Copyright by
Doubleday, eS EA
WNU Service,
*
(Continued from last week.)
SYNOPSIS
~—Introducing “So Big”
in his Infancy. And his
DeJong, daughter of
eon Peake, gambler and gentleman
fortune. er life, to young woman-
in Chicago in 1888, has been un-
eonventional, somewhat seamy, but
BR
k Dejons)
Seoorally A jorable. fs school her
um is Julie Hempel, daughter of
Simeon is
Sfust Hempel, butcher.
filled in a quarrel that is not his own,
and Belina, nineteen years old and
Practicauy destitute, becomes a school-
or.
CHAPTER II—Selina secures a posi-
tion as teacher at the High Prairie
ool, in the outskirts of Chicago,
living at the home of a truck farmer.
8 Pool. In Roelf, twelve years
1d, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a
adred spirit, a lover of beauty, like
‘herself.
CHAPTER IIL.—The monotonous life
& country school-teacher at that
is Selina’s, brightened somewhat
y the companionship ot the sensitive,
artistic boy Roelf.
CHAPTER IV.—Selina hears gossip
Fnceraing the affection of the “Widow
aarlenberg,” rich and good-looking.
for Pervus DeJong, poor truck farmer,
who is insensible to the widow's at-
tions. For a community “sociable”
elina Frsparen 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
Pecomes spirited, DeJong finally secur-
ng it for §10, & ridiculously high price.
Over their lunch basket, whic elina
and DeJong share together, the school-
teacher arranges to instruct the good-
fatured farmer, whose education has
en neglected.
CHAPTER V.—Propinquity, in their
sitions of “teacher” and “pupil,” and
elina’s loneliness in her uncongenial
, gurroundings, lead to mutual affection.
Pervus DeJong wins Selina’'s consent
be his wife.
CHAPTER VI.—Selina becomes Mrs.
eJong, a “farmer's wife,” with all the
ardships unavoidable at that time.
irk is born. Selina (of Vermont
stock, businesslike and shrewd) har
plans for building up the farm, which
re ridiculed by her husband. Maartje
Foor, Klaas’ wife, dies, and after the
requisite decent interval Klaas marries
the “Widow Paarienberg.” The boy
oelf, sixteen years old now, leaves
is home, to make his way to France
and study, his ambition being to be-
@#ome a sculptor.
CHAPTER VIL-—Dirk is eight years
old when his father dies. Selina, faced
ith thé necessity of making a living
or her boy and herself, rises to the
oocasion, and, with Dirk, takes a truck- {
jon of vegetables to the Chicago mar-
t. 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
& flat failure, buyers being shy of
€ealing with her. To a commission
@ealier she sells part of her stock. On
the way home she peddles from door
to door, with indifferent success. A
policeman demands her license. She
a8 none, and during the ensuing alter-
cation Selina's girlhood chum, Julie
flempel, now Julie Arnold, recognizes
er.
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
8 paving 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 elghteen Dirk enters Mid-
west university.
CHAPTER XI—Dirk goes to Corneli
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.
“I used to ride the old nags, bare
back, on the farm.”
“You'll have to learn. Then I'h
have some one to ride witls me. Theo-
dore never rides. He never takes any
sort of exercise,
fat car of his.”
They went into the coach house, a
great airy white-washed place with
glittering harness and spurs and
bridles like jewels in glass cases. It
gave Dirk a little hopeless feeling, He
had never before seen anything like
it.
Paula laughed up at him, her dark
face upturned to his.
Something had annoyed him, she
saw, Would he wait while she
changed to walking things? Or per-
haps he’d rather drive In the roadster.
They walked up to the house together.
Fe wished that she would not consult
his wishes so anxiously. It made him
sulky, impatient.
She put a hand on his arm. “Dirk,
are you annoyed at me for what I said
last night?”
“No.”
“What did you think when you went
to your room last night? Tell me.
What did you think?”
“I thought: ‘She's bored with her
husband and she’s trying to vamp me.
I'll have to be careful.”
Paula laughed delightedly. “That's
nice and frank . . . What else?”
“I thought my coat didn't fit very
well and I wished I could afford to
have Peel make my next one.”
“You can,” said Paula.
Chapter XIII
As it turned out, Dirk was spsred
the necessity of worrying about the fit
of his next dinner coat for the fol-
lowing year and a half. His coat, dur
ing that period, was a neat olive drab
Sits in that great,
as wi. that of some millions of young
men of his age, or thereabouts. Most
of that time hie spent at For( Sheridan,
first as an officer in training, then as
an officer training others to be officers.
He was excellent at this job. Infiu-
ence put him there and kept him there
even after he began to chafe at the re-
straint.
In the last six months of ir (though
ne did not, of course, know that it
was to be the last six months) Dirk
tried desperately to get to France. lle
was suddenly sick of the meat job at
home; of the dinners; of the smug
routine; of the olive-drah motor car
that whisked him wkerever he wanted
to go (he had a captaincy): of mak-
ing then “snap into it”; of Paula; of
us mother, even. Two months before
tne war's close he succeeded In getting
over; hut Paris was his headquare- i
ters.
Between Dirk and his mother the
first rift had appeared.
| te the Noon
Within one year he was so successful
that you could hardly distinguish him
from a hundred other successful young
Chicago business and professional men
whose clothes were made at Peel's:
who lunched at the Noon club on the
roof of the First National bank where
Chicago’s millionaires ate corned-beef
hash whenever that plebeian dish ap-
peared on the bill of Far He had
had a little thrill out ‘of his first meal
at this club wheSe membership was
made up of the “big men” of the city’s
financial circle. Now he could even
feel a little flicker of contempt for
them. He had known old Aug Hem-
pel, of course, for years, as well as
Michael Arnold, and, later, Phillip Em-
ery, Theodore Storm, and others. But
he had expected these men to be differ-
ent.
They were not at nll the American
Big Business Man of the comic papers
| and of fiction—that yellow, nervous,
dyspeptic creature who lunches off
milk and pie. They were divided. into
two definite types. The older men of
between fifty and sixty weve great
high-colored fellows of full habit.
Thelr faces were impassive, their eyes
shrewd. hard. Their talk was collogui-
al and frequently illiterate. They often
said “was” for “were.” “Was you go-
ing to see Baldwin about that South
American stuff or is he going to ship
it through without?” Most of them
had known little of play in their youth
2nd now they played ponderously and
a little sadly and yet eagerly as does
one to whom the gift of leisure had
come too late. They ruined their pal-
ates und livers with strong cigars,
thinkin: cigarette smoking undignified
and pires common. Only a few were
£0 rich. so assured as to smoke cheap
light j.anatellas. Old Aug Hempel
was oue of these. Dirk noticed that
when he made one of his rare visits
club his entrance wus
met th a little stir, a deference. He
ws nearing seventy-five now; was sti’i
| stra‘ent, strong zestful of life; a mag
niteent ol huccaneer among the per. |
“If I were & man,” Selina sald, *T'4
make up my mind straight about this
war and then I'd do one of two things.
I'd go into it the way Jan Snip goes
at forking the manure pile—a dirty
Job that’s got to be cleaned up; or I'd
refuse to do it altogether if I didn’t
believe in it as a job for me. I'd fight,
or I'd be a conscientious objector.
There's nothing in between for any
one who isn't old or crippled, or sick.”
Paula was aghast when she heard
this, So was Julie whose wallings
had been loud when Eugene had gone
into the air service. He was in France
now, thoroughly happy. “Do you
mean,” demanded Paula, “that you ac-
tually want Dirk to go over there and
be wounded or killed!”
“No. If Dirk were killed my life
would stop. I'd go on living, I suppose,
but my life would have stopped.”
They all were doing some share in
the work to be done, :
Selina had thought about her own
place in this war welter. She had
wanted to do canteen work in France
but had decided against this as be-
ing selfish. “The thing for me to do.”
she said, “is to go on raising vege-
tables and hogs as fast as I can.” She
supplied countless households with
free food while their men were gone.
She herself worked like a man, tak-
ing the place of the able-bodied helper
who had been employed on her farm.
Paula was lovely in her Red Cross
uniform. She persuaded Dirk to go
into the Liberty bond selling drive
and he was unexpectedly effective in
his quiet, serious way; most convine-
ing and undeniably thrilling to look
at in uniform. Paula’s little air of pos-
session had grown until now it en-
veloped him. She wasn’t playing now;
was deeply and terribly in love with
him.
When, in 1918, Dirk took off his uni-
form he went into the bond depart-
ment of the Great Lakes Trust com-
pany in which Theodore Storm had a
large interest. He said that the war !
had disillusioned him.
“What did you think war was going
to do?” said Selina, “Purify! It never |
has yet.”
It was understood, by Selina at |
least, that Dirk’s abandoning of his
profession was a temporary thing.
Quick as she usually was to arrive at
conclusions, she did not realize until
too late that this son of hers had def-
initely deserted building for bonds;
that the only structures he would rear
were her own castles in Spain. His
first two months as a bond salesman
netted him more than a year's salary
at his old post at Hollis & Sprague’s.
When he told this to Selina, in tri-
umph, she said, “Yes, but there isn’t
much fun in it, is there? This selling
things on paper? Now architecture,
that must be thrilling. Putting a build-
Ing down on paper—little marks here,
straight lines there, figures, calcula-
tions, blueprints, measurements—and
then, suddenly one day. the actual
building itself. Steel and stone and
brick, with engines throbbing inside it
like a heart, and people flowing in and
out. Part of a city. A piece of actual
beauty conceived by you! Oh, Dirk!”
To see her face then must have given
him a pang, it was so alive, so eager.
He found excuses for himself. “Sell-
Ing bonds that make that building pos-
sible isn’t so dull, either.”
But she waved that aside almost
contemptuously. “What nonsense,
Dirk. It’s like selling seats at the box
office of a theater for the play in-
side.”
Dirk had made many new friends In
the last year and a half. ‘More than
that, he had acquired a new manner;
an air of quiet authority, of assur-
ance. The profession of architecture
was put definitely behind him. He did
not say fo Selina that he had put the
other work from him. But after six
monthe in his new position he knew
that he would never go back.
From the start he was @ success. |
- see the time when—
tier crew. His had been the direct
and brutal method—swish! swash!
and his enemies walked the plank, The
Younger men eyed him with a certain
amusement and respect.
These younger men whose ages
ranged from twenty-eight to forty-five
were disciples of the new system in
business. They were graduates of uni-
versities. They had known luxury all
their lives. They were the sons or
grandsons of those bearded, rugged,
and rather terrible old boys who, in
1835 or 1840, had come out of County
Limerick or County Kilkenny or out
of Scotland or the Rhineland to mold
this new country in their strong hairy
hands.
Dirk listened to the talk of the Noon
club, looking about him carefully, ap-
praisingly. The president of an ad-
¢ vertising firm lunching with a banker;
a bond salesman talking to a rare book
. collector; a packer seated at a small
|
|
| Well.
table with Horatio Craft, the sculptor.
Two years and Dirk had learnée to
“grab the Century” in order to save
an hour or so of time between Chicago
and New York. Peel said it was a
tapering back, and trousers to his
strong sturdy legs.. His color, inher-
“They were boy and girl together,”
Selina interrupted, feebly.
“They’re not any more.
silly, Selina.
that.”
No, she was not as young as that.
When Dirk next paid one of his rare
visits to the farm she called him into
her bedroom—the cool, dim shabby
bedroom with the old black walnut bed
in which she had lain as Pervus De-
Jong’s bride more than thirty years
ago. She looked somehow girlish In
the dim light, her great soft eyes gaz-
ing up at him.
“Dirk, sit down here at the side of
my bed the way you used to.”
“Im dead tired, Mother. Twenty-
seven holes of golf before I came
out.”
“I know. You ache all over—a nice
kind of ache. I used to feel like that
when I'd worked in the fields all day,
pulling vegetables, or planting.” He
was silent. She caught his hand.
“You' didn’t like that. My saying that.
I'm sorry. I didn’t say it to make you
feel had. dear.”
“IL know you didn’t, Mother.”
Don’t be
You're not as young as
“Dirk, do you know what that wom- |
2a who writes the society news in the
Sunday Tribune called you today?”
“No.. What? 1 never read it.”
“She said you were one of the
Jeunesse doree.”
Dirk grinned. “Gosh!”
at Miss Fister’'s school to know that
that means gilded youth.”
“Me! That's good! I'm not even
spangled.”
“Dirk!” her voice was low, vibrant.
“Dirk. 1 don’t want you to be a gilded
youth. I don’t care how thick the
gilding. Dirk, that isn’t what I worked
in the san and cold for. I'm not re-
proachikg you: I didn’t mind tho work.
Fergive me for even mentioning ft.
sur, Dirk, I don’t want my son to he
known as one of the jeunesse doree,
We! Not my son!”
“Now, Hsten, Mother. That's fool-
ish. If you're going to talk like that.
Like a mother in a melodrama whose
son’s gone wrong. . . . I work like
a dog. You know that. You get the
wrong angle on things, stuck out here
on this little farm.”
She sat up in bed, looking down at
the thin end of her braid as she twined
it round and round her finger. “Dirk,
do you know sometimes I actually think
that If you stayed here on the farm—"
“Good G—d, Mother! What for!”
“Oh, I don’t know. Time to dream.
Time to—no, I suppose that isn’t true
any more. I suppose the day is past
when the genius came from the farm.
Machinery has cut into his dreams.
Patent binders, plows, reapers—he’s a
mechanic. He hasn't time to dream.
She lay back, looked up at him,
“Dirk, why don’t you marry?”
“Why—there’s no one I want to mar-
ry.”
“No one who's free, you mean?”
He stood up. “I mean no one.”
He stooped and kissed her lightly. Her |
arms went round him close. Her hand
i with the thick gold wedding band on
pleasure to fit a coat to his broad, flat
ited from his red-cheeked Dutch an- °
cestors brought up in the fresh sea-
laden air of the Holland flats, was fine
and clear. Sometimes Selina, in pure
sensuous delight, passed her gnarled,
work-worn hand over his shoulders and
down his fine, strong, straight back.
He had been abroad twice. He learned
to call it “running over to Europe |
It had all come ,
for a few days.”
about in a scant two years, as is the
theatrical way in which life speeds
in America. ~
Selina was a little bewildered now
at this new Dirk whose life was so full
without her. Sometimes she did not
see him for two weeks, or three.
He
sent her gifts which she smoothed and :
touched delightedly and put away;
fine soft silken things, hand-made— |
! which she could not wear.
of years
The habit
was ‘too strong upon her.
Though she had always been a woman
of dainty habits and fastidious tastes
the grind of her early married life
had left its indelible mark. Sun and
wind and rain and the cold and heat
of the open prairie had wreaked their
vengeance on her flouting of them. Her
skin was tanned, weather-beaten ; her
hair rough and dry. Her eyes, in that
frame, startled you by their unexpect-
edness, they were go calm, so serene,
yet so alive. They were the beautiful
eyes of a wise young girl in the face
of a middle-aged woman. Life was
still so fresh to her. There was about
her something arresting, something
compelling. You felt it.
“I don’t see how you do it!” Julie
Arnold complained one day as Selina
was paying her one of her rare visits
in town. “Your eyes are as bright
as a baby’s and mine look like dead
oysters.” They were up in Julie's
dressing room in the new house on
the north side—the new house that
was now the old house.
Julie was massaging. Her eyes had
an absent look. Suddenly: “Listen,
Selina. Dirk and Paula are together
too much. People are talking.”
“Talking?” The smile faded from
Selina’s face.
“Goodness knows I'm not strait-
laced. You can’t be In this day and
age. If I had ever thought I'd live to
Well, since the
war of course anything’s all right,
seems. But Paula has no sense. - Ev-
erybody knows she’s insane about
Dirk. That's all right for Dirk, but
how about Paula! She won't go any-
where unles; ’s Invited. They're to-
gether “gl the time, everywhere. I
asked her if she was going to divorce
Storm and she sald no, she hadn't
enough money of her own and Dirk
wasn't earning enough, His salary’s
thousands, but she’s used to millions.
Well I”
it pressed his head to her hard. “So-
big!” He was a baby again.
“You haven't called me
years.” He was laughing.
She reverted to the old game they
had played when he was a child. “How
big is my son! How big?” She was
smiling, but her eyes were somber.
“So big!” answered Dirk, and meas-
that
“So Big!” Answered Dirk.
ured a very tiny space between thumb
and forefinger. “So big.”
She faced him, sitting up very
straight in bed, the little wool shawl
hunched about her shoulders. “Dirk,
are you ever going back to architec-
ture? The war is history. It's now
or never with you. Pretty soon it will
be too late. Are you ever going back
to architecture? To your profession?”
A clean amputation. “No, Mother.”
She gave an actual gasp, as though
lcy water had been thrown full in
her face. She looked suddiuly old,
iired. Her shoulders sagged. He stood
In the doorway, braced for lier re-
proaches. But when she spoke it wus
lo reproach herself. “Then I'm a fuii-
are.”
“Oh, what nonsense, Mother. I'm
2appy. You can’t live somebody else's
life. You used to tell me, when I was
1 kid, I remember, that life wasn't just
wn adventure, to be taken as it came,
with the hope that something glorious
was always hidden just around the
torner. You sald yoa had lived that
way and it hadn't worked. You said—"
(Continued next week.)
in |
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
Hail, Independence, hail! Heaven's next
best gift,
To that of life and an immortal soul!—
Thompson—*“Liberty.”
To Make Red, White and Blue Sal-
ad.—Mix well together a quart of
chopped cold boiled beets, a quart of
chopped raw cabbage, a cupful of
grated horseradish, two cupfuls of
brown sugar, a teaspoonful of salt and
a scant teaspoonful of black pepper.
Turn into a jar and cover with cold
vinegar. - Later remove the beets and
cabbage and serve on a white paper
. | doily on old blue china.
For flag cake take a cupful sugar,
one-half cupful of butter, whites of
four eggs beaten to a stiff froth, one-
half cupful of milk, two cupfuls of
flour, two teaspoonfuls of baking pow-
er.
For frosting a cupful confectioner’s
sugar, a teaspoonful melted butter.
Flavor with vanilla, cup chopped nuts
and decorate with maraschino cher-
ries. Stick tiny silk flags in a circle
around the edge and in the center
place a larger flag.
Speaking of weddings, I have just
been to one. It took ploce on a lawn
where flowers were doing all the ex-
' pected things, and quite converted me
dal attendants.
to the charm of sports attire for bri-
Why should ushers
wear anything so solemn as cutaways
was : ., | 2nd high hats when they can select
] remaster snongh of fy French fg ts OhcAcor weddings white flan-
nel trousers, dark coats and white
shoes ?
be so set in the ways of tulle, chiffon,
taffeta and lace when they can wear
crepe sports frocks with gay touches
cf color in hats and scarfs and bou-
quets? It’s a charming idea for the
outdoor summer wedding, and I pass
it on to all those who are now watch-
ing their Lohengrin step.
Now as to the frock which your
wedding guest wears this summer, the
most interesting note continues to be
the tailored guise that persists in
these flower-tinted chiffons.
quently than not, and these may be
either the fitted variety or the flow-
ing type.
One frock is eloquent of the new
current that is bearing down upon us.
Two groups of gathers in the direct
back conspire with the gathers on
either side. Compare this with the
absolute straightness of the front sec-
tion, and you will see what revisions
midsummer has suggested for the sil-
houette. Of course, most of us are not
going to adopt this back amplitude
immediately; but it is the new note
and one which will be sounded more
firmly by the end of the summer.
In color this frock is exquisite, for
{it occurs in a pervenche blue chiffon
made over matching slip and trimmed
‘ with taffeta ruchings that shade from
blue to orchid. This taffeta is repeat-
ed in the strips defining the back.
There is, too, one more provocation to
speed the parting guest—so that -we
can see how her frock is really made.
It occurs in the row of tiny crystal
| buttons extending from neckline to a
waistline which is just below the nor-
mal mark. These buttons may or may
not be repeated at the front of the
corsage. The color harmony is com-
pleted by a wide-brimmed hair hat in
pervenche blue which is decked with
chiffon and taffeta flowers repeating
the shaded tints of orchid and blue. |
Unless
A word about the length.
you are an extremely young girl,
these skirts are too short. The length
prescribed by Paris and generally re-
spected is fourteen inches above the
i ground. The fact of it is that you can
add two more inches and not endanger
your social reputation.
There is a passion this year for the
chiffon afternoon frock in solid color,
and certainly the colors most worn
justify any further attempt at elabo- |
ration. Nothing, indeed, was ever
lovelier than these various tones of
blue—pervenche, ciel, royal, madonna
—the poetic die-away greens and yel-
lows and the flaming hues of rose,
which are now so widely exploited. A
mere flower garden is going to have
to rustle if it wants to—in Wilde's
classic phrase—imitate art.
Yet, in spite of the vogue of the
plain chiffon, the figured fabric of this
silk has not been displaced, and, it
seems to me that if you assemble a
lovely printed chiffon, a harmonizing
hair hat, some charming and individ-
ual costume jewelry and all the prop-
er accessories, you have done your full
duty by any formal summer after-
noon.
Let it be said right here that the
little shoulder cape has renounced
none of its former eminence as a cos-
tume detail ‘and that it is constantly
seen as a feminizing relief to the tail-
ored simplicity of both afternoon and
evening affairs. The same thing may
be said also of the apron and the
tiered front that gives the illusion of
an apron. Sometimes the apron is a
separate entity and sometimes it is
merely a continuation of a wide front
panel.
Taffeta will always retain its ap-
peal as bathing suit material for the
womai or girl who likes that crisp,
fresh appearance. And it looks so
well with ruffles about the skirt. In
the new purple or in black this would
be a smart addition to the wardrobe
for the summer vacation.
TWO RECIPES FOR THE FOURTH.
Honey Blossom Punch.—A bever-
age, excellent for large afternoon or
evening parties, which has the added
merit of originality, is honey blossom
punch, as delectable and tempting a
concoction as its very delightful name
implies.
One cupful of honey, one cupful of
sugar, two cupfuls of water, and the
grated rind and the zest of one orange
are boiled together for five minutes.
This is allowed to cool, then two cup-
fuls of water and the juice of eleven
oranges and two lemons are added,
and the mixture is stirred well. This
is poured over a block of ice in a
punch-bowel, and to it are added one
grated pineapple and twenty-four
strawberries. Just as it is ready to
serve, one quart of carbonated water
is added.
And why should bridesmaids .
Long
i sleeves are encountered more fre-
FARM NOTES.
—Do not set out fruit trees hastily
before the land for the orchard is
thoroughly prepared. It is better to
allow them to remain “heeled in” all
winter than to attempt to transpiant
them to wet or unbroken ground.
No amount of attention given a tree
in later years will make up for im-
proper handling during its early life
in thes orchard.
—Small streams frequently are
neglected sources of power that may
be utilized in generating electricity to
light buildings and grounds and pos-
sibly to operate a number of small
machines, says the bureau of public
roads, United States Department of
Agriculture, in Farmers’ Bulletin 1430,
“Power for the Farm From Small
Streams,” just published. Electrical
equipment on the farm saves time and
labor in the household and farm work.
To be a sound investment, however,
the cost of installation should not be
greater than the benefits obtained
would justify. In this respect, the bu-
reau points out by way of caution,
farm water-power electric outfits have
their limitations.
—A cheap and satisfactory feeder
for young pigs can be made from a
barrel. A method found satisfactory
by many farmers and pig club boys
of the State is to knock out heads of
a barrel, and then from old boxes
build a square platform 18 inches
wider than the diameter of the barrel.
On the center of this platform a pyr-
amid with a square base is built. The
base is made just large enough so the
barrel can stand over it.
Feed ‘is then put into the barrel,
the bottom of which must be raised
just sufficiently to permit the feed to
run out as the pigs eat. This is done
by nailing four blocks under its edges.
With feed in the barrel the proper
height is easily determined.
In using this or any other type of
self-feeder the owner must be sure
that enough feed runs through fast
enough so the pigs will never go hun-
gry, and yet not so fast that feed will
be wasted underfoot.
—Hogs cannot make both pork and
lice, and the lousy pig can seldom eat
enough to make a hog of himself, if
; Le has to continue boarding myriads
“of lice. This has been the unvarying
experience of good live stock men
everywhere.
Lice may be destroyed on hogs by
dipping, the use of crude oil being
highly recommended by those who
have experimented widely. Let the
| water in the dipping tank be covered
{with a layer of crude oil at least an
linch thick. The oil may be applied to
| the bodies of the hogs with a sprink-
{ling pot or a swab, if care is used,
but it is not as safe as we would like,
"and, in any case, it is a method recom-
mended for use only in cold weather,
when dipping is out of the question.
Also there are a number of other
remedies which may be used, such as
equal parts kerosene and machine oil,
.or one part turpentine to two parts
machine oil applied to every part of
the body by means of either rag or
brush. Be careful in the use of such
remedies, of course, or they might be
almost as hard on the pig as they are
on the lice. Do not lose sight of the
good high-grade coal-tar dips, which
are certainly valuable when applied
according to directions. The oiler, or
oiled rubbing post, has a place on
every hog farm, or farm where hogs
are raised.
—We say that life is made up of the
little things, yet we are not aware of
. the value that many little animals are
to us. How many of us ever stop to
consider the toad? In most instances
he is considered just a little nuisance,
put here to be in the way just as other
harmful animals are. But the next
‘toad you see hopping along, stop and
. watch him perform. By studying the
i toad the student will learn that he is
of great value to the farmer and or-
| chardist, writes J. W. Recknor Jr., in
i the Farm and Ranch.
i The tongue of the toad is half an
:inch long or longer, and he can use it
to perfection, too, when it comes to
i catching flies. I admit that the toad
i seems to be a very lazy creature hop-
. ping about, but that is the very time
he is doing his duty. The toad hops
about, and when a fly comes near
“enough, out goes his long tongue in
an instant. Mr. fly is caught and his
, career, carrying typhoid germs to well
people’s dining rooms, is stopped.
Mr. Toad is an eater of insects and
is valuable to the farmer in his crops.
It is estimated that the toad is worth
$19 per year to the farmer. If he is
worth only half this much, then the
toad is a valuable little fellow to us
rural people. Toads should be given
all the protection possible so their
number will increase. Some people
allow their children to kill toads, but
this should not be. Protect the toad,
for he is our good little friend.
—A sum of $2,349,000 was author-
ized by the 1925 Legislature and ap-
proved by Governor Pinchot for pay-
ing indemnities resulting from losses
suffered by farmers who own cattle
infested with serious contagious dis-
eases, especially tuberculosis. This is
the largest amount by almost five
times ever appropriated at one season
of the Legislature for this purpose in
Pennsylvania. The amount provided
by the 1923 Legislature was $535,000
making a total for the past two ses-
sions of $2,884,000. In 1921, $192,965
was provided; in 1919, $184,731; in
1917, $120,000 or a total for these
three sessions of $497,696. :
In referring to the large appropri--
tion just made available, F. P. Willi. +,
Secretary of Agriculture says: “ite
Department of Agriculture feels this
sum to be a liberal amount. The dai-
‘rymen and public of Pennsylvania
should appreciate the efforts of Gov-
ernor Pinchot and the Legislators for
their interest in the tuberculosis erad-
ication work. The Governor approv-
ed the largest possible amount from
available funds. Even a larger
amount no doubt would have been ap-
proved if the State revenues had per-
mitted it.” i
The great increase in appropriations
for indemnities makes possible the
continuation of tuberculosis eradica-
tion on a much larger scale than ever
before and will permit the work to
progress as it has in other leading
dairy States.