The Saturday Evening Post 1929-03-23: Vol 201 Iss 38

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SATURDAY oe mlb ly Franklin Mar. 23,'29 al ae | | WO 4 P i ' J 2 FY 4 voit; tak: a ens oe ES eee a eee pane were ete y John P. Marquand—Margaret Weymouth jJacKson—Booth TarKington—Katharine Dayton Vittorio Emanuele Orlando—Brooke Hanlon—Clarence Budington Helland—Magner White

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A STORY IN PICTURES — for the woman who wants asparagus -at its best | “Where Is DEL MONTE ‘‘What makes it sodelicate | ‘‘What keeps it so fresh?” “What sizes of spears Asparagus grown?’’ and tender?’’ can I buy?”’ Only in the heart of the Sacramento Long before sun-up, on our own Dev Monte Asparagus reaches our Six — Giant, Colossal, Mammoth, | River delta—in age-old deposits of | ranches alone, more than a thousand | canneries, close to the fields, long be- | Large, Medium and Small — shown rich, fertile silt—unsurpassed in the | workers are busy cutting the tender | fore it could reach you raw. Sealed | here greatly reduced. All plainly whole world for growing straight, | spears as they break through their | in cans and cooked at onee, its fine-} marked on the label. Makes possible perfect asparagus stock. blanket of powdery soil. | freshness and flavor are held intaet. just the size of spear you need. | | “What length of spears?” | ‘What are some good | “Why do good cooks use it in “Why should Iinsiston | combinations?’’ so many other ways?’’ DEL Monte ?”’ ar | | cee. Speen, 3 a Del Monte) BRAND P QUALITY 3 3 em oe ETT eyit ¢ FOOD PRODUCTS ES a Two—long spears in the tall square | Asparagus alone, with lettuce and Because of the touch of distinetion Det Mowrts is the world’s largest 7 i | can; and tips, sbout half the length | mayonnaise. With peas or tomatoes, | it addste even the simplest meal. De- | asparagus canner. The experience, re- | ; | of longer spears, in the two smaller | with cream cheese or potato salad: | licious as a vegetable—plain, creamed | sources and ideals of the Det Monte | cans shown here. But Dex. Monte | Adds delicacy and charm to almost | or baked. Fine with omelets, meat | organization make certain of exactly | Quality in every can. any vegetable combination. oods. | the quality you want—in every can. - - a wa Seereess 4 ih A EO ‘a —-—— =- —- =~ ee * 7 hit be swe you say DEL ( INTE I ASPARAGUS |

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Wt i z g a gay sparkic ni y cit »dorless s, your hands are pro THE SATURDAY EVENING POST hs oe ene , Tl FOS ¢? : er £ See The hands thar set a table with fine linen and gleaming silver should themselves look ready for the party. They can—if they use Ivory whenever they use soap fair white hands when you use March 23,1929 Your party linens, both snowy-white and tinted, sta newer-looking longer when tubbed in Ivory. And your — hands stay smooth and white when they use Ivory for laun- dering and other soap-and- ? water tasks \

a kind soap for every soap-and-water task WONDERFUL HANDS! Like actresses they play a double part—one moment at household tasks—another moment charming in the eyes of the world. Can it be done? It is being done in innu- merable servantiess homes. In their own living rooms we have talked to attractive women who are keeping their hands graceful and young. This is about what they say: “The least expensive way to keep the hands smooth and soft is to use Ivory Soap for every soap- IVORY Kind to everything it touches

and-water task. Ivory protects the hands while they are working. For Ivory is so gentle that it is a baby soap. It is efficient soap, too. We find it does sturdy cleansing tasks well.” Isn't this simple and sensible beauty- advice? After all, hands that are treated like ugly ducklings all the working day can’t be ex- pected to turn into white swans even after an eleventh-hour manicure—for lotions can’t undo the harm to sensitive skin and cuticle

caused by the use of harsh, parching soaps. Isn't it wiser to use Ivory—which really is a form of beauty-insurance? After each Ivory cleansing task dry your hands well. Then, with your usual grooming, they are always ready for parties. ’ PROCTER & GAMBLE FREE! A little book on charm. “What kind of care for different complexions? For hands? For hair, for figures?”’ A little book, “On the Art of Being Charming”, answers many questions like these and is free. Address Winifred S. Carter, Dept. VS-39, Box 1801, Cincinnati, Ohio. SOAP 99 **/,.,°/, Pure ‘“‘It floats’’

Or, oe Oe ae

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oageT as u-e aceasta vege Published Weekly Company Cyrus H. KK. Curtis, President George H. Lorimer, First Vice-President John B. Williams, Second Vice-President Walter D. Fuller, Second Vice-President end Secretary. Philip S. Collins, Second Vice-President and Treesurer Fred A. Healy, Advertising Director Independence Square, Philedelphie Patent Office end in Foreign Countries The Curtis Publishing . TH E SA TU. RDA : Thomes B.Costain. A.W. Neall, EVENING POST Founded A°D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin SS" SAAS SS Copyright, 1929, by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United States end Greet Britein. Tithe Registered in U.S ste. George Horace Lorimer Frederick S. Bigelow, Wesley Stout, B. Y. Riddell, Thomes L. Masson, Merritt Nulburd, W. Thornion Martin, Associate Editors Entered as Second-Cless Matier, November 15, i579, at the Post Ofice ot Philedeiphise. Under Ac: of Merch 3.1679. Additions! Entry ot Columbus. O Milweuhee, Wis., St. Poul, Minn... Sen Frencisce, Cel. NeansesCity, Mo. Sevennsh.Ge.. Denver,Cole., Louisville, My... ston, Tex..Omahs Neb Ogden. J Entered as Second-C lass Matter ot the Post-Office Department, Ottews, Con Useh JocRogavilie.t te..NewOricans.Le..Pertand, Me., end Los Angeles, Cel Volume 201 5c. THE copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., MARCH 253, 1929 $2.00 © Strtemen Number 38 By John P. Marquand ILLUSTRATED BY HENRIETTA McCAIG STARRETT “Maro!” Calied Alfred Michael. “Hi, Maro, are You There?"’ T WAS a morning in early June a good many years ago when Tommy lay in the long grass by the shore of the Michael place, looking at the sky. There were vines twisting in uneven spirals up the dilapidated pillars of a near-by summerhouse. Michael’s Harbor was sparkling in the sun, and the houses of the town across the mouth of Welcome River looked as white as new. The elms above them were like the trees on deep-blue china plates. In the distance to the left, nearer to the ocean, the cliffs and lawns and houses on Warning Hill were very plain to see, larger houses even in those days than the houses of the town; even in those days like the palaces in books. If you looked at your palm, Warning Hill was like the heavy lump which rises to meet your thumb, and Michael’s Harbor like the lower ridge which runs toward the little finger. Wel- come River was like the heavy lines running from the wrist and separating these ridges, running safe into the palm itself, as the true river ran into the harbor waters. It was as pleasant a place that morning as you could hope to see on the whole Long Island coast. Surely there was no great reason why Tommy should have remembered it from al! those other mornings when the sky was clear and the sunlight seemed dancing on the wind, from all those other ribbons of mornings which have a way of sinking far into the haze of a beginning. He was only seven years old at the time, yet he remembered, per- haps because there is an intuition which warns even a little boy when all his world is near to change. Tommy was making up poetry as children sometimes will, extemporaneous, unconscious, to please himself and no one else in the world. His yellow head moved back and forth as he intoned it. His eyes were gray and wide: “Then I will get a boat with a big sail, a big sail, And I] will sail it, and sail it fast, And the wind will blow it until it goes rush and splash Where the waves are on the rocks.”

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4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST It was here that a shadow fell across Tommy’s face and made him silent. Now, of course, Tommy was horribly embarrassed, for no one had ever found him so before, playing make-believe and speaking into the empty air. His father was standing above him, an immense and towering figure he seemed in those days, and invincible in his godlike strength. His father was dressed in his black-and-white- checked suit. His mouth was hidden in the bush of his mustache. He was carrying his walking stick, which was immensely large and heavy, which he poked into the grass as Tornmy sat up, waiting for him to speak. Always there was something sad in that memory, such as bides in all illusions, especially in those of the days which one loves best. Why is it that the father myth is always first to you? Of course, now, Alfred Michael had none of those qualities so hopefully bestowed upon him by a lonely little boy. Alfred Michael was at best a slender man whose shoulders were stooped and whose eyes were wistful. Yes, Tommy was horribly embarrassed. He wriggled like a puppy in the grass, but for a while his father said nothing, did not even watch him, but at length he spoke, and not as a grown-up might speak at all. ‘Go on, Tom,” he said. ‘Don’t let me stop you.” Tommy could only wriggle in the grass, and Alfred Michael! was silent again, but at length he sighed. “Poor boy,” he said, “you'll bear the burden too.” “I'm not poor,” said Tommy, “and I’m not carrying anything.” “No?” said Alfred Michael. “Well, you'll see what I mean some day. The world isn’t made for people out of the ordinary running. It’s a devilish hard world.” Tommy locked proudly up. His father’s checked suit was worn perhaps, but extraordinarily fine. His brown cravat was worn perhaps, but beautifully tied. No wonder the men were glad to have him speak to them at the post office. Not one, not a soul of them, had a tie or a suit like that or carried a stick to walk. ‘In fact"—Alfred Michael leaned upon his stick— “every experiment I make only tends to confirm my pinion of the world’s extreme hardness.”

There was no one else in town who could talk like that. Tommy had heard Elmer, the hired man, say as much. “Daddy?” said Tommy. “You're out of the ordinary, aren’t you?” “Yes, my boy,” said Alfred Michael, ‘“‘there you have the trouble.” “And, daddy,” said Tommy, “you’re smarter than anybody else in town, if you want to be, aren’t you?” ““Don’t'use the word ‘smart,’” said Alfred Michael. “Well, cleverer then, aren’t you?” “Yes.” His father sighed again. ‘“‘That’s the trouble. Now don’t ask me why. Little boys mustn’t always be inquisitive.” “Well, then,” said Tommy, “I want to be out of the ordinary too.” For a moment it seemed to Tommy that his father’s face had the strangest expression, just as though he had been hurt, though of course nothing had hurt him. “IT shouldn’t wonder,” he said, “‘if you get over that in time. Well, well.” A step of that decrepit summerhouse was near. Alfred Michael seated himself upon it. Tommy could see more easily his father’s gold-mounted stick pin and his heavy gold watch chain. “Tommy?” said Alfred Michael. And again Tommy was aware of the strangest illusion. He could almost think, absurd though it seemed, that his father was lonely. “Tommy, do you play here always?” “When mother doesn’t want me,” said Tommy, “and Aunt Sarah doesn’t make me pick up sticks.” “T used to play here, too,”’ his father said. ‘‘Time flies, but principles are fixed. Tommy, when you play here alone’’—his father had the funniest look—‘‘do you ever make believe there is someone playing with you?” It was an embarrassing question. Tommy’s intuition, if nothing else, told him it was not a thing one talked about, for of course there wassomeone. When the wind came off the harbor, fresh and salt, the long grasses of the uncut lawn would billow gently, exactly as though someone was running on them with a step too light to crush a single blade down to the earth, and there would be a rustling in the unkempt clumps of shrubbery, laid out once in some forgotten plan, precisely as though another little boy were playing in their depths. He was a part of the light and wind—that other lit- tle boy—and impal- pable as bath. But he was real enough for Tommy, for you can make such things real if you try. Tommy even had a name for him, and a good name, too, though he did not know it till later. Spurius was what Tommy called that other boy, be- . cause Spurius was <3 his right-hand afk man, as he had ‘% ‘ been to Horatius in the Lays of An- cient Rome. ‘“‘Tom,” said Alfred Michael, “you do make be- lieve there is some- one. I'll be willing to bet you do.” His father was looking at him, waiting for an an- swer. Yet hecould say nothing. Try as he might, there & was nothing, of O/ course, for Tommy to say. It Was Marianne Who Tripped For: ward asa Child Should, Light on Her Feet, Restless and Laughing /, “Yes, my boy,” said Alfred Michael. / i March 23,1929

Suddenty Aifred Michael Was on His Knees Beside Him, Hotding Him Very Tight ~b v4 BAO, 4 , ofa ~~? -s fas S

VL Myst - \ iit iat { _ ¢ t, ’ “Well, I used to play with someone too.” Now it was most extraordinary. When his father spoke he did not seem like a grown-up in the least. “‘Lord knows, I wish I still could. I'd almost like to try. I wonder if he’s any- where around. Suppose you call him. Shall I?” Alfred Michael was smiling beneath his bushy brown mustache, for Tommy could see his lips curl up and tremble at the corners. “Maro!” called Alfred Michael. “Hi, Maro, are you there?” Often and often Tommy remembered that fleeting bit of time, in strange undreamed-of hours; the sun that seemed to be dancing on the wind across the unkempt grass, and dancing through the vines of that sagging summerhouse and making patterns like letters on the floor, and his father, sitting on the step, with his walking stick across his knees, listening as though it was not a game at all. “There,” his father said; “he’s hiding. He’s always hiding now. Maro, confound you, don’t you hear me?” “His name isn’t Maro,” said Tommy; “it’s Spurius.” “Is it now?” said Alfred Michael. “Well, that’s a better name—spurious as the wild ass’ skin—but he used to be called Maro in my day. I studied Vergil young.” With a sigh Alfred Michael pulled himself up from the summerhouse steps and stared across the river mouth to the houses of Michael’s Harbor. “Oh, well,” he said, “‘there must be shadows of lots of boys playing on this shore. Play with ’em while you can, Tom—but would you rather play right now or walk with me to town?” Surely he must have known the question was absurd. There was no one like Tommy’s father, as strong or as per- fect in his wisdom. Tommy was up in a moment, trotting by Alfred Michaei’s side. Through the long weeds of an ancient gravel walk they went, through the ruins of what once had been a rose garden, where a few flowers, choked and pallid, were still combating its perennial neglect, past what had once been the carriage house, with its yawning door and broken windows, to the Michael house itself. Immense and square and gray it always seemed to Tommy because, perhaps, he still was small. Yet, even later, when he could remember better and life seemed like yesterday and not another life, the weathered cupola and the Doric columns by the porch would give that same impression of gloomy strength. Alfred Michael closed the front door behind them. It made a rumbling noise all along the hall, which echoed back from silences shadowy even in the early morning. “Estelle!” called Alfred Michael. That was Tommy’s mother’s name. . “Tom, where is your mother?” “She’s dusting the books,” said Tommy. “Oh!” said Alfred Michael. ‘In with the books, eh?” He walked down the hall with Tommy close behind him, raised his hand to the glass door knob of the room where the books were kept, and seemed to hesitate before he turned it, as though he had forgotten something and wanted to go back.

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Pet “Estelle?” he said. “Oh, there you are.” The book room was upside down. On the worn pine floor were books in crooked heaps which swept upward and covered the two armchairs by the fireplace in crumbling leather waves. His father’s table in the center of the room, generally covered with stray sheets of paper, had been in- vaded and almost obliterated by these books. And there was his mother. Tommy remembered her best in times like that. She would always be in a gingham dress, as she was that morning, with her head wrapped in a towel, struggling through an eternity of dust, surrounded forever by a chaos which would never be reduced. His mother was on her knees with a duster in her hand. Her mouth was a stubborn line combating the weariness of her eyes, offsetting the whiteness of her face, which looked like a face of wax. She was dusting off the tops of the books and was slapping their leaves together. The sun was coming through an open window, and showers of dust particles leaped into the path of the sunlight and danced like little living things until they dropped away. His father, as he stood by the open door, had the queer- est look, as though something had hurt him again, though of course the idea was silly. “‘Good Lord!” he said. “‘Good Lord, Estelle!" Tommy’s mother looked up, but she did not smile. “Won't you go out, Alfred?” she said. “‘ You and Tommy both go out.” ““Yes,”’ said Alfred Michael, “‘of course we will, dear.” “Then don’t just stand there,” said his mother. “ Alfred, please!” “Of course not,” said Alfred Michael. “We're going, dear. You won't lose my papers on the table?” “T guess the world wouldn’t end if I did,” said Tommy’s mother. “It wouldn’t if I burned all the papers in the house!” “We're going, dear,” said Alfred Michael. “I just came in to ask if I might take Tommy with me.” “Where?” Tommy’s mother looked up from the bdoks; very quickly, Tommy thought. “To my office, dear,”’ said Alfred Michael. “I want to read my mail, and Tommy likes to go.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Tommy’s mother sighed. She looked very, very tired. “Tommy,” she said, “‘let me see your hands.” “They're clean, mother,”” Tommy said. “Take him up and wash them, Alfred,” his mother said. “Wash them clean, so he won't smear the towel.” “Come, Tom,” said Alfred Michael. They came to the stairs leading to a landing where a tall clock was ticking. “Come, Tom,” his father said. “I'll help you up.” He lifted Tommy right into the air. They were up the stairs in no time, and in the dark back hall. It was the first bathroom ever known in Michael's Harbor, but even when Tommy was little tnat was long ago. It was lighted by a window of orange and violet glass. The zinc-lined bathtub shone vaguely. Peeping over the edge of the wash basin Tommy could see that purple and yellow flowers were glazed upon its surface. “Daddy,” said Tommy; “daddy.” “Yes,” said Alfred Michael. “Daddy, when you come in here it’s funny sometimes, isn’t it?” Alfred Michael made a strange noise, not exactly like a laugh. “‘ Nearly everything's funny, Tom,” he said, “depending on how you look at it.” “No,” said Tommy. “I don’t mean funny that way. I mean it makes me think.” “Think what, Tom?” Tommy stared up at Alfred Michael, and his eyes were very round. “Sad things,” Tommy said. “The deuce!” said Alfred Michael. “‘ You've selected a queer place to be sad in.” “The deuce,” said Tommy when they reached the hall. “Here now,” said his father; “‘only fathers speak like that. They have their reasons sometimes.” “But Aunt Sarah’s calling us,” said Tommy. “She heard us through the door.” Aunt Sarah had that propensity. Aunt Sarah was for- ever stopping you when you had something else to do, and of course you had to go when Aunt Sarah called, because she was very old. Aunt Sarah was in her room. There wae a large dark bed in it, and a dark wardrobe and a bureau. Aunt Sara} was sitting in a chair of the same dark wood, which hac a bunch of grapes carved high up on its back. A sewing table was in front of her and her stick was propped against it. “Hey?” said Aunt Sarah. There were funny little lines that ran right down to Aunt Sarah’s lips when she spoke “What was the boy saying in the bathroom?” Though Aunt Sarah was deaf, sometimes she exhibited prodigies of hearing. “He was saying” —Alfred Michael raised his voice “that it made him think.” “Yes,” said Aunt Sarah, “my hearing hasn't wholly gone, though you may pretend it has. Well, what does i make him think?”’ “Sad things.” “Hey?” Aunt Sarah cupped her hand behind her ear, and Tommy's father moved closer to her chair. “Sad things!" “Hey?” said Aunt Sarah. “Mad things?” “Confound it!” Alfred Michael drew in his breath. “No, Aunt Sarah; sad things!” “Ho-ho!” said Aunt Sarah. “Sad things, does he? Well, I should admire to know why the boy shouldn't be sad.” “We're going now,” said Alfred Michael. “Come, Tom.” “Have you ever done anything not to make him sad?” said Aunt Sarah. “Where's Estelle?” “Dusting the books,” said Alfred Michael “Hooks?” said Aunt Sarah. “What hooks, I want to know?” “Books, Aunt Sarah; I said books.” “Well, what if you did?” said Aunt Sarah. “You needn't take on so about it, Alfred. Not that it makes any difference to me what she does. She comes of working people. She must be used to work.” Alfred Michael's face grew red again — very red—and for a second he did not answer. (Continued on Page 86) “He's Not,’* Said Tommy, “‘My Father's a—Gentieman"’

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6 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 R. LAN- SING, in his mem- irs, has not reservations that I shall with equal frankness ex- press. His testi- nly presented in lear-cut way the spiritual and moral character- stics of the Big Four but has also given a true-to- e sketch of their t sense of oO liteness in at- tempting te present his spir- | tual and moral \% ttributes and to offer a sketch of sphysical traits Rather short and | ck-set, dark ind turning i ! ghtly gray, with solid shoul- ders, Mr. Lansing gave the impres- | of a strong man, of a well- lanced and well-mastered ngth, more — Sa ee Kod | ae fe j of k } monies and judg- ments have these two inestimable qualities: A concentrated pen- etration of obser- vation and a conscientious and constant effort to be objective and serene. Strength E WHOwere the contem- poraries and the actors of these great events can consider ourselves more chroniclers than historians; and Mr. Lansing possesses in a su- perlative degree the traits of a chronicler. In fact, while he, as we have said, combines the penetration and t to endurance antospeed. His pient obesity, nstead of marring his strength, seemed rather toenhance it. With his close friends he was a man of few words, as is the case with serious and thoughtful temperaments; he was courteous and affable without exaggerated outward manifestations; possessed a sense of spontaneous humor of the kind of Mark Twain. In meetings, he spoke when s turn came and about what was pertinent to him, with- t verbose eloquence, but without shyness, and he spoke the precision and brevity of a jurist in a style that early showed that he was more concerned with the con- ext and arguments than with images and niceties of peech. He appeared to hold steadfastly to his ideas, but ne readily saw that this tenacity was not due to stubborn- ness nor in the least to egotism, but to the nobility of a man who only expresses ideas that he has carefully weighed n his intellect, and to an austere and unbending character that does not accept compromises. On the whole, the im- pression that he gave could be summed up in saying: lenax proposiut rir—a strong man Accepted With Reservations T WAS understood from the beginning, and became more patent later, that his temperament was not well suited to his position of a minister in a presidential system—at least, as it appeared through Mr. Wilson—that is to say, as a passive instrurnent of another’s will. There was a sharp ontrast between the President and his Secretary. Whether jue to position or to temperament, Mr. Wilson was an un- ompromising believer in authority, though outwardly very courteous. Mr. Lansing, with his stern simplicity of substance and form alike, was very little malleable, if not altogether inwieldy. In some cases the dissension between the two men was so evident that it caused amazement among us European etatesmen, as was the case with the Kaiser’s trial. Mr. Lansing opposed it in no uncertain terms in the name of juridic rights that, though very elementary, yet required a great courage to proclaim them, considering the high tension of the moment and of the place. The Presi- dent, on the contrary, declared himself for it and, with his ite, caused the measure to be approved. But even leav- ing aside these external manifestations, naturally very ex- ceptional, in the meetings of the Ten, the contrast was onstantly felt between the copious and mellow—although, { beyond doubt, winning —eloquence of President Wilson and the close silence of Mr. Lansing, whose countenance and attitude, although very correct, did not show any too great : admiration either for his Chief, who had bewitcel with President Wilson, Cotonel House, Secretary Lansing, Ambassador White and General Bliss at the Peace Conference his eloquence many foreigners, or, in general, for the man- ner in which the work of the conference was conducted. More through a spontaneous intuition than by conscious observation, Mr. Lansing’s attitude seemed that of a man whose conscience is not altogether satisfied. His memoirs are a most eloquent document of such a state of mind, and they express toward the Peace Conference very severe judgment, indeed; without giving to the reader, however, the impression of a premedi- tated malevolence or of a pro- the profundity of observation with the honest sin- cerity of saying what he thinks, on the other hand he is not a cold recorder of facts, indifferent and skeptic. On the contrary, there is in him a vibrating individuality that is conscious of its own ideals and is exquisitely sensitive in realizing the disappointment or repugnance toward all that contradicts its own aspirations. But to all this he lends such ‘great measure and nobility as not to determine in the reader that diffidence that we instinctively experience to- ward those who appear slaves to a preconceived idea, to a found harshness. It often happens that, while we are in the midst of persons with whom we do not feel completely at ease, we try to let our thoughts and our melancholy wander away asarelief. Thishappened very often to Mr. Lansing, who, although following the discus- sion, amused himself by dash- ing off with his pencil sketches and profiles of those present. Usually he kept them for him- self, but when he allowed others to see them, everyone admired the ease, the taste and the humor of the extemporaneous artist. All that Mr. Lansing has written about the confer- ence, confirms this side of his aptitudes, which I should call plastic, because he not only masterfully presents the spir- itual images of the individuals but he delights in sketching thesis, or to a passion. Having, with this, affirmed what constitutes, according to me, the value and importance of the historical contribution given by Lansing, I must now with equal sincerity express, as I have already said, some res- ervations which derive from the very considerations that we have made: Every strength partakes of weakness in the same way that every cow has its tail. For the very reason that Lansing’s mind is emi- nently analytical, it is natural that he isso much the less capa- ble of great synthesis. Like- wise, since he does not give any play to fancy or imagination, his purely realistic observation is not kindled by those intui- tions that penetrate into the mass of facts and find what is the very soul of the facts them- incidents, very funny and sug- PHOTO. BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, W. Y.C. selves. gestive, through which the reader sees vividly before him scenes truly characteristic of the historical conference, such as the “ Duels’’ between Monsieur Clemenceau and myself, which Mr. Lansing describes with vivid colors. Having thus reconstructed the figure of this man, we see, once again, that one notices the exactness of the very well-known remark that puts in intimate relation style and man. The value of Mr. Lansing’s memoirs must be ex- actly deduced from the study of the man’s character. I, therefore, believe that I can objectively state that his writings will preve a most worthy contribution to the history of the great conference, notwithstanding some Former Premier Orlando Now, I believe that the events which took place in Paris during the first six months of 1919 are too vast for us to have an integral comprehension of them without a large synthetic vision which—although taking into account the immediate and near causes, the many but isolated blun- ders—will go on and on, searching into the most remote and deep causes, reaching at last that final force which was the sum of the clashes of the gigantic interests that were at play. And this is not all, because the contrast of forces was also a contrast of the souls of the men who represented those interests. The mechanical problem merges with the psychological one and becomes, hence,,more complex and

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST difficult, like all problems that have root in the study of the human soul. These problems, indeed, cannot be en- tirely solved, because the human soul has depths that the fathoming of historical criti- cism cannot reach, shadows and mysteries that the light of criticism cannot completely illuminate; but what of it? To affirm the existence of those unfathomable depths, to determine the boundaries of those dark and obscure zones, is already in itself a note- worthy result that helps a complete historical reconstruction. Not differently, an astrono- mer calculates and determines the perturba- tions in the course of a planet even when his telescope does not succeed in recognizing the star to the influence of which those perturba- tions are due. So, likewise, when Lansing laments the excess of secrecy in the transactions of the conference, the lack of an adequate juridical preparation in those very people who had proclaimed that peace should be based on right, the scant defense granted to the in- had a judge, and we did not have him. On the contrary, what might have been the decisive power of a judge proved to be an obstacle to those solutions through transactions that were capable of affording some guaranty, even if imperfect. I said that through a case unique in the history of the world this last conference might have had an arbiter and, indeed, a true judge, President Wilson. Never had a man pos- sessed so much material and mora) strength; never had circumstances concurred to re alize all the conditions—difficult to find it considered separately, almost impossible if considered together— which are necessary to an arbiter among nations. As to material strength, he had behind him a great people, the only one that had not come out of the war exhausted, the only one that disposed of that economic power, both in money and in raw material, on which Europe had necessarily to count if it wanted to avoid bankruptcy and starvation. And since sometimes an an- ecdote is more illuminating than any elo- terests of smaller nations, the defects of dis- cussions that were too lengthy when nothing was decided upon and not mature enough when a decision was reached; the interminable procrastina- tion that too often did the purpose of bringing about either forgetfulness or tiredness; tne excessive skill of some in prepar'ng formulas and the excessive promptness of others in accepting them—all this may even be true; it may have had a more or less negative effect on the proceedings of the work of the conference; but no one will think that from those defects and from those errors may be deduced the necessary and sufficient reason for the definite character that has remained on the work of the Peace Conference. When a Judge Was at Hand OR, on the other hand, does Mr. Lansing think so; since, when, ina moment of passionate grief, he makes this most weighty statement: That, in the conference, not rights and the objective and serene valuation of what is just pre- vailed, but sheer strength represented by armies, navies and money, he realizes very well that the reasons for such a bitter conclusion must have roots infinitely deeper and in- comparably broader than the defects of method, of technic, and of preparation on which he had previously insisted. Mr. Lansing was a jurist, and it is well to speak of him with the mentality of jurists. Now, it is certain that right necessarily in- volves a problem ‘ OPYRIGHT BY INTERNATIONAL NEWS SERVICE, ©. ¥. « The Late Secretary of State, Robert Lansing endangered. Such a relative equilibrium of contrasting forces that seek the nearest solution, or the less remote from right, is transaction. Furthermore, even in modern right, so advanced, private contentions are ended by the sentence of a judge, but often, also, by a voluntary trans- action between the parties. In international right—a right in a process of formation still primitive—we have not been able until now to have a judge because, in general, either this judge would lack that guaranty of impartiality that derives from his perfect disin- terest and from his absolute serenity or, even if he possessed both of these qualities, he would lack the force to carry out his decision. For this reason, international treaties, and those of peace, in particular, have had in general the value of transactions. The victor himself, in dictating the condi- tions to the vanquished, has been compelled to keep within a certain limit, either for respect of the jealousy of other peoples or for his own interest in keeping, in the van- quished that minimum of living conditions through which certain return is assured to the victor. Naturally, in such procedure, the guaranties of right were imperfect; yet, one could always say: Better a little than nothing. Now, in the last Peace Conference, we had this most peculiar and, I should almost say, paradoxical situation. We might have quent speech, I shall mention for this pur- pose the words told to me by Lloyd George in a conversation that we had when the ir- reparable dissension between President Wilson and me was looming. “If you don’t succeed in your attempts at conciliation,” he asked me, “does that mean that you will go as far as a break?” “Certainly,” I answered. “I am ready for anything rather than to submit to a will that I believe unjust.” Upon which he showed great surprise and greai friendly preoccupation. “Don’t you know,” said he, ‘‘that I could not meet such a situation, because at least for two years we cannot do without American help?"’ The tone with which that “I” was pronounced re- minded one of the famous ego Annibal—even I, Hannibal The Man of the Hour N THE mind of the Englishman, justly proud of the im- mense power of the British Empire, nothing could give a clearer idea of the temporary American omnipotence than his admission of needing it and, indeed, of depending on it In me, on the contrary, although the country that I repre- sented was by far inferior to Great Britain in power and wealth, the conscience of my right was stronger than any con- sideration, and | did not yield. Be- of force; right it- self struggles gen- erally against op- posing forces, and in order to conquer them it necessarily needs superior strength of its own. This strength can be, so to say, ex- ternal and sep- arated from that of the contending parties; it is the power of which the judge makes use when he decides where the right lies. In less- advanced stages in the evolution of right, when all the conditions are not found for the administration of justice, a guar- anty, even primi- tive and rudi- mentary, of right consists in the bal- ance of the con- tending forces, in the utilitarian feel- ing that each one of them has of not overstepping cer- tain bounda- ries, beyond which “. vv tH ting » 4 a . eA A Al i | $| 2 ; ft } os o " = Fol Pay ee ere 2 sides being the strongest man in p At TY | that moment at , ; ' . 1) the conference be- 1 a cause of the power of the country that he represented, Mr W ilson pos- | sessed at the same | time an immense personal! power Mr. Lansing, in hi memoirs, touches on the prestige of | the President, but, however forceful his expressions might be, they fall short of the truth I believe that no words could suffi- ently describe the fervor of sym- pathy and admira tion which sur- rounded Mr Wilson in the first months of 1919, in the hearts of all the European peoples If it is true that war de velop mys- tic feelings, it is no exaggeration to state that the pres- tige which Mr Wilson enjoyed in that period had its very effi- . ciency could be PHOTO. FROM TIMES PHOTO SERVICE, N. ¥. C A Vast Throng Greets President Wilson at the Royal Patace in Continved on Milan Page 150

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s THE SATURDAY EVENING POST S I HAD formed a chance acquaintance with Mr. Massey. of Logansville, Illinois, while fishing for rock cod at Mary's Neck, that picturesque and salty promontory on the New England coast, I felt that it might not be ILLUSTRATED BY MAY WILSON PRESTON March 23,1929 E NECK, AND BUSH THRING By Booth Tarkington fat, harmless man, and his conversation is gener- ally considered pretty unimportant by everybody. He was sitting in his loud-striped bathing suit on the sand down where it’s wet, letting the foamy water come up over his legs sometimes when a amiss for me to call upon him in continuance of the amiable relation al- ready existing between us. The Masseys had taken a large cottage on the crest of the coastal rocks, and when I drove over from my own sum- mer place of residence, a few miles distant, I had no difficulty in dis- covering my Midland friend; the house was conspicuous and he him- self visible from theroad as I approached. He welcomed me cordially to his veranda, where he was smoking a mid- afternoon cigar, but ex- pressed regret that his wife and two daughters were absent; and then, frowning thoughtfully, added that perhaps it 4 was just as well for us to JON have the place to our- | - 7 selves. There was some- | thing he wanted to " talk to me about, he said, because I was a | fellow Midiander and | would understand him | | | thoroughly; he could therefore speak at his ease, with no necessity for any guardedness of expression. I was pleased that he thus seemed to continue his confidence in my discre- tion, and when he began his narrative I was glad not to interrupt him but to listen receptively un- til he had concluded. ae oie yee Peg * heavier wave rolled in } with the tide; and his fat little five-year-old daughter, Helen, was splashing around near him. But when he saw me walking along the beach he called to me and moved back where it was dry and asked me to sit down for a talk. I did it, and noticed that the air near his head had kind of a tang like alcohol; but he didn’t have much hair to put tonic on, so I judged it wasn’t from that. He called his lit- '~ tle girl over to us and made her sit down in his lap for a minute, but she didn’t like it and squirmed away; so he let her go. “T love that child,” he told me as she held up a dead crab for a minute and then threw it at him from a little distance away. “I love her. It’s a comfort to me to realize that she’s only five years old. But next year she won't be five any longer; she’ll be six, and the year after that she’ll be seven, and the year after that she’ll be—well, let that go, but last year she was only tour. No, she won't be five very long, if you understand what I mean. What I mean, she’s happy now and healthy, but when she 29 Of course, never hav- ing been away from“ Logansville very much except cn business, I knew that com- ing to an Eastern summer resort for the first time was going to be different from a Great Lakes steamer excursion or a Niagara Falls or camping out on Logan Creek, but I didn’t know how different. Well, it’s been quite an experience and, on the whole, a pretty agreeable one, and I like it. i've got so that I understand the natives here better than | did, and they’re a mighty interesting kind of people— ikable, too, when you get to know their ways a little, and they see you don’t mean any harm. The summer residents, too, are all right; they’re a fine, representative lot of people, cordial] and hospitable fairly soon after they’ve had a chance to size you up a little, and they’ve certainly received the Massey family in the most kindly possible way. Naturally, of course, the fact that my two daughters, Enid and Clarissa, are fine-looking girls, well behaved and about as well-dressed as necessary, I expect, has had probably quite a little to do with the friendly treatment we've received here. I don’t suppose I need be overly modest on Enid’s and Clarissa’s behalf just because I’m their father. I'd be blind if I didn’t see how popular they’ve been ever since they first began getting acquainted here. In fact, I don’t think it would be an overstatement for me to say they’re about the two most popular girls in Mary’s Neck, and every now and then Mrs. Massey gets kind of red in a pleased way and tells me confidentially how she’s heard somebody again on the beach saying that Enid and Clarissa are the belles of the season. Well, that ought to be pretty satisfying, of course, and yet, afterwhile it got to worrying me. That seems funny, I suppose-—a parent's worrying because his children are so And There in a Wicker Chair, Taitking to Our Two Girts, Sat Nobody on Earth But Mr. Bush Thring popular—and it never would have occurred to me to worry over such a thing in Logansville. The difference is because I know all the young people in Logansville and understand just about what they’re like, but these young people here in Mary’s Neck are new to me; they’re from different parts of the country. I haven’t seen them growing up from childhood the way I’ve seen Clarissa’s and Enid’s friends in Logansville grow up, and so I don’t feel I know much about these Mary’s Neck youngsters except by repu- tation. What I mean by their reputation is what I hear about them from the older people, and never in my life have I heard so much about “wild young people” as I have since we came to Mary’s Neck. Of course in Logans- ville I’d run across something ‘in a newspaper or a maga- zie sometimes about this wild new generation; but we didn’t seem to have any conspicuous examples of that sort in Logansville, so I supposed they must live some other place, and, judging from what I’d heard the older people saying since we came here, it began to seem to me I'd have to conclude that Mary’s Neck was the place. What puzzled me, I didn’t see any of the wildness my- self, and when I asked my daughters about it, they just laughed. I didn’t get any satisfaction out of them, and, when I tried to, they made me feel foolish. Then for a while I wouldn’t worry, but pretty soon I’d hear the older people talking again and I’d begin fretting some more; and it’s funny what kind of things will upset a parent and get him to working himself all up over his children. For instance, a talk I had one morning at the beach with Mr. Carmichael did that to me; and Mr. Carmichael’s the last person on earth you'd think could upset anybody. He's a grows up and comes out, her poor mother and I can’t expect her to stay that way. Even before she comes out, she could lose her health in a minute, any day, the way things are now. You understand me.” “Why, no,” I said. “I don’t see ——” “Prohibition,” he said. ‘Unless that law is changed before she grows up, nobody can tell what’s liable to hap- pen to her and all these other innocent little children play- ing here, happy and healthy in the sunshine today. If prohibition lasts until they grow up, there isn’t a single one of ’em that'll be safe. Everybody knows it, and yet everybody just stands around and doesn’t do anything about it. Nobody lifts a finger.” I didn’t see at all what he was driving at, and I told him I didn’t, so he put his wet, left hand on my shoulder and waved the right one in a gesture toward the little children playing at the water’s edge up and down the beach. “You see all those children, don’t you?” he asked me. “Well, some of ’em are only three years old, some of ’em are four and some of ’em are five, like Helen, and some are six; and a year from now every one of 'em’|! be a year older, just like my little Helen. You get that, don’t you?”’ I told him yes, I was able to follow him so far. “Well, you see the danger, don’t you?” he asked me “If prohibition lasts till they grow up, what’s the exact proportion of ’em’ll die from poisoned liquor? And of those that don’t die, what’s the exact proportion’ll have their health shattered? How many of ’em’l! have their eyes ruined by wood alcohol? You see the uncertainty, don’t you? You see why I hate to have my little Helen get to be even six years old; she’ll be just one year nearer the brink!” - NN , Eee TE en ee me emer

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OO ————— - a ae THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 9 He was more than serious; he was solemn about it, and I could see he was really troubled. But I was too aston- ished to sympathize with him much. “If prohibition lasts,” I said, “‘and it certainly looks as if it’s going to ——”” ““Yes,”” he told me. “And every child in the United States is just that much worse off with every birthday it has. Look at my innocent, happy, healthy little Helen!” He pointed to her, and his voice had a kind of choke in :t as he went on: “I’m her father and she’s my child. A father doesn’t like to think of his child’s getting poisoned, does he? But I’ve got to face it. I’ve got to let her take her chance, don’t I? I’ve got to watch her walking right straight into that danger, don’t [?” “Why, no,” I said. “I don't see why you do. It seems to me that it’d be fairly simple to avoid it.” “What?” he asked me. “How?” “Why,” I said, “if she didn’t drink ? “What? You don’t mean “IT don’t see any necessity of it,”’ I told him. He stared at me. “‘Why, my soul, man! Just look at these young people of sixteen and upward all around us. You know what prohibition has done to them, don’t you? You don’t suppose they know how to get good liquor, do you? You know that youth is the reckless age, don’t you? You don’t spose they bother about getting good, reliable bootleggers or having stuff analyzed? For that matter, how many of ’em could afford it? Most of these parents here don’t give their children very liberal allowances, so how is a boy or girl of sixteen or seventeen or eighteen going to be able to show any caution, even if they felt like it? I know what I’m talking about. Sixteen to twenty-four is the danger age. After that, they have more money and they’re naturally more cautious. Poor little Helen, if I can get her through that age I'll begin to feel that all my trouble in bringing her up has maybe been worth while! But it’s a terrible thing to look forward to. It’s bad enough to think of any child growing up to behave the way these young people at Mary’s Neck do, without having to face the danger of her being exposed to poison.”’ “But see here,” I told him, “‘ you don’t think these young people between those ages you mentioned is “They’re terrible,” he said; and he frowned, looking pretty severe. “These young people of today are the wildest the world’s ever seen. What's worse, they’re fresh; they don’t respect anybody; they don’t show any respect for anything. The way I was brought up, I showed some respect for older people and for older people’s opinions and moral judgments. Do these young people do that? Not much! They don’t care what we think or what we say to ‘em. They absolutely like to shock us, and the more I see of "em the worse I’m disgusted!” Then he called little Helen to him again and seemed to want to pet her and feel pathetic over her, but she was more interested in the dead crab and cried when he tried to get it away from her, and he got cross with her about it and spanked her; so I came away. But in spite of the fact that what he said didn’t seem very logical to me, it did disquiet me quite a little—so much so, indeed, that if I hadn't been too embarrassed I might have spoken to Clarissa and Enid and asked them if they knew how much drinking was going on in their circle. And I did talk to Mrs. Massey about it that eve- ning and got her disturbed about it, too, but she said she didn’t feel like speaking to the girls any more than I dix So we just worried along and wondered and let it ride Then all of a sudden a kind of scandal broke out at Mary’s Neck and upset us and all the other parents wors than any of us had been before. Every Saturday night pretty much the whole of the place turns out for the dance at the Jefferson Inn, including many of the older people as well as all of the young ones; and it was one of these hote! hops that was the scene of the trouble. Mrs. Massey and I weren't there, but it didn’t take us long to hear about it. because the beach was fairly exploding with it the next morning at the bathing hour. A boy only a little more than twenty years old— his name was Bush Thring—got tangled with his partner's feet at the dance so that he fell down, sitting, end everybody heard something breaking. He seemed to be in difficulties about getting up again and, when some of the boys had helped him and he moved away from there, he left quite a large pool, easily recognizable as gin, on the floor; so every- body knew he must have been carrying a pretty good-sized bottle and got it broken. Besides that, he had to be taken up to the village drug store and have bits of glass picked out of him and some stitches taken; and the worst of it was that this young Bush Thring was well liked and for- merly had a good reputation, especially among the girls’ mothers. If an accident showed up Bush Thring like this, everybody said, what wouldn't have been discovered about the other boys if the same thing had happened to them! Also, everybody said it proved what terrible cond)- tions prevailed among the young people, and there was a great deal of general indignation expressed. Continued on Page 156) Ce eee Mrs. Dairymple Looked a Little Cross. ‘‘Wait Till I Come to the Point,’’ She Told Them. Evits of Prohibition is the Affect on Our Children, and Our Young People, in Teaching Them Disrespect for Law’ **What I Mean is, the Most Terrible Evil of All the

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10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 Biack Canyon Dam Site on the Colorado River By MAGNER WHITE NLY ten dollars an acre! And in Imperial Valley, at that—so the salesman said. Fertile Imperial Valley in California, down near the Mexican border. ‘All that land needs is water, brother,” said the sales- man. The map to which he pointed hung over a little box of soil—rich soil. The office was crowded with land-hungry persons who had strolled in off one of Los Angeles’ busiest downtown streets. They had been flagged, stopped in their tracks, by the window display outside. “And you know what that Imperial Valley land is, brother,” the salesman urged. “‘Water, and you're rich!” The pointer in his hand strayed to a streak on the map marked Colorado River. His eye stopped at some large streak—type reading blackly: Boulder Canyon Dam Site. rhe land being pointed out to me lay, of course, south of he dam site—a long way south of it. The salesman’s pointer trailed down the river significantly, then swerved off toward the ten-dollar-an-acre land. But he didn’t say a word. “Oh, by the way,” I said, “what does this ‘El., 1200’ here on the map at the corner of your land mean?” “Huh! That? Oh, le’s see. Oh, yes—that means, ‘Electricity, 1200 watts!’ Ha, ha!” ‘Ha, ha!"’ I said. “Where my engineering friends went to school they were taught that such a marking would mean, ‘Elevation, 1200 feet.’” type intersecting the Trading In on Good Publicity M' )ST of Imperial Valley—particularly the fertile areas A of it, as any informed Southwesterner knows—lies below sea level; and the Colorado River, at its point near- est the land I was looking at—on a map hanging on a wall more than 100 miles from the land—is about fifty to seventy-five miles distant from the land. Therefore, to get water onto that land, one would have to pump it, at : prohibitive cost. President Coolidge signed the Boulder Canyon dam bill, providing for the Boulder dam near Las Vegas, Nevada, at 10:20 a. M., December 21, 1928. He might as well also have fired the starting gun for a national race for jobs, lands, con- cessions and contracts. A premature boom started in Las Vegas within twenty-four hours, and, as this is written, late n January, is still on Within another two weeks after the bill was signed, sev- eral hundred sections of the rawest kind of raw desert lands up and down the length of the Colorado River, from the Black Canyon site, where it is now be- lieved the dam will be built, to its lower reaches in Imperial Valley, were put on the market—and sold. Applica- tions for jobs on the dam, or for hous- ing and feeding concessions, or for information concerning public lands that might be under the project flowed into Washington, D. C., by the thou- sands. One need not put his ear to the ground anywhere within a thousand miles of the Black Canyon site in order to hear the rumors, reports of land sales and extraordinary profits and the gos- sip of speculators that is the unmis- takable fsssst that precedes a boom! Hope springs supernal in several hun- dred thousand human breasts in the United States whenever those humans think of the great Boulder Canyon dam project. The human race has a deep- for those who go to the cities and irrigation projects up and down the river that will be benefited by the economic lift that the con- struction work will provide. This, of course, means jobs. Adventure, excitement, wealth, vastness— a financial and geographical vastness so vast that the law of probabilities has lots of room to operate in; anything might happen to an individual with the slightest modicum of luck. ““Go West, young man!”’ “The last big fron- ” tier job in America! 99 “Whoopee! And ki-yi! Facts and Misconceptions HE rush is on! And it is predicated on misconceptions such as these; many of them held, investigation shows, by persons within the very areas to be served with water and power from the dam: That everything is settled about the dam and that all that now remains to be done is to start work on it. The facts: Before actual work can be begun there must be a ratification by Arizona of the Colorado River compact or a reratification by Utah waiving the requirement of Arizona’s ratification, thereby putting the compact into seated tendency to erect an air-castle superstructure of some kind upon any foundation that speculation and hope and ambition may offer—and the Boul- der Canyon dam project offers, brethren. Consider what the boom begetters have to go on: The Boulder Canyon dam project has had eight years of publicity. The dam and appurtenant projects will cost $165,000,000, and the proposed Los Angeles Metropolitan Water District aque- duct will cost from $150,000,000 to $200,000,000 more. The Boulder dam project will rank second, as a govern- ment project, only to the Panama Canal. These are the solid, rememberable facts, planted deep in the public con- sciousness by eight years of publicity, that the boom be- getters have to go on. Now add these facts and translate them into terms of individual hopes and ambitions: The project is in the West—the romantic, mystic, luring, colorful, adventurous West. The health-giving, climatically superb West. This fact alone will draw the attention of enough adventure seekers to populate a small city. Under the project’s ultimate development, 1,220,000 acres will be reclaimed—lots of room for “‘a little gray home in the West.” Provided one doesn’t notice the word “ultimate,’’ which spans a decade of time, at least. Six to seven thousand men will be employed on the dam for from six to seven years; and in addition there will also be work Where the 26,000,000: Acre:Foot, 100:Mile:Long Boulder Canyon Dam Lake Will Be effect on a six-state basis. If, however, seven states ratify the compact before June 21, 1929—six months after ap- proval of the bill—work may be begun. As this is written, Arizona is bucking, threatening a suit in the United States Supreme Court to stop the whole project, and Utah is threatening to go in with her unless a new and additional three-state pact is entered into by California, Arizona and Nevada. Arizona is obdurate because—she says—the present compact awaiting her ratification does not give her rev- enues from the proposed Boulder dam power production in proportion to her rights in the power site, and because the waters of the streams tributary to the Colorado River within her borders are not reserved to her. “‘At the very earliest, I do not see work beginning on the project for at least a year,” Congressman Philip D. Swing, co-author of the Swing-Johnson Boulder Canyon dam bill, has written to thousands who have inquired about the proj- ect, chances for work and opportunities for getting con- cessions. In addition to the ratification tangle, work cannot start on the project until, to quote Congressman Swing again, “‘interested agencies, public and private’’—and there are a

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mane as a —_—_—_ scores of these—“‘contract with the Secretary of the Interior to take water and power from the project at rates which, in the aggregate, will assure the repayment to the Government of all its costs in connection with the con- struction and operation of the project.” So there is a multilateral rate adjustment to be made after ratification takes place. Proceeding to the next popular misconception about the dam and project: That when work starts—within a very short time, as the uninformed believe, and are led to believe by the boom begetters—thousands of men will be given jobs on the construction immediately by Uncle Sam. Rare Air and Rarer Water HE facts: There will be work for six or seven thousand men when the construction is going full blast, but no- body knows yet who will build the dam or when the work will reach the employment peak. Congressman Swing tells us: “No one knows at this time”—early in January “whether th: Government will build Boulder dam itself or will let the work out by contract. Without doubt, bids will be asked and, if prices are right, the job will be let to private contractors; if the bids are considered too high the Government will do the work. The United States Commissioner of Reclamation’s office will control employ- ment if the Government builds the dam, and, likewise, will have the say on concessions. The bill provides that ex-service men be given preference in employment.” The third misconception is that as soon as the dam is completed several millions of acres of public lands will be thrown open to entry; it being a well-known fact, attested by the movies and novel writers, that the West is a country of great open spaces, and that the people who get in now and grab these lands will be rich. The facts: Congressman Swing says: “It is very difficult at this time to supply accurate information re- garding land settlements. It is hardly likely, as I have already said, that work will be started on the dam sooner than a year from now, and it is estimated it will take seven years to build it. It will take three years to build the all-American canal, and the canal will not be started until the dam is well on its way. “This canal is the only one that now appears prob- able. It will begin at the government Laguna dam just above Yuma and run parallel to and on a higher course than the Colorado River until it reaches a point near the international boundary line, thence west into Imperial Valley. The main canal will swing north after it gets through a cut in the famous sand hills of the Imperial Valley, and will supply water to approximately 200,000 acres in the Imperial Valley. If it is extended into the Coachella Valley it will irrigate between one hundred and twenty-five and one hundred and fifty thousand acres there.” Congressman Swing is here referring to public lands. “Estimates of cost per acre for new land run around $100 per acre, with forty years without interest in which to repay the Government. Time, method and place of allotments, of course, have not been decided upon. Ex- service men will have a ninety days’ preference right of entry. “There will be no land open to entry, in my opinion, until the canal is completed or nearly completed, which, as I have said, will be at least three years after worl is started on it. The land that will be settled is about 200 miles down the stream, and, in addition to Imperial Valley, already mentioned, is in Riverside County, California, and Yuma County, Arizona. All these lands irrigable from the Boulder dam project have been with- drawn from entry, and will not be reopened until the project is nearing completion. I repeat this to make it clear.” Yet, according to investigations by the California Real Estate Commission, more than 75,000 acres of lands presumably to be benefited by the Boulder Canyon dam already have been sold, and some of it is represented as being right near the Government's land. The fourth popular misconception is that, since the Colorado flows southward, and since water is all it takes to make any of the Southwestern desert burst into bloom, land anywhere along or near the river, as long as it is south of the dam, is worth mortgaging the family jewels for The facts: Quoting Stephen Barnson, California State Real Estate Commissioner: ‘With thousands of acres of irrigable lands available and to be made available in the next seven or eight years, it seems unbelievable that buyers will let themselves be sold land which cannot possibly be watered from Boulder Canyon dam or the all-American canal or from any other Colorado River source THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i! A Difficutt Bit of Triangutiation Wark on the Pro-« posed $150,000,000 Los Angeles Metropolitan Water District Aqueduct to the Colorado River “This department has been informed that water from the Boulder dam project cannot be used to irrigate land above 150 feet elevation by gravity flow; above that it must be pumped. Yet we have found speculators selling land that lies from 800 to 1500 feet above sea level—-land which could never be irrigated from the river except at prohibitive cost. “We have stopped these sales and compelled complete revisions of the set-ups as fast as we have become aware of the misrepresentations. We have investigations under way all the time. “The number of acres included in the subdivisions stopped by my order, added tothe number, largely in the des- ert regions, voluntarily withdrawn by the subdividers when their false advertising was exposed and it was shown that Boulder dam water would never be available for the land, comprises a total of approxi- mately 250,000 acres, which, if sold at the prices offered, would total $90,000,000 ‘Ten minutes’ study of a contour map and of available government data would give anyone some idea of the topographical con- ditions governing any given piece of land along or near the river.” A Little Bit of Sahara HE experience of one land buyer who failed to get information on elevations until after he had made his purchase will illustrate the possibilities in such lack of caution—and he was only one of several who had this experience He had bought, sight unseen—his only in- formation being what the salesman had told him and what he could gather from a rather inadequate map on a wall —some of the land in a subdivision that is one of several that set certain Imperial Valley civic bodies afire with indignation “None of this land,” says a California teal Estate Department report, which is available to anyone who wants :t, “lies in Imperial Valley proper. It is cut off on ti south by a range of sand duns wl movie Sahara Desert scen are made, | the way-—-“‘and the north line lies in ti Chocolate Mountains Ag tural Prayer Service at the Dam Site After President Coolidge Signed the Boulder Canyon Dam Bill. Represent Baptist, Mormon, Methodist, Episcopalian and Catholic Congregations The Ministers Present development on the greater portion of thi land will be impossible.’ Continued on Page 145

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12 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ed-Headed Country Girl HEN the operator called him one morning in mid- winter and said, “Dan, the new girl Mr. Welch got for you is here,”” Dan Tippet did net recog- nize the voice of Fate. gi ats Innocently he answered, “All / “"f right; send her down,” and hung y up the telephone re- ceiver. He did, however, have a faint tremor of warn- ing which caused him to look at the smal! new desk and typewriter in the corner of his office with some doubt. It was a bad time to add an- other person to the pay roll. Business was not \ good, but the work cf the accounting depart- ment was heavy. Mr. le Welch, the publisher of (" Welch's Farm Weekly, wanted Dan to do some viel extra chores, and he was tc havean assistant. He was of two minds about it. Heneeded help, and y yet he mistrusted any > girl when it came to ac- = counts. Women’s minds, Dan thought, without lisrespect, were for the refined but vaguer forms of thinking, for poetry, and song, ior tenderness, and affection, rather than rows of figures and double-entry card files. It was truly remarkable that Dan Tippet had been able to retain his romantic illusions about girls. For the circumstances of his work would have made any man less a gentleman than Dan a complete cynic. The girls in the circulation department, in the mailing rooms and the advertising department came through his office every morning to punch the time clocks. Rushing in, galoshes flopping, hats on the backs of their heads, their coats not buttoned, just as the bell rang half-past eight, crowding around the clock, giggling and saying fresh things to him—he saw them all four times a day. He knew the kind of work they did and the pay they got for it. He knew that the girls in the mailing room did work that would have broken his back, that the girls who cut stencils all day had a difficult and painstaking job, that the girls in the adver- tising department were smart and quick. And he knew, “It Seems You are a Kind of Hero to the Girts Around Here. I Don't Half Appreciate You"’ He Saw Them Ali Four Times a Day March 23,1929 & By Margaret Weymouth Jackson ILLUSTRATE DO too, that any one of them would be without scruple if she could cheat the clock, that they put the firm’s stamps on their own personal letters, already written on the firm’s stationery and time, that they bought their coats on the installment plan, and went without luncheon to wear chiffon stockings. But his gentle and chivalrous patience was untouched. They were just girls! Cne must overlook a certain amount of extravagance and excitement. But now that he was to have a girl in his own office all day long, he realized that it would be different. He would have to deal with her, not as a name on the pay roll, not as an abstrac- tion, but as a person. He would have preferred a boy, but Mr. Welch insisted that girls were neater, would do the same work for less pay and were more depend- able when it came to handling money. Maybe they were, but Dan didn’t believe it. And then she was standing in the door- way, and he stared at her in surprise, for she was quite young and ‘ small; two facts which came to him simultane- ously with the realiza- tion that she had the most beautiful red hair he had ever seen. She had a brown hat in her hand and wore a warm brown coat. Her head was uncovered and her hair sprang up away from her small face in shining, bright curls. It was thick and fine, clean and freshly cut, and red! Her skin was clear and pale, with a few freckles carefully R. mM. cROSBY powdered over, and hard spots of rouge on either cheek. Her brown eyes were bright between lashes thick with mascara, and her lips were carmined. Her neck was short, firm and white. As she came toward Dan she showed still some childish quality in her hesitation and an awkward- ness about her feet. “Good Lord,” groaned Dan Tippet under his breath, and then something in her look disarmed him. Why, she was only a little girl with her war paint on! She was trying to look tall and grown-up in those stiltlike high heels and the carefully applied but excessive make-up. And she was a little afraid of him. Her brown eyes asked him gently not to be unfriendly. He said in his quiet voice, “Come in. I’m Dan Tippet, the bookkeeper.” “I’m Mary Frances Stanley, Mr. Tippet.” “Well, Mary Frances, are you going to work for me?” “Yes, az.” “Hang your wraps right on this hook.” He did the office honors kindly. “‘This is your desk. You can keep any personal belonging in this drawer. There’s stationery and envelopes of every kind that you will need in the others. You've studied bookkeeping?” She stood beside the desk without her coat. She wore a black satin dress with long sleeves, thin light stockings and flimsy slippers. There were some small blue beads about her throat. “Yes, sir. I studied it in business college last winter.” “Ts this your first job?” “No. I went to Indianapolis and stayed with my Aunt Kate while I went to business school, and then I had a job up there in an advertising agency. I was a stenographer.” “You didn’t like it?” “T was fired,”” she answered calmly, and Dan laughed. “That happens tc all of us now and then,” he reassured her. “I don’t care if you’re slow, but I want you to try to be as accurate as you can be. Just take your time and think things out, and do them right the first time if you can. If you don’t understand, ask. I’m too busy right now to show you the work, but here’s a list of names. Address No. 6 envelopes for this list, and then I'll give you the inclosures. They’re all made out—bills for the — —_

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} i } ¢ ——_, job-printing department. I’ll just tell you one thing at a time.” “Yes, sir.” She took the list and sat down in a very businesslike manner, which amused and de- lighted him, but seemed unreal. He was in- tensely conscious of her. The sun seemed to gather in her hair, which attracted his eyes irresistibly. She was erasing, he could see, and sev- eral ruined envelopes went into the wastebasket. This bothered Dan, who hated waste and disorder, but he found himself making excuses for her. She had to become accustomed to the machine and the new place. The afternoon began to wear away, and Dan got up and pulled down the cord for the light, which was suspended from the ceiling. “TI could have done that for you, Mr. Tippet. I was looking for a switch. I noticed that the light was becoming dim.” Her thoughtfulness surprised him. “Have you finished the enve- lopes?” “Yes, sir.” He looked at them, made a sug- gestion or two about making the addresses appear more tidy. “I’m not finding fault,” he as- sured her. “‘These are fine.” “T’ll try hard to do just as you want me to, Mr. Tippet,” she said eagerly. He spread out the pay-roll book and showed her a little about the work. It was that time of day when the dusk came crowding down against the great glass windows, and five o’clock was near, when all through the building there was a stir and a relaxing of effort and a low murmur of talk. Mary Frances nodded her red head gravely when he explained that there were two sources of income—the advertising revenue and circulation money— but that there were seven major divisions of expenditure. He went on talking to her, although it was incredible to him that she could understand. But one or two questions she asked were shrewd enough. “IT like bookkeeping better than stenography,”’ she told him. “Well, that’s fine, because we don’t have many letters down here, but we have plenty of recording and copying. You aren’t a Hilltown girl, are you? I don’t remember having seen you around here.” “I’m from the country,” she explained. “I graduated from District School No. 9, and then I went to high school for three years on the school bus. Then I went to business school, as I told you. But my parents wanted to have me at home more, if I could get a job in Hilltown. So, I’m “I’'mMary Frances Stantey, Mr. Tip- pet’’ Me: ee ee ‘*There You Go — Knocking Yoursetf!"’ going to have a room at Mrs. Baker's, and get my break- fast and supper there. And I'll go home every Saturday, at noon, with my father, and come back Monday morning on the school bus.” “T see you have it all planned out. That would make you Stephen Stanley’s daughter, wouldn’t it? I taught No. 9 school one year, between high school and college.” “T know,” she said. “I was in the third grade.” “Is that so!" He was surprised, but said no more, and they went on with the books. But after a little she began to talk again. “You have a house, haven’t you? The one with the big lilac bushes in the yard? And the flower garden? Do you cook for yourself?” “No,” he answered, but she persisted: “What do you do? Eat in restaurants?” “In the morning and at noon, Ido. Mandy Moon comes in and tidies my house every afternoon and prepares supper forme. So I have my evening meal at home.” “T think it’s nice you have a house,” she said in a sympathetic tone. “I don’t see why a man shouldn’t, just because he isn’t married. I don’t be- lieve you'd be happy, rooming.” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not hard to please.” “Rooming seems strange to me. Do you remem- ber how big our house in the country is? Well, at Mrs. Baker’s I just have the one room. It seems queer to shut the door and know that’s all there is for me. But the room is nice and clean. I'll take my washing home to my mother, and I'll have my own quilts—the ones my Grand- mother Stanley left me. This Saturday my father is going to bring in my cedar chest and a picture of Sir Galahad I got from my Sunday-school teacher, and aswell picture of Lindbergh I had framed with my first pay—that was before I lost my job. Gee, Mr. Tippet, it’s wonderful! I'll hang it right where I can see it first thing when I open my eyes in the morning.” “We'll have to get ahead with the work,” he answered, disturbed by a sudden mental picture of clear brown eyes opening to look upon the face of young America’s idol, a mental picture with such amazing details as tousled red hair against a clean white pillow, with hand-blocked quilts upon an old-fashioned bed. Dan Tippet was not accustomed to such startling thoughts, and he kept things strictly to business for the rest of that day. “She’s a chatterbox,” he told himself. “Natural enough—I suppose all giris are but I'll have to head her off.” Stiii, his own mind, instead of being on what he was doing, was busily trying to pierce the fogs of memory and draw forth a beautiful red-headed child in the third grade, at School No. 9, all those years ago. He could THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 visualize faintly a skinny, freckled little girl who was exceedingly naughty, as one of the Stanley chil- = dren, but of course that couldn't have been Mary Frances. He de- cided that he could not recall her at the moment. The bell rang and Dan began t put away the various paraphernalia of his trade as the girls crowded through and banged away at the clock. Some of them must have had their hats and coats already on, they appeared so promptly. The men were not far behind, and then the aristocracy from upstairs came leisurely down, talking to one an- other and evidently unaware of the existence of time clocks. When the crowd had thinned, Dan gave Mary Frances a number and showed her how to ring in and out and how to remove the punched record from the clocks and insert and date new ones. He promised to get her started on part of the timekeeping the next day. She covered her typewriter and put on her warm brown coat and her little hat. It seemed that the room was dimmer when her hair was covered. “Good night, Mr. Tippet.”’ “Good night, Mary Frances. Half-past eight tomorrow morning.” “T'll be here.” But she paused at the door as a man filled it and stopped to stare at her. This was Dan's best friend, Fred McAuley, solicitor at large for Welch's Farm Weekly. There were other advertising solicitors in remote offices in New York and Chicago; men who visited the plant now and then and stalked about in a stiff-legged manner. But McAuley’s headquarters were in Hilltown. He went out to near-by cities after business, or went, as the paper’s special man, to help the other advertising solicitors on difficult calls. He was a contact man, close to Mr. Welch himself, and to the promotion department, working always in and out of Hilltown. He snatched off his hat and smiled at the young girl with a flattering regard. He was a merry, brown-eyed robin of a man, smooth and plump, with thinning dark hair and a ready smile. He had been born and raised in Hilltown, and his and Dan's friendship dated back to their infancy. But much contact (Continued on Page 134) “Hurry, ve Got Something te Tell You,’ and Then, to Mra. Baker: “‘itsAtl Right. We Went be Gone Long"

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i4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IE RECOIL

ARR, the police deputy, settled A. CSCOhimseifin hisfa- vorite elbow chair and took up astogy. While he inspected it for wormholes he unbuttoned his ulster. Merely unbuttoning it indicated to his friend and occasional “‘ medicine,” Oliver Armiston, that the cail was an emergency one and would be brief. “‘To revert,’’ said Parr, ‘to our original thesis: Every dog has his flea—if he is a normal dog. And every crook has his squealer “Tf he is a normal crook,” slyly inserted Oliver. ‘Some of our best parlor sociologists will pick you up there, Parr.” “T know it,” said the deputy. “One of them came to my office the other day and told me Killer Whalen was an hon- est man, only misunderstood. Killer’s got a record of four misunderstandings and has just taken a plea of man- slaughter on a fifth! I said, ‘How can you tell he is honest? i'd like to know how.’ He said, ‘I look them in the eye! They can't lie to me!’” Parr chuckled. “‘I wish it was as easy as that. Crime,” he said, lighting his stogy, “‘is a per- fectly normal act. A crook is a perfectly normal person. The only difference between him and you is that he thinks you are a fool to work for a living when you can pick it up for nothing. Do you remember the Thwing jewel robbery?” Oliver nodded. Very well. It made good reading, when it flooded the newspapers a few years ago. Thwing was one of those rare personages—in this country—born to the grand manner. He lived formally, never relaxed. He married a Spanish woman of high degree. Her only idea of money was gold coin, which she kept loose in her dressing- table drawer. Her only idea of a safety-deposit vault was the receptacle in the base of her harp. She played the harp well, like all Spanish women with pretty arms. To Oliver, on an occasion, she said: “‘Oh, yes, the bayadere is very difficult; but not for me, because I have good technic.” She kept her jewels in the base of that harp. When she traveled she took the harp with her, because every morning she must run off a few arpeggios, much as the rest of us do our daily dozen. In keeping with the grand manner, they traveled in their private car, and the harp was merely an- other piece of baggage, and no trouble. The jewels rode in the harp, although Madame’s maid always believed—until the jewels turned up missing, in a journey to White Sul- phur—that she herself invariably carried them in an elab- orate jewel box. It was clever, but of a cleverness better suited to dupe a bandit of the Spanish hills than a crook of the international jungle. Parr and the best minds of the police world recognized instantly the earmarks, and rounded ip the several crooks clever enough for the job. It wasa iry haul. None of the élite claimed the credit. Several lesser lights of the underworld openly boasted of it as theirs, s crooks will, when they have such a chance. For comic relief, a woman squealed on a pickpocket, said he did it. Two cops brought the poor dip in, and Parr, in no mood

SBeve va a ta. 0 t“4 , dT : a ‘ a * ds e PA/ “*‘Why, You JSilly« Billy, One Would Think You Ex: pected Never to See Me Again" Us for trifling, booted the three of them out of his office. There is such a thing as ordinary intelligence, even in a cop. “‘Recollect that poor dip?” asked Parr. ‘‘ He worked the cross-town cars and never lifted more than a ten-spot in his life.” “You turned him loose, didn’t you?” said Oliver. “Certainly,” said Parr. “What about it?” “He did it!” “Get out!” “Absolutely! He saw that harp on a baggage truck, and from habit, frisked it."” Parr laughed. ‘The girl was right. She was sore at him because he wouldn’t peddle the stuff and dress her up. But he was too wise! He buried it. We turned him loose, of course. The job was too big for him. Well, lately he’s been spreading himself—dressing up and making big bets at New Orleans and Baltimore. We picked him up and asked him how. He blew! Told everything. We've got all the stuff—or traced it.” Everybody in that case made at least one error—Ma- dame, in being too clever; Parr and his international cor- respondents, in being too wise; and the dip, in being too trusting. Looking back, Oliver thought, in the light of dis- counted knowledge, it was difficult to see how any one of the three—each according to his lights— could have avoided the error. Nor could any logician plot those errors be- forehand. Given a certain set of facts, what error will a given person naturally fall into? Later, that error, when it becomes known, seems the only possible one, and laugh- ably peculiar to the person who committed it—but it can’t be forecast! “This case is finished,” thought Oliver, eying his friend Parr. ‘‘ He didn’t come here to tell me this. There is some- thing else.” This surmise immediately proved correct. p March 23,1929 By Frederick Irving Anderson BY DBONAL DOD é ’ ar eS aku a \ \ TEAGUE

y a ~ .

“The Culpepper Lea killing,” said Parr, shift- ing his little elephant eyes to Oliver. ‘“Recollect?”’ It was only three weeks old, still in print. Oliver nodded, the tips of his fingers—with which he did some of his thinking when he wrote on his typewriter—tingling pleasantly. The Lea killing. Parr hadn’t said the Lea murder, a distinction not made in print yet. It was one of those rare crimes which seem to carry an easy boast of the impenetrable, the enigmatic, the inappre- hensible. There are crimes like that. Reading the first account of them in the press, many people, from totally different viewpoints, shake their heads and say, “They will never reach a solution in that case. The criminal will never be apprehended.” The public, of course, forgets not only the crime itself but their own fresh reaction to it. Parr never forgot. He knew that sooner or later the chickens all come home to roost. There is a steady stream of forgotten crooks coming in through the back door at Central Office. The police never shelve a mystery. Un- finished business, yes, Parr would admit, but he would never admit he was through so long as a perpetrator re- mained at large. There was always the squealer, or some- one to do the wrong thing at the wrong time. Oliver was thinking something like that now, with a change of tense. He was thinking: “‘ Undoubtedly some- one did the wrong thing, somewhere, in that affair too.” For all its vain air of the inscrutable, the facts in the Lea killing were simple enough as they came to the police blotter. In spite of his high-sounding name, Lea had no very distinguished connections. Some of those Culpeppers and Leas of Virginia and North Carolina, who went West with the Argonauts and got into Bret Harte’s stories, bred him and gave him his eagle eye and duelist’s carriage. But they were too busy to draw a family tree on parchment for him. He was in the consular service, his appointment dat- ing back to the tirne of political preferment. He saw the world and was thrown among fine people, and was fre- quently asked about his honored name. In answer he al- ways told a story. In Newport one time, in a hotel dining room, he heard the head waiter cry out: ‘“‘Hey, you, Cul- pepper Lea! Come and take care of this gentleman.” When the waiter came over, the American consular official said: ‘‘ That’s my name, boy. Where'd you get it?” And the colored waiter had replied, not insensible to the fine distinction he was drawing: “‘I come from the South- ern family, sir.”

oe = —

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os —S ——— —— “I don’t know which family I belong to,’’ Culpepper Lea would say. “I was born in a prairie schooner. No, not going West. Coming back East! My mother died. And my father was killed, later, in an Indian fight.” Wherever the name came from, he took care of it. He left the service, on a pension of some kind, after the Great War. Though then past sixty, he married—married a school-teacher—and settled down in an old New England village. Two children were born to them, a boy and a girl. Once a week he came to town— usually on a Wednesday. He always carried a brief case. Southern fashion, his wife came as far as the gate with him and kissed him good-by. He changed cars at Stamford for the main line. While waiting, it was his invariable habit to take his frugal lunch at the depot counter, always holding the brief case on his knee. In town he went to his bank and spent sometimes only a few minutes, sometimes an hour or two, in the safety-depositors’ room, doing clerical work, such as his not-considerable property required. It was his custom to go to the same attendant to give the password; he went with him to his box, took it out, carried it to his seat, at the same table; and when he finished he called the same man again and reversed the process in letting himself out. In the course of his many visits he found out about the man’s family, about the birthdays of the children, and when these days came around, in the most natural way in the world, Mr. Lea had a little package with some trinket, for the attendant. This had gone on ever since Culpepper Lea, his own second child, was born. Lea had no other business but cutting his own modest coupons, and he clung to it as if it afforded him some relief from the sudden let-down of re- tirement from a busy life. Coming back to Stamford, there was another wait for the branch-line train. It was twenty minutes. He got into the habit of consuming the time in a constitutional. It was always exactly the same walk. From the station he went down a side street to the shore front. He never got far away from ships; he had seen all parts of the world, and shore life, even in a coasting port, interested him. The watchman on the Sound Line pier learned to know him. These two elderly persons, with life drifting away from them, gravely exchanged a salute in passing. Lea walked along the dock front two blocks, then turned back to the station, arriving there with just half a minute to spare. As time went on and he grew more thoughtful in his stride, he had to quicken his pace at the last lap. He solved this difficulty by cutting across a vacant lot on a kitty-corner path beaten hard by the feet of longshoremen coming and going to work. The vacant lot was surrounded by a bill- board that stood on stilts, with boards ripped off in the diagonal corners, through which the foot traffic flowed On the afternoon of October eighth the old watchman of the Sound pier saluted him as he passed at his usual hour, and watched him move slowly down the dock front and turn in through the opening in the billboard fence. Almost immediately there was a loud shot and a fearful cry, and when they arrived at the spot they found Culpepper Lea dead, a horrible gaping wound torn in his chest. His famil- iar brief case, cut with a knife, lay open and empty on the ground. Later it was to be discovered that practically everything he owned in the world must have been in that brief case. His safe-deposit box was empty. His wife verified the fact that frequently he brought home his papers and worked far into the night on them, returning them the next day. His will, insurance papers, everything—all those items a man accumulates through a long and careful life and wishes to preserve against all hazards—all were gone. “Go back to the other case a minute,”’ said Parr, as he and Oliver went over these known facts again. “Take the jewel case. Madame had the right idea, but it didn’t work out. That doesn’t vitiate the rightness of it. She was known to travel with an enormous fortune in jewels with her at all times. Very well, what does she do, with the amount of in- telligence given her? She handed her jewel case to her maid and told her never to let it out of her sight. The maid, supposing it to contain the precious jewels of her ma- donna, was naturally nervous and frightened, and showed it. That was what Madame wanted. That would attract attention away from Madame and her harp, and to the girl—who, by the way, was an old woman,”’ put in Parr. “By all the rules, the girl should have been robbed. In time, I dare say, she would have been—if"’— Parr smiled feebly—‘“‘my pickpocket hadn’t intervened.” “What was in that brief case? Is there any way of finding out?” asked Oliver. “That’s not the point!" cried Parr. “Maybe it was empty,”’ he said, his eyes shifting to the old bronze Buddha toasting its shins by the fire. “‘Empty, like Madame’s jewel box. She had been carrying that empty box around all her life. What for? To arouse suspicion.” “Now, Parr,” said Oliver, ‘“‘don’t get too wise! You know your failing. You are not going to tell me he THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 15 exhibited that brief case just to induce e thug to blow him to kingdom come.” “Why not?” asked the deputy It would be a perfe normal act, of a perfectly normal individua ‘To blow him to kingdom come, yes aid Oliver B on the receiving end, no! That might be a subtle forr suicide, yes. But it would be hard to imagine anyhod especially this Culpepper Lea, so desperately subtk subtly desperate-—as patiently to go through this stunt of inviting destruction once a week for eight ten years If he were set on suicide, he would have done it himeel! long ago.” “Maybe he did it himself,” replied Parr quietly. “I don't know. There were no witnesses. There are several unex plained coincidences. This lot was empty. No one saw him. Now it happens that is a well-trodden peth, about as busy as a side-street block here in town. We have checked that block for a week. At no time during the day was that path idle. There was always someone crossing.”’ “Naturally, a thug or a would-be suicide would wait until he was unobserved,” put in Oliver dryly. “That's not a coincidence. That’s normal enough. What else?"’ “This!” said Parr. He took a package out of a pocket and let it fall, with a clank of metal, on the desk. “‘Un- wrap it!” Oliver unwrapped the package. It was an old dueling pistol, with an inch of the muzzle blown off, as if from too heavy a charge “Ah, the lethal weapon, eh?” cried Olive “I don’t know,” said Parr bluntly. “‘Man disposes and luck interposes. It was found in the water. The spot where Culpepper Lea lay when they got to him was within ten feet of the stringpiece of the dock. The billboard inter- vened— but the billboard stood on stilts four feet off the ground. An assassin could easily have tossed the pistol into the water. Lea himself might have done it as he fe!! but I doubt it. There is still a third possibility —the black est of all. He may have put in an overcharge, so that the recoil hurled it from his hands into the water. That sounds a little too pat. But pat things happen. Yesterday we had another gang murder uptown. May their tribe increase!” said Parr, his face painted with that odd look of wonder that sometimes came to even this old stager. “The killer grabbed his overcoat and beat it. He grabbed the wrong coat. He grabbed the dead man’s coat. It happened the Continued on Page 64 His Brief Case, Cut With a Knife, Lay Open and Empty on the Ground

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16 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TWO-DOLLA]

March 25,1929

By J. B. Snodgrass and Wesley Stout

A Betting Crowd Beneath Grand Stand at Bowie, Typical of a Pari: Mutuel Track being young and unskillful, for shekels of silver and my son, praising Allah. The kid was ordained 1a Certain Maxims of Hafi OKER and horse racing have this in common: Each may be played without money, but no one seems to i care for it in a big way. Just why a horse race, as olorful and exciting a scene us any sport can offer, is not ufficient unto itself is puz- ling. Itsimply isnot, even to those who are puzzled. There are racing enthusi- usts, including many own- ers of wealth, who do not bet, but they are a marked minority and the experi- ment of betless racing has failed here and everywhere. rhe money wagered at all the tracks by the pa- trons of the sport, however, but a small part of the whole. The tracks are merely the show windows; the real money is bet with the handbooks in the cities, moetiy in two dollar, five, | ten and twenty dollar units, by a great army; poasibly most of whom never saw a | horse race Big Business | page daily study of the involved past- performance charts, a form é * P<! of intense concentration they rarely are able to ap- “pore. @F © ply to any serious pursuit, they frequently speak the patter of the turf with a deceptive glibness, the horses all the while remaining as impersonal to them as the fifty-two cards of a deck. It is stated, and accepted as an approximate fact by those who should know, that one in six in New York City’s population bets an average of five dollars every week day on horses, This would mean a handbook handle of some- thing like $1,500,000,000 a year in that city.” The percent- ive is not greatly leas in other cities adjacent to tracks, probably greater in some, and not inconsiderable in cities far removed from the sport.

YW a 's "oom f “6 HAVANA AMERICAN

In an area three blocks by two in downtown Philadelphia surveyed several years ago, nearly 800 regular handbook players were found, most of them workers. The extent of this small gambling is nothing like that in England, where the nonbetter is an exception, but it grows yearly If you bet regularly on horse races you lose, whoever you may be. Greatly more is lost today than ever before, but ' * Pee 7 5 = Ge . Er ? ow a e/a Lia “ 4% @ yi : 1a ro WY ee j -

»4 * ° *, _ a Starting a Race From Stalls at Havana, a Device Being Tried Out at Various Tracks these losses now are distributed among so many that the consequences are invisible to the casual eye. In former years gambling left a wake of defaulting bank tellers and embezzling employes. The rarity of such embezzlements in later years suggests that as the habit has spread it has, like a disease grown endemic, become milder in its effects. The true explanation is not far to seek. The defaulter usually was a victim of an elaborate confi- dence game in which racing was used only as a stage set. For one reason or another, the old-fashioned confidence man has closed his fake pool room and turned to mass

Mid:Weck Racing Crowd at Havre de Grace, Thirty: Eight Miles From a City production in wider fields. The normal better today knows the mechanics of racing fairly well, bets of his own accord, bets small sums, and the swindlers who prey upon him are as petty as he. The individual results are confined, gen- erally, to the daily drain on his small resources, to a new suit forgone rather than to a bank closed. The piker who bets his own money has largely succeeded the plunger who bet his employer's funds. A small bet in New York customarily travels this route: A waiter, nurse, taxi- cab driver——anyone — calls up a barber shop, news stand, lunch counter, or the like, where he or she is known and starts a two- ) dollar wager on Tippity | Witchet or the horse of his choice. The bet may end there. In the Spider Web © pte the barber, printer or what not is only an agent of a petty bookmaker, who pays him a small commission. The lit- tle bookmaker may keep all, part or none of the bets that accumulate in this vapory way. Usually he lays off part or most by telephone with a real bookmaker, taking about 5 per cent as his commission; paid some- times only on losing bets. Under normal circum- stances a competent bookmaker can alwavs so balance his book on any race that he cannot lose, whether favorite or long shot wins. The wholesaler, finding too much bet on this horse, too little on others, calls his agent in “‘Jersey’’ and trades bets in a clearing house. The latter, as the last turn of the wheel, hurries any excess of money on a particular horse to the track to bet it at the last moment with the track book- makers or in the pari-mutuel machines, where it serves also to depress the odds. This come-back money, as it is known, is the bane of the track better. The maze of handbooks in Greater New York is not unlike a spider web, its center Jersey. When the racket is

tence lt

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Ee - THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17

disturbed, the clearing house drifts up and down the west bank of the Hudson clandestinely, but normally it is stationary in an apartment house in Jersey City cut up into small offices. Every big shot in the busi- ness in and adjacent to the greater city holds a seat on this exchange. Other large cities operate their own. The exchange maintains agents at all tracks, connected with them by private wires which lead to the bet- ting inclosure, if the track permits, or as close to the gate as possible. The agents lay the come-back money; they also flash pertinent information such as track conditions, odds, jock- eys, horses withdrawn and results— all available to every seat holder as part of the service. The combined resources of the members are such that almost always they can absorb any bet, but they may not choose to, even if the cir- cumstances of the wagering are not suspicious. The track odds, whether

work out more generously than those a bookmaker would quote Pari-mutuel tickets ave sold in de nominations of two, five, ten, fifty and one hundred dollars, and ir straight-place-show combinations for convenience. You may bet any horse to win—straight; to run second place; or to run third--show | “Across the board” is to bet al three. As there are usually only ten positions on a pari-mutuel board whenever more than ten horses start the rest are lumped in a “ field.” From Top to Bottom IELD betters may have as many as a dozen horses running for their money, but they are, needless to say, the culls of the race in the track handicapper’s judgment. If the horse finishes in advance of the | position you have bet, you still win, though the odds are correspondingly less. To bet, you fall in a line leading

pari mutuel or oral, are the pay-off PROTO, BY CULVER SERVICE, WV. < prices throughout the country up to 20 to 1, and the temptation is to lower them on probable winners. Trainers and owners who bet on their horses away from the track to avoid influencing the odds, usually defeat themselves. Their money may rebound to the track before they are well away from the telephone. The clearing house does not publish its turn- over; a newspaper estimate is not less than $2,000,000 daily. Either that is an understatement or a greater amount of betting money never reaches the exchange, being absorbed en route. A Machine With Human Cogs HE lesser bookmakers have extended their service in recent years by sending runners through office build- ings and from shop to shop. The office workers, men and women, seal their money and a slip of paper in an envelope. Carrying a satchel, the runner passes through the building like a postman. He says no word, merely offering his open satchel, into which the envelopes are dropped. The next morning he makes his rounds again, this time returning envelopes to the winners, and again Typical New York News-Stand Dispiay of Racing Tip Posters The pari-mutuel machines are not machines and are not a modern invention, as this generation assumes. They were introduced from Paris soon after the Civil War, were in general use in Kentucky and New York, fell into disuse and reappeared in recent years in Maryland, Kentucky, Illinois, Louisiana and some other states. The name sug- gests a combination slot machine and calculator. There is such a device, known as a totalizator, in use at the Long- champs course in Paris and in Australia, where they were invented. It does by mechanical means more swiftly what is performed manually at the pari-mutuel tracks. In bookmaking every bet is a private transaction. The bookmaker fixes the odds, though he is influenced by the public’s preferences, and the winnings and losings are his. Under the newer method all bets accumulate in a common pool. A fixed percentage—6 to 10—is deducted from the total on each race as a kitty and retained by the track or shared with the state as a form of tax. All the balance is paid to the successful betters; the machine neither wins nor loses. The public makes its own odds and they usually

saying no word. How the polit- ical protection is managed must be left tosurmise. In certain Western cities the hand- book concession is granted by city hall to one man or a group, who rule it despotically, limiting the num- ber of operators and collecting a percentage of the take. In New York the racket appears to have no head or tail and to depend upon Jersey for its government. Probably there is more order than appears, yet the game seems to be open to anyone. The punishment is severe, but since conviction re- quires evidence of the transfer of money or the oath of an informant, the police are in- active. As ‘He man on the bvat usually encoun- tersit, the business is too petty to sug-

gest even a shake- PHOTO. FROM R. J. KENNEDY, HAVANA down. Opening Day at the Havana American Jockey Club Track, Oriental Park, Cuba

to the proper teller’s cage and receive a cryptic ticket, numbered and other- wise protected against forgery. Assume that fifteen horses run and $100,000 is bet at the track on this race. All bets on twelve of the horses lose unless a field horse is one of the first three. All win and place bets on the third horse and all win bets on the sec- ond horse lose. Only six series of tickets may be cashed; all three on the first horse, two on the second and one on the third. After the kitty has been deducted from the $100,- 000, the balance is distributed to those holding one or more of the six winning series. The amount paid is governed solely by the proportion of money bet on the winners to that bet on the losers. A favorite may pay less than even money, more having bet on it than all the other horses together. An overlooked horse may pay fabulous odds. The record is $1885.50, or 941 to 1, on Wishing Ring, at Latonia, July 17, 1912. A similar two-dollar place ticket paid $664.60, a show ticket $172. The previous record was $830.70 at Lexington two years earlier, which superseded $1178 returned on a five- dollar ticket on Nickajack at Jerome Park in 1872. The highest price of 1928 in the East was $208.20 on Encamp at Bowie, the next to the last day of the season. The price always in- cludes the return of the original bet The shortest price permitted | the pari mutuela under the lew is five cents on the dollar, or 1 to 20 That is, $2.10 is the least that may be paid on a win- ning two-dollar ticket. This makes it possible under unusual condi tions for the pari mutuel to lose money. At Pim- lico last Novem- ber, Vanity and Igioo, coupled “as the W. R. Coe en- try, won and ran third respectively There was an un- precedented play on the entry for place, on the the- ory that the two horses would finish first and second and monopolize the place money r. W.-—Chicago O’Brien and other plungers were piling in the money by the Centinued on Page 121)

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18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HE Holzoppels were at supper—father and mother, two sons and a daughter. None of the men hired from time to time to help about the farm, which was a large one, was there now; if one had been there he, too, would have eaten with the family, helping himself to thick slices of bread made in the farm kitchen from wheat grown on the west slope and ground at the old stone German mill not five miles down the state high- way, spreading his bread lav- ishly with cool, sweet butter churned by Mrs. Holzoppel on the shaded cement area outside the springhouse, with apple butter, that aromatic, rich brown condiment which, on long fall afternoons, had wafted its spicy odors through the house cupied now by the third and fourth gen- erations of Holzoppels. He'd have partaken of ham, pink and fried to a golden crust, reminiscent of the ton litter of fancy black hogs Car! had exhibited in the fair circuit that summer; spiced cabbage made from a firm, white head carried in but that day from the field; potatoes, crisply fried in ham fat, firsts from the south fields and not to be missed from the motor truckloads that in another week would be winding their way to the markets of Lancaster, Philadelphia, Read- ing, Allentown. He'd have topped off his meal with a quarter of deep-dish apple pie and a generous wedge of mild home-made cheese. Come flood, come famine, come pestilence to the rest of the world, come war, come wind, come upheavals of the earth, the Holzoppels and their neighbors, provided the fortresses of their gentle hills still held, would have continued to “live good.” In spite of this security of future, this independence of present, this weal upon the land of their forefathers, a cloud was on the faces of the younger Holzoppels. A differ- ence between these young people and their parents would have quickly declared itself to the eye of a stranger. The older folks belonged obviously to the Plain People; their clothing was of an unusual severity of cut, and entirely unornamented by buttons. They were fastened in neatly with hooks and eyes. The young people were dressed according to the fashion of the day, and were buttoned into their clothes. The latter ate in silence, their attention upon their plates. The jaws of the boys moved rhythmically, the eyes of the daughter flashed jewel blue in indignation from one brother to another, and back to her plate. A soft pink came NVICTION OF By Brooke Hanlon ILLUSTRATED BY RAEBURN VAN BUREN up into the girl’s cheeks, brick red mounted from where the boys’ blue shirts lay open at their necks, crept up and up, and bathed their ears. “What do you think we stay here and work fur” — Carl broke the long silence; he'd finished his pie, and he stood up and kicked his chair backward—‘“‘if we can’t ever have no pleasure nor nothin’?”’ “Yes, ain’t it?”’ Max turned angry eyes upon his father. “The Amish,” the older man said calmly, ‘don’t uphold to automobile ridin’.””, He took a mouthful of cheese and chewed deliberately. “*There’s no hurt to it, neither here nor there,” the older boy exploded. “It takes you places and it brings you back home once, and quicker, anyway, than a horse. It saves time fur you, so it does.” “There ain’t another girl I know”’—in the heat of her resentment Alfarata forgot her normal-school English— “‘where doesn’t have an automobile in the family.”’ All of them pronounced the word with the accent on the third syllable. “‘We don’t get anywheres! We don’t see any- body!” Tears welled to her eyes. “The Amish don’t uphold to automobiles.’’ The old man chewed imperturbably. “It’s a sinful contriwance!” He banged the table authoritatively. “It’s a part of this March 23,1929 “If it Works Out it Works Out,’* Cart Said, Pro: nouncing Judgment, “and if it Don’t Work Out it’s a Good Setback fur Him Once’ here sin-ridden age, and them where rides in one’’—his voice rose—‘“‘is ridin’ to de- struction.” “I’m sick to my stomach of that kind of talk,” Carl muttered sulkily. ‘“‘The Amish don’t uphold to this here and the Amish don’t up- hold to that there. I ain’t Plain. Max and Alfie ain’t Plain. We're sick of ridin’ in a buggy and bein’ made fun out of, and gettin’ places when it’s time to come home still. We ——_” “You ain’t Plain?” His father’s voice became a cry of pain. “Why ain’t you Plain? Why, I want to know it? Ain’t your pop Plain? Ain’t your grandpop before him and your great-grandpop even ——”’ “We're sick of workin’ here and workin’ here, and never havin’ the pleasures that others have.” Max Holzoppel swallowed. ‘We could go over into Lan- caster and work in a refrigerator plant, or somewheres. We ——” “Yah, yah. You could work in a plant and the plant could close down on you,” the father gibed, “like on Lester and Howard Winebrenner last winter a’ready. This here farm stays here.” His outstretched hand, pounding on the table, affirmed the permanence of his father’s home. “It don’t close up on you and it don’t shut down on you. What fur kind of a fool would you be to go workin’ in a plant, or whatever?” Brick red had crept up to his ears now too. “For only six hundred and ninety-five dollars you could get a Garnett Six, pop.” Carl took a more conciliatory tack. “Tt ain’t that you can’t afford it,’’ Max reminded him. “Tt ain’t that we don’t earn one, and more over, to take us here and there.” “To take you places where I don’t uphold you should go to!” their father roared, drowning them out. “To movin’ pitchers, to dances, to parties and whatever! It’s a sinful wehicle and it’ll never come on my land! Ain’t God give you legs fur to take you where you want to go? Ain’t He give you horses to harness? I won’t never set foot onto one and I don’t uphold”’—he stood up to give his words weight—‘“‘that anybody where lives under my roof shall set foot onto one, either. There ain’t to be no more words brought up about it in this house.”” He turned ominously in the doorway. —— = - ee

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_ —_ a a ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 “Och, boys, boys!” Mrs. Holzoppel made gentle sucking sounds with her mouth. “‘ What fur do you want to stand up to him like that there, boys? Go on now and get dressed fur your party.”’ She put a hand on a rebellious shoulder of each. “The clean shirts is in the bottom drawer. You go, too, Alfie. I don’t want that you should help me tonight.” “I’m not goin’ to no party,”’ Max declared sullenly. “I’m not goin’ nowheres where I’m to be made a fool out of any more,” Carl supplemented bitterly. “I’m not goin’ nowheres behind a horse; not if I rot first.” “Och, Carl, Carl! Who would drive your sister to the dance then?” “His sister isn’t goin’ to the dance then.” Alfarata’s voice came sharply from the corner where she was drying her eyes on a spotless roller towel. “‘I’m sick to death of being laughed at behind my back and in front of my face even. I won’t go anywheres. I'll stay right here. Till I’m old. Till I’m an old maid.” Having given voice to this hated and dreaded epithet, she burst again into tears. Their father had taken his Bible and was sitting by the lamp in the living room, reading. Resentfully they refused to join him there. They hung about the kitchen. By and by the boys sauntered out one at a time, and Alfie watched them. She knew where they’d go—down to the end of the stone wall that followed the lane. Down to the highway. They’d sit on the wall, kicking it with their feet, smoking the forbidden tobacco and watching the cars go by. Before long she followed them, walking slowly in the half dark- ness. She was without hat or coat; the October evening was unusually mild. Soon, at the end of this month, per- haps, would come frost. Snow would come and they'd be closed in. They wouldn't, as she had told her father, get anywhere. She'd get as far as the district school, a mile and a half down the road, where she taught—no farther. The others all had cars; they went hither and thither inces- santly at a dizzying pace, and every year they went farther, widening the scene of their gayety. Only she and Carl and Max were left behind, watching with envious eyes. It was not only that they daren’t own a car; they daren’t even step into one. She climbed up silently beside the boys, and a sigh lifted her slight chest and spent itself upon the night air. She looked out over her father’s land, which had been her grandfather’s, and her great-grandfather’s before his Those far slopes, which had once been in tobacco, were now in potatoes. They began at the third slope and stretched out and out, acre after acre of them, tubers for the markets of Pennsylvania cities. “He'll git enough from the potatoes fur to buy three or four cars, easy,” Carl said bitterly, picking the thought from her mind. “The Amish don’t uphold to cars,”” Max reminded him gloomily. “‘We can sweat and sweat gettin’ the potatoes out of the ground and onto the motortrucks fur him, though,”” he remembered. “It wouldn’t take much of a push fur to put me over in Lancaster, workin’,”” Carl said darkly, ‘“‘or in Philadel- phia, even, maybe.” Alfie ceased to listen to them. She followed her own thoughts. After a time she began laughing softly. “‘What would pop make of it to know that Uncle Absalom learned me to drive his car when I was there this summer?” She invited them to consider this, she herself bending double over it. “Learned you!” Carl said scathingly. “As if there was anything fur to learn about it. You get in and you push something and you go once. Anybody where can drive a tractor now That there’s something, ain't it, Max?” “She couldn't drive nothin’,”” Max scoffed shortly Silence settled over them again. Alfie sobered and her eyes went again to the hills, where the quick October dark was now pressing down. She'd be an old maid, a girl who didn’t dare ride in a car. Her hands clasped one another tightly in her lap. They didn’t walk in lanes any more, they didn’t ride in buggies, they didn’t sit in parlors on sofas; they sped by in cars. There'd be only some fellow who had turned Plain, like Amos Deeter, for her. Amos Deeter, with hooks and eyes down the fron f his plair coat “*Doppethead!”’ she said venomously, under her breat Her eyes brooded on the hills There was no moving pop, any more than there wa moving a bull when you wanted him to go into a field and when only one small gate led into the field. Hadn't the three of them, she and Max and Carl, been pushing behind him for weeks now, for months? Trying to push him int: buying a car. But there was no pushing and there was m pulling him; you'd have to trick him again to the slopes where the potatoes waited. Money enough in those fields, there was, to buy them a car. Car and Max had done all the work with them this year, too, she reflected bitterly. “Carlie’—her voice came queerly out of the silence after a long time—‘‘when does pop figure to start diggin’ the potatoes?” “When does he figure us to start diggin’ them?" Car! corrected. “‘It wonders me he ain't started a long time ag: a’ready.”” He spat between his teeth. “Wood head.” Max looked at him scornfully. ‘We don’t git our turn at the trucks till a week yet.’ “Carlie, listen— Max! Listen here, boys.” Alfie's voice was alive suddenly. “‘Come over here, close to me. Listen once.”” Her nervous hands tugged at them. “Pop's like a bull, ain't he?” Her voice was quick, eager. “You car push and push, and you don’t get him anywheres without he wants to go, isn’t it? You got to trick him some, don't you? Listen, I got an idea”’—her laugh bubbied—‘“‘i got an idea how to trick pop some. Listen here 7 With their heads close together, the three sat on the stone wall. Alfie talked, her hands moving in quick ges- tures. Now and then laughter sprang in smothered gusts from her lips. The boys listened. They didn't laugh, but scowled, their heads bent. After a long time they nodded slowly. Her eyes lifted Continued on Page 165 ‘‘Maybe They Have Right, Pop,’’ She Said. ‘‘Maybe Tractors is Sinful Yet. It Makes a Noise Like the Judgment Comin’, Stilt’’

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0 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 Then There Came a Fiash of Red and the Woods Had Received its Own Again. Mr. Cutcheon Smiled, Not Joyousty But Tremulously E DIDN'T take finger- prints in that day,” ay Clarence Bucington Kelland said the heavy-set man. I u Ss TRATED Br J “But you did, doubtless, take photographs instead,”’ suggested Dr. Brant Perkins. “Twenty years of time and a painstaking effort to alter the appearance will make a photograph all but useless. However, I have one.” “But why,” asked Brant, “ not an officer of the law.” We find,” said the nan, “‘that doctors know a great jeal that other people never learn—if they can be per- suaded to teli it.” ‘Exactly. How old was this man when he escaped from prison “Thirty.” “He would now be fifty. And his crime?” “Embezzlement. He was serving a term of twenty years. He made his escape before six months of it had expired.’ do you come to me? I am Brant’s eyes twinkled. “You couldn't have made it homelike for him in your prison. ‘Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.’ This teaches us we should make our jails more attractive.” Huh.” The heavy-set man grunted at this levity. “Can you help me?” he asked I don’t know. I don't even know if I would help you if I iid. Suppose this man, for twenty years, has been eading an exemplary life. Let us imagine he has not only been exemplary but positively noble. What then?” ‘He owes the state twenty years of his life for a crime,” id the detective Probably my ethics are cock-eyed,” said Brant, “but I'm not sure I agree with you. One stumble does not make a stagger. One misdeed does not make a criminal. There might have been extraordinary temptation or mitigating circumstances. In my feeble, faltering way I might reach the conclusion that it is better to have a good citizen at large to work at the intricate business of being a good citi- zen than it would be to clutch him by the collar and transform him into a convict.”’ “Sentiment,’’ said the detective. “I dote on moonlight and primroses,”’ said Brant. ‘‘ How do you know he is in Kidder’s Dam?” “Anonymous letter. Received last week. It said, ‘If you want to take Amos French, escaped convict, look for him in Kidder’s Dam.’”’ “Apparently,” said Brant, “‘there is someone who does not wish him well. Now I, in your circumstances, might shut up the writer of that letter while I allowed this Amos to frisk in the sunshine.” “He was a trusted employe. He absconded with a large sum of money belonging to people who could ill afford its loss. He wrecked a building-and-loan society and caused great distress.” “It doesn’t sound like the sort of thing an admirable person would do,” said Brant. “I tell you, doctor, a man who is once bad is always bad.” “Even if he proves for twenty years that he is good?” “Would you trust such a man with money?” asked the detective. “That gives one to pause briefly and wonder. It would depend, I think, upon the color of his eyes and the shape of his nose and the contour of his ears.” “When he escaped he was thirty years old, five feet nine inches tall, had brown waving hair and brown eyes. Add twenty years to that. Do you know a man in this town who answers the description?” Brant did not answer this directly. “‘One wonders,” he said, “if this man is a resident here; if he has been living here during all these twenty years, or if he is a visitor or a newcomer.” “That I must learn. First I shall inspect the new- comers. Why, if the convict had been here all these years, was the anonymous letter written only last week? That seems to point to a late arrival and a recognition.”’ “Or,” said Brant, “it may point to a dreadful sort of pa- tience which is willing to wait twenty years for its revenge. Would it not be more terrible to be sent back to prison after two decades of freedom and respectability than after a few days of liberty?” “Far-fetched,” said the detective. “In dealing with human beings,”’ said Doctor Perkins, “T find the far-fetched is more likely than the normal. Have you applied to our good Sheriff Kay?” “Not yet. I prefer to act independently.” “Mr. Kay, being an astute politician, is intimately ac- quainted with the persons, habits, thoughts and desires of every man, woman, child, cat, dog and chicken in the vicinage. I would suggest Mr. Kay. I myself am but newly come to Kidder’s Dam.” “Tf,” said the detective, “ officers of the law knew all that village doctors know, our jails would be crowded to suffocation.” “Perhaps,”’ said Brant. “Do I understand you refuse to give me information? ma OWA T 9” -— s

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ee ee We a SS — es THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 21 “You may understand that I have none to give. You may go a little further and understand that, if I should come into possession of any facts, I would then consider what were best to do. Not in the interest of the full prison, you comprehend, but in the illuminating light of this and that. I might even hide your fugitive in my coal cellar.” “You would,” said the detective, “be putting yourself outside the law.” “Which, I gather, is an uncomfortable place to be. By the way, I did not catch your name.” “Pond,” said the heavy-set officer. “Very well, Mr. Pond. We shall see what we shall see. Your duty is to do your duty. It is narrow and circum- scribed. Your job is to find and apprehend the fugitive. You have no latitude. I am not one to censure you for that. My duty is—what?” “To give me every aid and assistance within your power.” “Poor Amos French!” said Doctor Perkins. “‘So my duty is to bust his sorry scheme of things entire? Maybe maybe not. Meantime I have on my hands an epidemic of whooping cough, a case of pneumonia, a fractured leg, a few measles and a number of sufferers from a generally run- down condition and high blood pressure. Which is a polite way of telling you I am busy and to run along and peer into the countenances of passers-by.” “‘At least,”’ said Mr. Pond, “look at this photograph.” Perhaps he wished to startle Doctor Perkins into some betraying sign of recognition; if so, he experienced disap- pointment. Brant once played an excellent hand of poker and his face was not the mirror of his soul. He took the card upon which the picture was mounted and examined it with interest. There looked up at him the face of a young man, rather better looking than the ordinary run. The eyes did not squint, the mouth was neither predatory nor furtive, the nose was an excellent nose, and the chin would pass. “Just an ordinary young man,” he said. “I see no indications of depravity.” “Criminals look like other folks,” said Mr. Pond. “I suppose criminals are like other folks,” said Brant. “Criminals commit crimes,”’ said Mr. Pond “The town rings with whoops,” said Brant. ‘Did you ever have the whooping cough, Mr. Officer?” “* Never.” “Then you will not understand that various parents will be more interested to have their physician bring alleviation of the disease than they would be to have him catch Jesse James-—if Jesse were still at large. Come again, sir. You will always be welcome. I am interested. There is a cer- tain amount of romance in the story you tell me. I would be a spectator at its unfolding.” “‘Good afternoon,” said Detective Pond abruptly, and left that place without disappointment, for he was a remarkably patient man. Doctor Perkins accoutered himself with the proper weapons for jousting against the whooping cough and went out to his car. This vehicle startled him by resolving into action at the first touch instead of waiting coyly to be per- suaded; for it was of antique vintage and in a state of unsightly dilapidation. However, once started, it was capable of disconcerting speed. The doctor drove up the hill and past the fair grounds, where a couple of small boys waved their arms wildly to attract his attention. “Hey, doc, she wants you over back of the grand stand!” they screeched. “She does, eh? Who has she maimed now?” Brant demanded. *“We was shootin’ at a mark and she fetched a 12-gauge shotgun of her pa’s and got Skinny Brown to shoot it. It kicked him galley-west!”’ Doctor Perkins alighted and walked to the spot where the injured youth was stretched upon the grass. Over him bent a slender, nondescript figurein faded khaki knickers, and this nondescript figure lifted its head to exhibit the pert face of the Peddy Orphan. “Well,” demanded Doctor Perkins severely, ‘what have you done this time?” “Boys,” said the Peddy Orphan, “are so fragile.” “Aw,” protested the sufferer, “I hain’t hurt none. I jest got my wind knocked out, but she won't lemme git up “No, I won't,” said the Peddy Orphan, “and you lie right there until the doctor examines you. I guess I know what's best.”’ The doctor bent over the sufferer to examine him wit} deft fingers, disregarding the young man's protests. The Peddy Orphan hovered anxiously “This time,"’ said Brant, getting to his feet, “you escape the gallows.” “Then it didn't bust him inside anywheres? voice was almost humiliated at this disclosure ‘No reflection on you,” Brant said. “ You tried.” “They're so brittle," she expostulated. “I have to be careful all the time. Where are you going?” “I'm stamping out a plague of whoopers.” “I’m coming,” she said “Having laid out your quota of boys for the day, you now pick on me, eh? Do you realize I've never seen you 1 wonder The girl's with a dress on like a civilized young woman? what you look like.” “I’m gorgeous,”’ she said. Where do we stop first?” “ Wiggins’s,”’ he said. “Fine. I saw Bert this morning and he's caught a young fox. They say you can’t tame one. I bet you can.” “Very well. While I ply my trade you may exercise your feminine charm on the fera nature.” “Ain't he educated!” she exclaimed admiringly. “‘Quo usque tandem abutere, Catilina, patientia nostra,’” she quoted. “You've got as far as Cicero, eh? And how do I abuse your patience?” “* By pretending to be grown-up and dignified. I hope we get there before Mr. Cutcheon gets wind of the fox.” “Why?” “He'll buy it,”’ she said “Does he collect foxes?” “Some day I'll astound you. Continued on Page 74) “*le Isn’t Human Beings Who are Interesting,’* said Mr. Peet. “‘Te'’s the Fixes They Get Themselves Into’ |

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22 THE SATURDAY ING UP EVENING POST March 25,1929 By Samuel M. Vauclain As Told to Earl Chapin May URING the forty- = six years that I | have been suc- cessfully employed as | department superin- | tendent, genera! superin- tendent, vice president, senior vice president and president of the Bald- win Locomotive Works, none of our workmen has been discharged for making an honest, full- hearted effort to hold his job. A mistake or error, after trying, is never held against a laborer, helper, journeyman or foreman. All he has to show is good intentions and strict loyalty. This true of anybody on our pay roll, no matter in what capacity. In carrying out this fair-play policy, which father and mother taught me even before I went to the Altoona, Pennsylvania, Sunday ing it and forgetting it, Mr. Parry dozed off peacefully. In the midst of the argument he opened his eyes and ex- claimed, “I’ve got it, gentlemen. We won't sell that tender shop; we'll put Sam Vauclain in charge of it.” The other partners re- membered me. ‘‘ Not that fellow who nearly drove us crazy on that Pennsy job?’’ they chorused. “‘Certainly,”’ said Mr. Parry. “That’s why we want him over here.” That’s how the Works came to hire me. With the consent of my Penn- sylvania superior, I took the job. | them were favoring sell- Double Shift R. PARRY was a philosopher. school, I have sometimes found it necessary to switch an individual or group to some other department or kind of work, but such changes have generally benefited the workmen and their associates. Next to taking good care of my family, my chief ambi- tion is to do the work assigned to me, and do it satisfac- torily. Because I have not spared myself, this ambition has been realized. Many a man of my acquaintance has been equally fortunate. We are put on this earth to ac- complish something. The fellow who sticks to it and, if he falls down, tries again, lasts the longest and travels far- thest. This is true in locomotive fabricating. That is why there are many veterans in our organization. Some of these old-timers can recall Sam Vauclain’s first ap- pearance at the Works, as inspector of locomotive building for the Pennsylvania Railroad System. | was something of a conundrum to the own- ers, officers and workmen at Philadelphia. They couldn't make out whether the gray- haired machinist from Altoona was twenty-five or fifty years old. My boots, plain clothes, white shirt, linen collar and black bow tie were, for that time and place, unusual. The truth is that, though large, I was just short of twenty-seven and had taken my new job at a financial sacrifice because I wanted to know more about locomotives From the Land ef Nod | pweee. a thirty-eight-dollar-a-month boss of a tough Altoona framing gang, I'd contrived to become a kind of subcontractor who agreed to put a locomotive frame together for a certain percentage of a certain sum. The shop management didn't expect me to make much at it, but my gang, instead of being hard on me, worked so fast and efficiently that I'd earned nearly $3C0 at the end of thirty days. The management then reduced my percentage. This put the framing gang on their mettle. Though their wages were not affected, they worked harder for and with me than before. Hence I netted more than $300 dur- ing the second month. Again my percentage was reduced. The third month netted me another $300. Then the master mechanic offered me the inspector’s job at Philadelphia. The pay was only three dollars a day —about seventy- five dollars monthly. In accepting it, I gave up living, except on Sundays, in our new Altoona home. I abandoned my garden, which, though I had to cultivate it by lantern light, was the pride of our neighborhood. But the Works at Philadelphia beckoned me. Mrs. Vauclain was willing, so I left her and the baby temporarily for my new job. A Passenger Engine Buiit by the Baidwin Locomotive Works for the Pennsylvania Railroad in 1867 Thanks to the training given me by my old framing gang, I not only did the work of three inspectors during my stay in Philadelphia but I also got so much action from men and machinery in the Works that the men, at least, were glad to bid me good-by when they had finished those sixty Pennsy locomotives and I'd passed them as satisfactory. Eighteen months later the same Works sent for me. The Seventeenth Street tender shop, a couple of blocks from the The First Electric Locomotive Buiit by the Baidwin Lecomotive Works in t&95 main buildings on Broad Street, was badly equipped, badly managed and losing money. Several superintendents had been tried out there, but they couldn’t make a go of it; partly because they hadn’t been able to get the men in hand. The Works partners conferred on the problem. One of the partners, Mr. Charles T. Parry, had been with the Works a long time, for many years as superin- tendent. He generally fell asleep in conference, but when he awoke he would exclaim, “I’ve got it, gentlemen!” Which meant he had a solution of the pending problem. While the conferring partners were arguing about the hoodoo tender shop on Seventeenth Street and most of “*Don’t fire a man unless you have to,” he often advised his associates. Then he would pause and add, “‘ You may get a worse one in his place.” That advice became part of the Works’ fixed policy. I’ve never fired anyone until I had to. During several years following my first employment by the Works, Mrs. Vauclain and I lived with our children on Corinthian Avenue facing Girard College and within easy walking distance of my job. As youngsters, each of our three boys and three girls played around the Works with me, just as I had played with my father around h’s Altoona roundhouse .in my boyhood. Of course they did their playing in the daytime. After we had all eaten supper, I used to go back to look over things if we were especially busy or were having any trouble with the machinery. If the night shift wasn’t working I'd often drop in at twelve o’clock to see if the watchman was on the job. He generally was, after I’d given him a surprise party. Mrs. Vauclain’s one objection to this custom was that I seldom got home before four A.M., and was out again two hours later; so she formed the habit of going down to the Works with me and staying until I took her home, at one or two o'clock, just out of courtesy. When the children grew older and two of them were in college and three others preparing for college at The Friends’ School, Philadelphia, she got me to move out to Somerton, for fresh air and so I wouldn’t spend so much time building locomotives. While living there the tele- phone at my bed head rang at four o’clock one winter morning. In response to my question, “‘What is wrong?’ one of the Works men replied, “I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Vau- clain, that the overhead crane in the boiler shop has fallen down.” “Is anybody hurt?” I demanded. “No, sir,” was the reassuring answer. “Then all of you go back to work,” I answered thank- fully, dressed quickly and was soon at the Works. Though, because of its magnitude, the accident was bound to slow us up at a particularly busy period, we had been lucky in not losing any lives or limbs. A broken axle caused the damage. The foreman of repairs had noticed the axle slipping on its wheel and thought he would strengthen it by turning it down and bushing it. He turned it down too thoroughly. It broke when submitted to a strain. From five o’clock that Friday morning until eight o’clock on Sunday night I stayed in the boiler shop continually,

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| | | eating the meals my wife sent to me. The broken crane was hoisted to its proper position; new, strong axles were made for it. Every other crane was equipped with strengthened axles. Then I went home with a feeling of security. No such accident could occur again. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 But I didn’t fire that erring foreman. He'd made a mis- take while trying to save the Works both time and money. If he’d made repairs to cover up some other error or had come to me with an alibi, he'd have been promptly removed from the pay roll. As it was, he remained there indefinitely without losing any wages. But he didn’t make the same mis- take again. A foreman in the shop once made a serious error in man- aging an open hearth. He thought his method would pro- duce a certain kind of steel we wanted. The result was disastrously and expensively disappointing. When he saw he’d made a failure of it he came straight to my office and confessed without any attempt at alibi. He stayed right on the job with us and is one of our strongest men today. He’s always done his best, with loyalty. Mr. Vauctain in France I could cite a hundred similar cases, yet I have dis- charged 25090 unsatisfactory workmen almost simultane- ously. When your company has but recently been reorgan- ized, when there is serious illness in your family and you are called out on the road to settle a selling difficulty, you don’t like it when the men who you believe are getting the best of it decide to walk out on you. Ours has always been an open shop-—-open to anyone able and willing to do good work or to do his best, at any rate. Our shop doors are purposely high and wide. Our men don’t have to line up and suffer from rain, snow or sun while their fellows ahead of them crowd through a slit in the shop wall, trudge down a dark hallway and punch a time clock in single file. That's no welcome for a workman. He doesn’t have to punch a clock in his own home. Why should he have to punch one at the Works? The Works should be his home for him during his money- making hours. A Fourteen:Inch Railway Gun Mount, Used in France During the War Because we and our workmen believe in fair play and the essential honesty of the individual, there's little red tape around the Works. In ninety-odd years we've never asked a workman to sign a pay roll or give a receipt for wages, and not one of them has ever sued us. Our shop has al- ways been so open that no man who wants to go to work is asked whether he is or is not a member of a labor union, or whether he is a Democrat, Republican, Catholic, Metho- dist or Presbyterian. We are interested only in his gen- eral character and ability. For these and various other reasons we get along splendidly with labor. Only once have our men gone on a strike, and that strike was un- justified. When Baldwin's Went on Strike | ren in 1910, when Mrs. Vauclain’s health was giving her family serious concern and visits to foreign spe- cialists seemed to yield small benefit, the Works had been sold to a stock company, and all departments were so busy that I was working twenty out of twenty-four hours daily, Philadelphia street-car employes struck for higher wages. Mob scenes were staged by strikers and sympathizers. Armed policemen were everywhere The Works were not far from the city’s business cen- ter. Our men had no grievance against us, apparently, but as weeks rolled by and excitement grew they would be greeted by showers of stones if they showed themselves \ \ ) iq : Mr. Vauctain and a Group of Officials Watching the Navy Tests of the Railway Gun Carriage a at any of our shop windows These and other demonstra tions so demoralized them that we closed the Works and sent them home, told them t remain there quietiy until we were ready to open up again After two weeks the excite ment subsided, our doors opened and our whistles blew and our men came back t work for us. But during their fourteen days of idleness agi- tators and organizers had s influenced them that they re turned to take a hand at man agement. There was where | took a hand Mind you, for a quarter of } a century I'd been working right along with them, report- ing at seven o'clock when they reported, and helping every one of them. Ifa particularly tough job, like a crane falling, kept me in the shops three nights and two days continually, the same men didn’t stick it out with me; they worked in regular shifts while I indulged in a labor marathon That's why I was willing to talk things over with eact individual, but positively refused to see a committee or any outside organizer. While the agitators kept on agitating I cleaned up as much shop work as possible, then I let out 2500 ringleaders. They knew why they went. There war no argument with me, but there were plenty of indignatior meetings in halls and homes in that neighborhood. Stil our men did not go out as a body At this crisis I was called to Mississippi to settle a dispute about a locomotive and had hardly reached my destina tion before I received a telegram reading: “Boiler shop has gone on strike. What shall we do about it?” “Do nothing until I return. Let matters rest,”’ I wired When I'd made the locomotive satisfactory to our Mis sissippi purchasers and got back to the Works, everything was in a turmoil the chronically discontented workmen to be parted fron By moral suasion, and by allowing the pay rell, we restored order and, with the aid of a few faithful employes, kept every department open on the usual twenty-four-hour schedule, although we were re duced to the irreducible minimum. At this stage of the proceedings we declined offers of assistance from all sorts of manufacturers’ associations Continued on Page 13! —_ a From Left to Right are Dr. W. Rehfus, of Baidwin's; W. H. Leary, A. W. Sewall, G. Brochius, Counsel for Baidwin's; Mr. Vauctain; Rear Admirai Raiph Earie, Ordnance Department of the U. 5. Navy; G. A. Chadwick, ‘ Designer of the Carriage, and Commander A. C. Dieffenbach

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24 THE SATURDAY ILLUSTRATED It Dropped Upon the Mare, But Instead of Landing Squarely on Her Back, it Struck Her Hindquarters, and When These Gave Way Under its Weight, it Slipped Off and for a Moment Lost its Footing from the pinelands and islands of South Carolina to the Virginia Eastern Shore, there exists today a race of horses concerning which many stories are told. Some of these horses are wild, others are half wild, still others are wholly tame. Hard living and inbreeding have stunted their bodies, but not their brains. They roam, gen- erally in small bands, about the marshes and the sandy islands of the coast or in the pine woods and savannas near the great lowland swamps. In spite of a characteristic slenderness of limb and, more rarely, a certain shapeliness of head and neck recalling the Andalusian of Arab blood, they are poor things to look at—unless, that is, one looks at them through the eyes of romance. Then legend gilds them and gives them dignity. On Hatteras Banks, where they are known as banker ponies, it is said that they are the descendants of Barbary horses brought over by Sir Walter Raleigh’s colonists. At Chincoteague, in Virginia, there is a story of a Spanish ship wrecked off the Capes in the early days and of Spanish horses swimming ashore through the surf. In the South Carolina plantation country there persists an ancient and curious legend linking the marsh tackies or swamp tack- ies, as they are called in that region, with the horses lost by De Soto nearly four centuries ago on his disastrous march to the Mississippi. I never believed this tale. It was more likely, I thought, that these hardy little horses of the lonely pinelands and the coast islands traced back to the forts which the Span- iards built on the Carolina coast and which were later abandoned to the Indians. I knew one of these ponies—a little lop-eared sorrel that lived and still lives on Edisto Island, not many miles, as the crow flies, from the site of old Fort San Felipe, and one afternoon he and I talked to- gether after the fashion of horses and men. He told me— chiefly with his eyes, which were dreamy and vaguely meiancholy— about Red Tobal, his great ancestor. | OUT-OF-THE-WAY places on the Atlantic Coast, Andres Bardo, cursing the weight of his musket, kept his eyes fixed upon Captain Solis. Captain Solis was riding the red stallion—he was the only mounted man in the com- pany. That was why, Andres Bardo reflected darkly, this march through the heavy heat of the wilderness meant nothing to Solis; that was why he would not let his men rest. He was a hard man, this black-browed captain, a man of iron inside and out. Andres Bardo hated him and hated the red horse that he rode. Andres Bardo was one of thirty Spanish soldiers sent out from Fort San Felipe, on the coast of what was later to be- come South Carolina, to chastise the Edisto Indians, who had ambushed the Ensign Moyano and twenty-two of his men. The detachment had been marching for three hours through an endless forest of gigantic pines. Interlacing green boughs eighty feet overhead, draped with pen- nons of gray moss, made a roof that shut out the sun, so that the little army moved through a perpetual twilight; yet the sweat oozed from every pore of Bardo’s body, his lips were dry and scaly, the barrel of his gun was as hot as though it had been held over flame. These discomforts, however, did not annoy him; he was no longer aware of them. He was aware only of his hatred of Capt. Esteban Solis, erect and handsome on his great red horse, his black plume nodding disdainfully, his long straight sword swing- ing at his side. Andres Bardo marched in the front rank some ten paces behind Captain Solis. Now and again he smiled craftily. He was thinking of something that he had done tha? morn- ing. To him had fallen the duty of saddling the captain’s horse, the stallion Cristobal— Red Tobal, as he was called. Bardo had performed this task—he had performed it in his own fashion. Donde hay gana hay mafia—where there’s a will there’s a way; and Bardo, after saddling the horse, had cut the saddle girth two-thirds through in a place where a leather flap hid the cut so that Captain Solis would not see it. Moreover, he had chosen a bridle that he knew to be rotten. Something had snapped years before in Andres Bardo’s brain. It was a fantastic scheme that he conceived—his scheme of revenge. Yet with one important exception, the thing happened as he had planned it. It happened with the suddenness of a thunderclap from a blue sky. This was a safe country through which they were marching; for ten leagues around Fort San Felipe the dominion of Spain was secure. Captain Solis, knowing the EVENING POST March 25,1929 By Herbert Ravenel Sass BY CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL country, knowing the enemies with whom he had to deal, knew that his men were as safe here as on the parade ground at the fort. He rode carelessly, think- ing of a luscious girl in San Augustine, no scouts ahead, his men marching in column of fours. It was the stal- lion Red Tobal that sounded the warning. Suddenly the horse jerked his head high and snorted, and Cap- tain Solis woke from his amorous dream. A single whoop rang out—asignal; then, in- stantly, a bedlam of whoops and yells, a hail of arrows raining in from every side. For a moment Andres Bardo stood staring stupidly; next mo- ment he fell on his back as suddenly as though some invisible hand had given him a mighty push. He lay quite still, a long cane arrow in his throat. Captain Solis wheeled the red stallion, his black eyes blazing, his long rapier bright above his black plume. A bone-pointed arrow struck his steel breastplate and glanced off. He shouted an order, pointing with his sword; the red stallion reared and leaped forward as spurs dug into his flanks. Andres Bardo, dead upon the ground, did not see the saddle girth part where he had cut it—did not see Captain Solis reel crazily and fall as the saddle slipped sideways under him. He fell heavily on his shoulder, his brown sinewy hand clutching the bridle rein, and he had scarcely struck ground when a flint-headed arrow gashed the stallion’s haunch. Red Tobal plunged forward, dragging Solis over the smooth, slippery pine straw carpeting the soil. For twenty feet he dragged the man; then the head strap of the bridle which Andres Bardo had selected because it was rotten broke. With a powerful toss and twist of his head, Red Tobal jerked himself free. Captain Solis, staggering to his feet, saw the red horse, saddleless and bridleless, racing off under the pines. The yells were louder, fiercer; the rain of ar- rows thickened; he heard wild cries in Spanish, the crash of muskets. From behind a great tree trunk at his left a stone hatchet came whirling. It struck Captain Solis on the side of his head and he dropped in his tracks. he eS = In this way, in the days of New Spain’s power, before there was an English settlement in the New World, Tobal the red stallion that had come from Andalusia with Este- ban Solis, his owner, became a masterless horse in a vast wilderness where horses were unknown. Andres Bardo had accomplished an important thing—unwittingly he had so contrived it that when Red Tobal was thrown upon his own resources in that tremendous wilderness no saddle burdened his back, no bridle hampered his stride. At the very beginning, through Andres Bardo’s plotting, the stal- lion was :reed from impediments that might have been fatal to him amid the dangers that he had to face. He had no liking for those dangers, no desire for the freedom that had come to him. Three days after the fight in the pine forest he made his way back to the spot where Fort San Felipe had stood. He found no fort there, but only a blackened ruin, from which in places thin smoke still curled. After ambushing Solis’ detachment the Indi- ans, some fifteen hundred of them, had attacked the fort. The Spaniards, perceiving that they were face to face with a great Indian revolt, had withdrawn in the night, going down the river in their canoes to the deep water where their ship was anchored, leaving behind them the horses, cattle and pigs that they had brought from San Augustine. Ina delirium of triumph, followed by an orgy of feasting, the victorious Edisto braves had slaughtered horses, cows and swine. One mare only, terrified by the tumult, had broken

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a _——— — THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 2 from the corral and escaped into the woods. She, too, had returned later, looking for companionship; and in the savanna, near the ruins of the fort, Red Tobal found her. They grazed for a while together, happy in each other's company. Then Red Tobal, as though he understood that for him and for her a new life had begun, turned his back on the ruins of Fort San Felipe and led her into the forest. It was a new life, indeed. They were strangers in a strange land. Far to the south, the Spaniards at San Au- gustine had horses. Perhaps in the remote Mississippi forests a few of the horses abandoned by De Soto on his ill- fated march to the Great River had survived. Still farther to the west, stray Spanish mares and studs had wandered up from Mexico to run wild on the buffalo ranges and give rise in later years to the mustang herds of the plains. But in all the virgin wilderness of the South and East where, now that Fort San Felipe was gone, there was no settlement of white men—a wilderness that reached from the Spanish posts in Florida to the shores of the polar sea and from the Atlantic far beyond the peaks of the Appalachians— Red Tobal and his mare were the only ones of their kind. He led her into the forest that had encircled Fort San Felipe, and already there was something new in him, a thing intangible yet plainly evident—a change that was, perhaps, in essence a subtle realization of the wilderness. In the three days since he had become free and masterless he had experienced a foretaste of the life that he was to lead. Esteban Solis, a proud man, had valued him for his pride, his arrogance. Something of this was gone from Red Tobal now—or, rather, it was curiously altered and blended with something else. He moved carefully, warily, all his senses alert. He was afraid, and yet there was courage in him to face the dan- gers that he feared. Both this fear and this courage were visible in his eyes, in the way in which he carried himself, the way in which he moved. He was as handsome as ever, but now it was another kind of beauty—the beauty of a wild creature, of an antlered stag in a forest haunted by fierce beasts of prey. Of that pure Andalusian strain which preserved almost unchanged the characteristics of the Moorish steeds from which it sprang, Red Tobal was larger than most stallions of his kind; in all other respects, except perhaps the rich sorrel color of his coat, he was true Arab. His head, slightly arched from forehead to nose, was rather small; the nos- trils were wide and sensitive, the eyes large and full of fire. He was slim-bodied and slender of limb, light of bone but po-verfully muscled; his mane and tail, almost golden in color, were full and flowing; there was a lithe, sinewy gracefulness in every line and curve. The mare with him was a poor thing by compar- ison—an undersized animal, cream-colored and inclined to shagginess, yet showing more than a trace of Barbary blood. She walked meekly at his heels. There was no visible change in her, no new quality of alertness, no realization of the wilderness. Red Tobal followed a narrow path through the forest, a winding trail trodden out by the deer. He pushed on rapidly, the shaggy mare just behind him. He did not like these low, dense woods close to the sea where impene- trable thickets and tangles of vine hedged him in on either side. The sultry May air brought many scents to him, some of which he recognized, while others were strange. He was traveling by chance up the wind, so that his own scent was not wafted on ahead, and now and again he caught glimpses of deer in the path in front of him and of small furry animals with black-ringed bushy tails. The forest teemed with life. Besides the deer and the raccoons, Tobal saw many opossums, a pair of gray foxes, innumerable rabbits and squirrels, a bearded white-fanged lynx, as large as a dog, that snarled at him as he approached, then vanished like a ghost. The trees and thickets were alive with small bright-colored birds. Twice he saw flocks of wild turkeys; and once, where the deer path skirted a marshy opening in the woods, he startled into flight a great host of white-and- black wood ibises that had been sunning themselves there. A new scent came to him presently, faint and puzzling—a scent that he did not know. He halted and sniffed the air, listening keenly, searching the shadowy path ahead. He saw no movement. The path had turned so that he no longer faced the wind, and the scent was strangely elusive—he could not decide whence it came. Soon he moved forward again, slowly, doubtfully. In front of him, perhaps six feet above his head, a live- oak limb, partly hidden by leaves and pendent moss, over- hung the path, and from this limb a large spider web was swung, a silken wheel, or disk, four feet in diameter, com- posed of shimmering, interlacing golden threads. Red Tobal knew these great golden webs well. He had seen them often when he carried Captain Solis through the woods around Fort San Felipe, and he had always hated the feeling of those clinging, sticky strands across his nose and face. Here, however, there was no way around. The thickets walled in the path; he must break through this web or else go back along the way he had come. He walked slowly to within ten feet of the silken barrier across the path; then, plunging suddenly forward, he burst through the web and passed beyond the oak limb from which it swung. This sudden plunge saved him. In another fraction of a second, a panther, stretched on the oak limb above the path, its tawny body hidden by the leaves, would have dropped upon the stallion’s back. As it was, the shaggy mare became the panther’s target; but the mare, too, startled by Tobal’s plunge, had leaped for- ward when he leaped; and the big forest cat, confused by these swift, unexpected movements of the two horses, launched its attack a fraction of an instant too late. It dropped upon the mare, but instead of landing squarely on her back, it struck her hindquarters, and when these gave way under its weight, it slipped off and for a moment lost its footing. She screamed as the pan- ther struck her, and Tobal sprang forward, then wheeled in the path, while the mare dashed past him, her ripped haunches gushing blood. The pan- ther, eyes mere flaming slits, white fangs bare, long tail weaving from side to side, crept forward slowly, its belly almost touching the ground. The stallion seemed transfixed, fascinated. He stood motionless, head high, nostrils quivering, his eyes fastened upon that crouching, creeping form. Suddenly, with the swiftness of light, the panther leaped. Tobal reared high, striking with his fore- feet. The beast was on him, wrapped round him like a huge snake, its fangs deep in his shoulder, its claws gashing his belly and legs. Tobal screamed, his bared teeth reaching for the panther’s body. The big cat’s weight pulled him down. He tottered and fell heavily on his side, the panther underneath; somehow he got to his feet again and stood swaying, his chest and forequarters red with blood. The panther lay writhing, its ribs crushed by the stallion’s bulk. For a moment Once, Where the Deer Path Skirted a Marshy Opening in the Woods, He Startied Into Flight a Great Host of White-and-Black Wood Ibises That Had Been Sunning Themselves There nm Tobal gazed down at it, his eyes wild and staring; then he turned and dashed madly away along the path Thus Tobal learned early of the traps that the wilder ness could set for him, and of the great lionlike cat that was the master of the wilderness —-the panther, or puma that the Indians called the Cat of God. Thereafter, of al the scents of the forest, he respected this one most. At first he feared it with a fear that was utter panic, that sent him dashing off at full speed whenever the breeze bore that odor to his nostrils; and at first, too, the scent of a black bear filled him with terror, and he trembled whenever h« heard the hunting cry of wolves. Both these abounded in the vast parklike pine forest, interspersed with open savannas of grass and maiden cane, to which he made his way after leaving the vicinity of Fort San Felipe and which became his home. The bears, as a rule, hunted singly or in family groups. The wolves, smaller than the big timber wolves of the Northern woods and varying in color from brownish-gray to yellowish-white, ranged everywhere in packs of a dozen or more, and there was scarcely an hour when he could not hear their hunting cry. He feared them at first almost as much as he feared the panther — perhaps their fierce voices woke in him some dim inherited memory of the more savage wolves of Spain. Yet for weeks after his encounter Continued on Page i8!

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26 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST OF March 25,1929 By FLOYD W. PARSONS T’S a wonderful buy! The price will advance to a thou- sand dollars a share within five years.”” So said one of my banker friends in speaking of the stock of a great ration that had lately become a Wall Street sensation. This typifies the character of the gossip we now hear when business men get together. One company has the world by the tail because it controls important patents. 4 second has built a monopoly. A third is creating a great ain. A fourth will be the key corporation in a likely merger. -And so the stories run. Recent astounding achievements of science have so fired maginations that nothing seems impossible. Our view- point has been altered and our people have become imbued with an optimism never before equaled. From the heights to which we have climbed we can look down upon some of the paths we have followed. Below are the thickets and orests of tradition and ignorance that were so nearly im- passable. Dotted on the landscape behind is a multitude f myths and prejudices that influenced our steps and sent wandering aimlessly Before us are the foothills of a new civilization that we are impatient to explore. {ere forecast has become futile. There is hardly a prophet left who would bet ten cents on the correctness of his beliefs. Great leaders are doing as much guessing as the ordinary lay- means that some of our forbears rebelled to fill their pockets as well as to preserve their liberty. We can no more speak with confidence concerning the nature of life in 1950 than the people of half a cen- tury ago could visualize the conditions of today. What we do know is that Nature has made no exception in our ease to most of the principles that control living things. We hand down the characteristics of our ancestors as do the trees of the woods. The forester knows that like produces like even to shapes and sizes. Rapid- growing trees produce fast growers. Trees that are tall, short or shaggy always produce the same type. Those with crooked trunks have a definite tendency to produce offspring with crooked trunks. So it is with us. Our charac‘eristics have varied but little from those of our forefathers. The revolutionary changes which have taken place in our practices, ma- chines and environment have not been accompanied by equally radical changes in man himself. It is natural that we prefer to turn our faces toward romance and our backs on the annoying evils that hound our steps. But practicalities must rank above theories. Ore NZ IN @ 7 SSL man. To visualize tomorrow we must get a true perspective of the past and the present. We must distinguish be- tween reality and fiction. We must make yesterday a living thing and tear the curtain aside to disclose human nature as it exists today. An Oid Panacea ke IS for this reason that current frankness and honesty are to be ymmended. It is gratifying to note an effort to get away from histories ontaining exaggerated hero tales rather than recitals of plain truths. There is no greater nonsense than the assumption that wherever there is stomach there cannot be soul. No nger is there any doubt that one of the factors in bringing on the Revo- ution was the attempt to stop rum smuggling in New England. This The Bear Mountain Bridge Over the Hudson River. At Left—The Assuan Dam, Which Irrigates a Million Acres. A Similar Dam Has Been Begun in the Vicinity of Khartum, in the Sudan If we are talking of the progress made in the arts and sciences, then truly we have raced ahead at a tre- mendous speed. A short time ago I was reading an account of American medical practices during Colonial days. Here is one of the cures for both ulcers and broken bones: Beate to a subtile powder one ounce of crabbes eyes, then put upon it in a high glass four ounces of strong wine vinegar. It will instantly boyle up ex- tremely; let it stand till all be quiett; then strain it through a fine linen; and of this liquor—which will then taste like dead beere, without sharpness —give two spoonefuls att a time to drinke three times a day; and you will see the strange effect in a weeke or two.” * ; : : aS } ; : ' | —l =a ' f Pid # oe f f - —_- enreeteteenneeeeEntnnnemnneeteeeneataternesnsemmmens Weaving With One of the Latest Types of Automatic Loom The change that has taken place in life and business in recent times, like the fall of Gibraltar, has come about quietly and without actually being noticed by many. The airplane has trans- formed Gibraltar from an impregnable fortress to hardly more than a historical landmark. An equally radical revo- lution has rendered obsolete most of the methods and equip- ment of yesterday. Hard-Boiled Advertising VEN the street hawker works under a new system. In the old days the fakers were glad to make five dollars a day. Now they consider it a bad week if they fail to clean up $150. They have no overhead except the necessary allowance for a small fine in a different district every week or two. One investigator reported recently that New York City has 5000 street fakers, half of them averaging $5000 yearly. Elegantly dressed in evening clothes, the modern edition of the human street sign saunters by, displaying an adver- tisement on the bosom of his shirt when he applies an elec- tric current. With the current off he is a gentleman walking along, smoking his cigar in a leisurely way. How unlike he is to the gaunt figure sandwiched between two painted signs. Truly, the fight for Uncle Sam’s dollars has become a bat- tle of wits. Ours is an amazing era. Established laws have been up- set and distance and time annihilated. How different is our attitude toward research from that existing when the — =

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST >7 great Pasteur had difficulty in securing permission to ex- periment with fifty sheep in order to prove the merits of vaccination. The saving of animal life in France, due to Pasteur’s discovery, more than paid the Prussian War in- demnity of 1871, which amounted to five billion francs, or one billion dollars. It was no longer ago than 1907 when a visionary college professor first suggested to American industry that untold

From that day up to the present time America has been able to maintain its leadership in what the foreigners call the American system of interchangeable manufacture, which is based on the use of jigs and other tool-making machines. As a result of the use of tools a new civilization has been created. It is an age of speed, and what's in our blood can- not be denied. The big profits now lie in helping folks to live morerapidly. The growing influence of the automo- bile, the fast express and the airplane indicates clearly that the current trend is afundamental one. Small apart- ments are taking the place of big houses, because the average family does not want to be tied down. Things must be automatic. Foods that cook rapidly outsell those that take time and preparation. Even clothes, especially those for women, must be light and provide the utmost freedom of action. The value of time is now recognized. The faucet has taken the place of the back-yard pump. Heat units are coming to us more and more through pipes and wires instead of in trucks. Straight streets displace those that followed the windings of old-time cow paths The consumption of fruits and vegetables by the American public is now almost twice what it was twelve years ago. Improvements in fruit-preservative methods brought about an 80 per cent increase in the shipments of perishables, while the increase in total population during the same period was only 12 per cent. Lettuce increased 440 per cent, grapes 216, citrus fruits 270 and celery 188 per cent. Chicago now gets white potatoes from thirty-seven states, cabbage from twenty-two and cantaloupes from fourteen. During the last six years the output of farms increased 10 per cent while the number of workers decreased 5 per cent. In this same short period, notwithstanding the growth of both population and production, there was a decrease of 2,200,000 workers in four of our major ind tries— manufacturing, mining, farming and transportatior In ten years the increase in individual output in our country has extended from 6 per cent in the manufacture of boot and shoes to 211 per cent in rubber tires Mechanical power has liberated us from brute burder Production has been so increased and cheapened that a the people are able to enjoy a large share of the good things of life. Sixty-eight men now produce the same averag output as 100 men did in 1914. Wages have risen whil commodity prices have dropped. We have witnessed re cently the greatest displacement of hand labor that has ever taken place in the world's history Money for Other Business \ HERE we used to talk in millions, the conversation is now in billions. Advances in the prices of securi ties have been bewildering. An investment of $8000 in Du Pont stock had increased to $88,480 from the close of 1921 to the end of 1927; $3475 in American Can during the same period increased to $42,675; $4400 invested in McCrory Stores grew to $49,704. The gains on eleven important stocks in the period mentioned extended from 304 to 1128 per cent, without including the cash dividends that were paid. Great corporations that have been piling up surpluses for years have now become literally investment trusts. A recent survey disclosed that 150 Amer ican companies had approximately

A One-Way Traffic Bridge in the Himataya Mountains. At Right— An Archimedean Screw Used in Ir: rigation in the Nile Deita, Effective Onty Where the Water Has to be Raised Less Than Five Feet benefiis might be derived from sub- sidizing a common laboratory for scientific research. How rapidly the idea was brought to fruition is clearly evidenced by the astonishing fact that a quarter of a billion dollars is now being spent in the United States . every year for organized technical experimentation. Even the century- old, gas-manufacturing industry has gone in heavily for research and may disclose to the layman that highly beneficial ultra-violet light waves are given off by the ordinary radiant gas fire. What we call the machine age was not possible until America was forced to invent machines with which to

make machinery. For centuries the facilities for cutting metal were sub- stantially unchanged. Then England produced a genius who showed the world the way to a mechanical era. But the United States was cut off from this boon to humanity by a British embargo on the export of all machinery. Ain Excellent Cash Customer INDING it impossible to buy tools abroad, we were forced to develop our own. Yankee ingenuity met this situation so well that the early achievements of our me- chanics astonished the Europeans. Eli Whitney started us on the road to e great mechani- cal future when he succeeded in making guns with inter- changeable parts. Chauncey Jerome quickly applied this system of manufacture to clocks. He produced the first Connecticut brass clock which could be sold for fifty cents. After selling a few thousand, he came to the conclusion that he had saturated the American market, so he sent some to a dealer in England. British customs officials said it was impossible for any- one to manufacture clocks at the price stated and seized the consignment for undervaluation. The punishment meted out to Jerome was the confiscation of his product at the inventory price. This pleased him very much, for it appeared that he had found a cash buyer without selling expense. Other ship- ments went forward in rapid succession, until the English authorities got wise and retired from the clock business.

ay So) xe invest surplus funds $3,000,000,000 in investment securi ties, mostly common stock. A large insurance company at the end of 192’ had 52 per cent of its funds in com mon stocks. Keene and Gates were pikers compared.to the big stock market traders of today Having carried mass production t an extreme, there has been no reasor or incentive for American business t enlarging plants and extending production fa cilities. That is the reason why many concerns have been buying outside securities rather than their own. Ir the meantime, the independent re tailer has practically disappeared from the tobacco field. One-third of the retail grocery business of thé country has been wrested from the private dealers serving but a sing neighborhood Continued on Page 174

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28 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SATURDAY EVENING POST TRADE wage 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 Stetes and Possessions, Five Cents the Copy ; $2.00 the Y ear— 52 issues. Remittances by Postal Money Order, Express Money Order or Check In Canada and Newfoundland (including Labrador), Ten Cents the Copy ; $3.00 the Year—S2 issues— Canadian or U. S. Funds In Continental Europe and the British Isles, $6.60 the Year —52 issues. le Argentina, Bolivia, Brasil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Guetemala, Haiti, Isle of Pines, Mexico, Nicaragua. Paname, Paragesy, Peru, Republic of Honduras, Salvador, Uruguay and Veneruels, $6.0 the Year—S§) issues. in all other Foreign Countries, $18.06 the Year—52 issues. Remittances from outside U. S. and Canada by Postal or Express Money Order or by Draft on « bank in the U. S.. payable in U. S. Funds. PHILADELPHIA, MARCH 23, 1929 First Aids to Fortune OST of us find the task of making a living, getting M ahead in the world and providing a stake in life for the new generation a pretty difficult business. One of the commonest reasons for the slow and painful character of our progress both as individuals and as builders of busi- nesses is the fact that we are not availing ourselves as we should of the sundry agencies and instrumentalities which make life more easy ani more secure, which increase the productivity of effort and save time and wear and tear. These beneficent agencies are as various as the fields of human activity. They stand ready to serve the housewife, the professional man, the office worker and the farmer. They are the potential servants of the business man, the manufacturer, the smal! investor and the materfamilias. They are equally at the command of the little business and of the great corporation. The list of such agencies includes countless items. We should find on it such humble devices as the vacuum cleaner and the washing machine, as well as the elephantine machinery employed in the heaviest industries. We should find not only mechanical devices but dozens of highly de- veloped organizations and scores of flexible modern meth- ods of getting things done. High upon the list we should see financial organizations of many vurieties-- banks and trust companies, the many- sided insurance business, sundry agencies for thrift, savings and sound investment, such as coéperative banks and building-and-loan associations. We should find noted the amazingly rich literature of business, science, econom- ies, technology and the minor arts, and many educational oppertunities of the highest value to those who have left school, but whose advancement depends upon inten- sive training along special lines. We should find many new but well-tried methods for the diagnosis and cure of disease and for the preservation of health and effi- ciency. The reason we do not perceive the resources at our com- mand is that they are so numerous as to be an embarrass- ment of riches. We cannot see the forest for the trees. Even when we learn how they might serve us, it is hard to shake ourselves out of accustomed ways or to persuade ourselves that we can afford those aids to efficiency and convenience which we regard as extravagances, but which experience has proved pay for themselves tenfold. Few of us are so alert and progressive that we can boast with truth that we are employing every device and resource that makes for thrift, convenience and economy. Not even the statisticians can tell us how many millions of us are losing time and money and health because we do not have a tele- phone, electrical domestic appliances, modern refrigerators, sound banking connections, tractors or motor cars, modern office equipment, periodical physical examinations and all the available benefits of modern medicine and surgery. Rut-bound inertia is the only excuse we can plead for not using more freely the air mail, the telegraph, the trans- Atlantic telephone and the other means that our national inventive genius has put at our disposal for making short cuts over time and space. Habit and old custom keep us from catching up with the times. Many of us still retain the conceptions of familiar things we acquired in youth. We fail to realize the silent revolutions that have been going on about us in every field of endeavor. Consider life insurance, for example. Few persons who have not had occasion to study it realize the changes it has undergone in recent decades or the extraor- dinary ingenuity that has been expended to give it flexi- bility and universality and to make it solve a thousand personal and business problems that were once quite out- side its common scope. Consider physical health. Once we thought that a sickly child meant a sickly adult. Now we know that a young boy or girl is as plastic as a lump of putty and that a weakling can often be molded by the pediatrist into a well-developed youth with a strong body and a vigorous mind. Millions of us are poorer than we need be simply because we have no proper conception of the scope of services ren- dered daily by progressive banks and trust companies. The number of checking accounts in the country ought to be at least twenty-five per cent greater than it is; and fifty per cent of those who already maintain such accounts would be better off if they made a habit of using more of the facilities their banks put at their disposal. A substantial proportion of the thriftiest small depositors in the country have an inborn prejudice against borrow- ing money from a bank even for legitimate uses. They appear to regard such transactions as being on a moral par with neglect to pay the poor widow who takes in their washing. They even think themselves highly desirable cus- tomers because they never ask the bank for money or give it an opportunity to earn a penny for its stockholders by doing the business for which it opened its doors—namely, to lend funds at a profitable rate of interest. It never occurs to them to consult their bankers about the securi- ties they think of buying or the real estate in which they are interested. He who closes his eyes to the daily achievements of mod- ern banking, who turns up his nose at the opportunities an expanding nation offers to those who can command bank credit, who disdains the counsel and guidance of those who spend their lives in the study of finance, might just as well, as far as his business career is concerned, be living in the Dark Ages. And yet there are uncounted thousands of honest, thrifty and able young men who go through life committing this fundamental blunder. Another common error which costs us dear is our neglect to get expert advice upon special problems. Many a testa- tor’s plans have gone agley because he thought he could make a will as well as a lawyer. Many a life has been cut short by resort to quacks and their nostrums whereby the patient was lulled into inaction while his ailment developed beyond the curable stage. Many a manufacturer who has deferred paying a five-thousand-dollar fee to an industrial chemist has found that he has been losing twenty times that sum every year by wasting a by-product that could be put to profitable uses. Insecure buildings and imperfect mechanical installations are often the price paid for failure to employ competent engineers. If every reader of this publication would make a serious study of his own needs and activities, and determine, with whatever assistance he could command, just wherein his methods are antiquated, and what new devices and proc- esses he could install and what new resources he could March 25,1929 profitably impress into his service, in his home and shop or office, it is not too much to say that the aggregate of all the changes made would increase our national wealth by a round billion dollars, not to mention the immeasurable benefits that would arise from better health, better busi- ness, smoother living and a securer future. Racial Problems HOSE who appreciate the magnitude of American racial problems cannot fail to be gratified with multi- plying signs of progress among the negro people. The col- ored constitute nine per cent of our population, and, as the Secretary of the Interior says in his last annual report, the welfare of so large a group “‘is of the first importance not only to the nine per cent but to the ninety-one per cent also.” Perhaps the most notable and tangible single feature of improvement among negroes has to do with the basic factor of health. Prof. Samuel J. Holmes, zodlogist, in a recent report, points out clearly the strides which negroes have made in health; and similar facts are brought out in detail in a recent statistical bulletin of one of the life- insurance companies. This company has two and a half million negroes among its policyholders, and from 1911 to 1927 their mortality rate fell 17.3 per cent. Expectations were that in 1928 heart disease would, for the first time, replace tuberculosis as the chief cause of death among the colored. It is true enough that total health gains among whites have far exceeded those among the colored. But negro gains are indeed striking when it is considered that not much more than twenty years ago extreme pessimism was expressed as to the future of the negro in America, and there were even sober predictions that his race was headed for extinction. As a report of the life-insurance company previously referred to says: “During a period in which we have had a World War, two great pandemics of influenza and a great migration of negroes from the farms of the South to the cities of the North, the colored race has registered a declining death rate. Colored men who left the South exchanged, for the most part, agricultural work for fields of labor in which the negro brought up in a rural environment was not ex- pected to thrive. Many of these migrants suffered seriously from inadequate housing. Were it not for this migration, the improvement in mortality would certainly have been much greater.” In any case, with the cessation of immigration it begins to look as if negroes might multiply, even in the North, more rapidly than whites. During the past decade in New York City negro population has increased four times as rapidly as the white. It is probable that nearly one and a quarter million negroes moved from the South to the North between 1915 and 1928, although not all remained. The conditions are plainly such that the economic and social advancement of the negro, as well as his physical condition, becomes of the first importance. Tremendous progress economically, educationally and culturally is taking place. Since 1917 there has been a gain of 550 per cent in the number of negroes in colleges. For every 10,000 negroes, fifteen are attending college, as compared with ninety whites among the same number. More medical, dental and other technical education is needed, and the negro business man still lacks anything like as much training for his work as the white business man has. But the opportunities are increasing. There are sharp differences of opinion concerning the direction which negro development should take. Into these questions we need not enter. As to the type of work for which he is best fitted or the most suitable education, there is bound to be disagreement. But there must be as- sent to the self-evident proposition that economic and educational advances on the part of the great negro popu- lation are a continuing necessity. Only two-thirds of a century ago these people were slaves. They must rise upon the prosaic but solid basis of economic strength and adequate fitness to do their work. Only upon this founda- tion will either white or colored ever be able to see any answers to the more baffling questions of race prejudice and of unequal political status. oe - a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST y his Little Pig RIMARILY, of course, we went for the same reason that most of the other little pigs were going—that is, because we wanted to make some money quickly without working for it. But there were really lots of other little things that led up to our final de- cision to take the plunge. For instance, we realized that our abysmal financial ignorance was largely responsible for our rapidly waning social popularity. Of what avail was it to smother ourselves with Houp-la perfume, to have healthy gums and that allur- ing springy walk, to push back our cuticle daily with Ouch-o before applying La Gory nail | polish, to struggle nightly to rub away those sagging muscles of the throat and chin with | Boeurce de Jeunesse, to know what to come back smartly with when He said, “comment allez-vous, mademoiselle?”’ at an evening party, or even what to give Him for Christmas, Father’s and Saint Swithin’s days, and so on, | if, the minute He began on the one about the man who bought General Motors when either | he or it was a baby — we always forget which and now look at it, we got that tired, achy feeling in the small of the back, terrible pains in the chest and limbs, and a ringing in our | ears, coupled with overpowering drowsiness? In the Naughty Oughtys it may have been considered very fetching for a young girl not to know how dividends come, but in these Tedious Twenties, believe us, it gets her ex- actly nowhere. If she does not know the answers to such cryptic, not to say goofy, ques- tions as “‘ Well, did you see what happened to | Bifurcated Gulf today?’’ “‘ What do you think of Amalgamated Whiffets buying into Wingle Mattresses?” and the like, all the Emily-Post she has learned will not prevent her dinner partner from leaving her flat at the first op- portunity and going into a huddle with the nearest available little group of serious specu- lators. Finance, we decided, having for the time being superseded love, operations, and where you get yours, as a social topic, we determined }/ ent By Katharine Dayton to meet the situation boldly. Then, too, such terrible people—people who didn’t look as if they knew enough to read a taximeter let alone a board in a broker’s office— were continually being pointed out to us as having made fortunes in Crude Oatmeal or Public Nuisances or this and that. And what with edi- tors getting choosy and fretty, and our typewriter ribbon worn out, and one thing leading to another— well, we just decided to go into the market, so there! And now we want our experience to help other girls. How to Get Into the Market IRST of all, we want to say that the prevailing idea that it is easy to make money, or even te lose money, in the market is an utter fallacy, not to say the bunk. We honestly don’t know when we've worked as hard as we have since we’ve been in the market— half a million dol- lars isn’t a bit too much for a seat, in our opinion, and a good place to put your feet up ought to be worth twice that. With this distinctly understood, let us pass on to the next step—which is getting something to go into the market with. Some people use shoe strings, but fortunately we had some old Liberty Bonds we had been cutting $1.17 and $2.03 off for years and years and years, until we were sick of the things; as well as a couple of bonds of something- or-other with pictures on them that always had got on our nerves. We know it’s awfully silly of us, but we’ve always been more or less prejudiced for or against bonds and AGN BY RICHARD VINCENT CULTE Market Price is What You Sell Below and Buy Above stock certificates by their colors and engravings. Per- sonally we like mauve or green ones, with great big choo- choo cars coming head-on, or nice old Andrew Jacksony- looking men; but we simply can’t bear ladies representing Progress or the Spirit of Bituminous Coal or Honest Toil. However, one must be broad-minded about these things. But to get on with our story. These bonds or what nots must be converted—which is just great big Wall Street talk for sold, so don’t be frightened. The way to convert a bond is to take it to the nicest-looking young man in your bank and say: “Mr. Cratchy {or Meese or Fimple or whatever the little name plate on his desk says}, I'd like to sell this—or these--bond-—or bonds.”” He will say: “What price would you like to put them in at?” Where- upon you may either drum absent-mindedly on his desk or look at your wrist watch or hum or just go deaf in one or both ears, until he says: “At the market price,* | sup- pose.”” This is your cue to nod graciously in the affirma- tive, and it’s practically all over but signing the receipt The joke of it all is that with all the nonsense and monkey business about market price your bond will sell below it Don’t ask us why-—it just does. We have gone into this process in such detail believing that our readers are start- ing into the market as we did—-perfectly cold, and inno- cently supposing that General Electric and Admiral Sims were just different Arms of the Service. *Note: Market price is what you sell below and buy above to Market And now you must buckle down in earnest and get tips. This is one of the most fatiguing and difficult parts of the whole business, for you will find almost at once that the tip givers themselves will, for various reasons, make you very, very tired. Perhaps this is because the: are men. The big catch in the thing, too, is that men who have good tips never give them to you, and men who haven't always do. It's all very, very confusing The best kind of tip to get is straight from a Captain of Industry, which is just a teentsy- weentsy bit harder than putting salt on a birdie’s tail. Personally we have found easier to get a taxi on a rainy night after the theater than an introduction to a Captair of Industry, but maybe you go with a better crowd than we do, or are in the Follies, or something. But we've been told that even i/ one does meet a C. I. socially, and he does give one a tip, he will probably be frightfully fur tive about it. So watch out! Apropos of this we heard of a shocking case - fortunately, it had a happy ending —of a woman who went once upon a time, to the Rockefellers’ to dinner and sat next to a perfectly good —financially speaking—C. 1. Beneath the guise of merry banter she got him to give her a tip, but he murmured it so coyly behind his hand that she muffed it completely. Desperately she racked her brain all evening. It simply wasn’t there! On her return home she told her brother the trag'c story. A Deal in Uncommon Stocks “CNTUPID old fool!” she wailed. “it was so silly the way he whispered it— it sounded like nothing at all except bumble, bumble, bum- ble!” Whereat the brother smote his brow, rushed out and bought Humble Oil, and, pre- sumably, they lived happily ever after. Then there is the more easily procured Tip Indirect, as it were, that you get, say, from Henrietta Whimple’s husband — you know, the short fat one with the bad teeth--who has a brother in somebody's office anyway, it’s in Wall Street—who has a secretary who has a friend who works in Morgan's who said she'd just made a date for the Old Man to have lunch with J. W. Tickle of Tickles Gum Arabic —which must mean something! Again, some people get just as good results by choosing their stocks in a blindfold test. You never can tell. But one thing is fairly certain: If you want a real tip, just ask the man who has one and see him curl up and pull in his head! They're so afraid we'll say “I told you so” —as, naturally, we would that their idea of one is something so gilt-edge it only pays 2 per cent every other leap year. But don't be dis- couraged. Keep hectoring and you'll get your man, as we finally did. As a matter of fact, we got two. And after using practically every means of persuasion except night sticks, knouts and sash weights, they came clean A —as we will call him, because you'd simply die laughing if you knew who it was. with a tip to buy what we will call Gurgle Oil, because its real name is so silly; and B, with a\tip to buy Premeditated Gas and Electric. Both were in line with our policy of buying, not great big ex- pensive stocks that every Tom, Dick and Harry was buying but little stocks somewhere around thirty dollars that needed someone to mother them and which would rise fifty or a hundred points in the next few weeks We didn't want to crowd things too far at first. B had paid only 34 for Premeditated G. and E., and assured us it was a subsidiary of Aggravated Utilities - which, thoug! Continued on Page 129

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30 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SHORT TURNS AND March 23, 192¢ ' Little A pologues POWER UD COUL Jud Coulton, petulant, grum- TON, the King of Wak Street, sat in his nvalid chair and led his cruel mile. The ticker his side had ought good news. He had tele- phoned his orders; id made thirty million dol- lars; he had broken his mighty rival, I robably re- duced him to beg- gary. He was in sole control of the grain and meat business of the country ‘Power!’’ he murmured, clenching his nervous hands. Within a week he could bring prosperity or disaster to the farmers of the country; at his whim he might bring down starvation upon the land. Not a friend or enemy but he could raise to mighty affluence ould trample like a crawling beetle. Power! He had sacrificed all to it—his health, his com- fort, his home. But he had what he wanted—such power as never a king had wielded. He gripped the arms of his r and smiled the cruel smile at which cabinet minis- ters had blanched. “‘—Ien't He Divine?'’’ ‘‘Gosh, No; I Think He's Terrible! Who is He Anyway?" bled to his feet. The nurse put him to bed. It was an hour early, to be He’s a Real Russian Prince!"’ ‘‘Oh, isn’t He Divine?" His nurse entered with a glass of milk and some dry toast. ‘Time for you to be going to bed,” she said. “I’m going out,” said Jud Coulton. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life huddling indoors. I’m going to go out and have a little fun.” “You're going to bed. You've had a hard day.’ “It’s an hour early! The doctor says I don’t have to go to bed till nine!” “You're going to bed now. You've got all tired out telephoning. Come on!” ‘Jim, I Want You to be Agreeable to Your Bridge Partner Tonight. The Poor Girt Has Had an Unfortunate Love Affair and ‘s Down Here Trying to Forget’’ LOWES TF fs GARDE 4 oe “Why, Haven't You Heard? sure, but she had a date. FAME The Rev. Cor- nelius van Steen- kirke published his book, on the Means of Grace and the Hope of Glory, in Amster- dam in 1724. Forty years he had worked upon it, incorporating in it the profound- est thoughts of the most subtle phi- losophers and the fruits of a life time’s meditation on this most im- portant subject. He wrote it in Latin, that it might be readily understood of all, and the grace and elegance of his prose style elicited the applause of the nicest judges of Amsterdam. When at last the volume came from Moretus’ press he gazed upon the stout tree calf of the binding, the chaste vermilion-and- black of the title page, the copper-cut cherubs crowning the dedicatory epistle, and he knew that his work was good. He dared to write upon the flyleaf the words of Horace: “T have erected a monument more lasting than brass.” (Continued on Page 71) DRAWN BY ROBERT ¢. DICKEY "So You're Spike Murphy, the Fighter’s Dog! Now Ain't Life the Little Old Kidder? The Best Me an’ Olid Sour Mug Here Draws is a Nice Oid Spinster Whose Other Playmates is a Fuzzy, Yellow-Eyed Cat, a Temperamentai Parrot an’ a Coupla Goldfish’"’ 101 —— —_— ss .—— en NE -_

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a IW y= *. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SRY aes s Compiili, iid ge SOUP oP bildren especially need soup rich in healthful vegetable foods | Why are school children everywhere being taught to “eat their vegetables”? Because in vegetables nature stores the iron, the calcium and other minerals required to build sturdy, active bodies. Firm muscles, strong bones, proper condition of the blood are aided by a steady and sufficient supply of these minerals. weve When you cook vegetables in water and then throw it away, you lose a valuable amount of the minerals which the water has absorbed. But in soup most of this is saved! LUNCHEON. So you see why a well-made vegetable soup is so beneficial for the children. In Campbell's Vegetable Soup they receive the full strength of all the leading garden vegetables—fifteen of them in the one soup. evweve# In addition to this, they enjoy the invigorating qualities of piping-hot soup, which acts as a wholesome stimulant to the appetite and digestion. It’s a wise mother who gives her children Campbell's Vegetable Soup regularly and often. . NOUPS DINNER And how they love this soup! No trouble to get them to eat their vegetables this way! It tastes so good that it disappears almost in the wink of an eye! And you know what a comfort that is. For their luncheon or supper here is just the thing it contains so much real food of the right kind. eweve Add an equal quantity of water to Campbell's Vegetable Soup, bring to a boil, simmer a few minutes. Then it’s all ready for the eager young appetites! 12 cents a can. ’ SUPPER

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32 THE TO AVOID SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 By Alice Duer Miller ILLUSTRATED Br FP. KO GRUGER es, Millie did t pale lighten- e sky, she did not for she was just earing what every woman ear from her lover when it was he first knew ed her. She was “ ng t be tne nly } = fide tn die ott. She was hearing how, when she first came into his . at Bentham, he had said to himself: “Well, I Here is i girl, exactly the physical am definitely oid type I have always admired, and for that type, pecul- | alluring, and yet she ‘ es not give me an emo- And he had gone about for weeks thinking w strange it was that he ight of her without en and never observing it he thought of her con- | stuntly. Then, on the ship, his hatred of the purser and lesire to make her suffer the attentions of the ther men—it did not occur him that that Was a sort ealousy. No, it was not intil the day in the store- when she had been tired, with a long smut ss her face and didn't are about it, that, as he oked at her, he had felt he had managed to leceive himself until he had kissed her. It was then he had made up his end her away, only he did mind to want it to be too obvi- ‘ He had waited a few and the coming of Thorley had made it easy i nag supt wed her docil- ut going had meant at she understood and rN glad to he it of it Do you mean,” said Millie you would never told me, if it had not Of course not.” another sunrise in his com- pany, she lifted her head cue, . oe * and looked proudly before her. The magnificent pageant of tropical dawn began to happen; a little too quickly to eyes accustomed to the leisurely sunrises of north- ern latitudes. Millie re- membered that Raikes had said, under less dramatic conditions, when they all got up before dawn in order to dig, not to die, that it was like noble music played a little too fast. There had already been sounds of activity from the camp below, and as soon as it was light enough to see, Avilla himself, still wrapped in his Napoleonic cloak, ap- peared at the foot of the stairs and asked in a high voice and a Spanish accent from which every guttural had been eliminated, whether the blanchita had made her decision. It was Raikes who stepped out to answer, look- ing as tall as a giant at the top of the long steps. “* Si, sefior,”” he answered in ringing tones. A murmur of satisfaction went up from the group of men; they turned and spoke to one another. Millie, watching them from the shadow of the temple, could almost hear that they were arranging how to spend their part of the treasure. Raikes folded his arms and looked down at them. “The blanchita,”’ he said, “consents to search for your treasure, and will find it if it is there.” Many cries that it was there—‘‘Oh, seguro!”’ “Esta! Esta!’’—went up. “But,” Raikes went on, “she cannot firid what is not there, and I believe it is there no longer.” Avilla, who had mounted a few steps, clambering with less dignity than heretofore, now observed that it was [ think I bless Avilla Tim. No, don’t igh; I really d But I un't understand at all. Why wouldn't you have told me?” Raikes shook his head. “It’s strange,” he said, “but women never understand rencuncing love. They are so much more given to self-sacrifice than men are in most ngs, but not in that.” uld say not,"’ said Millie et, can't you see that we should have been wretched? wenty years older than you YO, you're not hard-up, utterly absorbed in my own work, ac- istomed to having things all my own way within my own valls. Well, perhaps none of that would matter, as your groanings and gruntings are suggesting, if it were not. for what I do to people who trust themselves to me. You said irself. I destroy them, Millie.” Oh, how I wish I'd had my silly tongue torn out before such a thing to you.” put his arm about her. “ Your saying it didn’t make ‘I knew it and acted on it before alled it to my attention. I meant to send you off and r see you again, and break my heart for you in com- ble bitterness. Oh, imagine my doing to you what I e answered **Listen,"' She Said. did to poor Jimmy the other day. Jimmy, thank fortune, is made of resilient material, but you—-you, my darling Millie—how should I feel when I realized that I had tor- tured you and tormented you and made you hate me?” “You never would.” “Ah, don’t believe it, my dear.” “And if you did I would not let it hurt me—not so ternbly. I should understand.” “And perhaps you think that wouldn’t make me worse. It is, you know, as if I were possessed with a devil.” “It wouldn’t happen if I loved you enough. Oh,” she cried, ‘it will be too cruel if I can never prove to you that I am right.” “Death isn’t as cruel as life. I give you my word, Millie.”’ “Oh, Tim,” she said softly, “wasn’t that a bird?” They listened, and now from one corner of the forest, now from another, came faint peeps and chirps echoed back and forth, so strangely like Wagner’s representation of it. “Yes,”’ said Raikes slowly, “it’s getting light.” Millie hid her eyes for an instant against his shoulder, and then, reflecting that she would probably never see ‘Listen Carefully That Everything May be Done in Order"’ much to be hoped for their sakes that the treasure was there, as otherwise “Do you think,” murmured Millie, “that it is wise to discourage them too much?” “I don’t want them to think we are too eager to do this stunt,” he answered. Then, turning to Avilla again, he requested, in his most courteous Spanish, the privilege of borrowing his cloak for the blanchita. Avilla, with the gesture of a Sir Walter Raleigh, swung it off his shoulders. Raikes turned it about in his hand. It was not, he said, the sort of cloak the blanchita was accustomed to doing magic in, but better than nothing. Below, the men questioned one another. Some had heard, some had not. You must have a cloak to do magic? They all nodded their small unshaven heads. ‘Oh, si, Como no.”" They seemed for the moment the friendliest audience, and yet Raikes knew that the instant Millie failed to find them gold they would obey orders to shoot without the slightest hesitation. He came back up the temple steps to where, in the shadows, she was waiting for him. “‘It seems a silly plan we made,” she said. ‘I wonder if it wouldn’t be better just to go down and die quietly.” (Continued on Page 34)

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aA ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 experience very She asked for a ? Continued from Page 32) method by which the treasure is to be divided.”” She them to dig there, and they had dug and found water. She me ye,” he said sternly, dropping the cloak on paused and noticed that she was holding the interest of her had been very eager to try it herself, and the old man had ders This is what we decided last night, and audience. This point seemed to them, too, the most im- shown her how to hold the wand, though he warned it re going to go through with it now, for better or portant. “The chief must have his half share,”’ she said, might be of no use; she might not be a dowser. and Avilla nodded. “After that, it must be divided in It appeared that she was not, for the prong would not Ss hing in his tone chilled her heart. Was it true that halves according to the order in which you men actually turn for her, though once as she walked she thought she t want to escape? That only certain death touch it; the first man who touches it must have half of felt a quiver run along the wand, like a shiver of life. It ade reveal his love, and that if they did escape, what is left, the next man half of what is left.” had frightened her, but it had gone no further. Fortu- . 3 er away and, as he had said, break his heart A great hubbub of talk rose among the band asthe mean- nately she remembered the able bitterness? She would not allow it. But ing of her words penetrated. A lame man shouted that it clearly—the way of holding it, the length and appearance revent it? She could imagine his saying, inthat was unfair, whereas the fleet of foot were delighted; the of the wand, and above everything, the slow impressive é irly remote, flat voice of his: “No, no, my dear man who had been told off to take care of the horses de-__ step. M lie very pre y with young ladies, but I cannot manded whether or not he was to have Lis place. She walked toward the jungle, seeking for a cleft twig, W em.”” Yes, she would almost rather die at once. Raikes looked down at them with folded arms. ‘“‘The not at once easy to find among the branchless trunks of tall she could hardly bargain with him, ask him his dragon's teeth,” he said to Millie. “‘Maybe they'll tear trees and the huge, waving leaves of mammoth plants. And as for that flat voice, he could do strange one another to pieces and save us all further trouble.” Several curious little men crept after her. She took her " t, as she knew, making it sound like a New “I'm getting waves of being frightened, Tim,” she said. time; she was acting the sorceress. i parson’s at the moment when he was most deeply “I think I feel faint or something.” Raikes remained on the steps, aloof, but well placed to “Oh, not of these vermin,” said Raikes. observe everything that was happening. Millie stooped as a shout from below Millie now descended the last few steps, trailing Avilla’s and stretched and sought, allowing herself to be very I tain’s up, Millie,”’ he said. sable cloak from the tips of her shoulders. Indeed, love witchlike, and at last said with a great cry, “Al fin!”’ She w wrapped in Avilla’s cloak from chin to heels, and death had done something superb to her young face,so had found something that might do. he temple and held out both her hands for that it was exalted and ethereal. machete to cut it with, and rather to her surprise a dozen She was bareheaded and a faint early breeze just Years ago, when she was a child, she remembered that in were offered to her. She chose one after a long delibera- r and made it light and golden. a little country place where her father had rented a house tion; there must be nothing quick and eager and likely to ‘ she said. “Listen carefully that everything there had been trouble about water. In a dry season the excite suspicion. lone in order. I must find and cut for myself a well had gone dry and the landlord had sent a local She cut her forked wand, trimmed it and walked slowly wand, and if it turns in my hand, there will be man—a dowser, he was called—to look for subterranean toward the flat open place under the steep back wall of the asure ver or gold. I cannot tell which or what. It water with a willow wand. She could see the whole scene pyramid. As she did so her cloak fell over her hands and r mee, it may take time. But while Iam seek- before her, as people are supposed to see all their life be- she stuck the machete into her boot without anyone no- ne must speak; there must be no sound at all. fore they drown. She could see the respectful villager, and ticing her action. Her two hands were now free for her ves must be taken away to a little distance"’—and the contemptuous New York servants, and the old man_ experiment. waved her hand up the path they had ridden the day himself, holding the wand before him with both his hands, With the docility of young children, the bandits formed é » that they may not neigh, as horses will some- the thumbs up, his slow pontifical walk. And then she themselves into a great circle about her, leaving room for it the approach of spirits. You mustallstandina could see how suddenly the wand had twisted like a live her to pass between them, while she, very slowly, imitating it me, but sufficientiy apart for me to passtoand animal and turned itself until it pointed straight down- that pontifical step of the dowser, walked slowly to and fro etwet u. But most important of all is this: The ward, and how the old man had drawn a circle and told Continued on Page 149) * She Hesitated a Moment, Not Knowing What to Do. She Was Free as Air, Except for This One Littie Figure on Guard

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36 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “EVERGREEN “MOONLIGHT” Sealex Linoleum \ 507] “AUGUSTIAN, No. 3091, vet off by a Sealex Linoleum Marble-ized Border and one of tbe omart, new contrasting Border Strip Assemblies H., en't you wished, many times, that a good fairy would transform some of your rooms into places of luxurious beauty— like those you see pictured so often in the color pages of the magazines? Rooms vibrant with living beauty aod hospitable charm! And have you thought such lovely surround- ings were found only in homes of wealth? A natural mistake, for the economy of modern inlaid linoleum is not apparent as one gazes upon its radiant beauty. The economies of Sealex Linoleums begin the moment you go to a good furniture, linoleum, or department store to make your selection. For you'll find that the cost of your new Sealex Linoleum flooring—and the cost of installing it—are much less than you think. Then, too, the first cost is the last—a well-laid Sealex Linoleum floor gives years and years of service with practically no expense for upkeep. 7 «( Lad etc Us ear oFF * Sealex Linoleum = new floore of Sealex Linoleum are being used lo modernize many sbops, offices and public buld- ings. The flooring sbown is “NEP- TUNE,” Seatex Linoleum No. 5033. The Sealex Shield ébhown below wWen- liftes the genuine. “MAGELLAN” Sealex Linoleum No. 6161 “ONYX,''a distinctive Karnean Marbled dengn, No. 5102, sbown wilh a ready-cut Border Assembly. VAN DYKE” Sealex Linoleum Rioibeiss beauty hides its modest cost- Sensational new improvements in linoleum manufacture have been developed in the Sealex mills. For instance, the exclusive Seulex Process, by which all Sealex Linoleums are made, has produced floorings not only resilient, quiet, and comfortable underfoot but stain-proof and spot-proof as well—remarkably easy to clean. You'll be delighted, too, at the many artistic designs in Sealex Linoleums— offering count- Rich Karnean Marbled patterns, realistic Em- less ideas for smart decorative effects. bossed designs, striking modern effects . . . these and many others await your choice. Whether for home, shop or office—new floors or old—there is a type of Sealex Linoleum ideally suited to the purpose. ConcoLeuM-NatrRN Inc. Gen’l Office: Kearny, N. J. New York Philadelphia Chicago San Francisco Pittsburgh Boston Minneapolis Kansas City Dallas New Orleans Atlanta Stain-p roof yf - Spot-proof- Easily cleaned. LINOLEUMS March 253, 1929 ee ea: eee Se ig = Se ee pace a

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= eae = = ————— mt Pe a a ec DT es eS eS ee ee =_ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 37 VES, Yeager, Brown, Plummer, Ray, Stin- son—one by one the names were checked off on the vigilantes’ list of the known desperadoes of Mon- tana. Others remained, and John Lott and the mem- bers of his party decided not to leave Bannack until disposition had been made of the case of Dutch John Wagner, known to be guilty of the holdup of the Moody packtrain. “First,” said one of the Bannack committee, “we ought to take a look into the case of that Joe Pizan- thia.” A small party started for the cabin of the “‘greaser’’—a term, by the way, the use of which in- creases tremendously with the distance from the Mex- ican border. “Hey, Joe! out here!” There was no reply and Deputy Sheriff Smith Ball—he had been ap- pointed by Henry Plum- mer, but he was an honest Come on =—By Hoffman Birney “Men, Do Your Duty!” exhibition of mob passion In every other instance of the vigilantes’ application of summary justice a cer tain dignity and orderliness of procedure With Pizarthia—incident- ally the only member of the entire outlaw group that offered any resistance to capture—the mob had full sway, and later criti cism of the vigilantes and their methods was basex very largely on the inexcus ably savage circumstances attending this case Still another detail of this unpleasant chapter and an incident undoubt- edly true—is that on the following morning, when the embers had cooled suffi- ciently, several notorious women of the town were seen panning the ashes for gold that it was said the wretch had stored in his cabin! Bannack elected to for- get the Pizanthia affair as rapidly as possible. Dutch John Wagner was still held a prisoner in the cabin on Yankee Flat, and that ————— prevailed man—and George Copley stepped over the threshold. For a second they stood blinking in the darkness, doubly intense after the glare from the snow-covered ground. “Hey! Joe! Are you here?” Pizanthia was at home and proved it. Two flashes of red fire streaked through the gloom as the Mexican fired. Ball spun half around and fell sprawling through the open door as a slug tore across his thigh just below the hip. Copley staggered out clutching his breast. He was assisted to the Bannack Hotel, but a short dis- tance away; the men who supported him returning in a few moments with grave faces. “George Copley’s dead!" they said. Ball’s wound was superficial. He knotted a rude band- age about his thigh and remained on the ground. A Victory for the Artillery HE men of Bannack went wild. Each man had a differ- ent suggestion as to the most satisfactory method for capturing the Mexican. The door of the cabin was still open, but men gave it a wide berth. Finally some bright soul recalled QURTERY OF THE STATE HIBTOMICAL BOC@ETY OF MONTANA Barney Hughes, One of the Party eof Prospectors Whe Discovered Aider Guich hauled the Mexican from beneath the door, Smith Ball emptied the chambers of his revolver into the already help- less figure. “T reckon that evens things up!” he snarled as he fired. Pizanthia received no trial. While the men who had en- tered the cabin were announcing the capture, another of the party, Simeon Estes, was climbing a near-by pole with one end of a length of clothesline gripped in his teeth. The free end was tied about the Mexican’s neck, he was hoisted clear of the ground and held while Estes made the rope fast with a jam hitth. The men stepped back and— with Estes still up the pole only a few feet above the strangling man—fired shot after shot into the swaying figure. Another of the mob had touched a match to the Mexi- can’s house and the dead man was cut down and, amid wild shouts of approval, thrown into the flames, where his body was consumed. Pizanthia was a murderer. He killed George Copley without provocation, but his execution was a disgusting that one Nielson, captain of a wagon train that had passed through the town a few days earlier, had left be- hind him a small mountain howitzer. a The weight of this piece of early artillery had become burdensome and Nielson was convinced of its general uselessness. There were men there with some experience as artil- lerists, and the piece was hurriedly brought up. Two shells were fired completely through the cabin and several more were directed against the chimney wherein it was thought Pizanthia might be hiding. A steady fire with small arms was maintained through the doorway, the single window, and the gaping apertures knocked in the walls by the cannon balls. The Mexican made no reply to the fire, and the posse, growing bolder, stormed the shelter. John Lott was the first through the doorway and noticed Pizanthia’s boots protruding >. * >. . Sy from beneath the shattered timbers c that had been the door. As they The First Territorial Legisiature of Montana Assembied in This Cabin night, January 11, 1864, the newly organized local committee met to consider Wagner's case. He had made a complete confession, cor- roborating many of the statements of Yeager, and was unquestionably guilty. There was no trial. He was sen- tenced to be hanged and one of the members delegated to inform the prisoner that the execution was to take place within an hour. A Surprise for Mr. Wagner AGNER was terribly surprised. He had evidently thought that his confession would secure for him the milder decree of banishment. Like Plummer and Brown he turned coward— begging for mercy, for mutilation, for anything save death. Only when he was told that there was no hope for him did he summon his fortitude and meet death bravely. Eight names had been scratched from the vigilantes’ list. The power of the outlaws in Bannack was broken, but in Alder Gulch, in the boom towns from Summit to Junction, the roughs swaggered apparently unafraid, and mouthed threats against the Stranglers. They knew only of the execution of Ives, Brown and Yeager. Had news of the Bannack executions reached them more promptly there would probably have been a general exodus and a somewhat less gory history to be written The outlaws knew the identity of every man that had taken part in the executions of Ives, Yeager and Brown, and they made no secret of their intention to exact a summary vengeance. They promised also to burn Virginia City and Nevada, to loot the stores, and to wreck the flumes and sluice ways of the miners The mental attitude of | gher and the other Innocents in Alder Gulch baffles analysis | Jack Galla- The y seeme | to lack any realization that the peo ple of the mining towns—so long supine under outlaw domination had at last rebelled The vigilantes, on the dared not | ther hand, quit Having started, they must proceed to a swift con- clusion. Weakness scillation, or Continued on Page 40

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38 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23, 1929 vfor Economical Transportation _* ||) COTTA C0) 8 ee Fast Getaway Due to a high-compression non-detonating cylin- der head, an automatic acceleration pump, an the abundant reserve power of its new six-cylinder valve-in-head motor—the acceleration of the new Chevrolet Six is remarkably fast . . . shooting you ahead at the traffic light smoothly, quickly and swiktl J A L I T Y — Better Than 20 Miles to the Gallon The new Chevrolet Six delivers better than 20 miles to the gallon of gasoline. Such economy would be un- usual in any automobile. But in the new Chevrolet it is an outstanding achievement—for here it is com- bined with all the power, speed, smoothness and accel- eration of a marvelous six-cylinder valve-in-head motor! O W C O S T Se -— omen hal —— ~——

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-_ ad —e Sm THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Six Cylinder oothness with increased Speed and Acceleration The new Chevrolet Six is enjoying the most enthusi- astic reception in Chevrolet history because it provides —in the price range of the four—every element de- manded in a fine automobile . . . plus a degree of smooth- ness never before achieved in a low-priced car. Flashing away from a traffic stop . . . rolling along at twenty-five miles an hour or doing well above sixty on the open road— the new Chevrolet Six delivers its power easily, freely and without The COACH 595 offered on a low-priced automobile: ball-bearing steering mechanism with slender rim steering wheel, quiet non- locking four-wheel brakes with separate emergency brakes, easy action disc clutch, two-beam head lamps with foot control button conveniently located on the floor board, adjustable driver’s seat and Fisher VV full vision and ventilating windshield in all closed models, and a complete instrument panel containing all con- trol instruments, including theft-proof Electro-Lock and electric motor tem- annoying vibration. Throughout the The 52 entire speed range you travel in — beverage , 5 perature indicator. smooth, quiet comfort, without any Phaeton ......... 525 Such an exceptional six-cylinder car ; $ : . sense of noise fatigue. all Pe ae 595 in the price range of the four repre- . The $ sents in itself a remarkable accom- The new Fisher bodies are longer, Pbabocs asked 675 : aha ale ; The Sport $ plishment. But to provide, in addition, lower and roomier and reveal an order ee 0 ae 695 an operating economy of better than of distinctive smartness and beauty The Convertible oo” ea $ 725 20 miles to the gallon is an epoch- 39 that represents one of the greatest Sedan Delivery ..... $595 marking achievement. style triumphs ever achieved by Light Delivery $ ; Fi TORS P . COS: 6x uokmddss hapa Your Chevrolet dealer extends you a isher designers. , . . colli a ie date ait, : 8 1's Ton Chassis -see S45 cordial invitation to see and drive this " . ‘ ‘ 1's Ton Chassis $650 ‘ Exceptional handling ease is achieved ob Gee oc sccavke remarkable new car—to learn for All prices f. 0. b. factory, through the use of the greatest array Fale Michdoon yourself how finely it is built and how of advanced engineering features ever smoothly it performs. CHEVROLET MOTOR COMPANY, DETROIT, MICHIGAN, Division of General Motors Corporation Easy to Park The new Chevrolet Six is an exceptionally easy car to park. It fits into a small space. The steering mechanism is fitted with ball bearings through- out—the gears shift with unusual quietness and ease—-and the new six-cylinder engine responds immediately to a touch of the accelerator. Remarkable Handling Ease Women, especially, appreciate the wonderful handling ease of the new Chevrolet. It steers with the weight of the hand—the brakes are positive, quiet and easy to apply — all control instruments are grouped on the instrument panel—and the adjustable driver's seat in all closed models assures the most comfortable driving position. A SIX I N ee PRICE RANGE O F THE FOUR

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40 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 Continued from Page 37) any policy less drastic than that of extermination would have been dis- The Ferreting Committee, or- ranized and headed by Capt. James Williams, worked day and night. Reports of every speech, every threat of the outlaws poured into vigilante headquarters. On January 13, TS864, the executive committee met in Pfouts’ store. An immediate cleanup of Alder Gulch was decided upon. Six of the men whose names were on the Yeager list were still in Virginia City. They were to be cap- od and executed. Each man was as Judas Iscariot--make no mistake on that score. The com- mittee worked swiftly, but it did as gulity Jack Gallagher, Plummer’s deputy, stood first on the list. Then followed Boone Helm, Bill Hunter, Boone Helm growled: “If you're go- ing to hang me, go ahead and get through with it!” While they waited, Hayes Lyons repeated his request that he be al- lowed to see his mistress. A man who overheard him offered to sum- mon the woman, but was told in no uncertain terms by X. Biedler to for- get the mission. “Bringing women to a hanging played out last year!"’ Biedler ex- claimed. X., whom Lyons had requested to “stay with me till I die,” had not forgotten the fiasco that had followed the trial of this same criminal for the murder of D. H. Dillingham. As the procession got under way once more, Boone Helm recognized an acquaintance at a window of the Virginia Hotel. ““Good-by, old boy!” he shouted jovially. ‘‘I’m on my way to heaven Frank Parrish, Hayes Lyons, who had so narrowly escaped the noose r the murder of Dillingham; and Clubfoot George Lane, the messen- ger and spy. To forestall any attempt at escape a cordon of pickets was to be thrown completely around the town Bill Hunter was regarded with considerable friendliness by many men who were members of the vigilante organiza- tion. Though he was definitely known to have been associated with Jack Gallagher in the murder and robbery of a wealthy Mormon, many men did not believe him to be as guilty as charged. He was told on Wednesday night to get out of town immediately, and wisely kept his counsel and accepted the caution. While the guards were sur- rounding Virginia City, Hunter crawled along the course of a shallow ditch, worked through the line of pickets, and finally reached Joseph A. Slade’s ranch. Slade found him, suffering from frostbite, hiding beneath a bed at the ranch ind gave him another chance. Bill moved on eastward to Gallatin Valley country A Rope and a Prayer os sun showed a cordon of guards com- pletely surrounding the town. Early travelers from either direction were turned back. Only the vigilante de- tachments marching in close order from Summit, Junction, Highland, and the other towns of Alder Gulch were passed through the lines. These parties reported immediately to the executive committee and were assigned to their duties. One by one the wanted men were brought in. No trouble was encountered in the arrest of any of them. ‘Didn't you fellows hear,” Lyons was asked on his arrest, “that Henry Plummer and Ned Ray and Buck Stinson were hung last Sunday night in Road Agents’ Rock Alongside the Bannack Road Behind Which Plummer’s Highwaymen Regularly Lay in Wait for the Stages time to make them. There'll be no other chance.” Hayes Lyons was the only man to reply. He asked permission to say farewell to his mistress. The request was denied and Lyons appeared content, merely asking that the woman's watch, now in his possession, be returned to her. A frame building, afterward occupied by Clayton & Hale’s drug store and still standing in Virginia City, was in process of construction. Five ropes were thrown over a rafter and empty packing cases placed below the nooses. The five condemned men were placed in the middle of a hollow square of those of the posse. “The rest of you fellows,” Williams ordered, ‘mix in with the crowd. If some fellow gets tough, see that he’s taken in out of the wet!” Clubfoot George Lane recognized W. B. Dance, in whose store he had worked, standing in the crowd, and called to him. ““You’ve known me ever since I came to Virginia,”’ he said earnestly; ‘‘ can't you tell these fellows I’m all right?” “There'd be no use in it, George. Personally, I know nothing against you, but I’ve heard the evidence and that is very strong indeed. Nothing I could say would change matters.” ‘Well, then,”’ asked Lane, “will you pray for me?” “T’ll do that willingly,”’ said Dance gravely. He kneeled in the slushy mud of the street, Lane and Gallagher kneeling beside him, and offered up a fervent and earnest prayer for the repose of the souls of the five men. Parrish and Lyons did not kneel, but asked that their hats be removed, and stood in reverent silence. Only the savage and I'll be there in plenty of time to open the gate for you!” He continued his jests for the en- tire distance up the sharply graded street to the gallows, nor did he cease after he had been assisted to the box between Gallagher, who was in the middle of the group, and Frank Parrish. “How do I look in this necktie, boys?" shouted Gal- lagher, grinning through the halter. “Your time is very short!"’ Pfouts warned him, “but if you have any reasonable requests to make, they'll be listened to.” ‘Well, then,” exclaimed Gallagher, “I'd like a last drink of whisky!” Fortified for the Future VOLUNTEER Ganymede hastened to a near-by saloon and returned with a brimming tumbler of forty-rod He raised it as high as he could, but the rope from Galla- gher’s neck to the rafter prevented the outlaw from touch- ing his lips to the glass. He twisted his head about, saw that the other end of the rope was fastened to one of the logs of the wall, and turned on the guards. ‘“*What’s th’ matter with you sons?”’ he demanded sav- agely. “‘Can’'t you give a fellow enough slack to take a last drink?” The rope was loosened and Gallagher drained the tum- bler and smacked his lips with relish. The committee decided to hang the men one at a time, probably because the rafter would not stand the strain of a simultaneous swing off. The quiet command, “ Men, do your duty!”’ told Clubfoot George that his time had come. He did not wait for the box to be pulled from beneath his feet. “*Good-by. I'm gone!’” he shouted, Bannack?” ‘Sure, I heard that story, but I don't believe a word Lyons was the ast to be brought t Pfouts’ store, where the examinations ol the prisoners were onducted. Each of the five expressed urprise at being taken into custody and at first stoutly maintained inno ence Each con- fessed in the € nd Gallagher, Helm, Lyons, Parrish and Lane were then brought in and lined up before the mem- bers of the executive mmittee ‘You men,” said Paris S. Pfouts, ident of the vigi- antes, ‘“‘have been ind guilty. You ire to be hanged. If rh and leaped, dying within a short time. Gallagher looked around coolly. “I hope forked lightning strikes every one of you stranglingsons “Every man for. his principles! Three cheers for Jeff Davis! Let herrip!” shouted Boone Helm as the cords were pulled. Frank Parrish met death no less bravely, but far more seriously. He asked that his eyes be bandaged before the drop, but made no other remark. The black silk hand- kerchief—the ends tied in the road agents’ knot — which he wore about his throat was used to conceal his face from the crowd. } | Pn | P ; rT Pl) ee epurevines ave any liast . _ so - > wres we STATE Hest requests, now is the aL oF MONTANA All That Remains of Silver City, Montana, the Ruined Courthouse of the Dead Seat of the Extinct County of Edgerton (Continued on Page 110) gem —- —— ae ee —se

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aS You can put the New HUPMOBILE Eight through its gears like an H. V. shell . . . Because its new domed combustion chambers get a faster response from any fuel. You can roll up momentum like a comet . . . Because rocker- tappet valves, of exclusive HUPMOBILE design, create more power and lose nothing in accuracy of timing at high speeds. Because it has an extra heavy, balanced crankshaft. Because roller and ball bearings in its transmission assembly save energy. And when you get the New HUPMOBILE to peak speed you can keep it there for as long as the road unrolls before you . . . Because the famous Lanchester dampener takes vibration out of the engine. A special shock-absorbing device keeps the steering column solid and steady. Side-sway and shimmy have gone the The Century Six, $1345 to $1645 ... The Century Eight, $1825 to $2625 . . . All prices F. O. B. factory. Standard and Custom Models. Equipment. other than standard, extra. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST way of the crank, let the speedometer point where it will. Agile in traffic? Yes... Valiant on the hills? Yes Quick with its steeldraulic brakes? Yes ...A smart car? Ask the woman who wants one! fs FANNIE HURST, Novelist, writes: “Tell me, is the New HUPMOBILI 80 quiet, 80 flawlessly smart in appearance —as good as it looks? | realize that one must look for more than externals in a car. There- fore, | fervently hope that the mysterious insides of the New HUPMOBILE measure up to the outside.” ind as DON D. MYERS, Consulting Engineer, answers: “| am sure your estimate of the HUPMOBILE’S smartness is correct, though | must confess my complete ignorance of the mode. But I do know steel, steel prod- ucts and modern automotive practices. I can tell you definitely that it is almost impossible for the HUPMOBILE to look as good as it is! I recommend it without reservation. ' THE NEW -: HUPMOBILE CENTURY SIX AND EIGHT

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42 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AN ADDED ‘ ty. hz: ’ ae March 25,1929 TARTER " + Naat 4 } ay The Sight That Stopped Smiling Jimmie and the Whining Kid Was Eisie Duncan, Seated Near Her Uncie, Surrounded by a Number of Nabobs With Whom the Two Hustiers Had Not Even a Bowing Acquaintance OME on, dice!”’ Smiling Jimmie begged fervently, massaging the } speckled cubes between his “Be hot for a hungry man! Papa needs pants, dice! Little natural won't do nobody no harm! Put all these no-‘count gam- blers to work, dice! Do your duty for your dotin’ daddy! Whambo!” The dice flicked out from his hand, cavorted crazily on the patch of bare ground and came to rest with a six and three showing. “Long Liz!” Smiling Jimmie droned, grabbing them in with a sweeping gesture of his right hand. “Liza mine! Lizzie from Louisiana! Loved her all my life an’ she never left me lonely! Lively Liza, lie lucky! Sweet dice! Oh, ou little cubicular black-eyed bebbies, flop over on your at backs an’ laugh up at your papa! Be nine for me, dice! Bangangiopo!”’ He flicked out the dice again. The perverse little blocks of spotted ivory rolled to rest showing a four on one cube and a three on the other. Seven! ‘Up jumped the devil an’ spit in my eye,”’ said Smiling Jimmie, straightening up. “‘ Aw, well, some days you can’t lay up a nickei!” ‘Come on,”” the Whining Kid growled, “‘let’s eat. How much did you drop?” More than I should have an’ not as much as I might have,’ Smiling Jimmie informed him. What d’you want to butt into a crap game with a lot wipes an’ exercise boys for?’’ the Whining Kid asked scornfully. ‘Fun,” said Smiling Jimmie. “‘ Ever hear of it?” ‘Fun!” the Whining Kid exclaimed. ‘Out o’ losin’ palms. "i money’ ‘That’s the hard part,’ Smiling Jimmie explained. “Even a sucker can get fun winnin’ it.” TELUS TTRATEDO BrY By William Slavens McNutt STEWART ROBERT w. “You out?” one of the players, squatting in the ring, inquired. “About fifty,”’ Smiling Jimmie replied. “‘I mean are you quittin’?”’ “Dogs quit,” said Smiling Jimmie. ‘‘ Wise guys pull up when they’re outclassed an’ save their run for a better spot. I’m pullin’ up.”’ “Fifty!” the Whining Kid exclaimed. ‘“‘ Did you drop fifty in that lousy little game?” “Just a great big boy, ain’t I?” Smiling Jimmie said mockingly. “Aw, you gimme a pain!” said the Whining Kid. “Yeh?” said Smiling Jimmie. ‘‘One more snarl out 0’ you between now an’ later on an’ I'll give you a smack on the jaw to go with it.”’ “Don’t get sore,”” the Whining Kid urged. “IT don’t aim to,”’ said Smiling Jimmie. ‘‘ My idea is to make you sore, you keep on grouchin’ at me.” “‘ Aw, listen,” said the Whining Kid. “Is this a way for pardners to act?” **You wasn’t any pardner o’ mine in that fifty I dropped,” Smiling Jimmie reminded him. ‘‘That was my own per- sonal sugar, an’ if I spill it, that’s none o’ your business!” “All right,” said the Whining Kid, “‘all right. I ain’t kickin’, am I?” “Search me,” said Smiling Jimmie shortly. “‘ Maybe you were singin’ a mammy song, but it sounded like a load o’ beef to me.” “I just hate to see you shake your sugar around to sweeten another guy’s racket,’’ the Whining Kid explained. “Stick to the horses—that’s your game.” “The horses are the hardest,”’ Smil- ing Jimmiesaid flippantly. ‘‘I can beat them, I can beat anything.” “‘Them’s words!” the Whining Kid said scornfully. “Yeh?” said Smiling Jimmie. ‘How bout that story about me Mr. Jason printed in his paper down in Baltimore las’ spring? Didn’t it say in it % “About you!” the Whining Kid interrupted bitterly. ““You must o’ read that story with one eye shut!” “Well, about us,’’ Smiling Jimmie made reluctant amendment. “Sure I remember! I wouldn’t forget it, would I?” “‘Didn’t it say in there that any guy could skin by at my racket could make good at anything if he tried hard enough?” “He said that about me too,” the Whining Kid said. “Yeh?” said Smiling Jimmie. “‘ Well, that just goes to show you can’t believe everything you read in the news- papers. Let’s eat.” The scene, Havre de Grace during the fall meet. On the back stretch of the track. Dusk. A ring of swipes and exercise boys shooting crap at the end_of a stable. A few yards distant, the French Kitchen. A one-story frame building where plenty of good food was available cheap to trainers, exercise boys, jocks, swipes, owners and any hustlers and race players not too fastidious for wooden benches, plain pine tables and waiters in shirt sleeves. Smiling Jimmie and the Whining Kid entered the un- painted barnlike room, hung their hats on nails in the wall and sat side by side on a wooden bench at one of the long tables. Across from them, Jed Hanley, the trainer. At Jed’s side a girl—young, slim, blond, pretty, dressed in bright-colored (Continued on Page 44) 7 4 a — aes oS ————— = ——* a —— — awe

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Model 8-90 Four Door Sedan 125° wheel base *1495 Why Pay More For A Six Than For This Straight Eight? The flow of smooth, flexible power possible only with a Straight Eight motor approximates the evenness of steam and electricity. This elastic power, of tremend- ous reserve, results from the continuous over-lapping of the power impulses . . . no intermissions, no jerks! No matter how fine a body a car may have, the kind of transportation it renders is dependent upon the motor. It is obvious therefore that the Straight Eight motor makes possible a finer vehicle ... quicker ac- celeration; freedom’ from ordinary: driving worries; less shifting of gears; hills in high; effortless efficiency and inherent strength and reserve to stand up and endure longer. Also an economy of operation that shames the larger Sixes. When such desirable qualities as these are offered in a big, fine, roomy, four door sedan for $1495 it is no wonder that thousands refuse to pay more for less. _ Lycoming motor; strongest frame under any car; 125° wheelbase; more horsepower than any other stock car per size; dual carburetion; dual mani- fold; Bohnalite steel strut pistons; thermostatic heat control; cam and lewer steering; Bijur chassis lubrication; four wheel, hydraulic internal ¢xpand- ing brakes; four hydraulic shock absorbers; Brewster non- glare windshield; starter button on dash panel; luxura type upholstery springs and genuine curled, hair. ; AN BNLRKN Airmail postage has been reduced to 5 cents for the first ounce and 10 cents for each additional ounce. Use Airmail daily for quicker communication. 6-80 Sedan $1095; 6-80 Sport Sedan $995; 6-80 Cabriolet $1095; 6-80 Victoria $1095, 8-90 Sedan $1495; 8-90 Sport Sedan $1395; 8-90 Speedster $1495; 8-90 Phaet ger Sedan $1595; 120 Sedan $1895; 120 Sport Sedan $1795; 120 Speedster $1895; 120 Phaeton Sedan $2095; 120 Cabriolet $1895; 120 Victoria $1895. Prices f AUBURN AUTOMOBILE COMPANY, AUBURN, INDIANA The development of Aviation is vital to American progress n Sedan $1695; 8-90 Cabriolet $1495; 8-90 Victoria $14 « b. Auburn or Cor Ind. Equig

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44 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Continued from Page 42 sport things. As much out of place in that rough track dining room as a man in full evening dress it the wheel of a working garbage truck. Jed Hanley smiled and nodded to the pair as they sat down opposite him. The girl stared at them wide-eyed, frankly interested. “ How'd you do today, boys?” Hanley inquired. “Mexican stand-off,” said Smiling Jimmie. ‘Lost some money, but got away alive.” “This is my niece, Miss Duncan,” Hanley in- troduced the blond flapper at his side. “Elsie, e young man on the right, who looks as though he’d just heard a good joke, is Smiling Jimmie McCann. The one with the sour pan is Mr. Sharkey Tyler. Take one good look at that dried pickle mug o’ his an’ you won't have to ask me why we call him the Whinin’ Kid.” ‘Aw, lay off me, will you?” the Whining Kid begged. “Why, Uncle Jed!” the girl exclaimed in a high slidy voice. “‘Aren’t you mean!” Che Whining Kid looked up, met her eyes and managed 4 caricature of a grin. “Look!” Hanley cried, pointing. “ He’s tryin’ to smile! Ain't that what he's tryin’ to do, Jimmie? Sure it is! Lay anybody ten to one he don’t make it!” “You're right,” Jimmie agreed excitedly, staring at the Whining Kid. “‘He’s tryin’ to smile. Easy, Kid! Don’t break anything.” “Don’t strain too hard the first time,"”” Hanley advised earnestly. “‘Work up to it gradual.” “Aw!” said the Whining Kid miserably. “Now, uncle, I think you’re mean! I do so. et them tease you, Mr. Tyler.” The Whining Kid’s doleful features strove mightily against the habit of a lifetime—and won. He smiled actually smiled! ‘The year o’ the big wind!’’ Smiling Jimmie said sol- emnly, looking amazed at the unfamiliar expression on his “‘ Al. signs fail an’ the jumpers run to form. Do you see the same thing I do, Mr. Hanley?” ‘He did it!” Jed Hanley admitted. ‘“Smiled right out oud in public an’ didn’t bleed a drop.” “I got to hand it to you, Miss Duncan,” Smiling Jim- mie declared. “‘ You've hung up a record.” Miss Duncan turned her big baby-blue eyes full on Jimmie, ind that young man’s heart suddenly reared and bucked in ‘ s breast. “I lost today too,” she pouted prettily. “‘ Doesn't 1t just you frothy “Drop much?” Jimmie Don’t you partner's face. make Smiling “Twenty to One!’ Miss Duncan Bxclaimed. “‘I Never Can Get it Straight! Does That Mean That I Get Twenty Doitars for a Two-Dotiar Ticket or ——'*’ asked, dizzy with bewil- derment at the unwonted emotions stir- ring him. “I should say I did!” she exclaimed, a note of tender sorrow in her voice. “‘Six dol a, lars!” Hanley laughed. ‘“‘ My niece ain’t been around the track before,”’ he explained. ‘Her mother thinks a horseman is somethin’ that comes out o’ the ocean when they drag in the nets. She’srunnin’ around over in Europe this year, though, an’ Elsie talked her dad into lettin’ her come down an’ go through the Maryland meet with me. She's gettin’ a great kick out of it.” “Oh, I think it’s just too fascinating for words!” Miss Duncan burbled. “Isn't this just the darlingest place to eat? These rough tables and all these queer funny men in shirt sleeves and overalls and everything.” Her words were not whispered. All the queer funny men in shirt sleeves and overalls and everything heard them. A muffled ripple of laughter ran over the room. A red of embar- rassment showed in Hanley’s cheeks. “*And those perfectly adorable little boys who ride the horses! Comes Out o’ “My Niece Ain't Been Around the Track Before,’’ He Explained. Thinks a Horseman is Somethin’ That the Ocean When They Drag In the Nets’’ March 25,1929 Miss Duncan gushed on. “ Aren’t they the sweetest things?” Old Man Gallagher, four feet ten in height, a hundred and two pounds without diet or road work, and forty-seven years on earth, thirty- one of them spent in the saddle as a race rider, and still booting them in, choked on a piece of pie, rose hurriedly from a near-by table and left the place, a spasm of near hys- teria twitching his wrinkled leath- ery features. “You don’t want to fall for any o’ them jocks,” the Whining Kid said anxiously. ‘‘They’re a tough lot o’ monkeys. Most of ’em’s mar- ried too.” “‘Married!"’ she exclaimed. ‘Those little boys? now you're teasing me. What do you do, Mr. Tyler?” ‘“*‘Her Mother Oh, “Me?” said the Whining Kid. “‘Why, I — Nothin’ much.” “They’re both hustlers, Elsie,” Hanley said rather shortly. “Oh!” said Elsie, round-eyed. ‘You take care of the horses?” “‘Hustlers,” Hanley corrected her, “‘not hostlers. They don’t take care of any horses. They’re too busy tryin’ to make the horses take care o’ them.” Elsie radioed her bewilderment with an appealing dumb expression. “They play ’em,” around and bet.” “‘Gamblers!” she exclaimed rapturously. “How stun- ning! I’ve always wanted to meet a gambler.” “You want to look out for ’em,” the Whining Kid warned her. “‘They’re a hard mob.” “Hard!” she cooed incredulously, bom- barding the Whining Kid with her baby stare. ‘You, Mr. Tyler? I don’t believe it.” “Well, some of ’em’s all right,” the Whining Kid mumbled, flushing. “‘Ain’t mentionin’ any names are you, Kid?” Smiling Jimmie taunted. Miss Duncan dizzied him with a direct look. “It must be just devas- tating to be a gambler,”’ she said. “A real one, I mean, like you. Tell me, do you know which horses are going to win, or do you just guess?” ” Hanley explained. “Just hang Hanley and his niece were stopping at the Bayside Hotel in Havre de Grace. Smiling Jim- mie and the Whining Kid rode with them the two miles to town in Yanley’s sedan and bade them good night in front of the little cot- tage on a quiet street in which they shared a room. When the ma- chine drove away the two stood on the side- walk in the dark, watch- ingthereceding tail light until it disappeared. (Continued on Page 170) VA we a? = Se Oe

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sr se. ee - — : —— = — oe noe Oe ee Sa es Se —— VA ~ . w - a —_—— et Se ee ee ee = ee ee HARRIS AND EWING G. M. Williams, President, Marmon Motor Car Company, who inaugurated the straight-eight policy at Marmon and under whose direction the present Mar- mon and Roosevelt lines have been built, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 45 MARMON & ROOSEVELT M. WILLIAMS and his associates at Marmon saw more than four years ago the straight-eight as the new and more modern type of transportation . . . In 1927 Marmon produced its first straight- eight and early in 1928 introduced the present Marmon 68 and 78. With these two straight-eights of moderate price Marmon has earned the greatest success in its long history. Marmon business last year was nearly double any previous volume. With this success firmly established around the straight-eight, Marmon today makes a new move of far-reaching importance . . . This new Marmon development is the Roosevelt—the world’s first straight- eight under $1000. A full account of this new Marmon-built car is found on the next pages of this publication. The new Roosevelt is a companion car to the present Marmon 68 and 78—rounding out the Marmon policy of providing outstand- ing straight-eight transportation for every purse. The “68” and “78 and the Roosevelt are on display at all Marmon establishments. MARMON MOTOR CAR COMPANY, INDIANAPOLIS INDIANA Prices—Marmon 78, $1965. Marmon 68, $1465; Roosevelt, $995; Prices at factory. Wire wheels and group equipment extra. MARM ON UNDER THE DIRECTION OF M. WILLIAMS THE NEW MARMON 68 THE NEW ROOSEVELT THE NEW MARMON 78

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46 ec —_ straight-eight America’s most progressive indus- try again turns a new corner. Once again precedent is swept aside and a new accomplishment comes to light—a straight-eight under $1000 has become an actuality. The name of this new car is the Roosevelt, and in the spirit of that great name it is intended that this be “a car for all.” Were the Roosevelt merely another » THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Worlds irst TRAIGHT iGHT wer *TOOO OOSC yelf- Many authorities in the industry have predicted it. Several manufac- turers have contemplated it... It remained for Marmon actually to do it to sell under $1000 » four or six, it would not be highly important. But itis a straight-eight, and at the Roosevelt price it de- mands consideration as one of the outstanding achievements in the entire history of the industry. Straight-Eight Concentration But how, it might be asked, can Marmon build a straight-eight at this price? The answer to that is concentration. For more than two , years now Marmon has devoted its entire activities tothestraight-eight. No other types are built. The ma- jor goal to all Marmon effort has been to make the straight-eight a practical, economical and long- lived car for all to enjoy. Design has been simplified—the number of parts reduced —with the result that the Roosevelt straight- eight can be built by Marmon to be sold at a price approximating the average six. Idea! Manufacturin 1g Facilities Furthermore, the Roosevelt has back of it ideal manufacturing facil- ities. There are no old tools. Every- thing in the Marmon-Roosevelt plant is new and modern. Every known device contributing to eco- nomical and efficient production March 23,1929 has been thought out and applied. Were the Roosevelt the first straight-eight Marmon had ever built, it most assuredly would not be possible at this price. But, as pointed out before, Marmon has had the experience—that’s the im- portant thing. There can be no doubt but that the Roosevelt will establish a new and higher standard of value. Nowhere else in the world has so fine an auto- mobile been offered at or near the $1000 figure. In order to place the full details before you, we publish herewith some of the specific features. After reading, if you are interested, you are invited to drive the Roosevelt —which is now on display at all Marmon establishments. — - —_ -

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MARMON BUIiLt 70 Horsepower Straight-Eight Engine of the simple, dependable L-head type, incorporating many proved advance- ments. It develops maximum power (in excess of 70) with unbelievable smooth- ness and without wear and tear on the bearings because of the lightness of the individual impulses. This means ex- tremely long life. The bore and stroke is 234 x 4%4 inches. The displacement is 201.9 cubic inches. The S. A. E. rating for licence purposes) 1s 24.2 Unusually Easy Riding Marmon engineers have long had the reputation of producing cars of unusual riding ease This new Roosevelt is no exception The spring suspension is of the semai- elliptic type with extra-long springs (80 per cent of the wheelbase) with self- adjusting tapered spring shackles which remain permanently quict. Enclosed Four-Wheel Brakes of the positive, dependable mechanical type Cam and Lever Steering which pro- vides extreme ease of steering with great steadiness at high speeds. The steering wheel is of large circumference (18-inch diameter), with small grip of the most modern construction Adjustable Steering Column —To suit the comfort and convenience of the in- dividual driver A Vibrationless Motor—The slightest trace of vibration is eliminated by means of a “high frequency’’ medulator. This device, developed and patented by Marmon engineers, stops crankshaft vibration at its source and produces a previously unattained smoothness. Full Pressure Lubrication of the type commonly found only in cars of much higher price. This system, which forces oil to every rotating part, makes pos- sible high sustained speed with much less chance of injury to the motor. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Roosevelt Frve-Passenger Sedan (illustrated) $995, at factory. Wire wheels and group equipment at extra cost STRAIGHT EIGHT MOTOR A NEW INTERESTING ‘ROOSEVELT FEATURES TYPICAL MARMON EASY RIDING QUALITY “HIGH FREQUENCY” MODULATOR “SINGLE BUTTON’ | i THERMOSTATIC COOLING FORCE FEED LUBRICATION LOW, SWEEPING, CAR MODERN LINES | 70 HORSEPOWER | | | | CONTROL | | OA ALS | Thermostatic Cooling— A thermostat between the engine and radiator permits the engine quickly to reach its most efficient operating temperature — cooling forthe long, hard grind orfor¢ ert driving is provided by an extra large radiating surtace and a five-galloncool- ing capacity. Thecylinder block is water jacketed the full length of piston travel cs- Clean, Even Firing—The Roosevelt engine is equipped with the famous Marmon duplex down-draft manifold by means of which the gas is fed to each of the eight cylinders with all the sim- plicity of a four-cylinderengine. This re sults in quick, easy starting, minimum back-firing, instantaneous throttle re- sponseanda constant, even flowof power Shimless Bearings—An example of superior construction and a factor of long life made possible by Marmon precision methods Permite Pistons— Combining the long- wearing qualities of cast iron and the lightness of aluminum. They resist car- bon deposit and dissipate heat rapidly Double Roller Chain—The camshaft drive is by double rollerchain, anew ad vancement in quietness, durability anc freedom from adjustment 4-Point Engine Mounting adds to the rigidity of body and hood and prevents radiator shimmy Three-Unit Electrical System—The starter, generator and distributor are separate units, each operating inde pendently of the other. Experienced motorists prefer this system because any possible generator trouble does aot prevent the car from functioning “Single Button” Control— A single but- ton at the topof the steering column con trols starting and lighting (bright, dim or parking ) as well as serving as a horn button. This new device, as easily oper- ated as the dial on a radio, is one of the most appreciated refinements in motor Car Operation in recent years Complete Instruments— Speedometer, gas gauge, oil pressure gauge, ammeter and new type coil lock are symmetri cally arranged in a beautifully designed group on the instrument board and provided with indirect lighting New Coil Type Lock—The coil is lo- cated on the back side of the instrument board in unit with the ignition lock rather than on the cylinder block. This arrangement, which prevents re-wir- ing, deprives the automobile thief of his one most effective method Luxurious Interiors— Davenport cush ion springs, broadcloth upholstery, un | two-tone hardwarc, curtains in both rear and rear quarter windows, arm rests, robe rail, foot rest and garnish mouldings of refreshing desiga coutrib- ute to luxurious comfort and good taste. usua Chromium Plating— Radiator, lamps and other bright metal parts are chro mium plated instead of nickel, which prevents tarnish or sporting 5 Steel Running Boards—The ranning boards are of heavy steel rather than wood (an important safety feature Double Cowl Ventilators placed on top of the cowl, one on cither side a new note in design as well as a highly appreciated factor in driver-comfort Four Body Styles Four-Door Sedan Victoria Coupe for four passengers, Two-Passenger Coupe with rumble seat, and Two-Passenger Collapsible Coupe, with ramble seat ; Five-Passenger illustrated above MARMON Motor Car COMPANY Roosevelt Division INDIANAPOLIS INDIANA

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45 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ANTIQUES IN LON TO THE PENNEY. WANE MUSEUM OY MESS ELLA PARSONS fi #770 Chippendale Chair Protos. « ATEST OF THE PEON TT E English dealers are not above improving pieces tk MUSEUM, PR ADELPHIA to enhance their commercial value— which is a com- mon practice in America. I happened to be speaking about this bad habit with an English friend who is a fa- mous collector. “Oh, yes. It is done. A short time ago an American friend brought me a photograph of a very fine Chippendale commode which had been offered to him for £2500. The dealer told him that it had actually cost him more than £4000, but that he had had the piece a long time and so much money was locked up in it that he preferred to sell it at a considerable loss rather than keep it any longer. “T at once recognized the piece as having been sold at a well-known sale about six months before. I could corrob- orate the price given for it, but at the same time I knew that the original commode was at that moment in the States in a private collection. It could not be in London. What then? I made careful inquiry and I was not sur- prised to find that the piece offered to my friend was also a fine Chippendale commode, but it had been carved up by a London carver, well-known to the trade, to make it identical with the still more valuable piece which it rep- resented itself to be—the piece for which £4000 had indeed been paid. Needless to say, my friend did not buy it, as it was not worth much more than half what was asked for it. This was not a case of making a good piece out of a poor one, but of making a very good piece into a costlier one.”’ King James’ Wassail Bowl HOUGH as a rule I found the English dealers generally to be better informed than ours, I heard enough stories of their mistakes to convince me that antiques, like other diseases, must have specialists. A well-known London collector saw in the galleries of one of the leading firms in London what he was told was a wassail bow! and cover. The price was £250, but before deciding to buy, the col- lector decided to seek advice. I don’t know whether he sought it from more than one person, but he asked Sir Algernon Tudor-Craig, the author of Armorial Porcelain of the Eighteenth Century, whose knowledge of heraldry is well-known. The silver collector described the piece in detail it was heavily mounted around the rim with silver and had a solid silver base. He said that the dealer thought it was probably Georgian. Sir Algernon Tudor-Craig pointed out that wassail bowls were older. From the de- scription he thought that the piece should be of an earlier date, but without actually seeing it, no opinion of any value could be given. That ended the matter so far as seeking expert advice went. The collector a few days later sailed for New York. While there, he could not help thinking about his wassail bowl, regretting that he had not bought it, and working himself up to such a pitch that he cabled the London dealer By Edwin Lefévre an offer somewhat below the original figure. He suffered the penitent collector’s tortures until his offer was ac- cepted, also by cable. The first thing he did on his return to London was to get his wassail bowl. The second was to take it to Sir Algernon Tudor-Craig for an opinion. “When I saw it,” the expert told me, “I at once identi- fied the maker’s mark as that of one who had been silver- smith to King James II. We then turned the bow! upside down and on the base found a very beautifully engraved and elaborate royal coat of arms. As the arms bore a label—which is the mark of difference of an eldest son—I was able to identify the bowl as having been the property of the eldest son of James II, who subsequently became the Old Pretender. “ Again, it had a coronet over the arms, which was that of a royal duke and not of a Prince of Wales. Now, the eldest son of the King of England is born Duke of Corn- wall, but he is not created Prince of Wales until some time afterward. It therefore proved that the bowl was en- graved during the first six months of the Old Pretender’s existence, which made it a reasonable conclusion that it was either a baptismal gift or even perhaps his actual christening bowl. ““Now James II fled from England on the twenty-second of December, 1688, leaving Whitehall by means of a small boat, in which he carried as many valuables as possible. This wassail bowl—which stands about two feet six inches high and is about two feet in circumference—was probably much too heavy to take and consequently must have been left behind. It was probably looted, along with other things, by the people who remained at the palace. On looking at it one day in a good light, I saw a kind of painted or faded inscription round the side which I was able to decipher as follows: Ex dono Roberti Mynors 1693. I hunted up this gentleman through my books of reference and found that he was a brother-in-law of the auditor to James II, and that, curiously enough, his own eldest son was baptized in that year. This may merely have been a coincidence, but, on the other hand, it might suggest that the bow] also served as a christening bow] for his son.” Engraved by Mary Queen of Scots F THE dealer who owned the bow! had known this, he would not have sold a Georgian (?) wassail bow! (?) for £200. And to show what expert knowledge of heraldry can do for a lover of antiques, a well-known London dealer told me that a few months ago he bought in Sotheby’s Rooms an old window about three feet high by eighteen inches wide, on which Mary Queen of Scots was supposed to have engraved her name and a date with her diamond ring. As it bore some coat of arms, he was wise enough also to seek Sir Algernon Tudor-Craig and asked him to try to prove its history. Tudor-Craig did so, and the result was one of the romances of the trade that year. In the top half there was a piece of stained glass repre- senting a knight on horseback, with a small coat of arms in the corner. The expert was able to identify the arms as those of the Benedictine Abbey of Burton, in Hereford- shire, which was founded in the twelfth century by Wulf- ric Spot, a well-known knight of that period. It was therefore evident that the knight on horseback repre- sented that person and that this particular piece of glass formed a part of the original glass of the abbey. At the base of the window were three little diamond panes, the center one being that which was engraved by the queen’s ring, the one on the left bearing a crest and the one on the right a coat of arms. These Sir Algernon Tudor-Craig identified as the armorial bearings of Thomas Lord Paget. When he hunted up Thomas, he found Burton Abbey had been granted to the first Lord Paget on its dissolution by Henry VIII. Further, that Thomas, the third Lord Paget, had been found to be in secret communication with Mary Queen of Scots, on account of which he fled the country and his estates were forfeited to Queen Elizabeth. They were then given to her favorite, the Earl of Leicester, and it is recorded that on her way to Fotheringay Castle, where she spent the last hours of her life, Queen Mary stayed for three days at Burton Manor. It was evident that during that time she must have engraved the small March 25,1929 FROM THE JOHN G. JOMNSON COLLECTION A Mahogany Chair, English, Circa 1755 pane of glass. This occurred in 1586, which was the date shown on the window. Thomas, the fourth Lord Paget, was restored to his estates in 1600 and it is probable that he then added the two small panes of glass bearing his arms, on each side of the pane engraved by the queen. These facts, brought to light by a specialist, not only greatly enhanced the commercial value of the window but imparted to it an interest it had not possessed before. It pays to know. Of course there is the other side. Twenty-five years ago one of the best-known art dealers in London was on very friendly terms with a great American painter. One day the world-famous artist decided to do a portrait of his friend. He did and the portrait had a sensational success. Everywhere it was acclaimed as a marvelous exhibition of technical dexterity as well as a masterpiece of psychological insight. This work is the property of the British nation and hangs in the National Gallery in London. The painter was anxious to do justice to his friend and to himself, but with the best intentions in the world the sitter made the work very difficult, because he was so devoted to the great painter that all the artist could see was the loyal friend and not the shrewd dealer, the man of imagination, boldness and financial sagacity. He could not get a really characteristic likeness. One day when the artist was almost ready to admit defeat, he had a flash of inspi- ration. “T say, old chap,” he said, his eyes on his sitter’s face, “T have just come into some money from a relative and I don’t know how to invest it. What do you think I ought to do with my legacy?” The Dealer Passes By T WORKED! The dealer’s face ceased to be the face of a friend and took on the more habitual look of the keen- eyed descendant of a line of money experts, the look of the great art dealer when he was all dealer. It was the look the painter wished to see. The rest was easy. The result was one of the world’s masterpieces of portraiture. The story I heard concerned this dealer. It was told me by a friend who had it from Dr. J. J. Howard Maltravers, Herald Extraordinary, some years ago. The great London dealer was walking through Bruns- wick Square in Brighton, the famous resort. In the win- dow of one of the houses he saw a vase in which there was an ordinary aspidistra plant. Remember, one look at the window as he passed by. He stopped, rang the bell, and when a servant appeared, asked to see the owner. Presently an old gentleman, evi- dently more than seventy years old, made his appearance. “‘T must apologize, sir,”’ the dealer said with great defer- ence, “for my intrusion; but I should like to explain to (Continued on Page 50)

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NE of the most ror cart engin 7 compresst0 n, the motor Cat: ash of the valve- It gives to th reater power, greater spee ’ ma > motors supt Twin-ignitiom palve-in- bea eering @ e year is the Tw in-bead motor e new quicker ac with less $ rkable perfo THE § A TURDAY EVENING P OST important mo- chieve- aris. oe perfection high- for airplane Ques i tory making, in-[gnition, Nash «400", celeration, asoline — mance de rwin-igni- valve-in-hea high- “a d motors c bel to Hawaii, e,and the U.S. Army yn its his- flight.

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(Continued from Page 48) you that I have taken a great fancy to your residence. The position and the outlook are exactly what I have been looking for. That is why I ventured to ask for an inter- view with you.” “Oh, yes?” said the old man noncom- mittally. “Yes. I should like to know if you would be willing te sell the freehold—at your own price, of course.” The old gentleman had by this time re- covered from his astonishment. “My dear sir,” he told his visitor, “I have lived here for the past forty years and I am not prepared to be transplanted else- where at my age. I am afraid I am not willing to dispose of it.” “Quite so,”” assented the dealer sympa- thetically. “I can understand that very well. But when I saw this residence I knew I must be prepared to tempt you to part with it. I am willing to pay you £10,000 down for the house.” “Eh?” “Yes; £10,000 for the house, on the con- dition that everything in it except your personal! belongings is included in the sale.” The house was not worth £5000 and the owner knew it. But being English, he had made up his mind that no man of his age should be asked to change abode. . “I think you offer more than the value of my residence, but I am not in need of the money and I must decline to sell.” “Quite so,”’ acquiesced the dealer, who understood. “Yes."” He then produced his check book and said, with an apologetic air: “Do you know, sir, I have really such a fancy to your house that I am prepared to increase my offer. It is too much to ask you, at your age, to change to another house. Knowing your objection, I will pay £15,000— £1500 down and the remainder on the signing of a simple undertaking to make over the house and its contents.” The old gentleman stared at his visitor in astonishment. It was nearly four times what the house was worth. He couldn't speak. The visitor went on so deferentially that no offense could be taken: “Perhaps, sir, you would like a day to consider my offer? If agreeable to you I shall return tomorrow morning for your answer.” Buying a House to Get a Vase With that the dealer bowed and left the house, while the old man stared blankly after him. The next morning the dealer turned up punctually. “I hope, sir,”” he said to the owner, “that you have decided to accept my offer.” “Yes, I have thought about it, and in justice to my children [ must accept your offer.” “Thanks,” said the dealer. He in- stantly produced from his pocket a type- written agreement which he had prepared for the owner's signature. The old gentle- man read it carefully twice, and signed it. Immediately the dealer handed him a check for £15,000. “Will you allow me to see what the con- tents of the house consist of, sir?”’ The old man escorted the new owner through the house. When he had seen everything in it the dealer said: “T am greatly obliged to you, sir.” He walked over to the window and removed the aspidistra from the vase. “Sir,” he said to the owner, “I hope you will not leave for a week or two. If you find you are greatly attached to this residence I shall be glad to seli you the house and its contents for £2000. This is the only thing I want. I am very happy to have it.” And he walked out with the vase under his arm. It was a very fine specimen of ancient Roman pottery which the dealer—a man witha trained eye and accurate knowledge-— afterward sold for nearly twice what he paid the old man. He could not have made an offer for the vase without arousing the owner's suspicion. If he had offered too little he would not have obtained it. Had THE SATURDAY he offered a fair price it would have been se much that the owner would have taken steps to learn from outside sources exactly how valuable it was and would have asked more. Hence the operation. No lover of fine antiques and no collector of anything under the sun can walk about in London without instantly recalling old Bliicher’s articulate sigh: ‘‘ What a city for plunder.” The phrases my friend, the glass collector, used in New York came back to me. Here, indeed, one found the loot of every conquered nation, the spoils of every war, the pick of the great collections of the wide world. The shops megaphone the fact that the sun never sets on the British flag, for there you see the tribute that most of the world has paid to the first creditor nation of modern times. Whether you col- lect period furniture or china or Babylonian antiquities or Etruscan earrings or Zulu assagais or Greek sculptures, you can al- ways add to your collection by making a tour of the London shops. Even the great- est of all collectors in history, the British Museum, can do this. England collected colonies, and Englishmen collected what- ever the world had that was worth possess- ing. The Roman Czsars or Napoleon’s marshals never gathered up so much treasure as the English collectors have since they discovered how much can be done with the pound sterling. Enough to Pay Death Duties On our first stroll out of our hotel on our first day in London, I saw on a news stand a copy of an English magazine devoted to old furniture. I bought it, opened it and saw a picture of a magnificent Queen Anne armchair in richly figured walnut—one of a set of six singles and two arms that, at a recent auction sale, had established a new high-record price. We decided to go at once to the shop where the eight chairs were. We saw them. They were of exceptional beauty, the fin- est I had ever seen. “How much?” I naturally asked. “Seven thousand pounds,” answered the dealer, his eyes hopefully fixed on me. All Americans abroad are really stage Yan- kees—curious folk capable of any eccen- tricity of dress, behavior, speech and taste, so that no European is able to tell which of them is not rich enough to pay any price for anything he sets his heart on having. The price—$35,000 for eight chairs— left me so undisturbed facially that the dealer perked up. Not wishing to discour- age him, I asked: “Is that your best price?” “Oh, yes. We have only one price. You see, those cost so much that the profit is less than we should get on our investrnent.”’ My companion shook his head. The dealer, who knew him well from previous visits and previous purchases, said: “T assure you, our profit is so small that it would surprise you.” “T wasn’t thinking of your profit,” said my companion. “I was thinking that no set of eight chairs is worth $35,000.” “There isn’t a finer set of Queen Anne in existence,”’ objected the dealer. “That may be, but it does not make them worth £7000 any more than the finest pair of walking shoes in the world is worth a thousand guineas. Who will buy them?” “Oh, sir, the price is not high when you consider quality! We always sell whatever is exceptionally fine. I was hoping you would take them back to America with you. You have so many other fine pieces that these would add greatly to your col- lection.” “T have no place for eight Queen Anne chairs, however exceptional they may be. You may have to hold these chairs a bit, what?” “Yes, but the price will go up instead of down, because we'll add the interest on the cost price every year.”” At the end of a year the chairs were still unsold and still quoted at $35,000. It so happened that we lunched an hour later with a famous English expert. We EVENING POST naturally spoke about the chairs, and then he told the story of how they were found. His narrative was illuminating, because it showed what can easily happen in England, and less easily everywhere else. They were found in a cathedral town, a short motor ride from London, as we meas- ure rides. The expert was called on by an old lady whose manner plainly revealed her distress. It seemed her brother, who had inherited an old house and its contents, had died. The old lady, who lived modestly in a near-by town, was the sole heiress. To pay the death duties—what we call the in- heritance taxes—and some small charities, she needed about £600. She had been ad- vised to consult the local firm of valuers and auctioneers. She wished to know if the furniture could not be sold for enough to pay the death duties. The expert went with her to the old house and discovered that it was filled with fine old furniture; among other things, the Queen Anne chairs. The old woman was studying his face with evident anxiety, fearing he would say the value of the house- hold goods would not be sufficient for her needs. One reason was that time after time the expert gasped and shook his head incredulously. At length, unable to bear the suspense any longer, she asked: “Oh, sir, do you think they might fetch £600?” “Oh, yes!”” answered the expert. “Are you sure?” “ Oh, yes!” “Six hundred pounds?” “Oh, yes!” “Who will give £600 for the furniture?” “1 would be willing to pay that,”’ he said. “You will buy it?” “No. I didn’t say I would buy it. I said I would be willing to pay that much. It should be sold at auction.” “But if you- will give £600, what is the need of an auction? Give me the £600 and take the furniture.” “Oh, no!” he said decisively. Her face dropped. “I could give you £600, but I won't,” said the expert. She looked more distressed than ever. “T won't,” he went on, “‘ because I know you will get many times £600 at auction.” She did not quite believe it, but she left it to him to do as he thought best. She could not help herself. It was just as well that she was dealing with a reputable ex- pert, for at the sale the contents of the house of the woman who could not raise $3000 in cash to pay the inheritance taxes fetched several times that amount. “What do you think of that story?” asked our English friend. “Tt sounds too good to be true. That does not happen often.” Unsuspected Treasures “Oh, but it does,” he retorted. “‘Two weeks ago at Totton, in Hampshire, two portraits were put up for sale from a poor residence in the neighborhood. It was ex- pected that these would fetch about ten pounds sterling. But what do you think happened? The paintings turned out to be portraits of George and Martha Washing- ton by your Rembrandt Peale, and at the sale brought more than £2000. The money was most welcome.” In London, much more easily than in America, the collector is quite likely to find pieces of historic interest, the authenticity of which cannot be questioned. The coun- try is fuH of old homes where records have been kept with the utmost care. You can pick up what you require yourself, in the shops, or you can order it, for the London dealers will get you anything you wish. If they haven’t it they will find it for you. Each keeps track of rare pieces in his own line, and all of them carry on their books or in their minds the abiding place of no end of all sorts of valuable antiques. If you need an unusual piece you can always get it if you have the price. Many private per- sons who will not send their furniture to Christie’s or other auction rooms have March 23,1929 quietly informed reputable dealers that their prized possessions are for sale—prefer- ably to rich Americans. And as an educa- tional center for collectors there isn’t a city in the world like it. In the opinion of collectors, nothing ranks much higher than fine china, and in china it is difficult to conceive of anything more interesting to collect than what is popularly known as Chinese Armorial. No one ¢an see it without being impressed by its inherent aristocracy, not alone be- cause of the armorial bearings, which of course connote aristocratic lineage, but also because of its great beauty. Speaking of a London friend’s collection, Sir Henry Farnham Burke, Garter King of Arms, has written that “to be personally conducted among his armorial porcelain is an unique experience. Not a piece but has its own special claim to notice—old tales of prowess in battle illustrated by Augmentations to Arms; specimens of the services of three or four generations of one family; old scandals recalled; old memories of noted men re- vived by racily narrated anecdotes; odd coincidences in matching up various items of one service—all combine to convince one that of all forms of china collecting, this particular branch is one of the most fas- cinating.” China Made in China That it will never become a vulgar fad, in the sense that it will be collected by the ignorant, is certain. It is too beautiful and too high in price. But in the United States men who have collected other and less attractive things are turning to it. Sir Algernon Tudor-Craig, the authority, as- serts that ‘‘even to this day many people believe armorial china to have been the product of the Lowestoft factory which flourished from 1757 to 1803, and many dealers in London and elsewhere still de- scribe this ware as Lowestoft. But that these were popular fallacies is sufficiently proved by the armorial bearings themselves on the earlier pieces, indicating a date nearly fifty years antecedent to the founda- tion of the Lowestoft factory. Further than this, the Chinese porcelain is of hard paste, whereas the Lowestoft ware was of the usual English soft paste till 1777, when the Suffolk factory introduced a so-called invention of English hard paste.” In his work on Armorial Porcelain of the Eighteenth Century, Sir Algernon asserts that ‘‘the manufacture was almost exclu- sively Chinese, though the armorial de- signs, at any rate, were supplied from European countries and copied by Chinese artists, whose ingenuity generally is re- markable. All the ordinary details of the decoration in the earlier services are mani- festly Chinese, but it is curious to note what peculiar errors creep into the armorial bearings themselves; more particularly with regard to the coloring of the arms. This is doubtless due to the fact that, as often as not, all the Chinese artist had to go on was an engraved bookplate, the tinc- tures being shown in the usual heraldic way by vertical, horizontal, or other lines, and perhaps also to the fact that the owner’s knowledge of his own coat of arms was as hazy as that of the artist. “There are several amusing instances of Chinese thoroughness; notably a particu- lar service on every piece of which, under the arms, is the legend, These Are the Arms of Myself and My Wife, in a neat script, evidently an exact copy of the original drawing. Another service is said to bear the motto Stink and Stank, instead of the more correct Think and Thank; perhaps . entirely due to the bad handwriting of the original artist. One can imagine the joy of the owners of these services on unpacking them and finding these unique inscriptions on every piece! The Bridgeman service is still another example of this kind, in that each piece is inscribed under the shield The Bridgeman Arms, suggestive of its manu- facture for a public house rather than the noble one of Bradford. (Continued on Page 60)

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FOR A GOOD CUP OF COFFEE, certain fundamental rules must he followed. Tt should alw ays be freshly made—and served at once! Have the pot very clean. Nothing so spoils the exquisite flavor of coffee asa few stale grounds. Se rub the pot with clean, soapy water and a stiff brush, rinse,— scald and dry it thoroughly. Then with Maxwell House Coffee make the ideal drink for any occasion, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i, iS ad reason wi 'Y it pleases EOPLE who live well are more exacting about their coffee, probably, than about any other one thing in the entire menu. For this reason experienced hostesses giv e the coffee particular attention. For they know that poor coffee will not be over- looked —whereas, if the coffee is very good, it induces the genial mood in which a whol entertainment moves to success. Eminent hostesses throughout the United States have found Maxwell House Coffee a “general favorite,” pleasing men and women alike—coming to the most critical palate as an ever new and deeply satisfying experience. For Maxwell House is not a single coffee flavor, but a rich, sparkling, mellow blend. Years ago, down in Dixie, a gentleman bred in the South’s traditions of good living, undertook to find the ideal coffee flavor. He was familiar with all the different kinds and grades of coffee grown, yet no one of them alone seemed to him quite perfect. So by patient testing, combining several types of coffee each selected for its special excellence, he created the blend which has become the most popular coffee in America. The old Maxwell House in Nashville where this coffee got its first fame, was a celebrated “THE OLD COLONEL” has lived to see the blend he c reated years ago become A meri a s best liked coffee. Its ri h mellow flavor, its life and sparkle, are appre iated by men and women alike. It is equally good served “blac k ‘a or with milk or cream, TUNE IN ON “THE OLD COLONEL’S” CONCERT Every Thursday evening the famous Maxwell House Coffee Concert Orchestra’s brillant program of music is broadcast from WJZ, WBZ, WHAM, WBZA, KDKA, WIR KYW, WTMJ, WOC, WHO, WOW, KOA, WCCO, KSD, WDAI KVOO, WBAP, KPRC, WSB, WSM, WMC, WHAS, WLW WBAL, WBT, WJAX, WEBC. “The Old Colonel” you to tune in on the Maxwell House Coffee Program so many DIFFERENT people rendezvous of the Old South. Here the beaux and belles of the South gathe red at brilliant banquets and balls; here they entertained their most illustrious guests. ““Gsood to t} last drop,” these guests p! nounced the coffee, and wanted it to serve on their owl tables at home. Today throughout the length and breadth ot the United State Ss, Maxwell House 4 offer other coffec cer has it, is pleasing more people than any ever offered for sale. Your own gt attractively sealed in tin to preserve all its goodness and flavor. You will be delighted, also, with Maxu ell House Tea MAXWELL HOUSE COFFEE “(ood to the last drop”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST nique in the March 25, 1929 worlds business history. . . LAIR TS LR. MEG IRS ~ © 1929, Chrysler Corporauon All branches on the same tree; all growing out of the Chrysler root principle of standardized quality CHRYSLER IMPERIAL CHRYSLER “75” CHRYSLER “65” DODGE BROTHERS SIX DODGE BROTHERS SENIOR DE SOTO SIX PLYMOUTH DODGE BROTHERS TRUCKS, BUSES and MOTOR COACHES FARGO TRUCKS and COMMERCIAL CARS CHRYSLER MARINE ENGINES All Products of Chrysler Motors THERE IS nothing in the world quite like Chrysler Motors. There is nothing new about it in the sense that it is an association of plants and products and enormous financial resources. But it is distinctly new in the real and active savings and advantages which are eflected for the benefit of the buyers. The several products which constitute Chrysler Motors are banded together in one official family, under one personal head, with a common policy of engineering, buying, manufacturing and financing, sO that each can help the other to give better value. By reason of the diversity of markets and products which Chrysler Motors provides, all units are con- tinuously busy; and this plant-filling capacity is all aimed at the one paramount objective—holding quality up and keeping overhead down. Here, finally, is a great manufacturing organization, personalized and personally directed, whick. actually does render a better public service. For it really has raised quality at the same time that it has reduced costs—and it does give you more for your dollar ia each and every Chrysler Motors product. aes

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eee tee = —_—— eo — BB SENIOR Advanced in style Rich in fine-car value fom ee EVERY fine thing you have ever associated with the dependability of Dodge Brothers and the genius of Walter P. Chrysler is incorporated in the Dodge Brothers Senior: ultra-modern style —charming new color themes — inviting interiors — unforgetable per- formance. It is an unprecedented automobile —first in fashion, foremost in quality, and rich in fine-car value. Those who know custom cars best are sincerest in their praise of the Dodse Brothers Senior. It is the largest, handsomest and most luxurious of all Dx rd se Brothers cars—and it is priced surprisingly low. New Lower Prices: $1495 ro $1595, F. 0. 8. Derroir PP rrrrictss. LL. , ‘ & itt ‘@) ’ | a s \ CVA by DODGE BROTHERS SENIOR SATURDAY EVENING POST THE LANDAU SEDAN (wire wheels extra) = A CHRYSLER MOTORS PRODUCT - ter

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54 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST RING THE NEW HELP By Edward G. Lowry HE first thing that any new head of a large concern has to do when he takes office is to look about him and determine how many of the old help he will retain and how many he will let go and replace with others. This is particularly true with a new President when he takes over the business of the Government of the United States. The-office seeker as a pest and a burden and an intolerable trial to every new President has become a tradition in the United States. The notion, as put into words in the days of Andrew Jackson, that “To the victor belong the spoils” became deeply rooted. It has not been wholly exterminated yet. The sentiment, however, and the belief do not obtain nearly so widely today as they did in the past. The be- lievers in an organized Civil Service have gone a great way toward remedying that old situation. All the books on government and politics from the time of Washington to the time of Coolidge are filled with incidents and ac- counts of the trials every new President has had with office seekers. When a friend made a personal appeal to George Wash- ington to appoint a man whom Washington did not believe to be competent, the first President said to him: “My personal feelings have nothing to do with the case. I am not George Washington, but President of the United States. As George Washingten I would do this man any favor in my power. As President of the United States I can do nothing.” George William Curtis, one of the early and great Civil Service reformers, thought these words should blaze in gold over the doors of the White House. All the Presidents since Washington have met this pressure from the job hunters. President Jefferson, looking for vacancies to meet the demands of the hungry horde that confronted him, said of the men in government employ, “ Few die and none resign.” Lincoln said to a visitor who came to the White House during the Civil War and commiserated with him on his trials and his burdens: ‘It isn’t the war that is burdening me and killing me; it is your plagued Pepperton post office.”” I have found this remark quoted in a score of books on politics and government. Jackson and Lincoln, from all accounts, were more besought by office seekers than any other men who have been President of the United States. They were before the days of Civil Service reform. When tne Administration passes from one political party to another the onrush of placemen is always heavier than when one Administration succeeds another of the same political faich. In recent years Cleveland and Wilson found this to be true. Good Enough for Any Place N THE old days George III, a notable spoilsman himself, declared his conviction that “Every man is good enough for any place he can get.” That belief is held now by a small minority. Cleveland and Wilson, as Democratic Presidents, after long series of Republican Administrations, both went on strike against the harrying throngs that descended upon them in Washington. Both of them, early in their Ad- ministrations, locked their doors against and declined to see office seekers. Mr. Cleveland wrote a reverberating and sonorous letter about his burdens. He put his resent- ment against the trials inflicted upon him in these terms: {t has become apparent, after two months’ experience, that the rules heretofore promulgated regulating interviews with the President have wholly failed in their operation. The time which, under these rules, was set apart for the reception of senators and representatives has been almost entirely spent in listening to applications for office which have been bewildering in volume, perplexing and exhausting in their iteration, and impossible of remembrance. A due regard for public duty, which must be neglected if present conditions continue, and an observance of the limitations placed upon human endurance, oblige me to de- cline, from and after this date, all personal interviews with those seeking appointment to office except as I, on my own motion, May espe ially invite th em. Mr. Wilson, who came into the White House with an avowed open-door policy, was compelled to announce soon after he came to Washington that he would not see office seekers. All applications for jobs were referred to the various departments of the Government under which the jobs fell. If a man wanted to be a consul or a minister or an ambassador, his papers were sent to the State Depart- ment. If he wanted to be an Indian agent, or go into a public-lands office, he was turned over to the Interior Department. If he wanted a customhouse job he was sent to the Treasury. I have been about Washington since Roosevelt's day, ob- serving the processes of Government and commenting upon them. I have seen Presidents dealing with office seekers for the past twenty-five years. My present purpose is to put a piece in the paper to tell how Herbert Hoover is pre- paring and is meeting the first wave of office seekers; but to understand the novelty, the freshness and the signifi- cance of his attitude, let us go back and see how some of his immediate predecessors faced the task. Roosevelt, in the phrase made famous by Frank Munsey, “combined the best features of both’’—that is, he made both political and personal appointments. The Repub- lican state organizaticns named many officeholders under him. He named about as many more of his personal choice. The political appointments were scrutinized, and few conspicuously unfit men served under Roosevelt. He did bring new blood and some excellent men to Wash- ington. Mr. Taft was just about completely bowled over by the job hunters. They were too much for him. He detested them. He agreed with Cleveland that the applications for office were “bewildering in volume, perplexing and ex- hausting in their iteration, and impossible of remem- brance.”” He sought in every way to rid himself of their importunities. The Penalty of Public Office ILSON shut his door in the face of the mob and de- clined to see them. He had no patience with them. He not only detested them but had a contempt for them. He sought personally to find good men to occupy the chief offices of his Administration. The level of his Administra- tion was a high one, in so far as the character and integrity of its personnel were concerned. There were no scandais in the Wilson Administration. Mr. Harding had a weakness for giving his personal friends and old neighbors important positions without any great regard for their qualifications. Brigadier-General Sawyer, Charles R. Forbes, D. C. Crissinger and Harry M. Daugherty are cases in point; although Daugherty was as much a political as a personal appointment. He was in- dicated as a part of the Harding Administration from the day of the nomination in Chicago. About Mr. Coolidge’s methods of appointment to office I know nothing. I was out of the country during the greater part of his Administration; but even if I had been in Washington during the whole of his time I probably would have had little or no knowledge about his method derived from first-hand and inside information. When Mr. Coolidge named Dwight W. Morrow to be Ambassa- dor to Mexico he showed a penetrating sense of selection in choosing the right man for the right place that, con- trasted with many of his other appointments, amounted to a flash of political genius. Mr. Morrow’s selection had a political and a social significance on another score. Mr. Coolidge disclosed by his act for the first time that under the new political dis- pensation in the United States a partner in the firm of J. P. Morgan & Co. has now become eligible to public office. Nobody sensed—not even the keenest political minds—that such was the case until Mr. Morrow was named, and his choice was received with every evidence of widespread public and popular approval. Even as late as four years ago one of the things urged most strongly against John W. Davis, the admirable Democratic candi- date for the presidency, was that he was “a Morgan lawyer.”’ Apparently those days are gone now, for not only is Mr. Morrow in Mexico but Mr. Morgan himself is abroad on the reparations and war-debt business in the public interest. Mr. Coolidge, through Mr. Morrow, has strikingly shown that big business is now eligible for public office and political management. In a sense, perhaps it is fair to say that the disclosure of the public mind about Mr. Morrow made it possible for the Democrats to choose John J. Raskob as their national chairman and campaign manager. And now, after Coolidge comes Hoover. What will he do with and about the office seekers who began to form their serried ranks the morning after election last Novem- ber? I can tell you. The man who applies to Hoover for a job or who or- ganizes a drive for a job won’t have a Chinaman’s chance. March 25, 1929 A thousand night telegrams virtually identical in phraseology saying that John J. Whosis is the great- est patriot and the most admirably qualified man to be Assistant Deputy Fish Commissioner since the days of Izaak Walton are just dividend earners for the telegraph companies and a chore for the charwoman in the Executive Offices. They mean nothing to Mr. Hoover. They give him no concern. He isn’t interested in the office seekers. He doesn’t intend to bother with them or have anything to do withthem. His problem is to look for and find qualified men to fill the chief offices of the Government and it will never occur to him to look for them among the pressing and clamorous throng at the outer gates who are advertising their claims and their desires. Mr. Hoover’s job is to find the right men and not to make a choice among the seekers. It isn’t an easy job. Mr. Wilson found that out as long ago as March, 1911. He was writing: Misrepresentation is the penalty which men in public life most expect in the course of their efforts to render service. . . . The unfortunate fact is that there are probably hundreds of men in America of first-rate intellectual force, of genuine public spirit and broad patriotism, who would be of unmeasured value to public service, who are deterred from entering it because they shrink from this pariicular penalty. This same condition exists today, perhaps even more strongly and more generally than when Woodrow Wilson was elected President. I have in mind, as I write, one man I have known in my long residence in Washington whose life was completely destroyed by taking public office, and to this day I don’t know whether he was rightly or wrongly sacrificed. I don’t know whether he received his just dues in the social punishment that was meted out to him, or whether he was made a goat. He was a man who had grown up in his community. He was widely respected. He was in the truest and widest sense of the term a leading citizen. He took a foremost share in all civic and state matters looking to the general betterment. His services were drafted in every public enterprise of any moment. He gave freely of his services in all public matters without compensation and without reward. It was inevitable that sooner or later such a man should be called into the na- tional service. He was. Presently, in the course of events, things went on about him that he should have known about, or, at any rate, public opinion decided that he should have known about, and he didn’t know about. He was caught up in a whirl of events in which he disclosed himself as a bewildered figure. He became the object of a sort of public hue and cry. He went home. As a national figure he utterly ceased. He evaporated. Once he had disappeared from the national scene he was forgotten. He was out and he was through. At home in his own community, where he had been known and looked up to and respected for years, he set about taking up the threads of his old life, but somehow it didn’t come off. He was not called upon to head or take part in civic movements. He wasn’t invited to take his old place or any place in the community life. Today one hears that he is a negligible figure in his own place. Public sentiment in his home has not condemned him. It has done even worse; it has disregarded and neglected him. A Position With Few Attractions IS story, though it is years old now, is known to a great many men of his own type and kind; men who are pow- ers for good in their own states and in their own communi- ties, and who hesitate to take a part under the fierce glare of the white lights that beat upon the Washington scene. Spe- cifically, most of them are afraid of the Senate. Through recent years the Senate has been possessed with a desire to investigate things. Some of its investigations have been in the public interest and some of them have not. A man of rectitude and sensitive honor hesitates to place himself in a position where his motives may be impugned and where charges may be made without responsibility against his integrity and good faith. This is not an imagined situation. It is an actual condi- tion and it lies within my knowledge derived from the men sought, that it has confronted Mr. Hoover since he began his search for first-rate men of proved capacity to take positions of responsibility in his Administration. This reluctance of many of the very best men in the country to give themselves to a period of public service is a matter that concerns all of us. Even under the best of conditions it is not easy to persuade a man who is happily situated in the industrial or business world and receiving a salary of (Continued on Page 56) i de a eer =

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i

er << ——— ~ =

The Higher Importance of kront Axles

A few years ago the chief reason for the front axle was to carry just about so much car weight. Now road speeds up near a mile-a-minute beat against the front axle; there are the stresses from front wheel brakes: easy steering must be designed in; all the fac- tors entering into “wheel shimmy” must be considered; and car weight is still there. Alive to the higher importance of mod- ern front axles, Timken builds them as only Timken does build any axles. Whether it be front axles, bevel-gear axles or worm-drive axles; whether it be THE SATURDAY EVENING POST axles for cars. trucks or buses. Timken builds for clear eminence in each field. Manifestly, Timken Axles are not used on every motor vehicle, simply because vehicles cannot all be built of the best. That is w hy it is so much wiser to choose from among the range of makes which do give you Timken Axles. THE TIMKEN-DETROIT AXLI COMPANY, DETROIT, MICHIGAN

IMKEN VAXLES

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(Continued from Page 54) $100,000 a year, or $200,000, or $300,000, to leave it and come to Washington in any capacity, no matter how honorable, at a salary of $10,000 or $12,000 a year. The material rewards of business are creater than the material rewards of public service, leaving out of consideration the possibility of malignant criticism and the limelight’s bright glare. It must be faced as a fact that all men in public life do almost daily have to endure misrepresentation, irresponsible and unintelligent criticism and be charged with stupidity or improper motives. Mr. Hoover himself has had his full share of this. He has had to endure as many and as bitter attacks as any forceful personality in our political life. So, when he has asked men to come and serve with him in Washington and they have declined for some of the reasons I have meagerly and briefly outlined here, he has known how te understand their attitude and their hesitancy. Some of the men whe have been ap- proached and who apparently had all the necessary qualifications have by some act of their own made themselves unavailable. I have in mind one man who—so the story goes—-according to wide and common gos- sip in Washington, talked himself out of a very honorable post. He was being con- sidered for an office of great importance under the Administration, and the fact of euch consideration was made known to him. Apparently unable to restrain his bub- bling enthusiasm, he talked for publica- tion. Anything that he said at the time in Washington under the circumstances was of interest as betraying, perhaps, the President-elect’s mind and what he was talking about in his private conferences. Mr. Hoover was keeping his mouth shut and trying to do his work, concentrating on it, as he does on every important task that he undertakes, but this candidate undertook to throw light on a subject on which he was not fully informed. He was swept out to sea on the next tide. That was the beginning and the end of him. His name has not been mentioned again. In telling his sad story I am only repeat- ing what I have heard, but I am persuaded that the little tale, in its essence, is true, because I remember, at the time he emitted his observations, some of the men about Mr. Hoover, who know his reticence and his respect for confidential communica- tions, shook their heads and remarked, “Such a pity about poor old Blank.” Fishing for Men Let us consider for a moment Mr. Hoover’s movements since election and see how he has gone about his job of hiring new help to assist him in conducting the affairs of the Government. He was in California when he was elected. Within a brief space of days he departed on his South American trip. That was not only a good-will mission affording an opportunity to come directly into contact with some of the chief figures in South America but it was a plan designed to take care of the low peak that comes to every President-elect after he has been chosen at the polls. The journey also gave Mr. Hoover an opportunity, especially during the long stretches of days when he was at sea, to consider his personnel problem. He determined then to reverse the office- seeking problem that faces every President. Ile decided then to let the office seekers cause him no concern. It is the men sought who make his problem. He has gone at the job like a trained employment manager. Returning from South America, he came to Washington and saw and talked with some three hundred political callers. He heard hundreds of men suggested for office. He did not comment on a single suggestion that was made to him. He did not give any indication whether he had received a favorable or unfavorable impression of the recommendations made. He simply wrote jown the names that were put before him. THE SATURDAY After two weeks of this patient listening to political advice and political suggestions and recommendations, Mr. Hoover went to Florida on a fishing trip. Really it might have been called a digestion trip. He needed to go away somewhere and digest all that he had been told. The President- elect is a real fisherman. He even likes to go fishing whether or not he catches any fish. It has been observed of him for years that when he is engaged on a tough and knotty problem he nearly always takes a day or two off and goes fishing. He makes these expeditions serve a double purpose. The fishing gives him relaxation and recrea- tion. The peace and solitude and quiet and absence of people give him an opportunity to clarify his mind. With a rod in his hands, out under the sun, he can think through his problems. The sort of sea fish- ing Mr. Hoover did in the Gulf Stream along the Florida Keys served just that purpose. And he is one of the thrice for- tunate who do not get seasick in an open launch in a fresh and lively sea. : New Faces in Old Places One sailfish gives one as much exercise in half an hour as thirty-six holes of golf. The next President likes his recreation that way—an hour or two of trolling, with time to think, and then a half hour’s fierce strug- gle. Then more quiet trolling, with just enough struggle now and then to make the day thoroughly enjoyable. Mr. Hoover prepares for fishing as he would for an engineering venture. The night before his trips he lays out his tackle carefully, choosing this rod, that reel, a cer- tain line, and the like. He went at his trolling with precision, and when he met with sailfish he had learned how to kill them. For that matter, there is a bit of tech- nical precision in the very hooking of a sailfish. A sailfish first strikes its prey with its long, sawlike nose, killing or stunning it. Then it drops back, and after a moment rushes up and mouths its kill. The art of the sailfisher, then, is to meet this peculiarity of attack with the right technic. When the sailfish first strikes the bait it must not by any means be pulled. Instead, Mr. Hoover, as the correctly in- formed sailfisher, pays off rapidly with his reel, so that the struck bait remains in the same position in the water. When the fish comes back and mouths the bait, and then only, Mr. Hoover jerks his line to embed the hook. So much by way of an aside to fisher- men who may not have had a chance to take a sailfish. In making his selections for the chief places of responsibility Mr. Hoover will have a wider field to choose from than most of his predecessors. With only a very, very few exceptions, our Presidents have been essentially and fundamentally political men. Their out- look on life has been political. Their friends, their acquaintanceships, their contacts have been with other men whose chief and sometimes only interest was politics. This is distinctly not the case with our new White House occupant. He had his intro- duction to the world of polities only eight years ago. His interest in that field is not a professional interest. He is not and never has been absorbed in political maneuvering, dickers, strategy —all the rigors of the game as it is played in precincts, wards, counties and the other minor political subdivisions. The game of politics for the sake of the game he has never known. In this he is unlike his immediate predecessors Harding and Coolidge, who were actively in politics all their lives and accustomed to thinking in terms of political considerations in mak- ing appointments to public office. This is not to say, by any means, that all purely political appointments are bad appoint- ments. They can be good or bad, fit or unfit; as bad as some of Mr. Harding’s, as

EVENING POST good as some of Mr. Coolidge’s or Mr. Wil- son’s or Mr. Roosevelt’s. It all depends upon the President’s character and his sense of discrimination and selection. As an illustration of what I mean by a purely political appointment, take the case of Mr. Bryan in the Wilson cabinet. That was not only a political appointment but an inevitable appointment. From the day Mr. Wilson was nominated it was as clear as day that, in the event of his election, Mr. Bryan would be at the head of his cabinet. Supporters and opponents of Mr. Bryan recognized that Mr. Wilson had no choice in the matter. Every politician knew, too, that given a free hand it was not conceivable that President Wilson would have selected Mr. Bryan as his chief official adviser. The two men had nothing in com- mon except honesty and high purpose. Mr. Bryan was not a free personal choice but an inevitable compulsory political choice; yet no man contributed more to the success of the Wilson Administration in its first years than did Mr. Bryan. Not as Secretary of State. That job he never did know anything about. He was not an ad- ministrator or executive, and he was as far removed from any tinge or color of diplo- macy as any man this broad continent has ever produced. His field of usefulness lay among his personal following in Congress and out of it. From the day of his first nomination in 1896 until his death, Mr. Bryan, in his own right and “in his own proper person,” was a political power in this country. Toward the end his power considerably waned, but he was always a factor. Ask Brother Charlie Bryan about what happened at the Manhattan Club the last night of the 1924 Convention at Madi- son Square Garden. Ask anybody. I have cited the case of Mr. Bryan as an instance of the sort of thing Mr. Hoover will not encounter in making his choices. I have been struck, in journeying about the country since the election, at the general and widespread expectation that the new President will bring to Washington and put into office elsewhere new faces, new types of men; that he will tap new reservoirs of supply. I suspect that this instinctive be- lief and expectation will be realized, and that Mr. Hoover will by no means confine his searches for fit men to the political field. It is natural that he should spread a wider net for the sort of men he seeks. He knows the world of business, of the trades and of the professions better than he knows the world of politics. He knows these fields better than any President we have ever had. He has had contacts and has worked with men with a capacity for doing worth- while things in all these “gainful occupa- tions,” as the census tables so explicitly phrase it. Mr. Hoover is fortunate in having this large field of selection and in knowing from experience men capable of doing special jobs. He can select any type of man he needs. Of course he can get all the poli- ticians and political workers the necessities of the Government may require. Many of them are good men too. Striking a Balance I do not mean to intimate that the Gov- ernment can be run by nonpolitical men or on a nonpolitical basis. The Government is essentially and primarily a political in- stitution. It is also a great big business. There is no conflict or contradiction in- volved in believing, as so many people do believe, that Mr. Hoover will run this po- litical institution on business lines and employ business methods. And business methods imply business men, trained men with special capacities to solve intricate and difficult problems. While he was Secretary of Commerce, Mr. Hoover was notably successful in find- ing such men to do workmanlike and businesslike jobs under the direction of a

March 25, 1929 political agency of Government. I find a general popular belief that he will apply the same system to the other departments of the Government. After all, the number of presidential appointees whose duties are chiefly political or affected by political con- siderations is comparatively small. It is for the President to strike a true balance between the politics of Government and the business of the Government. It is his task to find the men who can best help him in striking that balance. It is a difficult task, but not an impossible one. The first point of attack in making the selections is choosing a cabinet. If a President is for- tunate enough to get the right men about him as heads of the several executive de- partments, the backbone of his task is broken. The cabinet can take much of the further burden off their chief’s shoulders. Certain political considerations Mr. Hoover will have to observe in naming his cabinet. He will have to consider geog- raphy in naming his department heads. It is traditional, it is necessary, and it is the part of wisdom to have every major section of the country represented in the cabinet. The Atlantic seaboard, the Pacific sea- board, the Middle West, the Northwest can always take it for granted that each of them will have a representative in the President’s official family. But in naming his cabinet chiefs and his other important associates in the Govern- ment there are no political debts to be paid. There were no trades entered into prior to the nomination and prior to the election that have to be carried out. Unfettered by Bartering Simon Cameron, according to the history books, became Secretary of War in Lin- coln’s cabinet in deference to the terms of a piece of political barter, Lincoln knowing and saying that Cameron was an unfit man. Nevertheless he felt he had to appoint him. Political morals have become so much more elevated today that such cases would cause a political scandal. Certainly Mr. Hoover does not face any such possibility. He has no political trades to carry through. He is, perhaps, freer of political obligations of any sort than any President we have had since George Wash- ington. He can name any man he chooses for any post he chooses. The manner in which he was nominated and elected makes this freedom possible. Broadly speaking, he was nominated and elected without the effective or potent or decisive help of any politicians. Certainly his nomination was brought about in defiance of and in the face of the strong opposition of virtually all the major politicians of his party. It has always been noted of Mr. Hoover that when he attacks a big problem he furiously concentrates on it. He will work twelve, fifteen, eighteen hours a day. He has done this on his hunt for the right men for the right jobs. A score or more men know the pains he has taken to go over the whole country in his search and the thor- ough canvass he has made of the men he has taken into consideration. Naturally he has met many disillusions. No Presi- dent has ever been able to get all the men he tried to get and wanted to get. The authentic accounts that have been published recently of Mr. Wilson’s search for a cabinet are revealing. These accounts disclose the difficulty any President has in forming a ministry of all the talents. Busi- ness calls and holds the best men in a tenacious grasp. The anomaly is presented of the biggest business in the world—the National Government—being unable to attract to it, in every instance, the very best men. The public service is not so attrac- tive to men of acknowledged repute as it must be made. As this is written in February, before Mr. Hoover has taken up his residence in the White House, his acid test is yet to come. At the moment he does not know that the office seekers exist. They have not pene- trated beyond the outer barriers he has set (Continued on Page 190)

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HEN your throat tickles, when it feels raw or irri- tated — gargle with Listerine full strength at once. Keep it up. Note how quickly you improve. Sore throat is usually a sequel to a cold, and is caused by germs. And full strength Listerine, as you know, is powerful against germs. Its early and frequent use will often check cold and sore throat before they become serious. When it doesn’t, call your doctor. Wise mothers insist that mem- bers of their families gargle with Listerine systematically night and morning during Winter and early Spring weather. Once you realize that full strength Listerine kills even the B. Typhosus (typhoid) and M. Aureus (pus) germs within 15 seconds, you can understand its effectiveness against lesser germ infections. Lambert Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Mo., U.S. A. LISTERINE THE SAFE ANTISEPTIC JOINED YET? Get in the circle of men who've found the perfect shave — the cool shave with LISTERINE SHAVING CREAM THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Si Mother knows best what to do for SORE THROAT Get the jump on a cold Before every meal rinse the hands with a little full strength Listerine. Listerine attacks cold germs picked up by your hands during the day, rendering them harmless when, on food, they enter the body through the mouth. Ordinary soap and water help destroy germs. But they are not enough. Listerine completes the job. It’s a precaution worth taking.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 25, 1929 Ca & UEKI REG A MEDIUM-PRICED EIGHT-CYLINDER: CAR WILL SOON BE INTRODUCED BY OLDSMOBILE Within a few weeks, Oldsmobile will introduce the newest General Motors product, a medium- priced eight-cylinder car . . . the VIKING. The name is significant. Because this new car shares many characteristics in common with this strong and courageous people. According to the ancient sagas, the Viking faced terrible hardships from the time of his birth. The Viking youth was deliberately exposed to the elements, without the slightest protection, in order to harden his body. No test was con- sidered too severe; no privation too great. At the first sign of weakness, he was cast out by his people and left to forage for himself, much as were the Spartan children. There was no place for a weakling among the Vikings. Only those best fitted for leadership survived to contribute to the strength and superiorities of the race. From childhood, the Viking youth was taught to be brave and unflinching in the face of trying tests. He was reared to become a leader. Fleet- ness, strength, and endurance were developed through his rigorous training in games and athletic contests. Courage, will power, strength of character and physical stamina were all essen- tial to his qualifying to the standards of leader- ship established by his people. The development of the Viking car closely parallels the development of the Viking youth in attaining manhood. The same unyielding proc- ess of elimination that made him fit for leader- ship was applied in developing the Viking car.

a _- = = =~

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Oldsmobile and General Motors engineers worked hand in hand with but one definite aim—to build the finest eight-cylinder auto- mobile in the medium-price field. They approached the task with an open mind. They literally started from scratch. They in- vestigated every type of eight-cylinder car, past and present. They built new cars; designed new engines; tried out new engineering principles. Fleets of all types were put to work to prove their merits. All were subjected to the same racking strains and prolonged road work on the General Motors Proving Ground. Over every type of road and grade, and over a period covering both extremes of the thermom- eter, these fact-finding fleets were given the most gruelling of tests. Accurate records of results were kept and constantly compared. One of these fleets demonstrated unquestioned superiority over its rivals in this contest. It won the right to the name of Viking. And an even THE SATURDAY EVENING POST larger fleet of this winning type was again puton the Proving Ground—not to be matched against others, but to be matched against the cherished ambition to build the best car in its field. Atthe General Motors Proving Ground, where in the short space of a month a car can dupli- cate the normal usage of more than two years— hour after hour, day after day, month after month, this car confirmed its right to leader- ship. It proved itself in every way a real Viking. The Viking will bring to the medium-price field the advantages of the ninety-degree V-type eight- cylinder engine. It will introduce a new order of beauty, luxury and comfort. And it will estab- lish a new standard of value for cars of its price. You will Have an opportunity to see and drive the new Viking within the next few weeks, when it will be on display in the showrooms of Oldsmobile-Viking dealers in the larger cities. OLDS MOTOR WORKS LANSING, MICHIGAN

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60 THE SATURDAY Danger Spring Colds Lurking!

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llen- FOR MEN AND

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| full of beautiful things EVENING POST March 25, 1929 ANTIQUES IN LONDON (Continued from Page 50 **Auctioneers’ catalogues are a frequent source of amusement in their various de- The Lovett service has above the arms the three letters S P E in block letters; meaning, of course, their motto, Hope. A pair of plates of this service were catalogued, however, as ‘bearing the arms of the family of Spe’! And a leading firm of auctioneers in London recently cata- logued a grandfather clock as being by Tempus Fugit! “‘On the whole, however, it must be con- ceded that the reproduction of the arms on the china is beautifully carried out, enabling the collector with the requisite heraldic knowledge to identify, in the large majority of cases, the name of the original family concerned.” A study of any collection of Chinese Armorial or a perusal of Sir Algernon Tudor-Craig’s book will make plain the reason why these beautiful porcelains fas- cinate everybody. Perfectly sane, unimag- inative people often wonder why some of their friends collect certain things. But no one can wonder why anyone collects Chi- nese armorial. It is grateful to the eye but—think of it!—the collector knows ex- actly what he is getting, which is common sense. He knows where it was made, and when, and for whom, and sometimes he is even able to get with his piece the original bill from the agents of the Chinese makers. Disappointed Pessimism We had looked forward to seeing what the great London dealers had to offer in this line. My friend, who collects it, had been as eager as I, at home. But in London, on the way to the galler- ies of an old friend, he said pessimistically: ““We won't find anything.” “You always find something in London.” ““Not Chinese armorial. Too many peo- ple are after the fine pieces. We won't get a thing!” I thought this was merely the collector’s artificial pessimism, intended to thwart the hoodoo, so I said: “‘What makes you think so?”’ “Well, he cables me every time he finds a piece he thinks ought to be in my collec- tidn, and I cable back whether I want it or not.” “Do you ever cable back that you don’t want it?”’ “No, because he knows what I want. That is why I have no hopes of finding any- thing in the place today. It is not over three months since I bought some wonder- ful Kien Lung octagonal plates, and he hasn’t cabled since. You don’t pick up rare pieces every day.” I felt sorry for him. To come more than 3000 miles, hoping to make his collection better, and then find nothing, was certainly tough luck. We arrived at the galleries and went in. It was an old residence remodeled, porcelains, paint- ings, some furniture—and everywhere, taste, knowledge and an exquisite sense of selection. It was a pleasure to be there, whether one bought or not. I happened to look toward my compan- ion and saw his eyes fixed on a small table in a corner. I know the look, from hunting. He had flushed something! But all I could see was a table on which was a large punch bowl. Now he happens to have some of the most beautiful sideboards in America, and | any punch bow! that he sets on them has to be worthy of the furniture. I may remark that numerous as his sideboards are, his rare punch bowls are still more numerous. The owner, summoned by a polite clerk, came toward us. We were very glad to see him. “‘T see you have a rather large punch bow] over there,” observed my friend without visible enthusiasm, and walked over to ' | examine it. So did I. It looked to me to be well over two feet in diameter at the widest part. There were some beautifully executed armorial bearings and an inscrip- ticn in Greek. My companion asked the price and promptly bought it—on its merits, because it was only after it was safely his that we heard the story which greatly enhanced the interest of the piece, at least, for me. The bowl had been made for Doctor Agnew, the famous English Greek scholar, in the eighteenth century. He sent to China not only his arms to be copied but an inscription in Attic Greek: MISQ MNHMONA XYMHOTHN *‘Anything else in Chinese armorial?” asked my friend. He had secured the most remarkable punch bowl I had ever seen. But this was London. “Yes, I have here a wonderful service bearing the arms of Samvel Chase, of Maryland, of which you already have the six salt cellars. This is generally regarded as one of the finest specimens of Chinese services in Great Britain.” My friend saw the service and bought it. One look was enough. We then looked about the galleries and we found some Chinese porcelains, two fascinating figures, a most pleasing portrait by Hoppner, some extremely rare Wedg- wood medallions and other objects. Months later, in my friend’s home in a room where that Agnew punch bow! looked down on me from the top of a highboy, I was reading a book and I unexpectedly came across the same wise Greek proverb. Doctor Agnew took it from Plutarch, for the author of the Lives uses it as a sort of text for his Symposiacs—a very amusing essay, by the way. The proverb may be rendered: ‘‘! hate a drinker who remem- bers.”’ Plutarch writes at some length, cit- ing the divers interpretations that have been given to it. He regards it as an ad- monition to guests to forget everything that is spoken or done at a banquet. Plutarch then proceeds to discuss ten questions in connection with stag parties. Is it allowable to philosophize at table? No, for a man has no more right to talk philos- ophy there than he has to allow his wife to be present. Another question that puzzled Plutarch and his friends was whether the host should seat the guests or let every man take his own seat. And whether the so- called head of the table—the consular seat made the occupant the real head, and soon. Quite accidentally I found the prov- erb elsewhere. Martial in Epigram 37, Book I, reproaches Procillus in this wise: “Last night after I had too many glasses, I invited you to dine with me. You thought I meant what I said when I was lit up. Dangerous precedent! I hate a drinker who remembers, Procillus.” The Call of the Pack In the back room of the galleries where my companion bought the finest punch bowl in punchless America, we sat looking out on the Old World garden—trees and paved paths and mossy retaining walls and sylvan peace, in the very heart of London. The conversation turned not to antiques or to antique buying, but to antique hunt- ing. “That is what keeps me in this business, just as you keep on collecting. There are many and varied interests to make my work pleasing, but the element of chance, the uncertainty as to when or where or how he is going to be pleasantly surprised—for he is certain to be that, sooner or later that is the dealer’s chief joy. And I wish to tell you that this has been a great help to me in keeping me from despair during the past two or three years. You don’t know how trying the times have been for England and how much we all have needed what you Americans call bracers, now and then. a.

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La et 1 na “Not very long ago I saw at a private view in a country house in the home coun- ties a very fine seventeenth-century bed, with a beautifully carved canopy, and an elaborate coat of arms at the foot. I was so interested in it that, on going home, I tried to hunt up the arms, and was surprised to find that they were those of La Valliére, quartered with those of well-known French families, and by the side of them a device consisting of a large sun, moon and stars on an azure field, evidently intended to repre- sent Le Roi Soleil. “From this it was evident that the bed must have been the property of Louise de la Valliére, the first Maitresse en titre of Louis XIV. Luckily I was able, after pur- chasing the bed, to find out its history from the time it became the possession of La Valliére’s granddaughter, the Duchesse d’Uzes, and I finally disposed of it to an American customer, in whose possession it still remains.” What is becoming a serious problem in America has long been a condition in Eng- land. In the United States good antiques are becoming so scarce that the dealers are worried about the future supply. The in- crease in foreign importations on the mar- ket is in large measure due to the decrease in the supply of purely American pieces. The time will come when we must do as the English do—depend on the sales of collec- tions. “Do you have much trouble in finding antiques?”’ I asked my host. I may say that he is one of the principal dealers in London, in his own line second to none. Working Up Competition “Oh, yes. That is our great difficulty— how to replace our stocks. Genuine and in- teresting pieces of antique furniture are getting rarer every day, and it is only by attendance at the big London sales and at large country-house sales that there is much chance of finding salable stuff. Luck- ily the British Antique Dealers’ Associa- tion furnish their subscribers, two or three times a week, with a list of sales in different parts of the country, giving the name of the auctioneer and a short résumé of the contents of the catalogue, so that a dealer in that way is kept informed of what is be- ing sold all over the country. ** Another source of supply is by means of the dealers’ runners —you call them pick- ers—who comb the country through and through in their motor cars and bring to the notice of the London dealers any inter- esting pieces which they may see. Un- fortunately the provincial antique dealers generally have an exaggerated idea of the value of their goods, which, in my experi- ence, are more expensive in the country than in London, so that it is not an easy matter to buy goods as cheaply in the prov- inces as in London itself.” He was surprised when I told him that in America the country dealers also were apt to have an exaggerated idea of the value of antiques and it was only their igno- rance of what was exceptionally good that enabled the city dealers to buy from them. “That also is true in England. The run- ners do not work on a salary or commission, unless, of course, they act as agents at sales. If they have any money at all they pick up pieces in private homes or from country dealers and are content to make a smali quick profit from the bigger dealers. Many merely report their finds to the deal- ers, leaving it to the latter to pay them something for their trouble. They are not, as a rule, well informed as regards values when dealing with fine pieces. “Let me tell you a runner’s story. I was told not long ago about a poor widow whose few possessions were being put up for sale at Willis’ Auction Rooms. The auctioneer filled a tray with several odd pieces of china. He expected to get two or three pounds at the outside for the entire lot. “On view day, on the eve of the sale, the auctioneer happened ‘» be standing in the salesroom when he saw one of the biggest London dealers come in and stroll about. THE SATURDAY The auctioneer wondered what on earth could be the attraction that so important a buyer found in so unimportant a sale. He watched the dealer go about the room pick- ing up trifles here and there and examining them. He paid particular attention to two small vases of the odd lot on the tray. “‘A few minutes after the dealer left, an- other equally well-known dealer came in and went through the same performance. He lingered longest over the assorted lot on the tray. Still a third London dealer came in. The same thing happened. The auc- tioneer’s suspicions were aroused and he concluded that the dealers had been told something by runners. He concluded that the only thing that they could be interested in was the pair of vases on the tray. He thereupon made a separate lot out of the two vases. “*At the sale the next day all the well- known china dealers in London turned up, one by one. It was plain to see that each thought that he alone knew about the vases. Presently, every time a fresh dealer came in, the others would laugh and ask, ‘Have you come to see our pair of vases?’ The same runner had notified them. “‘It happened that the vases were a pair of very rare Famille Jaune Chinese porce- lain and fetched 375 guineas, greatly to the joy of the poor widow.” “*Treasure-trove that came high,” I said. “Yes,” he admitted, “‘but we all come across unexpected finds. I mean, when one gets more than he paid for or that he knew he was buying. A year ago, at a London sale, a small oak chest of nine drawers was placed by my side. Each drawer had a glass top, with several divisions, lined with green baize. On pulling one out I was in- terested to see in each division a number of tiny cardboard boxes containing fine im- pressions, in red wax, of old armorial seals. Thinking it would amuse me in my spare time to identify the arms on these seals— of which there were about eight or nine hun- dred—lI purchased the case for a compara- tively small sum. “On getting it home and on taking out one of the drawers, I heard something rattle, and what was my astonishment to find in the back partition of each drawer the orig- inal unmounted seals from which the im- pressions had been made. I, of course, drew the attention of the auctioneers to this, and was informed that they were aware of the presence of the seals but considered them, being unmounted, of little value.” Scraps of Paper “I spent some weeks in identifying the families to which all these seals belonged, and was enabled to compile a most interest- ing catalogue from them. Most of the seals were what are called Tassie gems, owing to their having been made by James Tassie, who died in 1799 and was a well-known modeler and engraver of gems, in a paste the secret of which died with him. They are particularly noted for their wonderful coloring and were so sought after in his day that Catherine II of Russia commissioned him to model a collection of more than 20,000 of them, copied from antique Roman gems.” I was much interested in the typically British views he expressed as to the value of dealers’ guaranties. All that a customer can ask is that if the goods are not as rep- resented he should be able to get his money back with the least possible trouble. A dealer’s guaranty of authenticity cannot often be made absolute, and the best pro- tection for the customer still remains the integrity of the dealer. Pick your man! “A guaranty of authenticity,” said this London dealer, ‘“‘unless accompanied by the original bill from the maker, is, except in the case of silver and porcelain, of little value in my opinion. After all, a dealer cannot have seen a period piece of furniture made. He can only guarantee ‘to the best of his knowledge and belief.’ “With silver, on the other hand, one has the hall mark, which it is a criminal offense to forge, and it is quite impossible to EVENING POST A 7 clock tick “That meals, in moment I been cross OU may have charged your sleep- less hours to overwork, or worries Don't be too sure! Caffein, the seeming- ly harmless stimulant you take with your meals, has probably caused more hours of wakefulness than any other one thing in the world. This “‘inno- cent’’ habit may be your trouble You can find out casily—this way! Eliminate caffein from your diet for thirty days—drink Postum with your meals instead. Then see how would have driven me insane 61 AVE you ever lain awake night after night, hal f awake and half asleep, listening to the away the age-long hours? Then, in the morning, have you dragged yourself from your bed and forced yourself, a big bundle of nerves, to move through another exhausting day? s what I did for five months and I don't exaggerate when I say another three months of it Fortu nately , about this time, a friend suggested Postum with my place of caffein “That was four weeks ago. Now I sleep from the hit the pillow; I eat heartily; I haven't for days; I'm 100% happier. Even my casual acquaintances have noticed the change!” Miss IrneNE ANDERS, 2727 Hemphill Street, Fort Worth, Texas bran. A distinctive drink with a rich full-bodied flavor that millions prefer Postum costs much less than other mealtime drinks—only one-half cent a cup. Order from your grocer. Or mail the coupon—we will send you one week's supply free, as a start on your 30-day test. Please indicate whether you wish Instant Postum, prepared instantly in the cup, or Pos- tum Cereal, the kind you boil soundly you sleep! MAIL THIS COUPON NOW! For Postum contains no caf ms OR Shee ne ire at Sannin fein—nothing to repel sleep, to renee POSTUM COMPANY, Inc., Battle Creek, Mich attack nerves and heart, or af- } want to make a thirty-day test of Postum. Please send fect dige P de me, without cost or obligation, one week's supply of ect digestion ostum is made | INSTANT POSTUM Check of roasted whole wheat and pet CEREAL Oe s at ¢ | POSTUM CEREAL you (prepared by boiling) prefer © 1929, P. Co., Inc | Name Postum is one of the Post Health Products, which include also Grape-Nuts, Post Toas- Street ties, Post's Bran Flakes, and Post's Bran Chocolate. Your grocer sells Postum in City Stare ove Fooms, aneteas Postum, made in the L Fill im completely print name and address cu addin viling water, is one of the | et ee ae po ke yay ia i world to prepare | In Canada, address Canadian Postum Company, Lad Postum Cereal is also easy to make, but I should be boiled 20 minutes 812 Metropolitan Bidg., Toronto 2, Ontano

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62 Watch This Column. Our Weekly Chat Send for your copy of Universal's booklet containing complete iufor- mation on our new pictures. It's free | AM profoundly serious in my be- lief that Universal's production of “Show Boat™ should be seen in every movie-theatre in the land. “CL. For the following excellent reasons: First. Edna Ferber's best-selling novel “Show Boat.”* Second, Florens Ziegfeld’s musical _ stage production of “Show Boat.” Third, Jerome Aern’s exquisite music. Fourth, Oscar Hammerstein's heart- touching lyries. Fifth, Harry Pollard’s direction. Sixth, a cast headed by Laura La Plante, Joseph Schildkraut, and Otis Harlan. Seventh, Helen Morgan, famous Ziegfeld star, singing “Can't Help Lovin’ That Man” and “Bill.” Eighth, Jules Bledsoe. another Zieg- feld star, singing ““Ol' Man River.” Ninth, Ziegfeld’s Plantation Singers. Miss Ferber is one of the most popular American authors. Every book she writes is a best seller. “Show Boat’ topped them all in sales and the royalties from it still pour in upon this gifted young woman. Florenz Zieg- feld is easily the foremost producer of . brilliant musical shows. Paying as as $25 per seat to see one of his productions is nothing startling to New York Aad now, for the first ‘ time, the cream of his hest is sent out to the whole world to be en- joyed at popular prices within the reach of all. Mr. Kernis the most successful liv- ing composer of music for musical comedies. He is a multi-millionaire as the results of royalties from his well-known music hits Mr. Hammerstein, 2nd, a member of one of the most illustrious stage families in America, adapted Miss Ferber's book for Ovs Hertan as “Captain indy” in “Show Seat” Mr. Ziegfeld, wrote the lyrics and produced the Loudon engagement of “Show Boat.”” Mr. Pollard di- rected the “Cohens & Kelleys”’. “Unele Tom's Cabin.** ‘Sporting Youth.** “Califernia Straight thead,”* and other suc cessful pictures These names speak for them- selves. Miss La Plante, Mr. Schildkraut and Mr Harlan have aiways been associated with successful pictures Miss Morgan leads the entertain- ment world as a singer of crooning love . songs. She has “it” and she puts it into her work Mr. Bledsoe is the greatest living negro singer. He is now singing in concerts. I don t suppose any one thing contributed more to the success of Mr Ziegfeld’s show than Bledsee's rendition of “OF Man River.” The Plantation Singers will delight you with their rich, mel- a low voices. They are a Helen Morgan, the famous bit ou the stage. They singer in «Show — will sing for you in “Show Boat.” First the novel, Then the play. Now the picture combining the cream of both! Where can you match it? Carl Gaemmle, President Send 10 cents each for photographs of LAURA LA PLANTE, JOSEPH SCHILDKRAUT and OTIS HARLAN in“ SHOW BOAT” UNIVERSAL PICTURES “The Home of the Good Film” 730 Fifth Ave., New York City Joseph Schildkraut as +Ravenal™ in**Show Boat" THE SATURDAY , produce fake porcelain nowadays which would deceive any but the merest tyro. ‘“‘At the same time, if a dealer does de- scribe his goods as Queen Anne, Chippen- dale or Hepplewhite, he must be prepared to take the things back, should expert opin- ion decide that the goods are not antique. In this connection it must be remembered that to describe a thing as Chippendale | does not imply that it was made by Thomas Chippendale, any more than Queen Anne made the furniture styled Queen Anne. These descriptions refer only to a period, except in those rare cases where an origi- nal bill can be produced. “T am sorry to say that several recent | law cases in our courts have revealed the fact that even those who are regarded as the greatest experts on furniture have dif- fered widely in their views as to the gen- uineness or otherwise of period pieces which | have been submitted to them as expert witnesses. “At the same time I am convinced that any reputable dealer is prepared to refund any payment made to him for goods about which there may be doubt. In addition, there is always the possibility of an ap- peal by the buyer or the seller to the British Antique Dealers’ Association, which | endeavors to keep the trade as clean as possible.” Truth Behind Fiction The last story we heard from him in- terested me, because I recognized in it the germ of the idea on which were based the plots of at least six magazine stories that I had read within a year. “A very well-known collector of coins, the Reverend Thomas Hugo, turned up one day at the British Museum and sent in his ecard to the then keeper, Sir Wollaston Franks, to whom he was personally well known. On being shown up, he asked for permission to inspect an ancient Greek gold coin, which was understood to be the only one in existence. “**Certainly, Mr. Hugo,’ said the keeper. ‘I will send an attendant up with you with the key of the case, so that you can handle and thoroughly examine it.’ ““Mr. Hugo then proceeded to the coin room, where the attendant unlocked the case and removed the drawer containing the coin, among others, for examination. Knowing that Mr. Hugo was a collector who took his time, he moved away and left him at this work. “A few minutes afterward Mr. Hugo called the attendant and thanked him for his courtesy, pointing out at the same time that he had replaced the drawer in the cabinet. Before locking it, the attendant, in accordance with a strict rule of the mu- seum, pulled out the drawer to make sure that all the coins were in their little round beds. He was surprised to find that the circle usually occupied by the one which Mr. Hugo had called to see was vacant. “Turning to him, the attendant said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but I am afraid you have omitted to replace that gold coin.’ ***Nonsense,’ replied Mr. Hugo. ‘I put it in its place before I shut the drawer.’ ““*Well, sir, you see it’s not there; per- haps you dropped it or inadvertently placed it in your pocket.’ He knew full well how absent minded collectors can be, and was anxious to give this one a chance of re- placing the coin. **T tell you, my good man,’ said Hugo, ‘that I have put the coin back, and it’s no use looking at me like that, because I have not got it.’ « “*In that case,’ said the attendant, ‘I must call the keeper.’ And locking the case, he went off and fetched Sir Wollaston. “The latter, on arrival, again removed the drawer and, finding the coin missing, turned to Hugo and said, ‘This is an odd business, Hugo. The coin must be found. | Now, do you think, by any chance, that | you can have mislaid it anywhere? Or what | do you think can have happened to it?’ “Hugo, who was beginning to feel un- | comfortable, said at once, ‘I can’t have EVENING POST mislaid it, as I hardly moved from this spot. I can only tell you very definitely that I put it back in its place when I had finished with it.’ “Sir Wollaston then said, ‘Well, I am very sorry, but obviously the coin is not there. I am afraid that, by the museum reg- ulations, you must submit to be searched.’ ““*That,’ said Hugo, ‘I flatly refuse to do.’ “Then I much regret that, old friend though you are, I shall have to call in the police.’ ‘Somewhat staggered, Hugo then said, ‘Look here, Franks; if I undertake to pay for a new case, will you pull that one to pieces?’ “* Anxious to save his friend, the keeper of the museum agreed. A workman was called up, and on removing all the drawers, found the coin in the bottom of the case right at the back. The fact was that Mr. Hugo had not placed the coin exactly in its circle, and when the assistant pulled out the drawer the first time, a projection on the shelf above had caught the edge of the coin and forced it to the back of the case, where it had slipped down behind the lower drawers. ‘Greatly relieved, Mr. Hugo then placed his hand in his waistcoat pocket and pro- duced an identical gold coin, saying at the same time: ‘You now understand what a fright I was in and why I declined to be searched. I bought this coin last week in Crete, and hurried back to London to com- pare it with youfs, which, until now, has been considered to be unique. Had this been found on me, you would have con- sidered me to be a convicted thief.’ “Of course no one was more pleased than the keeper of the museum himself, who was thus kept from doing so great an injury to a numismatist of international reputation.” The fortnight we spent in London strengthened my belief that it is the most profitable place in the world to hunt rare items in. There is no set rule for unearthing bargains. One may find a Rembrandt in a Bowery pawnshop or a Della Robbia plaque in a Cadiz bakery—such things have hap- pened—but to expect them to happen to you is like picking out the exact spot on your lawn for the lightning to hit. There is not a collector, whatever his specialty may be, that cannot tell you at least one story of incredible luck. But the veteran knows better, and what he looks for is a good hunt- ing ground. That is what London is. If you are willing to pay good prices for good pieces you can do well always in New York, often in Boston and in Philadelphia, but London is all-the-year territory for every known variety of collectible objects. The world’s experts have preceded you and it is in their preserves that the Amer- ican with a high-power purse should do his hunting. The beaters are well trained. At the Table In London the business of buying, sell- ing and collecting antiques of all sorts long ago reached a state that we in this country are rapidly approaching. The supply is not subject to substantial increases. Collec- tors and dealers, therefore, have come to depend on the auction sales and the dis- persing of collections. In the United States the reason why choice pieces of American antique furniture are so high priced today is because-they are scarce, and they are scarce because they have gone into collections from which they will not emerge until the collector succumbs either to death or to the mounting profit. Auction sales mean much more in Eng- land than in the United States. Collectors and dealers in London attend them with the same assiduity and for the same reason that a stock broker seeks the floor of the stock exchange. The regulars are indeed so regular in their attendance that they are referred to as “the table’’—meaning the auctioneer’s table, where the goods are auctioned off. They are known—these experts and dealers—to the public as well as to the March 25,1929 auctioneer, and to keep the curious out- sider from knowing that such and such an expert is bidding on a particular piece, which therefore must be desirable, the vet- erans have a system of undetectable sig- nals, known to the auctioneer. A dealer may rub his cheek meditatively while look- ing at the ceiling and the auctioneer hoists the bid another ten guineas; a hard bunch for an outsider to beat, for these people know the auction game and the limits yes, even in England unrestricted sales are restricted. An American collector, unacquainted in London and bearing in mind only the leg- endary reputation of auction rooms, might easily find himself the victim of a practice and of a gang that are doing much harm to legitimate auction sales in England. I refer to the knock-out ring. It consists of a co- terie of dealers who insist that they merely have put an end to senseless, cutthroat competition. When an article is put up and a member of the ring bids on it, the other members hold off. That makes the bidding member compete only against private out- siders or dealers who are not of the ring. It narrows competition and often means low prices. Often, if a rash outsider bids for something the ring wants they run up the price on him. The ring does not, of course, always win out, but it has done great harm’ An Expensive Knock-Out After the sale and after the piece is knocked down to a member, the ring meets and another auction sale of the same piece is held, with only members of the ring as bid- ders. That is the knock-out. The difference between what the first successful bidder paid and what the piece fetched at the knock- out, is the ring’s profit, and it is divided pro rata. Say thet at Christie’s a set of chairs was sold to a member of the ring for 1200 guineas and that at the second sale one of the members was willing to pay 2000 guin- eas. The ring divides the 800 guineas as its profit. You see, the successful member might have a waiting customer or a surer market than the others, and could outbid them. The ring has been under fire for years and I was told a bill would be intro- duced making their practice illegal. It is difficult to see how the law could prevent that gang from pursuing their methods with some modifications. It might be diffi- cult to prove conspiracy. There are mem- bers who have rarely bought a single piece, but have enjoyed annual profits running into the thousands of guineas in the past few years. Reputable dealers naturally tell you that they are not members of the ring. Once, as I was told this, I smiled at a pom- pous man across the street who had been bumped by a sandwich man. The dealer thought it incredulity on my part and he assured me earnestly: “‘T could not afford to belong to the ring. Suppose a fine settee had gone to one of the ring for 500 guineas and later I bought it at the knock-out for 800. I should have to ask 1000 guineas. Well, my client would re- member that it had been sold at Christie’s the day before for 500 guineas, and 100 per cent would strike him as being more than a fair profit. There is no sense in belonging to the ring, sir.”’ “‘And why,” I asked him, “‘are the bids at Christie’s always in guineas?’’ That is, in twenty-one shillings. He stared at me. Finally he said: ‘‘How else?”’ “Pounds,” I suggested. That is, twenty shillings. ‘It’s always been in guineas, you know.” **What is the reason?’”’ He hesitated. “I had never thought about it. I suppose it is that the auctioneer retains one shilling per guinea for his com- mission.” “Then the same figure in pounds really gives you the net price to the owner of the goods?”’ asked my companion. “Quite so!’’ he said.

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\ ——— KNOW YOUR DENTIST and so know more about yourself. For to your den- tist’s eyes and understanding your mouth and teeth are as a printed page, an index to your future comfort and health. There, and in the unimpeachable shadows of your X-rays, he can read of conditions or tendencies that should be combated by preventive dentistry. For your dentist is more than a repairman; he isthe staunch ally of Nature and Medicine in the crusade against disease and pain. When your dentist suggests that you consuit a physician do it! He wants to safeguard you from needless suffering, protect you from troublesome systemic disorders—rheumatism, arthritis, afflic- tions of heart or kidneys—that can arise eeeneeenees THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 63 from oral defects. Let your dentist know you. Visit him regularly. Accept his dic- tatesand directionsimplicitly. Accord him the respect and obedience his profession deserves. Do not cause him to waste his energies or time in argument. Sensibly and surely, “Do As Your Dentist Tells You COMPANY Toronto, Ont. LAVORIS CHEMICAL Minneapolis, Minn. .

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ae AEE A TE at lt 64 WHEN IT'S GOT THE STUFF A NICKEL’S ENOUGH When a nickel’s enough for an Air Mail stamp it’s enough for a GOOD CIGAR! \ cross-continental air voyage for .. that’s Uncle Sam’s big nickel’s worth. But no bigger than ROCKY FORD'S! a letter . Imported Su- matra wrapper . . . finest domestic long filler. Try one today. Match a ROCKY FORD with any ten-cent cigar you know. When it’s got the stuff... a nickel’s enough. lf you can't get ROCKY FORDS from your tohacconist, send 25 cents to P. Lorillard Co., Imc., 119 W. 40th St.. New York City, for trial package of 5 cigars. TO DEALERS lf your local jobber cannot supply you with ROCKY FORDS, write us. — —— Rocky lord an mete THE SATURDAY same tailor made the two coats and they were exactly alike. The gunman’s name was in the coat he left behind. These things happen,” said Parr; ‘‘which accounts for my hair being less gray than it might be otherwise.” Oliver nodded and waited. He didn’t quite see the drift of things yet. This killing was out of Parr’s bailiwick, being in Con- necticut. The New York police had been called in on the bank end, and Parr, as usual, had begun at the source, in the coun- try. Parr looked at his watch. He was secretly studying Oliver, playing him for some reaction which obviously had not yet appeared. “Why do you say ‘blackest’?”’ asked Oliver. “About the pistol recoiling, you mean? Because my pistol expert downtown has a gun like this; and he finds that, with a certain overcharge of black powder, the reccil hurls it twenty or thirty feet. As I say, it is entirely possible that it was hurled into the water by the recoil. That would be good luck for somebody, bad for some- body else. Now, my pet little god of chance, to whom I burn all my joss, interposes. There is fourteen feet of water at low tide. And several feet of mud. But along comes a steam dredge with a clamshell bucket, to open up a sewer that has backed up. The first bucket brings up this gun! Can you beat it? It’s like the killer that left his name for us in his overcoat.” Parr leaned forward, his beady eyes gleaming. ‘‘The mate to this gun, the other one of the pair, is in a case in Culpepper Lea’s library,"’ he said. “‘It was his own gun.” Somehow the clocks in the room— those clocks that had played their part in a mur- der once, by the way—somehow all the clocks in the room seemed suddenly to tick louder. The scowl that had been forming on Oliver's face now perceptibly deepened. He turned his head, as a gun turret turns, to lay his gaze on Parr. Parr got up, buttoning his ulster. “Some of the insurance companies think maybe they will refuse to pay, on the basis of that pistol,”’ said he. ‘‘ There is two hun- dred thousand involved, spread out thin among several companies. They say it is too much—there is no evidence of any es- tate. Their theory —and it’s rather a pretty one, I admit—is that all his coming and going was to establish a reputation of being rich enough to justify this amount of in- surance. They even make a point of his care with that brief case—exhibitionism, they call it— how he never let go of it, held it on his knee while he sat on a stool at the lunch counter. This pistol, of course, is their trump card. That's what sent them into conference. Oliver, I don’t believe that man killed himself. If they are right, he wouldn't have used his own pistol. I think he was murdered. I want you to go up there and look it over. Maybe your eyes can see something we have overlooked. Will you?” “I'd be very glad to,” said Oliver. ‘“‘What kind of a wife is she?”’ “Fine,” said Parr. “Fine! Does it look like suicide?”’ “Yes,"’ said Armiston. He looked oddly at Parr. ‘You've got a hunch, chief?” “Yes,” said the deputy. “Does she know?” “I assume so, yes,” replied Parr. ‘‘The implication is there; she can’t shut her eyes to it. But the underwriters aren’t mak- ing any false moves. They can’t afford to. They could better afford to err the other way—pay it all. So they will take their time about it. You've got plenty of time. I've told you, purposely, the blackest part of it. This stuff hasn't got to the news- papers yet 7 Parr paused abruptly, staring stupidly at Oliver. “Wait!"’ he cried. ‘‘There’s something else —the blackest part of it! I almost for- got. It’s what started the insurance people EVENING POST THE RECOIL (Continued from Page 15) on the trail. Oliver,’’ he said, sitting down again, “‘she always went as far as the gate with him when he went away. Just a habit, you know—a mighty nice one! She always looked him over to see if he was all right; then she kissed him good-by. She’d stand there watching him down the street. At the corner he would look back and she’d wave to him again. And then—that morn- ing—to her surprise, he came back and said good-by once more. She said to him, ‘Why, you silly-billy, one would think you expected never to see me again.’ And he patted her shoulder and started off again, waving to her, as usual, at the corner.” Parr got up and took his hat. He stared at old Buddha, stony confidant of so many tales told in this room. He looked down at Oliver. **Do you see any holes in it?”’ he asked, drawing on his gloves. Oliver nodded. ‘*Here and there, yes,”’ replied Oliver. “Will you go up and look it over?” “T’ll run up this afternoon,”’ said Oliver, rising and opening the door to speed the parting guest. mu HE Vachen School For Boys was at Barhampton. The sight of its colonial brick assembly hall, like a Quaker lady with a snood, gave Oliver a start of satisfaction. He turned in, got down, and entered. The head master would be glad to see him. The place wore the musty smell of learning. Oliver tiptoed across the hall, admonished by a thousand echoes. Behind the silences he caught the treble murmurs of responses. Mind is a function of the brain. But what tricks the brain can play. A breath, a whisper, an odor, or a remembered cadence is all the stimulus needed to touch it off, like a hair trigger. Oliver, as he sat down in the office to wait for Vachen, was a boy of fourteen again. With a sigh he brought himself back to the present. He could see the whole street from the window. It was really two streets, North and South, as they builded in the old days. It had its double row of elms, with wide parking, and the air was hazy and filled with the incense of the fall burning of leaves. The houses, with a show of anti- quarian pride, wore dates instead of num- bers. They had picket fences that rose in swift little curves to gateposts. He wondered which was her gate, where the old man had come back to say good-by a second time. Vachen was a small man, with a bulging bald brow and dark blue eyes and the shy smile of an ascetic caught thinking of worldly things. Studying him now, after a long separation, Oliver found himself again wondering what was the secret of this man’s marvelous success with boys. “Who is Mrs. Culpepper Lea?” asked Oliver. All the welcome and vivacity of an un- expectedly renewed friendship faded out of the expressive face of the head master. “Are you writing again?”’ he asked. “No,” said Oliver. He explained that he had stopped writing thrillers years ago, at the gentle request of the police; he had grown too realistic, and crooks had plagi- arized his fiction, even to the point of murder. “That poor unfortunate,” said Vachen, ‘is being studied like a bug under a bell jar. What is that dreadful fascination about murder that makes the public so demand- ing? The appetite must be there, else the editors would not go on soiling white pa- per. They send experts here to see her. It seems, no savant, no matter how distin- guished, can resist their blandishments. They get to her by the most ingenious means. Why? Simply because she is a woman in agony whom they wish to dissect in public. It is like those creatures who slice off a monkey's brain bit by bit, heal up the wound, and study the reactions, the reflexes. Why, even the playwrights come March 25,1929 here! Ravel came to me the other day and asked me if I couldn’t scheme some way of getting her to luncheon with him, where he could study her as he carved. I said, ‘ Ravel, can’t you invent enough horror for your clientele without getting the real thing to pose for you?’ He said, ‘There is nothing like the real thing.’ And now, you, Oliver, come! What do you want?” He turned away, somewhat abashed at the heat of his outburst, gazing moodily out of the window. “There she is now,” he said, nodding to indicate a woman passing down the street slowly, with two half-grown children, her arms resting lightly on their shoulders. Something in the composition of the pic- ture suggested to Oliver the line, ‘She wrought needlework, and kept the house”’ the matron deified, in a word. ““Was he a man to shoot himself with his own gun?”’ he asked. “The missing pistol, you mean.” “Ts “*Have they found that?” “Yes, within ten feet of where they found him,” said Oliver. The woman turned in at a gate below; the children went on, walking backward and still talking and calling to her as long as they were in sight. “So that’s what they are driving at,” muttered Vachen. “That's why they keep it alive, day after day! The innuendo has always been there, of course. But they have never dared to come out with it in so many words. I wondered why they clung to it so desperately.” *‘Drama,” said Armiston. ‘‘That’s why Ravel came here. The public is a child. It likes pictures. Anything that makes pic- tures. This crime is a picture at every turn—the old man clutching his brief case he invited attack, by the very means he used to avert it!—-his career! His face—he looked like a somebody! The public likes its tragedians to look like somebody! His name-— where did he get it? It’s too good a name to own without some explanation. His wife—she’s beautiful. That’s enough. Why, if one of us writers is fortunate enough to pick out some combination of romance, mystery and adventure that has a new twist to it, the reading public rewards us with a fortune. They read through dozens of editions; they visualize it on the screen; they bring it to life on the stage! And when these same rare elements combine in real life, they keep it going as long as they can. That's the real thing—-as Ravel says.” “*That will be printed—about the gun?” Oliver let a pause intervene before his an- swer. Then he said quietly: ‘‘Not if we can help it. That’s why I am here.” ***We’'?”’ demanded Vachen. ‘‘ Who are ‘we’?”’ Oliver told him in detail, painting it at its blackest. There was a pause. **What’s wrong with the picture?”’ asked Armiston, watching him. “It’s too subtle,” said Vachen. ‘‘The big scene is founded on a mathematical ab- surdity. Here, let me show you!” He took up a stick of chalk, and with a single sweep of his arm drew such a circle as Michelangelo might have drawn. He in- dicated the center with a cross. “That's the location of the exploding pistol, on a horizontal plane,”’ he said. “‘It has 360 degrees of choice—that is, it can fly in any direction from the recoil. If it falls in the water—flies in that direction it will never be found. So, at least, we will argue for the moment! Well, what chance is there of its falling into the water? About ten degrees of arc, isn’t it?’’ He struck a geometrical chord across a segment of his circle. “Thirty-five to one against its falling into the water,”’ said Oliver. ‘‘That’s a little better than one shot at roulette.” ““Wait!’’ said the head master. ‘‘That’s only as regards the plane. Now, how about (Continued on Page 69) ements TESST. o Sen Se

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oO sie THE SATURDAY EVENING POST RON MONSTER a “ * “, 3g) “vacuum cleans” the roadbed . . for the smooth, swift run of the trains LIKE A GIANT BULLFROG, it hunches itself along the railroad track, gobbling up stones. [t's more talented by far than Mark Twain’s famous *Dan‘l,”’ which, brim-full of shot, could scarcely **h’ist his shoulders.” If you caught a glimpse of this strange monster through the window of a Pennsylvania train, it might look to you like some prehistoric animal. You would never think of it as affecting your es own comfort. Yet its “*mighty gobbling” is one of the chief reasons why you ride so smoothly. As this huge machine moves steadily along the track, it scoops up the stones which ballast the roadbed. It shakes and sifts them clean of dirt. It dumps them ovt again and smooths them to the proper level . all in one operation! Stone ballast must be most carefully cleaned and laid. Otherwise it would not drain well. Soft spots in the track would result; and these would tend to increase the swaying and vibration of moving cars. Clean, well-laid ballast means com- fort in riding. Until a few years ago, ballast clean- ing was slow and difficult work. It involved several separate operations. Now, after years of research and experimentation, this new machine moves over the rails, cleaning and re-laying the ballast in one continuous operation—and doing it at the rate of 1,200 feet an hour! DAY AND NIGHT, over 30.000 Maintenance of Way men are working to perfect and condition the Pennsylvania’s roadbed. In 1928, the pur- chase of 300,000 tons of steel rails was author- ized—and 260,000 tons more in 1929. Much of this huge purchase is used for replacing the present heavy rails with yet heavier ones, so that the trains may glide even more smoothly . . . Like the Pennsylvania’s whole army of 176,000 em- ployees, the Maintenance of Way men are united in an effort to reach ever better standards of service. Leaders of the largest fleet of trains in America BROADWAY LIMITED New York and Chicago—20 hours THE AMERICAN St. Louis and New York—24 hours LIBERTY LIMITED Chicago and Washington — 19 hours CONGRESSIONAL LIMITED Washington and New York— 4% hours THE RED ARROW Detroit, Toledo, Cleveland and the East CINCINNATI LIMITED Cincinnati and New York —18 hours PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD Carries more passengers, hauls more freight than any other railroad in America

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66 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 25, 1929 The Greater Hudson Five -Passenger Sport Phaeton 92 Horsepower—above S80 miles an hour

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 87 oe 3 ¥ A V2 4 * ) til | es Pride of ownership.. the highest award All motordom joins in awarding first place to the 64 Improvem ents in cl ude Greater Hudson, but of special significance is the we. Super-Six owners everywhere lead the There are 64 improvements in the Greater Hudson and acclaim. = —— ee ee standard equipment includes: 4 hydraulic two-way shock absorbers—electric gas and oil gauge on dash—radiator Never before was this pride of ownership so pro- 4 nounced and so deserved. ‘Thousands upon shutters—double action 4-wheel brakes—saddle lamps — | | thousands, fresh from examining and driving the windshield wiper—rear view mirror—electrolock—con- latest cars of the day, declare the Greater Hud- trols on steering wheel—all bright parts chromium plated. son the supreme performer of their experience. a They compare its beauty, luxury and /vesse in body detail only with the costliest cars. Through- The Greater Hudson is Furnished in Fourteen Body Types out its brilliant performance range there is effort- on Two Chassis Lengths less ease. There is no motor labor—no sense of AND UP... the mechanical. And its riding ease, they declare, is scarcely conscious of the road, whether in sI@ F city travel or fast going over country highways. AT FACTORY SS eer

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Fi as many miles as the average owner will drive his car, this tire will carry him the whole distance, leaving plenty to spare. The tradition at Conshohocken, of thoroughness and pains- taking care, makes possible this new product of LEE craftsmen’s art—the Super De Luxe. Punctures are almost impossible, so thick is the tread. Protection against skidding is assured to the highest degree because of the deep-cut tread design. Your rid- ing comfort is greater because of the special construc- tion of the side walls. Tread, breaker, cushion, side walls and bead are incom- parable units. Assembled they produce a perfectly bal- anced tire, which we are quite confident is not equalled by any other tire in the world. Think this over. Have the LEE dealer equip your car with these LEE " Supers.”” Then on your way—feeling confident that you have made the best tire investment of your life. GENERAL OFFICES: CONSHOHOCKEN, PA., U. S. A. Factories: CONSHOHOCKEN, PA., and YOUNGSTOWN, OHIO March 25,1929 f -— oe

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(Continued from Page 64) the sphere? It must also pick out a verti- cal arc, to fly between the bottom of the billboard and the ground. Another ten de- grees of arc. Imagine a window in a sphere, ten degrees wide and ten high. What proportion does the window bear to the en- tire surface of the sphere? That’s your problem.’’ He made some rapid calcula- tions. “About one in four hundred,” said Vachen. ‘Does it strike you that a sane man would deliberately plot suicide, to make it look like murder, with that chance against him? The recoil must throw it into the water to make his purpose effective. Thrown in any other direction, it must surely have been found. And it was his gun. There is no doubt about its being his gun! Now, assuming that he was mur- dered ———”’ “Wait just a minute,”’ interposed Oliver. His mind had suddenly taken to leaping forward; it was registering decisions of its own, irrespective of his conscious volition. He stared for some time at Vachen without seeing him. Then he took a package out of his ulster pocket. It was the gun, the duel- ing pistol, with its muzzle blown away by the same charge that sent Culpepper Lea to his doom. “There is the whole story!’’ Oliver said. He almost shouted it. He took up the tele- phone and called Parr by long-distance. “‘Pretty soon, ain't it?’’ said Parr cheer- fully. ‘‘Not for us,” said Oliver. ‘‘Chief, were there any other wounds on him?” ‘“‘No. Only the one. You could pass a hat through that.” “His hands were all right?”’ ““Yes—y-yes,”’ muttered Parr, beginning to get something. “‘Are you sure? Are you sure?”’ Oliver pressed it home. “‘Parr!”’ he cried. “Any charge big enough to blow the muzzle off this gun would blow off the finger that pulled the trigger!’’ There was a silence. “Do you get me, Parr?” “Abso——”” The deputy’s voice trailed off queerly. Oliver recognized the symp- tom—he had seen the brain of the great man hunter come to with a jolt many a time. ‘“‘Wait a minute!’’ rumbled Parr’s voice in the telephone. Oliver chuckled. “‘Morel!’’ yelled the deputy. The voice came to the phone as if being shouted through a metal tube. Oliver could hear Morel’s heel taps as he hurried into the room, a hundred miles away. “ Morel,” Parr was saying, “‘we’ve got the guy that croaked Lea. Part of his gun hand was torn off with the same shot. No man could have fired that gun without losing some skin. Start a rabbit drive! Draw a big circle, taking in Connecticut as far east as New Haven. Canvass every doctor, every hos- pital, every emergency dressing station. Look for a man with a torn hand on that day. Go to it!” The heel taps started again, diminished, ceased, the door shut. “Hello, Oliver! Are you there? What is it? What were you saying? Excuse the interruption.” “That's about it, I guess, Parr,” said Oliver. “Yes! I’m firing my pistol expert! I don’t know but I’d better fire myself! How’d it come to you? Just one of your thinks?” “Yes. Wait just a minute! Hold the wire.” Vachen’s hand was on Armiston’s arm, two fingers digging in. Oliver leaned to- ward him, and Vachen whispered for sev- eral seconds. “Parr, he’s probably left-handed,”’ said Oliver. ‘“‘I mean the wound would be on the left hand.” ‘*What’s that? Come again on that!” “The house was robbed two nights previ- ously.”’ Oliver nodded at Vachen as he spoke again into the phone. Vachen trem- bled with suddenly roused excitement. Oliver was thinking what a queer way mur- derers have of leaving a broad wake of coincidence trailing along behind. Why did

THE SATURDAY this murderer pick out a town where Oliver Armiston happened to have for a friend a mathematically minded and otherwise in- volved person such as Arthur Vachen? “The house was robbed two nights previ- ously,”’ said Oliver. **We knew that,” said Parr. “Well, here’s something you didn’t know,” said Oliver: ‘‘Entrance was ef- fected through a high ventilating window in a rear hall leading to the library. This window was accessible to a nimble man on the outside by ascending a drain pipe some eight feet up, and working with his left hand. He took out a pane of glass and reached in to unlock the window. He put the glass back again when he went out. He had to hang on with his right hand, as the drain pipe was two feet to the right of the window. Actually there were boot scratches on the paint below that window and gouges in the frame.” But Parr was not listening. He had sum- moned Morel again. The telephone at Oliver’s elbow was repeating like a loud- speaker. “*Morel, here’s the lay: This fellow has been tailing Lea for some time,” said Parr, the metallic accents heard in every corner of the office. ‘‘ He wasn’t taking any chance. There wasn’t any hurry. He could take his time, think it out. Maybe, like some of the rest of us, he was too wise! First, the ques- tion as to the location—where he'd plug him. He was probably a sneak working around a bank. That’s where he'd pick up Lea—not much chance to knock him off there. So he takes to tailing him. This vacant lot looks good. He decides on that. He sits and waits for things to break right. They don’t come. There are always people going back and forth through that lot at the time Lea comes and goes. This gives him an idea! Remember, he’s thought too much already! A flash comes to him! Why not make it sure, with Lea’s own gun—if he’s got a gun? Then there will be no ques- tion, no pursuit! Great! We trail Lea home again. We climb up the drain pipe, take out a pane of glass. . . . We forgot to look at that. That’s one on you, Morel. And lo and behold! We find the gun with its twin, the old dueling pistols! Just what we want! We will shoot and leave the gun on the job. Not a chance in the world of its failing. But we make one mistake. We overload the gun, not knowing much about muzzle loaders. It’s blown out of our hand, maybe taking a finger or two with it. But it falls in the water, where we can’t get it. But we make our get-away with the loot. Of course we had no way of knowing that steam dredge would come along later and dip up the gun the first dip. If we did know it we’d say, ‘Fine! That’s all right! There's your suicide!’ Morel, forget about your hospitals! Whom have we got wise enough todothat job in just that way?’”’ There was a telephonic pause. Oliver and Vachen waited breathlessly. Morel was mentally going over his catalogue of ex- perts. ‘“*Southpaw Jake, the Crippler, gets wise like that sometimes,”’ said Morel. ‘‘And Lefty Steulan ———”’ They had forgotten all about Oliver now, left the phones hanging loose. They were now basically policemen going over their lists of crooks who could do this, crooks who could do that, crooks who could do some- thing else. Crooks always left their ear- marks on a job. When a big crime broke, Parr would chuckle and send out for Mike this, Jake that, or Bill something else, and say, ‘This looks like your job! Show me you didn’t do it.”” That’s what Parr would be doing in this case—sending out for cer- tain left-handed crafty members of the thieves’ fraternity, to count their fingers, to ask them where they were on the afternoon of October eighth, when Culpepper Lea was done in. Police business is very simple with a lead or two to go on. Morel’s voice dropped to a lower level of audibility; the metallic echoes became more pronounced. Oliver knew what he was doing. He was going over a rogues’-gallery section that hung against one wall. He suggested one

EVENING POST All the

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ads THE like " wear Yon Only 50¢ a pair for Tron Clads Ko. 480! Attractive medium- weight combination weave with reinforced garter top and foot for extra wear, Iron Clads No. 480 come in navy and wine, Russian tan and white, light grey and tan—sizes 9 to 12. Ask your dealer for Iron Clads. If he can’t supply you, send us his name with your remit- tance and we'll mail your hose direct, post- age prepaid. ndividuality ... coupled with taste makes a well-dressed man. Yet even care- ful dressers must be wary when choosing fancy pattern socks. So slight a difference may divide good taste from bad. Be- wildered men are apt to buy a sock they'll hesitate to wear a second time. Individuality and taste are coupled in Iron Clads. There is a full line of attractively patterned, con- servatively colorful socks to choose from at Iron Clad dealers. Deliberately selected color combina- tions, skilfully worked out designs and carefully wo- ven fabrics contribute to the smartness of a sock that “wears like iron.” Satis- factory service or a new pair of socks is guaranteed. COOPER, WELLS & COMPANY 212 Vine Street, St. Joseph, Michigan lron Clad SATURDAY EVENING POST after another. Some Parr accepted, some he rejected. Oliver hung up. He turned to Arthur Vachen with a smile and a little c’est ca gesture. “It’s solved,” he said. “I don’t follow,” said the head master. “You - vit “Arthur, it was your iteration of that word ‘recoil,’”’ said Oliver. He picked up the gun. “‘Look at it! The charge that blew off that muzzle blew off a trigger fin- ger too! There isn’t a mark on Lea’s hands. Arthur, if I should ask you to send me, from among your graduates, a dozen boys who could do a hundred yards in ten seconds, you could do it, couldn’t you?”’ “Well, say ten and two-fifths, yes,”’ said Vachen. “That’s what Parr is doing right now,” said Oliver. ‘‘He says, ‘Bring in all the crooks slick enough to cover a stickup to make it look like suicide.’ There are not many crooks wise enough. Not many of them would take the trouble. You know which of your boys could fill a certain job. Parr knows which of his crooks could have done a certain job. There you are!” Vachen nodded vaguely. “‘Meantime, there is the certainty—we say—of the hand—the left hand—be'ng hurt. At this moment the telegraph type- writer is going in every police station in every city, town and village in Connecticut, asking for a report on all men with injured hands, as of that date. It’s not a goose chase. A few days ago a man was killed by a hit-and-run driver. A day later the police, going from garage to garage, found | the car over in Long Island City. A button off the dead man’s coat was found wedged inthe headlight clamp. That's police work.”’ “*You believe they will get him?”’ “Knowing this man Parr, yes,’’ said | Oliver. “‘Lea’s coming back that morning a second time’’—there was a frightened look in Vachen’s eyes— ‘‘I must confess 7 “That was probably what your behavior- ist will call a conditioned reflex,” said Oli- ver with a smile. ‘“‘ Maybe she dressed her hair differently that morning, or wore something new, or maybe the sunlight made her seem especially pretty when he looked back. Coming on top of murder, it, of course, started that bright young March 25,1929 insurance investigator off on a tangent. It did me!” ‘We'll go over to the house,” said Arthur Vachen, getting up. “For just a moment,” said Oliver. “Pre- sent me merely as an old college mate.”’ She seemed waiting at the door, and when Vachen got down at the gate she came out. “‘This is the man,” said Vachen proudly, “the police stopped writing thrillers be- cause he got too good. Don’t you recollect how we used to devour him? He’s passing through. I just wanted you to see him. He’s coming back to talk to my boys.” And that was all of what originally was to have been a momentous interview. Three days later when a score of “‘wise’’ crooks— some with bandaged hands—had been led before Parr and rejected, there came the one whom, strangely, Morel had named first—Southpaw Jake—Jake the Crippler! He had disappeared from his usual haunts not a good sign for Jake. They found him in Albany and brought him in. He had a bad case of infection in his left hand. But he came in jauntily enough—knowing, of course, in his wise way, that he wasn’t there to be asked about the Lea killing. Parr chuckled at sight of him. He opened a drawer and took out the gun and slammed it down on the table. Jake the Crippler froze in his tracks. Now he had the eyes of a trapped rat. “Would you believe it, Jake?” cried Parr, sudden ferocity in his eyes. ‘‘A steam shovel came along and dug it out of the mud for us, without even being asked. How do you think we got you?” Jake the Crippler shook his head. He was coming to again. “I said,” said Parr, “‘‘ Bring in the wisest crook in the business! It takes a man with brains to think of that stunt!’”’ “It was clever, wasn’t it?” cried Jake, beaming. ‘‘ You know, chief, I laid awake nights thinking it out!” “The breaks were against you, Jake,” said Parr, his eyes perceptibly narrowing. “Yeah. You can’t beat the breaks,” said Jake. They led him away. The loot was lo- cated, through his confession, in the pos- session of a notorious fence. Practically all the securities were unregistered and would have been lost. They could easily have been sold, when the furor died down, at market price. ORAWN BY MIKE’ ANGELO *“*Lay Off, Spike! We Can't Rob This Bank; I'm the Heaviest Depositor Here’’ SS ee

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a ~ SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES (Continued from Page 30) I saw his book the other day, on the par- lor table of Mrs. Allyn Smythe. I, too, ca- ressed the tree-calf binding and admired the vermilion and black of the title page and the copper-cut cherubs above the dedi- cation. I did not read the Rev. Cornelius van Steenkirke’s message on the Means of Grace and the Hope of Glory. The rest of the book is a receptacle for cigarettes. “Tt is the latest Parisian novelty,” said Mrs. Allyn Smythe. GLORY Fearless Francois Beaudoin and bold Joe Froissart were the bravest loggers in the North Country. For this reason they were chosen by the great moving-picture corporation to ride logs down the rapids of the Ticotimi River. Shouting and singing, they mounted the log jam, pried the key logs loose and, when the jam broke, waved their hooks with a cheer and let the current take them over the treacherous rapids. The onlookers held their breath at such audacity; the cameras clicked. The wise . old sages of the North Country shook their heads with foreboding; and justly, too, for fearless Francois Beaudoin and bold Joe Froissart, thirsting for glory, took the wild- est chances and fell in and were drowned. Their gallantry was to be embodied in a film entitled Passions of the Snow. Mari- ette, the lovely half-breed, was wooed by Denis the Dreamer, who had invented a device for abolishing static from the radio. But as Denis is dreaming—a scene of Denis dreaming and playing his accordion under that aurora borealis—Jacot the Bull steals his invention and Marie and makes off. Jacot mocks his captive; most of the rest of the film depicts her futile efforts for re- venge, expressed in remarkable contortions of face and figure. At length Denis over- takes them; Jacot mocks Denis and breaks his accordion. In the night Marie steals Jacot’s revolver and plants it on his fore- head. Jacot wakes and mocks her. The revolver drops from her nerveless hand, for no assassin in cinema history has been able to pull the trigger when his victim is smiling. And all the hate in her heart yields to a greater emotion. I mean love. She falls in his arms. As the wild ride of fearless Francois and bold Joe Froissart had not shown up very well, it was omitted. Morris BIsHoP. Nasty Cracks OW like our luckless city streets The absurd lives of men! We build them up and smooth them down And make them perfect; then We seize the pick of restlessness And tear them up again. Men give their regard and their deepest respect To the dignified bird with the big intellect; But they save up their votes and their hearti- est cheers For the versatile guy who can wiggle his ears. In olden days an insult Meant a duel and a death; Today, if it resulted In a fight to get insulted, The haggard undertaker man would sweat himself to death. Men publish the death of some outlaw notorious In page upon page of Boloney uproarious ; But should I succumb to some fatal infection, They'd give me two lines in the Classified Section. I think, were I a preacher, I would never mention hell ; For if you have to scare a sinner into heaven well, Perhaps he'll make the grade If he gets an awful scare, But he'll make a rotien angel when he does get there. —Lowell Otus Reese. The Passionate Leopard to His Love OME live with me and change your spots ; I love you lots and lots and lots ; Together, through the fields we'll skip, Lippity-lip, lippity-lip. And I will chase you down the dale, And we will twist each other's tail Why live in single jeopardy? Let's just be warm and leopardy. Ah, safe from men and hunters’ clubs, We'd dwell in peace and raise our cubs, Our only fear would be, I wist, Some ardent leopardopterist. Tucked in our cozy jungle lair, We'd lead a life beyond compare. I love you long and deep and hard; Come live with me and be my pard. Norman R. Jaffray. na ner 7“ RAWN BY OONALD MOKEE Impression Retained by a Pair of Parents of Their Visit to a Coeducational University THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 71 Enjoy your favorite tobaces as never before— ce , a sweet smoke through a dry pipe?” Have you opened a package of your favorite tobacco and whiffed its aromatic fragrance? It smelled so good because it was so fresh, so clear But have you crammed this fresh tobacco into your pipe-— and lighted up -and wondered where the fragrance had gone? Your pipe was clogged, dirty, and robbed you of the smoking pleasure the man ufacturer had put into your favorite tobacco. Rich aroma, rare fra grance never came through to you. The smoke had lost its coo! fresh ness in the bitter shank Enjoy a sweet, fragrant smoke through a clean, dry pipe. Hesson Guard* —exclusive Demuth feature —takes care of that. This pipe is unlike any you have ever smoked —cleaner, sweeter, cooler, hand somer. A treat awaits you. Wm. Demuth & Co. Established 1862, New York, London, Chicago, San Francisco. Demut 1 Maling with the? Hesson Guard $3.50 atented 12-22-25 Thi Pipx Says Suvet 4 Handsom Pipx TI patented Hesson Guard—exclu Dx dD h Mil condens eliminates the causes of shank bitterness. The for the pipe must keep sweet and dry ] i t k x

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esl sawn — THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23, 1929 _ ‘THIS ONLY SAYS WHAT NEARLY EVERYONE KNOWS The blunt, uncompromising truth is that if you want the superlative type of performance which Cadillac and La Salle provide, you cannot If all the millions which the Cadillac Motor Car Company and General Motors have expended in developing the closest, finest, highest type of precision manu- facturing in the world did not show itself in performance—it would be love's labor lost. But it does demonstrate itself with immediate emphasis. All you need do is to drive some car aspiring to compete with Cadillac and La Salle—and then turn to the latter. The contrast will prove so startling as to be unanswerable. The moment you step into a Cadillac ora LaSalle and drive away—you know that there are hours and days and months and years of supremest satisfaction ahead of you which no other cars can yield. The difference is perhaps more obvious get it except in Cadillac and La Salle. today than ever before. For there are embodied in the newest Cadillacs, La Salles, and Fleetwoods on these chassis, exclusive features of safety, performance and driving ease that contribute a measure of enjoyment and freedom of mind surpassing any other conceivable motoring experience. In any driving crisis there is no more vital safety factor than the Cadillac-La Salle Syncro-Mesh Silent-Shift Transmission. It permits quiet, easy, almost instantane- ous shifting of gears—at any speed— without pausing in neutral—and without the slightest suggestion of clashing. The second great safety feature is the Cadillac-La Salle Duplex-Mechanical System of Four-Wheel Brakes. Cadillac believes that there is no comparable brak- ing protection. These brakes are amaz- ingly powerful in action, but require little effort. They respond to the slightest pressure. Only Cadillac and La Salle are equipped with this new braking system. A third great element of safety rests in the fact that all windows, doors and windshields are equipped with Cadillac- La Salle Security-Plate Glass. This means that the Cadillac or La Salle owner may dismiss from his mind all concern about being injured by flying glass fragments. Make the comparison yourself. Drive one of those cars seeking to class itself with Cadillac-La Salle. Then drive a Cadillac or a LaSalle. The conclusion is inescapable. In addition to twenty-three refreshingly beautiful Fisher Bodies for the new Cadillac and the new La Salle, there are fifteen exclusive and exquisite custom-built models, Fleetwood designed and Fleetwood built. é La Salle is priced from $2295 to $2875; Cadillac, from $3295 to $3995; Fleetwood up to $7000 —all prices f. 0. b. Detroit. Cadillac-La Salle dealers welcome business on the General Motors Deferred Payment Plan. CADILLAC MOTOR CAR COMPANY Division of General Motors Corporation Detroit, Michigan Oshawa, Canada CADILLAC-LASALLE FLEETWOOD

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The uniqueness of Cadillac results from those characteristics that have the strongest bearing on all phases of motor car satisfaction: performance that.is unequaled for brilliance, smoothness and flexibility, because only Cadillac-built cars are powered with the 90-degree, )-type, 8-cylinder engine; exclusive features that assure the largest measure of safety and ease obtainable anywhere; and beauty that is beyond compare.

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MOST BALDNESS iS PREVENTABLE ... prove it by using SYSTEMATIC SCALP MASSAGE AND GLOVERS CIENCE has found nothing S to equal Glover’s for falling hair and dandruff. A medical application, not a perfumed lotion. Use it regularly—mas- sage your scalp systematically —and you will win a head of thick lustrous hair. The right way to mas- sage your scalp and care for your hair is explained in this free book. It tells facts about hair troubles and how to overcome them. Write for a copy today. GLOVERS Imperia! HAIR APPLICATION AND MANGE MEDICINE to be followed by a shampoo with GLOVERS MEDICATED SOAP H. CLAY GLOVER CO., Inc. Dept. P.. 119 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. Sales Agents: Harold F. Ritchie & Co., Inc. 40 East 34th Street, New York A Medical Application— not a perfumed Lotion THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE TAUT STRING “No. But he hates to see things shut up. He'd turn it loose. He’s always med- dling. Every time anybody catches any- thing wild he comes nosing around and buys it and lets it go.” “Not,” said Doctor Perkins, “an un- amiable eccentricity.” He drove up to an open gate in a white picket fence and alighted. “I'll be around back,” said the Peddy Orphan. ‘ Whistle or something when you come out.” When Brant emerged from the house he did not whistle, but walked around to the back yard to satisfy his curiosity to see a captive fox. The Peddy Orphan was on her knees before a slatted box exerting her charms of person and of voice on the fright- ened little creature which cowered inside. “You don't seem to be making head- way,” said Brant. “I betcha she could tame him,” said Bert Wiggins. ‘“‘I betcha she could even teach him tricks.” Brant stooped to regard the lithe, hand- some little creature and even essayed some reassuring conversation of his own. But the little fox was not responsive. ‘‘Here comes Mr. Cutcheon now,” said the Peddy Orphan, and Brant looked over his shoulder to see approaching a man whose beard was only grizzled, but whose hair was snowy white. This struck him as odd. The man walked with sturdy step and erect shoulders. His face was notable, ar- resting, and the brown eyes, though melan- choly, were lively with kindliness. “Poor little creature,” said Mr. Cutch- eon, and then he noticed the doctor. “You are Doctor Perkins, are you not?” “None other,” said Brant; “and you are Mr. Cutcheon.” “It’s worse,”’ said Mr. Cutcheon, “than if he were human. He can't be made to understand. At one moment he has the liberty of the whole world; at the next he is shut in a box without room to stir! All the forest and the mountains to run in, and then a few feet of space behind bars! It is a dreadful thing to be shut behind bars, doctor, even if you comprehend the reason for it.” “ Dreadful, indeed,” said Brant. “Away from the air and the sunshine, away from the roads and the fields and the hills! To know there are illimitable reaches free to the feet of man or beast, but to be shut in narrow confines by the will of some- one or something in authority! To me, doc- tor, it is unbearable. . . . Bert, the little fellow is frightened and unhappy.” ““Cal'late he’s scairt, Mr. Cutcheon. But I wouldn't hurt him. I hain’t cruel to animals.” Mr. Cutcheon shook his head gravely. “IT know, Bert. I know. But there is a suf- fering that is not of the flesh and a cruelty that is not of the hand. I hope you are go- ing to let me buy him so that I may let him go.” “*Tain’t everybuddy ketches a fox,”’ said Bert. “They're hard to capture, aren’t they? Very hard. Because they prize their liberty. It was clever of you to catch him, Bert, and so you're entitled to put quite a price on him. What do you say?” “IT dunno. I kind of want to keep him.” “No, you don’t either, Bert Wiggins,” said the Peddy Orphan. ‘How'd you like to be shut in a box? And he’ll only die or | something. . . . Mr. Cutcheon, Bert’ll sell | him for ten dollars.” “I dunno,” said Bert hesitantly. “Ten dollars is a heap,”’ said the Peddy Orphan. “Willing to go that high, Mr. Cutcheon?” “The price is reasonable.” “*T guess it’s a deal,” said Bert, whereupon the transaction was consummated and property passed. “Oh,” said the Peddy Orphan, “I want to see him set free. Doctor, you take the box in your car, and Mr. Cutcheon and I will go along. Where’d you catch him, (Continued from Page 21) Bert; so we can set him loose near his home?” “Jest beyond the fork of the brook,” said Bert. They carried the crate to the car and dis- posed it in the tonneau. The Peddy Orphan crowded in beside the fox while Mr. Cutch- eon sat beside the doctor. “Keep your fingers out of the cage,” counseled Brant. The Peddy Orphan sniffed. Then, after a moment’s silence, she asked, “‘Who was that policeman-looking man that went into your office this afternoon?”’ “You've sharp eyes,” said Brant. “TI need them,”’ she said. ‘‘ Who was he?”’ “A policeman,” said Brant tantalizingly. “*What did he want with you? What’s he doing in Kidder’s Dam?” “‘He’s on business,”’ said Brant. “What business? You might as well tell me, because I'l] find out. I always find out whatever I set my heart on.” Mr. Cutcheon chuckled. ‘“She’s right there, doctor. You can’t keep things from her.” “He is looking,”’ said Doctor Perkins, “for an escaped convict.” “Here? In our town! When did he es- cape? What's his name? Why does this policeman think he’s here?” “He escaped,” said Brant, “‘twenty years ago.” Something tinkled to the floor of the car. It was Mr. Cutcheon’s spectacles, which he had been wiping upon his handkerchief. But he made no movement to pick them up. Brant glanced at his face. It was very still, even the eyes were still and somehow sight- less; staring ahead with a strange fixity. Suddenly he sighed and relaxed. “Twenty years,” he said softly —so softly that Brant believed the words to be spoken to himself and not for other ears to hear. “Twenty years is a very long time.” “And here,” said Brant, “is the brook.” They unloaded the crate, knocked off the slats and stepped back a short distance. The little prisoner cowered, hesitated to be- lieve that these human creatures meant him well, could not credit this miracle of liberty. Then there came a flash of red and the woods had received its own again. Mr. Cutcheon smiled, not joyously but tremu- lously. “Probably,”’ said the Peddy Orphan, “‘when he tells Mamma and Papa Fox and the little foxes about this, they won’t be- lieve a word of it. He'll go through life with a bad reputation for story-telling.” “And now,” Brant said, “I'll drive you home and get back to my whoopers.” “You may let me out at Mr. Cutcheon’s,”’ said the Orphan. “I've fish to fry in that vicinity.” Mr. Cutcheon lived in one of those little acute-roofed houses of modified Swiss archi- tecture which testified to the striving after beauty by the early 80’s. It faced the river under its huge maples, and gave to the beholder an impression of coolness, of quiet, but most of all, of extreme neatness. As the cart stopped at the door, the man who grubbed in a flower bed stood erect and glanced toward them. Brant had to look twice at Mr. Cutcheon in the seat beside him in order to convince himself that his passenger had not escaped by some miracle and reached home before them. It is true the hair of this second Cutcheon was not so white as his brother’s, but otherwise they were as alike, by nature and because of a deliberate striving to be alike, as it is pos- sible for two human creatures to be. Their clothing was identical; they must have cut their hair and trimmed their beards at the same time and polished their shoes within seconds of each other. Never had Doctor Perkins encountered elderly twins who were at such pains to maintain a resemblance. “‘One can see you and your brother are twins,”’ said Brant. “But,” said Mr. Cutcheon, “‘we are not. I am a year older than John.” March 25,1929 Then why, thought Brant, this meticu- lous care to maintain identity of appear- ance? It was to be understood in twins, for it is impressed upon them in babyhood by parents who dress them alike and seem to take pleasure in the inability of outsiders to tell them apart. It was an eccentricity to be noted and pondered over when shared by brothers of different ages. Brant shook hands with John Cutcheon, said good-by to James and the Orphan, and went back to finish his rounds. As he drove past the post office he saw Detective Pond leaning against the doorway, smoking a placid cigar and basking in the sunshine. Massive and slow and somehow inexorable the man appeared. There was an air of in- evitability about him. Brant could imagine him staying in Kidder’s Dam, unhurried, patient, for years, for decades, until his mission was accomplished. a ETECTIVE POND seemed to have elected the post office as a logical van- tage point from which to pursue his investi- gations. Doctor Perkins never passed that edifice without seeing the broad figure of the officer lounging against the wall, chewing the end of an expired cigar and watching the sparse traffic with disinterested eye. After some ten days of this sort of thing, the doctor stopped as he went in for his mail and approached the detective. “It’s a nice post office,” he said. “I'm getting fond of it,” replied Mr. Pond. ‘‘ Never met a post office was easier to lean against.” “Detective methods interest me. Are you, perhaps, covered with some sticky sub- stance, as fly paper, and will the fugitive presently light on you? Or what is the idea?”’ “I never have many ideas,”’ said Mr. Pond. “I just wait.” “It saves wear and tear, but does it get results?” “It’s kept my job for me. Detectives,” he said, “‘don’t catch criminals. Nope. Criminals mostly fix it up so detectives will have to catch em. Funny that way. Some- thing always cracks. I just stand around kind of public so the criminal "ll know I’m after him, and it worries him a sight. He gets fidgety. Then he does something fool- ish and I got him. Matter of nerves. He’s worried—TI ain’t. That’s all there is to it.” “Then you’re making no actual prog- ress?”’ ““Why you so interested?”’ “‘T’ve started the story, so I like to know how it comes out.” ““Huh. Mebbyso; mebby not. But I can tell you this, doctor. I’m eliminating.” “Splendid. And when everybody is elim- inated but one man, he’s bound to be it.” “‘That’s the idea. So far I’ve eliminated a heap. It ain’t anybody that’s come here the last year. I got ’em all checked off. Nor the year before. It ain't anybody under fifty years old. It ain’t anybody with blue eyes. It ain't anybody with clubfeet or that’s five-foot-two high. In fact, doctor, there ain’t upwards of twenty-thirty men in town it can be. Kind of narrowed down.” “But,” said Brant, ‘“‘suppose you narrow down to three, or possibly two. It gets hard then, doesn’t it? How’ll you pick your man, and when you've picked him, how’ll you prove it?” ““Mebby by a strawberry mark on his el- bow,” said Mr. Pond. **D'ye know,” said Brant, “I’m more in- terested to find out who wrote that anon- ymous letter and why, than I am in the identity of your escaped convict.” Detective Pond raised his eyes slowly to the doctor’s and blinked three times before he replied. ‘‘Seems as though I'd rather not know that—if I was an outsider. Detec- tives have to know such things. Me—you couldn’t hire me to know ’em, if it wasn’t part of my job. They make me shiver.” (Continued on Page 79) — - eS ee ee =m, = See a SS ert TS I

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(Continued from Page 74 “‘So a detective may be human after all?” “Not,” said Mr. Pond, “during business hours.” Brant drove back to his office, where he found half a dozen patients awaiting him, among them a wizened old man with’ ex- traordinarily white teeth and small, sharp eyes of almost obsidian shade. The doctor did not remember having seen him before since his arrival in Kidder’s Dam; a fact which the new patient took for granted. “‘Name’s Peel,” he said. “Rheumatism in the arm.” “Your age, Mr. Peel?”’ “Sixty.” Brant would have guessed him to be eight or ten years older, but wise doctors do not disclose such reflections to their patients. He asked such other questions as were per- tinent and wrote the replies upon a card for filing. ““What’s the detective say?’’ asked Mr. Peel. “Very little.” “He came to see you first.” “So I understand.” “Give him any information?” “‘T had none to give.” “And wouldn't have given it if you had,” said Mr. Peel acutely. “You seem interested in the detective,” said Brant. “Aren't you?”’ countered the old man. “Who wouldn't be? Human nature. All the elements. Mystery, anonymous letter — everything.” “I didn’t know the anonymous letter was common knowledge,”’ said Brant. “I find out lots of things that ain’t com- mon knowledge,”’ said Mr. Peel. “Perhaps you've found out who wrote it, then.” Mr. Peel made no direct answer to this, but he did say something which, when Doc- tor Perkins found time to review the con- versation, he considered to be odd. ‘The convict knows who wrote it,”” he said through thin lips. ‘‘ Hate ain’t so common. You know the man that hates you-—-and why. You know the man that’s got patience to keep you standing on the edge of a preci- pice for twenty years, able to push you off at any second.” “I am unable to understand such a man or such a hate.” Mr. Peel’s obsidian eyes glowed coldly. “Different with me,” he said. “‘ This detec- tive must have it narrowed down. I got it narrowed down myself. Be more fascinat- ing for everybody when it’s pared down to two or three. Imagine the feeling of the convict, doctor, when he realizes this de- tective gets to the point where he knows it’s one of a couple, say; and all he’s got to do is make his identification. Imagine the hours he sits waiting for that identification to be made.”” A narrow tongue flicked out to lick thin, pale lips. “You seem to derive a pleasure from that situation,” said Brant. “It isn’t human beings who are interest- ing,” said Mr. Peel. ‘It’s the fixes they get themselves into.” “Perhaps,” said Brant, ‘‘as a student of human nature, you can tell me why the anonymous letter writer doesn’t make him- self more definite.” “There are different kinds of artists, doc- tor. And this man is an artist. He's build- ing toward a climax. It wouldn’t suit him to have it over with and the convict sent back to prison. That would leave his re- venge hungry. No. He wants to see the noose drawn smaller and smaller and smaller. He wants the suspense. He wants to enjoy those last hours when the detec- tive tries to say it is this man or that man, and finds identification all but impossible. He wants to sit and watch the growing strain on the nerve of his enemy. It’s art.” “Inhuman art,” said Brant. Mr. Peel chuckled. ‘All depends on what seat you sit in,”’ he said. ‘‘So this detective hasn't told you anything?”’ “Nothing.” “All right, doctor. I'll be coming in with this arm every once in a while. If you hear THE SATURDAY anything, let me know. Kind of a welcome diversion—this. Takes my mind off the ache.” “You think a man wrote the letter?”’ ““What woman would employ such art? No. When a woman hates, she is rash. She is not patient. She becomes primitive. You may depend upon it—-a man wrote the letter.” He arose and moved to the door, where he paused and eyed Doctor Perkins oddly. ““Nobody your age,” he said, ‘can under- stand hate.” “But,”’ said Doctor Perkins, ‘‘we can un- derstand love—and I think there is a splen- did love in this matter some place. The love, Mr. Peel, of a man for a man.”’ mi “ITHE detective,” said the Peddy Or- phan—and her eyes were anxious ‘‘has moved.” “Gone away, you mean?’ “Away from the post office,”’ said the girl. ‘‘He’s leaning against a tree across the road from the Cutcheons.” “And what, do you suppose, does that mean?”’ “It means he has narrowed down, until he is sure the convict is either James or John. Oh, doctor, I hope not. They're so quiet and friendly and never disturb any- body or anything. Just two sweet old men.” “In the light of this,’ said Brant som- berly, ‘‘Mr. James’ eccentricity of setting free imprisoned animals becomes signifi- cant.” “Half the time it is Mr. John,” said the , **One as much as the other. And, doctor, have you noticed anything about them the last few days?” “T haven't seen them.”’ “‘Mr. James’ hair is as white as Mr. John's. I saw them in the yard today and I didn’t know which was which.”’ “But will the patient Mr. Pond?” asked Brant. “I don’t believe either of those old men ever stole a thing,’’ said the Peddy Orphan impetuously. “If the detective is right, one of them was convicted and sent to prison. Innocent men are not generally found guilty.” “One could be,”’ said the Orphan. She looked down the street as a broad figure rounded the corner. ‘“‘There comes Mr. Pond now, and I've a notion to give him a piece of my mind.” “Probably,” said Brant, “that would spoil his appetite for the day.” But the Peddy Orphan was not to be de- terred. As Mr. Pond approached them, she confronted him, bristling. “You've got your mind all made up who your convict is,”’ she said, “but it isn’t.” “Your syntax or something is mixed,” said Brant. Mr. Pond smiled. “The sympathy of the public is always with the criminal,” he said. “So,” said Brant, ‘“‘you have finished your elimination.” “Not quite,” said the detective. “‘One more to go out. And the job is only begun. It was easy to get so far. Anybody could do that, with pains and patience. I know, as certainly as I can know anything, that my man is one of the Cutcheon brothers. But which?” “Can you prove it is either?”’ asked Brant. “T will be able to prove to the satisfac- tion of any court that one of those brothers was in the penitentiary twenty years ago. I will be able to trace their movements to this town and give you a history of their lives from the moment they came here until today.” “Then why not make an arrest?"’ asked the doctor. “T can't arrest both of them. One is in- nocent. I can’t arrest two men for one crime, any more than I could arrest a whole city full of men because I knew a criminal was among them.” “I suppose that is true, “What then?” Brant said. EVENING POST “More patience,” said Mr. Pond stolidly. ‘Just now I seem to be slipping backward. I could tell James from John, but now I can't. I've an idea they interchange iden- tities. Who would know? Suppose John says he is James today and tomorrow he is John. Suppose I am able to prove that John is my man. Well, who is going to give me proof of which is John? It’s pretty neat.” “It’s rather more than neat, as I see it,” said Brant. “It is pretty fine. We hear often enough of one man giving his life for | another. It is done. We accept it as a pos- sibility. We realize that human beings will die for each other. But here is something bigger than that.” “What do you mean?” asked the Orphan. “Here,” said Brant, “is one brother who | loves the other so greatly that he lives for him. He gives up his life for him, and all the hopes and possibilities of his life. Think of it. James or John, whichever it is, has given up ambition, love, family, because just this situation may arise. He has given up identity. For twenty years the major busi- ness of his life has been to make himself identical with his brother. That's heroism, Mr. Detective.” “It’s pretty grand,” said Pond, “but it’s to protect a criminal.” “Then,” asked Doctor Perkins, “where do you go from here? How about the writer of your anonymous letter?” “He offers a hope,”’ said Pond. “You know who he is?” “ Naturally,” said the detective. “I know | who he is, just as you guessed my man was one of the Cutcheons. You did, didn’t you?” “There came a time when I feared it,” said Brant. “And,” said the detective, “when Peel left your office the other day with his fake rheumatism, you guessed he was our letter writer.” “*He seemed a likely candidate.” “I wonder,” said the detective, “if Peel knows.” “If he does,”’ said the doctor, ‘“‘he won't tell. Not until he is ready. He’s gloating.” “‘ Kind of fancies the situation, eh? I told you you wouldn't enjoy it if you found who he was. People can be pretty malig- nant, doc. Hate like this isn’t healthy.” ““Why does Peel hate Cutcheon?” The detective frowned. ‘Ordinary rea- sons at the start. Jealousy, girl, the natural exasperation of a small, disagreeable man toward a big, superior man. But not enough there to arouse such a poisonous hatred in the normal mind. There must be something else.” He chewed upon his unlighted cigar. “It’s almost as if Cutcheon had done him a big favor.” Brant chuckled. “‘You do not think highly of human nature,”’ he said. “Don’t you resent anyone being able to do youa favor? Ido. Everybody does. To | do a favor, especially a big one, suggests | superiority. We all hate to be inferior.” “Why,” suggested Doctor Perkins, “don't you confront them?” “Considering it. Time's about ripe.” “Was there,” asked Brant, “any doubt of Cutcheon’s guilt at the time?” “Dead open and shut.” “‘Was the money recovered?” “* Never.” “Then,” said the Orphan, “it wasn't either of the brothers. Even if one of them had done it—for some awful reason— he would have sent it back or given it up. His brother would have made him.” “Um,” grunted Mr. Pond. “That raises a point,” said Brant “Would a man capable of such self-sacrifice as the innocent brother be capable of profiting by a crime? I doubt it. Pond, somehow I'm veering to the Orphan’s no- tion.” “Nonsense. If a decent man—-which this Cutcheon was absconded with money, then it was for a reason. He had to use it. And he did use it. There wasn’t any left to give back.” “A possibility,” said Brant. (Continued on Page 83) Created in 1869 by request of the dental profession, S.S. White Tooth Paste has consistently met every re- quirement for a dentifrice that would clean the teeth, stimulate the gums, purify the breath. Also cleans and deodorizes false teeth without scrateh- ing or injuring rubber or metal parts. Write for fall wice fie tele PREP THE S. $. 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ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST resents the first REFRIGERATOR |. A new small-family model at the very low price of ), chapter has been added to | YJ J 4 small families of America at a price easily the achievements of the engineers and scientists of the General Electric Research Laborato- ries. The same group of men who, after fifteen years of painstaking endeavor, perfected the hermetically sealed mechanism of the General Electric Refrigera- tor, have now designed and built the first all-steel refrigerator cabinet. @, This achievement marks the greatest improvement made during the past 3( years, in the design and construction of household cabinets. It means that new and even greater value has been built into the already unrivaled General Electric Refrigerator. MASS PRODUCTION CUTS THE COST. . After the engineers of General Electric had perfected the de- sign of this all-steel refrigerator, there remained for the manufactur- ing experts an equally important and difficult task. They had to de- sign and build the giant presses which were to cut the steel, bend it into shape and weld together the folded forms. @, General Electrie has made a large investment in new machinery. But it has achieved its purpose. Its aim was, by mass pro- duction, to build the best refrigera- tor ever produced and offer it to the within their reach. Never before has it been possible to build a single refrigerator model in such quantities or by such efficient, economical methods, $215-WITH CONVENIENTLY SPACED PAYMENTS. Proper refrigeration of perishable food 1s vital to the health of the nation. The new all-steel General Elec- tric makes such refrigeration possible for every home. Its price is remarkably low — $215 f.0.b. factory. Only a small down payment is required. The balance can conveniently be paid over a period of time. Just a few dollars a month will do it. FIRST PUBLIC SHOWING MARCH 22nd. The only way to appreciate the durability and the beauty of this refrigerator is to see it. You will then readily understand why General Electric announces it so proudly and why it has been called “the refrigerator of the future.” It will be on display by dealers every- where on and after Friday, March 22 nd. Be sure to be among the first to see it. Write fora descriptive booklet to Section 5-3B Electric Refrigeration Department of the General Electric Company, Hanna Building, Cleveland, Ohio. All steel, with electrically welded joints. Bronze hardware, bolted into the steel, Biack faced door edges, self-closing latch, gliders io protect linoleum....and many other unique features. GENERAL §@ ELECTRIC ALL *STEEL REFRIGERATOR

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82 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 25, 1929 PRaamount THE GREATEST NAME IN ENTERTAINMENT T doesn’t matter if you see a Paramount Picture with sound and talking, or the same picture “silent’’—it’s the last word in en- tertainment. Sound and dialogue are never in Paramount Pictures for their novelty—only for their entertainmentvalues. As Mr. Lasky said recently ““The story has been, is now and will always be the most important thing.” That is why, sound or silent, the Paramount Pictures listed below are the world’s greatest entertainment. PARAMOUNT’S GREAT ALL-TALKING PICTURE with Charles Rogers, Nancy Carroll Jack Oakie, Richard “Skeets” Gallagher and Harry Green. From the story by Elsie Janis and Gene Markey. Directed by John Cromwell and Edward Suther- land. @ All the jazz, joys, heartaches and jealousies of back-stage life in a 100% audible picture, with Charles “Buddy” Rogers, Nancy Carroll and others in the cast, singing and playing. RICHARD DIX in “REDSKIN” Mostly in gorgeous natural colors. With Music Score and Sound Effects. CLARA BOW in “THE WILD PARTY” All-Talking. Now hear as well as see the most popular girl on the screen. EMIL JANNINGS in “BETRAYAL” With Esther Ralston and Gary Cooper. Music Score and Sound Effects. MAURICE CHEVALIER in “INNOCENTS OF PARIS” All-Talking, with Maurice Chevalier, idol of the Paris Music Halls, singing. Sound version only of “Close Harmony” but all other pictures listed and most Paramount Pictures may be seen and enjoyed thoroughly as “silent” entertain- ment. Silent or with Sound, “If it’s a Paramount Picture it’s the best show in town!” ADOLPH ZUKOR,. PRES... PARAMOUNT BLDC a A OO e————————

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; i \ (Continued from Page 79) “T’ll need a witness,” said the detective. “For what?” “When I confront Peel and the Cutch- eons. You'll do.” “Curiosity,” said Doctor Perkins, “is something diet will not reduce. I’ve got to read the last chapter. When?” “T’'ll let you know,” said Mr. Pond. “On one condition,”’ said Brant. “And that?” “Your permission to investigate, and, if possible, verify, certain cock-eyed theories of human nature which I have collected. I bristle with them.” The detective eyed the doctor, blinking mildly. ‘“‘I’ll go you once,” he said, “‘if it loses me my job.” iv IVE men occupied the office of the jus- tice of the peace of Kidder’s Dam, the room having been borrowed for the occa- sion. There sat the Cutcheon brothers and Mr. Peel and Detective Pond and Doctor Perkins, and each of them was grim and self-controlled and silent. The doctor had been last to arrive, and as soon as he took his seat, Detective Pond spoke. “Mr. Peel,” he said, “‘you wrote the au- thorities an anonymous letter stating that Amos French, an escaped convict, was to be found in Kidder’s Dam.” ‘IT neither admit nor deny,”’ said Mr. Peel. “Your name,” said Pond, “is Arthur Whitby. You came to this town within six months of the arrival of the Cutcheon brothers—one of whom is Amos French.” “You are thorough,” said Mr. Peel. “The purpose of this meeting is to con- front you three and to ask you to identify the fugitive. Twenty years have passed. You alone have observed these two men during that time. I take it, you have watched them jealously. They have taken infinite pains to confuse their identities and to cause a similarity of appearance. I ask you now, which man is Amos French?” “T confess,”’ said Mr. Peel, “that I cannot do so.” “Or will not,” said the detective. “Or will not,” agreed Mr. Peel. Neither of the Cutcheons had spoken since their arrival; they sat motionless, with eyes fixed upon the wrinkled face of the man who had sought to betray the one of them who had worn the stripes of prison. Now they did not exhibit relief. **You venture,” said the detective to Mr. Peel, ‘‘to frustrate the claims of justice.” “T have my own ideas of justice.” “*Why do you hate Amos French?” asked the detective. At this point Doctor Perkins spoke for the first time. “‘ He doesn’t hate Amos,” he said quietly. “No?” “He fears him,’’ said Doctor Perkins. Peel's obsidian eyes fixed themselves on the doctor and glowed somberly, calculat- ingly. ‘“‘Why?” asked the detective. ‘‘With ample reason. By the way, Pond, your chronology is wrong.” ‘In what respect?” “*Mr. Peel was the first arrival in our vil- lage. The Cutcheon brothers arrived some months later.” “You are wrong.” “Tamright. . . . AmI not, Mr. Peel?” “‘T am answering no questions.” “Will you answer that question, Mr. Cutcheon?” ‘*We will,” said one of the brothers. ‘‘ Mr. Peel arrived before us.” ‘“*Because,”’ said Doctor Perkins, ‘it re- quired some time for you to trace him, after Amos French escaped. “If,” asked Brant, “‘ Mr. Peel had moved on from here, what would you have done?”’ ‘“We would have followed.” “Did Mr. Peel know this?”’ “He knew it.” ““Hence,” said Brant, ‘‘thefear. . . . Do you regard this point as significant, Mr. Pond?” “It proves nothing. proved itself.” Indeed it is not Mr. Peel shrugged his shoulders. “‘If you are through with me,” he said, “I have business elsewhere.” “You have, indeed,” said Doctor Perkins, “but it can wait. Your theory of the detec- tion of crime, Pond, is that the detective should wait patiently for the criminal to do some foolish act which calls attention to himself.” “‘In my experience it is a proved theory.” “But has Amos French called attention to himself?”’ “No.” “But someone has called attention to himself?"’ “T don’t follow you.” “By writing an anonymous letter,’’ said Doctor Perkins. “Um.” “These foolish acts of the criminal,” Doctor Perkins said, “‘are, I take it, the re- sult of worry. He tries to cover his trail, when no trail is apparent. He reaches a point when he feels he must do something to help himself.”’ “That is the idea.” “) wonder why,” Doctor Perkins said musingly, “it suddenly seemed imperative, after twenty years, for Mr. Peel to write a letter.” “You're off on a tangent,”’ said Pond. **Peel is not the escaped convict.” “That is true. But for the sake of argu- ment, suppose we adopt a far-fetched hy- pothesis—namely, that the escaped convict was innocent, and that his business in life became the search for proof against the guilty. Suppose he ran to earth the man he suspected, and watched that man for twenty years. There would be some little strain, would there not? And worry? And sup- pose that, in the end, it began to seem to the real criminal that his pursuer was nearing his goal! That the escaped convict was growing warm, as the children say in their game? What then? It would account for the foolish act, eh?” “In the supposititious case—yes,”’ said Pond. “That was the way I reasoned,” said Doctor Perkins. ‘It argued the existence of a damning fact.” “Good logic from a hypothetical basis,”’ said the detective. “Very well, then, we have this suppositi- tious damning fact, and we have, seconda- rily, the possibility that Amos French was approaching the spot where this damning fact is hidden. Hence the letter. If French goes back to prison he is disposed of and the hunt is off.” “Your argument breaks down. If this were true, would Peel decline to make identification?” “He would have made it in his letter, had he been able todoso. Mr. Peel, as the rest of us, does not know which is which.” “Possibly. As an exercise in logic you have shown a heap of adroitness, doctor. But the result is nothing but mental gym- nastics. The law deals in facts which can be proved to twelve good men and true.”’ “But my mental gymnastics have made you think. They have made even Mr. Peel think. Twenty years of constant strain wears the self-control very thin. I fancy Mr. Peel’s self-control is near to the snap- ping point. Sitting on a trapdoor waiting THE SATURDAY EVENING POST for it to open under him! Is it hard to keep a grip on yourself, Mr. Peel?” “Nonsense!"’ said the old man huskily, but his obsidian eyes burned with hot fires and his hands gripped together until the knuckles were white Doctor Perkins sat quietly for a minute, two minutes, by actual ticking of the clock. And two minutes of silence seems as if it were an hour. Nobodyspoke. Only silence. Then the doctor got to his feet. “On July tenth,” he said, “‘ you wrote the letter. Amos French was drawing close to his proof. He was about here.” The doc- tor advanced a step as if to illustrate the fact of nearness. ‘That was on July tenth.” He advanced another step. ‘On the twelfth he drew nearer. Did you know that, Mr. Peel? A step nearer? Slow but sure— after twenty years! But always nearer and nearer.”” The doctor advanced slowly by half steps. “Two weeks later he had reached this point—almost within reach. So close, Mr. Peel, that the thing was al- most in reach of his hand. Are you follow- ing me? Are you realizing his inexorable progress— his progress which nothing could stop; now that he was in sight of the goal! Then only by inches and half inches.” Brant moved closer and closer to Peel, by degrees almost imperceptible. ‘“‘ Nearer,”’ he said grimly, “‘and nearer and nearer and nearer.”” Then his voice lifted, almost ex- ploded. “‘Until, yesterday, he arrived!” Now he stood towering over Peel, his finger thrust in the man’s face. “He arrived. His goal was reached. He stretched out his hand and touched and lifted your secret, and it was his. He clutched and held the damning fact.” Peel leaped upward and backward, so that his chair crashed to the floor. He was shaking—a man in pieces. The banjo string had snapped after twenty years of sustained tension and one last, final, sudden turn of the key. “You lie!” hesaid, fumbling at his throat. “He couldn't get it! Nobody could get it! You lie! You lie! He couldn't get into my deposit box!” “Hush, Mr. Peel,” said Brant. “ You're unstrung. But the law can get into your deposit box, I think. How about it, Pond?” “You win,” said the detective, and then: “Gosh, I’m ina tremble myself." He moved | his shoulders as if to ease himself of some- thing pressingly uncomfortable. “ Peel,”’ he | said, “I’m taking you into custody, pend- ing the opening of that box. We'll be going now.” Doctor Perkins sat down and wiped his forehead. Cutcheon brothers. “I'm tired,” he said to the | “We don’t understand,” one of them | said. “‘What has happened?” “The shadow has lifted,” said the doctor and then he chuckled. “And if either of you has a preference for a smooth face, he can shave off his whiskers.” “But, doctor, we have discovered no damning fact. We've searched and searched and kept him under our eyes, but we've | never found “No,” said the doctor. “ But for twenty years he feared you would. Nerves are strange things, but they wear. The proof existed. He knew it. Its possession and your watching ground him day after day, until his foot slipped and he laid himself open to attack at his vulnerable point. I visualized your approach for him. He could see it, feel it. The whole thing was impos- sible under any other hypothesis. Nothing else would make Peel act as he acted; hence, the pyramids. Two things equal to the same thing are equal to each other; a chain is as strong as its weakest link; and human nature is the drollest achievement of Om- nipotence.”’ “But we—my brother and I press our gratitude.”’ “Sorry,” said the doctor, “ but whooping- cough patients are calling me. Listen to their happy, childish voices.” He went hastily to the door. “Tell it to the Peddy Orphan,” he said. “She's hanging around outside for news.” must ex- Hair Neat Rich-looking — Orderly F your hair lacks natural gloss and lustre, or is difficult to keep in place itis very easy to give it that rich, glossy, refined and ... orderly appearance... so essential to well-groomed men. Just rub a little Glostora through your hair . . . once or twice a week. . . oF after shampooing, and your hair will then stay, each day . .. just as you comb it. Glostora softens the hair and makes it pliable. Then—even stubborn hair— will stay in place of its own accord. It gives your hair that natural, rich, well-groomed effect, instead of leaving it stiff and artificial looking as pastes do. Glostora also keeps the scalp soft, and the hair healthy by restoring the natural oils from which the hair derives its health, life, gloss and lustre. Try it!—See how easy it is to keep your hair combed —any style you like —whether brushed lightly or combed down flat. If you want your hair to lie down particularly smooth and tight, after applying Glostora, simply moisten your hair with water before brushing it A large bottle of Glostora costs but a trifle at any drug store. Send This Coupon, Try it FREE | THE R. L. WATKINS COMPANY ‘ | 1276 West 3rd Street, Cleve 10 Picase send me FREE a samy {GLOSTORA all charges paid ; Name | Addre ( a ® ~ «+ \ «

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84 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST . . « You'll find a foot stool 1 = can’t be up on your toes when you are down at the heels! Now shops like these New York shoe service stations are found all over the country .. . convenient, modern, up-to-the-minute establishments where you rest a minute in comfortable surroundings . .. and walk out with smart, comfortable, new rubber heels on your shoes. Look for the shop that says “(Goodrich Rubber Heels”. . old ones taken off—new ones attached . March 23, 1929 . in just 5 minutes qf h | Conte — —_ Ce _—~ eee —— oe —e- me a ee a 7 =e — So ———— , «= -—_

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=. SO a ees as Rr hte ng em a re ii Dee A EE THE SATURDAY EVENING POST way ‘Io have these smart Goodrich Rubber Heels attached At Modern Shoe Service Stations Everywhere It’s a great step forward! These modern Shoe Service Sta- tions. Where you can have rubber heels attached in five minutes. No delay. No long waits. No in- convenience whatsoever. These new Shoe Service Stations are just as efficient as the modern barber shop or beauty parlor—-com- fortable and inviting, clean and sani- tary. When you walk in these modern stores a courteous manager ushers you to a comfortable chair. You re- move your shoes behind a private enclosure. You usually find a foot stool or paper slippers there if you want them. A magazine to read if you wish. And always courtesy, attention, consideration of your comfort, even in the smallest shops. ‘ Then in five minutes your shoes are ready. Smart looking again. With a fine new pair of Goodrich Heels that add much to your appearance and comfort. ‘Fat This new Shoe Service Station idea has been endorsed by The B. F. Goodrich Rubber Company, to bring quick rubber heel service within everybody’s reach. You'll find repair shops, displaying the Goodrich sign, modern and up-to-date. Now Heels That Are Easy to Attach And the new Goodrich Heels they rec- ommend have been especially designed to make attaching quick and easy. Live ... tough ... long wearing. Made by the same company that makes the fa- mous Zippers and Silvertown Tires. Super resilient. Made from a special rubber compound. These heels are long wearing and most comfortable. Surely there’s no excuse now to be down at the heel, when shoe-repair ser- vice is so quick and convenient. The B. F. Goodrich Rubber Co., Akron, Ohio. Rubber Heels .. in 5 minutes .. . your shoes are ready...

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“TI wonder,” he said at length, “exactly how you think it helps things to say that. Can't you ever be fair to her? Can't you ever?” Aunt Sarah seemed very much pleased. She hummed softly and gave the strings of her lace cap a little tug. “Ho-ho!” said Aunt Sarah. “All I can say is that if 1 had married---and I had my chances, though I suppose you won't be- lieve it—my husband wouldn't have been ashamed to have me meet people.” “You don’t understand, Aunt Sarah.” Alfred Michael moved toward the door as he spoke. “‘ No one wants to know us now.” Aunt Sarah sat up straighter in her chair and looked as though she did not under- stand. “Not want to know us?” “Alfred, are you crazy?” It all was very strange to Tommy. For no reason he could see, his father began to laugh. “It isn't your fault if I'm sane. up again for tea.’ Of course his father was very brave. Tommy’s heart was warm. Standing right in Aunt Sarah's room, his father had spoken back to her and had looked her in the eye. “That proves it,” said Aunt Sarah. “There's a curse upon the house.” Alfred Michael was at the door and gently propelled Tommy through it, but as Tommy went he had a final glimpse of Aunt Sarah, seemingly cheered by the interview, reaching for her sewing. “Yes,” said Aunt Sarah, “‘there’s a curse upon the house. Alfred, haven't you for- gotten something? Come back and kiss me, Alfred.” Once outside Aunt Sarah’s door, it al- most seemed to Tommy that his father had forgotten him. “Confound the women!” Something must have been hurting his father from the way he spoke. “I wish there was a man. Lord, I wish there was a man!” “ Daddy,” said Tommy, “‘there’s me.” Suddenly Alfred Michael was on his knees beside him, holding him very tight. “God bless my soul! Of course there is,” he said. she said. I'll be 7 OW why Tommy felt it he could not tell, but he knew it was a time of change. There was a restiveness in the very air about him, and the noises of the trees. It set him to thinking of strange things, of sad things. As they walked past the gran- ite posts of the drive, past which the white macadam road went by to town, his father drew his pipe from his pocket—a grimy curved pipe carved in the shape of a negro’s head. He drew a deep breath and puffed a heavy cloud of his tobacco smoke, which went racing into nothing. “Ah,” he said, “upon my word, look at all the carriages. They must be coming from the city train. Now there’s a fine turnout for you, though personally I wouldn't check the horses quite as high.” It always seemed to Tommy that the road past their house led to an unknown land. Even as early as that, Michael’s Harbor was becoming fashionable—not the town itself, but points beyond. “Lock out, Tom!” Tommy’s father drew him to the side of the road as he spoke. “ By Jove, those horses are drunk on oats!"’ A carriage was coming toward them—a marvelous carriage. It was a four-in-hand, though Tommy did not know its name till later. It stood high up from the road. Its body was yellow, with red paneling upon it, and the spokes of the wheels made a shining blur. Four bay horses were drawing it, and their harness shimmered and glittered with silver mountings upon their shining coats. Out of the white dust cloud eddying about them they lifted their forefeet as though they heard music. On the seat in front a small gentleman in a mouse-gray suit was driving. The reins he had gathered in a hand which seemed too small to grasp them i ne nar tte aan THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WARNING HILL (Continued from Page 5) all, and he was reaching forward to flick the nigh leader with his whip. Yet all the while, despite the rattling of the wheels and the pounding of the hoofs, he had an air of not being interested. You would have thought that he might have done a dozen things be- sides drive those four horses. Beside him sat a lady dressed in clouds of white, with a filmy veil tied about her hat and streaming cloudily. On the seat behind these sat an- other lady in black, with a child on either side of her. One was a boy of Tommy’s age in a blue sailor suit with red anchors sewn upon the sleeves. The other, near enough for Tommy to see more plainly, was a little girl. Behind them were two men, stiff as soldiers, in high shining boots and silk hats to make them finer still. “Oh, daddy!” cried Tommy. “Look!” His father was already looking. His father had lifted his derby hat. The gentleman in gray nodded jerkily and gave his whip an- other flick. Then Tommy saw the little girl watching him. Her hair was down her back like Alice’s in Wonderland. She had a tiny hat with ruffles on it. Suddenly she leaned forward, touching the lady on the seat before her. “‘Mamma”’—Tommy heard her above the slapping hoof beats and the rattling of the wheels—‘“‘look, mamma, at the common little boy!" The lady in black snatched quickly at her hand. “ Marianne!" she said. ‘“‘Why, Marianne!” Then they were gone. The horses, the carriage, everything was only a cloud of dust. “Daddy,” said Tommy, “‘what did she mean, calling me a common little boy?” His father had evidently heard, for he stared after the carriage very strangely. “The young lady was mistaken, Tom,” he said—“‘very much mistaken—but she probably meant the old order is changing. Well, so it is.” There was something in the way he spoke that made Tommy look at him quickly. “You know them?” said Tommy. “You know them, don’t you, daddy?” “Yes,” said Alfred Michael—‘‘yes, of course.” “T guess everybody doesn’t know them. Do you even know their name?”’ “Yes.” His father seemed to be thinking of something else. “‘ Their name’s Jellett — and it isn’t such a fine name either.” “Daddy, where do they live? Daddy, aren't you listening?’’ Tommy’s mind still was full of the glory of that carriage. “Don’t be a toady, Tom,”’ his father said. “They live on Warning Hill.” Tommy turned and looked as he had often looked before. Before you reached the ocean from Michael's Harbor, there jutted out a rocky piece of land, guarding the harbor mouth like a sheltering arm. Tommy could see it, jooming in the dis- tance, soft in the haze of that summer morn- ing, mysterious and high, with houses upon it, like the palaces in books. It was strange how great distances seemed then. Warning Hill was as far away as the rainbow’s end. “Daddy,” said Tommy, “‘everyone who lives there is rich, aren’t they —very rich?” “Yes,” said Alfred Michael. “Richer than we are?” o Yes.” They crossed the bridge of Welcome River, where you could see the tide playing with the eelgrass beneath, and then they were in the town, upon its brick sidewalk. Here and there a horse was tied at a hitch- ing post, stamping and whisking his tail to keep away the flies. Some men were on the steps by the post office, waiting for the mail. Tommy’s father knew them all, and spoke to them every one. “Hello, Jim! . . . Hello, Moses! .. . Good morning, Leon.”” They liked to have him speak to them. You could see they liked it, every one. ““Mornin’, Alfred!” they said. ‘‘ Mornin’, Alfred!’’ And one of them, a very old and shriveled man with a short white beard that was golden brown near his mouth, used an expression which Tommy had never heard. ““Mornin’, squire!’’ he said. A thin man with a brown face walked slowly down the post-office steps. “Going to take the boy gunning in the fall?’’ he asked. Tommy’s father laughed. “If he held a gun,”’ he said, ‘‘ you know it would kick him in the water.” “He could watch you, though,”’ the thin man said, “and that'd teach him some- thing. Now, I want to know, what’s that coming down the street?”’ Everyone had turned. All along the main street of Michael’s Harbor everyone was staring. The horses at the hitching posts were pulling backward, snorting in sudden fright at an unfamiliar noise. Down the street of Michael’s Harbor a buggy was moving without a horse at all. Its driver was seated stiffly upon its single seat, star- ing over the dashboard into an empty road. He was holding a rod in his hand, not unlike the tiller of a sailboat. Beneath him, some hidden mechanism was panting mysteri- ously and exploding. Tommy’s father turned with the rest, though not so quickly. ‘‘ Mark it well, gen- tlemen,”’ he said, “‘there’s the period which marks the ending of an epoch.”” He gave his walking stick a little swirl. ‘“‘The quiet days are over.” His father’s office was in the building of the Summer County Bank. It was a brown wooden building with shingles set in a wavy pattern along the front. A door to the side led up a steep flight of wooden stairs to a hall lighted by ground-glass windows in doors set along it. Upon one door a name was printed, T. JEFFERSON MICHAEL. It was his grandfather's old office. It was very dusty inside. Even the panes of the window looking out upon the street were thick with dust. Near the window was a desk of dark wood, of the same wood as the furniture in Aunt Sarah’s room at home, and there were two chairs—one before the desk, which you could turn around like a piano stool, and another of yellow wood with a leather cushion on the seat. Tommy perched himself upon the yellow wooden chair. His father sat down before the desk. “There’s no mail,”’ he said—‘‘no mail after all.” “Daddy,” said Tommy. In those days he thought of the strangest things. ‘“‘ Daddy,” said Tommy, “did there use to be a time when things weren’t so old?” You could see his father did not under- stand. He looked at Tommy and fumbled with his watch chain. “‘ Whatthings, Tom?” “All sorts of things,” said Tom. “‘Our house and everything.” His father nodded. “Yes,” said he, “there was a time, but why?” “I was wondering,” said Tommy and then he saw that his father was no longer looking at him as though he was a little boy. ‘Are there any things that don’t look old when they get old?”’ “That don’t look old when they get old?” his father repeated. But he was not making fun. “Yes, but not the kind that you can touch and see. Those all grow devilishly shabby. Only standards stay bright. You can’t soil standards with dirty fingers, Tom—not in a thousand years.” Of course, Tommy did not exactly un- derstand, but there were so many things he did not. “T’'ll tell you some things that stay bright. Would you like to have me tell you?”’ Oh, there was no one so fine as his father. Surely no one could speak so well as he, for it seemed to Tommy that his words were like the wind playing in the Michael’s Har- bor elms, and they lingered like that wind in Tommy’s memory. And somehow all the events of that day grouped themselves around them like a pattern. “A good name’s one of them. We’ve got a good name. A Michael has always lived Se ee Sa See March 25,1929 in Michael’s Harbor and no one has had much fault to find with any of them. They may have been foolish, but they’ve never been unkind. That’s something more than you may think until you’ve lived much longer.” All the while his father was speaking Tommy’s mind moved on. He seemed to be back on the road again, and there were rumbling wheels and slapping hoofs. “Lord help me!” His father was laugh- ing softly. ‘‘I never thought I’d be a sanc- timonious prig. It’s your fault, Tom. It’s the way all fathers are. But there’s an- other thing I’ve noticed doesn’t tarnish just one more and the sermon will be over.” Just then there was a knock on the door. It was opened before the knock was finished by a flushed and genial gentleman in a blue serge suit. Tommy knew who he was be- cause he had been often lately at their house. It was Mr. Cooper, the president of the bank downstairs. “*Excuse me, Alfred,’”’ said Mr. Cooper, “*T didn’t know you had a business caller.” Alfred Michael rose from his swivel chair. As he stood before Mr. Cooper he seemed to Tommy as different from Mr. Cooper as as what? Tommy never exactly knew. “You're sure I’m not interrupting?”’ Mr. Cooper said again. “I was preaching,” said Alfred Michael, “but it can wait.” For some reason Mr. Cooper thought this was very funny. ‘“‘Preaching!’’ he cried. “‘Don’t you believe a word he says, Tommy. You ask him about the scrapes his daddy used to pull him out of, and I'll bet he wishes he had a daddy still.” “For heaven’s sakes, Joe!’’ Tommy’s father shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘Can’t we avoid the ant-and-the-grasshopper motif? Do you want to see me about something, or what is it?” Mr. Cooper did not seem as pleasant as he had before. ‘‘There’s a telegram, Alf,” he said. “It came early and they left it at the bank. When they told me you'd come in I thought I’d bring it myself.” Alfred Michael took the envelope with- out opening it. “Very kind of you, Joe!”’ he said. “‘ Es- pecially when it would have been so easy to send someone else.” “Oh, it’s no trouble, Alf,”” said Cooper. “T’ve always liked to do little things always have.” “Get to the point, Joe,” said Tommy's father suddenly, “‘and say you came to see what’s in the telegram.” Of course it was all grown-up talk which Tommy could understand only in snatches. Yet he could feel that something was hap- pening. His father was holding the tele- graph envelope, turning it softly, but Mr. Cooper’s fingers moved in curious jerks. “Considering everything,” Mr. Cooper's voice had grown thick, “‘you’ve got a nerve to speak to me like that. You may be smarter than I am, but what good has it done you, I want to know? Gad, if you'd only had to work when you were young, you" might be something now instead of—of ——” “Instead of what?” said Alfred Michael. “Instead of an unsuccessful gambler, if you want to know.” Alfred Michael took a penknife from his pocket and slit open the envelope in his hand. “‘All right,” he said; “‘it doesn’t make me mad. I’m under no illusions about myself—under none at all.” Alfred Michael pulled the telegram deli- cately from the envelope, stepped closer to the window and leaned his elbow on the dark top of the desk. Tommy always re- membered one thing. His father read the telegram carefully and folded it again. Then he looked out of the window for a moment at the elms across the street. Then he handed the telegram to Mr. Cooper, just as though it was an amusing letter. (Continued on Page 90) ae alan ee ee

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Oe me TOE eee ee > _ * aoe herr ae ~ a A eaten ae ee er ee or ery OO Grit Magnified is like Broken Glass hw most destructive type of dirt that lodges in your floor coverings is grit. Magnify it and you will see its sharp, cutting, glass-like edges. These grind and saw away at the rug fibers, or cut sharply through them. Every passing foot, every piece of furniture moved, sets these sharp edges at work de- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Hoover “Positive Agitation’’—a cleaning principle exclusive with products of The Hoover Company — vibrates the rug on a cushion of air, dislodges the embedded grit and flutters it to the surface. To the beating action of “Positive Agita- tion” is added sweeping to gather up the stroying your rug. thread and lint, and suction to remove the AVEO If this grit lodged on the surface of the rug, surface dust, the swept-up lint and the flut- ( >. mM ordinary cleaning would remove it and pre- _tered-loose grit. ee eee vent this destructive action. But grit is heavy and sinks deep into the pile. It lodges in the minute pockets between the threads, it packs into caked masses at the bottom of the rug. a alone does not remove it. Beating is required, to she’. 2 it out of the pockets into which it is wedged and to dance it to the surface. There are only two ways to beat out this dirt. One is by hand; the other is by means of The Hoover. In no other cleaner than The Hoover is an effective beating action provided for the re- moval of the dirt below the surface. In The THE HOOVER COMPANY, The Hoover is also made in Canada, at Hamilton, Ont The oldest and largest maker of electric cleaners - ete of the combined action of beating, sweeping and suction, The Hoover is able to remove more dirt per minute than is possible with other cleaning methods; to clean more thoroughly; to clean more quickly; and to clean with less effort. Could you ask more of any electric cleaner? Can you obtain elsewhere as much? ford Hoover dealer will gladly give you a demonstration of “Positive Agitation.” Telephone him. Three Hoover models, $59.50, $75 and $135. With dusting tools, $72, $87.50 and $150. Floor Polisher, $7.50. Only $6.25 down. Liberal allowance for your old cleaner. NORTH CANTON, OHIO The accurate measure of clectric cleaner efficiency 18 dirt per minute Reg. Trade Mark ‘She HOOVE On The Air—Every Thure ir BEA‘? ON A CUSHION OF AIR Time, The Hoover Sentinels, through the N. B. C. Red Pr Network. Tune in!

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 25, 1929 he Only Real Test of Performance is Fersona/ Experience Take the Wheel ae and DRIVE HIS CAR You must drive the 1929 Oldsmobile yourself, to really know its versatility—its steadiness and stamina—its brilliant abilities in every phase of performance. Engineers and automotive critics look upon Olds- mobile as a work of engineering genius, because of the many fine car engineering practices it incorporates at such a moderate price. For example, only twelve other cars listed in the annual issue of Motor offer pressure lubrication of the piston pins—a feature formerly associated with high priced cars. And only one of these is within $500 of Oldsmobile’s low price. You will find results of this progressive engineer- ing the moment you take the wheel. The easy action of the spring-cushioned clutch—the noise- less, effortless gear-shift—the comfortable driv- ing position afforded by Oldsmobile’s new Fisher adjustable front seat and adjustable steering wheel—all are characteristic of fine car quality. As you drive away, you will marvel at the smoothness and quietness of Oldsmobile’s engine. All working parts are held Try Oldsmobile’s performance on boulevard and highway. Its big high-compression engine now develops 62 horsepower. There is greater speed than you will ever use —and ample power reserve for steep hills, deep mud and sand—swift accel- eration to get away from other cars as the signal changes, or to pass them on the road. And Oldsmobile is easy to drive. You can steer with your finger tips and park without effort, even in small spaces. Four Lovejoy hydraulic shock absorbers assure restful riding comfort, even on the roughest roads. And Oldsmobile’s low center of gravity and perfect balance provide matchless roadability. The only true test of performance is personal experience. Goto your Oldsmobile dealer—he will gladly place acar at your disposal. Make your own performance tests. Drive as fast and as far as you like. Match Oldsmobile within exacting limits of accu- NEW LOWER PRICE against any other car—regard- racy. The engine is cushioned TWO DOOR SEDAN on rubber mountings of special less of price—in speed, power, flexibility or riding comfort. design. And to further prevent $¢ Then you will realize why the possibility of noise or vibra- Oldsmobile owners the country tion, Oldsmobile has a silenced . LANSING over are unanimous in their chassis and silenced interior. Spare Tire and Bumpers Extra praise of its performance. ~ ‘ > — — ~ a — ———— I a pe oo — Lee gee ee EE te et ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING _—™ Oe ee ee a a SS es

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a a ESR eS Bd This emblem iden- tifies the new 1929 Oldsmobile

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90 THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 86) “*Winter’s come,”’ said Alfred Michael. “The grasshopper has finished dancing. | Look it over, Joe. The whole list has dropped twenty points and they sell me out | tomorrow.” Mr. Cooper stared for a second, first at Tommy’s father and then at the paper. Alfred Michael looked straight at him and his eyes were no longer weary. His face had lines upon it, too—crinkly little lines | about the eyes. “Alf, what are you going to do now? | Don’t you understand?” “Do?” Tommy’s father asked as he played gently with his watch chain. Mr. Cooper drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his forehead. “You don’t know how this hurts me,” he | began. See the AETNA-IZER in your community. 7 He isa man worth knowing! The 4tna Life Insurance Company « The A2tna Casualty and Surety Com- pany ~ The Automobile Insurance Company « The Standard Fire In- surance Company + of Hartford, Con- necticut, write practically every form of Insurance and Bonding Protection. “Thanks,” answered Alfred Michael. “I’m not asking you for anything.” “‘I know you're not. Of course not, Alf.” “You didn’t,” said Alfred Michael, “ but you know it now.” For a while when they were alone, Tommy’s father stood very still and stared out of the window. When Tommy spoke he gave a start, though Tommy did not speak loudly. Tommy looked at him, round- eyed, with his hands upon the arms of that yellow. wooden chair. Something had happened, Tommy knew, though of course he could not tell what. “Daddy?” Alfred Michael coughed and gave a tug at his cravat. There still were those wrinkles about his eyes, deeper than they had ever been before. “Daddy, what's that other thing?” “Eh?” said Alfred Michael. ‘‘What’s that?” “The other thing—the one that doesn’t tarnish.” “God bless mysoul!’’ said Alfred Michael. The wrinkles around his eyes were not so deep. “I'd forgotten about that.” He sat himself down again in his swivel chair, pull- ing carefully at the creases in his trousers. “How you take a licking is the other thing,” he said. ‘‘ Do you follow me, Tom? It isn’t like a chair or a house, because it’s an idea, but the paint never comes off you altogether if you take your licking like @ gentleman. Remember that. Try to, will you, Tom?” Of course Tommy remembered, for it all seemed so very strange. Even when every- thing shimmered in a white, remorseless light, Tommy remembered still-— his father leaning forward in his swivel chair by the dark old desk in that dusty office. “Tom'’—Alfred Michael hesitated and drew a deep breath as though he was very tired, though, of course, he was not tired at all—‘‘that boy—Spurius—that make- believe boy? Was he Spurius Lartius? Do you know the poem?” Of course Tommy knew it—every one of the rolling verses that sounded like the waves of the beach by the summerhouse when the harbor was running high. “Say it; can you, Tom?” Tommy was glad to say it. Although, of course, there was no one else in the room, you might almost have thought there was when he began the lines. You might almost have thought, if you set your mind on it, that someone else was speaking who had come from a long way off. “ Then out spake Spurius Lartius A Ramnian proud was he: ‘Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And keep the bridge with thee!’”’ “Daddy?” Tommy paused and stared. “What's the matter, daddy?”’ And he had a reason for asking, for Alfred Michael had leaned his elbows on the desk. His face was buried in his hands, and, though he said nothing was the matter, of course there must have been. ur S ALFRED MICHAEL walked home with Tommy trotting at his side no one could have guessed that anything was wrong. The sun gianced from his shoes and EVENING POST twinkled from his watch chain. His heels clicked upon the brick walks sharply, and like a period after each click, his stick descended to the ground. He even con- trived to hum a tune as they neared the bridge by Welcome River. Tommy stum- bled now and then, because his eyes were not in the direction of his toes. Across the bridge of Welcome River, soft in the haze of the morning, like an arm guarding the harbor mouth, Tommy could see Warning Hill, somehow larger and more beautiful than it had ever been before; and nearer much nearer—he could see the weathered cupola of his own house, rising solitary above the fields around it. Before they reached the bridge, however, Alfred Michael paused, still humming that same tune over and over, and turned down a narrow walk toward the river, where the houses were no longer neat. At the end of the path he came to another stop before a battered frame house with a broken chim- ney. There was a pile of wood beside the house, over which a lank brown-skinned man was bending. Walking past him was a dignified row of drab-colored ducks, led by a drake with a magnificent green head and neck, who exhorted his flock in a monot- onous singing whisper. ‘Whisper, whis- per,” went the drake; ‘“‘whisper, whisper.” Two corpulent water spaniels sprang bark- ing from behind a stack of eelpots. As the man with the ax looked up, Tommy knew who he was. It was Jim Street, who sometimes appeared at the house in the gunning season, clad in high rubber boots. There was a cloud about Mr. Street as early as Tommy could recollect. Mr. Street was a carpenter when he chose to work, but Tommy had heard his Aunt Sarah say that Mr. Street never chose. Mr. Street was handsome then, bright-eyed, with straight dark hair —too handsome for his own good, or anybody else’s, Aunt Sarah often said; and what that girl had seen in Jim, his Aunt Sarah never could see, nor Tommy’s mother, nor anybody else. She could have married anyone. She prob- ably wished she had before she died. She must have seen that you could get nowhere by flying in the face of things. What “the face of things’’ meant, Tommy could not tell, but he sometimes could think of her flying on soft whispering wings toward those banks of clouds that looked like faces now and then, when the sun went down. - “Hi, Alf!’’ said Jim Street. . . . “You, Spot, you, Spy, lay off that noise before I bust a lath acrost you.” “Come over to the barn, Jim,”’ said Al- fred Michael. “I want to talk.” They left Tommy standing near the woodpile. For a minute or two he watched them as they stood by the door of a rickety building whose opened door showed lofts filled deep with hay. Mr. Street was so tall that Tommy’s father was obliged to look up at him as he talked. Mr. Street was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a blue shirt opened at the neck. Now and then he would raise his hand and scratch his head. From where Tommy stood he could hear what they were saying in snatches carried on the wind—strange, unrelated strings of words. First it would be like the green- headed drake, who was walking slowly to- ward the river—whisper, whisper—and then a string of words. “Whisper, whisper,”” went Jim Street, “whisper, if you say so, Alf.” “Whisper. whisper,”’ replied his father, flicking at a hay wisp with his stick, “whisper—and damn the consequences.” He pulled some money from his pocket for of course he was very rich —and handed it to Mr. Street. “Put the jot on Jessica’s nose,”” Tom- my’s father said. ““Whisper,” said Mr. Street; “you don’t want to whisper the whole pile?”’ “Daddy,” called Tommy, “who is Jes- sica?”’ His father raised a hand to his hat, to which the wind had given ar unexpected tilt. “*Go down to the river, Tom,” his father said, ‘‘and watch the ducks. I'm talking March 23,1929 business with Mr. Street. That’s not meant for little boys.” “You bet it ain’t,” Mr. Street said. “Alf, ain’t you got no sense? Go and see Jellett. Ain’t he still after you to buy that gun shack and the acre? Alf, see him be- fore he hears you’re strapped, and shake him down! Go and see Jellett! Go on and see him!” “Tom, did you hear me?” his father said. ‘‘Nonsense! Joe Cooper's let him know by this time. I’m bottoms up. You don’t know the world, Jim, because you're much too near Arcadia.” They were saying something which Tommy could not understand about the man in the carriage who drove the four horses with the silver-trimmed harness. Tommy could still seem to see the way he jerked his head. “But the boy,” said Jim Street—‘‘you gotta give a try, Alf!" “Whisper,” said Tommy’s father, ‘‘ whis- per, whisper.” From the rear of the house the land fell away into tufts of marsh grass and a leaden expanse of tidal mud toward which the ducks were moving. Nevertheless, it was pleasant behind the house, because there were so many things to see—a skiff an- chored in the mud where the tide had left it, its mast and sail spread on the shore where mats of dead eelgrass showed the tidal mark. Farther up the shore lay a pile of wooden decoy ducks, just like children’s toys, and not far away were two small canvas-covered boats lying bottom upward. They were sneak floats, used for sculling in among the duck flocks in the autumn. All these, Tommy knew, were the tools of Mr. Street’s other trade, for Mr. Street, besides being a carpenter, was a professional gun- ner in season. He knew the coast in any weather, and knew— it was not until much later that Tommy knew how }ittle or how much. The two spaniels sat on their haunches, looking at Tommy and lolling their tongues, like two old gentlemen who knew the world. Four Canada geese with clipped wings came out of the marsh grass to stare at Tommy and to crane their necks. Tommy watched them. They lowered their necks and bent them, like snakes almost, into the summer breeze. “Hello, geese,"’ Tommy said. ‘Do you want to fly away?” In those days it almost seemed that ani- mals understood. The geese eyed Tommy unhappily and craned their necks again. Then Tommy heard steps behind him, and turned to see two other children, a boy and a giri, on the shore beside him. They were very dirty children, with smeared faces and muddy bare toes, not at all like that other boy and giri in the high seat with the lady in black between them. Surely those had never gone with bare feet into the mud. Their hair had never been untidy or their clothes in rags. This girl’s hair was not brushed smooth and straight. It was black and fell in snarls over her brown face, so that now and then she had to brush it aside quickly with her grubby little hand. The sharpness of her nose and the brightness of her eyes made her look like another wild thing wanting to fly away. The boy had the same thin face, the same dark, restless eyes. Indeed, it would have been hard to tell the one from the other, except that his hair was clipped short above his ears, evi- dently made even by a mixing bow! held inverted on his head. ““Who’re you talkin’ to?” inquired the boy. “The geese,”’ said Tommy. “Hey, Mary,” said the boy, “he’s talkin’ to the geese! Gee! He’s talkin’ to’em!” “That's nothing, Mal.”’ The voice of the little girl whose name was Mary seemed far away. “I talk to ’em myself—-a whole lot some days.” “Then he’s a sissy,”’ said the boy named Mal. “Hey, ain’t you a sissy?” “What's a sissy?” inquired Tommy. You might have thought the boy named Mal would answer, but instead he scowled. (Continued on Page 94) ss es ee et eee . - - en 2 ee eee ere at i ee oe Se 7 ey Oe ge

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Sn a ee Fae ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST if YOU WOULD HOLD ON TO YOUTH, REMEMBER ... “iT IS THE ONLY PART OF YOUR BODY THAT MUST BE FITTED PERFECTLY’ v T'S a fast life we're leading these days. Lots of work. Lots of play. “Step lively”’ is the pace. > Suddenly, we have a “‘case of nerves."’ Don't be ; ' theels.] ‘ . ee : to Nave natural, foot-shaped feels. it costs us more too sure. Often “‘nerves’’ are only tired feet. Feet a ys ; c - OALY SHOE WHITH THE SAVING exhausted from makeshift support—limp from to make lasts this way —but how much it adds to wee OW “\ ill-fitting shoes, trying to tell you the truth Footsavers’ comfort and looks Here at last is scientific Construction to support . a — , and exercise the long arch of vour foot as Natur It is the only part of your body that must be —* THIS ABOU, aded The § : fitted perfectly AL Rey, intende 1c Saving +% : : . o* "ts J Like a shock absorber it breaks the in pact ot Don't wait until your feet ache Lift ; every step Walking, it almost lifts your feet and burn. Read about Footsavers Standing, it absorbs the weight of your entire now — before it is too late. The outside edge of your ‘‘arch"’ comes down to body Such a relicef—such buovancy and sup the ground, treads almost flat. The sside edge port’’ is what you'll say once you feel its comfort All most feet ask for, and need, is correct, normal makes no print at all fit—modern shoes like Footsavers that prevent troubles. Chances are you have good feet. Why That's why the arches of Footsaver /asts are not save them—with Footsavers? shaped exactly like the normal arch. Down, along cons'eins Vv the outer edge. Up, curving to give Footsaver > shoes correct form along the inner edge. Their arch YOU'VE NEVER SEEN SMARTER STYLES conforms to the shape of your arch. No wonder Footsavers are unusual shocs —in feel and fit—but " : ” oO : WE BEGAN WITH THE LAST Footsavers fit so pertectly not tn appearance. You ve never seen shoes in It’s the right place to begin—for the “‘last"’ is the = better taste, nor smarter styles. And, thanks to foundation of a shoe. As carefully as a custom CaP modern methods, Footsavers are priced reason shoemaker measures a single foot, we studied ably, from $12 to $14 the pair pe sag ee rer — Ww ean ae REMEMBER YOUR “LITTLE ARCH Wouldn't you like to see the new 1aritics cady-made asts wouldn't do for , 2 . . neiaw? = . : . Most shoes have forgotten all about it—yet, it's Footsaver Styles for Spring? Footsavers. So we created our own. And here is \ » ol . f weree”'y : } ] there—a small depression across the front of your lanv are shown in the new ootsaver opring the result , - as foot—just back of the ball. Your ‘“‘little arch Style Booklet which contains the complete story vr ~ =... demands support of ‘‘The Saving V."" May we send your copy now a: _ = I with name of nearest Footsaver dealer? Nature supported it with soft carth. Footsavers A NEW, RIGHT IDEA IN HEELS duplicate Nature with built-in layers of soft FOOTSAVERS ARE MADE BY THE MAKERS OF Notice the difference. The Footsaver last curves leather. They give your “‘little arch"’ the exact BOSTONIANS—SHOES FOR MEN in, then out, then in again—just the way heels fit and support it deserves—and you, comfort Whit Ma curve. Footsavers are built to fit feet. They have you've never had Makers of Men's Quality Shoes for Over 50 Years tsavers are ma fa me Cx Can a or x Koke WS FOOT SAVE RS” THE ONLY SHOE WITH “THE SAVING V © 1929C.8.&L. Co COMMONWEALTH SHOE & LEATHER COMPANY Dept. S-1, Whitman, Massachusetts N 4c

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f tv (Right) Rich in color, beau- tiful in design. This distinc- tive pattern in deep maroon and silver-gray with semi- open pattern will be a popu- lar choice among carefully dressed men this Spring and Summer (Right) Quiet—vyet distinc- tive, this satisfying combina- tion of subdued color and an unobtrusive stripe design. A combination sock that may be worn smartly with suit and shoes of almost any color. 4nd up-to-the-minute style! THE SATURDAY (Left) Solid colors with open- work clocks will be very smart this Spring and Summer. This fancy sock, in tan, car- ries out the new note in the best of taste. Our Represent- atives are showing it now (Left) Reflecting the very latest style developments— this pleasing sock in two-tone blue, with openwork clock! It combines the smartness and conservatism which are now characteristic of authentic style in hose EVENING POST (Right) A distinctive silver- gray and black color combi- nation, with a beautiful de- sign. An up-to-the-minute sock that reflects the newest trend toward subdued, ver- tical patterns and rich but conservative color (Right) Different, novel, yet in perfect taste—this unusual stripe-and-clock design. The color combination is tan, black and silver-gray. A sock that is sure to prove widely popular with well dressed men everywhere March 25, 1929 (Left) The ultra-smart thing in men’s socks—silk embroi- dered clocks! Hitherto offered only in the most expensive socks—now available to you at a popular price in this beautiful Realsilk creation (Left) The latest styles in- clude many vertical designs —modified stripes that ar- range themselves in simple but distinctive patterns. This exclusive design is a beautiful expression of the new trend by Realsilk — a ee ne eee Pema meee meee — epneitinstindiees ee Sy SS se

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— ~ ee ™ = ee ee wn eee ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The new \pring patterns in REALSILKS new Super-Service Socks for Men Again—style leadership! Far in advance, Realsilk presents herewith the first nation-wide showing of authentic patterns, designs, colors in men’s socks for Spring and Summer. Styles approved by smart dressers in the recognized style centers—London, New York and Palm Beach . . Yale, Princeton and the other leading universities. Scouted by Realsilk experts. Beautifully executed by Realsilk designers. Brought direct to you by Realsilk Rep- resentatives—wherever you may live. Note how accurately they interpret the new style trend toward small, unobtrusive patterns, self-clocks, and rich, subdued colors. Always with unerring taste! Note also the ultra-smart effects in embroidered designs and clocks . . Effects hitherto found only in the most expensive socks! Never before in a popular priced sock! A silk embroidered design on an all- silk ground of solid blue. One of our finest—smart in And remember—these are Realsilk Super-Service silk socks, with all the wearing quality and amazing durability that the name guarantees. Each sole is doubly reinforced. Toes and heels are doubly strengthened with special processed lisle. There are two thicknesses of garter band. Realsilk Super-Service Socks are continuously being subjected to the strenuous friction test (patented) to satisfy our experts that the materials and workmanship will withstand the hardest wear. Inspect this beautiful new line of Realsilk Socks now. No need to wait until the new styles reach you through the slow spread of usual selling methods. Realsilk’s unique system of distribution brings them directly to your home or office today. Our Representatives are ready to supply you now with . any of the advance Spring and Sum- mer patterns shown on these pages. the last degree! —— IMPORTANT! — Realsilk Super-Service Socks are never sold in stores. If you are not being called on regularly by one of our Representatives, we suggest that you telephone the Realsilk Office in your town for an appointment —with- out obligation on your part. te + + The Real Silk Hosiery Mills, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana. World's largest manufacturers of Silk Hosiery. 250 branch offices in the United States and Canada, Consult ‘phone direc- tory for your local office.

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94 «ot CUNARD TRAVEL Room 450, 7 S Ja year takes you over the . world’s trails... If the wanderlust is in your blood . . . Cunard Travel Club will bring the lure of far places into your home . . . fire your imagination... take you over the world’s glamorous trails... carry the Romance of many lands to your armchair .. . Whether you are plan- ning to travel now or later... or are a con- firmed stay-at-home... join the Cunard Travel Club now. Membership includes: (1)—The Running Tide... intimate Club bulletin, frequently published. (2)—The Cunarder... large. beautifully illustrated monthly travel magazine. (3)—Travel Library... Booklets from all over the world. (4)—Valuable special privi- leges when you go abroad. Send coupon below with one “dollar for full membership. CUNARD TRAVEL CLUB 22) \Sa 25 Broadway, New York SN a ey Order cL New York City » Broadway ; » fuil-paid member a " - enter my oame ene year dating “ fe ( the Cunard Trav ) Club, be - Me SARDER - : ‘ ; mY . with th month of — = nie a neo ne Herewith * Name Street & Number City & Mate ore #$1 50 outendte coop! THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 90) “Cripes! Don’t you know nothin’? Don’t you never play with kids?” “Not often,” said Tommy. “I'd like to, though.” “Well, you're a sissy all right. Say, do you wanna fight?” “No,” said Tommy. ‘Well, you gotta anyways. When a new kid meets a new kid they always gotta fight, ain't they?” “Why?” said Tommy. “I don’t see.” As Tommy spoke there was a sinking feeling deep down in his stomach; he did not want to fight; he never had before. “Well, you're gonna; see?” Mal edged closer to him and spat on a grimy fist. Then the little girl spoke in that same far- away voice. “You leave him be, Mal. ger.” “You shut up!” said Mal, and moved nearer Tommy. “ My pa’s better’n yours.” ‘“*He’s not!”” Tommy’s voice was sharp. He was angry then, and his slim little body began to tremble; he wanted very much to ery. Tommy Michael felt very small and very far from everything he knew. He looked wildly about him, but his father was not in sight. Only the two water spaniels were there, looking at him with their wide brown eyes, and the very place where Tommy stood seemed changed into an unkind world. The wind, which had been so friendly that morning as it rustled through the bushes of the Michael shore, was harsh upon his face. The sunlight, which not so long ago had made patterns through the trees, was pitilessly bright. And Tommy was all alone, out in that sun and wind, without even a make-believe to stay by his right hand, facing something ugly which he had never known. Young Mal Street, lean-faced and bright of eye, with his inverted bow] of black hair, twisted his upper lip. “Say that again and I'll smash you in the eye. My pa’s better’n your pa.” Yes, Tomrny was all alone. For the first time he felt che chill of that knowledge that help lay oniy within him—a chill which he would often feel again. He wanted to turn and run, but he did not. Instead, he felt his lips stiffen. They were thin lips like his mother’s. ‘“‘Whisper, whisper,” he could hear the old drake somewhere behind him. ‘“*Whisper, whisper.” “He's not,” said Tommy. “ My father’s a—gentleman.” The exact definition of that term Tommy did not know, but he knew it was worthy of respect. None the less, it did not help Tommy Michael the day he met Mal Street on the dead eelgrass of Welcome River. Tommy Michael's nose was a smear of red. His face was wet with tears and he was sobbing. “Hi there!” Jim Street was hastening from the barn, jumping awkwardly but surely over a pile of wood. Alfred Michael was approaching also, swinging his walking stick. “Didn't I tell you?’ It was Mal towhom Jim Street spoke. Mal turned to run for it, but Mr. Street caught the collar of his You're big- | shirt, and then Mal’s shoulder as the coilar ripped. ‘Didn't I tell you next time I caught you fighting, I'd wear your pants right off? Mary, break a lath off that hen- That was like Jim Street, always to be | tearing pieces off of things for other pur- poses, but Tommy’s father was speaking. “* Leave the lath on,” he said. “‘Jim, set down the boy.” “Well, now, what’s bitin’ you, Alf?” Mr. Street, as one remembers, was never fast in sifting a mental process. There were wrinkles on Alfred Michael's forehead and about the corners of his eyes. ‘They’ vestarted, haven't they? Tommy wouldn’t want it stopped like this, would you, Tom?” He leaned over Tommy. His walking stick trembled beneath his hand. “Would you, Tom?” Of course, Tommy had to say he wouldn’t—of course, because his father was asking. EVENING POST “Alf Michael,” said Jim Street, “‘are you crazy?”’ “Tommy,” Alfred Michael did not appear to hear, “what's the fight about? Tommy, stop that blubbering!” “I—I’m not!” Even in those days Tommy had his pride. “Good!” said Alfred Michael. up then and tell me.” “He said’’—Tommy found it hard to speak— “his father was better than—you.” “‘God bless my soul!” said Alfred Michael. “Well, I can’t help you now. Send in your boy, Jim, and I'll lay you two to one. Now go and hit him, Tom! Hit him for all you’re worth!” That was how Tommy took his first lick- ing, with his father, white-faced, watching. “Tom.” His father had dropped on his knees beside him, so that their faces were nearly level, and even then Tommy was sur- prised at the way his father’s hand shook while wiping at his cheek. ‘‘Tom, please don’t ery!” “IT”—Tommy choked before he could fin- ish—‘‘I’m not.” “There,”’ said Alfred Michael; “there! That’s better, because there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You did the best you could, Tom, and you've got to learn. God help you, you've got to learn, even : There was something about Alfred Michael, even when the checked suit became a travesty, which made him somehow bright and above the world which brought him low. even if Jessica’s nose holds out bet- terthan yours, Tom, and I supposeit won't.” Little did Tommy realize that the mills of the gods were grinding in a process all their own, a process which was pitiful and slow. The mills of the gods already had left their trace on Tommy’s tear-smeared cheeks, and somewhere within him was a bitter jagged scar. Neveragain would Tommy’seyes be as wide and guileless, quite. Beneath those in- visible, inexorable stones, Tommy Michael had been cast, where all illusion and all make- believe must finally turn to dust, and where magic falters, to vanish in a breath. And already it was going. The wind of Michael Harbor was singing a different tune, and his father, too, had changed. Never would he be quite as fine again; as marvelous in his wisdom, as glowing in his strength. His father must have known it, too, Tommy sometimes thought, because he threw his arm over Tommy’s narrow shoulders, hold- ing him very tightly, as though he knew, just as surely as anything, that something was leaving both of them—something beau- tiful which would never again come back. “Gad!” hesaid. “I could make a better world without half trying. Give mea drink, Jim, and we'll be starting home.” “Speak Iv EATED in his library room in his house on Warning Hill, Grafton Jellett was aware of no rumbling sound, but none the less the mills were grinding, and he should have known, because he had been through the mills enough. Only very much later Tommy heard of that afternoon, but he could guess how it must have been. “Don’t try it on Grubby Jellett,” they used to say downtown; “he’s been through the mill.” Long ago they had given up trying. Yet one would not have guessed at all, just from looking at Mr. Jellett once. For one thing, he was a smal! man. His hair was sand colored and growing thin on top. His face was plump and ruddy and cast in a tran- quil mold. No, nothing could look milder than Mr. Jellett in his leather chair with a book on his knee and a paper cutter in his stubby-fingered hand. Only when he glanced up, interrupted by a tapping on his door, did he show signs. His eyes were a cold, light blue, and nothing—absolutely nothing— appeared to be behind them. “Come in,” said Mr. Jellett, and as he spoke he raised his ivory cutter and ran it gently through another page. It was only Hewens, his private secretary. “Will you see the children, sir?” in- quired Hewens. “It’s their hour, Miss Meachey says.” March 25,1929 “Where is Mrs. Jellett?” Mr. Jellett asked. “She has a bad headache, sir, and is rest- ing before dinner.” “Oh,” said Mr. Jellett, “has she?” And deftly, quietly he cut another page. “Any telephones or telegrams?” ““Mr. Cooper called again, sir local bank, you know.” “Oh,” said Mr. Jellett. “About what?” “That matter about the Michaels.” “The Michaels? Who are the Michaels? Oh, I remember now.”’ It was not strange that he should have his lapses, for he had so much to remember. ‘‘The one who owns the gunning shack and the beach, isn’t it? . . . Cooper's an ass if he thinks I’m going to buy it now. I’m not an ass. Hewens, have them hitch up a trap and go down and see this Cooper. Find out all you can about these Michaels and let me know, and when it’s all over’’—Mr. Jellett cut another page—‘“‘intimate that I’m not in the least interested. Make it very plain.” Hewens raised a hand to his small mus- tache and looked like the Alice in Wonder- land rabbit when he said, ‘My stars and whiskers!” “You're not going to ask me how, are you, Hewens?” Mr. Hewens knew too much for that. “Good!” Mr. Jellett raised his paper cutter again. ‘‘Well, why are you wait- ing?” “Will you see the children now?” “Yes,” said Mr. Jellett, “‘and as you go out tell Hubbard to bring me my whisky. And send down my man—the new one. What’s his name?” “Street, I think,”’ said Hewens. “Well,” said Mr. Jellett, “‘aren’t you going?” ““Good Lord, sir!"’ gasped Mr. Hewens. His neck craned above his strangling cut- away collar. ‘Do you know what you're doing? You’re cutting the pages of a per- fect first edition of Jane Eyre!” A faint snowy smile hovered about Mr. Jellett’s placid ruddy lips. “‘A presentation copy,” he said. “ Well, what of it, Hewens?”’ “What of it?” cried Mr. Hewens. In his excitement he forgot himself so far as to reach out a thin white hand. “‘An uncut first edition is worth a hundred pounds, sir! Aren't you reducing its value to a mere nothing by cutting it?” “Yes,” said Mr. Jellett, and cut another page. With difficulty Mr. Hewens found his voice. “But why,” he began—‘‘why, if you know it = Mr. Jellett raised his paper knife lan- guidly and regarded Hewens for the first time that day as though he was a man. ““Because I want to! It amuses me,” Mr. Jellett answered. ** Amuses you?”’ echoed Mr. Hewens, and for a moment Mr. Hewens himself was more than a machine. “That's it,’ said Mr. Jellett. everyone who can cut one.” “No,” said Hewens, “that’s true. “Then you understand,” said Mr. Jel- lett. The light from the window fell on his sandy hair as he slouched down more com- fortably. ‘“‘I suppose,” he added com- placently, “‘you think I’m a fool?” ““No,” said Mr. Hewens with a candor which surprised him, ‘I don’t know what I think.” “Saying that won't hurt you with me,” remarked Mr. Jellett placidly. ‘But I’m not, no matter what you think. . . . Ho, hum.”’ He pointed before him with his paper cutter to a wall which was lined with books, an exquisite wall of gold and leather tooling. “T have two of the best copies of Jane Eyre extant, pages uncut, in perfect preser- vation. My agent tells me they’re nearly unique, and I think he’s right, because Mr. Morgan has been making me an offer for one of them. If I cut the pages of one, there’ll be only one left. Get back as soon as you can. I'll have some telegrams to send.” from the “It isn’t ” (Continued on Page 98) — -_—— Soe Oe eet See REET ee — a tgp weenie leila mamas —s Ne ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 95 a

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Get behind the whee! March 25,1929 e| | \ > — ne AP”, 2. Neal ~- —_.' be a ¥ agg, with! | < " rf & os learn the full measure of Buick performance leadership! So new, so revolutionary, so manifestly superior is Buick performance, that all any motorist need do is take the wheel and drive to realize why this masterly car is winning more than twice as many buyers as any other automobile priced above $1200! Buick invites you to take that step. Drive a Buick. Test it in comparison with any other car. Make a thorough check in traffic—on the hills—on the straightaway— —Experience at first hand the thrilling new elements of power, a acceleration, swiftness, smoothness and stamina resulting from increased bore and stroke—advanced carburetion—new positive-pressure gas pump and other improvements in Buick’s world-famous Valve-in-Head engine. Together with the new luxury—the new style—the new com- fort of Buick’s Masterpiece Bodies by Fisher—this sensational new order of performance sets Buick entirely above and apart from other cars! Buick Motor Company, Flint, Mich., Division of General Motors Corporation

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6 WHEN THE eth, .and get the facts BETTER AUTOMOBILES SATURDAY EVENING POST Sth) ae N . > uy boiled a (> ' we X: i My et hg : a is ~ ¢ > : a. Te Datioe 9 mers 4. - ’ BUICK ARE BUILT BUICK WILL BUILD THEM

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SAFETY IS CERTAIN CONVENIENCE ASSURED See how simple it is to open a milk bottle sealed with the PERFECTION PULL and HINGE CAP! Pull the hinged flap part way open— pour then press the flap back into place! No top cream wasted, no clothes splashed—and no contamination forced into the milk by an unsanitary opening instrument! Moreover, be- cause you need never remove the cap from the bottle, perfect protection is assured until the last drop of milk is consumed. PERFECTION PULLand HINGE CAP if your milk betrles are not now sealed with this really modern, sani- tary cap, we'll gladly send you a month's supply free. Once you've seen hew safe and convenient it is, ou'll urge your milkman or dealer » adopt it, roo! Use coupon below. ths suppl FREE a) ja, New York ar s supply of 1 Hinge Caps, FREE THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 94) Left alone in his room, Mr. Jellett looked thoughtfully at his paper cutter and cut another page. The parting of the paper made a tranquilizing sound. Mr. Jellett closed his eyes contentedly and rubbed his toes softly in the thick piling of an Oriental carpet. “Ho, hum,” said Mr. Jellett; “ho, hum.” He still could enjoy comfort, and the physical richness of things still had a novelty, though he showed it as little as he showed anything else, beneath that im- penetrable cloak which lay over him for- ever. Against that cloak of dullness, worry, pleasure, anger—everything—glanced off harmlessly into nothing. Dully, placidly, he could sit at his dinner table, immune from the chattering of thirty guests, just as he could sit at the end of a directors’ table when he got downtown, staring opaquely at nothing, speaking tritely of harmless matters, balancing a fork or a cigar —it did not matter which—in his small plump fingers. It did not matter which, because he held everything in a manner which was peculiarly his own—not tightly. Grafton | Jellett had been a carpenter’s boy once in a lean and distant past, before he discovered it was better to make others work. And still he could use his hands. But the comfort, the physical richness of possessions were still to be enjoyed, but not vulgarly. Comfort and possessions were tangible—that was all—not valuable in themselves, save as showing a result as clearly as the total of a column. Anyone who lived the life of Warning Hill as it was rising to its greatness remem- bers, of course, what Simeon Danforth said about him, when Grafton Jellett was still a seventh wonder, and still a trifle new. One remembers, just as one recalls Sim Dan- forth’s suppers in his gun room, with the animals’ heads glaring from the walls; just as one recalls how Sim Danforth, even in his sixtieth year, could drink two bottles of champagne and balance a third upon his nose when the market was going right. “ Ggubby Jellett isn’t vulgar, and he | isn’t Roureau riche, and he isn’t stupid either. He’s so astute he isn’t anything at all.” Those were the days. One can sigh when one recalls them and thinks how the world has changed. Warning Hill may be excel- lent yet, but surely its tropical luxuriance must be gone, unless the past seems al- ways golden and the present always crude. Those were the days when carriages rattled and hoofs pawed the blue gravel drives, and bottles on the sideboard caused no envy, and only simple padlocks guarded cellars full of wine. Those were the days when carelessness and ease joined hands with leisure and made the merry dramas of which Richard Davis wrote. Perhaps Graf- ton Jellett was thinking even then that those were the days. The battle harness was off his shoulders. He could hear a dozen mowers on his terrace and the scrap- ing of the gardeners’ rakes upon his drive, and all these sounds spelled peace. “Just a little whisky, Hubbard, please,”’ he said; “a finger’s quite enough. Where's what’s-his-name— Street Hubbard?” “Coming directly, sir,"" Hubbard an- swered. ‘Here he is now, sir.” “Street,” said Mr. Jellett, “you're not any relation to that fellow downtown they arrested for running a gambling machine in the barber shop?” It was surprising now and then, the things his mind turned up, extraneous bits of knowledge, always somehow useful. “Yes, sir,” said Street. ‘“‘He’s my brother.” Grafton Jellett glanced up, and for a mo- ment Street ceased to be a piece of furni- ture. ‘It doesn’t hurt you with me to say that,”’ he said. ‘“‘Especially because you didn’t have to. Tell your brother to change his ways, Street.” Mr. Jellett sipped his whisky slowly. “Is your brother acquainted with some village people called what's the name? Michael?” Those were the days when servants were good servants and not half-trained shirkers EVENING POST with all those false ideas of democracy. Street stood correctly and attentively, lank and saturnine perhaps, but he did not bat an eye. “‘ Acquainted,” he said; ‘yes, sir.” “Ho, hum,” said Mr. Jellett. “Street, bring me my slippers, please. My feet are very tired.” Mr. Jellett picked up his book again, but he was weary of cutting pages. He laid it on his gold-and-rosewood Empire writing table and walked to the window through which there came that peaceful sound of lawn mowers. The lawn outside was as green and soft as English turf. There was a pool where a stone dolphin reared his head and performed the miracle of emitting a ceaseless stream of water through his nose. There were beds of digitalis in the bud, and the rhododendrons were still in bloom. There were groupings of other flowers shaped like moons and stars, and a hundred shrubs and box trees. Someone had men- tioned to Grafton Jellett once Pliny’s letter describing a boxwood walk at his summer villa, where the boxes had been cut in fan- tastic animal shapes. Grafton Jellett had bought a copy of Pliny’s letters and had read that one very carefully. A special man had come from Paris to trim the Jellett boxes, and even then the snipping of his shears gave an added pleasing sound. Grafton Jellett, however, looked at none of these sights. Instead, his eyes sought a spot where the lawn sloped steeply to the shore, for the sea seemed to be all about that lawn, giving it the effect of a magic island on a day when a clear sky made the water blue. Just where the lawn reached the shore, about two hundred yards away, was a square of salt marsh and a beach. Just short of that marsh the lawn stopped abruptly, as though at a command, and in- stead of impeccable turf there was a tiny square of rocky waste, overgrown with juniper and brambles. There was a building on that square, the condition of which was enough to prove that Mr. Jellett did not own it, for it was hardiy more than a shack turning gray from the weather. It was a duck hunters’ shelter, a strange enough structure to be left on Warning Hill. Old Thomas Jefferson Michael had built that shack when Warning Hill was nothing but a rocky pasture land where only cattle watched the Atlantic waves breaking on the rocks. Grafton Jellett swung open a French win- dow opening on his lawn. The sea breeze struck him brusquely and ruffled his sandy hair, and made his gray coat flop as he stood looking out, a small figure growing already slack about the waist. “Oh, Campbell!’ Mr. Jellett called. It was not unpleasant to see the stir out on the lawn. “‘Campbell!”’ shouted someone. It was like echoes across Elysian Fields. It was not unpleasant to watch Campbell ar- rive at a shambling run, as a first-rate superintendent should. “Campbell,” said Mr. Jellett, “you were going to plant a line of poplars where the lawn slopes to the shore. Don’t bother, Campbell. I shall own that piece a month from now.” As Mr. Jellett closed the window a tap sounded on the door, and with the tap a gentle scuffling and whispering, reminding him that it was the children’s hour. Once again circumstances were obliging him to emulate the kindly Longfellow, and to throw his study open to busy little feet. Unfitted, as he knew he was, to play the part, Mr. Jellett seemed to anticipate it with pleasure, for he smoothed his coat carefully and ex- panded his chest. ““Come in,” said Mr. Jellett. They came in side by side, nice children both of them, clipped and brushed as neatly as the box trees on the lawn--Sherwood on the right and Marianne on the left. Many and many would be the times that Sherwood was to blush at the clothing he wore then. Sherwood’s round little face was framed in reddish-yellow curls, falling to his shoulders, like the princes’ in the Tower, and he was dressed in black velvet. Sherwood kept his eyes on his patent-leather toes, because he March 25,1929 was afraid of his father already, and was beginning as early as that to feel bored by his company. It was Marianne who tripped forward as a child should, light on her feet, restless and laughing. Her white dress from Paris was a downy puff of ruffles which made her curiously unsubstantial. And already Grafton Jellett was disturbed by her, because she was not afraid at all. “The children have a surprise for you,” said Miss Meachey as she closed the door. “Sherry, dear, can you say the little poem we've learned?” “No,” said Sherwood. “T can,” said Marianne. ‘‘I can say lots and lots, can’t I, Meachey?”’ “‘Miss Meachey,” said Mr. Jellett. ““Now, Sherwood, will you say your poem if I give you a bright new quarter?” “No,” said Sherwood. “I can get a quar- ter any time I ask mamma!” “T can say it!’’ said Marianne. “We all got dressed for it. Miss Meachey got all dressed too. You ought to have seen her getting dressed, papa!" “Won't you sit down, Miss Meachey?”’ asked Mr. Jellett. “Papa,” said Marianne, “why do you al- ways ask to have Miss Meachey sit beside you?” Dullness descended upon Grafton Jellett in cloudlike beneficence. ‘Suppose you children run out on the terrace,”” he said. .. . “No, Marianne, the poem can wait.” Miss Meachey was good to look at, stand- ing by the door. Even her piain black dress with its billowing sleeves was restful to the eyes. It gave an ‘added luster to Miss Meachey’s soft dark hair and a most allur- ing whiteness to her hands and throat. She stood by the closed door, tall and mysteri- ous, like a figure in a painting which hinted of turret stairs and of silk and gold gleam- ing in the dark. “Really, you should be more careful,” Miss Meachey said. “Careful, eh?"’ said Grafton Jellett. Miss Meachey smiled, as someone might who was a good deal older. “You've never been a nucsery gover- ness,”” Miss Meachey said. ‘‘You under- estimate what children understand.” Grafton Jellett stood up and thrust his hands into his coat. ‘“‘Sometimes,”’ he said, “T get tired of being careful. Why should I be careful? Here, look what I’ve brought you.” He drew a leather case half out of his pocket. “Put it back!"’ said Miss Meachey. There was more color in her cheeks. “‘ Please, not now!” Grafton Jellett smiled frostily, with his eyes on Miss Meachey’s face. “‘A cold proposition,”’ he said. ‘‘ You're a very cold proposition, Meachey.” “Am I?” said Miss Meachey. “‘ Well, so are you.” “Oh, the devil!’ Mr. Jellett sighed. “At any rate you're real.” “Yes,” said Miss Meachey. “And so are you. Most men are, now and then.” “But not women,” sighed Grafton Jel- lett—‘“‘hardly ever women. You're the only one I've ever seen play her cards like aman. You go after what you want with- out any sentiment or funny business. Ho, hum. . . . Meachey, I wish I'd known you twelve years ago.” Yes, Miss Meachey was good to look at, standing by the door, so young and, at the same time, ever so old; she seemed to have lived other lives and miraculously to have kept the knowledge. She was glancing at the copy of Jane Eyre as it lay upon the writing table—a tale of another nursery governess and another stranger gentleman. “Do you know what I'd advise?’’ Miss Meachey said. “I'd advise you to send me packing while you. can.” “Thanks,” said Mr. Jellett, “for the tip. It goes to prove what I said before—you and I are real—the only ones in—in’’—he moved his head slowly about and blinked placidly—“‘in a whole square mile. And, Meachey, you don’t know how refreshing it is when you get where I am, surrounded (Continued on Page 102) ; 1 et ere se ~ - , sty Sawer ee ot

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 25, 1929 a % ’ he Fisk’s All-Cord. ee lime to Re-Tire ) A Great Advance in Tire Design ° | When Fisk found the way to build an All-Cord tire, with- Get A Fisk / out filler strings in the tire fabric, greater tire mileage Trade Mark Reg. U. 8. Pat. became an immediate fact.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST This revolutionary improvement, used only by Fisk, does away with the internal friction that eats up tires— prevents overheating and useless wear. Fisk’s All-Cord carcass is built of sinewy cords alone, embedded in live rubber. There are no cross strings to rub the fabric and generate heat every time the tire flexes. wp RSS ‘e Fisk tire strength is saved to resist the wear of the road. Because of this frictionless All-Cord construction Fisk Tires roll easier, with less heating, and last longer. They set a new standard of tire performance, cushioning the car completely on air, saving gasoline, and piling up excess mileage.

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oe a gift of the Mi Choice package seems to add a subtle perfection to the ceremonial we call Easter. The formal beauty of the package, the smooth chocolate coatings, the surprise fillings—all convey the good taste of the giver. Your dealer has the famous Mi Choice Package in one, two, three and five pound sizes. If not, send the coupon and $1.50 for the one pound Mi Choice or 2$c for an. attractive Miniature Sample Package packed with pieces that have made Mi Choice world famous. BUNTE BROTHERS Mater f Que ch ‘ nce 2470 3326 Franklin Booleva CHICAGO, ILLINOIS NEW YORK DETROIT MILWAUKEE LOS ANGELE SAN FRANCISCO CANDIES aa eel BuNTR BROTHERS, $325 Frank Bivd., Chicago, Lil, le se $1.50 f a cp» Mi: Choice pac Kage I a Mi¢ ec THE SATURDAY | (Continued from Page 98) by clothing dummies and simpering women and men living on dead men’s money, to see someone who's real. You and I know what it means to have our backs to the WG... os 3. on Oh, I’ve eaten out of a pail. I’ve run a donkey engine. Now, that’s something to re- member. I was hanged if I'd keep on—as everlastingly hanged as you are that you— that you'll ——” “Continue in the nursery?’’ asked Miss Meachey. “That's it,’ Grafton Jellett nodded feel- ingly. “That's exactly it! Ho,hum. . . I can remember ——— Does it bore you, Meachey, to hear me talk? But I don’t care if it does.” “Of course,”” said Miss Meachéy, “you wouldn't care.” “You know me, don’t you, Meachey?”’ | Mr. Jellett nodded placidly, though Miss | Meachey did not speak. ‘Now, I can re- member the first company | ever formed— on a shoestring, but nobody knew it till I sold out. I can remember how mad that fellow—what-was his name? It’s queer how bad I am at names—how mad he was when he found he’d given me five times too much. He was the first man I ever made angry.” “But not the last,” Miss Meachey said, and Grafton Jellett shook his head. “Not by along shot,” he answered. ‘Ho, hum. . . . You're a wonder, Meachey; you've got as much of a poker face as I have. Right now I'd write out a check for ten thousand to know what you think of me.” Miss Meachey moved a step from the door, and she laughed very, very softly at some thought of her own. “It may be worth more,” she answered, “not to have you know.” Grafton Jellett smiled, and for a moment his whole face relaxed, so that its placidity seemed to leave it for something else, and the edge of that cloak of dullness fluttered, vanishing into nothing. “* Meachey '’—his voice was nearly gentle with the laughter in it—‘‘do you honestly think that you can shake me down?” Yes, those were the days when men were men. Those were the days worth looking back upon. Perhaps Grafton Jellett knew it even then, because in that brief space he was very much himself, and confidential almost. “So many people have tried to, Meachey,” he added, “‘and haven't done it yet. No, sir; not a continental one.” “IT must be going,” said Miss Meachey quickly. “Someone’s coming down the hall.” And she was out the French windows to the terrace before a word could be said to stop her. If Grafton Jellett sighed when he saw her go, surely he had a reason. The sight of her was a song to his spirit. Her eyes and her laughter were laden with challenge, like the challenge of distant places, peaceful in eternal summer seas, with blue lagoons beyond the barrier reef and not a footstep in the sands. It was Hubbard standing in the open door. It was marvelous how Meachey could have told that he was coming, be- cause his step was almost noiseless. “A gentleman to see you, sir. A Mr. Michael.” “Who?” Dully, heavily, Mr. Jellett looked up from his leather chair. “A Mr. Michael, sir.”’ “Oh, yes,” said Grafton Jellett. “Show him in.” Vv F COURSE Tommy never heard of it till later, when everything had changed. It was so much later when all came to- gether piece by piece that it was hard to bring it back. But even then he could see Grafton Jellett rising from his chair and laying aside his book; the edges were flut- tering on that mantle of his dullness. “Ah,” he said. “I had an idea you might drop in.” Alfred Michael glanced about the room and sighed contentedly. It must have pleased him, for he, too, loved soft carpets EVENING POST and soft chairs. His lips curled beneath his mustache. His eyes met Grafton Jellett’s and neither looked away. “Did you?” he inquired. “I had an idea you might have that idea.” “Cooper,” said Mr. Jellett, “‘looks after me pretty well.” “He would,” Alfred Michael answered. “Sit down, Michael.” Grafton Jellett was almost friendly. When he told of it afterward he admitted he had not meant to ask Alfred Michael to sit down. It was just a moment’s whim, a slight indulgence. Perhaps the sight of the ridiculous checked suit and the frayed cravat with its an- tiquated pin and the whole effort of patched and broken grandeur to look new may have amused him—giving possession a new and pleasant taste. “Sit down, Michael,”’ said Grafton Jel- lett. “‘A little whisky? No? It’s not bad. whisky—a special distiller’s se- lection. . . . Ho, hum. . I'm just amusing myself cutting a first edition— Jane Eyre—a presentation copy.” “Ah,” said Alfred Michael, “‘are you?” He lowered himself into one of the leather chairs and glanced at the book which Mr. Jellett held toward him. To look at Alfred Michael, no one could have told that his world was on the verge of ruin. He looked at the book with a genuine interest. Graf- ton Jellett looked at him placidly, as one who had seen many men like Alfred Michael. Tommy could imagine he must have looked opaque and very dull. “An expensive habit, perhaps,” re- marked Mr. Jellett—‘‘this cutting a first edition. Expensive, but amusing.” Alfred Michael smiled again. ‘Why ex- pensive?”’ he inquired. “T see,”’ said Grafton Jellett, ‘that you don’t know the amenities of book collect- ing. There’s a peculiar premium on uncut books.” “Yes, I know that.” Alfred Michael looked puzzled. He leaned forward and his forehead wrinkled delicately. “‘But I don’t understand you. Why expensive?” “Eh?” said Grafton Jellett. ‘‘Why ex- pensive?’’ He spoke with his old dullness, but now he looked at Alfred Michael care- fully, and no longer with amusement. “You've got something up your sleeve. What is it?’ There he sat in strong silence. He was competing with something which he could not grasp for the moment. He drew back his head in cold caution, though his glance did not falter. For some reason utterly be- yond the limits of logic, Alfred Michael had exploded into laughter. It must have been a strange sight— Alfred Michael without a cent in the world, leaning back and laugh- ing at Grafton Jellett in his private room on Warning Hill. “Why, you poor devil!” said Alfred Michael. “Eh?” said Mr. Jellett. His face had become pinkish. His sandy eyebrows drew together. Over Mr. Jellett’s face had come a look they were familiar with downtown. Tommy would have learned a great deal if he had seen that look. If he had only seen it he might have known later that he could never compete with Grafton Jellett. His sense of values might have been so altered that he would have never tried. ‘“ What in thunder are you driving at?” “Excuse me,” said Alfred Michael. “Here you are getting pleasure out of cutting rare editions and you haven't been cutting them at all.” “What the devil?” Grafton Jellett was actually losing his grip. “How do you mean, I haven’t been cutting this hook?”’ “It’s simply because we're all so tech- nical.”’ Alfred Michael smiled indulgently. “T hope you won't be annoyed at missing a technicality. In the parlance of the book collector, Mr. Jellett, you're not cutting that book. You're merely opening it.” “Eh?” said Grafton Jellett. At last he was far from dull. He raised a hand to stroke his sparse sandy hair. ‘‘Opening it?”’ Alfred Michael nodded. “Idiotic way of putting it, isn’t it? Don’t think I blame yo& for being confused. ‘Opening’ is what March 25,1929 they call cutting the leaves of a book. ‘Cutting’ is something else again.” “Eh?” said Mr. Jellett. ‘Something else again?” “Cutting,” replied Alfred Michael, “‘re- fers to the binder’s habit of cutting down the margins when he gives the books new covers. That is what an ‘uncut’ means in the catalogues. The paper has its original edge, rough and unfinished. The actual act of opening the leaves has a very small influence on sales. You understand me now?” “Yes,” said Grafton Jellett. Suddenly he doubled up his fist and slammed it into the palm of his hand. “Yes, I see. It simply means—why, damn that fellow Hewens! Curse those catalogues! Why- confound those dealers! I'll bet they’ve been all laughing up their sleeves.” “They must have,” agreed Alfred Michael. Grafton Jellett drew in his breath. “I suppose,” he said— his eyes were once again opaque and dull—‘‘that you didn’t come here primarily to discourse on first editions. Well, what is it?” “I'm sorry I didn’t come to the point be- fore,” Alfred Michael said. ‘I had no idea you'd be put out.” “Don’t flatter yourself,” said Grafton Jellett, ‘“‘that you’ve put me out. ‘ What is the point?” “TI don’t,” said Alfred Michael, “very much.” |“‘He had a contempt for me,”’ was what Grafton Jellett said afterward. ‘‘Confound it, you might have thought I was a squealer from the way he looked at me. He just sat and twirled that antique gold watch chain. Confound it! You might have thought he was doing me a favor.”’} “The fact is,” said Alfred Michael, “I’ve come to take your offer.” “‘What offer?’’ Grafton Jellett asked. “The only one,”’ said Alfred Michael, “that I'm aware you ever made me, but I don’t blame you for not remembering. Six months ago we had a conversation about my shooting box down there.”” He turned and waved his hand over Mr. Jellett’s lawn. ‘‘Down there by the shore. You pointed out at the time that it was an eye- sore which interfered with your view, and I replied that I saw no reason for giving it up. I pointed out that I had explained the matter to Mr. Cooper when you had sent him to interview me. At the end of my explanation, sir’’—Alfred Michael kept his eyes on Grafton Jellett as he spoke—‘“‘ you offered me five thousand flat for a title free and clear; a sum considerably over that land’s value, as you pointed out. I refused that sum, and when I refused it I told you one thing more by way of explanation for a step which you considered, I am afraid, in the nature of a personal affront. I imagine, Mr. Jellett, that you're used to getting what you want.” “Oh,” said Mr. Jellett, ““do you?” [‘‘Now it made me mad,” said Grafton Jellett when he told of it. “‘He sat there as if he was a prosecutor's lawyer and I could see a patch on his elbow. It—it was every- thing about him that made me mad.”’} “IT told you,” said Alfred Michael, “‘that I was fond of my land, that I had a par- tiality for it, perhaps hard for you to realize, because we’ve owned it for a long time. We have not come from the city. We owned it when this was actually coun- try. And you told me in reply that you would get it eventually.” “Well,” said Grafton Jellett, “‘so I will.’ He gazed absently at Alfred Michael and twiddled his thumbs in little circles, one around the other. “Tt seems so,”’ Alfred Michael answered, “‘because you can have it now. I'll take your offer of five thousand.” “Oh,” said Mr. Jellett densely, “you will?” “It just happens Michael. “Yes, I will.” Grafton Jellett gazed at Alfred Michael for a minute with pursed lips and dull, vacant eyes. (Continued on Page 107) ” began Alfred

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ) ' { \ ae ' vf ’ ‘ ’ Y Y ’ ry. ry. Ty y ‘ y I ) ‘ ) > ‘ : r a THE LINING THAT WILL NEVER EMBARRASS YOIl A topcoat is constantly under inspection, It is an More Skinner's Satin is used by high-grade tailors and unwritten law among check girls and check boys to clothing manufacturers than all other lining satins turn a coat inside out revealing the lining. Your coat combined. This is simply the recognition which the should have the richness of Skinner’s Satin. world is sure to give to something distinctly superior, oF William Skinner & Sons, New York, Chieago, Boston, Phila., San Francisco — Mills: Holvoke. Ma stab. IS48 | Skinners Satins Makers of the famous j Skinner's Crepes and Satin Crepes “LOOK FOR THE NAME Dy? IN eTy > THE SELVAGE”

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104 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 25, 1929 HABBY SHOES ASIN THIS BOOKLET tells how to get the kK utmost in dress-valoé and satisfaction out of footwear. Ask your shoe dealer for a copy. . . or wrjfe to the Executive Advertising Conshpdtece, 14th Floor, 260 Tremont Stréet, Boston, Mass. oy 7 ‘ —_— a — |

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 108 | must walk ALONE sf T’S a great old world . . if you don’t have to “go it alone.” That’s why good personal appearance gives so many men a flying start toward success in busi- ness and that cordial popularity which enriches life with companionship, friendliness and fond affection. Lacking these things, you plug and plod more or less alone, for the world appraises men quickly these days. The first step toward success is to look successful... and, more than ever before, shoes mark the man! Spring is here. Easter’s coming. Straw hats and } light-weight fabrics are on the way. With a man’s allegiance to comfort, common sense and custom youll soon be buying light-weight footwear, too. Fon correct dress es well es cor Please your personal whims as to prices and pat- rect fitting . . . consult shoe mer- e ch s who display this emblem " 7 . _ . " . , ts pr trer-tngpag Soman terns, but REMEMBER THIS BASIC AXIOM of good ment is one of a series sponsored . . by the combined Shoe, Leather usage: the best and most useful shoes for you are and Allied Industries, in collab- . . ' a ’ 7 ” oration with the National Shoe shoes of those various TYPES that go best with Retailers’ Association. the clothes YOU wear and the things YOU do. When you dress, choose your shoes as carefully as your tie. Pick the ones that go best with the clothes youre wearing. Don’t let “shoe-shame”™ B, spoil the whole effect. Be right ... look the part. MARK THE MAN

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106 THE

SATURDAY EVENING POST

March 23,1929

A new Gruen invention THE OLD WAY "THE QUADRON WAY

; By useme all case space, this rectangular Quadron movement permit; larger, stronger parts, hence @ new standard of accuracy ere is what happened when 200 Preci ed to official observatory tests in ion Quadron movements were subr These watches were stock models. They

hore consecutive serial numbers, just as ev came trom the Gruen Precision Work- hop. They were identical in every respect with the new Precision Quadrons your \y r Jen Tw ¥ vou Every one of these two hundred watches was gran a certificate for fimekee Ping excesience py ft Observatory So far as we know, this is a world's ord. It establishes the Gruen Precision Quadron as she nearest approach to pocket watch accuracy eve? pul on the wrist. And it can only be explained by the new Gruen rectangular movement with which every Precision Quadron 1s fitted 7 President Green Wanch Makers Guild

Gruen Quadron, 14-kt. solid gold* Crown-Guard case, 17-jewel Precision moverment, $75

Gruen Quadron — finished en- graved case, 17-jewel Precision move- ment, $65

Gruen Quadvon, 14-kt. solid gold* en- craved case, with special case comstruc- 17-jewel Precision movement, $100

Gruen Ou adron, 14-kt. solid gold case,* 17-sewel, rectangular Precision move- ment. $75. Orber j 175 to $5E went, t ther Quaarons 5 to $V *For that finest gift, choose a Gruen in a soltd gold case

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~ é ~_ 7 5 1, ~~) . \ j N 4 8 at \ ij ! "4 a. ; a Jk re } a" fj a AF 4 if i ee i> .@& F How the modern Guild achieved a new world’s record tor timekeeping accuracy The nearest approach to pocket watch accuracy ever put on the wrist! Achieved by a simple new prin- ciple. <A rectangular movement with larger, stronger parts than are possible with the usual round movement of equal width. In the new Gruen Precision Quadron! The watch that has won for guild craftsmanship—an art centuries old—its newest world's record for accuracy! Official observatory tests in Switzerland have established this unparalleled record. Again, Gruen expresses in a modern contribution the fine spirit of medieval watch guilds. The spirit of constant progress This emblem is displayed only by jewelers of high business char- acter, qualified members of the Gruen Guiid Gruen in accuracy! With the old master guildsmen, every watch produced must be in some way a better time- piece than the one before. Pledged to restore this pre- cious guild tradition in modern times, the Gruen Guild origi- nated twenty-five years ago the famous VeriThin movement— making possible the first accurate thin pocket watch. Later, it was Gruen, also, who introduced the more highly ac-

PRECISION This GRUEN pledge mark is placed only upon watches of higher accuracy, finer quality and finish. Made only in the Precision Workshop Look for the mark Precision on the dial

curate rectangular movement in tiny wrist watches for women. And now, the rectangular move- ment in a man’s strap watch! The Precision Quadron is a nota- ble expression of the Guild ideal which aims to offer you in a fine watch of any type, at any price, the greatest value for every dol- lar you invest. Your Gruen jeweler—one of the best in your community— can show you the Precision Quad- ron and other Guild Watches to suit the taste of every member of the family. Prices $3500 to $27.50. His window is marked by the Gruen Service emblem at the left. GRUEN WATCH MAKERS GUILD TIME HILL, CINCINNATI, U.S. A. Branches in various parts of the world Engaged in the art of making fine watches for more than half a century Guild Watches

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Se - (Continued from Page 102 “You won’t get five thousand,” said Grafton Jellett. “I’ve reconsidered and withdrawn the offer.” There was a moment’s silence. Grafton Jellett twiddled his thumbs and looked at Alfred placidly. Alfred Michael stared hard at the toe of his shiny boot. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “It just so happened at this particular juncture that I could make use of the sum you mentioned.” “Cleaned up in the stock market, eh?”’ inquired Grafton Jellett. “IT supposed you knew,” Alfred Michael said. ‘“‘How much will you buy for?” “Thanks,” Grafton Jellett twiddled his thumbs again. ‘But I don’t buy on a fall- ing market.” For a second or so Alfred Michael looked almost ill. “You mean,” he spoke with difficulty, mastered by some emotion, “‘you’re going to wait till the bottom falls out of the market?’”’ “Yes, that’s it,” said Grafton Jellett. ** And you won’t make an offer till then?”’ “No; why should I?” said Grafton Jellett. “No reason,” said Alfred Michael. “You're absolutely right in principle.” He drew his feet back preparatory to rising. “Well, I’m sorry you won’t buy.” Mr. Jellett’s lips relaxed. “The trouble with you fellows,” he said—‘‘and I’ve seen a lot like you since I started my own broker’s office—is you expect extra con- sideration. Why should you get it? You go into a game when everybody’s warned you you're bound to lose. You go in with professionals and then, when you get cleaned out, you seem to expect some credit for being amateurs. Now, Michael, I know men’s faces, and I’ve watched your face. You're dead flat broke. You may know more than I do about old editions, but not about business, because you’re an amateur. You come in and laugh because I don’t know the difference between cutting and opening a book, and yet you don’t expect me to laugh when you've made a worse blunder in a piece of trading. Now, why should I help you out of your hole? I’m not saying I won’t, but exactly why on earth should I?” “*My dear sir’’—Alfred Michael was on his feet, worried and solicitous—‘‘ what un- fortunate remark of mine could have made you suspect I was asking or anticipating anything from you? I beg you, please be- lieve I should never dream of such a thing. I may be an amateur, as you say, but I've followed the races and I know exactly what to expect, which is nothing. As you so THE SATURDAY clearly opined, I am all through, but I said I was sorry about that bit of land, because I feel this is positively the last time I shall offer it to you—your last chance, sir, of having it—and shall we say—of opening its pages?”’ “You'll be back,”’ Grafton Jellett said “No,” answered Alfred Michael, “I shan’t. I’ve reconsidered and withdrawn the offer.” Grafton Jellett leaned back in his chair comfortably. “If you're going to try anything in the nature of a contest you'll be sorry, Michael. I told you I'd get that beach, and I mean it.” “No,” said Alfred Michael, “you're go- ing to be mistaken for once. You won't get it. Well, good afternoon.” “Good afternoon,”’ said Grafton Jellett. “You'll be back.” Hubbard was there when Alfred Michael went out, and Hubbard remembered him, too—a queer, shapely smallish gentleman, who took his hat and cane and nodded. He remembered because that gentleman said a peculiar thing when he went out, which sometimes made Hubbard creepy when he took his port in the pantry of an evening. It was just before they came to the door. The gentleman had been whistling to him- self, when suddenly he stopped whistling and looked at a picture. He stopped short and peered at it and then put his stick behind his back. “Ha!” hesaid. ““A Turner! Better ones in the National Gallery, eh?”’ “Yes, indeed, sir!’’ Hubbard answered. “*Ulysses—do you remember him sailing into the soft light? No one else will ever get the teeling or the color.” He was shabby, but only a gentleman would have spoken so naturally to one of the help. “You must return again, sir, to admire it when the light is better,"” Hubbard said. **Again?”’ The gentleman looked at him. “Do you believe in ghosts?” “T can’t say as I do, sir,’ answered Hub- bard, “though, of course, I have been in service in the old country in houses reputed to have them. Now at Lord Errol’s, in Cumberland, the kitchen maid, I recall, used continually to be disturbed by a gen- tleman in shorts, sir, with a noose about his neck, but hardly real, I think, sir. No, sir, as a churchman I don’t believe in them.” “No?” The gentleman gave his stick a twirl. “Then I don't suppose you ever will see me back, but you might tell the kitchen maids not to be disturbed.”’ (TO BE CONTINUED) EVENING POST hari eS ‘Pats Friction Out of Business ' When 3-in-One is squirted into the bear- ings of any light mechanism, it penetrates and spreads until every part is completely covered with a protective film which says to Friction, “Stop that wear!” And this valuable protection costs so little! A Handy Can—enough 3-in-One to protect your sewing machine from excessive wear for a long, long time—costs no more than a couple of sundaes or packages of cigarettes, When 3-in-One costs so little, you can't afford to take chances with any ordinary oil just be- Cause it Costs a penny or so less. 3-in-One is very different from all ordinary oils. A number of high quality oils are sci- entifically blended to he a lubricant of extraordinary character and high quality. It's different—and better. Remember to ask for 3-in-One by name and to look for the Big Red “One” on the label. 3-in-One is easy to obtain, too. Most good grocery, drug, hardware, notion, general and department stores have it. Two size Handy Oil Cans and three size bottles. FREE SAMPLES 536.0003 oritorv a Une Manufactured since 1894 THREE-IN-ONE OIL CO., 130 William St., New York Don’t miss the “3in-One Theatre” broadcast every Tuesday evening at 9 o’ctock, Eastern Standard time, over WJZ and associated stations.

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110 POEN TS ont _ > me : THAT MARK THE MAN Ir’s not only clothes that mark the man. The well-groomed man knows the value of little attentions—gleam- ing shoes, crisp linen, and a fresh, clean-shaven face. That is why so many successful men are enthusiastic about Squibb’s Shav- ing Cream. Its firm, soft lather—its quick, thorough work. For Squibb’s was made to meet the most exacting requirements of the most exacting shaver. Introduce yourself, now, to the smooth coolness and freshening com- fort of Squibb’s Shaving Cream. All drug stores carry it. The price, too, is only 40c for a generous tube. A SHAVING CREAM BY SQUIBB ht 1929 by E. R. Squibb & Sons cents THE SATURDAY Hayes Lyons stood courageously the cruel ordeal of watching his four friends go to their deaths. His last words were a request that his body be given to his mistress. “Don’t let me hang too long,”’ he added an instant before the drop. The five were buried side by side in the old cemetery at the crest of the hill north of the town, directly back of the spot where the monument marking the site of the first Masonic Temple in Montana now stands. Along the highways of Southwestern Montana today—from Monida to Dillon and Twin Bridges; from Reynolds Pass through Ennis to Virginia City and on to Butte and Helena—every road sign and marker bears the cryptic figures 3—7-77. “What does it mean?”’ the traveler asks. “Oh, it’s an old sign the vigilantes used to use. This highway’s called the Vigilante Trail and they mark it with those figures.” With that explanation many are content, but now and then there arrives in the state a more obstinate soul who is less easily satisfied. “That's all very nice,” says he, “but what does this 3-7—77 really mean? What did the vigilantes use it for?”’ He hears stories, suppositions, theories, and what have you, to account for the use of that combination of numerals. No man knows its true significance. The most probable explanation is that the vigilantes of Montana lifted the idea bodily from their brethren in California and employed it as a similar warning, but without the same esoteric significance. Vigilante Numerology William T. Colman, the organizer of the California vigilantes, was referred to by his followers as No. 1. Orders from No. 1 or signed by him were final and instant obe- dience was mandatory. As new members were enrolled, each was given a number, and it transpired that No. 3, No. 7, and No. 77 came to hold certain executive positions and to sign orders to the com- mittee members or notices of banishment with these figures. Paris S. Pfouts and several others of the Montana vigilantes, we know, were fa- miliar with many details of the California organization, and when they launched upon similar work in Montana, it appears reason- able that the ominous 3-7-77—the dread import of which had spread to the mining camps of the Rockies—would be adopted along with the by-law providing that “‘the only punishment that shall be inflicted by this Committee is Death.” This death rule was not always enforced, however. Men whose guilt was not clearly proved were banished, there were several floggings administered, and there was at least one instance of a genuine humani- tarianism. A youth of twenty, sleeping in Ballinger’s Hotel, in Alder Gulch, yielded to tempta- tion and stole some $200 in gold dust from a miner. The bunks in the hotel were | placed one above the other, and the miner occupying a bed above that where the boy ' was lying, inadvertently displayed a fat | sack. The youth reached between the slats | of the bunk above him, cut the string | about the mouth of the bsg, and allowed the golden contents io trickle into his | cupped hands. One of the nuggets, of distinctive shape, was recognized, the thief was arrested. His | guilt was unquestioned, but on account of | his youth and the absence of any previous criminal record there was a strong senti- | ment in favor of banishment. Charles Beehrer— Charley the Brewer— was among those at the meetiny. “I don’t believe in banishment,” said the German gruffly. “Hanging is good, but banishment—no! Ifa man is not good EVENING POST VIGILANTE (Continued from Page 40) enough to live with us, we had better hang him, not turn him loose on somebody else. “This boy should have another chance. Let us keep him right here, get him a job, and have him report to somebody every day until he has made enough money to pay back what he stole.” The shrewd brewer’s advice was taken. Work was found for the youth. There is a relief in noting that the boy refunded all the money, moved on to Last Chance Gulch— Helena, Montana—with the rush to those diggings, and at the time of his death fifty years later was a well-to-do business man of Portland, Oregon. With actual criminals, however, the vigilantes were merciless. There still remained a number of bandits with records as black as those of the men who had been executed. These had scat- tered. March 25,1929 Louis Demorest’s corral and took personal charge of all the details of his execution. He was particularly fastidious about the placing of the knot below his ear. “I don’t care any more about being hanged than I do about taking a drink,” he announced, “but I want my neck broken. Can I jump off myself?” He mounted to a board placed between two boxes, stating that at the word “Ready!’’ he would count three and then jump. “Have you any last requests to make, Bill?” “Only thing I want is a mountain three hundred feet high to jump off! Ready? One. Two. Three! Here goes it!” He leaped of his own accord and was killed instantly. Mrs. Demorest was so furious at the use to which their cor- Twenty-one men, headed by Pfouts and Wil- liams, left Alder Gulch on January fifteenth, the day following the exe- cution of the five, camped the first night on Big Hole River and the next morning divided their forces. Six rode up the river to Clark’s ranch, where Steve Marshland was hiding. Steve had been shot through the breast in the hold-up of the Moody pack train on December fourth, and his feet had been terribly ral had been put that she compelled her husband to cut down and burn the gate as soon as the body had been removed, and to construct a new one in such fash- ion that it could never be émployed for a similar pur- pose. Other bandits, the vigilantes knew, were at Hell Gate, and they turned their steps in that direction. The rigors of that winter ride are merely hinted in the accounts of the intrepid band that made it. We are told of a horse frostbitten in the course of his wan- derings through the mountains after that fiasco. A dog was the only company he had at the ranch and he made no resistance to capture, although several revolvers, a jiager rifle, and two shotguns stood within arm’s reach. He explained his frostbite by tell- ing of a prospecting trip. He appeared surprised when asked if he had been wounded, slapping his chest and asserting he was “‘as sound as a dollar.” His shirt was opened, disclosing the scarcely healed injury, and his guilt was clear. He made a complete confession and was hanged that night in Clark’s corral. The detachment rejoined the main body above Evans’ ranch the following afternoon. They rode hard, these Exterminators. The best horseflesh in the country was theirs for the asking, and sixty or seventy miles between dawn and dusk were consid- ered merely an ordinary day’s ride. At Cottonwood, now called Deer Lodge, Bill Bunton was arrested. Plummer’s second in command had reached the settlement about two weeks before, gambled with a saloon keeper named Cooke, and had won a half interest in the establishment. To- gether with Bunton, the party gathered in their old friend, Tex Crowell. Again Tex beat the case against him. There was no doubt in any man’s mind but that he was a criminal, but his name had not been mentioned by Yeager and no definite proof of his guilt could be found. He was discharged—his second narrow escape from the noose—and left on the run, stopping only when he had reached Kootenai in British Columbia. Bunton was one of the few bandits who refused to make any confession, answering every question and accusation with the password: “I am innocent.” He was hanged to the cross bar of the gate of PHOTO. BY COURTESY OF THE STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF MONTANA A.M. Holter, Pioneer Merchant, Through Whose Hat George Ives Put a Bullet breaking its leg amid snow- covered rocks and of a man being saved from drown- ing in an icy river only by a companion’s accurate cast of a rope. A good haul was made at the little Missoula County hamlet. Three men- Cyrus Skinner, Aleck Carter and Johnny Cooper; all of them wanted—were taken there, and Bob Zachary was arrested at Baron Barney O’Keefe’s ranch. Carter had heard rumors of the execu- tions at Bannack and was curious as to the identity of the men who had been hanged. The entire list was repeated to him—he had heard nothing of the quintuple execu- tion at Virginia City—and he whistled softly. “All right!”” he exclaimed. “Not an innocent man hung yet!” Nonchalant Bandits There was no question of the guilt of the prisoners and they were executed shortly after midnight, January 25, 1864, in Higgin’s corral. As the party were marching toward the scaffold, Skinner broke away from his guards and raced off in the darkness shouting, “Shoot! Shoot!” He was captured without difficulty, placed on the improvised platform with a noose around his neck, and told to start running again at any time. “That’s all right,” he apologized. “I just had an idea that maybe I wasn’t born to be hanged!” The password of the outlaws, “I am innocent,” was the last speech of each of the condemned men. Bob Zachary was brought in from O’Keefe’s to Hell Gate early the following morning. He refused to believe that so (Continued on Page 114) 7 o= _ had m WOP TON

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

sh eS Cc he +yOR 2m FORYP MO eM pet ‘ +8) nists c — TRO BY ead Fed es Ae ne i - <* “Watch Your Oil’’_ Ford Motor Co. ““TROPER OILING AND GREASING mean so much to your car _ perfection by the most exacting refinery methods and sold that they should not be neglected or carelessly done—” by thousands of dealers who display the Pennzoil sign. that is the advice of the builder of nearly half the auto- , ‘ ) ‘ ar the Pennze nd that is PENNZC mobiles in the world. Only one oil can bear the Pennzoil seal and that is PENNZOIL Don’t be misled by similar sounding names or imitative trademark And it’s good advice for the owner of every make of car. Remember that while Pennzoil ts 100°, Pennsylvania otl—all Penn syluania oil is NOT Pennzoil. Insist upon having genuine Pennzoil

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Chester Aldrich, well-known architect of the New York firm of Delano & Aldrich, renowned for its work in de- signing distinguished coun- try houses. March 25,1929 Chester Aldrich tells you how to modernize your home with paint The same distinctive colors specified on the finest exteriors are now at your command HE exteriors of modern houses are growing more and more colorful,” says Mr. Aldrich, the well-known architect of the firm of Delano and Aldrich, renowned for its work in designing distinguished country houses. “For both the outside and the inside of the house, more atten- tion is being given to the scheme of color.” “The suggestion on the opposite page,” adds Mr. Aldrich, “shows just one of the many ways that color may be adapted to architectural de- sign.” Mr. Aldrich is one of a group of noted architects who, with several well-known interior decorators, have just written a book for the du Pont Company entitled ‘Modern Color Schemes for the Home.” In it you will find Testing viscosity with the “Plastometer” in the du Pont Control Laboratories Sail f Saiba able. cated new modern color ideas for your home. A copy will be sent you upon receipt of the coupon on the next page. Every color and shade suggested in this book has been approved by the du Pont “Color Com- mittee,” a group of artists and practical decora- tors working with the du Pont Home Decoration Service. Lasting beauty of color, durability, economy— these are the points architects praise in the famous du Pont Prepared Paint for exterior use. The great du Pont scientific organization gives the makers of Duco an unparalleled advantage. The du Pont chemists are continually alert, cre- ating new formulae, improving old. Before it is produced commercially, each du Pont finish must meet the most rigorous tests these men can devise both in the laboratories and in actual use. Another group, at the great du Pont control laboratories, hour by hour test the output of the du Pont factories. Before it goes to the warehouse, scientists with special precision in- struments must certify that every du Pont finish meets the highest standard in every quality it requires in actual daily use in the home. Season after season, they are watching the du Pont out- PR A a lie eS door “testing fences” in widely separated states. It is*in this way that durability and uniformity are assured. When you see the du Pont oval, any painter will tell you: you need have no doubts. Today du Pont dealers everywhere There is no reason today to take chances with paints. The same finishes, praised by architects and decorators and used so strikingly in famous American residential suburbs, are now available Du Pont Paints put the whole range of modern color at your command QU POND PAINTS, VARNISHES

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Se =. from du Pont dealers in all parts of the country. When you require the services of a craftsman- expert, call on the master painter. He will tell you what du Pont paint, varnish, enamel or Duco is best for the task. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ok a ane ewe ——-_ OF Sr aa - a ; TTT TTT] Delano and Aldrich, architects. Color suggestions by Chester Aldrich Send for the architect’s book of color suggestions practical book on modern home painting. Author- AND ENAMELS made by the makers of DUCO **Modern Color Schemes for the Home” is a very BODY OF rTRIM—No SHUTTERS ROOF —No — ( members of the Pre-tested Line DU PONT DU PONT PREPARED PAINT INTERIOR GLOSS DU PONT FLAT WALI DU PONT SHINGLI DU PONT VARNISHES PAINT STAIN DU PONT FLOOR & DECK ENAMEL DUCO FOR HOUSEHOLD USE You cai with these Prepared Paint Paint PORCH CEILING Pre pare d Paint pare d Paint tain obtain this co HOUSE—No. 1) Outside du Pont « White No. 1641 wht Blue 10 Venetian Red ol r Ss } le ws No. 86 Bright (-reen 138 Cream ne -du Pont du Pont Pre pared - du Pont du Pont Pre- u Pont Shingle IRON RAILING— Black —du Pont Antoxide itative color schemes for every part of the house are explained and delightfully illustrated. Instruc tions are clear and definite. Before painting your home be sure to get this cuide to correct color combinations Just mail the coupon with 10¢ Modern Color Schemes for the Home” J E. L. du Pont de Nemours & Co., In Phila Dept SEP3 Independence of your book by Pk is¢ orators 10¢ to cover Name {ddress send me Modern Color a copy f handling Schemes ™Y iare for the le phia architect Home.” , and de« I enclose

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114 ZA xo “Strike” HAT You See: A sandpapered alley of hardwood with ten duck pins lined up at the end. A well aimed ball, skirt- ing the edge of the al- ley, then curving in to strike the pins between numbers one and two. What You Don’t See: The painstaking work of the saw filer who used a Nicholson File to sharpen the saws which, in turn, cut the lumber for the bowl- ing alley. Throughout the realms of sports, industry and the home, there are thousands of jobs that only a file can do. Hardware dealers can supply you with shapes and sizes for every de- mand. Booklet “Files All Over the World” will be sent free at your request. NICHOLSON FILE CO. Providence, R. 1., U. S.A. Your hardware dealer can supply you A File for Every Purpose THE SATURDAY Continued from Page 110) many of the outlaw band had been ex- ecuted and was convinced only when one of the party gave him all the “work” of the Innocents lodge. He wrote a farewell letter to his brothers and sisters in Illinois, urging them to avoid whisky, gambling and bad company; and while standing on the gallows uttered a prayer for the vigilantes who stood around him. “God forgive you if you’re doing wrong by hanging all of us,” he said, “but it’s the only way you'll ever rid the country of road agents!"’ When Zachary had been captured at O’ Keefe’s the Baron had dropped a remark to the effect that a stranger was stopping at Van Dorn’s ranch in the Bitter Root Valley. Thomas Pitt—Dimsdale calls him No. 84—took two men and rode to Van Dorn’s, arriving there on January twenty-fourth. The description of the stranger tallied with that of George Shears, and when Van Dorn met them at the door, Pitt asked for Shears by name. Shears chatted with perfect candor of his various crimes, pointed out to Pitt the stolen horses he had stabled in Van Dorn’s corral, and discussed his hanging as calmly as he might the weather. “You got me, that’s all,” he said. “I knew I'd have to go up sometime, but I thought I could run another year!" A rope was made fast to a rafter of the barn and a ladder placed beside it. “If you'll climb that ladder, George,” said Pitt, “it'll save us the trouble of scouting around for something to make a drop.” “Sure, but I’m not very used to this business—never having been hanged be- fore. Shall I jump off or slide off?” “Jump off, George.” “All right. Good-by!” and the non- chalant bandit hopped off into eternity. “‘Shall I jump or slide’ became a vigilante by-word and was used sometimes in later years as a countersign. A Task Nearly Completed Meanwhile, James Williams and two companions were pushing on to Fort Owen, where Whisky Bill Graves was reported to be. Graves was a sullen brute, guilty of a dozen crimes of which the vigilantes had absolute proof. He had come to Fort Owen from Alder Gulch after the execu- tion of George Ives, and his presence there was learned as a result of his own repeated threats to “shoot on sight any damned vigilanter that came his way!” Evidently the cold-eyed fury of Jim Williams took the posse leader out of the category of “any damned vigilanter,”’ for Whisky Bill surrendered without a protest. He was the only one of the road agents to be hanged by the method that is generally associated with wild-western executions. A suitable tree was selected, a rope put around the victim's neck, and he was placed astraddle of a horse behind the saddle. The rider, with a shout of, ‘‘Good-by, Bill!” raked his spurs across the animal’s flanks, and as the pony leaped forward Whisky Bill slid over the smooth rump and was left dangling. The vigilante groups returned to Alder Gulch with one name only remaining on the list of definitely identified bandits. This was Bill Hunter, the man who had escaped the noose in Virginia City on January fourteenth, and who, it was learned, was hiding in the Gallatin Valley. Four men, led by Andriel B. Davis, were detailed to this final task. Hunter was captured on February 2, 1864, and hanged the following day, the men of the posse laying hold of the rope and, with a swift jerk, running him up be- neath the limb of a cottonwood. A cir- cumstance of his death is talked about to this day by old-timers. Though virtually instantly killed, the hanging man twisted } one arm free from its bonds, clutched at the == | Spot where his gun usually hung, and went EVENING POST through the motions of drawing, cocking and firing the weapon six times. The job was done! Though circum- stances were to compel the vigilantes to unsheath their weapons again, their real task, the breaking up of an organized criminal element, was concluded with the execution of Hunter. Men could now travel in safety over roads where a month before every clump of sagebrush was a possible hiding place of a bandit. On January 3, 1864, only one of the Innocents, George Ives, had been executed. One month later, February third, twenty-one of the band had been hanged, four ban- ished, and the few that remained alive had left Montana so far behind them that no man in the territory felt a moment’s uneasiness. “Cap Slade,” say the old-timers, “could not handle his liquor!” Joseph A. Slade has been dust for nearly seventy years. It was on March 10, 1864, that he was hanged behind the hotel in Virginia City. But his memory is still green in the land and there are dozens of men in Montana and Idaho whose March 25,1929 hundred miles. For more than half the distance there was no road whatever. North of the Missouri was the territory of the Blackfoot Indians; to the south were roving bands of Crows, Sioux and Gros Ventres. Any or all of these tribes re- garded the raiding of a wagon train as an ideal morning’s entertainment. He had little difficulty in finding team- sters and packers to accompany him. The magic name of “Slade of the Overland” was sufficient to bring to his corrals every man in the mountains who could pop a bull whip. With funds advanced by Ely he purchased additional wagons and mules, led his party to the Milk River, loaded his wagons and delivered the consignment to the Hardies in Virginia City on December tenth. The saga of that journey has never been told. Nor will it be. No historian ac- companied Slade, none of his teamsters kept diaries. Twice they fought off Indian attacks. Quicksand added its terrors at many of the fords. They made their own road for hundreds of miles and reached Virginia City without the loss of a man or one item of the shipment. fathers knew him and who are ready to leap to his de- fense. No revolution- ary movement can be errorless. Eggs must be broken be- fore the omelet is on the plate, and the execution of Joseph A. Slade is, possibly, the one mistake of the Montana vigi- lantes. An, error, perhaps, but one with beneficial re- sults. His body, swaying in the cold, blustering March wind, told the hell raisers once and for all that no man could brazenly defy the edicts of the peo- Slade acquired a hay ranch. There was no freighting to be done during the bitter months of January and February, and just eight miles away was Virginia City and the roaring towns that were strung along the ravine. Each time he came over he pro- ceeded to get drunk, and each time he got drunk he strove to take the town apart and discover what made it work. He rode his horse into saloons and stores; he shot up dance halls and bar- rooms. He ple’s court. Slade arrived in Virginia City at the head of a small freighting outfit in thespring of 1863, and promptly made good. He identified himself with the established business men of the community, merchants and miners, and in spite of his frequent sprees and quarrels, was held in general esteem. Though the reputation he had made on the Overland as a savage and deadly gunman followed him to Alder Creek, nowhere can one find record or rumor of his being associated in any way with Ives, Hunter, Helm or other members of the outlaw band. Slade never permitted himself to become infected with the mining bacillus. He was a freighter and he stuck to that profession. Many supplies for the Montana settle- ments came from the East by water, steamers making the long trip up the Missouri River from St. Joseph to the head of navigation at Fort Benton. From there, freight teams brought the goods over the military road into Deer Lodge Valley, west and south through Deer Lodge Pass into the Beaverhead and Big Hole country, and then south up the Passamari Valley to Alder Gulch—a long, arduous, and circuitous route, but the only one available. The summer of 1863 was marked by ex- tremely low water in the Missouri. A steamer loaded with supplies was unable to ascend to Fort Benton and its cargo was unloaded at the mouth of Milk River, several hundred miles to the east. Slade, with the financial backing of John Ely, guaranteed to make the delivery. From the Fairweather diggings to the mouth of Milk River was more than seven PHOTO, GY COURTESY OF THE STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY Fr wWONTANA Governor Samuel T. Hauser Who Narrowly Escaped the Ambush of the Bandits bragged and he brawled. He at- tended a theatrical performance and when Kate Harpe, an entertainer, appeared in ballet costume, Slade stopped the show with his com- ments. Again and again he was warned. The Big Three of the vigilance committee Williams, Sanders and Lott—told him in plain language. Banishment from the territory was the mildest punishment promised him. Sober, he swore immediate and lasting reformation. A half dozen drinks and his promises were forgotten. Fatal Contempt of Court Considerable circulation has been given a story that Cap Slade was hung for per- sisting in singing a ribald ditty which linked the names of J. M. Fox, acting sheriff of Virginia City, and Paris S. Pfouts, president of the vigilantes, with that of a woman of the town. He was not. Most emphatically he was not. The song was sung, but the vigilantes settled no such private grudges. Slade’s arrest was the result of a wild all-night celebration that followed the above-mentioned theatrical performance. He so terrorized the town that merchants were closing their stores and placing shut- ters before the windows to protect the glass from bullets as Cap and his friends fired their guns promiscuously up and down the streets. Early in the morning they came upon a wagon from which milk was being delivered, unhitched the horse and sent the vehicle rolling down the grade. It upset (Continued on Page 119)

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« Aide a Dike... **See, daddy, what Knute Rockne says” This famous trainer of football stars and athletes thinks every boy should have a bicycle. You ought to have this fascinat- ing, free book which pictures Lindbergh, Douglas Fairbanks, Jack Dempsey and many other notables. Among other things, it tells you how to earn money with a bicycle —how to make it pay for itself. Ask for “CYCLE-LOGICAL WAYS TO HAPPIER DAYS” —a postcard brings it to you free! Just write “Scooter Bike” or “Bicycle” — whichever you wish together with your name and address on a postcard and mail it today to The Cycle Trades of America Room A-205, Fisk Building, 250 West 57th St., New York City. You will receive your copy by return mail. Your Local DEALER will show latest models THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 115 eg~ __ Whoopee! - the best fun ever 4, Jrom morning till night as WW hoopee! Plenty of fun and noise. Bikings the sport for out-door boys. Racing along on the level ways. Flying down hill like a flock of jays. Clicking pedals, and tinkling bells. Drowned in laughter and joyous yells; Do we enjoy it, — yes, and how! For all-year pleasure, the bike's a Wow.

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March 25,1929 ~— © ont Omens OEE See pelos ek 2 nk eS ey” Some of the Contributions of the EQUITABLE te Modern Life Insurance The Equitable confines _ its in- 4 GOoD IMPAN Y surance writi people living — : within the United States. Aft the IN WHICH TO INSURE present time it has nearly 2,00v,000 licyholders insured for over ix Billion Dollars and each year is adding over 150,000 new to its clientele. It paid over Two Billion Dollars to its policyholders, HE spirit of enterprise which has made the United States go forward by leaps and bounds has also characterized the growth of the Equitable. In the interests of its policyholders and the insuring public generally the Equitable has again and again taken the initiative in broadening the scope of its service. Note some of its important contributions to the development of American Life Insurance. Tk. Re” Which of these Questions mean most f ; 4 e From its inception, 70 years ago, the Equitable has advocated the mutual prin- ciple in life insurance, whereby the Policy- holders constitute the Company. It was the pioneer in popularizing life in- It introduced a Home Purchase Plan under which a mortgage loan may be paid off on a monthly repayment basis with life insurance coverage included. It devised the Group Plan of life insurance under which an employer can, by means of a li lt 0 ee bd Dee to youP 1. How Can! Best Safeguard a Dependent Family? 2. How Can I Gain Financial Independence for My Old Age? 3. How Can a Woman Utilize Insurance for Investment and Protection? surance. Its first step was to shorten, sim- 7 : . —_ Si ylicy i ovees | 4. How Can I Guarantee a Fixed Certain plify and liberalize the policy contract. single blanket policy, protect his empl — Income to « Wife or Child Who May It took the lead in stamping out the prac- without requiring them to submit to individ- j Survive MeP tice of contesting policies on merely technical ual medical examinations. i 65. How Can I Provide for a Dependent grounds, It later made the policy contract It devised a Retirement Annuity self pen- Mother or Father? incontestable after being in force for one year sion plan whereby a man or woman may, by i 6. ~—_ 5 — .~ 2 Educa- [ during the insured’s lifetime. investing acomparatively small sumannually, =| pet: ivelerctgharennrea a A . ’ : isi 7. How Can! Provide against the Possibility It originated the practice of paying Death make absolutely certain provision for the of Becoming Totally end Permanently | Claims immediately on presentation of due Sunset Days of Life. } : ‘ Disabled? proof of death. Over 98'« of its Death Claims It introduced a Refund Life Annuity 8. How Can] Finance a Mortgage Through are paid within one day after receipt of under which the total return to the Investor Life Insurance? due proof may be considerably more, but can never be 9. How Can I Provide for the Payment For the protection of the man who becomes less than the original amount invested. tein ne erases ; ; . ; 10. How Can I Easily Acquire the Habit of — totally and permanently disabled it adopted _ It inaugurated an Annual Free Health Saving? a a plan for maintaining the insurance in full Examination Service for its Policyholders. 0, te Cie eterna | force and effect, at the same time paying To better serve the insuring public it for- Se Geecten Band ee Ot i ° . . ° . ii . ow an aleguar usiness t him a monthly income during continuance mulated plans for the Education and Training c Through Special Life Ree the / of disability. of agents, thereby elevating life underwriting i 13. How Con I Arrange All My Life levers | . to a professional plane. 5 ance on a Program Basis? F | To The FOUITABLE It has instituted a superb invest- 14. How Cen I Rasond the Benefits of Group | To The ROUITABLE, : . i 3 ees? | "393 Seventh Ave., New York City ment service for Policyholders and Lie Tnsurenss te My Eaployess? | ; Please send pamphlets giving information on the follow- Beneficiaries for the purpose of safe- ® ) Te her wee oe hn I have checked,'es listed ia The guarding the proceeds of policies at _ There is a separate pamphlet [| pg - os maturity. | giving complete information on L | 4 2 2 4. my * ' each of the above subjects. Use — } - y a —— } i is & 3 7.0 10. 2) 13. 0 Tuomas I. Parkinson | the coupon in the corner of this [ 4.0 4.0 Presid page. Simply indicate by number | rm resident the questions which interest you, ~ Be and the pamphlet, or pamphlets, © | Address... ....eeesseeeeeeeeseee II Ce aa you want will be sent. i ; ess eit, Lea a Rs etic. hak ow i _ «3 CRON Tt, cee - _ x= we =_— — ae ee.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1 isl ll y ! Peal Th Qt hee al LAr et 1} — PLAN Cid! PSs 1s ~ wi J ‘apse IAs nes cotiecae surcans Lm al a ele ae Sige Cig os ee eR! : San, iia te SOCIE How the EQUITABLE helps its representatives to Render Professional Life Insurance Service + * + + { \ * The Premiums paid by policy- holders are invested thro “ the United States in mortgage on farms, residences and eat P rties; also in railroad, public utility and industrial securities representing facilities serving the whole Nation and providing em- ployment for millions of our peo- ple. The premiums of the Equi- table policyholder are constantly Protection for the Home and the Home HE Equitable believes that life insurance Circle has always been the primary purpose i; working for the public good. ef Lite Eecerense. The Baquitabie capeo- agents and managers should be trained ex- : sentative, however, is trained to help you perts; that an intimate knowledge of what life build up an insurance program whereby the . ? $3 ° . family, the home, the business, the college insurance 1s and what it does, and how it should fund, the mortgage, the loss of earning power, be fitted to the needs of each prospect, is essential th ds of old e all provided for. ens . . . © sche aia nates i ieee tae - to underwriting service. Accordingly it has estab- lished Training Courses for its field representa- tives, under expert instructors. ah - . Present and Prospective Policyholders are thereby more efficiently served. cota ad The Underwriter is enabled to build up an increasingly valuable clientele. Though life insurance has grown enormously, America is still under-insured. Competent ob- servers predict that the amount of insurance that will be written during the next twenty years will greatly exceed previous records. Additional agents will be required. The opportunity for building an independent, remunerative career is limited only by the capacity of the individual. Instruction and training methods offered by the Equitable, and how the groundwork is laid for sure and lasting success, are explained in a pamphlet, Life Underwriting as a Career, which will be sent on request. MELE LE. Be inten ct The Equitable invites correspondence with men of energy and initiative who are seeking a wider opportunity in a lifetime occupation. SERS ee eT, To The EQUITABLE, 393 Seventh Ave., New York City I am interested in your plan of expert training for life underwriting as a career. Please mail pamphlet giving details regarding your salesmanship courses.

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March 25,1929 118 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST SHEET STEEL PRODUCTS FOR THE HOME, FARM, FACTORY AND FOR BUILDING CONSTRUCTION Bea Sele Es Spr SGN Par IEA Bak Atl SE RE a th ha te GE EG BO PERM LATE, Detter Plasterin on ARCH LATH . . . And now it offers yet another and a most important feature—greater strength and rust resistance, and freedom from stains, insuring not merely finer but also more lasting walls and ceilings Residence Si. Louis County Architect: —— Boulicault St. Louis, Mo. Reg. U. S. Pat. Off THE COPPER ALLOYED SHEET STEEL Spanish Metal Tile Wheeling Spanish Metal Tiles make a most charming roof that is light in weight, durable and low in cost. Fire-proof, lightning- prot and -_ proo " Made of Cop-R.- the Copper Alloyed Sheer Steel and Hand. meee in pure molten zinc. If you plan to build or remodel, you should kaow about the many advantages of this roof —— Wheeling Corner Bead To properly reinforce and protect projecting corners, ask to have the men who apply Arch Lath in your home use also Wheeling Corner Bead, made of Zinc Coated Cop-K-Loy. This will insure stronger walls in your home and greatly minimize the possibility of chipping and cracking of plaster. Originally a distinctive lath from all points re ARN labor and material because of its distinctive design, Arc Lath of COP-R-LOY now takes its place many steps for- ward of the vanguard of modern metal laths. Durability must now be included with Arch Lath’s modern and ex- clusive features. It is practically a solid sheet of fire-proof, warp-proof wall or ceiling upon which the finest of tex- tures may be achieved. Safety from fire—always important to all we hold price- less in our homes! Scientific in design—enabling the plasterer to give the fullest yielc of his practiced art. Arch Lath is not a plaster “skimper” but a plaster saver. Made of a better steel, wane for the most important building Wheeling Roofing Ternes Roofs of Tin are proof against fire and lightning. Tin makes a most practical roofing for homes and apartment buildings. Low in cost, reduces insurance rates. To insure greatest return on investment specify bi mene Pas oofing Ternes made of Cop-R-Loy and coated to full weight with pure tin and lead. and industrial projects—COP-R-LOY—the Copper Alloyed Sheet Steel! Arch Lath offers a value that is superlative from every standpoint of permanent building construction. Insist upon Wheeling Arch Lath of COP-R-LOY, and while doing so include those other building necessities, Wheeling Corner Bead, Picture Mold, Base Screed, Roofing Ternes, Spanish Metal Tile, Conductor Pipe and Eaves Trough, all now available in COP-R-LOY, for maximum life at the minimum cost. WHEELING CORRUGATING COMPANY WHEELING, WEST VIRGINIA Bran: New York Buffalo ee ss ches: Chicago Kansas City St. Louis Richmond C | s Moines Columbus, Ohio Wheeling Conductor Pipe For new building or replacement insist upon Wheeling nee | Pipe, made of Zinc Coated Cop-R-Loy, the Copper Alloyed Steel. Ask your architect to specify Naha Conductor Pipe for longer and more satisfactory serv- ice at lower cost.

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(Continued from Page 114) at the foot of the hill and Slade and his friends whooped. They cursed and de- fied the vigilantes, naming all the leaders of the movement, and from time to time bawled the scurrilous jingle they had com- posed about Fox, Pfouts and the courtesan. During the morning the usual drunken argument started and Slade whipped two of his gang. Alexander Davis was judge of the recently organized people’s court, a community-created tribunal to which all cases, civil or criminal, were taken for settlement. Fox applied to Judge Davis for a warrant and, with it as his authority, arrested Slade and took him into court. Arrest had no novelties for Cap. He’d been arrested and fined before. But he found the interruption irritating, and while Fox was reading the warrant Slade tore the document from his hands, ripped it across again and again, and tossed the fragments on the floor. The defiance—for Slade and his drunken companions, their hands on their guns, walked out of the courtroom — angered the men of Virginia. The memory of many hangings, of the eradication of Plummer and his gang, was fresh in their minds. They were determined to establish some form of legal supervision of the community, and to this end had created the people’s court. Never before had it been defied or its justice questioned. , Leading citizens of the town were hastily summoned to a meeting. Little attention was paid to whether or not the men present were members of the vigilante organization. “The meeting,” John S. Lott wrote many years later in a letter to Judge Cal- laway, “‘was peculiar and hasty.” He remarks incidentally that this was the only meeting of its kind that was ever attended by Col. Wilbur F. Sanders. “In five minutes,”’ Lott continues, “they settled the question.” Lott was sent to Nevada to advise the citizens of that town of Slade’s arrest and to determine their attitude as to the pun- ishment. The miners turned out almost to a man. Dimsdale, the schoolmaster of Virginia City and the first historian of the vigilantes, tells us that six hundred of them deserted their claims and marched up the gulch to Virginia under the leadership of Cap Williams. Slade, they announced, was to be hanged forthwith and they sent Lott on ahead to report that they “would not march into the streets of Virginia to be shot down by Slade’s men unless they knew what they were going to do.” Plenty of Warning It was J. X. Biedler who about this time sought Slade and frightened him into mo- mentary sobriety. The stalwart vigilante lieutenant knew that Slade was of a type vastly different from Plummer and his band, and knew how gravely the drunken man’s offense was regarded by the com- mittee.. He felt reasonably certain, how- ever, that if Slade were out of town when the Nevada contingent arrived the affair would blow over. “Cap,” he said meaningly, “get your horse and hit the trail.” “What d’you mean?”’ asked Slade, star- ing owlishly. “The vigilance committee is played out!” “You won’t think so if you’re here two hours from now,” said Biedler. “Even though you’re drunk, you ought to have enough sense to know that I know what I’m talking about. Get your horse and do what I tell you, right now!” He spun on his heel and walked away. Slade watched him for a moment and then staggered to where he had left his favorite mount, Old Copperbottom, and clambered into the saddle. As he did so one of his partners in the all-night debauch appeared in a saloon doorway. “Hi, Cap! Where yuh goin’?” bellowed thickly. “Home!” returned Slade. he THE SATURDAY “Are you goin’ t’ let them sons run yuh? Come on an’ have a drink!” Slade hesitated and was lost. He dis- mounted and returned to the saloon. Judge Davis appears to have regarded the entire affair as a drunken prank for which Slade, because of his condition, should not be held strictly accountable. He, too, warned Slade to get out of town. But by this time the hero of the Overland was too drunk to heed. He drew a der- ringer, waved it threateningly at the jurist, and threatened to hold the judge as a hostage. It is possible that determined action at this juncture might have saved Slade’s life, but the men who could have influenced the crowd were silent. All feared the conse- quences if Slade’s flouting of the law were allowed to go unpunished. Cap Slade was taken to a corral in the rear of Pfouts & Russell’s store. A strong guard was thrown around the inclosure to prevent any attempt at rescue. The Last of the Gang The prisoner, exhausted by tears and hysterical pleas for mercy, had to be held in place on the usual packing box while the rope was adjusted. The box stood beneath a scaffold used ordinarily for hanging beeves. The end of the rope was thrown over the cross bar and made fast. Instantly the box was jerked away. His wife, Maria Virginia, ordered the construction of a zinc-lined coffin, and tra- dition tells us that she kept her husband preserved, in alcohol—at the Madison Basin ranch until the roads opened in the spring. Then the body was taken to Salt Lake City and buried in the old Mormon cemetery. Cherishing a dream of vengeance, Maria Virginia returned to Montana and pro- bated her husband’s will; the first recorded in the new territory. She sold the ranch and Slade’s freighting outfit for $7000. There must have been an anodyne for sorrow in the wealth, for on March 22, 1865, she married James H. Kiskadden in Virginia City. The romance of Maria Virginia and Kis- kadden was very brief. Less than a year after the marriage she left him, and on October 29, 1868, he obtained a divorce. Kiskadden remained in Salt Lake City and married Annie Adams, a local actress. To them, in 1872, was born a daughter, Maude Adams Kiskadden, destined to be the original Peter Pan. Organized for the purpose of breaking the power of the Plummer gang, the vigi- lantes thought that their work was done. Nearly two years were to pass, however, before organized law in Montana was es- tablished on a sufficiently firm foundation. During that period ten additional extra- legal executions were to take place. Lurid stories have been circulated to the effect that hundreds of road agents and other criminals were hung without process of law. A search of all available records shows a total of thirty-three executions prior to March 3, 1866. By that time the territory of Montana had been created, a governor had been appointed, courts were in operation, and all the machinery of organized government was functioning nor- mally and efficiently. Extralegal execu- tions may have taken place in Montana subsequent to 1866. No attempt has been made to trace them. If they exist, they have no more bearing on the actual pioneer period of the state’s history than a lynch- ing in the South today has upon the | Mecklenburg Congress. The vigilantes of Montana require no apologia. A distasteful, grim, but neces- sary task had to be done. They did it and did it well, and the manner in which they went about it can be best described by a repetition of the words with which the vigilantes came into existence: “Men, do your duty!” Editor's Note—This is the fifth and last of a series of articles by Mr. Birney. EVENING POST The Next You Buy le Try This BELOW -—*t Way of serv he Sealright ng Ice Cream. 7 old Con po we i nstant. _— c. , a xaines ge Remove _— = a Cut in dainty round 3 slices and serve 119 Time e Cream Better Way and bother of old- fashioned ) become with the mess am home in an© t allows it t to pack your u'll insist OF Don't put — ring 1ce ay panes Lager dealer —s ‘s Sealright and yo yore” he modern, leak proof, cont aine and enable y‘ rs t hat yu . et Sealrights at For air-tight paper er firm long ov yl modern © See the three pract ically ice cre keep ice © : to serve it the delightf dainty round 2% drawings at the leit. ay~'n little ‘th their co’ ers on —, os ene clean and aa a at che natural wood colot ~ nay oD of the pure spruce paper : or yr pa i made. In every err" party ; he ideal containers — pours ot : Always buy from > co py te ee phey are used by ate “! pro them ealerseverywher ee. sive ice er anes Ppo-3, Fulton en pe an, Sealright Co., Ltd _Peterbo Canadian »** Ontar10-

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20 Wire Savinc Rue is tere. Women welcome its contribution to the new freedom from household drudgery di sasen to any group of women. You don’t hear so much “I'm all tired out” talk. Instead it’s “What are you going to wear to the dance?” Quite obviously, women of today know how to keep house and raise children without giving up youth- fulness and good times. For one thing, they refuse to scrub floors. Instead, they save themselves by buying the new kind of easy- to-keep-clean rug offered by the makers of Armstrong's Linoleum. Armstrong's Quaker Rugs is the name. And the variety of modern patterns makes it easy to select a rug to fit the scheme of any room you wish to beautify. But more important than mere beauty is the Accolac Process sur- face that seals the beauty in, and keeps dirt and stains out. It is this satiny, lacquered surface that saves work—and wives. Surface dirt sweeps right off. Spilled liquids, dropped food, stains, even such THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 Floral patterns are always in good taste, and this Armstrong's Quaker Rug No. 4630 is particularly pretty. Mod- ernistic ! Colorful! It is Armstrong's Quaker Rug No. 4602. Accidents will happen. But no harm to Armstrong's Quaker Rugs. Spilled things wipe right off! ’ r , caustics as lye disappear with the swish of mop or damp cloth, leav- ing no trace of harm to the glossy surface, or the pattern beneath. Armstrong’s Quaker Rugs are built over a strong felt base to make them lie smooth and flat, and to give them “body” to resist wear. So, for the few dollars you spend you are certain to be delighted. In fact, you take no risk of dis- appointment. Every Armstrong’s Quaker Rug is guaranteed. Each bears, right on the face, a Quaker offered by-the-yard in 6-foot and 9-foot widths To cover your entire floor, Quaker floor covering is “te ce How rich this rose-colored Persian pattern would look on your floor Ask for Armstrong's Quaker Rug No. 4642. ’ 5 ry Girl certificate. It is our promise to replace the rug free if it should prove in any way unsatisfactory. To help you select . . . A handy little book- let that shows all the Armstrong’s Quaker Rugs in their actual colors will be mailed you for the asking. Simply write for a copy of “To Wives Who Want to Stay Young.” . . " Made by the Address Armstrong Cork Company, Floor “sfaher of Division, 2903 W. Liberty St., Lancaster, Pa. A7™tong* Linoleum. va STS d Stash ¥ eile

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— WN Oi tad ee ay Ney t ms eee Day li ac MB> Selo TS sds FOL Bc Dt) ae aR sep ao att oye fumes eos ea ABS Bian. : thousands when the bell rang. When the calculations were made the actual odds were found to be considerably less than 1 to 20, and it cost the racing association $1200 to meet the difference. O’Brien never hesitates te dump $10,000 in the machines to win $500 if his judgment tells him that it is a bet. Man o’ War nearly monopolizes the record short odds on the bookmaking tracks, he having been held at 1 to 100 in three of his victories—the Stuyvesant Handicap at Jamaica, the Lawrence Realization and the Jockey Club Stakes at Belmont. J. R. Keene’s Sweep and Suffragist, coupled in the betting, share the record, they having won at this price in 1910. When the horses reach the post a bell rings in the betting inclosure, the windows close at once and a force of expert ac- countants begin the intricate tabulation. Soon after the race is run the winning prices are hung on a board in the infield, and shorter lines than those that formed at the betting windows now collect at the cashiers’ booths. The great advantage of the total- izator is that it displays the exact odds at every stage of the betting. They can only be approximated at pari-mutuel tracks be- fore the race and posted from time to time on bulletin boards. The approxima- tion and the actuality frequently vary sharply, particularly when Jersey come- back money has been poured into the ma- chines at the last moment. “‘ Machines”’ is used here advisedly, in as much as the public persists in so referring to this manual process—the “iron men” is the track phrase. Two curious sources of revenue to the tracks are breakage and lost or destroyed tickets. Breakage is the difference between the precise odds and the even amounts paid. In Maryland, for example, the tracks pay off to the nickel on the dollar; if the exact return on a two-dollar ticket is $3.84, the track pays only $3.80. These odd cents counted up to $131,393 in twenty-three days at Pimlico in 1928. In Kentucky, Illinois, Louisiana and at Canadian tracks the breakage is on the cent, necessitating the use of pennies at the cashiers’ cages. The average better regards this as too tedious for the amount involved. Three Years to Collect There are many ways in which a better may lose his ticket. If he has not waited for the red “official” on the board, a dis- qualification of the first horse may have moved all the others up one position, mak- ing many a losing ticket a winning one. The ticket seller may have misunderstood him and given him another horse than the one he called for. If he has not discovered the error, what he thinks is a worthless ticket may be a good one. Most lost tickets, however, are dropped in the crowd. Torn tickets, when recovered, may be pieced to- gether and validated. After the last race, the grand stand regularly is raked by beach- combers comparing discarded tickets with the program numbers in the hope of profit- ing by the mistakes of others. At Laurel, recently, a young man found a packet of torn tickets, pieced them to- gether and cashed them for $170. The history of the case is that the better be- lieved his horse beaten as the leaders swept down the stretch, tore his tickets up in dis- gust and turned away. The horse came on to win and when the better discovered this, several minutes later, he could not find the discards; could not remember, even, where he had been standing. Mutuel tickets will be paid at any time up to January first of the third year following. After that interval all unpresented tickets are outlawed, and the revenue to the four Maryland tracks from this source in 1925, the last year reported, was $29,935. In 1928 Maryland received in licenses and 15 per cent of the net from these major tracks, THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AA TWO-DOLLAR BET (Continued from Page 17 not including county fairs, a total of $803,- 042. Though the Pimlico track alone paid the county and state governments $252,286 in special taxes, it took in $924,108 in pari- mutuel commissions and breakage, $381,754 in admission fees and, with other revenue, made a profit on the season of $279,074. In Illinois, in 1928, the director of agriculture certified to having collected $614,169 in special taxes from five tracks. No state or city government, of course, receives any income from the much greater handbook betting. The Maryland figures indicate that ap- proximately $60,000,000 annually is bet through the machines there; a statement that may easily be misinterpreted to mean that much money drawn into the tracks. It is, actually, a much smaller amount turned over many times. Ifa man bets ten dollars on a horse to win and ten dollars to place at even money and the horse runs second, twenty dollars has been bet, but the better is even. He may have brought only twenty-five dollars to the track, yet have bet a total of $175 on seven races without ever being more than a few dollars ahead. If he bet his twenty-five dollars on the first race and won at good odds, he may easily have bet $1000 by the end of the card and have finished broke, but only twenty-five dollars out. A New Yorker who bets on a larger scale kept a day-by- day account at Saratoga last August. In one month he wagered $25,000. He closed with a loss of $145, which he charged off as amusement tax. Starting Under a Handicap There is a broad generalization accepted at race tracks that the average spectator brings an average of twenty dollars, whether in Maryland, New York or Aus- tralia. This average spectator usually is young and, above all, an optimist. He be- lieves in signs and portents and the spoken and the written word. By the time he has reached the track, car fare, admission, rac- ing papers, scratch sheets, tip sheets, a pro- gram and a hot-dog fund have reduced his twenty dollars to about fifteen dollars. This leaves him the wherewithal to bet two dol- lars on each of the seven races. A trifle of the figuring he devotes to the past-performance sheets would demonstrate to him that if every time he bets the track kitties out 6 per cent, by the end of the day the kitty will be 42 per cent. He begins, then, with an initial disadvantage of nearly two to one. Shouldering this impost, he leaps with a glad cry into the thick of the most baffling guessing contest the ingenuity of man ever has contrived. He may win one day, he may win cne week, but he al- ways loses. The more beginner's luck, the more disastrous in the long run. ‘“‘How long has this been going on?” he asks as he gets, say, thirty dollars for his first two- dollar wager, and imagining that he has discovered the Northwest Passage to Easy Street, he is seen going home shirtless shortly. If he is not a congenital idiot he either swears off or he moves up a notch to an- other large group. These are the legion who bet in full knowledge of the facts, having small expectations, though modest hopes, of winning, and counting the day well spent when they break even. They set aside a betting fund and kiss it good-by; whatever, if anything, is lert at the end of the day is so much velvet. If they happen to have a lucky day, then there is carnival. They find horse racing colorful and excit- ing, they find betting the same, and the combination irresistible. The thrill they get from a winning ticket is out of all proportion to its value, and oblivious of the losses that have preceded it. Its real im- pulse is pride, the vanity of having out- smarted their neighbors. Although the vain one may have reached the betting window in a panic of indecision, canvassing every horse in the race, if he happens to falter upon the right one he will tell you that he saw from the first that the horse was lengths better than any other—and will believe it himself. These two categories take in the bulk of grand stand and clubhouse. There are numbers, however, who find the racing and the spectacle sufficient entertainment; oth- ers, usually veterans, bet occasionally, but only on what seems to them a strong proba- bility. And here and there in the crowd is one of the rarest species, the professional sharpshooter who does, now and then, ap- pear to be able to beat the races over a period of years. Pittsburgh Phil, whose real name was George E. Smith and who began as a cork cutter for the Armstrong Company, in Pittsburgh, was one such. He left an estate of several millions—all made, as far as anyone knew, by betting on the bangtails—but he took his secret with him. Probably he was a genius. His predecessor as king of the plungers, Riley Grannon, died broken in health and fortune in the Northwest, having never recovered from a disastrous invasion of England in the 90's, when he fdllowed Tod Sloan across. Chicago O’Brien, who rose to notice first as leader of the Chicago bricklayers, is king today, and also seems to be getting away with it. His system is simplicity itself; he will impart it to you for the asking. It is to bet a lot of money on the right horse at the right time. Or you may change “horse”’ to “stock” and clean up in Wall Street. W. G. Yanke leaped almost in a day by a lucky scratch on a few long shots from blowing a horn in a band to betting thou- sands on a race and owning his own stable, and returned in time to tooting a horn again. The spectator who is willing to take a seat in the grand stand and remain there is offered an outing in the open air in attrac- tive surroundings, as animated a crowd picture as may be had anywhere, and a field of horses worth possibly $1,000,000—the most expensive animal act in the world competing in a contest that stirs the mar- row of his bones. That is one side of the picture. But if he bets at a pari-mutuel track he descends into a milling mob that cannot be duplicated this side of Times Square Subway station at the rush hour, and returns, if he ever does get back, to find his seat gone. On big days at a track there scarcely is room in which to stand, and to attempt to move through this throng, find the right betting line and literally fight your way into it, is an adventure. On a nicely humid day it is indescribable. What Makes Horse Racing Except on the biggest days, it is possible to lay a wager in comfort if one acts imme- diately after the previous race. Then the betting windows are open and no one is in line. Nineteen in twenty prefer to watch the shifting odds and reserve their decision until the last moment, and such unanimity of thought and action is awkward, very. Then, if one of the fortunate, the better plunges into a slightly smaller mob to find the proper pay-off line, in which he waits tediously until he has been paid, frequently $2.60 for a two-dollar ticket. The physical discomfort to which thou- sands voluntarily submit proves something or other. It must be that it is not the money but the sport, for it is the small better who suffers. The $50 and $100 win- dows are set conveniently to one side and there is no crowding or waiting there. Even the ten-dollar lines are only moderately congested. The popular bet being two dollars, there is the vortex, and no track has found room enough beneath the grand stand to provide enough two-dollar win- dows to reduce this swelling. Incidentally, the two-dollar-bill superstition is knocked into a cocked hat every day. The very 121 devotees of Lady Luck who are supposed to abhor a deuce spot offer them by the thousands in the name of Fortune and col- lect them gladly at the pay-off windows. The most logical of the endless systems for beating the races is to bet on form. The form player studies the past-performance charts, which give every aspect of the last previous eight or ten races of each horse entered. By comparing one against an- other and nicely balancing the dozens of contributory facts, many of them intang)- bles, that influence the result of every race, the student may, in theory, discern the winner in advance. In fact, he does win more often over a long period than do the hunch, tip and odds players. The fallacy of form is that it assumes the Thoroughbred to be a machine. Instead, a race horse is a delicate and highly nervous organism with as many moods and humors as a prima donna. The races of a few great horses usually are predictable, but it is a good season that produces one or two such. There are upsets in racing for the same reason that there are upsets on the football field every Saturday afternoon in the au- tumn, for the reason that the Yankees may drop three games in a row to the tail-end Red Sox in the same season the New York- ers win the pennant in a walk. If it were otherwise, Derby winners would be wearing horse collars instead of flora) horseshoes. “It is a difference of opinion that makes horse racing.” Winning Without Men's Ruies The presumably most expert of the form students are the newspaper handicappers and best-bet pickers. In 1923 Nelson Car- ter published an analysis of the selections of thirty-nine newspaper handicappers for a period of two months. The highest per- centage of winners given was .393. On « fiat bet of two dollars, four showed a profit the largest $145.90, and that on 354 races The other thirty-five showed losses. The old form player realizes that his house is built upon the sand. After sitting up until the small hours and narrowing each race down to one or two contenders he frequently is so influenced by the idle talk he hears at the track next day that he puts his money on the tenth-hand tips o/ total strangers. The piker bets the favorite to show. Be- ing favorite, the horse rarely will pay better than 1 to 2 for third position; frequently not better than 1 to 8 or 1 to 10. The piker reasons that if he can win ten or twenty cents on the dollar often enough, he has found the combination. Isn't small prefits and quick turnovers the secret of modern industry? If the piker is interested, figures are available to show that this was the first of all systems to be exploded. One loss cancels ten gains at ten cents on the dollar, and favorites finish out of the money much more often than that. Its only advantage is that the better dies a lingering death. Forty-five per cent is a high average of win- ning favorites at the best-conducted tracks. The reverse of the piker is the long-shot player, who reasons that one win at 100 to 1 is better than 200 wins at 1 to 2, which it is. It amounts to the same thing in cash, but the former is infinitely more stimulat- ing. As often as not, the groper for long shots is a woman. Racing crowds are nearly equally divided nowadays between men and women, and special betting sta- tions are set aside exclusively for the use of the latter at pari-mutuel tracks. Few women will be found among the deluded group who dream of winning fortunes; they approach gambling from a different point of view. Logic being strongly at a discount at a track, the feminine contempt for this quality is no liability. They violate all the rules laid down by men and, to the discomfiture of their es- corts, win as often if not more often. The name-hunch players are women almost

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122 THE SATURDAY An Open letter from BABE RUTH _ TAKES a lot of know-how to make a good ball glove. And believe me, this Reach crowd sure has it. I gave them my ideas on what Big League gloves and mitts should be like—and they just pitched in and turned out the sweetest glove jobs you’d ever want to put your fist in. They got plenty of room for your fingers, yet they fit snugly. They bend and give just as easy and life-like as your hand. And they got that already-broken-in feeling, if you know what I mean. When you lay one of these gloves against a speeding ball, that ball is going to stick! A special-formed pocket does the trick. Yes, sir—they’re great gloves all right—and I’m proud that the Reach Company is using my signature on each glove, to show Bate Hote how I approve them. “Designed by BABE RUTH Made by REACH The nearest Reach dealer will be glad to first finger. At $4.00, a truly marvelous glove show you the Babe Ruth mitts and gloves. ‘™vestment, a glove you'll be proud to wear. If you've thought you never would get a Other Babe Ruth Mitts and Gloves glove that suited you exactly, you've gota _‘Fielder’s Gloves at $3.00, $6.00 and $8.50. new thrill coming. Try these gloves at yo et Eek See usenee titer oe your dealer's. See them today! bring full description. ee The Official American League Ball. Used by the authorities of the American League Here is featured Fielder's ever since the league Glove RF2. Made ofa fine started. Used in every selectionofoid-treatedbrown § World Series. The finest horsehide lined with soft ball made. $2.00 each. Another fine ball is the edges. Finger seamscan't rip. Babe Ruth Home Run Laced at the wrist to admit Special ball. Experienced a change of adjustment of players tell us it’s the padding. A good hand-formed padding which liveliest, long - wearing stays in place. Laced between thumb and $1.00 ball in existence. Reach will send you, free, a booklet giving many excellent pointers on correct play, also giving a full description of each glove in the Babe Ruth line. Clip the coupon. FREE BOOKLET ’ ’ ’ ‘‘Playing Pointers’ a 3.93. A. 1. REACH, WRIGHT & DiTson, INc. SEP .—059-29 Dept. J. Tulip and Eyre Sts., Philadelphia, Pa. Please send me, free, your booklet “ Piavinc Pointers,” together with leaflet describing fully every glove in the Babe Ruth line Name Street eoai Tow n State © 1929, A. J. R.. W. & D., Ine EVENING POST exclusively. Let a horse appear on the card whose name can be connected with any omen, and women bet on it eagerly. A horse named Tie Pin won at long odds in Mary- land a few seasons back and the shrieks that greeted this unexpected result were entirely feminine. Few can resist the bar- gains offered in fields and entries where two or more horses run for one bet. They also do not hesitate to bet on three or more horses separately in one race. This is sup- | posed to be a prima-facie absurdity, yet it is not without its logic in the mutuels, where abnormal prices may be caught. A gambler once, as an experiment, bet on every horse except the favorite in every race through a Churchill Downs meeting. Long shots happened to be plentiful, and though the gambler usually limited his wagers to six dollars across the board on each, he won $1600. Women who study form make excellent handicappers, and, un- like most men, they place great emphasis on the looks of a horse. If you have the | eyes to see it, a fast horse usually bears the marks of his speed in his make-up, and women are apt to have such eyes. A great horse always is unmistakable to anyone but a rank novice. The most frenzied of all speculators is the parlay player, almost always a hand- book patron. A parlay is a pyramided bet on two or three horses, the second and third wagers being contingent on the suc- cess of the previous ones. Robert Ripley calculated recently that two dollars bet on Thunder Girl in the first race at New Orleans on December 21, 1928, a day of unbroken long-shot victories, parlayed on the winners of the succeeding six races, would have grown into more than five bil- lion dollars. This is purely theoretical, of course. Par- lays rarely are made upon more than three and, in practice, the winnings of this hypo- thetical one would have grown so great by the fourth race as to completely upset the odds thereafter. Nor do handbooks pay more than 20 to 1, no matter what the track odds may be. But it is some such dream that supports the parlay player through weeks of losses. Tipping is as old as racing, and no one is | immune, millionaire, stable boy or the man | or woman who is seeing a race for the first time. Most tips are utterly worthless and utterly sincere. The giver imagines that he knows this or that; it gratifies his ego to display that knowledge, ‘and the recipient is flattered by the confidence. In the air of uncertainty that hangs over every horse race, every spectator listens eagerly for every other’s chance word, least whim or fancy. The gossip that drifts up from the pad- dock spreads and magnifies like an oil fire. As the horses are being saddled, an owner, trainer or jockey says to a friend that he believes his colt has a good chance. A minute later the word is running through the stands that the stable is betting heavily and is all set to win. The last tip always is the best tip. A clocker at Bowie last fall had caught En- camp in such a burst of speed in a morning workout that he made a note to have a bet on the horse the first time it started. He also confided in his sister. Encamp was entered the following day, and before the race the clocker visited the paddock to have a final look. There he stopped to talk with the owner of another entry. “I think I am going to take this race,” the owner told him in all sincerity, “‘and the horse ought to pay 8 or 10 to 1.”" This so unsettled the clocker’s judgment that he switched. Encamp ran away with the race and, never having been mentioned by any handicapper or tipster, paid $208.20 for two dollars, or 103 to 1. The sister had bet two dollars across the board and could- not credit the dejection on her brother’s face when she next saw him. Some men and women are persistent seekers of tips, waylaying every horseman, | Last Tip, Best Tip March 23,1929 official, turf writer or hot-dog seller. A cer- tain actor was a notorious buttonholer. As a public character, he knew everyone, and though everyone freely gave him the best advice they were capable of, still he lost. Quitting Sheepshead Bay one day in disgust in the middle of the card, he encountered a drayman outside. Nature asserted itself and the actor asked: “Got anything good today?”’ “Let me see,” the drayman said, scratch- ing his head. ‘‘ The boys were talking about some hoss this morning, but I disremember the name. Seems like it was something about whistling.” The actor looked at his program; Whis- tling Coon was running in the sixth. He scurried back inside and bet all he had left. The horse won at 10 to 1—the first bet the actor had cashed all week. The next day he learned that the bangtail the drayman had in mind was Penny Whistle, which had been scratched that day. The gentleman from Kentucky, the late Ollie James, would beg off from an appointment at the White House to make Laurel or Bowie for the first race, and would listen ardently for every scrap of stabie gossip and laugh at himself later for regarding it. Hard Cash for Cheap Advice A commercial tipster is one who exploits this human failing. He sells what purports to be secret advance information of a win- ning horse represented to be direct ‘‘from the feed box’’—that is, confidential advice from owner, trainer, jockey, clocker—even from the horse—that all is arranged for one particular galloping gluepot to beat a parcel of others at a fixed time; or, at the very least, that the horse can win, barring ac- cidents. News stands in New York and all large cities are plastered with gaudy sheets ad- vertising these tips, for sale at the stands. The tipsters are beyond counting. After a round-up by the Post Office Department in. New York in 1926 which netted several hundred, Post Office Inspector C. H. Clara- han estimated that 1000 did business in the immediate vicinity of Times Square. Since then the boys have avoided using the mails, but have not been especially incon- venienced. The racket was invented about 1901. How the man who invented it got his in- formation is disputed—one story is that it was a lucky guess—but he inserted an ad in the Sunday edition of the turf paper and signed it with a name invented on the mo- ment. Thead read: “Free! Free! So-and- So Will Win at Long Odds at New Orleans Next Wednesday,”’-and much more in flam- boyant language, concluding with the an- nouncement that thereafter winning horses would be given out at their office at five dollars a customer a day. The horse named won at seven to one on Wednesday and the man rented desk room on Broadway. The subsequent ads, repro- ducing the first, brought such a rush of patronage that police were called out to keep order. The man stood at a window col- lecting five dollars from each customer and whispering the name of the day’s horse as the line passed by. Five-dollar bills filled the wastebaskets and overflowed on the floor. He moved uptown to larger offices, started a turf paper. He acquired a racing stable and plunged heavily at the tracks. When the post-office inspectors closed him up three years later he had made $3,000,000. Until this man’s invention of mass pro- duction of suckers, commercial tipping had been a low form of cunning called ‘“tout- ing.” Touts hung about race tracks in pairs, seeking the guileless, to persuade them to bet on a horse; the victim to share his winnings, if any. Old turfmen still re- member a pair who operated at Monmouth Park with much success and put on a show that never has been surpassed. One was a negro, the other a well-turned-out white man whose name is forgotten, perhaps be- cause he always was supposed by his victims to be S. S. Brown, a well-known Pittsburgh (Continued on Page 125)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Your LIFES HIGH MOMENTS... HATEVER your position in life, always you must be the star of your drama, and always your friends and family applaud you. And at every stage of life, from earliest babyhood to philosophic age, you have your glorious treasured hours, your priceless triumphs. But through the years, the flavor of your personality can be altered times. You indeed be a many may truly different ‘“you’’ tomorrow. For your loved ones, for yourself, as you go on, you can preserve cach phase of your development. You can record your best moments for all time; you can put the “‘you"’ of any today into undying photographs. The professional photographer Your photographer is a trained artist. With his magic lens he catches the subtle spirit of your individuality; something of a personal quality no By this mark you will know him PHOTOGRAPHS one clse can duplicate. He assures for you, at your best, a priceless, permanent record of every stage of your career The most personal gift Your friends tell you: ‘*Best of all give us The Master Photographer is a trained artist INTERNATIONAL your photograph.’ Don't let that curve of the cheek, that turn of the head, that smile, go unregistered. Your likeness is a bit of yourself that you only can give So give photographs freely. No other gift can carry so well your own warmth, your true affection. What a volume of memories photo- graphs bring! What fun they are! Of course you want to take the children to the photographer every little whik With the aid of this capable crafts- man you can keep these precious im- ages always bright in your heart as day by day they flower into glorious manhood and womanhood. When did you visit your photographer last? “The Story Your Face Tells” A famous psychologist has written a delightful booklet, ‘“The Story Your Free Face Tells.”’ sands. Send for your copy It is fascinating thou- It us tree Photographers Association of Amer- ica, 2258 Euclid Ave., Cleveland, O

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124 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Its GAIETY March 23,1929 , adds Joyousness fo any party Caviar Sandwiches and ‘‘Canada Dry”’ In great hotels the world over... A@w York ... London... Paris ... the marvelous flavor and aroma of this fine old ginger ale have won the approving nod of connoisseurs “ THERE’s an unforgettable thrill to the flavor of “Canada Dry” ... memorable as romance... mellow as tropic moon- light . . . sparkling as beauty’s eyes. And such inimitable flavor has a distine- tion... a true-born quality . . . which makes itself quietly felt, like the aristo- crat, it is. Basic excellence gives it the gracious- ness of an accomplished hostess. The pur- est ingredients, expertly blended and bal- anced, contribute to its glorious zest and sparkle. Delicate and uniform carbona- tion gives it elusive caprice. High-grade Jamaica ginger enhances its subtlety. Do you wonder that “Canada Dry”’ adds joyousness to any party? What plea- sure it brings to an evening of bridge! How delightfully it tastes with a meal! How genial it is, like the warmth of hospital- ity! Because of its purity, leading hos- pitals serve it and leading physicians prescribe it. It is a safe beverage to give to the children. Order it today in the convenient Hostess Package of 12 bottles. ‘CANADA DRY” Reg. U. S. Pat. Off. The (hampagne of Ginger Ales © 1929

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(Continued from Page 122) breeder. Without ever saying so directly, both managed to leave that impression. The pretended Brown’s part was to sit prominently on the lawn and look like what he was supposed to be. The negro, got up as a stable foreman, would find frequent occasion to whisper with his boss, whom he deferentially referred to as ‘“‘Mars Sam.” His trips with a water bucket, field glasses or a note were just the come-on needed. Its purpose was to create the belief in the minds of the curious that here was an im- portant horseman who undoubtedly knew a great deal if he would tell, and here was his humble servant, probably privy to that knowledge and approachable by a stranger. When the negro was approached, as fol- lowed inevitably, he would talk with only one man at a time, and then with a con- vincing show of secrecy. He could not write and could read only to the extent of making out one horse name from another. Glancing at his program, he would whisper the name of one horse to one man, another to another umpchay, until he had disposed of the four or five likeliest contenders in the race. In some manner he managed to make a chalk mark on the coat of each victim. These marks varied for each horse and were repeated on the program. A Prospect for Brooklyn Bridge One day the negro whispered the name of Mona W., a valuable mare, in the ear of a sucker who proved to be something of a plunger. He bet heavily, the mare won and the team of touts shared handsomely. There followed an incident that epitomizes the whole race of touts and petty swindlers. “*Now let’s sell him the mare,” suggested one or the other. The detail that they did not own the mare troubled them not. They quoted a price of several thousand dollars, which would have been a bargain, and the sucker paid. When the victim came to, he complained to the track officials, the track detectives arrested the touts and recov- ered most of the money. The sucker re- fused to prosecute out of fear of publicity, but the precious pair were barred from Monmouth and a very good living—as they might very well have known they would be. This was piecework and pretty well abol- ished by machine production. Touts still may be encountered at a track. Beware, for example, of the man who asks you the loan of your pencil. His next move, in gratitude, will be to point out a “big horseman” who is mad at him, but is kind to strangers, and will tell you gladly what horse will win the next race. And the old game is on. These are small fry and intermittent workers, and the track police throw them out rudely when they catch them. The lesser sort of tipsters sell their envelopes outside the track gates, but the big ones remain in New York and exploit the much larger group of handbook betters. They range from an infrequent handicapper who does actually endeavor to outguess the horses for his customer’s benefit, to syndi- cates operating under a dozen different names and tipping different horses under each, and even to true confidence men who employ a former jockey as the main cog in an elaborate scheme to scent out sucker money. Most of them are callous swindlers. Their prices for their services range from $1000 a horse down to ten cents, and the one is as good as the other. They even steal one another’s services. One long- established $100 tip is stolen daily despite every precaution of the proprietor, and peddled for five dollars under the warranty that it is the true $100 special. In turn, the $100 tip may have been lifted from a news- paper handicapper’s best bet. The contempt of a swindler for a sucker’s intelligence is staggering. Why not? An ad appeared in a turf paper in the fall of 1927 offering “real stable information” for $1000 in advance and the winnings of a $1000 bet on each horse given. It was a modest ad, appearing only twice, and attracted attention only THE SATURDAY because of the unprecedented amount asked. What the advertiser intended was to buy a full page in the Sunday issue a week later, reproduce the original ad, give a list of actual winners purporting to have been given subscribers, and to announce that, owing to the tremendous response, the service now could be brought within the reach of all—ten dollars a week and the proceeds of a ten-dollar bet. The Sunday-page ad never was inserted. Imagine the surprise—as the old stories have it—of the tipster on his next visit to a telegraph office, where he was known under a variety of aliases, when he was handed $1000 wired from someone in Pitts- burgh. He hurried out for a scratch sheet, costing twenty-five cents, and wired the sheet’s best bet of the day to the Pittsburgh client. The horse won at 7 to 10. The fol- lowing day Pittsburgh wired $1000 more and $700, the proceeds of the stipulated bet. The tipster scanned the newspaper selections and picked out a slightly less conservative horse. It happened to win at 3 to 1, and by Saturday afternoon he had received $6500 from his single customer. With this stake, he abandoned the enter- prise and put the money in Radio common on margin when it was selling at around 80. When it reached 100 he sold out for $32,500 and shook his own hand warmly. Radio proceeded to soar beyond 400. Once on a tipster’s mailing list, always on it, unless you move and leave no for- warding address. These mailing lists or, in strict accuracy, telegraph-telephone lists, are their principal assets. They trade names with one another, buy and sell them at so much a hundred, even steal them or get them by bribery from telegraphers. In as much as a tipster with several hundred customers must make sure that all receive his wire within two hours, a well-conducted bureau is equipped with card indexes, manifolding and addressing machines. He attempts to avoid leaks at the tele- graph office by coding his wires and mailing a new code to subscribers at frequent inter- vals. Remittances are by wire and a New York handicapper who charges ten dollars a week exhibited money orders from a cable ship off British Columbia and small towns in Canada, Texas, Maine and other remote points, as well as from the larger cities. In Canada last summer, on vacation at a hotel where he often had stopped, his host told him that a boy who delivered flowers at the hotel daily always had a “good horse.”” The boy, he said, got his information at a near-by drug store. The guest investigated and found that the drug- gist was one of his subscribers. Instead of keeping the information to himself, he was broadcasting it to all the neighborhood. Winning a Lawsuit Tipsters who sell through news stands in sealed envelopes complain that the news- dealers open the envelopes and peddle the information orally at cut rates. These en- velopes are accompanied by posters boast- ing winners at long prices pretended to have been tipped on previous days. Usually there is the implication, if not the bald statement, that the information comes from the stable; that the owner has been waiting for the right spot and long odds. This is too silly for words. If an owner is waiting for the right spot, as he may be, his whole purpose is to deceive the betting public and the bookmakers. To divulge his plan is to defeat it. His only possible reason for taking a tipster into his confidence would be to double-cross him by losing the race and frightening off betters the next time. Actually, the tipster would not be permitted to approach a reputable stable, and he makes no effort to do so. If an owner or trainer is hard-pressed to pay his feed bill or to move his stable to another track, which they have been known to be, he may turn tout to raise a stake, but not by selling his wares to a tipster. A Western trainer stranded in Havana sev- eral winters back and arrived in a certain Southern city without a horse or a dollar, his EVENING POST clothes publishing his state. But a trainer always will be given a badge and small fa- vors at a track for the asking. Reduced to touting, he scorned the usual crudities. In- stead he located a lawyer accustomed to bet largely but secretly. Inventing a plausible story of a lawsuit he wished to bring about the sale of a Thoroughbred, he went to the lawyer. The latter told him that he seemed to have a good case; the client demurred that he lacked even the money for a re- tainer fee. “You are familiar with horses,” the law- yer suggested with attempted casualness, “and especially with the horses you have sold. Perhaps you know one that is reason- ably sure to win.” “That's an idea,” the trainer agreed. ‘I would have to inquire first. And the owner would want a bet put down for him.” Watching Split Seconds That could be managed, the attorney assured him. A day or two later the pre- tended litigant reported back that the horse would go Saturday in a handicap where he was favorably weighted and | would win. The owner expected a $100 bet | for the information. All the trainer had done was to select a horse that seemed most likely to win; first ascertaining the weights | from the racing secretary. The horse’s | owner was an entire stranger to him. On Saturday the lawyer was in the grand stand. The trainer reperting all well, the | lawyer handed him $100 to bet for the owner. This the trainer pocketed. The lawyer next bet $100 for the trainer and laid a heavy wager for himself. The horse won, paying $7.70. The lawyer turned over $285, the winnings of the $100 bet, to the trainer, increasing his funds to $385. This partnership continued until the trainer was on his feet again. Each time he chose a horse on his own judgment and went through the pretense of connivance with the owner. The nearest a handicapper or an hon- estly intending tipster can approach inside information is through a clocker— an expert who times horses with a stop watch in their early-morning workouts. Wealthy owners are proud of their horses and commonly make no effort to conceal their condition, but small horsemen and gambling stables who aim not so much at purses as at win- ning bets at long odds, endeavor to outwit the sharp-eyed railbirds who sit on the track fence at dawn, split-second watch in hand. Clocking is a profession, and a well- paid one. In order to thrive, bookmakers must be better informed than the public, and they pay clockers twenty-five dollars a day or more. So do newspapers and an in- frequent tipster, and there is an endless duel of wits between the bookmakers and newspapers on one side and the gambling stables on the other. The unanswerable retort to all tipsters was the one the old lady asked One-Eyed Connolly outside a Maryland track. One- Eyed’s job at the moment was selling a turf monthly which had arted him up in a light-green flannel uniform. On the side he was crying a sure thing in competition with other leather-lunged tipsters. “If you know so much, why don't you get rich on it?” the old lady wished to know. This might have nonplused most any- one but the noted gate-crasher. “‘Madam,” he said, “I have made fortunes on these tips, but I have a lamentable weakness for poker and lose at cards every night all that I win on the horses by day.” The track tipster is a breed apart. His city brother with an office and a sucker list may know and care little about horses, but he is an old race follower, unhappy away from the ponies and traveling with them from Quebec to Tijuana. Being barred from the inside of the tracks, he works the race trains and lines the approaches. He goes it alone and is back year after year, as seedy and as confident as ever. Maybe he believes in himself. Racing would not be racing without “Riley! Riley! Riley!” and the rest. As well chase away the beggar 125 Bright surfaced — felt base Up-to-date patterns Easily cleaned « Moderately priced Asphalt-slate surfaced Varied colors | Fire-retarding : Minimum expense ROOFS DEFY WATER AND WEAR BIRD & SON, inc East WALPOLE, MASSACHUSETTS CHICAGO wet NEW YORK In Canada BuILDING Propucts, Lrp Montrea! Es —EEE - =

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126 with no legs, the old apple woman and the blind man playing a lugubrious tune on a squeaky fiddle; all as permanent fixtures as the grand stand. “It is true, isn't it,’’ asks someone, “that races are not always honestly run? That jockeys are out only for the ride sometimes? That some stables are operated solely for gambling purposes?, That it is impossible to expect the stewards and patrol judges to detect all the skullduggery that goes on?” The answer is yes “That being true,” the questioner con- tinues, “would it not be possible to win pretty consistently if the better could ob- tain the confidence of a few owners, trainers or jockeys, making it worth their while?” The answer is no. This will be chal- enged, but it is easily preved. The next time you are told, if you should be, that everything is fixed for a horse to win, your answer should be: “But does the horse know that?” A Sure Shot Back-Fires Bookmakers will snap up the bets of owners and trainers on their own horses and tell them to their faces that if all their customers were horsemen, bookmaking would be an even better business than it is. Horsemen are baffled by horses, and the older the man is in experience, the more he realizes it. David Gideon, who has studied them for sixty years for a liv- ing, says that he knows everything there is to know about a Thoroughbred except what any one, his own included, will do the next time out. William Martin, a veteran trainer who announced his retirement last November at Pimlico and sold his best horse, Balko, just after the animal had won a race im- pressively, declares that the three classes at a race track who know the least about horses, in the order of their ignorance, are. trainers, clockers and turf writers. An im telligent jockey, he argues, is most likely to know his horse. Martin was famous for his ability to take ordinary cheap horses and bring them to a form where they defeated fields above their class. He put his retirement down to poor health, but the true reason undoubtedly was the decision of Johnny Callahan to quit the saddle. Martin relied implicitly on Callahan’s ability and his judgment of horses, not only those he rode but those he was out to beat. The old trainer exaggerated, but it is undeniable that horsemen are prone to over and underestimate their own, and even when they strike a mean, they still know little about the other fellow’s entries. Nor is a jockey’s judgment anything on which to mortgage the old home. A reputable jockey keeps as tight a lip as he does a rein but he sometimes favors his family. During the 1927 meeting at Jefferson Park, New Orleans, a jockey had his agent wire the jockey’s family in New York that he expected to win with a certain horse. A commercial tipster happened to be in the home of the boy’s mother when the tele- gram came and she, not knowing his busi- ness, read it aloud. He found excuse to leave quickly for his office in Manhattan, from where he telegraphed the tip as a special to 4000 customers. The boy had four mounts that after- noon. He won on three at long odds. His one defeat was on the horse he had believed a certain winner. To improve upon David Harum, there is only one thing more deadly than an unloaded gun, and that is a dead- sure thing. The jockey never again sent his mother a tip. At Havre de Grace the following spring he was killed while exer- cising a mount. As a trainer was leaving his hotel for the track on one occasion, the proprietor handed him fifty dollars and asked him to bet it on the trainer's horse, running that day. The trainer went away chuckling. Confident that his own horse could not win the race, he bet the fifty dollars on the favorite, in- tending to pocket the winnings and condole with the innkeeper. The favorite ran third, THE SATURDAY while the trainer’s animal won, paying $17.85, and the trainer was forced to collect the $800 first money won by his horse im- mediately, in order to pay off the hotel man. Late autumn some seasons ago found a small owner, at Latonia, broke and seeking a stake to enable him to ship to a winter track. He had one horse trained to a fine edge. Lacking capital, he went to friends in Cincinnati who agreed to bet $1000 for him while betting more heavily for them- selves. The night before, it rained. The owner dolefully called up his backers and told them to take down their bets, that the horse did not like a soft track, but he would send him in for the workout anyway. The horse won at 20 to 1 with neither owner nor stable connections having a cent down. Always before, the animal had balked at mud; this time he romped in it. The Cin- cinnati men believed that they had been double-crossed and proclaimed the train- er’s supposed treachery so persistently that the man acquired a shady reputation. There is a type of bad loser who regu- larly cries ‘‘Crooked race."’ Crooked races still are run, sponges are inserted in a horse’s nose to cut his breathing, they are stimu- lated with narcotics, perhaps even an elec- tric battery still is hidden occasionally in some jockey’s tack, but the old, old tricks of the track are much more rarely resorted to than racegoers believe, and being known to everyone, they are exposed two times in three. One factor toward this end is the greatly increased publicity under which every race is run. The day when the newspapers printed only the bare summaries was one day; that when forty reporters sit in the press box and send their papers a running account, a detailed chart and columns of gossip is an- other day. With access to such data, the racegoing public cracks the whip. They boo the starter, the judges, the jockeys and the horses if they feel like it, and though “their ire often is ungrounded, it is no less corrective. Jockeys stand in wholesome respect of the comments of the press box, and the racing authorities coéperate with the turf writers. Really to fix a race requires the participa- tion of the trainers and jockeys of most of the horses in it, and conspiracies do not thrive on numbers. Exposure means the disbarment for life of all concerned. A few years back a jockey pool in Kentucky threw a few races, made a few thousands, were caught and have the rest of their lives in which to regret it, for a jockey is a special- ist who can do little else if he is set on the ground for good. When Frank McCabe rode Hubberd to win the Dixie at Pimlico in 1872, a race then worth $13,800, Colonel McDaniel, the owner, paid him two dollars. Frank slept in the stable loft that night and a negro groom stole the two dollars. Today a run-of-the-mill jockey should earn $300 a week, and he must be rather more weak- minded than the starters tell him he is to jeopardize such earnings. Too Many Conspirators Needed Even with the boy bought and in the bag, the race does not always come off. Back in the time of the American Derby at Washington Park, Chicago, the owners of a favorite planned a coup on a 15 to 1 shot in the same race. They instructed their jockey to pull his mount and let the long shot through. The favorite was a powerful horse and full of run this day. The boy could not hold him; he fought for his head and won, with the fixed horse second. Another jockey, at Chicago, finding him- self in the same predicament, fell off the favorite, thereby disqualifying him, but the ground was frozen and the boy was hurt so badly that he spent the rest of the meet in the hospital. Joe Cook, an old-time gambler, tells of another Chicago coup that went wrong through the failure of the con- spirators to take everyone into their con- fidence. The favorite was taken all over the track and the fixed horse was winning, when a jockey “not in the know” came along on an outsider and beat them all. EVENING POST Of all the specialists in modern news- paper work, the race-chart maker is the most special. One of the weaknesses of the sport as a public attraction is the difficulty the recruit has in distinguishing one horse from another; unless he can follow the mutations of the running, the thing is me- chanical and he is little moved. Each horse carries a number on his saddle and the racing colors of the owners differentiate the jockeys, but colors and numbers blur in the heat of a race. Even a fan equipped with field glasses often does well to keep track of two or three of the field, and may lose them on the far turn. This difficulty is being met at some tracks, since the in- vention of the loud-speaker, by having each race called by an expert for all to hear. As the Race is Run More races are run at six furlongs than any other distance, and a little more than a minute is normal time for this three- quarters of a mile. In that brief interval the chart makers not only must follow as many as twenty-four horses and place their relative positions and the distances separat- ing each at every post of call, but must set this and much more down in a table that is the most cryptic thing in a modern news- paper and have it on the street before the next race is run. There were twenty-four two-year-olds in the 1928 Belmont Futurity, the winner ran the six and three-quarter furlongs in a minute and nineteen seconds, the race came to the grand stand head-on like a cavalry charge, and the first and second horses, High Strung and Roguish Eye, were heads apart at the wire. In about twenty minutes a full chart was in most metro- politan afternoon papers and on the street, and all agreed remarkably down to the lengths separat’ng the twenty-third and twenty-fourth horses at any given point. Examine the late editions of any metro- politan afternoon paper or the sport pages of any morning paper for this cabalistic table. Three experienced men are necessary to the making of the chart. The caller follows the race with field glasses and dictates to a second man. A third follows and places the rear horses if the field is large. For great stakes a fourth man is sent to the finish line, particularly where there is a deceptive angle of vision. The decision of the placing judges is final, whether the chart man agrees or not; he is there to check the distances separating the horses at the finish line. The invention of the chart is disputed; probably it was a gradual growth. It first came into general use in the Daily Racing Form, a turf paper founded many years ago at Chicago by Fred Brunell, and now is regarded as an indispensable circulation puller by almost all metropolitan dailies. George Daley, veteran turf writer of the New York World, recently printed a story of the lengths to which the gambler horse owner will go to win a bet. The gambler was Arnold Rothstein, whose murder last winter still is engaging the police. Roth- stein ran horses under the name of the Redstone Stable, the English of his own name, and exemplified the worst type of owner. He had dropped around $50,000 on bad bets at Saratoga one day in i920 and turned petulantly to Max Hirsch, his racing adviser, and demanded: “‘Haven’t I got a horse in my barn that can cop a race?” “You've got one,” Hirsch told him. “Sailing B. is ready, but Willie Booth” — Rothstein's trainer —‘‘is living in hopes of taking the $50,000 Hopeful with him a week from today, and there’s no place else where he fits, unless you want to risk a good colt in a cheap selling race.” “Risk? Of course I'll risk him,”’ Roth- stein retorted. “I'd like to win a classic like the Hopeful, but I’d rather win a bet. Find the race and make it soon.” Hirsch leafed over the condition book. “Here’s one on Friday for $1500 platers. Willie won’t like it, but there it is if you March 25,1929 want to chance a big run-up or lose the colt.” A horse entered in a selling or claim- ing race is put up at auction after the race, beginning at the price for which he is en- tered. The object is to prevent owners from running horses below their class. “Tell Willie to start him,” was the or- der. ‘‘What price should he be?” “He’s a green two-year-old and Willie has kept him pretty well under cover,” Hirsch told the gambler. “‘He ought to be 10 to 1.” Sailing B., a Trap Rock-Peccadello colt, started in the third race on Friday with eight others. J. W. McClelland’s Wild Thoughts was favorite. Sailing B. opened at 8 to 1 and closed at 3 to 1. Rothstein got $80,000 down at the track and around the country, and tried to bet $100,000. Sailing B. won galloping by two lengths, as he should have, and the gambler won $500,000 or more; he admitted to that much. Rothstein told Booth to protect the colt up to $6000 in the auction, think- ing that ample. When the bidding passed that point, Booth had to drop out and Emil Herz bought the horse for Commander J. K. L. Ross. In the Canadian’s colors next season, Sailing B. ran unplaced in only three out of sixteen starts, winning three. Rothstein had thrown away a good chance to win a famous race and had lost a valu- able property in the bargain. He was so furious over the latter that he demanded $10,000 for transferring the horse’s racing engagements, usually a formality, and as Commander Ross would not pay, the colt remained in the barn on Tuesday and Leonardo II won the Hopeful. On July 4, 1921, at Aqueduct, Rothstein won $700,000 on a coup decided upon be- tween the second and third races. Max Hirsch owned.a maiden named Siderial which had run unplaced in three starts. It was entered in the sixth race for maiden- nonwinners—two-year-olds this day, but Hirsch had decided to scratch it and had left the colt in the barn at Belmont. A Vanload of Luck As he was on his way to the secretary’s office to withdraw the animal, he began to waver. The competition in the sixth looked pretty weak. “Are you prepared to lay a pretty good chunk on a horse of mine if I start it in the sixth?” he asked Rothstein. “The price ought to be long.” “Let’s go if you think there is a chance,” the gambler agreed. Hirsch tried to telephone his stable at Belmont and failed to raise it. After much delay, Mrs. Hirsch jumped into her car and sped to Belmont to order the foreman to load Siderial into a van quickly. The entries were leaving the paddock for the sixth when the van arrived, and Siderial was a minute late on the track, for which he could have been disqualified. Meanwhile the horse had opened at 20 to 1, and climbed to 30 to 1, with Roth- stein’s commissioners scattering their bets as widely as possible to avoid notice. The public was getting down on Charles A. Stoneham’s Ultimo, Thomas Fortune Ryan’s Northcliffe and John Sanford’s Sleiveconard, serving to obscure the Roth- stein play for a while. Then Siderial’s odds began to fall rapidly, closing at 5 to 1. More of the gambler’s money was being offered at any price when the barrier was sprung. With $70,000 bet and about $700,000 at stake, the gambler watched the race with glasses from the clubhouse lawn. Siderial was nowhere in the early running, nor visi- ble as the field turned down the stretch. “Does anyone see Siderial?”’ he asked un- concernedly. At that moment the scarlet-and-black colors of Hirsch flashed into view and Si- derial, with Bill Kelsay up, worked his way past the leaders to win ridden out. “Well, I just won the biggest bet of my life.” The man of many rackets smiled. Editor’s Note— This is the second of three articles by Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Stout. The third will appear in an early issue. _— ne — ——— “

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 127 | PB hie illustrates he sensible 9O-day rule " in using toothbrushes 4} Teeth whiten | if you observe? if « batt do a THE TOOTHBRUSH You Usep Tuts Mok idING PROBABLY NEEDS REPLACING — UNLess It Looxs Lixe Tuess ERE is good information—if you realize the full im- portance of having white, truly clean teeth. Most toothbrushes are used too long —kept at their work long after wear has impaired the honest polishing and cleans- ing qualities. Not even a Dr. West's can do its best for you after about three months of daily service. Each 90 days a new brush is needed. For personal use dentists get new brushes each 30 days So we offer this reminder—to every toothbrush user. Unless your present brush looks like one of these you re depriving yourself of results you can just as easily have. The brushes illustrated here are the new Dr. West's. Of the same correct shape and small size that have brightened the teeth of millions. But now made still more effective by use of premium quality materials — AS A DENTIST j which give you still finer results would brush your teeth: , Get new Dr. West's Tooth. | U* 4 good dentifrice. heush = does Brush always away from H rushes, today, from your drug- gums towards cutting edge: of gist. The difference in results will seeth—mever across the crevices be quickly apparent. Adult's size, Employ 4 new Dr. West's ; ‘ — h b ite j $0c; youth’s, 35c; child's, 25c; °™ Ta ¢ ie $ ae . size and modern design which special gum massage, 75c. Each , 6 Make rrect brushing eas) brush carefully sterilized, doubly Your teeth will whiten sealed, and fully guaranteed amazingly rT f ® i NOTE THIS DIAGRAM ’ It shows you why Dr. West's Tooth- brushes polish teeth whiter by cleans- ing more thoroughly. See how all teeth are reached, all crevices penetrated and swept clean, teeth far back as thor- oughly cleansed as those in front ©1929.W BM Co

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128 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 25, 1929 very single home in Gladstone Manor revolutionary kind of oak floor + + + HERE’S an attractive new suburb near Philadelphia. W. Percival Johnson con- ceived it, planned it, built it, and chris- tened it “Gladstone Manor.” The beautiful oak floors of every Johnson-built home, upstairs and downstairs, are CROMAR Factory Finished Oak Floors. Just another example of the star- tling success-story of CROMAR. In each case, CROMAR Flooring was chosen because it is the only flooring in the world which is completely finished at the factory (like furniture) by patented machines—scraped, sand- ed, filled, twice-varnished and treated to resist moisture. Out of this one fundamental and exclusive feature grow all the other CROMAR advantages over hand-finished flooring. The most outstanding of these advantages are: 1. A more uniformly beautiful Finish—2. A longer-lasting Finish—3. Treated to resist Mois- ture—4. Lower Upkeep cost—5. Far greatet speed and convenience of installing—6. Con- siderably quicker sale or rental of property. And yet, CROMAR floors cost no more than hand-finished oak floors! » * ~ Write for a free sample and booklets which explain these advantages in full detail and describe still other exclusive CROMAR features. CROMAR is sold by lumber dealers, but carpenters and contractors install it. Consult any of these for further information. If you have the slightest trouble in getting satisfaction, write us and we shall give your in- quiry immediate personal attention. THE CROMAR COMPANY, WILLIAMSPORT, PA. Pacific Greater West Distributors : THE C.L. THOMPSON COMPANY Offices and Warehouses : 200 Davis Street, San Francisco, California 324 N. San Pedro St., Los Angeles, California TOM ML CROMAR right over your old floors Because CROMAR is completely finished at the factory, it is Laid and FACTORY FINISHED FLOORING Used the Same Day! When the beautifully finished CRoMaR strips reach you, crated in compact, easy-to-handle, damage-proof bundles, there is not another thing to do but nail them down—right over your old floors. The complete job (just nailing, remember) is done at the speed ofa rooma day. Started after breakfast —completed before dinner! » 7. * CROMAR is a tongue-and-groot r—whic > ngue-and ¢ flooring—which means that the nails or ure driven wot through the surface but through the tongue—and are the same day thus concealed by the groove of the adjoining strip. 3h ees —— ——wi ———— ee ee ce

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we didn’t exactly know what a subsidiary was, we judged, from the tone of his voice, to be perfectly darling—while A had bought Gurgle at 37, and had been told by its president —old James J. Gurgle himself—to take his profit when it hit 50, as it would a week from the following Thursday. This sounded fair enough to us, too, as a starter, until we got the hang of the thing. So, dividing our money into equal parts, we called a broker,* plunked half on each tip, and upsy daisy —we were in the market! There is nothing, we believe, so calcu- lated to give one a sense of power, of the limitless capacity of Man in his struggle with the Forces of Nature—in short, that so induces that wonderful beef-wine-and- iron feeling—as being in the market. Take, for example, our buying of Gurgle Oil. We had planned to buy it at 37, and had done a great deal of intensive figuring on the backs of old envelopes on that basis. Now, we wouldn’t do anyone an injustice for the world, and of course there’s no way of actually knowing whether, when our broker started to execute the order, he didn’t stop to watch a safe being hoisted or a sky-writer or something—anyway, Gurgle was 40 when he got the order in, and it’s always seemed fishy to us. But that’s neither here nor there. The point we’re making is that no sooner had we bought it than—as if we had been Queen of the Fairies and stamped our dainty foot above the hitherto com- paratively sterile oil fields of Oklahoma, Texas, and so on, the while crying “‘ Abra- cadabra!’’—not only did the stock fall five points but oil fairly rushed, gushed and slushed from the fallow soil, prices were cut hither and yon, and the financial pages of the leading newspapers carried headlines to the effect that oil was depressed, which we thought was such a plucky way to put it! From that day to this Gurgle has lain where it fell, so to speak. Yes, this and similar experiences have made us feel a very Titan, and that to annihilate the world’s oil supply, raise the price, and make kings give their crowns, and children cry for it, we would have only to sell our Gurgle. But we wouldn't if we could. Thank goodness, there is some sentiment left in this old world! There are only a very, very few of us who bought Gurgle that bright January day at 40, but we have more fun at our annual get-together sing- ing “‘Here’s to dear old Gurgle; push her down, push her down!” A Stave to Easy Money By the time we got around to Premedi- tated Gas and Electric, however, we had cut our teeth, as the fellow says. Instead of its being 34 that morning, our broker reported it was 50. Well, sir, maybe we weren't hopping. But by scuffling through *Norte: This is a very simple process nowadays. Just take your telephone receiver off the hook and instead of saying “I want a policeman,” or “I want to report a fire,” and so on, say “I want a broker.” Ten to one there will already be one on the wire waiting to call you. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Continued from Page 29) the financial pages ourselves we found some Premeditated G. and E. for only 30, my dear, and we just grabbed it. What a good laugh we all had afterward when we found they were warrants instead of stock — we'd be glad to explain the difference right here, but we feel you'd remember it longer if you looked it up yourself. The next and last step is to sit back and wait for your stocks to go up, down, or just sidewise, as is often the case. This sounds simple enough, but in reality you will find yourself working harder than you ever have in your life. Indeed, speaking scarcely roughly enough, the newcomer in the market must be prepared to devote at least eight hours a day to this easy-money as it is laughingly called— proposition. In the first place, he, she or it must find where the stock in which they have become interested is listed on the financial pages. This in itself is great fun, once you've got the hang of it, but it takes lots of time; for besides the regular Stock Exchange list which you will soon learn to call non- chalantly “the big board’”’—there is the Curb, the Bond, a very silly, confusing thing called Over the Counter Securities, and dizzying pages of corporations, and flaxseed and charters and foreign markets and dried beans and perfectly senseless things. However, once you learn the lan- guage, a new and fascinating world will open before you in which you will spend many happy, if slightly bewildering, hours. You will find yourself losing interest in the regular news pages and turning eagerly to the human-interest stories of the financial work, with such moving headlines as Tin Futures Depressed, Rails Optimistic, Wool Market Quiet, and Rubber Irregular. While for quaint, homely philosophy give us the Produce Exchange, with its “chickens running coarse and poor—old roosters easy —geese weak and lower,” and the like. There’s Life in the raw for you! At least two hours daily will be given by the tyro to Envelope Computing. Try as you may, you cannot avoid the practice the lure of an old envelope is irresistible at this stage of your financial education. Glori- ous hours may be spent in jotting —as it is technically known among us writers — down the price paid for, let us say, Bituminous Sugar pfd. A; what we have gained or lost in it since yesterday, day before yesterday, a week ago last Tuesday, and if we hang on to it till Christmas; what we would have made if we had done as we had intended in the first place and bought Refined Smelt- ings common, only we didn’t because Emily Nitz said her husband said he didn't like the look of it; and what we undoubtedly could make if we only had enough money to buy 1000 shares of Consolidated Electric Gadgets right this minute. Naturally, when it’s all over, you haven't any more actual money, but on the other hand, it hasn't cost you anything but time and thought and old envelopes, and it’s kept you out of crowds where you might have got the flu. THIS LITTLE PIG WENT TO MARKET Moreover, before you heve been in the market a week your name is certain to be on somebody's sucker list, and then the fun begins! When you are not opening letters from kind-hearted stock promoters who have become so interested in your particu- lar case that they want you to come right in on the ground floor of their mine or well | or company, and help yourself to their | overhead and goodwill and depreciation just because you are you and they know you love nice things, you'll be answering telephone calls from Mr. Woofle of C. D. | Minnicks & Co., who wants to tell you that he has chosen you out of all the world practically to give a brand-new issue of Crucible Cheese 344 per cent gold-leaf debenture bonds, to be retired in 2036——as who among us won't be?—to. Our heart never goes pit-a-pat-bucketty-bucketty any more when the telephone rings; we know it won't be HIM-—it will be Mr. Woofle. Those Fractious Fractions We almost hesitate to include Ticker Reading in this little list of Musts for the young marketer; yet it must be mastered eventually, no matter at what cost. There is a poise, a je ne sais quoi, a dégagé some- thing about reading a ticker that can be gained in no other way. To date we must confess we have only progressed in our ticker reading to the point where we can let the tape slide through our fingers while we achieve an expression of intelligence about equal to that of a baby reading a news- paper. But we intend to keep at it until, if nothing more, we prove to our own satis- faction that the people we see reading tickers really are reading tickers. Person- ally we have our doubts As the reader will note, we have touched lightly upon only the most elementary points; for, earnestly though we have worked, there is still much about the mar- ket which is a sealed book even to us. We have not yet learned whether, when some- one says “Call money is 8,” we should clap our hands and cry, “Oh, goody, goody!" or shake our head and emit that sound commonly identified with acute de- pression which can only inadequately be rendered in print as “‘t-t-t."”. We do not yet know whether calling loans is any- thing like hog calling. But one thing we do know: Unquestionably, what the stock market needs today is fewer fractions What we have suffered from fractions since we have been in it no one knows. To the young investor who knows her fractions we say Godspeed. But if you are like us, we solemnly warn you that your days will be filled to overflowing with halves and quarters, and your nights made hideous by eighths; and that there is very real danger that one day your loved ones will find you whimpering and gibbering and biting at the wall paper under the impression that you are a 3!'9 per cent Treasury Note who has been called by Mr. Mellon at 99.7 whatever that is 129 WHEREVER YOU CAN USE AN ELECTRIC PLUG-IN SPRAYI1 Agitator Type Geadies than Your Claims/” Say 9400 Enthusiastic Users ITH THE Agitator Type ELECTRIC SPRAYIT,we promise d revolutionary developme ntin paint spraying equipme it Now thousands of Agitator Type owners say we have succeeded! Many have made their SPRAYIT pay for itself by doing bet ter work, faster — hence cheaper Regardless of the nature of your util ity Of Maintenance paint job— plug-in the Agitator Type ELECTRIC SPRAYIT at the nearest light socket, grasp the pistol grip of the light-weight gun, and pull the trigger. The spray, either tan or round shape, starts or stops instan taneously. Trigger controls it, always at full pressure, in a flash. When nor spraying, a stream of air is blown through the fluid, churning it so chat itis thoroughly mixedand broken up. Hundreds of Uses Everywhere Cuts down costs, speeds up produc tion and gives professional results Enter your order immediately. The workmanship and the material are fully guaranteed Rent a Sprayit for liome Use For any paint job in the home your dealer can now rent you an ELECTRIC SPRAYII ata nominal daily charge. Write for details of the new Sprayit Home Rental Plan Sold by leading jobbers and dealers lt you not | w where tw buy use th upon below §59 50 COMPLETE SPR oat THE ELECTRIC SPRAYIT CO)., Inc | 1 103 E. Colfax Ave., South Bend, Ind Send me the New Agitator Type ELECTRIC | “~~ SPRAYIT at $ f | LJ Sorayit Home Rental § | | | pr al use for ELECTRK ' SPRAYTI Write Complete Name avd Address Belou

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130 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST eee edeede ee To any executive who buys business letterheads, we will send without charge the new Letterhead Kit of Hammermill Bond, filled with specimen letterheads, and samples of Hammermill Bond in its twelve colors and white. Bond and ripple finishes. Envelopes to match. Please send your request on your present business letterhead. Address Hammermill Paper Co., Erie, Pa. Kee4 000006 March 23,1929 — -—_>- ~«

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I have no more use for manufacturers’ associations organized for the control of workmen than I have for labor unions or- ganized to bring pressure on manufactur- ers. Year for year and age for age, no man has worked harder than have I. At seventy- three I’m still on the job. Hence, when I speak of labor I am not theorizing. Neither am I theorizing about manufacturers’ prob- lems and practices. I do not believe in union labor, but I do believe in one labor union based on our national Constitution, under which any man is free to work for whom he pleases, as long as he pleases and for whatever he wants to charge for his services. The Works has never had to manage labor, because the average man is innately fair. Yet, though we have not specialized in managing, we have developed a system which suits our peculiar industry. The Joker in Double Time The locomotive business is variable. Rail- roads must have motive power. Though this fact is recognized by railroad executives, they are inclined to procrastinate in pur- chasing. Hence, after a lean year or two, our Works may receive a flood of orders calling for prompt delivery. Because there are so many styles of locomotives used under a variety of conditions, such orders cannot be anticipated, and quantity production is impracticable. Made-up stock is seldom carried. There are many types of locomotives used in various parts of the world, such as American, Atlantic, balanced compound, compressed air, consolidation, decapod, de- Glehn, electric, Forney, geared, Mallet, Mikado, mine, mogul, mountain, Pacific, prairie, Pechot, rack-rail, Santa Fe, tandem-compound, tank, ten-wheeled, triple-articulated, and Vauclain compound. In building a modern, full-sized loco- motive weighing at least 200 tons and costing about $100,000, thousands of parts must be manufactured and assembled so that they work as smoothly as the finest watch, though the engine will be called upon to haul heavy trains over 10,000 miles of rough tracks monthly. Building loco- motives is no tea party; the builders must be wonder-workers. After the United States entered the World War, our government authorities at Wash- ington deliberated a hundred days, then decided they wanted a standard locomotive delivered to them within sixty days. Ordi- narily such an order would not bea problem. Away back in 1889 we made a test of our efficiency by com- pleting a narrow- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST STEAMING UP (Continued from Page 23) calling for many sizes and parts not to be found in any works. After I'd promised our Government to make a sixty-day delivery, I telephoned the good news to our vice president. He replied that, as the designs had not been made and many special parts and much work would be required, he might be delayed in making delivery. “T’ve promised the Government delivery on July fourth,” I answered. His reply was characteristic. promised it, we'll do it.” He turned our boys loose on that special. They didn’t stop for committee meetings. Some concentrated on shop work. Others scurried out for necessary material. One scout returned in a Pullman car with a big casting which the conductor declared would only come aboard over his dead body. But he lived and we got the casting. Other parts reached us in hand bags. Motor trucks brought others on nonstop runs made regardless of roads and weather. In twenty days our boys delivered our Loco- motive 4500 to Washington, D. C. I cite this case merely to illustrate that a locomotive works must be adjustable and flexible. So we have on our floors, which cover about 120 acres, a contract system for employing labor. With us it originated through our Mr. Charles T. Parry. He was an observing superintendent and discovered in the 70’s that some men are good produc- ers in doing piecework, while others have not enough initiative to work without direct leadership. Hence he introduced the con- tract system. Under this system our work is done by foremen, contractors, journeymen, helpers and laborers. All these men are on our pay roll, but the contractor assumes the responsibility for completing some particu- lar part of the locomotive; the cab, for example. The price for this is agreed upon by the contractor and the department superintendent. The foreman and contractor agree upon the number, character and wages of the journeymen, helpers and common laborers who are to work under that contractor. The difference between the agreed price and the job’s pay roll is the contractor's profit for that job. This system relieves the shop manage- ments of many details, although it is re- sponsible for delivery of the required parts and for personnel and pay roll. In practice it makes the organization flexible because, in dull times, common laborers are first laid off, then helpers and journeymen, until only the cream of machinists are retained. “If you gauge locomotive for Robert Cole- man’s Lebanon County, Pennsyl- vania, road from raw materials in eight working days. In 1921 we completed twenty-five Mikado-type eng gines, each weigh- ing 118,000 pounds, and shipped them to the Argentine Government within forty days of receipt of order. We've manufac- tured and shipped 300 locomotives of one type monthly over an extended period. Yet this particular order from the United States Govern- They form the nucleus around which an organization can be enlarged during or after a sudden increase of our business. There are some variations in this system. Single men are the first to go, in favor of married men; and .we never discharge an employe after he is sixty —we have invested too much in training him and he makes an excellent counterbalance for the younger ones. He has judgment and experience. Like- wise, if any workman is injured we find work for him at a better salary than he earned before bad luck overtook him. But we have no welfare or pension system. We have no time clocks, but if any man is late we blame and, maybe, censure the foreman. We discourage overtime. More than once I've overheard some such conversation as: “Where are you working, George?” “At Baldwin's. I like it there.” “Why?” “They pay good wages, treat you fair, and pay double time for overtime.” The joker is that we seldom allow our workmen to put in overtime. The foremen and superintendents are about the only ones who join me in this luxury and we get no extra pay for it. I can stand up under a lot of overtime. So can some of my as- sociates. But I don't believe in making workmen put in long hours. It takes too much out of them. If the shops are rushed, we have no difficulty in getting help. I've seen our floor forces increased from 3000 to 16,000 in ten days. Men like to work for us. That’s partly because they are treated with courtesy and appreciate it. Rewards for trying to observe the golden rule are sometimes bestowed in strange places. When I was a railroad shops’ apprentice at Altoona, Pennsylvania, it was worth any man’s life to enter the grinding room pre- sided over by Old Jimmy Quinn, a dour Scotchman and a privileged character. If he didn’t bite you, you were lucky; hence, foremen delighted in feeding young ap- prentices to Old Jimmy. I'd been working there about a week when my foreman winked slyly to old floor men and said, ‘‘ Take this crosshead to the grinding room and tell Old Jimmy to polish it in a hurry and not to keep me waiting.” The whole floor was grinning at me as | disappeared into the grinding room. The terror of the shops looked at me sourly from behind his grindstones and emery wheels, but I doffed my cap and said, “I beg your pardon. Are you Mr. Quinn?” The old man started, squinted quizzi- cally and began wiping his hands on a 131 piece of waste. After a thoughtful moment he replied: “Yes, 1 am Mr. Quinn. At least I believe I am Mr. Quinn. Sonny, who told you to call me Mr. Quinn? Cap in hand, I answered, “ Nobody, sir.” “‘Didn't they tell ye to see Old Jimmy? he insisted. “Yes, sir,” I admitted, “but I never speak to anyone without showing respect.”’ “Who are ye, anyway?” he demanded. “Sam Vauclain,” I answered promptly “Ah,” he answered, “I ken yer faither and yer mither.” “Thank you, sir," I murmured “What did they give ye for Old Jimmy?” he continued. “They asked me to have this piece of work polished,” I told him “T'll polish it,” he assured me. “When it’s finished I'll send for ye. Come and see me, my lad, ony time.” Sweets to the Sour The shop floor was frankly disappointed that my mission did not meet with disaster. Old Jimmy and I became firm friends. I had a similar experience with another shop character. Durjng my Altoona novitiate the foreman ordered me to take a wheelbarrow load of old, battered bolts to Sam Keister. “And tell him to run those threads over again and let me have ‘em right back again,” he or- dered. Keister had lost his disposition in a rail- road wreck which had also deprived him of one leg, some toes on the remaining leg, and several fingers and one hand. His disposi tion was terrible. He doted on keeping people waiting; yet no foreman would fire him, because he was a pensioner. As | wheeled my load toward this tough one the floor hooted and yelled at me, because no self-respecting apprentice would wheel a barrow. That was work only for a laborer But I drew up beside the bad egg and, looking him in his cold blue eyes, asked politely, “Is this Mr. Keister?” Shocked, the man straightened up as much as possible and remarked, “ Yes, this is Mr. Keister. No mistake about that I used to be Sam Keister and now I'm Mr. Keister. You hit the nail right on the head. Now what do you want Mr. Keister to do for you?” I explained my mission and !eft the bolts. The next day the cripple bore down on me—he needed much room in which to navigate-- and announced for the hearing of the surprised floor: “Sonny, those bolts are ready for you. If you'll come and get them, Mr. Keis- ter will be much obliged to you.” | I'd made an | other lasting } friend. In later years, in Philadelphia, I | made other friends in the same way though I was a superintendent and, hence, r sponsible for them and their work anc everything While making these friends I also helped make a number of loco motives for Rus Sia 1 hey were compounds) won Vauclain patents and they called fora peculiar sty of copper brazing on the fire-box ment was on new specifications Decapod Type Locomotive, Built for the Dom Pedro Seguredo Railroad, Brazil, in 18&5 ends of the iror boiler tubes After the thirty engines in the

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132 THE SATURDAY o Remind you~~ These exclusive and patented features assure you of a collar that is su- premely smart —without the rasping discomfort and irritation of starch — Multi-Ply Fabric ... Which means that the Van Heusen Collar will unfailingly outlast any ordinary collar. Woven On a Curve ... which means that style and com- fort are woven into this one-piece collar by the loom that makes it. Fold Woven In ... Which means that asmooth collar of faultless fit is obtained by weaving in the fold line—instead of ironing it in. Well-dressed men always prefer the Van Heusen. 3 For $] VAN HIEIUSEN THE WORLDS SMARTEST COLLA PMILLIPS -SONES + N.Y. oman om 4 gy SIC Each i] EVENING POST shipment had been stripped and stowed in the steamer, I was told that the brazed tubes gave way on every boiler tested. After examining a wagonload ef these tubes, I ordered every one of them out of the boilers, designed a new method of brazing them and, by working forty-eight hours steadily, completed the shipment without demurrage. The Russians liked that job so well they | had us send them three machines to do | the brazing in their own shops on other engines. That left us standing well with Russia; so, when the’World War opened I sailed for there to develop the ‘Russian market personally. My son, Parry, accom- panied me. It was my first experience in that war, and I wanted to see what things looked like while slipping down the River Tyne from Newcastle, England, one dark night. All | passengers had been ordered below, but I sneaked up to the pilot and spoke tactfully. He turned a deaf ear to me until I men- tioned my name. He looked at me closely; then exclaimed, | “IT used to work for you, Mr. Vauclain!”’ I didn’t pretend to recall him, but while we talked softly about locomotive building he bade me crouch in the shadow of the | pilot house, and pointed out the forts on shore and other things in which I was | keenly interested. When the government pilot came aboard to take us through the mine fields, I obeyed the instructions of my old employe and crawled hastily on hands and knees along the deck and into the cabin without being arrested or shot or anything. I got a wonderful kick out of it, because I weighed 200 pounds when I made that crawl. A New Job for the Old Boss Our ship crossed the North Sea to Nor- way safely; but as the Baltic was too full of Germans to be practicable, we had to choose the all-rail route up through Sweden and Finland if we wanted to reach St. Peters- burg. It was all-rail up to a certain point, named Kirunki on the Swedish maps. There a stranger in a coat which made him look just like a polar bear embraced me heartily. When I was released I demanded an explanation. The stranger with the fur coat and bear hug was an ex-boilermaker whom I'd bossed around in the Baldwin | Works. “You taught me how to make the most | of myself,” he told me heartily. “Now I am in business for myself. You and your party are to ride in my car to Tornea, which is the railhead in Finland.” He bundled us into his open car and | wrapped us completely in blankets, then whirled us across twenty-seven kilometers of Arctic Circle with the thermometer reg- istering about sixty degrees below zero. I saw little of the scenery. While Parry and I were thawing out in the Tornea hostelry, I said to my son, “You're very pale. Is anything the matter | with you?” “I’m not sick,” Parry weakly replied, | “but I left a thousand guineas in my money belt in that sleeping car at Kirunki.” No one wants to lose $5000 and I think I turned a little pale, but I hastily hunted up my boilermaker. “Don’t worry,” he called as he leaped into his open car and buzzed back along the Arctic Circle. We wondered if we should see him or that money belt again. Fifteen minutes before our train pulled out for St. Petersburg he buzzed up to the railroad platform and handed me the belt. “I gave a handful of guineas to that honest Swedish station master,” he ex- plained apologetically. I forced a handful on my equally honest boilermaker and I sped southward com- fortably. If that former employe of my boiler shop ever wants a job from me he can have one, and a good one. He has the typical Baldwin character. We work in harmony with our men. We | do not try to manage them. I am president and general manager, but we believe in the March 25,1929 self-reliance of the individual. Each man is responsible for his actions, and if he fails in any particular the fault lies with his foreman. The foreman’s dereliction is charged to the superintendent over him From the superintendent it is passed up to the vice president who has that department as his province. From the vice president it comes up to me. At times we have 20,000 workmen. As far as our stockholders and customers are concerned, all mistakes made in the Works are my mistakes. No Time to be Fired In conducting this form of partnership the president is easily accessible to any employe of the Works. He is the recipient of inside kicks. It is up to him to iron out minor as well as major difficulties. As long as human nature is what it is disputes will arise between our workmen. One of the disgruntled parties brings his grievance to me generally. Then I try my smoothing system. Not long ago a laborer came into my office and told me a hot tale about the rough methods of his foreman, who was, he said, riding him. The foreman, he thought, was an overlord who gave no consideration to his underlings. A lot more was said along that line and a fist fight hinted at by the laborer. “Wait a minute,” I cautioned him. Then the foreman was summoned to the office. “Now say that again,”’ I told the laborer The story, when repeated, was not quite so strong as the original, but I suggested that they talk it over. They talked, de- cided each was partly responsible, went back to the floor, and thereafter got along by each trying to be helpful to the other. Neither of them nursed a grievance. In all the years I’ve been at work I’ve never held a grudge or contemplated re- venge against any individual. If a man does me a wrong I do not nurse my griev- ance sullenly. I either talk it out with him or arrange to avoid him permanently. That’s what I want our men to do, and you find so much good will in our atmosphere that if work is slack and I ask a single man to find another job a while, he goes good- naturedly and gets one good-naturedly, and comes back to us when there is room for him. By the same token, when a man can better himself by leaving us, we say good-by and wish him well. The fair-play spirit dominates so much that even when I let 2500 misguided men go during the sym- pathetic strike of 1910 they always spoke cordially to me outside the Works and, af- ter they had thought it over and we needed them, most of them came back good- naturedly. Sometimes a man will not let himself be fired. Shortly after I became general super- intendent I noticed a laborer named Jim who loafed at every opportunity. He just hated to work, did that boy Jim. I warned him repeatedly. Finally I got tired of warn- ing and said, “Jim, you’re through. Go to the foreman and get your work ticket and don’t let me ever see you around here again.” He went, but late that afternoon I noticed him helping to unload a car. I called him over. “Didn't I tell you, Jim,” I said, - “that I didn’t want to see,you here again?” “Yis, boss,” he answered affably, “but I made up my mind I had to work some- where for a living and I'd rather work here than anywhere.” He stayed and became a good workman, following the example of his associates. Ex- ample is more effective than a whole volume full of rules. Though I no longer put on overalls, I do take a hand in things occa- sionally. I can’t be just a president. Once when we were hard pushed to fill an export order which required the making of drop-forged wheels for locomotives, due to be shipped in a few days on a steamer that awaited then, the foreman notified me that he had broken the big steel head of the only hammer that could do the work. A delay would pile up so much demurrage that we'd soon lose our profit on the job. = ee ere

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I promptly telephoned the builders of that hammer. They as promptly said that they might have a new head for me in a month. A year would have been as helpful under the circumstances. We had no steel in the shops large enough for hammer heads. The foreman intimated that I should have three-ton hammers in my pocket. “Go home and vote,” I told him. It was election day. Although I made a mental inventory of every steel mill, I could think of none which had such a big chunk of steel in stock. I was still up against it late that evening, when I happened to recall a Philadelphia junk dealer who had purchased an old monitor from the Navy some monthsearlier. I couldn’t get hold of him that night, but at four o’clock the next morning I'd climbed the fence of his yard, which was locked and without a watchman, and after rummaging through the piles of junk, came across the centers of two turrets that I sought. By seven o'clock | had my junkman, by eight those turret centers were in the shop, by noon the hammer was once more running. We shipped those drop-forged wheels and locomotives without having to pay any demurrage. That’s one illustration of example. If you're interested in your job you'll work at it without regard to time, and the more service you can give for your wages the more interest you will take in it. The wise workman won't balk at using machinery. It only makes him more valuable. Two-Way Profit During my first years with the Works the firm was short on machinery. I knew that European manufacturers in other lines were using hydraulic presses for forging work. Although our firm was not keen about it, I improvised such a press for our Works and we pioneered with it in the locomotive business. The innovation reduced the num- ber of our blacksmith fires and gave higher wages to remaining workmen. The others found other jobs te do. By buyingasmallsteamengineand apply- ing it to one of our double-headed slotting machines, I introduced the twenty-four-hour day in the framing department successfully. This gave two men work where one had worked before and saved the price of an- other machine. By elaborating on this policy I originated the individual drive for machine tools in manufacturing plants. I couldn’t then convince George Westing- house that he could make electric motors big enough to drive our Works machines; so I had to rely on steam engines and, hence, had to cut my line shafts into sections. But the Works saved and the workmen made more money. They worked in shifts while I put in twenty hours daily. Although I have been more interested in doing a job than making money, I firmly believe that the laborer is worthy of his hire. And I believe still more firmly that what a man does with his money is more important than the amount he gets. If he has the right job he'll probably be a wise spender. I’ve never found it difficult to make money, because my job has always been interesting. That holds good for many people. One of our workmen has been with us many years. In that he is not exceptional. But he is an outstanding example of effi- ciency in and out of working hours. He's on the job at Eddystone by seven o'clock in the morning, six days in the week; fre- quently he stays until nine at night. His earnings with us are modest. Yet he owns a developed farm in New Jersey, twenty miles from his daily job. He could cash in for $40,000. Yet I never saw him in a hurry. He’s his own first-class manager, although some of his prosperity can be credited to machinery. A Place for Work Steady improvement in production meth- ods has removed the workman's dislike for machinery. He has learned that it de- velops, it does not discourage, individual- ity. For that reason it improves his earning power. No boss likes to have men working for him at low wages. That’s bad for morale and purchasing power. Low wages mean poor management. Good work and low wages do not go together. During the past few years we have consistently reduced the proportion of our unskilled laborers. Most of them are now skilled operators of ma- chinery. This is an advantage to every- body, because the most costly labor in any business is the wheelbarrow type, the labor that trundles materials. It’s nonproduc- tive, inefficient, indirect and slow. During the past ninety-eight years our Works have sold $300,000,000 worth of lo- comotives. One-third of this sum has gone into wages to operatives; most of it in more recent periods. High production means high wages Mechanical improvements in our shop methods have so increased individual pro- ductivity that we have been able to approx- imate wartime wages. Thanks to general improvement in plant efficiency, the workman is the chief bene- ficiary of our national industrial system. When I was working slowly up from an apprenticeship most workmen lived in four rooms which were without a heating plant, hot water, bath or sanitary conveniences. Until a few years ago the average workman could offer his family little recreation in or out of his working hours. Today the work- er’s six-room house has steam heat, baths, good toilet facilities and very often a phono- graph, radio, garage and motor car. The workman hasn't waited for a paternalistic employer to give him these advantages. The workman has too much individuality. He hasn’t been educated to the need of modern comforts and con- veniences by having lace curtains on shop windows and eating his noonday luncheon with the aid of a napkin furnished by his boss. He accepts a shop as a place to work. His good sense makes him dislike rules. But under sound business management he has and will increase his interest in his busi- ness, and hence his earning power. These are the differences, in results, be- tween practical partnership and ill-advised paternalism.

Editor's Note—This is the second of a series of articles by Mr. Vauclain and Mr. May. The next will appear in an early issue

THE SATURDAY EVENING

The Carillon, Cage No. 1401, Stand No. 102

Let a little song bird bring an Eastertide of joy into your home HE great message of Easter to every human heart is the immortality of Beauty, of Life and of Love. No gift expresses this thought so surely as a little song bird. From sunrise to sunset, he fills your home with joyous songs of praise. \ canary is a suitable gift for young or old. He is an amusing pet for healthy youngsters and a cheerful companion for an invalid. He is welcomed by the rich “ who have everything,” for no one ever has enough happiness and love! And he is a most inexpensive pet for the home of limited means, asking only a few seeds and fresh water daily. Be sure to get one of the charming new Hendryx designs to house your Easter gift. They come in the bright } aster colors: blue, green or Chinese red with brass or black trimmings. A Hendryx cage and stand make a delightful gift of enduring beauty at a most reasonable price. You will find a designs at your favorite pet shop, hardware, housefurnishing, department store, florist or seed store. _PIKENDRNX BB FREE: The Feathered Philosopher at he A charming story of a little canary and wha taught peor about lite, 4} whose names vou send us. Write to The Andrew B. Hendrvyx € This 24-page booklet, illustrated in color, will be sen choice of

The Gothic Te is a most ttractive Hendryx aesign 5 lid br aii,

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134 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Al RED-HEADED COUNTRY GIRL (Continued from Page 13) F you are one who considers the fit of the coat collar as important — what about the a “4 ” - - ? collar” of your oxfords? Here are the oxfords that fit at the ankle—when you first put them on, and after you’ve worn them for months. They’re Ankle-Fashioned and have the “stretch” taken out, an exclusive Nunn-Bush meth- od of hand-tailoring the up- pers to insure snug, neat, trim appearance always! $8.50 to $13.50. Style Book on re- quest. Agencies in all principal cities. Also sold at the exclu sive Nunn-Bush Stores listed New York, Boston, Norfolk, Cleveland, Detroit, Daytor Chicago, St. Louis New Orleans, Milwaukee, St. Paul, Omaha, and San Francisco. Denver, Nunn-Bush ANKLE-FASHIONED OXFORDS New York » Milwaukee «-San Francisco with the outer world had made Fred Mc- Auley seem almost like a city man, come but recently to work in Hilltown. He was a good solicitor and he had a reputation for being the most popular man in the plant. “Well, gorgeous!” he said to the girl at once, being one of those privileged persons who can say what they like without giving offense. “‘What have you been doing? Calling on old Dan? I can’t have him put- ting anything like that over!” Mary Frances giggled and instinctively drew her coat more closely about her, and bent her head a little, engagingly. Her glance told Fred that she thought he was charming. “This is Miss Stanley, my new assistant, Fred. This is Mr. McAuley, one of our salesmen,” said Dan quietly. And Fred answered, slapping Dan on the back, “‘Some people have all the luck!” And Mary Frances laughed again and looked at him demurely, and then she walked out and Fred stared after her. “Say,” he drawled, turning back to Tipe pet, ‘nothing slow about you, with a red- headed daisy like that in your office! How did you manage it, you old snake?” “Mr. Welch employed her,” answered Dan. “ Did you have a good trip, Mac?” “Boy, when they see me coming they take out their fountain pens,” answered McAuley comfortably. “You know that old curmudgeon of the Apple Jack people? The one that turned down both Harris and Millay?” “Did you see him?” Dan paused to listen, with his overcoat in his hand. He was proud of Fred. He was always thrilled by his stories of success. His friend had become the symbol of that great world which had been denied to Dan during the long years he had stayed close to his frail mother. Dan made a perfect audience, | eredulous, admiring, generous. “IT went in there,”’ Fred told him, “‘and before I could open my mouth, he said, ‘Nothing doing. Your paper doesn’t pay. I just thought I’d shake hands with you and let you down easy, Fred. I’ve used Welch’s Farm Weekly, and I’m through. I didn’t sell enough jacks to pay for the space.’ ‘You didn’t use it long enough,’ I told him. ‘You quit too soon.’ ‘That’s why I’m still in business,’ he told me, real pleased with himself. ‘Because I know how to quit, as well as start. Besides,’ he says, ‘our agency doesn’t like your publi- cation, and our appropriation is all gone.’ So I just sat down and said, ‘Now, I’ll tell one,’ and he had to laugh. Well, Dan, I just sat there, talking to him as natural as I’m talking to you now, and we got serious, and finally he said: ‘All right, just to please you, just to satisfy you, I'll try another quarter of a page.’ I told him one inser- tion wouldn’t prove anything; so we finally agreed to make it a fourth of a page, four issues. I got him to call up his agency and see that the order was sent right in. I wasn’t going to take a chance on being blocked there. Not so bad, eh? And if we can sell some jacks for him we’ll hold him, and why shouldn’t we do it?” “It’s anything but bad. I understand he’s an awful old bear. He wouldn’t even speak to Fatty. I’m glad you got it, be- cause Mr. Welch is blue, and it will buck him up. Business is slow, Mac. Did you know the Neil account is canceled?” “Well, that’s not my fault,” said Fred. “T got the business and the editorial de- partment let me down.” “Well, Fred, you know how touchy they | are about running stories that advertisers prepare for them. Come on home and eat supper with me. Maybe we can get up a quorum for a few rubbers of bridge.” “Sure, I was counting on it. How many bonds have you bought with what you’ve taken away from me at a-quarter-of-a- cent bridge?” “Dozens of ’em,”’ answered Dan, put- | ting on his overcoat and feeling in his heart March 253, 1929 that warmth of affection that he always felt for Fred. They went out into the winter night to- gether. A thin, light snow lay over the old town, which nestled down among its wooded hills. They got into Dan’s small coupé and drove off toward his house. As they passed the market they saw Mary Frances with a loaf of bread in waxed paper under one arm and something in a bag. Dan nodded his head to her politely, wishing that she was going with them to a hot meal and a lighted fire, instead of to her little room and a one- burner oil stove. Fred leaned out of the car window and called to her: “‘Do your Christmas shop- ping early, good-lookin’!”’ And she laughed up at him, her whole young countenance pointed and bright with mirth. “I’m going to make a play for that young lady,” announced Fred. “‘She’s the sweet- est child I’ve seen in years.”” And some half-formed longing in Dan’s own mind folded its tent like the Arab and silently stole away at this definite statement of Fred’s intention. Dan Tippet was hard to spoil, as he was orderly and self-sufficient by nature, ac- customed to doing for himself, and without that bent of mind which expects or exacts service from others. But by dint of hard work and much persistence, Mary Frances began to spoil him. In ways he hardly knew about, it happened that it was she who turned the lights on and off, who ad- justed the windows and the blinds, opened the mail and spread it flat upon his desk in order of its importance, took over the irk- some job of timekeeping, answered the telephone, wrote messages for him in a round, childish hand, kept his pencils sharp and his inkwells clean and filled, ran errands to the bank and got a new blotter for his desk as often as she could harass one from the custodian of the supply desk. Her service and her devotion were so essentially feminine, in that sense of the word which was sweetest in Dan’s mind, that it is likely he did not appreciate the extremely competent young mind behind them. It was the kind of thing that Dan had always longed for without quite know- ing it. His mother had required much from him, and he had waited upon her with un- ending patience and affection, but there had always been, deep in his being, a feel- ing that sometime this would be requited to him; he wasn’t sure how. Now there was an increasing warmth and satisfaction, as though for the first time in his life his personality was free and complete, as though he were entirely alive and fulfilled. The little red-headed book- keeper’s assistant was right there on the dot every morning. Nothing that he asked her to do was too much or too hard. He was jncreasingly but unconsciously pleased with the way she worked. His surface mind caught at the fact that she was slow, and consoled her with praise that she was so careful. Her writing was neat and she was both painstaking and persistent. “Oh, Mr. Tippet, thank you so much for showing me! I'll try to do it this way now, and not bother you, because I know you have so much important work to do. Ii I can just help you ——” Practically her only fault, Dan decided, was that, given the least encouragement, she would turn chatterbox and gossip of this and that. When the work was rushed she went right along with him, hour after hour, but when it slackened up she had a great deal to tell. He made allowances for her youth and lonely life, thinking that he ought not be too hard on her, and not real- izing how all this chattering was toning him up. And it didn’t seem to interfere with the work. They accomplished a great deal in the long, glowing winter days. He had more and more time to work on the (Continued on Page 137)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WW acworm cases are sold to the mak: ers and importers of good watch move: ments only. Therefore, one way to be sure of getting a good watch is to look for the name Wadsworth in the case. Wadsworth (Cases MAKE WATCHES BEAUTIFUL On this page are illustrated a few makers, and cases by Wadsworth. distinctive examples of fine watches Other models will appear in future with movements by well-known advertisements of this series. The Wadsworth Watch Case Company, Dayton, Ky., Opposite Cincinnati, Ohio Case mekers for the leading watch movements

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136 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘bie wide-awake a man must sleep well - - Says (CORDON SELFRIDGE Founder of London’s largest store An interview by VAHDAH J. BORDEUX (Marchesa de Bonis) THAT do you think of sleep?” I asked Mr. Selfridge as I sat with him in his severely simple office on 4 e top of the Selfridge Building in Oxford Street. said the man who went from America to ; biggest department store. “I think work the greatest game in the world, and sleep the finest medicine. ‘Sleep: : build London’ ‘Sleep seems to be the only thing for which ience has not yet found a substitute; which proves valuable, too rare to be imitated.” that it 1s too The kindly young-elderly man looked out the nto Oxford Street, the street that he peculiarly his own. “There is no set ‘ule for the amount of sleep necessary for a human wide window h ; made SO being,” he said, “ for the need depends upon the tem- perament, age, and habits. Personally, I find eight nou fic 1¢ t ft » keep my energies up to the mark. hour is a reliable one to follow: Eight hours work, eight hours play, and eight hours sleep make an ideal day. To steal a few now and then will only increase the but the sleep hours are needed as repose for the brain as well as the body. schedule ours from play ‘To be wide-awake a man must sleep well. a paradox, but it is a great truth that | believe every suc¢ Certainly Mr. Selfridge is right, and he has lived up to his theories. essful person. will agree to.”’ March 25, 1929 — —————eE GORDON SELFRIDGE, who might be called merica’s Indus- trial ador to Lond Selfridge and Co., 1s regarded as one of the largest and most outstanding institutions of its kind, and he is today the best known and most important American business man in the British capital. ‘ 7™mba N. His vreat store, up energy sage of in make rs of healthful BEDS MATTRESSES What Gordon Selfridge says on storing have developed the sleep equipment which gives comple te SPRINGS Beauty rest Ma Mt ress Hundreds of resilient cotls, each cloth-encased t individual action. New > er covering, , ; fwo designs, six colors. Simmons Simmons Ace Box Spring—Cov- ered in stunning damask to match Beautvrest. Frame of seasoned lum- ber, steel braced, best premier wire coils. Resilient and long wearing. reach of every !ncome. through proper sleep is a mes- Simmons Beautyrest terest to all. Simmons, largest be is, springs, and mattresses, , relaxation and induces The Simmons Company, sleep. This comfort is within SIMMONS In all better stores, Mattress, Simmons Ace Box Spring, $42.50 mons Ace Open Coil Spring, $19. Mountain Region and West, slightly higher. New York, Chicago, Atlanta, San Francisco. $39.50; Sim a , : ‘ 5: Rocky Bl Saientasemaaenanaanel E. O. Hoppe ILT FOR SLEEP \ { — —-~—. es ee = ==

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(Continued from Page 134) new budget he had planned to cut down the expenses to meet the decreased income. “If I know Mr. Welch,” he told Mary Frances, “‘he’ll go along and go along, re- fusing to admit that business is slow, and then some day he’ll get all in a big panic. He'll decide, just like that, to cut the pay roll. He'll reduce everybody and fire a third of the staff, and just have a big time. Now I want this budget all worked out before then, so that we can shift around a little, let just a few people go that can get work elsewhere, save on some of the pur- chases and tighten things all round. We've been spending too much, I think, the last three years, but Mr. Welch hates to let anybody out, once they’re on the pay roll. And yet when he does get economical he goes too far.” “TI think it’s wonderful that you can make this budget,’”’ said Mary Frances. “Why, it’s like making up a poem or some- thing. It’s the most important thing in the whole plant!” Dan Tippet laughed. “The fellows upstairs are the important ones, Mary Frances,” said he, and there was a note of humbleness in his voice. “‘Anybody ean keep books, but it takes a lot of other things to do what they do up- stairs in the editorial department and the promotion department, and out on the road, selling space.” “Why, Mr. Tippet, how can you say that? There’s not one of them that you couldn’t beat! Of course if bookkeeping is just a matter of writing down figures —— But wnen you plan which bills to pay, and keep after collections so persistently, and watch all the little expenses, that’s more than bookkeeping. I told Fred last night that I thought you were the smartest man I ever knew!” “You did! Where did you and Fred go last night?” She told him about the movie at Stone City, with many gestures. “T wore my new slippers—the ones I told you about, that I got for six dollars from Winton’s. They’re so pretty! Fred liked them. But I fell down when I got out of the car, and tore a hole in the knee of my best chiffon stockings—the ones mamma gave me for Christmas. I was so mad I didn’t know whether to cry or stamp my feet.” “That’s a shame, Mary Frances.”’ For Dan knew what a girl thought of her chiffon stockings since Mary Frances worked for him. He knew many other things hitherto unknown tohim. She told him, innocently, all that happened to her—about the new heifer at the farm, a cover she had em- broidered fur the table in her room at Mrs. Baker’s, about ali of her numerous dates with Fred McAuley. “And he said—and I said ——”’ She consulted with Dan about whether to get a green or a blue party dress for a dance to which Fred had invited her. She even brought samples of material to the office, and he chose one that was the color of a Grimes Golden apple just before it ripens—a stiff, beautiful taffeta. She made the dress herself, after work, and Dan knew that she had to rip the hem twice before she got it short enough to suit her. Serious matters, these. He listened to them as such. “‘She’s nicely raised —good stock there,” thought Dan Tippet, watching her young head bent so soberly over the shiny type- writer. And he felt in himself a definite partiality for the kind of home she came from—distinctly rural, Middle Western and American; a home like his own had been when his mother and father both lived—clean, perfectly managed, firmly ruled by folks with kind and gentle man- ners, thrifty, hard-working ways and the highest conception of honor. But after that first day, when her war paint and her youth and littleness and the picture of Lindbergh to hang by her bed had so disturbed him, he never permitted himself to think of her as anything but a young friend or a little sister. There was THE SATURDAY a definite reason for this. Fred McAuley was giving her a big rush. She was Fred’s girl, in the opinion of the staff. Dan told himself it would be fine for Fred if he could win a nice respectable little girl like Mary Frances and settle down to a more normal life. Fred had been married once, unsuc- cessfully. On a trip to Cincinnati he had met a girl named Joan who was traveling around the country demonstrating cos- metics for a drug company. She was a fiery, high-tempered, robust kind of a woman, and Fred had been awfully crazy about her. After they were married Fred brought her home to Hilltown and they lived at the hotel. Fred left her there, alone, when he had to go away on business. But she didn’t like Hilltown, and she didn’t like the hotel, and she ran away from Fred and went back to work. She refused to come home. Eventually Fred had divorced her, and his reluctance about it was still a mystery to Dan, who thought Fred should be glad to be rid of her. For Dan had gone all through this disheartening experience with his friend, and his sympathies were entirely on Fred’s side. If a woman wouldn’t settle down and be content they could never be happy. “Look,” said Mary Frances. “This is the way the Dearie Sisters danced at the vaudeville show last night.”” She got up, spread her scanty skirt and showed Dan the step. She was a good dancer, although not especially graceful. But her youth and self-confidence, and a strong sense of rhythm, carried her through. “Fred said the big one looked like his former wife— Joan. She must have been good-looking, all right. Dan, do you know, sometimes I think Fred is still crazy about her.” “T don’t think he was ever crazy about her,”’ said Dan stoutly. “It was just a thing that happened to him, and he’s for- gotten it.” Mary Francesleaned thoughtfully against the high desk. “I heard that Mr. Welch didn’t like the way Fred did—leaving his wife alone here, when she was a stranger, in that dinky hotel. He told Fred so, too, I heard.” “Well, you mustn’t listen to what you hear. I know all about it. Fred was not to blame at all that the affair went on the rocks.” Mary Frances gazed at Dan with her lovely brown eyes. “I suppose Fred told you all about it?” “T know all about it.” “He told you?” she persisted. “Yes,” he said, “that’s how I know. The girl was impossible.” “Still, he married her,” said Mary Frances. Dan thought that she was a little jealous about Joan. Red-headed girls were jealous, he believed. He reassured her all that he could, and she leaned there, her lovely, thoughtful eyes upon his face. “You think a lot of Fred, don’t you?” she said gently, and he told her a little of what he thought of Fred. Of how Fred was the first playmate he could remember, of the friendship between the families, of the long years, all through grammar school and high school and the university, to- gether; buddies, pals, real, true friends. “There’s nothing,” he said earnestly, “that I wouldn't do for Fred or he wouldn't do for me.” “T believe the first part of that,” she answered, and when he expostulated, she said slowly, “I don’t think you know Fred McAuley as well as I do, for all your life- time friendship, and I've just been going around with him a couple of months.” Dan smiled, unshaken. “Of course,” he said, “every man has two sides, and you see the side he shows to women, but you may be sure, nothing could shake my confidence in him.”’ Dan’s voice was stout, but there was something in the gentle, almost pitying gaze of her eyes that disturbed him deeply. But he dismissed it. She was only a little girl. Her judgment was immature. The days went by in an enchanted chain of work and deepening friendship. The EVENING POST snow was gone. Birch buds swelled and the river was high in its banks. The sky was a deep, warm blue. Mary Frances brought a book of poems to the office one morning and showed Dan a few lines in it: Spring rides no horses down the hill, But comes on foot, a goose girl still. And all the loveliest things there be, Come simply, so it seems to me. Her brown eyes filled with unexpected tears. She shivered a little. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, “it makes gooseflesh come out all over me.” “You feel things too intensely,” he said soberly. “Tf I can understand it. . . . Edna St. Vincent Millay knows how a girl feels. You know, most poetry is written by men, and they have the funniest notions about women. The only one that had any sense was Tennyson, when he wrote the Lady of Shalott. “She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to Camelot.” Mary Frances lifted her brown eyes to Dan's gray gaze. “What did she care if the web flew out and floated wide? Let her fiy,’”’ she said dramatically. ‘Only it doesn’t seem fair to me that, when women stop looking in the mirror and take a good hard look at life, something has to get busted!" “Why Mary Frances, how serious you are!”’ he said, and he thought to himself, | with dismay: “The child’s in love, or thinks she is.” Mary Frances closed the book and stood holding the brown cover against her cheek. Her lovély hair! Dan felt in his hands a burning wish to touch it, to warm his hands | and his heart against i\s flame. “Fred McAuley’s awfully smart, isn’t he?” she said. “Yes, he is. Everyone thinks so. “Do they? I guess he does too.” “He's had plenty of proof of it. Why shouldn't he?” “I think men are wonderful—the friend- ships they have,”’ she said gravely. “I think Fred’s kind of worried though. He says Mr. Welch has been raving and caving. I told Fred that if it weren't for what you do down here we'd all be out of luck, so he’d have to stand it.” Dan felt a slight confusion. “I'll get small thanks for that,”’ he an- swered. ‘‘ Nobody loves a bookkeeper.” “Don't they?” she asked guilelessly, and Dan laughed. “I know just how the father of an ex- travagant family feels,”’ he said, ‘trying to make ends meet and make people be careful, and still not be an old fiend.” “You're liked by everyone,” she told him, and then, in a lower voice: ‘I'd like to ask your advice, Mr. Tippet. It's about something personal.”” She blushed a little. ‘“‘Why, anything, Mary Frances.” He was troubled again with the strange tin- gling that invested his nearer arm when she stood there beside him. He rebuked him- self sternly. He couldn't be her friend and help her if he had such thoughts. “Tt’s about Fred. He-—do you think you know him—do you think I ought to let him kiss me?” Dan Tippet was too astonished to an- swer. Not only the question but the terrific plunge of his own heart in his breast made it impossible. And in all the other con- fusion, her bright hair dazzled him. He was so disconcerted that he could not think of anything except his own agitation. She stood there with an aura about her, and the thought of anyone making love to her was acutely disturbing. Dan said at last, “‘I don’t know how to answer that question, Mary Frances.” She colored and looked down at her feet. “I haven’t anyone to ask then. If I tell my mother she'll make me quit working and come right home. I-—everybody does, these days, Mr. Tippet. And you know WHO’s WHO on Brunswick Electrical Records Brunswick Records play on any instrument but sound best of all on the Brunswick Panatrope | assisted by Les Poe, A Night Coffee Dan’s San Francisco’s Famous Night Club FRANK SHAW Master of Ceremonies pianist, brings you an evening's typical entertainment from this bohemian rendezvous. 2 Every tourist visiting Frisco goes to Coffee Dan's, it has a national repu tation. Here gather stage folks, movie stars, concert art ists, celebrities of various kinds. You will remember the cate scenes it “The Jazz Singer,” where Al Jolson makes a hit as a Singing watter,. ] se were Ma le at Coffee Dan's This remarkable Frank Shaw Brus wick Reco d brings you the music and laughter of Coffee Dan's as if you were ata table y irselt! In come the “Big Shots” from Little Rock, Pitts- burgh, and other tow: and vou *tcould hear Frank Shaw kid them Phen cr irse, there's IV ht | Was in Peoria,’ and Frank S| iw does plenty to that tune Any Brunsw ick dealer will let you hear “A Night at Coffee Dan's Stop in and hear it today. Its number is 4100 lf there is no Brunswick dealer im your town, . Night at Coffee Dan's” will be seni by mail ¢ receipt of price, 75¢, plus toc for postage iddvess Dept. R-4&. 623 S. Wabash Ave. Chicago Panatropes Radio Records Panatrope-Radioias The Brunswick-Balke-Collender Co. Chicago + New York Toronto

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138 Fred. He's your best friend. I don’t think I ought to, but he says other girls think nothing of kissing. I don’t like to be—well, a country girl, but then, neither do I want to be f-fast. I'll do whatever you say. If you'll tell me what you think, that’s what I'll do.” Her complete dependence aided Dan in recovering a little poise. “Are you engaged to him?” he asked. Her eyes flew wide in amazement. “Oh, no,” Mary Frances said, almost indignantly. “But you see, we won't ever get engaged, we won't get anywhere, if I’m cold to him.” “IT think,” said Dan with finality, “‘that you should do as your mother would like. Really, Mary Frances, don’t you know?” She sighed. “Yes. she admitted, “I knew I shouldn't. jut I think it’s funny I shouldn't do what everyone does. Fred's been kind to me, and he takes me to such grand places. I don't want to seem un- grateful. I'd miss him. No one else takes me around. But then, you're right. I won't. I kind of let him think I would tonight. So I'll break the date. Don’t you think that’s the best way to do?” Dan was silent, gazing at her. What chance did a decent girl have, he asked himself, and a gust of anger shook him. It became absolutely imperative in that moment that he take upon himself the responsibility of protecting her. He thought of the home she came from, of the little country school where she had learned to read, from him. “You mustn't worry about me,” she said, reading his thoughts. “I’m all right now. I just wondered if there was anybody else that felt about things as I was taught to feel. I'll do as you would like, instead of as Fred likes. You believe me, don’t you?’ He was comforted. “J not only believe you,” he told her, “but I know you.” So they went ahead with their work, but in a new relationship. it seemed, as the hours passed, that they worked with an unprecedented unity and accuracy. Mary Frances was getting really good at the books now, and Dan found her a great help. For a while their personal relationship was in abeyance, but later in the afternoon Mary Frances fin- ished up a tedious job and took time off to talk to him again. “I saw lrene Bonniewell at the dance last night.” “Did you?’ “Yes, she was there with Simon. You know, I think they’re going to get married, and what will Mr. Welch do for a secretary then?” ‘Do as he did when Miss Sims got married—-start in on a new girl.” “I think Irene would hate to stop work- ing. She's crazy about her job. We got to talking, and I told her how you per- suaded the circulation department to use up the last of that yellow paper stock and change to a lesser weight and cheaper stock. And I told her, too, about the letter we got from old Spriggins, refusing to pay for the job printing we did for him because it was late.” “But what does she care about that?” “Oh, she was real interested. You see, she didn't know anything about that nice letter you wrote to Spriggins, explaining all about everything so carefully that he could only come through with a check for the whole amount. She said Mr. Welch knew nothing about it.” ““Why should he?” “You can bet the others tell him fast enough if they do anything even half I told Irene, too, about the new system you had on the job-printing time sheets, because the old way really ran the labor costs too low. And I told her how you had to straighten out the circulation- department records every little while. She said she was going to tell Mr. Welch all those things. Said his ears were so full of the big tales all the others told him about themselves, she thought maybe he didn't realize what you were doing. I protested clever. THE SATURDAY just enough to make her determined; though, of course, that’s why I told her.” “But, Mary Frances, I don’t want you to do that way. You shouldn't talk about what we do here in this office.” “Shouldn't I? But I have. I’ve told Mrs. Baker lots of things about how smart you are 'n’ everything. You know, I don’t think Irene likes Fred. She says she doesn’t see how he puts it over on Mr. Welch, al- ways telling about the wonderful jobs of- fered to him and the business that we wouldn't get except for his pull.” “Mary Frances,”’ said Dan sternly, “‘ you mustn't talk like that. Neither you nor Irene should do it.” “Now, you're cross at me,” she com- plained. “You do so many things, Dan, besides just keeping books, I think they ought to know it. Like the way you talked Saunders out of quitting the composing room last month. You sat in here when he came for his pay and talked to him for two solid hours, and did your own work that night.” “But Saunders quits regularly. It’s just a matter of saving his face.” “Perhaps, but who else would have the patience? Not another person could do anything with that old mule but you! Irene said Mr. Welch didn’t know a thing about that either. Nor about the mess Fred got into with Knight, that you straight- ened out. And to think how they fancy themselves upstairs! Here, let me finish this. You're tired.” “I? Tired?” Ideas were coming too fast for Dan. “I was never tired at this time of day in my life.” “Well,” said Mary Frances, “the way you work! But of course you can do more than absolutely anyone I ever knew. Just work, work, work! It’s all you think about. I told Fred the other night it was a good thing you liked accounts or he'd be out of luck. If you ever went out for business you'd get twice as much as he, and not have half the expense account, either.” “You told Fred that?” “Why not? It’s true. Don’t you ever go out with girls, Dan?” ““Why should you say a thing like that to Fred? Were you trying to hurt him? He's the best solicitor we've got.” “Don't you think he overvalues himself?” “I do not. He gets business.” “Oh, that’s all right. Only, it’s so much nicer the way you are—competent and not knowing it!"" She smiled beguilingly and went on in a more confiding tone: “Fred told me a story about a new job he was offered, the first time I went out with him, and he’s told me exactly the same story twice since; only it was a different job and a different firm. What do you think of that, Mr. Tippet?” The silence was prolonged. Dan went ahead with his work steadily. Something hard seemed lying in his breast. “You think everything he does is per- fect!” she cried resentfully. Dan turned and looked at her. His eyes were very steady. “T think it’s a small fault to magnify,” he answered. “There isn’t a person you can't find fault with, if you look for it. He's my friend, and I don't want to listen to his faults. If you're trying to make him jeal- ous, don’t turn him against me. And I must tell you, Mary Frances, that you will have to quit talking outside of the office about the work, or I won't be able to keep you here.” Mary Frances’ lips parted, but no sound came from them. She stared at Dan Tip- pet for a moment, and he returned her gaze. Then her face was streaked with red, and she went back to her desk without another word. Silence trembled over them. There had never before been a word be- tween them that wasn't kind and friendly. Dan set at his work, but his mind was in upheaval. Part of it longed to go and beg Mary Frances for forgiveness, but another part was stern and unbending. “She is not competent to judge,”’ he in- formed his increasing uneasiness. ‘‘She’s just a little girl, with no knowledge of life EVENING POST or the struggle men have to make to get by, to keep themselves sold.’’ Fred certainly knew how to get business, even in these slow times. Mary Frances was entirely in- experienced —— But the thought of her inexperience drew him up sharply, and he frowned at the papers before him. Fred was certainly go- ing pretty far, making love to such a young- ster, and probably without a serious thought in his head! Why, the child might come to care for him seriously. She had every in- dication of being in love and upset and arguing with herself. You never suffered over anything like you did over your first love affair. Well could he remember that first year he had worked on the paper, and Miss Sims had been sweet and twenty, and so unaware of him that nothing could bring him to her attention. It had all died away of sheer futility. She had her mother, and he had his, and she would never have no- ticed him anyhow. But he could still re- member the longing. Fred ought to have a little sense. Couldn't he see that Mary Frances was not like the women he met up with here and there? Yet it was impossible for Dan really to question the integrity of anyone that he liked. Fred and Mary Frances, between them, were sound. It was just that they were falling in love. And he must be careful not to let her innocently disrupt a long-established and valued friendship. She was at his elbow again. “T’m sorry, Dan— Mr. Tippet, I mean— if you like him as much as all that. I'll not say another word against him, to you or anyone. I like him too. He’s all right, Fred is.” “We've been friends all our lives,’’ he answered gently. “He has his faults, just as I have mine, but you must understand that I am loyal to him, and count on you to be so too.” Then he saw that her eyes were swim- ming with tears, and he was deeply dis- tressed. She said, shakily, “You care for him more than anyone, don’t you?” “What are you crying about?” he asked, with an effort at heartiness. “T can’t bear it,” she wailed, “if you are cross to me. I'll be good. I'll work hard, and not say a word, or not k-kiss anyone, or talk to Irene, or try to make them ap- preciate you. I'll do just as you want me todo. Only don’t be cross!”’ “I’m not. I couldn't be.” She smiled at him—an April sunburst. The light shone on her curls. “Honestly, you’re not mad at me?” “No, I’m not mad at you.” “T’m glad you aren't.” “Well, it’s all right then, isn’t it?”’ She nodded, and squeezed back the tears and went back to her work, and worked so hard all that remained of that day that there was no opportunity for any more talk between them. When she said good night she went out quickly, and left him before a disorganized day’s work. ‘Forty reams of Welch Bond,” he wrote, and decided that he would have to speak to Fred about her. But one secret of their long friendship was that neither had ever made himself a mentor for the other. As for Dan himself, he had never been so wretched. The offices were apparently empty, but he sat on, gazing at his books, telling himself he was depressed because business was bad. It was, in fact, years since the figures on the ledger had told such asorry story. Years since he had had to lay the bills out in such careful order, and pay one and hold the next one back. A long time since the pay roll had required such juggling. If the pay roll, with its inev- itable recurrence, was a problem now, what would it be when the summer came? They were not laying aside their customary re- serve for later months. Dan pondered about causes. It was a hard winter for farm papers, but none of them were hit as hard as Welch’s Farm Weekly. The great flood and the eyclones and disasters, the demand for farm relief and the fact that nothing practical was done, March 25,1929 had created an impression all through the industrial world that the farmer had no money. Dan, who saw the circulation cash come in day after day —piles of silver coin, bills and money orders—knew that the farmer, like the space buyer, had money for what he wanted. Farm children had to go to school warmly clothed and shod, barns had to be roofed and machinery replaced, whether there were floods or not. There must be something in the paper’s methods of getting advertising, he decided, because the readers certainly liked the paper. Or maybe it was that Mr. Welch was getting old, and didn’t care as much as he did formerly. Fred was doing better than any of the other solicitors, but even he had fallen below his normal linage—way below it. Why? He had not heard a familiar step on the stairs —a step somewhat slower than it was wont to be—and then Mr. Welch came into the office, his nose glasses in his hand, his eyebrows beetling. “Well, Dan, what are you mooning around here for this time of night?” he demanded. ‘Don’t you know it’s nearly seven? And where’s the day’s financial report?” Dan’s eyes widened. “Didn't I give it to you?” he asked in a helpless tone. Nothing annoyed Mr. Welch more than helplessness, unless it was wistfulness. “No, you didn’t,” he answered testily, and Dan groped around among his papers for it, found it and handed it to the pub- lisher. “IT thought you wouldn’t have to work overtime any more, now that you have an assistant. I declare, I believe you'd rather moon around than get through. Certainly there can’t be enough business to keep you.” “That’s just what I was thinking about, Mr. Welch.” “You were, indeed!” “Yes, sir. I was.” “Well, be a little more careful not to think so loud. I suppose you know that everything on our books is becoming public information. The Methodist preacher stopped me on the street today and asked me if I thought he’d better sell his stock in Welch’s Farm Weekly. He said he understood that if it were not for the way you're managing finances we'd not be able to meet the pay roll!” Dan’s face grew red as fire. The Metho- dist preacher was Mrs. Baker's brother-in- law, and Mary Frances lived with Mrs. Baker. “Mr. Welch, you know I never said or even thought such a thing!” “Why wouldn’t you?” said Mr. Welch. “It’s probably true. But it certainly does us no good to advertise it. I’ve never failed to meet my pay roll since I started out in business twenty-seven years ago.”’ “That makes me think,” said Dan. “I sort of had a new budget lined up. I think we can juggle things around and cut the pay roll some without making it too evi- dent. Ifthe people with the biggest salaries would take a cut for a few months I'd take one too. And the circulation department could do with a few girls missing and di- vide the work around. And I know of three boys in the pressroom that could get jobs in the quarries next month, and come back to us in the fall if we want them. Then there are several other things. If we go back to Tennessee for the cover stock, and to Fort William for the book paper just for six months, we can save several thou- sand dollars on the paper and post-office bills. Here, I’ve got the whole thing ready. You'll find that all these small savings make a nice difference. Even if we were making money hand over fist, we’re due for a new budget.” “Maybe so—maybe so!” Mr. Welch put on his glasses and frowned at Dan and the big sheet he was laying out before the publisher. ‘But why make public talk of it? That’s what I want to know- If you aren't talking, who is? This might go back (Continued on Page 140) ee ee ee

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(Continued from Page 138) to our advertisers. Bad news travels fast. You must have some idea where the leak fag “I don’t know,” said Dan stubbornly. “Irene was telling me a big story about you and your efficiency,”’ went on the old man relentlessly. ‘It seems you are a kind of hero to the girls around here. I don’t half appreciate you. Is that your own con- viction, Dan?” Dan was silent. Even the back of his neck was red. “TI thought better of you than that,” went on the publisher, his tones martyred now. “I have to pet up these tempera- mental advertising men upstairs, and cajole the editorial staff, and handle the printers as though they were opera stars, but I thought you were like myself—a matter-of- fact worker. You'll be as bad as Fred next.” “You've been fine to me,” protested Dan. “You've been fine to Fred too.” “Well, I’m about through being fine to him. After all the experience he’s had sell- ing, he goes to Cincinnati and does a fool stunt that will cost us exactly nine thou- sand dollars this month, and heaven only knows how much in the future.” “I didn’t know about it,” said Dan, real- izing for the first time that Fred never talked of his mistakes. “Why, he went into O’Hara’s Agency, and instead of going to Clancy for the to- bacco account he handles, he went over his head to O’ Hara, and O’ Hara referred it back to Clancy, who said no, because Fred had gone over his head. When I finally got it out of him, what do you think he told me? That he wouldn't go to Clancy because he and Clancy had had a quarrel about some woman! And every dollar’s worth of busi- ness is so important to us right now. What do you think of that, Mr. Competent?” Something clicked in Dan's mind. He jumped up in excitement and his voice rang with a new timbre as he answered, thump- ing the desk beside him for emphasis. “That's what’s the matter with our so- liciting!”’ he exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, and that’s it! We depend on girls and prejudice and pull—going be- hind people’s backs and over their heads, and getting big contracts in exchange for a bottle of bootlegger’s rye. Oh, not deliber- ately, I know, but none the less, there’s a tradition around here that we have to get business on pull. Last year, when Fred and Clancy called you up at two o’clock in the morning, both as tight as drums, to tell you that the O’Hara Agency would give us six pages for the Bon Ton Tailors, were you mad about it? Not at all! You were as amused as you could be. Fred was a charm- ing boy, even if he was a little naughty. You told all of us about him calling you up out of bed to tell you—as though it was a college boy’s trick. And Fred is thirty years old! If you let Fred do that last year, and get a kidding and a bonus for it, what can you expect of Fred and Clancy this year? That same kind of nonsense, only crazier. It’s your own fault if Fred thinks he can get business the way he does, and never lose any! You sign his expense checks without even asking him why dinner for two costs twenty-five dollars!” “Now ——” began Mr. Welch indig- nantly, but Dan cut in on him. He was flushed, rocking on his heels, and his voice was loud. “We've got to quit it!” he declared. “Just as we had to quit the motorcycle contests to get circulation. It’s out of date. It’s not legitimate. It'll kick back at us. We've got to go out and sell space because the readers buy the paper, because we've got the market, because it will pay the ad- vertiser.”” How was Mr. Welch to know that all of this was just an alibi for Fred McAuley? Dan had decided all in a moment that the business of soliciting advertising for Welch’s Farm Weekly was degenerating his friend, who was none too wise anyhow. And the conviction, though suddenly arrived at, was sound, and Dan knew it. The fact that Mr. | Millay, that Fatty, and Mr. Welch himself March 25,1929 had been unaffected was beside the point. They only went out now and then, and they were of different caliber. Fred did nothing but solicit and he had been taught to trade on his personality. Why, he didn’t even have to think up arguments. Mr. Millay did that for him. All of them had been cashing in on Fred’s charm, on his casual, friendly ways, on the instinct in him by which he went just far enough, and never too far, whether it was with a woman or a space buyer. They’d been robbing and ruining Fred, and now, the first thing that went wrong, they were all over him. “T’ll tell you something else,”’ said Dan, “that I’ve thought for a long time; and the remark you just made about it not doing us any good to let everybody know the fix we’re in bears us out. Did you ever think that it doesn’t do the farmer any good to cry wolf all the time? Has the farmer ever put on a bluff, and smiled and looked wise, and enticed the seller into his band wagon? He’s not that canny. Or else, he has the old industrial idea that hollering poor would get him some place. And his spokesmen, the farm papers and the farm politicians and the farmers’ co- operatives, have certainly held Agriculture up as a wronged and ruined female. So that nobody wants to do anything for her. Whatever you get out of Congress now will be a kind of shotgun wedding. The farmer has hollered help so long that business wishes he would go ahead and drown and be done with it!” “Eh?” said Mr. Welch, very startled. “Say that again.” So Dan told him. He was very bitter and disillusioned about it all. He thought that under the present system farm papers were rapidly putting themselves out of existence. By the time he got through he had closed and locked the plant, and left the big presses to rust. “Well, you are cheerful,” said Mr. Welch at last. ‘And aside from some mixing up of gender and metaphors, you’ve got an idea. Get Shay on the phone, will you, please?” Wonderingly Dan called Mr. O’Shamus Millay, the paper’s promotion man, who, at Mr. Welch’s request, came back to the office. “Dan’s got an idea,” said Mr. Welch. “The first one anybody around here has had for months. I think it would make some corking copy. Tell him, Dan, and put in all the damns, as you did before. It does my old heart good to hear you swear.” And so they talked for two hours, and Mr. Millay, that thermometer of abstrac- tions, grew gradually more and more en- thusiastic, until he reached the boiling point and went upstairs to his own office to write for a while. “All the same, Dan,” said Mr. Welch, ‘you'll have to let that red-headed little girl go. She’s making a lot of trouble.” “I can’t let her go, Mr. Welch,” replied Dan very firmly. “‘She’s just a kid—she didn’t understand. I’ve already talked to her about this matter of gossiping, and I’m sure we'll have no more trouble about it.” Mr. Welch grumbled about never having his own way. What, he demanded, was the use of owning a paper, when you couldn’t have your own way about anything. Dan listened and made no answer. Then Mr. Welch said, in a different tone, “Bring the new budget upstairs tomorrow and we'll go over it. I can’t refuse an in- telligent cut in expenses. And if Millay makes some good copy out of your ex- plosion, you may be sure I'll remember where it came from. And we'll see about Fred. Why don’t you talk to him, Dan? He’s fond of you. I’ve heard him say you were the only person he completely re- spected.” “‘Maybe I will,” said Dan, and put on his hat. “‘Good night, Mr. Weich.” “Good night, my boy. Good night!” Mandy Moon was gone, and Dan’s sup- per was cold. He ate some bread and but- ter, and left things untidily on the table. He put a match to the fire laid in his grate, and lit his pipe and sat down in his old

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leather chair. He had worked off a little of his pain and indignation, but now it all came back to him again, a profound melancholy and a great longing. Now he permitted himself, for the first time, to think about Mary Frances at length and thoroughly. He thought about what his own small home would be like with her in it. Three meals a day at home, a shining young head at the table, everything clean and bright, with flowers in the rooms. But these things were, after all, unimportant. There was a more compelling mystery that had nothing to do with comfort and housekeeping. If she were untidy, untruthful even, and made endless trouble for him, he would still love her for that small and shining disk of golden kindness which was her heart. In spite of the embarrassment it had caused him, her loyalty warmed him through and through. He was in love, and with Fred’s girl! Dark thoughts came to him. She trusted Dan more than she did Fred. He still held over her the remnants of school- day authority. He had been her teacher, and now he was her boss. If he warned her against Fred she would listen to the warning. And she was young enough and susceptible enough so that, if he broke up her affair with Fred, he would have a chance to win her for himself in time. He felt within himself a hitherto unexpected power to do that very thing. She didn’t realize how much she depended on him, but she could be made to realize. Then why did the idea hurt him so, even while it brought its own thrill of joy? He felt as though he were contemplating an illicit union. He got up and walked around the room in a harassed manner; a tall, grave young man with troubled eyes, torn between an old loyalty and a new desire. He could see in Fred faults and weak- nesses that he had never seen before. The old admiration and the belief in Fred’s superiority were gone, and he knew himself to be wiser, stronger. But this, illogically, made his friend the dearer, his own re- sponsibility more keen. But Fred had had love and marriage and had let them out of his hands. He had had many sweethearts. Right now, there was a girl in Cincinnati over whom he and Clancy had quarreled. And was he also to have this one chick, this little, red-headed country girl that Dan wanted for himself? He drew himself up sharply. So he was ordinary, after all. He was capable of dis- loyalty, incapable of sacrifice. For years he and Fred had been David and Jonathan to each other. But what was a lifetime of mas- culine friendship put up against the charm of one red-headed girl? Evidently nothing. Dan remembered how Fred had sat with him, night after night, during his mother’s last illness, and stayed by him as tight as a bur through the first lonely weeks that followed her death. Fred had secured Dan his job on the paper by speaking to Mr. Welch for him. Fred had secured for Dan a bid to their college fraternity; they had loaned each other money, played cards to- gether at least a thousand times, trusted and upheld each other through the years. Whatever he might have been in other ways, Fred had been staunch with Dan. And now, if he got straightened out on his job, and if he married a fine little girl, he could still avoid the disaster of personal disintegration which Dan saw threatening him. Back of the value of either Mary Frances or Fred to his own happiness, Dan Tippet seemed to glimpse some deep and under- lying principle of loyalty. If Fred married Mary Frances, Dan would, in most ways, lose them both, for they would turn to each other. But if Dan took Mary Frances from Fred, he would lose something more pre- cious—his own integrity. His mind was made up. He would make it plain all around that he had only a casual interest in his assistant. He would be hard- nosed with Fred and brace him up. He would see if maybe there wasn’t something in this idea of Mary Frances’ that he might

make himself more useful to the paper becoming a real treasurer in time. A measure of peace came to him, and his mind gradually settled itself back into its orderly ways, but with a difference. He knocked out his pipe, covered his fires and went to bed and to sleep. But Mary Frances knew nothing about all these deep and mighty abstractions. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST She was in the office the next morning as | red-headed, as brown-eyed and milky- | skinned, as young and round and sweet, as ever. Now that he knew he was never go- ing to have her, it seemed that Dan could enjoy her more freely. But he was not sorry that. he had to spend most of the day upstairs. Mary Frances went ahead with the work in a most competent manner while Dan listened to Shay read aloud what he had written the night before, and after- ward spent a long time going over the new budget with the publisher. He left it with Mr. Welch, who wanted to discuss it with Mr. Hamel, but Mr. Welch made no effort to conceal the fact that he was pleased and meant to use it practically as it stood. Dan took Fred home with him for sup- per, and they talked about it all over again. “Whatever got you started on such a tack?” asked Fred. “Oh, I don’t know. I just got kind of disgusted, and got to crabbing, and got an idea out of it.”’ “You know,” said Fred slowly, “it’s been kind of coming to me that most ami- able people are dumb. I think it’s the crabs that think.” “Meaning me?” “In this instance, yes. It would prob- ably be to your advantage to get mad oftener. But I was thinking of myself. I really don’t ever have an idea any more. Did you know I’m on probation?” “No, Fred!” “Yes, I am.” “Well, that’s all right. You get the busi- ness, and the old man will never let you go.” “That’s so, too, but I don’t believe—I wouldn't say this to anyone else—but I'm not liked as I used to be, Dan.” “Well, darn it, that’s not your fault,” said Dan eagerly. “I was thinking about that very thing. They’ve trained you to get business on your personality, and it’s not right to you. You'd do better to use your mind, and not your manners. You've got a good mind! Don’t you remember, when we were kids, you could always fix a broken toy or make a telegraph outfit or do algebra problems that none of the rest of us could do? What you need to do is get settled, quit drinking, marry some nice girl and start out on a new track. Do ycu know that we look on ourselves as young men, and our lives are probably half over? We've just got about ten more years to make our real start in.”’ “I believe you,” said Fred, and then more slowly: “I’m thinking about getting married again. I'll tell you more about it if it works out. ay a, Nae A “That'll sure be fine for you, Fred,”” Dan went on easily, not asking any questions, because Fred’s intentions were clear to him. “I’ve been in a rut myself, adding and subtracting until my brain's numb. Working out this new budget was three times as hard as it should have been. I'm going to do more work on financing and let Mary Frances do the routine.”’ His voice went over the fatal name as smoothly as though it were anyone's. They talked late. The withering plant of their friendship began to straighten up and put out bright blossoms. They talked as they had not for weeks. Fred was glad of Dan’s ambitions, and Dan was encour- aging about Fred's dubious position. The bookkeeper felt warmed and enriched with the generosity he gave out, and the smooth, brown-eyed salesman was aware of deep impulses of genuine activity which showed in his very walk when he finally left for his room at the hotel. The weeks slipped by and spring really came. The new budget went into effect

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For free Spring Hosiery Color Card, address McCallum Ho- siery Company, Northampton, Mass. wear the new are newest and ASCALLUM LIOSIERY ou Just Know She Wears Them’”’ imperceptibly. Dan worked in his garden as the evenings lengthened. He was far | from happy, and he saw that this was | to Mrs. Baker: something he wasn't going to get over in a day. But his mind remained unchanged. One thing bothered Dan Tippet pro- foundly. That was the change in Mary Frances. She had grown so quiet and good that it hurt him. She was thinner, and yet she seemed more grown-up. Even her throat was slim, and the little awkward- ness had vanished forever from her feet. She stood and walked firmly. She looked at Dan sometimes with a gaze he could not fathom. He knew nothing about her af- fairs, for since that day he had spoken so sharply to her she no longer confided in him. Fred was away a lot and working hard, and Dan thought they were not hav- ing many dates. He was glad Fred was get- ting his job under his feet securely before he married her. He wondered if they had quarreled, for there could be no doubt that Mary Frances was unhappy, as only a young girl can be. Dan wondered as he loosened the soil about his tulips if he ought not ask Fred about it. His telephone was ringing, and he went into the house to answer it. It was long distance. Fred was calling from Cincin- nati. Fred’s voice was very excited. “That you, Dan?” “Yes, Fred.” “Congratulate me.” “Why? Did you patch it up with Clancy?” “T haven't even been over there. I'm married!" “You're married!” “Yes, Joan and I made it up. : Listen, Dan, I saw Saunders about that house of his before I came away. You tell him I'll buy it, will you? And get some- body to paint it right away—two coats of white. And have the house all cleaned, and the windows i “Just a minute. You've marriea Joan?” “Sure. We were always crazy about each other—it was Joan that Clancy was rushing. Listen, Dan, about the house a But Dan had thrown the telephone down heedlessly, and rushed out of his house. Mary Frances was in her room, Mrs. Baker informed him, when he arrived there breathlessly, without any hat, and with the soil from the tulip roots still on his hands. He wiped them hastily on his handkerchief as the landlady went up the stairs. “Come on over to my house a minute,” Dan said as Mary Frances faltered on the stairway, looking down at him. “Hurry, I've got something to tell you,” and then, “It’s all right. We won't | be gone long.” | Frances’ pretty cheeks. They walked down the street in silence, but the color began to burn up in Mary Dan took her in his front door, significantly, and left it open behind them. The low twilight-filled rooms were invested with a charm he had never noticed before. “Mary Frances,” he said at once, “how would you like to live here? I'll give you the house, deed it to you outright, the day we are married, and you can always have everything just as you want it.” “Why, Mr. Tippet,” she faltered. He would have put his arm around her—that right arm which had been invaded with de- sire for so long—but she drew away from him and stood in the middie of the rug, suddenly inaccessible, proud and trembling, | her red hair like a candle flame in the dusk. “Mary Frances ———”’ he faltered. “No! No!” she said vehemently, and caught her breath in a half sob. “No! Not now! I'll bet Fred’s married, and you But you think you can have me now. March 23,1929 can't. Fred told me he was trying to make up with his wife. He’s married, hasn’t he?” “Yes. He telephoned me. But what’s the matter? Do you still care for him? Is it Fred you're loving?” “Fred!”’ she laughed a little, and her voice trembled with scorn. ‘“‘I love Fred? No. It was you I I-loved. But you chose him before me. You made up your mind, without even talking to me or him, that he should have me. That’s ali right, if you want things that way. Only, I'd never, never marry Fred! Nor you either, now! It’s not good enough for me. I want to be the most important thing in my hus- band’s life. Marriage has to be bigger than anything else.” Dan was silent. The justice of her re- marks was plain to him. The instinct in her—to be of first importance—was right. But she was! Nothing was dearer to him than herself and her honor. He could not see, however, that he could have acted differently. But he could see how his atti- tude had wounded her pride. How might he make her know how much he loved her; how vital she was to him? He hadn’t really known himself until this moment. “Mary Frances,” he said, “I do care for you. Won't you believe it? I love you. I've never said that to anyone else. I never meant it till now. I thought you and Fred cared for each other. I couldn’t ask, could I? I never dreamed you cared for me. Or that you could. Yes, I did think you could, but I didn’t think you did! I can’t help the way I am. I couldn’t have done dif- ferently. Only, if you can love me a little, I'll be as loyal to you as a man ever was. But—I’m just an old stick of a bachelor, and haven't much sense—I don’t blame you, if you don’t want to take a chance with me.” “There you go—knocking yourself!” she cried, and then she was in his leather chair, her head bowed on the arm of it, weeping bitterly. He knelt beside her and implored her not to cry. Her firm young arm reached out, encircled his neck and drew him to her. She pressed his face against her tear-wet cheek. “As though I could love wailed, “‘with you there! He's not worth your little finger. He’s not worth your love! But then, I’m not either.” She cried charmingly. He was wiping her eyes with his clean handkerchief, and they were kissing each other. “Oh, Dan, I thought you just naturally couldn’t love me. And yet, I knew you did. I guess I showed everybody in town what I felt, and it just made t-trouble for you! Oh, I’ve been so unhappy, and felt you were so far away, and I wanted you close—close to me—like this.” “Darling x “IT was jealous of Fred,” she told him, “I tried to break up your friendship. It was wrong of me, Dan. Can you ever for- give me? And when I saw you were going to stick to him and let me go because you thought he wanted me, I nearly died of it. I made up my mind I'd get over liking you. I wasn’t ever going to make up—and I-look at me! I can’t be proud with you, Dan. It’s like going against myself. And there you were, loving me all the time, you sweet old thing. Weren't you?” “All the time, Mary Frances, but never so much as now.” She sighed deeply, and he put her red hair back gently from her face. “No wonder I couldn’t go around k-kissing people with you loving me. Oh, Dan, you're so wonderful!” His face was shining with pride. Of course it wasn’t true. But if he could just keep her thinking it ——- Fred,”’ she a — te

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ill THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Just what 1S the EASY Damp-Dryer? —how does it replace the old-fashioned wringer? Years ago, clothes were wrung out by hand! Tedious. Slow. Causing reddened hands—weary arms and backs—aching hearts. Then came the wringer—run by hand, later by power. Saving on the arms, but hard on the clothes. Crushing, squeezing the water out—and the buttons off! Jeopardizing too-near fingers. And then—replacing the wringer, doing things no wringer or human arms could possibly do— came the greatest development of all—the EASY Damp-Dryer. An enclosed metal container, which, instead of crushing the water out, whirls it out by centrifugal action—and is safe for the sheerest garments. All you do is transfer the soaking-wet clothes from the wash tub to the Damp-Dryer, drop the top into place, then push a lever. By this swift process, the clothes are damp- dried ready for sun-drying in less than two min- utes. Not just a few clothes. But the whole tub- ful! And so thoroughly and evenly are they damp-dried—without a single dripping hem— that in case of bad weather they can be line-dried indoors and ironed the same day. Nor need the clothes be handled again to be rinsed. Leave them in the Damp-Dryer, pour in the rinse water, push the lever and the Damp- Dryer does the rest. No broken buttons or fasteners. No worn, torn and twisted fabrics. No deep, hard-to-iron wrinkles and creases. All such trouble-making is done away with by this better method which can injure nothing and handles everything even to bulky pillows and blankets which will not go through a wringer. More, too. Because wash tub and Damp-Dryer operate independently of each other, the EASY handles two batches of clothes at once. Washes one batch in the big tub; damp-dries another in the Damp-Dryer. Unusual business-building opportunity for DEALERS EASY is the largest manufacturer of wringerless washers in the country. EASY developed the centrifugal Damp- Dryer which is revolutionizi the hing machine business. Let our representative tell you about the op- portunity in your locality. Write us today. Ten pounds of clothes can be washed in the EASY at one time as compared with the six pound average capacity of other types of washers. The no-wringer EASY is incom- parably safer .. . faster... easier... gentler than any wringer-equipped washer. Its fame was built on the vac- uum principle of washing. Its three vacuum cups move up, down and around sixty-six times a minute— flushing sudsy water back and forth through the clothes—cleansing them thoroughly in an incredibly short time. The gas heater under the wash tub is an added convenience which keeps the water hot. The sturdy, simple pump empties every drop of water electrically. No lifting or carrying of heavy pails to empty the EASY. oa “ “ There are still EASY Washers with wringers. EASY wringers are equipped with every known safeguard. But no wringer-type washer—even our own—can compare with the no-wringer EASY. SYRACUSE WASHING MACHINE CORPORATION Syracuse, New York No more broken butions or fasten- ings. No more torn, worn clothes The EASY Damp-Dryer handles everything — injures nothing. Your washing done FREE Your dealer will gladly give you a free demon- stration of the EASY in your own home. Just write us, if you do not know his name. You can buy your EASY Washer on EASY terms and with a low down payment. The no-wringer EASY is also supplied with 4-cycle gasoline motor for homes without electricity EASY THE VASHER SAFE

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144 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 MONS/IEURs LUCIEN: LELONG Gnterna liona lly fam ed Daris crea tor now dest G tes stx carer For THE BErcin BAaRIJITENNE...$35°% Now Lelong puts into watches that same chic you find in a frock that bears his noted label. The same flair for style, the same air of worldly charm. And the vast, efficient ELGIN factory makes a stylist’s dream a reality to gleam upon your wrist. And such versatile watches, these Lelong models. Harmoniously in the picture whether the golf course or the tea table is your background. Then, too. . . it’s so simple to have extra ribbons to match the colors of your evening gowns and your Parisienne watch will give a Elgin Watches are American Made Watches shown 9/;0 actual sizes © ELGIN, 1929. ALL PRICES SLIGHTLY HIGHER IN CANADA true Parisian flair to your formal hours. Three are plain, three are inlaid with lustrous hard enamel. And all are bril- liantly smart. Ask any jeweler to show you his sparkling tray of ELGIN Pari- siennes. And not only Lucien Lelong, but Agnes, Jenny, Premet, and a group of equally prominent leaders of the Paris Grande Couture are represented. A Parisienne costs but $35 .. . there is no duty on designs. Style genius pays no fees at the customs house. All the style of Paris . . . at a truly American price! A SN I ln it OE.

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Sah THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE BOOM AT BOULDER (Continued from Page Ii!) A few days af- ter his purchase the troubled and suspicious buyer called at the Los Angeles Power and Light Bureau and asked to see a contour map. He wasshown one. He studied it in- tently for several minutes. Run- ning his finger across the paper, he suddenly groaned. “Good night!” he exclaimed, looking around wildly at the clerks in the office. “Come here, and It was discov- ered that the Cal- ifornia Real F state Act, in its provisions gov- erning advertis- ing, related only to written state- ments. Some dealers whose ad- vertisements had been rigorously eensored promptly got busy on the radio. But every word was heard by a department in- vestigator, and his ear was espe- cially cocked for any statements that might be see what I’ve bought !”’ Their eyes fol- lowed his finger to some curlicues on the map—crescent- shaped markings turned toward one an- other. He had bought one of the Chocolate Mountain peaks referred to in the real- estate commissioner's report. Lands with other geographical, topo- graphical or meteorological shortcomings are on sale at other points in the South- west. War has been declared on dealers in such lands; and arrayed against them are the California Real Estate Department, the Nevada State Real Estate Board, the California State Legislature, which ordered a special investigation by the commis- sioner to determine what additional legis- lation may be necessary to curb the more unscrupulous of the boom begetters, citi- zens of Imperial Valley who have worked for years to make their valley famous for production, and numerous land buyers who have been stung. Just a Step From the Dam “We are controlling the situation fairly well in the Southwest through newspaper statements and educational work by cham- bers of commerce and local real-estate boards,” Commissioner Barnsonsaid. ‘But damage is going to be done, nevertheless. Land Which Will be Irrigated From the Boulder Canyon Dam on the East Side Mesa in Imperiai Valley We have information that widespread ad- vertising campaigns are to be launched in other states. The Post Office Department is taking an interest in this and, whenever evidence justifies it, prosecutions for using the mails to defraud may be expected. We have canceled the licenses of some dealers and of their salesmen. In many cases we have compelled dealers to make good on claims they have made in selling property, and this has had a most disheartening effect on some of them. “One promoter of a tract which we found to be twenty-five miles from Boulder Can yon dam, was cashing in on his claim that his property was right next to the big dam. He did not explain that a 2000-foot lift would be required to get water onto the property from the dam. We compelled him to eliminate all reference to the dam, to ex- plain to every purchaser—every purchaser in California, at least—that the land was raw desert land, suitable, at best, and in the better sections, only for pasture purposes. We have compelled others to impound funds from their sales for developments which they had represented as being ‘already in,’ or ‘already arranged for.’ Several who guaranteed clear titles were forced to make good the guaranty.” Fremont Street, Las Vegas, Nevada; construed as mis- representation. And at the de- partment’s re- quest, as this is written, the legislature is busy working over several sections of the act. Wherever the wildcat land promoters could obtain lands near the Black Canyon | dam site, they have found easy pickings. I went to Las Vegas to study the incipient boom at its main focal point. Being near the dam site and having every prospect of being the nearest settled town to the con- struction camp, Las Vegas found itself in | the throes of a boom within a few days after December 21, 1928. The Tocsin Rings By the middle of January it was impos- sible to obtain a lease on any piece of prop- erty in Las Vegas. The day after the bill was signed messages began to pour into Las Vegas from all parts of the United States. They were addressed to the property own- ers, and nearly every property owner on | Fremont Street, the main street of the town, got one. These telegrams said, al- most uniformly, in substance: “‘ Don't sell your property until I arrive. Will make offer.”’ Las Vegans wondered how the prospec- tive purchasers got their names and the Twenty:-Seven Miles From the Black Canyon Boulder Dam Site L.B. OSTER COMPANY PITTSBURGH HICAGO 3 he LOUIS NEW YORK Ty «J

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146 descriptions of their property so quickly. Then the county recorder remembered something that explained it: In the year past, many persons, rigged out as tour- ists—and very evidently, from the looks of their cars and license numbers, they were tourists—had been calling at the court- house at the rate of five to a dozen a day. “Who owns the property at such-and-such a corner?” they inquired. They obtained not only names but descriptions. Then, when the word flashed out of Washington the morning of December vwenty-first, they were ready. But too many of them had the same idea. The peo- ple of Las Vegas realized their property had acquired new value and they hung on to it. The day after the bill was signed, a group of men started at the »ead of Fremont Street and, traveling its length through the busi- ness district—about five blocks—solicited leases from every leaseholder or landholder on the street. But the telegrams from all parts of the country had set the leasehoid- ers and landholders on guard. When the Town Was Young One incident I was abie to verify within a few hours after it happened. On one of the main corners nearest the railroad sta- tion is a confectionery shop. A high- powered real-estate operator from a Coast metropolis wanted that space for an office. The landlord didn’t want to go back on a faithful tenant who had been with him for years. “If you can get him to leave, you can have the place at $100 a month,” he told the promoter. The promoter approached the tenant and, over a soft drink, tried to make the deal. “‘How much do you hold your place at?”’ he asked. “Well, I've got at least $2500 worth of stuff here,” the tenant said. “Want to sell?”’ The tenant evidently had not become ex- ited over the boom that was beginning to sputter all around him. “I might,” he said. “Well, I'll give you $7500 for everything you've got in here, and you can move out and keep the stuff; I don’t want it. I just want this space.” The tenant was suddenly afflicted with something akin to the ague that stays the hunter's trigger finger in the sudden pres- ence of a deer. The promoter had overshot his mark. The tenant realized all at once that the boom had hit him too. “I'll be darned if I'll do it,” he said finally, when he had found his voice. Undismayed, the promoter walked down the street a block or so and bought two orners. One of these, consisting of three lots, had been held by the owner for at least twenty years. They were originally valued at between $1000 and $1500—that s, twenty years ago when the new Las Vegas was young and the town was mov- ng to the new town set out when the rail- road was built. Two years ago lots of the same economic value were selling at from $12,000 to $15,000, according to a Las Vegas hanker —who, by the way, is a mem- ber of the Colorado River Commission. For these lots the promoter paid $406,000 ash. The deal was closed in ten minutes. And the news traveled back and forth icross Fremont Street like wildfire. A few minutes later the opposite corner was bought, the promoter paying $30,000 for the lots, and the seller, who hadn’t had the two parcels long enough to clear the title to them, incidentally made a $5090 profit; he had paid $25,000 for the lots less than a month before. When the promoter bought 130 acres ad- joining the residential section, paying the unheard-of price of $500 an acre for it, and announced he would build 200 houses im- mediately, the townspeople took the atti- tude that he really might do it. And they added a few hundred dollars on to their own property. A high-powered salesman from Los Angeles was on the ground early, taking THE SATURDAY everything calmly, as befitted the survivor of many a hectic boom; and yet, for those he considered worthy of confidence, he had plenty of information, and at times he came out of his shell and wore a vivid rainbow around his shoulder. “This is gonna be good,” he said. ‘You just wait until our gang gets loose on this territory. Why, these people don’t know what it’s all about. You ask about a piece of property, and instead of taking you to it and maybe making a sale, they step out- side the door with you and, by pointing to this place and that, tell you how to get to it! Can you beat it? “And a _ ninety-nine-year lease- -they never heard of such a thing. They think there is something phony about leasing land for ninety-nine years. ‘In ninety-nine years,’ one old guy says, ‘I’ll be dead!’ But he’s hanging on to his land. “This is no place for pikers or shoe- stringers, either. Everything is half cash down and quick pay on the balance. No monkey business here. These birds have to see the cash on the counter. . . . But just wait until some fellows that know what it’s all about get here. They’ll show ’em.” Boulder Canyon signs of all kinds blare at you in Las Vegas. A sign on one business place reads: Barber Shop. Real Estate. And what a business the photographers were doing! I called on one to get some pictures—called at seven A.M. I had been up all night, unable to get a room in town, and didn’t realize how early it was. But the photographer was up too. His hair was in locks about his ears and down his neck, his face unshaven, his eyes bloodshot from strain and loss of sleep, but he was full of the energy that springs from enthusiasm. Early Birds After the Worm “*Morning!”’ he called cheerily from the shadows of his dark room behind a parti- tion. “Be right out. Boy, I’m fifteen hun- dred prints behind, and more business comin’ in every hour. Everybody wants pictures of Las Vegas and Black Canyon dam site: Real-estate men, newspapermen, tourists—everybody and everywhere in the United States!” Whoopee! All Las Vegas rises early in these times. Ten minutes may mean as many thousands of dollars, more or less, in a real-estate deal. Thesun shoots up clear and bright, and tints the bluish haze that hangs over the valley; clouds take their places on the near-by mountain peaks. Men with overcoats under EVENING POST their arms swing up and down the streets, huntin’ a cuppa coffee. By ten o’clock the crowds have dwin- died. Everybody is either inside negotia- ting, or out lookin’ over some property. Little groups on the corner talk of this or that $25,000 or $50,000 or $1,500,000 deal that either has been consummated or is about to be consummated or may be con- summated. Men dash across the street to the abstract and title office with sheafs of papers in their hands. By sundown the crowds are on the streets again—so many men it looks like an old- time crowd gathered in the county seat for a session of circuit court. Miners, railroad men from the Union Pacific shops, old settlers, teamsters, real-estate men, tour- ists and their wives, and aviators—Las Vegas has a mail-plane landing field—from all parts of the United States. A Long Way to Lug a Boat There is a feeling that Las Vegas’ boom, though hectic in spots, is to some extent justified. On account of its nearness to Black Canyon dam site, it will undoubt- edly be the first city to feel the direct effects from the added population and at- tendant commercial demands when con- struction is under way. “Why, this burg’ll be like an old- fashioned town on a Saturday night,” an old borax hauler assured me. “You wouldn’t know the old burg eighteen months from now.” In anticipation of some of this Saturday- night business, various card clubrooms were being installed on streets off Fremont Street, and every day saw the repaint- ing of some building that had not been in use for months. An added feature in the boom is a project backed by a syndicate of which local citi- zens are the moving spirits. The city and county and the Union Pacific have jointly contributed ninety choice acres, abutting the business district on the north, to the syndicate. The syndicate is to sell these lands and apply the proceeds to an elabo- rate hotel, estimated to cost more than $1,000,000. The hotel is to be built in the middle of a 3000-acre tract southeast of town. An affiliated project will be, I was told by leading citizens, a residential-estate resort on the tract surrounding the hotel. Tying into the publicity given the more solid features of Las Vegas’ boom, certain promoters are cashing in on projects which the Nevada State Real Estate Board says No Exit March 23,1929 are not so sound—to put in very mild words what the Nevada board says in words not so mild. There is a certain park proposi- tion, for instance. Every business man in Las Vegas with whom I talked mentioned this park. The lots are sold from a map “showing water effect at 1250 level.” The “‘water effect” indicates that one who buys in the park will be right on the edge of the 26,000,000-acre-foot lake that will be backed up behind the big dam; a prospect suggesting fishing and boating right at one’s door. But -—— The dam will be 550 feet high; the water level will be, at the bottom of the dam, at the 647-foot elevation mark. Add 550 and 647; you get 1197—which is somewhat less than 1250 feet. Water at this level, accord- ing to United States Geological Survey maps, will be more than five miles from the nearest lot in the park —a long way to carry one’s boat. Las Vegas and Clark County, of which Las Vegas is the capital, make no claims that irrigation water from Boulder Can- yon dam will mean a thing to the valley in which they lie; again the lift—more than 1000 feet—would be too great for economy. Las Vegas is in the center of an artesian belt. This belt is seven miles wide and fourteen miles long. The single well, put down by the Union Pacific less than three years ago, from which the city gets its water, flows at the record rate of 3,500,000 gallons a day—enough for a city six times Las Vegas’ present population of 6000. Power—that will be Boulder Canyon dam’s contribution to the Las Vegas coun- try’s development. Within sixty miles of Vegas are from a hundred to a hun- dred and fifty metallic and nonmetallic mines. They need only power for econom- ical development. Says The Mining Journal of May 15, 1928: “It is doubtful if any similar area in the United States contains more deposits of valuable nonmetallic minerals than Clark County, Nevada.” These deposits are man- ganese, borax, gypsum, lime, silica sands and salt. The metallic deposits are lead, zinc, copper and some gold and silver. In the Goodsprings-Yellow Pine district alone more than $10,000,000 has been taken out in ores. A Large Part of a Lifetime Citizens of Las Vegas see all these min- eral resources being worked up in smelters and refineries in their territory and shipped out through the local railroad station. So - The dam means different things to differ- ent communities: Flood control and irri- gation for the Imperial Valley; an increased domestic water supply for Los Angeles and more than two dozen other cities of the Southern California coastal plane; power for Arizona’s mines and irrigation for her fields; jobs for workers and contracts for contractors who will come from all parts of the United States when the work starts. These things the boomers rely on in luring customers. They are incontrovertible pros- pects. But the boomers paint the picture before the canvas is up. They turn the fascinated eyes of their prospects to the beautiful developments around Los Angeles, and say: “‘Look! And 2 few years ago most of that was just ‘land waiting development.’”’ And in that look they span what has taken place in fifteen or twenty years—a large slice out of any person’s lifetime. They gloss the hard work, the effort, the patience, the endless planning and fighting for water—all things of reality; hard, un- avoidable facts that attend every solid de- velopment. They harness the powers of Hope and Eagerness-to-Get-Something-for- Nothing—or practically nothing. And lo, the air castle, which needs no plumbing, the gardens of which come al- ready sprinkled with dew, is up and waiting for him who will only sign on the dotted line. ——.

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SST —— The THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 147 Candle of King Alfred gave Alfred the Great, builder of the Ninth Century English Navy, knew the value of time. And when bis duties compelled him to labor far into the night be invented a new service for the candle which flickered before him. He ordered that every candle for his private use be notched twelve times, at intervals of one inch. The notches were accurately placed so that when a candle burned three notches, an hour had passed. When an entire candle was consumed four hours had passed. Thus King Alfred's Candle was doubly valuable. It not only made light — but also told time. It gave an EXTRA SERVICE! ... things that give an Extra Service are doubly valuable! That motor oil, for example, which is MORE than a lubricant—which does more than protect your engine—is doubly valuable to you! That Motor Oil is OPALINE—which not only lubricates your engine, but SEALS the pistons in your cylinders—prevents power from blowing by! SINCLAIR SINCLAIR REFINING COMPANY, INC New York ATLANTA BosTON CHICAGO Derrorr Houston KANSAS CITY OMAHA e eo * * a an Opaline is the motor oil which SEALS the space between your pistons and cylinder walls. This space varies in s#ze/ In a new car, when parts fit snugly, the space is small—only a lighter grade of motor oil can fit into it and seal the power: After 2,000 miles and after 12,000 miles, and over, until pistons are refitted and new rings installed, the space continues to wear larger—and only heavier grades of oil will keep the pistons sealed! You get this Extra Service from the correct grade of Opaline! It is made in several different grades according to the Sinclair “Law of Lubri- cation”"’ . When you buy Opaline you get the grade your engine needs at its present degree of wear, as indicated by the mileage on your speed- ometer! The number of miles your car has been SEC .u.5. PAT. OFF. Seals power at every degree of wear © 19298. R.C. driven tells how much wear there is in your cylinders—indicates which grade of Opaline fits that degree of wear and sea/s your pistons, to prevent the power from blowing by! Having the right grade of motor oil is just as important as having the right quality. It is the responsibility of the Authorized Opaline Dealer to see that you get both! Tell the Authorized Opaline Dealer the mileage reading on your speedometer—he will give you the grade of Opaline that gives the Extra Service of PISTON SEAL! 30c 4 quart is a reasonable retail price for Opal- ine in bulk (slightly higher in the Far West) The Sinclair Law of Lubrication: For every machine, of every degree of wear, there is a scientifi Sinclair Oil to suit its speed and seal its power MOTOR OIL Use Sinclair HC Gasoline, the better, all year, High Compression anti-knock fuel for all engines

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148 i you want the real st of WILLIAMS OIL HE -- ask the owners: rPWERE’s no mystery about oil heat, but it is always advisable to in- vestigate carefully before purchasing. Don’t buy just any oil burner and don’t buy on a salesman’s story alone. Get the real truth— ask the owners. Letus send you the names of Williams Oil-O-Matic owners near you. Get the facts from them—they have tested Williams Oil-O-Matic in their own homes inevery sort of weather. They Il give you an unbiased story of what it means to enjoy even, healthful heat without work or worry. Clip the cou- pon at the bottom of this page—mail it to us—we will be glad to send you a list of owners in your vicinity. Oil-O-Matic is 10 years beyond experiment Williams Oil-O-Matic has been on the market 10 years. More than 80,000 owners give tl their wholehearted ap- proval. Architects and heating engi- neers endorse it thoroughly. Williams Oil-O-Matie has to be good to make good with more than 80,000 owners with heating experts—during 10 vears ol service. Williams Oil-O-Matic is the master of all domestic heating problems. En- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST tirely automatic —turns itself on and off without attention— maintains pre- cise healthful warmth—unusually quiet—thrifty of fuel—thoroughly dependable. You can’t buy more sat- isfactory oil heat anywhere. Our word is good—but go beyond it. Ask Oil-O-Matic owners! Then you'll know the answer. Mail the coupon. Disiiinc HEATING Listed as Standard by Underwriters’ Laboratories For small homes —and moderate incomes Williams Dist-O-Matic provides gen- uine Williams Oil Heat comfort for small homes and modest incomes. A true “running mate” for Oil-O-Matic, Williams Dist-O-Matic is also entirely automatic, thrifty, and unusually quiet. You can buy Dist-O-Matic—as well as all other Williams products— on easy time payment budget plans. WILLIAMS OIL-O-MATIC HEATING CORPORATION Bloomington, Ill. “Hit of the Air’’—Williams Home Guards Two Nights Each Week. Tune in Tuesday on Station WJZ and associated NBC stations at 10 o'clock Eastern Standard Time. Tune in Friday on WGN, Chicago, 8:30 Central Standard Time WILLIAMS L0-M HEATING ATIC Listed as Standard by Underwriters’ Laboratories WILLIAMS OIL-O-MATIC HEATING CORPORATION Name Address a t Bloomington, Illinois Gentlemen: Please send me a list of Williams OUil-O- Matic owners in my city. No obligation. State or March 25,1929 S.E.P.-3-9

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— THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE POETS’ CORNER Good Morning, America! HERE are two sights that make my heart feel gay: Flags in a tumult, and the breaking day. The dawn, with many flags, is breaking now ; Our oceaned continent takes, from brow to brow Of golden city, the voyaged light of day! Light bursts on the Lakes, on each humming, long highway; Glad-throated whistles cry along the rail; Assembled townships bid the great dawn hail; The bright wealth of it showers on farms state- wide ; A continent of forests takes the dawn to bride ; And star-topped, darkling Ranges glow and sing, Sending up vanguard eagles on the wing! Flags in a tumult and renewing day Are two fine sights that make my heart feel gay! Dawn, in the windows; dawn, that never stops! Flags, livening the long streets and thick rooftops. . . . With each discovery men break out a flag, Sow flags through wildernesses, sprinkle crag On crag of conquered height with them, where they Gleam forth to show that Glory trod that way; And never comes a dawn but men renew Courage and strength to grapple, and pursue The problem and the star that leads the sail, Grasping the helm to drive on and prevail! Harry Kemp. Presence HERE is a Beauty in the heart of things In sky and earth and wind and tree and flower, And in the song a bird at twilight sings, And in the soul of man—enchanted hour Of life that utters forth this soundless sound! Traces this nameless Name across the sky, Imprints it deep within the curving ground, On cloud and earthy clot; here and on high A Form moves, trailing loveliness; it flees Before us, beckoning; the very air Is full of half-discerned mysteries, And there are broken rhythms everywhere. Ah! In the tremor of a single leaf Is passion and delight, is joy, and grief. Mary Dizon Thayer. Al MAN TO AVOID before them holding her wand before her, with her two hands thrown up. The plan that Raikes had made was this: That she was to go back and forth, weaving her way among them until they grew used to her being now behind and now before them; that she was gradually to draw them on until they were all behind the pyramid and facing the blank wall, when she was to announce that the wand had turned—to turn it, in fact—and then, in the wild ex- citement of digging, she and Raikes would make a bolt to where the horses were tied the only two horses in the whole com- pany—and take their chance of being shot by anyone who was not wholly absorbed in getting his part of the treasure. But, as almost everyone finds who plays with magic for his own base purposes, magic plays with him. Millie had not been walking up and down nearly as long as she intended to walk when she felt strange little tremors begin to go through her wand. Was it her imagination that it had moved in her firm grasp? She had never thought of its turning of itself. The plan had been that she would tell them it had turned, that she would turn it downward at a conven- ient spot. But now—yes, it certainly was moving. An excited murmur began to go up from the circle of sharp, watching eyes. She came to a standstill almost in the exact center, just where the sheer wall of the pyramid cast the darkest shadow, and there the wand twisted like a live snake and pointed straight down. She stood quite dazed, staring at it. A cry went up from all the band: “El tesoro! El oro!’ They flung themselves forward with spades and pickaxes and the inev- itable machete, with tin cups and even with their bare hands. They were all on their knees digging, digging; they thrust her aside; they got in front of her. She turned toward the steps and saw that one person had not forgotten. Avilla, whose portion was secure without effort, was standing motionless at the foot of the steps, watching not the diggers but Raikes, and he had a revolver in his right hand. She hesitated a moment, not knowing what to do. She was free as air, except for this one little figure on guard. The crisis had come more quickly than they had ex- pected. She looked up at Raikes, standing four or five feet above Avilla on the temple steps. She meant to ask him what must be done now, and as she looked she saw him fling himself like a catapult, full at the little man below him, so straight, so quickly, that Avilla did not have time to fire. They came to the ground together, landing on a welter of vines and plants, unnoticed by anyone but Millie. All the others were digging, digging only a few feet away, but utterly absorbed; even the man who had been holding the horses had tied them to a tree (Continued from Page 34) at the first shout of gold and was now dig- ging with the rest. She stood rooted, wondering what Raikes was going to do to Avilla—gag him, tie him up? But there was no rope. Then she saw Raikes’ long body bend and his knee go up until it rested on Avilla’s chest, and his thin strong hands closed about the little man’s throat. Oh, yes, of course, natu- rally he was going to kill him. She felt not the slightest shock or repulsion--she who was too delicate to look at a galled horse in the street; she felt only an intense, ab- sorbed interest. Would it go this way or that? The bodies of the two men moved and heaved together, but always Raikes was on top of the other. She did not suppose he saw her, for he had not glanced in her direction, but sud- denly she was aware he was speaking to her. He said: ‘‘Go—to—the—horses!”’ He panted a little, and at each word she could see the rolling head of Avilla nod a little, as if confirming the order. Still she could not move, still she wanted to watch. How difficult it was to kill a man. Then Raikes spoke again: “‘Go on, I tell you!” he said. She woke from her trance of interest and ran toward the horses. She cut the rope that tied them with her machete, mounted one of them and had both heads turned down the path by the time Raikes came running toward her. He mounted as he started both horses at a run. Jungles are so thickly carpeted that even galloping feet do not reverberate. “Did you kill him?” she asked. “Yes. I was sorry you had to see it.” She was surprised to think how little she had minded. Not a shot had been fired, not a head had beei: turned. They went on past the spot where less than twenty-four hours before they had talked so bitterly, on down the green tunnel of the path, and came out on the river. The horses went splashing through the shallow water, clattering and strixing fire from the stones. But there was no danger, no one on foot could catch them now. They were free, they were safe. Still they pushed the horses on. Little red deer, hardly as large as goats, which had come down for their morning drink at the river, fled, alarmed, and fawn-colored iguanas which had crept out on fawn- colored rocks for the first morning sun wriggled off and into the forest again, but there was no sound of pursuit. At last they saw ahead of them a column of gray smoke rising from the camp, gray against the green, and blue in the sunlight. A little way off the familiar sound of an ax could be heard, but breakfast for one was still untouched on the table. Through the open flap of his tent Jimmy could be seen, oversleeping in the absence of his chief. “Lazy dog,” said Raikes angrily. Oh, yes, they were back again. That was the other Raikes speaking. He flung himself off his horse. ‘“‘ Don’t get off,’ he said. “I want you to go straight on to San Roberto. You can’t tell. I don’t trust our own Indians yet.” He poured out Jimmy’s coffee and handed her up a cup where she sat on the horse, looking very young and illumined, with her hair still standing on end and her face like ala- baster. “Jimmy!’’ he shouted, while he made her a sandwich of bread and bacon. An alarmed grunt from the tent. Then to her: “Be off. Be off,” he said. “Without you?”’ she wailed. “T'll follow at once. I must speak to Thorley.” “You promise that you will follow me at once?”’ she repeated. Somehow there seemed more menace in this separation than in the whole past night. “Oh, of course--of course.” He turned her horse and started it on its way. She rode alone down the path in the glo- rious blue and green of the early morning, safe, happy—well, almost happy. A little strain of homesickness for their lost com- panionship. Why had he left her so soon? How absurd! He would be with her now at any moment. She looked over her shoul- der. There was no one coming. Then at last the rustling of someone be- hind her. At last—at last. Round the bend of the path came the brown horse, and on its back was Jimmy. She felt sick with disappointment. **Where’s— where's She made that fatal hesitation for a name. Really, after all that had occurred, she could not say “Professor Raikes."’ Nor would she stoop to the comedy of ‘‘the boss.”’ Jimmy was too much excited to hear her, however. “Oh, Millie,” he cried, “for heaven's sake, tell me what happened! To think I was sleeping like a pig while you were in danger of your life. I thought you had gone to San Roberto, and when Raikes didn’t appear I thought he had followed you. I was jealous, Millie, and said to myself | there was no use in working for a fellow who went off like that without a word, and I pictured you both “Where is he, Jimmy?” “Coming in a few minutes. He sent me on in case you felt nervous. Oh, Millie, he says you were so brave. Tell me everything that happened.” That, Millie thought, would be going a little too far, but she was not above enjoy- ing living her “ battles o’er,”’ and Jimmy was not aware of great gaps in her narrative. “You know you look different, Millie like someone who has been through some- thing great. Weren't you ever frightened?” 149 ay: Two Famous Philadelphia Institutions RITING to a friend in Eng- land shortly after the Revolu- tion, Franklin said, “You will be surprised to know that there are in the colonies no fewer than nine col- leges or universities.” Were Franklin alive today, he would doubtless be amazed to learn that in and about Philadelphia, there are more than twice the num ber of colleges and universities that the entire United States could boast of in Poor Richard's day. One of the origina! sites of the University of Pennsylvania, founded by Franklin in colonial days, is directly opposite the great Hotel bearing his name. This is the favorite hotel not only of thou- sands of students in Philadelphia, but their friends and relatives visit- ing those who seek knowledge and learning in Philadelphia's famous schools. The Benjamin Franklin offers co the waveler or permanent gucst enjoyable environment, attentive @1 service, the highest rehmement [@ of good living "00 outiide rooms, 4a.) with ball Rates commence at four dollar TITHE BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PHILADELPHIA Chestnut at Nint Stree Horace Leland Wiggins * Man aft satan Unedeea) SUT we Derector

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150 “Oh, I won't say that, Jimmy, but he— Professor Raikes—is very bracing. He seemed to feel so entirely calm about dying.” “Oh, no, he doesn’t mind dying; he always says so.” “Did he say so this morning?” she asked sharply. “Oh, he’s always said so.” Millie sighed. It was difficult to get a straight answer from one who does not see the importance of the question. She glanced back over her shoulder and wondered why he did not come. Could he be avoiding her? In his place she would not have let this time elapse. Jimmy chattered on, almost more excited about it than she was. ‘“‘Wouldn’t you know,” he said, ‘that if something ro- mantic was going to happen I wouldn't be in it? But then, of course, if I had, we would both be dead by this time, I suppose. I should never be able to think of a plan like that. He’s so clever. It must, in a way, Millie, have been a wonderful expe- rience to go through something like that with Raikes.” “Well, in a way it was,” said Millie. Her voice sounded as if it came over a bad tele- phone from an immense distance. Something—not exactly a suspicion— made Jimmy say, “I suppose it will always be a great bond between you—a thing like that.” Her doubt suddenly became an agony as she answered, “Ch, you can’t tell. It may not be at all.” In due time they reached San Roberto, where, in the little sala of the house, Mrs. Thorley was rocking, and stitching flannel bands, as if nothing dangerous or dramatic had ever been known to happen. “Why,” she said, looking up, “what brings you into town?” Jimmy, glancing apologetically at Millie for stealing her story, allowed Mrs. Thorley to hear a little of the reason. But Millie had reached a point of exhaustion in which even the narration of her own adventures could not rouse her. She said that all she wanted was a hot bath and to sleep. Well, a hot bath could be obtained, but not in five minutes. A little Indian servant went padding about on bare feet, stoking the stove with coffee wood, filling all the receptacles in the house from kettles to tin boilers for washing clothes. Meantime Jimmy, who had become official historian of the night’s events, explained what had happened, and Millie sat waiting, with her eyes fixed on the path that led down from the jungle. distinct mystic traits. Again I beg to relate an anecdote. A journalist who occupied a very important position on one of the great- est of London newspapers told me, in Jan- uary of that year, that, were Mr. Lloyd George not to conform to Mr. Wilson’s ideas, the English people would have abandoned him and would have declared that their most authentic representative was the American President! It is true that, at that moment, Wilson had already yielded on the point pertaining to the freedom of the seas, and it is also probable that the English journalist exaggerated the sentiments that he attrib- uted to his country; but the very pessi- bility of such exaggerations showed that no other statesman has had, outside of his own country, and, indeed, in the whole world, a fervor of enthusiasm that can only be com- pared to that which surrounded the apostles and the greatest saints. Possessing so great a power, it cannot be said that President Wilson was not aware of it and, even less, that he did not expect to make use of it. On the contrary, he took the greatest care —which, it must be added, was accompanied by the most intelligent ability—in creating for himself a unique situation that actually made him the ar- biter of the world, even if such a term was THE SATURDAY Once in her steaming bath, however, she felt that nothing else mattered—nothing but sleep. She was too exhausted to care whether he came or not, too exhausted and too wise, for now she knew it would mean nothing for her. But when, an instant later, she actually did hear his voice in the sala, a thrill like an electric shock went through her and she sprang out of her bath and began to dress as rapidly as trembling hands would allow. She must see him at once. When she emerged, there was Mrs. Thorley, rocking as before, who said: “Why, Millie, I thought you were going to bed, and there you are all dressed.” Millie looked all round the room. “I wanted to speak to Professor Raikes,” she said. Her throat felt dry. “Well, now, isn’t that too bad?” said Mrs. Thorley, alarmingly sympathetic. “Too bad?” “IT mean you just missed him; he’s just gone. He sent Jimmy back to the Casas Viejas. After all, my poor husband can’t do all the work, willing as he is to do more than ——” “Then where did Professor Raikes go?”’ “To the capital to report the whole thing. You don’t kill a man, my dear, without mentioning it to the authorities.” Of course. He had killed Avilla; she had forgotten. Mrs. Thorley settled back in her chair, rocking as she sewed. “‘For- tunately the president is a friend of Pro- fessor Raikes. I don’t think there will be any real trouble. My husband says that human life ——”’ “Did he say when he would be back?” asked Millie, hardly troubling to make her tone sound casual. “T didn’t ask him,’’ answered Mrs. Thorley almost proudly. “I don’t think people like to be forever pinned down abo:-t what they are going to do. When I got married I made it a rule I would never ask Mr. Thorley any questions I could avoid. I do the same with other men. But let me see. He'll get there this evening. I sup- pose he’ll take all tomorrow with his busi- ness, and be back the next day or the day after.” That being so, Millie thought she would go to bed. She turned at the door. “‘ Did he ask for me?” she said. This time she did achieve a wonderfully casual tone. “Oh, yes,”’ said Mrs. Thorley. “Yes, in- deed, he asked for you, and I told him you had had a bath and had gone to bed, and he said it was a good thing you had—gone to bed, I mean. He seemed to think you needed rest.” EVENING POST Probably she did, but did not seem likely at the moment to get it. She un- dressed and lay down on her canvas cot, not bothering to shut out the uncompromising light of the early afternoon. She felt a deep, reasonable conviction that, as far as she was concerned, he had gone forever. Incredible but true. She remembered every tone of his voice when he had spoken of renouncing love, that they would never be married, that he would not destroy the woman he loved. That was the voice of the real man speaking. His love for her was real, too; she could not remember the night and doubt it. She knew now it was only death that had given him to her, and life was going to take him away. Strangely enough, she had no thought of trying to change his decision, partly be- cause she knew she couldn’t and that all she would do was to render them both wretched by a scene—she pleading, he re- fusing. Oh, no, she wouldn’t go through that—but partly because she had no wish to do so. All her will had gone. Now, if she had been facing a death sentence, it would have made very little difference to her. He had been right when he suggested that perhaps it was a mistake to escape. All reality seemed very remote. Perhaps, she thought, having looked so closely at the face of death releases you from some of your allegiance to life. She did not care now whether she lived or died. Professor Raikes? A man she had not known existed, two months ago. How was it possible he could make her happy or unhappy? He couldn’t—all a fancy, a dream. Her par- ents? If she knew they were in the next room she would not get up to meet them. Nothing mattered—nothing. Just as the light began to fade into the short gray dusk of the tropics she feli asleep. She was waked by a bright light shining on the blue adobe wall of the room, which she was facing. Someone must have turned on the relentless electricity. No. And yet, could that light be sunlight? Even in the tropics the sun does not return a few min- utes after setting, and certainly she had only been asleep a few minutes. She turned over with a flounce and found it broad mid- morning, and Raikes, sitting with one leg thrown over the other and his arms crossed, looking at her. She stared at him. All her lethargy of will was gone; she felt with agony that she could not let him go without a struggle—-that no sacrifice of pride was too great. He whispered, just forming the words: “*She can hear every word and she’s sitting there listening.” WILSON AND LANSING (Continued from Page 7) never used. Thus, he stressed the distinc- tion between Associate and Allies, which would not have had any sense if it had not aimed at the constant warning that the Associate intended to reserve full liberty of movements and attitudes without any fetter to his free judgment. Besides, he had his famous Points inserted in the conditions of the Armistice, asking the acceptance of them not only by the conquered but also by the victorious Allies, in such a way that his Points should serve as a kind of code to which tenets all should necessarily and by obligation have recourse in settling any question that might arise.* No one could be a more authorized interpreter of the code of peace than its own author. This, as to the formal side of the situation. As to the real value of his relation with his colleagues, if the outward courtesy was almost always impeccable in the President, he knew, in- deed, how to become severe, and then hard, and then, even threatening, when he met with an opposition that resisted his will. His pronounced jaw became set; his word became as heavy with obscure warnings of future evils as that of a prophet of Israel and, in a more or less veiled manner, he let it be understood that, if the opposition continued, he would abandon the confer- ence. On the following day there spread through Paris the rumor that the engineer of the George Washington had received the or- der to keep the ship in readiness for a possi- ble near departure of the President. Every thought of resistance then disappeared and I can state in a categorical manner that no decision was ever taken by the conference which was opposed to the determined will of the President. " *Some people, outside of Italy, continue to believe that the Italian Government had also accepted the ninth of Mr. Wilson's points, which dealt with the Italian vindications in a restrictive sense—in order to — that: Through that acceptance the government had put itself in contradiction with its complete program of vindi- cations. Now, this is false. Italy never accepted the ninth point, and made about it the same reservations that En man made on the freedom of the seas, when, on November 2, 1918, in the Su a Council of War, gathe t Versailles, the acceptance of Wilson points was dealt with in a meeting not fail to one my reservations on the ninth point. They were agree—that since the ninth to take it into aceount in dealing with the Armistice wi and I, too, was compelled to remarked that to to the Alsace-Lorraine! It was not i dermined owever, P. with him about the question of our vindicationa,. a admitted that the Italian into any agreement in relation to the ninth t. ans about the ninth point was equivalent to pomerd ble, _— without openly showing mistrust, to t Wilson himself, in all the mag J conversations that I had ‘or the Armistice, I did ized as just; f was cali at oe out— int did not refer to Germany at all, 7 was useless that country. I remember te a about m that the Italian overnment had never gone March 25,1929 Millie colored. He had guessed that she was about to say something more intimate than he wished to hear. Then, very loud and casually, he said, “Well, how do you feel?”’ “T hardly know yet. I’m just awake.” Then lower: ‘‘Where have you been?”’ “IT went up to the capital to explain to the president why I had murdered one of his countrymen.”” Then, to prove that he was right, Mrs. Thorley came hurrying in. “Ts she awake?” she said benevo- lently. . . . “How do you feel?” “Hungry,” said Millie. It was not true, but she knew what would appeal to the older woman. “Yes, it’s nearly lunchtime,” said Mrs. Thorley, leaning against the lintel of the door and beaming at her. ‘“‘We’ve got a good meal for you.” Raikes uncrossed his legs. Millie thought: “If he goes before Mrs. Thorley does I shall scream. I shall go mad.” He crossed his legs the other way. He looked at her. Mrs. Thorley could not see his face, and his look meant something, but Millie wasn't sure what. She said aloud, “I should love a cup of coffee, Mrs. Thorley, now, this minute. Do you think I could have it?” “T don’t know about now this minute,” Mrs. Thorley replied; she was a person who liked to make fun of any form of expression not her own, “but I can get it for you in a short time.”” She disappeared from the doorway. Millie sat up. “Where have you been?” she asked. He put out his hand, and withdrew it as Mrs. Thorley returned. “I wondered,” she said, ““‘whether you'd like a piece of toast with your coffee.” “T should,” returned Millie gently, “very, very much.” “You don’t think it will spoil your luncheon?” “T’m sure it wouldn’t.” She had gone again, and Millie’s hand was inclosed. “T went to the capital.” “To see the president?” “To see the American minister and a clergyman.” “A clergyman, Tim?” “‘ Aren’t you going to marry me, Millie?” Her hand was almost tossed in her face. “You haven’t gone back on me?”’ “Oh, Tim, I’ve been persuading myself, after all you said, that you had decided not to marry me.” “Good heavens,” cried Raikes, “I've got myself tangled up with a moron!” (THE END) Well, how can it be explained that a man who had a program entirely of his own, who had the strength and will to carry it out, did not succeed in the task and, on the contrary, allowed the fundamental solu- tions of the conference to take a turn en- tirely different from the ideas that he had shown and, indeed, gave all the weight of his strength and authority to the carrying out of a program different from his own? This is the truly essential point of all the questions that may arise around the Paris Conference; this is the great historical enigma that awaits a solution. Mr. Lansing feels it very clearly. All his work strives to bring to light the complete failure of Wilson’s program and the pre- vailing of an order of criteria entirely dif- ferent, if not altogether opposite. But if Mr. Lansing points out very clearly the consequences—and this would be enough to show the importance of the historical contribution of his memoirs— there always remains the question: What was the cause? Besides the general causes of deficiencies of technic and method, Mr. Lansing seems to attribute the great Wilson’s failure to the fact that Mr. Wilson possessed a personal (Continued on Page 152) —--—--

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It is | job, adding the appearance of longer | your car dealer to show you the Kari- | | | EVENING POST (Continued from Page 150) force of resistance that was inferior to the aggressive and tigerlike ardor of Monsieur Clemenceau and to the ability of a most finished arguer like Lloyd George. One should infer that, according to Mr. Lan- sing, Wilson was partly carried by a stronger will and partly outplayed by a more subtle intellect. I must confess that I don’t be- lieve that to be true; and to show it, it is enough to point out the fact that, up to a certain point, Wilson always succeeded in having his way, although he had against him the same persons. Mr. Lansing has humorously described the duels between Monsieur Clemenceau and myself. I wish I were able to describe those between Mr. Wilson and Clemenceau or between him and Lloyd George, and re- peat with more reason the phrase used by Mr. Lansing referring to Clemenceau: That a defeated Wilson was inconceivable for Mr. Wilson. So both Clemenceau and Lloyd George, after having shown in vain, the former his passionate aggressiveness, the latter all the inexhaustible resources of his cleverness, ended by yielding, and they found consolation in discovering a for- mula that might make their defeat ap- | pear less evident. Yielding Along the Line However, the most decisive proof of what I state lies in this very simple fact: At no moment, ever, did Mr. Wilson yield or re- main with a minority. All that was decided at the conference had his placet; with only this difference—that up to a certain point Mr. Wilson’s will assumed a certain direc- tion; and from that point on, his will fol- lowed a different direction and, indeed, an opposite one. During the first months of the conference, Mr. Wilson had been ir- reducibly opposed to all that was later taken as a basis for the Peace Treaty. He did not want the occupation of the left bank of the Rhine; he did not want March 25,1929 through the exploitation of the Saar mines Germany’s supremacy to be eliminated; he did admit that the amount of repara- tion should be in a general way based on the damages, but he wanted a definite sum to be fixed within the limits of an ascertained capacity to pay; he jumped up as if touched by an electric current any time he heard any talk of granting Shantung to the Japanese; he wanted the interpreta- tion of mandates to be strict and rigorous; he did not agree to any Franco-English agreement in Asia Minor. This, up to a certain point. From a certain point on, Wilson yielded on the entire line of his resistance; he yielded on reparations, on the occupation of the left bank, on Shan- tung, on the Saar, on everything. Wanting the Unwanted How did this deep and inconceivable change take place? The most intelligent historians of the conference have the intui- tion of a profound “crisis” through which the conference passed, and which radically transformed its original spirit; but no one gives an explanation that can be seriously relied upon. Also, Robert Lansing noticed the irreconcilable contrast between the orig- inal ideas of Mr. Wilson and their applica- tion in the Treaty of Peace, but the reasons that he gives—that is to say, that Wilson was outplayed—must be said to be his- torically groundless. I said, and I repeat, that when Wilson was in Paris his almost divine omnipotence in intelligence and au- thority was never eclipsed. He always knew what he wanted and nothing was ever done that he did not wish. Only, at the end, he wanted what he had not wished in the beginning. We repeat, why? Here lies the great historical enigma, the mysterious force which shaped the des- tinies of the world. Until this enigma is solved, the history of the conference will not be written.

ee he 33 ea Shenae ae Sey ae he oes er

* by oe, ed

PHOTO. BY UNDERWOCO & UNDERWOOD, NK. 7. C.

David Lloyd George and Lord Reading at a Recent Garden Party

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Pc THE SATURDAY Lord Doughnut’s Daughter ORD DOUGHNUT hadde a daughter Sayre, Ye Ladye Ysobelle, Like rose and lilye was her fayce, Her figure yt was swelle ; In alle ye lande there was, I wiste, Nae swifter damoselle. And all ye younge and gallant knights, They sware that Northe of Hades Notte e’en ye houris of Paynims, Ye Fatimas and Zaidees There was nae matche of Y sobelle Of alle ye red-hotte laydies. Fayre Ysobelle from budoir came, As sleeke as ony duv, Where she hadde put on cunningl ye, Her make-uppe—see abur. “Ah, where,” sighed she, “can I e’er find A knight that I can luv?” Uppe spake her lyttle serving man With bonnie golden haire, Uppe spake her loyale serving man: “O Ladye, Ladye fayre, Gin ye'll have me for your ane true luv I'll hocke my tyre spare! “Gin ye'll have me for your ane true luv I'll give ye flivvers three.” “‘ Now out upon thee, serving boy! And what should I want with thee? Thou'rt nuttye yn thy ivory dome! Thy wife I'll never bee! “My luv muste have imported cars Of manny a type, I ween, Of open and of clos-ed kinde And bonnie limousyne. A Creseous my Kinge must bee And I shall bee his Queene!” “ Beware! Beware! Thou proude Ladye, Ere floutest thou my luv!” She hath ta’en and pushed him into ye lake With a muckle michty shove And doon to y° depths sank ye serving boy While ye ladye laffed abur! “O Ladye, Ladye, save my lyffe And alle I have is thine! My flivvers three, my tyre spare, My silver flaske soe fine!” But ye ladye laffed abune the banke Lyke gaye hyenas nine. “* Lye there, lye there, presumplious wighte, Nor ever shalte thou telle That e’er thou daredest thinke toe wed With Ladye Ysobelle! And lette the ringing yn thine ears Presage thy fun’ral knelle!” “O Ladye, Ladye, save me nowe, Yn soothe I cannot swam! O Ladye fayre, reache forth thine hande And I'll telle thee who I am!” But ye ladye turned her backe from ye brinke And ye serving boy sayed “‘Damn!" Adowne the pleach-ed alleye greene Fayre Ysobelle hath gonne, For she hears a shoute and a view halloo And ye sounde of ane auto hornne. And ye serving boy lyes deade in ye depths, Alle stiffe and starke and lorne. Alte ye firste looke that ladye saw A gallante companye Of knightly men in classye cars Come honkinge o'er ye lea. ‘Nowe, oh, alacke!"’ quo’ Y sobelle, “What can this cominge bee?” Ye leadinge car, alle riche and rare, Yt stoppeth atte ye gate, And frome yt bounds a footeman lythe Who holds yts door agrate, And slowe and snootye lights a Lord Of haughtye mien sedate. Full richely was this Lord bedight Withe furs and jewels swelle ; And fixinge of his piercing eye Onne Ladye Y sobelle, “T greete ye, ladye fayre,”’ quo’ he, “And praye you to me telle “Where I canne find the serving man Who serveth here for thee, For he is heir to muckle wealthe And subdivisions three, Which hath been his these goode three monthe, But founde he coulde notte bee! “* Atte laste I learned that luv of thee Had kepte him atte your syde, Where serving meekly he had hoped To win ye for his bride. And nowe he ys a millyonaire His fathere he hathe dyed!" Oh, waefulle screamed thatte ladye then And horride noise did mayke! “Oh, had I wiste that he was riche, His lyffe I ne’er had take And now his colde, expensive corse Lyes deepe yn yonder lake!" They lifted him frome outte the lake And layed him yn his grave, And on ye brink fayre Ysobelle Didde shrieke and rante and rave, Knowing that he was drown-ed quite And nowething coulde him save. Soe fulle of grief and sore remorse Was Ladye Ysobelle, She yn her hearte her daggere plunged And deade she straightely felle And soe her weak and wickede soule Hath founde yts way to Helle! MORALE Nowe alle ye gentyle damoselles Who'd wed a wealthye heir, Goode warninge tayke bye Y sobelle, Unluckye ladye fayre, And nevere drowne a suitor Who micht bee a millyonaire! Irma Peizxotto Sellars. EVENING POST 183 An All-Mahogany ; . Family Runabout ~ Family picnics—fishing excursions—water sports of all sorts are full of pleasure in this new, speedy, family power boat. Capable of speeds up to 30 miles an hour, depending upon load and type of motor used. Motor compartment designed to ac- commodate any size outboard motor. A necessity for every waterside home—every real vacation. Roomy and comfortable. Plenty of space for fishing, camping and picnic equipment. No other boat of its class has so many quality features genuine Mahogany—double planked bottom—upholstered seats—windshield—auto type steering wheel—complete equip- ment—a boat you will be proud to own. Looks and rides like an expensive runabout, yet costs but little more than an ordinary outboard. Built to last a lifetime. Dealers everywhere! Mail coupon or write for booklet and name of dealer near vou. Early orders insure early delivery. Dee-Wite boats may be purchased out of income through Commercial Credit Companies’ Deferred Payment Plan, Dealers! Write for franchise information. A few desirable territories open Boat Division, DWIGHT LUMBER COMPANY Dept. 353, Detroit, Michigan ALL-MAHOGANY MAIL THIS COUPON NOW PLEASURE CRAFT Dwight Lumber Co., Dept. 353, Detroit, Michigan Please send me complete information on new Dee-Wite Runabout, also name of nearest dealer Name Address

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE NECK, AND BUSH THRING I asked my daughters if this young Bush Thring had been tight, but they declared he hadn't, and they said they didn’t under- stand why the older people were making such a hullabaloo over it, because Bush Thring was “‘all right,” and the only reason he happened to have that bottle on his person was because if he left it in his car he was afraid it would be stolen. They ad- mitted that his anxiety in this respect had been a mistake, but they insisted that he had as much right to own liquor as anybody else, and it bothered me quite a little that they should stubbornly maintain this point of view, at their age, though I was sure that they themselves would never join Bush Thring or any other boy in disposing of such a bottle. It surprised me a little at the beach to find that Mr. Carmichael was almost the severest critic of Bush Thring. ‘That boy ought to be run out of society,” he told me and his friend Mr. Blodgett. “‘The young people can say all they want to about his not being tight; people don’t fall down and have to get stitches taken in ‘em except in that condition. What I hate is to see a young man of that age not being able to drink like a gentleman. If he can’t do that he ought to stay out of decent so- ciety!” “T agree absolutely,” Mr. Blodgett said. “But what alarms me is all these young people pouring it down the way this thing shows they do. The idea of boys and girls in their eighteens and twenties getting tight or drinking at all is pretty painful to me, and it’s even disgusting; when they’re older and at an age when there’s a real need of stimulants, why, that’s entirely different.” “‘T should say it is,”” Mr. Carmichael put in. “But what else can you expect under prohibition?” “Not a thing!” Mr. Blodgett told him with strong emphasis. “I don’t want the saloon back myself, but while that law is on the statute books society has got to expect just such disgraceful episodes as this Bush Thring affair continually.” Pretty much the same thing was being said in almost every middle-aged group up and down the beach; all the older people were denouncing Bush Thring and the youngsters and prohibition, and wondering what the world was coming to. Myself, I got sort of a conscious, guilty feeling over being the parent of two young daughters who seemed to be a conspicuous part of the outfit being condemned; especially be- cause I could see that the parents who were going for the “wild young people” didn’t mean their own children but the children of the rest of us, which included mine. Some things I heard made me pretty nervous. I went up to where Mrs. Massey and a number of ladies were sitting, and I saw that Mrs. Massey looked flushed; I understood why, too, when I heard what Mrs. Bullfinch, who was sitting next to her, was saying. “What I want to know,” Mrs. Bullfinch said, “is just how far all this has gone? Now we know that all these wild stories about their drinking are true, how much of the other things we hear are true too? That’s what I'd like to know!” “But surely,” Mrs. Massey told her, “‘we don't know that they all drink.” Another lady there—Mrs. Allstover— was severe with her. “I don’t see how anybody can defend them,” she said. ‘‘ Not after this terrible thing that’s happened. The worst of it was the example it set the younger younger people, because there were any number of mere children at that dance, even as young as fifteen. Think of their seeing such things!” Well, there wasn’t anything else talked about that morning, and the next night Mrs. Massey and I went to a big dinner of about forty middle-aged people at the cottage next door to us, that belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Weeder, and found that the (Continued from Page 9) subject hadn’t been exhausted—not by any means. But that party began rather unfortunately for me, or perhaps it’d be more accurate to say I was in plenty of trouble beforehand, because Mrs. Massey and I were an hour late getting there, and she felt that this was my fault and I couldn’t argue this impression out of her. I'd gone deep-sea fishing that morning with a native in a power dory, and his en- gine broke down about nine miles off shore; we couldn’t get anybody to tow us until along toward sunset, and, as I had to dress after I finally did get home, Mrs. Massey certainly gave me fits. But the dinner party had just sat down at seven or eight small tables when we arrived, and Mrs. Weeder made us feel as comfort- able as she could and said they hadn’t waited at all on our account; so Mrs. Massey began to feel better, especially as everybody seemed very bright and gay and cordial. _ In fact, the whole party were talking all at once and making a great deal of noise, and seemed to be in the highest spirits, even though most of them, so far as I could gather, were still discussing Bush Thring and the doings of the young people. The lady next to me, a Mrs. Dalrymple and right good-looking, though probably some over forty, began to talk to me on this sub- ject as soon as I sat down. “Don’t you think it’s the most shocking thing you ever heard, Mr. Massey?” she asked me. “I don’t suppose we can expect anything better, though, until we can get a President who'll be willing to repeal the Prohibition Act or something. What I feel so terribly myself is the increase in crime, because I have two little sons of my own. The older one is named for his grandfather, General Francis Dalrymple, and the younger one, Henry, is only nine years old. Do you understand what a mother must feel, Mr. Massey, who has two little sons of that age? When you think of all the hi- jacking that goes on, and the terrible things you read in the paper every day about murders and gangsters and kidnaping and all this frightful political corruption, don’t you think we're living in a dreadful epoch, and don’t you see how a mother feels, Mr. Massey? You're a man, I know, and of course you look at things in a different light; but surely, after such a thing has happened at the Saturday night dance at the Jefferson Inn, you can appreciate how a mother would feel about Francis and Henry. I wish you knew my two dear little boys, Mr. Massey, because I think if you did you’d understand what I mean better.” “T’ve seen them at the beach,” I told her. “They’re nice, good-looking boys; but I don’t exactly get your point. I don’t see why they'd give you any worries about hijacking, for instance.” “I didn’t mean hijacking alone,” she said. “I meant the whole crime wave. What a mother has to face is the thought of her innocent, helpless children growing up into a world of lawbreaking and law- breakers, under such conditions as have never been known before. And you can’t keep these conditions from the children, Mr. Massey; you can’t veil their young eyes; you can hardly believe how much they know already about what's going on. Last week, one afternoon, they came back from the movies, and Francis said he hadn't enjoyed it because it was the same old tri- angle, and he was tired of sex shows; and then only yesterday morning my two little boys were playing outside the window where I was writing a letter, and I heard little Francis shouting ‘Bang, bang, bang! You're dead!’ at his brother, and little Henry shouted ‘Bang, bang, bang!’ back at Francis, and said, ‘I’m not dead; you're dead yourself!’ And then they got cross and called each other little names and had a little fight, so that I had to go out and stop them. Henry had a toy automobile full of empty bottles he’d brought up from March 25, 1929 the cellar, and it opened my eyes, Mr. Massey, and shocked me very painfully to find what they were playing. Little Henry said he was George Greg, his papa’s boot- legger, and Francis was playing a hijacker. Now, I ask you: When innocent little children are playing games like that, and young people a little older are behaving the way they do at the Jefferson Inn, isn’t any- thing going to be done about it? How long have we mothers got to go on simply cring- ing with fear when we think of the future of our children?” Mr. Carmichael was at that same table. “If you want to know what I think about it,” he said, “it’s simply this: I think the Jefferson Inn ought to be boycotted and there ought to be a petition to the owners to discharge the manager. If there’d been competent management that thing would never have happened!” Well, they all agreed to that, and so did the people at the next table; they joined in with our conversation and said Mary’s Neck wasn’t safe until a manager could be found who would prevent any boy from drinking anything in the inn or having liquor in a car outside, for that matter. “The whole Neck is down on the Jefferson Inn and Bush Thring,” one of them said; and Mr. Carmichael declared he was going to the president of the corporation that owned the inn, and have the manager fired. “I’m going to tell him the Neck won’t stand for that fellow any longer, and I won't stand for him any longer myself; he’s got to go. I’m going to do that much,” he told us, “because I’m getting pretty tired _of everybody talking so much about the prohibition evil and never doing anything. That’s the whole trouble—people never do anything. We ail know these conditions exist, and yet we sit and fold our hands. My daughter Helen is only five years old, but I wouldn’t let her go out driving in an automobile with any of these young people here for anything on earth. Because I love that child; I love her. And even if I didn’t want her to get killed I wouldn’t let her get the name of being seen around in such com- pany. I wouldn’t let anyone drive her in an automobile except me, and I’ve already made that a rule that she’s got to live by when she gets old enough. She can’t go out with any boy in a car, because you never can tell whether a boy’s been drink- ing or not unless he falls down and breaks whatever he’s got on him. If my daughter ever steps into an automobile it’s going to be one I'm driving myself!” He was very stern as he said this, but right afterward he looked mollified and smiled, because the people over at a table in the corner began to sing just then. This was a table where the host, Mr. Weeder, sat, and the people he had with him there were laughing and kind of cutting up and having a pretty jolly time. I was a little surprised when they began to sing as loudly as they did, sort of putting their heads together to try and make chords, because nobody’d had anything to drink that I’d seen; and this is what they were singing: “We are pals, happy pals, We are all just boys and gals. Whoop er up for a merry time togethah! For we're all just boys and gals, And we love our dear old pals In every kind of weathah!” Mr. Carmichael couldn’t look stern and sing a song like that at the same time, which was the reason he had to modify the severity of expression he’d worn when he was talking about not allowing Helen to go out with boys in any car he wasn’t driving himself. He sang louder than anybody else. Mrs. Dalrymple didn’t seem to approve and began whispering to me about him: “I feel so sorry for Mrs. Carmichael; he always makes such an exhibition of him- self.” (Continued on Page 158)

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ae ee

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156 Travel Furope-ward via ourist FTHIRD C€ABIS Today they choose TOURIST Third Cabin—-for they've found it lively—free of social duties— with many of the members of their own set there. The pride they take in relating European experiences—the poise, the background it lends— make the annual trip an essen- tial. It broadens their outlook on life immeasurably —it’s a modern necessity. Traveling TOURIST Third Cabin via White Star, Red Star or Atlantic Transport Line is within the reach of every purse. Round-trips cost as low as $184.50. In our fleets you have a choice of such famous liners as the Majestic, world’s largest ship, Olympic, Homeric, Belgenland, Lapland, etc.—and two remark- able steamers, Minnekahda and Minnesota, that carry TOURIST Third Cabin passengers exclu- sively. —_—-—— Acrommadations are reserved ex- clasively for American vacation- fetethe sert ef people vou will enjoy traveting with Address Tourist Third Cabin Dept., No. I Broadway, New York, our offices else- where or authorised steamship agents. WHITE STAR LINE RED STAR LINE ATLANTIC TRANSPORT LINE INTERNATIONAL MERCANTELE MARINE COMPANY wrwwvwvwvrvwvwvwvwyv THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23, 1929 THE NECK, AND BUSH THRING I asked my daughters if this young Bush Thring had been tight, but they declared he hadn't, and they said they didn’t under- stand why the older peopie were making such a hullabaloo over it, because Bush Thring was “all right,”” and the only reason he happened to have that bottle on his person was because if he left it in his car he was afraid it would be stolen. They ad- mitted that his anxiety in this respect had been a mistake, but they insisted that he had as much right to own liquor as anybody else, and it bothered me quite a little that they should stubbornly maintain this point of view, at their age, though I was sure that they themselves would never join Bush Thring or any other boy in disposing of such a bottle. It surprised me a little at the beach to find that Mr. Carmichael was almost the severest critic of Bush Thring. “‘That boy ought to be run out of scciety,”’ he told me and his friend Mr. Blodgett. “The young people can say all they want to about his not being tight; people don’t fall down and have to get stitches taken in ’em except in that condition. What I hate is to see a young man of that age not being able to drink like a gentleman. If he can’t do that he ought to stay out of decent so- ciety!” “T agree absolutely,” Mr. Blodgett said. “But what alarms me is all these young people pouring it down the way this thing shows they do. The idea of boys and girls in their eighteens and twenties getting tight or drinking at all is pretty painful to me, and it’s even disgusting; when they’re older and at an age when there’s a real need of stimulants, why, that’s entirely different.” “I should say it is,"" Mr. Carmichael put in. “But what else can you expect under prohibition?” “Not a thing!” Mr. Blodgett told him with strong emphasis. “I don’t want the saloon back myself, but while that law is on the statute books society has got to expect just such disgraceful episodes as this Bush Thring affair continually.” Pretty much the same thing was being said in almost every middle-aged group up and down the beach; all the older people were denouncing Bush Thring and the youngsters and prohibition, and wondering what the world was coming to. Myself, I got sort of a conscious, guilty feeling over being the parent of two young daughters who seemed to be a conspicuous part of the outfit being condemned; especially be- cause I could see that the parents who were going for the “wild young people” didn’t mean their own children but the children of the rest of us, which included mine. Some things I heard made me pretty nervous. I weut up to where Mrs. Massey and a number of ladies were sitting, and I saw that Mrs. Massey looked flushed; I understood why, too, when I heard what Mrs. Bullfinch, who was sitting next to her, was saying. “What I want to know,” Mrs. Bullfinch said, “is just how far all this has gone? Now we know that all these wild stories about their drinking are true, how much of the other things we hear are true too? That’s what I'd like to know!” “But surely,” Mrs. Massey told her, “we don’t know that they all drink.” Another lady there—Mrs. Allstover— was severe with her. “I don’t see how anybody can defend them,” she said. “ Not after this terrible thing that’s happened. The worst of it was the example it set the younger younger people, because there were any number of mere children at that dance, even as young as fifteen. Think of their seeing such things!” Well, there wasn’t anything else talked about that morning, and the next night Mrs. Massey and I went to a big dinner of about forty middle-aged people at the cottage next door to us, that belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Weeder, and found that the (Continued from Page 9) subject hadn’t been exhausted—not by any means. But that party began rather unfortunately for me, or perhaps it’d be more accurate to say I was in plenty of trouble beforehand, because Mrs. Massey and I were an hour late getting there, and she felt that this was my fault and I couldn’t argue this impression out of her. I'd gone deep-sea fishing that morning with a native in a power dory, and his en- gine broke down about nine miles off shore; we couldn’t get anybody to tow us until along toward sunset, and, as I had to dress after I finally did get home, Mrs. Massey certainly gave me fits. But the dinner party had just sat down at seven or eight small tables when we arrived, and Mrs. Weeder made us feel as comfort- able as she could and said they hadn’t waited at all on our account; so Mrs. Massey began to feel better, especially as everybody seemed very bright and gay and cordial. — In fact, the whole party were talking all at once and making a great deal of noise, and seemed to be in the highest spirits, even though most of them, so far as I could gather, were still discussing Bush Thring and the doings of the young people. The lady next to me, a Mrs. Dalrymple and right good-looking, though probably some over forty, began to talk to me on this sub- ject as soon as I sat down. “Don’t you think it’s the most shocking thing you ever heard, Mr. Massey?”’ she asked me. “I don’t suppose we can expect anything better, though, until we can get a President who'll be willing to repeal the Prohibition Act or something. What I feel so terribly myself is the increase in crime, because I have two little sons of my own. The older one is named for his grandfather, General Francis Dalrymple, and the younger one, Henry, is only nine years old. Do you understand what a mother must feel, Mr. Massey, who has two little sons of that age? When you think of all the hi- jacking that goes on, and the terrible things you read in the paper every day about murders and gangsters and kidnaping and all this frightful political corruption, don’t you think we're living in a dreadful epoch, and don’t you see how a mother feels, Mr. Massey? You're a man, I know, and of course you look at things in a different light; but surely, after such a thing has happened at the Saturday night dance at the Jefferson Inn, you can appreciate how a mother would feel about Francis and Henry. I wish you knew my two dear little boys, Mr. Massey, because I think if you did you’d understand what I mean better.” “T’ve seen them at the beach,” I told her. “They’re nice, good-looking boys; but I don’t exactly get your point. I don’t see why they’d give you any worries about hijacking, for instance.” “I didn’t mean hijacking alone,’’ she said. “I meant the whole crime wave. What a mother has to face is the thought of her innocent, helpless children growing up into a world of lawbreaking and law- breakers, under such conditions as have never been known before. And you can’t keep these conditions from the children, Mr. Massey; you can’t veil their young * eyes; you can hardly believe how much they know already about what's going on. Last week, one afternoon, they came back from the movies, and Francis said he hadn't enjoyed it because it was the same old tri- angle, and he was tired of sex shows; and then only yesterday morning my two little boys were playing outside the window where I was writing a letter, and I heard little Francis shouting ‘Bang, bang, bang! You're dead!’ at his brother, and little Henry shouted ‘Bang, bang, bang!’ back at Francis, and said, ‘I’m not dead: you’re dead yourself!’ And then they got cross and called each other little names and had a little fight, so that I had to go out and stop them. Henry had a toy automobile full of empty bottles he’d brought up from the cellar, and it opened my eyes, Mr. Massey, and shocked me very painfully to find what they were playing. Little Henry said he was George Greg, his papa’s boot- legger, ar.d Francis was playing a hijacker. Now, I ask you: When innocent little children are playing games like that, and young people a little older are behaving the way they do at the Jefferson Inn, isn’t any- thing going to be done about it? How long have we mothers got to go on simply cring- ing with fear when we think of the future of our children?” Mr. Carmichael was at that same table. “Tf you want to know what I think about it,” he said, “it’s simply this: I think the Jefferson Inn ought to be boycotted and there ought to be a petition to the owners to discharge the manager. If there’d been competent management that thing would never heave happened!” Well, they all agreed to that, and so did the people at the next table; they joined in with our conversation and said Mary’s Neck wasn’t safe until a manager could be found who would prevent any boy from drinking anything in the inn or having liquor in a car outside, for that matter. “The whole Neck is down on the Jefferson Inn and Bush Thring,” one of them said; and Mr. Carmichael declared he was going to the president of the corporation that owned the inn, and have the manager fired. “T’m going to tell him the Neck won’t stand for that fellow any longer, and I won't stand for him any longer myself; he’s got to go. I’m going to do that much,” he told us, “‘because I’m getting pretty tired _ of everybody talking so much about the prohibition evil and never doing anything. That’s the whole trouble—people never do anything. We all know these conditions exist, and yet we sit and fold our hands. My daughter Helen is only five years old, but I wouldn’t let her go out driving in an automobile with any of these young people here for anything on earth. Because I love that child; I love her. And even if I didn’t want her to get killed I wouldn’t let her get the name of being seen around in such com- pany. I wouldn’t let anyone drive her in an automobile except me, and I've already made that a rule that she’s got to live by when she gets old enough. She can’t go out with any boy in a car, because you never can tell whether a boy’s been drink- ing or not unless he falls down and breaks whatever he’s got on him. If my daughter ever steps into an automobile it’s going to be one I’m driving myself!” He was very stern as he said this, but right afterward he looked mollified and smiled, because the people over at a table in the corner began te sing just then. This was a table where the host, Mr. Weeder, sat, and the people he had with him there were laughing and kind of cutting up and having a pretty jolly time. I was a little surprised when they began to sing as loudly as they did, sort of putting their heads together to try and make chords, because nobody’d had anything to drink that I'd seen; and this is what they were singing: “We are pals, happy pals, We are all just boys and gals. Whoop ’er up for a merry time togethah! For we're all just boys and gals, And we love our dear old pals In every kind of weathah!” Mr. Carmichael couldn’t look stern and sing a song like that at the same time, which was the reason he had to modify the severity of expression he’d worn when he was talking about not allowing Helen to go out with boys in any car he wasn’t driving himself. He sang louder than anybody else. Mrs. Dalrymple didn’t seem to approve and began whispering to me about him: “I feel so sorry for Mrs. Carmichael; he always makes such an exhibition of him- self.” (Continued on Page 158) a

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We will gladly send a copy of this report. Ozite. Rug Cushion CLINTON ¢ oe T COMPANY, 130 N. Wells Street, Chicago New York Factories: Newark, N. J.; Milwaukee, Wis.; Los Angeles, Los Angeles Cal; St. Johns, Quebec, Canada: Nuremberg, Germany B (American Hair and Felt Co., Mfrs.) OZITE IS UNCONDITIONALLY GUARANTEED TO SATISFY S39 CLINTON CARPET CO., 130 N. Wells St., Chicago Please send me a free sample of Ozite Cushion and your free booklet, “The Proper Care of Rugs and Carpets”. Neme Address srbeeningsinnah-liptiaitteiiiatiapanavinitiannnianindals EVENING POST (Continued from Page 156) But it didn’t seem to me that he was mak- ing an exhibition of himself particularly; he was just singing like the people at that other table, and keeping time on the edge of his plate with his knife and fork, the way they were; and to me it seemed a pretty innocent kind of jollity. The only thing that surprised me about it was that people | who appeared to feel so badly and speak | with so much severity about the episode at the Jefferson Inn and the dangers of life for young children could brighten up so quickly | and feel so lively. I was a little depressed | myself, thinking of Clarissa and Enid, and | the general condemnation applied to every- | body of their age, but I tried to look gay and keep myself perked up into the spirit | of the occasion. Evidently this was being a mighty successful party, and when we left the table and went out to the other rooms and the piazza, most of these middle- aged people began to frolic almost -as if they were children again. Mrs. Massey and I had been to quite a number of small dinners at Mary’s Neck, but this was the first big party we'd joined up with, and it was pleasant and surprising to see how jolly and unconscious and in- formal these people were when they got together in this way. Mr. Weeder and two other gentlemen and three of the ladies went parading up and down the long living- room with their arms about one another's shoulders, and singing: “We are pals, happy pals, We are all just boys and gals. Whoop ‘er up for a merry time togethah! For we're all just boys and gals, And we love our dear old pals In every kind of weathah!”’ Every now and then they paraded into Mr. Weeder’s study, stayed in there a while and came out again, singing louder than ever. There was another group of | seven or eight doing almost the same thing; they went into Mr. Weeder’s study, too; then they’d come out and tramp up and down the piazza in the moonlight, singing The Old Oaken Bucket, and one of the ladies pretended to be a jockey riding the piazza railing for a horse, shouting “‘Gee-up, Dexter!"’ and whipping with the poker, while the rest played that they were cheering her on to win races. This seemed pretty light-hearted for people mostly over forty to be doing, and I noticed that some of the younger members of the Weeder family, a couple of girls and a boy between twelve and fifteen years old, were looking on from out in the yard with some play- mates of theirs, and seemed to be enjoying it too. When I went in again a man was passing around a tray of pretty sizable highballs, and I said to Mr. Blodgett, who was helping himself to one, that it didn't appear to me any artificial stimulus was needed for people already enjoying them- selves so thoroughly in their natural high spirits. “Yes,”’ he said, “it’s a lovely evening; but you missed the foundation.” “What was that?” I asked him. “A solid hour,” he told me. ‘One solid | hour of cocktailing before dinner. Per- fectly beautiful!” I didn’t take a highball myself, because I don’t like them, and just then Mrs. Dal- | rymple called to me to come and sit with her and some other ladies, and so I went to jointhem. They were talking pretty loudly; but they had to, because Mr. Weeder and his group of paraders had begun to play poker at a table right near and were mak- ing a terrible noise. “We're back on the same subject, Mr. | Massey,” Mrs. Dalrymple said tome. “‘We were discussing what ought to be done about | the Jefferson Inn and that boy, Bush Thring, | and we want to get your opinion.” | saying. Mrs. Allstover was one of this group, and she took up what Mrs. Dalrymple was “It’s the whole question of the | young people, not just this one instance of wildness,” she said, and she took some ice | out of her glass and put it in an ash tray. March 25,1929 “‘What ought to concern us parents is their general behavior, not merely this Bush Shring sing—I mean this Bush Thring thing. What I mean, being the mother of a son just grown to manhood myself, the way the girls of this generation try to attract the boys alarms me as much as anything. I simply can’t get over the way they dress; and nobody can tell me that wearing knee- length skirts doesn’t have a most delete- rious effect. Why, if I'd worn such clothes when I was eighteen or nineteen I think my father would have whipped me!” “So would mine!” Mrs. Osgood, another lady of this group, chimed in. “I often wake up at night thinking of the danger my own son is exposed to from these modern girls. For instance, look at the way they smoke! When a young man and a girl get to smoking together ———”’ Mrs. Dalrymple interrupted; she was smoking a cigarette herself, in a long, am- ber holder, and she laughed. “No, I think we ought to be a little broad-minded about that. I’ve always believed that a girl has just as much right to smoke as a boy has. It’s these short skirts that I object to, be- cause of their deleterious effect. They can’t heip but have that kind of effect, because what I say is, human nature is human na- ture every time. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Bullfinch?”’ “Yes,”’ Mrs. Bullfinch answered, “I do. I believe you're right.” “Certainly you are,” Mrs. Allstover put in, and she appealed to me. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Massey? Don’t you agree that human nature is human nature every time?” “Well, I don’t know,” I said, because I was a little embarrassed by the question. The clothes these ladies were wearing didn’t seem to be very different from what they were criticizing, and the way they were sitting around in them made me feel kind of conscious while we were on that subject, and I was afraid they might have the idea I was affected by human nature myself, which wasn't the case; and I didn’t like to commit myself in any way that would make it appear it was. “‘What I mean,” I went on, getting red—-‘‘I mean we're all pretty much used to 'em by this time, so we hardly notice any more, and I doubt if the boys think anything about it. My own two daughters a But of course all the ladies broke out at me there and said they'd never dreamed of thinking anything about human nature as connected with my girls; they all agreed that Enid and Clarissa were perfect, and they'd never dreamed of criticizing them; they were talking about the other girls entirely. “It’s the whole subject of the younger generation,” Mrs. Dalrymple said, “and what sort of men and women they’re going to grow up to be—that’s the problem we parents have to face.’’ She paused for a moment, because the man with the tray was going around again and stopped be- side her. She declined any more, but fin- ished the glass she already had and put it on his tray. Then she went on: “What's brought the question to a head is this Push Shring thing.”” She coughed and corrected herself, speaking slowly: ‘“‘This Bush Thing—this Bush Thring thing. I mean, there’s one terrible phase that is the worst of the whole situation and it’s what we parents ought to regard most seriously of all, because we ought to regard it that way if we have any regard not only for our own children but regard for the future of our country. Don’t you all think so?” She spoke with a great deal of earnestness and pretty impressively, and, though I couldn't quite make out her meaning, the other ladies all looked serious and seemed to agree with her. “Every single word you say is true,” Mrs. Bullfinch said; and the others nodded and said indeed it was. Mrs. Dalrymple looked a little cross. “Wait till I come to the point,” she told them. ‘“‘What I mean is, the most terrible evil of all the evils of prohibition is the (Continued on Page 161

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| ‘ ' | —_— pas —== f (Continued from Page 158) affect on our children and our young people in teaching them disrespect for law. Isn’t that what they’re learning all over the United States? Aren’t all the little chil- dren in the land growing up to hold the very Constitution of our country in dis- respect and contempt? Isn't that the worst of the evil?” At that, the whole group broke out into exclamations that showed how enthusias- tically they agreed with her. “You put your finger on the very spot,” Mrs. Allstover told her. “It’s just what my husband and I have said a thousand times. What sort of citizens is this disrespect for law going to make of our children?” “It’s exactly what Mr. Bullfinch says to me practically every day,” Mrs. Bullfinch put in. “‘‘What right have a few bigots,’ he keeps asking me—‘what right have a few bigots to take away the personal liberty of the whole country and bring on this crime wave and teach our children to grow up disrespecting the laws?’ Mr. Bullfinch says these bigots # She went on, but nobody could hear her because all the ladies began to talk at once, telling how their husbands said the same thing and how strongly they agreed with them, and besides, Mr. Carmichael came up to the group just then and joined in. He didn’t sit down with us; he just kind of leaned on Mrs. Bullfinch, holding his glass over her as he talked, so that she got nervous and changed her seat. But he went on leaning against the side of the chair and didn’t seem to notice. ‘You're ab- solutely right, Mrs. Bullfinch,” he said, and he was frowning severely. “‘That’s what my little Helen’s got to face—an utter disrespect for the laws of her coun- try. I love that child. I tell you I love her, and so does my wife love her. Mrs. Carmichael loves her, too. I love her and she loves her and we both love her, and we're her own father and mother. I don’t mean the rest of you don’t love your own children, because there wouldn’t be any reason for you not to, and so you probably do, because they’re all in the same boat and have got to grow up with this disrespect for law hanging over ‘em; and until that amendment is repealed we can’t do any- thing to abate it—not a thing! We're helpless—absolutely helpless. We're help- less to help our children—helpless to help little helpless children. We're helpless to help little helpless children and they can’t help themselves, and we can’t help our- selves, so we're helpless.” He went on talking about helplessness that way, but it was hard to hear him be- cause there was so much noise, and Mrs. Dalrymple told me not to pay any atten- tion to him anyhow. “Everybody has the greatest sympathy for his wife,’ she told me. “Mrs. Car- michael is a perfect martyr to him, because she can hold so much more than he can without showing it; it spoils all her pleasure in going out.” But Mr. Carmichael was determined to make himself heard. ‘“‘Can’t you ladies listen to me for one minute?” he shouted at them. “I’ve got something important to say about this affair of Push— Puss—I mean that boy. Are we going to fold our hands as if we were absolutely helpless?” He seemed to get angry, and he shook his fist at Mrs. Allstover for emphasis. “‘ You may be helpless, Mrs. Bullfinch,”’ he said. “But I’m not; I’m not a helpless man! I’m going to have the manager of the Jefferson Inn fired by nine o’clock tomorrow morn- ing, and I’m going to have Push Bring sent away from here on a longy long sailing voyage. Am I right or am I wrong?” Nobody answered him, maybe because just then a phonograph broke out with the loudest kind of jazz in the next room, and the racing people came in from the piazza pretty noisily. They were trotting in single file, stooped over, and shouting “Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!” pretending they were Indians. Then some more people came out of Mr. Weeder’s study, where they’d been all the time; they were singing about how they THE SATURDAY were dear old pals and just boys and gals, and they joined the Indians, and all of them went into the room where the music was; and Mr. Carmichael went with them, and he and Mr. Blodgett waltzed together until they bumped into the man with the tray and all three of them fell down. Then, just as this happened, a most awful squealing broke out, and at first I | thought it was Mr. Carmichael, and that | he must be hurt; but he didn’t have such a treble voice as this squealing was in, so I saw it was something else. It came from outside a window that opened on the pi- azza, and pretty soon I understood what it was, because a nursemaid looked in at the window and spoke to Mrs. Weeder, who was at the poker table with her hus- band’s party. “It’s Master Charlie,” the nursemaid told her. “I can’t get him to go to bed, | and he kicks and fights me something dreadful because he says he wants to keep on watching the party. I can’t do a thing with him!” Mr. Weeder pushed over a pile of chips he owed one of the ladies and told the nursemaid to bring Charlie to him; so she came round in the door, leading the little boy by the hand, and Mr. Weeder patted him on the head. “Kiss da-da good night,” he said; and little Charlie did it, and kissed his mother, and then marched off with the nurse like a little man. Everybody said what a sweet, obedient child he was; then the ladies where I was sitting got back again to the subject we'd been talking about before; and somebody shut the doors into the room where the phonograph and dancing were going on, so we could hear ourselves. “Besides this disrespect for law that they’re learning,” Mrs. Osgood said, “there’s another angle to it that bothers me whenever I think of it. What I mean by another angle is simply another view of the same proposition. If children aren’t brought up to respect the law they simply haven’t any respect for it, and that’s the angle I was speaking of as the other view you could take of it, if you were looking at it from a different angle. For instance, if you do look at it from this angle I’m speak- ing of, what other conclusion can you come to? Mr. Massey, naturally you're a man, and so, of course, being a man, you'd prob- ably be apt to take a man’s angle yourself; but I wish you’d explain these different an- gles to us and give us your opinion. Besides being a man with that angle, you're a father, too, and that would help to explain. Would you tell us, simply and plainly, what you think about it?” What she said confused me considerably, and I told her I was afraid I didn’t under- stand her question, so Mrs. Dalrymple made it clearer. “It’s like this,” she said. troubles us is the fudility of it all—I mean the futility of it all—and we want to know if you see any remedy? Mr. Carmichael doesn’t often speak very wisely, but there is something in what he said. Are we as helpless as he believes? Are we simply to sit with folded hands and see our children growing up to learn this disregard for law that distresses us all so terribly?” “Let me understand you a little better,” I said. “I’m still a little confused about your question. If I get it anywhere near right, you’re asking me whether, or not I can imagine anything you could do that would help to keep your children from growing up with a disrespect for the law and the Constitution. Is that correct?” “Yes,” she told me, “exactly. That's what we want to know.” Well, I didn’t want to be a wet blanket, but since she put it that way and all these ladies leaned forward as if they thought I might be going to say something impor- tant, it seemed to me that I really ought to tell them. I was going to do it, too; but just then the man with the tray came around again; and this time there was a big bowl of bubbling punch, with ice and (Continued on Page 163 “What EVENING POST 161 Do you mix dirt te os A twist abit with your oil ? -of the wrist keeps the filter 1002 efficient J $700 COMPLETE oe 4 4- 3 Never needs replacement “Of course not,” you say. Yet you leave dirt there when it once gets in. For even changing the oil won’t remove all the dirt—and more keeps accumulating. The oil picks up these abrasive particles and carries them to the motor—unless your filter is veally filtering. EFFICIENT FILTER ESSENTIAL—The aver. age car has some sort of device for straining the oil—working at first, but soon starting to clog up with free carbon, metal particles, road dirt, water and sludge In a short time the oil can no longer pass through the filtering material. Pressure builds up A by-pass (or direct outlet) opens and allows the oil to continue through the system. 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162 THE Bradshaw ra nile } SATURDAY EVENING POST 4 made the A&P stores the most widely patron- HE increasing demand of American women for genuinely good foods has ized in America. Throughout the United States and in Canada, every day, in thousands of communities served by A&P stores, the women who discriminate, buy their needs at their nearest A&P. The positive assurance that everything bought at A&P is so reliable ...so satisfying to the appetite ...and so reasonable in price, is causing thousands of women to adopt this new way of shopping ... one store, the A&P, for all their food needs. THE GREAT ATLANTIC & PAcIFIC TEA COMPANY At the A&P you are gure to find the popular, nationally advertised brands of groceries March 23,1929 Pes ee i aa ee

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(Continued from Page 161) fruit in it, and Mrs. Osgood gave a little cry of delight. “Wait, Mr. Massey,” she told me. “This is a champagne punch, and no one in the world knows how to make it like Mrs. Weeder. Wait till we all get our glasses filled and then tell us what you were going to say, and we'll enjoy. your remarks infinitively more and everything’ll be simply delicious! Wait just a minute, Mr. Massey.” I wu ited, of course, but just when they had all fixed themselves with supplies and said they were ready for me to Speak up, somebody opened the doors into the room where the dancing was going on, and Mr. Blodgett and Mr. Carmichael came out, dancing together, but not managing the steps very well; and Mrs. Carmichael was trying to separate them and make her hus- band listen to what she was saying about hiring a car to go home instead of letting him drive, which she wasn’t going to do, because she had some regard for her life, she told him. Then all the other dancers came out with their arms around one another, and singing: “We are pals, happy pals, We are all just boys and gals!” At that, the ladies who’d been sitting with me joined in the song, waving their glasses; and most of ’em stood up to kind of swing with the song and make it louder, the way people do when they get in the spirit of a thing like that; so I knew they hadn’t expected me to say anything very useful in response to their question, after all. And Mrs. Massey came to me just then and said for heaven’s sake let’s go home, because she couldn’t stand the noise any more and was getting a headache. So we told Mr. and Mrs. Weeder good-night, and got away. Walking across from the Weeders’ lawn to ours, I told Mrs. Massey about the question the ladies had asked me, and she said she was mighty glad I hadn’t answered it, because all they’d have felt was that I was some sort of a narrow-minded fanatic or something that wanted to spoil every- thing, and it would have made me thor- oughly unpopular and not have done one bit of good to anybody. I said I guessed she was right, and of course she was; and then we walked up our own piazza steps, and there in a wicker chair, talking to our two girls, sat nobody on earth but Mr. Bush Thring. He jumped up right away and said he’d been waiting to see me, which surprised me pretty uncomfortably, but I took him into the house and asked him what I could do for him. Of course I couldn’t help feeling a little prejudiced against him, the way anybody naturally does when a whole community goes around saying how terrible somebody is, and besides, when you hear anybody’s name as much mispronounced as I’d heard his, it sort of sets you against him a lit- tle bit, even though there isn’t any reason in such a thing. But I couldn’t help no- ticing that he was a right manly-looking boy in spite of all this; he was serious, too, and kind of quiet and modest. “Sir,” he said, “I thought I ought to speak with you before coming to your house to see your daughters again, because I don’t want to be here if you don’t want me here, and if you don’t, I’d rather have you tell me yourself than put either Enid or Clarissa to the embarrassment of your having one of them tell me you don’t want me.” “Well, that’s fair,” I said. “Go on.” He did. “I know that since last Satur- day night I’ve been talked about pretty severely, but it seems to me I might be able THE SATURDAY to say a word for myself to people whose houses I like to go to, and let them judge for themselves. I hadn't had a single drink out of that bottle I broke, Mr. Massey, as it happened, but I don’t say I didn’t mean to use some of it later, because I did. Four or five of the other boys and I were going to have a little party among ourselves down on the beach with cold lobster and some- thing to drink. That's all there was to it, except for the accident of my falling down. I’m twenty-two myself, and the other boys | who planned the lobster feast are about my age, and what we all are sorry for is that there were a number of youngsters around sixteen or so at the dance, and of course it isn’t good for them to think that we older fellows are running rather wild.” “So that worries you?” I asked him. “What about the people older than you? Don’t you think such a thing might have a bad effect on middle-aged people too? Don’t you think it might help to make them feel a disrespect for the law and the Consti- tution?” He looked troubled. “I hope not,” he told me. harm, sir, if boys of my age have a little party like that now and then, if they don’t carry it too far and just have a good time among themselves. But I do hate to see older people doing too much in that line. It may be inconsistent, sir, but you'll find that most everybody of my age feels that the worst of the whole prohibition evil is the way the older people seem to be show- ing more and more disrespect for the law and the Constitution, the older they get.” “So vou don’t think ” I began; but we had to stop talking for a minute be- cause the noise at the next cottage got so loud just then. Besides the singing and music and dancing that was going on, there was a big thumping and bumping and some more louder singing than ever, and then the racket of an automobile engine in the driveway, being raced, and I heard Mrs. Carmichael shouting: “Get him out of that car, Mr. Blodgett! Don’t let him throw the cluich in!” And Mr. Carmichael was singing some more about how they were all just boys and gals, and seeming to have quite a little fight at the same time with Mr. Blodgett, who was using a good deal of language. “Yes, sir?” Bush Thring said, when there was a chance for us to hear each other again. “‘ You were asking me?” “Ever since I came here,” I told him, “I’ve been hearing more and more about how wild all you young people are, but I haven't been able to find out exactly how wild you really are. What do you think about it yourself? Do you think any other people are a-little wilder than you are, maybe?” “Do I think?” he asked me, and I could see he was going on to say quite a good deal; but I stopped him. “Tt’s all right,” I told him. “You've stirred things up enough at Mary’s Neck without starting any arguments of the kind I see you’re thinking of. It’s evident that somebody else is always the wild one; but we'll let that go; there’s another question I want to ask you. It concerns this disre- spect for the law and Constitution you said was bothering you. Do you think there’s anything could be done about it?” He frowned, looking thoughtful. ‘ Yes, sir,” he said, “‘I think a great deal could be done to remedy the situation. I think if these middle-aged and older people could be got to take this question seriously and give up their za “Never mind,” I told him. “Go back to the piazza and talk to the girls about it, if you want to; I’ve already got too much on my mind.” “I don’t think there’s much | EVENING POST 16; Mode/ “4 ’ Sedan $5,100 DEALERS: A ma- terial expansion in Gar Wood repre sentation is now under way. Those who can represent a distinguished product to a dis tinguished clien- tele are invited to investigate this profit opportunity Will You Turn Your Back on ADVENTURE Again This Year? The high road to romance, to glowing health, to childhood’s wistful land of make-believe lies over the sparkling waterways. The great American revolt from week-ends of dust, din and detours, traffic lights and don'ts, will bring you too to the water's edge one of these days and to a beautiful little ship that is all your own to pilot where you please Don't let another summer slip away without really finding out about boats. Perhaps you didn't know that the best of today’s boats handle as easily as a fine car and require no more attention. Perhaps you never realized that they cost no more to run, that the first cost has been tremendously lowered during the past few years by volume production methods taught by the automobile industry. And perhaps you never knew that Gar Wood, international speed king of motor boating, builds the most beautiful and sweet running pleasure boats you will find afloat. These Baby Gars, as they are called, are standardized boats allowing you the utmost economy in various types and various speeds. But every Baby Gar is built with the same care and by the same craftsmen as Gar Wood's international winner, Miss America VII, the fastest boat in the world. There is a limit, however, to the number of boats the Gar Wood shops can turn out this year And, so you may be sure of a Baby Gar (and not just a boat), we suggest you write today for de- tailed information and the name of the dealer in your locality. Baby Gar “30"'—120 h.p 30-32 m.p.h - 2 Baby Gar “40"'—200 h.p 40-42 m.p.h. $4,500-$5,350 Baby Gar “50"'—400 h.p > Oso 18-50 m.p.h $8,950 Baby Gar ““55"°—500 h.p 53-55 m.p.h. $10,950 THE GREATEST NAME IN MOTORBOATING 421 Connecticut Ave., Detroit, Michigan 1860 Broadway at Gist St. N. Y. ¢

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1G4 This tire is built to stand ,. then BONDED a gamst abuse ben want trouble-free tires. How are you going to be sure of getting them? Suppose you were offered a certainty, by a manu- facturer who had had a 40-year record of absolute iability. Suppose that this tire company had cen so successful that you just knew it must be ntelligent Suppose that tire company backed cach tire with most sweeping guarantee ever offered. Sup- pose this guarantee not only covered your tires rainst usual tire hazards, but also against ac- cidents, such as collisions and milk bottles and even against ABUSES You wouid hardly believe such a guarantee. You would think the manufacturer had gone crazy to offer such a puarantce But when you know the tire-maker has been proved of more-than-average intelligence over a period of 40 years when you know his reputa- rion is such that he could borrow millions on his mere mame then, even the most skeptical must believe No ordinary tire couid carry this guarantee Dunlop would be too intelligent to offer such a ruarantee on an ordinary tire. If the brains and the materials were not put into cach Dunlop in uch full measure as to make it stand abuse, a guarantee like this would be suicidal All the way from Egypt, where only the finest long-staple cotton is selected through Dun- lop’s own spinning mills at Utica, N. Y., where the cord is spun _ all the way from the rubber plantations on the other side of the globe .. . DUNLOP THE SATURDAY EVENING POST abuse through the great Dunlop factories at Buffalo. . . where the rubber and the cord are transformed into the finished tire by master craftsmen at every step this question guides all: ‘ Will this make a tire that can stand abuse?” . Dunlop is confident of the answer. A guarantee that is a seal of confidence A guarantee? It is far more than that ‘What will make the public SURE that this guar- antee will be fulfilled to the very letter?” Dunlop asked that question and thought it through like this The public knows that a Surety Bond is as certain as the law of gravity. The public knows that of ali the companies issuing Surety Bonds, none has a higher rating of intelligence and reliability than the American Surety Company of New York. ‘Is the tire good enough to stand up under such a Surety Bond?” That was the natural question of the bonding ex- perts. The fact that they decided to put the name of the American Surety Company behind the guarantee, was the answer It is sweeping . . . it covers tire hazards from acci- dents to abuses. It is iron-clad . . . a guarantee in the form of a regular Surety Bond, backed both by Dunlop and the American Surety Company. Betore you buy another tire, you will want to know about this. Why not read a copy now Without a mite of obligation to you we will mail you a specimen Surety Bond FREE. Mail the coupon today. March 23,1929 . AMERICAN | SURETY | COMPANY \ of New YorK AMERICAN SURETY BUILDING 100 Broadwoy. New Vork City SPECIMEN oT THE DUNLOP TIRE AND RUBBER COMPANY Department 317, Buffalo, New York Please send me free specimen copy of the new Dunlop Surety Bond. It is understood this does not obligate me in anv way Name Street City State. - = ee ed ee SS ES SS ——

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“Tf it works out it works out,” Carl said, pronouncing judgment, “and if it don't work out it’s a good setback fur him once.” Hearty fragrances filled the kitchen next morning. The fragrance of sausage, the fragrance of browning batter cakes, the fragrance of frying new-laid eggs. Carl liked to drench his cakes with the broken yellows of his eggs and eat them in great dripping forkfuls. It was shortly after day- light and the Holzoppel family was blinking sleepily. “Carl.” The old man put his knife and fork down quietly. Something in the ap- pearance of his sons’ clothing had caught his attention. He closed his eyes and opened them again, and they clung to the coat of his first-born. ‘“‘Carl’’—his voice was unbelieving—“‘what makes it, with your coat?” Carl’s hand fumbled self-consciously where his buttons had been and where now there was a neat unornamented line which marked where the plain side of his coat had been pulled over and fastened with hooks and eyes. “I’ve “ent Plain,”’ he said stol- idly. ‘‘Max too. We've went Plain.” His eyes sought his sister's. “They found it in their hearts,” Alfie prompted. ‘You found it in your heart for to join the Plain People, didn’t you, Carlie?’’ Her tone was honeyed. ‘Only last night they asked me would I sew the hooks and the eyes on for them.” “Max.” The old man’s eyes went to his other son. “Max.” His voice broke. His hands were unsteady on their shoulders. ‘“‘Boys—stand up once, boys.” They stood. ‘“‘We—we went Plain.” Max shuffled sheepishly. “Carl.” Their father’s voice was still uncertain. ‘‘ Maxie.’’ He stood up too. He put a hand on a shoulder of each and bowed his head. He prayed. The others listened, red creeping up the necks of his sons, up the cheeks, up the temples. The breakfast grew cold and still he prayed. He brought his old Bible out and read a chapter from it and blew his nose and sat down. Mrs. Holzoppel got up heavily and scraped charred remnants of batter cake from her smooth black iron griddle in a daze and poured fresh batter on. She lifted a corner of her apron and wiped her eyes. She came back smiling to the table. “For a long time I have prayed it in my heart,’ the old man said. “And me—me, too.”” Mrs. Holzoppel's apron came up again and fresh tears started. “But I didn’t think ever that I should live to see this day.’”’ Jake Holzoppel looked at his two stalwart sons and his eyes re- joiced. He helped himself generously to hot griddlecakes. Alfie picked a morsel of food up daintily with her fork and placed it in her mouth. “Such a talking to as you gave them last night, pop,”’ she said archly. “They took it right into their hearts. Ain't it, Carlie?” “It is so,” Carl groped for words redly. “Such words you had, they stuck by us. We talked them out down in the lane. ‘Why ain’t you Plain?’ you asked us. ‘ Your pop is Plain, and your grandpop before him was ——-’”’ “Runnin’—always runnin’ out by par- ties, by dances and by motion-pitcher shows,’ Max said lugubriously. “You had right, pop. It will be different by us now. We—we talked ourselves into goin’ Plain once.” “All new clothes we couldn’t buy us at once—that we knew—but Alfie ——”’ “I snipped the buttons right off of their coats and shirts,” Alfie said self-righteously. “I sewed the hooks and the eyes onto them. I’’—she cast her eyes down now in sweet humility and her voice became almost in- audible—‘“‘I maybe will join too. I—I got it in my head to think about.” “Och!” Jake Holzoppel was speechless. “Och, mom!” He looked about at his chastened family with unbelieving eyes. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST CONVICTION OF SIN Continued from Page 19 Only last night they had stood up to him, they had talked the heresy of the young, the heresy of the new jazz-mad generation that he trembled for. And now look at them: “‘Och, mom!” He was helpless be- fore his unwonted emotion. He could only harpoon a fresh helping of griddlecakes and begin eating industriously. “You could maybe cook me another egg, mom,” he said gently. Alfie seemed loath to start to school. She took her apron off and washed her hands at the kitchen sink. She went up to her room and felt about with her hands on the bot- tom of one of her bureau drawers. From under the heaps of freshly laundered under- things she retrieved a box of powder and a box of rouge. She made her face up dain- tily. You never knew who was going to drive by the mile and a half of highway that led to the school. Rubbing a rouged finger delicately across her upper lip, she knelt softly down by an open register in the floor. Her room was above the kitchen and in winter a pipe brought heat from the kitchen stove to this hole in the floor. She put her ear down close to the grating. She listened. “Och, boys!” She heard her father boom at length, and she hugged herself tightly. “We got to get started on those there po- tatoes today. It comes our turn for the trucks pretty soon.”” He spoke with huge complacency. His crop was probably the best in the county and he’d realize a neat sum from it this year. “I got the tractor all cleaned and oiled as far back as last week a’ready.”’ His complacency spread. “ You could maybe take her out this morning, Carl, and Max this afternoon.” The boys were silent, and Alfie leaned closer to the grating, hugging herself more tightly. “We ain't got no time to lose,” their father said sharply. “If a frost comes once it will maybe learn you to move.” “It don’t seem to me I could very handy take the tractor out this morning,” Carl said slowly. Alfie put both hands to her mouth to silence a little squeal of delight. “What!” Her father’s tone was sus- picious. “‘ Well,” he grunted, ‘‘ Maxie, then. You, Maxie ——’ “It don’t seem like I—I " Max came close to choking. “It don’t seem like I could very handy take the tractor out this morning either, pop.” ““Whatever!"’ Alfie heard her father’s voice go up in astonishment, and she rocked back and forth on the floor. “You go out and start that there machine!” he roared at them impartially. “It don’t seem I could, pop,” Carl said sorrowfully. “It goes against me that I should run that there tractor, now I've went Plain.” “You hist yourself onto that there tractor!"’ Jake Holzoppel roared. ‘‘ You've went Plain and you can’t dig up my pota- toes furme! What's them two things got to do onto each other?” “T could dig them fur you with a pick,” Car] said gently. “Yes, pep,”” Max agreed, “with a pick we could upturn them fur you easy.”’ “Easy? Easy!"’ The storm gathered force. ‘With a pick you could dig up all them acres of potatoes yet! Easy you could do it? You think you're smart, don’t you?” he inquired furiously. ‘‘ You stop that there dopplich talk with me oncet! I'll learn you!”” The room shook and the grat- ing rattled as he clumped up and down. “Get that there tractor out oncet!”’ he bawled. “TI won't drive no tractor,”’ Carl said flatly. ‘‘It’s an automobile, that’s what it is. I won't drive no automobile. I have went Plain.” “T’ve went Plain, too,”” Max echoed. “That there is a contraption of the devil. I won't put no foot in it.” “A tractor is a tractor and an automo- bile is an automobile yet,” their father said with dangerous calm. “‘ Boys,”’ he pleaded. ‘““What makes you so dumb yet anyhow, boys? Come on with, now, out by the barn. We ain't got no time. We got to get them potatoes out of the ground or the trucks will be down on us a’ready.”’ “A tractor is a wehicle of evil, pop,” Carl said wearily. “It come to me only last night a’ready what it was. It wouldn’t set right with my conscience should I take a thing like that and ride myself on it.” ‘Didn't the good Lord give you arms fur to do your work with?”’ Max questioned gently. “‘ Would it set right with Him that you should ride such a machine up and down your fields?” Alfie had slipped down. She circled about them, her eyes wide. “Och, boys,” she chided, “‘suppose the frost should come.” “Frost! Frost, yet!”’ It was to her fa- ther as a red flag waved in front of a bull. “She has right. Listen to her oncet.”’ The storm broke again. Jake coaxed. He pleaded. He shouted until the solid old house seemed to shake on its foundations and until Mrs. Holzoppel sat down ona chair and rocked back and forth, her apron to her eyes, but they would not be moved. “You make jokes by your old pop, I guess, ain’t it?” he inquired at length, weakly. “It ain’t no joke by me,” Carl asserted obstinately. “Nor by me it ain’t no joke,” Max up- held him firmly. “*Should I have to go out and hire fur to git my tractor run fur me?" He looked at them incredulously. “*Pop’’—a worried frown appeared on his elder son’s brow—‘“‘it wonders me you would leave a sinful contraption like that there be run on your land even. It wonders me you would take profit from potatoes dug up out of the ground by such a sinful means.”” He jumped quickly to avoid a blow which grazed his head. “Tractors is sinful? Tractors is sinful yet!" the old man shouted. ‘I have to go out and hire off my work fur me, is it? My own sons stand up to me and tell me what is sin and what ain't, dothey? Mom, bring me my hat. Mom here’’—he quieted him- self with a mighty effort—‘“‘she will tell you there ain’t no sense by your words, boys. Tractors ain't sinful; you tell it to them, mom.” “I don’t know,” mom said slowly. She looked up at her tall sons in their neatly hooked jackets and a new and half fearful respect came into her eyes. ‘“‘ Maybe they haveright, pop,”’shesaid. ‘*‘ Maybe tractors is sinful yet. It makes a noise like the judgment comin’, still." She shuddered. His lips moved, his face was beet red, but no words came. He strode out. His feet clumped heavily over his clipped lawn and over the neat pattern of his farm yard. Alfie peeped after him. “He's goin’ out to hire,’ gleefully. She was a red flash going by the barn door while he harnessed old Jerry. She was in her red sweater, her chin ducked down, her books hugged tightly in her arm. She hadn’t been able to tear herself away from her corner until now. She was running to be on time for school, and a color pressed up into her cheeks and put the rouge to shame. “Look oncet.”’ Elvira Winstetter nudged her seat mate, Emmy Deeter, a few mo- ments after school took up. ‘Look how teacher makes queer behind that g'ogra- phy,” she whispered excitedly. Emmy looked with interested small blue eyes. “‘She’s cryin’,’’ she discovered. Elvira hitched her thin body to a half- standing position and peered more closely “She hain’t not cryin’,”” she contradicted “*She’s laughin’.” Teacher was laughin’! The two small girls, ever alert for new manifestations of phenomena on the part of this so-pink- cheeked young teacher, pulled their own she reported “Completely Equipped with . Ty GUTHLITES The new 2,000-room Integrity Trust Building in Philadelphia specifies “GuthLites through- out for Better Illumination"! Thus, in this huge structure, modern builders recognize the importance of complete, nat- ural Light, without glare or shadows. They know that GuthLite gives it best, in any commercial setting. GUTH A LITE SUPER LUMINATOR GuthLites combine advantages of Direct and Indirect Lighting: Ie gathers and radiates the light from its own self-contained reflector. It utilizes light-rays ordinarily wasted Such efficiency means more satis- factory Light, and lower current bills. Buildings are made more cheerful; more desirable. They rent easier. GuthLites are advisable for stores, offices, schools and public buildings. « + Moderately priced; $4.90 up, in quantity Offices in Leading Cities New York City, N.Y. Columbus, Ohi Philadelphia, Pa Detroit, Mich Boston, Mass Atlanta, Ga Milwaukee, W ix Los Angeles, Calif Pittsburg, Pa St. Paul, Mins Tulsa, Okla Cleveland, Ohio Raleiwh, N. € San Francisco, Cal isk vour dealer to show vou the New Guth Lite. or write thé Enwrtn FE. Gurm Com PpANny 2615 Washington Ave., St. Louis, Mo Makers of the world-famous Brascolite

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166 \ HILE you drive you must steer. It is a con- tinuous function —it must be effortless and instantly- responsive. That is why so many builders of fine cars equip them with “steering by Gemmer.” Fine cars are Gemmer- steered— more sixes and eights were equipped by Gemmer in 1928 than with any other steering gear. GEMMER MANUFACTURING CO. DETROIT, MICHIGAN ontrol 987 stleertie THE SATURDAY EVENING POST dog-eared geography books from the desk and hunched down behind them with smoth- | ered sympathetic snickers. ““Where’s pop?”’ Alfie came rather cau- tiously into the kitchen again at 4:30. “‘What are you havin’ for supper, mom? Where’s Carlie? Where’s Max?” She moved about nervously. She took a yellow apple from the pan on her mother’s lap and bit into it. ““Schnitz and knepp,” said Mrs. Holzop- pel heavily. ‘‘Pop’s sittin’ in the room there’’—she lowered her voice cautiously “tryin’ to find it in the Bible if it says any- thing about takin’ in the cropswithanything else but your hands. Carlie is out fixin’ around by his hogpen. Max is in the barn maybe. I don’t want to live through no such a day again ever.” “H’m.” Alfie chewed. “‘They didn’t dig no potatoes today, did they, mom? I saw the tractor out in the field, though. How'd it get there?”’ “Your pop hired young Ed Doltz fur to dig fur him.”” Mrs. Holzoppel sighed. She lifted apples and pared them, long spirals of skin falling into her pan. ‘“‘ Nosooner he got started, though, than your pop was out stoppin’ him. It began to worry him in the head that the boys had right maybe—that tractors was maybe sinful.’’ She shook her head slowly. “‘I don’t know, Alfie”; the glance she cast at her daughter was sore beset. “What fur thoughts have you on it?” Alfie moved carefully to the doorway which commanded a view of her father with his Bible. “If automobiles is sinful, tractors is certainly sinful too,” she said clearly. “He stopped Ed Doltz from runnin’ it, did he?”’ She came back to her mother and picked daintily at her apple. Her face was suffused with pink. “He come in and asked me what fur thoughts I had,” her mother went on mournfully. ‘‘Is it just as sinful to have a tractor as to have an automobile on your land yet?’ he asked me. I don’t | know.” Again Mrs. Holzoppel’s sigh sounded. “ Maybe it is, yet.” Her father came in to supper. Carl came in. Max came in. They ate boiled apple dumplings, schnitz and knepp. There was no talk. Alfie filled great heavy cups full of coffee and set them by their plates. Now and then Max looked at her. Carl looked | at her and she looked at Carl. ““Pop"’—she slipped back into her chair after replenishing the milk pitcher—“ For- rest, the farm agent, stopped to pick me up in his car. I wouldn't step in with him, | though. ‘My pop doesn’t give me the dare | to step in an automobile,’ I told him. He started his engine up to go and then he | stopped it again on him. ‘Has your pop got his potatoes in yet?’ he asked me. ‘No,’ I | said. ‘Teli him to hurry,’ he said. ‘Tell him it comes in over the radio from the college there will be frost.’”’ Carl stirred in his chair. Max stirred. Jake put his spoon down and pushed back his chair. He got up in silence and went from the table, out of the room. “Och, Alfie’’—her mother looked at her reproachfully—‘“‘look how you went and | spoiled his supper on him.” “Frost so soon yet!’’ Max scoffed, but in a voice curiously weak. ‘Colleges know everything, don’t they?” “Maybe they do, then,” his sister said pertly. Carl ate slowly. He had nothing to say. There was a new quality in the glances he | exchanged with Max. The two went slowly GEMMER Smoother Steered - when Gemmer Geared down the lane after supper. They were sit- ting there quietly on the wall when Alfie joined them, her red sweater buttoned up to her chin against the sudden chill in the air. Max and Carl looked off over the potato slopes and smoked their cigarettes. They were bred-in-the-bone farm boys and the threat of frost with potatoes in the ground deprived them of talk. The scheme had seemed well enough last night, their hunched shoulders said, but frost on the potatoes on the crop on which they had labored all summer. They were quiet. March 25,1929 “You made that up out of your head.” Carl turned on her suddenly. “I made up nothing.”’ She kicked gently with her heels against the stone wall. “It comes over by radio there may be early frost.” Max twisted a lock of his front hair. Carl stamped his cigarette out carefully and threw it into a field. “Och”— Alfie hugged herseif, twisting her small body right and left—‘“‘to see pop’s face once when you told him you have gone Plain!”’ They were silent. “‘To see his face when you told him it went against you to run tractors,”’ she gurgled. “More than six hunert bushels per each acre we should have got this year.” Max’s head was in his hands and his voice was tortured. Carl looked at her and away again. He stared levelly ahead at the * potato slopes. “Carlie—Max”—she had a_ sudden fear—‘“‘you wouldn't back out on me now, boys?”’ No. Grunts were wrenched from the depths of their thrifty German souls. They wouldn’t back out on her. How could they make such fools out of themselves as that there? Would she shut up, Max inquired ominously. She shut up. She left their uncongenial company after a little bit and sauntered back up the lane and through the orchard. There was a white moon. The corn was be- yond the orchard. The corn was high and shut off her view of the potato fields. Com- ing out at the other end of the orchard, she followed the line of the corn and came toa clearing. As she stood there a figure came up from the other side of the ridge. First a head, then shoulders and arms, then trunk and legs—it seemed to be part of the earth itself. Its shoulders were sunk and its great hands opened and closed. It was Jake Holzoppel brooding over his potatoes. He walked heavily one way and then turned and walked as heavily the other way. He went slowly, and hastened his pace, and went slowly again. He was driven here and there, ploddingly. “Och, pop!” Alfie slipped back into the shelter of the corn and laughed down into the security of her cupped hands. “Such a prancing.”” She watched. “The religion is pulling him one way and the price for them potatoes is pulling him the other way, yet!”’ She squeezed her slight body until her gig- gle became audible. One eyebrow went up and the other down. She pulled a dried tassel from an ear of seed corn and held it to her lip, taking a zigzag course back to- ward the orchard. “‘ Maybe something will learn him something yet,’’ she murmured enigmatically, stroking the corn tassel, wink- ing one eye. The cold had intensified next morning. Alfarata made a flying leap from bed to close her windows and then stood motion- less. There was a white rime on field and fence and tree. Every twig and leaf and blade of grass was delicately outlined. “‘Mom”’—she couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice, stepping into the big kitchen—“‘did it freeze then?” ““Not—not yet.” Mrs. Holzoppel’s fin- gers picked at herapron. She stood at a win- dow and looked out over the fields. “‘ Your pop didn’t sleep all night with the worry,” she volunteered. ‘He called the boys up at five o’clock to go out with and dig with the picks yet. They have been out diggin’ a long time a’ready.” “H’m.” Alfie reflected on this, giggling a little. “Is pop crazy?’’ she inquired then, tranquilly. “It would take till Christmas to dig up all those potatoes with picks.” She attacked her breakfast daintily. “It wonders me ” Her mother turned from the window. She went heavily down on one knee and took a little pan of freshly baked biscuits from the oven. “It wonders me whether it is more sinful to use a tractor oncet or to leave all them potatoes freeze in the ground on us, Alfie.”’ She looked at her daughter, a deep line forming between her eyes. (Continued on Page 169) —

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(Continued from Page 166) “Tf automobiles is sinful, then tractors is sinful, too,”” Alfie reminded her. “It didn’t come into my head that way till the boys spoke words about it,”’ she confessed. “*Maybe,” her mother said tonelessly. ““Maybe. It is all our profit lost fur us, however.”’ She twisted her apron again and looked out over the farm in patient bewilder- ment. “All our profits froze in the ground on us, maybe.” Alfie hummed a light tune as she went down the lane. At the highway she met the farm agent’s coupé turning in. “Hello!” Forrest opened the door and hailed her. ‘‘Where’s your father, Miss Holzoppe!? Has he started getting his po- tatoes in yet?” “‘He’s over in the fields with the boys.” She tilted her head in the direction of the south slopes. ‘They started on them this morning.” “Well, it’sabout time,” the agent grunted. “With picks, Mr. Forrest.” “With what?” “With picks. This way.” strated. “What do you mean?”’ The agent stared. “Good Lord, did you make it clear that a freeze was expected? Is your tractor broken? Can’t your father borrow one?” “Yes, I did, Mr. Forrest. No, it ain’t— isn’t broken. You see’’—she swung her beoks—‘‘pop doesn’t uphold to tractors any more.” “‘ Doesn’t what!” the agent barked. “‘ Has he lost his mind? What do you mean, he doesn’t uphold ——”’ “It comes to him, and to the boys, too, that tractors is sinful, Mr. Forrest,’”’ she said smoothly. The door of the coupé slammed and the car jumped forward, up the lane. Alfie watched it. “‘He’s going to talk to him some.”” She frowned. ‘Maybe it is better I should be there too.” She cut across the field. Carl and Max had been digging potatoes since daybreak. They rested now from their labors, their heads sheepishly down. They fastened their eyes each upon a clod of earth at their feet and listened to the farm agent. Their father stopped working, too, but did not seem to listen. His eyes followed the potatoes outward, row upon row, slope upon slope, then came back to the almost invisible line of darker earth where he and the boys had been working with their picks. His money crop —— “What kind of foolishness is this, any- how, Mr. Holzoppel?”’ the agent inquired as Alfie came up. “‘Do you want to lose your crop? Didn’t your daughter tell you we’re looking for a big freeze?”’ ““Yes,”’ the old man said dully, “‘she told me a’ready.” “Then for crime’s sake get your tractor out. Boys’’—he turned to Max and Carl— “you're better farmers than this.” “They have joined up with the Plain People, Mr. Forrest,” Alfie explained gently. “Look at their coats once. It goes against their conscience some to ride a tractor.” She placed herself carefully behind the farm agent and her father, and winked at the boys. They did not, however, return the signal. They merely looked blankly at her. “Yes,” they agreed mechanically, ‘““‘we— we've joined up Plain.” “Come on, now, boys. You ought to have two or three tractors busy here.”’ The agent coaxed. He pleaded. Heswore. He threw his arm about the shoulders of Jake Holzoppel and reasoned with him. He went, after a long time, back across the fields, defeated. “‘T have got it such a mix-up in my head,” Jake had repeated over and over again, his bleak eyes on the potato slopes. The marks of a great weariness were on the boys that night as they sat on the wall and smoked. “It’s colder even some than it was last night.”” Max pulled his sweater collar up about his ears and stared straight ahead. “It’s good and moonlight,” Carl mused. “T got a notion’’—his eyes sought the po- tato slopes and the pain in them became She demon- THE SATURDAY acute—‘“I got a notion to get that there tractor out tonight yet and work,” he said desperately. He looked at Alfie. Max’s head went down into his hands. “It don’t seem like I could stand it,” he said, “‘to set here and let the potatoes freeze on us, and not—not do nothin’.” “Boys!” Alfie turned alarmed eyes on them. “‘Wait, Maxie. Wait, Carl. Wait one more day yet. Something may turn it- self up. Didn’t you say it would be a good joke on pop should the whole crop freeze on him?” “Maybe I did,” Carl admitted, “‘but there ain’t no sense to it. All that there money gone from us!” “Gone?” She laughed. “Anyways it goes, doesn’t it? Into the bank, or some- wheres. It don’t buy no automobile for us. It don’t buy no fun for us.” “Fools, Mr. Forrest called us oncet,” Max remembered resentfully. “‘ You're a pack of fools,’ he shouted at us.” Alfie turned away from them. She thought, forefinger pressed to her white front teeth. “Didn't Claire Unverdorben think you were a fool maybe, too, the night you asked her to the dance?” she mused. “‘ The night you couldn't go with in her brother's car, but had to harness up old Jerry. Maybe’’— she laughed softly—“‘maybe she thought you were a fool, too, that she isn’t for makin’ any more dates with you when you call her up.”” Max’s ears were fiery red, and Alfie turned her attention to Carl. “‘How far does pop’s money in the bank or his po- tatoes out of the ground get you with Bertha Doltz?”’ she inquired interestedly. “It comes in my head that maybe a road- ster like Harold Wingert has would get you some farther with her. You might even cut him out or whatever if you had such a roadster once.” Her voice was smooth, soothing. “‘ Maybe Claire and Bertha think it in their heads that you are some foolish, too,” she reflected. She was silent for a moment, leaving them to their thoughts. “I have heard it that Bertha Doltz will maybe get herself en- gaged to Harold Wingert,” she said then, casually. “He takes her everywheres, they y. Carl’s shoulders had slumped again. “Ciaire Unverdorben too.”’ Alfie sighed, as one who gossips half to herself. “It wouldn’t surprise me none to hear she had got herself promised one of these days. There's a popular girl for you. Good times, she likes. Goin’ places, and goin’ fast. . . . Och, it’s cold!” She jumped lightly down from the wall and clapped her hands to- gether briskly. “If it frosts tonight’’—she tilted her head at the still moon and closed one eye—“‘it will maybe show pop how stubborn he is in the head anyways.” “Good enough fur him if it freezes,” Carl muttered. “It’s a lie—those words you spoke about Claire Unverdorben.” Max looked at her out of tormented eyes. Again the Holzoppel family breakfasted in silence. Again the mercury had dropped tantalizingly to the very edge of freezing point, placing Jake Holzoppel on the rack, and had climbed again. Jake hadn't slept. Four times before she went to sleep Alfie heard him up, and once she had peeped out of her door to see him toiling up the stairs, his night shirt flapping about his legs. At five he’d gone out with the boys to the fields. Digging was an anesthetic now which blotted out their thoughts as they waited for the frost. Alfie, freed today from her school-teaching duties, helped with the breakfast. Jake fin- ished first. He washed sputteringly at the kitchen sink and went silently upstairs. He came as silently down in his best suit and EVENING POST walked out of the house and across to the barn. Alfie moved to the front window and watched him go down the lane behind old Jerry. The boys went draggingly back to their field and Alfie busied herself with household tasks. The house wasn’t a very pleasant place to be in. Tears kept coming to Mrs. Holzoppel’s eyes. She wiped them away with her apron and more tears came to take their place. “Anyways,” Alfie thought drearily, turn- ing from the front window toward dinner- time, “anyways — She turned back again, for a shining something had caught her eye. The shining something was com- ing up the lane; it was stopping in front of the house. She went slowly out. The boys came slowly in from the field, their eyes upon it too. The three moved as though hypnotized toward a glittering ma- roon car of the sedan type which had stopped in their lane. A smiling salesman was sit- ting behind the wheel, a bulkier figure was beside him. Alfie caught Car!’s arm. “*Pop’’—she drew her breath in sharply — “ pop a “Boys!"" He fumbled with the door of the car and got heavily out. He stood in front of them, his great legs set wide apart. ““Boys—Carlie, Max.”” He wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead. “I been thinkin’ it around in my head some,”’ he said quaveringly. ‘‘Maybe—maybe it makes different sins by different generations yet.” Humility was on him like a strange gar- | ment. ‘Maybe it makes one sin by you and another by me, one sin by me and an- other by my pop and my grandpop even. Maybe it would set right by you to drive an automobile where it wouldn't set right by me. I—I have it in my head how my grand- pop”’—he mopped his brow again—“ took on when my pop bought first a buggy fur to ridein. ‘The Amish,’ he said, ‘don’t uphold to pleasure chairs.’ Boys”’—a pleading note came into his voice—‘‘ maybe I been such a doppelhead like him even. Maybe it made sin fur him to ride in a buggy and fur me to ride in an automobile yet. But fur you— maybe it would even set right by you fur to drive a tractor, boys. Max. Carlie. I bought this here automobile fur you this morning a’ready. Here it is now. Could you maybe’’— his voice went low—“ drive my tractor ower my fields fur me, boys?” Carl's hand was on the shining surface of the car. “‘Pop,” he said, and swallowed — “‘pop ———"’ But his breath was taken by a flying figure which went by him. It was Max, taking the fence with a leap and run- ning like a flash across the field. “‘Hey!"’ Carl let out a roar of rage. “‘You come back here oncet! I’m first! I’m first with that there tractor!”’ He whipped his coat off and took after the speeding figure. Alfie came slowly up to the car. She sur- | veyed it from beneath lowered lashes. **Well’’—the salesman raised his voice— “IT drove her out here. Now how do I get back to town?” Jake didn’t hear him. His huge back was turned square upon the pleasure car and his eyes were on his potato slopes. The music of the spheres was in his ears as, with an immense clatter, the tractor got into motion. Alfie’s eyebrows went up and the tip of her tongue came into view. ‘I could drive you back.’’ She slipped into the driv- er’s seat and her hand fell upon the gear shift. ‘“‘My Uncle Absalom, he learned me how.”’ She wriggled joyously. The salesman clutched wildly at his hat as they hurtled forward, caromed down the lane, turned into the highway on two wheels, and were off. They slowed down then totwenty, to fifteen, to ten miles an hour. “She'll do a little better than that,”’ the salesman ventured. “TIT know.” Alfie leaned her head back serenely. Her foot went up and down on the | accelerator and the new car went into an | ecstatic jump dance on the highway. “I ain't in any hurry, though,” she confided. “I got nothing to do.” She looked at him from under dropped eyelashes. ‘Except maybe sew some buttons on.” 169 a nema sian ail FOR YOUR ‘OWN POCKET? This leather covered DOUGLASS eb. / - 150. Silhouette in nickel plate, » ~s- > \ (ou buy a purself you want sever y definite things: Attomatic action “no thudibing, just a trigger press, No failures—a light every ti Long life everyday service as loug as you keep it filled. Nor do you want it "e ty” every few days. Douglaseyleak-proot caps prevent evaporation. Only in Douglass Lighters do find all these features. A here is an attractive r Covered Douglass of ished nickel for just 34! ious metal and jeweled are priced to 81000, OUGLAS e! / CPeber fhe tr: GGeF / & , j / / theres your tight! K 2 ” — * ry Te

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CHICAGO THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AN ADDED STARTER Smiling Jimmie lit a cigarette. ‘‘Goin’ downtown?”’ he asked. “I don’t believe so,” said the Whining ' | Kid. “Are you?” “I guess maybe I will,” Smiling Jim- | mie said. “‘Shoot a game o’ pool before I turn in.” The Whining Kid yawned ostentatiously. “I think I'll go in an’ wrinkle the sheets,” he said. “I’m tired.” “Check,” said Smiling Jimmie. you later.” A bit of silence. Smiling Jimmie did not start for town, nor did the Whining Kid move-toward the house. “Thought you was goin’ downtown,” the Whir‘ng Kid said testily after a time. “Yeh?” said Smiling Jimmie. “I heard somewhere that you was goin’ to bed.” “T can stand here for a minute if I want to, can’t 1?” “Sure,”’ said Smiling Jimmie, a rasp of irritation in his voice. “You can stand there till snow flies an’ I won’t call up the board o’ health!” “Well?” the Whining Kid challenged him. Smiling Jimmie muttered an oath and walked swiftly away toward the business section, just opposite to the direction taken by the Hanley sedan, en route to the Bay- side, and turned the corner. A moment more the Whining Kid waited and then walked up onto the porch of the cottage and stood there for perhaps two minutes. Thereafter he moved cautiously out to the sidewali: once more and peered intently at the corner around which Smiling Jimmie had dis- appeared. Satisfied, he stepped out and walked briskly in the opposite direction. A block away, Smiling Jimmie, peering around a hedge, saw him and swore. As soon as the Whining Kid was out of sight Jimmie crossed the street and broke into a “See | run. He was panting when he arrived at | the front entrance of the Bayside, just in | time to meet the Whining Kid, who had traveled the shorter route in a more leisurely manner. They faced each other, glowering. “You dirty crook!"’ the Whining Kid said bitterly. “‘Pool, huh?” “Yeh?” said Smiling Jimmie. lousy little liar! Bed, huh?”’ They entered the lobby together and were stopped in their tracks by the same sight. Jed Hanley was a reai horseman. The range of his acquaintanceship ran from multimillionaires in the Social Register to ragged swipes on the tracks. He neither toadied to the rich nor patronized the poor, being a real believer in the old race-track saying: “‘All men are equal, under the turf—and on it."’ In consequence he num- bered among his friends many who could not comfortably meet and mingle. The sight that stopped Smiling Jimmie and the Whining Kid was Elsie Duncan, seated near her uncle, surrounded by a number of nabobs with whom the two hustlers had not even a bowing acquaint- ance. More, they knew perfectly well that they could never achieve even so slight a degree of intimacy. Among those grouped about Miss Dun- can were Ted Gadly, a wealthy young fly- around from Pittsburgh, who owned astring of horses as a casual side line to his major sports, which were scandals, roulette and yachting; Merle Edgeley, of New York and Asheville, North Carolina, polo fanatic, who bred hunters and owned a stable of jumpers; Col. A. J. Sibley, of Boston, a ruddy-faced, white-mustached old beau who reeked of aristocracy and had never been able to determine which he liked best, the thrill of a nose finish, the glow from a fine old brandy or the smile of a pretty young girl. There were others—men and women who fitted in the group. Elsie Duncan caught sight of Smiling Jimmie and the Whining Kid. She smiled and waved to them. Those about her turned to see whorn she was greeting and “You (Continued from Page 44) favored the two hustlers with repellent stares. The two boys returned Miss Duncan’s salutation awkwardly and wandered away to sit together in a remote corner. For a time they maintained a hostile si- lence, but their partnership in misery de- manded speech. “High-hats!”” the Whining Kid mut- tered, glowering at the distant happy group. “That Gadly!”” Smiling Jimmie said bitterly. “‘Read what that dancer in New York did to him last year? That's the kind of a guy he is.” “Gadly!” said the Whining Kid. “What about that pop-eyed old terrier Sibley? He ought to be home with a hot-water bottle, takin’ pills for the pip. An’ look at him! Pink-nosed old rum hound!” “Fine bunch o’ sweet-scented goats!” Smiling Jimmie said. “Skin their money off of em an’ try an’ sell what's left for a dime a dozen! What do you say we drift?”’ “Suits me,” said the Whining Kid. “This is a lousy hotel, anyhow, ain’t it?”’ “Just a gyp joint,” Smiling Jimmie agreed. “‘ Never anybody here.” They went out and started toward their rooming house. “Hanley ought to have better sense’n to get her mixed up with a mob like that,”’ the Whining Kid said as they walked along. “Her mother was right,”” Smiling Jimmie declared. ‘“‘Girl like that ought to be kept away from the track.” “Ought to be kept away from people like them in there, anyhow,” the Whining Kid agreed. ‘“‘’Course the real racin’ crowd’s all right—all except some o’ them night- bloomin’ jocks.” “Some o’ the trainers are nothin’ to give nice people for Christmas,” Jimmie re- minded him. “Um!” said the Whining Kid. “I know plenty owners around could be boiled in earbolic acid an’ still dry dirty.” “The hustlers are the worst,” Smiling Jimmie said moodily. “Gives me the needles to think o’ some o’ the mob I know gettin’ acquainted with a girl like that.” “She wouldn’t know the good from the bad,” the Whining Kid said miserably. “How do you get that way?” Smiling Jimmie said angrily, halting. “‘ You tryin’ to tell me she’s dumb?” “Not dumb,” the Whining Kid said— “good. She’s too good to know the differ- ence. See what I mean?” “Oh!” said Smiling Jimmie, mollified. “Good? Yeh, maybe you're right.” “We ought to kind o’ look after her while she’s around,” the Whining Kid suggested. “Yeh?” said Smiling Jimmie. “Well, don’t try any funny business while you're lookin’, or —-—”’ “Funny business!"’ the Whining Kid re- torted. ‘Funny business yourself! If you're goin’ to talk that way “i “You heard what I said.” “All right. I’m tellin’ you! If I hear of you gettin’ fresh around that girl, I'll ——’”’ “You'll what?” “Plenty!” “Is that so?”’ “Believe it an’ keep out o’ trouble.” “Yeh? Who’s goin’ to make any trouble for me?” “You'll find out!” “Listen,” said Smiling Jimmie, “‘who said anything about gettin’ fresh around her?” “You did. You told me not to.” “That goes!” said Smiling Jimmie. “And it goes double!" the Whining Kid retorted. Early the next morning Smiling Jimmie and the Whining Kid split. They paid their rent, and, baggage in hand, departed at separate times. They turned up under the same roof, however, each registered for a room in the Bayside, paying more per day than they were accustomed to spend for a week. March 23,1929 In the afternoon they both appeared at the track equipped with clubhouse badges— an additional unusual expense. Miss Dun- can was with friends on the clubhouse ve- randa. Friends at a track, however, have frequent business at the mutuel windows or the paddock, and the Whining Kid man- aged a few wonderful minutes with her between the first and second races. He succeeded in getting her to back his pick in the second—an eight-to-one shot that romped in. Smiling Jimmie tried to get through to her, but was shut off time and again and kept having to take back until after the fourth race, when he managed to shoot through a hole between young Gadly, who left her side for a little time to cash a ticket, and Merle Edgeley, absent seeking informa- tion in the paddock. She told him of her winning on the Whining Kid’s tip. “He picked that one off the cuff!’’ Smil- ing Jimmie assured her scornfully. ‘‘Eyery- thing in the race got tangled up behind that lizard. He had enough luck in that one race to bring a good colt through on top every start for two seasons! But look here, I got one that’s right. See that Number 6 on the odds board—Special Delivery? Twenty to one in the first line, an’ he’s right. I know they’re tryin’ with him an’ I know he’s ready to beat anything he’s goin’ against. Just a thin dime’s worth o’ racin’ luck an’ he’s in.” “Twenty to one!” Miss Duncan ex- claimed. “‘I never can get it straight! Does that mean that I get twenty dollars for a two-dollar ticket or ——”’ “Forty feet an’ your two bucks back,” Smiling Jimmie corrected her. She thought it would be lovely if he would get her two dollars’ worth of that. He went to buy the ticket and the Whining Kid took advantage of the opening to come through. “TI got another winner for you in this next,” he said excitedly. “That's frightfully sweet of you,’”’ Miss Duncan purred. “But Mr. McCann told me the winner of this one. He’s gone now to buy me a ticket.” “What'd he give you?” the Whining Kid demanded anxiously. Miss Duncan told him. “Special Delivery!” the Whining Kid exclaimed, horrified. ‘“‘Did he give you that? Oh, listen here, Miss Duncan, that’s terrible! Nokiddin’. I hate to see you took like that. He don’t know nothin’ about that rabbit! He’s just stabbin’ ’cause it’s a long price, an’ if everything else fell dead it might live long enough to get in an’ make him a great picker with you. Special De- livery! Slow Freight—that’s what that sore-legged old mouse ought to be named! Pink Slip’s goin’ to win this next. He’s four to one out there now. Lemme get you a ticket on him an’ you'll get back what Mc- Cann’s losin’ for you an’ some besides.” “Oh, I don’t know what to do!” Miss Duncan cried, entrancingly distressed. “I guess I'll just be a good gambler and if I lose my old two dollars I’ll just forget it. Oh, here comes Mr. McCann now.” “T’ll duck,” the Whining Kid growled. “T’m scared I’ll lose hold o’ myself an’ smack him down for puttin’ you on a glued-down old leather rockin’-chair like Special Delivery.” “‘Are you sure Special Delivery’s going to win, Mr. McCann?” Miss Duncan asked anxiously. “He been beatin’ the drum about it?” Smiling Jimmie asked darkly, indicating the receding form of the Whining Kid. “Mr. Tyler says Pink Slip’s going to win,” she said. “Pink Slip!” Smiling Jimmie exclaimed. “Listen, Miss Duncan, there’s only two things sure about racin’. One is that a sucker’ll lose his dough if he sticks around long enough; the other is that a sucker’! stick around long enough to lose his dough. Everything else is maybe. Special Delivery (Continued on Page 172) _~ { ' ! i

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— ee ee ee ee — — = THE SATURDAY EVENING POST . % . Camprirnte Banana Cream—Cut 30 Campfires in pieces. Whip % pint cream, adding a pinch of salt, and sugar to sweeten Mash 6 small, ripe bananas through ricer and add 1 tablespoonful lemon juice. Fold into marshmallow mixture and serve in individual gl in marshmallows and % cup nut meats | e asses. Garnish with a whole Campfire and maraschino cherries Campfire guarantees the freshness of these MARSHMALLOWS! Get them in the new 1-/b. Family Package for less than you pay for ordinary marshmallows ! FREsHNEss is your first thought when you buy eggs or butter or milk. Rightly you in- sist upon it. But all the insisting in the world has not secured absolute freshness when you bought marshmallows. You have never known the full true flavor of this delicate pure food product. No package could keep marshmal- lows absolutely fresh—until we invented the new Campfire package. Marshmallows guaranteed fresh The new Campfire Full Pound Family Pack- age holds a treat in freshness and flufhiness! By a special packing process, it seals in the first tender freshness of Campfire marsh mallows just as they come from our kitchens. And it preserves that freshness until you break the three protecting seals in your own home. We guarantee every marshmallow within to be fresh—absolutely! Campfire pre e Ls less Even in the new improved package the price of Campfire marshmallows today is less than you have paid before. Indeed it is no higher than the price you pay for any ordinary marshmallows. Yet Campfire quality is still the finest. Check Campfire marshmallows on your grocery list today. Send in the coupon for our new recipe booklet. It shows you many new, unusual recipes for dressing up your salads and desserts. The Campfire Corpora tion, Cambridge, Mass.; Chicago, Ill.; Los Angeles, Calif.; Montreal, Canada MRS. GLADYS WILLIAMS, DOMESTIC SCIENCI 5. E.} 2 AMPFIRE IRPOR ION, 504 MAIN REE 4 RIDGE 1 AM ENCLOSING 1X PLEASE SEND M E NEW AMPPIRE OK AME ADDARI

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172 THE SATURDAY Tke FLORSHEIM SHOE Tur business man can make “THE ASHLAND” his permanent choice —always dressy —snug around the ankle and comfortable —in black or brown superior quality leathers. A FLORSHEIM stylewith a host of friends. Style M-334 Mest Styles $] () uC \i h | THE FLORSHEIM SHOE COMPANY: Manufacturers - CHICAGO L*8°A*D*E*R*S "The Nickel Lunch’”’ REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. @C4 US PAT OFF Buy a bag of Planters Salted Peanuts, and the band starts playing dinner- music. Those big, — Virginia pea- on, 4 nuts are “The Nickel Lunch.” They ‘eS Iead the big parade when it comes to Pianters Nur _ satisfying your hunger. Sold only in & Cuoco.ate the glassine bag with Mr. Peanur on Company it. Buy a bag every day. U.S.A. and Canada LANTERS SALTED PEANUTS EVENING POST (Continued from Page 170) might get left at the post or cut down or somethin’ an’ lose, but I'll tell you what I'll do. If he loses an’ Pink Slip wins, I'll get out there in the middle o’ that track in front o’ all this crowd an’ do a mile on my hands an’ knees right after the race.” “Oh, Mr. McCann, I wouldn’t want you to do that.” “I’m just promisin’ to do it to show you how sure I am,”’ Jimmie explained earnestly. He looked up and saw young Gadly ap- proaching with a no-admittance look in his eye, mumbled a farewell and departed hurriedly for the grand stand to watch the race. The race was a mile and seventy yards. The field was off, bunched, fighting for ad- vantage on the first turn. Special Delivery, a slow breaker, was eighth around the turn. “Layin’ pretty!” Smiling Jimmie mut- tered tensely. “‘ Right where he belongs!”’ Pink Slip was running fourth at the same stage of the race. Only a few yards from Jimmie, in the row below him, the Whining Kid observed this and yipped his mind. “Possum an’ sweet potatoes!” he screeched. ‘We're off wingin’!”” Jimmie, hearing, located him and swore to himself. Into the back stretch they swung, the po- sitions of Special Delivery and Pink Slip unchanged. At the half the boy on Pink Slip made his move. The horse turned on a dazzling burst of speed and quickly took the lead. “Ride him, jock!” the Whining Kid howled. “‘Let him roll from there! Oh, look at that eagle fly!” “He'll quit!” Smiling Jimmie assured himself. ‘“‘I know that beetle. He’ll flatten out like a smashed egg when he hits the | stretch.” Special Delivery was seventh at this point and showing no signs of developing into a contender for the distant Pink Slip or the two running head-and-head three lengths back of the leader. The Whining Kid looked around and saw Jimmie. “What's that on top?” he yelled, point- ing at the flying field on the back stretch. “Pink Slip, ain’t it? You go tell em! Spe- cial Delivery! Lost in the mail, boy! On his way to the dead-letter office right now. Yay!” Smiling Jimmie did not reply. He was | watching Special Delivery intently, mut- tering feverish encouragement to the dis- tant horse: “All right, baby! Easy does it! Don’t wait too long. "Bout ready now, baby! | Let’s go! What's the matter with you? Turn him loose, jock! Let him down! Come on, over there! What d’you think this is? Hey! Send him along, jock! Stir him up there, you muddle-headed sap!” They were turning out of the back stretch. Pink Slip was still a good three lengths on top. Special Delivery was coast- ing along in seventh position, a good twelve lengths back of the leader. And there the monkey in the pilot house decided to start his drive. A few lengthened swift strides and Special Delivery was sixth. A few more and he was fifth. Fourth swinging into the stretch, and coming fast in the middle of the track, but Pink Slip was still eight lengths to the good and showed no signs of weakening. And then, clear above the rooting of the crowd, sounded two shrill voices: ‘“‘Come on, Pink Slip!” “Special Delivery!” “Hold it, Pink Slip!” “Take him, Special Delivery!” Special Delivery was coming fast, but Pink Slip had a sickening lead. “We got him!” the Whining Kid shrieked triumphantly. “He moved too late!” | moaned. And then, less than a sixteenth out, Pink Slip faltered. Smiling Jimmie’s screech of triumph rose like a high violin note over the thunder of the crowd. It was a fighting fin- ish. A tiring horse with a good lead and a strong finisher coming fast with yet much to make up. Nose to rump, head to saddle, neck to neck, Special Delivery fought up on Pink Slip, both boys riding with whip and Smiling Jimmie March 25,1929 heel, voice and hand. No eye a yard off the line could tell which pair of flared nostrils bobbed in on top. The roar of the crowd died. A tense silence. The wait for the tell- tale numbers. A roar again as they went up 4, 7 and 6. Special Delivery first, Pink Slip second, Labor Day third. Shouting jubilantly, Smiling Jimmie hopped over the back of the bench in front of him and jostled his way to the Whining Kid. “Pink Slip!” he jeered. “ What glue fac- tory’d you pick that one out of?” “Lucky stiff!’’ the Whining Kid snarled. “That thing 0’ yours ain’t win a race in ten starts, an’ he’ll never cop another! Why, if my boy’d made his move sooner ———- Did you see him turnin’ into the back stretch? Got in a jam an’ Pink Slip was bumped. Pretty near knocked to her knees!” “Bumped!” Smiling Jimmie cried. “Hear him yelp! Why, if that boy on Special De- livery had made his move a sixteenth sooner he’d ’a’ won by three goin’ away! Whoever told you you knew a horse from a butter- fly? Pink Slip!” He jostled on, chortling happily, hurried to the clubhouse and was rewarded by a jubilant hand wave from Miss Duncan, still beset, however, by Gadly and Edgeley. He hung around wistfully on the edge of the crowd, hoping for a chance to speak to her in a spare moment, but drifted away, mut- tering, when he saw the Whining Kid wait- ing near by with a brainful of the same bright idea. In the paddock he located Jed Hanley and drew him aside. “Look here, Mr. Hanley,” he said ear- nestly, “‘you know I’ve been a kind of a friend o’ the Whinin’ Kid.” “Um!” said Hanley. “A kind of a one.” “We had a bust-up this mornin’,’”’ Smil- ing Jimmie went on. “T heard about it,”’ Hanley said. “Yeh?” said Smiling Jimmie. told you?” “The Whinin’ Kid,” said Hanley. “‘He come around to warn me you were no kind of a bozo to be hangin’ around my niece.” “Oh!” said Smiling Jimmie, horrified. “The dirty crook!” “Think so?”’ said Hanley. “Isn’t that what you want to tell me about the Whinin’ Kid?” “Oh, well—yeh,” Jimmie admitted. “But listen, Mr. Hanley, that’s different. It ain’t that I want to knock him. He —— “No different,” Hanley said shortly. ‘If you want to know what I think, you’re both right. Now listen! You two barn sparrows are all right where you belong, but you don’t belong any place except where you are. That’s my story. It may be wrong, but I'll stick to it till I find out different. Each one of you's scared the other one ain't fit to be friends with my niece. I ain’t wor- ried. You can both of you see my niece any time you can crowd through, an’ talk to her just as long as she wants to listen. I can maybe save you some trouble by tellin’ you ahead o’ time that neither one of you has a chance with her. She’s built kind o’ light back o’ the eyebrows, but I'll lay good odds she ain’t thin enough between the ears ever to fall for a hustler.” “I could get into some kind o’ business,” Jimmie reminded him. “You'd be surprised how many are ahead o’ you,”’ Hanley said. ‘‘ Hustlin’ in business an’ hustlin’ around a track are two different jobs o’ work, Jimmie. An’ don’t ever forget that a sucker’s just a guy bright enough to make money in his own line an’ dumb enough to toss it off tryin’ to beat somebody else’s racket. You can pick up some money around the track, but business ain’t your racket, Jimmie.” “TI could learn it,” Jimmie insisted stoutly. “‘Look here, Mr. Hanley, did you ever read this?”’ He took a folded newspaper clipping from his inner coat pocket and handed it to Han- ley. Jed glanced at it and handed it back. “Sure!” he said scornfully. ‘“‘That piece o’ hooey they ran about you and the Whin- ing Kid in the Baltimore Courier last spring.” “Who —

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—— ww eee eee “it ain’t hooey!”’ Jimmie cried. “I know the fella that runs that paper, Mr. Han- ley —know him well. It says here about fie “Blah!” said Hanley. “Never mind!” Jimmie muttered. “‘ You’ll see!”’ At that moment the Whining Kid, on the clubhouse veranda, was proudly handing Miss Duncan a similar clipping. “Did you ever,” he was saying, “‘read what they printed about me in the Balti- more Courier last spring? See, it says here about me ——”’ The rest of the Havre de Grace meet and the twenty-three-day session at Laurel. Then on to the opening at aristocratic old Pimlico in Baltimore. On the morning of that opening day Harry Jason was seated in his office just off the city room of the Baltimore Courier, chatting with the visit- ing head of a New York advertising com- pany. Jason, editor of the Courier, was a buoyant young man in his early thirties, only a few successful desk years away from his reporter days. The office boy entered. name o’ McCann,”’ he said. Jason shook his head. ‘‘Can’t place him. Find out what he wants.” After a moment, the office boy returned. “Says to tell you his name is Smiling Jimmie.” Jason laughed. “‘That’s different. Send him in.”” He turned to his caller. “‘Get this, kid,” he said, chuckling. ‘Great character. Little race-track hustler. Teamed up with a queer fish known as the Whining Kid. They tipped me off to more winners when the horses were running at Pimlico last spring than I ever had before in all my life.” “Play ’em, do you?” “Occasionally, just for the kick of it. Everyone around here does, more or less. Great pair, these two. Ran a little feature yarn in the Sunday about them last spring and it tickled them pink.” The door swung open and Smiling Jim- mie entered, hat in hand. Greetings and introductions over, Jason asked the purpose of the call. Smiling Jimmie, fingering his hat brim nervously, glanced sidewise at the advertising man. “It’s kind o’ personal,”’ he said. ‘‘Could I see you alone for a minute?” “Sure,” said Jason, rising and opening a door. “Right in here, Jimmie. Excuse me a minute, Ben.” Ten minutes later Jason returned, having let Smiling Jimmie out another way. His eyes were wet with mirth. “This is good!’’ he chortled. ‘“‘These two kids have gone crazy about some girl that’s hanging around the track—some trainer’s niece. She's been kidding them along, evidently, and The advertising man was still in Jason's office a half hour later when the office boy entered. “‘Man says his name is Sharkey Tyler, the Whinin’ Kid,” he said. “The other one!’’ Jason exclaimed. **Look, Ben, duck in the other room there and listen in on this. It’s liable to be good.” The Whining Kid was in conference with Jason for some fifteen minutes. When he left, Ben came in from the next room and the two laughed themselves to tears. “Isn’t that a scream?’ Ben gasped. “What are you going to do about it?” “T’ll talk to her,” Jason said, panting from the effort of long laughter. “‘I’m go- ing to the opening this afternoon, anyhow, and I know most of the racing crowd. I can get an introduction. Did you ever hear anything funnier?” “Man by the Early morning at the track—morning of the eighth day at Pimlico. Horses working. A scattering of clockers, hustlers, trainers, jockeys and exercise boys. Smiling Jimmie, standing, arms hooked on the rail near the judges’ stand, intently watching a two- year-old filly breezing down the baqk stretch. Jed Hanley came from under the grand stand, crossed the lawn and clapped him on the back. THE SATURDAY “Well,” he said, “‘that’s that, hey?” Jimmie stared, uncomprehending. “‘ Don't you read the morning papers?’’ Hanley asked. “Ain’t seen one this mornin’,”’ Jimmie said. “‘I come out to the track a little after four.” *“*Elsie’s married,” said Hanley. “*M-m-married!”" Jimmie stuttered, aghast. “Last night,” said Hanley. “Eloped!” ““M-m-married!’’ Jimmie stuttered again. He grabbed Hanley by the coat lapel. “ Not that no-good Gadly,” he said, agony in his voice. ‘‘Not him, Mr. Hanley!” “Nope,” said Hanley cheerfully. “‘ Young squirt here in town by the name o’ Harry Jason, editor o’ the -—”’ ““Jason!’’ Smiling Jimmie cried. he was Oh, the dirty crook!” Hanley frowned. “I hear different,’’ he said. ‘They tell me he’s ——” “The dirty crook!’’ Jimmie repeated ex- citedly. “‘Listen, Mr. Hanley, I was the one got him to meet her. He was goin’ to tell her about me— you know, stuff like they printed in that story in the paper about me. He promised he'd — Oh, the dirty crook!” “Like that, huh?” Hanley said grimly. “Just a Number 2 Miles Standish!” “Who?” said Jimmie miserably. “You don’t know him,” said Hanley. “Well, buck up, Jimmie. Maybe it’s all for the best.” He moved away. The Whining Kid came out from under the grand stand on the run, looked wildly about and located Jimmie. “Jimmie,” he called anxiously, hurrying to him, “‘listen! Did you hear —— “Yes,” said Jimmie savagely, “I heard!”’ “The dirty crock!"’ the Whining Kid wailed. ‘‘Oh, Jimmie, the dirty crook! Jimmie, he promised me he'd see her an’ you know—tell her about me an’ ———” “Promised you!” Jimmie exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Jimmie,” the Whining Kid said tearfully. “‘It was my fault. I asked him to see her for me an’— you know—I thought ’cause he was the editor o’ the pa- per an’ - Oh, the dirty crook!” A black colt went thundering by, a little colored exercise boy crouched on his back, hand-riding him hard. “What's that thing?”’ the Whining Kid muttered. “Black Tea,”’ Jimmie mumbled. “Nice action,” said the Whining Kid. ““How you been doin’?”’ Jimmie asked. “Pretty good,” said the Whining Kid. “Been diggin’ so hard to get winners for ——— Oh, the dirty crook!” ‘Same here,” said Jimmie glumly. “‘Got a better bank roll than I’ve had in two years. . . . Damn it!” “‘I bet he was just kiddin’ us last spring when he printed that story,”” the Whining Kid growled. Jimmie laughed bitterly. “Catch any man talkin’ me off my own racket again!” he exclaimed. “Where you livin’, Jimmie?”’ the Whin- ing Kid asked. “‘Belvedere!”’ Jimmie said shortly. “Me too,” said the Whining Kid. “‘What’s “ Why, the sense o’ our payin’ hotel rates? Let’s | look us up a good room somewhere in a private house.” “All right,” said Jimmie. “ We're both flush now an’ we still got the rest o’ this meet an’ Bowie to go. If we throw in to- gether an’ work as hard as we been workin’ . “Sure!” said the Whining Kid. “ Know that system o’ progressive bettin’ we were usin before ag “That's it!”’ said Smiling Jimmie. “‘ We'll go back to that an’ stick to it. An’ listen! One thing we don’t want to ever forget.”’ “What's that?’’ the Whining Kid asked. “What Pittsburgh Phil said to the bird that wanted a tip,”” Smiling Jimmie said. “He said to him, ‘ Young man, if you want to make money at the track, always bet on an added starter in a stake race.’”’ “Yeh?” said the Whining Kid. “He knew somethin’!”’ Smiling Jimmie said with conviction. ‘‘Come on, let’s eat!” EVENING POST ; ‘ i + Makes Life Do you ever over-indulge at the table? Of course! Smoke too much? Sometimes! But the system can soon be made serene and sweet again with Phillips Milk of Magnesia. Americans live well. We can’t al ways avoid indiscretions. Who, in deed, would want to be so careful? But there is a simple precaution that will check all hyperacidity—Phillips Milk of Magnesia! Demand. “Milk of Magnesia” has been the U.S of N Trade Mag Mark Sweeter Use the friendly aid of this perfect anti-acid whenever you even suspect acidosis. Sec how soon if will tranqul! ize a sour stomach; or counteract the nicotine trom excessive smoking; of end a bilious spell. Get the genuin Phillips Milk of Magnesia that ahysi clans employ in prescriptions and er dorse for general use It has many important uses, and is ; a delightful product to take. THLLIPS Milk nesia of the Charles Hi. Phillips Chemical Company and its predecessor Charles H. Phillips since 1475 ASTRING-O-SOL CONCENTRATED FOR THREE REASONS 4 : Ap That fuzzy, metallic taste is the familiar universal condition—‘‘ Morning Mouth.” up with it. a few dashes in a quarter glass of water. **Morning Mouth” ness to mouth and throat. attacking the germ-cause. to suit your personal taste. mends ASTRING©-SOL. Ask him! FREDERICK STEARNS & COMPANY Sydney, Australia DETROIT, U.S. A. “MORNING MOUTH Lorerybody has wt. .cAstring osol corrects it / ASTRING©-SOL is the ideal corrective You will banish and impart a delightful zest and cleanli- ASTRING©-SOL also combats unpleasant breath as no less powerful mouth wash can, by Being concentrated, its action is (1) more positive, (2) it costs less, and (3) it can be diluted Your druggist sells and recom- |ASTRINGDSg srtaees symptom of a Most of us get Gargle FOR MOUTH AND THROAT Does more! Costs less! Tastes better! Windsor, Canada PITTI For a free three-day sample of ASTRING-O-SOL write name and address on this coupon and mail to Dept. §2, Frederick Stearns & Co., Detroit, Michigan Name Address Use this COUPON for FREE SAMPLE j

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Pressure, temperature or vacuum— any one of these three agents can cause the hot water tank in your kitchen to burst like a 20 millimeter shell or fold up like a tent in a cy- clone. You can see for yourself what might happen—unless you have a Stack 3-Way Relief Valve on the job. The Stack 3-Way Relief Valve is the only valve that gives triple protec- tion. It positively prevents (1) a high pressure burst, (2) a high tempera- ture explosion, () a vacuum col- lapse. Your plumber will gladly in- stall it im yeur system—whether coal, gas or oil—at no trouble and very small expense. Don't wait for a blow up. Clap on this triple insurance againsi destruc- tien and danger at once and know that your home and family are safe. The Stack 3-Way Relief Valve is made and guaranteed by the makers of Nelson and Stack Relief Valves, the standard for every domestic hot | water service. Write, new, for our Catalog giving complete information and . ESTABLISHED 1894 THE STACK HEATER COMPANY @ei.c COCKS =9. ’ =O) waves GfwERerors YO “WHORES ane FUrTY GTussT STOEET BS3STON e | STACK 3 WAY RELIEF VALVE. The Stack 3-Way Relief Valve protects do- mestic hot water tanks, storage or instan- taneous water heaters against bursting, ex- plosion or tank collapse. Adopted as standard by leading gas companies. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 23,1929 THE ROAD OF REVOLUTION One big corporation operating a grocery chain had only 4500 stores seven years ago; now it has nearly 18,000. In big cities like New York and Philadelphia, seventy cents out of every dollar spent by the public to- day for groceries go into a chain system. One company owns five out of every 100 groceries in the United States, and it | does an annual business of approximately | $750,000,000. In competition with this largest concern are 850 other chain-grocery companies operating more than 64,000 stores. The number of chain shoe stores has jumped | from 1600 to more than 6000 in three years. | One chain of restaurants serves 15,000,000 | meals annually in thirty-four cities, and the movement goes on apace in nearly every line; including bakeries, hardware, sporting goods, clothing, meat, music, furniture, stationery, drugs, candy and barber shops. In the policy of mass distribution, like mass production, there is the lure of im- mense savings from curtailed overhead and substantial reductions in practically all departments, extending from the one that makes purchases to the one that handles deliveries. Thirty-seven buyers make all the purchases for one great company. More | than 2000 buyers would be needed if the | stores were independent. | grocery chain contracts for 500,000,000 The largest dozen eggs a year at prices that the small retailer finds hard to match. Inefficiency in distribution now reduces the buying power of the American people more than $7,000,000,000 a year. The chain system has grown out of this. Its success is hard on the little fellow. Out of 80,000 retailers in eleven cities, 22,000 did a | gross business of less than nine dollars a day last year. One may well ask how the proprietors of these stores hire help, pay | rent and still make a living. Sales of chain stores have doubled in eight years, while the sales of department stores have gained only 31 per cent. We are pursuing a fallacy when we try to hold to the notion that our advance can go on continuously in a straight line. We shall not be able to climb to higher levels by merely increasing the dimensions of what we have, and at the same time stimulating consumption. Our civilization will con- tinue to be lopsided until science tempora- rily slows up on the construction of more and greater machines and the expansion of present production facilities, and gives a bit of attention to reshaping human nature to fit our highly automatized era. Still a Crude Art We might stop for a moment to see how much of truth there is in the recent flood of opinions from our overseas critics. They say that our talk of prosperity is open to ques- tion and point out that poverty still exists in the United States to such a degree that there is a long waiting list at all of our in- | stitutions and social agencies given over to the care of aged persons having no income or means of support. We are told that 70 men out of every 100 at the age of sixty- five are dependent, maturity being rele- | gated to the sidelines, as is evidenced by a survey showing that seven American em- ployers out of ten will not consider a man over forty-five or a woman over thirty- eight. It is also set forth that business in the United States is still a crude art—not an organized profession. Our preventable fire losses have now reached an annual total sufficient to maintain and operate our Navy for four years or build enough homes to shelter 490,000 people. Every minute of the day and n‘ght in America somebody’s home or place of business is being burned. The result is a yearly loss of 15,000 lives and $562,000,000 in property. This means | that $11,000,000,000 must be put to work at 5 per cent interest to finance this na- tional bonfire. (Continued from Page 27) Tens of thousands of tons of steel in buildings and machines are consumed each year by the flameless fire of rust, most of which waste might be prevented by the development and use of nonrust metals. Therearetwenty-one timesas many murders per unit of population in the United States as in England, and our murder rate has doubled in a quarter of a century. Crime costs us $13,000,000,000 a year, which is more money than we advanced to Europe during the World War and the two years that followed. In many of our cities the residents inhale not only the exhaust gases from thousands of motors buta tablespoonful of soot and dirt every twenty-four hours. In New York City there are eleven rats for every person, and aside from other damage, these rodents consume $55,000,000 worth of food a year. The toll of several serious diseases is higher than ever before, and we are shouldered with a hospital maintenance charge of $3,000,000 a day. As for our care of that most important of all machines—the human body—suffice it to say that 2 per cent of our entire population are incapacitated by ill- ness all the time, while more than half of our people are suffering from some kind of ailment every day in the year. One-Eyed Optimism These are but a few of the shortcomings set forth to challenge our boasted suprem- acy. The chief threat to American business at present is overconfidence in the handling of a multitude of new problems. Too many of our people have thrown their old copy- book maxims out the window and adopted the common notion that the future will dis- close only a series of ups, with no valleys anywhere in sight. There is much lacking in the current ad- vice to “buy common stocks and have your income grow as the country grows.” In case of deflation instead of inflation, where would we get off under such a bold plan? There is nothing new in the present idea of the investment trust that goes in for a diversified list of securities. During the vio- lent boom in Great Britain from 1887 to 1890, the speculative rage extended into nearly every kind of promotion, and com- mon stocks were most in favor. Hundreds of British corporations became what we now call investment trusts. Everything went well so long as the market continued torise. But the real worth of an investment trust isshown ina declining market. Heaven help those who start on this royal road to fortune at a time when the price level is at or near a peak. Our one-eyed optimists are now exercis- ing an influence no less misleading than that of the chronic pessimists who are never able to see anything but disaster ahead. To perpetuate success we must see both the good and the bad in current conditions. American brains have not suddenly trans- formed the world from a state of semibar- barism to a condition of perfection. Fallacies are accepted and spread without question or thought. For example, the aver- age American notes the seemingly unending streets of fine homes, the long lines of motors and the numberless other evidences of record wealth in our country, and at once concludes that his modest $8000 a year places him in a class that ranks well down the list so far as annual income is con- cerned. But a little investigation would show this same citizen that he is a fortunate member of a small group of lucky people who make up considerably less than 2 per cent of our total income receivers. He may hold his head high in the knowledge that out of every 100 people he meets on Amer- ica’s Main Streets, 98 of them get less money per year than does he. We boast of living in an electrical age, when the truth is that our average house- hold expenditure for electricity daily equals only the cost of half a package of cigarettes, a single street-car ride or one-seventh of a haircut. We go shopping for a fur coat without knowing that the pelt of the com- mon rabbit now makes up fifty-eight varie- ties of seal, coney, fox, beaver, leopard, mole, lion, nutria and squirrelette. The rabbit seems to be even more prolific under an alias than under his own name. Science has helped us greatly and will help us more, but we assume too much when we expect that it will eventually annihilate practically all of the laws of Nature. There is real danger in our adopting outright some of the present popular conceptions of life’s values as outlined by certain enthusiastic advocates of the purely scientific viewpoint. We may as well dismiss the notion that we can step aside from creation’s scheme and separate ourselves from the common order of things. Deep-lying instincts tell us that man has a personality and that the drama of our individual lives has significance. Scientific thought may twist and turn and theorize to its heart’s content, but it will never dispel the feeling of humanity that there is a mystery and a meaning hidden in the universe. When our great ma- terialistic monuments have piled up in de- cay we shall find man still insisting that there are intangible values which surpass in importance many of those now considered so supremely essential. Science is making it possible for us to build a superior civilization, but there is no evidence to indicate that it will give us a wholly new philosophy of life. This is true because we are more than our minds, and our instincts are stronger than our reason. What we need most right now is a bal- anced point of view with respect to our ma- chine civilization, which has become the chief topic of world conversation. All of us must grasp the truth that Europe and America represent two different civiliza- tions that are highly competitive. One of these great peoples is destined to assume the leadership of the white race. The pop- ulation of America has multiplied by twenty while that of Europe has only tripled. We lack somewhat in the matter of a historical background, but we have established our life on economic foundations and forces that serve as a satisfactory substitute for Europe’s political organisms. What are American Standards? We have turned from romanticism to re- alism. In 1914 fiction was 40,000,000 copies out of 175,000,000 books printed. In 1925 fiction was only 30,000,000 out of nearly 425,000,000 copies. Here is proof positive that America has gone in for serious reading. Now we must determine whether we have built up merely a new society in a new world, or a sound nation having that unity of thought and ideals so essential to national cohesion. Many insist that our immigrants of this last generation would lose their at- tachment for their adopted country if ma- terial prosperity in the United States dis- appeared. Certainly there can be no denying that our rate of material advance has completely outstripped our biological progress. No dis- play of cleverness in the development of ingenious mechanical devices will save us from the consequences of human decadence. Millions of our people have been mentally unable to finish the courses in our public schoois. More than 2,000,000 Americans are defective mentally to such an extent that we are forced to provide them with institutional care. A while back we wanted greater produc- tion, and this meant cheap labor, so we closed our eyes to early ideals and brought in some millions of unskilled laborers from the lowest levels of European populations. What a change in breed from the pioneer days when convicts and camp followers rep- resented only a small sprinkling among the (Continued on Page 177)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i MAN WHO THE WOULDN T CHANGE Daggers and prayer wheels, devil masks and Buddhas, carpets in dusty bales, rotten screens, water jugs, arms and a thousand other oddments were cased or piled or merely thrown into the room. Thus Kipling describes, in “Kim,” an Indian storehouse. + + + + «+ + ITH 2,000 years’ start in commerce, Easterners, because they would not change, allowed America to gain commercial supremacy with new ways of mak- ing, handling, storing, and displaying goods. For the economical storage, handling and display of materials, the Lyon organization has developed, during the past twenty-eight years, a long line of steel storage equipment—cabinets, lockers, counters, shop boxes, shelving. Lyon Steel Shelving is saving space, time and money in thousands of stockrooms, warehouses, and tool- rooms. It does not wear out and does not become obsolete. Lyon Steel Shelving is standard and easily adjusted to changed conditions. You can take it down, move it and quickly set it up again without loss. New units of Lyon Steel Shelving can be added to older ones without trouble and with absolute uni- formity in appearance. You can buy just a few units of Lyon Steel Shelving—if you need only a few—or you can make a complete installation by a plan pre- pared by your own and Lyon Engineers. There are other Lyon Products for every storage need of every business—cabinets for offices, counters and display cases for stores, equipment for shops, lockers for schools, factories and clubs. Write for “Cutting Costs with Lyon Steel Equip- ment,” or for special book on any Lyon Product. LYON METAL PRODUCTS, INCORPORATED, Aurora, III. Successor to Durand Steel Locker Co, Lyon Metallie Mfg. Co. eee eeeenee _ LYO 75 ——ll : 4 “ ’ SS | {| : "" ih OFFICE CABINETS ° ‘ ! . > S i= . 1 , | | = | — iu 1 u's, aac iill | il DISPLAY CASES Hi ———.. mt a el || 7 » | - 3 | i 4 . HI ) | 4 ii | tht Ee STEEL LOCKERS STEEL STORAGE aud DISPLAY EQUIPMENT SH ELVIN G Ma ecmars / ; re COUNTERS L Oc K E STEELART FOLDING CABINETS TABLES & CHAIRS

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176 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST re be): ¥ ' We FLT ." f/, Arwnc stream dashes down a mountain- side . . . a turbu- lent torrent of unbridled energy. And then, the reservoir... waters, no less powerful, but calm, placid, con- trolled . . . ready to do man's bidding. The function of Filter Condensers in the radio set presents a definite parallel. Unseen, unheard, they are the reservoir of radio. Into them flows the surg- ing, turbulent stream of electrical energy. Out of them comes centrolled power...smooth, con- stant, regulated to the needs of perfect radio reproduction. MAKERS OF POLY Filter Blocks By-Pass Condensers Mica Condensers Resistors Coil Windings ts fain POLYMET MANUFACTURING CORPORATION Plugs and Connectors 599-601 BROADWAY AGO) DANae M]...RESERVOIR OF RADIO Radio manufacturers realize the importance of the quality of Filter Condensers used in their sets. They know that condenser defection can result in complete radio failure, and even the destruction of other and more expensive parts. As a result, 24 of the R. C. A. licensed manufacturers use Polymet Condensers. The preeminence that the Polymet Manufacturing Corporation has attained in condenser manufacture is directly attributable to modern production methods, careful testing, and accurate rating. The result — superlative condenser performance — is recognized by every radio producer, from the set manufacturer and professional set builder to the amateur radio experimenter. Make certain that your next set is Polymet equipped—it is an assurance of quality. POLES + PRQIOUCTS UNITED KINGDOM: A. H. Hunt, Ltd., CANADA: White Radio Ltd., 41 West Tunstall Rd., Croydon, Surrey, England. Avenue, N Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. i March 25,1929 NEW YORK CITY a

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_. I (Continued from Page 174) hardy, adventurous settlers who sought refuge as well as opportunity in the New World overseas. There was nothing partic- ularly angelic about our forefathers, and most of them came here to avoid poverty and oppression. But they did love their newly adopted country and were ready to give their all for the perpetuation of its established institutions. The stock of this breed is far superior to that being produced by the malcontents, paupers and defectives who were brought in thoughtlessly by those who gave ear only to the cry for mass production. Now we are paying for our carelessness. In our midst are many people who, instead of being thankful for the advantages of America, have hastened to display an an- tagonism toward our most cherished ideals and principles. Though we are trying to put an end to the United States being used as a dumping ground for foreign undesir- ables, this change of policy came too late to prevent an interbreeding which brought a serious mental and physical decline in our human stock. The reports of the draft boards during the late war showed conclu- sively that we do not live up to the repu- tation established by our pioneers. When we talk of tomorrow, we may well inquire as to what we are now doing to add inches to our stature, to reduce feebleness of body and mind, and to decrease insanity, poverty, lawlessness and crime. Utter ruin will overtake the stock breeder who pays as little attention to the composition of his herd as we pay to the composition of our population. It is alarming to face the con- clusion that although we are spending more money in the United States for education than any other country, the average intelli- gence of our citizenship in some sections is declining. Instead of making the most of our chance to better the race, we have gone in for numbers at a sacrifice of quality and type. We practically ignore inheritance factors and place all our trust in environment, fail- ing to recognize that heredity provides the organism, whereas environment is only the stimulus that sets it in action. Our present plan of amalgamation is tending to eradicate all national, racial and color lines. Even the whites and the blacks in America have gone on interbreeding at a rate that has increased the population of mulattoes in our negro population from 11 per cent fifty years ago to 21 per cent today. Maturity Not Senility The future of the United States will be determined largely by the character of the type of human that comes out of our pres- ent melting pot. If we are content to wit- ness a breeding of our race from the lower levels rather than from the top, and are willing to close our eyes to the necessity of applying to our human stock the fundamen- tal principles of good animal breeding, then we must face the certainty of extinction of the most gifted lines by the dry rot of luxury and indifference. To ignore this question is to increase the likelihood of our joining the ghostly procession of so-called superior civ- ilizations that marched across world stages set up in Egypt, India, China, Persia, Greece and Rome. Truly, ours is the road of revolution. The scientist and inventor must complete the work of civilization where politics dropped it. America’s progress has been relatively unimportant when compared to the ad- vances that must be made in order to free life of its major miseries and safeguard busi- ness against endless dangers. In the coming era, when some new inven- tion or change of fashion throws thousands out of employment in the United States, we shall have an effective plan for starting new economic forces to employ idle labor in the useful service of still further supplying human wants. We shall keep the door of opportunity open to maturity, remembering that many of the world's most remarkable achievements have been wrought by men and women of threescore or more. Goethe, THE SATURDAY Galileo, Herbert Spencer, Bancroft and Verdi produced their masterpieces between the ages of seventy and eighty-five. Joseph Jefferson was still a great actor at seventy- five, and Handel wrote one of his immortal oratorios at the same age. Hindenburg, Clemenceau and Balfour are still factors, though their ages are eighty-one, eighty- seven and eighty respectively. Elihu Root prepares elaborate briefs at eighty-three, and Edison at eighty-one is searching for new sources of rubber. We are coming to the end of the prema- ture scrapping of stored-up human values. We shall dismiss the fallacious notion that mental activity goes backward instead of forward after the age of forty-five. Prog- ress will no longer be achieved at the ex- pense of certain elements in the community. Weshall clearly recognize the inconsistency of striving to prolong the span of life if individual usefulness is to be brought to an untimely end. From Other Worlds In the decades that have passed, practi- cally all of our expansions of money in cir- culation by means of bank loans have been on the producer side. We were committed to the policy of volume at any cost. To- morrow we shall have a satisfactory plan to finance consumption as well as production. At the same time we shall recognize that high-powered salesmanship can make pov- erty of wealth. We shall not subject sensi- ble economy toridicule and perpetuate false pride to an extent that requires an exercise of great moral courage for one to wear last season’s hat or drive a car two years old. Not every human consideration will be subordinated to that of the machine. Busi- ness men will abandon the idea that it is cheaper to pay an annual tax of hundreds of dollars to cover their share of the cost of crime and corruption than to give a num- ber of days of valuable time to the work of bettering conditions. This change in view- point will put an end to the present plan of turning government over so largely to incompetents. Hundreds of dreams will either fade away or be shorn of every semblance of practica- bility. The heat in the earth is thirty million times greater than that stored in all of our coal seams, but it will be there untapped when our children’s children are getting their supply of heat from the bituminous coal beds that still lie in abundance under their feet. Research has proved the feasibility of producing synthetic foods in huge facto- ries. But as man now uses only one two- hundredth of the earth’s total yearly food supply, it will be generations before the farm will give way to the factory. We shall dismiss the loose talk about giant airplanes and get clearly in mind the definite limits of aviation. One horse power will support and propel ata reasonable speed a maximum gross weight of twenty-five pounds, and thisimportant factor can only be altered slightly by reducing engine weight. The vehicle that will serve mass needs to- morrow in air transportation will be the air- ship, not the airplane. The airship, like the ocean liner, floats in its own medium and increases in effectiveness as the size in- creases. The airplane ceases to be an air- plane the moment the engine stops. Be- yond a certain weight, already attained in manufacture, the efficiency of the heavier- than-air machine commences to decline. The plane is supreme in speed; the dirigible has most of the other advantages. Soon the American who has a fortnight’s holiday will be able to spend ten days of it in Europe. The maintenance of leadership in coming years will require never-ending research and an ability to read quickly and correctly the signs that loom ahead. The revolutions brought about by iceless refrigeration, the motor car, the electric pump, the radio and hundreds of other innovations will be dupli- cated in dozens of fields. Any arbitrary action to push prices beyond a fair level will set thousands of engineers and chem- ists to the task of perfecting new and better EVENING POST methods and materials. Our thanks are due | the research worker more than the legislator | for the protection now afforded the public against extortion by corporate interests. There is no doubt that the scientific achievements of tomorrow will surpass those of yesterday. The mere fact that we have more knowledge and more useful tools makes this a foregone conclusion. Just as technical investigation of the by-products of cottonseed added ten dollars to the value | of the cotton crop for every bale grown, so will other forms of research add hundreds of millions of dollars each year to the nation’s | credit account. Oxygen is one of the most common ele- ments the earth contains, and it is a prac- tical certainty that a way will be found te separate it out of the air at a cost of five or ten dollars a ton. Cheap oxygen will effect radical changes in gas manufacture, steel production and other major industries. Laboratory processes in chemistry and medicine will thereby be greatly improved. | Of paramount importance is the fact that oxygen enrichment of the air in combustion processes will make possible for fuel use | those strata of carbonized rock now re- garded as absolutely worthless. Some idea of the astounding develop- ments of tomorrow may be gained by merely touching one of the new fields in which science is now pioneering. I have reference to the miracle-making qualities of the radia- tions that come to us from the distant heavens. We now understand that of all the octaves of light waves that flood the earth, certain groups of rays invisible to the human eye | possess astonishing properties. Chief of these are the ultra-violet vibrations. We have been waiting for something to force us into a healthier civilization, and it seems that now we have it. More ultra- violet light means a material reduction in the prevalence of the common cold, which | now represents a chief threat to life and the principal cause of absenteeism and low efficiency in business. It means the elimina- tion of rickets through the banishment of smoke. It means vitaminized foods, better milk, and eggs with more calcium in them. It means a new viewpoint concerning clothes and a policy of dressing according to the weather rather than to the season. Bags of Sunshine Wonderful was the discovery of the rela- tionship between invisible light waves and vitamins. It has permitted Commander Byrd to take with him on his trip to the South Pole many bags of sunshine in the form of edible cereals that were previously subjected to a prescribed dose of ultra- violet rays. This treatment imparts the effects of light to many foods. It enriches them with vitamin D, which substance is the antonym of darkness and is essential to the develop- ment and maintenance of strong bodies in both animals and plants. Without vitamin D we cannot assimilate and use the calcium, lime and phosphorus contained in the foods we eat. The result is a lowered resistance to disease. Knowing that irradiation of our skin by unskimmed sunlight, rich in violet rays, safeguards our health by pouring vitamin D into the blood streams of our bodies, we shall turn more and more to lighter clothing and eventually to fabrics that transmit some of the vital rays of sunlight. We shall refuse to live and work behind windows that shut out the ultra-violet rays. We shall burn smokeless fuel entirely for a similar reason, and shall use no heating systems which do not properly moisten the winter air; and our summer air will be comfortably cooled. Respiratory diseases from parched mem- branes will diminish and the winter become as healthful a season as the summer. It is startling developments of this kind that render futile the great cry that has gone up recently for the stabilization of business. The truth is that there will be a continual upsetting of normal price relationships by a multitude of new inventions and chemical WATER BUCKET SLAVERY end it with RUNNING WATER for only $ In the home without Run- ning Water the hands of the women are shackled to the slavery of pump-and- tory, for 210 carry drudgery. But fortu- - maih , 4-H nately, the price of freedom with motor fer need not be a serious con- & Syck ot di sideration for any home with electricity. No longer is Running Water under pressure a costly luxury. A complete Electric Shallow Well Home Water System can be had for only $70. Deferred payments make the purchase still easier. Within the hand- some blue lacquered enclosure are pump, motor, tank and automatic switch. No moving parts exposed—ingquisitive fingers are safe. Why deny yourself this necessity longer? Take the first step toward a bet- ter home now! Use the coupon. No matter what your water service prob- lem, Fairbanks- Morse engineers will help you Cash f.o.b. tac $70 for 210 gal. per hour size. A 420 gai wr hour age fur $100 Hoth of these syeteme for use where source ol water is Get more than 22 feet below the unit Other fF ait banks Muree systeme provide running wa ter regardiess of source of supply of tym af newe avail FAIRBAN KS-MORSE Home Water Systems Fairbanks-Morse Products Every Lime a Leader Fairbanks Morse & Co., Dept. L-3b 7 1 900 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago | Send your Special Circulars giving full details | about the F-M Home Water Systema ! | Name | ! | Address RFD i Town County State j My source of water supply is Shallow Well i Deep Well Spring Lake Stream Cistern Have you electricity’ Ven No 0. ananenananengnenasepescranenenaneseseseseneerenee 7 oor CS MILLS 2 ABSORBENT TOWELING WIPES DRY KINKADE GARDEN TRACTOR and Power Lawnmower A Practical, Proven Power Cultivator for Catelog American Farm Machine Co. tree 1098 Jird Av. 5. bk... Minneapolis, Mina.

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Che your teeth that people notice. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST IT KEEPS TEETH WHITE | ENTYNE ..and smile/ And here’s a tip for you! When you smile, it’s Never let them grow dull, so vou can’t be proud to show them im your smile. Chew delicious Dentyne, the gum that keeps teeth gleaming white. You'll love that unique flavor—and Dentyne is the highest quality chewing gum made today. antly and profita the country over °25 a week Extra Suppose you could add $25.00, $15.00, even $10.00 a week regularly to your present income—could you spend it pleas- bly? Think it over! And if you do want more money, we offer a sure way to get it that is bringing extra dollars to men and women Many of them, who devote a large part or all of their time to the work, are netting $50.00 and more a week. Others, who can spare but little time, receive up to $1.50 an hour. William Chester Miller of New York, for example, has earned $5.00 in one evening after office hours. Earn It In Your Spare Time Here is your chance. If you have Every month, every year, should even an hour or two to spare each bring you bigger profits and easier week, you can turn that time into work. Now is the time to learn about cash! Whether you are 18 or 80, our offer. It costs only the two cents w married or single, our pian will pay for the stamp, and you may carn ba you well hundreds of extra dollars ; e: is we The Curtis Publishing Company Be Independent 236 Independence Square Become a subscription Philadelphia, Pennsylvania representative for ane Saturday Evenmg Post, Please tell me how I can earn real money in The Ladies’ Home jour- my spare time. nal and The Country Gentleman and enioy : extra money of your Vame Age own. PLEASE PRINT NAME AND ADDRESS) Street City State > 5 discoveries. For example, current develop- ments in the manufacture of synthetic per- fumes indicate the approach of the end of a profitable flower-growing industry in South- ern France. The natural perfumes not only are lim- ited in number but they cannot be stand- ardized for the reason that the odor of the flowers varies with the character of the sea- sons and the uncertainty of the harvest. Synthetic perfumes are limitless in the num- ber of new odors that can be produced. Their price will be lower because the chemist can manufacture as much perfume in a small factory with a few vats and stills as can be secured under the old process from a large acreage of growing plants. Production of perfumes with strange and fascinating odors will necessitate the creation df a new lan- guage to deal with these products. An in- teresting craft will arise, entailing as much of an exercise.of artistic genius in the blend- ing of perfumes as is required of the painter who specializes in the combination of deli- cate colors. One of the oldest of American businesses is that engaged in the manufacture of gas, and yet we find this century-old industry on the eve of revolutionary changes. Research discloses that instead of merely producing heat, our gas plants will produce an agent of cold as well as a wide variety of basic chemicals and motor fuels. The fuel prod- uct of tomorrow will be produced in such harmless form that it can be breathed in quantity without danger or discomfort. The chief by-products in the manufacture of this nonasphyxiating gas will be oxygen and solid carbon dioxide, or dry ice. The oxygen will be used in the chemical industries and for welding, while the solid carbon dioxide will have an unlimited field as an agent of refrigeration in millions of homes. So there is only disappointment ahead for people who believe we are coming to the end | of ups and downs in industrial life. Trade slumps are brought on by numerous factors not of business origin. Oftentimes the causes are international in character. Depressions have resulted from adverse weather condi- tions, the uncertainty of business men’s forecasts, emotional waves, unexpected in- novations, saving and investing, widespread overproduction, banking operations, the flow of money income, profit making and in- sect invasions. The yearly losses of farm crops caused by insects now total more than $1,000,000,000. If a single pair of insects destructive to plants were to increase for three years without hindrance, there would be around 6,000,000 of the pests in existence. lodine for Woolly Sheep Though the rewards of success will con- tinue to increase as the years go by, the perils of business will surely continue to multiply. Most of the great disclosures of technical research were accidents impossible to anticipate. Liquid oxygen and hundreds of other amazing discoveries were the re- sults of sheer chance. Insulin was given us through the accidental observation that the removal of the pancreas produced diabetes. An American chemist seeking to obtain thyroxin from the thyroid glands of sheep was impressed by the fact that those sheep having glands yielding large quantities of thyroxin were heavy wool growers; the others were scrawny and thin-haired. Phys- | iologists were called in and supported the conclusion that an inactive gland serves to retard bodily and mental processes. This information was passed on to the sheep growers, with the advice that they feed iodine to their flocks. The outcome has been an increase in the production of wool. In the era now commencing new profes- sions will spring up on all sides. Instead of mere specialists in heating, we shall have thermal engineers who will work with prob- lems of cold as well as those of heat. The same solar energy that gave us fuel to warm our homes also created the agent that cools our food and drink. The heat problems of the refrigerator and the power plant are identical, though reversed in the order of March 25,1929 operation. The therma! engineer will have a lineage extending back to the ancient priests of the sun god. He is the one who must solve the riddle of the electron and write the answer to the phenomena of ma- terial existence. Far-reaching developments are coming in chemistry, physiology and psychology. The field of metals and their alloys is al- most a virgin one for research. In the span of afew years aluminum has practically re- made the household kitchen, while tungsten has revolutionized the art of illumination. Six years ago the new metal, beryllium, sold for $5000 a pound. Today its price is forty dollars, with the trend still downward. It will enable us to produce more alloys with amazing properties. When employed in X-ray tubes, it transmits the rays seven- teen times as well as the aluminum here- tofore used. Chemistry’s chief problem, however, is not the production of more new materials, but the discovery and development of ways and means to kill germs. One of the emi- nent surgeons of Europe stated recently that sterilization in the human body has so far met with defeat. He said that with a few exceptions, all recent attempts to produce drugs that will kill germs without destroying the natural defenses of the body have ended in failure. The majority of people who die before the age of forty are the victims of attacks by microérganisms. A Kitchen Weather Bureau The great scientific disclosure of tomor- row will be the chemical formula for the substance in healthy blood which has the power to kill a disease germ. The body pro- tects itself from microbes by chemical means. Here we have the most important secret of the ages, and one that science is challenged to unlock. The task set for the chemist should not be impossible in view of the fact that urea, sugar, and even living tissues are already being manufactured in the laboratory. Certain animals can be induced to yield antitoxins to combat a number of diseases, but we have made almost no progress what- ever in overcoming such infections as pneu- monia, caused by germs that do not pro- duce a toxin. In such cases we are merely treating symptoms, not eradicating root causes. Chemistry, in the years before us, will turn much of its attention from the problems of industry to pioneering in the field of biochemistry. Where could there be any greater accomplishment than the pro- duction of a widely effective antitoxin that would add years to the average span of human life? What disclosure would match the development of effective measures to eliminate humanity’s greatest affliction, the common cold? The stabilization of commodity prices is insignificant in com- parison. Tomorrow will be an age of refinements changing not only customs and practices but all forms of business. The scientific viewpoint will penetrate even to the kitchen, for the housewife will recognize that humid- ity and air temperature play an important part in the success or failure of cookery. When the hygrometer shows a humidity above a prescribed percentage, the cook will understand that she must either cook the food longer or use a higher temperature for the same length of time. If the barom- eter shows an atmospheric pressure below thirty inches, the cook will be warned that she must do something to prevent the cake from falling and the eggs from boiling softer than usual. Millions of dollars are now wasted each year in homes where cooking is carried on independent of scientific de- vices. Kitchen weather will become a mat- ter of wide importance. New knowledge will bring us so many radical changes that the dollars of future in- vestors who are overcomplacent or unwary will be surrounded by hazards. Hundreds of products will be marketed by automatic machines. When the country is covered (Continued on Page 181)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ° ° ° Manufactured since IS45 .. by RU SSELL. BURDSALL & WARD BOLT & NUT CO. Factories at PORT CHESTER, N. Y. ROCK FALLS, ILL. CORAOPOLIS, PA. Sales Offices at Philadelphia Detroit Chicago San Francisco Los Angeles Seattle Portland FOR SALE BY RELIABLE PEALERS AND JOBBERS BOBES., NEES AND HREVEES rMPiri

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180 THE SATURDAY EVENING PCST March 25,1929 (.) MILLION MILES OF SAFE BUS TRAVEL

— the Record of these Greyhound Drivers ~~)

uw responsible gers but to the thou- drivers in a hun. sands of other motorists dred cities today he meets on the highways. swing into the control seats P 2 of the outbound Greyhound Buses. Responsible Ownership Before them stretch smooth high- ways to distant cities. In their com- petent charge is the good name of Greyhound Lines, largest motor transportation system in America.

In every terminal city great serv- ice garages check motors, chassis, tires and brakes, before each run. Every mechanism must be fit, every safety device operating at highest Greyhound buses travel daily a efficiency, always. distance equal to three times the Winter and summer, day and mileage around the world. They night, millions of people depend on carry millions of passengers in safety, Greyhound bus travel. For a hun- in comfort, at the lowest cost ever dred miles or a trip across the con- offered for dependable overland tinent you save money, enjoy new travel. travel convenience and pleasure, on these Greyhounds of the highways. Measures of Safety Write for Greyhound bus fares ‘ , y and time tables from your city. An Every Greyhound driver, schooled illuminating booklet “Motor Bus in the standards of safety and serv- Transportation” will also be sent ice which have builtthe Greyhound — you. Address, Department of Travel system, is a man of character, re- Jn formation, Motor Transit Manage- liability. Physically and mentally ment Company, Chicago. he has stood the most rigorous of examinations. He has come up through operat- ing and mechanical departments that have taught him every nut and bolt in the coach he drives. Safety, courtesy and care he has learned in countless safety meetings and ex- perience tests on the road. Not only is he courteous to his own passen-

Greyhound drivers operate under the strict supervision of a corps of traveling safety directors. They receive detailed information as to weather and road conditions. All changes in traffic codes and regula- tions must be thoroughly understood before a driver takes the road.

DEPENDABLE Frequent meetings of Greyhound drivers to promote safety are held at each division point of the system. Here safety commissioners, traffic officials and highway engineers gather to instruct and co-operate with the drivers of the Greyhound buses.

NEW YORK « LOSANGELES « JACKSONVILLE « CHICAGO <« PHILADELPHIA « CLEVELAND « DETROIT « CINCINNATI BALTIMORE « WASHINGTON « PITTSBURGH <« INDIANAPOLIS « ST. LOUIS ~ KANSAS CITY ~« DENVER « ATLANTA <x NEW ORLEANS

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(Continued from Page 178) with air routes over which taxi planes and rigid airships will operate on set schedules, and when the proposed development of highways, waterways and high-pressure gas and power mains has been brought to realization, villages will grow rapidly into cities, isolated districts will become strategic centers, mountain-top values in many places will surpass those of the low-lying valleys, and realty prices generally will be revolutionized. When we turned to concrete construction in the field of public buildings, especially the theater, it became necessary to use “‘porous plaster,”” heavy velvet draperies and other makeshifts to correct echoes and reverberations. Research has just dis- closed that a vibrating diaphragm placed beneath the concrete of a room will make it as resonant as a piano sound board. Un- seen and unknown, the microphonic ears diffuse and banish echoes. This merely indicates what research is going to do to the arts and industries. The Price of Civilization The course of business in the years ahead will be influenced by scores of factors never before considered. Health, comfort and convenience will be deciding arguments. Soon the average citizen will regard noisy streets with as much disfavor as he now does those that lack sewers. Landlords who build offices and dwellings that admit disturbing noises will be held as much at fault as those who now allow roofs to leak or gas to seep into the basement. Legis- lative restrictions on such noisemakers as riveting machines, motor trucks and street cars will not only affect engineering designs with the panther, the wolves displayed no interest in Red Tobal and his mate. With numberless deer to prey upon, they would not turn aside in pursuit of new and un- tried game. Then, early on» warm after- noon, in sunny open woodland where the tall pines stood far apart and a green car- pet of short sweet grass covered the level forest floor, Red Tobal fought his first pitched battle with the wilderness. He was grazing quietly with the shaggy mare when suddenly, down the wind, a wolf gave tongue. Immediately, as though this had been a signal, the clamor of a great pack filled the woods. Tobal, already in full flight, saw them coming under the column- like trees—saw, too, that the mare lagged far behind him, running stiffly, laboring at every stride. His own hurts were healing well; hers were still raw and angry, for the panther’s claws had cut deep into her haunches; and now, leaping suddenly away as the wolf cry smote upon her ears, she had reopened the deepest of her wounds. Blood oozed from it and pain almost paralyzed her left hind leg. Almost at once the wolves were all around her, running silently beside her, and next moment two of them sprang at her throat. She screamed, and at the sound a strange thing happened to Red Tobal—instantly there wassomething in him that wasstronger even than his fear. He whirled and came racing back to her, and before they could pull her down he struck them, a snorting, squealing demon of flashing teeth and fly- ing hoofs, scattering them like leaves. The smell of blood gave them courage. They rallied and closed in on him, fighting wick- edly, leaping up at his throat, chopping at his flanks, trying to hamstring him as they hamstrung deer. He was the center of a mad whirling mélée, while the mare, sway- ing weakly on her legs, looked on with wild, terror-stricken eyes. Almost in an instant Red Tobal was red with his own blood. His legs and haunches were ripped in half a dozen places, but he was unconscious of pain. Biting, kicking, THE SATURDAY but will save much equipment that now goes to pieces from lack of care. We may orate about prohibition, argue the pros and cons of the Government in business, and loudly insist that the founda- tion of democracy is individual freedom. But we might as well accept the inevitable conclusion that personal liberty in America must be subordinated to public welfare. Mass living is forcing us to place more and more restrictions on individual action. Chemical wastes from a mill can no longer be poured into rivers or creeks that supply water for others to drink. The citizen suf- fering from an infectious disease cannot roam the streets at will. We have smoke ordinances, parking regulations, censorship and obscenity laws, and one-way streets. The tendency to prohibit will increase rather than diminish in the future. Life will be revolutionized as greatly in the next generation by purely social necessities as it was by the mechanical developments of the last quarter century. It will be the business of government to eliminate contemptible forms of graft and to lay a heavy hand upon all who seek to exploit the citizen or endan- ger his welfare. Trucking traffic will be obliged to adjust itself to night hours. Au- tomobiles engaged in through travel will be forced to use by-pass roads to avoid towns and cities. It will be a duty of the state to correct physical infirmities that prevent de- pendent citizens from entering the wage- earning class. Just as the Government is expected to meet the necessities of war, so will it be considered the job of state and Federal forces to design and enforce meas- ures to reduce the peaks and valleys of our industrial life. Whereas government ownership in gen- eral business is undesirable and destructive, RED TOBAL (Continued from Page 25) plunging, he fought his way through and leaped clear; then, wheeling, he charged through the brown-and-gray mob of them, and rearing high in their midst, struck downward with his fore hoofs, breaking a she wolf's back. They drew away from him then, eying the she wolf avidly where she lay writhing in agony, and Tobal charged them again. They fell aside and let him pass, and the stallion whirled to find them in a struggling, ravening mass upon the she wolf's body, tearing her limb from limb. He was on them once more like a thun- derbolt, trampling them down, pounding them underfoot, his bared teeth and curled lips foul with hair and blood. For a min- ute, perhaps, they fought him, and a yellow wolf, fastening on his neck, clung there like a giant leech until Tobal, rearing high and whirling in a half circle, flung the beast from him. Then, all at once, they were gone—all except the dead mangled she wolf and two others that dragged themselves painfully over the ground, their crippled legs trailing behind. This was Red Tobal’s first pitched battle with the wilderness, his first pitched battle with fear. Thereafter fear was never again his master, and though for a time he still ex- perienced it often, he never gave way to it completely, never forgot everything else in an overwhelming surge of terror. The wolves, thenceforward, he treated with a fierce disdain, and they, ‘inding him always ready for battle, left him severely alone. The black bears, which were almost as numerous as the wolves, were entitled to greater respect, but Tobal learned gradu- ally that not one in five of them would come on if he held his ground. Thus, in time, the bears became mere incidents in his daily life, though he was careful, when a big one approached, to remove himself from its path before it had drawn too near. Among his four-footed foes, only the huge alligators of the rivers and lagoons and the long- bodied, velvet-footed panthers, that moved without a sound along the forest trails, held their place as enemies to be dreaded always, EVENING POST reasonable government regulation must be accepted as essential and constructive. We ‘habitually make a nuisance of even the | greatest blessings. The airplane is a mar- velous machine and the modern microphone is an amazingly ingenious device. But when | advertising puts the two together and en- | velops a great metropolis in the unearthly | roar of sound amplified 2 hundred million times, completely distracting the attention of hundreds of thousands of busy workers, | we are forced to recognize the futility of any policy that subordinates public welfare to | self-interest. Until the Millennium Science found the world of business in darkness and has succeeded in letting in the light. It has substituted truth for deceit, generosity for cruelty, and given a moral consciousness to what was once a thing of shame. Standardization, simplification, | uniform systems of cost accounting, im- proved transportation, increased exports, ingenious sales plans and diversification of production have all played parts in better- | ing conditions and in widening opportuni- | ties for individual accomplishment. But disappointment is in store for those who see ahead only an era of unalloyed suc- cess and happiness. The closer our expec- tations approach the truth, the better pre- pared we are to overcome difficulties. There will be no end to price fluctuations and business upheavals until salesmen all die, invention ceases to function, new ideas disappear, research is abandoned, science is buried, competition gives way to monopoly, the purchasing value of the dollar becomes | constant and human nature has been brought to abhor fraud and speculation. antagonists with whom no liberties could be taken. He avoided the alligators by keeping away from the waters where they lived. The panthers he saw seldom — they were far less numerous than the wolves and bears but occasionally he scented them and little by little he acquired knowledge of their ways. He learned that, like the bears, they varied | much in size, but he did not learn until long | afterward that they varied also in courage; that while some of them would attack him instantly, in general they were daunted by his bulk and preferred to prey upon their accustomed victims, the deer. The respect in which he held the whole panther race as a result of that first en- counter prevented him from making this discovery; as soon as he saw or scented one of the big hunting cats he sought safety in flight. He passed no more under leaning tree trunks or overhanging limbs from which an enemy might drop upon his back. He avoided the edges of dense thickets; he kept out of jungly tracts of woods so thick that they could be traversed only by follow- ing the narrow paths made by the deer; he learned, while grazing in the broom-grass savannas, to watch for a slow, sinuous, weaving motion of the tall grass blades as | though a huge serpent were winding through them. A dramatic incident impressed this last lesson upon his memory. By that time, for- tunately, the flesh wounds received in his battle with the wolves had practically healed, while the mare’s injuries no longer hampered her activity. Tobal was grazing with the mare in a grass savanna where many deer in groups of three or four were feeding. Presently, down the wind from him, he saw four young does that had been grazing together lift their heads and go | bounding away. They ran perhaps fifty yards, then halted | and stood at gaze, looking back toward the spot from which they had fled. Red Tobal, puzzled, searched the surface of thesavanna, | but could see no enemy. He saw, however, near the place where the deer had been 181 Find the pen for your hand! For samples of 8 lar pens and bookler, “Per- sonality + We most popu- Hand writing Esterbrook Per send = 3 5 ° 2 ‘AUCTION BRIDGE’ ( ‘the MANDARIN BRIOGE SET Bre ATH-TAKING Beauty! Decorated folding Bridge Set in rich Oriental colorse—a delight to the heart of every hostess. Uphet- stered seats, decorated leatherette tep and two insertable ash trays for corner iegs. Write todey for beautiful folder LOUIS RASTETTER & SONS 1355 Wall Si. Fert Weyne, tad. 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STE ror BOYS ons THE SATURDAY “For child- For a careful parent A Brown Shoe BROWNBIL’ SHOES ALSO FOR MEN AND WOMEN carefree B' PUTTING in your odd hours as our local subscrip- tion representative —just as George Grantham of Canada does; just as hundreds of other workers do- you should easily earn up to $1.50 or more an hour. To succeed as a representative for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gen- tleman, you need not be a trained salesman or invest any money. And you may work right in your own neighborhood, among friends. For this easy, dignified work we \ offer you liberal commissions and } bonuses. The coupon will bring you all the interesting details. Why not mail it today! THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 2 34 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Please tell me how to make my spare time pay. -, ~~ GRANTHAM Canada invests a few pode. hoursinour money- making plan and earns extra cash each month Clip this g | Coupon | EVENING POST feeding, a slow progressive movement of the grass —a queer, rippling, winding motion of the tali, close-growing stems. It drew nearer and Tobal watched it curi- ously. The whitetails had resumed their feeding; the light breeze blowing down the savanna prevented any hint of danger from reaching the red stallion’s nostrils. Never- theless, he whinnied a warning to the mare and the two stood watching while that strange movement of the grass came slowly nearer and nearer. At last, perhaps in a momentary lull of | the breeze, Tobal caught a faint telltale scent. He snorted and wheeled in his tracks; | and up from the grass, where the weaving | movement had been, a great yellow-brown flame-eyed beast leaped high and came bounding on. For a minute it was a close, desperate chase, for the panther for short | distances can run at race-horse speed; but when once Red Tobal and the mare were fairly under way, the big cat dropped be- | hind and quickly abandoned the pursuit. There was one other scent that Tobal feared, one other enemy against whom he was constantly on guard. Esteban Solis, the sternest Indian fighter among the cap- tains of New Spain, had taught him to hate and fear the red men, against whom Solis waged cruel and relentless war. Solis had never sympathized with the policy of the priests and friars, who labored to convert the Indians. His policy, on the other hand, was always one of ruthless domination; and somehow his hatred of the Indians had communicated itself to the stallion that he rode on a hundred dangerous expeditions in the wilderness. Thus, long before he became a masterless horse in a primeval forest where only red men dwelt, Tobal had learned that these red men were his enemies; and long before then he had learned to know them by scent as well as by sight, to recognize them far off as beings of a different order from the white men among whom he lived. It happened that the region to which he had led the shaggy mare, after leaving the ruins of Fort San Felipe, was far removed from any village of the Edisto, and thus months passed before he had scent or sight of a human enemy. But early one Sep- tember morning, not long after his adven- ture with the panther in the broom-grass savanna, Tobal received a startling re- minder of the existence of these two-legged foes. He was lying with the mare on a bed of pine straw close to an opening in the woods, where the ground was low and moist and where many tall white herons were standing at rest in the bright sun. Presently Tobal saw four wild turkeys fly out of the woods and sail across the opening, close over the heads of the white birds standing there. Something had frightened the turkeys, To- bal knew, and he rose quickly, his head high, sniffing the breeze. The mare caught his alarm and got to her feet, and the two stood motionless, watching and listening. For some minutes nothing happened; then, on the farther edge of the savanna, a white heron took wing, another and an- other, until the whole great flock of five hundred or more was in full flight. All at once, Tobal saw, across the savanna, a long line of Indian hunters, walking abreast at intervals of twenty paces, advancing out of the woods into the open space where the herons had been resting. Tobal turned and trotted into the forest, the mare at his heels. But the keen eyes of more than one hunter had seen the two horses and a shrill whoop rose from the ad- vancing line. Tobal did not know that this whoop was a signal. He did not know that the Edistos often hunted deer in this fash- ion, one party of hunters marching through the woods in a far-flung rank, perhaps a quarter of a mile from end to end, and thus driving the game toward other hunters waiting in ambush. He trotted on, the mare just behind him; and because the Edistos, in arranging their deer drives, al- ways took careful note of the direction of | the wind, so that the fleeing game would get no warning of danger in front, Tobal and March 25,1929 the mare ran full into the ambuscade await- ing them. Suddenly an arrow sang past him, missing him by a hair. At the sharp, remembered sound, he sprang forward as though a hor- net had stung him, and another cane shaft stood quivering in a pine trunk at his left. He wheeled and raced off at right angles to his former course, the mare, as always, fol- lowing in his track. Three more arrows sped by them as they ran, but none touched them, and presently they were clear of the ambuscade and safe. Tobal did not know that, for a brief mo- mentous interval, as he raced off amid the far-spaced trees, a tall thick-set Indian standing behind a giant pine had covered him with bent bow, but had not loosed the shaft. He passed in his headlong flight within twenty paces of this hunter, and at that distance the Indian could have driven his arrow halfway through the stallion’s body. Red Tobal, even if he had seen the Indian, could not have understood the light in his small, black, eager eyes. Two days later swift runners passed through all the villages of the Edistos. Cherokee hunters had encroached on the Edisto lands and had ambushed a messen- ger sent to warn them away. In the great round council house in the Edisto chief town the Old Beloved Men and the chiefs sat for long hours around the sacred fire. They offered sacrifices and consulted the signs. The omens pointed to war. Painted and feathered war parties took the trail and returned with Cherokee scalps; once and again the dreaded Cherokee war whoop sounded in the outlying Edisto towns. It was a busy time for Alusta, war captain of the Edistos—his first war as leader of his tribe. He had become war captain when his predecessor was killed by a Spanish bullet in the attack on Fort San Felipe; this quarrel would test his cunning and skill. The Cherokees were a powerful nation, but they lived at a great distance, among the inland foothills and the high blue peaks of the Appalachians. Alusta fought a wary campaign, luring the red mountaineers down to the swamps and canebrakes of his own low country and harassing them there. Red Tobal knew nothing of all this. It did not occur to him as strange that during that autumn he caught only once or twice the scent of human enemies. The Edisto braves were fully occupied. They had no time for hunting the red stallion and the shaggy mare seen by a party of their hunt- ers in the late days of summer while driving deer—a stallion which they recognized at once as the horse that the hated Spaniard Solis had been riding when he was killed. But again and again that autumn, while fol- lowing the war trail or lying wakeful in some ambush under the stars, Alusta thought of that day when he had bent his bow against the red stallion and had not loosed the shaft. He desired the red stallicn. The instant he saw the horse he coveted him. Horses were strange to the red men. They had never seen a horse until the Spaniards came, and, their customs fixed through countless generations, it had never occurred to them that they, too, might utilize the horse— echo-clucco, or the great deer, as they called the animal—in warfare. Moreover, they be- lieved—and their wizards and conjurers encouraged this belief —that the Spaniards had some magic power over their horses, enabling them to control these mighty beasts, and that the red men could not learn the secret of this power. Hence, on the rare occasions when Spanish horses fell into their hands, the Edistos killed and ate them and continued to fight and hunt on foot as their ancestors for thousands of years had fought and hunted. Alusta, a deeper Indian than most, saw, vaguely at first, then more and more defi- nitely, the error of this policy. He did not know what the Spaniards’ secret was, but he believed that it might be learned. The Indians often tamed the common deer, and he believed that they might tame the (Continued on Page 184)

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$7.60 Fora Single Day’sWork! Mizpah Smith, of Canada, plans to be a nurse. She knows the rungs of the ladder by which she must climb to reach her goal are “ round, golden dollars.” And she’s earning them— plenty of them—in her spare hours. Miss Smith earns this money by taking care of new and renewal subscriptions for The Saturday Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country Gentleman. Like many another, she finds this work friendly, pleasant and profitable. Re- cently, for instance, she earned $7.60 in a single day's spare time. You have the same opportunity Doubtless you have dreams to fulfill ust as Mizpah Smith has. Perhaps you hs lovely new clothes—money for a long- hoped-for trip—a fund for education—any one of a thousand things. Whatever you want, you can earn the extra money, with-

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out previous experience. Use the conven- | a ient coupon foday—that's the first step. > a — \ - ee guPAnt a \ - ~ yaustNG aren ‘3 —_, puBL ase. FOO yabiné ¥ ‘ San CORT a cn | » indeP gatio® o - shout oF ~ {ae \ Yoram. neg oe , ae \ pieate ———_ =—i‘ Siret? now nity \ ce —"— Mail the Coupone (Continued from Page 182) “great deer” also if the effort were made. He had tried— vainly, for he had no author- ity then—to stop the slaughter of the horses taken at Fort San Felipe. When suddenly, on that day of the deer drive, he discovered that Solis’ stallion had survived, there leaped into Alusta’s brain, as he | stood with bent bow aimed against Red | Tobal, a vision. It was a splendid—an intoxicating vision. He saw himself owner and master of this | red stallion, riding him, ruling him as the | Spaniards ruled the horses that they rode. How he would do this, how he would cap- ture and tame the stallion, he did not know; but the idea, flashing into his mind as Tobal raced past him that day, held his hand so that no arrow sped from his bow. The idea grew swiftly, developing and expanding in his cunning brain. He foresaw what glory would come to him if he, alone among In- dian warrior chiefs, rode the “great deer”’ as the Spaniards rode it. His fame would | spread far; it would extend through all the | neighboring nations. Perhaps a time would come when he would be chief not only of the Edisto but of all their kindred tribes Combahee, Yamasee, Coosaw and Kia- wah. The Cherokee war intervened. Alusta had no time to give to the red stallion. At last, when the scalps taken by both sides were equal, peace talks were held and the quarrel ended. A plan that had shaped it- self in Alusta’s mind ripened into action. Day after day, ranging the forest alone, he studied Red Tobal’s ways, using the utmost care that no hint of danger should reach the stallion’s nostrils. Then, well content, confident that success was only a matter of time, he laid his ambush. Red Tobal and the shaggy mare roamed far and wide. Autumn had passed and winter had come—the sunny, brilliant win- ter of the lowland South. The great flocks of herons and ibises had disappeared; in their place came companies of tall cranes, | some white, some golden-buff, to stride with slow stately steps along the moist edges of the shallow pineland ponds. The turkeys, their numbers swelled by the summer’s in- crease, walked in flocks of a hundred or more through the level leaf-strewn woods. The deer, more numerous than ever, grazed in droves of forty or fifty in the cane savan- nas; now and again small bands of elk came down from the hill country and the mountains to enjoy the richer browsing of the lowland glades. Once a vast army of wild pigeons swept over, their swift-flying legions darkening | the sky. They passed on—from early morn- ing until late afternoon there was no break in that incalculable feathered army—but down’ from the air road which they trav- eled came other hosts of wild fowl to swarm upon every river and marsh—squadrons of great white swans, clamorous regiments of geese, wild ducks of many kinds in untold multitudes. A new vigor pulsed in the veins of Red Tobal and his mate. Day after day the air was still and crystal-clear, the sky bright blue. Sometimes in the early mornings a thin film of ice coated the edges of the streams and the little pineland lakes, but only once came a flurry of snow. Tobal ranged far not because of any shortage of food; the grass in the savannas was always green and all along the edges of the swamps were large beds of tender maiden cane. A spirit of restlessness throbbed in him, a spirit born perhaps of perfect physical fit- ness and an assured self-confidence. This latter was the more important. It had been growing in him, developing slowly, and now it had flowered. Inthe mare alsoa change had taken place, but she had not changed as Tobal had changed. Her senses had grown sharper; she was better able now to read the signs of the forest, to inter- pret its scents and sounds. But she was still a tame thing gone wild against her will, a child of tame generations, with centuries of domestication behind her, thrown by a | strange chance into a primeval wilderness.

March 23,1929 The change that had come over Tobal was far deeper. It was not, in reality, a forced and unwilling response to new condi- tions, a new environment. Rather, it was increasingly a joyful and eager stirring of latent impulses and desires long submerged, needing only the touchstone of opportunity to quicken them into life. Something deep in him had been awakening slowly and now was fully awake. He had become a part of the wild life of the wilderness; he was one now with the deer and the panther and the bear and all the wild creatures of the woods and swamps. He was one with them, although he had no friendship for them, although some of them were his relentless and dangerous foes. He had learned to live life as they lived it, to face the dangers that they faced, to meet them on their own ground at their own game. He had not conquered the wilder- ness; no wild creature could do that. But he had learned its hard lessons, he had met the stern tests that it imposed. He was sure of himself now; and in a somewhat al- tered form, his old pride, his old arrogance, returned. He no longer feared the wilder- ness, although he knew and recognized its dangers. It was his home, his refuge. It might destroy him in the end, but he loved it and gloried in its freedom, and he was not afraid. The thing that happened happened with- out warning. Tobal and the mare ranged far, but night after night they returned to the same place to sleep; and coming and going to and from this safe refuge, walled in by thickets of cassena and partly sur- rounded by a shallow pond which no pan- ther would cross, they used one of two deer paths. Four times, in passing along one of these paths, Tobal, always in the lead, brushed unknowingly against Alusta’s snare. The fifth time the trap closed on him. He did not see it. A small holly, over which a smilax vine had clambered, stood here beneath the pines and thrust its ever- green branches across the deer path. The deer that used the path passed under this leafy barricade, but Tobal, much taller than the deer, always brushed through the holly foliage, deriving a certain pleasure from the gentle scratching of the twigs along his shoulders and back. One morn- ing, as he pushed through this yielding barrier of dark-green leafage, something tightened across his chest and slipped up along his throat. He could not see it, but he took it to be a loop of smilax, and he pressed on through the holly branches and beyond them. The loop across his throat did not break as he expected; he put his weight against it and it tightened instantly, clasping his throat. and neck. In sudden alarm, he leaped for- ward and dashed along the path—a jerk threw him back upon his haunches so vio- lently that he toppled and nearly fell. He stood still, trembling in every limb. Alusta watched him from the conceal- ment of a pine trunk fifty yards away. So far the Indian’s task had been easy. His noose, of jack-vine and hickory fiber, made doubly strong and supple by a process well known to the Indian hunters, had been hid- den skillfully amid the holly twigs above the path. The stallion had thrust head and neck clear through it as he pushed through the evergreen foliage. Once it had tight- ened on him, it would hold forever, and the long buckskin rope to which it was at- tached, and which was in turn made fast to a stout sapling, was strong enough to hold a buffalo bull. Alusta waited and watched. His black eyes glittered like the eyes of a coiled snake; the muscles of his copper-brown body, shin- ing with bear’s oil and naked except for a deerskin about his middle, were tight and hard; two long eagle feathers in his hair, roached in a crest and reddened with puc- coon root, trembled with the intensity of his eagerness. Yet craftiness taught him pa- tience. There was no hurry; he wanted to see what the red stallion would do. He had, of course, selected his hiding place with due regard to the direction of the wind. The

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THE SATURDAY | wild horse could not scent him. Something, he thought, might be learned something that might help him in taming his cap- tive—if he studied the stallion carefully before revealing his presence. Red Tobal stood like a statue of bronze. The quivering of his limbs had ceased. He was absolutely motionless, as still as though the life had gone out of him. It had gone the new free life that he had learned to love. His head was high, yet somehow he had changed. The proud curve of his neck had vanished, there was a strange laxness in his body, like the laxness of utter fatigue; he seemed smaller, thinner than before. The shaggy mare, cropping the grass under the pines thirty yards away, lifted her head and looked at him uneasily. She was wondering, perhaps, why he lingered here where the grass was short and sparse. She whinnied to him, but Tobal did not answer her call. He did not turn his head or move. He understood what had happened. The noose about his neck, the tug on the buck- | skin rope had told him the whole story in the winking of an eye. In a flash, at the touch of those familiar fetters, Tobal knew that he was again the captive and the servant of man. The buckskin rope had fallen slack; it lay loose upon the ground, half hidden in the short grass. But Tobal knew that it was still there, still holding him prisoner. Alusta had expected him to struggle desperately. Instead, he stood wholly docile, utterly still, waiting. Pres- ently, he knew, the hand of a man would be laid upon his neck. The Indian uttered a low grunt—a grunt of satisfaction mingled with surprise. His thin lips moved in a faint smile. His task might be simpler than he had supposed. The wild horse might not, after all, be hard to conquer; his wildness seemed to have vanished already, at the touch of the jack- vine halter, the pull of the buckskin rope. Suddenly a light broke upon Alusta, his | crafty eyes gleamed with a new brilliance. | He had discovered the secret of the Span- iards, the secret of their power over the horses that they rode. There was no mys- tery, no magic—or if there was magic, he had learned where it lay. It was the rope that quelled these powerful beasts, that conquered them and made slaves of them so that men could mount upon their backs. There before him was the proof—at the pull of the rope the red stallion’s spirit had broken. Pride swelled in Alusta, the vain- glory of the successful warrior. In a low voice he began to chant the words of his song of triumph, the pean of victory that he sang when he had slain an enemy. The song worked on him like wine. had done a great thing; he would do a greater one now. Single-handed, he had | taken the red stallion. Now, single-handed, he would tame him, if he needed further taming, and perhaps that very day he would ride him home in triumph to the chief town of the Edistos. He saw, as though it were visible before him, the amazement of the warriors and the women, the fame and the glory that would be his when he came riding out of the forest mounted on that great animal of the Span- iards that no Indian had ever ridden before. | Alusta moved out from his hiding place behind the pine. Beside his hip his quiver of spotted fawn skin held his arrows of hickory and of cane. In his right hand he carried his locust bow: but as he walked forward, he shifted the bow to his left hand He

EVENING POST and with the right drew from his belt a | bright keen knife of fine Spanish steel that he had found when Fort San Felipe was taken. He would not need the knife, but he would have it ready. His lips still chanted, almost inaudibly, the words of his | victory song, yet now he was cool and wily | and watchful. His eyes, as he advanced slowly, were riveted upon the stallion. The shaggy mare snorted at sight of him and galloped off amid the pines. Alusta noted again what he had already ob- served—that she was heavy with young. Red Tobal turned his head and gazed at the approaching Indian. The stallion made no effort to break away or run. His nostrils quivered, his muscles tightened, a light—a light that Alusta could not see and would not have understood—gleamed momenta- rily in his eyes. For the first time Tobal knew that the man whose captive he had become was not a Spaniard but a red man, one of that race that he had always hated and feared. Alusta walked up to the stallion. He placed his right hand—the hand that held the knife on Tobal’s neck. Tobal flinched; his head drooped as though the weight of the Indian’s hand had pressed it down. Alusta stood motionless, his hand on Tobal’s mane. The Indian's eyes glittered with triumph, but he was frowning—he was, for an in- stant, puzzled as to his next move. stallion seerned docile, completely submis- sive. Yet it was too soon to mount him. It would be well to test once more the power that had subdued him, the power that kept him in subjection. Alusta dropped his bow upon the ground and with the hand that had held it, grasped the buckskin rope attached to the jack-vine noose around Tobal’s neck. He tightened slowly on the rope, watching the stallion narrowly. Suddenly Alusta sprang backward. He had felt Tobal stiffen as the rope tightened, had seen the flare of madness in the stal- lion’s eyes. the warning of danger came to him, the danger itself was imminent. He leaped for safety, but he could not leap beyond the radius of the rope, and at once the stallion was upon him, a mad-eyed, snorting, screaming fury, lips curled, teeth gleaming in grinning open jaws. Those teeth raked the Indian's naked shoulder, slashed deep into his flesh. Twice, with all the strength of his right arm, Alusta struck with his knife at the stallion’s throat, and at the second stroke the keen blade sank into something hard and tough, some- thing that held it fast. Tobal reared high, and as the buckskin rope drew taut with a jerk, the jack-vine noose around his neck parted where Alusta’s knife had all but severed it. Tobal’s descending fore hoofs struck the Indian squarely on the chest. They hurled him backward and downward in a crumpled mass. ; Red Tobal sprang forw ard, wheeled and stood at gaze. Blood welled from his neck where the knife had gashed it just forward of the shoulder, but he seemed unaware of the shallow wound. His eyes were brilliant, they blazed as though red fire were in them; his nostrils quivered and dilated, his neck was proudly arched. In every line and curve of his body there was a lithe, wild gracefulness, an exultant beauty that was strength and swiftness and freedom. For a moment he stood gazing at the trampled body of the Indian. Then, with a snort, he whirled and galloped into the forest. The |

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Weafler inv rains valuat nforima * rer * and attorneys a th ating t atent me m pot tential Search Service — plu dure Address tbe perio ed unse! and assistance inevery t office below phase i Pa ant aad Trademark 5 rac CLARENCE A. O'BRIEN Registered Patent Attorney } -s Seca Savings and \ oR Suite 1108 Woolworth Building OG ASMINGTOX, D.c NEW YORK CITY LAWNS BEAUTIFUL If you plant GOLDEN HARVEST Mixed Lawn Grass Seed Most good dealers have it—Grocers—Hard- ware—Druygists or mailed direct in U.S.A. 50c for 1 pound package, $2.00 for 5 pound bag, postpaid BROOKMA™N MANUFACTURING COMPANY Chicage, Illinois Bldg. “Let Allen Clear..the Ptmesphere. FRESH AiR IS FREE | Bilene= Turbine = Wa for Free Sake 200,000 people — use them folder No. 29 with letters liste of stations heard by users LEOM N LAMBERT MFG. CO.. Wichita, Kans PATENTS | BOOKLET FREE HIGHEST REFERENCES BEST RESULTS PROMPTNESS ASSURED Watsoc E. Coleman, Patent Lawyer, 724-%h St., Washington,D.C. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ‘Getting On inthe World This Check-Cashing Business HE hotel man tossed his monthly bank statement into a drawer with a gesture of disgust. “It pains me even to see it on my desk. Seven N. S. F.’s this time,” he explained feelingly to a friend who had watched him | with astonishment. “*N. S. F.’s’—what are they?” asked the friend, still puzzled. “*Not sufficient funds’ is what the letters stand for. We’re entirely too familiar with them in the hotel business. I suppose peo- ple in other lines bump into them, too, but somehow the cashing of checks that come back ‘N.S. F.’ seems inseparable from run- ning a hotel. I dare say every hotel in the country has a fat package of unpaid checks in its safe, most of which will never be made good. ““Many hotel patrons seem to feel that it is part of the hotel’s job to cash their per- sonal checks. The hotel man suddenly con- fronted with a request to cash a check is caught on the horns of a most painful di- lemma; if he cashes the check, he runs the risk of losing the money; if he declines, he is apt to lose the goodwi!l of a valued pa- tron; for somehow the refusal to cash a man’s check seems to arouse greater ani- mosity than a real injury. “Oddly enough people of wealth and im- portance, for the most part, use travelers’ checks and money orders, and rarely ask to have their personal checks cashed. It is the comparatively obscure and unknown individual who expects his personal checks to be honored wherever he goes—a form of personal vanity, I think.” Perhaps there’s an element of truth in the hotel man’s idea that vanity is account- able for the uncenscious effrontery of the man who expects strangers to cash his per- sonal checks without question; but a fairer and more reasonable explanation suggests that the practice of requesting cash for checks persists largely because those who pursue it do not realize the practical and legal significance of what they ask. The Indorser in the Middle Even the most conceited egotist exhibits some diffidence in approaching a friend to whom he is well-known, with the request that the friend indorse his note for a loan at the bank. The formality of the trans- action tends to empHasize the element of liability, of obligation. Yet the same in- dividual, a thousand miles from home, is apt to become incensed if a man who never saw or heard of him before balks at taking his personal check at its face value. Or- dinarily, when Jones cashes Smith’s check, Jones must indorse it when he deposits it in his own bank for collection or when he passes the check along to someone else. In either event he becomes an indorser, and as an indorser he absolutely warrants or guarantees certain things about the check. They are: First, that the check is genuine and in all respects what it purports to be. Second, that the indorser has a good title to it. Third, that all prior parties had capacity to contract—a warranty, by the way, that may come back to haunt your bank ac- count if perchance you have cashed a check for a minor or a lunatic. Fourth, that at the time of the indorse- ment the check is valid and “subsisting,” as the law calls it; this warranty binds the innocent indorser, even though the check may have been given in a gambling transac- tion or for usury or some other illegal pur- pose. In addition, the indorser impliedly con- tracts that, on due presentment, the check will be paid, and that if it be dishonored and the necessary proceedings be taken, he will pay the amount to the holder or to any subsequent indorser who may be compelled to pay it. Every time you cash a man’s check and indorse it to someone else, you bind your- self to all those warranties and guaranties just as securely and as irrevocably as if you had signed a foolscap document setting them forth in detail. They are what the law calls the indorser’s “implied warran- ties” —invisibly but effectively written above your signature by the law every time you pen your name on the back of a check. This absolute liability of the indorser puts him “squarely in the middle,” as the say- ing goes—with results that are apt to be dismaying. For example, if Robinson cashes Harvey’s check and indorses it over to Murphy, Robinson cannot pass the buck to Murphy by requiring Murphy to sue Harvey in the event that the check is not paid. Harvey may have gone bankrupt in the meantime, but just the same, Robin- son, under his implied warranties as in- dorser, is legally obliged to pay Murphy in full. If Robinson is unable to collect anything on the check from Harvey, that’s just too bad for Robinson, but it does not relieve him of his obligation as indorser to Murphy. How to refuse to cash checks without giving offense? Probably as tactful a method as any is to say that you can’t cash them, and give a plausible reason for your inability. An employe, asked to cash a check for one of his employer’s customers, may properly put the decision and the lia- bility up to his employer. If the employer refuses, the employe may well say that he ean cash checks only upon his employer's approval. Losing Customer or Cash Many employers have a wise rule for- bidding employes to cash checks under any other conditions; boards of directors of many corporations have passed resolu- tions embodying similar rules. The man in business for himself may of course find it good business to cash checks for custo- mers whom he knows well; to those of whose financial status he is not quite so sure, he may with regretful air say that his bank, to which he is under obligation, has requested him not to indorse any notes or cash any checks “for the present.’’ That saving phrase, “‘for the present,” takes care of the situation that might arise if the man being refused happened to know that the checks of others had been cashed on occa- sion. If the man whom you ask to cash your personal check does not know you very well indeed, you may rightly expect to be re- fused, and there’s no need to feel insulted about it. If the man who asks you to cash his personal check is not known to you very well indeed, he should expect you to refuse, and there’s no need for him to feel that you have insulted him when you decline te accommodate him. Oh, yes, there’s often the fear of losing a customer or an immediate sale through a re- fusal to cash a stranger’s check. That was what troubled a salesman in an Eastern de- partment store not long ago. “The fellow’s perfectly all right, and if we refuse to cash his check we’re going to luse a fine sale,’”’ the salesman declared to the hard-headed credit man whom he was trying to persuade to approve the immediate cashing of a check. “Maybe so,” retorted the credit man dryly, “but I think you'll agree that you’d much rather lose the sale than make it and then pay for it out of your own pocket— and I’m sure that’s exactly the way the | management would feel about it.” That’s the whole trouble with this check- cashing business: It has to be paid for out of somebody’s pocket. And all too often it’s the pocket of the wrong somebody. ~CHARLES R. ROSENBERG, JR. March 23,1929 What Money-Making Plan Could Be Better for You? You furnish: Only a few hours of your spare time when conven- ient. We furnish: A complete initial out- fit for immediate profit- able work, without charge. All the supplies and equipment you need, at all times, without cost to you. A series of illuminating booklets on just how to succeed and, each month, a sales magazine devoted to tested money-bringing plans, without charge. Personal codperation in correspondence of trained sales directors. a. No Investment No Experience Needed Earn cash profits from the first day in a permanent ever-expand- ing business. Like other subscrip- tion representatives of The Satur- day Evening Post, The Ladies’ Home ‘Fournal and The Country Gentleman, you may make much as $25.00 a Week EXTRA Send the Coupon Below for All the Details as i The Curtis Publishing Company .235 Independence Square Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Please send details of your offer. pS Eka Street be State

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 187 AA i —— = WAHAT..Run Only 4000 Miles? Get Those Schrader’Pressure Dises’ At Once ! A totally new idea in tire care that combats improper inflation amazingly, often saving as much as $30 a year. To get discs : 4 FREE, you simply use coupon. OTORISTS the country over are now offered an easy way to increase tire mile- age remarkably, A new way, formulated by engineers, and calculated to cut your tire costs as much as $30 a year. It’s the new Schrader ‘‘Pres- sure Discs.’’ Four simple discs, stamped with the exact individ- ual pressure each of your tires should carry. You can get these discs free by sending us the coupon. You attach one to each wheel near valve stem. Then when inflating, follow pressure shown on disc. There is no uessing. To follow these semiaieiianans taith- fully is to avoid improper inflation ut- terly, thus eliminating the main cause of most premature tire failures. According to the leading tire companies, five pounds too little air cuts balloon tire mileage 20 to 30 per cent. So secure your discs at once. Note the coupon offer. But first take time to read below how i important authorities urge you to KEEP tires always properly inflated. Three basic rules of tire care have been THE COMPLETE SCHRADER VALVE This reinforced rub- ber washer in the Schrader No. 880 Valve Cap makes a perfect secondary seal over mouth of valve. The red rubber seat 2 washer of the valve inside is the key to keeping pressure con- stant. Here the valve inside opens to admit air, closes to retain it. complete Sc: er Va Ade The lete Schrader Val sed in tn all tire tubes built today. road tests have proved its superiority ever since pneumatic tires were made. f I have read this oa tisement and agree with what it says about the ortance of correcttire ation. The Pressure Discs offered by A Schrader’s Son represent in my mind a practical step forward in tire pro- tection andcare. They are a constant reminder to maintain the right amount of air and thus promote comfort, safety, and longer tire life. formulated for this purpose. Leading tire companies heartily recommend them. First. Buy a Schrader Gauge and use it regularly once a week. To experiment with other gauges is unwise. Only the genuine Schrader Gauge rates on the “direct action” princip 4 which is always dependably accurate. Second. Then look to your valve in- sides. See that you have the genuine Schrader, recognized by impartial author- ities as the scientifically correct mechanism for holding air in tires. Your valve insides should be replaced at least once a year, to play safe. — as they are, they will not last forever Third. Keep an improved Schrader No. 880 Valve Cap on every valve stem. This Use this Schrader Gauge every Friday Ye President, Olds Motor ii ray b > hai cap is air-tight by itself up to 250 pounds It also keeps out all dirt and dust. The three products mentioned above are, as you see, Schrader products. They are improved Schrader products kept con stantly up to date by scientific tests. They are sold by more than 110,000 dealers thfoughout the world. With the Pressure Discs offered below they assure vastly increased mileage. Remember, it pays and pays to insist on Schrader products. Remember this, par ticularly when buying a tube. See that the name “Schrader” is on the valve stem. Schrader-equipped tubes cost no more and you are sure of satisfaction. The complete Schrader Valve is used in more than 85' of all tubes made today. Gruelling road tests have proved its superiority ever since pneumatic tires were used. Now fill out the coupon at the right Schrader Tire Valves + Tire Gauges The information required is es- Our trained experts in conjunction with the manufacturers of carefully. sential information. your car and tires will study your require- Your discs will be specially se lected for you specific car. With the discs comes also our free book- ments. let telling how to get increased tire mileage MAIL FOR PRESSURE DISCS A. Schrader'’s Son, Inc P.O. Box 4, Washington & Johnson Sts Brooklyn N Y Dear Sirs Send me FREE a set of Discs indicating proper pressure tor each of my tres Make of Car Year Model Size of tre Name Address

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188 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Will it RUST? That's the first thing you need to know about water pipe ” selecting plumbing pipe, ask yourself, “Will it rust or will it /ast?” Pipe that can’t rust is pipe that will last. This is the kind you should insist upon for your home. Anaconda Brass Pipe can’t rust. Not after two years or ten years or forty years. It lasts indefinitely. It can’t clog with rust deposits. It always gives a full flow of pure, clean water, because there is no rust accumulation to cut down the flow and discolor the water. As a vital measure of economy, insist on Anaconda Brass Pipe. Its cost is somewhat more than rustable pipe—$75 more for the average $15,000 house. But it is more eco- nomical because of its durability and because it protects you from leaks that may damage costly furnishings. When you choose water pipe for your home, remember that Anaconda Brass Pipe can’t rust. Investigation shows that it. actually saves $31 every year in upkeep expense. It will also pay you to insist upon gutters, rain-pipes and roof flashings of Anaconda Copper and screens of Anaconda Bronze Wire. The free booklet “Rust-proofed” gives the facts. Let us send you a copy. Address your request to The American Brass Company, Waterbury, Connecticut. ANACONDA BRASS ANACONDA

COPPER , BRASS ° March 25,1929

Index of Advertisers March 23, 1929 PAGE tna Life Insurance Company, The... 90 Allen-A Company, The 60 Allen Air-Turbine Ventilator Co. 186 \ll-Year Club of Southern Catifornia 69 Aluminum Company of America 189 \merican Brass Company, The 188 American Chicle Company 178 American Farm Machine Co 177 American Sales Book Company, Ltd. 151 (Armstrong Cork Company 120 Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company, The Great 162 Atomister Corporation, The 185 Auburn Automobile Company. 43 Benjamin Franklin, The 149 Bird & Son, inc.... 125 Blackhawk Mfg. Co. 141 Boott Mills 177 Bristol-Myers Co 191 Brookman Manufacturing Company 186 Brown Shoe Company 182 Brunswick-Balke-Collender Co., The 137 Buick Motor Company 96, 97 Bunte Brothers 102 Cadillac Motor Car Company 72, 73 California Packing Corporation II Cover Campbell Soup Company 31 Campfire Corporation, The 171 Canada Dry Ginger Ale 124 Chevrolet Motor Company 38, 39 Chrysler Corporation 52, 53 Clark Brothers Chewing Gum Company 168 Clark, Frank C.. 185 Clinton Carpet Co 158 Coleman, Watson E. 186 Commonwealth Shoe & Leather Company 4 91 Congoleum-Nairn Inc... .... 36 Cook Co., The H. C. én 185 Cooper, Wells & Co 70 Cromar Company, The 128 Cunard and Anchor Lines 4 Cuno Engineering Corp., The 161 Cycle Trades of America, The 115 Demuth & Co., Wm. , 71 Dodge Brothers Corporation 53 Douglass Company, The 169 Dunham Lawn Roller Co., Inc. 181 Dunlop Tire & Rubber Co. 164 Du Pont de Nemours & Co., Inc., E. I 112,113 Dwight Lumber Co 5. Electric Sprayit Co., Inc., The 129 Electric Storage Battery Co., The 183 Elgin National Watch Company 144 Enna Jettick Shoes 1&5 Equitable Life Assurance Society, The 116, 117 Esterbrook Pen Co 181 Fairbanks, Morse & Co 177 Fashion Park 108, 109 Fisk Tire Company, Inc., The 100, 101 Florsheim Shoe Company, The 172 Foster Company, L. B 145 Frigidaire Corporation 160 Gar Wood Inc 163 Gemmer Manufacturing Co 166 General Electric Company 80, 81 General Motors Truck Company 78 Glover Co., Inc., H. Clay 74 Goodrich Rubber Co., The B. F 84, 85 Goodyear Tire& RubberCo.,Inc.,The 75 Gruen Watch Makers Guild 106 Guth Company, Edwin F 165 Hammermill Paper Co. 130 Hendryx Co., The Andrew B. 133 Hoover Company, The 87 Hudson Motor Car Company 66, 67 Hunt Pen Co., C. Howard 185 Hupp Motor Car Corp 41 PAGE International Mercantile Marine ke @ ee ee 156 Kari-Keen Mfg. Co., Inc... . . 152 Kennedy Manufacturing Company... . 154 Klein & Sons, Mathias 170 Kuppenheimer Co., B. : . . 154, 155 Lambert Mfg. Co., Leon 186 Lambert Pharmacal Company 57 Laundryowners National Association 192 Lavoris Chemical Company... . 63 Lee Tire & Rubber Company....... 68 Lorillard Company, Inc., P...... . 4 Lyon Metal Products, Inc 175, 185 Marmon Motor Car Company. .45, 46, 47 Maxwell House Products Company, Inc. (oo. McCallum Hosiery Company 142 Middishade Co., Inc., The 139 Motor Transit Management Company 180 Nash Motors Company 49 National Shoe Retailers’ Association 104, 105 Nicholson File Co 114 Nunn-Bush Shoe Co ; 134 O’Brien, Clarence A 186 Olds Motor Works 58, 59, 88, 89 Ollendorff Co., Inc., I 167 Overhead Door Corporation 140 Paramount Famous Lasky Corporation diate Pennsylvania Lawn Mower Works 184 Pennsylvania Railroad oe 65 Pennzoil Company, The. . . . 111 Pet Milk Co Phillips Chemical Company, III Cover Charles H. 173 Phillips-Jones 132 Photographers Association of America 123 i. 3 Sy ee 95 Planters Nut & Chocolate Company 172 Polymet Manufacturing Corporation 176 Postum Company, Inc. ’ — Procter & Gamble Co., The......... 2 Rastetter & Sons, Louis 181 Reach, Wright & Ditson, Inc., A. J 122 Real Silk Hosiery Mills, Inc., The. .92, 93 Remington Rand Business Service Inc. 76,77 Russell, Burdsall & Ward Bolt & Nuit Company 179 Ruxton Multi-Vider Corp...........186 Schrader’s Son, Inc., A. ; ey Sealright Co., Inc lens ee Selz Organization, The fae<c Sheaffer Pen Company, W. A. ‘ 1 Simmons Company, The van oslo Sinclair Refining Company, Inc... . . . 147 Skinner & Sons, William ici a sh ng Smith-Lee Co., Inc., The ; ; 98 Squibb & Sons, E. R. . 110 Stack Heater Company, The........174 Stearns & Company, Frederick 173 Swift & Company 33 Syracuse Washing Machine Corp. 143 Ternstedt Manufacturing Company. . 15 Three-In-One Oil Co 1 Timken-Detroit Axle Company, The = 5 Universal Pictures Vacuum Oil Company Wadsworth Watch Case Co., The 135 Washburn Crosby Company... .IV Cover Watkins Company, The R. L..... 8&3 Western Co... . gite see Wheeling Corrugating Company... ..118 White Dental Mfg. Co., The S.S...... 79 Williams Co., The J. B.. .......... 190 Williams Oil-O-Matic Heating Corp. 148

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.

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Fiius 4S THE AGE OF ALUMINUM Aluminum Company of America has not only the greatest production facilities in the industry, but the greatest facilities for metallurgical and engineering research. It there- fore stands to reason that the 50,000,000 LYNITE pistons pro- duced by Aluminum Company of America in the past twelve years have been each the highest expres- sion of development of their day; and it is logical toassume that what- ever future improvements may re- sult from constant research will originate with Aluminum Company of America. For absolute confidence in the product, insist on LYNITE. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 189 WINGED HORSE POWER and the majority of manufacturers. The car that is equipped with LYNITE strong A yt seem M has created a class distinction in motor cars, recognized by millions of motorists s es | aluminum alloy pistons passes the others on the hills, pulls away on the straightaway, and steps out in the lead at every traffic light. @ It carries less weight and travels with less vibration. Fuel consumption and wear on cylinders and bearings are reduced. It has a cooler running F Be motor with less carbon. (€ If it’s performance men eee 2 you want from your car, then it’s LYNITE you ALUMINUM ALLOY want under the hood. PISTONS AND RODS ALUMINUM COMPANY OF AMERICA

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST HIRING THE NEW HELP (Continued from Page 56) Just give YOUR skin a chance to respond to the magic touch of Aqua Velva for After-Shaving! Use Aqua Velva for a week, . . . . for ten days, then fry to stop! You will miss its tingle; the freshness with which it starts your day. You will miss the glow of life it gives your skin; the feeling that your face is Fit! if you’re not an Aqua Velva enthusiast now, .. . . use one bottle. One! Then fry not to use another. , Aqua Velva is made just for after shaving. It takes care of tiny nicks and cuts, probably unseen. It keeps the skin buoyant and flexible, by conserving its natural moisture, so essential to good complexions. Fully protects against the roughening of wind and weather. Exhilarating, livening, yet never harsh. Aqua Velva gives the logical conclusion to a per- fect shave with Williams Shaving Cream. Together they are keeping millions of faces Fit. A bottle waits for you at your favorite drug store. 5-oz. bottle 50 cents at all dealers’, or a Free Trial Size by addressing: Dept. P49, The J. B. Williams Co., Glastonbury, Conn., and Montreal, Can. illliams Aqua Velva For use after shaving up for his protection. Neither they nor their friends have been able to beseech or pester him. He has been able to devote all his time to a concentrated study and con- sideration and canvass of the type of men that he seeks to serve the Government, and to leave unheeded and neglected the horde who are eager to serve. Once in the White House, he will face a fresh onslaught, pressed with renewed vigor. The organization, through the senators and congressmen, will be able to get at him. It remains to be seen whether they wil! have any luck. They will test his stamina, his courage and his resolution. The present prospect and the present bet is that they will have their pains for their trouble, for Mr. Hoover has highly resolved to give this country, which has shown him such marked confidence and approval, the most thoroughgoing, competent, trustworthy ad- ministration of its affairs of which he is capable. In every job that he has held he has attracted to him men of ability who have made sacrifices to do public service under his direction. There is no reason to March 23,1929 believe that he will not be able to attract them again in this so much bigger job of being President of the United States. Indeed, it is no secret that one of the plans he has for his Administration is to effect a business reorganization of the de- partments of the Government. They need remodeling and reorganizing. They need to be put on a more efficient basis. The biggest business in the United States is not the most efficiently conducted business. In the time that is given to him in the White House Mr. Hoover will try to improve that condition. He has a capacity for manage- ment and a lust for efficiency that have made him a marked man for years, and that have finally brought him to his present high estate. He is now seeking the tools—the human tools—to work out his plans, and while he is engaged on this task the crowds of unemployed at the government gates who rejoice in the name of office seekers may clamor all in vain. If any of them get jobs they will be lucky. The responsible places will go to the men sought, and not to the seekers. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (More Than Two Million Seven Hundred and Fifty Thousand Weekly IS fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted, either wholly or in part, without special permission. The use of our articles or quotations from them for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is never authorized. Table of Contents March 23, 1929 Cover Design by Haskell Coffin SHORT STORIES The Neck, and Bush Thring— Booth Tarkington Illustrated by May Wilson Preston 8 A Red-Headed Country Girl— Margaret Wey mouth Jackson Illustrated by R. M. Crosby 12 The Recoil— Frederick Irving Anderson IlMustrated by Donald Teague 14 Conviction of Sin— Brooke Hanlon Illustrated by Raeburn Van Buren 18 The Taut String— Clarence Budington Kelland lilustrated by H. J. Mowat 20 Red Tobal— Herbert Ravenel Sass . Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull 24 An Added Starter—William Slavens McNutt Illustrated by Robert W. Stewart 42 ARTICLES Wilson and Lansing— Vittorio Emanuele Orlando The Boom at Boulder— Magner White Photographs 10 A Two-Dollar Bet—J. B. Snodgrass and Wesley Stout Photographs 16 Steaming Up—Samuel M. Vauclain, As Told to Earl Chapin May Photographs 22 Photographs 26 PAGE Photographs 6 The Road of Revolution—Floyd W. Parsons This Little Pig Went to Market—Katharine Dayton Drawing by Richard Vincent Culter 29 Vigilante— Hoffman Birney Photographs 37 Antiques in London— Edwin Lefévre te «a Photographs 48 Hiring the New Help—Edward G. Lowry. ........ . 54 SERIALS Warning Hill (In five parts)— John P. Marquand INustrated by Henrietta McCaig Starrett 3 A Man to Avoid (Conclusion)— Alice Duer Miller IMustrated by F. R. Gruger 32 MISCELLANY Editorials 4 eae es. em 28 Short Turns and Encores , - 30 The Poets’ Corner ; : 149 Getting On in the World ; 186 A REQUEST FOR CHANGE OF ADDRESS must reach us at least thirty days before the date of issue with which it is to take effect. Duplicate copies cannot be sent to replace those undelivered through failure to send such advance notice. With your new address be sure also to send us the old one, inclosing if possible your address label from a recent copy. THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Publishers also of Ladies’ Home Journal! (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 Canada). Foreign prices quoted on request

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Be You ARO RIS: Racy THE SATURDAY EVENING. POST Pre at © GC ab nn re el Soke, Siiiiiie Sods cadincer tlie 19! . Bane gums of every family in the land! F your gums are the least bit tender, you can, in all good sense, blame it upon the food that year after year you have eaten. For this food —fibreless, robbed of roughage, creamy, all too easy to eat—denies the gums the rubbing, the brisk friction, the work and stimulation they need to remain in hard health. The blood does not circulate properly through the gums. The tissues become starved and anemic, the gums soft and flaccid. Soon, per- haps, a tinge of “pink” appears upon the morn- ing tooth brush. This does not mean necessarily that you have pyorrhea or that some serious gum disorder has set in. But it does indicate that you need Ipana. It does mean that somewhere on your gums is a soft and tender spot—that at some point the protective membrane of the gingival wall is beginning to give way and that to avoid more serious troubles you should promptly take steps to correct it. Talk with your own dentist, if you like. Get his advice about protection from tooth troubles that originate in the gums, For he will explain to you why the simple device of massage is so beneficial — and how ee ——— — z= _ = % oh + IPANA TOOTH PASTE massage with Ipana Toot h Paste so effectively strengt hens the gums preserves the beauty and the brilliance of your teeth. For Ipana is specifically compounded to tone and invigor ate the gums while it cleans the teeth. It contains ziratol, an antiseptic and hemostatic widely used in the modern practice of dentistry. + * * The coupon offers you a 1 ‘day tube, gladly sent. But a 30-day trial makes a fairer test. So the better plan is to get a full-size tube from your druggist enough for 100 brush ings. A full month's use of Ipana will prove not only its cleansing power and delicious taste, but its benefits to your gums as well BRISTOL-MYERS CO., Dept. P 39 73 West St.. New York, N. Y. Kindly send me a trial whe of IPANA TOOTH PASTE | Enclosed is a two-cent stamp to cover partly the packing and mailing cos of Name Address Gaceces ‘ State

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192 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST March 25, 1929 odern Laundries do not wring clothes ‘¢PpuT where do you wring kets or “‘extractors’’ where B the clothes?’ Alice the water is removed by Gartley asked eagerly. a rapid whirling process “That's what takes the life which makes it almost im- out of garments, you possible to damage know.” buttons or fabrics. Indeed it does . . . but Another good reason Mrs. Gartley found why laundry-washed that the modern laun- clothes last longer. prt does n s wri ng eS clothes. They are re- into Launderland moved from the wash- ers and placed in large spinning bas- An any modern laundry in your towo for this delightful journey booklet of “Alice in Launderland™. A telephone call will bring your copy. bt the LAUNDRY dit/ | SPONSORED BY THE LAUNDRYOWNERS NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA © 1929, L. N. A. an ae at BIN tenga 0 ah nserianeene.

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ee ee le always Happens * Thousands of Mothers . . . have the delight at \ ‘ Sw R “ETENED EVAPO t “EIGHT 1P every feeding time of seeing the empry bottle held high a boast of happiness and health and vigorous growth They give their babies Pet Milk. The quality of the milk assures the happy result. Every feeding is as easily di- gested as mother’s milk could be. Every drop contains all the food substances that nature requires for growing bodies. Every drop is free from anything that could endanger health. It Isn’t An Accident . . . These qualities are produced by scientific method in the preparation of Pet Milk. And yet it is just milk—no substance added to the pure milk—only the qualities of sure and uniform rich- ness, of certain safety and of easy digestibility are added to it. The cost is no more than for ordinary milk. Makes The Feeding Simple And Easy... When you know the milk is safe and wholesome, your biggest problem’s solved. But Pet Milk does more than solve that problem. It makes the preparation of the feedings simple and easy. You can prepare the whole day’s feedings at once. They will keep fresh and sweet through the day. Let us send you information . . . about unusual equipment that we'll furnish at special price. It will make the work of preparing baby’s food for the whole day a task of only a few minutes. We'll send you also, free of charge, our book on Pet Milk for babies. PET MILK COMPANY (Originators of Beaporated Milk) 1421 Arcad® Building, St. Louis, Mo. ou”

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This Greatly Simplified “Party Cake Was Baked by 319 Women . . . 318 Succeeded Perfect/y the First Time! A New Advance in Baking— “Kitchen-tested”’ Hour Y the development of a new type of flour—Gold Medal “ Kitchen-tested’’ Flour—home baking has been simplified astonishingly. Guesswork and uncer- tainty have been largely overcome. The intriguing party cake pictured here is one example. Out of 319 women trying it, but one failed. And she charged a mistake in mixing, not the recipe or the flour, with her disappointment. What “‘Kitchen-tested’’ Means “ Kitchen-tested”’ means a flour that scientifically over- comes the cause of over 50% of baking disappoint- ments; lack of uniformity in the flour used; one sack of the same brand often varying widely from another sack of the same brand in your oven. To meet that situation, every batch of Geld Medal “ Kitchen-tested”’ Flour is tested in a home kitchen, at the mill, in an oven just like yours before it goes to you. Tested for uniformity of result with home recipes by Betty Crocker and other noted experts. If that batch varies, it never goes to you. Last year over 5 million pounds were turned back for that reason. And thousands of women spared baking disappointments. Unvarying Results Thus this new-type flour acts the Same Way with your recipes Every Time. Most flour varies greatly. With Gold Medal “ Kitchen-tested”’ Flour, you know before you start what results to expect. Copyr. General Mills, Inc. 1929 Cake Mixing Time: This Simplified Recipe, 15 Minutes It is tested for all kinds of baking—from plain bread to Angel Food cake and French Pastries. To use it” ja revelation in easier, simpler baking. That is why saying Gold Medal “ Kitchen-tested” Flour to your grocer—instead of just flour—is the most important thing in the world. if you expect unvarying results. Millions of women will tell you this. For Southern Housewives There are two special types of soft wheat flour now provided for Southern housewives especially. Both are Gold Medal—both are “ Kitchen-tested.” Ask for Gold Medal Flour, either plain or self-rising. Gold Medal Flour (plain and self-rising) is milled in the South at our Louisville mill from soft winter wheat. It is all “ Kitchen.tested” with Southern recipes. Listen for Betty Crocker and her “Kitchen-tested” Recipes over your favorite radio station. WASHBURN CROSBY COMPANY We shall be glad to send you one of the new Gold Medal Home Service Recipe Boxes, complete with “ Kitchen-tested”’ Recipes, for only $1.00 (less than this service actually costs us). Twice as many recipes as in original box. If you prefer to see first what the recipes are like, we will send you selected samples, including “Party”’’ Cake, Free. Check and mail the coupon for whichever you desire. SEND COUPON NOW A New Delight Awaits You MISS BETTY CROCKER Gold Medal Flour Home Service Dept., Dept. 362, Minneapolis, Minn ] Enclosed find $1.00 for your box J of “Kit tested” Recipes. send me selected samples of “Kitchen-tested” ling “ Party” Cake.