= Bellefonte, Pa., June 29, 1928.
Now.
Feller what shirks an is lazy
Ain’t no use livin, I vow!
But I tell yer who is the daisy—
The feller that does things now.
He's never procrastinatin’
An’ tellin’ ye “why,” and how,”
‘When the doin’ on’t’'s what he’s hatin,
He jest goes an’ does it now.
Ef the cordwood calls fer a tussle
Thet’ll bring the sweat ter his brow,
He gits his saw with a hustle,
An’ tackles the job right now.
The chap that talks of termorrer
Is crooked somewheres, I ’llow,
In payin’ what he may borrer,
He never gits round ter now.
But the feller thet starts on the min-
nie
The crows don’t roost on his plow—
Ef’t rains he ain't workin’ out in it,
'Cause he gits his hay in now.
Ef yer lookin’ fer what'll suit yer,
Yer kin take off yer hat an’ bow
Ter the chap thet’s short on the future
An’ ekerly long on now.—Life.
HELP YOURSELF TO HAY.
(Concluded from last week.)
The light from an outside signal
flickered across the pillow—across Cal
Coney asleep, a square of silk em-
broidered in gipsy color crumpled in
his hand, held against his cheek—a
faint perfume of Anna Montana.
“I'll slide that out so slick,” Bo
chuckled, “that he won't even know
he ever let go!”
But Anna caught his hand. “No,
don’t!” she whispered. “Let him keep
it—like that!”
“Keep it!” Bo echoed in a heavy
whisper. “Why, what—" Then he
saw her shining, her lips quivering
between tears and a smile. “Well,”
he said, and shut the curtains, “it’s
your eighty-dollar neck-piece—n ot
mine.”
Cincinnati.
Mr. Cubby Snod, fresh and snappy
in the cook-house for breakfast. Tai-
lored shirt, shined shoes, white daisy
in the buttonhole!
“Hello, folks! Hello! How’s the
wheat cakes? Three for me, Joe!”
The waiter put him up on the box
that was at the long table for the
Snods—clean blue table-cloth, big dish
of wet purple grapes.
“Mrs. Snod’ll be right along, Joe,
Cubby went on crisply. “Just stopped
for mail." Three cakes for her too.
Baker apples and cream, Joe. Two
coffees and toast.”
There were dancing shadows of
leaves on the canvas roof, a smell of
summer morning, an odor of earth
and grass, a whiff of coffee.
“What's the chance for a little pok-
er tonight, Cubby?” someone. asked.
Cubby took off his hat and looked
around sparely at the man who was
talking. “Boys, I'm through!” he
said, with a gesture. “Promised Dol-
ly last night. I've got vices enough—
smokin’, swearin’ and temper. Dol-
1y’ll. put up with the rest, but ‘she
won't stand for poker!”
Mrs. Snod came into the doorway,
ruffled pink and white—bobbed curly
head.
“Here she is, boys!” Cubby ges-
tured. “No more poker till the Iit-
tle lady says so!”
chips out of his
jack and a pair of
them across to the
you are, Dolly!”
The waiter put her up beside Cub-
He drew two blue
pocket, an ace, a
deuces, and tossed
next table. “There
y.
“Oh, Cubby,” she quavered, “if only
you mean it!”
“If 1 mean it!” he crowed. “Of
course I mean it! Ain’t I man enough
to keep a promise to my little wife?
Certainly I mean it. They’ve dealt
the last poker hand to me. Just
‘urned down a game for tonight. Yes,
Sir! No, Sir! My little mama's
first!”
Dolly dabbed at her eyes with a
folded paper napkin. “Oh, Cubby,” she
sniffled, “if it’s true I'll be so happy!”
“Yes, but Baby, don’t Cry on your
pink dress,” her little husband re-
minded her. “Forget about poker, and
butter Papa his toast. You've got
my solemn promise you won’t have to
cry no more!”
A kiss—a kiss—wheat
ing to flannel!
Outside on the lot the fanfare day
was beginning. Tents up, the stake
pounded, men heaving the ropes; wag-
ons lumbering over the ground, big
top swinging up in majesty, mud-
spattered covers unlacing from floats
=ke cocoons falling away from but-
terflies; horses coming up from the
pad room, a rhythm, a beauty, a mys-
tery of chaos. A bugle-call—scurry
out of the cook-house to the dressing
tents; pick out parade bundles from
the long blue wardrobe tables, cos-
tumes in white bundles, somebody’s
fame on everyone; a shaking out of
velvet and satin around the trunks,
little tinkle of spangles. Second bugle
—hurry outside. Floats and beauti-
ful horses; a trail of band music
coming back from way up the street
at the head of the parade; glittering
mass of gold and color untangling,
moving off the lot, unwinding towards
town like shining ribbon; the purple
section, white tandem, float of Egypt,
Bo Serko like Daniel in the lions’ den,
shrieking calliope . . .
A hot, still day of August. Parade
coming back; suffocating canvas; the
afternoon show, elephants padding
through their tricks. White horses,
flying webs, clowns slapping the saw-
dust, chariots thundering around the
track. The show over, ten thousand
people emptying out on the dusty lot
through the menagerie, crowding out
to the road. Up across the bridge to
town, balloons, red whisps, tiny cham-
eleons bought at the main gate,
chained, green and quivering, to a
country boy’s lapel or a girl’s white
arm. Then at last the crowd gone,
the lot quiet, spangles and tights lai
aside for gingham and linen. Dinner-
cakes turn-
time, cookhouse busy, performers in
little groups here and there, canvas
chairs around the wagons,
pale stars; light man coming, torches
flaring. Time for the night show—
crowd thronging in again, clattering
feet on the blues, first bugle, perform-
ers back to the dressing tents.
In the white ticket n Rawl So-
vaine waited till it was time for Anna
Montana to appear. 4 Eight-thirty,
eight-fortyfive, ten minutes to nine.
en he went in where he could see
the hippodrome track cleared, hear
her music begin, see six unbridled
black prairie horses pl in around
the track, and then the reckled cay-
use, with Anna standing in the stir-
rups, fearlessly beautiful, in scarlet
boots and wide sombrero, her scarlet
blouse fluttering!
Sovaine an 118 those black horses
tear into her lariat, watched her slim
scarlet body weave under the pony’s
neck, under the belly—her boots tuck-
ing under the saddle, her head almost
touching the ground. Then, with wild,
sharp little Indian cries, while her
sombrero saluted the crowd, she rode
the length of the track standing on
her pony’s leathered back. Spirit of
open plain, freedom of sun and moun-
tain, eagle pinions, wind across the
sky!
Lvaine went back to his office in
the white wagon. ;
“Couple of letters for .you,” said
the man who kept the ticket window.
One was from Biarritz, on lavender
paper delicately perfumed, with a coat
of arms in the corner. Sovaine op-
ened it.
Darling your letter came today.
It was sweet to have it, but I miss
you so, and count the days till . . .
And your friend is now in America.
I write to prepare you he will be
waiting for you in Cleveland on the
date the six months is over! Don’t
try to get away. He will find you
anywhere, so pay him and come
back’? ,..
The other letter was from Cleve-
land, addressed in handwriting So-
vaine had seen just once before—on a
prison bond in Biarritz! He read both
letters, the lavender one twice, and
locked them in his safety box.
How is it a man thinks he can take
today with no count at all of yester-
day or tomorrow!
“May stay over Sunday here, Jim,”
he said to the man at the window.
“May not get to Cleveland till Mon-
day. afternoon”—he smiled and
winked—“might be a wedding here,
Jim,” he said as he closed his desk
and locked it.
The ticket man watched him go
past ths side-show towards the dress-
ing tent, and wondered who just ex-
actly was Mr. Rawl Sovaine:
Anna Montana never went tothe
pirvilege car on the working. ’s
section. She never ate at that lunch-
counter, but she knew Cal Coney did,
and in Cincinnati, down at the runs
a mile away from the performers’
cars, there Cal Coney found her, on
a_ high stool with a sandwich and a
piece of apple pie. 3.
“Hello, Cal,” she said. “I—want to
walk back to the cars with you.”
‘He didn’t answer, didn’t wait for
her, but when he left, she left too.
The cars were straight. ahead, a
mile away, the chain of their lighted
windows like a string of yellow wood-
en beads. The road was a country
road—damp, warm dust, willow
stumps, smell of wild flowers, thick,
wet croaking of frogs, and over it all,
moonlight like a wash painted over
a picture.
Cal said nothing, Anna following
beside him, until she faced him ap.
Tapily and put her hands on his shoul-
ers.
“Cal,” she said, “Father wants us
to come back to the ranch. He wants
you to forget all he said—and bring
me home.”
Cal Coney took off his hat, looked
down at that little girl in the moon-
light there.
“I reckon it’s no use going’ into
that,” he said steadily. “An ol’ Texas
cow-puncher like me, herdin’ your cat-
tle, had no business makin’ love to
you. Your daddy was plumb right
when he told me to git, and you was
plumb wrong, followin’ me to this
here show and startin’ bronco ridin’
and lasso throwin’ just because you
could do it!
you, and I've been tryin’ dead hard
to keep out of your way and keep my
mouth shut!”
He reached up and took her hands
from his shoulders, ker hot little fin-
gers; then suddenly he caught that
little girl in his arms and kissed he
and kissed her. She was breathless
when he let her go.
“I’ve been meanin’ to say good-by
to you fer quite a while,” he said,
“and now I've done it! You're goin’
to marry a man like your dad was
lookin’ fer, He's got the right to you
now— and—”
“No, he hasn’t, Cal! He hasn't!”
she said, catching his hands as he
drew them away from her. “I took
his ring because I wanted you! 1
thought if you loved me another ring
on my finger would bring you back,
and if it didn’t, I’d have something to
help me forget you. He knows I love
you. I told him so. I told him if you
came, he’d have to release me. He
wants me to marry him now, but be-
fore I do, I want to ask you can’t 1
just tell Dad you and I are coming
home 7”
Cal picked up the bucket and sack
he had put down in the road. “1
reckon you better tell your dad,” he
drawled, “that I’ve forgot the way to
Double Bar Y, and don’t have no idea
of tryin’ to recollect!”
Mr. and Mrs. Snod left the side-
show early, took a bus to the cars,
unlocked the stateroom, turned on the
radio, started the coffee, set out the
supper; then Cubby found something
in his pocket that didn’t belong there.
“Oh, Mama, look at this,” he
fussed. “Cal Coney’s knife that I
promised not to keep! Ill have to
hunt him right up and give it to him!
Set the coffee back, will you, Mama ?”
In shirt-sleeves he hurried up the
track.
Two hours later Mrs. Snod started
out to find him.
She looked for a circle of lantern-
light, There wasn’t any. She looked
for a quiet game outside 90. There
wasn’t any, But along under Mr, So-
ossip, let- |
ter writing. Sunset, gray dusk, a few :
I ain’t good enough fer be
vaine’s windows somebody was. talk-
te) id
You've played ‘and ‘lost, Coney, |
that’s all,” Sovaine was saying.
“Say, you can’t pick a loser till the
game’s all over!” came Cubby Snod’s
voice.
Dolly took herself up those car
steps with a scramble! Banged on
the door! =
Cubby Snod!” Little high steam
whistle. 3
“You come out here! If you think
you're going to promise one thing in
the morning and squirm out of it at
night, i find" . 3
The door opened two inches. Part
of Cubby’s face came out. “Dolly,
shush!” he whispered. “Go away and
keep quiet!”
“Keep quiet,” Dolly sobbed, “after
your promise you’d never play poker
again! J want to tell you Cub—Cub-
Yr Snod planted a firm hand over
her mouth. “This ain’t poker!” he
hissed. “It’s a business conference!”
and the door closed, with Dolly briefly
left in the dark.
Business conference! No poker!
Well, she'd find out! The place had
windows! Who was a tall men she
knew? Bo Serko! Where was Bo
Serko ?
“lI won’t put you in that bedroom
window, Dolly! I've got no business
doin’ any such thing and I’m not goin’
to. I'd get fired from the show.
Pd"
“Bo Serko, you’re only upholding !
Cubby against me! You know he's
doing what he shouldn’t. You heard
his solemn promise this natning.
You're a big six-foot man and Pm
only a woman and you ought to be
ashamed to stand there like a brute
when all I ask is—” Snivel—snivel . .
Bo Serko put Dolly through So-
vaine’s bedroom window.
Five minutes later, when he was
still brushing from his blue serge
shoulders the print in dust of four-
inch French-heeled shoes, Mr. Cubby
Snod came running along the track.
“You seen Dolly anywhere?” he
asked, very much out of breath. “I
just came away from something im-
portant, to let Dolly know where I
was at, and I can’t find her and I
don’t know—"
“Well, I seen her and heard her!”
Bo assurad him, and told the rest of
it. “So she’s in there, and now what ?
I couldn’t help it. What could I do?
What can anybody do when Dolly
Snod’s wound up talkin’ like a streak
o’ chain lightnin ?”
Cubby wiped a hot head with a
limp, much soiled handkerchief.
“Well,” he said, “she’ll just have to
get out any way she can! I thought
I heard a creakin’ in that bedroom!
I never saw the beat! Into every-
thing from smallpox to firecrackers!
Got to talk hemself blue in the face
whether: she knows what's goin’ on or
not! And like I said before—if Dol-
ly Snod ever says anything anybody
wants to hear, I'll eat hay with a
horse! Stand right up and eat hay!”
In his private car, Sovaine sat back
i 2 wicker chair under his shaded
ight.
“What's the idea of starting this
tonight, Coney?” he said. “You've
had plenty of time before.”
Something in Sovaine’s cool, delib-
erate smile made the Texan lock his
hands behind him.
“Because till tonight I thought she
and you loved each other,” Cal Coney
answered, his voice too steady. “But
tonight a little. somethin’ happened
that took me back to when she picked
me out fer a job in Montana. She
said to me, ‘Cal, I want to hire a man
who won’t let nobody cheat me!” And
I took the job and my time ain’t up
till next November. Mr. Sovaine, I've
loved that little kid quite a while. Her
dad didn’t figure I was good enough
—and I figured he was right. I was
willin’ to lose her to a better man
than me, so I kept still and let the
old heart blaze. But when I found
out tonight how willin’ you was to
take her, knowin’ she loved somebody
else, and what a hurry you was in,
and when I got a letter from a pal
o’ mine waitin’ in Cleveland fer me
and the show, who's met somebody
else waitin’ fer the show too, after a
fella’ who has to produce twenty
thousand dollars round about Monday
—well, I just got to wonderin’ if may-
Mr. Bonson might a’ told you
Jone nobody knows but him and
me!’
Cal Coney squared his eyes as he
squared them when they called him
the “sharp-shootin’ fool.”
“I just got to wonderin’ if you did
or didn’t know that she’s Mary Ann
Barrington, with a dad worth a mil-
lion. I just got to thinkin,’ if I’m
givin’ up fer love what you're takin’
fer money—maybe I'm the best man
o’ the two of us after all!”
Sovaine brushed his hand over a
perspiring forhead. The Texan
reached for his hat.
“Well,” he drawled, “reckon I bet-
ter be moseying along,” and he
hitched up the gun belt he still wore
from the show, strode past the open
bedroom door and went out.
Sovaine didn’t move till Coney had
gone; then he called his Jap.
“Niki, there’s a taxi waiting across
the track,” he said shortly. “Give the
driver my bag that is packed in the
bedroom and tell him to go on till I
meet him in the road. Miss Montana
is waiting for me. We're to be mar-
ried tonight, and I'll be in Cleveland
Monday. Don't let anyone follow
me.”
Cal Coney, leaving Sovaine’s car,
went straight to 89, straight to Anna
Montana, the little girl whose cattle
he’d herded over Western plains, for
months when dreams of her were all
the hours were made of>—through
the months before her father had
briefly reminded him she owned the
ranch and he was her cowboy! To-
night, for the first time since then,
she had been near him, he had touched
her hands—had heard her say she
loved him; and now, for, etting every-
thing else, he suddenly knew there is
no wealth, no aristocracy, no pride of
this or that. One birthright is all
the world has to bestow—the birth-
right of love.
“Please find Anna Montana,” he
said to someone at the door of 89.
They were a long time looking; |
then they brought him a note.
Ve +
Cal, I have waited and ho
“could go home together, but now
"TI kee S
He has asked me to marry him at
once—tonight, so I will. Good-by,
Dear.
“She’s gone,” they said. “She left
the note on her pillow.”
Cal looked stupidly at that little
piece of paper; then his hand crept
up, shut over his gun belt!
Sovaine back there in that shaded
light. Cool, deliberate smile! Wait-
ing to go to her!
me ap answered the door. Mr.
Sovaine was gone, Sir. Where? He
hadn’t said, Sir!
Cal broke past the Jap into the
Through all the rooms. Th
were empty.
Back to 89! Someone must know
where Anna had gone! No—nobody
knew. But someone must know! No
—nobody knew!
Beyond the railroad switch tower
was a road. Cal saw the headlights
of an automobile coming. He stum-
bled down to the road. The automo-
bile was a farmer’s truck loaded with
milk-cans.
“Take me to town!” Cal shouted.
In the midnight of the city, the
farmer put him down. Lights—peo-
ple—late, straggling crowds, streets
crossing each other—buildings—win-
dows—stairways—a thousand walls
Behind one of those thousanG wai;s
iwas Anna Montana! Which one of
those thousand walls? People stared
at him—no hat—cowboy boots and
spurs!
A clock struck one,
his brain!
In the hotel room where Sovaine
had told Anna to wait, she pinned up
her hair, touched pale lips with rouge.
Why didn’t he hurry? Why didn’t
he come? She couldn’t wait like this
—all alone! So quiet! So long!
There were wide windows, pale silk
curtains, roses. Sovaine had sent
roses. Gray wicker chairs, French
doors, a little balcony, a cool night
wind.
At last he came, and a little gray-
haired minister with him. A bell-boy
followed them with the bag, the top-
coat, more flowers. A bridal bouquet
wrapped in tissue.
“Well, how’s my little girl?” So-
vaine said, and kissed her. “Mr. Fish-
er, here’s the little bride. Ready,
Dear? We mustn’t keep Mr. Fisher
waiting. Late hours for a minister
the day before Sunday!”
He was in a mood for gayety. He
laughed at everything he said.
Anna was dressed in white and her
face was white too. Sovaine gave her
the bride’s bouquet. brought a ring
out of his pocket.
“All right, Mr. Fisher,” he said.
Mr. Fisher opened his book.
Then suddenly across the room,
with a rattle and slap, Rawl Sovaine’s
brown bag lurched, tottered, tumbled,
Anna and Sovaine and Mr. Fisher
stared—saw holes like airholes cut in
the end of it!
“Say, now, Anna,” broke in a thin,
high voice—little toy high steam-
whistle—squeak like a rusty baby car-
riage!
With a cry, Anna ran across the
room and snapped open the lock, and
Dolly Snod, much awry, very red in
the face, struggled up from a rump-
led Shirt, bent collars, mussed neck-
ties!
“Say, now, Anna!” she said. “I
thought somebody ought to tell you
Cal found out Mr. Sovaine needs a lot
of money in Cleveland, and he knew
all the time you were Mary Ann
Somebody with a million dollars, or
whoever you are, and Cal thought he
wasn’t good enough, but now he
thinks love is better than money, so
he went to find you, and then So-
vaine told his Chinaman you were
like a cudgel en
down-town waiting to get married, '
and I thought I better come right
along to tell you before it was so late
that—" :
Anna Montana—Mary Ann Bar-
rington——dropped to her knees and
caught Dolly Snod, laughed, cried,
kissed her, clung to her.
In a woven pattern every thread is
the one that makes the tapestry com-
plete!
Rawl Sovaine tried to talk—tried to
explain.
Then suddenly Dolly clutched Ann
Barrington with fingers like little lob-
ster claws.
“Oh, I forgot Cubby!” she gasped.
“Please telephone to that switch tow-
er quick! He won’t know what's be-
come of me! Oh, poor little Cubby!
Tell him I'm safe and coming straight
home, and tell him”—her face crink-
led into a funny little grin—*“tell him
while he’s Nading, to go help himself
0 hay!”—Dixie Willson in Cosmopol-
itan.
Over Half of Cattle Tested.
Considerably more than half of all
the cattle in the Commonwealth have
been tested at least once for tuber-
culosis, the bureau of animal indus-
try, Pennsylvania Department of Ag-
riculture, announces.
The number tested by June 1 had
reached 767,000, which is over 57 per
cent of the total cattle population of
1,330,000.
Under the area test plan all the
cattle in twenty-two counties have
been tested. Eleven of these counties
—Butler, Cameron, Clearfield. Ccelum-
bia, Crawford, Indiana, Jefferson,
Lawrence, McKean, Mercer and Pot-
ter—are now known as “modified ac-
credited counties” having bovine tu-
berculosis reduced to less than one-
half per cent.
The other eleven counties—Beaver,
Elk, Huntingdon, Mifflin, Monroe, Sul-
livan, Susquehanna, Tioga, Union,
Venango and Warren—have been
completely tested, but have not qual-
ified as modified accredited counties.
The popularity of the bovine tuber-
culosis eradication work is indicated
by the fact that 55,696 head of cattle
comprising 6276 herds were tested un-
der the area and individual herd
plans during May and on June 1 all
the cattle in 3334 herds in fifty-two
counties waiting the test by the indi-
vidual herd plan and all the herds in
seventy-nine townships in twenty-two
counties were awaiting the test under
the area plan.
~—Subscribe for the “Watchman.”
ped we |
Pp my word to Rawl instead. DAILY THOUGHT
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN,
Quarrels would not last long if the
fault was only on one side—La Roche-
i foucauld.
| All angularity has gone from the
‘mode and graceful, swaying lines are
coming into their own. ; :
Much more material is used in
' gowns than in the seasons immediate-
ly past and is handled in a bigger
, way. Besides bows, panniers and
! ruffles, the “pouf’—which is really a
drapery—is lending chick to raiment
in the newer manner.
Premet has managed the “pouf” de-
lightfully in an evening frock which
- has the drapery in three tiers at the
k.
The material blue moire, in the new
clear turquoise shade that manages to | bag,
{ make a blond look much more etherial
than she really is.
| The bodice has a scalloped yoke af-
the three flounces which constitute
| the “pouf” are cut on the bias in or-
der to achieve a soft fullness.
If you achieve that down-in-the-
back and up-in-the-front idea success-
fully, you have achieved a sartorial
victory. A light colored evening
frock has a full back, pointed side
drapery and very short front. This
complete new silhouette is something
to ponder over in your idle moments.
Here again is apparent simplicity |
—close fitting bodice and simple
blouse—but picture it in lavender taf-
féta and the effect is a little dizzying.
And think of all the damage a grace-
ful little debutante could do to mas-
culine hearts, when she fluttered into
a room wearing it!
Worth develops an interesting
“pouf” in a model of flowered black
taffeta. The fabric has a huge design
of red roses, green foliage and white
polka dots.
This, too, fits the figure closely and
retains the short skirt line only in
the front. The drapery is placed at
either side in such a way that it in
no way adds width to the wearer.
Grren georgette crepe edges the scal-
loped hem and accents the green in
the silk. For the tall, slender figure,
this gown is ideal, but the large pat-
tern and the style make it an unwise
choice for the petite woman.
The metal cloths of this summer
are very light in weight and bear no
resemblances to the heavier brocades
of the winter. They are used exten-
‘sively for wraps and frequently for
{ gowns and for short coats.
A premet afternoon gown shows a
popular treatment of this material,
combining as it does a blouse of gold
and copper lame cloth with a skirt
{of black satin. Bands of the satin
appear on the sleeves and form a
‘slender tie about the throat. For
restaurant wear, and semi-formal af-
ternoon functions, this outfit has the
full approval of fashion.
Few ensemble costumes so perfect-
ly combine utility and extraordinary
charm as the navy blue and white
georgette frock. This was created by
Jenny, and has a navy blue georgette
| cape, lined with white.
There is an almost. mode nistic ef-
fect in the joining of the blouse and
the pleated skirt, and the triangular
points are repeated in the cape. A
i close, youthful collar and flowing tie
rare the height of chic, as is the nar-
row belt of woven silver links. This
gown expresses the very spirit of the
new mode.
Like any young publicist, we are
“rushing into print” these days only
the print is printed crepe gowns.
Even Jersey, that knitted material, is
coming into prints. Dots, flowers,
and geometrical figures for odd de-
signs either alone or in combination.
The newer fabrics are very supple
and pliable, giving a softer gracious-
ness than the old time rigid dress
fect which is repeated at the hem, and | Coll
i
1
|
goods. Taffeta, that ancient stiff ma-'
terial, has become “soft as silk.” We
seem to have grown weary of our
boyish cuts, both hair and suit, and
are wearing so-called suits, which are
still stately and slenderizing and in-
dulge more in plaits and blousing.
They are not too much trimmed to be
is more of an ensemble, with a one-
plece dress and a cape or coat to
match. Navy-blue continues to be the
favorite color for business wear.
The shoulder flower still blooms in
all its popularity, but is more con-
ventional and smaller. It has been
crowded out by many other orna-
ments such as bows, ripples, scarfs,
drapes and jewelry.
The scarf is not an accessory, but
an integral part of many costume
suits today and the flapper would feel
undressed without her scarf. Gloves
have a turnback cuff. Fabric gloves
So closely resemble suede that it is
hard to tell the difference.
Good taste demands nentral tints
for backgrounds and not too much
riot of color in a room. Loud color
tones, are the rage today, but the
woman of refinement will not adeat
this style too freely. The ceiling
should be a lighter shade of the same
color as the walls.
To make a lovely room, paint all
scratched or damaged wood finishings
of inferior quality and clean and pol-
ish good old wood such as mahogany
or walnut. Throw away all unneces-
sary articles, such as plush picture
frames and paper flowers. Freshen
the curtains, dyeing them if they are
faded.
Have one good picture in each room
until you can afford more, but do not
make your walls repositories for all
kinds of junk. Not tco many, photo-
graps should be exposed, and those
which are should be simply framed
and never hung on the walls.
If the rooms seem dull and you
wish to add a note of cheer, use a
colorful lampshade or vase or cushion
or draperies or upholstering for a
chair. The large room may take fab-
rics of large, bright pattarns, but
the small room should have plain, ail-
over, two tone or very small figures
in its draperies and upholstering.
Remember, in decorating and fur-
nishing a room, that home is a place
for peace and rest and quiet refine-
ment, and whatever gaudy colors and
styles you may choose today, you will
probably have to live with for a long
time,
_ FARM NOTES. . - +
Cut: the lawn often and do not re-
move the clippings. They help to
build a good lawn soil.
Careful cultivation of the ground
to conserve moisture and to keep
down weeds is as necessary for the
flowering poeunials as for every oth~
er type of plant growth.
Cans filled with vegetables and
fruits this summer and stored for
winter use will help to reduce the
grocery bill next winter and will im-
prove the health of the family.
For hogs, alfalfa is the best pasture
obtainable, furnishing a maximum of
ideal forage throughout the season,
even in dry weather. As many as 20
shoats can be carried on one acre.
One of the worst outbreak of cab-
€ maggots in years has been ex-
perienced this season, according to G.
F. MacLeod, assistant extension en-
tomologist of the Pennsylvania State
ege.
In small patches, Canada thistles
can be eradicated by covering for an
entire season with any material that
will completely exclude light, such as
tarred paper, heavy building paper,
and old tin roofing.
As soon as young cockerels can be:
distinguished they should be separat-
ed from the pullets. When large
enough to sell as broilers, market
them, even though the price is not
high. Very little, if any, money is
made from broilers.
Rat eradication is becoming more
popular in Pennsylvania. Several
demonstrations have been run, using
calcium cyanide. It is ‘shot into the
holes with a dust gun. The rats die
in their retreats or come out in such
2 fizay condition that they are easily
illed.
Pennsylvania fruit growers will
take their annual tour the week of
July 16. The trip starts from Cham-
bersburg, in Franklin county, at noon:
July 16 and finishes at Washington,
D. C,, three days later. Orchards will
be visited in Maryland, West Virgin-
ia, and Virginia. Fruit growers:
planning to participate are making:
arrangements with their county
agents. ! :
Radishes, mangels, melons, cucum-
bers, and cabbages have been at-
tacked by the pest. In some cases as
many as 15 maggots have been found
in a single plant. Thousands of
plants have been destroyed by the in-
sect but those who used corrosive
sublimate, one ounce to eight gallons:
of water, applied at 10-day intervals,
found an efficient control. This treat
ment destroys the eggs in the ground.
The larvae are too hard to reach.
To investigate the life habits and
ways of effectively controlling the
corn borer and other insect pests
bothering Pennsylvania farmers, an
insectary has been created at the
Pennsylvania Agricultural Experi-
ment Station at State College.
This building will be used this year
by H. N. Worthley, research entomol--
ogist, for experiments on the effect-
iveness of various insecticides in kill-
ing eggs and young larvae of the:
European corn borer. State College:
is 250 miles south and east of any ex-
periment station where this insect
has been stduied under different efi-
matic conditions, and important vari-
ations may be found to have occurrad
in the habits of the corn borer as a
result of its spread from the shores
of Lake Erie to central Pennsylvania..
Scrub bulls in six
counties are facing sentences of
death. It has been found that they
have robbed their owners year after
year. At first the evidence was cir-
cumstantial, but recently accurate rec-.
ords have revealed enormous losses.
In McKean county, following the.
organization of the seventh bull as-
sociation in the county, an intensive:
effort is being made to replace every
grade and scrub inside the county:
boundary lines with a purebred sire.
On October 1, 1927, there were 144
purebred and 147 grade bulls in the.
Pennsylvania
dl J :_ | 16 townships of the county. A sur
ness like, he. canic? neu and Dsl | voy “Cn February 1 showed 160 pos
bred sires and 123 scrubs, a substan--
tial change already. Cameron coun-
ty also is working along this line to
improve its dairy herds. :
Jefferson, Susquehanna, Crawford,
and Montgomery counties have cer-
tain townships and communities in
which the extension program includes
the replacement of all scrubs with
purebred sires.
Inventories of all herds are taken
at the beginning of the year,” says
Ross. Then at the end of each year
inventories are taken again. In this.
way results can be measured in ac
tual figures. Bulls selected must be-
from dams known to produce 400 or:
more pounds butterfat. In many cas-
es sons of cows in cow testing: asso~
ciations are being used to replace the:
scrub bulls. Some farmers are or-
ganizing bull associations to take
care of their breeding program;
All who are interested in. buying-
package bees for increase should or-
der as soon as possible, specifying the
last of April or the first of’ May as:
the time of delivery.
Pacakges coming this early: will’
need to be fed 5 to 10 pounds of su-
gar syrup, made by using half water
and half sugar, according to county
agent Ross. Early introduction and’
feeding of the packages: will insure:
much greater success for the bees
when the honey flow comes, since they
will have built up a working force of"
bees before the season opens,
Two pounds of bees and a queen
make up the standard size of pack-
age. It is well to have 8 or 4 drawn
combs free from disease on which to
put the bees. If these are not avail-
able full sheets of foundation in the
frame figure will do.
The lighter soils produce: earlier,
more finely flavored, and more highly
colored fruits than do the heavier
soils. This is particularly true with
such fruits as the grape, and citrus.
On the other hand, the heavier soils
contain meore- plant food and have:
greater water-holding capacity, and
hence give greater growth and higher
yields for the amounts of irrigation.
water. and’ fértilizers used.