Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, February 18, 1927, Image 2
— 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.