ACTUAL VISITS TO P & G HOMES

NG, 5

She was a rosy-faced youngster of about four with a smudge on her nose. And she was sliding down her own front steps in a pair of blue and white rompers which looked immac- ulate—from the front.

““Mother’s in the garden,” she said.

So I went around to ask Mrs. Moore about laundry soap, just as I had asked a great many other women in that small Chicago suburb. I found her in the neatest of little gar- dens, gay with perennials.

“What kind of laundry soap do I use?” she repeated with a surprised smile. “Well, recent- ly I’ve begun to use P and G, and I’m delighted with it. You see, I’m particular about Molly’s clothes—I wash them myself, so I wanted to find a soap which was quick without being harmful.

“‘] put clean rompers on Molly every day of the week, but on Sunday she blos- soms out in real little girl clothes. You should see how proud she is of them!

cAn ironing hint from Mrs. Moore

‘*When I have to iron a dress with buttons I always fold a bath towel several times, place it under the buttons and iron the garment on the wrong side. This presses the buttons down inte the soft towel and irons the material around the

buttons without any trouble."’

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Of course all this makes quite a lot of washing, but I find P and G a wonderful help. I do far less rubbing than I did be- fore and the clothes look nicer.

“Colors, I find, stay beauti- fully clean and fresh—and my white clothes are really a joy! I rarely boil them, yet they are clean and white, and they smell sweet and fresh! It’s wonderful, too, to have a soap that you can use with hot or cold water. I use P and G for all my washing and cleaning— dishes, too.”

No wonder that Mrs. Moore, and millions of other women who are careful of their clothes, like P & G. No wonder that P & G is the largest-selling laundry soap in America! Less work, less rubbing, less boiling! Fresh colors and sweet-smelling clothes whether you use hot, cold or lukewarm water. Don’t you think that P & G should be doing your washing and cleaning too?

PROCTER & GAMBLE

Jaturday -a tomboy in rompers, but you should see her on Sunday/

August 14,1926

The largest-selling laundry soap in America— that is why it costs so little Compare P and G with the laundry soap you now use—price, weight,

quality. Then you'll see P and G's astonishing value.

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Volume 199 Sc. THE Copy PHILADELPHIA, PA., AUGUST 14, 1926 $2.00 THE YeaR Number 7

by Subscription

Ta&@ GRAY GOOSE

Al Tish ies a ey Roberts Rinehart

FrELUSTRATE DO ARTH VU wWwrtreieriAaAm BROWWN

N ORDER to understand the case of Emmie Hartford and the rather drastic method of men digging frantically in the cellar of the Hartford house just beneath the room ir

by which our splendid Tish endeavored to effect a cure, it is necessary to go back which we waited. But that is the way it began. a few months to that strange but brief period during which Letitia Carberry It was last Christmas that Charlie Sands, Tish's nephew, sent her a book on palmistry developed psychic power. Tish studied it carefully, and for some time Aggie and I, and even Hannah, her maid Not, indeed, that she used her power in the case referred to; on the contrary, rather. were obliged to make impressions of our hands on a sheet of smoked paper while 7 But the influence of her earlier experiences is plainly to be discovered by the careful studied the results. Aggie, I recall, had a line down near her wrist which worried T reader, and since she has been severely criticized for her attitude to Emmie, as well asfor greatly, revealing as it did an unbridled and passionate nature, although Aggie was

the methods she pursued, it is only fair to her to revert briefly to the incidents which _ certain that it was where she had been cut while paring quinces some years ago. And preceded the Hartford affair. Hannah certainly had the circle which indicated death by drowning. But what is

It is, I admit, a long step from a book on palmistry to that frightful evening when important to this narrative is that our dear Tish discovered that she herself had the Aggie and I were compelled to sit under the eyes of a policeman and listen to anumber _ psychic cross on both hands.

She at once undertook a study of such matters, although at first her attitude wa largely one of academic interest, she having always stoutly maintained that under no circumstances, once having passed over, would she care to be brought back and forced . to inhabit even temporarily the body of a medium she might not care for or might a indeed positively dislike.

} And, I may say, her interest was largely impersonal until well on into the

be spring. Then one night she had a most curious experience, and there began that

ft earnest investigation which was to lead us into such strange paths, and was later, ; . ,

hoes indeed, to see us driven from the Hartford home under conditions so unpleasant

that only a sense of fairness to Tish compels me to record them. Briefly, then, Tish was reading one evening in the living room of her apartment, while ‘Qo one’ Hannah in the kitchen was cutting out a nightgown from a paper pattern. There was only the light from the reading lamp, an auspicious fact, since we have since learned how fatal is light to these deli- cate phenomena, and it so hap- pened that there was on the

table beside her a vase of flowers

and also a pitcher of drinking water. Since both water and flowers greatly assist in psychi manifestations, it will be readily seen that, without Tish knowing it, the stage was al- ready set for the drama which ensued.

iddenly she heard a faint rustling, and on glancing up there was the sleeve patter f Hannah’s night- wn moving across the doorsill and into the room!

It is unfortu

that, in her si she dropped her bool and thus broke the ectoplasmic force, or whatever It may be

aper

‘Some People are Idiots,"’

Tish Gave Him a Terrible Stare, and Then She Used an Expression I Had Never Before Heard From Her Lips.

)

‘She's Gone!"' He Yelled.

one experiment, we persuaded Hannah to join us, with results so startling that neither she nor Aggie sat again. But even these early sittings brought surprising results. | quote a few extracts from Tish’s record, made each eve- ning after the event, and thus as correct as possible:

At one A.M. last night we secured heavy raps on the wall next to the Ingersoll apartment, distinctly audible over the sound of the phonograph.

By an unmistakable affirmative in the usual code of raps for yes and no, Mr. Wiggins tonight told Aggie he had desired her to have his cameo scarf pin, and not his sister, who has it.

Cc. S.—Chariie Sands—sat with us tonight. Vase of flowers and bow! of water on floor. He requested that the spirits place something in the bowl of water, and since it was Friday, sug- gested fish. In thirty seconds we heard a loud plop, and found on turning on the light that a goldfish was swimming in the bowl.

Brief as they are, these few extracts prove conclusively that we were securing results. Already, a purely amateur cirele as we were, we had succeeded in securing a material- ized form. More than that, the fish remained some days, in every way acting like a real fish, even eating the food we placed in the bowl. Indeed, it was only to leave us later on under circumstances as amazing as those of its arrival.

It will be seen, then, that we were slowly but definitely progressing, although small setbacks and annoyances came our way also. Hannah, for instance, became so nervous that she constantly threatened to leave, and on a storm coming up one night and Tish going into her room in her nightdress to see if the window was closed, was only in time to catch her before she leaped out of the window!

But in the main we were satisfied. True, our one at- tempt to utilize a trumpet medium, strongly recommended by Mrs. Ostermaier us having predicted Willie’s measles, was most unfortunate. We had invited Charlie Sands to sit with us, and the early performance was most surprising. Mr. Abraham, the medium, went into a deep trance and the trumpet which had been placed on the floor moved about and touched us all. Not only that, but it hovered in the air in front of Charlie Sands, and after a number of ,kissing sounds, a young woman who said her name was Katie and that she used to know him, asked him to go toa private sitting at Mr. Abraham’s, because she didn’t want to make any trouble for him by talking there.

“That’s right, Katie,”’ he said. ‘“‘I don’t seem to re- member you, but be discreet anyhow. And you might pass

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

ena,

2 etme &

“You've Lied to Me! She's Dead! Oh, My Poor Emmie, and I Left You to Die Alone!"’

that word along over there, because a lot of folks could come back and make trouble here if they wanted to.”

Well, she agreed to that and was just sending another kiss to him through the trumpet, when she sneezed twice. Tish thought it was Aggie, but it was not. And while this was being argued the medium in his chair suddenly gave a terrific yelp.

“‘T’ve been injured!’’ he shouted. ‘“‘Somebody’s played a trick on me! I’m damaged! I’m hurt!”

Well, Aggie turned on the lamp, and Mr. Abraham was on his feet, making dreadful faces and pulling at the seat of his trousers. Somebody had put a tack with the point upright on his chair, and he must have been standing up, for he had sat down on it. He was very much upset, and left without waiting to collect his fee at all.

It turned out that Charlie Sands had suspected him right along, and had blown some snuff into the trumpet when he was talking to Katie. It was he, also, who had placed the tack on the chair.

A weaker spirit than Letitia Carberry might have been discouraged, but Tish was not daunted; and, although our next sitting was the last we held, since neither Aggie nor Hannah would so much as venture into a dark room after it, it was so conclusive that it left no room for doubt.

To be brief, Tish had always felt that in materializing a goldfish we had done well, but not sufficiently well.

‘“‘A fish,” she said, “is a lower earth form. It is soulless and purely material, for there is no record of water in the higher planes of existence, since in the spirit we neither thirst nor bathe. We must do better than that.”’

As a result of this resolution we were, as I have said, compelled to give up our sittings entirely; but not before we had had a success beyond our wildest hopes.

On the night in question, then, we had coaxed Hannah to sit Once more, and in a very few minutes we heard un- deniable sounds from the neighborhood of the open win- dow. ‘As it was entirely dark we could see nothing, but after a short time Hannah yelled in a terrified voice that something was rubbing against her.

“Hush!” said Tish quietly. ‘If it is a spirit form it is welcome. Welcome, friend.”

“It’s scratching my leg!”’ said Hannah in a dreadful tone,

She then let out a bloodcurdling yell and the next in- stant the spirit form had leaped to Aggie’s shoulder, and she fell from her chair in a dead faint. We were obliged to turn on the light, but it was a long time before she could do more than moan. Naturally the force was entirely dissi- pated by that time; but Hannah was able to show two long scratches on her leg as evidence, and Aggie’s shoulder revealed three or four minute punctures entirely through the skin.

A careful examination of the room also revealed a star- tling fact. The goldfish had disappeared from its bow]!

It was, indeed, a retnarkable achievement, marking as it did our advance from the piscatorial to the animal plane, and indicating that we might even hope before long for the materialized human body. But, alas for Tish’s hopes, neither Aggie nor Hannah would sit again. So under- mined, indeed, was Hannah's morale by the incident that she gave us a considerable fright only a few days later.

Tish was experimenting with automatic writing at the time, and had already secured a curious result. Her hand had drawn first a series of straight horizontal lines and then crossed them with a similar number of vertical ones, resulting in numerous small squares. Then, moving on inexorably, it had just written beneath: ‘‘Number one horizontal,’’ when we heard a terrific shriek from Hannah's room, followed by another and another.

The power, of course, was broken, and, on rushing to Hannah’s assistance, we found that she had heard strange movements and sounds from her closet and was convinced that there was a spirit there. It turned out, however, to be only the Ingersolls’ cat; a troublesome animal which had crawled in over the fire escape and was playing with a mouse it had captured.

But this practicaliy ended our experiments in that direc- tion. As Tish so justly observed, the craven heart has no place in the spirit world. I have related it, however, be- cause indirectly but surely it had its influence in the Hartford matter.

T WAS just after all this that Aggie’s cousin Will Hart-

ford came to see her and to ask her to indorse a note for five hundred dollars. We were all struck by the change in him; he used to be a nice-looking man, rather fastidious

August 14,1926

—

———

| | \

a ed

—S

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

about his clothes, but he looked thin and had a bad color that day, and as shabby as a person could be and go about.

Aggie was so sorry for him that she would have done what he asked, but Tish at once advised against it

‘“‘Lending money to relatives is like lending seed to a canary bird,” she said. ‘‘ You get paid only in song, and some of them can't sing. What's the matter, anyhow, Will?”’ she demanded, gazing at him with her usual searching glance. “‘ You earn a good salary. You oughtn't to be borrowing seed—I mean money.”

“Well,” he said, “*‘ Emmie’s kind of frail. She has been most ever since I married her. It’s mostly a matter of doctors and nurses.”

“Frail, how?” said Tish sharply. ‘ Morally or physi- cally? She used to be all right. I can remember when she ate three eggs for breakfast and was out in the pantry at eleven o'clock for a glass of milk.”

He looked pained

“She doesn’t eat now at all, Letitia,”’ he said sadly. “She feeds most everything that goes up on her tray to the dog. I don’t know how she lives on what she eats.”

Well, poor Will’s story was certainly a sad one. About ten years ago Emmie had been taken sick. Fainted. And from that time on she’d just been up and down. Once they had thought it was a dropped stomach, and about the time she was all strapped up for that along came a new doctor and located something in her gall bladder. Her kidneys were wrong, too, and they’d got a new specialist lately who was laying the trouble to the thyroid gland.

‘“*She’s had so many hypodermics that her poor skin is full of holes,’”’ he told us. ‘I guess they’ve used about a hundred needles on her.”’

“It’s a pity somebody wouldn’t use a needle on you,” said Tish sharply, looking at a hole in his sock.

But he only put his foot under his chair and went on about his troubles.

‘“*T don’t like asking for help,”’ he said, ‘“‘but every time I get a little money it goes to doctors and nurses. I’ve paid a nurse forty dollars a week for seven years and I’ve been needing a new suit for the last six of them. And we can’t keep help. There’s nobody there now but the nurse. Seems as though the feebler Emmie gets the worse they treat her.”’

Well, he looked so forlorn that Tish sent Aggie out for some blackberry cordial.

“Is she in bed all the time?”’ she asked

“She’s up and down. I carry her down to the living room once in a while, but I can’t do it often. I'm not so strong as I used to be.”

“Still, as thin as she must be

“Well, she isn’t exactly thin,”’ he said in an embarrassed manner. “It’s a funny thing, but she’s put on weight. Of course, weight itself may be a disease. I guess it is with her, anyhow.”

Tish glanced at him, but he was drinking his blackberry cordial and didn’t notice it. He was certainly shabby, and his face had sort of fallen in

“What's the matter with your teeth?” Tish said sud- denly.

“I’ve lost one or two of them,” he admitted. “I haven't liked to take the time away from her to get them looked at. You see’’—he looked away from us, out of the window **you see, I may not have her long. I don’t want ever to feel that I—that I failed her in any way.’

“It’s a pity it isn't Emmie who's lost her teeth, and not you,”’ said Tish. ‘“‘Since she doesn’t need them and you do.”’

But he looked pained at that; so she told him she would think things over and let him know what Aggie would do, and he went away. On his way out Tish asked him sud- denly what sort of a dog they had, and he seemed sur- prised.

“It’s a Pekingese,’’ he said, and went out with his shoul- ders bent, like an old man.

After he had gone Aggie told us more about Emmie. She said it was a great pity about her, not forty yet and on her deathbed, but that that sort of weakness ran in the family.

“Her mother was delicate, too,"’ she said. ‘‘ For twenty- five years she never came downstairs. Her mother carried up every bite of food she ate.”’

“‘What happened to her then?”’ Tish put in, rousing herself. ‘‘ Did she die?”

“‘No, but her mother did,” Aggie said.

‘*And then who carried the tray?”

“Well, she began to get better about that time, and she lived to be eighty. She would be living now, poor soul, but she got on a chair one night to reach a piece of pie that somebody had hidden in the pantry, and she fell off and broke her neck.”

Tish seemed very t ightful as she we k to her apartment. She told Aggie not to do anyt g jt the note for atime; that she would go and think over the situa-

tion. It was that night that she called me up and asked m« how large a Pekingese dog was, and I| told her the one my

niece, Lily May Carter, had, weighed about sever

**You're sure of that, are you?”’ she inquired the size of a police dog or a mastiff “Not unless it’s grown considerably since I saw

assured her

“Then,” she said, “I fancy things at Will Hartford's are in a very bad way. We'd better go there, Lizzie

“Do you think that Emmie’s going to die, Tist

“*I do, indeed,” said Tish dryly. ‘At eighty or ninety if I can restrain myself so long, she will pass on. But Will Hartford is in a bad way. And so, I sh« ; added cryptically, “is the Pekingese dog

We left two days later to see Emmie. It suited none of

meeting at

us to go. It was almost time for the annual the church, where we invariably serve the supper. Also Aggie was having an early attack of hay fever, which the dust of the motor trip did nothing to allay. All in ail, only a strong sense of duty took us, a genuine spirit of self sacrifice; and when I think of that last evening there, with the house full of doctors and policemen, I cannot restrain a certain sense of bitterness

We acted entirely for the best. If the results were not what we anticipated, surely the fault is not ours. And how true, indeed, are these lines, secured only the other day by Tish through the medium of automatic writing:

There swims no goose so gray but soon or late She finds some honest gander for her w mi

T WAS the night before our departure that Tish and I

sat together for advice on the situation, Aggie definitely refusing to join us.

We got rather feeble results, as the power was evidently low; but on her asking if we should go to the Hartfords’, the table very clearly rapped ‘‘ Yes.” Whether, after I had gone, Tish received further instructions or not I do not know, but I am inclined to think she did. For one reason, I doubt if the idea of breaking a spring in her car and thus prolonging our stay there originated with her She is very fond of her car

Continued on Page 79

‘‘There Has Never Been Any Other Woman in My Life, Emmie,’’ He Toid Her. “I've Never Had Any Time for That Sort of Thing, and You Know It’’

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

August 14,1926

| HARVEST OF THE YEARS

A few months before his

death Luther Burbank, then at the height of his powers and in the midst of experi- ments as numerous and im-

now the keen sweetness of the air on sharp morn-

By Luther Burbank, With Wilbur Tle — ro.,1 car rmenve

portant as any conducted during his long and active career, expressed a desire to set down some of his obser- vations of life and men from his viewpoint as a naturalist and humanist. This work, entered on with enthusiasm,

on developed a review of the methods and discoveries Mr. Burbank had employed in training plants to work for men, and its scope broead- ened. While always reflec- tive and, in a sense, remi- niseent, it began to bring out the story of his own mental growth and _ his unique experiences as a col- laborator with Nature. The project went forward rap- idly and in substance was in order for publication when he was suddenly taken ill, March 24, 1926.

Although from the begin- ning he was very sick, Mr. Burbank spoke more than once of this series of arti- cles, and it was his wish, conveyed through Mrs. Bur- bank, that they be com- pleted according to the plan he had outlined. After his death what remained to be done was done under Mrs. Burbank’'s personal super- vision; the result is an in- timate and informal nar- rative that gives, clearly, a picture of the great nat-

uralist’s mind and life. It ae ee ae is significant that the story can now be rounded out with the very last words he wrote and spoke, at the end of a life of seventy-seven years, every hour of which was crowded with vital contacts with men, events, and the vegetable world in which he made himself at once reverent pupil and unrivaled master. —W.H.

The naturalist’s first question —however learnedly he may phrase it —is one of the child's first questions, asked long before it can speak: ‘‘ What is this?”’ But close upon the first arises a second: ‘‘How does it work?"’—J. ARTHUR THOMSON.

ACK of every plant, every shellfish, every burrowing

rodent or ravaging animal, and back of every

human being, there stretches an illimitable and mysterious heredity, about the nature of which, and con- cerning the influence of which on the individual, scientists and the wise men spend their lives in research and specu- lation and conclusions. Little as we know of this subject, we have pretty generally agreed that the newborn child has a heritage of tendencies and inclinations which furnish the foundation or groundwork upon which he must build his house of life.

But it is only the foundation, I think; the superstructure is built by environment. Heredity is the shape of the edifice, its position on the ground, whether a hillside or a plain, a rugged rock or a piece of shifting sand; environ- ment is the architect of the structure. Probably I have used that word “environment” more often than any other man that ever lived; if I seem to put stress on it, as these papers grow, it is because seventy years of interest in plant life and of wholesale experimentation to discover, test, practice, and then codify the laws underlying that life, have compelled me to the belief that environment is the great molding force behind the steady upward progress of the universe.

A Good Place in Which to be Born

NV Y OWN heredity gave me a ground plan for my life 7 that called for an edifice sturdily built on the rock of knowledge and fact, and yet that was plastic enough to enable me to use a front elevation strangely like a house of dreams—a veritable castle in Spain. Behind me were hard-headed practicality, shrewd Yankee thrift and an insistence on an exact basis for reasoning and planning. At the same time there came to me, in vein and nerve system and brain cell, the imagination, the tendency to dream dreams, and the instinct to create, that impelled me to invention, to inquiry, to the visioning of ideals that could be attained somchow, no matter how bold or foolhardy

the project seemed to others.

Mt. Wachusett From Whittemore Hill, Mr. Burbank's Favorite Landscape. At Right—A Recent Photograph of Mr. Burbank

My father, Samuel Walton Burbank, was a New Eng- lander of pure and unmixed physical strain, but it was not the shallow soil, the rocky structure below, the hardness of labor, the rigor of the winters, and the austerity of the people about him that he saw; he was a man of imagina- \ tion and a facile mind, \ and he glimpsed beauty and the sunshine and the pleasantness of the land in its garments of spring and autumn and was influenced by them. My mother was shrewd and practical, of a nerv- ous temperament, quick and im- pulsive, yet kindly, intelligent and with a great love of her garden. She had an unusual bent for making things

grow, whether from domesticated seeds or PubTO BY J. fart

from bulbs or cuttings or roots found in

the woods all about; one of my earliest recollections is of the beauty and peace and fragrance of that old-fashioned garden of hers.

My birthplace was the brick house on the Burbank farm in Lancaster Township, near Boston, Massachusetts; I cannot but believe that the farm’s diversified nature and activities were strongly influential on my life. The farm work, the pottery kiln my father built and that led him to the foundation of a brickyard, the woodlots from which were taken the fuel supplies for house and kilns, the gar- dens, berry patches, the sugar bush, and other activities not only kept a small boy busy but kept him interested, since there was never any long stretch of monotonous work—that murderer of enthusiasm and destroyer of the sheer fun of labor!

Near by and all around us were manufacturing plants of the most diverse kinds, where, at that time, something of almost every fabricated article used in growing America was made.

Physically, too, the old Lancaster farm was a broad education to a boy full of curiosity and keen to put his nose into all sorts of businesses and natural wonders. Massa- chusetts was—and is still!—a good place in which to be

SAN FRAN AL.

ings, the sun on snow or on green carpets of grass on the rolling land, run- ning up sharply, here and there, to hills where the ribs of the earth were revealed in rugged out- croppings of rock; I can hear the scoldings and makings-up of birds, the sharp crack of ice on a near-by pond, the croak of frogs in the odorous evening, and the welcome sound of a shrill voice calling me to supper.

Rugged Beauty

EW ENGLAND has something all its own—an atmosphere of rugged beauty, of kindli- ness hidden behind a brusque manner—that its people absorbed from the land. It is a coun- try full of surprises and discoveries—lost ponds, unexpected vistas, hid- den vales, villages cupped in unlooked-for hollows, unanticipated, breathless sights of the distant sea! I do not think I was more sen- sitive to beauty than all the others, but perhaps I ex- claimed about it more. It never failed me. And it never failed to excite and stimulate me. Physically, I say, our Lancaster Township was a splendid opportunity for an inquisitive boy. Within a day’s travel | found and studied a great part of the geographical forms that mark the fas- cinating surface of the earth. It was not from books that I learned what a cape may be, a promontory, a table-land, a mountain, an inlet, a river, a marsh, a bay, an ocean, or an island. Thoreau was celebrating at that time the majesty of the New England moun- tains that were not far from us, and the more level lands were a source of inspira- tion and delight to me. I might add that the variousness of natural things in New England extended to the weather, but if I said that, my New England friends would charge me with being a Californian now, and prej- udiced. As a child, my mother and sister told me long afterward, I was always a lover of flowers. I don’t know whether it was the bright color or the perfume or the texture, or all three, because I certainly don’t believe that I was a child prodigy or a naturalist in my cradle, but certainly I have been told anecdotes enough of myself to show that I could be kept quiet and happy if I had a flower to hold and ad- mire. This instinct, or passion, or preference continued after I grew old enough to choose my own activities, but I was a fairly healthy, normal boy, I guess, and I can well imagine that flowers appealed to me in inverse proportion to the amount of time I had to spend hoeing them or fer- tilizing the ground or digging up bulbs in the fall. I cannot remember that I was more interested in flowers or, indeed, in plant life, than I was in everything else about me. To the contrary, I am sure that it was life that absorbed my attention. I had no early tendency toward science, but I had a consuming curiosity, an inquisitiveness, about life forces and the processes and miracles of Nature.

oat —

One incident, written clearly on the tablets of my mem- ory, concerns a winter-day discovery that gave me a great deal to think about. I was heartily tired of winter, I re- member, as a growing boy in New England was likely to become, and was walking in the timber piece, perhaps moodily, and maybe kicking up the snow and calling it names, and perhaps punished for my petulance by stub- bing my rebellious toe against a hard-hearted old New England rock, when suddenly I saw a green place ahead of me. I could not believe my eyes. There were tall grass, bright, fresh, springlike shrubs and vivid vines, and on it all played sunshine almost tropical in its white intensity.

I am sure I must have hurried forward, forgetting my rebel mood, to find that this was all real—a sort of winter oasis of green in a world of monotonous white. It took me some time to make out that there rose here one of those marvelous springs sometimes found in wintry countries that brought to the surface enough heat so that no snow

ould remain on it, and so that vegetable life could get a foothold and maintain itself in the bitterest weather.

I studied the phenomenon intently. Very dimly there hegan to grow in my mind vague questions as to how these plants and grasses and vines, their neighbors and cousins and brothers all dead and withered under the snow, or else dormant and waiting for spring, could adjust themselves to this summer-in-winter environment. Why, I asked, didn't they follow the traditions of their families and die with the fall, or droop and shed their leaves and hibernate, no matter what the warm water brought to them in the way of a miracle of equable temperature? Certainly the lycopodiums, the beautiful trailing partridge berry, the sedges and grasses, and here and there an early sprouting buttercup, should have known better, the way they had been raised, and with their decent seven-months-of-summer ancestry behind them, than to flaunt themselves so shame- lessly in this unfilial winter blooming!

Factors That Led to My Career

AM SURE now that my first thoughts—very dim and

vague, as I say, and only a boy’s surface wonder, instead of a scientific hypothesis—concerning the power of he- redity in the miracles of plant variations came to me in that hour. It was late when I started home, and I could hardly wait to get there to tell the folks what I had found. To them it was no miracle; they saw in it no half-revealed secret stolen from Mother Nature’s cupboard of marvels; but to me it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened. It turned me to watching and studying and comparing, and when the influence of an older mind, trained in the processes of Nature, fell on me I was wide- awake to make the most of the opportunity.

This older mind that exerted itself strongly in shaping mine was that of my father’s nephew, Levi Sumner Bur- bank, a man who had been well educated, who had a bent for the natural sciences, and who certainly had a remark- ible power of exposition and explanation, so that what he talked about was alive and exciting and never dull and tedious. Cousin Levi had been a professor in Paducah College, and had read more books and understood them better than anyone else I knew. My own father was well- read and my mother was versed in a simple knowledge of things, but Levi Burbank had matters at his fingers’ ends and could talk of them fluently. He was interested in Nature and her processes and he knew enough of such laws and speculations as men had then formulated to open

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

many doors for an avid boy. It was he, I think, who may have crystallized my formless thinking and shaped m vague theories until he had made me want to know second-hand, but first-hand, from Nature herself, what the rules of this exciting game of life wers

These, I am sure, were the factors that led me to my career. My heredity gave me the basic plan for my build- ing; the environment of that New England farm

and the influence chiefly ' of my Cousin Levi showed we ° me early something of the (4 form the edifice was to %. take.

Afterward I had the beginnings of education along many lines, but in my formative years | was moved only by en- thusiasm, a love of Na- ture, a great and insatia- ble curiosity, and a high regard for facts as against theories. When I began to work I had no elab- orate equipment. I hada garden patch; I had no 2 microscope and Gray's Botany; I had a hoe and a pair of overalls; I had no fixed and_ inflexible scientific education; I had a voracious appetite for knowledge. I have stud- ied and experi- mented with plant life for al- most seventy years since then; Ihave watched men and their motives and movements with interest and cu- riosity; I have regarded the progress of the world and what we call civiliza- tion; I have tried to look beyond war for its causes, beyond poverty for its economic germ, beyond ig-

PIED FROM A MINIATURE TINTYPE BY #5. LAWTON

norance for the sapping parasite from which it grows in the human mind, beyond bigotry and supersti tion for the human weakness and fear that breed them. I have wondered and questioned and experimented and observed, from the beginning until today, with no more equipment than the mind of one inquisitive and a lover of life, and now I look back down the years and try to set forth here something of what I have observed in all this time.

Luther Burbank at the Age of Sixteen

I had a taste for drawing, and for atime | ed irt serious I had good ir Ward t ractice of medicine and I took up that tr g nere wa every opport ty f me tog to manu g, ar I went to wor nata r i for ma r ‘ that I had, perhaps indr g re. Myen rye felt this even more strong than | par cause ) ‘ T ry ‘ T et ‘ ‘ | } es v Ij nte ere adopted ar “ ry ‘ ‘ ‘ 4 ms te ——— Call of the Land ‘s) ] WA t I * ava T ray = “ her wage ere } oT “ ‘ g! “ resu oon ™ daptabilit Bree er é " lL pe sessed u without 7 peing fu iware O N re was caliing met the land, and when thers ily I my share IT f r modest est | ould 1 ger resist , the ¢a 14 Pe H In Lunenburg Town 3 hif t far from Lan- caste I ind seventeer acre f unusually es that wa sale. On the place was a good old house and, although some of my friends tried to dissuad PHOTO. BY H.W EASON, 8 me,and the menatthefac The Lane Approaching the tory told me I was mak Burbank Place. The Apple . iar Trees Were Planted by Mr. . m 1 bought Burbank's Mother this prope ind set 7 f Vi a market ga dener. It was my notion that the garden would pay its own way and leave me not only a field for experi- ment but the means with which to work Oddly enough, it was not my instinctive desire to investi- gate the laws of the plant world, but a d necessity which pitched me, as we say, “neck and crop” into plant experimentation Immediately I began this vocation of mine I learned what all of us have to learn who enter the sober busi-

ness of life, namely, that I had not been the first to think of raising produce for the market In short,

I found myself in active competition with well established and experienced market gardeners; of course, I learned all the tricks of the trade as regard ld frames, hotheds, the use of glass and fertilizer, and the cultivation of the soil, but my competitors knew these secrets and used them better, probably from years of experience, thar

could I, a mere youngster. This competition made me a serious sti:dent of the method

which Nature produced

Continued on Page 126

The House on the Seventeen Acres in Lunenburg Township on Which Mr. Burbank Produced the Burbank Potato in 1872. At the Right, His Birthplace

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

August 14,1926

SHEIK’S CLOTHING

ILLUSTRATED

EG BROWN was really in no frame of mind to enjoy the afternoon off which was given everybody in the offices of Chapin, Howard and Higginbotham

out of respect for Olin T. Chapin, the senior partner, aged

eighty-seven, who was being buried at four o’clock. It was not grief for Mr. Chapin, whom he had never seen—

Mr. Chapin had been taking things easy since 1899

which weighed on his spirit, however, but the memory of

his recent interview with the mother of Elinor Dana.

“But, my dear Reg,” Mrs. Dana had said to him in her limpid, beautiful voice which, at the moment, somehow suggested that it was very near the rippling indiscretion of a giggle. “My very dear Reg, adorable as you are, you're a perfect baby.”

“‘I don’t see how you can say that, Mrs. Dana,’”’ Reg protested. ‘I graduated from college last year.”

“Did you?”

“‘And I was voted the man in my class most likely to succeed.’

“ Reaily?’

“Well, I know that’s no guaranty, but it means some- thing when the men you've been with for four years think that of you.”

“The men?” Mrs. Dana echoed. “Don’t you realize, Reg dear, that your college is just a bassinet; a great, beau- tiful, green bassinet for hundreds of lovely male babies?”’

‘Elinor doesn’t think I’m so young.”

“Elinor is seventeen. She has been known to describe a man thirty as elderly.”

“‘But—”’ it was a hard thing to say to a person like Mrs. Dana; a person who looked like the lady on a golden coin come to life, “but we're in love.”

Mrs. Dana did the awful thing he’d expected. She laughed.

“How in the world do you know you are?”

“We know, all right,’’ Reg informed her, with a scarlet attempt at dignity.

“But you don’t. You have only the vaguest idea what love is. You hardly know what women are. As for life!”

In appreciation of his ignorance on that subject, all Mrs. Dana could do was laugh again.

“No, no, Reg, my dear,’’ she repeated in final answer to his question. ‘‘Go away for about seven years and ripen a little, while I ripen Elinor. At the end of that time, if you decide

you're in love, I may listen to you, no matter how farcicai your income.”

‘*Does that mean I can’t see Elinor any more?”

“Of course it doesn’t. I think you have been perhaps a trifle overconstant lately, but we'llsimply adore having you about again as soon as we get back from the South,”’ Elinor’s mother told him.

They were going in four days. It was that which had pushed Reg to this hideous conversation.

‘A month and a half from now?” Reg said bleakly.

“Only,”’ Mrs. Dana continued, ‘‘you’re to see Elinor then with the understanding that you're just dear, ridic- ulous children, playing at a heroic game of whose im- plications you haven't the faintest conception. And now

Ruth, Who Was Both Home: sick and Lovesick

By CHARLES BRACKETT

BY JAMES H.

CRANK

you'll have to ex- cuse me, Reg dear. I’m dining out. You've been so amusing. I'll promise never to tell, if it will make you more com- fortable.”’

Comfortable! Reg doubted if he would ever ex- perience another moment’s com- fort.

He crawled back to the club as though he’d been literally put back into rompers.

He’d got to think of him- self as quite old-lookiny, with his mustache, which, if it was slightly albino and apt to be invisible in any but the proper light, was of a very respectable texture. Now he knew that was just self-

deception and conceit.

It wasn’t as though Mrs. Dana was a she Methuselah w ose opinion on such mat- ters wasn’t worth anything. Mrs. Dana was just thirty- seven and lots more frivolous than Elinor. Reg had always believed her a great friend of his, and to learn what she really thought of him was horrible.

He didn’t know how he'd have got through that evening if Tubby Preston hadn’t been at the club to listen to the story. Tubby had grad- uated the year before and was a mature, almost fatherly person who nursed a pipe and had judi- cial views on most subjects.

“By George, that old girl must be as clever as they come,” was the reaction of Tubby, who had never seen Mrs. Dana.

“Does that mean you think I am too young?” Reg asked fiercely.

“Hell, no. You can’t be too young to marry. I’ve been too set in my ways to think of it, ever since I was twelve; but where she’s clever is that she seized on something with a little truth in it and made you so sensitive about it you'll probably never be able to face her again.”

“‘Then you do think it’s true?”

“Sure; I think you’re kind of a kid about some things. Have you ever been around with women at all?”

Reg blushed. ‘‘ At house-party times,’’ he answered.

“*T don’t mean nice girls. I mean chorus girls and things here in New York. Have you?”

“‘T don’t like ’em,” Reg stated.

“How do you know, if you haven’t ever been around with them? Now, look here, Reg; I don’t say the old girl is right. It wouldn’t be my idea to tie a daughter of mine up with some rotten roué, but maybe she’s not so crazy as you think. What if you were married to Elinor and one of these other women came along and hooked you? They say the guys without experience are the ones they get every time.”

“I'd like to see the one I’d look at with Elinor around.”

“Elinor wouldn’t stand a chance with the sort I mean,” Tubby said, emitting a great, meditative cloud of smoke. “The kind that raise hell with men. Silken women, you know.”

“Aw, they’re something people make up,”’ Reg averred. *‘All the ones I ever saw just wriggle around and paw you, and make you sick.”

“You're talking about the pikers,’’ Tubby told him. “They never made much trouble for anybody. But there are others. Subtle ones. The ones that give women the

Reg Kept His Eyes on Their Faces, Which Were Amazingly Alike in Smart Posterish Make-Up

rotten reputation they have. Do you remember a play that stock company put on in North Adams called A Fool There Was, where the woman drained a man of every cent he had, and when he shot himself, laughed and said, ‘ Fool! Fool!’ and strewed rose petals over him? Well, it was pretty old-fashioned and all that, but I'll bet there was a lot of truth in it.”

“Well, if there are any women like that, what would they want with me?” Reg queried.

“To destroy you,”’ Tubby answered. ‘‘ That’s what they like—to destroy the male.”’

It was extraordinary how discussing the matter with Tubby, even though he agreed in a measure with Mrs. Dana, put it in a manlier, less shameful light. Neverthe- less, the depression Mrs. Dana had induced persisted, and that Friday afternoon of presumptive reverence for Mr. Chapin, Reg went to the club with no more joyous plan than to bum around with whoever happened to be there.

The club was empty, however, and to kill time until someone arrived he indulged in a tub, instead of the hurried shower which was all he could get on working afternoons, when he came back grimy from bituminous downtown.

When he went to his chiffonier to get fresh linen it struck him that fate was being rather gratuitously ironic

Living in the club was always hard on his wardrobe, what with transient brothers taking anything they happened

to need, with or without permission, and an acquisi- tive houseman cleaning his room every day; but last week in his absorption with Elinor Dana he had forgotten to send off his laundry, then forgotten his omission and drawn heedlessly on the supply of conservative, manly things such as he wore usually

gentle- As a result, the

drawers now held only their bottom-most secret layers. Their contents would have been a revelation to a psycho- analyst

From time to time, during the past few years, Reg had bought clothes with a bravado which had never quite sus- tained him to the point of wearing them. They had sunk, a brilliant sediment, beneath the humdrum fluid of every- day necessities, and now they lay before him, not the sober habiliments of Reginald Brown, an earnest young man soberly facing life, but the bright garments of the sup- pressed Reg Brown, of the person he wished to be.

Reg’s first reaction was to pull forth again the shirt he had just thrust into the bulging laundry bag, but the collar and cuffs were definitely gray and he was the cleanliest of creatures.

He took the top shirt from the second drawer. It was of fine linen besprent with small red flowers, and on the bosom was worked an elaborate cipher in red embroidery. Reg’s possession of it was the result of a moment’s utter abandon in the New York branch of a French haber- dasher; a succursale so almost insultingly self-confident that it was practically hidden from the world in an upper room of a Fifth Avenue jeweler. Reg had never had it on his back except to be sure that it fitted him.

Half-heartedly he adjusted the front collar button, the back collar button, and picked up a plain gold cuff link. Then he re- membered the cuff links he'd got at Bill Pierson’s wedding, with stripes of red enamel! across the gold. He found their case and extracted them, and suddenly it occurred to him that he had a bow tie whose finely dotted luster matched the little red flowers, and that he might as well wear it and a wing collar, and his short black coat and gray striped trousers.

By the time those were laid out on the bed, so in the grip of glad sartorial frenzy did he find himself that, with a white pair still in the lowest drawer, Reg chose some blue-checked trunks which, with his running shirt, made a smart inner castume of their and when dressed, selected an incredibly handkerchief which a sophisticated version bright Scotch plaid.

As he looked in the glass he wished Mrs. Dana could him. Experience! He might not have had such an awful lot, but he defied any casual server to suspect it.

The plan of staying at the club had evaporated. In those clothes he’d go to the wildest place he could find. Everyone thought he needed experience so badly; he’d get a little.

It was out of character for the young man in the mirror not to know a choice of the speedier resorts in which to spend a Fri- day afternoon in New York; but Reg didn’t. He’d thought, he meditated bitterly, that the proper course, if you wanted to get married, was to plug along and make good. With Elinor he was accustomed to seek out a little tea garden which called itself, rather affectedly, a Dancing. It was all right, but most of the people who went there, he now realized, were just kids. He wanted something of a very different caliber.

A line of poetry came into his

own: he was

sheer was

of a

see

ob-

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

That was his desire, too—for madder n and for stronger wine. As a matter of literalness, at the Dancing there had been no wine whatever

The poem was about somebody in love and barred out from love just as he was. Where had he heard it? O} yes, Ruby Cook Shipman. He'd unfortunately picked it

out to praise from a number of poems she recited and had turned out to be the on!

only one not by ner Ruby Cook Shipman! Why, wasn't her salon just t place he was looking for? At least, wasn’t there a chanc this might prove one of the days of whose Bohemian

’

brilliance she had told him

Ruby Cook Shipman was one of those famous me ople of whom everyone meets a great many inter in New York. She was not only famous as the creator of the Shippie Kippies, which she herself despised as com- mercial, but she wrote poetry, and she had done a novel in the manner of James Joyce. with an almost

during a first w

She had seized upon Reg had acknowledged her famousness by knowing who she was at a club tea to which Tubby’s mother had, rather apolo- getically, brought her.

Her salon was composed, or usually composed— Reg had been there twice, but both times off days—of people awfully important in the arts. It certainly seemed logical that if the ladies Tubby had spoken of were to be encountered any place to which he had access, it would be under the ceiling of a broad-minded woman like Ruby Cook Shipman.

carnivorous cordiality when he

except wi

terrible,

entered Shipman had written a poem about |

candles lit.

distorted and poison: prove the disdain of wl n already

Miss Shipman’s studio was on ¢

very handsome, or should have beer

happened on off days as far as the had

‘Don't tell on

always seen it in a good dea me,” him both times he had been there en I’ve been having a doesn't it? you?

candles, will

Thing

the door was open; her heart The

so Reg

caroled

another

stant a

nave “Don't f Snifter

accurate

head —‘‘I cried for madder mu- sic and for stronger wine.”

“I'm Going to Supper With Bill After the Show.

Z'tt Get Him to Take You Too"

Ruby Cool

been mal

peared in

Shipmar

“Tt ne

slege

So if anybody comes

head

their pizalr re

“ Hello,”’

he and she

Was peaullilll In a

carefully painté

Continued

grown on

Pull down the shades and light t

looked more propitious that afte

it always was; Ruby

because the shades were already room was apparently des ti

“ Ruby’ll be right there

“Ruby and Snifter,

vay ft oT wit a riotou ri mig | ern col snitte nsor vas M inat i e can define at r it

Reg greeted him.

“Absolutely hello, ne re- turned. ‘* We be wit uina minute You know Why, where's she gone? Look around and u'll find some- thing nice

With that a person rose from the depths of a da nair

“I’m here a ful voice said

Snifter ted a giggle and withdrew, and Reg f i him- self looking into the smoldering eyes of exact the creature Tubby Pres " is had evoked t his gination

She was tall —a st as tall as

Her clothes and her hat were like those of ladies in pictures which the artist has mere gested \ a sure lines Amazingly enougr! ) he ir was the one WwW ( Tubby id quoted his woman as usin *Fool,”’ sne Sa meaning snilter and sank int rena igain. Reg « ulqd SF er there \

darkness, her face smoldering He tried to think of something sopnisticated t say W he couldn't despise, t he he had succeeded she

‘What are vou looking at me

Her litr Wi i lenge

‘I didn't | witw { j- den,”” he respor i ;

on Page

er gets Ke

ake

and a head a}

HERE was a family in Fraternity by the

name of Brisker. That is to say, there had

heen a family by that name; but only two brothers remained. Old Will Brisker had owned a decent farm toward North Fraternity, and when his neighbors gave up the effort to maintain them- selves upon the land and moved away he sometimes bought their holdings. In this wise he came into possession of the stand of buildings and some fifty acres of land between his own farm and the village where, after his death, Morris Brisker lived alone. Jud, the elder brother, stayed at the original farm and prospered there. Old Will had been dissatisfied with Morris, and had expressed this feeling so openly and so often that Morris held in the town much the same position as a dog which has acquired a bad name.

If Morris was a dog with a bad name, Jud was a horse of another color; for the two brothers were unlike in almost every particular. There was a tremendous disparity in size between them; for Morris was a big man, with hulking shoulders and a lowering brow, while Jud was small and active and efficient, and he had a gift for good humor and a ready smile. Also Jud was aggressive and confident, while life had taught Morris to be mild and unassertive and to take ill fortune as it came.

Their farms were nearer North Fraternity than Fra- ternity itself, so that they did not come to the village for the mail and were seldom seen there on other errands. Nevertheless, their affairs were of interest to the town, and were well enough known. It was known, for instance, that the enmity between them dated back to the time when, as boys together at home, they fought, and Morris, uncon- scious of his own strength, broke his brother’s arm. The arm had been set by old Will Brisker himself and had been slightly crooked ever since; it thus served to keep Jud continually reminded of the wrong his brother once had done him. And for all his good humor, he was not a for- giving man.

Not that this long ill feeling between them ever flamed nowadays into any active fire; but it existed and was rec- ognized, and it could be discovered by any observant eye in Jud’s countenance whenever he encountered his brother. Morris never displayed any particular dislike for Jud; it is doubtful whether he felt any. He was, as has been said, a humble soul; and it is probable that he was always con- us that in that ancient victory he had been wrong.

ILLUSTRATED BY w. H. D.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

By Ben Ames Williams

KOERNER

The farm where Morris lived was on a slope of land that canted to the north, and so was not so productive as other lands about; Jud’s place, nearer North Fraternity, was as good as any farm in town. So while Morris had seldom more than a scant finger hold on security, Jud did well and thriftily. There was a woman whom he hired to come in daily and attend him, make his bed, cook his supper in the evening, wash his dishes afterward and keep his house in general order. Morris, on the other hand, was his own cook and housemaid, and his kitchen was a scandal to the community.

The Frye place was just across the road from Morris’ farm; but during the three years it lay empty the man had no neighbor nearer than his brother, half a mile away. He must have been, at times, lonely enough; but he was not heard to complain. Then Weed bought the Frye place and came up from Portland to live there; and he and his wife put it in order and brought it into productive life again. Weed at first sometimes went to Morris for advice, for he was not a man who knew anything about farming; he had bought this farm, as it were, by the doctor’s order, and he was not well. Morris gave liberally of what wisdom he pos- sessed; but Weed usually found that the other’s advice had been wrong, and after a time he ceased to ask for it, and Morris soon gave over volunteer assistance.

Cindy Weed, the newcomer’s wife, saved the situation. She had been born on a farm near Augusta, one of a large family of girls; and she had been used to doing chores and all the little tasks a farm can offer. Weed had to avoid the harder enterprises, because any extreme exertion reacted unfavorably on his health. So Cindy usually split the wood and pitched the hay and did whatever required stern manual effort. She was fit for it—a fine, strong woman, as big as a man; and she had strength not only for these en- terprises but also to care for Weed as tenderly as though he had been a baby. Whatever might be done for him she did; but it was not enough, for in his second year in Fra- ternity, in March, when the thaws began, he died.

A year or two later Will Belter said one night at the store in Fraternity village that he expected she would marry Jud Brisker by and by.

August 14,1926

Cindy Went Across to Fetch

Morris; and He Came With:«

out Protest, Dragging His Ladder Behind Him

While Weed was ill, Fraternity folk did what they could to make matters easier for Cindy; and when he died, they offered her a measure of sober sympathy which she found surprising. She was never a sentimental woman, never much given to any overt display of feeling; and her demeanor during the formalities of the funeral was still and unemotional. But afterward Lee Motley’s wife kept her to dinner with them, and to spend the night; and Mrs. Motley, turning down the cov- erlet on the other’s bed when they went upstairs at last, saw that her guest was weeping silently. She pre- tended not to observe this.

But Cindy said, with a little laughter behind her tears, “T know I’m a fool to act this way; but you've all been so good to me.”

So the two women talked for a while together, and Cindy confessed that heretofore she had felt excluded and shut out from the life of the village. ‘‘I thought you didn’t like me, or maybe disapproved of the way I worked around the place all the time. But I had to.” She had intended, she confessed, to sell the farm and go back to her home. ‘But you’ve all been so good to me,”’ she explained, ‘“‘that I’ve decided to stay and run the place and get along if I can.”

And Mrs. Motley approved and encouraged her. This was before Lee himself was forced to give up the struggle.

“You'll do fine,”” Mrs. Motley assured her. ‘‘ You're as able as a man.”

The word of her decision went abroad through the town, and it was received without any comment which came to her ears. She had at that season little more than routine chores to do; and she was thus given time to plan her movements when the thaws should pass, the ground dry out a bit and plowing time come around. She and Weed had kept two cows and some chickens and a pig to use the surplus milk; but they had neither horse nor oxen for the plowing. She expected to have to hire this done.

But one day Jud Brisker drove into the yard with his team and a plow in the wagon,'and knocked at the kitchen door and said with that friendly smile of his, confident and sure, ‘‘’Morning, Mis’ Weed. Where'd you figure on hav- ing your garden this year? I can plow it for you.”

This was the beginning of their developing intimacy. She had, of course, seen Jud before. His brother Morris, just across the road, she saw more often; but Morris was a character almost negative, inconspicuous and unassertive, a part of his background. Sometimes days passed when she was not even conscious of his movements or of what he did. Jud was a man less easily ignored, and during the suc- ceeding months she saw more and more of him. They met in no social fashion, but Jud was apt to appear when there was work to be done that lay beyond her strength.

nt 4

He cultivated her garden once or twice, after things began to grow; he and Gay Hunt got in enough hay to carry her through the winter; he brought a man to buy her apples and arranged for their picking; and he spent some days in October felling white birch and working it up into four-foot lengths, hauling and stowing it in the shed that connected her house with her barn.

Cindy accepted these ministrations gratefully. There was no reason why she should not do so, since Jud never attempted to approach a more familiar footing with her But she was, even from the first, vaguely disquieted by the fact that he refused to be paid for his labors

““No, ma’am,”’ he used tosay. ‘‘I got some free time and nothing to do at home — that’s all.”’

During the winter after her husband’s death she discov- ered, or seemed to discover, in his manner toward her a suggestion of authority, of possession. ‘‘As though,”’ she thought, “‘he were beginning to feel that he had to take care of me, and that he could tell me what to do.”’ Thus, long before Will Belter put into words the expectation that she would some day marry Jud, Cindy had understood quite plainly that she could if she wished, that Jud himself would eventually make the issue plain. And since it is not a pleasant estate for a woman to be alone on one of these remote farms, she weighed the possibility in her mind.

It was as a result of these considerations that, in the summer, fifteen months after her hushand’s death, she went across the road one day to talk to Morris Brisker. She was, of course, by this time on familiar terms with Morris; she knew the manner of his life and she knew the He had at first seemed to her to be the perfect type of indolent and shiftless farmer, living a bachelor existence, a recluse, an idle and a worthless man. Herself indomitably energetic, she had difficulty in understanding that a man, his muscular strength infinitely superior to her own, could live under such cir- cumstances as Morris did. She first across to his house on that day when her hus- band was taken ill, when it was necessary to move him to his bed

‘‘And I can’t man- age him alone,” she told Morris. ‘So if you could come over and help me zn

He nodded, some- thing ponderous and at the same time im- pressive in the movement of his great head ‘*T’ll come right he said, and

her toward

It was just

man.

went

slow

along,”

followed the door. before supper in the evening; and she saw his coffeepot on the stove, and went totake it off and set it aside.

‘“*It might boil over,”’ she explained.

‘*The dummed thing always does,” he replied without heat, “‘minute you turn your back.”” He followed her across the road.

She was, a little later, furiously angry with him; for though he lifted her husband easily and carried him to their room like a baby, he was at the same time so awkward at the task that he dragged Weed’s shins against the door jamb, wringing a low cry from the man. And Cindy could hardly control her unreason- ing anger; she missed Morris with a

dis-

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

had time

again to the house across the road, and she

these visits to form a r plete picture f the f

which the big man lived. The disorder in the house, she

came to perceive, was not the result of laziness on his part;

it was apparent that he tried to have things in some pro-

priety The sooty coffeepot was not merely neglected

it had been scrubbed and scrubbed, but by an inexpert

hand. The rusty stove showed evidences of care, thoug! the care was absurdly unskillful; the floor had beer serubbed, but there was fresh mud on it from the man’s boots; the bed was made, but lumpily. And there were

about the house an astonishing number of things which had legs of

vet still unstable:

been broken and ineptly repaired-—a chair, the which were braced with strands of wire, a rattling pane in the window, set by an amateur hand to replace a broken one; a cracked lamp chimney, streaked with soot from an untrimmed wick unable to hold her hand, she set to work to put the house to rights; and she found it, for all its disorder, surprisingly clean in unexpected places. There was no dirt under the sink, no useless litter in the closets, not even dust beneath the bed.

‘“‘He’s a man, that’s all,’’ she told herself, coming at last to a conclusion, cataloguing her neighbor in her mind. “‘That’s all’s the matter with him; he just don’t know how to do for himself, that’s all.’’ So she did for him upon occa- sions; she washed his dishes with scalding water to remove the accumulated film of old grease which polished them; she mended his clothes; she blacked the stove. There was, of course, no regularity about these ministrations on her part, and it is possible that by contrast Morris found his condition even more distressing when his affairs fell into their old disorder once more. But her efficiency delighted him, won the big man to a slow and silent admiration and a reverence; he used to watch her thus admiringly while she moved to and fro in his home.

Once or twice,

curt word, sent him home. Later and on other —

she went

occasions

**+ Morning, Mis’ Weed. Where'd You Figure on Having Your Garden This Year?

It was to tk Ss mar Tud's brother then, t af e turned when she wished t rN 1 being und further yat to Jud. She crossed the road one morning n June, just after breakfast, and she found Morris wa gy his break fast dishes with a slow and imsy pa i t At her knock she heard him come toward he i then a dish f and crashed in shards across the floor; and she laughed a him uncertainly and said, “‘Didn’t scare you as bad as that did I?”

“I’m always dr i

She took the t ] nr r she said, and proceeded to do so, talking er her shouider t him while she worked, explaining what her errand was

So I was wondering if I could get you to come and help,” she explained. ‘‘ There won't be more’n three da work, say. I don’t have to have only enough hay for the cows -

He said unemotionally, “I reckon I can come But when she asked what he would charge her for the work, she

surprised him to faint protest.

to pay me,” he said uneasily. She laughed. she confessed

the town yet, anyway

“Gus

es I wouldn't ask you

‘I don’t want you unless I can pay you,” “Jud’d do it for nothing; but I want to hire it done this year

He fumbled a little, seeking words. ‘“‘Jud coming, is

he?”’ he asked. ‘Can't you and I do it?

horse and pitch on, and you can load it

I'd like to get it

added quickly, “I'll tell you;

1 **Guess he wouldn't want me helping him

” she urged

t and mow it.”’ She g done, and

then if Jud does come to do it, I can tell him it’s all finished

Do you see?”’

“‘ He's haying now,” Morris agreed y ‘Plenty of time for that,”’ he told her; and in the end

I don’t want to interfere wit!

she had her way. She was always prompt it

I Can Plow it for You"’

‘I see him yest’day.”’ uur work, of course

execution; sne they

and he

suggested that start that day, azreed

Cindy found the ex perience a trying one She did her part well enough Morris

tried, the furious per

ana

spiration on his brow

the result not so much

of his physical exer- tior is of his anxiety to satisfy her But

the man did not know how to use his strength and the result was that

they were in continual

difficulties. He broke the hayrake his ow! by driving it

over a rock, and they

ost half a day while he

repaired it with hay wire and splints of wood

But | eptitude did not fully appear till they came to the

f getting the

busines hay into the barn » had sug-

ed the

Cindy, as sh gested, pit uff onto the

Morris

load

st rack :

tndertook to To load hay on a

wagon appears to be a

business simple enough; but as Morris did it, it entailed a series of mishaps. Al-

most every time, or

the way to the barn,

half the load was jolted

off; great gouts of hay would topple to this side or that and have to he pit hed back on agalr and or whilk he wa acing, tne hav under his feet slid off t t load ar a he fe | Ww } ; \A er ec} ig i ankle in such fashior that he limped for tl rest th i

Continued on

Page 140

12 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST August 14,1926

Production and Prosperity Pisce. By ISAAC Fk. MARCOSSON —asmerqoree

y i street to ndicate offhand

the basic factor in

ur prosperity and the chances are that he will name production. Noris it surprising. He ees evidence of it W verever he turns, because America thinks and works in Dig terms

The automobile that takes him to work or play; the radio that beguiles his hours at home; the movie that he watches every week; the tele- phone, typewriter, newspaper anc magazine that have become part and parcel of his daily life, are all symbols of a quan- tity effort that is the wonder of the age. Production, therefore, is the headliner in the gilded formula for ouraffluencewhich

makes us both

The scope of life is widened and brightened, and you have that con- tentment which, in the last analysis, is the guaranty of progress.

Our industry is | more than a cease- less machine vi- brant with a vast energy. It repre- sents a new coop- eration that is the guaranty of indus- trial success.

The creators of this era in output are more than mere business men. They have that quality of economic states- manship which makes for big lead- ership. Conspicu- ous among them is Owen D. Young As Chairman of the Board of Di- rectors of the Gen- eral Electric Com- pany, he occupies a preéminent posi- tion in industry.

unique and envied among the nations of the earth.

In the first article of this series the composite picture of our national well-being and its bulwarks was revealed. We can now get down to specialization. Production will be fea- tured. Hence the star performer in the second reel of this prosperity panorama will be the industrial producer.

It means that the curtain will rise on a spectacle that is vitally and distinctively American. In no other country anywhere have coal, iron, steel, copper, coke and oil been translated into such a titanic drama of

MOTO. BY EWING GALLOWAY, N.Y. C, FROM CULVER SERVICE

The Auto is First in American Manufactures

Wages in American industries have risen 199 per cent since the outbreak of the World War, while the cost of goods and services used in the average worker's family has risen only 70 per cent. The worker puts in 7 per cent less work time a week and gets much more return for what he spends. With this prosperity of the individual has come a larger prosperity for the nation through the now-constant

His work as mem- ber of the Dawes Committee is part of the history of these times. It is peculiarly fitting, there- fore, that his analysis of production in its relation to American life and progress should lead off this second installment of interviews. Here it is:

“It is frequently said that the causes of American indus- trial supremacy are mass production and management. Without quarreling with that answer or denying its

correctness, I should prefer to make it more per- sonal and concrete by saying that it is men and

wealth and power. It has brought about an aston- shing self-containment at home and a growing trade abroad.

Mining and manufacturing account for 14 per cent of our national equity, which is only 2 per cent agricultural figure. There is no magic or mystery about this. We have effectively utilized materials, labor, capital and power under a system of management that not only makes for individual advancement but achieves miracles of output.

less than the

Increased Output, Decreased Labor

QUINCE the beginning of the century our manu- » facturing production has increased more than i60 per cent; our mining production, 225 per cent; and our agricultural production, 40 per cent, whereas yur population has grown only 50 per cent. Output of manufactured articles has grown from $77.34 per capita to $134:28, after allowing for changes in the value of the dollar. n goods available for each indi- vidual has come without a proportionate increase in human labor, but by more efficient direction. Since 1889 the horse power back of every worker in indus- try has advanced 76 per cent. Taking the bigger view, in a quarter century horse power in manu- facture has grown from 10,000,000 to 33,000,000, f which 153,000,000 is in electric power. In consequence the personnel required to produce a unit of manufactured product has decreased 33 per cent

To illustrate: When the United States Steel Corporation was organized twenty-five years ago the production of a ton of pig iron required fourteen

uurs of work for one man. Today it takes an

This increase

average of two hour

NATIONA

Steel is One of the Corner Stones of American Prosperity

money working together on well-defined principles.” Men and Money in Production

“THEY have men in other countries as able as

ourown. They have money, too; not as much, to be sure, but perhaps enough. The striking differ- ence between our industrial organization and theirs is the principle and spirit which govern the coép- eration of capital and labor, or men and money in production.

“Our capital is plentiful; our labor is scarce. That has compelled us to make machines do the work of men and to put great power back of the machines. In order to get the largest output from the machines at the lowest cost we were obliged to standardize our product into a few types and manufacture it in great volume. In this way we harnessed our capital to make good our deficient labor supply. We made our workers directors instead of generators of power.

“We increased our output a man without strain on him, and increasing our production a man and a foot of floor space we learned that high wages were not inconsistent with low costs. We learned that our principle of coéperation between men and money must be that men should make the machines work to their fullest possible capacity. There was no room for the notion of limitation of output such as exists in foreign countries. Under our conditions limitation meant that capital was idling, that the men were not making capital contribute its share toward high wages.

“From this results a new theory of management altogether. The managers of great concerns are no longer the paid attorneys of the capitalists to depress wages and boost the market in order that profits

~——

=. —

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

may be high. They are, instead, trustees of an institution, American industry. This does not mean that the object of which is to bring capital and labor into part- periodical adjustments will not have to be nership for economical production on a vast scale. In the made, nor that we shall have a wholly unir interest of the institution they must see to it that capital is terrupted continuation of prosperity.

» safe and well paid that it is available to them under all whole, however, such readjustments shou conditions. They must see to it that the product is so well come with less shock, continue a shorter time, and economically made as to command the market under and be accompanied by much less general all conditions. disturbance of the business structure

“These two requirements are absolutely essential tohigh characterized the so-called panics and and continuous earning power on the part of every man __ times of the past engaged, from the president of the concern to the most “‘Among the reasons for thi unskilled of the workers. Being in command of capital The changing character of the that is to say, the most effective tools—and being in com- of our country; the increasing diver mand of the market— that is, the best product at the lowest cupation, thereby minimizing the risk price-—the institution is sound in its balance sheet and the adequate banking system to meet men are safe in their jobs. That makes the best place for ing demands for credits: a sound currer men to invest their money, and at the same time, the best improved transportation; better organizat place for men to work. of industry and the distribution of its pr

‘How different all this is from the little industrial unit ucts; a clearer understanding of relation of New England two generations ago! There the owners tweenemployer and employe, and more c! were the managers, and low wages meant low cost, and defined relationships between business high wages, high cost. It was truly a conflict between the Government. labor and capital. Then stockholders were own- ers. If business was not promising they did not sell their stock, but corrected the weakness of the business. Today, in our great corporations, our stockholders are investors. They are interested in the balance sheet and in their dividends, but not in the business. If the business does not look promising the stockholders do not try to correct it. They sell their stock.”

; a A Common:Sense Formula j 7 natieieelll a “TN THAT other day all men not stockholders sue Sanam Wages t One of the eee oe vere ~ { “ Places at the Noon Hour. At Left—New Eng:

were employes, whether they were managers or , o ~ A :7 ceil Gentian Gibliers Bhier the Whictte Bleue workers. Now, all men, whether managers or ‘ workers, are jointly interested in trying to make , m» be . : “The prosperity of the | capital, expressed in inanimate machines and in c ; N ; national life of the people nanimate power, produce a mass output of stand- . ? SE sums available to conduct the ardized type which will guarantee to them the ae P state, and local government safety of the institution, the maintenance of their i . . enters into the domestic econom: earning power, and most of all, their pride in their iss . ; fi hold, and is the final fact own concern. | only the cost of living

“The interest of the great concern is no longer ‘ ." , “To achieve it there local or sectional. It is as wide as its market, and ; ie the ability to produce

as we become exporters it becomes world wide. Cae ) Hs chase. No political vagar This accounts for the increasing interest of the ee. y . ‘ tute for the common-sens managers of great - ; 7 | businesses, not only in the eco- nomic affairs of this country but of the world. As trustees of na- tional institutions their interests are the nation’s inter- est, and their power is the na- tion’s power.’

The production that Mr. Young has so clearly de- fined would be im- potent without our vast and diver- sified resources. We shall next get the opinion of Cor- Q : 1ay be summar- nelius F. Kelley, ‘ zed un four president of the «i ads : irst Anaconda Copper : ; a n a stable and Mining Company, ~ oF K. —.. airly adminis which, with its , : f : affiliated compa- nies, accounted for 18 per cent of the total world output of copper and 20 per cent of the production of North and South America last year. His appraisal fol- lows:

“The danger of violent and wide spread fluctuation in economic con- ditions has been, to a great extent, '~- — — — eee Continued on removed from : Making Tires Upon Which the Wortd Rides Pasze 54

he re impor elements in

prosperity

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

)

N THE credit side of his personal ledger Ear! Ab- bott had a romantic nature, a coonskin coat, a co!- lege diploma with the dew still fresh on it, a job with a future in his uncle’s importing company, a roadster, a pleasant’ tenor voice and a deep-rooted conviction that Miss Polly Boyden was the most charming and desirable creature in the known world.

On the debit side Mr. Abbott was faced by a shortage in self-esteem, due to the fact that he was keenly aware that he weighed one hundred and ninety seven pounds. Now a casual critic would have called Mr. Ab- bott large, for he was tall, big of frame, and, though well rounded, not overly lumpy. But Mr. Abbott always thought of himself as fat, gross, obese.

This depressed him.

In his four years at Yale he had poured many facts into his mind, but the one which stuck and persist- ently haunted him was that, in the whole history and literature of love, few, if any, fat men have cut dashing figures. He brooded over his poundage.

Particularly in the

of Miss

soyden was he con-

For, in

her riding habit,

with boots and crop thrown in, Miss Boyden could step on the scales with the indicator set at one hundred pounds and not cause it so much as to flicker. When he was away from her he was miserable, and when he was with her he was distrait, warm, moist and, as to tongue, numb.

And there wasn’t much he could do, it seemed. In vain did he confine his diet to fruit juices, until the sight of an orange made him wince. In vain did he jerk chest weights, heave medicine balls till he was one vast ache. Nature had spoken. He’d melt, boil and fast off a pound in the after- noon, only to put it on again immediately that evening, merely by reading the dinner menu at the club. Scales had a gruesome fascination for him. He daily lurked in their vicinity, just as murderers are popularly supposed to be drawn to the scenes of theircrimes. Six orseven times a day he slipped a hopeful penny in the slot of some weighing ma- chine, closed his eyes in prayer as the arrow spun round, opened them wide with the wild optimism of a man who looks for miracles, faced the inexorable figures— and loudly groaned

However, on his twenty-fifth birthday, Earl Abbott made up his mind to do something more positive about the emotion he felt for Polly Boyden than yearn. He had been yearning actively for three years now. He had clung toa might cause him to waste away. It

there

presence

scious of it.

hope that yearning hadn't

He dared permit himself the belief that Polly liked him. She was always glad to see him when he called; or seemed to be She liked to hear him sing, or said so. She unprotestingly, to parties, football games, the theater. They had good times together, he and Polly. Of course, he reflected, their conversation had al- ways been pretty impersonal, just gossip about their friends and books and shows and such things. Yes, he could be fairly sure that Polly liked him. But Mr. Abbott aspired to more than that

Being liked, he mused, as he guided his car up Fifth Avenue, toward her house, is the fate of fat men. They make splendid friends of the family. They are comfortable They sing,

anyway.

went with him,

to have around one needs cheering up.

August 14,1926

RRIBLIE TROPIC

By Richard Connell

ILLUSTRATED Br ROBERT w.

Earl Abbott Set His Teeth. Mr. Cameron Was Greeting Them, a Setf+Possessed Smite on His Well«Cut Face

they give bird imitations, they tell their little stories, they fit in nicely in a bridge game. They are good natured, sympathetic, amusing and often they pay the check. Girls give them a big-brother friendship. Then the day comes when the fat man, miserable in his cutaway and high collar, aware that the debutantes are tittering at the way he crowds his trousers, stands in church and sees the girl he loves marry some lean, trim, earnest-faced chap, while he struggies to keep the tears from trickling down over his second chin.

Earl Abbott had a set purpose as he headed for Polly Boyden’s home that evening. He was going to tell her something, and he was going to ask her something. He had invited her to have dinner and go to the theater with him, explaining that it was his birthday and he wanted to give a little private party. He had resolved that before he brought her home he was going to tell her what was in his heart.

She was so delicious to look at, he thought, as she greeted him, that his faculties of speech were all but paralyzed. He managed to gulp a good evening. He held her evening cape of softest white fur and his hands trembled as he placed it about her slender shoulders.

“It’s been a glorious day,” said Polly Boyden. Abbott drew in his breath.

“Yes,”’ he said, “it has.”

‘*And what a heavenly evening!”

“Yes, isn’t it?”

He had a pressing wish to kick himself for his ineptness. Polly deserved a poetic lover; doubtless she expected one, too—one who could say glamorous things about the eve- ning and the stars and her eyes.

“‘Don't you like my dress?”’ he heard her asking.

Earl

STEWART

“You bet.”’ Earl Abbott almost did kick himself then. Of course he should have spoken of that

dress. He had noticed it, of course, and had been groping for words to tell her how lovely he thought it and she were.

“T rode in the park today,” said Polly, as he helped her into the car.

“Did you?”’ Yes, he must kick himself. What an asi- nine thing to say—‘‘ Did you?” Of course she did, or she would not have said so.

“You don’t ride, do you, Earl

“No.”” That wasn’t much of an answer. He sought ur- gently for some explanation with which to soften his blunt monosyllable. ‘‘I guess I’m too—too— beefy.”

Beefy? That sickening word! He had not meant to say it. He had intended to say busy. But the “beefy’’ had slipped out because that was the word he applied to himself in his more intense moments of self-criticism. He loathed himself. He did not want her to think of him as beefy; no doubt she did. He glanced at her, so small, so delicate, so fragile—a lark beside a duck. He must say something something light, to show that he was only joking.

To his horror he heard himself laugh a hollow laugh and say, ‘Beauty and the Beef!”

He hoped sincerely that his car would collide violently with a bus, that Polly would escape unhurt, but that he would be reduced to a pulp. He was denied this fate.

They entered the ornate portals of the Restaurant Regina, which Earl had chosen because the booths there give dining couples a semiprivacy. It is the current dining place of society. The menu is in French and asparagus costs one dollar the stalk. It will be the favored dining spot of society until a new restaurant is opened where the menu is in French and asparagus costs one dollar and a quarter the stalk. Earl Abbott invested a considerable portion of his weekly salary in caviar, quail, asparagus and bombe Regina, and turned to Polly.

She was almost too beautiful to speak to, but he, muster- ing his forces, began. ‘‘An evening like this,” he said, “fills a fellow with all sorts of thoughts.”

“‘T suppose so.”

She was looking at him, steadily, seriously He was afraid that if he

He played

with his butter knife. looked at

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

her he would burst out with, “I don’t want to eat or talk or think. I want to take you in my arms and hold you and kiss you and love you.”

But that, he reflected, would sound silly, coming from a fat man, especially in the Restaurant Regina. He looked across the room and in the mirror saw a reflection of him- self, his blond hair, his roundish, pinkish face. His eyes rested on the image of his white shirt bosom—a starched prairie.

“Looks like a skating rink,” he thought.

“‘What are you thinking about, Earl?” soft.

“Oh, nothing.”

“You look so serious thing. Is it my hair?

“Tt’s swell, Polly.”

Swell? He had been thinking it was exquisite, entirely adorable. He fought off a growing sense of being inade- quate to the situation by reminding himself that his great- great-grandfather had been a general in the Revolutionary War. Never-Say-Die Abbott, they called him. The great- great-grandson of a man called Never-Say-Die could hardly retreat now. Earl Abbott addressed his companion: “‘Polly?”’

“Yes, Earl

“T want to ask you something.”

She bent her small head toward him attentively “ter

He cleared his throat like?”

Polly considered. ‘All sorts,’ she decided.

“I mean’’—he addressed the fruit salad he had re- luctantly ordered for his own dinner—‘‘ what sort of man does your sort of girl like?”’

Polly wrinkled her ““My sort of Am I just a

Her voice was

I’m sure you're thinking of some- Don’t you like it cut this way?”

9”

“What sort of man do—girls

brow. girl? sort?”

No, in- Earl hastily assured her. ‘‘ You're no sort of girl. I mean, you're a girl all by yourself. I guess what I meant was what sort of man do you like—you, your- self, I mean.”

Polly gravely gave thought to the ques- tion. ‘First of all,” she said at length, ‘*he must be a man.” Earl Abbott nodded. So far, so good. “Then,” said Polly, “‘he must be fine and honest and—well, masculine.”

‘‘Aren't most men?” asked Earl.

“Not the way I mean,’’ answered Polly. ‘‘I mean I suppose another word for it is master- ful—I like aman who does things.”

‘I know,” said Earl, a shade of de- spair in his ‘‘you like the ag- type—the go-getter. I guess that’s the only trait in men that women really admire.”

“It's a good trait,” said Polly. ‘‘Of course,” she added, “it’s a great deal in any man’s favor that he’s in love with me.”

““T suppose a lot of fellows are,” said Earl, in a voice hardly describable as over- joyed.

Well,” said Polly, “I’m twenty-two, blond, and looking round.”

“Oh, no! deed!”

voice;

gressive

Roaacr ow, aa 1922

d &

active

Your Uncte and Aunt Were Coming Past Here on Their Yacht.

Farl Abbott drew in his breatl

ked a man, would it

you

mak tried to

what he looked like?” He make mund casual

if I «

beard or

‘I doubt

said Polly aman wit!

“Of course,”

to love a long browr with ferret

Karl, most girls have an ideal foun

You see, probably

They, natu

that ideal.”

a book when they were silly and sixteen

fall

} } iali In love

with a man who is like “‘Did you have one, Polly

“Of course.”’ “What was “It sounds simple-minded

“Please te

t like?”’

now 1] me

‘Well,”’ said Polly, “1 fell in love with a man when I was love letters for him in a stone wal!

fifteen | used to leave

I used to lie awake in my room hoping he would come to the rose garden under my window and ask me to elope with him on his horse “Who was he? Polly blushed. ‘“ “You think I'm silly, ‘Not at all,” he replied. ‘I myself.”

asked Earl

-_ at hus}

Abbott, she said

somewt

Then she laughed

"T)

Ivanhoe,” don’t you, Ear] had a crush on Rower a, “Then vou do understand!”

Earl nodded, but his nod was glum. ‘“‘I remember I van-

soldierly

said. “Straight, erect, slender, } wasn't that the sort of fellow he was?” “Yes,” said Polly “Have some more asparagus? fiercely. “Why!” exclaimed Polly,“ isn’t that Harvey Cameron? ““Where?”’

hoe we = he

“IT can see him now Earl

asked, almost

Earl nearly growled.

descriptior man whose makes him

Abbott set

, Polly wit! ameron, a! cidal thought in coming “May I “Why,” Po Mr. ( thought it would be He “Waiter, sat down nonchalantly and ‘‘We're almost through,” “Oh, I want only a bite,’ must

ameron a ot wait

was a mal another place at this tab scanned

said har ‘ ‘Ty

Cameron. “I

said H

Keep my we iwht dowr know

you ind

t mix

plumpness

what

I Made Them Bring Me"’

If he

n like that wher

looks at me

says plumpneas, yuught Ear! Abbott strangle him

u played spien- Saturday,

ily said

ut then

were in

Cameror his dinner before

Abbott’s tor- paté de

ligator-

eyes

fres! ‘e cream beloved by Mr but barred lietary eme

It was one of the neatest goals I " Mr. Cameron “Witl just a minute to go in the last chukker, |!

shot the ball 7

t reminds me,

ever made

was saying

interrupted

l, “that you and I

had better shoot along to the theater.”

**Ah,’” said

a snow:

‘One doesn’t go t a theater to dig clams,” said Earl

“What are you go ing Mr turbably.

to see?"’ aske

Cameron imper-

Lropic

said * Hear rid though. WI

it’s pretty t

Continued on Page 131

QUARTET of menfolks loafed in the warm morning sun that flooded one of the kennel runs of the Glenmere Hunt Club, reading a paragraph in the

latest issue of Dog Monthly. It must have been hot stuff, that paragraph, for young Mr. Becky de Havin, having finished it, scratched his pale blond head and expressed what to the general run of us would seem a most irrational desire.

“T hope to kiss a pig!” said that young man; adding, with what appeared to be grudging admiration, “‘ Foxy Grandma!”

“The Morrigu!” exploded K O Pat O’Boyle, without trace of admiration whatsoever, the Morrigu being a hideous old fury that hovered gloating over Irish battle- fields in ancient pagan days, shrieking glee at the downfall of good fighting men.

What Mr. Slugs O’Boyle called the lady who, it seems, was author of this paragraph will not be here recorded. Mr. Slugs O’Boyle, known also in sporting circles as the Baiter, had not been honored with this extra title in addi- tion to his already adequate designation, Slugs, because his tongue dripped honey. Our Slugs was called the Baiter because his tongue dripped H,SO,, which will eat holes in any paper used for making magazines.

The fourth gentleman ef our quartet, although perhaps more vitally interested than any of the others, made no observations upon the paragraph in question. He main- tained instead a characteristic silence. In lieu of com- ment, he looked wise, continuing to regard that copy of Dog Monthly with unwavering attention. They had their lapses, true, those three others; but sooner or later they would return to sanity again, upon which one of them was sure to crumple up the paper to a ball and throw it down the kennel run.

A male quartet has often been facetiously described as three men and a tenor. We have always held that this description works a rank injustice upon the gentlemen of high register; for, though the usual naval lieutenant of light opera has a voice more suitable to Oxford-bag Ossip off the pickle yacht than to Dinty off the dreadnought, still there are tenors, and yet again tenors. And the real ones have voices that can swell from the sweetness of a reed pipe to the blare of a war trumpet, which latter makes

{ } A fp i { (i; ‘ ; ; y

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

the he-est music that there is. But, just the same, we cannot here resist the desire to assure the reader, if any, that our male quartet is male by at least 125 per cent. For the fourth member of it is the White Monarch of Glenmere.

Glenmere White Monarch was a bulldog. Not may- be—bulldog. In the first place, he was by International Champion Goesright Monarch, out of Boadicea Mill- stone, which would be enough to tell a bulldog man. In the second place, he belonged to young Mr. A. Beck- with de Havin, III, which would tell you that he had cost enough to be the best bulldog obtainable, when purchased, even in case he wasn’t. In the third place, he was; for he had won both his cham- pionship and the grand special, best dog of the show, at his first appearance in the great Ax- minster Kennel Association classic. And in the last place, he had battled to a grim and bloody draw in that death pit, the dog pit, with Mc- Donald’s Grip, noblest of fighting dogs, making a tale of courage which has been attempted, but which would need the mighty pen of Carlyle for the proper telling.

Glenmere White Monarch was no caricature

August 14,1926

By R.G. KIRK

ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT LL. DICKEY

of give and take as had his’ brother. Mr. Slugs was a heavy; but Mr. Slugs had never scaled to any dizzy prominence in his chosen calling, due to the fact that he was a feather- weight from his ears due north. Mr. Slugs had ani- mal courage and one good punch, a left hook, close up, that could jar a man’s liver sick; and that about let him out. He could take it, too, to be sure; and he had, aplenty, as the con- dition of his ears

of a dog. He was a dog. He was no squat, . a and brows unmis- misshapen, bandy-legged gargoyle. He was Lf? 4 takably attested.

beautiful. No, to be sure, not beautiful like a collie or a borzoi or a chow, or like a Pekingese. Beautiful like a battleship. What a bulldog should be, the Monarch. A lively dog; not terrier-fast, but active; able to take his five miles back of Slugs O’Boyle and come in fresh, ears up and eyes bright with the good query, ‘‘What next?” A power-packed dog—such sheer brute strength per cubic inch of him that no breed in the world the least approaches it, unless the noble mastiff, which is perhaps, as some authorities think, not much else than a mastodonic bulldog.

A beautiful dog, even to that terrific mug of his; that is, if you are one to see beauty in a steam shovel that can chew down a cliff or in a blast furnace that can rip asunder chemical unions that have existed since the earth’s rocks froze. And, even if you cannot see beauty in mere stark, relentless power, there are his eyes, which are soft and

gentle and sweet; which are even a little sad, as though they pleaded, ‘“‘No. Not guilty. It’s all wrong, no matter what the paper said. Some mongrel bull cross, maybe; but no English bull- dog ever tore a child. Why, hang it, man, we dote on kids!”

Speaking of Monarch’s activeness, we men- tioned road work. Five miles we stipulated, back of Slugs O’Boyle; not back of K O Pat. As he approached the peak of training, K O Pat did ten

miles every morning, and not five, and did them at a pace that no bulldog could match. K O Pat was top spot in the lightweight world and had a mind to stay there. Mr. Slugs O’Boyle, how- ever, had no such position to main- tain in the world

4 ' ial ly) , Fi hy itty Ny 3

Borzoi, Made to Chase Man's Ancient Enemy, the Walf

The Fourth Member of the Male Quartet is the

But the ability to take it, a superb quality in itself, un- accompanied by a split-second coérdination for attack, or lacking that, by the wit to plan the other man’s undoing while in the process of absorbing what he’s got, has seldom produced more than mere mediocrity.

One other asset Mr. O’Boyle, the major, hada line of vitriolic repartee while in there with the other member of the sock-and-get-socked guild which had been known to burn the rubber covering off the ring cables. It was calcu- lated to scorch through any opponent’s hide, however thick, and make him mad enough to rush in and rough it, roughing it being the slugger’s favorite dish. This skill with corrosive pleasantries had won more than one fight for Mr. O’Boyle which would have held nothing for him but the loser’s cut and an elegant beating had his opponent elected to stand off and keep sharpshooting instead of coming in to trade ’em. And so it was that Slugs, the heavyweight brother of Pat, the lightweight king, came by the added designation ‘‘ Baiter,’”’ and by the reputation of being one of the dirtiest fighters that ever pulled on a glove.

But this reputation was all wrong. The Baiter’s lan- guage in the ring would have made a Christian out of the skipper of an Arab dhow; but that was merely the nearest that the slugging party’s narrow mental limitations ever let him come to ring craft. And it worked sometimes, at that. But Slugs, the Baiter, had never struck a foul blow in his life. He let all foulness off in speech, as many a man lets off an accumulation of petty mental pressures through the pop valve of profanity, so sparing much of pettiness toward his fellow man. Back of a face that one might prayerfully wish never to meet halfway across a bridge at night, Slugs O’Boyle hid a white man’s heart. To prove it, bulldogs worshiped him.

For some strange and unfathomable reason, Baiter O’Boyle was the only man in the annals of bulldogdom who could rouse the short-nose breed to a vocal apprecia- tion of the genus homo. Bulldogs are silent dogs. They almost never use their voices except in disapproval. Months may go by without a word from them. Perhaps a low and gruff explosive ‘‘Wuff!’’ in dreams, or as a sum- mons, please, to let a fellow in; perhaps occasionally a weird and utterly ridiculous caterwaul, like unto no known animal sound, unless it be the whining of the whang- doodle, that is characteristic of bulldog anxiety, or that voices ludicrous unplumbed grief upon a temporary de- sertion by his folks. But seldom a good resounding canine bark. Seldom; but save you when he does!

A sudden unfamiliar footstep on the porch as the family sits quietly reading of an evening—first contact with some unfamiliar thing, like, say, the vacuum sweeper’s ven- omous hiss, or from the piano top the nodding of a purple plume, where, as anybody with a grain of sense could tell you, no new bonnet should recline—anything, in fact, that with sanity or damfoolishness he disapproves, may bring suddenly a great head up from the rug beside the hearth, and suddenly a great breath-stopping roar up out of the shadow of the fireside chair—a challenge that would make the Minotaur hunt the smallest corner in the labyrinth.

White Monarch of Glenmere

Sturdy Skort Legs to Force His Hard Little Body Into Warrens

But, in spite of this proverbial barklessness, at a word from Slugs O’Boyle, at a look or a gesture, at his mere presence, even, sometimes, any bulldog alive was likely to open his huge trap and burst into song, informing all and sundry with that total unreserve which marks a fox ter- rier’s approbation, and in a voice as subterranean as Pelée’s, that here was a gentleman, an athlete and a scholar, and that it was high time that a cockeyed world got hep to the fact.

Mr. Slugs O’Boyle, the Baiter, had, in other words, a way with dogs. And this was well. For now that the slug- ger’s pugilistic star, whose apogee had never reached a point more than about five feet eleven above the resin box, was on the descendant, this way with dogs had opened up another equally congenial means of livelihood for him. Slugs was now kennel man for the Glenmere Hunt Club. Here he was well paid. Not only that, but because of his unparalleled success in the kennel management of the club's pack of foxhounds, further emoluments evolved. The hunt club members were a doggy crowd in general, and Slugs was given the job of conditioning many a high- bred animal for competition in various judging rings.

Three members of our male quartet have now been in- troduced with what we hope is due formality. May we present then also Mr. Becky de Havin, whose bid for fame up to the present time rests upon the fact that he is the owner of the English bulldog, Champion Glenmere White Monarch, by Goesright Monarch, ex Boadicea Millstone? Mr. Becky de Havin, spare his blushes, is the scion of a wealthy and aristocratic family—a tall, slim, pale blond gentleman, as you see, whose nickname carries no hint of effeminacy to those acquainted with him. His nickname was wished upon him by his mother, who heartlessly risked the future peace of mind of her helpless little baby by parting his name in the middle with the cake-eating entitlement Beckwith.

The baby had revenge, however, some twenty-nine years later, when at that period he decided to marry the girl with whom he happened to fall in love, a young lady famous in the possession of the loveliest slimness that ever slipped splashless into the water of a glass-fronted vaude- ville diving tank. You may remember her. You will if you ever saw her. She was the more slender of the two; the one who let about two bushels of blue-black Tipperary hair tumble down about her when she took off her rubber cap at the end of her act. Her name was Nora. The copper-haired one’s name was Kate. They were billed as the Kolananikau Sisters, if you will recall, but this was only to give a South Sea amphibian flavor to their turn, and to match up the Polynesian shade to which their

But their real name was McDonald. And the only adequate description of

dazzling flesh was tanned.

Nora, the lady of Becky de Havin’'s choice, is to say that she was lovelier, if possible, than Kate— Kate, who was really Kate McDonald O’Boyle, wife of the famous Patrick of that name. Thus by roundabout was the luster of lightweight pugilistic honors re flected to the De Havin name, and thus was poor baby Beckwith’s revenge upon his mother made com

plete. There were many other elderly ladies besides Becky de Havin’s mother who knew despair upon hearing that that young scapegrace had affianced himself to a famous vaudeville mermaid. They were for the most part ladies who had eligible daugh- ters and an eye on the De Havin \ coffers. And among these is to be numbered Mrs. Somner- Olkin, who was au- thoress of the paragraph in Dog Monthly which so perturbed our four.

It is difficult to ex- plain, but the sport in which you'd naturally expect to see an exhibi- tion of the highest sportsmanship shows to a puzzled looker-on no such a thing.

Dogs are such sport- ing people. You seldom see a big dog fight a little one. Sometimes, of course; but then there comes up the occasional unaccountable mucker amongst all folks, how- ever gently reared. And courteous! Full many the owner of a fine fight- ing terrier has been over- whelmed with momentary shame to see his comrade of a stroll tuck tail in ignominiously at some cur’s sudden sally through a gate or off a porch—only to have humiliation turn to laughing pride with realization that this unpro- voked attack was feminine. A feminine attack is always met by gentlemen with what in pit-dog parlance is a turn—must always be received on shoulder, not on fang. There are, of course, exceptions in this matter too. On rare occasions in the pit an Amazon is put down who claims to be a better warrior than any male. In which case, since she will share the male's last exclusive pleas- ure, that of fighting for fun, she must also die, as men dogs die.

But dogs are sport- ing folks. Exceptions only try the rule. So it’s difficult to

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17

explain—the fact that few sports in the world present as many cases of poor sportsmanship as the game that has s« intimately to do with dogs; the game which should be one of the finest of all games — dog showing

But watct The idge, a good, square fellow, places them one, two, three, reserve, accordingly as he sees them Maybe he’s wrong. He's human But, right or wrong how often do you see the red congratulate the blue? How often did you say? Congratulate the owner of a better dog

than yours? A better dog than yours? Especially that

button-eared monstrosity Better to take the gate with frigid dignity, showing thereby the calm disdain in which you hold the incompetence or worse that could so elevate mere mediocrity. You might also write a stinging para- graph or two about it to your favorite kennel paper. That's what Mrs. Somner-Olkin did. Mrs. S-O. possessed besides the eligible daughter and a saf whose contents unfortunate speculation had lately made sad inroads, some of the finest Russian wolfhounds in America, a snobbery to put to shame the genuine aristoc-

e-deposit box upon

racy of the noble breed of dogs she fancied, and controlling stock in her favorite kennel paper. And in that canine journal, this was the paragraph our male quartet was perusing with such interest:

Chances are good for bulldogs to reps best-of-the-show t the Axminster K this year. Especially if conditions s} trasted with the beast has always beer defeat. Judges are male and human, and stray a bit from dog flesh when nationally fa the present scanty feminine mode gra nearly equal, who could blame ther the loveliest of handlers?

Little wonder then that young A. Beckwith de Havin, III, desired to kiss a pig; or that Mr. K O Pat O'Boyle ex- claimed, ‘The Morrigu!"’ Or that his brother Slugs made comment which shall not be here repeated; or that the last gentleman of the quartet wished to see that copy of Dog Monthly crumpled into a ball and thrown down the kenne! run; for then, pursuing like a baby war tank, he could run it down, capture it, and, holding it between huge forepaws, chew it with a tremendous relish into shreds.

For here was as shrewd a piece of deep-dyed villainy as the crossroads had ever witnessed. With one strategix move it put the judges for the coming show on trial—on guard; accused them of a weakness in their last year’s

Continued on Page 40

Man, How He Showed, That Bulldog! The Spread of Him! The Heft of Him! The Trucutence of Himt

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

August 14,1926

& JUNK SNUPPER

By C. R. CLIFFORD

The colonel an- swered the door, and he opened it he aw me and sprang

k and exclaimed

think they know

antiques.” That’s true.

Folks hear of the

e deepest tones astonishment,

horror and

shim!” As on his knees I grabbed him by tI throat a l

hed him against he easement of the door and muttered his face, “Die, villain!” And drawing my dagger plunged it to his eart.

Ertract fram a pe nny

dreadful of 1850

BOUT the only sort of antique

that never inter- ested the late Al- exander Drake, that prolific dean of American col- lectors, was the penny dreadful. Drake used to lunch at the AI- dine Club with Frank Stockton, Richard Watson Gilder and F. Hop- kinson Smith;

extraordinary price that some article brings at auction and con- clude that they have the same thing and it is worth the sam price, but it isn’t.

Rare Books

tl take the case of the woman in Skeeho- kee who hasahigh- boy that looks identically like the highboy that brought $4000 at the Leverhulme Sale. In the first place, the Lever- hulme piece was a Leverhulme piece—part of a famous collection. That of itself boosted the price a little. In the next place, the auction house

across at anear-by table were Lyman ee Abbott and the

Appletons, all literary lights and active minds; but none with an imagination so vivid as ever to visualize the penny dreadful soaring to wild values of from five dollars to $100 each, with collectors in hot pursuit.

The penny dreadful was a flimsy pamphlet cheaply con- cocted for appetites that craved more of the gruesome and morbid in a crime case than the daily papers supplied.

One of the best sellers of the early 80’s was, according to the title page, A Confession of the Awful and Bloody Transactions in the Life of Charles Wallace, the Fiendlike Murderer of Miss Mary Rogers, the Beautiful Cigar Girl of Broadway—the Marie Rogét of Edgar Allan Poe.

The First Collection of Bottles

HEN there was also The Thrilling Tale of the Brown - Murderess who assassinated her master and mistress and their four children. By comparison, the pictorial dailies and the yellow sheets of today are like hymnal lit- erature; the Beadle dime novels, mere lullaby jingles. When Charles Scribner, Roswell Smith and Doctor Holland started the Century Magazine in 1870, Alexander Drake became head of the art department and developed the broad field of wood en- graving, now an abandoned craft. First and last, Drake was an artist, a lover of the beauti- ful, and as a boy there was always one thing he wanted in his grandfather's house, and that was a lit- tle bottle, golden-green, glittering in its crude for- mation, an alluring

Al Miniature Chair. Height 6\4 Inches

spectacle to the child; it was what is known as the cornu- copia bottle; and finally when it was given to him, it started the first collection of American bottles ever made.

Barber’s book on bottles was published in 1900, and the knowledge of the hand-blown bottle was so limited that it listed only eighty-six types; but in twenty-five years bottle collectors have ransacked every attic and cellar in America, and today there’s a record of more than 800 down to the last half of the nineteenth century, when they began making bottles by ma- chinery; and so lively is the competition among bottle collectors that prices have gone a flying.

Ten years ago I paid twenty-eight dollars for the Booze bottle of 1840, sometimes called the Log Cabin bottle, and thought it was top price; since then, I have seen it sell at auction, fre- quently at prices ranging between eighty-five and $100.

Yesterday I saw a bottle known as the Bunch of Grapes bottle, a flask having grapes blown in on one side. Most collectors have this bottle in the pale-green, but some glass blower indulged a fancy for doing it in blue, and produced the most gorgeous col- oring—like the blue of old Bristol and as a consequence the bottle is held by the dealer at $150.

But the prize of them all, to my mind, is the Locomotive bottle sold recently for $200. It’s of pinkish tint, depicting on the one side the first loco- motive and on the reverse Columbia.

Time was when people wondered at the personality of the man Drake, who also collected bandboxes. Why in the world should a man collect bandboxes? It was the color work of the crudely printed wall papers covering the band- boxes which interested him. As a craftsman he appreciated these primitives in printing. He collected the bandboxes simply as a medium of expression; and today even the art museums value in the highest degree these charming old- time wall papers, and we pay big prices to transfer them from old houses to new.

The town constable had come in from a scouting trip up in Vermont. “I tell you,” says he, “it’s getting harder every day to do business with folks. They’ve got such crazy ideas of values, particularly them that’s read and

and Removed to a New Life and Environment, a Reincarnation"

An Earty and Rare Type of Cotonial Chair (1630' Known as the John Harvard

spent $41,000 in the preparation and distribution of the catalogues bringing together an enthusiastic gathering of bidders. Furthermore, it cost $63,000 just for packing and shipping the collection to the United States, and $7300 for insurance; now deducting ail these, plus minor expenses and selling commissions, that highboy netted about 20 per cent less than the $4000.

“And there is another point,” says the constable. ‘“‘The probability is that the Skeehokee piece is nothing like the Leverhulme piece. It prob- ably lacks the fine points, or it is likely to be a mere reproduc- tion and not old at all. It costs something to get the big prices at auction. Why, bless you, it took the experts four months merely to catalogue the Mor- gan Collection.”

Some auction houses put a fixed charge of 20 per cent on the sale of anything, which covers all expenses.

So you see that the Skeeho- kee lady would be lucky to get $3200 for a similar piece.

“Pardon the digression,”’ says the man from Boston “ but if you want to get in with the real money, join the book col- lectors like Morgan, Henry Huntington, H. Jones, H. C. Folger, Carl Pforzheimer, W. A White— collectors of that class. Up at the New York Public Library the Lenox copy of the Gutenberg Bible—the first book ever printed from movable type—was bought by Mr Lenox in 1847, for $2500. Ata later date Mrs. Huntington paid $50,000 for a similar copy, and recently the Melk copy brought $106,000; but that is not all. Inside of six weeks the same copy sold to Mrs. Edward S. Harkness for $120,000, and will be presented by her to Yale University as a memorial to her mother-in-law, Mrs. Stephen V. Harkness.”

Values are difficult to determine.

There are rugs right now knocking around the interiors of our American homes which in a few years will be price- less, because no longer made. It is already difficult to find any of the early Daghestans, Chichis or Derbents of the Caucasus. The Ladiks of Turkey have been out of the

— -

a =

i, 3 ;

’

industry in the Far East.

these contract manufacturers

native types.

Down in South Carolina last winter a gentleman on the board of trade of a typical Southern town said to me:

A Cabinet From a

Collection of Minia+«

ture Furniture, 7\%4 Inches High

trous black, decorated with a highly illuminated picture

looked like appliqué. the scissors where the picture had been cut out of something, and yet the surface of the vase was perfectly smooth. And then I looked within, and the trick was obvious. It was simply uncolored glass with the pic- ture pasted upon the interior and then the whole inside painted black.

Out of the Past

THINK Miss Kirkwood detected

a bit of disappointment in my attitude, but I tried to show inter- est, and then spoke of bottles, ex- plaining that I was a collector and describing the sort of bottles that I meant.

“Oh, yes.” And her face lighted up; she'd heard of a bottle that had General Lee’s portrait on it and she'd heard of another bottle that depicted Fort McHenry, both new subjects tome. She didn’t know of their whereabouts, but she thought it quite likely that some of them might be still found in the negro cabins, and she called an old darky over to her and explained the sub- ject fully.

‘Have you ever seen any of these bottles, Rastus?”’ says she.

‘Well, Missy Nancy,” said he with great deliberation, ‘‘Ise seen a lot of dem bortles, not lately, but Ise seen "em; and Ise not suah but you might find some out at de graveyard. You know, up North when a pusson dies, you white folks, you put flowers on de grave, but down South yere, in a cullud fam’ly, when someone dies we put anything beau’ful on de grave, lak a china vase or anything dat looks good sometimes bortles—and you lak as not to find what you want if you just around out dere in the cem'tery.”

3ut,’’ says I, “I imagine that anything particularly good wouldn't stay there very long.”’

“No, sar, dat’s a Rastus. ‘But what do is to get dere first.”

look

fact,” you want to

Says

market for years; so also Bergamas and Kulahs. are rare; old Kirmans and Ispahans are mere memories.

The situation is due to the commercializing of the rug American and English capital has gone into Persia and Turkey, have weavers have been attracted by regular wages and have quit individual work, almost eliminating the production of

of children rolling hoop in a wonderful garden, the vivid colorings standing out upon what appeared to be an over- glazed black background, but upon close inspection it You could almost see the marks of

THE SATURDAY

Things worth while are not easily found; never- theless, every household some enthusiastic member investigating with all seriousness.

Future generations will be better posted than we have been, not only by the benefit of literature that the early collectors

Sennas

has and the activities of

been so great that

“As long as you are inter- ested in antiques, I ad-

never possessed, but by the benefit of museums,

vise you to see the of great patriotic move- extraordinary glass ments like that of Valley vases out at Miss Forge, where there are Nancy Kirkwood’s vast collections indis- place. They were on pensable tothe student exhibition at the last Indian relics, historical statefairandattracted documents, china, a great deal of atten- stamps, glassware

tion—most beautiful things you ever saw. Guess they are a lost

It’s one of the many won- der spots arising all over the country the victory of America’s struggles for | There is a museum in New York cal So I called on Miss the City of New York. Kirkwood—which is_ it. It’s a city museum and goes back t not the lady’s name and saw the vases, and I don’t wonder they perplexed the inex- perienced. They were glass all right, eighteen inches tall, and of lus-

four dollars. Here will be seen models Half Moon and old clipper ships and ar

everything else imaginable that went into the develoy social and industrial progress paradise.

London has a similar museum, fille¢ the past, with models of her ancient

a verite

centuries,

EVENING POST

Precious few people ever , r

Fulton’s Clermont, built in the age of steam clothes, kitchen implements, everything

Three of a Set of Eight Chairs That Sold for $15,000 at Auction

Paris has the

shrines sacred to

1uman |

berty

led the Museum of _ huddle of huts heard of fourth century, 0 1626, when Man- home of the

hattan Island was purchased from the Indians for twenty

of Henry Hudsor 's

f > } r niniature of Robert

And there's

ment of the city’s

M usée Carnavalet, which s}

Its relics carry

when Paris

of the French capital in the time of Julius ¢

ows the history

#sar—a mer you through the city of the was the

1! 7 , then called Lutetia

Emperor Julian.

All Kinds of Money

jp MY mind, the most extraordinary collections is embraced in the Zerbe collec

which covers all ages and every political and geographical

of all Americana

tion of money,

able junk snupper’s — section of the world, being particularly strong in the money

of early

1 with the relies of buildings, and al]

from the use of the Spanish reals

ake I Rercuu

Chantry House, Essex, Engtand, Claimed as the Seat

of the Mayflower Exodus, 1620

twenty-fiv

‘

America

If we go out to the to hear of bits manner of reminders of the customs and habits of past _ bits,

Pacific Coast, it is a

commor t} ,

they speak of a thing being worth tw cents; four bits, fifty cents ame pieces of eight — having a value of one dollar: anda bit wa an eighth, or 12.5 cents The first coinags America was

the pine-tree shilling, earlier

eral years than the New England shilling, and earlier by forty years than the first paper money made in Massachusetts. In the early days of America the medium of exchange the wampum of the

In Virginia it was tobacco

was frequently Indians Paper money came into use in the ] enforced

1690, and it is in-

colonies from its use in Massachusetts in Philadel

without

teresting to note that ir

nhia checks were made out

' mention of any bank, starting with

‘Cashier of the hank; please pay to

the order of * because there was

only one bank in Philadelphia The most valuable of all Amer

ican coins is the 1804 silver dollar The existence of this coin is fre quently denied. ! wiil admit that

there were no dollars coined by the United States Gov 1803 to 1836 Ne

record that at

ernment from

vertheless, it is of

some time prob abiy

1836. s made with

Why, I

Nobody knows, but it

, 11) iver adolars were

1804 stamped on them

“a ] ‘ don't know

was done. Several collectors have specimens There is one in the Smithsonian Institution. One was

taken out of the vault of the Chase National York shown to me J. W. Ellsworth paid

Bank in New and

$3600 fora specimen. Another sold

for $2500. It is the one big value in American numismatics

The 1650 New England shilling can be bought for $100 and the pine tree s| ng for considerably less pos te a irs

T) American collect of Zerbe’s has {0000 varieties greater number than t Brit Museum; it represents forty ye of patient wo nd includes every thing imaginable—coins of the Bible t! shekel, the triput penny and the sma! tcou the world —the four-cent coin of Indi

Continued on Page 137)

20 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

PORARY MUIULLIOQNAL

le!

They Played Bridge — Marjorie and Mell Cutting for Partners

HE office was new. The suite was new. Indeed, for

that matter, the building was new, still smelling of

plaster in the halls—one of those skyscrapers shaped at the top like a stepladder so that—it might be fancied— the geds of mammon might step to the roof from time to time and try to grasp that “straddling lobster of the sky, ere he lay split upon the plate of evening.”” By which the sun is meant,

But it isn’t with the sun that we wish to concern our- selves at the moment when our story opens; nor yet with the building; nor yet with the suite of offices on the twenty- first floor whose entrance door had lately been lettered “Melvin J. MacCloud,” without any further information whatsoever.

So, coming back to the room from which we started— the same being Mr. MacCloud’s private office—we re- peat that it was new. The rugs on the floor—they, too, were new—-and the soft leather chairs, and the mahogany desk which had a top as large as the dancing space in many a Broadway cabaret on New Year’s Eve. Yet, nola bene, if you please, there was one thing in the room which wasn't new, one item which showed quite plainly the thumb marks and memoranda of time—an experienced old piece which might have gone back to the Stuarts, a rugged old article with something splintery about it too. This was Melvin J. MacCloud himself, seated at the mahogany desk aforesaid and reading a letter which he had already read twice before.

**M'm,” said he at last. Which isn’t much if you read it quickly, but you'd be surprised at the things it meant, the way old M. J. said it.

He turned then and looked at the two pieces of baggage which lay by the side of his desk—two noble bags of pig- skin bearing the Wanted labels of a transatlantic line. The blanks on the labels had been filled in: “Stateroom C12, Steamship Patrician,’”’ and the date was the same as that on the day calendar which lay upon the desk by the side of the inkwell.

Indeed, rising from his chair and walking to the window, Mr. MacCloud looked almost directly down upon the shore line of the North River to where the funnels of the Patrician were forming vague feathers of smoke. She was tosail at noon; and, glancing at his watch, M. J. per- ceived that it was already half-past eleven.

““M'm,” he repeated. “I may surpr-r-rise them.”

And suddenly returning to his desk, he pushed a button, it again, when the door quietly

and was about to push

opened and a tall young man stepped in—a quiet young

Westom

ILLUSTRATED BY BARTOW V. V. MATTESON

man with blue eyes and hair which was inclined to be curly. And if he was blushing a little, this may have been due to the fact that just before his bell had rung, he had

been writing the following unbusinesslike lines on one of

M. J.’s letterheads:

““ANGELA’S VIGIL, Act III

Same setting as Act I)

“Curtain rises on darkened stage. Moonbeam through window falls on Angela sitting in chair by side of fireplace. She has fallen asleep in her vigil. The room is still in dis- order, and her face looks pale in the moonlight. Through the broken window a clock is heard, slowly striking three. Angela stirs, but does not awaken. She gently moans and her hand unconsciously rises to her bosom.”

He had just written the word “bosom” and was thinking to himself, ‘‘ Not quite like Barrie,’ when his bell rang. Is it any wonder that this young man blushed a little as he looked down at M. J.’s frowning brow?

im HEY looked at each other—the old man and the young—in one of those exchanges of glances with which youth and experience have probably regarded each other since the dawn of the human race; and if you had been there—invisible, mind you, and saying nothing—it might have struck you that Mr. MacCloud didn’t altogether ap- prove of this tall young nephew of his who was standing there so quietly and yet so full of color, his hands behind him and his left leg slightly ad- vanced. “Has Mr. Ingalls left yet?” asked old M. J. “Yes, sir,”’ replied the young man. “He left soon after he said good-by—I believe to look at that house in Englewood which he’s thinking of buying.” “IT understand the cir- cumstances,” said the other dryly. “But did he say when he expected to return?” “At three o'clock,” the young man answered. ‘‘A pity,’ said Mr. MacCloud. “A gr-r-reat pity.” He might have relapsed into frowning silence then— a thing he liked to do—if the siren

August 14,1926

of a steamer in the river hadn't recalled him. “Sit down, Melvin,” he said then in a kindlier voice. “I’d have _pre- ferred Mr. Ingalls—he’s been with me so many years that we understand each but it may be that you will answer nearly as

other well as he would

“Yes, sir,”’ said the young man, taking the visitor’s chair with a graceful ease which didn’t escape the older man’s attention.

“There’s a line in the classics, as you with your expen- sive education probably know,” continued Mr. MacCloud, his frown appearing again: ‘‘‘ Uneasy lies the head that wears a cr-r-rown.’ And when I came on from the West last month, with the working control of the Narragansett Copper Company in my pocket, I more than expected a good sharp tussle in the East here before the question of sovereignty was finally settled. And now I find’’—he glanced at the letter—‘“‘that hostilities are to open tomor- row, at a time when everybody expects that I shall be on the broad Atlantic, unable to look after myself as well as I might if I were here ashore.”

“Yes, sir,” said the young man, more in answer to the older man’s look than to any interrogation in his voice. “T think I understand.”

“I’m glad you do,” said the other dryly. ‘It reflects great credit upon your powers of observation. And under- standing that, you'll probably also understand this: That it would be a disconcerting piece of strategy on my part if I allowed my opponents to think that I had sailed on the Patrician, only to turn up here when least expected and give them all the fight they’re looking for.”

A touch of deeper brown had appeared upon his cheek bones, and he walked to the window—a scarred old warrior already sniffing the battle from afar. From the distance you might have fancied yourself hearing the skirl of bag- pipes, striking up a martial air of which many a man would never live to hear the chorus.

“Fortunately, as it happens,”’ continued Mr. MacCloud, returning to his desk and breathing a bit hard, “I am little known in the East—as yet. In a year from now, say, when I stand in relation to copper as Mr. Carnegie once stood in relation to steel, it would be well-nigh impossible for any- one to sail in my place. But at the present time I should say there would be no particular difficulty in having a younger man occupy my stateroom—that is, of course, if he kept to his stateroom throughout the voyage on the pre- tense of being sick. By this time, I take it, you under- stand the point which I've been driving at for the last few minutes?”

“You mean that I’m to take your place upon the Patri- cian?” said the young man, trying not to show how much the prospect pleased him.

“Aye,” said the other, with a dryness now so perfect that it seemed to have crust upon it. “And keep to your room—or rather my room—all the way across.”

“But what aboutapassport? Isthere time?’

“You'll have to travel on mine,” the other. ‘Fortunately, the names are the same. Of course you'll not be able to land, either at Cherbourg or Southampton, but there’s no particular harm in that, as you'll come right back on the Patrician in any event.”

Still looking at each other—Youth and Experi- ence—they seemed to draw a deep breath together.

I needn't

’

said

“The baggage tell you to be careful of that,’’ continued the older man with a look of regret at the handsome new pieces by the side of his desk; ‘‘and you'll only use such articles of wearing apparel as may be strictly necessary. I shall go on the ship with you and maybe have a photograph taken by the reporters ‘Melvin J. MacCloud, the New Copper King, Sails for

“

"Ave You Gone and 'Urt Your Ankle?"

Europe’—a fine bit of wool for someone's observant eyes; and then when nobody's looking, I'll just slip down the steerage gangway and you'll shut yourself in your state- room. And there you are, all snug for the round trip. a temporary millionaire, with never a care in the worry you.”

“a

world to

Except money,” said the young man, the ing on his cheeks again. ** Ah, well, I won't begrudge you a few

color appear-

hundred dollars

under the circumstances,”’ agreed the other, after a per- ceptible interval of thought. ‘And another thousand dol lars, say, by way of a bonus, if the project should turn out to be successful. And now,” he continued, looking at his watcl

think we'd better get started; and I'll give you what papers

Of course you'll keep a strict account. again, “I and —and what money you need on our way to the boat

i To be twenty-two on a fine June Wednesday morning; i to be a temporary millionaire, starting out on a three weeks’ unexpected holiday over the ocean and back a holiday already tinged with mystery and excitement; to have five hundred dollars presently presented in a taxi- cab to cover inci- dental expenses; to have another thou- sand dollarscoming to you; to board first steamer and almost have to

} ‘ ;

| } | ;

" push your way

\\ through laughing, ’ chatting groups of aK) charm and beauty; , to see your first 4 steward; to hear

your

your first ship’s ‘ bell; to catch your

first whiff of that

unmistakable tang ,

which is known

——

} 1 only to those who Al go down to the T great deep—could I even a budding

playwright, with all Hy), his fancies, have dreamed of the

_—

mi start of a happier { adventure than , that? Ly mi W AFTER his uncle \) had left him

} a parting which a wasn’t accom-

plished without many a frowning, many a solemn admonition —the first thing that Mell did was to take a good look at the stateroom which was to be his home for the next seven days. ! And, indeed, it was astateroom well worth looking at, with its paneling and its chintzes, its lamps and its cupboards, its desk beneath the window and its curtained alcove concealing a regular bed. Exploring the doors, he came to one which opened

——— =

—— =

— =.

into a bathroom, tiled and porcelained in spotless splendor, | its fittings like silver still warm from the polishing wheel ) “The old boy was doing it well,”’ thought Mell, closing i the door and looking around the stateroom again. ‘‘The \ New Copper King Sails for Europe’—it calls for a proper j setting. He might have thought of seeing the reporters in here, or of entertaining company going over. Yes, and the | room's big enough too. You could easily get four people at this table.” | He went to the window over the desk then Il hole, but a good square window of inch-thick glass \ overlooked the promenade deck; and there he parted the curtains, and kneeling upon the desk, he looked out at his fellow voyagers who were leaning over the rail, shouting Behind these railbirds, other passengers were already walking up and down the deck, some stolid, some even looking slightly bored; but most of them moving with that subdued excite- ment which comes to nearly everyone on shipboard when

not a port- which

farewells to those who had come to see them off.

the warning bell has sent the visitors ashore. Paris— Europe Mell found himself “T only wish I had money

“London thinking with a touch of envy. enough to go wherever I liked!’

Two middle-aged males came walking along the deck to- gether.

It seemed to Mell, always on the lookout for characters in these prospective dramas by which some day he hoped to be known as the American Barrie, that though these two

approaching passengers might have passed for stage hands,

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

or even for supers, neither of them would have heen con- lent f her eves wh made m think of

sciously cast for any important part and there wi mething in! : rming ittie ‘But they know how to make money or t wo t vagger wi eemed ne A east he ft be here,”” he mused; and then he scoffed at himself a bit never noticed a er gir **And look at me~— with my exper e education!” But he ““A queen!" thought M« / t pernay me stopped offing as three happy gi ame trip] ) tant echo of the . , ea the deck walked past him “And here , ustened “Their fathers made it, too,” continued Me to himself tr and can t ever now ! ““Somebody in the family, at any rate. And all these shiy He imagined her as the heroine of Angela’s Vig deme that go out every week, they're simply crowded with peo- warmed the part e sunsnine He atts SEN er f ple who have learned the trick of making mone But me ened at the daw g f Act I i sex rugs I've got to} in here <e a dunce in a corner who hasn't to free herself from the whiet ere Be ew been able to , his lesson right!”’ winding around her . It might have been the ir As you can see, our temporary millionaire was growing tensity of Mell's glance which drew t g eye to } slightly bitter, dosing himself with that spiritual quinine window which ometimes good for the soul At any rate he looked at him, sn g the while at “Here comes a good-looking old boy,”’ he more cheer mething which the stately soldier wa tying to her. ‘ fully interrupted himself. ‘‘ Now if there were more lik« course Mell shouldn't have done it ndeed, at first hin . didn't know that he was smiling back at her, a certain slow It was a martial-looking, elderly gentleman who had at and solemn smile which comes only f serious nature tracted Mell’s eye very sold er thir ind po from young men, say who hope In tir » be known as the sessed of the art of wearing American Barrie; but at least he knew that the gir id his clothes with distinctior den}, turned her eyes ba k to the ger her cheeks the Hewas carrying hisstraw hat olor of two es of one of Mr. ( ‘ Egyptia under his arm, and althoug heet } hair wasn’t far from he “O} f I didn’t have to sta : ere!” ¢ ight Me ng white, hiseyebrows might with something like a groar ] about inspiration! Why. there more inspiration on tt nif His reflections were drowned by the foghorn and a sud den crescendo of farewell from those at the rail. Gradually

an almost im pe reeptible tremor ran t the ship; and inch by inch at first, and then with ig speed, tl Patrician majestically backed out of he io und turned her questing bowsprit toward the sea. Iv

HEY were hardly straightened out the river when i

steward knocked and entered, a bright old i dog wit! a rosy nose which looked as though it shone at night to I

the other shipping know it was coming “Mr. MacCloud he asked bit pr led

said «

“Yes,” ur temporary coming down off the desk wit! nity as the length of his legs permitted ‘Il beg your pardon, sir

Nose: “‘ but you had

of vourr aboard ves

enw

thing was comfortable ' ] t in mind that you were an

ler gentleman.”’

That would My

, .

ingaiis thought

if trying to look o.d as he possi

ould “He

ine was coming

My r me's (y ont ued the tewarda r ‘*‘Never VM nd f eT i \ bit of Y ou'il under d, and ‘oping \ pardon the iibert V & & To be a Temporary Mil« ¢ | l lionaire; to Board Your Me } ( mat , ¢ First Steamerand Almost . d 4 Have to Push Your Way m _— . Through Laughing, Chat her ' youd et give n . ting Groups of Charm and Beauty—Could Even a Budding Playwright, With All your § Keé r mM in} 4 His Fancies, Have Dreamed of the Start of a Happier Adventure Than That? vo if { iv ‘ 1 re on aect have reminded you of dark wings. His nose, too, had some “No; never mind,” said Mell, somewhat hurried thing birdlike about it, something beaky and remindful of And after a pause, he added I have some lette nt the hawk—a commanding feature somewhat softened by and | don't expect to get out on deck for some little time the drooping mustache below. yet.” **A general, perhaps,’’ thought Mell, unconsciously cast- Some letters to go off with the pilot, you me ing him. ‘‘‘Some stately soldier freed from war's alarms.’"’ asked the steward Again he stopped, his glance turning to the girl who was ye Cag walking by the general's side—a dark, radiant, dimpled “Then I'll call around in ‘alf an hour and get them young angel who might have been having her first sure you.” glimpse of paradise. But it wasn't altogether her celestial He vanished on that, and thinking it ‘ s he might attributes which made the young man at the window open have thought over a problem of plet Angela \I the curtains a little wider. Still unconsciously perhaps, he didn't altogether like it was attracted by a certain promise of sauciness in the pro “A wise old character e told himself wit file of her nose—which reminded him of youthful pictures look. “It isn’t going to be easy to ill the way of Ellen Terry—a certain promise of tenderness in the across.” Continued on Page I

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

POLIT.

H-HA!’’ bellowed Orifice

R. Latimer, president of the Midnight Pic- tures Corpora- tion, Inc., of Birmingham, Alabama. ‘‘So it’s you, is it?”

Director J. Cesar Clump bent his slender figure at the waist and flashed his chief a genial gold-toothed smile.

“Yes, Orifice, me.”

That good-humored expansion of the lips came near to proving Mr. Latimer’s undoing. He opened his lips to speak and succeeded only in spluttering. He waved two pudgy fists, then tore at the striped collar of his glorious shirt. After which he

waddled to the window and stood looking down upon the

Piazza Amedeo with eyes which were glazed by futile fury.

Through that window there was wafted to J. Cesar Clump, and to the third occupant of the room—one Wel- ford Potts, star extraordinary of the two-reel drama—the balmy but definitely perfumed air of Naples. There en- tered, too, the cacophony of Neapolitan street noises, pre- dominated by the incessant squeaking of automobile sirens which sounded like tin horns blown by small boys slightly afflicted with sore throat.

It was, however, a glorious day; a day to incite poets to rhythmic and flowing verses wherein spring rimes with sing and flowers with bowers. The sapphire waters of the bay shimmered in the sunlight; fishermen caroled gayly as they cast their nets for small octopuses and other pisca- torial delicacies; children played in the streets, and hoarse- voiced guides could be heard soliciting trade from casual tourists who had wandered inland from the Via Caracciolo.

But all the soothing beauty of this Italian December day was lost upon President Latimer. That Gar- gantuan gentleman looked into the sunshine and saw the lowering clouds of disaster; his eye lighted upon the crest of Vesuvius and he visu- alized Pompeii with his motion-picture organi- zation cast in the réle of the Last Days. And eventually, because his emotions had been dammed up too long, he swung again on the unsuspecting chief of his directorial staff and loosed a splatter of words.

“Sholy, it’s you! Who else would it be hangin’ ‘round where they ain't nothin’ doin’ but Where you reckon we is at, huh? I know, Cwsar Clump, where is we at?”

“Naples,” returned the blithesome. director.

it’s

He Onty Knew That He Waited an Unhappy and Interminable Time for the Return of J. Caesar

pleasure?

requests to

‘Tha’s in Italy.”

“Italy! Twenty-one of us is in Italy. An’ we has been in Italy two weeks a’ready. What you reckon we come heah fo’ tion?’’

It was beginning to dawn

a& Vaca-

on Cesar Clump that his chief was not exactly tran- quil “Shuh! Orifice, decom- pose yo’se’f. I is gittin’ my bearin’s.”’ ‘*Bearin’s! Will you listen?

goshness, Miss Agnes, how

Bearin’s!

Goodness

long does it take you to git

bearin’s—an’ how

them

By Octavus Roy Cohen

ILLUSTRATED Br TONY SARG much cash money is they gwine be wuth after you gits ‘em? I brung you over heah to git pitchers, not bearin’s. I craves pitchers! Pitchers! You heah me? How much you reckon it’s costin’ us to keep twenty-one cullud pussons livin’ in this hotel while you strolls aroun’ gittin’ bearin’s? How long you reckon it’s gwine be befo’ us ain't able to use them bearin’s after you git ’em on account we ain't got no money?”

Amazement, strongly tinctured with indignation, was welling in the breast of Director Julius Cesar Clump. ‘‘I can’t do ev’ything,”’ he defended.

“No, suttinly you can’t. You can’t do nothin’—an’ you has done it ever since we gotten off that ship.”

“Why don’t somebody else do somethin’? Swain would gimme a story to work on ——’”’

““Wha’s Forcep Swain? What's he, huh? nothin’ but an author, is he?”

Tota.”

“Well, authors ain’t s’posed to think of stories, is they? They’s s’posed to write ’em. It’s yo’ job to think of the story, ’stead of runnin’ aroun’ gittin’ bearin’s. I tell you, Mistuh Clump, us is goin’ bankrupt so fast us is gwine have to walk clear back to Bumminham. Outside of that pitcher us tooken on the ship, we ain’t got ary shot sense we lef’ New Yawk. An’ I demands to know how come.”

“T can’t git started,’’ explained Clump.

“**Tain't easy when you has just landed. I has been walkin’ aroun’ lookin’ at locations an’ also gittin’ a license to take pitchers in the streets.”

“Yeh! An’ I guess in another week you'll be wantin’ to send that license to our dis- tributors an’ suggest that they show it in the hund’ed an’ seventy fust-run houses where Midnight Pitchers is exhibitin’. I reckon tha’s what you is gwine be doin’, ain't it?”

“No, it ain't,” returned Clump with frigid hauteur. ‘‘An’ one mo’ thing I informs you, Mistuh Latimer—bein’ bawled out by a big fat ol’ frog like you ain't the fondest thing I is of!”

Orifice clung to the border of

If Forcep

He ain’t

The Baby Was

August 14,1926

SCREA

apoplexy. Worry was shot through with helpless anger. Only that morning he had busied him- self with pencil and paper and discovered that the overhead was terrific.

Two weeks previously twenty-one colored persons, com- prising a complete double unit of The Midnight Pictures Corporation, Inc., manufacturers of two-reel slapstick comedies, had left ship in Naples prepared to revolutionize the high-speed comedy situation by taking excruciating pictures against Old World backgrounds. And so far not a camera crank had been turned, not a foot of film utilized, not a single gesture of potential income made by any member of the troupe. Wherefore President Latimer had turned upon his most bosom friend and chiefest executive, Director Clump, as a person naturally and primarily responsible.

“An’ has you got any idea,”’ he inquired with cutting sarcasm, “‘when you finishes collectin’ bearin’s an’ starts

shootin’?”’

Being Kidnaped, and

There Started Up That Narrow, Picture esque Street Ladies, Children, Goats and

Dogs, and Falling,

Yelling, Gesticulating, Leaping Welford Leading the Way

“Pff!’’ Clump was now as angry as his chief. “ Right now if you feels that way about it.”’

“That way! Sufferin’ tripe! I feels wuss than that way. I feels

“Like sendin’ second-rate pitchers back to America when they is lookin’ fo’ comedy classics?”’

“Us is the comedy classics! What they is lookin’ fo’ is pitchers—an’ pitchers we has got to have. I want action x

“Well, whose fault is it we ain't done nothin’? Has you done anythin’ but sight-see? Has Forcep Swain done any authorin’?

Has Florian Slappey gotten any hunches’? Has Professor Aleck Champagne made any money with that orchestra we brung over heah? Has a

“No! No! No!” shrieked Latimer. ‘‘ Nobody ain't done nothin’ an’ nobody ain't doin’ nothin’, an’ so far as I can see nobody ain't fixin’ to do nothin’. An’ whose fault it is is yourn on account you is chief director.”

“*Fumadiddles!’”’ snorted Clump. ‘Who says so be- sides you?”

“Welford Potts!"’ roared the president. ‘He says so!”

A terrible and audible silence pervaded the room. J. Cesar Clump turned with jaw drooping to stare at the dapper and elegant figure of his erstwhile bosom friend, the sartorially magnificent Mr. Welford Potts, one of the most shining stars in the Midnight constellation.

Mr. Potts was somewhat startled by the sudden turn of the quarrel. He sat on the edge of his chair giving an

amazingly accurate imitation of a flounder

which has just been removed from its na- tive brine. Because, after all, it was the old story of cir- cumstances altering cases. Welford Potts had not been actually criticizing his director friend. He had only —but Cwsar was descending upon him and there were fire and brimstone in the glance of the harried director.

“Welford Potts, did you say to Orifice that it was my fault we ain’t done nothin’?” “*N-n-n-now listen, C@sar

“Answer me. Did you did, or did you didn’t?” “Well, it was thisaway 53 “I told you he did,’’ roared Latimer. ‘Ev’ybody says

”

it.

“But it took Mistuh Shrimp Welford Potts to rilly give you the whole idea, eh? Mistuh Potts which I made an actor out of an’ thought was my friend. It was Mistuh Potts which stahted all this, huh? All right. Fum this minute on J. Cw@sar Clump goes out an’ gits pitchers—an’ he does it without no friends n’'r nothin’. Good, bad or rotten—I gits pitchers. You says all you craves is fo’ us * as fo’

you, Mistuh Potts—you po’, misguided, lopsided, bandy-

to shoot a lot of footage. A’right, I shoots it. An

legged, three-toed son of a cockeyed buzzard, Ise sho gwine git even with you fo’ stahtin’ this mess.”

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

“Ceasar, I never

“I thought of it myse’'f,”’ howled Presi- dent Latimer

“Bah!” snapped Mr. Clump as_ he lammed out of the room. ‘You never thought of

life

one thing in yo’ whole mis'able

President and star stared at each other. The countenance of Mr. Welford Potts reflected an excessive lugubriosity not en- tirely free from resentment

“Orifice, you done me dirt. I never sug- gested ws

“I didn’t say you was the suggestive one, did 1?"

“No. But Ca@sar thought os

“It's a good thing fo’ Midnight if Cawsar thinks anything. Way money things is runnin’ over heah in Europe, they ain’t no diff'ence tween coffers an’ coffins. An’ as fo’ that uppity director

“I don’t care bout heahin’ you straduce Cesar,”’ said Welford firmly. ‘‘He’s my friend, an’ Ise gwine out an’ make up with him.”

Down the hallway of the modest and not overheated Regal Hotel went the unhappy Welford Potts. He faced the task of set- ting himself right with his director, and that task promised to prove anything but easy.

Orifice Latimer, after all, had been grossly unjust. Welford merely agreed that Mid- night had fallen into a state of hopeless in- action since setting foot on the shores of sunny Italy. The time had been pleasurably

pent, of course; carriage drives around the

* city and to Sorrento and Pompeii and Amalfi; a highly seasickish boat ride to the island of Capri and its Blue Grotto; soothing liqueurs in sidewalk cafés, and many trips to see American movies with Italian subtitles. But so far no slapstick footage had been shot by this company; no scenario had been con- cocted; nothing had been done toward taking pictures other than securing police permits to photograph on the streets of Naples

As Welford Potts reached the door of Cesar’s room, Mr. Clump came slamming moodily into the hall. His putties had lost their luster, his long-visored cap was askew on top of his head and his eyes were blaz- ing. Mr. Potts put a pleading hand on the other’s arm.

“Cesar, listen

‘Ise listened to all what I craves to heah. Git out of my way befo’ I steps on you.”’

““Where you goin’?”’

*‘Ise gwine out to take pitchers.”’ “Where?”

‘In Naples—tha’s where. I dunno what kind or how, but Orifice Latimer says git pitchers, an’ Ise gwine git ‘em. Nothin’ don’t matter no mo’—an’ I suggests that you goes back an’ commences to talk with him ‘bout firin’ me an’ makin’ Eddie Fizz chief director.”

Clump stalked down the hall in majestic grandeur, and the distraught Welford Potts gave pleading chase.

“T never said xf

“You said a-plenty. Ev'y time you opens yo’ mouf, words falls out—an’ they is mostly words without no sense.’

Clump descended to the main floor and passed through the lobby into the street, Welford still in pathetic pursuit.

It was Mr. Potts’ sole and simple ambition to set himself right with Mr. Clump.

‘“‘Cwsar, I thinks you is the wonderfulest director

Mr. Clump strode to the corner and turned left on Via Caracciolo. The broad thoroughfare, parked on the right and bordering the Bay of Naples, seemed to soothe him not a whit, and he merely ignored the peacemaking Welford

“‘T just told Orifice that we hadn't took no pitchers since we landed in Naples, an’ if that ain’t the truth, what is it?”’

“Yeh. An’ also it’s true that Orifice is ugly an’ fat. Now let's heah you tell him that!”

“But, Brother Clump

‘I ain’t yo’ brother. I ain't nobody's brother no mo’. An’ I craves that you keeps yo’ mouf shut. I yearns fo’ solitude an’ heaps of it.”

Whereupon Czxsar strode moodily along the Riverside

Drive of Naples in the general direction of the city’s civ center. His face was darker than Nature intended and |} heart was leaden. Presidential censure caused his soul to shrivel. It was the first he had ever received, and he knew

that it was not entirely unjust.

“Turn Aroun'’, Wetford,"" He Yetted; “‘an’ Run!"*

A ar tt ff Dire (a | f ft and ¢ as, had beer jed transp atic ror ma. to N Ital , mae tot ‘ tic environ ment. The narrow ‘ ng tie ‘ r tone ste] and aleoe ¢ tall te ents, the mo f r erent people tne sobbing tax t ? Oo tie tran tine rn tudinous ur forms of the m

gin He possessed a vague feeling th hooting pictures, hunches would pile he couldn't sleep nights; but that gre: tional hunch which was to start the farther distant with the passing of eacl He reflected, now, as he strode alon the waterfront into the narrow, congests on either side by five and six story tenemen at. hi Welford Potts not timed his critical suggestions so inop

portunely, the divine hunch would have descended not later than that day; and so he despised his erstwhile friend and gave no heed to Welford’s passionate peace offerings

“Honest, Cesar, I didn’t go for to git you into no mess I never thought Orifice was gwine ‘cuse me of sa} .

‘I ain’t interested in yo’ talkment. I just nachelly ain't interested in you a-tall.”

“But Ise sorry, Cwsar. Honest to goshn« l is. I thinks you is wonderful

“But dumb!”

‘“‘An’ I knows we is gwine git pitchers, an’ Ise nachelly itchin’ to help y

“Tha’s all anybody has done since gittin’ to Naples. Itch.”

**Won't you make up, Brother Clump?

“Only thing I makes up is my mind. An’ I makes that up to show somebody somethin’. Now leave me be.”

But Welford Potts did not leave him be. He trotted patiently along in the wake of the irate and troubled director, as that slender and wiry individual threaded his

way through the tortuous mazé of narrow, squalid, flag-

stoned streets which wander indiscriminately thr

downtown section of Naples.

ough the

Cesar was in an unforgiving mood. Welford was de- spondent. They knew not whither they went. Cesar traversed one street and then another, Mr. Potts dogging his heels. Mr. Potts was desperate. He had unwittingly done his friend injury and found it impossible to make amends And Cesar’s thoughts were going around in

circles, His instinct was to forgive Welford, for he craved

friendly counsel and an unburdening of his soul —but pride forbade. He liked Welford, yet he sought revenge even

before peace They passed a corner. The wistful eye of Mr. Potts

lighted upon a sign paints d over the door of a tir y hop

a sign which announced to the world that here fabacco # dispensed And in the window of that fa ) shop was something which afflicted Welford with an inspiration

In full view of the multitude were some Virginia ciga rettes. They were not expensive and they were not many, but at sight of them Welford smiled hopefully.

He knew that particular brand was J. Cwsar's favorite What was more, Mr. Clump had sought wildly and vainly since landing in Italy for precisely that cigarette. And now

It occurred to Welford that here was golden opportunity to make a peace offering which uuld not be rejected Cwsar's favorite cigarette! What iron heart would fail to

melt under the white heat of such a gift? What granite

soul could withstand the blast of such an offering? ‘““Cwsar,”’ whispered Mr. Potts, ‘‘y you do me just one fa 5?” What is it? Wait heah fo’ me one li'l’ teeny minute.”

Continued on Page 120

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

I OQ

T IS paradoxical, but

true, that as radio sets

get more complex, deli- cate and precise, they are more easily operated. It took an engineer to run the early sets, and even more recently timid foiks, when tempted to go in for radio, were discouraged by the multiplicity of dials and the intricacy of the various accessories and control arrangements.

Several things have made operation simpler. The built-in loop aerial, now used instead of the outside aerial 50 to 100 feet in length, helps. So do built-in loud-speakers, dry cells instead of wet bat- teries, and lamp-socket power supply. But the most confusing feature of early sets was the system of separate tuning dials for each of the several stages of amplification. Fre- quently there were three dials to be turned for tun- ing and several dials for other adjustments as well. No operator could be found with more than two hands to turn these dials, and two hands were at a dis- tinct disadvantage. Fi- nally use was made of an ingenious device for the operation of all the tun- ing apparatus by means of a single dial. The original idea was worked out by Fessenden and was _ per- fected by John V. L. Hogan, radio engineer, who worked out the details of the single dial while he was still in college. He intended it for ships at sea, where sometimes speed in operation might save a life.

The device was used by ships, but did not become a part of broadcasting until 1923. It is indicative of the extreme caution with which radio manufacture advanced that this invention, which seems now so obviously useful, should not have been snapped up at once. Asa matter of fact, Mr. Hogan offered the patent to at least one large company for exclusive license at a price which was less than the same company now pays him for a nonexclusive license under the patent, shared with a score of other companies.

A Husky Five-Year-Old

AN UNEXPECTED problem was created by the sensi- 4. tive new receiving sets. The same delicacy of percep- tion that let them reproduce the faintest incoming impulses from distant broadcasting stations also enabled them to reproduce the impulses from electrical machinery and from other man-made disturbances.

Late in 1924, so many complaints regarding interference of this kind were received that the Radio Corporation organized a special staff to investigate. During 1925, 300 of interference caused by electrical machinery

were tracked down and remedied. Among the sources of interference which have been traced are: Street railways, are lights, motion-picture machines, electric grills, elevators, defective house wiring, vacuum clean- ers, electric heating pads and silent traffic policemen—that is, electric signals which control the traffic. Another source of interference has been the use of regenerative receiv- ers without devices to prevent radia- Where too much regenerative amplification is used, such sets begin le—that is, they cease to act

Cast

tion

to whistle

ILLUSTRATED BY WYNCIE KING

There is Something Terrifying in the Utter Silence, the Total Lack of Facility for Determining What the Audience is Like

as receivers and begin to create and radiate oscillations of their own. In this way the whole receiving set becomes a small transmitter and its waves can be heard over other sets in the neighborhood, to the annoyance of owners of those This radiation is being prevented by loop aerials— coupling tubes, which include one or more amplifying tubes without feed-back, used between the aerial and the oscillating circuit to prevent the oscillations from reaching the aerial, and counter feed-back devices which automat- ically stop regeneration from building up to a point where oscillation begins.

From all this it may be seen that in five years receiving sets have advanced through six or seven stages. First came the simple crystal sets, or sets with one or two tubes but without substantial amplification. Then came sets with

regenerative amplification. Tuned radio-frequency sets with several successive tube circuits and a fairly high degree of amplification and se- lectivity were next. There followed, in quick succession, the superhetero- dyne set with very high degree of amplification and selectivity; the completely self-contained set, with loop aerial and inclosed loud-speaker; and the set with lamp-socket power supply and a very powerful loud- speaker.

The most recent and, for many reasons, most interesting development is the combination of the radio and the phonograph, operated electrically and with the electric pick-up.

Naturally, this is only a rough classification of set growth, since some of the attributes of one set may have been combined with some of the others, but it serves to show what can be done in five years when the public takes an

sets.

innovation to its heart.

So many are the changes that it seems it must have been further back than the fall of 1921 that crude affairs, operated with long outside aerials, heavy wet batteries and head phones, and appealing only to scientific amateurs who

August 14,1926

By DAVID SARNOFF=-AS TOLD TO MARY MARGARET McBRIDE

were enthusiastic over the chance to experiment with something new, were offered for sale. Yet it was 1921, and in those days plenty of people thought that radio was a fad, soon to be outworn.

At the transmission end engineers have been at work analyzing and studying sound as strenuously as their coworkers at the receiving end. The early imperfections of radio apparatus—distortion of speech and music, elimination of overtones, the accentuation of certain let- ters and the partial elision of others—have been overcome through better methods of modulation and transmission. Studio equipment also has been improved by the desired extent of elimination of echoes and the avoidance of over- accentuation of one instrument at the expense of others.

To get precise results, measurements of people's hearing of speech and mu- sic have been carried out. More faithful transmis- sion has been achieved by transmission in a longer range of pitches. Origi- nally transmission was 350 to 3000 cycles a second. Now it is 50 to 6000 cycles or more. This will be in- creased undoubtedly. Ad- vances these days are made on the strength of scientific measurements. The old cut-and-try method has gone out in the laboratory.

The Microphone

ADIO owners hear

much of the micro- phone, affectionately called the mike, into which music or speech is poured. The microphone goes back to the first decade of the history of telephony. In the form we know it, it was invented by a man named Blake, who used plates of polished carbon with granular carbon grains between. The microphone that is in use today substitutes gold plating for the carbon and has a diaphragm of stretched duraluminum, the same material of which the frames of dirigibles are made. This increases smoothness of response to notes of all pitches.

Study of the microphone has been

carried to such a point that Dr.

Phillips Thomas, a research engineer

of the Westinghouse Company, has

produced an instrument so sensitive

that it is said to be able to ‘‘hear in-

sects talk.’’ It can also be used to

help doctors locate defective organs

in the human body through vibra-

tion. This is a valuable discovery,

since it has been demonstrated that

once the normal vibrating periods or characteristic sounds of healthy organs are known, the defective ones can be dis- covered by sound variations.

The early broadcasting stations used only a small frac- tion of one kilowatt. Then stations of 500 watts to 750 watts were introduced. Later stations of 5000 watts were built, and later still superpower stations, such as KDKA, WJZ and WGY, began to operate experimentally on power up to 50,000 watts.

This enormous increase in power required the develop- ment of water-cooled tubes of the high-vacuum type, with copper bulbs and special filaments.

Crystal-controlled transmitters reduce interference and make possible the close spacing of wave channels, by pre- venting stations from wabbling off their wave lengths and crossing with one another. The so-called piezo-electric effect of a thin slice of quartz crystal, which can be made to vibrate rhythmically at any desired frequency, controls the wave length of any station with accuracy, even when the oscillations run as high as 15,000,000 a second. In other words, a waferlike slice of crystal of almost diamond hardness of about two one-hundredths of an inch in thick- ness holds radio transmission constant.

fl {

It is difficult to give proper credit for a great many radio inventions, because so far the courts have handed down all too few decisions that really settle ownership of patents. The romance of radio is tremendously attractive to every man of imagination. We have had all sorts of would-be inventors —from the farm, from the schoolroom and even from the telephone switchboard. Most radio inventors are men, but women go in for it, too, sometimes.

The uncertainties of the field are such that leading en- gineers insist that a patent must have been applied for before they inspect an invention. They don’t want to deal with helpless people, who may later accuse them of having stolen an idea. The truth is, many inventions are the re- inventions of older methods. When a science has gone as far as radio has now, the amateur in the proverbial attic is not so likely to make a revolutionary invention as is the trained worker in a well-equipped laboratory. This is because the big laboratories are working overtime to turn out mechanical perfection, and their engineers and scien- tists are provided with the necessary facilities for orderly experimentation. It is almost too bad that this is true, for it spoils the story. Even I would rather believe the thrill- ing tales about amateurs who wake up in the middle of the night with ideas for inventions that will net them many millions. But I can’t remember any actual case of this kind in recent radio history.

Inveterate inventors are not, however, to be discour- aged. One man has visited a certain radio-engineering department twenty-three times, always with a new scheme. Every one has turned out to be either useless or a reinven- tion. He never seems to be fazed by the inevitable report and always pops back serenely with something else. All sorts of inter- esting suggestions are made. A num- ber of persons seem to have conceived recently the idea that it would be nice to paint domestic scenes on the side of radio receivers to give a pleas- ant homelike atmosphere. Others suggest painting studio scenes on the sides of the loud-speaker to make the listener think he is really in a stu- dio. The wildest dreams of a fu- turistic furniture maker are tame beside the cabinets designed by some would-be inventors. They are so grotesque that if a timid person awoke and saw them in his room at night he would shriek for help. One man wants them carved to represent lions and panthers. Another brought in a skeleton model. A woman suggested that a phos- phorescent glow about the cabinet would produce a delightful eerie sensation on long winter evenings with the lights turned off and radio turned on.

Amateur and Professional Inventors

FAVORITE type of invention is what we call gadgets—things to be attached to some part of the receiving instrument to make it sound better. Often these attachments will cost more than the entire re- ceiver, but this is a mere detail to the proud inventor. Tubes exert a strange fascination too. All sorts of ar- rangements have been suggested for coloring them so that they will glow with a soft light. Everybody, itseems, must, atsome time or other in his life, try build- ing aloud-speaker out of wood in such

Keeping on the Farm the Boy and Girt Al« ready There is the Ultimate Service the Radio Will Render to Rural Communities

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

a way as to get perfect tone. Sometimes the architect relies upon the shape of his instrument, sometimes upon the kind of wood or the veneer to produce this tone There are some pathetic cases. I remember one gray- haired elderly man of the stoop-shouldered, deprecating, perenniai-failure type who came into the laboratory ac- companied by a determined-looking wife. He hada crinkly horn which he was sure would solve al] loud-speaker prob- lems. We tried to soften the blow, but had to tell him not to invest any money in the project. As he slowly took in what we meant, he seemed to crumple up before our eyes.

Although all are carefully exam- ined for fear something may be missed, there is an astonishingly small percentage of workable ideas among those submitted. Out of 1000 suggested inventions there may be one or two that can be used—usu- ally with modifications.

The great inventors and scientists I have known have been plain, friendly, humble men. My chief im- pression of Marconi was always of democracy. I remember one day an Italian boy came in to shine his shoes interested in something the boy said and detained him for half an hour, talking to him eagerly in Italian and shaking hands when they parted.

The greater the scientist is the humbler seems to be his attitude. If you asked Steinmetz ‘‘What is ether?” he told you that he wished he knew. A college sophomore, on the other hand, would answer glibly that ether is a medium through which electric waves travel. That reminds me of a story told to me by Melville Stone, counselor of the Asso- ciated Press, about Heinrich Hertz, discoverer of the theory of electromagnetic waves, which is at the basis of radio.

Hertz was a teacher of physics in a German university. One day a student asked, ‘‘ What is electricity?’’ Before Hertz had a chance to reply, a boy in the back of the room held up his hand. When the teacher rather sardonically said, “Allright, you tell him,” the boy’s knowledge seemed

_ suddenly to vanish into thin air and he stam- @ ™>, _mered that he had forgotten. ; Hertz looked at him for a moment without Ne speaking, then shook his head sadly. ‘‘Whata pity !’’ he commented. ‘‘ The only man who has ever known what electricity is has forgotten!” When Albert Einstein, of relativity fame, was in this country in 1922, I gave a lunch- eon in his honor and invited Steinmetz, Irving Langmuir and other leading scientists. It was

Marconi got

a rather thrilling event for a lay- man, seeing so many great men to

gether. Einstein was shown t

our radio station at New Brunswick iy Queerly enoug! , 1 cannot reca!! any he

prophecy of his about radio ] } inclined to think that he did not make |

one. Heseemed to be rather awed NY by the magnitude of the concrete de

velopment of theories that he under-

stood better perhaps than any of us.

Doctor Goldsmith took Einstein, Steinmetz and Lang- muir out to New Brunswick in his automobile, and they carried on an astonishing conversation in three lan- guages —German, English and Frenc} i fire of ideas went back and forth, and the three promulgated theories and problems enough to keep the rest of the scientif world busy for a generation. They discussed the internal structure of atoms and the inmost secrets of scier nmucl

the same manner that we ordinary mortals would debate what to have for dinner. Two inventors of especial interest to present-day rad

fans are Armstrong and John Hays Hammond, Jr. Arm

strong worked out his regenerator while he was still a stu- dent at Columbia University. In fact, he began inventing ir his own attic when he was fifteen. His invention practi cally revamped the manufacture of radio sets. When he gave his first demonstration before cials of the Marconi Company, I remember that the tal! young fellow carried all his equipment in a black box and each part was painted black. This was a camouflage arrangement to make sure that nobody should pirate his idea

Seeing Things Up Gloucester Way

AMMOND isa latter-day descendant of a long line of gentleman scientists, men of means who might have

been content to live without work, but who have wanted to invent for the joy of it. Cavendish and Faraday wers among this group; and so was the Marquis of Worcester, who built one of the original steam engines

Hammond is a graduate of Yale and a democratic, unos- tentatious man, very pertinacious where his work is con cerned. Two types of problems appear to interest him national affairs and music. In teledynamics, the science of remote control, or controlling things at a distance, he has always worked with the idea of military defense in mind.

It is an uncanny sensation to stand on the shore of Gloucester Harbor and watch Hammond's unmanned boat start out at top speed when a button is pressed. As it sails along on top of the water it draws near another craft. A touch of the button swerves it to the side and it passes in safety, while the eyes of the persons in the other boat bulge out from astonishment. Ty end the exhibition Hammond wills his creation to do stunts and it begins to cut figure eights in the water.

]

The inventor has also controlied torpedoes and

airplanes by radio, and has constructed a dog of

metal which will follow him about the house until

the neighbors think they’re seeing things In connection with his torpedo control, he has per-

item that seems like doom itself. There

fe ( ted one

was always a possi

miity that persons

a boat toward

which a torpedo

Continued on Page 31

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

COUNTER ATTA

ARTY italist, mill politician, was in Melvin Palmer. L as the entire county was

ROONEY,

owner and

cap-

con- ference Meivin, aware, supplied Marty with an extra pair of very bright eyes, and with a pair of hands which did not object to a certain quantity of surreptitious dirt. It was an excellent arrangement for both. Mr. Palmer performed work for which he was fitted and for which he had an enviable genius—at satisfying rates of payment; Mr. Rooney occupied a position which made it pos- sible for him, in unpleasant emergencies, to declare that Mr. Palmer had gone too far, had acted on his own, as it were,

with wes

eminently

and in consequence would be removed from the pay roll Excellent: results were obtained.

forthwith.

“You can’t buy him, seems as though,’ said Mr. Palmer, referring to a certain young attorney at law, Caleb Hope by name.

‘I discovered that for Marty said dryly but urbanely. He was industriously urbane; it was his avocation.

“And,” said Mr Palmer, “he any fool.”

“In your former report, Marty, “‘you took the opposite view.”’

‘*i’m cured, said Mr. Palmer,

“‘and we” better take steps.”

‘And cont rive adroit expedients,’ said Marty, had the gift of tongue and loved the sound of apt and musicai words as they issued from his lips.

“He's gittin’ quite

1 a DUSINeSS.

myself,”

ain't

said

who

a bit of “And attending to it effi- ciently, which is

“You think it up and I'll see it’s done,’ promised Mr.

worse.”

Palmer. “I like > him

him. I confess I But we mustn't let re with business

must be

No, in spite of his admirable characteristics, he \ ] \ 9

abdoiusned

“How?” ‘Melvin, the lawyer is to hz “But, dog “You don't have to be a negro to sing a coon song,” Marty sententiously;

most effective way to abolish ive him disbarred.’

y-gone it,

a young

he’s honest.’ said “there is burnt cork, you know.”

‘Have you got any to smear him with?”

“T think so. Indeed, I may say that I have a can with full guaranty printed on the label. . . . By the way, what about this First Voters’ League I hear of?”

“Kind of an or; zation,”’ said Mr. Palmer; ‘‘and as near as I can git it, the main object is to give minstrel snows uixed up in it?”

n find out. He ain’t an officer and he’s a meeting.’

" said Marty, it if it seems worth our while ‘When'll you be ready to set things to whizzin Marty said.

‘Ts ( ‘Not that I ki never been at “Watch it,’

} arge of

‘aleb Hope n

“and we'll arrange to take

se%0 ‘Day or two,” Mr. P

road into town.

‘ll send for you.”

almer left the office and walked down the river As he turned into Main Street he saw walking slowly ahead of him a very tall, slender, stooping and, he quickened his steps presently to fall in beside

Caleb Hope.

figure,

i Clarence Budington Kelland

7, a 82 Ff 2 SS

She Had Not Meant to be an Eavesdropper, But the Mention of Caleb Hope’s Name Had Arrested Her

“*Mornin’,”’ he said brightly.

Caleb turned his head to look downward. ‘ Ah,”’ he said in his melancholy voice, ‘‘Mr. Melvin Palmer, and no other!”

“It's me, all right self?”

,’ said Melvin. ‘How d’ye find your-

“‘Now there’s a question. How dolI find myself? How does anybody find himself? Or, to go further into the matter, does any man really find himself at all?”

“T can’t say,’”’ responded Melvin, somewhat nonplused, and with a resurgence of his old notion that Caleb was a button short as to intellect.

“Now is the time,”’ said Caleb, “for all good men to come to the aid of their party.”

““Why, yes,” said Melvin; “but what put that idee into your head?”

“You ask the most fascinating questions,’ sadly. ‘‘Conversation with you is a pleasure. up such vistas for speculation.”

Melvin was finding the conversation difficult. His purpose had been to glean any wisps of information which Caleb might drop unawares; but if this were information, he did not know how to digest it.

““How’s the law business?”

“Brisk,”

“It’s gittin’ so I Melvin.

Caleb said You open

he asked presently. You'd be ain't

said Caleb, surprised.”

surprised at anythin’,’”’ said

August 14,1926

used to be asked

“Did prised?” ostedly.

““Why—lI guess so.”

“At what?”

““Why—well, at different things.”

“Sometime,” Caleb said wearily, “T wish you would make a list of them forme. You know—the things you used to be surprised at which surprise you no longer.”

“‘Land’s sake! What for?”

“You ought not to ask that,” Caleb said mildly. ‘Such questions should not arise between friends.”’

“Sufferin’ mackerel!’’ Melvin exclaimed hoarsely.

“‘T leave you here,”’ Caleb said. “This is my office, where I practice the law you spoke about.”

Melvin made no response until Caleb was inside; then he clicked his teeth together and snapped his

head sidewise on his shoulders as a man might do in a high state of irritation. ‘‘Then go practice it, dog-gone ye!” he said. ‘‘And next time ye meet a