{ title: 'The sun. (Fort Covington, N.Y.) 1885-1934, September 24, 1925, Page 4, Image 4', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn86034967/1925-09-24/ed-1/seq-4/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn86034967/1925-09-24/ed-1/seq-4.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn86034967/1925-09-24/ed-1/seq-4/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn86034967/1925-09-24/ed-1/seq-4/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
Image provided by: Northern NY Library Network
THE SUN, FT. COVINGTON, N. Y. Prudences Daughter By ETHEL Copyright by the Bobbs-Merrill Co. HUESTON WNT7 Serrioe THE BIG IDEA SYNOPSIS—PART ONE— At a erry party in* the studio apart- ent of Carter Blake, New York.^ rry (Geraldlne) Harraer, Pru- nce's daughter, meets Duane lerton, wealthy idler. He ad- res her tremendously, and she :es him. But Allerton gets a exhilerated, with unfortunate suits. Jerry, resenting his aa- mptlon of familiarity, leaves i party abruptly. The story -ns to Jerrys childhood and uth at her home in Des Moines. \vh ca l to st u agri • ler Mr: re s ~r. ta k e n 1 cf lei d y ~ee r y s. she i } A t he r . Wis • to h mak Del; wh o occu „ twenty a.nd go i h el e *• so n r gc s h y ( it h es t! t to N ie misgivii >ing. er h 'Mirr Ther he h ediat she feels the ; her ew Y In New )i\) esa, a ouse e lik parents ork for ig, they York with a an act- , paint- Jerry ing to There'?a, who is talented and eccentric, and the two become ••••rrids Jerry now devotes herself to Theresa, who returns her liking. Jerry poses for Ther- esas masterpiece, \The Ocean Rider.\ Allerton calls on Jerry. Th e g-irl ef u A t hotel dir and is conscious of his admira- tion, but refuses to change her attitude toward him. Jerry be- comes convinced she has not the ability to become an artist. At a party Jerry again sees Duane, Th e Mil nor hints that Je nd pr< ul d ning of gayety, Jerry is eked at hearing: from Mimi Mir othe Th e \present\ Theresa had proves to be her picture, \The Ocean Rider.\ Jerry decides to go home. At home she is en- thusiastically welcomed by her adoring parents. She wins their sympathies with the stories of her New York life. CHAPTER II —10— Jerry Comes Into Her Own Jerry seemed to settle again into the routine of every-day life in her Middle Western home without change. She shared in the work of the house as she had done before she went to New York, practiced her music, read a great deal, and drove out very often in the handsome little \Harmer\ which was her personal possession. Her return was hailed with a great lavishness. of celebration on the part of her friends, for she had long been a leader in the particular little set she claimed as hers. Immediately she was made the occasion for a gay series of dances, dinners and parties. Little flirtations, inconsequential affaires, which had faded away and died upon her departure, struggled back into a semblance of rejuvenation on her re- turn, and although they failed to stir Jerry to active interest, at least they played their part in whiling away the hours, and helping to occupy her thoughts, which were not happy ones for the most part. Even with so much to amuse and engage her, the days passed slowly, and Jerry for all the demands on her time, remained distrait and preoccu- pied, almost listless. And Prudence drove herself well-nigh to distraction in her maternal anxiety to bridge the dangerous chasm between times past and times present, but all in vain she racked her fertile brain for things to stimulate Jerry's interest. \Oh my dear, you haven't taught me to dance for nearly two years I\ she exclaimed one night, in the extreme of desperation. Jerroiri and Jerry broke into laugh- ter over her abject submission to martyrdom for tier daughter's sake. For Prudence found in dancing noth- ing but punishment and tribulation. Married life for her had been an in- tricate matter at best, having as she did the sacred shadow of Methodism for a background. The church itself had been the first shadow to cloud the heaven of their domestic harmony. Church, to Prudence\ meant Methodist, and Jerrold, in the ardor of his young love, attended services with her in the beginning with some fair display of Interest. His enthusiasm, however, was for Prudence only, not for the church of her affiliation. When she asked him how he liked ir he said: \Oh very much,\ to please Prudence. After a time, growing suspicious as to the depth of this interest, she pressed him further. Jerrold admitted at last that as far as he was con-^ cerned. he considered it no church at all. no real worship, no divine service. Prudence was shocked into speechless- ness. But Jerrold, hard driven, stuck to his ground. He said the way the Methodists clubbed about the door and chatted and laughed was his idea of rank irreverence. And for a preacher to get down on his knees fn the pulpit and talk in that offhand and familiar fashion to the Divine Being instead of reading respectfully from a book—he called It sacrilege. lie was willing to go, to please Prudence, he was willing to shake hands, and discuss his wife's health and the state fair and the corn crop at tlie door—to please her—he was willing to follow through count- less intimate paragraphs of extem- poraneous prayer—but he did not call it church, and it was not his idea of worship. Prudence wrote to her father. And her father wrote back, with that gentle and forbearing patience which aeems more rare and more divine in the min- istry than anywhere else, that Pru- dence must go with her husband. \We have learned,\ he wrote, \that there are lessons In stones, and sermons In running brooks So jf Jerrold finds no religion in our church, it is up to you to find it in his.\ Prudence swallowed hard, but she did it. It was not, as Jerrold frankly ad- fjiltted. that he cared particularly about attending any church with a painful degree of assiduity, but when he had church, he wanted church, and not a Sunday morning reception without re- freshments. Of course Prudence had had to learn to dance. Having become an Episco- palian she could not plead the Meth- odist Discipline in rebuttal, and thus unexpectedly torn adrift from her spiritual backbone, she agreed with Jerrold, rather faintly, that it would be a shame for her to go through life sitting out every enticing waltz and luring one-step. She must certainly learn to dance. She encountered difficulties from the start. A professional instructor was brought in to teach her. And after many painful, painstaking lessons, she managed to get around very nicely. Hut when Prudence, in fear and trem- bling, got on the floor with any other than the instructor, she had trouble. \It isn't that I don't try,\ she told her husband despairingly, but eager in her own defense ?n the face of his derision, \I do try! I put my whole mind on it. I know exactly what I am supposed to do, I count every step, and I never listen to a word my partner says, and I keep both eyes shut so I won't be afraid of running into the wall! But I can't keep off his feet, nor from under them. You needn't laugh, either, for I can't help it.\ When Jerry had come of an age to take a personal interest in her moth- er's social life, and to feel a personal responsibility for her public appear- ance, she shared this burden with her father. And at regular intervals, per- haps twice a year, the entire household was thrown into a tumultuous state of excitement with teaching Prudence to dance. \Why can't you dance? Why can't you?\ demanded Jerry earnestly. \Aunt Fairy dances beautifully. Aunt Connie dances, both the Twin Aunties adore it. Haven't they as much Meth- odist blood as you have? Why can't you learn?\ \I don't know,\ acknowledged her mother unhappily. \I certainly work hard enough to learn anything! I just can't, and that's all there is to it.\ When Prudence, therefore, of her own volition and without coercion from anyone, voluntarily proffered herself as a willing sacrifice to learn to dance again, she was driven to desperation. To her surprise, to her great concern as well, Jerry only laughed, and would not accept such martyrdom at her hands. \Nonsense mother, you can't dance, and you don't want to. Why bother? You'd better just stick to Wesley and eschew the devil and all his works.\ \Bridge then,\ pleaded Prudence hopefully. \You really ought to teach me something, you know.\ Jerry consented to add a few final touches to a course in cards which had already extended futilely over a period of twenty years, but she warned her mother to let no one inveigle her into playing for points. \For do your level best, mother, you can still lose the family fortune a great deal faster than father can earn it, if you go In for points, the way you play it.\ And so March blustered away, and April came, and May. And in all these months Jerry could not fathom that great mystery of what girls do, who have nothing to do, and go quite marl over doing it! It was a morning late in May when she was called to the telephone. A girl of her acquaintance, Rae Forsythe, was going over to the other side of n to look at a house. She asked Jerry to go with her. Jerry, who had driven her own car from the time she as fifteen years old, was used to these invitations to go with her friends on errands to remote and inaccessible places. Jerry understood it very well, but her understanding was quite with- out malice. She did not blame them She was sure if she had to go a long ray to a strange part of town, and had no ear of her own, she herself vvould invite as company for the occa- sion—one who had. So she accepted the invitation very sweetly, and said she would stop by for Kae In the car, about eleven o'clock. She knew that Rae was going to be married io the fall, and that her father had given her ten thousand dollars to provide a bridal home. And this ex- pedition, as she surmised, was in search of a house. She picked up her friend at the designated hour, and turned her car buoyantly to the north side of the city. \But why go away out there, Rae? It's a crazy place to look for a house,\ she protested. \Yes but property Is so much cheap- •. We want to get house and furni- ture all for ten thousand, you see. And then, Grant has bought a drug store out by the university, and it will be much nicer for him. He can come home for luncheon,\ she explained with the pretty proprietary shyness of pre- nuptial days. Following Rae's directions, Jerry- drove slowly out along Central avenue and turned down Seventeenth street. When they came to the house, she stopped the car, and both girls turned about in their seats and looked at it. It was not prepossessing. Set en- tirely too far forward in a small lawn at the top of a steep terrace, it stood very stiff, very square, very high, with an awkward square porch, clumsy square windows, the whole in grievous need of paint. \Will you tell me,\ Jerry said plain- tively, \why my Iowa builds itself such ghastly homes?\ \He said It was a barn of a thing,\ assented Rae. \But it is very cheap. He said—the real estate man. I mean— said it could be entirely built over for a few thousand. And it has good points, a garage in the back when we get rich enough far a car—just oppo- site the little park you see—on the car line—and quite near the university and Grant's drug store.\ With these points to its credit, Jerry followed her distastefully up the steps of the terrace, tnd~sElll more distaste- fully on the clumsy, stiff square porch. \Why do they do it, Rae?\ she won- dered. \Such stiff, straight, stupid lines—the doors, the windows, the col- umns. Couldn't they put a little curve in once In a while for the same money?\ \Beauty is very expensive,\ said Rae lightly. \No wonder we all go off somewhere, to California, or to New York, if this is the best we can do for ourselves,\ Jerry went on g4oomily. \I don't blame us. Fancy living in a thing like this! Not just one. either—all the inexpen- sive poorman houses are exactly like it. The gypsies do better in tents.\ \Oh bother the gypsies, Jerry; come on in and have a look.\ Rae opened the door with the key which had been given her, and led the way inside where they stared curiously about them, a frowning disapproval on their two young faces. \People must have lived in It some time,\ said Jerry. \Probably they died, poor things. I don't wonder.\ The house was divided with scrupu- lous exactness into four sections, rooms Jerry decided one must doubtless call them—to the left a stiff square parlor leading to a stiff square parlor bed- room beyond—to the right a solemn \Will You TelJ Me,\ Jerry Sail Plain- tively, \Why My Iowa Builds Such Ghastly Homes?\ dining room, with a sober kitchen ad- joining. The stairs rose in a direct and businesslike manner, without pre- ense or artifice, to the second floor, where there was another mathematical division of space, a bedroom, a bath to the left, two bedrooms to the right. Jerry stared and stared. \Wouldn't you think they must have died, Rae?\ she asked. \It would be like living in a cemetery, wouldn't it? Wouldn't you think that some time one of them would have taken a hammer to those walls, just to break the deadly con- tinuity of the thing? Poor corpses, I don't blame you a bit. I think you're ucky.\ Rae laughed at her. \You are funny, Jerry. But it is a horrid old barn of a house, isn't it? But then they are only asking thirty-five hundred for it.\ \Cheap enough, unless one has to ive in it,\ murmured Jerry. \I hold it against the state, Rae,\ she went on. \I aimost wish I had been born in Arkansas, or Nevada, or Wyoming.\ \Don't blame the state,\ protested Rae. \People don't have to live In this particular house unless they wish.\ \But the whole street is like it. And the next one is worse, and the next still worse. Oh, some few bouses are nice enough, I suppose, but in the main—hopeless! Our own used to be a funny, straight-up-and-down thing, too. We have pictures of it. They built it over when I was a baby. No, It is the state, Rae. We get that straight up-and-downness from the corn, I fancy.\ Rae, Intent upon her search for a home for herself and her young phar- macist, paid slight attention to her friend's plaintive ramblings. She looked about her, with growing dis- favor. And while she looked, Jerrj stood In the doorway, and stared with increasing amazement about the place. \It couldn't be a home, you know,\ she said to herself. \It might do as a garage, even as a stable if one didn't ove one's horses. One could call them stalls, dinner stall, sleeping stall, cook- ing stall—lfg the way they look. And you know really it wouldn't be so hard to—sort of—switch things around a little—knock out a wal* or two—twist that staircase about some way—an and—\ * Jerry's eyes narrowed speculatlvely. She drew vague little designs in the air with a gloved finger. A curious brightness came into her face. \It is Impossible,\ Rae said, coming back from her inspection. \I wouldn't have It as a gift\ \Thirty-five hundred. Is that what you said? Can I get It on terms! Let's go down right away. I have an idea.\ CHAPTER III The Summer Pastes Prudence and Jerrold had finished the soup and were starting with steak and potatoes when Jerry ran In that night, profusely apologetic for her tardiness. Hei^ace was aflame with color, her starry eyes aglow behind the frin&'ng lashes. \Awfully stupid of me to be so late,\ she cried, tossing her gloves and hat upon a chair, and sliding deftly into her place at the table. \No soup for me, Katie. But be generous with the steak.\ She glowed around at her little family. \I've been having a heavenly time, mother—almost as ex- citing as teaching you to dance again. And that reminds me\—Jerry put her knife down and turned about, facing her father. \I'll have to borrow some money, father—-Id*i»*t know just how much—a thousand or so.' Will you lend it to me?\ Jerrold was working with a refrac- tory bit of sirloin and did not answer upoa the instant. \I will,\ proffered Prudence meekly. \It's awfully good of you, mother, but I think I'd better get It from father. This is business, you see, and It's impossible to be real businesslike with you, you're such a lamb. Of course, father, I can give you a—a mortgage on the 'Baby.'\ Jerry al- ways called her pretty roadster the \Baby.\ The first had been just \Baby H the second was \Baby Junior,\ and this latest and finest one of all was enderly known as \The Third.\ \I can give you a mortgage on her, but I'm going to be awful busy, and I'll have to use her just the same.\ \Lt might be interesting to know what you're going to do with it—the money, I mean,\ her father put in gently, when she paused for breath. \Not that it's any of my business, of course.\ \Oh I don't mind telling—not In the least.\ Jerry was impulsively gener- ous. She pushed her plate back a little and launched into a graphic ac- eount of the day's excursion with Rae in quest of a honeymoon home. She described the \great grotesque barn of a thing\ on Seventeenth street oppo- site Good park in no mild manner. \Rae simply wouldn't give it a sec- ond look,\ she finished. \But you know, father, it looked pretty good to me. Lots of advantages, Rae said so herself—right opposite the park, on the car line, near the university—and lum- ber in lt, heaps of lumber! Well, 1 got to figuring. You could pull out a few walls, and build in a few windows, and switch things around a little bit and paint it, and—sort of fuss it up. I figured out a hundred things that one could do to it. Well, you can buy it for thirty-five hundred, spend say an- other thirty-five hundred in making it look human—and I'll bet you could sell that place for Ten Thousand Dollars!\ Jerrold was buttering his rolL \I'm sure of it,\ agreed Prudence. \But why bother?\ asked Jerrold, after a little. \Why go to all that trouble, and work, and expense—\ Jerry was amazed at his stupidity. \Oh a dozen reasons, father! In the first place, Iowa ought to be ashamed of itself for permitting such a lot of these stupid, stiff, square houses, that no human being could possibly fit into. Well, then, it would make a lovely and adorable tittle spot of a place that Is now simply an eye-sore and a—a civic ulcer, as you might say. And once you get a real sweet, dainty home up there, it's going to make the rest of the block ashamed of itself, and first thing you know they'll all be dolling up a little bit, to keep up with Lizzie. 'Scuse the slang, mother—I'm so excited. And besides\—Jerry's voice rose tri- umphantly—\think of me! I'm going to make a couple of thousand dollars on that job!\ Evidently Jerry has found something interesting. Is it the beginning of a career? (TO BE CONTINUED.) Deadly Bowie Knife The bowie knife is named for Col. James Bowie, who introduced it In Texas. According to one account. Col- onel Bowie had occasion to fight with a broken sword and found it so effective that he equipped his men with long, dagger-shaped knives. They were, how- ever, sharp on one edge only. Since knives quite similar in design were in use in Mexico lt is probable that the Idea was gained from them. Our Paradoxical Language A fellow gets in bad when he Is found out.—Portland Evening Express. Elephant Most Brainy of the Lower Animals The elephant is probably the shrewd- est and most adaptable of living ani- mals and has no eueinies except man. He eats anything that is green, and seems equally at home on the plains o. in the forests and jungles, on the high mountain slopes or down In the swampy lowlands. His trunk Is one of the most extraordinary organs o. nature. It contains the finest smell- ing apparatus on earth, and when the proximity of man is suspected the trunk is raised in the atr and care- fully turned in all directions, \feel- Ing\ for the man-smell In the wind. Om-e an elephant gets that smell he doesr one of two things. He either re- treats quietly and rapidly or charges. Years of experience in matching his wiles with those ui man and his high powered rifle has taught the elephant that It is safer to remain in the dense forests. An elephant can move through these forests with no more noise than would be made by a mouse, and the growth In these forests is frequently so impenetrable the hunter can make progress only by following the wind ing elephant trail. Had Learned Something An army officer was showing his fair guest about the camp, when a bugle sounded. \What's that for?\ the fah one Inquired. \That's tattoo,\ the offi- cer explained. -'Oh, I understand,\ sUe remarked, \I've seen lt on soldiers' arms, but 1 didn't know thev had a special time for doLny it-\ (Copyi Horizontal, t—To limp I—Unobtrusive '—Tbe result of destruction 12—A place for baking thing* 13—Shielded from the SUB 15—A sewing Implement 17—A marble to be used as a shoot* 18—Not Intoxicated 20—To brine forth -Rhythmical cadence -Distort 24—A musical assemblage 25—A girl's name nobleman make lively •A combination of musical sounds ^hlngs owed 38—Organs of hearing ST—Xot many 89—To classify and arrange 40—Cover 41—One who rides 43—Sheepfoid (Scot.) 44—A trembling •A meal Price 46—A sticky substance 50—Hereditary classes tnto which Indl . is divided Parts of the arms •ight, 1925.) 14—To salute »«—Terra Firna Id—Plaited 32—Rows of ranks 24—Parts of vertebrate* 20—Finish rr—G aided 29—Pertaining to the Celts 30—Outgrowth on the heads of men 31;—Commands 33—Native place of the \Wild Han'' (according to the circus) 34—A woody perennial 3H—Backs of boats 37—Conflagrations » rive fixed course or routine little brook 45—To entangle 47—A knob The solution will appear in next Issue. Vertical. 1—To move quickly 2—Squabbles 3—A flower not yet opened 4—-Falsehoods 5—To settle an income upoa 6—A medium of exchange 7—Above 8—A river in Wales 9—To make dear tO—Tendencies Solution of Last Week's Puzzle. HOW TO SOLVE A CROSS-WORD PUZZLE When the correct letters are placed in the white spaces this pumcle wtll spell words both vertically and horizontally. The first letter in each ward Is indicated by a number, which refers to the definition listed below the pnule. Thus No. 1 under the column headed \horizontal\ defines a word which will fill the white spaces up to the first black square to the right, and a number under ertical\ defines a word which will fill the white squares to the next black one below. No letters go In the blaek spaces. All words used are dictionary words, except proper names. Abbreviations, slang. Initials, technical terms and obsolete forma are indicated In the definitions. URSERY RHYME 'UZ-ZL m F all the world was water There d not be any land-* 1 like to walk beside the sea. With parasol in hand, Or fill my little bvicket to The brim with yellow sand. I guess it's best the world is mad* Part water and part land. Find two other person* on the beach. Right side down, on the *and; left side down, on the sand. Knew His Hopeful ich bis f install one of Like American Eyeglasses American tourists, who have looked Having matters prett at sights in Australia for tbe last j way, it was not difhcult f. three years through tortoise-rimmed : of a nourishing business n glasses, have created an active market [ son just out of college as there for American optical nianufac- ; directors of the eoru-ern. turers. According to reports reach- j \Big position for a youngster,\ t ing Washington, tourists popularized ; nested « friend, tortoise-shell spectacles and opticians | \i'n-Uy fair.\ and dealers say their greatest demand j '\Why don't you start him at the I is for this type of glasses. I'rac- j toniV tically all of the glasses sold in Aus- j 'T-ennise I don't think heM ever imlLu .<,:. _. r-.-oiu l!,(j Ur.l.od States. j -ny farther,\ was t\\p . Hii'ti<l reply (©, 1»36, Western Newspaper Union.) Th. Winner. There are fifty, perhaps a greatejr number, of golfers of sufficient skill to win any tournament. There can be but one winner. That winner almost invariably plays good golf more con- sistently than his competitors. Admit- tedly, he may have beaten a better player and admittedly he may be no better than half a dozen others in the tournament. There can be no question, however, that he played better than his com- petitors when he had to or lose. In an open tournament decided by stroke play and with the usual excellent lot of players, the winner must play hia best game for four successive rounds In two days. He cannot have a 'no- ticeably poor round. Usually he can- not have even one poor hole. It Is mighty seldom that the winner of an open championship has a score as high as seven in any bole of the entire seventy-two. The leading -*ozen play- ers, especially where separated by only a few strokes, are under an In- tense mental and physical strain. Every shot is a crucial one. In the 1924 Open championship, for instance. Cyril Walker played practically a . flawless game until his drive on the last hole, which went into the rough. He was leading Bobby Jones by four strokes at the time and simply wasted one of the margin by playing back to the fairway. Think lt over and one must agree that Walker won his championship and Bobby Jones won the amateur championship because of perfect phys- ical and mental condition. It is not as easy to say why Bobbie did- not win the open title Instead of running second to Walker unless it was his mental state in playing the tenth hole, where he lost more than enough strokes to lose the title he had won at Inwood. His brain must have stopped functioning normally every time he played the hole. The champion must begin his train- ing months in advance. He must have • the most perfect confidence in his abil- ity to execute the shots and must then out-game all competitors. He must be and remain in good physical and mental condition. He must refrain from any excess that might upset him. He must live the right life before and during the tournament. Use Your Brain. There can be no better subject for a closing article than the urgent sug- gestion to use your head. No one can play mechanically a good game of golf. It is quite possible to make a perfect golf stroke mechanically, but it is not possible to play the game mechanically. Getting at the thing by percentages, the action of the brain is more im- portant than the action of the body In winning a championship match. The expert golfer takes almost no thought of his swing, other than to -feel as comfortable as possible. His thought Is to get the bail from its present lie to the most advantageous spot possible. Suppose the ball is ly- ing well and a hundred yards from an open green. Five experts may eac-h have a different way of playing the shot. It can be made with any iron club in the bag, including the pvitter. If the ball has a poor lie. the choice of clubs may be restricted to the mashie or the mashie niblick. If it is a poor lie and there is a strong side wind and the green is small, the ball must be kept low and a jigger or mid- iron may be the club to use. If there Is the same strong side wind and the ball is lying well, a quarter shot with a cleek or driving iron may be the best for the work. Exactly the same process of reason- ing is used on every stroke. The mas- tery of the clubs is approximately the same among the experts, with only the occasional star who has a mani- fest superiority with some one club. It then is within bounds to say that, among players of equal skill, the win- ner will be the one who uses his nrain to the best advantage. In no circum- stances figure that you should choose a certaia club because of the disranoe alone. Never take a club from your caddy or out of your hag until you see the ball. The ordinary caddy may try to hand you a niblick as soon an he sees your ball drop into a bunker. Refuse the club and keep your mind open until you see the ball. It is entirely possible that the putter is the club to use; that you can control it much better by rolling it over the sand, up the cop and toward the hole with the putter. Gray matter and Its constant use is more than half the game of the expert. Smartly Said f> An artistic temperament is never in- •Hfferent. Feeding the vanity of the vain be- comes a back-breaking jon. If one Is slow about giving advice, then he Is beset to give it. Say what you don't think and you get along reasonably well, too. Forty years ago you looked forward 'o today. How has It turned out? An editor either knows or has to find out, for he must comment on ev- erything. It Is the best epigrams that become 'mmortal ; and sonif of them even es- cape becoming platitudes. You can have your conscience ahead of yon, leading you on, or yon oau have it behind you. sticking pins ID you. A man can become the clinging vine (}'}>«> if he allows his rights to be gradually chipped away. We're a thousand times more com- fortable than our ancestors were, but we clamor to be happy—we're so ^r^irdy. It may be the eusenist? who will eventually make life last longer They propose that longevity shall be made v o run in fa mi lien. Made of rubber tubing and operated by a suction bulb, a siphon ha« been nv:>:Kvd '<» transfer e-asollno from tt*«j / I
