Copyright b, Doubeaay aE 2% Ce. WNU Bervioce, - (Continued from last week.) SYNOPSIS BR 520 200ucing “So Big” DeJong) in his infancy. And his ther, Selina DeJong, daughter of eon Peaks, gambler and gentleman er life, to young woman- in Chicago in 1888, has been un- eonventional, somewhat seamy, but ig Vileyable, t school her hum §s_Julle Hempel, daughter of Av Hempel, butcher. Simeon is illed in a quarrel that is not his own, and Belina, nineteen years old and id destitute, becomes a school- Pins or. CHAPTER II—Selina secures a posi- tion as teacher at the High Prairie ool, in the outskirts of Chicago, {ving at the home of a truck farmer, laas Pool. id, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a 54req spirit, a lover of beauty, like itself. CHAPTER II1.—The monotonous life & country school-teacher at that me, is Selina’s, brightened somewhat y the companionship ot the sensitive, artistic boy Roelf. phi t IV.—Selina hears Kh In Roe twelve years ossip Snag the Beenie) of the 1 190w rien SIR ood-looking. for Pervus A poor truck farmer. who is insensible to the widow's at- ractions. For a community “sociable” elina Fisrares a lunch basket, dainty, ut not of ample proportions, which is ‘auctioned,” according to custom. The smallness of the lunch box excites deri- ion, and in a sense of fun the bidding peccmes spirited, DeJong finally secur- ng it for $10, a ridiculously high price. Over their lunch basket, whic elina and DeJong share together, the school- teacher arranges to instruct the good- atured farmer, whose education has en neglected. “_ me CHAPTER V.—Propinquity, in their Lor tions of “teacher’”’ and pupil,” and lina’'s loneliness in her uncongenial urroundinge, lead to mutual affection. ervus DeJong wins Selina’s consent to be his wife. “ CHAPTER VI.—Selina becomes . eJong, a ‘farmer's wife,” with all ardships unavoidable at that time. irk is born. Selina (of Vermont stock, businesslike and shrewd) has plans for building up the farm, which re ridiculed by her husband. Maartje Fool, Klaas’ wife, dies, and ‘after the requisite decent interval Klaas marries the “Widow Paarlenberg.” The boy oelf, sixteen years old now, leaves is home, to make his way to France and study, his ambition being to be- eome a sculptor. i : CHAPTER VIL-—Dirk is eight years ©1d when his father dies. Selina, faced with the necessity of making a living for her boy and herself. rises to the oocasion, and, with Dirk, takes a truck- oad of vegetables to the Chicago mar- ot. A woman selling in the market place is an innovation frowned upon. CHAPTER VIIL.—As a disposer of the vegetables from her truck Selina is a flat failure, buyers being shy of dealing with her. To a commission dealer she sells part of her stock. On the way home she peddles from door to door, with indifferent success. A oliceman demands her license. She as none, and during the ensuing alter- cation Selina's girlhood chum, Julie Bemps), now Julie Arnold, recognizes or. rey eer - mi: CHAPTER IX.—August Hempel, risen to prominence and wealth in the busi- ness world, arranges to assist Selina in making the farm something more of a paying proposition. Selina grate- fully accepts his help, for Dirk's sake. CHAPTER X.—Selina achieves the success with the farm which she knew was possible, her financial troubles ending. At eighteen Dirk enters Mid- west university. CHAPTER XI.—Dirk goes to Cornell university, intending to make architec- ture his life work, and on graduation enters the office of a firm of Chicago architects. Paula Arnold, daughter of Julie, enters his life. He would marry her, but she has a craving for wealth and takes Theodore Storm, millionaire, for her husband. The World war begins. > “Perhaps not simply because he haa a lot of money. But it certainly weuld be a factor, among other things.” Six months later Paula Arnold was married to Theodore A. Storm, a man of fifty, a friend of her father’s. head of so many companies, stockholder in 80 many banks, director of so many corporations that even old Aug Hemn- pel seemed a recluse from business in comparison. She never called him Teddy. No one ever did. Theodore Storm was a large man—not exactly stout, perhaps, but flabby. His inches saved him from grossness. He had a large white serious face, fine thick dark hair, graying at the temples. Within three years Paula had two children, a boy and a girl. “There! That’s done,” she said. Her marriage was a great mistake and she knew it. I'or the war, coming in 1914, a few months after her wedding, sent the Hempel-Arnold interests sky-rocketing. Millions of pounds of American beef and pork were shipped to Europe. In two years the Hempel fortune was greater than it ever had been. Paula was up to her eyes in relief work for Bleeding Belgium. Dirk had not seen her in months. She telephoned him unexpectedly one Friday afternoon in his office at Hol- lis & Sprague’s. “Come out and spend Saturday and Sunday with us, won't you? We're running away to the country this aft- ernoon. I'm go sick of Bleeding Bel- gium, you can't imagine. I'm sending the children out this morning. I can’t get away so early, I'll call for you in the roadster this afternoon at four and drive you out myself.” “I don’t think I—" “I'll call for you at four. I'll be at the curb. Don't keep me waiting, will youl” ~~ Ce a————— as —— . . able faded old armchair whose bro- During the process of furnishing Se- Chapter XII In town Dirk lived in a large front room and alcove on the third floor of a handsome old-fashioned three-story- and-basement house. He used the front room as a living room, the alcove as a bedroom. He and Selina had fur- nished it together, discarding all of the room's original belongings except the bed, a table, and one fat comfort- cade surface hinted a past grandeur. When he had got his books ranged in open shelves along one wall, soft-shad- ed lamps on table and desk, the place looked more than livable; lived in. lina got into the way of coming into town for a day or two to prowl the auction rooms and the second-hand stores. She had a genius for this sort of thing; hated the spick-and-span var- nish and veneer of the new furniture | to be got in the reguiar way. She enjoyed these rare trips into town; made a holiday of them. Dirk would take her to the theater and she would sit entranced. Strangely enough, considering the lack of what the world calls romance and adventure in her life, she did not like the motion pic- tures. “All the difference in the world,” she would say, “between the movies and the thrill I get out of a play at the theater. My, yes! Like fooiing with paper dolls when you eculd be playing with a real live baby.” The day was marvelously mild for March in Chicago. Spring, usually so coy in this region, had flung herself ot fhem head first. As the mmussive re- selving deor of Dirk's office building fanned him into the street he saw going up on the corner of Milwaukee avenue and Ashland, west.” “And ten years from now?” “Ten years from now maybe they'll let me do the plans fer the drygoods box all alone.” “Why don’t you drop it?” He was startled. “Drop it! do you mean?” “Chuck it. Do something tht will bring you quick results. This isn’t an age of waiting. Suppose, twenty years from now, you do plan a grand Gothic office building to grace this new and How always shouting about! You'll be a middle-aged man living in a middle- class. house in a middle-class suburb with a middle-class wife.” “Maybe”—slightly nettled. They turned in at the gates of Stormwood. A final turn of the drive. An avenue of trees. A house, massive, pillared, porticoed. The door opened as they drew up at the entrance. A maid in cap and apron stood in the doorway. A man appeared at the side of the car, coming seemingly from no- where, greeted Paula civilly and drove the car off. The glow of an open fire in the hall welcomed them. “He'll bring up your bag” said Paula. “How're the babies, Anna? Has Mr. Storm got here?” “He telephoned, Mrs. Storm. He says he won't be out till late—maybe ten or after. Anyway, you're not to wait dinner’ Paula, from being the limp, expert, fearless driver of the high-powered roadster was now suddenly very mucn servant, giving an order with a lift of the eyebrow or a nod of the head. Would Dirk like to go to his room st once? Dinner at seven-thirty. He needn't dress. Just as he liked. Ev- erything was very informal here. They roughed it. (Dirk had counted thirteen servants by noon next day and hadn't been near the kitchen.) He decided to bathe and change into dinner clothes and was giad of this when he found Paula in black chiffon before the fire in the great beamed room she had called the library. Dirk thought she looked very beautiful in that diaphanous stuff, with the pearls. Her heart-shaped face, with its large eyes that slanted a little at the cor- ners; her long slim throat; her dark hair piled high and away from her lit- tle ears. He decided not to men- tien it. Dirk told himself that Paula had known her husband would not he home until ten and had deliberateiy planned a tete-a-tete meal. He would not. therefore. confess himself a little net- fled whea Pauls g=id *““Vve asked the Emerys In for dinner: and we'll have Paula in her long low sporting road- ster at the curb. She was dressed in : black. All feminine fashionable and middle-class Chicago was dressed in black. All feminine fashionable and middle-class America was dressed in black. Two years of war had robbed | Paris of its husbands, brothers, sons. All Paris walked in black. America, untouched, gayly borrowed the smart habiliments of mourning and now Michigan boulevard and Fifth avenue | walked demurely in the gloom of crepe and chiffon; black hats, black gloves, black slippers. Only black was “good” this year. Paula smiled up at him, patted the leather seat beside her with one hand that was absurdly thick-fingered in its fur-lined glove. “It's cold driving. Button up tight. Where'll we stop for your bag?” He climbed into the seat beside her. Her manipulation of the wheel was witchcraft. The roadster slid in and out of traffic like a fluid thing, an enamel stream, silent as a swift cur- rent in a river. When his house was reached, “I'm coming up,” she said. “I suppose you haven't any tea?” “Gosh, no! What do you think I am! A young man in an English novel 1” : “Now, don't be provincial and Chi- cagoish, Dirk.” They climbed the three flights of stairs. She looked about. Her glance was not disapproy- ing. “This isn’t so bad. Who did it? She did! Very nice. But of course vou ought to have your own smart litthe ‘apartment, with a Jap to do you up. To do that for you, for example.” “Yes,” grimly. He was packing his bag—not throwing clothes into it, but folding them deftly, neatly, as the son of a wise mother packs. “My =al- ary’d just about keep him in white linen house-coats.” “I'm going to send you some things for your room, Dirk.” “For God's sake don't!” “Why not?” “Two kinds of women in the world. I learned that at college. Those who send men things for their rooms and those that don’t.” “You're very rude.” “You asked me. There! I'm all set.” He snapped the lock of his bag. “I'm sorry I can’t give you anything. I haven't a thing. Not even a glass of wine and a—what is it they say in books ?—oh, yeh—a biscuit.” In the roadster again Paula main- tained a fierce and steady speed for the remainder of the drive. “We call the place Stormwood,” Paula told him. “And nobody outside the dear family knows how fitting that i is. Don’t scowl. I'm not going to tell you my marital woes. And don’t you say I asked for it. . . . How's the job?" “Rotten.” “You don’t like it? The work?” “I like it well enough, only—well,’ you see we leave the university archi- tectural course thinking we're all go- ing to be Stanford Whites or Cass Gil- berts, tossing off a Woolworth build- ing and making ourselves famous over- a game of bridge afterward. Phil Emery, you know, the Third. He used to have it on his visiting card, like EY . y I oxulty 1 The Emerys were drygoods;=had glorified Michigan boulevard they're |! the mistress of the house, quietly ob- . crowd that I respect. cess! been drygoods for sixty years; were accounted Chicago aristocracy; pre- ferred England; rode to hounds in pink coats along Chicago's prim and startled suburban prairies, estate on the lake near Stormwood. They arrived a trifle late. Dirk had geen pictures of old Phillip Emery (“Phillip the First,” he thought, with an inward grin) and decided, looking at the rather anemic third edition, that the stock was running a little thin. The dinner was delicious but surpris- ingly simple; little more than Selina would have given him, Dirk thought, had he come home to the farm this week-end. The talk was desultory and rather dull. And this chap had mil- lions, Dirk said to himself. Millions. No scratching in an architect’s office for this lad. At bridge after dinner Phillip the Third proved to be sufficiently the son of his father to win from Dirk more money than he could conveniently af- ford to lose. Theodore Storm came in at ten and stood watching them. When the guests had left the three sat before the fire. “Something to drink?’ Storm asked Dirk. Dirk refused but Storm mixed a stiff highball for himself, and then another. The whisky brought no flush to his large white impassive face. He talked almost not at all. Dirk, nat- urally silent, was loquacious by com- parison. But while there was nothing hedvy, unvital about Dirk's silence, this man's was oppressive, irritating. His paunch, his fargé white hands, his great white face gave the effect of bleached bloodless bulk. “I don’t see how she stands him,” Dirk thought. Husband and wife seemed to be on terms of polite friendliness. Storm ex- cused himself and took himself off with a word about being tired, and seeing them in the morning. After he had gone: “He likes you,” said Paula. “Important,” sald Dirk, “if true.” “But it is important. He can help you a lot.” “Help me how? I don't want—" “But I do. I want you to be suc- cessful. I want you to be. You can be. You've got it written all over you. In the way you stand, and talk, -and don’t talk. In the way you look at people. In something in the way you carry yourself. It's what they call force, I suppose. Anyway, you've got it.” “Has your husband got it?” “Theodore! No! That is—" “There you are. I've got the force, but he’s got the money.” “You can have both.” She was leaning forward. Her eyes were bright, enormous. Her hands—those thin dark hot hands—were twisted in her lap. He looked at her quietly. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. “Don’t iook at me that way, Dirk.” She huddled back in her chair, limp. She looked a little haggard and older, night, I've spent all yesterday and to- day planning & drygoods box that’s somehow. “My marriage is a mess, [ of course. You can see that.” “You knew it would be, didn’t you?” “No. Yes. Oh, I dor’t know. Any- way, what’s the difference, now? I'm not trying to be what they call an Influence in your life. I'm just fond of you—you know that—and I want you to be great and successful. It's maternal, I suppose.” “I should think two babies would satisfy that urge.” “Oh, I can’t get excited about two pink healthy lumps of babies. I love them and all that, but all they need is to have a bottle stuffed into their mouths at proper intervals and to be bathed, and dressed and aired and slept. It’s a mechanical routine and about as exciting as a treadmill.” “Just what do you want me to do, Paula?” She was eager again, vitally con- cerned in him. “It’s all so ridiculous. All these men whose incomes are thir- ty—forty—sixty—a hundred thousand a year usually haven't any qualities, really, that the five-thousand-a-year man hasn't. Somebody has to get the fifty-thousand-dollar salaries—some ad- vertising man, or bond salesman or— why, iook at Phil Emery! He prob- ably couldn’t sell a yard of pink rib- bon to a schoolgirl if he had to. Look at Theodore! He just sits and blinks and says nothing. But when the time comes he doublesup. his fat white fist and mumblés, ‘Ten ‘million,’ or ‘Fif- teen million,” and that settles it.” Dirk laughed to hide his own little mounting sensation of excitement. “It isn’t quite as simple as that, I imag- ine. There's more to it than meets the eye.” “There isn't! 1 tell you I know the whole crowd of them. I've been brought up with this moneyed pack all my life, haven't I? Pork packers and wheat grabbers and peddlers of gas and electric light and dry goods. Grandfather's the oniy one of the He has stayed the same. They car’t fool him. He knows he just happened to go into wholesale beef and pork when whole- sale beef and pork was a new game in Chicago. Now look at him!” “Still, you wili admit there's some- thing in knowing when,” he argued. Paula stood up. “If you don’t know Ill tell you. Now is when. I've got Grandfather and Dad and Theodore to work with. You can go on being un architect if you want to. It's a fine enough profession. But unless you're a genins where'll it get you! Go in with them, and Dirk, in five years—" “What!” They were both standing, facing each other, she tense, eager; he relaxed but stimulated. “Try it and see what, Will you, Dirk?” J “I don’t know, Paula. I should suy. » will you! ny mother wouldn't think much of it,” “What does she know! Oh. I don't mean that she isn't a fine, wonderful person. She is. I love her. But su She thinks success is another acre of asparagus or cabbage; or a new stove in the kitchen now that , they’ve brought gas out as far as High They had a vast | Prairie.” He had a feeling that she possessed him; that her hot eager hands held him though they stood apart and eyed each other almost hostilely. As he undressed that night he thought, “Now what's her game? What's she up to? Be careful, Dirk, old hov.” As he lay in the soft bed with the satin coverlet over him he thought, “Now what's her little game!” He awoke at eight, enormously hun- gry. He wondered, uneasily, just how he was going to get his breakfast. She had said his breakfast would be brought him in his room. He stretched luxuriously, sprang up, turned on his bath water, bathed. When he emerged in dressing gown and slippers his breakfast tray had been brought him mysteriously and its contents lay ap- petizingly on a little portable table. There were flocks of small covered dishes and a charming individual coffee service. A little note from. Paula: “Would you like to take walk at about half-past nine? Stroll down to the stables. I want to show you my new horse,” The distance from the house to the stables was actually quite a brisk lit- tle walk in itself. Paula, in riding clothes, was waiting for him. She greeted him. “I've been out “yf Used to Ride the Old Nags, Bare- back, on the Farm.” J two hours. You ride, don’t you?” (Continued next week.) Had my ride. FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. - DAILY THOUGHT. Other men’s sins are before our our own behind our backs.—Seneca. Horse’s Neck.—Perhaps the most agreeable and healthful of all cold drinks are those made with lemons. Starting with the simpler variations of an eternally popular theme, we give a recipe for an easily made horse’s-neck—most refreshing after tennis or golf. A thin-skinned lemon is peeled in one long strip, and the peel is arrang- ed in the glass so that one end hangs over. Into the shaker are put cracked ice, the juice of the lemon, a heaping tablespoonful of sugar, the juice of half a grapefruit, and a dash of orange bitters. After this mixture is shaken and chilled, it is turned into the glass with the peel, and the glass is filled with ginger ale. A little shaved ice may be added if one wishes the drink to be very cold. eyes; Lemonade for Large Parties.—No child’s birthday fete—or, indeed, no grown-up one’s, for that matter,— is complete without a huge bowl of fruit lemonade; and, for a large party, we suggest this recipe which requires the juice of eighteen lemons, the grated peel of two additional lemons, and the juice of six oranges and of two grape- fruits. Two pounds of sugar are put into a saucepan with cne quart of wa- ter. When the sugar is melted, the utes. It is then skimmed, removed from the fire, and cooled, and the fruit juice is added to it. The mixture is then set away to chill. When it is time to serve the drink, half this mix- ture is strained into the punch-bowl, and two quarts of charged water are added. The bowl is set into a larger receptacle of cracked ice. Charged water is added to the second half of the sweetened fruit juice as needed. Instead of being used as a punch, this drink, of course, may be shaken with cracked ice in a shaker and then pour- ed into glasses. It may be made more attractive by the addition of a little fruit syrup, such as half a cupful of currant or raspberry syrup, a few fresh pineapple sticks, and a thinly sliced banana. In passing, let me say we are not bobbing the hair—hat. This accesso- ry has mounted into a position of su- preme importance in the summer wardrobe. For wear with either the elaborate organdie or with the chiffon afternoon frock, the big pictorial hat of this delicate straw is encountered on every hand. Frequently it has a short brim in the back which is turned up to contrast with the sheltering front brim, and its trimming runs through a range of fioral, ribbon and velvet ideas. Our last model is a fine French {voile in white which gains one’s im- i mediate support through the fact that | the distinguished tunic top may b worn over various colored silk slips. | In this case a green foundation is | chosen, and this color is repeated in : the Jacob’s ladder of green voile hold- ling together sleeves and yoke of real | filet lace. The front is ornamented by | lines of drawn work, 'This final mod- i lel belongs, of course, to the category of the more formal lingerie creations, ard may be worn at either the big summer garden party or the Casino lunch. Bright bands, always a favorite means of trimming children’s clothes, are more than ever stressed this sea- son. Junior dresses for afternoon and evening often use bands of flower pat- terns. Sometimes voile or georgette | frocks are printed with floral strips on {a white or one-toned ground, thus eliminating the necessity for further ornamentation. One clever little frock used on one side of an apple green voile a band of embroidery in apple blossom pink worked out on a white ground. Anoth- er favorite way of using embroidered bands is to place them across the top of that group of plaits which so often appears directly in front. They may also produce a bolero effect on a one- piece frock by tracing the outline of a little jacket. It’s a long waist that has no turn- ing! O, yes, quite true, but that pro- lix waist of ours has not completely ‘turned yet. Witness to this is found in some of the latest imports from Paris. The fact is that, in spite of all this propaganda about natural waists, we cling tenaciously to the unnatural ones. ln dance and afternoon gowns, to be sure, our normalcy seems to be pretty well established. In sports clothes, and in many of the little in- formal street and resort frocks we find a famished-looking skirt in con- nection with an elongated top. When you speak of the jabot you come upon the real pillar of the porch dress. It is used in a hundred differ- ent versions, and always it contributes its quota of color contrast and novel- ty. For example, a charming little white dimity dotted in red is complet- ed with a collar frill and jabot of plaited red organdy. Similarly, a coat dress of powder-blue handkerchief lin- en closes with one jaboted revere of finely plaited white organdy. Thus it cascades through all the morning cre- ations of cotton—a waterfall supply- ing no end of style power. , Another element of style interest is centered in the tiers which are con- centrated, apron-like upon the front of the gown. Incidentally, in fact, these tiers are featured in many other types of summer clothes, and they are especially noteworthy in some of the new chiffon dance frocks. As an il- lustration of their function in the lin- gerie domain I think immediately of a lovely French voile—buff of back- ground and blue of design, which em- ! ployed this tiered apron to define the long front waistline. Each tier was {bound in the same plain blue piping, short sleeves and round neckline. In the back a higher waistline was pre- scribed through the medium of a nar- row girdle. This frock I have just described had for its design the popular coin dot. And speaking of these—well, if we start we shall never end. For they're minting these coin dots by the whole- sale in all the cotton, as well as the silk and cotton mixtures, liquid is allowed to boil for.two min- € | FARM NOTES. —Milk kept cold does not sour : readily. Bacteria which cause sour- ing make little growth in tempera- tures below 60 degrees Fahrenheit. —While busy with farm work do not neglect the young calves. For best results, calves should not be turned out on grass until three months of age. —If any stock are pastured away from home or with other stock they should carry identification marks. Ownership may then be established easily. A tattoo or notch in the ear cannot be lost. —Simple records will show how much the garden is worth to the fam- ily. Such records show rental value of land; depreciation on tools; sup- plies, such. as seeds, fertilizers, ete.; labor; amounts of vegetables harvest- ed, and their cash value at the farm. —In 1923 the average amount of seed used by the 400-Bushel Potato club members was 17.5 bushels per acre. In 1924 it was 20 bushels. The amount of seed used per acre has an influence on the yield, say crop spe- cialists of The Pennsylvania State College. J —Buying and using small, inferior stallions is a mistake many new horse breeders make. Cheap prices should { not be the sole guide to buying. Con- sider size and type if good results are expected. Disappointment lurks around the corner forsthe man who does not choose the sire of his colts wisely. : —Red mites and body lice are the chief parasites on chickens during the summer months. Oil drained from the crank case of the automobile or tractor may be used to paint the roosts and nests for the control of the mites. Sodium fluoride dusted into the feathers around the vent and over the breast is a good cure for the lice. —Aim for More Eggs—A cool, clean house, plenty of mash, grain, with a side dish of succulent green feed, and lice and mites held in check will supply the farm flock with ideal conditions for summer egg production. Along with this cull the fiock every two or three weeks. By so doing the layers should produce 18 eggs per bird in June, 16 in July, 16 in August and 7 in September. —Colts should have a little grain to supplement their rations when pas- tures get short during the summer. If there is no natural shade they should be brought in during the day time and let out at night. Cool drinking wa- ter, nice legume hay and some oats will make a good combination for the colt while he is indoors. Once every month level up the colt’s feet so that he will develop nice straight limbs. —The high perishability of eggs, especially during warm weather, makes it important that great care be | exercised when making purchases. { The following points are suggested by | E. J. Lawless Jr., specialist in poul- | try marketing, Pennsylvania Depart- {ment of Agriculture, to aid house- | wives in having an egg supply of high | quality: - Purchase eggs from persons or i firms that guarantee quality. Buy only a week's supply at one time unless they are to be held in cold storage. Candle eggs occasionally to see how they grade. Return all poor eggs. Lower grade eggs can be used for cooking. Keep eggs place. Do not keep eggs near products that have distinct odors. Break eggs in a separate dish be- fore using. Buy direct from producer wilerever the opportunity permits. on your own poultry where pos- sible. —According to George A. Stuart, grain marketing expert of the Bureau of Markets, the farmer will receive a higher premium for his labor if the wheat is sold on grade; the shipper will be guided in loading - cars with graded wheat, and the miller will be protected against buying a product that he cannot mill. If he markets graded wheat, the farmer who has poor wheat will learn the cause of the low grade and -like- wise will andrestand what conditions he must correct to receive a premium for his labors. Every farmer should know whether his wheat grades “garlicky” when marketed. If there is one or more garlic bulblet in 2.2 pounds of the grain, it goes into this grade and re- ceives a discount of seven to twenty cents a bushel depending upon the season. Baking tests show that garlicky wheat does not ordinarily impart an odor of garlic to the bread made from it if dry bulblets are present in small quantities, but if new and juicy, they will impart the odor, even in small quantities, and will seriously interfere with milling. —Only fair crops of apples, peach- es and pears are now expected in the United States this year, Department of Agriculture crop officials declare. Frosts in late May reduced prospects in many scattered sections, particular- ly in some of the central States, Vir- ginia, Michigan, and portions of New York. The condition of apples on June 1 was nearly 10 per cent. below the usu- al average on that date. The north- western States expect more apples than were picked last year, but for t' c country as a whole the crop sees likely to be lighter, although much de- pends on the rainfall during the next few months. : Peach production shows a large in- crease in California where most of the crop is canned or dried, but in practically all other important States the crop is expected to be substan- tially smaller than last year. Even in Georgia, where many young trees are coming into bearing, the crop is ex- pected to be less than 7,000,000 bush- els compared with 8,333,000 bushels last year. ; The pear crop also is reported only fair this year, California alone among the important producing States ex- pecting materially larger crop than in the preceding season. in a cool, fairly dry
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers