Evening Star Newspaper, August 5, 1923, Page 68

A Luncheon for Two at the Plaza Was the Beginning of a Series of Somewhat Surprising Develspments HEN 59th street there was a mere platoon of survivors. Stolidly they closed around their orator; his rostrum was a soap box, and his banner bore the legend: “Justice for the Unemployed.” A few pedestrians halted on the fringe of the crowd; one of them a girl. Her limousine, with all its flaunt of capital, had become traffic-bound at the curb. Through the window she had looked out upon the orator and his audience, and on impulse she had picked up the speaking tube and issued orders to the chauffeur. She was in the very act of descending when the orator had pointed to the limousine to {llustrate his text Automatically a hundred men turned toward her; some of them sneered. some glowered and the near- est—who was certainly the most at- tractive—treated her to an extraor- dinary smile. The girl, with a faint spot of color in each cheek, stood irresolute. She Flanced over her shoulder. but the limousine, released from the jam. was moving southward; she hesitated— and the orator reached his finale. Whose fault was it, he inquired, that thousands were in need of work and wages while baby dolls, inclosed in luxury. rode down 5th avenue. Slowly she turned and went on to the corner and so into the park; the | first bench was unoccupied. and she sat down Some one came to occupy the other end of the bench, and presently a sound, continuously repeated, drew her attention. On the other end of the bench was the young man who had smiled at her; he was sitting moodily, elbows on knees and jingling & few coins in his hands. Now ordinarily she was conserva- tive, but the young man was hardly older than herself—and for all his despondency he was unusually good looking and intelligent. She said to him bruskly: “Do you think that was fair?—what that man on the box was talking about?” He went on Jingling the coins. “Well,” he said reflectively, ‘“there are always two sides to everything, aren’t there?" She relaxed a but. ‘ The young man “Didn’t you know, when you came over to that meeting. vou were going to hear the other side of it? you know they think it's that's made their class what it is?” She sat straighter, “But I don't believe the worki owes evervbody a living—not unless they earn it. And that man said the factories all ought to be kept running, whether they make any money or not. so every- body'd have a chance to work. Why, that wouldn't do any more good than —than hiring half those people to dig a hole in the ground. and the other half to fill it up again. Would it?" He scowled doubtfully. “That's just what I was thinking about my- self. Why should they keep running and lose money—and why shouldn't they, after all they made before? oy HE sat inspecting him. His fore- head was high, his mouth was rather large and sensitive, his eyes were those of a chronic dreamer, and his jaw had the contour which is generally supposed to be the trade mark of a fighter. An uncommon type of boy, she thought—uncom- monly fine grained, uncommonly rea- sonable, for one of the unemployed platoon. It seemed incredible that he could belong to it. “Did you—just stop to listen, as I diar “Oh, no,” parade.” “But you're not one of that class!” “Why—TI suppose I'm not. I'm what they call a white-collar man. But I was in the parade, just the same.” The girl was puzzled. “But—if you haven't made up your own mind about what's fair—I shouldn't think you'd have gone in it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “A man can want to see justice done, can't he, even if he doesn’t know where it's coming from? Most of those fellows were in the war .They came home, and they were heroes one week and bums the next. You've got to admit it was a bit sudden. “T'm glad you say ‘we: T like that” “Well," he smaid, “T wasn't quite a hero myself, and I'm not quite a bum —yet." “But you were in the war?" “Oh, yes.” “And—after you came back?’ “Why. things were pretty cheerful for a while, and then the big slump hit us. My plant closed down with the rest. And that's all there is to that.” “But surely there's something you could do, isn't there?” ‘That's what I came to New York to find out.” “And you haven't found anything? Not anything”' He shook his head. triffie. “I know, vour class he said. “1 was in the ‘they’ instead of Not yet.” interrupted her. | strict alleglance to his steak. Didn't | tossed Even the recollection of it brought the color back to her cheeks. “All I cared about was to do some- thing where I could and when I could. But what can I do? What could I do for any of them? What could I do for you?" The young man stopped jingling the coins. “That's funny. Nobody's said that to me for a long. long time.” “Well, what can I do?" He made a sudden grimace. “There's something you could do for me, all right; but wouldn't do it, any- way. How do you know I wouldn't He was regarding her critical “To be perfectly frank, I'm hungry. and this"—he displayed the little pile of silver—"is every cent I've got in my pocket. And for the last two weeks I've been eating in hashhouses with that same gang. This is pretty far down, even for me. What I'd like is « steak and some human society—and the society counts just as much as the steak. So if you're so anxious to help me personally. take me over to the Plaza and buy me a lunch. The girl was thunderstruck. you His grin was broadenihg. “Oh, of course. you wouldn't do it. I knew that. You're sorry, but some of your swell friends might see you, so you'll “Take stead—In spite of what I said about the society counting as much as the steak. How's that for a good guess?” His whole manner was so amusedly indulgent that it aroused, first, her contrariness, and after that, her pride. She believed now that she understood him—he wanted her to give back to him, for an hour, the full arrears of his self-respect—a bit of luxury, a bit of irresponsibility. And so few of the platoon would | have thought to ask for the pleasure of her company. She laughed. guess at all. now " As they crossed the threshold of the dining room, she almost wavered. Once seated, however, she gathered poise, and no small part of it from the nonchalance of her companion. He had said that he was hungry, and hi order bore him out; he held This, he said, with a vegetable and coffee, would satisfy him. And then he the menu aside and smiled | straight into her eyes. | *If you don’t mind my saying so." | he told her, “vou're a darned good sport.” | She smiled back at him and then | bacame serious. “I'm glad you think I meant to be. But that wasn't the only reason I brought you, “Then you're going to preach.” he said. ot very much” she promised. “‘But there was one thing 1 did want to tell you. It's this: I've always be- “No, it isn't a good Do you want to go aver so. | lleved that life won't give us much of anything free; but it'll always sell | us anything we're ready to pay for. I mean—whatever you get out of life you have to pay for. one way or an- other. And you can get practically anything you want if you care enough | about it to pay the price. Don't you agree with that?” He nodded. “Of course. Only you don't go far enough: you've got to pay regular installments—and in ad- vance, too."” ertainly. Then how are you go- to defend vourself?’ Defend myself?" Her attitude was charmingly judi- cial. “Don't you think it's rather remarkable for a man with your braln to be in a fix like this?" He gestured broadly. ‘“Leave me out of it; I'm not licked vet. And never mind how it is that so many people are out of work—the only point is, what's going to be done about it, and who's going to do it. You were wondering what you could do; well, I'm wondering what I can do. Not just for me, but for the whole crowd— especially the white-collar men.” - * ¥ ¥ % ER eyes softened. “And you can think like that—even now?" Again that boyish smile! “Wouldn't you have expected it of me?” “Yes" she said at length. “T would have - “But just at this minute,” he added buoyantly, “just at this minute—when |1 see that steak coming—my judg- | ment is that the best thing I can pos- sibly do is to eat it—and keep on talking.” In another hour she had totally for- gotten that he was a self-invited guest. Almost unconsciously she had be- gun to compare him, attribute by at- tribute, with other men she knew, and the comparison was seldom to his disadvantage. He had finally begun to confide in her; he had told her how, at seven- teen, he had gone into a factory to work with his hands, and how he had offer to slip me a five-dollar bill in- | built up his philosophy from the ground. He had told her what books had influenced him—and at this stage “Haven’t you any friends you could | she haq again brought up the subject ®o to? ; “I haven't any friends this side of the Rocky mountains." “Why, it doesn't seem possible— that a man liked you—" He motioned confidently. “I'll tell vou a secret. You can be as morry as you want to be for the common laborer, but if the worst comes to the worst, he'll take to panhandling or porch climbing, and then the world'll have to give him a living whether it owes it to him or not. But—" “T don't see that” “Why, because,” he said tolerantly, “the public pays the bills for Black- wells Island and Sing Sing. And then, again, that's the kind of man who isn't ashamed to take charity; but the fellow with a little education, with a little ambition beyond three meals a day and a place to sleep, with a little pride—the white-collar man— had you ever thought about him?" His straightforwardness, which had no whine concealed in it, redoubled her interest. “Yes,” she said, “I had. I'd thought about it a lot. And—you're an edu- cated man yourself, aren't you?" “Why, not in the sense you mean. 1 @idn't g0 to coliege, but T've read a good deal—and watched people. And that's a pretty fair education all by itself.” “I should have thought you'd have wanted to go, though. You're the type. You could have worked your way. through, couldn't you?’ “I wish 1 had gone—now. But it's rather too late.” * ¥ ¥ % of college. At the same moment the waiter, who had been hovering obtrusively near by, deposited the check at the young man’s elbow. The young man ignored it, and as for the girl, she Was never aware that it had been presented. And neither of them per- ceived that they were virtually alone in the dining room. “You see,” he said, was quite a kid when I got that same, idea you have—about paying for everything you get. I thought I just wanted to be happy, ang I thought happiness meant time to loaf, or travel, and that takes money—and money comes from power—and power comes from looking ahead. So I figured that I could learn more and get ahead faster if I went right to work.” The walter gave up ‘in disgust and departed. The girl shook her head alightly. “And it didn't turn out? Why?" The young man laughed outright “Well, nobody ean say I haven't plenty of time to loaf, anyway. But there’s one item you didn’t mention, and T didn't know.” “And what was that? “You can't get anything without paying for it, but swometimes you can pay for it and not get it.” ~“Oh, not if you really work hard enough, and sacrifice enough. His hand, on the cloth, doubled into a fist. “Don't I know everything, and I worked like one possessed. 1 put everything in the same scale—friendships, romance, di- versions, everything—and weighed it PTER a pause, she said: “The rea-| by the same standard. What does it son I stopped at that meeting|get me? And when you play it that was_just because 1 wanted-ia-belp.! way, youreyrong.1 N&Jml‘t P wrong. and you lose. Oh, it might get you money—nothing but money—but it wouldn't get you much of any con- tentment, no matter what you paid. No, I guess happiness is something like a joke—there isn't much flavor to it until you've shared it with some- body els Her eyes had depths sn them. “And there wasn't any one to share it with?” “Well, can you imagine a bird with an idea like that having much senti- ment? For a moment he turned away his head. “But it strikes me.” he said lightly, “that this is getting to be a monologue. Aren't you going to make me a picture of your lite?" “It wouldn’t even be interesting to you. No, go ahead. What are you going to do next?" He considered gravely. “T was won- dering if 1 hadn't better take my ow prescription and start all over again— by marrying somebody.” She laughed spontaneously. “So after carefully explaining to me how vou haven't been able to take care of yourself alone you think yeu'll try taking care of somebody else?" To her surprise he showed no trace of humor. “I'm not always going to| be as broke as this—or as undecided “But it sounded so funny the way HE SUNDAY . STAR, WASHINGTON, The White-Collar Beggar [ -+ | the parade reached|And then that man on the box—" The youns man started. “Oh! Why—T used to say if you were going to make a partnership agreement, just for a few yvears, with some other man to go into business, what would you do? You'd sit down and size him up. and hunt out all his defects, and figure how long it would be before they got on your nerves, and ask yourself whether you couldn't find somebody else that would last better or suit you better. And I used to say that if people went at marriage like D. C bition to rise above his father. And vet as she listened it hurt her to re- call that this man, so young and pur- poseful and enthusiastic, was himself convicted of incompetence. Else wh should he be unemployed and depend- ent upon a stranger for the very food he had eaten? “Now that,” he had said at’the end of a period, “is what I might do. And then again—this keeps coming back to me—would it be the best thing for the workmen? Of course, from my ) (& / i ( | | him again. And to her the day had Dbeen s0 pleasurable—and his remark was 80 unfathomable! She stared at him searchingly. “You don’'t mean to say you wish you hadn’t come?” “In some ways,” he said deliber- ately, “I wish I hadn't come. Be- cause it was a bad start, and I'm afraid it's going to be a worse fin- ish.” At last she spoke very slowly— almost painfully. “Don't you think— THEY HAD FORGOTTEN THE CLOCK, CLASS DISTINCTIONS AND THE SHORTNESS uF THEIR ACQUAINTANCE you said it. ‘Marry somebody! Asif you meant you'd marry anybody! As if you couldn’t even consult your own taste.” “Oh, yes, I'd do that. And my own taste is pretty good, too, thank you." * ok x ox JITH feminine inquisitiveness she| “ followed it up. “What do you| imagine she'll be like, then?" | His smile was vaguely distant, hul} it was also point blank. “Very much | like you,” he said, and then repeated it, a tone lower: “Very much like! you.” “Oh! Some one you knew at home?" omewhere else—in France, per-| haps? | And then she understood him. From a different type of man it| would have been pleasant and innocu- | ous, but from this particular person | it wasn't a blank cartridge, and she| knew it. She flushed, but she| couldn't pretend to be angry. In-| deed, she almost loved him for his ingenuousness. “That's very silly, of course—" | “Is it? Why? i She was pleased and touched, but she dropped her eves. “You can an-| swer that better yourself.” “1 told you how practical 1 used to| be,” he said eventually. “One of the| things I was practical about was mar- | riage. I used to say it was the most | impractital form of contract in the| whole world, because both people as | much as have to guarantee they'd always feel the same way to- ward each other.” Again he lapsed into silence. looked up at him. She | me with some of my wild schemes, that don’t think I'd be cad enough to throw that there might be some chance o getting away with it.” a And you've changed vour mind?" | “I still don’t jump at conclusions,.” | he said. “I analyze people. That was| what 1 was doing to you—and it's| I said that. Because—well, you're generous and kind-hearted and | sympathetic—T knew that long ago. | You're democratic and tactful and—| and courageous. You've got ideals.| And then you're friendly and—very | lovely. What I don't see is how you' can be all that, after the way you| must have lived and the people you| must have gone with.” i She was putting a finger in and out | of her glove. “I don’t think anybedy | ever sald anything nicer to ine, but| I'm afraid you're misjudging me trightfully.” He gave her his quiszical smile. “1} really wasn't proposing to you, you know.” Here she gasped. “I was simply answering your question.” She was paying more attention to the glove. “And after you've located this paragon—and analyzed her—and decided that vou cun stand her de- fects. ; “Why, then.” he said, “if she were| w1l that. she'd probably want to help| why wouldn't she?" “And with whose money? Hers?" He stiffened. “No matter how down and out I might be. I wouldn't ever marry for money. But if I liked a girl. and she happened to be rich, T her over on that accoun She discarded the glove. “Well, | suppose you had all the money you needed?" she said. point of view, it would be, but {rnm’ theirs—who knows? And that's where 80 many beautiful schemes fall down. because people do what they think ought to help others—and nine| imes out of ten they're wrong.” | She drew a very long breath. “If1 had the money I'd like nothing better than to see that through.” He had made no response, but in| his eyes she had detected a fleu(m;i expression which moved her, an ex-| pression of hopelessness which was| pathetic, because there was nothing | else pathetic and much that was in-| domitable about him. | From the imaginative, then. mr,\i had drifted somehow back to the per-! sonal. and she had caught herself! more than once in the reflection that, both in manner and in disposition he was what you might call lovabl And as time passed she beheld on h face, at intervals more and more fre quent, that same expression which had already affected her. She inter- preted it now not so much as appre-| hension for the far-distant future l for that nearer future which was almost upon him—the future which | was to mark the end of the dav and to send him back to his brother fail- ures. “TAKE ME TO THE PLAZA AND BUY MY LUNCH,” SAID HE TO THE GIRL. HE afterncon had long since worn away; the room was slowly filling with fashionables come for tea, but the two had forgotten the clock. And in forgetting the clock they had also forgotten class distinctions and the shortness of their acquaintance. In the beginning he had sketched for her a model factory and a modern village, but between his plans and those of other Utopians there was a ‘wide divergence, because this man seemed to know what he was talking about. His chief interest was in the youth, the clerk. the helper, with am-, He proved her intuition correct. “You've given me an afternoon in a thousand,” he =aid abruptly. “And T've repaid you very badly. She answered: *“No; it's the other way around.” “You see, I didn’t know it was go- ing to be like this. I thought you might bring me over here and talk a little and I'd never see you again. If T'd known it would be like this—" He left the sentence unfinished. * % x % HE kmew that above all else she could imagine aje. { shown you! | tim, everything considered—you owe it to me—to explain that?” He nodded. “I was going to, any- way.” And after a moment he went on, with utter simplicity. “I said if 1 ever wanted to marry anybody, she'd have to be like you. Only there isn't anybody else like you.” The color faded from her cheeks. “You shouldm't have said that. And it isn't true.” ot true?* aybe because you're grateful to “Grateful!” tude's the he said. “Why, grati- one quality I haven't Her eyes were wide, and she was fumbling with her gloves. “You've been such a nice boy, so far—" Boy? I'm twenty-eight!” ou're only a boy, just the same. and you've had such a hard time of it. and you're — impressionable — and—-—" I've sat here and watched you and talked to ¥you,” he said, “and sized vou up—the way I told you. And then 1 forgot to keep on doing it. Nobody ever made me do that before. And I've always known that whoever did » Involuntarily she put out her hand to him. “Please don't say any more.” “But T want you to hear ail of it.” “I'll believe everything—but it's to go. Really.” ou've got to hear it. It began You asked me if right at the start T'd been in the war, and- He broke off short; he was gazing directly over her head, and on his face there was a look of supreme consternation. An elderly gentieman, plump and prosperous, had borne down upon them, both hands out- stretched. The young man was strug- gling to rise. “Why, Maj. Gilmore!” cried the elderly gentleman with abandon. “What in Sam Hill are you doing in New York? Stopping here, are you? So'm I. Say. I've heard vou're talking about opening up one or two branches of the plant. That straight? Because if it is, I've got to see if I can't sell vou a couple of hundred thousand dollars’ worth of steel bars. Can I see you tomorrow?” =% = HE young man sat down again, as it benumbled. The girl's face was averted, but he could see that her lips were trembling. “Well,” he said, uncertainly, “that saves the preface, anyway. But plagues on that man. I wanted to break it to you myself. She made no effort to speak to him. “You see” he said contritely, “I'd; made a heap of momey—on top of some that was left me. And then I'd closed down my plant when every- body else did. And then it sort of got under my skin. I thought I'd like to get their side of it. And the only way to understand the masses is to get down where the masses are. So I came on here, and for two weeks I've been living and eating and sleeping and parading with those chaps—try- ing to decide what I ought to do. ‘What's best for them. Because in the long run that'll be the best thing for everybody. And then you came along—and I thought it was funny. at first—your taking me for one of the gang—and I wanted to see what a woman in your class would think about it—and I was hungry, too; so 1 didn’t lie and—" class. My class! made of me! Oh, the fool, the fool!” He leaned toward her. “Oh, my dear——" “The day I've given to you, when I wanted—oh, I did want to help some- body that needed it. I told you I couldn’t do much, but I wanted to do what T could!” She managed to lift Lhey wergwet With | | outraged pride. “And all you've done is to make a fool of me. What you let me say to you. The only time in my life I've been in a place like this! It was for you. I thought it would help you—you said it would. I thought I was doing something so fine for you. And to have it—turn out—this wa. “My dear- Her voice betrayed her. “It was because I know how it feels—to be one of the—the white-collared people —in these days. He caught her hand across the table. “What “Yes. It is funny—isn't it? My trying to do something for you—oh, T'm not a rich gadabout; I'm a secre- tary—to a society woman uptown. It was her car—yes, and these are her clothes, if you've got to know it They didn’t fit her, that's all. And I'd been out of a place all summer— and this mornin’ I'd got my first month's salary. and a holiday—and 1 did want to share it with some one who wasn't so lucky. And then— you!" His grip on her hand tightened. “If it's true that you've got to pay for everything you get out of life, maybe vou've paid in advance not worth what you've paid. But if T am—and you certainly said that if you could you'd like to see some of my schemes through—well, is there any reason why at least you won't talk 1t over?” He was to take her home. and meet her again in an hour's time, and he would listen to no argument—they must dine at the same place, and the same table. As he beckoned to the waiter, the girl said to him, in an undertone which haq symptoms of both laughter and tears in it: “But honestly—how am I ever going to forgive you? How am I ever going to trust you—after all that—perfectly ghastly deceit?” He had picked up the check and reached toward an inner pocket now he stayed his hand and smiled radi- antly. “Deceit? 1 never lied to you one ot once. Not even about money. Somebody in the parade this morning pinched my billbook. All I've got is that handful of change—until I can get to a bank. So, would you mind slipping a poor guy about six dollars, lady?” (Copyright, 192 Maybe I'm to ) Goes 14,000 Miles To Become Bride BY WILL P. KENNEDY. P-TO-THE-MINUTE evidence that romance cannot be stified and is sometimes born in that somber gray building near the White House, where affairs of state and international negotia- tions are guarded in oppressive se- crecy, is furmished by Miss Mary H. MaeDonnell, a beautiful and talented Washington girl, who this week is starting on a 14,000-mile journey to the capital of Persia to be married to Dr. A. C. Millspaugh, a young American, who is reorganizing the financial affairs of that government. From the model city of Washington and out of the most thoroughly mod- ern civilization and progressive life to be found anywhers in the world, this young woman will travel alone by primitive routes through lands that were “civilized by the sword” ages before America was discovered, across a great salt desert, across lands that have been a theater of warfare for 00 years, since Cyrus in B. C. 559-529, by conquering and uniting Media, Babylonia, Lydia and all Asia Minor, became the founder of the Persian empire. Through the regions where the greatest chieftains of ancient history fought for monarchies—the three Dariuses, Xerxes, the three Artaxer- xes and Alexander—this dainty prod- uct of modern civilization and culture will journey with her heart as guide to the ancient city of Teheran, which was fixed as his capital by the ruler Futteh Ali Shah in 1796—to keep her troth, She goes alone to this next station in her romance, which began when Dr. Millspaugh was economic adviser to the State Department and she was his private secretary, but she goes under the protection of two govern- ments, carrying letters from the Sec- retary of State and the Persian min- ister, and with personal acquaintances in the diplomatic corps and consular service ready to care for her at each of the principal stopping places on MISS MARY MACDONNELL. Photo by Clinedinst. her long journey that will take at least two months. For five years Miss MacDonnell has been a confidential employe of the Department of State. She is a native of Lynn, Mass., and a graduate of the Massachusetts State Normal School at Salem. She was educated in private schools, is a musician, playing the harp and piano. and has delighted ‘Washington audiences as a member of the Washington Opera Company. It must have been the little blind god of love who nudged the assign- ment clerk’s elbow and directed that she should be assigned as private sec- retary to Dr. Millspaugh. He was considered a confirmed bachelor, and 50 keen and brilliant himself that he had scant patience with any clerk. So the appointment clerk was in des- peration to find an efficient secretary for him. Miss MacDonnell seemed sent to meet the emergency. It is generally admitted around the State Department that a fair portion of the notable work done by Dr. Millspaugh as foreign trade advisor, as the first petroleum specialist the department ever had, and for whom the office of economic advisor was originated, owed its great success to the careful co-operation of Miss Mao- Donnell. Dr. Millspaugh was born in Augusta, Mich., forty years ago. He received his education in economics and po- litical science at Albion College, the University of Nlinots and Johns Hop- kins University. He has received many degrees. He has been instruc- tor in political sctence at Johns Hop- kins and professor of political science at Whitman College, Washington state. He was appointed a consul of class 4, July 1, 1921. He is the author of sev- eral political treatises. As the first petroleum specialist of the State Department, he was in close touch with all that the United States government did for three years in lending {its support to American petroleum interests in foreign cou tries. He was always consulted in on-qil questions the Tniteq States government party—the most important of wk have had to do with Mesopotamia and equality of opportunity for America oil men under the British mandate; the Dutch East Indies, and the grant- ing of an exclusive concession by th Netherlands government for exploita- tion and development work in the Djambi oil field to Royal Dutch inter- ests; Mexico and its oil confiscation DR. ARTHUR C. MILLSPAUGH. Photo by Clinedinst and taxation problems; the so-called Chester concession in the Mesop: tamian fields by the Angora gover ment, and, more recently, Persia and the conflicting claims of the Stand ard and Anglo-Persian oil companics to concessions in that country In anticipation that the interna- tional oil situation might be taken up fully at the recent Washington conference on limitation of arma- ments, a report was prepared by Dr. Millspaugh for information of Amer ican delegates and economic advise that was characterized as the most complete document of the sort ever drafted. ‘While an official of the State De- partment, Dr. Millspaugh was in close touch with important American and foreign interests and was well known to leading officials, members of Con- gress and giplomats interested in i ternational aspects of the oil situ tion. A year ago, while assigned important mission to London, he was engaged by the Persian government to reorganize its financial affairs, The contract, which runs for five years, was approved by the Persian majlis or parliament, at a salary of $15,000 The work which Dr. Millspaugh now performing is somewhat similar, but broader in scope than that per formed some years ago by W. Morgan Shuster. also of this city, who was treasurer general of Persia. Mr. Millspaugh organized a staff of spe- cialists, taken mostly from the United States government service, to assist him in his mission, which in spite of | political upheavel, is progressing most | satisfactorily. | When Dr. Millspaugh went | Persia last year he tried hard to per- | suade his flance to accompany him, but she was not quite ready to leave her parents and two sters with whom she lived at 2252 Cathedral avenue, formerly occupied by Wil- liam B. Wilson when Secretary of | Labor. When Dr. Millspaugh was unable to come for his bride, she decided she would make the far trip alone to cheer him and again help, in his try- ing work among strangers in a strange land So, after well w es from all her associates in the ate Department, from Secretary Hughes to the mes- senger, and a series of farewell parties, Miss MacDonnell is sailing from New York on the Lafayette (French liner). She will go direct to Paris and to the American embassy. There will be letters and a cablegram awaiting her from Dr. Millspaugh, advising her regarding the final stages of her trip and just where he will be able to meet her. The shortest route from Paris will take forty da and it is probable that she will t the long water route. From Paris she will proceed to Mar- seilles, where Consul Wesley Frost, with whom she is personally well ac- quainted, will meet her. Then by boat Miss MacDonnell will journey down the Mediterranean sea to Alexandria, where she will be met by Consul Les- ter Maynard. From Alexandria she will proceed to Cairo, Egypt, where she will be under the care of the American minister, J. Morton Howell; then on to Port Said, where Consul Coert du Bois will make arrange- _ ments for her trip through the Suez canal, down the Red sea, through the Strait of Babel-Mandeb, past French Somaliland and by way of the Gpif of Aden, sailing across the south front of Arabla and across the Arabian sea, to Bombay, India, where Consul Wil- (Continued ABaSixil -Pige) to an °