SA —————
Belletonte, Pa., December 7, 1917.
LINES TO HALFMOON VALLEY.
Sweet valley of my childhood
With your gardens and your vines,
Nestled in among the mountains
Covered o'er with birch and vines.
Yes, I love you, quiet valley,
I love your meadows green,
And your murmuring crystal water,
As it runs the hills between.
O! Valley mid the mountains,
Thou’rt fair as thou wast, when
A happy girl I wandered
Through meadow, glade and glen.
Gathering the sweet wild flowers
That grew in beauty there,
Or wreathing apple blossoms
For Anna's soft brown hair.
We picked berries ripe and red,
And chestnuts rich and brown,
Apples too, and black walnuts
The autumn winds shook down.
Thou’rt not changed! Not so with me,
My hair is turning gray
Most of the friends I loved so well
Have left thee, gone for aye!
By Margaret Gray Dorsey.
STRAIGHT FROM HEADQUAR-
TERS.
(Concluded ‘from last week).
To her combined gratification and
mystery, he didn’t presume, when the
second act began, upon her concession
made during the first; and out of her
mature discretion she refrained from:
further overture. To the best of her
recollection, it was eight years since
any man had neglected a similar oc-
casion; she was at once amused and
touched by his forbearance. She was
glad that he had confirmed her opin-
ion of him. But had she erred in her
assumption of how he regarded her?
She glanced appraisingly at him, and
saw that he was abstracted; his eyes
were still blurred in thought, but his
boyish chin was extraordinarily
square, and his mouth was set in a
hard, straight line. She touched his
a
rm.
“Don!” she said gently. “Don!”
“What?” He came back to earth
so precipitately that for an instant he
was dazed. “Oh! It’s over, isn’t it?”
“What were you thinking, Don?”
He exhaled slowly, and looked down
at her.
“I was thinking about one night a
year ago,” he said. “Some actresses
from Paris came out and got up a
show for us, and a mighty poor show
it was, too. And there was a piano
. and two violins; they played the same
thing this orchestra played when the
curtain went down, and while they
were playing you could hear heavy
gunfire all the time—they were shell-
ing one of our hospital "units. . . .
Let’s get out of here.”
As they emerged into the late after-
noon, Frances was subtly distraught
and apprehensive. She realized that
she wasn’t suitably gowned for the
time and place, and she dreaded the
conception of dining, or even of ap-
pearing on the street, in the theatre
district at this hour, or later, in her
present costume.
“Tea?” asked the young man in-
vitingly.
Frances pondered a moment.
“Well—I’ll be perfectly frank, Don!
Would you rather we had tea togeth-
er, or would you rather I'd run home
and slip on another gown and meet
you somewhere for dinner? I--7
“Good lord!” he ejaculated, halting
in his tracks. “It’s a quarter past
five!”
“That isn’t late.”
“It is for me,” he said ruefully.
“Jiminy! The afternoon’s gon2 fast!
Why, my train leaves at haif past
eight! We can’t have tea and dinner
too! That’s only three hours!”
“But if you don’t mind. I—"
“But I like your dress,” he protest-
ed vehemently. “I want you to—but
please don’t pay any attentioa to what
I say!”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he explained, “you’re
doing a wonderful thing for me, a
wonderful thing; and it’s none of my
fool business—"
“Instead of tea, then,” she suggesi-
ed, “why don’t we walk siowiy up the
Avenue to the Plaza, and then decide
what we do want to do?”
“The Plaza? That’s a thought!
I’ve always wanted to see that hotel!
We'll eat there!”
It took the last ounce of her cour-
age to hold her tongue. She could
reasonably expect to be seen by at
least a dozen friends and acquaintan-
ces in the Plaza dining-room:. ‘There
were countless other restaurants
where she might be safe from obser-
vation, and there were countless bet-
ter fitted to the young man’s purse.
“Would you particuia!y like to go
there, Don? Isn’t there some quieter
place—"’
“I certainly would,” he said cheer-
fully. “The best’s none too good to-
night. That’s what I’ve been saving
up for all day. Everybody’s heard of
the Plaza. We'll go there! There's
no other place you'd rather go, is
there?” His exaltation at the mere
idea was so obvious that she couldn’t
bring herself to deny him.
“No,” said Frances faintly. “I’d—
1d like to dine at the Plaza with you,
on.”
“We’er off!” he cried, swinging her
into step.
To her profound relief, the table he
commandeered was in an out-of-the-
way corner; and his circumstances,
added to the fact that they were din-
ing a good hour and a half in advance
of the conventions, revived her brave-
ry. She became increasingly respon-
sive; so that the young man glowed
to her vivacity and to her transcend-
ant loveliness. In return, he spared
no effort to please her; he even en-
larged upon his autobiography, and
this, to a man of his extraordinary
modesty, was the greatest concession
he could have made.
“But,” he protested at length, “do
you realize you’ve hardly told me a
word about yourself—Frances? Here
I've been ranting along—”
“I couldn’t,” she said quickly. “It
would sound terribly futile, Don, after
the things you’ve been through. And,
besides, I don’t think you’d like it.”
He looked perplexedly at her ey
drummed on the table. Quite by ac- !
cident, as he was struggling to inter-
pret her remark, his eyes fell upon
her left hand and he started percept-
ibly, held his breath for a moment,
and forced a wry smile. He was very
tense and very much chagrined.
“I am a fool!® he said slowly. “I—
0 you’re—married ?”’
“Yes, Don.”
He compressed his lips and appear-
ed to be swallowing hard.
“Well, most nice girls are. . .. I
never noticed your ring!” He tried to
relax, and failed dismally. “Tell me
about it.”
“I—I can’t Don. Please don’t ask
me.”
“That must mean you're not so
very happy,” he blurted without
thinking, and added instantly: “Ex-
cuse me; I shouldn’t have said that.
It just slipped out. Only I’m sort of
stunned for a second. Please don’t be
angry with me, but is Frances Put-
nam your real name? It means a
good deal to me—"
“That’s what my oldest and best
friends still call me,” she said rally-
ing him. “But let’s talk about some-
thing else, Don; I’m not worth the
time. You've had a life!”
Nevertheless, it was a quarter hour
before he fully retrieved his spirits.
She understood, and she was distress-
ed at the possibility that she might
have neutralized all the joy he had
previously accumulated.
“And yet,” he said suddenly, “that
makes it all the more splendid of
you.”
“What does?”
“To have you married. It takes
away some of the sentimental part of
it, and then gives it back again. It
changes the point of view, that’s all.
You must have all sorts of important
things to do, and you've given up a
whole long day—"
“What’s one day out of so many!”
she scoffed.
“For you, yes. But for me it’s one
day out of so mighty, mighty few.
Just imagine eight hundred days of
fighting, and then today, and tomor-
row I'll be on the rolls again for the
duration!”
“It doesn’t really seem possible,”
she admitted. “It’s hard to believe
there is such a war, and that we
aren’t just telling stories; it’s so
peaceful here, and commonplace. All
but you.”
“Not to me, either. But when I
realize what you must have given
u ?
“Do you know why I did, Don?”
“No. I wish I did.”
“Because of what you said on the
'bus, and at lunch, too. Do you re-
member? About your not having
anyone else? And needing some en-
couragement? I'm not very unself-
ish, Don, but somehow I couldn’t let
you go away like that.”
The boy fumbled with his glass,
and finally looked at her with abso-
lute candor.
“Then maybe you won't mind if I
tell you I’ve loved you all day? And
I haven’t stopped—even if you have
got a ring on.”
She leaned toward him, and replied
with equal unaffectedness.
“Don, ~I hoped you would. That
may sound queer, but it’s perfectly
true, and Tm not disloyal to my—to
anyone in the world when I say it.
You made me consider what you need-
ed; and most of us haven’t consider-
ed what soldiers need, we've only
thought about what we cared to do. It’s
been incredibly selfish of us. But
after I'd talked to you—"
“I’m not ashamed of
stoutly.
“Neither am I, Don. I’m proud of
it. If it ever gives you the tiniest lit-
tle spark of pleasure to remember
this—"’
“Im twenty-one,” he said, lifting
his head, “and when I'm nintey-nine,
if I live that long, I'll remember. Be-
cause I was going back into service
without one single bit of anything to
carry me through. . .. I won’t pre-
tend it isn’t a hard job—I don’t want
to be killed! But you’ve made it so
much easier for me. I can pretend
I’ve got somebody who was interested.
And the hardest part of this whole
business, for me, anyhow, was in hav-
ing it so awfully impersonal! That's
why I was so silly about going past
that house this morning. They call
us ‘defenders’ and I didn’t have any-
body in particular to defend! It was
just a job, a nasty job that had to get
done. And now—well, I’ve told you
that already. You’ve put yourself in
the place of all the friends I haven’t
got.” :
“I’ll try to think so.”
“Will you have to try?
believe me?”
She couldn’t question the sincerity
in his eyes.
“Yes, Don.”
He glanced at his watch and mo-
tioned sharply to the waiter.
“Just thirty minutes left; it’ll take
twenty of them to get to the Grand
Central and get my bag out of stor-
age. I've got my ticket already. I'm
afraid I'll have to say good-by.”
Frances put out her hand toward
him.
“But I'm going to the station with
ou!
y He reddened and inhaled with ec-
stacy.
“Will you do that, too?”
“Of course! I don’t send a
to the front every day!”
“No,” said the young man, count-
ing bills, and Frances saw that he
was able to retain but two for future
uses, “but you ought to. Well, I'm
afraid we'll have to get going.”
Once on the Avenue he took her
arm; and again by intuition she was
sentient of the delicacy of his regard
for her. He held her almost fearful-
ly as though she were too fragile, and
yet she knew that if he obeyed the im-
pulses of his youth he would be hold-
ing her convulsively; and her heart
was filled with an emotion which was
maternal, and not maternal, because
of his chivalry and his longing.
“You'll let me write to you,” he
said gruffly, after they had traversed
half a dozen blocks in silence.
She shivered, and felt his grip close
protectingly.
“Don, I—I’'m sorrier than I can tell
you, but—"
“You don’t need to go any further,”
he warned her. “I was just going to
take it back myself. I don’t believe I
it,” he said
Don't you
godson
could write to you, after all.”
“I know,” she said.
“Do you? Are you sure? Will
you mind if I talk to you about it
from here to the station? I won’t if
you say not to.”
“Tell me whatever you want to,
Don.”
He drew a long breath. t
“Well, the reason I can’t write to
you is because I couldn't say what I
want to. You see how that is. I
wouldn’t feel right about it—now that
I’ve seen your ring. I don’t believe
you would, either. And if I wrote
anything else, it would be worse than
nothing at all. Because this day has
been—perfect. And I'd hate to think
of you in any other way than this
way.”
“Yes,” she said slowly.
you would.”
“And it holds good for you, too. I
wouldn’t want to have you send me
the only kind of letter you ought
to send me; and you musn’t send me
“I know
the other kind. So the best thing is
for us just to say good-by, and let it
go at that.”
“You may be wise, Don.”
“But I'm going to think of you
pretty often,” he said soberly. “And
even if I don’t write to you, I hope
you won't think I've forgotten all
about this—or stopped appreciating
it”
“I won’t Don; I’ll understand.”
He convoyed her safely across the |
Avenue at Forty-fourth Street.
“By and by,” he said, “you may get
to wondering if it’s been worth while
—wasting this day. For you, I mean,
not for me. So I want to tell you
this: If you call it worth while to
have given me a feeling that I never
had before in all my life, then you’ve
done it. I don’t know exactly how to
describe it to you, but I feel as though
it’s all mine.” He embraced all points
of the compass in his inclusive ges-
ture. “I feel as though these people
on the street belong to me, and you
do, too; I mean, as though we're all
one big crowd over here, and every-
body’s working and fighting for
everybody else, and everybody’s sort
of related to everybody else, and there
isn’t any such thing as a stranger.
I’m not sure if you get that, but—”
“And still,” she said, “you're going
I’m not sure if you get that, but—"
“And still,” she said, “you’re going
why I’m going! I’m going to shoot
as straight as I can, so there won't
have to be any danger of shooting
and killing after this war is finished.
You can’t stop to argue with a high-
wayman, you know. You remcve him
—s0 he can’t hold up anybody else.
And I don’t feel related to the Fritzes.
they’re the highwaymen of the whole
world. Even a minister wouldn’t try
preaching to a thug that was strang-
ling him! And everybody I can see
now looks like an old friend of mine;
and men can fight like tomecats for
their friends! I suppose that sounds
like awful rubbish to you.”
“No, not at all; on the contrary,
Don.”
He swerved her down the wide
stairway into the ramp, and around
to the parcel-room. A moment later,
burdened with a shabby suit case, he
led her to the waiting-room and chose
an unoccupied bench.
“You wait here a second,” he said.
“T’ll be back in a jiffy.”
He hurried away, and left her men-
tally numb with the problem he had
stated for her. When he returned he
bore a slim sheaf of white rosebuds,
which he dumped unceremoniously on
her lap.
“There!” he said. “And there’s
only ten minutes more!”
She was almost crying as she held
the flowers to her; she knew that they |
must have cost him the very last of
his remaining bills.
“Oh, Don!” she said unsteadily.
“Oh, you dear boy! You shouldn’t
have done that! It’s sweet of you,
but—" _ :
“Nonsense!” he said, coughing.
“Wel; . ..
She stood up, and together they
walked out to the train shed. At the
brass railings they halted, and simul-
taneously stepped aside from the
traffic.
“You must wear one of these—for
me!” said Frances, selecting a flaw-
less bud. He bent toward her, and
with fingers that trembled in spite of
her resolution, she tucked the tiny
flower into his buttonhole. He remov-
ed his hat, and stammered:
“Thank you ever so much . ..”
“Don’t, Don’t! It’s all right.”
“You’ve been an angel,” he said
with difficulty.
“No, no, no! If I’ve helped you the
least little bit—"? _
“You’ve given me—” He flushed,
and shifted his weight restively.
“Well, I'll think of you over there—
every day. I’ve got to get aboard!”
“Good-by Don.” She knew that her
eyes were wet, and she couldn’t con-
strue this uncharacteristic weakness.
What was the lad to her?
“Good-by, dear,” he said, with utter
simplicity. “I'm mighty glad I found
you instead of those folks up town.
Good-by!”
He had taken her hand and he was
looking straight into her eyes.
“Oh!” said Frances, with a dry lit-
tle laugh. And without deliberation
or demur she lifted her face to him.
“Thank you,” he said gravely, and
kissed her only once. Unwittingly he
released her and picked up his batter-
ed suit case.
A whimsical slogan of the trenches
came to her, and she spoke it uncon-
sciously.
“Carry on, Don!”
Half through the door, he turned
and sent her a glorious smile of un-
derstanding and gratitude, and some-
thing else that twisted her heart, and
choked her.
“You bet I will!” said the boy, with
indomitable purpose in his voice.
A gray-clad official slammed the
twin doors shut behind him.
It was long past midnight when a
portly, jocund gentleman in freshly
wrinkled evening clothes, dismount-
‘led from a limousine before a huge
stone house on Riverside Drive and
suffered himself to be steered by the
chauffeur up the steps to the vesti-
bule. Thereafter a butler took this
gentleman in tow, and subsequently
deposited him with a valet who did
for him as insolently as he dared.
“Mis’ Vryling home?” queried the
jocund gentleman. “Not that I care
damn— just for conv’sation. Ig she?”
(Continued on page 3, eolumn 4).
Health and Happiness
“Mens sana in corpore sano”
Number 29.
PASTEURIZATION OF MILK.
Fig. 5. A home-made pasteurizer (Russell)
I'lat-bottomed tin pail in bottom of which
is an inverted pie tin punched with holes
or other device
bottles during
to serve as a stand for
the
heating process.
Quart bottle of milk (left), pint bottle
of milk (right)
bowl
1m text.
Pasteurization.—This process first
used by Pasteur (from whom it de-
rives its name) in combating various
maladies of beer and wine, has now
come to be widely used for the treat-
ment of milk. Milk that is pasteuriz-
ed by heating to 140 degrees F., 60
degrees C., for twenty minutes has
enhanced keeping quality and is con-
sidered a safer food inasmuch as this
process removes the danger of trans-
mission of specific disease germs. It
does not destroy all germ-life in milk;
it affects only those organisms that
are in a growing, vegetative condi-
tion. That the bacilli of typhoid fe-
ver, dysentery, diphtheria and tuber-
of pasteurization, constitutes a strong
argument for the process.
Although there is not entire una-
nimity of opinion among sanitarians
regarding the relative merits of pas-
teurized milk and raw milk, a strong
belief in the advantage of pasteuriza-
tion is growing up. The American
Medical Journal, July 28, 1917, in dis-
cussing a paper by the bacteriologist
Rettger, of Yale University, on milk
in its relation to public health says,
“If any opponents to the pasteuriza-
tion of milk still remain, they will
find little consolation in Rettger’s
conclusions:
Pasteurizing or boiling for a short
period does not destroy the nutritional
value, as numerous experiments have
without doubt demonstrated, although
physicians have from time to time
claimed that heated milk as a dies for
small children is conducive to scurvy.
Where any doubt concerninz this
point has existed the feeding of small
amounts of orange juice has been sif-
ficient to allay fear.
So long as raw milk from tubercu-
lous cows still continues to be used by
thousands of consumers daily, this
statement cannot be reiterated too!
often.”
CONDITIONS THAT DETERMINE
TEURIZING LIMITS.
(1) The pasteurizing temperature
should be limited to the degree of
heat that can safely be employed
without any danger of imparting a
cooked or scalded flavor to milk. If
the exposure is made for any consid-
erable period of time, say fifteen to
PAS
\ twenty minutes, this change in taste
appears to be quite permanent when
the milk is heated to 158 degrees F.
This condition, therefore, determines
the maximum limit that should be
used in pasteurizing, if we wish to
avoid the production of a cooked fla-
vor. Even below this temperature a
slight change in flavor occurs, al-
though it disappears upon chilling the
milk. When access of air is excluded
during heating, this cooked taste does
not develop so markedly.
(2) To be of value in increasing
the keeping quality of milk and to in-
sure freedom from disease bacteria,
it is necessary, in all cases, to exceed
the thermal death-point of at least
the actively developing bacteria in the
milk. For most bacteria this limit is
constant and quite sharply defined,
ranging from 130 degrees to 140 de-
grees F. where exposure is made for
fifteen to twenty minutes. Where ex-
posed for a briefer period of time, the
temperature limit is necessarily high-
er. The’ organism that is invested
with most interest in this connection
is the tubercle bacillus. On account
of its frequent occurrence in milk and
its high power of resistance, it is tak-
en as a standard in pasteurizing. It
has been conclusively proven that if
tuberculous milk is heated in closed
receptacles where the scalded surface
pellicle does not ferm, the vitality of
this disease germ is destroyed at 140
degrees F. in 15 to 20 minutes. If
the conditions of heating are such that
the surface of the milk is exposed to
the air, the resistance of bacteria is
greatly increased. When heated in
open vessels the tubercle bacillus has
survived an exposure of at least an
hour. This is a point of great prac-
tical importance in the treatment of
milk and necessitates the use of meth-
ods that will prevent the formation of
this surface film or so-called “skin.”
SANITARY ADVANTAGES. OF PAS-
TEURIZED MILK.
The beneficial effect of the use of
pasteurized milk has been unquestion-
ably proven in the reduction of infant
mortality from diarrhoeal disturbanc-
es. This is exemplified in the results
that have been obtained in New York
city through the liberality of Nathan
Strauss, who, for a number of years,
has furnished the poor children of
that city with pasteurized milk. The
placed
to equalize the level.
on an inverted
Described
favor with which pasteurized milk is
now regarded by sanitarians and
physicians is seen in the opinions,
from various authorities, already
quoted in these articles: viz, from
the National Milk Commission; from
the American Medical Journal; Pro-
fessor Rettger, of Yale; Dr. Jordon, |
of University of Chicago. The sub-
ject, as it now stands, is well sum-
med up in the following quotation
from Jordan’s Text Book:
“If milk before pasteurization con-
tains many millions of bacteria, heat-
ing will not remove entirely its dele-
terious qualities.
of the New York Milk Commission in-
culosis are killed at the temperature | d¢ate that pasteurization of dirty
milk is a questionable proceeding and
may be followed by harmful results.
It must be remémbered, however, that
in any case pasteurization greatly di-
minishes, if it does not altogether
prevent, the likelihood of specific in-
fection. The bacilli of typhoid fever,
dysentery, diphtheria, and tuberculo-
sis are killed at the temperature of
pasteurization, and this constifutes a
strong argument for the process.
Objections to pasteurized milk on
the ground that it favors the develop-
ment of scurvy and rickets have been
shown to be unfounded; the enzymes
in raw milk to which nutritional im-
portance is attached are not destroy-
ed by exposure to a temperature of
60 degrees C. for twenty minutes; the
argument that pasteurization conceals
the presence of dirt is open to the re-
tort that since the bacteria that come
from dirt are largely resistant spore-
forming varieties, it may be possible,
after the ordinary lactic acid bacte-
ria have been killed off by heating, to
determine bacteriologically the pres-
ence of dirt in pasteurized milk more
readily than raw milk. Finally it must
be again emphasized that one im-
portant advantage of pasteurization
is that it removes the danger of trans-
mission of specific disease germs—a
danger by no means absent even
when milk is collected from healthy
cows and in clean stables.”
PASTEURIZING APPARATUS.
The equipment necessary for the
pasteurization of milk designed for
direct consumption may be divided in-
to two general classes:
1. Apparatus of limited capacity
designed for family use.
2. Apparatus of sufficient capaci-
ty to pasteurize on a commercial
scale.
Dealers who contemplate the pas-
teurization of milk on a large scale
for commercial purposes should ‘be
‘thoroughly informed as to methods of
procedure and machinery before at-
tempting the process. There are re-
liable books to be had on the subject
but it would be best to consult the De-
partment of Dairy Husbandry of The
Pennsylvania State College, State
College, Pa., (or of any other State
Agricultural College) for information
and instruction. In preparing milk
for human use, fulfillment of sanita-
ry conditions is the first requirement.
Unfortunately milk dealers frequent-
ly lose sight of this requirement in
their attempt to secure apparatus that
will handle large amounts so as to re-
duce the cost of operation. Pasteur-
izing involves considerable time and’
trouble, and it is better not to have
the milk treated at all than to have
the process imperfectly performed.
With the excellent opportunities af-
forded at The Pennsylvania State
College, only twelve miles distant and
easily accessible by bus-lines and rail-
roads, it" would seem that the dairy-
men and farmers of this community
should: be the best informed and
equipped men in the profession in the
State. The regular three-months
course in Dairying began there No-
vember 15th and can be attended with
comparatively slight expense. Dur-
ing Farmers’ Week, Deccember 26-29,
valuable lectures and demonstrations
on the subject are given and this
every farmer, dairyman, and wives
as well, could and should afford time
to attend.
Until our producers give us cleaner
milk or until all milks are commer-
cially pasteurized, the safest plan is to
pasteurize it in the home and for this
purpose the following simple direc-
tions from Russell’s “Dairy Bacteri-
ology,” are given:
DOMESTIC PASTEURIZERS.
“In pasteurizing milk for individual
use, it is not desirable to treat at one
time more than will be consumed in
one day; hence an apparatus holding
a few bottles will suffice. In this case
the treatment can best be performed
in the bottle itself, thereby lesseming
the danger of infection. Several dif-
ferent types of pasteurizers are on
The observations |
|
| the market; but special apparatus is
by no means necessary for the pur-
| pose. The process can be efficiently
| performed by any one with the addi-
{tion of an ordinary dairy thermome-
| ter to the common utensils found in
ithe kitchen. Fig. 5 indicates a sim-
{ ple contrivance that can be readily ar-
i ranged for this purpose.
| The following suggestions indicate
the different steps of the process:
1. Use only fresh milk.
2. Place milk in clean bottles or
{fruit cans, filling sametoa uniform
level, closing bottles tightly with a
{cork or-cover. If pint and quart cans
jare used atthe same time,an inverted
bowl will equalize the level. Set these
in a flat-bottomed tin pail and fill
with warm water to same level as
milk. An inverted pie tin punched
with holes will serve as a stand on
| which to place the bottles during the
heating process.
{ 3. Heat water in pail until the
| temperature of same reaches 155 de-
gres to 160 degrees F.; then remove
from source of direct heat, cover with
{a cloth or tin cover, and allow the
{ whole to stand for half an hour. In
the preparation of milk for chil-
{dren, it is not advisable to use the
| low-temperature treatment (140 de-
grees F.) that is recommended for
' commercial city delivery.
+ 4. Remove bottles of milk and cool
them as rapidly as possible without
danger to bottles and store in a re-
frigerator.”
This is the last article in the se-
ries on the relation of bacteria to
milk published in the Watchman
as follows :
Aug. 17—The Bacterial Content of
Milks Supplied to Bellefonte.
i] Aug. 24—How the Number of Bacte-
i ria in Milk is Determined.
What Are Bacteria ?
Aug. 31 and Sept. 7—Environmen-
tal Influences upon Bacteria.
Sept. 28—Sources of Bacteria in
Milk.
Oct. 5—Influence of Temperature
upon the Growth of Bacteria
in Milk.
Oct. 26.—Effect of Bacteria upon
Milk.
Nov. 9.—Relation of Disease Bacte-
ria to Milk.
Nov. 23.—Preservation of Milk and
Significance of the Bacteria
Count.
Dec. 7.—Pasteurization of Milk.
Thanksgiving Dinner at Camp Han-
cock.
Camp Hancock, Ga., Nov. 29.—
Turkey, suckling pig, candied Geor-
gia yams, sweet corn, creamed peas,
cranberry sauce, coldslaw, asparagus
salad, stewed tomatoes, spinach, cele-
ry, green olives, watercress, fruit,
mixed nuts, assorted cakes, ice cream,
coffee, near beer, ginger ale, cheese
and crackers, and cigars and cigar-
ettes summarizes Thanksgiving day
1 in the Twenty-eighth Division.
The dinner, with an abundance of
trimmings consisting of oyster, herb
and chestnut dressings, was the one
thing which stood out prominently in
the day’s celebration.
“I cannot eat any more,” said the
private, the corporal and the sergeant.
“I have had my fill,” said a Pitts-
burgh lad of the One Hundred and
Eleventh Infantry (Eighteenth Penn-
sylvania), who could barely amble
away from the mess table. :
i It was the greatest day the lads
here have had. Sports had been
scheduled, but these took second place
to the dinner. In fact, so many of
| the boys forgot the sports that by far
the larger part of them enjoyed the
afternoon by staying in their tents
taking an afternoon nap.
“Banquet table,” would not describe
the abundance and lavishness of the
layout. Menu cards had been printed
by many units, but these were with-
held from the boys because of the
War Department order which arriv-
ed during the last 48 hours prevent-
ed the issuing of printed menu cards.
Enterprising mess sergeants had
their mess tables looking like over-
laden sideboards. Georgia near beer
resembling in looks palatable thirst-
quenchers of Pennsylvania stood on
the tables in profusion. There were
flowers, too, in abundance. At every
man’s plate, in some companies, were
celery and olives, Candy was placed
in dishes down the whole length of
the tables. From large containers,
the menu was served to the lads who
lined up in their customary way and
marching to their places with their
heavily laden mess kits viewed the
white meat and the dark with eager
eyes. There was little hesitation or
“formality.
Since dawn this morning the pon-
derous motor trucks of the motor sup-
ply trains and supply and ration wag-
ons of the regiments had been convey-
ing turkeys from the field bakery.
Thousands of turkeys were roasted at
the company kitchens. More than
25,000 was roasted in the field bakery.
The bakery also supplied the division
with 3,800 mince pies.
Stung Again.
He came into the office with a busi-
ness-like air that deceived the clerks,
and they let him walk right into the
private room of the head of the firm.
“I have here,” he said, diving into a
capacious pocket, “a most valuable
little book. It tells of the most love-
ly spots within a hundred-mile radius
| of Cleveland, and how to get to them.
! It contains road maps, ete. It—”"
“It’s no use to me,” interrupted the
boss, decisively. “Strange as it may
appear to you, I do not own a car. I
ido mot drive. I cannot use your
: book.”
| And you think this worried the
book agent. Think again. For the
little book was all a bluff, and the pre-
tended book agent was an automobile
salesman. And he promptly took ad-
vantage of the best opening he had
had in weeks.—Cleveland Plain Deal-
er.
Put your ad. m the “Watch-
man.”
my,
vp