Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, April 13, 1923, Image 2

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"Bellefonte, Pa., April 13, 1923.
A —
The twilight falls, the night is near;
I fold my work away,
And kneel to One who bends to hear
The story of the day.
The old, old story; yet I kneel
To tell it at Thy call;
And cares grow lighter as I feel
That Jesus knows them all.
Yes, all! The morning and the night,
The joy, the grief, the loss,
The roughened path, the sunbeam bright,
The hourly thorn and cross.
Thou knowest all, I lean my head,
My weary eyelids close;
Content and glad a while to tread
This path, since Jesus knows!
So here I lay me down to rest,
As nightly shadows fall,
And lean confiding on His breast,
Who knows and pities all!
“Do you know,” remarked Pen after
five minutes of perfect silence, during
which the Strange Man smoked mo-
rosely, “you remind me of George No-
el Gordon, Lord Byron?” :
The Strange Man, having finished
smoking, threw the stub away, re-
crossed his legs and favored Pen with
quite a prolonged stare. Finally,
“Why ?” he asked.
“Qh, I don’t know,” murmured Pen-
elope vaguely.
RY a u're sort of gloomy,
you know, and int’resting, and—and
theatrical.” :
“Well, upon my word!” said By-
ron’s replica blankly, and then broke
into a shout of laughter that made
Pen jump. “How old are you, Miss
Thornton ?”
“Fourteen,” replied Penelope
promptly, and Methuselah seemed ju-
venile by the antiquity that was im-
plied in her tone. “How old are you?
“Guess,” suggested Byron, and it
was Pen’s turn to scrutinize. :
The man who confronted her, im-
maculate in his trim evening suit, had
none of Noel Gordon's classic beauty.
Slender, yet compact, with tired gray
eyes and wavy gray hair, and a rath-
er tired gray face too, there was yet,
in spite of the grayness, something
startlingly youthful about him. It
wasn’t a pleasant face; there were
cynical lines about the heavy-lided
eyes and a little sneering twist to the
finely chiseled lips; but it was dis-
tinctly a high-bred one. And breed-
ing lay in the finger tips of the long
hands and rang in the tones of the
charmingly modulated voice.
“You're hard to guess,” acknowledg-
ed Pen with a slow sigh. “But 1
shouldn’t say that you were more than
fifty.” L
The man laughed softly. “Well,
neither should I,” he murmured. “I'll
be thirty come Michaelmas, though,
Miss Thornton.” ;
“Thirty,” breathed Pen. “That is
not so dreadfully old!” :
“Not so dreadfully,” acquiesced the
Strange Man cheerfully. “And such
being the case, we can talk with more
freedom. Come up from the steps and
sit by me.
They were waiting on the veranda
before dinner. The rest of the gay
house party was off picnicking, but
the Strange Man, otherwise known as
Churchill Randolph, had pleaded a
headache and stayed at home. ~~.
Pen, dfter a heated discussion in the
nursery, the arbitrary disposal of
which had failed to render her popu-
lar, had drifted onto the veranda in
quest of diversion. At Randolph’s in-
vitation she rose with alacrity and
danced up the steps to the hassock at
his feet.
“Do you mind if I call you Byron ”
she asked. “Madre says it’s disre-
spectful to call grown people by their
first names, but if theyre friends I
couldn’t call them ‘mister,’ could 1?
So I just have to give them names,
you see.”
“I see,” asserted Randolph gravely.
“Supose you call me Noel. By a cur-
ious coincidence that is my middle
name. It’s a long time since any one
called me Noel!”
“Is it—is it a particular name?”
asked Pen diffidently. ’
“A very particular name. I don’t
think that half a dozen people have
ever used it, Miss—but what shall I
al, you? Miss Thornton will never
“No, indeed,” acquiesced Pen. “But,”
regretfully, “I don’t think that I'd like
to be called after any of the ladies
that Byron knew. They weren't very
nice, were they ?”
“Not very.”
“I know! Oh, Noel, won’t you call
me Augusta? You remember Augus-
“In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree-—
And a bird in the wilderness singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee,
“She was his sister, and he loved
her better than any one else in the
world. Of course, you wouldn’t have
to do that, but it would be so lovely.”
“I think that Augusta is the very
name for you,” declared Randolph.
“And it strikes me that, unless you're
careful I'll love you better than any
one in the world; I feel it coming on.”
Pen looked at him breathlessly.
“Better than any one else? Oh,
please! No one does that, and I'm
tired of waiting for my fairy prince.
But how can you—so soon?”
“It’s not very difficult,” said the man
dryly. “You're rather an enchanting
young person, and just at present I
don’t think of any one else that I love
at all.”
Pen tilted her little white, flower-
like face and regarded him with wide
eyes. “I do believe you're flirting
with me,” she said reproachfully. “But
then I s’pose you can’t help it. Byron
“If you'll just lay all my faults to
Byron, I'll be infinitely grateful. That
will give me quite a wide margin, lit-
{ Have the wish I wish tonight.”
tle sister. But what made you think
that I was flirting, you worldly-wise
fairy ?”
“I s’pose that it was just feminine
instinct,” explained Pen, vastly de-
lighted at being termed worldly-wise.
“A woman can always tell, Noel.”
“Oh, Augusta, Augusta,” laughed
Randolph,” thy name is Eve. But this
woman's intuition betrayed her. I
wasn’t flirting.” :
“Qh, said Pen, vaguely disappoint-
ed. “Then don’t you really love any
one else, Noel 7”
Noel smiled grimly. “I love my en-
emies, Augusta. They form the larg-
er portion of my acquaintances, heav-
en bless ’em.” .
“How good you are,” said Pen fer-
vently. “Gracious, I wish that I did.
I just loathe and detest them, Noel.
Every time I even think of that horri-
ble Antoinette I understand tyranni-
cide and regicide and fratricide and
patricide and just plain murder.”
“Poor Augusta,” murmured Noel.
“And, if you will permit me, poor An-
toineite. Who is this monster?”
“She’s madre’s maid, Noel, and the
bane of my existence. Oh, quelle
horreur, mes enfants!” Pen lifted di-
minutive shoulders heavenward and
relapsed into a gloomy silence.
Perched on the hassock, a very Na-
poleon for tragic meditation, her great
eyes brooding darkly, her mouth tense
with vengeance, even her hair a vin-
dictive flame, she made a picture as
startling as it was laughable. What
a fire must burn in that tiny body,
thought the man. It seemed actually
to consume her before his eyes, and,
smiling at his fancy, he touched her
lightly on the shoulder.
“Come, little maenad, I'm not your
Orestes, nor have I the vaguest in-
tention of flying from you. But I'll
fly with you if you say the word. The
thought of a dinner positively appalls
me. What do you say to playing tru-
In an instant Pen was all radiant
delight. “Oh, dear Noel, what fun!
Just wait until I get a cape. We'll
have to hurry, because it’s most time
for them to be back.”
She flashed into the house and was
back in less time than it takes to tell
it, wrapped in a tan cape, the hood
tied securely over her ruddy curls.
“I have some peppermints—and
some nuts and raisins. I was saving
them for a feast with Don and Peg-
gy,” she whispered gleefully. “Oh, la
bonne aventure! I'm so glad I know
you, Nael.”
Randolph tucked in a flying curl
with deft fingers and smiled down in-
to the excited little face. “See, the
evening star,” he said, and his face
was curiously sweet. “It’s a fine sil-
ver locket on Evening’s gray gown.
Shall we wish on it, you and I, Au-
gusta ?”
Pen nodded. The poignant beauty
of the twilight scene gave her the
same strange lump in her throat that |
she felt when she heard a wailing vio- |
lin or saw the sea beating its heart
out against the great cliffs. She felt
very little and lonely suddenly, and
clutched instinctively at Noel’s fingers,
which closed over hers with reassur- |
ing presure. i
‘ “Star light,” ’ said the man, with !
his face: turned steadily toward ihe
: ly.
evening star, “ ‘Star bright,’
“Very first star I've seen tonight;
Wish I may, |
Wish I might i
- i
The quaint little rime sounded
quainter than ever from those lips but
Pen saw no incongruity. “What did
you wish?” she queried breathlessly.
“I wished that you might always be
glad that you knew me, little Augus-
“Oh!” protested Pen earnestly, “you
needn’t have wished that, because I
always will. I always wish for some-
thing that’s nearly impossible, but not
quite, you know. That wouldn’t be
fair.” And she too chanted “Star
light” to the silver star. “I wished,”
she said quickly, “that I might be as
good as you are, Noel, and love all my
enemies. That’s very hard, but I
don’t think it’s quite impossible do
you ?”
A spasm of pain contracted the
man’s face, leaving it a little grayer
than before, but he only tightened his
clasp on Pen’s fingers so that it was
almost uncomfortable.
“Not quite,” he replied slowly. “No,
I should say that that was fair.” He
stood smiling at her strangely for a
minute, then he did a curious thing.
He droped the warm little hand and
pushed Pen from him, almost rough-
ly. “Go in!” he commanded. “Go in!
I'm not fit to touch you.” And then,
more gently as Pen turned her great,
frightened eyes on him: “Run in,
child. I don’t feel like playing any
more. I'm tired.”
Pen turned and went slowly to the
door. So it had just been play, then!
And she had thought that he loved
her. She bit her quivering lip and
forced her hateful tears back, turn-
ing, with her hand on the latch, to
cast one last indignant, bewildered
glance at the perfidious Noel. Ap-
parently he, too, like his famous name-
sake, could swear love for eternity
and forswear it in an hour. He stood
leaning against one of the great white
pillars, staring out unseeing into the
gathering dusk, all the buoyancy gone
from his slender figure—and then
Penelope saw his face.
In an instant she was at his side.
“Don’t send me away,” she pleaded.
“Please let me love you, Noel. I'm
sorry if I was naughty. I'll truly, tru-
ly be good. Does your head ache?
Has some one made you angry? Are
you angry with me, Noel ?”
The man looked down at her help-
lessly. “Heaven help me, I can’t send
you away,” he said finally. “Does it
harm a saint to love a sinner, Augus-
ta? Does he drag her down or does
she lift him up 7”
“I won’t hurt you, Noel,” protested
Pen. “I'll be good; truly I will. Oh,
Noel, they’re coming back. Garrick’s
singing; he’s driving the coach, you
know. Listen.”
The music rang out, faint yet clear
on the still night, Morton’s magnifi-
cent voice leading, and the others
catching up the swinging, mocking
“We're poor little lambs who've lost our
‘that he treasures most
We're little black sheep who've gone givness before he died. It wasn't
Gentlemen rankers out on the spree,
Damned from here to Eternity;
Lord, ha’ mercy on such as we-e-e—
Baa! Yah! Bah!”
“What a horrid song,” observed Pen
Noel smiled a trifle grimly. “Very
horrid,” he agreed. “Come, Augusta!
Peccavi, peccavi; but we’ll have our
spree, as Kipling so graphically puts
it. Come.”
They sped down the steps and
across the moonlit lawn, Pen flitting
ahead like a fugitive will-o’-the-wisp,
darting through gaps and around
trees, with steps as fleet as they were
« Down one hill and up another they
raced, and once Randolph stumbled
over a fallen tree and swore softly to
Pen laughed back at him over her
shoulder elfishly. She turned off sud-
denly, and it seemed to Randolph that
the bushes had swallowed her. He
sprang after her in quick panie, crash-
ing through a thicket and nearly land-
ing headlong at her feet in a little
“Puck, Puck, have mercy,” he pant-
ed laughingly. “Through brush,
through briar, what a dance you’ve led
me, you wicked elf.”
Pen laughed gleefully. “Wasn’t it
fun? Oh,” with quick compunction,
“you said you were tired. I forgot.
I’m so sorry, Noel. Are you very
tired 7”
“Not that way,” said Randolph gen-
tly. “Just tired of living, Augusta.
It’s a weary business, as my distin-
guished namesake has remarked be-
fore me, I think!”
“Tired of living?” demanded Pen
incredulously. “Oh, no, Noel, he was
not really. He was tired of suffering,
I s’pose, and fighting, and being wick-
ed and unhappy, but not of living.
Why, I get so tired myself sometimes
that I just can’t wait to die, but when
I think about it, I want to live harder
than ever. Think of never being able
to read any more, Noel, of never hear-
ing music, or smelling flowers, or lov-
ing people, or going to the circus and
eating peanuts, and—and——"
Randolph laughed, a real, boyish,
joyous laugh. “Enough, enough, Au-
gusta. That’s the most convincing ar-
gument against suicide that I ever
heard. I shall wear overshoes for the
rest of my natural life, and never
tempt Providence by so much as ven-
turing out in a thunderstorm. Now
are you content?”
“If you'll laugh like that again. Oh,
Noel, I didn’t know that you could
laugh like that.”
“No more did I. Augusta, you're
the wisest person I know, and I'm
going to tell you a story.”
Pen gave a long sigh of utter con-
“May I come a little closer to you,
Noel? I'm so glad that you think
that I'm wise, and I'll just love a sto-
ry. Does it end well 7”
“I don’t know,” said the man slow-
“It depends.”
“Oh, then make it end well, Noel.
That’s awfully easy.” 1
“Is it? Well, you shall end the sto-
ry. Come closer, little sister—so!
Once upon a time there was a little
boy. He lived on a great plantation
{ somewhere in the South, and he was | dolch
just about as spoiled a little boy as
ever you saw. He had a good deal
more money than was good for him,
and a mother—a very sweet and love-
ly lady, Augusta—who was much too
good to him. On the plantation next
to him lived a little girl, a real fairy
princess little girl, whom he thought
was the most wonderful person in the
world. And on the plantation on the
other side lived another little boy, who
was his best friend. These three grew
up together; the boys went to the
same school and then to the same col-
lege, and they were so inseparable that
people who knew them used to call
them. But heis a good hater. Do you
fore the boy left college he told the
girl, who was quite a big girl by then
and more wonderful than ever, that he
loved her; and she said that she loved
him, and it seemed to the boy as
though the earth was too small to con-
tain all his happiness. And it was.
He had more than his share, his cup
was running over with joy, and it was
natural that some of it should spill;
but to have all of it dashed from his
lips, Augusta—not one drop left for
his dry lips and parched throat—that
wasn’t quite fair, was it? The money
went first and then the pretty mother,
and then—and then, Augusta, one
night his friend came to him, and said,
quite quietly, that he had married the
fairy princess. Not a drop left!”
“Why,” cried Pen eagerly, “that’s
like Lancelot and Guinevere, and Pa-
olo and Francesca, and Tristan and
Iseult. That’s not a very new story,
Noel dear.”
“Not a very new story,” acquiesced
the man hardly, “but it was to him.
Several years have passed since then,
Augusta, and the boy has grown into
a man. I do not think that the process
has improved him. His chief diver-
sion lay in trying to forget that he
had ever been—well, a rather decent
boy and not a bad fellow. He—he
used rather unsavory means to attain
his end, but he attained it. He forgot
everything—except revenge. It sounds
melodramatic, doesn’t it? He grew
to think that the world was as vile as
he was. Man, as the melancholy Dane
remarked, delights him not, nor wom-
an neither. Neither does he delight
them. But he is a good hater. Do you
remember that I said that I loved my
enemies? Well, so does he. He treas-
ures them dearly. They are his only
consolation, I may say. And the one
is the man
whom they used to call Damon. He
nursed the wrong that Damon had
done him for years, and finally lis
plans matured. The man was deliv-
ered into his hand. He could have ru-
ined him like so much dust under his
heel; and then Fate played her last
trump. Word was brought to him
that he whom they called Damon lay
dying—the doctors had given him a
month to live—and that he begged to
see his friend bfore he died. *“His
friend,’ you understand, the man
whom he had ruined and betrayed and
worse than killed—he wished his for-
* quite fair to ask for that, was it? How
{ should the story end? What should
| the man do, wise little sister ?”
i Pen looked at the strained, haggard
| face wonderingly. “You're joking,
:aren’t you, Noel? Why, there’s just
one way that the story can end, of
course. He must go back. Hasn’t he
gone yet, Noel? Oh, tell him to hur-
ry, hurry. That poor, wicked man,
{ Noel, waiting and waiting for him to
come—oh, Noel, what if he should die
before he came!”
Noel looked at her for a moment in
silence and then he rose slowly to his
feet. “I’ll— tell him,” he replied un-
steadily. “Yes, let's hurry. You're
right, Augusta, there’s only one end-
ing to the story. But the man—he’s
a little blind, you see, and very dull.
He had’ waited so long.” He stood
still, his hands fumbling at his irre-
proachable tie, staring out vacantly
into the darkness.
Pen looked at him searchingly,
vaguely troubled. “You look tireder
than ever,” she murmured; “and I
thought you would be so beautifully
rested. Yes, let’s go home. Was it
the story that tired you, Noel? Was
he a great friend of yours, the wicked
for a while.
in the hedge!”
Pen managed with infinite cunning,
to let him beat her, and then pattered
quietly along at his side, sore at heart
for his trouble.
Pen quickened her step unconscious-
ly. She had a sudden uncontrollabie
longing for lights, and madre mia’s
soft warm arms about her, and ma-
dre mit’s dear gentle voice scolding
her for being out so late, and Gar-
rick’s strong, fine hand upon her curls.
But she wanted to take Noel with her.
She didn’t want to leave poor Noel out
in the cold and dark.
“Let’s hurry faster,” she begged
with a litle catch in her voice; and No-
el obediently “hurried faster.” By
the time they reached the veranda a
very Babel of laughing comment
greeted them.
Penelope beamed on them gracious-
ly, clinging securely to Randolph’s
hand. “W’ve had a perfec’ly beautiful
time,” she announced joyously, all her
previous misery cast to the winds.
I'll race you to the gap
“Oh, madre, are you very cross? It
wasn’t Noel's fault truly; I ——”
“Noel!” “Listen to her, Anne!”
“More progress in two hours than
I’ve made in two years.” “Oh, Pen,
you shameless flirt!”
Pen’s eyes brimmed with indignant
tears. “I don’t flirt,” she protested ve-
hemently. “And I think you're all
very impertinent.”
“Miss Thornton called me Noel at
my most urgent request,” interposed
Randolph lightly, but there was an
ominous ring in his voice. “And I
agree with her in thinking you're all
rather impertinent. Mrs. Morton,
we've had a most delightful evening,
for the truant part of which I am en-
tirely responsible. And will you ex-
cuse us for just five minutes more, so
that I can say good-by? I—I’ve been
afraid that if it’s not too inconvenient
I'll have to leave tonight.”
{ “We shall be sorry to have you go,”
| said madre mia graciously; “but I
| shall make arrangements.
{ that it is not bad news,
very urgent.”
Randolph god-by.”
The gay company trooped in, scat-
tering behind them a trail of laughter
and smiles and light-hearted jests.
And once more Pen and Randolph had
the veranda alone.
“Augusta,” said Noel, “I forgot to
tell you the name of that man, the
blind man in the story; do you re-
member ?”
my,” replied Pen, “so I don’t like
“He is my worst enemy,” said Ran-
dolph. “His—his name is Noel, Au-
gusta. Are you still glad that you
know me?”
Pen stepped back quickly, dropping
his hand, and the man quivered as
though he had received a blow. But
he did not take his strained eyes from
her, while the little set smile stayed
on his lips. And then in a small rush
Pen was on him, her arms fast about
him, shutting out the bitterness and
the wickedness and the pain, and “So
glad, Noel!” cried the soft, vehement
little voice, “So glad, so glad, Noel!”
—By Frances Noyes Hart, in The La-
dies’ Home Jurnal.
Trying Times.
The reconstruction period after the great
war is characterized by what may be call-
ed high pressure days. The demands of
business, the wants of the family, the re-
quirements of society, are more numerous
now than ever before,
The first effect of the praiseworthy ef-
fort to keep up with all these things is
commonly seen in a weakened or debili-
tated condition of the nervous system,
which results in dyspepsia, defective nu-
trition of both body and brain, and, in ex-
treme cases, in complete nervous prostra-
It is clearly seen that what is needed is
what will sustain the system, give vigor
and tone to the nerves, and keep the di-
gestive and assimilative functions healthy
and active. Many persons from their own
experience recommend Hood’s Sarsaparil-
la for this purpose. It acts on the vital
organs, builds up the system, and fits men
and women for these trying times.
In cases where there is biliousness or
constipation, it is well to take Hood's
Pills, They are a thorough cathartic, a
gentle laxative, 68-15
——— fp Ap ssn
A Sensitive Sole.
Colored Rookie—“I'd lahk to have a
new pair of shoes, suh.”
Sergeant—“Are your shoes worn
out!” :
Colored Rookie—“Worn out! Man,
the bottom of mah shoes are so thin
that ah can step on a dime and tell
whether it’s heads or tails,”—Dyecr-
“My worst enemy. Let’s forget him |
called away rather suddenly; I'm |
“You said he was your worst ene- |
I trust
Ran- |
. I duced to the public of today.
“I hardly know. But it is urgent, ° Ne ar Hay
“I quite understand. Pennie, dear :
kis me good night; I'm afraid that |
you're rather tired and excited, sweet- |
Just five minutes to bid Mr.
i Public Ledger.
Boss of Ditch Diggers Evolved Novo
Plan for Getting Results From
Gang Under Him.
Jethro Mills Boone, the efficiency
expert, said in a lecture in Chicago:
“The efliciency engineer studies
men’s motions and at once puts his
studies to practical use. Let me tell
you a story that contains a grain of
“A gang of men were digging a ditct
in a wet, sticky soil that was in con:
tinual danger of flooding.
“fAll cut!’ the efficient young bos:
yelled one morning.
“The mea were out like a flash.
“‘All in!’ the boss then yelled, an¢
the men tumbled back into the ditch
again, realizing that the call had beer
a false alarm.
“‘All out! came another yell.
“Out tumbled the men,
“All in!
“And they disappeared once more h
the hole, grumbling a little,
“Well, after half a dozen repetitions
of this business, the men got angry and
asked the boss what the dickens he
meant by it.
“‘What’s yer game? they snarled
‘There’s no water coming.’
“The efficient young boss smiled.
“‘T know there isn’t, he said, ‘but
I find that you fellows take out more |
dirt on your shoes than you do on your |
“And then, lifting up his
cheerily, he resumed the ola cry:
“All in!
“‘All out!?’”
Wagner's “Liebesverbot,” Practically
Forgotten, Is Soon to Be Issued
by a Berlin Firm.
Announcement that a Berlin firm of
music publishers is about to issue the
score of Wagner's “Liebesverbot” will
be hailed with acclaim by music lovers
throughout the world.
“Prohibition of Love,” to translate
the title, was written during the youth
of the famous composer, and shows
more plainly than do his other earlier
works the period of transition through
which he passed before he matured in-
to the producer of the compositions
which brought him fame and estab-
lished his particular school of music.
It is based on “Measure for Meas
ure.” It is the only Wagnerian compo-
sition in which the characters speak
some of the lines. Ninety years ago
the composition was given a perform-
ance in Magdeburg. It proved a dis
mal failure. It was never published, |
and on Christmas, 1866, Wagner him: |
self gave the score to Ludwig II of !
Bavaria. Since then, the manuscript:
has been preserved among the Bava. |
rian crown treasures,
Though the text of the opera has
been published, only fragments of the
music have been available in the past,
Preparations are being made through !
out music centers to give the offering !
an elaborate revival when it is intro '
Truck That Walks.
A German engineer has constructed
a motor truck which does not move on
wheels, hut not unlike the Martians
described by H. G. Wells in his “War
of the Worlds,” can stride with the
help of “legs” across deserts and
swamps, can wade “knee-deep” through
rivers, stamp through snowfields and
step across ditches, and fell tree trunks
and other obstacles In its path, says a
European dispatch to the Philadelphia
For this purpose it is
furnished with two pairs of skids, one
of which always rests on the ground,
while the other is moving forward with
the load. When “walking” normally
its stride measures about four feet in
length, but, like a human being, it can
regulate it when walking uphill or,
when stepping across an obstacle In its .
way. With its skids, which are ten’
feet long, it strides along the roads at’
a pace of six miles per hour, or about
twice as fast as an ordinary person’
can go. It can go backward, turn com-
pletely around {its axles without mov-
ing from the spot, and it even walks
sideways if required.
Revival of the Bicycle.
There is a marked revival of cycling
in England, and the cheapest known
form of transport, which has never
really waned in popularity, is finding
additional support by reason of recent
utterances by famous medicos. These
gentlemen declare that the pursuit of
cycling is healthier than any other;
that muscular effort and regular
breathing, which are the double-har-
ness steeds of cycling, are more con-
duclve to health than the remedial
physic of the medical profession. The
Olympia show reveals a magnificent
range of British pedal cycles.—British
Commercial News.
Legless Radiator Support.
By means of a new device, shown in
Popular Mechanics Magazine, the
bothersome legs of radiators, from
around which dirt is removed with dif-
fienlty, are done away with and the
radiator supported from the pipe con-
nections at the floor. Inconspicuous
well braces prevent the radiator from
tipping, and adjustable center rests
are provided for long radiators. The
attachments are adaptable to any size
or make of radiator.
Wouidn't Be Wasted.
Father invested in a fancy shirt
that proved to be much too short in
the sleeves.
‘Never mind, papa; don't worry, I'll
soon be big enough to wear it,” cried
Bobby, coming to the rescue—-Ex-
“Flivver” Proved Too Much for Pug-
nacious South African Animal
Who Objected to Its Presence.
The wild animals of South Africa do
not take kindly to such new-fangled
ideas as “flivvers.” as the following
incident. related by William McStay,
historian of H. A. Snow's expedition,
which has been hunting big game from
a motor car, will show:
“The wart hog, whose name fairly
well describes his appearance, fought
Snow’s machine to a standstill; to the
beast, the ‘liv’ was a new form of ene-
my. Snow encountered the wart hog
one day in driving a path across the
trackless waste. For amusement the
explorer chased the hog quite a dis-
tance, when, with suddenness and
ferocity, the beast turned to attack.
With slavering jowls and grunting de-
fiance the wart hog hurled itself
against the trusty flivver, the only car-
rier not susceptible to the death bite
of the tsetse fly. Its tusks ripped
the tires. Its hard head battered the
“Backward reeled the Tin Lizzie,
trembling in every member. Forward
she lunged again, thwacking the ani-
mal in broad beam. The latter charged
anew, again she retreated and again
she lunged like a gasoline billygoat.
Finally the wart hog gave up the
struggle and went and sat down afar
| off, watching the new enemy it could
not conquer, The beat’s attitude of
dejection was sufficient to cause laugh-
Science Has Discovered innumerable
Methods for Turning Rubbish
to Profitable Uses.
One of the most remarkable features
of modern life is that nothing need be
Science has discovered ways of turn-
ing every kind of rubbish into some-
thing useful. Refuse is burned in
specially constructed furnaces, and the
heat produced is turned into steam
which is used for driving the dynamos
that produce electric light. Even the
ashes are used to make cement.
Soapsuds, which formerly polluted
our rivers, are now strained, mixed
with lime, and pressed into bricks,
which, when burned, give three times
the amount of heat that a similar
quantity of coal gas would produce.
A dead horse can be put to almost
endless uses. The hair is turned in-
to hair-cloth and stuffing for mat-
tresses; the hide forms leather table
coverings; the tendons are made into
glue and gelatine; the flesh is used
as food for cats and dogs, and the
blood is manufactured into prussiate
of potash and manure. The bones
reappear as knifehandles.
Jelly has been made from old boots
{ and whisky from old shirts. Sawdust
can be made into quite eatable cakes,
and fish-scales into artificial pearls.
Superstitions of Thieves,
A laundryman who for eleven years
| used his coffin as a safe, was wise in
his generation, for it is not believed
that any thief would have meddled
with such a receptacle. Certainly no
professional burglar would have
touched it.
For the criminal classes, almost
without exception, are steeped in
queer beliefs in luck, omens and the
The burglar carefully avoids any
house where a death has recently
taken place. Anything black is ana-
thema to him. The black cat, which
to some people is an omen of good
fortune, to him is just the reverse.
Should a black cat be seen sitting on
the steps or sill of a house marked
down for plunder he will avoid it An-
other animal which terrifies him is a
blind dog.
Hudson's Bay Company.
The Hudson's Bay company, incor-
porated in 1670, connects, by uninter-
rupted lineage, the North American
wilds of the moving picture set with
the stern realties of an earlier day.
The first records of this stanch ex-
ample of British emprise contain the
following notation of a shipment made
to the company’s posts shortly after
the earllest expedition to Canada in
Two hundred fowling pieces with
powder and shot.
Two hundred copper kettles.
Twelve gross knives.
One thousand hatchets,
The copper kettles used today in
these northernmost outposts of eivili-
zation are practically identical In de-
sign with those of two centuries or
more ago.
Antidote for Boredom.
While prime minister of England
Lloyd George devised an antidote for
boredom. When he was entertaining or
being entertained he arranged to have
himself called on the telephone at cer-
tain intervals. If the company was dull
he discovered at the first ring that
affairs of state demanded his attention.
If the company was passable he
waited for the second ring. If he found
himself among kindred spirits, the calls
were in regard to matters that his sec-
retary could bring to a happy conclu-
None in Sight Now.
Jack—Tom, I'm in a terrible fix, I'm
engaged to three girls.
Tom—Well, that's pot exactly a
Jack—No, that's the worst of it. If
it were I could go to prison and have
some peace.—Boston Evening Tran-
script. !