They Weren't
Grandson—Were the girls of
your time as wild as the girls of
today, Grandpa?
Grandpa (eyeing modern grand-
ma)—Not then.
That Won't Do
Wife (learning to drive)—Hen-
ry! That little mirror up there
isn't set right.
Hubby—Why, what's the matter
with it?
“I can't see anything but the
car behind.”
Wife—Mrs. Green has another
beautiful hat.
Hubby—So? It's a pity she’s not
as independent of such aids to ap-
pearance as you are, my dear.
A Respite
Rastus—Dat’s better. I don’t
like to see yo' all frowned up.
But does dat smile mean yo’ for-
gives me?
Mandy—Stay away, man,
just smilin’ to rest my face.
I'se
Invention wanted: a typewriter
the spelling.
Ah’s Very Sorry
the menu with enthusiasm.
“Oh, well,” he decided finally,
“‘you may bring me a dozen fried
oysters.”
eggs, sah,” said the waiter.
of all ages for nearly 70 years.
Preserve the Well
Throw no stones
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Even if other remedies have failed,
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Ask for it plainly, see that the name
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you'll get the genuine product and
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WNU—4 6—38
In New York, a hotel
«s.moderate in price
escttnndd convenient
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NEW YORK
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© 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,