—
Bellefonte, Pa., February 18, 1927.
nm
“HAVEN'T GOT TIME.”
Opportunity tapped at a door
With a chance for the brother within;
He rapped till his fingers were sore,
And muttered, “Come op, let me in,
Here is something I know you can do,
Here's a hill that I know you can climb.”
But the brother inside, very quickly replied
“Oh fellow, I haven't got time.”
Opportunity wandered along
In search of 2 man who would rise.
He said to the indolent throng;
Here's a chance for the fellow who tries.”
But each of them said with a smile,
“I wish I could do it, but I'm
Very busy today, and I'm sorry to say
That I really haven't got time.”
At last opportunity came
To a man who was burdened with cares,
And said: “I now offer the same
Opportunity that has been theirs.
Here's a duty that ought to be done.
It’s a chance if you've got time to take it.”
Said the man with a grin, “Come along
pass it in!
I'll either find time or make it.”
Of all the excuses there are
By which the world is accursed,
This ‘haven't got time” is by far
worst,
A delusion it is, and a snare;
If the habit is yours, you should shake it,
For if you want to do what is offered to
you
You'll find time to do it or make it.
the
FREEDOCM.
As she sat there, in her quiet room,
with slim hands folded softly in the
lap of her black silk frock, Elizabeth
Murray felt a swift sense of let-down
—a sense of being untrammeled, un-
tied, free. The very stillness of the
room intensified this feeling, just as
her idle fingers intensified it. And yet
this let-down brought with it no tide
of exhilaration—no exuberance, no ex-
citement even. The memory of that
latest grave—on the green hillside,
just beyond the city—was too fresh,
too poignantly new.
Her drawing board, just across the
room, was mutely expressive, with its
neatly-sorted papers, its accusing-
clean brushes, its pile of waiting pens
and pencils. Ordinarily, at this time
in the afternoon, Elizabeth Murray
would have been seated in front of it
at work. Busy, perhaps, on some
complicated lay-out. But now? The
work could wait! What, she asked
herself fiercely, did work mat-
ter, anyhow? If she didn’t finish her
picture on time, the art editor could
get some one else to do it. The world
was full of commercial artists—ecar
cards and magazine pages and trade-
marks would be dsigned long after her
fingers were forever still. What did
it matter if she didn’t do any work for
the next week, the next month, the
next year! What did it matter now?
She was all alone. She had only her-
self to consider. If she chose to be
idle, Ler lack of energy would hurt no
one but herself. If she chose to be
penniless, only she would go hungry.
If she chose to throw away chances at
large accounts—well, the chances in-
volved her future, alone. No one de-
pended upon her now. No one! At the
thought she covered her eyes suddenly
with her hands. And for the moment
her slender shoulders quivered with
her convulsive sobbing . ..
All her life—ever since she could
remember, almost—Elizabeth Murray
had taken care of people. Her father
had been a helpless cripple—through
no fault of his own he had been forced
to rely, an invalid, upon his daughter’s
willing help. Her mother had suffered
from a nervous ailment—the last sev-
en years of her life had been spent in
a narrow bed beside a narrow window.
Elizabeth had kept the sill of that
window a-boom with flowers and had
bought an endless supply of cheery
books to fill the tense hours which her
mother had been forced to spend
alone. She had loved caring for her
father—she had met uncomplaining
cheeriness with a devotion that was
always spontaneous. She had adored
looking after her mother—she had
planted beautiful thoughts and ex-
quisite tenderness in the heart of the
invalid, just as she had planted flow-
ers upon the window-sill.
And she had loved, too, caring for
the great-aunt who had come to her
suddenly, after her mother’s death,
from a little country village. A blind
woman with a gentle smile and a
voice that fairly sang with radiant
faith and sublime trust. The great-
aunt—silver-haired, feeble—had been
a joy to cherish, to protect. And yet
she had been even more of a respon-
sibility than the crippled father who
could wheel himself from room to
room in his mechanical chair. Than
the ill mother who could read endless
novels with a seemingly endless ap-
petite. The great-aunt’s death had
come suddenly—and it had been as if
a candle—dimly but gaily lighted—
had flickered out at the gesture of a
passing breeze.
Her grave—of the three upon the
green hillside-——was the most recent.
It was only a matter of days since she
had gone to her rest there.
Yes, all her life Elizabeth Murray
had cared for people. Working with a
persistence, a rush, a dogged endur-
ance so that she might care for them
properly. Often she had thanked God
for the talent with which he had bless-
ed her—a talent that allowed her to
earn a fairly large income. So that
doctor’s bills never came too high, so
that little luxuries never cost too dear!
She had seldom taken vacations—-
not Elizabeth. For she could never
afford either the time, away—or the
money involved. There were so many
things to do with the hours—and the
dollars—for those whom she loved.
And she had never missed the vaca-
tions: her life had been too crowded,
too intensely busy. But now that she
was suddenly and completely alone,
the thought of a vacation—a long va-
cation in a far place—came to her.
Came with such a sudden forcefulness
that it fairly caught at her throat.
Her hands dropped from her eyes—
until they came to rest again, softly,
in the lap of her black frock. And routine!), and pitied her when they cided not to move. Perhaps—
—all at once—her eyes began to thought of her, in the dark hours of
dream. The word spelled out by her the night. “She’s so alone,” they mur-
heart might have been release.
Oh, have I made you see her—
cred, when they pitied her!
| And so it went, until that most de-
But it was a man’s voice, not the
, excited tone of the pathetic woman,
i that greeted her.
“This is Miss Murray? questioned
Elizabeth Murray? Not glad of the cisive day of all, when Elizabeth Mur- the voice. “I—I have some news for
word her heart was spelling!
Not ray inserted an advertisement in a you that isn’t very pleasant. I am a
glad of her release from care, from newspaper. A small, conservative ad- doctor, and a woman has just been
responsibility; not reaching joyously
toward her freedom. Stretching wist-
ful fingers, rather, through a lonely
vertisement.
! “To sublet,” read the advertisement,
| “an apartment. Comfortably furnish-
| brought into my office. She was rua
“down by a truck, just in front of my
house. Hurrying to get across the
place—in search of a less lonely place. ed. Sunny, quiet rooms. Very rea- , street, to the subway, I suppose, and
Elizabeth—not quite realizing why her
drawing-board was so idle and so neat. |
sonable.”
A tiny, unsensational item. But it
i —“there was annoyance in the man’s
_voice—“and not bothering to look
Not quite caring and wondering why was to be the final snip of the shears about! The only identifying mark on
she did not care with a wonder as in- that would cut the even fabric of her is your card. Perhaps she’s a—"
tense as it was curiously detached.
| Elizabeth Murray’s life. For, when
"the annoyance had left his voice—“a
Perhaps, had she been left free at the apartment was sublet, she would ' relative?”
twenty, her reactions might have beeu
be able at once to purchase her tickets. |
Elizabeth Murray raised a hand to
slightly different. But Elizabeth Mur- | Free, even, of the small cares of a her tightening throat. It was with an
ray was thirty now, and life had drain-
ed some of the thrill, the glory of
rhythm, from her soul. She smiled
readily—but audible laughter was
hard to manage. She had learned to
stifle audible things to a certain de-
gree. And yet—this thought of a va-
cation, taking possession of her so
suddenly, carried a real splendor with
it. She could manage it, she told her-
self swiftly—but, of course, she could!
She had nearly five thousand dollars
in the bank, and not an unpaid bill in
the world. She could always earn
enough money to live on, even if her
art failed her—if, during a long ab-
sence, her name and address were
stricken from agency lists and maga-
zine directories.
hoarding a nest-egg now—and there
was only herself to consider. Strange
how the thought kept recurring to hex
mind. Strange, indeed!
Oh, with any one of those loved, de-
pendent people alive, Elizabeth Mur-
ray would not have thought of touch-
ing that savings account! It would
have been profane, irreverent, to do
so. The money had been guarded in
case—in case something happened to
her first. Something that would leave
her dear ones helpless, cast upon the
uncertain charity of a busy city. But
now it could be touched, the five
thousand! In her new freedom it
could be used—every penny of it-—
toward following a rainbow trail.
Leaning back in her chair Eliza-
beth closed her eyes against the fad-
ing light of the afternoon. And saw,
in vision, a series of dream places.
Places that she had never dared see
before, even in imagination. She spoke
names in a whisper, names that be-
longed to story-books and to motion
picture plots.
“New Orleans,” she said softly.
“Bordeaux, Paris, France. London.
Algiers. Rome! Venice—Venice, with
gondolas—Rio,” she smiled, “Rio de
Janeiro. Madrid. Seville. Perhaps
Calcutta. Perhaps even—Bagdad!”
Of course, there were plans to be
made, loose ends to be gathered up, to
be-tied safely together. One can not
easily break the habits of a lifetime,
the habits of work and of staying at
home. Elizabeth still found herself
buying bulbs to be planted for her
mother—bulbs that she had to remind
herself, later, would never be planted!
She still found herself cutting jokes
out of the morning paper—jokes to be
sent to her father on his breakfast
tray. Jokes that she crumpled up, on
remembering facts, and tossed into her
waste- basket. Often she said—as she
went into the shops from which her
new clothes, clothes that she planned
to purchase against the coming vaca-
tion, would be bought—
“I must think to tell Auntie how
bright the new sliks are . . . I won-
der if I can make her see the gay col-
ye
Oh, often—
But, for ali that, the plans began to
crystallize. It wasn’t very long before
a pile of catalogues (illustrated, for
the most part, with alluring photo-
graphs that had not even been re-
touched!) cluttered the room in which
Elizabeth Murray worked. It was not |
long before her bureau drawers showed
a sign of preparation. Soft crepe
underthings, that could be laundered
easily on boat or train, filled them.
And the new coat that she bought was
She had no need of
‘home, to start upon her pilgrimage!
| There were a number of applicants
who came, on the morning of the ad-
| vertisement’s appearance, to see the
apartment. Pedple who sniffed at the
location—and thought the very rea-
sonable price “absurd!” People who,
with no real idea of subleting, looked
askance at some of the drawings that
Elizabeth had done in life class. Peo-
ple who thought the rooms too small,
and others who thought them too
large. And, at last, at the noon hour,
a woman with a small, pathetic face
and a shabby cloak. A woman who
delighted in the wide windows and
thought Elizabeth’s furniture “too
"sweet for anything!”
“But I can’t pay a great deal,” hesi-
tated the woman, “for I don’t make ;
a very large salary. I'm a private
i secretary in a big bond house. And
i I—I have a little boy to take care of.
I—you see, I'm all alone in the world,
except for him. I'm a widow. You—”
all at once the small, pathetic face
was touched with apprehension— “you
don’t object to children, do you? He's
a very good little boy. He's just four.
He was born a month after—"’ the wo-
man stopped suddenly, and her hands
clenched hard upon the scrap of a
cambric handkerchief—“after his dad-
dy—died! He’s not a destructive
child—he won’t scratch the chairs or
hurt any of your pretties. He’s al-
ways lived, you see, with things that
belonged to other folks, in furnished
rooms.”
Elizabeth, looking at the woman,
was moved to take her into strong,
sympathetic arms. She stifled the
impulse sternly—this woman was none
of her affair! But the rent that she
named was twenty dollars less than
the figure that she had given to the
last one who had come to inquire. And
at sight of the woman’s wistfully con-
sidering face she lowered it another
ten dollars, lowered it quite voluntar-
ily! She would lose money on the
proposition—but her home was charm-
ing, and she wanted the woman to
have it. Wanted the careful little boy,
who had always lived in furnished
rooms, to know the sunshine and pic-
tures and flower-boxes that she her-
self had enjoyed. Silly? Of course!
But—now she could afford to be silly!
The woman’s face brightened at the
last named figure. om
“Oh,” she breathed, and her slender
hands, in their old gloves, came to-
gether rapturously. “Oh, you're more
than kind! I know that the rent you're
asking is ridiculous. You could get
much more surely. But—it seems as
if staying in this place would be al-
most like giving my child a—a real
chance! He’s never lived in a lovely
home—not ever!”
Elizabeth, looking into the woman's
lifted eyes, wanted desperately to low-
er the rent another ten dollars. But
again she stifled the impulse. This
stranger was not her responsibility.
After all, she was already losing mon-
ey. The rent she had asked was ridic-
ulous! Only
“Suppose you think it over,” she
said, speaking involuntarily, “until
this evening? And then you can call
me your decision. And perhaps—”
She left the sentence unfinished, but
she scribbled a telephone number upon
her card. Eagerly the woman with
the pathetic face took the card.
“I'll give you my address, too,” she
said. “But—oh, I'll scarcely need to
effort that she spoke. “No,” she an-
swered, “she’s not a relative. Only—
an acquaintance. Is she badly hurt?”
The doctor’s voice had again lost its
note of sympathy. It was crisp, im-
personal. “Then, perhaps,” it said,
“you can put me in touch with her
family. Yes, she’s very badly hurt.
It’s only a question of an hour—per-
haps less. . . .”
| Elizabeth, standing with the receiv-
er in her hand, felt suddenly faint.
The room with its pleasant furnish-
ings, its four picture-crowded walls,
was whirling about her. But through
the chaos, the confusion, she was re-
membering. Remembering the wo-
| man’s own words, spoken so short a
time before— “I’ve a little . . . just
four...” so the womain had told her
—“I'm all alone, but for him!”
The doctor was speaking again—
“Are you there?” he was questioning.
“Yes? Well, can you make any sug-
gestions? Is there any one who can
be notified 7”
Perhaps some women would have
found it easy to answer the doctor in
tones more or less casual. But not
Elizabeth! Desperately, for a mo-
ment, she wished that she might give
to this stranger the woman’s home
address. Curious that she should have
it. Desperately she wished that she
might impart matter-of-fact informa-
tion about the small boy. But the
wishing did not help. All in a second
she knew acutely that her freedom
was slipping, slipping. That certain
tickets (she had thought vaguely of
purchasing them on the morrow!)
would never be bought. For one mo-
ment she longed to cry into the tele-
phone: ,
“This is not my affair. They have
no claim—no possible claim—upon
me!”
For one moment, but only for one
moment. Even as the wild thoughts
went rushing through her brain her
calm voice answered the doctor.
“Do everything that you can to save
her,” she instructed swiftly. “And T’ll
be at your office as soon as a taxi can
bring me there!”
The woman’s broken body was ly-
ing on a couch in the doctor’s spotless
room. Her eyes were closed, but she
still breathed with faint, terrible, little
gasps. Somehow, at this time, her
look was no longer pathetic. The
great great thing that she was facing
had lent to her a certain majesty. A
certain glory, almost. As Elizabeth
knelt swiftly beside her, the tired eyes
flew open. And, for one moment, the
two women were alone in a space be-
tween worlds. For one moment Eliza-
beth found herself looking into a soul
as hurt, as a gaping wound. And
then, with an effort that must have
me,” she said. “Ill see you later in
the evening. I’ll settle with you abcut
bills, and other matters, then. Just |
Impressions of Parliament.
now—" her voice held a note of su- AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
preme wonderment, “just now I’ve
Hot an erring to doc LAD portant or : By Rev. L. ¥ Cotte D. D.
rand. I've got to call for a little With some curiosity to hear Canon
boy—” her eyes were suddenly swept Farrar, I betook myself to Westmins-
with light, “and take him—home—> | ter Chapel where this noted preacher
—By Margaret Sangster in Good Was conducting night services. With
Housekeeping. i Henry Mellville, at St. Paul’s, he at
| that time, enjoyed the greatest pon-
| ularity among the Cathedral attend-
ants. He was a Rector of the first
order, his attraction consisting in the
iornate finish of his style and a clear,
Some of the babies today will live | Mellifluos voice. He was not char-
to see the United States a nation of ,2cterized by the massiveness and
200,000,000 people if David F. Hous- | compactness of thought or the natural
ton, secretary of agriculture in Presi- eloquence of Melville but was a
dent Wilson’s cabinet, reads the fu- | Pleasing speaker withal. At taat time
ture aright. He predicts that that Ne awakened a considerable theolog-
will be the population of the country deal storm because of his expression
within seventy-five years. Well, our °f t00 liberal views upon the doctrine
idea of countries with population num- | of Retribution and the translation of
bered in the hundreds of millions has | the Greek word, Aiwonas. A discus-
until now been lands like Russia, | $100 Was started that ran through all
China and India—countries in which | the Sects on both sides of the Atlan-
poverty is wide-spread and the average 116: Apart from the merits of the
standard of living low. There is scant dUeStion it is note-worthy that from
likelihood that with our increase of hat time forward, there has been a
population we shall sink to the level sensible decline in all churches in the
olithe counlrics nemed: , use of Hell-fire and the menace of the
The United States is too rich for 9udgment in the pulpit as suasions to
that. As Mr. Houston points out, we 2 Christian life, the love element of
have great copper and iron resources, the New Testament, so long left in
immense agricultural riches, and far abeyance, receiving more of its due
more than our proportionate share of SMPNasis.
the world’s railroads, telephones and! Next among the famous preachers
automobiles. If we are prudent our of London that attracted us was
descendants, for many generations, Monsignore Capel, the celebrated
will enjoy as high a standard of liv- Jesuit, who figured in Disraeli’s novels
ing as we. But there will have to be aS the most successful propagandist
a great deal of vigilance if the wolf of Catholicism of that day amongst
is to be kept from the door. English speaking people and who was
There will be an acute timber short- ' Succ2ssful in converting many fam-
age in fifty years, foresters tell us, if ilies of gentry to that faith.” That
we do not put a stop to forest fires. | day, in the Catholic Cathedral, he took
Agricultural economists state that for his theme, “The Infallibility Dog-
food production is not keeping pace ' Ma,” which had but late been affirmed
with increase of population. While by the Plenary Council of Rome and:
we are increasing the average yield Which led to an ineffective schism by
per acre, the per capita output is fall- | the new Catholics, Dollinger at their
ing off, and the time can be foreseen head. He impressed me as an exceed-
when we will have to import far more | ingly able and acute reasoner, who:
food than we now get from abroad. |might have been a constitutional law-
With increase of population the rate Yer addressing a Supreme Court,
at which oil, natural gas and other ex- | Speaking in a level, comparatively low,
haustible resources are used will be | conversational tone without any of the:
accelerated. In short, the best brains | qualities of eloquence, depending for-
of the country will have to be called | his impression alone upon the clear,.
upon to see that the needs of those | White light of reason In my Semi-
200,000,000 Americans are satisfied. [nary days, the theologians of my de--
The certainty, under normal condi- | nomination depended for their argu-
tins, that the population will thus in- | ment to invalidate prelatic succession
crease in a comparatively short per-|upon the act that some of the succes-
iod, as time goes, urges us to reason- sors of St. Peter, such as the Medi-
able conservation and progress in de- | cian Popes were men of unsavory pri-
velopment of good government.—The | vate character, in fact very fallible:
Pittsburgh Post. men. What was my astonishment in.
hearing Monsignore Capel meeting
this very charge fairly and squarely
with an intellectual honesty that was
refreshing. “Let it be granted! Be
it so for argument sake but what does:
the charge amount to when analyzed
to the bottom. Mind ye not that
Balaam, the Prophet accepted a bribe
of the Philistines to curse Israel but
when he spake as God’s prophet he:
was obliged to testify a blessing not
once but thrice—this because as the
annointed of God, speaking as his am--
bassador, whatever his simony he
could not err. Call also to mind the
even clearer case of Caiaphas, who:
in personal character was a Deicide,
giving his voice as chief of the San-
hedrim for the execution of Christ.
He did so in the remarkoble language:
“Know ye not that it is expedient that
etc pA
United States Population 200,000,000
in 75 Years.
Express Packages by Airplane on a
Regular Schedule.
The airplane is soon to carry ex-
press packages on regular schedule
just as it now carries U. S. mail. The
American Railway Express Company
announces that, beginning April 15,
1927, it will establish two air express
routes. One will extend “from New
York to Chicago and the other from
Chicago to Dallas, Texas, with deliv-
eries to intermediate cities. From this
beginning the company plans to de-
velop a transcontinental air express
service, with branch lines extending to
all parts of the country.
Robert E. M. Cowie, president of
the American Railway Express Com-
been tremendous, the woman spoke, pany, says: “Sensing the demand of
She said one word only. It was as if, | American commerce for the quickest
ever since the accident, she had been ‘possible transportation service at all
saving her strength to ask a question times, express officials have been
with that word! watching the progress of commercial
“Bobby ?” she questioned, and that ' aviation and awaiting the time when
was all. | it could be put to practical use as an
Elizabeth Murray had knelt, before, ' auxiliary to the express service of the
at other death-beds. She had cried | country. Between the rail and the air
t i branches of the express service there
out, before, against the shadow of the | Me ala
Dark Angel. She knew that the wo- | Wil ¢ 4
man had come to her silent hour. And , shipper, for instance, may have his
she knew, too, that this going would | goods flown speedily to Hadley Field,
affect her life as no other going had near Brunswick, N. J., which is the
ever before been able to affect it. gastern airplane terminal. From
Even though this woman was a |there the shipments will be taken by
stranger—and those others had been [rail without a moment’s delay and
of her own flesh and blood! With the | turned over to the consignees by
a sturdy one—built to resist the damp-
ness of sea air. isn .
At first, she had to remind herself
that it wasn’t all a phantom—this va-
cation that she was planning. She
found it difficult to confide to the first
art editor that she was not in the mar-
ket for the handling of a certain new
campaign—a campaign that would
have thriled her a few short monihs
before.
“Oh, I'd like to take it on,” she said
hesitatingly—*“but I'm afraid—I can’t.
You see,” all at once she was blushing,
“you see, I'm going away!”
The art editor was a little fat man
with great spectacles. He had missed
romance, himself—and so he spelled
SNiment into the blushes of other
olk.
“Not,” he questioned with a heavy
playfulness, “not planning to be mar-
call you again! For I guess 1 have
already decided. Only—well, I would
like to tell you what Bobby”—almost
girlishly she laughed—“Bobby, he's
my little boy, will have to say! He’s
a quaint, old-fashioned kiddie. I've
got to get back to the office now. But
I'll hurry home to him the moment
I’ve finished, this afternoon. TI’ll call
you as soon after five as I'm able—"
already she was moving toward the
door, “and I can never tell you—in
words—"
Elizabeth’s upraised hand was
checking the woman’s turbulent
thanks. But her smile was sweet with
understanding.
All during the afternoon Elizabeth
Murray was restless. Almost irritably
she turned away various people who
made inquiry concerning the adver-
tisement. She even turned away the
ried 7”
; man in the fur coat, who took a fancy
Still more brightly Elizabeth Mur-
to the place—and would have given
curiously enough, lifting it on high—
she made answer. And dared to smile
gallantly as she spoke.
“Don’t you worry about Bobby,” she
said swiftly, distinctly, and—thank
God!—gladly—“I’ll see to him!”
Into the other woman’s eyes came a
sudden radiance, an
peace. And then the eyes closed, quite
naturally. She might have drifted, at
the moment, into a restful sleep.
At the gesture of the doctor—at the
shudder, uncontrollable, of his white-
lipped office assistant-—Elizabeth arose
to her feet. Stiffly, as though she had
been kneeling in one position for
hours, instead of minutes. Her lips
were moving—one wonders if the doc-
tor thought that they were moving in
prayer? Perhaps, in a way, it was a
prayer that Elizabeth said to herself
—for her lips were silently forming
words. A prayer of—shall we say—
renunciation? For these were the
special delivery as quickly as a special
one man should die for the people
and the whole nation perish not.” He
spake thus hecause he was High Priest
that year. Thus he gave expression:
unconsciously to the central truth of”
Christianity, the necessity, the moral
obligatoriness of a vicarious redemp-
tion, being guarded from error and
rendered infallible not because of any
good or evil in himself but because,.
as head of the divinely appointed Jew-
ish Church not as yet done away with
and in which the Spirit of God sub-
stantively dwelt, he was speaking not:
as a fallible man but ex cathedra as
an infallible organ of the most High
God. The argument of Monsignore:
Capel burnt itself mto my conscious--
ness and from that day to this I have:
knowledge torturing her heart and— |
indescribable !
delivery letter is delivered by the Post
Office D to not known how a Protestant holding
ce Department.
to the Scriptures as the infallible rule
of faith and practice can meet and
overthrow the cogency of its implica-
tion. It left no doubt on my part that
Monsignore Capel’s capacity to give
a reason for the faith that was in him
and his fame as a proselytizer was
well deserved.
On the following Sunday morning;.
I made my way to the Metropolitan
Tabernacle to hear Charles Haddon
Spurgeon, the Baptist divine, who
was celebrated all over the world. He
had very little of the appearance of a
clergyman, was heavily built and rug-
ged of face. He never claimed to be
and certainly was not an intellectual
preacher, having little education and
commencing his ministry at a very
early age. He was rather an interest-
London and New York Banks Use
: Phone.
New York—Wall Street lost little
time in testing out the new radio tele-
| phone service just opened between
New York and London.
Several unusually large transac-
tions in foreign exchange, involving
1 $6,000,000 and five different curren-
i cies were consumated over the radio
i telephone between two prominent in-
ternational banking institutions, the
International Acceptance Bank of
New York and the Midland Bank Ltd.,
Overseas Branch, London. The Inter-
national Acceptance Bank was among
the earliest to call London by tele-
phone and the transactions were the
first to be completed by radio phone
ray blushed. But she surprised even
herself by her sudden brusk manner.
“lI should say not!” she answered.
“I'm not thinking of anything so fool-
ish. Quite the contrary! I'm free—
alone—for the first time in my life.
I'm going—" she had hardly, before,
voiced the thought, even in her own
heart—“I'm going to stay free. I'm
going around the world, all by myself.
You understand? All by myself.
Around the world!”
The art editor smiled. But under
his breath he murmured something
about “these modern women.” And
later gave ‘the campaign—it was a
large one, destined to popularize a new
kind of laundry soap—to a man.
It was easier, after that, for Eliza-
beth to confide her plans to people.
Before long she was able to put her
glorious adventure into warm words.
She sang it to the envious folk who
worked in the offices where she went
to deliver her drawings. Envious folk
who, for the most part, were not free.
Young women who had to pay part
of the home expenses. Older men who
were bringing up sizable families.
Middle-aged couples who were buying
frame houses in the suburbs—houses
with parquet floors and tiled baths
and built-in ice-boxes. Envious folk
who looked at Elizabeth with wide
eyes, and admired her courage (it
isn’t easy to cut loose, you know, from
fifty dollars more than the asking
price.
“It’s already spoken for,” she said
quite shortly.
All during the afternoon she fidget-
ed. The mother and baby that she
was doing for a full page in a huge
national magazine? She grew nerv-
ous over it. The mother persisted in
looking the pathetic woman—who was
not at all the conventional mother
type for a magazine page. The baby
insisted upon remaining a blur. It
wasn’t fair that her imagination
should run away with her, she told
herself crossly. Other people could
be business-like, hard. Why did a
stray woman and a child whom she
had never seen continue to haunt her?
Why ?
When five o’clock came, she was
waiting tensely for the telephone call.
Waiting—and ready, if necessary, to
cut the rent still further. So that Bob-
by—the four-year-old—might have his
chance at loveliness!
The call came, sooner than she had
expected. It was only ten minutes
after five when her telephone clanged
its impatient summons. Elizabeth,
answering it, told herself that the wo-
man must live very close to her office.
That it must have taken very little
time to tell the small boy about the
place. Perhaps—she took down the
receiver—perhaps the woman had de-
in the foreign exchange market.
ing and perhaps unrivalled expositor,
well adapted to the average intelli-
gence. One of the last of the Puri-
words that her heart spoke:
- “New Orleans,” she was whisper-
ing (oh, the merest thread of a whis-
per, under her breath), “Bordeaux.
Paris—Paris, France. London, Al-
giers, Rome. Venice—” (oh, the drift-
ing of the gondolas) “Rio de Janeiro,
Madrid, Sevile. (Hot moonlight and
castanets and bright shawls!) “Cal-
cutta.... Bagdad ...” :
"These were the words that formed
themselves, prayer-like, upon her lips.
But in her heart she was planning al-
ready, in another vein. Planning, al-
ready!
“Five thousand dollars,” she was
saying, “nearly five thousand dollars.
It will practically pay for his educa-
tion. For college. There'll be—his
commencement day, at the end of col-
lege . . . Maybe Le’ll play—football. 1
wonder if he’ll ery for her, at first,
in the night? Old-fashioned, she said
he was, and quaint! Maybe, in time,
he’ll want to call me—"’ but she could
not, in the presence of that still figure,
say the name, even in her soul!—*I
wonder if his eyes are brown—or
blue? I wonder if he’ll learn—to love
me...”
The doctor was clearing his throat.
He was preparing to speak. Elizabeth
Murray forestalled him with a slim,
lifted hand.
“You must manage the details for
tan preachers in England, he spent his
whole life in devotion to a Renaissance
of Puritan Theology and Puritan
method of preaching. His “soundness”
of doctrine was unquestioned and he
One transaction, a purchase of $1,-
000,000 in American money, was
arranged between the foreign ex-
change genariment of fis Denation.
ank, Inc., an © :
Dens of the Midland Bank. | Was first, last and all the time, an
| A short time later the Midland Bank | Evangelist. In his early and mid
called the International Bank and sev- | ¢areer he, no doubt, was impassioned
; : i 7 igh or-
eral large exchange transactions were and displayed eloquence of a hig :
es in five continental curren- | der but when I heard him he was suf-
des fering from gout and preached with
Great hopes were expressed regard- | his bent knee supported by a cushion-
ing the porebilities of this means of | ed chair. No doubt it wag far from
communication between the two larg- |2 fair specimen of his pulpit power
est financial centers in the world, par- | but throughout he interested his vast
ticularly when the new service is fur- | audience of 5000 persons in a yoice
ther perfected. that never varied in tone and was
—_—— singularly clear, carrying his message
with ease to every part of the great
auditorium. It was his voice, of sound
timbre, methinks which he handled
without the slightest strain or effort
that constituted his remarkable vogue.
Coupled with the fact that, confining
himself to the exposition of the most
novel book in the world, he was al-
ways fresh and interesting. Preach-
ers who substitute for the sacred
Scriptures, topical themes drawn from
phases of science, politics and pass-
ing events are really substituting the
novel and inspiring for the stale. Mr.
Spurgeon, however, was more than
sounding brass and tinkling cymbal.
! (Continued on page 3, Col. 1.)
The hen remarked to the mooley cow,
As she cackled her daily lay
(That is, the hen cackled,) “It's funny how
I'm good for an egg a day.
I'm a fool to de it for what do I get?
My food and my lodging. My!
But the poedle gets that—he's the heuse-
hold pet,
And he never has laid a single egg yet—
Not even when eggs are high.’
——————— A ————
—Spring is coming and it won’t be
long until we can drive out into the
country and view the beautiful greens
and reds and yellows of the new sum-
mer sign boards.