|
!
f
i
Always in life there are always a few |
People like—well, there were people I|
knew |
Who said very little, who never said much |
Concerning affection and friendship and |
such.
The regular things in the regular way,
But always in life there were always a
few
Who said very little—who knew that I
knew.
Yes, I thank heaven it
send
Some one like—well, who is more than a
friend,
Some one who seldom will speak of the
bond
That holds us together, but some one so
fond
No slander can alter, nor even the truth,
sometimes will
No moment of weakness, no folly of
youth;
Some one to trust me, and trust to the
end,
Some one like—well, who is more than a
friend.
Always in life there are always a few
People like—well, I have known one or
two
Who always were handy with things at
the worst,
And they were the ones thut I turned to
the first.
Though they were the ones that I turn-
ed to the first,
Though there were friends that I fondiy
recall,
Yet there were some that were
than all;
Always in life there are always a few
People like—well, there are people like
you!
~-Douglas Malloch In
Prints,
dearer
Walk-Over Shoe
————— A ————
NOTHING MATTERS BUT LOVE
A hint of a frown marred the.
smoothness of Joan's pretty forehead
as she held the telephone receiver
to her ear and listened to Anne's
excited voice as it came a bit shril-
ly over the wire.
“Darling, you'll have to consider
this a frantic SOS and come home
right away. I--I'd dash up and tell
you about it, but I'm packing.”
“Packing!” from Joan in sudden
consternation. “You mean unpack-
ing, don't you? You just came home
yesterday.
“I know it,” in a wail, “b—but
I'm going again.”
Undoubtedly the tears were very
near. Joan herself gave a sigh of |
despair. She had planned this visit
in Mrs. Martin's lovely home for
weeks and now she was called
away after two blissfully idle days,
days in which she had come to love
more than ever her mother's friend.
“You'll come, won't you, Joan?"'
For once Anne's voice was pleading
instead of commanding. Lovely, vol-'
atile Anne, who was forever tempt-
ing fate with merry, carefree eyes,
as innocently blue as the heavens,
with luscious lips—and running from
the consequences of her folly.
Joan's reply was gravely com-
forting.
“I'll come home, my dear. And
I wouldn't worry, Everything will
come out all right for you,” and
added to herself, as she replaced
the receiver, “You naughty little
bubble-chaser!”
Mrs. Martin expressed impatience
when Joan explained that she found
it necessary to cut short her de-'
lightful visit and return home.
Joan arrived just before noon on
the following day, and Anne, who
had undoubtedly been watching for
her, threw herself impetuously into’
her arms.
“Oh, Joanie, you will
won't you!" she cried, adding with
a relieved sigh: Whatever would
I do without you?" disue
For an instant Joan thought she
was going to say, “What, indeed?”
But instead she somewhat automa- |
tically
'
cradled Anne against her |
slim shoulder and asked gent-
ly: “What's the trouble this time?”
Apne, with a dramatic flourish,
produced a telegram. ‘That,” she
answered cryptically.
Arriving Thursday. Will call
about 4.
LANCE LANIER.
Joan read it twice.
“Well, I'm still waiting for in-
formation,” she smiled. “All I
know is that a man named Lance
Lanier--odd name that—is coming | Kirk
Thursday at 4.”
that's today!”
“Yes, assented Anne. “And that's
Then, “Why,
what I wish I didn't know! Atleast, you
I mean, I wish he--he wasn't com-
ing.
him so,’ from direct Joan.
“Oh, I c—can't do that” Anne
was wailing.
“Can't? Why not?” a little sus-/
iciously.
B ‘B--because I- I told him to|
come—" i
Joan shoved her bags aside with |
her foot and sat on the lowest step
of the stairs. “S you tell me
all about it. Begin at the beginning,
you know,” she advised a little
wearily,
“I met him last summer at Long
Beach,” she confessed, p at
the hem of her tiny handkerchief
and to meet Joan's eyes.
“He was staying at a little inn
toward Galway and—and we
to swim together in thé mornings.
He—he had a funny little car, too,
and—and we rode dbout some, and
danced. Then he had to go back
to work. He wasawfully good-look-
ing. Tall, you know, and sunburn.
ed—-"
“Yeah, I know,” from Joan with
a sarcasm that was utterly lost on
Anne,
“Well, anyway, the night before
he went—it was moonlight 'n’ every-
«
don't know--I mean yes,
| that's it."
| cause she felt a tear slide down her
oy
| up.
‘nity was given, and this
good
“For heaven's sake, wire and tell od to
Joan nodded. Knowing Anne ex-
well, she had a very definite
‘idea of the rapturous farewell stag-
ed on a moon-silvered beach, the met Anne's frowning gaze. Well, ! ing.
night magic intensified by the ever- she hadn't stayed away long. Too In the midst of Anne's light chat-
whispering ripple of the waves along curious, of course. | ter, Lusetta sppesred in the door-
the sand. | “Tell me all about it. I'm perish- way, her y placid countenance
“I've never seen him since,” she
went on. “But—er-—of course,
we've written to each other right
along and——"
Again Joan nodded. Anne's cor- |
was quite likely to be
edges of the stationery.
“—~And he wanted to come and
see you, and you told him to come,”
fini Joan.
“Joan, I--I'm not going to see
‘him! You've got to. Tell him that
I'm dead or-—or married, or some-
thing-—"
“I might tell him the truth and
say that you're just a crazy little
flirt,” murmured Joan.
Evidently Anne didn't hear her,
'for she said plaintively, with a far-
away look in her eyes: “I don't
want to—to slay him, darling. De-
stroy his faith in womanhood and
and all that, you know. He really is
a nice boy.”
At half past 3 Anne drove off
merrily and at a quarter-past 4 Lu-
netta brought the information to
Joan that a gentleman was waiting
in the library. She went down.
She drew a long breath and closed
the library door softly before she
lifted her eyes.
The man turned from the window |
He was tall, |
and came toward her.
clean-cut, with a strained look on
his nice frank face that made Joan's
heart go out to him immediately.
“I'm Joan Burnett,” she told him
| hastily, extending her hand. “An-
ne's cousin.”
“Oh,” he said, his face lighting
up swiftly. “I—I'm awfully glad
to know you, Joan, er--I beg your
pardon, Miss Burnett.
She laughed and flushed. ‘Anne
has--I mean, she isn't home, Mr.
Lanier. She went away quite—un-
expectedly.” Heavens, how she hat-
ed lying to him.
“I'm sorry,” and an odd expres-
sion flitted across his frank coun-
tenance.
| abruptly and Joan felt a sick wave!
of sympathy envelop her. He was
disappointed. And he was so nice.
His eyes were straight and
caught herself up quickly.
“I wanted to--to see Anne par-
ticularly,” he was saying. “There
was a tele, N
“Yes, I know.” Joan's eyes were
clouded, her low grave voice some-
what unsteady. “I wish Anne had
--oh,” she blurted, “I'm afraid Anne
doesn't know her own heart, Mr.
| Lanier. She's—she's young and-
and so impulsive"
“You mean that she's changed
her mind about-—about—
But she didn't let him finish. “I
I think
Joan hated herself be-
nose. Good gracious, what a ninny
she was anyway, crying for a young
man she'd never seen before!
He didn’t seem to notice, though.
He walked away to the windows
again and stood there a full minute
or two before he squared his shoul-
ders and came back to her.
“Miss Burnett,” he said gravely,
“I am not Lance Lanier. I'm his
friend. My name is Kirk Calhoun.”
Wiid-eyed, she surveyed him, and
under her gaze he flushed heavily.
“I don't understand,” she told him.
“The truth is that Lance ducked
at the last minute,” there was a
twinkle in his eyes. “Just as I im-
agine Anne did. Right?”
He sat down and emitted a sigh
of contentment. “All's well with the
world,” he quoted, and then as a
sudden thought struck him sat bolt:
“I say, you don't think
upright.
Miss Anne will be—er--that she'll
fui
reply.
Rihoun was silent a minute. Then:
“Why tell her? Why not let her
| think that Lance came and that you threatened Joan, s
ou got rid of him? Fixed it all
I'll tell Lance the truth. Teach
him a lesson.”
“I'm not s0 sure that Anne doesn't
need a lesson herself,” Joan re-
marked wisely.
time, when both and
Miss Anne were absent. So the
two young drank tea and ate
little cakes the fire until
twilight . crept into the room.
Ror os
ul
he was str: reluctin £
ne out Tor tamer ar wi me,”
go “I--I want to talk to
a lot more than I can just as
well take a later train into the city.”
Joan nodded agreement. She want-
o ik Bo him Ya}, wanted to
now y upstairs,
0 r put a
of on her straight little nose
and flew down to him gayly. And
oh, what a gorgeous time she had!
Dinner at a most expensive club,
theatre and dancing! It was like a
lovely dream come true.
he
He her “Good night” and
then no in the shadows of the
yelatiu, his fingers lightly
ers.
“Joan, I—I'm to see you
again, am I not?” he whispered.
“Why, I—hope 80,” she tried to
answer lightly—carelessly. But one
can't be so very nonchalant with
one's heart hammering away for|
ar Me, za
Ii
He pressed her fingers then and
flashéd ner a gay smile.
“I'll call’ you,” he promised, “about
Monday afternoon.” bent for-
alana oid
quickly, a
night, Joan, and a million
he was down the walk to the
car.
“Joan!”
Some one was calling her name
He turned away a little
steady |
and as clear, and his hands she’
it will be a terrible blow
help me, to her vanity,” was Joan's solemn
\ “Well, he'll know better t us
ugh,” | much less to laugh at her. He had
gently.
|” “Joan, are you really dead or just
| plagisg, postin
ing for the gruesome
plumping herself on the hed beside
! Joan, Anne clasped her
about her knees and wrig-
{
i
i
| “Was he terribly upset?”
‘among her pillows.
| and Horace Burnett would not be
at home until
would be no work to do for him
that mo . “Was who what?”
| she asked impishly.
{| “Oh, don't try to be cute, Joan.
| You're really not the type to get
| away with that sort of stuff, you
know.”
| peeved.
| Joan smiled. “TI suppose you want
to know what Lance Lanier did
{when he found that you'd been
| merely amusing yourself with him?"
i she queried.
| “That's awfully crude,
| sweetly.
| “Well, anyway, there's nothing to
| tell, because I didn't see him at all.”
Anne w&s undoubtedly
dear,” too
| “Don't be aggravating, Joan. I
asked Lunetta if he came.”
“And Lunett said he did?” with
tantalizingly lifted brows.
“Yes. And Lunetta doesn'tlie,”
| succintly.
“No, poor child, she hasn't suffi-
| cient imagination and daring.” Joan
quoted there. “However, my dear,
in this case she was mistaken. Mr.
| Lanier didn't come at all. He did
exactly the same thing you did--
fled at the crucial moment and sent
a friend to bear the blow, or break
the news, whichever sets better on
your sensibilities.”
Anne's piquant face flushed and
paled slightly before she broke into
a riot of laughter. “Atta boy!" she
gasped at last. “Oh, my gracious,
talk about shadow boxing!”
“Who was Lance's friend?" she
asked finally when her mirth had
subsided.
“His name,” said Joan, saying it
as if she liked the sound of it, “his
name is Kirk Calhoun.”
Anne's stare was comical in
intensity. “Kirk Calhoun!” she
peated, as if quite sure that she
must haev heard incorrectly. “Tall,
awfully blond and -- and kind of slow-
spoken?"
“Exactly.” Joan was puzzled now.
“Ye gods and small sardines!”
Anne collapsed in a boneless heap
on the bed. “Why, he's Talbot Cal-
houn's only son and-and worth
millions.”
Joan dat up, her wide,
re-
eyes a
white line springing into sight about
‘her mouth. She reached over and
shook Anne none too gently.
is not!" she blazed. “He--he's just
:a---Anne, are you telling the truth?”
But Anne was paying no attention
to her. She was apparently steeped
in her own particular brand of
to meet that boy, and now--oh,
gosh! Why didn’t I stay home? Oh,
I'm so mad!”
Yes.
allright. Joan's heart sank.
Monday. Joan welcomed the idea’
of going shopping for Mrs. Burnett.
It was dull business, buying kitchen
towels and sheets and pillow cases
for the maid's room, put at least it
was less heartrending than staying |
at home, longing for the telephone
‘to ring for her and knowing it
wouldn't.
As she came in, weary and bundle-
laden, Anne laughed up at her from
a corner of the living room.
iyou on the phone a while ,”” she
informed her impishly. “A when
he asked if he could come out and
when, I told him tomorrow night.”
“You told him? Oh, Anne, how
could you?"
“Just as e-asy! He thought it
WES all the time.”
‘soon as I can put a call
hall,
© Anne caught her and pulled her
‘down in a big chair.
i darling,” she cooed, “ you won't do
that, will you? Why, you know this
“She might have maybe the absolutely only chance:
hurt someone——" I'l ever have to meet I-—I've
Lunetta brought in tea and cakes. just got to meet him, Joanie!”
She was rays doing Sue _ kind- |" «Apne, will you promise to--to
nesses for Joan when -
ST dh 3 ae ond a Wn
Anne's eyes opened widely. “Play
square with Kirk Calhoun! I couldn't
do anything else but, my dear.
Think bow. rich he is!”
Anne dashed into town the next
day and Jought a lovely gray lace
| frock that X ed like a soft, mys-
terious d and had a big sash of
sapphire blue satin billowing softly
at one slim hip. There were sap-
[ ippérs, too, and a silver
chain from which dripped a stone
like blue fire. i
al very
orantly
Joan caught her breath
f
§
:
HH
bh
g
fd
3s
i
=E5E
3 E28
sit:
i
seh
g
§
iy 12
details,” and get in sullen
| Ames on the wire,”
pink-tipped ' though she had rehearsed the sen- |
afternoon. There
its |
‘there didn't seem to be any thread
misery. “Say, I've wanted all my life
Anne was telling the truth’
“Your million-dollar daddy called
"Joan didn't for a
tarting for the!
“Oh, Joan!
3
thing and—oh, anyway—well you impatiently and poking her none too cause I'd promised not to keep him
Seti. =
Kirk smiled and Joan introduced
a lithe puzzled. She hadn't
them,
sleep-laden lids and known that Carter Ames was com-
she said, as
tence, “asking for Miss Anne.”
Joan and Kirk were at the outer
She fastened her cousin's wrap about
too low for Kirk to hear.
yourself for the both of us.
was Carty calling and-—and he’s call-
ed away on business. So it's the
fireside for me.”
Suspicion darkened Joan's eyes
and made her heart falter a little,
but when Kirk gallantly suggested
that Anne go along with them there
was nothing to do but acquiesce.
One morning as she worked mad-
ly through an unusually large batch
of mail, Anne told her that Kirk
had phoned and asked them to go to
a club dance in town that night,
adding placidly:
“I told him, of course, we'd love
to.” And then before Joan could
protest, she went on: “I want you
to have my rose taffeta, Joan. The
one with the silver girdle. It is a
trifie long for me and all you'll need
do to it is fix the shoulder straps.”
Joan's face flushed with pleasure.
“Oh, Anne, are you sure yocu-—you
want me to have it?”
“But, of course,” laughed Anne.
So Joan bent to her task with re-
doubled energy. She di¢ not even
frown when Mrs. Burnett brought
her a long speech to “polish off and
type for me, my dear,” in the after-
noon. It was rather a terrible
mess, too, as Mrs. Burnett's club
talks vrere likely to be, and Joan
worked on it all the afternoon.
She was not ready when Kirk ar-
rived and Anne came flying up to
her room, bidding her hurry because
Kirk had an appointment to see a
man on his way into town.
Joan tried to hurry, but her fin-
gers were icy and unsteady and
“Enjoy
in the house that matched the rose-
colored frock. The third time Anne
ran up the stairs to tell her to “Oh,
please hurry, Joan, Kirk's appoint-
ment is really awfully important
and--" Joan flung the dress across
the bed and sat down wearily.
“Run along with him, my dear,”
she said bitterly. “You'll not miss
me, and I'm too tired to dance any-
way.”
But after Anne had left she cried
bitterly.
Kirk came only once after that,
and the entire evening was torture
for her. He seemed to have in-
“He |
cased himself in a kind of frozen
reserve that utterly baffled her, and
his eyes, when they met her own,
seemed to ask a question. It was
as if he were compelled to believe
Something that he didn't
believe at all and was constantly
asking her to set him right.
The whole evening had been a ter-
rible flop.
It was two or three weeks later
that, coming from the study, Joan
overheard Mrs. Burnett saying:
“letting
And sucha
man! I've no patience with you,
Anne.”
“Yeah, letting!”
daughter sarcastically. Then, catch-
ing
form, she went on in a clear,
mother.
I found out how he'd been stringing
poor Joan along and then laughing
at her. Poor dear!”
That was where Anne overplayed.
minute believe
that Kirk Calhoun was the kind of
man to “str any girl along,
liked her. A dozen dear mémories
came rushing into her heart to
prove it.
She walked over to her dressing
‘table and fingered its simple ap-
pointments th
of the
en her out. What a jolly
théy'd had and how dear and thought-
ful he'd been. Then there was the
time when Anne had stopped to talk
with some friends and they'd wait-
ed in the cab for her. Kirk had
i
‘reached over and taken her hand
‘and, bending his fair head, had kiss-
ed her fingers. “You're such a real
girl, Joan,” he'd told her. “Tve
| Seve known any one like you be-'
| No, indeed, Kirk hadn't laughed at:
her!
rJoan—Joanl",
{ Her aunt's voice, sharp with anx-
ty, sent her reverie crashing. She
went into the hall and leaped over:
“Yes, Aunt Constance.”
“Horace just phoned that he left
re the market opens in the morn-
. You'll have to take them in,
Joan. And for heaven's sake, hur-
ry. There's only twenty minutes
till train time.”
Joan hurried, rushing
Jost Pade un the The t oe
man as
Ti Re oF
on.
Alstock’s outér office was deserted
next morning when Joan arrived, so
she sat down to wait. Presently
she was conscious of the fact that
she was listening to a voice that
stirred her strangely. It intrigued
her, made her sit up to see who the
Swner of the pleasant tones might
Two mén had entered the private
office from the corridor without com-
ing through the outer office where
Joan was waiting. Through the
partially opened door her eyes took
Carter |
That |
want to.
a man slip through
| your fingers like that.
vociferated her.
sight of Joan's disappearing
high
tone: “I simply had to let him go,
1 couldn't bear him after
thoughtfully. She thought
night that Kirk had ra tak.
time |
those papers for Mr. Alstock on the |
desk. He's frantic. Says they've ly. “Hhat madcap!” Then seriously, ,
, to be in Mr. Alstock’s office be- | “Joan, why did you tell me you | George Washingt Iways
swift
was
|‘ pounding
he was the best-looking men
| she had ever seen.
“It's funny Burnett didn't bring
those "" she heard him say.
Joan coughed slightly. The man
| turned.
| “I couldn't help hearing you,” she
a
| Mr. Burnett.”
“That's fine,” he said. “Won't you
‘come in?” Joan did so. “This is
Mr, Alstock my partner,” explained
the young man. “I'm Lance Lani-
er.”
Joan's eyes grew big and an odd
smile touched the corners of her
mouth. Lance Lanier! Kirk's friend!
But he didn't look poor. He was
exceptionally well tailored.
young man, indeed! Well, he as well
as Anne had played a game, she
thought. Aloud, she said:
“Are these the papers?”
“Sounds rather stereotyped,” he
swung about to face her after they
were seated, “but I'm quite sure
that I've seen you—" He frowned
intently as though searching his
memory. “Not met you. I don't
think I'd have forgotten that.” Then,
suddenly, and with a very evident
flush of embarrassment, “ I wonder
if vou aren't Joan Burnett?”
“Yes,” she told him softly, “I am.”
Then, with a note of mischief,
“Where have you seen me?"
“Well, I—er-—I guess I've never
seen you.” he went on uncertainly,
“iust your-—why, I really don't
know."
He looked out of the window for
a minute or two and then turned his
eyes back to her resolutely.
“I'm Kirk Calhoun's friend,” he
said, “and f('ve seen your picture.”
It was Joan's turn to flush, and
she did it surprisingly well. But,
a picture—? Of course, they had
taken some snapshots one afternoon
of Aunt Constance's funny little
Irish terrier. But she hadn't known
that she'd been in the picture.
“Kirk's a whole hundred per cent,”
Lanier went on, his gaze once more
on the building across the street, an
‘odd frown creased between his brows.
“It's rather too bad that he's lost
all his money, isn't it?”
“Lost-—his money?” Joan's
trembled in spite of herself.
I didn’t know"
Lanier nodded. “Yeah, smashed,”
briefly. “The Street, you know-—"
“Oh, how-—how dreadful for him!
I'm so sorry.’ There was an oddly
exhilarated thrill in her words. “But
—he's young and—he can start
again—"
She had no idea how lovely she
looked, nor how appealing, with her
face so compassionate, her sweetly
grave mouth atremble with motion.
“It's not so easy, this starting
again, Miss Burnett,” he told her.
“One is liable to think-—oh, well, a
lot of rot. For instance, that one
voice
“Why,
has no friends. - A lot to that, too,” |
he went on. “One's money and
one's friends too often depart atthe
same time.” Lanier was
slowly as though weighing his words
well. “You can't imagine what a
help it would be to Kirk right now
if some of his friends would go to
‘him and---well, just sort of encour-
age him-——-,,
“I'm going to him now,” he said
simply. “Will you go, too, Miss
Burnett?”
“Oh, do you think---I could help?”
wistfully.
“Immensely."”
“Then, Tll go at once!”
As Joan was ushered into the pri-
vate offices of Calhoun & Calhoun,
she found herself thinking that it
certainly didn't look as though they
had Jost their money. The big,
dark-paneled rooms hung with mar-
.velous old paintings and tapestries
spoke softly, harmoniously, of cul-
ture and unlimited wealth.
“Joan!”
Her name spoken with a curious-
ly broken i n - brought” her
sharply about.’ She had heard no one
enter. She held out her hands
swiftly, with a lovely gesture of un-
conscious surrender:
“Oh, Kirk, I'm so-—so sorry-——"
And then she found that she couldn't
say more, because he
was holding her hands close in his
and was kissing them with swift
hard, eager ,
She bent over him and lay her
cheek against his shining blond
i head. “Oh, Kirk,” she
| crooningly, “money doesn't matter.
{It really doesn't!”
He drew her into his arms then
and bent his cheek to hers.
“Of course it doesn't, sweetheart,”
he agreed. “Just for a while,
, you let it frighten you,!
didn't you?”
She nodded
“I thought I could combat that
attitude, though,” he went on, after
(R mipute “until Anne said—"
“Oh, Kirk, can it be me you care
! for, and not Anne?”
“Annie!” He kissed her convincing-
‘couldn't ever care?”
Joan's lovely head came up quick-
ly “But, I-—-never did tell you
that——"
Kirk frowned. “Don’t you re-
{you by Anne, that night when you
{refused to go out with me? You
| were too tired, you said. Wouldn't
even come downstairs. I—I told
(her to ask you to come down for
just a moment—there was some-
thing special IT wanted to ask
you—-"
“Kirk, what are you talking
about?” interrupted Joan.
An then with dazzling clearness
they saw through Anne's deception.
It was not, however, until late
that evening, after thev had heen
married by the same bishon who
had baptised Kirk twenty-six years
before, and Lance Lanier had claim-
ed the best man's privilege of kiss-
Poor |
|
| what your imagination does to you
t times.”
| Soumtortably Subhed: He arose i
e occasion gallantly enough though
| “Mrs. Calhoun,” he began, “yo
| mo doubt remember the very grea’
‘favor Kirk did for me once upenm ¢
time when I wanted to find out I
| the girl I—cared for really cared fo:
door when Anne ran back to them. apologized. “I have the rs from me or for money? Well, I
Others might flatter and others might say Of @ nature that rather singed the | Joan stretched and snuggled down Jou pape y just re
It was Friday her with solicitous care and her
| eyes were misty.
“Have a good time, darling,” she
told Joan in a low murmur—but not
| versed conditions a little for Kirk"
! sake—and-—oh, well, look how i
| worked out!”
| Kirk smiled down at his bride anc
she smiled back.
| “I really did see your picture
| though,” Lance told her. “Kirk hac
|a miniature painted from a snap
shot of you. You'll see it on hi
| dressing table,” he finished slyly.
But Kirk and Joan weren't pay
ing any attention to him. They wer:
close in each other's arms and he
was saying pleadingly: “You sai
yourself, dear, that mcney doesn’
matter.” And she was answering
| gravely: “Nothing matters but love
dear!"-—Copyright by Public Ledger
ROYAL GIFTS WORK
PALACE STAFF OVERTIM}
The Buckingham Palace staff stil
is working overtime returning thous
ands of Christmas presents receive
by King George and Queen Mary,
It is an annual task, and one o
the heaviest inthe royal household
| Merchants throughout the world
hoping to make a customer of th:
'King and Queen, literally flood th
palace with their goods at Christ
mas.
Some of the gifts are accepted
but the more expensive ones an
| returned. Whenever the King, Queen
jor Prince of Wales, becomes a stead;
| customer of a firm, the proprietor
are granted the coveted royal war
rant, which allows them to displa;
the royal crest on their front win
dow with the words. “By Appoint
ment to H. M. the King,” or who
ever grants the warrant.
Few of the thousands who sen:
gifts win that honor so easily, how
ever. The chances are that thei
samples will be returned—witl
thanks.
It is not only at Christmas tha
the gifts arrive. Every day post
men stagger into the palace wit)
mailbags full of parcels. A cler)
enters all the goods in a ledger
The King's mail consists chiefly o
cigars, cigarettes and articles ap
i pealing to the sportsman. If he kep
{all the tobacco sent him in one yea:
. there would be in stock a
| the palace to last the Kings of Eng
land through several regins.
. The value of all the gifts a i
' $150,000 a year, one official has
mated.
ALLOTS $125,000 MORE TO
PURCHASE OF LAN1
| Due to a large increase in the sal
(of hunting licenses last fall, th
ng Board of Game Commissioners ha
been able to further its extensiw
| land purchase program by allocating
' $125,000 of this extra revenue fo
the purchase of State game lands
| The action will increase the presen
fiscal year’s allotment for lands v
. about $325,000.
! Since 1927, when the tur
authorized the setting of 7
cents from each hunter's license fo
the purchase and maintenance o
additional State game lands th
Game Commission has extended 5
ery effort toward acquiring sui
areas to be used as Game Refuge
‘and public shooting i ounds, Con
siderable headway been mad
during the past few years with th
| Commission's 000 a year lan
| purchase program. During 1831
total of 82,667 acres was addec
bringing the total holdings to 298
819 acres, situated in Hufty fuse
counties. 1 ‘bjocks are
| Bk: Ja r 80 Jock. Hae
|" The mission expect to us
| some of the recently appropriate
! revenue to purchase additional land
/in small game territory just asrap
'idlv as such areas become aval
| able.
FINEST CITY IN THE WORLD
. When George
| president he planned to build a gree
‘and beautiful city for the Capital
ation. But plans to carry o.
materialize until a few rs ag
(when the first appropriatior
1were made by
| After the hit the n:
¢ gover:
| ment building m
|itol City; es reameniing
| doctrine that “there is no
| but ‘what there is
| shirt but it will
in the world—for that is
of
| City,” and meaning
| that it was the city that belonged {
‘all the people—even to you and mu
! Therefore, every citizen of ti
pride in the fact that his, or lu
| Capitol City is being tranformed I
to a creation of structural and a
tistic beauty beyond the dream «
any other nation.
madly, and member, dear, the message I You United States has reason to fe
Q.—How many women are in ti
| United States Congress?
| A.—Mrs. Thaddeus Caraway, «
Arkansas, in the Senate, and Flo
ence Kahn, of California, Mary *
Norton of New Jersey, Ruth Brys
Owen of Fiorida, Ruth Pratt «
New York, Edith N Rogers «
Massachusetts and Wing
{of Arkaneas in the House of Repr
| sentatives,