—
Bw falda
Bellefonte, Pa., July 28, 1922,
RING TRUE.
Say, boy! can you tell when counterfeit
coin
Is tossed on the counter to you?
Of course you can tell, for you know every
time
That it strikes it dosen’t ring true.
And, boys! do you know that counterfeit
life
That's a regular
through
Is as simply detected in every strife
As the coin? for it doesn’t ring true.
sham through and
Ah, boys! if you are to be manly men,
To be honored in all that you do,
Just make up your mind that ten times
out of ten
You will always be found to ring true.
And, boys, if you know how your country
respects
A genuine man, then you, too,
Will endeavor to live a life that reflects
God's image—and always ring true.
Ring true in your contesis and games on
the field,
In your homes, with a crowd or a few;
Though others may try their shortcomings
to shield,
Yet, boys, just remember, ring true!
—Selected,
: tm
; POINT!
A STORY OF MAN'S BEST FRIEND.
Little Old Dan Pelly occupied a po-
sition in life analogous to that or a
tragedian who aspires to play come-
dy roles. By reason of early environ-
ment, natural inclination and years
of practice, he was a dog trainer;
now, in the sunset of his rather futile
life, he was a cross between a chick-
en raiscr, farmer and dreamer of old
dreams that had to do mostly with
dogs and good quail cover. In a word,
old Dan was not happy, and this
morning as he sat on a fallen scrub
oak tree on the highest point on his
alleged ranch and gazed off into Little
Antelope Valley, he almost wished
that a merciful Providence would waft
him to heaven or hell or some other
seaport. Anywhere, in fact, out of
this cold world.
“The Indians had the right idea of a
hereafter,” mused Dan Pelly. “To
them the next world was a hap-
py hunting ground. This world is no
longer fit for a white man to live in.
It’s getting too civilized. Travel as
far as you will for good trout fishing
and upland hunting and you’ll find
some scrub there ahead of you in a
flivver. Get out on your own ground
at dawn on the day the shooting sea-
son opens—and you'll find empty shot-
gun shells a week old. Tim, old pal,
the more I see of some men the more
I love you.”
Tim—or, to accord him his regis-
tered name, Tiny Tim—ran his cool
muzzle into Dan Pelly’s horny palm
and rested it there. Just rested it and
spoke never a word, for Tiny Tim was
one of those rare dogs who knows
when his master is troubled of soul
and forbears to worry his loved one
with unnecessary outbursts of affec-
tion or sympathy. He leaned his
shoulder against Dan’s knee and rest-
ed his muzzle in Dan’s hand as who
should say: “Well, man alone is vile.
Here I am and I'll stick, depend upon
it.”
Tiny Tim was an English setter
and the last surviving son of Keep-
sake, the greatest bitch Dan Pelly had
ever seen or owned. Dan had wept
when an envious scoundrel had poi-
soned her the night before a field trap
up Bakersfield way. All of her pup-
pies out of Kenwood Boy had surviv-
ed, and all had made history in dog-
dom. Three of them had been placed
—one, two, three— in the Derby. The
other two had been the runners-up,
and the least promising of these run-
ners-up had been Tiny Tim.
Tim had been‘the runt of the litter
and as if his physical deficiency had
not been sufficient handicap, he had
grown into a singularly unbeautiful
dog. He had a butterfly nose, one
black ear, a solid white coat with the
exception of a black spot as big as a
man’s hand just over the root of his
tail; and his tail was his crowning
misfortune. Dog fanciers like a set-
ter with a merry tail, but Tiny Tim
carried his very low when he ran that
Derby, and he had never carried it
very high since. As if to offset the
tragedy of his tail, however, Tiny
Tim ran with a high head, for he had,
tucked away in that butterfly nose, a
pair of olfactory nerves that carried
him unerringly to birdy ground. He
could always manage to locate a bird
lying close in cover that had been
thoroughly prospected by other dogs.
Dan Pelly had sold Tiny Tim’s lit-
ter mates at a fancy figure after that
memorable Derby, but for homely,
Tiny Tim there were no bidders; so
Dan Pelly expressed him back to the
kennels. He was homely and lacked
style and dash in his bird work; he
appeared a bit nervous and uncertain
and inclined to limit his range, and it
seemed to Dan that as a field trial
prospect he was so much inferior to
other dogs that it was scarcely worth
while spending any time or money on
his education. However, he did have
a grand nose; when he grew older Dan
hoped he might outgrow his nervous-
ness and be steadier to shot and wing;
in view of his undoubted intsinct for
birds, it seemed the part of wisdom to
‘make a “plug” shooting dog of him.
Every dog trainer keeps such an ani-
mal, if not for his own usec then for
the use of stout old bank presidents
and of retired brewers whose idea of
the sport of hunting is to come home
with “the limit.” A grand hunting
dog means little in the lives of such
“sportsmen;” they want a dog that
will work close to the gun, thus ena-
bling them to proceed leisurely, as be-
comes a fat man. It is no pleasure to
them to be forced to walk down a
steep hill, clamber across a deep gul-
ly and climb the opposite hill to kill a
bird their dog has been pointing for
fifteen or twenty minutes. It is re-
served for the idealists like old Dan
Pelly to thrill to the work of a dog
like that. The dead bird is a second-
ary consideration.
So Tiny Tim had been thrown back feather had been disturbed; not a
in the kennel, and now, in his fifth
year, he was sill on Dan Pelly’s hands.
But that was no fault of Tiny Tim’s.
And he had never again been entered
in a field trial. That was no fault of
his, either. Dan Pelly had merely
gone out of the dog business, and Ti-
ny Tim, his last dog and best beloved,
was neither a field trial dog nor yet a
potterer for fat bankers and retired
brewers who came down to Dan Pel-
ly’s place for a week-end shoot in the
season. No, Tiny Tim had never
achieved that disgrace. Dan Pelly
had given up dog training and dog
raising and dog trading after his re-
turn from that field trial where old
Keepsake’s litter had brought him
more money than he had ever seen at
any cne time before. Consequently,
Tiny Tim was Dan’s own shooting dog
and Dan had trained him not for filthy
lucre but for that love and companion-
ship for a good dog which idealists of
the Dan Pelly type can never repress.
Tiny Tim had known but one mas-
ter, and but one code of sportsman-
ship; he responded to but one set of
signals; he had never been curbed in
his range or speed; he had never been
scolded or shouted at or beaten, but
he had achieved much of love and ca-
ressing and praise. He had been fed
properly, housed properly, wormed
regularly every three months, bathed
every Saturday afternoon and brush-
ed and combed almost every day, and
as a result he was an extremely
healthy dog, albeit a small dog among
small, field type English setters. Dan
Pelly loved him just a little bit more
because he was a runt and because,
though royally bred, his bearing was
a bit ignoble.
“T’ll have none of your bench type
setters,” Dan was wont to remark
when" speaking of setters. “I could
weep from just lookin’ at them—the
poor boobs, wih their domed foreheads
and their sad, bloodshot eyes and drib-
bling chops. Toc Leavy and slow for
anybody but a fat man. An hour’s
hard going of a warm day and they're
done. I'll have a light, neat little set-
ter for a long, hard, drivin’ day of it.”
Dan Pelly’s choice of dog was an in-
dex of his character. He, too, was a
light, compact little man, with some-
thing of a lost dog’s wistfulness about
him. Dan didn’t like pointers. They
were too aggressive, too headstrong,
too noisy for him. The sight of a bull-
dog or a bull terrior or an Airedale
made him angry, for such dogs could
always be depended upon to pounce
upon a shooting dog and worry him.
Toy dogs depressed him. They seem-
ed so unworthy of human attention
and moreover they had no brains.
This morning Dan Pelly was more
than oldinarily unhappy. He needed
five hundred dollars worse than he
needed salvation. * * *
And only the day before while he
and Tim had been working a patch of
low cover just off the county road, a
man in a very expensive automobile
driven by a liveried chauffeur had
paused in the road to watch them.
Presently Tim had made one of those
spectacular points which always give
a real dog lover a thrill. In mid-air,
while leaping over a small bush, he
hadgycaught the scent ofa quail
crouching close under that bush. He
had landed with his body half turned
toward the bush, his head had swung
around and there he had stood “froz-
en.” Dan had walked up, kicked the
bird out, waited until the quail was
forty yards away and fired. Mean-
while Tim had broken point and, head
up, was following the flushed bird
with anxious eyes.
As the gun barked the bird flinched
slightly but did not reduce its speed.
Wings spread stiffly, it sailed away
out of sight and Dan Pelly, seeing
himself watched by the man in the
motor car, grinned deprecatingly.
“Missed him a mile,” he called.
“You let him get too far away be-
fore you fired,” the stranger replied
with that hearty camaraderie which
always obtains between lovers of up-
land shooting.
“My gun is a full choke; I can kill
nicely with it at fifty yards, but I like
to give the birds a chance for their
white alley so I never shoot under for-
ty yards.”
“Grand point your little setter made
then. Steady to flush and shot, too.
Homely little rascal, but man, he’s a
dog! I must have a look at him if
vou don’t mind, my friend.” And he
got out of the car.
“Certainly, sir. Come, Timmy, lad.
Shake hands with the gentleman.”
But Tiny Tim had other and more
important matters to attend to. He
was racing at full speed after that de-
parting bird. Dan whistled him to
halt, but Tim paid no attention. He
crossed a gentle rise of ground and
disappeared on the other side. He was
out of sight for about five minutes;
then he appeared again on the crest
and came jogging sedately back to
Dan Pelly. In his mouth he held ten-
derly a wounded quail. Straight to
Dan Pelly he came, and as he advane-
ed he twisted his little body sinuously
and arched and lowered his shoulders
and flipped his tail backward and for-
ward and smiled with his eyes. In ef-
fect he said:
“Dan, you didn’ think you hit that
bird, but I saw him flinch ever so lit-
tle. I've had a lot of experience in
such matters and experience has
taught me that a bird hit like that will
fly a couple of hundred yards and then
drop. So I kept my eye on this one
and sure enough just as he reached
the top of that little rise I saw him
settle rather abruptly. So I went over
and nosed around and sure enough I
picked up his trail. He had an injur-
ed wing—numbed, probably—and he
was down and running to beat the
band. It’s sporty to chase a runner,
because if we don’t get him, Dan, a
weasel will.”
The stranger looked at the bird in
Tim’s mouth and then he looked at
Dan Pelly. “Well, I'll be swindled!”
he declared. “If I live to be a million
years old I'll never see a prettier piece
of bird work than that. The dog’s hu-
man.”
“Yes, he’s a right nice little feller,”
Dan declared pridefully. “Timmy,
boy, take the bird to the gentleman
and then shake hands with him.”
Timmy looked at the stranger, who
smiled at him, so he walked sedately
to the latter and gently dropped ‘the
frightened bird into his hand. Not a
tooth had marred the tender flesh.
The stranger reached down and
twigged Tiny Tim’s nose; then he tug-
ged his ear a little, said “good dog”
and stroked Tim’s head. Tim extend-
ed a paw to be shaken. They were
friends.
“Want to sell this dog, my friend ?”
the newcomer demanded.
“Oh, no! Timmy's the only dog I
have left. He’s just my little shoot-
ing dog and I'm right fond of him. He
has a disposition that sweet, sir, you
have never seen the beat of it. If I
sold Timmy I'd never dare come home.
My wife would take the rolling pin to
me.
-4#1’11 give you two hundred and fifty
dollars for him.”
“Timmy isn’ for sale, sir.”
“Not enough money, en? Well, I
don’t blame you. If he were my dog
five thousand dollars wouldn’t touch
him. It was worth that to me to see
him perform. Let me see him work
this cover, if you please.” To Tiny
Tim: “All right, boy. Root ’em out.
Lots of birds in here yet.”
The dog was off like a streak. Sud-
denly he paused, sniffing up wind,
swung slowly left and slowly right,
trotted forward a few paces and halt-
ed head up, tail swinging excitedly,
every muscle aquiver.
“It’s dry as tinder and the birds
don’t lay close. He’s on to some run-
ning birds now, sir. Watch him road
’em to heavier cover and then point.”
Instead they flushed. Tim watched
them interestedly, marked where they
had settled, moved gingerly forward
—and froze on a single that had fail-
ed to flush. Dan Pelly handed the
stranger his gun. “Perhaps, sir,” he
said with his wistful smile, “you
might enjoy killing a bird over Tim-
my’s point.”
This was the apotheosis of field cour-
tesy. The stranger took the gun, smil-
ing his thanks, walked over to Tiny
Tim, kicked out the bird and missed
him. Tim glanced once at the bird
and promptly dismissed him from
consideration. He made a wide cast
to come up on the spot where he had
seen the flushed covey settle.
“Point,” called Dan Pelly. This
time the stranger killed his bird,
which Tim retrieved in handsome
style.
“He brought the dead bird to me!”
the stranger shouted. “Did vou notice
that. He brought it to me!”
“Of course. It’s your bird. You
killed it. Timmy knows that. It
wouldn’t be mannerly of him to bring
it to me. I see you appreciate a good
shooting dog, sir. I suppose, living in
the city and a busy man, you don’t get
much afield. There’s a lot of birds
scattered in this cover. Have a little
shoot over Timmy. I have four birds
and that’s enough for our supper. I'll
sit down under this oak tree and have
a smoke.”
“That’s devilish sporting of you, my
friend. Thank you very much.”
the stranger hurried away after Tiny
Tim. He was an incongruous figure
in that patch of cover, what with his
derby hat and overcoat, and he seem-
ed to realize this, for he shed both,
stuffed a dozen cartridges into his
pockets—he was far too big a man to
wear Dan Pelly’s disreputable old
hunting jacket—and hurried away
after Tiny Tim. From the far corner
of the field Dan presently heard a
merry fusillade, and in about fifteen
minutes his guest returned with half
a dozen quail and Tiny Tim trotting
at his heels.
“I'll give you a thousand dollars for
Timmy, my friend,” was his first an-
nouncement. “Why, he works for me
as if I were his master.”
“You're the first man except his
master who has ever shot over him,”
Pelly replied proudly. “Sorry, but
Timmy is not for sale.”
“I'll bet nobody has ever offered
you a thousand dollars for him. Here
is my card, Mr.—er—er——"’
“Dan Pelly’s my name, sir.”
“Mr. Pelly, and if you change your
mind, wire me collect and Ill send a
man down with the cash and you can
send the dog back by him. 2
Dan took the card. The stranger
thanked him and departed with his
quail in his expensive car.
And this morning Dan Pelly sat on
the highest point on his so-called
ranch and looked down into Little An-
telope Valley and was unhappy. He
needed five hundred dollars to meet a
mortgage; he could get a thousand
dollars within twenty-four hours by
sending a telegram collect to the man
who had admired Tiny Tim—and he
didn’t have the courage to send the
telegram. In fact, he hadn’t had suf-
ficient courage to tell Martha, his
wife, of the stranger’s offer. Martha
was made of sterner stuff than her
husband and a terrible panic of fear
had seized Dan at the mere thought
of telling her. What if she should ac-
cept the thousand dollars?
Dan loaded his pipe and smoked ru-
minatively. He thought of his wasted
and futile life. Twenty-five years
wasted as a professional dog trainer.
Faugh! And all he had to show for
it was a host of memories, sweet and
bitter; sweet as he remembered the
days afield with good dogs and good
fellows, the thrill of many a hard
fought field trial; bitter as he thought
of dogs he had loved and which had
been sold or poisoned or died of old
age or disease; bitterer still as he re-
flected that he and Martha had come
to a childless old age with naught be-
tween them and the county poor farm
save a thousand acres of rough sage
covered land which, with the exception
of about twenty-five acres of rich,
sub-irrigated bottom land, was worth-
less save as a training ground for
degs. It had numerous springs on it,
good cover and just enough scrub oaks
to form safe rooting places for quail.
It was rather a decent little game
preserve and sometimes Danny made
a few dollars by granting old custom-
ers the privilege of a shoot on it. He
ran about a hundred head of goats on
it, while in the bottom land he and
Martha eked out a precarious existence
with a few chickens and turkeys, a
few hogs, a few stands of bees, three
cows, a couple of horses and Tiny Tim.
For Tim was known to a few dog fan-
ciers as the last of old Keepsake-Ken-
wood Boy strain in the State and not
infrequently they sent their bitches to
Tiny Tim’s court.
Poor Martha! Hers had not been a
And |
very happy life with Dan Pelly. A
dog trainer is—a dog trainer. He can’t |
very well be anything else because
God has made him so. And in his
heart of hearts he doesn’t want to be. |
He trains dogs ostensibly for money
but in reality because he loves them |
and the job affords him a legitimate |
excuse to be afield with them, to en- |
joy their society and that of the jo- |
vial devotees of upland game shoot- |
ing. Dan Pelly wasn’t an ambitious :
man. He had no desire to clip cou-'
pons or wear fine raiment; his taste |
in automobiles went no further than |
an old ruin he had picked up for two |
hundred dollars for the purpose of |
carting his dogs around in the days ;
before Martha took over the handling !
of the Pelly fortunes, when Dan had !
had dogs to cart around. |
The crux of the situation was this. !
Dog trainers are so busy with their
dogs that they neglect to send out bills
for board and training, and the men!
who can afford to buy expensive dogs |
and have them boarded and trained !
seldom think of their dogs until fall. |
Then they pay the bill and sometimes
wonder why it is so large. In a word, !
the income of a dog trainer is never
what one might term staggering, and
it is more or less uncertain. i
Martha had grown weary of this’
uncertainty and when distemper for
the second time had cleaned out Dan
Pelly’s kennels, taking all of his own
dogs with the exception of Tiny Tim
and either killing or ruining the dogs
of his customers, Mrs. Pelly felt that!
it was time to act. She knew it would
be years before Dan’s old customers
would send dogs to him again.
Friendship and a reputation as a
great trainer are undoubtedly first:
aids to a dog trainer’s success, but
men who love their dogs hesitate to .
send them to a kennel where the
germs of a virulent distemper are
known to exist. It was up to Dan
Pelly to burn his old kennels and
build new ones far removed from the
location of the old. He could not af-!
ford to do this and since Martha was
desirous of seeing him engage in|
something more constructive, Dan
Pelly had gone out of business and
become a farmer in the trifling man- |
ner heretofore described. i
Martha told him she was weary of |
dogs. She had shed too many tears
over dead favorites; she had assisted '
at too many operations for the cure of |
canker of the ear, fistula, tumor and |
cancer, broken legs, smashed toes and |
cuts from barbed wire. She was al- |
ready too learned in the gentle art of |
healing mange and exorcising tape- '
worms. She loved dogs, but to have |
thirty pointers and setters set up a |
furious barking whenever a stranger
appeared at the Pelly farm had final- |
ly gotten “on her nerves.” She un- |
derstood Dan better than he under- |
stood himself and she ki ew how bitter |
was the sacrifice she demanded; yet
she realized that she must be firm and |
lead Daniel in the way he must go, |
else would they come to want and mis-
ery in a day when Dan would be too |
old to tramp over the hill and dale
training dogs. Dan had readily con-
sented to her direction—particularly
after she had wept a little. Poor
Martha! :
From where he sat Dan Pelly could |
this morning see great activity on the |
floor of Little Antelope Valley, just
below him. Half a dozen men on
horseback were riding backward and
forward and at least a dozen white!
specks that Dan Pelly knew for!
hunting dogs were ranging here and |
there among the low sage cover.
“The first arrivals for the Pacific
Field Trials, and they’re out on the
grounds, looking over and seeing how
their dogs behave. Three days from
now they’ll be running the Derby, and
after that the All Age Stake. Ah,
Timmy lad, if we two could only go to
a field trial again! How like old times
it would be, Timmy. We’d be down
at the station to greet all the gentle- |
men coming in for the trials, and then
we’d be crowding around the baggage
car watching the dogs in their crates
bein’ lifted out. And we’d be peekin’
through the air holes in the crates to
see whether they’d be setters or point-
ers, and if setters, whether they’d be
Llewelyns, English or Irish. And
then the banquet up at the hotel the
night before the Derby and the toast-
master rappin’ for order and sayin’:
‘Gentlemen, we have with us tonight
one of the Old Guard, Dan Pelly. Dan
is going to tell us something about the
field trials of other days—other days
and other dogs. Gentlemen—old Dan
Pelly.’
“Ah, Tim my lad, we’re out of it.
Think, Timmy, if we two were driv-
ing out to Antelope Valley in the
morning, with you in my lap, and the
entrance fee up and me wild with ex-
citement if you were paired say with a
dog like Manitoba Rap or Fischel’s
Frank or Mary Montrose or Ringing
Bells or Robert the Devil—any one of
the big ones, eh, Timmy? No, Tim-
my, I wouldn’t be excited. They’re all
great dogs. Didn’t Mary Montrose
win the All American three times—
the only dog in the world that ever
proved her championship caliber three
times ?
(Concluded next week).
Sr — A sass
Business is Business.
i
|
i
The auctioneer was offering a hand-
some old cabinet, but there was only
one bidder—a dealer who kept on in-
creasing his bids.
“How is it?” asked the auctioneer,
“that you continue bidding against
yourself ?”
“Well, you see,” replied the broker,
“that is a matter of business. I have
a commission from two different par-
ties to buy the cabinet at any cost,
and I don’t know yet which of them is
to have it.”
————r —————
Quantity Rates.
A bond salesman, calling on a down-
town broker, sent in an ornately en-
graved card. Looking through the
glass partitions, he saw the banker
tear up the card, and presently got
word that his man was “in confer-
ence.” He immediately asked for his
card, saying they cost him three cents
each. The banker sent back a five-
cent piece, demanding his change.
“Here,” said the salesman, taking
out another card, “tell him they're
two for five.””—Wall Street Journal.
, as cool as a snow bank,
smart distinction.
lent choice; it will stand any amount
of hard knock and bob up serenely
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
Music washes away from the soul
dust of everyday life.—Auerbach.
Suits to Suit the Summer.—No
matter how many intriguing one-piece
frocks are offered for their comfort, |
there are many women who are loath
to discard their coat suits in the hot-
test weather, particularly when on a
shopping tour. They hold, with those
conservatives who never appear with-
out gloves, that correct grooming de-
mands a coat suit when the wearer is
on business bent.
For those who cling to this style
there are some excellent models in
linen and crash to be had, which are
practically as cool as a frock, for the
! wisp of a blouse which accompanies
them cannot be said to have any
warmth. This may be a secret, but,
at any rate, I shall pass it on; many
of the blouses are the biggest frauds
imaginable. They haven’t a sign of a
sleeve, and not even a back. The frag-
ile net and airy voiles which fashion
them are merely a collar and a scrap |
of a vest; but nobody knows the dif-
ference, since the coats are never re-
moved.
Oyster white linen is the choice of
the ultra-conservative woman. It is
and, worn
with a black hat, it gives a look of
at the end of the day. A charming
woman wears a wide hat of violet ta- |
gel, wreathed in mauve, with her gray
‘ ramie linen suit.
Dark blue and black rajah silk suits
are often seen in traveling. There is |
no denying the fact that a suit of any
sort insures your arrival in a spick
and span condition. You have only to
remove the coat when you sink into!
I your Pullman, and don it again at the
journey’s end. And although the
thought of covering the dust and
grime of traveling, isn’t particular-
ly pleasing to the fastidious, it is cer-
tainly better than to leave it exposed,
and it is sure to be there. For no
mode of traveling has ever been de-
vised which is not dusty. Some one
may now speak up and inquire what
about the airplane route.
The majority of the younger set
are still wearing their spiffy little blue
and rose sports suits. They declare
that they aren’t warm in the least.
And you will have to admit that the
wearers area decidedly poised and
cool-appearing crowd. It looked for a
time as if the suits were going to
crowd the sweaters and separate
skirts clear off the map, but it is def-
initely decided now that each has its
place, and no girl is going to give up
either her smart sports suit or her
gay sweater.
The mid-Victorians used to say that
one could judge a lady by her gloves
and shoes. For such a long time it
has been fashionable to laugh at those
mid-Victorians * * * but our laughter |
‘became a trifle hysterical, and strange
things happened to our clothes. Are
i we not beginning to realize the value,
(as well as the need, of distinction?
There are certainly signs of it in the
mode. The rococo, over-ornamented
shoes, for example, are no longer
seen; those worn this season are sim-
ple and beautiful in line. The color of
the dress has little influence on the
color of the shoes with the exception
of beige and gray. Both these colors
are worn with matching shoes, al-
i though sometimes with beige one sees
a subtle combination which might be
called “A Study in Brown:” A beige
dress worn with a dark brown hat,
| very dark brown shoes, and thin dark
{brown stockings.
Black patent leath-
er is still widely worn, and sandals
which are so light and open as to be
ideal for summer wear, are high in fa-
vor, although they are definitely more
conservative and simple than they
have been.
The newest note in shoes is seen in
the steel buckle, that chaste and smart
ornament which has an air of distine-
tion peculiarly its own. The touch of
steel is not confined only to shoes,
however.
A frilly organdie collar is both
youthful and becoming.
To increase the weight it is neces-
sary to have suitable food and a great
deal of sleep. Many persons are thin
from lack of sufficient rest, and once
the habit of sleeping for eight or nine
hours every night has become estab-
lished there is a perceptible gain in
weight. When we sleep nature does
her repair work in the system. We
must have appropriate food to make
good, rich blood for the repairing
which is to be done during sleep. Milk
and eggs are two foods which must
enter into the diet for increasing
the weight. Adults should drink a
pint of milk daily (two tumblerfuls)
with a raw egg beaten up in each por-
tion. Warm foods are more quickly
utilized in the system than cold ones,
and all three meals, therefore, should
contain a dish of something hot. Once
a day it is important to eat beef, mut-
ton, liver or fish. Fresh green vege-
tables, both cooked and raw (lettuce,
cold slaw, celery, etc.), need to be eat-
en every day. Eat potatoes or rice
once a day, and plenty of bread and
butter. Eat every meal at a fixed
hour—eating at irregular hours caus-
es indigestion and constipation. Keep
the skin active by a daily bath or
washdown with soap and warm water
every night, rubbing the surface vig-
orously with a turkish towel. Exer-
cise by walking is of great benefit to
the health and aids in flesh making.
If one has not been in the habit of
walking she should begin by moderate
walks at first, gradually increasing a
little each day to the point which in-
duces a slight fatigue. By the end of
a month it will be no effort to walk
three or four miles without being
tired. The condition of the weather
must not interfere with the exercise.
It is unwise to walk when the body is
already fatigued—better to rest—Ilie
down— and then at a later hour walk.
It will require several months of
painstaking practice in the measures
outlined to add several pounds to the
weight.
—You will find the improvised table
of use in baking time, in the kitchen.
the
Gray is an excel- |
CULLING UNPROFITABLE HENS.
How to dispose of and identify the
hens that eat up poultry profits is a
subject that will attract many a Cen-
tre county farmer to the poultry se-
lection meetings planned by the Cen-
tre county Farm Bureau for this
summer. County agent J. N. Robin-
son has arranged with H. D. Monroe,
poultry specialist from the Pennsylva-
nia State College, to demonstrate the:
latest improved method of culling at
twelve meetings to be held in differ-
ent sections of the county the week of
August 7th.
That there is a leak in the profits:
that should be expected from his flock
will be readily admitted by every Cen-
tre county former. “Boarder” hens
‘and hens that merely “break even’
still exist in large numbers. The
feed which they consume and upon
which they make little or no return,
can be more profitably used in grow-
ing out young stock. The farmer
; wants to know how he can pick out the:
‘hens that will pay him certain profit
| above feed cost. Mr. H. D. Monroe
intends to explain the methods of cull-
ing founded on a long time study of
trap nested birds, and to give the far-
mers a chance to learn how simple a
process it is to select the good hen.
Every person who attends a demon-
stration will handle the birds and gain
actual experience and real knowledge
of the principles of selection, that he:
may then follow in culling his own
| flock. With every farmer in Centre
county culling his own flock, fewer
hens will bring in more money, even
. while the summer egg production is
| being maintained at 50 per cent.
t
Ford Makes Own Windshield Glass.
The Ford Motor Company, Detroit,
(has begun to manufacture its own
| plate glass, and already has in oper-
{ation the flrst modern glass house
i ever equipped especially to make glass
| for automobiles.
As is customary when taking over
| the manufacture of a new product,
! Ford has applied his own principles
| of production, and as a consequence,
| the methods and machinery used in
i making Ford glass are a radical de-
i parture from established practice. The
Ford continuous conveyor system fea-
tures the operations so that from the
time the glass leaves the furnace un-
til it becomes a polished windshield,
it is always moving.
Glass making, when viewed in the
Ford Plant, lookes to be very simple.
The raw materials are introduced
into the furnace where they become
a molten mass. Drawn from the fur-
nace in a semi-liquid state, the glass
passes under a roller, which gives it
width and thickness, and on to a
moving conveyor. This carries it
| for 464 feet thru a gradually cooling
furnace. At the end, it is cut and
placed on another conveyor which
| carries it through the grinding and
' polishing, after which it is ready for
use.
This adds a new link to the fast
‘growing chain of Ford industries,
| which are being established and ex-
| panded from time to time in line with
| the Ford policy to achieve complete
i independence of outside material
| sources in manufacturing Ford pro-
i ducts, and at the same time are the
i means by which Ford is enabled to
{use in the production of motor cars,
| trucks and tractors material of un-
[usually high quality and sell them at
| the famous Ford prices.
———
——Subscribe for the “Watchman”
Thousands of Clubs Taxable is Opin-
ion.
All first-class corporations, wheth-
er incorporated for profit or not, in-
cluding country clubs, incorporated
schools not entirely charitable, and
game associations, were held liable to
pay the state capital stock tax and
the tax on loans in an opinion an-
nounced by the Attorney General's
department last week.
The opinion signed by First Depu-
ty Attorney General George Ross
Hull, represents a new departure in
State taxation theory. It has been the
practice of fiscal officers of the State
i for many years not to collect capital
stock taxes from corporations not
conducted for profit. This relieved
schools, clubs, hospitals and churches
from taxation.
Under the recent ruling, however,
the only first-class corporations re-
lieved from the State capital tax are
those “created and operated for pure-
ly charitable or religious purposes,”
and the corporate loans are exempt
from taxation.
The Auditor General proceeded im-
mediately to collect taxes under the
new ruling, it was understood. It is
said the number of corporations af-
fected will run into the thousands.
MEDICAL.
Convincing Testimony
Given by Many Bellefonte People.
Experiences told by Bellefonte peo-
e—
Those who have had weak kid-
neys—
Who used Doan’s Kidney Pills—
Who found the remedy effective—
Such statements prove merit.
You might doubt an utter stranger.
You must believe Bellefonte people.
Here’s Bellefonte proof. Verify it.
Read. Investigate. Be convinced.
You'll find why Bellefonte folks be-
lieve in Doan’s.
Harry Rossman, drayman, says:
“My kidneys were in a disordered con-
dition and their action annoyed me
both day and night. I often had to
get up several times at night. My
back was lame and ached a great deal,
especially in the morning, making it
hard for me to keep at my work. I
read of Doan’s Kidney Pills helping
others so I used them. They were not
long in relieving .me of all signs of
kidney trouble. My kidneys were
soon acting regularly.”
Price 60c, at all dealers. Don’t sim-
ply ask for a kidney remedy—get
Doan’s Kidney Pills—the same that
Mr. Rossman had. Foster-Milburn
Co., Mfrs., Buffalo, N. Y. 67-29