trappers as Breckenridge, rising in the sad- dle, rode at a trot to the door of the trading post and dismounted without according his disabled antagonist so much as a glance. His manner intimated that this was but an ordinary affair upon which he could expend no more time, and the Mandans were greatly impressed. The following morning the McKenzie party and the Assiniboins departed, riding in a northwesterly direction across the prairies. Little Bull had first intended to travel with the brigade only to the mouth of the Platte, then to ascend that stream. Then he had decided to go on to the Niobrara and ascend that stream to its head, crossing over to the North Fork of the Platte. Later he had decided to hold on to the Cheyenne River and ascend that stream instead, but the mouth of the Cheyenne had now been passed. This repeated change of plan had been occasioned by the little man’s vast friendship and admiration for Hunt Breck- enridge and he was disconsolate at the prospective separation. He would turn back now and journey to the country of the Loup Pawnees. Accustomed throughout his life to traversing hostile wilderness alone, the journey held forth no terrors for Little Bull. : Breckenridge chose Little Bull and the old trapper, Brady, as his two assistants. Little Bull was overjoyed, whereas Hunter had feared that the two men might con- sider it a deprivation to remain behind the brigade. ‘My legs ain’t so spry at outrunning sav- ages as they once was, and it’s only a ques- tion of time till my scalp would dangle in some Blackfoot’s lodge if I persist in trap- ping the creeks,’’ Brady said. ‘“‘ Don’t know but what I’ve had my fill o’ that and am willing to settle down and ’tend post. All right, son, I'll sign on.” The three of them stood and watched Ash- ley’s contingent drop off down the Mis- souri while the brigade disappeared on its course up the river. Ashley was well aware of the incredible speed with which news spread throughout the tribes of the West. The Mandan boastfulness of the liberality and square dealing of their new trader and of his mighty prowess in battle would travel far. It would be an asset to the Rocky Mountain Company. Other tribes would be curious to see this character, and Big Mandan might be enabled to open trade with tribes that had proved refractory. Ashley had promised Breckenridge that he would be relieved at the post in time to journey to the point of rendezvous on the Sweetwater in the spring with a view to crossing the divide and opening trade ne- gotiations with some of the Southwestern tribes. The chance discovery of Hunter’s flair for trading, coupled with the fact that his repu- tation as a great warrior and one whose tongue was not forked, was destined to exert its influence upon the rest of his ca- reer. But he could not know that as he watched the brigade disappear, nor would he have viewed the knowledge with un- alloyed satisfaction. vir HE brigade left in mid-April. During the last week in May, Breckenridge, leaving Brady and Little Bull in charge of the post, struck out alone to cross the prairies to the Saskatchewan country for the purpose of locating McKenzie’s post. New spring flowers painted the green prai- ries. Game ranged upon them in unbelieva- ble profusion. Buffalo and antelope ap- peared in vast herds in every direction upon the plains; deer and elk abounded along the streams. The waters were swarming with geese, ducks, shore birds and other wild fowl. Prairie hens, upland plovers and curlews nested in the open prairies, and great white whooping cranes, sand-hills and whistling swans nested in every strip of marshland. EVENING POST It was a land of plenty through which he rode. He took two horses, riding one and leading the other, changing mounts at fre- quent intervals, as was the Indian custom when making forced marches. He covered fifty miles a day for the first three days; then, to rest his mounts, traveled but a dozen miles on the fourth day out. His only equipment aside from his weapons con- sisted of a soft-tanned buffalo robe that was used as saddle blanket by day and bedding by night. He shot his food as he required it, subsisting on a diet of straight meat. Lest his scalp should prove too great a temptation to some prowling band of As- siniboins, he followed his usual custom of cooking his meat early, then putting out his fire and moving on to some other spot to sleep. In this fashion he covered three hundred miles in seven days. The creeks now drained north to the Saskatchewan. On the seventh night he made camp on a timbered stream along the course of which was a broad Indian trail that showed signs of recent and frequent travel. It would lead either to a big Assiniboin village or to a post of the Northwest Company. It proved to be the latter. The factor, a French Canadian, greeted him cordially enough. His identity as the Big Mandan from the post on the Missouri was circu- lated among the Assiniboins that were pres- ent at the post. The host was geniality itself, but decidedly noncommittal regard- ing company affairs. The McKenzies? Oh, yes— Big Mack. He couldn’t say where Big Mack was. Way off totheeast, though a thousand—two thousand miles perhaps; who could say? “‘East!’’ Hunter exclaimed. ‘‘But he was intending to open up as a free trader, or perhaps to take a post in the prairies for the Northwest Company.” “Yes,” the French Canadian agreed. “But free traders cannot operate in the territory of the Northwest Company. It has been given a monopoly by the govern- ment in return for establishing its forts and advancing Canadian civilization and terri- torial rights across the mountains to the Pacific. Big Mack was an old-time em- ploye of the company and was taken back by it. At least I heard talk to that effect. He was old, unfit for the strenuous job of fac- tor in some prairie fort. He and his daugh- ter were to go to some eastern fort— perhaps even to Montreal in an office job—who knows?” “And Leroux?” Hunter queried. “He was sent northwest, perhaps to the Athabasca country,” the factor informed; ‘or so I heard.” Hunter headed back toward the Mandan country, his plans all gone awry. He must some day find Hair-that-shines—that much was certain. But Montreal seemed very far away. One could not travel those thickly settled eastern districts and live off the country as he journeyed, as one could in the West, and the search for her might be long. A new significance of his present employ- ment came to him as he rode. He would require money to facilitate his travels in searching for Nepanamo through the prov- inces of Eastern Canada. For the first time he was conscious of a desire for money. Fortunately he was also situated for the first time so that he could acquire money. He would work for two years with the Rocky Mountain Company. That would provide the necessary funds. But the time seemed long and his heart was heavy. He was half tempted to turn his horses’ heads to the east and begin his search at once. Strangely enough, it did not occur to him that the factor of the Northwest post had deliberately lied to him, and it would be many a moon before he was to discover that fact. Upon his return it was to find the Man- dan village in the first throes of mourning. Two lodges, numbering some twenty-odd souls, had set out on a short expedition to trap beaver and had been annihilated by the Sioux. Every face was daubed black with a mixture of soot and bear grease. Lamentations made the night hideous. The Indians lacerated their bodies so that the April 28,1928 blood might run in sympathy with that spilled by the departed ones. Several be- reaved relatives lopped off fingers. Some squaws split their ear lobes. Others inflicted wounds in their scalps so that the blood might run down across their blackened faces. Brady and Little Bull were inured to such mourning from long experience, but the continuous screeching disturbed Hunter's slumber and added to the restlessness that had come to him with the knowledge that Hair-that-shines had gone to parts un- known. Inactivity added to his depression. The appalling volume of the wailing de- creased as the days passed, but at the expiration of the second week there were still sporadic outbursts of screeching that punctuated the nights. Faces were still blackened and would remain so until enemy scalps were brought in without loss of Man- dan life. The lamentations had almost ceased when a party of a half dozen squaws and children, journeying from a hunting camp to the vil- lage, were waylaid and killed by a band of Assiniboins. Wailing and self-laceration broke out afresh. In vain Hunter urged the Indians to go out and trap beaver, the squaws to dress buffalo hides. But the Mandan na- tion was given over to mourning. Brady and Little Bull endured it stoically, no more concerned than if the uproar had been merely the chattering of blackbirds; but Hunter, his mind seething with disappoint- ment at the unexpected disappearance of Ann McKenzie and his uncertainty as to her whereabouts, was nearing the limit of his endurance. There was but one remedy for such mental tension known to his breed—activity! The Mandans held fre- quent councils and planned revenge upon their foes, but talked in circles and arrived nowhere. Then Breckenridge rose one night in council: “Hear me, warriors! Big Mandan, the slayer of Sioux, speaks to you. The Man- dans are my brothers and I cry to hear them wail in mourning for the brave warriors and the women that were slain by cowardly foes. Give me fifty of the best warriors and Big Mandan will ride forth at their head to avenge these wrongs. We will not return until we come with many horses that we have stolen and bring fresh scalps so that my people may wash their faces and rejoice. The village will ring with the glad ery of the scalp dance. Big Mandan pledges it. I have spoken.” Eventually it was so arranged. The comely young squaw who had been com- plimented by Breckenridge during the first days of his stay among the Mandans pre- sented him with a shield fashioned and decorated by her own hand. It was made of double thickness of the back hide of bull buffalo, shrunk by heat while still green. It was incredibly tough and would turn arrow or lance thrust, and if struck at the slightest angle, would even deflect a ball fired from the inferior smoothbore trade guns of the Indians. The war party set off in high spirits and at its head rode Big Mandan and Little Bull Buffalo of the Loup Pawnees. There was one vital weakness in the fighting tactics of all mounted Indians of the West. Every white trapper was aware of it. A war party invariably charged the enemy at a furious run, frequently advanc- ing to within a few feet, but not one charge in a thousand was pressed home. After dashing down and firing arrows or musket shots at close range, the custom was to veer off, wheel and retreat, form and charge again. This afforded the enemy time to re- load. On literally thousands of occasions a mere handful of white trappers, caught on the open prairies and with no more than a coulee bank or the bodies of their slain horses behind which to take shelter, were thus able to sell their lives at dear cost to the Indians. In such a battle it was the custom of the whites to hold their fire until the furious charge was fairly upon them, then each pick a foe and shoot him from (Continued on Page 104)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ee ae A 1 asting Gift or a L asting Love our Mother! Sunday, May 13th, will be her day. Let your gift be fine and en- during, yet witha hint of girlish enjoyment which mothers never cease to cherish. Let it be luscious Artstyle Chocolates in this heavy metal keepsake box, richly enameled in color. Caramels, nougatines, creams and dainties with fruits and nuts. And embellished on the lid, the famous old Vernis Martin fan, denoting “a com pliment to the grace and esteem of the one to whom such an offering was sent.” This beautiful Mother's Day box of Art style Chocolates may be had only at Rexall e Drug Stores. Three sizes: $1. , $3, $4.5 Save with Safety at your DRUG STORE Liggett’s are also Rexall stores There is GS S You will one near ft) recognize it you by this sign

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 . Now is ‘This summer, watch Silvertowns break their own fine performance records! By their hinge-center tread,they have banished the ae fi choppy,uneven wear which shortens balloon tire life. eu By their structure of heavily rubber-ized cords, they have made fabric breaks and bruises almost unknown. By the Goodrich Water Cure, they are com- pletely and uniformly cured from both inside and outside instead of from outside only—resulting in extra toughness and longer wear. The new Silvertowns now passing into Goodrich dealers’ stocks represent the highest development of these three factors of record-breaking mileage. There’s a Goodrich dealer near you! THE B. F. GOODRICH RUBBER COMPANY, Akron, Ohio. Est. 1870 Pacific-Goodrich Rubber Co., Los Angeles, Calif. Jn Canada: Canadian Goodrich Rubber Co., Kitchener, Ont. $ LISTEN IN EVERY WEDNESDAY NIGHT, Goodrich Radio Hour 9:30 P. M. Eastern Standard Time, over WEAF and the Red Network.

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oo THE SATURDAY EVENING POST we “> T*’ . ON G Seer? Silvertown & R U N

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(Continued from Page 100 his horse. At that instant, with their flint- locks uncharged, they were at the mercy of the Indians if only the latter should press the charge home, which was seldom done. It was not lack of bravery that prevented the Indians from charging home upon in- ferior numbers. It was merely habit. The overwhelming charge had not appealed to the horse Indians as good tactics and it was destined to be many a year before they adopted it from the whites. As they rode into Sioux territory Hunter harangued the warriors on this fatal defect. “When we charge the Sioux they will fire upon us too soon,” he said. ‘‘ We will hold our own fire until right upon them and shoot in their very faces. Their guns will be empty. Instead of wheeling to reload, we wil! hurl ourselves upon them and cut them down like blades of grass.” Almost hourly he repeated the formula so that his words would be implanted in their minds. On the eighth day they were apprised of the location of an encampment by a thin film of smoke. Scouts, signaling with looking-glasses, flashed the report of a Sioux hunting party of twenty-odd lodges. That would mean probably a hundred warriors. Hunter led his band into camp on another creek ten miles distant. They camped without fires. The returning scouts reported that the Sioux had made camp at he head of a shallow valley earlier in the afternoon. A few miles down its course the valley was alive with buffalo and it was evident that the Sioux intended to stage a surround, their favorite method of hunting those animals, Five or six hundred head of horses accompanied the party. The consensus of opinion was to the ef- fect that the Sioux were in too great num- bers to attack and that the best plan was to swoop down under cover of darkness and steal the horses, shooting into the encamp- ment as they charged past. ““We came to give battle and to take scalps,” Breckenridge declared. ‘If you follow me and do as I do, we will cut them down as ripe plums fall with the first frost.” They were on the march two hours be- fore dawn, riding slowly in order that their war horses might be fresh when they went into battle. Breckenridge and Little Bull reconnoitered from the rims of the valley at sunrise. The camp was a mile above them. The buffalo herds had moved some three or four miles farther down the bot- Breckenridge marshaled his party in the mouth of a tributary valley that opened into the main bottoms something over a mile below the camp. A fringe of brush just within its mouth concealed the Mandan war party from the view of any who might ride down the main valley. 4 lookout, peering from behind a bush on the banks above, signaled that the Sioux were leaving the village to ride down and stage the surround. Heslid down from his post and mounted his horse. “Remember!” Breckenridge said in final admonition. ‘‘The Sioux will be star- tled and will shoot too soon. Their guns will be empty. Every man hold his fire until I shoot. Then every man of you fire. Do not so much as swerve from your course. Hurl yourselves upon them while their guns are empty. They go forth to hunt, not to war, and will carry no shields. They will be meat for our lances and our war axes. Let no man slacken speed until his lance or toms. ” war ax drips red with the blood of a Sioux. The Sioux hunters, ninety-odd strong, rode down the bottoms sehind Brecken- ige and Little Bull, the war horses of the Mandans stamped eagerly, quivering to be ff. The Sioux, riding a hundred and fifty yards out in the open bottoms, came abreast of the Mandan ambush. The first were When the center of the party drew abreast of him Hunter gave the allowed to pass signal to charge and jumped his horse rough the fringe of brush. His voice rang out in the high-pitched Missouri yell and from the throat of Little Bull sounded the war whoop of the Loup Pawnees, followed by that of half a hundred Mandans. THE SATURDAY The startled Sioux whirled to see this ar- ray of mounted warriors charging down upon their flank at a furious run. As Breck- enridge had predicted, in the first confusion half the Sioux discharged their guns at once, the others following suit raggedly. They wavered and many of them turned to flee, but a great chief among them, observing the inferior numbers of the attacking party, shouted swift orders and they rallied into battle line to face the on-coming foe. An arrow thudded home in Hunter’s bull- hide shield, another zipped nastily past his ear. At a distance of twenty yards, he fired, shooting an Indian through the body and toppling him from his horse. Then he thrust his rifle into the slanting buckskin scabbard and transferred his grip to the handle of a heavy war ax that was sus- pended from his right wrist by a thong. He rode straight at the Sioux chief. The Indian met him with leveled lance. With his left hand Breckenridge executed an upward sweep of his shield at the instant of contact, carrying the point of the lance aloft to glance harmlessly off the tough bull hide and pass above his head. At the same in- stant his right hand swept under it with a mighty swing of his war ax. Its blade caught the Sioux chief on the chin and split his head in half. Instantly Hunter shifted his shield to in- terpose it between his body and the blow of a tomahawk aimed at him by the Sioux on his left, deflected it, and with an overhand cross swing brought the blade of his own war ax down across the base of the savage’s skull. Three more Sioux tilted at him. He met the central one and cut him down. Lit- tle Bull split the skull of the one on the right and a Mandan drove his lance through the body of the third. The center of the Sioux line wavered, broke and fled. Breckenridge had-chosen a dozen Man- dan warriors to ride on either side of him- self and Little Bull, selecting those most likely to obey his instructions and press home the charge. They had hit the line to aman. Those on the flanks, however, after delivering their fire at close range, forget- ting instructions in the excitement of bat- tle, had wavered. Some of them had wheeled their horses to the rear, and several, thus exposing their unprotected backs, had been transfixed by Sioux arrows. It was no lack of bravery that had oc- casioned this failure to press home, but merely an instinctive reversion to estab- lished tactics in the excitement of battle. The extremities of the Sioux line, appalled by the unexampled ferocity of the charge that had dispersed their center, whirled and joined the flight. No Mandan was now in doubt. They had now but to follow custom without puzzling over strange instructions. Every man knew his job, which was to overhaul and cut down as many as possible of the scattered and routed foe. The Sioux would have been killed to the last man except for the Indian custom of dismounting to strike a fallen enemy and thus count coos. As it was, more than fifty Sioux were slain, scalped and hastily de- spoiled of guns, war axes, knives and other treasures. The survivors were not pursued beyond the high headlands that constituted the far rims of the valley. Scouts that Breckenridge dispatched to those heights immediately signaled the presence of a huge encampment of Sioux in another shallow valley some five miles distant. It would be but a matter of minutes until the fugitives would signal the news to the big village and hundreds of Sioux warriors would be dash- ing down upon the Mandans. The squaws and children of the smaller village whose men had just suffered defeat were already in flight, some of them having mounted hastily, others departing on foot. The Mandans rallied swiftly to Brecken- ridge as the scouts signaled the news of the big village. They were in favor of departing at once without taking time to run off the five hundred or more head of horses that grazed near the head of the valley. Breck- enridge held up his hand. “There is time. We must have those horses. Without them we are lost. Our EVENING POST ponies are tired, those of the Sioux are fresh. We are in the heart of the Sioux country, with three hundred miles to ride. Big Mandan has spoken. Follow me, war- riors!”’ He put his horse at the run and headed up the valley. Already a few of the hardier young spirits of the demoralized village were endeavoring to attain the far side of the horses for the purpose of heading them back across the valley toward the main Sioux encampment. They abandoned the purpose and fled when it became apparent that the racing Mandan war party would arrive in time to cut them off. Several Mandan warriors darted aside to ‘“apture fleeing young women, forcing the “aptives to mount behind them. Brecken- ridge veered aside to capture a Sioux lad in his early teens and the boy mounted be- hind him. The Mandans were expert horse thieves. Little Bull and a half dozen warriors had angled to reach the far edge of the grazing herd. The main body of Mandans, fanning out in a wide crescent, bore down upon the rear of the drove. The horses moved away from them and in- stinctively followed the little cluster of riders out ahead of them as Little Bull and his companions led the way toward the dis- tant Mandan village on the Missouri. The rearmost Mandans hazed the horses for- ward. Others rode at close intervals along either flank to prevent sporadic attempts to cut out to the side. Within half a mile from the start the entire outfit was flying across the prairies at a smooth run, long manes and tails streaming in the wind. Hunter's war horse was tiring under his double load. He urged the animal forward until he was riding among the rearmost of the herd of loose horses. He snared one with his rawhide cord and the animal halted instantly. “Mount him,” Breckenridge instructed his youthful captive. “ You shall be treated well and returned to your people. If you try to escape you will be slain. Ride!” The young Sioux leaped to the bare back of the horse and rode on. Here and there Mandans were similarly disposing of their captive young women. The war horse, thus relieved of a part of his burden, forged gal- lantly on until Hunter was once more rid- ing among the rearmost Sioux horses. He selected a big pinto that gave promise of speed and endurance, slipped a noose round the animal's neck and brought it to a halt. Dismounting, he effected a quick change of equipment. Several Mandan warriors were similarly engaged. Mounting his fresh steed, Breckenridge drove his own horse ahead of him until it joined the main band. Looking back, he saw the first of the Sioux pursuers top out on a swell of the prairie some four or five miles behind. These foremost riders were followed by others, an ominous dark cloud sweeping down upon the audacious handful of Man- dans. There were not less than five hundred warriors in that crew, Hunter estimated probably more. “They will never overtake us now,” he shouted to the nearest warriors. The Man- dans grinned acknowledgment. Turning upon the backs of their running ponies, they leveled derisive and insulting gestures at the Sioux, who were too distant to ob- serve them. However, the gestures were no less sincere and triumphant for that. Instead of a large band of stolen horses being a handicap to the pursued thieves, they constituted the greatest possible asset. The tough little prairie steeds could run endlessly at a smooth flowing gait if un- burdened, and for considerable distances when carrying a man. The horse herd af- forded frequent changes of mounts for the pursued while the pursuers must ride the same horses throughout the chase. The loose horses also could be viewed as a trav- eling commissary in addition to furnishing means of locomotion. Hour after hour the Mandans held their charges at arun. Whenever a steed showed evidence of weariness the rider effected a quick change of mounts. Some few of the April 28,1928 pursuing Sioux, up on particularly fleet and staunch horses, gained slightly at first. None drew nearer than two miles and those were but a handful. Then even these fore- most ones began to lose ground; imper- ceptibly at first, then noticeably. The gap gradually widened. After a run of perhaps five hours, a group of Mandans selected 2 fat yearling colt and shot it It was but the work of a very few minutes to cut off the best of the meat, mount and ride on after their comrades, among whom the meat was distributed and devoured as they rode. An- other two hours and the whole cavalcade was slowed to a trot, then urged on at a run after an hour's travel at the restful slower gait. Two miles out ahead rode Little Bull and three Mandans. The danger from behind was now negligible, the chief danger con- sisting of the possibility that they might ride unexpectedly upon some big Sioux en- campment, and it was to guard against this contingency that Little Bull and three experienced Mandan warriors rode in ad- vance. A swift alteration of route could be effected on the instant that the peak riders should signal the direction of danger. Smoke columns had long since apprised the Mandans of the fact that the news had been signaled far and wide and that the whole Brilé nation was on the lookout for a chance to intercept the audacious little party of Mandan raiders. At nightfall they were still holding on, a flying cloud on the prairies, riding hard and fast toward the distant Mandan village on the Missouri. Two hours after sundown Breckenridge called a halt. The horses were rested for an hour and given a chance to graze. Then the flight was resumed. Again, three hours before dawn, a similar stop was made. At sunup they were still traveling, splashing across streams that were fordable, swimming those that were too deep. When the sun was two hours high they forded a wide shallow stream and ascended a high prairie headland that flanked the valley through which it flowed. These heights afforded an unobstructed view for miles to the rear. Here Breckenridge halted the outfit for some three hours. Scouts sent on ahead re- layed back the message that all was clear in that direction. It was evident that the Sioux behind had abandoned the pursuit. The tired ponies grazed, rolled and kicked their heels and some bedded down. Breckenridge summoned his young cap- tive: “The Brfilés sent a thousand warriors to raid the Mandan villages. Some of their young men crept upon four sleeping whites with intent to kill them in their beds. But among the white men were Big Mandan and Little Bull Buffalo, who sleep with their eyes open and their ears wide. Big Mandan took four Sioux scalps and Little Bull took three. The whole Sioux war party turned back without a scalp, leaving seven of their dead. But Big Mandan and Little Bull were not content with seven scalps of the dogs who sought to creep upon them in their sleep. Their rage was great.” He thumped his chest impressively. The Mandans were not too tired to listen with vast relish to this imposing and boastful oratory so dear to the savage heart. They grunted approval, punctuating the Big Mandan’s speech. “Then the Sioux killed the women and children of the Mandans. Our rage in- creased. Big Mandan and Little Bull led, not a thousand warriors, but only fifty, into the heart of the Sioux country. Big Mandan counted five coos in the battle, Little Bull five more. The scalps hang at our saddles. It is thus that we repay ene- mies that would kill us in our sleep. Fifty Sioux scalps were taken and there will be wailing in the villages of the Burnt-thighs for months to come. “More than five hundred horses we have captured. Sioux hunters will go afoot. Your captive young women are overjoyed at the prospect of being adopted into the lodges of the Mandans, who are well known Continued on Page 109 —s 8 ee — gee ae — — “

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— —— Gn gre ae De ~ Ordinary flat finish white paint Barreled Sunlight These photographs of paint surfaces were made through a powerful microscope. The astonishing contrast shows why Barreled Sunlight is so easy to keep clean. Smooth un- broken and non-porous, it resists dirt and washes like tile. its surface can’t hold dirt embedded : : - Clouds of sticky road-dust ... Black soot Oily particles trom soft coal smoke thrown out by countless motor exhausts. Broadcast by the winds... Filtering in- doors... Insidious, clinging, patnt-soiling dirt. There is more of it every day! * * * Ordinary paint on walls and woodwork has no defense. It 1s soon grey with in- grained grime, impossible to remove with- out also removing some of the paint. But the satin-smooth, flawless surface of Barreled Sunlight defes dirt. It has no “pores” for dirt to get into—and mere sur face smudges can be quickly washed off. Modern protection against modern con ditions. A triumph of lasting cleanliness and beauty ! THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Barreled Sunlight t ew § Barreled Sunlight has a rich enamel finish with a depth peculiar to itself. It 1s easy to apply and has unusual opacity. Guaranteed to remain white longest Readily tinted with oil colors. Quant ties ot 5 gallons or more tinted to order at the factory, without extra charge. Made in Semi-Gloss and Flat as well as the full Gloss. Cans of all sizes, and drums Kor priming, use Barreled Sunlight Under coat. See coupon. Also as k your da aler about the new prod uct, Outside Barreled SUNT TAT. LU. S. Gutta Percha Paint Co., 25-B Dud Street, Providence, R. |. Branches: N York Chicago *h ladelph a sa eals itself against dirt! This paint enamel is so satin-smooth Easy to Tint Any De stsred Shade For tinting small quan- tities cle ilers carry handy tubes of Bar- reled Sunlight Tint- ing Colors INTERIOR NN PY yy ‘Barreled = : Sunlight =; Mj if is Krancisco. Distributors in all prin cities. Re tailed by more than 7 OOO iealiers

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 wlll. dbo mem

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- TEW > ,, consistS Of a certaim composition of color and design causing delight in the beholder. —JOHN LOCKE Series 75, 85 and 95 I5 body styles - 50 color combinations Four years ago we pioneered and built our first Eight-in-Line, and its success determined us to concentrate on this type of motor car. With such single- ness of purpose we developed and perfected a line of distinctively different cars, affording today an unequaled opportunity for personal selection in size, type, color and price. We have lowered Eight prices, until now any potential six-cylinder owner can have all the advantages of Gardner's Eight-in-Line performance, comfort and durability at prices as low as, and in many cases lower than, Sixes. You will find included in the three new series not only America’s most power- ful stock car—115 horsepower—but the world’s lowest-priced Eight as well —each designed to serve a definite need. Think of the freedom of choice Gardner gives you! Think of the opportu- nity to gratify your own personal preferences in every detail! Think of owning and driving a car that is distinctively different in every phase of appearance, appointments and performance! Visit the nearest Gardner dealer's show rooms. There you may see and compare appearance and values—on the road you can drive and experience a new motoring sensation—Gardner owners say, “There’s nothing like it!” THe GarpvpneR Motor Co., Inc., St. Louris, U. S. A. GARDNER €ight:-in- line a i i ee ae i wr nie 7 a a ll in oe a E N — THE SATURDAY EVENING POST distinctive Ligh ls 195 to $9495 ~~ Three Series of Eights-in-Line 75 = 76h ' Oy — a g§s—11sh.p.. 13

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108 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Office heat... chilly street... sore throat! From over-heated offices into chilly streets . out in the cold waiting for transportation . . . into germ-laden cars crowded with coughers is it any wonder thousands are laid up with colds or sore throats—or worse? Don't be one of them. After exposure of this kind, gargle with Listerine when you get home. Better yet, use it systematically night and morning during nasty weather. It may be the means of sparing you a long, painful and costly siege of illness. Many a cold weather complaint has been checked by Listerine before it had a chance to become serious. Being antiseptic, it immediately attacks the countless disease-producing germs that lodge in mouth, nose and throat. Again, we counsel you for your own protection to use this safe antiseptic twice a day, at least, during inclement weather. Lambert Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Mo., U. S. A. Gargle when you get home April 28,1928 In the THROAT and nose more than 50 diseases have their beginning or development. Some, of mild character, yield to an antiseptic. Others, more serious, do not. At the first sign of an irritated throat, gargle frequently with Listerine, and if no improvement is shown, consult a physician. Watch your throat! LIs T ER -the safe antiseptic INE } t

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(Continued from Page 104 to treat their women better than do the Brilés. It is Big Mandan who speaks.” Again he thumped his chest. ‘‘It is not good to rouse the wrath of Big Mandan, as the Sioux scalps at my saddle testify. My lodge will be black with Burnt-thigh scalps if they anger us again. You expected to be killed, but Big Mandan does not make war upon half-grown lads. Mount your pony and return to your people. Give them the message that Big Mandan has spoken.” A chorus of approving grunts testified to the admiration with which this speech had been received. Big Mandan rose even higher in the estimation of the warriors. The liberated youth would deliver the mes- sage word for word and thus would the famous exploit of the war party spread. Three hours of rest had refreshed the horses and Breckenridge ordered a resump- tion of the march. Night and day, with brief and infrequent halts, the tough prairie horses and the tireless iron-hard riders sped across the plains. On the morning of the fifth day, having camped some miles away in order to make a spectacular daylight en- try, they rede full tilt up to the village. They were greeted with wild enthusiasm for their great victory and the richness of their spoils. Nevertheless, preparations were made for a fresh outburst of wailing for the three Mandan warriors—shot in the back by ar- rows when they had wavered and wheeled back instead of driving home the charge who had been brought home lashed upon the backs of ponies. Not one dead Mandan had been left upon the field of battle, not one scalp had been lost. According to any military reckoning save that of the early- day Western Indian, a loss of fifty inflicted upon the enemy with but a loss of three men on the victorious side would have been deemed a crushing victory. Mandan rea- soning, however, had upheld for centuries the conclusion that a single scalp brought in by a party with no loss of Mandan life was a more complete victory than when a thousand enemy scalps were taken and one Mandan lost. There would be no scalp dance. Not yet could the women wash their faces. Wailing was resumed. Breckenridge fretted as the horrible screeching assailed his ears of nights. Ac- tion and adventure had operated as escape valves for bottled emotions and had left not too much time for brooding introspec- tion. The tense excitement of the raid into Sioux territory, the battle and flight with the stolen horses, had kept Hunter’s mind tolerably free from futile dwelling upon the fact that Nepanamo had gone from the Northwest and that he knew not where she was. Now that he was again following the paths of inactivity, his restlessness returned afresh and he was inclined to chafe against the necessary delay before starting out in search of her. Trade was dull, and Brady, too, was tiring of inactivity, eager for at least a short trip afield. “T’ve got to get away from this here screechin’ or I’ll go off my head,’’ Hunter exploded as an outburst of wailing roused him three hours before dawn. He prevailed upon Little Bull to remain in charge of the post for a brief period while he and Brady went out in search of beaver. Haddock, having just taken a Mandan maid to wife, assented. Hunter and Brady started out with eight traps apiece and headed toward the northern edge of the Mandan range. The Mandans had done but little trapping since the previous year. Hunter located promising beaver colonies strung out for several miles along the upper courses of one of the creeks. A beaver frequently claws up a small pile of earth when emerging from a pond. This

THE SATURDAY Trappers refer to these little because, to he castorizes. piles of mud as sign heaps, beaver noses, these heaps identify their makers. They are by way of being calling cards when a strange beaver visits a colony. In- variably, on breaking the surface of the pond, if the wind carries to a beaver’s nose the scent of a stranger he swims directly to the sign heap from which it emanates The two trappers carried beaver’s castor in buffalo-gut containers. Fashioning an imitation sign heap at the point selected for a trap set, a few drops of the mixture were allowed to trickle from the container and the trap was placed under several inches of water where the inquisitive beaver would step in it as he came to investigate this supposed sign heap of a visitor that was strange to the colony. The trappers met with great success. At the end of ten days they had taken more than sixty beaver pelts. It was their inten- tion to swing back toward the post along the courses of other creeks, but they waked one night to the tune of drumming hoofs to discover that a few Assiniboins had slipped among their six horses, cut the hobbles and made off with the animals. Caching traps and pelts, Brady and Breckenridge took up the trail of the thieves. At the end of two days it was lost among a maze of other horse tracks and they headed back for Mandan territory, shooting an occasional beaver, otter or wolf en route. The morning of the second day of the re- turn, as they slipped quietly along a stream on the lookout for beaver or otter, Brady, who was in the lead, held up his hand for silence. As light splashing reached their ears from beyond a bend in the creek. The old trapper cautiously approached and peered over the bank, then lifted his rifle and fired. “‘Got him right between the eyes,”’ he grinned, turning to Hunter. “‘He had just waded the creek and was a-sunning him- self on the bank.” Hunter saw not a dead beaver but a dead Assiniboin warrior. Brady deprived the Indian of scalp, buffalo robe, musket and knife. Then they made haste down the course of the creek, knowing that the war- rior must be one of some prowling band of Assiniboins in the vicinity. The Mandan village was tremendously aroused by this occurrence. An enemy scalp had been taken without the loss of a Mandan life in return. The victory was celebrated throughout the night and the women washed their faces for the first time in months. The Indians were more observing than might be supposed upon many matters. Various comments made by the trappers, the fight between Leroux and Brecken- ridge, the latter’s subsequent trip north to the post of the Northwest Company, his inquiries of the factor and among the As- siniboins as to the whereabouts of the McKenzies—all were pieced together with the fact that he would take to wife no Indian woman. “‘Hair-that-shines lives in the heart of Big Mandan and blinds him to the graces of all other women,” they said. Wherever on the length of the river the name of Big Mandan was mentioned, there also, in connection with his exploits as a warrior and his reputation for fair dealing, was related the legend that he was blind to all other women because he carried the face of Hair-that-shines in his heart. The Indian wives of trappers related it in the tepees of distant tribes to whose habitat they accom- panied their husbands. And so the tale was spread as the fame of Big Mandan in- creased. (TO BE CONTINUED)

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EVENING POST April 28,1928 | MACHINE PEOPLE Continued from Page 7) The pure scientist, fishing in the absolute sea, may or may not be an inventor. The science of invention relates to a sense of human wanting and belongs to the field of aplication and use. Here is the practical | science worker with a problem given. Some- | thing is wanted, such as a machine to tell | time. He may have it all but the pendulum. If the law of the pendulum has not been dis- covered, he is stuck. It sometimes happens that he will then go fishing himself beyond the rim of knowledge with miraculous luck. Nevertheless, discovery for its own sake, above the plane of invention, has the use of increasing the stock and variety of pure fact knowledge, which is to increase the probability that the particular fact the in- ventor needs to solve his problem will exist when he wants it, like the law of the pen- dulum. The modern idea of scientific method is that new facts and the theories that corre- late them shall continually descend into the hands of the practical science workers. Their part is to make the crude, experimental models of things that must work; and on their benches you will see this wonder-idea in the anguish of trial reality, spirit com- manding matter and endowing it with form, purpose and function. The work of these | is handed down to the field of technology, where the technician, the engineer and at last the mechanic bring the economic re- ality to pass. The whole sequence lies in the history of the dynamo. An Italian scientist named Galvani, in the year 1792, happened to get a piece of iron and a piece of copper into the leg of a dead frog, both at the same time. | The leg jerked. Thereupon he announced | excitedly to the scientific world that he had | discovered the source of electricity in a frog’s leg. Another scientist named Volta said that was ridiculous; it couldn’t be in the frog’s leg; it must be in the conjunction of frog’s leg, iron and copper. Another Accident From this controversy came the true discovery that two metals immersed in acid produce an electric current. There, then, was the battery, which at once became the wonder toy of every scientific laboratory. By accident, it was discovered next that a wire charged with current from a battery had power to magnetize a near-by piece of iron. This meant that something jumped | from the charged wire into the dead iron. Thus scientific electrical knowledge stood until one day it occurred to Faraday to say, “If something jumps from a charged wire into a piece of iron to magnetize it, why won’t something jump from a piece of magnetized iron into an uncharged wire?”’ He made a coil of wire and attached the ends of it to a galvanometer, which was an instrument Galvani had invented to regis- ter electric current. The purpose of the galvanometer was to show if anything jumped from the magnetized piece of iron into the wire. Then he stuck the magnet inside the coil and looked at the galvanom- eter. Nothing was jumping. ‘‘No good,” he said; but as he took the magnet away he happened to notice that the galvanom- eter needle moved slightly. So he put the magnet inside the coil again. As it was going in, the galvanometer needle moved: then again it stood still. ‘‘So,” said Fara- day, ‘‘maybe the magnet wants to be wig- gled.”” He wiggled it, and as he did the galvanometer needle moved; if he stopped wiggling it the needle stopped. This proved that something did jump from a magnetized piece of iron into a coil of wire, provided the iron magnet was kept moving. Adding the Economic Link Well, there is the complete principle of the dynamo. That is all a dynamo is—a re- volving magnet within a coil of wire. Yet Faraday, having made this discovery, did not invent a dynamo. He was not an in- ventor, to begin with; and besides, before anybody could work with his facts they had to be formulated. A mathematician did that. Years elapsed before there was any practical application of the formulated scientific facts to the everyday work of mankind. It was necessary for someone to have the idea that to be able to carry power farther from its source than the reach of a shaft or a belt would be a great conven- ience; and it was still necessary for that idea of a thing wanted to connect with the idea of means. At last the thought came. If it was true that electric current was en- ergy, and true that you could produce it by revolving a piece of magnetized iron inside a coil of wire, then why couldn’t that en- ergy be led away by wire from where it was produced to any distant point at which you wished to use it? Thus was added the economic link to complete a chain of events by which now all (Continued on Page 113)

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a ee (Continued from Page 110 the electric power in the world may be traced back to the jerk of a dead frog's leg under the eye of naive scientific curiosity. All this is science in its own case. And if it were a body with a mechanism where the feelings ought to be, it might rest its case on the evidence and say no more. But it be- longs to life; therefore it is controversial and has a spirit of retort. Reason can no more let faith lie than faith can let reason lie, Science boasts of having delivered man from darkness and superstition. Only ten generations ago faith burned a man for say- ing the earth revolved around the sun. Galileo, who founded experimental science with a thud by dropping two bodies of un- equal weight from the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa to prove that the sacred Ar- istotle had blundered—he was imprisoned in his old age, not precisely for that impious act but because, besides, he held with Bruno that the sun was the center of the universe; and although he recanted, still he was im- prisoned lest he should say it again. Even long after this the pioneers of mod- ernscience wrote down their discoveries in cipher, backward, upside down and mirror- wise, fearing the fate of heretics. Some of these writings, notably those of Leonardo da Vinci, perhaps the most gifted experi- mental scientist since Archimedes, are not wholly deciphered to this day. The liter- ature of science current—the latest book or notable speech—will still recite the roll of martyrs. Lacking the Lever Then there are those, not themselves scientists, who lisp the language of science with literary skill and say such stupid things as that philosophy is the pursuit of infantile minds and cannot survive the facts. This makes only a sense of scandal. What is a fact? The simplest fact, if pur- sued, leads science to what it calls an explanatory crisis, as every scientist will admit. That science has moods of intolerance and sometimes forgets the distinction be- tween dogma and hypothesis is merely a weakness that keeps it kin. But of all its reactions, the one most human is to the taunt that in this scientific age human pro- gress, if it may be called progress, is for- ward, not upward. To this science answers it is not a scientific age. Witness the fact that in thirteen states people have tried to pass laws forbidding the evolution of man to be taught in public schools over the idea of special creation. As it regards the material universe, the scientific mind conceives order—complete, perfect and sublime order—and is moved thereby to awe and reverence, often to a state of deep religious feeling, with or with- out a specific god image. Then it turns to regard human society and conceives it to be a bedlam, a muddle, torn by disharmonies and uproar. And this it accounts for, say- ing the material universe is the work of Na- ture and therefore scientific. Man made society and society is artificial and unscien- tific. As to the conclusion, it is probably wrong. Society and everything belonging to it must have existed from the beginning as a potential within Nature. Society is there- fore a natural thing. If not—if society is an artificiality and a disorder—then Nature contained the potentiality of artificiality and disorder, wherefore her own order is not perfect. But in any case, here are certain interesting implications. Does the theory of evolution hold for the species man only up to the point at which he became a social animal and began to make society? If so, the law of evolution is not absolute, since it breaks; if not, and the law of evolution holds for society, how is it that a law of Nature has produced a re- sult—namely, society—which the scientific mind calls unscientific? If at this point the question were moved it would be this: Shall man go back to an age of faith that he remembers or shall he THE SATURDAY move on through doubt and uproar toward the idea of a scientific commonwealth? The mystic who says back has the ad- vantage of being positive. Science says forward in knowledge and all will be well, provided the problem of man himself can be solved. He may destroy himself with too much knowledge, wanting wisdom. It seems a terrible dilemma; neverthe- less it is supposed that man has this choice to make. The scientific mind supposes it. In a brilliant little book entitled Dedalus, or Science and the Future, J. B.S. Haldane, of Cambridge University, stops to consider whether the pursuit of scientific knowledge is likely to be abandoned. “Tt is, after all,” he says, ‘‘a very recent form of human activity, and a sufficiently universal protest of mankind would be able to arrest it even now.” He may have been thinking back to Ar- chimedes, who, on discovering the law of the lever, exulted: ‘‘Give me whereon to stand and I will move the earth.”” Many years before Christ, the Greeks and Alexan- drians imagined cogwheels, pinions, pul- leys, steam power, pumps, pneumatic and hydraulic machines, and had enough sound knowledge of the physical and mechanical sciences among them to have begun at that time the true scientific age. What they lacked was the economic motive. The Romans who succeeded them had no feeling for science; they had only military and political instinct. After the rule of Ro- mans came the rule of faith. Man moved his whole treasure to heaven, and forbade himself on pain of torture and death to re- discover what the Greeks knew two thou- sand years before. The possibility that this history may be repeated is a theatrical thought. The imag- ination delights to play with it. However, a crucial fact of difference is left out. Prob- ably because it had no economic motive behind it, or for want of time, or for any reason that may be, the fact is that Greek science did not enter the scheme of life. They got no further with it than theory, description and model. Though the whole of it were lost or forgotten, life would go on as before and on the same scale as before. But if this knowledge had been used to multiply the means of life—steam power for engines, industrial machines and trans- portation instead of turning toys and swinging temple doors with it—then people had been no more likely to lose or forget it than to lose the rude art of agriculture by which they lived. Population would have increased enormously, the phenomena of in- dustrial empire would have appeared in the Mediterranean part of the world more than twenty centuries ago and all modern his- tory would be very different. A Fine Old Ruin There was never any absolute necessity for the machine. Life could exist without it, only, of course, on a much smaller tapes- try. It is use creates the necessity for the machine. The scientific use of physical and mechanical knowledge to increase both the agricultural and the industrial means of life has made it possibile in our time to sustain on the earth a population that could not otherwise exist, that would otherwise have perished before it was born. This is a fact we keep forgetting. It is the fact that links human life to science in a vital relation. There is no way to go back. A wish to live again in the past is very old. The future is unknown, the present is turmoil, but the past is anything we like to think it was—a fine old ruin in romantic perspective, perfected by the imagination, and we live in it as in our dreams. Man has always had in him the myth of a golden age, a time to go back to, a yearning for return. All this revolt against science, this fear of the machine, this notion that knowledge may be leading civilization to an abyss, dis- trust of man by himself lest he shall not find the wisdom to justify his newly found command of force, even perhaps the rage for collecting antique objects —all this may EVENING POST be and probably is referable to that ar cient infantile myth surviving unawares in the modern mentality. No rational being would exchange the whole of the present for the whole of the past, only parts of one for the other. Well, that is impossible. Nor can any trouble- some part of the present be got rid of by the alternative, sometimes suggested, of standing still. The science holiday again. It is no more possible to stop than it is to go back. Why this is true is not so easily stated. A principle of acceleration acts. We know it and feel it, our everyday calcu- lations include it, and yet it is difficult to say what it is. Progress, though it were progress forward only and not upward, must be at an accelerating rate. Knowl- edge increases in that manner; so does wanting. Epochs and ages we speak of in a way to make believe we understand them. We know much more about the present than about any past age or epoch, and yet how little we understand the present! A way to see his own works and inter- pret them to himself is one of man’s great needs, and he is not sufficiently aware of it. When he is he will find the instruments. What they will be like we do not know, any more than it was known what the telescope or microscope would be like. The History of the Human Mind One of the classics of science is the story of Herschel, a musician whose interest in the heavens led him to become an astron- omer. He had first to master mathematics. Then, as he could not afford to buy a tele- scope, he resolved to make one; and for this purpose he had to master the science of optics and the technology of instrument making. From a musical performance he would rush back to his lodgings to resume the labor of grinding and polishing reflect- ing mirrors by hand. After hundreds of failures, he produced a telescope equal to any in the world and discovered the planet Uranus. Such zeal is common among workers in the tradition of science. Ways therefore have been found to search the remoteness of the heavens, to discover the past of many things, to apprehend the unknown and to see the invisible, each way with its method, tools and science. But where is any science of the present? We know more about the movements of astronomical bodies than about the play of everyday economic forces. There is a way whereby man may contemplate his own thoughts and yet no proper or deeply con- sidered way whereby he may contemplate his own works and refer their significance to his understanding. Philosophical contem- plation of the universe as a mechanism is a grand activity of the mind; the machine that has appeared suddenly in the earth is an object of momentous meaning, and the philosophical mind is loath to perceive it; the esthetic mind will not. The machine will reward contemplation. Try it. Any machine will do—the small gasoline engine on one’s own premises. There is much to be learned from bringing the mind to dwell upon it. The history of the human mind is there. Circles, true angles and the revolving wheel first presented themselves to the intuition of man as symbols of mystery and super- natural power. That is to say, they were seized by acts of religious and esthetic per- ception. Reality has also that way of disclosing itself, sometimes long before the facts are found out. Many years before it could be proved scientifically at all, the Greeks deduced the sphericity of the earth from their wsthetic sense. The sphere was the ideal form of a solid; therefore the earth was round. The science of experimental mechanics, raising such forms as the circle, the angle and the two-dimensional wheel to the power of function, was an achievement of the reason working practically. Invisible in the machine are the laws of inertia, mo- tion, heat and energy. Man did not invent 113 these law They are inherent in the ur Verse But he had to discover the facts and then formulate them as laws, and this was the work of the speculative faculty, work ing in abstraction How strange that the machine you ar« looking at, acting by what is proved and proving that by which it acts, should be form of truth the signs of which first ap peared in superstitious rites of magic and had then to be pursued through millen- niums of error! its whole reality. Very likely not. What Even this may not yet be perversity is error! Always the wrong wa) first and the right way last. In every cass the right way, once we find it, is so direct and obvious that to have missed it seems the strangest fact of all. So there may be many ways of arriving at truth. To the reality now acting in ma- chine forms, religion, art, philosophy and science have all contributed by moving knowledge one step at a time, with no sense of direction, no goal in sight, and yet stead- ily hitherward. The spectacle of the hu- man mind exerting itself blindly, erringly, victoriously, to bring about a condition it cannot foresee is utterly mysterious to the reason. And why suppose there is or ever will be a period to that mystery? For all the knowledge we think we have, a child gazing at the machine may ask questions that will bring us at once to the end of it. Take them to be physical questions. What happens inside the cylinder of the engine? A gas mixture—air and gasoline—ik first com- pressed, then receives a spark and explodes driving the piston downward. But, why does it sometimes knock? That question exhausts our knowledge. Searching for the answer, a physicist in the Bureau of Standards at Washington may be found at the beautiful play of ex- ploding gases in a soap bubble. If you ask him what he is doing, he will say he is mak- ing thermodynamic studies of gaseous ex- plosive reactions. That means he wants to know the answer to the child’s question: Why does the gasoline engine sometimes knock? From Another Angle In the research laboratory of a great automobile corporation the approach is from a different angle. The reason for the knock is in the fuel—namely, gasoline. Well, then what is gasoline? They break gasoline down to its parts, burn each part separately, and know what that stuff is. Then they spread out before them the atomic table and begin to search for an or- ganic compound which, added to gasoline, will produce a more favorable happening in the engine cylinder. They have no idea what it will be; they know only what they want it to do, and there is no certainty that it exists. Now the number of organic com- pounds that may be constructed from the atomic table, given an inch of type each for description, would fill millions of books. For all practical purposes, the number is infinite. Therefore when you go looking for a certain compound, character unknown, that must do a certain thing, you are look- ing for one grain of sand on the ocean beach. It is impossible to search the beach one grain at a time. You can only pick up a grain here and another there and examine it hopefully. So they explore the atomic table, trying this compound and then that one, and after four years they are discour- aged. They have found compounds that are better than gasoline and compounds that are worse, and each one is marked on the table. So there is a point here and an- other there and one way up near the top hundreds of them, in fact-—but there is no drift to follow, and they are sick of just fumbling around. Then one man with nothing else to do sticks pegs into those points on the flat atomic map—an inch peg for gasoline, a half-inch peg for a compound half as good as gasoline, a longer peg for one a little better, and so on. Still he discerns nothing. But Continued on Page 117

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April 28, 1928 i o ° Q Oo z ~ z & > Q ~ vv Q & ~ wa @ ” 3) Fs h

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 a — -g wad. os } a T4 al Her own home... : he dream of every mother ... a dream that should come true, since homes are so easy to own nowadays HAT every mother visions a home of her Celotex homes are quiet homes, for Celotex dead own ...a-home that is kind to her children. ens sound .. . strong, for Cclotex reinforces wall : . al ; a ee a A home that is cheerful . . . that is generous in economical, for Celotex replaces other materials and comfort. A home where the extremes of weather reduces fuel bills are effectively shut out! Pgople everywhere are familiar with ¢ . , ; lesirable qualities of Celotex, because For no one sces the need of a comfortable home, bh . . : tet 1as been used in nearly a quarter of ; all her own, quite like a mother . . . no one else aa avanti “I oe American homes, in nearly all refrigerator cars quite realizes how essential it is to the happiness | ; , in manv household refrigerators and good health of her children. f ; ‘ : In vour own community vou mav have scen the It is not difficult to make mother’s dream come $ : Celotex sign, which builders are proud to plac truce... to give her what she wants so badly. For ' hefore Celotex houses. This s S nowadays it is so casy to own a home ( : : : ot absolute home comfort free from thet ives J Socicty 1s not organized to keep you from getting of heat and cold. a home. It is very well organized to make it easy ny = ee ee Stamens t I for you. help is there, and ready The Celotex buildet Bankers and home loan associations have de your town can tell vou about it. If vou do vised generous financial plans . . . employers arc know him write to us. The Celotex Company H glad to give you support . . . architects have de- Chicago, Ilinois. In Canada— Alexander } signed beautiful homes for every purse . . . lumber Murrav & Co.. Ltd.. Montreal ina y dealers, contractors and realtors are ready to give 4 hi a, you every possible aid. » i i And to give your home new comfort, undreamed A my P i; of by other generations, science has contributed an f f j ; . : } % ‘Sars P h amazing insulating board . . . Celotex . . . made ‘ { ; from the long, tough fibre of southern cane j » ? ‘ } Celotex homes are kind homes . . . kind in the i ? . . . protection they give against winter's bitter cold, summer's stifling heat and penetrating dampness. ai J ) f This buslding 15 made ! “%Srroncer “COOLER in summer “Quieter “WARMER in winter “Less Costty to heat ; ; by CELOTEX The sign of a | INSULATING LUMBER | prone Georce F. Nixon & COMPANY CHicaco ~ tLeimors 7 , u ell. built DOouse

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116 THE SATURDAY EVENING You took the words right out of our mouth, Professor! “There are three means of escape from drudgery —slaves, cheap labor and ma- chines. Slaves and cheap labor relieve only the few fortunate ones..... The machine is for the multitude; it will emancipate everyone from drudgery.” Professor Thomas N. Carver, Harvard Univer- sity; in Advertising & Selling, January 11, 1928.

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April 28,1928 — RS pe

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is a oe —s Net RG Fe aL : Continued from Page 113 the boss scientist happens to see this peg field at a certain angle of vision and says: “IT think I see a warp across the tops of those pegs. Look! Don’t you see they tend slightly to grow taller in that direction to the upper left?’’ The others look as he is looking. They see it too. There is a warp in this third dimension and it gives them for the first time a sense of direction. Fol- lowing the warp, they come to something nobody had ever thought of —a lead com- pound which, added to gasoline, does create a more favorable happening in the engine cylinder. The knock is the machine’s own protest against error. The evil in itself is not seri- ous. But the sound is one we hate to hear—sound of error. This is significant. We should probably find by going deep enough for it that man’s passion to perfect the machine, even the sound of it, though the upper motive is rational or economic, is really from the essence of his nature. It is as if he were proving something to himself. What science continually and rationally seeks is the constant. What the restless spirit seeks is certitude. Belief in human perfectibility is a faith of which the evi- dence is weak and conflicting. But in the machine man finds the principle of per- fectibility. Toincreaseits precision, sweeten its rhythm and raise its power to any sign, he has only to discover the true laws of its being and bring them into a relation of har- mony. Then logic is implicit in its be havior. It may be the spirit will not change, but from perfecting, minding and living with machines the mentality will. Certainly a machine environment will induce new hab- its of thinking. To act upon a machine with passion, malice or impulsive ignorance is to wreck it, and the lesson is final. To command its power you are obliged to act upon it with knowledge, reflection and un- derstanding. It is not obedient to you; it obeys laws you cannot aiter or corrupt. And since you can neither alter nor corrupt them, you may trust them. They cannot fail. The garage mechanic is not a scientist; yet he thinks scientifically. Observe him. There is trouble in the mechanism. The rhythm breaks, the power is lost, or it may be only that it is making a wrong sound. He takes your facts and entertains your opinion. Yet he does nothing overt at once. He listens, reflects, speeds up the engine and slows it down, cuts out one cylinder at a time by shorting the current across the top of the spark plug, drives the car around the block, then leans against his bench and lights a cigarette. The Senses in Machines “‘T think I know where the trouble is,’’ he says. With that he enters the mechanism at a certain point, goes to the spot and there it is—what he thought it was. Now consider what has occurred in this familiar instance. What was to be found was X—namely, the cause of trouble. There were many facts in several catego- ries—historical facts of doubtful importance from you, facts of knowledge in his experi- ence, facts of sensation in the particular case. How has he acted upon these? By methods of analysis, analogy, synthesis, as if, is as, induction, deduction, generaliza- tion and hypothesis. He may not know what a hypothesis is. If you should say to him that he has been thinking scientifically, or explain to him the process by which he arrived at his I-think, he would be sur- prised. He thinks scientifically without knowing that he does and calls himself a trouble shooter. The way of it comes from experience. Sooner from observing machines than from observing ourselves, we may come to precise ways of thinking, to an understand- ing of the natural principles of equivalence and reciprocation, applicable also to human affairs, and to such generalization as that a thing is for what it is for. Each part of a machine is for what it is for. Each machine THE SATURDAY in the great scheme of machines is for what it is for. We make machines with organs and chemistries to simulate creature re- actions to stimuli. All of them feel. Some of them see. There are now some to think mathematically, these substituting in drudgery for the mind as others substitute for the body. But how stupid it would be te expect them to think politically or philo- sophically. Perhaps man shall never know what it is he is for. Nevertheless, he might very well know what his institutions and methods and specializations are for. He might know, for example, that physical science is neither for prophecy nor for handing down the social law. One would think the scientific mind as such would know this. But there has lately come over it a rage to prophesy, to say not only what is but what will be and should be in all things. Having said what ought to be believed, it goes so far as to resent in the popular mind a lively skepticism, forgetting that skepticism is its own first virtue. Every Man a Miner In the annual review of science events for 1927, issued by the auspices of the National Academy of Sciences at Washington, under biology, it was noted: “The Tennessee state supreme court, in a decision on appeal in the famous Scopes case, held the anti-evolution law constitu- tional, but so worded its decision as virtu- ally to nullify the law.” Also, that efforts in other states “‘to pass anti-evolution laws were unsuccessful.” These were not science events any more than two others noted in another paragraph of the same review under anthropology, thus: The evolution of man as such began millions instead of thousands of years ago, and it was not from an ape-like ancestor, Dr. Henry Fair- field Osborn, of the American Museum of Nat- ural History, declared; while Dr. William K. EVENING POST } You can easuy have thick. stron y hair 3 minutes a day will Gregory, of.the American Museum of Natural | History, held that the human race rose in Asia | from a distinctly apelike creature. The operation of mind by the funda- mentalist, even him in Tennessee, is some- what like this: ‘‘Is there any scientific the- ory of the origin of human beings that can be proved on such evidence as would hang a man in Tennessee?” The answer is no. In that case he will believe what he likes. But believing in the theological doctrine of the special creation of man, he will not for that reason reject a scientific fact in plant or animal biology, say it is impossible to make a fuelless engine or impugn the science review as a whole. He prays for rain. Science, he reads, thinks it can find a way to make rain. He remem- bers with a smile that science not long ago classed the idea of rain making with ideas of magic. If science can make it rain, so much the better. The fundamentalist will buy his rain, but he will not stop praying, nor will he agree that fact knowledge is the only kind of knowledge there is. We are eminently the machine people. | We have more machines than all the rest of the people in the world. Here the authority of science, resting upon facts and upon the thing that works, is such that no absurdity can diminish it. Credulity for that which may be demonstrated is unlimited. For the new fact there is a kind of appetite. Here at the same time is a skepticism from | which science is no more immune than phrenology. Science giving law to man’s works is unchallenged; undertaking to give law to its spirit, it is challenged. Who shall say this is not a sound attitude toward science? Knowledge, too, is for what it is for. A preference for the useful use of scientific knowledge lies deep in the American genius. It was the theme of Ben Franklin, who may be taken as the founder of science in this country. A text for it will be found in one of the forgotten Lyceum Lectures delivered by Abraham Lincoln before he was elected President. ‘All creation,” he said, ‘‘is a mine, and every man a miner. In the beginning the stop thinning hair! HERE'S just this difference be- tween the man who is going to become bald and the man who will keep thick, strong-growing hair three minutes a day of the right hair treatment! Any man, even a young man, may have one or both of the two scalp troubles which lead to loss of hair and to baldness. dandruff and usually be- These two troubles poor scalp circulation gin before the age of 30, dermatolo- gists say, and they especially attack men of indoor occupations. Without help, your hair can’t com- bat these ills. Sick, starved, it will gradually grow thinner, finally fall out. But with this three-minute daily treatment you can give your hair just the help it needs druff, stimulate scalp circulation. destroy dan- Thousands of men use this treatment as regularly as they brush their teeth in the morning EVERY MORNING wet vour hair and scalp thoroughly with Pinaud’s Eau de Quinine. Then with your fingers pressed down firmly, move the scalp vigorously in every direction, working the tonic into every inch of the scalp Move the s« ilp, not the fingers! Brush the hair while still moist, It will lie smoothly just the way you want tt. At once the Pinaud treatment starts up slow scalp circulation! Amazingly soon the pure antiseptic in Pinaud’s Eau de Quinine ends dandruff! Begin this Pinaud treatment to- morrow morning keep it up it will prevent and check loss of hair. Buy Pinaud’s Eau de Quinine at any drug or department store. Al } wavs look for the signature of Ed. Pinaud in red on the bettle. Pinaud, Paris, New York PINAUD’S Kau de ealit K 7 P), z Zz — bhp? Quinine

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Red Kleins—Standard of Public Utilities The man who knows good tools uses Kleins. Carpen- ters — plumbers — skilled workmen everywhere. Z. the hands of electrical workmen—repairmen— linemen—it is ten to one the pliers are Kleins. No quality for these companies but the best —that means better work— quicker work—safety! Klein Pliers are used through- out industry—in the kit of the master workman—because he knows Klein Pliers have served his father and grandfather before him. Distributed through jobbers. Here is a little book full of information on tools valuable information for the electrician and mechanic. Every work- man shouid have a copy we will send you one witheut charge upon request Mathias & Sons Chicage lt USA 3200 BELMONT AVE., CHICAGO mine was unopened and the miner stood naked and knowledgeless upon it. . . . Man is not the only animal that labors, but he is the only one that improves his work- manship.”’ And how strange, he added, that after the discovery of steam power it was two thousand years before the amazing thought occurred to anyone that it would move useful machines as well as toys. This perfectly illustrates the difference between discovery and invention. Practi- cal people will be very inventive in the application of scientific knowledge; it does not follow that they will make many new discoveries of their own. We are the most inventive people in the world; we excel in what is called applied science research that is, in finding new ways to apply what is already known. But we have no such record in the field of pure science; we have made few new dis- coveries. And that is why a national fund of twenty million dollars— called the Hoover Fund because it was his idea—now is being THE SATURDAY EVENING POST raised to support pure science research. Yet even here the end is practical. The first anxiety is not that we shall stand badly in the world’s hall of pure fame; it is that our workers in the field of applied science will soon exhaust the stock of original knowl- edge unless we take steps to increase it on our own account. When Abraham Lincoln was speaking of discovery and invention in that Lyceum Lecture, year 1860, there were only five kinds of power in the world man power, animal power, water, wind and steam. Since then two new powers have been added —gas and electricity. At any instant another may be discovered. Where? There is no telling where or what or under what circumstances. The unknown is nowhere, meaning it is everywhere. It is in the com- mon occurrence, in the familiar object, in the artless question, in the queer twist of a thought. Man’s passion to pursue it is a fact he can give no account of. Always he has been April 28,1928 afraid. Does he go on notwithstanding, or is it because he is afraid that he goes on? In one case a lonely hero in the universe; in the other case a brave planetarian who would sooner meet the dangers of knowledge than bear the terrors of superstition. Once he gets used to the idea, it is much less ap- palling to live on a sphere whirling in space than on a flat world with edges sticking into the void. Life cannot fall off. There is also the simple probability that he is a child in existence naturally growing up. Knowledge happens to him as he wants and needs it. That by taming wild energy he will imperil his soul more than he did by taming the wild grasses and beasts is absurd to suppose; and that it is any more likely he will destroy civilization with machines than it was that he would achieve that ca- lamity with clubs cannot be proved as a sci- entific fact. As to that, your opinion or mine is as good as that of science. Whatever that is that runs ahead of us and beckons us on it is not afraid. SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES um The Burts in their turn a month later Opined that a mild Sunday spree Wouldn't do any harm to their friends from the farm, So they called up the Garths, who said “Oui!” They drove to the Golf Club for lunch- con Soup, chicken, fruit salad and pie Played bridge until five and again took a drive To a roadhouse—the Romany Rye Where they supped —chicken salad, tobacco And tincture of hip-pocket glue. Back to Burts’ they drove then and played poker till ten, When the Garths bade the Burts ‘* Toodle-oo!”’ And they scarcely were out of the foyer Ere Garth muttered low to his wife, ‘“‘What people can see in the city beats me! Gosh! What a monotonous life!”’ Baron Ireland. Farthest Norths The Club Car OLDER of ticket for Lower 4, Car 476, puts bags on Upper 4 seat and glares at middle-aged woman who is sitting in his place as though she had been there five (Continued from Page 28) years. Changes hat for checkered golf cap and starts forward, taking in other passen- gers. Tries to see inside drawing-room, door of which is ajar, and collides with conductor. Satisfies him and passes through compart- ment car Orchard Hills, wondering how much these individual rooms cost. Notes pretty girl in Mohawk View and suspects her of attracting his attention. Decides to walk more slowly coming back. Bumps into rear of porter making up berth in Nanticoke. Gets tired in Glens Falls and thinks club car must be next. Sleeping car Nyantic is next. Compartment-car Miramar is next. Elyria next. Doubts existence of club car, but dogged persistence and fact that club car is in- cluded with extra fare carry him through Oconomowoc, Blue Valley, Elmira and Ocean City. Finally makes club car exhausted, only to find every chair taken, with three men standing in entrance looking annoyed, and women surrounding tables. Looks at watch; finds it is 9:30. De- cides it will be ten by time he gets back to Car 476. Returns through eleven cars. Glares at porter till berth is made up. Goes to bed determined to get up early and be first in club car after breakfast. Hurries through breakfast and walks half mile forward to find club car has been dropped during the night. McCready Huston. Ballade of the Diner's Dilemma HY dub potatoes Pommes de Terre? Why list Parfaits and Cheese Souf- flé? Let’s Anglicize the bill of fare And print the “specials for today” In English so a diner may Select a meal with fitting speed. Oh, Oscar, take this card away. Bring me a menu I can read. The carte de jour’s a deadly snare. I choose Petit Poisson Filet And wonder what delightful, rare Concoction will be on the tray. The food is served and I survey A flabby fish flanked by a weed! Say, garcon, dump this in the bay. Bring me a menu I can read! The epicure or millionaire Who does not parley in Francais Oft finds that corned-beef hash may wear A nom de plume quite distingué. A stew’s a stew! No sobriquet, No lily painting does it need, And I'll have some for déjeuner. Bring me a menu I can read. ENVOY Ah, Prince of Waiters, I'll repay Your kindness with a Golden Meed: Le carte en Anglais, s’il vous plait Bring me a menu I can read! Arthur L. Lippmann. ‘lI Li CARTGON \ HIM ASACLAM THAT'LL GIVE / { WOULDN T GIMME “3 \4 vOB— Tit Ger dé _ TIA SQUARE T SLAM THE \ BiG BOYS— THAT'S HOW j I ATTRACT } ATTENTION! / In the Limelight — =

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KeepYour Car — Looking New with Whiz BRILLIANT POLISH A factory finish in a glass bottle. The very minimum of rubbing produces the glossy, brilliant sheen usually found only on new cars. Whiz Brilliant Polish is made for motor cars, pianos or furniture fin- ished with Duco (or other lacquers) varnish or enamel. It removes all trace of the smoky, blue cast and dries clean and hard, free from that oily, dust-collecting finish. And it preserves. Buy a bottle from your nearest dealer, and see how easily your car can be polished. Sold by 104,000 dealers and garages everywhere THER.M.HOLLINGSHEADCO. CAMDEN, N. J., U.S. A. TORONTO, ONT., CANADA | indiscreet letters. THE SATURDAY “If you mean the elevator girl, you are quite wrong. Not a trace of her. You still think she was Eve Durand?” ‘Tf she wasn’t, then I must bow my head in sackcloth and ashes,’’ Chan replied. “Well, that’s no place for anybody's head,”’ Kirk remarked. ‘‘None the less, mine has been there,’ Chan grinned. Mrs. Dawson Kirk bustled in. ‘‘Here I am,” she announced. ‘‘On time to the min- ute. Please make a note of that.” “Hello,” Kirk greeted her. ‘You re- member Miss Morrow, of course.” “Oh, yes; the lawyer. How do you do? And Mr. Chan—look here; why haven't you solved this case?”’ “A little more patience,”’ grinned Chan. “We are getting warm now. You are under hovering cloud of suspicion at last.” “So I hear,” snapped the old lady. She turned to Miss Morrow. ‘Well, my dear, Barry said you wanted to cross-question ’ | said, with a smile. me.” “ 4 Nothing cross about it,’’” Miss Morrow ** Just a few polite ques- | tions.”’ “Oh, really. Don’t be too polite. I’m always suspicious of too polite people. You don’t think I killed poor Sir Frederic, I hope?” “Not precisely. letter é “‘T suppose so. But you've written a Have a habit of writing And old habits are hard to break. But I always put ‘Burn this’ at the bottom. Somebody has failed to follow my instructions, eh?” Miss Morrow shook her head. “I be- lieve you omitted that admonition in this case.”’ She handed the letter to Mrs. Kirk. ‘‘ You wrote that, didn’t you?” Mrs. Kirk glanced it through. ‘‘Cer- tainly I wrote it. What of it?” “This Grace Lane was a good friend of yours?” “In a way, yes. knew the girl fe “O-ho!” cried Barry Kirk. “You vouched for her in every way, yet you scarcely knew her.” “Keep out of this, Barry,” advised the old lady. ‘‘You’re not a lawyer. You haven’t the brains.”’ “Then you knew Grace Lane onlyslightly, Mrs. Kirk?” the girl continued. “That's what I said.” “Yet you recommended her without reservation. Why did you do that?” Mrs. Kirk hesitated. “If you'll pardon me, I regard it as my own affair.” “T’m_ sorry,’ Miss Morrow replied quickly, “but you will have to answer. Please do not be deceived by the setting of this interview. It is not a social function. I am acting for the district attorney’s office, and I mean business.” Mrs. Kirk’s eyes flashed. “I under- stand. But now, if you won’t mind, I'd like to ask a few questions.” “You may do so. And when you have finished I will resume.” ‘What has this girl, Grace Lane, to do with the murder of Sir Frederic Bruce?” “That is what we are trying to deter- mine.” “You mean she had something to do with it?” “We believe she had. And that is why your recommendation of her is no longer your own affair, Mrs. Kirk.” The old lady sat firmly on the edge of her chair. ‘‘I shan’t say a word until I know where all this is leading us.” “It'll lead you to jail if you don’t stop being stubborn,” suggested Barry Kirk. “Indeed? Well, I have friends among the lawyers too. Miss Morrow, I want to know Grace Lane’s connection with Sir Frederic?” “T have no objection to telling you if you will keep the matter to yourself.”’ “‘She’s the most indiscreet woman on the West Coast,’’ Kirk warned. Of course, I scarcely EVENING POST (Continued from Page 35) “Hush up, Barry. I can keep still if I have to. Miss Morrow?” “When Sir Frederic came here,’’ Miss Morrow explained, ‘‘he was seeking a woman named Eve Durand, who disap- peared from India fifteen years ago. We suspect Grace Lane was that woman.” “Well, why don’t you ask her?” ‘We'd be glad to, but we can’t. You see, she’s disappeared again.” “What! She’s gone?’ “Yes. Now I have answered your ques- tions and I expect you to do as much for me.”” Miss Morrow became again very businesslike. ‘‘Grace Lane was undoubt- edly brought to you by a third person—a person you trusted. Who was it?” Mrs. Kirk shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.” “You realize, of course, the seriousness of your refusal?” ‘*T—well, I—good heavens, what have I got mixed up in anyhow? A respectable woman like me a “‘Precisely,”’ said Miss Morrow sternly. ““A woman honored throughout the city, a woman prominent in every forward- looking movement I must say I am sur- prised, Mrs. Kirk, to find you obstructing the course of justice. And all because this person who brought Grace Lane to you is now asking you to keep the matter secret.” “T didn’t say that.” “But I did. It’s true, isn’t it?” ““Well-—yes, it is. And I must say I think she’s asking a good deal of me.” “She? Then Grace Lane was brought to you by a woman?” “What? Oh—oh, yes. admit that.” “You have admitted it,’’ chuckled Barry Kirk. “Tell me this,”” Miss Morrow went on, “before you left to come down here, did you let Mrs. Tupper-Brock know where you were going?” “1 ad. “Did you tell her you expected to be questioned by me when you got here?” ““Y-yes.”’ ‘And was it then that she asked you not to reveal the fact that she was the person who brought Grace Lane to you, with a re- quest that you help the girl?”” Mrs. Kirk was silent. ‘“‘You needn't answer,’’ Miss Morrow smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, you have answered. Your face, you know.” Mrs. Kirk shrugged. ‘‘You’re a clever young woman,”’ she complained. “Since that is settled, and I now know that it was Mrs. Tupper-Brock who intro- duced the Lane girl to you,’’ Miss Morrow continued, “there is no real reason why you shouldn’t give me the details. How long ago did it happen?” Mrs. Kirk hesitated and then surren- dered. ‘Several months ago,” she said, “Helen brought the girl to the house. She told me she had met her on a ferry—that they were old friends—had known each other in Devonshire a great many years back.” “In Devonshire. Please go on.” “Helen said this girl had been through a lot.” “What?” “T didn’t ask. I have some delicacy. Also that she was destitute and in desper- ate need of work. She was such a pretty, modest, feminine little thing, I took an im- mediate fancy to her. So I got her the job in this building.” “Without consulting me,” gested. “Why should I? It was a matter requir- ing instant action. You were off somewhere as usual.” “And that’s all you know about Grace Lane?” inquired Miss Morrow. “Yes. I made inquiries and found she was doing well and was apparently happy. When we came up here the other night we spoke to her. She thanked me very nicely. I’m sorry she’s been hounded out of town.” I'll Of course. Kirk sug- April 28,1928 BEHIND THAT CURTAIN Miss Morrow smiled. ‘‘One thing more. Have you noticed any signs of a close friendship between Mrs. Tupper-Brock and Colonel Beetham?” “T believe they’ve gone out together ox casionally. I don’t spy on them.” “Naturally not. I think that is ali, Mrs. Kirk.” Mrs. Kirk stood up. She appeared to be in a rather chastened mood. ‘Thanks. Fortunately I can still get to my lecture on time.” “Just one point,” added the girl. “I'd rather you didn’t repeat this conversation to Mrs. Tupper-Brock.”’ ““Me—I won’t repeat it to anybody.” The old lady smiled grimly. ‘Somehow I don’t seem to have come out of it as well as I expected.”’ She said good-by and made a hasty exit. “Bully for you!” cried Kirk, with an ad- miring look at Miss Morrow. She stood, frowning. ‘‘What did I tell you this morning? Mrs. Tupper-Brock was lying, but I didn’t expect confirmation so soon.”’ ‘Going to have her on the carpet again?” Kirk asked. “Tam not. What’s the good of more lies? Grace Lane was an old friend— which may mean that Grace Lane wil! write to Mrs. Tupper-Brock from wherever she is hid- ing. I am going to make immediate ar rangements with the postal authorities Mrs. Tupper-Brock’s mail will reach her through my office from now on.” “Excellent,” approved Chan. ‘You have wise head on pretty shoulders. What an unexpected combination! May I in- quire, what is your good friend Flannery doing?”’ “The captain has taken a sudden fancy to Miss Lila Barr. I believe he has ordered her to his office at five o’clock this after- noon, for what he calls a grilling. I'll not be able to be there, but if I were you I'd drop in on it.” Chan shrugged. “I fear I will look in vain for ‘Welcome’ inscribed in glowing characters on the mat. However, I will appear with offhand air.” Miss Morrow turned to Barry Kirk. ‘I do hope your grandmother won’t hold my inquisition against me.” “Nonsense. You were splendid and she’s crazy about you. I saw it in her eyes when she went out.” “‘T didn’t,”’ smiled the girl. “You didn’t look carefully. That’s where you make a mistake. Examine the eyes about you. You'll find a lot more ap- proval than you suspect.” “Really? I’m afraid I’m too busy. I must leave that sort of thing to the old- fashioned girls. Now I must run along. There’s just a chance that I can find Grace Lane for Captain Flannery. Someone must do it.” “And it might as well be you,” quoted Kirk. ‘‘I’ll hope to see you again soon.” He showed her out. At 4:30 Charlie Chan strolled to the Hall of Justice and walked in on Captain Flan- nery. The captain appeared to be in rare good humor. “How are you, sergeant?” he “What's new with you?” “With me, everything has aged look,” Chan replied. “Not getting on as fast as you expected, are you?” Flannery inquired. “‘ Well, this should be a lesson to you. Every frog ought to stick to his own pond. You may be a world-beater in a village like Honolulu, but you’re on the big time over here. You’re in over your depth.” ““How true,”’ Charlie agreed. “I am often dismayed, but I think of you and know you will not permit me to drown. Something has happened to elevate your spirit?” “It sure has. I’ve just pulled off a neat little stunt. You see, I had a grand idea. (Continued on Page 122) said. ¥ ta U

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Continued from Page 120) an ad in the morning paper for those ” I put velvet slippers “Ah, yes,”” Chan grinned. ‘Inspector Duff warned me you were about to be hit by that idea.” “Oh, he did, did he? Well, I’m not tak- ing orders from Duff. I was on the point of doing it some days ago, but it slipped my mind. Duff recalled it to me, that’s all. I put a very cagy advertisement in the paper and ia “Results are already apparent,” finished. “Are they? I'll say so.’ Flannery took up something wrapped in a soiled news- paper. The string had already been loos- ened, and casting it aside, he revealed the contents of the bundle. Before Chan’s eyes lay the red velvet slippers from the Chinese Legation, the slippers found on the feet of Hilary Galt that tragic night in London, the slippers in which Sir Frederic Bruce had walked to his death little more than a week ago. ““What happy luck,” Charlie said. ** Ain’t it?’ agreed Flannery. ‘A soldier from out at the Presidio brought them in less than an hour ago. It seems he was crossing tg Oakland to visit his girl last Wednesday noon, and he picked this package up from one of the benches on the ferryboat. There was nobody about to claim it, so he took it along. Of course, he should have turned it over to the ferry people, but he didn't. I told him that was all right with me.” “On ferryboat to Oakland,”’ Chan re- peated. “Yes. This guy’d been wondering what to do with his find and he was mighty pleased when I slipped him a five-spot.” Charlie turned the slippers slowly about in his hands. Again he was interested by the Chinese character which promised long life and happiness. A lying promise, that. The slippers had not brought long life and happiness to Hilary Galt—nor to Sir Fred- eric Bruce. ‘Just where,”’ Chan mused, “‘do we ar- Chan rive at now?” “Well, I'll have to admit that we’re still a Jong ways from home,” Flannery replied. ‘‘But we’re getting on. Last Wednesday the day after the murder—somebody left these slippers on an Oakland ferryboat. Left them intentionally, I'll bet—glad enough to be rid of ’em.” “In same identical paper,” Charlie in- quired, ‘‘they were always wrapped?” “Yes, that’s the paper this fellow found them in— an evening paper dated last Wed- nesday night. A first edition, issued about ten in the morning.” Chan spread out the newspaper and studied it. ‘‘You have been carefully over this journal, I suspect?” “Why—er-—I haven't had time,”’ Flan- nery told him “Nothing of note catches the eye,’”’ Chan “Except—ah, yes—here on A few figures, care- Paper is torn in are almost oblit- remarked. margin of first page. lessly inseribed in pencil. that locality and they erated.”’ Flannery and Charlie came closer pointed. A smal! sum in addition had evi- dently been worked out. $79 23 $103 «d and three,” Flannery read. ‘That’s wrong. Seventy-nine and twenty- ree m't add up toa hundred and three.”’ en wer seek one who is poor lar « ithme * Chan replied. ‘‘If wn iceaetie ein Ae ion for objecting I will jot figures dow “Go ahead. Put your big brain on it. But don't forget — 1 procuced the slippers.” ‘And the newspaper,” Charlie added. ‘The brightest act you have performed to cate lhe door o ed and a man in uniform entere That me’s outside, captain,” ea o She brought her fellow with her Sina I fete ‘em in?” THE SATURDAY “Sure,” Flannery nodded. ‘It’s Miss Lila Barr,’’ he explained to Chan. “I got to thinking about her, and she don’t sound I’m going to have another You can stay if you so good to me talk with her. want to.” ‘*Overwhelmed by your courtesy,’’ Chan responded. Miss Lila Barr came timidly through the door. After her came Kinsey, Kirk’s secre- tary. The girl seemed very much worried. “You wanted me, Captain Flannery?” “Yeah. Comein. Sit down.” He looked at Kinsey. ‘‘Who’s this?” “Mr. Kinsey—a friend of mine,” the girl explained. “I thought you wouldn’t mind é “Your fellow, eh?” ‘Well, I suppose “The guy you was crying about that night you came out of the office where you saw Sir Frederic!” To “Well, I’m glad to meet him. I’m glad you can prove you've got a fellow anyhow. But even so, that story of yours sounds pretty fishy to me.” “T can’t help how it sounds,” returned the girl with spirit. ‘“‘It’s the truth.” “All right. Let it go. It’s the next night I want to talk about now. The night Sir Frederic was killed. You were working in your office that night?” “Yes, sir. Though I must have left be- fore—the thing—happened.”’ ‘How do you know you left before it happened?” “T don’t. I was just supposing “Don’t suppose with me.” “She has good reasons for thinking she left before the murder,’’ Kinsey put in. ‘*She heard no shot fired.” Flannery swung on him. “Say, when I want any answers from you I'll ask for ’em.”’ He turned back to the girl. ‘‘ You didn’t hear any shot?” “No, sir.” “And you didn’t see anybody in the hall when you went home?” “Well, I—I és; “Yes? Out with it.” “T should like to change my testimony on that point.’”’ “Oh, you would, would you?” “Yes. I have talked it over with Mr. Kinsey and he thinks I was wrong to—to say what I did.” “To lie, you mean?” “But I didn’t want to be entangled in it,” pleaded the girl. ‘I saw myself testi- ” fying in court, and I didn’t think—it just seemed I couldn’t a “You couldn’t help us, eh? Young woman, this is serious business. I could lock you up.” “Oh, but if I change my testimony? If I tell you the truth now?” “Well, we'll see. But make sure of one thing—that it’s the truth at last. Then there was somebody in the hall?” “Yes. I started to leave the office, but just as I opened the door I remembered my umbrella. So I went back. But in that moment at the door I saw two men stand- ing near the elevators.” ““You saw two men. like?” “One Flannery was startled. Say, it wasn’t Mr. Chan here?” smiled. “Oh, no,” the girl continued. ‘It was an older Chinese. He was talking with a tall thin man-—a man whose picture I have seen in the newspapers.” “Oh, you’ve seen his picture in the papers? What's his name?” ‘His name is Col. John Beetham and I believe he is an explorer.” “T see.’” Flannery got up and paced the floor. ‘‘You saw Beetham talking with a Chinese in the hall just before Sir Frederic was killed. Then you went back to get What did they look one was a Chinese.” “A Chinese! Charlie your umbrella?” “Yes, and when I came out again they were gone. “Anything else?’ ““No, I guess not.” EVENING POST “Think hard. You've juggled the truth once.” “She was not under oath,” protested Kinsey. “Well, what if she wasn’t? She ob- structed our work, and that’s no joking matter. However, I'll overlook it, now that she’s finally come across. You can go. I may want you again.” The girl and Kinsey went out. Flannery walked the floor in high glee. “Now I’m getting somewhere!” he cried. “Beetham! I haven’t paid much attention to him, but I’ll make up for lost time from here on. Beetham was in the hall talking with a Chinaman a few minutes before the murder. And he was supposed to be up- stairs running his magic lantern. A China- man—do you get it? Those slippers came from the Chinese Legation. By heaven, it’s beginning to tie up at last!” “Tf I might presume,” said Chan, ‘you how propose to os “‘T propose to get after Colonel Beetham. He told Miss Morrow he didn’t leave the room upstairs. Another liar—and a dis- tinguished one this time.” “‘Humbly asking pardon,’’ Chan ven- tured, ‘‘Colonel Beetham very clever man. Have a ¢are he does not outwit you.” “T’m not afraid of him. He can’t fool me. I’m too old at this game.” “Such magnificent confidence,’’ Charlie smiled. ‘‘Let us hope it is justified by the finish.” “It will be, all right. Colonel Beetham to me.” “With utmost gladness,’ agreed Chan. “Tf you will allot something else to me.” ““What’s that?”’ Flannery demanded. “T refer to faint little figures on news- paper margin.” “Poor arithmetic,”’ “and a poor clew.” “Time will reveal,’’ said Chan gently. ’ You just leave snorted Flannery, xvVil ARRY KIRK answered the ring of the telephone the next morning at ten and was greeted by a voice that, even over the wire, seemed to afford him pleasure. “‘Good morning,” he said. ‘‘I’m glad to hear from you. This is what I call starting the day right.” “Thanks ever so much,’’ Miss Morrow replied. ‘‘Now that your day has begun auspiciously, would you mind fading away into the background and giving Mr. Chan your place at the telephone?” “What! You don’t want to talk to me?” “T’m sorry, no. I’m rather busy today.” “Well, I can take a hint as quickly as the next man. I know when I’m not wanted. That’s what you meant to convey, isn’t it?” “Please, Mr. Kirk.” “‘Here’s Charlie now. I’m not angry, but I’m terribly, terribly hurt.”” He handed the telephone to Chan. “Oh, Mr. Chan,” the girl said, ‘“‘Cap- tain Flannery is going to interview Colo- nel Beetham at eleven o’clock. He’s all Beetham today. He’s asked me to be on hand to remind the colonel about his tes- timony the night of the murder, and I sug- gest you come too.” “The captain demands me?” quired. “T demand you. Isn’t that enough?” “To me it is delicious plenty,’’ Charlie replied. “I will be there. At Captain Flannery’s office, I presume?” “Yes. Don’t fail me,’’ Miss Morrow said, and rang off. “Something doing?” Kirk asked. Chan shrugged. “‘Captain Flannery has hot spasm about Colonel Beetham. He interrogates him at eleven, and I am in- vited.’”’ ““How about me?” “‘T am stricken by regret, but you are not mentioned.” “Then I hardly think I’ll go,”’ Kirk said. At a little before eleven Charlie went to the Hall of Justice. In Flannery’s dark office he found Miss Morrow, brightening the dreary corner where she was. “Good morning,”’ she said. ‘The cap- tain is showing Inspector Duff about the Chan in- April 28,1928 Somehow I’m glad you're here. I’ve got the impression Captain Flannery doesn’t care much for me this morning.” “Mainland police have stupid sinking spells,” Chan informed her. Flannery came in, followed by Inspector building. Duff. He stood for a minute glaring at Charlie and the girl. “Well, a fine pair you are,”’ he roared. “What's the idea anyhow?” “What is the idea, captain?” asked Miss Morrow sweetly. “The idea seems to be to keep me in the dark,” Flannery went on. ‘‘What do you think I am-—-a mind reader? I’ve just been talking with Inspector Duff about Colonel Beetham, and I discover you two know a lot more about the colonel than you've ever told me.” “Please understand—I haven't been tale- bearing,’’ smiled Duff. “‘I mentioned these things thinking of course the captain knew them.” “Of course you thought I knew them,” Flannery exploded. ‘‘Why shouldn’t I know them? I’m supposed to be in charge of this case, ain’t I? Yet you two have been digging up stuff right along and keep- ing it to yourselves. I tell you, it makes me sore.”” “Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Miss Morrow. “That helps a lot. What’s all this about a servant of the colonel’s—a Chinaman named Li Gung? Are you willing to talk now, Sergeant Chan, or are you still playing button, button, who’s got the ~ “‘T’m the guilty one,”’ the girl cut in. “I should have told you myself. Naturally, Mr. Chan must have thought I had.” “Oh, no,’’ Chan protested. ‘Please shift all guilt from those pretty shoulders to my extensive ones. I have made mistake. It is true I have pondered certain facts in silence, but I was hoping some great light would break.”’ “All right—all right,’’ Flannery inter- rupted. ‘“‘But will you talk now—that’s what I want to know? When did you first hear about Li Gung?” “At noon of the day Sir Frederic was killed, I have great honor to lunch with him. After lunch he takes me apart and talks of this Li Gung, a stranger visiting relatives in Jackson Street. He suggests I might make cunning inquiries of the man, but I am forced to refuse the task. On morning after murder I am in stateroom of Maui boat, foolishly believing I am going to Honolulu, when I hear Colonel Beetham in next cabin saying farewell to one he calls Li Gung. The colonel directs that Gung lie low in Honolulu and answer no questions.”’ “And all that was so unimportant I never heard of it,’’ stormed Flannery “How about the fact that Beetham was one of the guests at the picnic near Pesha- war?” “We did not learn that until Tuesday night,’’ Miss Morrow informed him. “Only had about thirty-six hours to tell me, eh? On May fourth, nineteen hundred and twelve, Colonel Beetham left Peshawar by way of the-er— the Khyber Pass to go to— toto make a trip rs ““To Teheran by way of Afghanistan and the Kavir Desert of Northeastern Persia,”’ Duff helped him out. “Yes. You told the inspector that, ser- geant, but you never told me.” Charlie shrugged. ‘‘ Why should I trou- ble you? The matter appears to mean nothing. True enough, I might make a sur- mise-——a most picturesque surmise. But I see you, captain, floundering about in diffi- cult murder case. Should I ask such a man to come with me and gaze upon the bright tapestry of romance?”’ “Whatever that means,”’ Flannery re- turned. “If I hadn’t got that Barr girl in I'd still be in the dark. I was too smart for you-—I hit on Beetham’s trail myself — but that doesn’t excuse you. I’m disappointed in the pair of you.” “Overwhelmed with painful regret,” Chan bowed. “Oh, forget it.” A man in uniform ushered Colonel Beetham into the room. (Continued on Page 127)

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Continued from Page 122 The colonel knew a good tailor—a tailor who no doubt rejoiced in the trim, lithe figure of his client. He was faultlessly at- tired, with a flower in his buttonhole, a stick in his gloved hand. For a moment he stood, those tired eyes that had looked on so many lonely corners of the world unusu- ally alert and keen. “‘Good morning,”’ he said. He bowed to Miss Morrow and Chan. “Ah, this, I be- lieve, is Captain Flannery.” ‘“**Morning,”’ replied Flannery. Inspector Duff of Scotland Yard.” “Delighted,” Beetham answered. ‘I am very happy to see a man from the Yard. No doubt the search for Sir Frederic’s mur- derer will get forward now.” “*T guess it will,’’ growled Flannery, “if you answer a few questions for us and tell the truth.” The colonel raised his eyebrows very “Meet slightly. ‘‘The truth, of course,” he re- marked, with a wan smile. ‘‘I shall do my best. May I sit down?” ’ ‘“Sure,”’ replied Flannery, indicating a dusty chair. ‘On the night Sir Frederic was killed, you were giving a magic-lantern show on the floor above.”’ “T should hardly have called it that. Motion pictures, you know, of Tibet.” “Yes, yes. You did a lecture with these lantern slides, but toward the end you dropped out and let the performance run it- self. Later Miss Morrow here asked you what was it you asked him, Miss Morrow?” “T referred to that moment when he left the machine,” the girl said. ‘‘He assured me that he had not been absent from the room during the interval.” The captain looked at Beetham. that right, colonel?” “Yes, I fancy that is what I told her.’ “Why?” “Why? What do you mean?” “Why did you tell her that when you knew damn well you had been down on the twentieth floor talking with a Chinaman?” Beetham laughed softly. ‘“‘Have you never done anything that you later re- gretted, captain? The matter struck me as of no importance—I had seen nothing of note on my brief jaunt below. I had a sort of inborn diffidence about being involved in the scandal. So I very foolishly made a slight—er—misstatement.”’ ‘*Then you did go down to the twentieth floor?” “Only for a second. You see, a motion- picture projector and seven reels of film make a rather heavy load. My old boy, Li Gung, had assisted me in bringing the out- fit to Mr. Kirk’s apartment. I thought I should be finished by ten, and I told him to be back then. When I left the machine at fifteen minutes past ten I realized that I still had another reel to show. I ran down- stairs, found Gung waiting on the lower floor, and told him to go home. I said I would carry the machine away myself.” **Ah, yes--and he left?” “He went at once, in the lift. girl can verify my statement if “If what?” “Tf she will.” “You were going to say, if we can find her.”’ “Why should I say that? about?” “She is not. In her absence, maybe Li Gung can back up your story?” “I’m sure he can, if you care to cable him. He is in Honolulu at the moment.” ‘**He left the next noon, on the Maui?” “Yes, he did.” “You saw him off?” ‘Naturally. He has been with me more than twenty years. A faithful chap.” *“When you said good-by you told him to lie low over in Hawaii.” “Yes, I-- yes, I did. You see, there was some trouble about his passport. I was fearful he might get into difficulties.” “You also told him to answer no ques- tions.” “*For the same reason, of course.” “You knew he would have to show his passport on landing. If it wasn’t O. K., did ae The lift ” Isn’t she THE SATURDAY you suppose lying low after that would do any good?” ‘Show his passport at another American port? Really, you know, I’m frightfully ignorant of your many rules and regula- tions. Quite confusing, I find them.” “You must—a man who’s traveled as little as you have, colonel.” “*Ah, yes. Now you're being sarcastic.’ “Oh, don’t mind me,” Flannery said. “We'll drop LiGung. But I’m not through yet. I understand you were at Peshawar, in India, on the night of May third, nine- teen hundred and twelve.” Beetham nodded slowly. ‘‘ That is a mat- ter of record.” “And can’t very well be denied, eh? You went out into the hills on a picnic. One of the party was a woman named Eve Du- rand.”’ Beetham stirred slightly. ‘That night Eve Durand disappeared and has never been seen since. Have you any idea how she got out of India?” “If she has never been seen since how do you know she did get out of India?” “Never mind. I’m asking you questions. You remember the incident?”’ “Naturally. A shocking affair.’ Flannery studied him for a moment. “Tell me, colonel—had you ever met Sir Frederic before the other night at Barry Kirk’s bungalow?” “Never. Stop abit. I believe he said he had been at a dinner of the Royal Geo- graphical Society in London, and had seen me there. But I did not recall the meet- ing.” “You didn’t know that he had come to San Francisco to find Eve Durand?” “Had he really? How extraordinary.” “You didn’t know it?” “Of course not.” “Could you have given him any help if you had?” “T could not,” replied Beetham firmly. “All right, colonel. You’re not thinking of leaving San Francisco soon?” “‘In a few days—when I have completed arrangements for my next long expedition.” “You’re not leaving until we find out who killed Sir Frederic. Is that under- stood?” “‘But my dear fellow think Pe “T think your testimony may prove valu- able. I’m asking you—is it understood?” “Perfectly. I shall hope, however, for your early success.” “*We all hope for it.” “Of course.’”” Beetham turned to In- spector Duff. “A frightful thing. Sir Frederic was a charming fellow.” **And much beloved,” said Duff evenly. ‘**Please don’t worry. Everything possible is being done, Colonel Beetham.” “TI am happy to hear that.” Beetham rose. ‘‘ Now if there is nothing more “ ‘**Not at present,’’ said Flannery. “Thank you so much,” replied the col- onel, and went debonairly out. Flannery stared after him. “He lies like a gentleman, don’t he?” he remarked. “‘Beautifully,” sighed Miss Morrow, her eyes on the door through which the explorer had gone. “Well, he don’t fool me,” Flannery con- tinued. ‘‘He knows more about this than he’s telling. If he was anybody but the famous Colonel Beetham, I'd take a chance and lock him up this morning.” “Oh, but you couldn’t!” the girl cried. “‘T suppose not. I'd be mobbed by all the club women in the Bay District. How- ever, I don’t need to. He’s too well known to make a get-away. But I'd better keep him shadowed, at that. Now let’s get to surely you don’t business. If only Li Gung was here I'd sweat something out of him. What was that Sir Frederic told you, sergeant about Li Gung’s relatives in Jackson Street? I might look them up.” ““No use,”’ Chan answered. ready done so.” “Oh, you have? of course.”’ “Words of no avail. I made most pitiful failure. I am admitted to house, but plans are foiled by kind act of boy scout.” “T have al- Without a word to me, EVENING POST “A boy scout in the family, el “Yes, name of Willie Li. The family o Henry Li, Oriental Apartment House.” “We ll, the the old one won't ‘lannery considered young generation will talk, if Willie ought to have a chance **He has obtained save that once on a hard seetham kills a man.” “He told you that? Then he knows something about Beetham’s journeys?” | ndubitably he does He has over heard talk.” Flannery jumped up. ‘That’s forme. I'll have Manley; Squad bring the kid here tonight all crazy about Manley, We'll get something.” The t rang. l swered, and then relinquished it to Morrow ing over the wire her eyes brig} enoug! » Chinatown They’re these Chink kid iepnone As she listened to the news com- tened wit! excitement. She hung up the receiver and turned to the others. “That was the district attorney,” nounced. ‘We've got mailed to Mrs. Tupper-Brock Barbara. It was written by Grace Lane, and it gives her present address.” “Fine business!”” Flannery cried. “I told you she couldn’t get away from me. I'll get a couple of men off in a car right away.”’ Helooked at Miss Morrow. ‘They can stop at your office for the address.” She nodded. ‘I’m going right back. I'll give it to them.” Flannery rubbed his hands. ‘‘ Things are looking up at last! Make it seven tonight I'll have the kid then. Sergeant, you’re coming? I may want your help. And you can look in if you like, inspector.” “Thanks,” Duff said “How about me?” asked Miss Morrow. He frowned at her. ‘I’m not so pleased with you. All those secrets ws “But I’m so sorry.”” She smiled at him. “And I was a little help to you in finding Grace Lane, you know.” **T guess you were, at that. along if you want to.” The party scattered, and Charlie Chan went back to the bungalow, where he found Barry Kirk eagerly awaiting news. When he heard the plan for the evening Kirk in- sisted on taking Miss Morrow and Chan to dinner. At 6:30 they left the obscure little restaurant he had selected because of its capable chef, and strolled toward the Hall of Justice. The night was clear and cool, without fog, and the stars were bright as torches overhead. They skirted the fringe of China- town and passed on through Portsmout! Square, the old Plaza of romantic history It was emptied now of its usual derelicts and adventurers; the memorial to R. L. S stood lonely and serene in the starlight Flannery and Duff were waiting in the former’s office. The captain regarded Barry Kirk without enthusiasm ‘“*We’re all here, ain't we “T thought you wouldn’t mind,” Kirk. “Oh, well, it’s all right late now to bar you out.” sne an- letter from Santa hoid of a here Sure, come ’** he inquired smiled I guess it’s pretty He turned to Miss Morrow. ‘“ You saw Petersen, didn’t you?” “Yes. I gave him the address.” “‘He had Myers with him. Good men, both of them. They’ll be in Santa Barbara this evening, and can start back at sunrise Barring accidents, they’ll bring Grace Lane into this office late tomorrow afternoon And if she gets away from me again she'll be going some.”’ They sat down. Presently a huge police officer in plain clothes, with a khaki shirt, came in. He was kindly and smiling, but he had the keen eye of a man who is pre- pared for any emergency. Flannery intro- duced him. “Sergeant Manley,” heexplained. ‘“ Head of the Chinatown Squad for seven years which is a good many years longer than anyone else has liv ed to hold that job ” Manley’s manner was cordial. ‘‘Glad to meet you,” he said. “I’ve got the kid out- side, captain. I picked him up and brought m along without giving him a chance t run nome to nstr tions “Good idea, Flanner nodded a he talk “Oh, he'll talk all right. He and I are old friends. I'll bring him ir He disappeared to the ‘ ) e and returned with Willie I The boy scout was in civilian clothes and looked as tl oug! he would have welcomed the moral support of his uniform “ Here yu are, Willie Manley said “This is ¢ aptalr Flanr ery He's going to ask you to do him a big favor.’ ~ Sure grinned W el All boy scouts,”” Mar went on, “are American citizens, and t} ey stand for law and order. That's right, ain’t it, Wi ‘ ‘In the oath,” replied Willie gravely ‘I’ve explained to him,” Manley cor tinued, ‘‘that none of his family is mixed up in this in any way. They won't be harmed by anything he tells you.” That’s right,” said Flannery. “You can take my word for it, son.”’ ““Sure,”’ agreed the boy re adily Your cousin, Li Gung,” Flannery be gan, “has been a servant of Colonel Beetham’s for a long time He's been all over the world with the coionel?”’ Willie nodded ‘Gobi Desert. Kavir Desert. Tibet, India, Afghanistan.” ‘You've heard Li Gung tell about his adventures with the colonel?” “Yes.” **Remember ’em?” “Never going to forget,” replied Willie, his little black eyes shinin “You told your friend, Mr. Chan, here, that the colonel once shot a man for some reason or other?” The boy’s eyes narrowed ‘Because it There was no crime there.”’ of course it Was necessary,” rejoined Flannery heartily. “We wouldn't do anything to the colonel because of that. We have no authority over things that hap- pen outside of San We're just curious, that’s all. Do you remember what trip it was during which the colonel shot this man” “Sure Was necessary “Of course ‘rancisco. It was the journey from Pesha- war through Khyber Pass over Afghanis- tan.” “Tt happened in Afghanistan?” “Yes 4 bad man Muhamed Ashref Khan, keeper of the camels. He was trying to steal . ‘To steal what ‘A pearl saw him go into the tent man must enter at **What tent was that?” “The woman's tent.” There “The woman's tent ‘What woman?’ very > Colonel Beetham the tent which no necklace cost of his life was a moment’s tense silence. Flannery repeated “The woman who was traveling with them to Teheran. The woman from Pesha war.” **Did your cousin deseribe her?” **She was beautiful, with golden hair and eyes like the blue SKY Very beautiful, my cousin said.” ‘And she was traveling with them from Peshawar to Teheran?” “Ves Li Gung and the colone! knew it when they went through the pas Only a cart. Then she came tent, whict must enter or he for she was hidden in out, and she had her owr Colo nel Beetham said no mar would kill him.” ‘But this And he was shot observed W ill e Li. agreed Flannery “Well, I'm very much If I had anything to ou’d get a merit badge man he disobeyed: camel ** Justly so,” “Of course,” son, that’s all obliged to Now run along In the scouts, ) for this.” “IT have twenty-two Willie Li ‘I am Eagle Scout.” Manley went out you. say grinned He and already Flannery got up and paced the floor “Well, what do you know?” he cried “This is too good to be true. Eve Durand disappears in the night, her poor husband Continued on Page 129

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god loudest of the ‘old oaken bucket’? HE man who sings most the old oaken bucket” usually has a feelingly of ‘ crystal glass of iced water on the banquet board before him. The man who several times a day must bring up the bucket hand over hand from the well bottom is too close to it to have any “‘fond recollections.” It is only in the light of an individual’s improved position, in the light of his achievement of bettered living condi- tions, that he rose-colors his early hard- ships, tinting them into pleasant mem- ories. He may well view the rigors of his boy- hood as of vast import in forming his character. But there is more than a sug- gestion of mist in his eyes when he recalls how burdened with work, how old before her time, was his mother. In spite of the romantic memory of his barefoot days, his high resolve is to achieve MAK THE SATURDAY EVENING 1 HEALTH that success which will give his children all of the advantages which other children have, which will relieve his wife of aging drudgery. His ambition is a home. A “sweet home’”’, snug A little place, perhaps, but toasty warm and cozy. inside no matter how the winter his chubby children at untroubled play... winds blow his cheerful wife doing easily with modern kitchen equip- POST April 28,1928 ment and running hot water the tasks that too soon wore down his mother... his own comfort ministered to by a care- . the health habits of his little household guarded free boiler and radiator heat. by modern bathroom equipment. That any man, whatever his begin- nings, may aspire to so much in our coun- try—and achieve it—is the wonder of all observers from foreign lands. No house need be less a home, no home need be less a “sweet home”’, now that plumbing and heating developments have added so much to material comforts, to richer, happier living. Your plumbing and heating contractors are ready and anxious to help you deter- mine if your home is giving you the maxi- mum of modern benefits. Educated in the long school of expe- rience, with a viewpoint as professional and ethical as that of your family doctor, they are at your service, wait- ing to be called to “make a health examination of your home.” Plumbing and Heating Industries Bureau ‘ig national association of Heating Contractors, Master Plumbers, Wholesalers, and | Evan SVILLE, INDIANA EXAMINATION OF YOUR HOME Se ie SS ee ee

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ae (Continued from Page 127 is frantic with grief, the whole of India is turned upside down in the search for her. And all the time she’s moving on through Afghanistan in the caravan of Col. John Beetham, the great explorer everyone is crazy about, the brave, fine man no one would dream of suspecting.’”” Flannery turned to Chan. “I see now what you meant. Romance, you called it. Well, I’ve got a different name for it. I call it running away with another man’s wife. A pretty scandal in the colonel’s past—a lovely blot on his record. By heaven, wonderful! Do you see what it means?” Chan shrugged. “I see you are flying high tonight.” “T certainly am—high, wide and hand- some. I’ve got my man, and I’ve got the motive too. Sir Frederic comes to San Francisco hunting Eve Durand. And here is Col. John Beetham, honored and re- spected by all, riding the top of the wave. THE SATURDAY Beetham learns why Sir Frederic has come and he wonders. He hears the detective has been in India. Has he found out how Eve Durand left that country? If he has, and springs it, the career of John Beetham is smashed. He'll be done for—finished. He won’t collect any more money for his big expeditions. Is he the sort to stand by and watch that happen? He is not. What does he do?” “The question is for mere effect,”’ sug- gested Chan. “First of all, he wants to learn how much Sir Frederic really knows. At dinner he hears that about the safe being open. He’s crazy to get down there and look around. At the first opportunity he creeps downstairs, enters Mr. Kirk’s office pe “Through a locked door?” inquired Chan. “The elevator girl could get him a key. She’s Eve Durand—don’t forget that. Or else there’s Li Gung; he’s on the scene. EVENING POST Maybe that’s just by accident. But he could be used Anyhow, Beetham gets into the office. He hunts like mad, gets hold of the records, sees at a Sir Frederic has discovered everything. At that moment Sir Frederic comes in. The one man in the world who knows how Eve Durand got out of India and will tell. The Beetham forever. pulls a gun. It’s a simple matter for him he’s done it before. Sir Frederic lies dead on the floor, Beetham escapes with the records—-the secret of that old scandal is safe. By the Lord Harry, who'd want a better motive than that!” “Not to mention,” said Chan gently, “the velvet slippers. The slippers of Hilary Galt.” “Oh, be reasonable, man! ““One thing at a time.”’ the fire escape. glance that man who can wreck Beetham sees red. He ’ cried Flan- nery TO BE CONCLUDED THE FAILURE OF DEMOCRACY dangers could be overlooked, but when de- mocracy is strong its influence must be combated. When hatred and fear of this kind reach a certain point of cohesion, there is but one outcome in the present uncivilized state of mankind. Indeed, the state of the world today could well be compared to that of 1815, when the Tory reaction of the Holy Alliance was seeking by every means to extirpate the republicanism of Napoleon; a republican- ism which, although it had ceased to be a political fact, was still a social fact, since it allowed the common man to rise. But the Tories of those days overlocked, and the Tories of today overlook, one fact. Democracy as a reality, not a theory, has been steadily advancing. Science and in- vention, a multitude of other influences, have taken care of that. The ordinary man, for all the slave that he still may be, has been liberated and you will never get him back where he started. The democrat may be wrong in many details of his present methods and the results may be disorderly and regrettable; the Tory may be able temporarily to produce what seems—but only from the top looking down—an almost perfect state of affairs, yet philosophically and historically the democrat would seem to be right. He, at least, is riding the flood, however leaky his skiff may be, while the Tory is attempting to hold it back. Objections to Practice Now, politically and socially, or in other words, philosophically, there are just two types of mind, with all their subdivisions the democratic mind and the Tory mind. Back of almost every excuse now being given for the present dislike of the United States is this essential fact of the Tory mind. When the European complains of Americanization, he is not complaining of Americanization; he is complaining of democracy, although he does not know it. When the European liberal meets this charge by saying that he is not complaining of democracy but the fact that the United States has fallen away from the democratic doctrines—in other words, that he is com- plaining not of theory but of practice—it is because, influenced by the wave of Toryism now sweeping Europe, he has lost sight of the slowness of democracy, its huge arc; the fact that frequent and gross mistakes are inherent in the democratic system. At all events, as Bertrand Russell pointed out, you must not compare a system of government with some remote ideal if you are making a practical judgment upon it. You must judge it, as you would a man, humanly. The ideal, for example, may be Christianity, but if you are just, also logical, you will compare a man not with this re- mote ideal but with his fellows. If democracy is no worse than any other form of government, then it is not a failure, Continued from Page 27) and those who wish for it, even if it is more of a belief than a fact, have a right to it. But if, in adding up the peculiar vices and virtues of a democracy and comparing them with the peculiar vices and virtues of other forms of government, you find that democ- racy does indisputably promote certain benefits while by no means indisputably injuring certain other benefits, then democ- racy has not only not been a failure, it has had a modicum of success. A Philosophy in Operation Still further, and most important of all, if in tracing the history of a democracy you find that, one after another, what were thought to be the peculiar vices of democ- racy have been cured or bettered, then the democracy has not only had a modicum of success but its future is hopeful, nor are its new vices any more likely to be permanent than its old. Does democracy in the United States meet these tests? I think it does. As an instance, we are as a nation far less imperialistic than we were twenty years ago. This, on the face of it, may not seem true, because American business, due to ex- pansion, is just at present more imperial- istic than it has ever been. But politically and in the temper of the people, the United States has never been less imperialistic. As a result, and this has been shown dramati- cally two or three times within the past five years, as soon as the people realize clearly the imperialism of business they—most of them business men themselves—curb and cure that imperialism. Now, democracy is very much misunder- stood. It is misunderstood even by the democratic mind, save when that mind pauses to think about it. Many times as it has been defined, it cannot be defined too much. To the present-day American noth- ing is more important than this redefinition, whether he makes it to himself or states it publicly. Democracy is a political system, it is also a social system, but more than either, it isa philosophical system—a religion, if you wish to call it that. In its practice it is a philosophy put into operation. To the right, it takes itself out in an individual’s belief in a certain political system which will allow the philosophy to work; to the left, it takes itself out in the individual’s point of view toward humanity. To the contrary, any Tory system is largely pragmatic. Funda- mentally it is not a philosophy; merely a question of whether a thing works. There- fore, to a democrat his faith is as necessary as his works. A political system can go astray, a social system can be damaged, but if the philos- ophy is still there, those who hold it believe that sooner or later both can be remedied. This is why, although the continued as- sertion of the American of his belief in democracy seems to the European, in the face of actuality, banal, sentimental and frequently hypocritical, to the American it seems a matter of life and death. If he loses his philosophy—little as he may un- derstand it, little as he may live up to it, little as he may even realize that it is a philosophy done for. he knows that democracy is | The speeches of our statesmen and more | honest politicians are not the tiresome repe- titions of lip service that Europeans or some of our own critics think them. They are the necessary ritual of the democratic faith and the assurances to the public that, however bad things may be, that faith is not en- tirely forgotten. Rituals have their dangers. Obviously. But, except for the very brilliant and strong, the world cannot get on without them. Moreover, at their worst they are assertions on the part of those making them by which the rest of mankind, should it wish, can check them up. Only the Tory, and then only when he is in complete con- trol, can remain silent and contemptuously refuse to explain his motives. Direct action is the prerogative of the autocrat alone. Democracy is not only a philosophy but it is a philosophy based on evolution. In- deed, it is no more than evolution translated into political and social terms. Evolu- tion is slow. So is democracy. Evolution works by the trial-and-error method. Evo- lution, therefore, is wasteful. So is democ- racy. But when all is said and done evolution is the only process that has yet produced a man. First-Hand Knowledge The trial-and-error method means merely that you learn from mistakes or successes, and not from what is told you. It is merely another name for knowledge acquired at first hand, and it has this great advantage: Much as it walks backward and forward, much as it stumbles, much as at times it even shelters reaction, permitting a democ- racy to appear for a while an autocracy, what eventually is learned is the secret of a common national experience, and national or racial experiences become part of the fiber of a race, of a nation. They are auto- matic and inevitable. It is not necessary to think about them. Much time as they have wasted in the beginning, they no longer waste time at all. The human race took centuries learning to walk erect; now walk- ing erect is the least thing the normal man has to worry about. | | For example, the United States is one of | the few countries today where political or sectional rebellions do not represent possi- ble future events. Sectional rebellion has been tried and the advantages of union have been proved. But in the beginning our sectional rebellion would not have oc- curred had it not been for the weakness million men said ~ J, ' \ [ i | ‘ : 6 The. greatest union suit 9 ever made for§ oO Just a newcomer last season today a national success! Better weaves -genuine broad cloth, fancy madras, specially woven nainsooks. Better features—six in stead of just two or three. Better workmanship throughout. Yor can see the extra value in Big Yank Union Suits. Look up this great “new find” at your nearest dealer's. RELIANCE MANUFACTURING COMPANY 212 WEST MONROE STREET CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 1 TripleStitched Seams 4 Finished Armholes Making “Big Yanh Sutched with a fine grad Rip Proof of tape he 5 Form-Fitting Seat ie 2 Elastic Give-and- Take Back—Prevents -Balloen shaped gusset , ; conforming to the hu webbing |! reak ng—adds ease and means: comfort 6 Spread Crotch Givesea : stural 3 Thread-Riveted in all 5 t witl Ar all strain points scomfort BIG YANK ATHLETIC UNDERWEAR

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130 inherent in democracy; a weakness that means subsequent strength. Nor is politi- cal rebellion any more likely. Nor is social revolution. Political rebellion is not likely because every American knows that if events reach a crisis a new party will be formed, and that if the abuses have been too great, this party will win. Either that, or else one of the older parties will be forced to change utterly its tacties. This has so often happened in the past, and there is so little to prevent it from happening in the present, that argu- ments to the contrary seem absurd. That such a process is slow, wasteful, sometimes tragic, is clear, and so the citizens of a dem- ocratic country hesitate to make the experi- ment; but once they do, the lesson they have learned is never forgotten. For the same reasons, social revolution, to the American of all classes, is but the vaguest of considerations. Throughout the United States there is constantly going on a series of small and bloodless—sometimes, unfortunately, bloody—revolutions, and when these reach a certain degree of im- portance the nation as a whole takes cog- nizance of them, and their causes, at least partially, are cured. There is no need of any further argument in this direction except to point to the present position of the Amer- ican laboring man. That many abuses are left is true. Yes. That these perpetual small revolutions are wasteful; certainly. But their sum total is not half so wasteful as that of a French or Russian revolution. Descending from graver matters to every- day ones and therefore—to some minds possibly—vulgar ones, there was a time when the American, save for the most re- fined, was famous for his spitting. He has ceased spitting; he will never spit again. Through disgust with his own habits—al- though, of course, helped by the cigarette— he has learned to amend them. But should something happen to the rulers of Tory countries, the world will see for a while an expectoration, or its equivalent, that will make the earlier American essay appear the gentle amateur event it was. Spitting holds out numerous prospects of fun if you have never been allowed to spit. It is only by trying it yourself that you learn how selfish, disgusting and unsanitary it is. A suppressed class in any country is dan- gerous in direct proportion to the amount of repression and the size of the class. Patient Observation Today, in the United States, if you wish to find bad manners, gross materialism and all the errors that are supposed, wrongly, by the Tory mind to adhere to democracy, seek out the most newly arrived immigrant just escaped from the supposed good man- ners of Toryism; or if you wish to find an utter lack of any desire for beauty, seek out an immigrant recently arrived from one of the more artistic countries of Europe. The American of older stock is no longer colt- like. For the most part he has gone through his period of bad manners. Having done the worst he could by his landscape, he is trying to improve it. I may be mistaken, but so far as I know, the United States is the sole modern coun- try which is setting aside great tracts of iand for recreation only; where cities every- where are deliberately setting out to make themselves beautiful; where there are grow- ing movements to beautify gasoline sta- tions and prohibit roadside billboards. The American landscape is an excellent concrete example of democracy in action. Few will deny that it has been hideously defaced. But wait a few hundred years, and mean- while regard these spots where this move- ment to beautify it has already been given impetus. Democracy, being evolution, to be under- stood even in the slightest must be ob- served with the patience of the geologist or biologist; with the vision which regards not decades, or even centuries, but tens of centuries. The United States, one hundred and fifty years old, is by its very nature still an infant. Perhaps a thousand years from THE SATURDAY now—and that allowing for the speed of modernity and the United States in particular—the historian may be able to evaluate approximately the American ex- periment. Until then, he can only hope to separate out from the tangled skein of the present a few threads and, following them through from the beginning, speculate as to their future. The Tory country can be judged more swiftly and ruthlessly. There is no such impediment to continuous and speedy ac- tion as in a democracy. A man can run downhill and more prettily than he can run uphill. Against Toryism history is the most damaging witness. The Tory mind is the fundamentalist mind. It believes in a per- fect creation produced by a wave of the hand and preserved by inexorable laws. In its phrase book there is no such sentence as “‘Circumstances alter cases’; no such words as ‘“‘mutability’’ and “flexibility.” The Urge Toward Superiority But to believe in evolution—at all events where it is applied to human affairs—it is necessary also to believe in something else, without which this sort of evolution falls to pieces—you must believe, that is, in the urge toward superiority, conscious or un- conscious, on the part of the average man and woman. With my democratic bias I cannot see how any open-minded student of history can deny this urge. That as it first emerges it is likely to take itself out in ugly and un- comfortable ways is no doubt true, and a democracy bears witness to this fact, but as the instinct becomes trained, either in the individuals where it first appears or in the generations which follow, the ugly and un- comfortable features tend to disappear. In other words, it seems to me that a democ- racy, since it is evolution, since it is in mi- crocosm the history of the human race, must run the gamut of almost every form of absurdity, childishness and wastefulness, before, in the end, it produces a universal and inherent beauty, order and intelligence never before achieved by any political sys- tem. Biologically and socially each gen- eration is inclined to repeat the ancient errors, which are mostly what are known as moral errors, personal errors, the root of which, the nature of which, have never been accurately charted or understood. Politically, and socially in a large way, the human race does not repeat its errors in their entirety when anything approach- ing an opportunity for universal experi- ence is given. It does slowly progress. It does not progress, however, when there is class rule, for then only the ruling classes can enjoy these experiences, and other classes, in order to share, must upset the ruling class by revolution. After which, we have for a while merely a completely waste- ful turning over; a repetition without any progress. For instance, the communistic govern- ment of Russia, which is rapidly ceasing to be communistic, will have accomplished just what? Well, if it is lucky, eventually, and after infinite blood and misery, it will accomplish just what the democracy of the United States has already accomplished. It will have liberated the ordinary man and have given him opportunity. It will not have destroyed class; it will not have de- stroyed inequality of wealth. In order to accomplish what democracy has accom- plished, it will merely have substituted one class for another and, in so doing, will have destroyed whatever good—the result of slow centuries—there may have been in the class that has been annihilated. That this urge toward superiority, given free rein as it has been given in the United States, has been at work, and that even in the short space of one hundred and fifty years the upward trend can be clearly dis- tinguished, seems to me evident. You can select any one of a dozen threads from the tangled skein. Let us take first Will Durant’s charge that democracy has failed, because demo- cratic government inevitably falls into the EVENING POST hands of professional politicians and thus no longer is a government by the people and for the people. To begin with, certain terms, carelessly used, must be investigated. Democratic government does fall into the hands of pro- fessional politicians; indeed, it falls into their hands almost the moment it starts. But then, so does every other form of gov- ernment, and so will every form of govern- ment conceivable to the human mind. If anyone can pick out in history any govern- ment to which this does not apply, he will be rewriting history. He will not only be rewriting it, he will be making it up. The difference between, let us say, Louis XIV and the late Mr. Croker was merely one of title and the not-unimportant fact that Mr. Croker could be stopped and Louis XIV couldn’t. If those famous professional pol- iticians, Metternich, Bismarck, Machiavelli and Richelieu, are typical of Tory govern- ment—and at least their names have sur- vived when others have been forgotten— democracy has nothing especially to fear in comparison. The gravest charge that can be brought against the American mind is its lack of his- torical perspective. In its charges against its own country it frequently displays the most extraordinary lack of knowledge of what has gone before. One would be led to believe that political graft was an American invention; that political ruthlessness was invented by General Jackson’s gang. It would not even be surprising to find some American critic stating that Benedict Ar- nold discovered treason. In direct proportion to the size of a coun- try and the complexity of its problems does its government fall into the hands of pro- fessional politicians. The same is true of a city or atown. How could it be otherwise? Politics is a business, and an intricate one. If every man spent all his time, even the major portion of it, governing his country, little else would be accomplished. If I am not mistaken, the failure of the Greek de- mocracies was due to the number of amateur politicians, idle because of slave labor. Per- sonally I have never been able to understand the ignominy implied in the term “‘ profes- sional] politician.”” You might as well sneer and say, professional plumber, professional dentist, professional architect. The Best People The same applies to the ignorant use of the words “political machine.’’ What is the difference between a political machine and any other organization formed for the purpose of conducting business? If you deny the political machine, then you deny the need business has for organization. These delusions arise from the remnants of an ancient Tory idea that government is the task of a certain rich class, relieved by their wealth from any temptation toward financial dishonesty, but by no means re- lieved, as history shows, from the tempta- tions of the lust of power, of place, and of class cruelty. That Will Durant, in com- mon with many Americans, shares in these delusions is evident from his further state- ment that, although democracy in the United States has fallen into the hands of professional politicians and is no longer a government by the people and for the peo- ple, none the less he could largely forgive it if it were a government of the best people. What does he mean by the best people? Unconsciously he is harking back to the an- cient Tory idea I have mentioned. Class rule is a dangerous thing, as the records of various nations have shown. It may be ex- cellent for the class in power, but it is fatal for the rest of the country. And who knows, anyway, who the best people are, and who is fit to choose them? The best people, once intrenched in power, have a singular habit of turning into the worst people. As a practical instance, I have never been able tosee the difference between a United States senator who buys his seat and very few of them do—and a British peer who buys his peerage, save that the former invariably re- grets his action and the latter does not. April 28,1928 Save also for the extremely essential and saving democratic fact that the buying of seats in the United States Senate becomes at once such a public scandal that it is not likely to grow into a habit. It remains, in other words, sporadic. The point is not whether the government of a country falls into the hands of profes- sional] politicians and political machines, for that the government of any country is bound to do; the only questions are whether these machines and politicians sufficiently register public opinion—as Will Durant claims, in the United States they do not— whether they have been doing this progres- sively, with, of course, inevitable setbacks, since the country began; and whether the personnel of these machines has been stead- ily degenerating and no longer represents an accurate cross section of the country. As far as I can make out, in not one of these respects has democracy in the United States failed, and in not one of these respects has there been a lack of progress, despite numerous backslidings and numerous eras of fairly black shame. Mr. Durant must not be misled by the scorn of the average man—especially the. intelligent one—for politics. In every country and in every age the average citizen has complained and has scorned his politicians, but only in a de- mocracy, save by means of a revolution, has this scorn a chance of becoming effective. The Will of the Majority England is supposed to have a very high type of government, and yet the Public Or- ator of Oxford University, Mr. Poynton, speaking recently, and in the character of a pupil of Socrates, said: “You English people make a sorry bungle of anything connected with the state, but your voluntary achievements are wonder- ful; your Boy Scouts, your Girl Guides, for instance.” Lord Bryce, a good many years ago, said the same thing about the United States. He maintained that democratic government would become more and more a question of professional politicians running the business of the government, with voluntary organiza- tions effecting the really important and necessary changes. We have seen, of course, that such voluntary organizations, in the shape of lobbies, can be extremely danger- ous as well as useful, but they, too, are subject to the democratic process of better- ment and experience. As a matter of fact, the electorate of the United States now works as a gigantic vol- untary organization; a gigantic lobby that every so often expresses its will, prescribes the general policy, and then goes back to its proper place. And that is just as it should work, so long as it remains watchful. That it does remain watchful is proved by the fact that when it wants so to do, it directly reverses the general policy. I suppose no one will deny that the defeat of President Wilson expressed exactly the will of the ma- jority of the people at that time. When the party now in power ceases to express the will of the majority of the people, it will no longer remain in power. And this will of the majority has never been so evident as at present. There has never been a time in the history of the United States when every in- terest has been so represented not only in the actions of the Government but in the personnel of that Government. That there are abuses, injustices, absurd- ities is obvious; that to cure these under the democratic system is a laborious and slow process is also obvious; but that nothing but a democratic government would allow these abuses, injustices and absurdities even to come to the surface is also obvious—let alone attempting to cure them. As to the personnel of our present genera- tion of professional politicians, as to the workings of the average political machine, those are delicate and hotly debatable ques- tions; but I, for one, am convinced that in these respects, as in most others, there has been a steady improvement. We are ac- customed to compare present achievement (Continued on Page 135) ee a ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 131 Ten million women drivers on the slippery roads of today! And on yesterday's grit- surfaced roads only men were driving. Of course a more modern, surer-footed tread is needed to meet modern driving conditions. ‘The slipperier the road the louder these sure-footed tires sing Ie // _—_- =" j GHT down the trolley track .. . all four fabric. Every size is six-ply, each ply cushioned. wheels on the rails . . . Bad driving, of Double frictioned with the finest rubber, it is course, but try it just once on the new Penn- flexible to the point of being almost impervious sylvania Vacuum Cup Balloons... to external shocks. Tread of the densest rub- Try it just to hear the comforting ‘‘song of ber, giving slow, even wear and mileage hereto- safety’’ rise higher and louder as the vacuum fore believed impossible. cups grip, grip, grip the slippery steel rails. The final need of modern motoring is met in For the smoother and slipperier the road, the the adaptation of the vacuum principle to the tighter the vacuum grip takes hold . . . Grit balloon tire. roads silence the song . . . Then friction alone is And if driving conditions where you live are enough ... But on the grease-streaked tar sur- such that friction treads are still satisfactory, faces... on car tracks...in rain... wherever remember that you can get maximum value in the going is bad the vacuum cups work hardest As the wheel revolves the vacuum cups grip- sturdy, long-mileage Pennsylvania Balloons and ... to hold you safe on these modern, smoother and-let-go, grip-and-let-go with the purring Jeannette Tires, also made by us. roads. sound of suction created and released—‘ ‘the : ? song of safety’’ motorists call it. Pounayiy R ‘ C ol The carcass of Pennsylvania Vacuum Cup ENNSYLVANIA Ruspsper Company or America, Ine. Balloons is of selected, long-staple cotton cord Jeannette, Pennsylvania Pennsulvania | VACUUM CUP BALLOONS ———

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132 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 \ With the first sign of warmer weather have your crank- ean case drained, flushed and refilled with fresh oil. Most cats require a change in grade also. Consult the Con- densed Texaco Lubrication Chart on the page opposite.

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UL? THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 133 C onde nsed TEXACO LUBRICATION CHART The makes of cars listed represent more t of all cars in service. Check caref to see if your car requires a change to summer grade NOTE: Cold Weather r extr Make Cold Warm Make Cold Warm of Car Weather Weather of Car Weather Weather Buick M H La Salle I EH or S Cadilla H EH or S_ Lincol H EH Chandler M HorEH Marmon M H or EH Chevrolet H HorEH Nash M H or EH Chrysler H H orEH Oakland M H Dodge M H or EH Oldsmot M Hi Essex M HorEH Overland M H Ford A M H Packar H EH or 5S Ford T FI I Peer { H Frankl H EH I a H Hudsor M H I { I Hupmol M H Star H Jewett M H Studebak M H EI Jorda M H Willys-Kau M FH NOTE: The letter M or Tex ( Medium: H Paicetes Tesco Kesey: BM indicates Teas A with the vis ity gra About this time of the year FULL BODY TT eu arO —the romance of the open road calls to body. Each grade is designed to provide everyone! But remember that most cars today require a heavier grade of motor oil for warm weather driving; certainly the ma- jority of 1928 engines do. For today’s finer, faster engines run hotter. Upon higher heat . . . faster “turn over’. . . more explosions . . . depends their in- creased efficiency. Such engines demand exact lubrication; the right grade of motor oil is not only important, it is /mperative. Texaco Motor Oil, clean, clear, golden... is scientifically refined and of full viscous correct lubrication for a definite type of engine .. . to ensure full protection against heat and friction. Change your motor oil now. . . today. And while you are changing make sure of both brand and grade. This is the invariable prac- tice of those motorists who know that flaw- less motoring and Texaco lubrication seem to be inseparable partners! A dealer near you sells golden Texaco Motor Oil. The Texaco Red Star and Green T identifies him. Clean-Clear-Golden TEXACO Motor Oil The Texas Company, 17 Battery Place, New York City, Texaco Petroleum Products IN ALL GRADES

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134 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28, 1928 Todays Higher Speede 7 Make PERFECT CIRCLES Even More Important \N/ HETHER you're loafing at twenty—or stepping ¥¥ along at fifty or more—Perrrect Circies take good care of your motor—supplying the cylinder-walls and pistons with a// the oil they need—yet saving every drop of oil that isn’t actually required. At today’s higher speeds—when cars can and do go Citta tina ti faster... . Perrecr Circ ies are in step with the times.... They supply exactly the lubrication you need—varying it automatically to protect your motor at every speed. An impressive group of America’s leading makers of Oil-Regulating Type, 60c Pat. May 2, 1922 passenger cars, trucks and buses —140 of them — have adopted Prerrecr Circies as standard equipment. They know the advantages of these better piston rings. You can have these same benefits for your motor, for PERFECT It will pay you—in increased power and improved performance—to have PERFECT CIRCLE Compression rings installed along with PERFECT CIRCLE Oi#/- Regulating rings. They hold com- pression and prevent Blow-by (leak- age of explosion gases past inferior or worn-out piston rings). To insist that this PERFECT CIRCLE combina- tion be used in your engine is the Circie O/l-Regulating rings are installed by good repair- men everywhere. Ask for Perrect Circies by name. THE PERFECT CIRCLE COMPANY, Hagerstown, Indiana Export Sales Department, 549 West Washington Street, Chicago, Illinois one sure way to get the finest piston PISTON RINGS to

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ny (Continued from Page 130 with the achievement of the founders of the country. That is not fair. The country isa far more complex organization than it was in 1800; the founders of any country are usually the very highest type of men; the country seldom remains for any length of time the near-Utopia it was when first con- ceived. In order to discern whether the United States has progressed or degener- ated, politically, socially and intellectually, the critic should start in about 1830. If he will study conditions from then on, he will not, I think, remain depressed. If anyone will state that the political and diplomatic mind, save among the leaders of a country, is not likely to be the highest type of mind, I will be inclined to agree with him, but taking that into consideration, and even taking into consideration the direct election of senators, I would like to have proved to me—by facts, not statements that the Government of the United States, by and large, in all its departments, is not a more dignified proceeding than it has ever been in its history, save, perhaps, for those bright years between 1776 and 1829. And even those years were not so bright as many people think them. I find that most people who deride, let us say, the personnel of the Senate, when they are questioned, exhibit entire ignorance of that personnel. This is a test I have tried many times. Starting, as an arbitary ex- ample, with Cutting of New Mexico, and working through to Moses of New Hamp- shire, this personnel, although it may often be mistaken, compares well in dignity with any other upper house in the world. When undignified people are elected to it they are speedily laughed into silence or out of office. Indeed, sometimes they are unconscious agents of good. Many a backward state has been awakened by an undignified senator. Once more, one of the benefits of a democ- racy is that a fool in a high place is more easily isolated and more easily retired than a fool under a Tory system of government. There is no delusion that a fool, simply be- cause he is a gentleman, is any less of a fool. I find that the same people who writhe uneasily because of the personnel of our rep- resentative bodies, about which they know nothing, are equally ignorant of the person- nel and accomplishments of our govern- ment bureaus; of their intelligence, honesty and record of hard work; of the experts who man them; of their vast improvement over the bureaus of previous years. They are not always honest. No, of course not. They are not always intelligent. During the stress of great wars instances of stupidity and dis- honesty are likely to come to the surface, but if you know anything about these bu- reaus at all, you will know that evolution has been effectively leavening them. For one thing, the spoils system, formerly their basis, has been replaced by a real fervor for accomplishment and governmental service. Skeins of American Life As political machines become smaller they are likely to become more corrupt, less dignified, for the rewards do not attract so high a type of man. The political machine that governs a city is not so likely to be as honest or intelligent as the machine that governs a country; but even here, it seems to me, the impartial observer can find an improvement in American affairs, both in personnel and accomplishment. The Tam- many of today is nothing like the Tammany of forty years ago. In even the most cor- rupt city—and there are far too many of them—the political rings are required to give a return for the money they steal that would have outraged the ward politicians of half a century ago. To my way of thinking, you can take any other skein of American life and, following it through, arrive at the same conclusion. The skein of increasing honesty and intelli- gence in business; the skein of a more worldly and less provincial point of view; the skein of an increasing interest in the things of the mind; the skein of maturity and wisdom; the skein of the comfort of THE SATURDAY living as opposed to mere luxury without comfort— a dozen other skeins. And so long as this evolutionary process is discernible I am not overwhelmed by any temporary thunderstorms. If numerous people wish to run up and down the country in nightshirts commit- ting outrages—although any possible vic- tim should be protected and all outrages severely punished—the paraders should be allowed to parade until they drop from ex- haustion. If you have a fractious horse, you exercise him; you do not keep him in the stable. Mr. Durant’s supposition and the supposition of the Tory mind—for the so- cialistic mind and the Tory mind are alike in their belief in direct action and their real contempt for the ordinary citizen, their de- nial of any urge toward superiority — is that if enough people parade in their nightshirts, pretty soon everyone will be parading in his nightshirt and the country will become a nightshirt land. To the contrary, the dem- ocratic belief is that in every country there are born too many strong people who have an instinctive dislike for nightshirts, save in their proper places, to permit this to hap- pen, and that an overuse of the nightshirt eventually strengthens the hands of these people, just as it weakens the ranks of the paraders. Slow to Change I am not even depressed by our record of crime or our conduct of murder trials; per- haps at present the principal charges being brought by the Tory mind to prove the failure of democracy. Indeed, from a large point of view I find both encouraging, and arguments in favor of democracy, not against it. There are new factors at work that will eventually force, for the first time in history, a real appreciation of crime and possibly a real cure for it. Crime has al- ways been with the world. Because of the growing misery and humiliation of our posi- tion in this respect, before long we will find ourselves taking drastic steps, and those drastic steps will of necessity be intelligent ones. Tosuppose that any great and peace- ful community will allow itself to be con- quered, or even continually insulted, by crime is absurd. Yet, on the other hand, mankind will not move until it has to. It is only when conditions become impossible that they are changed. Crime is no more inevitable than yellow fever. When, for EVENING POST the first time in history, a great nation is forced to investigate the causes of crime, as shortly we will be forced to do, as our engineers were forced to investigate the causes of yellow fever in building the Panama Canal, then crime will be cured because the conditions that make it will be cured. The plagues that swept Europe in the Middle Ages were the mothers of sani- tation and preventive medicine. A Sure Way to be Famous Furthermore, crime is usually no more than energy and a certain amount of imag- ination misused and misplaced. It might be called energy minus character. The lack of crime in countries where there are vast suppressed populations, where suppression is part of the average man’s point of view, does not seem to me a subject for particular congratulation. To begin with, under such circumstances no attempt will ever be made effectively to cure crime; to end with, lack of energy in itself is no virtue. For the same reason our criminal justice, dreadful as it may be as a present spectacle, is not philosophically a hopeless one. The American’s dislike for inflicting capital pun- ishment —a dislike that has been present all through his history—is not a sign of senti- mentality or barbarism; it is a sign of civili- zation and logic. Nor is it contradicted by the American’s predilection for personal violence. Both are part of awhole. The in- jured citizen realizes the hesitation his fel- low citizens will experience in punishing, under the present laws, the man who has injured him. This is no argument for or against capi- tal punishment, but every intelligent man knows that our present procedure, far from diminishing crime, promotes it; and this same intelligent man is gradually coming to the conclusion that it is the dignity, sure- ness and inevitable swiftness of punishment that is the deterrent, not its severity. It is this dignity, sureness and formidable celer- ity that frightens the criminal. He has not the constructive imagination to visualize the actual punishment. If he had he would not be acriminal. At all events, there is an impediment in our major justice and this impediment must be removed. As far as I am personally concerned, the object would seem to be to get murder out of the world, not to perpetuate it by reserving to any government the right legally to perform it. * Biscayne Bay, Florida 135 It is perhaps in the essential idea of de mocracy itself that the evolutionary urge toward superiority can be as clearly traced in the American mind as anywhere eise The most difficult charge to answer of all those made against democracy, and one fre- quently made even by the friends of de- is that although democracy may liberate and enrich the mass of the popula tendency to pull down to one common leve! the extraordi nary man. Matthew Arnold said that un less an American thought like his fellows he had to emigrate. Today I should say that one of the surest ways to become famous and mocracy, tion, it has a constar prosperous, and with increasing emphe 4s, is not to think like your fellows. But however that may be, if you will trace from 1776 to the present the American's idea of equality, you will notice curious changes No critic who knows anything of Amer ican history believes for one moment that the words “All men are created equal”’ meant, to the men who stated this philo- sophical proposition, more than the ideal that all men should have, as much as hu- manly possible, equal opportunity. But the words have been distorted by both the un thinking democrat and the hostile Tory This country started as a smali aristo- cratic republic. In 1829 it became for a while the home of a mistaken idea of democ racy. Whatever may have been the other virtues fermenting in the mass, there is no doubt that to the average American for many decades, equality meant not so much the opportunity to become, through hard work and training, the equal of the best, but the opportunity to claim that,no matter how ignorant or inefficient you were, you were the equal of the best, anyway. It is on this rock that many democracies have foun- dered in the past. The amateur spirit prop- erly understood is often a magnificent thing, but the amateur spirit misunderstood is the source of bad manners, stupidity and poor service. For every American to believe that he can become President is an excellent idea, but for every American to believe that no further effort is needed is a wretched and dangerous idea. A Creative Force That this latter belief has largely disap- peared from the American mind is evident on every side; not only in the improved quality of American life, its manners and point of view, but in the improved quality of American work and craftsmanship. The growing complexity of existence—science among other factors—has informed the American that in order to succeed, know! edge, politeness and intelligence are re quired. He has also been informed how to appreciate and reward talent in every direc tion. The gate of opportunity is still wide open, but it is more closely guarded, and you have to prepare yourself better in order to pass through it. Surely this is no charge against democracy. Democracy fails only when the gate is closed And the gate cannot be closed unless two misfortunes happen. The gate can only be closed when a democratic government be comes an aloof bureaucracy; when the citizen who has succeeded, losing his demo cratic point of view, is no longer anxious to discover and reward talent. The former danger is inherent in every form of govern ment and can only be avoided by vigilance; the second cannot happen until the whole fabric of American life and the basis of the American philosophy undergo changes which do not seem likely. Many years ago Bernard Shaw, writing to Count Tolstoy on the nature of the De ity, spoke as follows. If you substitute for the name of the Deity the word “demo racy,” you have a perfect description of what I have been trying to say. “To me,” Shaw wrote, “‘God does not as yet exist, but there is a creative force con stantly struggling to evolve an executive organ of God-like knowledge and power that is, to achieve omnipotence and omnis cience, and every man and woman born is a fresh attempt to achieve this object.”

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Pittsburgh, Pa. — Boston, Mass Los Angeles, Calif Cleveland, Ohio Minneapolis, Minn Atlanta, Ga Detroit, Mich Philadelphia, Pa — - , THE SATURDAY The last means Rouen duck and I will give you the recipe, even though it cost me a lot of money. The duck, which should be young, large and very plump, is not executed in the style of the Long Island duckling—that is, its | poor little head is not laid on the block | and guillotined in the manner of Marie Antoinette. The Norman chef stifles his canard. He creeps silently up on the poor unsuspecting fowl and, tossing a blanket over its head, smothers it. This system is used so that none of the juice shall escape from the fowl, but I consider it a nasty trick to play on a duck. There is a good | | deal of quacking while the duck is playing the compulsory réle of Desdemona to the chef’s Othello, but in a few minutes the un- fortunate fowl’s ghost has winged its last flight. It is then cleaned, after which the liver is replaced and sewed in. Once ready for the stove, the fowl should be cooked in- side of three or four hours, for it goes bad very rapidly. Allow the bird to roast from fifteen to twenty-five minutes, according to size. Bring the roast duck into the dining room and place it on a silver platter and blaze for quite some time with a good cognac. This procedure, of course, is impossible in Amer- ica. The carcass and the rest of the bird— which has been cut up in advance—are thrown in a pressoir, or press, and all the essence that is extracted by the pressing is mixed with boiling cognac. This mixture is then stirred with a silver fork or spoon to blend the two liquids. The liquid is poured into a chafing dish and a generous lump of butter added. When it is all thoroughly melted and blended in the chafing dish, it is seasoned well with pepper. The duck is cut into thin slices and the slices are dropped into the sauce in the chafing dish. Take a spoon and keep working the sauce over the slices until they are saturated. It is then ready to serve. Dining on a Blazed Bird The smothered Rouen duck is easily de- tected from all counterfeits because of the redness of the dark flesh, due to the fact that suffocation retains all the juices. It is not a game fowl, but an ordinary barnyard bird. The cognac, or fine champagne, is es- sential and the only substitute I can sug- gest is lamp oil or furniture polish. The blazing of the fowl in cognac is a reminder that Joan of Arc was blazed in much the same way in the Place du Vieux-Marche in this little town of Rouen. It is unfortunate that fine champagne plays an important role in most of the cooking of Normandy, for it is also used in the recipe for poulet maison, the specialty of the restaurant in the Hétel de la Couronne. However, I do not feel that I am quoting excerpts from the defunct Bartender’s Guide of 1897, for the blazing of cognac absolutely deprives it | of its alcoholic and stimulating qualities; after the burning, only the flavor of the liqueur remains. You can dine on a blazed bird without violating any amendment, for no alcohol remains. It is quite different from sherry or Madeira in lobster New- burg, because that dish is not burned out in the preparation and the liqueur retains its high-powered kick. Here is the recipe for poulet maison: Select a tender chicken and cut in four or six pieces. Put a large lump of butter into a saucepan and cook over a hot fire. Season the chicken with salt and pepper and place the slices in the pan before the butter changes color. When the slices start to brown, turn them over. Then put the lid on the saucepan and place it in the oven. Take a dozen raw mushrooms and chop them into small dice. Add them to the chicken when the chicken is almost cooked. Before you take the bird out of the oven, throw into the pan a small quantity of | truffles sliced en julienne that have been EVENING POST Al COOK’S TOUR (Continued from Page 40) previously soaked in Madeira wine. Let it boil down and then blaze the chicken with a glass of good cognac. Throw in a gill of clotted cream and let it simmer just a moment. Arrange the chicken carefully on a silver platter. The sauce still remains in the pan, so throw a large gob of butter into the sauce and move the pan around on top of the fire, taking care that it does not come to a boil. Otherwise the sauce will break and the cream will curdle. Pour the sauce over the chicken on the platter. Make a gar- niture of sliced smoked ham around the edge of the platter and on each slice of ham lay a bouquet of hot asparagus tips. The only objectionable feature is the wines, but I might add that you can pro- cure Madeira and other wine flavors that are nonalcoholic but will supply the proper tang to the cooking, which, after all, is the thing to accomplish. The Frenchman pours rum into his cooking because of the flavors left by the blazing. It is exactly the same system as putting chocolate or vanilla into ice cream or puddings. Shad-Roe Omelet The cream sauce of Normandy, which is poured over everything to such an extent that you are surprised when you see a statue or a cathedral which is not painted with a coat of the sauce, is very easy to prepare. You mix equal parts of sweet Normandy cream and fresh butter. It is then melted in a double boiler. After sea- soning with salt and a little Cayenne pep- per, it is ready to be poured on eggs, fish, vegetables or anything in the vicinity. Our trouble in America is that we use milk that is too thin and necessitates a thicken- ing of flour. No Normandy chef uses flour in his sauces. The stuffed baked Seine shad is mag- nificent. You must go to Normandy for this dish, because the shad season is very short and the fish never runs far up the Seine. It is prepared thus: Cleanse and wash the shad for baking. Prepare the stuffing with bread crumbs that have been soaked in milk. Mash a half dozen hard-boiled eggs and break up the shad roe into little bits. Chop some parsley, thyme and other herbs that may appeal to your taste. Season the whole with salt and pepper. Knead the eggs, roe and herbs into a paste and stuff the fish with this mixture. Sew the shad up as you would a turkey and place in a long fish pan. Cover the shad with plenty of butter. If the butter is sweet, you can add a trifle more seasoning. Put it into the oven and baste very often with the gravy. The Norman chef does some surprising things with shad roe, but he excels his own imagination when he uses it in an omelet. Two shad roes are sufficient for six people. They are washed carefully and bleached by steeping for five minutes in boiling water that has been slightly salted. Sometimes a piece of tuna fish as large as a hen’s egg is hashed in with the roes, seasoned with a little minced shallot. After it is well mixed up, it is thrown into a saucepan with a lump of the best butter and allowed to fry lightly. This procedure is the important part of the recipe. Next beat up a dozen eggs. Take the hot shad roe and pour it over the eggs, stirring it all up until well mixed. Cook the omelet in the usual manner. In order to make it perfect. follow Madame Poulard’s system of pouring in the dash of cream at the right moment. This makes a delicious breakfast or luncheon dish and is just as good for supper. So here you have a recipe that can be eaten three times a day during the shad season, and a dish also that confounds the Parisian claim that Norman chefs do not know what they are cooking about. The roses that shine in Picerdy run second to the cuisine that glistens in Nor- mandy. The finest of plain cooking is that April 28,1928 prepared by the farmers’ wives. It is also the most economical. I admit that the male chef has the greatest reputation at the stove, but he has acquired it in big hotels and restaurants that spend immense sums of money in experimental cooking, knowing that they will get back their outlay from the innocent tourist. But when it comes to fine cooking with little cost, it is the women of the world who invent the simple and nutritious dishes. Put Oscar of the Waldorf in a lumber camp and I’!] guarantee that he will never get famous for ham and eggs with boiled potatoes. But when Oscar has a corporation and ten million dollars in back of him, he becomes famous for ham with champagne sauce and eggs with dia- mond dust. Normandy is famous for its apples, and its apples are famous for their cider. The juices of six or seven different brands of apple are squeezed in the presses and the cider thus possesses all the aromas and fla- vors of the finest fruit. It is rarely used in cooking, but is reserved for drinking with certain dishes, and goes best of all with tripe. When you speak of tripe, there is only one kind in your mind and that is tripe d la mode de Caen. The town of Caen is a short ride from Rouen and is known the world over for its tripe. The recipe: Garnish the bottom of an earthenware dish with slices of onions and carrots, bunches of laurel and thyme, and several cloves and peppercorns. Season with salt to taste. On top of this base of vegetables and herbs, place your tripe, which you have previously chopped into squares of about two inches. At the same time add a few pieces of calf’s foot. There is a certain essence thrown out from calf’s foot in cooking that can be attained from no other meat and it serves beautifully as a foil for the tripe. Place another layer of carrots over the tripe, then another layer of tripe over the carrots, and continue the layers un- til the deep earthenware dish is two-thirds full. Add enough water almost to fill the dish and place a cover securely on top and cook for about ten hours. After uncover- ing the dish, reduce the water by boiling. It should be served directly from the dish itself to make certain that it is red hot when it reaches the table. The Secret of a Dish of Tripe Some twenty-five years ago I went to Caen to get the original recipe for tripe ad la mode de Caen, and that recipe called for apple cider to be added to the dish at the same time with the water. We cooked it with cider at Rector’s and the same method was employed at the immortal Del- monico’s. The first time I ate it was in Kinsley’s Restaurant, in Adams Street, Chi- cago. Gustave Baumann, arenowned Swiss restaurateur, married Kinsley’s daughter after Kinsley had made a fortune serving honeycomb tripe. The secret of the ten- derness of Kinsley’s tripe was that he boiled it overnight to break down its nat- ural toughness. When Kinsley opened the Holland House in New York he made honeycomb tripe his specialty. The Holland House was considered the greatest hotel restau- rant in the United States by the epicureans, and I know that the late Marshall Field made the Holland House his New York headquarters. There is another way of serving tripe with a Creole sauce, but I consider the Caen recipe to be the best. The prepara- tions should include a washing of the tripe until it is perfectly white. A quantity of beef marrow added to the boiling pot will make the tripe rich and mellow. When cooking for six persons, you should use about a pound and a half of butter and a pound of beef fat. Considering the pres- ent price of butter, I should judge that tripe is an expensive dish. Continued on Page 139

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——_- a “—-— (Continued from Page 136) At Honfleur, which is on the Gold Coast of France, about thirteen kilometers from Trouville, is the Hotel St. Simeon, recon- structed from the monastery built in the fourteenth century. A seat at a St. Simeon table for luncheon is just about as econom- ical as a seat on the New York Stock Ex- change. Incidentally, the present owner does own a seat on the New York Exchange, for he is an American with an imported Vandyke beard that makes him look like a European. This inn is his hobby and he operates it on the theory that the rich tourist loves to complain about the high cost of gadding about. His chef, Jules Ansaldi, is well known to New Yorkers, for he formed a partnership with Vernon Castle in the old days and openec the Sans Souci restaurant at Forty-second and Seventh Avenue in the new building erected on what was formerly the site of the old Metropole Hotel, run by the Considine brothers. Castle and his wife had just caught the popular fancy with their exquisite dancing and Jules was smart enough to see their possibilities. The res- taurant was a success, but when the war broke out Castle entered aviation and Jules went home to France to fight. But as I said before, the summer resorts of France are expensive. I didn’t eat at the Hotel St. Simeon. I went straight through the dining room into the kitchen and ate with some chefs who knew me in Paris around 1900. I hornswoggled Jules out of two very fine recipes, one for lobster gratinée and the other for poulet St. Simeon. The langouste gratinée recipe is simple: Slice your lobster the long way down the middle. Remove the flesh and chop it up into small pieces. Make a sauce béchamel, adding grated Gruyére cheese. Mix the lobster meat with the sauce and then stuff into the two half shells. Powder with grated cheese and then brown in the oven. Every Town Has Its Fame Sauce béchamel is practically the same as the cream sauce well known to housewives except that a very strong reduction of con- sommé is added, which gives the sauce a good body. The bourdelots, or fruit dumplings, of Normandy are a specialty of that beautiful district and can be made with apples, peaches or pears, thus: If you are going to prepare a dozen pears, take a pound of flour, pile it on a kneading board and make a hole in the center. In the hole put a half pound of butter, one egg, a gill of water and two pinches of table salt. Work these ingredients together with your hands and spread the resulting paste out with a roller. Cut the slices of paste very thin and use each slice to cover a pear. The pears should be about half cooked be- fore being covered with the paste. It is not necessary to peel the fruit, but, of course, a peeled pear is more appetizing to the eye. After the dozen pears are wrapped in the paste, color them with the yolk of egg diluted with water. This glazes the dump- lings and gives them a nice brown color in the cooking. Place the dumplings in a large pie pan and put them in the oven to bake slowly for thirty minutes or so. Each little town in Normandy is famous for one individual thing—fish, tapestry, cheese, paintings or sausage. The creator of a new dish has the same chance of ac- quiring immortality as any of the saints, for if Rouen is dedicated to Joan of Arc, did not Vimoutiers erect a statue to the woman who invented Camembert cheese? Each inn along the road is a little more historic than the tavern of the previous day, but it is not until you arrive at Honfleur that you reach the most famous of all the inns of the world. This is the spot where the epicurean and the gourmet bare their heads, for here is the fountainhead of the restaurateurs, L’Hotellerie Guillaume le Conquérant—the Inn of William the Conqueror. It has changed much since I first saw it twenty- five years ago. It was a village tavern then, but the dollars of the prodigal tourist have THE SATURDAY transformed it from an antique Norman inn into a modern restaurant. This is due to the location, as it is but a short motor trip from those capitals of expenditure, Trouville and Deauville. The inn was built by Bill the Conqueror on a favorable spot overlooking the tides of the River Dives, where his boats were slowly taking shape and his army was wait- ing to be ferried across the Channel. For Bill had the idea of invading England and putting his conquering touches on that well-known island. The Dives still flows to the sea, but William’s boats and William have gone many centuries ago. Only the inn remains. It eventually became the seigneurial home of Sieur de Semilly, who- ever he was, and his family arms are still seen on a door panel. It gained its fame as a modern inn under the able guidance of Madame Leremois, who ran it until her death. But even now it is impossible to destroy its age-old charm. The Norman Barbecue There was also a Monsieur Leremois, but a woman is the big factor in all French inns. There may be a male waiter serving food prepared by a man chef, but you can bet that all the marketing and the receipts are handled by the wife. Incidentally, I have often wondered why America has no famous inns, and I think the answer is that inns are not made notable by architecture or money, but by associations. There is but one inn which stands out clearly in the United States, and that one has recently been bought by Henry Ford. It is famous because of one thing only: It was there that Longfellow wrote his Tales of a Way- side Inn. New Yorkers may jump up and ask about Fraunce’s Tavern, Philadelphi- ans may inquire about the King of Prussia and Jerseyites may become patriotic about the White Horse Tavern, but the Wayside Inn is the daddy of them all. And where the Wayside Inn had its Longfellow, the Inn of William the Con- queror has its Madame de Sévigné, its Daubigny and even its Dumas. It was here that George Sand wrote some of her books, meanwhile smoking a powerfu! black cigar, wearing trousers and otherwise con- founding the simple Norman peasants who did not know whether this queer-looking person was author or authoress. Louis XI used the inn as a stop-over on his pilgrim- ages to Mont St.-Michel, and Henry IV ac- quired a case of historical colic under the same roof. Henry made the mistake of in- dulging too strongly in his favorite dish of copperish Norman oysters, and the details of that ancient spasm of stomach twinges are among the state archives of France. For a king with colic is still the king, even though he lacks the supreme authority es- sential to the banishment of an oyster from his regal domains. I didn’t try any oys- ters of the Henry IV period, for I respect their ancestors too much. There is no doubt that the Norman is a big eater and a bigger drinker. If the bar- becue originated anywhere, it must have started in this section of France. But even with the grossness, there is always a fine touch, for who but a Norman would think of barbecuing a whole beef garnished with burned almonds? And where else would you hear of a chicken stuffed with a smaller chicken and the smaller bird stuffed with a pigeon? And lest the pigeon feel slighted, that, in turn, is also stuffed with a delicious mixture of meat and bread crumbs. They stuff everything in Normandy, but, most of all, themselves. And every course is saluted with a gulp of some ancient liqueur. Every feathered and every furred creature tastes better in Normandy, for the birds and rabbits live on thyme, laurel and aromatic herbs. The Parisians call the Normans clodhoppers and peasants, but this criticism is less constructive than envi- ous. It is one spot in France that is France. I wish they would lower their prices a little and then it would be possible to enjoy the meals. EVENING POST The fish at the William the Conqueror are just as good as the other food, for Hon- fleur is on the seacoast. Best of all the fish is the Channel sole, and I want to say a word for the Norman fisherman. He has all the bravery of the New Englanders of Salem and thinks nothing of daring the Atlantic in a rattletrap scow with a patched sail and a couple of oars. The French trawlers are propelled by steam but they are the most ridiculous jiggers that ever sailed the sea. You can see them, fifty miles out from Havre, from the decks of the ocean liners, as they bob up and down in the trough of the seas. Each trawler is as rusty as a tomato can on a deserted picnic ground, and the hundreds of gulls flying around them make the trawl- ers resemble seagoing bird cages. That's what they look like—bird cages, with the birds outside trying to get in. Here is a fine recipe for sole maison, or sole in the manner of the house: Butter an oval-shaped pan and put in some sliced mushrooms, a little bouquet of thyme and laurel, a sprig of parsley, and season with salt and pepper from the pep- per mill. You can even take the pepper- corns and mash them yourselves. After these preliminary efforts, put the sole in the pan. Pour an essence of fish consommé over the sole, but not enough to cover the fish entirely. On account of the abundance of fish in Normandy and the exacting manner in which each fish must be prepared, all Nor- man inns and households have ready at all times what is known in the French as fond. This fond is a reserve supply of fish con- sommé made from a large number of fish after the fillets have been cut out. The fish are boiled down ina huge kettle and the es- sence obtained from the process is the fond, which is set aside and drawn upon when needed. As no American housewife main- tains a fond, it will be found necessary to prepare your fish sauce the night before or do without it. There is no substitute for it and it is the secret of the dish. Cover the sole with heavy brown paper which has been soaked in butter. Then over the paper place a plate turned upside down. When the dish is about to come to a boil shove the pan to one side of the fire. The idea is to allow the fish to cook without boiling. Garnished With Stuffed Mushrooms Pour the sauce out of the pan and reduce it separately in another pan over a hot fire. Then move this pan over to one side of the stove also, and add small lumps of good butter. Keep stirring with a whip and adding butter until you think you have a sufficient quantity of sauce. Strain through a very fine sieve or piece of clean white fabric, preferably muslin. Place your sole on a platter, put it in the oven to get it well warmed again and pour your completed sauce over it. The Normans use a garniture for this dish consisting of asparagus tips, small diced potatoes, fresh mushrooms stuffed with tiny bits of shrimp and a little bouquet of hashed truffle. But then the Normans would think of something like that. Their dishes are supposed to appeal to the eye as well as the stomach, and I think they are right. Another thing about this recipe is that the sole is not an American delicacy. But if you care to work out this cross-word recipe, we have a capable proxy in a fish that swims in Western Atlantic waters, the good old flounder. Or you can practice on a sea trout or any other fish. It is a shame that the Florida pompano does not stand up well under shipment to the North or Middle West, because the recipe is ideal for it. The Florida land boom accomplished one good thing for the rest of America when it introduced the winter tourist to the deli- cious pompano. Looking over this recipe for sole, you will notice the brown buttered paper and the reversed dish. ‘heir use results in a poached or steamed fish, for the French- man does not like his fish boiled. That is Continued on Page 141 139 WELDON, WILLIAMS & LICK FORT SMITH, ARKANSAS EST. 1898 Specialists in Numbered Printing a eaeeeenieatete an!

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(Continued from Page 139) why he does not cover the sole entirely with the sauce, thereby preventing the fish from swimming in a pool of liquid which would result in boiling instead of poaching. They have some pretty fine points in French cuisine, and the usefulness of this recipe will depend on the personal judgment of the person trying it. Every fish cooked by a Norman chef gets the same care and attention that he would bestow on a rich and infirm old uncle who has designated him as his heir. He is con- siderate and gentle in his treatment of it, at the same time slowly and surely hasten- ing its end. You find the same care lav- ished on the famous Norman ham, which is cooked in cider, served with a cider sauce and washed down with bumpers of cider. It is the only ham that I have tasted prepared in this way, and the result is that the fat is just as toothsome as the meat. I started in by cutting the fat away from the ham, for I never eat fat. The chef remonstrated with me when he saw my actions and told me if I didn’t want the fat he would eat it him- self. Thereupon I tasted the fat and found it three times better than excellent. First Catch the Rabbit The cider is not of the hard variety. When the Norman wants his cider hard he allows it to age and puts it through a course of sprouts that results in a cider tougher than bootleg. When the peasant gets primed with this motive power he is trans- formed from a gentle citizen into a raging demon who beats his wife, daughters, sons, neighbors, cows, horses, and is even liable to waste many a heavy whack on the mar- ble statue of Louis the Magnificent. I find the meat dishes of Normandy are bout average. You don’t hear much about them, as they are lost in a maze of unique rural specialties. The tourists going into Honfleur, Houlgate, Avranches and other quaint burgs are not after beefsteaks and chops. However, no cook’s tour would be complete without a meat dish, so tie your napkins around your neck, for here comes the gravy: This dish is of the class known as les bons plats de France, one of the good French dishes, and is beef sautéed in the pan. Cut some very thin slices of meat from the hip or sirloin. Place a large piece of the best butter, about the size of an egg, in a sauce- pan and then put your slices of beef in the pan. Season with salt and pepper and add some thin slices of onion. Cook the beef for five minutes over a slow fire. Then turn the meat over and allow it to cook for five min- utes on the other side. Great care should be taken not to allow the onions to burn. Add half a glass of bouillon which has been already mixed with a little potato flour. During the cooking a small teaspoonful of vinegar should be added to the pan. When the bouillon is added, the dish is ready to serve. The meat of the rabbit is also treasured by the Normans, and they have always managed to get it even in the days when they were forced to poach in the woods and parks of the grand seigneurs. The peasant was a deliberate lad who first caught his rabbit and then thought about the recipe: Catch or buy a wild rabbit and remove all the bones. Keep the legs, liver and hind- quarters. Chop the meat all up except a few small pieces which are to be retained for the fillets. These fillets are to be cut lengthwise. Add a pound of finely chopped pork. Mix the rabbit meat and the pork well together, adding salt, pepper, a dash of nutmeg and a spoonful of cognac. Trim an earthenware dish, which should be deep, with strips of pig’s fat and spread a layer of the mixed rabbit meat and pork over this. Then put a layer of bacon over the meat Repeat and a piece of fillet over that. THE SATURDAY these layers until the dish is full. Cover the dish with strips of pig's fat and add a leaf of laurel and one of thyme. Then put the dish into the oven and permit it to cook for two hours. This is a wild-rabbit pdété. And as pdté de foie gras and every other kind of pdté is served cold, you must allow this dish to cool off before serving. After cooking, place it in the ice box and keep it there un- til ready to dine, otherwise it will spoil. I have never before run across this method of preparing rabbit, as my only recollection of rabbit is in the form of a stew. The rabbit paté listens good, but I suspect that the work and trouble involved in the prepara- tion will make it unpopular with anybody who bends over a hot stove. However, if nobody calls for this recipe inside of thirty days, it belongs to the person who found it, so I suspect it will be my property until I pass on. Shrimps also are very important in the Norman cuisine. You can buy them in bags and shell them like peanuts at a baseball game. They are not only eaten for their in- dividual merits but are also used as garni- tures for meat, fowl and fish. Any time you turn over a mushroom there is sure to be a shrimp hiding under it like a bug undera rug. Slice yourself a piece of fish and a hun- dred shrimps jump out at you. Every piece of salad leaf has a shrimp under it, and there is even a bisque of shrimp, which | means the little devils are in the soup. It’s a wonder they don’t make earrings out of | them. The écrevisse, or crawfish, is another | popular marine horror. It is mashed in | rice, eaten in sandwiches and made the guest of honor in a thick soup. If you like crawfish, then Normandy is your garden spot for thousand leggers. I don’t eat them | and neither do I eat snails. Americans eat very few things that crawl, but a thing must crawl very fast to stop a European from eating it, bones and all The eel, not so stylish in America, is much sought after in Normandy and all over France. I have quite a few recipes obtained from the old-timers, but I don’t intend to publish them, because there is something slinky and shivery about an eel, especially when I remember that the Roman nobles under the Emperor Domi- EVENING POST Everyone around the mine knew Dan ny. He was the fire boss, so it was his duty to inspect the i r gas. Pal, his little golden canar mines for gas. Pal, Nis little goiden canary, often helped him in his lonely search for | gas. One day there was a terrible ex tian used to throw their slaves to the lam- | preys. Therefore, when the nobles ate the eels later on they were committing second- class cannibalism, which is within the law but outside the ethics. Perfumed Eel Stew The eel is dished up in Normandy in the form of a fish stew, mixed with carp, sole, shrimp and crawfish, and flavored with thyme, laurel, parsley and garlic. This mess is perfumed with vin ordinaire and spangled with three dozen small onions which have been scorched in butter. The ensemble re- sembles the day’s output of a dredge that has been scooping up the bottom of a river. So far as the American appetite is con- cerned, there are too many good things floating and swimming in the sea that save us the necessity of diving into the mud for more obscure eatables. We will eat the tur- tle and the lobster, but the eel and the snail belong to the League of Nations. Summing up the cuisine of Normandy, I should say that it is the purest in Europe and the only one that has not been influ- enced by the flow of years and the waves of tourists. The Normandy cream and butter, the two essential ingredients of good cook- ing, are the finest in the world. With these twin jewels as a base, the Norman is able to fashion a tiara of food that sparkles like a lighthouse in an ocean of mediocre eatables. The Norman doesn’t care a whack what the -arisians think about him, and his system must be right, for every tourist I have met crowns the Norman as the chef of chefs. "Ga bg — plosion. Danny led the rescue parties with the aid of Pal. When the last mangled body had been brought to the sur face Danny discovered that Pal had been left to die in the mine. In spite of the warnings that another and greater ex plosion was certain, he went back alone to search for his little feathered friend. Another explosion did follow and barred the entrance to the mine. Danny’s friends dug their way into the doomed mine but could find no trace of Danny. They were about to give up the search when a ca- nary’s excited chirp guided them to a fall of slate where Danny lay half buried and unconscious, During the long days of Danny’s con- valescence, Pal sang cheerfully and con- j fidently even when the doctors shook their heads. “Sure, and the wee feathered rascal knows more than any of the doctors,” said Danny. “Didn't he save my life in the first place, and now he’s going to sing me back toa man’s work in the world again. So Pal sang Th r j : Danny back to his . m por old job as fire boss not fe i ” th 7 =" ; “Tr the feature ” in le mine. Ss aring HENDRYX Bird Home ¢a t leanse that a ch great to hear Dan- oe ny come whistling 141 His little feathered Pal faced death with him down the entries ayain, said the miners “And it’s great to hear Pal greet him when he comes whist] ng he me at dawn is said Danny’s mother Get your bird guest a Hendryx Bird Home No pet in your home will so endear itself to everyone, young and old, as will a canary. And a bird ts the only pet whose living quarters add a dec itive note of beauty to your |! horne Colortul designs in Pyralin or Dux finishes are made to harmonize with very interior. Look to see } the cage vou buy Ask your dealer the Hendrvx nam« Hendry, “Nine Points of Perfectior ler A X to point out the i may see the newe ~ 1dryx designs at \ % arest pet shop, florist, or hardware store, house t nishing or department store Prices from rangs stands trom $2.50 to Since 1868 MANENDRNX 228 Fret This charming booklet, “The Ft PI sopher, tt tt . aoe / ind what | ug | s t app ir y i ‘ akes an attractiv loving friends A free copy w ” sent t and to any friends whose names you send us Write to The Andrew B. Hendryx (€ 82 Audubon Street, New Haven, Conn.

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For your protection — look for this gold label on the shaft itself. Everybody knows that “spring steel” has far more strength, snap and life than other steels. And in a golf shaft this should certainly mean greater distance and truer shots. So bear this in mind the next time you think of buy- ng a golf club—only the ristol “Gold Label” Steel If Shaft can be made of “shring steel”. Its exclusive makufacturing processes make this so. For Your protection there old Label” Shaft, ho is the maker Look for it— ere, you are steel shaft uniess it is not getting Steel Golf Shaft Patented Nov, £2, 1910 Write for booklet Upon request we will send you an interesting little booklet on golf. THE HORTON MANUFACTURING CO. 2042 HORTON STREET, BRISTOL, CONN, ESE SOPRA a a RR THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 AIN AMERICAN COMEDY Soon we have more gags— and good ones | than we possibly can crowd into the picture. Some we discard without trial, others will be edited out. Some were worked out in the gag room, others were born of spontaneous combustion in the midst of camera oper- ations. We finish the greater part of the comedy factions before we turn back to the neglected plot. For example, we began work on Speedy in midsummer. At Christmas, the picture three-fourths or more finished, we first turned our minds to devising an opening sequence, and not until a month later did we consider how to end the story. All of the baseball and Subway, virtually all of the taxi and Coney Island, and much of the horse-car faction were made in New York and the picture completed in the stu- dio and on location on the Coast. On un- developed acreage we own in Westwood Hills we built a replica of the Sheridan Square neighborhood on the lower West Side of Manhattan. Some of the picture was taken in the true Sheridan Square, some of it in this California reproduction, and it will need a 20-20 eye to tell them apart in the film. Such salvage as this costly set produces will be in the form of rentals for occasional use by other compa- nies. (Continued from Page 38) A gag in the Kid Brother instances a sur- prise laugh. The heavy slams me against a bulkhead, holds me there and beats me over the head with a belaying pin until it bends with the force of the impact. As he lets go, bewildered at the hardness of my head, I turn and disclose, just above my head, an iron bracket which had caught the blows. The surprise is feasible here for two reasons: The action is fast and the blows are funny in themselves. Thus the audience is alert and already laughing when overtaken by the unexpected dénouement. We made the scene both ways, but preview audiences laughed so satisfactorily at the surprise that we never showed the other version. There is one rule of comedy that has no exception—you must never disappoint an audience by leading it to expect something that is not in the picture, unless you give it a still funnier situation instead. The original version of the Freshman contained a perfect instance of this. In an emergency the boy goes to the Junior Prom in a basted suit of evening clothes. As he dances, the suit begins to unravel. The easiest laugh in the world is to rob a man of his pants in public—so easy that we were above doing The taxi faction was designed to run about 600 feet, but grew, in the making, to 1500 feet, or nearly two reels of successive failures to attract a paying passenger. Speedy sets to cruising for fares. A man emerges from an apartment house, a suit- case in each hand, and signals for a cab. Speedy pulls up. A second man dashes out of the apartment house. He is the landlord and the departing guest has not paid his bill. As I load the bags into the cab the landlord knocks the absconder down. I take one look and return the bags to the sidewalk. The guest arises and knocks the landlord down. I replace the bags in the cab. But the guest is knocked down a second time and stays there. The bags re- turn to the walk and stay there. The Strong Arm of Justice Two new passengers run up and demand to be taken to the Pennsylvania Station in a hurry. That is the way I take them, pur- sued, unknown to me, by a motorcycle cop. I pull up at the Penn Station with squealing brakes. The two men burst out of the cab and are off on the run. When I yell, ‘“‘Hey! Where smy fare?” they turn for an The taxi faction is a good example; let’s take it apart and see how it works. Three or four ways of open- ing it occurred to us. We chose one which would let the audience in on the joke. Speedy, out of work again, reads a want ad calling for a ‘‘ Taxi driver; must be steady and relia- ble.” That, as the audience already knows, is precisely what Speedyis not, and it snickers in anticipation. Speedy next is seen at the wheel of his cab in the garage doorway, listening to the parting in- instant, flash de- tective badges, and vanish intothe station. As I sit mourning a fare I] must pay out of my own pocket, the outraged mo- torcycle cop pulls up and gives mea ticket and a dress- ing down. Formy story about the de- tectives he awards me the razzberry. He leaves and an old gentleman—a paying fare at last—makes for my cab, but at that moment the detectives reap- pear, brush the old man aside and give me an uptown ad- dress. I wave the ticket at them. ‘Look at this mess structions of his boss. There is an oil cart in front of the garage, an Out of Order sign hung on it. As Speedy drives away, the right- hand door handle of his cab hooks the sign and carries it off. That isa gag. Itisa good gag because it lays a train of comedy and because it could happen to any taxi driver. We took the scene half a dozen times and I did not fail once to hook the sign. Another employe could have hung it on the cab in mischief or jealousy, but that is neither as simple nor as essentially funny as its accidental transfer. The Audience in Your Confidence A fade-out designates a lapse of time, and the picture fades in to show the taxi at the | curb, Speedy yawning and hunched in his seat and passers-by glancing at the cab, then going on. The audience, knowing what is wrong, enjoys itself at his expense. It is an accepted rule of comedy that the laugh of laughs is one that sneaks up be- hind the audience and catches it off its guard. There are exceptions, and no matter how long you have made comedies and studied audiences, you cannot be sure al- ways whether it is better to surprise the spectator or to take him into your con- fidence. In this case, had we not shown the transfer of the sign the audience would be as puzzled as is Speedy at his lack of busi- ness and its attention would stray. Harold and Ann Christy, His Present Leading Woman, ina Coney Istand Faction From “Speedy” it here. The unraveling stopped with his coat. Frances Marion and other wise old heads who saw the film in our projection room warned me: ‘Harold, you’ve got to lose your pants.’”’ We continued superior to such hokum, however. Each picture is previewed three or four times in as many theaters in the Los Angeles district. The theaters are chosen carefully to provide audiences of markedly contrasted types, and the picture is not edited finally until we have tested the responses of these varied cross sections of the picture public. At each preview of the Freshman the audience demonstrated that it was looking forward eagerly to the pants following the coat, and when they did not, made its disappointment so manifest that we had to redress the set, call back the cast, including many extras in the ball- room scene, and unravel the trousers. Reverting to Speedy. He calls “‘ Taxi at length to a man who glances at the cab, then starts on. The man points to the sign. Speedy leaps to the walk, snatches off the sign indignantly and assures the passenger that it is a mistake. But as he throws in his clutch the car bucks, then dies. He has forgotten to release his hand brake. The passenger alights in disgust and replaces the sign on the door. Another gag. ” you got me in.” They tell me to forget the ticket; they will square that. Meanwhile step on it in the name of the city of New York. This is opportunity! I charge up Eighth Avenue stiff-arming trucks, shaving street cars, scattering pe- destrians, ignoring semaphores and lights and pursued again by the motorcycle cop. I look back and shake my teeth at him derisively. But as the audience knows, and I do not, at the moment I was pushing down the flag, the two detectives had sighted the crook they had been chasing. They leaped from the cab and the old gentleman took their place. When the motorcycle cop finally runs me down, I merely jerk my thumb back to where the two detectives should be riding and ask him to tell his troubles to his superiors. Instead of which, the old gentleman, a nervous wreck from his wild ride, stumbles out of the cab and denounces me as an assassin. However many the extras or elaborate the pains you take, it is impossible to manu- facture a crowd or a traffic scene as con- vincing as the real thing. The best effects usually are had by mixing the genuine and the synthetic. In the Freshman we took some of the footage at the actual California- Stanford game in the Berkeley Stadium, with a full sweep of the great crowd; then duplicated the background as nearly as was (Continued on Page 145)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 143 QUAKER STATE OILs a GREASES R€6.u 8. PaT OFF « What Quaker State's By a super-refining process there is S ¥ > 4 removed from Quaker State Medium uper refining Means to Motor Oil the 25%. or more, of delete- ° © ° rious non-viscous matter found in ordi- More Than a Million Motorists nary motor oil. The chart below shows how this is done. Quaker State Medium Motor Oil is all lu- bricant— 100%. It gives four full quarts of useful lubricant to the gallon, instead of three, as in the case of ordinary oils. Aviators, racing drivers, engineers, auto- mobile dealers, owners of cars of every type, all have reported very unusual performance and economy records from Quaker State. Over a million motorists won't use any other oil. There’s a good garage or filling station near you which will gladly drain your crankcase and refill it with Quaker State. Then see for yourself if a million enthusiastic Quaker State users are right in calling it the best motor oil made. The price is 35c per quart. QUAKER STATE OIL REFINING co. : OIL CITY, PA. Other Quaker State Products are: QUAKER STATE HEAVY MOTOR OIL, QUAKER STATE COLD TEST OIL, QUAKER STATE TRAC- TOR OIL, QUAKER STATE AEROPLANE OIL, x a a NHR Sze MOTOR OIL 7” we cS OIL REFINING CO. eee —_— . a One Sk ___ GUARANTEED , : Pressed | [~ Distillate Wax Presses | Crac STILL oo mAs Taking out 25% or mort of non-viscous matter of little Paraffin —itm | , bi | Commercial refining stops eae fein here — a mixture of light or no value for lubricating an internal combustion motor auto oil and bright stock States containing 25 or more, Plus nal E 11) of non-viscous matter of little or no lubricatin CRUD STILL value in your motor. 7 | 00°F. serum Refined =[Ficen piltered Stock ha ut ( sTu) Bright Stock J This is the ordinary distilling process which is used in the manufacture of the usual motor oil

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SATURDAY EVENING POST Go~=! Everywhere—every second as the green light flashes ‘“‘go’’ out shoots a car in front like a shot from a gun. Almost invariably this definite, de- pendable, positive super-perform- ance is due to the use of a new pis- ton—the Nelson Bohnalite Piston. Lighter in weight—advanced in de- sign—of a new process in metals April 28,1928 —this latest vital motor part is revolutionizing performance. The Nelson Bohnalite Piston gives any Car greater pep—is a vibra- tion eliminator atd adds thou- sands of pleasurable miles to a motor’s life. See that your next car comes equipped with this newest product. Ask your dealer. Bohn Aluminum & Brass Corporation, Detroit, Michigan Also makers of the famous Bohn Ring True Bearings NELSON PISTONS _

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ty _—* (Continued from Page 142) feasible by taking the rest of the football faction in a Los Angeles stadium and filling a section of the seats with extras. The difficulty about tying actual crowd and street scenes up with a picture is that the public should not be aware of the camera. If they are, they stop, stare and grow self-conscious. The enlisting of a crowd without its knowledge is called “‘stealing a shot.”” We stole several shots at Coney Island for Speedy with much success and attempted to steal another in Times Square. The police department gave its sanction, an actor in regulation police uniform took up station at Forty-third Street and Seventh Avenue and the two cameras were con- cealed in a laundry wagon which was to be parked at the curb. When we were ready, another car was found parked in the selected spot. We appealed to the actual traffic policeman on the corner. He ordered the car away, but its four occupants drew back their coats, disclosing police badges. They were city detectives on watch for a thief who, they knew, would stroll up Broadway sooner or later that day. The scene was postponed; then as we were about to begin a second time, a bundle- laden woman shopper approached our movie policeman for information and re- fused to be shooed away. The efforts to get rid of her tipped off the crowd and made any further attempt impossible that day, so the bit was put aside to be taken in Los Angeles. I had remained in a closed car until the director called, but when I mingled with the crowd I was not recognized until its at- tention had been caught by the woman- shopper episode. Ted Wilde, the director, was struck by this. I bet him that I could walk down any two blocks of Fifth Avenue in daylight and in make-up, and go un- recognized, and won the bet, though he chose the most difficult stretch of the Avenue—Forty-first to Forty-third street. I fixed the time at four P.M. and Wilde and others followed in a car. Two tricks ac- count for my escape. The first is to lower the eyes. Once you catch the eye of any- one, he may start in sudden recognition. The other trick is the time of day. At four o’clock there are no promenaders or idlers on the Avenue. As the business day nears its close everyone is bound somewhere in a hurry and preoccupied with his business. Christmas in California In Los Angeles, in December, we set up a dummy Subway kiosk on a corner in a neighborhood business center, assembled a crowd of extras and a fleet of automobiles with fake New York license plates and made the postponed bit which called only for Speedy to stop, tie a shoestring on the running board of a parked car, go on, and finding the traffic signal against him, reach out, seize the traffic cop’s whistle, blow a blast and proceed through the parting waves. But no amount of dressing will make a suburban intersection in California look like Times Square. Because taxi rates are about twice as high in California as in New York, the cabs in the fleet were our own and carried the characteristic ““15 and 5” of New York. It is cheaper to maintain a few old taxis than to repaint rented cabs. Passenger cars may be hired at the usual livery rates, of course, but the cost of any equipment not regularly let out for hire is a con- siderable expense in movie production. Ten per cent a week of the retail price is the customary rental fee. For example, a bit in a dentist’s office demands a full, modern dental outfit. We use it three or four days and pay one-tenth of what it would cost a dentist outright. If it is scratched or damaged in any way we pay additionally. There are large furniture houses in Hollywood which do not sell $100 worth of goods a week; their business is almost exclusively the renting of furnish- ings to the studios, and in Hollywood also is located the world’s greatest costume house. THE SATURDAY After shooting this whistle trifle we spent the balance of the day touring resi- dential Los Angeles, extras and all, seeking a location for the even smaller shoestring bit. It demanded only a business street and half a block cleared of parked cars on one side of the street. Christmas traffic made the downtown section out of the question. Moreover, while the California landscape at Christmas gives no hint of the season, the holly wreaths, Christmas trees and paper bells in every shop window gave more than a hint. We gave it up finally until after the holidays. Gags, which are the lifeblood of comedies and which used to be our exclusive property, now are being conscripted into dramatic pictures regularly as comedy relief, not only in such war comedy dramas as the Big Parade and What Price Glory? but in so serious-minded a picture as Sunrise. The consternation of the young couple in the photographic studio in Sunrise, when they believe they have broken the Winged Victory or some such classically mutilated sculpture, was an old gag on the stage before the first picture was made. The New Invasion Not only have the big producers notably increased the comedy content of their dramatic pictures in the past two or three years, but they have invaded directly our once private pasture with such new teams as Beery and Hatton, Bancroft and Conklin, Murray and Sidney, and Dane and Arthur, making straight comedies of program length. Charley Murray, George Sidney and Chester Conklin always have been comedians, but Beery, Hatton and Ban- croft were menaces and character men who, cast in comedy-relief rdles, so stole the pie- tures from the dramatic leads that they were made stars and featured players on their comedy strength. Karl Dane and George Arthur jumped from obscurity to featured players on their comedy in one picture, the Big Parade. With the possible exception of straight love stories, there is an increasing emphasis everywhere on laughs. Among the women stars, Clara Bow, Bebe Daniels and Marion Davies now are comédiennes first and heroines only incidentally. This new and earnest competition may have a pronounced effect upon what has been a separate branch of picture business; certainly we specialists in comedy never again will have the field so largely to our- selves. The long procession of love stories, Westerns, melodramas, costume romances and what not, lightened only by an oc- casional smile and depending largely on un- related one-reel fillers for the laughs of the program, was poor showmanship, and I can’t imagine a return to it. Comedy demands a technic of its own, but the big producers have learned that. After attempting to make funny pictures with dramatic directors and failing, they have called in former comedy directors who had graduated to the larger field, of which there are many. Dramatic directors cannot time and space comedy, and actors ac- customed only to dramatic work move too slowly through comedy scenes and fail to underscore their action properly. One form of skill that all pictures de- mand alike is a knowledge of the limitations and values of a camera. It is all the audi- ence a picture actor actually has. He is selling something to that black box on a tripod, and he must play the game by its rules; like the public, it is always right. Only what registers there reaches the screen. If he knows his camera well enough he can commit even that cardinal sin of pictures to look directly into the lens. But he must know how to look into it without seeming to. And a secret of comedies, given away free with this article, is that if you make your audience hate your heavy sufficiently, you may heap the most outrageous slap- stick upon him and have them cry for more. On rainy days in the earliest period of the Roach company, we used to hug the fireplace in our one room in the Bradbury EVENING POST house and try to read our futures in the eucalyptus embers. Roach had not yet sold a picture and his few thousands were melting fast, but he wore silk shirts. ‘““Do you suppose we ever will get any- where?” he inquired one such day, as much of the fire as of the rest of the company Which was as near pessimism as Hal per- mitted himself. ““Do you suppose this crazy business is going anywhere,’’ someone else remarked, “‘or is it just another magic-lantern show?” “*Let’s hear from Harold,’’ Hal suggested. “What do you expect to be doing ten years hence? Or do you?” Harold, who up to this time had taken no part in the conversation, replied, “‘I’l] be pretty well satisfied if I can wear silk shirts like you.”” And Harold meant it. I was earning three dollars a day and paying fifteen dollars for suits at the Nebraska Clothiers. Travel succeeded silk shirts as an am- bition. It still is ungratified. I want more than ever to travel and am no nearer traveling, as I mean traveling. Once I was too busy earning a living, then too busy building a reputation, and now I am too busy holding a reputation, for Hollywood is no place to rest on one. Even the tortoises are fleet of foot out here, while the capacity of the public to forget a movie star is practically unlimited. Thus, having a reputation is not unlike having a bear by the tail. Any time I care to let go of the bear, I hear it suggested, I can find any number of takers, but, alas, one grows fond of one’s bear. More than anything else, I would like to make a round-the-world tour, for I never have been out of North America. There are two obstacles. One is that it would be no fun unless the Lloyds could go just as any other family of American tourists, and everyone tells me that cannot be arranged. The other obstacle is the reason that keeps a Latin American dictator from running over to Paris any time he feels like it, or why congressmen go on kissing strange babies. They like the job and hope to keep it. ‘“My Public”’ Any picture star is under certain obliga- tions to what sometimes is known as “‘my public.’”” Any picture star sounds a bit or more silly when he talks about ‘‘ my public,” but never think him or her hypocritical. | That public is exactly as important as she or he pretends, which is as important as a parachute to a balloon jumper. To be a successful star in pictures, where audience and actor never meet and audiences are world-wide, demands even more trafficking in the actor’s personality than the stage has set a precedent for. The whole purpose of publicity is to create a public interest in | the actor, to make a public character of him. Having deliberately sought that in- terest, the actor cannot say: ‘‘You must excuse me; I am on public view only from three until five on alternate Wednesdays. The rest of my time I am a private citizen and I must ask you to respect my privacy.” That is, he cannot say this if he goes abroad in public paths and if he hopes to keep his public. There is good taste and bad taste in publicity, but good and bad, Webster de- | fines the word as ‘‘the quality of being | public, or open to common knowledge.” Wherefore, having solicited the public in- terest, I hardly could cross my fingers, cry “King’s X,”’ and say I was not playing if the Lloyds made a world tour, yet who | wants to circle the globe in a goldfish bowl? There are celebrities—queens, politicians and actors—who frankly like the spotlight and are at their best under it. They give a good show. Why not? It is a much more logical and no less admirable attitude than that of the professional who strikes the modest pose. A Lindbergh has the right to accept or avoid public acclaim, as he chooses, but had he commercialized his name and fame he would have lost that amateur status.

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Agencies in most principal cities alog and Samples of Work Salesmen & Dealers wanted in a few open territories ‘What—No Keys?” DOOR DUDLEY tocxs Don’t Need Them!” TO more worrying 4 ibout lost, mislaid and forgotten keys. ourself ! getting y ocked out of your home With Dudley Combina t! Keyless Dox > See you can forget keys for- ever ang can enjoy a greater degree of protec- tion than you have ever known. The Dudley can’t be picked, but provides bank-vault security for » Zarage, ivate cabinet and other pl aces red Principles are proved n 4,000,000 ) Dud ley Keyless Padlocks now service A patented ¢ mnt assures your opening the ds even in the dark. Send coupon + folder and prices. No obligation. ide Representatives Wanted | — where Valuabies ar rful »ppor- get into — Tear off and Mail— DUDLEY LOCK CORPORATION, (DEPT. 74) 26 No. Freakiia St., Cheng. r obligat »> me, please send complete cle Keyles oor Locks rl want facts on ir apecial Representative's Free Lock “otter and big money-making proposition audible dial with notched | THE SATURDAY It is no overpowering modesty that pre- vents me from showing myself in public sans make-up and out of character any more than I can help, so much as the fact that I do not give a good show. I never have got over being self-conscious and con- strained on parade when out of make-up, and I do not look as I am supposed to look. There is the other objection, I admit, that being on parade is stiff and itchy business and leaves no time for anything else. I feel like a boy with freshly washed ears and company manners, driven into the parlor to be introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Zwilch and little Millicent Zwilch. ‘‘Now run along, Harold, and show Millicent your magic lantern, and remember what I told you!” We were returning by the southern route from one trip to New York. Eastward we had gone by Canadian Pacific and, going and coming, there had been receptions, ap- pearances, welcoming speeches, parades and spontaneous outpourings of the popu- lace, following on whispered hints from the publicity department. From Jacksonville to New Orleans—a long ride—nothing had been scheduled. Waking the next morning out of Jacksonville, I settled down to a day of solid comfort, which means whiskers and a lounging robe. The worse you look, the better you feel. There were sounds of a brass band when the train pulled into Mo- bile. I peered out, saw a crowd and a dele- gation on the platform, and was moved to glee. ‘It’s somebody else’s turn,” I chortled. “Don’t cheer, boys; the poor devils are dying!” Rap, rap, rap on the compartment floor. The New Orleans office enterprisingly had wired the Mobile office to scare up a dem- onstration for the visiting fireman. Un- | shaven and abashed, I had to go forth and grin foolishly at Mobile. With true Ala- bama courtesy, Mobile smiled back. Pri- vately, however, I think they suspected, charitably, that I was not the true Harold | Lloyd, but an impostor. | a photograph in the next day’s Lonesome Luke in Person This suggests a story told in Hollywood on an independent producer of frugal meth- ods. He was returning from a business trip to New York, and his executives thought to honor and surprise the chief with one of those movie welcomes that sometimes land papers. When the producer alighted this cloudless morning, he was greeted by his assembled company, flowers, music, camera clickings and huzzahs. He fixed the assembled hired hands with a cold and rebuking eye. ‘‘ What’s this?’’ he asked with rising inflection. ‘‘The sun is shining, ain’t it?”’ The Optic Theater, a ten-cent house on Main Street, Los Angeles, was the scene of my first personal appearance. The theater showed the Lonesome Luke comedies reg- ularly and the manager had wrung a prom- ise from me to make a talk from his stage; I saving a mental reservation that he would have to catch me first. Pollard and I at- tended the theater this night to see the first local showing of a blacksmith-shop comedy of the Luke series, and thought we were undetected. In an intermission the manager stepped | into the frame from which the illustrated | songs were balladed, made his usual an- nouncements and closed with the state- ment: ‘‘ We have a nice surprise in store for you after the next picture.” Well, Snub and I liked surprises as well | as the next one, and we awaited with inter- est. When our comedy had been run, the manager appeared again. “I take great pleasure in announcing’’—my startled ears heard—‘‘that Mr. Harold Lloyd, whom you just have enjoyed as the inimitable Lonesome Luke, is in the audience. I am sure that he will be happy to come forward and say a few words to you. Mr. Lloyd, please.” The Optic was a converted storeroom with only one aisle down the center, and EVENING POST Pollard and I were trapped well toward the wall. Our only chance was that the man- ager did not know where we were sitting. We slid down in the seats and pulled our derbies down, but two ushers arrived shortly with requests to those on our left of: ‘‘Would you mind standing up, please, to let Mr. Lloyd out?” ‘‘What am I going to say?’’ I demanded of the manager when delivered into his hands. “Oh, just any little thing,’’ he said help- fully, and I found myself in the illustrated song frame. I had seen other butterflies racked on this wheel and knew some of the stock lines, such as “‘ We had a lot of fun making this picture and hope you may have had some in watching it,’’ but I floundered painfully and suddenly blurted out: “Say, if anyone in the audience knows what I am saying, he knows more than I do.’”’ The house liked that and laughed at everything I said thereafter. It might have been a triumph had I only known when and how to stop. I was too fussed to think of calling out Pollard, who was dying three deaths for fear I would denounce him to the mob. The World’s Worst Mystic Another night I did betray Pollard. He burst out of the theater, but was caught and dragged back. Then I had to talk for him; he just stood grinning wryly. Dee Lampton, the fat boy of the earlier Luke comedies, also was in the audience, and to make the evening complete I called him out. Dee froze in his seat and might have escaped, but an old lady recognized him and with unconscious cruelty gave him over to the ushers. Fright paralyzed his vocal cords, which was the audience’s loss, for he was a Southerner with a quaint combination of soft accents and high-pitched voice. Hav- ing him mute on my hands, I had to invent some nonsense about Dee’s being the cham- pion pie eater of the Roach studio, with a record of fifteen in a day, and challenge the audience in his behalf to a contest. Such experiences taught me not to put my trust in inspiration, but to memorize a few well-chosen words. Later Carter De Haven and I worked out a burlesque mind- reading act which served much better and which we used codperatively. One sat on the stage blindfolded, the other passing along the aisles, borrowing objects from the audience and commanding his partner to identify them. ‘*What have I here?”’ the aisle man asks, holding up a stick pin. ‘Don’t let this stick you.” “A stick pin!” stage. “‘And this? Quick, let your answer ring clear and loud.” “A ring!” “Watch out now! What is this I have borrowed from the gentleman in F-1?” **T seem to see a watch.” Given a few lines or business, no actor will long be embarrassed in any theater. Take away his footlights, though, and he grows uneasy. In pictures it is location work and strangers on the studio set that test his poise. The bars have been raised high against visitors in the studios, not alone because they slow up work but for the further reason that casts frequently are nervous under the immediate tourist gaze. On location, where we work at the sufferance of the public, we are at their mercy. Los Angeles, fortunately, has grown blasé; the kids look on, but take it all in their stride. Ending this detour and returning to am- bitions; traveling for pleasure has been denied me, but money is a means to most ends eventually, and once my wages passed the margin of ordinary living expenses, money became an ambition. Not only money for its own sake, which I do not pretend to despise, but money as a measure of achievement. About the time my salary jumped from $150 to $300 a week I set up that good old destination of $100,000 as a goal. One hun- dred thousand dollars used to be another -triumphantly from the April 28,1928 way of saying independence. Invested in sound securities averaging 5 per cent, it returned an income of $5000, a sum with which it seemed feasible to look the world in the eye and, if need be, tell it to go chase itself. Success had been a long time on the road, but when it did arrive it came with such a cumulative rush that the $100,000 nest egg was laid before the nest was warm. The mark was set up to $500,000, then to $1,000,- 000. All out! End of the line! It was ridiculous to think of more. A great finan- cier engaged in vast semipublic operations could use many millions to advantage, no doubt, but how could an ordinary citizen, putting his money to purely private uses, possibly need more than $50,000 a year income, backed up by $1,000,000 in the vault? I had the lesson of growing obligations yet to learn. We live on no steam-yacht or racing-stable scale, yet an income of considerably more than $50,000 a year to- day requires no vast labor to manage or ingenuity to get rid of, and, by the law of diminishing returns, it is no more exciting than the first silk shirt. The first true luxury I ever allowed my- self was a swimming pool at the Hoover Street home in my single days. To prevent the building of another house at too close quarters, we bought the vacant lot adjoin- ing and, having the additional ground, built an outdoor pool and pergola at a cost of a few thousand dollars and had several times that much fun out of it. There is no swimming pool or other lux- ury about our present home; there will be, however, in our new place in Benedict Canyon, Beverly Hills. A Close Secret We have been congervative in everything so far except this new home, and we have tried, though with little success, to be con- servative in this. I have the good judgment of my business manager, Mr. Fraser, to thank for owning the property—sixteen acres of the old: Benedict ranch, including the home site. When he first suggested buy- ing it I laughed at him. It was fall, and fall in Southern California means dry streams and hills burned deep brown. ““What do I want with that gully and rocky hillside?’”’ I protested. ‘‘ Besides, Beverly Hills is too far out.” Backed by the other officers of the com- pany, Fraser persisted until I said, “‘ All right! All right! But leave me out of it. Let it be a corporation deal, pure and simple.” The corporation bought it and I did not go near it until the following spring. The stream was running, the arroyo and hills were green and flowering, and I began to perceive what landscaping and irrigation could do. We remodeled the old Benedict house and my mother occupied it for the next two years. During that time the in- flux into Beverly Hills set in; the first comer was the late Tom Ince, who built in the canyon just above us, a property now occupied by Carl Laemmle. When Gloria was born, Mildred and I began to think seriously of building, but still we waited until assured that we could do it out of income rather than capital. After a year of consultation, planning and revising, we scrapped the first draft en- tirely. We wanted no formality. Our architect designed an Italian Renaissance house, formal and growing progressively more so. In remodeling and redecorating my first house—the Hoover Street home—I had given an interior decorator his head, then hung, dragging on the reins, for a wild ride. This experience had left mea little gun-shy. Then a friendly architect dropped a hint. “Don’t,” he said, ‘build a monument to your architect; build a home for yourself.”’ Unfortunately he failed to impart the secret of doing it. This is a Golden Age for architects and landscape engineers in Southern California, (Continued on Page 149) ee ~ rf

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~ ee eng ~~ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ae Mitt - Ee RT ‘ Ne INSURING SUPER-QUALITY FOR CITIES SERVICE PRODUCTS How we attain it—how you benefit O SERVE millions of people, our Public Utility Division must have a uniform supply of super- quality oil products. This is obtained from the Cities Ser- vice Oil Division. Thus one depart- ment serves another—thus our own organization is our largest customer. Also, within our organization, stand- ards beyond ordinary commercial practice are created and maintained by our Public Service Division. These high standards set the pace for our entire production of oils and gasolene. To protect our investment of hun- dreds of millions of dollars, to insure constant service to our army of customers and to establish super- standards of quality, we maintain a Research Department which spends $1,000,000 yearly for tests and investigations. In Cities Service oils and gasolene, you obtain super-quality, unexcelled in the petroleum industry.

s << The $650,000,000 Cities Service organization, now in its 17th year, is one of the dozen larg- est industrial enterprises in the United States. Its Oil Division operates 4000 oil wells, 3000 tank cars, 7 refineries, a fleet of tank ships, thousands of trucks and automobiles and over 800 service stations. Its production is over 15 million barrels of crude oil annually. The Public Utility Division of Cities Service supplies electric light and power and natural and manufactured gas to scores of cities. Over 20,000 trained employees serve Cities Service customers. Broadcasting by the Cities Service Concert Orchestra assisted by the Cities Service Cavaliers, on Fridays at 8 & m. poner sanees Time through the powing stations of the Nationa! Broadcasting WRC, Company: WEAF I WEEI, WGR, WCAE, WTAM, WWJ, WSAI, WEBH, WOC, WCCO, WDAF, KVOO, WFAA, KSD, KOA, Wow. Cities Service

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148 THE SATURDAY d.p.m. P The accurate measure of electric cleaner efficiency . . . dirt per minute EVENING POST April 28,1928 ‘orp oe 2 Coal B less | COO, . oe tome a oe House cleaning is easier now thanks to OW old-fashioned it seems—the tearing up of carpets, the carrying out of furniture, the beating of rugs and the shaking and brushing of draperies that meant housecleaning a few brief years ago. Yet some women do it still. Such drudgery is really quite unnecessary—thanks to Hoover Dusting Tools. They search out the dirt from every crack and corner, clean thoroughly and quickly overstuffed furniture, hangings and door frames—all the difficult, hard-to-get-at places. And they do it so easily and effortlessly. Each tool is carefully planned for its pur- pose—to eliminate stooping and reach- ing, to prevent tiring. Swivel joints make twisting your wrists unnecessary and spring catches lock units in place. Dusting ‘Tools Yet dusting is but a small part of the aid the Hoover offers in housecleaning. Its greatest service is in the cleaning of floor coverings. Here you secure the thor- ough cleanliness which only the Hoover can give, through its deep-beating principle—‘‘Positive Agita- tion’’—which repeated tests have shown removes more dirt per minute. We shall be glad to demon- strate the Hoover's greater dirt per minute capacity in your home. Because d. p. m. represents the real gauge of electric cleaner capacity, you should see this test before buying any electric cleaner. Telephone the Author- ized Hoover Dealer. Cash prices: Model 700, $75. Model 543, $59.50. Dusting tools, 4 $12.50. Easy payments if desired. Only $6.25 down. Prices slightly higher west of the Rockies and in Canada. Hoover dealers will make you an allowance on your old machine. THE HOOVER COMPANY, NORTH CANTON, OHIO The oldest and largest maker of electric cleaners The Hoover is also made in Canada, at Hamilton, Ontario . . motor-driven floor polishing attachment, $7.50 —-—_———_- a ——

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(Continued from Page 146) a brave time, like the fifteenth century in the Italian cities. The conjunction of new wealth, enthusiasm, climate, irrigation and freedom of idea and expression is working magic in these hills. The Los Angeles district is one great ex- perimental laboratory in which artists, draftsmen and engineers are working out a new and indigenous architecture, set in lovely scenes. They have the ideas, their customers have the money, and the fur is flying—the fur being no dyed rabbit, but genuine customers’ pelts. After three years in the trenches, during which the Lloyds have conducted several strategic retirements, the war nears an end on our front. We are not quite sure who has won, but we know the casualties have been heavy. The landscaping is virtually com- pleted and is a testimonial to the artistry and ingenuity of its designers. It would be a bold lad who would call our canyon a gully now. It supports a private nine-hole golf course, a canoe course, barbecue pa- vilion, a waterfall, forest paths, rocky glens, native and exotic plantings, a velvet turf and more, all of great charm and cunning. Such landscaping in the rainless months of California demands an elaborate irrigation system, with sprinklers set in the earth every few yards. Keeping That Boyish Figure Another Italian Renaissance house, dif- ferent in design from the first, is rising. It wil! not. be mistaken for the Palace of Ver- sailles or a moving-picture set, but it will be home. It stands on the site of the Bene- dict home, commanding a sweep of many miles southward to Los Angeles and west to the sea. Behind us a range—too high to be called hills, hardly high enough for moun- tains—is trellised with drives on which scattered new estates are trained, some of them as much as seven or eight hundred feet above us. Most of these homes are of that modified Mediterranean architecture which seems to blend best with the sun- shine and the Pacific landscape, and most of them are the homes of picture people like ourselves. An outdoor swimming pool, lounge, gym- nasium and handball courts are taking shape. The tennis court is finished, also Gloria’s own demesne—a thatched-roof old English cottage, pony stable and walled yard, all in miniature and like an Edmund Dulac illustration for a story out of the Brothers Grimm. Handball keeps me thin during the mak- ing of a picture, golf from getting too fat between pictures. I dare not look upon a midiron when a picture is making; golfers will know why without being told, and others could never understand anyway. Douglas Fairbanks and I play often, and Mary finally chased me off the Pickfair private course last summer. I was free for a few days, but Douglas was presumed to be making the Gaucho. Handball is prac- ticable because it may be played in the studio in any idle hour. Maynard Laswell, runner-up in 1923 and National A. A. U. handball champion in 1924-25-26, used to be an extra at the Court Street studio, and the first handball I ever saw was a game between Laswell and Roach at the Los Angeles Athletic Club. It is one of those deceptive sports which look so childishly simple to the spec- tator that he smiles indulgently. One day Roach jeered me onto the court by offering to spot me twenty points. Twenty-one is game. ““You mean that I have to make only one point to win?” I demanded. “‘Right,’’ said Roach, and he won 21 to 0. I not only made no point, but rarely came within six inches of the ball. We started a second game. I made a wild swing at the ball, hit the side wall with my hand and sprained a thumb so that it was tied up for a week. Disgusted, I did not play again for years. Some of us were killing time by batting a tennis ball against a building wall at the THE SATURDAY present studio one afternoon, and Jack Murphy, my production manager, was in- spired to build a three-wall, open-air court, where we began playing regularly. Con- stant training and playing brought me to the point where I could make a respectable showing against Laswell on a three-wall court. Then the national-championship tournament was held at the Los Angeles Athletic Club on regulation four-wall indoor courts and Laswell won. He invited me to a return engagement on these courts and took three games with ridiculous ease. We were about to move our offices, necessitat- ing tearing down the old court, so we built two new ones—one regulation, the other three-wall—both hidden inside a set pur- porting to be a cabaret. At first, when an opponent trimmed me on the standard court, I dared him over on the other for revenge, but now we play entirely on the four-wall court. The smack of the hard rubber ball on wooden walls may be heard most any time of day at the Metropolitan studio, but whether we find time to play during working hours or not, a set of hand- ball concludes most every working day. Sooner or later I shall be asked, ‘“‘ And to what do you attribute your success, Mr. Lloyd?” and I shall not blush and dimple and reply coyly that it is not for me to say. Nor shall I pretend to think that it was largely luck, for I do not think so, except in so far as all life is a set of circum- stances. The only ultimate answer would be ‘‘I attribute my success to being born,” but the ingredients may be guessed at. The accident of growing up with a new theatri- cal form, enthusiasm, hard work and busi- ness sense have had much to do with it, but principally I have been an unusually suc- cessful picture comedian, I think, because I have an unusually large comedy vocabu- lary. Vocabulary is not the right word, but I do not know a better. By it I mean the tools of my trade, the store of knowledge of comedy effects, what they are and how to obtain them, accumulated by long expe- rience and observation, and sharpened by a natural instinct for the theater. The theater caught me young and no experience in it cellar stage, amateur, stock company, stage hand, picture extra or one-reel slapstick was wasted. Specialization plus aptitude plus work seems, therefore, after much figuring, to be the formula, which is no dis- covery. That answer was in the back of the book all along. We have kept our pictures clean and will continue to do so. The easiest of laughs is the off-color gag. If it is well done and not too vulgar, adult audiences may enjoy it hugely, yet not care to have their children see it, and we aim a picture at the whole family. Children are the easiest of audi- ences, business men the most difficult, and it is our particular pride that we draw both extremes as well as the middle. The Chinaman’s Chance How long I continue to make pictures will depend on how long I hold my popu- larity and avoid monotony in my stories. One, even two pictures, are no criterion, but if ever three fail consecutively the hand- writing on the wall will need no translating. I can only hope that when the time comes I shall not try to fool either the public or myself, but will bow my way out as grace- fully as I can manage and turn to directing, producing or developing a younger actor. I shall not have the excuse others have had, if I do not. There are men and women in Hollywood who were so overwhelmed with sudden riches that they spent as they made. When their popularity waned they had no choice but to go on, good or bad. If I keep the character genuine and vary the theme sufficiently, I should continue in the comedy field indefinitely. The charac- ter is youth now. As my youth passes, either the character must grow older with me or I must switch to a new character. There are about 10,000 persons regularly employed in all capacities in the twenty- four studios in the Los Angeles district, EVENING POST fewer than half as actors. Someone has calculated that the odds against a girl’s be- coming a star are 1 to 10,000, of becoming a featured player, 1 to 2500, of appearing before the camera even as an extra, 1 to 100. Someone else has estimated that the odds against finding work of any sort in the studios, man or woman, are 1 to 450 and, incidentally, that the active career of a name in pictures averages less than five years. Not a Chinaman’s chance, in other words. Yet I would have my nerve, it seems to me, to advise anyone to stay away. The odds were not so high in 1913, but were high enough. No one invited any of us to Holly- wood; we came, we fought, we won. Our successors will, with occasional exceptions, arrive by the same rocky road. The brief survival of the average picture name is as significant as the odds against the new- comer. It means, if the estimate is accu- rate, and I think it is approximately so, that 20 per cent of the stars, directors and others at the top of the heap fall out of the race each year. Who takes their places? Well, not, at any rate, the boys and girls who were frightened off by the 1 to 10,000 odds. A Number of Blanks For the first time in many years Holly- wood was not confronted in 1927 with an acute problem of hordes of movie-struck girls, penniless and hopeless. Organized publicity finally has checked the flood and I would say no word to set it going again. Nevertheless, pictures demand youth as im- peratively as athletics demand it, and youth will be served. The determined cannot be kept away. They can only be warned to | paste the odds in their hats, to bring money with them and to count the miles from Hattiesburg, for it is just as far going home. They might remember that while the stars get the publicity, they do not monopo- lize the money nor all the interesting work in Hollywood. Directors, production mana- gers, scenario editors, supporting players, title writers, supervisors and No. 1 camera- men earn from $150 to $7500 a week and contribute correspondingly to the success of the picture, though they may be obscured by the blinding light that beats upon the throne. There is a player in Hollywood who was starred thirty-five years ago in | stage farces. He now plays regularly in the support of one picture star. His réles are important to the picture, but relatively minor, and outside of-the profession few know his name. Yet he gets $500 a week on a long-time contract in pictures, while at the height of his stage success his salary probably never was more than $200 a week. They might remember, too, if they ever get as far as the extra list, that one way of getting farther is to study carefully the methods of their fellow extras, and do the opposite. More than half an extra’s day is lost in tedious standing by, waiting on the director’s call—tedious, that is, if the extra does not put it to some use. It might, for example, be translated into an education, specific or general. Privileged spectators, few bother to watch the action of the prin- cipals, their one opportunity of learning how. Few even listen to the director's in- structions for their own work. Boredom would seem to suggest at least a book to read, but rarely does. Nor, I imagine, do the correspondence schools correct many Hollywood papers. Hence when a boy or girl of different stuff appears on the lot, the odds are not 1 to 10,000, nor 1 to 1000. Most of the numbers against them are blanks. Janet Gaynor, one of the brightest prospects of the screen, was an extra not long ago. Charles Farrell, well up in the new crop of juvenile stars, worked extra for us in the Freshman. Most of the stars of tomorrow are unknowns of the extra list today, but they will not arrive by drowsing in the California sun, yarning and yawning and wondering why Janet Gaynor and Lon | Chaney had all the luck. Editor’s Note— This is the last of a series of arti- cles by Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Stout 149 Where the can oF? i PLASTIC WOOD? Reg. U.S. 1 + : , The screen doors must go up, but the old screw holes won't hold nil them uy with Plastic Wood and the screws will quickly have solid wood in which to bite Perh ips there’s a hok crack in shingle slab or stucco loose plazza rails, cracked or St lintered pl inking Plastic Wood makes repairing easy out-of-doors as well as in Work it with the fingers or a knife. When hard it holds everlastingly, is waterproof ’ and w eatherproof und can be painted like any natural wood Handles | Hardens Like Into Putty Wood 1 Ib. can $1.00 4 tb. can 35 cts. At Hardware and Paint Stores ADDISON-LESLIE COMPANY 203 Bolivar St. Canton, Mass Where is the nearest Vul-Cot? ioner and d VUL-COT - the national wastebasket National \ red Fibre Co 1, Del BOLENS POWs MOWER Mows, Trims ow, and Rolls the lawn in one operation. Write for catalogue GILSON MFG. CO. 783 Park St. Port Washington Wisconsin = $100.00 Extra for Your Church } ~~ Curtis ; lis gé . flers The Curtis Publishing Company 485 Independence Square Philadeiphia, Penna

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28, 1928 We Lavish care on the construction of Hupmobile motors.— Naturally weare anxious to have our owners careful in the important matter of lubrication. We urge PRESIDENT HUPP MOTO® CAR COR ODERN motors operate at higher speeds than those of a few years ago. Only the best oil can withstand the greater heat they generate. Only the best oil can give perfect assurance of their continued smoothness and long life. It is the increased demand for the best oil that has given Pennzoil the fastest na- tional growth of any brand of motor oil. For Pennzoil is supreme Pennsylvania quality—refined from 100% Pennsyl- vania crude in the largest and most modern refinery operating exclusively on this highest grade of petroleum. SUPREME PENNSYLVANIA QUALITY PE © 1928 The Pennzoil Co. them to use the best oi’ —®.Be porg oe It holds its body and retains its lubri- cating value hundreds of miles after ordinary oils are broken down and un- safe for further use. There is no question about it, you will get more from your motor by using Pennzoil consistently. Have your crankcase drained and refilled under the Pennzoil sign dis- played by good car dealers, garages, and independent filling stations. Insist on Pennzoil—why accept any lesser quality? THE PENNZOIL COMPANY Oil City - Buffalo -» New York - Los Angeles - San Francisco Refinery: Oil City, Pa. OIL A LUBRICATION

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-- we oe THE SATURDAY EVENING POST CHANGING FASHIONS OF FINANCE investing, holding, financing, managing, operating, promoting, underwriting, issu- ing, speculating, trading and gambling com- panies. More than one holding or financing company of the type long familiar in Amer- ican business has been rechristened with this new name, as the attorney-general of New York expresses it, and “‘some unwar- ranted conclusions are likely to be drawn from this tendency.” A good holding company is, of course, an infinitely sounder investment than a poor investment trust. But unfortunately, un- der cover of the name “investment trust,”’ now open sesame to the public’s pocket- book, there is being foisted upon said public an endless stream of mongrelish corporate spawn, a welter of queer hide-and-seek com- panies with meaningless names and pur- poses as varied as the motives of mankind. A spade may be used to dig a garden or kill the gardener with a well-directed blow. In Great Britain, investment trusts are formed along set lines, are of one clear-cut type and mean one thing. Here, even those formed strictly to serve the same purpose as the British companies are of many dif- ferent forms. Perhaps this is partly because we have nearly fifty different incorporation laws and Great Britain one. But in any case it will be a long time before the term “investment trust”’ in this country means any one thing or any definite thing. But all this is quite unimportant. What really matters is not the exact form that in- vestment trusts take in this country but the hands into which they fall. A well-known promoter once wrote a book with the mean- ingful title, My Adventures With Your Money. After all, that title contains the wisdom of the ages. The central question of finance is: What am I going to do with your money, or what are you going to do with my money, provided you or I get hold of it? Though the hands of the managers of an investment trust may be—and in this coun- try frequently are—tied by all manner of restrictions, limitations and provisions in the indenture or articles of incorporation, I frankly cannot see how such a company can make much in the way of profits for its subscribers unless there is considerable dis- cretion. Large profits and rigid restrictions constitute a contradiction in terms. They are mutually destructive. If the investor wants small or moderate returns and rigid limitations, let him stick to savings banks and life-insurance companies; they are far more experienced and reliable. One More Problem Yet once the investor gives an investment- trust management full discretion, complete power of attorney, as it were, he opens the door to abuse and danger. .Thus from the very nature of the case the element of per- sonal confidence in the integrity, ability and technical trading experience of the managers of an investment fund or specu- lative pool must be absolutely supreme. The very name “investment trust’’ implies that. It isaterrible, a solemn responsibility to take other people’s money to operate with in bonds and stocks. It may be speciously argued that this in essence is no different from handing your money over to the American Telephone and Telegraph or the United States Steel Com- pany or the New York Central Railroad. What does the investor really know about these concerns except their general reputa- tion and a few glib little sentences which he gets from brokers or newspapers? The answer is that all men know that these concerns are engaged in a large and ex- perienced way in certain fundamental in- dustries, and no one quite knows what an investment trust is up to. We are forced then to the startling but unavoidable conclusion that the investment trust instead of solving the investor’s prob- lems merely adds to them. It is one more Continued from Page 13 problem; it magnifies the task of selection To countless thousands of already existing securities there are now added hundreds if not thousands of new ones, strange and perplexing. The investor has no safeguard in an investment trust except the character of the people he is dealing with, which is precisely the only safeguard he has if he is putting his money into a cheese factory. Very elaborate rules have been drawn up by various authorities to enable a prospec- tive purchaser to judge an investment trust. Here is one list of essential items: Character and experience of management, articles of association, question of whether securities are purchased at cost, ratio of earnings, dividends on founders’ shares, policy in respect to reserves, balance sheet and earn- ings statement, character of securities held. In other words, here is merely one more sum to master. How, in sober fact, is the investor in any more favorable position to tell how these new concerns are run than he is to form a similar decision in respect to the great railroad, utility and industrial corporations already in existence? A Wide Open Field No one can tell to what extent the invest- ment trust will develop along sound lines or how much it will become the mere play- ground of incompetent promoters. Every financial movement or development has its army of camp followers, second-rate men, third-rate men, tenth-rate men, oppor- tunists who will be in something entirely different five years from now. This has been true of every boom in oil, gold, copper and real estate. There is always a mush- room flock that appears with the times and soon passes away. These fevers and cycles have in them elements of fraud and crime as well as honest overoptimism, inexperience and in- competence. A former assistant attorney- general of New York says that 40 per cent of the 1105 realty bond and mortgage issues outstanding since 1920, and involving a face liability of more than $1,000,000,000, “*have defaulted on interest and amortiza- tion payments.’”’ Certainly there is no magic in the mere fact that securities are sold to thousands upon thousands of in- vestors. If an enterprise is unsound it falls all the harder, the larger the number of those whom it drags down. It is an ancient story, indeed—that of intoxication and delusion followed by the cold gray dawn of the morning after. Al- ways there is some new scheme or device or industry or locality that will prove for all time what poor silly geese those men and women are who insist on putting their money into savings banks, trust companies and life-insurance companies. “‘The buoyant stock market of the last few years,”’ says a committee of the Invest- ment Bankers Association, ‘together with the steady decline in interest rates, has stimulated optimism regarding investment trusts to a point not justified. It is almost a certainty that this overoptimism will be capitalized by those constantly on the look- out for an opportunity to make a quick turnover at the public’s expense.” We do not know as yet how many managers of so-called investment trusts will act merely as agents and how many will act as principals. It is a ticklish busi- ness, dealing with oneself, when handling the funds of others. If a manager likes the look of a stock, what is to prevent him buy- ing 100 shares for his own account and the next day purchasing four or five thousand shares for the fund, thus conveniently boosting the price of his own holding at just the right time? Or if the statisticians report that a stock of which the manager has 100 shares and the fund 5000 shares doesn’t look so good, what is to prevent the opposite transaction? The manager slips out of his own holdings first, sells another hundred short for good luck and then covers profitably on the lump which follows the unloading of the ‘ompany’s big block. I do not say that such things are done, and no doubt many investment trusts are so constituted that they cannot be don Yet I repeat that if large profits are to be made, the fund must have many of the ele- ments of a blind pool, which mechanism lends itself admirably to rake-off methods of finance, to personal speculation on the part of insiders, perhaps even with the credit of the so-called trust We may assume that the majority of pro- moters and managers of investment trusts are honest, sincere and well intentioned. But the fact remains that the field is wide open to anyone, to boys who haVe taken a course in the subject in a night school, bond salesmen and bank clerks tired of real work and pleased with the idea of being president of something, to newspaper men ambitious to be Napoleons of finance. Companies for the purpose of handling other people’s money have been springing up so fast of late that it is hardly possible to find enough experienced operators. Nor are directors easy to get. I know of several cases of men who have been hounded to lend their names to these new companies. We have no surplus in this country of real director or trustee type of material. Said the president of a great financial institution: “IT was asked to be a director in a new investment trust, and when I inquired who would manage it I was told that the pro- moter didn’t have anything else to do right now and was willing to turn his hand to that.” An‘ authority on the subject was ap- proached by a young man who wanted as- sistance in starting an investment trust. When asked what his qualifications were he replied that he subscribed to a Wall Street statistical service which is found in every brokerage and newspaper office An Opening for Horse Traders Financial history is full of failures on the part of honest, well-intentioned and in- experienced persons. It does not follow that because an ingenious mechanism is set up success necessarily follows. Labor banks were hailed as a wonderful new device; their record has not been wholly perfect. Under the very shadow of the Federal Government a great series of joint-stock land banks were organized, and some of them have had to be reorganized. Time and time again business and market opera- tions have failed because of overoptimism, even though the idea itself was a good one. Honest intentions afford cold comfort after a money-making scheme has gone on the rocks. Nor must it be supposed that mere ac- quaintance with the theory of investments, here or abroad, necessarily fits a man to handle millions of dollars of bonds and stocks on a falling as well Even a capable economist is not always a sound judge of markets. Ability to trade is largely intuitive; it does not necessarily be- long to those who have read the most books or written the most lucid articles on the subject of stocks and bonds. As the manager of one of the oldest investment funds in this country said: “Recently a bank officer told me he was thinking of adding an investment de- partment. When asked where he expected to get a man to do the investing he replied that anyone could do it. It was then sug- gested that he look well over his employes and pick out the man who knew most about swapping automobiles, horses or any- thing else and give him the position, rather than someone who had attained emi- nence through knowledge of general bank- ing rules.” The point which he made need not be pressed, but it is obvious to all that the is a rising level. Continued on Page 153 SWANK... more thana collar-pin WHAT isa collar-pin pin in disguise? never been more than makeshifts! They put holes in collars. They jab necks. And millions of men have refused to use them—have pre- ferred to wear soft collars untidily. Unfastened. Swank has all the smartness of a collar-pin. It doesn't pin collars, but holds them trimly, firmly, se- curely. Swank means more com- fort and less loss of time and temper if not a safety- Collar-pins have for well-dressed men everywhere! Made in gold-filled and solid gold. In plain and engraved designs. Priced from 50c¢ to $5, at your jew- eler’s or men’s shop. The Baer & Wilde Co., Attleboro, Mass SWAN K looks like a pin, but isnt eh eb be he he bh be ht Aum-a-part Cuff Buttons are helping 10,000,000 men to dress smartly as well as informally They're the neateat, quickesi most convenient cuff buttons there are! THOL SANDS f ambitious men are carning more money today because they know Accounting Send for our page book, “ How t I rm A unting and the firat le n. Both will be sent free International Accountants Society, Inc { Division of the Acexanper Hamicron Ixstrrute 4411 So. M gan Ave., Chicago, Ill Scientific American Building NewYork City

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152 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 Whenever you look at a handsome asphalt shingle roof with the idea that you'd like a similar one,consider this important ek we a Two asphalt shingle roofs may appear similar in every respect—but what is under the crushed slate surface you ad- ” MD A oy mire so much? worked out and tested and no variation has ever been able to match in durability If the base is Genuine Ruberoid— strong and tough, and of surpassing you may choose you will find a Genuine Ruberoid Roof in the color you want and at the price you wish to pay. Moreover, although the popularity of Ruberoid has invited many imita- tions, no one has been able to supplant Genuine Ruberoid in popular esteem. durability—then you are assured that the whole roof will be fire-resistant and will safeguard the building it protects and safeguard also your investment in it. And for a very simple reason. The Ruberoid Co., which pioneered in the prepared roofing field, has maintained from the start a corps of chemists in a constant attempt to improve upon the Ruberoid basic formula. Thousands of variations have been the original formula which is still in use today. That mixture of blended asphalts and gums under the beautiful slate-sur- faced finish has stood the telling test of time through hot, dry summers and freez- ing winters for 20, 25—and 30 years in all parts of the world. There are Individual-shingles. There are several popular designs of Strip- shingles. There are Roll-roofings. There are Built-up Roofs. No matter what type Your favorable impression of Genuine Ruberoid will be even more favorable when you get in touch with the dealer who supplies your community. He has been chosen because of his ability and financial responsibility and his intimate knowledge of local conditions in the building industry. How he can help you is explained fully in the paragraph that appears below. Pe The RUBEROID Co. (Dept. 33); 95 Madison Ave., New York, N. Y. Genuine ) | W* AIM through our authorized Pa ra dealers not only to supply you with a dependable line of colorful fire-resisting ROOFINGS roofings but also to help you secure a well ap- plied Genuine Ruberoid Roof. The carpen- Please tell me where I can secure Genuine Ruberoid Shingles and Roofings for the fr following buildings: H Theat 4 i. ters, contractors and roofers recommended ouse 1eatre - . . by the dealer in your community handling Crarage Factory gn) : Church Senve Genuine Ruberoid take pride in making Library Warehouse The RUBEROID Co. sure that, through careful application, a ; i : Genuine Ruberoid Roof will provide you ie tan Executive Offices: 95 Madison Avenue, New York the long years of service it is built to give. Chicago Boston Indicate on the coupon the type of build- Address ing you desire to roof or re-roof.

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tence (Continued from Page 151) new investment trusts in this country have not been tested out as yet, because they have operated thus far through a period of rising markets only. They have had six years of plenty in which to buy blindfold. Stocks may rise to higher levels, of course this is not an article predicting either lower or higher prices. But if a slump should come after the very extended previous ad- vance, the results to investment trusts might be very different. There are those which no doubt would show wonderful management in a bear market, taking full advantage of the opportunities. But as a class they are as yet without ex- perience in falling markets, and, speaking generally, it is more difficult to make profits in times of declining prices. When stocks slide off week after week and month after month, the depressing influence is more than human nature can withstand. Level heads, cool judgment and absence of mental panic are at a premium at such times, even though the liquidation under way is a mere pause in the great forward march of the country. Boards of directors and managements are always proud of their own judgment and dislike to admit that mistakes have been made. They hate to take losses and are often inclined to throw good money after bad. They may think that by pur- chasing a few thousand additional shares of a given stock its further decline will be prevented, when in fact only about six months will do the business. These at least are possibilities which amateur and inexperienced managements must face, for the mere introduction in this country of a British financial mech- anism does not thereby abolish the hard realities of human nature and the market place. But it would be a false impression to con- vey that investment-trust organization is wholly in the hands of those who are out- siders to the market place. On the contrary a very large number have been formed by professional dealers in securities, by invest- ment banking or bond houses as such. No human being is more lazy than the investor; he will go to almost any lengths to avoid making up his mind. His one desire is to shift responsibility, to pass the buck. So when individuals with money to invest first began to read and hear about the marvels of the investment trust, they went to their brokers, bond houses, banks and trust com- panies and inquired about this or that offer- ing which they had seen advertised. A Trouble:-Saving Device Partly not to lose their clients, partly to give real service, partly to seize upon a new sales device, partly to reach new clients, the bond houses, banking firms and numerous brokers have been rushing into the field themselves, organizing investment trusts pell-mell, right and left, ready for any turn and for all emergencies. This situation must not be viewed either with complete trustfulness or with stark cynicism. One well-known investment trust was organized by two high-ciass brokerage firms because so many clients wanted to pay a fee for expert advice that the new mechanism just naturally came into being to fill the need. Presumably when an investment bank- ing firm organizes one of these companies it will put many of its own offerings into the portfolio. But that does not disturb the customer of a reputable house. In fact, in buying shares in the firm’s investment trust he feels he is getting a more accurate composite, as it were, of the firm’s view than when he buys a single bond. The investor always fears that the next bond will not be so good as the last. He always fears that unless he is a very large customer, the offering he buys represents the salesman’s anxiety for a commission rather than the real views of the head of the firm. To buy shares in the firm’s new com- pany saves him the trouble of making a choice. Perhaps also the firm has more THE SATURDAY confidence in this composite of all its offer- ings than in any single one of them. The partners’ consciences may rest easier when a debenture in their investment trust, repre- senting all their issues, is sold to a widow than when she buys into a single enterprise of their sponsoring. Suppose the great investment banking house of Brown, Smith & Co. forms a com- pany known as Brown Participations, as at least several firms have done. What could be more honest and accurate than that? If you believe in this old Boston and New York firm, here is a chance to join them, as it were. It may prove a very profitable venture, and certainly there is nothing mis- leading about the name. It certainly ought to prove more desirable than shares in Upstart, Inc. Motives at the Beginning On the other hand, what is to prevent the investment trust managed by an issuing and underwriting firm from being the dump- ing ground for otherwise slow and un- desirable securities—the ‘‘ patient beast of burden for pet issues’’? The bankers may honestly believe in these issues but have difficulty in making other folks feel the same way. There are a great pride and con- fidence in one’s own creatures, which others do not always share. Yet under the present enthusiasm for investment trusts, the public can be brought in to buy stuff it might not take otherwise. The scheme is a knock-out for keeping undigested securities off the market. Then, too, an investment trust makes it possible for a banking house to control or dominate corporations in which it is in- terested, with the public’s money. It may tie up too much of the firm’s own capital to control the companies whose securities are sponsored, but if the public is perfectly willing to put up the capital, then a very delightful situation presents itself. By is- suing a lot of the common stock in the in- vestment trust to itself in return for services rendered, the banking house is in a position to lose very little of its own money if things go wrong and of making most of the profits if things turn out well. In addition, the firm pays itself, in many cases, for managing the trust. The scheme has a slight resemblance to tails I win, heads you lose. In Great Britain, unlike this country, the investment trusts are generally independent of underwriting, issuing and distributing houses, although frequently these firms en- joy the coéperation of the trusts without organizing or managing them. It is said that following the early investment-trust craze in Great Britain, when so many of the companies fell into difficulties, there were not the same disinterestedness and un- biased independence that have since come to prevail. But too exact comparisons between the practice here and in Great Britain are not fair. It is doubtful whether sufficient man- agers or directors could be found in this country except in the issuing and distribut- ing houses, or whether the movement can enlist responsible leadership here unless these houses back it. In any case we must develop our own institutions, not hope slavishly to follow British models. Grosvenor M. Jones, chief of the finance and investment division of the United States Bureau of Foreign and Domestic Commerce, has pointed out the difference in motives which led to the formation of investment trusts in each country. The first sign of any such practice was in Bel- gium between 1835 and 1837. There the idea was to assist in the early stages of the industrial revolution. A little later, in Switzerland, the private banking houses wished to keep their investment business separate from their commercial banking, and so organized companies to handle their investment properties as separate entities. Still other conditions led the Scots to take up investment trusts. It was the desire of solicitors and others in charge of trust funds to seek the safety of coépera- tion, pooling and diversification at a time EVENING POST 153 lohn Doe MD | ee “We're not sick, Daddy. Why are you taking us to the Doct “Why? o dren. all we can to keep you from ever getting sick from future illnesses? Make May 1928 a banner month for your chil- Have them weighed, measured and ex- amined for known and unknown defects. Give them a fair start toward a happy and useful life The Metropolitan has issued a booklet, “Out of Babyhood into Childhood”, which gives valuable advice on preventable diseases with helpful suggestions concerning diet, environ ment and training. Mailed free upon request to the Booklet Department, Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, No. 1 Madison Avenue, New York City. Write for it. OUR children will probably never forget the odd experience of being taken to the doctor when they are perfectly Perhaps no other act of yours could stamp more indelibly on their minds the wisdom of preventing sickness. When your boys and girls were ill nothing was left undone to make them as comfortable as possible and to help them to get well. But have you done what you can do to spare them 4 Have you guarded against diphtheria, typhoid, smallpox and rickets? Have you had adenoids removed? Teeth, eyes, throats, legs and feet every part of the body should be examined. medical science teaches us that in order to prevent much needless disease and suffering every child should have a complete physical examination at least once a year. Haley Fiske, President. “@eisrgs** METROPOLITAN LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY NEW YORK Biggest in the World, More Assets, More Policyholders, More Insurance in force, More new Insurance each year

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154 way—prevents restful comfort. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST This cramped standing position is immediately tiring. A sagging bed curves the spine the same Cramped positions cause fatigue avoid them when you sleep 7 OU would never stand in the posi- tion shown above for more than a very few minutes. But thousands sleep in a pose that is just as unnatural. They have become accustomed to a wrong sleeping position and do not realize the harmful effects of curving the spine and cramping muscles and vital organs. True enough, fatigue causes uncon- sciousness, but more than mere unconsciousness is needed for refresh- ing rest. A natural sleeping position is necessary, without the tiring tension brought by a sagging spring. Harmful sagging is impossible when you sleep on a De Luxe spring. The De Luxe free coil construction, found in no other spring, insures a natural, restful sleeping position. Every coil in a De Luxe moves independently of all other coils, yielding to the pressure d . ~g-o--- eee of hips and shoulders yet rising to relieve all strain on the vital organs be- tween. The spine lies straight and free from strain. Nerves and muscles are fully relaxed...refreshing sleep comes quickly. You will soon notice the invigorating effects of comfortable De Luxe sleep. Arrange with your furniture or depart- ment store for a trial of this better Bed. spring. But be sure that you get a Rome De Luxe spring, for the true free coil movement that insures complete relax- ation is found in no other bedspring. Send today for Dr. Royal S. Cope- land’s interesting booklet “How Better Sleep Builds Better Health.” The Rome Company, Inc. New York Chicago Boston Baltimore Rome, N.Y. Distributing Warehouses Everywhere When you sleep on a Rome De Luxe bedspring the spine is straight and natural; the body is fully relaxed. ROME Dele’ ~ the Bedspring Luxurious This De Luxe label stamped on the side rail your guarantee of getting all the ty points that only the De Luxe Look for it and be sure spre b BED SPRINGS + METAL BEDS - DAY BEDS The ROME Company + COUCH HAMMOCKS + COTS when Latin-American and other securities were being defaulted. Like a hen that has just laid an egg, the American promoter of a new so-called investment trust sets up a | loud shout of joy and tells the public that | at last they can put their money in an in- vestment trust which is of the Simon-pure British variety, with the only correct set-up yet. Less is said of the fact that in 1893 shrinkages of $45,000,000 were shown by | thirty-five British trusts, or of the purchases of carpetbag bonds of Southern states which were supposed to yield 8 per cent. It is true, of course, that over a long period of years the British investment trusts have shown a fine record for safety and profit. But there are significant differences between conditions in this country and in Great Britain. During most of the existence | of the British trust companies it has been | possible to sell large quantities of low- interest-bearing debentures and preferred shares to leisure-class investors and place the proceeds in high-yielding American stocks. In other words, the British invest- ment trust really developed on the basis of a differential between the low interest rate with which Scotsmen and Englishmen were satisfied and the extraordinary growth of the United States. There are those who argue that the same opportunity or spread exists for the new American investment company, even though it might be hard to find another white man’s country in the temperate zone as promising as the United States was twenty or thirty years ago. The new in- vestment trust here can buy, so it is argued, semispeculative securities which the in- dividual dares not purchase, either at home or in foreign countries. Whether this coun- try has the same extraordinary opportunity today to invest abroad that Great Britain enjoyed in the United States before the war is a highly debatable question which only time can answer. In Narrower Channels But one fact that we can be certain of is that British trust companies began with advantages which are mostly conspicuous | by their absence here. They were started by Scotsmen who carried their offices in their hats and with characteristic thrift made purchases at cannily low prices. The first company was that of a Dundee jute clerk who picked up a few bargains for his | friends on a business trip to this country. Slowly he developed into one of the world’s leading financiers. Europeans are willing to stick to nar- rower channels than we. The British trusts never grew beyond a manageable size; with a few clerks and a reesonable salary for the manager, everybody was satisfied. Al- though international in the scope of their portfolio, they remained local and close in the relation of managers to clientele. They came into being originally because guardians | and trustees of estates wished to pool ex- perience and resources. Then, too, the British trust company seems to have had from the start the advantage of a large class of available directors to call upon, more in the nature of the high-class men who serve April 28,1928 as trustees of our great mutual savings banks. In other words, the development in Great Britain has been in keeping with the in- nately conservative psychology of the place. Here it is a sprouting and shooting process all over the place, with everybody piling into one grand good sugar barrel. Cer- tainly we have no great class of professional trustees who are not already occupied with other banking, financial and investment mechanisms. Instead of placing confidence in a few well-known personalities as the Scots did, we surround our new companies with all manner of complicated restrictions which nobody understands. When Profits Bow to Overhead Our temperament is different. Most of the young Napoleons starting investment companies here will want to make a million dollars for themselves right off the bat. The British trust companies grew slowly, without expensive advertising. Here the sales expense, the managers’ compensation and other overhead items seem in some cases to be extraordinarily high. The en- thusiastic popularity of the new device is likely to lead many into the field who have not the patience to await the gradual up- building of profits which follow sound and normal growth. One informal and quietly growing invest- ment fund which has operated in this coun- try successfully for twenty years has always rewarded its manager by paying him 10 per cent of the actual income and profits realized. He has received no salary and his first year’s compensation was only twelve dollars. Until after his fund passed several million, which took many years, he had only two clerks and two small rooms for offices. He ascribes his success through good times and bad more to economical operation than to any other factor, and points out that if 15 per cent had been paid to solicitors for selling expenses, all the surplus earnings of several years would have been wiped out. In a report on the subject the attorney- general of New York cites cases where or- ganization and original sales expenses have amounted to 20 per cent. On a rapidly rising bull market any outrageous fee can be absorbed, but on a falling market such practices would prove ruinous. Thus it is extraordinarily difficult to foresee just what will come out of the pres- ent popularity of the investment trust. The funds of investors can no doubt be managed or handled more scientifically than at pres- ent. The great surplus of savings and the spreading out of our security markets may require new vehicles or new forms of old ones. The feverish rush to form new com- panies is not a wholesome sign. Yet beyond doubt a number of the newer vehicles will eventually prove of great service to the investor. There are those which are sure to win a standing and reputation for them- selves. Unfortunately there is no ready answer to the questions which come to mind, no simple guide. ~ Editor's Note—This is the first of two articles by Mr. Atwood. The next will appear in an early issue Bryce Canyon, Utah ee - 0 Ae ype a egy rv

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i — = yes on an THE SATURDAY EVENING POST I You haven't played your Jastest tennis

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28, 1928 — ore: CSS EE + oa ar ae og - ea SEE NE: Agee 9 ; SA LN Age eerie Br ese eo Sar. oka Nothing Finer Can Be Said of Any Motor Vehicle Than, LYCOMING MOTORS LYCOMING MANUFACTURING CO. WILLIAMSPORT, PENNSYLVANIA / i] ! i ss ak oe — at ce . er oS) — 5 en on tde eee Manufacturers Using Lycoming Motors Were Uniformly Most Successful Last Year

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THE SATURDAY PAINTING THE A. E. F. ON THE GALLOP Continued from Page 37) I haven’t anything to say against my first car—it may be the best car in the world—but after five accidents with it in two weeks while driving at night with no horn and no lights—according to orders the car breathed its last with its breast jammed up against a French camion, while I, who had been catapulted right through the windshield, unwound myself from the embrace of a roadside tree. The silver cigarette case in the breast pocket of my uniform blouse has never quite righted it- self, and, as I indicated, the car was dead. A telephone to G. H. Q. resulted in the appearance the following noon of a more powerful car and adriver named McQuillan, both of which—or whom— figured largely in my carrying on during the next few months. Accidents happened now and then to that companion of mine—the car number two—but none that could not be remedied. We limped many a mile on saplings in the place of broken springs, the result of shell-holed roads, but the car continued to breathe and breathe until it finally set me down at the gangplank of the steamer that brought me home. Four thousand miles around the Front the faithful creature carried me, McQuil- lan, too, never failing to do his part. That boy was a stripling with a heart of oak. He could jump out of a car quicker than any driver I ever saw. He would tear off his trench coat and, in the rain or sleet, settle down to putting in an inner tube with an alacrity that was astounding. And those inner tubes! They burst all over the place. The ingenuity of both McQuillan and my- self was sorely taxed to keep provided with them —until I found that generals in gen- eral were well supplied, and thereafter I made it a point very often to worm out of the generals whom I painted an inner tube or two. Yes, we twice drove through poison gas, but the Armistice came soon to the relief of all whose honor had been satisfied. How- ever, my task did not cease to be. I was right in the middle of collecting generals for the war record, and I kept at it, carrying out my schedule of shaves as closely as Mc- Quillan and the car permitted. Two-thirds of the pictures were painted by artificial light, and there were times when, with the light of only one candle, I was obliged to reach out and let my hand travel along a coat sleeve to find out just where it was. We carried on over duck boards and over terrain that had been devastated and shot to pieces. We slept lit- tle, and when we did, it was usually under difficult conditions. Wartime Efficiency Then I began to paint those doughboys for the Liberty Loan posters. While I was painting a division commander I would ask him which boy in his command had done the most heroic deed. Each commander as- sured me that he himself had my four heroes and more besides. So the boys were ordered in to pose for me. There was York, who fought a lone bat- tle with thirty-five enemy machine guns and brought in 132 prisoners after having killed twenty others of the enemy. He used twenty shots in this “‘ battle.” And Sergeant Adams, he of the 375 pris- oners, for whom he insisted upon getting a receipt when he delivered them safely into the hands of an officer. Adams had been a filing clerk and unfailing instinct prompted his demand for a formal document. And little Charley Cameron, who ran around an enemy trench, facing the fire of his own comrades, and, firing and shouting from that unenviable position, caused the enemy to believe that they were completely surrounded so that they surrendered. His dear old grandma after the war wrote me what a nice boy Charley was. And one of our American boys born on the Rhine, Herman Korth, a machine gun- ner, who, when it was impossible for our gunners to locate the German artillery on the other side of a hill, realized that it was supremely important for our men to ad- vance. He ran up the slope of the hill to the very top, within plain view of the enemy fire, and drove stakes for our gunners to get the range. He had but one chance in a million. He took it and won. And Pearl—what a name for a fighter Wines, who was wounded at St.-Mihiel. I loved that handsome slim boy. Five Ger- mans unexpectedly jumped on him out of ambush and shot him and got him in the side with a bayonet. Down went Sergeant Wines, but up again and at the five he went in spite of the bayonet rip. He engaged the entire number. Three of the enemy per- ished by his bayonet and the two others he drove in as prisoners while he crawled along | on his well side behind them, trying to keep, as his fellows told me, his works from falling out on the ground. The Most Surprising Things They were wonderful boys of ours. I saw them marching up to the Front with a josh on their lips, ashamed to show their fears and doing everything in the world to be brave. I saw them coming out of the line, laughing still—and limping, or worse. I saw them in the hospitals still smiling or trying tosmile. It seemed to me that it was not the fact that they were wounded that brought my Adam’s apple into action so | much as the way they took it. A nurse told me that a boy was brought in to her aid station in a condition that admitted of no relief. He was about to die and not a thing could be done for him. She stood by | his cot. His face was crinkled up in his | gallant effort to hang on. His eyes were closed. Stirred by her inability to help him, she ran her fingers gently through his hair and whispered, “‘ You have beautiful hair.” His eyes opened and rested for a moment upon her own head. He summoned all his remaining strength and said, “I haven’t got anything on you.” Then he died. I asked a marine who had been at “‘Shatto Theory,” “What is the most surprising | thing you have found in the war?” “Two things,” he answered promptly: “First, that a man can be so terribly wounded and recover all right, and second that there are so many different kinds of beans in the world.” Rastus, shoveling mud and laying duck boards at Brest, answered the same ques- | tion in no faltering tone: “De t’ing dat surp’ises me mos’,”’ he de- | clared, ‘is dat it done take so much work to run dis yere war.” I couldn’t paint four doughboys. I | painted more than sixty, and they were all used in the campaign for the fifth Liberty Loan. Several of the boys and generals whom I painted have already gone West. Many people have forgotten the war. | Apparently they want to forget it. Some things I want to forget. Only a short time ago, coming down Sixth Avenue, I saw | lying on the pavement a horse that had just been shot in the head by a policeman. With a sweep, dreadful memories bore | down upon my brain and it was two weeks before I could still them. But to come back to the painting of gen- erals. There were many extraordinary in- dividuals among the commanders of the A. E. F. My close and informal associa- tion with these men was illuminating and, to me, captivating. Close scrutiny of them at so critical a time impressed upon me very definite mental records. Our general officers, at that time, varied in age from about fifty years to the early by E. T. Wright & Co., Inc., Rockland, Mass by The Selby Shoe Co., Portsmouth, Ohio Healthy, vigorous, comfortable feet assured by wearing the Arch Pre server Shoe. 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158 bh 999 YS A rie Crap THE SATURDAY EVENING POST sixties, and their most obvious traits were poise, alertness, self-control, fearlessness and a high mentality—even, in some cases, scholarliness. Judging from their mellow- ness of mind, which impressed me, I felt that West Point had given something to these men that showed to great advantage by the time they had reached middle life. Their appreciation of the man in the ranks they expressed and repeated again and again with deep feeling. And believing that future credit for the carrying forward of the war would largely be given to the man in the ranks, one general remarked: “In some ways, in this war it has been hell to be a general.’ The discipline of the American Army was a revelation to the commanders of our Allies. It was in some ways a free-will offering on the part of the youngsters, who were determined that the troops of no other country should surpass them. It was due also in great measure to the precise and exacting attitude of our commander in chief. I was particularly fortunate in having the opportunity to paint two pictures of Gen- eral Pershing, for had I rested content with the portrait obtained at Chaumont, I should always have had a one-sided impression of the man. The Pershing whom I met in this old French town, which for more than a year had been the headquarters of the American Army, was rather an austere was desolate. The day was rainy, of course. The streets were deep with mud, the houses were sadly out of repair, and the old bar- racks which furnished headquarters for the American staff looked dark, damp, be- | draggled and grim. The Argonne offensive | was virtually ended, but there were no signs | of rejoicing about the American headquar- ters, and the atmosphere in that region was as busy and as serious as in the days that had preceded. April 28, 1928 That afternoon he had the appearance of one difficult to approach and certainly one with whom a casual visitor would take no liberties. His figure has been described as that of the perfect soldier, and I agree with this description. He has the reputation of being a stickler for regulation in dress. He keenly scrutinizes anyone with whom he is conversing; you feel that he knows whether you need a haircut and whether your leather has been properly attended to that day. Your hand instinctively follows up the edge of your coat to make sure each button is buttoned, and you are hoping that your orderly has brushed you properly. Certain of our generals look like English- men—General Harts, for example; others look like Frenchmen; one or two resem- ble Germans. But I cannot apply the word Englishman, Frenchman, German or even Roman to General Pershing. His face and figure suggest only one nationality; he is simply, distinctively United States. In whatever part of the world you might find him, and in whatever company, you would say at once, ‘“‘That man is an American.” He has an unusually full, rounded head, and his skull gives the impression of filling out his hair tightly. A Different Man He was seated at his desk, his electric light was burning brightly a few inches / 4 y} figure. The circumstances of the meeting from his face, and just a little daylight was a — perhaps accentuated this effect. Probably coming in from the windows behind. He ‘ ‘a NU at one time Chaumont was a beautiful and was occupied in discussing matters with the ° charming French village, but at this time it officer who was standing in front of his desk. The general listened much and talked little. His eyes were raised. His eyebrows also—which, by the way, are very pale—were raised, and the strong light accentuated the deep vertical cuts in the general’s cheeks. The nose is slightly aqui- line and rather distinguished, the eyes are a light gray-blue, with a little suggestion of brown—eyes which sometimes are called hazel. His brow is particularly round and full, with furrows that are well defined, and For $1995 you can buy a 22-foot, 30- mile-an-hour Chris-Craft All-Mahog- any Runabout. A source of thrilling sport and luxurious water transporta- tion for every member of the family. | his ears are a bit pointed. One officer who has had many confer- ences with the general—conferences which have not been entirely to his liking— insists that one ear, which is not quite so close to his head as the other, stiffens and straight- ‘‘He Plays No Favorites”’ The room in which General Pershing sat was, like everything else at G. H. Q., or- derly, plain and businesslike. As I entered season’s use. would mean to your family—access to the | waterways of the world—thrills, luxury, convenience, comfort. | the room, I saw the general at the opposite Get your Chris-Craft now and enjoy a full | Think—what a Chris-Craft | Each of the eleven new 1928 Chris-Craft is | $1995 to *9750 F.O.B. Algonex a direct descendant of a long line of racing victors, ten times winner of the Gold Cup and twice winner of International Trophy, symbolic of world’s championship. Each is built of gleaming mahogany—superbly finished, full powered, a source of pride as well as speed and com- the Harmsworth fort to its owner. Your Chris-Craft dealer will gladly provide a demonstration for yourself and family. Place your order now to insure delivery. CHRIS SMITH & SONS BOAT CO. 543 Detroit Road Which Book Shall We Send You? Prospective owners may have free upon request a copy of the Chris-Craft catalog, containing complete descriptions of ’ Algonac, Michigan side, sitting at his flat-topped desh, his back to the window. The desk was in good order and the walls were bare except for several large maps which showed the position of the American divisions. The general was listen- ing to the verbal reports of a string of offi- cers who in turn appeared before him. As I stepped in, he looked up alertly and greeted me with a cordiality which was dignified and not at all effusive. He had a strong grip and a way of shaking hands and get- | ting through with it promptly. The Persh- ing of that afternoon was a very serious man. Every line of his face, and I have seldom seen a face more deeply furrowed, showed the strain through which he had been passing. His deep-set, harassed eyes indicated suffering and anxiety. His face at this sitting was a bit screwed up, his features were sharpened and he looked old and tired. He did not smile once during the entire pose—in fact, he did not pose—and he talked hardly at all. Indeed, after our first greeting he seemed to lose all consciousness of my presence, and I think he actually forgot what was going on. Personal vanity is certainly not Persh- ing’s leading trait. In spite of his evident weariness, he had himself entirely under ens sharply when the general gets angry. The cheek bones are not prominent, the jaw is particularly strong, and the lips are sharply chiseled and rather thin. The gen- eral’s neck is solid and, especially in the profile, is very wide, and his head is set on his shoulders with a very unusual appear- ance of power. Indeed, I have never seen an arrangement of head, neck and shoul- ders which suggested greater strength and force. After I had been painting an hour, the general had to leave. He came around, looked at the picture and said, “‘I didn’t think you could do it in this length of time and with this light.” Those were practically the only words that passed between the artist and his sub- ject. This portrait sketch painted in Novem- ber shows a pretty somber general; yet in this respect, at least, it reflects the Pershing of that moment. He has since said that he is glad I painted that first sketch, with its tired grimness, because so many people have said that the war did not do anything to him. I found that Pershing had another side when again I painted him at the Ogden Mills house in Paris in early January. This the eleven 1928 Chris-Craft models. control. His movements were quick, but time he was a very different man from the Prospective dealers, interested in expending their grofits not spasmodic. The general was much one whom I had seen at Chaumont. This desisable teeritecies still available. . a es ieee grayer than I had mentally pictured him. time there was no weight of worry, no hed dee dengan ENE tes nea Hetil The public knows well the firm manner in grimness, no melancholy. He was alto- et a a a a i a tt St ct Nt NO Nt Nt a ll iRIS BOAT CO IAD, ALLAONAC MICH { se Catalog Franchise Book SMITH & SONS which he draws down the corners of his mouth, and this has given the impression that he seldom smiles. My own impression, derived from the experience of that somber afternoon, was similarly one of his stern, unremitting attention to business. There is no doubt that he can be severe, yet the words I most often heard about the general were, ‘He plays no favorites.” gether easy and almost gay. He kept his appointment to the minute, coming into the room with a rapid military step and walk- ing up with an outstretched hand. “Hello, Chase!’’ he said, just as if we had roomed together in college. ‘This place looks like an atelier in the Latin Quarter,” he added, glancing about the beautiful salon. (Continued on Page 160)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OL “This Aluminum priming coat seals the surface of the wood, keeping out all moisture and preventing the warping and checking that ordinarily would break down the finishing coats.” rare COATS ALUMINUM PRIMING COAT This Priming Coat of actual METAL preserves PAINT in its original BEAUTY OUR freshly painted home is, naturally, a source of pride and satisfaction, not only to your own family but to the neighborhood as well. A good investment, too, if you will be sure to specify Aluminum Paint for the priming coat. A priming coat of Aluminum Paint preserves the prosperous, well-kept, attractive appearance of your home long after ordinary paint jobs have broken down. Aluminum Bronze Powder, the pigment base of Aluminum Paint, consists of tiny flakes—not granules. When Aluminum Paint is applied to the wood these tiny flat flakes of pure Alumi- num cover the surface. Each flake overlaps its neighbor. They leaf together, forming an enduring coat of metal—pure Aluminum. The film thus formed providesa durable anchorage forthe top coats The silver gray beauty of Aluminum-Painted metal gates and fences adds the final touch to a well planned yard. 189 of paint. This Aluminum priming coat is moisture-proof. Itprevents the wood from warping and checking, an action which, with ordinary primers, quickly causes the finishing coats to peel and chip. Aluminum Paint is opaque, hiding any under-color and pre- venting the bleeding through of stains. And finally, this impervious coat of pure metal is an ideal protection to the wood itself, greatly lengthening its life. Aluminum Paint is an economical primer, too. Both your paint dealer and your painter can furnish you with all the facts. ALUMINUM COMPANY OF AMERICA 2326 Oliver Building, Pittsburgh, Pa. Offices in 18 Principal American Cities Aluminum Company of Canada, Ltd., Toronto, Montreal, Canada Commercial Aluminum in Every Form The loveliness of a vine clad trellis, painted with Aluminum Paint, must be seen to be properly ap- preciated. — The pigment base for the better grades of Alum: num Pamt is Albron Alu minum Bronze Powder, made of pure ALCOA Aluminum In buying Aluminum Paint, tellyour dealer how you propose to use tt—and whether indoors or out Most good paint dealers are prepared to furnish the kinds best suited to your needs. If yours ts not, write us, giving his name and address, and we will see that he ts supplied The swing and the sand box become decorative spots in the yard when painted with Aluminum Paint.

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Pacific Telephone & Telegraph Company engineers say: “Within sixteen years we will almost double present Seattle ‘phone installations.”” Sound eco- nomic reasons, including the advantage of being the nearest American port to the Orient, account for Seattle's growth and the new importance of Seattle as an industrial, commercial and investment oppor- tunity. To keeb in step with Western America you must reckon with Seattle. Visit Seattle this summer. See ALL the Pacific Coast Come West over a northern transconti- nental line. See Seattle, Spokane, Tacoma, Portland, then south by rail or water to Oakland, San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego. Or, come north to Seattle by train or steamship. Ask about trips to Alaska, Hawaii and the Orient. Low round trip, excursion fares daily, May 15 to Sept. i> return limit Oct. 31; stopovers at will Seattl Metropolis of The Pacific Northwest r= | CHAMBER OF COMMERCE, | Room 101, Seattle, Washington. Please mail me, FREE, your illustrated booklet ; describing Seattle and “The Charmed Land.” | | | | | a ! | Name - , } | fe Address 1 | i ] Health RY/Te) 1 oMBINAT,. coast % li ENNA JETTICK Narrow and Extra Narrow Wide and Extra Wide A boon to those women that have been obliged to either pay high prices or take poorly fitted shoes.” You need no ionger be told that you have an “‘erpensive™’ fool Your dealer or Enna Jettick Shoes—Auburn,N.Y. You'll Stride with Pride in Enna Jetticks THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 158) I introduced Jo Davidson, the sculptor, who had come along to make a bust of the general while I painted him. “Do you know anything about the Latin Quarter?’ I asked. And we found that he did. So the general, Davidson and I chatted, with many a laugh, for the three hours of the sitting. When we had finished Davidson asked, “How did you stand the ordeal, general?” And the general answered, “I did my best to preserve throughout my military composure.” I took advantage of the general’s smiles while he was posing to paint into the picture something of the effect of his smile in the cheeks. The mouth I painted in repose, so that while the mouth in the picture shows no smile, the indication is that the general is about to smile. “Is it too gray?” I asked. “Not at all,” he answered. ‘‘That’s the way it is—just asIam.”’ And he added, “I think it must be the best of your series. I would like some photographs of it.” Davidson’s bust of the general also pleased him greatly. Baiting a General Two great men come to mind after Pershing. They are Liggett, the Northerner, and Bullard, the Southerner, who com- manded the First and Second Armies respectively. Each of them was every whit the soldier. After them, on down the line of the more than seventy generals that I painted, man after man stands out in my mind with certain vividness and stories and anecdotes. General Kuhn loaned me one of his blankets one night after I had finished his picture. I remember that the glass was broken out of the windows in his headquar- ters—there was only one window in the tiny room in which I spent the remainder of the night—and as I lay down to:sleep it was a question in my mind whether I would take off my trench coat and hang it over the window to keep out the rain or keep on the trench coat and wrap the blanket around me and take the rain in the face. I chose the latter. General Wittenmyer’s headquarters I reached precariously over slimy duck boards in the devastated region. He was pressed with countless worries, but by the time the ordeal was over he was gentleness itself and he liked his picture. General Weigel I painted on a blustering winter night, arriving at nine o’clock in the evening as per schedule. The general was ready, although he thought a mistake had been made, because he had never heard of a portrait being painted at night. We fin- | ished our picture about one in the morning, and I immediately departed to reach the next sitter at eight o’clock at a point nearly 100 miles away. At Trier, after the Armistice, I found General Preston Brown in charge of Persh- ing’s advanced headquarters. I had gone with the advancing army to their first stop at Bitburg, passing through Luxemburg. When the Army went on to Coblenz I was due at Trier. Brown was not well the day I appeared for action and he was the only general who pretty nearly refused to obey his orders. Finally Conger, his right-hand man, said to him, “‘General, you may as well be good and sit down and get it over with.” So Brown sulkily sat down and insisted upon reading a book while I painted. Colonel Conger had gone out, but an hour later returned and viewed the work. “Looks exactly like the general,” he re- marked, ‘‘but it looks like a student, and Brown is no student. I’ll tell you what. You give this picture to me and I’ll pose the general for you in a perfectly characteristic attitude. There is a whole string of ser- geants outside waiting for Brown to give them the devil for everything in the world. Now, general, you sit up and cross your arms the way you do when you're mad. Chase will get all set and then I’ll let in the first sergeant.” EVENING POST The plan worked. Brown told one ser- geant after another just what he thought of him and just where he could get off, and when the line of sergeants had dwindled to its end the portrait was complete. Then the general came around to look at it. His arms were still crossed, the expression that he had worn while interviewing the ser- geants was still upon his face, and as he bent forward over my shoulder he looked as if he was about to bite off my ear. What he said was, “‘ Mrs. Brown has got to see that!” From Trier I went to Coblenz—a glori- ous sunny Christmas morning, with the snow of the night before lying upon picture- book castles and cliffs of grapevines. I can never forget the thrill of that surpassingly beautiful drive down the Moselle in the first sunshine for many weeks. From Coblenz I journeyed out to the bridgeheads to the headquarters of various generals. At General Douglas MacArthur’s H. Q. at Sinzig, in a house built by Charle- magne, I painted portraits of two German officers for a price in good American money—my only emolument during the whole experience—and one of the officers was considerably worried for fear I would not be willing to let him wear his iron cross in his picture. Two weeks later, when I arrived at the Coblenzhoff Hotel at Coblenz, I found that somebody at the Trier G. H. Q. had been persistently telephoning to me. I called up Trier, and it was General Preston Brown again who wanted to talk. “You are to come right back to Trier at once,” he said. ‘*What for?” inquired the man on a mis- sion. ‘‘Why, to paint another portrait of me, you young cub.” ‘*What’s the matter with the second one I painted of you?” I asked. “Nothing; but you’ve got to paint an- other one for Mrs. Brown, and I have an order from the commander in chief himself for you to hustle along back here and do it at once.” That was good for a laugh at my end of the line. I didn’t go right back to Trier, although I had found General Brown one of the most engaging and likable men in the American Army. His reputation as a fighter was second to none. I painted the rest of the generals on my Germany list, and then after another week I was again at Trier and did my best for Mrs. Brown. A Choice of Operas This man Brown is one of the most definite individualities in the Army. No German general ever ruled his territory with more absolute mastery than that with which P. Brown—as the whole American Army knows him—controlled his area in the German territory. Though a Yale graduate, General Brown is not so aca- demic a person as Bullard or Liggett. Next to his vigor and efficiency and courage, the trait for which he is distinguished is his picturesque vocabulary. As we were finishing his third portrait the general asked, ‘‘Want to go to the opera tonight?” “Yes, sir,”’ I answered. ‘What do you want to hear?” said he. ‘What have you got?” I asked. The general called to his aide to fetch the list of operas that the Trier Opera Com- pany had in its repertory. Brown’s eye ran over the names of the operas and he said, ‘‘Their best ones are this and this and that one. Which of those three would you prefer?” “‘Any one of them,” said I. “Well,” said P. Brown, ‘“‘what do you say if we have all three of them?” It seemed like a joke, but the general gave orders to his aide, who straightway betook himself to the manager of the opera house. At 8:30, as per General Brown’s in- structions, we arrived at the opera house, which was plastered with posters advertis- ing the performance for that night of an en- tirely different opera. We entered the April 28,1928 building and made our way into the royal box. At the general’s entrance the or- chestra rose and the conductor bowed low in the direction of the general. He raised his baton, and the orchestra, all standing, played The Star-Spangled Banner. Then we listened to P. Brown’s three operas. I am depending upon General Brown’s rare understanding for forgiveness in the matter of quoting from one of his letters. “There is an old home in Frankfort, Kentucky,” he wrote, ‘‘where hang por- traits of soldier ancestors dating from Colonial days. The portrait you painted will hang there with them. I trust that you will come and see me. The latchstring is on the door.” My kit box was especially built of wood. It carried a big palette buttoned to a thin board, and grooves for eight boards for the paintings, wet or dry. It had also a com- partment for paint tubes— plenty of paint tubes. The box was thirty-two inches long and weighed, when stocked, about eighty pounds. It had a serviceable-looking han- dle, but I usually preferred to carry it on my shoulder. Most of the time my average mileage per day by automobile was fifty miles. This means that on some days there was no travel at all and on other days we made more than the fifty miles—the longest hop being 250 miles to an engagement to paint Marshal Foch. Most days I painted three or four sitters; one day I painted eight gen- erals—that is, from eight o’clock one morn- ing until four o’clock the next. One day I was ill. Some days there was too much traveling—or an accident—to permit of even one portrait. Sleep? Not much. Food? Very irregular and seldom appetiz- ing. Weariness? Nothing but. An Unknown Civilian There came the day when my list was completed. Then McQuillan, the car and I turned in the direction of Chaumont, where we picked up the paintings that I had housed there, and then on to Paris for the rest of the pictures. The next morning at eight o’clock, with 142 generals and doughboys in paint, tied up in lots of ten and entirely filling the car except for the driver’s seat, we passed out through the walls of Paris and over the 360-something miles to Bordeaux by eight o’clock p.M. The boat was due to sail early the following morning. There is one more smile to add. At the beginning of my romance with the American Army there was issued to me the regulation two-week white pass which permitted trav- eling to points designated. I received two more of those, and then I got a more comprehensive pass—a special one that permitted me to travel in any territory oc- cupied by American troops. This and my French Army pass never left my pocket except to be exhibited to the usual obstruc- tionists known as sentries and guards. It was the regular thing for me, when stopped, to produce my passes so that McQuillan would not have to dig down for his. That last night, when we arrived at Bor- deaux, it was necessary for McQuillan to report to the M. P. So we drove up to headquarters on our way to the boat. Mc- Quillan went in to show his official papers and he came out grinning. “‘What’s funny?” I asked him. “‘T was laughing,’’ answered the boy, “‘at what the M. P. said when I showed him my pass.” “‘Let’s see it,’”’ said I, for up to that time I had never looked at it. McQuillan handed it to me and I beheld one of the briefest passes ever filled out. It read, ‘‘ Anywhere with Mr. Chase.”” Then McQuillan laughed again. ‘‘What now?” I demanded. “I didn’t tell you what the M. P. said when he saw the pass,”” he chuckled. “‘Let’s have it,” said I. “Well, he was so darn important, like all the rest of ’em, and when he read the pass he looked up with his mouth open and said, ‘Who the hell is Mr. Chase?’”’

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 161 #{ LITTLE DRAMAS IN THE LIFE OF A GREAT NEWSPAPER SYSTEM }» How many words will tell this story and should the headline be large or small? A prominent citizen and his wife, returning from the opera, were held up and robbed in front of their home. Of how much interest is this news to the com- munity? Should the story of this newest crime crowd the story of the newest scientific achieve- ment off the front page? Across the desk of the copy-reader in the news- paper office comes the day’s grist of human dramas. This desk man must decide which of these items will be worth-while news to you; how much of each story you will want to read; which stories should have the main displays, and which, in your interest and for your convenience, should be subordinated or omitted. Pick up any issue of any SCRIPPS-HOWARD News- paper and see how well this job is done. You'll find that, item by item, the paper is edited and made up with one idea... . to enable you to glean the day’s happenings with the least effort and the greatest reading ease. Big headlines are used only when the facts are big. Minor events are never distorted to create sensa- tionalism. Emphasis is in relation to significance. Copy is confined to essentials, with the “hay” cut out so that you may get your survey of the day’s news in the least possible time . . . leaving you more time to enjoy the purely entertaining features of the newspaper. It is this efficiency in conveying the news briefly and brilliantly, yet thoroughly and accurately, that has made SCRIPPS-HOWARD Newspapers the pat- tern of a new-day journalism. PAINTED FOR SCRIPPS-HOWARD NEWSPAPERS BY JAMES MONTGOMERY FLAG( NEW YORK Telegram SAN FRANCISCO News DENVER . Rocky Mt. News AKRON Times-Pr YOUNGSTOWN 7 ram KNOXVILLE * CLEVELAND Press WASHINGTON News DENVER Evening News BIRMINGHAM Post FORT WORTH Py EL. PAS¢ BALTIMORE Post CINCINNATI Post TOLEDO Vews-Bee MEMPHIS . Press-Scimitar OKLAHOMA CITY. A SAN DIFG« PITTSBURGH Press INDIANAPOLIS Times COLUMBUS Citizen HOUSTON Press EVANSVILLI Py TERRI COVINGTON Kentucky Post—Kentucky Edition of Cincinnati Post ALBUQUFRQUI New Mexico State Tr SCRIPPS-HOWARD NEWSPAPERS MEMBERS OF THE AUDIT BUREAU OF CIRCULATIONS AND MEMBERS OI! THI UNITED PRESS NATIONAL ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT Stuart S. Schuyler, DIRECTOR 250 PARK AVENUE, NEW YORK: CHICAGO : SEATTLE: SAN FRANCISCO PORTLAND DETROIT LOS ANGELES: ATLANTA

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Say! | pass an examination kin git an idee, and it | school board THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE RIGHTFUL PRINCE They, now, wouldn’t hardly dast to doa thing in this town without we said so. The’ hain’t no other way of showin’ jest how powerful and dangerous we be.”’ ‘Number 1 thinks he’s perty smart,’’ observed Number 10. ‘‘Why don’t you git you an idee then?” demanded Number 1. ‘If you could think up one, you would, I betcha. I dare you to think up one. I double dare you. If you was ever to have an idee, it ’ud split your head open.”’ ‘‘T passed that there examination, didn’t And I cal’late a feller that kin darn would be a good one, and everybuddy would say so. I betcha a million dollars I kin git one.”’ “Bet your small change fust,”’ said Num- ber 1. ‘You talk about gittin’ one, but I got one. What we got to do is to lay our plans so as to git Number 21 elected a school trustee!” In face of the magnitude of this concep- tion, they sat silent and admiring. To them it was as good as done. “Then they wouldn’t dast even talk about firin’ him,’’ said Number 4. “‘ What I'd like to know is how could a school board fire a teacher that was one of the school board? It wouldn’t be possible. I hain’t sure but it ’ud be agin the law. No, sir. The school board’s most as high as the Supreme Court of the United States, and I bet you the Supreme Court would think perty careful before it monkeyed with the that’s what!” “‘How does a body elect anybuddy?” asked Peewee. “You git enough votes,”’ said Wood- chuck. “We kin go around to everybuddy in | town,”’ said Gummy, “‘and stick a letter on their door and say if they don’t vote for Mr. Breeze we'll make 'em wish they was dead and buried, and we’ll put a skull and crossbones at the end of it.” ‘“‘The’s got to be things before the votin’ starts,”’ said Woodchuck. ““What things?” “T dunno.” “If you dunno, what you talkin’ so much about it fur?’’ demanded Peewee. “TI guess I don’t know everythin’ no more’n you do,”’ said Woodchuck, “‘ but the | difference between me ’n’ you is I know where I kin find out, and that’s from my pa, and he’ll know, and what he says’ll be so, and that’s more’n what you kin say.” “Tf my pa didn’t know more’n yourn,” said Peewee, ‘‘I guess I’d jest walk out and leave home. I wouldn’t live with no father that didn’t know no more’n what your father does.” “That’s a lie ’n’ you can’t back it,’’ said | Woodchuck. “Say,” interjected Gummy, ‘‘you kids shut up. The’ can’t neither of you back nothin’. What we got to do is all of us ask our pa’s what’s got to be done to elect somebuddy ’n’ everythin’.” “The sooner the quicker,” said Banty, ‘‘and what of us kin git out this evenin’ better meet and start things to whizzin’.”’ ¢ ‘‘Meetin’ adjourned,” said Woodchuck. “Now go cautious on account of spies lurkin’ around. Now, of all times, we dassent git discovered. One to a time.” Fifteen minutes later the sugar house was deserted, and each of the several members of the order was in pursuit of political in- formation. In the evening they met again, bristling with wisdom. ‘Fust off,’’ said Woodchuck, ‘‘we got to git signichers.” ‘“What’s signichers?”’ asked Peewee. ‘*Names wrote on a paper. To git to be school trustee a feller’s got to git nommy- nated, and the’s a petition, and if you git twenty taxpayers to sign it, then he’s nommy-nated. And nobuddy that hain’t a taxpayer kin vote at a school election. So we got to git us a petition all legal, and Continued from Page 15) then them signichers and then anybuddy that wants to vote fur Mr. Breeze kin.” ‘“Who’s goin’ tomake this here petition?”’ asked Gummy. ‘We dassent take no chances, so we got to go to Jedge Marley, and we got to take up a collection, because lawin's awful ex- pensive. So you fellers turn out your pockets on the bed and we’ll go ’n’ offer him what we collect.” “What if it hain’t enough?” asked Banty. “It’s got to be. Whenever all you got is all you kin git, why, it’s got to be enough, hain’t it?” “Tf the’s any over,’’ suggested Gummy, “we kin offer to do chores fur it.” Pockets were turned out and left dan- gling ostentatiously so that no member could be accused of holding out a portion of his wealth. The resultant total was eighty- eight cents. “Tf wust comes to wust,”’ said Peewee, “T’ll throw in my double-bladed knife. I betcha he’d draw up a petition fur that. I betcha he’d draw up a whole basketful of petitions.” “‘He’s got a knife,”’ said Woodchuck. “*Tain’t as good as mine,”’ said Peewee. “Mine cost a dollar when it was new and it come from Boston, and the’s steel into it that I kin split a hair down the middle with when I git it whetted up.” “* Aw, shet up about your ole knife,” said Woodchuck. “This here’s politics.” Justice Marley listened to reason. Fora fee of eighty-eight cents he drew up a flaw- less petition in favor of Solon Breeze, and furthermore, being pressed, agreed that he would not let it out. It was, he told them, a privileged communication, and if he were to tell, he might be sent to the penitentiary or disbarred or be made to suffer other dire pains and penalties. The Black Star Order liked the sound of this. They understood pains and penalties; in fact, they were the raw material with which the association did its most notable work. The following day was a Saturday. The Black Star Order met early, wrote out ex- ceedingly neat copies of the petition so that each two members should have a copy and set out to make a canvass of the village. They hunted in pairs. Woodchuck Collins and Gummy White made their first call upon Grocer Under- wood in his store. The grocer was very busy with Sabbath orders, but looked up from a crate of eggs to see what was wanted. “*Got your ma’s order?”’ he asked. “We hain’t come about orders,” Gummy. **We come about suthin’ important,” said caid _Woodchuck. “T don’t want no tickets to nothin’,” said the grocer. “This here ain’t, now, tickets,” Gummy. “It’s politics,’’ said Woodchuck, ‘‘and you better come off some’eres where we kin talk private.”’ “T hain’t got no time to waste talkin’ private nor no other way.” “‘T guess you better have,’’ said Gummy. “T guess if you don’t you'll wisht you had. I guess you better understand how things is in this here town.” “‘Because,”’ said Woodchuck, “I bet you a million dollars you’d give most anythin’ if you had of listened when you had a chance and not got put onto the black list.” ““What black list?”’ asked the grocer. “Of them that, now, wouldn’t sign their names onto our petition. Because, prob’ly, the’ hain’t never been a petition as im- portant as this here. We hain’t a-goin’ to say nothin’ right out, but seein’s it’s you, we dast tell you the’s a perty powerful secret organization behind this petition.” “You hain’t got no idee,” said Wood- chuck. ‘‘Men’s businesses has been ruined before this, I betcha, and their houses has been surrounded by myster’ous figgers and they been led out in the dark never to ap- pear no more.” said April 28,1928 “‘What’s this here rigmarole?” de- manded Mr. Underwood. ‘Go ’long about your business.”’ “Gummy,” said Woodchuck, ‘‘shall we give him jest one last chance?” “On account, now, of his wife and chil- dren,”’ said Gummy darkly, “I kind of favor it. Mr. Underwood, we hain’t ene- mies. When all’s said and done, I betcha you think we’re awful good friends to come and give you a chancet, instid of like some folks’ll git no chance at all, but they got to take the consequences.” **Yes,”’ said Woodchuck. “Jest hitch your name onto this petition and we'll chalk the sign in front of your house so as the or- ganization’ll know you're a friend.”’ Mr. Underwood, long past his boyhood and forgetful of the ways and the imagin- ings of boyhood, was bewildered. He read the petition. ‘““Who put ye up to this?”’ he demanded. “‘Who wants this here Solon Breeze to run for school trustee?”’ “A perty powerful organization,” said Gummy, “‘and we don’t need to go around after names except that we got to know who is our friends and who is our enemies.” “T already signed Steve Bowen’s peti- tion,” said Mr. Underwood. Gummy looked at Woodchuck and shook his head regretfully. ‘‘It’s too bad, hain’t it?” he said dolefully. “‘He’s been a perty good cit’zen, I guess. But this here is the end.” “Tf Solon Breeze got ye to traipse around with this here thing,’’ said Mr. Under- wood, ‘‘it’s a abuse of his position, that’s what, and he’|! be fetched to time fur it.’’ ““He don’t,” said Gummy, ‘‘even know a.” With that they marched stiffly out of the store to search for the next victim. Within half an hour the news had spread through- out the village. A petition for Solon Breeze was being circulated by the Eighth Grade boys, but who was behind it? That was the question. Somebody, some group, was behind it of course. Your small-town mer- chant is a timid body politically and careful not to offend. And here was a situation which put him in a quandary. If he signed, he did not know whom he pleased; if he refused to sign, he did not know to whom he gave offense. More than one took the precaution to call upon Martin Knox at the hotel to ask their way. Martin had heard the news and calculated upon it. His first thought was that Solon was at the bottom of it and that it was un- wise. Then, as he reflected further, it seemed to him the thing might be sound. At least it injected a note into the cam- paign which might be valuable to some- body. So when callers came, Martin was mysterious. ‘“‘Who,”’ asked Postmaster Wilson, these kids to scamperin’ around with peti- tions fur Breeze?”’ ‘*Somebody must ’a’ done it,’’ said Mr. Knox. ‘It stands to reason. Take the wordin’ of that petition, now. It’s legal as all git out. No kid ever drawed that up. I betcha the’s more to it than meets the eye. Now take me, I don’t cal’late to take no chances. No, sir-ree. I'm a-goin’ to sign that there petition.” Solon himself heard of the political phe- nomenon and set out to catch him a boy and become informed. But boys were hard to catch. He could no more lay hands on one of the Black Star Order than he could have caught a hen hawk under his hat. The word went out that he was looking for them, whereupon each couple resolved it- self into a worker and a lookout. If Solon appeared at one end of a block, two boys would disappear around the opposite cor- ner. So he, too, went to Mr. Knox. ““What’s all this about my boys circu- lating a petition?”’ he asked. “Don’t ye know?”’ “‘T certainly do not. Is it your work?” (Continued on Page 164 ‘set

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For Koverflor is absolutely non-po- rous, a tough, yet resilient film that » RD war ARIE ont PA TANDA Vv. i} tka ; i ; weed wll ‘ un {i — STAN DARD Vew Yort, 443 Pourth Ave Chicago, HOO Pederal St THEN ORDINARY FLOOR PAINT Unretouched Microphoto; note the imperfections KOVERFLOR FILM Unretouched Microphoto; note the flawless surface SUPER-SEALED Los Angeles, 116 B. Jefferson St SF gives easily beneath normal shatter- ing blows. The life of linoleum is doubled. Cement floors in cellars, porches, sun- rooms, can be dustless, easy to clean. Floors of wood are freed from worn spots. Beautiful in a wide range of glowing colors or in sparkling Koverflor Clear. Above all, Koverflor is as easy to clean as tile. Yet Koverflor costs less than 2c a square foot. Discover Koverflor for yourself. Try it in your house, your boat or yacht, your office, your store or your factory. If your paint and hardware dealer can- not supply you, we will mail a sample folder on Koverflor with detailed information. But re- member this . . . there is no Koverflor substitute. For linoleum, wood or cement floors, inside or outside. VARNISH WORKS San Francisco, $62 Howard St URG BERLIN EVENING POST (Continued from Page 162) Again Martin Knox became circumspect. “IT didn’t say so, did I? Can’t nobuddy prove it is, kin they?” “But is it wise?” “‘Um—won’t be no wuss off than you be now if you lose, will ye? Be a heap sight better off if ye win. No reason I kin see why a teacher shouldn’t be a trustee. But the’s a-goin’ to be a fight.” ‘“Well,”’ said Solon, “if you think it is good tactics, I'll let it ride as it lies.” ‘Nothin’ else to do,” said Mr. Knox; but when he was alone again he frowned and gnawed his pipe and would have given a considerablesum of money—up toa couple of dollars—to know who had set the thing in motion. That night when the order convened there were forty-three names on its peti- tion, twenty of them those of their fathers. As soon as the petitions were filed with the clerk of the school district, Solon Breeze would be legally in nomination. “The’s got to be p’rades and things,” said Woodchuck. ‘You can’t have no reg’lar election ’thout p’rades.” ‘’N’ flags ’n’ things with printin’ onto ’em,” said Pazzy. “‘Who’sa-goin’ top’rade?”’ asked Peewee. “You ’n’ Pazzy’ll play mouth organs. You’ll be the band,” said Woodchuck. ‘I’!] wear a sash and all and be marshal of the day.” ““My brother,” said Gummy, “plays tuby in the band. I betcha I kin sneak his band coat. I betcha I dast, and all he’d do ’ud be holler and tell pa.”’ There were four other procurable band coats, but Banty Morton rather over- shadowed these by announcing his father’s Knight Templar hat and sword. “He'll lick the stuffin’ out of ye,” said the envious Woodchuck. “Not,” said Banty, ‘“‘till after I’ve wore ?em.” So the parade, as far as the Black Star Order was concerned, organized itself. But twenty boys do not make a parade. For three days they occupied themselves in find- ing equipment, in printing placards to be carried and in making other essential prepa- | | rations. The village, en awakening Thursday | morning, found its hoardings occupied by | announcements that, at four o’clock that afternoon, there would be a grand political parade and demonstration. At afternoon recess the Black Star Order was busy. It had postponed recruiting paraders until then so that no ill-disposed youngster could carry tales to his parents. The method was simple and direct. Orders were issued to the school. “Don’t one of you kids dast leave the school grounds till we git out,”” Woodchuck said fiercely to group after group. ‘‘The kid that hain’t here to do what he’s told after school tonight is goin’ to git hisn. Jest one of you git fresh with us fellers and see what happens!” Even the girls were intimidated. Dire but ambiguous threats were pronounced. But the purpose of this detention was not disclosed. Pedagogy in the hour following recess was not a grand success. At 3:30 school was dismissed. The entire undergraduate body waited under duress, guarded by the Black Star Order as so many shepherd dogs would guard a flock against strays. One by one they slipped down to the basement of the school, to ap- pear panoplied. Fortunately there was a teachers’ meeting, so they were undisturbed. The parade was arranged by grades, each grade under the eyes of a detachment of the order to prevent desertions. Wood- chuck, in a wide sash and a silk hat pro- cured by means which should not be examined into, led the van. Next came the musicians. There were flags and banners, but the line bristled with placards on sticks. These left no doubt as to the purpose of the parade. Breeze for Trustee was the first one. Then came a grandly poetic one by Gummy White which said The School Trustees Need Solon Breeze. Followed a bobbing April 28,1928 succession of them extolling such virtues as the Eighth Grade deemed Solon to possess. With a fanfare from the two mouth or- gans, the procession started down the hill amid such sotto-voce remarks from Eighth Graders to Sixth Graders as, “‘ You git out of line once more, Piggy, an’ I'll boot the seat of your pants up over your ears.”’ Hence a more or less perfect alignment persisted. Before the residences of each of the rival candidates the paraders stopped to give three cheers for their man. On the whole, it was a tremendous suc- cess. As Woodchuck said in secret session, “T bet that’ll make ’em think. I betcha a billion dollars them other candidates is tremblin’ in their boots.” From then on the order carried on a po- litical campaign in earnest and according to its own standards and ideals. Friday morning Steve Bowen, opposition candi- date, whosold meats to the community from a cart, found that miscreants had disassem- bled the vehicle on the ground, carried its parts to the peak of his barn and there put it together again. The village walked out to Steve’s to see the sight and to offer sug- gestions. Both Whortle and Bowen dis- covered the properties of a device contrived from a tin can and a length of rosined string. When the can was placed against a windowpane and the string stroked with knowing hand, that house became untena- ble until a foray had driven the marauders away. Wisdom was given the Eighth Grade to refrain from destructiveness or from depre- dations which the village would regard as malicious mischief. “We dassent do nothin’ that folks in gen’ral’ll git down on us fur,”’ said the wise Woodchuck. “Folks likes to laugh at other folks, but things has got to be kinda funny and not mean. So you kids be careful.” Gradually it became public property that known opponents of Solon Breeze lived a life far from simple. No man knew when or how the blow might fall—but always it fell. Brigham Lanty, who drove about with a mule hitched to a sulky, provided an hour’s pleasant amusement in the square on the day when he came out of the post office ti take his seat in all innocence just afte: Banty had crossed the reins. When Brighai hauled on the right-hand rein the mu! turned to the left. This Brigham set down to an aberration of mule temperament anc endeavored to rectify matters with a clul), with the result that the mule spread hi legs and declined to move in any directi: until a public-spirited citizen lighted a nev paper under its belly—when it went aw-, from there rapidly, with no certain desti: tion in view. If one puts a large tin can on either sic of the walk and connects them with string—selecting a dark spot for the dec:! an enemy leaving his house in haste is : tled almost out of his wits by the suc jangling of tinware behind him. This d« became so popular that active oppor took to walking down the middle of road. If, at night, you saw a man prox ing cautiously down the middle of street, you knew at once he did not { Solon Breeze. The town laughed, which was goc crops. It was such a political campai Lombardy had never experienced, ar village enjoyed it—especially that ; the village which was permitted to li peace. Solon protested and the Eighth was meek. It admitted nothing, pr nothing. Martin Knox advised leavi boys alone. “They hain’t doin’ nobuddy no ! he said, ‘“‘and innocent bystander: rivin’ enj’yment.” “But,” said Solon, “as to prac' sults. How do I stand? What chances?” “The most votes ever cast in : election,” said Martin, ‘“‘was a hun sixty-six. The Volunteer Fire ment—and that’s around twenty is bound to be back of Mason Wh (Continued on Page 167

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 185 IF YOU HAD YOUR, CHOICE- Which Way Would You Rather Serve ke Cream? Company for dinner and every course a perfect dream until

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166 lt was at the most famous hotel in the old South, the Maxwell House in Nashville, that Joel Cheek's blend first won fame i j /

wl x YRUPY, rich coffee from the East Indies—“ winy,” acid coffee from Arabia— mild, mellow coffee from Venezuela— Hundreds of kinds and grades of coffee fr forty tropical countries! Uncounted natural flavors to choose from for our breakfast cup! om over Yet one after another each one, alone, has failed. Some are too pungent and me too sharply acid— some ire too delicate. Flavor added to flavor It is a special shade of flavor —a th, full-bodied taste which no gle coffee grown can yield—that has now for the first time pleased the crit- ical men and w ) throughout the entire United States. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

April 28,1928

As a painter mixes colors on his palette, so Joel Cheek mingled many coffees years ago. A Southerner of the old South, born with a genius for flavor, he created a blend with a touch of mellow goodness which no other coffee has ever had. Quickly Joel Cheek’s blend found favor with the great families of old Dixie. Today the news of that special rich- ness in Maxwell House Coffee has spread rapidly throughout the country. From New York to Los Angeles this one blend is now pleasing more people than any other coffee ever offered fe or sale. Known to the South alone a few years

ago, Maxwell House is now the largest selling coffee in all America. A new experience awaits you and your family in that shade of difference, in that special mellow richness of Max- well House Coffee. Its very fragrance will tell you why this blend has won such fame. Grocers have Maxwell House Coffee in the sealed blue tins. Cheek-Neal Coffee Company, Nash- ville, Houston, Jacksonville, Richmond, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago. » » » 7 » Radio listeners—tune in! Noted artists every Thursday— Maxwell House Coffee Radio Hour, g p. m. East- MAXWELL HOUSE COFFEE It is pleasing more people than any other coffee ever offered for sale

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(Continued from Page 164 account of him bein’ chief. They'll vote solid fur Whortle and Bowen. Agin them you got the twenty fathers of them kids of yourn. I been a-canvassin’ the rest of the town, and Bowen kin swing the members of the Knights of Commerce, and that’s mebby eighteen-nineteen. The rest of the town’s about divided betwixt ye. You got friends and I got friends, and the kids has stirred up things till some folks’ll vote fur ye jest on their account. If the’s, say, a hunderd and eighty votes cast, I cal’late you’d lose by mebby ten-fifteen.”’ “Then, between now and election day, I’ve got to gain about twenty votes.” ‘Seems as though.” This state of affairs became known to Woodchuck and Gummy when they stopped after school to ask Solon how he thought he stood. Four days remained before election and they were disconsolate to hear that their man was likely to go down to defeat by fifteen or sixteen votes. “Don’t you git discouraged,” Gummy. ‘“The’s four days yit.” “No, sir-ree bob!’’ said Woodchuck. ‘I betcha anythin’ you got suthin’ll happen. I betcha we lick them fellers bad. I betcha we lick ’em so bad they won’t never dast to run for nothin’ ag’in, not even dog catcher.”’ ‘“‘T hope you’re right,” said Solon, “but by this time folks have their minds made up. I don’t believe we'll be able to change any of them.” “They better,’”’ said Gummy ferociously. “They better if they want to keep on livin’ in this town.” “‘Eighteen-twenty votes,” said Wood- chuck, and his voice became soft and rather purring in quality. “‘Eighteen-twenty was what you said, wan’t it?” “Tt was,”’ said Solon. “Gummy,” said Woodchuck, “‘le’s git outa here. Le’s go some’eres where we kin think. We got to git awful political quick.”’ He turned to Solon. “Don’t you be afraid, not fur a minnit. We're a-goin’ to lambaste them enemies like all git out.’ In the hall outside, he whispered to his friend: ‘‘Git a meetin’ together—quick! Have everybuddy there but 21. This here’s to be secret from 21.” The election fell on a Friday night. That noon Woodchuck made a cal] upon Martin Knox, but he did not walk up to the en- trance to the hotel. Instead, he started alone for the outskirts of the village, lurk- ing from bush to bush, standing every now and then to peer backward over his trail for pursuing foemen. He reached the river and there doubled on his tracks, wading for some quarter of a mile so that even dogs could not follow his footsteps. He emerged from the water under the bridge, crept along the bank beside the printing office, made his way perilously under the overhang of the furniture store and so reached the hotel stables. Here he lay under the bus for five minutes and then wriggled to the base- ment door and so made his way into the chamber where logs were stored for the fire- place. With the utmost stealth he worked his way upstairs until he stood behind the door that opened into the lobby, and there he listened. He opened the door the merest crack and saw Martin Knox seated behind his desk. ‘* H-s-s-s-s!’’ he said. Martin jumped. ** H-s-s-s-s!’’ said Woodchuck again, and Martin detected an eye fixed upon him through the crack in the doorway. “Git up,’’ whispered Woodchuck, “‘like nothin’ had happened and sneak in here.”’ Mr. Knox, unused to an atmosphere of such stealth, did his best, but it was clumsy. Woodchuck upbraided him. “ You want to git us ketched by the enemy?” he de- manded. ‘‘ You clomp around like every- buddy was deef and dumb.” To this Mr. Knox made no reply. “The battle’s tonight,’’ whispered Wood- chuck. ““What battle?”’ “The battle,” said Woodchuck, ‘‘to see if the rightful prince gits the throne, or them usurpers.”’ said THE SATURDAY “Gosh!” said Mr. Knox “The secret friends of the prince has made up a plot for winnin’ the battle.” ‘*What prince? What you gabbin’ about? Talk sense!” “The rightful prince that folks calls Mr Breeze.”’ ‘“‘Sufferin’ mackerel! Be about the school election?” “Some folks calls it that,”’ Woodchuck reluctantly. “Well, our man’s licked,” said Martin. “He hain’t. He’s goin’ to be awful vic- torious. His enemies is goin’ to lay in heaps of slain. Now you jest listen to me. This here votin’ starts at eight o'clock How long does the fightin’ last?” “The polls is open one hour, if that’s your idee.” “T wisht it was shorter,”’ said Wood- chuck. ‘‘Now your job is to keep the wrong folks from leavin’ the town hall. You dast let anybuddy go that’s in the enemies’ army, but don’t you dast to let a soul git out that’s in ourn.”’ “‘Nobuddy’ll want to git out.” “Everybuddy’ll mebby want to git out. But you got to hold ’’em. Suthin’ll happen, more’n likely, that’s terrible unexpected and terrifyin’-like. Wa-al, when this here happenin’ happens, you be at the door or some’eres and head back the right folks. I got it all thought out. I betcha I’m a poli- tician. I betcha a million dollars we're a-goin’ to lick the stuffin’ out of ’em—if you do your job of work.” ‘Lemme git this clear,’ said Mr. Knox. “I’m to let out any of the opposition, but I’m to hold them that’s fur Solon.” “That’s it, duke,”’ said Woodchuck. ““Who?” asked the bewildered Mr. Knox. “Duke,” said Woodchuck. “I was jest breakin’ it to ye. If the rightful prince up and wins him his throne back, he aims to make ye a duke on account of what you've dun fur him.” “T,” said Mr. Knox, “will be jiggered!”’ Woodchuck faded away into the gloom. Mr. Knox returned to his desk to ponder. His conclusion was that he would await the event, and if there was an event, he would act in accordance with Woodchuck’s com- mands. “You can’t,”’ he said to himself, ‘“‘never tell what a tarnation boy’ll think up.” At a quarter to eight the town hall was jammed with voters and spectators. Mr. Bowen and Mr. Whortle walked up and down confidently, openly boasting of vic- tory. Mr. Knox eyed the clock. The bell on the library struck the first note of eight, you talkin’ admitted

ROBINSON PHOTO. FROM A Lake Louise, Canada EVENING POST but its second note was lost in a raucous, retching, metallic clamor There hung from an elm on the edge of the square a huge iron tire, and beside it a crow- This was village tocsin, to sounded in such hours of emergency as flood or fire. Now some excited hand beat upon it valiantly. Those who could reach windows crowded to them. Up the hill and to the eastward the sky was red with a baleful glare. There was no questioning the cause of the alarm; Already the Volunteer Fire Department was fighting its way to the door. But Martin: Knox was there first. The department rushed head long down the stairs, for a fire was a high event in its life. Buster Potty was at their heels, but Martin Knox plucked his coat tail and winked “Stay put,” he whispered, stayed Man after man was allowed to depart un hindered; man after man was intercepted and returned unobtrusively to the hall Presently all were ashore who were going ashore, and quiet reigned-——except for the distant shouts of the fire department as it laid to the ropes and hauled its apparatus up the steep slope. “The polls,” said Mr. Knox, “is open. Git in line and vote orderly.’ Under his eye, the voters passed and he checked them one by one. One hundred and four votes, and of these a safe eighty were for Solon Breeze. But thirty min- utes of the hour remained. For thirty minutes more the polls must remain open The blaze continued to redden the sky, and those who hurried toward it ventured the statement that it was Holman Vedder's big barn. Halfway up the hill, the off wheel of the chemical came off and rolled into the ditch, and the nut was not to be found. Ten minutes was consumed in re- pairing this deficiency. Not a hundred feet later a wheel came off the hose cart. Twenty minutes was lost, but still the malign glare reddened the sky. It was a night of acci- dents! At last the gallant company sur- mounted the hill and plunged headlong toward Vedder’s barn, but the fire was beyond that—a very little beyond it—in the midst of a huge pasture. There, burning furiously, the volunteers found a great pile of barrels and boxes, of slashings and refuse from the cuttings, and not pausing to reason why in face of actual blaze, they fell upon it avidly. The hose declined to unreel. The nozzle was rammed so solidly with waste that minutes were re- quired to free it. Everything went wrong But at last all was righted and they fell reverberating the bar it was apparent to all eyes and Buster upon the innocent blaze with the ferocity | of zealots. From the valley sounded the voice of the bell. It struck nine several distinct times ‘“‘Gosh,”’ said somebod, suddenly, ‘‘the votin’s over!” It was over. The tellers announced the result: Eighty-two votes for Solon Breeze, twenty-two votes for the opposition ticket. And Solon was school trustee and his posi- tion was saved. “But,” he said as Knox shook his hand, ‘that was a lucky fire for me.”’ ““Wan’t it!” exclaimed Mr. Knox in- scrutably. ‘“‘I dunno’s I ever took note of a more political fire.”’ “The boys,” said Solon, “‘will be tickled I must go out and find them.” “Tf,”’ said Mr. Knox, “‘you find a kid out of bed this night, then I hope I grow whisk- ers two foot long. In bed and snorin’.” At the opening of school next day Wood- chuck lifted his hand and was recognized “Teacher,” he said, “‘us fellers is awful glad you was elected.” “Thank you,” said Solon. He looked from one to the other of them. ‘‘I’m glad,” he said gravely, ‘“‘you were all asleep early last night.” “You ought,” said Woodchuck, ‘‘to have heard us snore. I betcha nobody never snored to beat us. Just ask our folks!”’ “That,”’ said Solon, ‘will be quite un- necessary. I am familiar with the technic.”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 This solves the Graduation Gift problem Tuts pay of a lifetime should be honored by a lifetime gift. And what sounder choice could you make than an Elgin years! It has all the qualities you would have in that graduation watch, the leading graduation remembrance for more than 50 oa ae presentation to your boy or girl . . . Modern beauty . . . new- 14 karat solid white gold $60 $61 day style .. . enduring accuracy . . . lifelong usefulness . . . This page gives a range of the newest models; these and other new models may be seen at your jeweler’s . . . Elgin prices range from $15 to $1500; and each watch, at whatever price, carries the Elgin guarantee .. . Elgin National Watch Company, Elgin, U. S. A. . gold filled c: 14 karat solid white gold . . =s “se . , ee Oe ee de 18 karat r ! > : 15 jewels, gold filled case THE WATCHWORD FOR EFFICIENCY AND ELEGANCE 15 jewels, luminous dial . . $60 Copyright, ELGIN, 1928 [ All prices slightly higher in Canada

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“I Can't Stand it,’’ She Said “We puts de silver pitcher in de middle ob de table,” said Henry stubbornly. ‘‘Dat’s de way we always hab it when dey’s comp’ny.” Anna replaced the vase on the sideboard. ‘““De madame she tell me day is eight in all_-she an’ Marse Marshall an’ free from Baltimo’ an’ Marse James Young and Mis’ James Young. Madame, she say Marse Marshall he to sit at de head ob de table.” ‘““That’s impossible. Marshall couldn’t serve the chicken.” ‘“‘T pass de chicken.”’ “It’s not suitable. He’s too little. him by his grandmother.” Anna went into the hall. The walls were paneled here also; not in wood but in heavily embossed paper. The rail of the stairway was mahogany; the carved spin- dies showed variations in design. The stairs themselves were bare of covering. Here and there through the lower rooms lay fragments of ancient rugs; upstairs the floor coverings were home-woven rag car- pets. The ceilings were high and the stair- way was long. From each end of the upper hall there was a lovely view into the boughs ofthetrees. Here,too, stood old tables and an old sofa, and in the rooms stood old beds and bureaus and dress- ing tables. Anna undressed rap- idly and bathed in cold water. The house had no plumbing and a hot bath for an adult was difficult toachieve. She brushed and braided her hair and wound it round her head and put on a white dress which she had made. The white was becoming; she looked, with her fine shoulders and well-set head, like the model Michelangelo would choose for a Madonna. She smiled faintly with a little pleasure in her appearance and went into the hall. The Bal- timoreans, madame had said, wished to see the house; for this in- spection she had pre- pared. The drawing-room had been opened for several days, but the heat which entered had not driven out the air of mustiness. It was, like all the places where madame lived Put THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PEASANT BLOOD Continued from Page § Madame sat in a large chair, Her smal] almost dark. slowly fanning herself were half covered by mitts, but from her fingers issued flashes of light. hands ‘You have no jewels, have you?” said she. ‘Not one,’ answered Anna. “I never liked them. They get in one’s way —that is, they get in my way. I’m awkward,” she added, wishing to impute no reproach. ‘Marshall, you haven’t enough light.’ ‘He has plenty of light.’’ The motion of madame’s fan quickened. Anna returned to the hall, holding her breath as though that helped to hold her tongue. The house pressed upon her shoul- ders; the air was thin; it had not enough body to fill one’s lungs. She saw, as though in a mirage, mountains clear against a cool sky. ‘I can’t stand it,’’ she said. ing!’’ said she, still aloud. In the kitchen were odors of food beginning to cook, but not delicious to one whom the heat had made ill; odors of spices mixed for the secret sauce; odors of hot dry grass from the yard outside the door; odors of the garden, but heavier odors of the sweated bodies of an **Mutter- odors — delicious alien race. “Are you getting along?’’ asked Anna with vague good will. It was best to leave them alone—them and Henry—to let them create what chaos they would out of sight, to mumble what they wished out of hearing, if only they served a good dinner. That they would do. Marse Young and Mrs. Young were aristocrats, and the Baltimore visitors, cousins of both the Youngs and the Chandlers, were aristocrats also. Young was a lawyer, the most competent lawyer of the nearest town. He managed Mrs. Chandler’s affairs and those of little Mar- shall. She passed into the dining room. The table was properly and beautifully set; the odor of heliotrope filled the air. The com- parative cooiness of the house revived her, and the odors of food ceased to be offensive. The cushion which was required to make Marshall comfortable had been placed where she directed. She would sit in the drawing-room and let the crimson fade Madame Was Eighty heeks She lingered for ar stant, regarding the face in the corner wit} its set lips, its grave eyes. The white ruff made it owl-like There was a sound at her elbow; with ar elfin grin Henry regarded the portrait ““Don’ belong wid de ladies,’ said he “Belong in de kitchen wid de wo’kin’ . ; olks.’ and rest —al- ready wheels crunched on the drive. “The company’s here, Henry.” Henry turned with a fling of his coat tails was he afraid that she might answer the door? She crossed to the draw- ing-room. The ladies would be escorted up- stairs to lay off their hats, the gentlemen would wait for them, they would go together to greet madame. In the drawing-room sat madame, waving her fan. Herhandshook. In mo- ments like this she still found pleasure. **Rise, Marshall,” said she. The little boy did not hear. **Come, darling,” said Anna. ah ig him,” **Let him be.” ‘*I’m going away,” said Anna at last in her soul. Shesaw a house neat, small, orderly, and a little boy coming from school unhappy because he contended at first un- successfully with chil- dren smarter or more diligent. She saw the picture only in minia- ture; it was set inside another —this house f saken of all but an old woman and an old black man. “Henry, glad to see you!” “Ah, Henry!’ There There was no time to sit interrupt ordered madame. r- here’s dear old were men’s hearty voices, sweet women’s All lacked r’s; the women’s lacked g’s as well. The air stirred from their passing. The women swept up the stairs Mrs. Young, Mrs. Tal liferro, Miss Talliferro. The women’s tones dropped into whispers They were whispering, Anna believed, about the shabby house, the shabby furniture, the rugs which were almost in rags, the rugs which were made of rags. The valances on the beds were unbleached muslin, and so were the curtains and the covers on the dressing tables. The house was clean. ; She felt pain in her knees and an ache in her back. It was queer that a mere reminiscence of pain could be so sharp! “Stand Marshall,” commanded madame. Marshall obeyed; he upon the arm of her chair. On the opposite side of the chimney stood Anna. She was acquainted with the Youngs, but of the Talliferros she had merely heard. The relationship was remote, but madame made much of it. They were very rich. This fact madame mentioned as though it signified nothing. Mrs. Young kissed madame’s cheek and Marshall’s cheek and shook hands with voices. here, leaned 169 Anna sne Wa the macaame cousin, and she might have ee er owr daughter. The Talliferro wom followed lit, except that they huggs Marshall, w did not e to be hugg ) trangers My daughter aw sid madame Oh, yes!” s: Mrs. Ta r 1 Miss Talliferro. They covered their surprise with extra warmt The woma oke like a trained nurse! The men kissed t} i e hand of madame and with Marshall and ' er ' SnooK hands “Tl Puts Him in He Proper Piace,’’ Grinned Henry Young was short and slender and Talliferro was tall and large and He eyed Anna sharply, looked clever; looked prosperous. as though he took stock of bot! mind.. There was no awkward pause, no searc] for seats. In their midst was Henry, a clever master of ceremonies. The womer looked curiously at the chairs before they sat down. Anna believed they were calcu lating their strength; in reality they were gazing covetously at carved cient embroideries. “Tt’s all as lovely as ever,” Talliferro. I body and backs, at ar cried Mrs. “It never changes.” “You were mighty fortunate to be off the warpath,” said Talliferro. “That was the only piece living in the wilderness,’’ answered madame. “The Yankees didn’t find us about the only old silver in the family. of luck about We have

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Modern Sesamee locks are also available on luggage OF SESAMEE LOCKS NOW a special you've LOW * USE AVAILABLE, WHICH ARE SH‘ 4 FEW OF _ of all types - Sold at Jead- WN BE- OUPON THE ¢ ing retail stores # @ ¢ HARTFORD « CONNECTICUT ked Free portfolio [[] Sesamee , enclosed check or money order “Where does the little boy go to school?” “To the village school now. By and by he’ll have a tutor. I have no patience with public schools and democracy and all that.” ““‘We came early so that Nancy might look about.”’ “‘Look about all you want, my dear.” Madame spoke sweetly, but there was malice in her voice. Marshall went round back of her to the door, quickening his pace as though someone beckoned. Vaguely dis- turbed, Anna stirred in her chair. “Madame,” announced Henry from the | doorway, ‘‘dinnah is se’ved.”’ | everything was ready. | madame. Startled, Anna rose; she must see that But madame took Talliferro’s arm, Young gave his to Mrs. Talliferro. Entering the dining room at the end of the procession, Anna saw Marshall enthroned at the head of the table. “‘T puts him in he proper place,”’ Henry. Anna sat between Talliferro and Mrs. Young. Opposite her sat Young, between Mrs. Talliferro and Miss Talliferro. She saw two wineglasses at each ~ ‘ace. “We're going away,” said s:.» in her soul. The eyes of the guests traveled from old silver platters passed by Henry, up to the paneled wall. “You might at least let me have her,”’ said Talliferro to madame, as though he continued a conversation begun at another time. ‘‘ You don’t like her.” ‘‘She moved the family here and saved them from ruin,” laughed Young. “She had four sons.” ‘A German from the Valley!’ madame. “Job! Elihu! Samuel! jah! Horrible!” “They turned out better than the rest,”’ declared Young. ““Made ’em work like slaves. ‘em in their youth.” “‘They were generals and statesmen.” “They had peasant blood in ’em,”’ cried “*T have none in me. You can’t say I have any in me!” ‘Seriously, I’d like to have her,” said Talliferro. The eyes of Mrs. Talliferro and her daughter communicated. Said the eyes of Mrs. Talliferro, “‘See the sideboard!” Said the eyes of Miss Talliferro, ‘‘See the court cupboard!” Miss Talliferro asked questions. “Cousin, what is that beautiful inlaid cupboard?” “‘That’s a cellaret, my dear.” **And that beautiful beaker?” “That’s a flip glass, my dear.” “‘If she was a peasant, why did she build this beautiful house?”’ “‘Her husband built it. It was her bribe to keep him in the wilderness. There were no races here and no ladies, and he spent his time building.” Henry shuffled round the table, filling the glasses, filling plates, urging the guests to eat. He moved without stiffness; the mus- cles used in this service were kept supple. He ignored Anna; no one would have dreamed that it was she whose shoulders supported the tottering edifice, she whose hands earned money for taxes, money for coal, money for clothes, money for all ne- cessities which she could not produce with her own hands. Anna did not know she was ignored. She saw again a tiny house, a village school with its smart children. She saw Marshall, his veneer of fine manners rubbed off, weeping because he was not at the head of his class. She saw him pummeled, teased, molded into a new sort of creature. Suddenly she lifted her head, not of her own volition but impelled by the eyes of Talliferro. His gaze was narrowed and fixed upon her as though to shut out all else, as though they shared some information at once important and secret. The company rose at last and went to look at the portrait with the white ruff. “I’m in earnest,” said Talliferro. ‘Let me have her!” Henry approached Anna, who was mov- ing slowly from her place. ‘“*De women wants dey money,” he whis- pered. grinned ’ mocked Abi- Disgraced April 28, 1928 re “They’re not going now! “Dey says dey’s a sto’m comin’.” Anna looked toward the guests; none re- garded her. She moved toward the kitchen. “IT hands ’em dey money,” said Henry. “No,” said Anna. The women stood ready, each with a large basket. “Put down those baskets,”’ ordered Anna. ““You come here and are impertinent. You leave before you've finished, you carry off quantities of things and you expect to be paid. Take your money and nothing else.” Trying to look brazen, the women moved out the door. Dishes were heaped on the table, skins of potatoes and hulls of peas lay where they had fallen. Grease had been tracked back and forth from the stove. Anna stood motionless, until a black hand opened the screen door, a pair of rolling eyes peered in, then vanished. She latched the door and went back to the dining room. “*May we look into every nook and cor- ner?”’ asked Miss Talliferro. Her voice quivered, as a child’s might quiver begging for something which it seemed death to do without. ““Yes, indeed!” said madame. the nooks and corners are clean.” “T’m going to smoke,”’ announced Talli- ferro. ‘‘I’ll tread the maze.” “*You’ll have sunstroke,”’ warned his wife. Talliferro stepped out the door. The women and Young and [Iarshall went slowly up the stairway. Madame would take a nap in her chair. Her willingness to have them see her poverty was amazing. Henry was asleep in the dining room; he had moved madame’s chair to its place un- der the portrait with the ruff and sat down in it. Anna began to carry to the kitchen des- sert plates and coffee cups; without her, the guests could smile freely. The table was cleared and they could not yet be heard descending. She worked in the kitchen, leaving the door open and mov- ing softly. The fire was out; she built it up. She collected the glassware, the silver —still, everything was perfectly quiet. The latch clicked; a hand tried the door. It was not the black women returning for their loot; it was Talliferro. ““You’ve come the wrong way.”’ With him she felt free; he had mingled with the world. His keen glance took in the piled dishes, the dirty floor, her uprolled sleeves. “Tt’s you I’m looking for. I want a word with you’’—there was a sound of voices—‘“‘in private. I could drive over from Young’s this evening and leave the car outside. Would it be possible for me to see you in the garden?” “‘Easily,”’ said Anna, astonished. ‘‘ After I’ve put my boy to bed—say, nine o'clock.” The voices grew louder. She pulled down her sleeves; Talliferro backed out and was gone. What did he want with her? Did he want her to help him beg for the picture? It was the only object in the whole house she would like to possess for herself and for Marshall. Henry had left his corner; there was sound and motion in the hall. Before the door stood Talliferro’s car, which looked as though it had at that moment left the hand of the manufacturer. Beside it stood the chauffeur in livery. ““We must go, darling,’’ said Mrs. Young to madame. “*Good-by,”’ said madame. At this hour she was drowsy and would remain so until dark. Evening was her time. ““We hope we haven’t tired you.”” Mrs. Talliferro looked from sofa to chair and chair to sofa. “This heavenly place!” ferro. They kissed madame on cheek or hand they kissed or shook hands with Marshall they shook hands with Anna. Marshall’ cheeks were flushed, his eyes heavy. “You're sleepy,”’ teased Young. Madame bent her head. Flies droned; the black women had let them in by hun- dreds. Anna began to roll back her sleeves. (Continued on Page 173 “T hope cried Miss Talli-

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 171 ROMANCE calls you to the GENESEE COUNTRY in Central New York HE Standard Oil Company of New York offers its Socony Touring Service to help plan your tour in New England and New York. Address Socony Touring Service (Room 268), 26 Broadway, New York City. You may also obtain fine road maps either by writing in ad- vance, or at the 30,000 Socony stations. The courteous service at these stations, and the uniform qual- ity of Socony products, will add to the pleasure of your trip. SOCONY GASOLINE - MOTOR OIL STANDARD OIL COMPANY OF NEW YORK Explore the land of lore and legend OME to the Genesee country and see what has hap- pened to the forest-covered wilderness through which Father Dallion journeyed in 1626. See the fertile fields and orchards where French and English battled and where the pioneers fought the Indians. Nowhere is there more to tempt the eye and the mind of the traveller. Go to Belvidere and see Judge Churchill's old home where Lafayette was entertained. Visit Caneadea where the most western village of the Seneca Nation once thrived. Here Moses Van Campen and Horatio Jones ran the gauntlet to the old council house. Go on only half a mile, where the Genesee River takes a mad hundred-foot plunge—a cataract of unbelievable beauty. Drive farther down the river to the heroic statue of Mary Jemison, ‘First White Woman of the Genesee.” At Genesee flourished the village of Big Tree, where in 1797 the Indians transferred their lands to the whites and moved away forever. At Cuylerville is the site of Little Beards Town, once the capital and metropolis of the Seneca Nation. At Perry, you see the home of President Chester A. Arthur. And in the beautiful residential city of Rocheste: are the University of Rochester and the magnificent Eastman School of Music. Romance calls you to the Genesee country. Enjoy its glamorous beauty this summer. Bring your family and explore its fertile valleys and thriving hamlets. Good roads and clean, hospitable inns will welcome you.

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172 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 TAKING THE MYSTERY out O ALL “mysteries” challenge the intellect. Now, for the first time, these questions One naturally desires to solve them. For are answered by the only one who can generations the public has been trying to answer them—the maker of the cloth. From an almost endless variety, the American solve the mystery of cloth. Men and women have been wondering why two fab- rics that /ook alike and fee/ alike may still vary so much in wearing quali- ties. Few, if any, can determine the quality of a fabric when they see it. Only the maker of the cloth knows the real value of the material, color, and weave that go into its making. When vou buy clothing you can be reasonably sure of everything about it except the quality of the cloth. Good looks, style, tailoring, color —these are known quantities be- cause you can see them before you buy. The quality of the cloth re- mains unknown because you can- not see quality. You can find no tangible evidence of durability in the cloth before you try it. What is good cloth? How, where and by whom is it made? How can it be recognized by the average buyer of clothing? These are the questions everyone asks. loth ABO a a REE te) PE eA ay tii Ram's Head FABRICS GUARANTEED)" ALL WOOL American Woolen Company BS — Every Ram’s Head Fabric is guaranteed high quality regardless of its price. The price per yard varies only according to weight and weave, but the quality always remains the same. ——s Woolen Company has carefully selected fabrics of unusual beauty, durability, and fine tailoring quali- ties. These are now clearly marked —RAM’S HEAD FABRICS so every- one can recognize them. Every fab- ric is rigidly tested for quality of ma- terial, color, and weave. Every yard is trade-marked and guaranteed all- wool, fast-dyed, and high quality. Wherever you see the Ram’s Head you can be sure of quality in the cloth—good American-made fab- rics that represent the highest per- dollar values that the world has to offer. For clothing that wears as well as it looks, demand Ram's Head Fab- rics. You will find them in a wide variety of styles for men’s and women’s wear. Chinchilla, Venise, Suede, and Broadcloth for women’s wear are now trade-marked and guaranteed, Selling Agency, American Woolen Company of New York, Dept. H, 225 Fourth Avenue, New York City. Styles of Colorful Beauty for Men and Women

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Continued from Page 170 “I'd lie down, Marshall. You've had a walk and Sunday school and company. Go, dear, lie down on the sofa in the hall.” “‘T will,” said Marshall. “Henry!” called Anna. Henry did not answer; he had bowed the guests away and gone round the house to his cabin and his bed. Anna removed the table- cloth and loosed the long curtains from their fastenings. Here also was a drone of flies. In the kitchen were not only flies but bees. There was heat and steam of boiling water. She put on an apron which covered her dress and began to wash the glass and silver. She would not think of the dish- washing as one process; she would think only of the glass and silver. She worked on. Glass and silver were washed, the dining-room china was washed. She put the cooking dishes to soak, replen- ished the supply of water on the stove and set to mixing the sauce for the pickles. Her foot turned as she approached the stove and she saved herself by a mighty wrench from what might have been death. She knelt to wash up the floor. Rising, she looked at the clock. It pointed to seven. Here under the thick shadow the light changed early; the kitchen was growing dark. She went into the drawing- room. Madame began to wave herfan. Had she been asleep all this time? “What will you have for supper?” There were moments when at sudden sight of this age and feebleness Anna almost said **mother.”’ ‘A cup of coffee, and bread and butter.” “Nothing else?” “*Nothing. Where’s Marshall?” “On the sofa in the hall.” “‘IT don’t wish my coffee till eight o’clock “Shall I light the lamp?” “No.” Anna turned and ran. She had left her sauce steaming; it must boil only a mo- ment. The cucumbers were bottled; she poured the sauce over them. It was hard to work in the kitchen after dark; the dingy walls ate up the light. She carried madame her coffee and set it down beside her. Marshall still slept; she could see him in the dim light lying quietly. She would like to lift him in her arms and sit by the window. In the west she could hear a low rumble. “*A storm is coming,’’ said madame. Her voice was thin and shrill and irregular in tone. ‘‘You’re late with my coffee. The clock struck half an hour ago.” “T’m sorry.”” Anna had meant to wake Marshall and put him properly to bed, but if the hour was so late she had better post- pone it till Talliferro had been here. What in the world did he want? From the kitchen door she could hear a car and see its lights on the road beyond the grove. Madame was eighty; she saw hera hundred, sitting at one end of the table and Marshall at the other, proud, spoiled, ruined, herself between, their servant. “They’ll have to take care of her,”’ she said to herself. “I’m going away.” ““You’re not!” a voice seemed to answer. “Your heart’s too tender.” She heard footsteps, speech. “It’s I, Mrs. Chandler.”” She gave a start; she forgot that she was Mrs. Chandler. “IT mustn’t come far from the door. If we step over yonder I can see or hear if any- one wants me.” “‘As you say,” agreed Talliferro. ‘‘I sup- pose you've cleared up that mess.”’ ‘I didn’t mind,” answered Anna. “I have peasant blood. I like to do useful things.”’ ““Why do you stay here?” “There isn’t any money. my living and Marshall’s, I could make but madame would have nothing.” “She could employ people.” THE SATURDAY “There isn’t money,”’ repeated Anna “Don’t you know what that means?” “There is money,” Talliferro contra- dicted her sharply. “This is a treasure house.” “You mean gold hidden?” “‘T mean precious old things.” ** Jewelry?’’ asked Anna. ‘The silver’ “Jewelry, silver, letters, chairs, tables, dishes, glass. “You mean them?” “You could get money for them.” “You mean”--Anna saw the immense colored women with their laden baskets “if I took them and sold them?” “You have the right to sell them.” “They're hers.” “They’re not hers; they belong to your boy. Young told me today. You're his guardian; you have a right to sell property to support him.” “You mean I could get money?” “T’ll give you ten thousand dollars for that paneled room.” Talliferro’s voice grew hoarse, hungry. “I’d move it. I'll buy anything in the house—the cornices, the mantelpieces, the stairways.” “Tt’s her home,”’ said Anna. “*T’ll buy duplicates, extra pieces of silver and glass, letters. I’m a descendant of the original owner; it isn’t as if they would go to a stranger. My women are wild, they make my life miserable. My daughter ste The rumble of thunder grew heavier. Talliferro raised his voice, mentioning large figures. “Don’t ruin your life. woman— too good to be a slave. “T must go,” said Anna. “I’m uneasy about my little boy. He's been sleeping for hours.” “Think it over,” advised Talliferro. He stepped away, then paused, then stepped cautiously again. Anna went into the kitchen, thence into the dining room. There were things in locked attic rooms, there were countless things put away. She rubbed her hands to- gether—how hard and rough! She quick- ened her steps— Marshall, where was he, why did he sleep so long? She went into the halland, stooping, felt the sofa. Hewas not there. “Madame!” she called _ sharply. ““Where’s Marshall?’”’ There was no an- swer. ‘Henry! Where’s Marshall?” There was no answer. She ran upstairs, her heart pounding. She found him in his own bed; perhaps he had been here all the time. Bending frantically over him, she was met by an odor, sweet, sickening, un- mistakable. She shook him violently. “Marshall! Marshall!” “Yes, motha.”’ It was Marshall’s sweet she could get money for You're a fine tone. ‘‘ Yes, motha!” “Listen to me! Did Henry give you wine?” “Yes, motha. He said now I was a man.” She laid him on the bed and ran down the stairs and through the hall to the drawing- room. “I’m going away!” she cried shrilly. “I’m going away! You may have every- thing, but I’m going away!” Her voice re- turned to her as though it rebounded froma wall. ‘“‘Madame!” she cried. There was no answer. She struck a match and lifted a candle. Madame sat on as though she slept. ‘“‘Madame!” The coffee cup lay upside down upon the floor, the saucer lay near by. The cup was intact, but the saucer was broken in a dozen fragments. She crossed the room, stepping on broken china and broken bread. She held the candle high. She looked down with a nurse’s trained eyes, but untrained eyes would have seen instantly all that was to be seen. ““Oh, madame!” she said pityingly. ‘Oh, poor, poor madame!” EVENING POST 173 _ Is there an age when women must cease to look young? Amonc the greatest enemies of health Cream contains more than §0 per t and vitality are decayed teeth and in- of this safe, pleasant antacid —enough fected gums. Every year they cause to neutralize the mouth acids. Used reg thousands of cases of ill health and pre as dangerous And, of grow old mature old age, as well diseases, physicians tell us. course, no one really begins to until health begins to fade Dentists state that the most serious of dental troubles start at The Danger Line— where teeth and gums meet. The rounded edges of the gums form tiny V shaped collect in these crevices Food particies They ferment, crevices there. forming acids that cause decay and irritate the gums A dentifrice should do more than clean the exposed surfaces of the teeth But it is tween the almost impossible to clean be teeth or the V-shaped A dentifrice where acids form places crevices shi yuld protect these remote against decay by neutralizing the acids that form in them. Dentists long have recognized that Milk of Magnesia is the most effective of all products for neu x mouth acids. Squibb’s Dental ¢ 4 tralizin | mee SQUIBB’S DENTAL CREAM ularly, it will help to prevent decay assist will also mouth in a healthy condition Safeguard that precious health Ww Prevent the many serious troubles that arise from neglect or the wrong met! of protecting your teeth. Just r the acids at The Dar get Line ust fx neutralized —and Squibb’s Dental Crea acc mplishes this ifely, plea intly effectively. At druggists everywhere 40 cents a large tube, f ity s E. R. Squibb & Sons, New Y Manufacturing Chemists to th Med ) to ; , we rhe’ Pr ession Since Lays Squibl Milk of M Squib Dent Cr n to promote proper ner n. Its u passed antacid quality | u prope festion i ; neif t elieve the evr rr 4 f fermenting f 4 t soc a bottle. It The S f Qu | The “Priceless Ingredient" of Every Product is the Honor and Integrity of Its Maker

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174 x ——— == THE Pipe Smoker: “you know there are when a pipe of good tobacco is the most refreshing es in all the world ” 1928 Liccerr & Myers Tosacco Co. ...at the end of the day SATURDAY times After a long day’s ride. . . after a hard day’s work. .. whenever a man wants Granger Rough Cut... A sé nsthly heavy foil; bence the price. vo costly tin; packed in “ ° : Granger is rightly called 10¢ smoker's tobacco.” GRANGER ROUGH CUT to relax and take life easy, there’s nothing so refreshing as a good pipe of Here’s a tobacco made expressly for those men who know the pleasures of a pipe... Specially mellowed and cut to meet the requirements of a pipe, “the pipe- NOTE: Others may imitate this popular package, but without “Wellman’s 1870 Secret’ make pipe tobacco like Granger. they can't | ketchum more cheap. EVENING POST April 28,1928 THE HOMING OF HUM DING Continued from Page 11 fraternal nature together with monotonous news of wars and famine in China tilled the third page. Half a column of the last page was de- voted to what might be called news. Two smoking rooms had been raided in Oak- land. Somebody’s cousin, a Hip Sing man, was missing, but the hand ax which had chopped him loose from life as he lay in his bunk on a ranch near Modesto had been salvaged by police. In code, the announcement of a forth- coming sale of barred plymouth-rock hens spoke of a cargo of opium successfully landed from one of the transpacific liners. Six lines were devoted to the murder of Lung Yet, who had been killed without conversation in a butcher shop belonging to a member of the Weeping Almond Tong. Well, a murder or two meant nothing in Hum Ding’s life. He remembered that in the early days following his arrival in Cali- fornia murders amounted to something. Murders were bigger and better in those days. Scarcely a week passed that did not include ten or fifteen first-class neatly exe- cuted murders. Hum Ding yawned. “The Police Department demand that the murderer be brought to trial and that the Weeping Almond Tong, to which he belongs, deliver him to justice.” Hum Ding yawned again and let his im- agination rove through a labyrinth of ad- venture. The Weeping Almond man, he surmised, would be an intelligent, honor- able mem er of the community. The Weep- ing Almond Tong almost without exception were notable examples of righteousness. Whenever they killed a man he had it com- ing to him Before Hum Ding finished his analysis of this bit of the tumult which seethed forever unseen beneath the quiet surface of affairs on Dupont Street, he realized that sanc- tuary in the mountains, with all its lack of contact with his race, possessed advan- tages not enjoyed by the city. Here in the high hills, now that the tourist season had closed, was an earthly heaven. No more early breakfasts. No more late supper crav- ers. Winter. Peace. His reflections were interrupted by a knock on the door of his kennel. The pro- prietor of the establishment, stooping low in the doorway, came into the room. “‘Humdinger, you ketch paper pencil tell me how much flour, how much grocer- ies you want to feed twenty people. Lots of people come here this winter. Maybe you better send down San Francisco, get one more boy help you. Business this win- ter all same business this summer. Ranch run all winter, make plenty money.” For the next five seconds Hum Ding’s mind worked faster than it had for twenty years. Then: “I need too many grocery. Buy ’em more cheap myself San Francisco. Need eprything. I go San Francisco, The proprietor of the mountain ranch figured that Hum Ding had a holiday com- ingtohim. Forthwith he agreed to a three- day furlough. “‘All right, you go San Fran- cisco. Stay two-three days. Long time you no ketchum holiday.” “You gimme my wages? “IT give you twenty dollars. Why you want wages? What you do— put wages in bank? Maybe bank go broke again like first time.” Without explaining why he wanted his money, Hum Ding repeated his demand. “All right, I give you check to- morrow morning before stage goes. You ride down stage with Jim. He take you to train.’”’ Delivering Hum Ding’s check on the following morning — ‘‘ How much money you save up now, Humdinger?”’ the pro- | prietor of the mountain ranch inquired. “‘China bank bust. All my money get | lost.” “I know; but that was a long time ago. You ought to have a lot more saved up since then.” “Lilly bit.” Arriving in San Francisco late in the afternoon, Hum Ding walked from the Ferry Building to Grant Avenue. He car- ried his suitcase. Tied together and hanging from his shoulder were the rubber boots containing the accumulated clean-up from the penny-ante gold spring. On the next day, when the banks had opened, Hum Ding carried his rubber boots to the Anglo Bank. After an hour of wait- ing, in return for the gold and the wages saved since the Chinese bank disaster, together with his latest wage check, he got a certificate of deposit amounting to nearly seven thousand dollars. He took this slip of paper to the office of the Sing Yet Com- pany, and here, when appropriate verbal preliminaries had been exchanged, he stored it in the six-lock safe. When this was done, Hum Ding devoted the next hour to an earnest conversation with a young Chinaman who left that eve- ning for the mountain ranch. Late that night, after the sundown rice had been eaten, Hum Ding brushed his black felt hat and visited a Chinese barber shop, from which, soused with musk, he de- parted in the direction of the clubhouse of the Weeping Almond Tong. At midnight the police officer in charge of the night shift on the Chinatown beat re- ported that the murderer of Lung Yet had been captured. ‘Them Weeping Almond Chinks rounded him up. I knew they would. All I got to do is bear down hard on those birds and they come across. The murdreh is a little runt named Hum Ding. He’sa mighty bad actor from his looks. We got him in the tank. Them Weeping Almond boys is got ten or fifteen good reliable witnesses that saw him sling the cleaver into Lung Yet at the butcher shop. Over an’ above that, by mornin’ I’ll have a signed confession outta that bird. Fast worker with these yellow devils—that’s me.” The capture of Lung Yet’s murderer and the subsequent program of the crimina! re- ceived an overdose of newspaper publicity, due to the fact that no more lurid sensation was available at the moment for the pam- pered literary appetite of the local public. Willing workers, alienists, sob sisters, lime- lighters and diligent amateur criminologists sought to aid and abet the machinery of the law in transferring Hum Ding from the land of the free to whatever destination lay on the far side of a murderer’s field of operations. The day of his trial finally came, and then, much to Hum Ding’s satisfaction, many of the buzzing human insects were brushed aside and everybody got down to business. Two or three Chinese interpreters light- ened the dull proceeding for the native wit- nesses and for the Chinese contingent who attended the trial as innocent bystanders. Most enjoyable of these by-products of the legal machinery was the direct examination of the defendant. “How long were you employed as a butcher in the Generous Gift Meat Mar- ket?”’ the prosecution asked. Interpreting this—‘‘The fat lizard says that you have a face like a carp,”’ the inter- mediate linguist stated, looking soberly at Hum Ding. Playing the game —‘‘ Tell the human ele- phant that he is worth more in a butcher shop than in a court room,”’ Hum Ding answered. Then, translating the defendant’s reply “He says he was employed three months in the Generous Gift Meat Market.” Three days of this and the trial closed with a verdict of guilty. Manslaughter, with recommendations from the jury cal- culated to soften the impact of the verdict. After another annoying interlude filled with first-class first aid from the outside, Hum Ding bade farewell to his local environment and started for his new home. (Continued on Page 177)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PLANTERS

SALTED . PEANUTS

The Nickel Lunch Reg. U.S. Pat THE GOLF NUT / F there’s anything more popular than golf, it must be Planters | Salted Peanuts. And why? You get a whole meal for a nickel | They’re ‘The Nickel Lunch.”’ And such peanuts! Brown as a Palm : y Beach caddy. Fresh and wholesome as all outdoors. 5c everywhere Remembe hey ; Planters Salted Pean le hey are MR PEANUT Xemember, they are not Planters Salted Peanuts unless they are REG US PAT OFF / in the glassine bag with the Planters name and Mr. Peanut on it hey n hahers fp I< 4 i¢ pul pea PLANTERS NUT & CHOCOLATE COMPANY P=) Canadian Factory: Toronto Suffolk, Va Wilkes-Barre, Pa. San Francisco New York Chicago Boston Philadetphia

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 any lovable features, about this homey (76 Architect, San Francisco McD. McSweeney Angus fd ..+. one of the prize winning designs in the = ic - I} a West Coast Woods Architectural Competition I = ee eee agp ee => ee 3 pen architect designed this charming home to This is in very pleasing contrast with the ‘ it a solve—with West Coast woods—the problem horizontal siding on the remainder of the house. , 1 of the average city residential lot. The roof is of Western Red Cedar shingles or 7 cael The arrangement of the rooms, as you can see shakes laid irregularly, doubled at the eaves and from the floor plans, is simple and compact ‘ stained green. Window sash and exterior trim . all unnecessary waste eliminated . . . yet fis are of Douglas Fir painted green. *? the effect of the exterior is spacious Sb A X The entire living room, dining aay ee PRES and the interior quite roomy. IER RES room and hall to have Douglas timberne thet reduce Dhaai oft fe entry The house to have frame of Ay \Cey in Fir or West Coast Hemlock remainder of the house. Douglas Fir or West Coast Me Xs | Wy. embte with Douglas Fir Stumlerk The wide eutatioe Mf ‘B \ peamed ceilings—sand etched, : \ stained and oiled. siding is of Western Red Cedar ot Sie Spruce, finished gray. A clever touch is given the ground floor rooms and hall- Onthe main front gable over the entrancea pleasing English effect is obtained by either vertical grain Western Red Cedar, or Douglas Fir flush boarding, or Douglas Fir plywood, with West- ern Red Cedar or Douglas Fir battens or half-timbering. The fireplace and panels in the living room have a pleasant old world feeling ways by the use of wide boards of Douglas Fir or West Coast Hemlock as flooring. These to be roughed with jack plane, stained and oiled. The doors and interior trim are to be of Douglas Fir, West Coast Hemlock or Sitka Spruce. 7 We will be glad to send you, without charge, a brochure of the architects’ sketches and construction suggestions for this and many other of the home designs submitted in the West Coast Woods Architectural Competition, together with a book describing these four outstanding woods. Address West Coast Lumber Bureau, 210 Mt. Hood Building, Longview, Washington. / 00as — Important West Coast Wi Douglas Fir ope ° West Coast Hemlock : uodlas Fir cAmerica’s Permanent Lumber Supply Western Red Cedar - Sitka Spruce

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(Continued from Page 174) The prisoner’s advanced age and the carefully calculated testimony of a dozen adroit witnesses had cut the sentence down to where it was little more than a pleasure trip. True to the descriptions of the peniten- tiary which his countrymen had given him, ifium Ding found that prison brought peace. It seemed to the little old man that each succeeding month brought some new and pleasant surprise into his life. His tasks in the kitchen were light. His corner of the kitchen was warm, and, after he had learned the routine of the place, nothing inter- rupted the regular program of his days. There were no white tourists craving sun- rise breakfasts, no lady hikers coming in from delayed trips with chattering demands for late suppers. No turmoil; and as a guaranty of safety, the prize winner re- alized with pleasure that all around him were stone walls thicker than those which protected the ancient feudal rulers of the Three Kingdoms. The sticks and stones of attacking hoodlums could not reach him here. There was plenty to eat and plenty of tobacco, so that life seemed to hold no problems whatever. After the second year in the penitentiary, Hum Ding began to regret the brevity of his sentence. Save for the final great objective of a grave in his homeland, here inside the stone walls was happiness and everything that a reasonable man could desire. He half resolved to break some of the prison rules so that his stay might be prolonged, but he abandoned this unworthy thought, enjoying a sense of having made a sacrifice in the cause of right. In less than four years after he entered the prison, he was released. He missed the ringing gong that summoned him to the day’s work, and it seemed for a while that all the settled routine to which he had be- come accustomed had been taken from his life without adequate reward. As a final courtesy too deep for him to understand, on the day of his departure he was given the best suit of clothes he had ever owned, together with a new hat and a pair of shoes. He returned to San Francisco with a group of his countrymen who had welcomed him at the prison gates at the moment of his release. After resisting their suggestions for an hour, he finally bowed to custom and agreed to pay for a banquet of welcome in the rooms of his own fraternal society. When the enjoyable banquet had been concluded late at night Hum Ding bade his guests farewell. After the last one had de- parted he too left the scene and shuffled along on a course through the chill night which brought him presently to the portals of the Weeping Almond Tong. A sleepy half-vigilant doorkeeper admitted him to the place. He found a single light burning in the great assembly room, but no one answered his summons until from a side room the secretary of the Weeping Almond Tong de- manded a reason for the night alarm. WW’ ‘4 N Ad .. } ag in 27? ; N " ' Nya ~ THE SATURDAY “Tt is Hum Ding. I was delayed at a banquet.” The secretary of the Weeping Almond Tong bowed to his visitor. “‘I was expect ing you,” he said. “Please follow me to the treasure room.”’ Out of a safe in the corner of the office of the treasurer of the society the secretary took a check book. “The check was ready for you this after- noon,” he said. ‘Here it is—fourteen hun- dred days in the prison and twelve days in San Francisco—that is, at two dollars a day, which we agreed upon, two thousand eight hundred and twenty-four dollars. This check is for that amount, and with it please accept the felicitations of the Banded Brothers of the Weeping Almond.” Hum Ding accepted his reward, and then with a phrase appropriate to the ceremony of parting he bade the secretary of the Weeping Almond Tong good night and returned to a room which he had rented over the Eager-to-be-Eaten Pig Restau- rant. Presently, warmly clad in the black suit which the state had given him as a parting gift, he fell asleep, lulled by a consciousness of victory and by a monotonous mental] in- ability to add a sum of money, with four years’ interest, to another sum of money. Before the midday rice on the following day his arithmetic gave him no further con- cern. The sum of money in the white man’s bank, plus interest, added to the check from the Weeping Almond Tong, topped ten thousand dollars by a safe margin. “*Plenty money now to go back China. No more work.”” In a wild burst of gen- erosity, Hum Ding handed three silver dollars to a member of the guard of honor which saw him on board his China-bound ship. ‘‘Buy one box cigars with this. Give it to that policeman boss. Number one good man.” For the first time in fifty years some of the lines around old Hum Ding’s mouth smoothed out and a smile of peace took their place. “‘Long time trouble. Long time work. NowI gohome. Sit down. Rest all time.” Hum Ding remained in China less than two weeks. One day at his father’s house, tenanted now by strangers, was enough; for all about him was strife and treachery and the bloodshed of war. It cost him nearly half his home stake to accomplish his return to the United States, but safe at last in San Francisco, he has- tened along on his journey to the mountain ranch. First of all he interviewed his successor in the ranch kitchen. “Better you go back San Francisco. Young man ketchum large money San Francisco. This job no good.” When the penny-ante gold spring was again in working order, he faced the pro- prietor of the resort. “*T come back,” he announced. ‘‘ Nebber go way no more.” ‘*Where you been, you old Humdinger?”’ “*T go look-see China. China no good for American man all same you and me.” 7 \A 0 We “Ss The Beach at Kalihiwai, Island of Kauai, Hawaii EVENING POST M ONROF HYDRAULIC SHOCK ELIMINATORS Hydraulic Spring Control in its simplest form! Is your automobile thorough- ly modern in its riding quali ties? You can make it so by installing a set of Monroe Hydraulic Shock Eliminators the simplest, sturdiest, most economical develop- ment of the hydraulic prin ciple of spring control. Monroe Hydraulics are unique in their extreme sim plicity. A one piece actuat ing arm and cam eliminates numerous moving parts. A combination metering pin and springless escape valve insures unfailing oil pressure relief under all road or weather conditions Easy driving and easy riding the elimination of all bouncing, galloping and side sway —long and trouble-free service at minimum these are thie direct advan tages of Monroe Hydraulic simplicity. Why not equip your car at and “ride on cushions of oil’’? 25 to *40 PER SET OF FOUR ¥ r f M4 cost ONCE MONROE AUTO EQUIPMENT COMPANY MONROE, MICHIGAN MailCoupon Monte ment CO Mich- . uif ° ynro Auto t ' | Se Monroe ” eibit she 0 EF si pooklet OT neir bene - 5 ace send me Yomminators and th Please shock EH™ Hydraul™ » Ad State Cry foda eo aail e Distributors Fred J. Ryan In H. S. Macomber Co 140 Brookline Ave., B The Lathan Co J. J. Dougherty Inc 803 Wisconsin Ave Burd Piston Ring Ce 1122 Harmon Lindgren Sales & Service Co 2900 Cherry St Kansee City Canadian Pairbanks-Morse Company, Let aclusive Distributor f anede 1454 Pine St., Sen Fren WO W. 66th St., New York ¢ Simplex Automotive Distributors, Is 2289 So. Michigan Ave., Chice George W. Reinbold ¢ 2506 N. Broad St.. Philede The Frampton Company 45837 Delmar Bivd., Se. I Milwaukee Plece, Minneap M

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THE SATURDAY ‘ a TEN TO TWELVE Most 10 Styles x $ | i Sart right on aie Wear FLorsueim Shoes if you want to dress well. . They have the style and quality for good appear- } ance. They put your feet at ease because they are properly made and save for you thru long service. THE FURLONG™= Style M-293 : ) THe FLORSHEIM SHOE COMPANY + Manufacturers - CHICAGO fer ecemsessr—reu: > eer Carman eae OO AEN OO itt Bin % i A smart sill sock with Buffer Heef and Buffer Toe New friend of bachelors, new ally of mothers and wives. are these smart new Wilson Brothers socks. Where the rub comes, the suffer heel and Buffer toe bear the brunt. Besides more wear, they offer more and Most good dealers now sell this achievement of finer silk in fifteen fadeless colors. Wilson Brothers Style Committee. WILSON BROTHERS Haberdashery LONDON, PARIS CHICAGO, NEW YORK, SAN FRANCISCO, Vore achievement of Wilson Brothers style. wear, and value: the Sivle Committee Fifteen colors 50¢ [Silk & Rayon} [Pure Silk} ${OO (Pure Silk} FLORSHEIM SHOES | EVENING POST April 28, 1928 THE SCANDAL DETECTIVES (Continued from Page 4) yet no poignancy, only a brilliant and dy- namic excitement that was bearing him along toward the Whartons’ yard through the May twilight. He wore his favorite clothes— white duck knickerbockers, pepper-and-salt Norfolk jacket, a Belmont collar and a gray knitted tie. With his black hair wet and shining, | he was a handsome little figure as he turned in upon the familiar but now reénchanted lawn and joined the voices in the gathering darkness. Three or four girls who lived in neighboring houses were present, and al- most twice as many boys; and a slightly older group adorning the side veranda made a warm, remote nucleus against the lamps of the house and contributed occa- sional mysterious ripples of laughter to the already overburdened night. Moving from shadowy group to group, Basil ascertained that Imogene was not yet here. Finding Margaret Torrence, he spoke to her aside, lightly. “Have you still got that old ring of mine?” Margaret had been his girl all year at | dancing school, signified by the fact that he had taken her to the cotillion that had closed the season. The affair had lan- guished toward the end; none the less, his question was undiplomatic. “T’ve got it somewhere,’’ Margaret re- plied carelessly. ‘‘Why? Do you want it back?” “Sort of.” “All right. I never did want it. It was you that made me take it, Basil. I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.” “You couldn’t give it to me tonight, could you?”’ His heart leaped as he saw a small figure come in at the rear gate. “I sort of want to get it tonight.” “Oh, all right, Basil.’ She ran across the street to her house and Basil followed. Mr. and Mrs. Torrence were on the porch, and while Margaret went upstairs for the ring he overcame his excitement and impatience and answered those questions as to the health of his par- ents which are so meaningless to the young. Then a sudden stiffening came over him, his voice faded off and his glazed eyes fixed | upon a scene that was materializing over the way. From the shadows far up the street, a | swift, almost flying figure emerged and | floated into the patch of lamplight in front | of the Whartons’ house. The figure wove | here and there in a series of geometric pat- terns, now off with a flash of sparks at the | impact of skates and pavement, now gliding | miraculously backward, describing an im- possible curve, with one foot lifted grace- fully in the air, until the young people moved forward in little groups out of the darkness and crowded to the pavement to watch. Basil gave a quiet little groan as he realized that of all possible nights, Hubert 3lair had chosen this one to arrive. “You say you're going to the lakes this summer, Basil. Have you taken a cot- tage?”’ Basil became aware after a moment that Mr. Torrence was making this remark for the third time. “‘Oh, yes, sir,’’ he answered no. We're staying at the club.” *‘Won’t that be lovely?” said Mrs. Tor- rence. Across the street, he saw Imogene stand- ing under the lamp-post and in front of her Hubert Blair, his jaunty cap on the side of his head, maneuvering in a small circle. Basil winced as he heard his chuckling laugh. He did not perceive Margaret until she was beside him, pressing his ring into ““T mean, | his hand as though it were a bad penny. He said a strained and hollow good-by, and, weak with apprehension, followed her back across the street. He hung back in a shadow, his eyes fixed not on Imogene but on Hubert Blair. There was undoubtedly something about Hubert Blair. In the eyes of children less than fifteen, the shape of the nose is the distin- guishing mark of beauty. Parents may cal! attention to lovely eyes, shining hair or gorgeous coloring, but the nose and its jux- taposition on the face is what the adolescent sees. Upon the lithe, stylish, athletic torso of Hubert Blair was set a conventional chubby face, and upon this face was chiseled the piquant, retroussé nose of a Harrison Fisher girl. He was confident; he had personality, uninhibited by doubts or moods. He did not go to dancing school—his parents had moved to the city only a year ago—but already he was a legend. Though most of the boys disliked him, they did homage to his virtuosic athletic ability, and for the girls his every movement, his pleasantries, his very indifference, had a simply immeas- urable fascination. Upon several previous occasions Basil had discovered this; now the discouraging comedy began to unfold once more. Hubert took off his skates, rolled one down his arm and caught it by a strap be- fore it reached the pavement; he snatched the ribbon from Imogene’s hair and made off with it, dodging from under her arms as she pursued him, laughing and fascinated, around the yard. He cocked one foot be- hind the other and pretended to lean an elbow against a tree, missed the tree on purpose and gracefully saved himself from falling. The boys watched him noncom- mittally at first. Then they, too, broke out into activity, doing stunts and tricks as fast as they could think of them until those on the porch craned their necks at the sudden surge of activity in the garden. But Hu- bert coolly turned his back on his own suc- cess. He took Imogene’s hat and began setting it in various quaint ways upon his head. Imogene and the other girls were convulsed with laughter. Unable any longer to endure the nau- seous spectacle, Basil went up to the group and said, ‘‘ Why, hello, Hube,” in as negli- gent a tone as he could command. Hubert answered ‘‘ Why, hello, old—old Basil the Boozle,”’ and set the hat a differ- ent way on his head, until Basil himself couldn’t resist an unwilling chortle of laughter. ‘Basil the Boozle! Hello, Basil the Boozle!’”’ The cry circled the garden. Re- proachfully he distinguished Riply’s voice among the others. “Hube the Boob!” Basil countered quickly; but his ill humor detracted from the effect, and though several boys repeated it appreciatively, neither Hubert nor Imo- gene paid any attention. Gloom settled upon Basil, and through the heavy dusk the figure of Imogene began to take on a new, unattainable charm. He was a romantic boy and already he had en- dowed her heavily from his fancy. Now he hated her for her indifference, but he must perversely linger near in the vain hope of recovering the penny of ecstasy so wantonly expended this afternoon. He tried to talk to Margaret with decoy animation, but she was not responsive. Al- ready a voice had gone up in the darkness calling in a child. Panic seized upon him; the blessed hour of summer evening was al- most over. At a spreading of the group to let pedestrians through, he maneuvered Imogene unwillingly aside. “‘T’ve got it,”” he whispered. ‘Here it is. Can I take you home?” She looked at him distractedly. Her hand closed automatically on the ring. “What? Oh, I promised Hubert he could take me home.” At the sight of his face she pulled herself from her trance and forced a note of indignation. ‘I saw you going off with Margaret Torrence just as soon as I came into the yard.” “‘T didn’t. I just went to get the ring.” “Yes, you did! I saw you!” Her eyes moved back to Hubert Blair. He had replaced his roller skates and was (Continued on Page 181)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 179 Follow he Longhorn Irai GOLDEN STATE ROUTE through the old West and new +77 none faster, Chicago to Southern California f Salt River Valley, and the Nile-like Im | S. they sang to their longhorn cattle, t \ c perial Valley. Stop over anywhere. Thre¢ those cowboy s of fifty years ago, as they sat 1n their saddles beside drifting herds under wide western skies. fast trains ope rate daily OV er Golden State Route. Through sleepers from Minne apolis, St. Paul, Chicago, Kansas City and Memphis to Los Angeles, San Diego and Santa Barbara. Kor a thousand grassy miles over Texas ““Staked Plains”’, New Mexico mesas, and Kansas prairies, they drove their nib bling, milling, bellowing steers to mar- ket. Theirs was the era of the two-gun sheriffs and desperadoes of the stamp of “2, Le anhale ) , y ’ , eee the whole Pacific Coast—low summer fares in effect May Billy the Kid, who died with his boots Stop over anywhere. | on, 21 notches 1n his gun, when just old effect from May 15 to Septer : fe d October 31 enough to cast his first vote. aie & p . ie ° 0 1eTT i Straight across that storied land today, Nes Ripe | G Chicago and Kansas City to El Paso and se ld decid ihace id da in Baa State Route \merica’s Southwest, the Golden State Overvanp Route (I I [ © limited drives smoothly over shining There’s no finer train on rails than the np Fr scien ee R a New \ ry , é Siig te: ‘ ise . cago t an Francisco; Sunser Rovure, ‘ t steel following the Longhorn Prail. superbly appointed, on-time ‘Golden A Tae a ; sil rhere’s no swifter, more interesting State Limited”. hii, MM Rae Wier aaa route than this, the direct line from Chi- And the Old West, romantic as it was, lexas, and the Southwest to Los Angeles, San D cago to Southern California. never was as fascinating as the new. ind San Francisco, like Go_pen Stare Rovurts : . , T } San Ror Indians, cowboys, ranch life and crum a See eae P ' N . . . . . . ° . ¢ etw e i t bling Spanish Missions vie with evidences ie Miecniciane alk Miaeliedl eel adie 2 of astounding modern achievement. ow . The \pache Trail highw ay of \rizona, ctiittiall UP ian seaiees oor Bo . a one-day side trip, is a feature of ab- Reem1022.210 M Bealroord,t sorbing interest. So, too, are Phoenix, illustrated booklet, How Best to See the Pacific( Southern Pacific

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180 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST must be for you—by H°* bew ‘ring it merely looking at a hosiery advertisement know the actual quality of the hosiery itself. The pretty girls who sit upon the printed page lisplaying soft, seductive curves—the soft, seduc- tive phrases setting forth the fetching beauty of the hose these things just make it more bewil- dering decide which hose to buy. We belie that we have found the answer! We have priced an exquisite, fine gauge chiffon ! Clad so low that you simply can’t go wrong. Be wail e ring! Pure silk to the top, in the season’s latest shades 4+ply mercerized heel and toe —double sole new patented improved foot assuring perfect fit, smooth toe and non-wrinkle ankle—and with it an Iron Clad guarantee of satisfactory service or a brand new pair of hose —for one dollar! 14,000 dealers are selling Iron Clads. If your dealer can’t supply you, send us your remittance of $1.00 a pair with a request for Style 810, and we'll mail your hose to you, paying the postage April 28,1928 ourselves. State size desired (8 to 1014) and choose your favorite from these lovely shades: Atmosphere, skin, champagne, blonde, French nude, black, white, grain, parchment, sandust Aloma, rose blush, peachbloom, moonlight, silver grey, mauve taupe, gun metal, white jade honey beige, tawny and Kasha beige. COOPER, WELLS & CO., 212 Vine St., St. Joseph, Mich. Mills at St. Joseph, Michigan; and Decatur, Alabam NoTE—If you want a full-fashioned style, ask for r No. 924, sizes 8 to 10, a Dollar Eighty-Five a pair.

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(Continued from Page 178) making little rhythmic jumps and twirls on his toes, like a witch doctor throwing a slow hypnosis over an African tribe. Basil’s voice, explaining and arguing, went on, but Imo- gene moved away. Helplessly he followed There were other voices calling in the dark- ness now and unwilling responses on all sides. “All right, mother!” “‘T’ll be there in a second, mother.”’ ‘*Mother, can’t I please stay out five min- utes more?”’ ““T’ve got to go,” Imogene cried. almost nine.” Waving her hand and smiling absently at Basil, she started off down the street. Hu- bert pranced and stunted at her side, circled around her and made entrancing little fig- ures ahead. Only after a minute did Basil realize that another young lady was addressing him. ““What?”’ he demanded absently. “Hubert Blair is the nicest boy in town and you're the most conceited,” repeated Margaret Torrence with deep conviction. He stared at her in pained surprise. Margaret wrinkled her nose at him and yielded up her person to the now-insistent demands coming from across the street. As Basil gazed stupidly after her and then watched the forms of Imogene and Hubert disappear around the corner, there was a low mutter of thunder along the sultry sky and a moment later a solitary drop plunged through the lamplit leaves over- head and splattered on the sidewalk at his feet. The day was to close in rain. “It’s qr T CAME quickly and he was drenched and running before he reached his house eight blocks away. But the change of weather had swept over his heart and he leaped up every few steps, swallowing the rain and crying ‘‘ Yo-o-o!”’ aloud, as if he himself were a part of the fresh, violent dis- turbance of the night. Imogene was gone, washed out like the day’s dust on the side- walk. Her beauty would come back into his mind in brighter weather, but here in the storm he was alone with himself. A sense of extraordinary power welled up in him, until to leave the ground permanently with one of his wild leaps would not have surprised him. He was a lone wolf, secret and untamed; a night prowler, demoniac and free. Only when he reached his own house did his emotion begin to turn, specu- latively and almost without passion, against Hubert Blair. He changed his clothes, and putting on pajamas and dressing gown descended to the kitchen, where he happened upon a new chocolate cake. He ate four pieces of it and facilitated its descent with several glasses of milk. His elation somewhat diminished, he called up Riply Buckner on the phone. ‘*T’ve got a scheme,” he said. *“What about?” ‘How to do something to H. B. with the &. 2.” Riply understood immediately what he meant. Hubert had been so indiscreet as to fascinate other ladies besides Miss Bissel that evening. “We'll have to take in Bill Kampf,” Basil said. “All right.” “*See you at recess tomorrow. night!” ° Good Iv OUR days later, when Mr. and Mrs. George P. Blair were finishing dinner, Hubert was called to the telephone. Mrs. Blair took advantage of his absence to speak to her husband of what had been on her mind all day. “George, those boys, or whatever they are, came again last night.”’ He frowned. “Did you see them?’ “Hilda did. She almost caught one of them. You see, I’d told her about the note they left last Tuesday, the one that said, ‘First warning, S. D.,’ so she was ready for them. They rang the back-door bell this time and she answered it straight from the dishes. If her hands hadn’t been soapy she ’ THE SATURDAY could have caught one, because she grabbed him as he handed her a note, but her hands were soapy so he slipped away.”’ “‘What did he look like?”’ “She said he might have little man, but she thought he was a boy in a false face. He dodged like a boy, she said, and she thought he had short pants on. The note was like the other. It said ‘Second warning, S. D.’” “If you've got it, I'd like to see it after dinner.”’ Hubert came back into the room. ‘It was Imogene Bissel,”’ he said. ‘‘She wants me to come over to her house. A bunch are going over there tonight.”’ “‘Hubert,”’ asked his father, know any boy with the initials S. D.? “No, sir.” ““Have you thought?” “Yeah, I thought. I knew a boy named Sam Davis, but I haven't seen him for a year.” ““Who was he?” “Oh, asort of tough. He was at Number 44 School when I went there.” “Did he have it in for you?” “TI don’t think so.” ‘“Who do you think could be doing this? Has anybody got it in for you that you know about?” “‘I don’t know, papa; I don’t think so.” “IT don’t like the looks of this thing,”’ said Mr. Blair thoughtfully. ‘‘Of course it may be only some boys, but it may be f He was silent. Later, he studied the note. It was in red ink and there was a skull and crossbones in the corner, but being printed, it told him nothing at all. Meanwhile Hubert kissed his mother, set his cap jauntily on the side of his head, and passing through the kitchen stepped out on the back stoop, intending to take the usual short cut along the alley. It was a bright moonlit night and he paused for a moment on the stoop to tie his shoe. If he had but known that the telephone call just received had been a decoy, that it had not come from Imogene Bissel’s house, had not in- deed been a girl’s voice at all, and that shadowy and grotesque forms were skulk- ing in the alley just outside the gate, he would not have sprung so gracefully and lithely down the steps with his hands in his pockets or whistled the first bar of the Grizzly Bear into the apparently friendly night. His whistle aroused varying emotions in the alley. Basil had given his daring and successful falsetto imitation over the tele- phone a little too soon, and though the Scandal Detectives had hurried, their prep- arations were not quite in order. They had become separated. Basil, got up like a Southern planter of the old persuasion, was just outside the Blairs’ gate; Bill Kampf, with a long South European mustache at- tached by a wire to the lower cartilage of his nose, was approaching in the shadow of the fence; but Riply Buckner, in a full rabbinical beard, was impeded by a length of rope he was trying to coil and was still a hundred feet away. The rope was an es- sential part of their plan; for, after much cogitation, they had decided what they were going to do to Hubert Blair. They were going to tie him up, gag him and put him in his own garbage can. The idea at first horrified them— it would ruin his suit, it was awfully dirty and he might smother. In fact the garbage can, symbol of all that was repulsive, won the day only because it made every other idea seem tame. They disposed of the objec- tions—his suit could be cleaned, it was where he ought to be anyhow, and if they left the lid off he couldn’t smother. To be sure of this they had paid a visit of inspec- tion to the Buckners’ garbage can and stared into it, fascinated, envisaging Hu- bert among the rinds and eggshells. Then two of them, at least, resolutely put that part out of their minds and concentrated upon the luring of him into the alley and the overwhelming of him there. been a \ ery “do you Hubert’s cheerful whistle caught them | off guard and each of the three stood stock- still, unable to communicate with the EVENING POST

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Many of our representatives earn that much, and more, in their spare time —merely by for- warding to us new and renewal subscriptions for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman. After several months’ illness, Harry M. | daylor, for example, found himself facing doctor’s bills, hospital bills, bills almost too numerous to mention. He needed more money. And he’s been making more money in his spare time ever since he mailed us a coupon similar to the one below. Like Mr. Haylor, you can put the shadow of debt behind you and keep it there! Send the coupon today for all the details, and | begin earning at once! THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 182 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Tell me more about your money-making offer, Va re Street Cily Age State | he knew. | hands on Hubert Blair and stuff him into a others. It flashed through Basil’s mind that if he grappled with Hubert without Riply at hand to apply the gag as had been arranged, Hubert’s cries might alarm that gigantic cook in the kitchen who had almost | captured him the night before. The thought threw him into a state of indecision. At that precise moment Hubert opened the | gate and came out into the alley. The two stood five feet apart, staring at each other, and all at once Basil made a startling discovery. He discovered he liked Hubert Blair—liked him as well as any boy He had absolutely no wish to lay garbage can, jaunty cap and all. He would have fought to prevent that contingency. As his mind, unstrung by his situation, gave pasture to this inconvenient thought, he turned and dashed out of the alley and up the street. For a moment the apparition had star- tled Hubert, but when it turned and made off he was heartened and gave chase. Out- distanced, he decided after fifty yards to let | well enough alone; and returning to the | alley, started rather precipitously down toward the other end—and came face to face with another small and hairy stranger. Bill Kampf, being more simply organized than Basil, had no scruples of any kind. It had been decided to put Hubert into a garbage can, and though he had nothing at all against Hubert, the idea had made a pattern on his brain which he intended to follow. He was a natural man—that is to say, a hunter—-and once a creature took on the aspect of a quarry, he would pursue it without qualms until it stopped struggling. But he had been witness to Basil’s inex- plicable flight, and supposing that Hubert’s father had appeared and was now directly behind him, he, too, faced about and made off down the alley. Presently he met Riply Buckner, who, without waiting to inquire the cause of his flight, enthusiastically joined him. Again Hubert was surprised into pursuing a little way. Then, deciding once and for all to let well enough alone, he returned on a dead run to his house. Meanwhile Basil had discovered that he was not pursued, and keeping in the shad- ows, made his way back to the alley. He was not frightened—he had simply been incapable of action. The alley was empty; neither Bill nor Riply was in sight. He saw Mr. Blair come to the back gate, open it, look up and down and go back into the house. He came closer. There was a great chatter in the kitchen—Hubert’s voice, loud and boastful, and Mrs. Blair’s, fright- ened, and the two Swedish domestics con- tributing bursts of hilarious laughter. Then through an open window he heard Mr. Blair’s voice at the telephone: “TI want to speak to the chief of po- lice. Chief, this is George P. Blair. Chief, there’s a gang of toughs around here who - Basil was off like a flash, tearing at his Confederate whiskers as he ran. Vv MOGENE BISSEL, having just turned thirteen, was not accustomed to having callers at night. She was spending a bored | and solitary evening inspecting the month’s bills which were scattered over her mother’s desk, when she heard Hubert Blair and his father admitted into the front hall. “‘T just thought I’d bring him over,” Mr. Blair was saying to her mother. ‘‘There seems to be a gang of toughs hanging around the alley tonight.” Mrs. Bissel had not called upon Mrs. Blair and she was considerably taken aback | by this unexpected visit. She even enter- tained the uncharitable thought that this was a crude overture, undertaken by Mr. Blair on behalf of his wife. “Really!” she exclaimed. “‘ Imogene will be delighted to see Hubert, I’m sure. Imogene!”’ “These toughs were evidently lying in wait for Hubert,” continued Mr. Blair. “But he’s a pretty spunky boy and he managed to drive them away. However, I didn’t want him to come down here alone.” April 28,1928 “Of course not,” she agreed. But she was unable to imagine why Hubert should have come at all. He was a nice enough boy, but surely Imogene had seen enough of him the last three afternoons. In fact, Mrs. Bissel was annoyed, and there was a minimum of warmth in her voice when she asked Mr. Blair to come in and sit down. They were still in the hall, and he was just beginning to perceive that all was not as it should be, when there was another ring at the bell. Upon the door being opened, Basil Lee, strangely red-faced and breathless, hur- ried into the house. “How doyoudo, Mrs. Bissel? Hello, Imo- gene!’’ he cried in an unnecessarily hearty voice. ‘‘Where’s the party?” The salutation might have sounded to a dispassionate observer somewhat harsh and unnatural, but it fell upon the ears of an al- ready disconcerted group. “There isn’t any party,’’ said Imogene wonderingly. ““What?” Basil’s mouth dropped open in exaggerated horror, his voice trembled slightly. ‘‘You mean to say you didn’t call me up and tell me to come over here to a party?” “Why, of course not, Basil!” Imogene was excited by Hubert’s unex- pected arrival and it occurred to her that Basil had invented this excuse to spoil it. Alone of those present, she was close to the truth; but she underestimated the urgency of Basil’s motive, which was not jealousy but mortal fear. “*You called me up, didn’t you, Imogene?” demanded Hubert confidently. ““Why, no, Hubert! I didn’t call up any- body.” Amida chorus of bewildered protestations, there was another ring at the doorbell and the pregnant night yielded up Riply Buck- ner, Jr., and William S. Kampf. Like Basil, they were somewhat rumpled and breath- less, and they no less rudely and peremp- torily demanded the whereabouts of the party, insisting with curious vehemence that Imogene had just now invited them over the phone. Hubert laughed, the others began to laugh and the tensity relaxed. Imogene herself, because she believed Hubert, now began to believe them all. Unable to re- strain himself any longer in the presence of this unhoped-for audience, Hubert burst out with his amazing adventure. “T guess there’s a gang laying for us all!” he exclaimed. ‘‘There were some guys lay- ing for me in our alley when I went out. There was a big fellow with gray whiskers, but when he saw me he ran away. Then I went along the alley and there was a bunch more, sort of foreigners or something, and I started after ’em and they ran. I tried to catch ’em, but I guess they were good and scared, because they ran too fast for me.” So interested were Hubert and his father in the story that they failed to perceive three of his listeners growing purple in the face or to mark the uproarious laughter that greeted Mrs. Bissel’s polite proposal that they have a party, after all. “Tell about the warnings, Hubert,” prompted Mr. Blair. ‘“‘You see, Hubert had received these warnings. Did you boys get any warnings?” “I did,” said Basil suddenly. “I got a sort of warning on a piece of paper about a week ago.” For a moment, as Mr. Blair’s worried eye fell upon Basil, a strong sense not pre- cisely of suspicion but rather of obscure misgiving passed over him. Possibly that odd aspect of Basil’s eyebrows, where wisps of crépe hair still lingered, connected itself in his subconscious mind with what was bizarre in the events of the evening. He shook his head somewhat puzzled. Then his thoughts glided back restfully to Hu- bert’s courage and presence of mind. Hubert, meanwhile, having exhausted his facts, was making tentative leaps into the realms of imagination. “T said, ‘So you’re the guy that’s been sending these warnings,’ and he swung his left at me, and I dodged and swung my (Continued on Page 185)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 183 Th New Orleans Hundreds of these roofs are already safe from fire loss Is your home—perhaps the one marked H¥%— protected with Eternit Asbestos Shingles ? A YEARLY fire loss in America of $500,000,000! To this amaz- ing total, roofs that burn are one of the chief contributors. Wherever you live, your roof—unable to withstand flying embers and sparks from chimneys—is a constant menace. Many home owners are already protected, because they live under Eternit roofs. For years the city of New Orleans has been a leader in fire prevention. Hundreds of its homes are safe because of Eternit Asbestos Shingles. Eternit Asbestos Shingles can't burn. They can’t wear out. They can’t rot. The even distribution of the asbestos fibre throughout the Portland cement provides a strength and re- siliency found only in Eternits. Eternits—over old wooden or asphalt shingles, or on new buildings—will last as long as the structure stands. For the first time in roofing history— c . colorfast shingles Select the color to harmonize with your building. The bright- ness of Eternits will not fade, for Eternits are absolutely color- fast. They won't bloom. The rich, deep colors defy time and weather—Autumn Bronze, Emerald Green, Quarry Blue, Indian Red, Colonial Gray, and Heatherblends, a harmony of five pleasing colors. There are three types of application: hex- agonal, the familiar American, and the exclusive Eternit hori- zontal (pleasant because of the deep shadow effects). Every shingle is embossed with the Eternit trade-mark. Contractors, roofers, and roofing dealers are invited to learn what Eternit Asbestos Shingles, Eternit Asbestos Lum- ber, and Eternit Corrugated Roofing and Siding can do for them and their communities. Mail a postal card today for the interesting folder: ‘“Eternit Colorfast Roofs.’ Address Eternit, Inc., Dept. G, 15th and Locust Streets, Philadelphia. Branches and warehouses at Boston, New Orleans, Housten, Jackson- ville, St. Louis. Factory at St. Louis. Owners of industrial buildings should see the new Eternit Big- Seven Asbestos Corrugated Sheathing for roofing and siding. It is bk ake sss = | SS et | stronger, more economical and better looking. Impervious to ’ , . it 1 vi weather and gases. No paint needed, Absolutely fire-proof. = . aed ' _ am American Hexagonal Horizontal _—— f REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. ASBESTOS SHINGLES ABSOLUTELY COLORFAST

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184 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST » The Broadmoor Hotel Garage at the foot of Pikes Peak is an example of the widespread availability of The Black & Decker Method. IMAGINE trying to climb Pikes Peak with bad valves! A snappy pick-up, velvety performance and a rush of brute power on the heavy grades will repay you many times for having your valves ground and carbon removed periodically by The Black & Decker Method. Wherever you are, on tour or at home, The Black & Decker Method is always available to you, as the majority of the more progressive shops are now equipped for this Method. Look for the ‘Sign of the Wings’. April 28,1928 The Broadmoor Hotel, Colorado Springs, main- tains a fleet of eighty sight-seeing vehicles— all of which are kept in the pink of condition by The Black & Decker Method A pictorial booklet entitled ‘‘How to Grind Valves and Clean Carbon” will be sent free to any motorist on request. The BLACK €? DECKER MEG. CO. TOWSON, MD., U. S. A. Black & Decker Mfg. Co., Limited, Toronto, Ontario Black €? Decker, Limited, Slough, Bucks, England

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(Continued from Page 182) right back at him. I guess I must have landed, because he gave a yell and ran. Gosh, he could run! You’d ought to of seen him, Bill—he could run as fast as you.” “Was he big?” asked Basil, blowing his nose noisily. “Sure! About as big as father.’ ““Were the other ones big too?” “Sure! They were pretty big. I didn’t wait to see. I just yelled, ‘You get out of here, you big bunch of toughs, or I'll show you who you're. trying to talk to!’ They started to sort of fight, but I swung my right at one of them and they didn’t wait for any more.” “Hubert says he thinks they were Ital- ians,”’ interrupted Mr. Blair. ‘“‘ Don’t you, Hubert?” “They were sort of funny looking,” Hu- bert said. “One fellow looked like an Italian.” Mrs. Bissel led the way to the dining room, where she had caused an extem- poraneous supper to be spread. Imogene took a chair by Hubert’s side. ‘“*Now tell me all about it, Hubert,” she said, attentively folding her hands. Hubert ran over the adventure once more. A knife now made its appearance in the belt of one conspirator; Hubert’s par- leys with them lengthened and grew in vol- ume and virulence. He had told them just what they might expect if they fooled with him. They had started to draw knives, but had thought better of it and taken to flight. In the middle of this recital there was a curious snorting sound from across the table, but when Imogene looked over, Basil was spreading jelly on a piece of coffee cake and his eyes were brightly innocent. A minute later, however, the sound was re- peated, and this time she intercepted a specifically malicious expression upon his face. “T wonder what Basil,’’ she said cuttingly. be running yet!” Basil put the piece of coffee cake in his mouth and immediately choked on it—an accident which Bill Kampf and Riply Buck- ner found hilariously amusing. Their amuse- ment at various apparently ordinary in- cidents seemed to increase as Hubert’s story continued. The alley now swarmed with malefactors, and as Hubert struggled on against overwhelming odds, Imogene found herself growing restless—without in the least realizing that the tale was boring her. On the contrary, each time Hubert recol- lected new incidents and began again, she looked spitefully over at Basil, and her dis- like for him grew. When they moved into the library, Imo- gene went to the piano, where she sat alone while the boys gathered around Hubert on the couch. To her chagrin, they seemed quite content to listen indefinitely. Odd little noises squeaked out of them from time to time, but whenever the narrative slackened they would beg for more. “*Go on, Hubert. Which one did you say could run as fast as Bill Kampf?” She was glad when, after half an hour, they all got up to go. “It’s a strange affair from beginning to end,” Mr. Blair was saying. ‘“‘I don’t like it. I’m going to have a detective look into the matter tomorrow. What did they want of Hubert? What were they going to do to him?” No one offered a suggestion. Even Hu- bert was silent, contemplating his possible fate with certain respectful awe. During breaks in his narration the talk had turned to such collateral matters as murders and you’d have done, “T’ll bet you'd THE SATURDAY ghosts, and all the boys had talked them- selves into a state of considerable panic. In fact each had come to believe, in varying degrees, that a band of kidnapers infested the vicinity. “T don’t like it,’ repeated Mr. Blair. “In fact I’m going to see all of you to your own homes.” 3asil greeted this offer with relief. The evening had been a mad success, but furies once aroused sometimes get out of hand He did not feel like walking the streets alone tonight. In the hall, Imogene, taking advantage of her mother’s somewhat fatigued fare- well to Mr. Blair, beckoned Hubert back into the library. Instantly attuned to ad- versity, Basil listened. There was a whisper and a short scuffle, followed by an indis- creet but unmistakable sound. With the corners of his mouth falling, Basil went out the door. He had stacked the cards dex- terously, but Life had played a trump from its sleeve at the last. A moment later they all started off, clinging together in a group, turning cor- ners with cautious glances behind and ahead. What Basil and Riply and Bill ex- pected to see as they peered warily into the sinister mouths of alleys and around great dark trees and behind concealing fences they did not know— in all probability the same hairy and grotesque desperadoes who had lain in wait for Hubert Blair that night. vi A‘ EEK later Basil and Riply heard that Hubert and his mother had gone to the seashore for the summer. Basil was sorry. He had wanted to learn from Hubert some of the graceful mannerisms that his con- temporaries found so dazzling and that might come in so handy next fall when he | went away to school. In tribute to Hu- bert’s passing, he practiced leaning against a tree and missing it and rolling a skate down his arm, and he wore his cap in Hubert’s manner, set jauntily on the side of his head. This was only for a while. He perceived eventually that though boys and girls would always listen to him while he talked, their mouths literally moving in response to his, they would never look at him as they had looked at Hubert. So he abandoned the loud chuckle that so annoyed his mother and set his cap straight upon his head once more. But the change in him went deeper than that. He no longer wanted to be a gentle man burglar, though he still read of their exploits with breathless admiration. Out- side of Hubert’s gate, he had for a moment felt morally alone; and he realized that whatever combinations he might make of the materials of life would have to be safely within the law. And after another week he found that he no longer grieved over losing Imogene. Meeting her, he saw only the familiar little girl he had always known. The ecstatic moment of that afternoon had been a premature birth, an emotion left over from an already fleeting spring. He never forgot it, but it left not the shadow of a scar upon his heart. He did not know that he had frightened Mrs. Blair out of town and that because of him a special policeman walked a placid beat for many a night. All he knew was that the vague and restless yearnings of three long spring months were somehow satisfied. They reached combustion in that last week — flared up, exploded and burned out. His face was turned without regret toward the boundless possibilities of summer. EVENING POST Di ito makes copies right from your original wril- ing, typing, or draw ing: sev- eral colors in one operation. Vany money-saving uses for Ditto are interest- described in our booklet “Cutting Costs } obligation ingly with Copie s”. 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FOR MOUTH AND THROAT More than 15,000 dentists are using Astringosol For a free three-day sampl of ASTRINGOSOL write e and address on this » . Nam und mai! to Dept. 36, —— k Stearn & Co., etroit, Michigan Address That Just Right Feeling! B fees! just right feeling and a clean mouth go together. And a clean mouth and throat are an important help in maintaining bodily health so es- sential to business and social success. Dilute Astring- osol and use it as often as you like wash... to keep the breath pure and the mouth and throat feeling right. Then a couple of dashes on a moist tooth brush twice a day will kill hosts of the germs that destroy enamel, cause receding gums, pyorrhea, and many more serious bodily ills. Frederick Stearns & ‘Co., Detroit, U.S. A. Use This COUPON for FREE SAMPLE THE SATURDAY as a mouth Would Extra Dollars Make You Happy? Miss Quida Petit’s extra dollars go into her savings fund. OU can earn many an extra dol- lar in your spare time! You can earn them right in your own neigh- borhood! Hundreds of homekeep- ing women— hundreds of busy men, too—make up to $1.50, or more, an hour by work that’s easy, pleasant, dignified; work that can be fitted into any odd moments they—or you—have to spare. Without Experience You don't need business experience to succeed. Nor do we ask you to invest a single penny of capital. Your neighbors, your friends, will welcome someone who will forward their new and renewal sub scriptions for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gen- tleman Your earning equipment 1s fur nished complete by us, with mighty inter esting tips on just how to collect your first dollars as our representative! Just mail the coupon below, today, for all the interesting details! Scissors Here 186 Independence Sq., Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Tell me more about your offer. State EVENING POST April 28,1928 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN SPORTS (Continued from Page 9) the old circuit having been broken up dur- ing the Spanish-American War, we set about to have one. After much correspondence, a gathering of such old-timers as Charlie Frank, Abner Powell, Mike Finn, Newt Fisher and Sam Mills was held in our town and the present association formed. The old trick in organizing a minor league was, in case of financial difficulties, to keep it going until the Fourth of July receipts could be taken in and then quit. The pioneer manager often had to take it on the run, with the sheriff, the unpaid play- ers and indignant fans in hot pursuit. That is how I came to own the Birming- ham franchise for a few days. Sam Mills, unable or unwilling to finance the operations any further, walked out of town, leaving us flat. He even took the home plate with | him, claiming that to be a part of his per- | time Sam was the creditor and |} Season. He was right too. This not the sonal property. debtor. The club owed the vast sum of $500 and the new owners would have to put up an equal amount as a guaranty to finish the The league president turned the franchise over to me—really a potential for- tune, though I didn’t know it. J. W. Mc- Queen, vice president of the Sloss-Sheffield Steel and Iron Company, accompanied by three railroad officials, came to see me about the matter, Considering them good fellows and real sportsmen, I gave them the franchise, lock, stock and barrel. Later, in recognition of my generosity, they allowed me to buy two shares of stock at par, Mr. McQueen ad- vancing the $200 and holding the certifi- cates while I drew the dividends. The very first year that stock paid 85 per cent in div- idends. The profit out of the sale of those two shares of stock later paid the expenses of my assault on the newspapers of New York. In the meantime we had a great run of bicycle racing, developing such stars as Bobby Walthour and Ped Hickman. Above | all, though, we developed Bill Pickens, the well-known sentiment accelerator, whose autobiography recently appeared in THE SATURDAY EVENING Post. The Pickens Expose Mr. Pickens, my boyhood playmate, re- marked in one of his articles that I had ended his career as a bicycle rider by finally publishing the facts about his defeats. Self- defense compels me to squelch that subter- fuge. The fact of the matter is that on a certain balmy night at the old board track out by the slag pile in Birmingham, Pickens was a prominent entry in a sprint race. Bill was always prominent whether on the track or off. He saw to that. On this particular night Pickens, always rather chubby, or plump, wore a pair of violent pink trunks and a toboggan cap of green. With the firing of the starter’s pistol Bill’s pink tights began toslip. The early applause quickly turned to snickers. As Pickens went round and round, the trunks slipped further and further down, until Police Captain Weir began yelling in the name of the law for him to stop, while the crowd broke into gales of laughter. Humiliated by this embarrassing expo- sure, Pickens finally rolled off the track and quit bicycle racing right then and there. Forever after, he was a manager. I feel quite sure that he would never have been any big pumpkins of a bicycle rider, at that. Oh, yes, the story was printed in de- tail and in full. I saw to that. In later years Pickens avenged himself by persuading me to ride with Barney Old- field, under the guise of mechanician, in his racing automobile around the Vanderbilt Cup course on Long Island. This unrivaled accelerator of sentiment even capitalized my suffering by using the harrowing details for several years as a press notice for Oldfield. I was in Washington, as secretary to Os- car W. Underwood, recently retired from the United States Senate, when the Corbett- Fitzsimmons fight was held in Carson City. During the leisure hours I indulged my nat- ural love for sports. It was there that I first saw ball games in which Pop Anson, John McGraw, Willie Keeler, Wilbert Robinson, Amos Rusie and other figures in baseball history played. It was Win Mercer, of the Washington team, who shocked the baseball authorities that summer and gave the fans the most hilarious treat of their lives by actually pulling an umpire’s shirt off his back. Mer- cer, enraged at some decision, caught the umpire by the shoulders and tried to pull him around the diamond. The umpire nat- urally pulled back. Mercer kept pulling, however, until the blue blouse came off over the umpire’s head and left him standing in the middle of the diamond in a red flannel undershirt. An Indirect Wire Incidentally, in a series between the Senators and the Orioles I saw the greatest play ever made in baseball. Nothing in later years ever compared with it, in my opinion. Some batter on the Washington club—Abbey, I think it was—hit a drive that would have cleared the strands of barbed wire in front of the bleacher seats for a home run. In fact it did clear the wire. Willie Keeler, playing right field, came on a run and leaping high in the air stuck his bare hand between the strands of barbed wire and caught the ball as it came down. His arm went through so far that the flesh was painfully cut when he pulled it back with the ball in his hand. I shall never forget that play because I was sitting in the bleach- ers where the ball would have fallen at my feet if Keeler hadn’t caught it. It was the Corbett-Fitzsimmons fight, however, that steamed us up that summer of 1897. I remember it better for the way we got the news than for the fight itself. The main feature of the Fitzsimmons vic- tory that lives in memory was the coinage of the solar-plexus blow. Up till then I doubt if any man knew that he had a solar plexus. There was an itinerant sporting writer in town who formerly had been a telegraph operator. I think his name was Lynch, but am not sure. To build up his waning bank roll Lynch conceived the idea of renting a theater for the afternoon and giving a re- port to his expected customers by telegraph from the ringside. It was customary in those days to make such events a regular show and charge admission. The operator would sit by the clicking instrument and cali out every move in a loud voice. The men who called the horse races at the pool rooms were expert at this. Some of them could give a more entertaining and exciting description of a distant sporting event than the best newspaper story. They were the forerunners of the present radio announc- ers, only much more handicapped. These old-timers never let facts, or lack of facts, check their flow of oratory or shadow their painting of verbal pictures however. Lynch formed a partnership with a tramp telegrapher, with a total capital of three dollars between them. They leased the theater for a lump sum to be paid after the show was over. Most of the three-dollar capital was invested in handbills. They couldn’t afford newspaper advertising. At the last minute the telegraph com- pany declined to give them the wire service without advance payment. This appar- ently had killed the project, when Lynch thought up an idea. They possessed a telegraph key and a receiver. The receiver was put on a table in the middle of the stage and a wire run down to the basement, where the transient telegrapher installed the key and a battery. As the Washington Star was posting bulletins outside their building, almost across the street from the (Continued on Page 189)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Without Transformed Steel PLIERS Can't Stand Up To stand hard use, pliers must have both hardness and toughness at different points. Old methods of hardening and tempering accomplished only one result . either a sharp cutting edge or great strength was secured. It was impossible to attain both. Now. by the Kraeuter method of. transforming steel by local exclusiv c electric tempering. it is possible to give each part of a pair of pliers just the degree of hardness or toughness re- quired... Cutting edges extra hard—teeth in the jaws tough as well as hard—joints with even greater toughness—and handles as tough as steel can be made. KRAEUTER & CO., Newark, N. J. This illustration shows how Kraeuter transformed steel gives pliers the qualities needed at every point— Cutting Jaws. (Steel transforma tion index 100.) Maximum hard ness without development of any | brittle qualities Gripping Jaws. (Stee! transforma- tion index 70.) Hard, to insure a “bite.” vet tough, to resist crushing 6 Joint. (Steel transformation index e 60.) Great strain comes on the joint, hence toughness is re quired Must be hard, too, to resist wear on the bolt. Handles de x 50 ) Steel is just about (Steel transformation in Maximum toughness lo as hard as in \sk for Krac 35 $1.25; also made in 6 $1.00, and S!5-inch size, 80c. i Prices slightly higher west of Rocky Mts. In Every KRAEUTER PLIERS PAY cutting jaws. Home THEIR WAY Many odd jobs around the house are waiting right now because the family “handy man” lacks a proper outfit of Kraeuter Pliers. One repair job will save the cost of a complete house- hold assortment. They will give a lifetime of satis- faction, and you will use them frequently. Few tools can be used for so many different things. USED IN THE COUNTRY’S LARGEST INDUSTRIES— Engineers and purchasing agents appreciate searching, yrractical com petitive tests for quality. Recently one of the largest industrial plants tested a number of pliers for strength, cutting power, and resist ance to breaking blows. Every test established Kraeuter’s in first place Workmen who use pliers on as ( of 1 . . ‘ hgh “ sembly lines, in machine work and rusty bolts, screws at the bench know they can werk Ask for Kr faster and with less fatigue when 50c.(14« they use Kraeuter’s.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST — Snowy white; so graceful; exqui- sitely modeled ! These are your first impressions of Maddock’s Improved Madera. And then: Comfortable look- ing; clean looking; competent looking! Comfortable! Clean! Competent! SO you notice, per- haps without en- tirely understand- ing their import- ince, the three qualities which mark the difference between the toilet which is an aid to health—and the ordinary toilet which in many cases is an actual menace to health. Ordinary seat—small opening Here are the Some people know them. Too many do not: facts Consider first the ordinary water closet. It has a Imbroved Madera = small bowl and a ealt—lareg IPening small seat with a mall opening. The resultant discom- fort encourages haste, irregularity and incomplete elimination—well recog- nized Causes ol constipation. The odor about a toilet, against which so many housewives struggle in vain, is a clear indication of pollution. \ small seat is often actually unsani- tary. Dry bowl surfaces beneath the Is striking value of this seientifieally correet toilet Maddock’s Improved Madera April 28,1928 ‘Designed to meet foday’s hygienic demandr beauty is the least important seat opening are extremely hard to keep clean. Rough, cracked and porous bowl surfaces absorb and breed dan- gerous bacteria. Incomplete flushing means incomplete disposal of highly poisonous waste. Now consider scientific sanitation Many well-informed people have installed the Improved Madera in their homes, not merely for reasons of beauty but, far more important, for reasons of health. The Improved Madera has a large bowl and seat, with a large seat opening. It is sanitary, easy to keep clean, the acme of comfort to body and mind. Cross section of ordi- nary toilet. Note small water area and large dry sur- face under seat opening Water covers the entire area be- neath the seat opening. There are no dry surfaces to be soiled. The trap- way Is unusu- ally large. The flushing action is si- phonic, com- plete and pos- itive by means of powerful Cross section of Improved Madera toilet. Note large water area and absence of dry surface under seat opening twin jets. Even the modern sanitary pads are disposed of according to direc- tions by the Improved Madera. Yet this powerful flushing action ts so quiet that it is not audible beyond the bathroom door. The bowl and tank of the Improved Madera are made of Durock, asupreme grade of vitreous china produced ex- clusively by Maddock. Durock is the hardest, densest material ever devel- oped for this purpose. Its surface is pure, gleaming, transparent glass, fused under terrific heat into the very structure of the underbody. Durock will neither chip, crack nor scratch. You cannot stain it, even with iodine. It absorbs nothing, and can be wiped perfectly clean with a damp cloth. And always the snowy white body is beautifully evident through the glistening, transparent surface. The Improved Madera comes com- pletely equipped with the finest fittings ts exclusively @ money can buy. It never dribbles and gurgles. It is always quiet, always efficient. Here is true economy The price of the Improved Madera, so equipped, is only $85. It costs no more to install than the cheapest closet made. So its entire first cost is very little greater. And because it needs no after-service and repairs, the final cost of the Improved Madera ts actually less. Health-safety, the truest economy, and an embodiment of the beauty and charm that people of taste are building into their bathrooms today! Leading Master Plumbers are dis- playing the Improved Madera. If you have the slightest trouble in finding it, please write us and we will direct you. THOMAS MADDOCK’S SONS COMPANY Durock Bathroom Equipment Trenton, N. J. MADDOCK Product SINCE 1859 NO NAME HAS STOOD FOR HIGHER QUALITY

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Continued from Page 186) stage entrance, all the firm then needed was messenger service. Several of us who had been standing around, interested in their operations, agreed to help. Our job was to get the flash of a bulletin, write it on a slip and hurry it to Lynch, who was stationed at the key in the basement. He would telegraph this up- stairs and the old operator would do the calling. There never was a more lifelike descrip- tion given of a distant prize fight. In fact, they were so intent on their work that when we got the flash to Lynch of the knock-out the old telegrapher upstairs strung out a description of five minutes’ duration, bringing it to a real fitting cli- max. The crowd went away delighted, and so did this pair of ingenious old boys. All my life I have had a love for associa- tion with newspapermen. I had a habit of trailing around with them long before I was actually initiated as a member. I suppose the calling gets in one’s blood that way. During those days in Washington I gleaned much of the sporting material that I have used to advantage later. I used to relate my observations of odd incidents to the correspondents and some of them were printed. One afternoon in the Washington ball park McJames was pitching, his work de- lighting a darky in the distant bleachers. This old negro was known all over Wash- ington for his remarkable voice, which car- ried like a foghorn, and also for his quaint remarks that came at unexpected moments. At that time the newspapers were full of stories about some racial troubles in Vir- ginia that had resulted in a lynching or two. Everybody was talking about it. Unques- tionably the old darky rooter had read every line of it and he knew that Pitcher McJames had come from that troubled sec- tion of the country. The opposing team had three men on bases and a strong man at bat. If the bat- ter made a hit or got a base on balls, the game would be lost to Washington. Mc- James got two strikes on the batter and the situation was so tense there was absolute quiet as Meco 1mes wound up for the decid- ing pitch. ““Mr. McJimmy,” suddenly boomed the plaintive voice of the darky rooter out of the stillness—‘‘ Mr. McJimmy, git dat third strike over an’ you kin lynch me tonight!” That broke the tension, and the batter, trying to hold back a laugh, struck out. With No Apologies Since those days—that was nearly thirty years ago—baseball, along with all other sports, hasundergone a vast change. There has been a natural improvement in the gen- eral quality and the specialized science of baseball, but the greatest change has been in the class of men who engage in profes- sional sport. These professional athletes now have a much higher social standing, and they are entitled to it. This is due largely to school opportunities and a frank desire for educa- tion, and to that broader education ac- quired by contact with gentlefolk in travel and at the first-class hotels. In former days the sand-lot ball players were inclined to treat college boys and their learning with disdain. The few college boys who became professionals spoke of their calling in a sort of apologetic tone. Now they have come to take a pride in their pro- fession. They study its possibilities as a first-class actor does his work on the stage. Almost all big-league ball players are mar- ried, and 90 per cent of those who have children have built homes. Some of these pretty homes are show places in small cities and towns throughout the country. Com- paratively few ball players live in the cities that they represent on the diamond. It is an open question whether the im- provement in the general class of profes- sional athletes is responsible for the enor- mous growth in public interest or if the higher-class patronage has brought about THE SATURDAY EVENING POST an elevation of the sport. Perhaps it is a mixture of both. It was John McGraw, manager of the New York Giants, who first conceived and proved the theory that to make a rough ball player act like a gentleman he must be treated like a gentleman. “If the patrons of a hotel indicate to a man that they think him a gentleman,” he used to say, ‘‘why, the man will try to live up to their appraisal every time. No boy, no matter under what rough surroundings he was brought up, wants to let a stranger think he has made a mistake in regarding him as a gentleman. Give that boy the surroundings and he will learn rapidly.” Moreover, McGraw has always main- tained that to build up a feeling of class in his team—esprit, it is called in the armies the players must be treated as if they were high class. That feeling of snap or cockiness in a ball team is a most valuable asset. Frank Chance, of the old Cubs, held a simi- lar viewpoint, and those two managers proved their theories by having two of the snappiest and most attractive ball teams ever put on a field. Keeping a Check on the Menu No class of people in the world now travel in better style than do the first-class ball clubs. For years the big exclusive hotels wouldn’t think of taking in professional ball clubs as guests. McGraw broke through that bar- rier by persuading a hotel owner to try the experiment while his hotel was half empty in the summer. He found to his surprise that the professional teams were even more decorous than football outfits from the col- leges and universities. Now first-class hotels compete for the baseball business. A big-league ball club travels in two pri- vate sleeping cars and frequently has its own private diner. If pressed for time, these clubs travel on extra-fare trains. Taxicabs, engaged in advance, meet the trains and carry the players to their hotel, where the rooms also are engaged in ad- vance by experienced secretaries. Room keys are handed to them at the desk. For meals they merely order and sign checks. A prince of India with his entourage could travel in no more style and comfort. The signing of checks for food and eating in the hotel where headquarters are estab- _ lished is compulsory on most ball teams. It came about through an early tendency toward parsimony on the part of some of the players. Formerly the players were al- lowed three or four dollars a day for their meals, the amount being given to them in cash. They were permitted to eat where they pleased. As a result many of them tried to save money out of their allowance | and ate at lunch counters and cheap beaner- ies. Some cases of illness and lack of physi- cal condition were traced directly to this consumption of bad food. Then again, some of the boys cannot resist the tempta- tions of an abundant carte-blanche menu card and overeat. One day a player on the Giants had a bad turn on the field and fell on his face while running the bases. He came back to the bench and sat down, waiting apprehen- sively for a blast from McGraw’s cutting tongue. But McGraw said nothing and the player started to offer his alibi. “Yes,” the manager finally interrupted, “those two pieces of apple pie and slice of watermelon probably lost us this ball game.” “How'd he know that?” the player whispered to a team mate. That young man was not long in learning that one of McGraw’s daily jobs is to iook over the signed meal checks and observe what each athlete is eating. That is one reason why he insists on them dining at the hotel. Once while traveling with the New York Yankees I was seated at a table in the old Cadillac Hotel in Detroit with a new player named Whitey. That hotel in its heyday had the American plan and was noted for the plentiful dishes it served. My bacon and eggs had been served when two waiters 500 180 FOR LEAKY This money saving way makes them waterproof Sor years. Ik YOU have a roof that is starting to leak, Rutland Roof Coating will make it lastingly watertight. It saves you the expense of frequent repairs, a new roof or leak damages. It’s as easy to apply as paint and costs little. Rutland Roof Coating provides a perfect roof of asphalt and asbestos—a tough mineral cover- ing. Nota drop of tar in it. It will not crawl, sag, harden, peel or blister. For every kind of roof (except shingles). Over thirty other uses such as waterproofing foundation walls. Save money—year after year IT WILL pay you to insist on Rutland Roof Coating (or No. 4 cheno | at your |hardware or paint store. Save money by mailing the coupon today. Rutland Fire Clay Company (Established 1883), Rutland, Vermont. A/so makers of Rutland Patching Plaster. The name RUTLAND guarantees its ser vice in the long years to come. RUTLAND FIRE , CI Pt. B-47, Rutlan +l Without bi shee rt se ifation, Please s nearest dealer d, Vermont. » Ree send me more informa ©aung with name of Name.... Address... My dealer's name KM Balianryes AFTER SMOKING the throat After smoking, try a stick of Black Jack and see how it soothes the throat and freshens the mouth. If you like licorice, you'll love Black Jack. It’s the world’s most popular licorice-flavored gum.

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came along bearing ‘hat recruit’s breakfast in huge silver-covered platters. It took up the whole table. “Do they eat like this in the big league all the time?’’ Whitey inquired, his eyes bulging. “‘Wait’ll we get to St. Louis,”’ I solemnly informed him, ‘‘and we'll show you a regu- lar hotel.” ““Gee!” he sighed, surveying the feast before him. ‘“‘I certainly hope I make good on this ball club.” It was not always like that. The first baseball tour I ever took was with the Birmingham club of the Southern League, back in 1902. We stopped at American- plan hotels with a rate of $2.50 aday. The players had to sleep not two in a room but two in a bed. So did I. On the Pullman sleepers we had to double up in the lower berths. Occasionally it was even worse. If you can remember Harry Vaughan, the former Cincinnati catcher, who stood six feet three inches in his stockings and weighed 225 pounds, you can appreciate the record established when he and I slept together in an upper berth from New Or- leans to Memphis. These bush-league experiences and hard- ships prepared me pretty well to appreciate the big-league travel that was to come many years later. They also fortified me for the inevitable hazing of those early days and instilled a feeling of keen sympathy for | the innocent rookie, trying so hard to make good, that I have never lost. For example, I observed one night on the sleeper an inno- cent recruit pitcher regarding the little hammock with unbridled curiosity. He had never been on a sleeping car before. “What's that for?’’ he inquired of a veteran regular. ‘*Why, those are for the pitchers’ arms, the old fellow explained to him. ‘‘The ones on the other side are for the left-handers.” Those club jokers actually persuaded that boy to sleep with his arm in that ham- mock, until he woke up in the middle of the night almost paralyzed. He wasn’t able to pitch for two or three days What is Sport Coming To? That was one of the standard jokes to play on the rookies who would stand for it. They did it in the big leagues up to ten years ago. Nowadays ’most every boy is familiar with sleeping cars. Another form of amusement for the regulars was to have some rookie sit up all night and guard the baggage or stand on the back platform with a red lantern to prevent a possible rear-end collision. Mike Donlin and Roger Bresnahan, famous old stars, once showed a recruit how to pull the lever that cut off the air- brake coupling between the cars—in case he heard the engineer blow his whistle twice. He innocently did so and we came pretty close to having an accident. Our sleeper was cut off and left alone on an open track until they missed us. Donlin and Bresna- han were in bed then and had forgotten all about their joshing of the trusting young player. To wind up these comparisons of the old and the new: Late one night last summer I walked through the sleeping car of the reg- | ularsen route to Chicago. No one was asleep April 28, 1928 but there was not a disturbing sound. All were reading. I took a mental note of the titles of the books. One player was reading Bernard Shaw, another Schiller. None was reading a newspaper and only one a current magazine. Except for one, studying to be an engineer and reading a textbook, the rest were devoting themselves to popular fiction, mostly love stories and adventure. There wasn’t even a poker game. Crap shooting, of course, has been taboo for a dozen years. Honestly, I overheard two of those bronze- tanned young fellows discussing the mental reactions and using those words. A week before that an acquaintance of mine had caught Gene Tunney reading philosophy actually had put his own hand on the book, he said. So we can readily see what professional sport is coming to—or can we? And the Ghost Walked, and Walked The liveliest period in the last quarter of a century of sport, I think, was along be- tween 1904 and 1906. That may be due to a feeling I had then of having been ac- cepted as a regular member of the sports- writing craft and life ahead of me seeming so bright and full of adventure. At that early date, though, I discovered thata sports writer had to be a sort of diplomat as well as to know his onions, as we now say, in his particular game. During those years peace was established between the warring major leagues and baseball began its development under the present form of government. Just before that, Young Corbett knocked out the idol, Terry McGovern, and became feather- weight champion. Old man Edward Payson Weston walked from coast to coast. That memory is in- delible, because I had to walk with him for four days around New York, a mob of kids following. Incidentally that incident was the beginning of so-called ghost writing, so far as I know. My job was to walk with the old gentle- man and prepare daily articles—signed by him—on feet and how to take care of them. Later I was assigned to similar work for Young Corbett, Battling Nelson, John L. Sullivan and many others. As a final test of my ability as a ghost writer they even had me impersonate a race horse and tell his story. Old man Weston created such a sensation in New York that when he called at our little flat one day his presence was dis- covered and such a crowd gathered that the police came on the run, thinking a fire had started. I shunted the aged hero across the street to Gus Meussig’s saloon, the incident drawing so much trade that Gus gave me a whole case of wine. Another innovation in New York about that time was the taxicab. I rode in the very first one, with instructions to write a story describing the thrills of it! Gym Bagley, a well-known pugilistic and base- ball authority of those days, dared to take the first ride with me, and to show our familiarity with automobile customs, we both wore goggles. The trip was from the old Metropole café to Madison Square Garden. A daring woman writer went with us and wore a long rainbow-hued veil in addition to goggles. The driver, I remember (Continued on Page 194)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 191 SHEET STEEL PRODUCTS FOR THE HOME, FARM, FACTORY AND FOR BUILDING CONSTRUCTION Safety! with the Wheeling Rubbish Burner Spring is clean-up time... time for the useful work wf of the rubbish burner! Be sure that the important Wheeling Red Label is on your Rubbish Burner. It insures the right design, materials and workmanship so necessary for safety, conyenience and long wear. In the Wheeling design the bottom of the Burner is raised to allow plenty of draft and the top fits snugly to keep the fire safely inside. Notice, too, the solid steel hoops and the handles securely welded to sides. When you buy a Rubbish Burner, Pail, Garbage , Can, Ash Can, Tub or any other essential piece of metalware, look for the Wheeling Red Label! It is of the mark of those great improvements devised | \ ’ through 37 years of Wheeling manufacture; higher standards which lift up the humble things of daily use to a place of importance. It signifies many extra values in longer, better wear. Ask your dealer for Wheeling products, by name. ~ Asai — WHEELING CORRUGATING COMPANY Wheeling, W. Va. Branches: New York Philadelphia Chicago Minneapolis St. Louis Kansas Ciy Chattanooga Richmond Des Moines Copyright 1928 Wheeling Corrugating Company —_ -_ “ SS ee _— ee oe ms = —. a - = —e — a - i * ' j y ry KX ’ vs $4, { Oy A Set fae A ttt JPR rare a ef. | ee i j \ FS jmp} a a § v ‘ Guaranteed Hand Dipped in pure Molten Zinc Thirty-seven years’ experience has emphasized the superi- ority of the Wheeling proc- ess of dipping each article separately by hand in pure molten zinc. While modern large-scale production meth- ods offer quicker and cheapez ways to perform this opera- tion, the slower but more thorough hand-dipping proc- ess is carried on in Wheeling factories because it gives a heavier, longer-wearing zinc coating inside and out.

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192 THE ~ he VISIONALL ({ ) e a! 11.¥e , . ee fs Bad eee aH wiper Next time you see one of the new Pierce Arrows, notice the de luxe twin-blade wiper that clears the entire windshield of this aristocratic motor car. Watch the two blades march back and forth—see them park neatly at one side when not in use. And how powerfully they wipe! The Visionall motor is driven by surplus suction from the powerful engine of the car. A tiny tube running from the engine manifold up to the Vistonall is the power line... and atmospheric pressure—free—unlimited—irresistible—is the power that is harnessed to run this most modern of windshield wipers. \ de luxe Visionall comes in a variety of lengths to fit any windshield, and the price is only $12.50—easily and quickty installed. There is also a standard size twin-blade Vistonall at $8.50, without de luxe attachment. Either = 3 model postpaid if dealer can't supply you. ir we breathe is its invisible source of power. TRICO VISTONALL | Twin-Blade Windshield Wiper PATENTED: U.S.A. AND PRINCIPAL FOREIGN COUNTRIES { Trico needs no electrical connections. The ) rRICO PRODUCTS CORPORATION, BUFFALO, N.Y. i* = | =, f SS 4 pF Both blades parked at the left—on the clear days i | j j . | u ae | => ee. . Both blades start for the center of the shield. In heavy snow you can op erate both blades in front of driver — | Hq The blades separate One blade waits while other goes back to start its reg ular trip Both blades slide beck and forth clean- ing entire wind shield. When rain stops—blades are parked again as in Figure 1. SATURDAY EVENING POST April 28,1928 Index of Advertisers April 28, 1928 PAGI Addison-Leslie Company 149 AGFA Ansco Corporation 194 Alexander Hamilton Institute 151 All Souls Church 190 \luminum Company of America 159 American Brass Company, The 61 American Chicle Company 189 (American Pencil Co 190 American Woolen Company 172 Ansonia Clock Co 79 Arch Preserver Shoes 157 \utocar Co., The 193 \utomatic Electric Inc 136 Ayer & Son, N. W 45 Baer & Wilde Company, The 151 Bassick Manufacturing Company 59 Bird & Son, inc. 80 Black & Decker Mfg. Co., The 184 Bohn Aluminum & Brass Corporation 144 Boott Mills 145 Campbell Soup Company 29 Cannon Mills, Inc 195 Celotex Company, The 114, 115 Central Alloy Steel Corporation 196 Chase Brass & Copper Co., Inc 82 Cheek-Neal Coffee Company 166 Chevrolet Motor Company 119 Chicago Flexible Shaft Company 109 Chrysler Sales Corporation 81 Cities Service Company 147 Clark, Frank C 190 Clark Lighter Co., Inc. oS Cluett, Peabody & Co., Inc. 88 Coleman, Watson E 190 Colgate & Co. 39 Collins & Aikman Corporation 57 Congoleum-Nairn Inc 34 Conklin Pen Company, The 162 Cooper, Wells & Co 180 Cummer Products Co., The 182 Davis Tailoring Company, The P. H.. 167 Delco-Remy Corporation 72,73 Ditto, Incorporated 185 Dodge Brothers, Inc 91 Dudley Lock Corporation 146 Du Pont de Nemours & Co., E. I.. 64, 65 Edison Electric Appliance Co., Inc 66 Electric Vacuum Cleaner Co.,Inc.. 124,125 Elgin National Watch Company 168 Enna Jettic k Shoes 160 Eternit, Inc 183 Federal Rubber Company 123 Fleischmann Company, The $3 Florsheim Shoe Company, Th« 178 Franklin Automobile Company 83 Gardner Motor Co., Inc., The 106, 107 General Electric Company 53 Gilson Mfg. Co 149 Goodrich Rubber Co., The B. F.. 102, 103 Goodye ar Tire & Rubber Co., Inc., The 94,95 Hart Schaffner & Marx 2 Hendryx Company, The Andrew B.. . 141 Holeproof Hosiery Company 1 Hollingshead Co., The R. M 120 Hoover Company, The 148 Horton Mfg. Co., The 142 Hotel Fort Shelby 145 Illinois Watch, The. ...... 87 Insurance Company of North America 126 Klein & Sons, Mathias..... 118 Kraeuter & Co 187 Lambert Pharmacal Company 108 Liggett & Myers Tobacco Company. .174 Lupton’s Sons Co., David 111 Lycoming Manufacturing Co 156 PAGE Mabie Todd & Co.. 90 Maddock’s Sons Company, Thomas. . 188 Marland Refining Company 138 Marmon Motor Car Company 69 McCray Refrigerator Sales Corp 112 Mead Cycle Co 190 Metropolitan Life Insurance Co 153 Miller Rubber Company, ‘The 63 Monroe Auto -quipme nt Compar 177 Monroe Calculating Machine Co., Inc.116 Moorhead Knitting Company, Inc 97 Multistamp Company Inc., Th 146 Munn & Co 151 National Carbon Company, In 48 National Vulcanized Fibre Co 149 Oakland Motor Car Co 33 Olds Motor Works 54 Packard Motor Car Co ay Palmolive-Peet Company, T} S4 Pennsylvania Railroad 93 Pennsylvania Rubber Company of America, Inc 131 Pennzoil Company, Th« 150 Perfect Circle Company, The 134 Phillips Chemical Co.,The Charles H.. 181 Pinaud Incorporated, Ed 117 Pittsburgh Plate Glass Co. 67 Planters Nut & Chocolate Co 175 Plumbing and Heating Industries Bureau 128 Polk Miller Products Corp 77 Pompeian Company, The 86 Pratt & Lambert-Ini 74 Process Engraving Co., Inc., The 151 Quaker Oats Co., The II Cover (Quaker State Oil Refining Co 143 Raybestos Company, The 140 Reach, Wright & Ditson, Inc., A J 155 Reid, Murdoch & Company 121 Reliance Manufacturing Company 129 Reo Motor Car Company $1, 60 Rexall Stores 101 Reynolds Tobacco Company, R. J 50 Rome Company, Inc., The 154 Ruberoid Co., The 152 Russell Mfg. Co., The 10 Rutland Fire Clay Co 189 Scripps-Howard Newspaper 161 Sealright Co., Ini 165 Seattle Chamber of Commer 160 Selz Organization, The 5 Sesamee Company, The 170 Simonds Saw and Steel Compan) is! Smith, Chas. C... 190 Smith Shoe Company, J P 71 Smith & Sons Boat Company, Chr 158 Southern Pacific Lines 179 Squibb & Sons, E. R 173 Standard Oil Company of New York. .171 Standard Varnish Works 164 Stearns & Company, Frederick 186 Strathmore Paper Company x9 Swift & Company 31 Texas Company, Thi 132, 133 Trico Products Corporatior 192 United States Radiator Corporation 78 United States Rubber C 163 Universal Pictures 5 Upson Company, Th« 137 U.S. Gutta Percha Paint Co 105 U. S. Hoffman Machinery Corp 76 Vacuum Oil Company 17 Valentine & Company [il Cover Victor Talking Machine Co IV Cover Watkins Company, The R. L 190 Weldon, Williams & Lick 139 West Coast Lumber Burea 176 Wheeling Corrugating Company 191 Willys-Overland Inc 98, 99 Wilson Brothers ...178 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 e 4

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4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ANOTHER NEW AUTOCAR This new Autocar model (1'2 and 2 ton capaci- ties) is dedicated to the executive whose mind works this way: “I want a truck, sturdy, dependable, speedy and powerful—a truck to go day in, day out, and nights too. I want it tailor-made; built and serviced by AutocarTrucks .. The Autocar Company, Ardmore, Pa., Established 1897 ISPATC « : for those who can afford the best... one responsible manufacturer. I want it comfort- able to drive (my drivers are human) and I want it good looking, smart as a Fifth Avenue Shop Front—my firm deserves such a truck to main- tain worthily its carefully guarded prestige. Ill forget first cost, if I can find a truck like this.” > May 12 Evening Post

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> Agfa Film Division Agta Ansco Corporation 118 East 13th Se., New York Please send me particulars of your Prize Picture Contest. Name Address City State | magic in that period. EVENING POST (Continued from Page 190) well, wore the then conventional linen duster. That experience did much to make me regard myself as a man about town. Great baseball stars developed as if by It was in 1905, for example, that Christy Mathewson made his first mark as a really great pitcher. Before that he had been regarded as merely a young fellow with a lot of smoke and plenty of promise. Matty didn’t convince the major leagues—then split apart as bitter ene- mies—that he was really so great as re- ported until a game in the World’s Series at Philadelphia between the Giants and Athletics that fall. That series also was | epochal. It was the first one played under the provisions of the National Agreement that brought peace between the American and National Leagues, under which they now operate as friendly rivals, with Judge K. M. Landis at their head. There had been a series in 1903 between the Pirates and the Boston Red Sox, but that affair re- sulted from a challenge. There being no fixed regulations for playing rules, division of receipts, appointment of umpires and general procedure, they played under a patched-up agreement among themselves— a sort of armistice. This was considered so unsatisfactory that when the Giants won the National League pennant in 1904, President Brush, who had stubbornly refused to recognize the American League as an institution, de- clined to let the Giants play the Red Sox, April 28,1928 who had again won the pennant of the new league. For months thereafter the Boston fans booed all New Yorkers and held us up to scorn for being afraid to tackle their champions. All this resulted in an increase of bitterness. Baseball fans were no longer able to discuss baseball in general or in peace. They had to be either American Leaguers or National Leaguers and were classified as such. National League rooters, who took pride in their heroes, wouldn’t dare be seen at an American League park. The American Leaguers were just as uppish. Even the newspaper writers were labeled. We just naturally couldn’t make a profes- sional baseball man understand that we were neutrals working for the papers and not for the glory of either league. And, in truth, many of the writers were just as prejudiced as the fans. A player regarded as a hero was immediately considered a bum in his old league when he jumped to the other. His new owners and supporters, though, were just as enthusiastic in pro- claiming him a star who had shown enough judgment to run out on a bad lot of as- sociates. This warring and raiding on each other was proving so disastrous financially that the wiser heads finally saw the necessity of a peaceful arrangement. This was brought about in the famous National Agreement mentioned above, which has now worked successfully for more than twenty years.

Editor’s Note—This is the first of a series of articles by Mr. Bulger. The next will appear in the issue for May twelfth.

THE SATURDAY (More Than Two Million Seven Hundred and Fifty Thousand Weekly) EVENING POST IS fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted, either wholly or in part, without special permission. The use of our articles or quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is never authorized.

Table of Contents April 28, 1928 Cover Design by Haskell Coffin SHORT STORIES PAGE The Scandal Detectives—F. Scott Fitzgerald 3 Peasant Blood— Elsie Singmaster 5 The Homing of Hum Ding—Hugh Wiley 10 The Rightful Prince—Clarence Budington Kelland 14 In Senior Spring— Day Edgar 16 Black Beauty—Octavus Roy Cohen 20 Coral— Joseph Hergesheimer 22 The Divine Afflatus—Nunnally Johnson . 42 ARTICLES Machine People—Garet Garrett es a ee is & Twenty-Five Years in Sports— Bozeman Bulge 8 Changing Fashions of Finance— Albert W. Atwood 12 Russian Vignettes— Theodore Dreiser 18 The Failure of Democracy—Struthers Burt 27 Painting the A. E. F. on the Gallop— Joseph Cummings Chase SY An American Comedy—VI: Recipe for a Laugh—Harold Lloyd, Directed by Wesley Stout 38 A Cook’s Tour—George Rector 40 Presidential Campaigns—The Black Republicans, 1860— Meade Minnigerode 51 SERIALS Fur Brigade (Second part)—Hal G. Evarts ‘ 24 Behind That Curtain (Fifth part)— Earl Derr Bigger 3 MISCELLANY Editorials : 26 Short Turns and Encores 28 Out-of-Doors . 49

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aA he Cone kak, Hot ‘Water, Cold Water and a Cannon purkish Towel is as the morning bath is, you’re not getting the most out of it un- less you take it right. Bathing is not merely a matter of cleanliness, essential start a healthy reaction, sending the though that is. In fact, you can take a blood pounding through your body. bath that leaves you clean outside but Then a brisk, enthusiastic rub-dry feeling limp and bedraggled inside. The with a Cannon turkish towel, one proper bath tones up skin and nerves just firm enough to give the skin and muscles, makes you feel fit as a king. that pinky flush of perfect health. Starts you on the day’s work and pleasure Cocuin toss ane eoeeiiiedl. with invigorated energy and enthusiasm. jy 4 ¢/, +r They finish the bath with a flourish, You’re a better man—or woman—after “““"“ "0 and save you money besides. The such a bath. First hot water and soap, en great majority of hotels, hospitals, to relax muscles and nerves and clean the weve or athletic and country clubs and other Trade-marh label that skin. Then a dash ot cold water for five sdeniifies Cannon towels. institutions buy Cannon tow els, or ten seconds, to close the pores and because they have found they endure the hard usage the public gives them. These buyers who keep é careful cost figures and watch every When hot water is scarce . : penny will tell you if you ask them When you are in a hurry, or have but little hot water, you can still enjoy a bath. Here’s how: Soak a Cannon turkish towel in hot, slightly soapy water. Rub briskly all over before the towel grows cold. Rinse in cold water and wring that Cannon towels are most eco- nomical. Yet so luxurious are Can- non towels that they are selected it out. Rub again, more briskly than before. by even the most exclusive estab Then dry thoroughly with a fresh Cannon turk- ish towel. This takes only a few minutes and you'll be surprised how effectively it combines cleansing with a pronounced tonic effect on skin and nerves and mind. Because the first towel lishments, such as the Ritz in At- lantic City, the Miami-Biltmore at Miami, the Ambassador in Los Angeles, the Roosevelt in New Above, Cannon Whale bath $57 absorbs impurities from the skin it must never | mat. About $2.75. Im blue , " , ; (under any circumstances) be used again before ane gene bby Y ork. Cannon turkish towels come 1n all washing—and Cannon towels are so economical, en _ sizes, weights and textures, and with so long-lasting that everyone can enjoy a fresh pink, gold, green has - colored borders. All colors abso- towel daily, whether or not they use it for this | diiiin sans ee a a ee ae “Cannon Bath.” lutely fast. There are also Cannon huck towels, wash cloths, bath mats and bath sheets. At dry goods and department stores everywhere. Prices from 25 cents to $3.50 each. Cannon Mills, Inc., New York City. Cannon double thread turkish towe £7 wel 1bou ) . cents. In ld, pink or blue . > Cannon Whale turkish towel. About $1.75. Blue gold, lavender, pink or green Cannon jacquard turkish towel, About $1.00. In pink, blue or gold. Seagull turkish wel. About $1.50. Choice of lavender, blue, pink or gold

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196 THE SATURDAY E Defeat Corr« with Seamless Tu TONCAN IRC The Babcock & Wilcox Tube Co. has adopted Toncan Iron for corrosion-resisting applications AD water converted to steam creates a violent corrosive action. Boiler tubes must be able to withstand the effects of many kinds of water supplied in various localities. ‘To solve this prob- lem of corrosion, The Babcock & Wilcox Tube Company, a subsidiary of the world’s largest boiler makers, has adopted Toncan Copper Mo-lyb-den- um Iron for making seamless tubes and pipes for use where corrosive conditions are encountered. They use it for loco- motive tubes, boiler tubes, steam piping for power plants and in buildings of all kinds, also water piping and electrical conduits. The ability of ‘Tonc: stand the attacks of ru is due to its patented 1 facture. It is made by tl bination of copper and with pure iron—a forn oe fy REG.U.S.PAT “TONC "eu copre Mo-lyb-de IRO CENTRAL ALLOY STEEL COI MILLS: CANTON AND MA! Cleveland Detroit hicago New York Philadelphia Tulsa Los At Toncan is fabricated in Canada by The Pedla WORLD’S LARGEST AND MOST HIGHLY SPI!

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AY EVENING POST April 28,1928 rosion ubes and Pipe. kON falling Toncan r lube omotllve our own metallurgical laboratories—the largest and best equipped in America. The same iron that so successfully withstands the severest corrosive action in piping is also available in sheets of various gauges for all sheet metal work on buildings from homes to skyscrapers. Leading architects specify Toncan Iron for eaves troughs, downspouting, flash- ing, cornices, ventilators, siding, roofing, metal lath, etc. of Toncan Iron to with- . 7 Many manufacturers of metal household equip- ‘ks of rust and corrosion ment also use ‘Toncan Iron in stoves, furnaces, atented process of manu- refrigerators, kitchen cabinets, washing machines ade by the scientific com- and other appliances. “The Toncan label on such pper and mo-ly b-den-um equipment is your assurance of a quality product a formula developed in Know this rust and corrosion-resisting iron better. Send for the Toncan book— ‘The Path REG.U.S.PAT.OFF. gay, to Permanence.” % a - COPPER Faye” b-den-um IRON CORPORATION, Massillon, Ohio N AND MASSILLON, OHIO Los Angeles Seattle Syracuse St. Loui San Francisco Cincinnati by The Pedlar People, Ltd., Oshawa, Ontario Y SPECIALIZED ALLOY STEEL PRODUCERS

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196 Defeat Corrosion with Seamless Tubes and Pipe. of Sd THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TONCAN IRON. C Ww The Babcock & Wilcox Tube Co. has adopted Toncan [ron for corrosion-resisting applications AD water converted to steam creates a violent corrosive action. Boiler tubes must be able to withstand the effects of many kinds of water supplied in various localities. To solve this prob- lem of corrosion, The Babcock & Wilcox Tube Company, a subsidiary of the world’s largest boiler makers, has adopted Toncan Copper Mo-lyb-den- um Iron tor making seamless tubes and pipes for use where corrosive conditions are encountered. They use it for loco- motive tubes, boiler tubes, steam piping for power plants and in buildings of all kinds, also water piping and electrical conduits.

ALLOY New York ENTRAL Philadelphia

The ability of Toncan Iron to with- stand the attacks of rust and corrosion is due to its patented process of manu- facture. It is made by the scientific com- bination of copper and mo-lyb-den-um with pure iron—a formula developed in 0% &, REG.U.S. PAT. OFF.

*eg%” copPER Yayo” Mo-lyb-den-um IRON STEEL CORPORATION, CANTON AND MASSILLON, OHIO Tulsa Los Angeles MILLS Seattle Syracuse April 28,1928

ig loncan Iron boiler tube our own metallurgical laboratories—the largest and best equipped in America. The same iron that so successfully \\ aga the severest corrosive action 1 piping is also available in sheets of various gauges for all sheet metal work on buildings from homes to skyscrapers. Leading architects specify Toncan Iron for eaves troughs, downspouting, flash- ing, cornices, ventilators, siding, roofing, metal lath, ete Many manufacturers of metal household equip- ment also use ‘Toncan Iron in stoves, furnaces, refrigerators, kitchen cabinets, washing machines and other appliances. ‘The Toncan label on such equipment is your assurance of a quality product. Know better. this rust and corrosion-resisting iron Send for the Toncan book— “The Path to Permanence.”

t 8 , 1] St , Spe I h Sheet ell | standard finishe I rical Sheets, Hot Rolled Strip, Galva coed Sheet ind Endur Stainles Iro Write for informati ’ product. It is gla ily fur ied, Massillon, Ohio St. Loui San Francisco Cincinnati Toncan is fabricated in Canada by The Pedlar People, Ltd., Oshawa, Ontario ORLD’S LARGEST AND MOST HIGHLY SPECIALIZED ALLOY STEEL PRODUCERS

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()utde Ors again - PRING brings the lure of the Great Outdoors! Thoughts The regular Valspar Colors S turn to those possessions which mean life in the open. are:—Vermilion, Red—Light and The faithful car... the motor boat... garden tools and Deep, Blue—Light, Medium and furniture . . . even little Bobbie’s cart and scooter. Freshen Deep,Green— Medium and Deep, Gray, Brown, Ivory, Orange and Bright Yellow. Also Black, Flat Black, White, Gold, Bronze and Aluminum. Also transparent stain colors: Light Oak, Dark Oak, Mahogany, Walnut, Cherry and them up with Valspar! Freshen up all those things that demand attention in the Springtime. Have the satisfaction and fun of doing the job yourself. Doing a good job, too!... For Valspar is fast-drying and so easy to use that a novice can obtain most pleasing results. : * = 2 = Moss Green. Valspar is the famous varnish ‘ un ; . > if T al which stands the boiling water Countless beautiful tints and : ay ve ades Cc: ye secured by mixing test without injury. The world shades can be seen pe ) ; a : ‘ \ “e ‘se stan over, Valspar— Clear and in #") aa oF EES at See Cee Colors—-is known for its match- ard colors. less beauty and resistance to wear. The use of Valspar 1s true economy because it gives A new Valspar product which has met : . biles, furniture, glass and other household more service value than any other finish known. From canoes to ocean liners — Valspar! take advantage of our offer of one 50e can Valspar Polish (Special Offer) with VALSPAR ! Valspar Dehes the This Coupon is worth 20 to 85 cents W eather ' VALENTINE’S canoer B) oo "Special: a 50c ehiger) 3 The Varnish That Won't Turn White ’ CLEAR AND IN COLORS ich 400 sa S ors at 20¢ VALENTINE & COMPANY, 386 Fourth Avenue, New York, N. Y. end me these Va.opar each

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The New Orthophonic Victrola SMOOTH and mellow, like moonlight on a summer sea . . . harmony so “close’’ it all but overlaps. . An old song to stir the memory, to touch the heart with its beauty of melody and sentiment. You are at the concert— in your own home! + + + So natural, so realistic is reproduction through the Orthophonic Victrola, you virtually see the piano and the singers grouped about it. Without stretch of the imagination, they are right in the very room with you. + » + With one of these great instruments, the whole world of music is at your feet. Music to meet your every mood, superbly sung or played by artists of renown. Don’t deny yourself the sheer joy of Orthophonic ownership. See your Victor dealer at once and atrange for a demonstration in your home. VICTOR TALKING MACHINE COMPANY, CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY, U. S. A. Model Four-forty. Console-type Orthophonic Victrola. List price, $165. With electric motor, $35 extra. There's a type for every taste and purse, from $75 to $1550, list price.