Evening Star Newspaper, December 9, 1923, Page 88

THE SUNDAY A STORY OF ACTION, LOVE, SURPRISES And the Old Contrast Between the Orient ¥ HAD almost spoken. The words had half formed them- sclves upon his lps as they sat, speeding eastward across drawing room on the He had not realized that he truly loved her until that afternoon the week before, when he had seen her coming down the white marble steps of the eucalyptus-lined terrace of Tommy Burnham’s marvels ont :diterranean” house at Santa Barbara Anna Borland was small, sloe-eyed, olive-skinned—exquisitely pretty in a subtle eastern way that lent itself to diaphanous, floating garments and many-hued turbans. It was the tur- ban that had done it. Gilford Rand was anything but imaginative, but that afternoon he had felt the mystery of the past about him. So he waited for her beside the lily- pool, smoking a clgarette at the bot- tom of the moss-grown steps, and she had come drifting down toward him through the lilac dusk like a Persian yrincess—and all in one magic mo- ment it had come over him that he adored her. Anna had Burnham's terrace dusk on several occasions toward other young men, but nothing had come of it. This time the husky tones of Rand’s voice, the strained look in his eyes, had told her that something had happened to him. Now as he sat opposite her in the train she waited anxiously for the simple question that vould make her future secure. Why nad he not spoken? The silence was oming awkward, Well, there would | plenty of other occasions before | i1hey reached New York! She would make them. Vhat my Sunset Limited. drifted down through the llac Tommy iads of flowers!” she ex- | looking through the window. | and gold and secarlet! Like! ming cohorts of Assurbanipal. embankment Is covered with how they grow right out| and!"” he ventured, striving to | Tect some faint recollection of who Lanipel might be. *“You wouldn't think they’d find enough nourishment } there.” “They're effective only in the mass!” | she rejoined. “Individual wild flowers | are compared with cultivated | ones. jeauty needs nurture, and the right soil, properly prepared. X that never blows so red where gome buried Caesar bled; | th the garden wears 1 frow some once iovely head! ‘ reverently, although to it was not clear just d to do with It. Nelther | ed that she was right | wild flowers. were harebells, very T_ometimes th ™ ropped He listened nis dull mind vhat Caesar h was he about the There thougt sat for {nstance; pretty. And! s taste was perfect, as any one | rould scc. Too bad he wasn't more up | to her! | On every side stretched the golden | To the north the purple Sier-| to the southwest the snow-| San Bernadinos against a Color and sun- light everywhere! Far away across he sea of mesquite a single lonely | ranch house stood in the square of brown, where some intrepld soul was | struggling to wrench a living from ! tho sand. What a life! Yet it had points. You were outdoors all the| time! | He turned and rediscovered Anna.| “How would you like to live there?" | he asked I She smiled at him through half- Jowered lids: i “‘With me along some strip of herbage strown That just divides the desert from the sownm, Where aame of slave and sultan 1s forgot— And pesce to Mahmud on bis golden throme.” ™ “You'd find it pretty rough, I suess!” he grumbled, embarrassed. You know the rest of it, don't you?" she persisted, tiptoeing softly on the trail of opportunity. “Of what?” “Of what I was quoting?” “No—what is it?" “Fitzgerald's paraphrase of the ‘Ru- baiyat’ of course.” She opened her blue emerald travel- ing case and removed a dalntily! tooled little volume. i “If you're very good T'll lend you my copy and you can go off by your- selt and read the whole of it!" He took it %ith a sinking of the heart. He loathed poetry. Would he| over be up to her? Then she turned gally to the window again. “What wonderful, wonderful flow- | How I should like a wholo; 'ALONE in the observation car Rand 4% finished the whole thing in twen- 1y minutes, surprised to find it such 0dd stuff. A negro thrust his head inside the doorway, looked at him and chanted: “Firs’ call fo' dinner!” Rand rose, thrust the book into his pocket and stepped out upon the back platform. Desert verbena in dense masses swarmed up and over the em- ‘bankment, while golden poppies, more | aloo?, filled the ditches and nearby arroyos. Rand wished that he could piok some of the flowers. The ver- bena would be very becoming to Anna, They slowed down and a brakeman ; came hurrying through the car. He| raised the platform section conceal- | ing the steps, dropped to the ground, | lattern in hand, and ran on ahead.| The train stopped entirely, right in| the middle of & huge bed of verbena. | Rand stepped down onto the track and hastily began picking. The con- ductor and brakeman wers dlucui sng something up toward the engine. | Having plucked enough verbena hej lowered himself into the ditch and began on the poppies. A, slight noise caused him to turn; the train had started almost imper- ceptibly. The embankment was steeper than It looked and the ver- bena made it slippery. By the time Tiand had reached the rails the train was already thirty yards or so Away. He had been a sprinter at college, but the tles proved difficult to run on. At first he galned ground, but presently found that the train was steadily drawing away from him. Surely some one must have seen him—must see him! Winded, he stopped, waving his cap helplessly. Presently perhaps they would miss him and come back. But the traln at that moment slipped out of sight. . Well, hed' have to walk back to the | stomach empty, | his way out of the mess someho: | lenses. { woman's. i | and the Occident last station. They had passed none for at least an hour. By consulting the timetable in his pocket, he learned that the train would pass no other for a couple of hours more. The next traln was not due until 4:30 the next morning. * % % HE sun had set, and black shadows were linking themselves across the plain. He shivered, glad of the leather coat which he had slipped on as a protection against the dust. He climbed down the embank- ment—and started through the greasewood to find a road, but a half- hour's search revealed not even & wagon track. He retraced his steps to the track. Some wildcat engine or freight train might happen along. He must have, a fire as a signal. His knife made no impression upon the rhinolike hide of the yucca, and the mesquite thorns quickly covered his hands with blood. Moreover, his pursuit of the train had made him very thirsty. But nowhere was there any sign of water. It had grown dark and the wind had risen. Rand took refuge in the small arroyo beside the track. He! kicked a hole in the mudbank on one ) side of the arroye, turned up his coat | collar, and collected a small bundle of dead greasewood twigs. Luckily he had matches, although his cig-' arette case was empty. He coweted | there, holding his hands to the feebls | blaze, until the twigs were consumed. It was too dark to find more. Well, he must make the best of it. Crouching in his shallow cave, his | his feet and legs, numb with cold, his hands smarting from the pricks of thorns, his eyes | filled with dust, his whole figure cov- | ered with a white powder of alkali, | he pictured himself in the dining car | of the limited discussing the menu | { with Anna under the electric lamps. ! He could not endure his cramped | position for long, however, and pres- | ently found it necessary to get up | and stretch. As he stood there, fac- ing the darkmess single-handed, he felt a curious exaltation of spirit. coupled with & strange accession of purely physical strength. After all, he wasn't going to dle out there; he didn’t have to freeze or starve to death simply because that fool train had gone off and left him. He'd beat 1 A moan came from the north. The | darkness became more opague. A | storm was coming, straight from the Sierras! The moan rose to a roar that steadily grew in volume. Great towering clouds of alkall came drift- | ing across the plain, and the air was | filled with sand that peppered his | face and hands. For the first time his adventure appeared ominous. As he | was about to return to the shelter of | the arroyo, he caught the gleam of | twin motor lights a mile or more | away, wavering through the dark- ness. Rand began running toward the approaching lights, which bobbed er- ratically up and down. He stumbled madly through the dust clouds, car- oming from ome yucca to another, and tearing his clothes upon the mes- quite and prickly pear. Nearly ex- hausted, he reached a point directly in front of the car and the next in- stant he was In the Yull glare of the | He threw up his hands with 2 warning shout Into the teeth of the gale. The motor stopped, dropped into low gear, and crept toward him A volce shouted from behind the lights, “Put up both your hands!" * k¥ RAND quickly raised his arms again and found himself looking stralght into the muzzle of a revolver. “What do you want?' came from above the shriek of the wind. “I got left behind out there by the Limited,” hq answered. “Can you give me a light to the next town?" The engine ceased throbbing. Something flashed behind the revolver. The mo- tor lights faded out. “Stay where you are till I give you the once over?” The voice was a Rand walted, arms ex- tended like @ scarscrow, while the owner of the voice inspected him | caretully by means of a trouble light. Then quite unexpectedly she said. “You're Mr. Gilford Rand, aren't you?’ Rand couid not help laughing. Fame had its uses, after alll “That's who I am,” he admitted. “Do you mind if I drop my hanis?” A chuckle came from behind the light. “Funny! I thought you were trying to hold me up. But can you blame me? Do you get left that way often?” ‘Without waiting for his answer she returned the pistol to her belt, crank- ed the filvver, got in, and turned on the lights again. “Climb aboard.” Rand did so, wondering what she looked like. The girl threw in her gears and they moved off. “How d1d you know my nameo?” he asked, peer- ing at her. “I've seen you playing polo. Every 8.1 in Santa Barbara knows you by “And may I ask to whom I owe my voscue?” “My name 1s Isabella Sanda” she answered. “My “uther has a ranch out | berond the San Marcos. 1 toach At the high school in the winter.,” Her voice and enunciation were both allurin But a school teacher! An old maid, probably! “How did you manage to be ma. rooned?" “The train stopped and I got off to pick some flowers.” “Oh!” she laughed. “1 suppose I sound all kinds of an idiot,” he sald. “Not at alll” she responded gafly. “You sound very gallant!" It was the first time that the obvious connoti tion of his adventure had suggested itgelf to him. “What are you doing in the Jesert at this hour of the night?’ he coun- tered. W “We had & school holiday on Fri- day, 80 a party of us motored up to Lake Sarko. The others decided to stay over, but I had to get back by 9 o'clock tomorrow moraing. here I arh!” “Alone?” “Why, yes!" Her volce was puzsled. “But Lake Sarko is & couple of hundred miles fiom hera! When will 3ou get home' “I ought to make Santa Barbara easily by 6 o'clock tomorrow morn- “But,” he again expostulated, “sup- pose you broke down, What would | appeared beside the fire a coftee- | profile—its small, stralght nose, you do? You night alone.” “Why not? she answered. ment, “Don’t couldn’t sleep out all The ground's with evident amuse- take me for a soclety girl. T'm not. I'm just one of the hol pollol” They were yellng at ea:h other against the noise of the wind Wwhich bombarded the windshield with sand. Rand admired her control of the wheel, which she never lost, de- spite ruts, boulders and cavities. Tney entered @ narrow canyon. Suddenly the girl threw on both brakes and the car stopped with a jerk. Just in front of them yawned a gully. Frag- ments of cement and the end of a broken girder showed where a bridge had once spanned the sides. “There’s been a washout,” she an- nounced. Looks as If we'd have to spend the night here.” Rand stared at her incredulously. “Here?" he repeated. “We've no cholce,” she answered. “The only other road is through Jaw- bone Canyon at the other end of the valley, sixty miles away. It may be just as bad as this. We'll have to sleep here and work our way out of this in the morning. “Nonsense! We can't sleep here he exclaimed aghast. “We'd freeze to death! We——" But she had already leaped from the car. “Had your supper?” she shouted, making a funnel of her hands. “I haven't” Her suggestion seemed to him utterly fantastic. “There’s firewood In the filvve: she explained. “And a caLteen of wa- ter. Ialways carry both, With wood and water you can go anywhere.” “Wood and water!” An nour ago his accommodations upon the train had seemed mediocre enough. He had shared Anna’s amimatversions upon the shabbiness of the wosdwork and upliolstery, the bad taste of the deco- rations, the lumpinese of the mat tresses, the inferiorlty of the focd. She had, In fact, made rather a point | of her abllity to put up with discom- fort of being a good traveler. He | laughed into the storm, which shrieked satirically In reply. He wished Anna were there. and could see this other girl calmly rreparing to make a night of it in the face of anch a riot of the elements “We'll leave the car here for a wind-breaker,” she said. “And we can bulld our fire behind that point of | rock.” He carried the canteen and the bundie of roots which she un- earthed from between *he scats to the point she indicated, and watched| while she laid the fire, struck a match, and it it in tha full force of the wind. In the flerce draft the dry | mesquite roared white In an instant. And then, to his amazement, there | pet, | a frying pan and a paver of chops. “You might make soras t7ast,” she | suggested. “There's a loaf of bread | in the sack under the frent seat, and butter in the tin cracker box.” So| they sat on thelr heels, sitelding | warm,” from the spout of the coffes pot. He could see now the charm of her ihe | heavy brows protesting against the smoke, and the full curve of her pursed, determined 1ips. o1/ line bespoke vigor, courage, compatency. “Come and get it!" directed the girl, holding out the frying pan. Crouching side by side to windward i HE COULD SEE, NOW, | can .fix that STAR, of the fire, they ate their supp in spite of the Wiaws ~ ud cinders Rand nad never so cwic; o® a meal. * ™ ok HE had thrown herself on the ground and, with her chin la har hands, she was eyeing him curiously. Stretched thus in the firelight, she was as lithe and graceful as ong of Barye's panthers. He had seen noth- ing so ravishingly pretty during his entire stay In the west. The wind blew the girl's corn-colored hair for- ward across her teruple: and she brushed it away with an jmpatient kesture. He had ceased to intrast her appearance with that of Anna, to the .ater's disadvantage. He had forgotten Anna entirely. “Well," she murmured drowslly, after o silence, “how about turning tn> He looked at her. “Wnere do you proposs to sleep? he asked “In front of the car. It's quits level.” “But you can't sleep on the ground, “It's too hard. Besldes, you'd never close your yes In this wind. And you'd freeze before morning'” £ nsense!” she retorted, springing to her feet. ‘We'll be warm as toast in that blanket! As for the wind, I easlly enough. After having rescued vou from the terrors of the desert I'm not going to let you freeze, poor dear!” “But couldn't I sleep In the car?’ 1t's a pretty big man,” she laughed, “and a very small car! You really would freeze it you tried that." “All the same, I don’t see you sleep- Ing on this gravel, with the wind blowing the sand in your face, even if you manage to keep warm,” he pro- | tested. “One’s body can stand a lot more than most people realize,” she repiied. “One can sleep anywhere—so long as rLe ground ls flat.” began kicking the stones out of the road and :eveling the sand. “There!" she sald after a moment. ‘That's all right. Now for our tent.’ he stepped to the car and returned presently, dragging a heavy lap-robe and the waterproof envelops of the canopy top. “Now,” she directed, as she spread the rug over the space she had pre- pared. ‘First we must le down and roll ourselves in the rug with our| | their eyes from the sparks which fiew | heads to the wind, and then pull the | from the fanned embers, while the |envelope | chops sizzled and the steam jetted |It's just as good as a fog-tent—Is down over our shoulders. one, In fact. One thing more, though! I almost forgot!"—and she drained oft the water from the radlator Into a pail. “Now! Are you ready for bed? “Sure!™ He lay down and she took her place beside him, face to face. “When I say ‘roll’” she ordered, tront” They rolled and found themselves back to back, each entwined tightly in the rug. *Now pull down our awning, and we shall be as snug as can be!” she laughed. Having managed to get his head inslde the cover, Rand discov- ered to his astonishment that they were absolutely protected. The wind twitched and tugged at the envelope into which their heads were thrust, and scattered sand and gravel upon it; but in spite of the hubbub out- yside, Rand experlenced a deliclous sense of drowsiness and security within. ood night! volce, | she said, in a sleepy “Pleasant dreams!" * ¥ ok K A STIFLING sensation of weight upon his face awoke him. His hand, when he thrust it forth, came in contact with something cold and white. The place beside him was empty. “Isabellal” he cried, startled. Then he lifted the envelope and looked out. The ground was snow-covered, the | world agare with sunlight. From be- hind the rocks came the snap of {burning twigs and the smell of smoke. Already she was busy with the frying-pan. ‘Hello!” she |awak “Only just!® he replied comfort- ably. “I thought for & minute that 1'd lost you." “Not yet!" she retorted. “You've got to endure me for at least five hours more!" ‘You can't make it too long for me!” he asserted. They breakfasted In highest spirits, in an amphitheater of snow-capped peaks. The wind ceased, the sun | burned hot out of & burnished sky. He replaced thelr fragmentary outfit in the fllvver, while Isabella melted | the fce In the pail, refilled the radia- tor, and turned the car. Once more he was besida her, speeding across the plain; but this time in the op- poste direction—due west. An hour, and the snow had” disappeared from ]tha desert floor, and each dried | watercourse had become a rushing | torrent. Everywhere appeared once more the drifts of scarlet, gold and | purple that had been his undoing of | the day before. How strangely beau- | tiful this wide land of sand and sky and sunlight, of cactus and snow- {crowned crest! How vigorous and ‘,fr«r‘ the life it offered! If it wasn't for Anna! He wondered if he could | stand New York eleven months in the Anna would probably want to o to Newport. He loathed Newport. “What do you do for a living?" suddenly asked the girl. “I pass for & tired business man!" he answered, with g laugh. “I'm sup- posed to be a stock broker, but the fact s I've & complacent partner who lets me do as I choose. And I called, *“are you | | | THE CHARM OF HER PROFILE. EVERY LINE BESPOKE VIGOR, COURAGE, N i it el |my pocket at this very moment. WASHINGTON, D. €, DECEMBER 9, 1923—PART —————— e choose to play polo most of the time. I put up the money. He puts up the brains. My grandfather used to have a stock farm up {n the Berk- shires, and—well, I've always had an idea that maybe some time- 2" “I see,” she nodded. WBut why don't you do it now, when you can enjoy 1t? ‘Some time' isn't any time, 1s 1t2” “Perhaps you're right”” he sald. ut, after all, there's a lot to con- sider. Stock farming isn't much of a career in the east. Besides, one has a duty to soclety and to one's family.” “Yes,” she agreed, readily enough. “Of course one has a duty to one's family! By the way, I wonder if they are worrying about you?” Rand did not think it necessary to explain that Anna was the only living person who by any possibility could quality as “family,” actual or prospective. What had she done wheh he had falled to turn up for dinner? Had she | assumed merely that he had got Into| a bridge game; or had she become worrled over his non-appearance, and —when he could not be found—con- cluded that he had fallen overboard? Ho wondered how serlously, after all, Anna would have taken his sudden demise. She would probably have married Tommy Burnham inside of a year, and looked more like a Perslan princess than ever. There was nothing Persian about Isabella, however! Simple, straight- forward, unpretentious, she was frankly of tha. west! Mighty sensible 14 her ideas on almost everything. He looked forward with increasing de- pression to the moment when they must part—east to east, west to west! They retraced thelr route of the eve- ning before until once again across the sea of mesquite the lonely ranch house swam into view. Isabella nod- ded toward ft. “Old Tom Bixby's place,” she sald, and added: “The strip of herbage strown, that just divides the desert from the sown! He turned to her, nonplussed. “You know that—too™ he exclaimed. “What, the ‘Rubaiyat'? Of coursel We give it to all the kinds in the sec- ond grade. Excuse me for quoting it at you! It's pretty backneyed, but, after all, it's good old stuff, isn't it!" “It's my favorite poem!” he replied, with a grin. “In fact; I've got it in 1 as reading it just before I stepped off the train.” He produced the beau- tifully bound volume from his pocket and exhibited it. *A ook of verses underneath the bough, A jug of wine, a loaf of bread—and thou Beside me singiog in_the wildernoss— On, wilderness were Paradise enow!™ —he read. She smiled whimsically. “Now we're even! she declared. ‘“Honestly, though! I should never have suspected it of you!" “I mean it,” he sald fervently. *T thought of it a lot last night as we sat there by the fire. I've never met anybody half as—as Jjolly as you, Isabella!” “Nonsense!” she replled, and a faint tinge of red crept into her cheek. He thrust the book back into his pocket, not knowing what more to say. 'd best go straight back to Bar- she annaunced ,after a some- prolonged silence. “They're probably horribly anxious about you on the train. You ought to communi- cate with them just as soon as you can.” T, was high noon before they reached the junction at Barstow. As Isa- bella ran the fllvver up to the steps of the station a feeling of approach- ing bereavement possessed him. He had lived more in the last twelve hours than in the preceding twelve weeks, and he had found, out there in the desert, his heart's true desire. And now he must lose her—forever. After all, he was more or less committed to Anna! Yet down in his soul he knew that already she meant more to him than Anna ever had or ever would. Ruefully he climbed down out of the dilapidated fiivver and held out his hand to her. i “I suppose it's good-bye!” he said, | with an attempt at a smile. “I can't | L ever properly thank you for what you've done—and—for what you've taught me. You've given me & new point of view entirely. You must let me write to you” He stified the ironio speculation as to how Anna, if she knew the whole story, would feel about this. “And you won't forget me, will you? Promise." “I promise,” she answered, serfously. “I'm not going to leave you yet, until I, know what traln you can catch. TI'vé missed today already. I shall send the principal & wire that I'm de- tained.” “Bully!” he exclaimed, delighted at the thought of another hour in her company. “T'll be gone only a min- ute.” ‘The station was empty save for the telegraph operator. “When is the next train for the east? Rand asked. “Two-thirt: “May I send a telegram?” For an- swer the man shoved him a blank. “Miss Anna Borland,” Rand- began, “Sunset Limited. Was accidentally left behind last evening when train stopped between stations. Am all right. Will ses you immediately on arrival in New York Saturday morn- ing. Gilford Rand.” The operator read it. ‘Your name Rand?” he asked. “That's my nam. The man looked him over. “I s'pose you know they've been telegraphing all over the United States for you?” Rand shook his ‘head. The operator grunted. “We ran a speclal all the way across to Spiit Pine and back last night looking for you. Say, where'd Fou bide yourselty" HE CAUGHT THE GLEAM OF TWIN MOTOR LIGHTS WAVER- ING THROUGH THE DARK- ESS. “I wasn't hiding,” answered Rand. “This'll be 81 cents. See this morn- ing’s Examiner?” The man thrust a newspaper under the lattice. Across the top of the page, above the photo- graph of a big man In polo costume, ran @ two-inch scare head: “Polo Player Finanefally Ru Leaps From Train. “Gilford Rand, millionaire stock broker and sportsman, jumped last evening from the Sunset Limited to what {s assumed to be instant death, on learning that his entlre fortune had been swept away In the failure of the well known Wall street firm of Rand & Krayne. Friends on the train wired of his disappearance in the mildst of the desert, and a special was dispatched from Barstow at a late hour to look for his body. At the time of going to press no word had been recefved.” Directly beneath appeared the fol- lowing: “New York, April 20—Rand Krayne, stock brokers at w. street, announced their voluntary sus pension today. The reason is under- stood to be heavy losses upon the bear side sustained in the recent pro- longed rise. Mr. Rand, who is inter- nationally famous as a polo player, is a— \ “Dear Gil,” read the message. “1 broke my word and played the mar- ket. We are both wiped out. I gm ashamed and sorry, Forgive me, old chap, if you can.. Krayne. SR 1f struck sharp- fum by an op- scrimmage. Then v. After all, only hard one! a few puces up and down f the newsstand. Bankrupt, They thought he was dead? He couldn® nna now, even if he wanted to! She wouldn't have if he asked her! Quickly he od and stepped back to the win- e me back that 81 cents” he You needn’t send that tele- 11" Tsabella asked, as he came 1o steps and stood beside her, “when do you leave? not leav! antly. “I've ever, he replted, sig- chucked the east for- the east has chucked art all over again Something in his manner, the re- lieved, almost ecstatic expression of his brown eyes, gave her a wild thrill. in Californfa. Mr. Krayne, the other | Could he know that for the past threo member of the firm, could not be seen last night. The firm’s assets are given as $2,700,000 as agalnst llabilities of $4,300,000.” Rand gazed stupldly at the printed words. “First you heard of It?” Inquired the operator. Rand nodded. “Fact 1s," explained the operator, “this message was relayed from Los Angeles at 9 o'clock last night and couldn’t be delivered in the Limited ‘cause you wasn't aboard. That's how they knew they'd lost you. 1s. Rand received the yellow en- velope automaticall Here it | | | | | months he had been her hero? There was a queer trembling in her throat. She dared not look at him. T'm—I'm glad!" she murmured, with closed eyes., He laid his hand on hers. “Isabella!” ho stammered, Do you think—? Oh, hang 1t! stopped short 1 fumbled in his There was a sdund of turn- Then in a low, excited » heard him read: Ah. my beloved. fill the cup th Myself with yesierday's seven thou Today of USE OF TOBACCO GROWS IN FRANCE PARIS, November 29. WO American women sat on the boulevard terrace of the Cafe de la Paix. To be in the movement, they lit clgarette The walter hurried up to them mak- ing nervous gestures. They managed to understand that women may smoke inside a Paris cafe, but they must not smoke outside on the strest front. In Paris women do smoke publicly— under cover. French men smoke enough to malké up. Since the war, it is more and more common to see them smoking a pipe on the street. That was once a sure sign of a traveling Englishman, while Americans usually smoked eci- gars In public. With Frenchmen ft was mostly cigarettes. Nowadays the women who smoke smoke only clgarettes—with a showy clgarette holder, of course. ‘What 1s surprising is that the fig- ures of the government monopoly, which sells all the tobacco sold in the country, show that pipe tobacco sells five times as much as cigars and clgarettes together. More sur- prising still, three times more snuft is sold than cigars and half as much snuff as cigarettes. From the streets and cafes, the Impression would be that cigaretts smoking used up most tobacco, whereas it is not one-sev- enth of the whole amount of tobacco smoked. The figures of the tobacco monopoly of France are impressive just because the monopoly is so complete. No to- bacoo, whether in leaf or manufac- tured, can be bought in foreign coun- tries to be brought into France and no tobacco can be grown or manufac- workmen, men living on small eala- tes—smoke a cigar only on first-class occastons. Cigarettes are the smoke of young men and boys and for men in public places or business hours, wherever a few whiffs are enough. And the few, very few French women who smoke do so only in public—expressly—and use cigarettes for their purpose. Chewing tobacco is indulged in as in other countries by those who can- not well smoke—street car condue- tors and drivers for example. Taxi- cab chauffeurs are Jately seen in the streets of Parls smoking a plps shamelessly or virtuously, as you please. If their fare doesn't ltke ft he can put it in his own pips and oke it. But there is much more to- bacco chewing in France than most travelers imagine, because the chew- ing 1s done modestly and cleanly. What shall we say of snuff? We know that the tradition of the great ladies of the elghteenth century im kept up among old people with the peasants and the clergy. Then, at the beginning of a comfortable evening, the wife of an Oxford University rec- tor lald a train of the powdered to- bacco along her sleeve and fired it with her nose, »« occasion demanded. All this does not account for a quar- ter of & pound of snuff for every French man, woman and child in a single year. I have not been able to find any industry that uses tobacco snuff as alcohol is used in high explosives. A factory man tells me that numbers of his workmen use snuff during their labor because it is the only way they can get tobacco stimulation in work tured or sold in France itself except |hours. In ordinary city life one's at- through the state monopoly. And the (tentlon 1s never called to snuff tak- monopoly of matches is a part of it. To know how many Individual matches are struck by Frenchmen In a year would not be so Instructive as these figuves showing exactly how much tobacco is consumed. There can be no doubt about the figures, be- cause tobacco selling in Frunce Is just like post office keeping in the United States. It is a government job and government knows how many postage stamps are made and sold. Tobacco smuggling, mostly in trav elers’ pockets, s very little. In 1922 tobacco of all kinds and in all shapes was sold In France to the amount of 116,000,000 pounds, as fol- lows: Cigars, 2,940,338 pounds; cigar- ettes, 15,691,973 pounds; chewing to- baoco, 2,417,985 pounds; snuff, 9,610~ 680 pounds; smoking tobacco, 85,861,- 635 pounds. Let us get our minds clear about all this tobacco. There- are still more surprising things to say about French tobacco as it is sold In other coun- tries. Cigars are and bave always been objects of luxury in France. The great mass of smokers—iarmers, i l ing, but every tobacco shop In every «treet keeps a stock of snuff and little sacks for it. The art snuffbox may come into fashion again. Of the Immense amount of smok- ing tobacco, a good part may go into cigarettes hand-rolled by the smok- ers. An American will ask: “Who In the world can smoke French tobacco out- side of France?” Last year the French monopoly sold to Monte Carlo 50,568 pounds and 356,281 pounds to other foreign lands. And fn 1923 It sold to various foreign countries (per- haps to the TU. S. A. also) more than 3,000,000 pounds of tobacco from the American Army stocks it had bought and could nut sell in France. Be sure there was come rrofit in ft—and there is no accounting for tastes. STERLING HEILIG. All There. Kind Lady—Don't any of Yyour friends come to see you on- visiting days? Prisoner—No'm, with me,” they're all here