rm
Bellefonte, Pa., July 23, 1926.
DENNIS SHAY, THE WITNESS.
Twas Dennis Shay, the witness,
‘Who stepped upon the stand;
And a greener looking mortal
Ne're left old Ireland.
And the Judge and Jury snickered
At everything he'd say,
Whilst the lawyers, wise and witty,
Kept pumping Dennis Shay.
They styled him prince of blockheads!
This witness on the stand,
And declared such stupid asses,
A disgrace to any land.
A chap chock full of Blackstone,
And impudence as well,
Said, ask the fool who made him,
And I doubt if he could tell.
Whin ye ax such simple questions
Its mysilf can answer those!
Who made me? Why, said D:annis,
T'was Moses I suppose.
Ye Gods! t'was Moses made him,
Did you hear the critter say?
And the court then took a recess,
To laugh at Dennis Shay.
Then spoke Dennis: Misther Lawyer,
Perhaps it might not do
If I should ax the question,
Whose been afther makin’ you.
Oh yes, said he to Dennis,
Whilst he blew his legal nose,
Then winked at the court and answered,
T'was Aaron, I suppose!
Be my sowl, thin spoke up Dennis,
With a bit of roguish laugh,
Its mysilf has heard that Aaron
At one time made a calf.
But its mighty strange indade, sir,
To the likes of Dennis Shay
That Misther Aaron’s offspring
Should be plading law to-day.
— Written for the Watchman in 1873, by
‘J.C. nH.”
THE REFORMATION OF NELLIE.
Captain McBride, of Ladder Truck
Company No. 12, confessed to his
own men that Nellie was a coward.
He admitted that she was affection-
ate, and good-enough-looking; but
how does that help if the whole com-
pany must keep one shameful secret
from the rest of the department?
Nellie looked well on the chair in
front of the joker stand. She was a
squeamish dog who kept her hair
clean, and when visitors came into
the firehouse Truck No. 12 showed
them Nellie even before the silver cup
won in last year’s city speed test: The
men told solemnly that Nellie tock =
hose bath every morning. They
whistled her out of her chair and
made her spring into the air with her
head high, so the muff of white hair
Yndey her chin showed advantageous-
y.
They were silent as to one distress-
ing particular.
For all her quickness and alert ears,
when the joker alarm sounded three
taps, then two, then two more—the
signal for Truck No. 12—Nellie was
that creature most despised on the
ladder. She was a ground fireman.
Six agonizing months captain and
men had tutored her. Not only was
she still unable to climb a ladder; she
even balked at a step. Captain and
men labored, pushed, shouted, coax-
ed. Nellie shook her yellow tail and
stayed on the ground.
That would have been all very well
in an engine company, a flying squad-
ron, or the insurance patrol, but in a
truck company, an aggregation of
ladder men, it was the only skeleton
in the company closet.
Until the night of the fire in the
Lake street warehouse.
It was raining, and thick weather
bad filled the apparatus rcom with
the heavy smell of gasoline and oil:
The company had gone to bed early,
and young Skip Oakley sat drowsily
on first watch wondering if 1 o’clock
would ever come. Nellie slept on a
blanket under the joker stand.
The first alarm came at 12:30, from
a box at Market and Lake streets.
Even before Oakley could tumble for-
ward in his chair to press the button
the voice of Captain McBride roared
above through the darkened sleeping
quarters.
“It’s a go!” he shouted. “Bunk
out!” ’
The lights flashed on, the big bell
awakened, rubber boots patter across
the upper floor.
Nellie lifted her nose from its com-
fortable pillow and yawned—a yawn
which complained that life in the five
department is extremely hard on a
dog’s habits. Then she uncurled and
trotted to the front side wheels of the
truck. The men were up before her,
sliding down the brass poles to the
apparatus room; like Nellie, grum-
bling automatically that any alarm
makes a tired man “bunk out” in the
middle of the night.
Skip Oakley, whose precarious duty
was at the front steering wheel,
swung into his seat and buckled the
strap across his waist. He pressed
the starter. Captain McBride sprang
up beside him and jerked at the cord
that opened the doors: Old Tom Man-
nus, the tillerman, climbed to his high
seat at the rear end of the ladders,
and, spreading his legs far apart,
gripped his knotty arms about the
tiller wheel. It is a difficult job, be-
ing a tillerman. A long ladder truck
is cumbersome; its rear wheels must
be guided expertly when the driver
up front careens hastily around a
series of short sharp corners.
On the running board Jenkens and
Norton held sleepily to the sides of
the ladder. The bell jangled and the
truck plunged into the street, with
Tom Mannus tugging desperately.
Nellie stood still, her ears sharp, per-
pendicular points, her fat collie tail
waving, until the back wheels left the
fire house door. Then she barked, as
mechanically as the men had grum-
bled, and plunged into a heavy run
after the swinging red tail light.
Laddermen might ride. She was a
ground fireman, and chose foot travel.
“Smell it?” asked Captain McBride.
Skip Oakley sat loosely at the
—
| wheel. His eyes were straight ahead,
his ears open for any sound of ap-
proaching apparatus.
“Smells like rubber,” he answered,
and slowed the motor for a final turn
into Lake street:
“Like work,” answered the captain.
A pair of red and green lights flash-
ed around the corner in the rear and
pounded up beside Truck No. 12. It
was a light, fleet insurance patrol.
Its bell clattered and it passed; be-
hind it throbbed an engine company.
“There’s Boss Corrigan.” Captain
McBride dropped the bell rope, and
Skip Oakley slacked speed as a small
car skidded to a stop just ahead of
him.
A man in a white helmet leaped out
of it. Smoke hung in a light cloud,
like fog, around the street lights.
Farther down the block a policeman’s
whistle screamed insistently. Chief
Corrigan, hearing it, stepped back to
the footboard of his car, and again it
was off. A policeman ran into the
path of its headlights, pointing to-
ward the left with his nightstick. The
chief’s car jerked, and halted at the
right. Truck No. 12 slid to the left.
Ahead, screened in smoke, Captain
McBride made out the outline of the
five early engines, already at the fire-
plugs. >
“Go by easy,” he directed.
The heavy truck rolled past the en-
gines to the curb of a great black
building. Tom Mannus jumped to his
feet and tipped his narrow seat on
one end by its hinges. He pulled out
the tiller wheel and hung it over the
seat. Then, thrusting his ax into his
belt and picking up a pike pole, he
dropped to the ground. :
“In front, Engine No. 32!” Chief
Corrigan was roaring. “Engine No.
14, take rear! You front, Truck No.
12! Locate! locate!” ;
“Come—Mannus, Jenkins!” Captain
McBride called sharply .
“I'm comin’,” Mannus
“But look who’s here.”
Nellie sprawled on the ground,
muddy and panting. A dirty tail
beat its own welcome and she sniffed
vociferously at Truck No. 12’s boot-
heels.
“You're some runner, Nellie,” Man-
nus said as he leaped over her. He
hurried forward.
Captain McBride was rattling the
front door of the Lake street ware-
house. It was a building almost win-
dowless, that reached up seven floors
over half a block.
“Hit her a wack,” the captain or-
dered.
“One side,” answered Tom Mannus.
He swung his ax. Wood splintered
and the door sagged. Thick, black,
smarting smoke burst through the
opening.
“She’s goin’ good somewheres,”
said the captain. He stepped back
and called “Hey, Chief Corrigan!”
“Aye!” came from the white hel-
met.
“She’s got a good holt somewheres.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
the chief bellowed. “In with you—in
and ventilate! Use your ax. I'll pull
three-eleyen.”
answered.
to white light. The fresh smoke es-
caped, serpent-like, across the side-
walks and along the gutters. The
i fling squadron had arrived; its men
ran forward with oxygen tanks and
helmets.
Nellie slipped under her own wa-
gon. From her assigned place below
the ladder she watched Truck No. 12
wade out of sight through the smoky
doorway.
Engine No- 32 went in after it run
ning awkwardly, with long hoops of
flapping hose. The insurance patrol
followed, bent double under the
weight of canvas tarpaulins. There
was an interval; smoke filled the door-
way; then the men backed out, all of
them. Truck No. 12 backed out last.
“Can’t make it,” cried some one.
“It’s too thick.”
“Ready with your ladder, Truck
No. 12,” Chief Corrigan ordered.
“Up! Top floor! Take a second line
off Engine No. 32. Up, and see what
you can find: Get the elevator, and
drown it down from there!”
Nellie sat in the mud. Here was
a real fire! She looked up at the men
on the running board. Captain Mec-
Bride stood on the front seat. Man-
nus and Oakley labored at the brass
windlass which’ lifts the extension
ladder. Slowly the great frame of
the ladder tilted into the air.
“Easy—easy, now boys—easy!”
warned the captain.
His own men turned the windlass
over and over. Still the ladder lifted,
the rear end in the air, the front hing-
ed to the truck.
“Heads up! Watch them wires!
Right a little—steady! Easy Now—
up—up—whoa!”
The ladder leaned against the build-
ing. Oakley and Mannus spiked their
windlass with steel pins, to prevent it
from slipping. Jenkens and Norton
already ground a smaller one. The
first extension slid upward, then a
second; the cables creaked; Norton
and Jenkens twisted their handles, up
the ladder moved, farther and farther.
“Get the line!” Captain McBride
ordered.
The four truckmen ran toward En-
gine No. 32. Through the spokes of
the hind wheel Nellie watched ap-
prehensively. The fog of smoke hid
them; they were back. Nellie bark-
ed her relief.
“Keep still, Nellie,” Captain Mec-
Bride said sharply. “There’s racket
enough.”
There was the rattle of an ax as it
bounced against the ladder rungs;
Captain McBride was climbing. At his
heels mounted Oakley, with the brass
nozzle over his shoulder, made fast
to his belt.
Nellie’s ears sharpened: She rub-
bed her nose against the wheel and
whined. Mannus was climbing now,
with a loop of hose around him, and
now Norton, and Jenkens. Nellie ran
out from cover and raised her muddy
front feet recklessly off the ground.
She felt experimentally of the sides
of the truck. There were her men,
going—up there was the bottom rung,
eight feet above her. :
Falling glass rattled upon the side-
walk. She dropped back.
“Cap’n’s using his ax,” Jenkens
called to Norton.
Back in the street flares puffed in- |
“Water, No. 32! Charge her!”
Captain McBride was
dow sill on the the top floor. The
line trembled, and the loops whipped
out. Black, three-inch hose leaped
full with pounding pressure.
So Truck No. 12 went where it was |
bid, and in the street a sleepy crowd ! ed.
coughed in the smoke and cheered.
The seventh floor was cut into
small, irregular rooms, each one
stored high with household goods. A
yellow light puffed unsteadily in the
center of the building, and smoke was
hot against the throat. Captain Mec-
i
I*
1
; bling sounded.
| Smoke, fire, heat drove them back
shouting everywhere.
through his hands from a smoky win- |
There was a stair. So much they
| knew.
Where? How to reach it?
“Falling wall!” the crowd whisper-
The three chiefs said, “Gasoline,”
and shook their heads.
Battalion Chief Corrigan jumped
‘into action.
“No. 32, 18 and 61 engines,” he
From within the building a rum- |
|
‘lie, through two corridors, around |
Jenkens and Norton lay still on the
floor, piled across the hose, like dead
men.
“Beat it, you two,” McBride order-
ed. “I'll try to help these fellows.”
Mannus and Oakley followed Nel-
charred boxes.
I A light flashed, whiter than the red
flame that licked outside the stair
well. It was a flare- Help was com-
ing—there were footsteps on hollow
wood—voices.
+ A Lieutenant from Squad No. 10
FARM NOTES.
—Nothing detracts more from a
"home than an ill-kept lawn. Making
| your lawn attractive is one sure way
‘in making your home attractive.
Grazed woodlots have fewer trees
| and the character of the trees and
i their ultimate return to the farmer
is poor. The leaves are scattered to
| fence rows, roads and ravines, and the
watershed value of the woodlot is
' greatly depreciated.
. —Picnic time has come.
1
|
!
More than
| shouted. “Captains, here. Get your plunged out through the smoke. His ever we appreciate the forests which
men, find that stairway, and lay the
oxygen helmet was strapped to his
Bride dropped to his hands and knees | lines up. Truck No. 12’s got to get back, its rubber grip pinched his nose,
and led the way.
The floor was warm. He felt it
cautiously and hesitated.
“What's there?” Tom Mannus ask-
ed behind him.
“Nothing.”
Captain McBride hitched ahead. It
was all right. Chief Corrigan had
promised a three-eleven. Another
five minutes and there would be three
more ladders.
Down in the street a rain-wet crowd
watched the few scattered windows.
There was smoke, and a ladder prop-
ped against the wall. The pumps
were pounding. But where was the
flame? The crowd waited impatient-
ly. It did not know that the danger-
ous fire, the one that makes widows
of firemen’s wives, is the kind that
smokes and is dark and surly.
There began to arrive apparatus
responding to the three-eleven alarm.
Police reserves jumped from their
patrol wagons and shouted boisterous
commands: Ropes were pulled into
place between poles and the crowd
was pushed back.
And under the truck Nellie stood
with her tongue hanging out one side
of her mouth, watching an empty win-
dow high in the air where the men of
her company had entered.
“It’s all the way up,” called an
officer who had stumbled from the
front door, coughing.
“Engine No. 6 reports,” broke in a
running, panting figure.
“Stick your Egan pipe in the front
cellar windows and spray,” ordered
the chief, calm in spite of the bedlam
in the street.
“Engine No.
shouted.
1 Cech way, cellar,” the chief direct-
e
29,” another man
“They ain’t no stair.” A third com-
plaining pipeman ran from the build-
ing: “It’s driving us back.”
“Up, now! Look up!”
It was the crowd calling. The re-
flection of flame blotted pink in a
mass of faces. Out through a sixth
floor window a red line raced and
widened and shot angrily into a flash
of fire. A murmur of satisfaction
arose from the crowd—this, not
smoke, was what it had awaited.
Chief Corrigan growled.
The flame bore other flames. They
scooted up the wall, directly under
Truck 12’s ladder. In another minute
they would touch it. Nellie whined—
they had touched, two rungs were hi
Nellie cried again. She ran int
the open and lifted her paws venture-
somely. Two feet off the ground she
found the running board: She trotted
its length unsteadily and scrambled
over the front mud guard. There was
a second step, two feet higher. She
sprawled up, clawing at the turntable,
where the windlass knobs twist the
ladder.
“Get that dog out!” Chief Corrigan
shouted.
He stood by the hood of the truck,
roaring. A wet, black hand reached
up and yanked Nellie away by the
collar.
Chief Corrigan had rushed to other
duties. Other men in white helmets
had arrived, new lines of hose wound,
serpentine, through the street. The
gutter ran with muddy water. Still
the flame leaped. Still Truck No.
12’s window was empty- Nellie ran
glong under the truck, barking sharp-
y.
On the seventh floor Truck No. 12
had found its duty and was hard at
it. The fire had climbed the shaft; al-
ready it was running through stacked
furniture at the top of the building.
Captain McBride lay on his face, with
his helmet tipped forward and the
brass nozzle in his arms. Behind him
Skip Oakley crouched with the throb-
bing hose against his chest; back of
him old Tom Mannus was coughing.
The sweeping water spilled chairs,
tables, couches, about the floor.
Smoke rolled blacker, but still the
flame crackled and curled through the
stacked furniture and up along the
roof beams.
Captain McBride slid backward.
“You, Jenkens,” he called, “get back
front there and ventilate. Find some
windows and open ’em!”
“Yes, sir,” Jenkens answered.
They heard his voice as he depart-
ed. “This here floor’s too hot!”
“It’s getting ahead,” the captain
growled. “Back up a little.”
Once more his men retreated, losers
in an uneven battle.
Then came Jenkens, smoke-dulled,
gasping. “Cap,” he whispered, “they’s
fire coming all round. We're cut off,
regular.”
“What you mean, cut off 7”
“Ladder’s right in the middle of it.
Everywhere I go they’s new fire. It’s
coming through the floor any minute.”
“Lay off,” McBride ordered. “I'll
hold the line. The rest o’ you look
for a get away.”
Old Tom Mannus was on his knees.
He turned at the right and pulled
himself into the smoke. Oakley hesi-
tated, then followed him. Jenkens
and Norton went to the left, between
two piles of furniture. They were
back immediately.
“Too hot,” Norton
“Let’s try it this way.”
Again the dark took them. There
was an interval. Oakley crawled back
from the first stack.
“Cut off, Cap,” he reported.
“Try again.” McBride's voice was
husky.
The fire crackled closer.
In the street three white helmets
bent close together in consultation.
Truck No. 12 was in a bad way. En-
gine No. 32 and two flying ‘squadrons
in oxygen masks were groping for a
stair.
said huskily.
| down somehow.”
| His command was loud but uncer-
| tain. Flame was spitting from the
| third floor. Five companies worked
{from the street, training the/r white
{ pillars of water into the broken win-
dows. Three other engines pumped
i into the rear.
men with extra lines labored outside,
high up the wall, in a shower of
| sparks. Four more groups, with
' Egan cellar pipes, kneeled on the side-
| walks and pushed their ungainly noz-
izles into the basement windows,
where the light was now red, now
pink.
Under Truck No. 12 Nellie whim-
pered. Her tail beat nervously in the
puddle of water leaked across the
road from the nearest engine. Twice
she scouted out among the apparatus
and sniffed hopefully at two firemen’s
boots. Glass tumbled around her, and
she crouched back under the seat.
Engine Companies No- 82, 12 and
61 massed before the door. New
flares sent reflections on three brass
(nozzles. Eighteen men awaited the
word.
“In with ye!” shouted Chief Coryi-
gan.
The three groups moved forward,
each about its own hose nozzle. The
flares fogged in smoke, and the last
rubber coat disappeared into the door-
way.
Nellie ran out from her hiding
place. She snuffed at the open door.
A policeman lunged toward her, and
she snapped back angrily at his night-
stick. Within the door smoke stung
her wet nostrils and her tongue that
lolled from her mouth. She hurried
forward, her nose to the floor.
Over at the right, through a long,
black gas-filled corridor she ran, pant-
ing and sneezing: Only darkness—
she turned back, past the men who
fhod and struggled with their hose
ines.
A door stood open ahead of her.
She smelled cooler air and hurried
through it. What was this? Her
feet scratched at a step, and she halt-
ed, uncertain, trembling. Far above
there sounded drumming water, the
chatter of fire, falling bodies, tumult.
And above it all an outcry, a com-
mand, one that she knew.
Nellie’s ears stretched into sharp
points.
A voice, one that belonged to a
ladderman! Truck No. 12!
Nellie forgot that she was a ground
fireman. She forgot her fear of
heights. She ran up the stair, stum-
bling, falling, fearful.
Captain McBride clutched his noz-
zle while his four men hunted a way
of escape: Tom Mannus came back
i and flopped down beside the hose line.
“It’s all up,” he said. “They ain’t
nc way out.”
“Where’s the boys?” asked Captain
McBride.
“I lost ’em. They’s crazy with
smoke, over there somewheres. I lost
em.”
Oakley returned while Mannus was
speaking.
“I found a window,” he gasped.
“They an’t no fire in it yet. Maybe
they can lift a ladder to us there, if
we can make ’em hear us.”
“We’ll all holler.” Captain Mec-
Bride and Mannus followed Oakley
along a wet, narrow aisle. “Maybe
they'll hear all of us.”
But the window faced upon a court-
yard. Mannus looked below into the
deep well, with its spurting windows.
Here was no way out; breaking glass
told of a quick-traveling flame. The
men shouted hopelessly. The leap-
ing fire answered.
Captain McBride fumbled his way
back to the fallen nozzle. Jenkens
and Norton had returned, unsucessful.
Norton lay upon the floor, choking
for breath. Jenkens sat with the noz-
zle in his lap Old Tom Mannus pick-
ed it up, and once more the water
swept ahead of him.
“Give her all y’ got,” he was grunt-
ing. “If we got to go, let’s go like
fromen, Give her all y’ got. Come
on!
The fire climbed on, above, at both
sides. Furniture toppled, and Mannus
swung the nozzle back and forth. The
flood shot pink into the firelight and
fell against the hot floor, sizzling and
steaming. There were whirs of flame
a rumble of wall, and then a new cry.
It was a yelp, a whimper.
Captain McBride staggered to his
feet, heedless of the white heat that
scorched his face.
“Nellie!” he cried.
Nellie 7”
The whimper came again from be-
hind a stack of furniture: Oakley
flung himself at the pile and it tum-
bled forward. He hurled chairs left
“Where you at,
and right. Nellie whined once more.
“We're comin’, Nellie,” Oakley
cried. “Here we are!”
Nellie crawled from the dark on
blistered paws. Her shaggy coat was
singed, her ears lay flat against her
head. She crept another length and
rubbed her nose against the captain’s
glove. Then she turned, the way she
had come, crying in her throat and
looking back at the company.
“Nellie, you clumb!” Captain Mec-
Bride shouted.
Nellie whined again and limped
ahead. McBride stumbled, and she
snapped at his rubber coat, tugging
weakly.
“There’s a stair, men,” McBride
said hoarsely: “Nellie’s found a stair,
somewheres. Drop your pipe and
come.”
Mannus floundered to his feet and
pulled at Oakley.
“Come on,” he whispered.
“Hitch along on your ax,” McBride
directed.
He looked back.
Two troops of ladder- :
jand he breathed heavily. After him
i came two other squad men; then the
‘captain of Engine No. 61, with two
pipemen.
“Here’s a way out, if you're
the lieutenant shouted.
hurry!”
“The cap’s back there with two of
’em Mannus whispered.
Nellie made a hoarse noise in her
throat and climbed to her feet.
“The dog’ll show us,” the squad
lieutenant answered. “She brung us
i up-
There was a swelling of smoke. The
floor sagged. Mannus and Oakley
| stumbled down a dozen steps, feeling
| their way against the wall, their eyes
, closed.
i “They’ve got ’em!” cried the pipe-
‘man who had started out with them.
i Rubber-coated figures pushed down
| behind. Engine Captain No. 61 held
| Captain McBride’s arms. Jenkens
"and Norton hung over the shoulders
quick!”
“Snap out,
1 of other men. In the arms of a third |
! Nellie cried and wheezed and pawed
i the air spasmodically.
i “There’s one hard place,” the cap-
| tain of No. 61 said indistinctly. “It’s
(down on the third floor We got a
| good dose coming up. There’s a cou-
‘ple of lines holding it till we get
down again.”
Fire burst through the partition.
Crouched on the steps below two
knots of men swung their nozzles
“Run for it!” the captain of No. 61
ordered. “Drop your pipes and run.”
The ambulance backed up to the
curb. Lung motors throbbed and the
police held a curious crowd away from
two figures spread out upon the side-
walk. A police surgeon turned his
flashlight.
“You’ve lost your eyebrows, man,”
he exclaimed, and lifted Captain Mec-
Bride into the wagon.
Oakley and Mannus were boosted
after him.
“Where's Nellie?” McBride asked
weakly.
“Here.”
A pipeman in a rubber coat came
forward and set a singed, sprawling
body down on its four feet.
Nellie hobbled a step: Then her
tail sagged and she rolled over,
“Put her in,” the surgeon ordered.
| “Four patients for the hospital.”
The bell rang ,and the ambulance
bumped away over lines of charged
hose.
So when visitors come now into the
quarters of Truck Company No. 12,
Nellie blinks and lolls her tongue and
listens to captain and men tell for the
thousandth time of the fire in the
Lake street warehouse.
“And before that night,” Mannus
will say, “she was a ground fireman,
| ’fraid to climb a stair. But, say, a
! dog’s got more sense than men, any-
how. She smelt every fellow in the
‘ block, tryin’ to find her own folks.
And when they wasn’t in sight she
hunted up that stair and brung the
rest of ’em up. Just two minutes be-
derman now, ain’t you, Nellie?”
Nellie yawns, for she is bored with
a story told too often.—By Karl W.
Detzer.—From the Public Ledger.
Eagles Mere Bible Conference August
28 to September 5.
Popular Bible study combined with
vacation recreation is the attractive
scheme for the annual Bible confer-
ence at Eagles Mere, Pa., August 28th
to September 5th, under the auspices
of the Moody Bible Institute of Chi-
cago.
Two distinguished speakers from
abroad will appear on the program.
Dr. F. B. Meyer, of London, dean of
English Bible teachers and religious
writers, will be an outstanding fea-
ture of the conference. Dr. D. H. Deol-
man, of Wansbek, Germany, a native
of Holland and head of a special mis-
sionary enterprise of the church of
England, who was brought to America
last year and again this year by the
Moody Bible Institute because of his
extraordinary helpfulness, will speak
daily throughout the conference.
The conference will be held under
the general direction of Dr. James M.
Gray, the president of the Moody
Bible Institute, who will be present
during the latter half of the period
and give Bible studies and popular
addresses on the first Epistle of Paul
to the Corinthians. Charles L. Hus-
ton, prominent layman of Coatesville,
Pa., will speak on “A Business Man’s
Use of the Bible in Personal Work.”
Sessions of the conference will be
held forenoons and evenings, the
afternoons being left free for rest and
the enjoyment of the rare bathing,
boating and hiking afforded by beau-
tiful Eagles Mere.
Special rates have been granted by
the six fine hotels of Eagles Mere for
the conference. E. B. Buckalew, of
Harrisburg, the regional representa-
tive of the Moody Bible Institute, has
charge of the arrangements and has
recently issued an attractive circular
of information.
Bell System Pays $5.04 Tax on Each
Phone in Operation.
Each telephone of the Bell system
paid a tax of approximately $5.04
for the year ending December 31,
1925.
Figures for the year show a total
tax of $58,186,816, or forty-two
cents a month for each telephone in
operation. That includes both main
telephones and extensions.
The rate shows an increase of 120
per cent, over 1910 when the tax on
each instrument was $2.27.
—Subsecribe for the “Watchman.’
fore the floors dropped. She’s a lad- :
| provide us with a beauty spot for our
| gatherings. In picnic time we pay
| tribute to the forest and the comfort
|it gives us. Protect it and save it for
. others,
| —Poultry mites are often the cause
| of low egg production: They suck
| blood from the hens at night and as
la result lower the vitality of the
flock and decrease the egg yield.
| Paint the roosts and dropping boards
| with carbolineum to eliminate the
| mites.
{ —A great many heifers on pasture
{ are looking thin. They should receive
| some grain daily to keep them grow-
ing throughout the summer. Heifers
that go into winter quarters in a thin
| condition may be stunted, and it is
| more expensive to grow them out.
than the heifers that have been kept
in a fair condition of flesh through-
out the summer.
—The brood mare needs liberal
feeding while suckling her foal, say
horse specialists of the Pennsylvania
State College. Encourage the foal to
jeat some crushed oats and bran and
nice soft legume hay early in life.
This will help the mother as well as
the colt. If she is working in addi-
tion to suckling the colt it is quite a
i drain on her system.
—In addition to the great damage
to foliage in farm woodlots by graz-
ing cattle, there are many other ill
effects which are pointed out by C. R.
Anderson, in charge of forestry ex-
tension at the Pennsylvania State
College.
One of these bad effects is the
trampling of the soil in the woodlot,
resulting in a compacting which
makes it difficult for roots of trees to
penetrate the soil, and also the hard-
ened soil turns off water instead of
admitting it freely, cutting down the
moisture content and affecting the
growth of trees.
—If local poultry raisers find that
young chicks are dying off myster-
iously, they should look about for
yellowish brown bugs, about three-
eights of an inch in length, covered
with light hairs, and having leathery
brown wings.
They are rose chafers, also known
as rose bugs or rose beetles, and con-
tain a poison that causes the death
of young chicks within 24 hours.
Chicks over four months of age can
eat a large number without injurious
effect, say poultry specialists at the
Pennsylvania State College.
The first symptoms are a sluggish
disposition, droopy wings a shaking
of the body, and later leg weakness
sets in.
There is no cure, and preventing
the birds from eating the chafers is
the secret of control. The chafers
usually do not appear annually in the
same locality. They feed on petals
and leaves of rose bushes, daisies, and
on grape vines, especially. Poison
sprays on the plants are not effective-
During May the chafers are in the
soil, and come out in June and are
found until late July. Daisies on the
poultry range should be mowed, and
roses and grape vines should not be
planted on the range in affected areas.
—DMany horses fail to stand up to
the work during the summer months
as well as they might, owing to the
ration fed. It is much like burning
the candle from both ends to feed a
heavy heating ration internally with
the summers burning sun from the
exterior, says County Agent, R. C-
Blaney. Most successful horse users
prefer oats to corn during summer
months particularly for the bulk of
the grain ration, and rightfully so.
Even oats can be materially assisted
by the addition of bran to ieyze the
concentrated ration even lighter.
Then too, the laxative effect of the
bran itself is very helpful. Constipa-
tion aggravates the horses chances to
endure the heat.
Good, bright clean hay fed not too
liberally assists also. Most men feed
too much hay rather than too little.
At least half of the total amount of
hay fed should be at night, little be-
ing necessary during mornings and
noons. Salt should always be available.
Frequent watering assists the horse
as well as the driver. Let him have
a drink the last thing before going to
bed, as the night is long and hot in
many stables: Proper grooming, es-
pecially in the evenings, is often over-
looked but exceedingly beneficial and
is cheap feed.
—The asparagus season for 1926
is over in Centre county. Because of
too much cool weather and a dry
month of May the yield was rather
small. The asparagus bed must not
be neglected during the summer for
if it is neglected the yield next year
will be unsatisfactory. State College
Garden Extension Specialists give the
following comment on summer care
of the asparagus bed.
The stored up nourishment in the
asparagus root is gone; it was used
during the cutting season. Keep the
ground cultivated or hoed until frost
kills the tops; asparagus cannot com-
pete with weeds. Feed the asparagus
about during July, mulching with
manure is fine, a light appligation of
chicken manure is also excellent. If
manures cannot be obtained use com-
mercial fertilizer. A high grade com-
plete fertilizer may be used, scatter-
ing a small handful around each hill.
Nitrate of soda or sulphate of am-
monia may be used, one handful to 10
or 12 feet of row, scattering it well.
Sheep manure, bone meal or dried
blood will also stimulate growth:
Do not cut asparagus after July
1st. There must be season enough to
grow mature stalks, which means the
berries or seed must ripen in the fall.
The nourishment stored in the roots
for next years cutting is stored be-
tween now and fall.