Bellefonte, Pa., August 31, 1928.
THE WEAKEST LINK.
The gray light of a November moon
filtered dully through the long win-
dows of the city building and fell up-
on the brown head of a small boy, who
was seated in a large desk chair in
one of the rooms. He had been there
alone in the office for a long time,
though his mother had said, “Just a
few minutes, dear!” as she always
did. He was engaged in shaping a
large hook out of a bit of wire he had
discovered, talking to himself mean-
while in the animated fashion of chil-
dren.
“There!” he exclaimed at last, eye-
ing his craftsmanship with the tough
wire. “That’ll do, I guess, for the
hook. Now for some string!”
He felt in his pockets, then dived
into the waste basket and emerged
with a short piece of twine, which he
fastened to his hook. The string was
obviously too short for his purpose,
and he looked about the bare room
for further resources.
Just then a clerk entered from the
next room, where through the open
door could be seen the faces of a num-
ber of men and some women. The
boy looked up eagerly. The clerk
smiled at him, winked and said fa-
miliarly.
“Having a good time, son?”
“Pretty good,” the boy replied with
dignity. “Say, got any string around
here 7”
The clerk pointed to the recess
where the office twine was kept, and
with another smile left the room, clos-
ing the door carefully. The boy im-
mediately possessed himself of the
ball of twine.
“That'll reach fine!” he said, tying
it to the shorter piece.
Then he made for the window,
which after considerable exertion he
managed to raise sufficiently to en-
able him to get his head through. It
was obviously too high for comfort-
able operations, and so after a mo-
ment he drew in his head, looked
about the room, and discovered a
large wooden box. This he pushed
over to the window and perched him-
self upon it, sighing with satisfaction.
“Now!” he said, cautiously drop-
ping his hook and line over the win-
dow sill. “Now we’ll see what’s com-
ing to us!”
He played the line in and out skill-
fully, and jerked it to and fro as if
he were making a long cast, all the
time continuing his dramatic com-
ment.
“There goes one! Now! Almost
There—the dub! Oh,
hooked him.
gee!”
All that was left of the boy within
the office was a pair of fat legs wig-
gling ecstatically in time with the
dangling hook. So absorbed was he
in his sport that he did not notice
when the door at the other end of the
long, narrow room opened again, ad-
mitting two men and a woman.
The older of the men, who was
slight, with grizzled hair and stoop-
ing shoulders, took the chair behind
the desk and motioned the others to
seats.
“Please sit down,” he said in a low
voice.
But neither the man nor the woman
accepted the invitation. They stood
stiffly one at either end of the broad,
littered desk, showing a hostile dis.
content with the situation by their at-
titude and their faces. The man’s
handsome face, especially, had a stub-
born, wary expression, as if he sus-
pected some trap. The woman was
visibly excited. She clutched nervous-
ly at a small bag, and her eyes were
fastened upon the man at the desk.
He looked from one to the other,
realizing that the atmosphere was
surcharged with the passion of con-
tending wills.
“I have brought you here,” he said,
a little wearily, “so that we might
talk this matter over to ourselves,
quietly.” He paused, and his thin
lips had a faint, conciliatory smile.
“Without the ‘disturbing influence of
counsel,” he added.
“It seems to me,” the speaker re-
sumed quickly, “that there is collu-
sion in this case.” At the man’s de-
fiant glance he hastened to say: “1
have no proof of it, of course, but I
strongly suspect it—as I must always
suspect it when a man and a woman
of your position, of your evident
standing and circumstances, come in-
to my court and attempt to get di-
vorce on such grounds.”
His dry, slightly scornful tone made
no impression upon the two hostile
faces. The Judge, clearing his throat,
continued more incisively, his eyes
resting on the man:
“I cannot believe that a man of
your appearance, of your established
reputation, would be guilty of strik-
ing a woman—and that woman your
wife—as she has just testified, uncon-
troverted.”
He paused for explanation, but the
man merely stroked his mustache
more rapidly. :
“Nor that you would desert a wo-
man you had sworn to support and
protect, the mother of your child—
desert, I mean, not in legal but in the
real sense, leaving her to struggle for
bread for herself and the child, leav-
ing her to starve. perhaps.
“I understand that no claim for
alimony is made,” the Judge observ-
ed. “I must infer that, as usual, this
matter has been arranged satisfac-
torily outside of court?”
The woman nodded and waved her
hand impatiently, as if to say that
money was not the question.
“So it seems that you are not real-
ly willing to leave this wife of yours
penniless—to desert her in the full
sense of the word—as she sets up in
her plea?”
The Judge turned sharply toward
the man, who lowered his eyes. After
a few moments of painful silence he
resumed meditatively:
“Aware as I must be of such col-
lusion as I suspect in this case, nev-
ertheless, like most Judges of divorce
courts, I usually grant the decree,
dissolve the marriage. At least, when
there are no children involved!”
sn
As he spoke his eyes traveled down
the room until they fell upon the
small boy who was still absorbed in
his angling out of the window.
“But where children enter the case,
I believe it is my duty to accept the
subterfuge offered until I have con-
vinced myself to the best of my abil-
ity that there is no other resort—
that divorce would be best for the
child, too.”
He pointed to the boy. The man
and the woman, turning their heads,
followed the direction of his finger.
The man’s face showed surprise.
“In your case there is a child,” the
Judge said softly. “I had his mother
The eyes of the man and the wo-
man still rested upon their child.
“Think,” the Judge resumed, in his
of yours must mean to him—now and
forever after throughout his life!”
The Judge paused, then turned to
the man directly.
“You had a home? Yes! Your
father and mother may have quarrel-
ed—may have seen their mistake as
plainly as you think you see yours.
It may not have been a good home
always, but they managed to stick to
their job somehow. And so their child
had something solid beneath his feet
as he grew to manhood. You knew
both your parents!”
During this little homily the man
and the woman fidgeted. The woman
kept her eyes upon the child, but the
man looked hard at the Judge and his
eyes spoke fiercely. But the Judge
kept on, more swiftly now:
“Can’t you—the man—put yourself
aside for him? Forget that other—
least. Can’t you both find something
by, other than your own desires—for
his sake?”
The woman’s face paled.
“Judge,” the man interrupted husk-
ily, “IY?
“One moment, please!”
The Judge raised his hand.
“Your life is half spent, but his is
almost unspent. What, then, will you
do for him? Will you give him mon-
ey or will you give the strength of
your right hand now? It’s a chain
you two have made—a chain of three,
made by your wills and your desires.
You have been pulling at that chain
for years, I suppose, but now you are
trying to pull it apart and it will
break—where? At the weakest link,
at him!”
And rising from his chair he point-
ed to the boy with his trembling hand.
“There is the weakest link—al-
ways!”
As the Judge spoke his concluding
words there bobbed into sight above
the window ledge a man’s stiff hat,
securely hooked to the curved wire.
Involuntarily the three spectators
smiled, softening the tense expression
of their faces.
The boy, in his eagerness to land
his catch, pushed too hard on the box
the floor with a clatter, still clutching
hat and hook. He picked himself up
and his attention was arrested by the
grown people. There was a sharp in-
quiry in his eyes, as if for a moment
he was puzzled by this combination
of persons. Then, dropipng hat and
fishline upon the floor, he ran for-
ward.
“Dad!” he cried.
“Dad! Where did you come from?”
The man put out his hand. The
boy, seizing it with a laugh, swung
himself up on his father’s shoulders.
Then, putting out a hand to steady
himself, he caught hold of his moth-
er's arms: It was the instinctive act
of the playful small animal—full of
grace and the exuberant good will of
youth. He slipped down a bit and
swung, like an athlete on the rings,
between his father and his mother.
The Judge smiled and picked up the
hat from the floor.
“Good fishing, sonny ?” he inquired.
“You bet! He looked mad, though!”
The boy was singularly like both
his parents, with the handsome blond
head of his father and the mouth and
eyes of his mother.
he ‘looked to his mother, then to his
father, with that wise, mature expres-
sion which had come into his eyes at
first sight of the three.
“Judge!” the man muttered huskily.
But the Judge said to the woman,
as if he had not heard the man’s
voice:
“I shall not grant your decree to-
day. I shall hold it for six months—
Then you may both come back here
with him—with him, remember!” Heo
patted the boy’s head. “And we will
see what to do next.”
He crossed the room briskly and
opened the door into the hall, holding
it wide for the three to pass out.
“Remember,” he whispered to the
man, pointing to the boy, “the weak-
i est link!”
With bewildered faces, husband and
wife slowly left the Judge’s chambers.
| The boy, still holding to a hand of
| san parent, skipped friskily between
| them.
| The man, the woman and the child
| between them got as far as the near-
| est street corner and there stood ir-
‘resolutely in the crowd of passers-
| by. The man pulled out his watch,
as if calculating an appointment,
“Are you tired, mother?” the boy
asked gently. “We'd better ride
home.” Turning to his father with
a little nod of masculine competency,
he obscrved: “Mother looks pretty
tired, dad.”
The man beckoned to a taxi across
the street, and when the car drew up
to the curb he held open the door for
the woman to enter. She gathered
her coat about her with a frigid care
lest it should touch the man and step-
ped in.
“You're coming too, dad?” the boy
said tentatively, still holding the
man’s hand in a tight grip.
The man got into the cab. Noth-
ing was said for a time. Husband
and wife drew away into the corners
of the seat and stared out of their
respective windows.
When the cab stopped before a
gently musing tone, “what this act:
possibility! For the sake of your son, |
forget yourself for a few years at '
in yourselves to rest upon, to abide
on which he was standing and fell on
The boy glanced at him roguishly. |
From the Judge |
large, dark house the boy waited for
his father to get out. Then he took
the man’s hand again, as if he had
been turning matters over and had
determined that this elusive parent
should not give him the slip. The wo- :
man swept up the steps and into the
house, leaving the man and the boy
to follow as they would.
The man, once within the door of
his abandoned home, stood irresolute,
but the boy, taking his hat and coat
from him, hung them up in the empty
closet. Then the child ran out to the
dining room, where he shouted
breathlessly to the sevant:
“Father’s home, Margaret! Set two
more places! I'm going to sit up for
which the gloom of human failure
seemed to have settled with the chill
of the tomb.
The courses dragged on and off.
The man felt in his pocket for a ci-
gar, then unconsciously got up and
looked in the corner ef the sideboard,
: Where the cigar-box used to be kept.
The woman spoke for the first time.
“They aren’t there,” she said cold-
ly, as if she wished him to know that
in this house, which was to be wholly
hers, every trace of him had been re-
moved.
i He made a gesture of indifference
and sat down again.
| “I'll get you a pipe, dad,” the boy
| suggested hospitably. “I know where
, they are, in the attic.”
i Then husband and wife, left aloae
for the first time in many months,
looked at each other furtively across
the table.
“Well,” he said, a slight smile at
'the iweny oi the situation creeping,
ragainst his will, over his handsome
features.
“I don’t understand what that Judge
means!” she exploded in a high key.
“He can’t do things that way. I'll
see my lawyers about it tomorrow.”
“It means another six months like
the last six, unless—” He hesitated
a moment, and then went on with
false monchalance. “Unless you will
be good enough to go somewhere, as
I suggested in the first place—one of
those places in the West—"
“Nevada!” she exclaimed. “Out
i there away from my friends—in that
sneaking fashion—never!”
“Here, dad!” The boy came run-
ning, breathless. “The big one you
like best! And here’s some tobacco
I found, too!”
He gave his father the pipe and to-
bacco in a glow of joy at being able
to satisfy the wants of this distin-
| guished stranger.
Presently the man strolled into the
: library. The room had a cheerless,
unfamiliar air. All his books had
. been removed with his other posses-
sions, and the usual clutter of papers
and pamphlets about the reading- |
lamp had been cleared away. Even
the curtains had been taken down, as
if for immediate departure. The room
was bare and bleak—like the woman, I
dressed all in black, who sat staring “dull
out into the dark street. Why had
she affected that ugly black, as if
there had been a death in the family ?
I “Well?” he began, in a tone dis-
tinctly conciliatory, puffing hard at
his pipe, “we must make the best of
it.
| She turned her head sharply, and
with the light falling on her face he |
saw how pale she was, how worn. In
the heat of battle in the courtroom
ihe had not noticed how ill she was
| looking.
! “It is easy enoguh for you to make
| the best of it!” she sneered.
{ “Well, you can bring another suit
rand make what charges you wish,” he
i suggested defiantly.
I “I will! Tl show you up to the
world! I'll—Pll—
He hated emotion, he hated fuss.
The Judge was an ass if he thought
any man could live with this hysteri-
cal creature. His self-control was
| fast giving away under the heat of
the storm. He made for the door.
i “I see,” he said quietly, “that I
| made a mistake in coming here. It
was for the boy’s sake. He couldn't
i understand, and I didn’t want to hurt
| his feelings.”
{ “If you cared for him this would
never have been!”
He looked at her fiercely. At sight
'of her haggered face, still working
nervously, his anger suddenly died
out. For the first time he saw it as
, she saw it-—how it had been for her
|all these months while they were
| waiting for the divorce, how hate and
shame and despair had preyed upon
i her until she was no longer herself,
{ but some wild creature. For the first
time he could put himself quite out-
side the situation, as the Judge said,
and it made him wonderfully calm.
“Louise,” he said, standing still be-
fore her, “don’t! It only makes it
worse!”
She looked at him out of hating
eyes, but was quiet. A burst of joy-
ous laughter came through the closed
door from the hall.
| “Heh, there! Come on up!” cried
| the quick, staccato tones of the boy.
“He’s a chatty little chap,” the man
muttered.
| “He’ll miss you now more than
| ever,” the woman said, collapsing ino
.a chair. “He thinks vou have been
.away on a journey—ijike the other
times. He won’t understand your
i leaving again so soon. Oh!” A gob
i shook her. ‘He will have to be told
now!”
ing more for the child than for her-
self.
“Oh, Master Ned!”
The man opened the door into the
hall and revealed the cause of the
disturbance. The boy had stolen up
to the landing on the stairs when the |
maid had gone to light the lamp be-
low, and had hooked her deftly by the
hair with his curved wire, which he ,
had carefully preserved. The man
walked over and unhooked the gig- |
gling maid.
“Where did you get this?” he ask-
ed, examining the piece of bent wire. |
“Made it while I was waiting for |
you and mother in that old man’s
room,” the boy explained proudly,
The man got his hat and coat.
It seemed that she, too, was suffer- |
There were fresh squeals of laughs
ter outside, and a cry from the maid."
woman was crying softly. The boy,
who had followed his father, looked
“from one to the other anxiously. His
face, just now so childishly merry,
had become suddenly grave.
“You're going away?” he said.
“I'll be back again. I'll see you
i soon, sonny,” the man stammered.
i “It was a long while the last time,”
the boy observed with a sigh.
“Why—"
! Then he paused, as if he realized
the hopelessness of understanding
these queer grown-ups.
‘My room isn’t ready for me,” the
man said desperately.
i ‘Then you can sleep with me!” As
bring him to my chambers in order dinner,” he added with a tone of ithe man hesitated, the boy grasped
that I might see his side of the case. conscious dignity. the suggestion more firmly. There s
A nice lad! He has not suffered— | It was another of those dreary |lots of room. Goody! Goody!
yet.” meals in this cold, silent house, in! The man looked questioningly at
“the woman.
“Do you want me to go?” he ask-
ed in a low voice.
‘As you like,” she murmured, turn-
ing away her miserable face.
| The boy had grabbed the hat and
coat from his father’s hands and
chucked them out into the hall.
‘Won’t I rough-house you in the
morning? Oh, my!” he reflected glee-
fully.
“Well, for the night, then,” the man
muttered, rumpling the boy’s hair.
At breakfast, some weeks after the
return of the man, the boy’s round,
shiny face gleamed across the broad
table opposite his father. At this
jmatutinal hour he was especially chat-
ty, like a brisk robin. He always al-
lowed his father to immerse himself
in the newspaper for a few moments,
then drew him out with a line of skill-
ful questions. This time, after grave
meditation, he observed:
“Dad, I don’t think mother is well.”
“Why 2?”
“Because she cries too much, and
{she stays in bed too much,” he said
| firmly.
His tone was grave, as if the two
men of the family must consult to-
| gether in regard to the weaker mem-
er.
“Ned doesn’t seem to think you are
quite well,” he remarked casually.
“Why don’t you go South and get a
change? It might make you more
| “I expected to be out of this awful
i place before this, but now—" She
sighed wearily.
“I'll look after Ned.”
“Leave him—to you?” she flashed.
“No, thanks!”
“Let’s all go,” the boy suggested.
At the awkward pause which fol-
lowed between the elders, he remark-
‘ed, as if announcing a much medi-
i tated truth:
| ‘I think famblies”—he always had
trouble with this word—“famblies
i should keep together and stay in one
i place. Don’t you, dad?”
{ A frosty smile crept over the wo-
man’s face. The man moved uneasily
| beneath the irony implied in that
i smile, then said suddenly:
! _ ‘Suppose we all go South? I think
can get away. Business is pretty
| “Won't that be swell 2”
| marked ecstatically.
| say! Oh, my!”
the boy re-
jer for her decision. The woman
| glanced irresolutely at the man.
“Will your — engagements — per-
mit ?” she asked.
“I can arrange all my—engage-
ments,” he replied with a smile.
“There’ll be real fishing, won't
there?” the boy put in. “T’ll catch
ja whale for you, mother—you bet!”
1 He danced around the table, put his
arms about his mother’s neck, and
mauled her boy fashion.
i “You'll get better,” he said. “We'll
| take you fishing with us—you can do
{the cooking!”
{ The man and the woman laughed.
[It did not seem that thus far the boy
| was the weakest link in the chain of
i three.
| Life, grinding after its impersonal
j manner, shaped matters for these
{in a way that neither man nor wo-
man had designed. In due time it
i fashioned its own crisis for them out
lof the multiform detail of its other
| activities. It was not a sentimental
but a business erisis.
Again the family made its appear-
ance in court. It was a pleasant sum-
mer day, but very little of the fra-
(grant, sunny air got into the dingy
room where the Judge sat all day
long listening to the contentions of
men. His brows were puckered in
{lines of weary thought while he tried
to solve the insoluble riddles of con-
duct and justice.
At last the man’s name was called,
and he went forward. Presently the
Judge, gathering up the papers in the
case, beckoned to the woman and the
child, and ushered the three into his
‘private office. The boy went at once
to the window and gazed speculatively
into the street.
| “So,” the Judge said, casting his
eyes over the papers, ‘you have been
, unfortunate in your affairs?”
| “Failed, Judge!” the man replied
grimly.
The Judge looked thoughtfully at
the crestfallen, drooping man before
him, then at the woman.
“Everything seems to have gone
wrong with me,” the man muttered.
I “I don’t believe that,” the Judge
said, with a little smile.
| “So I say, Judge,” the woman in-
terposed again. “He must not do that.
And there’s no reason why he should
| —everything’s ahead!”
She smiled back at him confidently.
i “We are going to begin again, Judge,”
she said with a blush.
“That’s the only way—to begin all
over.”
He turned to the boy, who had
grown weary of his former fishing
ground and had come to join the
others.
“How’s fishing, sonny?” he inquir-
1
i
ed.
“That kind of fishing’s no good,”
the boy said with the large disdain
cf real experience; “but pretty soon
we're going to the country to live—
aren’t we, father? And I’ll have a
boy dog and a girl dog, and then
there’ll be puppies. I'll give you one
if you like.” :
“Thanks!” the Judge replied, laugh-
ing. “Shall I keep him here?”
“No school— !
He looked breathlessly at his moth- |
accidents of life merely presented to
him delightful solutions. “In the
country, where things grow you
know!”
“Yes,” the Judge agreed, patting
his head; “boys and puppies—and
other things.”
He looked at the three for a mo-
ment. Then, as he signed the pa-
pers, he said to th man:
“If you don’t lose your nerve, the
chain will hold.”
It was plain enough now who was
the weakest link.
“It will!” said the woman.
And the three went out of the
Judge’s room together.—By Robert
Herrick.—From the Public Ledger.
Popular Record by State Insurance
Fund.
During the twelve years of the ex-
istence of the State insurance fund,
which was established January 1, 1916
by act of the general assembly, pol-
icy-holders have paid into the fund a
total of $29,847,966, Philip H. Dewey,
manager, today announced. Out of
this amount $3,708,594 has been re-
turned to policyholders as dividends,
$500,000 has been returned to the
State treasury, which represents the
total of two appropriations made to
the fund by the commonwealth at the
beginning for the purpose of organi-
zation, and $15,462,463 has been paid '
to injured employes and the families
of deceased persons. The total assets
of the fund, as of December 31, 1927,
amounted to $8,322,126, while the sur-
plus was in excess of $3,069,573. The
interest earnings derived from invest-
ment of surplus during 1927 amount-
ed to $326,234.
The fund has grown in popularity, :
despite the fact that it is not compul- |
sory for employes of labor in Penn-
sylvania to insure in this manner.
The form of policy does not differ
materially from some fifty-odd com-
panies licensed to carry on business in
the State, and the rates also are the
same as approved by the Pennylvania
Insurance Department.
Prior to 1928 policyholders in the
State fund received a 10 per cent. ini-
tial reduction from the published
rates for the reason that the fund
paid no commissions to agents and
brokers, and it was deemed advisable
(to give the policy-holder immediate
| benefits resulting from this saving.
1On January 1, 1928, the fund was
{ authorized to use the same rates in
the underwriting of their policies
which all other compensation insur-
ance carriers doing a business in
Pennsylvania are compelled to use.
| While this plan requires that a policy-
holder in the State fund pay the same
premium which he would pay to any
other insurance carrier, it is believed
that, with the additional 10 per cent.
income the fund will be able to de-
clare a much larger dividend for 1928
on the assumption, of course, that
conditions affecting the business are
similar to those of the past years.
i
1 Smut Control Train to Treat Seed
| Wheat.
Starting August 27 at Newberry a
i wheat smut control train will pass
“through 19 Pennsylvania‘ counties and
i 2 counties in New Jersey. The Penn-
sylvania State College will cooperate
! with the Reading railway system and
the Central Railroad of New Jersey
in operating the train. Chadds Ford
‘Junction will be the last stop on Sep-
tember 29.
During the past seven years stink-
ing smut has risen from a place of al-
imost no economic importance to that
j of being the most destructive disease
of wheat. For the past three years the
annual toll
| vania farmers has averaged 1,000,000
bushels a year.
On the train thousands of bushels
of wheat will be treated with copper
carbonate dust, which controls stink-
ing smut. The service will be princi-
! pally for growers residing in sections
i inaccessible to commercial treating
machines installed in mills. Millers
also are invited to visit the train to
see the various types of machinery
which can be employed to control the
smut. :
Stops will be made in Lycoming,
Union, Northumberland, Schuykill,
Berks, Lebanon, Dauphin, Cumber-
land, Franklin, Adams, Lancaster,
Carbon, Northampton, Lehigh, Mont-
i gomery, Chester, Bucks, Philadelphia
and Delaware counties in this State
and in Mercer and Somerset counties,
New Jersey.
Five Men Pay Fines On Blue Law
Charges.
Charged with violating the Sunday
blue law of 1794, five persons connect-
ed with the 200-mile speed classic at
Tipton Sunday were discharged at a
: hearing before Anthony O’Toole, al-
derman of Altoona, Monday afternoon,
upon payment of the fines, $4 each,
| and costs.
i Those fined were Paul Sheedy, man-
| ager; Van Haresnape, starter; Harry
E. Emerick, in charge of the pro-
gram; Francis Straney and Edward
Martin, concessionists.
The five men were served with war-
L. Young, constable, early Monday
morning on information in which
Young, constable, early Monday
morning on information in which
Young was nominal prosecutor.
the Month of July.
Pennsylvania’s industries took a
toll of 142 lives and caused injuries to
12,291 workers during July, accord-
ing to reports made public by the bu-
reau of statistics of the Department
of Labor and Industry.
Detailed figures announced last
night by the bureau showed that 50
less fatal and 212 less non-fatal ac-
cidents were reported during the
month than in June.
The largest decrease was in the
coal mining industry. Fatalities in
the anthracite mines were 17 less
than in June and in the bituminous,
20 less. 3
Fatalities in the construction, re-
tail trading, hotel and restaurant
“I've always wanted to live in the , groups showed an increase over the ! States
When he returned to the library, the - country,” the boy said, as if all the preceding month.
exacted from Pennsyl- !
i rants charging the violation by Clair
142 Lives Lost in State Industries in
FARM NOTES.
! —Too often dry pastures, flies, and
especially insufficient grain and wa-
ter cause scrawny looking calves that
never develop into average-size cows.
The calf should be eating some grain
from the time it is three weeks old
and at weaning time this should be
slightly increased, especially if the:
pasture is short. If no pasture is
available a little alfalfa hay will help
materially. With good pasture, grain
.is not necessary more than two weeks
after weaning.
—Indications point to a “fairly
heavy” fruit crop; according to an an-
nouncement made by Federal State
Crop Reporting Service at Harris-
burg. Estimates in the State for July
1 indicate that 1928 crops of apples,
pears, peaches and grapes will he
greater than last year, while the cher-
ry crops will decrease somewhat,
The forecast for the State’s apple
crop exceeds the 1927 harvest by
more than 8,000,000 bushels, the bu-
reau declares. Last year’s apple crop
in the State was 6,300,000 bushels, as
compared with 9,306,000 bushels fore--
cast for the present season. The to-
tal crop of the United States is now
estimated at 178,185,000 bushels,
about a third more than was harvest.
ed last year, and a fourth less than
the “bumper” crop of 1926.
The peach crop forecast is 78 per
cent. over the 1927 harvest, although
prospects range from total failure to
heavy crops requiring trimming in
various sections of the State. Pear
production is expected to double last
| year’s crop, but only three-fourths
grape crop is anticipated, and cher-
ries will not make more than half a.
crop.
_ Despite the increased apple produc-
tion forecast, the joint Federal-State-
announcement for Pennsylvania de-
clared that “although trees in gener-
‘al blossomed well, made excellent:
growth and produced heavy foliage,
the set fruit has been disappointing.
Late freezes, lack of pollination, pro-
longed periods of wet weather, and
local hail storms are blamed for the:
situation.
The July 1 condition of the apple
crop is 55 per cent. in the State, as
compared with 57 per cent. for the
ten year average.
i The commerical crop in Pennsyl-
vania is estimated at 1,148,000 barrels,
an increase of 300,000 barrels over
last year’s production. A “fair crop,
of clear, good sized fruit,” is report-
ed. Baldwin and York varieties ap-
pear to have an “off year,” showing
only 30 and 37 per cent. normal, re-
spectively. Wealthies will produce:
63 per cent. normal, it is expected.
The peach crop has been heavy ac-
cording to the announcement, but:
many orchards are still very promis-
ing. Damage from insects has been
less than usual and the quality is
good. The estimated crop is 1,680,000
bushels, compared with a 1927 har-
vest of 947,000 bushels. The United
States forecast is 65,981,000 bushels,
only 4,000,000 bushels short of the
1926 record crop.
Pear production in the State is es-
timated at 614,000 bushels, an in-
crease of 50 per cent. over last year’s
crop. Almost two-thirds of the es-
mated United States crop of 23,356,-
000 bushels will be produced on the
Pacific Coast, it is expected.
The grape forecast is 20,639 tons,
40 per cent. better than the 1927 harv-
est. Heavy productions are predicted
elsewhere.
i A light set in many localities and
considerable loss from rotting on the
trees, because of the rainy weather,
is acountable for the poor cherry
forecast.
—Cleanliness and proper feeding
are absolutely essential in the success-
ful raising of the dairy calf, says J.
B. Shepherd, associate dairy husband-
man of the United States Depart-
ment of Agriculture, in Leaflet No.
20-L, “Care of the Dairy Calf,” jut
issued by the department. Many small
dusturbances of the calf’s stomach
digestive system which hinder growth:
and development are caused by un-
clean pens, bedding, feed pails and
feed. Proper care exercised in keep-
ing the pens clean and well supplied
with dry bedding, in washing and
scalding the pails after each feeding,
and in removing discarded feed from
the feed boxes each day will aid ma-
terially in giving the calf a good
start.
During the first two weeks the calf
should have whole milk, preferably
from its mother. Six to nine pounds
‘of milk daily for the first week, di-
vided equally into three feedings, in
sufficient for the average-size calf.
This amount may be increased by
three pounds a day during the second
week if the calf is doing well.
A few calves are raised on whole
milk, but it is usually too valuable
to feed. Calves do nearly as well on
skim milk, and most calves are raised
on this feed. If fresh skim milk is
not available, dried or powdered skim
milk may be fed instead, or the calf
may be raised on so-called calf-meal
gruels. Although calf-meal gruels are
not quite so satisfactory as skim milk,
fairly good results will be obtained by
proper feeding.
A good meal devised by the bureau
of dairy industry and known as the
Beltsville calf meal consists of 50
parts, by weight, of finely ground
corn, 15 parts linseed meal, 15 parts
| finely ground rolled oats, 10 parts dry
‘skim milk, and one-half part salt.
To prepare it for feeding, mix to a
[smooth consistency with an equal
weight of cold water. Then add 8
pounds of warm or boiling water for
each pound of dry calf meal used.
; Stir thoroughly until well mixed and
‘allow to stand for several hours.
| Warm to 100 degrees Fahrenheit be-
fore feeding. Mix only enough at one
time for one or two feedings.
| The best results from feeding calf-
meal gruel are obtained by substitut-
ing it very gradually for whole milk
{after the calf is four weeks old, tak-
ing at least four weeks to complete
the change from milk to gruel.
Other factors essential to Success
in raising the dairy calf during the
i first six months of life are discussed
in this leaflet, a copy of which may
be produced by writing to the United
Department of Agriculture,
i Washington, D. C.