SRE
Bi
_How’s this?
THE MEYERSDALE COMMERCIAL, MEVERSDALE, PA.
Love
Insurance
By
EARL DERR BIGGERS
Author of
SEVEN KEYS TO BALDPATE
| Copyright, 1914, the Bobbs-Merrill
; Company
4 Sm a S— ,
plain there.”
“Before we go up,” replied Minot, “I
want you to get Miss Meyrick on the
gPhone. and tell her you've returned.
TYes—right a iy. You see—last night I
rather misunderstood—I thought you
weren't Atlan Harrowby after all—and
I'm afraid 1 gave Miss Meyrick a
wrong impression.”
“By gad—I should have told her I
was going,” Harrowby replied. “But I
was so rattled, you know” —
He went into a booth. His brief
talk ended, he and Minot entered the
elevator. Once in his suit, Harrowby
dropped wearily into a chair.
“Confound your stupid trains. I've
been traveling for ages. Now, Minot,
I'll tell you what carried me off. Yes-
terday afternoon I got a message from
my brother George saying he was on
his way here.”
“Yes?”
“Seems he's alive ard in business in
Chicago. The news excited me a bit,
old boy. TI pictured George rushing in
here, and the word spreading that I
was not to be the Earl of Raybrook,
~after all. I'm frightfully fond of Miss
“Meyrick, and T want that wedding to
take place tomorrow. Then, too, there's
Jephson. Understand me—Cynthia is
not marrying me for my title. I'd stake
my life on that. But there's the fa-
ther and Aunt Mary—and considering
the number of times the old gentleman
has forbidden the wedding already’—
“You saw it was up to you, for
once.”
“Exactly. So for my own sake—and
Jephson’s—I boarded a train for Jack-
sonville with the idea of meeting
“George’s train there and coming on
here with him. I was going to ask
George not to make himself known for
a couple of days. } Tan
ir
tell Cvnthi Cn tol of hi:
ex} tel ©. i * 1 iH ] ve
weil—ht I re che vouldn'(
Tot suo : vl y
done what I asked—uc ways was a
bully chap.
confounded trains—always late. BEx-
cept when you want them to be. I
dare say George is here by this time?”
“He is,” Minot replied. “Came a few
‘hours after you left. And by the way,
I arranged a meeting for him with
Trimmer and his proposition. The
proposition fled
But—I missed him. These
into the night. It |
seems he was the son of an old serv- |
ant of your
- name.”
“Surely! Surely that was Jenkins!
"I thought I'd seen the chap some-
~where—couldn’t quite recall. Well, at
- any rate, he’s out of the way. Now,
the thing to do is to see good old
+ George at once’—
'. He went to the telephone and got
. his brother’s rjom.
“George!” A surprising note of af-
“fection crept into his lordship’s voice.
“George, old boy, this is Allen. I'm
waiting for you in my rooms.”
“ “Dear old chap,” said his lordship,
‘turning away from the telephone.
“Twenty-three years since he has seen
- one of his own flesh and blood! Twen-
‘ ty-three years of wandering in this
+ God forsaken country—I beg your par-
don, Minot. I wonder what he'll say
to me. 1 wonder what George will say
- after all those years.”
Nervously Allan Harrowby walked
the floor. In a moment the door open-
&d, and the tall, blond Chicago man
@tood In the doorway. His blue eyes
Hower Without a werd he came into
the room and gripped the hand of his
Pprother, then stood gazing as if he
swould never get enough.
And then George Harrowby spoXKe.
© “Is that a ready made suit you have
~on, Allan?” he said huskily.
“Why—why—yes, George.”
#] thought so. It's a rotten bad fit,
“Allan. A rotten bad fit.”
Thus did George Harrowby greet the
father’'s—Jenkins by
first of his kin he had seen in a quar- |
er of a century. Thus did he give the |
: Xe to fiction and to Trimmer, writer of
ancy seeing you after all these
years” speeches.
He dropped his younger
band and strode to the window. He
looked out. The courtyard of the De
Ja Pax was strangely misty even in
the morning sunlight. Then he turned,
smiling.
“1 thought you'd come at me with
Phe title,” sai ze Harrowby, d
wing into a afr. “Don’t go,
»
ing to take out naturalization papers.
I'll do it the minute I get back to Chi-
cago—and then the title is yours. In
the meantime, when you introduce me
to your friends here, we'll just pretend
I've taken them out already.”
Allan Harrowby got up and laid his -
hand affectionately on his brother's
shoulder.
“You're a brick, old boy,” he said.
“You always were. I'm glad Fou're
to be here for the wedding. How did
you happen to come?”
“That's right—you don’t know, do
you? I came in response to a telegram
from Boyd's of New York.”
“From—er—Boyd’s?’ asked Allan
blankly.
“Yes, Allan. That yacht you came
down here on didn't belong to Martin
Wall. It belonged to me. He made
away with it from North river because
he happened to need it. Wall's a
crook, my boy.” :
“The Lileth your ship! My werd!”
He explained briefly how Wall had
acquired Chain Lightning's collar a: d
returned a duplicate of paste in its
place. The ‘elder Harrowby listened
with serious face.
“It’s no. donht the collar he was trail-
Sew . * "mn" ho enid: “And
Ee Law ba enone ta peed the vacht
jut. whon final: bo ecot his eager
firers on those dismonds. poor. old
rying into the peerage,” Cynthia said.
“My dear,” said the duchess, “when. Lismore, “do not dance the tango or
: Nor am I willing to
learn
you introduced that brother cf Lord
Harrowby’s this afternoon—that big,
splendid chap who said America looked
better than a title to him—I could have
thrown my arms about his neck and
kissed him!” She came closer to the
girl and stood looking down at her with
infinite tenderness in her washed out
eyes. “Wasn't there—any American
boy, my dear?” she asked.
“I—I—hundreds of them,” answered
Cynthia Meyrick, trring to langh.
The duchess turned away.
“It's wrong of me to discourage you
like that,” she said. “Marrying into
the peerage is something, after all.
You must come home every year—in-
. sist on it. -Johnson, are these the best
' caviar bowls the hotel can furnish?”
Wa!l mnst have had the shock of his |
life.”
“How's that?’
“It wasn’t Wa!l who had the dupli-
cate made. It was—father—vears ago,
when I was still at home. He wanted
money to bet, as usual—had the dupli-
cate made—risked and lost.”
“But,” Allan objected, ‘“he gave it
to me to give to Miss Meyrick. Surely
he wouldn't have done that”—
“How old is he now? Eighty-two?
Allan, the old boy must be a little
i childish by now—he forgot. I'm sure
he forgot. That's the only view to
take of it.”
A silence fell. In a moment the elder
brother said:
“Allan, I want you to assure me
again that you're marrying because
you love the girl—and for no other
reason.”
“Straight, George,” Allan answered,
and looked his brother in the eye.
“Good kid. There's nothing in the
other kind of marriage—all unhappi-
ness—all wrong. I was sure you must
Ii
Diao
“It’s no doubt the collar he was trailing
you for, Allan.”
be on the level—but, you see, after Mr.
Thacker, the insurance chap in New
! York, knew wha I was and that I
| wouldn't take
the title, he told me
about that fool policy you took out.”
“No? Did he?
“All about it. Sort of knocked me
silly for a minute. But I remembered
the Harrowby gambling streak—and if
you love the girl and really want to
marry her, I can’t see any harm in the
idea. However, I hope you lose out
on the policy. Everything O. K. now?
Nothing in the way?”
“Not a thing,” Lord Harrowby re-
plied. “Minot here has been a bully
help—worked like mad to put the wed-
ding through. I owe everything to
him.” !
The Duchess of Lismore elected to
give her dinner and dance in Miss Mey-
rick’s honor as near to the bright Flor-
ida stars as she could. On the top floor
of the De la Pax was a private dining
room, only partially inclosed. There in
the open the newest society” dances
should rise to offend the soft southern
sky.
Being a good general, the hostess
was early on the scene, marshaling her
forces. To her there came Cynthia
’
brother’s |
i Minot- Allan, youn and
Jour
Or
y
. S ‘bh
iS
YF
can't d Al i and do legally
can’t .
I’ve always been intend- |
1
Meyrick, radiant and lovely and wide
eyed on the eve of her wedding.
“How sweet you look, Cynthia!’ said
the duchess graciously. “But, then,
you long ago solved the problem of
what becomes you.”
“I have to look as sweet as I can,” |
“All the rest !
replied the girl wearily.
of my life I shall have to try and live
up to the nobility.”
She sighed.
“Po th
busy ov
ft} at i
Cynthi
suppose 1 1 Tall for
1
3 8L00d 100KIng the girl
an all too evident pity in
ner eyes,
“It isn’t all it might be, I fancy, mar- |
| away,
i tally rehearsing.
And the Duchess of Lismore, late of
Detroit, drifted off into a bitter argu-
ment with the humble Johnson.
CHAPTER XVI. hb
Paddock In Trouble.
ISS MEYRICK strolled away,
out upon a little balcony open-
ing off the dining room. She
stood gazing down at the wav-
ing fronds in the courtyard six stories
below. If only that fountain down
there were Ponce de Leon's! But it
wasn’t. Tomorrow she must put youth
behind. . She must go far from the:
country she loved—did she care enough
for that? . Strangely enough, burning:
tears filled her eyes. Hot revolt surged
into. her heart. She stood looking
down—
Meanwhile the other members of the.
dinner party were gathering with ‘ten-
der solicitude about their hostess in
the ballroom beyond. Dick Minot,
hopeless, glum, stalked moodily among
them. Into the crowd drifted Jack
Paddock, his sprightly air noticeably
lacking, his eyes worried, dreadful.
“For the love of heaven.” Minot
asked, as they stepped together into a
secluded corner, “what ails you?”
“Be gentle with me, boy,” said Pad- |
dock unhappily. “I’m in a horrible |
mess. The graft, Dick—the good old
graft. It’s over and done with now.”
“What do you mean?”
“It happened last night after our
wild chase of Harrowby—I was fussed
—excited—I prepared two sets of re-
partee for my two customers to use
tonight” —
“Yes?” |
“I always make carbon copies to re-
fer to myself just before the stuff is to |
be used. A few minutes ago 1 took |
out my copies. Dick! 1 sent the same
repartee to both of them!"
In spite of his own troubles, Minot
laughed.
“Mirth, eh?” said Padlock grimly. “I |
can’t see it that way. Anyway, this
is my last appearance on any stage as
a librettist. Kindly omit flowers.”
And Mr. Paddock drifted gloomily
While the servants were passing
cocktails on gleaming trays, Minot
found the door to the balcony and
stepped outside. A white wraith flitted
from the shadows to his side.
“Mr. Minot,” said a soft, scared little
voice. :
“Miss Meyrick,” began Minot hur-
riedly, “I'm very glad to have a mo-
ment alone with you. I want to apolo-
gize—for last night. I was mad. I did
Harrowby a very palpable wrong. I'm |
very ashamed of myself as I look back,
Can TI hope that you will—forget—all I
said?”
She did not reply, but stood looking
down at the palms far below.
“Can I hope that you will forget—
and forgive?”
She glanced up at him, and her eyes
shone in the dusk.
“I can forgive,” she said softly, “but
I can’t forget. Mr.—Mr. Minot”—
“Yes.”
“What—+what—is—woman’s _ greatest
privilege?”
Something in the tone of her voice
sent a cold chill sweeping through Mi-
not’s very soul. He clutched the rail
for support. ;
“If—if you’d answer,” said the girl,
“it would make it easier for’—
Aunt Mary’s generous form appeared
in the doorway. 2
“Oh, there you are, Cynthia. You
are keeping the duchess’ dinner wait-
ing.”
Cynthia Meyrick joined her aunt.
Minot stayed behind a moment. Be-
low him Florida swam in the azure
night. What had the girl beezn about
to say?
Pulling himself together, he went in-
side and learned that he was to take in
to dinner a glorious blond bridesmaid.
When they were seated he found that
Miss Meyrick’s face was hidden from
him by a profusion of Florida blos-
soms. He was glad of that. He want-
ed to think—think,
A few others were thinking at that
table, Mrs. Bruce and the duchess
among them. Mrs. Bruce was men-
The duchess glanced
at her.
“The wittiest woman in San Marco,”
thought the
“Bah!”
lock meanwhile was toying
i He had little
hostess.
th his food.
|
|
assified him |
of the attrac- |
B=
|
5 |
> Mrs. Bruce |
glared at the hostess. Mr,
studied his plate intently.
“1 for one,” went on the Duchess of
the turkey trot.
take the necessary steps to
them.”
A little ripple ran round the table—
the ripple that up to now had been
the exclusive privilege of Mrs. Bruce.
That lady paled visibly.
that there was no coincidence here.
“It seems too bad too,” she said, fix-
ing the hostess firmly with an angry
eye. “Because women copnld have the
world at their feet if they'd only keep
i their feet still long enough.”
It was the turn of the duchess to
start, and start she did. As one who
could not believe her ears, she stared
at Mrs. Bruce. The “wittiest hostess
{ in San Marco” was militantly under
{ way.
“Women are not what they used to
| be,” she continued.
{ mad about clothes, or they go to the
other extreme and harbor strange
ideas about the vote, eugenics, what
not. In fact the sex reminds me of
the type of. shop that abounds in a
small town—its specialty is dry goods
and notions.”
The duchess pushed away a plate
which had cnly that moment been set
before her. She regarded Mrs. Bruce
<= with the eye of Mrs. Pankhurst face
to face with a prime ministe~.
“We are hardly kind to our sex,” she
said. “but I must say 1 agree with
You. And the extravagance of wom-
en! Half the women of my ac-
quaintance wear gorgeous rings on
their fingers, while their husbands
wear blue rings about their eyes.”
Mrs. Bruce's face was livid.
“Madam!” she said through her
teeth.
“What is it?” asked the duchess
sweetly.
They sat glaring at each other. Then
with one accord they turned to glare
at Jack Paddock.
Mr. Paddock, prince of assurance,
was blushing furiously. He stood the
—_—
[aie
Dg
7, —
1 d=)
=
=
=|
a
“What—what is woman’s greatest priv-
ilege?”
combined glare as long as he could,
then he looked up into the night.
“How—how close the stars seem,”
he murmured faintly.
It was noted afterward that Mrs.
Bruce maintained a vivid silence dur-
ing the rem®inder of that dinner. The
duchess, on the contrary, wrung from
her purchased lines every possibility
they held.
And in that embattled setting Mr.
Minot sat, deaf to the delicous lisp of
the debutante at his side. What was
woman’s greatest privilege? Wasn't
it—
His forehead grew damp. His knees
trembled beneath the table. “Jeph-
son—Thacker, Jephson—Thacker,” he
sald over and over to himself.
After dinner when the added guests
invited by the duchess for the dance
crowded the ballroom Minot encoun-
tered Jack Paddock. Mr. Paddock
was limp and pitiable.
“Ever apologize to an angry wom-
an?” he asked. “Ever try to expostu-
late with a storm at sea? I've had it
out with Mrs. Bruce—offered to do any-
thing to atone. 8he said the best
thing I could do would be to disappear
from San Marco. 8he's right. I'm
going. This is my exit from the but-
terfly life. And I don’t intend to say
goodby to the duchess, either.”
“I wish I could go with you,” said
Minot sadly. -
“Well, come along.”
“No. I-I'll stick it out.
later.”
Mr. Paddock slipped unostentatiously
away in the direction of the elevator.
On a dais hidden by palms the orches-
tra began to play softly.
“You haven’t asked to see my card,”
said Cynthia Meyrick at Minot’s side.
He smiled a wan smile and wrote
his name opposite No. 5. She drifted
away. The music became louder, ris-
ing to the bright stars themselves.
The dances that had furnished so
much bitter conversation at table be-
gan to break out. Minot hunted up
and stood 1g miser-
at fairyla
eyric
See you
nd 1
1
tur
gre
eye
“Ig
She Ic Se
“It is.” she whispered faintly.
She realized |
“Either they are \
The most misera™™ lappy man in
history, he gasped.
“Cynthia! It’s too late—you’re to be
| married tomorrow. Do you n—
you’d call it all off now—at the last
; minute?”
, She nodded her head, her eyes on the
! ground.
“My God!” he moaned and turned
away.
Harrowby,” she said faintly. “Because
I've come to—I—oh, Dick, can’t you
see?”
“See! Of course I gee!” He clinched
his fists. “Cynthia, my dearest’—
Below him stretched six stories of
open space. In his agony he thought
of leaping over the rail—of letting that
be his answer. But, no, it would dis-
arrange things so. It might even post-
pone the wedding!
“Cynthia,” he groaned, “you can’t
understand. It mustn’t be. I’ve given
my word. I can’t explain, I can never
explain. But, Cynthia—Cynthia”—
Back in the shadow the girl pressed
her hands to her burning cheeks.
“A strange love—yours,” she said.
“A love that blows hot and cold.”
“Cynthia. that isn’t true.
you’
“Please! Bicase let us forget.” She
steiped into the moonlight, fine, brave,
smiling. “Do we-—-dance?’
“Cynthia!” he cried unhappily. “If
you only understood’ —
“I think I do. The music has stop-
ped. Harrowby has the next dance.
He'd hardly think of looking for me
here.”
She was gone.
Minot stood alone on
the balcony. He was dazed, blind,
tr mbling. He had refused the girl
w thout whom life could never be
wrth while. Refused her to keep the
faith!
He entered upon the bright scene in-
side, slipped unnoticed to the elevator
and, still dazed, descended to the lob-
by. He would walk in the moonlight
unti] his senses were regained. Near
the main door of the De la Pax he
ran into Henry Trimmer. Mr. Trim-
mer had a newspaper in his hand.
“What's the matter with the women
nowadays?” he demanded indignantly.
Minot tried in vain to push by him.
“Seen what those London suffragettes
have done now?’ And Trimmer point-
ed to a headline.
“What have they done?’ asked Mi-
not.
“Done? They put dynamite under
the statue of Lord Nelson ‘in Trafalgar
square and blew it sky high, It fell
over into the Strand”’—
“Good!” cried Minot wildly. “Good!
i I hope it smashed the whole of Lon-
don!” And, brushing aside the star-
tled Trimmer, he went out into the
night.
CHAPTER XVII
Minot Goes Through Fire.
iT was nearly 12 o'clock when
Mr. Minot, somewhat calmer
of mind, returned to the De la
a Pax. As he stepped into the
courtyard he was surprised to see a
crowd gathered before the hotel.
Then he noticed that from a second
floor window poured smoke and flame
and that the town fire department was
wildly getting into action.
He stopped. Fis heart almost ceas-
ed beating. That was her window—
the window to which he had called her
on that night that seemed so far
away—last night! Breathlessly he ran
forward.
And he ran straight into a group
just descended from the ballroom. Of
that group Cynthia Meyrick was a
member. For a moment they stood
gazing at each other. Then the girl
turned to her aunt.
“My wedding dress!” she cried. “I
left it lying on my bed. Oh, I can’t
possibly be married tomorrow if that
is burned!”
There was a challenge in that last
sentence, and the young man for
whom it was intended did not miss it.
Mad with the injustice of life, he
swooped down on a fireman struggling
with a wabbly ladder. Snatching
away the ladder, he placed it against
the window from which the smoke and
flame poured. He ran up it.
“Here!” shouted the chief of the fire
department, laying angry hands on
the ladder’s base. “Wot you doing?
You can’t go in there.”
“Why the devil can’t 1?” bellowed
Minot. “Let go of that ladder!”
He plunged into the room. The
smoke filled his nostrils and choked
him. His eyes burned. He staggered
through the smoky dusk into another
room. His hands met the brass bars
of a bed, then closed over something
soft and filmy that lay upon it. He
seized the something close and hurried
back into the other room. =
A fireman at anether window sought
to turn a stream of water on him. Wa-
ter—on that gown!
“Cut that out, you fool!” Minot
shouted. The fireman, who had sus-
pected himself of saving a human life,
looked hurt. Minot regained his win-
dow. Disheveled, smoky, but victo-
rious, he half fell, half climbed, to the
ground. The fire chief faced him.
“Who was you trying to rescue?’ the
chief demanded. His eyes grew wide.
“You idiot!” he roared. “They ain't
i nobody in that dress.”
“Darn it, 7
rn and stood, a
LI To
an admir-
tesaw that
“It would be all wrong to marry !
I do love |
ing crowd wes surrounding pum. fie
broke away «ad hurried to his room.
Cynthia Meyrick’s final words to him
rang in his ears. Savagely he tore at
his ruined collar.
Was this ridiculous farce never to
end?
As if in answer a distant clock
struck 12. He shuddered.
Tomorrow at high noon!
Early Tuesday morning, while Mr.
Minot still slept and mercifully forgot,
two very wide awake gentlemen sat
alone together in the office of the San
Marco Mail. One was Manuel Gon-
zale, proprietor of that paper, as im-
maculate as the morn; the other was
that bread and breezy gentleman
known in his present incarnation as
Mr, Martin Wall. .
“Very neat—very neat indeed,” said
Mr. Wall, gazing with evident ap-
proval at an inky smelling sheet that
lay before him. “It ought to do the
work. If it does it will be the first
stroke of Inck I've had in San Marco.”
Gonzale smiled, revealing two even
rows of very white teeth.
“You do not like San Marco?’ he
renfr-nd
3 snorted angrily.
“Ti » it? Toes a beheaded man like
the 2:2? Tn a Ig and golden pro-
fecsicnal «aveer T'va never struck any-
fh'ng !%e this town before for hard
luck. I'm not in it twenty-four hours
when I'm left alone, my hands tied,
with stuff enough to make your eyes
pn out of your head. That's pleasant.
| Then, after spending two months and
a lot of money trailing Lord Harrowby
for. the family joois, 1 finally cop them.
1 give the crew of my borrowed boat
i orders to steam far, far away and run
now that!” Minot erled. |
to my cabin to gloat. Do I gloat?
Ask me. I do not gloat. I find the
famous Chain Lightning's collar is a
very superior collection of glass, worth
about 23 cents, I send back the glass
and stick around, hoping for better
days. And the best I get is a call
from the owner of my yacht with or-
ders to vacate at once. When 1 first
came here I swore I'd visit that jewel-
ry store again—alone. But there's a
jinx after me in this town. What's
the use? I'm going to get out.”
“But before you go,” smiled Manuel,
“one stroke of luck you shall have.”
“Maybe. I leave that to you. This
kind of thing"—he motioned toward
the damp paper—-‘is not in my line.”
Te bent over a picture on the front
page. “That cut came out pretty well,
didn't it? Lucky we got the photo-
{ >h before ‘big brother George ar-
rived.”
“I have always found San Marco
lucky,” relied Gonzale—“always, with
one trifling exception.” He drummed
reminiscently on his desk.
“I say, who's this?” Mr. Wall point-
ed to a line j beneath the name of
the paper. “Robert O'Neil, Editor and
Proprietor,” he read.
Manuel Gonzale gurgled softly some-
where within, which was his cunning,
noncommittal way of indicating mirth.
“Ah, my very virtuous managing edi-
tor,” he said. “One of those dogs who
dealt so vilely with me. I have told
you of that. Aianuel Gonzale does
not forget.” He leaned closer. “This
morning at 2, after O'Neill and Howe
had sent today's paper to press as
usual, Luypas, mv ‘ulation man-
ager,tand 1 ar’ ree “_y virtuous edi-
tors had der r.odity (o'r vest.” Tuy-
pas and I sid te presses. We
rpm Cont
Le RY
substitute
O'Neill ana
rage form.
tha will not know.
Always they sieen until noon. In this
balmy climate i: is easy to lie abed.”
Again Maonvel Gonzale gurgled.
“May their sep be dreamless,” he
said. “And should our work of the
morning f2°1 ray the name of O'Neill
be the fir:t to concern the police.”
Wall laughed.
“A good idea,” he remarked. He
looked at his watch. “Nine-fifteen.
The banks ought to be open now.”
Gonzale got to his feet. Carefully he
folded the page that had been lying on
his desk.
“The moment for action has come,”
he sald. “Shall we go down to the
street?”
“I'm in strange waters,” responded
Martin Wall uneasily. “The first dip
I've ever taken out of my line. TNon’t
believe in it either. A man should
have his specialty and stick to it.
However, I need the money. Am.I
letter perfect in my part, I wonder?”
The door of the Mail office opened,
and a sly little Cuban with an evil
face stepped in.
“Ah, Luypas,” Gonzale said, “you are
{continued next week)
PELL EEL vLL EL EE
PRACTICAL HEALTH HINT.
$+
+
$+
¥ Use of Mineral Oil.
¥ Dr. Le Tanneur contributes to
¥ the Paris Medical some practical
¥ points in the use of mineral oil
¥ in constipation. The oil, he says,
¥% is in no way digested or even
¥ modified by the juices of the
¥ stomach and intestines. It acts
¥ as a lubricant and nothing else,
¥ though it tends to heal abrasions
¥ of the intestinal wall caused by
¥ rough particles of food.
¥ The
$
+
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New
York Medi
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&
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oll 8
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Orn,
PROMOTI
HAPPY |
AMERI
How One Co
Harmony
AN INDUST
All Grievance:
Through Rep!
of Company
tigated.
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progressive ind
plants scattere
in several stat
been improvin
employees thro
called industri:
an industrial ¢
basis of demos
dence between
pany and the
from 10,000 to
To deal wit
of such a vast
task involving
Nevertheless t!
representation
ried on social a
work on a com
succeeded in
without frictio
ence from th
year several
been made up
company.
Altogether tl
ed itself to an
in the establi
lations betwee
dustry. A mc
of such scher
tories is heart]
broad-minded
country who h
Industrial Con
the purpose 0
employees tog
of the consery
that the capte
workingman
shoulder to pr
against condi!
prevail after t
Workers E
The Industr
was adopted
the directors
a referendum
By secret ball
iny’s var
atives whe
nts in all n
nent, Hvl
p!
tions, the ad]
and other ma
and interest.
president ‘Lee:
the wou
as presidents
tives
Empldyees
official
with the
industa
1] to the |
in cons
pan}
president TI
he has not rec
carry his case
on Industrial
tion, comprise
resentatives a
sentations, an
qaustrial Comn
Confer
Indor. the
drawn np ma
service and o
company’s rel:
are settled by
creases in wi
conference be
and the work:
In all matt
ment the en
play an impo!
signed to joi
they serve wi
company £1
Inittees- Safei
tion. Health a
tion and Edu
idea of the b
ny’s interest
curry out the
committees t
money and eff
it has always
of paternalisn
Since the i
the company
programme 0
for its employ
property. The
of charge, es:
series of prize
the cultivatio
Many of tae
automobiles.
have been pr
to employees
Industrial Oo