Bellefonte, Pa., March 28, 1919.
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OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS.
Qut where the handelasp’s a little strong-
er,
Out where the smile dwells a little longer,
That’s where the west begins,
Qut where the sun shines a little brighter,
Where the snows that fall are a trifle
whiter,
Where the bonds of home are a wee bit
tighter,
That's where the west begins.
Out where the skies are a trifle bluer,
‘Where friendship’s ties are a little truer,
That’s where the west begins.
Out where a fresher breeze is blowing,
Where there's laughter in every streamlet
flowing,
Where there’s more of reaping and less of
sowing,
That's where the west begins.
Out where the world is still in the mak-
ing,
Where fewer hearts
breaking,
That’s where the west begins,
Where there’s more of singing and less of
with despair are
sighing,
Where there’s more of giving and less of
buying,
Where a man makes friends without half
trying,
That's where the west begins.
—By Arthur Chapman.
THANKS TO LUCIA.
(Continued from last week).
II
The people whose palatial house I
had just begun to decorate had recent-
ly suffered a grievous blow. Their on-
ly child, a manly young chap of twen-
ty-six, had, a short time after my un-
dertaking the order, been sent back
from France stone-blind, as the result
of a big shell exploding close by him,
the concussion having apparently pro-
duced some central lesion to destroy
the visual sense.
The Smiths (as I shall call them)
were naturally in deep distress, not
only for the affliction itself but for
fear of its effect upon the general
health and mental tone of their son.
They were sensible folk, and did not
try to make a martyr of him or undu-
ly pester him with wearisome atten-
tions, while the boy, Wade, bore up
under his calamity with an outward
air of gruff philosophic resignation
which however deceived nobody. He
had been a rather spoiled and harum-
scarum youth, I imagine, but now
that he was stricken, it seemed to ir-
ritate him when anybody but the im-
mediate family tried to entertain him
—a frequent condition with the re-
cently blinded, I am told.
In my case, however, he made a
flattering exception and used to come
often to the studie where I was mak-
ing my preliminary sketches and lis-
ten silently and without comment to
my lengthy yarns of the old days
when I had gone adventuring with
those hardened sea-scamps, Doctor
Bowles and Jordan
was evident enough that he was going
steadily down-hill, for his splendid
physique was gradually giving way
under the bravely borne strain.
The day after the arrival at my
house of Elliot and Lucia, I was at
work in the studio rather early when
Wade was brought in by his chauffeur.
As soon as the man had left, Wade
turned his dark, lustrous, sightless
eyes toward me and said:
“Hope you don’t mind this early vis-
it, Mr. Brown. I have to get up at
the peep o’ dawn to escape Suzanne.”
Not being as yet intimate with the
family, I asked who Suzanne might
be and why he had to lose his beauty- |
sleep to escape her.
“Suzanne is my ante-bellum fian-
cee,” he answered. “After getting my
lamps doused, I tried to break it off,
but she is too noble. She has deter-
mined to sacrifice her life to my hap-
piness—” He drew down the corners
of his mouth.
“Why don’t you be even nobler and
refuse to accept the sacrifice?” I
asked.
“I’ve tried, but she beats me to it.
Being blind, I can’t sidestep; so, when
she showers me with her bounties, T
get the bath right on the top of the
bean. You see, I asked her to marry
me when I got my commission, and
immediately became very much en-
gaged, so that now there seems no
way out of it with honor. At that
time I was very keen to marry her,
but now I seem to have lost my taste
for it, just as I have for booze and to-
bacco and my four meals a day. Su-
zanne’s asset is on over-allowance of
beauty, but what’s the good of that
when you can’t see it? Besides, she
is very fond of admiration and inclin-
ed to be flirtatious, and I don’t like
the idea of a gay and beautiful young
wife that I can’t keep my eye on. I'd
be imagining all sorts of things.”
“If you feel that way about it,”
said I, “you’d be no end of a chump
to marry her. In fact, if her beauty
confines itself to the visual sense, you
would have been a fool to marry her,
anyhow. It seems to me that here is
at least one compensation for having
been blind. Tell her spang out that
you’re not going to marry her, and
make an end of it.”
“Well,” said Wade, “it isn’t so easy
as it sounds. She turned down two
good offers to get engaged to me.
Then she’s no longer in the first flush
of her youth, being thirty this spring,
and her people haven’t got much mon-
ey. Let me tell you, Brown, a chap’s
a darned fool to fet engaged or mar-
ried just before going to the war.
Even if he has the luck not to get
crocked, he’s apt to come back with
his ideas all changed. He’s not the
same man that went away. It does
something to you—changes your
ideas, somehow. Even if I hadn’t got
my light blown out, I’d have been a
different sort of guy. You slough off
a lot of your silly stuff and see things
and people in another light.
thought Suzanne was a wonder, and
now she bores me to tears—especially
as I can’t see how pretty she is.”
“How does she bore you?” I asked.
“Oh, every way. Principally in the
afflicted-hero business. I don’t want
to be slobbered over, and I was tuck-
up like a hedgehog in a hole when this
cursed shell jarred my sight loose.
The rest of the bunch was killed.
Knapp. - But it
Some chaps have all the luck,” he said Mrs. Smith, a Virginian,
bitterly. : :
I was casting about for somethin,
to say when the door flew open an
Lucia popped in. She looked prettier
than ever in her short skirt and sail-
or-blouse, for Elliot's first act had
been to hand her over to a capable
woman and get her thoroughly rigged
out for the civilized world, and I
thought, with a pang, what a pity it
was that Wade couldn’t see her. He
got on his feet and stood stiffly while
I introduced them.
“Mr. Smith has just come back
from the war,” I said, “and he has
been struck blind by the explosion of
a shell.”
“Blind 7” ’ Lucia echoed, and look-
ed unbelievingly at Wade’s fine eyes
which showed no hint of their afflic-
tion except in a slight indirectness of
gaze. “Can’t you see at all?” she de-
manded, and her tone was curious
rather than compassionate.
“Not a thing,” he answered short-
ly. “They tell me I never shall.”
Lucia was silent for a moment, star-
ing at him reflectively. Suddenly she
shut her eyes tightly, stood for a mo-
ment, then advanced groping hands
and uncertain steps.
“What are you doing ?” Wade asked
sharply.
“I’m trying to see what it is like to
be blind,” Lucia answered, without
opening her eyes. She reached where
he stood and touched his chest. He
raised his hand involuntarily, and it
met hers. Lucia clasped it and gave
it a little shake “How do you do?”
said she, and laughed. A rich color
mounted suddenly about her ears. She
opened her eyes and looked at his puz-
zled, frowning face. “It must be very
interesting to be blind,” said she.
“I'm glad you think so,” said he
grufly; “I don’t.”
“It is, though,” she answered. “It
makes you feel so much in other ways
—like trying to find your way round
in the dark. Now, if I'd gone up and
shaken hands with my eyes open and
looked at you with my eyes open, I
wouldn’t have felt it at all. But, with
your eyes shut, it gives you sort of a
thrill. Didn’t you feel it?”
“Well—sort of,” Wade admitted,
and I noticed that his frown had re-
laxed and his color, too, was height-
ened a little. “Say, what sort of girl
are you, anyhow ?”
“Lucia is a very uncommon sort of
girl,” I said. “You'd better let her
tell you about herself.”
“Huh—want to get rid of me, do
you?” he grunted.
“I want to get rid of you both for
about an hour,” said I. “Why don’t
you go down to the beach? It’s too
nice outside to sit here in the stu-
dio.”
“All right,” said Wade.
look alike to me.”
“They don’t feel alike, though,” Lu-
cia observed. She snatched suddenly
at the hem of her skirt, pulled it up,
and became suddenly absorbed in
some part of her anatomy.
“Lucia,” 1 said sharply,
mustn’t do that.”
“But there’s a flea biting me,” she
protested.
Wade laughed outright. It was the
first time that I had heard him laugh
“All places
“you
—that is, mirthfully—and it sounded '!
very good. Lucia looked, at him and
smiled.
“You can be thankful that it’s vour
| quires. She’s a sort of sleeping beau- |
eyes and not your arms,” said she.
“What if you hadn’t any hands to
scratch yourself with? And you'd
have to be fed like a baby goat.” She
looked suddenly at me. ‘“Have you
got my goat, Mr. Brown ?”
Wade laughed again.
“Gee, but you’ve got mine!” said he.
“Lord, Brown, but it seems good to
strike somebody who isn’t sorry for
me.” He held out his hand. “Come
on, you Lucia girl,” said he: “let’s go
down to the beach—that is, if you feel
like it. I want to hear about who and
what is responsible f. you.”
“Go ahead, Lucia,” I said. “Tell
| him about your seals and volcanoes
and hot springs and things. The goat
will probably be here when you get
back.”
“Very well,” said Lucia, and they
went out hand in hand. As they struck
the gravel path, I heard Lucia say,
“Pll shut my eyes, too, and we'll see
if we cannot go straight out the gate
without running into a prickly tree or
something.”
“Suzanne,” said I to myself, “had
better get hard on the job—and
quick.”
After a few days in which to get
wonted, Fiske started in painting with
the high-powered energy which ap-
peared to characterize all of his ef-
forts. As we got better acquainted,
I was more and more surprised at the
boyishness of his nature. It seemed
as if the twenty years of exile on
Thunder Island had been a sort of
suspended mental and physical devel-
opment, and he was actually only for-
ty-three. Furthermore, during this
era, his life had been free of the cark-
ing care which ages most of us, filled
with the companionship of his wife
and child, and without any particular
privation of grinding toil. Besides,
Le had hi$ art to distract and occupy
im,
It was immediately evident, also,
that he had become a master of this
art, which was not surprising when
one stops to think. Given a certain
gmount of latent talent, a good tech-
nical foundation not carried to the
point of hampering one’s originality,
and unlimited time and material, such
a result was not surprising. In this
respect, he had developed along his
own lines, and soundly. I rather en-
vied him the lack of criticism and
comparison with which so many of us
are either smothered or absorbed. He
had already passed the danger of the
errors of ignorance, and his visualiza-
tion and imagination being true and
normal, he had steadily progressed.
Besides being a powerful colorist,
Fiske’s forte was figure and portrait-
work, and his first requirement there-
fore was a suitable subject. I had
been able to secure such models as I
needed for mermaids and water-
nymphs and Nereids and Tritons and
things from the waiting benches of
the moving-picture colony, but none
of these candidates pleased Fiske.
For a man who had sat twenty years
on a desert island, he was desperately
hard to please. He said that he had
painted Lucia until he could do her
portrait hanging by his legs with both
eyes shut, and he craved a fresher
field. This need was supplied from,
all things considered, a rather pecu-
liar source.
and, de-
spite her obvious ambition to be con-:
sidered grande dame, a very kind and
sensible woman, was intensely inter- |
ested in what I told her about my |
ests, and plainly desired to promote
them if, on inspection, they appeared | ed
: Deckion, | told them that they had my permis-
to merit such attention. Mrs. Smith’s
nature was such as to require a pro- !
tege or two, and as this was precisely |
what Fiske needed to get recognition, |
I took him and Lucia there for tea.
Wade may have made some mention |
of Lucia, but not much, I imagine,
having no desire to share his find.
I was justly proud of my exhibits. |
Fiske with his handsome, virile face!
and figure, high enthusiasm, and gen- |
eral cachet of good breeding was just !
the type which my society woman |
might be pleased to discover, while |
Lucia, with her uncommon prettiness
and absolute naturalness of speech !
and action, was also an unusual and |
refreshing type of the genus Girl. I!
may modestly add that my own repu- |
tation furnished a proper set of ways !
for their launching into the high so- |
ciety of the slope.
There were quite a number of peo-
ple there when we arrived, and as the |
story had been rather garishly writ- |
ten up by some reporter, Fiske and |
Lucia became immediately the center
of interest, which did not embarrass
either of them in the slightest. Fiske
seemed pleased and happy to find
himself shining brightly again after
twenty years of total eclipse from the
social world, while Lucia conducted
herself as might any other well-bred
young girl who had grown up remote
from social activities.
Then Suzanne Talbot came in and
we were presented, and presently, I
noticed Elliot watching her with a
sort of eager intensity. She was real-
ly a very beautiful woman and did not
seem at all the siren I had expected
to find her. She was dark and wil-
lowy, with soft Eurasian features,
dreamy eyes, and such a form as
dressmakers love to clothe. Her man- |
ner was very subdued, and her voice
delicious in its soft cadences. There |
was, in fact, an almost tropical lan-
guor about her speech and motions,
but she impressed me as a highly
temperamental creature underneath |
her smooth exterior. I wondered that |
she had not married before, as she |
seemed to me anything but the celi- |
bate type. |
Fiske presently attached himself to
her and appeared to be getting on rap- |
idly when the time came for us to |
' thought of that.
painters who can work and talk with-
out any appreciable detriment to
either occupation, this arrangement
had been entirely satisfactory. But
the presence of a third person was a
little distracting, so when Lucia join-
us the following day, I promptly
sion to retire.
“Very well,” said Lucia; “but, first,
I want to tell Wade what we were
talking about yesterday.” Then, with-
out waiting for any remark on my
part, she started her offensive.
“Wade,” said she, “do you want to
marry Suzanne Talbot?”
Wade turned his handsome sightless :
eyes toward her with an expression of
astonishment such as one seldom sees
in those of the blind.
“What ?” he demanded.
Lucia repeated her question, and
the color surged up into the boy’s
face.
3 TWhy do you ask that?” he growl--
ed.
“Because I want you to tell me,”
Lucia answered.
He hesitated a moment, then said
in the same gruff voice, “Well then;
no I don’t.”
Lucia nodded.
“That is what I thought,” said she.
“Then, since you don’t want to marry
her, there is no reason
should, now that you are blind and
therefore quite a different person than
the one who asked her. I have heard
you say that the best thing about Su-
zanne was her locks. Well, since you
can’t see her any more, she hasn’t got
them any more, so far as vou are con-
cerned; so that is another reason for
your not marrying her. But you
ought to marry somebody, because
that would give you something to do,
especially in the daytime.”
“Well, I'll be blowed!” said Wade.
“But why in the daytime?”
“Because,” said Lucia, “it is dark at
night, and when it is dark, it does not
matter whether you are blind or not.
we are all blind in the dark.”
Wade gave a short laugh.
“That's so,” sald he. “I never
Brown, tell a poor
blind man: Did you ever hear the
like 7”
“No,” I answered; “but it sounds
reasonable enough.”
“Of course it is reasonable!” said
Lucia impatiently. “It seems to me
that you might have thought of it and
suggested yourself, instead of mak-
ing it necessary for me to do so.
Since I have been here we have talked
why you!
: boy’s self-restraint. He drew her to:
| him and kissed her, and as he loosed |
| her again, I saw that his eyes were |
: glistening. My word! 2
some love-making in my time, but
| never anything just like that, and be-
! ing an emotional sort of an ass, I felt
my throat swell. It was so sweetly
! natural, so unconscious. There was
no more about it to embarrass one
than if they had been a pair of wood-
and the female feeding her mate |
which had been blinded by some swine
of a pot-hunter.
“I do love you with my heart, dar-
ling kid,” said Wade huskily, “and I
love you with my eyes, too, even if
they can’t see what a peach you are.
But we can’t talk about marrying un-
| til we get our house in order. Come
this long-suffering paint-slinger get
: on the job again.”
(Concluded next week).
CLEANLINESS OF ANIMALS.
Some people believe that animals |
prefer uncleanliness, at least that
they do not care. Most people have
seen the house cat “doll up” by the
use of her tongue and paws, but they
would be surprised to learn that most
other animals, too, prefer to keep
clean. I have heard more than one
stockman say that cows would stand
all night rather than lie down on bad-
ly soiled bedding. Sometimes horses
all but speak their gratitude to the
keeper who curries them. Dogs, too,
especially among the house pets, gen-
erally show aversion to filth.
FARM NOTES.
—In March early cabbage, cauli-
I have seen | flower, onion, parsley, radish, lettuce,
early beets and tomato seeds may be
! sown in the hotbed. In April sow
pepper, cucumber, melon and any of
‘ the seeds mentioned for March sow-
ing.
—One way to solve the marketing
. problem is to store products that are
doves billing and cooing on a branch, !
not very perishable and hold till such
times as the market is anxious to take
at a fair price. Farmers who dump
| their products upon the market gath-
| proving soil.
ering time are giving speculators a
club.
—Humus is very essential in im-
Land that “runs togeth-
er,” bakes and breaks up cloddy is
' likely to give the farmer trouble.
on; let’s go down to the beach and let |
Such land needs humus. If barnyard
| manure is not available a cover crop
: might be grown to be turned under to
| increase the humus supply.
—-See that the garden land is pre-
pared in plenty of time to plant the
early vegetable. Late planting is safe
for some vegetables, for others it is
entirely unsatisfactory. The land
i should be ready some time before
planting time, even though planting
is not done as early as expected.
—The manure spreader has saved
much labor and been the means of
larger crops and better profits. It is
unwise and bad judgment to do work
I have .
known a fox terrier and a cocker |
spaniel who would invariably wipe | pleasure
muddy paws on the door-mat before calves, pigs, colts, lambs and chick-
entering the house. Of course, they
had been trained, but they learned
with significant ease. The terrier
once worried himself nearly sick over
a Shosr of green paint on his pretty
coat.
the hardest way when there are easy
ways. Surely no one who has tried
the manure spreader would be willing
to shovel manure out of a wagon.
—This is the season of the year
when most farmers have many young
animals to care for. There is much
in feeding and handling
ens. Where there is a strong demand
' for these animals and their offspring,
|
|
i
one is urged to take good care of
them.
—Sweet potatoes slowly advanced
All animals of the cat family use | in production for many years before
the tongue for toilet purposes, wash- | the war and in no year did the crop
ing the face by moistening the paws | reach 60,000,000 bushels, but in 1915
and rubbing them over the eyes and
production jumped to 75,000,000 bush-
nose. The prickles on the tongue | €ls, and, after a recession in 1916,
make a good comb, and enable puss to
polish her coat very satisfactorily.
These prickles (or papellae) on the
lion’s tongue are nearly a quarter of |
an inch long and can be used with the
| severity of a blacksmith’s rasp, when
the animal so desires. The rabbit
| washes its face just as the cat does;
| and mice and bats also rely greatly
leave. We had hardly got started for | of about everything but what is most | on licking.
home before he twisted round in his | important. Well then, since you don't |
i want to marry Suzanne and would | the fore leg and uses it to clean the
“There’s a woman I could paint, have a much better time if you were ' antennae.
seat and began to chant her glories.
Arthur!” said he enthusiastically, |
“such rich warm coloring—such ex-
pression! Did you notice her eyes? !
There’s a suggestion of subtle, feral !
force about her. Did you get it?” :
_ “She looked sleepy to me,” said Lu- |
cia. |
“Nonsense! There’s nothing sleepy |
about her. She wears her feelings on |
the inside. I'll bet she’d make things
hum if roused. You can see it in|
those hungry eyes.” ;
“She didn’t eat the sandwiches and !
cake as if she were hungry,” Lucia
observed. |
“Of course not!” he snapped. “That
sort of food isn’t what her system xe- |
ty. I know I could paint her.” i
“Did you tell her so?” I asked.
“Yes; I did better—I asked her to
sit for me, and she said she would. :
As you don’t use the studio in the
afternoon, old chap, I thought I!
might as well start right in. She’s
coming tomorrow.”
“You didn’t lose any time about it,”
I said, wondering how much of Su-'
zanne’s acquiescence might be due to
Elliot’s power of persuasion and how
much to discover the source of the
studio’s attraction for Wade.
“Why should I? Might as well
make a start, since she’s willing to
pose.”
“I suppose you know that she’s en-
gaged to Wade Smith,” I said. and
felt Lucia stir at my side. Elliot!
looked decidedly startled. i
“What!” he cried. “That lovely
creature marry a blind man! Impos-
sible! Besides, he’s too young for
her. He's a fine chap and al that, but
he’s just a boy, and she’s a splendid,
full-blown woman. All she needs is
to be waked up, and she looks as if
she were about ready for it.”
“Then go ahead and wake her up.”
I said, “and when she’s got her eyes
wide open, hand her over to Wade.”
Elliot looked very much upset, and
so did Lucia, at whom I stole a side-
long glance. There was a frown on
her broad, white forehead, and her
firm little chin had a combative look.
Later, as I was sitting alone on the
veranda watching the sunset colors
and taking mental notes for my dec-
orations, she came out and seated her-
self beside me. Elliot was splashing
round in the studio.
“Mr. Brown,” said Lucia, “I don’t
want Wade to marry Miss Talbot.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I have decided to marry
him myself. I think that he is just
the sort of husband that I want. He
will have plenty of money and is very
good-looking, and as he connot see
other women, there is no reason why
he should not always like me best.”
“Those are excellent reasons,” I
agreed; “but you see he has already
agreed to marry Suzanne, and possi-
bly she may feel the same way about
it that you do.”
“The first doesn’t make any differ-
ence,” said Lucia, “because he has told
me that he is not the same man he
was before being blinded. Well, you
can’t expect one man to keep a prom-
ise made by some other man, can you?
And so far as Suzanne is concerned,
she is perfectly free to try to make
him marry her. We can both try and
see which one succeeds. I am going
to begin tomorrow.”
“I should say that you had already
got a flying start,” I answered. “How
do you purpose going about it—if I
may ask?”
© “You had better wait and see,” said
Lucia. “Now I am going to ask fath-
er to help me.” And a few moments
later I heard growls from the studio
which did not sound helpful.
So I waited and saw, and I must say
that Lucia’s candid procedure had its
points. Wade had formed the habit
of coming to the studio every morn-
ing now, and after listening to my
drivel for a while, of going down to
the sheltered corner of the beach,
which was practically our own, with
Lucia. As I am one of those casual
to many somebody, why not marry
e
“You!” Wade gasped.
you?”
“Yes; why not?” Lucia demanded.
“I am a very nice girl, and as I am
eleven years younger than Suzanne, I
ought to last eleven years longer. You
ought not to get too old a wife. That
was the trouble with my last goat.
he was no longer young when fath-
“I marry
er caught her and just when I loved '
her and needed her most, she died of
old age.”
Wade flung himself back upon the
divan with a yell of laughter. For a
moment, 1 was afraid = that Lucia
would be hurt, and apparently the
same idea suddenly occurred to the
boy, for he sprang up suddenly, reach-
ed for the girl and drew her to him.
“You little darling!” he said huski-
ly, and before I could realize what
was happening, Lucia’s long, round
arms had twined themselves about his
pack and she crushed her fresh lips to
is.
“Oh come,” I protested; “you’re
i going too fast, Lucia.”
But Lucia did not pay the slightest
attention to me. I might just as well
have been blind myself. There was
nothing scattered or diffuse about
this girl’s knowledge of what she
; wanted or the central focusing of her
will. Her objective clear and uncloud-
ed, she went to it with the direct sim-
plicity of a child or a sage, and got
. there. She was, at this moment, very
much there, in fact, but not very long,
as Wade took her by both soft shoul-
ders and held her at arm’s length, and
one would have sworn that he was not
only looking at her but seeing her, so
intense was the gaze of his sightless
eyes. And the lines of his face had
grown hard and severe.
But Lucia was not dismayed.
“Then it’s all arranged, isn’t it,
Wade ?” said she.
“No, little girl; it’s not,” he ans-
wered. “God knows I wish it were!
But you see—in the first place, a gen-
tleman must never break his word,
even if his ideas and character have
changed; and in the second, it would
be a low-down German trick for a
helpless lump like me to grab you
fresh from your volcano and marry
you before you had a chance to pick
and choose for yourself.”
“But I have picked and chosen,”
Lucia protested. “I have chosen you,
Wade. You are the only man I have
told that I should like to marry,
though I did tell Mr Brown that I
thought he would make a very nice
husband. And you are not a helpless
lump. You may seem so to yourself
and to other people, but you don’t to
me. You see, I have always known
you as you are now, so I don’t make
unpleasant comparisons.”
I could see from Wade’s face that
she had played a trump-card here.
An old man takes a natural pleasure
in having his worth assayed for what
it has been, but a young man desires
to be esteemed at his actual value, and
it was perhaps here that Wade had
most suffered. His usefulness had be-
come a thing of the past to most peo-
ple who knew him, and they were
fools enough to show it in their tact-
less sympathy. Lucia was no doubt
the first that had taken him for grant-
ed as a perfectly serviceable and high-
3 desirable individual, ignoring the
efect of blindness as if it had been a
stammer or flatfoot. And her next
remark proved how rich her nature
was in that rare and inestimably pre-
cious gift of tact which, when blended
with native sweetness of soul, is
known as “charm,” for she said soft-
ly,
“I think I like you better as you
are, Wade, because if you love me
without being able to see me, I will
know that you love me with your
heart and not with your eyes.” She
smiled. “That is the way I loved my
goat, who was not at all pretty to
look at.”
This was too much for the poor
The honey-bee carries its comb in
Some beetles are similar-
i ly equipped with a comb, which forms
a deep notch protected by a spine at
| the lower end of the front tibia. Flies
| of all sorts use the fine fur on their
i legs as a comb for their wings and
| bodies.
| Owls, herons, cormorants, and oth-
| er birds use the foot for a comb, the
i claw of the middle toé. Larks and
some ducks have a saw-like blade run-
! ning along the inner side of the claw.
Snakes soak themselves; elephants
dust themselves and enjoy their bath.
Buffaloes, tigers and some bears like
to wallow; the polar bear likes his
frigid dive, and spends half his time
in the icy arctic .waters. . Monkeys
scratch themselves continually,
than a search for parasites.
likes his roll. That wild beasts attach
considerable importance to ablutions
; and drinking is evidenced by their be-
havior toward each other at the “wa-
ter hole” when they are seldom at-
$ocled by others not of their own
ind.
Nearly all birds believe in personal
_neatness; some take great pains to
: pluck out with their bills all frayed
jor ill-shaped feathers. They sepa-
| rate their feathers and carefully pick
cout all particles of refuse. Pigeons,
' cockatoos and larks like their bath in
' the form of a copious rain; game
birds and poultry prefer the dust
bath; but the sparrow loves to com-
i bine these styles—he takes a dry
| dust shampoo, hen plunges into the
: water.
Close observation will show that
practically all insects and animals
have some way of preserving cleanli-
| ness. The observer will be struck by
| the pride that most of our dumb
| friends manifest. From the prancing
race-horse and strutting peacock
down to the humble bat, each has
some degree of pride. Watch the
care with which the butterfly folds
its beautiful wings before going to
sleep; some of us are not nearly so
careful of our clothes, on retiring.—
Our Dumb Animals.
Biggest Hospital in the World.
The world’s largest hospital, where
thousands of American wounded sol-
diers will receive final care before be-
ing sent back to civil life, is now in
full operation in New York city.
The capacity of the hospital is 3,-
500 beds, and in an emergency could
be increased to 4,000. The mattress-
es are silk covered, the blankets are
the finest the government could buy.
There is a little table and a chair be-
side each bed, and on every table, at
every occupied bed is a vase filled
with fresh flowers.
The kitchen is equipped with every
late appliance. The steam potato
cooking machines, for instance, can
cook seven bushels of potatoes each,
every seven minutes. In a few min-
utes enough beans to feed a regiment
can be heated. There is a peeling ma-
chine that can peel the jackets off a
carload of potatoes in a minimum of
time, and another machine that is
just as rapid in peeling onions.
“True Copy” Enough to Get the
Bonus.
Washington, March 25.—Regula-
tions governing the payment of $60
bonus to honorably discharged sol-
diers were amended by the War De-
partment today to permit the accept-
ance by disbursing officials of a “true
copy” of discharge certificates. Here-
tofore, the original certificates were
required, but it was found that many
soldiers refused to part with the pa-
pers, preferring to lose the bonus
rather than risk the loss of official ev-
idence of their honorable release from
the army. :
All copies submitted under the
amendment authorized today must
| be certified by the army recruiting
* officer nearest the soldier’s residence.
|
and
this is more an effort at Sep eurryine |
e.
horse, both wild and domesticated,
rose to 84,000,000 bushels in 1917 and
86,000,000 in 1918. This crop has no
foreign trade.
—How to Use the Hotbed.—While
the small hotbed is primarily for the
use of the home gardener in sowing
seeds from which to produce young
plants, it is a fact that by a little
economy of space it is possible to have
a taste of several of the early succu-
lent vegetables, and at the same time
accomplish the original intention. It
will astonish the beginner to gradu-
ally find out from practice just how
much stuff can be grown in one win-
ter season in a hotbed six by six feet
in size. Realize that that is thirty-
six square feet, and that young seeds
i require, prior to transplanting to the
flats or cold-frames (the latter is the
better), very little room, as they have
scarcely cast off the cotyledonous
leaves when it is time to put them
elsewhere. This allows of what might
otherwise be thought to be crowding,
and in the space thus saved can be
grown a few very choice radishes and
some crisp lettuce, which will taste
all the better for being the product of
your own handiwork. The growin
and marketing of early forcing rad-
ishes has reached enormous propor-
tions in the section of the country be-
low the Chesapeake, but you very
likely will say that none ever tasted
as good as those grown in your little
hotbed. Try some at least, and you
will become a convert.
For the hotbed select some of the
earliest strains of forcing radishes.
There are two kinds generally used
for this purpose, the turnip-rooted
and the “finger” radishes—of the for-
mer, the rapid red, scarlet turnip,
scarlet button, white tip, hailstone,
new perfection and cardinal globe.
Many of the red and white turnip-
rooted ones are strains from the old
French breakfast, which was a favor-
ite for many years.
If you desire to plant some of the
finger or long-rooted radishes, there
are some good ones from which to
make a selection. There probably has
never been a choicer radish than the
white icicle, which is the best long
forcing. Other good ones are Wood’s
early frame, Cincinnati market, long
scarlet short top and long cardinal.
When growing this class of radishes
you must have in the hotbed a deeper
soil than for the turnip-rooted ones.
At least seven inches should be used.
Sow the seed in drills two to three
inches apart, and half an inch deep,
dropping them two to three inches
apart, unless you are sure of your
seed, in which case drop them an inch
apart, and thin out when an inch high.
It is best to plant the radish in the
north side of the hotbed, so as to get
the most of the sunshine. Cover the
seeds with a sprinkling of fine soil
and press gently with a piece of board
and water well, using a fine nozzle so
as not to wash them out of the drills.
Give plenty of ventilation, giving
them air every day as soon as they
show through the top of the soil, ex-
cepting when the weather prohibits.
Sixty-five degrees F. at night are
about right for the radish. This re-
lates to sun heat. They will stand a
Jusns bottom heat—seventy-five for
the first week will not hurt.
While the radish is perhaps the
choicest vegetable it is possible to
grow in the hotbed according to the
taste of the knowing gardener, yet
the most attractive to most persons
is the lettuce, owing to its entrancing
appearance. Have you ever seen a hot-
bed full of lettuce, crisp and green,
while standing ankle deep in the snow,
with the wind whistling over the land-
scape? If not, you have coming one
of the most charming sights which
can meet the eye of the garden enthu-
siast. Those who have greenhouses
can grow the head lettuce of different
kinds, of which there are a number of
choice varieties which do well for this
purpose. But in the hotbed where
every inch of space is at a premium,
it is best to grow one of the straight-
growing lettuce, of which the Grand
Rapids to date has no superior. This
is a selection out of the old favorite
Simpson, known to your grandmoth-
ers. It matures early, can be grown
closely without getting tough, and it
requires less attention than any oth-
er. This is an item in winter when
there may come several days on which
it is not safe to open the hotbed. It
also is less susceptible to rot and mil-
dew—the handicaps on lettuce grow-
ing under glass.
wd
So