The Saturday Evening Post 1928-08-04: Vol 201 Iss 5

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THE SATURDAY ee ag OST Be ey td . aay iin wih “SS , y x ates 5c. THE COPY 4 10c. im Canada uh a bs bat “a > Tae ee a ee Benito Mussolini — Lucian Cary — Fanny Heaslip Lea—William Slavens McNutt Thomas Beer — Clarence Budington Helland — Bud Fisher—Albert W. Atwood

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Pure and healthful as Naturés~sunshin F , rntanggiel the background of sum- mer sports and sociability Whitman’s Chocolates stand out—a part of every summer picture. Consider the Bonnybrook Package. Milk Chocolates, assorted to suit the critical taste of the out-of-doors girl. And the sportsman will do his part nobly when the box is passed around. Bonnybrook Milk Chocolates can be had at the selected stores that specialize in serving Whitman's in perfect condition. Look for the Whitman Agency Sign on summer trails everywhere. © S. F. W. & Son, Inc.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OR consistent, good time- keeping, day in and day out, you can’t beat the new model Pocket Ben watch. Service, sturdiness, long life, good looks—any way you consider it, Pocket Ben is all you could wish for ina watch. The makers of Big Ben built it. world rely on it.. Miilions all over the . so can you! ‘Baby ‘Ben ‘De Luxe $3.75 Sold everywhere; price $1.50— Westclox ~~ Pocket Ben Sold everyu or if you prefer the luminous dial that you can see in both darkness and daylight, $2.25. There’s a variety of plain or lumi- nous dial Westclox alarms, ranging in price from $1.50 to $5.00. Like Pocket Ben, the Westclox watch, P New Auto Clock $2.50 Quickly attached on dash or above windshield they’re all Fits any car splendid values. here by jewelers, druggists, hardware and department stores Prices slightly higher in Canada WESTERN CLOCK COMPANY, LA SALLE, America $1.50 Factory: Peru, linois. Jn Canada; Western Clock Company, Limited, Peterb« ILLINOIS, U. S. A. rough, Ont * Sleep Meter $2 00

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928 ook al ‘Ufour Silver —— YOUR GUESTS DO "My dear, I’vegone native!.. I’m having the whole house done over into Early American . from the teaspoons out!..1 really think nowadays you feel déclassée til! you've been Colonial —at least oNcE!— don’t you?”’ The vogue—the flair—the craze for the Early American, in loveliness of appointments is an axiom inherited through furniture, rooms, decorations, has made Community’s new generations . . . It isalso as ‘chic’ as— Vionnet. A service for PAUL REVERE pattern perhaps the swankiest silver service six, in the new Colonial Cabinet, is $34.75 . .. with DeLuxe being made in America today . . . In its own right it is ex- stainless knives ...The same service for eight costs $44.50. tremely lovely . . . very much at home, in homes where At your jeweler’s ... Begin your Early-American period now. CO MWruU N PTY FLAT E CE Clo makers of TUDOR PLATE SO

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Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President George 1. Lorimer, First Vice-President William Boyd, John B. Willian s and Walter D. Fuller, Second Vice-Presidents P. S. Collins, Treasurer Independence Square, Philadelphia London: 6, Henrietta Street Covent Garden, W.C THE SA TURDAY EVENING POST 6 iriesrssevsn2 Founded A°D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin petra: eae Sout ina Sa Franc Copyright, 1925, by The Curtis Publishing Compeny in the United States and Great Britein. Tithe Registered in U.S. Patent Office and in Foreign Countries. Entered es Second-Cless Matter at the Post-Office Department, Ottawa, Can George Horace Lorimer EDITOR Frederick S. Bigelow, A.W. Neall, Thomas B. Costain, Wesley W. Stout, B. Y. Riddell, Thomas L. Masson, March 3,1579. Additional Entry at Columbus, O St. Louis, Mo., Chicago. Hl, Indianspolie, ind.. Louisville. Ny.. Houston, Tex..Omeha, Neb..O Uteh, Jechsonrville, Fla... New Orleans. Le. Porter Me., Los Angeles,Cal., Richmond, Ve., Boston | Volume 20! Sc. THE COPY PHILADELPHIA, PA., AUGUST 4, 1928 Number 5 By Sut eer SS AUTH Ur MILL Per UKE STEP OU iV 4 “And Then She Said ‘Are You Engaged to Him?’ I Said ‘Which One?’ She Said ‘I Mean the Man Who Kissed You’"’ HE Duke got up and moved toward the door. He had sat for two days in a corner of a large sitting room on the fifth floor of the most expen- sive hotel in Chicago, listening to a wrangle about two and a half per cent. Sometimes his manager or his lawyer pretended that the difference between them and the promoters and the promoters’ lawyers was over the guaranty. But this was only a device. The promoters had agreed to a guaranty of one hundred thousand dollars after a trifling argument of four or five hours. Only they didn’t say a hundred thousand dollars. They said a hundred grand. The Duke would have made them a present of that two and a half per cent rather than sit in that room another hour. But Jake Levy wouldn’t. Jake loved to haggle about money. Haggling about money was not only his business but his chief pleasure in life. The Duke surveyed the group gathered around the table in the middle of the room while he waited for the right moment. He regarded them with thet curious mingling of contempt and fear, that distaste, with which a young man of talent does occasionally regard the older and wiser men who live by his talent. He had always liked and trusted Jake. He knew that Jake was real. Only the Duke sometimes wished he didn’t have to see so much of him. Jake had the intensity which makes so many of his sort ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN trying after a few hours and unendurable after two By LUCIAN ( ‘AJR Yi days. Even his good humor and his kindliness were intense. Now Jake’s intensity about that two and a half per cent had them all leaning over the table, exposing their pink accordion-pleated necks. They were all fat men—all except Mullin, his lawyer—and even Mullin was too fat. The Duke was two inches taller and fifty pounds lighter and twenty years younger than the youngest of them. They smoked fat cigars and talked about fat sums of money, with fat hands ornamented with fat diamonds. They were so fatly eager to make more money out of the Duke that they had forgotten his existence. They failed to observe that he was leaving. The Duke, who moved with the silent grace of a young panther bedroom, got his coat and hat and went down to the lobby of the hotel. He intended to find Barney, who had parked the Benham around the corner, and drive for a couple of I at men were too lore the! slipped into his hours out along the shore of Lake Michigan and get back be much worried about his absence. It was the Monday after New Year’s Day. The lake was frozen as far see. The thought of the cold winter afternoon was tempting after the of a room that was too hot and too thick with cigar smoke and the fumes of Scotch whisky and words. as you could confinement

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By the Time the Duke Had Eaten All That He Wanted and Ordered Coffee With Cream, the Young Man Cailed Tommy Had Dug a Ukulele Out of His Luggage Barney was watching for him and started toward him as he came out of the elevator. But in the few seconds that it took Barney te cross the lobby something happened to change the Duke’s mind—something that in all his twenty- four years had never happened to him before. The girl, with a young man beside her, had come in from Michigan Avenue. She passed within a yard of the Duke, and as she passed he heard her say to her escort, ‘‘ Remem- ber, Tommy, our train goes at five.” She was very young— certainly not more than twenty—very pretty and very happily dressed. She had something else also—the some- thing else that is so instantly communicated by one human being in ten thousand—she had verve. She was almost as slender as girls try to be nowadays. But she did not look weak. On the contrary, she glowed with health, like a good animal. Even the bronze curls that escaped from under the brim of her smal! hat had the vitality of natural curls. But it was her voice—her singularly agreeable, unstrained, low-pitched voice—that stopped the Duke. He stood staring after her as she walked into the grill. He continued to stare after she had disappeared, so that Barney had to touch his arm to get his attention. ‘*What's on your mind, chief?’’ Barney asked. “‘T’ll be wanting you before five o’clock,”’ the Duke said. “*]'ll be all set,’’ Barney promised—“‘ across the street.” The Duke nodded to Barney and followed the girl into the grill and found a table on the other side of the dance fioor from where she sat, and ordered tea. While he waited for the tea he pretended to watch the members of the dance orchestra come in and take their places and tune their instrumerits. It was the first time in his life that he had ever followed a giri. He had met a great many girls who had followed him. Some of them, he knew, for he was not a fool, had followed him because they liked his looks; and some because he had fame and money; and some because his rivals had promised them rewards if they sueceeded in getting him. One girl had confessed quite recently, with tears, that they had offered her five hundred dollars if she got the Duke drunk, and two thousand if she could keep him drunk for three days. Norah McCune was the only friend he had ever had among women. Norah had some of the jolly warmth of Bessie McCoy, with a handsome contralto voice. But Norah was older than the Duke, and busy getting on and up as a musical-comedy actress, and their fondness for each other had never quite clicked. The orchestra began very softly to play, with all the brasses muted against the steady throb of the banjos. The girl and her young man danced together, and danc- ing, they swung so close to the Duke’s table that he could have reached out and touched her. She danced as well as he had known she would dance when he had seen her walk across the lobby a few minutes earlier. She was a smash. Anybody would have granted that she was a smash, from her slender silken ankles to the top of her lovely head. Not that there was anything flashy about her. You had no chance to be a smash, in the Duke’s opinion, if you said or did or were anything flashy. The Duke was by temperament—though he didn’t know it—a classicist. He believed far, far more than he could possibly have known, in good form, in what’s done, in the correct thing. It is the special fate of such a temperament that it has some day to face an issue which the formula of the cor- rect thing does not answer. Another and a rougher bird than the Duke would have said ‘‘ What a whiz of a girl! I wish I could take her out,”’ and decided that there wasn’t any chance to pick her up, and gone on and forgotten about her. The Duke knew that there wasn’t any chance to pick her up. But he couldn’t go on and forget about her. She mattered too much. Which is why he ran into all the trouble that followed and why he will always wear a scar across his forehead that looks like a sword cut, but was actually made with a chair; and why he got at last into a jam that his feeling for the correct thing could not get him out of. He hadn’t from the first moment any debate with him- self about what he was going to do. He was going to sit in the grill as long as she did. When she left he would leave; where she went he would go; and when he found out where she lived and who she was, he would plan how he could meet her. He was so sure of what he wanted and he wanted it so much that for the moment he forgot about the fat men upstairs who had so completely ruled his life of late, and who would certainly do anything in their power to stop him. The girl danced two dances before she saw that she had no time to spare and jumped up suddenly and went out with the young man at her heels. The Duke was not two yards behind them when they went through the revolving doors into Michigan Avenue. A taxi came forward from the hotel stand and the young man helped the girl in. The Duke waved his hand to Barney, across the street, and watched the Benham describe a sweeping curve and swing in front of the hotel’s awning. He had a thrill of pride in the car as he walked SATURDAY EVENING POST “I Shall Tell Them That You are a Perfect Dear,’’ She Assured Him, Her Eyes Sparkling August 4,1928 toward it—the pride of a man who looks on his pet ex- travagance and finds it good. He had bought the Benham in England because he liked it better than any other car in the world, and had it fitted with a particularly sporting collapsible sedan body. It was not a big car, but it was fast. The makers had guaranteed it to do ninety miles an hour, and in their quaint English fashion had proceeded to do ninety miles an hour with it on the track at Brooklands. The Duke did not regret the three thousand pounds the car had cost him; and especially he did not regret it now, when he jumped into it and told Barney to catch the taxi in which the girl had left the hotel. “They're making a five o’clock train,”’ he added, ‘‘and so am I.” Barney stole a quick astonished glance at his young em- ployer. They had shared each other’s confidence for five or six years now, and lost and won and gone hungry together. The Duke grinned. He liked to tease Barney. ‘‘I’ll come back,” he said, ‘‘ but I don’t know when.” ““What’ll I tell those birds up topside?’”’ Barney asked. He had been in the Navy and he had some navy tricks of speech. “Tell them you took me to the railway station and I said to wait and you waited and that’s all you know.” “Yeah,” said Barney grimly. ‘‘ Yeah, you think that’ll hold Jake Levy!” “After all, Barney, Jake can’t fire you.” Barney grinned. “I can take it,”’ he said, still grim. “Tf,” he added hopefully, ‘“‘you don’t think you need me along.”’ “No,” the Duke said, ‘‘I’ll play this one alone.” The taxi ran up to the railway station, the Benham’s sharp nose just behind it. The Duke hopped out, waved his hand to Barney and followed the girl and her young man into the station. There they met two other girls and another young man, and the five of them went on to a train gate and had their tickets punched and went down- stairs to the train shed. The Duke had no ticket, but he Re

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a) ’ eee lll Bee Dm —— QF2THU LA Ped beet Aro ee ee 2” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ~ He Proceeded to Entertain Himself and His Friends With a Series of Songs of the Sort That Their Mothers Did Not Sing hurried through with such an air of owning the place that the man at the gate did not try to stop him. In another five minutes the train was rolling out of the train shed and the Duke was learning, from the old porter in charge of the Pullman, that the young people aboard were students at the state university at Grandison. The Duke didn’t know what state the porter meant, but when the conductor came through he paid his fare to Grandison and learned that he was in for a six-hour journey. The car in which he found himself was of a sort he hadn’t met before in America. It was part chair car, with a kitchen or pantry for serving meals, and part smoking com- partment. The Duke chose the smoking compartment, not wanting the girl to notice that he was following her, and sat on the leather-cushioned bench that ran across the end. The rest of the bench and the chairs were soon occu- pied by three or four college boys. The Duke hid himself behind an evening paper and listened to their talk and wished that he could have gone to college. He had a quar- ter of a million dollars in sound bonds stowed away in New York. He would have given them all for the privilege of being one of these happy-go-lucky chaps, a year or two younger than himself. He would have thrown in every- thing else he possessed, even the Benham, to be one of them. The Duke had left school when he was fifteen. He had been on his own ever since. And though his uncommon gifts had made him known in New York and London and Melbourne, and though he had made a great deal of money for his years, he had not achieved his early ambition to be a scholar and a gentleman. He was naive enough to sup- pose that the only hope was to go through college. And now, surrounded by young men who took going to college so for granted that they actually complained of having to go back after the Christmas holidays, he felt keenly how little he belonged. He felt utterly inferior to these blithe young men. They had the privilege of meeting the girl he had followed, on terms of equality. They shared her back- ground, her manners, her speech, her social class. The Duke had always lived in another and a harsher world. He had been born in that part of New York that is still called Chelsea, and lived in a tenement that was shaken twenty-four hours a day by the Ninth Avenue Elevated, and consorted with other sons of longshoremen, who hoped one day to be tough enough to join the Hudson Dusters. His mother had died when he was ten. His father had been killed a few years later when a line parted and a flying block from a cargo boom struck him between the eyes. The Duke had escaped the charitable societies that threatened his liberty by running away with a carnival company. His early memories were of people who counted themselves well off if they had enough to eat during the week and a bottle of whisky on Saturday night. And if nowadays he knew which fork to use, it was because he had read about it. Just once in those harsh early years he had caught a glimpse of gentler ways. The summer that he was ten years old a real-estate operator bought up a block of old rooming houses, ejected the tenants and put the carpenters and the plumbers and the steam fitters to work. In three months the frowzy block revealed itself as a neat row of red brick houses of the charming sort that were built in Thomas Jefferson’s time. A new highbrow weekly took over two of the houses for its offices; college professors, reformers and book reviewers took the others. The only child among the invading families was a boy of the Duke’s own age. His name was Alan Brooke. The Duke met him, boy fashion, over a matter of pigeons. They constructed a pigeon loft on the roof of a shed that marked the boundary of the Brookes’ back yard and Alan Brooke asked him to his birthday party. The Duke thanked him, but he did not mention the matter at home. He had no de- sire to join a party of boys from the private school across town that Alan Brooke attended. But Mrs. Brooke sent a formal invitation by mail. The Duke’s mother insisted that he go. So the Duke, scrubbed until his ears were a pale trans- lucent pink, saw with his own eyes a brown mahogany table, sparkling with glass and silver and flowers, -and learned that the slim paper cylinder beside your plate went off like a firecracker when you pulled both ends, disclosing a motto which you were supposed to read out loud and a paper cap which you were supposed to put on; and he ate elaborate ice cream and angel’s-food cake in painful silence while the eight other boys, all in Eton collars and shorts and bare knees, made just as much noise as if they were not dressed up. The one deep impression he carried away with him was that Alan Brooke's mother had beautiful slim white hands with long, polished, pink finger nails the shape of almonds, and looked like a girl. His own mother was no older in years. But her hands were red and rough and her nails were broken back to the quick. The Duke reflected, going home, that when you were rich your mother was still young and smiling. He would never have gone inside the Brookes’ house again but for the episode of the milk bottle. The Duke came down Ninth Avenue one winter after- noon on his way home from school, with a wary eye out for Rusty Callahan and his gang. At Twenty-fourth Street he paused and looked both ways. He saw the mélée from a distance of fifty or sixty yards. But there was no mistaking Alan Brooke’s bare knees. The Duke ran, and running, saw the milk bottle sit- ting onadoorstep. He picked up the bottle almost without pausing. Alan was down when he got there, and Rusty and two of his gang were kicking him. The bottle caught Rusty on top of the head. The two others ran away. The Duke, frightened at seeing Rusty look so suddenly white, bent over him in panic. And at that moment Alan Brooke’s father stepped out of a taxicab. Mr. Brooke had picked up Rusty and they had all gone into the basement of the Brooke house. Rusty came round after a minute or two and ran away before they could look at his head. Mr. Brooke looked singularly stern. He took Alan and the Duke upstairs to his library and when they had told their story he shook his head. “Young man,” he said to the Duke, “‘milk bottles are barred. Fight with your fists if you want to, but not with bottles. It just isn’t done.” “Father,” Alan Brooke protested, ‘“‘there were three of them and all bigger!” The Duke said nothing. What did this tall, elegant gen- tleman smoking a cigar in his book-lined room know about the world? (Continued on Page 55)

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6 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ND now we were on the eve of the his- toric march on the August 4,1928 of the Popolo d'Italia. Trusted Fascist messengers wove webs like scurrying spiders. All day long I was Eternal City. Having com- pleted my survey and esti- mate of the conditions in the provinces; having lis- tened to the reports of the various chiefs of the Black Shirts; having selected the plans of action and deter- mined in a general way upon the most favorable mo- ment—I called tegether in Florence the chiefs of the Fascist movement and of the squads of action. There were Michele Bianchi, De Bono, Italo Balbo, Giuriati and various others. Some- one at that quiet conference suggested the mobilization of the Black Shirts for No- vember fourth, the anni- versary of the victory. I rejected that proposal, for it would have spoiled a day of commemoration by in- troducing the element of revolutionary activity. Advance Plans T WAS necessary to give ourmovement the fullad- vantage of opportunity and to make it sparkle and det- onate. It was necessary to weigh, besides the military aspect, the political effects and values. We had to con- sider, finally, the painful possibility of a violent suppression, or a failure spreading from some slip to all of our plans. We were obliged to determine beforehand all the hows and whens, the details of the means, with what men and with what aims the Fascist assault could most wisely be launched. The Fascist meeting in Naples, which was advertised as our second great congress, with its display of discipline and of speech-making, served to hide the beginnings of the real mobilization. At a fixed moment the squads of action of all Italy were to be at arms. They would have to occupy the vital nerve centers—the cities and the post offices, the prefectures, police headquarters, railroad stations and mil- itary barracks. FROM KEYSTONE VIEW COMPAN 4&4 eHOT Premier Mussolini Reaping Grain on His Farm Fascist bendane Being Reviewed in Rome, After the Overthrow of the Facta Government Detachments of Fascisti were to march along the Tyr- rhenian Sea toward Rome, led by chiefs, all of them brave former officers. The same movement was to take place on the Adriatic side, from which direc- tion were to be launched on Rome the strength of the low Romagna, Marches and Abruzzi dis- tricts. That plan required that we should free Ancona from the Socialist-Commu- nist dominion. This had been done. From Middle Italy the squadrons already mobilized for the meeting at Naples were also to be directed upon Rome. They were supported by groups of Fascist cavalry under the command of Caradonna. The moment the Fascist mobilization — and campaign was decided and actually be- PHOTO. OY STRAZZA, MILAN The Duce gan operation, the martial law, the stern rules and orders of Fascism both for officers and pri- vates were to be enforced. The political powers of our National Directorate were turned over to a military quad- rumvirate of action in the persons of Generals De Bono, De Vecchi, Italo Balbo and Michele Bianchi. I presided over the quadrumvirate and I was the Duce—the leader and had the ultimate responsibility for the work of the four men—a responsibility for which I was fully pledged not only to the Fascists but to Italy. We selected as general concentration headquarters the town of Perugia, capital of Umbria, where many roads flow to a center ard from which it is easy to reach Rome. In case of military and political failure, we could, by cross- ing the Apennine range, retire to the Valley of the Po. That zone in any revolutionary movement of history has always been properly considered the keystone of the situa- tion. There our domination was absolute and undisputed. We selected the watchword, we fixed the details of the action. Everything had to be reported to me, in the offices issuing the necessary orders. I wrote the proclamation which was to be addressed to the country on the eve of action. We knew from very faith- ful unforgettable friends that the army, unless ex- ceptional circumstances arose, would maintain it- self on a ground of amiable neutrality. The Proclamation T THE historic congress at Naples, after my opening speech, which traced the outlines of the Fascist action in the state and assigned to Naples the title Queen of the Mediter- ranean, the general discus- sion continued in academic tune, without a definite aim except that of gaining time. The leader in that dissem- bling and sham discussion was Michele Bianchi, one of the quadrumvirs for the march on Rome. At that time he had revealed al- ready a notable political mind. De Bonoand Balbo, who had great authority over the squadrons of ac- tion, joined the general head- quarters in Perugia. I went from the adjourned congress back to Milan. During the trip I had op- portunity to see many friends and to build addi- tional preparations. I had important conversa- tions on that particular drive which had to be or- ganized in Milan, as in other centers of the Lom- bardy district. In order not to arouse the suspicion of the police, for I was al- ways surrounded by spies, I assumed the attitude of an indifferent person without a worry or trouble in the world. This was somewhat difficult, for I had to spend precious time in trying the speed of a new car and in other workaday comings and goings. In the evenings I went to the theaters. I pretended to have a great spirit of activity in my editorial writing and newspaper management. But suddenly, when I knew that everything was ready, I addressed from Milan, through the Popolo d'Italia and by means of independent publications and through the correspondents of all the Italian newspapers, my procla- mation of revolution. It had been signed by the quad- rumvirate. Here is the text of the memorable document: Fascisti! Italians! The time for determined battle has come! Four years ago the national army loosed at this season the final offensive, which brought it to Victory. Today the army of the Black Shirts takes again possession of that Victory, which has been mutilated, and going directly to Rome, brings Victory again to the glory of that capital. From now on principi and triari are mobilized. The martial law of Fascism now becomes a fact. By order of the Duce, all the military, political and administrative functions of the party management are taken over by a secret Quadrumvirate of Action with dictatorial powers. The army, the reserve and safeguard of the nation, must not take part in this struggle. Fascism renews its highest homage given to the army of Vittorio Veneto. Fascism, furthermore, does not march against the police, but against a political class both cowardly and imbecile, which in four long years has not RRR cena

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been able to give a government to the nation. Those who form the productive class must know th.t Fascism wants to impose nothing more than order and discipline upon the nation and to help to raise the strength which will renew progress and pros- perity. ‘The people who work in the fields and in the factories, those who work in the railroads or in offices, have nothing to fear from the Fascist government. Their just rights will be protected. We will even be generous with unarmed adversaries. Fascism draws its sword to cut the multiple Gordian knots which tie and burden Italian life. We call God and the spirit of our five hundred thousand dead to witness that only one impulse sends us on, that only one passion burns within us—the impulse and the passion to contribute to the safety and greatness of our country. Fascisti of all Italy! Stretch forth like Romans your spirits and your fibers! We must win! We will. Long live Italy! Long live Fascism! THE QUADRUMVIRATE. : *. 4 A. PHOTO Mussolini Walking With D’Annunzio on the Grounds of the Latter’s Palace At night there reached me the first news of bloody clashes in Cremona, Alessandria and Bologna, and of the assaults on munition factories and upon military barracks. I had composed my proclamation in a very short and re- sounding form; it had impressed the whole of the Italian people. Our life was suddenly brought into an ardent atmosphere of revolution. News of the struggles that THE SATURDAY EVENING POST d'Italia. In the livid and gray morn- ing, Milan had a fantastic and new appearance. Some pauses and some sudden silences gave one the sensa- tion of certain great hours that come and go in the course of history. Frowning battalions of Royal Guards scouted the city, and the monotonous rhythm of their feet sounded ominous, echoing in the almost deserted streets. The public services functioned on a reduced and meager scale. The assaults of the Fascisti against the | barracks and on the post offices were the causes of fusillades of shots. This rather gave to the city a sinister echo of civil war. I had provided the offices of my newspaper with everything for de- fense against attack. I knew that if the government authorities desired to give a proof of their strength they would direct their first violent as- sault at the Popolo d'Italia. In fact, in the early hours of the morning, I saw trained upon the offices and me PHOTO. SUPPLIED BY INTERNATIONAL REWOREEL Mussolini Being Greeted by the King of Italy, 1922 the ugly muzzles of the mitrailleuses. There was a rapid exchange of shots. I had my rifle charged and I went down to defend the doors. The neighbors had barricaded entrances and windows and were begging for protection. During the firing, buliets whistled around my ears. A major of the Royal Guard finally asked for a truce and to speak with me. After a brief initial conversation, we agreed that the Royal Guard should go as far as two hun- dred meters and the mitrailleuses should be brought away from the middle of the street, to be put at a crossing of the street about a hundred meters away. With that sort of armistice began for me the day of October twenty-eighth. At night, deputies, senators, political men of Milan, the most well known and responsible of the Lombard parlia- mentary world—among whom were Senator Conti, Crespi and the Deputy De Capitani—came together to the offices of the Popolo d'Italia to ask me to desist in a struggle which they asserted would be the beginning of a violent, grave and reprehensible civil war. They proposed to me a sort of armistice and truce with the central government. Perhaps a ministerial crisis might save, they said, the situation and the country. I smiled back at the parliamentarians because of inno- cence. I answered them in words like these: “Dear sirs, there is not the slightest question of any partial or total crisis or of substitution of one ministry for another. The game I have undertaken has a wider and more serious character. For three years we have lived in a caldron boiling with small battles and devastation. This time I will not put down weapons until a full victory is concluded. It is time to change the direction not only of the government but also of the whole of Italian life. There is no question of a struggle of parties in parliament, but here is a question—we want to know if we Italians are abl to live an autonomous life or are to be slaves of our own weakness, not only as to foreign nations but also in our own affairs. War is declared! We will bring it to the bitter end. Doyouseethese communications? Well, thestruggle is blazing all over Italy. Youth isin arms. I am rated asa leader who precedes and not one who follows. I will not humiliate with arbitration this page of marvelous resur- rection of Italian youth. I tell you that it is the last chapter. It will fulfill the traditions of our country. It cannot die in a compromise.” A Firm Ally in D’Annunzio THEN showed my visitors a letter which I had received at dawn from Commander Gabriele D’Annunzio. I had sent a brief message to the redeemer of Fiume, who had been with us since the first moments of the darkest struggle It was brought by the Generals Giampietro and Douhet and Eugenio Coselschi. D’Annunzio, toward whom in vain some vague hopes of the politicians had turned, happened in the various cities, sometimes exagger- ated by the imagination of reporters, gave a dramatic touch to the revolution. Responsible elements of the country asserted that as a result of this move- ment there would be at last a government able to rule and to command re- spect. The great mass of the population, however, looked out astonished, as it were, from their windows. A State of War ONE of the subversive or liberal chiefs showed themselves. All went into their holes, in- spired only by fear. They understood quite thor- oughly that this was the striking of our hour. Everyone felt sure that the struggle of Fascism would have a victorious end. I could sense this even from far away. The air was full of it. The wind spoke of it, the rain brought it down, the earth drank it. I put on the black shirt. - I barricaded the Popolo PHOTO. FROM KEYSTONE VIEW COMPANY, INC., N. ¥. C. Fascisti Parading Through the Streets of Rome Carrying Destroyed Pictures of Lenin, Trotzky and Karl Marx had immediately answered in these terms: I received hree messengers, a hard day of work In this book, so many times terrupted, are gathered the truths that the one-eyed man ais vers retirement and meditation. I think that now Italian youth must recognize them and follow them with purified } It is necessary to gather together all the sincere forces and sta toward the great gos that are fixed for Italy by her eternal destinic Fr ’ patience and not from restless impatience saivation will come to us Tt r ngers will | ig and rm ntions, ee fr al rg ‘ 4 The } gk wsthatlIa 8 th faithful and ea of Ital Let } und against tl a rs lestinies, which 1 t fa and defeated \ r AS the ligt eyes of Pa D i id her S P I 4 ty ANNUNZIO After having read the lette D’Ar nzio to these Lon ird p I sent t ¥ Continued on Page 105)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 Gordon Came Back of the Scenes on a First Night With Some Know: it: All Critic blue lace frock —still unpaid for, but what has that to do with loveliness, with frosty moonlit ecstasy of blue lace over blue chiffon?—Penny had to hear that he wasn’t, after all, coming to take her out to dinner. “Oh-h!” she said—practically a groan. Disappointed, of course; and Penny never could learn to suffer in silence. “What is that?” insisted Gordon’s deep, dignified barytone. “I didn’t quite hear you, Penelope.” She couldn't say oh-h again. It had sounded none too intelligent the first time, so she changed to “I’m so sorry,” in the little-girl voice which Gordon always evoked from her. As if, she sometimes thought to herself—as if he were a medium, and she, little Bright-Eyes, the Indian- child control. Gordon went on to say that he was sorry, too, but that he had learned about noon that day that he would have to stay overnight in Philadelphia. He was calling from his hotel. ‘I’ve tried half a dozen times,”’ he said, “since noon, to get you.” Not reproach, but something just this side of it. Penny said she’d been out. Her little Bright-Eyes mur- mur was so ineffectual she had to say it twice; adding more loudly, “I’ve just this moment got in.” “What will you do with yourself this evening?” in- quired Gordon anxiously. The warmest, most comfortable feeling—Gordon’s unfailing interest in what she was going to do, anywhere, any time. He seemed never quite to get her off his mind. “‘T hope you'll stay in,”’ he urged, ‘“‘and read a book and go to bed early. Wouldn’t do you a bit of harm.” Penny said meekly she knew it wouldn't. As if she spent her days and nights running up and down the earth ORDON telephoned at ten minutes of seven - and Penny, wriggling feverishly into her ILLUSTRATED By Fanny Heaslip Lea RALEIGH Br HENRY looking for things that wouldn’t do her harm. She'd said she thought she’d do a little work maybe. “You don’t sound too enthusiastic,” said Gordon, pleased. He never liked her to be too enthusiastic about her work. He often said, ‘‘We’ll see about all this some day, young lady’’—significantly. Implying a time when she should sit on a cushion and sew a fine hem at his expense, and no more argument. Strawberries and cream provided, gratis. The biggest excuse for the sheltered woman, so far as Penny was concerned, lay in the fact that she herself secretly liked Gordon to say things like that—liked the gleam in his keen gray eyes under the heavy eyebrows, liked the grim twist of his splendid thin-lipped mouth, like a Roman emperor or something. A racial instinct in her liked it—an unconquered and, she was afraid, unconquerable racial memory. Firelight on the walls of a cave, maybe; heavy fingers in one’s hair. Only Penny’s bronze-brown curls wouldn’t have provided any too good a hold. Anyhow, she liked him to say it. She replied—as she knew he was waiting to hear her do—‘“I’m not awfully excited. I’m going to be lonely.” “That’s good!” said Gordon with an indulgent chuckle. “Never mind; it won’t be long till tomorrow night.” “It’s always long till tomorrow night,” said Penny. “Sometimes it never comes.” Just the sort of thing he wouldn’t be looking for. Why must she say it? “Well’’—it did make him a trifle impatient —‘“‘ well, see here, Penelope. Tomorrow night then, same time, same arrangement, eh?” “Yes, I’d love it,”’ said Penny, repentant and wistful. “Be a good girl,” said Gordon. He always wound up with that. Very comforting also. Like the clasp of his big hard hand, with the heavy bloodstone ring on the little finger. Gordon’s coat of arms was on the bloodstone, and the motto of his family Fidéle ou Fini. “‘Miss me a lot?” said Gordon. “Horribly!” said Penny. The conversation must be costing him something, she reflected. They had talked almost half an hour. As if he, too, had just prudently remembered—although, unlike Penny, he had no need for prudence—-he said: “Tomorrow night, Penelope. Till then!” “By,” said Penelope, small and docile. Getting out of the adored blue lace with much less haste than she had exerted getting into it, she reflected on “Till then” as a form of farewell. Almost Shaksperean, wasn't it? No one but Gordon — The blue lace went onto a hanger and into a small dark closet. Penny took out of the closet a pair of black silk pajamas, thrust her legs into the trousers, her arms into the sleeveless coat, slid her feet into a pair of gaudy Chinese slippers and then slowly, with a certain amount of bored distaste, set about getting dinner upon a well-known political formula—of, by and for herself. Gordon didn’t like the black silk pajamas, although his sister had given them to Penny, and although they were of the sort described in advertisements as very chic for tea. They suited Penny’s slim, freckled, dryadish person—at least she felt they did—but Gordon didn’t like them. Even with the brocaded coat which was supposed to complete their chicness, he gave them nothing at all, and said so frankly. More than frankly, he said so with a kind of facetiousness bordering on deliberate vulgarity.

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“Pajamas?” he said. “‘Fortea? Tea for two, Isuppose!” Mrs. Nash, his sister, had been very cold with him. ‘Really, Gordon, you do keep your mind in cold storage, don’t you?” “‘I have some regard for old-fashioned decency” —that was what Gordon had said. However, even if he didn’t like the black pajamas, it was no reason Penny shouldn’t get dinner alone in them. She shuffled about in her gay Chinese slippers, with her white arms showing very white, her white throat very soft and slim against the somber silk. She even eventually rose to the point of singing as she shuffled: “‘Some day he’ll come along—the man I love!’’ Without particular significance. Gordon, of course, had already come. It was only a song. It seemed to fit in somehow with the close June evening, with dusk lying thick and still out- side the windows of the studio, with taxis rattling by in the narrow street, with the eldritch cries of children play- ing down the block. If Penny had gone out to dinner with Gordon he would have come for her in his big, dark, shining car, with an impassive young man at the wheel. Gordon wasn’t young— Roman emperors didn’t have to be young to be wonderful. He was forty-five, perhaps. Well, why not be frank? He was forty-eight. His sister had said so. And there would have been a lovely, rushing, soundless drive along Riverside and back before settling upon a place to eat —— “Somewhere that’s a fit background for you, Penelope.” . Gordon thought of backgrounds. Not one man in a hundred thought of backgrounds when taking a girl out to dinner. “‘Food’s pretty good at Louis’,” they said, or, ‘Tell you a place you can get anything you want. We'll go there.” Gordon thought of food, too, but as if it had been pictures or Chinese glazes. Guinea hen, arti- chokes, crépes Suzettes—things like that, making up a glamorous meal, with the head waiter obsequious at the finish. “T hope you were pleased tonight, Mr. Leverte.”’ “Very good, indeed, Antoine.” Penny, in the black pajamas and the Chinese slippers, dreaming of crépes Suzettes and arti- chokes, emptied a tin of corned-beef hash into the electric grill pan and stirred it, ; patted it down, smeared a little dab of butter across the top. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Darn it! Only one roll and that’s stale,” she said to herself. She didn’t go out for more. It was too warm. She was too lazy. And she wasn’t hungry for corned-beef hash anyhow. After supper, when she was washing the grill and her one willow-ware plate at the washstand in the monastic cubby- hole which served her for a bedroom, her telephone rang again in the studio. The studio was really fairly large, and what with adroit handling of a Vie-de-Bohemish north light, a couch with a smashing assortment of cushions, a piano, a lot of sketches, a tea table, a forest of purple-and- white petunias in a window box-—-what with this and with that, as Mayfair was wont to say—in the dear dead days of last year, was it?—the studio had something. A kind of untidy charm chiefly. The telephone stood on the piano. Penny's telephone would. And it rang with a species of executive persistency till Penny got to it. “This is Cordelia Nash,” it said. ‘‘How are you, dear? Is Gordon there? I know you were planning to dine together.” When Penny explained that she had only just dined alone, by virtue of Gordon's long-distance defection, his sister grumbled affectionately. “‘Isn’t that simply too disgusting! I wanted to get hoid of him. An old friend of his and mine is in town. Came in today on the Berengaria—Comtesse d’Artéches—she was Marie Judkin, of Chicago. I went to school with her; Gordon was an usher at her wedding. Most fascinating creature you ever saw in your life. Her husband was killed in a motor accident last year, south of France. She’s only just beginning to go about again.” Penny murmured inarticulate sympathy for motor- killed husbands, inarticulate appreciation of fascinating creatures just beginning to go about again. Whether she murmured anything at all, she knew, made little difference Cordelia, in spate, was resistless. “T’'m having a party for her tomorrow night. Only a little thing—very intime With Cordelia’s butler no party could be intime, but Penny didn’t murmur that. “T want you, of course, Penny. Are you free, child?” Penny said she was free to meet such a comtesse at any moment, day or night. “You absurd, delicious infant! Europe hasn’t changed her. She’s just her old radiant self. She is the most per- fect thing in black! Of course French mourning, if anything, can console a widow for being a widow. It abso- lutely is the last word in chic and charm. . . . Now, about that bad brother of mine, when did he say he'd be back, darling?” Penny told her. “T can get him at the club about noon, I expect,”’ said Cordelia Nash. She said, “What are you doing tonight, child? Not moping, I hope.”’ Penny said she thought she'd do a little work. “All soul alone?” “Oh, I don’t mind,” said Penny. Sometimes she did, though. “Gordon hates your being down there in that wretched neighborhood all by yourself, and I don't blame him.” “It’s very nice, really,” said Penny. “It isn’t too wretched.” Queer, she didn’t resent Cordelia Nash's fussing over her any more than Gordon. They both stood for security, shelter, protection—of which Penny sometimes felt she might like to avail herself. “Well, go to bed early and get a lot of beauty sleep,” said Cordelia. “‘This will be a very good party I’m giving tomorrow night.” Penny promised. The blue lace gown then would get its innings after all It would walk into Cordelia’s ivory-paneled, shining- floored drawing-room beside Gordon's tall arrogant figure, Continued on Page 96 ‘Must We?'’’ Deptored the Comtesse. ‘‘Just as I Was Becoming So Interestedin Mr.

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10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By Frank M. Inman HERE is a legend, often heard during the cotton-picking months, about a Louisiana planter of ante-bellum days who imported a shipload of mon- keys from Brazil in the hope that he could train them to harvest his cotton crop. Before he could complete their education the mon- keys scampered to free- dom in the woods, and little pickaninnies had to finish the job. I have never at- tempted to establish the historical accuracy of this legend, but I find it easy to believe, because men have made many fantastic efforts to evolve a cheaper, if not a better, way of performing the most arduous work required in the production of cotton. Nowadays, though, my buyers often ship me bales of what we distinguish as sledded cotton. = coprasnr sy unvens Instead of being hand-picked, this cotton has been harvested by a crude mechanism, the improvement of which is taxing the minds of inventors of agricultural machinery. Most of those in use today are homemade affairs, the usual form being a wagon bed with high slat sides. The open front is armed with a dozen or more long comb teeth of wood or steel. This contrivance is hauled by a team of horses or mules along the cotton row so that the teeth strip the cotton from the stalks in a fashion similar to an older hand method called snapping. Improved modern machinery at the gins, and later at the mills, cleans cotton harvested in this manner until its fibers are free from dirt, leaves, hulls and stalks. at Sledding Cotton in Texas HE dam of this invention, as so often happens, was necessity. In 1926 Southern farmers planted the largest acreage of cotton in history. Growing conditions were favorable. On the southern plains of the Texas Panhandle there was a serious shortage of labor to pick the crop. Overnight, almost as if a wand had been waved over thou- sands of square miles, bolls ripened and burst into fleecy whiteness. Farmers in that region, faced with the loss of a 500,000-bale crop, made themselves masters of the situa- tion by creating thousands of sleds. My business is buying and selling cotton. Buyers repre- senting our firm go to the gins and country stores, the first concentration points of this great crop, and buy the bales the farmers have delivered there as currency in payment of their last year’s bills and'this year’s needs. After sorting these purchases into even-running lots, according to the length of the fibers, the grades and the condition of the The Deadly Boli Weevil lint, we ship it to customers all over the world. Sledded cotton is easily marketed, and to me this means that we of the cotton trade are watching the occurrence of a transition of tremendous importance. Like wheat, cotton is becoming a crop best suited for large-scale production. Agriculturally its course is westward. Grain crops ripen on the stalk uniformly, so that the wheat grow- ers of the Northwest August 4,1928 In Collaboration With Boyden Sparkes Georgia, where I have spent my life, illustrates this clearly. Until only a few years ago I was accustomed to boast that my native state was the second-largest cotton- producing area in the South. Now it is fifth, and if it became sixth or seventh Georgians would not care, because they know the land that once was planted with cotton is being worked in other ways. Instead of merely producing a cash crop of cotton or corn, our farmers are growing apples, peaches, melons, tobacco and pecans. Industrial plants have been developed, too, so that fingers once en- gaged in picking cotton are now occupied in supervising the processes of spinning it. General diversification of farming has taken the place of dependence on only one crop. Each year sees in the Southern States of the Atlantic seaboard a lessened acreage planted with cotton; each year sees an increase of cotton planting in the Southern 4 UNDER . Work can harvest their crop simply by driving their com- bines across their land until only stubble remains. Cotton, however, ripens most often in the manner of fruit, and the farmer must pick the bolls when they burst, not before and not long afterward. Sometimes the pickers go through a field again and again before they pluck the final cot- z = a ma ton from the top bolls. The crop re- quires an average of three pickings. Those Texas plants harvested by sleds were a smaller growth than we are accustomed to see in our fields in Georgia and the other South Atlantic States, and the bolls ripen uniformly. One picking was enough, and so the sleds were produced. It is not a matter about which anyone associated with the cotton trade wishes to be dogmatic, but I believe as time goes on there will be less and less hand-picked cotton. — One man with a sled can harvest from twelve to fifteen bales a day at PHOTO. FROM EWING GALLOWAY, WN. ¥. ( a cost of about two dollars a bale, but the cheapest kind of hand-picked cotton, stripped from the stalks by hands shielded by heavy gloves, costs about seventeen dollars a bale. The cost of the old-fashioned clean cotton, in which the pickers take only the fully ripened cotton and no leaves or hulls, is much higher, and since the gins and the mills are now equipped with machinery that can do for cotton what the threshing ma- chines and the cleaning machines of the mills have long done for wheat, the answer seems obvious. We are going to have an increasing amount of machine-picked cotton and a steadily decreasing amount of hand- picked fibers. If the machines cannot be adjusted to harvest all the kinds of cotton now grown, then an economic pres- sure will force the individual farmer to grow only that kind of cotton which can be machine picked, or else to give 4 UNDERY . A Cotton Warehouse at New Orleans With a 10,000-Bale Capacity up cotton growing. Grading Cotton at Graniteville, South Carolina, to Ascertain the Length of Staple, the Color and the Amount of Trash Mixed With the Fiber States west of the Mississippi. As a sharp contrast with Georgia, there is Texas. Black, fertile soil there, where half-wild cattle grazed twenty years ago, has been turned now into limitless cotton fields. The modern tractor plows and cotton-harvesting machines can be operated eco- nomically on the big, level plantations of Texas as they cannot be on the undulating little farms of older states, where successive generations have seen the land divided into smaller and smaller units, and where the terrain is hilly and wooded. Price Peaks in the Cotton Market N MY life I have seen one other change comparable with this one in its effects on the magnificent annual enter- prise which we call the cotton crop. That one was the coming of the boll weevil. A chart of the cotton-market-price fluctuations during the last quarter of a century would show four sharp peaks. Cotton men speak of one of those peaks as the Sully year, of another as the Scales year, and the other two have not been distinguished in that fashion, because no speculators were outstandingly successful in reading the changes or in dominating the market. One of those latter peaks came in 1920, when cotton touched forty-four cents, and the next was in 1923, when it was reaching for thirty-eight cents. Dan Sully’s year was 1903. He had been in the spot- cotton business in Providence, Rhode Island, associated with a firm selling cotton to the mills of that region. Then he made about $100,000 trading in stocks. That sum must have seemed a fortune to him then, but while he was in possession of it news of weather in the cotton-growing regions suggested that there might be a crop shortage. Moreover, there were only about 20,000 bales of actual cotton stored in New York. Sully started buying moder- ately, but stronger indications of a crop shortage caused '

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pig e ot THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i! him to buy more and more, until he was able to take out a profit of about $3,000,000. By that time the spot-cotton business was much too slow for him. He opened offices in New York, Chicago and New Orleans, and was doing a large business for those days in cotton futures for Southern accounts. He was credited with having put cotton up. To many in the South who had profited by the high prices he was a hero. In September, 1903, he went into the market again, but did not fare so well. He traded profitably in January, 1904, and thereafter determined to start another buying campaign. May contracts that were selling at 12.65 in February had risen to 16.65 by the tenth of March. It seemed as if Sully’s millions might be trebled. The market cracked badly in the morning of March 18, 1904, and the notice of his failure was flashed over the country about two o’clock that afternoon. The cotton he held had lost nearly a quarter of its value in those few hours. I remember that deal and others like it chiefly because of the strain we were under through the need of supplying money to margin our short hedges, which we carried as price insurance against our stock of cotton in warehouses. In one of those bull campaigns we kept responding to calls for margins and yet more margins until we had all the capital stock of our concern pledged in margins. I re- member, too, with what relief we saw the break come. Within a week the market had dropped so far that our brokers had restored to us all the money we had posted. Naturally the merchant does not enjoy himself when the market skyrockets and then swoops, and I think he is glad, swarming with weevils, so that today there remain only a few uninfected counties in the cotton-growing states. The adult boll weevil is about one-quarter of an inch long, with a breadth of about one-third its length. The fecundity of this tiny creature is a terrifying thing for an agriculturist to behold. Throughout the day the females spend their time piercing squares in the green cotton bolls, and deposit- ing their eggs. An old man who died recently in New York was one of the first to read an economic meaning into the progress of those insects that with each year crossed more county borders and state lines. The twelve months’ period that spinners all over the earth and cotton growers everywhere in the Southern States still call the Scales year was in 1908-1909. Year after year Eugene G. Scales had been watching the march of the boll weevil, but that year its ravenous appetite and its frightful increase entitled it to speculative consideration. A few months before his death the newspapers reported that Scales was broke again, that he had filed a petition in bankruptcy; but none who had watched him make and lose millions and then make them again believes he would have remained poor if only he had been permitted to sit long enough in his chair before a quotation board of the mid-town cotton-brokerage office in New York where he spent his last days. Scales was born in Dallas and grew up at Paris, Texas, within sound of the voices of field hands singing in the cotton patches. The thumping cough of the gin compress making bales was the obbligato of that music. The people around him were sorry or glad, ac- cordingly as the : cotton crop was bad orgood. Hebe- came the proprie- tor of a small coun- try store in Red River County and the currency with which he bought and sold was the loosely compressed bales produced in near-by fields. Af- ter that he had a store in Bowie County. Whether he sold calico dresses, brogans, plows or mule har- ness, his accounts invariably were settled in cotton. This is just as true today of store transactions in the cotton country as when that old spec- ulator was a youth. Finally Scales went into the cotton-oil business and ther branched out as a cotton broker. He established a string of brokerage offices in Temple, Brownwood, Waco, Corsi cana and Taylor, all in Texas, and became a member of the cotton exchanges in New York and New Orieans. Ir 1884 he was rated a millionaire. In 1885 he was broke Twice before the close of the century he was very rich, and twice he was very poor. Men said he pressed his luck too hard, but seemingly there were only three important words in his vocabulary. One was “cotton.’’ The other two were “supply”’ and “‘demand.”’ He studied the factors of those conditions as a general might study the plan of a battle. The number of millions of spindles in the cotton mills all over the world were the battalions of demand; the growing crop, the bales in warehouses at the end of each season, the carry-over, seed in the ground, weather conditions and in- sects, all were figured in his estimates of supply People said he was broke when he went to New York, about 1907. He had, it is said, twenty-eight cents and a diamond ring, which he pawned for $200. But there was one other thing included in the sum of his assets, and that was a vivid mental picture of the cotton crop as he had seen it in long, dusty, buckboard drives through the endless fields of what the ancients knew as tree wool. From Poverty to'Riches ROM a room in ashabby inexpensive little hotel, Scales set out for a brokerage office near the cotton exchange, then still housed in its old Pearl Street building, with the money raised on his ring. He began to buy cotton, pyra- miding his profits as the market advanced. What he actually bought, of course, was not cotton but the con- tracts of other men who agreed to deliver cotton to him at some specified month in the future. With the close of that season Scales once more was a rich man. In the spring of 1908 Scales went South. There had been a winter without rain and a spring drought, indicating clearly to Scales that there was going to be a short crop He knew that there were spindles enough in the world to devour several million more bales than were likely to b« produced; but as he drove through many Texas counties, stopping from time to time to make a first-hand inspection of a row of cotton plants, he became aware of a new con- sumer—a beetle not so large as a house fly. Scales, like other men interested in cotton, had been watching the mathematical progression of the boll weevil for many years prior to 1908. When he made his trip through the drought-stricken fields of Texas he knew that in large areas where there had been a satisfactory amount of rain the insects were destroying potential bales that would be kept from coming on the market later in the year to the embarrassment of any bull speculators (Continued on Page 1i8 PYRIGHT BY PUBLISHERS’ PHOTO. SERVICE A Cotton Gin in Georgia as a rule, to see the nervy speculators, playing with vast sums, swept from the ring. So much for Sully. During the months of his extreme prosperity he had purchased a $10,000 annuity for his wife, and they retired to a home at Watch Hill, Rhode Island, and what Sully was doing ceased to be a matter of moment tc the million or more Southern growers of cotton. The Boll Weevil Invasion BOUT 1892 that insect invasion to which I have re- ferred began. The boll weevil crossed the Rio Grande near Brownsville, Texas. Far less important happenings along that border have been more carefully noted by his- torians. There are plenty of living men who can show the precise spot where Villa crossed when he raided Columbus, New Mexico, and many can name the date, but there is none to say at what moment the first invading weevil, laden with her eggs, flew into a Texas cotton patch. Certainly it is a date that will always be significant in our history. Two years later half a dozen Texas counties reported the presence of boll weevils in cotton patches. Govern- ment entomologists who made an examination were ap- palled by their discovery of the enormous capacity of the insects to do damage. Ten years after the first appearance scientists estimated that the extent of its annual spread was 5640 square miles. From 1901 to 1911 the annual in- crease of infested territory averaged 26,880 square miles. After 1916, each year saw 71,800 additional square miles A Family of Louisiana Cotton Pickers

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HEN Sergeant George Kaelred of Battery B broke his toe by catching it in a knothole of the shower bath’s floor he swore so that some arma- dillos sitting in a tree beside the baths shuddered and turned their backs, but he did not know that he had broken the toe. This happened on a Tuesday. On Wednesday he fainted with dignity from his horse during drill and the surgeon repaired him. On Saturday afternoon he limped down the regimental! street, much jeered at by friends, and settled on the steps of the supply office. 12 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST paper and go mad among them, finding that the number of shoes in one size, say, for A Battery has got added wrongly to the slip from C Battery, and that B Battery has not sent in for shirts. Then the batteries all send in additions and oversights and the whole job has to be done once more. And then the supply officer carelessly takes the list of hats for F Battery to clean his pipe and there is more fun. But who ever heard of a regimental supply sergeant being given a medal? I looked at big Kaelred lolling on the hot TILLUSTRATED August 4,1928 By THOMAS BEER BYr ALBIN HENNING “Eighteen on your service record, Robbie.” Robinson paid no attention to that. ‘“‘They had the colonel—he was a captain then—detailed to the presidio to be disagreeable about somethin’ they was reorganizin’. We was three months there. He knows somethin’ about near everything. Remember him talkin’ What d’you call this about diggin’ up old towns an’ all? Ark’logy? Yeh. He was talkin’ that to a civilian that was round a lot. He’sa wise man. That’s what his monocle’s for.” ‘*Stage effect?’ I asked. “I feel for you,” he told me, jerking a brown thumb at my carpet slipper. ‘Never had anything wrong with a hoof be- fore. Say, ain’t it inconvenient?” “Have a lady stab you in the neck acci- dental, fella,’’ Regi- mental Supply Sergeant Robinson advised, “if you want a wad of inconven- iences.”’ He passed a finger dewn the white scar on a side of his neck and went on typing. Sweat shook from his bare arms. I believe that the thermometer was too tired that day for its job. It merely said ninety-two in the shade. Most of the regiment had piled into motors and was gone from the hills of Leon Springs into San Antonio, where there would be soda bars and electric fans and female conversation. These illusions would help them through an- other broiling August day. At night the Texan winds would stir, or another thun- derstorm might crash in the dusty forests of the great military res- ervation. Meanwhile we broiled, and heat made me remember momently that the surgeon had lanced a ‘“‘Sure. See him scold a teniente some- time. Takes it outa his face and whirls it around. Hypnotism, kinda. He’s near- sighted in that eye too.” Our colonel was al- most an enthusiasm with Robinson, who largely took men and women and armies for just about what they are. But he admired the gaunt officer. And I was beginning to ad- mire anybody willful enough to grab this amorphous body of recruits, young ser- geants a pair of years in the service and two score veterans, and make the thing a regi- ment in twenty days of tigerish supervision. The colonel’s monocle first gleamed among us on the twentieth of July. It was now the end of the second week in August, and this was a regiment. Hor- rid spasms of rumor came daily downhill from headquarters. The god with white mustaches had noticed something wrong in F Battery’s kitchen or on the starboard side of the raised roofless shower baths, and battery commanders had been sent for, and the tiger had lashed his tail tremulous riding crop—on one of his boots as he snarled new collection of odd blisters on the sole of my infected foot that morning. I noted on a chart that F Battery needed forty new pairs of shoes, size 9 BB, or some such mysterious rating, and then stooped to shift the bandages around my ankle. “How was it you got your neck cut, Robbie?” “Interferin’ with a lady and her husband which was quarrelin’, K,” said the slim supply sergeant, ‘“‘on the banks of the Pasig, far away. Useless,”’ he informed me, ‘you've got this thing about as mixed up as it could be got. Reach me some more paper an’ pray to be made a better boy.” We were toiling through the endlessness of the regi- mental requisition for new clothes and equipment. I never saw the last of this job. An order carried me northward into the state of Arkansas on August 22, 1917, and I don’t know what became of the hat cords, shoe laces, trousers, all olive drab, underclothes, belts, socks and shirts we were listing for this college of arms. The recruits were being taught te driil and I was learning, with Robinson’s help, what an army’s bookkeeping was like. Nobody has ever been decorated for writing a regiment’s requisition on the Quartermaster Corps for its simple needs. First the bat- teries send in lists to the supply officer, and then the supply sergeant and his clerk copy out the stuff on various slips of The Storm Was Beginning When They Came on the Boy Leading This Frantic Woman Along the Edge of the Drilt Ground, Half a Mile Away, and Towing a Lamed Horse doorstep, with his blue eyes following the movement of an armadillo along the branch of the oak above him. He had nothing but a broken toe. We had a requisition. *‘How’s your kid brother getting on, sergeant?” “Swell! He’s gettin’ better. Swore at a horse this mornin’. Jimmy’ll be military as hell by and by. He gave a short lecture on opera this noon. But there’s enough educated kids in the outfit so that nobody sent for the doctor. He'll do.” **Him an’ the colonel would be friends,” said Robinson, typing steadily. “How so, Robbie?” “The Old Man’s a dog for opera music. Had the band playin’ that Ride of the Valkyries business out in the Islands every concert. Hey, they say his kid’s here.” “That heifer that was down on the border last fall to see him?” “Yeh. He’s proud to death of her. I’d like to see the baby,” Robinson drawled, leaning back from his machine. “I was his striker when she was a pup—1906. She must be fourteen. Wheeled her all around the presidio. Her nurse was pretty good-lookin’. . . . Gee—1906! I wasn’t six- teen yet.” at a captain or lieu- tenant. He was said to walk out at night in moccasins, and Private Angelo Giolitti of C Battery had seen him perched on a tree, talking to an armadillo by moonlight in an unknown tongue. “The Old Man can see a long way,” said Kaelred drowsily, pitching a dead cigarette up at the oak. ‘Here comes Jim. Bawl him out some, Robbie.” Private James Kaelred approached down the dust of the sloping street between the brown cantonments. He was reading a newspaper as he came, and the top of his fading hat hid his face, but he was obviously Private James Kael- red of C Battery. Nothing else walked with that air of efficient perfection. His mother—she must have been out- rageously beautiful—once took this soldier up to Columbus to be photographed when he was a lovely child of six. On the train she fell into talk with a benevolent person named Waldo Grant, who believed in eugenics and hygienics and mnemonics and physical statistics and culture. And the result of this meeting was that a curly-headed sturdy whelp began to figure in advertisements of the Waldo Grant Physical Culture School at Chicago and the Waldo Grant Memory Course—fifty dollars for fifty lessons by mail. Jimmy Kaelred developed as the Perfect Child and then as the Perfect Boy under his stepfather’s systems. His

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— —_— eee THE, SATURDAY EVENING POST i3 education was considered complete when he was fourteen and he was sent out to commit lectures at eugenic con- gresses. But his mother and her earnest husband were killed in a railway wreck in November of 1916. I am afraid that Jimmy suffered a good deal in the summer of 1917 while his brother and Regimental Supply Sergeant Clifford Robinson were making him over, but a lot of honest Spartan discipline had been worked into the mass of his training and he put up with what the two random young soldiers did to him. “Well, perfection,” said Robinson, “how’s things?” “Why, all right, sergeant.” “You ain’t complained to the colonel about the cookin’ or the condition of the regiment’s morals lately? Or tried to have smokin’ prohibited to increase our efficiency? . . . *At’s a good boy! Try to be human, perfection, and look hot.” *“‘T really don’t feel the heat much, sergeant,”’ said Pri- vate Jimmy, taking his hat off his golden curls, ‘‘ because I don’t use starchy foods and m ‘i *“That’ll be all, kid,”” Kaelred ordered, moving his lean hips on the sill to make rpom for his charge. “Sit down and shut up. Robbie’s workin’.” Private Jimmy sat down and became human. When he had not seen his brother for an hour or so, he always beamed at him. You began liking him after one second of this expression. Nothing is so winning as an idol worshiper who does his work unashamedly in public, without caring about an audience. Big George Kaelred grinned at the kid—he was im- mensely fond of Jim—and said, ‘‘Your hair’s gettin’ bleached. Looks like you’d been puttin’ this peroxide on it. Get it cut some Monday, babe. What’s in the paper?” “‘Nothing much, Georgie,” said Private Jimmy. ‘Oh, old Madame Lokke died, in Stockholm.” “Who was she, Jim?” **Well, she was very famous in Wagnerian rdéles,”’ said the educated creature. ‘‘I heard her sing Briinnhilde in Die Walkiire in New York in 1909. She was pretty fat. Lots of those opera people eat too much, trying to keep their vitality at par. But she did sing well.” ““You must have been eight years old in 1909,”” Kaelred yawned. ‘Lot you knew about it, kid.” Robinson’s chair creaked as his light body turned. “About ’at Valkyrie thing, perfection. I saw it in San Francisco once. I was runnin’ with a German dame and , she dragged me there. It ain’t bad, neither. Who's the old fella with a patch on his eye that’s boss of those gods and so on—-him that puts the girl to sleep on the rocks at the end of it?’’ “Wotan, sergeant. The Walkiire were hisdaughters. They went around picking up dead heroes after battles and took them to Valhalla. It was a kind of paradise. TheScandinavian conception of paradise,”’ the appalling boy went on, “‘was not unlike the Mo- hammedan. The souls of the virtuous were tg “Yeh, they had ’em a lot of females and red licker,” said Robinson meekly. **T’ve read some books, babe. It might get kinda tiresome. I’d want some range problems to work out, or a book of trigonometry examples. The guys which invent heavens always make ’em sorta monotonous. Gostand on your head some, perfection. It rests me to see people work.” Private Jimmy did not mind at all. He was proud of his gymnastic accomplishments, anyway. Hestood on his head at once, with his ankles crossed to make things harder. His beautiful face slowly reddened around his lake-blue eyes, but he showed no other sign of not liking this position. He stood on his bright head until my ears began to ache. Then he spun over and came upright, rather flushed through his perfect tan, and looked to Robinson for approval. “That's kinda monotonous, too,” said the supply ser- geant. ‘‘Couldn’t you do it some other way, bud?” I glanced off at four horses whose hoofs made no noise on the dusty ascent and then watched Private Jimmy. He stood on his head, this time, with his legs a trifle bent and it seemed to be another monotonous test of mere bal- ance until we saw that he was slowly turning. His flat- tened hands worked on the ground and his face inched out of sight. The thing is not easily done. Robinson nodded to me sideways before the boy’s chin came back into sight, and Kaelred smiled at his brother. Melissa Then Jimmy fell flat backward and a gray pony snorted above him and a femal shrilly, “Oh I spc iled it! “Huh?” ‘**Please do it again,” the girl cried. “I car Do it again, private! stand on my head, but I can’t do that! Star on your head some more and twiddle around Go on! Come and watch him, dad,” she com manded over ashoulder. ‘He's simply sweet! Sergeant Kaelred rose on the step. Private Jimmy staggered to his feet and was correctly stiff. The colone! flapped a glove on the neck of his little black mount and came riding. His boots shone viciously and his eyeglass was a baleful star. Two orderlies rode behind him on taller horses and were blots vague commonplaces against the browr wall of F Battery’s cantonment. Wotan had appeared, you understand, on a mov ing black rock with a glass patch on his eye and a riding crop for a spear ‘Possibly the young man may not want to stand on his head any more, Melissa.” “Oh, he will unless you get awf'ly military and scare the pants off him, dad!” “The pants off of him, Melissa,”’ the colonel purred, ‘“‘might be better. Al right. Son, my daughter wants to see you stand on your head again—if you don’t mind obliging her. She's interested in gymnastics.” I winced. But Private Jimmy was securely master o his muscles. I never heard silence reign so violently as it did when he stood on his head for the third time. Mis Melissa dropped from her pony and chewed the elastic of a three-cornered hat with enthusiasm. Three youths looked through screens out of F Battery’s dormitory at her, sum- moned from somewhere by the sound of a girl speaking She was only fourteen and the colonel’s daughter, but she was a girl. She stood with her tawny boots wide apart and gazed at Private Jimmy, twiddling himself around with his curls in the dust of Texas and his face bright red “‘Isn’t that sweet, dad? I'd give my left lung,” she declared, “‘to be able to do that.”’ “I’m not sure that the bargain would be worth it, Melissa. I think it’s in order for you to thank Private Kaelred and come along away now.” Melissa took that hint for what it was worth rapturously upon Private Jimmy and told him: ‘ She looked ‘The Continued on Page 85 Hunt Yelled ‘‘There Y’are!"’' His Voice Came Through Air in a Blast of Heat

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14 THE McWhinney Groaned. By Clarence Budington Kelland Terhune play golf, you have been present at a spectacle. He is a hale elder of decided personality who smokes his cigars black and takes his language without milk and sugar. He is rather protuberant fore and aft and his golf waggle is worth traveling miles to see. It is a ritual, a sort of dance, a combination of stake driving with a maul and Oriental undulations. The thing commences as he takes his station before the ball, scowls at it with malice, bends his back and smites the ground a terrific whack to make sure there is no worm cast or other obstruction behind the sphere. After this he goes back on his heels, lifting his toes quite from the turf and very trickily turning them in and out twice. He then carefully replaces his feet on the ground and devotes his attention to the after parts, shaking his person as does a dog that has just climbed out of a puddle. After this he clears his throat and slices the ball out of bounds. As McWhinney and Weevil and Wills came in from their afternoon round, Old Man Terhune was sitting on a bench with a towel about the middle of him and an expression on his face. His was a face constructed by Nature to give a home to expressions, but the present one was his master- piece. It combined shame, venom, alarm, rage, baffled bewilderment and chagrin. The trio regarded it apprecia- tively. “Well,” asked Weevil, “when is it to be?” “What to be?” snapped Old Man Terhune. “The suicide or the murder—we can’t make out which.” “Young man,” said Old Man Terhune impressively, “there ain’t much choice.” “Off your game?” asked McWhinney. ““Drat my game!”’ said Old Man Terhune, and the three stood aghast. He had said the words they were repeating to themselves; he actually had uttered them. “ Drat my I: YOU have ever seen Old Man TLLUS TRATED Br ee mca Rap sae HARLEY ENNIS game” was the expression he made use of. He, Old Man Terhune, who had devoted his life and his fortune to the accumulation of what he called a game, was now in a state of mind where he could drat it. “This,” said Wills, “is serious.” “You're dog-gone hootin’-tootin’ right it’s serious,”’ said Mr. Terhune. “Such as?” queries Weevil. “A he piano player,” said Mr. Terhune. “A feller that whangs a music box and knows do-re-me-fa by their first names. He does it for a livin’.” “Why not?” asked Wills. “‘Somebody’s got to play pianos or they’d quit manufacturing them and lots of folks would be out of work.” “He kin set right down with a pencil,” said Old Man Terhune, “and write out music on the back of an envelope, with sharps and flats in it.” “Ah,” said Weevil, ‘‘a composer.” “But why the agony?” asked McWhinney. ‘Or did you just discover there were such people? There always have been. You got to have piano players just like you got to have folks with clubfeet or the hives. There’s a reason for ’em.” “What is it?” asked Wills. “To give joy to the rest of us,” said McWhinney. “Every time we hear a piano goin’ off, we sit back and think how lucky we are we can’t play one.” “Sure,” said Weevil; ‘‘but where does music impinge upon Terhune’s aura, so to speak?” “‘He’s impingin’ on Lucy,” said the Old Man, “‘and he’s impingin’ hard. They’re impingin’ back and forth, and right now they’re doin’ it with teacups in the clubhouse.” SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 ‘*Boys,’’ He Said, ‘‘the Stuff’s Off. Let's Go Home and Mourn" “‘T see a great light,”’ said Weevil. “Mr. Terhune abhors the thought that his daughter may be married in the key of B-flat.” “You said it,” Terhune snapped. “Is he a good piano player?” asked Wills. “Ts there a good case of smallpox?”’ countered Old Man Terhune. “The point,” said McWhinney, “is well taken. Does he wear his hair long?” “No.” “* Does he affect lace collars?” “e No.” “Or lavender shirts with turndown collars?” “ee No.” “Tsee. . . . His only vice is music.” “T heard him playin’ something by a feller he called Brahms,” said Terhune, ‘‘and if the’ was a tune to it I'll eat an organ. It went pilly-wee-dee-wee and then it went r-rumph—r-rumph—whang, and that’s all the’ was to it for exactly eleven minutes by the watch. Lucy was like to of kissed him when he quit.” *‘Let’s go look at him,” said Weevil. ““What’s his name?” asked Wills. ‘‘ Cecil?” “His name’s Tom,” said the Old Man, ‘‘and more’s the pity—Tom Gallagher.” “Did I hear you right?” asked McWhinney. “Pat Gallagher’s son,” said Terhune mournfully. ‘“ He’s been off learning about sixteenth notes and arpeggios in Paris or Munich or Windsor, Ontario, or some of them for- eign places.” “*Let’s look,” repeated Weevil. So the three of them trooped into the clubhouse, where they found Lucy Terhune taking tea with lemon in it at a table on the veranda with a young man who looked as if his name was Gallagher. Upward of six feet of him looked that way, and his hair was red and close-cropped. Nor STIVERS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST was he beautiful to the most doting eye. He was a durable- looking young man, with jaw muscles and a chest. ““Can’t be him,” said McWhinney. “He might lift pianos, but he couldn’t play on one.”’ “If he slapped those hands down on the keys,”’ said Wills, “‘he’d bust the ivory.” “Some hands! Say, they’re bigger’n Walter Hagen’s. And take a look at those wrists! Big as piano legs.” “Imagine it! With hands and wrists like that, he wastes time playin’ grace notes instead of walloping a golf ball.” “It can’t be him,’’” McWhinney said again. ‘Tis, though. Listen to the patter. They’re talkin’ about a feller named Debussy, and nuances and what not. Ever see a nuance, Wills?” “I played out of one on the sixth hole,” said Wills. “‘Let’s advance tactfully and inquire diplomatically into this and that.” He led the way out onto the porch, started with surprise to find it occupied, and exclaimed ‘‘Why, hello, Lucy! Having tea?” Lucy examined her cup carefully and then nodded. “Yes,” she said brightly, ‘I think it’s tea. It’s the right color. . . . Did papa send you in?” “Hr-r-rumph!”’ said Mr. Wills. “Go ahead and be tactful,”’ whispered McWhinney. ““Mr. Gallagher,”’ said Lucy, “‘these are Messrs. Wills, McWhinney and Weevil. They have, as the saying goes, come in to give you the once-over. Papa instigated them, because papa is both worried and annoyed, but more annoyed than worried. Papa loves to talk over his family affairs in the locker room.” “Be both tactful and diplomatic, Wills,’ said Weevil. “Won't you sit down, gentlemen?”’ invited Mr. Gal- lagher. “They’re a sort of unofficial membership committee,” said Lucy. ‘‘ Membership committees are privileged to ask impertinent ques- tions.’’ She “‘T also use them for eating,” Tom said gravely. ‘You can use wrists and hands for a great many purposes—such as putting on wall paper and scratching mosquito bites.” He became didactic. ‘‘The use of them for piano playing is not exclusive. It does not estop me, for instance, fron patting people on the back, or, in case of need, from patting them on the point of the chin.” “Listen,” said Lucy, “‘how long have you known me?” “‘How long are you?” asked Weevil. “‘We gave you a silver mug when you arrived.” “Do you like me?” “Tf,” said Wills, ‘‘your mashie play was as good as your drive, we would worship you.” “Do you want to see me leading a long, happy, peaceful and useful life?” “We do.” “Then,” said Lucy, “quit voting papa’s ticket straight. Come over to the insurgents. We're promising appoint- ments. Throw your influence and your votes to us and we'll appoint you ushers emeritus at the wedding.” ““What,”’ asked McWhinney, “‘does an usher emeritus do?” “He sends an extra-expensive present,” said Lucy. “Do you mean,” demanded Weevil, ‘that you're going to marry this—er ‘ 84 piano tickler,” supplied Mr. Gallagher. ‘“We'’ve been engaged since I was fourteen,”’ said Lucy. “Your pa,”’ said Weevil, “‘ will be hard to convince.” “Then,” said Lucy, “we just won't play stymies. We'll lift him.” “But,” said Gallagher, ‘‘we prefer harmony.” “‘Let’s get off the subject of music,’”’ Wills said, “‘and take up the question of cash. We are fond of Lucy, and we like to see her eat frequently, if plainly. Also we would regret to see her dress in calico and spend her days wringing a mop instead of fingering a putter. How about it, young man?” wm “The three of you could chip in and support us,” said Lucy. “T think,” said McWhinney judicially, “he’s a good boy. He’s just got off on the wrong foot. If you want him, you ought to have him, even if it’s expensive. But I don’t sec how we're goin’ to work it. Your pa’s dreadful set.” “I vote with Mac,” said Wills, “ providing “Providing what?” “Providing he'll promise to take up gelf and practice as many hours a day as he does on the piano.”’ **Me too,” said Weevil. “Honey,” said Lucy, “‘we need to swing their precinct to carry the election. How about it?” “Gentlemen,” said Gallagher gallantly, “I'd take up hog calling in a serious way if it would win your votes.” “Done!” said McWhinney. “‘Now we'll go and con- sider ways and means.” “And I'll arrange with the pro for your lessons,” said Wills. Tom Gallagher grinned in a fashion peculiar to himself. au . E LOOKS pretty hopeless to me,” said MeWhinney a week later. “If he ain’t a born dub, then I hope I never sink a twelve-inch putt.” **He’ll never do the course under a hundred and twenty,” said Weevil. “Maybe he could,” said Wills, “if the rules let him use a piano instead of a driver. I bet he could swing a mean grand piano. He's big enough, confound him.” “What are we going to do?"" McWhinney demanded. “Lucy wants him and there’s no harm in him. But Old Man Terhune’ll throw a conniption and scatter débris all over the place. The boy never can support a wife janglin’ piano keys.” “‘And just a decent game would put him ever: if he could average in the eighties it would be O. K.,” said Wills. “The grief of Terhune’s life is paused. ‘‘ Yes,’’ she said, as if in answer to a query, ‘*Mr. Gallagher plays the piano.” “Tunes,” asked MecWhinney, “or music?” ‘*Both,’’ said Gallagher. “Would you like to hear me?” ‘*Er—some other time—some other time,” Mc- Whinney said hastily. ‘*They’re per- fectly nice peo- ple,’’ said Lucy, ‘‘but they're nosey. Doyoucare for nosey people?” “‘T dote on’em,” said Gallagher. ‘*How,”’ asked McWhinney with rare tact, ‘did you come to play on the piano?” ““My nurse let me fall when I was a baby,” said Gal- lagher soberly. “‘But with those wrists and hands!”’ expostu- lated Weevil. ““One uses them playing the piano,” said Gal- lagher. ‘‘ You play with your hands, and your wrists hitch your hands to the rest of you. I mean, a fellow’s hands would be hard to manage if the wrists weren’t there.” ‘“‘But they’re golf wrists,” said McWhinney. *‘Just Another Seven Days of Listenin’ to Nocturnes and Movements and E Minors and Modulations and I'll be Fit to be Tied’"’ that Lucy wasn’t a boy who would come through and win the Open,” said Weevil. ** Here he comes Pipe down,” said Mac, as Old Man Terhune came out of the shower room wearing an expres- sion of more than ordinary venom. “He was in the next shower to me,”’ said the Old Man savagely. “I wisht I could have drowned him.” “Who?” asked Wills ‘*Mortimer Fleming,’’ said Terhune. “That bird,” he said, and showed his teeth as he said it, “isa a non-replaceable divot. He’sa dead loss and a detri- ment. When they kept him, they drowned the wrong kitten. He's as full of dirty tricks as the woods are of poison ivy.” ‘“*Gosh!’"’ ad- mired Weevil “Go on! Encore! Bis! Bis!" “He done me a measly trick in business, and it was like to have cost me a sweet piece of change if I hadn’t caught him at it. And he just shot a seventy- seven, dog-gone ~- a » — -_ a ao him! He told me Continued on Page 92)

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HE wedding of a well-known so- ciety girl whose name here shall be Elise Cortland—to Mr. Hur- burt Van Brunt, was set for June the twenty-first, and on the eighteenth Elise decided that she did not, after all, want the decorations to be orange blossoms and calla lilies. They had flowered profusely all through that month of weddings and their novelty had wilted. Elise determined on a floral scheme that should express the perfection of rarity, purity and expensiveness. So for bridal shower and bridesmaids’ bou- quets, for church altar and re- ception supper table, Elise in- sisted upon nothing less than white orchids. There were protests from Elise’s father, who had already made expensive and de- tailed arrangements with a Fifth Avenue florist. Her mothey, too, with a thousand arrangements to plan—from velvet cords for the church pews, down to lobsters at the collation—was more than very much an- noyed at the new whim. But Elise, at no time very easily controlled, and deter- mined upon having set to her taste the pageant in which she was queen, would hear of nothing else. White orchids she would have, and white orchids she got—or at least the promise of them by Amadeus C. Cortland, who rang up his florist and in a patient tone began to change his order. The fiorist, who catered to the most fashionable trade in New York, never flickered an eye as he said “Yes, sir. Certainly, sir,’ though he did not have a white orchid in his shop and, knowing the local market, had reason to think that there was none in New York at that moment. In half an hour he had called up every dealer who carried white Cattleyas; for when people say orchid they generally mean the big purple or white ones most commonly seen. No luck. He telegraphed to five growers in New Jersey, three on Long Island, four in New England, and scared up absolutely nothing. For albino Cattleyas are rare, and in great part they are the product of an elaborate system of breeding for whiteness. They tend to follow Mendel’s Law, which in plain English means that the progeny of albinos revert to type and show a fatal touch of color. That is why white Cattleyas are usually scarce on the market. Se our florist pulled wires in Philadelphia. Still no hope. Precious hours were slipping away, and with them an order running into four figures, a customer whose big bills were promptly paid and, what was more, a reputation as the most infallible florist on Manhattan. As a last chance he called up by long distance a business friend in Chicago and offered to buy white Cattleyas at any price, to be sent by air mail. He learned that Chicago at that particular moment could supply him with just one paltry dozen. Satisfying the Cash Customers TIVHEN the florist tightened his belt, summoned . his henchmen and set to work. And when the organ breathed the Lohengrin march, Elise and her attendants walked slowly up the aisle bearing orchids white as her Point de Venise veil, toward an altar embowered in the same fragile, snowy blooms. But had the curious inquired they would have learned that the New York market had been stripped the day before of the commonly purple Cattleyas. The florist’s men had been up all that night bleaching them pure white by subjecting them to sulphur fumes. Did the florist do anything underhanded? He played a trick, yes; but more precisely, he turned the trick, and he deserved the staggering sum that he charged for filling the order. For of all flowers in the world, the orchid is commercially the most expensive to raise, the most difficult to force for particular occasions, the most susceptible to booms and slumps. Within a century the orchid has risen from obscurity to the peak of fashion’s favor. It may have made its rise on sheer merit, but it is probably not its intrinsic charm that ranks the orchid at the head of floral aristocracy. Through- out history the rare has become for human nature the precious. Camphor in the Middle Ages was worth its weight in gold; a pound of ginger would buy a sheep; SATURDAY EVENING POST By Donald Culross Peattie pepper cost its weight insilver; two pounds of mace were worth acow. These things, now the cheap commonplaces of the pantry, were then brought from the ends of the earth by perilous voyages in cockle- shell vessels and were enhanced to fabulous value by the impal- pable virtues of rarity and novelty. So with orchids. Says the head of one of the largest wholesale flower establishments in the coun- try: “The rank of orchids in the cut-flower world is the same as that of dia- monds in the jewelry business.” Thus the orchid has become the badge of caste. Your rough diamond from God’s coun- try, with oleaginous millions in his pocket, may still naively say it with two dozen long- stemmed American Beauties, but the man of the world picks his floral tribute as carefully as he picks his girl. A young man whose name and money and savoir-faire lead the smartest set in his college came into the shop of the canny Fifth Avenue florist one day during the past football season to order flowers for the girl he was taking to the big game. “Orchids, of course,” he told the dealer. “‘ But not those big purple ones—they’re what everybody wears. And they’re too florid for Genevieve.” “The Cattleyas, you mean,” smiled the florist. ‘‘ Here’s something more delicate.”’ And he set on the table a vase A Bred:to-Order Lady's:Slipper, a Cross of Two Cel: ebrated Strains, Van Dyck and Monsieur de Curte PROTOS. BY MA. DAVIS LUMSDEN counrsev OF THE U. S. DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE A Spray of Cavendish Oncidiums, Lovely as Butter: flies, Grown at Boundbrook, New Jersey holding one spray of pink Dendrobiums, like a celestially dainty branch of bleeding heart. The epicure eyed them critically and shook his head. “No; I’m not taking a little blonde.” “If you could suggest the young lady’s type ——’ August 4,1928 It developed that Genevieve was a stunning brunette and, further, that she would probably wear her leopard-skin fur coat to the game. The florist, who has won his place on the Avenue by an understanding of just such subtleties, set before the connoisseur a Gongora orchid, tropically fantastic in yellow spotted with brown, even as a leopard’s skin, and a spray of Odontoglossums like a flight of gold and brown butterflies. The gilded youth ordered the Gongora to adorn Genevieve’s furred shoulder at the game, and the Odontoglossums to be sent in time for the dance on the evening of the big day. The Most Varied Flower That Blooms RANDFATHER courted grandmother with a nosegay of quaint sweet-smelling posies done up tight with a lace-paper frill around them, which went very well with crinolines. But the flower for the exotic young modern is the orchid. The best business in a wide region is done by an orchid firm located in the same town as a large woman’s college. This house stocks or- chids heavily for theJunior Prom, when boys from near-by men’s colleges all com- pete for the limited supply of the solitaire of flowers. The trade is liveliest in shoulder bou- quets, a fashion note especially suited to these light and pi- quant blossoms, and a point on which they again score over heavier flowers. Roses or sweet peas worn, asthe mode demands, on the shoulder, would be too weighty for the airy evening frocks of today. For fashion rules the orchid trade as despotically as it does every other commerce in luxuries. What the public wants, the florists find, is something differ- ent—yes, but only a shade different. The smart woman follows the mode, exhibiting individuality only in slight variations upon it, and the public chooses orchids such as it has become accustomed to admiring, but with just a touch of superiority in size, tint or novel marking. Convention rules here as elsewhere in the social world. Even flowers must bow their lovely heads to the conservatism of public taste. The most gorgeous red chrysan- themum in the world sells with difficulty, since it is the thing for “‘mums”’ to be white, yellow or pink; the most exquisite alpine anemones shiver in the glacial blasts of oblivion, while the customer selects carnations. Yet the orchid is the most varied flower that blooms, fantastical, incredible in its variations. There are orchids like humming birds enchanted to immobility; others bear a startling resemblance to marvelous moths, even imitating the elaborate rings that spot the insect’s wings. One famous Central American or- chid looks like the head of a bird of paradise. Of our own little native species, one of the rarest resembles a ram’s horned head. Some orchids are so tiny that they weigh only a few tenths of an ounce; others are enormous plants tipping the scales at hundreds of pounds. A cer- tain Panamanian species stands fifteen feet high and forms dense thickets in which a man might lose himself. Plants with 250 flowers on one stem are not unknown. Some orchids even produce differently colored blossoms on dif- ferent parts of the same plant. The most dissimilar two roses in the world are as like as twins compared to some of the changes rung in the familiar lady’s-slipper. In perfumes, too, the orchid has an amazing range. It makes a great specialty of its perfumes, since they are per- haps the paramount seduction that lures the friendly insect. (Continued on Page 77) The Famous Enid Van Dorn Cattleya Hybrid

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i igh Finance SINGLETON a AINTINGS of beauty, power and celebrity have occupied much public at- ~! ithert« existing p litica geo graphical, social and ynon values. No one could have fore seen at the time that the world’s tention within the past few years. Indeed, the appreciation and collection in America of magnificent pictures is one of the wonders of the present age. Some years ago—and not so very long, either—Americans had to go to Europe to see the Old Masters; and one of the greatest pleasures of a trip to Europe was visiting the Louvre, the National Gallery in London, the Wallace Collection, the Pitti, the Uffizi, the Venice Accademia, the Prado,the Brera, the Pinakothek, the Rijks, the Mauritshuis, the Dresden and other galleries. What a thrill to make per- sonal contact with famous paintings long familiar through the medium of engravings, pho- tographs and reproductions in books and magazines! How marvelous to stand before the actual panel or canvas which grew into beauty and power beneath the brush of the painter, whose eyes looked critically at this work on which he endeavored to realize his inner vision! And what an en- accumulated art treasures would also be affected by these sweeping changes. The American bankers, mer- chant princes and proprietors of vast industrial enterprises, by applying the same intelli- gence to the pursuit of the ele- gant and delightful pastime of collecting that they have ap- plied to the creation and the conduct of their fortunes acquired within a few years col- have lections that are unrivaled any- where in the world or at time in the world’s history any Famed Collectors E READ with amazement of the great European col lectors and collections of the of the treasures of those Bur- gundy richer than any contem- porary kings; of Magnificent and of other mem- bers of the Medici family; of the D’Estes, Sforzas, Borgias and other Italian princes and dukes; of the Fuggers, those wealth) of noble past four powerful Dukes of Lore nzo the bankers of Augsburg tirely fresh appreciation we ne Glut ull Wane Ganeee _ . Austrian and German barons; gained of Raphael and Veronese, Gainsborough’'s ‘‘Blue Boy"’ Upon its Arrival in the United States of the merchant princes and Botticelli and Crivelli, Titian great lords of England from £ and Velasquez, Rembrandt and Frans Hals, Reynolds and Romney, Gainsborough and Watteau and Fragonard and Chardin and others when we became acquainted with their rich or delicate or glowing or evanescent color! The Westward March of Culture HAT a treat, too, if, through introductions, we were enabled to view a few private collections or to visit a home where Old Masters, inherited from past generations, were lived with and enjoyed by the present owners. Privileged visitors or hurriedly tripping tourists, we brought home memories of paintings and of painters that were destined to widen, to an enormous degree, our cul- tural background. **Lavinia, Lady Spencer,’’ by Sir Joshua Reynolds Now, strange to say, we do not have to go to Europe to become acquainted with great art; the Old Masters have come to us, and they are still coming. How did this all happen? The story is romantic and marvelous. Masterpieces that have hung in kings’ palaces and ducal homes, above the altars of ancient churches and cathedrals and in the galleries of noted European collectors— pictures noted for their beauty, their historical associations and their long pedigrees—have, for several years, been coming overseas without interruption. Suddenly the country is cognizant of what has been tak- ing place and is beginning to realize with pride that we not only own hundreds upon hundreds of superlatively fine pictures by the Old Masters but we are to be the privileged guardians of these priceless treasures for the delight and the culture of future generations. Europeans, although disturbed that so many works of art have crossed the Atlantic, are not fully informed as to the extent of the exodus. For in- stance, Dr. Max Friedlinder, the great authority on Flemish Primitives, said to the writer two years ago, when he had just ended a tour through the United States to examine the most noted American collections: “T am dumfounded at the value, extent and knowledge displayed in the collections in America. There are more Memlings today in the United States than anywhere in Europe, with the exception of Memling’s home town, Bruges.” On this question of art migration, Dr. Wilhelm von Bode, the noted critic, wrote recently: Anyone who a decade ago had even hinted at the pos- sibility of Gainsborough’s Blue Boy making its way across the Atlantic to become the central gem in the Huntington collection would have been thought mad. He might as well have suggested the uprooting of Eng- land’s century-old oaks, or the removal of the Rock of Gibraltar. And yet the impossible has happened, and not only the famous Blue Boy but many another of the world’s masterpieces has traveled the same route. This is the greatest transplantation of art works the world has known since the Roman plundering of Grecian art and the rape of the churches and museums of Europe whereby Napoleon enriched the Louvre. I can even fore see the time when art students of Europe will have to turn their faces westward to glean inspiration from mas ter works wrought while the world was young and men worked for the joy of working. Fortunate America! Un happy Europe! No power on earth can turn back the pages of history to the first of August, 1914, on which day forces were set in motion that were to result in a complete reversal of Queen Elizabeth's time to the present; of Cardinal Riche- lieu, Cardinal Mazarin and Cardinal de Rohan; and of the Rothschilds and other great European bankers. Our American collectors of today surpass them all. During the last quarter of the nineteenth century Amer- ican collectors of paintings were numerous and, in many cases, discriminating. fashion of the times as in everything else—they favored the Barbizon School and bought largely in Paris. Consequently our country is to- day full of fine Corots, Millets, Rousseaus, Diazes, Dau- bignys, Duprés, and the rest of the Fontainebleau Forest group of painters As these collectors fell in with the for there are fashions in art When fashion changed to the Impres- sionists, American collectors, always eager to keep abreast Continued on Page 49 abe a oan torre eens ld ‘Mrs. Siddons,'' by Sir Joshua Reynoids

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18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST T’S A TOUGH WORL By William Slavens McNutt ° j ie BP —) ( ~~ | “Can They Do Anything for Him?"’ She Asked. ‘Isn't There Anything They Can Do?’ ‘*'Shoot Him,’’ Dressy Said Savagely; ‘‘That’s Ali!’’ judges’ stand, chewing methodically on a quid of tobacco and watching the morning workouts. He was 4 shriveled little man, with white hair, pale-blue eyes and seamed cheeks. His legs were bowed and his back was bent. Old Pop was working on his seventies and he had been around the horses since he first started galloping thoroughbreds as a boy of twelve, back in Richmond, Virginia. Out of the corner of an eye he spied Dressy James saun- tering along the rail in his direction, stopping to chat with a clocker here, a trainer there. Dressy was young and pleasing to the eye. He had the face and form of an ex- college athlete, not too long out of training, and the car- riage and wardrobe of a successful picture actor. "Lo, Pop,” he greeted the old man. “Howdy, Dressy,”’ Pop replied. Dressy lit a cigarette and leaned on the rail beside the old man. “*How you doin’, son?" Pop inquired mildly. “Lousy, thanks,”’ Dressy informed him, blowing a stream of smoke from pursed lips. ‘I’ve dropped over nine grand since I lit here in New Orleans. Just one of those streaks, Pop. I can’t hit a winner.” Pop sighed and spat over the rail onto the track. “Heard you hadn't been doin’ so good down here,” he admitted. “You and the wide world listened in on that bit of bad news, Pop,”’ Dressy said bitterly. ‘ You'd get a laugh out of watching the boys duck when they see me coming. The word’s out that I'm overboard. They’re all in a flutter for fear I'll try a touch.” “You ain’t, are you?” Pop asked. “Overboard?” said Dressy. He threw back his head and chuckled. ‘In the middle of the deep blue sea, with no sail in sight and not even a water-logged straw to grab for.” **Well, shucks,” said Pop. ‘You'd ought to be able to make a raise, Dressy. Ain’t anybody in the racket staked more busted hustlers than you have.” “Yeh,” said Dressy. ‘‘What a grand investment that was. Look, Pop. Ain’t that My Captain over there at the three-eighths pole?” Pop squinted across the infield, nodded and swore softly. ‘‘That’s him,” he said. ‘‘What’s left of him, leastwise. Dressy, what you suppose them people are thinkin’ of, trying to patch that poor old wreck up and race him again?” Dressy shrugged. ‘‘Tough world, Pop,” he said cyni- cally. ‘‘Tough on good horses with bad legs and good horse players with flat pocketbooks. My Captain’s one. I'm the other.” ():: POP DRIGGS stood leaning on the rail near the ‘He pulls up lame every time they work him,”’ Pop said querulously. ‘That left front leg of his is gone, I tell yuh. They nerved it long since and they have to shoot it full of coke every time they send him out. Ain’t no feelin’ left in it to give him warnin’ when it’s about to go, and you know the kind of a horse he is, anyhow. Give you everything he’s got every time you ask for it.” “‘Sure,”’ said Dressy. ‘‘The gamest horse I ever saw on a race track, and what’s it get him? He won better than a hundred thousand dollars for that stable as a three- year-old; and you watch what I’m telling you. They’ll break him down. He’ll snap that leg in a race and have to be shot. Fine finish for a Derby winner that cleaned up the money he made.” “Any other stable owned him they’d turn him out to loaf for the rest of his life,” Pop said angrily. ‘‘He sure deserves it. They got him entered in the fourth this afternoon.” “They'll scratch him,”’ Dressy said. “Just stuck him in there hoping for mud. They wouldn’t dare race him on a track as hard as this.” The horse in question, a small, beautifully modeled, deep-hued chestnut, with that indefinable yet startlingly definite element of personality known on the track as class showing in his every line and movement, cantered past. Dressy’s eyes grew bright with appreciation as he watched. ‘Grand, game animal!” he exclaimed fervently. “‘Good, honest horse,” Pop agreed. ‘Gives what he’s got when you ask him for it. Don’t hold nothin’ back. We got one goin’ in the seventh this afternoon, Dressy— Southern Kid. Might be a pretty fair price too. We figure he’s a sure thing to run in the money and he may cop. Better have yourself a little bet on him.” Dressy laughed. ‘‘That’s a grand idea, Pop, but what will I use for money? I blew my last fin on May Blossom to win in the seventh yesterday and she plopped into the place hole by the split half of a thin whisker. I’ve hocked everything they’ll take at the pawnshop, and the hotel gave me the come-through-now-or-don’t-come-back as I started for the track this morning.” “Dressy!” Pop exclaimed. ‘‘ You can’t be that flat!” “I’m so flat you could scrape a razor over where I am and never cut me,”’ Dressy assured him. ‘‘I can’t raise a five- dollar bill anywhere around New Orleans. How about you, Pop?” “You know I ain’t got nothin’,”’ Pop protested. ‘I never got nothin’. ILLUSTRATED Br R. M. August 4,1928 CROSBY “Not even an extra cot around the barn some place?” “A cot!” Pop exclaimed. ‘Dressy! You ain’t down to where you’re lookin’ for a place to sleep?” ‘I’m no horse, Pop,” Dressy said firmly. ‘‘I can’t sleep standing.” ‘““Why, only last fall you was drivin’ your own car around at the Maryland meet,’ Pop recalled. Dressy grinned. ‘“‘I’d snap at a job driving one like that for someone else now, if I knew where to get it.” “Sure. You’re welcome to a shakedown on a cot in our tack room if you really want it, Dressy,”’ Pop assured him. ‘I just can’t get it in my head that you’re really that busted.” “Hard for me to realize, too, but it’s the truth, Pop,”’ Dressy assured him soberly. ‘I’ve made plenty of money around the track in the last ten years and I’ve made it on the level. I pick’em and play ’em, and I’ve done well at it up until this winter. When I had it, any of the boys who were out of luck could depend ona cut. Now I’m over- board and they’re all busy keeping out of sight.” “That ain’t right,” Pop said indignantly. “Maybenot. Butit’s the way itis, Pop,’’ Dressy said bitterly. ‘“‘I’ve been a chump all my life and I’ve just found it out. Watch me from now on. That’s all I ask of you—just watch me. I’m going to turn into the toughest, tightest, crookedest hus- tler that ever stole pennies out of a blind man’s cup around a race track.” ‘Bein’ tough ain’t your racket, Dressy,”’ the old man argued. ‘‘You’re a smart horse player and ——”’ “Smart!” Dressy said explosively. ‘‘Me? Why, say! The funny houses are full o’ people smarter thanIam. I’maworld’schampion chump! Why, say, Pop, with the money I’ve made around racing in the last ten years—huh!—if I’d been tight and tough I'd have a bank account right now with six figures in it.” “T ’spect you would, Dressy,’”’ Pop agreed. ‘‘ You've made plenty.” “Sure I would,” said Dressy. ‘‘And if I had wanted to be crooked—say—oh, say!” “It don’t pay to be crooked,’’ Pop protested. “Sez you!”’ said Dressy. ‘‘It don’t pay to be straight— that’s me, broadcasting. It’s a tough world, Pop, and honesty is bad for man and beast. There's little old My Captain over there in the back stretch, just heading for the barn, with those bad legs of his giving him the devil. He’s been an honest horse, hasn’t he?” Pop nodded. ‘‘It’s a shame,” he said sadly. ‘‘They’ll break him down sure, tryin’ to race him again.” “Here I am,” Dressy went on. ‘I’ve been on the level at this racket. I like it and I played it straight. Never been mixed up in any frames. Never knocked off a chump since I’ve been around. I picked my own and played my own, and split what I won with the boys who were out of luck. Look at me. Here I stand asking you for the loan of a cot in your tack room, to keep my feet off the side- walks tonight. It’s a lousy, tough, low-down, crooked world, Pop, and there’s only one way to beat it: Be tougher and tighter and lousier and crookeder than any- body else. Watch me from now out. Just watch me.” A number of hustlers commented on Squid Weaver's arrival at the track that morning. For one thing, he sel- dom came out in the forenoon; for another thing, wher- ever he went there was sure to be something doing. Squid was a big operator and he never went anywhere or saw anyone without good cause. Among many other enter- prises—all of them shady—he ran one of the biggest pool rooms in New Orleans. He alighted from his sedan near the paddock, a big, beefy block of a man, short of breath and temper. A near-by hustler hurried up and hailed him fawningly. Squid glared. ‘‘Seen Dressy James?” he asked shortly. “Yes, sir,” said the hustler respectfully. “I did. Justa minute ago. Standin’ by the rail down there by the judges’ stand. Shall I get him for you, Mr. Weaver?” “If I want you to do anything for me I’ll let you know,” Squid said sourly. “Yes, sir,” said the hustler. “Sure thing. Any time, Mr. Weaver.”

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The Oid Fellow Was Sitting Near the Lan: : 4 tern Holding the CCA Tickets Close to His Eyes, Studying Them. Tears Were Streaming Down Weaver grunted a curse and walked heavily through the gate to the lawn. From a hundred feet distant he called gruffly to Dressy, still talking with Pop Driggs. Dressy turned and surveyed Weaver insolently. “Hello!” he exclaimed. ‘‘The elephant’s loose.” “T want to see you,” Weaver said gruffly. “Pry your eyes wide open and take a good look,” Dressy invited him. “Don’t be smart,”” Weaver snarled. “‘Come on out to my car. I want to talk to you.” “Not in that tone of voice, mister,’”’ Dressy said firmly. “You've got me mixed with somebody’s trained seal.” ““Oh, come on,”’ Weaver said, capitulating and speaking as pleasantly as he knew how. “Oh, very well,”’ Dressy agreed, with a tone of resigna- tion. ‘Since you get down on your knees in public and beg like that, I guess I can’t say no. Don’t go way, Pop; I'll be back.” “How you doin’?” Weaver grunted, when they were seated in the car and the door was closed. “‘Grand,”’ Dressy lied cheerfully. ‘‘ Knocking them off every day.” “TI hear different,”” Weaver declared. “You got big ears,” said Dressy. ‘Lots of things leak into ’em.” ‘Quit stallin’,’”” Weaver grumbled. ‘‘ You’re busted and I know it. I’m goin’ to give you a chance to make some money.” “You big-hearted old thing!’’ Dressy cooed mockingly. “‘There’s a ripe sap here in town,” Weaver explained. “I want you to pick him for me.” “You know I don’t work with your kind, Squid,” Dressy reminded him. “I know you never did,”” Weaver said. ‘‘That’s why I want yuh. You’ve got the front and the manners to do this job, and your record’s clean.” “If you know I don’t work with your kind, why buzz me now?”’ Jressy asked. **You’re busted,’’ Weaver explained bluntly. Dressy sighed. ‘‘ You keep harping on that!” he said wearily. ‘“‘Go on. What’s the next verse?” “This fella’s dynamite,’’ Weaver explained. ‘‘He made around eight hundred thousand dollars in oil down in Texas in 1908—got out with that much in cash—and then gomebody showed him a race track.” “Yeh?” said Dressy. ‘‘How long?” “Three months,” said Weaver.. “How much?” “Every thin shiny dime.” Dressy whistled. ‘Eight hundred thousand dollars in real money?” “All of that.” “In three months?” Weaver nodded. “‘That’s the first act,” said Dressy. ‘Get on with the show.” “His wife died,” said Weaver. “‘Seems reasonable,” said Dressy. “They had a kid,”’ said Weaver—‘‘a baby girl.” “That’s normal,” said Dressy. ‘What of it?” “*T’ve got all the dope on this guy and I want to give it to you,”” Weaver explained. “The wad’s blown, the wife’s dead and we've got a baby girl on our hands,”’ said Dressy. ‘‘Let the yarn roll from that.” “He left the kid with an aunt up in Illinois and went to Honduras,’’ Weaver continued. “It’s warm down there, isn’t it?’’ Dressy asked. ‘“Where?”’ Weaver asked. “‘Honduras,”’ replied Dressy. “‘T don’t know,”’ Weaver said. ‘‘Neither do I,”’ said Dressy. ‘‘It doesn’t matter anyhow, does it?”’ “‘Can the comedy!” Weaver growled. ‘This goof finally got into the mahogany business down there and made some dough. He got out with about two hun- dred thousand dollars in cash and landed here in New Orleans last week. He’s had some kind of a jungle fever and he’s about all in. His daughter came down from Chicago and met him here.” “‘Good,” said Dressy. ‘‘ We've got ’em together right here in town and the old coot’s got money. Best of all, he’s been sick, and that'll make it softer for us.” “Softer?”’ Weaver questioned. “Sure,” said Dressy. ‘‘ The sicker, the simpler. What are we going to do with . him?” “Take him for his bank roll,’’ Weaver said briefly. , “‘Tshould have been a medium,” Dressy said. “‘I guessed before you told me.” “The day after he got in town he came out here to the track,’’ Weaver went on. “‘ Brought his daughter with him.” “The son of a gun!” said Dressy. “‘He’s been out here every day since,’’ Weaver said. “‘Monkeying around playing two-dollar bets.” “If he sticks at that limit, his two hundred grand ought to last him through the winter,’’ Dressy said. “*He’s not goin’ to stick at that limit,’’ Weaver declared. “‘That’s where you come in.” “*Now I’m in,” said Dressy, ‘‘what do I do?” “What do you think?”’ Weaver asked. “‘T’ll take one guess,” said Dressy. “‘I accidentally get acquainted with this dumb goof and his daughter. They find out I’m a nice fellow and know a lot about horses. Papa is a race-track wild-eye to begin with and he has never fully recovered from the dreadful suspicion that he can win back all he lost if he just goes at it in the right way. He’s afraid to really be- lieve that, though, until he meets me. I give him confidence. I tell him just how to do it. I get him to do his betting in your pool room. Hewins or loses a couple of sizable bets and goes gaga. His- tory repeats itself. He gets another lesson. We get his bank roll.”’ “Every thin dime of it,” Weaver gloated. ws “This baby will go for the works.” “He'll go if I start him,” Dressy amended the statement. ‘‘I haven’t agreed to do that yet. What did you figure on paying the hired help for gyp- ping a sick widower with an only child?” “How'd a grand do yuh?” Weaver asked. “It would keep me in cigarettes for a week or two,” Dressy said, “that’sall. You’renot talking to a nickel nip- per, Weaver. I throw the best part of a couple of hundred thousand your way and you tip me a grand. You got a good idea His Cheeks THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 there, but you can’t work it out. I'll take my expense money while I’m working on this chump and one-half of whatever he loses in your book.” ““Whadya think I am?” Weaver growled “A crook,”’ Dressy informed him calmly. ‘‘Same as I’m going to be from now on. Only not so smart.” “All right,’”’ Weaver agreed reluctantly. “It’s more than the job’s worth, but if you pull this off all right, maybe we can do business again some day.”’ “I’m liable to be handy to have around,” Dressy boasted “T’ve got the stuff to work with, and if it'll brighten your day to know it, I’m going to run crooked from now on. That help?” “You’re a sucker not to,” Weaver said. “‘You could make plenty with your front and the way you make friends.”’ “*T hate to agree with you,” said Dressy, “‘but Ido. Now then, what’s the chump’s name and where do I make him?”’ “His name,” said Weaver, “is John K. Regan. His daughter’s name is Louise and she’s about nineteen years old. They’re living at the Roosevelt Hotel. Be there at noon and I'll have a man point them out to you.” “It’s not polite to point,”’ Dressy reminded him. “I'll be in the lobby at noon. Now if you'll just look at the book of directions you'll see where it says in black type right at the top of the page—put your hand in your pocket and slip Dressy a century.” A few minutes later Dressy swaggered to where old Pop Driggs still stood leaning on the rail near the judges’ stand. “‘Never mind about that cot, Pop,” he said airily. “I've just hooked on to do a little job with Squid Weaver, and the big-hearted old cutthroat’s kicking in with an advance to square me at the hotel and set me afloat again.” “Weaver!” Pop muttered disapprovingly. “‘ You hadn't ought to get mixed up with his kind, Dressy.” Dressy laughed. ‘‘ Remember what I told you, Pop,”’ he said. ‘Tough, crooked and tight— that’s me from now out. Take whatever I can grab from anybody anywhere, and crack back with nothing to nobody no time no place.” Old Pop Driggs sighed and shook his head. Dressy shrugged and laid a hand on his shoulder “That tough stuff goes for everybody but you, Pop,” he said gently. ‘You've got nothing but a spare cot in a tack room, but you were willing to give me that to help out when I asked for it. Whenever I can do anything for you : “‘T never want much,” the old man said. “‘ Bed an’ board an’ horses to monkey around with--that’s all I got an’ all I need. I don’t like to see you messin’ in with that Weaver (Continued on Page 74 ‘Come on Out to My Car. I Want te Talk to You."’ ‘‘Not in That Tone of Voice, Mister,”’ Dressy Said Firmly. ‘‘You've Got Me Mixed With Somebody's Trained Seai"'

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20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST reason; it is emotion. I guess that is why people __4 who love each other do a lot of quarreling. They have so much emotion it drowns their reason and makes them blind and impulsive. I just mention that to explain why I stuck along in that den of thieves after finding out what they really were. I knew right away I was head over heels in love with Byra. It came to me quick as scat as soon as I saw her in danger. Everything changed inside me. My thoughts were ali different. L, E is the greatest thing in the world, but it is not August 4, 1928 By CHARLES FRANCIS COE er ee ee ee ee ee You can see how she just burned me inside. I felt like a plugged nickel in the mint. There was so little I could say to her. She had dropped her fork on her plate with kind of a clatter and I thought for a second or two that she was going to get up and leave me. It broke me all up and made me mad too. “T don’t say Bill did the murder, of course,”’ I answered. “Why do you make everything as badas you can? You know I didn’t mean that at all, Byra. But when that murder 5 A VU CL *, @&@ 8? FF & ®@ surprise and anger. Before I could stop her she got up from the little table. I got up too. There was a nutty little lamp on the table and I caught my foot in the wire some way and tipped it over. The shade plunked down into Byra’s spaghetti, but neither of us paid any attention. “I’m going home,” Byra said. Even since we have been married she has never spoken to me with so much anger. Her face was white all over, except the cheeks, and they were blazing red. Her eyes were afire too. I did not know what to say or what to do. It seemed to me I guess I grew up a lot in the months that followed. For the first time in my life I began think- zg about somebody else. I guess that is what brings out the stuff in a man I was scared to death, and at the same time I knew I never would leave Byra there alone. To add to all my fears, I learned a lot more about Bill that very evening. I suppose I was kind of trying to get a better line on him, and now that my eyes had been opened, they saw every- thing in a suspicious way. George the detective changed in my eyes. Instead of being just a snooping, sneering, suspi- cious pest, I saw him asashrewd, scheming, watchful danger—a danger to me and to Byra. He as smart and he was patient. I knew he was dead sure of himself and just waiting for his chance to come. Just one little slip and George would have us all, Byra ncluded. So that evening I walked home with her. She lived at the Y. W.C.A.and I took her there. I asked her if she would have dinner with me. She said she would if I would let her be back home by eight o'clock. I agreed. We did not close the shop until 5:30 and I had to go back there to wash up and change my clothes. It gave us only an hour to eat. While I dressed I planned out what I would say to Byra. I just had to make her see that we must do something. We had dinner in a little Ital- ian restaurant and Byra cer- tainly did look dainty eating that long spaghetti. You know, eating that stuff shows a person up. I sure did love her. “You think all this about Red and Bill isa joke,’ Isaid. ‘“‘Hon- est, Byra, it ain’t. I know what I'm talkin’ about.” ‘Tt doesn’t sound very well for right then that she was the dumbest woman on earth. It never occurred to me that maybe she thought I was just disloyal to Bill. I knew very well that she never would have anything to do with crooked work if she knew it was crooked. “You need not bother coming with me,” she snapped before I had found words to answer her. “I am not the least bit afraid. Anyway, I have a date at eight o'clock.” While she talked she was gathering up her purse and her little white gloves that, it seemed to me, were so sacred they should have been hung ina church some- where. The purse hung on astrap and she slid her hand through thatand began putting hergloves on. I didn’t say a thing. I couldn’t. I saw that her lips were trembling and I didn’t know if it was from rage or whether she was pretty near crying. “T’ll take you home,” I mut- tered to her. “I never thought you would treat me this way.”’ “Treat you!” she cried, her eyes flashing wide open again and the little purse swaying there on her wrist like an old barrel- stave hammock when the wind issteady. ‘‘Treatyou! Howare you treating Bill? The things you hint about Bill I would not say about a yellow dog!” “Bill?” I asked. “You call him that too?” Somehow it hurt a lot to have Byra defend him before me. I always liked Billa whole lot, but when I found out he was crooked I didn’t care if I never saw him again. Byra seemed different. “Everybody calls him that,” she answered. “‘ Everybody likes him and trusts him, and he helps everybody—you most of all. I’m going and you really needn’t bother.” Then sheswung away from the table and walked out of the place you to say things against Mr. Nigel,” she said. “I hardly ex- pected it from you.” She seemed very prim and pretty and proper sitting there eating spaghetti, and of course what she said put me a very bad light. I did not reason very well, because I loved her too much. Emotion made me mad. I had come to think of her as mine, kind of. I realized suddenly that all my kid dreams had grown around her. It went pretty deep to have her complain and criticize just when I was doing my best to protect her. Whenever I tried to tell her things for her own good, she seemed to shut her ears tight and into her eyes flashed a scornful look. “The very first day I ever worked with Red and Bill,” I explained, “there was a murder committed in our store. That old pawnbroker 4 ‘You certainly aren’t trying to make me think Mr. Nigel had anything to do with that!” she snapped angrily. “Johnny Brid, I think you’re downright horrible. I can’t understand what has come over you. Mr. Nigel has been a real friend to you. Where would you be without him?” We Went Down the Steps and Red Pressed a Button That Lighted the Room Below was done they took Red and me over an’ questioned us at the police station. I learned a lot from that. I learned, for instance, that it is a crime just to have marked junk in your possession. The cops call that evidence of guilty knowledge.” “You should spend more time in police stations,’’ Byra sneered; “‘you would become a very smart man, Johnny. Look at this George who keeps snooping around! He’s smart, I’m sure.”” She sure could be sarcastic, that girl. “I’m afraid we'll all be spendin’ more time around police stations,” I told her. “George is smarter’n you think. What’s more, I didn’t learn that about marked junk from the coppers. I learned it from Bill himself, an’ this very afternoon I went down cellar an’ found Red there melting up marked junk. I tell you they’re crooks, Byra—crooks! An’ we’ll all be in trouble.” Byra was white and her lips were trembling. I never saw her eyes so big, and the light in them was one of so fast that I had to grab my hat off the hook and almost run to catch uptoher. Thecashier knew usa little and I guess he was wise that we had hada fight. He grinned when I paid him for the spaghetti. It was a dollar. I caught Byra outside the place and she didn’t pay any attention to me when I started walking beside her. That made me pretty sore. I was young then and didn’t under- stand that just when you are trying to do the most for a woman is the time she gets you all wrong and makes you the most trouble. “I wish you could see this thing straight,” I told her. “‘Byra, honest, I think more of you than all the rest of the world put together. When you treat me this way ——”’ “Treat you!’ she snapped again. ‘‘ Why do you always say things about the way I treat you? Think a bit of the way you are treating Bill!” I walked along, just beginning to realize that I was up against something pretty tough. If I quit Bill, and Byra was left there alone, she would get into trouble as sure as fate. There has always been something inside me that

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 21 made me know that even the smartest crook in the world is going to get caught in the end. I was pretty young, I suppose, and my imagination ran high, but I could see Byra standing behind prison bars and crying her pretty eyes out. I could tell by the way she planted her little heels on the stone sidewalk that I was in wrong with her. Her head bobbed along as stiffly as though her neck was concrete, and she never even glanced sideways at me. I wished Crab was around. Since he had gone out with that show I missed him a lot, but now I missed him more than ever. We were in sight of the Y. W. C. A. before I tried to speak again. I was hoping that she would thaw out before we got there and she saw it was time to leave me, but she never did. Her heels plunked along justas hard and her eyes kept straight ahead. “Byra,” I said, “I never was so unhappy in all my life.” “T should think you \ would be!’’ she snapped back at me. “‘ Anybody that would be as suspi- cious and as mean and as disloyal as you have been ought to feel unhappy!” Right there I saw that she was just plain beautiful but dumb, and that she kind of needed a master. I got sore. “‘When your old man let you come to town, Byra,” I said, ‘“‘he proved himself the biggest jackass in all the South! You are so dumb you fall without tripping! Now you listen to me!” But she never did. I heard her kind of gasp out some kind of a word, and then she wheeled around and cracked me right across the face with her hand. It never hurt any. Butthestrap on her George the Detec: tive Changed in My Eyes. Instead of Being Just a Snooping, Sneering, Suspicious Pest, I Saw Him asa Shrewd, Scheming, Watchful Danger bag busted and the bag plopped on the sidewalk at our feet. I picked it up and she snatched it from me. “ You—you miserable coward!” she rasped at me. “You—you beautiful dumb-bell!” I growled. Then she cried and whirled away from me and beat it on the run to the Y. W. C. A. I saw her as she went up the stone steps and through the door with the blue sign hang- ing over it. That was that! I turned and walked back toward the store. There are times when an ordinary man gets extraordinary ideas. I got a flock of them right then. I wasawful unhappy. I was sure that Byra never would have anything to do with me again and that she would tell Bill what I had said about him and Red. That might have a lot of results—all bad. If I got fired from my job, that would mean alot. With Crab away all the time, I figured, if that happened, I would go home. If Bill got sore at me enough to fire me, he might get sore enough to doawhole lot more. And there was George too. If I left he would want to know why, and I always had the idea that he might cause Byra a lot of trouble if he got to question- ing her. When I left he would soon learn why from her. That might start a lot of things and bring Bill down on my neck even if I went home. That was a terrible day. Look- ing back at all that happened now, I can see it was a big day in my life. But it looked then only like atotalloss. Every time I thought about Byra, I got a lump in my throat. Every time I thought of Bill, my tongue seemed to get hot and dry out my mouth; and every time I thought of George, my hands got damp and my heart bounced around plenty. Yet I could think of nobody but those three. All around me there were signs of every- day life, and still the whole world seemed strange to me. Lights had a yellower look. Voices from the tenements had a nastier tone; and once when a man and a woman had a loud fight in a house where the windows were open, I thought about home and how nice and quiet Elm Street would be, and how clean ma’s red-and-white tablecloth was. “You Think Ail This About Red and Biliis a Joke,’* I Said, "Honest, Byra, it Ain't. I Know What I'm Tatk: in’ About’ When I got back to the store it seemed that I could smell the old smell that had been there that first day when Crab and me went in to pawn my little ring. That made me think of Uncle Isaac and all that he meant. No matter how queer he looked in that old frock coat, with his bum spec- tacles and his greasy beard, the only way I could remember him seemed the way he was all crumpled up back there among the cases in the rear room. Just as soon as I got to remembering him that way, I got scared, kind of, and blue I stayed around the store for a while, because I hated to go upstairs to my room. A lot of nutty ideas filled my mind. I thought about investigating the cellar to see what I could find, and about figuring out all that Bill was doing and maybe even saving him from himself. If I could make him stop in time, I thought What a laugh! I had snapped on the little light over Byra’s desk, and everything on the desk seemed to whisper to me that it was proud she had handled it. I could see her hands with their white fingers going over the big books Bil! kept That part of the business was al! good enough. B bought old papers and rags and sold them at a profit. Byra kept the records and I saw to the shipping and trucking and sometimes called on customers. But there was an air over her little desk in spite of all that body was dead. While I was there I heard Bill coming in from the ba } room. I certainly was surprised, because the back door Th ° } leading onto the alley had not opened. There was a be hung on a spring over that door and the bell time the door opened. The bell had not rung. Bil! must have been down in the cellar. it was like some rang every “Hello, Johnny,” he smiled at me. Bill had a great smile. “Hello, Bill,” I said. ‘Workin’ overtime, kid?” he asked. “You know lot of guys think workin’ overtime is great stuff, but I hat it. I like to think people can do their work right wit} that!” Bill had a great way of kidding, and i knew he was doing that now. But the smile went away from his lips as he Continued on Page 80

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°?D! 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR In the United States and Possessions, Five Cents the Copy; $2.00 the Year— 52 issues. Kemittances by Postal Money Order, Express Money Order or Check. lo Canada and Newfoundland (including Labrador), Ten Cents the Copy; $3.06 the Year-—-S2 issues Canadien or U. S. Funds. In Continental Europe and the British Isles, $6.06 the Y ear —52 issues. In Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Geatemala, Haiti, Isle of Pines, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Salvador and Uruguay, $6.00 the Year—S$] iasues. in all other Foreign Countries, $1¢.0@ the Year—52 issues. Remittances from outside U. 8. and Canada by Postal or Express Money Order or by Draft on « bank in the U. S., payable in U. S. Funds. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST 4, 1928 The Farmers’ New Hired Man HERE is no such thing as an average farm or an aver- Farmers are competitive with one an- age farmer. other; also, farmers are consumers of produce of other farmers. When the price of hogs is low in the Corn Belt, this means cheaper pork for orange growers in California, dairymen in New York and truck gardeners in Florida. High prices for agricultural specialties hit consumers who happen to be farmers engaged in raising staples as much as they strike consumers who happen to be urban work- men, In the same manner, there is no average manufac- turer and no average town worker. With high prosperity in many lines of manufacture has clung unprosperity in production of coal and lumber and in manufacture of cot- ton and wool. One might prepare an index number of manufacture, of transportation, of distribution, and of agriculture, but comparisons between such indices would be hazardous. Following the world-wide boom after the war, occurred the inevitable deflation. The prices of raw materials suf- fered the worst decline. City workers, despite severe unemployment after the onset of deflation, more or less the world over were able to hold the wage gains made during the war. In consequence of this, and despite cost reduc- tions in many lines of manufacture, the prices of manu- factured goods have tended, the world over, to be high relative to the prices of raw materials. As result, farm products more or less everywhere lost somewhat in pur- chasing power. Through natural but painful adjustments of supply to demand, this.disparity is gradually being over- come, and the purchasing power of most farm products in the United States seems gradually to be approaching par. Naturally recovery has been more rapid in some lines than in others; for example, cattle and sheep are in much better position than hogs, and wool is in a better position than cotton. But with full allowance for fluctuations, it seems clear that farm purchasing power is being gradually re- stored. For further amelioration not emergency measures but long-term constructive policy, based on management rather than on subsidy; is indicated. For farmers as a class, costs of production have been relatively higher than before the war. Higher taxes— probably land is taxed disproportionately heavily —are the 22 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST farmers’ contribution to better roads, schools and other material improvements. Higher interest charges represent the cost of an improved standard of agriculture as enter- prise. These increased costs are related to progress, a part of the cost of living better. Such progress is desirable, and farm income ought to be high enough to support it. Every year retiring farmers sell out and new farmers buy in. The drift from country to town is now declining and an equilibrium appears in sight. Probably an unusual num- ber of farmers retired after the war and a corresponding number of new farmers bought in at speculative prices. An unusual group of young farmers has therefore incurred heavy losses, since crops cannot pay interest on inflated land values. This is especially unfortunate, because these losses fall upon young farm owners, whose continuance in the occupation is of particular importance to the country. But their problem cannot be solved by transferring to the state the losses suffered in consequence of a postwar boom. Distribution in the United States, contrasted with pro- duction, may properly be described as timeworn. The pre- liminary researches of the Department of Commerce have made it clear that gains through rationalization of produc- tion are being nullified by inefficiencies in distribution. Inefficiency hits the farmer both coming and going. The margin is wide between factory prices and farm prices of the equipment required by farmers and of goods used in the household. The wastes of wholesale and retail dis- tribution are now being overhauled and the coming years are sure to witness substantial improvements. Wide also is the margin between farm prices of produce—transporta- tion disregarded—and consumers’ prices. The costs of manufacture, distribution and selling of foodstuffs con- tinue relatively excessive. It is not implied that the wide spread means inordinate profits. Distribution is merely wasteful and outworn, highly efficient in certain steps, but as a whole inefficient. Through a lowering of the costs of distribution in the broad sense, the farmer has a great deal to gain on both outgoing and incoming goods. High transportation costs are largely the consequence of heavy taxes and of high wages paid to railway workers. While high transportation costs are not the cause of low prices for agricultural products, they widen the spread be- tween producer and consumer. Lower transportation costs, if attainable with retention of effective service, would influence farm income. The development of inland water- ways, the codrdination of waterways with railways, readjustment of rates between different classes of commod- ities and reform in terminal handling hold out promise for lowering of transportation costs on farm products without reduction of railway revenue. Thisisa nation-wide problem that lies peculiarly within the engineering and executive purview of Mr. Hoover. The Republican platform pledged the party to the policy of governmental assistance in reform of distribution. This includes the development of coéperative marketing, stabili- zation of prices through marketing steps and control of surpluses. These will succeed to the extent that codpera- tive agencies are more effective than the existing agencies they are designed to supplant. The success of the nation- wide experiment depends largely on skill in management. The governmental responsibility is a peculiar one, in that it is the purpose of the policy to aid private initiative, but not to supplant it. It is agreed that agriculture requires higher farm prices. The difference of opinion is on method. Mr. Hoover believes adequately higher farm prices can be se- cured through improvement of individual initiative, without governmertal price-fixing. The radical statement that the mind of Mr. Hoover is pro-industrial and anti-agricultural is a play on words and without foundation in fact. Of the interdependence of agriculture and industry he is fully and sympathetically cognizant. In the disaffection of any class or group, numerous and diverse elements are usually conjoined. The dissatisfaction of husbandmen on the public range is different from that of the truck farmers of the Atlantic states. Different are the reactions of landowners and tenants. A considerable part of rural discontent in the Middle West proceeds not from landowning farmers or from tenants, but from bank- ers, storekeepers and real-estate men who were caught in land speculations. The rural elements that once supported August 4,1928 free silver, the Populist movement and the Nonpartisan League have been extreme advocates of the equalization fee. Probably the best reflection of country opinion would be obtained if one could secure the reactions of the 3,313,490 landowners classified in the Agricultural Census of 1925 under “farms operated by full owners.” We are confident the diagnosis of their ills by these farmers would be sub- stantially different from that proclaimed by the more or less self-appointed farm leaders, in Congress and out. These full-owner farmers, we are convinced, would lay more emphasis on management—in costs, practices, yields, and marketing—than on legislation, because these farmers know that submargina! farming and speculation in land have had a great deal to do with the depression in agri- culture. Also, these farmers know that of the millions who have left farming for other occupations since 1921, the majority are constituted to do better in the town than in the country. The McNary-Haugen plan offered agriculture a hypo- thetical formula. The Republican Party offers agriculture a man, not a formula—a man of capacity, experience and leadership, conversant with large problems. There is nothing mystical about agriculture or industry; their problems involve the same factors of analysis. The ad- verse conditions in agriculture have undergone substantial ameliorations during the past three years. It is unthink- able that Republican farmers, in quest of further recovery of prosperity, should vote for a formula to be placed in operation under a commission form of government. The National Grange never accepted the equalization fee. The Farm Bureau Federation has shown a willingness to accept and try out legislation not embodying the equalization fee. Outstanding representatives of agricultural states, like Senators Capper and McNary, find the agricultural plank in the Republican platform a workable basis for new legis- lation. In the event of the election of Mr. Hoover, farmers will receive during his administration the same assiduous application to their problems that manufacturers and tradesmen have received in the Department of Commerce. The Ways of Peace N THE budget statement of the Federal Government containing actual expenditures of departments for 1927 and the estimated outlays for 1928 and 1929, will be found a contrast in figures which strikingly illustrates man’s as yet rather feeble and faltering efforts to maintain peace on earth. In 1927 the Navy Department spent $318,909,096, and estimates for the two following years show increases of about $40,000,000 and $50,000,000 respectively. If these totals are contrasted with those of the State De- partment, one of whose chief duties is to maintain peaceful relations by methods of arrangement and adjustment, the discrepancy appears. It cost $1,348,282 to run the State Department proper in 1927, and for the foreign service there was expended $8,223,769. There were also several millions spent for all manner of international commissions and obligations, but on the other hand the department takes in a large revenue in passport fees and the like. The estimated increases in expenditure for the years 1928 and 1929 are comparatively trivial. The foregoing figures show that it is a slow uphill job to move in the direction of peace and international good will. By instinct and inheritance the human race understands fighting and preparation for fighting. It does not have the same interest in the detailed, tedious processes of negotia- tion. All of us, pacifists as well as militarists, read with a certain quality of eagerness the detailed descriptions of this or that new type of submarine and battle plane. Does any- one suppose that an equally large number of persons read the details of the latest treaty negotiated by Mr. Kellogg? These are difficult racial instincts—animal atavisms, if you will—to down. We do not know any ready answer to the problem. But it may be suggested that the ways of peace will be arduous indeed unless the constructive efforts of our foreign-affairs government branch, the State De- partment, receive at all times the sympathetic and earnest support, so far as it is deserved, both of public opinion and of appropriated funds.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 HE growth of large cities, it has been said, is the most remarkable social manifestation of modern times. If we view history as an economic development, it is perhaps the rise of metropol- itan communities, rather than that of sovereign states, which counts. In ancient Greece the city, with its adjoin- ing territory, was the state. We are approaching that stage again. The concentration or agglomeration of peo- ple in and around cities is at once our proudest boast and acutest problem. It is a temptation to describe the mod- ern leviathan in By Albert W. Atwood But speaking of the metropolis in general, of the great city as a type, and not solely of New York, it is, as its very name implies, a mother city, sharing wealth with all its children. For surely economic progress, the increase in production which marks our age, has been “‘evolved in and , around the metropolis.” The fact stands out, as clearly stated by Professor Gras, that ‘‘to the metropolis it caustic terms. It is more and more of worse and worse, congested impo- tence, urban arte- riosclerosis. But the power of attrac- tion of human groups seems to be in proportion to their mass. Adam was lonely without amate. Man is gre- garious and cities seem to grow upon what they feed, like an insatiable appe- tite. Thecity is the most comprehen- sive of man’s works; it is his expression and reflection. “Tts solid walls tell us of his stub- born will, its fine facades of his suc- cess, its twisted streets of his uncer- tainty of aim and the squalor of theslums of his defeat.” The great city is not new; it existed in ancient times. Carthage, Alexandria and Rome each had a popula- tion of 500,000 or more. Plato wrote: Until philosophers are kings, or the kings and princes of this world have the spirit and power of philosophy, and wisdom and political leadership meet in the same man, cities will never cease from ill. Yet somehow the problem is new and modern and even American. Most of us take very little interest in Carthage and Alexandria, but we would like to know whether Detroit will keep fourth place in the great decennial and mandatory census of 1930. The Limits Placed on Urban Growth \ A J HAT position will be held by Cleveland, Los Angeles, St. Louis, Boston and a hundred other places? Is New York or London really the larger? Certainly there cannot be a literate adult in the coun- try who is unaware that census returns reveal a pro- gressive urbanization. We all know that cities are growing; we are acutely conscious of the fact and intensely interested, for any one of a hundred reasons. For good or ill, the great city rules from the center of its web, like a giant spider. It is equally distant from all points, and for the amount of silk spun derives the largest income. Along its radial lines flow transportation, intelli- gence and power. There are those who argue that man- kind gets the most from concentration, on the principle that in this way the least will go the farthest. Describing New York, Elihu Root once said that the city ‘doesn’t exist for itself; it lives because it discharges a distinct function for all the people of America”; although he added in the next sentence that “‘today it isn’t dis- charging that function creditably.” PRUTUS. BY COURTESY OF THE C. A. HORNE OO. Pine and Montgomery Streets, San Francisco, 1927. Above, 1&60 matters little whether combines form or decay, whether associations are established or torn asunder; the large- scale business that succeeds must be on a metropolitan scale.” Great cities existed in ancient times, but many of them fell into ruins, and dire things were predicted for them all. In 1686 Sir William Petty set a limit beyond which London could never grow. He knew how many men in the country were required to support a given number in the city, and he knew how far cattle could be driven in a day. But he did not foresee the revolution in transportation that made it possible to bring frozen meat from the Argentine. Plutarch, Cicero and Justinian warned against the growth of cities. The extension of Paris be- yond certain limits was repeatedly prohibited by law, and the erection of new houses in London was for- bidden under the Tudors and Stuarts. Great cities were a curse in earlier times because of the lack of water and the then elementary stage of sanitation. Plagues and fires swept these places, and they grew only from immigration rather than from the natural increase of births over deaths. But though tke large modern city would be impossible without transportation and sanita- tion, an even more fundamental cause explains them. Half the population of Australia live in cities, while only 10 per cent of India’s teeming millions are ur- banized. Thus it is not population which makes cities grow, but release from the soil—in other words, a surplus food supply. It was natural to expect cities to spring up in this country when immigration was running at ful! tide. But in the period from 1850 to 1890 Berlin was growing faster than New York, and Vienna faster than Phila- delphia. Cities develop only when man is divorced from the soil, and cities consist of people who do not directly cultivate the soil. There can be no drift to the cities when man’s whole energy is bent upon raising direct the food which he eats. Farming in the City | poarrenee today is as much a matter of flour mills, packing plants, canneries and milk depots as it is of land. Such establishments are often located in the city and add to its size. Food production is becoming more and more a machine or factory—and thus a city--process. A scientist in a lab- oratory who finds a cure for cattle or chicken disease thereby releases thousands of farm hands who go to the ity, and he undoes the work of all the back-to-the-land reformers. Young men go to the « ity because they are not needed on the land, broadly speaking. They might be better off, physically and spir- itually, in the coun- try, but if they are sent there, it simply means releasing and transferring other individuals to the city. A definite amount of food is needed and nomore. Of our eighty-odd cities with a population of 100,000 and more, ail but a very few can be described as industrial. What the city really amounts to then is a function of agricultural, industrial and commercial productiveness. If we want to break down the cities, we must destroy indus- try and commerce, transportation and credit. Most ac- counts indicate that Russian cities did not grow markedly after the revolution in that country. But while people have been pouring from the farms into the cities, they also have been rushing out from the congested centers into suburbs and the environs wh 1ich (Continued on Page 42

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—————————E “Those are the McGuffy Twins"’ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 DRAWN BY MARGE “My, Isn't it a Shame That Two People Had to Look Like That!’’ The Fatal Wedding M ISS MO- VIESTAR: No use arguing, we're not going to have our honeymoon at Niagara Falls. Mr. GOoT- RocKS: But, honey, tell me why. Miss MOVIE- STAR: Well, if you must know, I'm very super- stitious,and I’ve already had my honeymoon there twelve times before. —Bili Levine. Tip for Tip We fo emr uae what do you think of the market?’ ORAWN BY PAUL RENLY Mother—‘‘Engaged? I Should Say Not! The Friendship Between Celia and Edwin is Purely Platonic’’ AAWN BY F. MILLER AND WP. & **How Shocking!" ORAWN BY DONALD MC KEE qf eet OT ish As Mata — = eS PIO a Littte Beaver Lake, N. J., is So Crowded This Year That All Boats Have Been Ordered Off the Water and a Traffic Cop Controls the Swimming “Too high, George. She’s going to nose- dive one of these days.” “You said it, Bill — you said it. She’s sure due for a tum- ble. Believe me, I’m getting out from under.” “‘That’s the thing to do, George. These fellows who don’t keep their senses areduefor an awful beat- ing. Prices are way out of line.”’ **Look how it’s been going up, Bill. Four years now, with hardly a set- back. She can’t keep going up forever.” (Continued on Page 103) [IF ER/ et fhognrn oe \ ORAWN BY RAY THOMPSON The Hotel Doorman Wears His Lodge Regalia by Mistake

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST By Quality and Flavor, Campbells Beans win the largest public The new perfection in Campbell’s Beans is meeting with a response that is truly remarkable. To add to the popularity of the nation’s favorite beans seemed almost impossible. Yet this is what Campbell’s have done. Today no other beans approach Campbell’s Serve hot in sales—that true index of real Quality and public approval. Always the overwhelming leader, Campbell’s Beans now advance farther ahead than ever. Serve cold Enjoy Campbell’s Beans today and you will understand why more people prefer them than any other kind. Slow-cooked to a golden brown. Whole, yet deliciously tender and mellow. Tomato sauce as only Campbell’s make it. Here is the latest and finest development in the art of cooking beans! Slow-cooked Golden Brown ¢ Cam cow” . wih \ ~ ¢ ka

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r HE private car was only an ordinary Pullman, with a stove stuck into the smoking compartment, and a colored porter named Tom and a Mexican cook. It was old-fashioned and dirty, but a palace for the Mexican Centra! in those days of revolution. Villa's army consisted of about 50,000 men, with women traveling as the com- box cars soldaderas missary. The horses rode in the coasted along on pieces of netting and soldiers and spread on the rods underneath, or perched precariously on the roof. The general had kept ull the freight cars sent across the border. They had painted on them the names of the various big railroads of the United States. Mr. Hal Stevens, son of Harry Stevens, who does the catering at the big race tracks and buse- ball parks in the coun- try, stecked our while the hospitable Villa agent in Juarez started up the printing presses and produced in no time about $8000 in alleged money with which we were to finance the car, ourney When we lined up to start, besides Mr. Wheeler and myself we had in the party Floyd Gibbons, who afterward became a famous war cor- respondent; Sam Dreben, Gunther Less- iD ing and two or three others whose names ae of I do not remember. We pulled out of El Paso at night, with a guard of five or six f tough-looking soldiers, on the way to adventure. To while away the first evening—for I must admit we were all a little jumpy we tried the self-appointed treasurer of the party on the charge of not being intel- and I acted as the prosecuting attorney, with Mr. Wheeler as judge and : Mr. Gibbons in charge of the defense. I ? finally put the accused on the witness stand, and he convicted himself even in he opinion of his own lawyer, so we fined him the $8000 in Villa money, and to show what we thought of it tore up some twenty-peso bills. The next morning our o'd porter, Tom, was all stiff from picking up the fragments of the bills and pasting ligent spent, them together. A Bull Market in Gamecocks = AT day we were in Chihuahua, and I - tried to buy a dog named after the town, but apparently none of the natives had ever heard of that kind of dog. A little farther along we stopped at some THE onfessio By BUD FISHER After about an hour I said, “‘ You had better go out and look at your gamecock to be sure he hasn’t killed one of those chickens.’”’ Shortly Mr. Wheeler came back crestfallen. ‘‘What’s the matter?’’ I asked. ““Come and look for yourself,’’ he suggested. I did. Here was the gallant gamecock flat on his back, dead as King Tut, killed by the eating chickens. After that he abandoned picking roosters to fight for the enter- tainment of General Villa. When we started to join him the gen- eral was at Guadalajara, west of Mex- ico City; but on reaching Torreon we got a telegram saying that he would meet us at Aguas Calientes. At Torreon we had our first taste of SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 Sam Dreben, who had always been a soldier of fortune, after this trip to Mexico made a remarkable record. He had arrived in this country from Russia and been an ap- prentice to an uncle of his in Philadelphia who was a tailor. | Not liking the tailoring business particularly, he was at- tracted by one of the United States Army posters and per- . suaded by it to join Uncle Sam’s forces, which took him 1 to China for the Boxer Rebellion. After being discharged he soldiered in Nicaragua with General Lee Christmas, all over Central America and Mexico, specializing with his partner, Tracy Richardson, in running machine guns for revolutionists for the highest pay he could get. When General Pershing went into Mexico to catch Villa, dead or alive, Sam was taken along as a scout, and it was not Sam’s fault that Villa was not caught. i When the Big War started, although offered a commis- sion, he enlisted as a private and was made a first sergeant. While in France he took out eighteen men, killed fifty- h\ eight Germans, brought in two prisoners and six machine a guns. For this exploit he was decorated with the Médaille i. Militaire and the Croix de Guerre by the French, and the Distinguished Service ‘ | © ol eet S a 4 5 J P ‘a Ne q a Cross by the American Army. A Man to be Cordial With N THE night of his arrival home from the war I saw him, and hesitantly he told about the decorations he wore on his chest and apologetically admitted the two prisoners. He said he missed one of them and brought the other in for information. Sam was a soldier until the day of his death. When General Villa met us he invited us into his private car. It was a regular oes. observation car ‘‘borrowed’’ from some American railroad, and immediately in "7 front of it were two freight cars, one equipped with a piano and a bathtub which looked little used—that is, the bathtub—and the other fixed up with a barber chair. We were offered the privi- leges of the piano, bathtub and barber * chair. Also there were two or three fair- Mee ic, looking sefioritas, to whom we were not f ibigd introduced. 4 My first impression of Pancho will stay with me always, for I have never seen \ such eyes in the head of a human being. Wherever you were in the room with him, his eyes were on you and on every other individual in it. He greeted us cordially, with a pleasant smile, and you can bet we were cordial to him. We talked a lit- tle through an interpreter, and I drew a picture of Mutt and Jeff for him, to show my hand was steady. Then he said he (Continued on Page 28) station, where Mr. Wheeler, thinking he ould speak Spanish because he had studied it at Columbia once, met a Mexican with an ugly-looking rooster which he took for agamecock. He tried to ask the possessor of it how much he would take for it and pretended to understand his reply: He anded him a twenty-dollar Mexican bill and the Mexican handed him the rooster and no change. I'll bet if the train had stopped there more than two minutes, all the roosters in town would have been on that station platform, once news of the bull market got abroad. When he returned to the car I asked, “What are you going to do with that ugly-looking bird?” ‘They tell me,” he replied, “that Villa does not drink or smoke but is crazy about cockfights, so I shall buy another one before we meet him and get in good right away by staging a cockfight.” In the meantime he tied his gamecock out on the plat- form of our car with a couple of innocent-looking chickens the cook had brought along with the idea that he would kill them when he wanted to have a chicken dinner. tne Generai Vilta and Raut Madero. Dreben, Shortly After His Return From France, Where He Won a Médaille Militaire, the Highest Decoration in the French Army, a Distinguished Service Cross, and a Croix de Guerre With Paim., At Right — First Lieutenant Sam In Oval — Generali Vilia’s Adopted Son adventure. Several Mexicans greeted us, mostly generals, and one of them engaged in conversation with Sam Dreben, after staring at him for some time first. “Weren't you with Orozco, the Red Flagger?”’ he asked. “No,” replied Sam, without quivering an eyelid, although he had been. “It isn’t healthy for Red Flaggers down here,” sug- gested the Mexican as he walked away. A brother of Francisco Madero, the murdered president of Mexico, a Cornell graduate, overheard the conversation and urged Sam to return to El Paso. Later we added our pleas to Madero’s, but they fell on deaf ears. Finally Dreben squared his shoulders and said, “If they shoot this Jew tomorrow morning, I am going to stick.” And he did.

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°To be certain Carrots and Peas- “% flour, 2 tablespoons butter, and sea recipe leaflet, “Hot Weather Treats.” It THE SATURDAY EVENING POST > erved in medium cream sauce made from up Libby’s Evaporated Milk, \4 cup water, 2 tablespoon b ning. Send for the Milk ’ It's free. Mary Hale Martin, Cooking Correspondent, Dept. C-20, Libby, M°Neill €? Libby, Chicago. Canadian Kitchens, Chatham, Ont., Canada of fine flavor in each o these foods ... ask your grocer for Libby's Fruits and Vegetables Sliced Pineapple Crushed Pineapple Peaches, Pears Apricots Cherries, Royal Anne Cherries, Maraschino Fruits for Salad Plums, Apples Apple Butter 3erries Jellies, Jams B B ae sparagus Spinach Pork & Beans Sweet Potatoes Sauerkraut Sauerkraut Juice Tomatoes Milk Evaporated Milk Condensed Milk M Pickles and Condiments Pickles— Sweet Sour Dill Sweet Mixed Sweet Mustard Sliced Sweet Dill Home Made Style Sweet Cauliflower Salmon Red Alaska Salmon Olives— een Stuffed Ripe Olive Oil Catchup Chili Sauce Mustard Chow Chow Sweet Onions Sweet Relish (Partial List) N _ I L Canned Meats Corned Beef Corned Beef Hash Roast Beef Veal Loaf Vienna Sausage Beef Steak & Onions Ra-gon (beef stew) Meat-wich Spread Lunch Tongue Deviled Ham & Potted Ham Potted Meat Boneless Chicken Chicken a la King Sliced Dried Beef Chili Con Carne Mexican Tamales Mince Meat Bouillon Cubes Beef Extract Chop Suey B B

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28 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 Continued from Page 26) was planning to execute a couple of prisoners at day- light the next morning and asked us if we would care to attend. “T hate to get up early,” I answered. ‘“Can’t you make it later?” “How would ten o'clock suit the sefior?”’ he inquired, to which I assented, although even that was pretty early for me; but I figured I couldn't be too particular. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t so strong for seeing the execution--especially the first thing in the morning. We witnessed it as scheduled, and as a gesture of wel- come, General Villa gave me the pearl-handled revolver which had belonged to one of the Carranzistas killed, with the remark that its former owner had no further use for it. I still have it. Right here I want to say those Mexicans died game. Backed up against a wall, blindfolded, in the sunshine of a beautifui morning, facing a firing squad, they puffed on cigarettes until the bullets cut them down. The name on the handle of the revolver is José Diaz. With Villa at that time was a general named Felix Angeles, who was the most soldierly man in the whole army. He was a graduate of the Military School of Chapultepec and of the French artillery school at St.- Cyr, France. He had recommended a campaign against Tampico, which was held by Carranza, because the in- come from the oil region was supporting the whole Carranza revolution. He contended that possession of the main line of railroad between Torreon and Mexico City had no strategic value and urged Villa to leave about 5000 men to fight rear-guard actions with Obre- gon, who was advancing north from Mexico City. That was the plan of action when we joined up. General Angeles is now dead, having been captured and exe- cuted later when Villa ran into reverses. So we all started off for Monterey, from which base the attack on Tampico was to be launched. Several amusing things happened en route. One night while pausing in Torreon I made the mistake of giving one of the Mexican soldiers a dollar, which represented about three months’ pay—when they got it—and then I gave another one a doliar—all Mexican money, you understand—and it wasn’t long before the whole blooming army was swarming off the freight cars and to ours. I could have bought the whole army for ten bucks American money. Where the Sword is Mightier Than the Pen NE night we were talking to an officer who had been educated at the University of Pennsylvania and spoke English well. He was a major, and there was a rule in the Villa army that any officer could promote up to the rank next below his, which meant he could make officers to the rank of captain. Finally I said, “‘ We've been hanging around here a long time now and have seen a lot of generals and we're nothing. How about that?” He reached into his pocket and hauled out a couple of hat cords and put them on our campaign hats. “ You're captains,"’ he said simply; and by gosh we were! Mrs. Villa, the Church Wife of the General, Known to His Followers as Luz He seemed surprised as he listened to our story through an interpreter, and then, with a grin on his broad face, re- plied, “I fight my battles with the sword and not with the pen.” This meant that he turned us down, and look at him now, licked and dead, whereas if he had taken on a couple of good managers However, we did not persist in our proposition, because the general had a reputation for being quick-tempered. We had airily suggested that, with our influence, we could get him recognized by the United States. Arriving at Monterey, preparations were begun for an at- tack on Tampico, and we witnessed several little skir- mishes. I did not know much about war in those days, and little more now, although I served as an officer in the British Army in France, getting a commission first in the American Army at the second Plattsburg Camp. In France, when at the front, you were ‘‘so close to the trees that you couldn't see the forest.’ However, I discovered that those Mexican battles usually were comparatively safe, because the armies line up against each other, fre- quently out of range, and there seems to be a gentle- men’s agreement that neither shall attack the other. After shooting at each other for a couple of days one retires and the other does not follow. It was, however, the first time I ever heard a bullet sing in anger. There- fore we were as comfortable as watching a World’s Series during these preliminary engagements—and about as safe, unless we stepped in a hole and sprained an ankle. Then suddenly Villa decided to abandon his cam- paign against Tampico and take his whole army back to attack Obregén, who was advancing to the north from Mexico City. We were fortunate enough to be present when this strategy was being discussed, and General Angeles urged him to pursue his first plan; but Villa hated Obreg6n because he thought he had deserted him, and Villa never forgave himself because he had had a chance to kill him and didn’t. Angeles advised sending 5000 men to fight rear-guard actions with Obre- gon and harass him, and attacking Tampico vigorously. Asleep at the Throttle HE real inside story—and there was an inside story in this—was that the general had a girl in Guadalajara whom he liked, and he feared Obregén would cut him off from this lady. I recall that he made a violent state- ment when the matter was being discussed, so I asked Sam Dreben, who understood Spanish, what Villa had said. According to Sam he said, “This so-and-so Obreg6n isn’t going to cut me off from seeing my sefio- rita.” So off we all started for Torreon. Here we left the general to his fate; and strangely enough, although he was undefeated in battle up to the time we met him, he never won a victory after that, and a couple of months later was on the run, with his army disintegrated. Friends of ours told us later that Villa was superstitious about this, and declared we had been hoodoos. I am glad he did not decide this when we were with him, because hoodoos in Mexico often get shot against a wall, and there is no closed season on them. Also, while I am expressing my preferences, I am just as well pleased that the United States Government did not recognize Carranza, as it did shortly afterward, while we were Villa’s guests. We left the general at Torreon, and the last we saw of him was at the head of his troops, plunging south to meet his old enemy, Obregén, who defeated him at the battle of Celaya—his first beating. We stopped on our way north to have dinner with a governor in Saltillo, which was attended by several prominent Villistas. On our way back to Juarez the train suddenly stopped one night and began to back up at a rapid pace, and there was talk of us being held up by the Red Flaggers, who were operating in the state of Chihuahua in roving bands. These gentlemen had some sort of grudge against the Villistas which led them to shoot them at sight. We were all wearing photographs of Villa on buttons, with his flag draped around them, like rooters returning from a college game. As soon as the rumor of the Red Flaggers spread through our car we quickly changed our religion and Thinking no more about it, we had another drink and went to bed. We were awakened early the next morning by this same major, who had a couple of orderlies with horses, and he suggested that Wheeler and I go to join our com- mands. We promptly gave him back his hat cords and retired from the Villa army. Another night, in an ar- gument, we agreed that Villa was a great leader, but that he lacked the experi- ence and brains a couple of good managers could give to his revolution. It wasn’t long before we de- cided that the thing to do was to approach Villa and submit our proposition, it being substantially that he should do the fighting and we should do the managing, and we would divide up Mexico three ways when we won. We were to be prize- began tearing off the but- tons and throwing them out of the windows and under the seats. Our only regret was that we had not pro- vided ourselves with the buttons of the Red Flaggers for just such an emergency. When the train finally stopped we discovered why the engineer had retreated with such rapidity. It was a single-track railroad and he had had orders to meet a train going in the oppo- site direction on a certain switch. But the engineer had fallen asleep and run three-quarters of a mile past the meeting place be- fore he awoke. When he did he put her into reverse and went back hell bent for the place where the trains were to pass. He got there in time. Our traveling compan- ions on the way back to El Paso were the manager of the Villa railroads and a fight managers in his corner and furnish the brains. Torreon, Mexico, During the Vilia:Carranza Revolution (Continued on Page 110

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Tg SSS ee a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 29 How a cement company saved $5,567 in one department Will you match an hour with us? In one hour — probably less — a Vacuum Oil representative can ex- plain to you the wide economic dif- ference between scientific lubrica- tion and just “‘oil’’. Scientific lubrication means a great deal more than money-saving from month to month. Yet it often means such money-saving in addition to its other benefits. As an example from among thousands, the following savings showed up in a big cement plant: Up to January, 1926, four cement crushers consumed 901 kilowatt hours per day. A talk with a Vacuum Oil man led to lubrication changes which resulted in a reduction of 7% in power-consumption and an annual power-cost saving of $4,680. Further economy in the use of lubricants brought the total saving to $5,567, which amounts to many times the annual oil bill of this department, and represents 6% interest on nearly $100,000 of capital. But savings of this sort are negligible compared with the increase of ma- chine efficiency and production ca- pacity which scientific lubrication inevitably promotes. Diagnosis first! In our experience there is no “blanket prescription” for correct lubrication. Each plant has its own Pere Lubricating Oils The world’s quality oils for plant lubrication Very often an outside mind thoroughly grounded in lubri- cation knowledge, studying those problems from a new angle, can re- veal many unlooked-for opportuni- ties for increased efficiency. problems. It is just such study that the Vacuum Oil Company offers you. Our men know how to reduce fric- tion. The reduction of friction is not to be measured merely by temporary savings—indeed, the savings may be small. Its value reveals itself in years of increased mechanical productive- ness, in long records of machine continuity, in lowered depreciation. One hour of your time, matched against our 62 years’ specialization in scientific lubrication, may lead to just such economies. A talk with one of our men can be arranged to suit your convenience. Vacuum Oil Company HEADQUARTERS: 61 BROADWAY, NEW YORK BRANCHES AND DISTRIBUTING WAREHOUSES THROUGHOUT THE COUNTRY

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928 To our great-grandfathers the coach and four represented the height of luxury, speed and comfort in transportation HE slender, graceful proportions of Packard bodies are not secured at any sacrifice of comfort to driver or passengers—exterior beauty is combined with interior roominess. But the restful ease of Packard trans- portation is not the result of ample room and deep upholstery alone. Chassis design plays an important part in providing the degree of travel luxury which Packard owners know. All that men have learned about spring design and body suspension in 200 years since the first crude steel springs supplanted leather straps on private coaches is summed up in Packard riding comfort today. Packard engineers have contributed scores of hidden aids to the most luxurious personal transportation man has ever known. And not the least of these contributing causes of owner comfort and satisfaction is the peace of mind which comes with ease of control, silence, smooth rid- ing, sure safety—and the gratifying knowledge of universal approval. Packard cars are priced from $2275 to $4550. Individual custom models from $3875 to $8725, at Detroit Po... w H O an & Oo WN S O N E

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a a SS es mcrae ——— NGLISH cooking looks almost good enough to eat— and there the resemblance stops. But I will say one thing for the tight little island—and that is, their cuisine is tighter than anything I have bent a tooth on. There are no garnishings and few sauces. The food is au naiurel, meaning that it is devoid of frills and furbelows. The vegetables are cooked as they come out of the ground and served as they are cooked. The preparation of meats, fowls and fishes is of the simplest. Every dish is cooked in its own essence, which might indicate that your British cousin in war is a Spartan on diet. And he is—until the food reaches his table. After the simple roast or fowl is parked on the linen the guest figures that he has complied with all hereditary rig- marole relative to the food in question. He then reaches across the table and grasps a battery of tough-looking bottles. Each one of these bottles contains a meat sauce guaranteed to kill at three hundred yards. He sprays his roast with these sauces, and after he is through weather- proofing his roast with terrific condiments I guarantee that the meat would blow out the fuses in the devil’s play- ground. The Frenchman laughs at the Briton’s method of cook- ing food, and the merriment is mutual. The Englishman chuckles at the Gaul’s system of flavoring the daily prov- ender. No Parisian would dream of seasoning a dish after it arrives at the table, for that would be an insult to the chef. I think the Englishman has the best of the hilarity, for he gets his meat in its native condition and flavors it to please himself. The climate of England calls for plenty of plain roasts and boils, with solid variations like steak and kidney pies. There are no saufés or filets, and even the fish is plain boiled or fried. The Englishman is content with what Nature gives him, even though he paints it with a sauce that approximates his favorite color. And the cook- ing becomes even more severe and simple as you travel into Wales, Scotland and Ireland. And yet, English cook- ing is very nearly like American cooking—except that we do it better. There has been plenty of discussion on this subject, and whenever British cooking is mentioned to the epicure the tocsin rings with the banging of negative ham- mers. Charles Cooper, who is an authority on food, argues loud and longer in favor of the English cuisine. He denies that there are more bad cooks in England than in any other country, and demands proof. He challenges the world to produce more appetizing food than a sirloin of Scotch beef or a saddle of Southdown or Welsh mountain wether roasted before an open fire. He also chants the glories of English turtle soup and admits there is nothing more appe- tizing than lark and steak pudding. If turtle soup is good, I think the credit should go to the turtle and not to the chef. And as for lark and steak pud- ding, I imagine that a bird on the fork is worse than two in the bush. Larks and pet canaries should be granted all the neu- trality that is awarded to small, defenseless nations. Roasts SPOKE with Sir Francis Towle, who operates a string of English hotels, and he claims that the deca- dence of modern Eng- lish cooking is due to these same Scotch beeves and Southdown muttons, which are such marvelous meats that the British house- wife thinks that they can cook themselves. She has grown lax in her preparation of them, and even the most excellent quality of Southdown mutton fares badly in an oven when the housewife is spending the afternoon in the movies. Alfred Willes, head chef at Simpson’s on the Strand, has only one definition of a British dinner: A meal more satis- fying than any other. He may be right, but I hardly think that five million American tourists can be wrong. Alfred, who knows his groceries, says that such a repast should consist of turtle soup, turbot or sole, saddle of mutton, Scotch sirloin and game. You can see that everything in that dinner is either boiled or roasted. The mutton, sirloin and game mean that three roasts would be served at the same meal, when two roasts would be one too many. Simpson's is an ex- ample of the old-line British cooking. It is a kitchen with- out sauces or spices. All the roasting is done on a spit before a terrific fire of coke. Roasting before the open fire is preferable to baking in the oven because of the resulting flavor. It is also the most ex- pensive method of cooking, because the meat wastes gen- erously in the process. The secret of good roasting is in the fire, which must be hot, clear and bright, giving out a steady heat which is not too fierce. An hour is required to bank the fire to the proper temperature, as the blaze must first be started with coal and then heaped up with coke. The huge joint of beef or mutton is spitted before the fire and turned slowly by machinery. When more fuel is nec- essary, the coke is placed at the back of the fire, the live coals are drawn to the front and the meat is thus exposed toa bed of coke which is always hot and clear. The heat of the fire is regulated by the size and weight of the joint, its condi- tion, and the proportion of fat and lean. Newly slaughtered meats require more time than a joint that has been aged on the hook. The thickness of the joint is also taken in con- sideration. Rolled and stuffed joints require more time than a joint which is cooked unrolled. Even the climate affects the cooking, for longer time is required on a foggy, damp day than on a warm day. tu THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 31 By George Rector ILLUSTRATED BY HARLEY 2BNNIS STIVERS Although the time for cooking meat varies with condi- tions, the general rule for spitted joints is fifteen minutes to the pound for each pound of beef or mutton. At the finish there is an extra grace period of fifteen minutes. If you were roasting ten pounds of mutton, that would mean one hundred and fifty minutes plus the extra fifteen min- utes, or one hundred and sixty-five minutes in all. Lamb, pork and veal require twenty minutes for each pound of meat and another extra inning of twenty minutes at the fin- ish. If the joint is very thick—say about thirty pounds then it is roasted at the rate of twenty-five minutes to the pound. Twenty minutes a pound is also the standard rate for poultry and game. The Joint on the Spit HEN the joint is on the spit an enormous dripping and basting pan is placed beneath it to catch the juices of the roasting. A couple of pounds of beef suet are placed in the dripping pan, and as the heat of the fire melts the suet it is caught up in a big spoon and used to baste the meat If the joint is very fat it is not necessary td use the two pounds of suet, but economical! cooks wil! not choose a fat joint, as it means paying the price of prime meat for suet which runs away to dripping in frent of the hot fire and causes the weight of the actual meat to depreciate consid- erably. For the first ten minutes the joint is placed as close to the fire as possible without actually scorching the meat. This hardens the surface and serves to retain the juices. After ten minutes it is drawn farther back and allowed to cook more slowly and gradually. Then the basting begins and is repeated at fifteen-minute intervals all through the cooking. When the meat is thoroughly cooked the joint will begin to smoke, and at this point the basting ceases. The joint is sprinkled with a little fine salt and placed on a hot dish and kept hot while the gravy is being made. The gravy is secured from the dripping pan, which is poured off (Centinued on Page 33) The Writers and Poets Seemed to Do Most of Their Heavy Thinking in Taprooms

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928 tcklland Barclay “en it comes to style in motor cars—and today style is all-important—all the world looks to Body by Fisher. For Fisher is the authority, the leader, tried and proven; the chief source and center of beauty in motor car design. % 4 4 Cadillac + La Salle + Buick + Oakland + Oldsmobile + Pontiac + Chevrolet

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ne eT nae me (Continued from Page 31) until all the liquid fat is removed. This fat which is poured off is not used again. The real stuff is the glaze and little brown blisters adhering to the basting pan, which are the concentrated juices of the meat. A little boiling water is poured into the pan and the glaze and the blisters scraped up with aspoon. They are mixed with the water until they are dissolved and blended, and a little salt is dusted into the gravy. The gravy is then poured all around the meat, but never on it. The exact amount of boiling water essential for the gravy is difficult to standardize, but remember that too little is better than too much, for you want your gravy a rich, deep, dark brown. Some chefs add stock or even con- sommé to the basting pan in order to enrich the gravy. This is a mistake, as it alters the flavor of the gravy, which should consist only ef the pure, fresh juices of the meat, and not a mixture of foreign flavors, which is inevitable when stock is used. The properly cooked joint should have its surface brown and crisp, with a distinct taste of the fire, and should be surrounded by a meat juice in harmony with the meat to which it belongs. Remember that with roasts of any kind the plates must be crackling hot, or the gravy will become disagreeably greasy. A British Dish in the French Manner HAT’S the English method of chalking up victories over roast meats. It is really an indoor barbecue without the mosquitoes and picnic ants. The only flavoring employed is a little dusting of salt. If a F:enchman were to prepare the same joint, he would first wax his mustache, have his nails polished and then decorate his apron with numerous ribbons and medals donated by a grateful government. As the joint revolved on the spit he would march up with a double-barreled shotgun over his shoulder while he chanted the glorious notes of the Marseillaise. Then he would sight his gun, shout “It is for France!” and pepper that joint with a full charge of garlic. Clicking his heels together, he would cry ‘‘ They shall not pass!’’ and let the roast have the contents of the other barrel, which, in this case, would be a mixture of marjoram, thyme and laurel. After that there would come a bayonet charge, with an onion on the end of the bayonet. Then he would baste the meat by spraying it with lilac, and would probably shampoo it with bay rum. The coke fire would not be romantic enough for the Parisian chef, who would insist on a fire of aromatic Chinese incense. The gravy would be a combination of Normandy cream, a little sherry, a dash of cognac, a sprinkling of powdered diamonds, two dozen yolks of eggs, the crushed feathers of a peacock’s tail and a big lump of sweet butter. Then he would take the meat out into the woods and allow the autumn leaves to flutter gently over it until it was covered like the Babes in the Woods. And just as the setting sun was gilding the tips of his mustaches he would burst into tears and serve the meat to the music of well-modulated sobbing. That’s the difference between two countries which are but twenty miles apart. The Englishman wants his roast served so that he can recognize it. The Frenchman thinks that every dish is a masquerade party. The Briton not only wants his meat without any decorative shellacking but also wants it for breakfast, dinner and supper. He is the only European who eats a big, substantial breakfast similar to the American. He can eat meat three times a day and still retain the gaunt, furtive look of a vegetarian. I favor the British style of preparing roasts. Meat should be slaughtered but once. And the Frenchman slaughters his twice—once in the abattoir and again in the cooking. I must admit that the Londoner indulges liberally in condi- ments and mustards which are hot enough to blister a board fence, but all these sauces have meat bases and are in harmony with the roast. The finest thing that I can say about the blazing British sauces is that they are not com- pulsory. Simpson’s was once a wayside tavern until London spread all over like ink on a blotter. It is about the Jast re- maining link in the chain of pure Anglo-Saxon cuisine. Like a fat man on a bleacher seat, all food is stewed in its own juices. The wayside tavern dates back to the days of the Mongol raiders, when the khans established remount and feeding stations for the slant-eyed couriers of the Yel- low Scourge. These depots were mere stables, but they were a place to exchange horses and snatch a few minutes’ sleep. There were guest houses prior to that in abbeys and monasteries, where the wayfarer could get food and drink and sleep. There was no charge in the monasteries for meals or shelter, but the wealthy travelers usually made a donation to the guest master. All these donations went into the common fund to further the cause of charity, and right here you have the fountainhead of the modern tip. The cabaret can also be traced to the ancient abbeys, for the strolling player, contortionist or minstrel always paid THE SATURDAY EVENING POST for his bed and board by a post-supper exhibition of his entertaining prowess. The wayside tavern clambered a rung up the ladder of service when the Knights Hospitalers erected gigantic edifices for the housing of princes, knights and fighting men touring to Palestine to crusade against the terrible Turk. These hospitals, or inns, were adorned with the crest of the guest master, and in later years these heraldic devices evolved into the Green Dragon, Purple Unicorn and other now familiar signboards. After the Crusades the fighting men returned to England and secured their masters’ per- mission to set up inns of their own on the English roads. These innkeepers became fat and waxed wealthy, powerful and arrogant, reaching their obstinate climax in Thomas Hobson, who operated the famous Bull Inn in the seven- teenth century. He was the first man in England who hired out horses to the cross-country tourist. He grew tired of travelers picking out the best horses in the stable and in- sisted on them being taken in strict rotation. You had to take the nag nearest the stable door, or you got none. Rather than continue on foot, the terrain voyagers took the horse nearest the stable door; and there you have the origination of that great overworked campaign phrase, “Hobson’s choice,’* which is no choice at all, but a com- mand. All the English taverns were rich in guests and poor in chefs. The writers and poets seemed to do most of their heavy thinking in taprooms. Even Shakspere hung out at the Bell and found the original of Sir John Falstaff con- suming his intolerable quantity of sack to but a ha’p’orth of bread, in the old Boar’s Head Tavern. Doctor Johnson loafed around the famous Cheshire Cheese, which still ex- ists—that is, the nest is there but the bird has flown, for mine host is now a syndicate. Big corporations control all the historic taverns, which are bought and sold like second- hand cars. However, the new owners hold hard and fast to one rule: When they take over a tavern they never oust the waiters or cooks, and it is nothing unusual to meet waiters who have worked forty or fifty years in one restau- rant. The chefs start iz as scullions and remain with the same tavern until retired on pensions. Here is a recipe for boiled turkey with oyster sauce from what is easily one of the star establishments of England, not only for its roasts but also for its stews and boils: Singe and draw a gocd hen turkey, wash it inside and out in warm water and rub it all over with lemon juice. The rubbing with the lemon juice is a new one to me, but I in- tend to try it this Thanksgiving. Once a year won't hurt anybody. Have ready a saucepan of boiling water on the fire and put the bird in with a few slices of carrots, onions and a small bunch of sweet herbs, three stalks of celery, a quarter pound of good table butter, a little mace and cloves, and salt and pepper to taste. Boil the turkey slowly, skimming off the grease and waste as it rises to the top. Turkey in a New Guise REPARE the following sauce: Parboil two dozen oysters in their own liquor, drain them and remove beards. The liquor should be strained and set aside. Put one ounce of butter in a stewpan, and when it is melted add one table- spoonful of flour and mix over the fire. Then stir in the oyster liquor with sufficient sweet milk to make the required quantity of sauce. Add half a blade of mace, bay leaf, salt and pepper to taste and a very small quantity of Cayenne pepper. Remove the mace and bay leaf from the sauce, squeeze in a small quantity of lemon juice, strain the sauce and then add the oysters. When the turkey is cooked, drain it, place on a hot dish and serve with the above sauce. All of which listens very good to me. The turkey is our national dish. It isa native American bird, was first found in America, but I must ad- mit that the British have made some improvements on the original chassis. If you don’t like the oyster sauce, you can try your turkey with a sauce made of celery: Singe, draw and truss a fine fat turkey. Wrap it up in slices of bacon. Place it in a saucepan with the juice of a lemon, a small lump of butter, a teaspoonful of salt and cover with sufficient water to boil it. Cut the stalks off some hearts of celery, peel the hearts and wash them and stew. When tender, drain the hearts of celery, cut them into pieces about one inch long and put them into some hot béchamel sauce. When the turkey is cooked, drain it, put it on a hot dish, pour the sauce over and serve. Both of these recipes for boiled turkey sound very fine, but I think the oyster is the better. There is only one good oyster in Europe, and that is the Whitstable Native, pecul- iar to England in the months dignified by an r. The French oyster is small and copperish, the Russian oyster is a bum, and the Spanish oyster is a myth. Every American house- wife knows all about oysters, but I think there is one British standard recipe which may be a novelty. It is Oyster Forcemeat: The ingredients are eighteeri oysters, one-half pint of bread crumbs, one egg, one ounce of suet, one teaspoonful of dried mixed herbs, salt, pepper and a pinch of nutmeg The method of preparation is first to beard the oysters and cut them into quarters. Mix them with the bread crumbs, herbs and seasoning and the suet, which has been finely shredded. Beat up the egg and bind the mixture with it. If it proves to be too dry, add another egg or a little milk. The oyster forcemeat is used as stuffing for roast or boiled turkey, chicken or capon. This forcemeat for stuffing can be made with veal for stuffing boned joints, fresh haddock and fowls. Or if desired, veal forcemeat can be rolled into balls, covered with flour and baked in a hot oven, to be eaten for itself alone. There are also sausage, liver and chestnut forcemeats which can be used as stuffing or made into balls and cooked separately. A Pudding in Name and a Pudding in Fact LTHOUGH Simpson’s specializes on roasts, you can get your boils there also. That sounds like an outbreak, or something, but by boils I mean boiled turkey and fish. The original Simpson's is still in existence in Bird-in-Hand Court, Cheapside. He boasted that he knew one hundred ways of preparing the same number of edible fish, and his habit of saying grace before meals is still continued. Each meal wound up with the famous contest known as Guessing the Cheese, meaning weight, girth and height of an enormous Cheddar cheese. The cheese has been guessed but nineteen times during the last two hundred years Simpson's on the Strand is practically a modern establish- ment, dating back merely to 1828, which is but a scant moment in the life of such an ancient institution as the venerable Yorkshire pudding. You will find this pudding all over England; in homes, castles, hotels, taverns and hovels. Yorkshire pudding is the English cousin of the corn fritter which we serve with chicken @ la Maryland. The only difference is that a corn fritter has some flavor to it I had heard so much about Yorkshire pudding that I was amazed to discover that it was practically nothing at all But I had best not criticize it too heavily, for English armies have crossed the Channel for less. The ingredients are two teacupfuls of flour, two eggs, one pint of milk and salt. The preparaticn is simple but tedious: Sieve the flour into a basin, add a pinch of salt, make a hollow in the center and add the unbeaten eggs and a little of the milk. Mix the flour in gradually from all sides, adding more milk by degrees. When about half the milk has been added and the flour is well mixed, beat well with a wooden spoon until perfectly light and smooth, then grad- ually stir in the rest of the milk. Allow this batter to stand about forty minutes, then pour it into a flat tin pan con- taining a little boiling fat. Bake in a moderate oven for forty minutes. There's eighty minutes of your valuable life dedicated to a pancake. However, Yorkshire pudding is indispensable to the serving of roast sirloin of beef, and always accom- panies that dish, like a pilot fish chaperoning a shark. Whenever you see roast sirloin of beef you will observe Yorkshire pudding, which indicates that it is not a recipe but a superstition. But if you want a real pudding you don’t have to go any farther than the plum pudding, the cornerstone of the British Isles, and second only to the pride of ancestry and the hope of an invitation to the Court Here goes, ready or not: The ingredients—one of which violates the Fighteenth rters ol a Amendment hopelessly— consist of three-qua pound of bread crumbs, one and a half pounds of raisins, ‘ half a pound of currants, half a pound of mixed peels, three- quarters of a pound of suet, eight fresh eggs and —get ready —one wineglassful of brandy! Stone and cut the raisins in half, clean the currants thoroughly, shred the candied peel and mince the suet very finely. Rub the bread crumbs through a sieve Mix all well together, beat up the eggs and add. Then stir in the brandy. Press the mixture into a greased basin unti! it is flush with the top. Remember that the basin must be ex- actly full. Tie a scalded flour cloth over the top and boil for five or six hours. Plum pudding is usually made four weeks before it is required, and reboiled at least two hours before being eaten. When you are ready to serve it and it has had the second boiling of two hours, turn it out onto a hot dish, 1 brandy over it and set fire to the brandy. Serve with a brandy sauce made from the following sweet white sauce The ingredients for the sweet white sauce are a hal pint of milk, one ounce of butter, a half ounce of fle the same quantity of powdered sugar, and a pinch of salt. Melt the butter in a pan, stir in the fle Continued on Page §2

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34 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST | are bound to happen “even in the best regulated families.” There’s no way to avoid them. But there is a way to avoid the aftermath—those unsightly stains on your linoleum floor. That is to remember the name “Sealex” when next you buy linoleum for any room. Sealex Linoleums are proof against all ordinary house- hold accidents. The Sealex Process, an exclusive new manufacturing development, penetrates and seals the tiny dirt-absorbing pores of the linoleum. The most acidy fruit juices. the hottest sizzling fats, the smeariest greases—all wipe right off without leaving a trace. Dirt cannot be ground in. Liquids—even the blackest ink—cannot penetrate. A damp cloth takes all of them NOL Sealex Linoleum No. 3042 Karnean Marbled design. pass —~Yor Floors as a Decorator Views Them”’—a new book on home decoration by the well- known authority, Winnifred Fales. A practical Color Scheme Selector comes with the book. Ad Congoleum-Nairn Inc., Kearny, N. J., today for your free copy. August 4, 1928 This is pattern No. 1173/2 in Sealex Linoleum. off without leaving a sign of a stain. Think of the work-saving virtue of such a floor! More than that, you want year-in and year-out beauty in your floors. It is yours in Sealex Linoleums. Durability extends clear through the smart inlaid colors and patterns. Sealex Linoleums are made by the largest manufac- turers of smooth-surface floor-coverings in the world. There are Inlaids (like those shown), two-tone Jaspé, Romanesq, Plain and Battleship . . . for every type of room and every purpose ... and each carries the manu- facturer’s guarantee of satisfaction or your money back. Concoreum-Nairn Inc., General Office: Kearny, N. J. New York Philadelphia Chicago San Francisco Pittsburgh Boston Minneapolis Kansas City Dallas NewOrleans Atlanta Sealex Linoleum No. 6141 Karnean Marbled design. Ve Sealex Linoleum No. 7001.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 35 Tar 8 ea es ” i nae” tak < eh a “eo ke ? es ~ 4 if ao I Will Give You the Summer flmd Other Poems By EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY DECORATION BY FRANKLIN BOOTH SONNET IFE, were thy pains as are the pains of hell, So hardly to be borne, yet to be borne, And all thy boughs more grim with wasp and thorn Than armored bough stood ever; too chill to spell With the warm tongue, and sharp with broken shell Thy ways, whereby in wincing haste forlorn The desperate foot must travel, blind and tern, Yet I must cry, “So be it. It is well.” So fair to me thy vineyards, nor less fair Than the sweet heaven my fathers hoped to gain; So bright this earthly blossom spiked with care, This harvest hung behind the boughs of pain Needs must I gather, guessing by the stain I bleed, but know not wherefore, know not where. ON FIRST HAVING HEARD THE SKYLARK OT knowing he rose from the earth, not having seen him rise, Not knowing the fallow furrow was his home And that high wing, untouchable, untainted, A wing of earth, with the warm loam Closely acquainted, I shuddered at his cry and caught my heart. Relentless out of heaven his sweet crying like a crystal ‘ dart .o: Was launched against me. Scanning the empty sky, I stood with thrown-back head until the world reeled Still, still he sped his unappeasable shafts against my breast without a shield.

? f He cried forever from his unseen throat 4 rt . Between me and the sun. He would not end his singing; he would not have done “Oh, clear and piercing note, rou2”" I WILL GIVE YOU THE hype gr aay you! ; Pope ee cried. as, these arrows, how fast they fall SUMMER up Balt : ual § Ay me, beset by angels in unequal fight, Alone high on the shaven down surprised, and not a WILL give you the summer ; tree in sight!’ For what you have in your hand: Sighing and kissing Even as I spoke he was revealed And walking on the sand. Above me in the bright air,

A dark, articulate atom in the mute, enormous blue I will give you the autumn A mortal bird, flying and singing in the morning there For what you have in your lap: Tunes and books and travel : . called him by his name Aboard a big ship. And called him . » “Blithe Spirit!" I cried. Transfixed by more thar mortal spears I fell; I lay among the foreign daisies pink and small And wept, staining their innocent faces with fast Even as I spoke I spied him, and I knew, I will give you the winter For what you have in your heart: Warmth and comfort flowing tears. In a place apart.

But the least green glance Of the haggard spring I will not give you For anything. er ny Oe ae ht BR at 2 i‘ 2 7

rh ~~ saaliboee ot & me ee eee rw eee mL, ce Ra EL LS OTT

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Ee 3! ; : +) ee at a | SA i Wer Vy | N¢ 4 iN HW" «4 tH f | BF “ke Henrietta McCaig Starrett's Picture of Hersetf While Writing Her Story for This Page and,in Circte,as the Camera Pictures Her Henrietta McCaig Starrett SIMPLY can’t tell ev- erything, but I guaran- tee a frank beginning. I was born in a sedate residence on South Oxford Street, in Brooklyn, the ninth of January, 1893. It seems a pity, too, when I might so easily have been wrapped in my swad- dling clothes and put to bed in the top tray of a theatrical trunk by my mother, Jane Burby. Mr. Charles Collins, a theatrical manager, was my father. It would require research for me to pro- vide more information about him than that. One of my earliest recollections is of the black robes of the nuns of Holy Cross Academy in New York. I was three then. When I was four I was sent to the Ursuline Convent in Chatham, Ontario. My memories of the place and of the sisters are all kindly and warm, for they were tender and affectionate. Sometimes they clucked apprehensively at the thought of me going on the stage, but they were al- most needlessly alarmed. One day as I passed along a corridor of the convent my nose was thrilled by the odors of turpentine and oils. Older girls in a studio there were painting china, burning fancy designs on leather and wood, and in similar ways { was sufficiently fascinated to forget Continued on Page 40 acquiring culture. A. W. Somerville WAS born June 9, 1900, in Ferguson, Missouri. I have no recollection whatever of this incident. My father was with the C. B. & Q. R. R., and we moved from place to place—-so long as the place was on a railroad it didn’t seem to matter particularly. Eventually we got back to Ferguson again, which is a suburb of St. Louis, and I re- member a big frame house and a barn, not to mention a white chicken named Letitia. The family larder fell below the low-water mark or company arrived, and Letitia was foully assassinated and duly eaten. I had no hand in this deed except the eating part, and I didn’t know until after- ward that it was Letitia that graced the family platter. I have always been fond of dogs since that time. I went from one grammar school to another and had - little or no success with any of them. We moved to Kansas THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Serious and Frivolous Facts About the Great and the Near Great machine to burn these weeds and it worked, so they built City, and then back to St. Louis. The educational feature was intermittent but troublesome. I went to high school in St. Louis for one year and then went to St. John’s Mili- tary Academy in Wisconsin. After four years of toil, I was graduated and sought still more flowers to pluck in the garden of learning. Gained admission to Kenyon College, Gambier, Ohio, but on account of the faculty I never got a degree. During the summers I occasionally worked, usually in shops. The first railroad shop I worked in was the T. & P. shops at Marshall, Texas. My first real acquaintance with hard work, however, was somewhat before that time. I recollect vividly my employment on a loading platform at the Electric Wheel Works, in Quincy, Illinois, loading prac- tically anything that would roll. That same summer, I believe, I worked in a pressed-steel plant in Milwaukee on a spinning lathe. This machine still haunts my otherwise peaceful nights. I dropped out of college in 1924, and that same year I went in the garage business in Dallas, Texas. Even the most optimistic of judges would hardly proclaim this ven- ture of mine a complete financial success. I got a job at Marshall in the railroad shops after about a year of road- sters and trucks and sedans with women drivers, and ap- plied myself diligently to the task of carrying water to the engines and making box cars more beautiful. After a year of this, approximately, there was very little about a railroad that the lad didn’t know. I went to St. Louis with about fifteen other hoodlums to inspect some new box cars being built there, and from there went to Michigan City to in- spect still more box cars. It was a fine opportunity for a youngster and I think I got a good deal out of the job. At Mich- igan City another railroad contracted for some box cars and offered me a job with them. When we finished they sént me to Illinois on some more box cars, and from there I went to St. Charles, Missouri, on some baggage cars— baggageand mail. From St. Charles I went back in theshops at Marshall. I had worked for the railroad, off and on, since 1919, and was rated as a machinist. Which, in all frankness, was a most generous gesture. I went to Schenectady, New York, where the American Loco- motive Works were building us some passenger locomo- tives, as an inspector. From there I went to Philadelphia to the Baldwin Locomotive Works, where we were getting some switch en- gines. Then I August 4,1928 another one. To hold back the flow of words, I'll’ state here that I went down to Louisiana as foreman on one of these mammoth incinerators. (Continued on Page 40) Elbert McGran Jackson HE request to write a brief sketch of my life for publica- tion is one that is rather difficult to comply with owing to the fact that the subject is one that is not brief to me. It also causes a feeling of self-consciousness, for I think that it is more interesting to me than to anyone else. There is one great advantage in writing a sketch of one’s life in the first person, however, which removes some of the sting of embarrass- ment, and that is that it seems much less like an obituary notice. I would far prefer to sound con- ceited than dead. Being a rather de- termined person, perhaps to the point of stubbornness, and one whose belief is that anything is pos- sibletoanyoneifhe is but willing to work hard enough, makes the occasion of my birth very singular, and certainly with- out precedent in my career,in that it was something that I had very little to do with. ‘“’Twas the night before Christmas,” 1896. The above charac- teristics and faith ex- pressed themselves at a very early age—two, I think it was, when upon my mother’s question as to how I had got her prized china ornaments from the mantel to play with I replied ‘‘ Me jot in a chair and jot it.” Briefly, my boyhood was spent about the same as that of any other boy, I imagine, whose interests took him to’art school each Saturday morning to the city’s only art teacher, and whose afternoons were spent sprawled flat on the floor, copying different magazine covers—too far away from any artistic atmosphere ever to entertain the dream that some day I might make them myself—just plain painting and happy. Then came the time that I was to go to college. (Continued on Page 40) » gy ics Elbert McGran Jackson, From a Sketch by James Montgomery Flagg came back to Mar- shall again, picked up the hammer and cold chiseland resumed the good old education. The railroad was looking for a broad-minded young man witha strong back to op- erate what was known as the Weed Burner, and I took this job. Down in Louisiana the grass and weeds become so rank that they grow up over the rails and the engines can’t get traction be- cause the rails be- come slippery. So (80000 Las V4 EF 1-23 the railroad built this mammoth A.W. Somervitle

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4 WP FS J / pe We, be , STYLE—Pans for Clothes; Chrysler Jor Cars L IS not too much to say that even Carysler has never found a parallel to the admiration and enthusiasm which has greeted the new Chry-~ slers —“75” and “65.” The public, ever eager to reward originality and merit, has welcomed them wholeheartedly as the fore- runners of an entirely new and vastly superior motor car style, just as it welcomes enthusiastically the dic- tum of Paris in matters of clothes. Everywhere, it applauds Chrysler's striking new style. It acclaims Chry- sler's splendid new vitality of per- formance. It commends each and every one of the countless better- ments of Chrysler's artistic and mechanistic design. You should see this epochal devel- opment. You should ride in and drive the new Chrysler — whether THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 37 ; ~ eae “ Se , 4 : : y y 4 J. 0 y, - li, aj ‘ A Se . ‘aay oF 7S 2 “75” or “65° —to appreciate just how emphatically Chrysler again has jolted outworn traditions in appear- ance, performance and value. New Chrysler “75” Prices—Royal Sedan, $15 35 Passenger Coupe (with rumble seat), $1535; Roadster (with rumble seat, illustrated), $1 555; Town Sedan, $1655 (Wire wheels extra.) 1 +1 New Chrysler *635”’ Prices— Business Coupe, $1040; Roadster, $1065; 2-Door Sedan $1065; Touring Car, $1075; 4-Door Sedan, $1145 Coupe (with rumble seat), $1145. All prices f. 0 b Detroit

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38 Pe a Cee Me eee Cae aiatisin Maia. 05K: THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HATA VALUE THIS IS Oldsmobile’s tremendous success is the inevitable result of value. Every comparison reveals beauty, luxury, performance and en- gineering unequalled at Oldsmobile’s price. CONSIDER ITs APPEARANCE Its voguish new bodies by Fisher are the distinctive creations of artist-engineers. Its low, sweeping, graceful lines express smart- ness and luxury in every detail. Rich uphol- steries, panelings and appointments com- plete its fine-car beauty. You enjoy costly car luxury and comfort— and you get it at a lower price! CONSIDER ITs PERFORMANCE A great new 55-H.P. engine develops power for every need — speed for every desire. August 4,1928 A new cylinder head of General Motors Research design provides the brilliant pick- up and flexibility of a high-compression engine, without the use of special fuels. And Oldsmobile offers the additional ad- vantages of exceptional handling ease and finger-tip steering. It turns completely in a 36-foot circle and slips easily into parking spaces far too small for the average car. It possesses unusual stamina and long life —proved by more than a million miles of testing at the General Motors Proving Ground—and now confirmed by millions of miles of driving in the hands of enthu- siastic owners. You get infinitely finer per- formance—and you get it at a lower price! i

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—" or a= eT” ES ‘ea eH) & - 4 att? CONSIDER ITs EQUIPMENT This new Oldsmobile comes completely equipped, as a reall, fine car should be. Four Lovejoy hydraulic shock absorbers eliminate road shocks and provide a smooth ride over even the roughest high- ways. complete the restful comfort. Deep-cushioned, form-fitting seats Chromium- plated bumpers are standard equipment, front and rear, and are rubber- cushioned to assure permanent quictness. Vertical radiator shutters are an important feature and both the gasoline gauge and water temperature gauge are carried on the instrument panel. Rubber cushioning, used wherever cush- ioning should go, assures a silenced chassis. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST And special sound-deadening insulation between body and chassis creates a silenced interior, a wonderfully enjoyable feature. You will find every fine car quality at its best in this Fine Car of Low Price. A haif-hour at the wheel will demonstrate why more and more Come take a drive. thousands are choosing this new Oldsmobile. The better they know it, the better they like it. And when you know it as they do, you too will say, ““What a value this is!” TWO-DOOR > & OD AN if ys =" JS f. o. b. Lansing Spare Tire Extra OLDSMOBILE rACOUCT GENERAL MOTORS

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we Renee ete ee re a re en 40 Watch This Column Our Weekly Chat OW would you like to see in moving-pictures a sweet, pas- toral romance laid amongst the fields, the birds and the bees —with an old- fashioned farm-house in the back- ground, a beautiful girl, a good-look- ing boy and no villain? I mean just a beautiful story in which there is no jarring note. Do you think it would take? Would you like it? Do you have to have sex-appeal, thrills, excitement to make you enjoy a moving-picture ? Can you write such a story? Don’t you think it would be a relief from psy teweand plot? If so, can you suggest a cast for such a story? fm handing you herewith a list of our men and women stars. Pick out the one whom you con- sider an alluring heroine —the one you think would be a popular hero. Then tell me what kind ofa story you would write. Of course I will pay for it if it is acceptable. —C.L. es i Universal Stars: LAURA LA PLANTE, MARY PHILBIN, BAR- . BARA KENT, DOR OTHY GULLIVER, MARY NOLAN, JUNE MARLOWE, | PATSY RUTH MIL- | LER, NATALIE | KINGSTON, MARI- | GLENN TRYON, | ARTHUR LAKE.’ ’ JOSEPH SCHILD: KRAUT, EDDIE “The Collegians” SON and NEWTON HOUSE In response to hundreds of let- ters requesting me to produce a further series of “‘ The Colle- gians,”’ lam glad totell you that another series is in production, and theatres everywhere are now contracting to show it. To be certain of secing this series in your favorite theatre | speak to your theatre | man now. Please don’t hesitate to write me ec rning any other ij ideas you have in mind George Lewis in “The Collegians”’ Did you ever in your life have anything happen > mu that made yor Well, that’s just | **Lonesome,’’ that differ feel like hugging the world? iow I felt when I reviewed ent and most refreshing picture starring GLENN TRYON and BARBARA KENT | directed by Dr. Fejos | Oh! What a picture— | so far from the beaten } path | What do you | readers of the Post think of synchronized movies? Do you think the spoken Tines and Y sound -effects improve or detract from pictures ? Beryl Mercer in REGINALD We Americans DENNY'S popu- larity will jump sky-high when his new pictures are shown this coming season. Remember the titles: ‘"“Red Hot Speed,’’ ‘‘ The Night Bird,’’ “*His Lucky Day,’’ and “‘Clear the Decks.’’ Carl Laemmle, President Thousands of people are making collections of photo- graphs of big scenes from Universal Pictures. To meet this demand Universal will send photographs of scenes from “Uncle Tom's Cabin’’ as follows. Set of 5, 50c; Set of 9, 90c; Set of 18, $1.80; Set of 25, $2.50. UNIVERSAL PICTURES “The Home of the Good Film” 730 Fifth Ave., New York City THE SATURDAY Henrietta McCaig Starrett (Continued from Page 36) the pile of mending awaiting my small and grubby fingers. I stood there in the door, wide-eyed, and watched the big girls. It seemed wonderful, and afterward I was per- mitted by my favorite nun to mix paints for the young ladies, who wore trains and whose hair was piled on their heads. Grad- ually I ceased to be so sure I was going to become an actress. I know the nuns were relieved. From the time I was five until I was eleven I left the convent at intervals, suit- ably equipped with railroad tickets pinned to my woolen dress, and with a tag, bearing my name and certain other facts, hung from my neck. By the time I was eleven I could manage my own affairs on those journeys, but prior to that I was a trusting little soul who would ride and ride and ride on the train until someone would say “‘Are you Jane Burby’s daughter?’”” I would say “Yes,”’ take the person by the hand and presently I would be back with my mother. I was six when I met Charles Trevathan for the first time. I always called him Bill. That time I kicked and squealed in a fash- ion that would have horrified the nuns be- cause —it was in New York—he would not take me for a ride in a hansom cab with red wheels. The next time I saw him was the summer I was eight. I left the convent, tagged for Chicago, and discovered that my mother, Mrs. Collins, had become Mrs. Trevathan as well as Jane Burby. It was confusing; I do not know what had become of Mr. Collins. Bill Trevathan was fine. He had curly black hair, came from Tennessee, got in a temper if anyone ate toast or celery in his vicinity, but was otherwise amiable. He was a newspaper writer who devoted most of his time to the race tracks. He also wrote songs, popular ones such as May Ir- win’s hit, New Bully, and, best of all, the Frog Song. Remember that one? ‘“Way down South in Yankee-te-yank a bullfrog jumped from bank to bank ’cause he hadn't nuffin’ else to do.” On his way West to find a climate that might tolerate tuberculosis, Bill and my mother had settled in Chicago. He was a race-track judge at the Washington Park track. I used to bet pennies until I had a dollar. Then I began going up to the book- ies in the paddock with superior informa- tion. Finally I had eighteen, plunged on my horse, and Bill, darn him, disqualified it. My favorite horse was Sidney Lucas. We went from Chicago to Butte, and after the racing season closed, to Hope, Idaho, to live on an island in a lake there, Lake Pend Oreille. General Warren, a friend, had loaned it to Bill. I wore boys’ clothing; mother shot ducks and Bill grew worse. There I celebrated my ninth birth- day by putting on girls’ clothing, rowing to the mainland and seeing my first motion picture—the execution of Czolgosz, the assassin of McKinley. I thought it had been taken in the death house. Altogether I was out of the convent about seven times, sometimes to summer resorts, once to a camp for tubercular persons in Sullivan County, New York. Bill was losing. When I was seventeen mother was play- ing in Dear Old Billy with William Hawtrey at a Michigan Avenue theater in Chicago. There was the Art Institute just across the street, and so, about twenty-four hours after I left the convent that time, I was a pupil in a life class. It was a bit of a change. It’s too late to go back a paragraph now, but when I was fourteen I did go on the stage in Toronto as a page, supporting James K. Hackett in the Prisoner of Zenda. When I got back to the convent that time I was allowed to play Joan of Arc in paper armor and white, pleated and proper kilts. I was always the leading lady in the con- vent plays. My early life was a succession of contrasts—the convent, then the stage; the convent, then the life class. If this confession lacks chronology so does my memory. EVENING POST When I left the convent forever I went to my guardian in Philadelphia. He was C. B. Smith, Sunday editor of the North American, and he succeeded in getting me a scholarship in the School of Industrial Art in Philadelphia. The first work I did for publication was for my guardian, and, gosh, he was and is my severest critic! I studied under Walter Hunt Everett, who had been a student of Howard Pyle, and it was in that same school I met my first husband, Robert McCaig, who after- ward illustrated stories for THE SATURDAY EVENING Post. We were married in 1917, went to live in Narberth, near Philadelphia, and my daughter Charlotte was born in 1918. A few months later my husband died. I had a living to make, so I went to New York and began to draw in a fashion studio, the establishment of R. D. Fitzwater. I had done some work for Fitz before my marriage, so that was easily arranged. While the soldiers were coming back from France, while Harding was being elected, I was making stacks of drawings of frocks and hats, until in 1921 I married W. Kemp Starrett, also an illustrator. We took a lit- tle duplex studio over on Brooklyn Heights and went to work, Kemp illustrating and I at my fashion drawings. It was, I recall, a very small studio. Finally we had all the bills paid and some money left over and moved to Forest Hills, Long Island. After a while I became distinctly fed up doing fashion drawings. What the well- dressed female should wear didn’t seem to hold the importance it once did. It had acquired a secondary place and I wanted to illustrate, and so I took a chance, left the fashion game flat and started in. Drawing after drawing I made until I had a pretty decent showing and took them down to Philadelphia straight to the Curtis Building and THe SATURDAY EVENING Post. But here’s the nicest part—the editors liked my drawings. I should leave space here for several thumping heartbeats—for no one but a poor li'l’ artist knows the sensation of waiting for that telling gleam in an art editor’s eye. So, you see, I had found the right place just as in the old days, tagged from the con- vent, I had always found Jane Burby. A.W. Somerville (Continued from Page 36) From the state line to the river we left a trail of boiled beetles, truffled turtles, ashes, smoke and flame. With the machine work- ing full capacity, we could have parboiled any whale now living and used the Gulf of Mexico for a kettle. We burned up three parishes and I escaped to New Mexico for a breath of fresh air. A railroad contractor offered me a job running a machine shop in Texarkana and, upon being assured I’d get paid every month, I took the job. I became acquainted with drag lines and steam shovels, not to mention buckets, whirleys, sheaves, geared locomotives and other allied interests of the sand, gravel and dirt kingdom. Which, I might add, would fill more than one book. We'd work ourselves down to a nub for three or four days, and then we wouldn’t have anything to do except sweep the floor for the next two weeks. The boss kept the place, and me with it, for a year, and then asked me if there wasn’t something else I could find to do. He offered me a job run- ning a dinky on one of his other jobs. I told him I had decided to astound the literary world and that I'd like to hold back for a while. He didn’t seem particularly put out. I sent a story to THE SATURDAY EVENING Post and, by gum, they took it! August 4,1928 And since this seems as good a way to make money as any I know of, I think I'll keep on trying it. Elbert McGran Jackson (Continued from Page 36) Naturally, it was architecture that I fol- lowed, and I followed it so closely and so enthusiastically that I scarcely lifted my head from the drawing board. When I did, it was to find that I was through college at Georgia Tech and had been in New York two years. I had not forgotten, however, a mental picture that I had, and still have very clearly, of my arrival in the city whose bewildering opportunities now appall me. To anyone living in New York, I think, the hours of the clock on Sunday do not contain those from five until eight in the morning. It was during these gray, un- acknowledged hours that my first thrill of the city came to me, but it was not one that I anticipated or enjoyed at the time. Yes- terday I was nineteen, amid the crowded joys of commencement and graduation at college. Today I was nineteen, but amid the most apparent desolation I had ever known, for it was six o’clock Sunday morn- ing on the bank of the Hudson River. Everyone else had landed and hurried to his destination, but I had waited for two hours for my cousin, who failed to meet me. He was all that I knew amid this mass of brick and stone that seemed to rise up from the gray mist of the pier in silence that was the more appalling because of the apparent strength. The pier was deserted, the streets were deserted; there was not a sound except the splash of grapefruit and lemon peels and water that was pouring from a hole in the ship, from which I had just been told to get off, as this was New York. My suitcase was worth a million dollars to me. Every worn place in it was a joy, for it was the only familiar thing in sight. I started up the street—where, I did not know. I was looking for the Elevated, which was as unfamiliar in appearance to me as everything else. I saw no one for several blocks, until I came upon two peo- ple, an Italian man and a little girl, sitting on the steps of one of those monotonous brownstone atrocities. There was only one thing that made this one differ from all the others, and that was a cluster of about half a dozen white flowers tied with black crape, hanging from the side of the door. Surely those people could feel no worse than I did at that moment, so I crossed the street and sat on the lowest step. They spoke no English, but their manner seemed kind and I felt that they had no objection to my sit- ting there, which I did until the sun cleared some of the river fog away, and with it my extreme loneliness. Later I found the Ele- vated, the boarding house and New York. It was not long, however, before these silent stone giants awakened and their noise and clatter, at first endured, soon be- came an inspiration and I was lost amid them, at work by day, at schools at night. After two years I could no longer draw and paint half time, so I started on my art career with that same determination that had evidenced itself when I wanted the china ornaments to play with. Criticism and advice from older, wiser heads in my profession have meant much to me, for they have seen and felt the same joys and disappointments, which make them capable of mastering the top rungs of the ladder. As I look up and marvel at their skill, they seem to have reached those heights of which Kipling has written, where No one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame, But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They Are. These words of inspiration have long shone before me, even when I worked alone, for I was not married until recently, which should be the beginning instead of the end of this brief sketch of my life.

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Sa eee ay g " Hy | \ ' y ¥ ‘ t ly te i } f ] 7 f A i -~ j i} j a | } 7 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST When the soldiers in your blood go “over the top” \ first-class man’s army can't compare, for speed and straight shooting, with the soldiers in your blood. The moment germs threaten your health, your body declares war right off—regardless of secret treaties or Congressional action. Tiny fighting units are mobilized and thrown against the enemy in mass attack. Plucky little fighters called “antibodies” do their best to protect you by destroying the invading bacteria or the poisons which they produce. How medical science sends reinforcements But maybe the antibodies are not developed quickly enough, or in adequate numbers. Then they must be reinforced. Medical science has learned how to manu- facture antibodies-—rescue parties which can be sent to the aid of your hard-pressed shock-troops. Certain serums, which your doctor knows how to ad- minister, bring countless eager allies to the battlefield. If they come in time they are practically certain to turn the tide of victory. Stranger and more astounding even than this, how- ever, medical science has learned how large forces of these antibodies can be manufactured in your own blood, before they are actually needed for defense against the enemy. In this way the once-dreaded smallpox, typhoid and diphtheria can be prevented. This preventive method produces protection, or immunity, which lasts for years—often for a whole lifetime. If you would like to know some important ways in which your doctor can help you prevent disease let us send you a littl booklet we have prepared, called Fortresses of Health. Send your request to Parke, Davis & Company, Detroit, Mich.; Walkerville, Ontario: or London, England. America’s first biological laboratory Ever since Parke, Davis & Company established the first biological laboratory in America, in 1894, we have played a leading part in the development of vaccines and antitoxins. We have standardized their manufacture and vastly improved their quality. Our present diphtheria antitoxin, for example, is ten times more concentrated than the original antitoxin of thirty- odd years ago. PARKE, DAVIS & CO. The world’s largest makers of pharmaceutical and biological products 41 BUILDING THE FORTRESSES OF HEALTH ine of a series of mes sages by Parke, Davis & Company, telling how the worker in medical science, your physician, and the maker of med- icines are surrounding you with stronger health defenses year by vear ee —_ A PERSONAL NOTE Parke, Davis & Company make a number of spec ial products for your daily home use with the same exacting care which marks the manufacture of Parke-Davis medi- cines. Ifvou willask vour druggist about them, he will tell vou that each needs no further recom- mendation than the simple statement It is i Parke-Davis product.

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- iv Do you know why perfume bottles | have glass stoppers? db 1 cork might keep in the liquid perfume, but the cork would absorb the perfume and the fra- grant vapor would escape and be lost. A FIREFLY LIGHTER has a meta! stopper—a cap that seals-in the liquid and vapor. We found out that nearly two-thirds of the fluid in lighters was wasted through evaporation at the wick hole. The patented cap prevents va- por leakage and makes a Firefly last much longer with one filling than any other lighter of similar size. Then, too, the Firefly has the permanently covered sparking wheel—another Ciark patent. No dirty or scarred thumb with this lighter’ Choose your lighter for yourself or friends as you would choose a watch. The name “Clark” is full assurance of a worthy, beautifully finished lighter that always works —that belongs in the class of good watches made by the few leaders in their business. If your local shop does not sell Firefly and Clark Lighters, write to us for an illustrated booklet. CLARK LIGHTER CoO., Inc. 580 Fifth Avenue New York FIREFLY A CLARK LIGHTER ALWAYS WORKS THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE GREAT CITIES surround the cities. What is going on is a vast interpenetration of city and country, an intermingling of both. The cities have been growing, but at the periphery. ‘‘ Back to the farm” may be an idle cry, but de- centralization is not. The inner cities, as such, seem gigantic as compared with earlier days. The back of New York’s City Hall was made of brick, so it is said, because so few people were | expected to be walking about north of that point. We have the sudden and startling emergence of the skyscraper and visions of a fast pyramiding city. Yet the most sig- nificant fact of all in connection with urban growth in recent years has not been the piling up of population in the center but its spilling out all over the surrounding area. The rural area, the villages and towns, once lost population to the city. But the city is now losing with great rapidity to its satellite cities, to its garden cities, to its suburbs, and to the whole territory which forms what may be called its region. The city is growing outside rather than inside; it is no longer a thing unto itself. Perhaps population cannot be put back on the farm | in the old-fashioned meaning of the phrase, but a fusion of different modes of life, of city and country, is under way, and that is possibly the best thing that could happen. Slowly and gradually a new conception, a new consciousness, a new problem—the metropolitan or great urban region—is emerging. It has profound significance, but is in the preliminary stage of merely having attention called to it. Most of our great cities are legal abstractions. Their realities, which are water, sewerage, drain- age, highways, railroads, utilities and, above all, human beings, transcend artifi- cial political boundaries. The difficulty is ' that our idea of a city and the political unit which incases it goes back to the days of | oxcarts, to the time when walls sharply divided city and country. The railroad, automobile and airplane have changed all that. It is just as logical to talk about the Chicago automotive region, as one traffic engineer does in a detailed survey of that particular section, as it is to speak of Chi- | cago in the political sense, even though he includes several states, six counties, fifty | cities with a population of 2500 or more, and 109 smaller places. A resident of Providence, Rhode Island, once asked why the traffic problem there was so bad for a city of its size. But in a realistic and cer- | tainly in a traffic sense, what counts is not the population of Providence but the fact that the tiny state of Rhode Island and the portions of Massachusetts close to Provi- dence have an incredible density of popu- | lation. Why talk about the 280,600 people in Providence? It is the 1,000,000 near by | that matter. A Law of City Growth What to do about distributing millions | of people and what to do about water, sewers and highways are questions of sheer physical unity. But they are cut into frag- ments by the lines of boroughs, townships, | third-class cities, second-class cities, first- | class cities, counties and states. The central | city must accept a definite responsibility for the welfare of its surrounding territory, and that territory in turn must accept a similar responsibility for central-city condi- tions. Remove the environs, and the city will fail to prosper. Remove the central city, and the adjoining satellite towns will go out of existence. Normally the great city tends to grow into the shape of a star. Within the limits of topography, population pushes out along the lines of least resistance, the radials or wheel spokes, that follow aboriginal trails or natural passes through the hills. These become the railroad and highway lines and determine the direction of primary growth. Not only does the city push out but often (Continued from Page 23) the suburbs push in. It is like a network of cells, enlarging and often overlapping. In between the radial lines there is a gradual filling up. Or, to change the metaphor, the city is like a wood, the wind- blown seeds from the parent grove spring- ing up in favored spots to form new groves, which after the lapse of years are merged in the greater forest. The inner city may be said to throw off groups of houses, as it were, and, later on, the spaces are filled up. There are those who say that succession is a law of city growth, each inner zone ex- tending its area by invasion of the next outer zone. As Elihu Root says: “A city is a growth responding to forces not at all political, quite disregarding po- litical lines. It is a growth like that of a crystal responding to forces inherent inthe atoms which make it up.” Brussels Sprouts Henry Ford had his original factory in Detroit, but to secure lower taxes or more favorable conditions he moved to the then: little village of Highland Park, several miles beyond the city. The Dodge Brothers moved to Hamtramck, also beyond the city, in the same way. Now both these places are close to the hundred-thousand mark, but they are completely surrounded by Detroit itself. Once again Ford has moved many of his interests to Fordson, farther away, but already Detroit has surrounded Fordson on three sides, and will in time engulf it completely. But Brussels is the world’s extreme ex- ample of a great city extending far beyond its political boundaries. The fourteen com- munes surrounding Brussels have some- thing like three times the population of the city itself. It is suspected that the govern- ment of Belgium might look askance upon the political integration of this area, for then the burgomaster would be a greater figure and have more employes than the Prime Minister himself. Likewise a con- solidation of Paris with the more rapidly growing industrial communes around it is regarded dubiously because of the radical views entertained in these suburbs. Boston is the extreme example on this side of the Atlantic of a metropolis which is far larger than it seems. Boston itself is a small central city, tending to lose popula- tion in certain sections, but surrounded on three sides by some forty large cities and towns, highly prosperous and most of them gaining population. On the fourth side is the harbor. Several of the cities which sur- round Boston have a population of almost or quite 100,000 each, one of them—Cam- bridge—lying no farther away than the other side of the Charles River. One of the towns, Brookline, has 25,000 inhabitants, and is said to be the largest town in the country. This Boston district, made up of forty separate cities and towns, is a compact metropolis, a complete physical and eco- nomic unit in every sense of the word, though it may not be such racially and politically. In one independent outside community the density of population per square mile had increased from 854 in 1900 to 3316 in 1926. If the Census Bureau were able to consider only physical and economic realities instead of political lines, it would find close to 2,000,000 people in Boston. Despite the really shocking dismember- ment of the Boston area, it manages to get along, largely because the state government itself is in Boston. In most states with a large population the capital is far removed from the metropolis. But in Massachusetts they are one and the same. Thus the situa- tion is taken care of; in fact, the governor appoints important officials who look after certain metropolitan problems. The case of Pittsburgh is almost as strik- ing. Its development was brought about because of the junction of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers to form the Ohio August 4,1928 and the presence near by of great deposits of iron ore and coal. As one observer has said, the great industries of this region show a peculiar, perhaps an undesirable, ab- sence of diversity. In other words, Pitts- burgh is steel personified. But so are the other cities, townships and boroughs up and down its three river valleys. Here isa district with more than 1,500,000 inha»i- tants, all in one economic boat. But Pitts- burgh has less than half the total population and assessed valuation; there are three other cities, as well as fifty-four independent townships and sixty-eight independent boroughs, which are essentially as much a part of Pittsburgh as the Golden Triangle itself. But while Boston and Pittsburgh present the extreme examples in this country of the actual city spreading far beyond the munic- ipal corporation and consequently far be- yond the census figures, a similar if less exaggerated relationship exists in the case of almost every great metropolis. Every- one knows how true this is of New York, a very large part of which leviathan is found in New Jersey. It is common knowledge that Manhattan Island has been losing population, while other boroughs, especially Brooklyn and Queens, have been gaining at an enormous rate. But suburbs such as New Rochelle, Mount Vernon, White Plains and Yonkers, as well as many cities and towns in New Jersey, have been pushing forward even more. rapidly than the five boroughs, taken as a whole. This does not mean that the suburbs are supplanting Manhattan, but simply that the population whose economic activities center in the old city is spread- ing out over a wider and wider area, espe- cially at night. Chicago and Los Angeles are usually cited as extreme illustrations of the extent to which pure annexation can be carried, although Berlin is perhaps the best recent example. Chicago and Los Angeles, as well as Detroit, are for the most part either spread over flat surfaces or have compara- tively few natural features to distinguish one part of the city from another. These are situations ready made apparently for a centralized municipal life. Yet in no one of these three cases do the political boundaries even approach the metropolitan facts. Tristate Cities Curiously enough, each of our largest three cities spreads into three states, in real- ity—New York into Connecticut, New York and New Jersey; Philadelphia into New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Delaware; and Chicago into Indiana, Illinois and Wisconsin. The New York and Philadel- phia metropolitan districts have striking similarities, each not only spreading into three states but each occupying fourteen counties and each having about the same total area. As compared with Boston and Pitts- burgh, an unusually large part of the Chicago metropolitan area does lie within the city limits. Yet the economic vortex which we call Chicago stretches for 100 miles along the shore of Lake Michigan, with a total population of 4,000,000 now, and a possibility of 7,000,000 in 1950. To an aviator it is all one city; Gary and the new Buffington Harbor are as much a part of Chicago as the Loop. Between 1910 and 1926 the population outside had increased 76.3 per cent, whereas inside the increase had beam only 23.6 per cent. If we turn to Los Angeles we find that in spite of all the ridicule directed against its far-reaching annexation program, there are not only two large adjacent cities—Long Beach and Pasadena—which will not hear of joining the metropolis but numerous communities so new as to have no govern- ment except that of the county, which lie outside the city limits but are entirely (Continued on Page 44) wits 4 7 f iF

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as ATCH Your Child’s Breakfast’ today is, to a great extent, the most widely-urged food rule of child experts throughout the world. That is because it has been learned that much of a child’s school work and both physical and mental well-being depend on successful forenoons. To start the day right—according to the most recent scientific findings of world- respected scientists — the “growth” or protein element must constitute an im- portant part of the breakfast regimen. Children inadequately supplied with that element are usually found dull and listless. Serious effects in after-life are thus invited. Many home breakfasts, investi- gations reveal, are gravely deficient in this element. Quaker Oats, for those reasons, is being inter- nationally urged for children’s breakfasts — food that builds children; food that “stands by’’ them. For children from the age of 6 months on. Thus infants, on the advice of thousands of physi- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 43 Unusual Studies of Children that reveal, in the life, actual results of the “growth element” in food at breakfast What that element is—and how to supply it 70% of the day’s school work crowded into 4 morning hours! That an average of 70% of the day’s school work is crowded into four short morning hours is an unknown fact to most parents——but strikingly well known among educators. Inves- tigations in schools throughout all America prove this to be a condition that must be met, That is why the world’s dietetic urge is to WATCH YOUR CHILD’S BREAKFAST— to start days with food that “stands by” through the vitally important morning hours. That element builds muscle. It re-sup- plies the body with energy tissue lost in exercise and play. It, according to all au- thorities, largely influences the mental activity of both children and adults. Plus —an almost perfect food “balance” and unique deliciousness Besides its rich protein element, Quaker Oats is rich in minerals, and abundant in Vitamin B. 65% is carbohydrate. It re- tains, too, the roughage to lessen the need for laxatives The oat is the best balanced cereal that cians, are given strained Quaker Oats so as to supply, in earliest life, the protein in which many cereals are gravely deficient. Then at the age of two years, Quaker Oats is given as protein-containing, whole grain food. 16% 1s protem Quaker Oats contains 16% protein—the oat contains more of this element than any other cereal known. That element is the “growth” element you are urged on every side to give your children regularly. George Nichols, a Quaker Oats boy grows. It is richer in food's tremendously important growth element than any other cereal known. It contains half again as much protein as wheat; 60% more than wheat flour, 100% more than cornmeal. In carbohydrate, mineral, vitamins, it equals any others. Served hot and savory, Quaker Oats supplies, too, the most delicious of all breakfasts—a creamy rich- ness that no other cereal known can boast. Quick Quaker—the world’s fastest hot breakfast Your grocer has two kinds of Quaker Oats That is, Quaker Oats as you have always known —t them, and Quick Quaker, which cooks in 2 sturdy specimen of to 5 minutes—faster than plain toast—and makes the richest breakfast now the quickest f on Happy boyhood days! The “growing time” of life. And mothers wise in boys’ needs give their j TES QUA RTS youngsters hot Quaker Oats regularly to provide the stamina they'll need in after-life. Chicago Saskatoon Peterborough

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44 i failed This new book explains Glover’s Natural System of Hair Culture—it tells... Ww thick rig stop dand nuff GLOVER'S—for years accepted as the most effective ap- plication for stopping dandruff and falling hair—is now made doubly beneficial througha perfect- ed natural system of hair culture. This system produces thorough scalp circulation by the best ap- proved methods. With it there can be no objection to the essential clean tar odor. It prepares your scalp for Glover's ‘Hair Applica- tion & Mange Medicine”. Thena thorough shampoo with Glover's Medicated Soap leaves your hair gloriously clean and lustrous. And your scalp tingles with new life and health. Save your locks and your looks. Geta bottle of Glover's “Hair Ap- plication & Mange Medicine” and acake ofGlover’s Medicated Soap —today—at any drug store —and write for a free copy of “Glover’s Natural System of Hair Culture”. Address: H. CLAY GLOVER CO., INc. Dept. P, 119 Fifth Ave., New York, N.Y. Sales Agents: Harold F. Ritchie & Co., Inc. 40 East 34th Street, New York GLOVERS HAIR APPLICATION & MANGE MEDICINE to be followed by a shampoo with GLOVERS MEDICATED SOAP THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 42) tributary to it. Despite the enormous ex- tent of the city limits of Los Angeles, popu- lation there as elsewhere is slopping over. Within the geographical section known as the Los Angeles Basin, there are at least two and a quarter millions of people living in scores of cities and other communities, all with a high degree of unity of need and interdependence. Detroit claims a population within its metropolitan area of 1,819,570, and there | are many large separate places such as Hamtramck, Highland Park, Fordson and River Rouge which obviously cannot be considered apart from the central.city. In addition there is a considerable population across the Canadian border which properly comes within the designation of a metro- politan district as applied to Detroit, but has to be excluded on account of being in foreign territory. In the Philadelphia metropolitan region growth has been much greater outside the city limits for fifteen or twenty years, al- though it has been accelerated very recently | by the opening of the Camden bridge. However, from 1870 to 1910 the movement was all inward. A picturesque way of stating the situa- | tion is to say that probably not ten homes | costing $100,000 or more have been built in the old Philadelphia, between the rivers, since 1910. Quite otherwise in the suburbs! The Philadelphia region extends from Trenton to Wilmington, and in a sense in- cludes these two cities. There are several hundred distinct government units within the region, but its economic unity and actual existence can be visualized at Cono- wingo on the Susquehanna River, close to the Pennsylvania-Maryland border—where seven generating units, the largest ever built, will soon be producing 378,000 horse power for the Philadelphia metropolitan district. Then there is Cleveland, with Lakewood and East Cleveland, large places in them- selves and close to the central city, but politically separate. Here again the census figures do not tell the whole story, and the outside population has been increasing much more rapidly than that inside. In St. Louis there has been a rapid expansion in the county outside city limits, until one- sixth of the total urban population of the Missouri metropolis live in places like Uni- versity City, Webster Groves, Kirkwood, Maplewood, Brentwood, and the like. The Urban Empire But the stockyards, packing houses, most of the railroad terminals and many large industrial plants, across the Mississippi River in the state of Illinois, are, in effect, a part of the larger city. The total popu- lation on the east side of the river closely identified with St. Louis, and living in what really constitute suburbs, is about 200,000. Three new traffic bridges, two across the Father of Waters and one across | the Missouri, are being built to strengthen this relationship, which is stronger than | state lines, and a fourth bridge is projected. Buffalo also reports a rapid growth in its adjoining territory, but in this case a differ- ent mental concept—that of an interna- | tional city—is arising. Along this Niagara frontier there is a large population, some- where in the neighborhood of 1,000,000. It cannot be included in one city, of course, because two countries are involved. But it is all a great industrial, hydro-electric and railroad unit, and as more bridges are built across the Niagara River there can naturally be an increased pooling of in- terests and codrdination of plans of such communities as Buffalo, the two Niagara Falls, Tonawanda, North Lockport, Lewis- ton and Queenston. Other illustrations might be given; there is no space for them all. The plain moral is | that if every little community, if every township and city and county, carries out its own improvements without reference to other communities, the future will be one of terrible waste, loss and disorder. EVENING POST Yet it is no light undertaking to define a metropolis or a metropolitan district or a regional area. In the ancient world a city was called a metropolis, or mother city, when it established colonies or daughter cities. Carthage was supposed to be the daughter of Tyre, and Rome of Troy. In the Middle Ages a metropolis was the eccle- siastical center of a district where the archbishop lived, such as Canterbury and York. Later on, a metropolis came to be a political center, or capital city, such as London and Paris. In modern times the term “‘metropolis” is applied to any city which has grown to heroic proportions and stature. It is the urban empire. Or to be a little more prac- tical about it, a metropolitan district is one in which life is predominantly influenced by the central city. The Civic Develop- ment Department of the United States Chamber of Commerce speaks of a metro- politan district as a central city and those urban environs which depend in the main upon the central city for economic and social well-being. The word “urban” is generally understood to indicate a density of population at least high enough to pre- clude agriculture as the chief occupation. Bigger, Better or Not Thus metropolitan areas are essentially urban, although there may be peculiar ex- ceptions he:= and there, such as the Jersey meadows which lie between Jersey City and Newark. It is difficult to apply the same metropolitan yardstick everywhere, be- cause of varying physical and topograph- ical conditions. San Francisco and Los Angeles must be allowed a scope which if extended to Boston would include all of Eastern Massachusetts. In 1910 and again in 1920 the United States Census Bureau reported the popula- tion, as the result of actual enumeration, for twenty-nine metropolitan districts. For this purpose cities with a population of 200,000 or more were taken as nucleuses and in addition those suburban areas which lie approximately ten miles beyond the municipal limits, with variations for den- sity of population. The growth outside as compared with inside, between 1910 and 1920, as shown by these figures, is perhaps as remarkable official evidence as exists of the changing world in which we live. But it is hoped that in the next decennial census, two years hence, a less rigid state- ment of the metropolitan district or region may be presented—one which will be more functional and less arbitrary in its delimita- tions. So, through the codperation and assistance of the United States Chamber of Commerce, the Census Bureau has invited all cities with a population of 50,000 or more, which care to do so, to present maps and other definitions of their metropolitan districts, if any. Some seventy-five cities are working on plans to this end and several have completed their studies. Now it must be confessed that one mo- tive for such compliance is to obtain the advertising of being larger than other cities. This worship of size, regardless of quality, is a very serious thing. There are grave perils in size. Like a human being, a city’s needs are simple in infancy and very com- plex later on. The expense of government increases disproportionately with size. A score of other dangers suggest themselves to any thinking person. The mere quanti- tative conception of growth and progress is exceedingly shallow, a risky half truth. Certainly it is to be hoped that the stage of mere boosting, when unsupported claims were thought to have value, has passed. This sort of thing rightly brings discredit uponacity. If metropolitan boundaries are stretched too wide, the very purpose of drawing them is defeated. Urban megalo- mania is just as regrettable a disease as elephantiasis. There are infinitely more im- portant values in life than the relative standing of one’s city in the decennial cen- sus figures. But already the cities have attained pro- digious size, and it certainly is not out of August 4,1928 reason to ask for a true picture of them. There can be no planning for the future without accurate measurements; there can be no good citizenship unless we know the extent of the problems to besolved. As for advertising, it can take no more legitimate and effective form than census figures. An important reason for the activities of cham- bers of commerce in this respect is the desire of the industrial secretaries, whose job it is to attract and hold factories, to procure statistics which describe the resources of the actual economic area. Pittsburgh proper, as a municipal corporation, gives about as correct a picture of that city’s steel interests as a photograph of the human heart would afford of an entire human being. Now the census is not a planning but a fact-finding bureau. It can take no liberties with the tens of thousands of existing politi- cal units, no matter how archaic they may be, but must report the population which it finds within them. No action of the census alters any political boundary, which is the sole function of the state. The duty of the census is to get metropolitan districts on some reasonably comparable and uni- form basis. If the outside portions of the district add no more than 5 per cent to the central city’s population, they should not be included. The census will have to use such principles as distance, density and continuity. No exact definitions in terms of size are possible. New York and Chicago obviously must be allowed to claim more distance, because of their influence, than, say, Akron or Atlanta. But there are many common tests in respect to function or kind. Activi- ties and services must be considered, and maps are being drawn for each one of these. The most obvious, of course, is the com- muting radius, but there are many others. Cleveland might serve as a fair sample of a great metropolis, without requiring the special consideration of a super or levia- than city, such as New York, and possibly Chicago and Philadelphia. What then does Cleveland really mean? An indication of common interests is found in the distribu- tion of daily papers. These are delivered daily throughout a solid area around Cleve- land to a distance of from thirty-five to forty miles. This includes not only the immediate suburbs but also the cities of Lorain, Elyria, Medina, Akron, Ravenna, Chardon and Painesville. Not Bound by City Limits It is significant to note that bakeries and ice-cream makers are daily serving areas within forty-five miles of the city. Retail merchants deliver within an area of forty miles, and the telephone company handles, through its local exchanges, the territory sixty miles around the city. When Sears, Roebuck & Co. were con- sidering the location of warehouses there they asked for a survey of an area within a seventy-mile circle, and the Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company recognizes Cleve- land as the distributing center for territory within a seventy-five-mile circle. Local packing houses deliver fresh meat, by trucks, within a sixty-mile radius; and Shopping News, devoted to advertisements of local department stores, has a house-to-house de- livery within a forty-mile radius. Definition of the metropolitan district, of the real metropolis, cannot be based upon any one phase. No single activity, service or factor is wholly satisfactory. But if numerous factors show coincidence, we can be sure of the substantialness of the con- cept. Even the foregoing brief description of Cleveland must convince anyone that the real Cleveland is far greater than we would suspect if we looked at it from the formal and conventional standpoint of mu- nicipal boundaries. The effort of seventy-five cities to define metropolitan districts is at least a step to- ward official recognition of the value that lies in a grouping or codrdination of com- mon interests. It does not involve directly (Continued on Page 46) atl PB, Se

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¥ a \ \ i ] | 4 ; | fm | ee open letter ! to Will Rogers « which clears up a mystery ) Mr. Will Rogers Beverly Hills California Dear Mr. Rogers: A short while ago we read in a new a your statement to the effect that breakfast food was still a mystery to you. You are quoted as saying: “They showed me through the breakfast food factories and I thought here is where I find out something about what it is. “They showed me how the boxes were made and how they shipped them out, in fact everything but, so | aad here just as ignorant as the other one hundred and ten million.” Now we want to say in all kindness, Mr. Rogers, that where you made your big mis- take was in not visiting the Grape-Nuts plant. If you had you would have left there know- ing everything there is to know about this particular breakfast food —and a visit to the plant, Mr. Rogers, is an experience you would enjoy. We know you would. First, you would see two different kinds of flour carefully blended. Wheat flour and malted barley flour—both milled from the lumpest, finest grains this country produces. ons you would see these blended flours mixed with pure artesian well water, yeast and salt, to form a smooth, perfectly kneaded dough. You would see this dough molded into huge puffy loaves and put into ovens for the tirst baking. First baking, Mr. Rogers—notice that! For, you see, Grape-Nuts owes its delicious- ness and much of its unique health value to the double baking it receives. First, the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST big loaves are baked. Imagine the fragrance when the enormous ovens are opened for the loaves to be taken out! After Sales cooled for several hours, the loaves are mechani- cally broken into irregular morsels. Then comes the second baking. Arranged on racks, the morsels are passed slowly through long. tunnel-like ovens, filled with moving, purified air. From this process they emerge gloriously golden-brown—marvelously crisp—with a richness of flavor that can’t be described. A nut-like flavor, delicately tinged with the natural sweetness of malt sugar! And now these morsels-—these tempting morsels!——are ground into little golden kernels. Delicious kernels of healthful sweetness! Grape-Nuts! Maybe it will also interest you to know that packed into these golden kernels are an astonishing number of things the body needs. Proteins for muscle and body-building. Iron for the blood. Phosphorus for teeth and bones. Dextrins, maltose and other carbo- hydrates for heat and energy. And the essen- tial vitamin-B, a builder of appetite .... . In short, Grape-Nuts, eaten with milk or cream, is an admirably balanced ration! And it’s one of the easiest foods in the world to digest. In conclusion, Mr. Rogers, let us say that one taste will tell you more about the de- liciousness of the Grape-Nuts flavor than one million words could tell. Won't you try a dish of Grape-Nuts tomorrow morning ? Sincerely yours, POSTUM COMPANY, Incorporated To all readers: Your grocer sells Grape-Nuts, of course—but we'd be delighted to have you mail the coupon below for two servings free. ’ Grape- Nuts is one of the Post Health Products, whigh include also Instant Postum, Postum Cereal, Post Toasties, Post's Bran Flakes and Postjs Bran Chocolate © 1928, P. Co, Tne 8. E. P.—-8-4-28 MAIL THIS COUPON NOW! Postum Company, Incorporated, Battle Creek, Mict Please send me, free, two trial packages of Grape. Nut together with "A Book of Better Breakfasts,” by « { physical director of Cornell Medical College Name Mreet City Staie Fill in completely —Print name and addr In Canada, address CANADIAN POSTUM COMPANY, 1 812 Metropolitan Bidg., Toronto, Ontario

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Like driving your Car blindfolded _Unless you use this accurate TIRE GAUGE A RELESSNESS in keep- } ing your balloon tires properly inflated invariably results in needless wear, trouble, expense and avoid- able loss in tire mileage. Why take these chances when the regular use of aU.S. GAUGE assures full mile- age from every tire, together with riding comfort, easier steering, greater safety and freedom from body sway? Get your U.S. GAUGE today! It is guaranteed accurate! See how handy it is to use—how easy to read! It fits all types of wheels and the crystal is unbreakable. Price $1.50, with leather case. Ask your dealer for a U. GAUGE. If he cannot Rod you, order direct. UNITED STATES GAUGE CO. New York and Chicago Makers of Pressure and Vacuum Gauges Se and Types for Every Purpose for testing THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 44) a super government, but it raises the per- tinent question of what form cities should assume for an orderly solution of future probleme. At present there is such disunity and dis- memberment in the governmental forms which gréat cities take that we cannot even compare |New York and London in respect to such an apparently simple matter as | size. High-school debaters ask the Census | Bureau whether New York or London is the larger, but there is no answer without | qualifications. There are many different Londons, no one of which, either politically or geographi- | cally, is exactly comparable with New York. The nearest comparison is with the Ad- ministrative County of London. This does | not even include the old City of London. It | has no mayor, and consists of twenty-eight | boroughs, each having its own mayor, alder- | men and councilors. Outside the City and the County is the Outer Ring, but within the Metropolitan Police District. The City of London, however, has its own separate police. The City, the County and the Police District constitute greater London, within which, however, there is no single unifying factor and no common government. What might be called the New York metropolitan district includes territory within a forty-mile radius of City Hall. A similar district around Charing Cross would contain exactly thesame population, accord- ing to a careful estimate made by the Mer- chants’ Association of New York—that is, 9,500,000. The New York district, how- ever, contains six times as much water as the London district, so that the density of population around New York is somewhat greater. Very careful studies are being made of the whole question of metropolitan govern- | ment suitable to modern conditions. Per- haps the most immediate and important change which looms up in connection with government lies in this very field. Before the census of 1940 we should expect to see some real progress made—perhaps in one notable case before the census of 1930. Adjustable Ambition There are students who favor an increase in special authorities for specific purposes, | such as the port authority in New York, or the older metropolitan’ water, sewerage and park commissions around Boston. In California a recreational district covering twelve counties has been suggested. There | is possible danger in the creation of more special authorities. It makes for complica- tion and possibly for irresponsibility. The average voter cannot keep account of all these commissions, districts and authori- ties. It may be expert government, techni- cal government, but it is a long way from the average citizen. Offhand, one is inclined to favor the | process of outright annexation, even if it be rather forcible. Physical improvements | followed Pittsburgh’s Sabine marriage to | Allegheny. Los Angeles is ridiculed for its annexations, but the result has been to keep within the voting fold the more sober, | responsible citizenry. Cities suffer terribly because so large a percentage of the best citizens live outside, while doing business within, and the city’s political destinies are EVENING POST left in the hands of the gas-house-district type of voter. Then, too, so much of the opposition to annexation from outside comes from office- holders, big frogs in small puddles. Local suburban patriotism seems to beat more strongly in the heart of the local politician than in that of the ordinary citizen. Prof. Thomas H. Reed, an authority on metro- politan government, quotes a Belgian poli- tician and scholar as saying that the am- bition of the politician ‘‘adjusts itself well to the multiplication of offices,’’ which in- dicates that this situation is not confined to any one country. But Professor Reed deprecates the loss of local pride and self- government which vast programs of metro- politan annexation threaten. Coéperative Independence “‘No scheme of outright annexation will go over. Around each great city is an iron ring of small places with a spirit of their own. They will not give up, they will not surrender. Nor should they be sacrificed, especially at a time like this, when democ- racy itself rests in the balance. People are more interested in voting in these small towns; they are indifferent in the great city. Political bunk and ballyhoo have far less effect in the small place.”’ In any case the suburbs of Boston will not come in and cannot be forced in. The same seems to be true of those around St. Louis and Cleveland. Highland Park will not join Detroit, nor will Evanston join Chicago. Boston is Democratic and the surrounding towns and cities Republican. There are differences also, it may be sus- pected, of national stock, religion and social standards. Then, too, outlying areas al- ways fear increased taxation, which is a marked factor in preventing the growth of St. Louis by annexation. Moreover, people who have left these cities because of their size and noise have no liking for reabsorp- tion into an even greater mass. Possibly the way out lies in urban fed- eralism, patterned after the United States. Greater New York is in a slight sense an example of this, but it will not be followed by other cities because of the exceedingly small powers left to the boroughs. The most important effort now being made to establish a federal city is in Pittsburgh. Montreal, Cleveland and Newark are watch- ing this project closely. It requires years to establish a federal city, such as that proposed in Pittsburgh. But very real progress has been made. The outlying communities have approved the idea and the state legislature has arranged for a constitutional amendment. If this carries at the next election, a charter will then be submitted to the people. The idea is to substitute for the present county gov- ernment of Allegheny, which contains more than 120 cities, townships and boroughs, a metropolitan government, with powers ad- ditional to those now enjoyed by the county, but leaving a high degree of self-government to all the present localities, which will con- tinue with their councils and most other officials. The new metropolitan govern- ment will obviously control such matters as health, sewers, planning and parks. We must, of course, bring some order out of the present dismemberment of the metropolis. August 4,1928 “The right of local self-government,” says Professor Reed, “‘has a corollary— codperation. It diminishes not at all the vitality of the locality to coéperate with other localities to a common end. It only enhances the value of local independence.” Even the proposed federal metropolis of Pittsburgh does not contemplate taking in numerous cities of steel which are properly tributary to Pittsburgh. But it is consid- ered unpolitic to go beyond county boun- daries at present. Ultimately, of course, throughout the country political lines will have to conform more closely to economic eccomplishments. The twelve Federal Re- serve districts have more significance at present than many state lines. Professor Gras goes so far as to say: “We cannot entirely rule out the ap- parently remote contingency that instead of the almost meaningless divisions of Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin and Iowa, we shall have the metropolitan ad- ministrative unit of Chicago.” When all is said, it is probably true that the present disunity and opposition to some form of integration in most of our great urban areas is embedded in mere tradition. Its roots in Europe are medieval or ancient, in this country colonial. But the peculiar fact is that the physical conditions, such as lack of transportation, which created the traditions in the first place, have long sinee disappeared. We adopt quickly enough any novelty in the way of household devices and in- dustrial improvements. But we permit governmental dismemberment and disinte- gration simply on the ground that what was good enough for our ancestors is good enough for us. Pulling Together in a Crisis It is a strange and intensely absorbing fact that urban peoples never get together just because it is the proper or logical thing todo. Anyone can reason out what should, on the face of it, be done, but that is never the animating cause of action. A close student of the situation in Boston says that a working federation there will probably come only as the result of a severe crisis or emergency. “If we consult history we find that the different metropolitan codrdinations we have, such as water supply and sewage disposal, came as the result of such crises.” Unfortunately there are very few great metropolitan areas which have even these coérdinations. I asked a prominent citizen of Pittsburgh what would be the animating cause of the federalized city there, assum- ing that it goes through. He replied that he supposed the chief motive would be the problem of flood protection in the three rivers, and that drainage and waste dis- posal would play a part. In his recent presidential address before the Congress of Physicians and Surgeons, Dr. Theobald Smith, one of the world’s foremost scientists, spoke in glowing terms of the conquests of modern medicine, es- pecially over infectious disease. But he asked to what purpose, if in our city areas sewage continues to threaten the water supply. The solution of this, perhaps as serious a physical problem as confronts the human race, awaits upon a more realistic conception and treatment of the great city.

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A Service Available Anywhere You Are. Saves Gears From Grinding and Rasping—And Removes the Cause of 80% of ALL Repair Bills. T'S probably just becoming noticeable in your car; a grinding sort of noise. Not bad yet, perhaps—but Watcu Out. It’s in the gears. Probably they are still al! right—neither broken nor defective. But they have immediate need of proper lubrication. Go at once to the nearest Alemite-ing Station. Have this corrected before your gears grow noisy, raspy and make your car old before its time. There is a machine in that station— the Alemite Gear Flusher—that sucks out the thin, burned-out lubricant from the differential and transmission cf your car. That sucks out, at the same time, the destructive chips of steel, dirt and grease accumulated there. Then it flushes out those parts with kerosene. Leaves them as clean as a new car. Alemite Gear Lubricant is then forced in. The whole operation takes only a few minutes. It will prevent your gears from burning out; save you a major repair bill. 80% of ALL repair bills are due to improper lubrication. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Do this now. Do it today. Take care, though, that you go to a genuine Alemite-ing Station. Don't go to an ordinary ‘‘greasing’’ station. Avoid inefficient methods and cheap greases —greases filled with soap, ‘fillers’ and acids; dangerous greases that are flooding the market since the universal adoption of the Alemite High Pressure Lubricating Systems on cars. ALEMITE-ING—A Rea/ Service To protect your interest and our own, we have developed a special Alemite Gear Lubri- cant and a special service called ‘‘ Alemite- ing.’’ The word ALEMITE-ING (trade-marked) means to have your car lubricated with genuine Alemite lubricants. All dealers who give you genuine Alemite-ing service, display the sign shown below. They use genuine Alemite lubricants. The sign shown here is their franchise and your pro- tection. Look for it as you drive. Go to any one and ask to have your car Alemited. We Use Gen uine EMITE Alemite-ing Costs NoMoreThan Ordinary Greasing What to Ask For Genuine High Pressure Ale- mite-ing consists of the fol- lowing service: 1. Gears: By means of the Ak mite Gear Flusher, the operator thoroughly cleans out your differential and transmission, removing all grit, dirt and any chips of steel. He then forces in new Alemite Gear Lubri- cant, that clings tenaciously to tightest-fitting gears The use of Alemite Gear Lubricant usually adds 1 to 14% more miles per gallon of gasoline, due to freer running 2. Bearincs: Genuine Alemite Chassis Lubricant is forced into the heart of every chassis bearing on your car. This lubricant, specially made for high pressure lubricating, stands up under 3,000 pounds pressure. It resists heat up to 200° and will lubricate your bearings properly at 30° below zero. This serv ice eliminates burned-out bearings and rattles that come from worn bearings in your car 3. Sprincs: Having your springs sprayed with Alemite Graphite Penetrating Oil. A specia! spring spraying machine spreads a thin | between the leaves of your springs Makes your car ride easier and eliminates spring squeaks ayer of graphite Wherever you see one of the signs shown here, just drive your car in and try this service. You will notice an immediate differ ence in the way your car runs—you will eliminate the cause of 80% of repair bills. The Bassick Manufacturing Company, Divi sion of Stewart-Warner, 2682 N. Crawford Avenue, Chicago, Ill. Canadian address The Alemite Products Company of Canada, Ltd., Belleville, Ontario. Alemite and Alemite-Zerk equally adapted for Industrial Lubrication. _ | rT . ° | A New Service Ask your dealer, garage or serv man for details on the new Alemit« Service. R. A. S.—Recorded Alemit Service A plan that will warrant a remarkable increase in the resale valwe of your car | A plan endorsed and sponsored by leading car dealers throughout the country R.A.S j get details from dealer, garage or servic tations | a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 NATIONAL MAZDA LAMPS >: it aA N IGHT’S gloom flees far from radiant MAZDA lamps. Light and color preside over midsummer revelry. Light guides the coming guests—light from their cars’ bright MAZDA lamps. Light from MAZDA lamps attends them on the road—National MAZDA lamps in street lights, stores, theatres and homes. Light greets the arriving guests. Hospi- table light from MAZDA lamps glowing through door and windows. Merry light from MAZDA lamps colorful among the trees. For every lighting purpose MAZDA lamps are the logical choice for efficiency, ruggedness, economy, beauty and value. Be sure and ask for them. They are easily identified by the MAZDA NATIONAL i O.WAL.' mark and the familiar blue carton. | NATIONAL LAMP WORKS of General Electric Co. Nela Park, Cleveland A GENERAL ELECTRIC PRODUCT

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OLD MASTERS ENTER HIGH FINANCE of the times, changed likewise and brought home from their trips to Europe the best productions of Renoir, Manet, Monet, Degas, Cézanne, and so on. Old Masters were not as yet thought of except in rare cases; and, as a rule, when a famous European collection came to auc- tion in London or Paris, the American buyer was not present, nor was he repre- sented by an agent. Masterpieces, it is true, often changed hands, but they re- mained in Europe; and the longest sea trip they ever took was across the English Channel. Suddenly American collectors awoke to the beauty, charm and value of the English masters of the eighteenth century. Next came the interest in the Dutch painters, centering around Rembrandt, Frans Hals and Vermeer of Delft; Velasquez also loomed up large in the field. A little later came the vogue for the glorious Italians of the Renaissance; and, last of all, the pres- ent demand for the Primitives, perhaps bet- ter described as the Gothic and Medieval painters of Italy, France and the Low Countries. Recently, too, there has been excited admiration for El Greco and Goya. Yet during all these changes of taste the English eighteenth-century painters have not only held their own but have steadily risen in favor and price. And the names that lead the fantastic sums paid by col- lectors for paintings by the greatest mas- ters are Gainsborough, with the Blue Boy, and Sir Thomas Lawrence, with Pinkie. English painters took the highest prices at the sale of the late Judge Elbert H. Gary’s works of art, which, by the way, reached the highest total of all art collections sold in this country. The figure was $2,297,763. Gainsborough’s Harvest Wagon broke all previous records for a painting when it was knocked down for $360,000, a canvas 48x59 inches depicting a rustic cart filled with peasants stopping to pick up a young girl who climbsin over the wheel. The landscape is one of Gainsborough’s loveliest and the picture equals—some say, even surpasses— the famous Market Cart in the National Gallery in London. In fact, it was the English School that started the ball rolling for the new type of American gems-of-the-first-water collec- tions. The imagination of the American public was set aflame by the purchase, in 1921, of Gainsborough’s Blue Boy from the Duke of Westminster by Sir Joseph Duveen, at the unheard-of sum of $800,000. When brought to New York and exhibited for charity, people flocked to see the wonderful por- trait. It created a sensation, and now is in the celebrated collection formed by the late Mr. Henry E. Huntington. The Record Price to Date The time was obviously ripe for a new point of view regarding the art business. Masterpieces that had been preserved in royal, princely and ducal houses could be ranked with jewels and what was more, in many cases they had, like jewels, romantic histories. The difficulty of obtaining them, the contests for them in private barter or public battle, and the enthusiasm of wait- ing collectors, apart from the intrinsic beauty and charm of the panels and can- vases themselves, made their appeal, and, as if it were by magic, the collecting of paintings became a romantic pursuit, and was, at the same time, lifted into the realm of high finance. At short intervals for a number of years the public had been given one thrill after another. The Blue Boy, as everyone knows, was followed to California by Sir Joshua Reynolds’ most famous portrait, Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse—also from the Duke of Westminster—for which Mr. Huntington paid half a million dollars. Mrs. Siddons, in her turn, was followed by no less than eighteen superb examples of (Continued from Page 17) Gainsborough, Reynolds, Romney and Lawrence. Marvelous paintings have been pur- chased at breath-taking sums for American collectors, such as Lord Cowper’s Madonna, by Raphael, for the Widener Gallery, $700,000, and Gainsborough’s Mall, for the Frick Gallery, $500,000. But even these stu- pendous prices have recently been dwarfed by the purchase by Sir Joseph Duveen of Raphael’s world-famous painting of the Madonna and Child from the collection of Lady Desborough in London, for which the record price of $875,000 has been paid. The imagination is staggered by the ever-increasing prices; yet, when one calmly considers the matter, these prices seem most natural and indeed inevitable. As is so often the case, the underlying cause is very simple. It is merely a question of supply and demand. It would be very easy to compile a lengthy list of world- famous Old Masters which have gone into public museums, chiefly through bequest. The supply, therefore, of Old Masters is constantly diminishing. This fact, taken in conjunction with the one later referred to that prominent American art lovers are restricting their collections to master- pieces, and the further fact of the ever- increasing number of collectors, necessarily implies a keener competition for the Old Masters that arestill available. One should, therefore, not be surprised at the mount- ing prices that the gems of paintings are fetching. Collections of Masterpieces On rare occasions collections of works of art have come on the market in Europe and have brought fabulous sums; as, for instance, the Oscar Hainauer collection— $2,500,000—the Rudolphe Kann collec- tion—$5,000,000—and most recently the renowned Benson collection of Italian mas- terpieces— $3,000,000. Sir Joseph Duveen, who has negotiated many of the purchases previously men- tioned, gave the following views for THE SATURDAY EVENING Post: “The particular thing that makes Amer- ican collections so unique and so priceless is that the pictures are all masterpieces. In Europe you will find much larger collec- tions, but these will have a large number of very mediocre paintings and a few of supreme excellence—gems, each one mag- nificent. **Many collections in both England and on the Continent go into the hundreds, with just a few fine things. In America, on the contrary, every collector wants the best. He may have only thirty pictures, but they will all be fine. Americans make collections of masterpieces. That is why they are different. That is why they are a new race of collectors. American collections are collections of masterpieces. Remember that— masterpieces. “I think everyone who, like myself, has had experience in connection with the bringing of English art to America will agree that the benefits have been fairly distributed between the two countries. There is more than a mere matter of busi- ness involved, for the sentiment which in- spired the great works of art by the English masters is one which is found not less ad- mirably illustrated in the architecture and surroundings of the old American home. Consequently I think the relations between the two countries play a part of the very first importance, and that aspect of the business of bringing works of art from one country to another has never failed to ap- peal to me. It is, therefore, all the more gratifying that the affection of art lovers in America should be not only for the great masters of Italy, Holland and Belgium but more strongly for the giants of the old country, like Reynolds, Hoppner, Gains- borough, Romney and Raeburn, coming, as they do, from the old homes of England which have so much in common with the | eighteenth-century homes in America. ‘*Moreover, I look forward to the time when America, on her part, will send fine works of art to England in return for what she has taken from the old country. “The case of Whistler, and still more re- cently, that of Sargent, illustrates admira- bly the spirit of my meaning. Sargent’s works must now be as richly represented in the country of his birth as in the country of his adoption. In the case of Whistler, thanks to the Freer Collection at Washing- ton, America is richer; though England has had the wisdom to retain some of his finest examples, such as the Miss Alexander, now in the Tate Gallery. “I, for my part, greatly welcome the proper representation of American art in British galleries, the time for which I think has now come. I would also gladly wel- come some fine pieces of sculpture, for which America is at least as famous as any other country, partly due to the close con- nection between the twin arts of architec- ture and sculpture. “Although commercially I am mainly concerned with Old Masters, I have a very catholic feeling for art in general and refuse to be numbered among those who think and say that modern art, compared with an- cient art, is in any way decadent. Un- fortunately, there are so many people today | Your dealer will show who are too restricted in their consideration | of art and can see good only in a picture or | object that is old. It may be only that his- | tory is repeating itself in this respect, but it is not necessary to be a multimillionaire to obtain examples of the genius of this age. They are obtainable just as easily by people of smaller means, and it merely re- quires intelligence and an innate taste for art and all that art should mean. Art con- noisseurs and collectors of the Middle Ages probably had the same thoughts about art that was ancient to them. “After all, they had to deal with the moderns of their day, and the result is shown in the many famous collections which have since been formed. We are too near our own generation to estimate what a large number of masterpieces in all the arts have been and are being produced. Although the masters of the Italian and French Renaissance wrought and painted marvelously, to say nothing of our own eighteenth-century painters, still, art is not confined to any one age. In both painting and sculpture, works are being produced today which will be accounted as master- pieces by our descendants.” Investments in Oils “What do I regard as an ideal National Gallery? Why, the National Gailery in Trafalgar Square, London, the centenary of which was recently celebrated. be impossible to produce a gallery exactly like it, even if all the pictures in private hands could be gathered together today un- der one roof. It is the product of a hundred years of careful planning and acquisition, helped sometimes by the government of the day, but more largely by private bene- factors and individual initiative in the days | when very many important paintings were in the market and more easily secured than they perhaps are today. “Perhaps it is not sufficiently appre- ciated that such a national institution is in contemplation in Washington, where the authorities are collaborating with prom- inent and wealthy Americans interested in art in making plans for the erection of a splendid building in that city in which to house the finest masterpieces. When finished it will be a wonderful national monument.” There is another angle to the question of picture collecting. Paintings are a splendid investment. Their value rises every year, because, as intelligent interest in art in- creases, more and more people come into | ing it. It would | HROW this little slide-action re- peater up to your shoulder and see how fast you can pump it. See how smoothly it works, and how easily and naturally you can aim it. Notice the trim, graceful lines. You'll say it’s a beauty! The Model 12 takes down easily. It has a polished walnut stock with a rubber butt plate and a fine Rem- ington steel barrel. It shootseither.22 short, long, or long rifle cartridges. The | ro ay snappy, a * | cr at] ae safety lock is located con- veniently just back of the trigger. When set it is positive and prevents accidental discharge. you the Model 12. Don’t be without one during this vacation. We'll gladly mail you a circular describ- Model 12 Remington .22 Caliber Repeating Rifle. Standard Grade Remington Kleanbore Cart- ridges protect the bore ‘of rifle and pistol barrels from rust, corrosion and pitting. In all sizes rim fire and cen- ter fire. There is only one Kleanbore —Avoid imitations. REMINGION ARMS COMPANY, loc. 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Travis, who has an enviable sales record at the Metropolitan Life PINAUD’ THE FAMOUS Copr. 1928, Pinaud, ine. the same stimulating effeét on the muscles of the face that exercise has on the whole body. Like exercise, it sends the blood rushing to feed the surface of the skin. It braces sagging tissues, delays pouches and wrinkles, makes the color healthy, keeps the skin young. And Pinaud’s Lilac is antiseptic, too. It sterilizes after-shaving nicks; abso- lutely prevents blemishes and _in- fections. Meet the world with the assurance of grooming that these successful men of business know. Buy Pinaud’s Lilac at your drug or department store— today. Slap it all over your face after every shave. You will enjoy its fresh out- door odor of lilacs. Free: good-sized sample bottle of this famous skin bracer — Write today to Pinaud, Incorporated, Dept. E-1, 220 East 21st St., New York. Look for Pinaud's signature on every bottle Seek SKIN BRACER EVENING POST the field of buyers. Consequently master- pieces are desired by an ever-widening cir- cle of discriminating admirers. The Senff Collection, consisting chiefly of painters of the Barbizon School and Dutch masters, which was sold at the Anderson Galleries in March, 1928, for $530,373, had exactly doubled its original cost in 1889 and 1899. It seems strange to us today that Sir Joshua Reynolds’ charming portraits, now so highly appreciated, were sold for so little after his death in 1792, although these same portraits were well paid for by the sitters. For years nobody cared to purchase them, but there came a day when those who had done so were happy enough, for prices began to climb into the upper reaches of wealthy pocketbooks. Many of these once-scorned Reynoldses are now in American collections and are worth fortunes. Gainsborough was more appreciated in the early nineteenth century, the land- scapes topping the portraits, yet the prices are absurdly small in the light of today’s valuations. In 1876, the famous Duchess of Devonshire—the Lost Duchess—was sold for the then large sum of $50,000. Twenty years later Mr. J. P. Morgan pur- chased this gorgeous picture for $175,000. It is infinitely more precious now. Maria Walpole, Duchess of Gloucester, now in the collection of Mr. and Mrs. Charles P. Taft, brought $60,500 at Christie’s. Romney began to be appreciated in 1890, when Sen- sibility, a portrait of Lady Hamilton, reached $15,000. In 1913, his Lady Anne de la Pole—now owned by Governor Fuller in Boston—brought $206,850; and in 1927, The Honorable Mrs. Davenport, $304,700. Raeburns were long a cheap drug in the market. Today they soar. The tide turned for Raeburn in 1897. In 1908, $120,000 was paid for the portrait of Mrs. William- son. Sir Thomas Lawrence was long in the lower scale of prices. In 1888, the Countess of Dysart with Peacock sold for only $2888, but in 1927, Pinkie reached 74,000 guineas— $377,000. Pictures to Loan Another painter who is rising rapidly is Hoppner. Hoppner took a jump about 1900. Mrs. Fielding as the Hurdy-Gurdy Player sold in 1896 for only $7750, but at the Judge Elbert H. Gary sale in April, | 1928, Mary Anne, Lady Dashwood-King, reached $90,000. In April, 1927, a New York collector paid $150,000 for Lady Harriet Cunliffe, long known through a popular mezzotint as Sophia Western—heroine of Fielding’s Tom Jones. Collectors are very generous in contribut- ing their treasures to loan exhibitions, where the public may become acquainted with rare works. It is astonishing to see what is sometimes brought forth on such occasions. In 1924, a remarkable exhibition of early Italian painters drawn from notable Amer- ican collections was shown at Duveen’s. Fifty-three paintings from such rare mas- ters as Ghirlandajo, Botticelli, Fra Filippo Lippi, Giovanni Bellini, Bernardo Daddi, Sassetta, Segna de Bonaventura and others were a revelation to the art world. A loan exhibition held at the Metro- politan Museum last spring proved that American collectors have not neglected the Spanish School. Among the sixty-seven pictures gathered from private collections were twenty-two Goyas, thirteen El Grecos, seven Murillos, seven Velasquez, and six Riberas. An exhibition of early French painting in November, 1927, under the auspices of the French Government for the benefit of August 4,1928 the French hospital, brought forward 100 rare pictures from distinguished collections in New York, Chicago, Baltimore, Cin- cinnati, St. Louis, Detroit, and Portland, Oregon. This, too, was remarkable, in showing that American collectors had been keenly alive to the French Primitives, only lifted from obscurity at an exhibition in Paris in 1904. American collectors were quickly in the field, but the art world was not cognizant to what extent until this first exhibition was shown a few months ago, with examples of the rare Jean Fouquet, Jean d’Orléans, Cor- neille de Lyon, Jean Bellegambe, Francois Clouet, and the unknown Maitre des Moulins. An exhibition of Titian’s works was held at the Detroit Institute of Arts last Febru- ary. And what was offered? Twenty-two noteworthy examples of one of the greatest of all masters—Titian—of whom only a few years ago there was not a single picture in the country. Museum Extension Our art galleries have increased in value of late years, as well as the private collec- tions, through purchase and bequest. Entire collections have enriched many museums, such as the Altman in the Metropolitan, the Libbey in the Toledo, and the Emery in the Cincinnati Museum. In other cases, collections of masterpieces have been given to the public. There are no small galleries in Europe, except the Wallace, which can hold a candle to the Huntington in California, the Gard- ner in Boston, the John G. Johnson and the John Howard McFadden in Philadel- phia, and the Frick in New York. By the will of Mr. Henry C. Frick, his house and pictures, valued in 1919 at $50,000,000, are to be given eventually to New York City. Mr. and Mrs. Charles P. Taft have signified their intention to bequeath their gallery and house to Cincinnati. The Fogg Museum of Harvard, the Jarves Collection at Yale, and the fine col- lections at Princeton—to which Mr. Otto H. Kahn has just given a yearly present for various artistic activities—afford students unusual opportunities for becoming ac- quainted with great masterpieces. Various small towns are being familiarized with great art by means of illustrated lectures, and many museums make a business of renting slides. The Metropolitan Museum has a finely equipped department with no less than 40,000 slides. Throughout the country, museums are continually springing up; and, although they are small in size, the quality of the pictures is amazing. Sir Joseph Duveen, in the course of con- versation, referred in the warmest terms to the public art galleries of this country, cit- ing particularly the wonderful work of Mr. Paul J. Sachs and Mr. Edward W. Forbes, the directors of the Fogg Art Mu- seum, Cambridge, resulting in their beauti- ful new museum being opened in June of last year. In common with that of so many sim- ilar institutions in America, such work is bound to have a far-reaching effect not merely upon the art life of the particular community but upon that of the whole of the country. Sir Joseph expressed the high- est praise for the devoted labors of the di- rectors, which have produced such amazing and beneficent results in so comparatively short a time, all of which is eloquent testi- mony to the interest in things artistic and beautiful so rapidly spreading throughout the country. America is truly awakening—and awak- ening very quickly—to a conscious appre- ciation of great art. It is well that she is doing so, for she is destined to have a mag- nificent heritage. eee

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ee Seem Ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 51 OUTLINES SuBTLy, with amazing speed, the shapes and contours of existence alter. ... Within our times the muff has vanished into limbo. The automobile that was a dromedary in 1910 has become a running panther. . . . In place of the Mansard roof, a gleaming Aztec pyramid arises. These changes do not meet the casual eye. In the rush and turmoil of daily life they pass unnoticed—until, in a moment of thoughtful retrospection, we pause to mark the passing of a style, the innovation of a new tradition. Yet fortunes are made, whole industries supported, on the surface of these swift and silent tides of public favor. Back of every mutation in the shape of things lies a creative idea. It rests upon a foundation of constructive thought and labor. The improved talking machine, the better shaving soap, the decorative bath towel . . . these and a thousand other things that make life more interesting and pleasant are achievements of a deeply studied plan. The success of any product depends largely upon its physical charm, its usefulness, and its relation to current needs. Constant improvement is necessary, both as regards materials and methods. . . . And in these matters the services of a well-organized advertising agency are frequently of value. For it is our business to bring to merchandising an informed and creative imagination . . . to know, a little in advance of common knowledge, what tomorrow's N. W. AYER & SON Advertising Headquarters, Philadelphia shapes and outlines are to be. New York Boston Chicago San Francisco

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mn tN well without browning. Add the milk and stir until it boils; then allow it to sim- mer for two or three minutes. Add the sugar and a good pinch of salt. Very often, brandy is also added to the white sauce during the stirring. You can see that the bulwark of this recipe is brandy, for the pudding without brandy would be like a wedding without the bride. This English plum pudding is canned f.o.b. and for- warded all over the civilized world. Many thousands are shipped te America during the Christmas holidays. I imagine they must be within the law, for I cannot im- agine any bold revenue man arresting a plum pudding. It is possible to stagger out of an English bakeshop and still remain a prohibitionist. Another strictly Anglo-Kitchen pudding is made of steak and kidneys. This is the big seller of the British Isles and is the headliner at the Cheshire Cheese: Three-quarters of a pound of good steak meat, one-quarter of a pound of ox kidney, one teaspoonful of flour, half a teaspoon- ful of salt and one-quarter teaspoonful of pepper are the ingredients required for the pudding. For the pastry you require six ounces of flour, three ounces of suet, half a tea- spoonful of baking powder, a pinch of salt, and cold water to mix. To make the pastry, sieve the flour, salt and baking powder, shred the suet finely and mix with the flour, add sufficient water to make a stiff paste. Cut off a small piece for the lid, roll the rest out and line a greased basin with it. Wipe the meat, remove all fat and gristle, cut into strips about three inches long and one inch wide. Mix the flour, salt and pep- per on a plate and dip in the strips of meat. Put a small! piece of kidney and a tiny piece of fat on each strip and roll them up. Fill the lined basin with these rolls, adding any trimmings of kidney or meat, shake over the seasoned flour left on the plate and half fill the basin with stock. Put on the lid of pastry, seal the edges’ well together, cover with greased paper and steam from three to four hours. The Noah’s Ark of Soups For those who like a variation of vege- tables, onions, carrots, turnips or potatoes can be washed, peeled, cut into dice and cooked in the pudding along with the meat and kidney. Another fine stunt is to use cooked haricot beans and a little minced bacon. When cooked the pudding is served in the same basin, with a napkin pinned around it. The water must be boiling when the pudding is placed in the steamer, and kept boiling the whole time, otherwise the pud- ding will not be properly cooked and the pastry will be soggy. As the water in the pan vaporizes, fresh boiling water must be added. Never add cold water, but be sure the added liquid is at the boiling point, for there must be no change of temperature during the cooking. If you follow these suggestions I guarantee that you will have a meal that will make you soggy for the next three days, for meat and kidney pudding is very heavy and is not among the by-laws of the Life Extension Institute. But it has been a standard of the isles for centuries, and when Lancelot ate his kidney pudding, washed down with stout and mustard, his yeoman had to turn the hose on him to cool his armor off. It is a winter dish, provided the winter is cold enough. But you must eat plenty of meat in the isles to stand off the climate, which in itself is a pudding of fog, cold and dampness. When you are feeling almost chilly enough to demand a seat in the House of Lords, then is a good time to warm up on the famous vegetable mulligatawny—the Noah’s Ark of soups—for it contains one of everything, and sometimes two: THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Al COOK’S TOUR (Continued from Page 33) One onion, one carrot, the roots or tops of celery, a bouquet of herbs, an apple or a stick of rhubarb, one teaspoonful of extract of beef, two ounces of fat, two ounces of flour, one dessert-spoonful of curry powder, one quart of good stock, a little salt and a teaspoonful of lemon juice. Wash, peel and cut the vegetables and the apple into the form of dice. Melt the fat and fry the vegetables a pale brown, taking care to stir very often. Add the flour and curry powder and fry for about five minutes. Remove from the fire and add the stock gradually, mixing the flour smoothly before adding all the stock. Place back on the stove and bring to a boil, stir- ring ail the time. Add the apple, meat ex- tract and a dash of salt, and allow to simmer gently for forty-five minutes with the lid on the pan. Remove the lid at frequent inter- vals during the simmering to stir the mix- ture. When the vegetables are soft, add an- other dash of salt and the lemon juice, and then serve. If too thick, add more stock or a little water. Serve with boiled rice on the side. The Ubiquitous French Chef If the flour is not blended smoothly be- fore all the stock is added, the soup will not thicken properly and will be lumpy. The frequent stirring precludes the chance of the soup’s burning. The cooking must be over a low heat or it will scorch. That makes a fairly fine dish and is economical. If there is anything around the house that is ready to be discarded, don’t throw it away, but toss it into the mulligatawny, where it will never be missed or noticed. Anything you do to this chowder will im- prove it. Where the London chefs shine is in the preparation of kippers, bloaters and other fish. They broil and fry very well, without any falderals, and pride themselves on their baking of mackerel and haddock. Right here I want to warn you that hotel and restaurant eating is expensive in Lon- don, for all establishments pay a terrific ground rent. And you cannot expect to get real British food in the big hotels, for the French cuisine straddles all’ Europe like a blanket on a mule. You run up against the French chef wherever you go, with the ex- ception of places like Simpson’s and the Cheshire Cheese. A good, fresh haddock, baked and stuffed in the British manner, is about as good a fish as you ever paid for: Secure a fresh haddock. The other in- gredients are two tablespoonfuls of bread crumbs, one dessert-spoonful of chopped parsley, one teaspoonful of dried herbs, one ounce of suet, one egg, two ounces of fat and pepper and salt. Wash and cleanse the fish thoroughly and dry with a cloth. Put the bread crumbs into a bowl and mix with the parsley, herbs, shredded suet, salt and pepper. Beat up the yolk of the egg and add it to the mix- ture. You can stuff the fish with forcemeat, if desired. Sew the haddock up with cotton and truss it into the shape of the letter S. Place it in a baking pan which has been well greased to prevent the fish from stick- ing to the bottom of the pan. Beat the white of the egg very little and then brush it over the fish. After the fish is brushed with the white of the egg, sprinkle the had- dock with bread crumbs. Then bake in a moderate oven for half an hour, basting very often. When cooked, remove the cot- ton thread and serve on a hot dish. A gar- nishing of parsley is palatable, and an- chovy sauce is another splendid garniture. The best forcemeat for baked haddock is the oyster mixture. You can use this recipe for any good baking fish such as bluefish, sea or lake bass and shad. I want to give you the recipe for a famous sauce used in Great Britain with hot or cold tongue and hams. This is the Cumberland sauce, which I have heard of for many years but never met face to face until last sum- mer. It was given to me by Sir Francis Towle, who is one of those rare citizens, an Englishman on a diet. Too much indul- gence in steak and kidney pudding has caused Sir Francis to go in for the finer things of life such as boneless sardines and soda crackers. Incidentally, Francis was in America a year ago on a Come-to-Britain movement. He was introduced to President Coolidge by Tom Green, president of the Hotel As- sociation of America. When Mr. Coolidge politely inquired Towle’s mission in Amer- ica, Sir Francis said: “TI am here to encourage the visit of Americans to England, and I would like your assistance.” “Well,”’ drawled the President, “‘my sec- tion of the country has been in favor of that for years. We send the Boston Artillery to England every summer.” President Coolidge was referring to the annual visit of the Ancient and Honorables of Boston to the equally Honorable and more Ancients of London. It is supposed to be a home-and-home tournament, but of recent years the Boston Ancients have had a monopoly of the visiting. The reason for this may be political or psychic, but there is a good chance of its being purely chemical. Anyway, when Sir Francis emerged from the White House he turned sadly to Green and remarked: “Who said that your President had no sense of humor?”’ Mousse of Ham But that’s not Cumberland sauce, which is served iced or very cold. The ingredients are three tablespoonfuls of red-currant jelly, two tablespoonfuls of orange juice, the same amount of port wine, one table- spoonful of lemon juice, a dessert-spoonful of mixed mustard, a teaspoonful of coralline pepper, a half teaspoonful of ground ginger, and a whole orange. Stir the jelly in a pan over the fire until it becomes liquid. Stand aside until it cools off, and then add the port wine, mustard, orange and lemon juice, pepper and ground ginger. Mix thoroughly together and add the prepared peel of the orange. Keep the sauce in a very cold place for an hour before serving. The peel is prepared for the sauce by par- ing the orange thinly and then shredding the peel, which is placed in a pan and cov- ered with cold water. When it comes to boil, strain off, rinse the peel well in cold water and it is ready to add to the sauce. August 4,1928 This sauce is exceptional and individual for use with cold or iced mousse of ham, which demands a recipe in its own right: For a mousse of ham you will require a half pound of cooked ham, two gills of well- flavored stock, a little gelatin, white pep- per, a dainty pinch of Cayenne and very little salt, if any, a half pint of rich cream and a small quantity of aspic jelly. The ham for this mousse must be of the finest brand and previously prepared in a very careful manner, and free of skin and fat. Run it through a meat chopper three times and then pound it in a mortar with the stock. Season with the white pepper and the Cayenne. Melt the gelatin in a little additional stock and strain it into the ham mixture. When it is smooth, add the cream, which has already been whipped, and then whip the whole mixture until it is light and frothy. Place the purée in a soufflé dish and smooth the top as evenly as possible without pressing down the mixture too heavily. Just as it is setting, pour some cold liquid aspie gently on the mousse and decorate to taste. The Prodigal Appetite’s Return The mousse is French, but the Cumber- land sauce is essentially English. I doubt that the result is strong enough for the aver- age Britisher, who would prefer to strengthen it with a lathering of red-hot meat sauce or his daily bath of mustard. There must be a reason for everything. Grandma fed the baby garlic so that she could find the little darling in the dark, and I suspect that the Londoners plaster their meat with scorching condiment in order to enable them to locate it in a fog. There is another English dish which is derived from the colonies, and that is curry. This is even hotter than chutney, which will cause your mouth to smoke like a stuffed chimney. I have already given the war dimensions of a curry dish in a previous article, and I think I credited it to another country. But the honor belongs to England via Suezand India. All curries originate in India. So the next time you eat one, you can give credit where the blame is due. Curries are too ardent for the American palate, which has never been fireproofed, except in Texas, where the tamale and the chile con carne cause the breath of the Ranger to singe the mane of his horse. By mixing English mustard, meat sauce, chutney and curry on a plate, and then sip- ping the result, you can enjoy the pleasure of starting a forest fire inside your own vest. But I do not advise anybody to try this combustible experiment, for all traffic in London drives on the left side and you re- quire all your sober faculties to cross the Strand. Just a little chutney in your gas tank and you fail to navigate quickly enough to escape the cross-town, cross- word and cross-eyed London traffic. This article winds up the European cook’s tour, and I will swear on a stack of napkins that here is one cook who will be glad to get back to his own cooking again. I have tasted the sauces of France, the interlocking spaghetti of Italy, the canal coffee of Venice, the schlagobers of Austria, the close-cropped cuisine of Germany and the storm-tossed chutneys of England. Every country imagines that it has the world’s finest cuisine, but I will be glad to get back to a land where ham chums with eggs. The first week in Europe is Paradise for an American. His eyes are bigger than his stomach and he eats everything within reach and points at the rest. But along about the second week his stomach starts to vibrate, and at the end of the third week he is looking up transatlantic schedules and cabling home to the old folks to polish up the kitchen stove, for he is on his way back to a land where the steaks are tender, the bread is fresh and the coffee tastes even bet- ter in the saucer than it does in the cup. en en a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST eee, » Se — : Sie aN Ps ™“ ~ —— i / WY / f ‘ . + — 2 Re) 4 4 {B= _~ ack of the beauty = the builders Ul |, = of the beauty of line and color that makes heads turn as a 1929 Reo Flying Cloud sails down the boulevards, stand the builders whose genius produced, whose integrity guarantees its worth + + ¢ | ¥ From original idea to final inspection, all Reo automobiles benefit from the keenest brains that the industry affords. Design is in the hands | of men unhampered by restriction, whose whole work it is to plan | something better, something different, yet up to the standards which earned Reo the distinction of building America’s longest lasting automo- i} biles. Manufacturing is under the watchful eye of men who work with tools of the finest precision, who must build to closer specifications than ordinary practice uses + # ¢ Because back of Flying Cloud beauty stand such builders, you can go sailing today in a car whose performance explains its name, the 1929 Reo Flying Cloud. Be sure to try one out. REO MOTOR CAR COMPANY - LANSING, MICHIGAN FLYING CLOUD ee oo $1625 Victoria . . . . $1795 WOLVERINE Cabriolet . . . $1195 Sedan .... - $1845 Brougham . . . $1645) GUN Sedan (illus- Sefan. .... $1295 Roadster. . . . $1685 trated above) . $1995 Brougham . . . $1195 Sf. o. b. Lansing f.o. b. Lansing 5 = 3

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THE SATURDAY ROBERT KOCH 1843-1910 EVENING POST August 4,1928 SERVING A SCIENCE THAT SAFEGUARDS LIFE Wuen he began his experiments, Robert Koch was a country doctor, away from the centers of learning, lacking financial resources! But in his heart there was an earnest desire to know. As a physician he wanted to save life scientifically, not by guesswork. So through years of lonely searching, years crowded with experiments of marvelous ingenuity, he labored patiently to learn the cause of infectious dis- eases. And the achievements which rewarded his perseverance and efforts have proclaimed him one of mankind’s truest benefactors. For it was Robert Koch who discovered the bacillus that causes anthrax and the bacillus that causes tuberculosis. It was Robert Koch who discovered the comma bacillus, which is the specific cause of cholera. It was Robert Koch who proved that minute, living organisms caused Copyright 1928 by E. R. Squibb & Sons ! E. R. SQUIBB & SONS the infectious diseases and thereby laid the foundation for the modern treatment of such diseases by the use of serums, vaccines, anti- toxins and similar medicinal products. Long before Robert Koch was setting out upon his startling researches, which led to such amaz- ing results, the House of Squibb had been actively co-operating with the medical profession. It had built a reputation unsurpassed by any other maker of medicinal products. Therefore, it was only natural that E. R. Squibb & Sons should become an important factor in the development and utilization of Robert Koch’s great contributions to medical science. The vaccines and antitoxins produced by the House of Squibb were accepted from the start as standards of purity, potency and general excel-. lence. During that momentous last quarter of the MEDICAL 19th century, that period of discovery and devel- opment so fraught with importance to humanity, Squibb kept in close and constant co-operation with the medical profession—and was always among the first to materialize the new findings of science and research for practical and exact use. After almost three-quarters of a century of serv- ice, the name Squibb is recognized as full guarantee of skill, knowledge, and honor in the manufacture of products used exclusively by physicians and surgeons. Similarly, it is equally valued as positive assurance of purity and reliability in the purchase of those products for the home medicine cabinet which are in daily use everywhere, such as Bicar- bonate of Soda, Cod Liver Oil, Tasteless Castor Oil, Milk of Magnesia, Dental Cream and others. The ‘Priceless Ingredient’’ of every product is the honor and integrity of its maker. MANUFACTURING CHEMISTS TO THE PROFESSION SINCE 1858

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—— Alan’s father explained in some detail, and the more he explained, the more taken the Duke was by his code. He was still ex- plaining the nature of fair play when Mrs. Brooke came in from a tea and kissed the Duke and gave him hot chocolate with whipped cream and delicate sandwiches and little cakes. The Brookes had gone to the country that spring and never came back. Years and years later the Duke had met Alan Brooke as a young bond salesman just out of Yale, and renewed their boyish friend- ship. Alan Brooke and Mullin, his lawyer, were the only college men the Duke had ever known. The talk of the college boys in the smok- ing compartment was almost unintelligible to him. He understood nearly all their phrases. He guessed easily enough what ‘bucking for midyear exams” meant; he knew that Gamma Delt and Psi Chi and Alpha Kappa must be either sororities or fraternities; he had read that the prom was the important social event of the college year. But he could not follow the constant interchange of personalities, and he did not know the weight any of the things discussed had in the minds of those who discussed them. He could only gather the general impression that their life at the University of Minnewaskea was one long house party. The Duke envied them. The Duke envied them furiously. They all had so many friends. For years the Duke had paid the penalty of the virtuoso. He had no friends of his own age and sort. It seemed to him now, as he heard these young men kidding one another with the ease of old acquaint- ance, that the thing he had missed was the only thing worth having in life. His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the young man who had been with the girl. The others called him Tommy or Wells and greeted him with affectionate ridicule and made room for him on the bench. He was plainly popular. ““No,” he said firmly as he took a ciga- rette from somebody else’s package, “I won’t sit down. I’m going back to talk to Susie Corbin.” “*So,” the Duke thought to himself, ‘‘ her name is Susie Corbin.” He resented turn- ing Susan into Susie. It did not fit her. It was too familiar. The young man beside the Duke crushed out his cigarette under his heel and got up with an air of great decision. ‘So am I,” he said, making for the door of the compartment. **So am I,” the others said in chorus. The Duke was left in the smoking com partment, alone with his thoughts. For an hour he sat staring out of the window into the rushing dark, wishing that something would happen—something that would give him a chance to meet that girl. Here he was, in the same railway car with her and yet as far away as if she were a princess in a fairy tale and he a peasant. There would be no way of meeting her-—unless the train were wrecked. He could not make a way of meeting her. And if he did meet her he would not know what to say to her. What did you talk to such a girl about? You couldn’t very well begin the conversation by telling her that she was a smash—not just a hit, not just a knock-out—no, noth- ing less than a smash. The grizzled old colored porter had ex- changed his blue tunic for a white jacket and become a waiter. He brought the Duke a menu and asked if he didn’t want dinner. The Duke was still so young that no matter how bleak life looked to him the thought of food always struck him with great favor. Besides, he could never eat as much as he liked, or the things he liked. He was al- ways hungry, especially for foods he was not allowed to eat. It seemed to him that a thousand times he had been forced to eat lamb chops and some sort of greens spinach usually —and one piece of dry toast, when his stomach yelled for forbidden THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE DUKE STEPS OUT (Continued from Page 5) things like potatoes or hot rolls with plenty of butter or waffles with maple sirup. His profession required him to restrict his appe- tite in the interests of his figure. He watched his weight as carefully as a movie star who, because the false and deceitful eye of the camera makes her look rounder than she is, must starve or eat herself out of a job. Now, as the Duke studied the menu with resentful eyes, the porter leaned forward ingratiatingly. “‘We got some nice lamb chops, sir,” the porter suggested, ‘‘an’ some fresh spinach.” “No!” the Duke said bitterly. “No!” “How about chicken potpie?” the col- ored man asked. “ Mighty good potpie.” “Yes,” the Duke said desperately. “‘ Yes. If it’s really good, give me that.” “‘An’ a baked potato?” the colored man continued. ‘‘ Nice big Idaho potato, baked and busted open, with a lump of butter melted in it.” “Yes,” the Duke said defiantly. “I'll have a baked potato.” “Got some real, regular, old-fashioned strawberry shortcake,”’ the waiter said with the air of a man confiding a secret. “Regular homemade kind.” The Duke hesitated for half a second. He had on occasion permitted himself some slight modification of the rules. He had never gone the limit. But now he re- membered that Jake Levy was miles away. Jake could not possibly know. “Yes,” the Duke said recklessly, ‘I'll have strawberry shortcake.” “T’ll set up a table for you, sir, in the other part of the car,” the waiter promised. “T’ll call you when everything’s ready *bout ten minutes.” The Duke, having washed his hands, combed his hair, straightened his tie and surveyed with critical eyes the suit he was wearing—a suit by the only tailor in New York who combines Bond Street perfec- tion of line with Fifth Avenue perfection of detail—entered the other part of the car. She was sitting with the others around a table at the far end of the car and they were all having an extremely jolly time. The Duke found himself facing them as he sat down to his chicken potpie and his baked potato. He was a good deal embar- rassed at first, being the only passenger in the car who was not a member of their party; but he soon saw that they were as unaware of him as they were of the waiter, who told them it was absolutely against the rules for them to smoke, every time he brought them a fresh bottle of ginger ale. By the time the Duke had eaten all that he wanted and ordered coffee with cream, in continued defiance of consequences, and lit a cigarette, the young man called Tommy had dug a ukulele out of his lug- gage. He proceeded to entertain himself and his friends with a series of songs of the sort that their mothers did not sing. The Duke was a bit annoyed that the young man should sing Frankie and Johnnie and Parlez-vous and Madelon to Miss Susan Corbin. It was not his idea of the correct thing. But the young man sang so well that the Duke was inclined to excuse the breach of taste. He had read that the sons and daughters of the most respectable people were like that nowadays. He found himself listening with pleasure. Indeed, when they all roared out the chorus of Madelon he was tempted to join them. And when the waiter became a porter again and came through to tell everybody that Grandison was the next stop, the Duke suddenly remembered that life was bleak and bitter. He was close enough behind Susan Cor- bin when she got off the train to hear her tell the taxi driver to go to the Gamma Delta house. They all piled into the same taxi, eight or nine of them, in spite of the driver’s protests. The Duke watched them drive off and out of his life, and then he was alone on the station platform in the cold clear January night. He looked up and saw that the stars were a million miles away. He was no nearer the girl of his dreams than he had been six hours earlier, and he was a good deal farther from Chicago than he could ever explain to Jake Levy. He went sadly into the station and learned that the eleven o'clock express for Chicago had left; the next train would not leave till one o'clock, but it was al- ready made up and standing in the yards, so if he wanted to turn in and go to sleep he would wake up in Chicago at half-past seven in the morning. The Duke bought a ticket and a lower berth. He had time to call up Jake on the long-distance tele- phone. He decided against it. He didn’t care if Jake did worry. He started toward his train. But on the way he passed a penny-in-the-slot scale. The Duke turned back, laid his overcoat on a bench and weighed himself. He weighed a hundred and fifty-four pounds. That meant a hundred and forty- six tripped. The Duke sighed. It wouldn’t do-it wouldn’t do at all. And yet how could a young man who stood five feet nine in his stockings, and had broad shoulders and good bones and first-rate health, keep himself under a hundred and forty-six stripped? The Duke tucked in his waist. The tailor called his waist measure twenty-nine inches, but when the Duke contracted his stomach it didn’t measure twenty-seven. The Duke ran his hand over the flat sur- face between his diaphragm and his belt. The Duke contracted the three great muscles that ran crosswise of his stomach and then the surface between his diaphragm and his belt felt like a corrugated iron roof. The Duke shook his head. There wasn't any fat to come off with a little sweating. mu HE Duke called up Barney the moment he got off the train the next morning. “Thank God!" Barney said. ‘‘ Where are you?” The Duke explained. ‘I'll be right down, chief,’ Barney said. “I'll be there as fast as I can get the car out.” “Never mind that, Barney,” he said. “I'm going to get some breakfast and then I'll walk to the hotel.” “No, kid,” Barney protested, “let me come and get you. Let me get out o’ here before Jake wakes up. Can’t yuh see, kid? Jake is just raving. If you’re with me he'll calm down some.” “All right, Barney,” the Duke agreed. “T’ll be in the station lunch room.” The Duke went into the lunch room and ordered a glass of chilled orange juice and black coffee and dry toast. He asked him- self why it was that he and Barney were so afraid of Jake. It was that confounded in- tensity of Jake’s; it was that single-track mind. Barney had a code—the hard and fast code of the honorable roughneck. Imag- ine Barney turning on a friend! The Duke himself had a code, more elaborate than Barney’s, but just as hard and fast. Only he had more doubts than Barney had. Jake Levy had the only simple code in the world. Jake took it for granted that anything he wanted was right. Jake fought for what he wanted with the intensity of a man who has no doubts at all, and with all the adroit in- genuity of a wise old woman. The Duke sat on a stool at the lunch bar and munched his toast slowly. There was no butter on the toast, but it was the only piece of toast he was allowing himself, so he tried to make it last. He sipped his coffee. He didn’t so much mind black coffee after dinner. But coffee with no cream and no sugar was a bitter dose at breakfast. On a shelf in front of his eyes, and almost within reach of his hand, stood a large and luscious variety of coffee cake from which one big triangular piece had been cut. The bread within was studded with currants; the bread showed a spiral construction, as if the dough had been laid out thin and liberally sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and rolled up before it was baked. The out side of the round loaf was covered with a delicious brown glaze, as if brown sugar haa been melted and poured over it and allowed to harden. “What do you call that?” the Duke asked of the waiter behind the counter The waiter turned and identified the cof- fee cake at which the Duke pointed “That’s honey bun,” the waiter said. He picked up a knife to cut a piece. “No,” the Duke said, “ I won't have any I just wanted to know what you called it.” The Duke reflected that it was four years since he had eaten anything like that for breakfast. Somehow or other he must get up enough courage to defy Jake. Somehow he must find the words in which to tell Jake the truth. The Duke straightened his back and clenched his right fist and tensed his right arm. With his left hand he felt the triceps muscle that curved round the back of his arm—round and hard and springy as a piece of new Manila cable. He looked up and saw the broad homely grin and heavy rolling gait of Barney com- ing toward him. “Oh, kid,” Barney said, “ya don’t know what I been through!" The Duke paid his check and grinned at Barney. “I’m sorry,” he said as they walked out together. “But it isn’t any- thing to what we're going to go through, Barney.” Barney gave the Duke an apprehensive glance, but said nothing. They got into the Benham and drove toward the hotel in silence. Barney spoke only when they reached the hotel. “Listen, kid,” Barney said; ‘Jake thinks there’s a skirt in it. He would, a course.’ “Well,” the Duke replied, “there is.”’ “Yeah,” Barney said, “but he don't know that. And what he don’t know won't hurt him so much.” “For two cents,” the Duke said, “I'd tell Jake where to get off.” “No, kid,” Barney pleaded—“ no. Don't get sore. You got no chance of breaking your contract anyway, and you don’t want to neither. Because Jake is as good as any a them, and better. You just make uy your mind to ait there and take it. Let him blow off and forget it.” The Duke shook his head. “I’ve got to tell him a few things, Barney. I won't stand for being chaperoned this way any longer.” “Gee, kid,” Barney said, “ fallen for her hard!” “' &&” Barney put his hand affectionately on the Duke’s arm. “ Kid," he pleaded, “re- member that line you read me out of a book once—that falling for one of them is you must ‘a’ just greatly exaggeratin’ the difference be- tween one and another.” *“** To fall in love,’"’ the Duke quoted pre cisely, "is grossly to overestimate the dif ference between one woman and “Yeah,"’ Barney said eagerly, ‘that’s the line.” The Duke got out of the car. “And what if you just don’t care whether it is so or not?” he asked Barney “ Christmas!"’ Barney said, or something that sounded like it The Duke found Jake Levy pacing ba and forth across the sitting room of their suite and bawling out an inoffensive waite When he saw the Duke in the doo way! worn fat face lighted up like the sun. | grabbed the Duke wit! a Boy,” he saia t scared! Not a wink did not a wink!” “I’m sorry,” the Duke awfully sorry.” Jake looked at hin | all right,” he said Continued on Page 58

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928 THE GREATEST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OC) sas IS NO TEACHER like experience. Remember this when you need to buy a new tire. And remember that out of the teachings of experience— MORE PEOPLE RIDE ON GOODYEAR TIRES THAN ON ANY OTHER KIND! Could anything finer be said of the quality of Goodyear Tires? Do you need any stronger reason for insisting on Goodyears and refusing anything else? NAME IN RUBBER 57

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E . Wherever you go, glory in the health- giving sun—but be ready for sunburn Sunburn Vanquished Instantly! Ce sky above, bright water at your feet—wind against bare limbs, smiles for sheer joy of living--live in your bathing suit .. here are days you can’t afford to miss! But be wise! Sunburn comes slyly. Then it’s scorched skin, flesh stung as hy a thousand needles—sleepless nights, tormented days. Keep Unguentine close at hand. Unguentine soothes the smart of sunburn instantly, heals, protects. Sunburn poisons cannot sicken you now. Go into the sun again! \r the first touch of redness apply this tamous surgical dressing liberally. Or spread it on before exposure. You uarded against misery. You tan normally. At your druggist’s, 50c. The Norwich Pharmacal Company, Norwich, N.Y. Canada—193 Spadina Aventie, To- ronto, are & Keep Unguentine in your club locker, too mpeuentine THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 55) “T am all right,” the Duke said. “I had a good night’s sleep.”’ Jake’s mood changed instantly. One mo- ment he was a fond and tender father whose beloved son had been restored to him, the next he was an avenging giant. “Where were you?”’ he roared. “ What were you doing?” The Duke’s whole body stiffened against what he knew was coming. The words tumbled out of Jake’s mouth so fast that half of them were lost. He shouted, he raved, he shook his fist, he wrung his hands. The Duke waited till he should wind him- self by his own efforts. Jake went on for ten minutes before he paused for breath. “Now look here,” the Duke said firmly, “Thaven’t donea thing that you could ——”’ But Jake had got his breath again and for another five minutes he talked so fast that the Duke couldn’t see an opening. “‘When you quiet down,” the Duke said | as Jake gasped for breath again, ‘I’ve got something to say to you.” | That started Jake off again. The Duke | sat down in a chair, stretched his legs in an effort to appear at ease and lit a cigarette. Mullin came in from an adjoining bedroom in his pajamas and stood rubbing the thin fringe of hair at the base of his bald pink head. “*Whe-e-e-w!”’ he said. “‘Can’t you let a man sleep?” “Sleep!” Jake cried. “You can talk about sleep at such atime! Sleep! I can’t sleep! All night didn’t I lay awake won- dering where is this boy and getting not | any answer! All night didn’t I lay awake | listening for him to come home—for that telephone to ring, for that Barney to come back here? And did anything happen? No! | Nothing happened! Nothing happened all | night long! I send Barney to look for him | and he never comes back at all. And now he comes home and he says”—and Jake mimicked the Duke’s speech with ludicrous effect—‘‘I’m sorry—I’m awfully sorry! Does he tell me where he was or what he was doing or why? No! Nothing! He tells me nothing!” “*T’m going to tell you a few things just as soon as you give me a chance,” the Duke said bitterly. “Give you a chance!” Jake yelled. “I give you every chance! What more a chance do you want? Speak up if you got anything to say for yourself! Speak! Speak! Speak!” The Duke gritted his teeth involuntarily. For the moment he was too angry to speak. Jake had no right to treat him as if he were a bad boy. “Well,” Mullin said amiably, “what were you doing?”’ Jake opened his mouth to speak. Mullin put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. ‘‘Shut up a minute, Jake,” he said. The Duke took a long, long breath. “I took a little trip,” he said, “‘up to the Uni- versity of Minnewaska.” Jake’s mouth dropped open, but he re- covered himself quickly. ‘‘ You took a little trip,”’ he said, again mimicking the Duke’s tones. “‘You took a little trip up to the University of Minnewaska. Hah! When we are getting the biggest fight you ever had—that any lightweight ever had—and | maybe three hundred thousand—maybe | four hundred thousend gate receipts—and | I have got them all agreed to forty-seven | and a half per cent and it is only a question | of a little argument to get them to fifty per | cent—then, at such a time, you take a little | trip!” | Jake lumbered toward the Duke and | shook his fat fist in the Duke's face. | “And do you think I believe that? I, | Jake Levy? No! Not on your life! I was not born yesterday. I know boys. I know boys like I know the back of my hand. Boys | do not take little trips for nothing. Either } they are drunk or there is a woman in it. You were not drunk. You do not drink, and besides, I could tell it on you this morn- | ing if you were drunk. You were out with | some woman.” EVENING POST “T told you, Jake, that I took a little trip up to the University of Minnewaska,” the Duke said. ‘‘And what’s more ——” “Yes,” Jake yelled, “that is what I want to know—what is the rest of it?”’ “‘What’s more,” the Duke said, “‘I’m go- ing back there.” “You are going back there!”’ Jake cried. “Yes,” the Duke said. “If there’s any way of doing it I’m going to college.” Jake’s fat body seemed to slump and his face to turn gray and for a moment he looked like a tottering old man. “You are going to collidge!”” he whis- “Yes,” the Duke said, “I am.” Jake turned to Mullin. ‘He says he is going to collidge! Did you hear him? Did you hear that?’’ With one of his instan- taneous reversals of mood, Jake’s face changed. He turned to the Duke. ‘And what about me?” he roared. “‘ Where do I come in? I am getting Honeyboy Kerrigan for you, and before the bell rings a hundred grand guaranteed —a hundred grand sure— a hundred grand paid—and maybe two hundred grand our share before we are through. And you—you”’—and here Jake’s voice changed to an incredibly ladylike mimicking of the Duke’s speech—‘‘ you are going to collidge!”’ His voice rose to a shrill high note on the last word and he flut- tered his hands mincingly. “He is light- weight champion of the world and he is going to collidge!”’ The Duke got up and faced Jake, and when he spoke his voice was harsh “I’m not ducking this fight. You get me Honeyboy Kerrigan and I'll be there. What’s more, I’ll take him. But you’ve got nothing to say about the rest. Hence- forth I am going to do what I want to do. I’m going to live where I please and spend my spare time the way I please. When the time comes I'll train, just as I always have. I'll make the weight, just as I always have. And I'll give the customers their money’s worth, just as I always have. But for the rest, you’ve got nothing to say.” “Boy,” Jake said, and there were tears in his voice, “‘you don’t know what you are saying. You are not thinking. You are mad now. But when you cool off you will see. Why, the minute it gets out you have gone to collidge the fight will be off. Fitz- morris and Gratz will cancel the bout, con- tract or no contract. And they will be right. There would not be any gate. The fans would think you have gone dopy. They will not come to see Honeyboy Kerrigan fight a champ that has gone to collidge. They want to see hitters, they want to see blood.” Mullin spoke up. ‘It would be the poor- est kind of ballyhoo, Duke,” he said. ‘As you stand, you're the greatest drawing card there’s ever been among lightweights. You're Benny Leonard and Joe Gans rolled into one. And this Honeyboy is good really good. He’s the toughest boy since Nelson. Lots of the wise ones think he can take you the way Nelson finally took Gans. The bout is a natural. If Fitzmorris and Gratz put it on outdoors on Decoration Day, it'll break all records for a lightweight gate. But not if you go to college.” “Who's going to know that I’m in col- lege?” the Duke asked. “Know it!” Jake yelled. “The news- papers will print it! I cannot keep them from printing that! How am I going to keep them from printing it?”’ ‘‘Look here, Jake,’’ the Duke said pa- tiently, “‘I shan’t go under my own name. I'll go incog. Nobody will know who I am. If it were New York it would be different. But in a college town nobody’ll recognize me. It isn’t as if I were all marked up. I’m not. I haven’t got a mark on me. Who would know I was a fighter?” “T would,” Jake said. ‘‘I would know you for a fighter anywhere in the world—in five minutes—if I had never seen you be- fore.” The Duke turned to Mullin. ‘‘Would you pick me for a fighter if you didn’t know?” “No,” said Mullin candidly, “I wouldn’t.” August 4,1928 “You see, Jake?” the Duke said, and began to walk back and forth across the room. “Look at him walk!” Jake cried. ‘Look at him walk and then say he is not a fighter! Why, he has got it written all over him!” The Duke stopped short. “To you, maybe, but not to people who never saw a fighter. Anyhow I’ve made up my mind. If there is any way I can frame it to get into that college, I’m going to do it. If I can’t get in I can live there.” “How are you going to train?” Jake asked. ‘I’m going to take a house on the edge of the town,”’ the Duke said. “‘You can get me a place to train twenty-five or thirty miles away—some little town. I'll do my road work early in the morning. In the afternoon Barney can drive me over to the camp and I’ll put in two hours. Then he can drive me back. It will be simple.” “It will be absolutely crazy,”’ Jake said. The Duke knew that Jake was beaten. He turned happily to Mullin. ‘I count on you to get me into college. There must be some way of doing it with a couple of grand.” Mullin frowned thoughtfully. ‘I'll have to dope it out,” he said. ‘‘But I can doit in New York.” “Then let’s get back to New York as fast as we can. What are you going to do, Jake?” “T am going to put it up to Fitzmorris and Gratz that it is fifty per cent or the fight is off. If they do not come through I will take the next train for New York and wait for them to send for me. They want the bout, all right. So it is just a question of letting them worry for a couple or maybe three weeks.”” He sighed heavily, and shook his big head. “‘This is what comes from letting you read books all the time,” he said sadly. ‘‘Collidge! Collidge! The best lightweight that ever lived—ruined— ruined by books! Never again will I take on a boy if he can read and write—never!”’ mr HE Benham drew up one afternoon, three weeks later, in front of a small white house in Green Street, Grandison. “‘This must be the house,” Barney said. “It’s the only white house in this block and it’s set way back from the street.” The Duke got out and told Barney to wait and started up the brick walk that led to the front door. He was wearing a coon- skin coat. He had asked his tailor in New York to make him some college clothes and the tailor had held up his hands with a horror that reminded the Duke of Jake’s attitude toward college. “What if I made you college-boy suits and you wore them and people found out that I had done it—where would my repu- tation be then?” the tailor had asked. “You are one of my best custofners, Mr. Wellington. I will do it for you if you in- sist. But please think twice about it. You wear my suits well. Could you wear them so well if I cut the jackét too short and a little on the tight sides, and the trousers a little on the wide sides, especially at the bottom? They would fdt hang as they should. They would be positively incor- rect.” The Duke had let him off, but he had gone out and bought himself a coonskin coat and he had worn it frequently during the ten days he had been in Grandison. It gave him an agreeable feeling of being a college man, even if he did have to wait until the second semester opened before he could actually begin attending classes. The Duke reached the front door and rang the bell. While he waited he had a moment in which to go over again the réle he had chosen to play. Mullin had found a student in a college in New York who had entered as a junior from an obscure college in Oregon. The young man had agreed to lend his name, which was James Van Blar- com, and his college credits to the Duke and to take a trip to Europe at his unknown (Continued on Page 62) a ie ee Ee a 7h me

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, | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

| i Seattle, Wash “WHEN BENNIE was in such poor health we naturally didn’t feel much like taking week-end drives to Mount Rainier or any of the nearby beaches. But that is all changed now, thanks to I le 1s< hn ann’s Yeast eee “It may sound exaggerated, but since we began giving him Yeast he has had his first natural elimination in three months Now that he is rid of his chronic constipation he acts and looks if like a diferent child—no longer listless and fretful. His appetite is better, too.” Mrs. Benyamin E. Frepier 58

“DURING THE WARI took the ‘flu,’ and for months rema in a very weakened condition. After my discharge I became run wn from overwork and felt recurrences of what appeared dangerously like the ‘flu A member of my club frequently bought sandwiches spread with Fleischmann’s Yeast Persuaded by his improvement, I began eating Yeast myself, regularly. Nothing that I have ever d has 4 restoring stamina Herr been so completely beneficial in Fr use good health.” wk W i “At a critical time in my business— my health failed Philadelphia, Pa. 1822 business has “a, “Founded in our since had an enviable growth in size and reputation. “About a year ago I began to plan a new and completely modern location for our establishment. In addition to the usual daily business details, I was thus faced with countless new petty annoyances and worries. The added hours of work, the constant strain af- fected my digestion. My health and disposition alike suffered. My eff- ciency was impaired. “Urged by two business friends to try Fleischmann’s Yeast, I began eat- ing it—not without skepticism. In a remarkably short time my appetite re- turned and I was again digesting my food. I smile at business worries now!” Cuas. S. Bair

Mr. Cuas. S. Barr of Philadelphia

pF peg ee gene nec Yeast is a food as fresh as crisp new lettuce or any other garden vegetable. Unlike laxa tive drugs, it brings /asting results without forming a vicious habit. Fleischmann’s Yeast keeps you clean inside. Softens the wastes that clog your system. Strengthens the muscles of elimination . When constipation is gone you feel the difference at once. Digestion im

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The new : mae a way to feel always You can get Fleischmann’s Yeast ‘ ’ ‘ uw 4 at your best: from any grocer. or 3 days’ supply at a time and keep in any cool, — Eat three cakes Fi Va Yeast dry place. Send for latest booklet on every day, one before each meal or between Yeast in the diet—free. Address Health es plain, or Sapser any rmyh Research Dept. D 69, The Fleisc h ei re i : shes mag oe a er mann Company, 701 Washington St., fore each meal and before going to bed. And New York City. tra urself to form a rej ly habit.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928

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Continued from Page &8) client's expense. The Duke had then called on his fnend, Alan Brooke, with the inten- tion of selling afew bonds. Brooke had per- suaded him that it was wiser, if he found himself in need ef ready cash, to borrow money on the bonds. The Duke had told him about his plan, under pledge of secrecy, and Brooke had remembered that a girl he had once been crazy about had gone out to Grandison as the wife of a young professor of English. He had given the Duke a card and charged him to present it to Pauline Gardiner. A tall, dark, handsome woman of per- haps thirty opened the door. “j--I * the Duke began. This must be Pauline Gardiner. “You’re Mr. Van Blarcom,” she said cordially, holding out her hand. “How do you do? I’ve been expecting you every day for ages. Come in and have some tea and tell me everything.” The Duke followed her into a pleasant book-lined living room and presently found himself sitting in front of a fire of cannel coal and being treated as if he were the most interesting man in the world. It took the Duke back fourteen years to the first and almost the only time he had ever been in a house like this. For a moment he was a boy again and wondering if his hair was combed and his neck washed and his shirt clean and the hole in the seat of his pants concealed. He had to look down at his im- maculate trousers to reassure himself be- fore he realized that this time he was perfectly groomed. “Tell me all about yourself,”’ Pauline Gardiner urged. “I’ve an insatiable curi- osity.”” She handed him a cup of tea and regretted that he would have no cinnamon toast. The Duke regretted it also. She had spread thin strips of toast with a mixture of sugar and butter and cinnamon and heated them over an electric toaster until they looked so delicious that the Duke had to turn away his head. “Well,” the Duke said, balancing his cup on his knee, “I’ve taken a furnished house out on the edge of town and - x “‘Heavens!"’ Pauline Gardiner cried. “‘I know that. Everybody in town knows that you've taken Professor Kingsbury’s house.” “*I don't get you,” the Duke said. “Why,” Pauline Gardiner laughed, “you don't suppose you could come into a town like this with a Benham car and a chauffeur and two Chinese servants and take a par- ticularly lovely house and go around wearing the most marvelous clothes that were ever seen outside of Piccadilly and not have everybody talking about you! Why, I have heard from any number of people just how much rent you pay and how many suits of clothes you have, and that you are really a member of the British royal family studying America incog!” “Good Lord!” the Duke said softly. ‘‘I never thought of that.” ‘It’s plain you don’t know much about small towns.” She glanced at him in- quiringly. “I’m used to living in New York,” the Duke said stiffly He was horrified at the picture Pauline Gardiner suggested. Was the Benham flashy? Had he been conspicuous? He could not bear the thought. “Why,” she continued, “‘we’re all so curious about you that I've heard it argued at least six times in the last two days that a Benham costs more than the most expen- sive American car. Does it?” she asked impudently. “Tt costs rather less, I believe,” the Duke replied. “‘I—I see I have made a terrible mistake,”’ he continued unhappily. “Oh, no!" Pauline Gardiner cried. “* We're ail indebted to you really for giving us something to talk about. It isn’t as if a college town were the most exciting place in the world. We're all just waiting to take you up. I’ve promised at least twenty women that I would give them a chance to meet you as soon as you had called. The moment your car drives away from my THE SATURDAY front door my telephone will start ringing. Everybody I know will be calling up to find out what you're like. I made them all promise not to interrupt this first call, but I can’t hold them back after that.’’ She smiled gayly at the Duke. She evidently enjoyed her réle. But she was sympa- thetic enough to perceive that he was ap- palled at the prospect she held out. She leaned forward, marshaling her very con- siderable powers of feminine allure. ‘‘I shall tell them that you are a perfect dear,” she assured him, her eyes sparkling. The Duke put down his cup of tea. He had a strong impulse to get up and pace back and forth across the room. But he remembered that when he paced back and forth he revealed the fact that he was a fighter by profession. This woman knew so much. She might know that. He tried to sit still. “You see,”’ he said, frowning at the diffi- culty of making himself clear to Pauline Gardiner without telling her anything he did not want her to know, ‘‘I came here with the idea of entering the university and living very quietly. I didn’t mean to at- tract a lot of attention.” “‘But,”’ Pauline Gardiner cried, ‘‘it’s the most favorable sort of attention. You don’t mind attracting favorable attention, do you?” “Well,” the Duke said slowly, trying to frame his answer tactfully, “‘of course, it’s awfully nice to be favorably regarded. But nobody wants to be—what I mean—con- spicuous.” **My dear,” she said gently, ‘don’t take it to heart. You haven’t been conspicuous in any offensive way. People are prepared to like you a lot and to be very nice to you, and that’s all there is to it.” “T don’t see how everybody came to know so much about me,” the Duke said. “*Why, I'm afraid I’m partly responsible for that. Alan Brooke wrote me all about you more than two weeks ago, and of course I told people about you. And then when you came everybody besieged me with ques- tions. And when day after day went by without your calling me up or coming to see me, I was worried.for fear you never would. I was writing a note to you asking you to come when you called me up today.” “T can't imagine what Alan Brooke could have said,”’ the Duke protested. Pauline Gardiner rummaged in her desk. “Here,” she said, ‘‘I’ll read you his letter. He says: “Dear Pauline: I've got a prize for you. He's very young and very shy and very correct, but he’s there in his own special way. Don’t think he’s high-hatting you if he is a little quiet at first. For reasons of his own, some of which he has not confided to me, he’s bound to see the Middle West, where men are college boys and women are coeds. He is leaving New York in a day or two with the intention of pushing on to Grandison and. taking a few courses in your university. I have given him a card to you and made him promise to look you up as soon as he gets there. My advice to you is to grab him off and bring him up in the way he should go. I re- gret that I can’t go into details in this brief note, but you, with your incorrigible curiosity, will extract the story of his life from him in due time.” She looked up happily from the letter. “The rest is just blarney for me. I almost married Alan before I realized that he was six years younger than I am.” She sat down opposite the Duke and made him a fresh cup of tea and again urged her enticing cinnamon toast on him, while he considered the consequences of Alan Brooke’s good intentions. “I shall certainly do my best to follow Alan’s advice,” Pauline Gardiner con- tinued. ‘‘The first thing I want to do is to have a small dinner party for you. I'll have it this week if you don’t mind. Have you a lot of engagements?” “T have no engagements,” the Duke ad- mitted. “This week Friday, then, at 7:30. And Sunday night I'll take you tothe Wilsons’ — everybody goes to the Wilsons’ on Sunday night.” “Who,” the Duke asked, “is every- body?” EVENING POST Pauline Gardiner laughed. ‘I'll have to explain the social situation. You see, this is a small town but a big university. There are any number of social cliques in the town and in the faculty. But there’s only one that you'll want to join and that’s ours, because we have the best time. So when I said everybody, I meant our crowd. It includes the Wilsons and several other families not directly connected with the university, and eight or ten young profes- sors and their wives, if any, and a few stu- dents who have sense enough to play with their elders.” ‘IT see,” the Duke said, because he felt he had to say something, and he did not quite dare ask Pauline Gardiner the only thing he wanted to know about her clique. “Of course,”’ she went on, “‘if you want to join a fraternity you can. But I’m sure you'll like us better. The fraternities and sororities have almost a monopoly of stu- dent social affairs, so that you can hardly go anywhere if you’re a barb—unless you string with us. I vote for us. We will see that you meet anybody you want to know.” The Duke followed her perfectly, al- though this was the first time he had ever encountered social intrigue in the making, and he was startled at the idea of planning a social career. He saw that it wasn’t so different, fundamentally, from the way in which Jake Levy and his confreres planned the ballyhoo of a fight. He had to con- sider everything Pauline Gardiner pro- posed in two lights. One was how it would affect his wish to keep his identity a secret, as he had promised Jake he would; and the other was how it would affect his wish to meet the girl he had followed and to see as much as possible of her. He decided in- stantly that he would have to take what chance there was of being exposed a prize fighter. But he would not take a chance on the other thing. “You're awfully Pauline Gardiner. “I’m _ perfectly selfish,” she replied. “I’m so bored with being a faculty wife and seeing the same people all the time. You’re the promise of an interesting se- mester. And if there’s anything I can do for you, you have only to ask.” “You're awfully good,” the Duke said. He drew a long breath. ‘“Do—do you happen to know a Miss Susan Corbin?” “Do I know her!” Pauline Gardiner cried. “I know her intimately.’’ She shot a quick glance at the Duke. He could al- most see her thinking to herself, ‘So that’s the way it is!’ But she did not say it. She said, “‘Do you know her?” The Duke shook his head. -‘‘I don’t know her at all. I’ve merely heard about her.” “Oh!” Pauline Gardiner said. “I was sure she would have told me if she did know you. I’m asking her to my dinner party Friday night.” For a fraction of a second the Duke felt the way he felt in the ring when somebody caught him with a good stiff right over the heart. His breath came hard. “Susie is one of the crowd that always goes to the Wilsons’,” Pauline Gardiner added—‘“‘one of our crowd.” The Duke saw that luck had found him at last. Today was Tuesday. He would meet the girl Friday night—three days. He was so excited at the happy turn his life had taken that he wanted to go off by him- self and think it over. He wanted to go home. Pauline Gardiner guessed his intention. “You mustn’t go until you’ve met Jack— my husband,” she said. ‘‘I’ll run and tell him he must come down. He’s correcting themes, poor lamb!” The Duke heard her running upstairs. He looked around the room. It was the sort of living room he had dreamed of hav- ing every time he slept in a new hotel. It was comfortable and it was charming. He loved the way the flames of the cannel coal picked up high lights on the mahogany front of Pauline Gardiner’s desk, on the copper teakettle, on the serried rows of books. kind,” he said to August 4,1928 The room had a quality that the more elegant and elaborate living room in Pro- fessor Kingsbury’s house lacked. The fire helped. Hereafter he would have a coal fire going all afternoon and all evening. But this room of Pauline Gardiner’s had more than an open fire. The Duke decided that, best of all, it had the air of being lived in; perhaps, more than that, the air of being lived in by a woman. Professor Gardiner came downstairs promptly. The Duke was shocked at how old he looked. He must be in his late thirties. His hair was quite gray. But he had a fine smile and humorous eyes. Be- fore he realized what was happening the Duke had sat down again and was listening eagerly to Professor Gardiner’s suggestions about courses: “Tf there’s something you want espe- cially to study, like biology or chemistry, you'll have to take what you can get. But mostly it’s a question of who offers the course. I’ve forgotten whether we have six hundred or nine hundred instructors and professors. It doesn’t matter, because only three or four of them are good for any- thing more than conducting elementary drills in facts. Max Foster is a real person. He gives a course that he calls civilization, or the history of civilization, or some large, loose title like that. You oughtn’t to miss him. The course runs throughout the year, but I'll speak to Max and I’m sure he’l] let you enter it in the second semester.” The Duke liked the man and trusted him. ‘‘Is there any course of yours I could get into?” he asked. “My best course,” Professor Gardiner told him, ‘‘is one that’s labeled advanced composition. I’m very lenient about de- tails like spelling and punctuation and even grammar. What I try to get them to do is to write something—anything— they really care about saying. Young people shrink from that. If you want totry it I'll be delighted.” “TI do want to try it,’ warmly. He left the Gardiners’ house feeling that he had found friends among the sort of people he had always wanted to know and that it was only three days before he would sit down to dinner with Susan Corbin. “‘T see,”” Barney said as the car straight- ened out and gathered speed—‘‘I see we've got a good breeze abaft the beam and all sail drawing.” The Duke laughed happily. ‘Yes, Barney,” he admitted, ‘‘we’re on the crest of the wave.” ’ the Duke said Vv HE Duke decided, after much debate with himself, to wear a dinner coat in- stead of tails. He felt that atail coat was the correct thing, but he doubted if anybody else would wear one, and he wanted to be like the others even more than he wanted to be correct. On the way to Pauline Gardiner’s house for this, his first dinner party, he told him- self over and over again to forget he was a prize fighter known familiarly to the sport- ing world as Duke Wellington and to re- member that in the eyes of Pauline Gardi- ner and her friends he was a particularly eligible young man named Jimmy Van Blarcom. He told himself repeatedly to forget that he didn’t belong among these people with whom he was about to dine and had no right to deceive them into thinking he did. He told himself to assume that he belonged, as they would assume that he belonged. He had taken it for granted the afternoon he had followed Susan Corbin to the rail- way station, and all the way to Grandison, that he was permanently barred from meet- ing her on terms of equality. He had man- aged to jump the barrier between them. Now he had passed it so quickly and easily he must forget that it had ever been. He must not permit any part of his old feeling of being on the outside of all that was re- spectable and charming and gracious in life to interfere with his taking full advantage of (Continued on Page 66)

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ATTA a August 4, 1928 ) 79) 1°) Q, 6) z oad z 3) > io) > & Q & ~ ~ & 77) oe x ~

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SS 2 @ ee. ~ Fes hes . +28 2 sag oom met eert am i owe? - or - a e* Lpiy aie JAN [= Lj >. Z en 1 WY hy MAG 5 i EANY Ui TTT eERLN wd ’ . -« + Oh pe te te panier

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- see helps you set man you never your table Exrzy this morning he calls on yout meat dealer. The chops, roast Or other meat you expect to have on your table depends upon such visits. For it is he who finds out your dealer's orders your orders—and forwards them to the great Morris & Company branch house he represents, where they are filled and promptly delivered. 7 This is the daily work of hun- dreds of service-salesmen of Morris & Company all over the country. A most important ser- vice because it bridges the gaps between your demand and the never-failing meat supply of Morris & Company. 7 A man you never see helps you set your table. Not only with the finest fresh meat the market affords but with a wealth of delicious products bearing the famous Morris “‘SUPREME’’ label. Supreme Ham Supreme Bacon Supreme Sricep Bacon Supreme Purr Lear Larp Supreme CANNED Mzgats Supreme Cooxep LuNcHEoN Meats Supreme Fresn Sausace Supreme MarGariINe Supreme Ecos Supreme Creuse Supremes Creamery Butter AND “Wuarrenear’ Larp MORRIS & COMPANY, CHICAGO BRANCH OF THB NORTH AMBRICAN PROVISION COMPANY MORRIS Supreme O10) Phe | old maids. THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 62) the fact that he was actually now on the in- side. He wanted this girl. The only possi- ble course was to go out and take her as, he suspected, women always wanted to be taken—by a man with no doubts. Pauline Gardiner’s living room was full of people when he got there, but he saw in- stantly that Susan Corbin hadn’t arrived, and that made it easier to face the ordeal of being introduced. Mrs. Gardiner had man- aged to get everybody except himself and | Susan Corbin there early. They greeted the | Duke with a cordiality that he had met only | once before. The night. he had won the championship from Harlem Tommy Mar- tin, strangers had crowded round him as he climbed wearily from the ring, eager to shake his hand and pat his back. Laugh- ing and cheering, they had hoisted him on their shoulders and carried him to his dress- ing room, and when Barney had cut his sod- den gloves off his wrists they had fought for the privilege of carrying away pieces of the bloody leather as souvenirs. These people were hardiy so excited as a fight crowd that has just seen a new cham- pion come through, but they were 30 friendly that the Duke did not have to make conversation. He had only to smile and nod while they did all the talking. The party had grown positively hilarious when Susan Corbin arrived, half an hour late. The Duke took one look at her across the room and felt that terrific tension he always felt in the ring when the referee had told them both that they must break clean at the word, and to make it hard, and sent them to their corners to wait for the bell that was the signal to come out fighting. Pauline Gardiner turned to him and led him forward to meet Susan Corbin. She was wearing a black velvet dinner dress, with no decoration whatever except a single gleaming bauble, a jewel of some sort, that hung from a thin chain round her neck. The Duke had remembered her as a pretty girl. But as he looked into her eyes now he saw that she was beautiful. She was more than beautiful —she was lovely. And noth- ing could or would have satisfied the Duke except to pick her up in his arms and run away with her, as he bowed and murmured the formal phrases that the experience of the race has’ provided for these occasions and that he had got from books. She acknowledged the introduction with a casual little smile and nod, and then her eyes lighted with something stronger than mischief, and she said, in her singularly agreeable, low-pitched, unstrained voice: “I’m so thrilled, Mr. Van Blarcom, to see what you actually look like. After all ve heard about you, I was afraid you were something in the movies. But you aren’t, are you?” The Duke was relieved that everybody laughed, as if this was quite what they expected from Susan Corbin. The others had not seen the sudden gleam of hostility in her eyes as she spoke, and so they did not know what he knew—-that in the moment of their meeting she had declared war. He was so taken aback that he stood staring at her as she explained to Pauline Gardiner why she was unavoidably late. The dean of women had called her in at five o'clock and insisted on talking to her for two hours, in an endeavor to learn whether it was true that girls in college smoked cigarettes and permitted young men to kiss them. “Good Lord,” said Widdecomb, the young professor of sociology, ‘doesn’t she know?” “No,” Susan Corbin answered. ‘“ Miss Atwater doesn’t know. She's incredibly naive. She’s been here only a year, but she | was a dean of women out West somewhere for ten years. She’s had charge of two or three thousand girls for years and years, and been their official adviser, and she doesn’t know the first thing about how they feel or think or act. She only knows the few who are like herself —the constitutional She’s always taken it for | granted that we were all like her, except for an occasional bad egg who had to be fired. EVENING POST But she’s read so much in the newspapers about the younger generation and its awful ways, and answered so many questionnaires from social workers and moralists and med- dlers who wanted to know just how bad we all were, that she’s beginning to think per- haps we are a little wicked, after all.” Miss Corbin hesitated. “I feel mean about exposing her to all you ribald people.” “Go on, Susie!” everybody cried in chorus. “I’m going to,” she said, “even if it is mean. Because I think it’s absurd that a woman who’s so utterly ignorant and so ut- terly inexperienced should have such a job. You see,” she continued, ‘Miss At- water has two quite different attitudes. As a dean she wants to believe that all’s right with the world and we're all just as good as we can be. But as a woman she wants to hear just the opposite. She’s a woman who has never had any fun and she’s just about given up hope of ever having any herself. She’s driven to get what thrills she can out of other people’s fun. She wasn’t trying to get anything on me or anybody else. If she had been, I’d have looked her in the eye and lied to her the way you some- times have to lie to professors and parents when they try to find out things that are none of their business. But she appealed to me as one woman to another. She asked me point blank if I’d ever been kissed.” Everybody laughed except the Duke. Miss Corbin now dramatized her inter- view with the dean of women, taking both parts in the dialogue and imitating the older wotman’s panting curiosity with devastating effect. “I said ‘Yes, Miss Atwater, I have.’ And she said ‘Did you like it?’ I said ‘I most certainly did.’ And then she said ‘Are you engaged to him?’ I said ‘Which one?’ She said ‘I mean the man who kissed you.’ I said ‘Miss Atwater, several men have kissed me.’ She leaned forward with a kind of sigh atid said ‘How many?’ I told her I couldn’t retnember. She said she wished I’d try to remember. So I be- gan to count on my fingers, but I hadn’t counted more than five or six when she in- terrupted me. She said ‘You must have let them kiss you when you didn’t know whether you were in love with them or not.’ I said ‘Miss Atwater, how could I possibly know whether I was in love with them be- fore they kissed me?’”’ Everybody laughed again, except the Duke. Widdecomb leaned forward eagerly. “What did she say to that?” he asked. “She couldn’t speak for half a minute, and then she said ‘Why—why—I never thought of that.’” “Go on, Susie,” Pauline Gardiner said as the laughter subsided, “tell us the rest.” “No,” Miss Corbin said, “I’ve told you enough. She asked me hundreds of ques- tions and she was so anxious to learn that I couldn’t bear to kid her, really. But I'll tell you this: When she asked me about drinking I told her my rule was to take two cocktails before dinner—when I got the chance.” Pauline Gardiner suddenly remembered that dinner was served and the Duke found himself seated between his hostess and Miss Corbin and nursing an unaccountable feel- ing of anger. Miss Corbin turned to him. “Are you really as annoyed with us as you look?” she asked. The Duke looked straight into her eyes. “Is it true that a dozen men have kissed you?” he asked. Miss Corbin raised her eyebrows and gave him a fraction of a second in which to realize the enormity. of his question. “You're as bad as the dean of women,” she said, and turned to the man on her right. The Duke found himself unable to take much part in the general conversation. He couldn’t think about anything except the lovely arid dangefous creature at his elbow who had just snubbed him. Besides, he felt the disadvaritage of not understanding the family jokes that went back and forth across the table. But his professional suc- cess had a good deal depended on his ability August 4,1928 to guess what the other chap was thinking and feeling. He soon became aware of many undertones and overtones in the chatter of this gay group. He saw that the somewhat solid and statistical Mr. Wilson was welcomed because his wife was a pe- culiarly warm-hearted and hospitable woman. He felt that Professor Widde- comb, the sociologist, was crazy about Pauline Gardiner, but that Mrs. Gardiner was rather bored with him. He noticed that Helen Scott, who was apparently a sorority sister to Susan Corbin, hung on every word that Professor Gardiner said, like a woman in love. And Miss Corbin herself seemed to be fascinated by the young instructor with the Harvard manner on her right. They talked on and on, in tones so low that no one else could hear what they were saying, with much subdued laughter, so that the Duke felt certain the man was no better than he should be. He was astonished and incredulous and angry. He had always thought of a college community as the last word in respecta- bility, a place where serious people took the serious concerns of life seriously. He was beginning to realize his mistake. What sort of world was it in which the loveliest of girls calmly admitted that a dozen men had kissed her? It made him furious to imagine anybody’s kissing her. He sat beside her, so close that he had to be careful not to touch her, and seethed with rage. She was irfinitely desirable to him. He wanted to do something desper- ate. He wanted to punish her and he wanted to rescué her from this atmosphere of flirtation and intrigue before it was too late, and he could not even talk to her. He would have liked to assuage his anger by eating heartily of Pauline Gardiner’s excel- lent dinner. But he was already eleven pounds over the lightweight limit. He did not dare eat. He had to refuse the jelly that was served with the roast, and the en- ticing little new potatoes and the artichoke with hollandaise sauce. He accepted a large mold of some dessert that had been frozen and covered with whipped cream, but he refrained from touching it. Miss Corbin suddenly ceased to whisper to her dinner partner and turned to the Duke. “You really ought to eat your des- sert,”’ she said. “It’s marvelous.” He shook his head. ‘‘I don’t eat sweets,” he said. Miss Corbin raised her beautiful eye- brows. ‘‘What—dieting?” she asked, and somehow made it seem disreputable to be on a diet. “Yes,”’ the Duke said haughtily. “You know,” she said—and the Duke had the unhappy feeling that though her voice was low, it had so much more carry- ing power than higher and louder voices that everybody at the table could hear what she was saying—‘‘I have been trying to remember where I have seen you before, Mr. Van Blarcom. Aren’t you the man who followed me from the Drake Hotel to the North Western Station and clear up here to Grandison?”’ The Duke felt that everybody at the table was looking at him with a mean eye and that he was getting redder and redder. ““You mustn’t mind Susie’s impudence,”’ Pauline Gardiner said. ‘‘She only does it to annoy.” “But you are the man, aren’t you, Mr. Van Blarcom?” Miss Corbin asked, her eyes looking innocently into his. “Yes,” the Duke said, “I am.” And then it occurred to him that this was one of those occasions when the truth could be used as a weapon. With an effort of will he swallowed his impulse to wring her neck and resorted to words. “I’m awfully sorry if I annoyed you,” he said earnestly but. in a tone that he was sure everybody at the table could hear. “I couldn’t help it. I saw you in the lobby of the Drake and I might just as well have been struck by lightning. I thought you were the loveliest creature I had ever seen in my life. I heard you say something to your escort and I thought your voice was the most charming (Continued on Page 70)

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te t-S424 _——— wh ae —__—S——— _™ ~ — —— = —_——_--~_ | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SADNT PAUL Present a new line of All Porcelain Commercial Cabinets for use with either Ice, Electrical, Gas or Mechanical Refrigeration--the most modern, economical and beautiful Cabinets ever built for Hotels, Restaurants, Clubs, Shops, Hospitals, Grocers and Florists. Illustrated Descriptive Folder of the many styles and sizes, Commercial Cabinets by Seeger, Form 285-5, on request. SEEGER REFRIGERATOR COMPANY SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA NEW YORK BOSTON ATLANTA LOS ANGELES CHICAGO SEATTLE 389 Madison Ave. 26-28 Providence St. 392-4-6 Spring St., N. W. 1340 E. Sixth St 228 No. LaSalle St 1119 Fourth Ave.

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68 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928 VE » CLOTHING SS ~ —~ ontsse yr ¥ F you do, call a Remington Rand Man and compare your present col- lection plan with that of companies equipped with Remington Rand Systems. Organizations selling nationally collect from a million accounts | monthly, and hundreds of others of all sizes collect regularly and econom- ically with the assistance of Remington Rand methods and equipment. This combination of leaders of the office equipment industry is able to present to companies selling on the partial payment plan many methods ) ics ; . . a " . The Remington Acc s of making collections at the minimum of expense and risk . . . Your i Machine is particularly : bee i A suited to posting installment business may be best served by Kardex Visible Systems which signal accounts of certain kinds ‘ : f because this one machine due dates and warn against bad credit risks—or will do both typing and fig- ure work. Additions and subtractions are automatic in any desired positions on the ledger page. by Dalton and Remington machines which make bookkeeping more rapid and accurate—or by Powers machines Baker Vauter-Kalamazoo loose leaf systems and equipment are equally suited for hand postin or machine posting of install- ment accounts. Standard loose leaf forms are also available for installment accounting. — ‘ 7 } ‘5 | Remington REMINGTON »- KARDEX: SAFE-CABINET*+ DALTON « POWERS

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Pipe Smoker Finds Pep-Producer and Solace All in One This lied gives him added vigor in his daily work, then soothes him when the day is done When a man has a good pipe and the right tobacco, he has a true and helpful friend. Never was there a more convincing illus- tration of this fact than the following ietter from Mr. Arbogast. Here is a gentleman whose work makes a constant drain upon his nervous energy, and all day jong his faithful pipe and favorite tobacco help him produce pep. Then, at the day's end, the soothing THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 66) voice I had ever heard. I followed you into the grill and I saw you dance and I thought your dancing was ravishing. I couldn’t let you out of my sight. I felt that where you went I would go and’’—he paused and smiled at her—‘‘here I am.” Miss Corbin was plainly taken aback. He had spoken so boldly and with so much feeling that she was affected in spite of her- self. She actually blushed and hesitated before she told him she was afraid he was an awfully fast worker. Pauline Gardiner seized the moment to rise, and they all went into the living room | for coffee. During the rest of the evening fragrance of his favorite pipe-smoke wipes | all cares away. Here's what he says: Cincinnati, Ohio June 1, 1927 Larus & Bro. Co., Richmond, Va. Gentlemen My good old pipe has just reminded me { a degen promises to write a bit of appre- ciation of its affinity — Edgeworth. kind or otherwise, has drawn me of work that calls for the very expenditure of nervous energy, perseverance. I can think of pleasant things than conduct- ng campaigns for hospitals, Fate, a line utmost tact, and many more g fund-raist churches, ete When you are up against a barrage of uestions by excitable women, doubtful men d self-confident millionaires, try- ng to harmonize the whole in an effort to thousands of dollars where none —well, you need a Pep-Pro- Taise grew before ducer—that's all And when the day's work is done, along toward midnight, what a blessed solace comes with the first draw of Edgeworth Then my pipe and | hold a real conference, obstacles fade away with the and the smoke. Then we wonder why they should have bothered us at all | feel qualified to speak because a can a day is my measure of appreciation. The old pipe O.K.'s this letter and insists that without Edgeworth we could not have raised the thousands of dollars we did Good old Hod! Good old Edgeworth! Sincerely yours, William H. Arbogast. the Duke found himself cornered so that he had no chance to say another word to Miss Corbin except good night. He waited impatiently after that until the other guests had gone, until Professor Gardiner had excused himself to finish a batch of themes and he was alone with Pauline Gardiner. “T want to talk,” he said abruptly. “IT wish you would,” she said, pleased. She seated herself comfortably in the sofa beside the fire. The Duke paced back and | clear enough after that. | her. Let a man find the right tobacco, and his | pipe sure does become a true and faithful friend—a constant companion through his sorrows and his joys. It is ready to en- courage him during the day's excitement, there to soothe him in the quiet evening hours when a pipe, a book, and an easy chair make the world a pleasant place to live. Asa pipe “affinity’’ (which Mr. Arbogast so aptly calls it) Edgeworth has brought many a man and pipe together for a grand and glorious lifetime friendship. To those who have we make this offer: Let us send you free samples of Edge- worth so that you may If you like the samples, you'll like Edge- worth and wherever whenever never changes in quality. Write your name and address to Larus & Brother Company, 1 S. 21st Street, Richmond, Va. Edgeworth is sold in various sizes to suit the needs and means of all purchasers. forth regardless of whether his walk be- trayed his profession. **Do you know why that girl has it in for me?" he asked. “No,” Pauline Gardiner said. ‘‘What makes you think she has it in for you?” “I felt it in the first moment, and it was You heard her calmly exposing me as the man who'd fol- lowed her.” “*Yes,”’ Pauline Gardiner said, “‘I heard I thought you were rather clever in the way you handled it, too—pulling that line of yours about falling for her as if struck by lightning and you couldn’t help following her.” “It wasn’t a line—it was the truth.” “Then it was very, very clever of you.” “T didn’t get far with it. I didn’t get a chance to speak to her again and I haven’t the least idea how to see her again.” “*You’ll probably see her at the Wilsons’ Sunday night.” “‘I mean see her alone,”’ the Duke said bitterly. “Oh!” Pauline Gardiner said, laughing. “Listen,” the Duke demanded, “this isn’t anything to laugh at. I’m serious. I’m crazy about that girl, And I don’t know my way around this place. I want information.” ‘Sit down,” Pauline Gardiner said, ‘‘and have a cigarette and calm yourself. I’m go- ing to tell you everything I know. I’m frightfully disappointed, of course, but I’ll be a good sport.” “What are you disappointed about?” the Duke asked, unable to imagine that | anybody in the world was seriously disap- never tried Edgeworth, | manded. put it to the pipe test. | pointed except himself. “Sit down,’ Pauline Gardiner com- “Stop walking back and forth like a tiger in a cage. You make me nervous.” The Duke remembered that he walked like a prize fighter and sat down hastily and | lit a cigarette. Pauline Gardiner continued you buy it, for it | to lie back in the sofa, looking up at the ceiling reflectively. “Well,” he asked, ‘‘what are you sore about?” ‘*My, what a temper we're in!”’ Pauline | Gardiner said, as if the Duke were a small | boy and she were his mother, or at least a Both Edgeworth Plug Slice and Edgeworth | Ready-Rubbed are packed in small, pocket- size packages, in handsome humidors hold- ing a pound, and also in several handy in- between sizes —the Edgeworth Station. Wave length 254.1 meters. On your radio——tune in on WRVA, Richmond, ms Frequency 1140 kilocycles privileged aunt. ‘I’ve always wondered why it is that when men fall in love they get angry. What strange animals men are! The first thing they do is to pick a quarrel with the girl;-and then they quarrel with everybody else, even ladies who give dinner parties for them and like them very much and want to help them.” EVENING POST “I’m sorry,” the Duke said. ‘I apolo- gize. You have been very kind. And if you hadn’t given this dinner I don’t know how I'd ever have got as far as to meet her.” “You’re forgiven,’ Pauline Gardiner said, smiling at him. ‘I understand. I’m not dumb.” “You're very acute,” the Duke said. “Yes,” Pauline Gardiner admitted, ‘‘I am, rather. I have the acuteness of a slightly dissatisfied, restless wife who is too weak or too lazy or too cowardly to do any- thing about it, and is always hoping that something very romantic will come her way and trying to get what excitement she can out of other people’s love affairs instead of having one of her own. Of course, when you came along I thought that here, at last, was my boy friend. So I felt very old and sad and out of it when you spent the eve- ning gazing at Susie Corbin’s profile.” “But you're married.” ** Are you really as naive as you sound?” Pauline Gardiner asked softly. The Duke scowled. “I’m afraid you are. I’m afraid you’re really awfully young too. I thought at first you were a good deal more mature than most college boys.” “T am,” the Duke said. “You had better be. If you aren’t, Susie Corbin is going to have a lovely time mak- ing you miserable.” The Duke was startled. ‘‘Do you hon- estly think she’d enjoy making anybody miserable?’’ he asked. Pauline laughed. ‘I do,’’ she said. She stole a glance at him. ‘“‘Of course,”’ she continued hastily, “‘I think she’s a perfect peach. She's not only the most attractive girl in college but she’s got more stuff than any of the others. She’s amazing. But I think also that she’s discovered she’s got S. A. and she’s enjoying the sense of power it gives her. That’s natural enough. She isn’t twenty-one and several men are mad about her.” ‘‘Has anybody—I mean—does she pre- fer ” the Duke began. “You mean has anybody made her,” Pauline Gardiner said. ‘‘So far, Tommy Wells and Boss Walker have got farther than anybody else. Tommy is not only one of the most popular men in college but he’s got something too. He is very amusing and entertaining and he’ll be somebody when he gets out of college. Susie is going to the prom with him. Boss Walker is the best quarterback Minnewaska ever had. He was captain of the team last fall. He'll go into his father’s business as soon as he graduates—-in June. He’s pretty hard- boiled, but he’s dead in love with Susie and he’ll be in a position to marry, which most boys just out of college aren’t. And then there’s Cabot Lawrence—that young pro- fessor of history you met tonight—the one on Susie’s right. He comes of a swank Boston family and he’s sophisticated.” “‘T thought he wasn’t any better than he should be.” “You would think that. . But any- way, you get the picture, don’t you? What I’m trying to get across to you is that you've come in here ‘and fallen for a girl who has everything—the one girl you haven’t a good chance to make.” The Duke sat glowering into the fire. “‘What,” he asked finally, ‘‘is S. A.?” Pauline Gardiner sat up. ‘‘ Are you kid- ding me?” “No,” the Duke assured her. get it.” “*S. A. stands for sex appeal in all the dictionaries I ever read,” she replied. ‘‘Susie Corbin has it.” “*T don’t like that way of putting it,’’ the Duke said. ‘It offends me.” “T don’t “If you really want the girl—if you’re really serious—you might as well begin by facing the facts.” August 4,1928 *‘All right,’’ the Duke said. ‘Tell me what I may and may not do. What is the correct thing—I mean, how do I see her alone?” “You call her up at the Gamma Delt house and ask for a blind date.” ““What’s a blind date?” “Some day when you're feeling confiden- tial, Mr. Van Blarcom,”’ Pauline Gardiner said, ‘‘I hope you'll sit down and tell me all about yourself and where you’ve spent the last twenty years. I begin to think you are the Duke of Something-or-Other, trying to give us the once-over and struggling with our strange language.”” The Duke main- tained a masterful silence. ‘‘A blind date,” Pauline Gardiner explained, “is a blind date. It’s a date for whatever turns up in the meantime.” “T see,” the Duke said. ‘‘Now explain the rest of it in words of one syllable. What can I do with the date when I get it? If this were New York I’d know what to do. We could have dinner at the Plaza and go to the theater and make the only nice quiet night club in town. And here there’s no night club and no theater.” “‘ About three times a year a second com- pany with a New York show stops by on its way from Chicago to St. Louis or Minneap- olis. You had better keep your eye out for that. Otherwise you’re quite right. But even if there were a night club, you’d have to leave it at a quarter to eleven because the S. G. A. rule is that a coed must be at home by eleven, unless it’s a dance for which special permission has been given.” She paused thoughtfully. “‘T have known the S. G. A. rules to be violated without exciting Miss Atwater’s attention. I’ve seen Susie at the Wilsons’ after midnight often enough. What you had better do is take her out in that grand ear of yours. If the roads aren’t too bad you can drive to Danville and get a decent dinner at the hotel there. You can dance too. The S. G. A. rule is that a girl who goes out in a car with a man must be in by eight o’clock or else have a chaperon with her. You can take your choice.’ She smiled to herself. ‘‘If you insist,”’ she fin- ished, ‘“‘I’ll go along as chaperon and then you can stay out till eleven o'clock.” The Duke grinned at this gibe. ‘‘I don’t insist, Mrs. Gardiner,” he said. He rose to go. ‘‘You’ve done so much for me already that I can’t bear to ask you to be my chaperon.” Pauline Gardiner rose and held out her hand. ‘‘ You can do one thing for me,’’ she said, smiling at him. The Duke bowed over her hand. ‘‘ You have only to tell me what it is,”’ he assured her. “*Call me Pauline,” she said. The Duke smiled back at her, realizing how friendly she was. It was as if she had said, ‘‘ Anyhow, I’m for you.” “‘Pauline,” he said, ‘“‘are you subject to these what-do-you-call-it rules?” “The Self-Government Association? Not in the least.” “Then will you go driving with me some afternoon soon and show me the way to this place where you can get a decent dinner?” “Of course I will, Jimmy,” she said. The Duke was thoughtful, driving home with Barney. He wondered why Susan Corbin had taken so sudden a dislike to him. He hadn’t made it any better by asking her if it was true that a dozen men had kissed her. He had asked the question naively, because the idea outraged him. He wanted her to deny it. But of course it hadn’t sounded that way. It had sounded as if he were being clever at her expense. and not good-naturedly clever, either. (TO BE CONTINUED)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Factory to You Sale (Jer every year, you are given this special opportunity to save more money at your Rexall Drug Store. This great Factory-to- You Sale means exactly what it says. Throughout the month of August, you can buy scores of famous advertised products which come direct from our Rexall factories. Requisites for beauty, comfort, hygiene. Needs for the sick-room, medicine chest, bath. Articles for a hundred uses around the home. All new, fresh goods. All sold from regular stock. All of the finest quality that the United Drug Company, the world’s largest maker of drug store commodi- ties, can produce. All at prices cut so low that you will be dollars ahead by laying in a supply. From the many bargains, note these few: 25¢ Klenzo Dental Creme . ..... ~ 19¢ 50¢ Lord Baltimore Writing Portfolio . . 39¢ 50¢ Jonteel Complexion Creams... . . 39¢ Cara Nome Perfume free with Cara Nome Face Sr N.C ie ee ee ee $2 Large Klenzo Shaving Cream and Gentlemen's Dee I 8 6 os 6 we Oe 39¢ Your Rexall Druggist a/ways gives you the best in Drug Store merchandise at ower prices. Now he offers standard goods atthe /owest possible prices. Look for the window pictured above. Don’t miss this Factory-to-You Sale—the whole month of August. Save with Safety at your DRUG STORE Liggetts are also Rexall Stores. There is one near you. You will recognize it by this sign. LOOK FOR THIS WINDOW IN YOUR OWN NEIGHBORHOOD SAVE MONEY ON SMASHING BARGAINS AT ANNUAL

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 EVERYTHING you want or need in a mod- ern automobile is brought to you at a low price in the new Ford . . . beauty of line and color—steel body— speed of 55 to 65 miles an hour—mechanical, internal expanding-shoe type four-wheel brakes to balance this speed and to Everything you want or need in provide the safety demanded by present- day motoring conditions—flashing pick-up and ease of control that put a new joy in motoring—power for any hill because of a remarkably efficient engine which develops 40-brake-horse- power at only 2200 revolutions a minute —new transverse springs and four Houdaille hydrau- lic shock absorbers for easy- riding comfort—the economy Rm aan Cae _——-— -- The s from th of 20 to 30 miles ona gallon of gasoline, depending on your speed—three-quarter irreversible steering gear— reliability and low cost of up-keep. Check over these features ore. ee ne ; ¢ drivers stat shatter-proof glass—an important safety feature turdy strength and sweeping lines of the new Ford are shown in thes view Windshields in all the new Ford cars are made of Triplex and you will find that not one essential thing that you require of a motor car is omitted from this list. Yet the completeness of the new Ford goes farther even than this. It extends to every least little detail of finish and appointment and to the equipment which is standard on the car. This includes speedometer, ammeter, gasoline gage on instrument panel, elec- tric windshield wiper on closed cars, five steel-spoke wheels, four 30 x 4.50 balloon tires, dash light, mirror, com- bination stop and tail light, oil indicator rod, theft-proof coincidental ignition lock, high-pressure grease gun lubrication, and Triplex shatter-proof glass windshield.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST = a i i a i i i ea i a i ae le a el a / 7 7 Modern All Ford cars have roomy interiors, wide, deeply-cushioned seats, rich up- holstery, and are finished in a variety of beautiful two-tone color harmonies. Five years ago—three years ago—one year ago—it would have been impossible to produce such a really fine car at such a low price. It is possible today only because of the development of new machines, new manufacturing methods and new production economies that are as remarkable as the car itself. The Ford Motor Company did not set Out to make a new car at a certain figure. It decided on the kind of car it wanted to make and then found ways to build it at the lowest possible price. Every purchaser shares the benefits utomobile of the Ford policy of selling at a small margin of profit, of owning or controlling the source of raw materials and of constantly giving greater and greater value without greatly increased cost. As Henry Ford himself has said: “We make our own steel—we make our own glass—we mine our own coal. But we do not charge a profit on any of these items or from these operations. Our only profit is on the automobile we sell.”’ When you know the joy of driving the new Ford—when you see its out- standing performance under all condi- tions—you will know that it is not just a new automobile—not just a new model—but the advanced expression of a wholly new idea in modern, econom- ical transportation FORD MOTOR COMPANY Detroit, Michigan

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fella, though, Dressy. He’s crookeder’n a bent corkscrew.” “I'l! make him look like the shortest dis- tance between two points, compared to me, Pop,” Dressy promised grimly. ‘Watch me!” John Regan was a huge-framed gaunt man with white hair. His daughter, Louise, was slim and dark, with an ardent, sensitive face. During the running of the first race she dropped her program. Dressy James, sitting in the row in front of the Regans, retrieved and returned it. She smiled and thanked him. By the time the second race was over, Dressy was chat- ting freely with the pair. Regan remarked, “‘I see My Captain is entered today in the fourth.” “He won't run,” Dressy assured him. “They entered him in the hope it might rain during the morning and make a soft track. He’s got bad legs, you know. But he might get around in the mud.” “ He was a pretty good horse when he was at his best, wasn’t he?"’ Regan inquired. “T’ve been out of the country for several years, but I read quite a bit about him.” “When he was right he could trim any- thing that ever ate oats in New Orleans,” Dressy assured him. A murmur rose from the crowd when the names of the horses going in the fourth were posted on the odds board. My Captain was among them. “They're going to run him!” Dressy ex- claimed, amazed. ‘‘ Why, say, he’ll pull up lame inside of an eighth on a track as fast as that one.” “It seems a shame to make him run if he’s not fit,”’ Louise Regan said warmly. “Tt’sa crime,” Dressy growled. “‘ They’re taking the chance of breaking him down when he hasn’t the ghost of a chance to win.” That others thought the same was evi- dent by the betting as recorded on the odds board. My Captain opened at five to one, went to ten, then to fifteen, and when the bugle summoned the horses onto the track, up to twenty. As the horses filed out of the paddock chute, My Captain third in line, Dressy James rose hurriedly and excused himself. He hurried down into the mutuel ring and made his way to the fifty-dollar window. “*My Captain; two to win,” hesaid, shov- ing in the hundred-dollar bill he had re- ceived that morning from Squid Weaver. The mutuel clerk plucked the two tickets from the rack and then, recognizing Dressy, paused and stared. “What's the idea, Dressy?” he asked. “My Captain hasn’t got a chance in the world on a track like this. You ought to know that.” “If the game old fellow can go out there and do his best on those crocky old legs of his,” Dreasy said explosively, ‘I can afford to bet a hundred as a compliment to him.” “You don’t think he’s got a chance, do you?” the mutuel clerk persisted. ‘Not one in a million,” said Dressy decisively. The mutug! clerk whisked the hundred- dollar bill into the drawer and handed out the two mutuel tickets. “You're a sucker,”’ he jeered. “Tam,” Dressy admitted. “‘On purpose, though, fella. Not by accident.” The mutuel clerk sighed, plucked a fifty- dollar ticket on My Captain from the rack and stuck it in his vest pocket. “Since you mention it,” he said, “‘I find I feel the same way. I wish you'd picked out another win- dow to go to, to buy those tickets. You’ve cost me just fifty bucks by coming here for them.” “‘Game little horse,” Dressy said huskily. “T'll say,”’ the mutuel clerk agreed heart- ily. ‘‘He could run backwards and beat these kind when he was right.” ~ The race was one mile and seventy yards. The ten horses facing the barrier got away THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IT’S A TOUGH WORLD! (Continued from Page 19) to a good start. My Captain broke with the leaders and was third around the first turn. ‘Look at him!" Dressy exclaimed husk- ily, his binoculars glued to his eyes. “‘Isn’t he one grand sight in action? Laying in there right where he always liked to run too. If those old legs of his were just sound!” “‘He looks all right,’’ Louise Regan said hopefully. ‘‘He doesn’t show any signs of being lame, does he?” “Not yet,”” Dressy said gloomily. ‘‘ He'll never stand it, though. He can’t. He may go all right for a quarter, or even a half, but it’s just useless torture.” At the half mile My Captain was still third, and less than a_length back of the leader. “Running easy,’’ Dressy reported, a tre- mor of excitement in his voice. “‘Aw, say! If the old fellow could just last through, huh? He’ll never make it though. That hard track must be torture on those old legs of his.” Around the far turn and still the great lit- tle chestnut, thundering along on those slender, patched-up legs, held third, run- ning at the rump of the second horse, a scant length back of the leader. Into the long stretch then, and as they rounded the turn for home he put on a burst of speed, moved up into second position and chal- lenged the leader. “He can’t doit!’’ Dressy James cried out protestingly. ‘“‘ Don’t punish him like that! Take back with him! Ease him up! He can't do it!” And then suddenly, in a wild abandon of hope and emotion, Dressy mounted a chair and began to root, eyes wild, arms waving. ““Come on with him, jock! Let him roll from there! He’s got this one left in him, jock! He’ll do it! Turn him loose, jock! Show these people a race horse! Come on, My Captain! Down in front, once more, old kid! You can do it!” Struggling there in the stretch the game little chestnut crept up on the leader, inch by inch, foot by foot. Passing the club- house less than a sixteenth from the finish, the two were nose and nose, with the field bunched behind. “He'll do it!”” Dressy screamed ecstat- ically. ‘‘ He'll do it!” And then, suddenly, the little chestnut faltered, stumbled, recovered balance and came on with a queer, crooked gait as the leader flashed away for the wire and the field from behind swept around and passed him. Dressy, watching close, saw what had happened and screamed an oath of sympa- thetic agony. That last furious struggle up the stretch had done its work. The weakened left front leg had snapped off short just below the cannon ball. My Captain was done. A piti- ful, brave wreck of animal perfection, he struggled out there on the track alone, hob- bling, shaking his head, fighting on to finish on three legs. Dressy pulled his hat over his eyes and sat down, grim-faced, cursing under his breath. A chorus of sympathetic exclama- tions went up from the crowd as the doomed horse was led toward the paddock to be destroyed. Louise Regan leaned forward, tears streaming down her face, and plucked Dressy’s sleeve. “Can they do anything for him?” she asked. ‘‘Isn’t there anything they can do?” “Shoot him,” Dressy said savagely; “that’s all! No way of saving a horse with a broken leg. Fine end for a game little ani- mal like him, isn’t it?”’ The girl cried out and covered her eyes with her hand. Dressy watched My Captain, racked with sympathetic agony, until the crippled horse was led from sight behind the pad- dock. The names, numbers and prices went up on the odds board for the next race. Louise Regan was still weeping uncontrol- lably, her head on her father’s shoulder. Dressy James turned and stared at her hard. “Better get her out of this,’’ he suggested to her father. Regan nodded agreement. With Dressy’s help he led the hysterically weeping girl out of the row, down the stairs and through the crowd in the mutuel ring to a taxicab. As they were driven away she was clinging to her father, still sobbing wildly. Dressy watched the cab out of sight, lit a cigarette, smoked thoughtfully for a few minutes and then took a quarter from his pocket. “Heads I do; tails I don’t,’”’ he said to himself. He spun the coin in the air, caught it in his palm and looked at it. “It would come heads,” he said wearily. “Oh, well!” Late that afternoon Dressy James called on John Regan at the Roosevelt Hotel. Regan came down from his room and met him on the mezzanine floor. ““How’s Miss Regan?” Dressy asked. “‘T got her to sleep at last,’’ Regan replied. “T had to call in the hotel physician to give her something for her nerves. Poor kid! She was terribly upset.” “‘T noticed that,’’ Dressy said shortly. He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and looked Regan square in the eyes. ‘‘Do you go to church?” he asked abruptly. “Church!”” Regan exclaimed. ‘No. Why?” “You're going to hear a sermon and I just wondered if you were used to ’em,’’ Dressy said. ‘‘ Now listen!” Tersely, brutally, he told Regan of Weav- er’s plot against him. Regan paled as he listened, and at the end of the frank recital, sank down on a divan, trembling. **T’d have fallen for that,’’ he said husk- ily. “‘I know I would. I'd have done it all over again.” “Sure you would,”’ Dressy said grimly. “‘Why, fella, you were hooked.” “TI thought I was cured,’”’ Regan said wearily. ‘“‘I thought I could just watch them run and—you know E “Sure I know,” said Dressy. ‘Listen, fella; you've got no more business hanging around a race track than a fresh-cured hop- head has of living in an opium joint. You get out now and stay out.” “‘T will,”” Regan promised shakily. ‘‘So help me, I will!” “Atta baby,”’ Dressy said heartily. He held out his hand. ‘‘Good-by, sucker. Good luck.” Regan took the proffered hand and heid it. ‘‘Why?”’ he asked. “Two reasons,” said Dressy fliply. “Neither one of ’em any good. The first reason is: I hated to make a bum out of a little girl who could feel so badly about the rotten finish of a good, game horse. The second reason is: It came heads.” August 4,1928 “‘Heads?”’ Regan said, puzzled. ‘The gambler’s guide,” Dressy chuckled. “So long. Be good.” Old Pop Driggs was lying on his cot in the tack room, laboriously spelling out the sporting column of the New Orleans States by the light of an oil lantern hung at the head of his cot. A step startled him. He roused and sat up to see Dressy James in the doorway. “Hello, Pop!’ said Dressy fliply. “‘Got that extra cot you bragged to me about this morning?”’ “Oh! ’Lo, Dressy,’”’ Pop said slowly. ‘‘What--what’s the matter?” “Not a thing,”’ said Dressy. ‘‘Just ran out of a place to sleep without standing up, that’s all.” “Why ” said Pop. ‘Thought you were sailin’ high with Squid Weaver.”’ “Was,” said Dressy. ‘‘You know what happens when you're sailin’ high, don’t you, Pop? Somebody takes in a sail and all of a sudden there you are—smack—right on the ground, with nothin’ under you but dirt. That’s me! How ‘bout you?” “Sure,”’ said Pop obligingly. ‘‘We got another cot I can fix up here. It ain’t very elegant.’’ Pop got out the cot and together they rigged it up. Dressy stripped to his undershirt and crawled under the covers. *‘Comfortable?’’ Pop asked. “Horizontal,” said Dressy. “Hey?” said Pop. “Yes,”’ said Dressy. **Oh,”’ said Pop vaguely. He returned to his perusal of the evening paper. ‘‘I see where they didn’t shoot My Captain this afternoon,”’ he said mildly. “No?” said Dressy. ““No,” said Pop. ‘‘They knocked him off by giving him a shot of cyanide with a squirt gun.” ‘*Yeh?” said Dressy. “Um ”* said Pop. ‘That makes it different, don’t it?”’ said Dressy. Pop shook his head. *‘ Not much,” he ad- mitted mildly. “‘It’s a tough world any way you look at it.” “Tough is right,’’ Dressy said bitterly, hunching the bedclothes around his neck ‘tight and crooked. That’s the only way to beat this world, Pop. No foolin’. Watch me from now out. I’m goin’ to be the tight- est, toughest, crookedest hustler that : “Yeh?” Pop interrupted him. Dressy sensed derision in his tone. He sat up and glared at him. The old man was smiling. “* Aw, go chase yourself !’’ Dressy said fer- vently. He buried his head in the bed- clothes. After a few seconds he sat up, reached in his coat, plucked two fifty-dollar win tickets from his vest pocket and handed them to the old man. ‘*Keep those for a souvenir, you mush- headed old ape,’”’ hesaid savagely. ‘‘ They’re just the kind of things you love.” “Yeh?” said Pop. ‘“‘What are they, kid?”’ “Two fifty-dollar win tickets on My Cap- tain on his last out,’’ Dressy said sadly. He banged his head into the pillow and drew the covers close. After a few minutes he opened one eye and stole a glance at Pop Driggs. The old fellow was sitting near the lantern holding the tickets close to his eyes, studying them. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. “Blah!” Dressy muttered under his breath. He shrugged himself deeper under the covers and shut his eyes tight. A half hour later old Pop Driggs, ready for bed, held the lantern above him as he gave Dressy a final tucking in. Pop wrin- kled his nose as he noticed that the pillow was wet. “Sap,” the old man muttered as he pressed the bedclothes around his chin and neck. “He ought to know better than to lay there and bawl about a horse. What’s the use? It’s a tough world, it is. Yes-sir-ree, a damn tough world.”

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‘STOP manufacturing STOP shipping ©u. F.1.co., ‘28 STOP everything ”’ The Hartford Fire Insur- ance Company and the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company write practically every form of insurance except life. Every day Fire says “stop”— and some factory closes down. The making of goods ceases. Men are out of work, Orders cannot be filled. A big going business is halted in its tracks. You, the owner, recognize that you must reckon with Fire. Your fire warnings, fire escapes, metal doors, fire fight- ing equipment, are proof of this. But your plant is no safer - than your most careless em- ployee. In spite of every safe- guard, fires happen. The only sure protection is insurance. Only a business with a strong insurance company behind it is free from the danger of loss. Are you adequately in- sured? Indemnity for loss of your physical property is but one item. What about unfilled orders, cancellation due to de- lay, losses to competitors while you are idle? The Hartford has many forms of insurance you may not know about. Telephone the Hartford representative.* Let him study your needs and advise you. He knows his business. Don’t guess. Don’t delay. Telephone. INSURE IN THE HARTFORD FIRE Gru itv sephon INSURANCE COMPANY Sk esses HARTFORD, CONN. surance Company direct. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 75 an oe *If you do not know his

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76 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 When the night comes down on Cuba W die the long, mellow days the tobacco plants have grown, taking mildness and flavor from the warm Caribbean sun, fragrance from the soft Cuban air. And now at harvest time, when the night comes down on Cuba, great caravans of tobacco move toward town. The finest tobacco grown in Cuba never gets to the Havana market. It is purchased by the planta- tion riders of the makers of Rob! Burns cigars, men who have watched the tobacco from the time the seed is planted until the leaves are stripped and The leaf of Pedigreed Cuban Tobacco makes the finest smoke in the world. A MILD CIGAR . cured. They know the pedigree of every leaf they buy for the cool, mild Robt Burns. Only this pedigreed tobacco, selected leaves from selected Cuban fields, is used in the full Havana filler of Rob! Burns cigars. That is why in every Rob! Burns, in whatever shape you prefer, Perfecto Grande, Staples, Pana- tela, you will always find the same mildness, the same fragrance, the same sweet flavor. When you smoke a Rob! Burns you are smoking the finest tobacco in the world. 0b! Burns PEDIGREED FULL HAVANA FILLER Staples Shape—10¢_ + Perfecto Grande Shape—2 for 25¢ (Foil Wrapped) , Panatela Shape—10¢7 RT ate - —

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t iA THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ORCHID EXTRAVAGANCE These scents are too exotic to describe ex- actly, but some of them may be roughly compared to hyacinth, wistaria, honey- suckle, tuberose or narcissus. The tree- perching Epidendrum, or spider orchid, is odorous only at night, when its great white blossoms open like a moth’s wings and ex- hale their tender breath. And one bad fairy of an orchid in the East Indies has an evil smell, sickening the passer-by. Yet the commercial florist rarely keeps on sale more than half a dozen different sorts of orchids—those which the public has learned to appreciate. In his hothouse, however, the orchid grower has always at least one cherished pet—some rare impor- tation from Europe, some hybrid he himself has evolved through years of painstaking effort or some plant he won by the high- est bid in an orchid auction—that most romantic speculation market in the world. He waters it and coddles it, will allow no assistant’s rude hand to touch it, may even keep the doors of its house locked lest some evil befall it. But put in the window of a shop, its many dollars’ worth of ephemeral loveliness would most probably wither on its stem, admired through the plate glass, but without one purchaser among the con- servative many who pass. For the orchid trade is tricky enough without the risk of floating novelties. To begin with, the grower must lay out no in- considerable sum to produce the blooms. The finicky requirements for the germina- tion of the microscopic seeds, the coddling that the seedlings need, the special benches required to provide just the right air and light, the special sprays, the special com- posts or soil mixtures, even the special steam-pipe system needed in the green- houses, make of orchid growing a highly individualized line of the nursery business. But it is a line with advantageous fea- tures of its own. For one thing, orchids are not so ephemeral as they look. They last longer than almost any other flower in the florist’s ice chest, which increases his chances of selling them before they die and cuts down the margin of probable loss. This same durability gives them marvelous ship- ping qualities; if picked at just the right point in their development and kept at cool but not cold temperatures, they will last for weeks. Orchids have been shipped from Europe, to arrive fresh and dewy for American shows; one English firm could ship cut orchids to America and compete successfully in our market, except that the Federal Horticultural Board would doubt- less hold them up under Quarantine Order 37, an act which put an end to wholesale orchid importation and stimulated Amer- ican growers into producing their own varieties. High Prices Preferred This robust endurance is a virtue neces- sary to the orchid’s success, for the market has odd limits of geography. The chief commercial orchid regions of the country are around Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis and intermediate points. And this is not only because orchids are denizens of the metropolitan smart set but because in these big cities of the North they find the cool summers healthful. For despite their appearance of tropical deli- cacy, orchids do not rejoice in stifling heat. So when last season a family in the South sought to achieve sheer theatric gorgeous- ness at their daughter’s debut, the florists who served them sent telegrams to firms in five different states to round up the req- uisite hundreds of showy Cattleyas for the decorations. Some, it is true, came from Southern hothouses, but these had been forced, at considerable labor, for the occasion. Others came from a big establishment in Ontario and carried a 40 per cent duty—which, of course, came out of the pocket of the debu- tante’s father. (Continued from Page 16) But he paid it willingly enough and, one may venture to say, with a good deal of sat- isfaction. For therein lies a paramount advantage for the dealer in orchids—the public will always consent to, what is more, they insist on, high prices for the flower that has come to stand for wealth itself. Both the young suitor who went without lunch for a week and the financier who as a matter of business dresses his wife magnifi- cently are satisfied that they have given their womenfolk the best, since they bought the costliest. To lower the price of orchids greatly would badly damage the trade. One Washington florist who caters to the diplomatic circle in the capital states that he can buy orchids during the overstocked season at twenty-five dollars a hundred, or two bits apiece. When he boosts the retail price to twenty times that he is not robbing the public; he is giving them what they want. And this man is no flinty Shylock, either. He is a connoisseur in his field, a real lover of the loveliness in which he traffics. In his greenhouses are lovely Aerides, dense sprays of white and pink, in effect like wistaria; Angraecums, rather like yellow yuccas; On- cidiums, with a pansylike charm odd in such sophisticated flowers—all grown for love rather than profit. Their owner has more than a little scorn for the customer who comes in asking merely for “‘an orchid.” Flowers Made to Order “It’s like going into a bookstore and ask- ing for ‘a book,’”’ he said contemptuously, “‘without knowing or caring what title or author or subject you get. Why,” he snorted, “‘it’s as though a young man said he wanted a wife, and you might provide him with any variety, for all he’d know any difference. They’re not all like that, though,”’ he went on reminiscently. ‘“‘A fellow came in here once and asked the price of an orchid plant I’d put in my window just as a show piece. I told him—it was a big sum too. That orchid was a rare one and I knew its worth; what’s more, it had eleven blossoms on it. This fellow—he looked very much the gentleman, but a bit shabby round the cuffs—took out his bill fold and counted out the amount. I could see his hand shake, and I could see some- thing else. There wasn’t a bill in his pock- etbook when he’d paid me. I packed the orchid up for him and gave it to him, and then, just as he was going out of the shop, he turned around and came back and told me about himself.”” And my friend smiled with a light of understanding in his eyes. The customer, it appeared, had once been an orchid collector, had brought Paphio- pedilums, frail as fairy princesses, out of the jungles of Borneo, and night-blooming Epidendrums from the malarial valleys of Colombia. And he had himself brought to light for the first time this orchid in the florist’s window. Then things went badly for him; he lost his money in a bank smash, and of course his costly hobby had to go too. All his precious rarities he watched go under the gavel—bizarre Masdevallia, gor- geous Phalaenopsis hybrids, and Stanhopeas dusky as Othello. But when this orchid he had himself first collected went up before the bidders he got up and left the auction room. For twenty- five years that orchid, dearest of all things to his heart, had been lost to him, until he saw it in the window of my friend’s flower shop and spent his last dollar to buy it back. In earlier days the auction room of an orchid fancier was a place of fantastically wild speculation. As early as 1837 a buyer paid $350 for a rare tropical orchid, and the peak of orchid prices was reached about halfa century later, when a Cattleya Trianae sold for 250 guineas under the gavel in London. In the window of a Savannah florist I once saw a Cattleya displayed with a hugely lettered placard trumpeting it as the Ten-Thousand-Dollar Orchid! That was gilding the lily with a vengeance! No orchid is worth such staggering sums, for in this day of marvels a new, a superior, a sensational orchid can be practically made | to order by hybridization. Thus, since the peak, the cost of specimen plants has steadily decreased. An Aerides in the 80’s sold for $940; chid of the Lzlia type, considered decidedly high priced, recently brought only seventy dollars. This does not mean that orchids | are losing value, but, on the contrary, that they are becoming popular, a stabilized product. And there is now no reason to pay | sums in four figures for hybrid specimens | when the skilled breeder can produce ex- | actly the same hybrid at will. Together with fantastic prices, the wild- orchid collector, the adventurous explorer of the last century, is now receding into the past. One orchid house in England, still maintained in hereditary style, from father to son, kept, in the 90's, twenty-five collectors in the field, in South America, India, the East Indies, Africa, the West Indies and Mexico. These men were sent | forth to scour the tropics for rarities, and so thoroughly did they work that in some of the more accessible haunts of the frail blos- soms they stripped trees, cliffs and earth of every promising orchid that grew there. A number of famous orchid regions were in this fashion completely denuded, and the orchid trade was not enriched by one- half as much as by those unathletic breeders who quietly stayed at home and worked miracles of skill and science with the or- chids already at hand. As a matter of commercial practicability, collecting from the wild is becoming obso- lete. Of course the botanist, pure and simple-minded, who will risk his life roping a fatal precipice or intruding upon tattooed and saw-toothed cannibals, all for the sake of some inconspicuous bit of a growing thing, still exists plentifully, fortunately for science. The leadirg American orchid collector, from a scientific point of view, is a rich man of an old Boston family, who is able to travel on his own throughout South Amer- ica, the Philippines and other fruitful fields. His wife is an illustrator who paints the or- chids in living state, and he is well able to maintain a costly private orchid conserva- tory and to publish his findings in volumes illustrated in half-tone processes that take many thousands of dollars out of his pocket. Botanical Genealogy But in the commercial world the men whose names shine in the annals of or- chid lore are the breeders and growers— J. Dominy, for instance, who flowered the first orchid hybrid, in England in 1856, or Alfred Bleu of France. And those of the old collectors whose fame lingers are known not for their adventures in steamy jungles but for their amazing work in hybridiza- tion. Burbank notwithstanding, it is safe to say that the most scientific methods, the most skilled hands and the most dazzling results in the history of horticulture are found in the labyrinthine world of orchid breeding. There is an orchid stud book in which the parentage of every orchid hybrid is re- corded, together with all dates, data and names of hybridizers, just as your pedi- greed wire-haired fox terrier and the horse you laid your money on at Havre de Grace are down in detailed records. In all, thou- sands upon thousands of orchid hybrids have now been produced. About 600 crosses of lady’s-slipper alone are known. For orchids have this peculiarity: That widely different species are often fertile to one another’s pollen—a condition that does not obtain in most other plant families. As a result, hybrids have been obtained that are called tri-generic—as though you should produce a pear-apple-quince. At the hand in the 90’s a | Cypripedium went for $400; a modern or- | A Flip and Its Lit Release— ,, and ItsOut RONSON, lights with ONE motion—goes out with another! The Ronson De-Light is the most practical lighter ever made. It lights with a mere pressure of the thumb and is extinguished when the pressure is released. One flip, and it’s lit— release, and it’s out! Your favorite shop has the Ronson De-Light in a wide, color- ful variety of leathers, enamels, sterling silver, gold plate and the new, permanent, non-tarnishable chromium finish, priced from $5 up. Stop inand select yours—today. Dealers are invited to write fer our complete catalog de luxe ART METAL WORKS, Inc. Aronson Square Newark, N. J. RONSON, (Trade-mark Reg. Fully P't'd. Other Pats. Pend.) DE-[IGHT THE WORLD’S GREATEST LIGHTER

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é WE = Oane: FIX Wf oboe ame | FLATS : ait 5 | 1 L fit THE SATURDAY EVENING POST of man, evolution has been put through the most fantastic antics, and orchids un- dreamed of in th wild appear at the magi- cian summons of the breeder. At first hybrids were made blindly; what would evolve from an orchid mating was a matter of chance and speculation. Now the breeder knows his eugenics and can predict with fair accuracy what will be the offspring of this variety crossed with that. The finest stud orchids, the best parents in the race, are well-known among the chief commercial tribes. Of course the blending of traits must be done with a skillful hand; a breeder of albinos—the type of orchid most in fashion’s favor at the moment—is working with a bewildering number of crosses, but a tinge too much of any one color may cause the hybrid to revert back to one of the parents. Then the hybridizer must return to the ancestor plants and start afresh. It is a game that calls for infinite patience. ‘“‘But,’’ says one of America’s foremost orchid wizards, “‘I can produce almost any shape or color, within reason- able limits, to order, given enough time in | which to do it.” Seeds, tiny as grains of dust, many of them, are incubated by the thousands un- der glass or in flasks, at perfectly regulated temperatures, and when fertilized are ger- | minated, often on Turkish toweling. At times the care necessary for preserving the fertilizing pollen is elaborate. One breeder took a fancy that he would like to cross a pink orchid with a purple one that bloomed six weeks later, long after the pink one was withered. But by keeping the early or- chid’s pollen sterile, moist, and sealed in a jar, he was able to spin out its life until the purple flower came to bloom. In Nature, of course, pollination is ef- fected by birds and insects, and the breeder has to be careful that no buccaneering bee blunders into his orchid house and makes a misalliance of which he would not approve. | In this partnership between insect and blos- som the orchid displays once more 1s be- | wildering versatility. A solid volume was written by Darwin, from observations made solely in the simple English countryside, on the various contrivances by which orchids are fertilized. For there are some fifteen thousand kinds of orchids and each one has its own method of achieving pollination. Thanks to Madam Bee In general the plan is this: An insect— perhaps a bee—attracted to the orchid by its perfume or its coloring, comes buzzing | in search of nectar for her honey sacs. She alights on a regular landing stage provided by the lip or lower petal of the orchid, and crawls into the throat of the flower. As she dips her head into the nectary she springs a cunning trap, and instantly the pollen, in a waxy pellet, is clamped down on her head by a contraption something like a radio ear-phone set. Now when the bee enters the next flower she has to pass by the stigma, or receiving organ, which promptly removes the pollen from her head. But Madam Bee, guzzling honey, collects a fresh load from the flower she has just uncon- sciously pollinated, and thus burdened, goes on to the next job. It is not unusual to see an insect plastered over with pollen pellets, like a porter at a railway station staggering under a load of baggage. This is a crafty device, but the orchids have so elaborated it that some species are built on such a cunning plan that only one kind of insect can fit into them. Herein "We fix flats'—what does that mean, Daddy?" “That means if one of your tires is punctured or blows out they will fix it so you can get home.” "How is it we never stop at one of those places?” “Well, I suppose st's partly because we've been lucky, but principally because we've always used Kelly-Springfield tires.”’ lies one explanation of orchid rarity. Is Nature, then, apparently so heartless and extravagant and chancy, really built upon a perfectly adjusted plan? Examin- ing the orchid, it is difficult to doubt that some benevolent Intelligence has arranged August 4,1928 their affairs. For not only for pollination -but for its very livelihood, the orchid has entered upon an involved business partner- ship. Living inconspicuously around, and even in, the orchid roots is a sort of mold which predigests the raw material of soil food and is in turn digested by the orchid. This strange alliance is called a symbiosis, or “living together.” The fungus is not in the business of symbiosis out of pure altruism, and probably gets full compensation, din- ing off the foods which the orchid has pre- pared in its sunlit leaves and sent down to its comrade. Occasionally one or the other of the partners doesn’t deal fairly; the fun- gus may grow too fast and damage the or- chid, or the orchid may get greedy and eat up its little friend. But the firm is usually quite amicable and almost always a closed corporation—for it is thought that for a given genus of orchids only one fungus will answer; other fungi, even symbionts of other orchid genera, are deadly enemies. Sweets for the Sweet Until these exclusive partnerships were understood orchid growers found them- selves constantly confronted with sad fail- ures. Theirseeds wouldn’t germinate. Then, in 1909, Bernard in France and Burgeff in Germany simultaneously found the trouble. The orchid seed would not sprout unless a certain fungus was present to penetrate it with microscopic threads and wake up the lazy seed. Inoculation of the soil with the friendly fungus solved the problem. Then into this intimate association man once more boldly stepped. Orchid growers understood now that the little fungus ally brought nourishment into the dark orchid cells— piping it in, as it were, from the outer world, like food conveyed to a man im- prisoned in a cave. But Dr. Lewis Knud- son, of Cornell, ventured, in 1922, to suggest that the orchid grower himself might feed his pet without the fungus as a go-between. Experimenting, he discovered that the tiny orchid seed would thrive gratefully on a diet of sugar, with no fungus for wet nurse. Now one of the biggest commercial orchid establishments in the world has taken up his findings with entire success—one more proof that the most practical discoveries come out of the most theoretical avenues of scientific investigation. So the orchid, dainty symbol of luxury, is learning in some measure to be self- supporting. None of the tribe are really useful, save only the Mexican variety that supplies us with our vanilla flavoring, ex- tracted from its seed pods, or beans. But the orchid emphatically does not deserve the slanderous epithet which the ignorant whisper—parasite. No true orchid lives on living matter, though a few live on leaf mold and other dead substances. Nor do the ephemeral-looking orchids found perching in trees really live on air. Their tissues are specially constructed to absorb water vapor from the atmosphere, it is true, but their marvelously adapted roots find nourishment enough for their dainty appetites in the decayed vegetable and animal matter collected in the crotches of the trees. Thus out of almost nothing is spun the magic of orchids. Nature has adapted leaf and air, plant and fungus, insect and flower, to one another in ways past all explaining. The orchid is her triumph—one of the final products of her highest evolution. Into it she put latent possibilities that only awaited the intelligence of man to rise in newer and stranger forms than any she had dreamed, so that even between orchid and man there is a sort of nicely adjusted adaptation that has enabled the orchid to score triumphs, to become fairy princess of flowers.

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ae —_ seer aa 2a OF RN ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST tings by TERNSTEDT THE“HALLMARK’ OF SUPERIOR AUTOMOBILE BODY EQUIPMENT This is the age of modern masters.... the florist... . the painter.... the composer.... the worker in precious metals.... each has become an artist in his particular sphere. The conception and production of Fittings by Ternstedt require the combined talents of many master craftsmen. So exacting are present day demands in the appointments and decoration of the leading car values in each price group, nothing short of Ternstedt quality will suffice. As a result, Fittings by Ternstedt have become an unfailing visible index of car character throughout. TERNSTEDT MAN UFA CTU AA_I1I N oe *, PAN Y Worlds Largest Manufacturers (@ ‘ on Ry Automobile pits Hardware DETROIT WAV /A~\\ U.S.A th (( \ D))) ay Ss Z4, UNIT OF FISHER BODY CORPORATION 79 ae” - ar *

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looked at me. I guess he thought I looked queer, and nowonder! He stopped and lit a cigarette. He used to carry them in a silver case and he had a gold lighter that worked by pressing a button. ““What's the matter?” he asked me. “Sick?” “Nope—nope. I—nothin’, Bill,” I said. He shrugged his shoulders. “You look homesick,” he said. ‘‘Is there anything on your mind?” “Nope; nothin’, Bill.” I kept thinking that he would learn from Byra all I had said, and the next morning he would have anything but smiles for me. I wondered how women were on that kind of thing. I supposed Byra would have to tell Bill the whole works the first thing she saw him in the morning. Women can’t keep a secret, pa had always said. Bill looked me over right close for a couple of seconds, then he puffed at his smoke again and said: “Well, if I can do anything for you, kid, you know where to get me.” When he said that I was just going to tell him all I knew and quit him cold, when I thought again of Byra and her being there alone. “There ain’t anythin’, Bill,” I said. He saluted me. As he walked toward the door I thought he was the best-looking man in the world. His suit was a light tan color and it had little stripes in it that you could hardly see till you looked close. His shoes were very dark tan, ali shined up like mirrors. In the lapel of his coat he wore a little button that had diamonds in it. Under that he had a tan handkerchief showing out of his pocket, and the color of it just matched his tie, his shirt and his hat. The shirt was soft tan, too, and on the col- lar he wore a little gold pin that held the ends together. “By the way, Johnny,” he said, when he had got almost to the door, “‘I have rented out the big truck for tomorrow. You know that merchant—Belzer. He’s going to run it for the day. He's got a load of silk or somethin’ and I’m gettin’ a good price for the truck. Teli Red, if he asks.” “‘ All right,” I said. Then Bill was gone. Who would see any- thing wrong with him renting the truck toa silk merchant? I did not. But there was something that kept urging me on along queer lines. All of a sudden I made up my mind I would do a little of George’s busi- ness and find out ali I could about Bill. I snapped off the light and went to the door. I saw Bill walking along the street down near a light. He was swinging along with that easy gait of his. I closed the door, locked it, and set out after him. I thought I would follow him just to see what I could learn. I learned plenty. He went straight to the Y. W. C. A., and in about ten minutes he came out with Byra hanging on his arm, and I saw her there under the blue light. She was laugh- ing up into Bill’s face and her hand was hooked through his arm. I gagged with surprise. They were coming toward me, so I slipped into a dark doorway and let them pass. Byra was laughing and I heard her say that she was so happy over going to the theater that she felt like a kid at the circus. Bill said, “I’m more happy than that, Byra. It certainly is swell to take you.” When they were ahead of me a little I knew I never could follow them. Some- thing had died inside me. I walked along behind them as far as the next corner. I was thinking of Crab a lot and wishing he was there. When they had passed the corner I saw a man slip out of the side street and follow them. He walked in front of a lighted win- dow and I saw that it was George. ; ! Cripes! a GUESS, after a man gets old, all that he amounts to is what is left of his experi- ences when he is young. Anyway, it seems to me that a very few experiences in my THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SWAG (Continued from Page 21) boyhood days stayed right with me up un- til now, and they still remain in my mind like a hangnail on a sore thumb. What I went through that night is one of them. I was kind of dazed—scared to death af- ter I saw George tailing Byra and Bill. He knew what he was after, that George. I saw right away that Bill was not kidding or scaring him like he was the older and easier coppers. I guess maybe Bill was right when he said that George was trying hard to hang onto his three-thousand-dollar job. I did not follow them farther. Even if a man isn’t a crook, he doesn’t like to have deal- ings with the police. When I know a man is a copper, even though I am not a crook, I kind of shy off from him. Lots of honest people are like that. I went back to the store, and it seemed to me, when I opened the door and went in the place, that the air of mystery and danger had grown thicker. Nothing was the same. I had worked around there a long time, day in and day out; I had slept above the place night after night and never had a thrill. Now everything looked creepy and there was a double meaning in all that I saw. I snapped on the light over Byra’s desk, and the way I felt I could have fallen right down on my knees and prayed that nothing would happen to her. If I had I would have asked God to give her some brains. While I was there Red came in. He came from the cellar just like Bill had. I knew the back door never opened. When Bill did that I was not so surprised, because Bill had keys to all the different places. But Red did not. How had he got into the cel- lar? He winked at me and rolled himself a cigarette. He was still in his shirt sleeves and his arms looked hot and stained where dust had clung to dried perspiration. “Hello, dopey!’’ he grinned. “Back on the job? Mebbe you don’t know the whistle has blew.” “I just come down to look some stuff over,” I said. “What stuff? You gittin’ like George?”’ he sneered, “‘George?”’ I said, trying to make out that I didn’t know who he meant. “Oh, you mean the cop?” “The world’s smartest cop!” he sneered. “So smart he is goin’ to walk right into a bust on the kisser before long.” “That’s what you said about the old pawnbroker,” I said. ‘“‘ Mebbe you’re right Red never paid any attention to that. He went right on grinning. But he was doing some thinking, and I knew it. He was worried because I had seen that marked junk. I knew he had not told Bill about it, because Bill would surely have mentioned it tome. I guessed that Red didn’t want Bill to know he had let me discover anything. With my mind running along that line, and Red talking about George, I took a chance. “If George happens to spot some of that marked junk, Red,” I told him, “hell is goin’ to pop for you an’ Bill.” Red spit across the room and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. His face was kind of set, like he was mad at me. He took a step ahead, looked down at his feet, then lifted one of them up onto the edge of Byra’s desk and tied his shoestring. He was a dirty, big guy and I was disliking him more all the time. “If he does—which he won’t,”’ Red said at long last, ‘“‘he won't do a thing about it, savvy? George ain’t messin’ around here lookin’ fer twenty dollars’ worth o’ stolen junk. If he found it an’ ran Bill into court where would he be? Bill has got pull.” “Just the same,” I said—me being all stirred up on account of Byra and Bill, and having a lot of extra courage just because I was so mad—‘“‘ you'll notice he spends a lot of time hangin’ around! What’s he doin’ that for, Red—his health?” “There was a guy bumped off here,”’ Red said evenly. ‘“‘That’s what George is after. What does he care about a little junk?” That started me off on another line of thought. I was all befuddled. The way these people thought and worked left me as high and dry as a porpoise on a mud bank. It always seemed to me that a policeman would arrest anybody he could that was do- ing wrong. From what Red said, it looked as though George was paying no attention to stealing, when he knew it was going on right in the place there. Before I could gather my wits for more talk, Red spoke again. “‘You got a lot of phony ideas about this outfit, sleepy,” he grinned. ‘I guess you was an altar boy be- fore you landed in this gang—or mebbe you was the star pupil in the hick Sunday school. Anyway, you ain’t in no choir study now!” “T guess not!” I agreed, heartily enough to make Red laugh out loud. Then a sud- den thought hit me. “Say,” I asked him, “*how did you get in here tonight?” “Me?” he asked, his sandy eyebrows jerking up into half circles across his spotted forehead. ‘Why, I just come in.” . “But how? You ain’t got a key—I know that—an’ the place was all locked up.” I could see that the question worried him. He scratched his arm again and took the flesh between his fingers and squeezed it so hard it made my own arm hurt. Then he kind of snarled at me. “* All of a sudden you’re learnin’ a lot,’’ he said. ‘“‘I come in as I please, savvy? An’ you can keep your yap shut about it too!” He seemed to be threatening me. His right hand was bunched up into a heavy fist and his eyes were hot looking and boring into me. ‘‘That’s the way guys git themselves bumped off around here,” he said. “‘That old counter rat got so smart he had to be runnin’ everythin’, an’ you seen fer yourself what it got him!” Red was the type of man whose feelings are all physical. He knew only one kind of sensation, and that was all body. If he didn’t like a man he knocked him down. When he wanted to make you see a thing pretty clear, he was apt to shake his fist in your face while he told it to you. That kind of man is never very smart, of course, and often lets himself go too far. Red did that then. He couldn’t keep up with his thoughts and he was very anxious to show me how important he was. Before I had even said a word, he changed his whole idea, and that fact let me in on a lot more things that worried me. Red just boasted and fumed about the place, but what he showed me that night was enough to last me forever. “How did I git in?” he snapped at me. “T’ll tell you how I got in! I’ll show you how I gotin! Put that light out!” He reached over himself and snapped the light off and we were there alone in the dark. I could hear Red breathing through his wide nostrils and his big arm rubbed against me. I could even smell the perspiration on him and feel his presence close beside me. He caught my arm in his big hand and pulled me toward the back room. I was afraid to go with him and more afraid not to go. Through the partition we went, and the faint light of the street as it swept through the windows made of the rag bales big hulk- ing things that seemed to squat there ready to spring at me. “You askin’ me questions!”’ Red scoffed. “Honest, if that ain’t a laugh I’m a Hindu princess with a flowin’ beard an’ red slip- pers!” He saw a lot of fun in the idea, all right, because he laughed in his throat as he yanked me along the floor and toward the trap that led down to the cellar. “You! I swear you’re the dumbest guy onearth. ... An’ askin’ questions o’ me! Here you been livin’ in the joint for months an’ you ain’t never seen a thing until I let you into the meltin’ room! . . . An’ askin’ me ques- tions!’ He leaned over and I heard his hand scrape along the wall as he felt for the rope that lifted the cellar trap. Then I felt him sway his body, and the pulley creaked and August 4,1928 up through the trap came the air of the cellar with its burnt odor from the forge. “You seen me cookin’ up stuff on a hot fire’’-— Red was sneering at me—‘‘an’ never even knew enough to wonder what become of the smoke! Smart you are, like a cut with iodine in it!’”” I never answered him. I could see he was right. I was very blind and very dumb. We went down the steps and Red pressed a button that lighted the room below. Then he lowered away on the trap and we were alone below the floor. I looked around more carefully. The room was about twenty feet square and it was in good shape for a store cellar. The floor was heavy planks and the inside walls were of the same material. In the far corner, against the stone foundation at the side of the building, was the forge I had seen working. Over the fire bed hung a big iron shield and out of the top of the shield ran a stovepipe. “Watch,” Red ordered me, his manner very important and his whole face glowing with the idea that he was showing me how much he knew. He pointed his big finger at the fire bed and I looked. Then he switched a little button beside the forge and I heard air rushing in the stovepspe. The ashes in the fire bed danced around in the suction. Finally Red tossed one of his cigarette pa- pers on the ashes and it flicked right up into the pipe and was gone. He laughed at me. I put my hand out and felt the draft. That was where the smoke and gas of the forge went, all right. It kind of swept me off my feet, because the building itself had no heating plant in it and there was no chimney on the roof. Bill heated the store from his other building, which stood across the back alley, and the heat was piped through. “The smoke runs over to the furnace in Bill’s other place,”’ I said, trying to make Red see I was not quite so dumb as I looked. “No!” hesneered. He had a great habit of sneering at people. Especially he sneered when he talked to somebody smaller than he was. “Sure it does,” Isaid. Red chuckled. He was delighted in the way he was surprising me and the things he was showing me that I never before had suspected. He showed me things, not just to show me them but to convince me how dumb I had been all that time. All boasters are terrible suckers. “‘Mebbe there’s more you don’t know!” he said. ‘‘ Just ’cause the smoke goes to the other buildin’, is that a sign that nothin’ else does?’”’ He chuckled and rolled him- self a cigarette and shut off the fan in the stovepipe. Then he stepped back to the stairs and pointed up to the trapdoor through which we had come. “See that bar there?” he asked. I saw it. It was heavy oak and it laid along the rafters in a way you would not notice unless you looked right at it. ‘‘Watch it a min- ute,” he ordered me. ‘‘ Watch that bar now. Don’t watch me!” He was as bad as Crab when Crab was doing his act. I watched the bar, and all of a sudden it moved—moved out and across the stairs and hooked itself into big brackets on the bottom of the trapdoor. It wasa cinch that nobedy could get down those stairs without ripping the whole floor up. Behind me I heard Red chuckle, his voice thick with throat husk and cigarette smoke. “Turn aroun’ here,” he said. ‘‘C’mon, open your eyes, smarty guy!” Iswung around, and there was Red stand- ing in a new door that had opened from the rear plank wall. There seemed to be no hinges on it at all; it just swung out of the wall, and behind it was a solid concrete pas- sage that led off under the alley outside the back of the store. Along the ceiling of the passage ran the stovepipe from the forge. “‘That’s how I got in your store!” Red told me. “‘ What do I need of akey? Why, lissen here, I could walk right up into your bedroom any time I wanted an’ you never (Continued on Page 83) a ae re

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cc ay f ae 6 SON OG eT (Continued from Page 80) would know where I come from! An’ all the time you sittin’ aroun’ countin’ rags an’ never seein’ what was all about you! Honest, dumb! You’re so dumb you rattle every time you get an idea!” He went off into another good laugh and, even if I was kind of scared and felt foolish, I had to grin with him. He was right. I was dumb. And that was all he saw. He never thought that all he was showing me just made matters worse for him and for Bill, and for me too. Right that second I was thinking that when Bill fired me in the morning, or after the show was over and he came back, I would stand right in front of Byra and accuse him of all this and dare him to prove I was wrong. That would con- vince her, and we could get out of the place together. ‘“*C’mon, you might as well git eddicated good,” Red told me. ‘‘I’ll show you a few things, but keep yer yap shut, savvy?” I nodded and we started through the pas- sage. It was not very long and not very un- usual, after you got into it—just a cellarway that anybody might build between two buildings. Along the side of it ran the steam pipes that warmed our building from the other one behind it. The only thing that bothered me was that the tunnel was ten times as big as anybody needed for steam pipes, and the openings to it were so secret that I knew Bill wanted it hidden away. At each end of the tunnel I had sense enough to look the pipes over pretty care- ful, and all of them were jointed and run out of the tunnel at an angle, so that they seemed to enter both buildings well to one side of the tunnel itself. That was another sign. At the far end of the passage we came to another room that was a good deal like the one under my store. It was planked the same way, and when we opened the door and went into it, I saw that the entrance we used opened from the wall in the same hid- den way. It was all like books I had read back home when I used to lay under a tree in the or- chard and scare myself to death. But there was no forge in this room. Along one side ran a narrow bench, and standing on that, back against little racks on the wall, were small blowtorches and rows of little tools that were so small and dainty you would think only a woman could use them. Red was grinning again. “‘ Ain’t this a bird?” he asked me. “‘ How about it, dopey? ’J’ever see the beat o’ this layout?” “It’s g-great!’’ I admitted. ‘‘This here is. . . . What do they do here?” I asked him. “You fool,” he said; “don’t be kiddin’ yourself any more, savvy? This Bill Nigel is the biggest fence this side o’ the Missi— Missis—the plains out West! He owns four buildin’s right in a bunch here. He deals in junk—he deals in stolen di’monds an’ jew- elry—an’ he is connected with half the on- the-level merchants in town. You got a good chance here, too, because—though Gawd knows why—he likes you!” We went back through the passage, and as Red closed the door at the end under our store, he pointed to the bar across the trap- door, and I saw it worked with the passage entrance. Pretty clever. They never would be caught with the passage door open. ““Remember’’—Red warned me again— “keep yer mouth shut! If you ever tell Bill I done this, I’ll give you worse’n old Uncle Isaac got!” He was looking around the room to be sure that we left everything as it should be. I promised I wouldn’t talk about what I had learned. While I talked about how THE SATURDAY clever and fine everything was, Red leaned against tue forge and smoked a cigarette. My eyes roamed about pretty careful dur- ing that time, and finally I saw something on the wall of that room which made me jump inside. It was a revolver. Hanging there on a nail that stuck through the trigger guard, it didn’t have a very dangerous look, but somehow, just as though a curtain had been swept aside be- fore my eyes, I saw the crumpled form of Uncle Isaac, a bullet hole through his old skullcap, and recalled the threats that Red had made if I talked. I knew I never would talk then. George creeping around the place, his ferret eyes always prying and questioning, his showing up «! ways sudden and unexpected, and his lip always lifted in that half sneer, seemed to fit into the men- tal picture that gun painted. I was scared blue. “‘We—we better be gettin’ outa here, Red,” I told my guide. “*Bill’s gone to a show with that moll up- stairs,”’ he shrugged. ‘“‘ We got plenty time. Anyway, Bill would ’a’ told you a few things hisself before long. What he wants o’ you is to be dead sure o’ you; then he’ll put you in the way o’ some real dough. That’s what makes me sore! Look at Cally Dolan an’ Smitty—look at the breaks they git! You never heard o’ them guys mebbe, but they started out just like you, an’ now Bill’s pushed ’em on the di’mond racket an’ they’re ridin’ around in cars with a chorus gal on each elbow!” He ranted: ‘‘I never gita break like that! Bill says I’m too rough an’ I've got a face like a water-soaked pier. Every man to his own racket, says Bill, but it makes me sore just the same. I know what he’s plan- nin’ fer you—just like he planned with them. That’s why I proved to you an’ my- self just how dumb you are! Yet he’ll make you a barrel o’ dough an’ I'll still be cluckin’ a nag around town an’ meltin’ bum junk fer a hunnerd bucks a week!” So that was it! Red was sore at Bill and he was sore at the idea that pretty soon Bill would make a big crook out of me and let me work easy things and make lots more money than Red got. That was why Red had shown me the ropes. Well, I’m dumb, all right, and I’ve always lived in the coun- try, and as long as I have my way and Byra has hers, I’m going to live in the country; but I am not a crook and I never will be, and I knew it just as well that minute there in the cellar with Red as I know it now. Of course I could see why Bill Nigel, smart crook that he was, didn’t trust Red with anything but the heavy work. For that reason I said nothing to Red about all the things that were bothering my own mind. It seemed that all I wanted to do right then was get to my room and think things out for myself. I was sure that Byra would tell Bill what I had said to her. But now, instead of be- ing sure that Bill would fire me right away, I began to think that maybe he would just hurry along his proposition to make a crook of me. Maybe, I thought, he would want me to start as this Cally Dolan had started, and Smitty. Red told me again to keep my mouth shut. ‘An’ git this, too, dumb-bell: I’m smart enough to know what’s goin’ on un- der my nose. Tomorrow there’s a guy rentin’ one o’ our trucks—the big truck, he uses. What fer? What do you think that’s fer?”’ He was leaning over me now, and his breath, sour with whisky and homemade cigarettes, hit my face. I just looked at him. “They’ll work the switch racket!’’ he said. ‘‘That’s what they’ll do. Bill must think I’m as dumb as you if he thinks I ain’t wise to that. Bill is goin’ into the commercial-fence game an’ he’ll clean up plenty, but all I'll git is a chance to heave EVENING POST junk an’ melt it, fer a hunnerd bucks a week !”” I didn’t answer him. He thought I was dumb, so I let him think so. At last he reached for the light switch at the foot of the stairs and I went up ahead. He lifted the trap and climbed through after me. Dark as it was in the store, and creepy as everything looked, it felt good to be there, | away from that mysterious cellar. “I'm all in, Red,” I said; “I guess I'll go | to bed.” “Go ahead,” he growled; “but remem- ber. Keep yer yap shut!” I promised again and went up the stairs to my room. Every shadow was something that seemed alive to me; every creak of the stairs seemed to whisper of secret doors and openings that made my room about as pri- | vate as a bird cage. Upstairs I started to pack my stuff. If Bill fired me, so much the better. If he made me a crook proposition, I would quit anyway. There was some stuff of Crab’s still in the room where he had left it when he started out with the show. Not much, because Crab never had much, but I packed it all in the little suitcase we had bought to go home with. Once I found a letter from him and I sat there on the edge of the bed and read it through again. I wished Crab was there with me. The letter told about how good he was and what a hit when he went on the stage. He said that the leading comedy man was so sore that he had threatened to quit. It seemed funny that things like that had to be so. Just because Crab was fun- nier than the leading man, Crab had to suffer. I knew Crab boasted a little about his acting, but he had a right to do that. He could act. With Red’s boasting it was different. Red boasted without any right at all. He was just big and strong and crooked, and dumber than he thought I was. Men are different. I got to thinking about Byra out with Bill. Bill never boasted at all. He was a smart crook and he made a lot of money and wore clothes that were the best I ever saw, but he never boasted. He was always quiet and generous and ready to help people. That wasn’t my idea of crooks. Everything seemed to come down around my ears as I sat there reading Crab’s letter and thinking about all these things. I cried a little bit— just couldn’t help it. I was scared, and if it hadn’t been for Byra I would have sneaked | out of the place and gone home. But Bill might have followed me. Once I ran out on him, he might be as nasty as he always had been nice. I kept looking at the walls of my room, expecting them to open all of a sudden and show me another pas- sage, with, maybe, Red standing there grin- ning at me. He had said he could come right into my room. What if he did it when I was asleep? What if the man who had killed Uncle Isaac knew about the passages and came there to get me? What about that gun hanging on the wall of the cellar room, there by the forge? I was thinking about those things when I heard steps on the stairs, and then the door opened and Bill Nigel stood there. He was smoking a cigarette, and it hung low from the corner of his mouth. The smoke from the end of it curled up and into his eye, and he stretched his jaw around and rubbed hard with his fingers on the eyelid. I couldn’t see what he was thinking, because his face was covered by his hand. But I sat very quiet and my hands caught into the blankets on the bed. I heard Crab’s letter crackle in my grip. It must have been aminute—and the long- est minute I ever spent— before Bill spoke to me. (TO BE CONTINUED) “It Pictures the Road Behind” Patents Pending: ——__ Designed for the finest car—priced for the average car THE NEW ROSCO LOCK-ON TIRE MIRROR instantly adjusted and securely locked into place on all cars carrying spare tire, wooden, wire or disc wheel at side. Cannot be lost, Stolen or shaken from position. Rust-proof, made like fine table silver, heavily nickel -_y Equipped with high-grade lock and nest bevel-edge plate glass mirror that re- flects entire road behind. Enhances the value and appearance of every car. 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PACKARD MOTOR CAR COMPANY, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PACKARD IDENTITY WILL ENDURE ECENTLY there has been a great deal of discussion in the press regard- ‘Rive combinations and mergers of motor car companies. Most of these rumors and newspaper articles have mentioned Packard as one of the com- panies to be combined or merged. Our position has been and is, that we will not merge or consolidate with anyone. We have made our own way from the beginning. We have created a position for ourselves and a reputation that is distinctive and unique. We do not intend to surrender either. The personnel of the company from the beginning was made up of men who knew and loved fine things, mechanically and artistically. So the com- pany was born to occupy the fine car field. Its reputation has been made in this field, so it is natural that we should feel that we can serve the public best by confining our efforts and development to it. The history of fine things throughout the world shows that they are pro- duced by men and organizations that have no other thought, no other am- bition, and no other ideals. We do not build to a price and we do not cater to the world. Our clientele knows us well and we know them. They are discriminating and we try never to lose sight of that fact. We know that the single standard of high quality will produce better motor cars than were we to attempt to secure the business of the world by building to all the pocketbooks in it. The public has appreciated our single standard of quality ideals and we shall stick to them. We are not opposed to expansion. On the contrary, we realize its advantages. We shall continue to seek expansion as the merit of our product, the im- provement of our facilities, and our service to the public may warrant. We may even from time to time expand by the absorption of other desirable companies. We will expand in any way that will enable us to best serve the public and win its favor. But, very definitely, we do not intend to lose our identity through any merger, combination, or consolidation, now or hereafter. President DETROIT August 4,1928 +

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TT ET So RS TE el ES THE SATURDAY WOTAN’S CHILD (Continued from Page 13) only girl at school who can do that is kind of bowlegged, and she doesn’t do it at all well. What else can you do? How old are you?” “Seventeen,” said Private Jimmy. “* And how much do you weigh stripped?” Private Jimmy blushed and gasped “‘A hundred and sixty.” “Melissa,” said the colonel, ‘“‘you’re be- ing personal.” “What other stunts can you do?” “Well,” Private Jimmy said, “‘lots. But there isn’t any apparatus here.” “That’s what’s so lousy about bein’ in the field or cantonments. There’s a gym at a decent post,”” Melissa complained, ‘‘but out here ——”’ “Melissa!”’ “Oh,” said Wotan’s daughter, ‘“‘do shut up, dad!” Lightning fell. Earth shook. Frag- ments of civilization and discipline hurtled through the blazing air. The freckled chit had defied heaven, and anything might hap- pen now. **Melissa,’’ Regimental Supply Sergeant Robinson drawled, trickling through the doorway, “‘you’re makin’ too much noise around here.” “Why, Robbie, what are you doing in this outfit?”’ “‘Earnin’ my pay, M’lissa,”’ Robinson said. ‘‘Gee! Every time I get in an outfit of the colonel’s you come makin’ a noise around. Remember when I spanked you for buttin’ in quarters at Fort Myer to see the men vaccinated? I'll do it again too. I’m workin’ on a requisition an’ you come bawlin’ around. Get on your toy horse and go home, sister, or I won’t marry you when you grow up. . . . Get along, honey.” I cannot make this seem either noble or touching, or make you see that the slimly built supply sergeant was upholding the laws of caste by which he had lived since he was a fourteen-year-old boy. The colonel must not be made a fool when those recruits in Battery F’s windows and kid mule skin- ners in the supply company’s quarters could see and hear. The plain little man lifted the girl’s chin on a finger and kissed her nose. Then he said plaintively, ‘‘Won’t the colonel take this hyena ’way from here? We're writin’ a requisition inside.” Wotan spoke his will: ‘‘Run along, Melissa.” Melissa got grandly on her steed, told Private Jimmy ‘‘See you later,” and rode up the hill. An audience had created itself on the dust of the roadway and a civilian buggy had noiselessly added itself to the enlisted men edging forward in a thin rim twenty feet behind the black pony. Wotan knew this, as he knew that his child had degraded him by a whole inch in the sight of mortals. Now he asserted himself by seeming not to care: “Got one of the new revolvers inside, Robinson?” “Yes, sir. Would the colonel like to see one?”’ “‘Please,” said the god. Robinson dodged past me into the office. There were no new revolvers lately issued, but he knew what the god wanted. He jerked a flat weapon from its holster and trotted back to hand it into the colonel’s glove. ““H’m—rather heavy. Used it?” “No, sir.” *“‘Let’s see,” said Wotan. A rag of newspaper hung to the eaves of Battery F’s roof, blown there and dangling with faint tremors of the heated air. It was forty feet from the gaunt man’s hand. The horses stamped and a woman in the civilian buggy squeaked as the shot banged. But the paper jerked from the roof and fluttered down. “A little heavy,” said the colonel, “but not so bad. Thanks.” Robinson stepped back. The black pony turned and the orderlies turned. A twinkle of saluting hands followed the god’s pas- sage. Then boys were scuttling to look at me, wiping his nose. The military machine had justified itself by the gesture of shoot- ing a hole through a bit of paper. I stood watching admiration bubble ir the alley between the cantonments until a woman spoke to me: “What for did he do that?” “Testing a revolver. laundry, Mrs. Hunt?” “T got it. And yours, Mr. Robinson. Hunt, he takes yours up to Battery C, Mr. Kaelred,”’ said the laundress, setting a bas- ket on the steps. Got my “Thanks. Jimmy, run up and pay Hunt for our wash. How you, Mrs. Hunt?” “‘ Ach, Gott,”’ she said, ‘“‘I am dead alive with being hot!” She bent down to pick two bundles out of the basket and her white neck flushed. Every Saturday she brought back our EVENING POST 85 ECLIPSE the fallen paper, and Robinson grinned at | washing from her husband’s scarecrow of a | farm six miles off. Every Saturday she was dead alive with the heat. “Up in St. Paul, I bet,” she said, ‘“‘my sister is cooler!” “How did you happen to wander down here, Mrs. Hunt?” “Wander? Yes, that is what I did. My brother was in the Third Field. I come down from Milwaukee to see him when he is sick. That is four years. Eight years I am in America and four years here. . . . And in Cassel it is cool in summers any- how, even with this war.” Her husband brought her with him on Saturdays in his old buggy from the wretched farm some six miles away. Leon Springs Military Reservation has a vague populace of civilians. You come on farms in hollows and see skirts suddenly with a feeling of impropriety. Mrs. Hunt was perhaps the prettiest woman in that part of the reservation. I mean that there was nothing prettier. But I watched her un- doing a list of bills and thought that a few more years and this prettiness would be baked out of her marble skin and her eyes would dim. She may have been thirty. “Hard on you,” said Kaelred. “Ach! Well, life is easy no place for women. And my fault for marrying a handsome face. On the train I met him. . . . Anyways, we have no baby. | That is something.” But she was not pathetic. Her shiftless | husband was no hero, but somehow Mrs. Hunt was no heroine, save as a laundress. As a washer and ironer, she was consum- mate. She got the Texan and military dirt out of clothes with a kind of noble firmness. If she is still doing laundry in Milwaukee or somewhere, there is the best living prod- uct of German scholarship in starch and | suds. “Y’oughta make Hunt set you up a laun- dry in Santone,”’ said Robinson. “Yes? More work forme? That is what men think of us. Well, it would be better in San Antonio than out here in the | dust. . Seventy-five cents this week. And for you,” she told me, “‘it is eighty- | five.” But she stayed on the step of the supply office, talking sulkily, until her husband drove the mule and the buggy downhill again. He bawled from under his black hat, | “Well, when you’re done with them sol- diers, you can walk along, Gertie! I ain’t waitin’ on you.” “Gott! He would make me walk home! How is that for a man?” “Then quit sparkin’ them men and come along!” he roared. The only romantic thing about Hunt was | his jealousy. He had a faded sort of hand- someness and he had been a cavalryman | when he was young. Now he was an un- | tidy, lean loafer in his late thirties, a stray from the upper Middle West. I don’t know BENDIX DRIVE As soon as it has cranked your engine the Eclipse Bendix Drive automatically discon- nects your starting motor from the engine. No harm can result from keeping your foot on the starter-button, or even in accidentally touching the starter-button with your en- gine running. Truly—entirely automatic. ECLIPSE MACHINE CO. Elmira, New York Eclipse Machine Co., East Orange, N. J. Eclipse Machine Co., Lid., Walkerville, Ont. Approximatedy Twice Actual Size

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86 s Tip-Top the only moderately priced wrist-watch with Krack-proof Krystal and silver dial $3.50 Radium dial $4.00 . Cog 928, N. H.C. 6 J Lic. Ingraham Pat. 14455 4 Tip-TOP has many features you'd expect to find only in high-priced watches — octagon design, back and crown of chromium plate, silver or radium dial, sunken second dial, artistic hands and numerals. Its dial is setat anangle, an exclusive feature, making it possible to wear Tip-Top on either side of the wrist. Tip-Top is made for service. Has a genuine Krack-proof Krys- tal, dust-proof case and pigskin strap that’s made to last. Silver dial for $3.50 or radium for $4.00. Prices slightly higher in Canada THE NEW HAVEN CLOCK CO. New Haven, Conn. Makers of good clocks and watches for more than five generations THE SATURDAY EVENING POST There is also the standard Tip- Top Pocket Watch for $1.50, ra- dium dial $2.25. It has many refinements such as octagon de- sign, silver dial and Krack-proof Krystal. The new Tip-Top Quintet, shown below, is a watch you'll be proud to own. Has a handsome chromium-plated case beautifully chased on front and back—silver dial with either raised or radium numerals and a Krack-proof Krys- tal. Costs only $2.00 with raised numerals, or $2.50 with radium. $~)00 Tip-Top Quintet with silver face, _— full chromium-plated case, raised numerals and Krack-proof Krystal is the handsomest pocket watch at anywhere near its price. Radium dial $2.50. $150 Tip-Top Pocket Watch, octagon design, with silver dial, Krack- proof Krystal and all its other refine- ments, costs only fifty cents more than the ordinary dollar watch. Radium dial $2.25. how he came to own three acres in the reservation. But he was romantically jeal- ous. He scowled at the lot of us standing with his woman on the step of the supply office, and scowled furiously at Private Jimmy when the Perfect Boy came trotting with a pipe Hunt had dropped in the quar- ters of C Battery. Jimmy made things worse by helping Mrs. Hunt into the buggy. The mule was lashed and the buggy dived downhill in a flutter of dust. The woman said something angry in German as the | wheels rattled. Private Jimmy drew back from the explosion of fine baked dirt in his | face. “Nice fella, Hunt,’’ Robinson observed. | “Took a shot at a doughboy last week for | talkin’ to Gertie over the fence.” Tip-Top 1s a fine wrist-watch at any price—st costs only $350 | ain’t scared of anything on feet. But you’re | | | doughboy outfit. “What did the doughboy do?” “Went in an’ thrashed him. I dunno nothin’ makes me happier to look at than a piece of matrimony that’s went sour. Several dames have tried to marry me. I always told ’em it was as much for their good as it was mine that I didn’t oblige. . . . Now, perfection, you hadn’t oughta’ve made eyes at that squaw. Her man’s sorta sens’tive.”’ “But I didn’t, sergeant!” *‘James,”’ said Robinson, ‘‘it don’t mat- ter. You got curly hair an’ blue eyes. You'll be a fire alarm to husbands until you lose your looks. See how you did to M’lissa. Y’oughta be ashamed of yourself, workin’ on ’em ’at young.” Jimmy was mildly pleased, although he just said “‘Oh, bosh!”’ He had too lately emerged from his hygienic chrysalis for any free experiments with his lake-blue eyes and his perfect curls. But he thought Melissa a proper kind of girl. She took a wholesome interest in her physical develop- ment and obviously didn’t paint her freck- led face. **She’s a good kid, babe,”’ said Robinson. “‘T’ve knew M’lissa in three outfits. She in for it now. She chased a kid which could do cartwheels all over Fort Myer until he went crazy an’ transferred into a I see he,aunt’s | at Fort Sam Houston. Probably brought | her down from New York to see the Old Man. He always gets kinda hysteric when M’lissa’s been round long, and begins bitin’ lieutenants.” ‘**But she can’t stay out here,’’ Private Jimmy objected. ‘Sure she can. There’s an extra room up at headquarters. Yeh, perfection, you're in for it! Got a husband sore on you an’ heart-smashed M’lissa all in one day. That ought to do you. G’on home. We’re busy.” The requisition took us to its heart once more. Men leaked out of the cantonments, trudging off to the main center of the reser- vation, where cars for San Antonio waited. When bugles idly announced retreat, the slope had little except the buildings and | some cooks and bankrupts to support on its dust. Then wood of our cell ticked as the sun | really sank, and the dusk was beautiful over Leon Springs, as though a blue powder came drifting down through a net of stars in the dulling sky. Everything dimmed and changed; fires of the outdoor kitchens were corals on the dirt. It was night sud- denly upon these tangled hills, and boards creaked as the heat rose out of them. I sneezed twice, limping up for coffee at the kitchen of C Battery. August 4,1928 ‘“’Nother for luck, fella,’ Robinson yawned. “It might thunderstorm on us. And there’s four new mules down at the corral.” ‘“‘What about them? ~ Saw them this noon and they seemed nice peaceful mules.” “‘A mule that don’t feel at home in a fresh corral don’t like lightnin’. And if you ever have to help hunt lost’ mules on this reservation, guy, you'll know all about a new kind of hell. What you eatin’, xy” Kaelred was dining on toast, jam and coffee with the cook of Battery C, under the canvas shed of the kitchen. We all sat stagnantly comfortable on a bench behind the embers and admired the stars. “‘Where’s perfection?” **Gone for our wash, Robbie. Mrs. Hunt mixed it up. Jim rode out to get ours.” **All alone by himself, K? He'll get lost.” “Do him good,” said Kaelred. “Only six miles.” Robinson’s hazel eyes shone in the light of a match. “Tricky country when you ain’t used to it, K.”’ **Moral discipline,” Kaelred said. He had been at a little Ohio college once for some months, until he brought a calf to morning chapel. Now and then he specu- lated in ethical values. He drawled on: “‘Do babe good to get kind of shot in the eye a couple of times. Too sure of himself. Seventeen an’ never had a setback except mamma dyin’. I'd like to see him scared once or twice.” “*He’s prob’ly been scared plenty,’’ Rob- inson mused, ‘‘but he ain’t tellin’ about it. You don’t start tellin’ things against your- self until you’re twenty-one or two—if then. . . . Jimmy’s a good boy.” ‘Who's Jimmy?” asked Melissa, beyond the fire. She had changed her riding clothes for a white frock, and pink fingers rose on it from the coals, so that the child was the ghost of a trembling flower in the night, with buckles shimmering on her feet and the purple dark behind her head. “This guy’s brother, honey. . . . An’ you go back to the colonel.” “*Shan’t,” said Wotan’s daughter, sitting on a cracker box. “‘He doesn’t have dinner till eight o’clock. Take me down to the corral, Robbie?” **Not on your life! You'd want to ride a mule and spill yourself.” “‘Tt’s hell,’’ Melissa remarked, ‘“‘being a girl. I suppose this war won't go on long enough for me to be even a lousy nurse, either!” “*You’re workin’ up a good line of talk, sister, anyways. Would you want to bea nurse?”’ “Well,” said the Valkyr, ‘‘it’s better than nothing. They’re some good. . . . I saw a man wounded when that gu busted at Fort Sill and it didn’t scare me.” **You need to be scared some, sister.”’ Melissa laughed. This sound went up, insolent, clear and free, above the empty camp, as if she had never been afraid of anything. ““Where’s the kid that does stunts?”’ **Gone riding for his complexion, honey.” “Enlisted men are much more interest- ing than officers,’ she brooded. ‘They don’t have to be dignified.” She sat considering the charms of en- listed men. These creatures had been all (Continued on Page 89) TSS ne

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EE ‘@ ( THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 87 } He, ( ‘ { | f } t x 1) } EY | a) \) } i] i on Sow i 4 Che roads are smooth. . . the weath- 5 motor clubs maintain. You can get re- A er’s fine... the car is ready for any liable information regarding good i) kind of trip. . . /et’s go somewhere! hotels, touring camps and garages. Pack your bags... throw in your golf e Competent attorneys, employed by f clubs and fishing tackle . . . put on member clubs, will give you free A your comfortable clothes ... and you're _ is affiliated with the American Automobile — legal advice in case of accident or other on your way. Association can you make sure of getting difficulties. Even if you decide to travel Le Where to go? That’s easy. Consult your all the information you require. For the abroad, the foreign service department Ne local American Automobile Association A. A. A. is the only national association of will take care of all details connected o motor club. Thev’ll tell vou of a hundred automobile owners which has the facilities with your Car. . is ; f a. ‘3 = ) mand ing ih yiete. acc re > ) ore interesting spots to visit—far or near, de- © dissemin ne lete, TENS, PCO There are 1,046 American Automobile i pending on the amount of time you want the-minute touring Information for any Association motor clubs. When vou to spend. and all sections of the United States and belong to one, you belong to all. The How to get there? That’s easy too. They'll Canada, through its member clubs. cost of a membership is smalil—the bene- advise you which route to take—chart the Your membership card in your local fits great. Talk it over today with the sec roads all the way (to avoid detours)—and A.A.A. motor club will identity you retary of your local A. A. A. motor club, 1 provide you with road maps, motor logs and wherever you go. or write to the American Automobiie all the detailed information you will need. If need arises, you can use the emergency Association, on Pennsylvania Avenue at . And only by consulting a motor club which — road service which practically ali A. A. A. 17th Street, Washington, D. C. AMERICAN AUTOMOBILE ASSOCIATION WORLD’S LARGEST FEDERATION OF MOTOR VEHICL OWNERS—ORGANIZE 1902 IT PAYS TO BELONG This emblem, Registered U. S. Patent Office can be used only by motor clubs affiliated with American Automobile Association. THRU YOUR LOCAL A. A.A. MOTOR CLUB

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88 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST — Safety Demands Vulcanized Repairs -Edwin RW: right Former V. Pres. National Safety Council “Millions more cars, faster motors, and greater speed privileges mark the need for ever increased vigilance to ee reduce highway hazards. “The driver who makes certain of vulcanized puncture repairs is an im- portant contributor to Public Safety. For by the use of vulcanized repairs the steering wheel from the driver’s grasp, making the car unmanageable —a hazard of the most dangerous type. “The motorist who carries a Shaler Vulcanizer is always sure of Vul- canized repairs. Because every Shaler patch is heat welded, a permanent, perfect repair, safety from blow-out August 4,1928 Edwin R. Wright, an authority on public safety measures by virtue of his active association with promi- nent organizations devoted to this field. Former Vice-President, National Safety Council; Editor Safety News; Chairman and Statistician of Commission to draft Health and Safety Laws for Illinois the danger of leaky tubes, under in- _ hazards is assured.” flation and the final disastrous blow- m ; outs are banished. Even at moderate speed a front tire blow-out will wrench For over twenty years Shaler Vulcanized puncture repairs have been accepted as the standard of safety and reliability by millions of motorists in eighty-three countries throughout the world. Carry a Shaler in Your Car The complete Shaler outfit—vulcanizer, tire roughener, and a liberal supply of both round and oblong patch units—costs less than one average tankful of gas. At this low cost you can’t afford to be without the protection that only a Shaler Vulcanizer will give your tires and yourself. Most repairmen, too, use Shaler Vulcanizers. ...+. Be sure to ask repair- men, too, to Shaler Vulcanize You, too, can safeguard your family and yourself, and be a con- tributor to Public Safety by the use of Shaler 5-Minute Vulcanizer The SHALER Company World's Largest and Oldest Manufacturers of Tire Vulcanizers General Offices: Milwaukee, Wisconsin Manufacturing Plant: Waupun, Wisconsin ~ Branches: Montreal, Canada + Beeston, England Foreign Sales: Shaler Export Corp., 17 Moore St., New York HA REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. 5- MINUTE VULCANIZERS Extra Shaler Patch Units, per can Shaler Vulcanizer, complete $1.50 Prices slightly higher in Canada and far West a ee

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Tn cee On pe ty SPN ig SET Sa | (Continued from Page 86) around her ever since she knew a man from a milk bottle. They stoked the furnaces of officers’ houses in posts and mowed grass and drilled for her critical amusement. They were a kind of fluid entertainment to Wotan’s child, flattered by her notice and ready to stand on their heads or to play the harmonica for her. “Guess I'll have dad transfer that kid to headquarters.” “T guess you won't,” said Robinson. “*He’s happy where he is. And you go back to your papa. There’s regulations against women bein’ loose in cantonments after dark. Mules an’ little girls oughta stay where they belong at.” “IT never saw a supply sergeant yet,” Melissa snapped, ‘‘who didn’t get to be an old maid about things!” She then left us scornfully and went back to devil her father about transferring Private Jimmy to the headquarters of her new regiment, where he would be conven- ient when she wanted to see him turn cart wheels or stand on his head. A monstrous atmospheric contusion swelling above Texas made the colonel’s Philippine wound ache in his left shoulder and he must have had a pleasant evening. About ten he sent his child to bed. About ten Robinson got up from his typewriter to turn down the wick of the lantern above his desk and casually said “‘No stars’”’ as he sat down to work again. I paid no attention. I had discovered a hiatus in the sizes of hats for B Battery. But near midnight, when I lurched out of the office and looked up, the sky was a black wash. The one lamp at headquarters seemed prodigious and the blue speck of the medical detachment’s shack was a pea- cock planet at the top of the slope. This storm hung over the hills, ready to burst. Let it! I was frayed to nervous ribbons by the requisition. I fell on my cot in the quarters, beyond the partition dulling the noise of Robinson’s typewriter, and got off one shoe and my soaked shirt. Then I slumped on my folded blanket and was asleep. Somewhere toward five in the morning an unimportant note of the day’s news wound up from the cistern of memory and arranged a dream for me, with natural phenomena assisting outside the thin wood of this cantonment. Old Siegrid Lokke was screaming Briinnhilde’s battle cry on the stage of the opera in London, and the second act of the Valkyrie had got mixed with the third. Drums and pulsing brass and violins that roared were already sounding the Walkiirenritt and lightning was truly going off in the wings. The Valkyrs rode, and the dead woman sang and the drums made me jump, protesting so much clamor. I woke, and green glows flashed triply on my band- aged foot and on the empty cots of the room. Rain came slashing through screens and thunder laughed at me. A blanket lifted from the floor and sailed in air. All the wagoners were gone, I saw, save one kid who was dragging overalls up his bare legs in a corner. “‘This,” he bawled, “‘ain’t a storm. It’s a cyclone!” A tree smashed before the next flood of lightning. I jammed the window shut above my cot and heard water heave on the panes as if I had shut a porthole against spray. But I was not awake. Surely, and somewhere close, a woman was screaming! “‘The mules is loose,’ said the wagoner, paddling up to me. “‘Everybody’s went down to the corral. Robbie was yellin’ for you. Got a flash light? Well, gimme it, please. This is gonna be hell.” “Don’t you hear a—a girl shrieking?” “T dunno it’s a girl. It’s some kind of a woman, though. Gimme your flash, won’t you?” I dug the flash light out of my coat, drip- ping on the wall below the window, and the boy went banging out into the storm. His naked feet sank in a churning soup of clay and water. The alley between us and F Battery was a spattering mess and he bent forward to run against the wind. I could watch him for a hundred yards THE SATURDAY when the world turned green. And then the woman screamed—screamed so that her voice seemed to cut through wood. I knew that she was in the supply office, not twenty steps from me, on the other side of the partition. The door was locked on the inside. I pounded the panels, my poncho slapping the backs of my calves and rain soaking my hair. When the door opened I was blown into the place and paper hissed on the floor, visible foam on dark waves, before Jimmy Kaelred got the door shut, throwing his shoulder against its weight and the weight of wind. “Shut up, guy,” said Robinson, behind a cigarette. The woman howled. She was lying on Robinson’s cot with her head stuffed under his rolled blanket. I can’t say that she made a romantic figure as the lightning washed her, and she was praying in Ger- man when she had no breath to scream. “For heaven’s sake, Robbie!” “Yeh, an’ more of the same kind. But I dunno what the kid could do. The storm got ’em and he had to fetch her some place. Listen to that!” For a moment we were inside a drum. The wooden cell shivered under the noise as it swelled around us, and my heart trundled a rough road up into my mouth and fell back with a bounce on the floor. Mrs. Hunt did not scream this time, and she stopped praying. ‘“‘Hey!”’ Sergeant Kaelred yelled at me, his voice achieving the pitch of mere con- versation. ‘‘You’re a lawyer. What is it when a guy bursts a man’s teeth on him?” “Mayhem,” I bawled, ‘“‘unless it’s jus- tifiable—or a prize fight. What’s hap- pened?”’ The rain came now in galloping gusts on the thin roof above us and the Ride of the Valkyrs still sounded in my head. I saw three tall mules prancing on violet mud of the roadway and saw Jim Kaelred’s stiff scared face while the lightning lasted. Then I was back in crazy darkness, and the woman moaned in German that she wanted to be with Sister Else in Milwaukee, where it was cool. More thunder shook us before Robin- son answered me: “The babe found Hunt just about killin’ her—drunk. He thrashed him and fetched her outa there. Says he knocked Hunt’s front teeth in. Makes it worse, don’t it?” For once I heard Robinson’s drawl quicken with alarm. He had the old enlisted man’s dread of civilian law. Outside the military machine, there were cloudy, ir- regular powers and demons. And this was a married woman and she was where she shouldn't be. Regulations had been busted open with a brick. Here was this moaning lump in cantonments at five in the morning! “TI couldn’t leave her there, could I, Georgie?” Private Jim asked in the murk, his voice curious. “It’s all right, babe. Robbie’ll get you out of it somehow,” said Kaelred, and his raincoat swished as he put an arm over the boy. “It’s all right. . . Naw, you couldn’t leave her there. But we're in the hell of a fix!” “T couldn’t leave her there,”’ Jim said again. Remember that this conversation was being howled against the gallop of rain and an atrocious noise of wind battering the walls. They were all spent and knocked about. It was already two o’clock when Kaelred limped in and woke Robinson, be- cause Jim hadn’t turned up yet. The storm was beginning when the two young men came on the boy leading this frantic woman along the edge of the drill ground, half a mile away, and towing a lamed horse. No- body in the supply office was exactly calm. I should have been, but I happen to dislike thunderstorms and my brain now began a recitation of legal cases in the Texas crim- inal reports I had read at law school: In that state lots of men carry revolvers. And the Walkiirenritt whooped in my mind, with long surges of drums and screams from violins and I certainly heard a woman shrieking still. EVENING POST ““Wagner,” I shouted idiotically, “was a damn good theatrical composer.” “‘Shut up,” said Robinson. “Listen!” A thunder erased the other noises. And then a Valkyr shouted her battle cry be- yond the door. She shrilled, “‘Hi! Hi! Oh! Hi-oh!”’ in the soldier’s prolonged yell. “Hi, Robbie! Hi!’ And doom rode in the sound. ““M’lissa!”’ Wotan’s daughter was pounding on the door. She whistled while she pounded with an indecent violence. “Hi, Robbie, youin there? . . . Dad wants your gun. A mule’s broken a leg. Got to shoot it. Hi-oh, Robbie!” “‘Just a minute, sis!”’ he roared, leaning on the door. “Snap out of it!” the Valkyr yelled. “Wake up! The mules are all over the place! Give me your gun!” Suddenly Robinson opened the door and the child whirled in among us, a rubber cloak floating and her wet hair a black cap in the lightning. As he shut her into our terror, a branch raked the wood behind her, scraping gashes in the wall. ““Yow!’’ said Melissa in a pleased shriek. “That nearly got me, huh?” “Is your dad down at the corral, honey?” “Of course! One of the mules came up and got into bed with him. Where's your gun, Robbie? This,’”’ said Wotan’s child, “‘is simply slick! It’s blow ” Lightning flung violet glory into the room. Mrs. Hunt howled out of some hell in her feeble mind and we were buried again in the night. “Who's that, Robbie?” After the thunder he answered: “‘ Honey, you got to help us outa this. The babe the one ‘at does stunts— fetched this dame into camp. Her husband was killin’ her. He’s thrashed the guy an’—an’ I dunno what'll happen. It’s bad! Jim’s a recruit. He ain’t been in the Army two months. He didn’t 2H “Slick!” said the Valkyr, and a light broke out of her dripping cloak. The bulb of her flash lamp rayed on Mrs. Hunt. She set up a cruel, joyous giggle of pleasure and said, ‘“‘Hole in her stocking! Don’t women look silly?” “Is the colonel down with the mules?” “Of course! Get your gun. We've got to kill this mule.” Rain was lessening as the storm pulsed past us, flying west from the soaked hills and battered forests. I heard Jim Kaelred pant: ““I—I’m going to report to the colonel. It’s—it’s “ “You stay here, babe!’ “No, I won't, sergeant. I myself. Ididit. . . . He man.” “Let Robbie talk to him, Jim,” said Kaelred. “No. I did it and quences.” He simply opened the door and went out with that. Melissa said delightedly, ‘‘He’s a good pup, isn’t he? Oh, say, Robbie, gimme your gun!” An appalling theatrical glow came into the room. These swift Texan storms van- ish, having torn and battered in ten min- utes, and dawn was already above the thinning clouds. The alley was a wide pool, stirring as drops smote it, and our wet faces shimmered visibly. The wind dropped. Everything stilled. “T’ll stay here,”’ said Kaelred, his mouth drawn sideways in the pain of his freshly broken toe. “Goon, Robbie! See what you can do!” The Valkyr cried out her scorn: ‘* Think dad’ll see a soldier get the worst of it in a scrap with a lousy civilian? You're dumb. Here, Robbie, where’s your gun?” Robinson looked at Kaelred and nodded past her head. Then three of us splashed out into the mud and water. A cool soup, unusually thick, rose between my toes and refreshed my face when I slipped on some- thing and came down flat. I'l] tell him he’s a gentle- I'll take the conse- S9 “Sloppy,” said Melissa, trotting along ahead of me. “ Pick up your feet!” We lurched and slopped two hundred yards past trembling brushwood and shapes of wet sheds. I don’t think that Melissa was wearing anything under her cloak. Her white legs vibrated in the slush before me and she twirled the flat revolver on a thumb. Lanterns rose and fell in the broken corral. A plunge of scared mules had broken the rope and there was no boundary to this roofless stable in a grove of slim trees. But the gigantic mule sergeant and the wagoners were working and cursing with a fine vehemence, and many mules had resumed their dignified contempt for all things in a line of twitching ears. The denim jackets were blue in the blended lights, and Private Jimmy's drenched shirt and trousers wandered in this jostle, as he looked for judgment. Without wanting to hear it, I heard Wotan's theme sounding from an orchéstra. And then I saw the god, rigidly standing on the seat of a wagon, five feet above humanity, his glass in his eye and his white mustache in order below his dripping hat. “Here, dad!” “Very good,” said the colonel. ‘‘Con- nell, kill the poor thing. Give Sergeant Connell the gun, Melissa.” But Connell was trying to head off a dun mule that came out of the line, its halter flapping. He waved a lantern in its face and bawled words that Melissa should not have known existed in any language. Th« god descended from the wagon lightly and took the green revolver. A fading crack of lightning made his glass violet. “Sir,” said Private Jimmy, stumbling up to him. “One minute, please! Wotan’s cloak whirled off around the high wagon and the mules all flapped their ears at the shot. Some lad said “ Well, the pooi ” And then he looked at Melissa. That was over and the god returned from his kindness. “Sir,”’ said Private Jimmy. “What’ll you have, son?” “Sir, I'm Private Kaelred, C Battery. I have to report that—that I went out to get our laundry. She'd mixed it up. I rode out there, and got lost once, and—and he was beating her in the kitchen.’ The colonel passed the revolver from one hand to the other and looked at the scared boy without any interest **Ha?” “Yes, sir. And I knocked him out I—I broke his front teeth inson and my brother think that makes it worse.”” “*He’s a husky pup,” said Melissa, sitting down on the slanted tongue of the wagon. “And I brought her away,” Private Kaelred reported in the voice of a talking doll, staring at the monocie. The mule skinners were thick behind him. ‘I brought her away. She—she was hysterical.” “You've forgotten to tell me who she is,”’ said Wotan. “Their name’s Hunt, sir dry for a lot of us,”’ Robinson drawled “Farm down the road about six miles.” “mar “Sergeant Kaelred and I went out lookin’ for the boy, sir. His horse went lame or him. I’ve got her up at the supply office If the colonel,’’ Robinson said silkily, in the will give me some instruc- ’ Sergeant Rob- She does laun- meekest voice, “ tions, I'll take charge Wotan played with the revolver. The lanterns were almost useless now, because thin light descended through the trees and his boots were red between stains of sticky mud, and Jim Kaelred’s hair was golder again “Private Kaelred.” “gino” “In love with this woman?” “No!” “Say ‘No, sir,’ in answering an officer,’ the colonel purred “No, sir.” “Very good.” Continued on Page 92

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Ke] te Continued from Page 89) Melissa yawned, ‘She's pretty fat, dad. I think she’s an awful crumb,” and dabbled her feet in a puddle of gray mud. “That'll do, Melissa.”’ “Oh, gosh!" said the Valkyr. ‘“‘That’s right! Get military!” The colonei purred, “This is an army, Melissa. I know you regard it as a form of amusement Robinson.” “Sir?” “Know anything about these people?” “Some, sir. He's jealous an’ drinks a lot. Lazy kind of crumb. Old cavalry enlisted man. She’s in bad shape. Hunt was really beatin’ her up.” ; “Ha! . . . Very good, Kaelred. Go to bed. I'll attend to this.” “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” “That'll do, son,” said the god, who was wanting to laugh. Private Jimmy stepped back, remem- bered that he should not salute when he had no hat on and marched away in good order. The gaunt deity looked after him for a moment. It was in that moment that a new noise came through the vague about it. He bellowed out every shot so I could hear no matter how hard I let the water run. There ain't any justice if a weasel like that can shoot in the seventies.” “He isn’t dear to any of us,” said Mc Whinney, “but he’s a golfer.” “I bet he'd kick his ball out of a heel mark,” said Wills. “He don't need to,” said Weevil. “He can play a ball out of a crater. And he’s going to win the championship of this club again.” Not if I can help it,” growled Terhune. “How,” asked Wills, “do you propose to stop him?” “If I was religious,”’ said Terhune, “I'd pray him out of it. I'd give a thousand dollars to have him licked. I'd give five thousand te have him licked bad. I'd give ten thousand to have his nose rubbed in the dirt about ten up. I don’t like him.” “We gathered that idea faintly,” said Weevil. “Somebody in this club can trim him. We got some golfers.” ‘‘None good enough.” Terhune piumped down on a bench. “It seems like I can’t bear it,”’ he said dis- consolately. “What a chance,” MeWhinney whis- pered, ‘for young Gallagher, if he was only a golfer. The Old Man ‘ud give him his daughter and throw in a piano for la- gniappe.” They dressed and walked out to the eighteenth green to see who was finishing. Presently on the tee appeared Tom Gal- lagher and Lucy Terhune. ‘‘Now watch the big stiff,”’ said Weevil. *‘He goes around the course in diatonic scales -eight notes to each hole.” The hole was a one-shotter, and Lucy put a Number 2 iron shot to the edge of the green. Tom teed up and whaled into the ball with furious purpose. An enor- mous divot arose, darkening the sky, and out of its midst emerged the ball. It sliced sharply and came to rest in the rough nearly halfway to the flag. “See that divot?” asked McWhinney. “They ought to hire him out as a steam shovel,” said Wiils. Three more efforts put Tom in the trap guarding the green and three more took him out of it again, so that he was lying seven where any ordinary golfer would have been in one. The three watchers were purple with suppressed emotion. Lucy eyed them speculatively and Tom grinned amiably. “I’m improving,” he said. ‘Every day in every way I’m getting better and bet- ter.” “‘He’s only sixty to here for the second nine,” said Lucy. THE SATURDAY splatter of thin rain and the stir of trees. It was the sound of wheels dashing mud and water. Melissa jumped up on the tongue and looked abroad for more pleasures and shows. I just saw a buggy whirling through the trees toward us, and it did not mean anything. The Valkyr saw more. “T bet that’s him, dad!” “Who?” “This lousy civilian,’’ said Wotan’s child. Private Jimmy had stopped his march. The buggy slowed and a man with black hair rose from the seat. A horse reared back as its bit was jerked in its mouth. Hunt yelled “‘There y’are!’’ His voice came through air in a blast of heat. He stood up in the splattered buggy and seemed all gray. At once he seemed to be feeling his stomach, inside his coat. I did not know why the gir! shrieked and jumped for her father. But Jim Kaelred sprang backward and jarred on a pale trunk and the tree shook above him. Then the Valkyr screamed. ) “Hi! Put’em up! Put’em up,” howled Wotan’s daughter, “or I'll blow hell out of you!” EVENING POST I did not understand. But Hunt let something clatter down on the floor of his buggy and his dirty hands rose in the air over his head. He stood staring toward Melissa with his lips open, and his front teeth shim- mered. Jim had only knocked the phate of false teeth back into his mouth. “Very good, daughter,” said the colonel, and took the revolver from his child. He walked forward slowly and his tiger’s purr deepened to a boom. ‘Kick your gun out of the buggy, sir. That’s better! Sit down! Turn your horse. Make it fast! Now get to the devil out of here, sir!”’ “That kid ” ‘Who told you to speak, sir? . . . You were abusing your wife, and this soldier thrashed you. Tell the civilian authorities anything else and I'll have you arrested for attempted murder. Get out of here!” After one breath, Hunt said, ‘‘ Yes, sir, colonel,”” and the wheels of his buggy moved. He had been driven away by that voice of the parade ground. He never tried to come and talk to his wife, although the colonel had the silly woman at his quarters for a day or two until a Lutheran pastor A RHAPSODY IN GREENS (Continued from Page 15) “He ought,” said McWhinney, ‘‘to have a laborer following him with a hod to re- place his divots.” “Never you mind,” said Lucy. “He'll be shooting a ninety yet.” “If he does I'll buy him a new set of pants and coats,”’ said Wills. “‘No, Lucy, you better call him off it before he abol- ishes the course. Any man who can lift a whole tee and hur! it thirty feet with his mashie doesn't belong in a golf club. He ought to take a contract to dig another Panama Canal.”’ Nevertheless, two weeks later, Tom Gal- lagher shot an attested ninety-nine! “‘T think I’m getting the hang of it now,” he said to Mc Whinney. ‘‘ It seems to be com- ing easier. I don’t believe this is such a hard game, after all. You just have to look at the ball and hit it.” “Right you are,’’ said McWhinney. “It’s simple. Just look at it and hit it. It doesn’t dodge. It stays right still. It just sits right there in the grass as patient as a bump on a log, waiting to get slapped. Sure, just look at it and paste it.” ‘IT bet you I break ninety before long,” said Tom. “T’ll bet you,” said Mac “‘that the only way you ever break ninety is to have your back put in a cast and have an iron rod run down your left arm to hold it straight and a horse block tied to your chin to hold your head down.” “You quit making fun of him,” said Lucy. “I won't have it.” “Fun! Do I look funny? Do I sound funny? Does a man make fun of an earth- quake? Do you crack jokes at a boiler ex- plosion? No, Lucy, what I’m being is sad. It wouldn’t be any more impious for an angel to take a pickax to the golden streets than it is for this boy to swing an iron on our fairways. You better take him away from here and shackle his leg to a piano, where he can’t do any harm.” So it went until the day of the qualifying round of the championship. On that day it rained and only hardened golfers put in an appearance—hardened golfers and Tom Gallagher. They sloshed around all day and sixteen men qualified. Among them was Tom Gal- lagher. He qualified because only sixteen men were out, and his score was a hundred and twelve. “There,” he said to Weevil, “‘I told you I was getting good. Any man who can qualify for the club championship isn’t such a dub.” “Right you are,” said Weevil. ‘ You're doing grand. Lucky there weren't seven- teen players today.” “Probably,”” said Tom soberly, “I shan’t win it.” Weevil looked at him and shook his head dolefully. ‘‘Probably,”’ he said, “‘not.’’ Nevertheless, Tom Gallagher won his first match. It was the weirdest golf ever played and the club roared with laughter. He defeated Jack Mott, who shot a ninety, by one up—and his score was one hundred and nineteen! The thing sounds impossible on the face of it, but there are the facts. On the first hole he had a twelve and Mott took four. On the second, a short hole, he got a two to Mott’s four. So it went. He interspersed elevens and twelves with incredible threes and fours. But he won. “You see,”’ he said blandly, “I’m a match player. It’s just my medal play that’s wrong.” Mortimer Fleming selected that moment to enter the locker room, where he spied the trio and Gallagher sitting on a bench, and upon them he advanced. “You're a betting man,” he said in his rather unpleasant voice to McWhinney. **How’s the sporting blood today?” To this McWhinney made no direct re- ply. ‘‘Have you met Mr. Gallagher?”’ he asked. **Ah—curious to see you, Gallagher. I understand you played a syncopated round today.”” He laughed. ‘Golf is quite differ- ent from the organ or oboe, or whatever it is you play, eh?” “Why, yes,” said Gallagher mildly, “quite different.” “Well, I'll show you some more differ- ence Saturday. We meet in the next round.” He turned to McWhinney. “*Well, what odds are you offering that I don’t win the cup?” **None,”’ said Mac shortly. “Even money? I'll back myself against the field at even money.” “No,” said Mac. “Any of you other gentlemen inter- ested?’’ Fleming asked irritatingly. Gallagher spoke rather diffidently. ‘*Well,” he said, ‘I like to bet a little once in a while—not much, you understand, but something reasonable.” Fleming’s lip curled. ‘‘When I bet, I bet,” he said. ‘‘There’s no fun breaking into a dime bank. What’s your idea of something reasonable—two dollars? Huh! I bet you twenty-five even I win the championship.” “T said something reasonable, Gallagher, very mildly indeed. ‘*What’s your idea of reason?” “‘Why, say five hundred dollars. I'll just go you five hundred you're not the next club champion.” Mr. Fleming swallowed convulsively. “F-five hundred! I’m no millionaire.” “And I’m just a poor piano player,” said Gallagher. ‘‘ You're sure you're going ” said August 4,1928 came from San Antonio and got her off to her kin in Milwaukee. He was just blotted from the scene by an order, given in a voice he understood. Wotan looked after him for a while and then strode back tous. He tossed the revolver toward Robinson and said once more ‘“‘Very good, daughter,” in an unbelievable tone. He took the glass from his eye and stood smiling down at her. All at once Melissa blushed. “You haven’t said that since I got the prize for French at school, dad.”’ ‘Come along,”’ said the colonel. ‘“‘ You're a disgraceful object. Connell, get this mess straightened up. How many mules gone?” “Five, sir.” “‘T want them back here,” the god com- manded, ‘‘by noon!” He walked away with an arm on his child’s shoulder. Nobody moved for a while as the red boots splashed off through the mud and the girl’s white feet moved. The gods passed toward Valhalla through a be- ginning sunshine in their pride, and did not turn to look back when a cheer went after them like a great flame in the cool air. to win, aren’t you? If I was sure I was go- ing to win, I’d bet more than five hundred. I'd bet a lot—I mean, if I was the sort of fellow who bets on sure things.”” Weevil jammed a warning elbow into the young man’s ribs, but Gallagher gave no heed. “Five hundred at even money,” he said. “I’m not crazy,” said Fleming. “Well,” said Gallagher softly, ‘‘you asked for a bet—-I didn’t.”’ “‘Maybe you've an idea you can fluke a win over me like you did over Jack Mott.”’ “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” said Tom. “T’'ll bet you = five hundred,” said Tom, and looked after Fleming with mildly surprised eyes as that bumptious young man turned on his heel and made haste out of the locker room. Weevil expelled a breath. ‘‘Gosh!”’ he exclaimed. ‘Made him take water! Bluffed him! Showed him up to a fare-ye-well!"’ crowed McWhinney. “‘Oh, boy, you may be a rotten golfer, but you're there!” “But,” said Wills, ‘‘what if he’d taken you? Boy, five hundred smackers is a lot for a young fellow to lose!”’ ** And musicians,” said Gallagher, ‘‘don't deal in such sums.” “You got nerve, all right. “But if you got that much money loose, you better save it to buy groceries for Lucy.” “Tf I’d lost,” said Tom, “I could have sold my piano.” On the following afternoon the trio played with Old Man Terhune and sang Gallagher’s praises loudly. **Maybe he’s a key tickier and all that,” said Wills, ‘‘but he’s got something up and down his back besides rubber. That boy’s got nerve.” “*Huh!” snorted Terhune. “Tt would have done you good to see him show up Fleming.” ““Twan’t nerve,” said the Old Man. “Jest lack of brains.” ““Anyhow, Fleming showed yellow.’ “He hain’t yellow on a golf course,” said Terhune. ““Where’s the boy today?”’ “Him and Lucy went over to play the High Rock course. They go over there every other day.” “You got to hand it to him for trying, anyhow,” said McWhinney. “‘T don’t hand it to him for nothin’,”’ said the Old Man. “I don’t want to talk about him. About another week of this chasin’ around after Lucy and I aim to take him by the bosom of the pants and heave him right off’n the front porch. My ears is full. Just another seven days of listenin’ to nocturnes (Continued on Page 94) ” ’ Whee — we, a a eee

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94 (Continued from Page 92) and movements and E minors and modu- lations and I'l! be fit to be tied. I'll modu- late him!” “Don't you want Lucy to be happy?” asked Wills. “‘She’s in love with him.” “If I’m goin’ to keep a music instrument around the house, it'll be one that can’t eat,” said the Old Man. “It'll be one of these here phonographs where there ain't no upkeep.” “Aw,” said McWhinney, “leave him be. He ain't got any milk of human kindness in his heart. He’s a crab.” “He's worse’n a savage beast,”’ said Weevil, “or music ‘ud have charms to soothe him.” “‘Shet up and play golf,” said Mr. Ter- hune, ‘‘and mind your dog-gone business.” By the time the foursome finished their round, Lucy Terhune and Tom Gallagher were returning from High Rock with their bags of clubs, and McWhinney paused to speak to Lucy while the young man de- posited them in the shop. “Your pa’s a hard nut to crack,” said Mac. “Dreadful set in his ways,” said Lucy. “Going to watch the match tomorrow?” “IT can't bear it,” said Mac. “I couldn't stand it to watch Fleming mutilate that nice kid.” ‘Mott didn’t mutilate him, did he?” “Heavens, child, you don’t expect that sort of accident to happen twice, do you?” “You never can tell,”’ said Lucy. ‘‘Any- how, as a special favor, I wish you’d get papa to follow them around. Point_out to him what malicious pleasure he’ll get out of seeing his unwelcome future son-in-law licked.” “It'll kill Tom’s last chance. Your pa despises Fleming. It'll be the last straw to see him abolish your young man.” “T’ll take the chance,” said Lucy. ‘“‘ You just have him there—that’s all I ask.” “You're crazy, child—you’re crazier’n a loon,” said McWhinney dolefully. “That's the bird that laughs, isn’t it?” tN “Did anybody ever investigate whether it laughed last?"’ asked Lucy, as she climbed into the car with Tom and drove away mi N SATURDAY morning there was quite some little crowd assembled on the first tee to see Gallagher and Fleming drive off. Good wishes were with Tom, but what bets were made were at absurd odds of twenty to one on his opponent. ‘“Well,”’ said Fleming, “‘let’s get it over. I've a golf game on this afternoon. We won't play the extra holes after the match is over. “Er—have you turned in the score yet?” asked Gallagher gently. “T might as well, I presume. tails for the honor.” “Heads,”’ said Tom, and the coin fell tails. “Too bad,” said Fleming. ‘That would have given you one honor, anyhow.” Tom blinked tazily at Fleming. ‘Got everything you need to play with?” he asked. “What d’ye mean—everything? got my clubs and balls and a caddie.” “I understand a man needs something else in a match.” “What else?”’ “Nerve,” said Tom softly. ‘‘Got that?” “Watch this drive and see!” snapped Fleming. ‘‘ And then show us what kind of a solo you can play.” He addressed his ball and smote it with venom. It was a beautiful drive down the middle of the course. “Try that on your piano,” he said, as he stepped back with a self-satisfied expres- s1on. Tom put his ball on a little wooden peg and Wills and Weevil and McWhinney turned away their heads in unison that they might not behold the dreadful slice. The click of club head meeting ball did not sound like a slice, and a long-drawn “Ah-h-h!”’ from the gallery caused them Heads or I've

THE SATURDAY to lift their eyes quickly. Wills was able to catch sight of the ball in flight. Out and out and out it sailed in a beautiful arc. “Boy!”’ he exclaimed. ‘“‘Where’d that come from?” “Miracles will placidly. They trudged down the fairway to Fleming’s drive, which was some two hun- dred and twenty-five yards out. He played a mashie to the green and it stopped with commendable back spin some twenty feet from the cup. “That,” said Wills, ‘“‘ends that.” “Pray for another miracle,” said Mc- Whinney. Thirty yards farther along, Gallagher selected his mashie niblick and addressed the ball. “IT hate to watch this one,” said Weevil. “A dub playing a mashie-niblick shot is the most horrible of created objects.” But Tom went into the shot, a divot flew upward, the ball mounted almost perpen- dicularly and plunked on the green four feet from the cup—nor did it roll an inch. “Sufferin’ !” exclaimed happen,” said Tom woggle bugs! McWhinney. “Did you see that one? It’s a darn good trick if he can doit. Did you see what I saw?” “No,” denied Wills, ‘“‘I didn’t see it, be- cause it couldn't happen. What can’t happen, don’t happen. He can’t play a shot like that.” “Nevertheless,” said Weevil, “yonder lies the ball.” Fleming laid his putt dead; Tom sank his four-footer for a birdie three and a win. “How’s the nerve, Fleming?” he asked softly. “Go on and play your game,”’ said Flem- ing shortly. The second home was a one-shotter over water—a rather difficult pitch to a fast green guarded by traps. Tom dropped his ball on the grass and whacked it with his mashie. Weevil blinked; Wills blinked; McWhinney allowed his lower jaw to drop with a bang against his necktie. The ball was high and straight. It dropped to the green and they could see it fighting the grass with a tremendous back spin—and it came to rest a scant yard from the hole. “T’ll write you out the music for that one, Fleming,’ Tom said amiably. “It’s in five flats.” Wills grasped Weevil’s arm. ‘Did you see his form? Did you see how he hit into it? Did you see the back spin? Where’d he get ‘em? Jock» Hutchinson couldn’t beat it!” “*Luck—bull-headed luck,” whispered Weevil. “‘But it can’t keep up.” Fleming played—a good workmanlike shot. But again he needed two putts to Tom’s one, and the second hole was lost toa birdie. “Two holes—two birdies!”’ gasped Mc- Whinney. “Now, this one.” Tom teed up for the drive, but as he ad- dressed the ball he turned to Fleming and smiled. ‘‘Nerve still with you?” he asked. “Any bets to suggest?” Weevil stood bug-eyed, watching Flem- ing. ‘‘ Listen, fellers,’’ he said huskily, “‘if Tom pulls another Houdini, Fleming’s nerve busts. Look at him! He’s bitin’ his thumb! He’ll blow up sure’s shootin’!” Again Tom drove, but this time the trio watched him breathlessly. His back swing was graciously smooth and even; power was applied at the exact moment of the stroke, timing was perfect and the follow- through was a picture. “Two hundred and fifty if it’s an inch!” said Wills. “But that form! Where'd he get the form? I’ve watched him drive a thousand balls, and he never even was within tele- graphing distance of form like that.” “Accident,” said Weevil. ‘It just happened.” Fleming’s nerve still held; he smote a mighty drive, but again he had to play his second before Tom. His brassy was short of the green—a par five. Tom’s brassy was said Wills, “‘for a fourteen on

EVENING POST on—such a shot as had seldom been seen on that course. He sank his four to his oppo- nent’s five and was three up—with three birdies against three pars for Fleming! It was enough to break any man’s heart—to play perfect golf and then to be beaten on three holes running by a dub working miracles! “‘Where’s Terhune?” asked McWhinney. “He ought to have seen this. Send a kid after him. Drag him out here by the col- lar. Maybe the boy’!l pull off another.” “He can’t. It ain't in the books.” Wills was scowling. ‘‘Listen,” he said thoughtfully, ‘‘I kind of smell something.” “I don’t listen for smells,”’ said Mac, but he glanced at Lucy, who was standing to one side demure and self-contained, but with the expression of the cat that had dined on the canary. “Um,” grunted McWhinney. ““Um ——” But the fourth hole made it appear as if the day of miracles was over. Tom sliced his drive out of bounds, smothered his sec- ond attempt, dubbed two irons, looked up twice on approaches, and to cap a climax needlessly, took four putts, making a neat ten. Fleming won with a somewhat shaky five. The fifth hole was an atrocity. Flem- ing recovered his nerve somewhat and got off a good drive. Tom fanned! He actu- ally missed the ball altogether, and turning around with a surprised expression, said to the gallery, ‘‘First time I ever saw a ball dodge.” The next effort was what Wills called an abdominal shot. This is played with stiff arms and wrists and the hitting is done wholly with the stomach muscles, The re- sults are well known to all golfers. The ball rolled off to the left all of seventy yards and came to rest in a clump of Canadian thistles. Six thrashing strokes got it out again, and Tom lay eight, with his ball still a hundred yards from the tee. He lay ten before he was level with Fleming’s drive. He lay fourteen on the edge of the green and took four putts, making a total of eighteen—a sum seldom heretofore reached by man. It was such golf as the books do not write about. Tom had used up thirty- seven strokes for five holes and yet was one up on his opponent, who had played only twenty strokes. McWhinney groaned. ‘‘ Boys,” he said, ‘the stuff’s off. Let’s go home and mourn.” “Lucky we didn’t drag out Terhune,” said Weevil. ‘‘He’d kill the boy with a niblick.”” Lucy was smiling happily. “If I were you,” she said, “‘I’d linger another hole—or maybe two. It’s fun to watch.” “Your idea of pleasure,” said Wills, ‘‘is a bit gruesome.” Nevertheless, they lingered. Fleming was well off, but Tom followed with a beautiful two-hundred-and-fifty-yard poke. Fleming’s second was short, but Tom was on the green. Two putts gave him a par four, while his opponent, chipping up beautifully, got a half. The seventh was a hundred-and-ninety-yard shot. Fleming was on. Tom stepped up with a Number 2 iron and laid the ball inside him. Both got par threes. On the eighth Fleming holed a long putt for a four, but not until Tom had played eleven shots through the fairway and taken three putts for a fourteen. So they came to the ninth all level. Fleming had played beautiful golf, thirty-one strokes for eight holes, while Gallagher had taken fifty-eight! The ninth was a long par-five hole. Fleming’s drive was long and straight. Gallagher went into the ball with all he had and the gallery gasped. On and on, out and out it went. “Sweet Sally!” exclaimed Wills. ‘‘He’s past the direction flag—and that’s three hundred yards!” “Tf Llive through this,” said McWhinney, “earthquakes and train wrecks will have no terrors for me.” Fleming’s brassy was a screamer; Gal- lagher’s brassy came to rest a scant seventy yards from the pin. Fleming’s third was on, but twelve feet past the cup; Galla- gher’s third, a pitch with back spin, came to rest two feet from the flag. He sank a

August 4,1928 birdie four to his opponent’s par five! The gallery was on the verge of hysterics. A man who had shot a thirty-six was one hole down to a man who had shot a sixty-two! It was more than flesh and blood could stand. Fleming was quivering with rage. His nerves fluttered in the wind like so many rags on a clothesline. He pressed his next and smothered it. ‘ “Steady on!” said Gallagher. ‘I told you you needed nerve as well as the rest of the contraptions. Take it cool, old man.” Fleming made a remark under his breath which was not clubby in its general tenor, and then watched Gallagher drive the green. From then on it was all over but the shouting. Tom needed no more mir- acles, for Fleming came home in fifty-one. But the match held to the last hole, which Tom won with a four, it being a par three, to Fleming’s seven! Terhune, who had sulked in the lounge, was dragged out to see that last hole. He saw his daughter’s young man win his match one up and complete a nice fifty- nine for the last half of the course. One hundred and twenty-one strokes he had taken, but with it he had won from a man who had shot an eighty-seven! Fleming did not shake hands. He rushed for the locker room. Old Man Terhune listened to the news. When the enormity of the thing dawned upon him, the humiliation which had becn put upon the man he de- spised, the old fellow eut a caper. He flung himself upon Tom and wrung his hand. “Boy,” he shouted, “you're a filthy golfer, but you done it! It was better’n beatin’ him with real golf. It’s busted his nerve. It’s rubbed his nose in the dirt. Oh, boy! I’m for ye! Go on and play pianos. Git you a hand organ if you want one. Sit on my porch and talk about symphonies all you want to. Play nocturnes in the parlor. Drop in and practice scales. I kin stand it. You're worth whatever it costs.” ‘*Do I understand,” asked Tom, “that you have withdrawn your opposition to my marrying Lucy?” “Youdo. I kinafford ye. If Lucy wants you, she can have ye. Shake!” They shook. McWhinney eased up to Lucy and twitched her sleeve. ‘‘ Young woman,”’ he whispered, ‘“‘come clean. How did you git that rabbit out of the hat? Where was the trick pocket? How came the hand to be quicker than the eye? Step up to uncle and explain that game of golf.” Lucy grinned. No well-brought-up young lady grins except upon some very special occasion. ‘‘ You're just uneducated,” she said. ‘“‘ You don’t read the papers. Tom was runner-up last year in the British Amateur; he finished fifth in the Open and third in the French. Read the papers, Uncle Mac, read the papers.” “But who,” demanded Wills, ‘would connect up a piano-playin’ lad with that Gallagher?” “That,” said Lucy, ‘“‘is how we got the rabbit out of the hat.” ‘*Anyhow,” said Weevil, “your dad’ll feel he’s got his money’s worth. He’ll sup- port Tom and let him play in tournaments and feel he’s well worth the expense.” “Will he?” asked Lucy. ‘‘Um—on the contrary, any time you gentlemen really need a loan, come to us.” “Eh?” ““Who told you music was a pauper art?” she demanded. “ Right now Tom’s got two operettas running in London, and what with one thing and another, his income from royalties is a couple of thousand a week. He’s got two shows opening in New York this fall. In short,’ she said a bit sharply, ‘‘you all make me sick—you know so much that isn’t so.” “We do,” admitted McWhinney, ‘‘and this puts it up to us. What’ll it be? A solid golden-oak Grand Rapids dining- room set? Or what? Name it!” “‘For a wedding present?”’ “oe Yes.”’ “We'd really like it, uncles, if you’d club together and get us a nice piano,” said Lucy.

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If its worth | Good Paint It's worth a Good Brush An actunl test of “Poss-Set” — 188 pounds on a Wooster Brush without losing « bristle! OOSTER BRUSHES FOR PAINTING - VARNISHING ENAMELING-~- LACQUERING ve the surface and _ e » all — Bnd + hemaf y save d Sa’ wo | Upper left, leaded panes; | | cushioned in faded scarlet THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HOKUM AIND ROSES his handsome gray head. And people would look, and look again discreetly; whisper perhaps: “That's Penny Wise, the girl who did those lovely settings for the Neighborhood Theater this year. They say he’s going to marry her. Rather charming, isn’t she, in away? Gordon’s quite mad about her.” Quite mad about her—Gordon—high- headed, high-handed, Roman-emperor Gordon! Penny sang again as she put the clean grill away and stowed her spotless plate in the cupboard. ‘“‘Some day he’ll come along os A piece of luck that he should have a sis- ter like Cordelia and that Cordelia should | exhibit for Penny the same sort of jealous devotion; no end comforting—a rock at one’s back, a refuge if one should ever need it. Putting her work on the table beneath | the light—an almost completed set, it was; a heavenly Louis Quatorze interior—sink- || ing down on her knees to regard it more closely, Penny hummed through closed soft lips: ‘‘The man I love—some day he’ll come along ——”’ She hadn’t dreamed Gordon, among her other dreams, when she used to putter round the Little Theater in Greentown, Alabama. Doing any tiresome job the di- rector would chuck to her, just to get her hand in, just to get her foot in the door, just to fill her nostrils with that ineffable, | indescribable smell of scenery and stage and curtain. Penny was born sniffing for it. She adjusted pasteboard, tightened clips, scowled at a fireplace three inches high. Penny’s mother had hated the Little Theater. So had Penny’s father. Penny’s | five brothers and two sisters had run the | scale of domestic derision in chorus. had no right to waste her time. Her father She had sweated to put her through high school. A druggist’s daughter wasn’t a princess. And that high-hat stuff at the Little The- ater—what did she expect to get out of it, when people could go to the movies? It was up to her to get a job and quit loafing. ““Give me time,”’ Penny had said. “I'll get my own job, sooner or later.” A deep armchair stood before the fire- place. She took it up between thumb and forefinger, handling it delicately, set it down on the other side, considered pro- | foundly. When the vicomte camein through beautifully done, the window! window seat well, when the vicomte came in through the window, would Madame la Duchesse be in the chair, the window | and if so, hadn’t she better have her back | to him? Penny had got her own job in her own time, but she had had to buck her whole family to take it. Ultimately the director had realized her possibilities. He had let her handle props. He had let her work on scenery. She couldn’t act he hadn’t even tried he: there. But the night her set for the Glittering Golden Gate had drawn thrilled applause from the Greentown Little Theater audience before a player spoke a word—that night the director ad- mitted to Penny: ‘‘ You're a smart kid. If you ever want to try it in New York I'll give you some letters.” He had given her the letters—one of which got her a hearing with the director of the Neighborhood Theater— and Penny’s own indomitable desire, her dogved burn- ing dreams, had done the rest. She wasn’t designing for Ziegfeld yet. The Guild hadn’t yet taken notice of her. But in the Neighborhood outfit she was making herself a name. She had found her job, and through her job she had found | Gordon. Across the lofty raftered room from the fireplace stood a bed, a very beautiful bed, | four-postered, ornately carved. The vi- comte was to throw his cloak on it—wait; (Continued from Page 9) yes, his cloak he throws on it. Better not have it curtained, shut off too much. Penny got up from her knees, found a straight-backed chair, drew that to the table, sat down beside the set and cocked her head thoughtfully. “‘T’ll get the dolls,’’ she mused. She was using two tiny pasteboard figures for the vicomte and the duchesse, another for the maid, another for the rightfully wronged— as it were—duc. When she had set the dolls in place—one just climbing in at the window, one lost in meditation in the depths of the fireside chair—she lost herself and sat staring at nothing, smiling faintly. Gordon, coming back of the scenes on a first night with some know-it-all critic; Penny, hair tousled, frock all any way, wild with excitement and happiness, shoulder- ing him rudely. “I’m sorry—I am so sorry!” Introductions. Gordon's eyes, somehow from the first moment, burning into her. He had said he’d like to see her again. He had seen her again, the next night. She thought it was her work that had caught him. It wasn’t her work; it was herself. **Penny Wise, do you mean to say you don’t know who he is? Why, that’s Gor- don Leverte! He’s filthy with money. Of course, go out to dinner with him if he’s asked you. He’s terribly high-hat. You have made ahit! . . . No, you little hick, he’s not that sort. Anyhow, why worry?” What would Greentown, Alabama, say to Gordon? That would be the return of the prodigal daughter, with a vengeance. The part of Penny that liked Gordon to protect her wanted Greentown to see him doing it. Wanted Greentown to read of her in white tulle and orange blossoms, hanging to Gordon’s arm—old stuff, but somehow potent. Penny cherished the vision of Mrs. Gor- don Leverte, perhaps motoring through Greentown in a foreign car with her wealthy husband. “He takes such care of her. He’s simply mad about her— yes, he’s building a theater just to try out her ideas on lighting and all that. You know those marvelous sets of hers—she’s doing O’Neill’s new play next winter.” Taxicabs racketing by in the street grew fainter and farther; the playing children ceased to shout or went indoors to bed. Hotter and stiller and emptier, the night. Penny pushed the set gently one side; she dropped her curly head on her arms, folded upon the table. She may have slept, though she intended merely quietly to con- sider if perhaps another chair facing the first beside the fire Someone, years later, woke her, knocking blithely, tattooing the panels of her door with relentless knuckles. She_ jerked herself upright, scowled, said stupidly “‘Come in.” ‘* Must be a fire somewhere,”’ she thought, between waking and sleeping. It wasn’t a fire; it was a slender, dark- haired young man with a script under his arm, no hat, a grin on his eager mouth, im- ploring question in his eyes. “Hello, Penny, old dear!”’ he said, strid- ingin happily. ‘‘Saw your light and thought I'd take a chance. I’ve got the whole second act now!” Matter, obviously, for congratulation. “You have!’’ said Penny, rising and stretching herself. ‘‘Oh, Carey!’’ Having completed the stretch, she thought to in- quire: ‘‘What time is it? I think I’ve been asleep.”’ “Certainly must have,’ said Carey Pickens. ‘‘ You look like a kitten that’s just climbed out of a basket.’’ He added, con- sulting a disreputable silver turnip which he took from his trousers pocket, “‘It’s- ah, it’s half-past eleven, if I’m right.” “Well, for pity’s sake, Carey,” said Penny, gasping, ‘“‘that’s no time for you to ” be coming around here! blinked, August 4,1928 ‘“‘T know it, but—gosh’’—he reproached her deeply—‘‘aren’t you crazy to see the end of my second act?”’ “You know I am, but “Then sit down and read it to me. You’ve got the set right there, haven’t you? We can do the whole thing 2 “TI don’t know whether we can or not. I’d have to go and dress.” “For crying out loud!” he observed, amazedly. ‘‘ You look all right in that—in those 2 “‘That’s just it,’’ said Penny doubtfully. *‘Pajamas, aren’t they?’”’ he inquired. She nodded. ‘‘Do you sleep in ’em?”’ “No, foolish! They’re lounging pa- jamas. They’re—they’re to have tea in.” Delightfully he accepted it without question. ‘“‘All the dog, aren’t they! Where’d you get ’em? You look like a million, Penny.” “Do I look like too many millions?” asked Penny wisely. He shook a reassuring head. ‘Not for me. I'll be calm.” “Idiot! I mean, would a lady go and put on the coat that goes with em?” “Have they got another coat too? What’s the use? I'll take mine off if it’ll make you feel any better. Hotter than Tophet tonight anyhow.” His shabby gray one was over the back of a chair be- fore she could stop him. ‘‘ Now I want you to cast an eye over that last scene, begin- ning at Page 32, and tell me, am I Shak- spere’s child or not?” “Well, you can’t stay too long,” Penny. “Go on; don’t waste any more time then,’’ he adjured her. She opened the script with a practiced hand, found page and line, began to read in her soft hesitant voice: “(While the DUCHESSE is in COMTE’S arms knock comes at door. “**DUCHESSE (desperately motioning Vi- COMTE to be silent): Who’s there? Who's there, Isay? Iamill. I am not to be dis- turbed. Monsieur le Duc shall hear of this! see said the VI- (The door is broken open and the Duc enters with armed men behind him.)’”’ Penny said, ‘‘ Wow, Carey!’’—gray eyes wide, running a thin small hand through her rumpled thatch, rumpling it wilder yet. “‘Is that a peach of an entrance, or isn’t it? Go on—go on!” said the author. So she read the scene through to the end. It was, as the author had frankly ad- mitted, a stirring scene. Madame la Duchesse defended Monsieur le Vicomte with all the eloquence known to woman under such trying circumstance. He had but come, she swore, to bring her news of her brother, who, carrying letters from the Prince of Cellamare to Alberoni, had found himself in desperate danger—her well- beloved brother in danger of his life. To all of which Monsieur le Duc turned a deaf ear and a sneering lip. While Mon- sieur le Vicomte, scorning to defend him- self, stood with arms folded, blond head high. “*But, Jacques’’’—that was the du- chesse’s line; Penny read it with a delight- ful quiver in her voice—‘‘‘Henri and I have known each other since childhood. There is no more between us, I assure you s “Than a drawn sword — MONSIEUR LE Duc speaking—and that, one regrets to observe, appears to have been drawn too late! “**T flung myself into his arms, it’s true, excited — wild! “** Madame, do you boast of it? ““*T merely explain “*Excellently phrased! could be merer.’”’ “The vicomte goes into action there,” Carey interjected tensely: ‘‘‘ Monsieur le Duc, you will regret this! The honor of your wife is unspotted is (Continued on Page 98) No explanation

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Whenever you swim at these pools and beaches, you are assured of these high standards at all times. For member- ship can be retained only by strict observ- ance of Association rules Send for tree booklet: "Swim for Health and Beauty!’ by Norman Ross, former world’s champion swimmer. Jantzen Swim- ming Association, Headquarters: 694 Sandy Boulevard, Portland, Oregon Jantzen Swimming Association OF AMERICA Sponsored by THE GRAVER CORPORATION Engineers and Filter Manufacturers East Chicago, Indiana ROBERTS FILTER MFG. COMPANY Filters and Recirculating Equipment Darby, Pennsylvania WALLACE & TIERNAN Chlorine Control Apparatus Newark, N. J. JANTZEN KNITTING MILLS Swimming Suit Manufacturers Portland, Oregon THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 96) Penny read slowly: ‘‘‘Duc: Ah, then the leopardess can change! *** (VICOMTE draws his sword. Duc, with a sneer, motions men to disarm him. Du- CHESSE flings out both hands imploringly.) *** DUCHESSE: Jacques—my husband! “*Duc: You have no husband, madame. You had once a fool, but what good is a fool to a woman, unless she loves him? I accept my dismissal.’ “Oh, Carey,” said Penny, “I think that's swell dialogue; really I do!” Carey lit a cigarette. He beamed like a Cheshire cat sheathing its claws in its domiciliary branch. “Not so bad, eh?” “But,” said Penny “Go on,” said Carey, “finish. talk.”’ Penny did as she was told. She finished. She even read CURTAIN, with a clipped professional accent at the end of the Duc’s last, burning line. Then she sat with her chin in her hands, scowling a little unhappily at the set while Carey shifted the pasteboard creatures about and about. “I think,” said Carey, “that on ‘Ma- dame, you have no husband,’ she moves upstage to the window ——-”’ The pasteboard duchesse moved up- stage in Carey’s long, nervous fingers. Penny, watching him, broke out reck- lessly. He was so rapt in his quaint ducal ” “but, Carey —— Then | imaginings, so sure of his big scene, all that | thin hackneyed stuff so real to him. How could she tell him truth enough to be of any use? She blinked her eyes against his faint, absorbed smile. “Carey,” she blurted out doggedly, “I said the dialogue was grand, but if you really want to know ——” The duchesse slid down upon the floor | beside the window; lay there forgotten. “Of course I want to know,” said Carey | touchily. ‘‘I asked you for criticism, didn’t | I? What’s the matter with my dialogue? | You want to remember this is Louis Qua- | torze, not Irving Berlin; that’s the way those johnnies used to talk.” Penny insisted unhappily: ‘It’s not the way they talk, it’s the things they do. | Don’t be cross with me, Carey. I’ve got to say what I think, haven’t I? Well, I think—I do really—it’s hokum.” Hideous indictment! She could have cried to see the light in his dark eyes dulling | slowly, the smile die off his mouth. Carey, who was so unendingly sweet to her, who | ran her stupid little errands for her, heard all her stupid little troubles, who smoked her cigarettes and ate her corned-beef | hash, but who also brought her hot cross | buns on Good Friday, and once, when | she had a terrible cold on her chest, a | spray of greenish-white orchids, to make | her well. Nothing Carey wouldn’t do for Penny— | why do women say that only of the men | who can do nothing for them that will mat- ter?—nothing Penny wouldn’t do for him, | except lie about that sacred charge—their work, their theater. So she said again, ‘‘Hokum—I mean it. | The lines are nice, but the situation—it’s old, you know.” “If you're looking for new ones, I wish you luck,” said Carey bitterly. | “Don’t be cross, Carey.” “I'm not cross. I’m hurt at your lack | of critical faculty.” That annoyed Penny so, it was easier | for her to hurt him. | “T mean, old dear, it’s a lot of bunk, isn’t it—the injured-husband thing? He'd have known her better than that. They’re supposed to be frightfully in love with each other, aren’t they—the duc and the duchesse?”’ ‘Being jealous would make him give her the benefit of the doubt, undoubtedly,” said Carey. “No, I don’t mean that. He’d weigh her explanation ——” ‘“‘And find it wanting—you’re right he would!” ““‘No—no, wait! He’d Jet her explain.” EVENING POST “With a good-looking guy in a white plume throwing his cloak on her bed after midnight!” “Well, a bed after midnight’s really no worse than a bed after noon,” argued Penny reasonably. “Don’t be naive,” said Carey coldly. “Don’t you be tabloidish. That scene’s like one of those black-outs in a revue.” “‘Life’s full of black-outs,” said Carey morosely. “Yes, but, Carey, hokum’s dangerous. You don’t suppose I hadn’t rather tell you it’s a riot, that you'll be packing ’em in with it—if I could tell you that and mean it! I've been crazy about your duc, up to now. I can just see Glenn Anders ——”’ “Not the type at all,’ said Carey. ‘You don’t get me!” “*T get this,”’ said Penny —and she was by then so irritated, so stubborn in her own belief, that she stood up and slapped the script down on the table smartly —“‘it’s old stuff—the unexpected husband and the circumstantial evidence! It’s too old to get over. It has no kick any more. Make the duc come in and find the vicomte, if you must; then i “Have ’em both do a little soft-shoe stuff and break into We are the Musket- eers,”’ suggested Carey rudely. ‘I’m not writing a musical show, Penny.” “No?” said Penny politely. ‘What is it—burlesque?”’ She was sorry. She was sorry, directly she said it. Carey’s eyes winced. His grin came hard. “Bad as all that?” he inquired ruefully. “No, no, no! Of course it isn’t. Don’t be silly, Carey! I’m only trying to show you ai em ““You’veshown me, all right,” said Carey. He got up, stuffed the script into his coat pocket. Penny thought he was going to put the coat on again, but he didn’t. He turned, and the lines about his mouth, the shadows under his eyes, seemed darker and deeper than when he came in. “Been writing all day,” he said simply. “Got any coffee? I’m tired.” He looked it. He looked as if behind those tired eyes—now that the fire of crea- tion had sputtered out—an ache was grow- ing. His shoulders stooped a little; he tipped open his collar and left his tie dangling. ‘Hot, isn’t it?’’ he said. ‘‘Tell me where you keep the coffee and I'll make us some.” “‘T’ll make it,”’ said Penny. ** As you were!”’ said Carey. ‘‘I may not be a playwright, but I’m a Grade A cook.” She told him where to find the coffee and he disappeared into the bedroom. Penny lifted the set onto the floor, sat down before it, hugging hunched knees, and brooded remorsefully. After all, Carey was so ardent in his play- writing, what right had she to discourage, perhaps to disillusion him? She had begun the sets for him—the plan required two— more out of friendship than from any belief in their ultimate use in an ultimate theater. Poet? Yes, he was that—artist as well. But did he know enough of life? Would he ever snap out of his fog of dreams long enough to make contact with the funda- mental realities upon which the drama has got to stand, foursquare, to be accepted? Thus Penny to herself, polysyllabically, but sincerely. Carey came back and slumped down upon the floor beside her. “* After all,’”’ he said thoughtfully, ‘what’s hokum but a pattern? It’s the pattern you resent. It’s life in the mold, but it’s life. People walk in that pattern; they congeal in that mold. I do a picture of ’em, walk- ing or congealing, and you yell ‘hokum.’ Well, it’s true, isn’t it? And it’s important, if true.” ‘“Where’s the coffee?” asked Penny practically. “It’s perking,”’ said Carey. “If you're bored with my play we won’t discuss it any further.” “Oh, Carey, I’m not bored!” “Then tell me what’s wrong with hokum if it’s Nature’s mirror?”’ , August 4,1928 “I’m saying it isn’t,” said Penny. ‘‘It’s Nature’s still, and what you want is a moving picture.” “‘Or someone who can operate a still,”’ said Carey pleasantly. It relieved her to have him laugh. He had a laugh she liked to hear. She hugged her black pajamaed knees and chuckled her relief. “*Y’see, Carey, the world today has a little clearer viewpoint.” “In your eye, it has! A lot of new clichés, maybe; that’s all. My trusting child, so long as no biological change occurs in our so0-to-speak flora and fauna, there can be no social change except in the approach.” “‘What’s the good of living,’ Penny fought back hotly, “if we don’t learn?” ‘‘We do learn, in the course of time, to bite on the bullet and accept crow for capon, without too much operatic outcry, if we're bright.” “Carey, that’s not like you!” “What do you know about me?” asked Carey gently. ‘‘No more than you know about life?”’ “Well,” said Penny, staggered—‘‘my Lord!” “Even the Lord isn’t yours,” said Carey, “unless you're His. They sat and looked at each other across some sort of chasm, new-cleft. ““Maybe I don’t know you,” said Penny reluctantly. She hated the idea of not knowing Carey from a to z, of having to decipher him like a message in code, rather than just have him in her mind, running pleasantly through her thoughts, like the song she’d been humming al! evening “Some day he'll come along—the man I — © ” Gordon, now—one had to think about Gordon. She didn’t want to have to think about Carey. Just wanted him to be there. As if the thought had shimmered from her mind to his, like a baby spot moving about a stage, Carey said casually: ‘‘How’s your friend the elegant arbiter? Seen him lately?” “You mean Gordon Leverte?”’ Penny primly. “The king himself,’’ said Carey. “I was supposed to go to dinner with him tonight,” said Penny. Carey said, ‘‘ Don’t tell me the royal cup- board was bare,” with mocking anxiety. “He had to stay over in Philadelphia,”’ said Penny, cool and dignified—as cool, that is, and as dignified as she very well could be, sitting on the floor, with her hair outrageously untidy. ‘He called me long distance to ask me to make it tomorrow night, and his sister, Mrs. Nash— Mrs. Darragh Nash, you know, Carey $i Carey looked at Penny out of dark, curiously wistful eyes which his smile never lightened, and shook his head at her. “The Social Register will be epithalamium.”’ “‘T thought that meant a marriage hymn or something,” said Penny, not encour- aging him to wise-crack about Gordon. “*Or something’ is right,’ said Carey. He went to fetch the coffee presently, came back with it in two blue cups. A box of sugar and a tin of cream appeared also. “Have a little bovine refreshment,” said Carey, pouring a thin stream from tke pierced tin. The coffee was good, hot and strong. Penny hugged her knees with one hand and smiled at Carey over the rim of her cup, held in the other. “T likes my comforts,” she said. ‘I do, really.” “The Quest of the Golden Cotton Wool,” said Carey. ‘‘You’ll find it. I mean, I suppose you have found it. Haven't you?” “IT don’t know what you mean,” said Penny, lying sweetly. “Like hell you don’t!” said Carey. “When are you going to marry him, Penny?” Penny began to sing: ‘“‘ Maybe Tuesday will be my good-news day.”’ She set her cup down and hugged her knees with both (Continued on Page 100) asked your Son a

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.- = alae = “Hasn't Scratched Ye:” POWDER and CAKE every home needs both THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Leh tome tee nae «ati supelst tere So eer is TF wae aes ce ae WOODWORK. TOG -_ i: HERE, Betsy dear, the glass is all finished—so crystal clear we hardly know it’s there! And before you can say ‘Jack Robinson’ we'll have the woodwork finished too.” A little Bon Ami on a damp cloth... a few brisk rubs . . . and away goes every trace of smudgy finger-marks and clinging dust. It’s all done in just a wink, without fuss or muss! Bon Ami is truly the magical cleanser and polisher—it saves so much time, so much work. And there’s no need to clutter up the kitchen shelf with a “collection” of special cleaners. For Bon Ami is a host in itself. ’ It’s unequalled for bathtubs and tiling, for fine kitchen utensils, brass, copper, nicke! Congoleum floor-coverings—and dozens of other things throughout the house. Remember, Bon Ami blots up the dirt instead of scouring it off—and it never reddens or roughens the hands. rHE BON AMI COMPANY : NEW YORK In Canada—BON AMI LIMITED, MONTREAL gook FOR THE CHILDREK ay pen The adventures of the Bunny Knights and the beautiful Princess Bon ni ul Jelightful illustrations and amusing rhymes which will be j enjoyed by any youngster Send 4 cents in stamps to the | B Ami Co., 10 Battery Place, New York City, for a copy 7 Address —_— Do you use Bon Ami? (Cake () Powder () Both a! EE PSNR 9 me ca gine f —

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ocror Dicky lived in the children’s cardiac ward of a great city

all they loved lit Dicky with his gay his shining coat of the bird.” able change in the

— <e meen TT One or tHe Henpryx “Nine Pornts oF Perrection™’ All HENDRYX Bird Homes finished with col- ored lacquers are coated with the famous DuPont Duco" used in finishing biles and lacquered furniture. This makes a permanent finish that resists bard wear fine autome hospital. From his perch ba high in a sunny window, » ¥ he could look down upon : rows upon rows of little white beds, each with an eager upturned face. The children loved all the white-coated doctors who came into their ward, but most of The nurse had said, “If you are’all very good children and get well very fast, we can keep Doctor Dicky came. tle Doctor ’ songs and gold. One morning they were de- lighted to hear the oldest doctor say to the nurse, “What a remark- children since Everyone looks cheerful and happy now. I'll certainly have to prescribe a fine big dose of bird song every day from now He is the first doctor I on. ever saw who wore wings, but he’s doing something for these kiddies

THE SATURDAY

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In the Bird Store “Here! here, up here dear!” excitedly called the Littlest Bird. “Why so excited this morning?” asked the Wise Old Bird. “It’s that sweet little girl | and boy. I heard them say that they are looking for a bird to live in their pretty new Hendryx cage, I do wish they would take me, I love little children.” ie ir pos eo emer fe JAAENDRNX B23 Free—This charming booklet, “The Feathered Philosopher,” the story of “Cheri,” a little canary and what he taught people about “life, cheerfulness, happiness and love.” Illustrated in colors, it makes an attractive gift to send to your bird-loving friends. A free copy will be sent to you and to any friends whose names you send us. Write to The Andrew B. Hendryx Company, 82 Audubon St., New Haven, Conn.

The best doctor in the ward | wore wings of gold

EVENING POST (Continued from Page 98) hands. Her eyes laughed, but her voice was reproachful. ‘‘Carey, I told you you could stay just a little while. What time is it now?” “Do I have to look?” “You do.” “Do I have to go if it’s after twelve?” “T should say ——”’ He interrupted, glooming at the silver turnip: ‘‘It’s after one—that’s all it is.” “After one!”” Penny sat aghast. ‘‘Not really!” “There is no justice,” said Carey. | “That's what it is.”

“‘Outside!”’ said Penny briefly. ‘‘Out- side, Carey!” He begged, with his hand on the sugar box, “‘Let me have one more cup—just one!” “Well, make it snappy,’ said Penny, weakening. After all, he did look so tired, and the coffee had seemed to cheer him. “Make it dog-gone snappy!” she com- manded sternly. Carey disappeared into the bedroom with his empty cup. Penny sat, with her mop of curls tipped back, staring lazily and amusedly at the set. She thought: ‘‘There really should be another deep chair.” It was with her thought of the other deep chair that once more her door resounded lightly. A knock. Two knocks. Knuckles striking a crisp clear summons from the in- sentient wood. At that hour—what on earth—yet more pertinently—who? Penny sat staring, dumfounded. She produced, after a moment, like a Wagne- rian leitmotif, her little Bright-Eyes voice, somewhat shaken. “What is it?’’ she said. ‘*Penelope!’’ answered a deep voice, dis- creetly lowered. ‘Come in,’”’ said Penny. It couldn’t be true, of course. There was a frightful mis- take somewhere, that was all. Also investigating the mistake, just as the door opened Carey came out of the | bedroom, coffee cup in hand.

| pearls “Who the devil?” said Carey—tired or not, a fairly romantic figure, coatless, collar open, striped tie dangling. Carey always wore striped ties. Odd, how that fact stood out in Penny’s mind as she said politely, scrambling to her feet, black silk pajama legs flapping: ‘“Why, Gordon!” The Roman emperor made an impressive entrance, gray head high, followed by his entourage. “Why, Cordelia!” said Penny. The other woman—she must all her life have been the Other Woman—glimmering through Parisian black, lit by pale lucent the comtesse, of course, in the flesh. Not too distantly related to the devil. “This is awfully nice,” said Penny. The leitmotif died away into an unresponsive silence. “Do come in,” she said further. She got chairs for them. “‘Mrs. Nash,” she said, imploringly al- most—‘‘Cordelia—may I present Mr. Pickens? Mr. Pickens,” said Penny, ‘‘is writing a play and I am doing the sets for him.”’ She gestured with one thin chilly little hand toward the crimson velvet win- | dow seat, the leaded window, toward the | tiny, ornately carved bed, toward the du- | chesse, flat on the floor, between the duc | and the vicomte.

“‘How do you do?” said Cordelia to Carey. Less warmth than a naked turkey evinces between a fagot of asparagus and a lobster, dryly crimson, in a restaurant window. “*Mr. Pickens and I do not meet?”’ sug- gested Pearls and Black Georgette softly, twinkling a little, like a star easing itself through mists; gleaming silver gilt be- tween smoky cloud fleeces—or cotton wool, maybe. Gordon rose to the moment, and beyond it: ‘Marie, sit here!” He himself gave Carey a nod and a look. “‘H’are you?”’ Like an open palm across Carey’s face. August 4,1928 “Splendid, thanks,” said Carey. le said: ‘‘May I get anyone some coffee?” “Carey and I were just having some,” said Penny rather pitifully. ‘Too delicious!’’ said the comtesse. “And one had feared there was only Main Street.” She had a crimson mouth tipped and bowed in exquisitely the right places. There were vague, bluish, soft shadows on her eyelids. Her small black hat came down to her delicate eyebrows nearly, left two pale petals of silky hair visible upon her unrouged cheeks; like a gardenia, her cheeks—just that smooth thick ivory al- lure. And her mouth was undoubtedly love’s red, red rose. But behind the soft bluish shadows her eyes held merciless amusement. She seemed to say ‘‘Bless you, my chil- dren” on a legato of cruel soft laughter. “Well,” said Penny—‘‘well”—to a Roman emperor, with the laurel well down upon his handsome brows—‘‘what hap- pened? Did you get back from Phila- delphia?”’ “I found I could make the ten o’clock train,” said Gordon, in a snarl like a bass fiddle—beautiful, however outraged. He looked at Penny and looked away from her to Carey. His lips were tight and thin. His nostrils quivered. “‘That’s always a mistake, isn’t it,’”’ said the comlesse—‘‘taking a later train? I mean to say, one should stay with one’s plans, Gordie, for the comfort of all con- cerned—shouldn’t one?”’ Something lancing the air between her and Gordon—something that had been or might be again. She may have been merely remembering him as an usher at her wed- ding. Cordelia said in a stately way, appall- ingly significant: ‘‘Gordon called me up on the merest chance, when he got in, Penelope, and suggested that we take a little run down here in the car. See if you were still out of bed ——’”’ “T’m so glad that I was,” said Penny. Northern Lights, flickering and gleaming from the comtesse to Gordon. Icicles form- ing. Smell of snow in the air. Said Penny desperately, ‘‘Won’t anyone have some coffee, really?” “Thanks,” said Cordelia. ‘“‘We can’t stay. We only ran in for a moment.” What a moment! Psychological, un- questionably. *‘ Awfully sweet of you,” said Penny. To the comtesse she put out a quivering an- tenna: ‘‘Are you—are you going to be here long?”’ “Tt’s so hard to decide,” said the com- tesse. ‘‘I feel I am going to like the sky line more than I remembered.” “You must let us amuse you, Marie,” Cordelia told her with a kind of anxious ardor. “Oh, you do, darling; you do!”’ said the comtesse. Suddenly she put her hand over Gordon’s and gave a little throaty crow of laughter. Tightened her fingers, snatched them away again before he could more than bat an eyelash. “Such a sweet place!” she said. “‘You live here?’’—to Penny. “Why, yes, of course,’ said Penny, flushed and awkward. Where else? And why not? A stiletto point somewhere in that cooing question. “What is the delicious flower smell?” asked the comtesse. “‘Petunias and coffee,”’ said Carey. “What is your play about?” asked the comtesse of Carey. “Old stuff,” said he. “Just this sort of thing.” The secret sybaritic enjoyment in the smile that played over him! ‘Comedy, that is? Of course!” Carey said, “It’s all in the eye of the be- holder, isn’t it?” Apparently Gordon couldn’t sit still when Carey spoke. He got up abruptly. He shoved back the chair in which he had been sitting. His eyes burned into Penny, making her feel as if the black silk pajamas were Jane Shore’s sheet. (Continued on Page 103) ,

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: — = = = —_—_ 5 " = ni = a rin COLLEEN *e®MOORE SAYS# e% “Carrying a spare Fisk seems ridiculous when you have Fisks all around — but Fisks are so good-looking that a spare adds to the beauty of a car.” 6% % % % THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TAGE and SCREEN COLLEEN MOORE MABEL NORMAND AILEEN PRINGLE BETTY COMPSON MADGE KENNEDY MARY EATON EMIL JANNINGS CHARLIE MURRAY EDMUND LOWE ANTONIO MORENO BRYANT WASHBURN BEN LYON FRED ASTAIRE JULIAN ELTINGE MARION DAVIES ANNA Q. NILSSON LEATRICE JOY LILA LEE FLORENCE REED LINA BASQUETTE WALLACE BEERY CHESTER CONKLIN DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS, Jr. LOWELL SHERMAN JAMES KIRKWOOD DENNIS KING JACK DONOHUE LYNNE OVERMAN WILLIAM COURTLEIGH CLARA BOW SALLY O'NEIL MAE M'‘AVOY MARION NIXON MARILYN MILLER GRACE LA RUE WILLIAM HAINES HOOT GIBSON CLIVE BROOK LAWRENCE GRAY W. C. FIELDS OTTO KRUGER HAL SKELLY DONALD BRIAN HALE HAMILTON BEBE DANIELS DORIS KENYON MARIE PREVOST GERTRUDE OLMSTED VIVIENNE SEGAL JOAN CRAWFORD MILTON SILLS CONRAD NAGEL WARNER BAXTER EARL A. FOXE SAM HARDY OSCAR SHAW CHARLES WINNINGER ARTHUR BYRON JAMES GLEASON 101 STARS MAE MURRAY RENEE ADOREE DOROTHY MACKAILL GWEN LEE ADELE ASTAIRE LON CHANEY LEW CODY H. B. WARNER FORD STERLING WILLIAM BOYD JOHNNIE WALKER FRANK MORGAN LEON ERROL WILLIAM COURTENAY a FRED NIBLO KING VIDOR «ALLAN DWAN MARSHALL NEILAN RALPH INCE TOD BROWNING JOHN FRANCIS DILLON EDDIE SUTHERLAND JAMES CRUZE GEORGE H. MELFORD Recommend and Use Copyright, 1928, The Fisk Tire Company, Inc, FISK © TIRES JACK CONWAY LEWIS MILESTONE

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102 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928 WORLD'S LARGEST GROWERS AND CANNERS OF HAWAIIAN PINEAPPLE aA a . ‘ q Author’s Nowadays we take everything for TN K | N G DO M Hawaiian Pineapple Company soon had to have more land Note granted! Pineapple for instance. You @ Men searched the world, but nowhere else could they find know, of course, that the finest pineapple comes another Hawaii. The magic of Hawaiian soil, sunshine and climate has produced a fruit that has never been equalled from Hawaii. But do you know all that has : happened to make it possible for you to serve it THAT GREW OUT OFA The experts looked again—and behold, in their own back : . ? “ henever you wish, in all its tropic flavor? It is a yard they discovered the forgotten island of Lanai, barren and very human story, and that is why I am telling it. unpopulated. . Marion Mason Hale J L| q | LE BOYS GAR DEN It promised to be wonderful pineapple land, so the Hawaiian N Pineapple Company bought it, built roads—reared a model | U all began in a garden down in Maine. In that garden 4 ‘ a umong corn and beans, the seeds of a dream were sown— city for the workers—and began to prepare 20,000 of Lanai’s seeds which have since blossomed into one of the most ro & 90,000 acres for Hawaiian Pineapple growing. Today, “Jim” 7 - sterics 1 have ever known Dole’s Company controls 63% of all the choice pineapple “4 lands of the Islands. h who .abored in that Maine garden was James Drum- mond Dole—but let us call him “Jim™ Dole, for that is the Some day you must see these things—you must come to vay he is known in Hawaii How do they do it? One way is with paper! Yes, with a Hawaii. And when you do you will see Hawaiian Pineapples “Jun” Dole had always loved the soil. He had dreamed often special paper called “mulch” that keeps down the weeds growing in the fields, beautiful in their parade of gorgeous ; around the plants. color. of his own—perhaps in a far-off romantic | You will enjoy watching the machines laying it out in long, even rows and the planters going up and down the rows— punching holes in the paper through which the new pineapple slips are planted. Each year, over 30,000,000 new plants are set out that way on the Hawaiian Pineapple Company’s plantations. It takes 4,000 miles of paper to do it. The Hawaiian Pineapple Company paid $50,000 for this idea so that you and I might have Hawaiian Pineapple at its very best. 4 land—u f One day, there came tales of fortunes in coffee in far-off Hawaii. With the lure of the tropics in his blood, there was ! J sail away—and sail he did. ‘ And your love for things nicely done will carry your interest .Y) € e through every step from plant to can. You will see, too, how much “Jim” Dole and the Hawaiian Pineapple Company are doing to serve you with the finest of Hawaiian Pineapple. i But “Jim” Dole found Hawaiian coffee fortunes more fancied When you have seen all this—you will begin to wonder, { : Even so, he did not leave Hawaii. In staying he because all of it started from a little boy’s dream—in a garden vered Hawaiian Pineapple down in Maine. ineapple has always been delicious—even in the And you will leave “Jim” Dole there on his broad acres— } vild state in which “Jim” Dole found it. But being a Now suppose we visit the Cannery, or “kitchen,” for it is here dreaming perhaps of an even finer fruit than the glorious practical idealist, he dreamed of delivering it to your table that the delicious fruit, fresh from the fields, is prepared for thing he has already produced—Canned Hawaiian Pineapple. and mine—with alli its delicious native flavor your table. * * * * - -” Sat Gave 1s - m« pues in the life of pineapple when The seca ong oe cow a er eae ee Nore: Of course this is only part of the romantic story of } the fruit is at its very best ~just as it comes to full ripeness on are immaculate. oo are the workers, with their clean rubber gloves, Hawaiian Pineapple and the man who has done so much to the plar wanted to capture that perfection—to send us whit@apeand apronssHeteare vastifooms, floodedywithygolden make it available to all the world. The whole story is told in { that Bek d flavor though we live thousands of miles sullight —ffesh air, a lovely booklet which the coupon below will bring you overseas. In this great “kit¢hen”—thet®\is a Most amazing servant. You Included in this booklet are 30 new Hawaiian Pineapple All of which to “Jim™ Dole spelled —Cannery. regiember, of @ourse, what a fetrifi¢ job it was @ peela pine- recipes furnished by three famous culinary experts. Since it is For “Jim Doie to think cannery was as good as having it— apple by hand. free, why not send for it today? and he got it. But it was only a little cannery —just big enough Well, thatdig what this. marvelous machine doesit peels pine- to put up 45,000 cans a season. Now it has grown so great apples. As many as one hundred a minute. First if cuts open the H AWAI IAN PI N EAP P L E th % any cans in half an hour tough shell, then whisks off the top, slices off the bottom, and like our own first housekeeping years, must finally cuts out the core. And it does all these things in less than aan c O M PAN Y Ra - oy have been with heartbreaks—discouragements— a second. San Francisco fears—and r Without such marvelous machines Hawaiian Pineapple might r - But, just twenty-four years later, we find “Jim™ Dole’s house- still be a rare dainty served only at our finest feasts. Instead, it Free ° hold grown to the great Hawaiian Pineapple Company — goes from fruit to can in 91 seconds. with a pin apple garden reaching out over tens of thousands Speed! Yes—speed is vital in capturing the luscious flavor of the of sunlit acres fresh fruit. Seconds count. That delectable taste of Hawaiian And the “kitchen” that was once so little now bustles with Pineapple must be caught—and is. activity as thousands of workers prepare Hawaiian Pineapple ' for your table. In 1927 over 69,000,000 cans of Hawaiian i oe ANY A y Hawaiian ry ay 4 Co., De pt S-88 Pineapple came out of that kitchen—more than one-third of 215 Market St., San Francisco, Calif. all the pineapple that came that year from the Hawaiian Islands, © Or Send “ ; as 3 y nd me FREE “The Kingdom That Grew Out 0 wi l~ ee »* om me ° hay, Boy's Garden,” with its story of James D Dole and the aw 9 , ae 4, 30 delightful new Hawaiian Pineapple recipes ao} Coat agree ? : t 7 ee = “se ae ? Now a pineapple kingdom all their own: It came about in this PD senscicowssnsinstigecevsiianittaie ™“ : 2 fashion. . We liked “Jim” Dole's kind of Hawaiian Pineapple—liked the” aTY Penatinnesenenecner aaa S88 When you visit the pineapple plantations you will marvel at luscious flavor—the delicate texture produced by careful plant sy STATE the freedom from weeds. breeding and equally careful canning—liked it so much that the © H. P. Co. 1928

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— se ——-- — —-— (Continued from Page 100) “‘Suppose we run along,” he suggested, with a sort of leashed violence. “‘Suppose we do,”’ said Cordelia, obvi- ously relieved. “Must we?” deplored the comiesse. “Just as I was becoming so interested in Mr. —’’ she looked at Carey question- ingly, eyes lifted, lips parted. “‘Pickens,”’ said Carey—two unrespon- sive woodpeckerish syllables. **Pick-ens,”’ accepted the comtesse, set- ting her teeth in the sounds sweetly—‘“‘in Mr. Pickens’ play. Must we go so soon, Gordie?” “T’m afraid,’”’ said Gordon, “‘it’s a trifle late for paying calls.’”” He said it with brutal and considered distinctness. ‘‘Ex- cept that you and Cordelia were along,” he said, “I should scarcely have expected Penelope to receive me.” Under the lash of his words and his eyes, Penny ran a hand through her curls trem- blingly. It didn’t improve their disorder any. “T hope you'll come again,”’ she said politely to the comtesse. When the comtesse looked at her, Penny felt as if the black silk pajamas turned scarlet and seven beasts prowled at the Chinese-slippered heels. Cordelia said coldly ‘‘Good-by, Penny.” She did not put out her hand. All the sanctuary quality, the rock-in-a-weary- land attributes had gone out of Cordelia. She had withdrawn immense distances, into a fortified and certified place of her own. When she looked at Penny the black silk pajamas became a picture in a cheap newspaper—Exhibit A in a fetid court room. ‘Surely it’s only au voir!” said the com- lesse. Gordon, in a way, grunted; in a way, groaned. No words. The sound implied adequately suffering and disgust. No one addressed Carey by name. He stood very quiet, black eyes horribly un- happy, watching the late callers go. When the door had at last closed on them Carey told his soul. THE SATURDAY He said: ‘‘I wouldn’t have done it to you for anything in this world or the next, Penny! Of course, it had to be me that did it.” Penny simply stood and looked at him. Her soft mouth tried to set itself, but with- out much success. “Did you seé,” she said; choked, and began over again—‘“‘did you see what they thought?” “If their thoughts had been snakes and toads,”’ said Carey, “you couldn’t have seen ’em any plainer.” “But,” said Penny, “but, Carey—Gor- don—he’s been saying he loved me!”’ ‘There are many ways of showing it,” said Carey. ‘He took one tonight.” He began, none too steadily, to fasten his collar and knot his tie. ‘“‘Have you for- gotten, Penny,” he said as he struggled, “that there are only so many situations in fiction? This one is about Number 33, I should say, and it may be old stuff, but as we've just been reminded—it still gets a hand.” Penny wailed suddenly, ‘‘ Carey, if you’d only gone home when I told you to!” “Then they’d have met me on your doorstep,” said Carey—‘‘ Situation Thirty- three and a Third! Not much improve- ment, do you think?”” He dragged on his shabby gray coat. “Can I help you clean up before I go?” “Never mind,” said Penny tiredly. “I'll do it myself.” Shoving the bulky script of his second act deeper into his pocket, Carey came and stood beside her. In the big twilit room, with the scent of petunias and coffee ravish- ing the air, suddenly, when Carey looked at her, the black silk pajamas were a fluted and opalescent shell in which Venus left the sea; they were the cerulean robe, cleft through the breast by seven swords, in which a Madonna trod the clouds; they were a checked gingham apron in which a very little girl made mud pies and in prophecy put her dolls to bed; they were cloudy tulle and green and pear! and golden orange blossoms. EVENING POST ‘‘Now that the horse is stolen,” said Carey huskily, ‘‘can I shut the stable door for you, Penny, by going home?” “*Carey,’’ said Penny huskily, “tell me if I’m wrong. I think maybe—home is— us.” She hadn’t known she was going to say it until the words were out of her, but when she had said it he loomed so strange and so familiar, so terrifying and so dear, above her, that she put her white arms up about his neck. She felt his gray arms sheltering and coveting and cherishing her. She laughed, a tiny, strangled, blissful laugh, to see his mouth go down at one corner so near her own; to see his dark eyes darken- ing and deepening, so near—so blindingly, heartbreakingly near. While she and Carey stood near as that, God couldn’t be too far. For the third time that n‘ght, a knock at Penny's door—almost a fumbling knock, a hurried one, not waiting for an answer. The knob turned, the door swung, over Carey's shoulder Penny looked into the eyes of a Roman emperor, returning per- haps penitent, perhaps merely suspicious; in any case she looked and she saw him, delaureled, discrowned. She put her hand up before her eyes, palm outward, fending him away—a purely instinctive gesture. And Gordon—for it was none other, un- | less, indeed, that other whom every man bears about him, willy-nilly, from birth to death—slammed the door and went with- out a word. “Who was that?” asked Carey, not turning. What, he considered, had he to turn for, with the world in his arms. “That,” said Penny, “was just a man I used to know.” *‘And now, he knows!” said Carey. “‘And so do you,” said Penny, “and so, my own heart’s heart, do I!” Before the bright wave should topple and submerge them, she herself opened her door and thrust him very gently into outer darknes.. “We've got tomorrow!” said Penny Wise—pound foolish. SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES “You're absolutely right, George. After every bull market there’s a bear market. It’s bound to come, and then watch out.” ‘Business isn’t so good, you know, Bill. Earnings are falling off in a lot of lines.” “Yes, she’s getting rotten, George. In- flation—that’s what we’ve got now. Cheap money is the cause of it all, and the whole country going speculation mad.” “That’s just it, Bill. They don’t know anything about stocks or values. They just buy and buy regardless, and the market booms.”’ “Yes, they’ll take any tip that anybody gives them, and ride it for all they’re worth. They’re due for some heavy losses, George.” “‘They sure are. But say, Bill, if you want a good buy, load up on Consolidated Ash Tray. She’s due for a big rise. I got it straight from an officer of the company.” “That so? I'll remember that. And listen, George, keep this under your hat, but a friend of mine told me about a big merger that’s coming off. Take it from me, buy Garbage Can Common right up to the hilt.” “Thanks, Bill, I’ll remember that Garbage Can Common. I'll call my broker right away.” “Me, too, George. Tray, you said, eh?”’ Consolidated Ash John C. Emery. A Paleontological Tragedy Prologue MUSE that drove the tragic quill Of Shakspere or Euripides, Inspire the song of poor duckbill, The freak of the Antipodes. The duckbill is by sages used, Though they say ‘‘Ornithorhynchus,”’ Continued from Page 24) In evolution—word abused! — With misty pasts to link us. His feet are webbed, his torso furred, A bill precedes his face. In evolution—tortured word !— ’Tis hard to find his place. In xons old this earth has borne— From books I have inquired— Queer half-and-half’s that rose each morn And every eve retired. But most of these from life’s main trunk Have sometime back been parted By evolution —is it bunk? And something better started. But this poor beast—or bird?—it seems Was somehow spared the schism, And haunts Australia’s hidden streams A lone anachronism. L’ Envoi The beasts won't own him, the birds reject him, The fish won’t have him near; His mate lays eggs though she has four legs— That in itself is queer. If I do wrong to pen this song, My threnody was caused By the tragic lot of the bird—beast—forgot When evolution paused. —Daniel M. Lyons. ““She’s a Girl With a Lot to Her”’ E: WHAT do you think of Melissa Squidd? SHE: Well, I think she’s a girl with a lot to her, do you know what I mean? He: Do you think she is? I think she’s sort of hard to understand. SHE: Well, I think she impresses you that way because she’s so shy, sort of. He: I always thought she was kind of snooty. SHE: I don’t think she means to be a bit, my dear. shyness or something. I mean, I think it’s just He: Yeah? Well, I can't seem to talk | to her. SHE: She’s the hardest person in the | world to talk to, because—I mean, you simply never know what to say to her, sort of, but I think she’s a girl with a lot to her. He: Well, she never says much. SHE: No, you never know what she’s really thinking, do you? I mean, I simply never know what to say to her, because she’s so noncommittal, sort of. He: Nothing seems to interest her. SHE: That’s it exactly, my dear. Gosh, I honestly never know what to talk to her about, because—I mean, she just sort of shuts up like a clam the minute you try and talk to her about anything. He: Yeah, I think she’s kind of dumb SHE: I don’t think she’s dumb. I think she’s a girl with a lot to her, and that just ord’nary things don’t int’rest her, sort of. HE: I spose she is a girl with a lot to her, but it’s darned hard to bring her out, sort of. SHE: Exactly, my dear. I mean, she practically never opens her trap about anything, but I honestly think it’s just be- cause she’s shy or something, because —I mean, I really think she’s a girl with a lot to her—I mean I actually do! Lloyd M ayer. 103 BURKE 50-50 And it all started in Scotland OST balls. . .. sand-traps. , . golf widows . water- hazards... supercilious caddies divot replacements what a lot Scotland has to answer for in its national game! Just the same, once a golfer, always a golfer once a lunatic, always crazy. So let Burke 50-50 balls aid you in making the best of a bad job. Long-flying, true-roll- ing, they help you get your distance and sink your putts. You can pay more but you can't get more. And they are guaranteed to go fifty holes without cutting through, crack- ing or losing shape, else they are replaced without argument. A quality ball—a fifty cent ball—a guaranteed ball—can you duplicate the Burke 50-50? Your pro or favorite sporting goods store has the 50-50 or will get it for you. Burk GOLF BALLS BURKE GOLF CO. Newark, Ohio THI

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 ; ] i , i —— oe ~ eee ae ye, — He remembered— | | That Schoolgirl Complexion Youth is charm, and youth lost is charm lost,as every woman instinctively realizes To keep youth, keep the skin clean and the pores open. Banish artificial ways in skin care. Natural ways are best. Use soap, but be sure it is a soap made basically for use on the face. Others may prove harsh. That is why, largely on ex- pert advice, women the world over choose Palmolive for facial use. HE beauty that men admire—and remember —is natural beauty. And that may be yours whether you use powder and rouge—or not— if you observe one simple beauty rule. Washing the face for beauty is the recom- mendation of all the leading skin specialists today. Make-up, grime—the greasy exudations of the pores—can be removed thoroughly only by careful warm water washing. Women whose charm is natural, know this. Soap and water daily —but not just ANY soap The lather of Palmolive Soap, widely urged for proper care of the skin, is a blend of famous beauty oils—the oils of olive and palm. These gentle cleansers soothingly penetrate the pores, remove accumulations which, if left, would form into blackheads, or, becoming in- fected, would cause unsightly blemishes. They bring the charm of natural loveliness because they keep the skin cleansed Nature’s way. To keep that schoolgirl complexion through the years, do this at least once daily: This simple beauty rule Wash your face gently with soothing Palmolive Soap, massaging its balmy lather softly into the skin with your two hands. Rinse thoroughly, first with warm water, then with cold. Dry by patting with a soft towel—never rub the gentle skin fabric. If your skin is inclined to be dry, apply a touch of good cold cream—that is all. Do this regularly, and particularly in the evening. Use powder and rouge if you wish. But never leave them on over night. And Palmolive costs but 10c the cake! So little that millions let it do for their bodies what it does for their faces. Obtain a cake today, then note the difference one week makes. The Palmolive-Peet Company, Chicago, III. Palmolive Radio Hour—Broadcast every Friday night—from 10 to 11 p. m., eastern time; 9 to 10 p. m., Retail Price central time—over station WEAF and 32 stations associated with The National Broadcasting Company. Palmolive Soap is untouched by human hands until C you break the wrapper—it is never sold unwrapped KEEP THAT SCHOOLGIRL COMPLEXION

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4S GP ee er oe ee — —— ~~ ” a —— ~—— - » ~~ oe declaration that if I was left with only one man—or, indeed, all alone—I would not abandon the fight until I had obtained the final decisive ends as I had outlined them to my associates. The logical clearness, the stout, rigorous, coherent reasons I had given, impressed those who had come to offer conciliation, compromise, concessions. I think that one of them must have im- mediately sped off to inform the premier, Facta, that nothing could be done with me. Poor Facta, instead of being preoccupied by his shortcomings, was wondering how and to whom he could announce this real crisis among the sham crises. The chamber was closed at that time. Where could he turn? Anyone can see in all events, even in solemn events, that the grotesque and the ludicrous always find a way in and some- times prosper under the shadow of great and tragic happenings. The last of the Liberal governments of Italy wanted to make its last gesture. It addressed to the country a declaration composed in the following terms: Seditious manifestations are appearing in some of the Italian provinces, brought about in a way to hamper the normal functioning of powers of the state, and are of such nature as to throw the country into serious trouble. The government has tried to its utmost to reach an agreement, with the hope of bringing back peace to all minds and to assure a peace- ful solution of the crisis. Facing, however, a revolutionary attempt, it has the duty to main- tain by any means and at any price public order. Even though its resignations have been made, it will fulfill this duty for the safety of citizens and the safety of the free constitutional institutions, Meanwhile the citizens must maintain their calm and must have faith in the measures of public security that have been adopted. Long Live Italy! Long live the King! Signed: Facta, SCHANZER, AMENDOLA, TADDEI, ALESSIO, BERTONE, PARATORE, SOLERI, DE VITO, ANILE, Riccio, BERTINI, Ross!, DELLO SBARBA, FuLci, LUCIANI. At the same time the ministers in charge, considering the situation created in the country, put their portfolios at the disposi- tion of the president of the council, Facta. This man sought advice from several friends in Rome. As a result he offered a decree to proclaim martial law, which the King, in his profound wisdom, flatly refused to sign. No Compromise The sovereign understood that the revo- lution of the Black Shirts was the conclu- sion of three years of struggle and of fighting; he understood that only with the victory of one party could we reach paci- fication and that order and progress in civil life which are indis- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THUS WE TOOK ROME (Continued from Page 7) the same system of struggle, advanced some singular claims by means of emissaries. The National Right asserted, in fact, that it was the keystone of the situation. Salandra, who was the most typical repre- sentative of the group, was disposed to sacrifice himself and to take upon his back the cross of power. This was to be under- stood as an aid for the Fascisti. I pro- tested energetically against such a solution, which would have perpetuated compromise and error. Fascism was under arms; it was dominating the centers of national life; it had a very well defined aim; it had fol- lowed deliberately an extraparliamentary path and it could not allow its victory to be mutilated or adulterated in such a manner. That was my exact answer to the mediators of the union between the National Right and Fascism! No compromise! The struggle continued with the objec- tives I had mapped out. It is impossible in autobiographic pages to present all the pic- ture of the revolutionary events in those days. I distinctly remember that with every hour that passed I had more poign- antly the sensation of dominating tri- umphantly the Italian political situation. The adversaries were confused, scattered, speechless. The Fascisti in compact files were already near the gates of Rome and were expecting that I would go at the head of their military formations to march with them into the capital. In the afternoon of the twenty-ninth I received a very urgent telephone call from Rome on behalf of the Quirinal. General Cittadini, first aide-de-camp of His Majesty the King, asked me very kindly to go to Rome, because the King, having examined the situation, wanted to charge me with forming a ministry. I thanked General Cittadini for his kindness, but I asked him to give me the same communication by telegram. One knows that the telephone may play some dirty tricks at times. Gen- eral Cittadini, after having first objected that my request was not usual under the court regulations, considered, however, the abnormal and informal situation and con- sented to send me the same invitation by telegram. In fact, after a few hours, an urgent message arrived. It was of a per- sonal character. This was it: His Majesty the King asks you to come im- mediately to Rome, for he wishes to offer you the responsibility of forming a ministry. With respect, GENERAL CITTADINI. This was not yet victory, but the progress made was considerable. I communicated directly with the headquarters of the revo- lution in Perugia, with the various com- mands of the Black Shirts in Milan. I gave, by means of an extra edition of the Popolo d'Italia, the news of the command I had received. I was in a terrible state of nervous ten- sion. Night after night I had been kept awake, battle to the knightly practices of Fascism. A period of greater responsibilities was going to begin for me. I must not fail in my duty or in my aims. I gathered all my strength to my aid, I invoked the memory of the dead, I asked the assistance of God, I called upon the faithful living to assist me in the great task that confronted me. Off to the Capital That night of October 31, 1922, I left the direction of the Popolo d’Italia and turned my fighting journal over to my brother Arnaldo. In the number of November first I published the following declaration: From now on the direction of the Popolo d'Italia is intrusted to Arnaldo Mussolini. I thank and salute with brotherly love all the editors, collaborators, correspondents, em- ployes, workers, all those who have assiduously and faithfully labored with me for the life of this paper and for love of our country. MUSSOLINI. Rome, October 30, 1922. I parted with regret from the paper that had been the most constant and potent ele- ment of our victory. I must add that my brother Arnaldo has been able to maintain with dignity and capacity the editorship. When I had intrusted the paper to my brother, I was off for Rome. To the zealous people who wanted to get me a special train to go to Rome to speak with the King I said that for me a compartment in the usuai train was quite enough. Engines and coal should not be wasted. Economize—that is the first and acid test of a true man of gov- ernment. And, after all, I could enter Rome only at the head of my Black Shirts, now camping giving orders, following the com- | pact columns of the Fascisti, restraining the | at Santa Marinella in the atmosphere and | the shining rays of the capital. The news of my departure sped all over | Italy. In every station where the train stopped there had gathered the Fascisti and the masses who wanted to bring me, even through the pouring rain, their cheers and their good will. Going from Milan was painful. That city had given me a home for ten years; to me it had been prodigal in its satisfactions; it had followed me in every stress; it had baptized the most wonderful squads of action of Fascism; it had been the scene of historical political struggles. Now I was leaving it, called by destiny and by a greater task. All Milan knew of my going, and I felt that even in the feeling of joy for a going that was a symbol of victory, there was solubly a part of the nature of active harmony in the Italian people. Out of respect for the most ortho- dox constitutional forms, the King al- lowed Facta to fol- low the rules of the constitution. We had then resigna- tions, designations, consultations, communications, charges, and so on and on. At this moment came a sinister maneuver that impressed me as being ominous. The National Party of the Right, which had a great similarity of out- look in common also a shade of sad- ness. But this was not the hour for senti- mentality. It was the time for quick, sure decisions. Af- ter the kisses and farewells of my family, I said good-by to many prominent Milan- ese and then I went away, running into the night, to take counsel with my- self, to refresh my soul, to listen to the horizons of tomor- row’s possibilities. sodes of that trip with the Fascisti, — though it had not GY STRAZZA, MILAN On the Way to Rome to Take Power and of those days are not important. The minor epi- | echoes of voices of | | friends and to en- | visage the wide | open with the turn of one key Here's an end to troublesome garage locks and sticking bolts. It's called the McKinney Quicklock A single turn of the key operates the entire mecha- nism— instantly releases two husky jaws and enables both garage doors to swing free. No foot bolts to press. No hole in the floor to clog with dirt. No troublesome springs. Nothing to get out of order Locks automatically. 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c earned $14.00 extra in two days “Monday afternoon I earned $7.00 in commissions,” writes Mrs. Mabelle McCormick of West Virginia, speaking of our plan. “Today is only Wednesday and I have earned $7.00 more without leaving the house! This is going to be a wonderful week!” Ou may easily do as well And why not! For an op portunity just like the one we offered Mrs. McCormick is yours for the asking. | into Rome. | tween the quadrumvirate and the authori- THE SATURDAY The train brought me into the midst of the Fascisti. I was in view of Rome at Santa Marinella. I reviewed the columns. I es- tablished the formalities for the entrance I established connections be- ties. My presence redoubled the great enthu- siasm. I read in the eyes of those young men the divine smile of triumph of an ideal. With such elements I would have been in- spired to challenge, if need be, not only the | base Italian ruling class but enemies of any sort and race. In Rome there was waiting for me an in- describable welcome. I did not want any delay. Even before making contacts with my political friends, I motored to the Quirinal. I wore a black shirt. I was intro- duced without formalities to the presence of His Majesty the King. The Stefani agency and the great newspapers of the world gave stilted or speculative details about this in- | terview. I will limit myself, for obvious reasons of reserve, to declare that the con- ference was characterized by great cordial- ity. I concealed no plans, nor did I fail to | make plain my ideas of how to rule Italy. | I obtained the sovereign’s approbation. I | took up lodgings at the Savoy Hotel and be- gan towork. First, I made agreements with the general command of the army to bring a | militia into Rome and file them off in proper formation in a review by the King. I gave detailed and precise orders. One hundred thousand Black Shirts paraded in perfect order before the sovereign. They brought to him the homage of Fascist Italy! I was then triumphant and in Rome! I killed at once all unnecessary demonstra- tions in my honor. I gave orders that not a single parade should take place without the permission of the general Fascist command. It was necessary to give to everybody from the first moment a stern and rigid sense of discipline in line with the régime that I had conceived. I discouraged every manifestation on the part of army officers who wanted to bring me their plaudits. I have always considered the army outside and above every kind of politics. The army must, in my opinion, be inspired by absolute and conscientious dis- cipline; it must only attend with the deep- est will the defense of frontiers and of | historical rights. The army is an institu- e will send you full details | tion which must be preserved inviolate. It | must not suffer the slightest loss of its in- | tegrity in its own dedication. But other and more complex problems | surged about me in that moment. I was in | Rome not only with the duty of composing a new ministry; I had also firmly decided | to renew and rebuild from the very bottom If you are a busy housewife like Mrs. McCormick and have an occasional hour to spare, let us tell you how, as our local subscription representative, you can earn extra money —in a pleasant, dignified way. There isn’t a bit of obligation on your part—and just think what you could do with the extra cash you may so easily earn. Surely you are interested?

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the life of the Italian people. I vowed to myself that I would impel it toward higher and more brilliant aims. A Time for Cold Reason Rome sharpened my sense of dedication. The Eternal City, caput mundi, has two courts and two diplomacies. It has seen in the course of centuries imperial armies de- feated under its walls. It has witnessed and beheld the decay of the strong and the rise of universal waves of civilization and of thought. Rome, the coveted goal of princes and leaders, the universal city, heir to the old empire and the power of Christianity! Rome welcomed me as leader of national legions, as a representative, not of a party | or a group, but of a great faith and of an | entire people. I had long meditated my action as a man of party and as a man of government. I had carried these thoughts as I walked by day and even asI slept by night. I had won and could win more. I could nail to the wall—not only metaphorically but in fact if I had wished—my enemies, those who had slandered Fascism and those whom I hated for having betrayed Italy in peace as they had betrayed her during war. The atmosphere was pregnant with trag- edy. I had mobilized three hundred thou- sand Black Shirts. They waited for my signal to move. They could be used for one

EVENING POST purpose or another. I had in the capital sixty thousand armed men ready for action. The march on Rome could have set tragic fires. It might have spilled much blood if it had followed the example of ancient and modern revolutions. This was for me a mo- ment in which it was more necessary than ever to examine the field with calm serenity and with cold reason to compare the near and far results of our daring action turned toward definite aims. Problems of the Victor I could have proclaimed a dictatorship, I could have formed a dictatorial ministry composed solely of Fascisti on the type of the Directory that was formed in France at the time of the Convention. The Fascist revolution, however, had its unique char- acteristics; it had no antecedent in history. It was different from any other revolution also in its capacity to reénter with deliber- ate will legal established traditions and forms. For that reason also the mobiliza- tion I knew should last only the ‘shortest time. I did not forget that I had a parliament on my hands—a Chamber of Deputies of sullen mind, ready to lay traps for me, ac- customed to an old tradition of ambiguity and intrigue, full of grudges, only repressed by fear; a dismayed senate from which I could obtain a disciplined respect but not an eager and productive collaboration. The crown was looking on to see what I would do, following constitutional rules. The pontificate followed the events with anxiety. The other nations looked at the revolution suspiciously if not with hostility. Foreign banks were anxious for news. Ex- change wavered, credit was still vacillating, waiting for the situation to be cleared. It was indispensable first of all to give the im- pression of stability to the new régime. I had to see, resee and foresee everything. I slept not at all for some nights, but they were nights fecund in action and ideas. The measures that immediately followed in the first twenty-four hours of my gov- ernment bear witness. Another problem arose from the charac- ter of therevolution. Everyrevolution hasin it, besides the great human mass of impact and the conscientious and unselfish leaders, two other types—adventurers and melan- cholic intellectuals who might be called, by a synthetic expression, ascetics of revolu- tion. When the revolution is over, the mass, which often is moved by the simple intui- tion of a great historical and social reality, goes peacefully back to its usual activities. It forms the laborious and disciplined leaven of the new régime. The conscientious and unselfish leaders form the necessary aristocracy of rulers. But the ascetics and the adventurers are a dead burden. The first would like to see overnight a perfect humanity, without faults. They do not understand that there is no revolution that can change the nature of men. Because of their Utopian illusions, the ascetics are never contented; they waste their time and other men’s energies in sophistry and doubts just when it is necessary to work like fiends to go forward. The adventurers always identify the fortune of the revolution with their own fortune; they hope to gain per- sonal advantage from the victory and they harbor resentment when their wishes are not satisfied, and clamor for extreme and dangerous measures. Now I had to defend the Fascist victory from the ascetics and the adventurers. The adventurers, however, sank rapidly in the Fascist revolution, because it was different from and on a higher plane than any other revolution. But I felt it my constant duty to examine and to select, in such a grave moment, every step I made. First of all, in the pressure of events, I desired to assure regularity to the country and to constitute a new government. Order came quickly. There were only a few spo- radic incidents of violence—inevitable un- der such conditions. I felt the necessity to safeguard Facta and I called ten Black August 4,1928 Shirts who had been much decorated for bravery for the purpose of accompanying Facta to Pinerolo, his native town, under their word of honor. They kept their prom- ise. Nobody—that was the order—should touch a hair, mock or humiliate Facta. He had given to the country his only son, who died in an airplane accident during the war, and Facta deserved respect for that and more. I forbade reprisals against the leaders of the opposition. It was only by my great authority that I avoided the destruction— not only rhetorical but also quite real—of my most rabid enemies. I saved their skins for them. At the same time, in the space of a few hours, I constituted a new ministry. I discarded, as I said, the idea of a Fascist dictatorship, because I wanted to give to the country the impression of a normal life far from the selfish exclusiveness of a party. That sense of instinct for equilibrium ac- companies me fortunately in the gravest, the most strenuous and the most critical moments. I decided then—after having weighed everything—to compose a ministry of a nationalist character. I had the feeling that later there would become inevitable a process of clarification, but I preferred that it should come forth spontaneously from the succeeding political events. But that was the last generous gesture that I ever made toward the old Italian ring of parties and politicians. In the new ministry, among ministers and undersecretaries of state. were fifteen Fascisti, three Nationalists, three Liberals of the Right, six Popolari and three Social Democrats. I was generous toward the Liberals of the Right, whose peculiar ma- neuver in order to pick up for their profit the results of the Fascist revolution had been quite recent. Among the Popolari and Social Democrats I selected those who gave promise of national spirit and who did not intrigue with subversive popularism or with socialism. The First Ministry I kept for myself, with the presidency of the council, the office of the Interior, and assumed ad interim that of Foreign Affairs. I gave to Armando Diaz the Ministry of War and I promised to give him an army worthy of the country and the victor of Vittorio Veneto. I called Admiral Thaon di Revel for the Navy and Federzoni for the Colonies. The complete formation of the ministry was as follows: BENITO MUSSOLINI, deputy, presidency of the council, Domestic and ad interim of Foreign Affairs. (Fascist.) ARMANDO D1az, general of the army, War. PaoLo THAON DI REVEL, admiral, senator, Navy. Lvu1G!I FEDERZONI, deputy, Colonies. (Nation- alist.) ALDO OVIGLIO, deputy, Justice. (Fascist.) ALBERTO DE STEFANI, deputy, Finance. (Fas- cist.) VINCENZO TANGORRA, deputy, Treasury. (Po- polare.) GIOVANNI GENTILE, professor, Public Instruc- tion. (Liberal of the Right.) GABRIELLO CARNAZZA, deputy, Public Works. (Democrat.) GIUSEPPE DE CAPITANI, deputy, Agriculture. (Liberal of the Right.) TEOFILO Rossi, senator, Industry and Com- merce. (Democrat.) STEPHANO CAVAZZONI, deputy, Work and So- cial Providence. (Popolare.) GIOVANNI COLONNA DI CESARO, deputy, Posts and Telegraphs. (Social Democrat.) GIOVANNI GIuRIATI, deputy, Liberated Prov- inces. (Fascist.) UNDERSECRETARIES OF STATE Giacomo AcERBO, deputy, Presidency. (Fas- cist.) ALDOo FINzI, deputy, Domestic. (Fascist.) ERNESTO VASSALLO, deputy, Foreign. polare.) CaRLO BonarDl, deputy, War. (Social Demo- crat.) Costanzo CIANO, deputy, Navy. (Fascist, with the Commissariat of Commercial Marine.) — Rocco, deputy, Treasury. (Nation- alist.) CESARE Maria DE VEccuI, deputy, Military Assistance. (Fascist.) (Continued on Page 109) (Po-

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 107

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108 Tron Pistons 104 ounces LYNITE Pistons 64 ounces PB lain Arithmetic Proves the Superiority of PISTONS AND RODS Lightness of reciprocating parts is a major factor in the development of horsepower. The three examples pictured above illustrate the decided advantage of LYNITE over iron pistons and connecting rods. You don’t have to be an engineer to figure out the difference. You can feel it in LYNITE equipped cars. ALUMINUM COMPANY OF AMERICA ALU MIN UM -: THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 Tron Pistons 180 ounces LYNITE Pistons ¢ 112 ounces Tron Pistons 177 ounces LYNITE Pistons 108 ounces | NGINEERING ingenuity has given modern motors a vital person- ality. They sparkle; they almost breathe. When you step on the accelerator, your every mood is reflected in the pulse of power which results. Of the many improvements which have combined to produce this finer performance, none have been of greater value than LYNITE Pistons and Connecting Rods. LTE- FOUR Cylinder Motors are better when LYNITE equipped because the light weight of these strong aluminum alloys counteracts the natural hesitancy, or ‘drag’. Vibration is reduced to a mini- mum and the high heat conductivity of LYNITE makes possible higher com- pression—greater power. Carbon de- posits and spark knocks are practically eliminated. That is why LYNITE is standard equipment on modern fours in every price class. SIX Cylinder Motors are better when LYNITE equipped because the “‘super- performance” which characterizes the present day six is made possible by the employment of high compression, hitherto regarded as impossible be- cause of the heat which it creates. LYNITE Pistons and Connecting Rods rapidly and completely dissipate this surplus heat. That is why you will find them in the finest of sixes. EIGHT Cylinder Motors are better when LYNITE equipped because compres- sion is high and eight cylinder con- struction is subject to a slight periodic vibration. The dissipation of heat must be perfect, and the vibration, however slight, must be eliminated. That is why LYNITE Pistons and Connecting Rods are the choice of leading manufacturers. ee Just pick out the car that represents to you the greatest value in appearance and performance. Whether it is a four, a six, or an eight—you are almost certain to find it equipped with LYNITE Pistons and Connecting Rods. PITTSBURGH, PA. IN + EVERY + COMMERCIAL + FORM

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“ee 42 (Continued from Page 106) Pietro Liss!A, deputy, Finances. (Social Dem- ocrat,) GIOVANNI MArcut, deputy, Colonies. (Liberal of the Right.) UMBERTO MERLIN, deputy, Liberated Prov- inces. (Popolare.) FULVIO MILANI, deputy, Justice. (Popolare.) Dario Lup, deputy, Instruction. (Fascist.) LuIG!I SICILIANI, deputy, Fine Arts. (Nation- alist.) OTTAVIO CORGINI, deputy, Agriculture. (Fas- cist.) ALESSANDRO SARDI, deputy, Public Works. ( Fascist.) MICHELE TERZAGHI, deputy, Post and Tele- graph. (Fascist.) GRONCHI GIOVANNI, deputy, Industry and Commerce. (Popolare.) SILvio GAI, deputy, Labor and Social Provi- dence. (Fascist.) When the ministry was concluded I wrote the following paper of demobiliza- tion, signed by the quadrumvirate: Fascisti of all Italy! Our movement was rewarded by victory. The leader of our party has assumed the politi- cal powers of the state, both for domestic and for foreign affairs. Our government, while it consecrates our triumph with the names of those who were the creators of it on the land and on the sea, assembles, with the purpose of national pacification, men from the other parties, be- cause they are attached to the cause of the nation. The Italian Fascism is too intelligent to de- sire a greater victory. Fascisti! The supreme quadrumvirate of action, turn- ing back its powers to the direction of the party, salutes you for your marvelous proof of courage and discipline. You have served your merit in the future of the country. Disperse with the same perfect order with which you gathered for the great trial, destined, we firmly think, to open a new epoch in Italian history. Go back te your usual work, because Italy now needs to work peacefully to reach its better day. Nothing must trouble the powerful stride of the victory that we acquired in these days of proud passion and sovereign magnitude. Long live Italy! Long live Fascism! THE QUADRUMVIRATE. Then I sent a telegram to D’Annunzio and I distributed an energetic circular to all the prefects of the kingdom and to the smaller authorities. The telegram to D’Annunzio said: ASSUMING THE HARD TASK OF GIVING DISCI- PLINE AND INTERNAL PEACE TO THE NATION, I SEND TO YOU, COMMANDER, MY AFFECTIONATE GREETINGS FOR YOU AND FOR THE DESTINIES OF THE COUNTRY. THE VALIANT FASCIST YOUTH WHICH GIVES BACK A SOUL TO THE NATION WILL NOT BLINDFOLD VICTORY. MUSSOLINI. The text of the circular sent to office- holders was the following: From today, intrusted with the confidence of His Majesty the King, I undertake the direc- tion of the government of the country. I de- mand that all authorities, from the highest to the least, discharge their duty with intelligence and with complete yielding to the supreme in- terests of the country. I will give the example. The President of the Council and Ministry of the Interior. MUSSOLINI. A Program of Action I announced finally, for November six- teenth, a meeting of the Chamber of Deputies, to render an account of what I had done and to announce my intentions and program. It was an exceptional meeting. The hall was filled to overflowing. Every deputy was present. My declarations were brief, clear, energetic. I left no misunderstand- ing. I affirmed sharply the rights of rev- olution. I called the attention of the audience to the fact that only by the will of Fascism had the revolution remained in the boundaries of legality and tolerance. “T could have made,” I said, “‘of this dull and gray hall a bivouac for corpses. I could have nailed up the doors of parlia- ment and have established an exclusively Fascist government. I could have done those things, but at least for a time I did not do them.” I then thanked all my collaborators and I pointed with sympathy to the multitude THE SATURDAY of Italian laborers who had aided the Fas- cist movement with their active or passive solidarity. I did not expose one of the usual pro- grams that the past ministries used to pre- sent, for these solved only on paper the problems of the country. I asserted my will to act, and to act without delaying for useless oratory or talk. In the field of for- eign politics I squarely declared the inten- tion of following a policy of dignity and national utility. The Dawn of New History For every subject I made declarations of weight that showed how Fascism had al- ready been able to assay and analyze and solve varying and urgent problems, and to fix the future outlines of government. Finally I concluded: “Gentlemen, from further communica- tions you will know the Fascist program in its details. I do not want, so long as I can | avoid it, to rule against the Chamber, but the Chamber must feel its own position. | That position opens the possibility that it | may be dissolved in two days or in two years. ‘“‘We ask full powers because we want to assume full responsibility. Without full powers, you know very well that we couldn’t | save one lira—I say one lira! We do not | want to exclude the possibility of voluntary | coéperation, for we will cordially accept it, | if it comes from deputies, senators, or even from competent private citizens. one of us has a religious sense of our diffi- cult task. The country cheers us and waits. We will not give it words, but facts. We formally and solemnly promise to restore the budget to health, and we will restore it. We want to make a foreign policy of peace, but at the same time one of dignity and steadiness. We will do it. We intend to give the nation a discipline. We will give it. “Let none of our enemies of yesterday, of today, of tomorrow, be illusioned in re- gard to our permanence in power—foolish Every | and childish illusions, like those of yester- | day! “‘Our government has a formidable foun- dation in the conscience of the nation. It is supported by the best, the newest Italian generations. There is no doubt that in these last years a great step toward the unification of spirits has been made, The fatherland has again found itself bound together from north to south, from the Continent to the generous islands, which will never be forgotten; from the metropolis to the a«iive colonies of the Mediterranean and the Atlantic Ocean. Do not, gentle- men, address more vain words to the na- tion. Fifty-two applications to speak about my communications to parliament are too many. Let us, instead of talking, work with pure heart and ready mind to assure the prosperity and the greatness of the country. “May God assist me in bringing to a triumphant end my hard labor.” I do not believe that, since 1870, the hall of Montecitorio had heard energetic and | clear words. They burned with a passion deep in my being. There were in that speech the essences of my old and my re- | cent wrestlings with my own mind and my own soul. More than one deputy had to repress all the rancor generated by my deserved re- proaches, but my exposition in parliament was sompensated by the approval of the whole of Italy. I was looking farther than that old hall of parties of petty power and of politicians. I was speaking to the entire | nation. It listened to me and it understood me! My political instinct told me that from that moment there would rise, with increas- ing truth and expanse of Fascist work, the dawn of new history for Italy. And perhaps dawn on a new path of civilization. Editor’s Note—This is the seventh of a series of reminiscences by Premier Mussolini. The next will appear in an early issue. EVENING POST 109 Clean “Cool, Fresh, 199 Underwear! OUNDS inviting, doesn't it? And if you'll insist on the “B.V.D.” label, you'll not only have yours scientifically cool, but it will re- peatedly withstand even very severe treatment in laundering. No lukewarm suds-rinsing to “protect the fabric”’; but thorough, germ-destroying, dirt-chasing laun dering, that brings it back to you hygienically fresh and clean! Both extraordinary coolness and extraordinary wear are scientifically built into “B. V. D.,"’ from the weaving and treating of our own nainsook, to the completion of the last lock-stitched seam That’s why its economy is as definite as its famed fit and comfort. No Underwear is ‘‘B. V. D.’’ Without this Red Woven Label. | MADE FOR THE |BV.D BEST RETAIL TRADE _ Trade Mut mC heent ree? Men's Union Suit $1.50. Shirts and Drawers the garment 8%c Youths’ Union Suit 85« Shirts, Drawers, Shorts, Men's and Youths’ | ”n Suits obtainable in fancy materials at various prices Children's Reinforced Taped Waist Suits 75c the suit The B. V. D. Company, Inc., N. Y. Sole Makers “B. V. D."" Underwear © 1928 The B. V. D Company, In “Next to Myself I Like ‘B.V.D.’ Best!”

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110 THE SATURDAY YALE HARDWARE MAKES GOOD BUILDINGS BETTER There is only one maker of Yale Locks and Keys. The mark Yale means the name of the maker. } The Yale & Towne Mfg. Company Stamford, Conn., U. S. A. Canadian Branch at St. Catharines, Ontario ATHENS DESIGN YALE | ENTRANCE DOOR HANDLE No. 192 YALE ROTARY BOLT DEADLOCK |. YALE MARKED IS YALE MADE i LL A EVENING POST August 4,1928 CONFESSION OF A CARTOONIST (Continued from Page 28) general who wore a black beard and what I think was a wen on his neck. The general, whose name I don’t remember, got very sentimental and a little fried one night and told us about a sefiorita in Mexico City who was his sweetheart. He announced to the world, or that part of it within reach of his voice, that he would not shave off his beard until “‘Mi General’’—meaning Pancho Villa—took Mexico City. If he had kept his promise he could now double for one of the Smith brothers. But listen briefly to the sequel. After our return to New York he came to visit that fair city on official business for the Villa government, and by way of returning some of his hospitality, we took him out to show him the town. He started, still mut- tering about his sweetheart in Mexico City and wearing his whiskers; but I think it was in either Healy’s or Jack’s that he met the siren who sold flowers, and didn’t hesi- | tate to buy a bunch for twenty dollars, evidently placing the same value on Amer- ican money ason Mexican. She accepted an invitation to dine with him the following evening, and the next day he was as clean- shaven as Jack Barrymore. So went an- other romance. To resume the thread of my story, if there is a thread, we arrived in Chihuahua early in the morning and were met at the station by a magnificent car driven by a stylish chauffeur. We were whisked to Mrs. Villa’s house, while the whole town stood at salute as we moved through the streets. I know how Queen Marie felt when she ar- rived in New York. Mrs. Villa greeted us graciously at the front door. She was tall and dark and matronly looking, and stand- ing by her was a boy of about six years adopted by the general because he had never had a son—a great disappointment to him. After being shown about the city we went to a new house that Villa was building, | most elaborate and gaudy. Mrs. Villa con- fided to us that it would cost $500,000 gold when finished, and in those days $500,000 gold would buy you most of Mexico. I don’t know who designed it, but the walls were smeared with paintings of dying mar- tyrs in the last agonies, and the favorite colors were yellow and purple. “What do you think of it?’” Mr. Wheeler asked me. “It looks as if Nell Brinkley had designed it and Diamond Jim Brady had built it,’’.I replied. Before abandoning Villa to the verdict of history I want to say that, in spite of his cruelty, he had many attractive qualities. First of all, he was a fighter, giving no quar- ter to his enemies and asking none. He had no education, so his one idea, when finally victorious, as he believed he would be, was that every Mexican child should go to school. He told us he intended to establish free schools all over the republic. But un- derlying this thin veneer of good qualities, he had a streak of animal cruelty. He sur- rounded himself with the most vicious characters he could find and when in a rage his acts were unbelievable. Villa’s Great Regret For example, on our trip he was discuss- ing Obregén and regretted having had him in a room with him and letting him escape, when he knew the one-armed general was going to desert him. He broke a life rule and did not shoot him there, and I believe this was the most poignant regret of his life. He actually foamed at the mouth when he talked of it. The Villa of those days was a man with ideals for the downtrodden and generally worshiped by the peons. Returning to Chihuahua from this di- gression, we lunched with Mrs. Villa, and it was one of those typical Mexican meals we had come to know so well. There were in- numerable courses, one consisting of a sin- gle stalk of asparagus. One had to hold on to the knife and fork he started with or he was out of luck. Mrs. Villa told us of her romance, and it was apparent she was very much in love with her dashing husband in spite of the fact that she knew he was unfaithful to her. She seemed to take that for granted. It seems she was the daughter of a store- keeper in a small town in the state of Chihuahua when Villa was hiding with his band in the mountains and raiding the rich to help the poor. He came into Santa Rosalia, which was the name of the town, late one afternoon and announced there would be a dance that night. It was on this festive oecasion that she met her future husband, not knowing he was Pancho Villa. The meeting developed into the love which finally took her to the capital of the country as the general’s wife when Francisco Madero was the president, and culminated in the luxury at the luncheon table over which she presided and in which we participated. During this period of about seven months while I was waiting for my contract to ex- pire I had made no pictures; but arriving in New York after our Mexican trip, we felt fit to fight anyone, so that lawsuit we knew we were going to have with the Hearst newspapers did not scare us. My first pic- ture under the new contract was to be re- leased August 8, 1915, and we had lined up the biggest newspapers in the country un- der contracts to publish the feature. Claiming All and Getting All About a week before the first picture was to be published we were served in a legal action to get an injunction to restrain me from using my own characters and title Mutt and Jeff. It was the first gun in the fight and the biggest crisis in my career, for if I won, it meant success and a lot of money, and if I lost, it meant starting all over again with new characters. If the Hearst papers won the suit I knew they could have an- other artist draw my Mutt and Jeff. We immediately applied for an injunc- tion restraining the Hearst papers from re- leasing and publishing the Mutt and Jeff pictures we knew they had been having drawn by another artist. Not to plunge deeply into the legal as- pects of the situation, but to give the reader a sketchy background, the two important cases we had to fall back on were the Bus- ter Brown and Katzenjammer Kids. In both these cases the decision of the court applied only to the titles, which wouldn’t do us much good if another artist could imitate my characters under another title such as Sap and Pep. When we discussed the situation with our lawyer, Mr. Charles E. Kelley, he wanted to apply for relief only so far as the titles went, citing the two cases already tried. I knew so little about law that it gave me courage, so I said: “Listen! Did you ever play football? Well, we kicked off to the other side, and they’ve smacked us with an injunction and now we have the ball. Let’s kick it as far into their territory as we can. No one ever got arrested for claiming. Let’s ask for everything, including an injunction re- straining them from imitating my charac- ters.” “But if we do that, we may not get any- thing,”’ he said. I finally persuaded him to try, and the result was we finally got everything we asked for, after a lot of scrimmages. The upshot of the first move was we got our in- junction restraining the Hearst papers from putting out any imitations, while they were refused a temporary injunction until the case came to trial. (Continued on Page 113) | | | | | im renee —— oe — 6 = SS oe

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Pn - R_D eR e a & ~~ - ae THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 111 ROSS Sleers these HARD JOB with kase “a None ~ pa - re a “a Seiscing heavily loaded trucks up makeshift ramps—slithering down precipitous inclines— plowing These Cars are Ross-Equipped THE MANUFACTURERS of the automobiles below likewise appre- ciate the importance of steering. Therefore, they supply Ross Cam and Lever Steering Gear as standard equipment (as do through the mud and ruts of temporary or unfinished roads—on also 50 makers of buses and 9 makers of taxicabs) . . . Auburn Graham-Paige Nash Standard 6 construction jobs—you’d call that hard steering! Chandler 614, 619, 629, 835 Peerless , i ee ° _ P . Chrysler 80 Hupmobile Reo Flying Cloud Yes—but it isn’t hard with Ross! The cam-and-lever principle, Cunningham — Kissel Reo Wolverine " a - > Diana Kleiber Roamer exclusive with Ross, brings such steering ease that more than 100 Duesenberg — Locomobile Stearns-Knight 6 . , Du Pont Marmon 68 and 78 Studebaker different makers of trucks use it as standard equipment. Elear McFarlan Stute Gardner oon elie And it is this same cam-and-lever principle that has revolution- SS ’ . > ne Deis Come ° ° . . SS “se a : ized the steering of passenger cars—adding immeasurably to the ' You Can Put Ross in These Cars 7 ease, comfort and safety of your driviz:g. Ross reduces road-shock Check and Mail This Coupon ° ' © Overtann 0 Donee OC Brick (1 OakLann —helps hold the steering wheel steady and true through ruts or | © Cansniene (1 Pesteas £7 G@inmsceeietlt Biveeds gravel—makes parking almost effortless. | Body Style Year , ° . | Ross Gear anp Toor Co., Lafayette, Ind Know how easily a car can be steered. Drive one of the Ross- Pisano ound fate dhout Bees Raninaemens Val . . e | and free booklet on Stee ring. | have marked above equipped cars listed at the right. Let your next car be Ross- the uae and Galiy-ctale of the ane I din equipped—and meanwhile, why not install a Ross replacement | ~ ne os unit in your present car? Why not? L Apoanea__ : aver STEERING ROSS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 fontikenta/ laro-[ieck SHOCK ABSORBERS | ‘ j | |

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ae san frm =~ a ee _ —— (Continued from Page 110) We knew that my pinch hitter had made a Sunday page, and we got our injunction on Friday afternoon, by which time all the colored comics which go into a Sunday paper are printed and the distribution of the papers has started. Wheeler and I had copies of the court’s order printed and started up Broadway on Saturday after- noon, stopping at every news stand and handing the legal document to the pro- prietor, informing him that if he violated it by selling any Sunday Americans with Mutt and Jeff in them he was likely to go to the hoosegow for life. Most of them got scared to death, and some even threw the whole paper away. However, the circula- tion department of the New York American soon heard about it through frantic tele- phone calls from the news dealers, and the comic section was pulled out of the last of the run and men were sent around town to extract the funnies from the papers already distributed. I think it is the first and only time in the newspaper business that it has been done, and the papers circulated in the New York area were without the colored comic supplement that Sunday. Then it developed into a knock-down- and-drag-out fight. Having previously had the title trade-marked in Washington, that helped us materially in the trial of the case. It took about six months before the court heard our stories. In the meantime I was drawing Mutt and Jeff, while there was no imitation because of the temporary injunc- tion which we had obtained. When the suit came to trial there was an imposing array of counsel on the Hearst side, including such well-known lawyers as Mr. Bainbridge Colby, afterward one of Mr. Wilson’s Secretaries of State; and Nathan Burkan. There is one thing I will say for the Hearst forces—they played fair and did not hit low in the clinches. S. S. Carvalho was still the general man- ager of the Hearst papers in those days, and he is rated a great newspaper genius. Dur- ing the period of my service with the Hearst papers we had always been friendly, aad I used to go to him with my troubles to get them straightened out. I usually suc- ceeded. He was a fine-looking man with a pointed beard. His avocation was collecting objects of art—not including comic strips. Pulling His Wooden Leg His office was a dingy hole in an alley off the main corridor of the American Build- ing, which is cut up into a lot of passage- ways resembling rabbit runs. The window over his desk was of beveled glass, through which the light came brightly, and the visitor’s chair faced the window so that Mr. Carvalho was hidden in the shadow while the glare dazzled the eyes of his caller. When I visited him I used to move the chair around so that I was in the shadow and he was in the spotlight. Then he had a funny habit of pulling out one of the drawers of his old desk and resting his leg on it. While talking to him I used to tap the drawer with my foot until it would close and drop his leg down on the floor. Then he would prop it up again and I would repeat, until he would exclaim with a smile, “I wish you’d leave my wooden leg alone.” One day as I was talking to him in this shabby office, since he was a big enough man not to need ornate fixtures—Arthur Brisbane has the same kind—he said to me, “Tf you ever quit the Hearst papers I will do my best to see that you can take your characters with you.” There was no written agreement about it—just a promise made in casual conversa- tion, but later it turned out to be one of the utmost importance to me. When we were collecting our ammunition for trying the case I recalled the promise Mr. Carvalho had made to me and told our lawyer about it. When he was on the stand testifying Mr. Kelley, our attorney, asked him in his cross-examination: ‘‘Didn’t you tell Mr. Fisher that if he ever left the employ of the Hearst papers you would do your best to let him have the rights to Mutt and Jeff?” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Yes,’”’ replied Mr. Carvalho. 1 That’s what I call sportsmanship in busi- ness. We won the case, which gave me the rights to my favorite comic characters, and Mr. Hearst has since bought them back for publication in several of his newspapers, where they now appear regularly. No imi- | tation was ever put out. I am as proud of this achievement as any- | thing I ever did, since the whole contention | of the Hearst legal forces was that they had | the rights to the characters because of the | popularity they had given them through | publication. Our argument was that I had | originated the strip on another paper where it was published before it appeared in any Hearst newspaper, and to prove it we pro- duced the copies of the San Francisco Chronicle in which the drawings I had copyrighted away back in 1907 were pub- lished. Then the fact that I had already registered the trade-mark helped us greatly. As a result of this lawsuit, all the big syndi- cates and newspapers have changed their contracts so that they can register the trade-marks in their names. Mutt and Jeff in London Most syndicates are operated independ- ently, although several! of the larger news- papers now supplement their incomes with them. These include the Hearst papers, the Philadelphia Public Ledger, the Chi- cago Tribune, the New York World and some others. These papers hire a writer or artist supposed to have unique talent, and to reduce the burden of what they have to pay him they sell the publication rights in other cities to newspapers wherever pos- sible. The prices are graduated according to the size of the city and the paper. In this way a small publication can get for a reasonable rate as good features as the papers in the metropolitan areas. The introduction of Mutt and Jeff into London is interesting—at least to me. Ralph D. Blumenfeld, editor of the Lon- don Daily Express, was in New York just after the war. Mr. Wheeler, with whom I have been closely associated ever since I left the Hearst organization, met him. With an eye out for business he began to talk to Mr. Blumenfeld about Mutt and Jeff, and finally arranged for us to dine to- gether at the Ritz, where the London editor was staying. After an excellent dinner, paid for by Mr. Wheeler, and some wine—it was before the days of the Volstead Act— Mr. Blumen- feld, with some hesitation, agreed to depart from all the accepted customs of British journalism and publish Mutt and Jeff. Waxing enthusiastic myself, I agreed to go to London to start them off, knowing how crazy the English readers are about racing, and feeling I could give them the same sort of stuff I did when I began drawing in San Francisco. In short, this would be tips on the races. Mr. Blumenfeld accepted the proposal and offered to pay $100 a week for the Lon- don rights plus my expenses in England while I did some local stuff to introduce the two characters. Having always been in- terested in racing myself, I felt sure that after studying the English dope sheets a bit I could pick plenty of winners. But I ran into a terrible streak of luck, just the opposite of the great success I had had with my selections in San Francisco. Not only did I fail to pick winners but I lost plenty myself betting on my own selections. Mr. Blumenfeld was somewhat disappointed with his experiment, but was game and stuck. He got several violent letters from old subscribers, such as: I have been a reader of the London Daily Express for ten years and always liked it. I am now a regular reader of the London Daily Mail [the Express’ great rival] which I will continue to read until you stop publishing that | rotten American humor, Mutt and Jeff. The English write more letters than the readers of American newspapers, and are more vicious about the things they don’t | like. It eased off some when the Express Se SUN~PARLOR Have one room in the house where the sun can shine winter and summer EARLY every new house nowa- days has a sun parlor, of course. But there are thousands and thou- sands of homes built ten, twenty, thirty years ago without that most popular and cheerful of rooms! Well-built, substantial homes, many of them, but without the sun parlor, they are needlessly old-fashioned. A sun parlor can be built at sur- prisingly little expense —your archi- tect, contractor or local lumber dealer will confirm that. “The Sunny Side of the House” isa remarkable book showing in a novel, interesting way how a sun parlor can easily be added, how it looks on different types of houses, and how your home can be made a bright- er, healthier, pleasanter place to live | with more and larger windows. Hou you can get a free copy: Simply write your name and address on the mar- gin below and mail it to us. Whether you are building a new house or remodeling, see that “A-W-G” ClearVision Window Glass is used. “A-W-G™ Window Glass has been the preference of architects, builders and dealers for more than a quarter of a century. Its high qual- ity, greater tensile strength, bril- liant lustre, clearness and freedom from defects and discoloration make it the ideal window glass. 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114 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Simply Pour Into Radiator There isa “repair man” in every green can of Warner Liquid Solder who con- stantly circulates with the water in your car’s cooling system. If there is a leak anywhere he instantly stops it completely and permanently. Then he keeps on traveling with the water mending and repairing, constantly preventing new Big Truck and Tractor Size $1.00 Passenger Car Size 7 5c ~ leaks from developing. This is better than the trouble of having your radiator removed for expensive repairs. It is also better than injuring your motor asa result of leaks. Get a can. Be sure it is Warner Liquid Solder, guaranteed absolutely harmless—will not clog circulation. Avoid substitutes. CANADIAN PRICES: 10 oz. can 85¢ 16 oz. can $1.25 WARNER-PATTERSON (CO. General Offices: Chicago, UL., 920 S. Michigan Ave. New York,17 W. 60th St. 1 os Angeles, 250 W.1 5th. Canadian Offices: Montreal, 716 Se. James St.; Winnipeg, 208 Kennedy Bldg. Export Department: 549 Cable Address: “Willplatka Chicago,’ Bentley Western Union Codes T PENETRATES, KILLS RUST AND LUBRICATES WARNER W. Washington Bivd., Chicago, Ili. aso MAKERS OF Warner Liquid Magic rHa LIQUID SOLDER on - --- CUT OFF THIS COUPON -= ° This coupon and 12c Special Offer (for postage and ship- ping) good for one 30c Handy Can of LO KOU D LACIE Lubricating and Penetrating Oil 12c Mail to Warner-Patterson Co., : 920 South Michigan Avenue, Unexcelled for ~ ee Chicago, Ill. Lubricating Household and Office Appliances Name or for removing Rusted, Gummed Street or Frozen Machine Parts, Etc. Town State | began to publish the straight stuff angli- cized, and I suspect some of the knockers | had lost money betting on my selections. Then I undertook to sell Mutt and Jeff to several papers in the British Isles and opened up a syndicate in my vest pocket in London. This was a new idea to Engiish publishers, and it was difficult to get them to understand the scheme. The possibili- ties are limited because the distances are so short, a London morning paper being on the breakfast tables in Britain as far north as Scotland. We finally lined up about ten papers in England, Ireland and Scotland, and ar- ranged to have matrices of the strips as they appeared in the London Daily Ex- press made and shipped. A matrix is made out of pulp, and when a newspaper receives it a casting can be made from which the picture can be printed. Newspaper editors in England, Scotland and Ireland were call- ing me at all hours of the night, asking me to explain how to use the matrices. I also sold the Sunday page to several English | papers. It finally worked out pretty well, and Mr. Blumenfeld, seeing that I looked fa- tigued, I guess, invited me to spend a week-end at his country place, which had formerly been the house of Lady Warwick. Now to the average Englishman a week- end begins on Thursday at noon and he gets back to his office just before luncheon on Tuesday. By the time he has eaten his midday meal, which is no mean affair, and got back to his office, that day is pretty well shot; so if you don’t catch him on Wednesday you are out of luck. But my host, Mr. Blumenfeld, was born in Mil- waukee and had more of an American idea of the week-end, so we did not leave Lon- don until Friday night and we were to be back early Monday morning. On the way to his country place he told me he was still getting plenty of letters kicking about Mutt and Jeff, most of them on the ground that the strip was Amer- ican. This was just after the war, and there was not too much friendly feeling for us. However, we had a pleasant journey and I was impressed by the age of every- thing. Moss on an English country house is as important as dust on a bottle of Na- poleon brandy, and there was lots of moss on Mr. Blumenfeld’s place. I once had a neat Jap who washed off a bottle of Na- poleon brandy I had—lI fired him. They don’t wash the moss off an English coun- try house. Putting the Host at Ease It came time to fix up for dinner, so I changed my clothes and put on a dinner coat; but I guess my host thought he was entertaining a roughneck cartoonist, for when I got downstairs he had on a busi- ness suit. Nothing was said of the differ- ' ence in the costumes; and we floundered around trying to find a subject on which we could both talk. “Excuse me a minute,”’ said Mr. B., and he went upstairs. Thinking this a good opportunity to put | my host at his ease, I slipped up to my | room and took off the hard-boiled shirt and changed to a sack suit. When I again saw my host he had on a dinner coat, so we both began to laugh, and J said, “ Let’s quit playing firemen.” While I was in London I was invited toa fashionable dinner, and the lady next to me had on false eyelashes. Now one thing I could never understand is why a man or woman who gets a wig or false eyelashes or teeth or something is never satisfied with a substitute that looks real. Notice the next bird you see wearing a wig. He never hasa | bald spot on it or anything like that, but it | always looks like a lawn that needs cutting. And the funny part about it is that he al- ways thinks no one knows it’s a wig. The only wig wearer I ever knew who wasn’t ashamed of being under cover was a news- paper man from Baltimore and he figured the wear and tear on his. Whenever he was | associated with ladies he wore it proudly, August 4,1928 but let the feminine part of the gathering go home and he would put it in his pocket. Well, my dinner companion with the false eyelashes was no exception, so she had bought a set that must have been part of an ostrich fan once, and every time she winked I thought somebody was fanning me. I caught a cold from sitting in the draft those eyelashes made. I was not much of a social success in London. It was in 1918 that I first started to draw a Sunday comic page because there was a demand for it, but I have never taken so great an interest in the page as in the daily pictures. The Sunday page must necessarily be for children, since it is they who demand the funnies as soon as the newspaper comes into the house, while the strips are in- tended more for adult readers. I don't think I have the point of view of the child, since I have never had one myself, which is a great regret of my life. My whole theory of the successful car- toonist lies in making the reader want to come back. I think it was George Ade who said, “A humorist cannot go to bat every day and knock out a three-bagger.”’ A comic artist cannot knock his readers out of their breakfast chairs every morning, but if he gives them a good deep laugh on Mon- day morning they will look for it again on Tuesday. If Tuesday does not send them into hysterics they may say, “‘ Well, that’s pretty good; I’ll look at it tomorrow.” in the Wee Sma’ Hours Then on Wednesday they get a smile, but on Thursday they find one they want to tell to their friends, so they come back to look at Friday’s to be sure not to miss a knock- out. Caruso couldn’t sing every night. But I am frank to say the Sunday page is the hardest thing I have to do, and in trying to please my readers I have studied kids when they look over the funnies. The trouble is they never laugh. Have you ever watched a youngster when he spreads himself out on the floor and pores over the colored section? His expression is always solemn. Perhaps if I had lived closer to children I might have understood their psychology better. Having started my work on a morning newspaper, it has always been my habit to sit up until three or four o’clock in the morning, and it is then that I make most of my pictures. The world seems quieter and more peaceful, and ideas come more easily, although I suppose it is a matter of habit. It used to be my idea that if one went to bed early he was liable to miss some excite- ment and then regret it when he heard of it the next day. This was especially true of my attitude when I first came to New York. I remember I used to go to Jack’s restaurant in Sixth Avenue, where you could find anyone you wanted to see after one o'clock in the morning, and sit there un- til four or five. At that time I had to fin- ish my picture before midnight and the strip I made at night appeared the next day. It was necessary to sit up so I could see it in the paper as soon as possible. There was a fellow built like Tom Shar- key, square on all corners, whose job was opening oysters at Jack’s, and when he was feeling real good he opened them with his thumb nail. If he had a cold or was out of sorts he used a knife. Well, besides being a champion oyster opener, he was a first- class bouncer; so when some of the boys from Yale or Princeton would visit Jack’s and decide it was time to lick a waiter, he could take three or four college boys and tie them up into a neat bundle, with a tall one wrapped around the bunch as a binder, and throw them out into Sixth Avenue with no trouble at all. Any man who can open oysters with his thumb nail is strong. Then if the odds were too great—say, eight or ten college boys—the famous fly- ing wedge of waiters would go into action and there would usually be several dents in the asphalt outside where the collegians landed. Well, I would usually go to Jack’s, for it was a great gang that could be found there (Continued on Page 117) ———~ a —— — os

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Is Senti

Mate im your Golf Bag THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 115 nd what should he ‘a HE fickleness of golf may have ( a) 2 something to do with its fas- cination—there is always the lure of tomorrow even if today’s game has not fulfilled our hopes. But would it really lose its fasci- nation if some of the fickleness might be removed? We think not. There should be even a decided gain—for no one plays poorly by preference. Favorite clubs are fine — but golf is not a one-club game. And you are not getting anywhere if you're forever having to call on one old favorite to save you. There simply can’t be any one favorite if every club in your bag is built and balanced to harmonize with each of its matched mates. With merely a graduation of loft, for dis- tance—but exactly the same “‘feel”’ and swinging weightforall—youwon't ever again be limited, but will know the thrill of playing eleven clubs that suing as one, Is sentiment handicapping your game? Don’t let it—accept the proven developments of progress. What's in your golf bag? Is your caddy carrying for you merely an ac- cumulation of clubs? That's way out of date. What should be in that bag of yours is a complete matched set of MACGREGORS—both Woods and Irons — every one a favorite, whether it be at the drive from the first tee or the final putt on the eighteenth green. Then you will know the thrill — and the results— when every stroke is aS a practice swing for the one to follow. And then, too, you'll feel a new fascination —a deeper enchant- ment—a rarer charm. Write for free catalog. THE CRAWFORD, McGREGOR & CANBY CO Established 1829 . . Dayton, Ohio

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4,1928 The STERILIZED Bathroom PAPER, Madam, Doctors are urging, is called NORTHERN TISSUE Boab years ago a new Bathroom Paper was announced. A sterilized Bathroom Paper. Chiefly on medical advice, thousands of homes discarded old-time ‘‘toilet tissues’’ for it. Today, its use is almost universal. Thousands of mothers, having heard of it, are asking, ‘**How can we get it—and be sure that it is this 20 times sterilized Bathroom Paper?”’ Northern Tissue. That is what you ask for— Northern Tissue. , ° . 9” Not ordinary ‘‘toilet paper’’ but— a scientific cloth-like paper No other paper is quite like it. For every sheet of Northern Tissue is sterilized 20 times. (A cultural test conducted by the nationally known Columbus Laboratories proved it as sani- tary as sealed hospital cotton. Consider what that means. ) Moreover, it is cooked at a temperature of 302°. This process does three important things. 1. It whitens the paper. 2. It makes a soft, cloth- like texture. 3. It makes a paper utterly free of irritating particles. Most yellow ‘‘toilet paper’’ contains raw ground- wood. Actually tiny splinters. (Note illustra- tionsabove. ) I hese splinters irritate. Frequently, 20 Times Sterilized! they cause more serious rectal troubles such as Pruritis Ant. There is no raw wood in ‘‘cooked’’ Northern Tissue. That is why doctors are urging the To Get this Sterilized Bathroom Paper Ask for NORTHERN TISSUE eae” co —_— ) el ~ immediate discontinuance of yellow ‘‘toilet paper”’ in favor of white, steri/ized Northern Tissue. Only 10c a Roll With all of its marked superiority, Northern Tissue costs no more than ordinary ‘‘toilet paper’’—only 10c a roll. Hence, it is folly to use any other kind. But a word of caution. Every white Bathroom Paper is not Northern Tissue. This paper, en- dorsed by highest medical authorities, has ‘“The Sterilized Bathroom Paper’’ printed on the label. Look for this wording. Order today. Insist on Northern Tissue. Or we will send you a generous sample, /ree, if you will mail the coupon below. Mail for FREE Sample all al al A i ol Juuta Neiwie, Nurse : / Northern Paper Mills, Dept. 11,Green Bay, Wis. \ Please send me your free sample package bead - — . - Northern Tissue. : Five 4 V 4 of Name Address IW iar asciess scnseertbaciat code eonealiet ins State.......

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mae (Continued from Page 114) nightly. Hype Igoe, a funny guy, now a boxing writer and once a cartoonist, used to keep his ukulele in the ice box and play it nightly. A cartoonist cannot be a hermit and get any ideas. He must circulate and listen. At any rate that’s an excuse for staying up late, though I really believe it. Ideas come by suggestion, and you don’t get any sug- gestions from the paper boy in the morning, or the janitor who is fixing the furnace, or the milkman. To digress in support of my contention, I know a cartoonist who was and is famous. He was always full of enthusiasm for his work, and the first thing he looked at in the paper was the picture drawn by his favorite artist. The first page might announce that war had been declared. This cartoonist never stopped there to read about it, but fumbled over the paper to the place where his cartoon was published so he could see how it looked in print and always seemed surprised to find it there. He went about to fights and all sorts of gatherings, and his work sparkled. Then he fell in love, which many a car- toonist had done before. This girl’s father was wealthy and she beautiful, so he mar- ried her. They got a house and settled down, and instead of staying up all night and sleeping all day, he began to keep bank- ing hours and had an office and a secretary and everything. He even ate luncheon, which is something no cartoonist should do, and he put on his carpet slippers at night. His work lost its punch asa result. If there is a moral to that anecdote don’t ask me to explain it. Well, as I say, if a regular patron of Jack’s stretched at about two in the morning and said, ‘Boys, I’ve a headache. I think I’ll hit the hay early tonight,’’ some tempter would say, ‘“‘Oh, wait for the fight.” There was a fight every night in Jack’s, and no regular left before it. I recall the night Rosenthal was shot by the four gunmen in the doorway of the Metropole Hotel in Forty-third Street. I was in a restaurant at Seventh Avenue and Fiftieth Street called the Garden, and word of the shooting was flashed so soon that we arrived almost in time to get the number of the gunmen’s car. The early risers missed that. This will illustrate the advantages of drawing near the news. For the day fol- lowing Rosenthal’s murder I made a picture of a stranger approaching Mutt at a table in a restaurant and telling him someone desired to speak with him at the door, and he promptly slid under the table. Old- timers will remember that Rosenthal got a message that a friend wanted to see him at the front door, and as he went to see his friend the four gunmen made him look like a colander. A Sign That Drew a Crowd There used to be a restaurant at Sixtieth Street which was patronized for years by the smart folks of the Tenderloin. Over the ballroom on the second floor were apart- ments, one of which was occupied by a New Yorker, now dead, who had a beautiful wife. At the front of the building was a triangular electric sign which advertised this restaurant. I was a good customer of this rendezvous and once won a dancing contest there in the early days, the prize being a trip to Bermuda, which I never took. Well, the New Yorker and his wife, whose rooms were just above the electric sign, used to quarrel a great deal. One morning—it must have been about four o’clock—the gentleman with the beautiful wife got into a row with her, and like many other women, she threatened to commit suicide by diving out of the front win- dow. Much to the surprise of her husband, who advised her to go ahead because she had proposed doing such a thing before without ever attempting it, she made good. At the time, she was wearing the uniform made THE SATURDAY famous by Lady Godiva. Doing an An- nette Kellerman, she merely got tangled up with an electric sign. Hanging on the sign, she lost all desire to commit suicide and began to scream for help, which brought the police reserves, and shortly afterward the fire department with | the necessary apparatus for rescue of an undressed lady on an electric sign. The | scene naturally attracted a crowd, of which I was one, and the incident supplied a sub- | ject for conversation for days. If I had failed to be there, I would have been as badly off the next day as the fellow who didn’t see the Dempsey-Firpo fight—the greatest of hundreds I have witnessed. I would have had nothing of interest to talk about. Then there was Kid McCoy’s under the | old Normandie Hotel at Thirty-ninth Street and Broadway. Every night some patron would make up his mind along about two or three in the morning that he wanted to lick a prize fighter and would make the serious mistake of selecting McCoy to realize his life’s ambition. Let the Kid,tell it in his own words: ‘Some of these fellows were always try- ing to take a sock at me, and I hated to hit them because when they went down they | generally cracked their heads on the hard floor and got hurt. So I bought a big door- mat with Welcome on it and put it just in- side the entrance. When some customer aimed a punch at me I would argue with him until I could back him over on this mat and then I would let him have it. When his head hit the Welcome it never did any more than stun him.” Left-Handed by Accident I sketch in this background to show why people sat up late in those days when it was possible to go into a bar and order a drink without fear of arrest or poison. Tad, the cartoonist from San Francisco, was a great companion of mine at this time. He was and is a spontaneous amusing fellow who always called me John for the same reason he called his brother John, Ike, and he is so known now to everybody. Ike Dorgan is the press agent at Tex Rickard’s Madison Square Garden. Tad also named Bert Igoe, Hype—why I don’t know. Poor Tad’s heart went back on him about five years ago, and for three of those five years he never left one floor of his home at Great Neck, Long Island, but during all that time he made his pictures, and no one knew the artist had what he calls a bum ticker. Says Tad, “‘ You've got to do your stuff. If the public wants a sick guy, they can go to a hospital and not to the comic page.” And for three years he did his stuff from the same room in the same house without being out of it, his only contacts with the outside world being the radio, telephone and newspapers, and none of his readers knew from him that he had a bum ticker. As it is, he will probably die of gout instead of heart trouble. Now he comes to New York once in a while and takes a room high up in one of the hotels and opens the windows at night and looks down on the cake eaters and thesports and the mob and gets a sniff of the old life. “That's close enough for me with this dime-a-dozen ticker,”’ he says. But when I first came to New York, Tad was a companion who invented the expres- sion ‘“‘sun dodger,”’ which means the fellow who sleeps all day so that he won’t see the sun. Tad had a nub of aright hand, for when he was a boy he had got curious about the operation of hoisting a safe out of the fourth-story window of an office building in San Francisco. He put his hand in the drum, around which the cable was slack, and just then it tightened up with the full weight of the safe on it and sheared off four fingers. Not discouraged, he became left- handed. Editor’s Note—This is the second of four articles by Mr. Fisher. The third will appear next week. EVENING POST d—a balloon tire flat pa oe when this latest Blackhawk Hydraulic Jack 1s | worth its weight in gold! ide it under—engage ram gon 5 toe — give long, rigid handle a few easy strokes, short or long—and up she is! Then, to = eae car —deep-rut- ® = By m 44-inch Tubular Handle bayonet-lock io ii) } | i HYDRAULIC —include full line of Industrial Jacks, capaci- ties up to 75 tons. Write for Industrial Folder. INDUSTRIAL and AUTOMOTI 117 No AXLE Too LOW FoR THIS JACK! ‘ust open release valve with sro ol down she osoen smoothly and quickly. Tht s joy of hydraulic jacking? ™ Blackhawk Allear model, eee . ing points, handles any an cars—sells at $12.90. Your dealer has this jack or can quickly get one for you. Write us for escriptive literature. ati TOE : LIFT — reaches down to 3% inches from the and lifts %4 ton. J Adjustable. OIL-POWER HEA , VI- 1S ontoe (ap BLACKHAWK MFG. 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THE SATURDAY

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a y y S i, ia WH ERY Qe P| RRA ZF | | pound. | sight of the fact that even if there was pro- EVENING POST August 4,1928 GOLDEN FLEECE (Continued from Page 11) Contracts for October delivery of cotton were selling on the New York Exchange then at 914 cents a pound. Scales felt that it ought to go to twelve, so he returned to New York and proceeded to buy and buy and buy. Trading on the New Orleans Ex- change were two other men with plenty of money with which to back their judgment | that there was going to be a shortage of cotton. The New Orleans traders were Frank Hayne and William Perry Brown. In 1903 they had taken up the bull campaign | started by Sully after the latter withdrew | from the market. Then they came to New York and successfully squeezed the shorts in every month from July to September. Brown was a Mississippian, his upper lip | covered with a big sweeping mustache, and was called colonel by reason of some con- nection with the militia. He had a higher - in the cotton ring. There he was a gerferal. Knowledge similar to that which had in- fluenced Scales had started a succession of buying orders from Chicago. One of the big speculators out there likewise had seen a meaning in the unfavorable seeding con- ditions. Four men, then, were backing with mil- lions of dollars their judgment that there would be a crop shortage. Among them before the end of that operation they must have held contracts for the delivery of more | than 1,000,000 bales. Cotton advanced until in the spring of 1909 October con- tracts touched sixteen cents a pound. Scales could have withdrawn from the market, it has been estimated, with a profit of $5,000,- 000. One of those speculators at one time during the operations had accumulated contracts for 300,000 bales. Scales profited hugely, and the spinners of England, field hands in Texas, traders in the ring of the New York Exchange gos- siped about the $1,000,000 in securities this Texan had given to his sister, and the presents of hundreds of thousands he had given to other relatives in Texas. Flooding New York With Cotton The bull campaign continued until 1910, because the spindles of the world had fallen far behind their task. There was still in- sufficient-cotton in the world for the world’s needs. The cotton planters were delighted with the high prices. The market quota- tions in March, 1910, showed the season’s remaining options at around 141% cents and the next summer’s crop at 12!4 cents a Some men in the trade, losing duced a bumper crop of 14,000,000 bales there was a demand for at least 1,000,000 more, sold contracts to deliver cotton; but | again the price began to advance. The bull | leaders of the previous year were steadily buying. If the cotton planters were pleased with the high prices they were getting, the spin- ners were not. Neither were bankers whose institutions were involved by those high prices. Some of the most bitter were men in the spot-cotton business—that is, they were in the business of buying actual cotton in thecountry and then selling it to spinning mills in this country or else to other cotton dealers abroad. In July, 1910, under the influence of high prices and the continuance of the bull campaign, 219,000 bales of cotton were delivered in New York on con- tracts. More were received which were un- available for delivery because of the great congestion. The bales were exposed to the weather on the docks of the water front, on the open decks of the lighters that had re- ceived them from the holds of ships that could not reach docks, and in barges that had been loaded from freight cars in the New Jersey terminals on the west bank of the Hudson. In some cases cotton was exposed for days before the overworked inspectors could weigh and sample it in accordance with the contract rules of the cotton exchange, and the close of each day saw more and more cotton arriving in con- sequence of the train of events that had followed Scales’ investigations of field con- ditions in 1908. Cotton that had been shipped to Liverpool was withheld from the British mills that needed it so that it might be shipped back to New York. Northern and Southern mills in the United States reshipped cotton into New York, each arriving bale bearing a little additional token of hope that it might be the bale to break the credit of Scales and the others. But the price of cotton rose until in August, 1910, it sold for twenty cents a pound. Transportation needed for a more eco- nomic purpose was wasted in that effort to break the Seales corner. Then other meth- ods triumphed. Scales and three of his associates were indicted on the charge of violating the Sherman Antitrust Law. Such action, of course, did not destroy a single boll weevil nor add a single pound of cotton to the world’s supply. During 1911 the price dropped back to where it was when Scales began his deal. The cotton growers had begun to catch up with the cotton spinners. The bull campaign was over. The profits of the speculators who had led it were enormous. The Story of Vegetable Wool Scales’ fortune was said to have touched $8,000,000 on paper, but he had, like An- teus, that giant of mythology whom Her- cules vanquished, lost his contact with the earth. This man, the nerviest speculator the country had ever produced, began to trade on hunches, buying or selling on guesses. A few years later he was bankrupt. Until his death he haunted the scene of his triumphs, a tall, stooped, gaunt, lonely old man, trading in his mind when he could not make a better deal. A significant thing in the Scales year was the handicap on the men who had sold cotton—on the men, I mean, who had con- tracted to deliver cotton to the four chief speculators who led that market. In order to deliver cotton to Scales and the others in that campaign, it had to be diverted from its natural channels and shipped, waste- fully, to New York. Year after year squeezes had been worked in the New York Cotton Exchange that would not have been possible, in my judg- ment, if the contracts made there provided for Southern delivery. Before undertaking to show how New York became supremely important in the cotton trade after the close of the Civil War, it might be well to take a hasty glance at the history of this remarkable plant, which more than any other single growth has made the New World vital to the Old. Alexander, the Macedonian, invading India, found cotton being cultivated there, and perhaps among the booty brought home by his troops were fabrics woven of this vegetable wool. Columbus found cot- ton in the West Indies on his first voyage of discovery. Cortés, after his conquest of the Aztecs in Mexico, sent to the Spanish sov- ereigns, along with stolen. gold vessels, wonderful fabrics taken from the natives. Some of that apparel was contrived by for- gotten processes out of the downy plumage of tropical birds, but there were other cloths in the rich cargoes of the ships he sent home which awakened the envy of all the ladies of the Spanish court. The robes of the Aztec kings were woven out of cot- ton. Similar fabrics won the fancy of Pizarro in Peru as he destroyed the civiliza- tion of the Incas in his hunt for their gold. But all the gold that has been produced in America since those times does not equal in value the total of the cotton crops of our Southern States in the past twenty years. In 1792-3 the equivalent of 10,000 bales was raised in the newly formed United (Continued on Page 121)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 119 Tey... Really Do & Give More | LIGHT and AIR Neither pictures nor words can make you fully appreciate the beauty and convenience of Fenes- tra Casements. Only when you have them in your home will you realize how many advantages they have. . Finger-touch operation — Snug- tight fit—No sticking—No shrink- _ ing — No warping — No rattling — Easy and convenient to clean— Screened inside — Strong, slender members of solid rolled steel—Fire- proof—Small glass-panes—Leaded glass if you prefer. wa Architects say: “To make your house distinctive, watch three things—your roof, your doorway, your WINDOWS.” That's why you see Fenestra Casements in so many smart, new homes. They have style. They permit effective group- ing and attractive draping. They give an impression of comfort, coziness, hospitality. Compare the cost of these beauti- ful steel casements with that of ordinary windows and you'll be surprised, to find little if any difference. DETROIT STEEL PRODUCTS CO. 2240 East Grand Boulevard DETROIT, MICH. Factories: Detroit, Michigan and Oakland, California Convenient Warehouse Stocks fenestra CASEMENT WINDOWS of Steel | NEW Drapery Booklet— FREE Three nationally known decorators have helped us prepare a booklet on the proper draping and screen- ing of casements. Would you care fora copy? It's free.

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120 Afver Breakfast-—the room cleared and the carpenter ready to nail down the finished CROMAR Flooring THE SATURDAY EVENING Re i POST August 4,1928 ge CSR GRR Ce Oa ORT oot SEE In the Evening of the same day—the last nail driven and the new CROMAR Floor ost amazingly simple way _#% of Buying an Oak Floor HY shouldn't oak flooring be finished at the factory like a piano or a dining- room table? Some ten years ago, that simple question led to the invention of CROMAR: Ingenious machines were designed, were pat- ented. And since then many thousands of home-owners have spared themselves the irri- tating delay and muss and trouble of scraping, sanding, filling, varnishing and polishing oak floors in their homes. With Cromar all that has been done at the factory. When the beautifully finished CROMAR flooring strips reach you, there is not another thing to do but nail them down. When the last nail is driven, your new CROMAR Oak Floor is ready for instant use. And the nail- C) e Fi ‘++ completely finished at the factory r++ tke furniture: ++ ing is done at the speed of a room a day. The story of CROMAR Oak Flooring is im- mensely interesting. For CROMAR is the only finished—ready to use—flooring in the world. And a CroMAR floor costs you no more than a hand-finished oak floor. TT FACTORY FINISHED NT NU Write for booklets which tell of CROMAR’s numerous fechnical advantages in an interest- ing non-technical way. ' CROMAR is sold by lumber dealers, but carpenters and contractors install it. Con- sult any of these for further information. If you have the slightest trouble in getting satis- faction, write us and we \ = will give your inquiry —S\\. “4 immediate personal mem “cntion. Send for a free sample of THE CROMAR COMPANY 4R Hamoe ‘f oan Williamsport, Pa. CROMAR Hammer Test on its surface! You will of course dent the wood and crack the varnish, but the CROMAR varnish will not flake off — as does aninferior brittle varnish. FLOORING

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(Continued from Page 118) States, thanks to the stern needs growing out of the Revolutionary War. Cut off from Europe, the people had to provide for themselves, and did so by growing and spinning cotton. That year of the insig- nificant 10,000-bale crop, young Eli Whit- ney, a Connecticut Yankee, traveling to Savannah by sailing ship, found himself in the charming company of the widow of the Revolutionary general, Nathanael Greene. Whitney, seeking the best means to market a college education, was on his way to South Carolina to teach school. At that time he never had seen a bale of cotton. Mrs. Greene invited him to her plantation on the river near Savannah. There he heard the neighboring planters express their longing for some mechanical device that would separate the cotton lint from its seeds. Every school child knows that this mechan- ical genius proceeded to evolve a machine which filled the need, but I wonder if the elders of every school child appreciate the consequences of that invention. Within a year or so after his invention became avail- able to the planters of the Carolinas the crop was doubled in size; it was four times as large in 1798-9, eight times in 1800-1, sixteen times in 1805-6, and then was dou- bled again and again, year after year, until in the cotton year of 1914-15 the crop was 1600 times as large as the last one made just prior to the invention of the gin. Whit- ney’s device was a creation on the side of demand, but three men of the Old World— Hargreaves, Arkwright and Crompton— devised machines that enabled the world to buy all the cotton America could produce. Their inventions revolutionized cotton spinning. My father, Samuel M. Inman, was a student at Princeton University preparing himself to become a Presbyterian minister when the war between the states came on. Cotton was responsible for the alignment of that struggle. It had made the South agricultural and therefore strongly in favor of free trade. It had created a need for cheap labor, for slaves. After the war my father went into the cotton business. Because of the ease with which money can be borrowed on cotton it has always been a comparatively simple matter for young men who wished to do so to make a start as cotton merchants, but in those times my father had to pay 9 per cent hire for the money he borrowed and 10. per cent commission for the privilege. All the machinery of commerce was broken down in the South. Shipping and finance were disrupted. Still he managed to make a living, and the New York agent to whom he consigned the cotton he bought in the country around Atlanta was another Con- federate veteran, his brother, John Inman. Uncle John’s firm in New York was Inman, Swann & Co. Wrecked for a Nice Profit There was then no such mechanism as the modern system of commodity protec- tion we call hedging. A merchant who bought cotton carried every dollar of risk involved until he succeeded in shifting title to that cotton to some purchaser. I do not believe I would attempt to run my business today unless I could hedge my transac- tions, selling my contract to deliver in some future month the same number of bales my buyers have purchased in the country. In that way I confine my hope of profit and my risk of loss within the margins of my merchandising skill. I buy and sell futures, not because I wish to speculate but in order to avoid speculating. Whenever my father bought a number of bales of cotton in the first years after the close of the war, he was in danger of losing every dollar he possessed, as well as his credit standing, until he had succeeded in disposing of his stock. He was a speculator in spite of himself. Once in those early days of his business career a freight train hauling 1000 bales of his cotton to New York was wrecked. For about sixty days he could not get it moved northward to the THE SATURDAY warehouses in New York. If the market had gone down sharply he might have been ruined; instead, it advanced during those two months forty dollars a bale, so that, thanks to the wreck, he made about $40,- 000. It was the best turn fortune had ever given him and enabled him to expand his business. New York then was the logical place to market a big share of the Southern crop. The buyers were there. New York was an exporting market as Liverpool was, and is, an importing market. Until some time after the war we contin- ued to export more of the crop than we manufactured ourselves. Liverpool, the | source of the bulk of the buying orders, was | a week away from New York by the swift-. est mail steamers and three weeks away by sailing vessels. Sailing vessels moved South in the fall, loaded cotton at various Southern ports, | and then set sail for Liverpool. If my father, for example, loaded a few hundred | bales of his cotton aboard one of those | ships, it did not start immediately for mar- ket. His risks continued while the captain of the vessel hunted about for the rest of his cargo. Still, the prices could not be in- fluenced by Liverpool news oftener than the weekly mail steamer. Then the Atlantic cable was laid and the price of cotton in Liverpool began to influence the price of cotton in New York at hourly intervals. A Cotton Hedge Before long there had grown upa practice of offering contracts for cotton ‘to arrive” within a specified time. Some manufac- turers began to contract ahead for their raw materials. The cotton famine of the war period had made all of them fearful of idle spindles. They wished to insure their supplies. One New York firm began to pro- tect itself against forward contracts made at a fixed price by purchasing equal amounts of “‘to arrive’’ contracts. They had discoy- ered that by providing a margin of profit between the two related transactions they had put their business on a safe and paying plane. Over in Liverpool a merchant named John Rew had begun to sell “to arrive” contracts on the same day that he had bought cotton in the South by means of cabled orders. Whether the market went up or down, his transactions balanced them- selves. Others in the trade were quick to adopt the scheme. In that way the hedging of cotton began, and today this insurance mechanism is a stabilizing influence in all the principal commodities of commerce. The principle is the same in grain or pork as it is in cotton. Four transactions are necessary to com- plete a single deal. When I buy 100 or 1000 bales of actual cotton in the country, I sell my contract to deliver an equal number of bales at some specified month in the future. Before I can earn my profit as a merchant I must sell that actual merchandise—the spot cotton—and buy back my future delivery contract. If the market has gone up or down in the interval those trades have been on my books I am not concerned. The trades have balanced each other. For five years after the close of the war trading in futures was conducted by brokers who rushed about from office to office look- ing for buyers or sellers. That kind of trad- ing put a premium on legs rather than brains. Besides, unethical brokers could not readily be punished for sharp practices any more than it was possible to punish unethical merchants. Trading necessarily was on a lower tone than it should have been. Then, in 1870, agitation for a regular trading place and a uniform contract re- sulted in the establishment of the New York Cotton Exchange. My uncle, John Inman, was one of the first board of managers. Thereafter the | best characters in the cotton business estab- lished the plane upon which the business was transacted. Today, after fifty-eight years of experiénce, the signal of a man’s hand in the hubbub of the trading ring has all the weight of a written contract. If it were not for that marketing mechanism in EVENING POST 121 FAMOUS FEET how theyre kept free from corns MARIE PREVOST'S Famous Feet “In real life, as in reel life, there is always a villain. But the most villainous corn is easily foiled with Blue-jay.” So writes Marie Prevost, lovely De Mille star. Common sense asserts that Blue«jay is the sane and safe way to remove a corn at home. That's why for 28 years it has been the leading way. Self-paring is dangerous. Blue=jay is scientific. Each plaster is a stand- ardized treatment, with just the right amount of the magic medication to end the corn. In an improved pack- age, with new-style creamy-white pad ..- at all drug stores. For calluses and bunions use Blue=jay Bunion and Callus Plasters. THE New Blue-jay GENTLE ORN ei” Bw a — a F : f bv Sng a . 7 5 © B. & B., 1928 If YOU Want = /) Extra Money Right Away— When there’s something for which you need money quickly—perhaps to supply a neces sity or enjoy a luxury--do you know wher: the cash is coming from? We'll tell you how to get it: Just clip and mail the coupon below. As soon as it reaches us, we'll tell you how you may become our authorized representative in your locality. You'll surely be interested! 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—apeo Cily THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (— > OW that summer is here and you have more spare hours to spend in the open, here’s a real opportunity for you tomake some extramoney. How? By putting in your odd bours as our local sub- scription representative — just as George Grantham of Can- ada does, just as hundreds of other workers do to earn up to $1.50 or more an hour. To succeed as a representa- tive for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman, you need have no experience, no capital. And you may work in your own neighborhood, among friends if you wish. For this easy, dignified work we pay you liberal commis- sions. Bonuses and prize checks may also be yours. Many of our representatives earn from $50 to $500 extra in this way. Why not you? Mail the coupon today. THk CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY | | 696 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Piease tell me how to make my spare time pay. | : Name Age ‘ | (Please print name and address) | ; A | Street = Krew enemas mama Stale y ENNA d nA ETTIC Health Shoe aM BINAT r corr, LAST + ‘W PRICES SLIGHTLY HiGHER IN CANADA Wide and Extra Wide “A boon to those women who have been obliged either to pay high prices or take poorly fitted shoes.” You no longer need be told that you have an “ expensive” fool. Narrow and Extra Narrow ur dealer or Enna Jettick Shoes — Auburn, N.Y. rs ll Stride w ith Pride in _Enna Jetticks Seal. made-to-measure clothes at $24.50 and make $50 to $75 a week! Many of our salesmen make much more. You can easily earn big money if you are a steady worker. Fine all- wool clothes, made-to-measure. Satis- faction guaranteed. Commission of $4 to $8 a sale paid at once. Write for fall line STRAND TAILORING CO. INC. DEPT. 2 BALTIMORE. 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We handle deliveries, collections and give active co-opera- tion in helping you build a big paying business. High grade sample outfit, with over 100 large wool samples, style book, suppl nace = furnished you Fre Don't_delay—write a once W Z.Gibson, Inc., 500 Throop St., Dept. V- -685, Chicago ane tows Pig Skin Pad New Kind of Lining Rust-Proof Metals FINE wide web for | comfort. outwear any garter made with silk or satin pad. | =e or double grip 50c up a pair. If your dealer can not supply Ant Loncer you, order direct. Wear LONGER Made by DETROIT SUSPENDER & BELT CO. Manufacturer of Kooloff (invisible) Suspenders 403 W. Jefferson Ave., Detroit, Mich. WIZARD CO St. Louis, Mo j New York and a similar one in New Or- | leans, I should be obliged to pay less for the | eotton I buy in the country and to charge more to the mills to which I sell it. Itisa vital thing, and yet it is not merely an organization of men or a skyscraper of steel and concrete with a trading ring on the top floor. It is an accretion of trading rules. Its right to survive, as I see it, rests on the ability of the organism to adjust itself to changing conditions in the trade. The spec- ulator is necessary to the cotton merchant, | and therefore to the cotton planter; it is | only when he begins to operate individually | or in pools, with a huge sum of money, that he becomes a nuisance. It is idle to deny |, that a man or a combination of big interests | with absolute control of big fortunes may upset the course of a market month in any of the cotton exchanges—New York, New Orleans, Liverpool, Bremen or Havre. Such an operator may lose his fortune, but that is small comfort to the puzzled farmer or country storekeeper who has seen the price of mules, of land, plows and other | things, lift and fall in a crazy response to | ers may have a compact frontier. the yelling of buyers and sellers confronting one another across a cotton ring. Like the wheat pit, those rings are made so the trad- It is, in- deed, a queer piece of furniture, but our | civilization could not manage well with- out it. One of the men whose operations today are responsible for the greatest single share of that clamor in the New York and New | Orleans trading rings—15 per cent of it, I should say—is not a speculator in any sense of the word. His business is the buying and selling of spot cotton. It is no more pos- sible to discuss cotton without speaking of Will Clayton than it is possible to talk about oil without mentioning John D. Rockefeller. Ail over the South there are cotton ship- pers with headquarters at strategic points, with their network of agents and buyers extending all over the Cotton Belt. There is our firm in Atlanta; in Wilmington are the Sprunts, in Montgomery the Weils, in Philadelphia the McFaddens, in Memphis the Newburgers, in Houston, Dallas, Okla- homa City and every Southern port and large interior concentrating point there are such firms; but Clayton directs the biggest. There are hundreds of these concerns and in recent years, as the American Cotton Shippers Association, we have met annually | to discuss our problems. Buying Here and Selling There At our last meeting we voted overwhelm- ingly in favor of urging the New York Cotton Exchange to provide a contract under which a seller might deliver cotton at one of its natural concentration points in the South. We did this because a large majority of cotton shippers had become convinced that it was the best way to stop a kind of market manipulation which the cotton trade refers to as a straddle. In recent years these straddles have become almost monthly operations. In working a straddle an operator enters one market, New Orleans, for example, and buys cotton heavily and at the same time sells in New York. In the delivery month such a buyer produces great quantities of actual cotton in New York for delivery on his short contracts. Consequently the New York market goes down. The last thing the speculator wants is cotton. What he wants is a profit. In the face of delivery he runs to cover—that is, he sells, and it is that selling pressure that sends the price down. Sometimes it goes down abnormally and a part of the trade suffers. Sometimes these straddles are worked as | between two trading months, so that De- | cember contracts sell at a strong premium over January and January will be depressed | under March. Let us see how it has worked. The larg- est cotton-shipping firm handled last year August 4,1928 about 2,000,000 bales of actual cotton that moved through and was stored in their warehouses throughout the South. In- spectors stabbed those bales with a kind of saw-toothed bayonet which they twisted in the wound thus made and then drew out a sample which received a numbered tag to correspond with its parent bale. The sam- ples were graded according to government specifications. Spinners in the South, in New England, in Europe and in Japan, then bought that cotton by cable, telegram, tele- phone or letter orders. So highly regarded is the integrity of men in the cotton trade that a transaction of millions of dollars is sometimes arranged with no more than an exchange of brief cable messages. Bales of Stage Property The shipping concern in question, because it owned those 1,000,000 bales’ containing nearly 500,000,000 pounds of cotton, had hedged itself, largely in the New York market, by selling its contracts for future delivery. But ordinarily New York is almost bare of cotton. Great changes oc- curring in the industry have brought this about. Seed experiments undertaken in efforts to control the boll weevil shortened the cotton fibers. New England spins, chiefly, cotton with fibers fifteen-sixteenths of an inch long or longer. New York con- tracts call for delivery of seven-eighths- inch cotton. Such cotton finds its best market in Southern mills. Once all the spinning mills of the country were in New England. Today there are more mills in the South—some actually standing in the cotton fields—than there are in New Eng- land. Another market for seven-eighths cotton is Japan. The opening of the Panama Canal has altered the currents of ocean commerce. It is cheaper to ship a Southern product to the Orient from Southern ports than it is to ship by way of New York. Therefore cotton shipped from the South to be ten- dered in fulfillment of a New York contract is shipped out of its natural course. Nevertheless, this big concern, aware of its great volume of short contracts, bought to protect its ownership of more than 1,000,- 000 actual bales, felt that it ought to have enough cotton in New York to prevent the possibility of a squeeze by long interests that might at the last minute demand cotton instead of money. Accordingly it shipped nearly 200,000 bales into New York for storage. There it became a sort of stage property to be brought out month after month and tendered to speculators who did not want it. Only a very large business concern could afford to do this. Un- deniably this cotton shipped into New York depressed the market there out of its natural parity with other markets. This was not an illegal transaction in any sense, but it was an unfortunate thing for men in the trade. Their own hedging oper- ations, because of the artificial spread be- tween markets, sometimes failed to afford them adequate protection. Some of the small shippers undoubtedly believed the Houston firm headed by Clayton was ma- nipulating the market in the same fashion and from the same motives that actuate a man like Scales. In 1926 this feeling was intense. As the cotton shippers prepared for their annual meeting, to be held in Atlanta, I invited Will Clayton to come and tell us his side of the story. I was president, in that year, of the American Cotton Shippers Association. I can best describe Clayton by saying that he is six feet tall, still in his forties, and looks as if Charles Dana Gibson had drawn him. He understands cotton as no man has ever understood it before. Under his in- fluence increasing quantities of cotton are being pressed into round bales, half the size of the cumbersome, unwieldy 500- pound standard bales. One man with ease can roll one of these newer bales along the (Continued on Page 126) ee as ee |

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—_—. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 123 AISE the hood of your automobile and take a look at the motor block, and the dash. On one or the other you hould find a Purolator Oil Filter. This faithful, efficient device is standard equipment on many of America’s finest motor cars and is adding years to their smooth, troubleless operation. It stands like a sentinel between the oil supply line and the crankcase. When the motor starts the oil pump the Purolator goes on the job. It intercepts the oil as it circulates through the lubrication system, and filters it. Removes the grit and road dust and carbon deposits and metal parti cles . . . then sends it on its way, clean, purified ... free from these gritty, grind ing, foreign substances that wear out the bearings and score the cylinder walls and damage the pistons. Since the idea of oil filtration for circulating systems was first conceived, Purolator en gineers have earned and kept their place as the acknowledged leaders in this field They designed and perfected the first oil filter to meet the requirements of car manu facturers, and ever since, devoting their entire time to this one single purpose, have been responsible for ev ery practical, proven and tested improvement that has resulted from their original conception. The Purolator works with that simplicity which is the hallmark of almost every useful invention. The filter element is built into an oil tight metal case, thoroughly tested for leaks and seepage. This unit 1s called the “ Purolator cartridge,” and is removable. When it con tains all the dirt and grit that it will hold the filter simply quits functioning —goes off 66 \ ) y E call it the ‘100,000 mile motor’ the job—and the oil continues to circulate s before. This usually happens after abo since the factory put on thePUROLATOR vc" ad deals Oil Filter as Standard equipment. ee eee Notice that this is a Genuine PURO- iow Plachacte careigs, costuming a ew, LATOR—not one of the cheaper imita- was fr anor ih th snd miles of tions. Our engineers selected the best... insurance. If your force feed oiling system isn't pro not the cheapest oil filtration system. m tected with a Purolator, ask your garag man about putting one on. ! And ask him to tell you the difference between the Purolator and the Purolator’s imitators. His job is to keep your car on the road—AND HE KNOWS. MOTOR IMPROVEMENTS, INC. 363 FRELINGHUYSEN AVENUE NEWARK, N. J. UROLATOR THE OIL FILTER ON YOUR MOTOR CAR

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124 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928 pA TA Le within 5 hours of 90 million people & MILLION residents of the United Statesand 5 million Canadians live within 500 miles of Buffalo. By train you can a reach almost any part of this magic circle over night. Airplanes will take you there in less than ¢ hours. Buffalo has a municipal airport acclaimed by government authorities as a veritable model. Six airplane industries are located here. With freight costs, and speed of transporta- tion, more vital than ever in American business, the manufacturer has a decided advantage in Buffalo, with so vast a market, of such great spending power within so easy reach. I nvestigate Buffalo — Visit Buffalo With all its other advantages, Buffalo has financial institutions of the first order. The Marine, organized in 1860, is closely linked up with the prosperity of Buffalo. More than 225 million dollars of Marine resources are at the service of Buffalo’s industries. Ask the MARINE more about BuFFALo. MARINE TRUST COMPANY OF BUFFALO CAPITAL, SURPLUS AND UNDIVIDED PROFITS OVER $27,000,000 Ind f Adverti August 4, 1928 PAGE PAGE AC Spark Plug Company 81 Kelly-Springfield Tire Company 78 Aluminum Company of America 108 King-Seeley Corporation 118 American Automobile Association 87 American Window Glass Company...113 Larus & Bro. Co 70 Art Metal Works, Inc 77 LaSalle Extension University 122 Ayer & Son, N. W. 51 Libby, McNeill & Libby 27 Lorillard Company, Inc., P 83 Bassick Manufacturing Co., The 47 Bauer & Black..... 121 Marine Trust Company 124 Blackhawk Mfg. Co...... 117 McKinney Manufacturing ( 105 Bon Ami Company, The 99 Morris & Company 66 Boott Mills 105 Motor Improvements, Inc 123 Bristol-Myers Co. 128 Burke Golf Co., The 103 New Haven Clock Co., Th 86 B.V.D. Company, Inc., The 109 Northern Paper Mills. , 116 Norwich Pharmacal Company, The 58 California Fruit Growers Exchange........ IV Cover Oakland Motor Car Company 95 Campbell Soup Company . 25. Olds Motor Works 38, 39 Certain-teed Products Corp IH Cover Oneida Community, Ltd 2 Chevrolet Motor Company 64, 65 Chrysler Sales Corporation 37 Packard Motor Car Co. 30, 84 Clark Lighter Co., Inc. 42 Palmolive-Peet Company, The 104 Coleman, Watson E. 105 Parke, Davis & Co. 41 Congoleum-Nairn Inc. 34 Pinaud Incorporated, Ed 50 Continental Motors Corporation 112 Postum Company, Inc. 45 Crawtord, McGregor & Canby Co., The 115 Quaker Oats Company, The $3 Cromar Company,-The 120 Cunard and Anchor Lines 126 Remington Arms Company, Inc 49 Remington Rand Business Service De Soto Motor Corporation Inc. , 68, 69 (Division of Chrysler Corp.) 60, 61 Reo Motor Car Company 53 Detroit Steel Products Company 119 Rexall Stores 71 Detroit Suspender & Belt Co 122 Roach & Company, W. R 82 Rosen & Co., A. W. &3 Eclipse Machine Co 85 Ross Gear and Tool Co 111 Enna Jettick Shoes 122 Royal Typewriter Company, Inc 93 Evaporated Milk Association guceen Seeger Refrigerator Company 67 Fisher Body Corp. 32 Shaler Company, The 88 Fisk Tire Company, Inc., The 101 Squibb & Sons, E. R 54 Fleischmann Company, The . 59 Strand Tailoring Co 122 Ford Motor Company 72,73 Ternstedt Manufacturing Company.. 79 General Cigar Co., Inc 76 General Electric Co 48 United States Gauge Co 46 Gibson, Inc., W. Z 122 Universal Pictures 40 Gillette Safety Razor Co 63 Glover Co., Inc., H. Clay 44 Vaeuum Oil Company 29 Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co., Inc., The 56,57 Warner-Patterson Co 114 Warren Company, S. D 125 Hartford Fire Insurance Company 75 Western Clock Company 1 Hawaiian Pineapple Company 102. Whitman& Son, Inc., Stephen F..II Cover Hendryx Company, The Andrew B 100 Wizard Co. 122 Hookless Fastener Company 127 Wooster Brush Co., The 96 Hupp Motor Car Corp 90, 91 Wrigley’s 97 Jantzen Swimming Ass'n of America. . 98 Yale & Towne Mfg. Co., The 110 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. YOU Can Just as Well Have Spending Money F you are as busy most of the time as et: Mrs. Robert furner, of Texas, is with helps with household expenses housekeeping you can still have more money and all the little luxuries it will buy. (Mrs. No Experience +. tues P Turner has made $5.00 in a single day.) Needed Just arrange with us to become THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 695 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania a Curtis subscription represent- 4 4 ‘4 Ss! a d oO ) -as ore ative. The coupon brings all Please tell me all about your cash offer. the details. Name (Please Print Name and Address Cash for SpareTime | *” City State Age " “>...

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— . >... THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Nm on rt eis Be 4 a Customers for sale at public auction There will be a special offering of prosperous customers this week. They will be sold to busi- ness men anxious for their trade. Purchasing ca- pacity high. Credit Al. Selection from best families \ in all localities. No reasonable bid overlooked. The question before you is this—will you invest a small part of that twenty dollars to hold your good trade? How much will you Customers of stores, or customers of a line of branded goods, are not obtained free. They do not just happen. They are not the re- sult of chance. You paid something for every customer you have. put up against a competitor's offer? Some you bought by your reputation. Others you bought by the very location of your business. Still others you acquired in exchange for special service, sound policies, a better price, a better quality, or better advertising. But those customers were bought and paid for, and now each one has an actual value in cold cash. Suppose, for instance, that your net income is twenty thousand dollars a year and that you have a thousand customers. Each is worth twenty dol- lars to you. When one of those customers walks away, twenty dollars has walked off the books .. . forever. Roecern KIRA - WARREN’S STANDARD PRINTING TO MERCHANTS, MANUFACTURERS, PRINTERS, AND BUYERS OF PRINTING A number of books dealing with different phases of the use of direct advertising and printed pieces have been prepared by S. D. Warren Company. Any of these books that you require may be obtained without cost through your printer. Write to him asking that you be put on the regular mailing list. Or write S. D Warren Company, 101 Milk St., Boston, Mass. PrinlingPopers This mark is used by many good printers to sdentify aa , § or productions on Warren’s papers. These papers are tested for qualities required in printing, folding and binding PAPERS Thousands of customers will gladly put them- ‘selves on sale this week. All over America, they will listen to bids for their attention. Somebody will buy them at bargain prices. Will you? Send them a leaflet each month telling things about your business they may not know. Mail them a folder when new merchandise is added to your line. Let the postman carry a booklet or a mail- ing piece in place of the personal visit you always plan to pay . . . but seldom get around to. Pay them the printed attention they expect and deserve. There are customers for sale this week —new customers that printing will help you buy, old customers that printing will surely help you hold. When you buy a customer—keep him bought! {better paper - better printing }

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126 THE SATURLAY A Continental Lesson for Most Americans ... Facts about the Aquitania’s “Second Cabin” Passage at $152.50... When your foreign globe-trotter . .. your English gentlewoman ... your distinguished scientist and his family travel . . . they | will, so frequently, be found in the “second cabin” because “second cabin” in the Aquitania is like travelling “second” on the continent ...a custom accepted by the best people... One may travel second cabin in the Aquitania with every civilized ... and sophisticated ...comfort. You have faultless English service ...and food...charming dining room... three lounge rooms...sunny glass-enclosed porch... flowers! ... running water in every cabin... plenty of deck space. You are travelling on one of the most impressive and fastest | ships on the Atlantic... you reach your destination in six | days ... you pay only $152.50. To Cherbourg and Southampton Via the Cunard Line For all information re Cunard Second Cabin apply to your local agent or CUNARD LINE EVENING POST (Continued from Page 122) floor of a warehouse. Two can toss one into a freight ear. He has insisted all along that the time has come to modernize the cotton business. Some of us are beginning to agree with him. Anyway I invited him to come from Houston to Atlanta to ad- dress the cotton shippers. “It might result in unpleasantness,” he objected. “T’ll guarantee, as chairman,” I retorted, ‘that you will be listened to courteously.” I was guaranteeing a lot, for many in the audience I was asking him to address | blamed him for big financial losses. So he came. I introduced him, needlessly enough, but with the usual gestures. One or two ap- plauded. The hostility would have been less noticeable if all had kept silent. Then Clayton began to talk. He told us every problem that had figured in some of his recent business campaigns. I doubt if a listener not familiar with the argot of the cotton trade or its mechanisms would have understood any part of what he said, but } none could have mistaken his earnestness and sincerity for anything else. He ex- | plained why he believed that, if New York futures contracts provided for Southern delivery, straddles would be much less easy to work, even for the biggest concerns. It | is obvious that not even a man with Henry | Ford’s fortune in liquid form could buy all | the cotton that might come flooding into a | Southern delivery point if the price got | out of line. August 4,1928 Clayton told us that in New York heavier handling eosts have resulted in a range of what we call inaccurate response. Savannah cotton, for example, would not be shipped into New York to be tendered until the price at New York rose $3.50 a bale above the price of cotton in ware- houses at Savannah. Under reverse con- ditions a decline in New York prices is not checked until it has dropped $1.65 below the price of Savannah cotton. At that point tne New York price would encounter that fabric of influences which we call de- mand. Since 1926 the total of this range of in- accurate response has dropped from $5.40 a bale to $4.50 a bale. Southern delivery on New York contracts, most shippers now believe, would, by eliminating more of this play in the economic machinery, also elimi- nate the temptation as well as the oppor- tunity to work a straddle. Not all the oratory that influences Amer- ican life is uttered in Congress. Some—in fact, a great deal of itis spoken in the conventions of business men. Will Clay- ton’s speech was, in my opinion, that kind of oratory. Two years later, in our April, 1928, convention at Savannah, the ap- plause that was given Clayton at the con- clusion of his Atlanta speech was translated into a resolution demanding a Southern de- livery clause in New York futures contracts. Before we buyers and sellers of spot cotton get this necessary thing, though, I suppose there will have to be a lot of oratory in Congress. THE SATURDAY either wholly or in part, without special never authorized. (More Than Two Million Seven Hundred and Fifty Thousand Weekly IS fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted, quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is EVENING POST permission. The use of our articles or Table of Wotan’s Child— Thomas Beer It’s a Tough World!— William Slavens Golden Fleece—Frank M. Inman The Great Cities—Albert W. Atwood Confession of a Cartoonist— Bud Fisher A Cook’s Tour— George Rector Editorials 55 ae le Short Turns and Encores Who’s Who—and Why August 4, 1928 Cover Design by Elbert McGran Jackson SHORT STORIES Hokum and Roses—Fanny Heaslip Lea A Rhapsody in Greens— Clarence Budington Kelland ARTICLES Thus We Took Rome— Benito Mussolini Orchid Extravagance— Donald Culross Peattie Old Masters Enter High Finance— Esther Singleton SERIALS The Duke Steps Out (In six parts) ——Lucian Cary Swag (Third part)—Charles Francis Coe . MISCELLANY I Will Give You the Summer and Other Poems— Edna St. Vincent Millay Contents PAGE Illustrated by Henry Raleigh 8 Illustrated by Albin Henning 12 Illustrated by Harley Ennis Stivers 14 McNutt Illustrated by R. M. Crosby 18 Photographs 6 Photographs 10 Photographs 16 Photographs 17 Photographs 23 Photographs 26 Illustrated by Harley Ennis Stivers 31 Illustrated by Arthur William Brown 3 . IlNustrated by Saul Tepper 20 Decoration by Franklin Booth 35 your address label from a recent copy. Canada). Foreign prices quoted on request. A REQUEST FOR CHANGE OF ADDRESS must reach us at least thirty days before the date of issue with which it is to take effect. be sent to replace those undelivered through failure to send such advance notice. With your new address be sure also to send us the old one, inclosing if possible THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Publishers also of Ladies’ Home Journa/ (monthly) 10c the copy, $1.00 the year (U. S. and Canada), and The Country Gentleman (monthly) Sc the copy, 3 years for $1.00 (U. S. and Duplicate copies cannot

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 127 «Look for & Hoos KLESs” BX “TALON “ on the ~~ » pull ll ne Brief case, cushion upholstery cover, trave ling bag and roll bag showing applic ation of the sturdy, rustproof Talon Slide Fasteners a. hay For men who set the pace! Modern as air travel. Talon Slide Fasteners . . . Fast as a pursuit plane in its speed of opera- tion... Smooth as a flight through cushiony clouds in the ease with which they fasten and unfasten. No fussing with laces, straps and buckles. Just an easy pull to close or open. (ar Aviator Suits have Talon Slide-Fasteners down the front, up the trouser legs, and on the sleeves The vogue for Talon grows and grows! Leaders in sport, in work, in play—men who demand convenience, speed, correctness in every phase of life, insist upon Talon Slide Fasteners on all of their clothing, equipment, accessories. You see it on fine purses, sweaters, countless things for household use. Smart luggage comes equipped with it—tents, sleeping bags, outdoor equipment of all kinds... You can identify the Talon—the original slide-fastener—the one that always works, never rusts, launders perfectly —by the words “Hookless” or “Talon” on the slider-pull. Write us, the original manufacturers, for names of companies making articles fitted with Talon Slide-Fasteners HOOKLESS FASTENER COMPANY, MEADVILLE. PENNSYLVANIA CHICAGO: 14 East Jackson Blvd. NEW YORK CITY: 393 Seventh Ave “TALON REC U.S PAT. OFF SLIDE FASTENER...

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THE BD atch to IPANA for a tull months trial Good for your gums - splendid for your teeth! yA - g T is an ancient and honorable custom to urge the trial of a tooth paste with a sample of small size and short use—and such a sample of Ipana Tooth Paste we offer in the coupon on this page. But at best, such a sample can prove only Ipana’s delicious taste and its wonderful clean- ing power, while a full-size tube, used faithfully twice-a-day for a month, will show you a de- cided improvement in the health of your gums. Under our diet of soft modern food, the health of our gums is endangered. But, with Ipana and a light massage, you can restore to the gums BRISTOL-MYERS CO., Dept. P88, 73 West St., New York Kindly send me a trial tube of IPANA. Enclosed is a two- | cent stamp to cover partly the cost of packing and mailing. | Name i Address City SATURDAY EVENING POST August 4, 1928 = the stimulation which soft food denies them The massage. in itself is good—the massage with Ipana is better. For Ipana contains ziratol, an antiseptic and hemostatic widely used by the dental profession. So use Ipana every day for a month. Buy the large tube from your nearest druggist. It con- tains over a hundred brushings. You'll be pleased with its beneficial effects upon your gums, you'll be delighted with its cleaning power and you'll enjoy its pleasant flavor every time you use it.

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ASPHALT ASBESTOS SHINGLES, PAINTS, VARNISHES To Users ot the World, the Certain- i@itreleclalias Whatever your experience has led you to require of a prod- uct, in the way of high quality and service, Certain-teed care- fully builds into its different lines. A reputation for giving extra value at all times has developed a world-wide demand for these products. In the Orient, in the Tropics, in far places of the North, men and women buy with the same confidence in the Certain-teed label that is shown by domestic purchasers. A quarter of a century devoted to manufacturing and selling has given Certain- teed full knowledge of what constitutes ROOFINGS, ASPHALT SHINGIL Es. BUILDING APERS. BUILDING FELTS LACQUERS. LINOLEUM, FLOORT eoaane Galanchhetnacisre QUALITY VALUE SERVICE | ate Tee. Products all over teed Label Represents a of Unusual Quality. Value and Service extra value ina product. Modern machinery, progressive manu- facturing methods, scientific superv ision—these are necessary for producing up-to-date merchandise. The standards of Certain-teed lines are exceptionally high, and rigid tests are made through all operations to maintain these standards. Quality, Value, Service ... they are yours when you buy any Certain-teed product. A oe of skilled workers; staffs of chem- ists and engineers; salesmen and executives —all unite to kee Pp the Certain-teed label a world-known emblem of satisfaction. GYPSUM BOARD, FIBER WALLBOARD, NAPARA RUGS, OIL CLOTH, GYPSUM PLASTERS, BUILDING BLOCKS INSULATING BOARD i as

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“Don't Know Anything else so goo thats so good ’

é j for you" ¢ To be sure of getting California Sunkist ua < ; aa 4 Oranges, of uni- It’s remarkable to me—so many things that - we a a — formly good eating are really good for you are unattractive to ? quality, look for the the taste. But orange juice, highly beneficial — i me 4 ~il trade-mark on the especially in these days of almost universal ‘Aci- ae : - prin» and on the ‘ioe teages: ; 7 : skin of the fruit. dosis'"—is one of the most delicious of all drinks.

“TOR several years I knew that I was ‘under par.’ Had headaches every week or so, was conscious of ‘acid mouth’ and sour stomach. Didn't have much appetite and had indigestion when I did eat a full meal. Took cathartics frequently, was often nervous, often tired and my sleep was not as sound as I knew it should be. “And yet I didn’t think that I was ‘sick enough to see a doctor,” because I seldom had to go to bed with any very definite complaint. What annoyed me more than anything was the difficulty of continued concentration. “My wife really forced me finally to see Dr. Manz. He said, “Acidosis, and then astonished me by prescribing orange juice three times a day. “I said, “Orange juice for Acidosis?—I thought oranges were acid-fruit!" “ “They are acid in taste,’ he replied, “but alkaline in their reaction in the body, and that is what you need—more alkaline reaction foods. I know you'll like orange juice, and since there is nothing better for an Acidosis I am Write to address prescribing three full tumblers daily.” Well, below for free book, ’ e he 2 “Telling Fortunes I've been a ‘new man’ since he told me that. idk. Heodes -ee- Sometimes people with Acidosis need more plaining Acidosis in vegetables, milk and other alkaline-reaction detail. foods in addition to the orange juice. Your doctor will know. In other cases an adequate amount of orange juice alone greatly increases the efficiency.

Richest Juice nge Juice ~ i b It is being distributed by the growers of Sunkist Oranges from fresh oranges and lemons. Watch for this machine—it is 00 for and Lemons to enable cafeterias, restaurants, hotels, clubs your visible assurance of purity. } . and soda fountains to more quickly and conveniently make Prospective Buyers: Learn; about our unusual cost- this for you pure, wholesome orange and lemon juice drinks. price proposition on this quick, efficient machine. Write us The dealers using the Sunkist (Electric) Fruit Juice Extractor for complete information. Terms if desired. State line of = P 1 Machine serve real orange and lemon juice drinks made to your order _ business. CautrorniA Frurr Growers Excuance, Dept. 108, Box 530, Station “C,” Los Angeles, California.