OT mm—
Bellefonte, Pa., August 28, 1925.
SS SSS
CLOSING THE DOORS.
I have closed the door on Doubt;
XI will go by what light I can find,
And hold up my hands and reach them out
To the glimmer of God in the dark and
call:
“I am Thine, though I grope and stum-
ble and fall,
I serve; and Thy service is kind.”
X have closed the door on Fear.
He hag lived with me far too long.
Jf he were to break forth and reappear,
I should lift my eyes and look at the
sky, :
And sing aloud, and run lightly by;
He will never follow a song.
I have closed the door on Gloom.
His house has too narrow a view.
I must seek for my soul a wider room,
With windows to open and let in the
sun,
And radiant lamps when the day is
done,
And the breeze of the world blowing
through.—British Weekly.
BLUE HYACINTHS.
(Concluded from last week.)
“My dear, there’s a young man at
the front door asking the most imper-
tinent questions about this house, and
he insists on seeing you. If you'll just
speak to him, darling, I'll stay right
by the ’phone and be ready to call the
station house if you think he is a sus-
picious character, for I am sure, Evie
May, he looks the part.”
But Evie May was hopeful. “Oh,
Miss Minns! Perhaps he is some one
to look at the back parlor!”
“Now, Evie May, don’t let him take
you in because he has nice teeth; that
don’t always prove out, even in a
horse, and I'm sure—”
But Evie May had vanished.
The man stood on the front stoop
with his back turned. He was swing-
ing a cane lazily as Evie May opened
the door.
She stared at him a moment: “Why,
Mr. * * * Oliver?”
“What about those rooms. Rented
yet?”
_ There was a catch in her voice. “No,
sir. Not yet.”
“What's wrong with ’em? Dark,
gloomy? Price too high?”
She shook her head. “People have
come—"’ she began, and stopped.
“The fact is,” said Mr. Oliver, “they
have sent me up from the office to give
this place the once-over, if you don’t
mind.”
Evie May without a word led the
way through the dark hall to the back
parlor.
Mr. Oliver paused on his progress.
“Paper off, I see.”
“Yes,” said Evie May. “There’s a
bad spot under each of those butter-
flies that I've pasted on. I must put
on two big ones at the head of the
stairs.”
Mr. Oliver stared as Evie May smil-
ingly pointed out her little subter-
fuge: Gay yellow cut-outs with pois-
ed wings adorned the dingy blue of
the wall. “It seemed better to have
butterflies,” said Evie May, “because
one could take the blue for sky.”
“I see,” said Mr. Oliver. “Is this
the room to let?”
Evie May nodded: “This one was
Mother’s. Mine is up-stairs.”
Mr. Oliver seemed satisfied merely
to look in at the door. “Now for the
other one,” he said alertly, and follow-
ed Evie May up the shabby stairs. .
Evie May pushed open a door. “This
is it,” she said, and then stood aside.
It was a white rcom. Her mother had
seen to that, and in spite of being pre-
pared for a new boarder it had Evie
May stamped all over it. The small
dresser was made out of a packing
case and draped with dimity. There
was a plain little bed, and Evie May’s
cherished desk. In the center stood a
small white rocker which had a most | sort
stationary air, and, being honest, Evie
May told why.
“There is a broken board under it,”
she said candidly, “and the Estates
said it wasn’t up to them; and Mother
and I nailed the chair on it, so no one
would ever get hurt. You see, we
couldn’t afford to fix it in any other
way.”
Mr. Oliver was staring oddly at
Evie May. He seemed to find it diffi-
cult to say anything, but finally he
managed it: “All right. We'll close
on this one, Miss Talbot.”
Evie May looked at him. “Close on
it?” she said. !
“Yes. I’m renting it. How much
do they generally pay down? To
bind the bargain, you know ?”
Evie May sought fuller light. “Did
you mean that you are renting it for
some friend?”
Mr. Oliver stared down at her up-
turned face. “No. For my worst en-
emy.”
There was a small silence. Evie
May seemed at a loss. Her lips part-
ed, but she said nothing.
“Have you heard,” asked Mr. Oliver
a trifle sharply, “of a man’s worst en-
emy being himself?”
“Yes.” Evie May was looking at
him fixedly.
- “Well, that’s that,” said Mr. Oliver.
He suddenly went on with it. “The
fact is,” he said abruptly, “that I'm a
homeless dog, Miss Talbot; and I had
a hunch you might take me in.”
“You haven't.” said Evie May, still
looking at him fixedly, “even asked
the rent.”
“No,” said Mr. Oliver hurriedly;
“but I feel certain you won’t over-
charge. And now, to show you I am
a particular person, and mean to do
this thing up brown, I want you to
take me to the roof. From the street
below that roof looked peculiar.
You've got things growing up there,
haven’t you? I had an idea roofs in
this neighborhood were only used for
—er—clothes-lines 7”
“Yes,” said Evie May; “but, you
see, it began the week after Mother
died. I was going to the cemetery
with flowers, and I—I put them on
the roof instead, so that everybody
«could see the lovely color. And then
I moved up my boxes of hyacinths,
and all the boarders added something
—geraniums and pansies and the
things they put on graves. And now
we go up after dinner and stay there
till it is dark, and sing. Mz. Jenkins
sings bass, and Daggert and Walker
did a turn every night until they had
to go on the read, and Miss Minns
does so enjoy it, because she never
goes anywhere in the evenings, she is
so tired from sewing all day!” =
“Great little idea,” said Mr. Oliver.
“Seems to be all front and no back,
though.”
“We are going to add more,” said
Evie May. “I can always give flow-
ers to Mother that way, and Miss
Minns is doing it for a lover she had
once, who died, and Mrs. Rosenberg is
doing it for her little dead baby, and
Myr. Jenkins—you see he grew up in a
boys’ home, and never knew his peo-
ple; but he said he must have had
some at some time or other, so he is
doing it to remember them. And we
thought the street would like it, be-
cause they like to hear us sing.”
Mr. Oliver was looking at Evie May
with that queer curve to his mobile
lips, narrowing his gaze to get, as he
had once before, the whole effect.
“What I would like,” said Evie
May, suddenly glowing, “would be to
have roof gardens all down the street,
right to the avenue, so that all the
old people, and the tired people, and
the mothers with little crying chil-
dren could climb up and sit among
the flowers and watch the stars come
out, and be rested. And at Christmas
they could put trees up there and sing
carols. It needn’t be such a dull old
street, need it?”
But Mr. Oliver had grown suddenly
silent. He had reached down into his
pocket and pulled out a cigarette case,
and was lighting one with careless,
twitching fingers. They were climb-
ing up the steep outlet to the roof and
stepped out among Evie May’s flow-
ers, set in odd pots and boxes on two
cheap wooden stands that Jenkins and
Mr. Piggens had knocked together one
Saturday afternoon. Mr. Oliver
stared for a moment at Evie May's
hyacinths, still blooming in long
straight rows, pink and white and a
heavenly blue that was the color of
Evie May’s eyes.
“So you think,” he said at last, “you
can make over this darned old world
with a few flowerpots?”
Evie May shook her head. “Oh, no
—only our own roof.”
“In other words,” said Mr. Oliver,
still with that queer emphasis, “this
bit of the universe is the only part of
it that’s up to you?”
“Yes,” said Evie May.
Mr. Oliver pitched his half-burned
cigarette into the street below, as if
there were something the matter with
it, and lit another. “Why don’t you
blame it on the Herrold Estates? I
should say this whole street was rath-
er up to them.”
Evie May looked at him earnestly.
“They don’t know,” she said. “You
see, it is just dollars to them; but to
us on the street it’s home, and if you
have a home, why, you just feel that
you can’t do enough for it.”
Mr. Oliver did not speak for an in-
stant, then he said. “Oh, by the way,
I am taking that other room too.”
Evie May looked her amazement.
“The fact is,” explained Mr. Oliver,
“I shall send a lot of—er—packing-
cases here in a week or two, and I
shall need a place to store them.”
“Yes,” said Evie May; but some-
thing still troubled her. All at once
she sent him a straight glance from
her blue eyes. “You * * * you are
not just taking * * * the other one
* * % to be kind?”
Mr. Oliver stared intently at the
cigarette in his hand. “I have never,”
he said, “to my knowledge, done a
thing that was kind in my life. I am
taking these rooms”-—he paused—“for
purely selfish reasons.”
“You haven’t asked the price.”
“No,” said Mr. Oliver, “because I
am dead sure, whatever it is, of get-
ting my money’s worth. And now you
know what sort of fellow I am.”
Evie May looked at him with can-
did sweetness. “I think,” she said
honestly, “that you are a very good
”
“All right,” said Mr. Oliver blunt-
ly, “for the present. We'll let it go
at that.” ’
He came on Saturday.
That night after dinner Evie May
lay in her cramped quarters under the
skylight, and wondered why just one
more person in the house made such
a difference. Perhaps it was because
she had never run a boarding-house
all by herself before. There had al-
ways been her mother.
Besides, they weren’t being fair to
Mr. Oliver. Right at the first, Miss
Minns had taken him for a suspicious
person, and she was still dubious. She
had warned Evie May in one of her
long, quaint speeches when she went
to bed.
“Darling, I don’t want to be a wet
blanket, when I know how much you
need the money; but be careful in
your dealings with that person, whose
name may not be Oliver at all. His
eyes were on you the whole evening,
Evie May, which is not a way a man
acts with the girl he respects; so put
him in his place, darling, and he’ll
think all the more of you if he is not
an imposter, which Flossie Merkle
agrees with me is probably the case.”
Evie May had smiled and kissed the
pinched features; and then had to list-
en to Flossie go over the same ground.
“Honest, Evie May, sometimes we
get that worried about you! You see,
dear, you have the baby look stamped
in indelible ink over you, and the
worst rotter will fall for that every
time. And since your mother was
took, we sort of have you on our
mind.” ?
“You are so dear and good, Flossie.”
“Dear and good! Me? All the
same, if you ever get down on your
luck you can come and park in front
of my door, Evie May; so go to bed
and forget it, darling.” ;
But Evie May couldn’t forget it.
Hard at work all day getting soiled
linen together for the laundryman,
and marketing for dinners that were
cheap but nourishing, and helping to
keep basement windows free from
grime on a dusty street, Evie May was
conscious that Mr, Oliver was some-
where in the background. First of all,
she had to watch for the packing cases
that never came; and that was anoth-
er point for Miss Minns and for Miss
Merkle, |
‘put them on with French knots and
“It don’t sound healthy, Evie May, |
and I wouldn’t mind him hearing me
say it. Believe me, those packing-
cases are not in existence, and if they
are, he’s got ’em filled with things
which don’t belong to him and never
did.” Miss Minns, pausing to take
breath, switched to a new subject.
“And, Evie May, darling, it’s time
you had some clothes. I have a per-
fectly good slip-on up-stairs that I
bought cheap from a customer who
got ink spots all down the front, and
the reason I bought it was your but-
terflies, for I figured if butterflies
could look well on wall paper why
shouldn’t they on a dress? So I've
cut some out of the yellow crepe and:
you are perfectly welcome to it, dar-
ling, for nothing, for the price I paid
was only a little more han that, and
I am as fond of you, Evie May, as if
you were my own child.”
Evie May believed in taking people
at their word. “Thank you, dear,” she
said softly; and she wore the dress
that night at dinner, looking ' like a
bright poised butterfly herself with
her lifted chin and her yellow hair;
and whatever Mr. Oliver thought, he
kept looking at her in a way to annoy
and outrage Flossie.
“Ain’t your goods come yet, Mr.
Oliver? Why don’t you put it up to
the express people. Here’s Evie May
wouldn’t go to a movie with Mrs. Ro-
senberg yesterday, just because she
felt she had to be on the watch for a
vanload for your empty room.”
Evie May said, “Oh, Flossie, I didn’t
mind, dear.”
“Yes,” sniffed Miss Merkle con-
temptuously, “of course your place is
to hang around, like a bellhop in some
swell hotel.”
The roof garden that night seemed
to darken earlier, and except for the
odor of the dying hyacinths in Evie
May’s boxes there might as well have
been no garden at all. For Mr. Oliver
did not come up with the rest, and
Evie May knew he was offended.
It was Saturday, while she was
polishing up the door knob and watch-
ing the crowds from the subway that
a small car drew up at the curb and
Mr. Oliver climbed out of the driver's
seat.
_ “Evie May go and get your hat on,
and stow that rag. We are going to
work up new scenery for that roof.”
“Oh, but—” began Evie May; but
she never finished it. Ten minutes
later they were on their way down to
the ferry, and before Evie May knew
where she was on the map she and
Mr. Oliver were busy with hand trow-
els in the heart of a green wood, dig-
ging up small trees that the Lord of
earth and heaven had planted.
“A few ferns, now,” said Mr. Oli-
ver, wiping his perspiring brow.
“We'll set these big fellows in tubs,
and have ferns between and around
the bases—” He broke off suddenly
to stare, as Evie May did, at a small
group of men and women in golf
clothes who had stumbled into the
patch of fern and bracken.
“Why! It's Noddy!” One of the
women, detaching herself from the
rest, came slowly forward. There was
no haste in her movement, but one
could see there was purpose. She did
not even glance at Evie May.
“Don’t you think, Noddy,”—she was
looking at him with cold candor—
“that you are rather overdue in this
section of Bergen County?”
“Perhaps.” Mr. Oliver said the
word quietly, His cool detachment
matched her own.
“Will you come on Sunday?” she
asked after a minute. She glanced at
her wrist watch, as if she were noting
down a time limit for him there.
There was a moment of silence. Out
of it, Evie May saw the whole picture
that she was quite shut out of—those
others, fashionable, strangely embar-
rassed, who hung on the fringe of the
wood, and the woman standing alone
with Mr. Oliver among the broken
fern and trampled earth. She saw
something more—that the woman
either hated Mr. Oliver, or loved him.
And that Mr. Oliver either loved the
woman, or hated her! 2
“P’ll give you,” said the cool, flute-
like voice, pitched to a key of exces-
sive sweetness, “Sunday afternoon,
Noddy.” Her veiled gaze shifted to
Evie May, standing disconcerted and
apart with her cheap little flower-
wreathed hat, a blotch of color that
did not fit into the picture. Then she
turned deliberately and walked back
to the others, but Evie May caught a
floating sentence:
“Picnickers, my dear, the kind who
litter the piace with paper boxes. Nod-
dy overdoes it with them horribly.
This one looks absolutely raw.”
Evie May let the word sink in.
Somehow it fitted. And Mr. Oliver,
with a hardened face she did not
know, pitched the hand trowels in be-
side the sweet fern, and told her they
had better get back.
Get back! There was no getting
back for Evie May, and she knew it.
A few weeks had changed her world.
Only once did Mr. Oliver speak again
on the homeward journey, and then it
was to the steering gear, and not to
Evie May.
“Those people were friends of
mine,” he said flatly. “I didn’t pre-
sent them, because they were not your
kind.”
Evie May stirred. Mr. Oliver didn’t
seem to expect any answer, but she
felt that she wanted to be honest
about the woman. “She was very
beautiful, the person in the wood.”
“Yes,” he said. “Perhaps it will ex-
plain matters to say that for several
years she has expected to marry me.”
Evie May lifted pained blue eyes.
“Why have you kept her waiting ?”
Mr. Oliver said something in that
hard voice that was new to her: “That
is something, Evie May, between God
and myself, and the Devil.”
That night, Evie May, shunning
company, crept into her cramped lit-
tle room and shut the door. She was
remembering so many, many things
that she had forgotten. She had for-
gotten to water her flowers. To for-
get her flowers, with Evie May, was to
forget that God was in his world; and
now she lay there, heartsick and un-
happy, wishing only one thing—that
Mr. Oliver would go away! Evie May
felt that was the only way she could
ever go back and do her duty to all of
them—Jenkins, and Flossie, and Jake
‘hugged Evie May.
and Cora, who were due home again
on Sunday afternoon. That was to-
morrow. But for the moment all that
Evie May could think of was today.
Such a happy day in the morning,
ending with such a black night. After
a long while she said her prayers, and
lay very still with her arms straight
at her sides, staring into the dark.
But just before dawn a small figure
lugging a watering pot climbed the
steep way to the roof. It was Evie
May’s way of showing that, in spite
of what life did to her, she would go
on trying and trying.
.. Daggert and Walker, in new sports
clothes, walked in to dinner. They
They said she
looked “peaked;” she’d ought to drink
plenty of milk, not to take the board-
ing-house business so serious. But it
was Jake who looked really troubled.
“What's what, Evie May? You
look like you’d fallen for some feller,
and he’d turned you down.”
Evie May shook her head. “I’m all
right, Jake. And I'm so glad you've
come home.” The quiver in her voice
stopped the rest of it; but Mr. Dag-
gert made up his mind he'd find out
what had put the curve into Evie
May’s lower lip.
He got his lead at dinner time, when
Miss Merkle hunched up her plump
shoulders at Mr. Oliver’s empty chair.
“Where's he went to, Evie May ?” |
Evie May, at the head of the big ta- .
ble, said something in a low voise.
“Ought it matter, to any of us, Flos- |
sie?” ‘And went on serving. “No, it |
oughn’t, Evie May,” said Miss Merkle
calmly. “And speaking for myself,
it’s a relief.”
Mrs. Daggert nudged her under the
table with a lowered word, at which
Miss Merkle fluttered her eyelids to-
ward Evie May. Evidently Mr. Dag-
gert understood the signal, which
troubled him.
But Evie May, today at least, was
unapproachable.
And the end of it began when Miss
Minns came down at six-thirty with a
sick headache. Miss Merkle was tak-
ing supper with a girl from the Acme
Beauty Parlor. Daggert and Walker
had gone to one of the beaches, and
Mrs. Rosenberg to hear the band at
the park. Jenkins, hanging about on
the off chance that Evie May would
“set a while” with him on the front
stoop, suddenly could bear it no long-
er, and disappeared down the avenue
itout daring to look back at Evie
fay.
To Evie May, the empty house was
easier to bear than their kindness,
and slowly, and feeling somehow very
tired, she climbed up to her flowers.
It was just growing into summer dusk,
with faint soft lines of violet over the
house tops, and against the dark
brown coping Evie May’s geraniums
made a brave effort to show red and
white and pink. It was all new “scen-
ery,” with clumps of fern in pots
along the base, and here and there
baby trees of pine and spruce and
hemlock, so tiny that you could gath-
er the roots and hold them close in
your hand, and yet resembling a forest
of living green! Evie May stood very
still, looking out over the house tops.
She was seeing the things the ugly
roofs hid—hard-working men and
women, and mothers, with little, tired
babies. Sorrow and pain, and some-
times death, but life too, and courage,
and beautiful things. Evie May’s eyes
filled. She was remembering some-
thing her mother had said to her
once! “Nothing has really fazed me,
Evie May. What you got to go
through can be gone through. Just
keep your chin up, and smile like
you'd got the best of it already!”
“Evie May.”
She turned with drooping shoul-
ders; but her eyes were untroubled. It
was Mr. Oliver.
“What’s the matter, Evie May?”
He spoke slowly, watching her with
his keen, narrowed gaze.
“Not anything now.”
“Not anything? No. I suppose
not. Your antidote for most things
would be to come up here and hunt for
stars.”
Evie May smiled. “Yes,” she said.
He held a packet in his hand. “I
have something of yours here,” he
said; “but I am not going to return it
to you. That is, I want you to give
them to me as a—a keepsake, Evie
May.”
She looked at the packet. It was
the big yellow envelope. v
“But first I want to tell you a few
things about myself.”
“Yes,” said Evie May. Her eyelids
fluttered, otherwise she was as usual.
“In the first place, I went to Ber-
gen County this afternoon. We came
to an understanding. That is, the oth-
er person did, Evie May.”
“Yes 22
“She thinks I have grown common,
Evie May, because I choose to live in
a dark brown street. She says she has
discovered for the first time what is in
me. Well, so have I, Evie May.”
Evie May turned her eyes on his
face. It was the same face, with eyes
and mouth that life had disillusioned,
but now, even in the dusk, there were
shifting lights on it.
“I am the Herrold Estates,
May.”
She stood very still but she drew a
deep breath.
“I had the hard luck to come into
possession of a whole street of dark
brown houses. That is, until I found
in one of them a little white angel—
the soul of an ordinary little girl with
blue hyacinths for eyes!”
Evie May twisted her hands into
tighter clasping. Her heart was beat-
ing. And yet, down in the street be-
low, she was conscious of noisy chil-
dren, and mothers calling, and the
smell of tired, hot, brown earth,
“Listen, Evie May.” He had drawn
nearer; he did not attempt to touch
her, and yet it seemed as if he hal
laid his hand on her arm. “Listen to
me, Evie May. When I said I am the
Herrold Estates, I meant it. I have
got to realize that I am * * * respon-
sible for the ugliness, and the dark-
brownness, and the unsanitary kitch-
ens, and the impossible hallways and
the patches on the wall. Evie May,
will you help me to make all of it over
into something fit for men and women
and little kids to live in?” :
She tried to speak. Instead, she
looked at him dumbly.
Evie
“When you came with your bits of
jewelry, Evie May, and trusted me
with them— Don’t you see, dear, that
you put into my hand something finer
than anything I'd ever seen in a
darned, rotten world? I saw there
were jewels in it, Evie May—courage
and faith in your fellow men, and hon-
or. I hadn’t any of them, dear, Id
just been a respectable rotter, until I
saw that little-girl ring with the pearl
missing. I knew then that I had
missed the Pearl of Price, Evie May,
and now I want you to give it to me
as a keepsake to have and to hold, un-
til death do us part—"
Evie May turned. Her blue eyes
were tear-bright. They were on a
roof top together, and it seemed the
roof top of the world! She slid her
little hand into his hand, and heaven
itself descended when he leaned down |.
and kissed her.—By Alice Garland
Steele, in American Magazine.
CITY OF WASHINGTON UNIGJE
Cosmopolitan, Yet Distinctly American,
Is the Capital of the United
States of America.
During its history with a territorial
form of government, the District of
Columbia had two governors, Governor
, Cook and Governor Shepherd. Presi-
dent Grant appointed Governor Shep-
herd and stood by the governor in all
the furious attacks made upon him
in the stormy political strife that pre-
vailed in the District of Columbia
when the people had the vote,
The attacks upon Governor Shepherd
became so fierce that he left the Dis-
trict after congress had killed the ter-
ritorial form of government and estab-
lished the present form; three com-
missioners appointed by the President;
a District of Columbia committee, in
both house and senate, was creat-
ed and passes upon appropriations,
schools and all matters pertaining to
the government of the District and the
city of Washington. There is no city
in which the people of North, South,
East and West meet and commingle
as they do in Washington. Every ac-
cent in speech, and the colloquialisms
of every state are heard there, Prac-
tically every nationality and country
of the world is represented in Wash-
ington in the 34 embassies and lega-
tions of foreign countries. But Wash-
ington is distinctly an American city
in the make-up of its population, Prac-
tically all the officials, government
clerks and employees are American-
born and come from every state.—Ex-
change.
Tree From Walking Stick
One of the largest trees in Hutchin-
son, Kan., has grown from a walking
stick. In April, 1874, Judge W. R.
Brown was walking along East Sher-
man street, twirling a cottonwood
stick. Amos Plank was working in
his yard when Judge Brown came
along. “Well, 1 guess I'd better plant
you a tree,” the judge remarked, and
he stuck his cane into the soft ground.
Plank was called away from home for
the summer. When he returned he
found that the cottonwood stick had
sprouted. Today it is the largest cot-
tonwood tree in Hutchinson,
Practical ' Training
A specially designed seven-story brick
structure has been erected in San
Francisco for training firemen. It con-
tains a room where the operation of
sprinkler systems is demonstrated. An-
other room is, in effect, a chamber
where the men brave smoke and try
out various kinds of protective devices.
The fire alarm system is studied in
another room. The basement is used
for instructing recruits how to enter
burning cellars. Even the exterior
walls are used for training in wall-
scaling and in fire-escape work.
Fixing “Index Number”
The “index number” is a well-estab-
lished device commonly used for meas-
uring changes in wholesale and re-
tail prices, and rates of wages over
long periods of time. It is construct-
ed by securing each month the prices
or rates of a uniform list, at certain
specified places, and striking an av-
erage. Such numbers are usually re-
duced to percentages. The lowest
price known Is sometimes taken as a
base, or, as in case of investment
stocks, 100 is used.
How Bryan Kept Cool
William Jennings Bryan once told
how he kept cool when making a
speech.
“Do you know,” he observed, “that
when I am addressing an audience in
a paricularly warm hall, I take a small
piece of ice about the size of a pul-
let's egg. I put it in the palm of
my right hand and hold it tightly.
Then I shift it to my left hand, hold-
fng it in either hand for about five
minutes.
“Then I pass my cold hands over
my forehead. I have always found
this very effective.”
Didn’t Know About Tub
An Indianapolis man was visiting
In the country near where gome small
boys had an excellent swimming place.
The lads, in friendly fashion, in-
vited him in one afternoon.
“Oh,” replied the man, “I may not
be able to swim now, for it hus been
years since I was in the creek.”
One lad looked at him with a puz-
zled expression, then asked:
“Haven't you washed off
tlien 7’—Exchange.
since
There Was Reason
“Trotzky is a man of few words,” re
marked Brown. ‘Well,” answered the
flippant friend, “you take a look at
some of the words in a: Russian die-
tionary and you won't blame him.”
Somerset County Gazette,
FARM NOTES.
—Keeping farm accounts is one of
the most important activities on a suc-
cessful farm. Don’t neglect them dur-
ing the busy season.
—Watch for starting of crab grass
and remove while it is little. Drop
some grass seed around where the
crab grass is taken out.
—Carefully measure or estimate
yields and acreages at harvest time so
that the entries in farm records will
more nearly tell the correct story at
the end of the year.
—It is a good plan to thoroughly
clean and disinfect the storage cellar.
Remove the old rotten fruit, apply
white wash or some disinfectant, and
give the room a thorough airing.
—The first six litters weighed in
Pennsylvania for the ton litter club
were successful. Two of these were
8-pig litters. Watch the rest of the
357 nominated litters come through
with the required weights.
—Ornamental trees may be safely
transplanted from the middle of Au-
gust until the middle of September.
This class of material makes root and
leaf growth which gives conditions ap-
proximating those of spring.
—“How much can your team pull ?”7
is the question of the day wherever
drivers meet in Pennsylvania commu-
nities. This will be answered in a
dozen counties by the Penn State dy-
namometer this fall. Better enter
your team. Records will be made and
broken before the season is past.
—Many poultrymen have trouble
with their chicks when they use new
galvanized milk fountains. This dan-
ger may be removed if the dishes are
filled with milk and allowed to stand
in a warm place for three or four
days. After the milk has had a chance
to work on the dish the vessel should
be emptied and carefully washed with
a good cleaning solution. The foun-
tain may now be safely used.
—Mash for Laying Hens.—A good
mash mixture kept before the flock at
all times is a necessity during the
summer months. A mixture that has
given good results consists of equal
parts of weight of wheat bran, ground
oats, corn chop, wheat middlings, and
meat scrap.
_ Culling should be practiced at this
time of year. Where flocks have been
fed good mash it is easy for one to
cull out the boarders. Molting hens
that are not laying at this time should
be eliminated from the flock.
—Immature Kentucky blue grass
excels all eastern pasture grasses, and
also legumes grown for hay, in nutri-
tive value, say investigators at the
SgricH um) experiment station at
e Pennsylvania State College who
have conducted special studies.
The blue grass contains fifty per
cent. more digestible crude protein
than was found in the average of 44
other eastern pasture grasses.
Pennsylvania climate is well adapt-
ed to the growth of Kentucky blue
grass. Throughout the State it may
be found growing on limited areas
along roadsides, in well kept lawns
and in the vicinity of barnyards. How-
ever, it is not well developed on ex-
tensive pasture areas except in sec-
tions of Greene and Washington
counties. For maximum growth as a
pasture grass, the soil should be treat-
ed with limestone and a complete fer-
tilizer, the research men say.
—Short pastures will be here soon
and should be supplemented with
grain or a good green feed. In some
instances both are necessary for cows
of high production, especially those
which will not freshen until spring.
Dairymen may be justified in with-
holding grain from low producing
cows or cows due to freshen in the
fall and are always in good condition.
In most other cases, however, while
the extra milk often does not much
more than pay for the grain fed, the
supplementary grain feed will main-
tain a normal flow of milk during fall
and winter. If this flow is allowed to
go down it is almost impossible to
bring it back. Furthermore, if good
producing cows are not fed grain they
will milk themselves down thin and it
will cost more to get them back in
flesh than if they had been fed grain
during August and September.
A high protein mixture and heavy
feeding is usually not necessary but
will depend upon the amount of pas-
ture and green feed available. Corn,
oats and bran should form the bulk of
the ration with a small amount of glu-
ten, cottonseed meal or linseed oil
meal if it is not too laxative. Feed
about one pound of grain to each five
or six pounds of milk produced daily.
—Promise of recovery in all branch-
es of the livestock industry is indi-
cated. Heavy steers have been bring-
ing higher prices than last year, hogs
are nearly double the price of a year
ago, and lambs have been higher
priced. :
Hogs this fall are probably ap-
proaching the peak of a price cycle,
the department believes. It points out
for the guidance of producers that
some far-sighted hog raisers are al-
ready considering probable heavy pig
production in 1926, and lower price
levers thereafter.
Truck crops are coming in for a
share of price recovery this season,
the report says. Early estimates sug-
gest a potato production of only about
3.1 bushels per capita, which would be
on a par with those well-remembered
shortage years, 1911 and 1919. On-
ions, cabbage, melons and peaches
have been selling at two or three
times last year’s prices and seeming-
ly have a brisk fall market ahead.
Corn looks good as a whole. A
fairly good spring wheat crop seems
assured, despite considerable hot
weather damage and some rust in the
Red River valley. Winter wheat was
a disappointment but has apparently
threshed out about as much grain as
was expected and is of good quality.
Fruit is not so plentiful in eastern
districts, but the Pacific coast will
make good much of the deficiency.
Cotton has lost ground in the western
belt by reason of drought, but indi-
cations still point to a good-sized to-
tal crop. Potatoes are a d:cidedly
smaller acreage than last year and
promise a smaller yield but neverthe-
less may make more money for pro-
ducers. '
——Subiicribe for the “Watchman.”