The Saturday Evening Post 1929-08-17: Vol 202 Iss 7

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} | THE SA TURDA 7 _EVED BDOST F Volume 202, Number 7 Aug. 17, ‘ill | “x CTs coaae r — George Allan England—F. W. Bronson-Thomas Mc Morrow—Guy Gilpatric Richard Matthews Hallet—Clarence Budington Kelland—F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Since croquet days in the early forties Whitman’s have been the sweets preferred by sports lo vers. Out - of - doors people today find in THE SAMPLER the perfect touch of pleasure and food - stimulation one needs after exertion at tennis, polo, golf, swimming, boating, riding —all the varied sports of this sports-loving age. Sold at summer resorts by selected agents, each supplied direct with fresh and perfect © S. F. W. & Son, Inc candies q ri 1

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wet dia THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1 ) Why ATTILIO -/ Rome Beauty Specialist to the Italian Aristocracy advises all his patrician clients fo use Palmolive Soap twice daily “The finest cleansing agents for the skin are, by general consent, olive and palm oils. For 4 that reason, I always ask my clients to im- | prove complexions by cleansing the skin twice a day with Palmolive Soap, which embodies these two soothing oils in their purest form.” PIAZZA DI SPAGNA 68, ROMA N Rome, at the foot of the historic ay “Spanish Stairs,’ the Piazza di = Spagna is encircled with shops that attract the most brilliant society. Here, bi some years ago, a Ferrara youth came : to establish a beauty shop which, to- day, is the finest place of its kind throughout beautiful Italy. His name is Attilio Colla . . . better known to his patrons as “Attilio.” For years Attilio worked and studied the art of beauty culture in Paris. He then went to Budapest ... then to Vienna, to London, once more to Vienna . . . always adding to the invaluable store of information which to- day sets him apart in his chosen field. In his shop, at 68 Piazza di Spagna, he receives visits from many highly-placed personages of his own and other lands. Roman patricians naturally seek his advice on care of the skin. So do women of the moving-picture F and stage aristocracy. i “I am perfectly certain,” says Attilio, “that there are countless complexions which are less lovely than they ought to be, merely because one of the simplest and most natural of all beauty treatments is neglected. I refer to the cleansing of the skin. “Soap cleanses the skin—cleanses the pores—as nothing else can, and it is the basic essential of successful beauty treatment. Much of the work of the beauty expert is nullified by neglect to follow this simple rule of com- plexion care. It is, of course, important to use the right kind of soap, because many kinds are not only unsuitable but positively harmful to the complexion. I always ask PALMOLIVE RADIO HOUR -— Broadcast every Wednesday night—from 8:30 to 9:30 p. m., Eastern time; 7:30 ro 8:30 p. m., Central time; 6:30 to 7:30 p. m., Mountain time; 5:30 to 6:30 p. m., Pacific Coast time—over WEAF and 39 stations associated with The National Broadcasting Company The lovely Ada Fontanesi, of Attilio’s staff, is a perfect type of Italian beauty. She carries out, in ber salon work, the theories and practices of her distinguished em- ployer, Attilio, who always recommends Palmolive Soap PERMANENT; tee SPECIALATA a nityenne ostat a Aveo Pree ee eet ractum ee Vs err The typically Roman marble facade of Attilto’s salon on the Piazza di Spagna where the patrician ladies of Italian artistic and social life consult the most distinguished of all Roman beanty specialist ee tp my clients to use Palmolive Soap, which embodies the finest cleansing agents for the skin.” Attilio’s distinguished colleagues, in every great capital of Europe, in every smart resort advice. Madame Valentin le Brun, Lina Cavalieri, of Paris; Pessl, of Vienna and Budapest, adviser to crowned heads of Europe . . . tell their discriminating clients this easily-performed twice-a-day treatment Palmolive Soap and warm water into the skin. Allow it to penetrate the pores. Rinse, after rwo minutes, first repeat this same these and dozens of other experts massage a smooth lather of with warm water, now with cold. Then—and only then —are you ready for make-up! If you do not already keep your skin fresh and lovely by the use of this simple home treatment, take the advice of the world’s greatest beauty authorities: begin to use Palmolive today! A priceless formula embod) ‘ ’ S asl ing the preciou ; palm j , and oltre emous Somce bie days of Cleohatra for pre longing health and beauty. Retail Price 1O¢

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ao Biante rel atti cliche Sa ak August 17,1929

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US eng epee pore SELLERS LOT ae A. > Published Weekly The Curtis Publishing Company Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President George H. Lorimer, First Vice-President John B. Williams, Second Vice-President Walter D. Fuller, Second Vice-President and Secretory. Philip S. Collins, Second Vice-President and Treasurer Fred A. Healy. Advertising Director Independence Square,Philadelphia THE SATURDAY EVENING POST °° Founded A’D' 1728 Ay Benj. Franklin Saptony. Sah Bee Pome ts fern. Se Copyright, 1929, by The Curtis Publishing Company in the United States end Greet Britein. Tithe Registered in U.S Potent Office end in Foreign Countries. Entered as Second-Cless Matter at the Post-Office Depertment, Ottews, Can George Horace Lorimer EDITOR Thomes B. Costein, A.W. Nell, Frederick S. Bigelow, Wesie» Stout B. Y. Riddell, Thomas L. Masson, Merritt Hulburd, W. Thornton Mertin t the Post Office at Philadelphia, Under Act of March 3.1879. Additions! Entry at ¢ nibs, O Ceol. NansasC ity, Mo. Sevenneh.Ge . Denwer,Cole Lovieville. Ny. Houston, Tex..Omahe. Neb Ogden Utah Jechsonville, Fle. New Orleans, La. Portland Me., and Los Angeles, Cal Volume 202 Sc. THE copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., AUGUST 17, 1929 4 Number 7 By Sub t $2.00 8» Sedecrintion CHICHEN-ITZA CITY of twelve square miles, once swarming with a quarter of a million original Americans; a city of stupendous palaces and tem- ples, just one of which, if built to- day, would cost thirty-two million dollars! An all- American city that, like sixty others, suddenly died; that lay buried and forgotten half a thousand years, a prey to the Yuca- tan jungles; a city now being miracu- lously resurrected, to the amazement of the world—such is Chichen-Itza, holy city of Kukul- can, the God of the Feathered Serpent, capital of the mys- Awe and wonder of that revelation, vaster far thar anything I had an ticipated, still lay heavy on me as the truck rattled into an immense clear- ing. Onevery hand I natched con- fused impressions of gigantic ruins, piles of tremendous masonry, amazing forests of olumns. Then onward we swept down a road into the forest again: a forest lumped with end- less mounds, each covering some tem- ple or palace still unexcavated; for only part of this enormous aborigi- nal metropolis has been brought back to the light of that sun the Mayas ‘ | once adored ~ i : n he ‘e) terious Mayas. The Key The moment when I first beheld ay W E PASSED Chichen was cer- : a asneeeemereneaeinemmeneommemmanae ae sandaled, tainly one of the The Facade of the Temple of the Warriors, Showing (at Right) Two Feathered Serpents; Also Masks of Kukuican, go'den-skinned high spots of my and a Snake Head With a Human Head in its Jaws men with burdens roving life. That moment, much anticipated, was worth long waiting and suffering for. I reached the Maya metropolis by several stages of travel. First came an Indian-and-livestock- freighted coasting schooner from Cozumel to Progreso. Then followed a primitive, 1860-style railroad to Merida. Next, a wood-burning train that rolled and pitched heavily for five hours through a parched and dusty limestone wilderness of henequen, dotted with Maya villages. And last of all, a motortruck from Dzitas, along twenty miles of jungle road to the dead city itself. As I precariously clutched the top of a freight load on that swaying, bounding truck, the first vision of Chichen struck me square between the eyes. Talk about your thrills! To a God of a Dead Civilization Pw miseries of dust and tick bites, of sweat, of parching sun and thirst, vanished in that supreme moment. I forgot the camera, painfully bumping on my back; my pockets, bulging with film, notebooks, bottles of alcohol-and-tobacco mixture to kill vermin; with “‘viperol’’ snake antitoxin, and ligatures in case’a yellow-jaw tomigof should get familiar. Nothing mattered save the mighty and mysterious past leaping out of the wilderness as we lurched round a bend. There at last, visibly before me, was Chichen-Itza. There, the Mecca of full many a dream! A Maya, riding the freight with me, waved a brown hand. “Behold, seftor, the Castillo!” The Castillo, indeed; the stupendous Pyramid of Kukulcan. Far at the road’s end I saw something gray and haggard with time beyond all knowing—something vast, inspiring, ominous. Something that, against a bank of silvery dazzling cloud, loomed like eternity. The Great Pyramid of the Plumed Serpent! on their backs The Riddle of the Vast Dead City of the = ane gh abs thatched hut of poles, a hum- Mayas, Buried Amid the Jungles of Yucatam be moiern awelling of the Same race that nee mightily builded in imperisl By GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND "i i000 i of the Sefiora Victoria, where you W | stay And there, indeed, I dwelt a while. There I glimpsed the domestic economy of the Maya; t! cooking in a Standard Oil tin over three stones; the grinding of mea f of an ancient carven temple stone—the baking of tortillas on a sheet of hot iro t bucolic familiarity of dogs, pigs and poultry wandering in and out, whil ick buzzard scavenged in the yard. There I was waited on by a gently beautiful Maya maiden, slept in a still more beautiful and soft sisal-fiber hammock, and was wakened at msor wn by the liquid music of blackbirds, the liquid fire of innumerable tick bit I also drank warm beer with a big white collar on it—the only w seen at Chichen—wandered beneath tropical forests, and was altogether exot Bu what are mere details like these, compared to the gigantic and overpowering myst Chichen-Itza, sacred city of the race of Mayas? Dr. Sylvanus G. Morley took me in hand, telling me marvelously muc! Doctor Morley heads the Carnegie Institution Project, now, by arrangement with the Mexicar Government, excavating the ruins. I found him living, with a large staff, at the hacienda, or headquarters. His corps of native laborers dw n a that village some kilometers distant. As Doctor Morley turned out to be a i classmate of mine, he gave me the keys to Chichen. But that’s saying little. No keys in the w will unlock these puzzles. Modern man, confronted by such overwhelming problems feels like a child wandering in a land of sphinxes Certain basic facts, though, can be grasped. Doctor Morley made it clear that the Mayas were the original, dyed-in-the-wool, 100 per cent Americar the very first

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4 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 PrOTOS. OY A. CABRERA Reconstructed Corner of the Castilic or Great Pyramid of Kukuican Americans ever to establish a true civilization—that in many ways this civilization excelled the culture of the Old World at the time; that these amazing people built up a tremendous state, densely populated and of marvelous cul- ture; and that after a thousand or two years, suddenly and for no reason we can definitely prove, the whole im- mense and complex fabric crashed. Whence came the Mayas? Without metal tools or do- mestic animals, how did they ever create so vast a civiliza- ” tion? Where did they go, and why? Solve those riddles, and great shall be your fame! “Chichen-Itza’’ mean ‘“‘Mouths of the Wells of Itza.” Settlement was certainly made there—just when, who can tell?—because of the cenotes, or deep water pits in the limestone. One such pit, six miles from the center, gives us a hint as to the area of old Chichen. At the end of the path—likely-looking place for the deadly snakes of Yucatan—we reached a stupendous well named Xtoléc, two hundred feet in diameter and yawn- ingly deep. “‘Shtoléc,” it’s pronounced. The doctor turned me loose with a couple of guides and a merry little boy— Mayas all. The boy tagged along, laugking, chattering Spanish and Maya, having the time of his life with the Americano. Such a friendly youngster! Friendly, too, were the men, but watchful. The Mexican Government simply won’t allow souvenir hunting. And here or there you see warnings in Maya, Spanish and English: Ma Uoco.—No ENtTRE— KEEP OUT There's been looting enough, heaven knows, in the past. Walls along the roads are full of beauti- fully cut stones from the temples and palaces. As far as Merida, more than a hundred miles away, you find fences, churches, stock pens and watering troughs built of Chichen blocks. Only the fact that the city is too gigantic for modern men to de- stroy has saved it at all ‘Nearly fifty acres, seftor, the ancient ones built a platform,” one of my guides told me as we trudged the winding forest road. “A platform, fifteen feet high, before they started any temples The platform was stone and cement, all white and polished on top. There the principal buildings stood. Magnifico!”’ at ail A City on a Pedestal HE Mayas today are proud of their glorious past, without having any real memories or un- derstanding of it. ““Magnifico!”’ echoed the merry boy, shying a rock at a parrot More than magnificent. Epic! Imagine, if you ean, Indians with only stone axes and human muscle first clearing some fifty acres of rank, tan- gied jungle; then building a terrace like that just as a base or foundation for their civic center. All Temple of the Ball Court. Much of the Facing Has Been Removed by Vandals through tangled branches. An iguana scuttered away. Far and faint, shouts echoed as hunters made a clamor in the jungle to scare up the deer. Bats cheeped and flittered in the half obscurity. The remote past seemed to draw a trifle nearer. Imagination peopled those eroded steps with lines of toiling women; brown and golden women with glossy black hair and laughing eyes; women lithe and graceful, ceaselessly carrying their jars on poised heads splendidly erect. A race of Rebeccas! How, you wonder, did these tremendous popu- lations of Mayas drink when on the trek? Most of Yucatan is absolutely waterless. The ancient cities all lie near water pits. But much of the nebulous history of this amazing race comprises wanderings. Thirty, fifty, a hundred years at a time, communities would be migrating—just why, nobody knows—in the words of their own legends: “Living under the branches of the trees and suf- fering many things.”” Without any pack animals, how did they carry water enough? Where did they find water at all for their swarming hordes? No archeologist seems ever to have attacked this mystery. Who can? At Any Rate, it’s Big HAT day with my guides, and other days, I grew well acquainted with the downtown sec- tion of the city. There a dozen great buildings still stand almost perfectly preserved. Ten of them have even kept their massive stone roofs. You could move right in and go to heavy house- keeping any time. “‘Apartments to Let, All An- cient Inconveniences, Limestone Villa.” Beyond the civic center lie miles of tree-covered mounds, pyramids and columns, awaiting the ex- plorer. Still farther extend immense areas where dwelt hordes of humble slaves and toilers. Naught remains to tell of these lowly folk, save miles of small rectangular foundations. The vastness of this dead metropolis staggers your imagination; and Chichen-Itza was only one of three or four score Maya cities—some authorities say a hundred. The area is variously estimated at nine to twelve square miles; or again, as “four times the size of Chicago.” Big enough, at allevents! Dr. Edward H. Thompson, who spent thirty years excavating it, the other day assured me it contained two hun- dred and fifty thousand souls. Doctor Morley says the stones had to be quarried, all the earth brought —perhaps for miles—in baskets on men’s backs. So simple a material as earth is a scarce commodity in Yucatan. Try to imagine the cost of merely the preliminary work if reckoned in modern terms, with all our machinery! Hearts ache, muscles groan and ex- pense aecounts shudder at the bare contemplation of such titanic labors. Before we reached the old-time plaza—nucleus of a capi- ta! that has left many miles of buildings still undiscovered — we turned aside down a forest path to see where the sacred city got its water. An all-important place in a parched and riverless land like Yucatan. Though nobody today positively knows the real name of the city, the words BY COURTESY CARNEGIE INSTITUTION The Goal of Mayan Handball, a Great Stone Ring Carved With Two Twined Serpents “Our wells never go dry, sefior. All these cenotes connect with underground rivers. The ancient ones had water enough. You see where the women used to draw it up?” Deep in the stone lips of the pit, grooves tell their story of labor, many centuries of hauling up rope-hung gourds or jugs. What laughter, what chatters of gossip must once have echoed in this spot where now immense trees tower aloft, dropping a’ tangle of stringlike roots into the cool, pure, olive-hued waters! Down a path of stone steps worn by ages of sandaled or naked feet, we reached the water level. At that great depth a dim green light filtered down five hundred thousand. You pays your money and you takes your choice. But when you see the still remaining palaces and temples, you're ready to be- lieve at least a million. For, even judged by mod- ern standards, some of these structures are colossal. View- ing them, your jaw drops, your eyes widen, you murmur: “This isn’t so! It can’t be!” And yet it is; and when you really see it you realize how mistaken are people who still think they have to visit Babylon or Egypt for hoary antiquities—critics who as- sert, “America has no ruins!” By the shades of Kukulcan, if you want ruins and whack- ing big ones, go to Chichen-Itza! You'd be surprised. It’s hard, in mere words, to give any adequate idea of this amazing place, but if you'll work with me, I'll try. PINE ie peer a oa

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As you stand in a vast clearing, bright with flowers, under a pale blue sky flecked with silver clouds, you find yourself in the one-time plaza or forum where all the immense military, dra- matic and religious ceremonies took place. You are surrounded by imposing structures, any complete description of which would fill a good, thick book. You can’t see them all at once, because of forest and jungle not yet wholly cleared away. But there they are, and one by one you can visit and appraise them, wonder at them. These structures are court- yards, temples, towers, palaces, tombs, platforms, pyramids, colonnades, all different— just as modern buildings are differ- ent— yet all similar in their grout and smooth limestone-faced con- struction, all more or less intri- cately carved into beautiful or fantastic forms; and all the product of high-grade artists. “‘High-grade”’ is the very word Doctor Thompson used. Very few modern masons could could, with the stone tools of the Mayas. It amazes one to think of their having quarried these huge blocks, fitted them into place and sculptured them with only rude stone axes, wit and calcite. Yet that’s just how the vast Castillo was built, and the Tlac Thousand Columns, temples of the Tigers and of the Warriors, houses of the Deer and of the Dark Writing, the Caracol, Monjas, and all the rest. Thus, by infinite, age-long, sweating toil, these tremendous monuments were in the course of centuries hewn out, an abandoned. Why? Maya buildings are not hit-or-miss affairs, Their engineering princi- ples are correct, their balance is right, and they were carefully planned by master minds. Working drawings were certainly made and followed. Three- story or four-story structures, in that remote antiquity, and pyramids more than a hundred feet high, certainly done by rule of thumb rank as skyscrapers. Shall we glance at a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

beat this work. None

selves blue. h chisels of flint / pyramid of Fl / htli Court, the j d then forever

few? Take Las Monjas, for example. Is it not a creation exquisite and incredible? As ornate as the House of the Dark Writing is severe, it stands there, battered, but still lovely—-a marvel of profusely rich sculp- turing. Everywhere it shows the motif of Kukulcan’s face, with long, upturned nose and huge square eyes. Its great height, stepped back in three stories and with an immense grand stair- case leading clear to the top, would be im- pressive even in New York. Architects say it accords with mod- ern ideas of correct design. Most Modern ND by the way, this new style of stepped-back building was used by the Mayas a thousand or two years ago. If

“Yes, seftor, Spaniards here,””’ my guide made narrative “*Many of my people were killed by the ing of what they believed was lightning, but always more kept coming to attack the We killed many Spaniards, too, ar reénforcements So they decided to retreat trick they played rope, and with the rope hitched a hungry dog just beyond reach of food escaped from the back of this very building. The dog motifs —figures of men, ser pents, birds, animals and geo metric patterr what surprise he could ring on the world! In its prime Las Monjas, probably some great king's palace, must have been a gor- geous structure, equal to the most lovely creations of the Moors or Hindu Its vast inte rior was once adorned by huge mural paintings, their colors stil What pigments have we, today, that v visible survive ten centuries or more of exposure to the elements? These paintings are free of line and splendidly balanced, with tonal combins tions surprisingly modern The Belled Dog ARVED stone lintels, great / doorways where heavily em broidered ‘curtains once swung, floor once polished and gleaming white, made it a palace indeed Yet it was built by all- hands, at a dimly remote time American when many of our own ancestors in Europe were run ning wild in the skins of animals and painting them- The hook-up of Las Monjas with modernity comes from the fact that, after events too numerous and sanguinary to mention, the Spanis! Montejo was trapped in Chichen-Itza by an army of enraged Mayas fied themselves in Las Monjas conquistador on . . ihe Spar aras forti } the ancient ones besieged the shoot-

enemy d they had no Also, we were starving then But how? It was a One nig t th ey ted a hell toa In the dark al! the Spaniards san kept ringing the bell, so my people thought the Spar I eine J I } iards were still there

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Pm some daring architect would only try the Mayan decorative TOS. BY A. CABRERA The Patace of Las Monijas, an Ancient Ruin When the Spanish Conquistadors Were Besieged in It. At Top—Three Seasons of Excavation Brought the Thousand:Columned Temple of Warriors to This State. In Circle—Et Caracol, One of Three Known Circular Mayan Structures ial But in the morning the enemy was gone! My people i great rage but most of them got awa Ah, sefior, if the ancient ones had or ca ight them all!’ Then there's the Caracol Perhaps t was from the loft summit of t ( that the Mayas kept wat I their ri are ed Azt wh seer tu ? } i r ed ther he ( . , eve ) ] ‘ i " t ’ wer Nor tud — hye re ‘ t tronon ‘ to It ( f niv thre . } j Pa the M ire KNOWT, ever t e 1 iertake Phe me means ecause of the s il staircase t t tor fort f t ove ; vreat s ne te ce < of it apote dd beam ire till t 1 but Continued on Page 10!

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6 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST AIT YOUR AGE “TI am Not Oid,’’ He Wanted to Say. “Ast Fifty I'm Youager Than Moat Men of Forty.’’ But fhe Onty Said, “What Kind of Gargie?*’ OM SQUIRES came into the drug store to buy a | toothbrush, a can of talcum, a gargle, Castile soap, Epsom salts and a box of cigars. Having lived alone for many years, he was methodical, and while waiting to be served he held the list in his hand. It was Christmas week and Minneapolis was under two feet of exhilarating, constantly refreshed snow; with his cane Tom knocked two clean crusts of, it from his overshoes. Then, looking up, he saw the blond girl. She was a rare blonde, even in that Promised Land of Scandinavians, where pretty blondes are not rare. There was warm color in her cheeks, lips and pink little hands that folded powders into papers; her hair, in long braids twisted about her head, was shining and alive. She seemed to Tom suddenly the cleanest person he knew of, and he caught his breath as he stepped forward and looked into her gray eyes. “A can of talcum.” “What kind?” “ Any kind. That's fine.” looked back at him apparently without self- consciousness, and, as the list melted away, his heart raced with it wildly. “‘T am not old,” he wanted tosay. “At fifty I’m younger than most men of forty. Don't I interest you at all?” But she only said “‘ What kind of gargle?”’ And he answered, ‘What can you recommend? That’s fine.”’ Almost painfully he took his eyes from her, went out and got into his coupé. “If that young idiot only knew what an old imbecile like me could do for her,”” he thought humorously—“‘ what worlds I could open out to her!” As he drove away into the winter twilight he followed this train of thought to a totally unprecedented conclusion. Perhaps the time of day was the responsible stimulant, for the shop windows glowing into the cold, the tinkling bells of a delivery sleigh, the white gloss left by shovels on the sidewalks, the enormous distance of the stars, brought back the feel of other nights thirty years ago. For an in- stant the girls he had known then slipped like phantoms out of their dul! matronly selves of today and fluttered past him with frosty, seductive laughter, until a pleasant shiver crawled up his spine. She “Youth! Youth! Youth!” he apostrophized with con- scious lack of originality, and, as a somewhat ruthless and domineering man of no morals whatsoever, he considered going back to the drug store to seek the blond girl’s ad- dress. It was not his sort of thing, so the half-formed in- tention passed; the idea remained. “Youth, by heaven— youth!”’ he repeated under his breath. “I want it near me, all around me, just once more before I’m too old to care.” He was tall, lean and handsome, with the ruddy, bronzed face of a sportsman and a just faintly graying mustache. Once he had been among the city’s best beaus, organizer of cotillions and charity balls, popular with men and women, and with several generations of them. After the war he had sud- denly felt poor, gone into business, and in ten years ac- cumulated nearly a million dollars. Tom Squires was not introspective, but he per- ceived now that the wheel of his life had revolved again, bringing up forgotten, yet familiar, dreams and yearn- ings. Entering his house, he turned suddenly to a pile of disregarded invitations to see whether or not he had been bidden to a dance tonight. Throughout his dinner, which he ate alone at the Downtown Club, his eyes were half closed and on his face was a faint smile. He was practicing so that he would be able to laugh at himself painlessly, if necessary. “T don’t even know what they talk about,” he admitted. “They pet—prominent broker goes to petting party with debutante. What is a petting party? Do they serve re- freshments? Will I have to learn to play a saxophone?” These matters, lately as remote as China in a news reel, came alive to him. They were serious questions. At ten o'clock he walked up the steps of the College Club to a private dance with the same sense of entering a new world as when he had gone into a training camp back in '17. He spoke to a hostess of his generation and to her daughter, overwhelmingly of another, and sat down in a corner to acclimate himself. He was not alone long. A silly young man named Leland Jaques, who lived across the street from Tom, remarked him kindly and came over to brighten his life. He was such an exceedingly fatuous young man that, for a moment, Tom was annoyed, but he perceived craftily that he might be of service. “Hello, Mr. Squires. How are you, sir?”’ “Fine, thanks, Leland. Quite a dance.” As one man of the world with another, Mr. Jaques sat, or lay, down on the couch and lit—or so it seemed to Tom— three or four cigarettes at once. “You should of been here last night, Mr. Squires. Oh, boy, that was a party and a half! The Caulkins. Hap-past five!’’ “Who's that girl who changes part- nersevery minute?”” Tomasked. . . . “No, the one in white passing the door.” “That’s Annie Lorry.” “Arthur Lorry’s daughter?” "To “She seems popular.” “About the most popular girl in town—anyway, at a dance.” “Not popular except at dances?” August 17,1929 By F. Scott Fitzgerald ILLUSTRATED Br aH. WESTON TAYLOR “Oh, sure, but she hangs around with Randy Cambell all the time.” “What Cambell?” ~~ - There were new names in town in the last decade. “Tt’s a boy-and-girl affair.” Pleased with this phrase, Jaques tried to repeat it: ‘One of those boy-and-girls af- fair—boys-and-girl affairs ——”’ He gave it up and lit several more cigarettes, crushing out the first series on Tom’s lap. “Does she drink?” “Not especially. At least I never saw her passed out.... That’s Randy Cambell just cut in on her now.” They were a nice couple. Her beauty sparkled bright against his strong, tall form, and they floated hoveringly, delicately, like two people in a nice, amusing dream. They came near and Tom admired the faint dust of powder over her freshness, the guarded sweetness of her smile, the fragility of her body calculated by Nature to a millimeter to suggest a bud, yet guarantee a flower. Her innocent, passionate eyes were brown, perhaps; but almost violet in the silver light. “Is she out this year?”’ “Who?” “Miss Lorry.” “Yes.” Although the girl’s loveliness interested Tom, he was unable to picture himself as one of the attentive, grateful queue that pursued her around the room. Better meet her when the holidays were over and most of these young men were back in college ‘‘where they belonged.”” Tom Squires was old enough to wait. He waited a fortnight while the city sank into the end- less northern midwinter, where gray skies were friendlier than metallic blue skies, and dusk, whose lights were a re- assuring glimpse into the continuity of human cheer, was warmer than the afternoons of bloodless sunshine. The coat of snow lost its press and became soiled and shabby, "Good Night,"* He Said, Trying to Keep Any Repul: sion Out of His Voice

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST and ruts froze in the street; some of the big houses on Crest Avenue began to close as their occupants went South. In those cold days Tom asked Annie and her parents to go as his guests to the last Bachelors’ Ball. The Lorrys were an old family in Minneapolis, grown a little harassed and poor since the war. Mrs. Lorry, a con- temporary of Tom’s, was not surprised that he should send mother and daughter orchids and dine them luxuriously in his apartment on fresh caviar, quail and champagne. Annie saw him only dimly—he lacked vividness, as the old do for the young—but she perceived his interest in her and performed for him the traditional ritual of young beauty— smiles, polite, wide-eyed attention, a profile held obligingly in this light or in that. At the ball he danced with her twice, and, though she was teased about it, she was flat- tered that such a man of the world—he had become that instead of a mere old man—had singled her out. She ac- cepted his invitation to the symphony the following week, with the idea that it would be uncouth to refuse. There were several “nice invitations”’ like that. Sitting beside him, she dozed in the warm shadow of Brahms and thought of Randy Cambell and other romantic nebulosi- ties who might appear tomorrow. Feeling casually mellow one afternoon, she deliberately provoked Tom to kiss her on the way home, but she wanted to laugh when he took her hands and told her fervently he was falling in love. “But how could you?” she protested. “Really, you mustn’t say such crazy things. I won't go out with you any more, and then you'll be sorry.” A few days later her mother spoke to her as Tom waited outside in his car: “Who's that, Annie?” “Mr. Squires.” “Shut the door a minute. You're seeing him quite a bit.” “Why not?” “Well, dear, he’s fifty years old.” “But, mother, there’s hardly any- body else in town.” “But you mustn’t get any silly ideas about him.” “Don’t worry. Actually, he bores me to extinction most of the time.” She came to a sudden decision: “I’m not going tosee him any more. I just couldn’t get out of going with him this afternoon.” And that night, as she stood by her door in the circle of Randy Cambell’s arm, Tom and his single kiss had no existence for her. “Oh, I do love you so,”’ Randy whispered. ‘‘Kiss me once more.” Their cool cheeks and warm lips met in the crisp darkness, and, watching the icy moon over his shoulder, Annie knew that she was his surely and, pulling his face down, kissed him again, trembling with emotion. ““When’ll you marry me then?” he whispered. “When can you—we afford it?” “‘Couldn’t you announce our en- gagement? If you knew the misery of having you out with somebody else and then making love to you.” ““Oh, Randy, you ask so much.” “It’s so awful to say good night. Can’t I come in for a minute?” “es.” Sitting close together in a trance before the flickering, lessening fire, they were oblivious that their common fate was being coolly weighed by a man of fifty who lay in a hot bath some blocks away. au OM SQUIRES had guessed from Annie’s extremely kind and detached manner of the afternoon that he had failed to interest her. He had promised himself that in such an eventuality he would drop the matter, but now he found himself in no such humor. He did not want to marry her; he simply wanted to see her and be with her a little; and up to the moment of her sweetly casual, half passionate, yet wholly unemotional kiss, giving her up would have been easy, for he was past the romantic age; but since that kiss the thought of her made his heart move up a few inches in his chest and beat there steady and fast. “But this is the time to get out,” he said to himself. “My age; no possible right to force myself into her life.” He rubbed himself dry, brushed his hair before the mir- ror, and, as he laid down the comb, said decisively: “‘That is that." And after reading for an hour he turned out the lamp with a snap and repeated aloud: “That is that.” In other words, that was not that at all, and the click of material things did not finish off Annie Lorry as a business decision might be settled by the tap of a pencil on the table. “I’m going to carry this matter a little further,” he said to himself about half-past four; on that acknowledgment he turned over and found sleep. In the morning she had receded somewhat, but by four o’clock in the afternoon she was all around him—the phone was for calling her, a woman’s footfalls passing his office were her footfalls, the snow outside the window was blow- ing, perhaps, against her rosy face. “There is always the little plan I thought of last night,” he said to himself. “‘In ten years I'll be sixty, and then no youth, no beauty for me ever any more. "er a oe . « 4-8 Tom Realized With a Shock That He and Her Mother Were People of the Same Age Looking at a Person of Another In a sort of panic he took a sheet of note paper and com- posed a carefully phrased letter to Annie’s mother, asking permission to pay court to her daughter. He took it him- self into the hall, but before the letter slide he tore it up and dropped the pieces in a cuspidor. “T couldn’t do such an underhand trick,” he told him- self, “at my age.”” But this self-congratulation was prema- ture, for he rewrote the letter and mailed it before he left his office that night. Next day the reply he had counted on arrived—he could have guessed its very words in advance. It was a curt and indignant refusal. It ended: I think it best that you and my daughter meet no more. Very Sincerely Yours, MABEL TOLLMAN Lorry. ~ “And now,” Tom thought coolly, “we'll girl says to that.” He wrote a note to Annie. Her mother’s letter had sur- prised him, it said, but perhaps it was best that they should meet no more, in view of her mother's attitude By return post came Annie's defiant answer to her mot! er’s fiat: ‘This isn’t the Dark Ages. I'll see you whenever I like.” She named a rendezvous for the following after- noon. Her mother’s shortsightedness brought about what he had failed to achieve directly; for where Annie had been on the point of dropping him, she was now determined to do nothing of the sort. And the secrecy engendered by disapproval at home simply contributed the missing excite- ment. As February hardened into deep, sulemn, intermi- nable winter, she met him frequently and on a new basis Sometimes they drove over to St. Paul to see a picture or to have dinner; sometimes they parked far out on a boulevard in his coupé, while the bitter sleet glazed the windshield to opacity and furred his lamps with ermine. Often he brought along something special to drink—enough to make her gay, but, carefully, never more: for mingled with his other emotions about her was something cerned. see what the paternally con- Laying his cards on the table, he told her that it was her mother who had unwittingly pushed her toward him, but Annie only laughed at his duplicity. She was having a better tims with him than with anyone else she had ever known. In place of the selfish exigency of a younger man he showed her a never-failing con- sideration. tired, his cheeks a little leathery and veined, if his will was mas- culine and strong. Moreover, his experience was a window looking out upon a wider, richer world; and with Randy Cambell next day she would feel less taken valued, less rare. What if his eyes were care of, less It was Tom now who was vaguely discontented. He had what he wanted—her youth at his side and he felt that anything further would be a mistake. His liberty was precious to him and he could offer her only a dozen he would be old, but she had be- come something precious to him and he perceived that drifting wasn't fair. Then one day late in February the matter was decided out of hand. They had ridden home from St Paul and dropped into the Coilege a years beiore Club for tea, breaking together through the drifts that masked the walk and rimmed the door. It was a revolving door; a young man came around in it, and stepping into his space, they smelt onions and whisky. The door revolved agair after them, and he was back within, facing them. It was Randy Cam- bell; his face was flushed, his eye: dull and hard. “Hello, beautiful,”” he said, ap- proaching Annie come so close,” “Don't smell of onions.”’ “You're particular all of a sudden.” she protested lightly “Always. I’m always particular.’’ Annie made a slight movement back toward Tom. “Not always,” said Randy unpleasantly. Then, increased emphasis and a fractional glance at Tom always.”” With his remark he seemed to join world outside. “‘ And I'll just give you a tip,”” he c« “Your mother’s inside.” The jealous ill-temper of another generation reached Tom only faintly, like the protest of a child, but at this impertinent warning he bristled with annoyance “Come on, Annie,”’ he said brusquely With her glance uneasily averted from Randy, followed Tom into the big room. It was sparsely populated; three middl with Not the hostile “We'll go in.” Annie agea women sat near the fire. Momentarily Annie drew back, then she walked toward them. “Hello, mother Mrs. Trumbk Aunt Caroline.” Continued on Page 79

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8 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 ER ability to live in extravagant splendor on an income of nothing a year was a charm- ing and instructive thing to see. It was more than that; it was the apotheosis of a talent that I have often observed, envied and marveled at in a particular class of people. One meets them at Palm Beach, Deauville, Cannes, Newport, Saratoga — these idlers of whom I speak-—and no one can tell you how they support themselves or whether they have ten dollars or ten thousand in the bank. Nearly all are socially prominent. Some, of course, are sup- ported by wealthy relations. Others have raised the bridge table to the dependable status of an industry. Still others know how to get tips on the market, and how to cash in onthem. But these things are in the nature of lucky breaks; and how, I've often won- dered, do they keep the ball rolling on and on, year after year, when relatives die or grow impatient, when no one will lose at bridge, and when the bears take charge of things in Wall Street? A drudge like myself would break under the strain. But to look at Julia O’Shay.last summer you would have thought that her life was a prolonged carnival. You know the O’Shays. They fit in somewhere among the Belmonts and the Vanderbilts and the When Norton O’Shay led Julia O'Dowd from the footlights of the Columbia Burlesque to the altar of St. Patrick's, society looked for a row. The row followed in due time, but, contrary to the laws of fiction, Julia started it. Norton she adored—and her taste was good —but the rest of the family, she thought, were simply terrible. And in her serene confidence she trod all over the sacred stodginess of the O’Shays, and Norton leved her more than ever, and the rest of them whetted their knives for her in a way that gave me the creeps. But Julia didn’t care. And while Nort was accumulating his pile in Wall Street, Julia was bringing up their daughter Mazie with a truly edifying finesse. I had even heard rumors, at the time this story opens, that on their last trip to England she had stolen the young Ear! of Cumberford from Mazie’s cousin Barbara—of the Philadelphia-Palm Beach branch—and that she had ap- propriated the young earl for Mazie. This rumor was true. I don't know how she did it. But any fool couid see that Julia had committed the unforgiv- able sin, and that the knives of the O’Shays were at her throat. Then one morning last June I read in the Times: rest. Among those landing from the Aquitania yesterday was the Ear! of Cumberford. Rumors of the young earl's engagement to Miss Mazie O'Shay have been in the air for some time. The earl will be the guest of the O’Shays while in this country. . . . And on the same page, under adequate headlines: Norton O’Shay, society man and stock manipulator, it was learned last night, was shot and killed more than a week ago while on a fishing trip in the Adirondacks. Mr. O’Shay was alone at the time, and suicide is indicated not only by the manner of his death but by the seerecy with which the family has surrounded i Mr. O'Shay is survived by his wife, Julia, and by one laughter, Mazie, whose engagement to the young Earl of Cum- berford has been rumored. Mrs. O’Shay said over the phone My husband had no financial or other worries. accident, pure and simple.” last night It was ar The shock of this news stunned me. Then I thought: “Accident? No financial worries? My hat! Julia—she’s in a mess!”’ For fifteen years I had been one of Norton O’Shay’s brokers. His account with us had been wiped out three weeks ago. None of us had worried about him; he was a gambler, with spectacular ups and downs. ‘“‘ Evidently they gave him an awful trimming,” I thought, “or he wouldn’t have let Julia down like this.” But I didn't realize how bad it was until I stopped in at Julia’s for tea that afternoon. She was alone in the small brick house on upper Park Avenue. All the sunlight of the living room was imprisoned in her copper-golden hair. She lay on a sofa, draped in something filmy and blue, with one girlish leg swinging over the edge. Julia was forty-one and looked thirty. She had blue-black eyes and a husky Maryland voice as full of sunlight as her hair. There were pale freckles on her nose and between the knuckles of her crisp white hand. ““Mazie and the earl are out,” she said. “Anything to escape the phone. Harry, it’s been dreadful——dread- ful!’ Julia had loved Norton O’Shay—how much, per- haps, I'd never known until this moment. “It was good of you to come. But there’s really nothing in the world you can do.” By F. W. BRONSON ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN LA GATTA ~ ff ‘You Can't Get Off That Easily, My Poor Dirk! You've Trifled With My Affections. The Least You Can Do is to Pay for the Damage to My Heart"’ “How about money?” I asked her bluntly. Julia's red lips twitched. “Haven’t a nickel. Even the house is gone. We've got to clear out this week.” “Let me help, Julia—please! I haven't much, but if you're willing to live modestly Julia’s laugh was young, merry, shaded with irony. “Darling, I'd squander your income in a month! You’ve no conception of my extravagance!”’ “Suppose I marry Mazie?”’ I suggested. “Hard on you.” Julia shook her golden cloud of hair. “‘But Mazie’s destined for higher things.” “You mean you're trying to marry her to this ear! chap anyway? You'd make him sell off his jolly old estates and get a job after his ancestors have loafed for a thousand years? Julia, that’s a dirty trick to play on a man as hard up as the Earl of Cumberford!”’ “This is a love match,” Julia said, “‘and you don’t know anything about love.” “Just the same, the boy’s got to have money.” Julia sat up. “Harry, don’t betray me; no one else except Mazie knows that I’m on my uppers.” I said, “Of course not! But what will you do? The family won’t help; in fact, they’d enjoy knifing you.” I watched her face—the eyes grown hard, the firm chin. “T don’t know what I’ll do. If worst comes to worst I'll go back on the stage and pretend it’s a lark. But I'll wangle it somehow.” Walking to the door, she clung to my arm with both hands, and I thought: ‘‘ How slight she is! Can anyone as tiny as that bluff the whole crowd of them?”’ The earl and Mazie were just coming in. Mazie was tall, languid, rather sallow, with a dark red mouth and violet eyes. Julia, of course, had been one of the first mothers to grasp the possibilities of the hollow chest, bent knees and drooping shoulders; in an era of brisk, smart girls, Mazie’s languor was unique and startling. The earl looked tall, blond, and not too bright. His British tweeds were square-cut and his eyes were a childish blue. I had met him once or twice, and I liked him because he was my only English acquaint- ance who neither appreciated nor imitated American slang. As an earl, no doubt, he was a huge success. “A nice-looking couple,” I thought. And I left with the uneasy impression that Julia was balancing their romance on the tip of her strong little chin. I had forgotten that the Victor O’Shays were abroad until one morning I received a note from Julia on Mrs. Victor O’Shay’s private stationery — Willow Lane, Oyster Bay, Long Island. “Do come out for the week-end,” Julia wrote. “I haven't entertained at all since Norton’s death, but we need a little bridge. Victor was thoughtful enough to leave some excellent Napoleon brandy. It’s a delightful spot.” And on Saturday afternoon I drove into the willow- bordered courtyard of Victor’s Norman chateau. Looking through a brick arch into the garden, I saw Julia swinging toward me, a silk scarf around her hair, both arms full of roses. “T suppose Victor cabled you and insisted that you make use of his house?”’ Julia crinkled her freckled nose. “‘I couldn't expect him to guess how things are,”’ she said. “‘ No, I cabled him my- self and moved in.” I was sarcastic: ‘‘ And Victor cabled back that you were to make yourself right at home?” “He cabled the housekeeper.” Julia sighed. “It was a long cable, and so forceful! Luckily I was on the steps when it arrived. It said that under no circumstances was Mrs. Norton O’Shay to enter the sacred portals of Willow Lane, exclamation point. So I cabled back and said that nothing had been seen of Mrs. Norton O’Shay, but that a Mrs. Napoleon Bonaparte had dropped in for a week or ten days. I signed the housekeeper’s name. Poor thing, I hope she doesn’t lose her job—she’s taking such good care of us!” From the terrace we watched Mazie and the earl putting Victor’s sea sled through rather strenuous paces. Julia murmured, “It’s so nice for the young people. This is their first chance really to get acquainted, and I owe it all to dear Cousin Victor.” “But, good Lord, Julia! Victor’s sailing for home in a few days!’ “By that time, darling, I think we’ll all want a bit ofa change.” “I’m sure Victor would recommend one,” I thought later. We were dining by candlelight on the flagged ter- race. Caviar, alligator pears, squab, and a rare old bottle of Niersteiner. The more I saw of the earl the better I liked him; and the more the earl saw of Victor’s chateau the better he liked Mazie. Julia drawled, “If you two want to go out for a dance, just take any of the cars. And if you want some golf in the morning you’ll probably find all the paraphernalia.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Q I could even arrange a game of polo for you at the club, “Well,” I said, “‘look here; I just called up to tell you way,” he puffed. “Gordon O'Shay owns the camp. He Charlie; Victor has ponies.” how much I enjoyed your Napoleon brandy. And can _ lets as spend our summers here because al! the others are The earl said, “‘Eh? Oh, quite all right, thanks.” He you tell me where Julia is?” well off and don’t need it like I do. But hang it, if the was staring at Mazie’s dark red lips in a sort of hypnotic Victor O’Shay couldn’t tell me where Julia was. But find out I’m harboring this Julia woman th: ee that ecstasy. with an appalling lack of imagination he told me where he Gordon takes the camp away from u l mmer I thought, “‘The poor devil will go all to pieces if this hoped she was. Very gently I hung up the receiver and Wilkes-Barre, old man, and you'll know 1 fe match breaks up.”’ asked the Lord to make Victor O’Shay a better man. strongly on the subject.” After our bridge game I wrote Julia a check for seventy- I thought, * You’re a bit of a hog, Terence But I te eight dollars—the earl didn’t even know he was playing for It was the Fourth of July. For two days I had been him that I'd look into it; and paddling toward the money—and Julia whispered, ‘‘At least the servants will visiting an aunt at Lake Placid. In bathing suit and moc- O'’Shay camp, I hoped that he'd get pur be tipped. Thank the Lord I won't have to sneak out the casins I swung my canoe around a point and almost ran The first person I saw was young Charlie e ea He back door.” down a shapeless monster floating on a pair of water wings. was swinging his legs from the float. When he saw me It was one of those June nights when the crickets are There was an explosive wallowing noise, and I found my- waved his pipe out and the scent of blossoms smothers the warm earth. self gazing into the fat red face and baby blue eyes of “Hallo, Crimmer! Hallo, hallo!” 4H Juiia and I sipped Victor’s Napoleon brandy on the terrace Terence O’Shay. bleached and the rest of him was a ruddy brow lolly to and watched the dim shapes of the young people as they “Hang it, man!” he said. Then he recognized me: see you. When Mazie comes we have a bathe, what moved across the lawn and faded into a clump of silver ‘‘Harry Crimmer! This is luck! You're just the man for “Didn't expect to find you up here,”’ I said birch trees. me to talk to!’” He rolled over on his back and floated “Roughing it for a bit.”” The earl peeled fron “It’s lovely,” Julia murmured. “It’s like an idyl or an serenely like a rubber walrus. “‘ You know Julia,” Terence handsome nose. “Julia's idea ever won lulia! One Italian opera. I must keep it going.” said accusingly. “‘She’s a friend of yours.” tires of being civilized, don’t you think? Makes one fe« The next day I left them to their operatic idyl. For “What about Julia?” I asked. good to escape from all the butlers and rich food and dinner two weeks a jangling market drove them completely out “Well,” Terence said, “‘hang it all, Harry, I arrive here jackets. Live in a bathing suit, eat bear Dp of my head. Then one afternoon I called Victor’s house to yesterday at the O’Shay camp with the wife and kiddies, like a jolly old top. Trust Julia to make life interestin’! ask Julia something about Norton’s will. and what do I find? Julia and her skinny daughter and I'm havin’ the time of my life!"’ A masculine voice said, “Hello. What do you want?” this young Earl of Something-or-other! The whole place I assured him that he looked it. Climbing the bank, | “Is Mrs. Norton O’Shay there?” is littered with tin cans and dirty dishes, and a door is found Julia in a hammock with a detective stor She had “No, she’s not.” smashed where they broke in. Frightful stew! Old man, ona pair of knickers and a flannel shirt. Her hair was ur “When will she be back, please?” you've got to get them out for us.” tidy and her face was smudged and she was sucking her A pause. Then: “She won't be back!” And suddenly I “It’s a big camp,” I said unfeelingly. thumb like a little girl. One bare brown leg dangled over remembered that the Victor O’Shays were home from Terence scratched his head; it was odd to see him’ the edge of the hammock. She stared indignantly at m Europe! scratch his head while floating on the water. “It’s this Continued on Page 111 ee “"Ie’s Lovely,’’ Julia Murmured. ‘‘It's Like an Idyl or an Italian Opera. I Must Keep it Going’

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19 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 fee By ROARK BRADFORD eet designed to carry M4 See that one yonder, just buiky freight and to run in shaliow water. From a seaman’s point of view, they are flat- bottomed, unwieldy, top- heavy tubs that waddle along like complacent ducks, going pretty much where the current takes them. A seaman, de- scribing his favorite ship, will tell you how she han- dies herself in a storm, and that she can turn about in her own length. But a river skipper, brag- ging on his pet steam- boat, will say: “‘Why, sir, she can run on the morning dew!"’ He can pay his boat no greater compliment; he cannot imagine shallower water than the morning dew. So when you see the boat you are riding headed full speed for a perpendicular bluff not twenty yards away, and you realize that although you might be able to swim clear of the wreckage you never would be able to scale the bank, you do two things: You pray for forgiveness of your past sins, and you swear in your soul that the pilot below that cottonwood snag?” He points to a Cae be a "hab rer) ( UY wage, i i spot a thousand yards ahead, and begins ex- plaining the difference in appearance of eddying and noneddying water. You look. But it all looks the same—just muddy water. ~ Pilots OU wander back to your stateroom and take down your Mark Twain again, trying to find what the pilot meant. You don’t find it, but in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer you come upon a bit of dialogue that un- masks pilots. The con- versation is between Tom and his sweetheart, Becky Thatcher. “Do you love rats?” says Tom. “No! I hate them!” “TI do, too—live ones. But I mean dead ones, to sling around your head with a string.” “No, I don’t care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing gum.” The point is this: Tom is crazy with the heat. That accomplished, you close your eyes and await death with such fortitude as you may possess. You natu- rally await death impatiently; the inevitable crash seems slow in coming. But you recall having read how under such conditions the seconds drag by like hours, and you squint your eyes tighter, bite your lip, clench your hands and continue waiting. Finally your nerves balk. You get a trifle hysterical and laugh, although you are not in the least tickled at anything. Then, suddenly, you wonder whether death will be at the hands of the Grim Reaper, that homely old A Rurat Landing on the Black River her nose in the right direction. By taking advantage of the eddy he saved a mile of navigation, some of which would have been against the current. That, of course, saved time and fuel, two very important factors in operating a steam- boat. “Of course,” the pilot amplifies, “you've got to hit an eddy just right. If you go in too soon or too late you’re bound to get into trouble. But they’re easy, once you get Te _-- Sawyer, who had ingenu- ity enough to create a toy with a rat and a string, and imagination enough to enjoy such a creation, grew up to be a steamboat pilot named Mark Twain, and was famous the world over for his sense of humor. But poor Becky, who required her chewing gum for entertainment, faded into oblivion before Injun Joe’s buried treasure was found in the cave. And if she ever rode a steamboat it was merely for the purpose of getting from one place to another. And now modern Becky Thatchers ride trains and automobiles when they want to travel. The idea of enjoying themselves en route never occurs keleton with the scythe, or if the bewhiskered Neptune will come up and spear you with his three- pronged gig. Ole Man River Lends a Hand F INALLY you decide to open your eyes and see. But you see neither the Reaper nor Neptune. You see merely a placid, muddy river, running serenely toward the Gulf. And you and your steamboat are in the middle of it, chugging along with the current as placidly and as serenely as the river. The perpendicular bluff is hidden by a bend, a quarter of a mile astern. Charlie brings you a cup of strong black coffee, which soothes your nerves enough for you to clam- ber over the texas to the pilot house. It is against the law for passengers to enter the pilot house, but no matter. “Pretty close call, back at that bluff,” you re- mark as casually as your nerves will allow. The pilot is wise. “Scared you, did it?” he asks. “Why, no,” you tie, trying to hide your jagged nerves under sarcasm, “‘but I know something that s much more entertaining than trying to see how near you can come to wrecking a steamboat and not actually wreck it. Arsenic. I’ve heard you can take as much as a teaspoonful of arsenic at a time without actually killing yourself. I'll get you some if you'll try it.” Then the pilot explains. There was a huge eddy swirling into the bluff bank. By heading his boat to them. They are not all Becky Thatchers however. Half a dozen packet lines operate out of New Orleans, to Baton Rouge, to Donaldsonville, to Natchez, to Vicksburg, to New Iberia on the Teche, and some smaller ones to the lower coast country. The longest and most picturesque trip is from New Orleans to Camden, Arkansas, a distance of seven hundred miles through five rivers and through some of the poorest and some of the richest farming land in the South. The trip is made fortnightly by Capt. L. V. Cooley’s three-hundred-ton packet, Ouachita, leaving Bienville Street landing every second Saturday and returning the Thursday of the second week following. With the exception of the Bienville Street wharf, the New Orleans water front is similar to any other seaport water front. There are ships and men and freight sheds and cargo and screaming winches and groaning pullies. All is hustle and bustle. But at Bienville Street it is different. It is true that two or three endless-chain conveyors are on the wharf, but they are rusting away in disuse, a tombstone to the experiment of trying to supplant roustabouts with mechanical freight movers. There is a feeling about the wharf of completely indifferent informality—a feeling that frequently is mistaken for shiftlessness. Small stacks of freight are piled about, and almost invariably three or four negro idlers are asleep upon the top of each pile. Other groups of idlers gather here and there in the shade, where they sit and argue, or laugh, or talk, or directly at the bluff the eddy took hold and swung it around the bend and well into midchannel, with The Coonjine Step just sit. Occasionally a busy clerk hurries from the shed, verifies the number of pieces in a pile, gazes

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languidly at the river for a minute or two and hurries back to his desk under the shed. A fat, one-legged negro, pushing a pie wagon ahead of him, wanders around. His wagon bears, in uneven but very bold letters, his slogan: Eat More Pies. And his own leather lungs carry his advertisement farther: “* Better buy my pies; I got a little bit left. Efn you don’t buy ’em, gonter eat ’em myse’f! Oh, I got juicy pies!” The steamboat is moored to the high pilings at the edge of the slanting wharf. In high water most of the wharf is under water and the boat's forty-foot stage, or gangplank, has to be supplemented by aprons so one may walk from the dry wharf to the boat deck. An endless stream of negro workmen tread back and forth on the stage, carrying freight—supplies for the upstate farmers; staples for the wholesale houses in the larger river towns; miscellaneous freight for com- missaries of plantations, logging camps and levee camps; and not infrequently, smaller quantities of supplies for the small farmers along the river. They work under the general supervision of the mate, Capt. Sam Cotton, and under the immediate eye of Old Folks, an ex-roustabout, long since too old and infirm for the heavy labor of the rouster. These freight toters are not regular roustabouts. They work by the hour and are kept constantly at it. When work stops their pay stops. Usually they are glum. Most of them are middle-aged negroes with family troubles and religious responsibilities. They have no inclination to sing a “‘pop-out,” nor do they “‘make jokes” with the saucy womenfolks about, who invariably gather where men work. They merely have come to “catch a few hours,” or to “‘make a few wages,” and their interests are elsewhere. But when the boat is loaded the regular river rousta- bouts take charge of the freight handling for the trip up and back. Roustabouts usually are young, healthy, husky ne- groes who escape the drudgery of farm life for the more colorful work on the river, and for the three-day layover in New Orleans with a payday in their pockets and a crav- ing for good times in their souls. They are hired anew for each trip, and their wages are computed on a monthly The price varies with the length of the trip, the amount and nature of work to be done and the local state of unemployment. Usually, for the eleven-day trip to Camden and back, and with normal freight, they get sixty dollars a month and their keep. The mate hires the roustabouts the last thing before casting off. Most of them make trip after trip on the same boat, swearing each time that it is his last, but eager for it again after a three-day session “‘back of town” in New Orleans. The Ouachita carries from sixteen to thirty-two rousters, according to the nature of the cargo. basis. The Proper Way to Carry a Hog Presently, as though the idea had just occurred to him, Captain Sam barks: “I’ve got twenty tickets here. Pay- ing fifty. Who wants ’em?” The rousters exchange serious, solemn glances. Cap’m Sam,” one of them objects, “wid all dat stuff ole Miz Laney been buyin’? “Lawd, I seed a pi-anner go on de boat. And I bet hit’s a gas engine on too. And all dem staves de cap’m gonter git out’n de Tensas dis trip? Seventy!” The “‘ole Miz Laney”’ is a fictitious lady developed by the rousters from the term “miscellaneous freight,’’ which is not uniform in size and shape like sacks of sugar or gro- cery staples, and gives them considerable trouble. And his “seventy” is a counter offer to make the trip if the pay SATURDAY EVENING POST i is calculated on the basis of seventy dollars an the talk bores Captain Sam So with them about it, he sighs resignedly and off fifty five dollars “Dat ain't enough, Cap’m Sam,” tl pokesman de clares. “Sixty-five And dat’s de leastest dime I e’d roust for. I bet we got to tote a heap er hawegs, t: and dem hogs is mean. One mighty nigh bit n Captain Sam loses interest, turns abruptly and cal! to the mud clerk on board: “Hey, J ng up the | "em to send me handle this freight."’ And he starts down the stage But before he takes too many steps banana wharf and te go gang to 1 e rouster spokes man shouts: “Sixty, Cap’m Sam The mate returns and passes out the tickets to the most likely looking candidate Roustabouts are romancers. They are, after all, the mainspring of steamboating. Captain Cooley, who | operated his own steamboat for more than fifty years, declares that when conditions get to be such that he cannot use roustabout labor he will tie up his boat A Game of Wits N EFFICIENT engine in perfect condition; the dollars and pennies and business; a gifted steward with a crew of drilled cooks and m« boys feeds the passengers and crew economically and wel trained pilots cut the corners and fuel aid over it all the captain presides, employing his long experience, his love of the profession interest in his own boat to the the mate and rousters are what crew keeps he macnine experienced clerks handk highly ave and time and f persona B it steamboating best advantage make different and apart from any other line of endeavor The roustabouts have uncanny wa) f knowing things. If, for instance, it had been decided not to pay more than fifty-five a month and they thought they should have had sixty, they would not have out”’ with the mate shown up! Arguing wages with the mate is only one phase of the ritual of roustabouting. It all! is the objective of which is to make Captain Sam think they ars ‘argued it The y would never have a game genera! working hard when in reality they are loafing, or ‘‘ratting If Captain Sam, by language, threats, cajolery or psycho logical gymnastics keeps them working earnestly and hon- estly, he wins the game. If they induce him to believe they are working when in reality they are “ratting,” ther they win “But,” explained one Cush, “efn Cap’m Sam ketc! you rattin’—ay-iah! He sho rap on yo’ ding-dong And,” he added with a laugh, “‘ he kotch me rattin’ one time, and I swear to my soul I thought he gonter burn me dowr Ev’y time he want a mean job down, he holler, ‘Cush!" He too hard to fool, dat Cap’m Sam! He a pyore case! The ceive their ticke nstant they re te the Captain Cotton is one of the most adept mates on the river in selecting and handling roustabout labor. Ole Miz Laney APTAIN SAM procures from the boat’s clerk a number of red cardboard tick- ets corresponding to the number of rousters that are to be em- ployed, and he walks to the head of the stage. He is a big man and impressive look- ing. He stands a min- ute, shuffling the tick- ets idly and gazing over the freight shed as though hiring roust- abouts was the last thing on his mind. But the potential roustabouts know that is only a part of the ritual, and they gather around. They stroll up from the groups of idlers about the wharf, just as though getting hired was farthest from . their thoughts. Roustabouts Pitching a Watermeton Party on the Boeuf River rousters string out and ‘coonjine"’ down the plank It is OT seers to be ut ther r portant part of the ritual The ooniine step peculiar to rousta- bouts. It is difficult t execute and more diff cult to describe In movement it ap proache something betwee log trot and i t i re 4 ’ Ww ng dance, with inte pola- tior grace nots scattered throughout r} oonjiner bends forward at the } ps, bends his knee nt they et springy, spreads his arms and leg if t and wad dies forward with ex aggerated swings of | t ay 1 muscles are reiaxe nd 8 joints are oO It looks most awkw ard, except for some little some thing t that makes it é extremely gracefu Continued on Page 136

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12 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ONDS Building on West Forty-fifth Street. He was engaged with a thin and black-bearded man of professorial aspect, and I hung on the threshold, but he beckoned me in. “Sit down, Case. I'll be through here at once! .. . Berezov,”’ he said bluntly to his first caller, “I hear that you've taken to petty swindling.” The accusation did not revolt the man Berezov. He shrugged his shoulders, drew out a package of Russian cigarettes, selected his smoke at leisure, lit it and put the container away. He drew smoke into his lungs and let it find its own way forth in wisps; a saturnine man who did not expect to find himself among friends and admirers. Brown shook an envelope over his desk, dribbling onto the wood seven crystalline stones of bigness from a pea to a hazelnut. “‘ Rock crystals, eh?” Berezov lifted his heavy eyebrows over the stones and nodded his agreement. “‘ Rock crystals, certainly, Brown.” “Last Friday,"’ recited Brown, disapproval showing in his long and furrowed face, ‘“‘you went with a confederate to Simson’s cutting shop in Williamsburg and you offered him for sale seven rough diamonds, telling him that they were stolen goods.” Berezov made a delaying gesture. ‘“‘The police?” he queried, glancing at me. “Mr. Case is not an officer, but we'll have one in if you make it necessary. Well?” “In effect,” admitted Berezov. “‘I needed the money.” “So did Simson, for that matter. You agreed to sell these seven rough diamonds to Simson for four thousand dollars, which was much less than they were worth. Sim- son got the cash for you, and you accepted it and started from his shop. In his doorway you had a farcical alterca- tion with your confederate, who argued against the sale. You turned back with him to Simson, gave Simson back his money and received back this envelope in which were I FOUND Beekman Prown in his office in the Jewelers’ the seven diamonds. You then staged another debate be- fore Simson, overcame the pretended scruples of your con- federate, restored the envelope to Simson and took his money again.” Brown stirred the rock crystals with his pencil. “And this is what Simson found in the envelope the second time!” “IT needed the money,” said Berezov. “‘I told you that.” “What for?”’ “To go tothe Cape. I will study anew the blue ground and the chimneys in the reefs.” “And never return to America?” “‘I do not anticipate this, Brown.”’ His enunciation was distinct, but foreignly accented. “It’s a bargain you could have made with me without bilking this Simson, though he’s no better than yourself,” grumbled Brown. “I've a proposition for you, Berezov: You clear out of America for good and all, and you may keep Simson’s money. I'll pay him back out of my own pocket. If you ever return ——” “You relieve my mind, Brown,” said Berezov, rising. “| was indeed worried about this Mr. Simson. He would never understand that I needed this money. I shall go and I shall not come back. Do not threaten me, if you please.” He halted in the doorway on his way out, medi- tated, and said, ““ You recognized the stones, eh, Brown? Well, good-by.”’ 3rown nodded tolerantly and busied himself in cuttin, a cigar. I awaited his explanation of this queer deal. “You know him, Case?” “‘Berezov? Why, no, Il—ah, yes; Berezov, the diamond maker!” “Pavel Berezov, the diamond maker.”’ Brown puffed his weed and watched the smoke sway and drive. Brown is a prime mover in the Jewelers’ League. His work is a specialty and I can define it less easily than I can tell you what he is and what he does. He's a retired dia- mond jobber who made a sizable fortune at his trade, sup- plementing it by speculation on the Bowery Diamond Exchange; few likely auctions that include fancy stones are held even today in the large room over the Exchange without fetching a clever bid from Beekman Brown. Though inactive in the trade, his knowledge is still at its service and without price. When the trade sends to Wash- ington its periodical delegation of sparsely spoken and curiously intent-eyed men—to plead, if you please, for a reduction in the tariff on the goods they sell— Beekman Brown is with them and is commonly their spokesman. He uncovers frauds in the trade and on it; the recent recrudescence of painted diamonds in closed settings was squelched by him without alarming the public. He’s an American gentleman of the old school, elderly, spare and robust, with a long and narrow-featured face and a mane of gray hair, like Clay or Calhoun or Jack- son. He has the re- spect and confidence of the millionaire im- porters of midtown and of the sometimes needy and sometimes shifty men who deal on sunny days on the sidewalk at John and Nassau streets; he has done more than anybody in New York to impart the present solidarity and high ethical standards to a trade whose traditions trace to the solitary Oriental merchant candling his gems in a hole in the wall. A man of stiff but cas- ual manner, with the growling voice of a martinet, meaning to be cour- teous, but falling far short of def- erence. For fun, a yachtsman of the blue-water sort, he has a ketch-rigged boat in the river, with power, and he and his colored fellow Gibbons vanish into the unknown and emerge to tie up in Miami, Key West or the islands of the Caribbean. “You're very kind to this diamond maker,” I urged. “His process wassham, wasn’t it? You yourself exposed it.” “‘Berezov was a scientist who resorted to fraud to con- vince the public of what he held to be truth. You see the same psychology working in some of our spiritualistic me- diums. I believe, Case, that he was ready, able and willing to unload on the American market at one time six hundred thousand carats of high-grade diamonds in commercial sizes, with a plausible promise of millions of carats more. If I hadn’t interrupted him I believe that he would have ruined the diamond trade, disrupted the African syndi- cates and broken the price of diamonds so that the average shipping clerk would scorn to present one to his intended.” “That wasn’t your story at the time!” “‘One must use discretion, Case. There is no point in putting the management of affairs in the hands of compe- tent men if the public is to be allowed to force their hands.” “You don’t take much stock in democratic management, Brown.” “There is no such thing; there are booms and panics. . . . The first notice we had of the operations of Pavel Berezov was when that jewelry store appeared on Fifth Avenue— the American-Diamond Shop; Buy Direct From the Manufacturer. We heard that the proprietor was selling stones, alleged to be diamonds, for less than we could buy similarly graded goods abroad, and was asserting that his stones were made here. We thought so little of this that we didn't investigate for ourselves, but turned the matter over to the Truth in Advertising Committee of the Cham- ber of Commerce. “The American-Diamond Shop didn’t put up its shut- ters as anticipated; on the contrary, a surprising report came to us from the committee. I put on my hat and went over to Fifth Avenue to have a look for myself. I found the shop—a small inside store on Fifth Avenue that paid its landlord possibly fifteen or twenty thousand dollars a year. In the show window was a stock of goods that winked and twinkled in the sunlight very plausibly but that failed to entice the public dawdling by; the stones were priced at much more than people would pay for imi- tations and were yet too cheap to be convincing. The pro- prietor wasn’t making his rent; he was isolated behind his show cases inside—you saw him just now, with his brood- ing and watchful manner and a deftness that suggests the August 17,1929 By THOMAS McMORROW ne e@eVvd? Taw? & sb Br c. D. wreretetams “Ite is My Belief That Diamonds Grow in the Earth by a Proc: ess of Accretion. An Element—the Same That I Employ—Acts asa SolventofCarbon Under Very Moderate Heat" prestidigitator or thimble rigger. There are men and man- ners for all trades—the restaurateur is properly hearty and vinous, the banker and mortician wear gray and black and are sympathetic but humorless; so is the gem merchant slow, patient and full of discourse, seating his custome, spreading the blue velvet, reverential, soothing, disarming. The customer is about to submit his sensitive pocketbook to a major operation, and every approach to it startles him and inclines him to bolt; his eyes glance and he fixes the merchant with a penetrating look. I entered the American- Diamond Shop and asked to see a solitaire ring from the display; it was put before me with snap, and Berezov, drumming on the counter as if to play me out, frowned at the passing and neglectful public. ““*The stone weighs a carat?’ I asked, studying the gem. ace Yes.’ “*And it’s a real diamond?’ ace Yes.’ “*Tt’s too dear at three hundred and twelve dollars,’ I complained. ‘I saw an advertisement in the paper this morning offering genuine one-carat diamonds at one hun- dred and fifteen dollars.’ “*T dare say,’ he nodded, putting out his hand for the ring. ““*Can’t you make it any cheaper?’ ace No.’ “**T’ll take it,’ I grumbled, paying down the money. “T left the shop and went up Fifth Avenue to Tifft & Neeley’s, one of the leading jewelry stores of the United States. A handsome and fashionably clad clerk advanced on me, crooking the pregnant hinges of the back, and es- corted me to an appraiser, who would evaluate my pur- chase for the customary 1 per cent. “«*The fee will be six dollars and fifty cents, sir,’ said the appraiser after a short scrutiny of the stone. ‘The diamond alone is fairly worth six hundred and fifty dollars. You may leave it here if you wish me to take it from the setting and examine it thoroughly.’ “T had had my own opinion of the stone, but I had wished to hear it indorsed, having been unwilling to be- lieve my old eyes. I was not known to the appraiser. ‘But I didn’t pay that much for it!’ I protested. “He smiled gratulatingly. ‘You made a fortunate pur- chase, sir. The stone is not perfect; there is a speck in it

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that perhaps you can see for yourself if you care to use this loupe; it is so small and so placed that it is hard to find. But the color and brilliance are exquisite; I'd say, at a guess, that it was an old-mine stone, and probably Indian.’ “This was evidently an affair for the police. The price at which Mr. Berezov was selling his goods did not allow the ready explanation that they were smuggled stones; the duty on cut diamonds was only 20 per cent, and, deducting the 8 per cent charged by the professional smugglers, Berezov’s differential was only 12 per cent, or forty-eight dollars on a four-hundred-dollar stone. He couldn’t buy his stones anywhere and lay them on his counter at his prices; and I was inclined to agree with Tifft & Neeley’s appraiser that the diamond I had bought was not an African stone, was not the sort that is available in merchantable lots. I went to see the district at- torney—I have much latitude, as you know— laid before him the evidence that the American-Diamond Shop was selling stolen goods and asked him to investigate. “The result was not more satisfactory than had been the report of the Truth in Adver- tising Committee; the district attorney sent for Berezov, inter- viewed him, and was informed that Berezov made all his own dia- monds in his private laboratory. The dis- trict attorney, suave chap, congratulated him on his cleverness and increased his ef- forts to find the source of the stones. He learned no more of the mysterious diamonds than he could learn by reading the legend on the American- Diamond Shop’s win- dow; the diamonds stolen in all the large robberies of years preceding had taken the route of least resistance from the underworld to the upper crust again. If Berezov’s diamonds were stolen, his stock was in- considerable and easily to be exhausted. **He learned, however, something of Mr. Berezov. The latter had served time in Dartmoor Prison for a swindle on Sir George Beers of the diamond house of Byte, Beers & Werner; Berezov had had twenty thousand pounds of Sir George as the price of a partnership in a process to manufacture diamonds. The prosecution must have been conducted quietly, since I had not heard of it; I could see that the astute Sir George--who was, by the way, a member of the South African Diamond Sales Syndicate would not have been boastful; and it would seem that the judge had not been entirely satisfied of Berezov’s guilt or he would have sentenced him to more than three years. Here then was Berezov at his old game, with the difference that the swindle, if any was planned, had not yet been brought to view. “The district attorney having failed us, we considered in the council of the league ways and means of coping with Berezov's threat to our trade; it would destroy public confidence in us if he were to continue selling diamonds for less than we could buy them. Not that he was selling many as yet; cheap fellows who wanted to make a show for little money bought of him, but the general pub- lic passed warily by. We surveyed Berezov. “We found that his stones were coming, ostensibly, from a small cutting shop in Brooklyn, and were being set by a small firm in Baltimore. We were blocked at both places; the cutting shop had recently been bought by a man named Lukich, and the manufacturer of settings was a new man called Feodor Mastakovich. Neither of these gentlemen had applied for membership in the league; and their workmen did not belong to the unions. We had entry nowhere; it was a closed circle from the alleged laboratory to the show window on Fifth Avenue. Berezov was evidently in possession of ample capital, and the twenty thousand pounds he had had of Sir George wouldn't answer his needs. “*We estimated that he must have sunk in this queer en- terprise a sum in the neighborhood of a quarter of a million dollars; we could see that much expense without consider- ing the alleged laboratory. Was it possible that he had put out that sum to get rid of an inconsiderable stock of stolen diamonds? It seemed now to us that there was a stock- selling scheme in the background. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 “Tt is not true—what Berezov alleged in his lawsuit that we conspired to slander his merchandise; we mere}; instructed our members to avoid appraising gems from th American-Diamond Shop and to refuse to purchase them. You may say that that amounts to the same thing, but you must perceive the peril of our trade. People can get along without diamonds; in fact, some of them dk “The league can command unlimited funds, as you know Since the district attorney had given Berezov a clean bill of health, we decided to try to buy him out and thus scotch the threat against us. We anticipated the difficulty that he wouldn't sell in large lots; if he was establishing a repu tation against which he would sell stock, he would want his goods to go into the hands of the public and with the wid est possible distribution. Our decision was hastened by our suspicion that several of our members were already buying piecemeal of Berezov; a few of us, I must admit, will buy where the goods are cheapest; they would buy of the devil himself if he rose with a choice lot “To make Berezov declare himself, I went to him in his shop. Business was looking up with him; he had a cus tomer, a chap who was having buck fever over a superb brilliant that he could have pawned anywhere in New York for more than he was being asked. He was trying to nag Berezov into saying a kind word about the brilliant, if he would not lie gorgeously about it in charity and help a poor man to make up his mind to splurge a month's wages, but Berezov was as black as ever. There was the stone; let it speak for itself. The customer finally went off in a huff, furious with Berezov for having lost him such a bar- gain. ““*T bought a solitaire diamond ring here a week or two ago,’ I opened. “**And are you pleased with it, Mr. Brown?’ “*Ah, you know me.’ “*T am a jeweler.’ He shrugged. ‘I must know Mv. Beekman Brown of the Jewelers’ League.’ “**T had the impression that you were rather a scientist,’ I said. ‘We've been thinking in the league council! that you might be glad to devote your valuable time to your labora- tory and leave retail merchandising to us.’ ““*Will you please make that plainer, Mr. Brown?’ “**T'm here with an offer to buy your entire stock.’ “**At my retail prices?’ “**We shan't chaffer over the figure.’ ‘“**T shall be glad to sell you my entire stock on hand,’ he said astonishingly. ‘The price will be three million dollars If you are prepared to pay that the stones will be in your hands for inspection on an hour's notice.’ “*You have ten thousand carats of cut stones equal to the one I bought?’ I was confident that he was bluffing. that he had named an unreasonable amount to drive me off (Continued on Page 97 ‘Tl Shatl be Glad to Seti You My Entire Stock on Hand," He Said Astonishingly. ‘*The Price Will be Three Million Dollars**

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4 | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Suddenty Bouron Realized That Two Men Were Tugging at Him ULU was born on the fourth of April, 1909, in the Usine des Automobiles Herbaux, at Bougival, De- partment of the Seine. Her advent into this vale of tears was not without its complications. Throughout the long, long night an anxious group stood gathered in the little whitewashed room, talking in whispers, walking on tiptoe, and watching Monsieur Célu. Monsieur Célu labored feverishly. He scowled. He mut- tered to himself. He dashed his pliers to the floor. Zut! It was a baffling case A cock crowed, then another, and another. Dawn filtered red through the windows. The red turned to blue, with cool white clouds floating in it. A whistle blew. Sabots tered across the factory courtyard. Suddenly the walls throbbed te the rhythm of mighty machinery. Then came a knocking at the door—a knocking like the dread summons of fate. Slowly, majestically, it opened, and in walked Monsieur Herbaux himself! Monsieur Herbaux was wearing cutaway, spats, and a look of extreme severity. His mustaches and beard were newly dyed, and his cheeks were rouged to a jovial flush which grated harshly with his anxious scowl and the light of the early morning. In his rather considerable shadow lurked Chander, his humpbacked secretary. Crossing his arms and fixing Célu with an oysterlike eye, he stood for a dramatic and accusatory moment. Then the wrath of Jupiter descended in one booming, questioning word: “ Alors?” At the explosion, Célu wilted. “Ca va bien, monsieur!” he lied. “In just a moment ow I'll have her running.”’ And in panic he turned to resume his work. “Wait!” thundered Monsieur Herbaux, raising a fat and manicured hand. “Wait! At ten o’clock exactly, my board of directors will arrive. They have protested the thousands of frances you have frittered away on this im- becile experiment, and yet they have accepted my assurances that today today at ten—they will see—results! “They will!” declared Célu stoutly. “I doubt it!" moaned Monsieur Herbaux. “Ah, ruin, ruin, ruin!” The humphbacked secretary plucked deferen- tially at his coat tail. Monsieur Herbaux bent down, cupped his ear, and gave heed to the whispered counsel. Then, standing erect and strik- ing an attitude: ‘‘Send for Bouron!” he thundered. “Bouron!”’ repeated Célu dis- dainfully. ‘“‘Why, I discharged the drunkard night be- fore last!” ‘Send for Bouron!’ repeated Monsieur Herbaux, glancing to- ward the humpback for confirmation. “I have known from the start Clay that the few good ideas in this clumsy design are his.” Six men were dis- patched in quest of Mechanician Bouron, one to each of the estaminets of the.commune of Bougival. Monsieur Her- baux paced up and down the room, oc- casionally shielding his eyes from the cause of his an- guish—the Series 7 chassis. He took to consulting the humpback’s watch at the end of every lap. At length he halted, raised his arms in a supplicating gesture, and gave vent to an agonized scream. At that very instant Mech- anician Bouron lurched in upon the arm of his discoverer, a cigarette stuck to his lower lip and an aroma of cognac completely enveloping him. Monsieur Herbaux fell upon his neck and kissed his pallid, unshaved cheeks. “Come, pull yourself together, mon vieur, and let by- gones be bygones,” he pleaded. ‘“‘Without you, I am lost! In twenty minutes the directors will arrive, and ig “Nineteen minutes,” corrected the humpback. Bouron seemed unaware of Monsieur Herbaux’sexistence. His bloodshot eyes were fixed upon the chassis across the room. He waved aside the friendly supporting arm and staggered toward it. He stroked the motor with his hand and murmured drunken endearments. “Lulu! Little Lulu!” he said. Idly he pulled up the needle valve of the carburetor and let the gasoline trickle over his fingers. Then, stiffening: ‘‘ Monsieur Herbaux,” he said briskly, “‘send me a bottle of cognac and leave us by ourselves. When the time is up throw wide the doors!” In exactly three minutes the room was empty save for Bouron, Lulu, and a bottle of 1853 Courvoisier. “Tiens!"’ chuckled the mechanic, taking a swig and very deliberately removing his coat. ‘‘It is good to be back with thee, Lulu, dear! Now then, first we will turn off this vile gasoline, which any fool but Célu could see is as full of grease as the gravy of a duck. Next we will drain thy car- buretor and fill it with this splendid cognac, which will It Was Five Years Since Lulu Had Tasted Cognac - TELUS TRA TEO Br August 17,1929 By GUY GILPATRIC ToOoNnrT S ARG clear the grease from the jet. Next we will open these pet cocks and give each cylinder a drink of the finest fuel known to man or motor—so! And now that thou art primed, my dear, I know thou wilt start—and once started, not even bean soup can stop thee! I will sit at thy side and explore the remainder of this bottle until one minute before ten. A votre santé, m’amie Lulu!” There were eleven minutes left. At the tenth he took the empty bottle from his lips, put a cigarette in its place, and turned his cap visor backward. Then he grasped the crank jutting from Lulu’s nose and gave it one quick twist. His shout of triumph was drowned in the tumult which filled his ears, the room, the world! Lulu’s cylinders were exploding like strings of Chinese firecrackers! He climbed to the seat, reached into his breast, grasped his medal, and with a jerk snapped the chain. He kissed the silver image of Saint Christopher, amiable patron of travelers, who bore upon his shoulder the Pilgrim sore beset. He had just knotted the chain around Lulu’s steering column when the double doors rolled back and through the group of cheering and moneyed messieurs he flashed—a noisy vision of flame and smoke! Over the cobbled court he tore, through the factory gate, across the road, and into the private testing track. Here, he really opened her up. Fifty kilometers, sixty- five, seventy. The chassis, designed to carry a cabriolet body, was so light at the rear that it slewed wildly on the turns. The slim poplars made him dizzy as they flickered by, and at times he closed his eyes and depended wholly upon Saint Christopher. Twenty times around, he went which made ten kilometers. He roared over the finish line, skidded perilously, and came to a stop crosswise on the track. When the moneyed messieurs, Herbaux in the lead, gath- ered breathless but cheering around him, they discovered that he was peacefully asleep. Three days of cognac and no food is a Spartan diet! “Look!” panted Monsieur Rastambaux. ‘“‘The poor chap has fainted from the speed!” “Well, and why not?” inquired Monsieur d’Uaches, brandishing a watch the size of a casserole. “‘No human being has traveled so fast before. Gen- tlemen, we live in a marvelous age! I voice the sentiments of all of us when I congratulate you, dear Monsieur Herbaux, upon this greatest achieve- ment of the motor- ism —the Series 7 ” Herbaux! ae ee ——Sw

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ee —_ Se ot one = - = aa _ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1s “Ah, monsieur!"’ bowed Herbaux, who had now definitely fought down the attack of apoplexy which had been im- minent all morning. “It is most gratifying—a vote of confidence, in effect! I shall send for achampagned’ honneur, which we will drink right here beside the car.” At the popping of corks Bouron opened his eyes. He felt dazed, sick. Out of the group of stout celebrants he saw emerge a slight figure in gray tweeds—a quiet, elderly gentleman to whom the occasion and the company were quite evidently distasteful. This gentleman patted Bouron’s dusty shoulder and steadied the glass for him while he drank. Then he beck- oned Monsieur Herbaux aside and said, as one who ad- dresses his butler, “I am buying this car. Have your carrossier call upon me to discuss the design of the body.” Monsieur Herbaux beamed afresh. “What news!” he shouted, rushing back to the board. “A veritable augury of the bonheur, messieurs! The very first of our Series 7 is purchased, as it were, on the hoof! Monsieur le Duc de Lavame, accept my assurances that we will accomplish upon her an ex- ample of the carrosserie which will make her the jewel of Paris!” “Ah, yes, by all means,”” murmured the duke. “‘And that reminds me.”” He wrote an address upon his card and handed it to Bouron. “‘ My tailor,” he said. ‘“‘Go there and be measured for a livery.” “‘Livery?”’ echoed Bouron dully. “Yes. And here are a month’s wages. Come, brace up, my good fellow; you’re my chauffeur.” And curtly raising his hat to his fellow direc- tors, he strolled down the track on his extremely small feet; wondering, perhaps, how he would manage to pay for the t car. Owes t . u . ‘ ONSIEUR LE DUC DE LAVAME, like Casanova, had discov- ered that the only way to make poverty endur- able is to live in grandest luxury. He maintained twelve horses, four grooms, and three coach- men in his town stables; and though at first there was much dissension at the installation of a mo- tor car, the spirit of prog- ress finally prevailed. Lulu’s sleek lines, her lustrous maroon coach- work, her gleaming brass, were irresistible! No ve- hicle since the coaches of the grands seigneurs had boasted interior ap- pointments so truly de luxe. Even old fat Ben- guiat, whose father had driven Louis Napoleon to his coronation, finally conceded that the auto- mobile was an interest- ing, if transient, phase of transportation. But only transient, he insisted just like the air machine which Monsieur Blériot flew over the Channel the other morning. The horse, after all, was what le bon Dieu intended should be man’s conveyor. And, in truth, the horse was an important factor in the doings and destinies of the house of Lavame. Upon Mis- tinguett, a promising mare, the duke had pinned high hopes of financial recouvrement. The racing stables were at Maisons-Laffitte, and thrice each week Bouron drove his master out to this suburb and sat on the fence while the slim-legged prodigy went through her paces. Bouron knew nothing about horses except that he defi- nitely disliked them. Mistinguett, for example, was doubtless the finest horse in all France, and yet she was a nervous, quivering, snakelike creature of many whims and uncertain temper. Once when he attempted to stroke her rheumy muzzle, she snapped at him so savagely that he retreated to Lulu, and offered up thanks to Saint Chris- topher that he still retained his fingers. He much pre- ferred the man-made motor car, which one could take apart, fix and put together again. + « ~ d i, P q : a ae . i 34 4 °. 4° There Came a Blinding Flash, a Shattering Roar, and Lutu Was Blown High Into the Air Still, he enjoyed those trips to Maisons-Laffitte and the company of the English jockeys. They were free spenders and often invited him over to the Cheval des Ailes d’Or for champagne. He went, but drank Eau de Vittel. He had not tasted anything stronger since that long ago fourth of April when the duke had steadied his glass, From Anstruther, the chief jockey, he learned many things about his master—things which made him mors than ever proud of the coronet upon Lulu’s door. Accord- ing to Anstruther, 'Is Gryce was the finest sportsman on the turf——that is, of course, outside of England And as a gambler— well, said Anstruther, ir s curious Franco- Cockney idiom, he was eager to be stricken pink “‘H’m,” mused Bouron, between sips of Vittel. “And this snaky Mistinguett you will ride her next week in th Coupe Républicaine?” “Will I ride her?” repeated Anstruther, stirring up the bubbles with his bony finger. ‘‘ Why, listen, Bouron, my son, Mistinguett and I will walk chez nous with the Coupe R publicaine! Back us with every en- sanglanté sou you've got.” “Well,” and Bouron waxed confidential, “that’s just what ths duc is doing. Every- where we go, everyone we meet, out comes the little green book and in goes the wager!" ‘Bun!’ exclaimed Anstruther, paying the check. “ That means that by five o’clock next Sat- urday ufternoon the jook will be on the Rue Facil again.” The duke was still in the stables, so Bouron occupied his time wit! flicking Lulu’'s already immaculat pear!-gray upholstery with a little feather duster which he kept especially for the purpose, and polishing her lamps with a square of jeweler’s chamois Even Saint Christo- A” pher —now a permanent fixture on the teakwood dash — came in for a rev erent rub “Bah!” Bouron mut tered ‘Never fe ar, my Lulu! We will bet on this Mistinguett, yes, but you are the only one I really care for.” We 7 sm led the duke his step Was as silent as his feet were smal! vou and your Lulu and I, too, had bet- ter remember Mistin- guett inour prayers these next six nights! Back to town, Bouron, if you ple ase “Back to towr Bouron, if you please " Those were the words he always used; and when m in the Jon ke) Club inclosure at Longchamps, he murmured the at twenty minutes past five on the following Saturday there was nothing in! voice to sug- gest that he had just lost seven hundred and thirty thousand francs H ing-I 1} Was r example to Bouron, who was trembling under the yas of five hundred and twelve francs, thirty-three centime The duke smii« ve i friends, removed } pearl-gray top hat d'Ascot to a group of . ladies in a coach and four, and seated himself within Lulu As they passed down the long line of parked carriages, among which was a scattering of motor cars, there were flurries of applause and one or two derisive hoots. But fer the most part the crowd paid a tribute f silence to this ruined but nonchalant sportsmar The road through the B with four-in-hands, victorias, dog carts and o’clock found them only a little past the restaurant at the beginning of the avenue; and here the traf ; as Boulogne was Jamme tandems. Six tic came toa halt (Continued on Page 161

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i6 THE SATURDAY AURCIANT EC VERS H.H. Richardson 1838—-1886— whose work- shop was in his house in Brookline, and who worked there in his smock, sur- rounded by his boys, drawing with charcoal on a sheet of brown paper and discoursing on the whole philosophy of design. Now, great architects have been men of appalling genius, an awe-inspiring combination of esthetic sense and mathematics. Christopher Wren—‘‘that miracle of a young man,” John Evelyn wrote—when he was fifteen wrote a Latin letter to his father: “The other day I wrote a treatise on Trigonometry which sums up, as I think, by a new method and in a few brief rules, the whole theory of Spherical Trigo- nometry. An Epitome of this I wrote on a Brass Dise of about the size of one of King James’ Gold Pieces, and having snatched the Tool from the Engraver, I engraved much of it with my own Hand. Which Disc Sir Charles [This was Sir Charles Scarborough, a court physician with mathematical tastes, to whom Wren was an as- sistant] had no sooner seen than he insisted upon having a similar one of his own.” The list of his preoccupations when he was a mere bey takes one’s breath away. Before he was twenty, he EVENING POST US CL By Brenda Ueland August 17,1929 (ENT made fifty-three inven- tions concerning astron- omy, physics, anatomy, embroidery, etching, mining, military fortifications, print- ing, musical instruments, writing in the dark, weaving, sailing, submarine navigation, whale fishing, ‘‘new designs tending to strength, convenience and beauty in building,” and “‘a pavement, harder, fairer and cheaper than marble. And the stories of the energy of architects are astound- ing. They never slowed down. If you could sum up all Bernini’s idle moments, wrote one who knew him, setting aside his hours for sleep, they would not, in the course of his eighty-two years, amount to a month. Among the architects of the nineteenth century, Sir Charles Barry rose between four and five and worked usually until eleven or twelve at.night. Welby Pugin sometimes received in- structions about altering a large house in the morning, made his inspection in the afternoon, and submitted sketch designs to his client after dinner on the same day. He broke down at forty and his doctor said he had done “‘a hundred years’ work”’ in his lifetime. G. E. Street dealt with his enormous correspondence before breakfast and then put in a full working day and spent three or four hours every evening at his drawing board. Sir Gilbert Scott, at the height of his practice, had jobs that were too numerous Side Door of St. Paul's Church, Norfotk, Virginia, Buiit in 1740. At Right—Montpelier, theJames and Detly Madison Home, Orange County, Virginia HE struggle between architect and client is as old as archi- _ tecture itself, and probably the first reason for this is that great architects have always been amaz- ing, extraordinary men, and so quite justified in being opinionated. “The worst punishment that God could inflict upon mankind,” wrote jlondel, an eighteenth-century French architect, “would be to con- demn us to live without architects.” So architects are bound to feel. But to a client an architect is the man who prevents him from having his cake and eating ittoo. While a man’s doctor and lawyer are on his side in a difficulty, an architect is the one who proves that he cannot have a $60,000 house for $40,000; who frustrates his taste and hurts } feelings. When you want a cobblestone mantelpiece or a stucco castle or a Harding Period front porch, the architect is the one who must checkmate you and outwit you. So architects and clients all have their stories to tell. He Didn't Know His Own Brain Child \ ANSART, who built most of Versailles for Louis XIV, 4¥1 was perhaps, in the worldly sense, the most success- ful architect that ever lived. How many, many architects have resembled him since! At first a smart and pushful young man, he wormed his way into Louis XIV’s court and favor, so that at thirty he was intrusted with per- haps the biggest building in history—the palace of Ver- ailles. Mansart had realized very early that an archi- tect should be on view, a preéminent society man. And he also realized that the steady appearance in society get around it, he hired obscure and perhaps more talented men to do it for him. Some say that he put out to nurse not only the ornamental! details but the main ideas of his buildings. But probably this is unjust. Anyway he was the original of the great executive architects like Daniel Burnham, who built the old Art Institute in Chieago, and the Monadnock Building, and whose watch- word was: ‘‘ Delegate, delegate!”’ And so today many architects look like international bankers and sit behind enormous mahogany desks, surrounded by lawyers and stenographers, signing contracts, discussing mortgage bonds, and it is not nearly as attractive a picture as that of the great to remember. He left London by train one morning at six; when his staff straggled into his office a few hours later they found a telegram from him at a distant station, asking briefly, ‘Why am I here?” And once, they say, he stopped to ad- mire a church and asked for the ar- chitect’s name. ‘‘Sir Gilbert Scott,” was the reply. Wonder Youths ND on top of all this, so many architects have been also ex- tremely handsome and debonair, from Leonardo da Vinci downward. In America, Richard Morris Hunt, H. H. Richardson, John W. Root, Stanford White, Charles Follen McKim, Whitney Warren, all were wonder youths. When you read a description of H. H. Richardson, for example, the description of the oth- ers is so like it that it is confusing: Handsome, tall, graceful, eager, The Gardens of the Palace at Versailles COPYRIGHT BY PUBLISHERS PHOTO. SERVICE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST affectionate, generous, an extraordinary athlete, horseman and fencer. ‘Blindfolded, he could conduct several games of chess simultaneously. He loved music and knew all about it, and So on. And so, when a very mortal client tries to obtrude his ideas on such men, it is no wonder that it is uphill work. And now for some everyday stories. “I want an English house,”’ a lady said to her architect, “a lovely low-lying one whose walls rise out of the lawn and whose long, straggling roof slopes way down and has as many gables and roof angles as a picturesque little vil- lage. And I want a great open hall with a gallery in it. I have been looking at books of old English houses and find that they do not cost nearly as much as $40,000. I want one of those.” Now, this architect said that he usually feels like Cas- sandra—doomed to warn without being believed. Colonial From the Laundry Up ™ O YOU know why these English houses rise out of the ground that way? Because they are built with- out cellars. And the lack of basement is all right in Eng- land because they heat such houses with charming little coal grates. But I don’t believe you could get along with- out a furnace in Rhode Island. And that hall with a baronial gallery—it is like trying to heat your front yard. Those sloping English roofs are nice. But English tile is often handmade, and even manufactured tile in England is unglazed and porous, and so gets a nice soft bloom of lichen on it. American tile has to be hard burned and non- absorbent so as to withstand the cold. And so much of this hard tile on an interminable, sloping roof would look rather glaring. Besides, it is very expensive.” ““T am surprised that you, as an architect, can be so crassly practical,’’ replied the lady. “‘ But at least I can have those long, low lines.” “Well, you could. But the ground plans of an English house, you know, are very straggling. There will be, first, a kitchen, and beyond that a scullery, and then a larder, then a room marked ‘knives,’ then ‘boots,’ then ‘cycles,’ and so on, all strung along like beads on a necklace. Do you think a bright servant girl in Rhode Island would bring ‘coals’ a half mile to the drawing-room fire? The English, of course, ‘certainly know how to live,’ as they say, but their servants should wear pedometers.” “Well, then,” said the lady, “I think I will have a Brittany house. Because I do want something artistic.” “T know—I know,” said the architect sympathetically. “‘Of course you know Brittany houses get most of their charm from their thatched roofs and their ducks and chickens, with the manure pile close by. You might though I would not advise it—have some kind of imitation thatched roof, but the ducks and chickens offer something of a problem. As for the manure pile in these days in the first place, who can afford it?” But the client who aspires after beauty is infinitely preferable to the grimly, flat-footedly practical one “The most difficult client,” said one architect, “‘is the domineering woman who prides herself on the fact that she cares nothing for society, art, business or politics ‘just her home’—a kind of militant homebody. Inci- dentally, the housekeeping of such is not good; the food is apt to be commonplace and heavy. There is not enough sun or air in the house. I built a three- hundred-thousand-dollar Tudor house for one of these. I always remember how, the day I had luncheon in that handsome house, instead of flowers, the center- piece was a plate of peanut brittle.” A young couple wanted a clapboard Colonial house. “We had worked out a charming one,” said their architect, who was then younger and meeker than he is.now, “‘when a mother-in-law returned from a visit of inspection to some other children in the West. She insisted upon a high foundation so that the laundry tubs in the basement would have enough light. And she won. Well, these people think they have a Colonial house, but that foundation makes it no more a Colonial house than a gas-filling station is.”’ On the other hand, an architect can be quite alarm- ing in his insistence upon beauty. “As LyttonStracheysays,” said an architect dream- ily, ‘*‘it is probably always disastrous not to be a well, Er ET Eee — EEE ESS = Spanaliaagl a - — i Guy's Cliff Castle, Warwickshire, England poet.’”’ thatac process the client, angered the architect so that he al “If he had said it would be more practica derstood it. 17 And then his face hardened and he went on to say ertain client had ordered a wing of } of building, to be moved forward: “be “it will be house, in the luse, said more beautiful that way TI but t But more beautiful —that was my busines And how an architect hates cheapness tting corners There is plenty of precedence for this among the great one if the result is as good as all result price is forgotten; ‘ ~“ Se ee ee te Deorway of the Hammond:.Harwood House, Annapotis. In Ovait—One of the Oidest Houses in America, the Hammond Home at Newton, Massachusetts, Built in 1640 Richardson, for example, absolutely dictated to by ‘ fierce courage ‘ refused to be ients It took ind brought at last preéminence. He only allowed the finest workmanship He never allowed a contra and materials tor to be se- lected for his cheapness alone, and for this reason did not approve of competitive bid- ding. He was, therefore, like most great ar¢ But he argued that should be, the tects, an expensive architect if the result is poor, it is never for- gotten. Some architects have insisted upon such abso- lute obedience that the client has not been granted a single whim. Robert Adam would design a house down to the salt cellars, and Frank Lloyd Wright is said to have even dictated what the lady who lives in one of hi very original houses should wear R is young and leonine, and he ha nm incoherence about his own architectural genius that is characteristic of many of them. He is often begged ty hools and societies to tell something about the secrets of his art Meek in All Things But His Work praeetap-eengpenr ear tapene metimes he wil con- \/ fronts them miserably, says a few ttering words and invites questions that he can unswer. He ha hardly the slightest interest in | ent wishes and does not care a button what a building t. But! wsthetic conscience is exquisite; nm ure too great for him. He will go to any trouble to rectify the smallest mistake. Q is an architect who w beheve w! i mean criti tells him, and is kind and hopeful about other people’ work. In his family he is gentleness and meekness itself, wears a mild, puzzled air, loves to work in his garden, has arranged a pretty scheme of household decoration He is terribly afraid of women and treats them with un- shakable politeness But when Q is working on a building he becomes like some timid female animal, a bird or leer who w attack anything in defense of its young. He will face a Centinued on Page 73

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‘To Wham Do You Give Up Half Your Earnings?'* ‘‘To You," Said Packer Belligerently you,” said Ted Plank of the Press. ‘‘He’s sore from crust to crust and he bites in the clinches.” “T’ve heard he didn’t like me,”’ said Police Justice Peter “In fact, he told me so once.” “I'm just warning you. Look out for skunks in the woodpile and lock your windows nights. You'll wake up with somebody eise’s watch in your pants pocket and a cop knocking on the door.” “I better sew up my pockets then,” said Peter. “He'll photograph you in a hotel with Helen of Troy.” “*He can't if I don’t know Helen and don’t go to a hotel.” “Is that so? He can’t,eh? Well, judge, he’s done it be- fore. That man can catch a parson robbing a bank he never saw. He's the frame-up king and the high priest of the cold deck. He likes it. It’s hisfun. He wouldn’t en- joy winning anything honest. It 'ud hurt his feelings.” “Wouldn't it be nice,” said Peter, “if Mr. Marcus would go away somewhere and quit disturbing folks?”’ “*Not from a town he owns the way he owns this one,” said Ted Plank. “And not with contracts for a new bridge being let,” said the judge. ‘‘ They tell me he likes to let contracts.” “Some day,” said Ted, “‘he’ll move the city hall to his back yard and use it for a bird house. But what he does won't help you any if he gets seven men to swear they saw you standing over the body.” ‘I'll bear it in mind, Ted. But you can’t duck till some- body leads.”’ “You'd If I was you I'd dig me a cellar and I wouldn't come out of it.” “But,” said the judge, “I like fresh air. much obliged, Ted, for the warning.” “Well, remember, judge, if he abolishes you, he'll abolish you good. There won't be any more of you at all. He’s thorough, that fellow is,"and he’ll have you wearing pants with the stripes running round and round.” ““T wouldn't like that,” said Peter. ‘I wouldn't like it at ali.” He had not needed Ted Plank’s warning, but, for all that, the newspaperman’s earnestness brought home to him very if TELL yout judge, Commissioner Marcus is out to get Case better. Anyhow, I’m TLOLUSTRATEDO SATURDAY EVENING POST distinctly the enmity of the Commissioner of Public Works who for half a dozen years had ruled the city’s political machine. He knew the commissioner disliked him and, secretly, was a little afraid of his potentialities. He knew his rapid political rise had been as welcome to Mr. Marcus as a stone bruise to a foot racer, and he knew Mar- cus was not one to sit still and let nature take its course. If, however, Peter was worried, he did not let it appear. But he walked circumspectly. Even in his most private affairs he prepared for high tides and heavy weather. This will appear from a conversation, one-sided for a time, which he held with Sicily Burt that evening. Sicily was the young woman whom Peter had picked out to be Mrs. Case, and who had responded to his odd courtship by interesting herself in his grammar, his table manners, and the neatness of his dress. These things Peter took to be a good sign and was accordingly encouraged. “Sicily,” he said as they walked down the shaded street that evening, “I don’t know as I’ve asked you to marry me.” “IT don’t remember it, if you did,” she said. “T was going to tonight,” he said. “I wrote it on my memorandum pad the other day.” “So you wouldn’t forget it?” she asked a little tartly. “No, but so I would have it in mind and think up a swell proposal. I was working on it too.” “‘T hope it was grammatical,” she said. “It was, as far as I got, but then I decided I'd better put it off. You don’t mind, do you?” ““Changed your mind?” she asked. “I ain’t changed my mind,” he said vehemently. “Don’t say ‘ain't,’ say ‘haven’t,’’’ she told him sharply. “T’ll try to remember,” said Peter. ‘But about this proposal: I got to thinking about it today, and it seemed like a bad time for it.” “There’s a full moon,” said Sicily. “*So there is,”’ said Peter, “‘but I got a good reason.” “*T have a good reason,’” she corrected, “and that’s a perfectly terrible necktie, and when you’re not eating, you should put your fork on your plate and not hold it.” “One thing at a time,” he said. ‘My mind moves slow. Now, to get back to this proposal ———-” “Have I asked you to propose?” “No, but I’ve led you to expect it, and I don’t want to go on disappointing you.” August 17,1929 By Clarence Budington Kelllamd! RAEBURWN VAN BUREN ” “Disappointing me! “T mean you ought to have a chance to say yes or no. But I feel like I ought to put it off till things blow over.” “What things?”’ “Well, you wouldn’t like to be engaged to a man in the penitentiary, would you?” “How do you know I'd be engaged to you? say no.” “Thadn’t thought of that,”’ said Peter. “‘ But you might say yes, and with me locked in a cell, that would be pretty bad. Folks would talk.” “T can imagine it,” she said sardonically. ‘‘Not out loud, of course, but they might whisper behind their hands. And why are you going to prison?” “I’m not, and maybe it won’t be prison, but something just as disagreeable. And until it blows over and gets set- tled I don’t want to drag anybody else into it.” I might “Suppose somebody wants to be dragged in,”’ said Sicily “‘Shucks,”’ said Peter eloquently. “‘ Anyhow, here’s the way things are: Commissioner Marcus is after my scalp. He’s been so quiet lately that I know he’s up to something. And folks keep warning me. So I’ve got to hang around and see, and if I pull through all right, then I can think about getting married.” “Have you done anything to be sent to prison for?” “No,” said Peter. “Or anything disgraceful?” “Not that I remember.” “Then how can this Marcus man do you any harm?” “Did you ever hear of a frame-up?” asked Peter. “Yes. “It’s harder to prove you didn’t do something you didn’t do than it is to prove you didn’t do something you did do,” he said. “I know. I’m a judge and I see how things work.” “And you think this Marcus will do something like that—make it look as if you had committed a crime or done something dishonest or disgraceful? Just to ruin you in politics?” “Sure,” said Peter. ‘Naturally he will.” “And you won't propose tonight because you don’t want to drag me into a mess?” “That’s the idea,”’ said Peter, pleased to have made his idea clear. “I’m glad you see it my way.” ““Of course I do, Peter,”’ she said. ‘“‘ Will you marry me?”

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“Eh? What? What’s that?” “T said, ‘Will you marry me?’”’ “Haven’t I just explained that I can’t propose to- night?” “You're not. I am,” said Sicily. “My idea of a girl is one that’s some good when she’s needed, and I guess you need somebody to keep an eye on you.” “I won't be engaged to you,” said Peter. “All right,” said Sicily. “Then I’ll have to frame you up like this Mr. Marcus. Now you listen to me, Peter Case. The day you are publicly accused of anything I’m sending the announcement of our engagement to all the papers. There'll be two pieces of news instead of one. So there.” “‘But it won’t be true. I’ll deny it.” “You'll be too busy denying something else,”’ said Sicily firmly. ‘‘And that’s that, and I’m sick and tired of not being engaged to you; so, if you're ever going to be, you better be right now. And there isn’t anybody coming from either direction and it’s plenty dark right here. So what are you going to do about it?”’ Fifteen minutes later the couple moved along slowly. Peter protested, ‘‘But all the same, I’m not engaged to you.” “You acted like it enough,” she said contentedly. aw N THE next afternoon Attorney Morrisey, a habitué of the police courts, who acquired his practice by hanging about the halls of the court building and way- laying ignorant foreigners who had no need of legal services, came hurrying into Peter Case’s chambers. *‘ Judge,” he said in his oily way, “I won- der if you’d do mea favor. I couldn’t get to the bank before it closed, and it ’ud be a big help if you could cash this check.” bow, “Why, I guess I can we is accommodate you,’’ , OR gf. said Peter, and gave the - +s . < ' matter no further thought. A week later < half a dozen similar »4 shysters, with certain z other hangers-on about - an) the municipal courts, | asked permission to see Z ~¥ Peter. a! ’ “It’s like this, judge,’ said Attorney Packer: ‘“‘Tom O’Grady, the court officer, lost his wife Tuesday. She’s been sick a long time and what with doctor’s bills and undertaker’s, Tom’s in tough shape. So us boys thought we’d start a little fund. And we want you to take care of it for us till we got enough.” “Why,” said Peter, “that’s kindly of you. Of course I'll take the : money.” 1% ‘‘Much obliged, ' judge. And we kind of thought Tom ‘ud like it in gold. So, when we're done collecting, if you'll get the bank to give you gold pieces, eh -” ‘*Glad to,’’ said Peter, whereby a dozen checks came into his hands signed by a dozen unsavory characters, and, as he did not notice, dated at different dates covering a period of sixty days. These were made out to him as payee and were passed through his bank account. In due time the fund of five hun- dred dollars was turned over by the judge to the committee who were to present it to Tom with appropriate ceremonies. Two or three times other police- court lawyers asked Peter to cash small checks, so that he was heard to observe that if this kept up he would have to keep a check-cashing fund on hand. Something You Did Do,” He Said. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 It was two weeks later when it came to Peter’s ears that Attorney Packer had extorted fifty dollars from a Polish woman for obtaining a warrant against her husband for beating her with the handle of his pick, and the young justice summoned the man to appear before him the fol- lowing morning to account for his conduct. When he mounted the bench he was not surprised to see his court room well filled, for any irregularity on the part of a member of the bar always aroused public interest. But he was astonished to see Commissioner of Public Works Marcus in a choice seat, and he was also somewhat sur- prised to see the prosecuting attorney present in person, instead of the young assistant who usually appeared in police court. Presently the matter in hand was reached. Peter leaned forward and addressed Packer. “Mr. Packer,” he said, “I am informed you extorted the sum of fifty dollars from a woman for obtaining a warrant. This court will not tolerate such conduct on the part of attorneys who practice here. What have you to say?” “She paid me the fifty, all right,” said Packer. “But you know, judge, we got to live. We got to make money somehow to have any left for ourselves.” “Left for yourselves? What am I to understand by that?” ““We have to give up about half we make,” said Packer. “Who to?” asked Peter, unconscious that Sicily Burt would have shuddered at his grammar.

‘It’s Harder to Prove You Didn't Do Something You Didn't Do Than it is to Prove You Didn't Do “I Know. I'm a Judge and I See How Things Work"’ “You're askin’ that, Your Honor?’ “You heard me, Mr. Packer.” “And you want an answer?” “I do. To whom do you give up half your earnings?’ “To you,” said Packer belligerently. The court room was silent. Peter was silent for an in- stant as his glance traveled over the faces of those who sat before him and whose ears had just listened to this damning accusation. He found himself looking into the sardonic eyes of Commissioner Marcus. Peter smiled. ‘‘Commissioner,” he said, “don't think you would hear better if you came inside the rail. Officer, clear a place for the commissioner.” Then he turned to Packer. ‘“‘So,”’ he said portion of your earnings tome? Is that true, may I ask, of other attorneys who practice before this court, or is it confined to yourself?’’ “‘ All of us have to give up,” said Packer Peter arose to his feet. ‘‘Officer,”’ he said, “close the doors of this court room. Permit no one to enter who is not summoned by myself or the prosecutor, and permit no one to leave. Mr. Prosecutor, you un- accountably present. Is it your pleasure that we proceed with an informal investigation of this matter? “With you presiding, Your Honor?” “With me presiding,” said Peter. “You are excluding the press,"’ said the prosecutor. “Officer,” said Peter, “‘send someone to summon such representatives of the newspapers as are in the building. It appears the prosecutor desires this matter to have pub- licity. Shall we proceed? .. . charge.” “Mr. Packer,” said the prosecutor, “‘ you have just made a serious charge—-that Police Justice Case has extorted from attorneys who practice in this court a share of their earnings.” “T have.” “In return for what “For not bothering us,” said Packer “In other words, for permitting unrestrained on the public?” “For letting us earn a said Packer. “Have you evidence other than your unsupported word?”’ “I've got checks drawn to him. Half a dozen of them.” “*May I see them?” asked the pros- ecutor, and a little sheaf of canceled checks was placed before them. “I ; you “you givea are Mr. Prosecutor, please take oo” you to prey living,” have here,” said the prosecutor, “six checks drawn by Mr. Packer to the x ; order of the justice, and indorsed for deposit by him. They aggregate a total of two hundred dollars.” “I've given much said Packer “Do you wish toque tion Mr Y our Honor?’ ‘Not at ment,” wonder if him a more in Packer. the mo- Peter ‘I other of the bar have said any mem ber: given me checks or other donations? “TI understand some of them assert they have done so,” said the pros- ecutor ‘*Let’s hear them,” from said Peter. There followed a pro- cession of shabby law- yers who testified to having paid Peter either by check looking the or in cash for other way while they plied the ir regularities of trade. Evidence heaped itself high about Peter h he did their evidence wh not question. As man after man testified, Peter listened, but protest, made no asked no ques tefense ‘Is that all?’’ he asked at tion, offered no <« the end. Continued on Page 106)

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20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ISS GORDON HAM- MILL was pleasantly located in a small hotel on one of the streets which trian- gulate the region around the Etoile. The position was strategically chosen. Far from the temptation of the smartest shops, it was highly respectable, only a step from the central channel of Paris at play, and almost equidistant from the network of the ancient city and thesylvan spaces of the Bois. In addition, the modest establishment had three approaches and two exits. She had a tiny reception room, scarcely larger than anentrance hal!, a fairly large bedroom and a very small bath. But the modern improvement which surpassed all others was the telephone on a low stand near the pillow. She lay on her side, looking at it lazily and trying to make up her mind to talk to Kit Leffingwell. What decided her was the convenience of the double-ended apperatus. She took it up and, without stirring from her snug position, asked for the necessary connection. A moment later she was all but overwhelmed by the tinkling explosions of Kit’s queries, ejaculations and re- marks. ‘‘Why, Gordon-—-Gordon Hammill! Do you know it’s almost ten o’clock and for two hours I've been biting my finger nails, b-blessing you for not having given me your telephone number or the name of your hotel? What is it, where are you, and what happened? Are you al! right? That's what I want to know first-—are you all right?” “Quite all right,” said Gor- don. ‘“‘Where is Mr. James Tupper Leffingwell, Jr., at the moment?” ‘In the bath with the door shut, or I wouldn't be shouting out your name,” replied Mrs. Leffingwell. “There. Can’t you hear him singing?” “No. But if he’s singing he must have recovered his good spirits.” “Oh, no, he hasn’t. It isn’t that kind of singing. After each har it sort of bites a nail in two. I get shivers up and down the spine to think what he would do to me if he knew I was talking to you. But what happened? Will you answer that — what happened?” “T heard you,” murmured Gordon, “but I can’t possibly go into details over the telephone.” “What about my pearls?” “Kit, please —please!"’ “Oh, well, are they or aren't they? You know what I mean.” “They are and they aren’t.” “ Really!" “Hush. Listen. If you'll lunch with me I'll show them to you,” “Oh!” with a falling inflection. “‘Where? When?” “At Topsy’s, Avenue des Ternes. Can you remember that? Don’t take a cab at the hotel door, ever. Just go around the corner, call a taxi, and say, ‘Chez Topsy, Avenue des Ternes.’”’ “T’ve got it. What time? “Half-past one.” Gordon heard Leffie’s gruff tones, muffled by distance: “Who you talking to? Who do you know in Paris?” “Whom, Leffie-—whom,” broke in Kit’s voice. “It’s that girl at Chenille’s—the nice one. All right, mademoi- selle. I'll be on time.”” She hung up. For more than an hour Gordon lay on the bed, spurring herself on to action. She would have liked to take a day off, to rest, so to speak, on her laurels, but she realized that time was of the essence of the task she had set herself. Ajo tis > WittLipm BROW” By George Agnew Chamberlain ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN a - | "You Ought to Apply for the Job of Tripping the Guillotine! You're Merciless. You Look Soft, Tender, Ardent—Ali the Things That Make Woman the Living Spirit of Flame —But You're as Hard and Cold as the Teeth on a Saw"’ Senator Meacham was safely in jail, but unless she could send Bertrand and Colonel Rivers to keep him company before they found out what had become of the senator, she would inevitably fall short of her goal. In an unguarded moment Meacham had let slip that the colonel had gone to Cannes, but Bertrand was doubtless still in Paris. In all probability he could be reached through the same connection as had served the senator, but Gordon was far too clever to call him up. By the same token, Bertrand, through Meacham, was probably the only p2r- son in town who knew her whereabouts. It was essential to her plans that they should meet, yet when her telephone rang, she caught up the receiver only to set it down very gently and ring for the maid. “Tf it is a man, Marie,” she whispered, “get his name and then tell him I have gone out and will not be back before evening.” Marie obeyed. “Quelle jolie voix,” she remarked as she disconnected. “A nice voice? What was the name?” August 17,1929 ““M’sieur Beauton.” “Boughton!” cried Gordon in dismay as she snatched up the receiver; but she was too late. “Mais, mademoiselle ———”’ protested Marie feel- ingly. “Tt’s all right,’ said Gordon. ‘“‘I mean you did exactly what I told you to do.” She fell back on the pillows and wondered. Meacham alone had known how to reach her and might easily have told his companion, Bertrand, but not even to Kit Leffingwell had she given her address and telephone. Then how had Ellis Boughton, of all people, come by it? The more she pondered the matter the more was she relieved that she had not answered him herself. By twelve she was up, dressed and out, but it took a distinct effort of the will to banish Boughton from her thoughts at least for the time being—and concentrate on Bertrand. He was probably still in bed, but if he were not, where would he most likely be? She picked a neat, wide-open taxicab and gave the driver detailed instruc- tions in such idiomatic French that his face fell, for, he argued, the better the French the smaller the tip. *“*You understand?”’ said Gordon. “Drive as slowly as your nature will permit, keep close to the curb, go the length of the boulevards, come back by Maxim’s, go as far as Fouquet’s, and then turn. If you please me you will receive 50 per cent of the fare as a pourboire.”’ “Ah, ca!”’ he exclaimed, his face brightening. Gordon relaxed. Why not forget her worries for an hour? She was not making this tour to see, but to be seen. She crossed her knees and leaned back lux- uriously, one gloved hand hang- ing loosely over the side of the cab, the other braced on the cushion of the seat. But she could not altogether escape. The memory of Meacham’s glaring eye- balls haunted her. They stood out alone, as if the rest of him had been crushed out of remembrance, and it was only now that she realized how much of terror had been mingled with their malignity. He belonged to that expert division of the underworld which is astonishingly bold, but seldom takes a chance of prison bars. Thick-skinned, yes; inured to black looks and the isolation of a pariah, accustomed even to taking a beating on occasion, but he could only shudder before the prospect of swift French justice, the prison of the Santé today and Devil's Island glowering on tomorrow’: far horizon. Gordon was conscious of a twinge of pity, almost imme- diately suppressed. There is only one racket more cow- ardly than that of the card sharper, and that is the trade of his first cousin, the blackmailer. Especially does the transatlantic crook play safe behind the smoke screen of respectability, profiting by every decent quality in his victim which he himself lacks. He is an adept of practical psychology, a master strategist, a very Job for patience, but withal a coward among cowards, a thief secure, even when caught, against the penalty of thievery. In the beginning the Gordons had married the Hammills, the Hammills the Tomlinsons, and the ultimate result had been Miss Gordon Hammill Tomlinson, a girl with the fire of the Gordons, the granite foundation of the Hammills, and the whimsical genius which made every Tomlinson dissimilar to other Tomlinsons. Then, on the eve of her budding into her proper heritage of ease and social power, had come Nemesis, disaster, tumbling out of an untrou- bled sky. ——

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So basic had been the catastrophe that what had seemed incredible six years ago still appeared unbelievable. Only the constant reminder of masquerading as Miss Gordon Hammili, passage and expenses paid, could persuade her that the unreal was reality, that her father was indeed dead and that his beloved name endured only as the tag on the most monumental of all card-sharping exploits—the classic example of the dupe. Ralph Tomlinson had been more of a playmate than a father. Motherless since childhood, Gordon had learned from him all she knew, and learned it well. It was he who had fed her languages at their sources, taught her riding and dancing and almost every known game of cards. It was he who had told her where if not how to dress, dis- coursed on the difference between mere food and the pleas- ures of the table, between a cosmopolite and an expatriate, and between genuine plum-pudding mahogany and num- berless veneers. He had been intended by Nature to be the gay companion and little more, but Gordon was blind to the qualification. All she could see was that he had been the most lovable man on earth, gracious to friends and inferiors, uncon- scious of an enemy, giving pleasure in his well-bred way wherever he went and doing harm tonone. That heshould have been struck down like a felled tree and withered in the course of a few days seemed to her an enormous and unpardonable injustice. Her mobile mouth settled momentarily into a fixed line. Never again would she give Meacham a pitying thought, nor Bertrand if she could send him along the same road; least of all, Colonel Rivers, the master of them all, if only She gulped at the mere thought of Colonel Rivers and felt the blood rush tingling into her cheeks. The others were only pawns, but in him she sensed the per- sonification of the force which had been great enough to set and trip the deadfall which had crushed her father. She looked about her curiously. Her taxi had coasted along two sides of the boulevards bordered by crowded cafés, dawdled past Maxim's, and was now heading up the Champs Elysées without her having drawn her quarry. Fearing that Boughton might easily be out for his cus- tomary constitutional and feeling sure that Bertrand would _ never walk while he had the price of a cab, she shrank down in the seat and averted her face until her driver had swung around to pass close by Fouquet’s. The day was propitious for the outdoor restaurant, and its two huge phalanxes of chairs, in the sun and out, were packed to the very edge of the sidewalk. Without looking directly at them, Gordon straightened and managed to bring herself into evidence. She felt a thousand eyes upon her, and then, still without looking, she sensed a tall figure rising suddenly to its feet in the midst of the seated mass. She sank back and waited. Before her cab reached the Rond Point another drew alongside and Bertrand was leaning out of it toward her. ““Miss Hammill! Miss Hammill!” Dispensing with definite instruction, her driver came to a stop at the curb and turned his head sufficiently to give her a sly glance. “* Nous sommes arrivés, n’est-ce pas?” She did not answer; on the other hand, she did not tell him to drive on. Bertrand dismissed his cab and hurried around to her side. “Good morning, Miss Hammill. Can I speak to you a minute?” “Only a minute, unless you want to ride downtown with me.” “Sure. I'd like that.’ He opened the door and she drew back her feet to let him by. ‘Where shall I tell him to go?”’ “Let me think. Rue de la Paix.”” The driver nodded and started off. ‘“‘What was it you were so anxious to see me about?”’ “Oh, nothing very important,”’ said Bertrand, trying to conceal his nervousness; “‘only I thought perhaps you could tell me where I can get hold of the senator.” “Mr. Meacham?” asked Gordon, frowning. ‘Why should you come to me for information in regard to him?” “You had dinner with him last night, didn’t you? I thought perhaps he’d told you where he was going or—or something.” “T see, but I’m afraid I can't help you. We parted rather early —about eleven, I think-—and he didn’t say a word as to where he was going or anything else.” * nt ’~ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 21 “ Thanks. Well, I guess that's all. Do you want me to get out, or can I stick around wherever you're going “T’m not quite sure where to go,”’ said Gordon on a sud- den impulse. ‘Perhaps you can advise me.’ She realized Bertrand’s metal differed from that Meacham and was the very antithe of Colonel R She would have placed the three as lead, inum, or to change and reverse the metaphor, as rapier cleaver and loaded club. Bertrand was heavy, malleabl but nevertheless dangerous, because his ipidity, on aroused, would carry him at once to brutal] lengths He had none of Meacham’s native shrewd r of the colonel’s exquisite finesse. She knew, for instance, that whereas the senator had needed only the respect shown her by the maitre d’hétel at Armenony to awaken } interest in the pearls she wore, it would take far more di- rect action to impress Bertrand with their reality and value. As for the gentle-voiced Color Rivers, she could imagine him spotting a genuine necklace half across a crowded room, apparently without looking She opened and closed the bag in her lap. “‘ You know Paris rather well, don’t you?” “Oh, I can find my way around,” said Bertrand with a lift to his lips that was less than a smile and yet managed to be fatuously annoying. “‘What would you like to know?” “I want to have my pearls restrung,”’ said Gordon, tak ing the broken necklace out of her bag “That's easy. I'll introduce you at a place where they'll do it for half price if I'm with you.” “Half-price places are just what I want to avoid. I’: looking for the safest jeweler in town, and even then | won't feel happy until I get them back.” “My, but we're fussy!” have a look.” Not without some misgivings did she in his outstretched hand. ‘“‘ There’s one missing, but luckily I found it.” Bertrand knew little or nothing about pearls beyond the fact that real ones in the open were as valuable as they had said Bertrand lightly. *“‘ Let's piact the necklace become scarce, but having served an apprenticeship in a Bowery pawnshop, he knew a lot about Consequently it was the clasp, formed of prec ous stom pphire and a Sapphire an a Continued on Page 82 ‘Tr’ Finish This, if You Don't Mind,’ Said Boughton Grimly

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22 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST N MY first three terms in the assembly I knew nothing about lobbying, or anything else that was going on, for that matter. The revela- tions of the Hughes insurance investigation si- enced the so-called Black Horse Cavalry and put an end to the open operations of the lobby. Most important and startling of the revelations before the committee was the nance in Albany of a resort known as the House of Mirth, paid for by the insurance lobby. Here legislators were entertained and here the insurance lobby put in its ne work 4 lobby, as such, is not to be held in public disrepute. Lobbying came into disrepute when it conspired against the public interests and tried to defeat the public will with There is a great differ- between a lobby active to defeat mainte the use of funds. ence By ALFRED E. SMITH activities into a single department. Therefore the record indicates that I was interested in the consolidation of state departments not only before I became governor but long before the suggestion was made in the Constitutional Con- vention. : Although I had met Mr. Murphy, the leader of Tam- many Hall, while I was spending a summer at Good Ground, Long Island, in 1908, it was a casual meeting out on a sand bar when we were out swimming at Quogue. It was not until 1911, when I was majority leader, that my August 17,1929 The greatest political arguments in the legis- lature in the old days occurred over what were called ripper bills. The party in power would legislate their political opponents out of office and provide for some new method of appointment. These bills were pretexts for patronage. Some of them were charac- teristic. Prior to the time that the appointment of the Commissioner of Jurors was given to the judges of the Ap- pellate Division in Brooklyn, the appointing power was changed every two years to suit the complexion of the officers. When the Democrats elected enough men to ap- point the Commissioner of Jurors, the Republicans would change the law, and vice versa. Under the pretense of re- organization, whole departments would be abolished and established all over again. The State Fair Commission at that time consisted of the measures to protect policyholders in an nsurance company and a lobby actively promoting the creation of some public agency of general public good and public I lobbied myself, in 1921 and 1922, for the adoption of the comprehen- sive plan of the Port of New York Au- thority as well as for the reorganization f the state government Amateur and nonsalaried lobbyists aused some amusing situations at times. No lobby, in my time, was as strong in point of members as the iobbies for the promotion of equal pay for men and women teachers, the adoption of the suf- frage amendment and those in favor of local option and later for the ratification Eighteenth Amendment. I always favored the principle of equal pay for equal work. I could never under- stand what reasonable or sensible argu- ment could be made against paying a woman the same salary that you would pay a man for doing the same kind of job. Istrongly backed the teachers’ equal- pay bills in 1908 and finally had the pleas- ure of signing those which brought about real equality while 1 was governor. In the 1911 session of the legislature upied what afterward became two listinet I was not only the majority leader but I was also chairman of the Ways and Means Committee. The 1911 session demonstrated that that was too much work to put on any one man, and in 1912, at the suggestion of Ed Mer- ritt, who was then Speaker, the rules of the assembly were changed so that the Speaker could appoint one man as the majority leader and another man as chair- man of the Ways and Means Committee. Because of my dual capacity in 1911, I was limited in the number of state legis- ative enactments I could introduce and keep track of and defend. As majority penefni of the Il occ positions Lieutenant Governor, the Commissioner of Agriculture and two appointees of the Governor. The Lieutenant Governor and the Commissioner of Agriculture were Re- publicans. The two appointees of the Gov- ernor were Democrats. A bill was intro- duced terminating the terms of the Dem- ocratic Commissioners, but the power of appointment by the Governor was left undisturbed. This type of legislation could not hap- pen today under the reorganized govern- ment, because the departments and the manner of bringing them into existence are fixed,in the constitution itself. Discord in the Camp HE 1911 session of the legislature was also notable for the strong difference of opinion between the members of the majority party. It began with the defeat of William F. Sheehan for United States Senator and continued throughout the session. That is explained, to my way of thinking, by the fact that a great many of the upstate Democrats elected to the as- sembly and the senate in the fall of 1910 were really not in sympathy with the big majority of the party coming from the cities. They represented rural communi- ties having nothing in common with the city of New York. Something which occurred in connec- tion with an amendment to the excise law relating to the provision forbidding a saloon to be established within two hun- dred feet of a church or school is an apt illustration. It was intended by the fram- ers of this law to mean that if the church or the school located first, a saloon could not locate thereafter. A decision of the Court of Appeals in 1910 held the word- ing of the statute to be such that no license could be reissued or renewed to eader I gave many of the bills to the chair- men of the different committees and as- sisted them in promoting them on the floor. A glance at the record indicates that I introduced three asses of bills that year—those that carried out the party platform; those that were upon some subject of which I had an intimate personal knowledge, such as our inferior crimi- nal courts, because of my service o.. the commission to study them; and finance bills for the support of government. The Old Ripper Bills HE first bill I introduced that year was the bill to ratify the amendment to the Federal Constitution levying a tax on incomes. The promise to ratify it was part of the Demo- cratic platform of that year, and accordingly, Senator Wag- ner, then president pro tem of the senate, and I introduced and defended the bill. Probably the most important bill introduced by Senator Wagner and myself was the one setting up the Department It was drawn up by Senator Wea7ner and passed both houses under his name. It merged in a new department, to be known as the Conservation Department, the old Fish and Game Commission, the Forest Preserve Board and the State Water Supply Commission. As far my memory goes, it was the first consolidation of allied of Conservation as The Smith Family on October 28, 1915. PHOTO. BY INTERNATIONAL NEWSREEL Olid Home Night on Oliver Street intimate acquaintance with Mr. Murphy began. He was leader of Tammany Hall and, contrary to the general belief, took a very keen interest in the affairs of the party, so far as it was able to promote the interests of the state. Every week-end he met at Delmonico’s restaurant a group of legislative leaders and men in whose judgment he had con- fidence. These meetings were largely for the purpose of dis- cussing measures of benefit not alone to the city but to the whole state and to map out party strategy. Mr. Murphy, being a man who himself had come up from lowly surroundings, took a keen interest in bills embodying social legislation. The Factory Investigating Commission's bills, the widows’ pension law, and similar bills had his un- failing and enthusiastic support. Contrary to the general belief, Mr. Murphy was not what is commonly referred to as The Boss. He was a good adviser, and if he placed his confidence in a man he allowed that man to make the decision. The Democratic attitude in all major proposals was determined by the group of men he called around him. They were usually leading lawyers and well-trained business men. His familiar expression was, “If these men do not understand this thing, who .9 does? any saloon for the sale of liquor within two hundred feet of a church or school, even if they established themselves after the saloon had been there. Therefore, anybody could start a church or school within two hundred feet of the Waldorf- Astoria Hotel, which had been in operation for years, and the hotel license to sell liquor could not be renewed. The Court of Appeals, in its decision, spoke of the harshness of the law 2nd suggested in so many words that relief be sought by legislation. Having in mind the great invest- ment in hotel, restaurant and café property in all the cities of the state, there was an agreement entered into among the legislative leaders on the Democratic side to give the relief suggested by the Court of Appeals. The bill had no trouble in the senate, as the great ma- jority of Democrats in the senate came from the big cities. Although there was agreement on it when the bill came on the assembly calendar for final passage, I discovered, com- ing close to the end of the roll call, that it did not have the necessary seventy-six votes to pass it. I asked the Speaker if he had excused anybody from what we call a “close call of the House,’”’ but he said “No.” I scurried through the assembly parlor and all the assembly in- closure to find out what had become of the missing mem- bers. I went to the men’s wash room, and the old colored porter there, being a friend of mine, motioned toward the

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 window. I opened the window and saw five Democratic members of the assembly standing outside on a scaffold that was being used for repair work on the burned part of the Capitol. As leader of the majority, I insisted that they come under the influence of the House and cast their votes, informing them that it made no difference which way they voted, but they must vote. The bill passed. Similarly with the Greater New York Charter, the city- against-the-country attitude, or the country-against-the- city attitude, was clearly reflected in the session of 1911, and it broke down party lines. Needless for me to say, none of the so-called insurgent assembly group, or very few at least, were returned from their constituencies that year, and that accounted for giving the assembly back to the Republicans after the first year of Democratic ascend- ancy in the body for sixteen years. In the session of 1912 the assembly was in control of the Republicans and the senate in control of the Democrats. It was short and uninteresting. The only outstand- ing constructive achievement was the passage of the resolution proposing an amendment to the state constitution to permit the enactment by the legislature of a work- men’s compensation law and certain of the recommendations of the Factory Investigating Commission which had been in active operation for more than six months. Senator Wagner, being leader of the senate as well as chairman of the commission, naturally put the bills through the upper house. As I was vice chair- man of the Factory Investigating Commission, it fell to my lot to push them and defend them in the assembly, and I was successful with a great majority of them, due to the liberal attitude of Speaker Merritt. Much of the opposition to them was \ due to an entire misunderstanding of NN what they sought to do. There was talk of the exercise of outside influences on the WS legislature, because manufacturers generally throughout the state were beginning to organ- ize in opposition to some of the statutes, which they regarded as too drastic. Once they had been put into operation, manufacturers themselves would be the last ones to suggest repeal. The revelations of the Factory Investigating Commission convinced the large em- ployers of labor that an employe who was sound in health was an asset, and when all is said and done, these meas- ures largely provide for what might be called decent, clean housekeeping in places where large numbers of people are employed. In that year, also, the first attempt was made to sup- ply power, energy and electricity from hydro- electric plants owned and con- trolled by the state, to the vari- ous municipali- ties of the state. It passed the Democratic sen- ate, but went down to defeat in the Republican assembly. aad | Landslide T CAUSED long debates in the lower house and was really the first move made to carry out the ma.date of the statute enacted in 1907 which brought about the 1911 Conserva- tion Commission, charged with pre- paring and sub- mitting to the legislature a com- Henry Campbell, Who Put Him in Politics water power under state ownership and state con- trol. Adjournment occurred upon the twenty-ninth of March, which was the earliest date of adjournment of any session of the legislature in which I had served up to that year. Although John Alden Dix was a candidate for re- nomination in 1912, the majority of Democratic lead- ers throughout the state were of the opinion that it would be difficult if not impossible to reélect him. They believed that William Sulzer, then serving in Congress, could be elected. Personally I did not favor the nomination of Sulzer and never voted for him in the convention. Due to the division in the Republican Party, there was a Democratic landslide in the state of New York, in the state election of 1912. There had been three candidates for governor in the field. This was the year in which the Progressive Party made its great fight and Oscar Straus was its candidate for governor. The Republicans on the regular ticket ran Job E. Hedges. With the Republican vote split two ways, it was easy for the Democrats to elect their candidate, and Sulzer became governor. The senate and assembly were over- whelmingly Democratic. Of the 150 members in the assembly, 105 were Democrats. Strange to say, the only Republican legislators who survived were from the small counties, where the Re- publican machine, because of its local patronage and the com- paratively few voters, had such an overwhelming control that the Republican candidates could be vic torious even with the party split in two. Not a single Republican was elected to the legislature from Montauk Point to Westchester County. As the unanimous choice of the majority for Speaker of the assembly I was duly selected at the caucus the night before the legislature convened. Immediately after my election I ran into my chief difficulty in an effort to find sufficient committee places for 105 men. I found myself one general who wished he did not have so many soldiers. When I ascended the rostrum to preside over the assem- bly, I believed that I had reached the peak of my political prominence. My elevation to the Speakership was pleasing to me and to my family. My wife, my mother, my five children and all my friends were present the day that the prehensive plan of development of The New Sheriff and His Family, Including His Mother and His Sister, Mrs. Giynn Sheriff Imith and Chartes F. Murphy on the Boardwatk, Paim Sunday, 19/6 sem | wields assembly convened. The Speaker of the as ly a great power over that body. The chairmen of tees are his appointees. They form his cabinet !] eommit- His ad\ ee is sought with respect to all legislative proposals. All the Speakers of the assembly in my time felt the weight of the responsibility A Job With Lots of Work EN days before adjournment al! committees of the as- sembly are discharged, and thereafter till adjournment all legislation is in the hands of the Committee on Rules, of which the Speaker is chairman. There } erable criticism of the Committee on Rules called arbitrary, tyrannical and as many other anybody could, in decency, call it, but, in my real fact of the matter is that the assemb! ate in the closing days without the Committee on Rules as been consid It has been things as opinion, the r could not oper- The body is too seneeneeannemnnnnigemenememmnpenmnmeanines large, there are too many com- mittees, and it would be impos bie to print the endars, if ail the various com mittees of the as embly were in continuous opera tior ght up to acjournment There prob ably no harder- worked man in tr whole state vernment thar t Speaker of the assembly while +} hod) s ir ¢ In the ¢ days of t t i ( iT ght The Lom 1 © ( Rules P p ‘ int t mal rs ol the morning . } ge every body to -he back r he « umber before ten o'clock r extda The public printer keeps the presses ngr ght and Continued on Page 15!

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24 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE SATURDAY EVENING POST REG. Uv. 6. PAT. OFF FOUNDED A°D! 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA, U.S.A. GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR In the United States and Possessions, Five Cents the Copy; $2.06 the Year— 52 issees. Remittances by Postal Money Order, Express Money Order or Check in Canada and Newfoundland (including Labrador), Ten Cents the Copy ; $3.09 the Year--52 issues— Canadian or U. S. Funds. le Continental Europe and the British Isles, $6.00 the Year—52 issues. In Argentina. Bolivia, Brazil, Chile. Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Guatemala, Haiti, Isle of Pines, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay. Peru. Republic of Honduras, Salvador, Uruguay and Venezuela, $6.04 the 1 ear—S2 issues. In all other Foreign Countries, $16.00 the Year—5) issues. Remittances from outside U. S. and Canada by Postal or Express Money Order or by Draft on a bank in the U. S., payable in U. S. Funds. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST 17, 1929 Industrial Geography HOUGH an intensely practical fact, the location of manufacturing establishments is likewise the subject of much idealistic dreaming. The utilitarian aspect is self- evident, but the theoretical side is almost as urgent. Sec- tions and cities without any industry are poor, while those in which it is overdeveloped suffer from many social ills. One of the greatest of living manufacturers has expressed the view that rural plants might be set up with the idea of employing idle farm labor in off months. City planners of every description talk of the evil of extreme factory con- gestion in the larger centers. Meanwhile self-interest pulls and hauls in a thousand ways to locate the pay rolls which go with factories Fortunately, whether because of or despite many di- vergent voices; the trends in industrial location are dis- tinetly wholesome. The geographical structure of industry is slowly but soundly building. This is brought out clearly in the report of the committee formerly headed by Secretary Hoover for the study of recent economic changes. The note- worthy fact is the gradual evening out of manvfacturing. The tendency is definitely toward a more equal distribution of plants. The rapid industrial growth of the South is one instance. A second is the shift from city to country, while a third is the breaking down of local concentration in his- torical centers of specific industries. There is also a marked tendency to establish branch plants to feed certain areas and to rush deliveries. Finally, new industries do not any longer necessarily settle in the old areas. It would be a lengthy and ambitious undertaking to trace the causes for these shifts. Improvement in trans- portation is one of the chief reasons. For all practical pur- poses the country is growing smaller. Congestion in the cities makes more attractive the lower taxes, real-estate values and labor costs in smaller places. Though in a few cases the earlier center has lost an industry entirely, the more common experience is for dominance to disappear. Thus, though the annuai value of packing products in Chi- cago has doubled since 1899, its proportion for the whole country has fallen from 35.6 to 18.8. The annual produc- tion of carpets and rugs in Philadelphia has more than doubled in that time, but the proportion has dropped from 45.6 to 27.8, The rise and fall of industrial dominance in sections, cities and towns may work a measure of hardship. But in general this evening-out tendency is te be welcomed. It makes for more efficient production and less delay in ship- ments. There is less dependence than formerly upon single types of activity. Not only is national wealth increased but the social effect is, as far as can be seen, sounder. American Criticism of America re LONDON is an American society which, among other activities, celebrates the Fourth of July. It has the candor to do this under the name of Independence Day. On the latest occasion Ambassador Dawes delivered an address that was highly praised by the London press as a patriotic address—short, but to the point. On this occasion John Grier Hibben, president of Princeton Uni- versity, thought it fitting to deliver to the United States a castigation according to his lights. It was the complaint of Mr. Hibben—we employ the approved academic usage—that this country was ungen- erous to our Allies in the settlements of the war loans. He protested against the proposed revision of the American tariff, which he feared would retard the rehabilitation of Europe. Finally, he explained that the so-called Revolu- tionary War, in which our Union found its origin, was not a war for independence but was a “war by British subjects for the rights of Great Britain.”” The cable accounts, from which our information is drawn, reported the ambassador as squirming under the address. We take it that the references to the Revolutionary War adverted to the view, now quite commonly held, that the American revolt was against the little Englanders, and that the true position of British opinion, though politically in- effective to prevent the official attitude that made the re- volt inevitable, was the one held by Burke and Fox. In short, we are asked to believe that the real Britishers were with us at the time, but that this country did not know it. Whether this be true or not, we cannot see that it was germane to link the Revolutionary War, the debts of the World War and the pending tariff bill in one indictment of this country. If the ambassador squirmed, we fancy it was because he regarded the castigation—or apology, as one may choose to regard it—as out of place, not as an expression of conscious- ness of guilt. Moonlight Schools HEN China discarded the imperial government and adopted democracy, or what was hoped would lead to democracy, the problem of illiteracy became the crucial problem. Night schools were opened, not for children but for adults. Upon the success of such forced education hinges the pacification of China. Something of the same thing has been gone through with in Russia since the war. In both countries political responsibilities were suddenly thrust upon populations whose members could neither read nor write. That a substantial degree of adult illiteracy exists in this country, with a century and a half of popular government, is, we fancy, not widely realized. Since the war a movement has been under way in sev- eral Southern states to remove adult illiteracy by estab- lishment of night schools—moonlight schools, they are called. The pupils are not the foreign element, not immi- grants. These illiterates are of old stock, English and French stock, who have become insularized. Some of this mountain stock is probably as pure-blooded as any in the United States, Nordic without admixture. The moonlight schools were established before the war, but the movement has more recently attained larger proportions, as the im- portance of the work has become recognized. It is amazing that an identic social need such as this exists in this country, in China and in Russia. Responsibility Breeds Precaution HE previous Labor Government had made it clear to Great Britain that labor in that country is not radical. This has been given an additional demonstration by the refusal of the present cabinet to permit Leon Trotzky to August 17,1929 reside in Great Britain ‘for urgent medical treatment and scientific work.’’ Trotzky and Lenin were the principal factors in the conversion of state socialism into communism in Russia after the revolution of 1917. Following the death of Lenin, changes in the communistic party in Russia re- sulted in the ascendancy of Stalin and the exile of Trotzky, who has been latterly residing in Turkey. The former government of Baldwin had denied the right of asylum to Trotzky, who, not unnaturally, preferred to live in England rather than in Turkey, and this decision has been reaffirmed by the Labor Government. At the same time, it is an- nounced that the cabinet is entering on discussions with the dominion governments looking to the re-recognition of the Russian Government by Great Britain. In this con- nection it has been given to understand that the Labor Government is willing to grant this to Russia only on condition that Russia cease all anti-British propaganda everywhere in the world. This implies cessation of attacks on British imperialism. But imperialism ranks with capi- talism as the enemy of communism. Taken together, these acts of British labor have a strong flavor of British tradi- tion, with little seasoning of the Internationale. Shifting Freight Rates for Effects HINGS are being urged in the name of farm relief that may later return to haunt us. It is well to bear in mind that a policy set up in what is regarded as an ex- ceptional situation may become a precedent later in a situation less exceptional. In urging a general reduction in freight rates on grain on the ground that agriculture is unprosperous, a point of view is being enunciated that may later be seized upon by other lines of business if they become unprosperous. As reported in the press, the counsel of the National Association of Railroad and Utili- ties Commissioners, in an argument before the Interstate Commerce Commission, going the full length of the verbal position of the Hoch-Smith resolution, declared that unless rail rates are reduced, grain production in present volume cannot continue. Granted that current prices of grain are unremunerative, is it known that freight rates for carrying grain are remunerative? Must every industry expect to carry on high production profitably irrespective of circum- stances? Suppose the coal-mining industry were to ask for rates low enough to permit of a high volume of production being resumed. Is it wise to interject variations in freight rates as factors in competitive struggles? We have deep sympathy for agriculture, but we have the fear that in the long run such a freight-rate policy would do agriculture more harm than good. Foreign Reactions to Tariff Revision HENEVER a tariff is being revised, it provokes more or less widespread international comment. Most of this is good-natured trade bantering; some of it is ill-natured trade antagonism. Largely it is for domestic consumption. When the tariff revision involves a country of the trade dimensions of the United States, foreign bluster is correspondingly widespread. One of the warnings being extended to us in the press of Europe is at once gratuitous and diverting. Higher tariff rates will make difficult, more difficult, or even impossible, the payment to us of obligations due us from Europe. We are thus adjured by those who are under obligation to us not to injure our chances of being paid. This is urged in our interest. In short, in this particular case, objection to proposed tariff changes is based not on the fear that such changes might inflict trade injury on the European but might inflict injury on us, and it is from this injury that the European wishes us protected. It is like an adult taking a knife from a child. Interesting, but rather obvious. If tariff changes were likely to make international payments difficult and to injure us, the instinct of trade competition would suggest to the other fellow that we might be allowed to hang our- selves. Under what obligation are our trade competitors to warn us and save us? Or are we to infer that such solici- tude is an advanced illustration of the new international amity?

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OOLS, it has been said, ask questions which wise men cannot answer, although one need not be a fool to ask them. Such is the ques- tion of whether there is anything new under the sun. It trips lightly enough off the tongue, but it remains an enigma none the less, in abstract theory.as well as in the most se- verely practical affairs. Doweliveinaneweraornot? Are the absorbing problems and issues which so engross our daily lives really new, or do they merely seem that way? In the business world one cannot but wonder whether the apparently all-pervasive tendency to combine separate units is as new as it appears to be. Certainly the merger idea has become almost an economic religion throughout the English-speaking countries. We see it here not only in respect to banks, railroads, public-utility holding com- panies and chain stores but in thousands of miscellaneous industrial and commercial groupings. In fact, it has slopped over, so to speak, into cultural, philanthropic and even spiritual realms. We have mergers of symphony orchestras for reasons which sound like those adduced when two banks or steel companies are put to- gether. Merger talk is in the air as regards theological seminaries, and never before was there such vitality, ac- cording to those who are supposed to know, in the prompt- ings toward church union. Several mergers of denomina- tions actually have been effected in the past few years, and THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 25 By Albert W. Atwood progress along this line is said to be less vague and im- practically ambitious than in the earlier proposals; the effort now is to bring like and like together as measured by characteristic forms of government. Clearly there is abroad in the land, not only here but in England, a profound conviction of the efficacy of and a perfect passion for consolidation. It is proposed as the remedy for every ill; it is the wonder device, the miracle medicine of the hour. Human nature changes very little; it always goes to extremes with these formulas and dogmas. Only a few years ago scientific management was all the rage, then came the efficiency expert, and now these are forgotten in the rush to merge. In a recent address to a congress of railroad workers, Sir Josiah Stamp, chairman of one of the great British rail combinations, spoke of the many new books on the subject of amalgamation, as they call it in England, but he added that no economist had written after working from within outward: ** Amalgamation is the blessed word of the day. We are either saving dying industries by plans for new combines or pulling recent amalgamations up by the roots to see how they are growing. My present preoccupation is trying to OR THIS? realize some of the economies of ama)gamation in an earnest endeavor to justify the glibly given and blithely estimated promises of politicians.” No, there is no ready-made or standard solution for the The mere act of consolidation does Mer gers may be very successful or utter failures, as we know problems of business not make two dollars sprout where one grew before from bitter past experience, and unmerged firms either grow from within to the largest possible size or wither away. Nor is there anything inherently new in the urge to merge. What could have been more spectacular or, in re- lation to the scale of those days, more prodigious than the so-called trusts of the last part of the past century and the first few years of this! For that matter, we have a dozen, perhaps a score, of far-flung railroad systems, each one the result of a long series of mergers, big and little. Moreover, since 1920 the " railroads have had actual government sanction for st further and larger mergers, although progress under this act is slow and anything but impressive. But it is most peculiar to hear people talk of big business and of great combinations as though these manifestations were new and confined to manufacturing and chain stores, or, at most, to the electric-power companies No industry of major importance has in it such enormous units, so uni- But the public has been accustomed to large railroad systems for formly the result of consolidation, as railroading so long that nothing is thought of them (Continued on Page 76 Cber¥. Dd nso | When, ard if The Naval Reduction Conference.

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26 " Or Gnanaw - The Rabbit That Overcame its Inferiority Complex Hitherte Uncollected Facts About Historical Celebrities V ILITANT and brave Zenobia, 47 Owing to her claustrophobia, Aft tinned fish made dire grimaces. She'd a fear of shut-up plaices. Signor Dante Alighieri Was quite eleemosynary ; He expounded prece pts pious To his paupers and pariahs. Temperamental Saint Cecilia Had a bower of bougainvillea. It waa cool, there’s no denying, But the color waa so trying! ineient Hermes Trismegistus Coniemplated distant ristas ; Saying brightly, “I expect ’Twill expand my intellect.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 SAWN BY C. W. ANDERSON “‘Don't You Feel the Harsh Bleakness of New Engiand in That?’’ Snaky, sneaky Maximilian Had a nature all reptilian; So he bit himself each night, Then took a drink to cure the bite. Carolyn Wells. Bridge and the End of the World HE radio announcer was reading news items. His voice could be plainly heard as it issued from the loud-speaker. “The world,” he said, “is about to come to an end. Scientists estimate that (Continued on Page 104) ‘ ’ &) ‘ ‘ \ ed OKAWN BY DONALO MC KEE -" : } f \ } ee ine Ber College President's Friend: lL ; _| “ee Often Wondered Why ~*~ | You Always Returned From Your Vacations So Re: freshed and Strengthened’’ Once the Emperor Jus- tinian Fell in love with an Abyssinian ; On account of this black person He was banished off to Cherson. V. Avitus Heliogabalus Read a book that he called Rabelais. Aithough he was a tem- ms ple priest ’ — - ee He wasn’t holy in the s . least. Said that flippant minz, Bathsheba, When told she sprang | from the ameba, enere se Maybe ameba I may be, ORAWN BY tas > Foreigner: *‘Good-by to One Rotten Country"’ Or that ameba may be “Hurrah! His Voice Test Was a Success—Now He's me!”’ in a Barkie!"’ ——_—s —

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 2 | AI you er! your id ee | to he most ae on tai Always serve a hot soup! You'll be delighted to find how much better the cold foods taste after you’ve f a ' eaten a bracing, hot soup. It’s healthful, too, for the | : a | : $ stomach responds to the warmth, and digestion is aided. \v 5 | > Campbell’s Tomato Soup, or any of the twenty other x bs tempting pbell’s selections, gives new brightness and \ | ;* variety sunimer table. 12. cents a can. a 2) ai ww 4 . s > 1 . 7 oe Se | a ma a \ = \ . ee SOUP EVER DAY AND ENJOY \ DIFFERENT SoU P EACH DAY

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28 THE LONE T. xxVI ~~, Ks SATURDAY EVENING POST By HARRY LEON WILSON rELvUuSTtTRA TE DO August 17,1929 Br HENRY RALEILGH OW the days had ome to what Pro- fessor Abe rcrombie + ed “‘ Autumn's silent rev- 4 f decay.”” The annual 3 iventure of haying was yng over and lordly stacks wmed at the center of neadows far and near. Cat- tle were fat, prices up. Soon would be heard—drunk in wss-—-the tireless chorus of A te-faced calves being eaned against their will, while their mothers, in the first pgonies of hereavement, aren row de i as near as stout eZ es would permit, hotly oicing antiphonal bary- Ber sat at his nearly jue desk in the ranch- house living room and re- ed in the year’s showing. The Branlock Advertiser, especial y since General Pettigrew had begun his major operations in finance, , poke of Ben from week to week as a multimillionaire. All right for that, but first he was a multi-cattleman, whether the money-mad world did or did not regard this as a distinction worthy of print. Idly now, with but mild interest in the begin- ning, he scanned a half year’s accumulation of can- celed checks; tokens from a troubled region he had never wished to inhabit and to which, by reason of his mas- terly guile, no one had yet succeeded in deporting him. Yet now he dimly felt in these dead slips a tender melancholy, some faded beauty like that of flowers the girls used to press in ooks, the scent lost, the ynly their out- y Z es # a : ‘ : . =] oe, os ge oe, 4 ~¥, > we ~ ° & velo not need to be told was French for coffee in one of those cheating little cups that they didn’t give you sugar and cream with. Still, it was a pretty thing, that menu. Addie had brightly shown it to him, saying, ‘“‘Do you sense the wonder of it all?” He did sense it, and won- dered if you would have to order from it or whether they would bring the stuff on so you could eat a little of this and a little of that and maybe something else. He couldn’t find steak, but they would be sure to have steak there under some foreign name. He’d ought to learn French for “‘steak’’ the way he learned it for “beautiful friend.” Addie had told him, “Covers will be laid for twenty,” giving him a con- fused impression that the twenty might be going to eat their banquet in bed. And Addie had been con- cerned about her invitation list—the cream of Bran- lock’s socially elect for the banquet, with the lower level asked to look in after dinner. Ben was glad to note that Pete Snell had been num- bered among the elect. He’d have hated to see Pete drift- ing in with the culls. He also observed the names of Bill Hepburn and a party he would bring from the city. Bill was all right up to a certain point. Then he had two ways with him. He either got noisy and wanted to show you how easy he could break your arm or how easy he could bite lead pencils into shreds, or he got sentimental and wanted to harmonize in certain old songs with a heart pull. It nes preserved with the joy- onfident signatures. a Dead money—but it died happy,” thought Ben. And yw the old general was foolishly—it seemed to him bending his splendid talent to the making of still more money instead of stopping to help an uneasy world with ts problems. In the old days the general would have been thinking up ways out of that muddle at Geneva or deciding what should be done about Boulder Dam or how to protect thousands of poor people from the Father of Waters at flood. Yet he had fallen to piling up useless money! The general’s checks, especially those of later dates, were rather noteworthy, revealing a steady increase until sums were showing that no mere cattleman had ever writ- ten down save under delusions of grandeur. Many were to the order of one Hornblatt, a name in which Ben found He contrasted the general’s checks with those of Presh, who, still desirous of vainglory in his attire, was at last expressing himself in the West’s classiest garage; doing a whale of a business, too, Ben had been as- tonished to learn. Presh was simply changing the appear- ance of local highways by adorning them predominantly with one of the best-selling little cars that ever came out of ‘ musical suggestion Michigan. The motoring population for miles around had earned in no time——curiously, it seemed to Ben—to trade ts old cars for the super-six Luxton. Ben was impressed, too, by some rather staggering amounts checked over to the St. John Smythes, dating back to those that defrayed the cost of treasures blan- ished from Hercule’s careless friends abroad. Ben couldn’t help being impressed by the presumably actual worth of these treasures that Hercule had picked up for mere songs. And Hercule might be a butterfly, as his mother had so She Acquired His Unexciting Life History in No Time prettily said, but it seemed to Ben—he admitted the base thought with shame—that the ]-d had somewhere con- cealed beneath that frivolous exterior a tiny bit of the ant’s genius for storing a surplus against the pinch of want. But what did it matter? The checking account of Lone Tree was immune from any but his own signature and he felt no concern for the drains on the other. He felt evena little guilty because from that inexhaustible account he had checked a considerable sum to pay for the new bulls. He might hark back toalean year when one of those checks for a set of Empire chairs would have made a lot of difference in his social standing at the Second National, but what mattered it now? He encircled the checks with a rubber band and stowed them away in a drawer of his desk with a vague notion that they were treasurable keepsakes—dead embers of the fun Addie and the girls had so long deserved. He turned to study the flashing souvenir menu of the house-warming banquet presently to dazzle all of Branlock and perhaps some of the outlying districts. It was faced with white satin and surmounted by an engraving of the mansion, under which ran the legend, Residence of Ben- jamin P. Carcross. He tried to imagine this elaborate structure as his residence, but with as little success might he have attempted to decode the menu below its title. The leading item was hors d’ceuvres, which he at first suspected of a faintly ranch flavor. Then he recalled having ordered hors d’ceuvres out of curiosity at his New York hotel, only to find it a lot of little fixings that they stuck him $2.50 for. The remainder of the menu was even less informing until “‘café’’ was reached, which he did was a fight or tears with Bill. Addie was taking a chance, Ben considered. He didn’t care to suggest anything after he had firmly stipulated that Whitey should be among the chosen twenty. Since Whitey had degenerated into a mere ma- chinist it had been Addie’s idea that he should come to the great house as one of the peasantry, along with the cow hands. But Ben had been firm about Whitey, and Addie, recognizing that new firmness—some unfortunate effect of his ill-advised operation—had gracefully given in, merely citing the need for evening clothes. Ben saw the justice of this and went to the mail-order catalogue with Whitey’s measurements. “The hell!’ murmured Whitey when told of the impend- ing honor. “But anything you say, sheriff. I had to go up in one of those suits one time when I was doubling for a guy supposed to be drunk that stcle a plane and acted crazy with it on his way to save a gal’s fair name. I guess I can wear one standing up.” He doubtfully regarded his nails. Tinkering at reapers and the ranch cars had ren- dered a drastic manicure treatment imperative and he sought Doyle, who had once operated on a hang nail for him. There was a blanch of frost over the fields each morning now; mornings pronounced by the professor to be chill, but not insalubrious. This member of the ranch staff had come on, being, as Ben put it, prime any day for beefing. His garments were no longer more than a little roomy, the desk stoop was noticeably realigned and he would now and then salt his speech with unbookish words. Also he de- veloped a blood lust and went with Art Dugdale to hunt Continued on Page 30)

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30 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Continued from Page 28 the wild deer, sleeping two nights, after the manner of primitive savages, on a rubber air mattress. And on the shaggy slope of a distant hill he twice shot with murderous ntent at a richly antlered buck. The buck fell after his two shots and one a second later by Art Dugdale, and he glowed with pride when Doyle called him a brute for killing the beautiful animal. The professor was now persuaded that he himself would some day dabble at gentleman farming; though perhaps in a locale of less difficult topog- raphy, not too unkemptly timbered. Others of the staff were coming on. Miss Ellis had not only come far enough to believe she had a flair—she thought that was the word—for the great open spaces, but she was feeling a singular distaste for the careless years wasted in a great city, expecting so little, taunting life to do its worst. She was serious now, trying, in truth, to be as serious as one Burton G. Hemingway, president of the Second Nationa! Bank. Of all the contacts she had made, this seemed alone to be momentous. Mr. Hemingway had noticed her at the Bijou Picture Palace when three of the ranch help had taken her into town for an evening's riot. She had become by then just a good pal to those he boys of the ranch, convinced that there could never be anything serious between her and them. Crowding out of the Bijou, Mr. Hemingway had greeted her escorts effusively, practically forcing a ceremony of introduction, after which he had suggested refreshment, and provided this at the Sip and Bite Grotto with a look in his eyes that Miss Ellis had long since learned to read. Didn't she know when they were stung? Her new contact proving a capable host, a pleasant hour of Branlock’s maddest night life was passed. The host revealed a wanton wish to make it two hours, but at eleven o’clock the three escorts of Miss Ellis began to yawn with practically no finesse and the party was sunk. “Fancy my embarrassment,” said Miss Ellis to Doyle, after telling of these repeated breaches of decorum. ‘‘And the man has class—city class—if you know what I mean.” She did her new friend no more than justice. Mr. Hemingway was the only man in Branlock who permitted an edging of white to show from beneath the neck of his waistcoat and he was otherwise caparisoned like a man of the world. Nor was he careless-minded like a cow hand; a man of affairs, of distinguished appearance and mature years, in face and faultless dress carrying more than a sug- gestion of the fleeting Mr. Melcher who had once dazzled our heroine. He had talked gravely of business conditions in Branlock, conveying to Miss Ellis the flattering pre- sumption that she alone of his listeners would hang upon his words. She had been pensive with the boys going home, not up- towning them, to be sure; chatty enough to elicit rough estimates of Mr. Hemingway’s business rating and the circumstance that he had been lately widowed. Her in- formants coarsely suggested that Burton G. was again taking notice. This item the young lady properly seemed te ignore. Long and seriously that night she studied her reflection, knowing her glass to reveal no less than one who could at will be united to the stunning Mr. Hemingway in holy wedlock. It was a new future to face. Here was no mere stepper-out who would consider a flask of gin and a few dances sufficing entertainment for a girl born to higher things. A serious note had been sounded. Once she had thought, but only for an informing after- noon, that the younger Pettigrew had sounded a serious note; he was a jaunty figure and drove an always-new car with a certain winsome diablerie, but she had well known and timely reminded herself that life was not all motoring, and Presh had proved to be exclusively a motorist. ‘I bet that boy wouldn't have to unbutton his collar to take it off,’’ she confided to Doyle. She had refused in rapid suc- cession six ensuing invitations from Presh to come on and be a good fellow. But here came something different. She recalled now that in a leisurely drive about Branlock the Hemingway residence had been pointed out to her as something to ad- mire; a mansion itself, back of a spacious lawn set with carefully tended shrubs of exotic appearance. She had re- membered that house. Almost anyone would have known it for a banker’s house. Miss Ellis had come on. Doyle, too, had come on, but only within the ordained limits of motherhood. Her baby was brown and rugged with a physical strength, according to the best public opinion, far beyond his ten months. At seven months he had hitched himself along the floor; at eight he had crept. Now he was truly walking, the capable hands at last re- leased from any part in the locomotor functions—at least but for incidental holding to chairs and tables. Ben Carcross had already advised breaking him early to a lead rope. If Doyle let him go unbroke he'd soon sear the hands of anybody that put a rope on him. And he was uttering undoubted words—words anyone with an ear could understand. Yet he hadn’t been named, being called August 17,1929 merely Pudge by friends and intimates. Doyle insisted that she hadn’t got around to naming him. Ben pressed her on this point one day while they watched the budding athlete put himself through some minor gym- nastics with appropriate vocal accompaniment. ““You’d ought to name him. The idea of a grown-up brute like that not having any more name than Pudge!” Doyle blushed, a slow-mounting blush that rivaled, at length, her hair. ‘Go on, give him a name,” Ben insisted. Doyle tightened her mouth, then held out inviting arms to the child. “Come here, Pudge,” she called. Her child looked up in some annoyance, but came drunkenly by way of two chairs, one full-length fall and a table. ‘‘What’s your name?” de- manded the woman. This evoked mutilations of several words and a wink which Whitey had lately taught him. The performer had learned that this facial contortion would bring a gratifying reception. There being no applause this time, he winked again and again with no result. “Tell me your name,” the woman commanded. “Ben,”’ came the weirdly distinct answer, rapidly fol- lowed by “‘Ben-Ben-Ben!” in a breathless staccato. “T’ll be good gosh danged!’’ This was Mr. Carcross, and the baby winked at him as he stared, twitching his head to make the wink evil and emphatic. “IT named him that a long time ago,’’ admitted Doyle, still with the burning face. ‘‘Only I didn’t know if you’d like it.” “Shucks!”’ muttered Ben, and only his restored tan kept his own blush from becoming public. Outside he noted the good old Veazey horse slouched on three legs, idly wasting good hay that he made scant pretense of wishing to eat. Veazey’s owner smiled fondly at the deserving animal. xxvir URING the two weeks succeeding their first encounter, Mr. Hemingway, a business man of methodical habits, had forgone no opportunity to show that his intentions toward Miss Ellis were far from light. He had not only escorted her to the Bijou when the better pictures were showing—certain photoplays he considered to be unwhole- some in their influence on the young—but she had dined at his house, correctly chaperoned by her friend Mrs. Doyle—who had cut the evening short from a baseless fear that Portuguese Maria would fall asleep with a half-burned cigarette, incinerating not only herself but someone of importance. (Continued on Page 66) The Baby Winked at Him as He Stared

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 31 ere, In 50 seconds... ‘a= you can learn ~ how to keep your engine's first-year feel for at least 30,000 miles Directions: Find your car on this New Mobiloil Chart. Be sure thereafter that your crankcase is drained regularly and refilled always with the grade of the New Mobiloil specified. The New Mobiloil will do the rest. Make this chart your guide | ) u x Bs : x It shows the correct grade of Gargoyle Mobiloil for certain prominent cars. If your car is nor listed | °° ° . . ° ° complete Mobiloil Chart at your Mobiloi dealer's f In all our advertising this year we have definitely said that the New Mobiloil _ +c + elma = e } 1929 1928 | | will keep your engine’s first-year feel for at least 30,000 miles. This is a NAMES OF tai | te PASSENGER tres: . t . . c + E & conservative statement. As a matter of fact the New Mobiloil has kept the ~ : gie\: first-year feel in many test engines for more than twice 30,000 miles! BB Ar | BB Drain and refill with the New Mobiloil today. Use it regularly. It’s the C BB Ar | Bb safest way to keep the first-year feel in your engine. Chevrlet | A LAr | ‘ BB I VACUUM OIL COMPANY Makers of high quality lubricants for all types of machinery the New 4% Fs ee Mobiloil

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THE WENTY YEARS AGO, Fisher built the best bodies known then; today, it is building the highest quality bodies available now—in any given price field. Contrast the body attributes of Chevrolet, Pontiac, Oldsmobile, Marquette, Oak- land, Viking, Buick, La Salle or Cadillac—all with Body by Fisher—with those of any cars in their price field—and the difference in favor of the Fisher Body car is almost startling. Fisher Body, by reason of its vastly superior ability to build greater body value and quality, is actually able to use the SATURDAY EVENING POST same basic kind of construction in bodies for cars in the lowest price field August 17,1929 as is employed for cars of highest + ° © * price. That is why the Fisher Body car continues attractive, inside and outside, in finish, in uphol-* stery, in woodwork, in fittings; and remains weather-proof and free from noise. Twenty years of rigid adherence to highest quality standards and of constant endeavor to produce that quality at lower costs, thus finds its full fruition today in every body which Fisher builds. T O THES BODY CADILLAC + LASALLE BUICK + VIKING + OAKLAND MARQUETTE + OLDSMOBILE PONTIAC + CHEVROLET GENERAL MOTORS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 33 EAR by year, Ben Sherrod had built his ships deeper, narrower and sharper; year by year, their masts shot higher and bore more can- vas, until the lean By Richard Matthews Hallet TLELUSTRATE DO ey ANTON oTTO Firs CH ER TER “Well, still it’s not a fishtai neither, because, Arad, ferent motion to it order of a screw. We t's gota dif more n fact, itisa black hulls would slip through the water in the faint- est air. Yet he was not satisfied. The crabbed little merchant prince must have shorter passages yet; he picked drivers for captains, he wanted records with every log book that was turned into his countingroom at Salem. When, in 1837, he built the bark Arethusa, Cap- tain Arad Whit- ney shook his head at those long hard-pine masts and wide-hanging yards. “*She’ll never carry them.” ‘‘Try her; says Ben Sherrod, and drew down a wrinkled lid over his glass eye. “If you can capsize her I'll give you my head for a football.” Ben Sherrod had started with a sea chest anda ditty-bag; now he j had seven ships, acountingroom,a big house, a glass eye and a tor- menting pretty daughter. Queer if his word wouldn’t go for something! Captain Arad tried the ship and found her crank. Says Ben Sherrod, “I’ve made a mistake,” and whipped out his red-leather memorandum book. “I’ve cut her too fine for once,” he admitted. “For once you have,” said Captain Arad. “Still, she’s got a clean entrance.” “And a lean run,” Arad added, “ but she puts her yard- arms under in a fresh breeze. Too fine a forebody.” “Why not put in twenty tons of lead and try again?” young James Ochiltree suggested. ““Why not?” Ben Sherrod asked. He set great store by that young man’s ideas. Captain Arad went out with the Arethusa—and the twenty extra tons—in a fresh breeze, tacked inside of Sound Point Beacon, and there, flood tide cutting under her, she lay down quietly and sank in seven fathom. ““You’ve made a serious mistake.now!"’ Captain Arad yelled in Ben Sherrod’s ear. They were both in the water, and Arad was keeping the little owner’s nose out, for Ben Sherrod could swim no better than his new ship. ‘Call that a ladylike performance?” “*Get her up!”’ Ben Sherrod gasped. ‘“‘Get her up, cut the masts off at the deck, put the foremast down the main hatch, add a foot of keel and ten tons of lead, and don’t let me hear another tarnation word about the cussed packet.” With these changes, the Arethusa, Captain Arad Whit- ney master, made a record passage to China, but she was temperamental and required jockeying. Ben Sherrod grumbled, “If you had not cut off those splendid sticks at the deck and laid on that ugly lump of false keel, she might have looked better still.” “So she might—like a ship in a mirage.” “How’s that, Captain Whitney?” The Shadow of Her Jib Boom Whirted Across His Decks; Ochiltree Saw Him Lift an Arm All But Paralyzed With Fear, and Shatter His Spear Against the Ox-Eyed Mermaid at the Spitfire’s Prow “Bottom up. Bottom up, Mr. Sherrod,” his captain said shortly. “As it is, I'll have to put calking irons on the men’s shoes if I make another passage in her. She drowned them out in the foc’sle, and her decks were like the roof of a barn in anything better than a ten-knot breeze.” “T’ll stiffen her,”” Ben Sherrod said. ‘I’m putting an engine in her now.” “Steam,” Captain Arad uttered dismally. Whenever steam threatened, he had a dart of fright through his bones. He could never lay that ghost. Steam was in every man's mouth. What if, in the end, with its pale magic, it should succeed in changing the ship shape and driving white wings from the seas? A bitter prospect. These queer Cunarders crawled along now like ailing beetles, but Cap- tain Arad, sailing sweetly past them in the Witch, could not convince himself that that ship devil in the steam chest had reached his maximum. That devil’s very bondage was his power; freed, he was nothing more than wisps of steam, cloud, weak drops of water; but they would find a way to trap him closer yet. These fantastically restless young men, like James Ochiltree, on fire to pick up with any new thing, would find ways and means to prick that devil into new agonies of involuntary effort. Arad himself was not forty yet, but he loved sail too devotedly to experiment with other rigs “Morgan wheels, is it? Then, Mr. Sherrod, I wash my hands of her.” “Hold your horses, Arad. I didn’t say paddle wheels one wheel out and one wheel under every time she heels, and the ship quaking like a dog. No, no. But Ochiltree has found a man named Ericsson that’s a boiling pot of ideas. He’s invented a little fiddle faddle of a fishtail to put at the stern, where, if it can’t help her, it’s no particular harm.” “A fishtail.” screw, you might as well say, and screws the ship , through the water like a screw going through wood It's a water screw or sp! al ‘ rai Oar She'll have one under each coun- ter, keyed on a shaft. Withafair wind, tosave coal, you trice ‘em up to the flat of her stern, and they’re no more drag to you than a couple of butterfly wings “Two of ‘em, you say,” Arad said, aghast “Two of the little beauties, and they'll shove her eight knots through a calm with all sails furled.”” “Then I say,” said Arad,“ it wes a bad day for the Arethusa when a man named Erics- son his cast shadow athwart her hawse n't I one of these Cun like a cooper going ound Hav oe gone round arder a cask? one of them that can Show me — —_ 4 make the passage to Liverpool n thirteen days? “Not with wheels. Not with wheels. But the end of steam,"’ Ben Sherrod pointed out. He opened a log book of one of the Water Witch's past voyages. The writing was in Arad’s own bold hand, clouded with the dis infectants slopped over it by customs officials in civilized ports wheels ain't “Here you are, bound for Guayaquil, “Under date of January seventeenth I read, ‘Just fanning along these twenty-four hours. Calms and light airs. This is threshing the life out of the sails. It’s enough to make a bad man out of a good one.’ Steam will make for morality, Captain Whitney.” “She had steerage way on her,” Arad grumbled. “I wouldn't have been justified in taking in her muslin.” “Steerage way,”’ Ben Sherrod fulminated 3 ships to go to China-—or to have steerage way tell you, Arad, with these spiral oars you won't heave to in a gale; you'll boil the kettle and shove on shove or bare poles and head seas. And furthermore, you paying a dollar a foot for pilots in You'll stand on and off, and follow ar has a pilot, and steam right up to the wha “T can come up to a wharf under sa “If you've got wind, you can!" Ben Sherrod shrieked “But you can make steam, whereas you have got to depend on God Almighty for the wind.” The argument was full of sweet reason, but to sponsor it was dangerous, James Ochi under not be and out of harbors othe p in that tree was finding Like itself, Ochiltree’s bondage was his power; he was a bond slave to Marthe Sherrod, and likely to stay in her good graces if he pers riot, it appear, 1 nNammer- ing his friend Ericsson's ideas into Ben Sherrod’s brain At a ball given in Faneuil Hall to some foreign prince or other, the ladies’ room was in the Boston Militia’s armory Continued on Page 36

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34 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 ‘Wou SAVE in ever ornare 2 “ ae TAS ¢ ae" eR » Big Car Features Combined in No Other Six at or Near *745 ~1 10 ll 12 A 200-cubic-inch L-head engine. The Harmonic Balancer which elimi- nates torsional crankshaft vibration. The G-M-R cylinder head which gives high-compression performance using ordinary gasoline. The Cross-Flow Radiator which mini- mizes losses of water and alcohol. Automatic Temperature Control—no hand-operated radiator shutters—no heat indicator to bother with. Short-stroke, fully counter-weighted crankshaft of sturdy design. Airplane-type interchangeable bronze- backed main bearings. A 1%-inch carburetor including an accelerating pump. A Gasoline Pump in place of the con- ventional vacuum system. Special Expansion-Type Piston Pins— an exclusive feature contributing to long life and quieter operation. Full-Pressure Lubrication to all main and connecting rod bearings. Crankcease Ventilating System to keep water out of engine oil. 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 Two Completely Independent Braking Systems. Internal-Expanding Four-Wheel Serv- ice Brakes of the costliest type. Entirely separate emergency brake. Special, moulded, non-squeak brake bands which often operate more than 30,000 miles without replacement. Specially designed Fisher bodies with exclusive concave belt moulding. Flaring fenders—70 inches across. A distinctive radiator design. A variety of colors in the year’s most popular shades. Ternstedt interior fittings. Fisher VV windshield. Driver’s seat adjustable as you drive. Coincidental lock. Removing the key locks both ignition and transmission. Individually meunted instruments in- cluding gasoline gauge. Foot-controlled headlights. And scores of additional items all combin- ing to make the Pontiac Big Six at $745 the most impressive value in its field.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST way when You buy a PONTIAC BIG SIX af MOTORS PRODUCT OF GENERAL You save in purchase price when you buy a Pontiac Big Six—because no other car offering comparable advantages can be bought for equally low prices. You save in operating costs—because, according to the figures of big companies operating many different makes of cars in 1928, the Pontiac Six costs one cent a mile less to maintain than any other low-priced six. And you save in depreciation—because every Pontiac from the first has been famous for endurance and long life. You save in every way with the Pontiac Big Six— and here is what you enjoy .. . More speed—The highest top speed in any low-priced six, as proved by the “‘fifth wheel”’— an electric speedometer. More power —60 brake horsepower at 3000 r.p.m.—greater horsepower developed with moderate engine speed. More snap —tThe fastest acceleration to be found in any low-priced six—this also proved by the scientifically accurate “fifth wheel.” More style —Smart, new Fisher bodies with the exclusive concave belt moulding. A wide selection of colors. Flaring fenders—70 inches wide. More safety —Two completely independent braking systems. Hardwood and steel body construction. Full tread axles—front and rear. More comfort—Wide doors—wide, deep seats—long springs—smooth, silent engine— internal-expanding, “‘squeak-proof” brakes. Wore calue—A combination of performance, style, quality and features duplicated in no other car listing for less than $1100. You get them all in the Pontiac Big Six for list prices ranging as low as $745. Even though sales of the Pontiac Big Six have shattered all previous Pontiac records . . . and even though the value offered by this car is without parallel today . . . the Pontiac Big Six continues to sell for the prices at which it was introduced. There has been no increase in Pontiac prices! And you will be astonished at learning how easily you can own a Pontiac Big Six. Oakland- Pontiac dealers are prepared to deal liberally with you in appraising your present car and in arranging easy terms for payment. Inspect the Pontiac Big Six at the nearest Oakland- Pontiac showroom—and take along your own car for an appraisal. 35 Pontiac Big Six, $745 to $895, f. o. b. Pontiac, Michigan, pius delivery charges. Bumpers, spring covers and Lovejoy shock absorbers regular equipment at slight extra cost. General Motors Time Payment Plan available at minimum rate. Consider the delivered price as well as the list price when comparing . Oakland- include automobile values . Pontiac delivered prices only reasonable charges for handling and for financing when the G. M. A. C. Time Payment Plan is used. OAKLAND MOTOR CAR COMPANY PONTIAC, MICHIGAN

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36 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Centinued from Page 33) and as the door opened, Ochiltree, posted there, saw Marthe’s face reflected to him in a mirror framed with swords, her shaw! and hat hanging on a bayonet adjacent. Her fine patrician eyes reflected the flash of steel. She was thinking that Jim Ochiltree had come to have a dangerous ascendancy over her too sanguine father. “What's this I hear about spiral oars?’’ she said rapidly, as soon as she had laid her hand on his arm. “4 little change we're making in the Arethusa.”’ ‘What does Captain Whitney think of it?’”’ “Doesn't like it. He’s associated too long with China- men,”’ Ochiltree averred jestingly. ‘“‘He likes that maxim * ” of his cook, Lee Seng: ‘All thing no hab changee. Marthe turned her head angrily. “Captain Whitney is the best captain out of Salem,”’ she said, biting her lip. ‘‘His opinion ought to have more weight than anybody's. I don’t think anyone will say that he’s afraid of taking chances. People who have made the profits from his splendid voyages shouldn’t say so, Mr. Ochiltree.” “‘Heve I cast the faintest shadow on his reputation?” Ochiltree asked impatiently. “There's certainly no better seaman; only now the engineers have got to have their nnings. If we don’t let them in, another firm will.” “Who knows? It seems so chancy. The underwriters will want blood premiums if they insure at all. And then— Jim, it’s all so horribly uncertain—your steam. Mr. Delamater made my blood run cold the other night telling of explosions on the Western river steamers. I won't have you biowing up my Captain Arad. Jim, father’s hanging in the wind on this proposition still. If you don't press it, he'll drop it, I’m morally certain. Promise me you won’t press it.” But that show of emotion on Captain Arad’s behalf, though fleeting, had been unfortunate. “I am bound to press it,’’ Ochiltree said coldly. “I am committed to Hogg and Delamater, who have agreed to install the engines, to say nothing of my friend Ericsson. I tell you, he is a great genius, and the world will know it one day, Marthe.” “But you will not blame me if I put the lives of my friends ahead of the claims of genius,’’ Marthe said, and looked full at him with the swords’ points in her eyes again. She was in a blue velvet spencer over a dress of white gauze, and the nearness and remoteness of her beauty, taken together, made his brain reel. She was saying with increased bitterness, “‘So do as you please. Fill the Are- thusa with your hideous machinery, and then stay ashore thinking up more schemes, while the captain and crew take their chances in her.” Ochiltree felt the blood jump into his face at last. “Not Arethusa any longer,” he said slowly—‘“ Spitfire. A name more in keeping with her new character.’’ His cutting insinuation was that there were other ladies of his acquaintance who ought to be renamed more fittingly. “If you had taken the trouble to talk this over with your father, you would have learned that I have applied to go as supercargo.” “Jim.” “Here’s Captain Arad coming up to dance with you,” he said, cold to the heart, hurt mortally, it seemed to him. As in a dream, he saw Marthe, with a ravishing smile, offer the captain a white camellia from her corsage. Arad, whose eye for a fine woman had been cultivated by exten- sive travels, was evidently charmed. James Ochiltree wished hctly that the man had remained the slave of that African princess, a sort of Amazon or fighting woman, whose enforced husband Arad had been, rumor had it, for more than a year. But even so early the legends clustering about that extraordinary captain were thicker than the locusts of Egypt. Ochiltree, lowering himself in his India-rubber clothes through the Spitfire’s engine-room hatch, saw that the engineer, old Delamater, a second cousin of the Delamater of Hogg and Delamater, was sitting on his black stool with his head in his hands. The Spitfire was rolling and pitching fearfully; the shrieking, bleating and whistling of the machinery was mixed with a sound of jumping coals, a slobbering of water, a hiss of escaping steam. The engines, straddling pits on August 17,1929 long, greasy green legs, quaked and shivered like a dog coming out of a bath. “What’s the matter with her now?” Ochiltree yelled in old Del’s fat ear. “‘Something’s crept over her,” the engineer said. “I wouldn’t wonder if all this mauling hadn't got the star- board shaft a leetle out of line. Seems to nip the teeth on them cogs a little. Always did make a close bite of it.”’ ““We’ve taken beating enough to make ovenwood out of better ships,’’ Ochiltree said bitterly. “‘Be all right as soon as she shakes down and gets to know her duty,” old Del said. The corners of his cod’s mouth were down. The captain, it was whispered, was not satisfied with the performance of these famous fishtails. The Witch, Captain Bangs Biddle master, had overtaken them ten days out. She was in coffee and specie, bound for Smyrna after Turkey opium, with credit on the Barings; and Ben Sherrod and his daughter were aboard, going to give his branch in Canton a shaking up. He had told Captain Arad to report at Port Louis, on the island of Mauritius, to leave an account of his voyage to that point for the Witch to pick up later on her way into the Arabian Sea. Now it looked as if the Witch might raise the island of Mauritius before Captain Arad could himself. The Spit- fire, though practically a new ship, had begun to leak like a sieve, fore and aft; her head was loose, and they had been forced for three days to put her before the wind, shift chains and cargo aft, bring her three feet by the stern, lash the head and calk the forward seams. And now that they were ready to go again, with her split stem mended—the seas had opened her wood ends from the knightheads clear down to her copper—the engine had got disarranged again. “‘Why wouldn't it,’ old Del asked Ochiltree, ‘‘with the ship rolling quick enough to snap the heads off half a dozen hens in the coop forward? Why wouldn’t it have a bad effect on machine parts?” The roll, Ochiltree explained, was due to this added weight of coal and iron, which had brought the metacen- tric height too low. She was deeper than a sand barge, (Continued on Page 141) These Queer Cunarders Crawied Along Now Like Ailing Beeties, But Captain Arad, Sailing Sweetly Past Them in the ‘‘Witch,’’ Couid Not Convince Himself That That Ship Devil in the Steam Chest Had Reached His Maximum a RI I eT = aes

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CT .@ 2.2 AI NE D F A T R MECHANICS To assure properly trained mechanics for Chevrolet service stations everywhere, the Chevrolet Motor Company maintains 30 permanent serv- ice schools, where mechanics are instructed in every branch of Chevrolet service work. Already, more than 15,000 men have taken a complete course —with additional thou- sands being trained every year. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Economical SEIVICE made possible by these vital Service factors One of the greatest advantages con- nected with Chevrolet ownership is the exceptional economy of serv- icing a Chevrolet car, due to spe- cial advantages which authorized Chevrolet service stations enjoy. The mechanics in these service sta- tions are Chevrolet trained. The tools they use have been designed especially for work on Chevrolet cars. In addition, the owner has the satisfaction of knowing that genu- ine Chevrolet parts are used exclu- sively; and the charges for all work are based on a low flat-rate system. If you are a Chevrolet owner, you know the economies and benefits of authorized Chevrolet service; and if you are not, this is another reason why you should investi- gate the Chevrolet Six before you buy any low-priced automobile. CHEVROLET MOTOR COMPANY, DETROIT, MICH Division of General Motors Corporation FACTOR DESIGNED MACHINERY me To assure the utmost accuracy and efficiency in Chevrolet service work, authorized Chev- rolet service stations are provided with special tools and machines—designed under the supervision of Chevrolet engi- neers. Working with this special equipment, Chevrolet mechanics are able to perform every service operation expertly, promptly and at minimum cost to the owner.

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38 THE SATURDAY EVENING ‘POST August 17,1929 GIVE NATURE A BREAK secels and hard pa vem to ha essed oY sw ingfoot Hee, e a And Now a New Sole 4 —For Toughest Wear You will find your finest combination of foot ease, good looks, and longer, lower-priced wear in the new Goodyear Wingfoot TAN Sole—GOODYEAR- GUARANTEED. On men’s shoes, boys’ shoes and children’s school shoes made by good manufac- turers, or put on quickly by your shoe repairman Goodyear Wingfoots: oa good makes of new or put On in five minutes by your shoe repairman Copyright 1929, by The Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co., Inc. WINGFOOT HEELS a ° 2s 2 gg re eee

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i te THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 39 REG. VU. 6. PAT. OFF. Serious and Frivolous Facts About the Great and the Near Great Anton Otto Fischer KinGston, N. Y. GOOD friend of mine, returning recently from a visit to Munich, brought back tome the first docu- mentary proof of my identity. For up to this time my family and friends had had nothing more than my unsupported word in regard to the early days of this marine- painting sailor calling himself Anton Otto Fischer. Fortunately for me, this seemed to be sufficient. It happened in this wise. While studying art in Paris, about twenty years ago, I was enjoying a quiet pipe and café au lait in the Café Dome on Boulevard Mont-Parnasse, known to all American art students. My overcoat, which I supposed protected itself by its shabbiness, hung upon the wall at a little distance. It contained absolutely nothing of any value except to myself, but some enterprising pick- pocket guessed wrong and made off with Autobiographical Sketch of small family to take care of. A friend in New York wrote me in England that I could get work in America; so I sold my home, left the cash with the family, and worked my passage over on a steamer as a waiter. Work was easy to get. I washed automobiles for Gimbel’s far two dollars a night, and was fired because I fell asleep in a car after trying to sell (Continued on Page 170) A Letter From Raeburn Van Buren AR CHARLIE: Tue SaTuRDAY EVENING Post has asked me for a short sketch of my life to run on their Who's Who page. I know so much about myself that I'm afraid to tackle the job, so I am turning to you for help. I trust that with the inclosed dope, together with what you already know about me, and your skill, you will be able to shape out something that will sound important I was born in Pueblo, Colorado, in the thick bundle of papers that was in the inside pocket. Those papers con- tained everything appertaining to my life up to that date— papers carefully guarded and preserved after the fashion of old Germany. Thelin ts that bound me to those old associations had been fast thinning. The theft of those papers made the old days seem about like a dream. So, when my good friend, spending the winter in Germany, wrote me that, after visiting half a dozen parishes in Mu- nich, the birth certificate had at last been found, and added that the monks who had educated me actually remembered me, even with af- fection, it gave me Anton Otto Fischer kindly men, and to two of them I became much attached. But the two years in the seminary were torture tome. At this juncture my benefactress died. I was permitted to go with a bundle of drawings to Munich to lay my case before the Baron von L I timidly voiced the wish to study painting instead of for the priesthood. He was rather cold to my proposal, but took me to the studio of an artist friend to get his opinion. The artist’s verdict was “thumbs down’"’; so that dream was finished for the time being. a queer feeling. I was born in Munich, Bavaria, February 23, 1882. My parents were very poor. My father died when I was three, from occupational tu- berculosis. He was an uphol- sterer. My mother contracted the disease from him, survived only one year, dying in ab- solute want. Dur- ing the last months of her life her distress came to the attention of a noble lady, the Baroness von L——, who eased her last days by I refused to go on at the seminary, and naturally the Baron von L washed his hands of me. I was sent to Ratisbon on the Danube to my uncle, who was my legal guardian, but had hitherto ignored my ex- istence. I was a most unwelcome addition to his home circle. I was apprenticed as a (Continued on Page 170) Notes on Captain Dingle WAS born in Oxford, England, of par- ents who not only thought poverty no crime but actually seemed to be proud of it. I ate bread and lard for my school luncheon for a good many years, wore my father’s old togs and my mother’s old shoes. I had joined my first ship, at the age of fourteen and a half, before I knew that an egg had more than a thin white cap. I got that ev- ery Sunday morning, as a treat. My sister got the top off the other of the two eggs the Old Man regularly regaled himself with. He was a retired whaler, turned itinerant preacher, and was a hard old man. promising her to see that I was cared for. After spending one year with the family of a cobbler, I was entered in the orphan asylum at Indersdorf, conducted by sisters of the order of St. Vincent of Paul. The sisters were kind, but a childhood spent in an orphan asylum con- stitutes an almost insurmountable handicap through life. After seven years in the asylum I was told that it had been decided to educate me for the priesthood. I was always at the head of the class; was fairly proficient at the piano and sang, and my kind benefactress, the Baroness von L : made arrangements to have me entered at the Archiepisco- pal Seminary of Scheyern. I passed the examination and was on my way to become a priest without having had the opportunity to voice my wish to become an artist. The seminary at Scheyern was conducted by Benedictine monks. I early discovered that I had absolutely no voca- tion for the priesthood. I lived in a constant state of re- bellion, and my unfitness for the path chosen for me was only too apparent to the monks themselves. They were Aylward E. Dingle All the schooling I got was common day school, to the age of fourteen. Then the sea. I sailed in British ships for twenty-two years from boy to master. Commanded two steamers in the Cape and Australian trade, and one bark. Was mate of a full- rigged ship, second mate of another, quartermaster in the only windjammerI ever knew to carry one, and able seaman in yet another famous old clipper. My first breakfast on board ship, the steward mistook me for an owner’s protégé, since the owner had conducted me aboard the night before. I was put to sleep in a cabin off the saloon, and set at table for breakfast with three whole eggs to myself. When the skipper came aboard and told the steward to send that boy away where he belonged, the steward kicked me—my first deepwater kick. After nearly a quarter of a century afloat, and five ship- wrecks, I had a steamer blown up under me, and there- after failed to connect with the sea as master, and my eyes were too poor to go through the grades again; so I had to seek new employment at the age of nearly forty, with a 1891. The reason you had better men- tion that is because artists are supposed to be born and not made, and | at least have that claim to being one—I was born. A year later | moved to Kansas City, Missouri—because my folks did. Today, as I think back about it, the most important thing about my early life is that my first boyhood ambition was to be an acrobat and trick bicycle rider. That's why I got my first job in a vaudeville theater. This gave me an oppor tunity to study my art; and in the process I learned to turn a neat flipflap and walk on my hands. This is im- portant only because it is still useful tome. For example, when something happens worth celebrating, I'm the lad who knows how to celebrate it fittingly. My career really begins, however, on the ecstatic day when I first saw some drawings of mine printed in the Cen- tral High School Luminary. With that, the trick-bicycle (Continued on Page 170) Raeburn Van Buren

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40 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Sa 2 cre | ¢ rug ere 5 et * sti 7 ; ce "Ves. things look so attractive—lux- , . ? urious, somehow. Cellophane-wrapped packages have real distinction — an air of superlative quality that appeals. Because Cellophane is transparent, it lets you see what you are buying — gives you confidence that your purchase will be as satisfactory as it looke. Look for these modern, sanitary packages in drug, department, and grocery stores everywhere. You will find that it pays. Du Pont Cellophane Co., Inc., 2 Park Avenue, New York City. Canadian Agents: Wm. B. Stewart & Sons, Limited, Toronto, Canada. Cellophane is the registered trade mark of Du Pont Cellophane Company, Inc., to designate its transparent cellulose sheets and films, developed from pure wood pulp (not oo by-product). FOR HOUSEHOLD USE W omen now can obtain Cellophane for home use through the new Household Pac kages shown below. Rolls may be had in « lear transparent and in gold, red, green and violet colors. Go to your nearest stationery or department store where Dennison goods are sold. Or for samples and prices write to Dennison'’s— Dept. 200, Framingham, Mass. es PENSE TERT 3 August 17,1929

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hie po Ee. Re te ed THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 4! T TOOK two wars with England and one war with Germany to assert our in- dependence from Old World ties. The knowledge that in a crisis By One of the War Propagandists AGANDA war and war propaganda, playing upon their emotions consolidated these blocs stil! further Uncle Sam can depend upon all his sons, irrespective of their racial origin, is the greatest, perhaps the only, asset which America gained in the World War. Stirred by politics and propaganda, public excitement had reached such a pitch that on the eve of our war with Germany some of the English expected a German-American uprising under the auspices of the Irish. Nothing hap- pened. A million, eyes watched Ger- man and Irish sympathizers. There was no disloyalty. There was no trea- son. Between Germany and the Allies, German-Americans were for Germany. But both German-Americansand Irish- Americans were for America when America herself was involved. It took both German and Irish sym- pathizers a little while to adjust them- selves mentally and emotionally to the new state of affairs. A few German- Americans and a few Irish-Americans were guilty of loose talk. However, propaganda had worked such havoc that many of us were unable to see German-Americans or Irish-Amer- icans in the proper perspective. This confusion in our minds was one of the penalties for our tolerance of propa- ganda. On a recent visit to Washington I encountered the representative of a great European power on his way from the White House. He had given me courteous assistance in my study of propaganda. I thanked him for his kindness. ““Have you,” he asked, “‘made any surprising discoveries?”’ The Hyphenate Vote - ES,” I replied frankly; “the more I study the record of for- eign propaganda in the United States, the more I am surprised by the long patience of the American Government. If I had been in charge of the State Department I would have taken all the propagandists—German, French, English and what not—and shipped them out of the country.” My diplomatic friend listened cour- teously but could not suppress a sar- castic smile. “You forget,” he said softly, “ your DO YOURS BUY ictory Bonds The hyphen was a disturbing factor in the presidential elections of 1916, 1920 and 192 Foreign propaganda, aided by racial blocs, drove our politi- cians before them like sheep. The movement assumed such momentum that even statesmen of high character could not ignore the ensuing condi tions. No one can tell how many political wires were pulled by pro-Allies and pro- Germans in the period immediately preceding the war. Pro-Ally activities were largely behind the scenes. The Germans were compelled by the exi gencies of the situation to come out into the open. It has been said that German propaganda made a mistake by concentrating toa large extent upon Americans of German origin. How- ever, every strategic consideration was in favor of such a course. German propagandists saw how American poli ticians courted the German vote. They knew that the so-called German vote held the scale of political power in several pivotal states Being Kind to Senators S A RULE, Americans of German descent are as much divided as any other group politically. Ordinarily the German-American vote is only a bogy disturbing the drearns of the politician But in the present instance the Ger man-Americans had been fused into solidarity by the detractors of their race who, less subtle than Woodrow Wilson, made no distinction between the German Government and the Ger- man people. Bogy or no, the German- American vote made a declaration of war against Germany a precarious un- dertaking for any political party. Both pro-Germans and pro-Allies courted important political personages in the ngtional capital. The isolation that surrounds a throne makes even sovereigns susceptible to the whisper- ings of anyone who, by hook or crook, is able to gain their ear. If a lobbyist secures the confidence of a member of the Senate or of the cabinet his game is half won. “You don’t know how lonesome some senators are! I owe my success in Washington to the fact that I spend all my week-ends there to indulge in racial minorities. The American Gov- ernment could not dump the propa- gandists out because it was afraid of offending powerful racial groups.” I was dumfounded. It is true that the foreign vote plays an important part in elections, but I had never thought of the divergent ele- ments of our population as “racial minorities,”’ in the same sense in which the term is used in European countries. There is no real comparison between our naturalized citizens and their descendants, on the one hand, and the racial minorities of Europe, on the other. Our naturalized citizens were not annexed by force. They came to us of their own free will. America was their Prom- ised Land, and in many cases their haven from persecu- tion. They found here a culture in no way inferior to that of their native countries. They acquired standards of living superior to their own. We accepted them as future Americans. The process of Americanization takes time. It also re- quires tact. The latter has often been conspicuously ab- sent in our attempts to make the immigrant an American. There is every reason why our immigrants should cherish the heritage of culture which they have received from their fathers. We should be gratified if they transmit to their American children the best traditions of their native land. But there is no reason whatsoever why they should remain an ethnic entity or a racial bloc Fortunately no powerful neighbors across our borders clamor for union with their wandered sons. The ancestral voices that drift across the 3000 miles of ocean are dim They are, as a rule, hardly more than a whisper. During the World War, however, the whisper became a tumult. Germany, England, Italy, France, the Slav nations, each called to her own until America rang with the fury of their dissension. Suddenly the hyphen became a reality, casting a sinister shadow upon the map. This was, in part at least, a retri- bution for the sins of our own politicians. Year after year, election after election, they had considered it necessary to appeal to the prejudices and the idiosyncrasies of specific racial contingents. Racial blocs, through combinations among themselves and through deals with the political parties, exerted a power beyond their number upon our affairs. Coddled by some, fought by others, the attention paid to them increased their racial self-consciousness. The chats with my friends in the Senate.” The ruddy-faced man who made this remark to me smilingly is a militant spokesman of a power- ful racial-minority group. “‘Many members of Congress,’ he added, “‘are like children lost in the woods, especially when they first come to Washington. They welcome any intelligent friend who understands their difficulties, who knows how to manipulate the wires and who can give them, on occasion, a little publicity.” Publicity is a salve to the wounded vanity of the states- man who finds himself cruelly neglected in Washington Resolutions and messages from various parts of the coun try, especially from his own district, increase his self esteem. Even politicians of considerable experience are swayed by such methods. They are in no position to determine whether the membership of an organization from which these resolutions ostensibly emanate is genuine or whether its chief asset is embossed stationery The cleverest propagandist I know prefers paper organi- zations to real ones. Paper organizations never talk back! Or if some semblance of reality is needed, he resorts to skeleton organizations with mouth-filling names, composed of his henchmen. His political closet is full of such skeletons. (Continued on Page 43

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FLASHLIGHT BATTERY THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 / 7’

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— THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 43 (Continued from Page 41) The most important member of such an organization is a keyman in every important city. He carries the organi- zation in his vest pocket. Whenever the chief gives the signal the keyman holds a meeting with himself and adopts a prescribed resolution. Wired to Washington from eight or ten different localities, such resolutions produce the effect of a political avalanche. Another effective trick to impress politicians utilizes the device of revolving memberships. Twelve men form an or- ganization proudly given some high-sounding name. Each immediately becomes the president of a branch. We have thus twelve presidents and twelve branches. Every one of the twelve joins every one of the branches. A heads one branch, B, C, D, E, and so on, enlist as members. B is president of another branch, A, C, D, E, and so on, inscribe their names on his membership roll. Each has a different geographical location. Statements emanating from such an organization, with widely scattered branches, duly im- press some innocents on Capitol Hill. Revolving memberships and interlocking directorates enabled small groups to present an imposing front. These groups adopted half a dozen aliases. Each organization was properly constituted. Each had its own by-laws, but the same names adorned a dozen boards of directors. The same pompous speakers mouthed the same pious platitudes from a dozen plat- forms. Members of unrestricted submarine warfare. Bernstorff’s left hand scrupulously ignored what his right hand was doing. It is possible that Bernstorff would have succeeded in keeping America out of the war in spite of the pressure of the pro-Allies, and in spite of the affronts of the German Government to our national dignity, if he had succeeded in retaining the confidence of President Wilson. Bernstorff did not know that the United States Govern- ment kept a record of every telephone conversation be- tween the German Embassy and the outside world. The conversations between embassy officials and their friends in New York were spiced with uncomplimentary references to high personages in the White House and in the State Department. William J. Flynn, former chief of the secret service, who revealed this piquant information, does not assert that Bernstorff himself was guilty of such indiscretions. But the ambassador did not check the exuberance of his at- tachés. The Secretary of State, it seems, did not escape criticism. The transcripts of these conversations were submitted to the President and to the Secretary of State. Of what avail were Bernstorff’s eloquence and his ex- pressions of good faith if reports of this type poisoned the mind of the President and of the Secretary of State? However high-minded an official may be, however charged the League of Nations. The protestants were frankly representatives of Irish-American organizations. All these documents and speeches — both those that were made and some that were not actually delivered —were printed as a Senate document and circulated widely at the expense of the Government. The man who invented the franking privilege was the friend of the propagandist! A little later there was a hearing before the House Com- mittee on Foreign Affairs on a bill of William E. Mason, of Illinois, to provide salaries for a minister and consuis to the Republic of Ireland. This agitation brought Irish- American voting power directly home to the men in Wash- ington. It made the Irish cause news and kept the spirits of the Irish-Americans at high tide One Nation Indivisible HE Irish-Americans would have fought against the entry of the United States into the league even if the Irish fight had not been acute or if Ireland itself had not been involved at all, though unquestionably the ranks of Irish- American organizations would have been much thinner and the force at the command of Irish-American leaders much less potent. The Irish-Americans never concealed the fact that they were moved largely by Ireland's in- terest. Nevertheless, they set out to get the body oi American citizens lined up against faith. Officers served with un- selfish zeal, with- out being con- scious of the invisible strings pulled by unseen puppet masters. Even without such subterfuges, an aggressive minority group is more effective than a voiceless majority. It be- comes almost irresistible politi- cally if it repre- sents the coalition of a number of powerful groups. The pro- Germans accused President Wilson of being a parti- san of Great Brit- ain. This view was shared by Lord Northcliffe. Dr. William B. Hale, Wilson’s erstwhile friend and collaborator, makes much ado over the Presi- joined in good | | | | ‘f GET 5. — ; | the league on | purely American © a German- . Americans were doubtless op- posed in great numbers to the | ~— , league as a matter of principle, but most of them were drawn into the fight not by that proclaimed mo- tive but by the unproclaimed motive of punish- ing Wilson. The object may have been impeccable, but the metive was questionable. British and French propa- ganda played an important part in the league fight. Foreign propa- gandists had come to look upon America as their While domain pealed unabashed to divers racial dent’s British ancestry and affil- iations. Irish orators referred to him as “‘the best Presi- dent England ever had.”” This was obviously unjust to Wilson. A few bold strokes of the propaganda brush do not suffice to paint a highly complex personality. “Would you say that Northcliffe was right when he called both Wilson and House pro-English?’’ I asked an English friend so highly placed that I cannot indicate his identity here. In a Dual Réle " ILSON,” my friend replied, “would not have coun- tenanced the defeat of Great Britain. But h~ had no desire to see Germany crushed. He was sincere in his advo- cacy of a ‘peace without victory.’ He did not, as some Germans think, double-cross Bernstorff.”’ Count Bernstorff, I may add parenthetically here, main- tained friendly relations with President Wilson until the end. Bernstorff enacted a dual réle. He attempted to be both the ambassador of the German Empire and the un- official spoxesman of German liberalism in Washington. The ambassador relayed the Zimmerman note proposing an alliance between Mexico and Japan against the United States to Mexico City and concealed his knowledge of the resumption of unrestricted submarine warfare from Mr. Wilson. The unofficial spokesman condemned double- dealing and agreed with President Wilson’s condemnation En J 1st 422 the NAVY ett with a sense of responsibility, no man is unsusceptible to such thrusts. Of fiber such as this is made the straw that breaks the camel's back. No matter how many mines Bernstorff may have planted, intellectually speaking, here was the countermine that blasted his efforts. When I recently taxed Count Bernstorff with the incon- ceivable blunder of which his embassy had been guilty, he said: “‘ How can you prove that our conversations were not distorted and perverted?” I could not. “We knew,” Bernstorff added with the superior smile of Old World diplomacy, “that our wires were tapped and we acted accordingly. We frequently amused ourselves at the expense of the spies who were listening in.’’ Far be it from me to contradict the German Ambassador. But surely the last laugh in this case was not with the Germans. From the beginning both pro-German and pro-Irish sus- pected the League of Nations as a British device. Their informants may have advised them that the first official mention of the League of Nations in official wartime cor- respondence was contained in a communication to Secre- tary Lansing of September 7, 1915, from Henry Van Dyke, Minister to the Netherlands, giving the substance of a conversation with Sir William Tyrell, private secretary of Sir Edward Grey, the British Minister of Foreign Affairs. On August 30, 1919, there was a hearing before the Com- mittee on Foreign Relations of the Senate in opposition to minorities within our borders When President Wilson threatened to bolt the Peace Con- ference the propagandist in chief of France actually pro- posed to send highly paid propagandists to the United States to get in touch with the President’s opponents with his foes in the Senate. This extraordinary suggestion was exposed in a French newspaper , spec ialls The hyphen vote played no important part in the elec- tion of Mr. Hoover. Both the Irish and the Germans were divided among themselves. Now that Ireland has achieved autonomy, Irish freedom has ceased to be an issue in Amer- ican politics The good will shown by America to the Ger- man Republic has calmed the Germans in the United States Both the Allies and the Central Powers have joined hands at Geneva. Let us hope that their protagonists in the United States will permit us to decide our own course with re- gard to the League of Nations on purely American grounds. Racial islands in the ocean of Americanism have been a menace to our ship of state. Politicians and propagandists pulled us hither and thither, interfering now in the ma- chine room, now at the helm. It is almost a miracle that we escaped disaster Luck was our ally. constitute our citizenship were one with us spirit. All differences between these groups were washed away by the tide of patriotism. The war taught us that we The most important elements which lood and in are one people, not an aggregation of Little Italys, Little Germanys, Little Irelands, Little Scandinavias and Little

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44 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Englands. The Civil War saved us from being a nation divided geographically. It may be urged that the World War redeemed us from being a divided nation racially, un- less we permit the unholy alliance of politicians and propa- gandists to promote the creation of new racial minorities. Americans were the best propagandists because they were the best advertisers. From the very beginning George Creel, the chief evangelist of American propaganda, in- stinctively turned to the advertising profession for ad- vice and assistance. American propaganda sailed under the flag of information. The Committee on Public Information was appointed immediately after the entrance of the United States into the war. This committee was composed of the Secretary of the Navy, the Secretary of War, the Secretary of State, and Mr. George Creel, devout adherent of Woodrow Wilson. These men constituted Uncle Sam’s propaganda cabinet. Lifted from comparative obscurity, Mr. Creel woke up one morning to find himself the American Northcliffe. Like Northcliffe, he was responsible for propaganda both at home and abroad. But unlike Northcliffe, he did not have control of a powerful group of newspapers. Creel’s energy greatly exceeded his tact. In spite of this handicap, and in spite of his inexperience in foreign affairs, Mr. Creel performed his job creditably. The dynamic strength of a young nation, summoned to crusade for de- mocracy, gave force to Creel’s blows. The chief credit, I repeat, belongs to his master, President Wilson. Wilson's Fourteen Points were the trumpet call which crumbled the ramparts of the Central Powers. Germany was his Jericho. In spite of our comparative inexperience, we were not innecents abroad or at home in propaganda. We always knew it in one form oranother. But we did not penetrate its disguise. We called it politics, business, publicity, in- visible government and what not. Washington as well as Lincoln employed propagandists in Europe. Both the North and the South dispatched emissaries to propagate their cause in the Old World at the time of the Civil War. Before we entered the war we harshly condemned the propagandists who infested our shores. Once we plunged into the fray ourselves, we knew that we could not wage war without propaganda. War without censorship and propaganda, an American war correspondent remarks, is conceivable only between Utopia and Elysium. In order to circumvent the necessity of asking Congress to authorize expenditures for propaganda, the Bureau of Public Information was constituted by executive order and financed from an appropriation of one hundred million dollars granted to the President by Congress. The Creel bureau was unique in that, to a certain extent, it was self- supporting. According to Creel’s own summary, his service cost the taxpayers $4,912,553, and earned $2,825,670.23. The Campaign of the Four:-Minute Men M®: CREEL enlisted the aid of 18,000 newspapers,11,000 national advertisers and advertising agencies, 10,000 chambers of cornmerce, 30,000 manufacturers’ associations, 22,000 labor unions, 10,000 public libraries, 32,000 banks, 58,000 general stores, 3500 Y. M. C. A. branches, 10,000 members of the Council of National Defense, 1000 adver- tising clubs, 56,000 post offices, 55,000 station agents, 5000 draft boards, 100,000 Red Cross organizations and 12,000 manufacturers’ agents. Tours of French and Belgian soldiers and of veterans of Pershing’s army, war exhibits, fairs, inter-Allied exhibi- tions and mass meetings, arranged by Creel, served to inflame our beilicose propensities. He summoned confer- ences of various groups to organize our undisciplined en- ergies. Seventy-five thousand Four Minute Men, operating under the auspices of Creel’s committee in 5200 com- munities, made 755,190 speeches. The total number is more nearly 1,000,000. Mr. Creel ventures the guess that his Four Minute Men addressed in all approximately 400,000,000 people. The Four Minute Men engaged in thirty-six separate campaigns. It is characteristic of the businesslike management which distinguished Mr. Creel’s efforts that the name of the organization was copyrighted and registered as a trade-mark. The Four Minute Men were aided in their campaign by theaters and moving-picture houses. A glass slide an- nounced their official mission: 4 MINUTE MEN 4 (Copyright 1917. Trade-mark) Insert name of speaker) will speak four minutes on a subject of national importance. He speaks under the autharity of THE COMMITTEE ON PUBLIC INFORMATION GEORGE CREEL, Chairman Washington, D. C. Our racial minorities, the bone of contention of all prop- agandists, were Mr. Creel’s first objectives. Collecting a staff of several hundred translators, mostly volunteers, the committee supplied the foreign-language press of America with war articles. Friends of German Democracy were recruited among German-Americans. An attempt was made to enlist de- scendants of the old Forty-eighters, who had inherited from their progenitors an instinctive distrust of the Ger- man Empire. The great majority of German-Americans refused to have any dealings with this group, but it pro- vided excellent camouflage for the propagandists. A Correspondence School of Propaganda HE Creel committee issued the Official Bulletin, a daily paper with a circulation of 100,000. The Bulletin printed all statements, pronouncements and addresses by the President, every order and regulation by the heads of the great government departments. It reproduced the reports and regulations of the Food, Fuel and Railroad administra- tions, the War Industries Board, the War Trade Board, the Alien Property Custodian, the War Labor Board, the Postmaster-General as director-general of the telephone, telegraph and cable systems, and of every independent agency of the Government. Important contracts, the text of new laws, the proceedings of the Supreme Court, Treas- ury statements and a résumé of the proceedings of Con- gress appeared in its pages. The Bulletin printed every casualty in the United States Army at home and abroad, the name of every man taken prisoner, cited for bravery or wounded in battle, and every communique of General Pershing. The Committee on Public Information mobilized the moving-picture industry. Both the Germans and the Allies had exploited the moving picture for propaganda, but their attempts fade into insignificance compared with America’s efforts. Creel made the war pay its own way in the movies. Pershing’s Crusaders took in more than $181,000; Amer- ica’s Answer, $185,000; Under Four Flags, $63,000; the Official War Review, more than $334,000. The total in- come of the committee’s films was $852,000. The films ranged from one to seven reel features. They vividly covered every detail of America’s war endeavor and spread America’s message, with American propaganda, both at home and beyond the sea. The permit to export films was based upon the stipulation that every shipment of entertainment films must contain at least 20 per cent of educational matter. Not a foot of American entertainment film was sold to any exhibitor who refused to display the war pictures of the Committee on Public Information. Finally, no American picture of any kind was permitted to be sold to any moving-picture house using an inch of German film. In a short time this method drove German films out of Sweden and Norway. But the Germans were still in control of the moving-picture business in Switzer- jand and in Holland. To meet this situation the committee asked the leading film producers to grant absolute control of all their output in those countries to a representative of the committee. This blow knocked out the Germans. In Peru, in Argen- tina and in Brazil, the committee combated German prop- aganda with similar devices. The committee distributed more than 200,000 stereopti- con slides. It censored 700 pictures a day. Kendall Ban- ning, former chief of the pictorial section of the General Staff, explains that the censor of military pictures must de- termine a great deal more than whether or not a photo- graph reveals information of value to the enemy. He must visualize in what way the enemy might make use of the picture for propaganda. The greatest lie ever told about photographs, Mr. Banning confesses, is the state- ment that photographs do not lie. An apparently harm- less news photograph showing a gathering of women on the lower East Side to protest against the rise in the price of war bread was exploited in German newspapers as an illustration of American war riots. America did not subsidize press associations, but the telegraph and the wireless hummed with official news. A special mail and photograph service, supplementing these activities, soon grew to enormous proportions. Sir Gilbert Parker, it will be remembered, had evolved a special bureau for writing letters, thereby establishing what may be termed the correspondence school of propa- ganda. The Germans countered with a similar move. Mr. Creel harnessed the Division of Women’s War Work to answer letters from 50,000 bewildered mothers, sweet- hearts and wives of soldiers. Various departments in Washington and many senators and congressmen in- trusted all letters from their feminine constituents to the Creel correspondence department. August 17,1929 Painters, sculptors, designers and cartoonists responded with enthusiasm to Mr. Creel’s call to arms. No other class or profession, Mr. Creel insists, excelled them in the devotion that took no count of sacrifice and drudgery. Novelists, essayists and publicists banded themselves to- gether under Creel’s leadership to prove that the fountain pen is mightier than the machine gun. In special feature articles, in song and story, they extolled the war and excoriated the Hun. Vigilantes, unable or unwilling to fight at the Front, carried on a guerrilla warfare at home against pacifists and spies. The mere suspicion of being lukewarm in support of the war was sufficient to invite a visit from Vigilantes, Minute Men and Defense Com- mittees. In some instances Creel was compelled to apologize for the excesses of enthusiasts on the noisy band wagon of patriotism. Such excesses are almost inevitable. Creel, Uncle Sam’s official propagandist, asserts that the Committee on Public Information “was never an agency of censorship nor a machinery of concealment or repres- sion.”” Such was, no doubt, his honest intention. But the drastic authority of the Postmaster-General, permitting of no appeal, the wholesale suppression of news, the Espion- age Act and the terrorism exercised by lawful and unlawful agencies of repression took the place of censorship in the United States. No propagandist can afford to be always truthful. “Good Lord, what can yousay? You can’t tell them the truth. This morning we attacked on the whole Front and on most of it were bloodily repulsed.” The speaker was an American Intelligence officer. The person to whom he addressed himself was an accredited war correspondent. The same conversation, with slight variations, probably took place on a dozen different Fronts every day. And on every Front victories were manufactured to order by mili- tary authorities. America was no exception. On February 21, 1918, the committee announced that the first American planes were en route to France. When this statement proved to be untruthful the ensuing uproar compelled an investigation by Charles Evans Hughes. Mr. Hughes ascertained that the committee had been deceived by a misleading statement with respect to the progress of aircraft production. While our doughboys filled the thinning ranks of the Allies in France, American propaganda invaded both neutral and hostile countries. It attacked the enemy at the Front and behind the lines. Writers and editors of French periodicals were taken to the American Front and soon the French periodicals blossomed out with glowing accounts of American accomplishments on land and sea. French newspapers were filled with American news. An interallied propaganda committee, composed of Great Britain, France, Italy and the United States of America, grew out of conferences in Crewe House. This committee formulated the policies which governed Allied propaganda until the end of the war. The minutes of the meetings of the Allied and associated propagandists con- stitute a textbook on the science and art of propaganda. A Newspaper Offensive HE committee craftily pointed out the importance of neutral organs read or quoted in enemy countries. It laid stress on establishing relations with organs which had a reputation for strict neutrality or were even publicly regarded as being prejudiced in favor of the foe. The committee recommended that each power should seek, through its agencies, to establish channels through which enemy newspaper correspondents could be influenced or provided with information. It arranged for the clandestine circulation in enemy countries of carefully chosen literature. In all propaganda efforts America did more than her share. After the disaster to the Italian Army at Caporetto, Uncle Sam rallied the war spirit through his Italian citi- zens. Wounded Americans of Italian birth were sent to Italy for convalescence. These men, Creel insists, turned out to be our best propagandists. Messages from Enrico Caruso and other eminent Italians to their compatriots stimulated the Italian morale. Every mail, every cable was loaded with descriptions of American war prepara- tions. As a result the Italian defensive stiffened until it became, in Mr. Creel’s words, a resistless offensive. Simi- lar methods were employed by Creel to revive the flagging war spirit of Russia and of France. The interallied propaganda committee published news- papers and pamphlets in many tongues. The Germans issued French and Italian newspapers to disseminate anti-_ Ally and anti-American propaganda. But their efforts were puny compared with the mass production of propaganda encouraged by Creel and Northcliffe. Special editions of (Continued on Page 114) mer ator toe ea ee SS ae

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 47° ) IDV By Don Marquis ILLUSTRATED BY ANTON OTTO FISCHER Out of the Northwest, Their Sails Filled With a Fair Following Breeze and Their Wet Oars Fiashing in the Sun, Appeared Half a Dozen Triremes For the song that is ultimate music Is struck from strings of the heart. T=: summit of the irregular bluff which fenced one corner of his father’s grazing lands from the sea was behind him and above, so from the place where Creon lay sprawled upon the ground he could not see the moon-washed waters of the Aigean. But he could hear the ceaseless agitation of the waves upon the narrow beach below the bluff, and now and then the faint tones of a bell came floating in to him from some galley that was creeping past the headland, wary of reefs as she skirted the curving shore. Perhaps, Creon thought drowsily, it was a merchant- man that carried Sicilian figs and wine to the busy little seaport town half a dozen miles down the coast, and would load again among these scattered islands of the Cyclades and turn southeastward with a cargo of hides and wool for the enterprising artisans of Tyre. Or maybe it was a vessel scouting in the van of coming war, for the rumor had been drifting through the archipelago for weeks that the Athenians were preparing an expedition against Syra- cuse. But this speculation did not hold him long, for he was tired. He had been out all day among the rolling downs and salt marshes in quest of strayed sheep, and when the summer night had come on to end his unsuc- cessful search, he had flung himself down to rest before starting homeward. “IT shall lie here until I see the moon climb above the horizon,” he said, “and then I shall go home.” But the moon was nearly an hour high, and still he had not stirred. Somewhere in the breathing dusk that filled the hollows landward from the height on which he lay, a sheep's bell strove to send a tinkling answer to the ship’s bell out beyond the line of silver foam; and thus com- passed about and played upon by the eloquence and mystery of night and sea, he fell asleep. That sleep was the end of Creon the shepherd and the beginning of Creon the dreamer. For he had a dream which was wonderful because of a strain of unearthly music which wandered through it; a melody the like of which he had never heard or imagined. A moon was in it—a grieving moon that walked the illimitable loneliness of night—and there was joy in it, too, but the intense joy which rises and breaks and lapses into melancholy as the shout of climbing waves lapses into a cry of sorrow when they break along a rugged shore; there was exaltation in it, but the exaltation which lifts the spirit to the attempts of tasks impossible to the flesh. It was beautiful, but there was a hint of terror—a sense of such beauty and such terror as may seize upon a man with the wild and fearful hope that in another moment he may glimpse the unveiled face of Deity itself. Unearthly it was, and unreal, but more real than anything earthly. Its very poignance stabbed the sleeper wide awake. He lay dazed for a moment, and then: “My pipes—where are my pipes?"’ he murmured. And he made off across the meadows homeward, a remem- brance of the strain still ringing in his inward ear. au HEN there began for Creon a life which seemed slug- gish and inert to all the world else, but to himself there was enough of struggle in it. The external world dropped from him as a worn-out coat; things that heretofore had seemed of great moment were as nothing. Only one thing mattered to Creon now: That he should be able to re- member clearly and reproduce upon his pipes the strain of magic melody. Even when he tried, he could not forget it altogether, but struggle as he might, he could not play the strain again. So he moved among men—or, preferably, lingered apart from them—in a condition of existence which they could not understand, coming to a realization of the things about him only by fits and starts. “You were down to the city yesterday,” his father might say to him. “‘ What was the price of oil?” “T do not know. I have forgotten,” he would answer, and his manner would say: “ Does it matter?" And his father would stare at him in purzled anger. At the time of the sheepshearing Creon was worse than useless. His father set him to oversee and help three of the servants who were washing the animals before they were passed on to the shearers. “You are not getting the wool clean,”” complained his father, striding down the bank of the brock where the washing was going on. ‘Look at this fleece—matted with mud and clay!” Creon looked at it stupidly. You would have thought from his look that he had never seen a fleece before. His father was so exasperated by his manner that he lifted a sodden mat of wool as if to cuff him about the head with it, and only refrained because of the presence of the grinning slaves. Then Creon came to himself with a blush, and worked well enough for the rest of that afternoon. But when evening came he took his pipes and stole away to be alone with themoon, for he had the notion that the magic melody might come to him again in the moonlight The father quietly followed, for he was growing deeply concerned about the young man, and came upon him in an arbor, silently fingering the stops of his pipes and staring through the leaves at the sky “Come,” he said; “it is time we were all in bed. There is work to do tomorrow. What are you doing here?” “IT am busy,” said Creon. And the next day they could not find him at all, until toward evening his father, guided by the sound of his pipes, discovered him in another waking dream “This is the way you shirk your tasks!” said the old man,

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"48 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “Shirk?” said Creon, lifting his perplexed and dreamy face. “But I have been working hard all day!” And he told his father of the magic melody and how he had striven to snare it in his pipes. “T am not idle,” said Creon. “You see, I am working all the time. I am making music.” But his father could not understand. “You call that work?” he said in scorn. “Making music—that is work, indeed! Not but what music is all right in its place. But work! Come to the house! I want you to talk to your uncle.” This uncle, his mother’s brother, had once been archon in the seaport town, and he had officiated for many years as a priest of the temple of Poseidon there. His reputation for wisdom was vast; his sister and his brother-in-law hung upon his words and judgment. And now there was a farnily council. “* Music is all well enough for feasts and dances, for wed- dings and for days of sacrifice,”’ said the priest of Poseidon, peering rheumily at the young man from beneath his shaggy white eyebrows. “I used to play the pipes my- self when I was a young man, and not badly, either. But to devote all one’s time to it—no, that is not work! It is no occupation for a man of substance, as you will be some day, my boy.” “Does music,” said Creon’s mother, “keep the wolves from the sheep or squeeze the oil from the olives?” “What tune,” said his father, “ever flayed a bull?” “It is well enough—well enough—if you are not a pro- fessional musician,”’ said the old priest. “I like music; I knew the pipes and the lute. But it is no vocation for the son of a respectable farmer.” “There are enough idle pipers and rascally lute players in these islands now, between Chios and Cythera, without my son becoming one of them,” said his father. “And they are all of them drunkards and half of them thieves,”’ said his mother. “Tt is all well enough—well enough in its way—your music,” said his uncle, “but you must not let it fool you into thinking there is nothing else in the world.” “But the music I am striving for is not like any other music in the world,” said Creon. “Think less of it,”’ said his father. ‘Do your work, for the gods have ordained that those who are to eat must work. Think less of it, and if the crops are good next year I will send you across the sea to Athens, to walk and talk with the philosophers in the academy.” The uncle shook his head at that. “‘ There is a man there called Socrates, whose ideas, I have heard, are very bad for young men,”’ he said. “T cannot give it up,” said Creon thoughtfully. “‘This music that I am seeking to find again—no one but me has ever heard it! And I must play it—I must find it! There is nothing else makes any difference to me!” And he looked upon them painfully and puzzled, as if they were suddenly strange to him, and went out of the house. “Can it be that the boy is simply lazy?”’ said the father, staring after him perplexedly. ‘“‘He will not even take a boat and go fishing any more; or if he does, he sits and drifts and tries to whistle the fish up out of the water.” “He has met with a nymph and she has cast a spell upon him,”’ said the mother—‘“‘a nymph or a lamia.” “That is ignorance, sister,”’ said the old priest. And he added authoritatively: ‘‘There have been no nymphs in the Cyclades for nigh upon a hundred years.” “But,” she persisted, “‘I can remember grandmother telling—when I was a girl—of a strange ——”’ “Nigh upon a hundred years,’’ repeated her brother dogmatically. “In Sicily, yes, and there are fauns in August 17,1929 Sicily. And satyrs in Peloponnesus carried off a Spartan woman a year ago. But ——”’ ‘ “You have it wrong,” said his brother-in-law. “I heard a Chian minstrel sing some verses about it when I was over to Melos last month, and he said that Spartan women had carried off a satyr.” “There are still fauns in Thessaly,” the priest con- tinued, “but in the Cyclades, no! There have always been too many Phenicians and other barbarians trading among these islands. And it is very well known that our gods do not like foreigners. Religion is declining everywhere; things are not what they were when I was a young priest. Reverence falls off. There has been no real reverence in these islands since the Athenians put down the pirates. The pirates made more offerings than anybody else to the temple of Poseidon. I do not like the Athenians; they are always meddling. It was only last spring that Alci- biades mocked the mysteries of Ceres at a drunken ban- quet, and he was not stricken dead by any deity, nor even punished by the Athenian assembly. Indeed, he is now their general! The gods are growing indifferent; they withdraw and the world is not what it was.” “Perhaps the gods are trying to say something to my son,” said the mother, with that vague piety which is sometimes so near to wisdom. “The gods never say anything authentic except through their ordained priests and oracles,”’ answered her brother. “The boy has turned to a lazy dreamer,’’ muttered the father, “‘and it is easy enough to see from which side of the house he gets his soft head.” Littie by little it came to be accepted throughout the island that there was something wrong with Creon. And as he avoided the world, soon the world began to fall away from him; or he was pointed out, with chuckles and winks (Continued on Page 50) . se Pt as ee eS Wide-Armed She Called and Sang, With the Young Breeze in Her Hair, a Priestess Who Prophesied the Coming Light, and Sang and Sang Until it Seemed as if the Sun Came Up in Veritable Response to Her Incantations

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——— THE SATURDAY EVENING POST NOTHING ROLLS LIKE A BALL in Airplanes In airplanes absolute dependability and permanency of mechanical efficiency are vitally important. That is why New Departure Ball Bearings are used more and more in modern aircraft—for in anti-friction bearings nothing rolls like a ball—so frictionless, so free of wear, so permanently accurate, with so little waste of power. The stamina of New Departures has been repeatedly proven under conditions of record-breaking speeds and severest stresses. - NEW DEPARTURE BALL BEARINGS . 49

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50 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 48) and significant taps upon the head, as the young fellow who had heard the moon sing one night and had been mad ever since. mr REON might be a jest 'to all others, but in the little seaport city, half a dozen miles down the coast, there was a girl te whom the change that had come over him was not the matter for a jest. This was Zoé, the daughter of a builder of boats, a woman in whom there ran a strain of that older Cretan blood which had dominated this archi- pelago centuries before the first fierce Hellenes had come over the mountains and down to the seas to conquer and absorb the 42gean world. They had loved each other with all the unthinking passion of youth, and with that quick abandonment to the emotion of the moment which Nature suggests to humanity in these bright and sunlit islands ringed with the magic of a sea that forever laughs or threatens, forever changing and forever beautiful. And as they had loved each other, so she still loved him. It is only those who have been very happy who can know what sorrow is; and as the days dragged into weeks, and the weeks passed and brought no Creon, but only rumors that he was the victim of some strange seizure, her eyes grew perplexed with deep consideration—the wonder of a woman as to whether she has merely been forsaken by a man whom she may win back again or is being balked by unfriendly gods. Or have demons interposed, in the shape of another woman? The last, to a lover or a wife, always seems most likely. So when she found him—for there came a day when the unremitting cruelty of doubt would permit her to abide no longer in her father’s house, but pushed her forth to seek— she cast at him at once the immemorial question of women: “Who is she?” He did net pretend that he failed to understand her, for that is always useless; and vaguely he had known that some day there would have to be an accounting between that love which had once been all his life and this new enchantment which was now become all his life and some- thing inexplicably more. “There is no one else,” Creon said; and he believed it, because the someone else was not another woman. “You do not love me any longer,” said the girl, who still loved him. “But I do!" he said, not conscious that he lied. Men, and more especially such men as the dedicated seekers after an elusive music, may feel stirring within them the memories of old loves and mistake the stir for a living emo- tion. But the girl made a movement of dissent. “No,” she said. She was not deceived. The hungry reality of her passion could not feed itself on memories and husks, and was aware that only husks and memories were offered. “T do love you,” he repeated, and this time it sounded unconvincing to himself, and he did not look at her, but downward at the surface of a pool which lay between them and in which they were both reflected. For she had found him, led by the sound of his tentative piping, in one of their old haunts. A spine of outcropping rock hunched itself diagonally across the island, and from the fissures at its base trickled several springs, one of which descended by a series of shallow pools to the level of the plain and became a brook which finally lost itself in a coil of marsh looped inward from the sea. “You have not come to me,” she said. “‘ You have not sent for me.”’ She looked at him, and he continued to look, not at her but at her reflection in the pool. “IT have not seen you,” she said, “since the last time we were here together.” It should have been a powerful evocation, and she meant it eo. For the last time they had been there together had seen the height of their passion. For their senses had tricked them that night; their leaping blood had tricked them; the blood in their bodies had risen to their heads; their blood had whirred and beaten through their ears as if with the whir and beat of many strong wings. And for a trembling moment of ecstasy and terror they had clung together, thinking that they heard the rush and feathery thunder of the doves of Aphrodite, while across the reflect- ing face of the pool—for they dared not look at the sky itself—had passed—what? Only the swift shadow of a driven cloud? To her this must always be the place where they had dedicated themselves to each other in the veri- table presence of the goddess of love herself; the place where their two lives had rushed together in flame—a flame fanned by the passage of the Cytherean Venus. But to him it was only another pool among the rocks. “*The last time we were here together,’” he repeated, but as he spoke he made no movement toward her. He picked up his pipes instead—for the thing that he remem- bered of the last night that they were there together was a motive that was like something in the melody he was trying to recapture. To her that night was life itself; to him it had become a poetic idea. And when he turned from her to the pipes she knew certainly that his love was dead. But a woman who perceives that a man’s love is dead is not necessarily defeated; she frequently believes that her own love is strong enough to accomplish the miracle of resurrection. She skirted the pool and stood beside him. She must know just what it was that had taken him from her. Then she could deal with it. She could not believe what she had heard—that it was merely music. Music was a great part of life, but it was not life; love was life. “Tell me what it is,” she said comradely. This is an old and pathetically futile wile of women who have lost the men they love—this “Let us be friends!"’—this “‘ Let us be comrades!” For it is their hope that out of the contacts of comradeship may spring again the flame of desire. He told her of the magic melody, and as he talked she studied him. “We shall find it together,” she said. “I, too, shall de- vote my life to this quest. I shall help you.” But there was in him the deep sense that he must find this thing, which was greater than all lives and all loves, for himself and by himself. “You cannot help me,” he said, miserable and honest. And then she began to hate this music that had come between them with a deeper intensity. He felt her hatred of it growing, and knew that if it were a woman she could stab or strangle it. The woman who loves an artist nearly always loses, and never quite knows why. If she can make her own appeal stronger than the appeal of his art she destroys him as an artist; and after she has destroyed him she will cease to love him, for the thing in him that at- tracted her is dead. It should be of great educational value to any woman to be loved by an artist, but she should never commit the mistake of loving him in return. “Tt is not that I do not love you,” said Creon, suffering with her and for her, “but ——’”’ “But you love this music more?” “ Yes.” “Then you do not love me, if you love anything more.” “It is not you and I and love,” said Creon, his tongue and mind stumbling. “It is something—I do not know what it is—it has hold of me and will not let me go. It is not I or you—we do not make any difference to it. I must seek this music, no matter what happens to you or me.” “Perhaps it is from the gods,” said she; ‘but whatever gods are in it, it does not come from Aphrodite, for you and I belong to her.”’ The idea of deity being arrayed against deity, in relation to human affairs, was familiar to the Hellenic mind. “IT do not know,” said Creon. “Perhaps it is not from the gods at all. I’'veseennogod. Perhaps—I do not know how to tell you—but I have thought that perhaps what I seek is the music behind the gods—which made the gods.” “T did not know that there was any stronger god than Aphrodite,”” murmured the girl, and then, with one last effort, she brushed from her the premonition of defeat and put forth all her strong vitality against her unseen enemy, for she was fighting for her life, and telt it clearly now. “Do you remember,” she said, “that morning ——— And the completion of her thought was a gesture toward the crest of the ridge beneath which they stood. His eye followed her gesture and her mind, and he seemed to see her standing there again, as he had seen her on the morning following their night together at the pool. He seemed to see her standing on the promontory’s windy crest, a figure carven of rapture, stark in ecstasy, fronting the eastward sea and distant Asia, calling, in that tremulous instant before the dawn, upon the sun to rise out of the mists and the waters, flinging the joyous morning that filled her heart outward to wed the morning that wavered on the sea; wide-armed she called and sang, with the young breeze in her hair, a priestess who prophesied the coming light, and sang and sang until it seemed as if the sun came up in veritable response to her incantations—came up and rushed upon her; and he himself had rushed up the hill and become one with her and with the sun in a red glow of youth. As this memory surged over him he turned, flaming again, toward the actual woman near him, and she all but overwhelmed him with that strong essential feminine vigor which some women know how to project, and for a second she was winning. He dropped his pipes and moved as if to take her, and in the space of another surge of their pulses they would have been in each other’s arms. But he stopped, strangely halted by a delicate vibration that seemed to pass over the very face of Nature—or per- haps it was his shaken blood that made the world appear to shake—and with this stir there came to his ears again the same music that he had heard in his dream. Or per- haps an excited memory of it, for the girl heard nothing. But it was so clear to him that he paused and listened; August 17,1929 even as the girl put out her arms to reach and repossess him, this stronger thing seized him again and drew him back. His face was still flaming, but he turned from her once more and picked up his pipes. As before, when she evoked the pool in the rocky holly, so now, when she evoked the vision of the height, the memories which she had awakened turned to music in his mind and not to any rebirth of their love. He perceived that there had been in that morning on the height something that was like a little part of the magic melody, and he was already striving to relate it. She looked at him in silence, and as she looked the blood receded from her face, and with it all her hope. Her figure seemed to diminish as she went away from him, and the glow of her vitality to sink and dim. “It is very plain,” she murmured, “that there are stronger gods than Aphrodite, and there is no reason why I should xeep on living.” iv ND as he watched her go, although he was still strongly under the spell of his enchantment, there began to rise in Creon something of that sense of shame which comes to all men who have rejected, for whatever reason, a genuine love; even a love they no longer want. The thing that possessed him, he had said and he felt, was greater than all lives or loves, but he himself was not greater. He him- self was a lesser thing. He could not phrase it to himself, but there began to plague him the sense that he had turned aside from the wide, warm current of the common life of men. The seizure itself was no less imperious and com- pelling, but he began to struggle against it now with a resentment that was to grow greater during the next en- suing hours. From this meditation, fraught with its unfamiliar won- der as to his own quality, Creon was recalled by a chuckle. He looked up, and then rose from the rock on which he had been sitting. Three men were regarding him from a little distance, and one who appeared to be the leader advanced toward him with a slight limp. “Are you Creon, the son of Duris, the farmer?” asked this man, managing to get something of a swagger into his manner in spite of his limp. He was a fat man, with gray hair and a red face which was a mask of impudent geniality. “Yes,” said Creon somewhat surlily. He dropped his hand to the long knife thrust through his belt, for in his world a stranger was a stranger. “Who are you?” “Nobody to draw steel on, lad,” said the fat man, standing still, but self-assured. “I’ve hunted you out to bring luck to you.” He attempted to put importance into his manner, but he remained a person whom anyone would have declined to trust, after one glance, with a purse, a wine cask or a wench. “To come to the point at once— as the juggler said when he swallowed the sword—I’m here, my boy, to make you as rich as a Persian. I hear you’ve got something new in the way of music. And there’s money in novelties if you know how to market them.” For all his talk about money, the man appeared not to have had any recent acquaintance with a surplus of it. He and his two companions were attired in worn buskins and sported weather-stained and tarnished cloaks that might once have been dyed purple, the remnants of a Grecian theatrical wardrobe. Even an island shepherd could tell that they had been everywhere and were probably going farther to fare worse. One of them was a plump and pimpled boy with curly hair and a fixed grin, and the other a leathery man almost as dark and slim as a strap of bull’s hide. This latter continually scratched himself, and Creon wondered if he were lousy. “Who are you?” repeated Creon, still sullen at this invasion. “T am Hyperbolus of Chios, the minstrel,” said the fat man with the limp, and waited for a sensation. But there was none, and he went on: “But many people call me Momus. It is a name,” he went on with sw~lling com- placence, “that got tacked onto me after I ware thrown out of the theater at Athens on account of jealousy. I suppose that I am even more widely known as Momus than as Hyperbolus.” And then he struck an attitude and de- claimed: ‘“‘The name that was given to me in jest I have made famous!” The pimply youth left off twiddling his curls, and the leathery man quit scratching his head, to applaud their chief, and their chief bowed to them as if they were a multitude. “Now, lad,” said Momus, “about this new music of yours—it’s a thing I can use if it’s really new. The Athenians are always running about looking for something new, even if it’s only a new fox-faced philosopher. We'll give your new performance a trial here in the islands—cuff it into shape, you know—and then take it into Athens in the autumn, about the time of the Saturnalia.” He drew (Continued on Page 121)

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——— THE SATURDAY EVENING POST oull Never Know What a Quiet Car You Have Until You've Had It Alemited -Try Ir! 51 Scientific Lubrication That Takes Out Embarrassing Squeaks and Squawks and Overcomes the Cause of 80% of All Repair Bills CAR that squeaks is more than an embarrass- ment to its owner. Squeaks mean burning friction. And friction means improper lubrication . . . . the cause of 80% of all repair bills. To quiet your car almost unbelievably, and _inci- dentally, to avoid a heavy repair bill later, have your car Alemited today. For this service, go to a genuine Alemite-ing Station; Not the unknown, irresponsible Greasing Station claiming “High Pressure Greasing."’ For special-type lubricants are required for the efficient operation of the Alemite equipment on your car. Remember that point in the maintenance of your car. Wrong-type greases or inferior greases are virtually as inefficient as NO lubricant at all. Look for Yellow Sign Those stations now are everywhere. The yellow sign shown here identifies them. Efficient mechanics serve you in those stations. Genuine Alemite Lubricants, especially for use in the Alemite Systems and developed by the makers of those systems themselves, are used in those stations. Consider what that means. Go to them for service. Ask to have your car Alemited You will find, like thousands of motorists every where have found, that Most Repair BILLs are avoidable. We Use Genuine Lubricants b | Alemite-ing Costs No More Than Ordinary Greasing ; feeeerereveera> . te - — *near ae? - i . a. rm ee Over 95% of the cars selling today, including wa the new Ford, are equipped with «ither the {2 Alemite or Alemite Push-Type System 7 Both are equally efficient. In buying Ale- E a | — . = ; j H mite fittings be sure that the word “Ale- ‘ + th sh ALEMITE mite” is stamped on the body a wn above ALEMITE PUSH TYPE “s Find, too, squawkless riding, longer car life and far greater pleasure from your car What Alemite-ing Conststs Of 1. Bearincs: Alemite High Press Lubricant forced into every vital chassis bearing with Alemite equip ment by expert Alemite mechani ry 500 mile 2. Gears: Differential and trans thoroughl flushed out by a special Alemite prox New Alemite Gear Lubricant forced in—every 2,500; 3. SprinGs: Springs sprayed wit rm | Alemite Graphite Penetrating Oil—every 50 Elim nating ALL spring squeaks and making the car run immeasurably smoother Wherever you see one of the sig ‘ lust drive your car in and try this service. \ vill notice an immediate difference in the way your car runs 7 + ry Alemite Corporation, Division of Stewart-Warner | 2640A N. Crawford Avenue, Chicago, Ill. Canadian f Canada Address: The Alemite Products Compan Ltd., Belleville, Ontario

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SOON TO BE ANNOUNCED AS STANDARD EQUIPMENT ON MANY OF THE FINEST CARS ovejoy SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17, 1929 Fine-car manufacturers are logically turning to Lovejoy Duodraulic Shock Absorbers for the reason that these double-acting hydraulics introduce an entirely new order of riding comfort and driving ease. They cushion both downward and upward action of car springs . and, now available in two different styles, they are easily adapted to any type of spring suspension. @ @ Like other famous Lovejoys which are standard equipment on millions of cars, Duo- draulics remain in constant adjustment. They give the same com- fortable ride, winter and summer; and, because all moving parts operate in oil, they outlast any car on which they are installed. @ In the future announcements of fine-car manufacturers, note how many of them feature the presence of Lovejoy Duodraulics. If the car of your choice is Duodraulic-equipped, rest assured that its makers have provided every essential for supreme riding comfort. DELCO PRODUCTS CORPORATION, DAYTON, OHIO ——

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————— — HE time seems to be gone when one must be a dodder- ing old man before he can truly say he has been a pioneer. I am fifty-two, and most of my pals of yes- terday and today are about the same age. Yet we've seen a great domin- ion transformed, and we have played our part in it from the start tothe be- ginning of the finish. It’s a long way from mushing a trail with a toboggan behind you to joy-riding by airplane in a couple of days from a Pullman train to a job of gold hunting in the wilderness of the subarctic, north of the northern lights. The transition of Can- ada from a negative place in the mining activities of the world to one where she threatens absolute supremacy has come about in little more than a quar- ter of a century. Early in this century a rip- roaring bunch of young fellows, most of us broke, all of us excited by the news of silver, moved up north to a new-found sil- ver camp called Cobalt. We came from every part of the world. There were Alaskan sourdoughs, fretful to repeat the luck of the Klondike and the Yukon. There were fellows from the gold camps of Colorado and Idaho. There were men from the African Rand and others from Australia. There were men from every possible line of occu- pation, among them Tom—Two- Bits— Cowan, who at that time knew a lot more about race horses than he did about prospecting. Tom and I were friends. We saw a lot of country after that, following the luck of the trail. Last year, far up at Baker Lake, in the very shadow of the Arctic Circle, with the white of the freeze-up upon the gaunt fierce- ness of the Barren Lands, I helped to load Tom into an airplane that was to rush him 1500 miles south to the transcontinental line of steel, that he might be taken to a hospital. Tom’s legs were lifeless from the knees down; after a storm-swept journey across the Barrens, in which his partner had died on the trail, he had reached the Revillon Fréres fur post at Baker Lake just in time to save his own life. Now he was on the way to the operating table. Over the Hill UT I didn’t think so much of that when the plane’s propeller began to spin and Capt. H. A. Oaks—we called him Doc—made ready for the long journey. It was something else—something, somehow, that seemed bigger. It was the fact that as Tom stumbled through the gray mist toward the post he halted and, reeling, looked in- tently toward the ground. Then he bent upon those hor- ribly frozen limbs and picked up a stone that strained at the remnants of his strength. “Looks like metal,’”’ he mumbled over his cracked, swollen lips. “‘I ought to take it in.” But the stone slipped from fingers long ago too weak for their burden. Onward he stumbled, at last to sink, uncon- scious, into the arms of those who ran to aid him. That made me think about something even greater than the finding of minerals or an old pal falling by the trail. It was about the thing that makes men go on and on, to the gates of death and through them, to “see what’s over the hill.” And I understood for the first time what makes nations. The Story of a Canadian Prospector, as Told to Courtney Ryley Cooper It is the ordinary opinion, for in- stance, that the present excitement over Canada’s mining is a flare-up. That is not true; everything that is happening in Canada has its roots in old Cobalt and the men who rushed there in 1905 and succeeding years upon the news of fabulous discoveries of silver; the rush did not come for some time after the camp’s discovery, more than a year in fact. Cobalt was an exceedingly lucky ac- cident. It was more than a silver dis- covery; it was a revelation in a new kind of prospecting, a kindergarten that would begin an education by which Canada might move into world impor- tance as a mineral producer. Before Cobalt, it is true, there had been gold mining in the West, and, for that mat- ter, other mineral exploitation both on the Pacific Coast and in the Maritime Provinces. But Cobalt wasa spectacular Fs pal aa A ; a = THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 53 camp in a land that was supposed to be compara- tively worthless. It proved that other dis tricts of swamp and rock and muskeg and tangled bush might also be valua- ble. Because of that, nearly 10,000 prospectors are search- ing over 2,000,000 square miles of land that once were called utterly useless. While they look for another Cobalt they are discovering enough other precious and base min erals to make Canada the most important mineral poten- tiality in the world. Hitting a Silver Mine on the Head BLACKSMITH named La Rose accidentally hit a rock witha hammer, in Cobalt, twenty-six years ago, thereby discovering silver. La Rose didn't even know the first thing about prospecting. He was a blacksmith, engaged at the thankless task of sharpening dril! steel for a government railroad that was bucking the frontier in an attempt to help the farmers, a number of whom had drifted northwest along a fertile clay belt and were calling for railroad as- sistance. The silver discovery was made while the road was still 150 miles short of its goal at Cochrane; where- upon it ceased to be a farmer's railway. Because of that accidental blow men are today flying the subarctic in search of new mineral discoveries; many of them are the same fel- lows who rushed into Cobalt twenty-odd years ago. That rush included men from every mining district in the world. But when these experienced prospectors reached Cobalt they found that everything they knew was useless. This was blind country. This was a different for- mation, where glaciers had ground down a whole mountain range to comparative flatness. Then ages of vegetation had covered it over. The mountain man—most mining had been done N until this time in mountainous country \ hardly knew which way to turn. Every- thing must be learned over again; it was different here from hill country where minerals have sent forth their telltales by pieces of float broken from the vein and carried downhill by every freshet, where one may learn the placer secrets of a district by panning the stream sands, or look over miles of territory from any mountain top. Here Nature had de cided to keep her ric hes a secret. The major portion of Canada’s mineral- bearing lands is a mass of bush and \ ’ 0 Lai Sat Pat aaET ON) Indians Packing Flour for a New Mine. In Oval — Canoeing on the Vermillion Riv er, @usbee. At Top —-An Otd:Time Piacer Prospector

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54 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST muskeg, swamps and lakes, mushy trails; one is closed in there; the only way he can see the country is by climbing a tree. It frightens a man from a different land; there is a supernatural! brooding about that wilderness, the mutter- ing of weird voices when the wind blows, a threat in every camp fire, danger in the sweep of the veriest white squall when the freeze-up closes in. There a prospector’s burro is his canoe on water, himself on the portage, bending beneath a pack which often ex- ceeds two hundred pounds, with the tumpline cutting into his forehead and the black flies gouging his flesh where the perspiration oozes from beneath the pressing leather. There the trees crash in violent winds, and the waves run white across the great lakes when the storms come, and no one is near to hear the cries for help as a desperate man hooks water in his efforts to send a frail canoe to shore. It is fearful country to him who does not know it; compasses often go awry from the pull of magnetic metals, suns blaze copper-hued when the forest fires rage, wolves shriek at night, their cries rising, note by note, until all of heaven seems a sounding box for their unearthly throats, It is no land for a tenderfoot even now; back in those days when Canada really ended a few miles north of what is now the center strip of population it was a country to be generally feared. A great many persons who rushed to Cobalt stayed there or merely followed the new mining camps as they sprang up. But there were others, among them my- self, who got the “feel’’ of hidden wealth. The Great Fire at Porcupine = was the big boom camp where the tough, lustrous ’ nickel-white metal lay in definite veins and where a man could work his claim from surface until he got enough money really to develop his mine. Cobalt was the cradle of today’s Canadian prospectors. Of course there are young men in the bush today, but, ten to one, they learned much of what they know from some older man who went up to Cobalt in the rush days of 1905 and 1906. After those years it was an emerging process in which other camps bloomed or died, and in which the spread of prospecting gradually moved north and east and west, until now it forms the greatest August 17,1929 history of every new mining camp in Can- ada is also a history of persons who died in the search for min- erals; I know one eamp today which is only three years old, but which, during its rush times, rolled up a death list of nearly fifty persons, drowned in treacherous rapids, trapped in forest fires, frozen to death or killed by other acci- dental means. Cobalt had its deaths among those who went alone into the bush; thus bringing the lesson that one should never travel without a part- ner. Porcupine had its death roll when the great forest fire of 1911 swept upon it. I know; I was there, working a claim some eighteen miles south of town. It was the night of July tenth, in 1911. The weather had been unusually warm for three days—stifling, in fact— with the smell of burning spruce gum heavy in our nostrils. Then that day the wind had risen, and by night the fire was on us. It was night, but it was daylight—darkness does not come until ten o’clock or later in that country. Suddenly an express train started to roar toward us from the distance, the thunder of its approach growing swiftly until it literally deafened us. The air became black — black with red stream- ers shooting through it like some strange form of fireworks; they were long shreds of birch bark, torn from blazing trees and careening upon the gale. My partner and I only Freighting With Dogs in the Barren Lands saw them momentarily; we were running for water, at last to reach an old beaver dam, slosh through it and flatten ourselves in the shallows against the opposite bank, below a rocky hill. Then the fire passed «1s like the express train its noises resembled, with flame stretching on before the main blaze as if straining against fetters. We gasped and clawed our throats; all the air seemed gone from the world. But at last we breathed again and, dodging the blazing trees, began our trip toward Porcupine. Death had reached there first—eighty-four in all. There were seventeen bodies in one trench up by the Dome prop- erties— sixteen men and a bear. Others were dead in the slime pond where they had waded to evade the flames; still others in shafts. And when the search of the country be- gan we truly realized what life in the bush meant. Here was the form of a man, untouched by flame, but dead from suffocation; farther on, a hum- area of gold-hunting activities in the history of the world. Last summer 8000 men were scattered through the bush of Canada; so great was the territory in which they worked that it was difficult to find more than a dozen of them together in the whole Dominion. A district of 2,000,000 square miles is a big place. Yet that is the area of the Pre- Cambrian shield of Canada, occupying al- most 85 per cent of the whole Dominion, and with a potentiality for mineral everywhere. By that I do not mean that all Pre-Cambrian rock—the oldest in the earth’s history—is mineral-bearing. But it is the best kind of rock in which to search for minerals, if that makes the distinction clearer. Gradually we edged out from Cobalt—we fellows who had got the urge sufficiently to overcome, the menace of the bush. We went in pairs or in even greater numbers; there's too much danger in doing otherwise. The mocked body in a swamp. A friend of mine started to clear some ashes from the edge of a pond and gasped with the realization that a dead man was staring up at him from be- neath the water. The forest itself was like a field of broken wheat; poplars were cut off in mid-trunk as if they had been hit by a giantsledge. Over by Red Stone we searched for the bodies of two prospectors. Finally I reached to the ground and picked up a watch. Then my partner found another. After that a thigh bone was revealed, then ribs and finally two skulls. Bears had been there be- fore us. Happenings like that slow up pros- pecting. Abandoned Prospects OT that such things make a coward of the prospector, understand. But they put a certain idea of impediments into his mind, the belief that he must stay compara- tively close to civilization. His reasoning naturally adopts the course that if such things can happen in the vicinity of camps, Mrs. H.A. Oaks, Mrs.jJohn E.Ham: melt, Mr.Hammell and Captain Oaks, Landing From New York at Red Lake, Ontario, 160 Miles From Steel, After a Trip Designed to Teach Prospectors That Airplanes At Left—About the Time a Main Street Springs Up, the Prospector Wants to Move Out if the wilderness begins immediately he leaves the little one-streeted, log-cabined town which forms a center, how on earth is he go- ing to induce persons to go a hundred or more miles deeper into the bush to develop a project? Many a good mining property has been found and abandoned in far-away stretches of Canada simply because the discoverer felt it useless to attempt to interest finance in his project. In fact, one can go into almost any area of Can- ada and find evidences of where some other pros- pector has been before him. A weed-grown test pit, a stretch of ground where the overburden has sa en gga been stripped from a vein, an ancient wooden wind- of Imeading ‘*¢ — jass made from the materials of the forest and still erness. with the rotted remnants of a moose-hide bucket clinging to tne disintegrated rope—one finds these things every now and then. It means that at some day in the past a prospector has wandered far off the beaten trail, carried on by his curiosity to see what is around the next bend, until he has got several hundred miles from a railroad. Then he has found a promising vein, worked it in the bright days of his enthusiasm and at last awakened to the (Continued on Page 127) a

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BUILDING THE FORTRESSES OF HEALTH One of a series of mes- sages by Parke, Davis & Company, telling how the worker in medical science, your physician, and the maker of med- icines, are surrounding you with stronger health defenses year by year. ———— . — een a's sf + a8 sy PS is ry Milk of Magnesia }/ scientifically made }“ . ¥. Parke -Davis quality is € reflected in even the 6,4 4 simplest preparation for Pet f. household use. For ex- ample, Parke-Davis Milk of Magnesia. Because of $f; the exceptional purity and stability of this prod- uct you can depend on it to be always medicinally active. It is snow-white, creamy-smooth, mild and } . ; agreeable in taste. Ask } y your druggist for a bottle and convince yourself of its excellence. A PARKE- DAVIS PRODUCT P= — a 4 ~ norr-enty aes THE SATURDAY EVENING POST A pistol cracked— a gangster fell The bark of a policeman’ s pistol shattered the stillness of the night in a mid-western city. A gangster crumpled to the pavement. “Quick, Jim,” yelled the sergeant, “get all he knows!” The patrolman felt the gangster 's heart. “Nothing doing, Sarge. I guess he's gone.” But a few minutes later an ambulance sur- geon injected a solution of Adrenalin into the gangster’s heart muscle. An amazing thing hap- pened. The heart resumed its beat, the appar- entiy dead man regained consciousness, and lived for three hours. During this period he gave the police information that led to the round-up of his gang. Adrenalin not magical Adrenalin is, among other things, a powerful heart restorer, and this true story is but a single example of its application. There is nothing magical about its effect either in the so-called revivals of the apparently dead, or under the less sensational circumstances in which physi- cians are using it every day. Year after year physicians are discovering new uses for Adrenalin, adding to the already impressive list of conditions in which its pow- erful effects can be tageously utilized. intelligently and advan- There is hardly a “tissue” of the body that is not affected by Adrenalin. But its manifestations are so various, and its effects so rapid and powerful, that no one but a physician can be expected to know when and where and how to use this remarkable drug. ’ oT o Parke-Davis laboratories in L901. It was the first of the gland Adrenalin was discovered in the chemicals to be isolated and made available for medical use. This epoch-making achievement paved the way for. and gave added zest to, the extensive researches that have since been car- ried on in an effort to ferret out the secrets of the other ductless glands. In all this work Parke-Davis scientists have kept constantly in the forefront. and ther contributions to this branch of medical knowl- edge continue to win the admiration of the scientific world. PARKE, DAVIS & CO. The world’s largest makers of pharmaceutical and biological products —=-- _— ad a

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56 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE WILD ONES By Ben Ames Williams CLINTON SHEPHERD ILLUSTRATED BY J. knoll on the shore of the Kennebec, overlooking the upper end of Merrymeeting Bay. The scene has many aspects. If the day be sunny, the autumn-tinted shore line forms a frame of beauty for the picture; if the sky is overcast, storm tingles in the air; when the wind blows cold, it bites as keenly as a knife; and when fog rests upon the water, it shrouds all in a cloak of cotton wool, bewildering the senses helplessly. But this was a starlit night. I had arrived an hour be- fore, in time for supper; now, bound for bed, I stopped for a moment on the veranda of the main camp to look out across the water; and Dave was at my side. The stars were bright in the blue-black sky; they were blurred images in the water which slid like oil along the bank at our feet. We could see the dark bulk of the island in midstream, and the low blur of the farther shore beyond. The tide was high, so that there was only the faintest shadow to mark the great marsh off the foot of the island; but from that direction I heard the calls of ducks, and since the air was utterly still, they seemed very near at hand. “Some of your decoys loose?’"’ I asked Dave; but he said in a hushed tone: “No, them’s the wild ones.” There was that in his voice which always dwelt there when he spoke this word. The wild ones! The black duck, shrewdest and wariest of woodland fowl. Fifty miles away in the South Bay at Portland they lay by hundreds alli the fall, and there they might feed from your hand. But here in Merrymeeting the same individual! birds were alertly vigilant, suspicious of the least displacement of the marsh grasses, pausing in their feeding to look keenly right and left, swim- ming to and fro with pump- ing necks ready for that instant convulsive leap which could set them a-wing at the least alarm. The wild ones! Strange creatures, fearless and fearful, too, with the scent of forest places on their wings. In captivity, I had heard, they would languish and die. Hatched from the egg beneath the feathery bosom of the most buxom and motherly barnyard hen, they were from birth as wild as if they had been incubated in the most remote of northern wildernesses. In them burned a sort of fire which only freedom could refuel, which flamed most brightly when like winged arrows they traversed the limit- less reaches of the sky. “The wild ones?” I repeated, echoing Dave’s word; and I asked: “Do they mix much with the decoys?” “They get to fighting,” Dave told me thoughtfully. “The tame ones get after them, pull and pluck and peck D= BINGHAM’S duck camps are set on a low Peter Mowry at them. Put a wild one in a pen with my decoys and they'll kill him, half the time.” I thought, on the way to bed, that there were men and women, too, to whom the or- dered and conventional world was pitilessly hostile; and the thought re- turned to me next day. We gunned from the point of the island— a Dave and I. The morning was misty, but as the sun lifted above the eastern hills these skeins of fog Ls thinned and vanished, and the marsh lay like dull gold in the slanting light. Out in the pond hole our decoys fed noisily; we could hear them splashing there. But there were no birds flying; and as cool dawn gave way to warm day, I lay half asleep under the lean-to on the shore, while Dave watched the skies. Then Happy Brash and Asa, who sometimes served Dave's guests as guides, came trudging along the shore; and I understood from the swift clack of talk that passed between them and Dave that they brought news. The three men stood together by the water’s edge, two or three rods from where I lay, and Happy spoke excitedly. I wondered indolently what it was that engaged them so. When Dave came presently to sit beside me I asked him. I had heard a name, and I repeated it. “Who is this Nita Mowry?”’ I inquired. Happy was bailing out one of the sneak boats with a sponge, dipping it in the bilge, squeezing it over the side; he heard my word, and he called to Dave defiantly: “Just the same, she’d ’a’ done better to stay here, I say! But Dave grinned, and shook his head; and he appealed to me. “I dunno,” he confessed. ‘‘How does it look to you?” I pointed out that I could speak with more authority if all the facts were first made clear, and Dave nodded. “You'd have to know the Mowrys to understand,” he decided. I reminded him that he might remedy my ignorance in that respect, and so he began to tell me about them. Once a lone duck flew up the eastern river, half a mile away. Once a cloud obscured the sun and a few drops of rain dimpled the water in the runways through the marsh. The rising tide chuckled and swirled in the drift of rubbish on the gravel beach at our feet. The wind began to blow from the southeast and I buttoned my coat more snugly. Dave, alert for birds, scanned the half circle of the horizon, and his tones ran soothingly. This Nita Mowry, he said, was a girl you would like; and he gave me bit by bit her portrait. The youngest child of the family, she must have been about sixteen when Peter August 17,1929 Mowry bought the Madder farm, a mile or two up the shore from Dave’s camps here. “And she was the best of them all,”” Dave assured me. ‘She was common, for one thing; friendly, and liked folks. And she had spunk in her too. More git-up-an’-git than the rest of them. She was good-natured, without being foolish in the way her ma was; and she was friendly without pushing her- self in. Kind of pretty, with black hair and blue eyes. That’s a combination always did strike me. But mostly it was just that you liked her, whatever her looks might be.” You liked her the more, he decided, because of the con- trast between her and the rest of the family. The Mowrys were stage folk by practice and tradition. They had moved in those lesser theatrical circles which have a dusty glam- our of their own, and which are as seductive if not as profitable as spheres more spectacular. Peter Mowry had played with Sothern in his day; he had slipped from that es- tate, but without forgetting his former grandeur. He was, Dave thought, well past fifty, and there must have been something of the old tradition in him. “‘Healwayssaid ‘muh’ when he meant ‘me,’’’ Dave remem- bered; and there were in his speech other mannerisms which seemed to the folk here- about absurd and full of af- fectation. Also, his dress =™ distinguished him unfavor- Mre. Mowry ably. He wore, habitually, a black coat and trousers long since shabby and disreputable; and while his neighbors wore old clothes, too, their garments had been rough even when they were new. There is something shameful in the spectacle of a black coat, once full of decent dignity, rubbed shiny at the elbows and spotted with the stains of the farm. Mrs. Mowry, likewise, had been an actress. She may once have been pretty, and no doubt still believed herself to be. Her eyebrows were plucked to a thin line, her man- ner was coquettish and gay, and her lips were bright with a color which her obvious years rendered ridiculous; and her eager, chittering friendliness made these country folk even more uneasy than did Peter Mowry’s stilted manner. “They were fair game,” Dave told me. “It was easy to make fun of them. Happy, over there, used to put on an imitation of old Pete that was real good; and I’ve seen him take off Mrs. Mowry, too, with a towel tied around him for a skirt, flouncing and giggling and twittering till you wanted to kiss him or kill him, sure.” Happy had come to sit beside us here, and he grinned cheerfully. “‘They never did belong around here,” he re- marked. And Dave nodded and went on. There was a son, he said, named Delbert. He had served in France and suffered one disastrous injury; his hearing had been destroyed and his voice was affected, so that he seemed at times to have an impediment in his speech. This disability was, it appeared, the family tragedy. Delbert had given promise of achieving a stage career of which they might all have been proud; his chances van- ished on a battlefield in France. His father and mother had centered all their anticipations in the young man; these hopes were ashes now. But if the blow had broken (Continued on Page 60) a eee

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aba a 1 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “the OAS A —» c¢ OWer Eeection pth »)? a Teme Development in Radio Progress Tue overwhelming success of the new Majestic models is easily explained. They embody perma- nent and necessary improvements in radio design. Two great problems were the target of Ma- jestic research this year. One was Noise—the constant hum, squeal and whistle that bom- Majestic attacked these problems with all its great engineering, scientific and experimental resources. Majestic engineers developed the re- markable new method of Power Detection—a complete answer to throttling noises and tone distortions. They invented Automatic Sensitivity barded old style radio. The other was Unequal Sensitivity —“fuzzy” reception on low wave lengths—lost range and power on high waves. All radio suffered from these troubles. Licensed under patents and applications of R.C. A. and R. FP. L., also by Lekti phone. Lowell & Dunmore and Hogan License Associates TUNE IN Majestic Theatre of the Air over Columbia and American Broadcasting Systems every Sunday night, 9 to 10 Eastern Daylight Saving Time. Head liners of the Stage and Screen S TIME PAYMENTS Time payments in the purchase of Majestic Receivers are financed through the Majestic Plan at lowest known rates Control which gives uniform power and range on all wave lengths. Now the new Majestics are wholly free from every hin- drance to natural musical reproduction. When you hear these new instruments you will recognize the wisdom of adher- CA _* Model 92 . . . Power Detection and the new ~45 tubes plus four tuned stages of radio frequency. Absolutely no hum and no oscillation at any wave length Automatic sensitivity con trol gives uniform range and power all over the dial. Improved Majestic Super-Dynamix Speaker. Heavy, sturdy Majestic power unit with positive voltage ballast. Jacobean period cabinet of American walnut. Doors of matched butt walnut with overlays on doors and interior panel of genuine imported Australian lacewood Escutcheon plate, knobs and door pulls finished in genuine silver ing to the path of true progress in radio. No mere novelty nor “catch-phrase” design could produce the glorious tone that swells from the new Majestics. This year, the Monarch of the Air is mightier than ever embodies the sound engineering and the far- seeing leadership that refuse compromise on any question of radio quality or design. You cannot buy finer radio than Majestic—no matter what price you pay. because Majestic Gricssy-Grunow Company, 5801 Dickens Ave. CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 SURPASSING EVEN CHRYSLER'S PREVIOUS BEST ensational new Chrysler” 77” and” 70— with new Multi-Range Gear Shit— usher in entirely new science of motor car design and construction NLY one short week ago all motor cars were basically very much alike. Today none can compare with the new Chrysler "77" and “70.” With their coming, a new era of automobile develop- ment begins, and motoring takes on an entirely new and more efficient aspect. Overnight Chrysler has outstripped the engineering practice of a quarter century. Overnight Chrysler has launched sensational new discoveries — the cumula- tive results of years of scientific research— which revolutionize the motor car, dwarf its previous per- formance possibilities and change completely all former judgment of what an automobile should do and can be made to do. With these latest creations of Chrysler's famous en- gineers, a new science of automobile building is ushered in—a science different in origin, in prin- ciple, in standards of efficiency and in its practical application to the transportation needs of the day. SYNCHRONIZED POWER SYSTEM In the Chrysler “77" and 70," from radiator to rear axle you have just one scientifically unified mechanism—the Synchronized Power System, conceived and engineered in its entirety by Chrysler = = The 7-bearing power plants, themselves, are new and larger in piston displacement than previous Chryslers. In the “77” full 93 H. P. is at your command; in the “70” you have 75 H. P. And Chrysler engineers have discovered a new way to de- velop, apply and control this vast power in a motor car. Energy is transformed into a force so mighty, yet so flexible, so wieldy, so great in scope and so low in waste thet all previous standards fail to offer a basis for comparison. And all this with an increase in gasoline economy and far less wear and tear on the mechanism. Where, in the past, driving had to be confined primari'y to one gear (the high), in the new Chrysler "77" and “70” you utilize a series of complete speed ranges. Each is ade- quate within itself. Each is designed to meet fully certain definite phases of motoring. Each affords a particular and necessary type of performance to master the complexities of modern motor travel= = Never before was such complete road mastery at the command of even the merest novice. MULTI-RANGE GEAR SHIFT The Chrysler-built Multi-Range Gear Shift is an important element of the Synchronized Power System. It is unlike any other gear shift, and it renders the control of a car far more simple, far more effective and immeasurably safer than ever before = = You shift through the gears, or back and forth between forward speeds at will— without clashing, with- out effort— silently, adroitly and with an effect as instantly responsive as if controlling power from a steam turbine. You are concerned solely with the conventional three forward shifts in normal driving. But what a magnificently greater and more competent range of performance you enjoy! ae

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Sa ON TR ec ern ar a en a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE New u ut THE NEW “” =" THE ~~ & A Starting Range with a top speed of more than 40 miles an hour. An Acceleration Range with a pick-up at all speeds up to more than 60 miles an hour —as swift as the flash of an arrow. Power and speed for the hills that literally reduce climbing time to half! Deceleration as instantaneous and posi- tive as if a brake were automatically applied. A floating Speed Range, swifter even than the fleetest previous Chrysler — with a vast reduction in engine speed that means far greater operating economy and longer life for the mechanism. And in addition, there are an auxiliary Heavy Duty Range which will fairly lift you out of the deepest sand or heaviest mire, and a Reverse Range in the conventional position. DOWNDRAFT FUELIZATION Quite as sensational an advance hes been made in carbu- retion— which accounts for the remarkable increase in power and the certainty and economy with which these new cars are fuelized. This is another notable example of Chrysler's pioneering in passenger car engineering = = An original system of Downdraft Carburetion — positively fed by a pres- sure pump—is introduced. Airplanes have had something similar but never before has a motor car. This vital feature is not merely a gravity manifold, but is a new principle of fuelization. SHORT TURNING RADIUS The turning radius is much shorter than in ordinary cars of equal wheelbase, adding materially tothe simplicity of parking. PARAFLEX SPRING SUSPENSION Contributing to still greater riding comfort is another striking advance —the Paraflex Spring Suspension— introduced for the first time in the new Chrysler "77" and”’70.” It absorbs torsional strains, pulses of unsprung weight, and deadens road impacts before they can be imparted to the car body. There are, also, new Chimney-Type Rubber Shock !nsulators. And, of course, hydraulic shock absorbers. controls rebounds by checking the im- DOUBLE-DROP GIRDER FRAME The extra-depth Girder-Type Double-Drop Frame, of exclusive Chrysler design, provides a lower center of gravity with- out reducing road clearance and forms a foundation able to withstand the torment of roughest roads and hardest usage. ARCHITONIC BODIES New in the science of their design and construction— im- portant in the contribution they make to automobile en- gineering — significant in the effect they are predestined to have on all future structural development are the bodies of these new and sensational Chrysler cars. Employing the new Architonic Principle, these bodies are structured like a dreadnought. Non-squeaking, non-rumbling, they possess immeasurably greater strength, afford the ut- most in safety, and provide increased roominess both in the tonneau and driver's compartment. Dimensionally, they have 3 inches more width, 3 inches more head-room and 3 to 5 inches more interior length (according to body styles). FITMENTS BY CARTIER (PARIS, NEW YORK) As for luxury and elegance, the new Chryslers leave nothing to be desired. Metal fitments executed by Cartier et Cie., famous Paris and New York jewelers; marvellously restful Jo seats with pillow-type upholstery; a front seat adjustable oth for leg length and pitch; a choice of four fabrics of finest texture —these are a few of the features that give to the new Chrysler “77” and “70” an air of refinement found ordinarily only in voguish custom creations. PENNON LOUVERS; CHROMIUM ARCHITRAVES Viewed from the outside, scores of new touches greet the eye. Pennon Louvers, arranged in a pleasing sweep along the hood, replace the conventional type. Sparkling chromium Architraves about the arched window reveals and dashing chromium belt moldings accentuate the lithe, well-propor- tioned body lines. Smart Sconce-type Lights mounted high on the pillars and matching headlamps harmonize with the rest of the car. And front and rear, clean-cut sheathing, con- cealing chassis protuberances, completes the well-groomed Small base wheels and 6-ply oversize balloon tires give the final touch of staunchness and competence. éppearance. OTHER EXCLUSIVE FEATURES In addition to the host of revolutionary original features, the new Chrysler "77" and “70” embody such other noted and exclusive Chrysler advancements as: Chrysler weather- proof internal-expanding 4-wheel hydraulic brakes; !so-therm Invar Strut Pistons; Scientifically Counter-weighted 7-bearing Crankshafts, dynamically and statically balanced; Non- wearing chilled Cast-lron Face Tappets; Crankshaft Impulse Neutralizer; Self-Contained Rifle-Drilled Oil passages in cylinder block; Rubber Engine Mountings; Body Impulse Neutralizer; Air Cleaner; Oil Filter; etc., etc., etc. THE NEW LOW-PRICED CHRYSLER SIX The new six-cylinder Chrysler "65", in its own field, achieves results fully as revolutionary as the "77" and “70” achieve in theirs. Producing so remarkable a car to sell for so low a price ranks as the greatest manufacturing triumph of Chrysler's history — a triumph that will completely revise prevailing ideas of what this moderate price can buy in an automobile. The new “66” overshadows price competition as completely as the larger Chryslers overshadow all com- petition. It is typically Chrysler in performance, in beauty, in stamina — and at the lowest price«of any six to bear the name of Chrysler. an - 2 SEE THEM— DRIVE THEM— TEST THEM Truly, the new Chryslers surpass all previous Chrysler creations as decisively as former Chrysler achievements heve outdistenced all their contemporaries. They are not in any sense improvements or elaboretions of what has gone before. They ere new-— basic- ally, fundamentally, scientifically. Chrysler dealers in all parts of the country are displaying and demonstrating these sen- sational new cars. On their behalf we in- vite the public to view them. Ride in them — drive them and d over kk r yourse If what en epochal contribution thry make to the problem of present-day individualized transportation. ae, ag,

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60 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 56) them, it had worked an uglier change in Delbert himself. He was, Dave said, of an evil temper, easily provoked, ready for rage at any minor irritation. ““And you didn’t want any trouble with him,”’ Dave assured me. “‘He was tough as wire and ugly as a bull.” And the two daughters. Mary was close to thirty, Dave guessed, when they first appeared in the neighborhood. 4 natural-born old maid if there ever was one,” he said. “She'd been an actress, like her ma; and she wrote poetry. She'd wrote whole plays in poetry, I heard. I guess she didn’t get much chance to act in them, though, from what they said. It looked like she had always been right on the edge of getting a chance, only some hard luck come along.” ‘They hadn't any secrets from you ali,”’ I remarked n some amusement; and he grinned then he come cruising up through here and went to Paul Blake in Brunswick and ‘lowed he wanted to buy a farm on the bay shore. Zeke Madder wanted to sell. He had about seventy acres, not good for anything except to cut a little hay and raise a few potatoes; and the house was in bad shape, and there wasn’t any timber on the place; only hoop poles. It might have been worth seven-eight hundred dollars. But Blake got Pete Mowry to pay twenty-one hundred for it, and Zeke got out and they moved in.” “With their ducks?”’ I asked. “They bought them after,” Dave told me. “I’d have sold them some at a fair price, but they went to Portland and paid more.” They moved in at the farm, he repeated, and patched the roof in some rude fashion, and knocked together rough August 17,1929 and his pa set out to do all the outside work. There was a bunch of alders to get out of the way for their duck pens and they read in a book that you could pull up alders by the roots. Well, you can, in the springtime, when the frost is coming out; but they couldn’t wait for spring. So they borrowed a cranky-old horse from Joe Bellows and tried it, Delbert driving the horse. I told you Del was ugly. One day he hit the horse a clip with a stave pole, and the critter lifted on him. Caught him right in the chest and caved in his ribs, and Delbert died of it.” I made some rueful sound, but Happy Brash at my elbow whispered sharply: ‘‘H-sh!” So we sat listening. The wind was from the southeast, but some murmur came across the wind to us. I could not at first define this note in the air, but Dave said swiftly: “*Geese, b’gosh!”’ And he got to his feet, “Mrs. Mowry did a lot of talking,” he explained. “So there wan't much about them we didn’t get toknow. Theway we heard t, old Pete had lost his job and couldn't get a new one, and Mrs. Mowry the same. She said the theater people wanted silly girls now in- stead of women of intelli- gence; she said there was a cult of youth in the the- ater. That was the way she put it. She said that she for one, wouldn't ever play grandmothers! I told her one day that most women come to that if they lived long enough; and she kind of giggled and said ‘Why, Mr. Bingham!’ like I'd shocked her, or some- thing.” I nodded. These figures whom he painted were clear enough to me. “Mary couldn’t get a job,” he continued. “‘ And Nita wouldn’t.”” He chuck- led. “I told you Nita had brains,”’ he reminded me. “Mrs. Mowry used to com- plain a lot about Nita be- ing so selfish. She said Nita could have done any- thing she wanted on the stage. But Nita, the way Mrs. Mowry told it, had kind of give the theater business the go-by. She ‘lowed it hadn't ever got her pa and ma anywhere, and it didn’t look good to her.” Dave thought that Nita must have been subject to daily recriminations be- cause of this dereliction. He said that it was prob- ably toescapethis constant blame that she spent more time among her neighbors than did the rest of the family. ‘She was a mighty pretty little thing,”’ he explained. “And always stood tautly there. Happy and Asa and I remained motionless, only our eyes moving; but I heard, after a moment, a ringing and sonorous call descending from the skies. ““Y ouever get geese here, Dave?” I whispered, pulses pounding. “Haven't shot a goose in the bay for twelve years,” Dave confessed; and he added whisperingly: “There they are.” They came down the west side of the island, fly- ing low and heavily, with lagging wing strokes as though weary. I counted nine in the line. They were not two hundred yards away, and I could see their heads turn as they scanned the wide marsh below us here. “Don’t move,” Dave warned, and we did not move. I could feel Happy Brash trembling with ex- citement by my side. The geese swung in over the marsh. ‘‘They’re tired!”” said Dave. Our decoy ducks in the pond hole babbled childishly, and the geese circled once above them. Then with loosely flapping wings they settled; their pinions hooked as they glided downward. Within a min- ute after their first appear- ance they dropped into a patch of open water in the marsh; and Dave bent double, darting toward the sneak boat on the shore, whispering eagerly to me: “Come on. Come on.” We had only the one boat; so Happy and Asa had to stay in furious re- gret ashore while Dave sculled me through the grass toward where the geese had lighted. I was as keen as he. A black figuring up good times and getting up parties, and so on. She got some of the young ones to do a kind of show at the Methodist Church supper one night, and she did a dance herself that I liked all right; but it shocked a lot of them. And she could play the piano too. She got a job playing the piano at the mov- ies. I guess they needed the money pretty bad at home.” There was something incongruous and pitiful in the pic- ture which he drew. “What ever brought such people way up here?” I asked, and Dave began to fill his pipe. “Pete Mowry planned to raise ducks,” he told me. “I never could see that he knew anything about ducks either. I dunno as he ever met up with a duck before it was cooked, till he come here. Far as I could find out, someone told him there was a lot of money in ducks; so he bought him a book that told how to raise them, and “This Lewis Come Up Here Again the Day After. I Drove to Town That Day, and I Saw Him and Nita Down on the Shore at Her Place” pens; and they bought some ducks before they were ready properly to house the birds. “But they hadn’t ought ever to have come up here,” he remarked thoughtfully. “They weren’t fit for it. You could see that from the start. There was something curious about all of them. It made you kind of uncomfortable, whenever you was with one of them. You looked for them to have trouble; and when they did, you felt sort of satis- fied, as if it had happened the way it ought to.” He hesi- tated. “The way my ‘coys act to a wild one,” he commented, half to himself. “They did have trouble, then?” I inquired. “Trouble, yes,” Dave assured me. “Nothing else. And it didn’t wait long to begin. I told you about Delbert, and that ugly way he had, flaring up at anything. Him duck is one thing, but a goose is a dozen. This was luck, and my pulses pounded. I lay flat on my back, craning my neck to peer over the low bow of the boat as we approached the birds. I saw them at last, the old gander with watchful head held high; and we moved toward them, barely drifting. The moment seemed interminable till at last they rose, at long shotgun range. I sat up to fire, and Dave’s gun boomed above my head. The air was full of laboring wings; it rang with their desperate cries, and our guns were clam- oring. One great splash, another, and a third. We picked up three geese, and Dave turned the boat toward shore. The six other birds had circled a mile away to the eastward; and I watched them, and so did Dave. They swung slowly back toward us, and Dave stopped the boat and we lay still as logs. The six came nearer along the Continued on Page 64)

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| 1F vouvE SWOT. Off corree... THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 61 SWCalr back Ol) acain: > 1929, S. C. Corp. EVEL once more in coffee! Yield to its tempt- ing fragrance! Forget the hour—let its spicy flavor and steaming warmth lure you to a second cup. For it is not the coffee, but the caffein in it that made you give up coffee. And now you can have coffee without caffein’ s effects. Drink Sanka Coffee —genuine, delicious coffee from which 97° of the caffein has been removed. And such delicious coffee! Take one sip of Sanka Coffee and you'll wonder why you didn’t try it long ago. Nothing is added to it—from it only caffein, the frequent cause of nervousness, indigestion, sleeplessness, has been removed. And remember this! Caffein doesn’t even contribute that immediate sense of satisfaction a cup of coffee gives. The cheer and comfort you so enjoy come from its satisfying warmth and welcome flavor. The choicest of Central and South American coffees and the most skillful roasting and blend- ing produce Sanka’s marvelously rich flavor and temptingly fragrant aroma. Coffee experts rec- ognize that no other blend is finer. And Sanka Coffee is equally delicious hot or iced. Judge for you rself! Physicians here and abroad endorse Sanka Cof- fee whole-heartedly. Your grocer or delicatessen carries it—ground or in the bean and in pound cans that preserve its freshness and its fragrance. He sells it on this money-back basis: “If, after a thorough trial, you are not fully satisfied, return what's left and we'll cheerfully refund the full purchase price.” Revel in coffee once more—coffee shorn of all possibility to harm —full of power to delight. Geta pound of Sanka Coffee this very day! If, by any chance, your dealer does not yet carry Sanka Coffee, send 75 cents and your dealer’s name and address to the Sanka Coffee Corp., 1 Joralemon D St., Brooklyn, N. Y., and a pound will be sent you postpaid. + S$ANKA COFFEE Genuine Delicious 7 With o7: ve N L 97% OF 1 A > CFFEIN ‘pemove?> > y ol The first om y n't keep ¥ u i ht! on r frer ; pat mie all knot o a t mornine _ disco™ ed ua ve RA ai nce. that you njo’ morn exper Je you can ret! licrous cof without PMs yht noon and me

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CHRYSLER “77” DODGE BROTHERS SENIOR MAKING QUALITY RUN THE A Chrysler Motors car body is placed in a compart- ment walled with steam pipes. The door is closed, the steam turned on, and the mercuryin the thermometer mounts to « blistering temperature. Only the finest materials can withstand the ravages of this terrific heat test. Thisis on!y one of several severe body material tests A certain color lacquer is used on Chrysler Motors cars. A sample of this is periodically subjected to the Violet- Ray test. Day in and day out, the beams of a Violet- Ray machine beat upon a piece of metal finished with this lacquer to determine its non-fading properties. Several years of summer sunshine are thus duplicated. iil lacquer used must successfully withstand this test. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST All branches on the same tree; all growing out of the Chrysler root principle of standardized quality CHRYSLER IMPERiAL CHRYSLER “70” DE SOTO SIX FARGO TRUCKS and COMMERCIAL CARS CHRYSLER MARINE ENGINES All Products of Chrysler Motors If the world’s worst driver could take a car built by Chrysler Motors and drive it for days of the worst weather over thousands of miles of the world’s worst roads, he could not even approxi- mate the punishment inflicted in the Chrysler Motors Engineering Building. A few hectic hours in this great laboratory, running the gantlet of all its unique testing apparatus, equals a lifetime of abuse and hardship on the roadways of the world. The Engineering Building is a great scientific censor —harsh, rigorous, fault-finding. Through it all materials must pass before they qualify for use in Chrysler Motors products. It is a defi- nite assurance that every Chrysler Motors car will always be as fine, competent and trouble- free as its builders can possibly make it. CHRYSLER MOTORS . oN 7 ——— A car is picked at random from the assembly line at one of the Chrysler Motors plants. It is anchored over a series of eccentric rollers, called a Belgian Roll, then run under its own power. Road conditions far worse than those of the western front in war-time are here simulated to be sure this typical car is flawlessly made, and just as flawlessly assembled. BETTER yi eo a ee ee SERV I August 17,1929 CHRYSLER “66” DODGE BROTHERS SIX PLYMOUTH DODGE BROTHERS TRUCKS, BUSES and MOTOR COACHES GANTLET A special make of chromium-plated doorhandles is suggested for adoption by a Chrysler Motors unit. Before determining on its fitness, Chrysler engineers submit this handle to the salt spray test. Samples are lashed for hours by a strong saline bath. Only if they survive without corrosion, are they eligible for use. Comes a shipment of rubber for use as engine mount- ings. At random, several specimens are selected and roasted for hours at a time in the rubber-ageing ovens Then they are tested for ‘'strength’’ and "‘stretchability’” in tensile machines to prove their quality under the most severe conditions. Only by such drastic methods can Chrysler Motors insure the utmost in quality.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST oe . 3 7 3 o. NS ‘4 SUSTAINING WELL-MERITED PUBLIC CONFIDENCE There could be no more convincing in- dorsement of the fundamental excellence of Dodge Brothers products than the fact that thousands upon thousands of persons who drove the first automobiles this company ever produced are still driving Dodge cars. Throughout the great evolution that auto- motive engineering and design have experi- enced in the last fifteen years, these stead- fast owners have had implicit confidence in Dodge Brothers ability to keep ahead of the times — implicit confidence that every good thing in motoring would be theirs at the lowest possible price consistent with a sound business policy of highest integrity. The New Dodge Brothers Six —handsome, powerful, durable—up to the minute in all its appointments—is the latest and finest proof of this company’s intent and ability to keep faith with the public at all times. Convenient Terms 5 Ss P RO D NEw DonGe BROTHERS sme IX

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FREE! A whole week's better shaves. Just mail the coupon below. \U) COLGATE LATHER Colgate's lather | great- lt. magnified) showing moisture contact with beard and minimum aw 4 common-sense principle, scientifically authenticated and proved out by millions of men. (We ORDINARY LATHER Ordinary, vig-bubble lather (greatly magni- fied). Note air-filled bubbles which can't sof- ten the beard sufficient- ly. Only water can do the job. Only small bubbles permit suffi- clent water. THE SATURDAY Does Your Morning Shave Last as Long as You Wish? Now millions of men can answer “yes” because they’ve adopted small-bubble lather. HAT a satisfying morning shave ... when you know it’s close enough to really last. No supper-time worry as to whether you need a second shave. No evening embarrassment. That satisfac- tion is known to every man who uses Colgate’s small-bubble lather. He mois- tens his beard scientifically, so it comes off close ... that’s why his shave is longer- lasting. Small bubbles moisten the hairs at their base, as big bubbles can’t. Compare with ordinary lather We invite a critical comparison—your present lathering contrasted with the Colgate way. The minute you lather up with Col- gate’s, two things happen: 1.—The soap in the lather breaks up the oil film that covers each hair. 2.—Billions of tiny, moisture-laden bubbles seep down through your beard . each whisker .. . soak it soft with water. Instantly your beard gets moist and pliable . . . limp and lifeless . . . scientifi- cally softened right down at the base... ready for your razor. Thousands of men, after various trials with ordinary lathers, have adopted Colgate’s as supreme. To prove its supe- | riority, mail the coupon below. We will send also, a sample of After-Shave, a new lotion—refreshing, delightful... the perfect shave finale. NS ~ han? — cape hae ites a COLGATE, Dept. B-1727,595 Fifth Avenue, New York In Canada, address Colgate, Toronto 8, Ontario Please send me, FREE, the seven-day trial tube of Colgate’s Rapid Shave Cream; also a sample bottle of “After-Shave.” Name Address . . crowd around | || EVENING POST (Continued from Page 60) foot of the island; they saw us and veered warily away from us, toward the shore line, where Happy and Asa waited with their ready guns. I heard the shots, saw the old gander let go in the air. He turned end over end, he became a ball of feathers, the water leaped under his fall. Five geese flew heavily away, swinging downstream; and by the time we came ashore, where Happy grinned triumphantly, the birds were no more than specks above the distant fringe of trees. There is a tremendous intoxication in the hunt; but these huge gray-feathered forms stretched here upon the strand would no more trumpet their challenge from the sky; and I was not so sure I preferred them as the rumpled carcasses they were now become. Dave and Happy and Asa had no such reluctance, and their exultation wearied me. They regretted that there had not been another boat; they guessed where the five survivors had gone and whether they would return. And I was glad when I was able to bring Dave back at last to this matter of Nita Mowry; to this tale which | he had a while ago begun. The case of the Mowrys was hopeless from the first, he insisted; these outlanders were unsuited to survive in the surround- ings they had chosen. “I’ve see others try it,” Dave declared. ‘‘And most generally it ends the same way. Their money runs out and they go back to the city, and that’s the end of them around here.” But old Peter Mowry, in his dingy black coat, with his stilted speech, was peculiarly helpless in his new environment. “You can’t talk high-flown to a duck and do yourself any good by it,” Dave re- minded me. “ Ducks take some knowing, and you can’t take a sick duck and show him a nice book and make him get well. Oh, they scraped along, but outside of what Nita earned, playing the piano, they didn’t have much coming in. Time they’d | been here, say a year, they begun to owe | money at the store. Nita earned a little by her piano playing, and she used to sew for folks too. She helped out Mrs. Bing- ham once with some dresses she was mak- ing; and she used to come down here some- times to see the way I did with my ducks. She had sense enough to know she didn’t know anything, but she begun to learn. Yes, sir, I liked her; and Mrs. Bingham liked her too. I brought her out here one | day and she shot a duck, nice as you'd want; picked him out of the air like a good one.” But the burden was too great fer her to bear alone, he told me; and with Delbert dead, there was no man about the house fit for heavy work. Old Peter was brave enough, but he lacked that wit in his fingers which a man who works with his hands must have. “He couldn’t even chop wood,” Dave in- sisted. ‘“‘He couldn’t milk a cow. And it took him the whole forenoon to pick a duck, | and then it looked like a pup had chewed at it.” So, by a process of enforced adjustment, | Nita began to assume a major share of the | responsibility for the ducks. Mrs. Mowry and Mary took care of the house, and Mrs. Mowry spent her spare time chattering querulously to her neighbors, and Mary wrote her futile poetry, and wore a ribbon round her hair like a fillet, the summer long. **Nita did more than the both of them,” Dave calculated. ‘“She’d work all day around the farm, and the nights there was a picture she’d play the piano; and once some actors come and give a show here and she played for them too. And she had time to be friendly with folks. The boys all liked | her—the young fellows her own age. And she liked them, the way it looked. But | never one of them any more than the | others.”” He shook his head, smiling with a curious regret. ‘‘Some folks looked for her | tomarry, but it was Mary that got married, in the end.” This older sister was, he explained again, a straw-colored, futile woman, with her August 17,1929 fillet round her brow, and her haunted eyes, and her way of speaking in poetic phrase. But in the second year after their coming, romance somehow touched her. “Women are that way,’’ Dave suggested. “They'll go along for years, and you see them every day and never think about them; and then all of a sudden you notice they’ve got a kind of look, and you wonder whether maybe they may not be pretty nice after all. A lot of marrying comes out of that look in a voman, I always "lowed; and specially when she’s along in her thirties, the way Mary was.” She married Will Russell. No one knew how they first encountered, or what their courtship was. Will lived alone on a re- mote farm, at the end of a swampy road almost impassable in bad weather; and he used sometimes to drive to town, and some- one remarked that he began to go home by the shore road, past the Mowry place. Then someone else saw him stopped there, Mary standing at his wagon wheel. There was mirth at this; but Will himself kept a stolid silence till a certain day when he visited the town clerk’s office, and then called for the minister and drove down to the duck farm again; and that night Mary went home with him in the creaking old wagon, sitting proudly at his side. “Anything to get away from the drudgery at home,” I suggested. “Well, I guess any woman wants some marrying in her life,’”’ Dave reflected. “‘ But Will Russell wasn’t one you’d think a poet would pick on. Will’s all right, but there ain’t any more poetry in him than a yoke of oxen, I could ever see.” We heard shots far down the bay, and hushed to listen. “Someone else got a crack at those geese?”’ Dave hazarded. Happy Brash twitched avidly. “I'd like to see them come back up this way,’’ he declared; and Asa nodded his agreement with this sentiment. I held other hopes. I had slain enough geese for this day. Dave filled his pipe slowly and went on. “Then the second year they were here,” he said, “old Pete got killed.” “He too?” “He didn’t know anything,” Dave re- minded me. “Not anything at all. He didn’t belong here, any way you look at it.” “What happened to him?” “Why, some of his ducks got away, down river,” he explained. “It was in a snow- storm, and fog and all, along in March. Pete had an old skiff, and he set out to hunt for therm. There was a big tide running, and wind and snow, and you couldn’t see anything; and Pete didn’t know his way around. I always figured he got lost, and rowed too hard, till he kind of petered out. Heart or something. We hunted for him all that night, a lot of us. Nita come down and got me to help. But it was still snow- ing, and the river full of slush ice, so it was like rowing in mud, and we didn’t find him. They picked him up down at Bath, in the harbor, the day after. In the skiff; and it half full of water. They figured he’d been dead since the night before.” We were silent for a moment, considering this tragedy; and before I could speak again, Happy Brash whispered tensely: “There they come!” I looked where he pointed, down the bay. Three wide-winged forms labored toward us, still a mile away; but already their lonely cries came faintly to our ears. “Only three!” Dave pointed out. “‘The boys down below must have got a couple.” “Why don’t they get out of here?’’ I ex- claimed. ‘‘Why do they hang around?” “They'll stay a week, sometimes,”” Dave assured me. “Trying to find the old gan- der. These are goslings, likely. They’ll wait around till someone gets them, unless another bunch of wild ones comes along.” Happy’s eyes were fixed on the three birds, now abreast of us above the eastern river; but the geese flew out of sight past the point of the island, their mournful cries coming more and more faintly to our ears. I knew a deep relief when they were gone. (Continued on Page 133) aN ope “tame.

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Gate Tieeeiny: 2 - THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Fo In building a motor car, everything begins with engineering. No amount of pains in the selection of materials, no amount of skill in workmanship, no amount of care in inspection will take the place of sound, progressive engineering design. Oldsmobile recognizes this fundamental truth. And in order that its engineering may be of the finest, Oldsmobile has brought together a staff of talented and experienced men —and placed at their disposal every aid to modern engineering. The creative thinking which makes Oldsmobile a car that does all things well is the product of a group which is not dominated by indi- vidual opinion. Any and every idea is given full consideration, so that the best may be selected through a long process of testing, proving, and comparing of results. Changes in Oldsmobile design are always made for the sake of progress—never for the sake of change alone. On the Oldsmobile staff are experts in every branch of automotive engineering—men who have demonstrated creative ability along many lines. They are keenly sensitive to the requirements of the modern motorist. Their greatest joy lies in accomplishment. Their highest O.L DS MO BEL 65 ambition is to contribute some new advancement to Olds. mobile and, through Oldsmobile, to the motoring public. At the command of these men are all the vast resources of Oldsmobile and General Motors. They work in their own complete and fully-equipped engineering and research labora tories, drawing upon the experience of General Motors Research Laboratories and availing themselves of the skill of Fisher artist-engi neers. And, day in and day out, month after month, these Oldsmobile engineers prove the products of their efforts by the facts developed in gruelling tests on the great General Motors Proving Ground The ever-increasing success of Oldsmobile is evidence of the ability of these men. Brilliant engineering is responsible for Oldsmobile’s efliciency and dependability—for its spirited performance and restful comfort — and for the low price at which these fine car qualities are ay ailable. Oldsmobile is dedicated to quality manufacture, to honest adver- tising and selling, and to a broad, sincere service policy. But first of all, and above everything, Oldsmobile believes in sound, progressive engineering as the foundation on which to build. E R

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The evening had been decorously spent, Mr. Hemingway pledging his guests in a grape-juice punch untainted by anything alcoholic. Dinner the host enlivened with pithy résumés o/ late shrewd business coups and an inside history of the B. and J. ditch litigation which had threatened to rend asunder both social and fiscal Branlock. He talked well and steadily and Miss Ellis tried to seem interested. But Doyle wore a better semblance of attention because she was listening with a strained look to the cries of her child perishing in the flames. After dinner Mr. Hemingway had shown Miss Ellis through his house and spoken of the melancholy endured since his bereave- ment; also of his belief that the home needed a guiding hand. He had stopped tactfully on this, somewhat to the relief of his guest. He was no raffish pawer nor even a premature hand holder such as Miss Ellis had more than once in her social ca- reer been obliged to put right. She was profoundly impressed. This was serious indeed. And the man really had fine eyes; not a day over thirty-five or per- haps thirty-six, with engaging features and hair still adequate, although perhaps a shade or two off the original tint. Miss Ellis demurely said, ““One does, doesn’t one?” te Mr. Hemingway’s not too pointed assertion that a man missed something, however competently he might be looked after by servants. She saw herself as the guiding hand in this establishment, the ful- fillment of a girlish dream that had been hers while yet she toiled uncongenially the half of every twenty-four hours-—if lucky with cases. Here was the substance of her dream being delicately proffered. And yet —— Perversely she now felt herself being fed up with Mr. Hemingway’s line. “His talk weighs so gosh-awful much,” she confessed to Doyle that night. “‘Do you guess he ever gets a good laugh out of something?” This was unjust, because the man laughed heartily after telling how he had, by one clever move, brought the Second National unscathed out of the B. and J. ditch muddle It was Burton G. Hemingway who came to the Lone Tree ranch for Miss Ellis on the night of the Carcross housewarming. As he protected her with the rug in his car beautiful, she knew she would be asked to make a momentous decision. She wished to heck she knew her own mind better. In short, she wished she didn’t wish that she might be stepping out with a live one in- stead of being seriously and distantly re- spected. Her escort jested, as they went, about latter-day fortunes that were not accu- mulated by careful attention to a sound banking or other business; those huge accumulations coming—and often going — as if by magic. “Carcross is a worthy soul,”’ he observed, “but a child about money.” “*He’s the salt of the earth,” said Miss Ellis, being ill prepared to hear any criti- cism whatsoever of the gentleman named. “I should be the last to deny that, little woman "’— Miss Ellis had always hated be- ing called “little woman”—‘“but I am wondering if he has realized to what an ex- tent his father-in-law’s operations are in- volving him. Only yesterday I ventured the liberty of dropping him a hint, but he chose to ignore it. I sincerely trust he doesn’t at some near date have a rough awakening. The old general is so child- ishly optimistic: and, of course, we bankers are compelled to be conservative.” Mr. Hemingway chuckled wisely. “One must be, must not one?” Miss Ellis replied. “Capitaliy put, little woman!” And the speaker ventured a liberty not precisely gross, yet without precedent in their ac- quaintance: He leaned toward her and approvingly patted a hand. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST LONE TREE (Continued from Page 30) They were within the outthrust brilliance of lights from the Carcross mansion. Mr. Hemingway parked his car among many others, and slangily said of certain fortunes as they ascended the steps, “Easy come, easy go!” And now they entered a scene of splendor not before paralleled in modest Branlock— “‘Not even in the seven surrounding coun- ties!" as the Branlock Advertiser would put it in its next issue. The editor of this journal was himself present with his wife— Addie knew her onions so far. The new- comers seemed to be about the last of the elect twenty, Miss Ellis having been de- layed by readjustments of her New Art wave, secured that afternoon at the Glori- ana Beauty Shop. There were gentlemen in every scheme of dress, from what the visibly uneasy wearers would themselves have called soup and fish, to “‘a good plain business suit, durn it—and Ben’ll think it’s all right, whatever Addie says to it. Gosh, I’ve seen the time he didn’t have as good a one.”” There were ladies whose raiment was kin to the splen- dors of that waxen houri of the show window, others who had consulted—and profited by—the mail-order catalogues. There was even a conservative or two, of riper years, standing pluckily by their con- viction that “a good black silk” was good enough for any party—or any funeral. Plainly, men and women alike found the rooms rather dark-colored, and not as lit up as they might have been. There was also, somehow, a sort of shushing suggestion about that receiving group—Addie and Vannie and Gail, Mrs. St. John Smythe and Hercule, all wearing imported clothes, countenances and manners—to which the free spirit of the West reacted with a little added loudness in greeting and subsequent speech. P. J. Snell, M.D., believed himself to be rescuing Ben’s party from absolute extinc- tion; as Miss Ellis and her escort turned from greeting their hostess and her friends the doc arose from his post near a table in the imperial drawing-room where cocktails were being dispensed, and advanced upon them, a fragile glass in each hand. Miss Ellis cordially accepted one of these. “T fear it may contain alcohol,” sug- gested Mr. Hemingway, but she was al- ready sipping from the glass. “What did you think a cocktail has in it?”” demanded Doc Snell, his beard and stiff gray hair seeming to bristle with scorn. Miss Ellis continued to sip, receiving, mean- while, greetings from the dapper Hercule and a glance of significant approval from his mother. “The party has begun.” This was boomed from Bill Hepburn. who had ap- parently long been stationed by the cock- tail table. “He’s the biggest thing you ever saw that wasn’t incorporated,’’ Doc Snell told the near-by guests. Mr. Hepburn eased his bulk closer to the table and thrust another cocktail upon Miss Ellis, remarking aloud that a bird couldn’t fly with one wing and, in a lower tone, that this was undoubtedly the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Ben appeared with Whitey. Whitey was attired in what is often described in print as “faultless evening dress.” Its faults were not remarkable and rapidly became less manifest as cocktails were relayed be- yond the crowding guests. Aloof from the surge, Professor Aber- crombie engaged Doyle—effective in pale green—in sedate talk. Bill Hepburn found the moment ripe for song and begged Doc Snell to blend a tenor with him. The per- turbed hostess on the outskirts of the merry group, not without memory of other though far less important occasions on which Mr. Hepburn had been a Carcross guest, reached hastily out and pressed a button. In almost instant response to the sum- mons a figure appeared in the archway that led to the dining room. Ben noted that Addie had secured an undoubted butler—a tall, austere person with an almost saturnine face and military precision of bearing. Ben felt proud of Addie. Branlock had never seen a butler like this save in pictures. On the hush that greeted his appearance, the butler spoke. Without rancor, in the passionless but inexorable tone of one pro- nouncing sentence on culprits against whom he felt no personal grudge, he said “‘Madam is served.” “Shucks!” Bill Hepburn was heard to mutter resentfully. “I bet the cuss is put- ting that on. He can’t be like that in his home circle.” And he and Doc Snell con- tinued to press a few last cocktails on the guests who had begun flurriedly to follow Addie into the dining room, where, finally, the whole party was properly seated. Addie had Hercule on her right, on her left Professor Abercrombie, who had ven- tured two cocktails because of the threat- ening manner of Mr. Hepburn, who brought them to him with no twinkle in his eye. Ben had Mrs. St. John Smythe on his right and Mrs. William Hepburn on his left. Mrs. Hepburn anxiously watched her husband, beside Miss Ellis and profoundly aware of it. “‘He’s started,” she whispered tensely to Ben. Bill promptly justified her worst fears. With his eyes fixed on the officiating butler, he announced truculently, ‘Don’t fool me for a holy minute—just putting it on.” The startled hush ensuing upon the repe- tition of this faux pas affected even Mr. Hepburn momentarily, and the talk, to Addie’s relief, became low-toned, as befits the dining table of cultivated people. Mr. Hepburn, although slightly grieved, was not long beaten down. He began visi- bly counting to himself, and it presently appeared that the objects of his count were the shoulder sprays of orchids adorning the lady guests. ‘Ten bunches of orchids’ — he secured the attention of the table by his manner—‘“‘all that money wasted! And think of the poor sailors cast away at sea on a raft without even one crust of bread!” Again there was an uneasy hush, which this time did not depress Mr. Hepburn. In tones he erroneously believed to be secret, he was inviting Miss Ellis to go a-Maying with him. “Just a nice little trip on my private car down to the white lights of New York. And say, little girl, there’s a town that will open your beautiful eyes.” “T’ve heard of it,’’ Miss Ellis replied in a voice of carrying power equal to Mr. Hep- burn’s. ‘“‘It must be wonderful there.” “We'll leave the missus,”” Mr. Hepburn archly promised. ‘“‘You know, just be a couple of kids together for one glad week.” Said Miss Ellis, aware of shafts both from the wife of her dinner partner and from Mr. Hemingway, “‘ How wonderful of you to think of such a darling plan!” She here caught the eye of the missus, and thereafter Mrs. Hepburn lost interest in the darling plan, although Mr. Hemingway, whose eye had not been caught, became distrait. The president of the Second National had heard of defenseless young girls being dazzled by elderly roués, and resolved to have a serious talk with this rarely shy blossom at the earliest possible moment; thereby, perhaps, saving her from a fate he believed she would consider worse than death. The dinner progressed merrily, with but one shuddering glance of anguish from Addie when Mr. Hepburn began to abandon still-lighted cigarettes on a lace table spread that had cost in round numbers some twelve hundred dollars. After each of these mis- haps a solicitous butler placed another ash tray before the seeming pyromaniac, but, although there were now five of these, Mr. Hepburn’s wit steadily prevailed over such petty frustrations. At a late space between courses Mr. Hemingway arose, coughed in a refined manner and besought attention for a toast August 17,1929 he proposed to offer; a toast to old friends and neighbors in whose good fortune they at the moment so felicitously shared. He begged them to drink with him to the con- tinued felicity of that sterling citizen Benja- min P. Carcross and his devoted helpmate who, through years of struggle and grinding privation, had not once faltered in the path of her chosen duty, but had ever been a guidé and a consolation in darkest mo- ments, until the dawn of their present fe- licity. And might he not add, if they would briefly pardon a more serious note There were graceful tributes to the other members of this family in their felicity and, having a fluent platform line, it seemed probable that the speaker meant to leave nothing unsaid. Then Mr. Hepburn happily afforded him a provocation to sit down by bursting into Sweet Adeline and brandishing a lately filled champagne glass, local showers from which Miss Ellis, with a lace-edged napkin, began to dry from her pale yellow organdie. General Pettigrew arose at the conclusion of the vocal solo and responded to the toast with a simple dignity that did not fail him even after Mr. Hepburn had listened as long as he could and again burst into song. This time he was joined by Doctor Snell in what Miss Ellis thought of as a lemon-juice tenor. The current orator drolly gestured helplessness and sat down with some good things unsaid. The souvenir menus were now passing from hand to hand to be autographed and there were calls for pencils. Mr. Heming- way signed his name with a faint show of reluctance; a banker’s signature was not to be lightly thrown about and, although he possessed a gold pencil chained to him- self, he was relieved when the signing of names had to stop by reason of Mr. Hep- burn’s dental prowess. Before this guest’s plate grew a mound of cedar splinters—relics, having merely a sentimental value—from the wooden pen- cils that had come his way. He had bitten these to shreds for the general entertain- ment, arising with each new pencil so that his admirers might freely observe the neat- ness of his work. Addie thought it time to suggest coffee in the drawing-room and the guests were herded there. Addie was still game. “Dear old Ben, isn’t it simply wonder- ful?” she found time to demand of her husband at this juncture. “Sure, it’s simply wonderful,” he told her. “‘I hope you and the girls are having a good time at our party.”” He here managed in the doorway a hurried kiss of approval for the flustered hostess. Something in her joy had raised him above cattle. She was a good girl; she meant all right, and he wanted her to have a lot more fun. He had been a little fussed by Hemingway’s speech about struggle and grinding privation. Of course, now and then he had autographed bits of paper for Hemingway at the bank, but he could recall no privations that anyone could say were grinding. It had been Addie’s notion that her guests would sit in the drawing-room over coffee, putting those conversational group- ings of the interior decorator to their ap- pointed uses, and after coffee she would show them through the house amid cries of delight and amazement. But some of the conversational groupings were at once noisy, and no wish to be shown-art treasures of paneled oak and Chippendale could be discovered. She was glad when the music came and those lesser people outside of Branlock’s supreme twenty. Bill Hepburn had formed a conversa- tional grouping wholly by himself and was telling the world that he was probably a bigger oil man than any other present, also that he could break the human arm by a simple jerk of one hand taught him by a Japanese gardener who had learned it (Continued on Page 68)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PACKAR The Roman priestesses of Vesta were consecrated to the protection and unfailing continuance of the pagan temple’s sacred flame Reputation is the most treasured of all Packard assets. It is as jealously guarded, as carefully maintained, as was the undying flame of an ancient empire. For to Packard, reputation is not alone a reward, but a continuing responsibility. Packard reputation is the result of thirty years of fixed intent—to build the finest of motor cars for a clientele which places quality before price. But the Packard management firmly believes that reputation is never completely earned—it is always being earned. As a result Packard cars today are far in the fore- front of the quality field—in beauty as in engineer- ing. And Packard holds its well-won reputation to be the strongest guarantee that that position of leadership will forever continue. ry H O OWN S O N E

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68 Watch This Column. Universal’s Weekly Chat Send for copy of our pamphdet descriinax some of Universal's bi agest pactures tt is free” TNIVERSAL is not interested in the loud talk about mergers and combinations, but it is deeply inter- ested in its own business and its great sound and talking program for Fall and Winter. This is so imposing in romance, adventure, drama, mys- tery. youth and beauty, that I ad- vise the public to keep close track of its local theatres and to join in the “Forward March with Universal.”’ It will pay you to see every Universal, for no company. | am sure, has gone to such extreme lengths to please you. “CL Such pleasing stars as the following will produce these sound and talking pictures: LAURA LA PLANTE, JOHN BOLES, JOSEPH SCHILD. KRAUL. MARY NOLAN, GLENN TRYON. MERNA KENNEDY, CHARLIE MURRAY, GEORGE SID. NEY. BARBARA KENT, DOROTHY GULLIVER, GEORGE LEWIS. KATH. RYN CRAWFORD, MAR PHILBEIN, REGINALD DENNY, CONRAD VEIDT, MR. and MRS. JIMMY GLEASON, KEN MAY- NAKD. HOOT GIBSON, EDDIE PHILLIPS, CHURCHILL Ross. AR. Jimmy Gleason in THUR LAKE, FRED Mac- KAYE. LITTLESUNNY JIM and PORREST STANLEY “Nhannons of Broadway Che first picture to be re- leased on the schedule is ‘*The Drake Case,”” a master mystery story which was a sensation as a novel and has been pronounced un- usual motion picture material. [T am certain vou will get the most un- usual thrill when you see it. GLADYS BROCK- WELL, FORREST STANLEY and ROB- ERT FRAZER head the cast, supported by BARBARA LEON. ARD, EDDIE HEARN, JAMES CRANE, DORIS LLOYD and WILLIAM H. THORNE. Itis an Edward Laemmle production. Don't miss it. Mary Philbin in The Last Performance” You know. of course. that “Broadway” will soon be in your neighborhood, with its kaleidoscopic magnifi- cence and talented stars. Even blasé New York has given the palm to Uni- versal’s “one and only Broadway.’ This, with “Show Bodt’’ and “College Love” places Universal front and fore- most in the ranks of pic- tore producers. All of the poetures mentioned will he made with dialog and in the silent form. — Thomas F. Jackson in “Broadway” | am now visiting in uae | to see what foreign talent can offer | us in the way of something unique, but your letters will reach me wherever I am. If you know a story that will make a good talking picture, write me. Thank you. Carl Sgemmile, UNIVERSAL PICTURES “The Heme of the Good Film” 730 Fifth Ave., New York City THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 66) directly from his country’s ruler. Mr. Hep- burn begged for arms upon which to demon- strate his skill, but dancing intervened to divert him. Mr. Hemingway had hovered protec- tively about the defenseless Miss Ellis, meaning to save her from the wiles of a drunken debauchee, but he lost this shy blossom when her boy friends from the ranch began to drift in. Miss Ellis was not one to uptown friends who might not be in evening dress; she rather shortly conveyed this to Mr. Hemingway as she left him with Mr. Carcross to see that the boys had a square deal in the dining room. In this attractive apartment the ca- pable butler now supervised the plotting of what a Branlock Advertiser would later describe as “A recherché buffet supper with all the trimmings.” Graciously in view on the sumptuous sideboard were bottles, a silver bowl of ice, and siphons in silver sheaths. Miss Ellis, as she put it, “bought” all the boys drinks and danced with each. “Democrat!” Mr. Hemingway, who did not care for the modern dances, fondly jeered as she passed him in the arms of a Lone Tree top rider. “Not on your life!” she denied. “Our family has always been Republiean.”’ She didn’t see why politics should be brought up just now. Ben lingered by the sideboard to make sure that his employes should not be un- duly impressed by its elegance, also because none of the conversational groupings in the drawing-room had attracted him. At one moment when sideboard custom was in abeyance, he looked into the other apart- ment to discover that Professor Abet- crombie was entertaining one delighted group with an anecdote about a cat and a rabbit. He waited for the outburst of laughter, led by Gail and Vannie, and ob- served Whitey, apparently congealed in a sinister fascination, at the edge of the group. He saw Addie drawn by the merri- ment and saw Gail persuade the anecdotist, with no marked difficulty, to tell it all again. Whitey remained a frigid column of awe during the repetition. Again at his sideboard hospitalities, Ben was chatting with one Butch Kendrick, a former employe now precariously on his own with a dry ranch. Ben was wishing luck to the venture and Butch was looking hopeful when Miss Ellis carelessly en- tered the dining room to secure a drink which her late partner had confessed he was too bashful to go personally for be- eause he had already taken three. Miss Ellis was being a good pal. Halfway to the sideboard where the two men held speech she was halted by a view of Ben’s companion; a blinding view that also froze her, even as Whitey had been frozen, in a fascination that might or might not be sinister. Butch Kendrick was toweringly tall, with a head of waving yellow hair and flashing blue eyes that shone from what Miss Ellis had learned was one of those strong silent faces. He was smiling at Ben and the smile was another whitely flashing revelation. For Miss Ellis the housewarming ceased. A moment she stood, stricken, then, with eyes in a still helpless stare, but with a partial recovery of her native wit, she ap- proached the sideboard and nervously begged Mr. Carcross for a glass of water. She trembled in the ecstasy of her moment. Mr. Carcross carelessly asked her to shake hands with his friend Butch Ken- drick. Mr. Kendrick, who had not hitherto viewed Miss Ellis, seemed himself instant} to become paralyzed as their eyes dented. Then hands were limply shaken, Mr. Ken- drick saying huskily, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Miss Ellis could awk- wardly achieve but a wordless murmur far beneath her society manner. Mr. Carcross, all unaware of any great moment, turned away to assure Pete Snell that he had come to the right saloon for what he might be needing. Coming back, the genial host found that Miss Ellis and EVENING POST her new acquaintance were gone. He looked farther and saw them to be walking stiffly toward the door, neither betraying awareness of the other, yet suggesting somehow that they were welded. Past the harmonies of the dancing room they went and Miss Ellis dimly appre- hended the tolerantly smiling visage—a etitiously blurred visage—of a middle-aged gentleman whose name, she seemed to re- call, was Hathaway or something like it. She wondered why the man was grinning at her in that silly way. The pair walked like cunningly fashioned automatons, ob- livious to salutes from the mere pleasure seekers they passed, and reached presently the quiet library, where they sat stiffly in two stiff chairs not especially meant as a conversational grouping. They sat and stared at each other. Fol- 1 a long moment of this they returned and with partial sanity to a world they had ages ago quitted. They gazed now with gleams of intelligence in their eyes, though there was as yet but scant speech. “It’s awful quiet in here.” This was Mr. Kendrick being chatty. “Isn’t it?” weakly replied Miss Ellis, wondering what his name was. She put hands to her burning cheeks and her escort politely told her he would fetch something refreshing. During his absence she stared without flinching at the portrait of General Pettigrew, then took one of two fragile glasses from the returning escort. Thirstily she drank and was alarmed to find the drink so heady. “Why, it’s made me drunk.” The con- feasion had none of that verbal lacework she normally achieved without difficulty. “That can’t make you drunk; that’s only from the lemonade bowl,” said her escort. “Something’s gone to my head,” she told him. “ My hands are so hot.” They left the chaits for the divan, from which a better view might have been had of the portrait of a distinguished publicist and educator; though this was a privilege neither chose to enjoy. Seated there, Miss Ellis found her hands insensibly edging toward the hands of Mr. Kendrick, which presently enveloped them. They sat thus a long time, again staring. Miss Ellis at length drew a long breath, blinked her remarkable eyes as might one coming from under a spell, and distinctly said, “ Well, I'll be darned!” Mr. Kendrick put a slow flashing smile upon her and muttered, “ You and me both, Miss ae ” She uttered her name and demanded his. Their hands were still blindly involved. “Say we dance,” suggested Mr. Ken- drick. Sothey danced. In their belief they were alone on the floor, and in the belief of Miss Ellis she was dancing for the first time in her long life. She greeted Mr. Hathaway, or whoever he was, very cor- dially when the dance was done, and de- tected a slant of bewilderment in his rather good eyes as, clutching the arm of her escort, she led him again to the quieting hush of the library. Now they talked while Miss Ellis vainly sought to take stock of what had happened to her. “Get organized!’ she told herself, and during this process she discovered that what had happened to her was apparently one cowboy—but such a cowboy! She acquired his unexciting life history in no time at all, secretly wondering how the film people had so Icng overlooked him. She saw him “batching it,” as he said, in a shack out in the lonely hills with his few head of stock as a start, because he hadn't wanted to work all his life for someone else the way most fool buckaroos did. It was a rough shack; yet, as he described it, Miss Ellis strangely beheld herself adjusting chintz curtains at the windows. Their hands again seemed to be inextricably blended. “Well, I'll be darned,”” Miss Ellis once more said. “You and me both,” responded the es- cort. Again they asked to be told each August 17,1929 other’s name. After this she called him Butch, though knowing his given name to be Harold, and he called her “ You.” Outside, mad revelry was forward, yet it was nothing anyone would wish to bring into the quiet atmosphere of a library in which a portrait of General Pettigrew was dominant. Once Mr. Hemingway paused at the door to favor them with an uneasily prying glance. Observing him, Miss Ellis mentally is- sued a pithy command: “ Mesh your gears, Waldo!”’ She remembered the gentleman now. Aloud she said to Mr. Kendrick, “It’s the weirdest thing. You won’t be- lieve it, but it seems just as if I had known you in another life or something. I guess nobody could explain that.” “It’s strange, all right,’”’” Mr. Kendrick confirmed with awe in his tone. “‘ You may think I’m a liar, but that’s the identical thing I was thinking about you.” “Fate!” thought Miss Ellis and, again still to herself: ‘‘ Now it’s really happened to me.”’ Millenniums flashed by before they were disturbed by their hostess, who brought in some common guests to rave about poppa’s oil portrait, painted by an artist chap in Paris. The disturbed pair sauntered toward the door. “Let’s get out of this,” whispered Mr. Kendrick, with a glance of disrelish at his surroundings. “I got a car.” “Let’s,” agreed Miss Ellis. tired of society.” “Who did you come with?” Miss Ellis hesitated. ‘Oh, I sort of hap- pened to come with a Mr. Hemingway.” “Gee! You must be somebody. You're traveling high, with that bird.” He bent upon her a look of suddenly distant respect that she noted with alarm. “But there’s nothing between us—just a couple of good pals,” she announced hastily. ‘“‘He’s really a nice old dear. Listen, I’li slip up and get my coat and we can do a fade-away out a side door—in five minutes.” She slunk up a minor staircase and Mr. Kendrick took a look-see through the merry rooms below. The serious drinkers under the leadership of Messrs. Hepburn and Snell were now gathered in the kitchen, where they harmonized. Ben Carcross lingered by the sideboard trying to keep Addie’s party from getting rough. Bill Hepburn had already sobbed on his shoul- der over the discovery that his friend was only a bird in a gilded cage. Outside, Miss Ellis was swept into reso- lute arms and deposited in perhaps the oldest motor car still going—a car that should even then have been advertising itself and its makers in a show window. It shivered abjectly at the initial agitation of its venerable engine, trembling pitifully with protest when put under way. These de- tails went unnoted by Miss Ellis, who would have taken oath in any court that she rode in a smoothly running sedan of the latest classy model. ‘From riches to rags’’ was a reflection yet to flaw the serenity of her mind even for an absurd moment. They seemed to go where the car listed, through streets of darkened houses, then out where applauding stars lighted a world new to Miss Ellis. ‘‘ Well, I'll be darned,” she murmured, remembering that these might be the same stars hanging at that instant above greater New York. She shivered at the thought and her escort made his car to quit profaning the night with the clamor of machinery dis- integrating. He the rummaged out a blanket to reénfotce the wrap of his pas- senger. The blanket, obviously enough, had lately garmented a horse; a hard- working horse, the crime analyst could have deduced; yet to the enchanted senses of Miss Ellis it might have been imbued with the rarer perfumes of Araby. Mr. Kendrick’s car, at rest, was as quiet as any car ever made, and they sat in peace while telling each other all about how strange it was and how they could not yet believe it. Love is wonderful, they said, (Continued on Page 71) “T’m so

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(Continued from Page 68) and repeated the truism many times. They tried vainly to convey what each had felt at that first curiously freezing moment. But what was the use? They were helpless with each other. When the first hints of dawn flashed above some wonderful hills, the Carcross motor passed the empty car of Butch Kendrick where it had died an apparently ignominious death by the roadside a mile from the Lone Tree gates. Some distance ahead two figures hand in hand trudged up the road straight into the eye of day. Whitey stopped when these were over- taken. “You folks come in here?” he invited. Mr. Carcross added, “It’s a wonder that cockroach of yours got even this far,” and opened a door for the overtaken ones. The pair turned upon the occupants of the sound car eyes showing no light of reason. “We'd rather walk,” they both said. The motorists looked out upon them with amazement. “Mr. Hemingway waited a long time for you,” Doyle called. “He was worried about you.” “Who?” demanded Miss Ellis. “Mr. Hemingway,” Doyle returned with careful enunciation. “Oh, him,” said Miss Ellis, and nothing more. The Carcross motor hurried on and Doyle looked back. The pair again trudged forward into the new light. “Did you notice the condition of that girl’s slippers?” Doyle asked. No one had, but then neither had the girl herself. XXVIII HILE dawn spread over Lone Tree, Ben and Whitey drank coffee in the living room. Whitey asked for instructions about his evening clothes, it being his conviction that these would not again be required. Ben advised storing them. Nowadays you couldn't tell what the cattle business might need. To them presently came Miss Ellis out of the dawn. She was starry-eyed and marched on air to Ben as he sat. Gathering his shoulders into a close embrace, she feverishly pressed her lips to his, drew herself up, burst into tears and fled from the room. It was behavior that would not have sur- prised the St. John Smythes, but it left Ben aghast until he glanced out of the window to note Butch Kendrick on his way to the bunk house. “Stepping high,” he described Butch’s gait. ‘Funny how it takes ’em,” he said. “One minute she has Hemingway, the best match in the whole county, eating out of her hand, and the next she falls for a buckaroo that has to count the letters in his name every time he writes it.” “Dames are queer,”” Whitey professed to have discovered. A door opened and Professor Aber- crombie came, in pajamas and bath robe, for sociable coffee. “‘ Your Mr. Hepburn is truly a type,” he told Ben. “That’s one way to say what he is,”’ Ben replied. He had last seen Mr. Hepburn immovably asleep on Addie’s renaissance day bed, whither he had crept to be away from it all. “One of your big oil men, so he informed me.” “There ain’t any big oil men,” said Ben. “There’s only men that big oil happened to. Bill Hepburn was a big brakeman on a fast freight. He got in a poker game on one of his lay-overs and won sixty dollars. He took the loser’s cow in payment and then had to get a pasture for the cow. They struck oil in the pasture. That’s how Bill got to be a big oil man. Anyone can if it happens.’”” He wanted to add: “But it takes brains to be a cowman.” “That is almost droll,” was the pro- fessor’s comment. “And this chap is so racy of speech. One phrase he used—it was about your lavish entertainment—he re- marked that you must have spent money THE SATURDAY like—like an ‘intoxicated seaman,’ I think it was—something racy from the rural vulgate.” His listeners were apparently bewildered by the simile, but the professor could do no more for them. “I am positive I have the chap’s wording of it,” he insisted. “Of course, it’s a bit of slang. And I must tell you, Carcross, that your father-in-law is a more vital person than I had suspected; a very forceful personality. He led me to his study for a chat last night and gave me the details of an enterprise he has in hand for a world-shaking photodrama, educational and patriotic in its intention. I was quite warmed by his enthusiasm. With expert assistance he has for months been pro- ducing a splendid epic of the air— powerful propaganda against the hideous specter of war, yet rich with drama that must appeal to the pedestrian mind. The completed picture, he assures me, will not only tend to make the world warless but will net a handsome revenue—a gripping drama of the clouds.” “What's that?” demanded Whitey with sudden interest. “A gripping drama of the clouds—the very phrase General Pettigrew employed. Rather colorful, that.” “What's the name of the company?” demanded Whitey. “TI forget that, if I was told, but the genius who conceived this epic is named Hornblatt—-I marked the somewhat un- usual name.” “Oh!” said Whitey, and seemed to lose interest in the epic. The professor finished his coffee and ex- cused himself. “My unwonted dissipa- tion ——” he explained. “It’s quite a novel experience, this subversion of time; to be retiring as the world arises.” “Time ain't anything but how you meas- ure something,” asserted Whitey. “That Jew friend of yours is just a crackpot.” “Apple sauce!" retorted the professor with a cunning laugh. ‘ Desipere in loco,” he added. “‘ Meaning ‘to indulge in trifling at the proper time.’”’ He left them with another laugh. “A gripping drama of the clouds,” mut- tered Whitey. “And little Jake Horn- blatt,” he meditatively added. “That house was sure warmed aplenty,” said Ben. “Not a cold room in it when I left,” Whitey agreed. “But that ain’t all of it. The next house- warming you'll need that party suit for will be held in France.” “Somewhere in France,” echoed Whitey. “How come, sheriff?” Ben told him how come. Addie and the girls, at a pause in the Hepburn activities, had told him of their latest inspiration. No longer did they yearn for an Eastern home, but for a chateau in sunny France. Hercule knew the darlingest chateau, so old and romantic, with a moat and ivied towers and dungeon keeps; rich in historical associa- tions—-scene of more than one important murder. And not too far from Paris. Wasn't it a heavenly opportunity? It was now the property of an old family friend of Hercule’s, a Count Somebody, who would let it go to Hercule or to a purchaser ap- proved by Hercule—the count naturally wished his chateau to be occupied by people of the right sort and Hercule would still have to convince him that his American friends were quite all of that, and Hercule thought he could—but, anyway, the count would let this adorable chateau go at a ruinous sacrifice because in the north of France he suffered from a distressing bronchial affection. And this chateau would be such a darling pied-d-terre. Addie and both girls had familiarly chirped pied- d-terre. “That’s French for a place to put your feet,”” explained Ben. “‘Sure,”’ said Whitey. ‘We lived three nights in one of those ruired chateaus. The guy that ruined this one done a classy job.” “This ain't ruined only on the outside,” Ben explained. “And Hercule can pick it up for a mere song.” EVENING POST Whitey had listened to talk about Her- cule. “‘That lad ought to be in the opera,” he submitted. “He certainly keeps up his music,” said Ben. “Here I was thinking he had sung all the songs he knew.”” Yet Ben was pleased by this new inspiration. From somewhere in France it would not be easy to interfere with the proper running of a cattle ranch. They both yawned. “‘ Maybe I can tell you something about that gripping drama of the clouds,” Whitey began. Ben yawned once more, then with lazy shoulders and brooding eyes he stared from the window. “Look at that worthless old skate out there wasting hay at this hour of the morn- ing. I'll bet he has the other horses call him early so he can get on the job.” “IT know all about this little Jake Horn- blatt,” persisted Whitey. “TI certainly got to put a bee on Art Dug- dale about those feed racks. I’ve told him often enough. They let a horse pull out hay and stomp it into the mud. You'd think hay was something Santa Claus brought us. Well, let’s do half an hour's sleep.” With marked irritation he went to reverse the broom leaning by the mantel. “How many times I got to tell this help?” he complained. When Ben had gone, Whitey waited only long enough to replace the broom at its ruinous stance. He had early formed this habit and would watch the broom with a face blank of all but sympathy when the little storm came. He went to his own bed in troubled thought about what Jake Horn- blatt might be doing to the Carcross bank roll. So old Jinglebob Pettigrew was the blithering angel? One by one sleep-ridden cow hands, lately carefree in the dance, emerged from the bunk house, stood an unhappy moment at its portal to yawn at the rising sun, then stumble off to a hurried breakfast and loathsome toil. More than one of them affirmed at this crisis that a buckaroo’s life wasn't any life for a white man. You never got your sleep out. And more than one went out to address his mount with profane irritation while saddles were being cinched. Practically all of the string proved to be in a bad temper that morning and were cor- dially urged to start something if they thought for a minute they could get away with it. The ranch house stayed unalive until a late hour of the morning, when Miss Ellis appeared. Though not disheveled, she had not been as painstaking as usual about her ensemble. The New Art wave looked old and her lips were unstained. But her re- markable eyes were luminous with young magic. She went softly from the sleeping house out to the ranch gate to hang there in some eye-narrowing calculation. A mile down the road reposed the object of her tender but slightly deprecating regard. Stark in the full sun, it was, even at a mile, a bat- tered ruin of a car slouching unbeautifully, shamelessly exposing the ravages of senile decay. That morning when she and her man had been so smartly passed by the important Carcross motor, its owner had called back to them with untimely joviality, “ Leave it right there and we'll plant some pretty vines to run over it.”” She had seen Butch Kendrick flinch under this coarse sally, a spasm of pain compressing his lips. Some people thought they were so smart. Miss Ellis was going to see about that. She turned from a view admittedly re- pulsive and made her way to the bunk house, where she tapped at the door. Getting no answer, she pushed into a bleak room of confusion and stuffy disorder re- lieved only —but how gloriously relieved ! by the inert form of Butch Kendrick blanketed in one of the bunks. With a guest’s privilege, Butch was getting his sleep like a white man. Miss Ellis looked down upon him sleeping with little short breaths, a shirted arm flung out; the blue eyes were hidden, but a fringe of dark lashes the longest lashes, surely, God ever gave to man—were exposed, and all the 71 yellow hair tumbled to view. The eyes of Miss Ellis grew yet more luminous. She bent as if to touch the undulating hair, but straightened and went noiselessly out, re- flecting that she must make Butch some pajamas. The night appare! of cowboys seemed not to be styled for comfort and was, in truth, too little unlike the semi- dress of day. With purposeful stride, her eyes not less luminous, yet again narrowed with an ef- fect of calculation not usual in one so young, she went to the telephone. The younger Pettigrew was shrilly jerked from needed sleep by a bell which he at first conceived to be one of the instruments in an orchestra. Continued peals brought him to a better understanding of the disturbance and with some impatience he lifted a telephone re- ceiver to one of his outstanding ears. The cross look gave way to another. The voice of Miss Ellis came; a sweetened voice, almost cooing, beseeching the immediate presence of the listener Presh hastily dressed. Half an hour later, when he flourishingly arrived, Miss Ellis, restored to her wonted finish of at- tire and coiffure, seemed to be in light talk with a recently awakened Whitey. She descended to the basest coquetry in her greeting, and Presh was delighted to learn that the little gal wished to buy one of his ears. He dashed into his selling talk, but was shut off. Miss Ellis wished to trade in her old car—a little present from one of her boy friends. It was a good car, but she wished a shinier one for town use, and how much would Presh allow her on the turn-in-—wasn't that what he called it? Presh called it that. The eyes of Mias Ellis again narrowed, though so slightly that Presh saw only the lighted wonder of them. “You see, I left my car down the road there this morning because I wanted to walk in the heavenly morning air, but you take us down to it now and tell me how much you'll allow poor little me. . Whitey—Mr. Petty—wil! tell you it’s a perfectly good car, so you needn't look stern when you see it.” Presh drove them to the wreck. Not more than a gentleman might did he betray consternation when he saw it “Of course, it’s a used car,” said. “T see, I see,”” Presh nobly replied “But Whitey—-I mean Mr. Petty here says the engine might be as good as the day it came out of the shop.” Whitey’s eyes barely flicked Miss Ellis and came to rest on a distant peak “It’s some little bus,” he distinctly said “Of course, I'm awfu! dumb about busi- ness matters, but how many dollars will you give me credit for on one of your stunning cars?" queried the customer with a melting glance. Presh affected a judicial scrutiny of the wreck, walking about with almost a frown. “ Well, let me see, now. Oh, I guess I could allow you not more than three or four hundred dollars.” Whitey’s eyes sought another and farther peak flashing in the high sun “Four hundred dollars,” said Miss Ellis “That doesn’t seem much, but I suppose I couldn't do any better. Whitey--I mean Mr. Petty—said I couldn't hardly expect more than that.” Whitey shivered slightly under the burning rays of a noon sun, though his eyes still clung to the distant peak. “Say we run it up to the ranch,” said Presh Miss Ellis de murre a “No: I'm so anxious to have the new Isn't that what Miss Ellis car-—to ‘close up the deal.’ you call it?” Presh said that was what they called it, and Miss Ellis said she trusted him fully and wouldn't try for a better bargain with his trade rivals. She felt sure she could be making no mistake in putting her tiny savings into a Luxton roadster. She and Whitey would walk back to the ranch so Presh could hurry out with the new car (Continued on Page 73)

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74 E 4njoy there’s always time fora yourself!... BETWEEN-THE-ACTS! We know you're in a hurry. No time for a smoke marathon certainly ... with a long-bodied, long-winded cigar. But BETWEEN-THE-ACTS? Any time, any where. You can smoke ‘em for a as you run. And the only difference between your favorite Havana and BETWEEN-THE- ACTS is the length of yvour smoke. “B. T. A's” are just a 15¢ cigar in minia- lip to light with Havana charm. Trimmed down to fit your briefest smoking moments... to ture packed from multiply your smoke pleasures...and to save you the cost of half-wasted cigars. BETWEEN THEACTS LCITTLE CIGARS Smoke 10 and see... . It's worth 15¢ to know how good these little cigars are. If your dealer can't supply you, mail 15¢ (stamps or coins) for a package. P. Lorillard Co., Inc., 119 West 40th Street, New York, N. Y. Copyright PF. Loritlerd Company . . Established 1760 THE SATURDAY because often they are people who have bought taste instead of developing their own. Their mansions may be the work of a genius, architecturally wonderful. In the interior the carved-stone staircase has an unearthly beauty, the grand piano is as long as a locomotive; Gobelin tapestries are on the walls. But too often all is bleak and without charm or warmth or grace. “And if you examine the small purchases of the lady of the house you will see how expensively commonplace they are. They give her away. There are some women, you know, who, by a tiny porcelain figure or a yellow plate or the way a few flowers are stuck in a vase, prove at once that they know beauty and can make it. Such women can buy plans for a cheap little stock house, and by having a porch put on the back in- stead of the front, by the color of the walls, a French door or two, a garden —a few changes that do not require money at all, but just taste—can make it elegant, so- phisticated, charming.” And all that is why, this architect said, he never planned a house before he had visited a client, for thereafter he knew all about her. There are carpers who look for little de- fects for years after the house is done. One family thought a line of mirror panels along a wall should have none of the ordinary imperfections of the finest plate glass but should reflect the lines of cabinet work on the other side of the room as perfectly as the highest-grade telescope. For five years afterward, there were gloomy reverbera- tions about this floating back into the archi- tect’s office. There is one type of owner who is sure that everything is going to be an awful fail- ure when he sees it in the raw. One firm of architects issues strictest orders that the usual methods of canvas-covering windows in the interim of building shall never be allowed. The entrances are completed first, and dummy windows, carefully painted to represent the later real ones, are inserted in the window openings so that the building from the first has its final appearance. This is expensive and inconvenient, but the pessimistic laments of the owner are thus avoided and the architect and foremen and workmen are all saved much uneasiness and depression. The Reign of Horror Architects sometimes expect sympathy from rich connoisseurs and wsthetes. But these make much worse clients than busi- ness men, for there is no man who dislikes trouble more than a man of leisure. A tired business man will shoulder new problems with touching patience. And then there is the person who ap- proves of a project until he sees it actually under way. Say that he is remodeling his house and orders a wooden turret of the McKinley Period to be taken down. But if he happens to come upon the workmen in the business of demolishing it, he has a nos- talgic sentimental pang— begins to like it. In the last twenty years taste in houses has improved tremendously. Now, Hor- ace Walpole—1717-1797—can be blamed for the bad taste in nineteenth-century houses. He wrote The Castle of Otranto, the parent of the Gothic romance; he built Strawberry Hill, the parent of the jigsaw Gothic mansion. But what attracted him in the Gothic was not the fine medieval masonry; he and his followers liked the dilapidation. They wanted to make au- thentic ruins. Walpole, in his refectory at Strawberry Hill, used wall paper that imi- tated stucco; plaster and hangings and wall paper began to be used to cover up defects of construction. Towers that were never climbed appeared on houses, turrets that no one could enter, battlements that no one rose to defend— meaningless irregularities. There is a huge, beautifully printed volume of the villas of Newport in 1876. Amid all theseexamples ofthe“ novel’’ and “‘unique”’ there is not a single house that would be tolerated by any conceivable line of de- scendants. EVENING POST In the midst of all this brummagem Gothic, along came H. H. Richardson 1838-1886—a genius and a great man, with his Romanesque revival—round arches, sturdy columns, heavy courses of rough stone, contrasts in color between light gran- ite and dark sandstone. His buildings were almost like fortresses, a reaction against the tacky infirmities of the Gothic jerry-builder. Someone says that perhaps nineteenth- century magnates liked the fortresslike stone mansions of the Romanesque revival because of the uneasiness of the proletariat in those days. But those who followed Richardson had not his taste and his genius, and so good taste did not survive strongly. But now? Taste is improving. People know more and see more. There are cer- tain evolutionary tendencies in houses. Kitchens tend to grow smaller and become perfect little laboratories. Baths tend to grow larger and more attractive. Windows, glass area, is expanding. Conservatories will soon appear again. Dens and sleeping porches and front porches are out. I once knew a man who walked up and down be- fore his house, saying, “‘I wish I knew what makes you so ugly.” If nine-tenths of the older pretentious houses in America could answer, they would say, ‘“‘ My front porch.” For Angels and Aviators In the eighteenth century Alexander Pope’s noble friends wanted display in their houses, and “‘were proud to catch cold at a Venetian door.”” Doctor Johnson wrote of a house built in the 1760's: “‘It would do excellently for a town hall. The room with the large pillars would do for the judges to sit in at the assizes, the circular room for a jury chamber, and the room above for the prisoners.” Then came the Victorians. They wanted to live prosperously but piously. Also, they planned their houses so that their house mates, the servants, worked in dark basements, and at ‘hight climbed their spe- cial twisting stone stairs to flimsy attics. Menservants slept in their gas-lit pantries. In many of the grandest houses the foot- man's bedroom and the larder both opened into the same pitch-dark, unventilated pas- sage. This treatment of the servants, upon whose patient backs the whole of their domestic life was built, is an everlasting re- proach to those rich, pious ones. You should read Horace Walpole to realize how much the modern servant, because she is not miserable, degraded, drunken, boisterous, and sluttish, saves you in hard cash, for then you will know that the refined, clever girl who makes your laboratory kitchen possible deserves a nice room. As for bathrooms, the Middle Ages were called by a historian, ““A thousand years without a bath.” They began to appear in the last century, but were for a long time a wild eccentricity of earls. You can now pay fifteen thousand dollars for a nice bathroom with a grate fire in it, Wedgwood medallions in the tile walls, a tub in the middle of the floor, with silver faucets and cut-glass tap handles; glass pillars for the marble wash bowl, costing sixty dollars apiece. The shower bath be- comes a closed room with enough dials, ppeereenepeepnetenmemeome August 17,1929 handles, gauges, and instruments to run a battleship, and this is to preclude the slight- est possibility of an unpleasant shock either from hot or cold water. Many clients have special ideas on the subject of bathrooms one man, for example, wanting a shower bath twelve feet long, so that he could run up and down it, which he considered pecul- iarly beneficial to his health. Ruskin said sardonically, in 1850, that the Crystal Palace, built in London, was only a magnified conservatory, and archi- tectural critics ever since have poked fun at it, saying that it contributed nothing new to architecture—only train sheds and sub- way kiosks. But perhaps houses are going to be glass and iron after all. In Berlin last winter a balloon-shaped house of glass was built. A number of rich people are having so- lariums and swimming pools under glass roofs that are permeable by the ultra-violet rays. Two years ago two French architects built a sun house at Nice; it was con- structed on a turntable and could be re- volved by a motor so that the occupants would be always in the sun. It cost fifty thousand dollars. Bernard Shaw contrived one which he turns by hand and which, therefore, cost only a thousand dollars. The most modern architects say that bedrooms will dwindle into bunk rooms; that bathrooms will swell and become dress- ing rooms as well; that a gymnasium will be in every complete house. So, in houses as well as in skyscrapers, there is a modern movement with much artistic to-do about it. But, on the other hand, many are sur- feited, depressed, sickened by all modern architecture, no matter how prodigious or interesting. You cannot, these claim, get an Al architecture out of a C3 civiliza- tion, and they are incurably homesick for the eighteenth century, have that longing malaise for the days when men “lived on the ground floor.”’ To architectural critics like Lewis Mumford, New York is a wen a skyscraping wen —with its ‘‘ pock-marked walls,” ‘“‘an architecture not for men but for angels and aviators.” Pleasure in Labor “A civilization,” he says, ‘that considers buildings as mere machines considers hu- man beings as mere machine tenders. Men take revenge on themselves for their own mistakes; hence the modern mechanized house, with its luminous bathroom, its elegant furnace, its dainty garbage-disposal system, has become more and more a thing to get away from,” and, therefore, he says, “the garage and a machine to escape from the house machine.” At present architects build only about 10 per cent of the houses in the country. The vast majority are thrown up by builders, usually to sell or rent at a quick profit. This is mere machine work; no human imprint at all. “The one thing that makes architecture a thing apart from mere building is love,”’ says Electus Litchfield. “A work of art is always the embodiment of the affection of the producer; ‘the expression of man’s pleasure in labor,’’’ said William Morris. And therefore, architects claim, mere machine work has no love in it, and so has no survival value. Art is the spiritual value we lay on material things to insure their preservation, and that is why beauty is economically justified. Houses that have the living imprint of a mind on them are not callously torn down and replaced. Wren’s churches were preserved hundreds of years beyond their state of economical integrity by Wren’s personality. And this—say those who are homesick for the past, hoping against hope—shows why machine work may be proved at last to be uneconomical, too quickly degraded. But never mind. Even now, when you come to think of it, the sound of the rivet- ing hammer has not penetrated way into the country. Just the other day there was a society note in a North Dakota paper: “Saturday Mrs. Olsen was over at Mrs. Peterson’s, helping her lath.” eae KP vw es

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 75 ‘ OE tT oo. d*e Bian” ’ we “9! A —— Sy . Ain ONLY BEAUTY plus PERFORMANCE —s SO ee ¥ Of course you must have beauty in your motor car. But reciprocating parts can be lightened and a superior per- after all beauty is only half the bargain. formance is the gratifying result. J There must be beauty plus performance—and the surest way to obtain performance is to make certain that the next car you select comes equipped with Nelson Bohnalite Pistons. Most of the best cars in all price classes are equipped with Nelson Bohnalite Pistons, but before you buy make sure. Ask the salesman. Insist BOHN ALUMINUM & BRASS CORP. DETROIT, MICH New York Chicago Philadelphia Cleveland Pittsburgh T This advanced product is made of Bohnalite which is 62% lighter than iron. The use of this piston means that BO NELSON HNALI PISTONS ene tg ern

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But in a sense the merger movement of today is new and entirely different. It is not limited to a smal] number or variety of industries. It is confined to no one field, but is general in scope and appears to be gathering momentum from year to year. Where it is taking us no man knows, but anyone may speculate and hope at least for an orderly evolution to the next stage of social organization or to a new type of civilization, if that be the goal. But to drop down to earth again and out of the realm of rosy hypothesis, it may be suggested that marked prosperity and ac- tive stock markets always stimulate changes in corporate form and control. Mergers and rumors of mergers invariably go with speculative enthusiasm, in what degree as cause or effect it is sometimes hard to say. But rising prices render manipulation and exploitation through means of new combi- nations, holding companies and other de- vices of big business far more practicable and attractive than when the market is in the doldrums and business lags. There were almost as many mergers in the years just preceding 1921 as there have been in the past few years. A Lesson for New Industries Mergers may prove to be unloading or sell-out devices, or just an opportunity to make a killing in a temporary speculative fury, regardless of later reports of corporate earnings. Even when intentions and con- duct are above reproach, an ever-present cause of the present-day merger movement is the surplus capita! ready for investment. Individual corporations have large accumu- lations, which they naturally use for ex- pansion in fields with which they are familiar. More than that, if a new issue of securities must be sold to effect a combi- nation, the public is more than eager to absorb the offering. It is true also that many proposed mergers are never consummated. At times the rumors exceed the realities by an im- pressive ratio. Yet if we look at the gen- eral trend it will be found that over a period of years the rumors of mergers usually have had some basis in fact. The realities rarely equal the rosy imaginings of pro- moters, brokers, speculators and newspaper reporters. But there is-usually fire behind the smoke, and often by the time the plans for a combination are announced excited Wall Street interest in the subject has vanished. Many an unverified report of a great combination makes the first page, whereas the official announcement six months later of an exchange of securities is hidden away in a routine column. But the modern urge to integrate and combine is far more than a financial mani- festation or a mere symptom of Wall Street ups and downs. It strikes even deeper than the newly born willingness and ability of great multitudes to invest. For one thing, we find upon a little inquiry that new types of activity are constantly arising which re- quire large-scale operation and combina- tion of separate units. Consider a striking and familiar illustration. It would be diffi- cult to find two companies which represent the merger idea more completely than the United States Steel Corporation and the General Motors Company. Now, the Steel Corporation is the biggest thing of its kind in the world, and yet in certain respects General Motors is larger, although it was not in existence or even dreamed of when the Steel Corporation was founded. if the current merger movement means nothing else, it means that developments which affected our older industries are now recurring in the newer ones. Consider avia- tion. First came the discouraging pioneer period when sledding was very hard in- deed. But the Lindbergh flight and the de- velopment of the air mail brought a boom which resulted in hundreds of new com- panies springing into existence, in a sort of THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE MERGER MOVEMENT (Continued from Page 25) mushroom growth. Now has come a third period —that of reorganization of the in- dustry into large groups or mergers. It is much the same with the motorbus. For a number of years this field has been notable for its hit-or-miss growth. First came the ridiculous and irresponsible jit- neys, like a swarm of short-lived flies on a June day. These were followed by larger and more dependable vehicles, but many of the lines which operated them were weak and their very numbers made for a disor- ganized situation. But now order and so- lidity begin to appear. A few weeks ago it was reported that practically every major bus line west of Chicago would be affected by the proposed consolidation of Pickwick Corporatior of Los Angeles, Southern Pa- cific Motor Transport Company, Yelloway Company and Greyhound Lines. Or consider the swift changes in cor- porate organization in those amazing new industries, the screen and the radio. Only a few years ago there were thousands of separate, independent film theaters, but these are now being brought together in immense groups, tied in with producing companies and radio broadcasting corpora- tions. Then, too, the largest of the phono- graph manufacturers has been acquired by the largest of the radio companies, which in turn is controlled or dominated by the over- shadowing corporations in the fields of telephonic communication and electrical manufacture. Even these groupings and combinations do not represent all that are under way or in prospect in the domain of sound and picture reproduction, which has its vital communications as well as its amusement side. It would hardly do to describe depart- ment stores, grocery stores, drug stores, candy stores, newspapers, hotels, restau- rants and ‘barber shops as new industries, but the speed with which the chain idea is spreading in these and other similar fields amounts to a revolution. In some in- stances chains develop without a merger. The owner of one store opens another. What we have in such a case is not a merger but an operating combination. But hundreds of chains do not stop there. They soon begin to buy out separate units or consolidate with still other chains. The Public-Utility Labyrinth But the most conspicuous trend of all toward consolidation in recent years has been in the electrical light and power, or public-utility, field. From 1922 to 1927 some 2028 separate enterprises actually disappeared at a time when production and consumption were going up by leaps and bounds. In other words, they were con- solidated. In 1925 alone 1029 companies were merged or acquired. This movement has been accomplished chiefly through the medium of the holding company. The same device has been used for years past in rail- road corporate finance, and to some extent in the manufacturing field, but on nothing like the same scale. In respect to public utilities the holding company has swept the land like wildfire, perhaps because it is not checked by the anti-trust laws, there being no question of competition at stake. But, whatever the cause, company has been piled on company to form an intricate and perplexing laby- rinth. Underneath is a sound and growing industry, but the extraordinary extent and accelerative qualities of the elaborate super- structure are among the most confused and confusing developments in the whole realm of industrial organization. That, however, is quite another story, and one to be told by itself. There is much that is extremely difficult to explain or understand in the merger tendencies of the day. But noted authori- ties to the contrary notwithstanding, I do not believe there is any complete solution in terms of psychology. All will agree, of course, that the ambitious, restless, im- aginative quality of the business enter- priser finds expression in creating larger units. Such men want their place in the sun and value themselves in terms of their setting. The story of mergers is one of an ever-changing movement of personalities engaged in age-old conquest. Perhaps this is one reason why interest shifts from one thing to another, say from motors to oils to chemicals to foodstuffs. An Age of By-Products But if we are to explain all activities and movements in human terms, we must dig deeper than the mere desire of aggressive men to organize great combinations. The qualities which make for advancement in science and invention must be sought out. The central and all-important fact is that the Industrial Revolution is still under way, and, such being the case, there can be no finality to the forms or the expansiveness of business enterprise. Consider briefly only one of many and an exceedingly simple illustration of this fundamental truth. How can business or- ganization be anything but dynamic in view of the marvelous services of chemistry in redeeming the wastes of manufacturing? The rise of the by-product means not only new wealth but new enterprises and new combinations of them. We have a con- tinually increasing diversity among the uses of raw materials. From a compara- tively small and relatively unchanging num- ber of these materials chemistry brings into being more and more products. One can remember when furnace slag was worthless. It is now a valuable by-product of the iron and steel trade. From the one- time wastes of other heavy metals as well as from the petroleum, meat, dairy and other branches of the foodstuffs industry comes an increasing variety of attendant products. Who knows what we will make in the future from sawdust or cornstalks? We do know that the whole force of scien- tific research is at work upon waste, and as each new process and product comes to the surface a new problem in industrial organization presents itself. Of course invention does not confine itself to by-products by any manner of means. It reaches out and modifies the industrial system in countless directions. A half interest in the Columbia broad- easting chain was acquired recently by the Paramount-Famous-Lasky Corpora- tion, and an official announcement explain- ing the reasons for the combination said that “scientific developments have intro- duced the voice to the motion-picture screen, and there is every prospect that similar developments will shortly introduce vision into radio.” In a foreword to a Census Bureau study of the integration of industrial operation, Wesley C. Mitchell, the economist, speaks of how we erroneously think of the Indus- trial Revolution as something which took place in England a long time ago, between the days of Arkwright and Watt and those of Cartwright and Stephenson: “The high lights in our picture are the great inventions and the building of fac- tories; the shadows are the sufferings of the laboring classes. We remember all this as something that happened a hundred years ago on the other side of the ocean. The In- dustrial Revolution did begin in eighteenth- century England, but it is still going on in twentieth-century America. It was marked at the outset by great inventions and the rise of larger industrial units, but the present is not less an age of inventions and industrial reorganization. The beginnings of the Industrial Revolution were darkened by tragic sufferings; its continuation pro- duces new social problems in each decade.” It is commonly said that business de- velops from the simple to the more com- plex forms of organization. But this is August 17,1929 perhaps too simple a statement of the case. We all know that nothing is more per- sistent than the small separate establish- ment, and thus development is not always from the simple to the complex. It is necessary to make very careful distinctions in these matters. The author of the Census monograph already referred to points out that industry is organized on three distinct planes, with the establishment, or unit of enterprise, at the bottom and fundamental to the other two. The second plane of organization includes the operating combinations— groups of es- tablishments which are operated from some one central office—and, finally, at the top are found those less tangible alliances, the holding company, the financial combina- tion, the trade association and other similar types. Mr. Thorp, the author, says that in- dustrial development has by no means reached its final form on any one of these levels of economic organization. Following the introduction and rapid development of the factory system in the United States in the nineteenth century the scale of opera- tions per establishment was augmented at an enormous rate. But tendencies have been more mixed since the beginning of the twentieth century. In certain industries, such as automobile manufacture, we have seen the rise of very large establishments. But a similar expansion has not been shown everywhere, the net result being a con- flicting and almost meaningless variety of types or forms. The Census disregards business relation- ships—that is, holding companies, financial combinations, and the like—as not coming within the sphere of its activity as defined by Congress. But it does secure reports from separate establishments and combi- nations of such operated from central offices. From the study of thousands of these the report concludes that the “direction in which modern industry is tending cannot be definitely determined, but it is probably true that the first part of the twentieth century has seen far greater development in terms of combinations of superstructure than it has of the scale of production within single establishments.” Where Authorities Fear to Tread But even with this limitation, the data upon which Mr. Thorp reaches his con- clusions are far more detailed than any oth- ers available, and so we should appreciate the significance of his statement when he says that the diversity of the nature of the combinations studied “demonstrates the untold intricacy of our modern industrial system.” That, indeed, is about as far as anyone ean go. Beyond this only the charlatan dares venture. But it is fascinating enough to reach even this point and to realize in terms of the combinations of the day, “the untold intricacy of our modern industrial system.” It is unfortunate that the study of in- dustrial combinations has been confined al- most exclusively to one feature—that of monopoly. This is not the place to thresh out the trust problem. That restraint of trade, unfair practices and economic op- pression in general have too often marked the course of business no one will deny. But not in one case of merger among hun- dreds is there any pretense to monopoly. The subject is so much more comprehensive than that. Among the reasons for com- bination, monopoly in any of its forms becomes more and more diminutive. , Each merger has its own story, just as each industry has its peculiar troubles and opportunities. Each case is different, a dis- tinct and separate problem. There are thousands upon thousands of these in- stances, containing in the aggregate the raw material of much of our economic life; (Continued on Page 79)

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One important reason why half of all Spencer Heaters sold replace other boilers is the saving that a Spencer makes. It saves as much as half the annual fuel cost—and you can readily see how quickly that will pay for a new and more con- venient heater. The Spencer Heater is designed to burn small size fuels which are low in cost because ordinary flat grate heaters are not de- signed to burn them satisfactorily. The difference in price be- tween small fuels and the larger sizes will pay the cost of a Spencer Heater to replace your present boiler. For instance, if you use the larger sizes of anthracite now, your fuel bill is automatically cut in half when you install a Spencer Heater, because you then use No. 1 Buckwheat anthracite cost- ing six dollars a ton less. You can see for yourself how quickly this will save the entire cost of this heater. After that you enjoy its convenient, automatic fuel feed, * its even heat, and a divi- dend on your investment every year, amounting to half your present fuel bill. A new development in Spencer fuels has come about with the increased amount of high quality coke available for home heat- ing. Where anthracite is not available, home owners are espe- cially interested in clean and smokeless heat. The Spencer gives that clean and smokeless heat with any fuel—but when small size coke is used, home owners discover that they can have the automatic fuel feed, convenience and uniformity of heating that a Spencer gives, at less than the cost of heating with soft coal in ordinary heaters. Write for the Spencer book, “The Fire That Burns Up-hill.” It explains in detail why the Spencer scientific principle for burning solid fuels can save as much as half your annual fuel bill. Spencer Heater Company, Wil- liamsport, Pa. Once a day fuel is put into the maga- zine (A). It fills the sloping Gable-Grate to the level of the magazine mouth (B). The fire bed always stays at the level shown at (C) for as fast as fuel burns to ash (D) it shrinks and settles on the Gable-Grate (E). As the surface of the fire bed is lowered by this shrinking proc- ess, more fuel feeds down of its own weight over the top of the fire bed, with no need for motors or mechanical parts. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ~! ~i OULD YOU REPLACE YOUR HEATING BOILER IF YOUR FUEL SAVING WOULD PAY FOR A NEW W ON ? Wo, Ww K m J >. FA * 4 \ : ial AV XIK X ee: mee ‘ye / } 7 i a ‘nat Spencer Heaters are made in two types and in capacities to suit every size of home or building. Illustrated is the cast-iron sectional Spencer with enamelled steel jacket, for homes and small buildings. A complete line of Spencer steel tubular boilers is made for large buildings. Sold and installed by responsible heating con- tractors. oVENCED HEATERS for steam, vapor or hot water

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 ‘his modern Electric iron EAUTIFUL fabrics deserve correct care in ironing. To get longest wear from them, iron them the safe way. If you have been ironing fine, dainty things with an ordinary iron, or a plain “automatic” iron, you may now be getting only half the long wear which manufacturers have been weav- ing into these lovely, truly durable new materials. For silks, rayons and other similar materials, authorities recommend a low, EVEN heat. With ordinary irons you have to guess at the temperature. Your guess may be wrong—or the heat may increase as you iron. Haven't you noticed that stiff spots sometimes develop in the fabric, where the material soon tears easily? A too hot iron does it. A moment's mistake— and shortly a beautiful garment is worn out, long before its time. With a Hotpoint Super-Automatic Iron there is no guess- ing. Merely set the throttle at LOW, and low heat will be maintained automatically, without further thought. In addition to the Super-Automatic heat control, this iron has the patented CALROD element (cast in solid iron, practically indestruc- tible), the large comfortable Thumb Rest, the Hinged Plug—and other features. See this and other Hotpoint appliances at your electric com- pany or neighborhood dealer's store. helps silks and rayon fabries give you longer wear The Hotpoint Super-Automatic Iron $880 “The lron with a Brain” For silks, rayons, and ail delicate fabrics set the throttle at LOW. For heavy, damp linens, set it at HIGH. Or set it anywhere between, according to the exact heat desired for the kind of ma- terial being ironed. The heat stays just as you want it—never gets hotter or cooler than you wish. Z —_ | PP TN ys 7 “a? é y - so . & ~ aS o Z : me". v ; ‘ 7 ae a g , -_ — ae é u ; Sal Fa bi AOS, _ sm a i cna % . + Z ¥ 3 See y . f EDISON ELECTRIC APPLIANCE CO., Inc. A GENERAL ELECTRIC $600 West Taylor Street, Chicago, IIl. ORGANIZATION Factories: Chicago, IIl., and Ontario, Calif. © 1929, E. E. A. Co., Inc. WORLD'S LARGEST MANUFACTURER OF ELECTRIC RANGES AND HOUSEHOLD ELECTRIC HEATING APPLIANCES -— a —— _———— = — Se

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— ee —= = LSS (Continued from Page 76) more of it, certainly, than any student or practical captain of affairs can master or make use of. But we must plunge in some- where; we cannot remain outside of the seething caldron of fact forever, and so at this point it might be said that nothing is more characteristic of modern tendencies than the urge to integrate. Now, “integration” is not a synonym, although it is often used as such for words like “ merger,” “‘ combination,” “‘ consolida- tion” and “‘concentration.”’ I shall try to use the term carefully and not with the looseness which is so customary. But too careful and scientific a definition will de- feat my purpose, for then no one will read this article. We should bear in mind first that combinations are usually described as either horizontal or vertical. The former consists of establishments on the same level of industry, which, if not combined, would be competitors. Now, a typical horizontal merger would be that which included all the tire plants of the United States. Such a merger would no doubt run counter at once to the anti- trust laws, and indeed many of the hori- zontal combinations in the past have been accused of monopoly. It is true that in a certain sense a holding company owning many electric-light plants and also a large chain of stores represents a horizontal combination. But electric-light plants are natural monopolies, and plants in different places do not compete. Nor do even the largest of retail chains seem to have a monopoly. For these and other reasons neither the public-utility holding company nor the chain-store development belongs in this article. At any rate, the outstanding type of recent industrial development, aside from the public-utility holding company and the chain store, has been along vertical lines, so often termed the “integration of industry.” A vertical, or integrated, combination con- tains establishments which operate not on the same plane but at different stages. The word means to make into a whole. A shoe- manufacturing company may integrate backward and acquire tanneries, or it may integrate forward and acquire retail shoe stores. Both because it does not run counter to the anti-trust law and for fundamental economic reasons, vertical integration seems to have become an accepted feature of modern organization. Before the Indus- trial Revolution the shoemaker in his own shop turned the raw hide into shoes ready to wear. With the rise of the factory system and of specialization the processes were broken up, but now they are coming to- gether again. The manufacturer’s natural desire is to control as many variables and elements as he can by the domination of successive or related processes. 46 Pleasant Dreams or Nightmare The copper-mining companies buy brass mills, the tire companies acquire cotton- fabric mills and rubber plantations. Of all industries, however, iron and steel is the most highly integrated, perhaps because there are so many steps between the raw materia! and the finished product. In this case there are changes in the character as well as the shape of the raw material; it must be reworked several times. Obviously there are limits to integration, either backward or forward. No corpora- tion in the world is more rounded and com- prehensive than the United States Steel Corporation. Yet to integrate forward to the point where it controls the manufac- turing and marketing of all objects made The two latter responded; Mrs. Trumble even nodded faintly at Tom. But Annie’s mother got to her feet without a word, her eyesfrozen, hermouthdrawn. Foramoment THE SATURDAY from steel would be manifestly preposter- ous. “Tt is definitely to the advantage of the operator to be independent,” says the Cen- sus monograph on integration, ‘‘to rely on the activities of as few other operators as possible. The combination which is self- contained is in a much better competitive position because of its independence and freedom from otherwise disturbing factors.” Anything like complete industrial in- tegration is a rosy dream or a nightmare — I do not know which. Anyway, it is un- thinkable. But there are a thousand and one practical shades and degrees and varia- tions of the thing. When a manufacturer expands, the simplest method is to enlarge existing operations. If he has one shoe fac- tory, the first step is to build or purchase a second. But it is almost as natural to ex- pand along other lines, provided they are related or similar in some way. The busi- ness man may have knowledge and ex- perience which enable him to expand in directions which are similar in respect to raw materials, process or market. From Soup to Nuts First of all, there is the continually in- creasing diversity already spoken of in the use of relatively few materials. A con- cern that started to make butter finds it can make cheese, condensed milk, pow- dered milk and ice cream, all from the one raw material. These might be described as joint products, or if the firm started with one line only, the others might be called subsidiary or secondary products. The word “by-product”’ has a somewhat differ- ent meaning, but, in any case, we all know that the tendency is to make a single raw material or a few of them do more work, in that a larger number of finished articles are derived. But a business may become more com- plete along lines of process as well as of raw material. A cannery does not confine itself to tomatoes. Bread and confectionery are not made from the same substances, but there are cases of one company turning out both because of the similarity of the baking process. Or we may have integration in respect to complementary materials, parts and products. A powder company provides the alcohol and chemicals which it uses to make explosives. An automobile or type- writer manufacturer makes parts as well as finished product. A concern may manufac- ture sewing-machine fables as well as sew- ing machines, spools as well as thread, cigar boxes as well as cigars. Or a whole auxiliary industry may be needed in the process without leaving a single trace in the final product. Such would be an ice-manufacturing industry as auxiliary to a milk company. But the most characteristic integration tendency of the day is that which leads the manufacturer to expand along lines which require knowledge of a single or at least a similar market. Recently several farm- implement companies have acquired what is called an end-to-end, or full, line. They can sell implements to till, plant, cultivate and harvest numerous crops instead of a few. Two companies recently combined, one a leading manufacturer of domestic heating and the other of bathroom appara- tus, and though this merger represents in no sense whatever a full integration, it is a step at least toward reaching a fuller mar- ket. Each of the two products separately had a seasonal character; together they pretty well cover the year. The emphasis upon marketing is seen especially in what are sometimes called the circular mergers in the food industry. EVENING POST Strictly speaking, this is not integration In food products the processes are simple and few, unlike those in iron and steel. In a strict sense of the word, a food company would have to produce the raw material or transport and retail the finished product to be considered integrated But the food-company merger is quite typical of what is going on in many in- dustries today. One concern, the Postum, started with a single line, but having ab- sorbed eleven other food companies with more than twenty products, it is changing its name to the General Foods Corporation as being more suitable under present con- ditions. The idea in this and other cases is to handle numerous noncompeting food products on the theory that the same sales- man who visits the retailer might as well handle a dozen or a score of articles as one One very modern motive behind mergers is to bring about a unit large enough to engage in national advertising. Another motive is to create a company big and im- portant and impressive enough to warrant listing its shares on the New York Stock Exchange. But neither of these objectives requires a monopoly position Nor is there any necessity for buying up all the plants in a given line. The field of industry has become far too vast for that; it is possible to form an immense rounded entity and still leave competition aplenty. The modern idea seems to be to rely more upon the variety of articles or services pro- vided than upon ownership of all the pro- ducing units. The circular merger, of which several big food companies are typical, has been de- scribed as a supertrust. That may or may not be an accurate description. One hardly knows where to draw the line or exactly what the term means. It is about as vague as the word “superpower.” But it does not imply monopoly. Ifa large number and variety of products related in some fashion turn a company into a supertrust, then we have quite a number of them. The Union Carbide and Carbon Corporation, with a score of devices used in many industries for many purposes, and yet somehow having a family relationship in the processes of manu- facture, is a case in point For Good or ill Certainly the General Motors Company, with its automobiles, trucks, cabs, air- planes, motor parts and refrigerating ap- paratus, comes well within the designation Surely, too, the Du Pont Company is a supertrust in this sense. Starting as a maker of explosives, it has broadened out into paints, varnishes, dyestuffs, rayon, films and many other lines In this particular case we have a striking example of the newest phase of what might, by a very loose construction of words, be considered part of the merger tendency This is the investment of surplus funds in distinct, separate and unrelated fields. The purchase some years ago of a large interest in General Motors by the Du Pont Com- pany would more properly come under the head of wise investment than of integra tion. Sometimes what appears to be a mere conglomeration of businesses may be, as “outstanding in- stance of enterprise on the part of a manage- ment not restricted too much by traditional boundaries.”” Apparently this type of com- bination, if it can be termed such, is on the increase. Although the merger of separate compa nies may have been a more outstanding fea- ture in recent years than growth from within, yet we must not confuse the two things The Jones & Laughlin Steel Company, in one observer says, an AT YOUR AGE Continued from Page 7 she stood staring at her daughter; then she turned abruptly and left the room. Tom and Annie found a table across the room. “Wasn't she terrible?”’ said Annie, breathing aloud. He didn’t answer “For three days she hasn't spoken to me.”’ Suddenly she broke out: “Oh, people the nearly eighty years of its existence, hu reached third place among steel*producer by the process of growth alone, not having been enlarged at any time by acquisitior merger or consolidation, as had been the case with the two producers which ar ‘arger. No doubt there are other equally striking instances. On the other hand, many companies grow big by both processes and in numerous cases it might be difficult to separate the two One of the foremost of British men of affairs recently remarked that if two larg corporations were competing side by side a few years ago, the one which had grown from within would be described as a “‘ bus ness success,” a “pioneer,”’ and the “ back- bone”’ of its trade, whereas the one which resulted from mergers would be dismissed with the words “combine” and * trust,” with all the unpleasant implications in volved. “‘ Yet the power for good or il] may be identical in each case." Trusts and Supertrusts But he went on to say that the public attitude has changed radically in this re- spect, and called attention to the fact that the last previous presidential address of Section F of the British Association for the Advancement of Science dealt with Ration- alization in Industry—a European word which conveys the double idea of merger and efficiency. Even Philip Snowden, a member of the Labor Cabinet, recently dis cussed amalgamation in terms of waste elimination, the relations of capital and labor, and as a possible help to international peace Beyond question, the change in publi opinion regarding combinations is one of the momentous developments of recent years, even more so in this country than in England. What amounts to a literal turn- over in thinking is shown first of all by the shifting terminology. We rarely speak of “trusts” any more, but refer almost daily to “big business,” or if the expression “‘supertrust”’ is used, it does not connote any criticism but rather admiration. The public accepts combinations as a matter of course, as the order of the day That wise and venerable economist, Prof J. B. Clark, recently remarked that great corporations terrified us at first, but we have since discovered that they could be tamed and made to resemble working ele- phants rather than destructive dinosaurs But why has this change come about? The answer would require a whole article by itself. As already indicated, the in- evitable changes in industry mean that con binations are formed on different and less monopolistic lines than formerly. Then, too, the more widespread ownership of securities makes people increasingly sym pathetic to combinations as compared with earlier days the most humane way out for depressed There is a feeling also that and distressed industri like textiles and coal, would be a strong, movement business 18 managed wit more wisdom than in the days of the first outburst of healthy merger Finally we may say that big trusts Desp te these facts, our statute books are still filled with laws that not only bear upon trusts and monoy but profoundly influence the business life of the country Nor must it be taken for granted, because public sentiment ha eered almost all the way around in favor of combinations, that the movement doubts whatever Editor's Note—This is the first of two articles t Mr Atwood The second w ppear can be so small! | was going to ng tne leading part nthe Jur r League show, and yesterday Cousin Mary Betts, the pre dent, came to me and said | couldn't

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so “Why not?” “ Because a representative Junior League girl mustn't defy her mother. As if I were a naughty child!” Tom stared on at a row of cups on the mantelpiece—two or three of them bore his name. ‘Perhaps she was right,” he said suddenly. “‘When I begin to do harm to you it’s time to stop.” “What do you mean?” At her shocked voice his heart poured a warm liquid forth into his body, but he an- swered quietly: ‘“‘You remember I told you I was going South? Well, I’m going tomorrow There was an argument, but he had made up his mind. At the station next evening she wept and clung to him. “Thank you for the happiest month I’ve had in years,” he said “But you'll come back, Tom.” ‘“*T’ll be two months in Mexico; then I’m going East for a few weeks.” He tried to sound fortunate, but the frozen city he was leaving seemed to be in blossom. Her frozen breath was a flower on the air, and his heart sank as he realized that some young man was waiting outside to take her home in a car hung with blooms. “Good-by, Annie. Good-by, sweet!” Two days later he spent the morning in Houston with Hal Meigs, a classmate at Yale “You're in luck for such an old fella,” said Meigs at luncheon, “because I’m going to introduce you to the cutest little travel- ing companion you ever saw, who’s going all the way to Mexico City.” The lady in question was frankly pleased to learn at the station that she was not re- turning alone. She and Tom dined together on the train and later played rummy for an hour; but when, at ten o’clock, standing in the door of the stateroom, she turned back to him suddenly with a certain look, frank and unmistakable, and stood there holding that look for a long moment, Tom Squires was suddenly in the grip of an emotion that was not the one in question. He wanted desperately to see Annie, call her for a sec- ond on the phone, and then fall asleep, knowing she was young and pure as a star, and safe in bed. “Good night,” he said, trying to keep any repulsion out of his voice “Oh! Good night.” Arriving in El Paso next day, he drove over the border to Juarez. It was bright and hot, and after leaving his bags at the station he went into a bar for an iced drink; as he sipped it a girl’s voice ad- dressed him thickly from the table behind: ““You'n American?” He had noticed her slumped forward on her elbows as he came in; now, turning, he faced a young girl of about seventeen, obvi- ously drunk, yet with gentility in her un- steady, sprawling voice. The American bartender leaned confidentially forward. “IT don't know what to do about her,” he said. “She come in about three o'clock with two young fellows—-one of them her sweetie. They had a fight and the men went off, and this one’s been here ever since.” A spasm of distaste passed over Tom the rules of his generation were outraged and defied. That an American girl should be drunk and deserted in a tough foreign town--that such things happened, might happen te Annie. He looked at his watch, hesitated. “Has she got a bill?” he asked. “She owes for five gins. But suppose her boy friends come back?” “Tell them she’s at the Roosevelt Hotel in El) Paso.” Approaching, he put his hand on her She looked up “You look like Santa Claus,” she said vaguely. ‘You couldn't possibly be Santa Claus, could you?” I'm going to take you to El Paso.” ‘Well,” she considered, “you look per- f‘ly safe to me.” She was so young-—a drenched little rose He could have wept for her wretched un- consciousness of the old facts, the old pen- alties of life. Jousting at nothing in an shoulder THE SATURDAY empty tilt yard with a shaking spear. The taxi moved too slowly through the sud- denly poisonous night. Having explained things to a reluctant night clerk, he went out and found a tele- graph office. “Have given up Mexican trip,” he wired. “Leaving here tonight. Please meet train in the St. Paul station at three o’clock and ride with me to Minneapolis, as I can’t spare you for another minute. All my love.” He could at least keep an eye on her, ad- vise her, see what she did with her life. That silly mother of hers! On the train, as the baked tropical lands and green fields fell away and the North swept near again with patches of snow, then fields of it, fierce winds in the vestibule and bleak, hibernating farms, he paced the cor- ridors with intolerable restlessness. When they drew into the St. Paul station he swung himself off like a young man and searched the platform eagerly, but his eyes failed to find her. He had counted on those few minutes between the cities; they had be- come a symbol of her fidelity to their friend- ship, and as the train started again he searched it desperately from smoker to ob- servation car. But he could not find her, and now he knew that he was mad for her; at the thought that she had taken his ad- vice and plunged into affairs with other men, he grew weak with fear. Drawing into Minneapolis, his hands fumbled so that he must call the porter to fasten his baggage. Then there was an in- terminable wait in the corridor while the baggage was taken off and he was pressed up against a girl in a squirrel-trimmed coat. “Tom!” “Well, I'll be ‘a Her arms went up around his neck. “But, Tom,” she cried, “I’ve been right here in this car since St. Paul!” His cane fell in the corridor, he drew her very tenderly close and their lips met like starved hearts. mi HE new intimacy of their definite en- gagement brought Tom a feeling of young happiness. He awoke on winter mornings with the sense of undeserved joy hovering in the room; meeting young men, he found himself matching the vigor of his mind and body against theirs. Suddenly his life had a purpose and a background; he felt rounded and complete. On gray March afternoons when she wandered fa- miliarly in his apartment the warm sureties of his youth flooded back—ecstasy and poignancy, the mortal and the eternal posed in their immemorially tragic juxta- position and, a little astounded, he found himself relishing the very terminology of young romance. But he was more thought- ful than a younger lover; and to Annie he seemed to “know everything,” to stand holding open the gates for her passage into the truly golden world. “We'll go to Europe first,” he said. “Oh, we'll go there a lot, won’t we? Let’s spend our winters in Italy and the spring in Paris.” “But, little Annie, there’s business.’ “Well, we'll stay away as much as we can anyhow. I hate Minneapolis.” “Oh, no.” He was a little shocked. “Minneapolis is all right.” ““When you’re here it’s all right.” Mrs. Lorry yielded at length to the in- evitable. With ill grace she acknowledged the engagement, asking only that the mar- riage should not take place until fall. “Such a long time,”’ Annie sighed. “ After all, I’m your mother. It’sso little to ask.” It was a long winter, even in a land of long winters. March was full of billowy drifts, and when it seemed at last as though the cold must be defeated, there was a ’ EVENING POST series of blizzards, desperate as last stands. The people waited; their first energy to resist was spent, and man, like weather, simply hung on. There was less to do now and the general restlessness was expressed by surliness in daily contacts. Then, early in April, with a long sigh the ice cracked, the snow ran into the ground and the green, eager spring broke up through. One day, riding along a slushy road in a fresh, damp breeze with a little starved, smothered grass in it, Annie began to cry. Sometimes she cried for nothing, but this tinre Tom suddenly stopped the car and put his arm round her. “Why do you cry like that? unhappy?” “Oh, no, no!” she protested. “But you cried yesterday the same way. And you wouldn’t tell me why. You must always tell me.” “Nothing, except the spring. It smells so good, and it always has so many sad thoughts and memories in it.” “It’s our spring, my sweetheart,” he said. ‘Annie, don’t let’s wait. Let’s be married in June.” “T promised mother, but if you like we can announce our engagement in June.” The spring came fast now. The side- walks were damp, then dry, and the chil- dren roller-skated on them and boys played baseball in the soft, vacant lots. Tom got up elaborate picnics of Annie’s contem- poraries and encouraged her to play golf and tennis with them. Abruptly, with a final, triumphant lurch of Nature, it was full summer. On a lovely May evening Tom came up the Lorrys’ walk and sat down beside An- nie’s mother on the porch. “It’s so pleasant,” he said, “I thought Annie and I would walk instead of driving this evening. I want to show her the funny old house I was born in.” “On Chambers Street, wasn’t it? An- nie’ll be home in a few minutes. She went riding withsome young peopleafter dinner.” “Yes, on Chambers Street.” He looked at his watch presently, hoping Annie would come while it was still light enough to see. Quarter of nine. He frowned. She had kept him waiting the night before, kept him waiting an hour yes- terday afternoon. “If I was twenty-one,” he said to him- self, ‘‘I’d make scenes and we’d both be miserable.” He and Mrs. Lorry talked; the warmth of the night precipitated the vague evening lassitude of the fifties and softened them both, and for the first time since his atten- tions to Annie began, there was no unfriend- liness between them. By and by long silences fell, broken only by the scratch of a match or the creak of her swinging sette>. When Mr. Lorry came home Tom threw away his second cigar in surprise and looked at his watch; it was after ten. “‘Annie’s late,”’ Mrs. Lorry said. “TI hope there’s nothing wrong,” said Tom anxiously. ““Who is she with?” “There were four when they started out. Randy Cambell and another couple—I didn’t notice who. They were only going for a soda.” “IT hope there hasn’t been any trouble. Perhaps Do you think I ought to go and see?”’ “Ten isn’t late nowadays. You'll find * Remembering that Tom Squires was marrying Annie, not adopting her, she kept herself from adding: ‘‘ You'll get used to %.” Her husband excused himself and went up to bed, and the conversation became more forced and desultory. When the church clock over the way struck eleven they both broke off and listened to the beats. Twenty minutes later, just as Tom Are you August 17,1929 impatiently crushed out his last cigar, an automobile drifted down the street and came to rest in front of the door. For a minute no one moved on the porch or in the auto. Then Annie, with a hat in her hand, got out and came quickly up the walk. Defying the tranquil night, the car snorted away. “Oh, hello!”’ she cried. “I’m so sorry! What time is it? Am I terribly late?” Tom didn’t answer. The street lamp threw wine color upon her face and ex- pressed with a shadow the heightened flush of her cheek. Her dress was crushed, her hair was in brief, expressive disarray. But it was the strange little break in her voice that made him afraid to speak, made him turn his eyes aside. “What happened?”’ Mrs. Lorry asked casually. “Oh, a blow-out and something wrong with the engine—and we lost our way. Is it terribly late?”’ And then, as she stood before them, her hat still in her hand, her breast rising and falling a little, her eyes wide and bright, Tom realized with a shock that he and her mother were people of the same age looking at a person of another. Try as he might, he could not separate himself from Mrs. Lorry. When she excused herself he suppressed a frantic tendency to say, ‘“‘But why should yougonow? Aftersitting hereallevening?”’ They were alone. Annie came up to him and pressed his hand. He had never been so conscious of her beauty; her damp hands were touched with dew. “You were out with young Cambell,”’ he said. “Yes. Oh, don’t be mad. so upset tonight.” “Upset?” She sat down, whimpering a little. “‘T couldn’t help it. Please don’t be mad. He wanted so for me to take a ride with him and it was such a wonderful night, so I went just for an hour. And we began talk- ing and I didn’t realize the time. I felt so sorry for him.” “How do you think I felt?” He scorned himself, but it was said now. “Don’t, Tom. I told you I was terribly upset. I want to go to bed.” “T understand. Good night, Annie.” “Oh, please don’t act that way, Tom. Can’t you understand?” But he could, and that was just the trou- ble. With the courteous bow of another generation, he walked down the steps and oif into the obliterating moonlight. In a moment he was just a shadow passing the street iamps and then a faint footfall up the street. I feel—I feel iv LL througi: that summer he often walked abroad in the evenings. He liked to stand for a minute in front of the house where he was born, and then in front of another house where he had been a little boy. On his customary routes there were other sharp landmarks of the 90’s, con- verted habitats of gayeties that no longer existed—the shell of Jansen’s Livery Sta- bles and the old Nushka Rink, where every winter his father had curled on the well- kept ice. “And it’s a darn pity,” he would mutter. “A darn pity.” He had a tendency, too, to walk past the lights of a certain drug store, because it seemed to him that it had contained the seed of another and nearer branch of the past. Once he went in, and inquiring cas- ually about the blond clerk, found that she had married and departed several months before. He obtained her name and on an impulse sent her a wedding present ‘“‘from a dumb admirer,” for he felt he owed some- thing to her for his happiness and pain. He had lost the battle against youth and spring, and with his grief paid the penalty for age’s unforgivable sin—refusing to die. But he could not have walked down wasted into the darkness without being used upa lit- tle; what he had wanted, after all, was only to break his strong old heart. Conflict itself has a value beyond victory and defeat, and those three months—he had them forever. 50° a IY “BILE SORT me rm

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; THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Si Equal to 320 trips around the world! 30° : Guaranteed Life 16,000 miles... Average Life by Actual Test 24,789 miles Eight-million-mile test each year proves the extraordinary life of SEEeenietiane ONTGOMERY Ward & Co. 20,000 miles, 3‘ ran more tl never takes the merchandise 30,000 miles, and 13% ran more tha tests or claims of any manufacturer 10,000 miles one of the most out “for granted.”” Never allows any cus- RI Y k R. Sy ] Dp iD Ss standing mileage records ever pro J tomer to expect service which Ward's duced by any tire, regardless of own tests have not first shown will yO name, make or price! An t be more than realized .. . & ' so tested was a standard RIVERSIDE taken direct from stock That is why, in spite of RIVERSIDE’S 16,000-mile guaran- This is sufficient evidence that RIVERSIDES are tee, we insist on having definite proof of RIVERSIDE quality—by quality through and through—to be compared only with first tests far more severe than any individual user could ever quality tires, never with “second-line” brands! And the same make. Day and night, week after week, month after month pease as ~ = peacoat dependable quality found in RIVERSIDE Tir ls true of : —through blazing heat, rain, snow, ice—over roads of con- merchandise offerings. Let it be your guid more than 40,000 other articles of merchandise sold by crete, mud, gravel and clay—through deserts, mountain trails, spnaibuiaiions Montgomery Ward & Co.—all of which come ou at § in tangled city trafic—Montgomery Ward & Co.’s fleet of [ Prices of popular sizes: >) stantial savings created by Ward's short-cut id economies ti RIVERSIDE test cars not only uses, but abuses, even punishes, 16,000-mile Balloons in distribution of goods to the customer dire ! this 16,000-mile thoroughbred of the RIVERSIDE line. The = . 5.00 - ri ° “9 os RIVERSIDE Tires may be bought direct from any of our 1 fleet's — aaity mileage per car, we miles—total years : 4 ee Sor .* saan more than 400 retail stores or ordered by mail from any of ; mileage for all tires tested, more than eight million! 32x6.50.. ras A - + 18.70 our branches listed below. If no Ward's store is near you, simy F Accurate records kept on every tire tested show that the 32x6.75 .. “ey - + 18.35 mail size wanted, and we will ship your tires C.O.D. | : ! average mileage received from these 16,000-mile guaranteed Ganatimn pchabnes age immediately. Free tire-mounting service at each store, plus sur | RIVERSIDES was 24,789 miles! Fifty-five per cent more than the | Montgomery Ward & Co. stores prising savings in price, make RIVERSIDES easily the i guarantee itself! And ofall the tires tested, 529 ran more than Free tire-mounting service ~ standing tire-value in America today. | MONTGOMERY WARD & C : t ' 1 CHICAGO - KANSAS CITY - ST. PAUL - BALTIMORE - PORTLAND, ORE. - OAKLAND, CALIF. - FORT WORTH DENVER ALBANY | © M.W.& Co. 1929 Nine Great Mail Order Houses and More Than Four Hundred Retail Stores throughout the Nation 4 '

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VICTROLA NO. 2-55 LIST PRICE $35 Consider these points and Aear the Portable Victrola THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August !7,1929 TOO MANY CROOKS rliby encitéled by squaré-cut brilliants, that caught his attention. “Say,” he murmured, his fingers begin- ning to tremble, “this sapphire ain’t a composite; it’s the real goods!” “Of course,” said Gordon, taking back the necklace. “Did you think I'd be wor ried over a string of beads?” “ Pearls as big a8 that are Worth a lot of money,” continued ih the sarhe low tone. “Yea, but it isn’t theif size that counts as much as the matching. It takes years to grade a perfect necklace.” “Sue,” said Bertratid as if awaking. “I seen an ad where some house aid they had got together the finest string in the world, and they put the price on it ih plain print. It was over half a million! Dollars, mind you—not franes.”’ “Well, these ate hardly in that class!” latighed Gordon. “They could probably _ be replaced for one-tenth of the money.” “One-tenth of half a million?” asked yey thickly, raising glazed eyes to et face. She nodded indifferently, leaned forward and spoke rapidly to the driver. He bobbed | his head and in due course the taxi drew up There is no need to sacrifice tone gual just because a talking machine is “ The portable Victrola is ent, curfipact. | You can carty it like a handbag afywhere you can go yourself, Yet it gives you real music— with af with jase—has real Victrola volume and Hehness, The portable Victrola meats a lot tore music pleasure at camp, week-end, Of picnic... 6 Victor Features Only the portable Victrola gives you the complete convenience you want in a portable. It has... 1. The automatic brake. The portable Victrola turns itself off after every Victor record is played. An essential conven- ience outdoors and in! 2. The special winding feature. No knocks and bruises. When you wind this port- able your hand travels in a wide unob- structed circle. Play it anywhere you choose. The portable Victrola brings you the finest musical reproduction in a case that you will be proud to display for years. It has... 3. The Orthophonic-type sound box. An ex- clusive Victor development that insures wonderful depth and realism that mod- ern dancers and music-lovers demand. . Gold-plated or gold-lacquered metal parts. In every detail of appearance the port- able Victrola is an aristocrat. All-steel construction is covered by rich durable fabric. . Combination record container and lid re- lease. Holds ten 10-inch records. ~ al 6. + Special clip and well for tungstone and steel needles. Nothing has been sacrificed to make this instrument an unfailing joy wherever it is played. Even at a greater price there is nothing like the portable Victrola. The ideal in- strument for the apartment. Don’t be content with less. ‘Portable Victrola VICTROLA NO. 2-55 LIST PRICE $35 before the portal of that jeweler whose shop has beeh ah atteroom for getierations of royalty. the last part of the ride foun ey Fig tl | : at ease, hg ati ng part of half @ million, but How by ah effort he re- gained his compostire. “You nly couldn't have picked a safer place, Hammill,” he said, trying to speak » but ineapable of elimi- hating a sort of awed reapect from his tone. “Would you mid if I came in with you?” “Not at all.” To his own su he started to pay for the cab, but she stopped him. “I’ve had him quite a while,” she ex- plained, and handed the driver his fare plus the tip she had promised. He touched his cap and murmured cyni- cally, “Si vite au piége? Je vous souhaite bonne chance, madame!” She thanked him gravely for his good | wishes, and a moment later was standing in the repair booth, with Bertrand looking over her shoulder. Upon her insistence the necklace was promised for the next after- noon, and they started out, pausing, as was only natural, to look at some of the finer jewels. Just as she reached the door an attendant caught up with her. “They wish to countersign your receipt, madame,” he murmured for her ear alone, “if you will kindly follow me.” It required no trick to escape unnoticed from Bertrand, fascinated as he was by such a display of precious stones as he had never before seen. She was shown immedi+ ately into a compartment where one of the departmental managers was waiting. He bowed very low. “Madame, it is our custom to protect our patrons in every way possible. Do not think me impertinent, I beg of you, when I | ask if you are thoroughly acquainted with your escort?” Far was it from Gordon's mind to have herself unnecessarily suspected through the | company she happened to be in. Taken by surprise, she could not have avoided fiush- ing, even if she had tried, but the eyes she lifted swiftly to the man’s face carried a startled look of fright because she meant them to. “Thank you, m’sieur—oh, thank you,” she murmured. “Only a steamer ac- quaintance.”’ “TI am charmed not to have offended madame,” said the manager, bowing lower than before and holding the door open for her. She had been gone so short a time that | Bertrand had failed to notice her absence; | besides, by this time the seed she had sown had taken root and he was deeply preoccupied with his own plans. His first | impulse had been to curse Meacham for his (Continued from Page 21) absetiteand to pray for Colohel Rivers’ re- turn, but swiftly there had followed the de- sire to score a ten-strike on his own, free of the obligation to split the profits three ways. He was the pretty boy of the trio, the ballroom pigeon, and as such had seldom come in for an equal division. Here, ap- parently, was his chance to even up the score, and by good lick the prospect was a wothan. If there was otie thing he knew thoroughly, it was how to dance, but what hopes had he of persuading Miss Hammill to go out with him in Paris when he had never been able to lead het as far as the ship’s ballroom when they had been fellow passengers? He assumed his most if- gratiating manner as they stood waiting for a cab. “Are you very busy, Miss Hammill? Nights, I mean?” “Paitly busy. Why?” “You never gave me a chance, but I do know how to dance. I'll take you any- where you like, if you'll only give me a tryout. Don’t you think you could ar- range it?” “When? Tonight?” Bertrand could scarcely dissimulate his panic. He was ready to gamble the heavy expense of one evening at the sort of ultra- fashionable resort that would justify het in wearing the pearls, but two such dintiers seemed a lot to risk, even for a chatice at such a prize. Besides, there was the imi- tation netklace to be taken into account for his mind, like Meacham’s, had lea to the obvious ruse of a substitution. What was the probability of his finding one that would pass muster on stich short ordet? “I’ve got a date,” he said regretfully, “but I could try and break it.” “Oh, no,” said Gordon, “don’t do that. Let me see; Sunday I couldn't possibly, but I might arrange it for tomorrow eve- hing.” “That’s great,” he said, his swarthy face flushing with satisfaction. ‘“‘Where do you want to go?” “Where do you suggest?” “T say we do the thing right. Let’s go to the Ambassadeurs—below the balcony. You know, they don’t let anybody on the dance floor there unless they’re in full dress.” Gordon tried to look impressed. She could have told him half a dozen places, all equally smart, but the Ambassadeurs hap- pened to suit her better than any of them. She nodded. “All right; at nine o’clock. Do you know where to come for me?”’ “Yes, I know,” said Bertrand, confirm- ing her suspicion that Meacham had not resisted the temptation to appear fully in her confidence, “‘but nine is awfully late. I'll come around for you at half-past eight.” She dismissed him with.another nod as she hailed a taxi and purposely delayed giving a direction until he was out of hear- ing; then she gave the address of the sub- prefecture of police. She was kept in the anteroom only the exact time it took for the messenger to present her card and return. “Mademoiselle!”” exclaimed Monsieur Boudin. “I congratulate you. Up so early?” “For the first time, m’sieur, your flat- tery has fallen short of its mark,” said Gordon with a disarming smile. “I have been up for hours.” “You. amaze me,” declared Monsieur Boudin—“ you amaze me continuously. The mere fact that you exist is surprising in itself, but when you abstain from remain- ing in bed with cold bandages over your eyes after such a feat as you performed last night, I am astonished, consternated.”’ “You forget,” said Gordon, “that time means everything to me. How is your prisoner?” “A raging maniac, mademoiselle. He shrieks for an advocate, for permission to write, to telephone, to send one short wire.” “You permitted him, of cotitse.”” o Hein?” “You doubtless permitted him both to write and telegraph?” “Mais non!” “Why not?” “‘Sacré bleu, but you have reason! The intercepted missives would perhaps aid you?” “Exactly, m’sieur. I may possibly have actual need of them before tomorrow night.” The subprefect touched a hidden bell and a uniformed officer appeared with a promptitude which, though she had wit- the phenomenon once before, startled Gordon out of her self-composure. Ser- geant Gaspard bowed low to her, straight- ened, and then, eyes to the front, brushed up one end of his flowitg mustache with a crooked as if he wished her to per- ay! ~ his hidden - ee smiling. ‘Ah, sergeant, tmademoiselle’s prisoner still raves?” “Without ceasing, M’sietit le Sous- préfet.” “ Permit one of the guards to be bribed or persuaded into accepting for secret dis- patch a telegratn of & letter. Let the prisoner suspect nothing, and’ wheh you succeed, bring the comftitthication to me.” As Gaspard saliited and withdrew, Gordon started to fee from het chair. “I continue to be indebted to you,” she said. “ But wait, mademoiselle,” begged Mon- sieut Boudin. “Grant me the reward of your presence duting the short time Ser- geant oe will fequire to stage the necessary fare. Let me compliment you first of all on the extraordinary smoothness with which youf machinery performed its appointed duty last night, and then warn you against the intoxication of beginners’ UCK. “You do well to admonish me,” said Gordon gravely, settling back in her chair. “T was actually on the point of going without telling you my plans. It will be tomorrow night, m’sieur, at the Ambas- sadeurs. We will leave on the stroke of one.” “Let me see. You issue on the Avenue Gabriel, is it not so?” “‘On the Avenue Gabriel.” “Clipped trees. Deep shade. Nothing could be better.”” A few minutes later he was holding out his hand almost simultane- ously with Sergeant Gaspard’s noiseless entrance. “The telegram, eh?” “Two, m’sieur.”’ “Where is the guard who got them so quickly? I wish to compliment him.” “He is out, m’sieur. He insisted for his honor on going to the post office for a re- ceipt for the messages to show the prisoner.” “‘T will not compliment him,”’ murmured Monsieur Boudin as he passed the tele- grams to Miss Hammill; “I shall promote him.” “Oh!” exclaimed Gordon, reading rap- idly. “It is as I had hoped. They are just what I needed. May I keep them, m’sieur?”’ “But of course, mademoiselle. All I beg is that you refrain from asking for the whole of my kingdom, or poor Gaspard’s head on a salver!”’ Gordon made her smiling adieus and hurried out to keep her appointment for luncheon with Mrs. Leffingwell. She was late, and upon arrival at the Topsy found Kit in a state of excitement bordering on panic. “Gordon! At last! I can’t tell you the tortures I’ve been going through. I thought surely you’d been kidnaped. That awful man! Last night, I mean. My dear, what happened? My dear, when I saw you dis- appear into that b-big d-dark car, and him after you—-—- But what happened?” “Kit, have you reserved a table?” “Of course; but it’s upstairs.” “All the better. I hope it’s in a corner. Is it?” “Yes, I think so.” (Continued on Page 84) - ~ — SO Ne ee ag het an el 0 ELE VEEL ca ee —

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 83 Yesterday . . . a rutted track below the hill, winding through valley, swamp and village to the far-off city. Women turned often from their tasks to let their eyes ee eae eae W H E E . S stray wistfully along the brown road. Somewhere in the f hazy distance was the city. : : : Today ... from farm to village and village to city, automobiles roll swiftly along the highways. And every woman has become a citizen of the world. The city —— its styles, its new conveniences, its educational ad- vantages are as familiar to her as her own village or the con- tours of her farm. The tre- mendous advantages of constant touch with today’s world are evi- dent in the vastly increased well- being of her own person, her children and her home. Never We know that millions of women share with before has life been so broad, so thoroughly liveable! McCall’s a profound appreciation of what the C N > automobile has done to broaden their lives . . . It — is McCall's aim to pass on to its 2,400,000 readers news of all developments that work toward the further broadening of activities in woman's sphere. A MAGAZINE FOR WOMEN

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Jrow strong in the sunshine but beware sickening Sunburn ROWN, happy people basking on the hot sand! Be one of them! Feel the sun and wind on your bare skin. Get a glorious tan. Store up surplus energy for all the sunless, indoor months. The sun is vitally neces- sary for healthy bodies; all loctors nowadays will tell But, foo sun ts extremely you this. much dangerous for small children—and for vrown ups, Too Like any other burn, sunburn kills the surface of the skin. living cells on the Poisonous waste products from this destroyed skin area are borne swiftly through the ystem, causing.a high fever, weak- , nervousness At the plenty of Unguentine, the famous first sign of redness apply Unguentine’s soothing, antiseptic oils penetrate the burned tissues, stop the terrible burning Unguentine THE SATURDAY ee Take no chances with ineffective lotions —or other cosmetics, with no healing power antiseptic surgical dressing used in 8 out of 10 hospitals for all burns. Better still, apply Unguentine be- fore you go out into the sun. It permits the beneficial ultra-violet rays to tone up your body while surely preventing them from pene- trating too quickly and deeply. Get a tube of Unguentine today, and have it ready. Take it with you to the beach and on your vacation. Al- ways keep a tube in your automobile. At your druggist’s, 50¢. The Norwich Pharmacal Co., Norwich, N. Y. Canada: 193 Spadina Ave., Toronto. |; mean EVENING POST (Continued from Page 82) “Listen, Kit. Can you keep a secret?” “T can’t, but I will.” “You must this time or I won’t tell you a thing. Promise on your word of honor you won’t breathe it for a week.” “T’ll promise for a week.” “The senator—you know the man I is in jail. The subprefect assures me he’!l certainly go to Devil’s Island for at least ten years.” “So he didn’t really get them.” “What?” “* My pearls.” “No, my dear. I promised to show them to you, but I can’t. They are being restrung. I can show you the receipt if you like.” “T don’t “ant to look at it. Gordon, you’re simply amazing. You’re about the loveliest unmarried girl in the world, and you've just sent a man to jail for ten years! What a thrill, my dear! Won’t you please tell me what it’s all about?” “Not today, Kit, please. Just give me time and I will. You’ve been so lovely to me, there’s nobody on earth I’d rather talk to all night, but you’ve got to wait.” “How long?” “A week. I hope it will be only a week.” “Do you ‘realize what I’m up against with those two men—Jim and Ellis Bough- ton? Just think if I should tell Jim you’ve got my pearls! That’s an idea, Gordon. I really believe he’d ——”’ “Please don’t,” begged Gordon. “Kit, don’t think this is a joke to me; it’s dead earnest. All my future depends on it, and in a way, all my past. Please, Kit.” “When you look like that I’m not sur- prised at Eli Boughton.” “What do you mean?” “He’s on the verge of insanity. Only this morning he came around to say good-by to Leffie and me.” “Good-by?”’ questioned Gordon almost with a gasp. “Is he going away?” “No. If he were going away he would be sane. He says he can’t see us any more because he’s going to become a crook.” “He was joking, of course.” “No, he wasn’t. That’s what makes it so terrible. He said that if you had time only for crooks he was going to become a crook.” “Oh!” murmured Gordon, relieved. “That reminds me; do you know how he got my telephone number?” “From the police. Not ditectly, of course. You know we all sign those regis- tration cards, and that gave him an idea. He has a pull, so he went to the embassy and then to the consulate-general, and finally he got your address, your telephone, your sex and your age.” “What about the number of pieces of baggage?” asked Gordon dryly. “I re- member signing something about that too.” “Really, Gordon, he’s awfully nice. I should think you'd be excited instead of sore; 1 know I would. Yes, he made a note of the pieces of baggage. He said it only added to the mystery becatise you were the first smart woman in history without a trunk.” “I’m not sore,” said Gordon thought- fully, “but I do want to be left alone for a while, and you can help.” “If I knew exactly what you were up | to’ began Mrs. Leffingwell doubtfully. | to do.” “There you go,” cried Gordon, “trying to make me bribe you! I asked you to wait only a week, and let me tell you a week is a very short time for what I’ve got She glanced at her watch and straightened in her chair. “‘Oh, dear!” “Don't say it,” interrupted Mrs. Leffing- weli. “You looked at your watch to make an excuse to go because you're afraid of me, and for no other reason. Let’s be calm, Gordon.” “All right,” said Gordon with a laugh as she settled back, ‘“‘but leave my poor little secret alone.” “Ts it a secret where you’re going to dine tonight?” “No. In bed.” “ And tomorrow?” August 17,1929 “That’s different,” said Gordon, hesi- tating. ‘‘I’ll tell you, but please restrain yourself this time. I mean don’t call out to me the way you did last night. I’m going to the Ambassadeurs, and we’ll be leaving at one.” “T doubt if I can get Jim to go there again,”’ said Kit. “So much the better. It made me nerv- ous having you watch me at Armenonville.” “You didn’t show it. Wherever you learned the game you’re playing, Gordon, it was in a good school.” “The hardest school on earth—the school of necessity,”” said Miss Hammill as she arose. “Seriously, Kit, I’ve got tomove on.” No sooner was she alone than she went to the Avenue Gabriel, and strolling by the Ambassadeurs, refreshed her memory of its entrance. Then she passed into the gardens, chose a lone chair in the sun, took out Meacham’s telegrams to Rivers and began to study them carefully. One was directed to the Majestic in Cannes; the other to a rather vague address in Paris— HOtellerie de la Grive en Deuil, Passy. The messages themselves were necessarily noncommittal, but evidently the senator had reason to expect the colonel’s early re- turn to town. The only indication as to the sender’s plight was the cryptic phrase: “Help immediately or I’m up for a long stretch.” She put the messages away carefully, arose and strolled slowly toward her hotel. It had at one time been a barnlike private residence with a carriage entrance at the back. The great gate was never opened now, but there was an inset wicket door which gave access to the court and a back stairway. She decided to use it and avoid the main lobby, as she wished to see neither Bertrand nor Boughton, the only free agents in Paris who knew where she was staying. But as she approached the last corner she met Boughton face to face. Her first sensation was one of anger, but it quickly evaporated. Nobody could look long at that erect figure, trim as a new yacht and breathing quality from the tips of its boned shoes to the crown of its slightly rakish hat, without feeling a sym- pathetic surge of vitality and well-being. He was striding along, swinging his cane playfully as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but at sight of her his face still managed to take on an added radiance. “Hello! This is great! How are you?” “Well, but exhausted,” said Gordon quickly. “I can hardly wait to get to a bath and bed.” “Bed! On an afternoon like this? You’re crazy. Besides, I never saw anybody look fresher or lovelier than you do right now. Dismiss the illusion.” “You're rather tired yourself, aren’t you?” asked Gordon. “Me? Why?” “How long have you been walking up and down? One hour? Two?” “Only one,” said Boughton after slight hesitation. “It didn’t take me long to find out there were two or three earths to this burrow, so, as your wizard mind perceived, I’ve been doing sentry duty.” “All things considered,” said Gordon quietly, “I think you’re taking a liberty to which you’re not entitled. Don’t you?” “Don’t I what?” asked Boughton. “Don’t you think so too?”’ “All things considered, I don’t. It’s quite true you told me on board you didn’t want me for a friend, but you didn’t refuse me as an associate, and lately I’ve been encouraged to imagine I might qualify as something more.” “What, for instance?”’ asked Gordon un- smilingly. “Oh, I don’t flatter myself you could ac- cept me as an accomplice right off the bat, but you might take me on as a pupil, or an errand boy, or a bodyguard. .. . Don’t look at me like that! I want to see you occasionally on your own terms, but I want to see you. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?” “It would be if I wanted to see you.” (Continued on Page 87) | Fn oe ania a= — 3 ltt ET a ome he 8

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 85 Why the Pipe 1s the sweetest of all smokes i Me H. N. CURTISS, of 1689 West 13th Street, Erie, Pa., has written us the follow- ing letter: “Having just returned from my fishing Some information for * camp in northern Ontario, and in the reflec- tion of a fortnight of most excellent weather, young men smokers who wonderful fishing, and complete camp com- h ave never trie d da pipe fort, I feel that an appreciation of Edgeworth is due as one of the principal factors of our enjoyment... “‘There are no places or conditions in ex- istence where contentment drawn from a briar —_ 7 te a it a om pipe meets with keener enjoyment nor more eer eee. we Se critical analysis than beside the camp fire after a strenuous day in the great outdoors. “It is the unanimous opinion of the smokers among my party that Edgeworth is without a peer, and that its smoothness, fragrance, and fine smoking qualities are unsurpassed and unmatched, and I thank you for making it lene 2 possible to obtain it.” 15 CENTS—SOLD EVERYWHERE If you are a young man who smokes, and —_ have never enjoyed the pleasure to be found ame he, in the pipe, we invite you to make use of the coupon below, which will bring you a free trial package of Edgeworth Smoking Tobacco. —— Tn. Give pipe smoking atrial and discover for your- self that inthe pipe and Edgeworth there is a com- bination unbeatable for real tobacco pleasure. te S. - One LI Nas al. A Sere fh v Larus & Brother Company, Makers of Edgeworth Smoking Tobax y 60 South 21st Street, Richmond, Virginia. Gen en: Tam aman ; and I am interested in pipe smoking. Please send me fre al package iH of Edgeworth Smoking Tobacco ; } f Please print name and address iH { Name } ‘ , } Street 3 it | City & State iis ' —

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86 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST This dainty bathroom is just a ys med example of the magic of Kitchen, nursery and laundry, too, can be transformed in like man- Upsonszing. The shabby, cracked plaster is there . . . but you can ner. Unsightly ceilings especially are everywhere being made dis- mot see it because it is forever covered with the smooth, sturdy panels of Upson Board and Upson Fibre-Tile. tinctive. The new Upson Relief Ceilings bring the beauty of hand modeled plaster within the reach of every home owner August 17,1929 Colorful Upson Fibre-Tile renews and glorifies Coior is the vogue of today! Joyous, alluring color can make any room in the home more livable and more lovable. Whether your home be old or new, you may eajoy the satisfying charm of modern color. Simply have your carpenter apply big panels of Upson Fibre-Tile right over the waiascot or cracked plaster in bath or kitchen . . . laundry or nursery. Or direct to studs in new construction. Then finish in rich shades or delicate tints like those on the sample tiles below. Upson Board on the upper walls and ceilings old baths and kitchens in soft, harmonizing colors can fittingly complete a room of distinctive and alluring beauty. There is /ittle muss, dirt or delay in Upsonizing. Best of all, Upsonized walls and ceilings never crack or fall. They may easily be kept clean and fresh by wiping with a damp cloth. And the Up- sonized home is also easier to sell or rent. Both Upson Board and Upson Fibre-Tile excel in resistance to jars... blows...heat...cold... moisture . . . even ordinary leaks . . . as compared with needlessly heavy and brittle boards. Nearly every home has at least one room that is a source of constant embarrass- ment .. . into which you hesitate to take friends or guests. Upsonizing is the modern answer. It is clean and quick. It can endow any room with chara terful personality . . . your personality if you wish Try Upsonizing one room. Then you will want to use Upson Board all through the house, as have tens of thousands of home owners every- where throughout the country. UPSON BOARD and FIBRE TILE Sold by discriminating lumber dealers Upson Fibre-Tile can be easily finished in any of the glorious colors so popular today. THE UPSON COMPANY, 809 Upson Point, Lockport, New York I should like to enjoy the beauty of modern color in my Mie homer Please send me copies of your new booklets, “Character- 3 ful Walls and Ceilings” and “Upson Relief Ceilings’’— also UPSON PROUT samples of Upson Board and Upson Fibre-Tile. I enclose 1 — cents for postage ~ ae Name " — Address © tgag, The Upson Company, Lockport, New York Used by up-to-the-minute carpenters pos Yea e-Y. wo ow be ee Color can bring sunny cheeriness into a dull drab room, or cool and soften a harsh exposure.

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29 (Continued from Page 84) “By heaven,” exclaimed Boughton, flushing hotly, “you ought to apply for the job of tripping the guillotine! You're merciless. You look soft, tender, ardent— all the things that make woman the living spirit of flame—but you're as hard and cold as the teeth on a saw. I’m convinced you spent your childhood, if you ever had any, pulling the legs off grasshoppers or breaking the wings of butterflies with a switch.” She might have laughed, but instead the tears rushed to her eyes. “Please let me go,” she whispered. “I’m tired—really tired.” Instantly he was contrite, but instead of letting her pass he hailed a passing taxi. “Forgive me and get in,” he urged her. “It’s the best sort of rest you can have—in the open air. I promise I won't ask a single question. Please try me. Please!” Her lips refused, but her body obeyed. Presently she dragged off her hat and soon afterward found herself sitting back, re- laxed, her face raised to the breeze and her eyes half closed. Soon they were in the Bois with the young leaves forming a pale green canopy above them. She was happy—dreamily happy. She did not want to think of Bertrand or Rivers; she even forgot Meacham’s staring eyeballs as Boughton talked soothingly of inconse- quential things—of the year when as a boy he had actually skated on the Lac Inférieur, of the first scraggly polo match after the war, of morning canters along the Allée Cavaliére. He asked her if she rode, but went on quickly, not waiting for an answer. She was lulled, numbed by a feeling of having returned too suddenly into an ordered and pleasant world. What a mis- take to have stepped out of her réle, for would it not take hours of self-discipline to re-create the hard shell which had enabled her to cope with Meacham and might have served a double turn with Bertrand? Now she would have to do it all over again— push Boughton out and away and fortify herself into the ambulating simulacrum of an armored car! They were out of the Bois. Thé taii botdered the Seine and then turned to cross the river to St. Cloud, apparently without direction froti Boughton. He was still talking, reminiscing, ptattling—if so dis- tinctly a masculine véit® can be said to prattle. Nor was she Altogether silent. She laughed occasionally and answered him sometimes, but almost stibconsciously, like a person talking aloud 6f the borderland of sleep. Eveh whet the eab, having half climbed the escarpment, swerved through a gate and dived downward t6 & festaurant ter- raced against the moutitain side, she did hot fully dwake. She Was likd a boat, floating laity, bit guided by a knowing oar. She permitted herself to be arranged in a long chait under a huge raihbow-tinted umbrella tilted against the sun, and was only pleas- antly cotiscious that Boughton had made himself confortable not far off. He sat half facing her, so that to him her uficovered amber head became the focal point in a kaleidoscopic composition. Green grass and vivid flower beds against a back- ground of scaling, lichen-covered walls. Sunlight and shadow. The haze on the low horizon pierced here and there by the sooty line of a factory chimney, rising from an undulating sea of blavketied roofs. The sil- vered turve of the fiver and, far away, Paris resplendent under the slanting rays of the setting suti. “Beauty must be centered,” he was say- ing. “‘You may gasp at a view, but in the end the eye always turns back from ex- panse.”’ She heard him and did not hear him. Her senses seemed to be swinging at anchor and she herself to be drifting in a circle, yet drifting away. When she awoke a soft darkness had fallen, starred by lights in trees and shrubbery, and bounded on its distant verge by the iridescence of Paris at night. All that remained of Boughton was a peaceful face, fitfully illumined by the glow from his cigarette. THE SATURDAY “T’ve been asleep!” she exclaimed. “Have you?” He reached up to turn on a cluster of lights above the garden umbrella. Pres- ently waiters appeared; cocktails were served and then the dinner. She changed her seat for a straight chair, but remained half entranced. No troubling questions as to what she would eat or drink, no clatter- ing noises, merely the efflorescence into food of some magic wand. Here was a peace more active than con- tent, the subtle unspoken joy of compan- ionship. She felt all her defenses crum- bling. What a fool she was to worry! Why not abandon herself to the moment, lengthen it out, ride it into that unknown which is forever beckoning the young in heart? She glanced at Boughton’s face and immedi- ately was on her guard, for she had glimpsed in it a premonition of victory. It was as though his hand were on the point of reach- ing out to grasp the reward of three hours of patient strategy. She arose hurriedly. ‘“‘What can I have been thinking about? I must go. Thank you so much for everything, but I’ve got to go.” “Why?” he asked quietly over her shoul- der as he held her wrap for her. “‘Why do you have to go?” His voice betrayed disappointment but no anger, and that in itself became a source of danger. If she didn’t manage to get away from him soon he might still prove too much for her to handle. Up to the present it had been her self-control which had dominated, but now it was his. Some- how the tables had been turned and it was she who found herself face to face with a disturbing imperturbability. In the cab, though he had fallen silent, he still managed to impose his influence, not as an intrusion but as a sort of diffused per- vasion. She could feel him taking sion of her senses again as imperceptibly as a fog engulfs the hulk and then the spars of a disappearing boat, so that when, quite casually, he let his hand fall over hers, it took her a full moment to rise from lazy uhcotisciousness into startled realization. She sprang erect, called to the cabman “ Arrétez!” and, when he had drawn up at the curb, threw open the door atid started to get out. “What até you doiig?” asked Botighton, genuitiely taken aback. “Tm leaving you.” “But why? What have I done?” “ Nothitig—hothing at all. It’s only that I ——” “Just because I touched your hand? But that’s unbelievable. You're being ab- surd, like a chorus girl clutching her mad money to her breast.” “No, no!” “Then stop being silly. Get in, and I mise you a wooden image will take you ome. Do you realize you're tiles from anywhere?” “I’m less than_a block from the Métro and I'll be at the Etoile ahead of you.” She met his eyes steadily as she continued: “ Besides, I may not be going hottie.” He drew back as if the blow had surely found its mark. A moment before he had felt secure, almost triumphant, but a single hrase had served to explode a mine undét is self-assurance. He was stunned and showed it, blinking at her out of a dage Which verged on the ludicrous. Other women might have declared an intention of wandering alone around Paris after dark and left him cold, but not Gordon, for she seemed to epitomize exactly those qualities which would tempt every grade of male- factor, from comfiion thief to the most exquisite fldneur. He was still standing in the cab when she left him, staring at her with something of the wonder with which the ancients must have watched bright salamanders plunge unharmed into flame. Again he had learned nothing about her. All that had happened was that he had passed the afternoon so charmingly that he found himself more hope- lessly enmeshed than ever. It was shock- ing enough that he should be interested in EVENING POST any girl who went around with Meacham and his like, but it was amusingly incredible that he should have quivered at the thought of taking the slightest liberty with her. Why? What rights to respect had a person who consorted openly with crooks? In the meantime Gordon had crossed the Boulevard Murat and disappeared into the Porte d’Auteuil station of the Métropoli- tain. Half an hour later she was at home and in bed, having given orders that on no account was she to be disturbed. When she rang for her coffee in the morning she gave the maid a coveted bit of lingerie to fix her attention and then instructed her to keep guard over the telephone and say to anyone other than M’sieur Bertrand that Miss Hammill had left town for the week-end. Since Boughton had succeeded in locat- ing her, others could do the same or Kit Leffingwell might worm her telephone num- ber out of him, and Gordon was in no mood for fabricating excuses. She passed a rest- less and altogether unhappy day, for she could neither sleep nor read. At one mo- ment she was shivering and at the next she was so hot she could scarcely bear the weight of a sheet, and yet she was sure she had no temperature other than buck fever. It was funk—pure funk—and she rejoiced when at last the arrival of the coiffeuse took her mind off the hazardous task before her. She was ready and waiting when Ber- trand telephoned, but even when he ar- rived at the hotel she pertnitted him to cool his heels for tei minutes before she went down. If she had had any doubts as to his proper equipment for such an excursion, they were dispelled at the first sight of him. He was a handsome brute —too handsome, if anything—and smartly clothed in full evening dress, which he cartied well, tot because he was to the manner born but be- cause it was the main item of his stock in trade. ‘ On her part she was relieved to sense that her own personal appearance, even though still swathed in an evening wrap, had pro- duced exactly the effect on him for which she had sttiven. For a moment it had taken the wind out of him, leaving him powerless to speak of even bow while he &trove to make inventory of an art just be- yond his ken. She was neither resplendent hot ornate, ahd yet, in apite of his limita- tions, he Was conscious of that ultimate touch of fitish which sets a chasm between the truly start wothah and the merely well dressed. He recovered enough to beetime vocal: “Gee, Miss Hammill, you sute look swell.” “You're looking very Well yourself, Mr. Bertrand. Did you keep the taxi?” “No. I did for a while, but then’T let him go. I'll get another if you'll wait inside.” “One mittite. We're not in a hurry, are we? Have you heard from Senator Meachain?”’ “Not a word. The senator has sort of c spelis, you know. Shouldn't wonder if he’d grabbed a car and gotie to Cannes.” “To join Colonel Rivers?” Bertrand glanced gt her, sutprised and vaguely troubled. “Ye-ah,” he adinitted finally. “That's What I was thinking.” “ Let's go sothewhere for a eotktail first,” suggested Miss Hammill whet he had se- eured a cab. “It’s too early te dine.” “All right, but I don’t mihd telling you it takes tne a couple of weeks to get used to having dinnet around midnight.” “You Gin fill up on olives atid potato chips.” “Where shall I tell him—the Palais de Glace, Fouquet’s ——"” “Oh, no. That sort of place wouldn't atntise me. Did you ever hear of the Grive en Deuil?” The human body is so constituted that when startled it invariably shows a sign. Normal people are apt to exclaim, nervous ones make the abrupt movement known as jumping out of their skins, and even the steadiest have some such trick as scratching the nose or rubbing an eye or coughing. But with all breakers of the law, particu- larly crooks, the reaction is almost invari- ably an immobility so tense that it becomes 87 felt as an active force and thus often de- feats its own purpose. Such a trance feil upon Bertrand so ab- ruptly that a far less observant person than Miss Hammill might have noticed it. He took time not only to collect himself but to think. How much did she know about the Grive en Deuil? Had Meacham taken her there, or merely told her about it? In all probability, if he had not gone to Cannes in his evening clothes, it was in one of the rooms off its sunken court that the senator would be sleeping off the effects of a two days’ drunk. Then another idea struck him. If Miss Hammill was so abysmally innocent as to trust herself in the Grive en Deuil, why waste money on the Ambaksa- deurs? “What's the matter?” she asked sharply, interrupting his thoughts. “Nothing,” said Bertrand. “I was only trying to remember how to tel! him where to go. You see, it’s quite some time since I been there, but I've got it now.” He handed her into the cab, and leaned forward to murmur lengthy instructions to the driver, who occasionally nodded his head impatiently, like one listening to a twice-told tale. To Miss Hammill’s surprise the route they took was directly away from the section of the city she would have ex- pected. She tried to keep track of the streets, but gave it up, deciding she would trust to recognizing some landmark near their goal. It was only when they crossed the broad Avetiue de Malakoff and she caught a glimpse of the Trocadéro that she was able to orient herself and she also recognized the Rond Point de Longchamp with its seven converging streets, but from there on the turns Were 40 rapid that she became con- fused. Without her having been able to read a single name plate the cab turned into a narrow impasse and she saw, directly facing her ahd filling the full width of the alley, a small house bearing across its front the faded legend, Hotellerie de la Grive en Deuil. There are some people who cannot force themselves to enter a cave at any price, and there are many others to whom a cul-de-sac is oppressive for the same fundamental rea- son; they recoil instinctively from the possibility of finding themselves trapped. As Miss Hammill noticed the blank walls on either side she would have sufrendered to this primordial fear had she not been absorbed in wonder that Colonel Rivers and his like would ever trust themselves at the bottom of such a well. The interior of the hostelry provided an- Other surprise; it appeared to have been lifted complete out of some Engligh setting. It was made up of a series of rooms which might better be described as nooks and crannies, for they were neither in equal series nor even Of the sate floor level. On the left as one entered there was a huge fireplace overhuiig by & copper bell, and just beyond it a narrow staircase descended by two turfs, forming a simaii platform above which hung a bulletin board such as is peaty seen only in clubs. he ittegular interior was ditnly lighted and the géneral darkness was increased by the wainscoting of aged oak, which reached to the ceiling. Miss Hammill shrank back, more than half inclined to turn and leave the place, but as her pupils dilated she was able to size up the few customers, some of them dining before spotless linen and others sipping apéritifs before bare tables, and she was reassured by their appearance. Also there was a niche, almost completely in- closed, which held a single table for two. “Can we sit there?" she asked “Anywhere you like,"’ said Bertrand, leading the way. “They call this the con- fessional."" He was anxious to make sure she wore the pearls, and held out his hands. “Let me take your cloak.” “No, thanks, I'll keep it on,”’ she said, drawing the high-collared wrap more closely about her. “It isn't any too warm in here.” They had had a cocktail apiece and he was urging her, a little too insistently, to (Centinued on Page 80

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88 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 These VITAL FEATURES) and WHIPPET IS THE ONLY LOW-PRICED SI} yl te pion 7-BEARING CRANKSHAFT with 7- Bearing Crankshaft ¢ 7 Q 5 EXTRA LONG WHEELBASE FORCE-FEED LUBRICATION Coach $725; Coupe $695; Coupe (with rumble wat) $725; De Luxe Sedan $850; ——— = A lm Fone - amer SILENT TIMING CHAIN if chassis $645 HE experience and progress of twenty-two norte of building quality motor cars have entered into the construction of the new Superior Whippet Six—the Six that is giving thousands of owners an advanced idea of auto- mobile value. In addition to being the only 1 inexpensive Six with a// the fundamental ’ advantages listed above, the new Superior 4 Whippet is also stronger and safer, having more frame cross members and a larger braking area than any of its competitors. ee — —s

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if ‘

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THE FOUR COACH ‘ Kbit < ' Coupe $57 Kava shee Pros n $630; De Lave ideo Stes: $-pans. Roadste $555: Collegia rh. ad ster , S505: Tow ink h52 0; dene Chawis $405. All Will - Ove eal 7; o. 4. Toledo, Ohic, md s at tfica fa to change without not

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Ratchet Breast and Chain Drills. Bench Drills. Vises, etx Nowtu Bros. Mero. Co., Philadelphia, U. S.A You may send me your “ Vankee™ Tool Book. Name Address (sep) | | from behind the | trand? | either!” THE SATURDAY (Centinued from Page 87) have another when the street door was thrown open and they were both electrified by the same sound. It was by no means a loud sound; it was a voice so suave and low as to have few counterparts. Miss Ham- mill’s eyes fastened on Bertrand’s and his on hers, each instantly gurious as to what the other would do; then simultaneously they drew back so as to be completely buried in shadow. They stared at each other avidly as Colonel Rivers, followed by the chasseur carrying his bags, passed within a few feet of them, started to descend the stairway, and then stopped on the landing to look over the messages attached to the bulletin | board. Berttand had at first suspected some sort of trap on her part. The world was a queer place. What did he know about this woman anyway? For all he could tell, Rivers himself might have given her the pearls. But a moment's calculation reas- sured him, only to plunge him into fresh doubt as to what was his wisest move. With the colonel’s aid in that of all places, but at the cost of a fifty-fifty split, success was absolutely sure. But wasn’t it sure anyway? He decided to go the whole hog, shrank farther into his corner and even held his breath. On her part, Gordon was so troubled that she felt the blood eormcar | in her temples. First there was the shock of Colonel Rivers’ presence, which in itself was enough to send a cold shiver down her spine, and then Ber- trand’s inexplicable behavior. He might hot wish to speak to Rivers, but she could » | barely credit his daring not to. Was it | possible that he was really innocent of atory intentions, or was she wrong in look- ing upon Meatham, Bertrand and Rivers as ohe? She was still puzzling over the problem when the proprietot h around as if he would have liked to intercept Rivers. “Hello, edlonel,” he said in accéntless English. “What was the matter with Cannes?” “None of your affait, if I may say so, Rapp,” drawled the colonel. “Is Meacham here?” ia) No.” “Been here and gone?” “No, I haven’t seen him for two days.” “Two days! That doesn’t sound likely. Where would he go for a bender, if not here? No message?” o No.” “Then there’s ofily one guess. He thust be in tow to some blister. What about Ber- Don’t tell me he’s not aroutid It was the proprietor’s turn to think quickly, while both Gordon atid Bertrand listened with all their ears. “He was here yesterday,” he said without pereeptible hesitation. The he added with a touch of sardonic humor: “It’s him that’s got a skirt on his hands, if you ask me.” “T don’t ask you,” said Rivers, starting down the stairs. “T tell you Meacham isn’t down there, for Bertrand neither. Cati’t you believe me? But the roots afe full up.” “If anybody's is in No. 3,” said the colonel distinctly, but without raising his voice, “I'll throw it out in the hall. Send my bags down.” No sooner had the sound of his footsteps ceased to echo than Bertrand hurriedly laid a twenty-franc note on the table and arose with a backward nod of his head which was like a peremptory order. Gordon was only too glad to move on, but when she started toward the main entrance Bertrand stopped her. “That’s not an exit,”’ he whispered. “Come with me.” He threaded his way between the tables toward the rear, and his warnings at vari- ous steps impressed on Gordon that the house had evidently been built to fit the slope of its rock foundations. Presently they came to an open door which led into a long passage with lights so widely spaced that there were bands of what appeared to be complete darkness in between. EVENINC POST Bertrand stood aside politely to let her pass, but when her foot was half over the threshold she had a strange sensation of being an insect with sensitive antenne whose tips vibrated to the surge of danger. In that light Bertrand’s face was merely a whitewashed mask, unreadable, but as she paused he passed his tongue over his lips as if to moisten them. Why should he have dry lips? Why should he be polite for the first time in their acquaintance? She drew back. “‘Go ahead, if you please; I might stumble.” “ Allright,” he agreed with a low nervous laugh. “It’s pretty dark, so keep close behind me.” “Where does this passage lead?”’ she asked presently, and by her voice he could tell she was very close indeed. “T’ll show you,” he whispered hoarsely, and started to turn. It was the movement for which she had been waiting, and without the slightest hesitation she gave him a violent push which almost sent him off his balance. “You needn’t show me anything except the way out, Mr. Bertrand. I’m not fond of dark passages and I might start scream- ing for Colonel Rivers, which would make us both ridiculous.” “Aw, now, Miss Hammill,” said Ber- trand inconsequently as he recovered. “Gee! What’s the harm? This is the regu- lar way out, and here we are.” He unlatched a door which opened in- ward and immediately afterward they were standing in a street, bounded on its farther side by a blank wall. A few steps brought them to a corner, and looking up, Gordon was at last able to read a name plaque. They were in the Rue des Réservoirs. They descended a stairway into the Place du Trocadéro, and presently secured a taxi. “ Aux Ambassadeurs,”’ ordered Bertrand. “‘T’m not so sure I care to go to the Am- bassadeurs,”’ said Gordon, drawing herself back into her corner. . “Why?” demanded Bertrand anxiously. “What did Ido? Aw, Miss Hammill ——” “It isn’t what you did,” she explained; “it’s what I had a feeling you were prepar- ing to do. You had better understand at once, Mt. Bertrand, that I’m not looking fot the ustial Paris flirtation. If you have ay such idea in your mind you might as well take me home.” As she spoke she opened her wrap suffi- ciently to give him his first glimpse of the pearls, and then drew it around her more tightly than ever. “Try me,” he urged eagerly; “you just try fie, All I want is to dance with you, but 4 fellow has to find out, hasn’t he? Some folks think there’s a lot of harm in éveii @ Bhort-time kiss, and some don’t. But you try dancing with me. Please, Miss Hammill.’ Her silence gru y cohsented, and as it was althost ten by the time they aftived at the restaurant, she was sufficiently fam- ished to give Bertrand ample time to take the edge off his hutiger before she put him to the test. He had not lied. He could dance with that perfection which marks the pro- fessional ahd sets him at once in a class by himself. Had a gentleman showh equal expertieas he would have been immediately under suspicion; as it was, it was Gordon who knew herself suspected for one of those woren who cah both afford and dare a paid escort. “Say, lady, you sufe throw a happy foot yootuallt ” he exclaimed after an unusually apt rendering by the orchestra of a synco- pated rhythm. “ You anid me as parthers could make some of thése pro giftl-and-boy teams look sick!” The he remembered himself. “I mean you cértaihly can dance, Miss Hammill.” With the return of respect to his speech he awoke to the fact that he had momen- tarily lost sight of his major purpose, and Gordon could feel the change coming over him as his eyes dwelt for a measuring in- stant on the string of pearls which hung low on her bare neck. When he looked hur- riedly away she was convinced that he was asking himself anxiously if the substitute August 17,1929 necklace in his pocket would pass muster. What would be his next move? Would he wait, like Meacham, until he was helping her on with her cloak, or would he maneuver for an earlier chance? While in movement she had felt secure, but as soon as they had gone back to their table the mere thought that the crucial moment might be upon her without further notice made her hands and feet turn cold. She put her fingers to her lips; they, too, were cold-—cold as ice, for they were colder than her hands—and yet she felt as if her cheeks were burning. She had looked around for the Leffingwells at her entrance, and had been relieved to miss them, but a little after midnight she caught sight of Kit on the dancing floor with her husband. Then where was Boughton? She glanced around as casually as she could manage, seeking a man alone at one of the tables inside the inclosure, but could find none. There were extra women in plenty, as usual, but no lone man. Then, just as Bertrand arose for the next dance without troubling to ask her if she was ready, her eyes were drawn forcibly to meet Ellis Boughton’s. He was glaring at her from the other side of the balcony. Having failed to put on his dinner clothes, he was barred from the floor. She stepped out on it, convinced that something was about to happen, and by no means sure that it would be along the lines of her carefully laid plans. Consequently she was in a way reassured when she no- ticed Bertrand’s increased nervousness. He had changed his manner of holding her and at each turn his hand rose higher and higher on her bare back; then he actually missed a step. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked wonderingly. ‘‘Have you had too much to drink?” “No, no!” he answered as he caught the rhythm again, but simultaneously his hand moved up between her shoulders and the next instant her necklace went slithering to the floor. “Look out!” he cried out loudly. “Look out, everybody!” He fell on his hands and knees protect- ingly over the fallen necklace, acting as a buffer against the crowding dancers, but arose so quickly that few knew what had happened. “Oh!” gasped Gordon, feeling faint in spite of all her preparation. ‘My pearls! How on earth could it have happened?” “You ought to thank your stars they didn’t fall off in the street,”’ said Bertrand, elbowing a way to their table. “Look at here; there’s nothing broke; the catch just came undone. Let me put it on for you.” The touch of his hands tnade her squirm inside. She sat down hurriedly and per- mitted him to fasten the clasp while she glanced at het watch. Ten minutes to one; ten minutes more to go to make sure! She arose. “Thank you. Let’s finish this, shall we?” He danced at his best for a few tuttis, a sort of eftiltation throbbing through his veins and transmittifig its exuberance to his partner so that she actually revivi- fied. If she had to hold him for ten min- utes, What stiret and itore nt way that this? No sdoner had she taken her first sip of cothfort froti the thought than disaster looted before her in the glowering person of Mr. Ellis Boughton, elbowing his He ruthlessly. She had never seen hit tude before, but when a man whose manners are lets theth go by the board, the result is apt to be cataclysmic. She had barely time to whisper in Bertrand’s ear that if he let anyone cut in she would despise him forever, when her astonished escort’s arm was seized in a firm grasp. “T’ll finish this, if you don’t mind,” said Boughton gtimly. “The hell will!” snarled Bertrand, turning purplé with genuine rage. ‘Get out, or I’ll push your face to the back of your head.” “That’s enough for both of you!” whis- pered Gordon desperately. ‘‘ Mr. Boughton, you must be mad to put me in such a posi- tion!” (Continued on Page 92

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CYCLONE FENCE FOR ATHLETIC FIELDS A Cyclone Fence enclo- sure increases paid ad- missions at games and soon pays back its cost. Protects players against annoyance at practice. Controls admittance to field at all times, protects property from damage during vacation peri cyclone vet oar oF UNITED STATES STEEL CORPORATION SATURDAY NEEDS PROTECTION Back to school and the old playground again! But during vacation what has happened? Children in many cases have become accus- tomed to fence-enclosed public playgrounds which have given them a new sense of security against traffic. This protection has dispelled the need of being alert to dangers of the street. And now—back to the old school playground, with its traffic hazards. Will they forget and run into the street? Or is your school among the many that are now enclosed with Cyclone Fence? Cyclone Fence provides a positive, uterring means of protection at school playgrounds. Words of caution may fail, laws to curb motor- ists may prove ineffectual—but Cyclone Fence is a law unto itself, always providing depend- able protection. Our own trained meni erect the fence and take Complete Responsibility. Cyclone Fence is made in a variety of styles, in wite and iron, for schools, playgrounds, ath- letic fields, residences, estates, factories, air- ports, property of all kinds. Cyclone Chain it od Link Fence is made of Copper-Bearing Steel and erected with H-Column Posts of tremeni- ‘irl. dous strength and durability. Write us. genuine Cyclone REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. Pacific Coast Division: Standard Fence Co., Oakland, Calif. Principal Subsidiary Manufacturing Companies: Cy wt Fence N Feoenat Sure xc and Day Dock Co ATIONAL Tus Co Tue Lonatn Steet Co Tennessee Coat, Inon & R.R.Co Untveasat Poattann Cement Co Los Angeles, Portland, Seattle, ‘ n Fra sco, L ates Steet Paopucts Co., New York City EVENING POST (Continued from Page 90) Boughton remained standing with his | body pressed close to Bertrand’s; however, | himself. at her words, his face softened, his fingers relaxed and he began to mutter an excuse. But stranger still was Bertrand’s reaction; all his anger had abruptly turned against Fool, fool—triple fool! What a get-away! Why hadn’t he smiled and re- signed? Blockhead and fool, why hadn’t he gone? Was it too late? Couldn’t he do it yet? “Gee, Mr. Boughton, I didn’t recognize you! Honest, I didn’t!” But it was too late. An irate floor man- ager, followed by a cohort of waiters, ad- vanced to do his duty. “Nobody not in evening dress allowed on the floor, sir, and it seems to me I told you that once before.” The dragnet being no respecter of per- sons, Gordon and Bertrand were carried along, with a minimum of disorder, and | quite willingly on her part, all the way to | the lobby. She was thinking that all might pointment. yet pass off according to her schedule, when to her amazement the half-familiar figure of Sergeant Gaspard’s assistant stepped into view, spoke a single word, and with the as- sistance of the waiters, lifted the amazed Mr. Boughton off his feet, rushed him through the main entrance, and threw him intoa large car from whose cavernous depths sinewy hands reached out to receive him. Gordon gasped, and then could barely choke back a burst of laughter; but almost immediately she realized she had received a crushing blow, for before she could rush forward the car had glided from view and could be heard roaring up the Avenue Gabriel. How was she to hold Bertrand now? More difficult still, how would she get word to the subprefect as to what had actually happened? She turned toward the present possessor of Kit Leffingwell’s pearls with a sinking heart. He had been handed his coat, hat and change, and was adjust- ing his muffler with trembling fingers. “Oh!” she exclaimed, feigning disap- “‘ Are we going now?” “T am,” he muttered. She could scarcely believe her ears. “Mr. Bertrand, you'll please go back and get my wrap.” “Not me. The truth is, Miss Hammill, | I don’t like being mixed up in this sort of thing.” He jerked his head sideways. “‘ Let the Leffingwells take you home.” As he started toward the door Gordon had only the fraction of a second in which to think, but he himself had given her the only possible key. She turned to where Kit was standing wide eyed, one hand clinging to Leffingwell’s arm, the other pressed to her lips. “Kit, for old times’ sake—for every- body’s sake—will you get my wrap? You'll find Leffie and me outside.” Mrs. Leffingwell disengaged herself in- stantly. “All right, Gordon,” she mur- mured rapidly, and was gone, leaving her astonished husband in his correct evening clothes, standing like a pillar of salt. “‘Leffie,”” said Gordon brazenly, “if you | don’t follow me you'll regret it till the day plate iden- | the of your death, and afterward.” “The nerve of her!’’ he muttered, but he followed. : She walked swiftly after Bertrand, who | had not dared to hurry, but even so she saw | nothing of him as she issued from the en- ence Cyclone Fence Company GENERAL OFFICES: WAUKEGAN, ILL. ... fr BRANCH OFFICES IN ALL PRINCIPAL CITIES trance. “‘Which way did the gentleman go?" she asked the chasseur sharply. The doorman was still bemused by the distraction of Boughton’s masterly abduc- tion by plain-clothes men from headquar- ters, but could not mistake the lady’s meaning, as only one gentleman had left the establishment since. He made a rotating motion with his chin, signifying that the person in question had walked around into the gardens bordering the C hamps Elysées. A moment later Gordon, running noise- lessly on the grass, caught up to Bertrand, seized his elbow, and pulled him around to face her. “Mr. Bertrand, I’m not accustomed to be- ing left in the lurch, and there’s somebody | here would like to speak to you about it.” August 17,1929 Without looking around, she continued in a tense voice, ‘Now, Leffie, here’s your chance.” ““What do you mean?” demanded Mr. Leffingwell, more than ever at a loss. “IT mean your chance to show the world it’s not because you're a sniveling coward that you let Meacham and Rivers pick your pocket of three thousand dollars.” “Oh!” gasped Leffingwell; then he asked in a silky voice: ‘What's Bertrand got to do with it?” “Only that he’s been paying for my din- ner with a small part of your money.” It was at this point that Bertrand made his final mistake of the evening. Had he laughed the matter off, or merely kept still, Leffingwell would have remained puzzled and inactive to the end, but fortunately for Gordon, she felt herself reeling across the gravel path from a forearm thrust, and the next instant she heard the impact of a fly- ing tackle as Leffingwell hurled himself at the fleeing Bertrand. Except for its pristine savagery, it was not a pleasant fight to watch, for the one rule which reigned from the start by com- mon consent was that there should be no rules. Whether they rolled on the ground or the grass, whether they knelt, stood or sat one upon the other, the order of the day was simply damage to the foe— damage to his face, head, body, shins or raiment. Mrs. Leffingwell arrived breathless upon the scene and first threw Miss Hammill’s wrap over her shoulders. Only then did she ask in round-eyed wonder: “What on earth are they doing, Gor- don?” Again did Gordon have to choke back her laughter and before she was able to an- swer, a ring of night wanderers had gath- ered, from which presently emerged two gendarmes, and at their summons, two more. Thus reénforced they hearted themselves in a body on the combatants, dragged them apart, and proceeded to conduct them tothe nearest police station, Miss Hammill and Mrs. Leffingwell following with the rest of the throng. “Are you there, Kit?” shouted Leffing- well. “Yes, Jim; I’m here, dear.” “Beat it. Tell the hotel concierge I'll give him five thousand if he gets me out before dawn.” “All right, dear. darling.” “And, Kit!” “Yes, Jim.” “Tell everybody you meet I’ve been happy in Paris—tell the whole world there’s a way to be happy in Paris!” “Do you think he’s drunk?” asked Kit of Gordon in a whisper. “No,” said Miss Hammill, “but don’t go yet, Kit. I’ve got to see where they’re going; and then leave it to me to get Leffie out.” Ten minutes later she was tapping her foot with ill-concealed impatience while the clerk at the all-night post office laboriously wrote out the number she requested in pen and ink and then took his time about pass- ing it on to his assistant. “Do you realize,” asked Gordon point- edly, “that the number I’m calling is that of the subprefect of police?” “Certainly, but the hurry is madame’s, is it not?” he countered with soft-voiced insolence. “T assure you ” began Gordon an- grily, and then broke off as she got the sig- nal for a booth. A moment later she had been put through to Monsieur Boudin himself. She gave the name of the arrondissement which held Leffingwell and Bertrand prisoners, and begged him to hurry around with all ur- gency. “But why, mademoiselle? I have your prisoner here. We have been waiting for you.” “No, no!” gulped Gordon. “Please, m’sieur, please! Believe me, you have the wrong man.” (Continued on Page 95) You were wonderful,

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Ta. hi} ‘| | Th B i} if } 4 | ‘) i ay ae i} ih THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Ws A music-lover’s magazine discovers marvelous Improvements in radio The following editorial is reprinted from the June issue of “* The Musical Leader’ — America’s leading magazine for music lovers. ? ANDERING around the radio conven- tion in Chicago, we heard some _re- markable reception and it was borne in on our consciousness that marvelous improvements had been made. It was our privilege to see and hear the latest Phileco radios and find in them the quality of reception for which we had hoped since the miracle of radio. “Through the Philco electro-dynamic speaker we heard for the first time in our experience a gorgeous piano tone transmitted, and the reso- nance as well as ‘singing quality’ came over the air as beautifully as it would in a concert hall. A noted baritone sang splendidly, and the or- chestra gave every gradation of tone, registering as Clearly as in the auditorium. No matter how vibrant or how deep voiced, every tonal variance comes through the Philco to perfection. “We became so entranced that we lingered and lin- gered; orchestras, solo instruments, and the voices of speakers and singers came to us with never a blur from Dallas, St. Paul, Cincinnati, New York and many other cities. A wonderful experience!” EVOLUTIONARY tone is truly a “mar- , velous improvement,” but it is only one of the many which Phileo has brought to radio. Still more spectacular is the ease with which the Philco Neutrodyne-Plus picks up stations thousands of miles distant. Varying with weather conditions and location, it often brings in Cuba, Canada, California, Mexico, Japan—even Australia. And Philco selectivity is just as remarkable. So much for Phileo performance. Now let's con- sider its appearance. If you had unlimited money PHILCO BALANCED-UNIT LOWBOY NEUTRODYNE-PLUS SCREEN GRID $ | 2Q”” *} 19” Complete range of models from $67.00 to $205.00 Tubes extra. Prices slightly higher in Canada, Rocky Mountains and West EVERY Phileo model, regardless of price, uses a GENUINE Electro- Dynamic Speaker and TWO of the new extra powered 245 tubes, push-pull. UNBALANCED RADIO MEANS DISTORTED TONE MEANS TRUE CLEAR i ‘...-AND THEN HE GOT A PHILC BALANCED PHILCO To avoid distortion in radio tone requires exact balancing of all units in the receiving set. Thi not easy therefore it is not common. And so, most people have either resigned themselves to tone-distortion of hav unknowingly become accustomed to it. In the new Phileo, by super-exact balancing of electrical waits, distortion has been completely eliminated. You have never heard a radio whose tone is so wonderfully tru ral med rich TONE to spend, and wanted to provide your home with the most beautiful furniture imaginable, you'd probably consult the designers who cre ated the interiors of America’s most distin guished homes. That's just what Philco has done. That’s why Philco cabinets are so much handsomer than any you have ever set eyes upon. Richly adorned with bird's-eye maple, butt walnut, maple burls, arbor vitae, ete. sical Leader.” Easy terms if lune in the Phileo Hour evers lriday i Davlight Saving Time, and be suret he fore vou buy any ra reri.co, PFE Makers als f the f sf j See and hear the new Phileo—vyour local dealer Telephones, Farm Lighting, Mouve Por ALL-ELECTRIC BALANCED-UNIT will gladly arrange a free demonstr and soon vou'll be as enthusiast IILADELP ition at home a The Mu leaide to buy ht. 9:30 Lastern the new Philco RADIO

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94 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 4 7, 7 -o¥ 40% MORE AIR-COOLED Up hills like an airplane’s zoom - - Flashing pick-up at fifty — power to pass in a pinch! Speedy getaway in second —as quiet as high. And the light, bright, sparkling performance, characteristic of its air-cooled motor— power plant of that newer generation that travels the pathways of the skies — These are high-spots of today’s Franklin—a Franklin with 10°% more power than any previous model! To appreciate this new-day motoring sensation you must drive this car yourself. Its confident, smooth flow of power, its floating riding qualities and its sure-footedness will give you an entirely new sense of road mastery. POWER! You will understand instinctively why Franklintoday holds all the major Amer- ican road records. If you have flown, you will instantly recognize the “airplane feel” of the Franklin. The critical eye finds a sense of fitness in the smooth, sleek lines of the Franklin—suggestive of its essentially youthful performance. Those that seek the ultimate in motoring com- fort appreciate the extra roominess of Franklin bodies— proportionately greater than any other car. And new thou- sands can now enjoy the advantages of air-cooled perform- ance and fine car ownership through lower Franklin prices. For a new enthusiasm in motoring, by all means drive this Franklin! FRANKLIN AUTOMOBILE COMPANY, SYRACUSE, N.Y. The One- Thirty, $2180 * * * The One- Thirty-Five, $2485 «+ * The One-Thirty-Seven, $2775 + «+ Sedan prices f. o. b. factory EAN Kae August 17,1929 y J =. = —’

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— J ur —— oe = (Continued from Page 92 “T assure you, mademoiselle, and when I assure you I mean that it is impossible that I am mistaken.” “Oh, please, M’sieur Boudin,” she gulped. “Tt is I who ask you—who beg of you ——” Her voice broke. “Enough. I will be there immediately.” Gordon, returning to where Mrs. Leffing- well was sitting in a taxi, keeping watch on the door of the police station, asked anx- iously, “‘Has anybody come out?” “Anybody, my dear? You mean Leffie, don’t you?” “Leffie! No, I don’t. What possible difference could it make if Leffie got out now or next week? But if the other man has gone, Kit, you can say good-by to your pearls. Has he, or hasn’t he?” “Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Leffingwell woundedly, “I don’t knéw—I really don’t. I’ve been watching only for Jim.” Gordon left her and stepped into the sta- tion house, where she was relieved to find Leffingwell on one side of the room and Bertrand on the other, each guarded by a gendarme while a third was on his hands and knees on the floor. She asked a ques- tion with raised eyebrows. “Hello, you!” said Leffingwell cheer- fully. “‘They’re going to let us go, but we've got to draw lots to see which one gets ten minutes’ start. The gentleman on the floor is looking for burnt matches because he doesn’t want to break a good one.” Miss Hammill swept the room in search of the officer in charge, and discovered him reading a paper, his back turned on the pro- ceedings. She approached him and mur- mured, “M’sieur le Commissaire, one of these prisoners has robbed me and I advise you to let neither of them leave until the arrival of the subprefect.” ““Indeed?”’ said the commissioner, with- out bothering to look up. ‘The subprefect in person, I suppose.” “Damn!” exclaimed Leffingwell as he lost the draw. “T mean my friend, Monsieur Boudin,” explained Gordon rapidly. ‘‘When I tele- phoned him ten minutes ago he was still subprefect.”” The commissioner leaped to his feet as Bertrand, rearranging his clothes and turn- ing up his collar, started for the door. “Hein? One moment, m’sieur; not so fast.” Bertrand lowered his head and bolted, only to collide with the subprefect and his aide. They turned him around, pushed him back into the room and remained in the doorway themselves, standing side by side. Gordon went swiftly to Monsieur Boudin and gave him both her hands. “You are indeed my friend!’’ she ex- claimed, and told him in as few words as possible all that had happened. To her surprise THE SATURDAY car which had played so important a part in the capture of Meacham. Next to her was Sergeant Gr spard, with his wrist manacled to that of Be-crand beyond, and on the strapontin opposite them sat Monsieur Boudin, still troubled. Nobody spoke until the arrival at head- quarters, where Boughton, a plain-clothes man on each side of him, was standing rig- idly in the embrasure of one of the windows. But once there, Monsieur Boudin mur- mured to Gordon, “‘ Mademoiselle, will you be so good as to examine the object lying on my desk?” She stepped forward confidently, and then suddenly leaned over in amazement, her eyes glued to Kit’s unmistakable neck- lace. She touched it unbelievingly with one finger and saw that the thread had been severed as if with a razor. Her tired brain once more in a whirl, she heard the subpre- fect’s voice coming to her from an immeas- urable distance: “Now, mademoiselle, who was right-— you or I? And when you have solved that question, answer me another: Which is the real thief—yours or mine?” She raised her head slowly and met Boughton’s eyes, staring full at her, but betraying neither denial, resentment, curi- osity nor appeal. They appeared simply to defy her to read what was in or behind them aa if he were deliberately leading her on to believe he might possibly have carried out his threat to become a crook with the rest of her intitnates. A little too deliberately, she decided. Dismissing him temporarily from her mind, she grasped the edge of the desk with both hands, bent far over and studied the severed necklace fixedly. Finally she threw up her head and faced Monsieur Boudin with a smile. ““M’sieur,” she said, “you ate doubtless familiar with a small illicit instrument capable of clipping the head off a searf pin without the knowledge of the wearer. Per- mit me to remind you that I was the wearer of this necklace when its waxed string came apart so neatly, that I was dancing at the moment with my prisoner, not yours, and finally, that yours happens to my certain knowledge to be a gentleman far more apt to give a woman pearls than to steal them from her.” “My compliments!"”” murmured Mon- sieur Boudin to Boughton with a stiff nod which yielded nothing. “Say you discaver such an instrument on either of the prisoners,” continued Gordon rapidly. “I'll concede that that man is the true thief.” “T also, mademoiselle,” said Monsieur Boudin, his eyes suddenly brightening. At his words Bertrand whirled, picked up Gaspard bodily, and holding him locked in his arms, crashed through the unlatched door and out into the hall. Before the EVENING POST guards who rushed forward could reach them the two men could be heard thudding and thumping down the stairs as they rolled over and over down the steep flight. “The fool!" exclaimed Monsieur Boudin without moving. “He's manacled, and does he think he can pull Gaspard apart?” “No,” said Gordon dryly, “but he can rid himself of the evidence if “ Before she could complete the phrase Monsieur Boudin was out of the door, call- ing orders to Gaspard and his aides. Pres- ently they returned, supporting between them a Bertrand battered out of all recog- nition, but still struggling with the frenzied desperation of an animal at bay. They threw him, stretched him out, pinioned his wrists and ankles, and proceeded to frisk his pockets one by one. They were about to give up the search when Boughton spoke quietly in English from the window em- brasure where he still stood, though now unguarded. “If you know the word for fob pocket, tell them to look in that. It’s just below the trousers waistband on the right.” Gordon explained, and an instant later a small steel instrument like a tiny forceps was tossed dramatically, to fall with a tinkle on Monsieur Boudin’s desk. He stooped over to look at it; then he sat down, picked it up gingerly, toyed with it and finally clipped the necklace in a fresh place. “Regard the cuts minutely, Ser- geant Gaspard.” Freed from his prisoner, Gaspard ap- proached, fixed his loupe in the socket of his left eye, and subjected the severed thread to long study. “There can be no question, m’sieur,” he declared at last. “The similarity of the cuts is unmistakable, even to the bruises on the two pearls away from the blades.” “Good,” said Monsieur Boudin, gather- ing up the pearls and handing them to Miss Hammill. ‘““We may now proceed to the depositions.” He looked toward Boughton and bowed from the waist. ‘ M’sieur ——" “ Boughton — Ellis Boughton.” “M’sieur Helice Beauton—gentilhomme, n'cest-ce pas?” “American.” “TI gather you witnessed the theft, m’sieur?”’ a “What then?” “I approached and picked the thief’s pocket. I had no idea it would be so easy. When ——” “Pardon me, M’sieur Boudin,” inter- rupted Gordon, “‘but I am very tired and can stand no more. I beg that I be per- mitted to give my evidence tomorrow.” “* Most certainly, mademoiselle,” the sub- prefect agreed. ‘In fact, we are all tired, and is not tomorrow already today? I adjourn the hearing to fourteen o'clock this afternoon, and may the subprefect’s troubled face did not clear as she had expected. He raised his hat, scratched his grizzled head with a long-nailed little finger, put the hat on again, and studied Bertrand thoughtfully. Fi- nally he gave his brief orders. Lef- fingwell was to be released; Bertrand and mademoiselle, if she would be se kind, were to ac- company him. Leffingwell rushed out in search of his wife, and the two of them were so overjoyed at the happy turn events had taken that they failed to notice Gor- Ws ey) > Zz ir - PA don’s departure. She sat on the back seat of the same big AM I be permitted to suggest that, bar- ring the prisoner your prisoner, mademoiselle — you choose your escort from among us?” Every man pres- ent except Ber- trand cocked his ears,and Boughton, though frowning darkly, went so far as to make an im- pulsive movement forward. However, Miss Hammill’s eyes fell smilingly on Monsieur Boudin first, then moved slowly to Boughton, but passed him by to settle definitely on Sergeant Gas- pard Editor's Note— This is the third of a series of stories by Mr. Cham berlain. The next will appear next week **Now Then, Sefior, Have You a Final Request Before We Shoot?"’ **Yeh,—Don't Shoot!" 95 The pipe he /left behind him xu™ Wu the next arrivals at the tee want to bury it—hasti/y? Or will they sniff enviously and admiringly at that mellow, fragrant, tantalizing aroma? If that precious briar of yours is packed with Sir Walter Raleigh it will be as good company on the eighteenth hole as on the first. It’s milder. It’s /u// of flavor. It’s cool and smooth —to the last flake of choice leaf in the bowl. Pack a tin on your hip betore your next round of golf and watch how asweet disposition improves your game. If you don’t know Sir Walter Raleigh, send us the name of your regular tobacconist and we will see that you have a chance t get acquainted with this rich, milder tobacco Dept. 14, Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corporation Louisville, Ky SIR WALTER RALEIGH Smoking Tobacco It’s milder

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— ““*Not quite ten thousand, but the stones are mostly larger, mostly between three and five carats, and quite a few of as much as ten. The price per carat, you are aware, must increase with the size.’ “*Not necessarily; not in America. Stones of one carat are most in demand here. The rule you refer to, Mr. Berezov, suited the days when diamonds were bought and hoarded by princes, but American women only want as many diamonds as they can wear. However, let me see the goods and I’ll take them or leave them.’ “*At your office this afternoon, Mr. Brown?’ “**Agreeable.’ “*Two o'clock?’ “*T’'ll be there.’ “We were as brisk as that, Case, upon my word. And at two o’clock that after- noon Berezov walked into my office in Forty-fifth Street here with a brass box under his arm, opened it at that table by the window and produced from it some four pounds avoirdupois of fine diamonds. “I was incredulous to the last, unwilling to believe he could make good, until the last tissue-paper packet was opened. I would require time to study the goods, but they were certainly diamonds—the ada- mantine luster, the refraction, the incom- parable hardness when I touched them to a zircon J had by me. And they seemed to be fresh from the cutter’s wheel, judging by the number that were cut in the newly fashionable styles—square, marquise, pen- deloque, briolette. While these are not new, it is only of late years that jewelers have ventured to cut fine stones into shapes that deny them their peculiar virtue of brilliance. ‘We may consider the deal closed tentatively, Mr. Berezov,’ I said, masking my surprise. “A group of the most responsible firms in the council—Ornstein Brothers, Roth- child & Abbot, Emerson Levy and Maurice Lapidowitz—supplied the funds, backing me staunchly, not to say blindly. That I, out of my own slender resources, contrib- uted eighty thousand dollars was an en- couragement tothem. And they had reason to felicitate themselves, eventually, on their participation, as the price was sub- stantially under the market. They had rendered a service to the trade and helped themselves. Service is, of course, the ideal, the pure gold, but when it is not hardened with the base metal of self-interest the benefactor is rarely free from an uneasy notion that he is too soft. “The immediate result accorded with our expectations and hopes; the American- Diamond Shop was closed. Passing by there, I saw that the place had been gutted by workmen, the store front torn out, par- titions removed; three stores were being thrown together to accommodate some mercantile enterprise that could afford to pay a rent of five thousand dollars a month; we were apparently done, and well done, with Mr. Pavel Berezov. “We were disillusioned after a few weeks. I saw a clump of citizens before the new and expanded store, following in rapt sus- pense and with sympathetically curving tongues the strokes of an artist who was lettering on the new and stately plate-glass front. The legend that occupied him proved to be THE AMERICAN-DIAMOND SHOP—WE MAKE OUR OWN. Berezov was inside, ordering the disposition of ex- tensive new show cases of plate and nickel; I went in to him at once. “*Good morning, Mr. Brown,’ he said with a new amiability. ‘Pardon me? .. . Yes, I thought I should have more room. I am putting on ten salesmen at once, but I shall need twenty or thirty more very shortly, I imagine. We open for business on next Thursday.’ “*You have a new stock?’ ““*Yes, I’ve made up another batch. My delay was in the cutting and setting, but I have now on hand some thirty thousand THE SATURDAY EVENING POST DIAMONDS (Continued from Page 13 carats. Would you care to buy another lot? I could let you have twenty thousand with- out interrupting business, and then another fifty thousand in five weeks.’ “*And then?’ I said, lighting a cigarette for my nerves. “**And then,’ he said, proving that he had been mocking me, ‘perhaps the Jewelers’ League will cease trying to sweep back the sea with its little broom. You will be well advised to abandon your hostile attitude.’ ““*We have not been hostile to you, Mr. Berezov.’ “*The courts shall decide that,’ he said curtly. ‘I have instructed my attorneys to bring suit against Tifft & Neeley for five million dollars because of statements that reflect on my business. I shall protect my- self, Mr. Brown. And now, do you care to buy that twenty thousand carats and to contract for fifty thousand more?’ “*Not today,’ I said mildly. “He was evidently after advertising; and he surely got it, though with results perhaps not entirely foreseen. The newspapers of the following morning chronicled the filing of the suit; in the afternoon they set out in extenso his claim to the possession of a process for the manufacturing of diamonds of merchantable size and unlimited quan- tity. He made a voluntary engagement within the week to manufacture diamonds under the eyes of the reporters. He could do that easily enough; he was not yet sell- ing stock or obtaining any sort of financial credits on the strength of his claims, and the demonstration would therefore be under his control, showing what he pleased. “The trade smiled knowingly and toler- antly in public, but that week saw its sales of diamonds cut in half. It was some solace that the business lost to us did not go to Berezov; he opened his new store under the interested eyes of New York and put a two-million-dollar stock on sale, but the public, awaiting the voice of authority, would not buy freely. People who had been tipped by friendly jewelers knew that Berezov’s were genuine goods, but they de- cided to wait until he got into mass pro- duction. A few of us who had orders for gem stones filled them secretly and cheaply with Berezov, but most of us shared the public wariness. “T sent a cable in cipher to a London correspondent for transmission to Sir George Beers. Berezov, if able to throw great lots of stones on the market, was a more vital threat to the syndicate than to us, though we stood to lose a dismal sum, and meanwhile we let the story of his Dart- moor experience leak into the newspapers; we had to improvise defenses and couldn't be overnice. “‘T had a new theory which, like the dis- carded ones, fitted the facts; it was that Berezov’s stones were stolen from the mines. The syndicate calculated losses by theft at about 3 per cent, or some hundred thousand carats per annum. I had to be- lieve that a great part of that leakage had been canalized and was coming to Berezov; against that was the vigilance of the mine owners and of the Sales Syndicate, and the severity and comparative certainty of pun- ishment. They have a salutary law in South Africa—salutary from the viewpoint of the mine owners and not of the thieves— that they call the I. D. B. Act, and that provides fifteen years at hard labor for illicit diamond buying; and a queer feature of English law is that it is enforced. Our American laws are codes of ethics, exprcss- ing aspirations and ideals, and are passed with pious hope but sometimes with small expectations. When the English say fifteen years at hard labor they don’t merely mean that that’s what the chap ought to have. “You remember how Berezov broke the public embargo on his business—he raised his prices 10 per cent and he piqued curi- osity by offering the American Museum of Natural History a hundred thousand dol- lars for the largest of its meteorites—the one called Ahnighto. It was a safe offer, even had the museum been ready to do business; Ahnighto weighs more than thirty-six tons—it is the largest known and had been brought from Cape York in Greenland. The offer, which he declined to explain, excited much scientific and pseudo- scientific comment. The newspapers, sedu- lously minding their own business, exploited it in their Sunday supplements, retaining astronomers to proclaim what everybody knew who knew anything. The public was thus advised again that diamonds were of common occurrence in siderites. Here was a hint of explanation of Berezov’s offer, to be elaborated by each reader’s fancy. Per- haps, it was suggested, Berezov was aware of some transmuting element or property in meteorites. The magical lore of precious stones was raked over, bringing to public notice the widespread Oriental belief that diamonds are produced by strokes of lightning. “The museum authorities, badgered for an answer, declined to consider the sale of its property; whereupon Berezov marked his diamonds up another 2 per cent. Evi- dently his supply was limited, was depend- ent somehow on meteorites; the public judged that meteorites would stay up, and diamonds with them, and flocked to the American-Diamond Shop. It is my infor- mation that Berezoy grossed a hundred and twenty thousand dollars in the week foilow- ing his second raise in prices; the next week he did three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of business; and the third week's sales approximated a million. He boosted his prices 2 per cent a week, and we were selling practically nothing. “I was watching diamond shares on the London stock market. They fluctuated vi- olently, but within a narrow compass, meaning that they were sensitive to Bere- zov'’s operations, but were being protected. If Berezov had thought to make a coup in diamond shares he had miscalculated; he would have to measure his purse against that of the diamond syndicates. If he could not buy other people’s stocks he could float his own. “He was still inviting the newspapers to watch him make diamonds, and he was getting good galleries with every demon- stration. An improbable feat must be con- stantly repeated to hold credulity. I don't doubt that, if the art of flying were lost, intelligent people of a generation hence would smile good-humoredly at the tales of the old-timers. Thinking with method, accepting of explanations the one that comported with their experience, they would believe in liars and optical illusions but not in flying machines. This would be enlightened skepticism. Travelers are not wanting who have seen Indian fakirs throw ropes up into the air and proceed to climb them. And, meeting our expectations in some measure at last, a well and favorably known Wall Street house invited public subscriptions to the stock of the American- Diamond Manufacturing Corporation. Bere- zov's exhibitions became then the proper subject of inquiry; I attended at his labora- tory in East Twenty-first Street near the plant of the Consolidated Gas Company. “There were about fifty of us spectators, including reporters, physicists, prospective investors and the merely inquisitive. We were seated on three rows of chairs fronting Berezov and his electric furnace; glass jars of chemicals and a carbon crucible waited on a table. He made us a short prefatory talk; he seemed to know his stuff, but was a halting speaker, which added to the every- day and matter-of-fact atmosphere. The only item that suggested the charlatan—or Berezov’s peculiar scientific method, if you will—was the half of a meteorite about as big as his fist, its section polished to show the typical striation. “*Until recent years,’ he said, ‘it was generally accepted that Nature made dia- monds by heat and pressure. As a matter 97 of fact, it is possible to obtain diamonds of microscopic size in this way, and they were made by Professor Moissan and by Sir William Crookes. Their method—in which they supposed they were fullowing Nature— was to fuse carbon and iron, and to plunge the molten mass into water; the outer iron solidified, exerting immense pressure on the still liquid interior; and it was found, on cutting the mass open, that tiny diamonds had formed. “*We had also to mislead us the evidence of meteorites, which are, roughly, 90 per cent iron, 8 per cent nickel, and traces of cobalt and phosphorus. These meteorites are liquefied by the friction of our atmos- phere, and then cool rapidly on diving into the earth. Here is one that has been cut with a ribbon saw, and you can see in it with this glass the crystals of diamond and olivine. “*T can’t be too candid with you, since this is a business enterprise and it wouldn't suit me if you learned enough to go home and make your own diamonds, but | will tell you that I do not agree at all with the conclusions of these other scientists. It is my belief that diamonds grow in the earth by a process of accretion. An element— the same that I employ—acts as @ solvent of carbon under very moderate heat. I was humble enough to accept a hint from the folklore of the diamond, if I may call it such. We have been told since ancient times by the natives of diamondiferous re- gions that diamonds grow. In China the natives look for diamonds after thunder- storms; in India they let worked-out earths lie fallow, returning to work them again after some months. And they find dia- monds. Such evidence was smiled at by our scientists, who had preconceived ideas. You will remember that they smiled, until recent years, at the old tale of Dwdalus who flew through the air; they dismissed with a shrug the legend that Solomon cut the stones for his temple with diamonds. They thought that was only a poetic way of say- ing that the diamond was the hardest of all materials, but now we have diamond- toothed saws and we use them to cut the stone for our buildings. Hypnotism, mental healing and destroying, the telescopic lens, dragon lore—scientific research brings us piecemeal, across the gulf of the Dark Ages, the secret knowledge of antiquity. Sub- stantially all of it was prefigured in our fables, and I, for one, was not too vain to learn. “*Diamonds can be destroyed, gentle men, but not made, by high temperatures With oxygen supplied, they burn at the temperature of molten silver; without oxygen, they melt and turn into graphite at the temperature at which bar iron melts. I make mine at a temperature of a mere six hundred degrees Centigrade, and I make them out of sugar, using Nature's reagent steam—to bring to bear the element that produced diamonds for Moissan and Crookes and for the Consolidated Mines of South Africa. My modest claim to scien- tific recognition consists in my having discovered this element in the meteorite, in having distinguished its peculiar office, and in having isolated it in quantities great enough to produce diamonds of commercial size. I shall now make diamonds and have them for your examination in eighteen minutes.’ “There was a murmur of applause and anticipation as he busied himself with the apparatus on his table. But I had arranged for an interruption at this point, in the interest of an experiment of my own, ‘Is it permitted to examine that crucible, sir?’ asked Professor Carvell of Princeton Uni- versity. Carvell ranks with Sir Oliver Lodge as a physicist, and I had brought him on from Princeton to give weight to my wishes. Berezov hesitated, bowed curtly and handed him the crucible “It was a vessel of carbon, of about a quart capacity and shaped like a tobacco

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| | THE SATURDAY

jar. A piece of standard laboratory equip- ment made by Benziger of Great Jones Street; I had acquainted myself with Berezov’s methods and had traced the sources of the materials used by him. . . . You are not interested in the detective work involved in this business and I do not bore you with it. “Carvell glanced into the empty cruci- ble, bowed his contentment and was about to return it to Berezov’s waiting hand when the man sitting behind Carvell asked to see the vessel; Carvell passed back the cruci- ble to this man—a dexterous chap who was a member of the National Association of Magicians. “‘Il was watching the crucible perhaps as alertly as was Berezov, aad I suffered a pang of disappointment; it turned and flirted in the magician’s right hand, and | then, if I could believe my eyes, his left hand returned it to Berezov. “‘ Berezov set it on the table in plain view, put a fine-meshed sieve over its mouth and proceeded to fill it. He sifted into it a blackish powder that was, he said, pow- dered charcoal and sugar; he added other elements without explanation, putting them through the sieve, screwed the lid onto the crucible and put it into his furnace. With a complaisant smile he gave the sieve to Professor Carvell and turned on the current of the furnace. When the temperature of his oven reached six hundred degrees Cen- tigrade, Berezov held it there, reducing the current. “At that temperature, Berezov would need the mysterious element he spoke of. Diamond is, of course, only crystallized carbon, and carbon doesn’t melt under thirty-five hundred degrees Centigrade. “Berezov’s glance returned frequently tome; he guessed that I was there to apply a test and he was striving to divine its nature. “He said now challengingly: ‘We have with us, gentlemen, the managing director of the Jewelers’ League, and perhaps he’ll be good enough to verify our results. May I ask you to do this, Mr. Brown?’ “*T’ll certify to any diamonds that you produce, Mr. Berezov,’ I promised boldly, ‘and I won't object to the widest publicity.’ ““*Let me ask you this, Mr. Berezov,’ said Professor Carvell: ‘Do you know in advance the size of the crystals that will be produced?’ “*‘Approximately,’ said Berezov. ‘To- day I expect to find in the crucible crystals of from three-quarters of a carat to three carats.’ He pondered his answers before making them, which did not impress us unfavorably. ““*And can you predict what the total weight of diamond will be?’ pursued the professor. “*T’ll hazard a guess,’ said Berezov obligingly. ‘I'll say that the total weight will be between ten and twelve carats.’ “*How much does it cost you to make these diamonds?’ asked a reporter. ““*Enough,’ said Berezov tolerantly. ““*Can you make real big ones? Can you make one bigger than the Koh-i-nur or Cullinan?’ “*Our difficulty is precisely in making the small sizes that are most in demand. We may eventually confine ourselves to producing crystals that will finish at five carats or more, and we can get rid of the competition of the mines by selling dia- monds of one carat or less at the cost of | cutting and polishing.’ | mace. “Berezov consulted his watch and turned off the electric current in the fur- He drew the carbon crucible forth and set it on a metal plate in the table. ‘It must not cool too quickly,’ he explained, ‘or the diamonds will burst.’ “With Berezov’s gracious permission, Professor Carvell examined the crucible, manipulating it with pincers; he displayed it to the reporters—five, and from the lead- ing metropolitan newspapers. They scru- tinized it closely and nodded their assurances to one another. Berezov received it onto the table again and broke it open with chisel and mallet; it was full of a black and

EVENING POST resinous mass which, to me, was only pow- dered charcoal and caramelized sugar. Berezov explored this material, pulverizing and spreading it, eagerly observed by those of the audience who did not know of the exchange of crucibles that had been made by the gentleman who was a member of the National Association of Magicians. “‘Berezov was studying his material with growing puzzlement; he lifted to us eyes that were still with wonder. “*T take it, Mr. Berezov,’ I said, ‘that your experiment has not come out accord- ing to your expectations.’ “*Tt has not,’ he said, but did not appear at all crestfallen; joyfully incredulous, rather. “*Perhaps I can throw some light on your failure,’ I said, stepping to the table. ‘Here is the crucible that you handed to Professor Carvell, who gave it to the gen- tleman in the second row, who is a sleight- of-hand artist. He kept it, giving back to you the crucible that you have just broken open. That this is so can be attested by these reporters, who put private marks on the crucible brought here by me.’ “*Yes?’ he said evocatively. ‘And then?’ “**T propose to shatter and examine this crucible!’ “*Do it now,’ he said. I was momen- tarily discouraged, thinking that I was on the wrong trail; I had expected denuncia- tion, voluble protest. If the crystals which he pretended to manufacture were con- cealed in the crucible, he was inviting me to expose his trickery. “The audience had hedged me about; I took up the mallet and chisel and broke the crucible. Points of light showed at once in the shattered base of the crucible, being from diamond crystals that had been concealed under a blanket of fusible sub- stance. “*There they are, by George!’ cried Professor Carvell. “Berezov stared at the crystals as I worked them out with the chisel; his atti- tude was not that of a culprit, of a detected swindler, but of an eager assistant. “*These, I judge,’ < said, ‘will weigh from three grains to three carats each, with a total weight of ten or twelve carats.’ “**Let’s try them,’ said Berezov, bringing forward his diamond scales. In his voice was suppressed exultation. “*But what have you to say about this, Berezov?’ demanded one of the reporters. ‘This is the crucible you were going to use, and you had the diamonds hid in it. The one you used is the one Mr. Brown brought here. Look! There’s the mark that I scratched on it outside. Give us a state- ment!’ “**Gentlemen,’ said Berezov with polished insolence, ‘you may publish anything you please. I have nothing to say.’ “And we left him like that. The news- papers of the following morning published the exposure of Pavel Berezov’s pretense to making diamonds. Thesale of the American- Diamond Manufacturing Corporation’s stock was halted at once. Threatened with criminal prosecution, Berezov bought back at one hundred cents on the dollar the stock that had been sold, and also offered to re- purchase any diamonds that had been bought in the American-Diamond Shop. His restitution was complete; his docility was admirable. Many of the customers of the American-Diamond Shop, misreading the evidence and thinking that his dia- monds had been proved imitation, hastened to receive back the inadequate sums that they had paid and to return stones that they couldn’t buy again for much more. “The American-Diamond Shop was closed, and with its passing the public forgot Pavel Berezov and his astonishing enterprise. He is remembered, when re- membered at all, as just another swindler, another exploiter of popular credulity and lack of knowledge. But I tell you, Case, that Berezov was prepared to throw six hundred thousand carats of fine diamonds on the market, and, lacking knowledge of the source, believing in limitless quantities to follow, the public’s reaction would have

August 17,1929 broken the market and probably dissipated the glamour of diamonds. That would have been the result, as I see it, if he had rested on his statement that he was making the diamonds and hadn’t felt compelled to dis- play his process in reaching for a subsidiary income from the sale of stock. “The public thinks that he was trapped inescapably and forced to discontinue his operations, but that, you must see, was not the case; he could have snapped his fingers at us and resumed selling diamonds and not stock in the manufacturing proc- ess. For several weeks after the greatly advertised exposure, I waited in growing anxiety for word from Pavel Berezov. I knew that he wasn’t making diamonds, but he had been getting them. And then he came to see me, here in this office. “*Brown,’ he said, strewing before me on this desk seven crystals of octahedral shape, ‘what are these?’ “*They look like rough diamonds,’ I said. “*They are diamonds,’ he said. ‘The smallest weighs five carats and the largest nearly thirty-one. Brown’—he shot out a forefinger at me, staring me in the eye—‘I made those diamonds!’ “T smiled, shrugged and cut a cigar. “*Brown, I’ve spent over twenty years in trying to make diamonds of size. For years past I’ve been on the verge of discov- ering the secret, only to have it slip away from me. My calculations have been wrong somewhere. You know that I’ve descended to fraud; when stopped by lack of money, I’ve got it wherever available. If I convince you that I can make diamonds by making them—will you come in with me? I don’t need capital now; I have plenty to go on with. But there’s some- thing you can give me.’ “I shook my head. “*You were in my laboratory the other day, Brown. You might have observed that I wasn’t much disturbed by your ex- posure. But you don’t know why. I'll tell you. It was because I had just found crys- tals in the charcoal in the crucible. I had made diamonds. After you left I found these crystals. I’ve tried to repeat and have failed. Something is again missing. The secret was in my hand and is gone again. You can tell me—you must tell me. Was there any chemical, any sub- stance, in that crucible? There was some- thing in it that acted as a solvent or reagent; it must be so.’ “*Take it more easily, man,’ I said. ‘Don’t put your hands on me, please. I'll tell you what I can. Yes, there was some- thing in the crucible. I put a half ounce of inert material in it so that if you tried to face the matter out and deny that the cru- cibles had been exchanged, I could challenge you to examine the contents of the crucible before the people present. I could tell them what would be found in it. You think that what I added completed the magical for- mula, do you?’ ““*What was it, Brown? Tell me!’ “*Here, now, my man. I'll make you a proposal. I don’t believe you made these diamonds and I don’t care for any share in your business. But I'd like to know where the diamonds came from that you were sell- ing in the American-Diamond Shop. Tell me that, and I'll tell you what I supplied to your mixture and you shall be free to make all the diamonds you can.’ “*On your word as a gentleman, Brown?’ ““*My word.’ “** My diamonds,’ he said, ‘ were from the Russian Treasury. They were part of the hoard of the Russian Imperial Govern- ment. . . . And now what did you add to my formula?’” Beekman Brown paused, staring in tan- talizing silence at the end of his cigar. “You will have guessed, Case,”’ he re- sumed, tacking, “how I discovered so readily the perpetrator of the diamond switch on Mr. Simson of Brooklyn, when the police couldn’t find his picture in their index. The rock crystals that Simson had (Continued on Page 101)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST VERY commercial and industrial building, every hotel and apartment house, every hospital and school building must have vertical openings, of course. Elevator shafts, stairway wells, pipe shafts and ventilating shafts require that*there be openings through floors. These openings, unless properly protected, constitute serious fire hazards, enabling fire which otherwise might be confined to North America PHILADELPHIA and Indemnity Ins. Co. of North America write practically every form of insurance except life The Oldest American Fire and Marine Insurance Company— Founded 1792 Property Owners may Secure Loss-prevention Service through Insurance Company of the part of the building in which it starts to spread throughout the entire structure. Methods of protecting these vertical open- ings have been developed by the White Fireman. In collaboration with architects and engineers, he has prepared specifica- tions for the proper enclosing of all shafts. In many of the newer buildings the pro- tection of vertical openings was provided for in the original plans. But there are ov thousands of old buildings in which open stairways and elevator shafts are a constant menace to life and property. And the White Fireman is showing owners of such buildings how to reduce the hazard at the lowest possible cost. er iy. HO is the White Fireman? He is used in this advertising to symbolize loss-prevention engi- neering service—a nation-wide service, supported by insurance companies, having for its purpose the reduction of loss-hazards. Consultation on proposed structures, inspection of property, testing of materials and equipment, and many other kinds of technical assistance comprise the work of this service. Ask your North America Agent. we” North America Agents are listed in the Insurance sections of classified telephone directories under “INSURANCE CO. OF NORTH AMERICA.” 7 Responsible Insurance Agents or brokers

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ig ih (Continued from Page 98) to show for his attempt to buy stolen goods were of the sizes of the rough diamonds that Berezov showed me that day. I pre- sented the chap with the four thousand dol- lars because I once profited in a greater sum at his expense. You remember the three million dollars’ worth of his diamonds that we bought in our first effort to get rid of him; my share netted me a profit of fifty thousand dollars.” “But do you believe ——” “T’ve told you what he said. I don’t vouch for it, but it’s plausible. The Czar is supposed to have had gem stones by the sack; he had some of the most celebrated, THE SATURDAY including the Orloff diamond that many informed people believe was the Great Mogul. The Soviets, you will remember, put out feelers several times with a view to marketing the Czar’s hoard, but they were repulsed; the French told them that they’d have to pay the Czar’s debts before cashing his assets. Fair enough. So they took up with the notion of marketing them secretly in America. Berezov worked with them until he discovered, as he thought, how to make diamonds for himself. He was then as eager as we to put an end to this Russian competition. That was his story, and there’s no proof of it but its intrinsic prob- ability. For myself, I believe it.” EVENING POST “He took your bare word that you'd tell him,” I mused. “Pardon me, Case?” “And a natural thing for him to do. But he hasn't flooded the world with diamonds | since, although you suggest that he suc- | ceeded that once. What was it that you put in the crucible?” “The seven crystals that he found in it, supplied to me gladly and gratis by Sir George Beers of the Diamond Sales Syndi- cate. A half ounce of inert material worth ten thousand dollars in the open market. With that ingredient Berezov can repeat his experiment with infallible success. Dia- monds!” MYSTERIOUS CHICHEN-ITZA yesterday. Who once climbed that stair? Kings, star gazers, prophets or watchmen, priests, soothsayers, astronomers? Quien sabe? The Tlachtli Court was Chichen’s sta- dium and ball park, scene of many a vivid, hard-fought game. The thing is immense, with massive thirty-foot walls, one hundred and twenty feet apart and more than four hundred long. One wall is crowned by the splendid Temple of the Tigers, with highly spirited friezes. Centuries ago, two huge stone rings carved with intertwined serpents were fastened in the middle of the side walls, twenty feet from the smooth pavement. Now one ring has fallen, to lie in grass and weeds like the two vast stone serpents that stretch across the ends of the court, near the temples that inclose it. In days remote, uncountable thousands of Mayas used to gather there to root for their champions who tried to drive a rubber ball through the rings. The very first European mention of rubber is in Spanish descriptions of this glorified handball, as seen among the Az- tecs: The ball was made fromthe gumofatree .. . which, after having holes made in it, distills great white drops that soon harden; and being worked and molded together, this material turns as black as pitch. The balls made thereof, although quite hard and heavy to the hand, did bound and fly. Kings, hierarchy of priests, and com- moners all witnessed the game with equal enthusiasm. Before time was called, offi- cials burned copal incense to the gods—of whom there were a-plenty. Umpires were stationed just above the rings, and also at the ends of the court. The idea was to pro- ject the ball through the holes without touching it with the hands. The players had to strike it with the wrist, shoulder, elbow or hip. Doctor Morley gave me some details: “To make. the ball bounce higher, the contestants wore leather pads on those parts. So rarely could any player put the ball through, that a rule provided, when it happened, all the adherents of the losing team forfeited their clothes and ornaments to the partisans of the winners. Sometimes when a goal was scored, an old Spanish ac- count says that all the losers fled. The winners chased them, and ‘dragged the mantles from their backs; the whole caus- ing much merriment.’” Prehistoric strip poker, in a way? Just fancy this custom being introduced at a big-league baseball series or at college football games! Accompaniment for the Ghosts It was at the Ball Court that I com- mitted the most frightful social faux pas possible to imagine. Native legends tell that, of moonlight nights, ghost music of the ancient ones may still be heard there. Doctor Morley offered to give me the effect, without trusting to the spirits of departed kings and warriors. He carried a phono- graph out to the temple at the far end of the court, and stationed me—with a crowd of the Carnegie staff—at the other temple. The idea was that the Tlachtli Court forms a wonderful listening gallery, so that a mere (Continued from Page 5) whisper traverses its entire length. I was told to wait for marvelous effects, mysteri- ous, eerie and inspiring. How bright the full round moon glowed over the jungle, the palms, the silvery- gleaming temples, all that vast city of the dead, rich with a million memories! How ripe and lovely, the tropic stars! I'd been climbing over, under and around pyramids and things, all day, and really felt I could listen to ghost music very much better lying down. Sol reposed my weary bones amid sculptured columns where once high priests chanted their solemn hymns to Kukulcan, the Feathered Serpent; to Ah Puch, Lord of Death; to Yum Kaax, God of the Harvest; to Itzamna, the Creator. I closed my eyes to wait for the expected music and —— A disgusted archwzologist dug me in the ribs. Digging, you know, is an archzolo- gist’s specialty. “Get up! We're all going back to the hacienda!” “Up? Without the concert?” “The concert’s all over. Has been for some time. And by the way, you accom- panied it. Next time, please try at least to snore in the right key!” Nothing I can humbly say or do will ever lighten that dark blot upon my reputation. And yet I tried my best to see and appre- ciate everything. The trouble is, Chichen swamps you, physically and emotionally. It’s too vast, too overpowering for a mere amateur. One has to be a hard-boiled pro- fessional to get away with it. Take the Court of the Thousand Co!- umns, for instance. You could spend weeks there, write thousands of words about it, and never wholly grasp or tell the whole wonder and glory of that stupendous con- struction. Twenty acres of it—one court alone five acres in extent. Dazzling white in the sunshine, the heat and silence, there stand immense stairways balustraded with huge stone feathered serpents; the ser- pents whose trail lies over all of Mayan life and art. And temples rise there, amid for- ests of pillars carved with plumed warriors; temples where wondrous colors still cling to age-bitten walls, to altars of departed gods. A marvel of marvels! My Indians led me not only all over but also all under this vast pile. For tunnels and passages have been dug there to explore a secret, buried structure under the great Temple of the Warriors. And there a won- drous art treasure has been found—a mo- saic disk hidden in a limestone jar many centuries ago; a disk not more than nine inches in diameter, but inlaid with thirty- five hundred pieces of turquoise in an exquisite pattern. Few, if any, modern .apidaries could equal it. Down under that temple I explored mys- tic passages, feeling exactly like a character in She, as, followed by the watchful Mayas, I lit matches, groped down ladders, felt my way along tunnels that most disconcertingly branched into yawning darkness where pits of bottomless depth might lurk. When I tried to penetrate one of the side tunnels, an Indian whistled sharply and commanded: “No, no, sefior! Por aqui se sale!"" This is: “This way out!” Why he wouldn’t let me take that other turning, I never discovered. But imagina- tion offered a score of fascinatingly perilous reasons as I clambered up as he bade, and came again into the cutting sunlight. From somewhere unknown, a whole group of Mayas had suddenly collected. They in- dulged in a harsh, choking, complicated whispering; and my merry Indian boy laughed again. Then silence fell, so intense that I could really hear it, while everybody stared at me with beady black eyes. I re- called the old-time custom of cutting out the captive’s heart with an obsidian knife, throwing the heart in the face of Kukul- can’s statue, and then heaving the body down the sacred stairway to the waiting multitude—and feit glad the year was 1929 instead of 929. A Mountain of Stone Why did all those Mayas walk to the temple parapet, look over, and laugh again? What were they thinking, remembering? No one can ever know. But a great wonder _lay upon me as I departed from that tem- ple, which, like a blinding white cliff, leaped up against the azure of the Yucatan sky. Your main thrill, of course, comes from climbing the immense Castillo, the stu- pendous pyramid topped by the supremely sacred place, Kukulcan’s own temple and sanctuary. Anybody can write statistics | that the base of this pyramid covers a whole acre; that the cost of rebuilding it, with its terrace, would be thirty-two mil- lion dollars; that its height, in nine im- mense steps, is more than a hundred feet; that up each corner runs an undulating stone serpent so gigantic that a dozen men could hardly lift one of its component blocks; also that the platform on top is sixty feet square and supports a massive temple with a more than forty-foot front. But figures are less impressive than just the atmosphere of the thing, with magic sun-and-cloud shadows crinkling over it, and the far blue sky above. You've got to ponder the Great Pyramid, dream of it, absorb it; and once you've done that, never will you forget the majesty and mystery | |" of this glorious creation. Behold, then, a mountain of stone; a mountain superbly. and most cunningly proportioned by master minds, raised by generations of toiling devotees as the su- preme symbol of their faith. Upward at an angle of fifty degrees it soars, each face once covered with beautifully carved and paneled stone. One corner of this facing has been restored by the Mexican Government. Overpoweringly against the heavens its vast gray masses tower, dotted with vege- tation— Mother Nature’s ever-patient ef- fort to destroy man’s handiwork. An immense, ladderlike stairway sweeps boldly up the middle of each side; a stair- way with the narrow treads and high risers that always say: ‘We were built and used by a sandal-wearing folk.”” The orientation is just a few degrees east of north. Perhaps when the pyramid was built that orienta- tion was exact. If so, cannot modern as- tronomers calculate the date of building? 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- ae — ane aimee — (Continued from Page 101) The north side is obviously most important of all. For there you find the great cere- monial staircase, nearly thirty feet wide, and flanked at the bottom by two immense serpent heads. Monolithic, these heads are feathered, have vast yawning mouths, prominent poison fangs, and forked tongues. The eye sockets, now empty, once gleamed with inlays of precious stones. Conven- tionalized into two colossal ramps of stone, the bodies of the serpents stretch upward to the summit, even to the principal en- trance of the holy of holies itself. Imagine great religious processions up and down that stairway! It must have taken a sure-footed, steady-nerved race to negotiate such perilous steepness with any kind of dignity at all. The huge ceremonial stair is today impracticable. But when you climb the western one, of like angle, you feel a cosmic urge to hang on by your hands as well as your toes. A stout rope stretching up the pyramid, however, helps you some; and if you don’t get panic-stricken you eventually reach the top. Myself, I did a fool stunt—tried to climb the ruinous south side, with practically no stairway left. When I got pretty nearly to the top, loose stones and earth began to slide, and I looked down; and believe me, I had a bad quarter of an hour! I just lay on my tummy and hung on, and did a back- ward turtle craw! down that dizzy height, steeper than the pitch of a roof. Much shaken, I at last reached the good old ground level again. No more of that free- lance pyramid climbing for me! The west side is safest. Even there, com- ing down is worse than going up. It’s wiser to descend backward, clinging to the rope. If a fellow hadn’t hold of anything, and happened to grow giddy or stumble near the top, he’d bump the bumps in royal style. There wouldn’t be enough left of him to brush up with a dust pan, by the time he hit the bottom. From the unrailed, narrow space on top— just wide enough for two or three men abreast to walk round the temple—you get a splendid panorama of all the excavated buildings, with the flat, unbroken jungle of Yucatan stretching beyond to horizons of mystery. But the temple itself holds most of your attention. For this was the very focal point of the Mayas’ religious life. Here in this sanctuary the kings and priests performed their supreme rites, chanted their solemn invocations to their ever- present gods. The temple is worthy of such honor; a huge, impressive sacred shrine. A Mystery of Bearded Men Its main door is supported by two vast and partly destroyed monolithic serpents, their heads forming the bases of columns, their tails the capitals. Walls three feet thick and massive stone pillars support im- mense sapote-wood beams that hold up a triple-vaulted stone roof; and this in turn bears carved stone battlements to protect watchmen or readers of celestial omens. The various chambers of this marvelous palace of the gods, at least a thousand years old, are decorated with carvings on lintels of stone or of sapote. Colors still cling to the walls. Serpent masks, sacred symbols, human figures still are visible. Strangely, some of these figures are bearded. The Mayas, you know, are beardless. “Who were the prototypes of these bearded figures?” asks Willard, in his City of the Sacred Well. “‘Were they the mys- terious, blue-eyed, fair-skinned people clad in armor, who were supposed once to have landed near Tampico? Norsemen? Or were they the old Atlanteans whose country Plato says ‘sank in one day and one night beneath the waves of the ocean’?” Another question, never to be answered! Still another problem, ever-present: How in the world could Stone Age aborigines con- struct and decorate so marvelous a shrine? A kind of dumb wonder falls on you that mere brute strength, backed by inexhausti- ble patience though it was, could ever have accomplished these miracles. THE SATURDAY How was it all done? Later, I asked Doctor Thompson. “Unlimited and unpaid man power and deep religious feeling, directed by a highly intelligent class of rulers and priests,”’ he answered. ‘Remember, time meant noth- ing to these people. They reckoned it in centuries and eons. They needed no ma- chinery. If ten men on a rope couldn’t pull a stone up, they put on more and ever more till the stone moved. They built inclined planes of earth, laid down tree trunks for skids, and hauled the stones up by main force. Sometimes they used rollers. I've found some of those rollers myself. But man power, tugging on fiber ropes, ac- counts for nearly everything.” “And how about quarrying without metals?” All the Time in the World “Oh, it was simple enough. They just worked like ants, that’s all—in hordes, and endlessly. They used wooden or bird-bone drills, and twirled them in sand and water on the rock. After a few months—or years, it didn’t matter—they’d get a row of holes drilled. Wooden pegs driven into those holes, with water poured on them, split off the blocks. Quartzite hammers, flint and calcite and nephrite chisels, with tireless patience, shaped them. What was there to hurry for? Rubbing stones smoothed the stones. Under the direction of master builders they were set in place. Masons laid the courses with splendid mor- tar. Plasterers finished the walls, rubbing and burnishing them till the magic struc- tures gleamed like frosted silver against the velvet blue of the sky. “Then came the artists, wonderful sculp- tors who toiled years with knives of obsidian and flint. It took maybe a thousand times as many men to build a temple as it would today with our methods. But with un- limited men, what odds? Powerful ma- chinery was needless. The overlords and priests of the Mayas had subject to their wills slave labor and religious forces not to be measured by modern rules.” We talked of all this, and of the strange fact that though the tremendously intelli- gent Maya engineers had rollers and used corbeled arches with capstones, they never evolved the wheel or the true arch with a keystone. Either those concepts lay just beyond their grasp, or else they knew of them and rejected them as not worth while. Certainly they never used vehicles of any kind. All weights were moved by sheer hauling or on the backs of sweating la- borers. Woodworking must have been a man’s sized job, without any saws, planes or boring tools of metal. How the Mayas ever cut and smoothed their great beams of sapote wood, hard as teak, was a great mystery to me till Doctor Thompson ex- plained it. Then, nothing simpler. All they had to do was keep a rope wet with sand and water, and drag it back and forth on a log a few months, and presto, the beam was shaped. A few more might suffice to carve it into complex figures of animals, men, gods. Time—infinite time to use! Patience unlimited! You can imagine a Maya youth, ques- tioned by his prospective father-in-law, answering: “Have I got a steady job, sir? Rather! I’m working on stone Number 869, for the eleventh tier of the eighth terrace, north side, of the Great Pyramid. I’m twenty years old, now. This job is good till I’m at least eighty-seven. So, please, sir, may I marry your daughter?” “Take her, my boy, and Kukulcan bless you!” Exaggeration? Perhaps, but consider the magnificent jade carving these people did. The Mayas of Chichen had plenty of jade; though where it came from is another mys- tery. No man now living has ever found even a single piece of native American jade. The nearest source is China; and even that is doubtful, for Chinese jade is much softer than the Mayas used. At all events, the EVENING POST Itza artists made quantities of jade beads, plaques and ornaments, delicately and ex- quisitely carved. And every bit of this work——on stone so hard it will cut glass, stone nearly as hard as diamond—was done by simple abrasion—just by rubbing. In the same way, the artists gave their jade work a polish so exquisite that it has lasted unimpaired for two or three thousand years. Patience? Did any like it ever exist any- where else? Our modern muscles ache even at thought of it! One vast difference between those won- drous people and ourselves is that they had all the time in the universe, and we're al- ways hurried. In the Maya tongue are words for time periods tremendously longer than any we can find a name for. One of their time units was two hundred and fifty- six years. Another comprised four hundred and sixty billion days! These and many other periods all had names. Yet, for all their prodigality with time, they measured it with exquisite precision. Not content with one calendar, they had at least three computed by the sun, the moon and Venus. They had twelve months of thirty days each, also eighteen months of twenty days; and they knew all about how to arrange the extra days, left over. Every day in the year had four names. The Maya time ad- justments were far more accurate than the Gregorian system we ourselves use. Their Great Cycle corresponded to the 1460-year Sothic cycle of the Egyptians, but the Egyptian calculation had an error of twelve days for the cycle, while the Maya system was precise to the very small fraction of a day. The Maya lunar calendar was like the Metonic cycle of the Greeks, but the Mayas used it with far greater ease. In the very dawn of their history, their calendars had been for many centuries functioning. Their Perpetual Day Count was cosmic in its sweep, dating back to a zero of October 14, 3373 B.C. Without telescopes or chronometers they could predict eclipses and solve the most intricate astronomical problems. In these, as in so very many other ways, they far ex- celled the Spaniards who called them sav- ages and butchered them wholesale. With only stone monuments to serve as sighting lines for the naked eye, night after night their priest astronomers scanned the heav- ens and developed a mathematical system so complex that you would have to be al- most an Einstein to grasp it at all. Naught is Everything “Civilization has five great steps,” Doctor Morley one day told me at the hacienda. ‘These steps are the use of fire, agriculture, beasts of burden and domestic animals, metal tools, and the principle of the wheel. The Mayas, really a neolithic people, took only the first two steps. And yet in many ways they far excelled any- thing at that time known in the Old World. They were the first people ever to invent a symbol for zero. In fact, they had three such symbols, far antedating the Arabs.” Doctor Morley is perhaps the greatest decipherer of Maya hieroglyphs in the world. He can take a mass of scrambled curlicues carved on a monument and tell you just what the date is; so he’s a man one eagerly listens to. “It wasn’t until about the sixth century A. D. that zero was introduced into Europe by the Arabs. The Greeks and Romans never had it at all, which greatly limited their mathematics. For you can't have numeration by position till you get a zero sign. The Mayas knew all about such numeration. They used something like our decimal system, only they began at the bottom and made each position increase twenty-fold, upward. That’s the vigesimal system. They invented dot and bar figures a dot meaning ‘one’ and a bar ‘five.’ Their mathematical skill was simply amazing.”’ They were wonderful traders, bartering cloth and pottery for pearls, gold, turquoise and many other things all the way from Colom) ia as far as Arizona or beyond. In agriculture they were marvelously skilled, 103 a i AUGUST’S MARKET BASKET JUICY CALIFORNIA VALENCIAS! VEN as you read this, experts « f the American Fruit Growers are in the midst of selecting the cream of August's crops for you .. . identifying each with the Blue Goose mark of excellence on skin, wrapper, barrel, or box Did you know that right now your mar ket is well supplied with California Va lencias, those popular summer oranges, packed full of juicy sweetness? Blue Goose branded on the skin * “ea RIPE, TENDER, TABLE GRAPES Grapes? August offers wide choice Malagas . Thompson Seedless Concords. And again Blue Goose guides you to the best Apples? 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104 being first-class farmers at a time when Europe was still nomadic. Yucatan isn’t a place where you can live off the country. You've got to dig there. The soil is thin and hard, water is scarce, and the jungle is a network of fast-growing hostility. Without metals, the Mayas cleared vast plantations, scarfing the trees with stone axes, waiting till the trees died, and then burning them down. They flailed the underbrush to death, and likewise burned that. Maize, their staple, exhausted the ground in three years, so that fresh clear- ings were always necessary. But they lived well, with squashes, corn, pumpkins, several kinds of beans, many tropical fruits and a tuber called ekmacal. This tuber has a chestnut taste and is a wonderful bearer, yielding three times as heavily as pota- toes. . . . By the way, why can’t Amer- ican farmers try raising ekmacal? Think what the Mayas gave us! Maize, peppers, henequen, common and sweet po- tatoes, tomatoes and cacao; peanuts, to- bacco, rubber, ipecac, cocaine, quinine and cascara; pumpkins, vanilla, chicle,squashes, sarsapariila, beans; cotton and cassava; indigo, copal, cochineal; strawberries, per- simmons, pawpaws and pineapples; guinea pigs and turkeys; and such a list of other things as would astonish you. Our modern debt to them is simply incalculable. They weren’t big meat eaters. All they needed, they got from hunting the deer, the ocellated turkey, the crested curassow, the peceary. They had fish, too, from their underground pools, as well as from the sea— these latter fish brought by swift runners from the coast, along their wonderful roads. Domestic animals were minus, and of course milk and poultry. But the Mayas didn’t care. They had enough and to spare. Corn was their mainstay. Some thou- sands of years ago, Maya priests took three kinds of wild grasses and by selection evolved three varieties of maize. The Pilgrims at Plymouth, by the way, had two of these varieties, transmitted through the long centuries, northward from Yucatan. Ashes of Civilization Parched corn was a standby of the Mayas; and they had real cornflakes, too, thousands of years before package goods were ever dreamed of. Their flakes were made of corn with chocolate and vanilla; a delicious dish called ztanchoqua that’s still in use. They had one corn that matured in six weeks, another that resisted drought. And always they planted three times what they expected to need —“* One for ourselves, one for the birds, one for the masters’ table’’—that is to say, the service of the gods. Their roads covered the peninsula, some being straight as an arrow for many miles, splendidly macadamized, and polished to a smooth white surface. They had music and the dance, dramatic performances, books and literature—the books being written on deerskin or on agave paper, and sometimes beautifully illuminated in col- ors. The Spaniards, by the way, made practically a clean sweep of the entire Maya literature, when Bishop de Landa, on the plaza of Mani, burned all that could be col- lected. ‘The bishop,” says Doctor Thomp- son, “seeing in these old rolls of deerskin and volumes of maguey paper symbols that he could not understand, concluded they were of a diabolical nature. . There were destroyed five thousand idols, thirteen altar stones, twenty-seven rolls of ancient hiero- glyphics, and many other objects. The na- tives were much affected and made a great outery of woe as they saw the written lore, accumulated knowledge of their race, going up in smoke.” Thus, in part, were the Mayas “‘civilized.” Only three books—the Books of Chilam Balam—have come down to us. In one place these say, concerning the conquest: Then began the construction of the church. Great labor was our destiny. Then began the execution by hanging, and the fire at the ends of our hands. Then also came ropes and cords into the world. Then the children of the THE SATURDAY younger brothers—the Mayas—passed under the hardship of legal summons and tribute. Tribute and Christianity were introduced on a large scale. Coming from Cozumel on the schooner so picturesquely laden, I got acquainted with a Mexican civil engineer who spoke Maya fluently and knew the people well. This engineer told me not only of a still- flourishing Maya city far in the interior, a city where the old civilization even today exists, and which no white man can reach alive, but he also asserted that he knew a very aged Maya who still has several of the ancient books. I suppose such books would be worth about a million apiece. Some- time—if I ever get to it—I’m going after those precious volumes of this Greeklike race. A Maya Goes A-Wooing The word “ Greeklike”’ is advisedly used. Peaceful, deeply religious, artistic, the Mayas in the course of centuries produced one of the few really great and coherent ex- pressions of beauty so far given to the world, their influence in America being his- torically as important as that of the Greeks in Europe. Nothing—not even centuries of subjugation, of slaughter and abuse— has been able to eradicate their gentle, poetic strain. Doctor Thompson tells me how he once saw a Maya youth lay a young bird in the lap of a maiden, saying in their own tongue: “TI bring thee a little bird, That I took from a nest in a tree; And its mother is crying for it, As my heart is crying for thee!” Poetry? What else? True artistic appreciation, marvelous craftsmanship, and a civilization of the highest, all stand revealed in Mayan ceram- ies; textile, feather, gold and copper work; architecture, painting and sculpture; mosaics of jade and turquoise, and a hun-+ dred other products. Never warlike, the Mayas were backward only in their weap- ons. They used not even bows, but merely the hul-che, or throwing stick, to fling their arrows. Spanish armor was too tough for them, and Spanish blunderbusses, belching out what they believed was lightning, shattered their morale. So, too, did their ancient traditions that some day a bearded race would come to rule them. Thus the amaz- ing event happened that in one supreme battle—at Ti’Hoo, now Merida—two hun- dred Spaniards defeated a Maya army variously estimated at forty to seventy thousand! Their civilization was a real theocracy; their economic and agricultural life a form of communism; their moral code strict, with serious infractions punished by en- slavement or by death. In the modern world, religion has become a secondary mat- ter. With the people of Chichen it reigned supreme. Their every act and season had its religious aspect. Seedtime and harvest, festivals, labors, games, as well as construc- tion, art and literature—all were offered to the high gods. From birth to death they lived their faith; and even today, through a veneer of Christianity, still privately offer bowls of posole to their god of wine, burn copal incense to dim spirits of mightier deities. All their thoughts, before the white men ran through their country like wolves through a sheepfold, were of industry and peace, of spiritualizing their lives with the songs of their lips, the labors of their hands. Never coarse or sensual, never bloodthirsty like the Aztecs, they kept human sacrifice at a minimum; and offered still-palpitant hearts to Kukulcan only because they knew no more precious gift—unless, indeed, those spotless virgins that now or then were cast into Chen Ku, the Sacred Well. From the top of the Great Pyramid you can still dimly see the Sacred Way extend- ing off northward through the forest to that Well of Death. Even a careless heart beats with a more sober tempo in that pathway where perhaps the most dramatic EVENING POST spectacles of all history have taken place. To me the hour was a great one in which I trod that Via Sacra, now half obliterated, where solemn processions of feather-decked priests, musicians with horns and flutes and pulsing drums, once accompanied the litter- borne bride of Yum Chak. Grim walls and deadly pool, what stories you could tell! Wide-circling parapet now overgrown with jungle, what multitudes from all the Maya world once gathered there to see the young girls—decked with jade and gold —flung to the waiting depths! One’s blood must be cold indeed, one’s imagination torpid, not to stir at sight of those ominous waters from whose pro- fundities Doctor Thompson has brought up the skeletons of more than a hundred maid- ens, and many captive warriors, together with thousands of rare and lovely offerings. The Sacred Well invited me to muse and dream; and so, on the very platform of sacrifice itself, I fell as it were into a kind of tranced beatitude. Through it at last I heard the clarion of a horn; and then a distant, confused hum- ming; and —— “The priests,”” I thought. “The multi- tude, again.” Whence and Whither Alas, a truck, honking and buzzing, came a-jouncing down the Via Sacra—a truck laden with lumber for some new construc- tion work. And who was this, driving the truck? A Maya! Perhaps a lineal descend- ant of some high priest or Chichen-Itza king? Alas, once more. Truly, “the times change, and we, too, change with them!” Whence came these wondrous people? Why and how did their mighty power so swiftly fade? After having so sublimely carved a tremendous American civilization out of the sun-parched jungles of Yucatan, what caused them so suddenly to fade away? Thick volumes have been written on these matters; and after all, have they proved anything? It seems probable that the Mayas are of Asiatic stock; possible, that certain elements of the population may have come in from that famed Atlantis which can hardly be all a myth. To my mind, the most reasonable explanation seems that the great majority of the Mayas must have descended from some Oriental race that maybe fifty thousand years ago crossed to America by way of Bering Strait and the Aleutian Islands. Uncounted ons were required for these primitive nomads to work south, gradually evolving into an agricultural and civilized people. When they first began accumulat- ing in the cul-de-sac of Yucatan, who knows? Le Plongeon claims some.of the Maya ruins date back eleven thousand years. Perhaps three thousand would be closer. But the deep jungle may yet reveal other still- unknown cities that may substantiate the more remote calculation. One important fact stands out clearly— that the Mayas, cut off by two oceans from all outside influences, developed a mighty and indigenous civilization, 100 per cent American; that at one time the Maya area was the most densely populated and highly cultured region on earth. As to why their powers fell, diverse opinions rage. The Mayas’ own traditions mention the wrath of the gods. Had I space, I could tell some of these stories. Archwologists speak of famine, flood, fire, pestilence, climatic changes, war, even such vague factors as wanderlust or the closing of the life cycle. To me it seems reasonable that a failing food supply, in that harsh land, may have been a determining factor. Without plenty of food, no such swarming cities as Chichen- Itza and all the others could permanently endure. Nearly all races have a savior god who comes, teaches, vanishes, with a promise to return. So, too, the Mayas, in the deified hero, Kukulcan. Nearly all races, when ruled by men, feel a longing to lay the blame for everything on women. The Mayas are August 17,1929 no exception. One of their best folk tales relates that a certain great batab, or king, of Chichen-Itza—but let a Maya tell it to you, as he told it to me one night as he lay smok- ing one of my cigarettes in a sisal hammock under the big-eyed tropic stars: “Yes, sefor, that great king—I do not remember his name—fell in love with a very beautiful girl. And so did another powerful king, of Mayapan. The girl, she preferred the batab of Chichen. So he of Mayapan hid his wrath and came with many warriors to the wedding feast. A great feast, setor, with much balche—wine. Everybody happy! But the kingéof Maya- pan and his warriors, they only pretended to drink. “‘When all the Itzas were far gone, the Mayapans attacked, wounded some, killed others, stole the bride and carried her away. Wicked deeds, sefor. Oh, very wicked! And a woman was the cause of it all; no? “Then my people, the Itzas, declared war. At first they beat the Mayapans, but these ones called in seven Aztec chiefs with their armies to help them. So our people were defeated. Many of us were killed. Our holy city was destroyed. The League of Mayapan, that had stood many cen- turies, was broken. My people wandered as outcasts. Later, the Aztecs conquered all, and Mayapan fell. Every tribe fought every other. The end of our greatness came. Night fell upon the Land of Maya. And why, sefior? Because of a woman—nothing more. A woman caused it all!” So much for the Maya version of cherchez la femme! Perhaps some grain of truth lies in the legend. But the larger mystery still remains. What really happened to this mighty race, so that when the Spaniards came they found it already in full decadence, with only a few miserable campers living in grass huts amid the ruins of stupendous palaces? What brought the Mayas so low that their last capital was but a village of such huts on an island in Lake Peten, Guatemala? “Babylon is fallen—is fallen!” And why? Fully solve this stupendous mystery, and fame with fortune will be yours! . SHORT TURNS AND ENCORES (Continued from Page 26) the cataclysm will occur within the next five minutes.” “T bid one no trump,” said Mrs. Jones. “Two spades,” said Mrs. Smith. “The planets Venus. Mars and Jupiter,” continued the announcer, “have left their orbits and exploded. The Continent of Africa has sunk beneath the ocean. London has been destroyed by an earthquake. Paris is on fire, and there is a terrific tornado sweeping down upon the United States.” “T pass,” said Mr. Jones. “T pass,” said Mr. Smith. “The sun has broken into fifteen, blazing parts, and one of these is approaching the earth at an estimated speed of seven thou- sand miles asecond. There is also a gigantic comet plunging rapidly toward the earth.” “Well, I positively refuse to play any more,” said Mrs. Jones. “Here I bid a no trump, and my partner is so dumb he don’t even indicate his strongest suit.” “Is that so?” bellowed Mr. Jones, rising swiftly to his feet and slamming his cards angrily across the table. “‘How do you expect me to indicate when I haven’t got anything higher than a six of clubs?” “In exactly thirty-five seconds,” con- tinued the radio announcer, “the Continent of North America will burst into a million pieces, and that which is now the earth will dwindle into a thin fiery mist.” “Well, you needn’t get mad and throw down your cards,” snapped Mrs. Jones. “But since you've got up, I wish you’d turn off that infernal radio. Who is there that could possibly want to listen to the weather report?” —CLARK ODELL.

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Keep a roll of DUTCH BRAND handy—buy it at most good electrical, radio, hardware. motor acces- sory or general stores—in four sizes, Sc, 10c, 20c and 3$¢ World Wide Distribution Through Jobbing Channels VAN CLEEF BROS, “i Manufacturers Rubber and Chemical Products Woodlawn Ave., 77th to 78th Sts. Chicago, U. S. A. Stop Leaky Auto Tops When the rain starts to trickle through amd you discover a hole in the top of your car—boy a DUTCH BRAND Top Repair Kit. ft contains a generous piece of Lx or Pebble Grain fabric tube of waterproof cement and buffer material to apply a lasting, good-looking patch. Sold by garages and accessory dealers or mailed rect postpaid for 50c ‘This mark identifies producta of then ves for THE SATURDAY “‘It seems ample,” said the prosecutor. “So it does,” agreed Peter. ‘‘So it does.” “May we regard your—er—informal in- vestigation as closed?” “You may not,” said Peter. “In fact, you may not regard it as commenced. We | are in, gentlemen, for a long day, and no adjournment for lunch.” ‘Let us proceed,” said the prosecutor. “‘I may say in the start of what you may call my defense,” said Peter, ‘that one check from an attorney of the caliber of Mr. Packer is an incident, two is a coincidence and three arouses curiosity. I am curious by nature. . Will Police Detective Snow take the stand?” The detective arose and seated himself in the witness box. His face was expres- sionless. “Mr. Snow,” asked Peter, “have you | | had under observation a half dozen lawyers who have made statements here today?” “T have.” “For how long a time?” “Upwards of three weeks.” “Were you in the closet off my chambers on June seventeenth?” “T was.” “What did you hear?” “T heard Attorney Packer ask you to take charge of a fund for Tom O’Grady.” “Were you alone?” “Ted Plank of the News was with me.” “ After you listened to this conversation, what did you do?” “I followed Mr. Packer from the build- ing.” ““Where did he go?” “To the City Hall. To the office of Com- missioner Marcus.” At the mention of the commissioner’s name the room became suddenly still and rigid. ““What took place in the commissioner’s office?”’ “The two of them went across to the bank. Mr. Marcus drew five hundred dollars, which he gave to Packer.” “And after that?” “They went to Busby’s saloon. There’s a room upstairs there that the commis- sioner uses a lot for private conferences political powwows and the like.” “You knew of this room before?” asked Peter. : “You told me about it,” said the de- tective. Commissioner Marcus scowled darkly at this. It came as unpleasant news to him that his use of that little room over Busby’s saloon was known to persons not deep in his confidence, for it was there he conducted the more secret portion of his enterprises. “Then you lost sight of them?” asked Peter guilelessly. “Oh, no. We were ready. In fact, I had been there before with Ted Plank of the News, and we had made arrangements— at your suggestion.” “What arrangements?” “It’s a kind of spotted wall paper on that room, judge, and we had bored some holes through the partition—maybe half a dozen—so they came in black spots where they wouldn’t be seen. We could see through them, and we could hear through them.” “And did you see and hear through them?” asked Peter. “We did.” “What did you hear?” “We heard Commissioner Marcus tell Packer that the time was ripe to get you, and that he was to keep on feeding you checks as long as you would take them. He told Packer he’d protect him from any consequences.” “What did Packer say?”’ “He told the commissioner he guessed he wasn’t worried about being protected so long as the bridge contracts were being handled the way they were.” “What was the reply to that?” asked Peter. EVENING POST BOOMERANG (Continued from Page 19) “‘Marcus laughed and said the bridge contracts were a nice piece of business and that Packer could buy him a new house when it was settled. Then they quit talking about you and talked about the new bridge.” “About the bridge, eh? And what did they say about that?” asked Peter. The prosecutor was on his feet, objecting: “The bridge has nothing to do with this in- quiry!” he shouted. “I object to following this line of questions any farther!” “] judged you would,” said Peter. “You see, you come into it later. Just have pa- tience. . . . What about the bridge, de- tective?”’ “Well, they lighted up cigars and Mar- cus said the bids for the bridge were running about two million and a half with four bid- ders, and that between them the crowd ought to do pretty well.” “Did he mention any names?” “Of the crowd? He did. He mentioned Supervisor Mattison and Prosecutor Bemis, and he said with so many to divide among they'd have to get a big chunk of money out of it. He said the safe way to handle it was as they had been doing: For Packer to do all the negotiating—to be the go-between — and to handle the money when it came through. He said he had set his heart on a quarter of a million out of the deal.’”’ “Is that all?” “No. He told Packer to meet a Mr. Windus at the Palace Hotel in Room 52 that night at eight o'clock, and if Windus came through with a quarter of a million, to tell him the contract was his; and they went into terms and arrangements.” “What arrangements?” “Before the contract was signed by the commissioner, Packer was to collect the boodle in money and fetch it to that room. He said Packer needn’t bother about dodg- ing for Canada with the pile, because three men would be following him; and he said the division would be made there.” “What did you understand by all this?” asked Peter. “IT understood the commissioner and his friends were taking a bribe to give the con- tract for the new bridge.” “And after that?” ““We kept on Packer’s tail. Next day he passed around money to half a dozen police- court lawyers and told them to get you to cash little checks or to contribute to the Tom O’Grady fund. He said Marcus would protect them if they testified against you these men who have made statements here today.” “Does Mr. Plank of the News write shorthand?” “He does,”’ said the detective. ‘‘He took down that conversation between Packer and Marcus, and other conversations.” “Has the bridge contract been let?” “It has,” said the detective. “Did Mr. Packer receive a sum of money and take it to the room over Busby’s saloon?” “He did.” “Were you present at its division?” “I was.” “Alone?” “There were four men with me—Ted Plank of the News, Mr. Roswell P. Joyce, Mr. Hiram Newsome and yourself.” At this the court room drew a deep breath. Roswell P. Joyce and Hiram New- some! These were two men whose testi- mony could not be doubted. One had been senator from the state, was many times a millionaire, and was regarded by the city as asort of Nestor—a splendid, public-spirited old gentleman whose motives were not to be questioned, and whose life was admirable and blameless. Mr. Newsome, a younger and more active man, was of the same quality. “Who were present inside the room?” asked Peter. “Marcus, the prosecutor, Supervisor Mattison, Packer, Alderman Jevons and Alderman Neap.” ° August 17,1929 “You could see the money and hear the ensuing conversation?” asked Peter. “We could. The prosecutor, Mattison, and the two aldermen got twenty-five thou- sand dollars apiece. Packer got ten thou- sand, the commissioner got fifty, and the rest, he said, was to go into the kitty for ex- penses. But it didn’t.” “What do you mean by that?” “IT mean that after Marcus was alone with Packer he sort of grinned and gave Packer another five thousand, and said there wasn’t any use wasting good money on folks who couldn’t appreciate it. He said the kitty was a handy gadget, because there wasn’t any kitty, and what he got in his fingers he didn’t let loose of.” “In other words, he cheated his associ- ates?” asked Peter. “Yes, Your Honor,” said the detective. Peter smiled down at the prosecutor. “Any questions?” he asked. The prosecu- . tor made no reply. He was in a corner with Commissioner Marcus and they were in heated conversation. “Evidently no questions,” said Peter. “Fetch in Mr. Windus, officer.” Accompanied by a uniformed policeman, Mr. Windus of the Spartan Bridge Com- pany came in, a shaken, apprehensive man, broken of nerve. He held nothing back. “You have been made no promises of im- munity?” Peter asked. “oe None.” “You are willing to tell the whole truth?” “T am. I was persuaded by Mr. Joyce and Mr. Newsome and the other members of the Citizens’ Vigilance Committee who have been working on this matter.”’ Mr. Joyce and Mr. Newsome had done their work well; Windus made no reserva- tions; he was frankness itself, and his con- fession was damning to the city’s Boodle Ring, as the newspapers called it that eve- ning. When he was through, Peter ad- dressed the room. “We are now somewhat late for lunch,” he said, “‘and I think no more is necessary at this informal inquiry. Warrants already have been served upon the supervisor and the two aldermen. I see them being served on the commissioner and the prosecutor — who, by the way, have ceased to hold office. The evidence was laid before the governor of this state last night, and, act- ing upon it, he relieved the prosecutor and commissioner of their duties pending formal trial. I myself am under arrest, charged with bribery—although the governor ad- vised against that step.” “We all regarded it as unnecessary,” said Mr. Joyce, arising to his feet. “‘Nevertheless,”’ said Peter, “I desire to be cleared of these charges officially.” “A praiseworthy position for a young man to take,” said the old gentleman. “However, Mr. Newsome and myself have been discussing the matter with Attorney Packer in your chambers. Mr. Packer has been made to see that he will atone for his conduct in part by a full confession. He is at present dictating it, clearing you wholly of any charge of conduct unworthy of a ju- dicial officer. In view of this we feel, as representatives of the public, that nothing more is required.” “Thank you, gentlemen,” said Peter. “Court is adjourned.” mui LACK headlines flared across the eve- ning papers, and the name of Peter Case was on the lips of every citizen. Pub- lic sentiment was at the boiling point and Peter was the popular hero. At one stroke he had cleaned their city, and the manner of his doing it tickled the fancy of all and sundry. Trapped himself, he had turned the trap into a boomerang to bring down his enemy. The remnants of city committee and county committee met in joint session to consider the calamity. (Continued on Page 108) ~~ | | | eS eae

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————— | . | a Ai home or “on the wing” you always enjoy ), BLISTERING hot days when you don’t want to let ICE get out of your reach even long enough to answer that irresistible call of the great outdoors, why not let the family ice box be your friend in need? Scorching highways and dusty byways have no terrors if at the end of the journey there be, in a cool shady spot, a delicious lunch, with plenty of ICE to soothe dry throats and revive wilted appetites. Ice cream, ice-cold lemonade, iced tea and iced coffee, cold meats and cold salads—how much more satisfying such things taste way out “miles from nowhere” than when you are seated in the hot stuffy dining room at home. Ice cream freezers, ice baskets, ice pails and thermos jugs extend the many advantages of the household ice refrigerator to the most remote nooks you choose for picnic parties. No Embarrassing Disappointments You never need fear an ice shortage, even on the hottest days or right in the midst of your biggest parties, if you are a regular ice THE customer. Just be sure that you have a good sized refrigerator and that you give your ice company instructions to keep the ice chamber well filled. Then, even when you take a gen- erous supply of ice with you on your outings, you can return to a refrigerator that has been iced in your absence and is ready again to serve as only a good ICE refrigerator can do. Outside Icing a Great Convenience Of course, you can arrange with your ice company to make ice deliveries during your absence from home, even though you may not have an outside-icing refrigerator. But with an “Out- side Icer,” you can forget com- pletely and for all time the ques- tion of ice supply. An “Outside Icer” permits the ice man to ser- vice the ice box in your absence. Most ice refrigerator manu- facturers now build outside icing models which cost very little more than regular models. aS. SATURDAY EVENING POST Call ICE Ice Makes and Keeps the Air Just Right A properly built ICE refrigerator of ample size aflords an adequate supply of ice at all times, and provides just the atmosphere in which foods keep their full flavors and health- ful juices. No quick drying out of foods —no interchange of fla- vors and odors! The circulating air is constantly changed and freshened; food odors are elimi- nated with the meltage through the outlet. This cooling cleans ing process, with its refreshing effect on foods, goes on auto- matically every day, every hour, every minute. If you want help in selecting a good refrigerator, or in arrang- ing for outside icing, get in touch with your own ice company. ? FREE FOLDER COUPON National Association of Ice Industries, 163 West Washington St., Chicago, Ill Please mail your illustrated folder Inside Facts on Outside Icing C—O Street or Rox Town and State____ — a E I N D U Ss T R 107

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THE SATURDAY Hold it, papa! hold it! Mama's starting right now to find a handy telephone and summon help for you and, in the meantime, you will have leisure in which to consider how much happier you would be if your brakes were equipped with Rusco lining. Holds in wet weather as well as in dry RuUSCO Brake Lining is treated with a special secret compound, so that water has no effect on its efficiency. Tosecure this addi- tional safety feature, repair men pay more for RUSCO than for ordinary lining, although they do not charge you any more. Your brakes are constantly subjected to tremendous strain. To keep them fit they need frequent attention. Have them inspected free at least once a month at the nearest Kusco Brake Service Station, where trained experts use special mechanical equipment to test, adjust or reline your brakes with scientific precision. When they pronounce your brakes okay, you'll know what good brakes are. Always ready to stop your car quicker. AIl- ways safe and sure in any kind of weather. Send for free booklet. The Russell Manufacturing Co., Middletown, Conn. In Canada, The Russell Manufacturing Co., Ltd., St. Johns, Quebec. Other Rusco Products: Rusco-Ace Brake Lining, Benlock Brake Lining, Durak Brakeshoe Liners, Transmission Linings for Fords, Clutch Facings and Fan Belts for all cars. SsTABLISHED i oe ee ae ae Ge Hood Lacing, Tire Straps and Towing Lines; Belting for Power Transmission, Elevating and Con- veying, Tractor Belts. r r Rusco Aero Products— Aero Rings, Shock Cord, Airplane Fabrics, Safety Belts, Etc. Standard Equipment on Mili- tary and Commercial Aircraft. Copyright 1929 LINING | a boss that’s pop’lar. | runnin’ the state. EVENING POST (Continued from Page 106) “It’s ruined the party,”” moaned a poli- tician. “‘We won't be able to elect a dog catcher at the next election.” ““Marcus might ‘a’ been a crook,” said another, “but him and Mattison was wise. They knew how to run politics. Of course it’s a good thing to get them out, but what we goin’ to do?” “Might’s well go out of business for a couple of years,” said another. ‘“‘We’re busted.” “We ain't,” said a quiet individual who chewed a big cigar, “if we use a little brains. We ain’t busted a-tall. We’re bet- ter off 'n we ever was. We kin be so strong there won't be nothin’ to it at all.” “You're crazy, Pete.” “Crazy, be 1? Need a leader, don’t we? Can't have a machine without a boss. Well, we got a boss all ready and waitin’—and Most bosses hain’t loved by the people.” “And who's that?” speaker. “Peter Case,” said the man with the cigar. “Put him to the top in both county and city, and we're fixed.” “But—but he won’t stand for things. He won't even stand for political dickerin’.” “It’s him or nobuddy,” said the man with the cigar. “You got to make him boss, or he'll just grab it and we’ll be out on a limb. No, sir-ree. We got to swaller Judge Case and we got to back him up. I watched that young feller, and *twon’t be long before he’s Me for the Case band asked the first | wagon.” Presently emissaries were sent in search of Peter—emissaries who offered him an un- limited monarchy, the political dictatorship of his county and city —and they found him in Fire Engine House No. 5, where he was discussing the cure of spavins with the driver of that fine team of blacks. “Mr. Case,” said the spokesman for- mally, “we come from a joint meeting of the county and city committees to notify you that you’ve been elected chairman of both of them, and to ask you, for the good of the party, toaccept. The boys say they got to have you.” Here was the end for which Peter had been working since his graduation from col- lege—-the fulfillment of his first major am- bition. He had worked to this end, planned to this end, and now it came to him more easily than he had dreamed. August 17,1929 “Let me understand you,” he said. “ You offer me these chairmanships. What strings attached?”’ “None.” “Who must be promised immunity?” “We don’t ask no promises. You're boss. All we ask is a square deal for the boys.” “And,” said Peter, ‘“‘do you mind asquare deal for the city and county?” “We'll stand for anything so long’s the party ain’t busted up,”’ said the spokesman. “Very well,’”’ said Peter; “‘gobacktoyour committees and tell them I accept. Tell them I’m for the party. But tell them the party must behave itself.” “What you say goes,” said the spokes- man. “‘You’re the boss.” “Good evening, gentlemen,” said Peter. It was rather late, but he walked to the street on which Sicily Burt lived. He did not rap at the door, but whistled a little call well known to the young lady, who raised her window. “Hello, Peter,” she said. “Come on down,” said Peter. “I want to talk to you.” “T was expecting you,” said Sicily, and in a minute opened the door and came down the steps. ‘Let's walk,” said Peter, and they walked a little way in‘silence, then Sicily spoke: “T’ve read every word in every paper. I’m sort of proud of you, Peter.” “It came out all right,” he said. “‘I guess it’ll be all right now. I guess Marcus ain’t going to bother me any more.” “When,” asked Sicily, ‘‘ will you learn to say ‘isn’t’?” “T’ve got what I was aiming for,” said Peter, ‘“‘sooner than I expected. I’m the boss, Sicily.’’ “Some day,” said Sicily, “‘you’ll be President.” Peter shook his head. “I don’t want to,” he said. “It wouldn’t be any fun. Say, Sicily, I guess things have turned out so I can propose now.” “You’re too late,” said the young woman. “Too late! What d’ye mean, Sicily? How am I too late?” “Why,” she said, “‘I sent the announce- ment of our engagement to the papers this morning. If you’d read them through you would have seen it.” “You picked a bad day for it,” Peter said, “if you wanted to get it noticed. But the boys ’!] play it up tomorrow.” Which they did. The Hunted Fox: ‘‘Guess I'd Better Give Myseif Up AWN BY WALTER SCHMIDT Before These Peopie Get Seriously Injured!"’ i _— —— ——— a ——s _ fer Pee — —

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— = —_— —_— —— a ee ee EE THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 109 Power without s Control 13 = Thirteen Times the Manpower of Industry * Is worse poppe than dustries today provide working capacity equal to 250 million work men. That is more than 13 times the actual number of men em ployed) How effectively this army of “ unseen" workers is used to wasted bring down costs is determined by the care with which Motor Control is selected What it ahkes.. gaa the catcher signals for the batter's weakness . a fast ball or a curve, shoulder or knee high, close in or cutting the outside corner of the plate... control alone determines whether the pitcher can put the right kind of **a pitch” in the right place. Control enables the pitcher to pui all his speed and “break” on the ball—even in a pinch. Without control he must ease up in order to “get it over”, and hits sail to all corners of the park. Just as control decides the effectiveness of the pitcher’s speed and curves, so Motor Control deter- mines how efficiently electric motors do their job .. . how much time, labor, and money they really save. Properly selected and applied, Motor Control har- nesses electric motor power to the specific demands of the job... saves time and labor . . . assures dependable production by protecting against disorganizing motor failures. Power so controlled, so insured, turns out products at the speed required for today’s competition. Cutler-Hammer Motor Control provides these ad- vantages to the fullest extent. It is specified by indus- trial executives on the complete machines they buy - purchased by them for each motor they install... and if they produce motor-driven equipment for sale to other plants, Cutler-Hammer Motor Control is included as a guarantee of unfailing performance. This confidence in Cutler-Hammer Motor Control has been built, maintained, and strengthened through over 30 years of success... over 30 years of achievement in bettering Motor Control and its application. CUTLER-HAMMER, Ine. Pioneer Manufacturers of Electric Control tpparatus 1259 St. Paul Avenue Milwaukee, Wisconsin UTLER HAMMER The Control Equipment Good Electric Motors Deserve

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110 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 ard Hitters and Straight Shooters Let’s have more of them There are no handsomer, healthier youngsters in the world than those who storm our parks and recreation centers every weekend. Here are no watchers. Here are players. Here are no skinny, envious critics. Here are young men and women on the firing line of sport, brown, vigorous, graceful. One of the most amazing developments in our social life has been the rise of amateur sports during the last two decades. And the SCRIPPS-HOWARD Newspapers have en- couraged it withevery resource at their command. — —~ 2 There are now amateur baseball, tennis, basket- ball or golf organizations in all important cities. And the local SCRIPPS-HOWARD Newspaper prints their scores, reports their tournaments, leads any fight for anew club-house, anew com- ——? tre OTE Ss munity gym or swimming pool, or a new park. Today, all SCRIPPS-HOWARD Newspapers are helping to develop formidable contestants for , tomorrow's National Amateur Championship honors by the liberal editorial consideration they give to the stars of the prairie ball lot, the public golf course, the neighborhood tennis courts and other public recreational! centers. ‘*‘Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton,”’ said the Duke of Wellington. And in the fast, highly competitive life facing our coming generation, the hard hitters and the straight shooters will have the edge. Let’s have more of them. NEW YORK Telegram SAN FRANCISCO . News BUFFALO ..... Times COLUMBUS .. . Citizen HOUSTON .. . . Press KNOXVILLE News-Sentinel CLEVELAND . . . Press WASHINGTON . . News INDIANAPOLIS .. Times AKRON . . . Times-Press YOUNGSTOWN. Telegram EL PASO ...... Post BALTIMORE . . . Post CINCINNATI . . . Post DENVER. Rocky Mt. News BIRMINGHAM .. . Post FORT WORTH . . Press SAN DIEGO... . Sun PITTSBURGH . . . Press COVINGTON Kentucky Post TOLEDO . . . News-Bee MEMPHIS . Press-Scimitar OKLAHOMA CITY. News EVANSVILLE... . Press — Kentucky Edition of Cincinnats Post ALBUQUERQUE ...../ New Mexico State Tribune N E VW S PAPE R S MEMBERS OF THE AUDIT BUREAU OF CIRCULATIONS -.- OF THE UNITED PRESS AND OF MEDIA RECORDS, INC. NATIONAL ADVERTISING DEPT., Stwart S. Schuyler, pinector, 230 PARK AVE.. NEW YORK - CHICAGO~ SAN FRANCISCO + DETROIT - LOS ANGELES - ATLANTA - PHILADELPHIA - BL FFALO + DALLAS

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i — os ee ES ee Se Be ER Oe em =. “Harry, why haven’t you ever told me about Nature? Here I’ve lived all of my twenty-nine years without ever having been stung by a bee! Nature—it’s simply thrilling! You can believe it or not, but this morning I got up at half-past eight.” She added: ‘I did it because I wanted to.” “‘How’s the bank balance?”’ I asked. Julia crinkled her freckles. “‘Sixty-seven dollars, and I still owe for the beans.” “‘Julia, for heaven’s sake let me help you out with a thousand!” “‘Mother always told me not to accept money from strange men. Besides, a thou- sand’s no good to anybody.” “Terence is after you,” I warned her. “He'll make it as hot for you as he can.” Julia glanced off through the trees to the camp, where five or six unwholesome little Terences were floundering on the porch. “Tt’s nice having Mrs. Terence around to cook and clean up,” she said. “But Ter- ence has spoiled it. On the whole I think we've roughed it long enough.” She got up briskly. ‘Paddle me over to your aunt’s, darling. I want to phone.” And all the way across the lake she chat- tered blithely, while the pensive wrinkle deepened between her eyes and while I wondered what schemes were revolving in her golden head. When she put in a long-distance call for New York, I said, “Shall I clear out?” “Oh, no, you’d eavesdrop through the transom anyway.” She turned to the phone. “Hello! The Starbright Shaving Cream Company? Mr. Wenne?.. . Mr. Wenne, this is Julia O’Shay— Mrs. Norton O’Shay. I’ve arranged the testi- monial I spoke to you about. . . . Yes, the Earl of Cumberford—he’s quite will- ing. . . . Yes, five thousand was the price. You’d better have a man come up here tomorrow to arrange the details, be- cause we may be leaving. Yes, I'll try not to disappoint you— photograph and all that. Charity? Oh, just mail me the check and I'll take cate of it. Thanks.” Julia lit one of my aunt’s ciga- rettes and flopped on the couch. “Another dirty trick,” I said. “Oh, he realizes that it’s only a lark. For charity, you know. Awfully obliging boy.” Julia went on: “He and Mazie will be very happy together.” “On an income of one testimonial a year?” Julia drawled: “‘Oh, forget it! I have bigger game in the offing. But the dear child insists on seeing Niagara Falls. I suggested a canoe trip—you can canoe-trip for weeks on a hundred dollars— but he al- most cried until I promised him a look at Niagara. Harry, do you suppose he could be a little bit queer?” “Oh, no,” I said. “It’s just love. I had a craving to see Niagara one time myself, but the girl eloped with her mother’s danc- ing teacher and I haven’t been bothered since.” “Well, you can’t hire a car and a chauf- feur for nothing,” Julia said. “It’s only fair that Charlie should pay his way. You come with us, Harry—do!” “Not on your life,” I replied. “My nerves couldn’t stand the strain.” Julia and her love birds were still touring the northern wilds when the earl’s boyish grin bloomed in all the metropolitan dailies. I suppose he saw a copy of the ad and thought it fearfully jolly. By this time he was in an ecstatic coma and wholly unable to grasp the intricacies of Julia’s schemes. Nevertheless, I won- dered how long she could keep him in the isolation that the state of her finances made so desirable. The upper crust of society was giving off a faint steam—they wanted their earl! And I thought: “If she keeps him hidden much longer they'll start wonder- ing just why Mrs. Norton O’Shay is so elusive, and it won’t take them long to find out.” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Al LILY OF THE FIELDS Continued from Page 9 Then, on the first of August, Julia and her protégés swept down Madison Avenue in a hired limousine and engaged an elegant suite at the Ritz. “She must have struck gold,” I thought, and went right over to congratulate her. Julia’s manner was tailored and serene, but there were new lines in her face. “T heard about your triumphal entry,” I said. “‘It must feel great to be rich.” Julia flicked ashes all over her Louis Quinze drawing-room. “ Harry, run down- stairs and pay that chauffeur.” I whistled. “It’s like that, is it? And how about these rooms?” “Thanks,” she said. “I wasn’t going to stick you for them, but since you've men- tioned it is “Nothing doing, Julia! If you want to get two rooms and a connecting bath in some nice, quiet, family hotel, I’ll pry the bill forever and ever. But I resent being stuck for all this crazy extravagance just because you’re a snobbish i Julia sprawled in a chair and yawned. “Stop talking like your plebeian grand- father,”’ she snapped, “and pay that chauf- feur.”” I paid her chauffeur. When I got back to her suite she was crouching tiredly over the phone. “Pour mea drink, Harry.”” And, sipping it, her face brightened, her nose crinkled. “Everything’s rosy, darling; we've been invited to Watch Hill.” “About these rooms ———’’ I said. “They want their earl.” Julia sighed. “Poor darlings, they'll do anything to get him! And I feel that Mazie and I ought to go along so that he won't feel bashful among all those strangers.” “So that one of Patricia's daughters won't grab him, you mean! I'm surprised they tolerate you, even for the sake of Charlie the earl.” Julia smiled brightly. “‘They wouldn’t, darling, if they knew it was too late. He did it on the Maid of the Mist—that’s a boat, you know.” “Did what?” I asked irritably. “Proposed.” Julia curled up on the sofa like a fluffy poodle. ‘‘Now they’re out shopping for a ring. He’s been saving up for five months to buy it. Wasn't that sweet of him?” “Heaven help him!” I said. Julia shook her golden cloud of hair. “Oh, no, darling; I'll help him.” ** About these rooms Behind me I heard the steps of Mazie and the earl. I have often seen happy young men, but never have I seen one carry the emotion to such fatuous extremes. Mazie was objec- tionably happy, too, although her eyes had a strained look and her face was a trifle drawn. “Guess!” Julia cried. “ Patricia O’Shay has invited us to Watch Hill! And Harry has volunteered to fly us up there tomorrow in a plane.” “Oh, I say, Crimmer, that'll be jolly “Jolly as the devil!” I thought. And clutching my check book, I escaped. As a matter of fact, I didn’t fly them to Watch Hill the next afternoon; I merely paid for the plane. But I managed to at- tend the party that Patricia gave in honor of Charlie the earl. It was a grand party until Julia slew the whole crowd of them by blandly announcing Mazie’s engagement. Only a deadly poison gas could have had an equally withering effect on that unhappy collection of O’Shays. Terence and his fam- ily were not present; neither were the Cin- cinnati O’Shays; nor was Dicky O’Shay, whose bucket shop caused such family con- sternation in 1922. But Victor and his wife were there; also the Philadelphia O’Shays, with their daughter Barbara and their dis- appointed expressions. The Newport branch came down in force, and there were all sorts of aunts, cousins, nephews and nieces. Every one of them was respectable ” and thoroughly dull except Dirk O’Shay, who was invited only because he was the richest of them all. His yacht lay at an- chor in the harbor—that yacht as sleek as its owner, for which so many charming women had squandered their reputations Dirk was a marauding bachelor of fifty. Plump below and lean on top, he had the look of a well-fed vulture. I think I was the only one present who noticed how his little, cold, birdlike eyes followed Julia wherever she went. That was because every lorgnette in the place was focused on Julia herself. In a flame-colored gown and Patricia’s dia- monds, she was lovelier than I had ever seen her. And knowing that Julia’s bank balance amounted to something under two hundred dollars, | was overwhelmed by her serenity and poise. At a little after midnight she pulled me aside into the rose arbor. “Darling,” she whispered, “I’m up against it. I'd counted on the Philadelphia O’Shays for a big wedding, but they feel that the strain of it might bring back poor little Barbara's sinus trouble. They’re most unsympathetic, darling, but if you'd talk to them ry I said, “I've half a mind to warn Charlie. Julia, you've no right to go through with this business.” “If you warn him,” replied Julia, “I'll shoot you—or worse still, I'll marry you.” “Julia! Marry me now! We can take Mazie off and find her a nice, rich college boy.” “T’'ve got to get out of Watch Hill, all right,” Julia whispered. “But first about this wedding ———” A whiff of cigar smoke checked her. Peering out of the arbor, she called gayly: “Dirk! Oh, Dirk!” The vulture cruised down on us. Even in the dark his little eyes had a bright, me- tallic luster. Julia laughed. “Dirk, I've made up my mind that you're taking us to Newport on the yacht. We'll leave after lunch. Now don’t refuse me, darling.” The vulture took the cigar from his mouth, flicked it, and muttered, “H’m!" “Oh, you won't regret it!” Julia laughed. “Let me tell you my plan.” She took his arm and they moved off across the lawn toward the orchestra. Unaccountably I felt sick and more than a trifle disgusted. “The downgrade,” I thought bitterly. “Even the best of them come to it. Oh, Julia! Of her life at Newport I have only a second-hand knowledge. No doubt her bridge game kept the earl’s pipe burning and soothed the more urgent of Mazie’s dressmakers; Julia was an expert bridge player. I heard vaguely of a good night at the roulette table and of a profitable ven- ture in chemin de fer. I heard also that Dirk O’Shay was with them a good deal, but not enough to arouse suspicion; and I thought: ‘“‘She’s paying her own way. Perhaps she'll squirm loose from him yet.” But to me her difficulties seemed so tre- mendous that I thought I'd better speak to my friend Dolorez about it. After all, Julia was forty-one; Dolorez, of the Van- ities, was nineteen—and I knew Dirk’s partiality for the teens. “Dirk O’Shay?"” My friend Dolorez squashed her tiny snub nose against the ‘window of her penthouse apartment. To- gether we stared moodily at the river “I've cleverly avoided him all winter,” sighed Dolorez. “‘But I'd love to run up to Newport and renew our acquaintance only I haven't a thing to wear.” “Would some nice jade bracelets keep you warm?” I asked. Dolorez clapped her hands. ‘Just the thing for summer, Harry dear!"’ And after a visit to the jeweler’s I put twelve suit- cases and Dolorez on the train for New- port. Walking back through the station I collided with a fat rubbery substance. It was Terence. “Hello, Harry,” he said worriedly “Have you seen five or six kiddies around any place? They'd be carrying some wood- chuck traps and a bucket full of turtles.” I couldn't help him. Terence mopped his walrus brow. “Gordon arrived at the camp and we had to get out. Gordon tells us Mazie and that earl chap are getting married on board Dirk O'Shay'’s yacht Just like Julia to pull off a stunt like that! Dirk's bringing them down on the yacht in two weeks or so. Then they'll have the wedding. And I hear Julia's starting a bit of a romance with old Dirk. Maybe a double wedding, eh?” “And maybe not,” I thought grimly as I escaped. It was sheer unhappiness that made me disagreeable when Julia phoned me two weeks later. “Darling? Is that you? Did you get your invitation to the wedding?” Her voice sounded fagged. “I’m at the Ritz again. Do come up for a talk!” “I’ve nothing to talk to you about.” “The same suite,” Julia drawled. “ Don't bother to be announced.” “Can't possibly make it!" I said firmly. And my irritation lasted until I had seen what a tired, worn, semihysterical little thing they had made her. For once Julia looked her age—and more. In a blue negli- gee she curled up on the sofa and rested her chin on her freckly knuckles “Don't scold,” she said huskily. “I have had a time! But now everything's ar- ranged. I've pulled it off, my dear!” Julia blinked tiredly. “After the wedding to- morrow I'm shipping the youngsters off to England with enough money to last them oh, ever so long! Wasn't that a fine thing to accomplish?” “And you?" I asked sourly. “Me? Oh, I deserve a rest. I'm think- ing of the West Indies. Dirk's yacht, you know —just a small party of us.” “Meaning Dirk and yourself? Julia, if you do it I'll be through with you for good and all.” “Think of Cumberford,” she said, ‘The earl and Mazie—it’s worth it, darling.” “No, it’s not!” I cried. “And you're doing a terrible thing if you go off with that rotten “A bargain’s a bargain, and there's honor even among women. You wouldn't have me cheat?” “Yes, I would!” “Three o'clock tomorrow,” she said “We've had it planned for over two weeks We'll slip out of the harbor and the captain will marry us at sea. Everything will be quiet and well-bred and —not intolerable.” “T'll shoot him,” I said bitterly “That would get me into a mess!” She held out a limp hand. “You're tiresome today, Harry. Run along and get a good night’s sleep and be on tap for the wed- ding.” For once I disobeyed Julia; I neither slept well that night nor was | on tap for the wedding. Instead I found myself at noon in Dolorez’ penthouse apartment, listening unhappily to the rattle of those jade brace- lets “Jade costs money,”’ I said with gloom Dolorez clasped her hands behind her yellow curls. “ Now, don’t be unpleasant,” she reproved me ‘I've earned them, Harry.” “It doesn’t look like it,” I replied. “They're sailing for the West Indies in a couple of hours.” “So?” Dolorez smiled brightly. “Then I won't have the pleasure of dining with him tonight?” I asked skeptically, “* You've a date with him tonight?” From a velvet box Dolorez took a three- pound string of pearls. “I thought I had,” she said. “In fact I was going to allow him the privilege of clasping this vulgar display around my lovely neck.”” She sighed. ‘I Continued on Page 114

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112 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 = Nica Wn Seta 5 ~ | ‘ / Wek ’ 4 , LLG i] 2 y ; ”

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(Centinued from Page 111) really would have preferred a limousine. But he did want to clasp something around my neck, and a limousine would have been so awkward. Tell me; how much longer must I tolerate the brute?” “I still think he’s ditching you for the West Indies. But if you hold him until this evening you can give him the shake.” “Right after he clasps the pearls’”— Dolorez yawned—‘‘my appendix will practically explode. Poor Dirk! The way he developed our little romance behind Julia O’Shay’s back was a triumph in technic! And how he adores me!” “I’m counting on just that,” I said. And at half-past one I found Julia in her suite, gazing pensively at an untouched luncheon. In the bedroom three maids were putting things in trunks and hat boxes. Julia’s face was haggard but determined. “No more preaching,” she said listlessly. “The youngsters have sailed, and I’m tired.” “Julia,” I demanded, “‘you’re absolutely determined to go off with that vulture?” Julia clapped her hands over her ears. “I promised I'd sail with him right after the wedding. And I'm going to keep my word. So don’t agonize, darling, please!" “All right.” I took hold of her wrists and made her listen to me. “One last re- quest! Julia, promise me that you'll sail with him this afternoon or not at all! Prom- ise me that if he postpones the voyage for any reason you'll consider your contract automatically canceled! You said you'd go right after the wedding—well, if he won't take you right after the wedding, it’s not your fault, is it?” “No,” she whispered. “You didn’t tell him you’d wait around unti! it would be convenient for him to go cruising, did you?” “No.” “Then if he won't sail immediately you'll consider yourself free, and act accordingly?” Swiss newspapers camouflaged as pro- German were distributed within enemy lines. The articles were artfully calculated to invite unfavorable comparisons with conditions in Germany. A fake trench newspaper, including in its title decoration a head of the kaiser, cleverly concealed pro-Aliy and pro-American propaganda. Pamphlets cunningly adapted to appeal to the religious sentiments of German soldiers portrayed Germany’s approaching military defeat as a just retribution for the crimes of the German Government. The Committee on Public Information made strenuous efforts to counteract Ger- man propaganda in South America, in Mexico and in Spain. Mexico, Colombia and Venezuela were unfriendly to the United States. Argentina was pro-German. Partly through local agents, partly through infiltration from German propaganda head- quarters in Spain, German propaganda had sown distrust of the United States in South and Central America. Economic measures and diplomatic pressure were called into play with uncanny skill to reénforce our propaganda. The Battleground in Spain Spain was the main battleground of the two propagandas. Life in Madrid was made picturesque by a regular spy exchange in an out-of-the-way café, where the spies of both sides met to interchange their wares! Creel established a cable service between New York and Madrid. In a short time eyewitnesses reported an astonishing prog- ress of the Wilson cult in Spain. Soon American propaganda assumed world-wide proportions. Creel made im- pressive arrangements to give world-wide publicity to the addresses of President Wilson. Every presidential speech was translated, within forty-eight hours, into

THE SATURDAY “Ta.” “Promise?” “Yes,” she said. ‘But I don’t under- stand ——-"’ The doorbell rang. ‘“‘That’s Dirk now,” Julia whispered. ‘‘Good-by, Harry. You'll have to go now. Dirk’s so irritable about other men.” “And I'm sticking around,” I said, “‘to see if he’s irritable about other women.” Through the crack of the bedroom door two maids and I observed Dirk’s entrance. His birdlike eyes were alert and jumpy, his pinkish face had a drawn and absent look. “I’m almost ready,” Julia said. ‘‘The men are coming for my baggage in fifteen minutes. I can’t stand unpunctuality, my dear, even in myself.” The vulture ran a finger around the in- side of his collar. ‘Julia ———” he said, and paused. “It’s the heat,”” he added. ‘‘It upsets my liver. I hate to be at sea when my liver’s on the blink.” “Nonsense! Will you get me my hat?” The vulture sat down worriedly. ‘Julia, the doctor says I'll die if I go to sea right now.” “And wouldn't you die for me? Oh, Dirk!” “Yes, yes! I'd die for you! But if we could wait until next month ——” “Next month? But I have other plans for next month. Oh, Dirk, you’ve stopped loving me!” “No, I haven't!” “You're trying to get out of taking me!” “No, I’m not,” whined the vulture. “Well, if you want me you can take me now, or not at all. There was nothing in our agreement about waiting around until the sea would be convenient for your liver.” “Then I'd better go,”” said the vulture, not unhappily. “Just a minute!” Julia’s voice was a trifle brusque. “You can’t get off that easily, my poor Dirk! You've trifled with my affections, and made me run up a lot EVENING POST of bills, and you think you can walk out on me like this? The least you can do is to pay for the damage to my heart.” I could see Dirk’s face. It was a wonder- ful thing to look at. “How much?” he asked. “Oh, thousands and thousands and thou- sands,” replied Julia huskily; and Dirk reached for his check book. It was embarrassing when Julia found me hugging one of the maids. “Explain,” she said sternly, and folded up in a chair. I said, “‘The girl’s a perfect stranger to me. I just felt happy, that’s all.” Julia sniffed. “‘ You put some woman on his trail, no doubt. I should have thought of it myself.” “You were tired,” I said. “Julia, let me take you off for your rest.” “No, I’m going off alone and think about Norton. Perhaps a iittle farmhouse in Vermont. And—and the cheaper the better!” It was months before I saw her again. And all the time I was wondering what she would do when the money she had wangled from Dirk ran out. With those Cumberford liabilities hanging over her, I felt that her story would never end until she married some millionaire and allowed him the privi- lege of paying her bills. Then one winter day I met Victor O’Shay in the Goats’ Club. “Julia?” he said. “Oh, Julia’s all right; she’s in England, you know.” I spoke with caution. “I’ve heard that at the time of Norton’s death she was— er—not so well off as one might have thought. Has she any financial worries?” Victor’s horselike face broke into an ironic grin. “‘That woman—she never has money worries! As a matter of fact, Nor- ton left her dead broke. None of us knew it until a couple of months ago. Then she took a flying trip over here and demanded money.” Victor shrugged. ‘‘ Hang it, man, WAR PROPAGANDA (Continued from Page 44) every civilized language. Newspapermen from Spain, Holland, Scandinavia and South America visited the Front as guests of the American Government. Creel courted the editors of Mexico with flatter- ing attentions. A newspaperman loaned to Mr. Creel by the Associated Press installed a daily news service for China, Japan, the Philippines and Hawaii. Window hangings and display sheets were shipped to Russia, China, Japan, Korea and some parts of India. A special version was prepared for Oriental countries. Later a direct wireless service was established at Vladivostok, Harbin, Irkutsk and Omsk. Northcliffe vied with Creel in sending, through every conceivable channel, count- less thousands of President Wilson’s speeches into Germany and Austria- Hungary. Wilson’s message to the Austro- Hungarian people, which, in the opinion of Creel, had the force of a military offensive, was smuggled into the Dual Monarchy. But this was not sufficient. Propaganda headquarters in Paris loaded mortar guns with paper bullets and equipped airplanes with tons of pamphlets. A French hand grenade carried leaflets 600 feet in a fa- vorable wind. A large shell made for the same purpose could travel four or five miles into the enemy lines. The British shot leaflets from a six-inch gun that carried ten or twelve miles. The Italians used rockets carrying forty or fifty pamphlets over the Front. The English devised a standard propaganda balloon manufactured at the rate of 2000 a week. This balloon was made of paper cut in longitudinal panels with a neck of oiled silk. Its cir- cumference was twenty feet and its height, inflated, was eight feet. Each of these balloons carried approximately 500 to 1000 leaflets. Its lifting power was sufficiently strong to take into the air to a height of five or six thousand feet. The unit for the distribution of balloon propaganda consisted of two motor lorries which took the men, the hydrogen cylinders and the load of printed matter to a sheltered position selected every morning by the officer in charge, in consultation with me- teorological experts. The load of the bal- loon depended upon the direction of the wind. If it were blowing toward Belgium it was intrusted with copies of Le Courrier de l’Air. If the wind was blowing toward Germany it carried leaflets for the educa- tion of the enemy. This form of warfare was more effective than poison gas. Propaganda From the Sky All the Allies employed paper balloons filled with coal gas. The balloons remained in the air for twenty-four hours and could make 600 miles in a moderate wind. At the time of the Armistice American ingenuity perfected a new type of balloon with a cruising radius of 500 miles, with a tin container capable of holding 10,000 sheets, to carry American propaganda into the heart of Germany. If the war had lasted longer.this balloon would have supplanted the more primitive paper balloons of the Allies. Lord Northcliffe’s enemy propaganda de- partment dropped 5,360,000 leaflets over the German front in October, 1918. The exact number of American leaflets is not known. But the combined bombardment undermined the confidence of the Germans. One German writer referred to these leaflets as “English poison raining down from God’s clear sky.”” Hindenburg could de- vise no method to counteract this propa- ganda. “This,” the field marshal remarks in his autobiography, “was a new weapon, or rather a weapon which had never been employed on such a scale and so ruthlessly in the past.”

August 17,1929 the O’Shays couldn’t let an earl starve to death—or an earl’s wife and mother-in- law, for that matter! We’ fixed Julia up with more than enough; she was very grateful.”’ Victor’s eyes gleamed wisely. “It’s handy having Julia over there—very handy! You’ve heard that Barbara, and Patricia, and my wife are all being presented at court? Well, they are. Julia’s a useful person in her way. She deserves her in- come. It’s big enough for four people, but she earns it! If ever you want an introduc- tion to the cream of London society ——-”’ I left him with the thought: “Still work- ing for her living!’ And another: ‘‘ Earning enough for four people!’ And an over- whelming desire to see Julia again sent me packing off to London when the first spring smells were on the wind. But Julia had slipped away. In a sort of breathless hurry I chased her to Paris, Munich, Strasburg, and down through France to Marseilles. At Biarritz I lost her, but I picked up the trailagain at Mentone. Ina hired runabout I roared down the Italian Riviera to Genoa and Santa Margherita and Spezia. She was in Florence when I caught her. We sat on a balcony over the Arno, and I felt that I could go on sitting there forever. “Julia,” I said, “I never want to be a burden on anyone as long as I live. But there are only three of you, and Victor says you have a large enough income for four. Julia, there’s no one else who can support me as luxuriously as you can support me. I’m afraid that it’s your duty to marry me and take care of me.” Julia crinkled the freckles on her nose. “T’ll be glad to marry you, darling, now that I’m sure you want me for my money alone.” “That’s it,” I sighed. “And you can start by going downstairs and paying that chauffeur.” Julia’s voice was muffled and dim. “‘He can wait,” she said huskily. “‘It—it pays to be extravagant.” President Wilson’s speeches furnished the ammunition of all propaganda guns and propaganda balloons. Various devices were used to compel the German press to print the President’s speeches assuring the Ger- mans that the Allies did not desire their political or economic annihilation. Mr. Wilson hinted strongly at the possibility of a reconciliation with a liberalized Germany, and disavowed the threats made in Allied quarters of an economic war against Ger- many after the peace, while Mr. Wells toyed with such phrases as “the League of Free Nations.” The eloquence of Woodrow Wilson was the most powerful battering ram of Allied and American propaganda against the Ger- mans. “The President,” writes Colonel House to Lord Bryce, “‘is trying to get the truth into Germany, in order to wage war against the Prussian autocracy from within as well as from without.”” Mr. Wilson im- pressed the liberals of all countries who re- coiled from the horrors of war, with the idea that this war was “a necessary, al- though a terrible undertaking.’”’ This, Colonel House contends, was one of the greatest services rendered to the Allied cause by President Wilson. There is no doubt, Colonel House adds, that there would have been more trouble among the so-called pacifists had it not been for the Wilson influence. “The vital effect of his speeches and propaganda in Germany,”’ Wilson’s alter ego goes on to say, “have been fully recognized by German writers, and culminated in the German re- quest for an armistice based on the Fourteen Points.” “If,’’ remarks Professor Lasswell, “the great generalissimo on the military Front was Foch, the great generalissimo on the propaganda front was Wilson.” Paradoxically enough, the effect of the constant bombardment by propaganda was (Continued on Page 117) eae — a <<

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 115 | > .. you can Design your Dream Kitchen ’ e ° —right on your library table! VERY woman has dreamed of designing her { own kitchen—for no one can plan for her just those convenient units she wants, arranged just as she wants them. Now, the new Curtis miniature kitchen idea makes it possible for you to design your new kitchen right on your library table—actually see the kitchen of your dreams. For all Curtis kitchen units in all sizes are reproduced in miniature, ready to be assembled in numberless combinations to meet your heart's desire. ; It’s like an absorbing new game! First you'll place doors and windows, stove and sink, in their relative positions. Then the fun begins! A unit for pots and pans beside the stove—or near the sink? A broom closet (with that clever : concealed ironing board) near the door—or off in one corner? A drawer section beside it—or over here near the refrigerator? Shall you have storage i units over the sink—and extra cabinets that go ‘ to the ceiling? And here's that fascinating special Curtis unit to put in place—with its sugar bin, flour bin, and drawer for cutlery that tilt forward obligingly as it’s opened. And of course you'll want to have your units “turn a corner™ (as in the : kitchen illustrated)—making every inch of space | available and cleaning easier. And, well—there you are! Just the kitchen f you've always dreamed of having. Curtis kitchen . units come to you completely set up, all ready to put into place. And when you know the amazingly f reasonable cost, you'll know dreams do come true! q There's a lumber dealer near you who has a complete miniature set of all Curtis kitchen units. describing a few of the endless combinations of Tie deep to the becens cleat ene f He will be pleased to help you design your min kitchen units possible. You will find it helpful in a double pur} R a cast 4 jature kitchen—right on your library table!* We your building or remodeling plans. The coupon oe be shle os seaper hide. have prepared attractive literature illustrating and will bring it to you free! There's @ sleeve board seo. of y cour s¢ Note the convement toc , : ae ihe ! The Curtis Companies Service Bureau, pms Ces eS ae q FROM THE CURTIS LINE 907 Curtis Building, Clinton, Iowa OF PERIOD REPRODUCTIONS a | | Curtis Companies, Inc., Clinton, la.; Curtis Bros. & Co ‘ | Clinton, Ia.; Curtis & Yale Co., Wausau, Wis.; Curtis A | Sesh &. Door Co., Sioux City, le.; Curtis, Towle 6 Paine { 1 | Co., Lincoln, Nebr Curtis Door & Sash Co., Chicago, Ill; Curtis-Yale-Purvis Co., Minneapolis, Minn.; and 1] Curtis, Towle & Paine Co., Topeka, Kansas } | Visit Curtis Woodwork, Inc., Display Rooms How simple to pick out just the knife wt wk w spoon you ret woking and Sales Office, Room 201, 9 East 41st Street, New York City. Chicago Display Rooms, {4 Paes Pscmmee’, Curtis Door & Sash Co., 1414 South Western and flour bins also tip d val , for, when the cutlery drawer tilts } | Avenue, Chicago, Illinois making re-filling simpler *Free Planning Service ee ‘ If you prefer, enclose with the coupon below a plar i of your present kitchen, showing all dimensions and s Uy I] location of doors, windows, sink, etc. We will send CURTIS COMPANIES SERVICE BUREA i] } ; ts g ng Oo gestions for the use ~ Curtis B Iding. Clintor low Tl. , 1] you sample layouts giving our sugge x irtis Buildin, i " f The Rochambeau Mantel of Curtis units to bring to your kitchen just that Py , : ‘ * “eae . ennuenience © = annil . case 8 me terature ist ‘ * rf Curtis applies the same care in the design and utility and convenience you are seeking biechen unite. with complete informati manufacture of kitchen units, windows, | intend to bald doors, trim and porchwork that you find in This trade-mark appears | | iIs66 : the more elaborate Curtis historical repro- Uj RT only on Curtis Woadwork Name ductions of mantels, stairwork and entrances. that does not bear this mark Ask to see the complete Curtis catalogue. is genuine Curtis Wood : Addre A ty work. For your own prote tion be sure this mark is on : . : - —___—_—— -—_———' } each piece ; Uny Stat

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; 4 (Continued from Page 114) scarcely légs fatal to the Allies than to the Germans. , Unable to check the anti- German resentment of their constituents, the Big Four were caught at Versailles in the trap of theirown propaganda. Colonel House testifies to this effect. More in- satiable than the Tiger, public opinion in France condemned Clemenceau for his moderation. If he had yielded on the oc- cupation of the Rhineland he would have been hurled from power and replaced by a more stubborn premier. Lloyd George, we learn, admitted that the public estimate of Germany’s capacity to pay was absurd, but did not care or dare to tell the electorate. Similarly, Orlando would have accepted more moderate terms on the Adriatic ques- tion, but political forces in Italy compelled him to be obdurate in his demands. We ean see from the colonel’s diary that the prime ministers were far from exercising supreme power. Inflaming popular emotion during the war, they had created a Frank- enstein monster. All history presents no more tragic figure than Woodrow Wilson. America, 3000 miles from the battle line, was saturated with propaganda. President Wilson, Colonel House jots down in one of his notes, did not realize until late in September, 1918, the nearly unanimous sentiment in the United States against anything but unconditional surrender. No longer sure of the support of the American people, President Wilson was compelled to discard his Fourteen Points, one by one. The propagandists, seizing upon his words, had turned his noble pur- pose into a ruse de guerre to inveigle the enemy into surrender. In the state of mind existing at home and abroad a sane peace was no longer possible. It may be said that American propaganda was not only suc- cessful but that it was too successful. Woodrow Wilson the propagandist de- feated Woodrow Wilson the statesman. The war taught us much about propa- ganda. Bolshevist Russia intensified our education. The Soviets developed marvel- ous propaganda systems. They equipped special propaganda trains to carry the gospel of Lenin to the most far-flung dis- tricts. Children could obtain the neces- sities of life only by attending communist schools. Every Bolshevist soldier became a Bolshevist propagandist. The Bolshevist infection, spreading into Germany, be- numbed the hands of the German Govern- ment and reduced Germany to impotence. Up went the red flag in Kiel, Hamburg and Munich. Profiting by Misery Austria and Hungary were plague spots of communism. But anarchy makes no discrimination between friend and foe. Like influenza, it stopped at no frontier. The spirit of revolution leaped across oceans. Seizing Wilson’s doctrine of self- determination for their own purposes, the Bolshevists roused all Asia. Everywhere the fruit of victory turned into Dead Sea fruit. The Armistice, far from putting an end to propaganda, accelerated its wheels. Every belligerent promptly established propaganda headquarters in Paris. Every day some propaganda bomb exploded in the press. We were deafened by the noise of these detonations. At times two con- tending propaganda forces, skirmishing for some special advantage, annihilated each other. Some propagandists fell by the wayside, but new recruits appeared to con- tinue the task with undiminished intensity. THE SATURDAY The army of propagandists was never com- pletely demobilized. Skeleton regiments, or cadres, of propaganda exist in every country and every foreign office. Every embassy boasts of trained propagandists. Every belligerent employed propaganda in one form or another to liquidate the war. The famished Belgian baby, the emaciated Armenian, the German child reduced al- most to a! skeleton by war privations be- came successively the stalking horses of propaganda. It is true that thousands, if not millions, of children in every country were doomed to atone for the sins of their fathers by wrecked constitutions. Unborn generations will continue to pay the monstrous toll. The propagandist, however, was less in- terested in the children than in the oppor- tunity to exploit their misery. France used her martial heroes in the game of propaganda. Joffre and Foch ap- peared in America to rekindle by their presence our flagging French sympathies. The slump in pro-French enthusiasm may be ascribed in part to the recital of soldiers returning disgruntled from France. Is There Any Cure? Royalty was compelled to serve the ends of postwar propaganda. The visit of Albert, King of the Belgians, and Queen Elisabeth, reminded America that “little Belgium” was still on the map. The visit of the Belgian rulers helped to dissipate the anti- Belgian prejudice that was beginning to spread in the United States. This prejudice, if unchecked, would have increased the political and financial difficulties of the Belgian Government in the long-protracted negotiations which preceded the peace set- tlement. Pro-German propagandists cautiously crept out of cyclone cellars and initiated a violent campaign against the occupation of German territory by colored troops. Ger- man and Irish societies shed joint tears over the “horrors on the Rhine.” The force of those tears, gathering momentum by skillful propaganda in the South and in the national capital, eventually compelled the French Government to withdraw its dusky cohorts from the occupied territory. The Germans skillfully exploited the op- portunity to swing American opinion against France and to reintegrate their own forces. The government of Tyrol submitted its complaints against annexation by Italy to President Harding. All the racial minorities and all the newly formed states employed publicity agents to appeal to American justice and American generosity. Most of the states succeeding the empires wrecked by the war maintain well-organized propa- ganda bureaus to pull the wires in Wash- ington. The human mind greedily swallows the dope of the men who buy and sell public opinion. Is there an antidote against this poison? Can we prescribe an antidope against the dope of the propagandist? Many remedies have been proposed. Some claim that the cure for propaganda is more propaganda. This is true only in a limited sense. Two propagandas, like two adders fighting, may kill each other. Us- ually they merely bewilder their victims. Propaganda and counterpropaganda in- culcate mental confusion or they induce a morbid cynicism, which ends by believing nothing. Bertrand Russell suggests a disarmament conference to demobilize national propa- ganda. However, no nation will surrender EVENING POST the weapon of propaganda. Governments may consign battleships to the scrap heap, but they will not forgo the privilege of manipulating opinion. Our entire social fabric rests too much upon the consent of the governed to dispense with propaganda. ““You are too harsh in your judgment of propaganda,” the master British propa- gandist remarked to me with a subtle smile. “Propaganda, in wartime especially, is not always pretty, but it is an essential weapon, like poison gas. Propaganda,” he added thoughtfully, “in peace and war is a cor- ollary of democracy. The more democratic a country is, the more propaganda it needs. That was one reason for the excesses of propaganda in the United States.” The field of propaganda widens as il- literacy disappears. Today the printer's devil joins hands with the radio imp. Wire- less transmission lends wings to propa- ganda. We can no longer escape it even on a desert island. It is with us in mid- ocean. It accompanies us to the pole. As our means of intercommunication increase, their abuse will also increase. Propaganda will play an ever-increasing part in human relations. The world is de- fenseless against propaganda hiding under such virtuous cloaks as respectability, pros- perity, humanity and patriotism. We can legislate against its most obvious abuses, but no lawgiver can ensnare its more subtle manifestations. Though education is a valuable anti- dote, sharpening our critical faculty, we have seen how easily the educator himself is victimized by propaganda. Relentless vigilance is the price of intellectual free- dom. Even the most conscientious propa- ganda foe must daily purge his mind and, like the psychoanalyst, analyze his own motives unmercifully, to retain the lucidity of his vision. The educated mind is sus- ceptible to propaganda because it is ac- customed to accept too many premises. Professional magicians are more afraid of an audience of schoolboys than of an audience of scholars. The propagandist has more to fear from the censorship of common sense than from the accumulated wisdom of the professors. Without a Label If the law has too many meshes, if edu- cation is not enough, common sense must be our shield, laughter our weapon, in the unequal battle against propaganda. We must learn to recognize the traps of the propagandists. Though domestic propa- ganda usually masks its guns behind a bar- rage of fine words, it invariably conceals a raid on the private purse or the public treasure. Foreign propaganda may be recognized by the fact that it almost al- ways demands some sacrifice of our sov- ereignty or our rights without exacting the same price from others. During the Great War, propaganda, like a gigantic upas tree, dripped its poison over all nations. We should be able to identify the poison without a label. When, hereafter, we are exhorted to hate a nation, let us remember the crucified Canadian soldier, the armless Belgian baby and the propaganda rabbits in Doctor Albert’s port- folio. We can defeat the propagandist by laughing out of court those who preach hate, the historians who falsify history, and the blatant politicians appealing to our most primitive instincts under the guise of idealism. Nor should we forget in what perilous measure our own conscious and subconscious desires leap forward to aid 117 and abet the propagandist who preaches a gospel which, for the moment, we wish to embrace. New crises will produce new forms of manipulating public opinion. Law, educa- tion, a knowledge of the past, even a know!- edge of ourselves are, I repeat, no infallible safeguard against propaganda. There ar times when neither logic nor knowledge can resist the hypnotic beat of the tom-tom No one is entirely propaganda immune, even as no one entirely escapes al! children's diseases. The forms of propaganda are too mutable. Its approach is too cunning. It is more insidious than malaria, more deadly than the plague. But if we inoculate our- selves with the serum of horse sense and of humor we can, within modest bounds, im- pose a limit on its ravages Beyond that, I know no prescription. Editor's Note—This is the last of a series of articles by a War Propagandist The Albert Portfolio ARLY in the year 1915, President Wil- son sent for Wm. J. Flynn, who was then Chief of the U. S. Secret Service, and in- structed him to make a discreet but thor- ough investigation of the activities of Count von Bernstorff and his staff, as it had been reported they were violating all the rules of neutrality, and the President wanted facts. Flynn selected the following men to aid him in this investigation: Bill Nye, Frank Burke, Steve Connell, Myles MecCahill, and W. H. Houghton. Later, as the scope of the investigation broadened, this force was increased. The day Doctor Albert's bag was se- cured, Viereck left his office at 1 P.M. on a hot Saturday afternoon late in July, and he was followed closely by Houghton, and when Viereck entered the offices of the Hamburg American Line, Houghton phoned to Flynn, who was in his office, located a short distance away in the Customhouse At 2:30 P.M., Houghton was joined by Frank Burke, and at 3 P.M. Viereck and Doc- tor Albert left 42 Broadway and boarded the Sixth Avenue L at Rector Street. At Twenty-third Street, Viereck left the train, followed by Houghton, and soon after Doc- tor Albert fell asleep and awoke with a start when the L was gliding into the Fif- tieth Street station, where he was due to leave, as he had to change to shuttle, as he was going to Fifty-ninth Street. Albert rushed from the train, forgetting his pre- cious bag, and came to hissenses as the guard slammed the gates, shouting the name of the next station. Burke, being fast on the bases, walked over and sat on the bag, and at the next station reached down and walked off, un- observed, with the bag, as the only other passenger in that car was a girl reading a book. The following Monday this ed was noticed in the columns of the New York Evening Telegram: LOST —On Saturday, on 3,30 Harlem elevated train, at 50th st. station, brown leather Bag, containing documents. Deliver toG. H. HOFF- MAN, 5 East 47th st., against $20 reward. So close was this coup kept a secret that when the New York World published some of Doctor Albert's letters, A. Bruce Bie- laski, who had charge of the investigation of German activities, sent an agent to the editors demanding the original letters and asking how they came by them. This caused a few quiet chuckles in secret-service cir- cles. W. H. Houcuron.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Getting On in the World Foot Pains —a bad influence on health ( VE needs only to observe the feet of the passing throng to see the heavy penalty thousands pay for abuse and neglect of the feet. Vote the many men and women walking with a shuffling gait as if every step meant torture, their faces aged far bevond their years. They are but a fraction of the many who suffer from various foot troubles, never realizing what it entails in loss of nervous energy, lowered health, lessened efficiency and restricted pleasure. Yet all this widespread vs could easily be avoided. Timely care of the feet would prevent it. Never neglect even the most minor foot ailment. There is no longer the slightest excuse for anyone to endure so much as the most ordinary foot discomfort.”

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Credit and What to Do With It ““TT’S been my experience,” said a success- ful small-town retail merchant, “that a great many beginners in the retail field don’t know what to do with credit when they get it. It may sound a bit egotistic, but I can best illustrate what I mean by telling you my experience when I started here more than thirty years ago. “I was a green country boy, with a few hundred dollars capital. When I decided to open a store I got on the train and went to Pittsburgh to see a well-known firm of wholesalers I had heard about. I didn’t know a soul in the city, and when I got to the firm’s building I was a little weak in the knees. I began to think that this idea of mine for opening a store was probably a bit hasty and ill-advised. I managed to make known what I wanted—which was, of course, to establish a line of credit—and at last found myself in conversation with the credit man. ‘“‘He was a fatherly soul who did his best to make me feel comfortable. He asked me how much capital I had; what my prospects were for building a business; what competition I would have; what ex- perience I had had; and how much stock I thought I ought to carry. That last ques- tion stumped me. I didn’t know what to tell him. I was afraid to tell him the figure I had in mind for fear he would think it either too high or too low and would there- fore refuse me a line of credit. “I guess I stammered considerably in trying to tell him what stock I thought I should have, for he said, ‘I'll tell you what you do. You take this note to the salesman in the warehouse tomorrow morning and to- gether you pick out what goods you think you will need and can pay for within ninety days. Bring your list to me when you have it made up and I’ll decide then what to do. Understand, I make you no promises. I re- serve the right to refuse you any credit whatever, or to cut your bill of goods in helf if I see fit.” Being Cautious With Credit “If possible, that scared me worse than ever. I slept very little that night, and I was as nervous as a cat the next morning when I hunted up the warehouse salesman and gave him the credit man’s note. I spent the better part of two days getting my bill of goods in shape. Then with consider- able fear and trembling I took it to the credit man. He looked it over carefully, checked my figures, and then said the very last thing I had expected him to say. ‘You have been too conservative and your stock is just about half what it should be. I wanted to see what you would do with your credit if I granted it, and I’m glad to see that you are conservative. Too many young chaps who come in here for a line of credit want to buy the whole warehouse when I send them out there. They seem to forget that they have to pay for the goods they order. Now you come along with me and we’ll pick ycu out a stock of goods that will give you what you need. You can have six months to settle the ac- count.’ “Incidentally, I might add that in sixty days I had turned my stock, settled my first bill, and was carrying a still larger stock. For thirty years my relations with | this firm have been unbrokenly friendly, and I think mutually beneficial. “Now, I claim no particular merit for my conservatism. It was largely due to my overwhelming desire and determination to succeed. But I have seen so many young merchants go to the wall because they didn’t use their line of credit properly, that I thought my own experience might interest you.” To this experience of more than thirty years a prominent credit man adds today: “There is no doubt that there is a strong

August 17,1929 tendency among retailer#'just starting in business to run away with themselves, as your merchant friend says. It sounds strange, but I have found by long experi- ence that this is true not so much with the weakest but with the ablest. It is particu- larly true if they have personality and selling ability. They aspire to do more busi- ness than their capital will permit— picture a small boat with too much sail getting struck by an unlooked-for squall. It is a danger the credit man must point out to the new retailer if he doesn’t realize it him- self. “Frankly, if a new retailer came to me taday with as limited capital as your friend had thirty years ago, I would refuse him credit. Indeed, in many years of credit work I have held to one fundamental prin- ciple—that a retailer beginning in business should have enough capital to buy his open- ing stock for cash. “I consider that a necessity, and I think that is the consensus of opinion among credit men pretty generally now. In this way the merchant has his stock free and clear of encumbrance and therefore has something upon which to establish credit in a businesslike way. When the interview as to stock takes place a financial statement is asked for so as to have a basis for some kind of limit. As the account progresses the limit can be changed, depending upon the amount of business given and the manner of payments.” Character and Capital “You must remember that credit now is a much different problem than it was thirty years ago. Competition is keener; margin of profit less; credit risk greater. Thirty or more years ago credit was more of an in- dividual matter than it is now. Today it is more nearly standardized as regards min- imum capital requirements and financial statements required. Then the credit man was probably inclined to be governed more by character and less by tangible financial resources. “More stress was put upon character as a business asset for the new merchant. A merchant of sterling character and with reasonable business ability was pretty sure to succeed then. Now he must add to these qualities a third asset—sufficient capital. Remember the classic story told of the elder Morgan lending a million on character alone. “Today, however, character comes into play most forcibly when a merchant finds himself pressed for funds due to circum- stances outside of himself—a fire, a crop failure, a money stringency. In such a case he may ask for an extension of time, and if he does, a financial statement would be asked for. “In my own case, if my dealings with him gave me confidence as to his honesty and general good character, then those traits would be of great advantage and no doubt would actually be the deciding factor. No wholesaler desires to put out of business a debtor worthy of saving. I am inclined to think that is why the credit man told your friend to make out a list of goods and show ittohim. It at least showed that conserva- tism was a part of the young merchant’s make-up. On character alone, not for an opening stock, credit is too cheap some- times. “For goodness’ sake don’t construe any- thing I have said as belittling character as a business asset. It is an absolute necessity today just as much as it ever was. It is the trend of the times, however, that abso- lutely by itself it won’t buy as much as it probably once did. A young retailer has to have capital as well as character to succeed today. And he,must guard his credit just as jealously as if it were based on character alone. I think your friend points a good moral for the new retailer.” — MILLARD MILBURN RICE. <— Pe A ATR, At, EG tt Ri, = tm Sen atin one nennet tie ae na

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 119 Look at the front end of the automobile you buy today Jor this a of | engineering progress i<_

5 ee NR | ln Cee ee SD ee wey SR ee NE engineering achievement above all others commands the attention of new car buyers today. It's an improvement you can see one whose vital principle of protec- tion is known to millions. “Look at the front end,” say the engineers of America’s leading cars. On more than 20 of them you will see this unmistakable evidence of engineering progress— Pines Auto- matic Winterfront. Fluctuating, uncertain temperature has had its last fling at the motors within these up-to-the-minute cars. No longer do these manufacturers leave the vital matter of motor protec- tion to the memory of the car owner. They have taken into their own hands this problem of keeping the motor at the right operating tempera- ture—and relieved their owners of repair expense that engineers say has reached a staggering total in the past. Look at the names of these manu- facturers. Leaders—all of them—in every department of motor car manu- facture—but most important— trail- blazers in engineering development. Each has proved—within his own laboratories and upon his own test- ing grounds—that Pines Automatic Winterfront is an engineering neces- sity. All have found that motor pro- tection must be over the radiator, must be automatic and must be there when temperature changes require not just when the motorist happens to think of it. Are you buying a new car? If you are—look for the Pines Auto- matic Winterfront over the radiator. It is unmistakable evidence of en- gineering progress. True— Pines Automatic Winter- front has brought a degree of beauty to the front end of the motor car,

F the new car you are consider- ing is not already equipped with an Automatic Winterfront assure yourself that there are no obstructions on the radiator which would interfere with having one installed. You may then purchase a detachable type shutter which gives you the same advantages as the built-in type. =a estan

impossible to attain with the radia- tor exposed—as well as warmth and freedom from front end drafts inside the car. But its vital function is one of absolute protection to the motor and all its parts. It has won its enviable place in the automotive industry be- cause it definitely prevents the dam- age that results from operating an underheated motor. Damage— ex- perts agree—which is responsible for 50 to 75‘c of all repair costs. Do you own a car? If you do—watch the thermometer and equip your car with a Pines Automatic Winterfront at tempera- tures ranging 60° Fahrenheit and below. No car is immune. No more tangi- ble evidence of the necessity for this vital protection could be offered you than the fact that these leading manufacturers take this vital pre- caution into their own hands—and make Pines Automatic Winterfront an integral part of their cars Bring your car up-to-date. And remember—there is only one auto matic radiator shutter on the market If your dealer cannot supply vou, write us. Pines Winterfront Com pany, 422 No. Sacramento Boulevard, Chicago, Ill. Authorized Winterfront Service is available through the National Pines Automatic Winterfront Distributing Organization OV(NTERFRONT It’s Automatic

core These fine cars are equipped with built-in Pines Automatic Winterfronts PIERCE-ARROW 133-143 WILLYS-KNIGHT 66B STUTZ ROLLS ROYCE STEARNS-KNIGHT DeLuxe 8-90 PEERLESS 125 JORDAN 8 HUPMOBILE 8 GRAHAM-PAIGE 621, 827, 837 GARDNER 130 DODGE Sk. SIX CHRYSLER 75 CHRYSLER IMPERIAI DURANT 60 and 70 BRADFIELD CAB (Kissel) CHECKER CAB BLACKHAWK and others—names on request

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The Curtis Publishing Company's Tri-Motored Airplane August 17,1929 formative factor in American life, has purchased an airplane for the study of the airplane industry. The survey will cover the sales possibilities and methods of the industry, and changes which it may effect in ways of travel, in sales methods and in living conditions. [Vee Curtis Publishing Company, believing that aviation will be a A similar survey was made of the automobile industry in 1913 which proved of service to the industry and which forecast many of the developments of later years. Other surveys made by The Curtis Publishing Company cover Foods, Department Store Lines, Tractors, Farm Markets, the Electri- cal Industry, Machine Tools and surveys of every home in several cities and in two counties. The plane will be used to cover important centers of the aviation industry throughout the country, and information and opinions will be sought from leaders in all phases of the industry. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST “AN AMERICAN INSTITUTION” eat p=

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a neta ete ee ee —— eee tee THE SATURDAY THE MAGIC MELODY (Continued from Page 50) a long breath and licked his loose lips with his tongue, and murmured, to himself: “‘Momus, back in Athens with something new! What will Aristophanes and the old faithfuls say to that, eh?”’ “I do not think you would want my music,”’ said Creon, finally getting the drift of all this. “‘Listen to me, lad—listen to me,” said Momus. “If you've got a novelty you've got money! Especially if it’s something I can adapt to my verses. I make verses about everything that goes on in Greece, you know. The people want entertainment, they like something with a laugh in it, and as for a bit of scandal, why, they gulp it down like one of those Phenician gods eat- ing children! A little dirt never hurts a good show in Greece. Lad, I'll help you! Aristophanes got some of his best ideas from me, and he’ll tell you so himself if you get him drunk enough to be honest. Play me something, lad—play me something!” “Tt is not the kind of music you are look- ing for,”’ said Creon, impatient, and begin- ning to get angry. “Tf it’s new and has the stuff in it I'll make it fit,’ said Momus patronizingly. ‘Leave all that to me; it won't be the first time I’ve worked things over to give the crowds what they want. And it’s a grand life we lead: Free men, and call nobody master, plenty of money and see the world, wine and garlands and praise everywhere, and the wenches in every town wild about minstrels and actors. Eh, lad? And a good-looking fellow like you ——”’ But the showman was interrupted by a sudden assault of voices. The hollow in which they stood was separated from the sea on its northern and eastern sides by the stony ridge which has been indicated; to the south and west it opened out toward the plain, and between the plain and the sea was a lower barrier of sand dunes. At the top of one of these dunes ap- peared four men, talking loudly and laugh- ing; up the slope from the beach they had rolled before them a good-sized cask. One of them poised it a moment at the top of the hillock, and then, with a kick, sent it rolling and bounding toward the entrance to the hollow. “You fool! You'll break it!” cried one of his companions. “Sailors,” said Momus to Creon, ‘“‘from the galley beached over there. They’re after fresh water.” And then he stepped forward as impor- tantly as if he owned the island, as if in- deed he saw himself Ulysses welcoming strangers to Ithaca. “‘Help yourselves freely,” he said, mo- tioning toward the pool with a regal gesture. The sailors, who had paused, came on to the pool and pulled the stopper from the bung. “Galley?” said Creon. “You didn’t know it was there?”’ said Momus, with a grin. “‘They told me down in the town you were a dreamer and moon- struck, and I liked it. A man who’s a little mad often goes far in our business; it gets about amongst the crowds. . . . They beached her there an hour ago. She has a split rudder, and they’re patching it up. Where have your eyes and ears been?”’ Certainly he had not been thinking of ships, and Creon watched the sailors fill the cask in silence, frowning and not listen- ing to the chatter of the old actor, irritated by all these people, impatient to be alone and think. But he was to be drawn still further from his meditations before he got back to them again. Most of his sheep, poorly enough tended these days, were grazing at a distance on the plain, watched only by his dog, but here in the hollow three or four had lain down in the shade of the rocks, after drinking, and here they had stayed throughout all the various in- cursions of visitors, withdrawn to the ex- treme inner angle of the dell and huddled near a young wether. , “Here's fresh meat for dinner,” said one of the seamen, a thick-armed Beeotian oarsman, advancing toward the sheep. He almost had his clutches in a fleece when Creon sprang toward him. “Let the sheep alone!”’ he roared, all his annoyances and perplexities suddenly | | merging into a rage against this sailor, who had nothing whatever to do with the cause of them. And as the man turned, Creon swung upward from his thigh a fist as hard as a neat’s foot and caught him flush upon the cheek. The sailor went down. “A good blow,” said one of the men from the galley, who seemed to be some sort of petty officer, with the professional admira- tion of a fighter. “A good blow,” echoed Momus. And then: “‘Thecestus! Give them the cestus!”’ But the sailor, spitting out blood and broken teeth, was scrambling to his feet, and he brought up from the ground with him a jagged piece of rock, half the size of a man’s head. Creon drew his knife and crouched, waiting, ready to dodge or to leap forward with the upward ripping thrust at the belly which has been instinc- tive with all knife fighters since knives ceased to be made of stone and turned to bronze and steel. The petty officer, the only man from the ship who was armed, drew his sword and stepped in between the two poised figures. “Fists,” he said, “‘or nothing.”” And then, to the oarsman: ‘We've got our or- ders to make no trouble among the islands, and pay for what we take.”’ Both Athens and Syracuse were courting the good will of the islands that lay between. “The cestus!"’ cried Momus again, and all the others there repeated it. ‘I’m willing,” said the Boeotian, “‘ but we have no cestus.”” “‘We have our belts,” said the actor. And in another moment he had constituted himself master of ceremonies and was bind- ing about Creon’s hands and wrists the heavy thongs of pliant oxhide, improvising the cestus with which the Grecian boxers added a crushing impact to their blows. For the fist, thus armored, may become a mortal weapon; nearly always was it fatal among the Roman boxers, who still further reénforced the cestus by adding plates of lead and iron. The poetic mind is incalculable, but there is one thing certain about the poet: He is sure to be dissatisfied with the world as it is. Frequently he would like to be a man of action and able to change it. And often, when he does find himself in action, he fights out an accumulated rage with his destiny and himself against an amazed opponent who does not know what all his fury is about. Creon, as he put up his hands and faced the thick-armed oarsman, found in himself a clear-headed ferocity that aimed with a simple directness at the man’s destruction. The Boeotian rushed at once, with a wide right swing that grazed his chin. Creon countered with a left that reached the sailor’s ribs, and as he felt the blow land he said: ‘‘That’s for the people who say I’m mad!” They drew off then and shifted and circled, sparring and feinting for an open- | ing; and only half a dozen openings, with three or four good blows sent home, were necessary to end a bout with the cestus. They went weaving about each other, wide legged on the uneven ground, and wary as two great cats that measure and snarl be- fore they loose the swift deadliness of tooth and claw; then Creon led and missed, and like a flash the Beeotian got home upon his forehead. Creon reeled back, but rallied as the man stepped forward and set himself flat-footed for a finishing blow, and replied with a right to the neck that saved him for that time. The next instant Creon was fighting through a mist of his own blood, and exult- ing, for here was something tangible to strike at. Flailing at the sailor, he fought EVENING POST | 121 Do you do this atter exercising? Scientists say DON’T—unless you want to invite fall- ing hair and premature baldness. The sudden shock of a cold shower on a hot and dilated scalp is sufficient to permanently injure the hair-producing follicles. When you come in from a hot tennis court or golf course, give your scalp time to contract normally. And give it regular stimulating treatments with “\/aseline’’ Hair Tonic. Before each shampoo apply the Tonic generously to the scalp and with the finger tips massage gently. Use a rotary motion until the scalp feels loose, and tingling with increased circulation “\/aseline” Hair Tonic removes dust and encrusted dandruff, and prepares the scalp for a good cleansing Supplies the oils so needed during the summer months to keep the hair soft and induce perfect scalp health. Get a bottle of “Vaseline” Hair Tonic today. You Il find it for sale at all good drug stores. In a convenient shaker-top that makes it easy and economical to use. Keep an extra bottle in your club locker, and use it regularly. Made by the Chesebrough Mfg. Co., Cons’d., 17 State Street, New York. © Chesebrough Mfg. Co., Cons'd., 1929 aseline HAIR TONIC | REG. U.S. PAT. OFF.

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122 THE SATURDAY INCHES TER \DLIGHT oo ‘ LEAVES BOTH HANDS FREE Flashlights have gone modern. New styles, new uses and conveniences, new methods of adjustment and a new range of power now meet all modern needs. Winches- ter, in short, is pioneering in the flashlight field just as, more than sixty years ago, it began to pioneer in the making of fine guns. Here, for instance, is the Winchester Headlight. It fastens comfortably around your head or hathand, while its bat- tery case slips handily into your pocket and leaves you beth hands free. An ideal light for summer vacation camp, cottage or farm. Turning with your head and tilt- ing at any desired angle, it lights wherever you look as you work on your car, unload your boat, gather armfuls of wood, pitch hay to the horses or engage in any other work or sport which calls for both hands. Made in two styles— Diffusing—gives a 40-ft. circle of light - - - $2.70 Focusing—360-ft. range - - - - = = «= 2,95 (Batteries Extra) Ask your dealer or write for our FREE BOOKLET— **The Winchester Idea”’ Dept. P WINCHESTER REPEATING ARMS CO. New Haven, Conn., U.S.A. EVENING POST his father’s misunderstanding; he fought his own sense of shame and failure because he had turned aside from life in rejecting Zoé's passionate love; he fought the fierce possessive quality of her love itself; he fought the tyranny of the dream that had conquered and denied her love; he fought his doubts of himself. He fought and he exulted—exulted in the perfect mechanism of his strong swift body, exulted in the rhythms of his own ferocity, and began to | exult, after a moment more, in something else—in an idea that came to him. For with the blood and with the sense of his | own vigor, there came to him the idea that these, too—blood and vigor and rhythm and whirling anger and panting struggle were all a part of that melody which had wandered through his dream. Whether he fought against that seizure or yielded to it, he still came back to it; it still came back to him in the end. The end of this wild phase came swiftly. The sailor swung again with his right, and missed; and still moving forward with the impetus of his lunge, threw up his left to ward off the counter that he thought was coming. A man already off his balance, overextended and going forward, is helpless against a further forward pull. Creon did not counter; instead, with his own left hand he caught the lurching oarsman’s left wrist and pulled, and as he pulled he swung and turned his opponent so that the man’s left side was all uncovered and exposed. Then Creon drove his right fist, with all his weight back of it, at that vulnerable spot behind the left ear. He missed it by an inch, and by the grace of that inch the man fell forward with a broken jaw instead ofa broken neck. “A very pretty blow,”’ said the man with the sword, looking from his fallen comrade to Creon, “and the man that struck it should be a soldier instead of a shepherd.” **Neat, neat!’’ cried Momus with en- thusiasm. ‘I never saw anything better in the games, neither the Olympian nor the Isthmian. Lad, we'll have a boxing match in every town after the show, and meet all comers!” But Creon, gazing at the fallen man, whom two of his comrades were sluicing to his senses again at the pool, did not answer. He wiped the blood and sweat from his face and scowled. He wanted all these people to go away. He wanted to try to capture on his pipes something of the lucid frenzy and exultant anger he had felt when he was fighting, and weave them through his essays to reproduce the melody of his dream, which still possessed him and still eluded him. ‘Get the water to the ship first,” said the officer, ‘‘and then come back and help this fellow, if he still needs it.”’ But just then a noise of prodigious shout- ing rose from the beach beyond the dune, and the men from the ship, leaving both the filled cask and their fallen comrade, ran toward the sound, the officer following the two others after a hesitant backward glance at the water he had been sent to fetch. The shout died down and rose again and in- creased, with the roar of fifty stentors, and Momus and his followers scrambled to the top of the bluff to learn its meaning. Creon followed and outdistanced them. The galley lay careened, her stern upon the beach, and three or four workmen were still busy at the damaged rudder. It was giving them trouble, for the iron straps and braces which held its parts together were bent and twisted, and it should have been a smith’s job as well as a carpenter’s. But the remainder of the ship’s company were drawn up on the beach, letting out their roars in unison, a half dozen trumpets add- ing to the din, and all of them were waving pieces of sailcloth, oars with spare gar- ments tied to them and even bundles of sedge grass, at something they descried out at sea. Two men on the ship’s mast, which ex- tended at a difficult angle for them because of the heeled-over position of the vessel, were frantically jerking ensigns through the air, and on the beach a fire had been hastily August 17,1929 started to send a signaling column of smoke into the sky. In a moment Creon saw whose attention they were trying to attract. Out of the northwest, their sails filled with a fair fol- lowing breeze and their wet oars flashing in the sun, appeared half a dozen triremes; and in another instant, farther to the north and west, he caught the glint and motion of a dozen more. “The Athenian fleet!”” panted Momus, struggling to his side. ‘This captain here’’—and he pointed to the ship’s com- pany below them on the beach—‘ must have some message that he can’t get to them. Yes, that’s it—he’s been scouting out beyond Crete and he’s back with news of the Syracusans for the general. Look! there’s more of them—and more!”’ Creon saw at least fifty vessels now, coming at a good speed under the double propulsion of breeze and oar, moving in ordered squadrons, but standing well out from this island of Siphnos which was his home, for they would have to pass well to the westward of it, and to the westward of Melos, to make the channel between Crete and Cythera, before they turned their sharp bronze beaks toward Sicily. Behind any island might lurk Syracusan or Lace- dzmonian enemies, possibly with half a hundred paid Phenician ally ships, stripped for battle and waiting opportunity for a dash upon their flanks. Yes, certainly an enemy was waiting somewhere, apprised and ready—that was the word the scout below, helpless now with his damaged galley, was wanting to get to them. “Look! They’ve seen us! They’ve seen us!"’ cried Momus, identifying himself with the ship’s company signaling from the beach. One of the foremost galleys on the left flank of the leading squadron, half a mile away, had waved an answering en- sign, and presently a faint sound of trump- ets drifted southeastward with the breeze. The vessel that had caught and answered the signals from the beach was relaying them to the near ships on her starboard quarter, and in a moment there was a per- ceptible slackening of speed in the group that formed the fleet’s eastern wing. The watchers saw that the vessels were sailing in squadrons of ten to a dozen ships; each squadron in its formation a mobile battle unit in itself, with its definite relation to the disposition of the whole force. A short space of signaling banners and sounding calls, and an apparent hesitation altered the aspect and progress of the whole array and yet it was an ordered hesitation. Then, in the leading squadron, sails and masts began to come down, for in the Grecian ship the mast itself could be raised and lowered, and the vessels never went into action under canvas, but solely dependent upon the power of the oar. The nearest squadron came to a stand- still with a measured play of sweeps that backed water in a perfect flashing unison, and from the center of the van a great galley with a purple sail swung her foaming prow eastward to join the halted ships al- ready lying to, striking her sail as she came gleaming on. Council was evident, and squadron after squadron, as they rose into view out of the northwest, took in sail and held their formations as the trumpets passed the word from group to group, wait- ing on the parley on the flank. Creon, as he watched, could almost feel the doubt and question coming across the water: Is the vessel beached over there and furiously signaling one of our own cruisers or is this some trap of the enemy? But the decision was quick; even if a foe lurked to the east of Siphnos or skulked behind the southern point of Seriphos, the Athenians could not pass on and leave him unmolested there on their flank and rear. They had to know. And presently two squadrons, compris- ing more than twenty ships, advanced slowly in battle order toward the island, with a second line reforming and disposing itself in support. Soon they were so near that Creon could hear the twang as the (Continued on Page 124) ie, eee eee ES oo a

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Kip Corporation, Los Angeles. », Los Angeles, California tration cube of PYROL THE SATURDAY (Centinued from Page 122) masters of the rowers, essentially coxswains, set the time for the stroke by plucking at lyres or striking the twisted sheep’s-gut strings of horn bows. The galley with the purple sail was in the lead; she drew up in deep water fifty yards offshore, and her rowers held her there while the shipmaster of the beached scout put out in a small boat to board her and report. “That’s the Salaminian!’’ cried Momus, pointing to the galley with the purple sail. “Two hundred rowers and eighty men at arms; the fastest vessel in the world! See her | beak and the bronze plates on her bows; she could slice her way through a stone wharf!”’ And then he suddenly cried: “By the gods, there’s Alcibiades himself!" He climbed upon a rock and began to shout and caper in his excitement. “ Al- cibiades!’’ he yelled, making a trumpet of his hands. ‘‘Son of Clinias! Alcibiades! It is I! It is Momus! Alcibiades!” But the general, if he heard, did not look that way. He stood upon the raised after | deck, with an officer near him, and listened | to the report of the master of the careened galley. While he listened a soldier was buckling his corselet on him; another handed him his helmet. Creon could not see his features clearly. “Do you know him?” asked Creon of the actor. “Know him? Know him? I wish I had a handful of Persian gold for every time we've fallen drunk together under his table in the old days!’’ And Momus began to shout again, till one would have thought the whole fleet must hear him. Presently he desisted, and said: “If he knew it was I he’d send a boat for me.” And then, as if growing a little nettled: “‘See, now, if he hasn't got his own shield hoisted higher than the Athenian ensign! Eros painted on it, with a thunderbolt in his hand. His own shield above the city colors—that’s like him, always! And that purple sail— that’s like him too! He celebrates his victories before he wins them. Know him! Why, I used to write the speeches he made in the assembly !’’ The officer beside Alcibiades was holding out a parchment chart; the scout’s com- mander pointed at it, speaking. Alcibiades nodded as he listened, and bit the side of his forefinger and nodded again. Presently there was silence, and Alcibiades turned away and walked up and down and ap- peared to consider; then turned back with a quick question or two, as it seemed. Then, arrived at his decision, he threw out his hand with a gesture and gave an order. “An attitude, as usual,’’ said Momus critically, evidently feeling now that he had been deliberately snubbed by this expedi- tion and its commander. ‘One of his atti- tudes, and not a very good one.” He added: “‘But they like it—the Athenians like it!’’ Vv HE trumpets sounded again from the admiral ship, and their command was taken up and relayed by squadron after | squadron, growing fainter and fainter in the far sea distances; and the noise and motion and glitter of the great flotilla struck sharply | in upon Creon’s senses. There were nigh | upon two hundred galleys riding here on the sun-laced green and blue of the ASgean | water, with seven thousand men at arms, and slingers and archers besides the sailors, and all the machines and enginery of war; a gathered tumult waiting to be loosed at the behest of a great ambition. The world—the great world—was break- ing in on Creon’s dream. He knew it for the great world; he was aware of the sig- nificance and imperial potentialities of what he saw before him. There had been no secrecy about this Athenian armada EVENING POST and its objects. Its expediency had been debated openly in the Athenian assembly for months, and the hotheads and gam- blers had carried the day against the advice of Socrates, the philosopher, and Nicias, the general; for months the gossip of this preparation had run up and down all the garrulous coasts of Greece. It was world empire that Alcibiades aimed at. Greece, after her immortal hour of unity against Persia, had fallen into petty quarrels and jealousies again. Just now Athens and her allies were in the ascendancy; Alcibiades planned to take Sicily and Italy, subdue Sparta, overawe Ionia and the islands, and join the whole Hellenic world into one force to hammer down Carthage and Libya. In the wrestling place at Athens now the young bloods left off their sport to trace maps in the sand and tell one another how, as soon as Carthage fell, Egypt was a ripe fruit ready to be plucked. Alcibiades had a conception similar to that which Alex- ander of Macedon made briefly factual a century later, and the adventurous youth of his city were behind him. This was the great world that was passing Creon by. The wind and sound of empire smote upon his thought, and for the first time he guessed something of what those men may feel who know the iron delight of power. He sat silent and rapt while rank after rank of the sharp-bowed ships went on- ward toward their destiny. He did not know when the actors left him; he did not know when the galley on the beach finished her repairs and took the water again. He thrilled to this new thing that had rushed in upon his consciousness, and after the last trireme was gone from his physical sight he still saw the great world stream- ing by—cities and temples and armies, capitals and kings and tribes and senates, all melted to a glittering mist and whirl- ing down the sunlit sea. A sharp revolt against the tyranny of his dream shook him. To be a rower or a swordsman, he thought—was that not better than to be a victim of this music that had seized upon him and twisted all things to its unknown purpose? He began to hate the magic melody even as Zoé had hated it—as a thing that was setting him apart from the active life of humankind— and with the thought of Zoé there flooded in on him a tide of remorse. A remorse which he began to mistake, as poets some- times will, for a renascence of his perished love. He had flung her aside—and for what? For something that teased and possessed him but still eluded him! His vision of the great world had struck him alive, and the life in him took cognizance of love again. He would go to her; he would go to her at once! He would take this new world that had come into his consciousness along with him. He would make it a part of the life that he brought to her; he would go to her and love her again, and in her love he would find a barrier against the pursuing cruelty of that magic that had descended upon and seized him out of the moonlit sky. She would help him fight it. They would go into the greater world together and the world would help them fight it. Oh, the accursed thing! The accursed thing! It should not take all his youth, all his vigor, all the mounting ambition and the swelling promise of his power! He saw plainly now, he thought, that this was a thing to be fought and conquered. He rose to his feet. He would go to her; he would go to her flushed and clamant. Together they would realize something of the new and worldly vision that had come to him when the fleet passed by. He climbed down from the bluff and started across the meadows, hot with this profound revulsion against the spirit of his muse; fighting and praying to August 17,1929 be as other men were; seeking now for the common way of life with as much fervor as he had ever put into his attempt to under- stand and utter the meaning of his en- chantment. The great world had broken in upon his dream and had destroyed it, so he thought. But it was not so. As he strode down to the town the dream walked with him. And presently, before he knew what he was do- ing, his pipes were at his lips again, and he was striving to play upon them the spirit of the passing of the ships, and give it place - But no! He caught himself at it this time, and he fought. He fought; he stood in the meadow sweating and fighting, and his soul was a city full of contending spirits that raged and rioted. He ran, as if his legs could be fleeter than his destiny, but even if one were swift as Hermes, his destiny will stand waiting for him at his goal. At the outskirts of the town a man with a bitter visage caught him by the shoulder and turned him so that they were face to face. “‘Creon,” he said sternly, “where are you going so fast?”’ It was the girl’s father. Creon’s heart smote him with a sudden panic. “*Zoé ———"’ he faltered. And before the old man spoke, Creon knew what he would say. Yet, when he said the word, it rang like a tolled bell in Creon’s mind. “She is dead,” he said. “She has killed herself.”” “This was a greater thing than any music,’’ Creon cried within himself, “and I have thrown it away! This was life, and I have slain it for a song! This was love, and I have bartered its reality for a breath and a shadow! Oh, the accursed music; it has broken her—no, it is I that broke her! I that killed her!” “She came home two hours ago and took down my sword from the peg it hangs on. She put the handle against the wall above her bed and held the hilt steady with her hands, with the point against her breast.” “Why did you not stop her?” cried Creon. “Tt was plain from her manner that this was from the gods,”’ said the old man, “and I dared not stop her. At first she flinched from the point. Her breast was tender.” “Her breast was tender,’”’” murmured Creon, and hid his eyes, for he could see the blue veins wandering through it. “Twice she called your name,” said the old man, chorically inexorable. ‘‘‘Creon!’ she said, ‘Creon!’ And then she thrust with all her weight against the sword, like a bride leaping to her lover, and fell on the bed and died.” He paused and sat down suddenly upon a stone by the wayside. “It is the bed she was born in,” he said, dully, thinking of the girl’s mother. “Kill me,” said Creon, looking down upon him. “Tt is from the gods,”’ said the old man, not raising his eyes. The grief of all women and all men pressed in on Creon’s bosom then, and his heart broke. He took his way across the town, toward the chamber where the girl lay dead, and as he went he lifted up his pipes and played. There were all things in that melody, and the people stood in their doors and flocked from their houses and followed him through the streets, for to each one of them the music was the core of his own life, and all the sorrow and hope and beauty of the world was there. But he never knew that he had played the music of his dreams, for only when men are done with seeking do they find. Neither shall a player draw laughter from the pipes, nor tears, nor any utterance acceptable to the gods, until his heart is broken. I a oe Se luv

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at nL OL Sn OE OT LIOR Pg A hE tite a — THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 125 In 1924. he made *40 a week yds seven years with the Starling Manufacturing Company I was earning only $40 a week. I worked hard, I origi- nated ideas that made money for the com- pany, I got along well with other men, yet I hadn’t had a raise in two years! One night in June, 1924, I sat down to take a “personal inventory.” I compared myself with the men who made big money. “Have they more ability than I?” I asked myself. “Better personalities? Better appearance?” I decided that I was as capable as any of them—that I had as good a personality. I wasn’t so sure about my appearance. Maybe I had been getting careless. Per- haps that was what was holding me back. I resolved that | would improve my ap- pearance, and see if that helped me make more money. I bought a couple of new ties—a new hat—had my suit pressed. Having my suit pressed made a big dif- ference in my looks! The bagginess was gone from the knees and elbows—the coat was free from wrinkles—the cloth had a new lustre. I looked as prosperous as any- body in our office. I soon learned that a good appearance VALETOR Have your clothes pressed 12,000 VaALETORS This story is one of hundreds that reveal these facts: Three factors determine success in any field—ability, getting along with people, appearance. While ability and personality are most important, the right appearance often speeds success does help a man make more money. In four months I got a raise to $50 a week. A year later, I was earning $75. January 1, 1926, | was promoted and paid a salary of $4200 a year. After two more raises, when the branch managership at Cleveland was open in January, 1928, I got the job and a salary of $8700 a year! That is four times what I made in 1924. How to Judge Pressing Service If you want your personal appearance to work for you rather than against you, have your suits pressed regularly the Valetor HOFFMAN VALETOR DEPENDABLE PRESSING SERVICE a In 1928 he made $8700 a year way. Inspect your suit when it comes back from the presser. You'll know it has been pressed correctly if the answer to these 12 questions is “Yes!” 1. Are the shoulders of the coat well shaped; free from wrinkles? 2. Are the lapels pressed to “roil”— not creased? 3. Is the collar reshaped to fit the neck correctly? 4. Are both coat fronts shaped to the chest? 5. Are pockets free from sag; flaps pressed with out leaving marks on the coat? 6. Does the coat back hang smoothly? 7. Are the sleeves free from wrinkles, with or without crease, as the wearer desires? 8. Is the lining well pressed; free from wrinkles? 9. Is bagginess at the knees removed; does a firm sharp crease run the length of the trouser-leg from mid-pocket to cuff? 10. Are trouser-tops pressed and wrinkles remosd? 11. Are perspiration odors removed? 12. Is the cloth soft and lustrous; the nap raised? To learn more about the advantages of the Valetor Method of pressing, write to us or ask your Valetor for the free booklet, “How to Make Your Clothes Look Better and Last Longer.” U. S. Horrman MAcninery Corp., 105 Fourth Ave., New York City. PRESSING where you see this sign.. aq 4 8 DispLay Tuts Sicn if: 1. 7%

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126 THE SATURDAY O Cities Service experts, the fact that Cities Service Oils and Gaso- lene meet uncompromising quality tests in the laboratory and refinery is not enough to satisfy completely their rigid requirements. These experts realize that the only definite and conelusive check of oil and gasolene quality is in the service rendered to the user. Therefore, after Cities Service Oils and Gasolene satisfy every exacting specification requirement they are ities Service Quality... is cheched 4000 times a day...in a practical proving ground for oil and gasolene put to the final test of actual service in a practical “proving ground” — in the fleet of over 4000 motor vehicles of every type which are owned and operated by the Public Utilities Divi- sion of Cities Service. In this huge fleet, Cities Service Oils and Gasolene must meet and over- come every conceiv- able driving condi- tion—twenty-four hours a day for thou- sands of miles. Under heavy loads, over dirt EVENING POST roads, on paved highways, up steep hills,at high and low speeds, in jammed traffic — Cities Service Oil products must stand up, else they are never offered for public use. Four thousand times a day the quality of Cities Service Oil products is checked to assure you the finest oil and gasolene that money can buy. There can be no great- cr guarantee of motor- ing satisfaction. CITIES SERVICE COMPANY, 60 WALL STREET, NEW YORK CITY Broadcasting by the Cities Service Concert Orchestra assisted by the Cities Service Cavaliers, on Fridays, at 8 p. m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time, through the following stations of the National Broadcasting Company: WEAF, Wwcr, WLIT, WEEI, WRC, WCAE, WTAM, WTIC, WWJ, KYW, WDAF, KSTP, WFAA, KSD, KOA, WOW, WKY, WTMI. Cities Service Oils & Gasolene August 17,1929 ee — —— oe

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—~.. -_ oan ” a — ~ = Sa ee at 2 De a Tes realization that he has done it all for noth- ing. There has been an accounting of the fact that it required most of the summer, a journey of nearly two months, to get here by the arduous labors of canoe and portage. After that the prospector has started back, at last to reach civilization and not even take the trouble to record his claim. Therefore, in the years which followed Cobalt, prospectors didn’t go far, or at least did not make much of their finds if they strayed a great distance from the rail- road. Of course they went—that’s the prospector. But the camps which grew “ were camps which could be reached easily by rail—Haileybury and New Liskeard, now largely farming communities, but min- ing camps in earlier days, along the right of way of the Temiskaming and Northern Ontario Railroad. There was Porcupine on an offshoot, and Timmins; there was Kirkland Lake on still another short branch, and Elk Lake on another. The best example of how close these early-day men stayed to the railroad is the fact that the great camp of Rouyn, which has grown within the last five or six years, is not much more than fifty miles air-line northeast of Cobalt. But it was a long way by canoe. Here and there, however, men did step out deep into the wilderness, most of them to fail, and one of them to succeed against every possible obstacle. Because of that success the true menace of the deep bush has been broken and Canada is being cracked open with a speed that would have been called impossible even five years ago. This success led to a sequel. Some years later—in the summer of 1925, to be exact— two prospectors, Lorne Howey and his brother-in-law, George McNeeley, made a discovery on the shores of Red Lake in what is known as the Patricia District of North- western Ontario, some 160 miles north- west of the railroad town of Hudson. This was wilderness country. True, there was some commercial fishing on the lower end of Lac Seul, near Hudson, while at the upper end of the long lake, running to within about sixty miles of Red Lake, was a Hudson Bay post, with another at Red Lake itself. But they were frontier sta- tions, maintained for the fur trade. Jack of Canada For the prospector, Red Lake meant weeks from civilization. Lac Seul is a large and dangerous lake, with stretches of nar- rows in which rapids run, with wide ex- panses across which the winds beat the water into dangerous whitecaps. It could only be traversed in a canoe by edging around it. Then at the end, where the little town of Gold Pines now stands, there began a series of six portages from one small lake to another, by which the wilderness was penetrated for sixty miles more. This coun- try promised little hope of ever being con- nected with civilization, and so, when Lorne Howey made his gold find, the joy of discovery was heavily discounted by the impedimenta of future difficulties. But there was a chance for action if he could interest that one particular man who al- ready had made a success of inveigling fi- nance into the wilderness. Howey and MecNeeley staked their ground, stripped the vein and convinced themselves that they really possessed a gold mine. Then Howey started forth in his canoe to reach civilization and a long-distance telephone, in order that he might argue by wire with a man known commonly in Canada as Jack Hammell. When he did that he completed a circle by which the old influence of Cobalt stepped into present-day affairs. Up in Canada they don’t speak of him as John E. Hammell, which is his correct name. They call him either Jack Hammell or plain Jack, leaving one to infer that there is only one Jack in Canada. He is the Paul Bunyan of mining. THE SATURDAY FROZEN GOLD (Continued from Page 54) He came into Cobalt twenty-two years ago with the rest of us—a prospector. He knew more swear words, more little touches of kindness, had more ability to share his last cent with another prospector than any other man in the camp. Somewhere in his wanderings he had become an expert boxer, which was another great advantage in those days, since the men of early Cobalt often settled matters without a court or a po- liceman. He could work harder than any three men in the camp. He was thirty years old, a stocky man with muscles of tungsten steel, and it wasn’t long until his name began to be mentioned often about the camp. That prowess has grown for twenty-three years, until now he has be- come almost a fabulous character. As I have said, he is the Paul Bunyan of mining; fables are growing up about him even now; in years to come he will assume in the min- ing world the status of a Buffalo Bill or a Kit Carson. Not long ago, in The Pas, I heard a conservatively inclined man insist that Jack Hammell once had fought his way out of a pinch single-handed* against twenty-five mer. I didn’t interrupt. I happened to know the truth. He hadn't fought his way out. He had fought his way in, and whipped not twenty-five but nine men in doing it. One against nine is fair enough. It was the fable of having whipped ten men which gave Wild Bill Hickok much of his reputation. A Hundred Thousand Apiece Hammell did much to start the new city of Elk Lake, near Cobalt. He dabbled in other mines. He broke all the rules of mining by hiring prospectors and paying them a monthly wage and a part of their find, which was entirely outside the rules. In those days mining engineers were known as yellowlegs by the prospectors, mining magnates by much less complimentary names, and prospectors, in the minds of the opposite factions, were gracefully ac- cepted as bush tramps. A prospector’s job seemed mainly to go out and endure all the hardships possible, find a mine and then get trimmed out of it. For a man actually to pay prospectors was outra- geous. But the prospectors liked it. More than that, they got the habit of hunting up Jack Hammell when they needed a few dollars, sending for him when they got in jail, and conferring with him when a new idea bobbed up about the mineral poten- tialities of a certain country. By this time Jack was comparatively a rich man from dealing in mining claims and townsites; Elk Lake, South Porcupine, Payroll Town- site and others, all were handled through Hammell’s hands, to say nothing of a dozen or so mines in the region. A man successful at turning big mines makes money quickly. So, in 1915, when Dan and Johnny Mosher, Leon and Isadore Dion, Dan Milligan and Tom Creighton heard stories of gold in the Beaver Lake country north of The Pas, they went to Jack Ham- mell for a grubstake. They were partners, these six men; they’d trapped and pros- pected together for years. In went the six men, and shortly after- ward out one came with a report of gold. Up went Jack—a journey of nearly four- teen days by boat, canoe and portage. He looked at the gold mine and sniffed. “Ts that the best you can do?” he asked. “Well,” said Tom, “I thought you'd like to have a look at it.” “T’ve looked,” said Jack. There wasn’t much to do but to go back. That night, around the camp fire, the conversation wandered. At last Tom Creighton said, just by way of information: “There’s a sulphide deposit back here in the bush that would be mighty fine if it were nearer civilization. It’s no good to anybody away out here though.” They were a hundred miles from the nearest steel at The Pas. This was the true EVENING POST wilderness; one portage alone on the jour- | ney between here and The Pas was eighteen | miles in length. But Hammell decided to | have a look. A rusty streak showed in the Pre- Cambrian, in places nearly a hundred feet | wide. It stretched on and on, to be sighted at exposed spots for nearly half a mile; a deposit, so the samples showed, of copper and small quantities of gold. Hammell poked about for nearly an hour. Then he looked toward Tom. “Tell you boys what I'll do with this,” he said. “‘How much do you think would fix each of you up for the rest of your lives?” “Well,” said one of them, “I’ve always had an ambition to own a hundred thou- sand dollars.” “That's a go,” said Jack. “I'll get you each a hundred thousand dollars for your end and a million or so for myself, since I’m the grubstaker. How’s that?” They said it was fine, but they laughed at him when they said it. A hundred miles from civilization in the Canadian bush is a different thing from a hundred miles on the prairie or even in the mountains. But Jack Hammell was serious. It took six years for Hammell to make good. During that time he traded the mine to three separate houses in New York, all of them big names in Wall Street. Once he got several hundred thousand dollars for development by hiring the suite of a mil- lionaire in one of New York’s largest hotels and giving a dinner at which he refused even to speak about his mine. The minute the dinner was over he gave up the suite and left word at the desk that he was out. The next day he appeared at the brokerage offices and blandly informed the men with whom he was dealing that he didn’t care to show any figures or facts concerning his project. If they wanted to take a $3,000,- 000 option on the mine he’d consent to take $50,000 to bind the bargain. But he didn’t care to wait for them to send en- gineers; he didn’t intend, in fact, to do any of the things which men who sell mines are supposed to do. Talking Wall Street's Language “Then you ask us to buy a mine, sight unseen, for $3,000,000?” [1[o[o 0 48.000.000 TIMES EVERY 10,000 MILES By the time you have rolied up 10,000 miles on your speedometer. each spark plug in your car has fired 48,000,000 times T7 ¢ That’s a tremendous lot of action. Even the best plugs are sure to de- teriorate under such punishment. a. 2 Play safe. Replace plugs at least every 10,000 miles with Defiance. Made in Toledo, Ohio, by Defiance Spark Plugs, Incorporated. For passenger cars, trucks, tractors and buses. Buy where you see the orange-and-black Defiance sign, the symbol of a high type of spark plug service. “Something like that,” answered Jack casually. “Take it or leave it.” Wall Street has a reputation for being hard-boiled. Here was someone who was even more so; the attack was so unusual that the brokerage firm wired for the advice of an expert—one of the biggest figures in American mining. He answered from San Francisco: ; “GO AHEAD. IF ANY CONFIDENCE MAN CAN COME IN AND PUT OVER A DEAL LIKE THAT, COUNT ME IN FOR $10,000." Jack left New York the next day with an initial payment of $50,000. money followed, to the extent of $100,000. But even with this amount stuck into the ground for diamond drilling, for proving up the vein, and the hundred and one other primary necessities of a big mine, the firm at last gave it up. railroad was too big a handicap. Jack had the mine back on his hands, with six pros- pectors to support, and a promise of wealth unfulfilled. So back he went to New York. This time he optioned the thing for millions, with a $400,000 advance for de- velopment. It meant years of labor—the dragging of machinery overthesnow, thelug- ging in of diamond-drilling machinery by canoe, and finally the use of dog teams. To my knowledge this was the first time that dog teams were used in the actual development of a mine; day after day and week after week they ran the bush with heaped tobog- gans of supplies behind them, while horses followed the broken trail with heavier machinery. By summer, machinery went ‘Continued on Page 129) More | A hundred miles from a | (Enlarged) 1929 D. S. P., Inc.

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= (Continued from Page 127) in by canoe, often to be dragged by hand over the portages, snubbed from tree to tree in the grueling progress, while Jack Hammell labored with the rest. In winter the march continued over snow and ice; a shaft was sunk, the diamond drill explored deeper and deeper into the ground. But at last came an end. The war with Germany was demanding resources closer home, and an American magnate summoned Hammell to New York. “TI can’t go through with it,” he said. “Here are your papers—everything you've ever given me. Take the mine back and sell it to somebody else, and good luck to you.” “But about that $400,000?" asked Hammell. “It’s spent.” The magnate smiled. “‘ How long did it take you to get that machinery in there?” “Two years.” “It’s a good place to leave it, then, isn’t it? The next time you sell the mine you’ve got something to sell with it.” So Jack started forth once more to ped- dle a mine, and this time it was the Mining Corporation of Canada, which later affili- ated on the property with the Whitney interests. Jack got his million or more. The prospectors got their $100,000 apiece. Now Jack had no mine to bother him, no dog teams to sleep with, no teamsters to drive on to dangers and labors in the bush by sheer force—once he fought a man and whipped him, only to learn later that his opponent was wanted for triple murder. But all this was over now. Here was a man with nothing but $1,000,000 and no excite- ment. Then the long-distance telephone rang. It was a week later that Jack Hammell, myself, Cooney Wood and Alex Gillies one of the original stakers of the Acme mine, which is now a part of the tremen- dous Hollinger at Timmins—stood beside the Howey-McNeeley claims at Red Lake. “Trouble with this place,” said Jack, “it’s too far from the railroad.” “That’s what they said at Flin-Flon,” I cut in. “But look at the place now—a railroad going in there, water power, twenty-odd million dollars being spent on construction!” Starting a Stampede “Um-humph!” said Jack. “And I slept for six years with the dogs on the trail to start it. Six years is too long to brck any trail. Say!” said Jack belligerently, “I’m getting close to fifty. I’m tired of mushing trails. It was all right when you and I could lick our weight in wildcats at Cobalt. But we're not spring chickens any more. Nope,” he concluded, “it’s too far from a railroad.” “But a “Will you let me finish?” asked Jack. “T’m trying to say that it’s too far from a railroad to mush in here with dogs and teams. Flin-Flon was only a hundred miles; this is nearer two hundred. I've got a better idea. I'll open up this cockeyed country!” he said. “‘And it won’t take any six years, either. We've got a couple of months before freeze-up. We'll be working here inside of two weeks.”’ Then he winked. “‘Airplanes.”’ “Who'll furnish ’em?”’ “T’ll get ’em,”” answered Jack. He did. He went back to Toronto, walked blandly into the Parliament Build- ing and to the premier’s office. There he borrowed them—five Ontario Forestry Service airplanes—together with their pi- lots, from the provincial government! The five big airplanes roared forth to the carrying of primary supplies; it was neces- sary to transport some 20,000 pounds of materials into camp before freeze-up. Be- fore the job was over Jack Hammell found he had done something more than merely provide for a winter’s work. He had started the most spectacular mining rush since the Klondike. There was a psychological angle to the use of airplanes which had not been taken into consideration. Aircraft carried the THE SATURDAY thought of a necessity for terrific speed. If airplanes were being used, then this must be such a tremendous find that the discov- erers were turning to desperate means in an effort to seize everything before the other fellow got in. Rumors spread of gold at the grass roots, vast chunks of the yellow metal in milk- white quartz; there were hints that every returning airplane was bringing out secret shipments of high-grade ore. The owner of two commercial airplanes heard of it and shot his machines into Hudson for a short spasm of work before freeze-up should end their activity. Their arrival found also the vanguard of the rush awaiting and eager to pay a dollar a pound for transportation into the new area. Staking of claims began; more rumors emerged. The truth was that Red Lake showed good possibilities and a little more; only now is it emerging into true prominence as a gold camp, and for a year or so after the primary discoveries there were many times when doubt was heavy as to its future. Those cold facts went forth at the same time as the rumors of riches, but they were disbelieved. Why was there such a need for airplanes if this were not the greatest gold camp in the world? The rush con- tinued; soon claim stakes began to make their appearance everywhere about the dis- covery site. Then freeze-up came and the airplanes halted their activities. An Airplane on Skis There was no cessation, however, of the influx of the gold-fevered men who now were arriving from every part of Canada and the United States. Six months before, Hudson had been little more than a signal stop on the Canadian National for the fish trade and freight from Hudson Bay posts. Now hotels were building, and other un- painted buildings splotching the sides of the newly denuded hills where the bush had been cut away, to be as quickly transformed into lumber. Among the first to go into Red Lake had been a young aviator who, with a partner or two, had made the trip in by canoe. He was Capt. Harold Anthony Oaks, who, after having served his bit as a member of the Royal Flying Corps and the Royal Air Force in France, where he had been a fight- ing instructor, had come back to Canada and joined the Forestry Service as a pilot. Then gold had called him and he had rushed to Red Leke, there to stake some claims with his partners and move for civilization as quickly as possible by canoe that he might sell them while the market was good. This had been accomplished and Captain Oaks had looked again toward Red Lake, but this time as an aviator. Dog teams were slow—a week was excellent time for the journey into Red Lake, and that only if the dogs were strong and the drivers knew their business. Besides this, they were ex- pensive; a good leader or an experienced swing dog—the one next to the toboggan was easily worth $150. Teams were piling up along the way; there had been accidents and persons frozen; a Red Cross unit, in fact, had been sent to Hudson to provide temporary hospital facilities for those whom gold had hurt instead of helped. Be- sides, business had been good with those other two planes. Oaks took his money and organized the Patricia Airways Com- pany, Limited. It was, in fact, exceedingly limited. There was money enough for one plane which arrived with an equipment of Nor- wegian skis. Nobody knew much about winter flying except in districts where landings could be made on wheels in the same manner as at any other time of the year. There had been little necessity or opportunity for it in Canada; the need for Forestry Service planes ended in October with the cessation of the fire season just before freeze-up, and that done, there was no place for airplanes to go. Besides, this is hydroplane country; there are few airplanes in Canada that are not equipped for landing on water. The EVENING 129 stays moist longer Brisk lathers quicker ... try mint julep shaves for one week free... A time saver...a skin saver... Brisk, the new and really different shaving cream for tough beards, tender skins. No sting...no burn ...no need for lotions. For Brisk carries its own soothing balm. Your face enjoys a new soothing, cooling difference under the full, snowy Brisk mint julep lather. Different from anything you have ever used. 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| the line from Hudson. | plane there to buy her a new pair of shoes. THE SATURDAY country, in fact, is one tremendous landing | field of lakes. But those lakes are frozen | in winter; still good landing fields, they preclude the use of wheels, which, striking crust snow or drifts, would inevitably wash out the landing gear or crack up the plane generally. The plane arrived and the new owners of the Patricia Airways Com- pany, Extremely Limited, took her out on the lake and spun her over. The engine responded marvelously, but she couldn’t lift her feet. The Norwegian skis insisted on remaining right on the surface of the e. This left Oaks without much precedent. Flying into mining camps where conditions were primitive had been limited to some | work which the Laurentide Company had | done in Rouyn a year before, when passen- | gers had been carried from Haileybury into the little log-cabin town on Lake Osisko. | But that had been summer flying too. | “What she needs is snowshoes,” Oaks | decided finally. So he looked about for a | snowshoe maker. There was one in Sioux Lookout, down Oaks took the The snowshoe maker knew as much about | airplanes as most persons who live in the bush—which was nothing. But he did know skis and snowshoes; various designs were attempted. At last the plane taxied out upon the lake on a pair of skis that responded even more quickly than pon- toons. The take-off was quicker, landing was easier than upon water. The problem of winter flying in the wilderness had been solved. But the Patricia Airways con- tinued to be limited. There were many prospectors, engineers and uneducated gold seekers, all anxious to get into Red Lake. But by this time there was also a glut in the dog market. Prospecting by Airplane Every returning party, once its staking had been done— 10,000 claims were entered at the recorder’s office that winter—lost interest in dogs immediately it got back to Hudson and the railway. Expert dog mushers—whole families in some in- stances—had moved in and begun compe- tition. Dogs which had sold for $150 apiece in the boom days of the husky, now could be bought for fifteen dollars or less from boomers just back from the wilder- ness and willing to sell out cheap rather than to pay express on canines back to some place where they wouldn’t be needed. , One could buy a dog team, use it for a week or a month and sell it again for little less than he had paid for it. Tractors, too, had arrived and were beating down a road to Red Lake with tremendous loads of sup- plies. When the spring break-up came the profit-and-loss columns of the Patricia Airways Company were so closely associ- ated that Oaks was forced to put up the airplane as security at a bank in return for money enough to buy a set of pontoons and a car of gas for the summer trade. By that time the word had passed around that Red Lake wasn’t a new Klondike after all. More than two-thirds of the persons who had rushed in there so wildly to stake their claims in the snow did not even return to do the development work necessary to gain possession of the ground under the Cana- dian mining laws. Business for the plane was slack. But in the meanwhile seasoned prospectors had scented that this country, extending from Red Lake to Birch Lake, Woman Lake, Little Trout Lake and still onward to what is now recognized as a distinct gold belt of lakes running for nearly 250 miles along a small height of land eastward through the Patricia District, was true precious mineral country. Here and there men of experience had made finds, in some instances of free gold in quartz. There were porphyry dikes and intrusions, which to prospectors means the presence somewhere of gold. There were stringers and leads and chalcopyrites. So the experienced ones had moved on- ward. Captain Oaks didn’t have much to EVENING POST do one day. With some friends he took the plane out upon a jaunt, some 200 miles deeper into the wilderness. They, too, found some stringers of gold-bearing quartz. They were back in civilization and had sold their claims in less time than it had taken other prospectors even to make the trip to regions much closer. Captain Oaks decided that there was only one way to prospect— by airplane. So he, like Howey, went to Jack Ham- mell. But Hammell was extremely busy about that time. The company to which he had optioned the original mine in Red Lake had given it back to him, and he was in the throes of another set of activities ex- tremely remindful of the Flin-Flon. So Captain Oaks tried to interest others. The idea was too fantastic. He gave it up for a while and went to something nearer com- prehension—the finding of backers for what is now one of the big commercial projects of Canada—the Western Canada Airways. But the idea of prospecting by air stuck with him. Again he went back to Jack Hammell, and for a second and a third time. Finally, a little more than a year ago, Oaks found Hammell with his troubles at Red Lake ended. “All right, kid,” said Jack. ‘You've started something. Tear down to New York and buy some airplanes. I’ll get the prospectors.” That was about the first of March, 1928. What has followed in that space of little more than a year gives perhaps the best picture possible of the speed with which the airplane is developing as an integral factor of mining. The company which Jack Hammell and Oaks started is only one of several now, to say nothing of the independent mining companies which this year are purchasing airplanes for their own use and are sending men into the bush to establish camps and look over ground long considered beyond the reach of the prospector. The original company has flown more than 100,000 miles. Between the various companies the entire North of Canada has been popu- lated; at least a dozen regions have been investigated that had never before seen a white man. All this was done in spite of a late start, not because of a lack of money or planes but because prospectors wouldn’t fly! When a prospector gets his mind made up that’s usually the end of it. That was what nearly wrecked aeriai exploration in Canada. The prospectors had made up their minds that these newfangled things were dangerous, and they refused to go into the air! Too Risky for Prospectors That doesn’t mean that an occasional prospector refused to fly. It means that 99 per cent of the experienced bushmen whom Jack wanted, flatly and absolutely refused to give up their old ways. There was too much risk in this projected method, they said. Of course under the old system all the risk that a prospector took was that of drowning, of forest fire, of death from ill- ness in places too remote from civilization for aid to reach a stricken person, death from glandular trouble due to fly infection, death from freezing, from minor accidents which can turn to major ones if medical treatment cannot be speedily procured— Canadian airplanes last summer alone saved the lives of more than twenty per- sons by transporting them quickly from wilderness areas into civilization and hos- pital equipment. Those hazards, however, had come to be expected ones; every prospector felt that he could guard against them, and that, though they might happen to other fellows, he would be excepted. The airplane pre- sented a definite picture of danger; it was new, untried as a weapon against the wil- derness. The prospector could not conceive of it going safely into places where no one ever had been before, finding a landing place, delivering its cargo, departing and

August 17,1929 then coming back and finding the men whom it had left there perhaps a month previous. In vain was the system explained—that every prospecting unit should be equipped with a large, yellow flag which could be recognized from the air, that every Northern Aerial Mineral Explorations Company air- plane would be painted deep orange and black, so that it could be easily seen from the ground and not confused with some other ship which might be making a trip over the bush, thus giving a check system of communication between the two. The thing that the prospector couldn’t under- stand was how an aviator could take men to one lake out of thousands, drop them there and find his way back again when the time came to bring those men in. That was all explained—by aviator’s calculations to which the prospectors listened intently and of which they absorbed nothing. As far as the ships themselves went they did not cause much fear; the men would take short hops in them and apparently enjoy the sensation. But they wouldn’t move from the home base. Even the thought of finding new gold mines under swifter and better conditions could not budge them. “All I see to do is kidnap ’em,” I said to Jack Hammell one day. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” Jack laughed. “Trouble is, we can’t get ’em all into one airplane,” he said. But as we reminisced, Jack got an idea. “There’s that new plane in New York,” he said, and hurried away for Captain Oaks. We were all at Red Lake then. Two Men and Their Wives The two of them flew out that night. A week later, a brilliantly painted plane, gold and black, a cabin job, circled over Red Lake, came gracefully down to a landing and then taxied to shore, while the whole camp of us ran forward to greet it. Out stepped Jack, dressed as if he had just left Broadway. Then with exaggerated gra- ciousness he assisted a woman, also dressed in city clothing, from the cabin. It was Mrs. Hammell. After that Captain Oaks got out and, with the same knightliness, extended a hand to his own wife, also dressed as though she had never heard of a place like this, 160 miles in the bush. Jack turned the women over to Captain Oaks, who walked away with them toward camp. Then Hammell turned to the gawking crowd of prospectors. “Well, boys,” he said, “‘we had a great trip. Took off from New York yesterday morning and came right on across, with only one stop. Right straight across, and the girls enjoyed it every foot of the way.” Suddenly his manner changed. “ Now, you bums!” he shouted. ‘‘Are you such cow- ards that you won’t travel in a thing that even women aren’t afraid of?” After that the matter of prospecting Canada by air took a sudden spurt. Within two weeks there were forty men in the bush, scattered from Hudson Bay to the North- west Territories, and sixty more chafing to be started. Once initiated, the prospector became as excited about riding to work in an airplane as a Boston bulldog is excited about riding in a motor car. Incidentally, that isthe changethe airplane has wrought — the prospector now rides to work. Last summer I happened to be one of four prospectors who made up a sort of flying squadron to check up on a number of rumors of minerals at various places in the Dominion. First of all we were jumped from Sioux Lookout, in the Patricia Dis- trict of Ontario, to The Pas, in Northern Manitoba, and from there to the Rotten- stone Lake region, where our airplanes swooped down to the lake, taxied around it until the pilots decided upon a smooth, sandy beach for a landing place, and then moved us into camp. Airplanes, in pros- pecting, incidentally, work in pairs for the (Continued on Page 133) ——s eS 5

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 131 ’ A ee DF Pe ea : Take out! “TAKE HIM OUT!” ... If you’ve ever attended baseball games you’ve heard that battle cry. So he’s taken out ... because he fails to measure up. And for a like reason, one quart or more is taken out of every gallon of Quaker State Motor Oil before you can buy it—because it fails to measure up to the other three. It is a quart of material that has little or no value in lubricating an automobile motor—a quart that ordinary commercial refining leaves in every gallon. But Quaker State Motor Oil is not refined in the ordinary way. It is super-refined, car- ried a step further—an exclusive process that removes all inefficient lubricating material. As a result, you get four full quarts of lubri- cant in every gallon of Quaker State Motor Oil. . . you get an extra quart in every gallon! CERTIFIED _— _-—_. GUARANTEED © 1929, VD. S. O. R. ¢ SSF ovat Higher in West, Southwest and Canada ul ~ x 7. rs —_ : fr. lubricant —for Quaker State is made from the tinest crude oil the world produces —100°) pure Pennsylvania Grade Crude, the value of which is two or three times that of the crudes from which the erdinary oils are made! To prove that Quaker State Motor Oil will give your motor the sweetest lubrication it has ever known—stop at the next green and white service station sign. Let the service man drain and refill it with Quaker State—and let your motor show you the difference! Quaker State Specialized Tractor Oils are designed to give every make of tractor a longer life and a merrier QUAKER STATE OIL REFINING CO., Oil City, Pa { THE ORIGINAL CERTIFIED 1 And every quart is a quart of the finest PURE PENNSYLVANIA MOTOR OI! i ‘Theres an extra quart in every gallon of Quaker State Motor Oil QUAKER STATE MEDIUM MOTOR OIL QUAKER STATE HEAVY MOTOR OIL QUAKER STATE TRACTOR OILS QUAKER STATE AERO OILS

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J. C. ALTrock Joined compeny in 1917. Pro- moted to manager of branch, dis- trict,and division. Now manager of exporis. Joined Fuller in 1918. Soom became branch manager. Success caused pro- motion shortiy to district manager. Now in charge of Western Division. (See tei. directory) Akron, Ohio Allentown, Pa. Altoona, Pa. Atlanta, Ga. Baltimore, Md. Bangor, Maine Billings, Mont. Binghamton, N. Y. Birmingham, Ala. Boise, Idaho Boston, Mass. Bridgeport, Conn. Brockton, Mass. Brooklyn, N. Y. Buffalo, N. Y. Burlington, Vt. Butte, Mont. Cambridge, Mass. Camden, N. J Carbondale, Ill. Charlotte, N. C. Chattanooga, Tenn. Cheyenne, Wyoming Chicago, Ill. Cincinnati, Ohio Cleveland, Ohio Columbia, S. C Columbus, Ohio Dallas, Texas Davenport, lowa Dayton, Ohio Decatur, Il Denver, Colo. Des Moines, lowa Detroit, Mich Downer's Grove, Ill. Dubuque. lowa Duiuth, Minn El Paso, Texas Enid, Okla Erie, Pa. Fairmont, W. Va. F argo, N. D Ft. Dodge, lowa Fort Wayne, Ind. Fort Worth, Texas Fresno, Calif Grand Rapids, Mich Green Bay, Wisconsin Greensboro, N. C. Harrisburg, Pa. Hartford, Conn Hempstead, N. Y. Houston, Texas Huntington, W. Va. \f (Below) J. H. Suita Commenced with Fuller while still college freshman. Was married, with two children, and Fuller enabled him to go through school, Has risen steadily to high executive Positions. Now manager of Eastern Division. F. S. Beveripce Began with Fuller in 1913. Im three months THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Below) E. J. ANDERSON Began with the com- pany only eleven years ago. Has been branch manager, district manager and is now in charge of the important Cen- tral Division. C. H. SHean Sold brushes first to August 17,1929 H. M. Corton branch manager, district manag- er, educational director, Now manager of division. Has risen through grades of was earning more than $100. a week. Was successively branch or- ganiser, district man- ager, sales manager of division and now first vice-president and di- rector of sales. A. C. FULLER Began twenty-two years ago making brushes nights and seil- ing them daytimes. Now com- pany bearing his name does annual volume of more than $13,- 000,000. and is largest business of kind in the world. pay way through col- lege. Became full time Fuller man in 1916. Advancing through branch manager - division manager motions, to boar of directors, and sales manager. «~Aou can become associated Morgan, Schwab, Du Pont, Rockefeller, Ford have guided hosts of associates to fame A sure recipe "for success is to hitch your wagon to a star. Nowhere is this better illustrated than by the careers of many with The Fuller Brush Founded by Alfred C. Fuller but a few short years ago, its growth to Company. world leadership has been steady and rapid. other countries, are scores who have climbed to success with this expanding business. Unique Opportunity The oldest and most successful method of selling in this country is that of selling from home to home. This method built the nation in the early days of the republic. It has certain features of service peculiarly valuable to the customer. Experience has proved, however, that the Fuller line is one of the few groups of products which can be handled by this direct method economi- cally and successfully today. For most prod- ucts, other more recent channels of distribu- tion are more practical. The public realizes anti accepts the fact that Fuller Brushes must be demonstrated and ex- plained to the customer in person. For this reason, women welcome this Fuller plan and the representatives of The Fuller Brush Company. This public acceptance of Fuller home to home selling has been the most important factor in making Fuller the outstanding success of i kind in the world of commerce. Opportunity with Fuller The Fuller Brush Company is distinctive in with these successful men> Branch Offices) and fortune. in these tess And in many communities, in this and the opportunities it offers to salesmen. Oppor- tunities are greater than can be cared for by the present organization. There are places for ambitious men in almost every section of the country to join with the more than four thousand men who are now enjoying profitable careers with this company. Investigate It Now You, too, can ally yourself locally with Fuller and reap the rewards waiting for energy and honesty in this fruitful field. It will pay you well from the start and the opportunities outlined in the booklet, “Making Good and Making Money”, are only a part of what this business has to offer to the right men The manager of The Fuller Brush Company’s office in any of the cities listed will be glad to give you full information without obligation on your part. A telephone call or letter to him will receive his prompt attention. Or, if this is not convenient, write direct to The Fuller Brush Company, 3558 Main Street, Hartford, Conn. (In Canada, address Fuller Brush Com- pany, Ltd., Hamilton, Ont.) H. M. ABELE Beginning as a salesman, he rose rapidly through grades of branch manager and district manager. Has been chief of Southern Division since ils organization. B ranch Offi ces Yi, these Cities ie (See tel. directory) | | Rochester, N. Y. Sacramento, Calif. Saginaw, Mich. St. Joseph, Mo. | St. Louis, Mo. | St. Paul, Minn. | Salt Lake City, Utah San Antonio, Texas | San Diego, Calif. i San Francisco, Calif. itt} San Jose, Calif. | Schenectady, N. Y. | Scranton, Pa. Seattle, Washington Shreveport, La. | Sioux City, ee | Sioux Falls, S . D. | South Bend, Ind. Spokane, Wash. Springfield, Mass. Stockton, Calif. Syracuse, N. Y. Tacoma, Wash. Tampa, Fla. Terre Haute, Ind. Toledo, Ohio Topeka, Kansas Trenton, N. J Tulsa, Okla. Utica, N. Y. Washington, D. C. Waterloo, lowa Wheeling, W. Va. Wichita, Kansas Wichita Falls, Texas Williamsport, Pa. Wilmington, Del. Winchester, Va Worcester, bess. Youngstown, Ohio CANADA ¥ its service to the customer and consequently in (The Fuller Brush Company _\\ Brandon, Man. ¥ aigary yeTta \"/ Edmonton, Alberta o™ Ne tal Halifax, NS. ove wie ee ag Jacksonville, Fla. Lincoln, Neb. Milwaukee, Wis. Oakland, Calif. Portland, Me. Moncton, N. B. —-. N 4 Little Rock, Ark. Minneapolis, Minn. Oklahoma City, Okla. Portland, Ore. Montreal, Que. — ity, Sag 5. Long Beach, Calif. Mobile, Ala. Omaha, Neb. Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Ottawa, Ont. ohnstown, Pa. Los Angeles, Calif. aa) Veena 06.0 Olean, N. Y. Providence, R. I. Peterboro, Ont. Joliet, Il. Louisville, Ky. _— 2 I Pueblo, Colo. Quebec, Que. Joplin, Mo. Lynn, Mass. Regina, Sask. Nashville, Tenn. Pasadena, Calif. Saskatoon, Sask. 5 : Paterson, N. Quincy, Ill. Sherbrooke, Que. Ind polis, Ind etemeane, Mich. Macon, Ga. Newark, N. J. Peoria, lil. - St. John, N. B iron Mouatain, Mich Sacuvile, Youn. Madison, Wis. New Haven, Cena. Perth Amboy, N. J. Raleigh, N. C. Toronto, Ont. ron Mountain, Mich. noxville, Senn. Manchester, N. H. New Orleans, La. Philadelphia, Penn. Reading, Pa. Vancouver, B. C. McKeesport, Pa. New York, N. Y. Phoenix, Ariz. Richmond, Va. Windsor, Ont. Jackson, Miss. Lansing, Mich Memphis, Tenn. Norfolk, Va. Pittsburgh, Pa. Roanoke, Va. Winnipeg, Man. FOR FULL INFORMATION MAIL THE COUPON SSLOW OR SEE THE MANAGER OF THE NEAREST FULLER BRANCH OFFICE Tue Poise Brusn Company, 3558 Main Sasa, Hartford, Conn. y Gentlemen: Please send me full information, without obligating me in any way, as to how I can become associated with these successful men. Cyl P I Name Street City. State Jo THE F.8.CO. a el — Cel gee . oT el et —— —

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(Continued from Page 130) same reason that prospectors work in pairs—so that if an accident happens the uninjured plane can either give help or go for assistance. It is worth mentioning, too, that out of the 630,000 miles flown by all types of exploration and transportation airplanes operating into the bush of Can- ada in 1928, there was not a major accident resulting either in the loss of men or of supplies. Of course there is a good reason for this— it lies in the topographical conditions of the country. True it is that Canada, north of the line of the transcontinental, is con- tinued wilderness. But it is also true that practically every five miles of this bush country possesses at least one lake that is large enough for landing purposes. More than that, the pilots who train for work in the bush do so upon the assump- tion that every landing is a forced one. Therefore, if something does happen in the air and a pilot is compelled to glide for a landing, he is doing little more than he does at any other time; in fact, he is only mak- ing a regular landing. With landing fields 30 close that any sensible flying height puts a man within gliding distance of one, there is not much danger of cracking up. That means a great deal in the conquering of the wilderness; the biggest menace of all—air- plane hazard—has been removed to a de- gree greater than in any other country in the world. But to get back to that prospecting job. Once we were landed we became the usual type of prospectors again, with every pos- sible convenience. Every supply had been landed for our comfort—tent, bedding rolls, food and a sectional canoe which can be carried in a comparatively small space, With old Peter Mowry’s death, Nita and her mother were left alone, Dave resumed; and upon Nita fell the full burden of the farm. She rose to it valiantly. “Mrs. Mowry wan’t any good at all,” he explained. “‘Folks were getting to be sort of sorry for them, and sometimes someone would drop in on her of an afternoon. And Mrs. Mowry would talk about old Pete, and what a great actor he was; and she’d tell about Mary’s poetry, and how some magazine had almost bought some of it; and she’d explain how she might go back to acting herself. There was always some- one after her to do it, to hear her tell. She never bragged about Nita, but everyone could see what Nita was doing. She'd turned to like a good one, playing the piano, drilling some of the children in a school show, and between times taking care of the ducks and the house and her ma.” Mary, he said, seldom came to town. Will Russell drove in now and then as he was used to do; and once or twice Mrs. Mowry went out with him to spend a day or two with Mary. Now and then some waggish tongue suggested to Will that this was one of the burdens a husband must assume; but if Will was wearied with his mother-in-law, he never voiced his weari- ness. And Mrs. Mowry always returned with some glowing tale to tell. She circulated, eventually, the news that Mary was going to have a baby. “She told me about it,”” Dave admitted. “And I re- minded her that she’d said she wouldn't ever be a grandmother, and she laughed, tickled to death and proud as Punch, and said this was different. She told me she was going to get Nita to make some little lace caps for her to wear. She ‘lowed she’d sit by the fire with her little cap on and knit socks for the youngster. I don’t suppose she ever knitted a stitch in her life, at that.” But the matter ended otherwise. Mary’s time came in February, and a storm was blowing, and the long road from Will’s farm to town was a half-frozen quagmire. He started in his old wagon, but mishaps de- layed him —broken traces, a mired horse, a THE SATURDAY fitted together and tested before the air- plane departs. Then the plane left us, to ecme back in two weeks, either to get us if we wanted to leave, or to pick up our samples. For the airplane under the new system is something more than a carrier of human freight. It is a messenger boy. In the old days a man never knew what he had found until the season was all over. Under the new system it is not unusual for him to receive an almost daily report of the progress of a vein toward a paying mine. Last year, for instance, there was a great deal of interest in a new district of Patricia. Not only were airplane prospectors work- ing in the country but a number of other men operating under the old handicaps, which the airplanes of the exploration com- pany speedily helped to eradicate. Since the planes were carrying out samples for their own men, it was decided to do the same for others on a freightage basis. Ports of call were established, the pros- pectors would bring in their samples, tag them and leave them, returning to their camps in the bush. Then in a few days they would go back to the particular lake at which the airplane called and find there an assayer’s report depicting just what their samples had portrayed. We did not stay long at Rottenstone Lake; two weeks of investigation told us that the strike or two near the water seemed to be about the only available ones at the present time. Back came the air- planes and we climbed into the cabin, this time to be transported to Reindeer Lake, near the northeast corner of Saskatchewan, where we worked for a time on the estab- lishment of a gas cache, after which we flew onward to Fond du Lac, at the north- east end of Lake Athabasca, where more THE WILD ONES (Continued from Page 64) cracked axle. He was four or five hours on the way; and he was half as long returning with the doctor at his side, while the snow pelted them and built white humps upon their shoulders. They reached the farm long past the time when the doctor’s skill might have been of service there. Matters thereafter were on the surface not so very different, Dave confessed. Mary dead was no more completely re- moved from the life of the village than Mary on this distant farm. “But it bothered me,” he admitted. “I got to wishing Nita and her ma would give up and move away. It looked like some- thing else was bound to happen if they stayed.” The geese came back down river. We heard them first, then saw them as they swept past the point of the island, laboring into the wind, their futile cries still sound- ing. They were very weary now, fighting the rising gale; and I thought ruefully that they would alight again. They did so, dropping in the open water in the eastern river; and Dave turned to me. “All right!” he proposed. “ We'll try a scull on them. They may lie for us.” But I had had enough. “Let them go,” I protested. ‘ We've all we need.” “The boys here might try them,” Dave suggested. “If you don’t want to.” I could not well interfere. I had had my sport, was surfeited, but Happy and Asa were as keen as hounds. They were at Dave's word already moving. We watched the boat go slipping through the marsh grass toward the stream, Asa in the stern, Happy in the bow. Out in the river the geese still called, and we could distinguish their dark forms on the water there. The boat, thatched with dead grass, was a sinister brown blot on the golden surface of the marsh. We lost sight of it for a mo- ment; saw it presently emerge into the stream beyond. “ Asa’s making a good scull,”” Dave com- mented, watching them. I hoped the geese would fly. The boat seemed scarce to move, and the birds, even EVENING POST work of the same type was done. When the airplane came back again it was with the word of a journey to Hudson Bay. Out over the north we went, and to Churchill, the terminus of the Hudson Bay | Railroad. Then, cutting straight out over the bay, we hit for the Belcher Islands and the investigation of the tremendous iron deposits which were supposed to exist there. It was something for the future, of course, when boats from Europe ply Hud- son Bay, bringing cargoes of coke and coal from England as ballast. One never knows what may happen in mining; here were vast deposits of ore which might lie fallow until doomsday, or which might some day form the field which would supply the materials for great steel mills of the North. We staked five miles of them while the radio furnished us enter- tainment by night, and our leisure hours in the daytime concerned themselves with hunting up evidences of the old-timers who | x. had visited these islands when the Hudson | Bay Company was truly the Company of | Gentlemen Adventurers. Then the planes returned. This time it was a trip deep into Un- gava—again for iron ore—and when that | was over we cut southward for Toronto, | stayed there a few days and hit for Sioux | Lookout. In a week from the time we left Ungava we were far in the new gold regions of the Patricia District, working along the | Pickle and Crow Lake regions, with a com- fortable camp and the knowledge that we still had a month or so left before freeze-up. Our distance for that season? We reckoned it crudely, a minimum of 6000 miles! - Editor's Note— This is the first of two articles by | Mr. Cooper. The next and last will appear in an | early issue at this distance, appeared to be restless. Their heads were high and watchful, and we could hear them honking hopelessly. But the boat drew nearer them, and I | wrenched my eyes away. “How about | Nita and her mother?” I asked. “How did they get along?” “Why, they managed, for a while,”’ Dave | told me briefly. “Till here last winter, Mrs. Mowry got pneumonia and died.” Out there on the river, guns roared, a| louder clamor rose. I heard Happy’s | triumphant shout, and my eyes turned | reluctantly that way. There were two black spots on the bosom of the stream. One of them splashed for a moment; then we heard another shot and saw the pellets slit the water, and after that the flapping goose lay still. A lone} bird flew heavily down river. His cries came back to us on the wind’s strong wing. Happy and Asa were picking up the fallen ones, and we could hear their exult- ant voices. I tried to find comfort in the fact that one bird still survived. And one of these Mowrys, too, I remembered, and turned again to Dave, a question in my eyes. Dave was watching the boat as he went on. He said Nita still stayed at the farm. “She had backbone, that girl,’”’ he re- marked; and I wondered why he always spoke of her in the past tense, and a still fear grew in me. “She had backbone,” he repeated “She wan’t afraid of work, ever; and sh< worked like a good one, all last spring an summer. Done well too. We had a good season and she raised a lot of ducks; and she went at it not so much out of books, but sensible, finding out what kinds of birds the markets wanted, and how to clean them right, and all. She paid off for her ma’s funeral by the middle of the summer, and she caught up with her bills at the store. “The work showed on her some. She got kind of thin and drawn, and she was brown as a witch, you might say. But

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The bristles can’t come out! HE amateur painter is likely to think “Any old brush will do’’, but professional painters know that a good brush is as necessary as good paint to get a smooth, beautiful, long- lasting paint job. To be sure of a good brush, look for this trade mark. eee ontn 188 pouads on a Wooster Brush and not a bristle came loose. This is an actual tesc! THE WOOSTER BRUSH Co. “Makers of good paint brushes + 78 years” WOOSTER, OHIO THE SATURDAY prettier than ever, it looked to me. She’d filled out, for all she was so thin; and she used to go around bareheaded, that black hair of hers a-flying. It was always sort of curly —a crinkle in it. And her eyes were as blue as ever, and clear as anything.” His voice was almost tender. “Mrs. Bingham and me, we liked her,”’ he con- fessed. ‘‘I used to help her out some; and | she’d let me, but she’d always be cooking up a batch of doughnuts or something and sending them down to us, just kind of re- minding us she was thankful for what little we did.” He said he began to think she might make a go of it. “And I was sorry too,” he said. “‘ Because she didn’t belong around here. Anyone could see that. The folks here are all right, but she wan’t our kind, nor ever would be; or if she ever did come to be, it would be a pity. That's the way it looked to me. She’d work too hard, and get dragged and rough-handed and all, if she stayed on. I kind of hoped she’d bust up, but it begun to look like she was all set to stay.” We could see the sneak boat moving down the bay. “They're going after that other goose,” Dave remarked; and I watched their slow progress with a rebellious anger, wishing I might recall them, wishing the goose might at last forget its grief and loneliness and depart on those great wings which could, if it chose, bear it swift to far security. We could not see the bird. It had alighted in the river somewhere below the marsh, a mile or two away; and by the fact that Asa still sat erect in the stern, I knew they had still far to go. Dave went on slowly. “It looked like she might make a go of it,” he repeated, | “‘till here two weeks ago. She'd sold off | a lot of her ducks and ducklings to pay her bills, and so’s she wouldn’t have too many to feed through the winter. Sie didn’t have only about a couple of dozen left, and then a weasel got into them one night and killed four.” The girl came down next morning to re- port the disaster and ask advice from him, but there was no good advice to give her. Her pens and houses were rude affairs, not fit to keep out such vermin. “T offered to take care of her ducks down here,” he said, “but she wouldn’t have that. Said she’d do it herself or not at all. I told her to set some traps, and I give her three of mine and told her how to do it; and she went back up to her place with them. She said she’d keep watch at night after this with a gun.” . There was, he said, something desperate in her eyes that day. “I’ve got to keep | what I have,” she told him. “I won’t have any money in the spring to buy more. I’ve got to, Dave!” He advised her that the weasel was not likely to return. “But I knew he would,” he admitted now. “You take folks like that; it looks as if even animals went out of their way to pick on them.” Yet the girl did manage for a while to protect the birds. She sat up half the night, keeping guard over them; and when at the end of a week there had been no new alarm, her courage somewhat revived. She had during this period arranged for a substitute to take her place at the piano in the town hall on picture nights; but now an itinerant theatrical company came to town and her services were demanded. “Rufe Hartness had the running of it,” Dave explained. “And he told her if she didn’t want the job he’d get someone else. She had to have the money it brought her, so she had to go.” He digressed to speak of this dramatic invasion more in detail. “They was called the Pleasant Dale Players,” he informed me. “There was posters up a week ahead, telling about them. ‘Broadway Dramas’ it said; and the show they put on here was named Turn to the Right. It.was a pretty good show, about a couple of crooks that went to stay at a farm and turned straight. It couldn’t have happened the way it did in the show. They made the farm pay; EVENING POST and they couldn’t have done that, any more than old Pete Mowry could raise ducks. But it was funny, just the same; and I laughed at it. So did everybody.” Nita played the piano before the curtain rose, and between the acts; and there was a woman in the company who had known her mother, so after the performance the girl waited to speak to her. “And when she got home,” said Dave, “there was seven more dead ducks in the pens.” The sneak boat crept persistently on its way, and I shuddered as I watched it. It seemed to assume a relentless personality of its own. Why did not the lone goose fly? Dave was continuing. “She told me about it next day,” he related. “‘She come down to my place, and there was a young fellow with her. He’d been in the show, and his name on the program was Rupert Fay. The company was going to stay in Bruns- wick for a couple of days, and he wanted to shoot a duck. He’d got acquainted with Nita the night before, and come back up here on purpose, and she brought him down. Lewis, his name was— Evan Lewis. “Rupert Fay’ was just for the program. I brought him out here, and he got two birds. A good shot, he was.” “Lewis?” I repeated. “His pa writes plays,” Dave explained. “He told us he was going to start, the first of January, in one of his pa’s plays, in New York. He was out getting experience. A nice youngster. No airs about him, and a friendly grin, and kind of laughing at him- self all the time. Nita, she’d set there where you’re setting and listen to him talk, and her eyes were shining. I guess his pa was quite a man, to hear him tell.” “TI know of him,” I confessed. “He is. One of the best.” “Likely,”” Dave agreed. “The young one had good blood in him, you could see.” The sneak boat was far below che foot of the marsh now, and Asa had slipped down in the stern. “‘Guess they’re getting near,” Dave said. ‘ Asa’s begun to scull.”’ “Can you see the goose?” I asked, my throat aching. “Can't make it out,” Dave confessed, and filled his pipe again. He went on presently: “This Lewis come up here again the day after. I drove to town that day, and I saw him and Nita down on the shore at her place, her feeding the ducks and him watch- ing her. It was a nice day, and the sun shining. Her hair looked pretty near red in the sun. This Lewis, he was watching her, and I heard them laughing. Then the next day the company went on to Portland, and he didn’t come back here again. ; “‘ And the next night a lot more of Nita’s ducks were killed, so she had just three left. I saw her when I drove past; and she was down in the mouth about it. First time I ever saw her down, but I couldn’t blame the girl. I offered to take the ones PHOTO. BY COURTESY OF OZARK PLAYGROUNDS ASSOCIATION August 17,1929 she had, but she wouldn’t have it so. She kind of laughed, and she says: “‘No. I might as well kill them as let a weasel kill them, Dave!’ “She was desperate, you could see. But she was right, at that. I killed the birds for her. She ‘lowed she’d dress them that afternoon.” He hesitated. “And that’s the last time I see her,’”’ he explained. My throat was dry. “The last time?” I echoed, dreading his next word. “She walked up to the state road and caught the Portland bus that afternoon,” he said. “I heard about it; and I was glad she’d give up and gone; but I was sorry, too, and I worried some. I kind of sus- picioned something. This Lewis, he was all right, but actors are different, and it didn’t look to me Nita’d come to any good from him. I hated to think of anything happen- ing to her. He was a nice boy; that was all right. But they were both young, and the weather’d been warm and sunny. A lot of trouble comes out of warm sunny days in the fall.” Happy and Asa, far down the river, must be near their prey. My hands were clenched with dread; my ears ached for the sound of their shots, and my eyes burned as I watched them. “Why doesn’t that goose fly?” I asked rebelliously. “It must see the boat by now.” “Thinks it’s a log,”” Dave explained. He hesitated, chuckled faintly. ‘‘I used to feel the same about Nita as you do about the goose,”” he admitted. “‘Wishing she’d get out, get away. Well, she’s gone now!” “Gone?” I echoed. “That’s what Happy says,’’ he reminded me. “She went down to Portland on the bus and sold her three ducks to a market man there. And she married this young Lewis last night. They say she’s going to act in the show.” I had somehow expected, from his tone and from the past tense in which he always spoke of her, something worse than this. “But that’s where she belongs,” I cried in a great relief. “She belongs in that world! That’s fine for her.” “T say so,” Dave agreed. “Happy, he don’t think so.” He grinned. ‘“ Happy’s idea was that she’d ought to marry him— stay here.” I shook my head, a warm contentment in me. But asI did so I heard the honk of a goose, off to the west of us, and swung in quick surprise, thinking the wild one had risen and circled back this way. But I saw, when I turned, not one but a dozen great birds, in a disciplined line, a wise old gander at their head, winging down the stream. As they flew, they called. They went swiftly past the marsh, out over the open water at the foot of it; and their cries came suddenly in a greater volume on the wind. Then Dave whispered: “‘ There he goes!” A wide-winged form rose from the gleam- ing surface of the river there. The flock broke in a momentary confusion; the lone goose rose and mingled with them; the flock returned to formation, and the lone bird dropped into place among them, in- distinguishable from his fellows now. The long line of them slipped swiftly down river and away. My heart was pounding. Gone then! Gone to meet new perils through the long gantlet of the years. But not alone! Not alone! I found myself, absurdly, on my feet, an arm upflung; I heard my own shout of triumph go ringing across the marsh. Then it occurred to me that this was absurd; that it was ridiculous that my eyes should blur for the sake of a single goose. I turned back to Dave almost shamefacedly—met his calm and even glance. “T can’t help it,” I confessed. “I’m glad it got away.” Dave nodded, smiling. ‘Sure,’ he as- sented. “I feel just about the same.” “Someone else may kill it, of course,’’ I admitted. “Maybe,” Dave agreed. “But it won’t mind so much, long as it’s not alone.” ~ ——————

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<a | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ROUSTABOUTS AND RAZORBACKS Actually the swingy trot makes it easier for him to walk up or down the inclined stage with a heavy load on his head, but he also uses the step to show off before women or to get his mind off his work when he is tired. “Hit ain’t but one way to learn dat coon- jine,” one rouster explained. “You take and git a two-hundred-pound sack er ferti- lizer on yo’ haid and start down a steep stage. You'll jest natchally coonjine. Dat fertilizer’ll learn you how, or else hit’ll break yo’ back tryin’. Ah, Lawd, dat thing gonter kill me sho. I might be up on Black River right now, makin’ me a crop. But naw! I learnt dat coonjine, and de doc- tor can’t do dat thing no good.” The cargo includes practically every known kind of farming, household and levee-camp supplies. The bulk of it is con- signed to wholesalers in the larger towns along the river, but there also is considerable freight for retailers, plantation and levee or logging-camp commissaries, and even for individual small farmers and shanty- boat men along the way. Nothing seems too large or too small. A Sweet Tooth And bananas! Each steamboat has its bar, which supplies fruit, candy, tobacco and other odds and ends to the crew, the passengers and the people along the bank who come aboard at the landings. On every trip up, the barkeeper takes on fifty or sixty stalks of bananas, which are hung in full view on the open veranda of the boiler deck. People along the river buy these by the dozen or by the stalk and are glad to get them. And the rousters, who have “ credik”’ at the bar for their needs, like bananas. One man, stripped of all odd change in a eooncan game and bored with sleeping, re- marked, apropos to nothing: “I b’lieve I’m gonter go up and git me a dozen ’nan- ners and set down and eat myse’f a bait.” The outside appearance of steamboats is pretty much the same. They set flat on top of the water, drawing from three to eight feet, with the superstructure high, oblong, and painted white. On the lower river, which is wide and which requires less ma- neuvering, they are propelled by stern pad- dle wheels. On the upper river they frequently are side-wheelers. The first, or main, deck is devoted to the engine room, the boiler, and much cleared space for storing freight. The second, or boiler, deck is devoted to passenger cabins, dining saloon, cooking galley, bar and of- fice. To the front of it is the open veranda, where passengers can sit in the shade and enjoy the cooling breezes or where freight ean be stored if the space is needed. A nar- tow companionway runs along the outside of the deck, the full length of the boat. The dining saloon is a hallway through the center and the entire length, with the staterooms opening into it. In here also are the usual forms of entertainment—a piano, a phono- graph, books, writing desks. The saloon is used for dances when there are dances, or for anything else that requires the space. On the old and more elaborate boats this entire deck was magnificently equipped- mahogany woodwork, polished hardwood floors, elaborate chandeliers, gingerbread cornices and handsome paintings. On the later boats the late Victorian influence in | decoration has decreased with the change | | | | of economic conditions, and the saloon is comfortably equipped, but not so elaborate that the mate would hesitate to store freight in one corner of it if he needed the space. The roof of the boiler deck is the hurri- cane deck, and atop the hurricane deck is the texas—a string of staterooms down the center of the hurricane deck, in which the present practice is to quarter the officers. The name “texas” is strictly of steam- boat origin, according to river lore. When steamboats first began handling large vol- umes of passengers whose tastes required (Continued from Page 11) luxurious surroundings, they were quar- tered in the cabins on the boiler deck. These cabins were named for the various states of the Union, and the deck itself became more politely known as the stateroom deck. Dur- ing the 40’s, when the Texas question was the most-talked-of problem—-whether she should be admitted as a slave or free state, or at all—some steamboat man whose name is lost to record built an additional pas- senger deck above his stateroom deck and called it the “‘texas.”” The name stuck. Atop the texas and in the exact center of the boat is the pilot house, a rustic little box about eight feet each way, and fur- nished with one stool, one bench, a heating stove, a steering wheel, a few bell and whis- tle pulls and a compass. From the stool the pilot can look all about him. He is high enough above the noise of the engine to hear sounds that mean things to him in the night and which he can interpret into dis- tances from the banks, and during the day he not only can see what is going on in the river but he can read the river itself—note current changes of bank cavings that will affect his course the next trip up. The first stop above New Orelans is Re- serve, where two large sugar refineries are situated. Here tons and tons of sugar are toted aboard by the roustabouts. The sugar is sacked usually in huindred-pound bags, but recently the twenty-five-pound bags, which, when empty, are especially suitable for dish towels, have become popular among the rural housewives, and the wholesalers lay in great quantities of these. In the past few years the upstate sugar consumption has increased noticeably, espe- cially in the more rural sections. Even the shanty boats take on sugar in the hundred- pound sacks. It is not uncommon for a single shanty-boat owner whose household consists of himself, his wife, a dog, a gun and fishing tackle to receive from five hun- dred to a thousand pounds of sugar at a time. And in the heavily wooded over- flow sections of the tributaries these shanty boats abound. “They make liquor out of that sugar,” Captain Sam explained. “‘The meanest stuff you ever tried to swallow too. They are too lazy to work, too tired to hunt and not energetic enough to fish. So they make liquor.” He had never seen them make liquor, he said, but he had seen some awfuily wild white mule loose in the section. “‘ This ain’t the canning season,” he argued. “‘And if it was, there ain’t no berries along here to can anyway. And it’s a cinch they don’t use all that sugar in their coffee, unless they drink a whale of a lot of coffee. And we put off a hundred sacks of sugar to every sack of coffee. Figure it out yourself.” Where De Soto Died Two hundred miles above New Orleans the steamer Ouachita leaves the Mississippi River for the tributaries— Red, Black and Ouachita, with frequent by-excursions into Tensas, Bceuf, Bartholomew, Macon and Louis. The tangent is begun through a ten- mile stretch of an abandoned channel of the Mississippi called Old River. Old River is destined to figure importantly every time the Federal Government con- siders flood control in the lower Missis- sippi. It is, Captain Cooley thinks, the key to the whole situation. As this is being written, with the water within one foot of its record stage of the notorious 1927 flood, engineers are nervously sounding and cross- sectioning Old River and trying to deduce helpful knowledge from the information. The one railroad bridge which crosses it is out—washed out at one end where the bank has caved viciously—and in the channel where, two years ago, bottom could be touched with a twenty-foot sounding line, a sixty-foot line doesn’t touch it now. Old River originally was a freakish double loop in the Mississippi at the point where

August 17,1929 the Mississippi came nearest the Atcha- falaya, which also is where the Red River empties into the Atchafalaya. When the explorer, De Soto, returned from his west- ern explorations down the Ouachita and through the Red, the Mississippi and the Atchafalaya were not joined. According to tradition he died on the Red River and was buried in it, within a mile of the Missis- sippi—this contrary to the romantic story of his burial in the great river he had dis- covered. Sometime later the Mississippi, ever cut- ting here and shoaling there, ate through the narrow dividing neck between the double bend and the Atchafalaya, and be- gan pouring its muddy waters into the Atchafalaya, which is more than a hundred miles shorter from that point to the Gulf than is its large neighbor. Then, in 1826, an engineer, named Henry Shreve, who had been trying to make Red River navigable, made a cut-off in the neck of the double bend which sent the Mississippi straight across to the lower channel instead of through the double loop. The loop shoaled up immediately, and for years the Missis- sippi and the Atchafalaya were separated again. Then came a flood which broke through the shoals into the Atchafalaya again, and once more the Big Muddy headed down the wrong basin. The Prodigal Son Fifty years or so later the great Captain Eads put a sill of logs in the bottom of Old River which held it stable, allowing enough water to pass through to keep it open, but preventing a bottom wash that would have sent it on a rampage. In the 1927 high water these sills appar- ently washed out—the engineers know something happened, but some of them deny the sills are gone, while others af- firm it—and the Mississippi sent raging torrents of swirling, biting water through it once more. Banks and bottom began changing, and the river has become, in fact, a spillway for the Mississippi, much to the discomfort of the dwellers of the Atcha- falaya basin. “Whether,” said Captain Cooley, “the Mississippi will change its course perma- nently, and leave the lower channel stagnant and silted in, or whether the Atchafalaya basin can handle the water-at all, or what the flood-control projects will work out to, is all something to talk about. I personally think any sort of spillway below Old River is a waste of government money, and I think the fuse-plug levee plan, which will allow the richest land in the world to go under water, is a rank outrage. But we just talk. I’m a steamboat man, and I know a lot about what the river has done. And I know enough about it to know there is no telling what it will do. I’ve seen many a good engineer whipped to a frazzle by it because something he has figured out on paper works out sour for him. “You see, the Mississippi River is like a wayward son. It storms and rages about, raising thunder for a while, and you are ex- asperated almost beyond endurance. Then, of a sudden, it settles down into such gentle docility that you just have to love it, devil- ment and all. “The river commission has the idea. They work with it instead of against it. They try to guide it, but they don’t try to force it. What will work in one place won’t work in another. Or even in the same place, if the river takes a notion about it. That river is an old devil at times. I’ve been on it nearly sixty years, and I love every drop of water in it!” Negroes who live close to the river ac- quire a strange insight into its strange ways. During the high-water periods, Dr. I. M. Cline, of the New Orleans United States Weather Bureau, makes water-stage predictions. These predictions are based (Continued on Page 139) ee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 137

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138 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 This sign of CONFIDENCE identifies the 4-SQUARE DEALER | nial ~—~You can rely on the @ ee 4A SQUARE _ DEALER — his lumber carries a quality ouarantee ETWEEN simply some lumber” **buying and buying t-Square Lumber from the {-Square Dealer there is just this difference: 4-Square Lumber comes in packages. Every package is labeled with the species and grade of the lumber it contains. This species cut exactly square, saves need- less hand trimming onthe job. You can have confidence in 4-Square Lumber—and in the dealer who sells it. He gives evidence of his belief in the good. ethics and good busi- ness of selling merchandise of known and recognizable and grade is guaranteed by Weyer- haeuser, the world’s greatest lumber producing organization. So when you buy 4-Square Lum- ber from the 4-Square Dealer you know that you are getting exactly the kind of lumber and the quality of lumber you ordered. Furthermore, you know that you are getting seasoned lumber. Clean, usa- ble lumber. Accurately manufactured lumber. And, in addition, lumber which, because both ends have been SQUARE Li Species and Grade are Marked and Guaranteed value. He is a reliable source of sup- ply not only of lumber but of other materials as well. WEYERHAEUSER FOREST PRODUCTS ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA Weyerhacuser Sales Co., Distributors, Spokane, Washington District Offices: Minneapolis, Kansas City, Chicago, Toledo, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, New York EIR TRISIMED SQUARE... PACKAGED... READY TO USE .: GUARANTEED CUT-TO-SIZE CRATING CEDAR POLES Other achievements by WEWERHAEUWSER for Industry and the Home a BALSAM-WOOL € An achievement in heat saving. An esvential part of the complete, mod- ern heating equipment. The thick, ’ > flexible insulating blanket for walls — ~ and roofs of houses. Bringing the economies of scientific planning, large-scale sawing and waste elimination to any manufac- turer requiring containers individu- ally designed to fit standard products, e mission. A service to Public Utilities, from large de “4 stocks of the finest Ida’ Red Cedar Poles iN for telephone and electric trans- iS 24-HOUR SERVICE we \ An achievement in modern lumber N] : handling through a chain of Distrib- LL uting Plants strategically located to fill America’s emergency lumber needs almost over-night. mn ae SF ep nn ee tt ey a ee = —s a

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(Continued from Page 136) upon information of the amount of rainfall, the water in sight and past performances, and are so accurately borne out that they have saved lives and property for those who live behind the levee. During the 1927 flood, when the water was being held off New Orleans by sandbags stacked on top of the levee, and the river-front warehouses were flooded as much as two feet, the Weather Bureau predicted another rise. During the course of a conversation with an old river negro, the fact was mentioned that “‘Uncle Sam says there will be more water; he says she’s going higher.” “Uncle Sam know a heap,” the negro stated, “‘but he don’t know nothin’ ‘bout dat ole witch. She gonter do jest lack she want to. And she ain’t gonter git no higher too. She might git wider, but she ain’t gonter git higher.”” That night the levees holding back thé high crests that caused the prediction cracked and gave way, and thousands of acres of land near Greenville, Mississippi, went under. She “got wider”’ all right. And it is a matter of record that she got no higher. After leaving the Mississippi for the tributaries the steamboat encounters three picturesque and distinctly steamboat spec- tacles—woodpiles, stave piles and range hogs. On the journey up, freight is dis- charged continuously, and very little, if any, is taken on. On the down trip, except during the cotton season, pipe staves and wild hogs make up the bulk of the cargo. The woodpiles have disappeared from the Mississippi River because the timber has all been cut off near the bank, but in the overflow sections of the tributaries timber is plentiful and the small farmers make quite a bit of extra money by cutting steamboat fuel and stacking it on the bank. When wood is needed the boat pulls in to a woodpile and the rousters carry it on. It is paid for by the cord and is scaled in the rick before it is carried aboard. If the owner happens to be present he is paid in cash; if not, a check is mailed him. Most of the woodcutters take pride in the closeness with which their wood is stacked and are eager to give honest meas- ure. But there is one classic exception that still is related about a Black River wood- cutter. This man was notorious for loose stack- ing—that is, he placed the sticks in the stack so they would take up all the room possible, and thereby got less wood into the cord measure. On one occasion he included a very crooked, knotty stick that he hid well down in the pile. “I happened to notice the stick,” said Captain Cooley, ‘“‘as soon as the rouster picked it up. So, knowing it could not be put into the fire box, I told him to lay it aside, and I forgot about it.” A Jigger in the Woodpile “T went on to New Orleans, and when I came by, going up, I took on more wood at this woodpile. And, buried down in a stack of wood, I came acfoss that same knotty, crooked limb. There was no mistaking it. That fellow had sold it to me once, and when he saw it lying around he sold it to me again. It probably was the crookedest stick in the world, and it took up space enough for a dozen straight sticks. “T thought twice was enough to buy it, so I had it taken aboard, and when we backed out and got straightened up the river, I dropped it into the water, thinking surely I was through with that stick. But such was not the case. The very next time I put in at that woodpile I came across that same stick of wood, buried halfway down in a rick! That fellow had probably seen it floating in the river and had gone after it! For a minute it made me so mad, I just about blew up. But soon the humor of the thing struck me, and I laughed, had the stick carried on board and kept it on board until I got to New Orleans. There I dumped it into the Mississippi River. I haven’t seen it since, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see it turn up sometime.” THE SATURDAY Next to a woodpile, the roustabouts dread staves. Staves are uniform in size and weight, but they are tedious. Four or five hours of steady toting of staves wear them down. These staves are split from the fine white oak that abounds along the tributaries, are stacked on the bank simi- larly to the wood, and are sold in New Orleans for resale in Spain. The range hogs, however, give the most picturesque and exciting pictures of steam- boating. Range hogs grew out of steam- boating during the past fifty years and are peculiar to the overflow sections of the Ouachita and Black rivers. And with the development of the breed of range hogs has come a breed of range dogs, or hog dogs, that also is peculiar to that section. And, further, a technic of hog handling has been developed that probably isn’t duplicated anywhere else in the world. Bringing Home the Bacon Over the thousands of acres of unfenced overflow land the old-fashioned razorback hog used to range. He was long-legged and hardy, he grubbed his own living from the earth and asked nothing of mankind. But he was a tough, stringy-meated porker, light in weight, and a bottomless pit to fatten. The small farmers in the section worked in domestic hogs with these razorbacks, getting, as the result of the cross-breeding, a heavier, finer hog that was hardy enough to withstand the back waters and to live in the woods. These hogs run wild through the woods; the only attention they get is when they are caught, as tiny pigs, and marked with registered earmarks by the owners, and during protracted high water, when enough grain is carried to the mounds upon which they live to keep them alive. The only drawback in the mixed breed is that the crossing seems to have made them even more vicious than the old razorbacks. To catch these hogs for the market is where the dogs come in. The hog dogs are descendants of ordinary curs that have been developed, by training instead of cross- breeding, into alert, keen, intelligent and brave dogs. And though, except for their intelligent expression, they look just like any other mongrel, they are so valuable that it is almost impossible to buy one. Five hundred dollars is the record price paid for a female who, in addition to being splendid with the hogs, also raised remark- able puppies. The dogs have developed their own tech- nic of hog leading. Wild hogs cannot be driven, but they can be “drawn.” And that is what the dogs do. The woods are covered with an undergrowth of palmetto which hides the ground and the hogs on it. The dogs, working in a pack of half a dozen or more, are sent out to find the hogs. Usu- ally no more than one or two men go along to spot. The dogs soon round up a drove of hogs and hold them quietly in place until the man rides up. If the earmarkings show the hogs to be- long to some other farmer the dogs are whistled off and sent hunting another drove. If they are the ones desired the farmer tells his dogs to “‘ bring ’em home.” And they do! From the pack, one dog, apparently chosen by the dogs themselves, quietly takes position between the hogs and the pens into which they are to be led and be- gins barking furiously. Almost immedi- ately the leading boar of the pack, with the others at his heels, will charge the dog. The dog runs—toward the pens! After fifty or EVENING POST a hundred yards of this, the hogs lose inter- est in the chase, and the dog repeats his stratagem. When this ceases to work, the barking dog quietly retires to the pack, which has been trailing behind the hogs, and another dog, of their own selection, takes up the work. He boldly makes his way among the hogs until he can get a clear track to the boar, and leaps in, grabbing the boar by the jaw and holding on like a bulldog. The boar is infuriated. He squeals and excites the rest of the pack, and they close in on the dog. Sometimes they get him too. But very sel- dom. At just the proper time the dog looses his hold and escapes—running toward the pen with the hogs hot in pursuit. When that dog tires he goes quietly to rejoin the pack, and another dog jumps in. If the distance to the pen is great, some- times the lead boar will tire out and cease to give chase, no matter how badly he is han- died by the dogs. In that case the dogs select another boar and handle him in like manner. Hogs have been led through woods as much as ten miles a day in this manner. The pens to which the hogs are led are near the river bank. They are built strong enough to hold the hogs and high enough to keep them from jumping out. There is in them a hog hole through which they enter, and which is equipped with a drop trap that can be closed behind them as soon as they get in. There also is a dog hole on the opposite side of the pen, large enough for the dog to escape through the instant he heads them in, but not large enough for the hogs to follow him. So these offspring of mongrel dogs go out and find the wild hogs and bring them into the pens with a technic developed by themselves and with- out assistance or interference from the farmer. In fact, all the farmer does is to verify the earmarkings of the hogs and command “Bring "em home.” The dogs do the rest! Getting these vicious beasts aboard a steamboat is something else. Constructing runways from the pen to the boat is unsatis- factory for a number of reasons, the chief two being, first, that the river level changes so rapidly that a new runway would have to be built each time hogs were taken on, and second, that runways aren't necessary. The roustabouts solved the problem themselves by carrying the wild hogs on their shoulders! It isn’t so simple as it sounds. The hogs are heavy, ranging in weight from a hundred to three hundred and fifty or even four hundred pounds. They are vicious. Their tusks are razor sharp and they can bite a man’s leg off with one snap-—and will, if they get the chance. Three Men and a Razorback It is apparent that a man who handles wild hogs, then, must be strong, brave and nimble. And though some roustabouts are better at it than others, and experience helps a lot, absolutely green hands, making their first trip as roustabouts, take their turn at hog toting, but not until the process is thoroughly explained to them by the roustabout foreman or captain of the watch, and their determination fired by long, boastful tales of hog toting from the older roustabouts. The rousters work in gangs of three to a pen. Only brave and experienced men are allowed in the small pens with the vicious beasts. One man, especially gifted at the trick, maneuvers until he can grab a hind leg of a hog, and with a sudden, peculiar

139 little jerk that he knows, he flips the porker over, flat on its back. The instant the hog hits the ground the other two men in the pen grab him, one by the ears and the other by the free hind foot, and the three men lift him over the pen and upon the shoulder of a waiting roustabout. The thing is done se sudcenly that the hog doesn’t have time to recover from the shock of being thrown before he is safely balanced on the shoulder of the man who is to carry h'm to the boat. The quickness not only obviates trouble from the hog that is being handied, but it keeps him from squealing and enraging the other hogs in the pen with hm. Sometimes something goes wrong with the process, and the hog squeals or wrenches himself free, and the whole pack charges the men in the pen. In that case, these rousters, who are not especially athletic nor trained high jumpers, manage to scramble over. Now and then one gets cut badly by a tusk, but more frequently you hear them laughing about it later and asserting and offering to prove that they stood flat-footed and jumped over the six-foot pen without touch- ing it. The rouster who is to tote the hog on board receives him carefully, belly up and head pointing to the rear. He gets a hand hold in each flank, and pulls down, to bal- ance the weight of the hog, the most of which is hanging over back of his shoulder In this position the hog is helpleas. The weight of his whole body is resting upon one spot on his backbone, and he cannot even wiggle or squirm out of position. All he can do is squeal, and the more vicious ones do not even do that. On board, he is eased down, belly up, on a slanting plank into a pen or runway on the main deck Hogging the Limelight The range hogs average about two hun- dred pounds in weight. Some get as heavy as four hundred pounds, and four hundred pounds of live wild hog is something for one man to handle. But the rouster does it and then entertains himself the rest of the way to New Orleans bragging about it. Which, of course, evokes counter miracles from other rousters about hogs they have toted in the past. One roustabout who had toted on only a hundred-and-seventy-five-pound sow, told another who had brought on a _ three- hundred-pound boar and began bragging “Dat ole hawg wan't nothin’, son. Last winter I ketched a hog dat was so long to his haid mighty nigh drug de ground. And bad? Dat yaller scound’ei had tushes as long as my hand. And what I'm tawkin’ about, he kept, all de time, slobberin’ and whettin’ dem tushes to dey was sharp like a razor “So, quick as my foot hit de stage wid him, de cap’m felt de boat rockin’. ‘Hold dat hawg whar you got him, Monroe,’ say de cap’m. ‘Wait to I gits him a pen right in de middle er de boat drap dat heavy thing he'll turn dis boat over and drown me and you bofe!’ Dat was de ‘Cause do you ha pen on de side » b.ggest hog I ever toted! And de meanest, I reckon.” The next roustabout had toted a bigger one, and so on, during the rest of the quiet run down the river, almost to New Orleans Just before the boat gets ir however there is new excitement. Pay day! The roustabouts line up and receive their wages, less their accounts at the bar, and less one dollar, which is held back until the boat has } been properly tied up. As soon as the lines are down they turn in the ticket they re- ceived from the mate twelve days before and get their last dollar. In a very few min utes - even before the workers on the w harf freight off —the nto their Sun get strung out to tote the roustabouts have char ged day clothes and started for “ back of town,” with pay day in their pockets and “good time” on their minds That is Thursday. By Saturday they are gorged with restaurant food and gin sick, and they are eager to begin arguing with Capt. Sam Cotton again about how much stuff old Miz Laney has been buying

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ee awash practically. As soon as the coal was out of her a little, she would take the seas easily enough. “There it is again!” old Del shouted, starting wildly up. ‘‘Do you hear it, man?” Ochiltree said in a joking way that it was probably the babbling of these che jin, paper men or evil spirits, which the pres- ence of the ship devil in the steam chest had cursed them with, according to Loo Seng. But there was no glossing over the fact of that boding sound in the stern of the ship— a-ahump, a-ahump, a-ahump—a throttled lament, accompanied with a shivering of the stern timbers »nd a confused irregu- larity in the motion of the enormous wooden cogs—eighteen in number—which geared the engine to the shaft. ““How do you diagnose it?” ‘Key may have fallen out that pins those butterfly wings onto the shaft,” old Del said finally. ‘‘ Must be the tips of them are bringing up against the rudder post.” Must be. Might be, would be a better way to phrase it. Everything connected with steam was hypothetical, Ochiltree was coming to find out. The engine was a hypo- chondriac and the engineer a neurasthenic; both were sick, either together or by turns, and only the haziest of inferences could be drawn from the symptoms which were added to every twenty-four hours and duly noted in the ship’s log. By now the ship was shaking so that Arad could not make his entries there in a fair hand. “Stop the engine,” he roared to the mate, “‘before the ship spews all her oakum! She’s leaking now two hundred strokes a watch!” They triced up the propellers and sagged away south under sail alone. They were one hundred odd days to the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope, dropped days as a palsied knitting woman might drop stitches, and the Witch in fact, Turkey run and all, got into Port Louis a full day before them, with a hold half full of Turkey opium. Ben Sherrod came aboard the Spitfire with Marthe. “Whose mistake now?” he said gloomily, stopping in front of Ochiltree. The super- cargo, thin as a slat from work and heat, black from the grease of the shaft alley where he had been writhing in between wooden cogs, and with a great raw burn on his arm and shoulder, muttered fiercely, “T’ll sink or swim with ’em, sir. You let me reline these shafts, rebolt the engine, key the propellers on, and I’ll beat you into the Straits now.” “T’m going to Bombay to finish out with India opium,” Ben Sherrod said. ‘You thresh along the best you can, and do your trading in the Straits.” The Spitfire had bar iron, calico, hams, oars, cutlery and notions for a circuitous voyage. “I'll leave word at Singapore,” Ochiltree said. Marthe Sherrod, in pale gold muslin and cool under a Manila sun hat, smiled gently. ““ Maybe you think I'll never get to Singa- pore,” he shot at her bitterly. “You wil! if Captain Arad has his way,” Marthe answered archly. ‘‘ Loo Seng, what do you think about it? Have you had enough of this ship devil?” “‘Spose he no contentee,”’ Loo Seng said, shuffling in his enormous shoes and with his head fallen limp on one shoulder. ‘No catchee welly good wind.” He groaned and lifted up his eyes. “Too much stlong gale. Sea all same masthead,” he complained. He coasted his eye reverently toward that specimen of Ben Sherrod’s marines, as they were called in Salem. This sea soldier, an effigy made of canvas stuffed with ground cork, and dressed in duck trousers, a red flannel shirt and a low-crowned straw hat, hung from a beam in the companion- way by a hook with which his arm termi- nated. The features on that moonface had been brushed on from the tar pot; they were steadfast and hideous, the eyes THE SATURDAY EVENING POST WALK IN THE WATER Continued from Page 36) asquint, the corners of the mouth drawn down farther than old Del’s; and it was Loo Seng’s reasoned conviction that all their miseries had their start here. An evil spirit, a paper man, a che jin, servant of the ship devil, had coiled inside. Loo Seng, who saw more reason to pray to devils than to gods, since only devils tormented man and his voyages, had privately erected this marine into a devil and burned silver paper in front of him. He would not dream of passing that che jin without muttering, “May all your days be as one,”’ and kotow- ing if the motion of the ship permitted. “You too muchee foolo,” Ochiltvee ex- ploded, but he was half willing to believe that some demon did have charge of his affairs. The two ships warped out together. Cap- tain Arad cast sheep’s eyes at the Witch, his love, as he might have looked at a proud woman sweeping past, disdaining him. She could, he thought, tow the Spitfire faster than that unlucky ship could move herself, with all her fishtails. “Boil the kettle,” he said sharply to old Del, with a last flourish of his brass speak- ing trumpet in the direction of Bangs Biddle on the Witch. Old Del gave a heave of his paunch. “Boil the kettle,” Arad repeated. “One lash to a good horse,” old Del said, but he went below and boiled the kettle. The Spitfire took a new lease of life. Her crew stood up and guyed with wires the black smoke pipe, hinged to the deck; the agitation in the stern began, the wind died, smoke poured out of the quivering stack, red hot at the deck; the Spitfire crawled up on the Witch, dropped her astern. Captain Arad felt as if he were taking a mean advan- tage of a high soul, as if he were playing a contemptible trick on a sensitive and spir- ited woman. They had gone past the Witch close enough to hear the bos’n’s whistle, the thunder of her topsails as the leeches lifted, close enough to see Captain Bangs Biddle’s mortally affronted face, and Ben Sherrod swaying on his heels, with his fists tucked up under his black body coat. Bangs Biddle had already clothed his ship with studding sails on both sides. Now he broke out his water sails, jib-o-jibs, save-alls, flying kites—every last stitch that would draw—and the wind strengthening by ever so little, the Witch slipped nearer. “This old ship’s cousin has only got us under half steam now!”’ Ochiltree shouted like a man out of his wits. Captain Arad didn’t stir. The Witch was outpacing him, and the effect of that chalk-white pyramid of sail on his soul was mesmeric, as if she had laid a hand on his shoulder, breathed into his ear the faintest of supplications. “He wants her to draw ahead,”’ Ochiltree thought, with hardly contained savagery. He dropped bodily into the engine room. The place was full of steam. He could vaguely see the boilers, like a couple of hippopotamuses after a mud bath, with their thick clay coats which had been smeared on to prevent radiation of heat. The engines, more demonlike than ever, and yet somehow invincibly comic, strad- dled their pits, quaking and clashing, the paint bubbling on the horizontal yellow cylinders; and old Del, with his naked fat arms folded together, stood with his mysti- cal, rapt, listening air, as if he were nothing more than a spectator in a torture room, where the struggles of a living spirit to escape were all but visible. “What is it now?” Ochiltree cried. “Che jin,” old Del said craftily. He added quickly, “Leak. Leak in the hot- water heater.” Invisible in wreaths of scalding steam, the engineer pronounced sepulchrally that unless this leak was found, no mortal could live more than five minutes in this engine room. “T have got to blow off. Draw the fires,”’ old Del said. The shriek of escaping steam drowned all the rest of Ochiltree’s expostulation. Ten minutes later, the Witch went flat across their bows and hauled up for the Arabian Sea. Captain Bangs Biddle, calmed, politely removed his Calcutta hat, and the chief officer waggishly waved a rope’s end over the Witch's rail. Old Del, eating with his superior officers in the second dogwatch, explained himself in language too technical to be understood. “You had a safety valve, hadn’t you?” Ochiltree demanded. “Had it set?”’ “Set, yes,”” old Del retorted. “‘And we could blow sky-high, and still if there was a safety valve set, you would be able tosay, I suppose, that those boilers had no right to do what they did. Plumb against the rules. I suppose you wanted me to sit on that safety valve, young man.” “T would have coined my blood to buy speed enough to overtake the Witch just then,” Ochiltree muttered heavily. “I know you would,” old Del said, af- flicting his soft gums with a fragment of salt horse. “I've seen ‘em like you on the Western rivers. Bless me, it’s getting so lately, an engineer on the run from New Orleans to Louisville doesn’t feel like lifting his voice in company if he hasn't blown forty or fifty people into the middle of next week. They'll go ashore to wood up, and that'll sink "em down and ground ‘em out, and then they'll undertake to get steam enough to craw! right off a mud flat with the paddle wheels. I’ve seen "em do it, boilers cherry-red, engineer hanging from the lanyard of the throttle like it was the trigger line of a gun, with his eyes shut. Crawling off like an insect!” old Del shouted. “That's different. We weren't grounded out,” the supercargo said. “ And we had the makings of a pretty little race.” “Race, is it? There was a race a little below Louisville year before last. I was out there installing for Hogg and Delamater, and I saw how it was. There they were, a-going it by night, two boats of 'em, neck and neck in the middle of the river, a long reach ahead, bells ringing, firemen dripping wet, barrel of brandy right next to the water barrel, with a dipper hung to it, and half the time they didn’t know which barrel they had their head into. There they were, blind to the world, choking wood into the fire boxes, passengers chopping pine knots on the foredeck, captain on the starboard paddle box bawling for more steam. Why, those boats were shaking so, the stewards couldn’t keep glasses on the dining-room table. All excitement, women flushed up, gamblers knocking their hats together and betting their fool heads off, river all one glare ahead from the fire boxes. Neck and neck, understand? Maybe you think I'm fabricating, Mr. Ochiltree?” “It’s your yarn; I'll be bottle holder,” the supercargo said wearily. “It’s gospel truth, those boats were at- tracted to each other by caterpillar attrac- tion,” Del grunted. “They got so close the officers were shaking hands across the rails. Bang. Now they come together. Shrieks from the women, trying to get their hus- bands to intervene now and stop it. Too much noise to hear orders now, even from women, steam blowing off, horses ramping on the foredeck, boilers showing their teeth right through the Gay. ‘One thousand dollars on the Picayune,’ says a gambler. ‘Take you,’ yells his friend on the other boat. Bang. Boats come together again, bounce off the plug hats, slide a lot of sheep and cows into the port side of the Picayune’s engine, knock down a pile of flour barrels aft. ‘Go ahead, captain, keep her in the wake.’”’ Old Del had followed Arad and his super- cargo on deck with his story. They were hardly listening. The Witch was now moth- like on the silver threshold of a darkening sea. “ Dreamers—scholars,” old Del was thinking contemptuously. Willing to blow 141 themselves into a thousand bits for the satisfaction of letting a rival pick up the pieces. What did they know of steam, of strains and stresses? If it was true that Arad had been the slave of an African princess, then, he, better than any man, should know the terrible power of a captive. Yet evidently he thought slightingly of steam. “Strike the topgallant sails!"’ the captain called suddenly to his mate. The men swarmed into the rigging, which had grown strangely slack; and Captain Arad, without looking at his engineer, en- couraged him. “Keep her in the wake, hey? They weren't afraid of steam on that boat.” “They were not. Used up all the pine knots, threw in crates, cigar boxes, wood- work out of the cabin, just as they hap- pened to pick it down. I saw a rosewood piano stool hop in that a lady had been sitting on before sundown, singing Brandy Drops and The Glasses Sparkie on the Board. All right, cheers from the shore, fire out of the smoke pipes a yard high, snores out of the ‘scape pipes, cattle bellow- ing and those paddles rumpling the river up like a couple of puppies on a carpet. Then, sir, bang, bang. The boilers on the Pice- yune went one after the other, about as quick as you could fire the two barrels of a two-barreled gun. I remember there was a man leaning at the bar that had just made a bet and bought a drink and paid for it, to drink success; he had it at his lips, and never drank it, unless he drank it sitting on a cloud. People’s shoes went higher than their clothes, they tell me, and I know for a fact the people themselves went higher than their shoes. They got there ahead of everybody.” “What caused it?” Arad asked calmly, lifting his telescope to locate the Witch's phantom. “Caused it? Steam caused it—too much fire and not enough water. They had an investigation, but what could they prove with only splinters of the ship left? Noth- ing, except that one of those boilers had cut a mule in two, two miles inland.” Old Del sighed and paddied forward. “He feels as big now as an elephant on stilts,” Ochiltree muttered. “He may sing small yet,” Arad said. “The ship’s going along like a cat being pulled by its tail. This thump, thump has jumped the masts up and down in their steps and settled them several inches. The rigging’s slack, and getting slacker, and no way to take it up either. About the only way I dare sail her is before the wind now, for fear of taking the sticks out of her. She won't sail with the coal in, and if I shovel it overboard she'll sink from water coming in. As things are now, the coal keeps it out, and nothing else.” “It can’t be that bad.” “I tell you, the tide ebbs and flows in her already,” Captain Arad said dismally. Old Del came out of the engine-room hatch, cheerier after a swig of aromatic wine bit- ters, and waddled aft in time to hear his captain going on: ‘This is the fag end of the southwest monsoon too. At this rate, we'll get into Malacca Strait now about the time of the change of the monsoons. Liable to be pretty dead in there-—-not a breath and that’s good pirate weather.” “We've got long Tom here,” old Del said, a little pale in spite of the wine bitters “That gun is worthless,"” Arad stated. “The carriage is made of Sumatra wood; it’s split now, and it will be kindling with the first discharge. I saw it jump around on deck last voyage, after a practice @hot, like a trout on a bank. It'll) be about as much good for fighting Dyaks as these marines of Ben Sherrod’s.”’ “Dyaks,” old Del repeated, moistening his lips “Dyaks, yes. These Malay proas have got Dyak slaves for pullers below decks. Continued on Page i144)

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THE SATURDAY (Continued from Page 141) The little devils have got bamboo blow- pipes about six feet long,and they can shoot a poison-tipped dart for forty yards or so and sting you good. You swell up and die in about half an hour.” The bell on the foc’sle tolled and the wheel answered. “How do they get slaves to fight for them?” old Del said cunningly. “The Malays hold out prospects of a little booty just to keep up their spirit at the oars.” “Booty?” “Booty, yes. Well, I don’t mean jewels or guns or specie, naturally. That goes to the chiefs. No, what the Dyaks want is heads.” “Heads, is it?” “They'll beg for heads like a schoolboy teasing for apples,” Arad said. “No self- respecting Dyak woman will marry her man if he doesn’t bring her back a head or two. And she keeps a little private nugget of gold to dust his hair with gold dust, in case he does bring her a head. Grates the nugget against a piece of dried shark skin. They smoke-dry the heads and teach ’em wisdom. You have a friend, say, and maybe you go visiting a Dyak and see your friend’s head hanging like seed corn from the rafters. They call that room the scul- lery,”” Captain Arad threw over his shoul- der, going below to prick his position on the chart. ““You’ve touched him,”’ Ochiltree whis- pered fifteen minutes later. ‘“‘He’s been experimenting, and he says now he can carry half steam again, or a little better.” “Then boil the kettle,’ Arad ordered, still straddled above the chart. “I’m going to haul her up for Achin at the head of the strait, on the chance of meeting the Witch again. She ought to be beating out of the Arabian Sea about now with a hold full of opium.” “‘A-ahump, a-ahump, a-ahump,” went the fishtails. Ben Sherrod’s marine, still hanging by his hook, shook at the knees. Steam wavered through the bulkhead, packed with sawdust, that separated the boiler room from the captain’s cabin. Loo Seng himself, pattering in and out with endless cups of coffee, might have passed, in this sizzling white obscurity, for a che jin. These fatal paper men, who had no better use for their time than to torment a whole ocean merely to put the fear of God into a cook, had all at once concerted an attack on the ship. They heaped up a nasty sez, shook the ship’s Kead loose again, shifted the coal, and very neatly cracked the main and mizzen masts off at the deck just before daylight. Old Del, chained to his engine by the captain’s orders, yelled into Ochiltree’s too fatally receptive ear: “‘He’s done it on purpose to make mon- keys of us. Didn’t you hear him say himself he couldn’t have her any way but right before the wind? And then he brought the wind on the beam. I tell you he shook those masts overboard like knocking ashes off his cigar. He can lay it to the slack rig- ging, and he can lay the slack rigging to the engine bouncing the masts up and down in the steps. Lord, hearken ye to that!” The butts of the broken masts, still held by the lee rigging, had turned into mighty rams for battering the ship with each lee- ward roll. “‘She’s loose—loose as wicker!” ““Ovenwood,”” Ochiltree admitted in a despairing voice. “He'll lay it to these fishtails. He’ll sink us to prove his point against steam!” old Del yelled, bringing his bloodshot saucer eyes close. “But if it hadn’t been for his ship jumping up and down and in and out like an eel through the toe of a stocking, I could have wormed him along as smooth as a rowboat.” Arad’s face appeared at the hatch. “We're tricing up the propellers!” he shouted to his engineer. ‘Rig the steam pumps!” It was an order old Del was only too will- ing to obey. The engines had got shoved a EVENING POST little out of line; the wrenching out of the masts in that iron whirlwind had slewed their bed somehow, and there was reason to think that the boilers had somehow settled down on those cast-iron conducting pipes which conducted, or should conduct, steam to the machinery. Then for days, he thought, Ochiltree rose and sank on a pump handle; he was an organ boy again, filling the organ bellows full of wind; he was inside the bellows and the wind rushed through his ears, through his ribs, with its maniac harmonies. It was well, surely, that the sky had been cast in one piece. Arad’s hand was on his wrist. “Get your rest, boy.” Ochiltree tried to shake him off; found himself plucked away, willy-nilly, in that giant grip; sank somewhere into a black sleep. When he opened his eyes the white light of the Strait of Malacca beat through the port. They were close against land, within sight —within hail, it seemed —of the bright pepper gardens hanging on the long, low slopes. An ash-colored mountain blocked their way, the coralline forest underfoot showed dizzying holes through its topmost twigs. To larboard a sheaf of trees—ar- roons—like pines, seemed to spring as if out of a sunken island. Ochiltree, shaking at the knees like the undaunted marine still hanging from his hook, dragged himself to the deck. He was sick, he felt as if a thousand leeches had sucked his blood; Arad gave him calomel and jalap, bled him in the arm, and put him aft under a flap of sail in a patch of shadow where old Del, sitting on a yellow settee, was reading Pike’s Religion and Eternal Life. “You’ve caught something from off- shore,” Arad said to Ochiltree. “It’s an unhealthy neighborhood. Let alone the pirates, a man can’t even eat a pineapple from these shores without first soaking it in brandy. And this coral underfoot is liable to give her ribs a grinding.” The Spitfire, spellbound, was riveted to the water of the strait, which, like the sky, now seemed part of the same brilliant and still-glowing casting. Not a_ bearing changed; there was not a breath of wind, not a touch of current. The blue water, mottled with the murderous green of coral patches, was like rolled glass, and the sun, beating straight down, ran the tar in thin drops out of the improvised shrouds. The ship, Ochiltree thought dreamily, was ‘down by the head more than a little. Her stumpy jury rig gave her a wrecked look. The smoke pipe was horizontal on the deck, toes up, like a dead soldier. Loo Seng, going forward with the men’s food, puffed his lips and muttered that if the che jin had their way, the sky would fall on them, despite the captain's assertion that it could not, having been cast in one piece at the celestial foundry. They had better put on the moon and wear the stars in their hair while going through this sea, Loo Seng moaned; meaning that well- advised ships traveled early and late when pirates threatened. Instead, they were stock-still in the water, waiting for the Witch, and, in fact, in the second morning watch the Witch's topsails were seen in the west. A faint air was stirring now, and though the Spitfire— old Walk in the Water, the men called her now—made nothing of it, the Witch came drifting fast, her white sails flat as lily pads, the sun shining on her gold beak and herringbone stripe. None knew better than Bangs Biddle that she should have got here in the middle age of the monsoon, but Ben Sherrod had been tempted by the China market, he must stuff her full, and now she came, full, indeed, as a pollen-dusted bee, but in a ticklish season for a two-gun ship which must be fought by Sherrod’s marines and a short-handed crew. By noon the Witch had drifted close enough for speech. “Mr. Sherrod will see Mr. Ochiltree!” Bangs Biddle roared through his trumpet.

August 17,1929 James Ochiltree suddenly felt himself stronger than death and more disembodied than the che jin. He dropped into the stern sheets of the Witch’s jolly-boat, which had been sent to fetch him. When the shadow of the Witch’s starboard quarter fell on him, he looked up and saw her rails swarming with straw-hatted, red-shirted effigies—Sherrod’s marines, those dummies made of canvas filled with ground cork, whose job was to stand off pirates by sug- gesting that the ship was manned like a war brig. To help this illusion, bogus wooden guns, painted black, had been run out, eight on either side. Ochiltree rocked with laughter at the thought that Ben Sherrod was here in per- son to see how his hirelings comported themselves under fire. Certainly they were not susceptible to Dyak poisons. Tied to the rails, with gingerbread guns in the hol- low of their arms, they greeted him with fatuous smiles, with hand-made frowns; their hideous squint eyes and comic noses were shadowed by low-crowned hats of black varnished straw. They looked moldy, from a long sojourn in the bilges, but, nothing daunted, they leaned forward drunkenly, leering, as if hanging on Ochil- tree’s slightest word, eager to catch the faintest accent of his defense of a course of action that had brought them step by step into this predicament. He slapped the nearest viciously in the small of the back. ‘Keep a stiff upper lip, my bold townies,”’ he muttered. And then Bangs Biddle had him by the arm, leading him aft. Ben Sherrod’s leather face confronted him; just behind the little man was Marthe—the lost Marthe Sherrod. But Ochiltree did not dare look in her direction. The knock of those cursed fishtails had got inside his head, was burst- ing out his eardrums. ““Well?” snapped Ben Sherrod. “Failure,”’ Ochiltree rasped. ‘‘The ship is ruined.” “Ruined? She still floats.” “The cargo is out of her. Bar iron, bolt calico, glassware, cutlery—-everything but the cursed coal,’”’ James Ochiltree said steadily. ““What’s been the obstacle?’’ Ben Sher- rod asked. Ochiltree, on the point of shouting in- sanely that Arad Whitney had snapped the masts out of her on purpose to discredit steam, was just able to swallow the fatal words unuttered. He could not bring him- self, under Marthé Sherrod’s eye, to cast that shadow over Arad’s heroic labors. But neither could he say that his friend Ericsson had got up a blind alley with his fishtails. “The obstacle?” he repeated. And dropped out “‘Che jin,” whimsically. “Che jin?” “The devils that have been using these marines of yours for hiding places. Have we ever tried to conciliate them or even discipline them? We have not. We've just let them lie flat on their faces, thinking God knows what, and then we bring them up and expect them to fight our battles for us. How do you know what they are think- ing now?” Ochiltree whispered, half de- lirious, with a furtive look over his shoulder. “Suppose steam had succeeded, wouldn’t they be out of a job? Where would be the need of giving these marines board and lodging if steam could shove us through these straits at a uniform nine knots? They are a pack of damned reactionaries!” Ochiltree shouted, glaring at their resolute red-shirted backs. Pointing a thin finger, he added: ‘‘ Here’s work for them at last.” The black body of a proa shot out of the shadow of the arroon trees on the sunken island. Another—another. Sherrod’s marines stared without the least change. of countenance from under the rims of their varnished hats, but they had the advantage of a ground-cork con- stitution. “TI guess the beggars are coming for us,” Bangs Biddle said. ‘‘Mr. Lovegreen, (Continued on Page 146)

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} , a 2 a A a oa eT ee eee | —-S = a Enjoyable living rooms by Iroehler No. 756. With its soft tufted back and luxunously comfortable cushions, this Kroehler Davenport is decidedly new. Covered in smart $ damask, as illustrated . 137 Of the same design as the davenport, High Back Chair No. 756 is espe- cially attractive in mohair 6 The price, as illustrated . . . 97) Prices slightly higher west of the Rockies and in Canada 5, eS ve pees a ke tad SNe IIE ree SORE RES a ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 145 Oa I al le finest moderately priced furniture... Master craftsmen, working slowly and beautifully by hand, make exquisite furniture. But the price is be- yond the average home. Kroehler, by combining the skill and handiwork of fine craftsmen with the focilities of a great, modern institution, has brought the enjoyment of fine living room furniture into millions of homes. Kroehler Assured Quality Living Room Furniture and Davenport Beds are strictly up-to-date. The de- signs are smart. The coverings are of exquisite color- ing and quality. It is furniture that will grace your living room with modern charm. It is furniture that will add to the comfort and hospitality of your home. Yet the prices are extremely moderate. Any family can afford it. An important feature of Kroehler building is the su- perior inside construction. Only see the “Kroehler Assured Quality” label and you know that every hid- den feature of the piece it marks is trustworthy. Kroebler Hidden Qualities Frames are of finest hard wood, with moisture re- moved to prevent warping. Corners are glued, doweled and firmly cross-braced, for durability. Compare this with cheap, soft wood flimsily nailed together. A new and remarkable Spring Steel Underconstruc- tion replaces common webbing. It never pulls out, sags or drops down. Gives box-spring comfort. Seat cushions are constructed of many finely tem- pered, small springs, interlocked to form a single flex- ible unit. Filling is of choice quality moss. Only highest grade, clean, white, felted cotton is used for padding. These features contribute to the unusual cushiony comfort of Kroehler sofas and chairs. KROE This Kroebler Label The covering fabrics used on Kroehler-made pieces are stylish, colorful and of extra-fine quality. You may choose from beautiful silk damasks, rich tapestries, fine mohairs, Chase Velmo, jacquard velours, Ca-Vel velvets, linen frieze and moquette. Also leathers of exquisite softness. Yet Kroehler Assured Quality Furniture — because it is built in the ten great Kroehler factories where modern ideas of construction, modern manufacturing practices and tremendous volume reduce the cost of making—gives you this finer quality at moderate prices If you do not know the name of a nearby Kroehler dealer, write us. We will send his name and a free copy of our booklet, “Enjoyable Living Rooms.” KROEHLER Mra. Co., Chicago, Ill., or Stratford, Canada Factories at: Chicago, lll.; Naperville, Ill; Kankakee, I Bradley, Ill.; Dallas, Tex.; Binghamton, N. Y.; Los Angeles, Calif.; San Francisco, Calif; Cleveland, Ohio. Canadian Pactori Stratford, Ont ed. owe identifies the genuine

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146 “FOR YOUR OUTDOOR CARPET” PIONEER “erackproor” GARDEN HOSE “Sunpro of” : ae. x a - «iy sO ‘tain't gwine rain no mo is the same hose 1 an ee red cover CRACKPROOF Wise home owners nowadays dco not put off replacing their worn garden hose until spring. They buy Pioneer Crackproof garden hose now, get the use of it this fall and when next spring comes they have garden hose on hand that is just as good as new because: Pioneer Crackproof, being reinforced with 48 extra strands of twisted long fibre cotton, after season of satisfactory service. gives season Go to your dealer—get Pioneer Crackproof garden hose and you will know why more Pioneer hose is in use than any other make. PIONEER RUBBER MILL Also manufacturers of Skookum cross expansion piston rod packing — Copper Queen rubber transmission belting — Reliance rubber covered conveyor belting— Victor fire hose. NEW YORK PORTLAND CHICAGO rACOMA DENVER LOS ANGELES SALT LAKE CITY SEATTLE SAN FRANCISCO (0 Showing how unusual strength us built into Pioneer “Crackproof™ ose. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 144) sway up the boarding nettings and get the small-arm chest into the fore crosstrees.”” Captain Arad, on the Spitfire’s quarter- | deck, had his telescope leveled at that out- | pouring of proas. “Boil the kettle,” he said shortly to old | Del. “She’s boiling, captain.” “Turn over those fishtails.”’ “These boilers are getting pretty weepy. | I can’t guarantee anything. They'll blow off before they'll start those propellers, the | way the shafts are out of line again.” “Sit on the safety valve, then.” Captain Arad, turning his head, saw that Loo Seng had come out of the cookroom, garbed as a Chinese gentleman, in a brown silk gown, short breeches tied at the knee, and white cotton blue-gartered stockings. A silk purse embroidered with seed pearls was pinned to his right breast, and his very fine blue-black pigtail, uncoiled from under the brown felt hat with turned-up brim, dropped to his very heels, actually trailed the deck. In his right hand he carried his lark in a crude wooden cage. This unlucky business of being caught in the strait, Loo Seng attributed to the un- lucky position of his father’s grave. He | had not had money enough to hire priests now?” Arad asked sternly. | his best bib and tucker. | would not fall. to hunt for the one favorable site; which, | no doubt, was just as well, since as long as they were paid to hunt, it would be nothing short of idiocy to find what they were look- | ing for. With his left hand, Loo Seng held an oiled-paper fan over his shaven head, | and under his right arm was nipped that paper umbrella of his dignity. “What says the fifth son of your father “* All coiled for running clear?” “Alla finishee,”” Loo Seng answered, drawing in his breath with a courteous hiss. “You see?” Arad said to old Del. “In He has let his pigtail down because he is expecting to be snatched up any minute into the China- man’s heaven.” “T can boot him up, if you say the word,” old Del said threateningly, his chin on a level with the engine-room hatch coaming. “Keep her in the wake!” Arad cried. “Now, gallows, save your own,” old Del | answered prayerfully. He disappeared, and Arad, after putting the men at their stations, called out, with a flourish of his arm toward the cabin com- panionway: “Loo Seng, bring me up that che jin of yours.” Loo Seng’s hiss was more polite than ever. He said in effect that he was an old man, a candle in the wind; such a burden would be more than his shoulders could support. He smiled sheepishly, and there was a note of lark music. “No hab got belly stlong arm,” he ex- plained. “It’s not heavy!” Arad cried impatiently. “To the unwilling, a grasshopper’s wing is heavy,” Loo Seng muttered to himself in the Canton dialect. A moment later, he saw his captain rushing past, arm in arm with that fantastic marine. They went through the engine-room hatch together, still in that affectionate embrace. Loo Seng, holding his fan against the sun, saw a white puff of smoke from the proa nearest the Witch. Yes, assuredly, long before this they should have put on the moon and covered themselves with stars, in place of shadow dancing with that ship devil in the steam chest. Yet even now, evidently, Captain Arad was going to consult him. Loo Seng sighed. He was very intent, rapt, entirely useless, etiquette itself. He counted forty proas and then looked covertly into the sky. Though his yellow head, smoke-dried and hung by its resplendent queue, should be thumbed and fondled at last by the snub-nosed bride of a Dyak oarsman, it was comforting to this connoisseur in lark music to reflect that, even in that dire event, the heavens For they were cast in one | piece. August 17,1929 Ochiltree and Captain Bangs Biddle stood in the shadow of the Witch’s after sun screen with drawn swords. The men, under Lovegreen, were going up and down smashing empty gunpowder bottles on the decks. Broken glass was the answer to a pirate’s bare feet. The proas were close aboard now. The split-bamboo decks were alive with Malays in their tight scarlet fighting clothes; betel-nut juice drooled from their huge mouths. On the fore part of the foremost proa was a brass swivel gun masked by a heap of bark, and served ap- parently by a chief in a crimson sash and black crépe trousers turned up to the knee. An outboard platform of stout bamboo stakes sharpened at their outer ends was fitted like a collar round the proa’s snakish hull. Men with grappling irons and with yellow spears tipped with black obsidian points stood there, massed behind bamboo shields. Ochiltree heard the creaking of the benches under the strokes of the Dyak pullers, the yielding of the bamboo decks under the impatient feet of the fighting men, with a kind of unbelief still in the reality of the predicament. Even the flight of spears that came through the nettings and rattled on the decks failed to carry conviction. It was all too brilliantly hide- ous, the work of che jin, of scene shifters at the beck of infernal artists. The mountain, the purple cliffs of that fantastic island, the sand spit with its regularly planted shapes of arroons, the glassy sea, the windless sky, had not been tampered with; but the impression of immobility was contradicted by the advance of the proas, as swift and fatal as darts out of the Dyak blow pipes thorns tipped with the poison of the upas tree, whose very shade was death to the sleeper. “*Now, let ’em have that grape!”” Bangs Biddle cried. Short-arm Torrey, an immense man with a spade beard, was captain of the nine- pounder. The muzzle of the gun was de- pressed for the grape with which its throat was jammed to take effect at short range, and the gun captain was retired to the full extent of the trigger line. Mr. Lovegreen, sighting, raised his hand, Torrey pulled the trigger line, a flash, puff and bang followed, and a wilting and crippling of the oars on the nearest proa resulted. But the nine- pounder made a contorted acrobatic leap off its gun carriage and landed on its back on deck. “I knew it!” Bangs Biddle roared. “Well, stand by to repel boarders!” Malay hooks bit into the Witch’s rails, clashed with Yankee axes, the air was filled with the clangs of gong music, and a rain of black men threw themselves against the nettings. Naked limbed, fantastic in care- fully piled, colored turbans, with knives in their crimson mouths and stabbing swords in both hands, they cut through the nettings and swarmed aloft, thick as devil’s needles. The sun burned on those powerful short Dyak swords, whose temper was such that they could cut a musket barrel in two with one stroke. A spear, driven down verti- cally from the main crosstrees, pierced the hat rim and shoulder of one of Sherrod’s marines, not a handspike’s breadth away from the bedeviled supercargo. Ochiltree saw the creature wince and topple; and stepped back of him barely in time to escape another spear, driven through his belly; but only to be confronted by a Dyak crouching on the rail, bare-legged, in a fighting jacket of shot silk, and with a silver soup-tureen cover laced against his midriff. That devil’s bloodshot eyes were half closed, he held his nasty yellow blow- pipe like a flute, his cheeks puffed, his lips pouted at the end of it. The thing was so fatally close that Cchiltree could see the very knots in a lashing by which a knife was fixed, bayonetwise, at its tip; could all but see the flight of the deadly sago thorn from that narrow mouth. He felt a dart of fire through his shoulder; but then, in the very hour and article of (Continued on Page 149

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 147 SPARKLING MOMENTS in the HISTORY OF BOTTLED CARBONATED BEVERAGES ! Write today for a Free! copy of this my words bu these Bubbling Beverages! he sighed Shakespeare (Curtain indicates lapse of half an hour) “This headache of mine was made for a horse!” moaned Will Shakespeare, as he reached for a recetitly endorsed cigarette. “I've been stewing around all morning trying to get Hamlet out of this scene, and here I am stuck on the first line of the soliloquy .. . I'll tell the world this writing business is a lot of baloney. I wish I’d taken that correspondence course in plain and fancy bank robbing. I’ve a good notion to chuck the whole thing. I. . .” ; Came a knock . . . and in glided Hulda, the attrac- tive serving maid, with a tray. “Your carbonated beverage, Sir; it’s eleven o'clock.” delicious punches, dainty des- Carbonated Beverages, 726 f ne , recipe book. Frozen salads, ys m serts. American Bottlers of VA CH) VLA 4 Bond Bidg., Washington, D.C. / wperer Ly Cs (22 i le of ad the spar “Really I must dash, off a sonnet to these bever- ages some day. J’ll call it ‘New Pep for Lagging Poets.’ Well, back to the mines for me. As the boys said last night when we were bringing home Bacon, ‘Writing plays is better than »orking for 4 living.’ Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes, ‘To be or not to be, that is the question . . ” And thus was Hamlet's soliloquy saved Papas terity and the Fifth Reader. Which reminds us to remind you to check up on your household stock of bottled carbonated beverages. BEVERAGES 1uesaR 8’ s A oe st tee I N tT ©. 8 T OWN

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148 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 ave the Surface Campaicn HEY say there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But what’s at the other end “ > > ; % —at the beginning? For practical purposes, the colors of the rain- bow start in cans of paint and varnish, enamel and lacquer—products that make possible the use of color to beautify your home. To your walls, ceilings and floors, they give the cheery brightness of colorful, tasteful decora- tion. To your furniture, they bring youth, new re’s gold at the end of it / finishes— modern, lasting, full of color. Any color combinations you wish are at your com- mand through the use of paint and varnish, enamel and lacquer. They capture the rainbow for your family’s enjoyment. And will you find gold at the other end of the rainbow? You will! For while you follow the colors with paint and varnish, enamel and lacquer, you preserve your property, protect it against age and hard use, you save the sur- face and save expensive repairs, save gold. SAVE THE SURFACE CAMPAIGN, 18 East 41st Street, New York This cooperative movement by the Paint and Varnish Indus- try has for its object the awakening of the public to the eco- nomic need for paint aad varnish products. The world. wide slogan, “Save the Surface and You Save All,” is yous reminder of that need. Discrimination in the selection of materials and in their proper application is essential to good results. Your guide to quality and satisfaction is the relia- bility of the individual manufacturer, dealer or painter. i! 4 | a ls a era = ——— SSS — = 3

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| —— —— t —_— (Continued from Page 146) death, as he supposed, he felt all the ac- cumulated savagery of defeated hopes arm- ing him back and breast. He set his foot against the soup-tureen cover and shoved with all his might. The Dyak vanished, but at once there were two in place of him, and Ochiltree thought he could see already the glint of consecrating gold dust in their hair. Then, with the speed of thought, the rail was clear of them; the crackle of musketry in the fore crosstrees might be responsible, but the assortment of missiles now in the air was too varied to trace effects to causes. Ochiltree found himself whirling, dodging, stabbing. Proas had collected round the ship like vultures round a dying deer. The crew, under Bangs Biddle, had formed a sort of lion’s mouth near the mizzenmast; and Ochiltree fought his way toward this, past that line of straw- hatted, red-shirted marines that still clung to the rail. Some were doubled over it, playing dead; and all had spears through them. Somebody on the admiral’s proa began to pound a gong; those thin-shanked fighting men in tight scarlet began to drip out of the rigging. Bangs Biddle, in rags, with a cut across his cheek and the sole of one shoe flopping, took Ochiltree’s arm. “It’s old Walk in the Water,” he gasped. “They see her coming. That’s what’s the matter with Hannah.” The Spitfire was coming head down like an infuriated bull, and the charge of that dismasted hulk had already cleared the Witch's decks. Suddenly she vanished in a cloud of steam round as a plum, from the middle of which came a heartbreaking, timber-splintering report. “Done for,” Bangs Biddle breathed, with cold horror. Not quite. The black clipper bow nosed its way out of the steam. Only one barrel of that double-barreled shotgun of old Del’s had gone. She set her forefoot against a straggling proa; the craft rolled under, shot out of water with a caressing, serpent- like motion, an ungainly flap of her mat sail. The crew were emptied into the water “like hairs blown out of a cap,” Loo Seng affirmed. This fifth son of his father, his eyes black as shoe buttons, had suddenly glimpsed in the sky the goddess of heaven gazing wist- fully at the peach of immortality, which she held at arm’s length, and quite out of Loo Seng’s reach. He clung to his lark, expect- ing now to be seized up out of his captivity by his pigtail and submitted to the in- terrogations of the examining angels. There was no need, as it turned out. The spectacle of a ship with neither sails, masts nor oars coming on a hundred legs across a flat calm was too much for the seamanship of those unlucky pirates. They were in full retreat; proud fighting men tugging at the same oars with Dyak slaves. The admiral himself—that Panglima Besar in black crépe trousers—had sounded the recall, beating on a gong a double note with his silver-mounted spear. But the Spitfire was already on top of him. The shadow of her jib boom whirled across his decks; Ochiltree saw him lift an arm all but paralyzed with fear, and shatter his spear against the ox- eyed mermaid at the Spitfire’s prow. Her kiss was lethal. He slipped to his knees, howled terribly, and was blotted out in a hot waft of escaping steam, through which Ochiltree could descry a flapping of mon- strous wings, or perhaps the contortions of that long-necked, fire-breathing ship devil the scrambling dragon of Loo Seng’s speech— who had freed himself at last, and saved two ships’ companies in doing so. Actually the commotion aloft was noth- ing but an offshore squall from the Sumatra shore that had got into the Witch’s sails, and very likely not too soon, because the Spitfire, already going down gracefully by the head, had got her stern out far enough to show those brass fishtails at her stern; THE SATURDAY and in sinking would be more or less stripped of her power to inspire terror. Ochiltree, lying in his bunk, with the blue | curtains drawn back, looked past Marthe Sherrod’s elbow—which was against his cheek —to the conference around the cabin table. “What casualties?” Ben Sherrod | snapped. “Six wounded. No dead. Ochiltree, | here, is lucky. It couldn’t have been fresh | poison on that thorn,” Bangs Biddle said. “The Spitfire’s on bottom now?” “Five minutes ago, I could just see her smoke pipe sticking out.” Ben Sherrod looked into his red memo- | randum book and noted something down. | “I made a mistake and I acknowledge | it!”’ he shouted briskly. “She was a losing venture from the start!” “She has just saved you a cargo of opium, to say nothing of the hides,”’ Ochil- tree muttered. “Hides? What hides?” “Our own hides.” “Pah. It so fell out, and that’s all. The Witch has saved our lives, you may as well argue, by catching a breeze. This won't | justify me in building another Spitfire, I | don’t care what the profits are on opium and I look for them to be considerable. No. | It’s a God’s providence, Arad, if everybody on board wasn’t killed when that boiler let go. Wasn’t the safety valve operating?” Loo Seng passed between them, holding gingerly in his arms one of the marines which he had untied from the rail. He was putting these dummies away under the bunks, instead of in the bilges, since they might be called upon again. “That valve? I had a man sitting on | it,”” Arad said. “A man? Where is he?” “You will have to ask Loo Seng. I don’t know the haunts of his che jin. It was just one of these marines. I hung him onto the | safety valve by that hook at the end of his arm, and there he volunteered to stay. He was just as important as the steam in turn- | | EVENING POST 149 MAN WANTED In your town or city, there is a man of rare foresight and sound judgment. Perhaps he has retired from business, and time now hangs heavy on his hands. He is far too young and active to be put out te pas- ing those fishtails over. The rest of us didn’t | ture, and he just can't wait to get back into harness again. linger in the engine room, did we, Mr. Del- amater? No. Wesimply lacked the ground- | cork inwards for it. Steam is just made for these marines of yours, Mr. Sherrod. It’s a catastrophe to flesh and blood.” Ochiltree cried, ‘‘ You will never convince me that John Ericsson is up a blind alley! The ship’s at fault, not the engine. She’s too limber. You might as well try to have wooden cylinders as a wooden ship for steam. It'll come toiron. Iron all the way through. An iron ship, rigged on the fore and main so that the yards will swing to- gether, and that'll mean a smaller crew and more engineers.” “He’s right,” Arad said sadly. “I'd like to tell you that we’ve seen the last of fish- tails, but we haven’t.” “Father, let him try iron!” Sherrod cried. “So be it. Iron. Iron from truck to keel. Iron to the gizzard,” Ben Sherrod yielded. “But I won’t sell my wooden ships yet.” Loo Seng shuffled aft with the last of the marines, and just before stuffing him under Marthe Bangs Biddle’s punk, drew out of him with | a polite hiss a Dyak thorn. “You hear missee cap’n say catchee iron ship?” Loo Seng said to this che jin. “ Allee | time changee, changee, changee. Changee into littu cloud. Allee same, you and I Number One olo flen; you belong honest man, only no got chance now. No can make handsome face on iron ship fish. All | light. You come catchee one piecee joss | house Canton side with me. All things same there. All things no have changee.” Loo Seng’s “old friend,” twin to that che jin who had gone off arm in arm with the ship devil, leered at him without notable change of expression, and rolled under the bunk at the end of Loo Seng’s courteous toe. | Or he may be a business man who is not satisfied with a 6 or 7 percent return on his outside investments... or a professional man —a bonker, a doctor, a lawyer—who is looking for a sofe yet profitable “sideline” in which to invest his surplus earnings. Again, a father, more wise than indulgent, who has a son about ready to make his own way in the world, a son whom he wants to put into a business where he can be “on his own.” We're looking for such a man. He must be big enough, finan- cially, not to count pennies, yet big enough, in his thought, to realize that a penny-business is too profitable to be overlooked in these days of successful chains and multiplied earnings. To him, we offer an opportunity to secure the exclusive local | franchise on a product in the automatic merchandising field, backed | by a $2,500,000 corporation that is old in experience, yet young in | vision ...We promise him an office that will be rich in appointments | but unusually sparing of overhead... every afternoon off for golf if he so wishes ... and a gross yield from his investment as high as | 47 per cent. lf you are that man, a letter will bring you detailed and spe- | cific information on our exclusive franchise plan. Address the International Ticket Scale Corporation, Dept. 201, Seventeen East | Forty-fifth Street, New York, N. Y. KCURATI

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j * © < " é : \e : 7 , ; J 4 ‘ , * * oS Your eyes work even when you play... help them with new Tillyer Lenses HE MAN who wants to take two strokes off his golf score is only one of millions who need the help of modern, wide-angle lenses. These lenses are accurate. You see accurately, no matter whether you are looking through the center of the lenses, or glancing through the edges. In business, at home, at play, wherever there is reading or writing or working or seeing to be done, Tillyer Lenses provide more accurate vision and greater comfort for the only eyes you'll ever have. The only way you'll ever know how much more helpful and comfortable Tillyer Lenses can be is to try a pair. Have a pair of these new Tillyers fitted to your frames, or have an entirely new pair of glasses made with Tillyer Lenses. Wear them for a month. Then just try going back to your old lenses, and you will quickly realize how much these new THE SATURDAY EVENING

POST August 17,1929 The ease, the speed and the accuracy with which yeu see make a real differ- ence in your golf score. Tillyer Lenses help your eyes judge distance and direc- tion with a greater accuracy. They help your game—make it more fun to play. Try Tillyer Lenses. © and modern wide-angle lenses are helping your eyes to do their work. Your eyes, you know, are your most precious possession. Take care of them. Have them examined once a year. Don’t wait until they complain of eyestrain. Perhaps they are telling you right now that you are overworking them. Headaches, listlessness, fatigue, are fre- quently symptoms of eyestrain. Your eyes need an examination once a year—and if they need glasses, then they deserve the best that optical science can give them. For a booklet describing Tillyer Lenses in detail, write Dept. 5, American Optical Company, Southbridge, Mass. New wide-angle . . accurate to the very edge TLLLYER. LENSES ¢An AMERICAN OPTICAL COMPANY product A. 0. Co. © 1929

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day, as the calendar of bills reported favor- ably sometimes would not reach him before three o’clock in the morning and had to be on the desks of the members by ten. Dur- ing the long session of 1913 I never missed a single day. That session of 1913 was the longest and stormiest in the history of the legislature. They were still in session in the month of December. They did everything the con- stitution gave them the power to do. They put a Supreme Court judge on trial, jailed a newspaperman for contempt of the as- sembly, and impeached the governor of the state. The Supreme Court justice was exoner- ated, but the newspaperman went to the Albany County Jail. He had written an article in a newspaper making the bold statement that money had been paid for votes to bring about the impeachment of the governor. He was subpcenaed before the House Committee on Judiciary, re- peated his charges and defied the com- mittee. The committee thereupon recom- mended that he be brought before the Bar of the House and charged with contempt. He had a family of children and I was un- willing that anything be done to punish him, but his open defiance of the assembly itself, while in session, so incensed both Republican and Democratic members that I was powerless to be of any assistance to him or his family, and he found himself one fall morning in the Albany County peni- tentiary. The state interposed no objec- tion when he was released just before Christmas on a writ of habeas corpus. Yet, in spite of all the turmoil, it is strange that during that year some of the most comprehensive reform legislation in the history of the state was enacted. The Workmen’s Compensation Act, the reform of the ballot, and the ratification of the amendment to the Federal Constitution providing for the direct election of United States senators were all put on the statute books while I was Speaker. Somewhere in the East River Among other things that year, the reso- lution to amend the constitution to permit the granting of suffrage to women was passed. I have often been asked what my attitude to women’s suffrage was and I have stated it frankly several times. I opposed the suffrage amendment as an assembly- man representing a single assembly district and my opposition was in thorough keeping with the sentiment of my district. Very few women in the old Second Assembly District were anxious to vote. I remember being called upon once by some of the suffrage leaders, and I told them that I would iggy Trae when I should be- come convin that the majority of women in my district were in favor of it. They then began to petition me, and I was greatly amused by the petition. Half of the people on it had no existence at all and some of the addresses indicated numbers that would require the city to build out into the East River. When my party as a whole declared in favor of the submission of the amendment, I led the fight for its passage in the assem- bly, as, in that instance, I believed that my own constituency had to bow to the will of the majority as expressed in the platform adopted by the party at the state conven- tion. While I was Speaker recommendations of the Factory Investigating Commission were practically completed. This gave to New York State probably the most enlightened labor code in the country. An honest direct-primary act based on recommendations originally made six years earlier by Governor Hughes, but which he had been unable to convince the legisla- ture should then pass, became law. A water-power bill setting up a hydro- electric commission for the capital district THE SATURDAY UP TO NOW (Continued from Page 23) to take advantage of the surplus waters of the Erie Canal for hydroelectric purposes at places called Crescent Dam and Vischer Ferry, was passed, but vetoed by Governor Sulzer. It was not until some years later that power plants were built by the state for the generation of electrical energy at these two points. Governor Sulzer called the legislature into extraordinary session in an effort to force through the enactment of a direct- primary measure. Under our state consti- tution no measures may be proposed and nothing is in order in an extraordinary session except on recommendation from the governor by special message. A Governor Impeached Governor Sulzer sent a message to the legislature relating to an amendment to the Corrupt Practices Act, whereupon a Repub- lican senator arose in his place and offered a resolution to investigate the governor's own campaign funds. Certainly, the Dem- ocratic members of the senate should not and could not be expected to oppose any such proposal without leaving themselves open to the charge of being willing to cover up some of the things alleged by the intro- ducer of the resolution. A committee was appointed to conduct an investigation. New York State has a Corrupt Practices Act with severe regula- tions, requiring an accounting for campaign funds. Within twenty days after election every candidate for office is required to file, under oath, a statement of all moneys re- ceived and expended by him. This pro- vision of law also applies to political parties, state committees or individual committees created for the purpose of assisting in the election of any candidate for public office. The facts disclosed concerning the Sulzer campaign fund brought about the impeach- ment of the governor by the assembly. His trial before the Court of Impeach- ment, which is made up of the judges of the Court of Appeals and the members of the state senate, clearly established the accusa- tions as true. The governor himself did not take the stand and made no defense. He was found guilty by the Court of Impeach- ment, and his removal from office auto- matically followed. In accordance with the constitution, he was succeeded by the lieutenant governor, Martin H. Glynn, of Albany County. The impeachment of the governor caused widespread comment and ill feeling through- out the whole state. The Republican Party sought in every way to capitalize the im- peachment of the Democratic governor by the members of his own party. The session of 1914 was not productive of much beneficial legislation. It really re- solved itself into a political quarrel between the Democratic senate and the Republican assembly. Disagreement between them on the appropriation bills resulted in adjourn- ment without making provision for the support of government. Governor Glynn thereupon called them back into extraor- dinary session immediately, and the appro- priation bill as finally passed represented a compromise between two contending politi- cal factions. In the fall of 1914, Martin Glynn, who had become governor after Sulzer’s im- peachment, became the Democratic candi- date. He was defeated and Charles S. Whitman was elected. Determined efforts were made in both houses of the legislature to break down and weaken the factory laws in 1915, when the Republicans were in full control in both houses, with a Republican governor in the Executive Chamber. Even the New York Tribune severely criticized the Republican leaders in an editorial. Governor Whitman attempted to effect some consolidations of departments, but was balked by the mem- bers of his own party. The state comp- troller at the time was going to lose some EVENING POST patronage by the proposed changes, so he rallied the Republicans in the legislature and defeated the bill. While I was Speaker in 1913, Sophie Irene Loeb, Mrs. William Einstein and several other progressive people came to the legis- lature with a proposal! that the children of widowed mothers should no longer be ob- jects of charity. They proposed a pension for widowed mothers so that children might remain at home under the care of the mother, instead of being sent to institutions. It was not possible to put through such an important reform at once, especially as it was even opposed by some of the charitable relief organizations. Instead, a commission was named, consisting of five assemblymen, three senators and five persons to be named by the governor, to inquire into the question of pensions for widowed mothers. As a re- sult of the labors of this commission the present Child Welfare Act in its original form came before the legislature of 1914. It passed the assembly, but met defeat in the senate, In 1915 it was again introduced, but after four or five years of progressive forward- looking social legislation the pendulum be- gan to swing in the other direction and reactionary influences gripped the session of 1915. Though the bill passed the senate unanimously, the reactionary spirit of that year was shown on the floor of the assem- bly. The Republican leader and a number of his companions showed vigorous opposi- tion and, strange to say, the arguments put forth by them in opposition were identical | with the language used by William Barnes, Jr., later that same year as leader of the Republican Party at the Constitutional Convention. So it was easy to see the source of the inspiration. Incidentally, the Republican leader of the assembly also came from Albany, which was then regarded politically as a princi- pality within a republic ruled by William Barnes, Jr. It fell to my lot, as minority leader, to urge the passage of that measure. I was interested in the subject from the time I appointed the members of the assem- bly who served on the commission. On a Different Plane In the course of my speech in the debate on this bill I put it on a plane on which it had not before that time been considered. I pointed out the catastrophe to the young family when the provider is taken from them by death and drew the picture of the widowed mother in the police court watch- ing the judge sign the commitment which took her children away from her for no other reason than her inability to support them. I said: “What must be her idea of the state's policy when she sees these children sepa- rated from her by due process of law, par- ticularly when she must remember that for every one of them she went down into the valley of death that a new pair of eyes might look out upon the world? What can be the feelings in the hearts of the children themselves, separated from their mother by what they must learn in after years was due process of law, when they must in after years learn to know what was the state's policy with respect to their unfortunate condition?” I then indicated what the new policy would be if the bill passed and how the state recognized in the children a resource to be taken care of “not as a matter of charity, but as a matter of government and public duty.” I concluded: “We have been in a great hurry to legislate for the interests. We have been in a great hurry to conserve that which means to the state dollars and cents. We have been slow to legislate along the direc- tion that means thanksgiving to the poorest man recorded in history——-to Him who was born in the stable at Bethlehem. (Continued on Page 153

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

August 17,1929 “Tron FiREMAN saved us $4496.50 “BXROM September 15, 1927, to February 29, 1928, we have made an actual saving of $4496.30. This amount is 49% of our total fuel bill last year.’—from an apartment house owner in Detroit.* “We were using four boilers, hand- fired. Now we use two 125 h. p. boilers with Iron Fireman stokers, and save 25% in tonnage plus the labor of one man.’’—a Beston bank. “We have saved in coal and labor approximately $2500 during the past yvear.”°—a Pittsburgh manufacturer. “We have saved $675, or almost 50% in our fuel bill.’—a school board in South Daketa. “A net saving of $22.80 a week. or 33%."°—a laundry in St. Paul. *““We are saving 40% of our heating cost, about 25% in tonnage and 15% in fuel cost.” —a manufacturer in Montreal. **A net saving on heating cests this year of $1159.48.°°—a florist in Peoria. **Fuel bill, hand-fired, $1118.88. Fuel bill, with Iron Fireman, %654.11."°—a Salt Lake bank. “Before installing Iron Fireman had numerous complaints on account of building not being properly heated. Have gone through two winters now without a bit of trouble and no complaint from tenants.”"°—an apartment in Louisville. a From all over America such tributes pour in. “Forced Underfiring,”’ the Iron Fireman principle of combustion, is rec- ognized by heating engineers as the one The IRO Automatie Thousands in use from September to February”

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(Continued from Page 151) ‘*We have beenespecially blessed by divine Providence in this state. He has seen fit to make it the great financial and the great commercial center of the western world. I believe it will in time be demonstrated that He intends to make it the market place of all the world; and by this legislation, by the adoption of this policy, we are sending up to Him a prayer of thanksgiving for the innumerable blessings that He has show- ered upon us, particularly in the light of the words of the Saviour Himself, who said: ‘Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’” Viewed in that light, sufficient Republican assemblymen rallied to the support of the bill to pass it. Having lived al! my life in the poorer sec- tion of New York City, I was able to know at first hand and had personal knowl- edge of the hardships of the mother n THE SATURDAY state engineer and surveyor. The water- power interests of the state admitted that these provisions were intended to curb any repetition of the attempts made between 1911 and 1914 to give legislative approval to any plan of state development. A concerted attempt was made to break down the labor laws. Bills were introduced to lengthen the hours of labor of women and children employed in the canneries of the state. The most outstanding piece of reaction- ary legislation was the weakening of the Workmen’s Compensation Act under the guise of reorganizing the Labor Department. This legislation, as written into the law of 1915, did away with the supervision by the state of settlements for injuries and deprived workers of the protection given by a settle- ment under state supervision. This amend- ment provided for private settlements EVENING POST providing for a reorganization of the Work- men’s Compensation Commission and wrote direct settlements into the law itself. Dur- ing the debate on the bill a telegram was re- ceived from the president of the American Federation of Labor, Samuel Gompers, call- ing the attempt to change the law in this way “reactionary and detrimental to the interest of the workers of the state.’’ The production of the telegram created quite a scene in the assembly, as it had been stated in debate in defense of the measure that it met with the favor of the president of the American Federation of Labor. The Re- publican legislators disliked to favor this particular bill, but they obeyed the whip of party leadership. The same sharp leader- ship produced executive approval by the governor. In my contest for the governorship in 1918 the abolition of direct settlements be- tween insurance companies and in- ‘ jured workers became an issue, and

and the disappointment of the chil- dren when, at the death of the father, they are taken to court to be separated from the mother and committed toan institution. I can- not help thinking how close I came tothat experience myself. Had my mother not been in the enjoyment of good physical health, I would probably have found myself in the same difficulty. When I was governor I signed many bills extending the benefits of the original act. I regretted that I left Albany without securing legis- lative approval to a proposal which would encourage backward coun- ties to establish boards of child wel- fare. I wanted the state to subsi- dize such localities. Though many men and women took a keen interest in the progress of this legislation, one figure stands out above all. Sophie Irene Loeb, who died recently, was the great driving force behind the Widows’ Pension and Child Welfare Bills and kept the group together, includ- ing myself, until child-welfare laws similar to our own in this state were enacted in all but four states. A Ripper Session Out of power for four years, the Republican Party came into full and complete control of all the ma- chinery of the state government on the first of January, 1915. Ata vic- tory dinner in December, 1914, after Whitman had been elected, a prominent member of the Repub- lican Party referred to the fact that the party which gave the people not what they wanted but what the party thought they ought toget had been returned to power. The reac- tionary tone and character of that speech were reflected in the opera-

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I asserted that I would do every- thing in my power to remove the direct-settlement clause of the Workmen’s Compensation Act. Obstacles in the Way I did not dream at the time that this year of 1915 would be the end of my legislative service. In 1914 I had been elected a member of the Constitutional Convention repre- senting my senatorial district. The convention met in the Assembly Chamber in Albany in April, 1915. It was overwhelmingly Republican, although the leading men of both political parties were elected to it. Senator Elihu Root was selected for chairman. Judge Morgan J. O’Brien was selected to lead the Democrats, and George W. Wick- ersham, former Attorney-General of the United States, was selected to lead the Republicans. I looked forward eagerly to the sessions The convention began its duties after an opening speech by Senator Root wherein he stated that the con- stitution contained considerable ob- we — solete matter and should be brought up to date. He found fault, in the first instance, with the size of the constitution and with the number of words employed in it, and suggested that with proper revision it could be reduced to a small-size book that could be carried in your vest pocket. LeRoy Austin, a young lawyer of Greene County, was appointed chairman of the Committee on Re- vision and ambitiously set his com- mittee to work at once studying the older provisions of the constitution to see how much of these could be left out. The first section the com- mittee lit upon occurred in Article I, which had to do with the abolition of feudal tenures, alodial tenures

tions of the legislature of 1915. That session was noted for the number of ripper bills appearing upon the cal- endars of both houses. Special interests seeking governmental favor were busy. The lobby was revived and active against water-power develop- ments and against all amendments to the labor laws. They successfully blocked prog- ress and succeeded in writing into the statute books many of their reactionary measures. Under the guise of reorganization, the Conservation Commission, charged with control and development of water power, was legislated out of office and a single com- missioner substituted. He was to hold office with the unique provision that he could not be removed by the governor without the consent of two-thirds of the members of both houses of the legislature. There was also a provision written into the law that no plan for the comprehensive development of the water powers of the state under state ownership could be effective without the approval of the attorney-general and the PHOTO. SUPPLIED BY INTERNATIONA NEWSREEL Downtown Tammany Club, on Madison Street, Where Al Smith Started His Political Career between the injured persons and the insur- ance companies. No living person today, employer or worker, would have the hardihood to sug- gest that we go back to the old method of compensation after injury—with the long- drawn-out lawsuit, a large part of the recov- ery being paid to the lawyer, the injured people dying before the case reached the Court of Appeals, and all the old legal argu- ments of “assumption of risk,’’ the “fellow servant rule” and “contributory negli- gence”’ set up as defenses. The Democrats in both houses vigorously opposed and fought these proposals for direct compensa- tion settlements. Senator Wagner and myself, leaders of the minority, succeeded in defeating the first attempt to put through this legislation when it was put into the appropriation bill as a rider, but the Republican leaders mar- shaled their forces and then put in a bill and leases of agricultural lands. These provisions were put into the constitution in the early days of the state because of the practices of the holders of large tracts of land in the capital district known as the Rensselaer-Wyck es- tates. After considerable study the com- mittee came before the convention with a proposal to eliminate these passages from the constitution. In the body was a lawyer from Brooklyn who specialized in title searching. He started to speak against striking out these sections of the constitution after recess on Tuesday. He talked until adjournment and started in again upon reconvening on Wed- nesday morning, talked all day Wednesday, and on Thursday the convention voted on the proposal. They voted to leave the sec- tions in. The lawyer had created sufficient doubt in the minds of the members as to whether or not their removal might not, in some way or another, affect title to prop- erty. You can imagine, after that per- formance, how difficult it became to take anything out of the constitution.

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154 Avoid Ni ght Accidents THE SATURDAY This Automatic Way This beautiful lamp lights the turns before you make them. See it today at your dealer. O matter how carefully you drive at night, ordi- ury headlights do not fully roteét you. When you round orner or a curve they shoot f into space leaving you mporarily helpless in the dark. Dan- gerous for you! Dangerous for your fam- id friends! A conStant source of ental Strain! Science Found a Remed) Bur now lamp has been invented at corretts this situation. Mounted be- tween headlights and slightly lower it automatical respon is to the slightest ich of the Steering wheel and turns faster than the wheels of your car. Thus it throws a full beam of light around each turn before you make it Makes Night Driving Safe With this lamp, called Pilot-Ray, you drive with confidence. You protect your- es ..or send the coupon below selfand family against the ris- ing tide of accidents which threatens even most careful drivers. (Over 800,000 acci- dents with 27,000 killed in United States last year, accord- ing to National Safety Council.) See Your Dealer There is only one Pilot-Ray. No oth- er lamp operates on this safety principle. No other lamp guards your life at night so faithfully If you are buying a new car, you can include the price of Pilot-Ray in your contrat. Or you can have your dealer install it on your present car. Pilot-Ray’s brilliant chromium finish adds beauty to any automobile See your dealer today about this mag- ical lamp that lets you see around the corner, or send the coupon below for prices and further information. PILOT-RAY AT ALL AUTOMOTIVE DEALERS — — — —— — MAIL THIS shah pec nemaiamaedinunnd- scr teers stat: > PILOT-RAY CORPORATION, Please send me without obligation, y | Security Title Insurance Bldg.. 6th and Grand, Los Angeles, Calif. i ' strated, explanatory gift booklet on Safe Night Driving | EVENING POST In spite of the speech of the presiding officer and the endeavor on the part of the Committee on Revision to reduce the size of the constitution, the final document emanating from the convention assumed the proportions of the New York City Tele- phone Directory. During 1914 and 1915 a decidedly re- actionary element in the Republican Party had been actively bent upon attempting to stop what they called socialistic legislation. They included workmen’s compensation and many of the factory laws and the provision for pensions for widowed mothers in that grouping. By a cleverly worded amend- ment to the constitution introduced by | William Barnes, Jr., then leader of the Re- publican Party, they sought to prohibit the legislature from passing any more measures of a similar nature. The full purport of the proposed resolution was not understood for some time because of the subtle wording. To the best of my recollection, it ran as fol- lows: “‘The legislature shall not pass any bill granting hereafter to any class of in- dividuals any privilege or immunity not granted equally to all members of the state.” I was a member of the committee to which this resolution was referred, and I fought it in the committee as vigorously as I knew how. I was beaten on the question of reporting it to the convention, by the strong support Mr. Barnes was able to hold u'ider his leadership. Too Clever With the Pen The resolution came on the calendar of the convention for debate at a night session. We were debating under a rule that limited the members to ten minutes, with a half hour for the majority and minority leaders. The danger of sich an amendment to the constitution was fully realized by the more liberal-minded delegates on the Republican side, and Mr. Wickersham, the Republican leader, gave me twenty minutes of his half hour, using only ten minutes himself, and permitted me to devote a half hour to op- position to its adoption. The call of the roll showed the Democratic minority solidly against it. With them in the same voting column were the liberal Republicans, in- cluding their leader, and the resolution was defeated; but it indicated the trend of the times, as far as active Republican leaders were concerned, to the whole question of social legislation. Barnes himself was a man of unusual ability, a good talker with a broad mind, but he was probably as reactionary a man as I ever met. He came by his convictions honestly. In the course of his speech in favor of his unique proposal to stifle all social legislation, he blamed the war on the socialistic tendencies of the German Empire. He said that socialistic bills and socialistic proposals had so gripped the people of Ger- many that they ceased to consider that the government existed for them and were forced to the belief that they existed for the government. He referred to a speech made by Prince Bismarck before the Reichstag in 1873, when he quoted Bismarck as having said: “Take care of the widowed mother; pro- vide insurance against sickness and old age, and they””—meaning the Socialists—“‘ will have sung their swan song.” Though I disagreed with him on his political theories as bitterly as I could, I always had a regard for him and for his ability, and I am reasonably certain that it was reciprocated. He was a powerful leader of men and intellectually convinced of the soundness of his position. The chief debates in the convention oc- curred upon the proposals to amend the constitution to bring about the shortening of the ballot and the reorganization of state government, the adoption of an executive budget, the adoption of a proposal to amend the constitution to require a literacy test for voting, and upon the proposal to set up a Conservation Commission of twelve mem- bers, one from each judicial district. I favored the reorganization of the govern- ment and the short ballot, but I wanted a August 17,1929 modification calling for the election of the attorney-general, and not for his appoint- ment, as the amendment submitted pro- posed. I felt that the state’s chief law officer in advisory capacity to the legisla- ture as well as to the executive departments should be elected in order to preserve the absolute independence of the two branches of the government. Because of the wording of the resolution, I opposed the adoption of the executive budget. In the form in which it was sub- mitted in the convention it did not cover the whole field of appropriation of public moneys, as I believed it should. In under- lying theory, I declared that I believed it to be right. I believed then, as now, that the responsibility for recommending the ap- propriation of public money should rest upon the governor in the first instance, while in no way depriving the legislature of its power to make the actual appropriation. Although I opposed it in the Constitutional Convention in 1915, I accepted it in 1926 in the form in which it was offered in the convention. But in 1920, in my first term as governor, I urged it in the way that I believed it should have been worded. In the convention I opposed the literacy test for voters upon the theory that men and women who come to this country, work hard, send their children to school, take an oath of allegiance to our Consti- tution and to our flag, and obey our laws, are good citizens and, because of the handi- caps of early life, should not be deprived of having a voice in the government un- der which they live. This amendment was defeated in the Constitutional Convention, but was afterward adopted by the legisla- ture as a proposal and put to a state refer- endum. It was in the course of the debate on the literacy test that I said that the ability of a man to write was no indication of his character. I referred to the number of sojourners at Sing Sing prison who were not only able to write their own names but found their way in there because of their ability to write somebody else’s name. The proposal to set up by judicial dis- tricts a large, cumbersome, irresponsible, constitutional body for the conservation of our natural resources looked to me like an attempt on the part of the power interests of the state to prevent any state develop- ment or state ownership of our great water powers. Another measure which provoked con- siderable debate was offered by Seth Low, former mayor of Greater New York, who was chairman of the Committee on Affairs of Cities. It was the home-rule-for-cities provision. This proposed amendment was afterward adopted during my governorship and is now part of our constitution. Crowded Sessions The various sessions of the convention were crowded with people on vacation and traveling through the state, stopping off at Albany. The debates were interesting and the night sessions were pretty well attended. Mrs. Smith and the children spent some time in Albany during the sessions of the convention 2nd, as a matter of fact, my eldest son, Alfred, acted as volunteer page boy. I sought to write into the constitution a provision permitting the creation by law of a minimum wage board with power to fix minimum wages for women and children in industry in accordance with local condi- tions and necessities. On roll call it failed of adoption. I debated it with one of our foremost constitutional lawyers, Louis Mar- shall. Though we disagreed sharply, I have to this writing enjoyed the pleasure and benefit of his friendship. In my later years as governor I often found myself working hand in hand with him against the forces we both were against in the Constitutional Convention. Together we have resisted encroachments by the power interests on the Adirondack preserve, developed the State College of Forestry, and protected minority rights. (Continued on Page 157) wow nw i eee —— SS ee SSE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 155 ‘ FAM OU § PE eS Al Sag aS 7, When Czar Alexander II Guessed Wrong “Hi! Mush! Mush on!” } f t ) | The long whips crack; the heavily-laden sleds leap for- cad ward; the race to the newest Alaskan Eldorado has begun. y 4 Cold, hunger, weariness, danger —what are these to high- hearted, courageous, grimly | determined men whose pulses leap to the lure of Gold! Again and again this thrilling 5 drama has unrolled on that Pp “dreary, frozen waste of icy \ wilderness” which Alexander II of Russia sold to the United States “for a song.” Since we bought Alaska for $7,200,000 | "* in 1867, the territory has pro- a duced over $366,000,000 in gold alone—and many hun- dreds of millions mere in silver, copper, timber, furs, oil | and other products. Alexander II simply “guessed wrong.” Had he known the facts regarding the hidden re- sources of this rich Empire of I, the North, Russia could have demanded today a thousand | times the $7,200,000 we paid for it. | Guessing’ | is hehind many business losses, too LEXANDER II may perhaps be excused business, industrial and security market to the Standard Statistics Company's services ew ee SO a SS eer for not knowing a// the facts regarding the resources of a territory as vast and isolated as Alaska was in 1867. The business man or investor today has no such excuse, for the kind of facts that would safeguard his interests are easily available. To aid business institutions and individual investors to direct their financial operations along sound and profitable lines, the Standard problems. Twenty-three years of acknowledged leader- ship as a statistical organization has enabled “Standard” to number among its subscribers not only thousands of large and small in- vestors and business men, but also the /argest banks and financial houses in North America. With accuracy as its watchword, " Standard” permits no essential fact relating to general has at his constant command the caretully weighed advice and counsel of an indepen dent, unbiased organization A Kind of Service YOU Can Use Through the Services published by the Standard Statistics Company, you, too, may secure, at relatively small cost, the exact type of information and advice you need to meet your specific problems Statistics Company — the largest _ statistical business, a basic industry or commodity, an If you will simply write us on your business organization in the world — maintains a staff important corporation, or the stocks or bonds stationery, or pin the coupon to your business of nearly 700 trained people, engaged solely of such a corporation, to escape the notice of letterhead, we will gladly tell you about the in collecting, organizing and interpreting facts its clients. Its analyses are complete. Its con- sort of results we believe Standard Services for the guidance of those concerned with clusions are sound Moreover, every subsc riber STANDARD STATISTICS COMPANY, INC. 200 VARICK STREET ~--- NEW YORK could accomplish for you Standard Statistics Company, Inc., Dept. P 89 200 Varick Street, New York, N. Y Please tell me about the Standard Service that w valuable to me Organized 23 years ago to distribute business and investment informa Please put a check mark in the proper sq tion to reinforce the efforts of business conce rns, inve stment houses and i oan aon individeedl iawentes eddies Matias investors by a conscientious endeavor to furnish statistics, literature and 2 ; , » 4 . ) : han] reports on every business and financial subject of general interest a commercial banker , at . ° ° My Name The Largest Statistical Organization in the World aca Address Cit

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Roy L. Mitchell and Byron K. Newcomb, who piloted the “City of Cleve- land” —immediately after landing. .. +++ 174 continuous hours in the air... 18 days and 9 hours of non-stop driving on land ... two new records added to the long list of endurance victories won with Kendall Oil ... and both runs ended with the motors still going “as smoothly as when they started.” tahoe sage tt: 2000 1/l Pennsylvania oils have a great advantage to start with. But this oil bas an even greater MILE OIL ad vantage. Up near Bradford, in Pennsylvania, there is an oil field that produces Bradford Grade Crude. It is acknowledged as the finest crude obtainab/e; it commands the highest posted mar- ket price; there is a premium on every barrel. Kendall Oil is made entirely from this Bradford . ' Grade of Crude PENNSYLVANIA \ 7 per uart & 7 . higher in the South and West KENDALL OIL -- THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Run made under official A. A. A. observation. Record subject to final confirmation. It is significant that Kendall Motor Oil was used in setting both of these records and that in neither case was the run terminated by motor failure. Here is double proof—if proof were needed—ol the exceptional qualities of this “2000 Mile Oil’, which breaks records for endurance as easily and as surely as if it were just a part of the regue lar day's work. The reason is a simple one: Kendall is all oil! \t is pure, tough- bodied —refined from 100% Bradford Crude, the finest crude oil in the world!* August 17,1929 On July 6, the “City of Cleveland” set a new record for continuous flight— 174 hours and 59 seconds—and landed at the Cleveland Airport, the pilots exhausted from battling storms. | AGAIN... B KENDALL ™ BREAKS ALL RECORDS On June 30, a Marmon-Built Roosevelt Eight was stopped on the Indianapolis Speedway by a furious storm after smashing by more than ten days all records for non-stop driving. These new records (like the recent achievement of Elinor Smith) are not isolated instances. They are part of a long series of repeated proofs of Kendall quality. The success of Kendall Motor Oil in these strenuous tests puts beyond doubt its ability to stand up in your car and give thorough lubrication for 2,000 miles, if you merely maintain the proper oil level. Ask for Kendall at the next station where you see the Kendall trade mark displayed. KENDALL REFINING COMPANY BRADFORD, PENNSYLVANIA a SS Om. ey _ ee oe. —w Se Se oe 4

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(Continued from Page 154) During all the debates in which I en- gaged I am unable to remember that I took as personal anything urged against me, and I trained myself to give every adversary the benefit of believing that he was conscien- tious and came by his opinions honestly. I never opposed men. I opposed principles. Coming to the close of the convention, which had lasted until well into September, I had a long talk with Senator Root. He asked me my opinion of the constitution as completed, and what chances there were of its adoption by the people. I told him, frankly, I did not think it could be adopted for various reasons. First, it had taken the best lawyers in the state nearly four months to put it together, and now it was proposed to give the people of the state only six weeks to digest it. I further told him that I thought it was a mistake to submit it in a single document. If its submission had been delayed one year and it had been submitted in sections so that the people of the state could vote for the sections they liked and against the ones they disliked, the larger part of the revi- sions might have been adopted. Compromise From the Start I explained to him that the big underly- ing difficulty was that the proposed consti- tution was a compromise. I said, “‘There is too much in it that tries to please everybody. From the moment it was com- pleted it was bound to make more enemies than friends, because we must bear in mind that constructive reforms are often bitterly opposed by the very people who may be beneficiaries of the reform which is sought.” Further indicating the spirit of compro- mise that permeated the whole body, at the opening of the session a man from the cen- tral part of the state offered a resolution to the effect that the clerk be instructed to buy for the members drinking water bottled in his section of the state. Quite unexpectedly it provoked a strenuous argument. Senator Brackett sprang to his feet and said, “‘The state of New York is owner and entitled to the waters of the Saratoga Springs, and they are the best drinking waters in the world. I regret and deplore the passing of a resolution declaring it to be the purpose of the convention to use privately bottled wa- ters.”” Whereupon compromise started and the resolution was amended to buy both waters and let the members of the conven- tion take their choice. They even com- promised on the drinking water. Employes of the cities of the state were opposed to the new constitution because of the home-rule amendment. Had it been adopted at that time, it would have taken from large groups of employes the protec- tion they were enjoying by having their salaries fixed by state law. The conservation article had roused the opposition of students of conservation and organizations for the protection and preser- vation of the Adirondacks. The same reactionary influences, partic- ularly in the small upstate counties, which had for political reasons voted against the submission of the executive budget and the reorganization of the government, lined themselves up with the ranks of those op- posed to the constitution for other reasons. The article of the constitution apportion- ing the senators and assemblymen to the various counties met with vigorous opposi- tion in New York City. Largely because of that article, I voted against the adoption of the constitution myself. I held it to be, at that time, and I assert today, that that constitutional provision is a denial of the theory of representative democratic gov- ernment. Under its provision, if you live in the city of New York you are one of 125,- 000 or 150,000 people entitled to represen- tation in the assembly, but if you live in Putnam County you are only one of 10,000 entitled to representation. It is this par- ticular provision of the constitution that has given the Republican organization such a grip.upon the assembly that, in 1922, when I was elected governor by a plurality THE SATURDAY of 387,000, the assembly still remained Republican. The debates on the apportionment ar- ticle were very bitter. Senator Brackett of Saratoga Springs arose in his seat and said, “Let’s have an end to this bickering back and forth between the Democrats and Republicans, and let us Republicans frankly say that we propose to keep control of the legislature upstate and we are not going to let one little corner of the state of New York control the whole state.” Probably the worst blow dealt to the new constitution came from the ranks of organ- ized labor because of a proposed amend- ment to the Bill of Rights. The European War was going on in 1915. The amendment to the Bill of Rights brought forth a storm when Judge Cullen, former chief justice of our Court of Appeals, in speaking about the proposed constitution, said that “‘there should be no drumhead courts in times of peace.” Probably no man in the public life of this state commanded any more wide- spread respect than did Judge Cullen, and countless thousands of people, without in- quiring into the matter at all, proceeded on the theory that the amendment to the Bill of Rights was so revolutionary as to give military control in time of peace. The trade-unions led the opposition to the new constitution and succeeded in defeating it by a majority of half a million. Just at the close of the convention William Barnes, Jr., who was the most consistent foe of the direct nominating system you probably could find in the length and breadth of the state of New York, gave the delegates a laugh. When tle Tammany Hall executive committee made its desig- nation of me to participate in the primary for the office of sheriff, Mark Eisner, then a delegate to the Constitutional Convention and a great friend of mine, received that word by telephone. He rushed into the assembly chamber and asked for recogni- tion by the chairman. In his excitement he failed to say that the Tammany executive committee had “‘designated"’ me to run in the primaries for sheriff. He stated that the Tammany executive committee had “nominated” me. After the applause died down, William Barnes, Jr., arose in his place and said, ‘“‘Mr. President, I thought we had direct nominations in this state.” Where Much May be Learned The intimate associations of the five months in Albany made for me a large number of what afterward became personal friends, and they have since been, at differ- ent times, in comraunication with me on all kinds of subjects affecting the state govern- ment. From that time up to the present day I have enjoyed the personal friendship of many whom I met there. The adjournment of the Constitutional Convention resembled the graduating class of a university bidding one another good-by at the close of their labors together. Nine- teen fifteen probably presented me with what was, up to that time, the hardest year’s work I had ever done. And when I left Albany I plunged right into the campaign for sheriff without rest or vacation of any kind. As I close the period dealing with my legislative career, looking back over the years, I am prepared to say that the legis- lature is a great university of learning for the young man who is willing to give it his full time, his full attention and close study In no other place in the world can you make firmer or warmer friends. There is a com- radeship between members of the legisla- ture certainly not equaled in business and maybe not in schools or in colleges. To the young lawyer, service in the legislature is most valuable. They say that no man knows the engine the way the man does who works in the plant where it was built. No man knows law and the reasons for it, what permitted it and the forces opposing it, better than the member of the legislature who gives his work study and proper at- tention. I loved the assembly. It was an institution to me. It made me acquainted EVENING POST with people all over the state and gave me a broad vision that I could obtain in no other way. Above everything, I still like to think of the opportunity it gave me to do something to help large numbers of people which I would be unable to do in any other way. When the session of 1916 convened I had a deep regret that I found myself sheriff of New York, because I realized that in that position, outside of giving advice, I would be helpless to raise my voice on the floor of | the legislature for the protection as well as the advancement of the beneficent laws whose enactment I had aided. I deem it needless for me to say that the | experience of my twelve years in the legisla- | ture was of inestimable benefit to me when I became governor, particularly the knowl- | edge I had acquired of the state’s fiscal system and the appropriation and handling of state funds. Equally helpful in other constructive measures I later advocated | was my knowledge of what had happened to bills in other vears and my memory of the forces that had previously brought about their defeat. Old-Home Night There was regret expressed at my leaving Albany, and it was certainly gratifying to have Republican newspapers express it editorially, as The Tribune did, and also to have a non-partisan organization like The Citizens’ Union support me for the new office. The fall of 1915 found me for the first time engaged in a campaign that appealed to the county and not just to my home dis- trict. I was running for sheriff. It was a unique campaign. Probably I made more speeches than any candidate for that office who had ever pre- ceded me, and the joy and satisfaction over my nomination was at so high a point in the old neighborhood that Old-Home Night was celebrated on Oliver Street with bands of music and a display of fireworks. The windows were illumined with Chinese lan- terns, and it seems to me that in the course of four hours I shook hands with every man and woman in the old district. My district had more nationalities than any other in the city. Large delegations from every civilized country in the world passed in front of the old house during the party. Chinamen, although not voters, were en- | thusiastic rooters, and the gay colors and lighting effects from Mott Street, in China- town, were moved over for the night into Oliver Street. The early election returns indicated an overwhelming victory, pect of a large income ahead of me, I pro- ceeded the day after election to build an extension on the Oliver Street house, al- though the property did not belong to me. It was difficult to house a family the size of mine on Oliver Street. The extension was ready by the first of January, and the new sheriff of New York held forth in the old homestead after the inauguration, and I suppose I was visited by the whole neighborhood. At the sheriff's office, when I was inaugurated on the first of January, I was surrounded by my wife and children, my mother, my sister, her husband and all her children. There was no room in the big reception hall for, any- body else. I was presented with a hand- some revolver with an ivory handle. I thought at the time that it must have been given to me upon the theory that all sheriffs carried a pistol. During my term of office I carried it once, and that was the night I went to shoot a blank cartridge to start the bicycle race in Madison Square Garden. When I entered the sheriff's office the salary was twelve thousand dollars a year and one-half of the fees collected by him during his term of office. The other half went into the county treasury. My fees for the two years I was sheriff amounted ap- proximately to $105,000. While I was in office the legislature amended the law and did away with the fee system, so that today the sheriff receives only his salary. and with the pros- | 157 LATS THEM WITH STERLING SILVER Your fixtures of brass, bronze or copper; your silver and nickel ware; the bright metal surfaces of your automobile all can be plated with a coat of shin- ing silver by using SILVERFPILL. Acclaimed everywhere as 8 great advance in modero plating aad polishing efficiency! SILVERFILL not only cleans, polishes and re- plates silver and oickel

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST I was well recompensed as sheriff and probably it made up for the financial sacri- | fices I was compelled to make during my long service in the assembly. It gave me an opportunity to bring to the family, then fairly grown, the luxury of an automobile | and a better summer home. More than all, | it relieved my mind of the constant anxiety about what might happen in the event of sickness and the many other troubles which come to a man at the head of a big family. Compared to the twelve years in Albany, the sheriff’s office was calm and tame. It offered strictly routine work not so much to my taste as my legislative career had | been. I gave much time to outside public | activities, ana in 1917, after the United States entered the war, I gave considerable time to the sale of Liberty Bonds and to public speaking on behalf of the govern- ment loans. I invested more than 80 per cent of my income from the sheriff’s office in Liberty Bonds. A Three-Cornered Fight The summer of 1917 started the struggle for the mayoralty election in the fall of that year. I spent much time that summer at Delmonico’s conferring with the leaders of the party over the outcome and the nomi- nations to be made for the various city offices. By men not included in these con- ferences, it has often been said that I was a candidate that year for the nomination for mayor. There is no truth in that statement, because before anybody was selected or be- fore any names were mentioned, it was definitely settled as a matter of political strategy that the nomination was to go to Brooklyn, the nominee to be selected later. The occasion for the large number of con- ferences as well as for the large number of people called into them was the desire upon the part of the leaders to ascertain as closely as possible just what chance there was of defeating Mayor Mitchel for re- election. Besides, there was great anxiety as to what the Republican Party would do. There was widespread dissatisfaction with the administration of Mayor Mitchel among the rank and file of the Republicans. They felt that he had overlooked them in the dis- tribution of patronage and many of the small fry were incensed because he had sup- ported me for sheriff. The outcome of the primary elections, when a straight Republican was nominated, making it a three-cornered fight, with John Purroy Mitchel running as an Independent, justified the apprehension of the Demo- cratic leaders. Mitchel had a large and powerful independent following. He was a man of unquestioned ability. He brought about many desirable reforms in the ad- ministration of city business, but the loose | cog in the wheel happened to be the fact | that he held a political position and was a | thousand miles away from being a politi- cian. He did not know how to handle peo- | ple and did not know how to deal with them or how to get along with them. He had a | hot temper and he vented it too often for | his own political good. Not being a politician, he was lacking in knowledge of the human element. That was illustrated by one of his earliest actions in office when he attempted to have the legislature amend the city charter so as to take away from police officers the right to the writ of review which would deprive policemen removed from office of the right of review of their cases by the courts. He was defeated in that move by a Republican legislature, at least the New York members of which had vigorously supported him in his contest for the mayoralty. August 17,1929 There was uncertainty in the minds of the Democratic organization leaders about the result of the impending election occa- sioned by the fact that the so-called Inde- pendent, or Wilson, Democrats were behind Mitchel. He had been honored before his nomination for mayor by appointment at the hands of the President to the collector- ship of the Port of New York. The lead- ers feared a house divided against itself. Another factor taken into consideration was the tremendous growth of the vote in Brooklyn. Practically all political selections are finally made up and decided by a process of elimination. The leaders hit upon John F. Hylan, then county judge of Kings County. As in all other political campaigns, some outside organization took a hand. To off- set the Mitchel Business Men’s League, another Business Men’s League was formed under the chairmanship of Preston P. Lynn, then general manager of Wanamaker’s store, and that league under the leadership of Lynn first mentioned the name of Judge Hylan. After my overwhelming victory in the county of New York two years prior, the leaders were anxious that I accept the nomi- nation to the office of the president of the Board of Aldermen. It had certain attrac- tions for me in that it was not an executive but rathera legislative position. My Albany experience made that much more to my liking. Many estimates have been made of the influences affecting the 1917 city campaign. We were in the midst of the World War. That caused a natural uneasiness and ap- prehension which perhaps is best evinced by the large vote cast for the Socialist candidate, Morris Hillquit. He received 142,178 votes, the largest ever cast for a Socialist candidate for mayor in the history of the city. Probably this large Socialist vote was a protest against the war. The Voters’ Reprimand Another thing which roused the ire of the rank and file of the people of New York during the Mitchel administration was the importation of men from other parts of the country who were called municipal experts. New ¥ ork City has great and perhaps rather provincial pride. It believed that it had within its own families the ability to man- age the affairs of the city. It resented also the attempt to convey the impression that ordinary men were unfitted for minor posi- tions in the city government and that a corps of experts was what was required. The condition in the public schools was a cause of dissatisfaction. Due tothe scarcity of labor, even before we entered the war and just after it, it was impossible to erect enough school buildings to keep pace with the growing school population. Children were getting only a few hours a day in school. In the last analysis, the defeat of Mitchel was nothing more or less than history re- peating itself. After all, Tammany Hall for a century has been the dominating political party in the city of New York. No fusion administration of the city ever succeeded itself. No fusion administration, to my knowledge, was ever elected in the first instance on the merits of its candidates. Most of them were unknown. A fusion administration usually came into power when the people were so minded as to desire to rebuke Tammany Hall for grievances, real or imaginary. Editor's Note—This is the fourth of a series of articles by Governor Smith. The fifth will appear next week. a o> en LE

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST iso le Who Want TODAY'S CAR to Run Like NEW NEXT YEAR eS ~ PUROLATOR without removab ~~ 2 ge FT HAVE W¢ PUROLATOR THE OIL FILTER ON YOUR MOTOR CAR | RE-CARTRIDGED every &.OOO Miles i , ' j I O keep your new car running /ike new there’s one thing to watch that is — untold wear to pistons, cylinder walls, bearings and gears; w more important than anything else—be sure it has clean oi/—all the motor to become loose and noisy after a few thousand n g. Even , time. That is a very simple matter if you will take just one precaution. frequent oil changes cannot prevent tl B Under the hood you probably will find a Purolator Oil Filter. (Purolator is After the Purolator has been filtering the oil for about 8000 miles it will have standard equipment on most fine American cars.) The maker of your car put — caught too much foreign matter to be certain of tinu ff t operation it there because the Purolator removes from the lubricating oil, as i ts Use i, So, when vou have driven 8000 miles, have vour garag all the harmful grit, road dust, metal particles and hard carbon. Notice the cartridge your Purolator. That's all vou have t t ire of a constant the mechanic s hands above. This cut-open cartridge was removed from a One more thine: be sure vou neta nenuine PUROLATOI car after about 8000 miles of normal driving. we ' .; f ; Ss i sete aia alll = for no substitute hi rq a Mcten i? per | i .' This foreign matter, if allowed to circulate through the lubricating system, ing manufacturers equip their cars with the Purolat Motor | would turn the oil into a harsh abrasive instead of a lubricant; would cause Inc., 363 Frelinghuysen Ave., Newark, N. ] Licensed under Sweetland Patents | tremendous amount of such matter in the split-open Purolator cartridge in — supply of filtered, c/ean oil and a quiet, sweet-runt

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 leep mn Keace~Wake in doy Scott “You always wanted the comfort o CURLED HA/R. ma NA YOU CAN have rt NOW ou think Curled Hair is costly—a very good sign that you know Yi; is considered best for mattresses and upholstered furniture. But though the advantages of Curled Hair are priceless, they may be obtained today in very moderately priced mattresses and furniture, featured by makers and stores anxious to give you utmost value. As you sleep or repose on Curled Hair, you are buoyed up by a billion soft, tiny shock absorbers—everlastingly lively. You can’t keep Curled Hair down—it returns gently to its original contour! It rests and restores you as nothing else can. It is the perfectly sterilized, sweet, clean upholstery material, which remains so, because it ventilates. Genuine Curled Hair is universal in hotels—their greatest asset is restfulness. Genuine Curled Hair is universal in hospitals—they must have utmost healthfulness. Genuine Curled Hair is a characteristic of the best-built motor cars. Nothing else so thoroughly combines comfort and hygiene. Nothing else lastingly stays so comfortable and hygienic. Mattresses and furniture built around Curled Hair are clearly better. Yet they are moderately priced, as you will note in progressive stores featuring the use of genuine Curled Hair, with the tag to identify it. ASSOCIATED CURLED HAIR INDUSTRIES Blocksom & Company, Michigan City, Indiana _—~. Chicago Curled Hair Company, Chicago Sys '47eg \ Delany & Company, Inc., Philadelphia (sCunled Mair Gordon Brothers, Inc., Frankford, Philadelphia F. P. Woll & Company, Frankford, Philadelphia ,, S Vou strait — ee ——_—-_— a o> ep ee — a

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en ene a a ere a ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST LULU WAS A LADY All around them were vehicles filled with beautiful ladies and dashing gentlemen— gay groups who drank champagne iced in hampers, and chattered from carriage to carriage. The isolated motor car came in for much polite banter and, when it was recognized as the duke’s, for a few remarks at once witty and unkind. Bouron blew Lulu’s horn and raced her motor until clouds of smoke enveloped the merrymakers. It was shameful of those people to chide monsieur when he had dropped almost a million. And of course he himself was minus the savings of many months! The traffic crawled a few meters and stopped again. Bouron muttered, pushed back his cap, and shrugged in exasperation. From within the car came a sound—not loud, but somewhat as though the duke had struck the cushions with his cane. “Well,” thought Bouron, glancing over his shoulder through the window, “‘who can blame him for feeling petulant?” Bouron’s glance became a protracted stare—a stare at the Duke de Lavame. Monsieur was lying on his side upon the seat, with his mouth half open. From it emerged a trickle of blood and a lazy wisp of gray smoke. On the floor was a small gold-plated automatic pistol. Bouron’s first impulse was to cry out, to leap from his seat. But then he remem- bered the duke’s last orders: ‘Back to town, Bouron, if you please.”” With sud- den inspiration he placed his ear against the speaking tube and nodded his head as though receiving orders from within. Then he stepped to the road, opened the door, touched his cap and leaned into the car. Apparently he was being reprimanded by the duke. Actually he was propping a dead body into the angle of the seat and placing upon its head the pearl-gray top hat d’ Ascot. After many frightful minutes the traffic unlocked. Speeding through it, they rounded the Etoile and headed down the Champs Elysées. Turning northward into the Rue la Boétie, Bouron swung Lulu into the courtyard and stopped with a jerk be- neath the porte-cochére. A servant came forward to open the door. “Wait!” said Bouron, grasping his arm. The man peered into the car. Then with a cry he recoiled; for in the abrupt stop the duke’s hat had fallen off. They carried the body into the foyer and laid it upon a marble bench. Bouron went back to Lulu for the pistol and the hat. On the floor of the car was something else-——a page torn from the little green notebook. Anstruther’s name caught his eye—then Benguiat’s—then his own. He saw that it was a hastily scribbled will by which the duke bestowed his lesser belongings upon his servants. To “ Bouron, chauffeur estimable,”’ he had left the ‘voiture Herbaux, Series 7,dite Lulu.” Bouron was weeping when he reéntered the house. mr OR weeks and months after the Duc de Lavame’s death, Bouron drank more than was good for him. The unwitnessed supplementary will had been disputed by a ravaging pack of creditors, and the motor car was impounded in the garage by judi- cial order. Bouron had time on his hands, a thirst in his soul, and grief for his excuse. It was a day in the late fall when he found himself in the streets of Paris sans all worldly goods except a pocketful of small change and the glittering Lulu--who, by due legal process, had at last been released from custody and turned over to him. He was still rather drunk, and therefore senti- mental; so he likened the ceremony to a wedding. “You are mine—mine at last, little Lulu!” he sighed, as swinging from the curb they ripped the patent-leather mud- guard from a passing fiacre and drove a panic-stricken cyclist sprawling across the (Continued from Page 15 sidewalk among scattering dozens of bri- oches. “‘ By rights’’—shifting to'_high—‘“ we should tour the south; a glorious honey- moon beneath the azure skies. But alas, we have little money, so— what's that, mon- sieur? But I did blow my horn—blew it twice! Ta-da! And so, as I was saying, we'll have to get a job. But first we will drive out to Bougival and get old Lezard to sew in a new panel of upholstery, to hide those stains.” It was a sentimental journey. At a cer- tain spot in the Avenue du Bois—leafiess, now, and barren of crowds — Bouron crossed himself and looked at Saint Christopher. Farther on, when they were passing the Longchamps race course, he stepped on the accelerator and held his breath to keep out the breeze from turf and stables which he knew would bring vivid memories of Mis- tinguett, Maisons-Laffitte, and all the pleasant life which was now so definitely ended. Out at the Usine Herbaux, Lezard was glad to do a favor for his old friend. In half an hour he'd have one of the women stitch in a job which nobody could tell from new. In the interval, Bouron went up- stairs to Monsieur Herbaux’s office. The humpbacked secretary was over- joyed at seeing him. Monsieur Herbaux, though, was far from cordial. “Oh, so it’s you,” he said, lolling back in his great chair behind his great desk, and crossing his great hands upon his great stomach. “‘What do you want, Bouron?” Bouron was dismayed. “‘ Nothing, mon- sieur. Only Lulu is now mine and I thought - “You thought I'd buy the old wreck back, eh? Not much, Bouron— not much! Nobody wants a rattletrap in which a scoun- dre] has blown out his brains.”’ Suddenly Bouron realized that two men were tugging at his shoulders, and the humpback was prying open ten fingers which were sunk satisfyingly into Monsieur Herbaux’s fat throat. Through ascarlet fog he saw that the fingers were his. “Quick, quick—the stairs--get out,” whispered the humpback. “‘ When he comes to and starts to rave, I'll phone a wrong description of you to the police. Here, take this letter; he hasn't seen it yet. Go there at once.”” With cut-out open, Lulu sped across the courtyard at even greater speed than on the morning of her birth. It was snowing now-—the first moist flurry of the season. Bouron wished that he had an overcoat or a drink. He wanted to turn up his collar, but was afraid he would look a fugitive from justice. His chief concern, now, was to keep out of jail. He knew he hadn't killed the sale béte, but just the same he'd tried to. They were halfway down the Boulevard Haussmann before he dared to stop. He pulled over to the curb and examined the letter. It was written on pink stationery and addressed to Herbaux. In veiled yet endearing terms, it reminded monsieur of a certain supper party and a certain promise, and suggested that perhaps he would pity the writer in her poverty, and sell her a voiture Herbaux on “‘a friendly arrange- ment’’ which she would remain at home that afternoon to discuss. “Ho!” said Bouron, “Come, Lulu— we will call upon this Madame Romande, on Rue de Monceau, without delay.” There were satin bows on the curtains of the house on Rue de Monceau which so per- fectly matched the pink and perfumed sta- tionery that Bouron, obeying his instinct instead of his training, disdained the serv- ants’ entrance and boldly presented him- self at the front door. It was opened by a little black Senegalese in purple turban, canary jacket and baggy red trousers. “Inform madame that the Herbaux car is here,”’ he ordered gruffly, trying not to shiver with cold and nervousness. In a moment a hatchet-faced maid ap- peared. “‘Madame will see you at once.” “So!"’ laughed madame when he had been ushered in. “That old skinflint of a Herbaux has come through at last, eh, chauffeur?” Bouron did some quick thinking. Some- how, aside from her blond prettiness, he liked this woman’s looks. She was of his own class. He trusted her. “‘T am owner of the car of the late Duc de Lavame. An hour ago I tried to strangle Monsieur Herbaux.” “Oh, la, la!"’ exclaimed madame. “Tell me, were you fortunate enough to kill him?”’ “Not quite,” said Bouron, “but near enough for the police.” “Hard times since the poor duc’s death, eh? He was a charming fellow—ah, yes, I knew him! Well, how soon can you leave for the Riviera?” “It cannot be too soon, madame.” “Then we'll leave as soon as I can get ready. How’s that?” “C'est rien bat!"’ shouted Bouron, for- getting his chauffeurial dignity. ‘Twenty minutes are all we need for the ravitaille- ment, and then pfuit!"’ “Good!” said madame. “Only, poor chap, you'll need an overcoat. . . . Ger- maine! Fetch the fur coat which that drunken monsieur left in the hall, if you haven't already sold it. And my purse. . . . Now, chauffeur 1 “*My name is Bouron, madame.” “Well, Bouron, here are a thousand francs for coal or kerosene or whatever it is your automobile burns. We'll arrange the terms of rental later on. You see, I must be in Nice by Thursday.” In twenty minutes Bouron returned with Lulu gassed, oiled, and firing prettily on four new spark plugs. It was dark now, and from the house on Rue de Monceau poured floods of light and sounds of great confusion. The little Senegalese was shed- ding tears into his turban, and the left cheek of the maid's hatchet face was bleed- ing from four parallel scratches. The maid stowed bags and dressing cases in the cab- riolet. Bouron was assisting her when ma- dame appeared — serene, beautiful, queenly! He was a bit confused to observe that her | hair was now a raven black. “Go in and help Joseph with my trunk,” she ordered. Then, stepping from the curb, she made a deliberate and admiring circuit of Lulu. “Ah!” she exclaimed. “What a lovely, lovely little car!" ‘Lulu is the finest car in the world, ma- dame,” agreed Bouron, hastening across the sidewalk and deftly arranging the robes. “Lulu?” laughed madame. “Quelle bonne blague! And now, let’s get going, my good strangler!"’ “Strangler!"’ As they headed through the side streets toward the boulevard, he wished that she hadn’t thus brutally re- minded him of the police vigilance which, by now, was undoubtedly being exerted to- ward his apprehension. He quailed when at the Porte d’Ivry the usual quota of gen- darmes was augmented by a slim-waisted man in plain clothes, who played an in- quisitive flash light upon madame and frowningly considered Lulu’s license plate. Once or twice he referred to a notebook which he shielded from the snow with his hand. Never, strangely enough, did he so much as glance at Bouron. Madame, in a temper, flung open the door. “‘Let us pass!"’ she ordered. ‘My time is too valuable to be wasted by the stupidity of mere policemen!"’ “Without a doubt, madame,” he replied in a shrill, cold voice. “‘However—and ma- dame may remember this when we meet again-—I am not a ‘mere policeman.’”’ At his gesture, the gendarmes stood away As Lulu moved under the ancient stone arch, Bouron saw him standing on the sidewalk studying his notebook in the beam of his flash light and perplexedly shaking his head. 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162 THE SATURDAY FAMOUS FEET — how they're kept | free from corns LiINA BASQUETTE’S Famous Feet “The old phrase ‘to have and to hold’ may be full of lovely senti- ment... but not where corns are concerned. Not with Blue-jay to bid them goodbye.” Common sense asserts that Blue=jay is the sane and safe way to remove a corn at home. That's why for 28 years it has been the leading way. Self-paring is dangerous. Blue=jay is scientific. Each Bluesjay is a stand- ardized treatment, with just the right amount of the magic medication to end the corn. In an improved pack- age, with new-style creamy-white pad ..atall drug stores. For calluses and bunions, ask for the larger size Blue=jay. Blue-jay © B.&B. 1929 THE SAFE AND GENTLE WAY TO Can You Afford to Pass Up This Cash Offer? NLESS you have all the money you want youcan’t. For wewill pay you liberally in cash, month after month, for easy, pleasant work that need not | take one minute from your regular job. 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We tell you a vs 7 a" HOW to make money, supply ounnytitnn you need to do it, and pay cash from the Street moment you begin work. A two-cent 2) stamp brings our big cash offer—no obligation involv: City State » EVENING POST | headlights and the kerosene tail-light. The | latter shone directly on the license number, which should have read “R.F. E-7751.” Instead of the familiar legend, however, he beheld a strange “R.F. L-115.’"’ Bewildered, he struck a match and saw that parts of certain numbers and letters had been cov- ered with paper pasters. These pasters, inspected closely, proved to be neatly scis- sored bits of paper—envelope flaps, in fact. In the red glow of the tail-light they had | been wholly invisible, but in the whiter il- | lumination of the match, they were dis- tinctly pink! “It would be safer to leave them on until tomorrow,” called madame, rapping on the window. ‘‘Wait-—my cigarettes— oh, here they are. Please hold the match, strangler.” “*Madame,” said Bouron tonelessly, lean- ing into the car, “‘‘strangler’ I may be, but I noticed that the detective at the gate was more interested in finding a blonde.” In the flickering light she raised her eyes to his. There was a pause while she puffed at the flame. “You are keenly observant and impu- dent,” she said. But just the same, it was the last time she called him “‘strangler.”’ He had forgotten about such things, how- ever, as early on the fourth day they wound down the mountains into a fair land where the breeze, sea-sweetened, blew softly from Africa—a land of palm trees, roulette, pretty ladies, leisure and liquor. They lunched at Cannes, and ended their journey at the portals of the Negresco, in Nice, that afternoon. “Well,” sighed Bouron happily, as he drove Lulu around to the garage, ‘‘we’re having our honeymoon after all, eh? And madame says we'll be here for two months.” The time passed delightfully, what with drives to Monte Carlo and Cannes or back into the hills to Grasse and Coursegoules. He knew that she gambled, but, to his sur- prise, she gave no particular encouragement to any of the numerous messieurs who paid her court. Young Lieutenant Maginot seemed deeply in love with her. He was a pleasant fellow who took a friendly and ex- pert interest in Lulu. Bouron approved of | him thoroughly. Late one afternoon ma- dame ordered Lulu around, and shortly appeared in an evening gown. “To Monte Carlo,” she directed, “‘but first stop at the naval landing and pick up the lieutenant.” The lieutenant was waiting near the tram station beyond the bend of the Promenade des Anglais. He was in civilian dinner clothes and bore a bouquet of white flowers. In the mirror, Bouron saw them embrace. “Ah-ha,” he chuckled, “romance at last!” They drove on to Monaco, where ma- dame and the lieutenant descended at the Hotel de l'Europe. Bouron repaired to a restaurant and tucked away two dozen snails, an omelet, pommes frittes, and sundry comforting liquids. It was well after mid- night when the hotel chasseur whistled Bouron’s call number. As he drove Lulu around the great circular flower bed, ma- dame was beckoning to him from the head of the steps, and he saw that she needed assistance with the lieutenant. The young chap was quite drunk, and madame herself seemed rather merrier than usual. “Ha!” roared the lieutenant. ‘Good old Bouron! I can make it, Bouron! You watch me, Bouron! . . . Tell you what, Amélie, good old Bouron and I are the two greatest ’nternal c’mbustion motor exchperts in France today!” Once in the car, the lieutenant went to sleep with his head on madame’s shoulder. Forty minutes later they reached the naval landing. It was with the greatest difficulty that they aroused him. Madame, now, was tense, worried. “Quick, Bouron—quick. Get him out,” she whispered. A sentinel ambled over, his bayonet and white cap showing in the darkness. “ Here,” came madame’s voice. “‘Give him this!” And Bouron slipped the bank note into the sailor’s hand. August 17,1929 ‘Give me a lift, comrade,” he said. “It’s one of your officers.” “I’ve been putting them to bed all eve- ning,” chuckled the sentinel. “‘Come, come, mon lieutenant—to walk, one must use one’s feet.” Two other figures moved in the gloom. “Quick!” gasped madame, stark terror in her voice. “‘ Drive like the devil, Bouron!” Lulu leaped down the road as lithely as Mistinguett. Madame slid open the glass, knelt upon the floor, and screamed in Bouron’s ear. “Quick! They’re following! Oh, faster, faster! Not to the hotel—drive through side streets, turn corners!” He heard sounds of pursuit. There was the roar of an open cut-out, hoarse shouts. He pressed the accelerator to the floor and laughed. The laugh turned to a scream as a white-hot something tore through his shoul- der and shattered the windshield in front of him. Lulu swerved to the right, struck the curb, and rolled over on her side. Bouron, thrown clear, lay dazed upon the sidewalk. He saw the other car stop. From it jumped three men with pistols. “‘Don’t mind him!” shouted one. ‘Get the woman—the woman! Here, shine the headlights on their car!” Suddenly, the scene became brilliant with the twin beams. ‘“‘Now, Amélie,” or- dered a cold voice, ‘if you’re alive, come out, with your hands up.” Slowly, from Lulu’s shattered window came the head of madame. Her forehead was bleeding. “‘Oh, heaven pity me! Oh, mercy, mercy, mercy!” she wailed. The man said nothing. Instead, he raised his pistol, took steady aim, and shot madame squarely between the eyes. As Bouron lost consciousness, he remem- bered. He remembered the night they left Paris, the Porte d’Ivry, and the slim- waisted one who had said, “I am not a ‘mere policeman.’” Iv HEN Bouron was awakened by the throbbing of his shoulder, he found himself in a cell. “So!” said the guard. ‘You are just in time. At nine o’clock the chief will see you. Get up.” The chief, though present, was a minor figure in the proceedings. As soon as Bouron entered the gloomy office he saw the man with the slim waist. And he saw that this man was very much in charge. “*Bouron,”’ said the cold voice, “‘it was I who shot you. Also, I believe that you saw me—er—execute Amélie Rommeyer last night?” “Yes,” said Bouron, covering his eyes and swaying. “Good! . . . Now, look at me, Bouron! See, I point that very same pistol at you. Do you doubt that I will kill you without compunction if you don’t tell the truth?” “No!” ‘moaned Bouron. “Don’t shoot, monsieur; I will tell the truth.” ‘Very well, Bouron, expert mechanician, drunkard, strangler and chauffeur of spies.” He stalked over to the table and picked up a blood-stained card. “* Did you ever see this before?”’ he asked. “Yes,” said Bouron. ‘Or at least I have seen many like it. It is madame’s visiting card.” “Hold it up to the light.” Bouron raised the card to the window and started. There, showing plainly be- neath the engraving, was a water-marked coat of arms—an eagle, and the number 61. “Why,” he exclaimed in genuine surprise, “‘it’s—it’s the German arms!” “You’re right, Bouron,” said his inquisi- tor in a more kindly tone. Then, tucking his pistol into the waistband of his trousers: “You were only her dupe, of course, but it’s a serious thing to mix with the enemies of France. Let this be a lesson to choose better company.” Bouron’s shoulder took the better part of five weeks to heal. Lulu, meanwhile, (Continued on Page 165) NN ee —- ——

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—— ——_* ~ (Continued from Page 162) had been recuperating in a garage. The repairs consumed all of Bouron’s money, and even so, she was far from looking her old sleek self. What she really needed was a brand-new body. The dents upon her right side, though skillfully hammered out, left sundry savage scars. She didn’t run smoothly, either; squeaks and rattles had developed, and even Bouron’s skill could not remedy what a complete factory over- hauling was needed to cure. Well, he promised her, when they earned the money she would go to the shop. Mean- while, they hired out by the day to tourists making trips along the Riviera. This was uncertain work, and scantily profitable. Each morning they parked in the rank with the other rent cars, opposite the hotel, to await a call. Bouron was sel- dom chosen. He was pale, thin, nervous. His livery was distinctly seedy, and he al- ways smelled of cognac. With the waning of spring, the tourist trade fell away. There came three lean weeks with no fares at all. The season was over. Bouron was actually hungry as, one lovely June morning, he headed Lulu down the coast toward Cannes and started the long trip home to Paris. It had been a tragic honeymoon!” They went by way of Avignon, Lyon and Dijon, halting at nightfall by the roadside, while Bouron ate whatever frugal fare he had been able to steal from field or barnyard during the day. His money—every sparse sou of it—he hoarded against the impend- ing moment when Lulu’s right rear tire would blow out. Ten times a day he would get out and look at it. That vulcanized patch! That cut! Those sand blisters! Whenever they went over a bump he would hold his breath and gaze pleadingly at Saint Christopher. At last, one evening, just as the street lights were blinking and the scent of many millions of suppers hung sweetly upon the air, they came to Paris—Paname!—the city of a Frenchman’s heart! Here, again, was the Porte d’Ivry; here, again, the gendarme and the octroi guard. “Well, chérie,”” he said with a wan smile, “‘we’ve won through!” And though gently he applied the brakes, the rear tire blew out with a whistling wail. “Ha-ha!” chuckled a voice. ‘Your pretty horse has cast a shoe, mon vieur! Get her out of the way, won’t you? You’re blocking the portals of Paris!” “Yes, sir!” replied Bouron weakly. “I say, Sergot, is there a garage near by where I can have it repaired?” “‘Chevilliard’s over there, if he’s still open.” They had bumped across the Boulevard Masséna and into the garage when the crank shaft snapped. Here, indeed, was calamity! Bouron sagged forward on the wheel and wept. Monsieur Chevilliard, though sympa- thetic, was first of all a business man. He agreed to supply crank shaft, tires and other necessary parts. He would permit Bouron to work on Lulu and sleep in the garage. He would even arrange a small credit at a neighboring restaurant. His only stipulation was that when repairs were done, a taximeter be installed upon Lulu, and that half her earnings be paid to him until the debt was discharged. ““No, monsieur, no!”’ shuddered Bouron, clenching his fists. “‘I will not have my Lulu cruising the streets of Paris! Your proposition is foul, degrading!” But then came a realization of the practicalities— most important of which was his own need for cognac. “‘Very well,” he whispered so Lulu could not hear, “‘I—I acquiesce.” Lulu bore up bravely under her humilia- tion. Her fortitude was an inspiration to Bouron, to whom the ticking mechanism at his shoulder was at first an incubus. Un- doubtedly, she was the most desirable taxi upon the Paris streets. Who wanted to ride in a horse-drawn fiacre, or even a Series 6 Herbaux, when here was a Series 7—albeit slightly déclassé—hawking her charms at THE SATURDAY the standard rate of seventy-five centimes the first twelve hundred meters? By cutting down on his liquor allowance, Bouron was able to pay Monsieur Chevilliard within six weeks But he couldn’t remove the hated tax- imeter just yet. Lulu was in no condition for genteel service. At least fifteen hundred francs were needed to restore her to visual and mechanical respectability. And so for months he drove her night and day, fair weather and foul. Somehow, though, the harder he worked, the more minor repairs she needed and the farther away became the fifteen hundred francs and the thorough overhauling. It was all most discouraging —so discouraging that he took once more to alcoholic solace. He found that cognac was cheaper in the less- respectable parts of town, and so, more and more frequently, he headed through the foggy silent boulevards to the Glaciére or to Ménilmontant. There, he could leave Lulu in the street and save garage hire. Night after night he slept in her. The Sergots, knowing what was good for them, didn’t dare patrol those murky, sinister al- leys! Little by little Bouron became a pretty hard case. Even the Clichy bus drivers would sit in respectful silence when he un- leashed his torrents of profane sarcasm, and the gendarmes around the Place de |’Opéra would retreat to the sidewalk and turn their backs when they saw the battered ma- roon Herbaux approaching from afar. That dirty Apache of an unshaved Bouron could insult a man’s entire genealogical tree with- out so much as slowing down! Bouron had never thought of himself as an Apache. Of course he knew a lot of people who never came out in the daytime, but he considered them merely as figures who passed in an interlude. Only three hundred francs more, and he and Lulu would be out of it all and back where they belonged ! One night—a thin rain was falling—he drove Lulu into the black shadows beneath a railway arch and drunkenly prepared for slumber. He turned off her lights, whis- pered a few words to Saint Christopher, and tucked his wallet under the cushion of the rear seat. A train thundered over the stone viaduct—the Rome Rapide, probably. In the morning it would be in the south, where the sun was warm and the sea smiling. Two young men slid out of the shadows, jumped upon him, beat him with sand bags, and stole his wallet. When he came out of the hospital) where, incidentally, he was booked as an alcoholic—he spent his earnings of the first three days upon a nickel-plated .30-caliber revolver. It was a rather bad revolver, but it boasted several formidable features. When you pulled the trigger halfway back, a knife blade sprang from under the barrel. When you reversed the weapon in your hand, your fingers were accommodated by certain grooves in the butt, which there- upon became a most admirable set of what the French call “American knuckles.” Bouron, tucking this weapon into his sock, suddenly felt extremely tough. Very ownership of the lethal medium gave him a new and swaggering conception of him- self. Now, he was an Apache—a dangerous fellow to fool with! You could see it, even, in the angle of his cap. And simultaneously Lulu became an Apache’s gosse. Her shabby respectability gave place to a flaunted squalor. [ler orig- inal lustrous maroon was covered by a coat of red in which were the marks of a hasty and unskilled brush. Where once she had purred patricianly along the boulevards, now she chattered raucously beneath her rouge. She was rusty, dusty, battered. Even poor Saint Christopher was tarnished and forgotten. In the daytime, people would look at her, laugh, and hail some other car. But after dusk her defects were not so obvious, and in consequence she became a night hawk. Bouron took to cruising in furtive neigh- borhoods, and conspiring with porters and guides. EVENING POST Certain establishments in the Rue St.- Augustin, the Rue Brey, and the Rue Chabanais paid him commissions for de- livering well-wined guests at their portals. It was a pretty sordid business. But he needed those fifteen hundred francs. Actually, now, he needed rather more | than fifteen hundred. There were some who laughed at the very idea of his ever restor- ing Lulu to private service. C'te rieille bagnolle! The advent of the Series 10 Herbaux, too, definitely dated her as an antique! Still, little by little, frane by franc, Bouron’s savings grew again. Seven hundred francs, nine-fifty, a thousand. The weather was extremely warm for May, and so, one evening, a fare insisted upon removing his dinner jacket, sticking his feet out the window, and singing Rule Britannia. Arrived at the Rue Brey, the monsieur could not find his wallet. He ac- cused Bouron of theft and raised loud outcry. Bouron was groping in Lulu’s shadowy interior when a gendarme arrived, swift and silent on his rubber heels. He spotted the nickel-plated revolver in Bouron’s sock and forthwith cleared for action. Bouron emerged, wallet in hand, and bowingly restored it to the monsieur. As he did so, the Sergot announced his pres- ence with the deurieme coup du talon which is to say, he kicked Bouron in the stomach with that force and accuracy which are to be acquired only through years of diligent application. Bouron went down like an empty sack; whereupon the Sergot set in to beating him lustily with the flat of his yataghan sword bayonet. He would—teach—this— sal espéce d’un Apache—to carry nickel-plated tue-tues with which—to shoot gendarmes who were—respectable fathers of famiiies! He was administering the lesson so thoroughly that the English monsieur, suddenly sober, begged him to desist before the sight and sound of it made him ill. Three days later Bouron opened his eyes and asked where he was. “St.-Lazare Prison,” said a voice from the cot on the right. “And now that you know, stop jawing about your Lulu.” Discharged from the prison infirmary, he found that he had two months more to go—two months in St.-Lazare. He was a broken man when, one sultry summer morn- ing, they gave him back his clothes, handed him five francs and a receipt for Lulu, and jeered him from the gates. His thousand francs were not accounted for. The receipt said something about “Held in custody at the Mairie of the Eighteenth Arrondisse- ment”—the district of Bouron’s official residence. The Eighteenth Arrondissement lay many warm and weary blocks from St.- Lazare, but in the interests of economy, he decided to walk. Then, too, he hungered for the city sights and sounds and smells of it. He wished that he could lie on the warm side- walks, rest and become strong again. But he knew that if he tried it, they would put him back in jail. It was so long since he had seen the city that everything seemed strange. There was so much hustle and bustle—-so many crowds-—such shouting. He had always for his dear Paname—the | felt himself in tune with Paris, but today | he was an outcast. The city throbbed to an emotion which he did not share. He crossed over toward a group which stood in the roadway. Perhaps, he thought, if he mingled with people, he could get into the spirit of things and shake off this aching loneliness. They were reading a notice on the side of the kiosk. Wet paste was running down the green-painted iron. “Ordre de la Mobilisation,” he read. “‘To the Armies of the Land, the Sea and the Air.” “Vivela France! 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EVENING POST cowering, licked his lips and hunched his shoulders. War! Bouron was no coward, but—vwell, if France wanted to go to war, it wasn’t any of his business! He’d had the patriotism beaten out of him. He wanted to start life anew —just he and Lulu. With blare of trumpets and snarl of drum a regiment came down the avenue. “‘V'ld les biffins!” screamed a woman in an upper window, and in an instant the shops and houses poured forth a wildly cheering mob. Bouron turned the corner and scurried down the steps of the Métro. A sentinel of the Garde Nationale stood at the door of the Mairie of the Eighteenth Arrondissement. Bouron wasn’t afraid of soldiers. He flashed his receipt and hurried importantly past. In the hallway, a white- haired sergeant of gendarmes sat at a table. Gendarmes, of course, were different. “‘Monsieur,”’ said Bouron, saluting re- spectfully, “please direct me to one in authority. I * “But surely!’’ beamed the ancient one, arising and hobbling down the corridor. “Follow me, my boy; Monsieur le Maire has just arrived and the commandant is with him.”” He bowed Bouron through a door- way. “‘ Monsieur le Maire, here is the first !”’ he announced, in the voice of a herald pro- claiming a king. The mayor—a thin little man with gold- rimmed glasses and a trim imperial— arose, walked from behind his desk and kissed Bouron upon both cheeks. The comman- dant came to attention and saluted. **My son—my dear son,” said the mayor, “France is proud of you!” Bouron gulped twice and fingered his receipt. “‘My name is Bouron,”’ he began awkwardly. “I have come here be- cause “ “‘Attendez!”’ said the commandant, leafing through a huge ledger-like book. ‘‘B—Bar- raille — Bernard — Boncour — Bouron — Achille Jean Baptiste Bouron, Military Class of 1899. It is you, my son?” “Oui, mon commandant—only now, I am a chauffeur. I 5 “Not another word!” interrupted the commandant, raising his hand. ‘*‘ Men like you are blood in the veins of France! Re- turn at noon, Soldat Bouron. I'll have you transferred to a motor-transport regiment and you'll be in uniform by sundown!” Bouron saluted as one stunned. ‘Quelle jolie pacson, ca!"’ he muttered as he stag- gered to the door. The white-haired Sergot on the hall told him that all motor vehicles in municipal custody had been commandeered by the government. And so, though his soul ached for Lulu, all he had was another receipt. This one was stamped L’Armeé de la Ré- publique Francaise. Vv ORPORAL BOURON! They had made him a corporal when they found that he knew a monkey wrench from a screw- driver—a knowledge almost unique among the twelve hundred men comprising the Nth Motor Transport Regiment. They un- derstood that they were to be equipped with a train of five-ton camions; mean- while they were quartered in an old red brick caserne on the outskirts of Nogent. They already had a machine-shop truck which they gave to Bouron. It was an ele- phantine affair, complete with lathe, drill press and work bench, and for a week, there being nothing else to do, he stayed in it, and made himself a cigarette lighter in the exquisite and minutely detailed likeness of Lulu, and got drunk. On his brief excur- sions to the canteen for a fresh bottle he heard talk of the war—of the boches break- ing through, of Uhlans seen in the Bois de Vincennes, of the bombing of Paris by Ger- man aviators. But he paid scant attention to it. He had troubles of his own. The war left him cold. He resolved to stay com- fortably drunk until they settled it. Then he would hand them back their impudent, piratical receipt and make them give him his Lulu!

August 17,1929 At three o’clock one morning, he was aroused from his sodden slumbers by the blare of a bugle and the ring of hobnails on the courtyard pavement. Peering from the window of his truck, he saw that the officers were turning out the regiment. Growling to himself, he pulled on his uniform, quitted his homy shelter, and fell in with his com- pany. With much ado, the undrilled regi- ment was formed into columns of squads and put on the march. Bouron stumbled along in a black, head- achy rage. He wasn’t a marathon runner, he protested loudly. A sergeant dropped back, and they asked him where they were going. He wasn’t sure, but he thought they were bound for Paris to get their equip- ment of trucks. And soon, sure enough, they reached a Route Nationale and turned westward. In the distance, ahead of them, a score of searchlights patrolled the sky iike the restless ghosts of giants. The broad road was seething with traffic— with wagons, trucks, artillery, ambulances, infantry. It was strange, out here in the country and before dawn, to see a road as crowded as the Rue Royale at noon. The mighty stream was divided in halves, one flowing to Paris and the other toward the front. Every few minutes, in the open space in the middle, staff cars flashed by, horns roaring throatily. Once the Nth Motor Transport Regiment was crowded off the road by a battery of heavy artillery, and for endiess kilometers it stumbled through cabbage fields which stunk as the ripen- ing heads were crushed beneath hobnailed feet. Just as dawn was breaking they passed through the fortifications of Paris and under the Porte de Vincennes. Footsore, cigaretteless and surly, they marched through the echoing streets to the Place de la Nation. There, halting, they beheld a strange sight. Thousands and thousands of red-trousered soldiers were sitting and sprawling on the pavement of the square, their rifles stacked in long neat lines, broken here and there with pyramids of drums on which were draped guidons and the tricolor. In the streets which led to the square like wheel spokes to their hub, Bouron saw end- less lines of motorbuses— nothing but hated motorbuses— hundreds of them. “There will be two men to each bus,” the captain was saying—‘‘a chauffeur and a mechanician. Corporals will lead the sec- tions. The lieutenant and sergeants will now assign their men to the busses.” So, crowning ignominy, Bouron had fallen to the lowest of all estates—a bus driver! As Sergeant Darche waved him to his bus and chalked a number on the side of it, he spat thrice upon the vehicle and savagely kicked its solid rubber tire. The direction sign read ‘ Bastille-Madeleine,” and the interior was filled with newspapers of home-going workers of the evening be- fore. It was simply a motorized pigpen! The soldiers piled in—forty to the bus. They behaved like children going to a pic- nic. They sang, they shouted, they threw kisses to the girls, and they said things so funny that despite himself, Bouron’s shoul- ders shook. Then they turned their atten- tion to him—gave him ham and bread and cheese, cigarettes and wine. They slapped him on the back and called him “Papa.” He chuckled. Without definitely thinking of his age, he had always felt himself to be a very young buck indeed. But looking at the gay faces within, he asked, ‘‘What class are you, comrades?” “Nineteen eleven,” said several. “‘ Nineteen eleven!” he repeated, shaking his head. “‘ Well, well, well. I served my time in ’99.” A whistle blew, and dropping in‘his clutch, Bouron led his section into place in the long, rumbling line. When the cheers had sub- sided, and as in a fog of dust they left Paris behind them and entered the Bois de Vin- cennes, the soldiers were calling him “*Grandpapa.” “*B’en!” he chuckled good-humoredly. “One ages fast! Grandpapa I am, then! But who'll give the old onea drink of cognac (Continued on Page 169)

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 17,1929 A WONDER AGE or... Life faster, fuller, broader—than cver before.q Won- de ers, indeed, has the scientist wrought. He goes off into re universe and returns to tell us that the light of the seven bright stars of Pleiades began traveling in 1629 to reach us in A. D. 19299—and light travels 186,284 miles a second! G He places himself within a tiny globule cf copper—1/100,000th of an inch in diameter, and counts its electrons—2O billion of them! @Nothing is too huge for him, nothing too infinitesimal. Inradio he has taken both extremes—the miles-long radio waves that carry music and sound, and the tiny radio tube with its tinier filament casting off ultramicroscopic electrons at inconceivable speed. With them, he has been able to give us entertain- ment and knowledge at the turn of a switch. The fruit of all his labors in the field ofradiohe offers to us now and calls it SPEED—the all descriptive term for the greater, fuller, faster age in which we live—A.D.1999. 224A.C. Developed by Cable in 1928 Speed ate t nd add hours of ee free service ut$ eed in your old set d§ ail p p Speed is the radio tube of A. D. 1929 MAKERS OF RADIO TUBES SINCE 1924 . . . a = -.- - -_— -—_—— OS 71

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see eee 5 (Continued from Page 166 instead of this wine? . Eh, eh a time, my grandchildren!” By ten o'clock their long train of busses, mighty in itself, became but a minor cur- rent in the surging river which flowed to- ward the war. This was a one-way road, as you could see by the hastily painted signs with pointing arrows and the words “Sens obligatoire.” It reminded Bouron of the Rhone, as he and Lulu had driven beside it on their honeymoon so many years be- fore. Every time they came to a town they slowed down; and as they passed the estaminets, bottles were extended to the eagerly outstretched hands. By noon every man in Bouron’s bus was roaring drunk, and Bouron himself—he chuckled hap- pily—had felt more sober in his day! It was, after all, a pretty good war! Once, on a road which paralleled theirs, he saw a long line of troop-filled taxis in silhouette along the sky line, and here and there a Herbaux. They stirred up a towering dust cloud. Perhaps—his heart leaped!—perhaps one of them was Lulu! How he longed to clasp her wheel again! His eyes drifted toward the dash and Saint Christopher, and all he saw was an ugly dial which read “Litres d’huile.”” Then the roads diverged, and soon even the dust cloud sank down behind the trees. For a while they were held up by traffic from a road which poured from the left like a tributary into their own main stream. From it came vehicles most peculiar— busses of strange makes, bearing signs which read Piccadilly Circus, Mile End Road, Dunlop and Bovril. In these busses, and on top of them, were crowds of red- faced barbarians in brown uniforms, many even drunker than Bouron’s passengers, and shouting a song about Teeperaray. One of them, who wore the chevrons of a sergeant and spoke a peculiar French, came over and gave Bouron a drink which coursed down his calloused tubes and made his soul to glow. Dieu, what liquid gorgeousness! “‘Fall in to the rear of my section,” said Bouron, regretfully returning the bottle. “And by the way, who are you, sergeant?” “The Royal Shropshire Fusiliers,” re- plied the sergeant, clicking his heels pro- digiously and saluting. Then, staggering back to his Marble Arch bus: ““Give the Frenchies a cheer, boys!”’ he ordered. As the shouting died away, a returning cheer was taken up in Bouron’s vehicle, to echo down the distant road like Notre Dame’s great organ. “Vive les Anglais!” swelled the voices. “Vive nos Alliés!”’ Bouron, despite himself, cheered too. Perhaps it was that Englishman’s liquor. He felt like laughing, but there were tears in his eyes; and through these tears he seemed to see not only the smiling country- side around him but all, all of France. Those Germans had better look out! It was along toward three o’clock when they realized that what they had been hear- ing was not summer thunder but the sound of guns. New firing started suddenly, and seemed to be only a few kilometers away. They came to a village half of which lay in smoking ruins. Three dead men sprawled in the street, and wounded were being car- ried, screaming, into the houses. As his section rumbled through the street and once more took the highway, Bouron saw puffs of black and saffron yellow in the fields along the river. Once a shell went clattering overhead like a railroad train ona trestle, and exploded in a field to their right in a majestic pillar of earth and smoke. “ Voyez-donc—un obus!” shouted his passengers joy- ously. It was their baptism of fire. Ahead of them the colonel’s car had halted. The colonel was stand- ing on the roof of it, peering through his binoculars. one at THE SATURDAY Captain Renaud was frantically waving the busses into a side road lined with trees. From somewhere not far away came the brittle sound of rifle fire, and then the rhythmic bark of a Hotchkiss mitrailleuse ; then another and another. The infantry- men grasped their rifles, slung on their packs, sprang from the busses and cheered wildly. The officers shouted orders, formed the columns, blew their whistles, and started the regiment across the fields at the pas gymnastique. “T left a full bottle in the rear seat. Don't drink it all, grandpapa!’’ shouted a soldier as he trotted past. “*See you in Berlin!” called another. Bouron sat on the step of his bus and lighted a cigarette. His dark blue tunic and flaming red trousers were gray with dust. He took off his kepi and beat himself with it until the clouds made him sneeze. It had been an arduous drive. Nothing to do now but wait for orders. The other bus drivers were smoking and chatting together. Well, it was good to be out here in the cool fresh country air. After all, the farmers were the boys who enjoyed life. A man was a fool to live in the city. “Pfuit!”” Something lashed through the leaves above Bouron’s bus. “ Pfuit! Pfuit! Ze-e-e Pfuit!” Leaves fell down upon the road. Bouron retracted his head, like a basking turtle suddenly disturbed. Three busses away, a man who was light- ing a cigarette screamed, thrust the match into his eye and fell upon his face. Another ran to his aid, sprang into the air, and came down flat upon his back, his legs waving as though he still ran, like those of a crushed spider. Bouron rose hastily, entered his bus, and retrieved the bottle from the rear seat. Then he sprang into the ditch and hugged the moist earth. The leaden shower turned into a withering storm. From all along the bus train he heard the smack, smack, smack of bullets and the constant thin tinkle of breaking glass. The ditch, now, was filled with men, some of them laughing nervously, but most of them ashen-faced and silent. Here and there were some who shrieked in agony. A shell exploded in the field. Cautiously, Bouron peered over the edge of the ditch and saw a cloud of yellow smoke arising from the wheat. As he looked, another shell came hurtling noisily and burst some fifty meters nearer. A third still further reduced the gap. “Dieu,” he grunted, “‘they’re feeling for us. Two more shots will give them the range, and they'll let go with everything they’ve got! Come on!” he shouted, braving the bullets and springing from the ditch. “‘Get out of here before they blow us out!” Somebody grasped his foot. mad, Bouron! Duck down—duck down! ““Whoo-am!” said a shell—so close that he could feel the percussion in the pit of his stomach. He had the road to himself—and he needed it! Leaves, bits of bark, pebbles stung his face. Bullets struck the surface of the highway and ricocheted, moaning, on their way. But still he ran. He passed the head of the bus train and had almost reached the main highway when he heard a shattering crash behind him. He looked back and saw a bus blown halfway out of line and, in a blinding flash, another toppled sideways under a shower of earth. The shells, now, were plowing up the ditch, the busses, the road. He sobbed “You're ” as he realized that beneath that yellow fog through which the awful lightnings flashed, EVENING POST the Nth Motor Transport Regiment was departing on its second and final journey. Breathless, he reached the end of the line of trees, and stepped out of the zone of fire. The transition was startlingly abrupt, like crossing the edge of a summer sun shower. Birds were singing, and he heard the hum of bees. It was queer to see the country so abso- lutely deserted. Even in the highway, now, there wasn’t a soul in sight. To the right a farm was burning and in the distant fields | were many cottony puffs of smoke. The air didn’t smell quite as country air should smell on a lovely September evening, and there was always that pounding throb in one’s ears. Still, it was all very pleasant, | after one had spent three months in jail. He turned down the highway and headed | toward Paris. After fifteen minutes or so he halted, sat upon a kilometer stone and pulled the cork from his bottle. He felt that he had earned a drink. It was rather superior stuff, so he had several. Then, filling his mouth to ca- pacity and letting the liquid trickle down like a benison upon his grateful palate, he glanced idly into the ditch below. Beneath a cloud of buzzing flies and a crust of things which crawled, hundreds of red-trousered biffins lay in the lush grass and stagnant water, twisted this way and that, their faces terrible to see. And in among them were other soldiers who wore gray uni- forms, black boots and brass-spiked hel- mets. “‘ Dieu!” gasped Bouron, recoiling. With eyes averted from the horrors in the ditch, he hurried toward a village which clustered black against the sunset. When he was half a kilometer from it a shell burst be- hind him. Then, terrifyingly, hell broke loose all around, and he ran as in a night- mare. The village, too, was being shelled, but he preferred the shelter of a cellar to his present awful prominence on the open road. He felt as he had once felt when as a child he had been caught in a thunderstorm in the center of the Place de la Concorde and every bolt seemed to be aimed directly at him. His heart and lungs were bursting, but still he ran. Just as he entered the single street, three or four houses staggered out to the center of the road and collapsed in a huge pile of stone. Soldiers were scurrying this way and that in their search for shelter more secure. A gray car containing an elderly general and his aide emerged from a courtyard, sped down the street and halted helplessly before the barricade. The chauffeur dismounted and attacked the stone pile vigorously. “You, soldat! Get to work!” he snapped. “As well try to remove the Alps,” thought Bouron, as obediently he clam- bered up the pile and grasped a stone. “Whoom!” said a shell, and another house became a heap of road-filling rub- bish. “Bah!” growled Bouron, dropping his stone and standing erect. “It’s useless! One cannot move mountains, and Lulu!” Beyond the barrier Lulu stood, hood up- raised, and frantic driver tinkering with her sulky engine! Despite her coat of battle- ship gray and the white numbers which were stenciled on her side, there was no mistaking her! “*Mon général, come!"’ shouted Bouron, running to the staff car and literally drag- ging the elderly one to the road. “‘Over the stone pile, mon général! .* ” Follow me! How good that dear door handle felt in his grasp, as in his best old-time manner he bowed general and aide into the car. ‘‘In just a moment, mon gén- éral.” The tinkering one stood erect and shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘It is useless!’’ he not go!” groaned. “‘Shewill | i169 The Mailman Brings the Checks ACH morning Ariel McNally can scarcely wait until the postman steps on the porch of her sunny Califor nia home. For in some of the letters she’s almost sure to find subscription orders with checks inclosed $6.50 in One Day In a single day recently $6.50 profit on Curtis mailed to her by her friends And,” Miss McNally writes, "1 love this work so much, for the many fine associations she netted ubscriptions I've formed, that | wouldn't consider giving it up.” Do you enjoy meeting people? Would you like to be earning more money for yourself? Possibly you, like Ariel McNally, will find here just what you'll enjoy doing most to bring you extra cash. 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170 “Vd fen!" ordered Bouron, sizing things up at a glance. “‘So! It is the old trouble, eh, chérie! When will they learn that in emergencies thy taste runs to cognac? They have given thee a gasoline the most execrable, and beyond a doubt thy car- buretor is clogged with naphtha flake. Here! Try this!" It was five years since Lulu had tasted cognac, but she responded gratefully and at once. Bouron sprang to the seat, opened her wide and smiled at Saint Christopher— there he was—as they sped down the road. Bouron was in ecstasy. So, too, was Lulu, and she showed it by her pace. Who- ever had overhauled her motor had cer- tainly known his job! From a side road appeared a score of horsemen who shouted gutturally and dis- charged futile carbines. Bouron laughed. Then he heard that old familiar sound of bullets. The general whistled into the speaking tube. “They're chasing us,” he said. “Drive faster.” Autobiographical Sketch of Anton Otto Fischer printer’s devil on a newspaper, The Bay- erische Volksbote. If life in the seminary was torture to me, life in my uncle’s house- hold was worse. Going away to sea offered the way out. It appealed to my imagina- tion and offered me the opportunity to make a clean break with an unhappy child- hood and start all over again. My uncle finally gave me the fare to Hamburg, and a bag of clothes, and I left with the warning, never to come back, ringing in my ears. I have never been back. My visions of billowing, snowy sails and azure waves were rudely dispelled when I caught a glimpse of my first vessel, a tub- like Dutch galleass, lying on her side in the mud, waiting for the tide to come in. My heart sank, but I had made my bed and I was going to lie in it. There was the cap- tain, the mate and the crew. I was the crew and cook. We carried lumber be- tween Norwegian and Friesian ports. My wage was two and one-half dollars a month and keep. I shipped in April and was dis- charged in December with fifteen dollars. I went to the merchant for whom we had carried the lumber and stayed the winter with him. I kept his books, tutored his two children. drove his teams and got my board and lodging, but no pay. The fol- lowing spring I received the railroad fare to Bremen, where I shipped on a Nor- wegian bark carrying lumber between Finnish ports and England. The bark was wrecked in the Baltic and we were landed in Karlskrona, Sweden, where I found a Swedish coastwise steamer. After a few months aboard that steamer I left her in Hamburg and signed on a German steam trawler. We fished that winter in the North Sea, and that experience made a real sailor out of me. Next I shipped on a seagoing tug, and I remember now with what hopes we used to set out to sea every time it blew a gale, hoping to find some big ship in distress. Salvage money—that was the dream of every man jack aboard that tug. After a rather violent disagreement with the skipper I left the tug, and after vainly trying to get on a steamer to go to South Africa to join the Boers, I signed on a steamer of the Levante Line. Next I signed for a three years’ voyage on a lime juicer. We sailed from Hamburg for Car- diff, from there to Panama around Cape Horn, from Panama in ballast to Tacoma, from there with grain to Callao, Peru, from Peru with sugar to Yonkers, New York. We were paid off in New York, and this began my life as an American, though I did not realize it then. At the sailors’ boarding house I heard glowing yarns about life on racing yachts on Long Island Sound, and I found a job on a sixty-foot sloop called THE SATURDAY Bouron removed both hands from the wheel in a gesture of remonstrance. “Monsieur!” he protested. ‘“‘When one goes as only one can go, can one go faster?” “Perhaps not,” admitted the general, ““‘but—and please, mon gar, put your hands upon the wheel —just glance behind us!” Bouron looked, and saw a ferocious bug- like vehicle which sped in hot pursuit, ma- chine guns spitting bullets from a turret on its roof. He sneered. No boche voiture, especially one loaded down with armor, could catch up with Lulu! He advanced the spark a trifle and thrilled to the race. Kilometers slid by—most of them punc- tuated with shells. At length the fire slackened. Even the armored car was no longer in sight. A French battery of 75’s was unlimbering in a field to the left. Sol- diers were waving their kepis and cheering the general. The aide rapped on the win- dow. “‘We are safe,” he called. ‘‘For the love of le bon Dieu, slow down!” EVENING POST They stopped at a farmhouse above which the tricolor flapped wearily in the twilight. The place was humming with activity, and Bouron saw that it was a headquarters. Officers sprang to attention as he helped the general descend. To his astonishment, the elderly one embraced him warmly. “‘Caporal,” he said, “today you have served France well—and France does not forget! You will find sleeping quarters in the camp down the road. Return to me in the morning.” A jet of steam arose like a white plume from Lulu’s radiator cap. “Wear it proudly!” chuckled Bouron, swinging her into the road. “Jeanne d’Arc herself had no better right!” They had almost reached the camp when he sensed that something—something was missing. Glancing about him, he saw with a surge of joy that the taximeter was gone. Lulu was a lady! Jamming down the brake, he produced the bottle of cognac. It was a night to celebrate! WHO’S WHO-AND WHY (Continued from Page 39) the Eileen. I spent the summer on her and that winter I found a berth as instructor in seamanship, if you please, on board the old schoolship, St. Marys, which used to lie at the foot of Twenty-third Street in New York City. Next spring I went yachting again—this time on the old Queen Mab and the seventy-footer Yankee. Still intending to go back to Germany and serve my four years in the imperial navy, I went one day to the German Consulate at Bowl- ing Green to ask for extension of leave. A dapper young man with the objectionable, arrogant manner of the typical prewar German bureaucrat approached me, and fifteen seconds of conversation convinced me that I was through with the Old World for good and America was to be my home. By that time I had begun to save a little money, and my buried desire to become an artist showed signs of life. How to go about it, though—that was the question. One rainy Sunday, looking idly over the want ads in a Sunday paper, I saw the ad of an artist in New Jersey who wanted a model and general handy man. I answered it, received a reply, and the result was that I found myself employed in a real artist’s studio—even slept in the studio. The artist was A. B. Frost, the well-known illustrator. I stayed with him for a little more than a year, when he sold out and moved to Paris; whereupon I went back to yachting again to earn a little more money. That fall, on being paid off, I found that I had about seven hundred dollars saved up; enough, as I figured, to last me through two years’ study in Paris. I went to Paris, entered Julian Academy, where I studied under Jean Paul Laurens for two years. Then my money was used up and I came back to America. I soon found, fortunately, tem- porary employment with Albert Herter, the mural painter and decorator. However, I wanted to be on my own, so I left him after a few weeks, took a hal! bedroom on Lexington Avenue and painted a marine subject in black and white. Armed with that, I made the rounds of the magazines and fortune smiled on me. I sold the draw- ing and received several commissions. Shortly afterward I moved to Wilmington, Delaware, where I found a barn, big and cheap enough, and here was laid the founda- tion of whatever success I may have made. The day I received my first manuscript from THE Post was the beginning of the most pleasant association in my life. Editors and readers have often asked me where I got my sea knowledge. Perhaps this little sketch will give the explanation. Notes on Captain Dingle dictionaries in Jersey all day. I packed groceries for one of New York’s biggest stores, at ten dollars a week; and was fired because I refused to pack groceries out of which I had seen a swollen cat jump. I got a job sweeping out offices; and the boss persuaded me to go to his country home and run alittle motorboat. He bribed me by advancing the money to get my family out, and I fell. I was freight wrestler and milkman, had to keep in order a stink- ing motorboat for which I had only hatred, and was expected to polish brass and var- nish, carry express bundles and cases of milk, and look like a yachtsman. I got fed up and drank a good deal. I wasn’t fired; I was taken back to the office, which was part of the bargain I had insisted upon. I earned seventy-five dollars a month, run- ning a calculating machine and a battery of files. Two years that lasted. I got no more money, though the auditor said the work had never been done so well. At a dinner to which I was invited, where every man had to tell a story about himself, an editor man told me I ought to write, and he’d like to see something. I wrote something. He said it was fine, but he couldn’t read it. I’d have to type it. I had never seen a typewriter near enough to touch it. I tried to get the thing typed. Cheapest offer was five dollars. I had no five dollars, and didn’t believe the story would bring that much money. Saw an ad offering ten days’ free trial on a re- constructed typewriter, and sent for it. Took all the ten days to pick out a card saying I had received it. Then I asked for more time, because I had not been able to try it out. They gave me ten days more. I wrote the story in that time, and got sixty-five dollars for it! Typewriter cost thirty-five dollars. Paid for it, and started as a pukka author. Sent my family home out of the first money I earned that would pay their second-cabin fare. They could live on one-third the cost over there. Then I sat down to write in deadly earnest, and did not sell a line for thirteen months. I sold everything I had, the collection of years of far wandering, to keep the family going. For myself, at one time I lived fora week on fifteen cents’ worth of beans, boiled without salt, and nothing else. No- body told me why every story I wrote failed, until another editor man said he’d like to see me. He gave me a hint which opened my eyes to the fact that fiction is made, not born, and I soon begz . to sell stories. My family was brought back to Ber- muda, where our home is. I have two daughters who are both threatening matri- mony. I live afloat still; but aboard my own little schooner, Gauntlet, in which I cruise the year around, winter and summer, and write whenever I get to port. I have published four books, but none of them made any stir in the literary puddle. August 17,1929 There came a blinding flash, a shattering roar, and Lulu was blown high into the air. Now of course, it is well known that what- ever goes up must surely come down. But Lulu’s return to this earth was not to be explained by hackneyed axioms or the mere laws of physics. The truth of the matter, if you haven’t already guessed it, is that Lulu was born to be immortal. And if you doubt it, you can see her in the shadow of the great dome of the Invalides, among the tattered flags of Austerlitz, the petits cha- peaux of Napoleon, and all of France’s sacred treasures of war and glory. At first she yearned for the carefree life of the boulevards; but soon she became very friendly with Captain Guynemer’s fighting plane, Old Charles. They spend whole nights talking of the years when the mad world warred. And by day, of course, she gossips with the lame, bemedaled, and—after lunch—slightly tipsy old guide who will tell you how he, Lulu, Saint Chris- topher, and Maréchal Joffre won the Battle of the Marne. Worse books have sold better. But now I have a book coming out which will sell vastly, I know. It’s coming out in Wool- worth’s! A Letter From Raeburn Van Buren ambition went blooey. Right on top of this success I landed a job as sport car- toonist—semipro you might say—on the Kansas City Post. Remuneration for this work was in Annie Oakleys to the games. At that, I guess they overpaid me. For after a week I was fired. Morosely but gamely I stuck along in high school for another year. Then I landed in the big time as a regular salaried artist on the staff of the Kansas City Star, and the Central High School nine was left crippled of the services of its most promising first baseman. For three years and a half I did an aver- age of thirty pictures a week for the Star at fifteen dollars per—per week. It was great training, because not only was I work- ing under the wing of a real teacher, Harry Wood, but I had the added advantage of seeing my work reproduced and seeing life as only a newspaperman can see it. I think a newspaper job under a capable boss is the best training an illustrator can find any- where, and young illustrators should never pass up the opportunity, no matter how small the salary. I hadn’t dreamed of the affluence pos- sible to an artist until I mailed some draw- ings to Life. One of these sold for nine dollars! I saw right away that the big money was in the East, so I quit my Star job and packed up my trunk. I had saved a little money out of the fifteen per week and work that I had done on the side to pay for a piece of Kansas City real estate on the installment plan. When I came on to New York the money that financed me came from the sale of that lot. And don’t ever think artists are not busi- ness men, because I made a neat profit. I know another who got here by selling his cows. For six weeks I went to school at The Art Students’ League in New York, but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Mean- time expenses were eating my head off. So, being a prudent lad, I dropped out. And I still think I used good judgment under the circumstances. I took a room in West Fifty-fifth Street—not the most fashion- able part of that street. It was in the part between Eighth Avenue and the L. The price of it was six dollars a week, and to cut down expenses I shared it with a room- mate. The roommate was training to be a concert singer, and his big grand piano took up fully half the room. He was thirty-five and bald. I was twenty and red-headed. We cooked our own meals over a gas plate (Continued on Page 174) . ~?

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ee THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ee ee ee Pe ek ee + io — = ee ee ee eee ee ee ee ee es ee A ee Re ie | a a! ee ven a : ck . > eC we eee ees WASHINGTON | scout MEMORIAL . DEDICATION AUGUST 30,31 AND SEPTEMBER 1 . WBOSHAYCS- MINNEAPOLIS

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Index of Advertisers August 17, 1929 PAGE Agfa Ansco Corporation. <eee Alemite Corporation. .............. 51 Aluminum Goods Manufacturing Co... 175 American Bottlers of Carbonated Beverages........ ; 147 American Chicle Company 166 American Fruit Growers, Inc 103 American Optical Company 150 American Pulley Co., The 130 American Radiator Company 96 Amity Leather Products Company .. .128 Associated Curled Hair Industries 160 Bauer & Black. . 162 Bendix Aviation Corporation 140 Benjamin Franklin, The 133 Bird & Son, inc 101 Black & Decker Mfg. Co., The 173 Bohn Aluminum & Brass Corporation 75 Bon Dee Golf Ball Co. 165 Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corp. 95 Cable Radio Tube Corporation 168 Campbell Soup Company 27 Cathedral of Engraving, Inc 169 Central Alloy Steel Corporation 176 Chase Brass & Copper Co 102 Chesebrough Mfg. Co. 121 Chevrolet Motor Company 37 Chrysler Motors : 62 Chrysler Sales Corporation 58, 59 Cities Service Company 126 Coleman, Watson E. 161 Colgate-Palmolive-Peet Co. 1, 64 College Inn Food Products Co 161 Cooper & Nephews, Wm 165 Curtis Companies, Incorporated 115 Cutler-Hammer, Inc. 109 Cyclone Fence Company 92 Defiance Spark Plugs, Incorporated. . 127 De Forest Radio Co. 163 Delco Products Corporation 52 Ditto Incorporated 158 Dodge Brothers Corporation 63 Du Pont Cellophane Co., Inc 40 Dur-O-Lite Pencil Company 136 Dutch Tea Rusk Company 144 Edison Electric Appliance Co., Inc 78 Fisher Body Corp. 32 Florian, Inc... 129 Florsheim Shoe Company, The 158 Foshay Co., W. B. 171 Franklin Automobile Company 94 Fuller Brush Company. ... 132 General Tire and Rubber Company, The Deka ; . 46 Goodyear Tire & RubberCo.,Inc.,The 38 Graham-Paige Motors Corporation 112,113 Grigsby-Grunow Company roe | Hart Schaffner & Marx 2 Helbros Watch Co... . 164 Insurance Company of North America 99 International Nickel Company, Inc., 1 14 Invincible Metal Furniture Co. 151 15 Iron Fireman Mfg. Co. 52 Jarman Shoe Company 166 Kendall Refining Company 156 Ken-Rad Corporation, Incorporated, MS owes suk con Sa kaaewanase cis 153 PAGE EE Tree oe 124 CGS hws cses cekeans 145 Lambert Pharmacal Co............. 174 Oe ee ee eee 85 LaSalle Extension University — Lorillard Company, P. ein ne gee Lovett’s Nursery i cant eee Lycoming Manufacturing Co........ 123 Maxwell House Products Company, we... : Lion ae McCall Co... ... ee Montgomery Ward & Co. ee Motor Improvements, Inc. National Association of Ice Industries. 107 National Carbon Co., Inc. 42 National Cash Register Co., The 91 New Departure Manufacturing Co., The.... . 49 North Bros. Mfg. Co. 90 Norwich Pharmacal Co., The. . . . &4 Oakland Motor Car Company 34, 35 Olds Motor Works ; . 65 Opco Company, Inc. 161 Overhead Door Corporation .161 Packard Motor Car Co ae . 67 Parke, Davis & Co = 55 Perfect Circle Company, The. . .100 Philadelphia Storage Battery Co. 93 Pilot-Ray Corporation. . . .154 Pines Winterfront Company 119 Pioneer Rubber Mills 146 Pratt & Lambert, Inc. ee Quaker State Oil Refining Co........131 Radio-victor Corp. of America .82, IV Cover Reid, Murdoch & Co. III Cover Reo Motor Car Company 70 Russell Manufacturing Co., The 108 Sanka Coffee Corp. 61 Save The Surface Campaign 148 Scholl Mfg. Co., Inc., The 118 Scott & Sons Co., O. M 169 Scripps-Howard Newspapers 110 Skaw, Inc., M. T. 161 Silverfill Mfg. Co. 157 Spartan Aircraft Co 167 Spencer Heater Company _ 497 Squibb & Sons, E. R.. . . 98 Standard Statistics Company, Inc... . 155 Sterno Corp. 157 Swift & Company 29 Syracuse Washing Machine Corp... . .116 Texas Company, The. . 72 Timken Roller Bearing Co., The 45 United States Rubber Company . 142, 143 Universal Pictures . 68 Upson Company, The .. 86 U. S. Hoffman Machinery Corp. 125 Vacuum Oil Company ee Valentine & Company 105 Van Cleef Bros... .... 106 Weyerhaeuser Forest Products 138 Whitman & Son, Inc., Stephen F. IT Cover Willys-Overland, Inc... . . 88, 89 Winchester Repeating Arms Co... .. .122 Wooster Brush Company, The... .. . 134

While every precaution is taken to insure accuracy, we cannot guarantee against the possibility

of an occasional change or ion of this index. in the prep

ee

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AL A A OE A TT VT THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 173 ee “FLYING SPEED” is what keeps a plane up. “PRODUCTION SPEED” is what keeps the price down. Among the most important production tools in the Aircraft Industry are Portable Electric Tools—such as Electric Drills, Electric Screw and Nut Drivers, Electric Glue Pots, Electric Sanders, Electric Grinders, Electric Valve Refacers, etc. It is significant, but not surprising, that the majority of airplane manufacturers use electric tools bearing the familiar | name | BLACK & DECKER a Note:—The planes illustrated represent only a few of the air- plane manufacturers who use Black €& Decker Electric Tools. —— Nica gs . ete id Rn: > \ ~ Sy ago wry iiienamseeentinmeaaees 1 * St ae B GN 7. 4 ee hs = 5 ee, eo const! = iam KNOLL a Sve ~ iJ - Pies ae The BLACK €# DECKER MFG. CO. Toronto, Ontario, Canada TOWSON, MARYLAND, U. S. A. Slough, Bucks, England

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A swill, smooth shave .. because Glycerine Friction y | is it that scours the skin as you shave? Friction. How can that ends friction best be conquered? With a lubricating lather. With this utterly new conception of the cause of heat and smarting, Listerine chemists have taken the torture out of shaving, in a scientific way. They have perfected an amazing shaving cream which lubricates the skin, A velvety film of soothing glycerine pre- pares the path of the razor. The effect is in- stantaneous. The razor’s steel edge as it is forced against the hairs nolonger does ahop- _skip- and-Jump. Ir slides swiftly and smoothly, like an airplane winging its way. The toughest beards, the tenderest skins, yield to this new-type cream, which includes cosmetic lubricant, menthol for added cool- ness, and the antiseptic essences of Listerine. No need to rub that silky lather in. No need to rub any lotions on. Your face will feel glad, and you'll wonder why men still talk of the “shaving problem.” The very next time you are buying a bottle of Listerine Antiseptic, remember that you want to try Listerine Shaving Cream. y 157 shaves—50c What's a half-doilar in a man’s life, if he can trade it for five months of the finest shaving comfort he has ever known! The big white tube is crammed with 118 inches of cream, more than enough for 157 shaves. So its economy is as obvious as its quality. Please write us if your drug whenever we hear of it. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST store is unable to supply you. We promptly correct this condition LAMBERT PHARMACAL COMPANY ISTERINE Shaving Cream St. Louis, Mo. a (Continued from Page 170) in true fiction style and used my drawing board for a table. After nine months of Fifty-fifth Street I moved into a regular studio, where I had a place all to myself. There I was happy until the World War. When that popped in my face I snifted from an artist’s smock into O. D. I en- listed in the 107th Regiment of the Twenty- seventh Division. Eight months later I was overseas and in the thick of it. All very jolly if you like your life with a kick in it. The day the war ended I lit in Paris with a three weeks’ pass throbbing in the pocket of my muddy O. D. shirt. I had been de- tailed with Richard Connell, the well- known writer, to get out a Paris edition of our division’s little camp magazine. With our stuff all ready to slap into the forms, we landed in Paris on that greatest of all days—the Armistice. You may recall that I dropped around early that morning and touched the photo-news editor of A. E. F. pictures in Vincennes for five hundred francs to see me through a temporary emergency. I guess you won’t forget that day any sooner than I will. You might add here that while in Paris I went to Julian Academy and the Beaux Arts. April of 1919 saw me back in New York, mustered out. The United States Govern- ment showered down sixty dollars in cash on me. With this embarrassment of riches August 17,1929 I started out again to be an artist. For all I knew at that time, my business had gone completely hay-wire. But as luck would have it, I found I had not been forgotten by most of my editor friends. Soon I had about all the work I could handle. You know what’s coming next. A year later I married the girl back home, of whom you might say she’s a model wife. Anyhow she often posed for me as a model in the days when she first came to New York. The next occasion for handsprings was in 1924, when, after a two-year bombard- ment of sample proofs and after edging into nearly every other illustrated maga- zine in the country, one after another, I finally broke into THE SATURDAY EVENING Post—reviving my old belief in Santa Claus. We bought a country home in Great Neck, Long Island, on the strength of it, and soon after we moved out there Richard was born. Say he is not the finest boy south of the North Pole and see what happens. You might add that I have a studi» over my garage and that I spend most of my spare time on the tennis courts. You may recall how hard I used to strug- gle with a picture in the old days. Well, every picture now comes just as hard. I wonder if I ever will be able to draw even a simple picture without effort. So it’s fair to add that I’m still “‘a struggling artist.” Hastily, VAN. never authorized. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (More Than Two Million Seven Hundred and Fifty Thousand Weekiy) 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 At Your Age—F. Scott Fitzgerald A Lily of the Fields—F. W. Bronson Diamonds— Thomas McMorrow Lulu Was a Lady— Guy Gilpatric The Magic Melody—Don Marquis Up to Now—Alfred E. Smith Table of Contents August 17, 1929 Cover Design by Penrhyn Stanlaws SHORT STORIES PAGE Boomerang— Clarence Budington Kelland Too Many Crooks—George Agnew Chamberlain Walk in the Water— Richard Matthews Hallet The Wild Ones— Ben Ames Williams ARTICLES Mysterious Chichen-Itza— George Allan England Roustabouts and Razorbacks— Roark Bradford Architect Versus Client— Brenda Ueland The Merger Movement— Albert W. Atwood War Propaganda— By One of the War Propagandists Frozen Gold—As Told to Courtney Ryley Cooper SERIAL Lone Tree (Seventh part)—Harry Leon Wilson Illustrated by Henry Raleigh 28 MISCELLANY Editorials 24 Short Turns and Encores 26 Who’s Who—and Why 39 Getting On in the World 118 + Illustrated by H. Weston Taylor 6 Illustrated by John La Gatta 8 Illustrated by C. D. Williams 12 Illustrated by Tony Sarg 14 Illustrated by Raeburn Van Buren 18 Illustrated by Arthur William Brown 20 Illustrated by Anton Otto Fischer 33 Illustrated by Anton Otto Fischer 47 Illustrated by J. Clinton Shepherd 56 Photographs 3 Photographs 10 Photographs 16 Photographs 22 Cartoon by Herbert Johnson 25 War Posters 41 Photographs 53 your address label from a recent copy. Canada). Foreign prices quoted on request. A REQUEST FOR CHANGE OF ADDRESS must reach us at least thirty days before the date of issue with which it is to take effect. 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 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) 5c the copy, 3 years for $1.00 (U. S. and Lo% | | | ! |

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ee ee ee 1¢c% THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 175 A Book, EE how this new way of cook- A P S ing whets any flavor. Every a n x fruit, any vegetable seems to grow ! in goodness when prepared in a a nN d @ h 2 MIRRO Vapo-Seal Pan. Out they come, brimming with garden- f freshness. For the first time, you're Ul C Gj V 0 Y’ P tasting a// the piquant richness which generous nature puts in Women Say this MIRRO Book these foods. In MIRRO Vapo-Seal on WATERLESS Cooking utensils, the health-giving min- erals, vitamins, carbohydrates are Delps them work new wonders with foods! cooked into the foods, instead of being washed away with water. Send the coupon now, and you'll say, “Why didn’t I try this before?” MIRRO Vapo-Seal Covered Pans of gleaming super thick aluminum, come tn three sizes: 2.qt., $2.75 3 @@., $3.503 4 @., $4.00. (A little more om the Far West and South.) Cook book {rec with pans. FREE, WATERLESS COOKING RECIPE BOOK Aluminum Goods Manufacturing Co Manitowoc, Wis Gentlemen: Please send “What's New in Cook ery,’ giving latest waterless cooking recipes from the Mirro Test Kitchen THE FINEST ALUMINUM Zz ‘2

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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ares Vacter <.. micro-synchronous sine a... leaped into fame in a day!

It is thrilling the nation! Victor-Radioc...the only micro-synchronous radio—the climax of ng eet Victor's thirty years of leadership in sound reproduction! Here, at last, is a radio that duplicates the original performance of the artist — exactly as you would hear it at the broadcast station... A radio so far ahead that even radio ex- perts are astounded...that for the first time makes possible “acoustic symmetry”—from top to bottom of the musical scale! Never before has a radio been so easy to operate! Every station is in plain sight. Tuning ~— is instantaneous — and micro-exact. Best of all, Victor-Radio can be had with the marvelous new Victor-Electrola... bringing you music from records that will make you doubt your very senses...music from the air

so realistic that it will give you a new concep- tion of broadcast entertainment... all the music of the world at your command! Exquisite, very compact, original —cabinets you will be proud to own. In every detail, every Victor instrument is the product of the most

Victor Full- Vision, Super-Automatic Station Selector: All stations plainly and permanently visible... just slide the knob to right or lef{t—you have the station you want! Victor-Radio-Electrola. List price, $275, Less Radiotrons. painstaking and specialized craftsmanship...

Victor quality throughout.

Only unparalleled Victor resources could

bring you supreme, in-built Victor quality at these prices. Only $155* for the Victor-Radio Q7= Console; only $275* for Victor-Radio-Electrola.

Victor Talking Machine Division—Radio-Victor { Corporation of America, Camden, N. J., U.S. A. ictor-Radio

Copyright 1929 Radio-Victor Cor- ¥ Seen Tae with Electrola