Bellefonte, Pa., March 16, 1928.
EE HS A
ADAM AND EVE.
‘When Adam found himself awake
Upon the earth we now inhabit,
He met the cow, the horse, the snake,
The cat, the dog, the bull, the rabbit.
He slept in haymows, loafed and strayed,
The sport of darkness, sun and shower,
Till Lilith came, a pleasant jade,
‘Who gathered fruit and built a bower.
Grave Adam argued thus and hence,
But laughing Lilith knew her mission;
He learned through slow experience
What Lilith grasped by intuition.
A pearl she was beyond all price,
Delightful, tender, sweet and hearty
And now, when earth was Paradise,
Eve butted in and spoiled the party.
Pronouncing Lilith most depraved,
She worked on Adam; frail and pretty,
Her utter helplessness enslaved
The simple man, beguiled through pity.
Then Eve invented marriage, clothes,
Conventions, manners, duty, morals
And things that everybody loathes,
Especially domestic quarrels.
And Adam meekly owned her spell,
Resigned to rule and regulation;
So that’s the way that Adam fell,—
He fell fcr female domination.
Though Adam still repeats his rall—
For Eve through all the ages lands
\ him,—
Yet now and then he goes to call
On Lilith ;—Lilith understands him.
ership carried them to perfect per-
formance. The hour flew by, inno-
cent of the ranting, bickering, and
palaver of ordinary choirs. Another
crashing chord—“S’all!” It was over.
Fritz heard steps and voices, a sud-
den hush intervened, a clear voice
called crisply “Number four twenty-
four,” and then his little heart
skipped a beat. Why here was that
same funny kinda music the Wop’s
hurdy-gurdy played that time. On’y
this was better. Didn’t make you
bawl. Made you want to wash your
face, go back, and give Snoot Kelly
another shiner. You knew you could
do it. Guess you’d go a little closer
and look in. . ..
As the hymn closed, Jefferson saw
the little scarecrow standing in the
doorway, his lips parted, his eyes
shining. “H’lo; youngster,” he re-
marked briefly, “sit down.” Fritz did.
“Beef” Hogan, the ward alderman
talked like that—sudden—on’y you
were afraid of “Beef.” This guy did
rot scare you none, guess cuz his
lamps was diff’runt. Better keep still
though.
The choir sang Dudley Buck’s “Fes-
tival Te Deum,” a Palestrina re-
sponse, a soft vesper, plainsong.
Fritz’s entire little being was concen-
trated in listening. Could it be that
there was a lot of this funny kinda
music? A thought awoke in him.
This guy had let him stick around—
alright, maybe he’d do it again. This
was Friday and he’d remember the
day. Oo! Everbody gettin’ up—
time t’ getahell outa here.
As Fritz made his way homeward he
wondered dimly what it was all about.
The place was a church—that much
was fairly certain. He'd heard of
’em, but didn’t know they had such
nice warm places to sit around in and
sing. Friday! And here he’d always
thought church was on Sunday. Fun-
—Arthur Guiterman in Life. | ny!
renee fp pees e———
THE CROSS.
“, . Acht! Dirdy brat! Biffore zup-
per don’t you dare come home yet!”
For perhaps the first time, his
mother’s voice sounded a bit discord-
ant to Fritz as he tumbled down the
rickety tenement stairs that marked
his home “back o’ the yards.” Not
that this sweet maternal benediction
was anything new—no, everything
was all wrong today.
He looked cautiously down the alley
as one who would gain the street
without anyone seeing him. Didn’t
wanna meet the gang today. They
were all ackin’ funny at him. Ever
since the day the hurdy-gurdy played
that thing that made him cry. Differ-
“ent kinda tune, it was, not like “She’s
Mah Baby” ’tall. It was kinda slow
and made your skin prickle up around
your nose like you was going to howl.
Then you did. And the gang
screamed in derision. And you said:
“Dammit, I guess I kin bawl if I
wanta, dammit.” So Snoot Kelly
started hollering: “The Wop made
Fritzie baw-w-w-I, the Wop made
Fritzie baw-w-w-1!” An’ you knew
the Wop couldn’t make you bawl—
nobody could, but ’ceptin’ funny kinda
music. Then you blacked Snoot’s eye
and told ‘em all to gotahell. ... . .
Fritz wasn’t afraid to meet the gang.
He just didn’t want to.
A lumbering truck passed, tantaliz-
ingly slow. Hot dawg! He flipped it.
Gosh, it didn’t go by the gas-works,
it went ’nother way. Oo! Lookit all
the trees an’ grass an’ swell houses
an’ ever’thing! The truck stopped and
the driver, seeing Fritz, gave him an
amiable, more or less routine, kick.
Kicks were nothing to Fritz. He
rubbed his tattered little trousers and
looked around him cheerfully enough.
Huh! Wonder what’sat house? Big
like a fackery. An’ green leaves
growin’ right on the walls! Huh! He
strolled toward the side door. Side
doors were pleasant things. You could
walk into some of them an’ pinch a
hunka sausage an’ ryebread, maybe.
Huh! Nobody there—wunner what’s
inside ?
The parishoners of St. Barnabas’s
Episcopal church liked their new or-
ganist and choirmaster. There had
been some doubt at first, to be sure.
“He’s so different from that poor,
sweet Mr. Hillsley, my dear, that
really I—” But as they got to know
him, they ceased trying to reconcile
his appearance with his profession.
For Andrew Jefferson was a forth-
right soul, to whom the shams of “ah-
tistic” musicians were as a red flag
to a bull. He wore his hair clipped
short, looked like a bond salesman,
went to the baseball park twice a
week, and smoked black cigars. Men
liked him, women were afraid of him,
children worshipped him.
He never called a choir boy “little
man,” nor fussed over him, nor patted
his head. He knew each boy’s last
name and used it. His voice was im-
personal, but his eyes twinkled.
Incidentally, the musical world was
not unacquainted with Jefferson. He
was a thorough musician, and two
years under the beautiful old organist
at Canterbury had developed to pos-
itive reverence his love for the color-
ful music of his church. He read,
+ studied, he knew. Under his touch
the great St. Barnabas’s organ be-
came the living voice of time.
How he played! Booming diapa-
sons throbbed through the air and
laid hold upon the heart, whilst crash-
ing tubas, like flashes of lightning,
revealed sins for all the world to see
. +. . you shrank back .., withered
...expectant . . . but no! Softly
the voice of God reached forth
through the strings and soothingly
whispered the comfort of the ages.
“All ye that are heavy-laden,” re-
peated the wood-winds and flutes with
their sad little voices. “Amen,”
breathed the deep bourdons, in the
hushed profundity of-eternal surf . .
No one moved for a long, long time
after Andrew Jefferson played.
Choir rehearsals were held, as the
little parish paper put it, “each Fri-
day evening promptly at seven-thir-
ty.” The men filed in from the
Lounge, straightening out their faces
as best they could, the boys came
tumbling down from the gymnasium
and took their places. No preliminar-
ies. A decisive chord on the piano.
“Number three eleven—" Instantly
they swung into the hymn, and rarely
did the choirmaster have to stop
them; his competence, his virile lead-
ye .
All week he thought about it—Fri-
day, Friday, Friday—mustn’t forget.
It required a bit of concentration. One
day was pretty much like another to
Fritz. His twelve short years had
been a span of curious monotony of
squalor, dirt, hunger, cold; there was
the exciting swift adventure of prowl-
ing with his gang, whose impish raids
were not unknown even to the police,
and the constant spice of flying be-
fore the vile rages of his drunken
mother. Now, for the first time, the
passing of days meant something to
him.
At last the day rolled around, and
he set out to find St. Barnabas’s
church again. Any member of his
gang knew how to travel. You just
hopped on a truck, or the tire-rack of
a car, and rode until the machine
turned. Then you flipped another. In
his eagerness Fritz got there early.
He had only a general idea of time,
goodness knows, and only Mr. Jeffer-
son was there when he peeped into
the choir-room. -
“H’lo!” said the choirmaster pleas-
antly, seeming not even to look up
from his music, “you here again?
Come here a sec.” Fritz hesitated.
“C’mon over—want to find out if you
can sing”—he struck a note on the
piano—*“here, sing that.” Fritz tried.
He ;gouldn’t—he had .no more voice
than a crow.
“Sall right,” grinned the choirmast-
er, “you’ll never sing, but you can
stick around if you want to. Y’seem to
like it.” Fritz did “stick around” that
night, and the next Friday, and the
next... .
Thus began as strange a devotion
to an uncomprehended inner urge as
one would meet in a long lifetime.
It did not long remain inactive, how-
ever. One night Jefferson asked him,
casually, if he’d like to help pass the
music around before practice. Gosh,
would he! A warm flush of gratitude
surged across his face as he sprang
forward. It wasn’t hard, he found.
You just looked on a little paper, an’
then found music in the iib’ary that
had the same crazy name. Yeh—
mos’ of the names was crazy ones like
“Magnificat,” “Jubliate Deo,” or
“Sanctus,” an’ there was ’bout a mil-
lion kinds o’ each, which you could
tell apart by lookin’ fer a guy’s name
on the cover. Funny names. Not
‘merican names like Dolan, ’r Mafar-
acci, ’r Cieniewsky, but funny names
like “Barnby,” “Noble,” “Buck.” Not
ali of ’em funny, though: there was
lots of ‘em had Arthur Sullivan” on
’em. Hot dam! You knew a guy
named Sullivan!
Fritz got around early after that.
He liked to be there alone, liked to
pass the music around without haste,
to leave a neat, exact pile at every
stall. It touched some hitherto un-
stirred emotion in his poor impover-
ished soul, this job at which he could
be careful, and quick, and orderly.
Set ’em up just alike—’at’s the way:
He grew to love the little octavos,
and coincident with this awakening
came a distinct conservation in sheet
music. Jefferson remarked it; in fact,
wear and tear became so noticeably
less that he was puzzled—the other
librarian had not been clumsy; be-
sides, every choir man knows that the
rapid disintegration of choir-music
comes, not from the handling, but
from sheer mischief on the part of the
boys. The choirmaster soon found
the solution of the mystery, however.
One night as he stopped in the mid-
dle of an anthem to explain a certain
difficult passage, he heard a clear, low,
venomous whisper sweep across the
back row of wigglin youngsters: “You
tear dat again an’ I'll sock hell outa
youse!” Fritz, unoccupied by sing-
ing, sat like a grim jail-guard, sweep-
ing his eyes back and forth over his
prisoners, and Heaven help the young-
ster he found mishandling music!
How he could tear into a guy! Mus-
cles like steel wire, a swift, awful
ruthlessness, a dreadful and over-
whelming skill—that was Fritz in @
fight. In six weeks his word was law,
his merest gesture the expression of
a potentate. At that he puzzled the
boys—pure, white-hot devotion is
hard to understand.
It was two months after he started
to pass around the music before Fritz
learned he was only attending re-
hearsals. “Fritz,” said Mr. Jefferson
casually, “why don’t you come over
Sunday and hear us really sing? Ev-
er been to church?” Fritz squirmed.
He thought this was church he said.
Always alert, the choirmaster grasped
the situation instantly. “Say-y-y-y!”
p——
he drawled smilingly, “we’re only
practising here—come around Sunday
morning and hear us sing with the
organ.” Organ! Fritz giggled. They
-had them things in movies. They
‘squealed and squawked—funny thing
to have in a church! Nevertheless, he
iwas at St. Barnabas’s Sunday morn-
ing. Jefferson turned him over to an
usher. “Give the kid a seat,” he whis-
pered; “peculiar boy—crazy about
, music but can’t sing—doesn’t in the
least comprehend what it’s all about,
but take him in.”
| At the first gorgeous flood of sound
‘from the organ Fritz trembled like a
leaf. It felt like the music was right
{inside of him. His tough, hard little
fists clinched. The music, rolling,
glorious, swept over him like a river.
His face was white, set. He’d heard
about God; the terrifying thought
struck him “this must be God sing-
ing.” The voluntary ended. He
heard a softly sung “A-A-A-Amen”
float into the church from nowhere.
A door opened. The organ boomed
forth again. Holy cats! Here came
the whole choir all dressed up in their
nightgowns. Suddenly he stiffened.
The first clear-cut ambition of his life
clutched him with a force that almost
caused him to cry out. That guy
marching there in front, carrying a
big gold cross on top of a long,
smooth, wooden shaft—he wanted tn
do that! Wanted to more than he had
even wanted to do anything in is life.
You didn’t hafta sing, you just stood
up straight an’ tall, and carried it
kinda slow. You weren’t just helping
—like you were when you passed
music around—you were leading the
whole gang!
Throughout the entire service his
2yes sought the cross again and
again, fascinated by its mellow out-
line. Dreaming, he thought of him-
self, little Fritz grown tall, dressed in
white with white gloves on (Gosh! it
must be awful clean!) carrying it at
the head of the choir, looking straight
ahead of him ... marching. He'd
have to grow some first, all right; the
crucifer was a tall young man. All
right, all right!
Without a word to any one about
his ambition, but with the dream al-
ways in his heart, he continued in his
blind dedication to the choir. In a
accepted him as a matter of course.
He not only handled the music during
rehearsal but was responsible for it
Sunday mornings. Mr. Jefferson
found him sitting in a choir-stall a
half-hour before service, looking up at
the cross with passionate hunger in
his eyes—the cross he was going to
carry some day. No one knew that
he saved his pitiful little pennies and
bought a pair of white gloves that he
might touch the shaft that supported
the golden emblem. Something in
him forbade his touching it until then.
Guess it wouldn’t make God mad if
he touched it—only touched it—when
hz had white gloves on like the tall
fair young man wore. Every Sunday
when he went in with the music, he
put on the gloves, and looking about
him, walked over and gingerly clasped
the smooth wood. Once he grasped it
firmly and lifted it a little to try its
weight, and then, in sheer panic a
his temerity, fell down in a little heap
and buried his face in his hands . . .
But some day .... some day!...
Meanwhile the boy had discovered
the choir gymnasium. No longer did
he come only Friday nights and Sun-
days; he was at the church every day,
a leaping, tearing young demon on
the basketball floor, playing with an
elemental energy that was the despair
of the less toughly nurtured lads of
the neighborhood Hot dam! it was
sure a swell place. (Later, when he
was making his way upward in local
prize-ring circles, he trained there!)
Straight and strong he grew—
straight, with his head held high and
a clear, unwavering light in his dark-
blue eyes, for always in his heart he
saw himself dressed all in white, car-
rying It proudly, marching . . while
the organ groaned and he tingled with
breathless ecstasy.
Some three years later the tall, fair
young man went away to college.
Fritz heard about it on a Friday
night. His heart bounded, but he said
nothing. It never occurred to him
that any one else but himself could
be chosen to fill the place. It was
destiny. His time had come, that was
all. Although but sixteen, he was ful-
ly as tall and, it must be said, a bit
broader of shoulder and more slender
of waist than the fair young man. He
was ready. Only his heart beat so,
and why was he out of breath like
he'd been running? Funny! All day
Saturday he thought of it; he could
eat no supper. He felt no fear, no
stage-fright—no, it was the shaking
thrill of attainment—the humility of
bewildered realization. Tomorrow!
To-morrow! Strangely enough, he
slept well. Sunday MINE he got
up early—they’d all sure think he was
crazy takin’ a bath at eight o’clock
Sunday morning, but aw, let’m think.
The cross was awful clean, awful
clean. He ‘scrubbed and scrubbed. .'.
Arriving at the church a full hour
early he put the music out, and then,
with just a little touch of dignity,
stepped to the crucifer’s locker and
opened it. There the spotless gar-
ments, the silken cord for his waist.
He found himself trembling. Brush-
ing a sudden hot tear from his eye,
he toek off his coat. ‘Gravely, and
with reverent care he donned the vest-
ments as he'd seen the tall, fair young
man do many times. The gloves! He
started to put them on, then stopped,
drew them off and reached into the
inside pocket of his coat and took out
the pair he had bought so many
months before. He knew they were
clean. Then folding his hands, he
stood, tall, erect, a little pile; looking
off into ‘space. Thus Andrew Jeffer-
son found him upon entering. There
was a sudden small commotion, a
whispering in the passageway, a wisp
of words trailing through the air , .
“awfully sorry .. .explain after-
wand . . . no, just go into the church
—by the front door... .” Rather
red in the face the choirmaster walked
over to Fritz and for just a ‘moment
looked searchingly at the oblivious
boy—the boy with the grave white
face who scarcely saw him. “Cru-
sader!” he muttered to himself, then,
with an effort, remarked in his usual
matter-of-fact voice: “Bétter ‘go into
year he was full librarian. Every one’
the chancel and get the cross, Fritz,
the boys are all ready, and I'll be go-
ing in shortly.”
t was all—after bringing a sub-
stitute crucifer all the way from the
cathedral and suddenly dismissing
him at the door! That was, in fact,
Andrew Jefferson.
There may have been one or two
self-absorbed souls in the congrega-
tion who did not notice their new
crucifer that morning, but a hush fell
on the rest as Fritz, his cyes fixed
on the altar, led the choir toward the
chancel. The processional, “Onward
Christian Soldiers,” rolling from the
organ and carried upward by the boy
sopranos, seemed to take its very
spirit from him.
“With the Cross of Jesus, going on
before!” The Cross! Carried by a boy
with the face and figure of a prize-
fightar, the large hands of a laborer,
and the holy calm of a saint! By a
‘boy who made his living driving
steers in the stock-yards, a boy who
could outfight and outcuss any one in
his ward, whose name was a sym-
bol of sheer terror to any lad who
had ever stepped into the ring with
him. Carried by a boy who could
laugh in a battle royal with four gin-
crazed Poles—and cry when he heard
a Palestraina chant. Carried by a
boy who had, three days before, tak-
en a long, gleaming knife away from
a “bad nigger,” and knocked him un-
conscious, with no emotion whatever,
save a gnawing fear that the en-
counter might make him too late to
sit on the bench with the choirmaster
as he played over his Sunday music.
Carried by a boy with a broken nose,
a hard, husky voice, and a cauliflower
ear, a boy with a clear white fore-
head and eyes illuminated by a
strange, beautiful light. More than
one stanch old conservative felt a sud-
den tightening of the throat, and
found the words growing dim on the
hymn-book page, as he passed. . .
Some months later Fritz strolled in-
to Engine House No. 40, as he often
did at noontiime to while away a few
free minutes after lunch; he liked
firemen—good, square guys, they
were, husky men who lived a glamor-
ous life. Big Bill Keefe was bis par-
ticular crony, and as usual they got
into a friendly scuffle. Punting,
straining, Fritz suddenly felt his
friend relax—an alarm was coming in.
“St. Barnabas’s church,” said the cap-
tain briefly. Fritz sniffed indulgent-
ly. “You're crazy!” he yelled, as the
big truck rolled through the door,
“that place couldn’t burn!” Suddenly
he found himself running beside the
truck; with a clean “flip” he was on
the running-board. The driver made
an angry gesture, but it was too late
to put him off. “They're crazy, that
place couldn’t burn!”—Fritz said it
over and over, but his stomach felt
as though a big hand were squeezing
it. Clang! Clang! Ah-Vo00-h00-00-00!
Bell and klaxon cleared the way.
“They're crazy, that place couldn't
burn!”
But it was burning. Roaring.
Smoke and flames like sinister claws
tore and gutted the beautiful stained-
glass windows. A crackling dooms-
day tempest of destruction filled the
air, hoarse shouts and the hiss of
water meeting white heat. Three
companies were already there, work-
ing like demons, when No. 40 got in-
to play. Fri‘z watched it all like one
in a trance. It couldn’t—this was the
church—it couldn’t be burning! But
it was: burning, all fire inside, smoke
and flames, burning the seats, burn-
ing the organ, burning the altar, burn-
ing the cr—! With a sharp intake of
breath that broke in a dry sob, Fritz
bolted through the police lines. In-
credibly fleet he was on the steps be-
fore he was noticed. “Here,” barked
a fireman, seizing him roughly, “get
out of here!” and with a vicious push
he sent him hurtling down to the side-
walk again. Fritz jumped to his feet
and ran back up the steps. “Lissen,
fer Gawd’s sake lissen!” he shrieked,
grabbing the fireman’s arm, “y’ don’:
understan’—the CROSS is in there an’
gonna burn all up, it’s gonna burn— |
I got to get it—I tell you I—"
e started wildly to push by. The
fireman jumped in front of him:“—
Say-y-y!” he bawled, “you wouldn't
last two minutes—yuh’d fry like an
oyster—you can’t go in there!”
Frity’s eyes became white coals. He
crouched warily. “Can’t HELL!” he
choked; “I work here!” Quick as a
swirling leaf, his feet shifted, and
his great right fist flashed through
the air, swift, terrible, final, like a
bolt of lightning, it found its mark.
The fireman dropped like a felled ox.
And Fritz went in. . ..
—By Kenneth Griggs Merrill in
Scribner’s.
i
Seasonable Don'ts.
There are several important rules
to follow for the successful operation
of the car in winter. Here are a few
reminders:
Don’t forget to change the oil ev-
ery 500 miles, even if the car has an
oil filter.
Don’t try to rush a snowdrift or a
mudhole. Go slowly and get through.
Don’t close all the windows of the
car. Signals are essential to motor-
ing safety.
Don’t fail to refill the battery with
water every two weeks and check the
charge.
Don’t drive without chains on a
slippery road, and don’t drive with
them on a dry road.
Don’t fail to check the anti-freeze
solution regularly, if a volatile sub-
stance is being used.
Don’t get close to the car ahead
when traveling fast on a slippery
road. It takes more room in winter.
Don’t twist the steering wheel sud-
denly when ice and snow are on the
road. Front-wheel skids are the most
dangerous.
Don’t use the choke excessively or
run on too rich a carburetor mixture.
Never leave the choke out when the
engine is warm.
Finding Him Out.
Dick: “In this package is something
for the one I love best in all the
world.”
Mrs. Morgan: “Ah, 1 suppose it’s
those suspenders you said you need-
ed.” —T he Messenger of Southern
California.
diame.
FIRST 4-BILLION CORPORA-
"TION INUSISA.T. &T.
The United States, richest of all
nations, has produced its first four-
billion dollar corporation.
The annual report of the American
Telephone and Telegraph Co., made
public recently, places that corpora-
tion at the head of all other indus-
trial concerns in this country.
Second to the A. T. & T. is the
United States Steel Corporation with
assets of nearly $2,500,000,000. Next
in order, all in the billion dollar class,
come Southern Pacific railroad, Penn-
sylvania lines, New York Central
railroad, Standard Oil of New Jersey,
Union Pacific railroad. Atchison, To-
peka & Santa Fe railroad, General
Motors and Ford Motor Co.
The A. T. & T. establishes its lead
through a combination of its individ-
ual worth and that of the Bell Tele-
phone system of which it owns 938 per
cent. A. T. & T. assets as of Decem-
ber 31, 1927, are listed as $1,949,690,-
057, and assets of the Bell system at
$3,457,467,311.
Other respects in which the A. T
& T. is first include:
Employees—at the end of 1927
the company had on its pay roll 308,-
911 persons, enough to populate a city
the size of Columbus, O.
Stockholders—423,580, more than
haif of whom owned from one to ten
shares each. (The Ford Co. has only
three stockholders, Mr. and Mrs, Ford
and their son, Edsel.)
Amount of stock—10,932,420 shares.
Earnings—$128,614,000 in 1926.
($11.76 a share).
Dividends—$9 a share since 1921
and never less than $7.50 in the last
46 years. In 1927 dividends totaled
973,790.00.
Behind this vast achievement lies
much of the romance of America’s in-
dustrial growth, the conquering of
mountain and plain by the men who
went out to string up the first of the
telephone and telegraph wires which
are.operated in its own name and the
telephone lines of its subsidiary, the
Bell system. The A. T. & T. owns
56,822,895 miles of wire, the equal in
length of 236 lines from here to the
moon.
Although the company’s chief
source of revenue is from telephones,
it also makes millions of dollars an-
nually by leasing wires to press as-
sociations, newspapers and brokers.
The wires on which this dispatch was
delivered to newspapers through the
country is leased from the A. T. & T.
by the United Press.
The company’s report says that at
the end of 1927 it was operating 18,-
256,000 telephones and that during
the year 20,145,421,995 calls were
made, a daily average of 55,195,677.
In the last five years the A. T. &
T. has spent $1,800,000,000 on im-
provements, additions and replace-
ments. In the next five years it ex-
pects to spend two billion dollars in
the same way.
Reviewing some of the company’s
achievements in 1927, the report says
that its scope has been widened to in-
clude transatlantic radio telephony,
television, extension of telephone
service to Mexico and continental
Europe and transmission ‘of pictures
across the Atlantic by radio.
Dog Licenses Hit Record Total in
1927 with Few Arrests.
With 3000 fewer prosecutions, 2500
imore dog licenses issued and $10,000
!less paid for damages caused by dogs
STATE'S STONE PRODUCTION
EXCEEDS CALIFORNIA'S GOLD:
Pennsylvania’s annual production of
stone has a greater value than the
production of gold in California ac-
cording to compilations made by the
bureau of typographic and geologic
survey in the Pennsylvania Depart-
ment of Internal Affairs. The gold
output in California each year reach-
es approximately $13,000,000 while
the output of Pennsylvania’s quarries
has a value annually of about $19,-
000,000. In the value of stone, Penn-
sylvania ranks second, Indiana being
first. In tonnage, however, Pennsyl-
vania is a strong first.
Limestone is the chief product in
Pennsylvania, the production totalling
about 13,000,000 tons with a value of
approximately $13,000,000. Sand-
stone is second with a tonnage of 1,-
502,000 tons and a value of $2,625,-
730. Basalt ranks third with 1,472,-
000 tons valued at $2,063,000. Penn-
sylvania’s granite output totals about
270,000 tons each year with a value
of $692,000.
Much of the granite quarried in
Pennsylvania is sold rough for build-
ing construction while most of the
basalt or trap rock is sold crushed
for concrete, road material and rail-
road ballast. The sandstone output:
includes a large quantity used for re-
fractory matter, such as ganister, an-
other large lot for concrete and road
material and lesser quantities for
building construction, curbing, paving:
block and flagstones.
The lime stone output in the State
finds its way into many uses. Lime-
stone for building purposes has a val-
ue of approximately $34,616 annual-
ly; concrete and road metal $4,879,--
478; railroad ballast $149,578; flux-
ing stone, $7,371,706; glass factories,
$130,467; paper mills, $37,885; agri-
culture, $307,874; other uses $535,
794. These figures do not include
several million tons of limestone used
annually in the making of Portland
cement.
Florida, Illinois, New York and
Ohio produce more crushed limestone:
for concrete and road metal, but
Pennsylvania leads all States in the
output of fluxing stone, Michigan be-
ing second with 6,627,000 tons. Penn--
sylvania ranks first in quantity of
limestone sold to glass factories, and’
second in that sold to paper mills.
According to the Department of In-
ternal Affairs, the State’s stone re-
sources are almost unlimited and this.
rate of production can be continued
indefinitely. Common stones serving
no useful purpose other than as part
of the earth’s surface, are thus an-
nually converted by the activity of”
Pennsylvania quarrymen into more
dollars than can be minted from the:
gold output of the country’s leading
gold-producing State.
The Pennsylvania State College Ex--
tending Its Service to Industry.
Announcement of a survey of ap-
prentice training in fifty of the larg-
est industrial firms in the easterm
United States and that a new record
has been set for correspondence study
was made today by Professor J. O.
Keller, head of the department of"
engineering extension at the Pennsyl-
vania State College.
The aim of the industrial survey is
to determine how the college exten-
sion department can enlarge its scope:
of service to Pennsylvania industries.
A critical study is being made of the
apprentice training methods in other:
!in 1927, the Bureau of Animal Indus- | States and the survey is to be extend-
try of the Pennsylvania Department ed within the next few weeks to Penn-
‘of Agriculture, established a new rec-
ford for deg law enforcement in the
| Commonwealth.
| Through the vigorous enforcement
lof the law with the co-operation of
| the public and of local officials, 500,-
i 312 dogs carried licenses during the
i year—more than ever before in the
! history of Pennsylvania. Other fig-
lures issued by the bureau likewise
! reveal that this general observance of
the provisions of the dog law was ac-
complished with only 6051 prosecu-
tions compared with only 9150 prose-
cutions the year before.
Keeping dogs under control at all
times, as is required by law, has prov-
en a great aid to livestock and poul-
try, particularly the sheep industry,
bureau officials explain. Du.ing 1926,
Commonwealth for sheep killed and
injured by dogs compared to $49,450
for 1927, a decrease of over $5000.
to poultry in 1926 compared to $8040
in 1927, a decrease of $617.
Since the roving, uncontrolled dog
{has been one of the most destructive
enemies of wild life, the rigid enforce-
ment of the provisions of the dog law
has proven as great a protection to
this wild life as to domestic animals.
As a result, sportsmen and farmers
alike have shown great interest in the
‘proper licensing and control of dogs.
e dog law enforcers are now
busy in communities throughout this
State and a number of prosecutions
‘have resulted because people have not
been as prompt about getting 1928
licenses for their dogs, as for their
automobiles.
Last year there were 3494 licensed
dogs in Centre county and twenty-
nine prosecutions for violation of the
dog law.
Average Car Used 430 Gallons of Gas
in 1927.
Gasoline consumption for each au-
tomobile registered in the State in-
creased from 391 gallons in 1926 te
430 last year.
Arthur P. Townsend, budget secre-
imposing columns of figures to make
sure that each department is keeping
within its spending allowance, worked
out the consumption figures on the
basis of the gasoline tax paid during
the year.
As there is no way. of checking. the
amount of gasoline bought in Penn-
sylvania by tourists, Townsend be-
lieves that the average automobile
owner uses less than 400 gallons each
year. On the same basis it is esti-
mated that the average mileage for
each automobile is between 5000 and
6000 miles a year.
—Subscribe for the “Watchman.”
a total of $54,666 was paid by the
tary, who spends his days juggling
Likewise, $8657 was paid for damages |.
sylvania plants. All systems of em-
ployee training will be included by
the college specialists. In the end
they hope to be able to present con-
structive suggestions and to aid as
specialists in servicing and inaugur-
ating apprentice training courses of’
study.
The industrial, engineering, liber-
al arts and- business home study
courses offered at cost through State
aid by the department recently
reached a new peak through the en-
rollment of 250 employees of the
West Penn Power company. Group
enrollments in large numbers have
come in the past few weeks from oth-
er companies. This branch is but
one of the many features of engineer-
ing extension service that is more
rapidly than ever causing Pennsylva-
nia industries to realize that in their
State College they have am outstand-
ing educational service institution.
i
Agree on Uniform Types of Signals.
The Department of Highways, the:
Public Service Commission: and’ rail-
road companies have agieed upon the
establishment of a uniform type of
warning signals forall railroad grade
crossings on the State highway sys-
tem. These light signals are track-
circuited flashing signals, and where
these are not clearly visible for a
distance of at least 500 feet on the
road and at all dangerous approaches
to overhead and under grade cross-
ings of railroad tracks by State high-
ways, there are to be provided con-
tinuously intermittently flashing bea-
con lights of the so-called “blinker”
type.
State Police Records Show Criminals”
Race.
Although no figures are available
for all the arrests made in Pennsyl-
vania, State police indicate that while
but 15 per cent of the Common-
wealth’s population are aliens, they
commit 38 per cent of the crimes. Less
than one per cent of those arrested
were negroes.
A detailed study of the 103,874 ar-
rests made during the past year
showed that 8950 were first offenders,
176 had been arrested previously and
1748 were listed as habitual offenders.
Weather Has Little Effect on Arrests.
Statistics of the Pennsylvania State
police indicate that weather condi-
tions have little bearing on crimes
committed throughout the Common-
wealth. One thousand one hundred
and seven arrests were made in July
and 905 in January, with the monthly
average 907.
During the last quarter, 210,500
gallons of illegal beer were destroyed.