‘Drona fin
Bellefonte, Pa., October 31, 1919.
PA’S SADDEST HOURS.
By Edgar A. Guest.
My Pa is seldom solemn, he is mostly full
of fun.
He says he hates to scold us for the
wrong we may have done;
He's always gay an’ smiling, an’ he'll
romp about the floor, :
An’ he’s never cross an’ cranky like the
man that lives next door.
But I've noticed, though he tells us that
the good are always glad,
That the times Ma asks for money Pa be-
comes a trifle sad.
He will stand for all the racket that we
make, without a word,
An’ I know he has some troubles,
them I've never heard.
He is mostly always laughin’, an’ we
look for him each day,
Cause we know when supper’s over that
with us he’ll want to play.
But when Ma asks him for money then
a change comes over dad,
An’ his face gets long an’ solemn, an’ he
seems a trifle sad.
Then his fingers tap the table as he
thinks a little while,
An’ his forehead gets all wrinkled an’ his
face forgets to smile,
he says: ‘Good gracious,
where did all the money go
That you got from me last Tuesday?
That is what I'd like to know.”
Pa is really kind and cheerful, an’ it real-
ly seems too bad
That Ma has to ask for money, ’cause it
always makes him sad.
but of
An’ mother,
THE NIGHT CALL.
(Concluded from last week).
“Be quick,” cried the doctor; “lay
her head lower on the pillows, loosen
her dress, warm her hands.”
He had caught up his satchel, and
was looking for a little vial. He found
it almost empty. But there were four
or five drops of the yellowish, oily
liquid. He poured them on his hand-
kerchief and held it close to the lady’s
mouth. She was still breathing regu-
larly though slowly, and as she inhal-
ed the pngent, fruity smell, like the
odor of a jargonelle pear, a look of
relief flowed over her face , her
relief flowed over her face, her
lips relaxed, the terror faded from
her eyes.
He went to his satchel again and
took out a bottle of white tablets
marked “Nitroglycerine.” He gave
her one of them, and when he saw her
look of peace grow steadier, after a
minute, he prepared the electric bat-
tery. Softly he passed the sponges
charged with their mysterious current
over her temples and her neck and
down her slender arms and blue-vein-
ed wrists, holding the electrodes for
a while in the palms of her hands,
which grew rosy.
In all this the Baron had helped as
he could, and watched closely, but
without a word. He was certainly
not indifferent; neither was he dis-
tressed; the expression of his black
eyes and heavy, passionless face was
that of presence of mind, self-control,
covering an intense curiosity. Car-
michael conceived a vague sentiment
of dislike for the man.
When the patient rested easily they
stepped outside the room together for
a moment, : ! :
“It is the angina, I suppose,” dron-
ed the Baron, “hein? That is of great
inconvenience. But I think it is the
false one, that is much less grave—
not truly dangerous, hein?”
“My dear sir,” answered Car-
michael, “who can tell the difference
between a false and a true angina, ex-
cept by a post-mortem? The symp-
toms are much alike, the result is
sometimes identical, if the paroxysm
is severe enough. But in this case I
hope that you may be right. Your
wife’s illness is severe, dangerous, but
not necessarily fatal. This attack
has passed and may not recur for
weeks or even months.”
The lip-smile came back under the
Baron’s sullen eyes. oe
“Those are the good news. my dear
doctor,” said he, slowly. “Then we
shall be capable to travel soon, per-
haps tomorrow or the next day. It is
of an extreme importance. This place
is insufferable to me. We have en-
gagements in Washington—a gay
season.”
Carmichael looked at him steadily
and spoke with deliberation.
“Baron, you must understand me
clearly. This is a serious case. If I
had not come in time your wife might
be dead now. She cannot possibly be
moved for a week, perhaps it may
take a month to restore her strength.
After that she rust have a winter of
absolute quiet and repose.”
The Frenchman’s. face “a dened:
his brow drew together in a black
line, and he lifted his hand auickiy
with a gesture of irritation. Then he
bowed.
“As you will, doctor! And for the
present moment, what is it that I
may have the honor to do for your
patient?”
“Just now,” said the doctor, “she
needs a stimulant—a glass of sherry
or of brandy, if you have it—and a
hot-water bag—you have none? Well,
then, a couple of bottles filled with
hot water and wrapped in a cloth to
put to her feet. Can you get them?”
The Baron bowed again, and went
down the stairs. As Carmichael re-
turned to the bedroom he heard the
droning, insistent voice calling “Gas-
pard! Gaspard!”
The great gray eyes were open as
he entered the room, and there was a
sense of release from pain and fear
in them that was like the deepest kind
of pleasure.
“Yes, I am much better,” said she;
“the attack has passed. Will it
come again? No? Not soon, you
mean. Well, that is good. You need
not tell me what it is—time enough
‘for that tomorrow. But come and sit
by me. I want to talk to you. Your
first name is—”
“Leroy,” he answered. “But you
are weak; you must not talk much.”
“Only a little,” she replied, smil-
ing; “it does me good. Leroy was
your mother’s name—yes? It is not
a Calvinton name. I wonder where
your father met her. Perhaps in
France when he came to look for me.
He did not find me—no, ' indeed—I
was well hidden—but he found your
mother. You are young enough to be
my son. Will you be a friend to me
for your father’s sake?”
She spoke gently in a tone of in-
finite kindness and tender grace, with
pauses in which a hundred unspoken
recollections and appeals were sug-
gested. The young man was deeply
moved. He took her hand in his firm
clasp.
“Gladly,” he said, “and for your
sake too. But now I want you to
rest.”
“Oh,” she answered, “I am resting
now. But let me talk a little more.
It will not harm me. I have been
through so much! Twice married—
a great fortune to spend—all that the
big world can give. But now I am
very tired of the whirl. There is on-
ly one thing I want—to stay here in|
Calvinton. I rebelled against it!
once; but it draws me back. There is
a strange magic in the place. Haven't
you felt it? How do you explain it?”
“Yes,” he said, “I have felt it sure-
ly, but I can’t explain it, unless it is
a kind of ancient peace that makes
you wish to be at home here even
while you rebel.”
She nodded her head and smiled
softly. “That is it,” she said, hesitat-
ing for a moment—“but my husband
—you see he is a very strong man,
and he loves the world, the whirling
life—he took a dislike to this place at
once. No wonder, with the house in
such a state! But I have plenty of
money—it would be easy to restore
the house. Only, sometimes I think
he cares more for the money than—
but no matter what I think. He wish-
es to go on at once—tomorrow, if we
can. I hate the thought of it. Is it
possible for me to stay? Can you
help me?”
“Dear lady,” he answered, lifting
her hand to his lips, “set your mind
at rest. I have already told him that
it is impossible for you to go for!
many days.”
A sound in the hallway announced |
the return of the Baron and Gaspard |
with the hot-water bottles and the
cognac. The doctor made his patient
as comfortable as possible for the |
night, prepared a sleeping-draught |
and gave directions for the use of the
tablets in an emergency. i
“Good night,” he said, bending over
her. “I will see you in the morning.
You may count upon me.” {
“I do,” she said, with her eyes rest-
ing on his; “thank you for all. I shall
expect you—au revoir.”
As they went down the stairs he
said to the Baron, “Remember, abso- |
lute repose is necessary. With that
you are safe enough for tonight. But
you may possibly need more of the
nitrite of amyl. My vial is empty. 4
will write the prescription, if you wi
allow me.”
“In the dining room,” said the Bar-
on, taking up the lamp and throwing
open the door of the back room on the
right. The floor had been hastily
swept and the rubbish shoved into the
fireplace. The heavy chairs stood
along the wall. But two of them
were drawn up at the head of the,
long mahogany table, and dishes and
table utensils from a traveling basket
were lying there, as if a late supper
had been served. oy :
“You see,” said the Baron. drawl-
ing, “our banquet-hall! "Madame and
I Fave dined in this splendor tonight.
Is it possible that you write here?”
His secret irritation, his insolence,
his contempt spoke clearly enough in
his tone. The remark was almost like |
an’ intentional insult. For a second
Carmichael hesitated. “No.” ‘he’
thought, “why should I quarrel with
him? He is only sullen. He ¢an' do
no harm.”
He pulled a chair to the foot of the
table. took out his tablet and his
fountain-pen, and wrote the prescrip-
tion. Tearing off the leaf, he folded :
it crosswise and left it on the table.
In the hall, as he put on his coat he
remembered the paper.
“My prescription,” he said, “I must
take it to the druggist tonight.” or
“Permit me,” said the Baron. “the
room is dark. I will take the paper, :
and procure the drug as I return from '
escorting the doctor to his residence.”
He went into the dark room. grop-
ed about for a moment, and returned, |
closing the door behind him. |
“Come, Monsieur,” he said, “your!
work at the Chateau Gordon is finish-
ed for this night. I shall leave you
with yourself—at home. as you say—
in a few moments. Gaspard—Gas- |
pard, fermez la porte a cle!”
The strong nasal voice echoed |
through the house, and the servant
ran lightly down the stairs. His!
master muttered a few sentences to
him, holding up his right hand as he |
did so, with the five fingers extended, |
as if to impress something on the!
man’s mind. :
“Pardon,” he said, turning to Car- |
michael, “that I speak always French, |
after the rebuke. k
But this time it is
of necessity. I repeat the instruction |
for the pilules. One at each hour un-|
til eight o’clock—five, not more—it is!
correct? Come, then, our equipage is!
always harnessed, always ready— |
how convenient!”
The two men did not speak as the
car rolled through the brumous night. |
A rising wind was sifting the fog.
The loosened leaves came whirling, !
fluttering, sinking through the dark-
ness like a flight of huge dying!
moths. Now and then they brushed |
the faces of the travelers with limp, !
moist wings. i
The red night-lamp in the drug-'
store was still burning. Carmichael |
called the other’s attention to it. |
“You have the prescription?” |
“Without doubt!” he answered.
“After I have escorted you, I shall |
procure the drug.” :
The doctor’s front door was lit up!
as he had left it. The light stream-|
ed out brightly and illumined the |
Baron’s sullen black eyes and smiling |
Jims as he leaned from the car, lifting |
is cap.
P i
“A thousand thanks, my dear Doc- |
tor; you have been excessively kind; :
ves, truly of an excessive goodness for |
us. It is a great pleasure—how do!
you tell itin English 7—it is a great
pleasure to have met you. Adieu.”
“Till tomorrow morning,” said Car- |
michael, cheerfully, waving his hand. |
The Baron stared at him curiously,
and lifted his cap again. i
“Adieu!” droned the insistent voice, |
and the great car slid into the dark. |
The next morninry was of crystal. |
As Carmichael drove his electric |
phaeton down the leaf-littered street, |
where the country wagons and the
decrepit hacks were already meander- |
ing placidly, and out ‘along the high-
|
road, between the still green fields, it
seemed to him as if the experience of
the past night were “such stuff as
dreams are made of.” Yet the im-
pression of what he had seen and
heard in that firelit chamber—of the
eyes, the voice, the hand of that
Strangely lovely lady—of her vision
of sudden death, her essentially lonely
struggle with it, her touching words
to him when she came back to life—
all this was so vivid and unforgetable
Jia he drove straight to Castle Gor-
on.
The great house was shut up likea
tomb; every door and window was
closed, except where half of one of
the shutters had broken loose and
hung by a single hinge. He drove
around to the back. It was the same
there. A slight cobweb was spun
across the lower corner of the decor
and tiny drops of moisture jeweled
it. Perhaps it had been made in the
early morning. If so, no one had
come out of the door since night.
Carmichael knocked, and knocked
again. No answer. He called. No
reply. Then he drove around to the
portico with the tall white pillars and
tried the front door. It was locked.
He peered through the half-open win-
dow into the drawing-room. The glass
was crusted with dirt and the room
was dark. - He was trying to make out
the outlines of the huddled furniture
when he heard a step behind him. It
was the old farmer from the nearest
cottage on the road.
“Mornin’; Doctor! I seen ye comin’
in, and thot ye might want to see the
house.”
“Good morning, Scudder! I do, if
you'll let me in. But first tell me
about these automobile tracks in the
drive.”
The old man gazed at him with a
kind of dull surprise as if the ques-
tion were foolish.
“Why, ye made
up, didn’t ye?”
“I mean those larger tracks—they
were made by a much heavier car
than mine.”
“Oh,” said the old man. nodding,
“them was made by a big machine
that came in here las’ week. You see
this house ’s bin shet up ’bout twen-
ty-five years, ever sence ol’ Jedge
Gordon died. B’longs to Miss Jean—
her that run off with the Eye-talian—
she kind er wants to sell it, and kind
er not—ye see—"
“Yes,” interrupted Carmichael,
“but about that big machine—when
did you say it was here?”
“P’raps four or five days ago; I
think it was a Wensday. Two fellers
from Philadelfy—said they wanted to
look at the house, thot of buyin’ it.
So I bro’t ’em in, but when they seen
°
’em yerself, comin’
| | the outside of it they said they didn’t
want to look at it no’ more—too big
and too crumbly!”
“And since then no one has been
here?”
Not a soul—leastways nobody that
I seen. I don’t s’pose wou think o’
buyin’ the house, Doc’! It’s too lone-
ly for an office, ain’t it?”
“You're right, Scudder. much too
lonely. But I'd like to look through
the old place, if you will take me in.”
The hall, with the two chairs and
the table, on which a kitchen lamp
with ‘a half-inch of oil in it was stand-
ing, gave no sign of recent habita-
tion. Carmichael glanced around
‘him and hurried up the stairway to
the bedroom. A tall four-poster stood
in one corner, with a dingy coverlet
apparently hiding a mattress and
some pillows. A dressing-table stood
against the wall, and in the middle of
the floor thére were a few chairs. A
half-open closet door showed a pile of
vellow linen. The daylight sifted
dimly into the room through: the
cracks of the shutters. ;
“Scudder,” said Carmichael, “I
want you to look around carefully
and tell me whether you see any
signs of any one having been here
lately.”
The old man stared, and turned his
eyes slowly about the room. Then
he shook his head.
“Can’t say as I do. Looks pretty
much as it did when me and my wife
breshed it up in October. Ye seeit’s
kind er clean fer an old house—not
much dust from the road here. That
linen and that bed’s bin here sence I
¢’n remember. Them burnt logs mus’
be left over from old Jedge Gordon's
time. I b’lieve he died in her.
what’s the matter, Doc’? Ye think
tramps or burglars—”’
“No,” said Carmichael. “but what
woul¢ you say if I told you that I
was called here last night to see a
patient, and that patient was the Miss
Jean Gordon of whom you have just
told me?”
man, gaping. Then he gazed at the
doctor pityingly, and shook his head.
“I know ye ain’t a drinkin’ man, Doc’,
so I wouldn’t say nothin’. But I
gunss ve hin dreamin’. Why, las’
time Miss Jean writ to me—her name
is Mortemer now, and her husband’s
a kind er Barrin or some sort er fur-
rin noble—she was in Paris, not more
than two weeks ago! Said she was
But
- Born.”
_ials by Elsie Singmaster, C. A. Steph-
‘ens, and other popular writers, which
dyin’ to come back to the ol’ place
ag’in, but she wa’n’t none too well,
and didn’t guess she c’d manage it.
Ef ye said ye seen her here las’ night
dreamin’.
the weather—bin workin’ too hard ?”
“I never was better, Scudder, but
sometimes curious notions come to
me. I wanted to see how you would
take this one. Now we'll go down-
stairs again.”
The old man laughed, but doubt-
fully, as if he was still puzzled by the
talk, and they descended the creak-
ing, dusty stairs. Carmichael turned
at once into the dining-room.
The rubbish was still in the fire-
place, the chairs ranged along the
wall. There were no dishes on the
long table; but at the head of it two
chairs; and at the foot, one; and in
front of that, lying on the table, a
folded bit of paper.
| —why—well, I'd jest think ye’d bin |
P’raps ye're a little under
|
Carmichael picked it up and open- |
ed it. It was his
nitrite of amyl. :
He hesitated a moment; then re-
folded the paper and put it in his
vest-pocket.
Seated in
the lever, he turned to Scudder, who
prescription for the
was watching him with curious eyes. !
‘I'm very much obliged to you,
Scudder, for taking me through ‘the
house. And I'll ‘be more obliged to
' tail is much stronger than that of the
you if you'll just keep it to yourself
—what I
night.” : ;
‘Sure,” said the old man, nodding
gravely. “I like ye, Doc’, and that
~
said .to you about last:
i would mot be on earth but.in the sev-
: i down from three to four feet, giving
his car. with his hand on |
kind er talk might do ye harm here in |
Calvinton. We don’t hold much to
dreams and visions down this way.
But, say, ’twas a mighty interestin’ |
deam, wa'n’t it? I guess Miss Jean
hones for them white pillars many a
day—they sort er stand for old times.
They draw ye, don’t they ?”
“Yes,” said Carmichael, “they
speak of the past. There is a magic
in those white pillars. They draw |
you.”—By Henry Van Dyke, in Har- |
per’s Monthly Magazine.
Two New Deans at State College.
Among the many additions to the
faculty of The Pennsylvania State !
College this year are found the names
of A. R. Warnock, Dean of Men, and
Miss Margaret A. Knight, Dean of
Women. ;
Dean Warnock comes to Penn
State from the University of Illinois, !
his Alma Mater, where he was assist-
ant Dean of Men since 1910. He oc-
cupies very much the same position
vacated in 1918 by Dean Arthur |
Holmes who became president of |
Drake University, Des Moines, Ia.
At Penn State his duties will be most~
ly along lines of welfare and organi- |
zation work among students, with |
whom he has already become very !
popular. His office is besieged daily
by students who make it a clearing,
house for their troubles and difficul-
ties. Dean Warnock had an excellefit
record at the University of Illinois.
Miss Knight comes to Penn State
with a war record that won her spe-
cial mention in the dispatches of Sir
Douglas Haig. She acted as an in-
terpreter and dietitian at U. S. A.
Base Hospital No. 12 and was deco-
rated by King George with the Mili-
tary Order of the British Empire.
She is a daughter of Dean George W.
Knight, of Ohio State University,
and was graduated from Vassar in
1903. She has been a teacher in the
Columbus School for Girls, and the
Braatwood Hall School, Bronxville,
N. Y. In 1915 she received her M. A.
degree at Ohio State and in 1916-17
was assistant Dean of Women at
Northwestern University. She went
overseas in May, 1917, and upon her
return last summer accepted her
present position at Penn State.
4% + Sarees rat ——— {
Recruiting Station at Philipsburg.
The U. S. army is opening a gen-
eral recruiting station at the post-
office in Philipsburg for the purpose
of giving the young men of that lo-
cality an opportunity to eiilist in any
branch of the service they desire.
They may enlist for either one or
three years, whichever they wish, for
service in the United States or on the
Mexican border, and men who have
ad prior service may now enlist for
the American expeditionary forces in
Europe or Siberia for one year, and
men who have never been in the ar-
my may enlist for those places or any
other foreign country for a period of
three years.
Sergt. Kreidler, who will be in
charge of the recruiting station in
Philipsburg, will gladly give any in-
formation desired on the army in
general or any other information
about family allowances, back pay or
the victory buttons. :
The army pay ranges from $30 a
month up to $105.00 a month, and
young men enlisting may now ac-
quire a good education or rn any
one of seventy-seven trades or profes-
sions, and be paid full pay and al-
lowances while doing it. For full in-
formation meet the sergeant at the
postoffice in Philipsburg. ;
The Best Christmas Present at Any
Price. rt
How can you make your money go
further for Christmas cheer than
with a year’s subscription to The
Youth’s Companion? it brings so
much into a household—its stories
for readers of all ages, its serious and
informing contributions, its editorial
pages, its intelligent and trustworthy
comment on the great and tragic.
events of the time, its wit and humor.
There is nothing quite like The Com- |
panion in all periodical literature.
If you subscribe at once you will |
receive the opening chapters . of |
Charles B. Hawes’ 10-chapter serial
story, The Son of a “Gentleman !
There are several other ser- |
will insure the keenest interest
throughout the year. All the family
read ‘the Companion because it is ed-
ited for every age.
New subscribers for 1920 will re-
ceive:
1. The Youth’s Companion—b52 is-
sues in 1920. y
2. All remaining weekly 1919 is-
sues.
3. '.he Companion Home Calen-
dar for 1920.
All the above for $2.50.
4. McCall’s Magazine for 1920,
$1.00—the monthly fashion authori-
ty. Both publications for only $2.95.
THE YOUTH'S COMPANION,
Commonwealth Ave. & St. Paul St., Bos-
ton, Mass.
Bird With a Twelve-Foot Tail.
The brid with the longest tail
comes from Japan. Some of them
have tails as much as twelve feet
long. When they go for a walk in the
open air they are accompanied by a
special train bearer who keeps the
tail from touching the ground. It is
a variety of the barndoor fowl. In
the same way that pouters and fan-
tail pigeons have been developed from
the common pigeon in Europe, the
long-tailed cocks are reared in Shin-
owara, a village on the island of Ski-
koku. They are kept in long, thin
cages, lighted at the top. The bird
naturally remains perched at the top
with its graceful tail hanging down.
If they have to travel they are put in
long, narrow boxes, the tail being
crushed as little as possible. This
ordinary cock. The feathers of the
wings are very long, too, and grow
the tail a very bushy appearance.—
Kind Words. .
Up in the Air.
She—I would ‘not marry any man
on earth.
.He—But if you accepted me I
enth heaven of happiness.
She—You dear boy; I am yours!
! subjects with unusual
“APPY NATIVES OF SAhabu- .
Under Wise Government, People Liv
Easy Lives in Their Gloriously
Fertile Country.
The tribe of Kayans, inhabiting the
head waters of the Baram and Rejang
rivers of Sarawak, have lived for un-
known generations almost isolated in
the interior of the island of Borneo
'I'nere are many reasons for believing
them to be originally of Caucasian
origin. Many of them have very light
skin, and they probably reached Bor-
neo by way of the Malay peninsula
from lower Burma. Rigid discipline
is characteristic of the domestic me-
nage, resulting in good manners and
recognition of authority.
FFor a good many years Sarawak
was under the independent govern-
ment of a white rajah, Sir Charles
Brooke, who controlled his mingled
wisdom and
sympathy. Among other far-sighted
edicts he instituted stringent game
laws, so that the island is one of the
best protected parts of the world in
this respect. Birds, beasts and butter:
flies are protected, not more than two
specimens of any one species being
allowed to the collector. In this way
the very beautiful and rare trees and
insects of the country are being main-
tained for the enjoyment of future
generations.
Another wise move of the rajuh
was to continue the native costume—
what there is of it—in place of intro-
ducing the unsuitable, ugly and arti-
ficial modern clothing of Europeans.
This, as Stevenson points out, has
usually exactly the opposite effect
from that intended by well-meaning |
missionaries, and the happy natives of |
Sarawak are very well off as they are.
GOOD WORK WITH CAMERA
Explorers in Northwestern Canada
Have Photographic Studies of
Wilderness Wild Life.
After a three years’ hunt with th»
camera in the almost unknown Lair
river district in northwestern Canada,
H. A. Stewart and John Sonnickson
have come back to civilization by way ;
of Peace river, Alberta, bringing sev-
eral thousand photographic studies of
the manners and customs of the wild
life of those remote woods and
streams. The explorers, for they well
deserve the name, worked into the
wilderness by way of Hudson's Hope
and the. forks of the Findlay and
Parsnip rivers as far as Fort Gra-
hame. Their negatives illustrate the
habits of the ptarmigan, moose, beav-
er, Canadian wild geese and other an-
Imals and birds that have seldom been
observed with anything like thorough-
ness by means of the camera. The
travelers had devices of various sorts
whereby their. subjects were enticed
to spots upon which the hidden lenses
were focused; and upon reaching
these spots an ambushed camera man
“snapped” them by twitching a long
cord attached to the lens shutter. A
single negative of some specially shy
animal was often the only fruit of
many hours of patient waiting. Some-
times for’ days the explorers would
watch a single spot through their field
glasses awaiting the favorable mo-
ment to “shoot.” But it was all
worth it. :
—
Glean'ng the Stumps.
The rapid decrease in the number of
tall stumps which have been so. fa-
miliar to the traveler through the coast
hills of Oregon, is regarded as an in-
dication of their approaching extinc-
tion. Hitherto some 20 feet. of each
stump has been left standing, silent
relics of former monarchs of the forest.
too thick for most saws to compass
and too full of pitch to suit the saw-
mills. But now the need for timber is
greater and men no longer climb high
np on to boards thrust into notehes in
the trunk to suit the saw and the saw-
mill. They have learned thrift and
they cut low down lest good lumber
he uselessly wasted. Only as a record
of past wastefulness are the tall
stumps with their deep notches stil!
visible.
A Filipino Vassar.
What the occidental ideals of univer-
sal opportunities of education are to
mean to women of the Orient takes on
a large significance with the estab-
lishment in the Philippines of a uni-
versity for girls only. This university
is to be part of an educational group
called Centro Escolor de Senoritas,
where until now the instruction to
girls has been only in the primary,
secondary and Infermodinte grades.
That this Filipino Vassar will develop
traditions characteristic of girls’ col-
leges in the United States cannot he
doubted by anyone who has observed
how wholeheartedly though shyly, girl
students from the Orient have en-
tered into the undergraduate studies,
festivities and pastimes at American
colleges.
Coquelin’s Memory.
“How many parts do you know well
enough to play tonight if need be?”
somebody asked Coquelin. He took a
sheet of paper and wrote down the
names of 53 plays of his repertoire.
His friends laughed.
“You are boasting surely, mon ami?”
said the Viscomte de Lovenjoul.
“You have every one of these plays
in your library,” said Coquelin quietly.
“Get them all out and put them on the
table.” The viscomte did so. “Now,”
said Coquelin, “let anybody select a
cue fram any one of these plays at hap-
hazard and give it to me.”
They tried him with 16 plays out of
the 53 and he never missed a single cue
or made one mistake.~Fortnightly Re:
view.
—
AGAINST WAGES FOR WIVES
Gathering of Women Ridicuie tha Idea,
Labeling It as “Commercializ-
ing the Home.”
Ra
Wages for wives were turned down
by an audience largely of women here
the other night after a debate on
whether husbands should be required
to pay such wages, says the Philadel-
phia Evening Bulletin.
One speaker drew a dismal picture
of the future of romance with wives
working for wages.
“Imagine a scene like this,” he said:
“Honey, do you love me?”
“Of course I love you.”
“Then will you marry me?”
“Well, maybe. How much do you
pay?”
“Suppose tne wives were to join
the soviet of waiters-up and charge
triple wages for waiting up nights for
husbands.” he said.
“Imagine a wife going into society
and being labeled a $15-a-week wife. A
woman can take a last-year hat and
make it look like new. But when she
signed a contract for $15 a week there
would be no hiding it from the neighe
bors.”
Another speaker pleaded that “wom-
an shall not be brought down from her
pedestal as a queen and made a mere
employee of man.” In depicting the
future of romance under the wage sys-
tem he said the marriage ceremony
would have to be revised to read:
“With this ring I hire thee, and will
pay thee $15 a week by the aid of the
world, the flesh and the devil.”
Notices like the following he pre-
dicted would be published:
“Married—John Brown and Mary
Smith, by Rev. Russell H. Conwell.
They will live in Logan and the wife’s
wages will be $15 a week.”
Scenes like the following in court
were forecast:
“Judge, he hired me for $20 a week
and he is now two weeks overdue In
my pay. I'm going to get a new boss.™®
LOOKING AHEAD A FEW YEARS
Remarks That Will Be Merely Ordi.
nary When the Blimp Has Been
; Finally Perfected.
. Augustus Tolliver, the soap king,
strode wrathfully out of his stateroom
aboard the blimp and seized the arra
of the porter.
“Idiot!” he roared, “why didn’t you
give me a call this morning? I told
you I had to be in London for a di-
rectors’ meeting at 9 a. m. sharp, and
now London is Lord knows how many
thousands of miles in our rear.”
“Ah pounded on yo’ door, boss, but
yo' refuses to waken,” replied the
porter. FM
The soap king pulled out a watch.
“Eleven-thirty,” he grunted dis-
gustedly. “Where are we now?”
‘Jest passed over St. Louis, boss;
we'll be back in N'Yawk at 12:05.”
“Oh! well,” said Tolliver, “1 can
attend that 12:30 meeting of the soap
powder people and catch the 1:30
blimp for London.”
Rat Skins for Leather.
The suggestion has been made that
the rat problem might be hest solved
by making use of the skins of the
rodents for the purpose of leather.
Somebody with the gift of guessing
computes that there are 10,000.000 in
this country, and the damage they do
would feed a good-sized army. It
would take at least 5,000 skins a day
‘tc supply a small modern tannery.
Nobody wants the rats, they belong
to anybody that can catch them.
That is the problem—to catch them,
and then deliver the goods. There {8
not enough leather to go around.
Fish skins are susceptible of tan-
ning, and there are rat skins which
make good leather, large enough for
many purposes.
Cure for Poison lvy.
Mrs. Evelyn S. Trenbath, wife of the
Rev. Robert W. Trenbath, rector of St.
James’s Episcopal church of Montclair,
N. J., has conferred a boon on suffer-
ers from poison ivy by announcing a
remedy which those who have tried It
say is a most eflicacious remedy. It
is simply the green leaves of common
catnip rubbed on the affected parts un«
til the juice runs.
This never fails, Mrs. Trenbath says,
no matter how advanced the case may
be, and is simple to use, especially in
the case of children. The plant grows
usually in great abundance behind old
barns, and is said to be so antagonis-
tic to the ivy that if planted near it the
ivy disappears.
Volcano That Emits Lava.
The following is reported by an ob-
server in Hawaii: Tremendous
changes are in progress at Kilauea,
and there is no indication whatsoever
of any cessation of the monumental
rising of the entire vast lava column.
Over the southwest brink a wide
stream of glistening lava is sluggishly
flowing in the direction of the Kalu
desert, not with the spectacular cas-
cading torrents of the southeastern
flows of last March, but with a steady,
stealthy gliding, which gains ground
slowly at its base, but which piles up
into tremendous masses from its
source forward.
Dry Lead for Batteries.
A dry battery utilizing red lead, in-
stead of the usual manganese com-
pound, has been patented by H. Czanyl.
It is claimed that the red lead battery
lasts longer than the type now in
vogue, may be kept inactive for months
without any deterioration and may be
recharged at least ten times, with
onch recharge as efficient as any pres-
ent battery.