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WNU—4 6—38 In New York, a hotel «s.moderate in price escttnndd convenient FIREPLACE IW COLONIAL RESTAURANT @ Moderate in price...rooms with run ming water. ..single $1.50, double $2.50; with bath...single $2.25, double $3.25. # Convenient...in the center of the shopping district, one block from Fifth Avenue, Penn Station and subways. @ Good food...you'll enjoy our meals prepared by women cooks...only fresh vegetables used...home baked pastry. si I. M. WIESE Hotel Ls Manager Herald 116 WEST 34h STREET. NEW YORK Macy's) © Gilbert Patten WNU Service SYNOPSIS When Bart Hodge, a vain youth of sixteen, alights from a train at Fardale, he stumbles over a half-blind dog and in a rage kicks the animal. The dog's owner, Tad Jones, a small, shabby boy who supports his wid- owed mother, denounces him. This nettles Bart and he slaps Tad. Frank Merriwell, an orphan of Hodge's age, prevents him from further molesting Tad. Although the two do not come to blows, Hodge sneeringly says they will have to settle their differ- ences later, He and Merriwell had come to Fardale to attend Fardale academy. While Hodge consults Joe Bemis, truck driver for John Snodd, about his baggage, Merriwell, accompanied by Tad and his dog, Shag. start walking to Snodd’'s place. Presently the Snodd truck, with Hodge driving, rum- bles down the road and kills Tad's dog. Occupying a room next to Merriwell's in the Snodd home is Barney Mulloy, who dis- likes Hodge. They become good friends. Merriwell offers to help Mulloy get into one of the academy dormitories by appeal: ing to Professor Scotch, a friend of Merri- well's Uncle Asher. As they leave the house that evening Hodge is talking to Inza Burrage, a friend of Belinda Snodd. Later they meet Tad, who now has another dog That night Bart Hodge crashes a party given by Belinda Snodd. Hodge sings and the lovely Inza Burrage plays the plano When Merriwell, seated on the porch with Mulloy, sings a comic song, Hodge rushes out, accusing him of insulting Inza. She CHAPTER III—-Continued a the beast. lifted his voice in a shrill warnin cry that rang through the grove: “Mad dog! Run! Run! Run!” That snapped Hodge round look, starch out of him in the wink of an eye. In the wink of another eye, he was going away from there with- out bothering to apologize for his haste. In his rush, he forgot about everything and everybody but him- self. The grove was abruptly filled with the wild screams of frightened girls, who fled like snowflakes before a gale. All but Inza Burrage. She, also, started to run at last, but with al- most her first step her foot turned under her and she went down. When she tried to scramble up she top- pled again in a fluttering, helpless heap. “My ankle!" she gasped. broken!” didn’t try to pick her up and run with her. That, he knew, would be foolish. He caught up the coat that Jart Hodge had taken off some time before. Swiftly he wrapped it round and round his left fore-arm. His heart was steady now, though his face was still tense and gray. Sitting on the ground and clinging to her injured ankle with both hands, Inza Burrage watched him do that. She saw him face the on- feet behind him. The foaming, snarling beast was racing straight at them. The carving knife was still in Frank's hand. bent left arm as the animal sprang, with a roar, at his throat. The creature's gleaming teeth closed on that arm, around which Bart Hodge's coat had been tightly twist- ed. The boy reeled back a step, strik- ing with the knife. The force of the heavy animal's lunge had stag- gered him, and he barely touched the dog with that first stab. Inza was paralyzed with fear. She then, had its hind feet, the crazed beast tried Tad Jones had stopped, a rod He was wringing his hands. Almost blinded by tears, he cried chokingly: “Oh, Tige! Stop, Tige! Oh, Frank, Frank!” Merriwell did not hear him. He heard nothing, saw nothing but the raging, red-eyed beast he was bat- tling with. He struck again and slashed the dog, but that seemed only to make it still more furious. Barney Mulloy had obeyed Frank and hurried all the girls but Inza away. Now he came running back through the trees and saw a sight that made his heart stand still. “Oh, help him!" begged Inza, as Barney came up. “Oh, it's terrible! Help him! Do something, quick!" The Irish boy looked wildly around for a rock or a club, and could find neither. He seized the small limb of a tree and began to twist it off. The dog yanked Frank down to his knees. The tree limb was still resisting Barney. He let it go and whirled to do his best for Frank with his bare hands. A voice shouted: “Keep away! Let me get at that critter! I'll fix him!" John Snodd had arrived at last, with his gun. But when he tried to get into position to use the weapon he was baffled for several moments by the furious movements of the dog, which made it impossi- ble to fire without hitting Merriwell or somebody else. At last Snodd found his chance and the muzzle of the old gun was almost touching the beast’s side when the trigger was pulled. The gun roared and the dog dropped, a ragged piece of Hodge's torn coat still in its foam-covered mouth. The blood-stained carving knife slipped from Frank's fingers as Mul- loy lifted him to his feet. He was breathing heavily. “Thanks, Mr. Snodd,”” he said huskily. ‘‘You got here just in time. I'm just about all in.” “1 got here as fast as my legs would fetch me,” said the farmer, staring at Merriwell. “I swan, I never expected to see anything like this in all my born days.” He was still breathing lard from his run and the excitement. “Young fel- ler, you had nerve to stand up to a mad dog half as big as an ele- phant and fight him with a carving knife. Wasn't you scairt at all?" The ghost of a smile crept into Frank's face, to which a little color was slowly returning. ‘‘Why, yes, Mr. Snodd,”’ he admitted, ‘but there didn’t seem to be anything else for me to do, under the circumstances.” Inza Burrage hadn't taken her eyes off him. Still sitting on the ground and clinging to her aching ankle, she spoke up in a choked and stammering voice: “Oh, he—he-—~Mr. Snodd, he did it for me! I twisted my ankle, and “1 Guess We Better Examine Your Arm First, Young Man." fell. I couldn't run. That-—that ter- rible, terrible dog would have torn me to pieces—only for him." Then she burst into tears. Tad Jones had crept forward, keeping his eves turned away from the dead dog “They all dled!" he cried shrilly. “Ev'ry one of 'em run away 'nd left Frank to stop old Tige all by himself, Mr. Snodd. I saw it, I did. That feller a streak. The big coward!” “But I told Barney to get the girls away,” said Frank. “He didn't know what was happening, but he came back when he found we weren't with the others. Somebody better take a look at Miss Bur- rage's ankle to see if it's broken.” “Huh! grunted John Snodd. “I guess we better examine your arm first, young man. Being bit by a mad dog's a heap worse than break- ing a leg.” Bart Hodge had always hated and The feeling was so in- it had become what is called a phobia. He did not know the cause of it himself. It lay, probably, in some forgotten inci- dent of his very early life. No animal is quicker than a dog to sense fear and dislike in a hu- He is quick, too, to re- or contempt. It seemed to Bart that a thousand dogs had let him know what they thought of him. They had leered at him with scornful eyes, they had sneeringly given him a look at their teeth, they had sniffed disdainfully at his heels, and two or three of them had nipped the calves of his legs. Not one had taken a good bite. They had acted as if they were not sure they would like the taste. There was, therefore, an undying feud between Bartley Hodge and all dogs. All his life he had looked forward with dread to the time when bad luck would force him to meet a “mad” dog, but he had never seen one until the day of the picnic in Snodd’s grove. And now he hadn't waited to meet him. Hodge was out of the grove and on his way to any place where the crazy dog wouldn't be liable to come before he fully knew what he was doing. He realized it suddenly. A picture of himself at that moment flashed into his mind. It stopped him as quick as he could put on the brakes. He turned round and saw several of the frightened girls coming after him. A sense of shame drove him back to meet them. “Where's Inza?’’ he cried. They didn't seem to hear him, and he caught hold of Belinda Snodd as she was panting by. “Where's Inza?’”’ he repeated, holding her fast by the arm. “Oh! Oh, 1 don’t know!” She could hardly speak, and her voice shook like her whole body. *‘‘That— that awful dog! He—she—I don't know! It's terrible! I'm scared to death!” One of the other girls, a little blonde, had stopped of her own ac- cord. She was trembling too, but she gave Bart a look that was a stiff blow to his pride. ‘You were with her,” she said. “Why don't you know where she is?” “Why, I—I thought-—"" But he hadn't thought, and he couldn't explain. He had taken to like. He let go of Belinda Snodd's arm and headed back for the grove, on the jump again. It took cour- age of some kind for him to do that. The sound of a gun came from within the grove. way grounds. gun gave Bart's heart a lift. It meant, of course, tha: somebody had fired at the dog. speed into his stride. They were removing the back through the trees. open, his hands clutched tightly to- gether, Tad Jones was the pic- ture of suspense as he watched. Her face damp with tears, Inza was still sitting on the ground and watching them also. No one appeared to hear Hodge approaching. He saw the dead dog lying where it had fallen. Snodd had dropped his gun a few steps away. That explained a part of what had hap- pened, but he knew he could never explain what he had done. Nobody would understand, if he tried. This realization stopped him, 30 feet away. What could he say? What was there for him to say or do? Frank Merriwell was taking off his own coat now. He looked pretty sober, but still not as disturbed and anxious as the others. Quickly he above the elbow. “lI don't believe the dog's teeth touched me," he said. “If I'm right, I owe it to Hodge's coat.” Snodd took hold of Frank's wrist and turned his arm to inspect it thoroughly. “By ginger!” he cried “I can’t see even a teeny scratch. Now if that don't beat the world my head's a pun- Barney Mulloy put an arm round Merry's shoulders. His chin was “You lucky slob!" was all But Tad Jones had less control. I'm glad!” he cried hop- “I'm glad, Frank! I'm awful glad! If old Tige had bit you I'd gone right off 'nd jumped in the ocean, I would.” “Well, I'm_ not feeling so bad about it myself,” said Frank, after taking a deep breath of relief. “And it's lucky the insane beast didn't eat you up, Tad.” “I've got something to say to Sile declared John Snodd grimly. "Giving a little shaver a dog in that condition! He ought to be made to smart for it.” Frank turned toward Inza without stopping to put his coat on again. That brought him round facing Hodge, who still stood where he had halted. They looked each other in the eyes again, mistaken. now; kick a fellow when he was down. Hodge,” he said, you'll never want to wear it again. I'll pay you for it.” Bart made no reply, and Frank knee. “Now how about that ankle?” he asked. She wasn’t looking at him now. Her proud mouth was very humble. ‘““Are you sure—dead that awful dog?’ she asked. He smiled. ‘“There isn't a mark on me.” “It's marvelous! Never, never in my life will I forget the—the way you fought that dog.” She wanted to say more than that, but the words would not come. They both felt awkward. He laughed to cover his embarrassment. “Well, I'll remember it a while myself. I've had more fun doing other things. You mustn't try to walk on that foot. I don't believe it will be such a hard job for Barney and me to carry you back to Mr. Snodd’'s house. You can't weigh a ton." Now she laughed too. “I'm an awful lightweight,'’ she said, ‘‘espe- cially above the ears.” Hodge heard it all. He had been paying no attention to Mulloy, who was staring at him with a look of Bart was sorry he had come back there. That had been another mistake. He might have known there was nothing he could do to put himself right. Feeling as empty as a dry well, he turned about and walked swiftly and silently away. Tad Jones was the torch that started the story of Frank Merri- well's fight with the mad dog run- ning like wildfire through Fardale village. But Pete Smith, the local reporter for a city daily, listened doubtfully to Tad's lurid account of the unflinching manner in which Frank had faced the dog and battled with it. That, Pete thought, would make a fine newspaper story, but of course it was too good to be true. So he went to question Inza Bur- when her version of the affair sus- tained Tad in every particular but one. Her ankle had been sprained, not broken. Now enthusiastic and eager, the reporter got hold of Tony Accero wasting time. “John Snodd’s place, Tony,” cried Pete, diving into the car, “and step on the gas.” Frank was writing a letter to his uncle when Mulloy crashed into the room. The face of the Irish boy was spit by a grin. “Be after dropping that and come down to see a man, my lad,” said Barney. “What man?” know. for?" “It's a reporter for a newspaper, and he's going to make ye famous, Frankie." That made Merry drop the pen and stand up. “A reporter?” he ex- claimed. ‘Good Lord!" This was something he hadn't ex- pected, something he wasn't pre- pared for, something that made him shy like a skittish pony. “Yesterday you arrived in Far- Frank wanted to “What's he want to see me “and tomorrow your name will be emblazoned in the public print. Fast work.” “But I don’t want to see a re- porter,” said Merriwell, looking place to hide. of silly questions.” (TO BE CONTINUED) We divide the day into hours, minutes and seconds. For ordinary human purposes this is convenient enough; for scientific purposes, particularly when long intervals of time are involved, intolerable. As- tronomers prefer the Julian calen- dar, according to which days are numbered from January 1, 4713 B. C., and fractions of a day are deci- mals, with the day beginning at Greenwich mean noon. An event which occurred on June 1, 1937, at 36 minutes and 42 seconds past 3 p. m. standard time would have oc- curred at 2428686.35882 J. D., notes a writer in the New York Times. Astronomers and navigators use this Julian system. Hence they re- quire conversion tables. But time and trouble are involved in trans- lating ordinary time into Julian time. Hence the decimal eclsck Professor Green's clock looks clock. In a simple box six digits appear. They represent 100,000 equal parts of the solar day. Every time 0.864 of a second elapses by ordinary time the last digit gives place to a new one. This decimal clock is driven elec- trically by a synchronous motor so geared that it turns a wheel a thou- sand times a Julian day. On the circumference of this wheel are 100 equally spaced contact points. Each makes an electric contact when it passes a given point. Thus impulse counters can be operated at any point in the observatory. The impulse counters are much like mileage recorders. On their di- als numbers appear consecutively every one-hundred-thousandth part oi the mean solar day. At any in- stant the dial indicates the day and the decimal fraction. For example, 9 hours 30 minutes and 36 seconds (SEER P 0p DEPARTMENT —————————————— MISCELLANEOUS PINT OF BEST INK and fountain pen de- Mvered 30 cents stamps, JOHN L. VEST, ROANOKE RAPIDS, NORTH CAROLINA. What Education Is For No man regrets going to college, even if it doesn’t enable him to make money. It gives him the un- derstanding to comprehend so many things. Some of the “mistakes of your youth” that you grieve most over may be those when vou had an opportunity to snatch pleasure and didn’t. One excitement of the small town is wholly gone—the runaway of horses. True dignity is pretty sure to tame the impertinent. Deprivation Inspires Those write most thrillingly of nature's charms who see very lit tle of them. Self-righteous ignorance often does more damage than injustice. One great wellspring of crime is in the determination of certain young men that they won't work for a living—let the boobs do that. into mebody se, which is still the usual rocedure, on s« 1 Condition of Mind Y OUR thought current must be in the direction of your life purpose. The great miracles of civilizs wrought by thought concentration. Live in the very soul of expectation of better things, in the conviction that something large and beautiful will await you if efforts are intelligent, if your mind is kept in a creative cx you continue to struggle to your goal. Live in the conviction that you are eternally progressing, advanc- ing toward something that is high- er, better, in every atom of your being. whole r * -, Lion are your ndition an naition anc upward Nation Celebrates 250th Anniversary Swedenborg’s Birth MAZING as it seems mind could encomps varied realms of knov theless It is true Swedenbo of whose this ] tions In many fields retical practical, ship, philosophy, and religion. In 1716-1718 be published the first scientific pe lical in con- taining reco f his mechanical inventions dis- coveries, wil first airplane desig wings ard moving first air pump to employ and the description of a method for determin- ing latitude and longitude at sea by among the that one 8 S50 many Year, 1 % ana Sweden, athems al nathematical the mercury observations of the moon stars. In the “Principia,” a work on physics and cosmology, arrived at the nebular hypothesis theory be- fore Kant and Laplace. He was 150 years ahead of any other scientist ns of the he brain and spinal cord, and on the functions of the ductless glands Swedenborg served ss an active the parliament his country for more than fifty years, nf Ol general legislation. At the age of fifty-five Emanuel Explained” ; “Four Doc- Apocalypse and Hell”; Providence” ; “Apocalypse mation regarding the life and achievements and the works referred te, will be sent without charge by application to the Swedenborg Foun- dation, 51 E. 42nd St, New York City. Commemoration Edition SWEDENBORG LIFE AND TEACHING By Coorge Trobridge Prepared in tion of the 250th Anniversary of the birth of EMANUEL SWEDENBORG now being celebrated throughout the world,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers