Evening Star Newspaper, December 2, 1923, Page 80

Copy Book Stuff -8y SOPHIE KERR in the Cle- HERE air, keen troubling. burne’s paying gue bled at dinner, were aware of 1t, and ate their delicious orange cus- tard in silence. They had heard the custard cups being thumped down on the serving tray out in the pantry. They had seen the scared eyes of Regina, the colored waitress, as she came in. Even the lovely aquiet of the June evening and the majesty of Mrs. Cleburne herself did not reas- sure the guests. The custard being Edwards and her married sister, Mrs Worell, hurricd away to the movies M. Pentz thought he'd just step down to the store and look up one or two bad accounts Mr. Bert Gre wly disappezred. Mrs. Ogleby, the high-school teache also vanished. “T have some theme: to correct,’ he said. Remaining at the table, were only Mrs. Cleburne, her daugh- ter Marie and Alec Lowden, who had eaten his custard and stayed for coffee, with no apparent cognizance of the human storm raging so near. Alec Lowden Irad set out 10 become the great American painter, Now, gt thirty-two, he was commer- clal artist on the staft of an adver- tising agency. TFor three summers he had come out and spent five months at Mrs. Cleburne's, commuting to the city, and was, therefore, almost like one of the family. Marie Cleburne rolled her eyes sig- nificantly tow the pantry and ®ald: “How did she find out “Why-—you se hesitated Mrs. Cleburne—"T had the dress sent out €. 0. D., I hadn't quite enough money with me; and when it came, I simply #ald to Martha: ‘Let me have ten dol- lars, dear. will you? And at once she began to be disagreeable “But she gave it to you? “Well—I've got the dress on.’”” Mrs. Cleburne glanced down complacently at herself. "My dear. 1 had to have something. I was In rags, literally in rags. This is only a little thing; but after yeur peach-bloom taffetaclfelt that I couldn't afford anything! better. We mothers must be unseMish, Mr. Lowden.” She gave Alec Lowden a smiling, sweet glance. “I don't know why she's so set on going to this dance, anyway,” pur- sued Marie. “Martha takes fancies lik sometimes. And it worries me death to persuade her out of them.” But Mrs. Cleburne’s placid face didn’t show a line. “I'd be glad enough to have her &0,” conceded Marie. “But she's got no dress, and nobody to take her, and I simply can’t have her hanging along with me now that Gus Kramer—you know what I mean, mother.’ *x x MARIE got up slow ever applled to manager for a job, been described tcchnically blond, good show-girl type.” Her mother's gaze dwelt on her fondly as she disappeared. “It's my greatest delight just to look at Marid" she explained to Alec. “She's exactly what 1 exactly. With her figure—she could marry any any one! If we could only afford to %o to some really fashionable sum- mer resort for just one season- ) e rose, with just a hint of haste. ou don't mind if I leave vou? I want to speak to Marle.” “What she really wants is to get from under before Martha steps in, thought Alec. Aloud he sald, “Oh, I mind, of course, Mrs. Cleburne, who wouldn't? But under the circum- stances—" He rose and bowed. He did not sit down again but walked over and flung open the pantry door. “Come on in and get your dinner, Marth he said. “You've scared ‘em all away but me. Come in and tell me all about the row."” The girl who entered and dropped down wearily at the table was neither big nor blond, nor near to beauty. She was of no type, nondescript, me- diam height, with dark, untidy hatr, a determined little chin, and lips drawn tight. Her pink calico dress was faded. Her sleeves were rolle up, her collar open. almond-shaped, with flecks of green and brown In their shadowy depths, fringed with heavy lashes, intensely alive, intensely unhappy, redeemed - her from insignificance. “I don’t want anything but a cup of coftee, Regina,” she said to the the waltre; “Oh, eat some soup,” urged Lowden. #That was wonderful soup tonight. You made it, didn’t you?" “I got the whole dinner. Ann hes gone on strike.” “How come?” “Ah, there you have it said Martha, “My, that soup is good!” “Bring some chicken and some rice and the fruit ealad and hot rolls for 2Aliss Martha, Regina\" ordered Low- den. “What was all was electricity Mrs. finished, Miss that 1t she had any theatrical she would have as Amella the row about?” asked Lowden presently. “Why are you on the war path? Everybody sat here trembling, expecting to see you enter with war cries and toma- bawks.” t “r'd've liked to. I have got’em ter- rorized, haven't I? But they stay— they stay. That's my cooking—mine and Amelia Ann's.” “You may well tell me. It's #something about your mother’s new dress—and that club dance Marie's Eolng to tomorrow night “So they've been talking. Then I suppose I may, too. It's a simple story. I paid the.town tax yesterday and the insurance, and I hadn’t a red Jeft. And I'd promised Amelia Ann ten dollars’ advance for an install- sment on her furniture set. By dig- ®ing and scraping and stalling off the fmtcher I got the ten dollars, and fhen mother went into Baltimore, )w!m that new dress, and had it to| “big | Only her eves, | assem- - IShe'll be back tomorrow, | therefore, | at her age, | ment's pleasure, I'll only be too glad face—and her|to martyr m one— | ) | the box came this afternoon—at first | sent out C. O. D, | her send it back.” “Why didn’t you?” “I hardly know. I was so tired and there was so much to do, and she | eried and carried on so. So 1 gave her the ten doilars, Amelia Ann went cn strike, and I had to get dinner. though.” do with 1 ought to 've made 1 “But what has all this | the dance tomorrow night?” Something pitiful and young flashed across Martha's face, and was gone, “Oh, T got a silly streak. I got it into my head, somehow, that I'd ke to go to that dance. So I told mother to look around when she was in town and see if she could find a little dress for me at the sales. And—and when | —T thought—that was what it wa She stopped abruptly. oh, well, it really doesn't matter,” e went presently. “I'd have had a dull time, T suppose. But I'd just | ed to sit and look—lights and | music and young people, and no ciean towels to think about, nor grocer's orders, nor Amella Ann. Oh, darn gverything” She laughed. “I had a brain-storm, T can tell you. Mother and Marle cringed, and as for poor Regina— she cowered every time I touched a butcher knife. Anyway, we've blown ourselves for a magnificent costume for Marle, and she certainly ought to be able to make Gus Kramer fall when he sees her in it. Ops, my dear! She sure do look malicious, as Regina says. And if she only can get Gus—that'll be one liability written off this establishment. But Gus is spoiled, and Marie is a poison mush- room to talk to— one of the deadliest amanitas who ever killed a conversa- tion. Give me a clgarette, will you? “Come outside and smoke it. You have to wash the dishes?” “No, Regina will. Golly, its fine to sit down and loaf with a sympa- thetic soul.” o (THERE goes vour mother down the street” said Lowden, as they sat on the side porch. “Where's she off to—the movies?” ‘No: going down to play bridee with old Mrs. Granger and the Millses. She’ll come home with thirty cents' winnings, and as pleased as Punch. Funny about mother—she's ono of those women who never look at the truth, never see it. When she was a girl she thought she'd marry money and live in a big house, and have lots of servants and entertain a lot. She @uarried father, who was as poor as poverty, and hounded him into buy- ing this place and let him work him- self to death trying to pay for it. Then we had to take boarders. But it's all the same to mother. She's liv- Ing in & big house, even if it is nearly tumbling down; she’s got servants— me and Regina and Amelia Ann; she has guests—who pay their way, to be sure, but what difference does that make?” “Are vou sure” asked Lowden, “that you look at the truth, This dance, for instance. Can't you really Without @ man, and dress? Alec, wake up. “So far as the man take you. without a concerned, I'll 1f it will give you a mo- elf.” “1 don’t mind In the least martyr- ing you' said Martha, “but even o, I can't go. I've only got that old white organdie I made myself. “It won't do. You ought never to wear white, Martha. It's hideously unbecoming to you. Hasn't Marie got a dress you could snitch, in an emer- gency like this?” “Marie would seream till you could | hear her in Baltimore before she'd let me take a rag of hers.” ced she know It—until after- ward? She can hardly scream at the dance, before the captious Gus.” Martha began to laugh. “Marie's got & white crepe de chine that will be perfectly all right for me. I'll have to hem it up.” “But it's white. Hasn't she got something in a brilliant color—flame, or Indian red, or orange, or henna?” “They don't suit our dear Marie's simple girlish style.” “Bring down the dress anyway, and let me look at it.” “I can’t get it yet. She's sitting up- sairs at the front window waiting for Gus Kramer to come in his car and toot the horn for her. Believe me, Alec, if any man came for me in his car and sat and tooted the horn, I'd never run out to him, unless maybe 1 had & full-size, bard-hitting brick in either hand.” “What & little tough you are.” “Yes, I am. I'm fed up with trying to run this place on & shoestring, and mother and Marle nothing but & pair of parasites. Just when I get some- thing lald aside for the plumber, dear Marie has to have new pumps. $14, bing; or mother blows herself to a frock, as per today. And what do I get? Seven days a week of heavy toil. Well, pardon my rav- ings. . . . Listen—there's the Noble Gustus—" d A low, sporty car stopped well out in the street and the song of the hooter was heard in the land. They could hear Marie's rush down stairs, the flattering joy of'her greeting. In- articulate ' gutturals replled. The car “chuffed,” slid away. 5 *“May she be inspired to brilllancy— untll she’s got him,” sald Martha fer- vently, “Send her a thought-wave, Alec, maybe it'll help the poor old bean to spark.” “You skip up ‘and get that dress, commanded Lowde: Martha appeared with & limp whit ness spread on her arm. “Here it is, she said. “Come inside where we can white, the color turning Martha’ dark skin to an ugly sallowness she held it before her. “Nothing but a slip and a sash,” ghe said. “But not bad when {t's on, really.” Lowden fingered the soft stuff, “It ought to\be flame-color. The only %Thanged to fiery thing to do is to dye it. gasoline?” “Now, Martha. Marie would have a fir.” “What does it matter? fororime, Martha, you and I. what is all this?" said Il dye put the eye out of everything at that dance. As for Marie—what can she it she does and red noses are so un- becoming to blondes. Come on, bring out that gasoline—quick.” * Kok X 'You can't dye this dress: | Let's go in | | ALE(‘K ran upstairs like a boy, | pulled out his trunk, and began a | terrific rummaging therein. the very bottom he found it, the old tin box, a queer little casket to hold dead hope and abandoned ambition. He opened it and fingered the tubes of color, rejecting this one, choosing that At last he had three nd banged the tin box shut. ‘The mere touch of the paints bim a thrill. He squeezed paint into the gasoline, first from one tube, then another. The colorless fluid became red, then orange. He added vermillion. Now it was flame, hue of sunsets, of great falling coals from smoldering logs, or the wild spurts of hot color that one sees when the flare of converters leaps into the blackness of night. “Glory,” said Martha. a hula girl! Lowden did not reply. tively he watched his bre squeez- ing, stirring, trying the tint on a dust cloth, salvaging from the pantry. gave “I'll look like Specula- At last he spoke, triumphantly, au- | thoritatively. “Give me the dress.” He dipped it in, swirled it round and round, lifted it and looked at it critically, put it back in the bowl, while Martha gazed fascinated at the limp, wet, brilliant silken garment: “That color's glorious!” she sald at last. He gently squeczed and patted the dress. “We must hang it up some- where now, outdoors preferably. I think it's going to be all right. It'll smell to heaven—you'll have to put it where it can be warm all day to- morrow or it'll whiff up the whols dance. And it'll need pressing “Give me the bowl of gore and the murderer's togs,” said Martha. “Talk about crime! Alec, Alec, you im- petuous, hot-headed youth—' “Cut it out,” said Alec Lowden, but he felt a cheerful warmth at the words. “Run along, destroy the evi- dence and conceal the body. I must clean this stuff off my hands. By this ALEC LEANED HIS TALL BODY:AGAIN CALLY. Ah—at | | foot. MARIE PUSHED THROUGH THE CROWD. “H OW DID YOU GET HERE?” SHE DEMANDED. Got any | time tomorrow we'll be going it.” burst info song: “Will you not come to the ball? You are-the fairest of all. Tiddy-tum, tiddy-tum, tum— took a few tum, He fantastic a pleasant o'm ccasion and gown. * ok ok * OWDEN tapped cautiously at the | little hot third-floor room that | i o w o Martha's. “She’s gone,” he whi Does it smell | wa “Are you ready? Martha flung open the dress He tum, | steps. this dress a color that will simply | “Martha, I'm beginning to anticipate | said Martha grimly, re- | do? Cry? She'll only get a red nose | treating to the kitchen with the bowl | dgor and | stood before him in the flame-colored | “How does it look?" she asked. | “I can't help thinking it's pretty de- “But—but—that dress—-"" Mrs. Cleburne pointed a trembling finger. “Oh, just a little trifie T had sent | over from Paris,” answered Martha airily. She bestowed on Mr. Pentz a knowing twinkle, “Why, you look a perfect peach exclaimed that gentleman, gurgling. “Thanks, old dear,” sald Martha. “That was just what I wanted to know., But I'm afraid we must run along.” As they stepped into the cool warmth of the summer night Alec softly: “First round, and a In the semi-darkness Martha smiled ironically: “Old Pentzy did play up. I hope all this doesn't | bring on one of mother’s attacks.” “What do you mean attacks?" “Oh, temper mostly; sometimes in- digestion. But she calls it heart | said cent, even if it is the loudest garment | trouble.” in the world. wall and looked at her, critically. He had been right! was wonderful. He grinned. “You'll do. want you to g0 down to Mari and make up. lip rouge, a d cheeks.” “I hate paint—makes me feel as if my face wasn't clean ou do as I tell you. son.” He would not say so, but he thought too exquisite for the Martha would have a better time If she were not too dif- her too lovely aim they sought. ferent. “I had only pers, these otd black “I say, Alec, you yourself. up before.” “Then we're ready as soon as you Hurry! Your mother's in the parlor talking to Pentz. We'd better sneak out the get the old war paint on. side_door.” “Not much. ment is past something.” MES * % ok ox CLEBURN! stiffened and stared. a moment did not identify man in evening cloth brilliant girl by his side. “Martha!" exclaimed Mr regaining power of speech. den! What—where—" “Alec and I thought we'd look in at said Martha, e taken yvou the club dance, mother, languidly elegant. ‘gray cape—" It isn't 8o very whiffy.” He leaned his tall body against the carefully, Martha ow s room Not much—but a little h of powder and a very, very little color high on your There's a slip- she sald, thrusting out a slim look spiffy 1 never saw you all dolled The time for conceal- Come along, let's start . holding forth a | steady monologue to Mr. Pentz, Mr. Pentz for the tall nor the dark, Cleburne, “Mr. Low~ said Lowden, “vou have But don't let it make you “Martha,” a hard life. hard.” grandpa,” she retorted. But she gave his arm a friendly pres- I|sure. *“Oh, heavens, I'm getting ex- cited she aid after a moment. “Alec, do you—do you really think I'll have any sort of time?" “I do think you're going to have a good time, Martha Every one here knows every one else so well that a new girl is a sensation. That's what you'll be, practically a new girl” “And, after all, it doesn't matter either way,” said Martha. Then she burst out: “It does matter, awfully. You'd never know how terribly I wanted to go to this little tuppenny- ha'penny dance. I feit as though it were a symbol—that if I didn't go it meant that I'd be shut up there in the kitchen forever and ever. I care awfully about having a good time."” Since they were late there was no one in the clubhouse dressing room. Martha settled herself before the dressing table and went over her make-up with the utmost care. This slim creature of flame and cloud en- tranced Martha. She ran downstairs to Alec, securely gay. “Oh, let's get in before the music stop: she cried. They had not gone once around the big ballroom before the questions be- gan “Why, who is that?” “Who's the tangerine”” “Who's the vamp in red?” Gus Kramer, dancing ith Marie, craned his neck isn't that your ster Martha?" fercy—no! Martha here? you'd better get spectacles.” “Well, it looks like her. Look— r | over -there with that tall old chap from your mother’s boarding house.” Gus, ST THE WALL AND.LOOKED AT HER CAREFULLY, CRITI “HE GRINNED. “YOU'LL DO.” : The music stopped and Marie had time for a good look. The crowd was clapping for an encore,- but Marie pushed through them, Gus close be- hind her. “How did you get here?” she de- manded bluntly. Martha turned hello, Marie! to see you! “Give me the next dance?" asked eagerly. No, but the one after that” Martha smiled at him, provocatively. The music began again and she drift- ed away with Alec. “But where did she get that dress?” Marie asked Gus piteocusly. “She she didn’t have it yesterday. I don’t belleve mother knew she was com- ing. ‘Oh, wake up,” remarked Gus cava- lierly. “Martha's of age. She sure looks like a queen tonight. 1 always thought Martha would be good look- iug if she'd only get the plumage. There's something peppy about her ® & * those eyes of hers Marie grew rigid with anger. Gus— raving about Martha. And Martha dancing past her debonairly was fur- ther offense. “You're getting on all right,” den assured Martha. “Wait till the end of this dance. You'll be the cen- ter of a raging mob." “T hope sc,” said Martha. isn't it?™ carelessly. “Oh, Hello, Gus! How jolly Isn't the music nice!” Gus “It's fun, * x k% ‘HE music stopped. As when a kaleidoscope is turned, the rose and blue and white and maize and emetald. frocks moved, Interweaving, toward the chairs against the wall or the long windows that gave on the veranda. Simultaneously the black coats took a pattern of their own, largely converging on the point of flame that was Martha. “The next. Martha.”. . . Gus, 1 spoke first.” ¢ * ¢ “Give me the two after that. Miss Cle- burne, please, let me make you up a program.” ... “Cut.it—we agreed there'd be no programs at - these dances. First come, first—" “The next dance s Gus." said Martha. “And the one after that is Mr, Lowden. I'm not going to promise more than two ahead.” She rightly gauged the value of -uncers tainty. Gus carried her off in tri- umph. Marie sat abandoned and for- lorn, in spite of the peachbloom taf- feta. Alec dropped down beside her. ‘Give me the next. won't you?" he asked good-humored!, “All right,” agreed Marie drearily. Then, turning to him, for, after all, he was like one of the family, she com- plained: “T don’t know what to make of Martha. And where did she gqver get such a loud dress? And she's painted—Martha—painted “The men seem to like it,” Lowden pointed out to her gently. “After all, she’s not made up any more than— vou, for instance.” “But that's different” She was naive'in her selfishness. {Martha's not—not—"" Her slow mind fumbled for words. “Come along, the music's starting.” Lowden-said, and Marie rose. She.did not talk while they danced, but kept looking after Gus and Martha. Martha came back to Alec, trium- phant. “Gus wants to take me out in his car tomorrow night.” she confided. “He upbraids md for never letting him know what sort of girl I really am. What sort of girl am I, Alec, do you think?" * { “It you asked the girls here tonight they’d say you are a designing little cat. If you asked the men they'd say ‘Some peach’.” “And which would you say?" “Fiey-fitty. Martha—are you flirt- ing with me?” “rda filrt with old Mr. Pentz tonight. Me for the primrose path after this. And, by the way, do you want'to dance with me agailn? If o, speak up quick.” “Conc; Ny of youtl Glve m and I'll be satisfled. “The question is—will I be?” “Martha, you are trying to flirt with me. Listen, you rapacious in- fant. T'll sit on the side lines and cheer for you. I'll leap in and claim the dance. HOw is that? “Very noble. Incited, 1 imaging, be- cause you're getting winded from un- usual exercisc. Alec ... lsn’t Marie one wild woman?" “Wild s right.” “T've been thinking things out. Last night I had one ldea—well, now I've two. I'm going to spring the latest when I get home.” A squad of pleading youths swept her away from him. True to his promise, he dropped into a dim cor- ner and watched her gayety. She was radiant, illumined—but not for a mo- ment.-did she lose her head. . “Charm,” thought Lowden, observ- ing her, “is woman’s sword and shield —also, sometimes her greatest self- intoxicant, I wonder wa.” * x %k drifted back to the days when he, too, had youth and heedless- ness’ and Irresponsibility, and a pro- ‘found. belief in himself. Paris ‘with Aw, 100k, ; TIl resign in faver the last dance, its violet vales of mists, its teasing sunshine on gray streets, its luring vistas, its little parks of sparkling green—and he in the midst of 1t painting all day, dancing all night, | wasting himself as all young things do, certain that in the end his talent would carry him through. And he had talent! Even now he was sure of that. How had he lost his faith in the magic of his hands? He looked down at them musingly. They were the same hands that had made the sketches that had won master's praises, his high approving word. And again he felt in them the same tremor of excitement that had thrill- ed him when he handled the long un- touched tubes of paint last night. What if he should get out his pal- ette and set it, stretch a bit of can- vas and seek again that old dis carded magic? This room, now— arched, glowing: these figures, amus- ing modern types, all of them; Martha, in her provocative scarlet- orange, to-dominate and accent them all T'll be getting painter's colic next,” he tried to laugh at himself. But the temptation stayed. Why not try it? A man had“a right to lay with his chosén toye. He had almost forgotten to watch for Martha, but suddenly she was standing beside him. “It's the last dance,” she said. “Sorry to disturb your slumbers.” “You didn’t disturb my slumbers— only my dreams,” he said. After the dance, as they came out on the veranda, Gus Kramer stopped them. “I'm sure you're too tired to walk. he sald to Martha, ignoring Alec. “1 can run Marie around home and be right back after you. Please wait" “No.” said Martha; “I'd rather walk with Alec. “If you're tired I'll get the village taxi,” Alec offered, as Gus and Marie turned away toward his car, “Tired—nonsense. I'm all keyed up for the approaching scene at home.” There was a light in the parlor of the Cleburne house, “The lions are in thers, waiting to be fed,” said Martha. “Wait on the side poreh.” “Make it snappy.” he whispered. She straightened herself and walk- ed in the half-opened door. Lowden stopped in the hall, a shameless eaves- dropper. “Before you begin, either of you,” he heard Martha's crisp tones, “you may as well listen to me. I've found out a lot of things tonight. I'Ve found out that I don’t need to drudge and carry the burden I've been car- rying. I've found out that I can dance and have a good time like other girla, a little better than most of them. And so, from this time on, T intend to do it. If you want to play fair and give me my share, all right. If you don't, I'll take it anyway. But I'm golng to share a few things. For instance, you, mother, after this, will make the dinner desserts. You're a wondertul cook, and You may as well help. And you, Marle, will take over the third floor sweeping, dusting bed- making, scrubbing the bath—every- thing that I've been doing on both floors, up until now; and I'll see to it that you do it right. If you don't— you lose Gus. You saw him tonight. Do you want him, or not?’ Inarticulate nioses of fury cated that Marie wanted Gus. “Well, then, look out. And thanks very much for your white dress. This is it—dyed. The color doesn't suit you, so I'll keep it. Good night.” * Xk X X LEC fled sllently to the side porch. She found him there a moment later. “That was my second bright idea,” she told him. “Oh, you were right, Alec; I wasn't seeing true. And some- thing else is right, though I'd never dreamed it could be. Namely, the copybook.” N “The copybool “Yes, the copybook. Don't you re- member how we used to write: ‘Life s what we male it’ 1 always dis- trusted that sentiment. But it's true —to the extent of our own capacity, that is. There was a halting silence. lit & cigarette. “What was your other idea—the he asked curiously. Why, I meant to vamp Gus and snatch him away from easier than I expected. inadi- Alec “Only I don’t want him. . I don't want & man who can be caught by a red frock and a smear of paint. Too chea, 1 wouldn't have him for a Bift.” “Phere aren’t any men around here who ‘are fit for you, Martha.” Alec spoke the words sincerely, honestly. He became aware of a tingling, electric silence. “Oh . . .1...don't.,.know! drawled DMartha, Wwith uttermost meaning.. Then she.jumped up and vanished in the house. He heard her running upstalrs, the distant slam of 'her door, The Lions Were Wait ing to Be Fed. “Stay on the Side Porch,” in This Diverting Story of Love in a “Select Boarding House”? * He sat up and stare night. The darling li little rascal! Did she mean it? she? After all, he was only twel years older than she—the dreams of jearlier evening came back with a |snap. For a girl like Martha any man, even a failure, might achieve the impossible. What a pal, what a wife she would make! She'd never be satisfied with a failure | But If there was anything in thar { copybook stuff she'd talked about— | there must be! He would get out his paints again and go to it. Perhaps + . . mo, surely, this time, He came in, stepping smiling to himself. Life is what w | make it. And tomorrow is always a new day. A new day—with Martha ie scamp! The blithely (Copyright, 1823.) Use Rammed Earth in House Building (Continued from Third Page.) earth wall. When the mold fs taken down and the blocks removed the floor beams may immediately be put Into the holes thus left and fastened. : Nor is there any danger of the wood rotting. As the earth dries it protects the wood from all-destroy- ing fungi and bacteria. Wood has been found in wrecked pise bulldings in England and France which was a hundred years old or more and it was as sound as when it was put in Seasoned lumber should be used, of course. After the mold has been set up on the foundation the first layer of prepared earth is put in to a depth of about four inches. This is then carefully rammed until it is perfect- ly solid. Tt will then be about half its first volume and the rammer will make no impression on the earth. The rammers, weighing about fif- teen pounds each, should be wused with rather short, light strokes, tampin gthe ecarth next to the mold boards first and then work- ing toward the center of the form. No fresh earth uld be put in until all the first laver is rammed down 50 hard it “rings” when struck. Then the second layer of four inches more of loose sofl may be placed inside and rammed, and so on. unttl th mold has been filled with - la3 after layer of pounded earth. It wil form one solid, homogenous mass. The ramming strokes, all authori- ties advise, should never be applied in unison. When the rammers are at work they should hit the earth at separate times. Unison ramming tends t0 1o0sen the earth between the points hit. This is very evident as soon as one has tried it Various sh square—are T tools, and it rammer be —oblong, round and red for the ramming sential that the first M wood. An oa block, faced iron, was used a Glen Echo. Old treatises emphasize this point advocating the use of oa or beech root wood as being the b material for the ramming tools. There is no reason, the old books state, to fear overcharging the first course of rammed carth with the sec- ond, if the earth has been properly “pige.” Three courses, it was stated may be safely laid in a day. Further experience has shown that as soon a8 the walls are raised to their proper height the heaviest beams and tim- bers for the floors may be laid on the newly made walls without the slight- est danger. The heaviest timbers for the roof may be laid on the gables in pise construction the instant th mold is taken down. “Remember that the authoritiee who gave that Information were accus tomed to real beams. Hand-hewn lum- ber was a general thing in 1819, when the encyclopedia which vouched for the strength of pise walls was print- ed. Tests made on Dr. Humphrey's house confirm that strength. * ¥ ok % WWHEN the first section of the bot- tom course i{s completed the mold is withdrawn. It should then be laid immediately next the end of the new- 1y made wall and the second sectiof started. A “key” to hold these twt sections together is advised and casily inserted into the mold. As thu sections proceed all are thus keyed together. When the first course is complete the second may be laid right on ton of the first without delay. The joints at the end of the mold in the second course should stagger with the joints of the first course. The rammed earth looks very like concrete when the mold is taken off. The marks on the boards, such a8 the grain of the wood. show distinctly if the pise work has been properly done. e~ In pise work the second-story walls may be made thinner than the first story with perfect safety. That is, it elghteen-Inch walls are used from tne foundations to, say, twelve feet, then fourteen-inch walls will carry on from there up to the gable point. Tn-- terior walls of twelve inches will be strong enough to support the floor beams. As a climax to this important re-’ discovery in building, it is verified that pise earth walls may be’ fin- ished In any way desired. The rammed’ earth s as smooth as planed wood.. Paper may be applied directly to it.’ Plaster sticks to it more closely than to wooden lath, and it is much more quickly applied. The capillary action of the dry earth seems to suck the moisture from: the plaster almost visibly. The outside, or weather side, of the. wall may he tysaid With a coating of waterproofing miade of lime and tallow. Over this coating it was the ancient custom to apply fresco deco- rations in water-color paint. The. building may be treated with a ce- ment wash or painted directly, as you. prefer. The natural color of the pise depends on the quality of the soil used, and {is \frequently . of _great beauty. m