Evening Star Newspaper, July 30, 1922, Page 59

/ THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHIN Starting Things in the Pie Belt ‘With its Uncle N els to the Rescue. O Kitchen Elopement Breaks in on Festivities of Honeymoon Couple, After Rising Young Architect and His Smart-Setty Bride Have Been Received by Inez, Trilby May and Com- pany—]Jarvis Undertakes Big Task of Remodeling Squatty, Rambling Old Farmhouse i Millie and Dunk ‘Commit Matrimony in Fast Time— \ = | BY SEWELL FORD. OU can't always tell, can you? Not from the outside, any ¥ And I suppose the touring motorists following the great green way up into the White Moun- tains, as they zoomed past this dingy white farmhouse on the edge of Chenwick, N. H., if they gave our place a glance at all, thought to themselves, “What a deadly dull place that would be to huve to live in™ I know I've often had such thoughts. * #” From road. too. we must seem rather seedy and commonplace. Just A squatty, rambling old farmhouse. with a row of empty sheds trailing off towards a great unpainted barn: a dinky little front yard shut in by a white picket fence, with a clump of lilac bushes in one corner and a syringa bush in the other; some of the faded green shutters hanging by | one hinge: a few bricks off the cor- ner of the chimney top; a lot of scraggly apple trees on one side, and fields of thin, uncut hay stretching off to the woods as a background. - You might guess that the people who lived here were a poor, lifeless lot who Ladn't known any excitement since lust winter, when the pump froze up. It's easy enough to collect a hunch ke that, and in nearly every case it's dead wrong. There are thousands id thousands of drearier looking aces than ours, and every one of them is to some one the exact center of the universe. the spot hig show is going on. Also living in them isn't ever quite so monotouous as you might guess. R AKE our little bunch, as a sample. Three weeks ago we'd| drifted up here from New York. just on a casual week end jaunt, with a hunt for an old aunt of mine as an excuse. And the next thing 1 knew T'd inherited this farm and we had camped down here for a night or so. Then we'd acquire Jewett as cook, her daughter Millie as a maid, and Dunk, the ex-burglar, as outside man. And here we were. Ouly at the present moment, owing to a nutty move of Barry Platt's, we were about to have a honevmoon couple wished on us, including a smart- setty bride who'd recently spent the winter in an Jtalian villa. In fact. we were staring down the Keene road watching for them to show up. “Have you decided just which wagon shed vou'll tell 'em to back the Rolls-Royee into, Barry?" I asked All T got from him was a worried look and a shoulder hunch. uppose they have a chauffeur and a French ma went on. “Where'll we put ‘em® Z v. Trilby Ma, protests Jarvis Walters isn't apt to such side as that. Just a you know." Nan Winthrop he was foreign 1 T oy voung architect, any But this married to at high noon.” T insists, “is quite accustomed to all the lux- uries. Look at that half column account of the wedding in the Boston Transcript—a real bishop to tie the knot, six bridesmaids in periwinkle blue, the church chancel banked with American beauty roses. and a whaling hig receptiom in the Winthrop man- sion. And you waiting to welcome them in a golf suit and rusty sport shoes!™ “A dinner coat would thing to wear in a shack wouldn't it?" he growls. it Miss Jewett stivks to dining room costume.” "be a hot like this, “BEsrecially her unusual “Millie has prepared for the lig event by washing out a pair of khakl knie especially for the accasion,” says I. “Even now she is easing herself into them, with the aid of a shoe horn.” * ok ok ok »ARRY lets out a groan. “She's a sight, that girl.” says he. “Of course, we have become rather ac- customed to a husky Hebe in a hasket ball uniform, but I'm afraid she's going to give the new Mrs. Jarvis Walters a distinct jolt. T do hope Sairy has concocted something dainty for supper.” “Then you're an optimist plus, Rarry,” says I “This is Saturday night. you know, and we will have. as per schedule, the regulation New Hampshire menu for the week end meal—baked beans, brown bread and ot doughnuts.” with tea and two kinds of pie. Sairy would quit flat if 1 asked her to cook anything dif- ferent; and believe me, I'm not tak- Ing any such chance.” “Oh, well!" sighs Barry. “They'll just have to stand it. that's all. It's time they were showing up. though: that is, unless Jarvis has missed the way, or forgotten where he was headed for. It's quite like him, and 3 alnjost wish—" “You don't get your wish, Barry," says(], “for here comes a car with whit§ Tibbons streaming from the vadidtor cap. Aren't these your honeymooners “Im that flivver!" lm tilikely.” the young chap who was driv- lnl’ as already waving at Barry, and Yhe next minute he had whirled the panting Lizzie up to our front gate,and was piling out. I'm sure it was 'a relief to Barry when he saw that his guest wasn't wearing atriped trougers and a frock coat, but was In golf togs, too. The big surprise came, however, when the bride stepped out. She was in knickers, also. Tt wasn't any fashion-show sports model of fancy tweed. but a plain, serviceable olive drab, with a Norfolk coat and leather leggins. True, the sult had zippy lines to it, especially the semi-riding breeches, but you could tell by the faded color that it had seen a lot of wear and says he. “It wash't just out of a store. She's a slini) graceful young persen, the bride, and only the bope-rimmed «pectacles gave her = college girl Jeeds. And when we're introduced she -ava me a real hug instead of a cheek-peck. “Isn't this perfectly bully, Jarvis!” says she, gazing around. “Absolutely ripping.” agrees Jarvis. “A real period farmhouse that hasn’t been spoiled. And look at these cork- ing English elms, Na Places just oxactly right, aren't they? I say, Barry, old thing, but this is mighty decent of you to take us in this way. We're off on a roadside camping tour, you know, but were just as u where the | KNOW.,” WAILS SAIRY, “I'LL HAVE TO TURN TO AND SUP- PORT 'EM BOTH, JEST AS I SUP- PORTED HER AND HER FA- THER BEFORE HE RAN OFF." glad to break into it gently for the|well leave those, oniy we will cut|what they’re up to. Oh, oh! Some- first night or so. T was dreading hav- | them right through, with the same [body stop ‘em arch on the back side, so that it will says Barry. “I'll find "em ing to tackle that elaborate folding | kit we have stowed in the tonneau. Nan could puzzle it out, of course, for she did a lot of war work. After going through all that wedding orgy though, I think she'll be glad to have a rest and some real food.” * x % % QHALL we tell "em the worst at once. Barry? I asked ded. “You've struck us on baked bean night.” says L ative cook. you know, who follows the New Eng- land ritual. Beans and brown bread. Sor: “Oh, T love ‘em®" ““You adorable person!” says T “Come right in. And after that I'm not going to say a word about M I'm sure you'll not mind her a bit. She didn’t. In fact, she smiled so swpetly on that young female, and was so enthusiastic over the baked beans, and asked for a second dough- nut, and poured cream over her apple pie so naturally, that Millle simply beamed with delight. And I'm sure she reported all this to Mother Jewett in the kitchen, for at intervals dur- ing the meal we could hear Sairy lifting her voice in song. which sug- gested that she was in one of her rare moods. As a matter of fact. we all fell for Nan Walters. She may have been one of the Back Bay Winthrops. and a high brow as well, but she didn’t rub it in on us. And Jarvis behaves remarkably human for a bridegroom. They both raved over the old ma- hogany I had inherited from Aunt Luella, particularly the swell front sideboard and the tall secretary. They even envied the rush bottomed, ladder back dining room chairs, and the willow ware platters and the bat- tered pewter teapot. “Isn't everything simply perfect:" exclaimed Nan. “Quite,” says Jarvis. ‘“Look at those two-foot pine floor-boards, and that early colonial mantel and the simple lines of that wainscotting.” “But our Puritan fathers weren't strong on bathrooms, you know,” I says Nan. hinted. “There isn't a tub in the house.” “Of course,” says Jarvis. “But such things as that you can put in. By George, but I'd like to remodel this house for you, Miss Dodge.” ““There's your chance, Trilby May,” says Barry. “Make him earn his board and keep. He's a specialist in colonial architecture, you know." * ok ok ok I TRIED to explain to Jarvis that 1 wasn't that kind of an heiress, and that Barry knew it, suggesting that any revising of the farmhouse would have to be done by some volunteer who would bring his own hammer and nails. But he's a good deal like Barry, this young architect. When he gets enthuslastic over anything he has a rush of his own ideas to the head and he isn't listening to what you have to say' at all. No, he simply takes us all in tow and goes parading about the house, pointing out the good features that ‘we hadn’t noticed at all, and suggest- ing changes and Improvements. No, Im wrong. He made 'em, right pn the spot, sketching them out for us with a wave of his cigarette so free and jaunty that he had Uncle Nels| and Inez with their mouths wide open. “Now this old ix-paneled front s just right. I should leave it exactly as it is, with the brass latch and the eagle knock- er. But it needs a better setting. Ought to be recessed, with shuttered side-lights and a fanlight above. Then ' we'd have a wide brick walk leading up to this millstone doorstep. TIsn't that a prize, Nan? And this white picket fence should run all the way across the front, with urn shaped caps for the posts. You know, like that old fence down in Groveland, Mass. I can get hold of a wood turner who could_ reproduce - those caps exactly. Here, walt a moment until T make & note of these items.” And when Barry had dashed in for a scratch pad and pencil Jarvis booms | these last few days. merrily along with the reconstruc- tion. “We'll break that up with about three dormers on each side. That'll give you a bully third floor that we can either leave open for a billiard room, or cut-it up 4into & couple of guests’ suites.” “How about all these old sheds?" lllll Barry. “You'd tpar those down, eh “Never!” says Jarvis. “Why, they just complete the picture. And those arched openings are perfect. Oh, He nod- | i | | | | “Too much of that slate roof | tonight «they was whisperin’ for a really good line,” he gbes on.| gigglin' over the dishpan. the south end, put in three bathrooms and two showers on the second floor, h\and was figuring where he would tack on a sleeping porch when I broke in firmly on his happy dream “But you know," says I, “I'm planning to sell this place. just as I wouldn't part with i advises Jarvis. “Hey " says Uncle Nels. “What for vou should sell? Why not fix it up™ “How silly!” says I. “I'm no boot- legger's bride. I couldn’t afford to put i half of those things, nor keep country place. Say. wake up, How do you get that he, shaking his head. “I wouldn’'t like to see you sell, Trilby May. Me, 1 like it here. Fine. I'Il let’s fix it up, you and me. You say what to do, and me, I'll pay what if cost. Then we can come here when we like and stay as long as we want. Eh?" “You've bought something. Uncle Nels.” says I “And you're an old dear, at that. T didn't know you were so stuck on the place. “It's like home already,” says he. “I could stay here until it got cold, and come early in spring. “Oh, for that matter,” says Jarvis, ou'd need a heating plant anyway. is what T'd recom- mend. We would simply enlarge the cellar and install one. As for water, all you would need would be an artesian well and a gasoline pump with a pressure tank. Then you could wire for electric lights, con- nect with the line to Keene, and there you are.” “Fine!” says Uncle Nels. “But listen,” I puts.in. “How about help You know an establish- ment of that kind wouldn’t run itself. We'd need somebody to stoke the furnace, and run the pump and every- thing. What if Dunk should go wandering off again, as he's likely to any day? Or if Sairy Jewett should set peeved and go driving home in a huff, taking Millie with her Who would do the cooking, and dish- washing, and wood chopping? Don't forget that first week out here, when we were all worked to death, and how it was just an act of Providence that brough us our present domestic force.” * ok ok ok UNCLE NBLS wags his head wise. “That Dunk, he's good boy,” says he. “I bet he stays. You don't see him like I do, little while ago. Come. I show you.” So we let him lead us back to the kitchen door. But there was no Dunk in sight. And no Millie. Also half the supper dishes had been left unwashed in the pan, and \Ir! Jewett herself was missing. “Now what?” says L “Looks like a mutiny or something. “Where do you suppose—" And just then Sairy JSwett comes panting in from the carriage shed. “They've gone!” she gasps. “Who's gone?” I demanded. “My little Millie and that worthless tell yol A vapor system Dunk!” she wailed. “I bet they've eloped, that'se what I bet. Oh, oh, my sakes “How lbsl;l‘b"' says I “Why, weren't they both here haif an hour ago? “Sure they was,” says Sairy. “And him helpin' her with the dishes. But TI've had my suspicions of them two ‘I've caught: 'em PPy at each other. . And and ‘You just stop that lallygaggin’,- you young- sters,’ I told 'em. But I'll' bet they begun again the minuteé my back was turned. Amd while T was upstairs makin’ up them extra beds look what they've done. Skipped!” “Oh, they may have gone down !0 the spring, after some drl‘nkll“ water,” 1 suggested. 3 ~ “But the horse and buggy’'s gone!™ whined Safry. “They'd be down to the village by this time, and'no teliin' lookin” [ T oger give vistas of the old-fashioned |if they're in Chenwick. Come along. flower garden which we'll lay out| We'll take my car.” just in the remr. See. with some a, minute they were French doors cut through from the | Streaking down th dining room, and a brick terrace out | “How thrilling:” whispe Nan there, what a bully effect you'll gei?| Walters. “A real elopemen Then we'll tile all the way under| "It will not be so thrilling.” says these sheds and remodel the barn|l. “if 1 have to finish those dishes. into a garage, with room for three|and get up and cook breakfast. This | cars abreast and chauffeurs’ quarters|may be a real tragedy. Hear Mrs, overhead.” Jewett out there.” PR N he was wailing about her Millie running off with a tramp. and asking ARVIS had just remodeled the liv- | the good Lord what she'd ever done| J ing room, added a sun porch to|to bring such a thing down on her ! head, reminding us that her Sam was a no-good husband and a runaway, nd registering her deep emotion in sobs and sniffies. So we went out front where we couldn't hear her quite so plainly. And then we waited. * ko )Y this time Inez was excited. too. JAll this previous' chatter about antique furniture and colonial archi- tecture had left her cold and yawny. But here was something Interesting. something that stirred her in common with Nan Walters and Mrs. Jewett. If Millié and Dunk had disappeared together. possibly eloped, she wanted to know all about it. That was life. as she had seen it at the movies. The real stuff. “I noticed that Dunk, t00,” she de- clared. “From the first day hes been watchin® that girl. And T saw her rollip’ her eves at him. She's a siy one, though.” “The female &f the erally is,” says I. “As Bernard Shaw would say,” puts in Nan, “the life force in action. Tt's the old cosmic urge.” Inez stares at her suspicious. species gen- “He's 'most twenty, that Dunk.” says she. “So's Millie. That's when they get to lovin® easy “Absolutely,” says L “We should have thought about that, but a kitchen romance is something I hadn’t figured on. Perhaps, though, it's nothing serious. Millie might have remembered that we were out of butter, or something like that, and driven down to get it. We'll soon know. Yes, here comes a car. Looks like Barry's. It was. And in the back seat. grinnin' foolish, were Dunk and Millfe. “Well, what's the big idea?’ I asked as we all rushed out. “Same old story,” says Barry. “And, as usual, 1 was too late. They'd gone and done it. “Wha-a-at!" T gasped. “Committed matrimony,” says Barry. “They found a visiting parson who is to supply at the Union Church to- morrow, lied about their ages, and had the knot all tied when we got there.” “Why, Dunk!" says 1. “You cer- tainly are a fast worker!” “Huh!” says he. “I didn't know nothin’ about it. Millie, she told me what to do.” “Yes, that's the regulation says 1. “Adam started it.” \ line, “But where is my perfectly good husband?’ comes in Nan Walters. ‘Jarvis?" says Barry. *“Oh, he's coming along with the horse and buggy. He stopped to buy a few quarts of ice cream and some cake for the wedding banquet. He insists that we've got to have one.” “That will be all right” says I “But first we have to break the news to Sairy Jewett and soothe her down if possible. It's going to be no easy trick, either.” * * % ¥ IT wasn't. As they say up here In the pie belt, she took on something awful. She wept on Millie's broad shoulders until Millie caught the panic and wept on hers. Even Inez was snifiing. I stood it for nearly half an hour before stepping in and prying them apart. “Now all this isn’t getting us any- where,” says 1. “They're married, Sairy, and that's all there is to it. Now let’s” see what they propose to do next. Dunk, how do You expect to support a wife?” ¢Me?" says he, opening his mouth and staring, first at Millie and then “I—I dunno.” a little . detail you over- looked, eh?" says I “Well, Millie, what are your plans for the future? Millte had nonme. She merely glanced: sheepish at Dunk and gig- ed. "'"I know,"” 'IHI Sairy. “Tll have ‘to turn to and support 'em both, jest as I supported her and her father, before.he ran off. And here I was ‘hopin', that if she ever lll marry, o 7 GTON, D. C. JULY 30, - 1922—PART 4. ASHINGTON. D _C, JOLY 0 Wmo-Paml & New Light onStrange Old French Tale of the Children and the Cholera Demon’ Europe perate, silent struggle to keep the cholera out of the west, the danger being due to the un- faithfulness of the soviets. “America is out of it, but the ‘ | is making a des- human Interest of the thing is very® striking, because, as the blology of the Pasteur In- stitute shows, the faith cure has direct and material effects upon the gastric juices,” Sterling Hellig. says BY STERLING HEIL PARIS, July 20, 1922, HOLERA is beating down the barrier of Russia. From the heights of Notre Dame Cathe- dral the cholera dernor watches its approach. His stony face is over toward the east. So he was watching in the year 1496, when the dread scourge took a quarter of the population. | In vain did soldiers, citizens and clergy parade, humbly, barefoot.! through the streets, carrying the | powerful relics of Sainte Genevln-el in their gold casket | Only when, at last, the little chil- | +drkn. in procession, innocently mount- ed Notre Dame's towers, on the roof | there. did the flend. ashamed, re-| buked, permit the pest to pass awa: The children scarcely knew he was | the cholera demon. His pathetic uglingss awoke their youthful sym- pathy. They called him “the good | beast.” and piled flowers round his| wicked form and hung wreaths from his horniike ears! | Being done on Impulse, it gave w| stringe confidence to Paris. Word | went round, “The cholera will cease. The children have made a pact with a demon!” When the children learned it was| a demon they were frightened. They took no more wreaths up. But there | was no need—the cholera ceased * x k% O runs the Paris legend. Pantheon frescoes the calming the epidemic Is attributed by impli- | cation to the grown-ups’ procession. But wait i A century passed. Again the chol-| era came to Paris. Again bells tolled, | | organs rolled. cannons boomed and | holy relics were paraded. It was the | epidemic of the sixteenth tury | In the of | When 15,000 persons had died the folxs began to talk again about the chil- dren’s demon. THE CHOLERA DEMON OF N0 through the flelds in time of drought and famine. Should a deliberate pro- cession to the {grotesque stone fiz-| jure up there be organized. why | | Christian Paris would be going in for | devil worehip! So grave men said. But thie cholera was at its height. Paris was in clamor. Word went round among the parents. Early in | the morning. dressed in white and can multiply to 230.000,000.000 oihers. each worse than himself. So, one neg- lected case can start a cholera ti- demi Let a single handkerchief or spoon be washed in plain water admixture of germ-killer) und some .000.000.000 willing workers are off for the river! A single house-fly, brought in a canel boat, loaded wiih nothing but wood scantlings! there is something that can stop them! You may =ay that it is the quaran- tine. the procession of the children was replaced by a hygienic law with a death penalty for citizens to be caught break. | ing It!) they piled flowers round the | heast—and cholera stopped! | | had less effect than did the ancient |cases slip through! The route crosses FPersia and the superstitious practice! The cholera Caucasus, penetrates Russia, and fails lasted seven months in 1832 Never ! was Paris so frightened se re- |Straight on Austria and Germany. Such By sea, each year, ceipts of the government's grand | is the way by land. opera (which was kept open to give|a hundred thousand Mahometan pil- public confidence) fell to $100 a night. | grims go from India to Mecca. To and There was no confidence in the new | fro, they spread cholera in Syria, Egypt, hygiene—because the masses did not | Tunis and Algiers. understand it. And the anclent| The boats have their cholera doctors, things (which they had understood) | inspecting all. isolating the had ceased! They died like flies,|and enforcing hygiene among the well. until winter stopped the cholera. There is the great lazaretto of the Red Today, for similar reasons. a pro-|sea and the Ojeddah quarantine. A cession of the children to “the beast” |boat is thrown into quarantine for a might prove as ineffectual. But if -vou |single case on board! And yet the think that the hygienic law is all that |cases slip through! keeps the pest from western Europe, | On the land routes, between Asia and Furope, military posts stopped you are mistaken! They %now, nowadays. that the kids really stopped the cholera in the old days! And something very like their innocent little miracle is, at this hour, the shield and buckler of the civilized every traveler—in the old days when Russia had a government. But, imagine the guard. now, by drunken soviets! Heaven knows. it used to be difficult enough, when there were veritable bat- tles, on the roads from Persia into Rus- world! You read’ that the cholera" is in |sia, between watchful posts and armed Russia. bands of oriental merchants and their servants, arrogantly, Ignorantly. perstitiously refusing disinfection: But, now! You know nothing more than that. su- How they are fighting it, in silence, at the barriers of Germany and Po- land, is a sealed dispatch. On the * X * % Rhine frontier (the occupled territory) NOW. the serlous effort begine at the the same silent struggle goes on. By German and Polish barriers. The a government circular, no larmist | French, this summer. might distinguish; data may go in reports. Because, you see, the characteristic — “Which?" The Germans might con- fess; “Both!”" And censorship may boast itself the best friend of the west! Because of gastric jyjces. Here comes the sensational novelty of .the Pasteur Institute, which justi- fles the kids who hung flowers on the beast, and justifies the censorship of alarmist rumors, while it works In- dustriously on its serums, in the shadow. ‘What! Can alarmist rumors start microbes to multiplying? Yes, exactly 80, where there are microbes ready to begin performing. (These lines, written for Americans at home, are not such—because printed ‘words cannot make microbes, although silence can destroy them! Here is truth. Popular panic has multiplied every cholera scourge of the past out of some local epidemic of it; while in India, where cholera exists continually, fatalistic indifference keeps it from unduly spreading! . ‘We ‘carry. our cholera remedy with us! “The gastric juices of the stomach, which T didn’t mean she should, she'd pick out some rich- man. like Hen. Miller who runs the general store. Look who she takes, though; the first good-for-nothin' boy that— “Yes, we've been over all that, Mrs. Jewett,” I breaks in. “But we need all three of you right here. you see.” “Say,” suggests Uncle Nels, who has been doing mo talking but a lot of thinking, “why you don’t move out here, Mrs. Jewett, with your hens and pige and things, and stay with Millie and help 'em to run the farm ,and everything? You could stay here right along, summer and winter, and T'd pay you something every week.” “You would?" says Sairy, brightening up. “Sure,” says Uncle Nels. “We gotta have country place to come when it's hot, and like it here better than in the city. It's fine this New Hampshire, And we gonna fix up the house. We'll make rdoms for all of you. What you say, eh? in thelr normal staté, act on the cholera “All right” says Sairy, wiping her ; a eves. “T'll do anything 80's T can look | TIcrobe a8 an energetic. antiseptic, says the Pasteur Institute. *“‘The nat- ural juices of our stomach kill the cholera microbe quicker than either sublimate or. phenic acid!"” 1t is astonishing. Cholera. ought®not to exist. We carry the sure antidote, unless we spoil“it. Our gastric juices protect us—until we get a great fright! “Fright, sorrow or anxiety can change after my little girl. Come, Millie. You an’ your Dunk better be gettin’ at them dishes ‘fore the Water gets stone cold.” And that's the way theh‘ ‘honeymoon was bcs\mc “See,”! says Uncle Nels, his shrewd old_eyes twinkling. “T guess uae): stay now.” “Looks like they were anchored to the place,” says I. “But do you mean all | - . = that about fixing up the house?” She ; SRNITC Nicoss: Gumlitise, - SAyY the reassuring conclusion of pres- “Why not?” says he. “T guess I can afford little things Hke that” - “Then you're ehgagéd, Mr. Jarvis Walters,” says 1. “You can start your hmm;num-mm has him” mgm lt&"!k’“.) ent-day science, “and-the- general na- ture of - hastens -the castrophe. and doubly. The intestinal tube imi- tates cholera; ‘and the gastric julees lose their. vower: to kill the ' microbe!” It became a burning controversy.| OF PARIS. The original adventure had been ac- | cidental. The children had been led|,r (g cholera microbe is to muitiply | to the cathedral roof to show their| iy frightful rapidity—even for a helpless need to God—as innocent. | microber & dumb animals are still paraded | |, twenty-four hours & singie bacil (without | bearing flowers. the children flockea|f¢8ding in the sick room can give [ o the great open space—the Parvis | ransportation to 1,000 little pioneers | —before Notre Dame. Led by a ready to multiply into 625.000,000.000,- | philosophical doctor of the Sorbonne. 000.000,000,000 chillers of the v'lll n they climbed the tower and piled | P1o0d. to turn men blue and sti Sheie toblse I Toudl “UReibenai | Unless something stops. them. \Paris breathed free. Within five PO days the cholera ceased again. So. four times since, in the greatest four | \\"HAT can stop them? The present | epidemics up to that of 1832 (when | cholera in KEast Prussia was, Yet | pondo | The cholera’s route is known. It J{ERE is a strange thing. The hy- |comes {rom India—where it exists al- gienic law (when it was new) | Ways. Yet, in spite of quarantine, th stricken " | monarch saw before him a man taller. | him- - Science Explains How People Were Saved by , “Faith and the Gastric Juices”—Censor- ship Relied On for Similar Results Today Latest Physiological Report From Stlent Struggle to Head Off Scourge. RE DAME., THURE IS A° COLL TION OF THESE GROTESQUE FIGURES ON THE GREAT CATHEDRAL ° [ India whers the po fatalistic, and the a bre nic. Only bad con- i would denih e | not strongiy impre by | of cholera. 1t is unusual for ing-out to becon those whose | dition cateh it be depopulated. feur sed E The tests are striking The gastric Juices of an impression- able subject are experimented with. in test tubes. At 10 am., they will kill cholera microbes like reliable phenie acid. At 1 gm. they utterly refuse | to attack cholera microbes! What has havvened” In hotwaes | the subject has b violently fright- | ened. shocked, painfully surprised or made m of a quarrel. being reassured and tran- |Quil. the sume experimental subject's gasiric Juices again d cholers microbes like sublimwte itself! Which brings us back to the children | of old Paris, who marched up the tower | steps of the cathedral. and. up on the { root. ade a pact wiih the demon™ | and stopped th pidemic! Yot |us & fact. the beast or demon was (andt |i%) nothing but u gigantic stone figu eight feet high—a senseless stock stone—put there in the early middle . for nobody knows what purpose | But— ‘The gastric ju = of the ancient ris population were just like those | of the experimental subject 1 have been | telling you about” wuys the grea! ist. “The prople had fright- their tric juices to inertness | but the iren were not frightencd | They climbed to the roof and mads | their cent little pow-wow! “ he conelu “word wen! that the cholera wouls ! puse the children had mad pact with the demon. The peopls believed it It biouziit them back 1 cheerful hopefulness. Their gastri | Juices. once more me norma | and kilied cholera | | * 1 not claim to have tiis st Institute be responsib [for it in any way. Yet it ix a Pasteus | Institute discove Also. & physic | - Bimsell alone in ma | ters of philosophy. politics and faith This being undersiood— ] M from instituze Pasieur must ne the Ti t spezks “Why. they could it over again today,” 1 eaid, | He smilled. “Yes, if. If you have faith. as & | grain of musiard secd. you shall r move a mountain, although perhaps not always in the way you think at the time. For that matter. arc they not zetting similar results today?” “How™' 1 asked. “By inspec hygiene, quarantine |ana censorsaip. That was a new one. Censorship to work a miracie! “The world is very complicates said 1 things which seem metrically opposed to each other may vel each be true. Hygien ntial The vaccine is prec vinced that tho: cholera epidem words, it Yet, 1 am con- hildren stopped the s, are they n for a | The Crimes of 1 Transiated from the French by MePherson. IN | down with year He | den 3 MYRRHUS was weig his bur was weary of He nd die wished to make and ther to { confession peace of the enter into the One morning he quitted his palace a staff in his hand. He directed his teps toward a forest in Whose depths lived @ wise man, sanctified by lence. abstinenee, poverty and me tation | At the end of the afternoon a vaga- s | bond, who smelt of the bark of the trees and of the damp grasses. pointed out to him the way to a clearing. There King Myrrhus found the her- mit's cabin. He knocked at the door. ! The once potent but now humble | older and more furrowed than | self. This man also had a and a brow ased with wrinkles. But he was weighted down not with sins but with virtues. This was man- ifest in his quiet movements. and even voice, his clear gentle assurance of manne Some forest animals lay at his feet. A candle in a saucer sent forth a few feeble rays of light. “Welcome, stranger!” to Myrrhus. “Here are and fruit. If you wish to sleep, is a bundle of dry moss for you. will dream of your vouth and of the brookside where vou were born poisoned my father in order to succeed him." * % er the sage sald there A\D when he had made this terrible % confessior, Myrrhus fell at the sage's feet and bowed his head in the dust. “If you repent,” said his host, “and your crime is forgiven. this heavy stone will turn in your hand to a frail; dry leaf. Take this stone, Myrrhus, and in your soul execrate your parritide.” Myrrhus, almost in a faint, took the stone, and suddenly he felt in his hand~a dead leaf, which blew out through the cabin door. The king smiled sadly. Still kneel- ing at the wise man's feet, he said: “I stole a box of jewels which my sister entrusted to me. It represented the ransom of her husband and the fortine of her son. But I repent.” into Myrrhus’ hand. It also changed into a leaf. A hare ate it. Myrrhus wiped the sweat from his brow. have tortured my dogs, my horses and my slaves. But I repent.” He stretched out his hapd toward stone, smooth and glittering as a knife blade, which the latter put into it, was also transforméd into a dead leaf. The sigh which Myrrhus gave rose in the air and was lost in the thin smoke of the twigs which burned In the fireplace. “What are you cooking in that pot?’ asked Myrrhus. “Some roots which I am going to eat for supper.” “How good they smell! you season them with?" A lathb bleated at the sage's naked feet and the rays from the candle shone in his tranquil face. “Ah, hermit,” said the king, “how L envy you! The presence of the gods makes itself felt about you, and it seems as If they were going to take their places at your table or play What do By Helene Picard ) and erimes. | white beard | is® bread, water | You | The hermit dropped another stone . the mysterious sage and the sharp! King Myrrhus | the forest flute stools” seated on your eabin “Talk to me abou the sage. “Your | purged. 1 am stinl liste Myrrhus offered his hand to fessor and jud flinched - under the weight of the stone which the latter nest m. But it changed to and he handed it back. The sage crushed it under his foot and bent over Myrrhus “Speak!” he said in a low voice %% % lasted a conversation long The, storm tossed the branches of TH sudden time. night had come and a the id the firs outside. | “Speak |each time Myrrhus found a dead leafl !in his hand instead of the stone the But did hut. * the sage continued. And |man of many virtues gave him. {he still felt as burdened as he when he entered The storm frightened him bled like a tree shaken to the rootx. the hermit's He trem | “You haven't told everythinz.” the sage whispered. “I am listening.” “1 corrupted a man wio L Wae loved life and who worked in his shop. 1 was jealous of his industr: of his freedom from care. of th winged phrases which came out of | his mouth. I taught him to drink, to | blaspheme, to gamble, to Insult | women, to scorn merc to renounce hope and to hate the sun. 1 made him rich and sad. He died cursing me.” Deadly pale, torn with anguish and Gespair, King Myrrhus again extended his hand. The stone which the sage dropped into it escaped and fell to the floor with a crash that shook the cabi It turned to a rock at Myrrhus’ feet The tempest tossed the trees and | the recluse lifted his head. “I repent, old man. 1 am ready to do anything you command e to do to expiate my misdeeds. But tell me, is there no pardon? Can't I be washed clean of this crime?" “I don’t know,” the sage answered. “I am not yet close enough to the gods, in spite of my eighty years of contemplation and solitude, either to condemn you or to reassure you in their name, my son. “After all, what do the gods care ! for the bodies out of which you have driven the spark of life, for the beasts and the slaves whom you have tor- tured under the lash, for the wealth which you have seized, even for the poison which you gave your father? What do these crimes matter so long as you didn't touch the souls of your victinai “But how,” the old man concluded, breaking into tears, “could I tell you that you will be p-n\onea—yuu who | have murdered joy7 i At this moment a violent wind up- {rooted a tree, which fell against the |hut. The animals howled and fled and the candle which the hermit kept burning day and night went out. The hour of pardon wasn't near, and the gods, by bringing terror o his house, had made the hermit un- dérstand. “Go!" he said to Myrrhus in a gen- tle voice. “I repent,” groaned the aged king, who felt that the relief he sought in death was still far off. “Go!" the hermit repeated. And with a gesture he waved Myr- rhus out into the forest, still Slled with the fury of the storm.