The Bismarck Tribune Newspaper, July 30, 1917, Page 4

iP NARG Clear, Weekly, THE TRIBUNE Entered at the stoffice, Bismarck, N. D., as. Secuud Class Matter. (BBUBD BYERY DAY EXCHrt SUNDAY SUBSCRIPTION RATES PAYABLE IN ADVANCE Daily, by mail or carrier, per mont a+ LOGAN PAYNE COMPANY Godtal Foreign Representative ‘ifth Ave, Bldg.; CHICAGO, NEW YORK, Fift Te BES Marquette Bidg.; BO’ 8 Winter Bc; DETROIT, Kresge Bldg; MINNE- APOLIS, 810 ‘Lumber Exchange. Member Audit Bureau of Circulation HE STATE'S OLDEST NEWSPAPER STAY Gatablished 1872) > ——=—<—=<—<——— WEATHER REPORT for 24 hours ending at noon July 30: Temperature at 7 a. m. 58 Temperature at noon Gighest yesterday (Lowest yesterday Lowest last night Precipitation Highest wind velocity . Forecast for North Dakota: Generally fair to- night and Tuesday; not much change in temperature. Lowest Temperatures Fargo ... 56 Williston Grand Forks Pierre . St. Paul Winnipeg Helena Kansas City San Francisco ORRIS W, ROBERTS. Meteorogolist. oo it A PAID-UP. PATRIOT. Every American ought to be a pa- triot these days. A patriot is a man ready for duty any moment. Men loaded with debts, men of slack habits and shiftless homes can never be the best patriots. It’s the paid-up man who is the min- ute man. It’s the paid-up man who's ready at the drop of the hat. The paid-up man is never caught in a corner. His get-away route is al- boBDAYPAIDUP PATRIOT! Yon ean,be a paid-up, natriot by say” ing we money, Keeping your slate clean of liabilities and comfortably filled with assets. Money in the bank is always an as- , set. It’s a strong stone wall at your ‘back, ;It's something, to\ start from. ’ Motey-in the bank puts pep into your. system. * rot The ‘nation’ needs’ ‘paid-up’ patriots. The nation needs’ men ready for duty on a.m{nute’s notice. BE A PAIDUP PATRIOT AND GET A START TODAY! ** * DUST TO DUST. He was tired—shot in the nerves, generally all in. Quiet will help, he told himself. And so he hiked for the open. ‘When he found himself four miles deep in country he stopped, perched himself on a fence and listened for the curative silence. But it was not there. Over in the field a calf-pawled.rau- cously for its>motherg § TOM: ot ‘catbirds started a fat na nearby tree. A,locut and grasshopper set up a chorus antiphonal. Quiet? The city. held more of silence than did the country. At least he was'ac- customed to the noises of town. In desperation he dragged himself to the shelter of the catbirds’ tree and threw himself on the ground. Then came the crawling things—ants and bugs unclassified. And the heat of the day grew more intense. Flat on his back he lay, his pillowless head a@ messy flutter of pain. He cursed himself for the lassitude that held him stretched to the earth. And final- ly he slept—an uncomfortable, half- awake sleep, a nightmare of stupify- ing heat and buzzing insects. After hours, more or less, of agony, he found strength to climb to his feet and’ begin the long drill home. Zowie, how his head ached! And then, won- der of wonders! he who had been tired grew fresh as a boy, he who had ‘been distraught became nerved like a whip. Brimming over with the marvel that had happened to him, he must tell someone about it. And the first man he met, as he swung down his home street, was his next-door neighbor, a Physician. “Your miracle is simple and unmys- terious enough,” said the physician. “You lay for hours strétched out on the ground. The low position of your head made you uncomfortable enough atthe time. But once you got up you found yourself fit. You’ve heard of nervous disorders being cured by mud baths. Well, lying on the ground 1s the same thing as a mud bath, only detter and cheaper. It’s this way: The earth is filled with and gives off magnetic currents. “You found rest and strength by establishing close contact between your body and these earth currents. It never occurs to a " plant to do otherwise.” ‘MINISTERS’ SONS The popular impression that there are more “black sheep” among min- isters’ sons than among the sons of the average man is greatly modified, if not entirely disposed of, by Rev. Dr. Macartney of Philadelphia in a pub- lished essay dedicated “to Woodrow Wilson, son of a Presbyterian clergy- man, spokesman for the soul of Amer- ica.” The popular impression is an old one, going back at least as far as Thomas Fuller (1608-1661), the Eng- lish historian and divine who noted that “there goeth forth a common re- port, no less uncharitable than untrue, as if clergymen’s sons were generally unfortunate, like the sons of Eli, dis- solute in their lives and doleful in their deaths,” and who explained that it was merely because’ clergymen’s sons were “more observed” than oth- ers. Supporting a similar view, Dr. Macartney shows from biographical dictionaries that a larger ratio of the sons of ministers than of other men attain to worthy distinction and omin- ent usefulness. This popular impression of insuffi- cient basis has other causes than the unusual attention inevitably attracted to the fall of a minister's son. One of these is that members of ministers’ families, wearying of the persistent religious atmosphere of the home cir- cle, sometimes affect a more worldly manner than would otherwise be cur tivated. Another cause is to be found in the industry of the scandalmonger who, in order to excuse his own evil, exaggerates the amount of depravity appearing from time to time in the families of professfonal religious teachers. é * * * Manners carry the world for the moment, character for all time— Alcott. eee Many war gardens begin to look as though the enemy had charged over the battlefield. ene Goethals and Denman can now agree that there is many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the ship. ** * Germany may take Siam’s declara- tion of war more seriously when she remembers that’s where the elephants come from. Kivog yet see Hight: your enemy. with his own weapon, is also the creed of Premier Kerengky, in beginning a rule of “blood and iron;’?. —e 8 In Stockholm you have to order a warm meal with your drinks, and the bartender serves a fried egg. Oh! what'a field for a torner in eggs! ene The sale of boots and shoes in Ger- many to persons without official per- mits is “verboten.” |The limited sup- ply must go to: the! soldiers—and the princes''of privilege: tindny is returning to. France a t;,0f the population that was de- ported and enslaved—the part that is no longer capable of labor, but must still eat. ee 8 ‘Lebedeff, Russia’s new minister of marine, is reported tp have “served with distinction” in the war with Ja- pan. First time we ever heard of that sort of a Russian navy officer in that war. ** *% After proving itself the greatest air army in the world, congress has at last got serious and voted money for an air army that will fight, which is something different from the congres- sional type. se a Those who think the end of the war is near overlook the fact that Ger- man newspaper editors still talk of indemnities from the allies—with rich Uncle ‘Sam to pay the bill—as if col- lection will be as easy as rolling off a log. re se. @ Switzerland reports that the convoy of our troop transports sank four of Germany’s attacking submarines. Only the Germans are in a position to tell how many were sunk, but Switzerland touches and trades daily with Ger- many and has ears. so * ‘What’s the matter with Germany? The disease is complicated, but an important part of it consists in the suffrage system that permits the mili- tarists and other masters to vote three times and the people—some of the people—to vote once. ese e Mayor Thompson, the arch-kicker is now registering objections to send- ing our soldiers to France. The Amer- ican element in Chicago must be counting the days until the end of a term of office.that has disgraced their city. * 2 @ It is not so long since Henry Ford was working to get Europe’s boys out of the trenches by Christmas, and now he is doing his considerable bit to get America’s boys in them by early fall. There's never any telling what the whirligig of time will bring about. eee Paris cafes are offering “Poulet a le Wilson,” which is all very well when chicken dinners can be afforded, but what they ought to be offering is Johnny cake or hoecake a le Hoover and teaching the French people to employ plentiful corn instead jof scarce wheat. and industrious friend of the enemy,|' SYNOPSIS. ‘CHAPTER I—On a trip through the English ~Cumberland country the ‘breakdown of her automobile forces ‘Louise Maurel, a famous London ac- tress, to spend the night at the farm home of John and Stephen Strange- wey> ‘CHAPTER II—At dinner Louise di covers that the brothers are woman- hating recluses. ‘CHAPTER III—‘o:t morning she discovers that Juin, the younger brother, has reccitly come into a large fortune. In cumpany with him she explores the farm. CHAPTER IV—in a talk with him she is disturbed by his rigid moral principles and finds that his wealth has created no desire for any other life than the simple one he is leading. She tells him her name and that she is the friend of the prince of Seyre, a rich and disreputable neighbor. CHAPTER V—Three months later, unable to rid himself of the memory of the actress and in spite of his protien protests, John goes to Lon- on. CHAPTER VI—He finds Louise en- gaged in the rehearsal of a new play, meets her-friends and is entertained at luncheon with her by the prince. ‘CHAPTER Vli—John drives Sophy home and gives: him friendly advice about love and life ‘n London. The prince and Louise postpone a little journey they had arranged for. CHAPTER 1X—The prince takes John under his social care. the playwright, warns Louise that both the prince and John love her and that the prince will be a.dangerous enemy to his rival. ‘ i CHAPTER...X—The prince intro- duces a relative, Lady; Hilda, to John, hinting that she maybe of use to him in his “education”: of John.» >is ‘CHAPTER XI—\ti Seyre: House John is introduced to a celebrated dancer, Calavera, who at once starts a violent flirtation with him. At sap- per the prince tells Calavera that en- mity for John has caused him to em- ploy her to ruin him. CHAF'T:R XII—Calavera dances for the supper party and afterward entices John to her, but he leaves her and the house. CHAPTER XIII—John tells Louise that he came to London for ies and for her alone. Louise pleads for time. CHAPTER XIV—Graillot inadvert- ently plants suspicion in John’s mind. Lady Hilda calls upon him in his rooms and attempts flirtation with him/her talk of Louise and the prince further increasing his awakened jeal- CHAPTER XV. . “This 1s very nearly my idea of per- fect happiness,” Sophy murmured, as she leaned across the table and listened idly while John: ordered the dinner. ‘|"Give me very Ittle to‘eat, Johi, and talk a great deal to'me. I am de- pressed about myself ‘and . worrled about everything!” “And I,” he declared, “am just begin- ning to breathe again. I don’t think I understand women, Sophy.” “Wasn't your week-end party a suc- cess,” she asked. ofNot-altogether,” he confessed; ‘but don’t let’s talk about it. Tell me what is depressing you.” “About myself, or things generally?” “Yourself first.” “Well, the most respectable young ‘man you ever knew in your life, wht lives in Bath, wants me to marry him I don’t think I could. I don’t think } could live in Bath, and I don’t think I could marry anyone. And I’ve jus! thirteen shillings and fourpence left I haven’t paid my rent, and my dress maker is calling for something on account on Monday morning.” “There's only one thing to answel ‘to that,” John insisted cheerfully. “I you make your~mind~up-about~the young man.” ;/ | Fre rn AE She made a face at him, “I couldn't borrow money: from § strange gentleman,” she protested. “Rubbish!” he exclaimed. “If you ‘never mind! We'll see about that din- ner. Tell me more about your love af jfair, Sophy.” ‘ “It isn’t a love affair at-all!” she ex iClaimed, almost: indignantly. “Why, I am sorry, Your prospective alliance, then, shall-I call it?” “Oh, it isn’t interesting,” she said \“It’s Just a young man in Bath. He ts a lawyer and moderately well off. He has wanted me to marry him for years: He was a friend of my broth: er’s. Lately he has been bothering a little more than usual—in fact, I sup- pose I have received what might be called an ultimatum. He came up yes- terday, and I went out with him last night. He has gone back to Bath this morning, and I have promised to let him know in a month. I think that {fe why I went out to Waterloo bridge in a mackintosh and got wet.” “Do you like him?” John asked prac tically. The Hillman By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM Graillot, | am going to lend you-fifty. pounds-while|- {begin calling me a)stranger—but there, Here, you" Know-=10' ‘pe 1m thie atmos: phere, even if ‘the limelight mfsseé one.” thoughtfully..“You're a queer little girt, Sophy,” he’ said. “I don’t know how. to advisé you.” “Of course you don’t,”:she answered: “No one. could.’ A’*for you, I suppose you will marry Lontse.. What, will hap pen to you after that, I-don’t know. Perhaps I. sha’n't care so much about London thea... You've made it yery nice for me, you know.” ; ‘ ¢me,” he told her,*“"I often think how 'tonely T should have been without you to talk to. Louise..sometimes is de- Ughtfully companionable, and. kind enough to turn one’s head. Other days I scarcely understand her; everything we say to one. another seems wrong. I come away and leave her simply ‘be- eause I feel that there is a wall be tween us that I can’t get over.” “There isn't really,” Sophy sighed. “Louise is ‘a déar;” Considering every- thing, I think she is wonderful. But you are utterly different. She is very complex, very emotional, and she has her own standards of life. You, on the other hand, are very simple, very faith- ful and ‘honest, and you accept the standards \whichvhave been made for you—very, very rigidly, John. What are you looking at?’ John’s whole expression had sudden: ly changed. His eyes were fixed upon the door, his face was stern as a gran- ite block. . Sophy turned . quickly around. The maitre d’hotel, with, an- other satellite in his rear, was welcom- ing with much ceremony two-lately ad. rived :guests. Sophy clutched at the tablecloth. “The fewcomérs were’ Lou: ise and ‘the prince’of Seyre. “T don’t understand this!” John mut- tered, his lips twitching. Sophy Gerard said. nothing. Her cheeks, were pink with excitement. , Suddenly Louise saw John and So- phy. » She stood quite still for a mo- ment; then she came toward them, slowly and a Httle languidly. The prince was still studying through his eyeglass‘ the various tables which the head waiter was offering for his con- sideration. cat “What an astohishing meeting!” Louise remarked, ifs she laid her hand for a .moment Sophy’s shoulder, “What is. going’on behind. my. back?” John roséWery slowly, to his feet. He smile remained. unanswered. “The rain broke up my week-end party,” he explained, “and I met Sophy in the Strand. -In,any case, I intended returning tonight.’ I understood that you would not be‘here until tomorrow about eleven c’clotk.. oe je “Those: were.tny* plans,” Louise re plied; “But,*as you. see, other things have intervened. Our “little house party, too, was broken up by this abom- inable weather, and we all motored ur to town. The Faradays have gone from Miles ind telephoned ‘me to dine. Me votet |) John was struggling with a:crowd of ‘hateful thoughts, -Loulse was wearing ia wonderful gown; her hair was beau: ‘tifully arranged; she had the air of a -woman whose toflet was complete \aud perfect down to the slightest de tail. The prince’s slow drawl reached them distinctly. ‘ “It was my servant’s fault, I sup- pose,” he said. “I told him to ring up last night and order the table for two in that corner. However, we will take the vacant one neat,your desk.” He looked around‘and, as if for the first time, missed Louise. He came toward them at once, . “The. prince seems to have. ordered. nis table. last night,” John-.remarked, queer, and strained. ( : Louise made no reply. The prince was already shaking hands with Sophy. “TI thought you were spending the week-end with my cousin, Strange- wey,” he remarked turning to John. “We did spend part of it, together,” John replied. “The weather drove us back this afternoob.” . “I congratulate ‘you. both on your good taste,” said thelprince. “There is nothing more abominable than a river- side retreat out of season. We are tak- ing the table on the left, Loulse.” ‘ He led “her away, and they passed | down the room. John slowly resumed his seat, is “Sophy,” he demanded hoarsely, “tell me the truth. Is*there anything be- tween the prince and Loulse?”. s Sophy nervously. crumbled up the toast by her side. “The prince admires Lauise, and has done so for many years,” she answered. “No one knows anything else. Louise never speaks of him to me. I cannot tell you.” “But you must know,” he persisted, with.a little break in his voice. “For- give me, Sophy, if I made an ass of my- “T like him, I suppose,” Sophy sighed. self. First Lady Hilda, and then Grail- “That's the worst of it. If I didn’t like him, there might be some chance, 1! can’t realize myself ever. doing more than liking him in a mild sort of way; and if he expected more, as of course he would, then I should probably hate him. He tried to kiss me on the way to the station, and I nearly scratched him. That isn’t like me, you know. J rather like being kissed sometimes.” John buried himself in the wine-list. “Well,” he admitted, “it doesn’t sound very hopefal.. I’m no sort of lot, and then—well, I thought Louise might have rung up-to see whether I was at home, if she eame back sooner than she expected ; and the prince took the table last night!” She leaned over and patted him on the hand. “Don’t worry,” she begged. “If Lou- ise has to choose Some day. between him and you, I don’t think she'll hesi- tate very long. Don’t look so stern, please. - You ldok “very statuesque and perfect, but I don’t want to dine- with Judge in these matters, but I- have; piece of sculpture. Remember that heard lots of people say that one gets Tam finding you too attractive for on all right after marriage without cat-| my peace of mind. There’s your text !” ing very much before. You don’t seem He poured a glass of wine and drank to have a very comfortable life now;| s¢ off. do you?” “Til do my best,” he agreed. “If it “Comfortable? No, but I am free,”| sounds like rubbish, you can still be- Sophy: r9 and’ go, utcwhen I please, choose my own ‘frich@s.” It's_rather fine to_bq quickly. “I:can come in} tieve that I appreciate everything you've told me. You are pretty, and I am\lucky to have you:here. Now Ill John sighed, and regarded her. “You've made. ft. bearable even. for, seemed taller than ever, and Loulse’s|, his, tone, even to himself, ,sounding |, pay, MONDAY, JULY 30, 1017 snobs ad Dino creature, both man and woman, to serve mankind.’’—Russia’s greatest writer, Leo Tolstoy. try to ake you! believe thine’ T-ubTik 80.” \ She leaned over so that her head al- most touched his. “Go on, please!” -she murnjured. “Even if it hurts afterward, it yi) be heavenly to listen to!” obusy eee ee wa The next night.Sophy acted ‘as‘show- man at the first production of the play, so long delayed because of Graillot’s insistence: on* a scene that promiised to be startling to English pluygoers, Her part was over at thesepd of the first_act, and a few minutes later she slipped into a seat by John’s side be hind the curtain, 4 “What'do you think of it so tat?” she asked a litUle.anxiously. “Tt seems quite good,” John: replied cheerfully. “Some very clever. lines, and all that sort of thing; but Ivean’t quite see what it’s all leading to! Sophy peered around the houseifrom behind the curtain. Hiv “There: isn’t. standing ‘room’ any- where,” she declared. “I don’t sup pose there ever was a play in London that was more talked about; and then putting it off for more than three months—why, there have been all sorts of rumors about. Do you want te know. who the people in the audience are?” “Not particularly,” John answered. “T shouldn't know them, if you told me, ‘There are just a few familiar faces, I seé the prince in the box opposite.” “Did you telephone to Louise ; to- day?” Sophy asked. John shook his head. «nStNoy«I-thought-it-better to leave her ne.untilafter..tonight.” ” You ;are,going, to (the supper, of course?’ seo Sit A “T have been ;asked,”, John. replied: alittle doubtfully.. “I don’t’quite know whether I want to. Is it.being given by the prince or by the maaiagement?” “The management,” Sophy assured him. “Do you come and take me! It’s going to be rather fun’. The curtain went up upon the’ sec end act. John, from the. shadows of the box, ‘Hstened attentively. The subject. was not.a particularly, new one, but the writing was_ brilliant. There was the-old' “Marquis de Guy,” @ rove, a degenerate, ‘but. still over- bearing and full of personality, from whose lips came some of Graillot’s most brilliant sayings; Louise, his wife; and Faraday, a friend of the old marquis, and obviously the intended lover of his wife. “I don’t see anything so terrible in this,” John remarked, as the crutain went. down once more and thunders of applause greeted some wonderful lines of Graillot’s. “It’s wonderful!” Sophy declared. “Try and bear the thread of it all in your mind. For* two acts.you have been asked to focus your) attention upon the increasing: brutality of. the marquis. Remember that, won't you?” “Not likely to forget, it?’ John re- plied. ’. “How well they all-act!” There was a quarter ofan hour’s interval before the curtain rose again. Rumors. concerning the last act had been floating about for weeks, and the house: was*almost tense with excite- ment ‘as the curtain went'up. The scene was the country chateau of the “Marquis de Guy,” who brought a noisy crowd of companions from Paris without any warning. His wife showed signs of dismay at his coming. He had brought with him women whom she declined to receive. The great scene between her hus- band and. herself took place in the square. hall of the chateau, on the first floor. ~ Louise reaffirms her intention of leaving ‘the: house. Her husband laughs’ at*her. Her position is hope- less. aes Se “What can you do?” he mocks. She shrugs her shoulders aud passes Into her room. The marquis sinks upon n settee, and presently is joined by | one of the ladies who have traveled with him from Parts. He’ talks toner of the pictures upon the wall. “She! 1s impatient to meet, the Murquise’ de Guy. x The marquis’ knocks at: his wife’s door. Her yoice,}s heard clearly, after & moment's pause, “In a few. minutes!” she replies. The marquis resumes: his: flirtation. His : companion. becomes: impatient— the marquis has pledged his word that she should be received ‘by his wife. An ancient enmity against the Marquise de Guy prompts her to insist. The, marqr tugs his shoulders and knocks more loudly than ever at his wife's door. She comes oyt dressed for travel.and is met by Faraday, who, suddenly. appears. aointt & “You asked me what I couk i she’ says, pointing to her lover, “You see now!” There was'a moment's breathless si- lence through the house. The scene in itself was a little beyond anything that the sudience. had expected. Sophy, who had Deen leaning over the edge of the box, turned- around in. no little anxiety. She ‘heard. .the door slam. John had disappeared! He left the theater with only his hat In his hand, turning up his coat by in- stinct a& he pnssed trough the driving rain. All his senses seemed tingling with some nameless horror, The bril- Nance of the language, the subtlety of the. situation, seemed like some evil trail drawn across that one horrible climax. Tt was Louise who had come from that room and pointed to Fara- day! He reached his rooms—he scarcely knew how—and walked upstairs, There he threw off some of his dripping gar- ments, opened the window wide, and stood there, He looked out over the Thames, and there wus a red flare hefore his eyes. SteShen was right. he told himself. There was nothing but evil to be found here, ‘nothing but bitter -disappoint- ment, nothing but the pain which deep- ens inte anguish, Better to remain like Stephen, unloving and unloved, to draw nearer to the mountains, to find joy in the crops and the rain and the sunshine, to listen stonily to the cry of human beings as if to some voice from an unknown world. He leaned a little further from the window, and gazed into the court at a dizzy depth below. Tle had cut himself adrift from the peace which might have Deen his. He would never know again the joys of his earlier Hfe. Jt was for this that he had fought so:many bat- tles, clung so tightly to one ideal—for Louise, who could show herself to any- one who. cared. to pay his shilling or his half-guinea,. glorying in her dis- honor; worse than glorying in it—find- ing some subtle humor in the little ges- ture with which she had pointed, un-/| ashamed, to her lover. John bent a little lower from. the window. A sudden dizziness seemed to have come over him. Then he was forced to turn;around. His door had been quickly opened and shut. It was Sophy who. was crossing toward him, the rain streaming from her ruined opera cloak. “John!” she cried. “Oh, John!” She led him back to his chair and knelt by his side. She held his hands tightly. “You mustn't feel like this,” she sobbed; “you mustn't, John, really! You don’t understand. It's all a play. Louise wouldn't really do anything like that!” «He, shivered... Nevertheless, he clutched her hands.and drew her closer. sinieege sath ace Ned ne Yeo’ hard to th; “felt togethett Trertiettbee tat 1 ‘Ns walting for you. it’s! Louise you “Do, please, listen .to me,” she ; begged. “It’s all over. Louise is her- self again—Louise. Maurel. .The Mar- |quise de Guy never lived except upon | those boards. It 'is'simply a wonderful creation. Any one of the ‘great ac- tresses would play’ that part. and: gtory [in it—the very Predtest; Fou, “Oh, it’s biel std ou | event bniperstind Low iIse is waiting for you, They are all walting at the supper party. You are expected, You must go‘and ‘tell ‘her that you think ‘it was wonderful!” He rose slowly.to his feet dnd caught at her hands roughly. ~ ste “Supposing I won’t go?” ‘he .whis- ,Pered hoarsely. “Supposing—I_ keep you here instead, Sophy?” She swayed fora moment. Some- thing flashed into-her'face-nand: passed ;away. She wasipaler thaneveri!? "Dear Joy,” she KedHed! “puR'your- Remeber inat Loilise want—not me, . Nothing that she has done tonight should make her any the, less worthy of*you and your love.” He strode away into the farther room. He reappeared {n'a moment or two, his hair smoothly brushed, his tie newly arranged. . i “Tl come,. little girl,’ he promised. “I don’t know what I’ll say to her, but [ll come, There can’t be any harm in that!” “Of course not,” she answered cheer- fully. “You're the most terrible goose, John,” she added, as they walked down the corridor. “Do, please, lose your “It’s Louise You Want—Net Mer \tragical ain The whole, world is at | Louise's feet tonight. You mustn't let her know-how absurdly you have been feeling. ‘Tomorrow you will find that every paper in London will be acclaim- ing her genius.” John squared his shoulders. “All the same,” he declared grimly, “if I could burn the theater and the play, and lock up Graillot- for a month, tonight, I'd do it!” (To be continued.) Terraced Farm. A Swiss farmer who now makes his home in California, - applying his knowledge of making g living in a mountainous country, settled on what was thought by others to -be a hopeless Piece of land. This ground sloped at an angle of 45 degrees, and to:make anything thrive on it, it-had to be ter- raced in steps. Here chickens, fruit, and vegetabies are helping to make the little hillside farm pay. its way. . Dry a Tribune want ad for results. ve rans »> | @ «ja “” . ye so ee