Evening Star Newspaper, December 11, 1921, Page 70

ro THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. 0., DECEMBER 11, 1921—PART 4. ' Deep Stuff by Uncle Nels—By Sewell Ford 'VE got to hand it x ncle Nels; he's a great ol oy. Deep, shifty, cagey, all that sort of thing. And you'd never guess it to look at him. Not unless you'rs a heap better guesser than I am. Why, he'll sit here in the apartment, slumped in his favorite chair by one of the south windows, his back turned 10 what strikes me as & regular fairy- 1and picture—especially just at dusk, when New York starts to light itself up for the night—and he'll neither stir nor speak for sometimes an hour at a stretch; even when the weather man sta an early snowfall and vou can see the big hotels and tall office bulldings doing a sort of ghost dance through the shifting white cur- tafn that lifts and closes in, thins and-thickens, until you get the weird feeling that the Metropolitan tower | and the Bush terminal must be try-l “ ing out some new shimmy steps. But Uncie Nels doesn’t bother to turn his head. He seems content just to sit and stare at nothing at all, like some mummy in & museum. Say, what goes on in that 64 head of his, if enything, I'd give a lot to know. For now and then he shows some queer quirks. Take him lately. ticed an occasional flicker in those faded blue eyes of iis, as If he was kind of pleased w'th himself. Just a faint flash that *rould show for an instant, but would fade out the mo- ment he caught you watching him. Seemed so, anyw.y. I couldn’t be sure. Once I tried pumping him. “Who's the joké on, Uncle Nels?” I asked him. “Hey?" says he staring stupid. “I don’t make jokef. T#1by May. Never.” * % x X ¢«()H, come!” says I. “You forget maybe. Tll bet as a youngster. you were a fegular village cut-up, larking aroundl with the corner gang. banging your stein on the table and shouting: ‘Vell, skoll” with the best of *em. Now, didn't you? But Uncle -Nels: shakes his head. “Lot you doa't kngw. &bout;Sweden,” | says he. ‘It ain’t,like’ Minnesota. No! When I was young feller I got no time for sach foolishneds. I don't loaf around vol playing rooms and we don't_have no movie places. All time we wark. Fishin' village I live in, and I am no’ more ‘than twelye vears old when'I have. to help mend| the nets and turn: the fish on.dryin’ flakes. -Them when I'm bigger I get sent ont with the boats. It sin’t so bad in summer, but. when big storms comes and it's cold—ugh!. You're Jucky to--get back alive. “We're all 1 thought I'd no- | the villain of the plece. Who was thé scoundrel, Uncle Nels?' kK k% R a minute or so e scowled at the rug, his chin on his necktie. ‘Then he shrugged his shoulders and lifted his head. “Nis name Neil Lind- gren,” says he. “He's a big, rough feller. Owns fish boat himself. Makes good catches, him. Spends his money free. Talks big., And he sees Matildi too. She dog't like him so much at first. No. She say so. And once SO T WAITED ‘AND STRETCHED AN EAR. “THREE MINUTES, FIVE— {BUT NOT A SOUND CAME FROM I didn’t let on, ‘nnum‘ OF 'EM. when we was walkin® together this Nell Lindgren e comes by and stops. ‘Go long,’ she tells him. ‘I talk with Nels now.” He laughs loud, that Nell. Ho! says he. ‘That little dumhu- vudl. He no‘fit for nice girl like you to talk with. You should talk with poor by Sweden, too, and nobody feels 1iké carryin’ .on same a8 young folks do In; this-country.” y “Not’ even a dance now and then?” 1 asks. - . : “Oh, maybe,” says Uncle Nels. “Not like Mere, though. - No- fox trotters. Just Swedish aences.’ - “You - had-"a- girl, you?'’ I goes on. i “Me?". says .Unole Npjs.::Then he stops:and rubs his ol ‘Yes, I had a’giri—once. Nice gif}, t8a." *igenn who?” I sUBgemE: ot~ Lens,” says:he. “:'Matilda. ‘thiough,; didn't Ain't none any nicerighan:er.” ¥ és;” says I, “that'shihe-vsual line. Bt ‘tell*frte, Uncle Nels; Why didn’t you ‘Matilda?’ “Hep?" says he, staring at me. “What you say that for?” H “Oh, come!” says I. “It must have | been a long time ago.. Doesn’t hurt| yet, does it? And it's a subject Inez and I have often dfscussed—why you; happened to stay an_old bmhelon; Let's have the tale?” | Of course, I wasn’t expecting any | kind of a yarn. I was simply string- | ing Uncle Nels along, mainly because I had nothing better to do. I didn't| really think he'd open up, eitner. He! 50 seldom does. But somehow I, seemed to have jarred something loose in Uncle Nels, for the next thing 1 knew he had glanced around cau- tious to see if any one else was lis- | #] WAS GONNA FIX IT UP, WHEN WE GET SOME MONEY, THAT ‘WE GO AND GET MARRIED.” —_———— tening in and had given his chair a hitch toward mine. “You—you wanna know about Ma- | tilda?" he asks. | I nods and registers sympathetic at- tention. “More as thirty years I don’t speak about her to anybody,” says he. “I think I forget. But I don't. And lately—well, I remember again. She ifve nsar me, Matilda. Her father owns fish boat. It was him I work for. Poor mans, but not so poor as me. But Matilda—you'd think she was rich lady. She walk that way, look with her eyes like that, hold her chin up so. Not much for dress, but she don't need fine clothes, Matilda. You say Inez looks swell in her new clothes sometimes., I wish you could have seen Matilda in things like that. In just oM skirt and torn waist she look as well. No shces, no stockin’s, no hat; but when she stand on shore waitin’ for fish boat to come in—well, sie look good to me.” “T get the picture, Uncle Nels,” says 1. “A ullage queen, eh? And would she let you walk home with her?” “Sometime,” says he. “That make me feel good. And sometime we sit on rocks and have long talk. I was gonns fix it up, when I .get money that we go get married. She knows. And then—then comes this other Laller.” 2 “As per schedule,” saye L “Enter’ big man—like me. Get out, Nels— little herring head.’ Shove me away. Well, we fight. I'm little feller, you know; ltke T amt' now. “'I"ain’t much good for fight. ‘But I'do what I can. I punch” him, kick him, bite him But he's strong, Netl Lindgren. Knock me 3own, break my jaw, kick in my ribs.. Thea hé lift me up. and thfow me -on rocks. I think I'm dead.: And for.long time I can't -walk straight any more. - Something géed bust in my ‘hip. . He don’t care.s He laugh when he ‘see “iie limp &round. He make joke of,me with other fellers. Tell Matilda's“father He did that be cause I was botherin’ her. So I lose my job, too.” i “Say, he was a bad actor, wasn't he? I puts in. “But how about the girl Does she fall for the rough stuff?” = “She’s afraid of Neil,” says Undle Nels. “But she's ‘fraid of her old man, too. He want her to marry with Lindgren. And bym-bye she does. That's why I leave Sweden when I'm young feller and go by Minnesota.” “Some tragedy, Uncle Nels,” says 1. | “Who would have thought it? And I suppose Neil and Matilda lived happy ever after?” “Huh!" says Uncle Nels. “They 2in't married a month when he gets drunk and beats her. All time like that. Children come; four, five. Ma- tilda, she look like old woman. Don't “It's by me,” says I “Since that last snowfall there’s been no dust in| And you say he comes in | covered with it, en? Overcoat and the streets. ane “He don't wear overcoat when he goes out now.” says Ine; “That's funny,” says 1. “We've had some snappy days .recently, tao, and he generally bundles up well when it's at all cold. I-don't get the idea.” “Maybe he's up to something again,” suggests Inez. I couldn’t dope it out, not even after I'd stayed In one afternoon and laid for him to appear. He was dusty, T'll say. His hat Was powdered, it was on his mustache and eyebrows. 1 had to lead him out in the hall, open a window, and.go at him with a whiskbroom. “Say, you look bing in a bakery,” says I you get this way, Uncle Nel “I dunno,” says he. “I just been ‘round.” it you'd been sub- “How do ol * k%% ND then I got a clue. It wasn't street dust at all.: It was ashes. though. But the next day when he was ready to go out ll beat him to it. I caught an elevator before he did and parked myself cas- ually behind some tubbed palms down by the maln.entrance, ready to trail him. I meant to find out where he went to accumulate that sprinkling of ashes. After I'd waited fifteen or twenty minutes, though, and no sign of Uncle Nels, I stepped out and interviewed the doorman. . I asked If. he'd seen Uncle Nels go out recently. “The old boy?" says Mike. ‘No, he ain't passed, miss. -More like you'll be fightin’ him downstairs.” “Not in the basement?’ says L “Sub-basement, mis: says l((ke,l “Furnace room. You'll find the stairs through the third door at your left. ‘Two flights down.” I wasn't crazy about poking down there alone, but when I start on-a sleuthing expedition I generally fin- ish it. So down the dark iron stair- way I felt my way. And I never knew before that so much of ‘these big apartment houses were under- ground. For a minute or 5o I thought LI was lost 1 that tangle of white- washed tofridors, But at last I caught a glimpse of some big boilers through an open door and located the furnace room. I tiptoed up and took a peek. It was worth while. Over at one side a patch of daylight filtered in from above—through the grating of the ash-hoist. I guessed, - l hold her chin up any more. That Neil beats her too much. It makes her get sick. She die. A After that Neil have lotta bad luck. He don’t make good catch, lose fish boat in’ storm. So he go ship for stoker on tramp steamer. Never come back. No. He was strong man once, Nell Lindgren. | But now——" Uncle Néls stops with another shoulder shrug. g “And you went to Minnesota and got rich in the lumber business,” I adds. “Well, that’s where you - got the edge on him. But no Matilda, eh?” “No,” says he. “And if I went baek I could own all the town, all the fish boats, everything. If Matilda was there I would. But what's the use?” Still, he didn’t seem as broken- hearted as he talked. Even as he finished the tale I thought I could see sort of a grim smile curling his mouth corners. He had me guessing, all right. But, then, I never could quite follow .all of his curves. For instance, when Inez reports about his coming in afternoons with his new suit all dusty and how he wouldn't say where he'd been. - “Where he go?" asks Inex the row of iron cans standing, And sitting in . this dull light were two men. One was a heavily built old pirate, dressed sketchily in a ragged woolen undershirt and over- alls. His pasty gray face was lined and rugged, his wide shoulders slumped, and his head almost bald. He was squatting on a box puffing away at an old corncob pipe. Oppe- site him, In a somewhat rickety arm- chair with the seat upholstered with old newspapers, is Uncle Nels. He's as much dressed up as if he was ready for a Sunday stroll down b6th-.ave- nue, even to gray castor -gloves- and gold-headed cane. Also, he is smok- ing a long, expensive-lookinig cigar, They were not more than three feet: apart, these two, and facing -each other. At first I suppossd they were: having & confidential: chat abeut something or other. So I waited and stretched an ear. Three minutes, five. But not a word came. from either of) ‘em. In fact, as I got used to the dim’ light I could see that their expres- sions, as they starsd at each other, were absolutely wooden. They. were looking, not so much at as’ through one-another. It was abpurd ‘snd u bit from near. weird. I don't know that I've ever seen two human beings in just that pose. Cows, sometimes. You know how they’ll stand in the pasture, head to head, not even flicking an ear or batting - an eye? Well, that was Uncie Nels: and this underground chum ‘of his. I couldn’'t guess how long {t bad kept up or how much longer it was going to last. But T meant fo watch the show to the finish. Surely, they must say something sooner or later that would give me a line on what this was all about. Anyway, T had found out where Uncle Nels got his coating of ashes. Evidently his friend there could not spend the eiitire afternoon sitting on his box. At intervals he must have been obliged to get up and shovel ashes from the firéboxes. Judging from the appearance pf Uncle Nels' clothes and the fact that half of the cans were full, he'd not been neg- lecting his job. "This was one of his rest perfods. ‘And he chose to spend it starting at Uncle Nels. But why? Just as I had given up for the third time Uncle Nels spemed to rouse up. He fished out his watch with a flour- ish, squinted at it, and hunched his shoulders. d “Huh!” he remarked. x ® % % THEN he got up, went through the motions of brushing ashes from the front of his coat, stuck the cigar rakish In one corner of his mouth, and started to shuffle out. The other man didn’t move. Didn’t as much as shift his gaze. I did, however. I slipped back of the open door and let Uncle Nels go by without seeing me. When he was safely down the corridor, I stepped boldly into the furnace room. But I had to walk directly up to the man on the box before he would notice me. Ana at that he didn’t seem a bit sur- prised. He simply stared at me, dull and stupid. “Who's your friend that just left?” T asked. “Hey?” says he. “Your friend?” I repeats. “Him?" says he. “He no friend to me, I no friend to him.” “But you were sitting here to- gether,” I protests, two old pals.” “Yah chummy as he growls, knocking out his on the concrete floor. “No “Aren’'t you a Svenga, too?’ I asks. He nods sullen. “What name?’ I goes on. “Lindgren.” “Me?” says he. “I guessed Lindgren, aren’t you? “How you know that?’ he demands. “Oh, from something Uncle Nels let drop,” says I. “Then you don't love each other any befter than you used to, eh?" “Yah!” says he. “Love him! Say, you know what I do some tam with that one—that Nels?" ~“No,” says I. “What?" For a second his gnarled, knobby old hands bunched together, his slack jaw stiffened, and a dull glow came into his watery eyes. Then the glow flickered out and his hands dropped limp at his side. “Never you mind,” says he. T'a old man—sick.” “Yes,” says I, “you look like a good deal of a wreck. I must be going, though. So long. Pleasant dreams. And when I got back upstairs found Uncle Nels camped in his fa- vorite chair, gazing at nothing at all, but with that grim smile playing around his mouth corners. I thought he ought to be warned, though, and I Aid no beating about the bush in doing it. “See here, Uncle Nels," s 1, “you want to look out for that old pirate, Nell Lindgren.” “Hey!" says he, startled. ““Oh, I've found where you spend your afternoons,” says I. nda I'n say it's a dangerous indoor pastime. Some day Neil is going to swing on you with an ash shovel.” “Him!" says Unble Nels. “That one? Huh! Once he could, maybe. But he ain’t strong any more. And me—I'm tough. He knows. He don’t dare.” “All the same, I wouldn't trust him,” says I. “You should have seen how murderous he looked when I spoke of you. Besides, I shouldn’t think you two would be 80 much com- pany for each other, s0 what's the sense of your running the risk? And what can you find to talk about mo long?” +“Talk?" says Uncle Nels. “We don't talk.” R < “Wha-a-at!” says I “You don't mean that you two sit and stare at each other every afternoon without swapping & word?” Uncle Nels admits that to be the general program. “But how long has this been going on? I asked. “When did you first discover that this old enemy of yours ‘was in the building? “Two W says Uncle Nels, “T gee him standin’ by ash lifter one “Neil e turning on me morning’. I know him right off. Hel - _|are: now wearing creased pants made 'THE RAMBLER IS SIDETRACKED TO “SP E ARE going back today to that part of the old county Prince Georges which lles around Vansville and Am- mendale, but before reaching the ancient Baltimore turnptke, in its setting of gray flelds, brown woods, where all the leaves have fallen ex- cept those which rattle among the branches of the -oaks, and tracts of land covered with fresh, green pines and dark-green cedars, it is necessary that many of us cross the city in & street car. All the Rambler's reflec- tions do not come to him as he sits upon a stump smoking his pipe or as he rests in the corner of a decaying fenca. Some reflections come to him he jolts across the town In a street car before taking up the trail which may or may not lead him to a story. It s Sunday, and it is just before or just after the time for church. The precise time does not matter. That which impresses the Rambler 18 the elegance, richness, galety snd cost of the dress of people who are Just going to church or just coming from the sermon, prayers and song. Men who on week days or work days wear baggy trousers, shining in part, A SNOWY Sunday Prevents the Usual Journey Afield, But the Fountain Pen Runs Smoothly—The Church-Going Outfit of Milord and Milady—Rewriting Bits. From a Well Known and Ancient Volume—The Stage of Today and Yesterday—And, Finally, a Few Real Facts About the Ammen Family. serve, as, ‘for example: fturn not thou away.” Other als And—. brethren! followead! Ana of expensive striped trousering and| finely tailored. They have on frock | coats, sflk hats, patent leather shoes, &rey or. cream-colored spats, kid gloven, & cane, a besutiful neckte. With zll this glad apparel they put on a sérlous look which has a tinge of melancholy or unease. They seem to enjoy being seen in these fine clothes, yet they are not having a good time. They are too dressed up to feel nat- ural. They are not used to it. They are not in the habit of wearing a silk hat and gloves and spats and carry- ing a cane. spal D. building: * X X X AB for the ladies, they are, as old- fashioned -folks would “got- teri up regardles They are crowned with millinery. that is radiant, viva- clous, brilliant, sparkling! True, they are not wearing the dead bodles of bluebirds, orioles, robins, buntings, hummingbirds and cardinals that used to be killed to glut the blood lust ofi beauiteous. and sympathetic women! They have' reformed themselves to this extent, or it may be that the re- form was forced upon them—I do not know. But'the reform is only par- tial. They are only a degree less barbarous’ than they were. . Nearly every woman in the car, nearly every woman going to or coming from church wore the skin of a dead ani- mal. Some wore the skins of many animals. Every skin represented an act of cruelty on the part of a man and a death pang to some poor beast, and many of these poor beasts were, as harmless as little beasts can, be. They did not prey on other beasts, they did not molest Uncle Reuben’'s poultry and they made no forays on the crops of Uncle Hiram Hick. Of course, my lady will sa: “This is the fur of a predatory animal.™ Please, dear heart, do not add another sin to those that are already yours! Many of those animals were not'pred- atory, and if they were they prob- ably had some good part to play in the scheme of nature. And, besides, many of them were caught in traps and suffered Oh, how they suffered before a man came along and killed them! And when he killed them he did not think, “This is a predatory animal,” but he thought, “This hide is worth money.” It is natural that when one woman puts on furs, espe- cially if she is a member of some 4 A ROAD NEAR BELTSVILLE. _—— e uncomplifentary to the darlings as|and Brazy Barenees in the modern to suggest that sheepskin is the|masterplece entitled “How the Beauti- proper fur for them, but the thought|ful Manicure Was Lured from Her comes “to fhe. They used to bid Barbershop,” and they were tame stuff a:nln-! each other to promote the|in comparison With our present stars, slaughter of every little Dbird that|yguncelot Algy and Cyr St. Renegade had a color in its feathers, and nOW.gorgeous, in the beautiful bedroom they bid against each other for th¢ Jramu entitled “The Ruined Husband lite of gvery little creature to Which .; u Fuitaless Bride.” nature gave a coat of r. o) big £ S Tl:» Kambler, together with a num- My bdy, if you want to mak ber of other old fogies, used to think with-a goman, encourage her:1 tell ;1.¢ uyamiet” was a right good play, you that she is very impressionistic, g * | and that Shak: very sympatdetic, very individualistic,{ p,¢ of cou":'pz;:? :‘;: !:::r:ent::; very uslike' other women, never re-|rosent generation showed us what peats ‘scandal, never relays gossip B g ¥ is right and proper. I admit now’ about another woman that migbt Just thay Bl Shakespeare knew nothing as well never have been spoken, etc.| rlgemibal e | about putting up a play. He shoula these things about; ” tigt ot s {have made Hamlet strike the king{ if you! ostentation and it wonderful activity.” of Alabama, Admiral to her friends like thi Mr. Smith s a charming man—so agreeable, don’'t yow know! And so apprecia- tive! Fine judgment and intelli- gence! But in spite, my dears, of | your claim to independent thinking, individuality and the rest, I suggest, But old Polonius said some things busted royal family, an actress Whose | gheepskin, just the same. about clothes and other things, and only talent Is for buying clothes, orl Think not, fairest of the fair, that|for the benefit of those readers who some other notable in the fashion-iy point my fountain pen at you alone, | have been educated by modern meth. able world, all the other women must 3 also put on furs. I will not be so —————— know me, too. He say, ‘Hello, Nels. 1. 1 say ‘Hello, Neil.” Th “And you aidn’t even ask him how he got here?’ says I. “What for?" says Uncle Nels. “I can tell. He's too old for ship s oker now, so he have to work on shore— any job he can get. He's glad to shovel ashes where it's warm, you bet; glad for little wages 80 he don’t starve. “f should think, though,” I went on, hat yowd want to ask him zome- thing ‘about Matilda.” Uncle Nels shakes his head. “No,” s he. “I hear all abotit her long time ago. I get letters.. She's gone— Matilda. I don't wanna talk to him about her.” “Then what is the big idea, sitting down there blinking at him and him blinking at you?' I demands. * x kX UNCLE NELS gives me one of those blank, simple looks of his and rubs his chin. ‘I—I dunno,” says he. “It's kinda nice, seein’ that feller who made a joke of me once and took my girl away, and kicked me ‘round— seein’ him old and poor and all bust up. And I like havin' him see me aressed up swell, cane and gloves and all. Him ovelin' ashes and me sittin’ smokin’ big cigar. Eh?" Say, can you beat that? For & sample of human’nature in its bare bones, this frank confession of Uncle Nels is about the most genuine I ever ran acro I expect he had me gawping for a minute. And then I wondered if he wasn't drawing It a little strong; if, after all, he wasn't holding out something on me. “Oh, come!” says I. “T expect you're planning, one of these fine days, to surprise him by some kind act. Go- ing to get him into asailor's home somewhere, aren’t you, and have him kept warm and well fed and supplied with tobacco for the rest of his days? Isn’t that your little scheme?” «Hyh!” snorts Uncle Nels. “You think I'm foolish? That Neil Lind- gren! I wouldn't get him nowhere, unless kicked out on street, maybe. I could do that, too. But it's better he stays here where I can watch him shovel ashes.” «“You win, Uncle Nels,” says L. “You look like a mild, gentle old boy who might be used as a doormat by almost anybody. But Tll say you can’t. Not much. And for = consistent, long- aistance hater I'm willing to back you against any in the ‘business. Also, you seem to be getting more fun out of it tban they generally do. Well, som thing like that waa coming to you; and to this Lindgren person as well. Only watch him close when he has an ash shovel -in his hands. Now stand up ‘while I go over you with a ‘whiskbroom.” . Z 3 (Copyright, 1921, by Bewell Ford.) [hands and feet mussed up with fiy-| gy | paper, and the Queen of Denmark should have taken off her royal robes |and come upon the stage with the skin of a chipmunk thrown around her! ton. ream-colored spats ha THE BELTSVILLE EPISCOPAL CHURCH. my queen! When I look at that poor![ods and have never heard of Polo- fish in the silk hat, cream-colored |nius, I will quote you what he said: ats and shiny cane, with a prayer book clasped gently in one of his yellow gloves, I smile, too. at him. * % % % Give thy thoughts mo tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with boops of steel, But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg’d comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, Bear't that th' opposer may beware of thee, you!" AND what about all this finery on Sunday and for church? Where- fore? I know that a celebrated gen- tleman, whose patronymic, according to one William Shakespeare, a mere player and play writer, was Polonius, gave some very good advice to his son, who was called Laertes. This fellow and his father were quite well known to playgoers of another age. There was a young girl associated with them, who was called Ophelia, and a melan- choly chap who was rather eloquent in his way of talking, but who was quite eccentric, and who, if the Ram- blers memory is in working trim, traveled about the country—several countries, in fact—under the name of Hamlet. He appeared in a play com- posed by this fellow Shakespeare. Our fathers-and mothers used to think pretty well of Bill -and his composi- tions, but, of course, they were mis- taken. They had not been educated up, to the present standard. Old Polonius, Ophelia, Laertes and Hamlet and their- friends Claudius, Horatio, Rosencrants, : Guildenstern, Gertrude, the Ghost and the rest were & very stupld crew, don’t-cher know! They were not to be compared with great characters of the present, as, for ex- ample, Flighty Fiuff, Vampy Flapper Take each man's cemsure, but reserve Judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. But not express'd in fancy—rich, mot gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man. Neither a barrower nor a lender be, For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And ‘borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all—to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as night the day, Thou canst mot be false to any other man. ' This 1s advice to dress weil on all days, including Sunday, and not on Sunday only. Also, you will note that Polonius says, “Costly thy habit as they purse can buy,” which, in effect, is saying, “Dress as well as you can afford to dress, but not better.” Po- lonius did not tell Laertes “Costly they habit as thou canst owe for.” * % ¥ ¥ N the subject of & dress are a fow things in a little book that rests on my table. It is a little book which 1s not widely read by the younger set, though I believe its injunctions are Atlantic seaboard is to support this bellef. level of high water. . AR WOMEN, SHEEPSKINS, SILK HATS, ‘HAMLET” followed about as clogely now as at any other time within' bur memory; and I do not mean to g3y that those injunctions have beéen ‘closely fol- lowed at any time. Some of the rules of oconduct are very difficult to ob- “Give to him that askéth ‘thee, and from him that would borrow of thes And— “And If any man will sue thee at the law and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also? And— “But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil, but whososver shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn.to him “But I say unto you, Love your enemles, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully-use you and persecute ynu.” Pretty hard rules to follow, my‘ they are mot ‘much " I have & suspicion—and I hope you'll right me if I'm wrong— that the gentleman with his prayer ‘book gracefully clasped in & yellow glove was thinking more about his k hat, cream-colored spats and shiny cane than these difficult rules of conduct set by Him whom millions of you worship—outwardly and with reservations, and on the day when you put on a silk hat, cream-cotored , yellow gloves and a frock coat. Really, my tired readers, I did pot mean to think all this when I got on the street car, but the ink was run- ning well in my fountain pen—a most unusual thing—and I thought -¥ou might like to read about something else than the conference down in the A. R. and the Pan-American ‘When we leave the street car at Beltsville it is only about a mile's walk to the top of Vansville hill, where you pass the old home of Gen. Jacob Ammen, and then about half a mile farther north on the Baltimore road to the grove of firs, cedars and hollies which bower in their green embrace the old home of Admiral Ammen. I have been trying for two or three Sundays to tell you certain facts about that fine old gentleman, but I have sidetracked myself and myself so often that I have not yet got down to the point. Rear Admiral Daniel Ammen died at the pital in this city July 11, 1898. funeral was from St. Paul's Catholic Church, 15th and V streets, July 13. The Evening Star of that day said: “The last wish expressed by the admiral was that simple rites should attend his burial, and that no eulogy be proncumced over his bier. ingly, the services were without in perfect keeping with the life of a great naval com- mander, whose modesty throughout a long career was as marked as was his interrupted val Hos- His Accord- Sailors from the navy yard were the body-bearers and the honorary pallbearers, Intimate friends of Ad- miral Ammen, were Senator Morgan Walker, ' miral Franklin, Chief Engineer Mel- vilie, Capt. Crowninshield, Commarider Tanner, Paymaster General Looker of B % the Navy and Gen..George ‘W. Davis. steer the talk that way. Tell her she| With @ custard pie; Ophelia should| pather Mackin celehrated mase, and is all these things—which, of course, have fallen backward into a tub of{ihe choir consisted of priests:and she isn't—and she will speak of you|SUds: the ghost should have got his| iygents from St. Charles' Academy, timore. Interment was at Arling- Ad- I really hope to tell you some in- teresting things about the part of the country I have In mind, but last Sun- day's snow and slush an@ these five typed pages about women and Bheep- skins, Hamlet, Polonius, silk hatsand set me back in my schedule, but if you will bear with me and read me in The Sunday Star T will take you with me on some interesting walks in the regiop we call home. And, in the words of my esteemed friend, Dopey Dan, “I thank The Stable Seaboard. 'AREFUL study has been made of the eastern coast of North Amer- ica to learn whether there is & réa- Giv svery man’thing ehs. Bat Lew by ""::; son for the general bellef that the slowly and steadily sinking. The investigators report that they have found nothing It is @eclared that after thoroughly examining the evidence the experts concluded that 1f there had been any' movement it had taken place long ago. Some instances that seemed to show @ sinking of theé coast werd murely the result of local changes fn the For example, within a bay or lagoon that ost cut off from thé sed by a sand bar the range of the'tide will ba far less than on an ‘exposed part of the coast, and if the bar'is swept away the local high-tide level Wwill some- times rise high enough’to kill' trees that are groewing on the shores of the bay. - Therfe are citsd many ‘facts to prove that the level of thc - sea- board has mot changed for “s¥veral