Evening Star Newspaper, January 6, 1924, Page 64

The Flivver, the Long, Rakish Six-Cylinder, And a Girl Who Was Called Pseudo-Aristocrat B e A e e e Rl AU | HE long, rakish six-cylinder machine was made Ilke & wateh, but at the foot of a certain hill somewhere in Westchester county the watch atopped, and the girl, its driver and sole occupant, was utterly unable to wind it up. Petulant and irritated, the girl de- scended to the mround and surveved | ol G the polished green and nickel mon- ster with that eritical, knowing look of the helpless amateur. Then, de- spairing, she =at down on & stone wall in the shade of an oak and waited. Fortunately, it was good weather for waltin a fine, clear day in mid lune-—and, sitting on the wall, “hreathin in the warm smell of the earth and the things growing from the carth, the girl was not unhappy he was a pretty girl—pretiy original way—but I don’t think ¥ one could have labeled her beau- tiful. There was nothing command- ing about her: perhaps there W something demanding, which slightly different. She w: sl wore a the shade color of 1 a is groen of cover dant, Imost er hair, the b novel siining and straight; her face narrow. the chin pointed (and, rule, pointed upward); her s o=t cotorless But healthl ler evew set rather wide apar o mixture of brown and green. were reely soft. pleading rather eves ti st t ssemed to oconsider one zullty until one were proved inno- |quickly: , then, in the shade of the wak, with her chin in her hands, and | e, who could | to Junch with pleasure. By the way, |my name is Gooffrey Rudel, and, as|Greenwich Village. |T've told you, I'm a wandering trouba- | I had some little suce contemplated nature. searcely distinguish from a buttercup, Le: snapdragon found, neverthe- ice of both. I must do more of this sort of |it would bs better for me to know— | the company remained silent and sus- | t read [vour family and all that. o reflected. “I mu tp on wild flowers and wild animals nd all that. There is pro thing.” s | in | small and | far is home?” | the | hey were alert, appraising | gijent. ably a | My father is Baird Manning." | ingly. She was not used, you see. to betng scolded by Young men. He brought the car to a standstill with a jerk, and regarded her mus- “Woman, woman,® he murmured. “Always striving to place the blame other shoulders, always in the | right, never in the wrong.~You're a | that is all you are—a | spoiled child. T've half a mind to take | you back to your car and leave you in it e said it so sternly that she could not be sure he was mot serious; 50, | to make certaln he would not carry | out his threat, she employed all her | wiles. She vouchsafed him, for in- stance, a smile—a daszling, friendly smile, half-humorous, half-appealing. “Please don’t do that,” she begged. “You'd much better aome home and stay to lunch.’ He did not answer at first, but his cves lingered on hers. Then he took out his watch—a perfectly present- able watch, she noticed. “Quarter to 2 he sald. “How “About a mile. And we have a good 00k os. you would have enigmatically T don't eat with my vou know I won't steal the silver?”’ “I dom’t hnow.” she raid, “but T really don't care if vou d “Well,” he admitted grudgingly., “Y suppose I must eat. Man can not live on lov: lone. She flushed a he agreed | “But how do you know | knife? How do little and remained | 1 ss he noticed it. for he sald Onh, I'm not being personal. Don't worry “I'm not worrying.” { “I beg your pardon. Yes, T'll come | Doubtl something of pleasure in the ap- | dour, twentieth-century type. May I} ask what you are called? Perhaps | said she. | | “I am Audrey Manning, ]ma. ! smile. “Yes—Mr. Rudel. town “No," sald Geoffrey. “T'm generally | out in the country. T sing for a liv- | Ing—my own songs.” * Kk Xk ¥ MR MANNING dropped hin lobater- claw and the fork with which ho had been excavating it. “You—what?" he said limply sing.” | There was an awkward silence | Mrs. Manning blushed. Audrey's kid tittered. It was as if ho had | T murder.” | Audrey, herself, dld not see fit to ease the situation, so Mrs. Manning finally, with a glow of inspiration, exclatme “How very interesting' You are with the Metropolitan, I suppose?” “Oh, no—no, indeed. I'm a sort of | strolling singer. Only I stroll in my filvver. As you say, it iu very inter- esting. One meets all sorts of peo- ple that way." Audrey glanced Are you duwn-} up with a cool ‘s, for example,” she remarked. Why, ves' he agreed. “You're one sort, of course. There are others, though. { “Such as?" #Oh, villagers—peasauts, serfs, you know, tillers of the eoil, market- gardeners, people who in the west would attend the chautauquas.” The strappineg Miss Bradshaw, more healthy than the others and there- | fore perhaps less eascily disturbed, ventured to interject a. question. “But, surely,” she sad, “surely you don't do thls except for—er—amuse- ment? You probably are really a great man who is well known in New York?" “I am known in a section of New York,” he answered. once was mployed to sing at the Pink Cat in T may add that there “Oh, he's just joking oried Miss Bradshaw to the silent company. But piclous, except for Audrey. i ‘The meal would have been a miser- | able failure had not Audrey, In o " he sald, “simply sympathetic.” I am afraid that at this juncture he lost her temper completely. She ampod a high heel into the soft turf. ‘Bympathetic!” she cried. ‘“Who do think you're being sympathetic with? “Onn ways ‘whom'—not ‘who,'” he vorrected her, “At least so I was thught at Haryvard.” 1o ntopped abruptly, evidently re- @retting the wlip; and then, to cover It 1t powaible, ho added, “Moreover, a prepoxition is n poor word to end a montence with " They All Go Mad in June ukulelo and sing me a song. Il send one of the men for it, if you wish." He threw out his hands in disgust. tYes; do, by all means, Send one of the men One of the men chanced to be clip- ping the hedge not far away, and she called to him to fetch the musical In- | strument from the tonneau of Mr. Kudel's machine. He shears and departed at once. “Are you going to sing me a nice song?’ asked Audr § be something unpleasant—Iike your % BY GORDON ARTHUR SMITIHI o e e e you really must, you know. I insist where water is scarco. I was work- on—on knowing more. All about|ing on a railroad out there—-"" | | you.” “Whose raflroad?” she Inquired. | | She took his hand then and led| “My father's rall—" he began. | [hm to & garden bench beneath the (“My father's a railroad superintend- chine in front of our deor quire of ‘onc of the men' Miss Audrey Manning Is at home. If she is in the house, I promise you ehe will be at home to you. And it is pos- it | dropped his r is it to] hedge. He followed, grave and un- smiling. | “Well?" he inquired. ‘Who are you?” she asked eoftrey Rudel. T mean your real name.” “Oh,” he sald, “my real name? I don’t think I shall tell you my real name. Not that it's of any im- portanct “Are you really—poor?” “Most dectded]: “What dld you mean by that song? Why should you have thought of me—if you did think of me—as the— |the girl of your dreams?” “Do you want to know why?" | “Yes—of course I want to know |why. It—it's my right, fsn't 1t?" , “Ob, yes, it's your right. Well, you {see, for a long time I had made up my mind just what a girl should |look like. I mean that the—well, |let’s say what the ideal girl should !look like. My ideal girl, you un- |derstand. Not Tom's, Dick's or | Harry’s or Mr. Pegram's ideal girl, but mine. Do you eee?” “Yes—go on.” “Well, you look like her.” Is that all?” “Not quite. I determined that if I jever saw a girl who fulfilled my Ideal i1 would make love to her un‘il shs {loved me!" “Oh1" {__“Just becauss of ner | That seems silly.” | [Unfortunately I was silly." ! There was a silence. Thoughts, however polgnant, make no sound. “It was silly,” she said at leqgth, |"because you found that, after all, | vour ideal girl was—was disappoint- |ing." ‘She ! slowly. | Her lips straightened. “In | what way am I impossible?” she de. was impossible,” le | appearance? sald | just | ent— that 1s, of a section.” he finished | sible, oh, just barely possible, that lamely. He eyed her closely, but her |she will have improved « little dur vanity-hox was still in front of her |ing your absence face. will have tried | _“Well?" she said. There was a little | will do that” |shake In her voice that might have | She lifted her head been & cough, or final sob, or & laugh. squarely In the eyes. He began to “Well,” he safd “they cry even out |fecl strangely weak. And unsettled there | That was it—unsettled. “I promise,” he said, HE seemed to have lost all interest | he thought he sald it, but as a in his recital, and continued to | |eve her suspiciously. ter of fact he merely whispered it “Now, jump into your machine } “How very, very iInteresting,” she I'll try to crank it for vou. H sald don’t forget vour ukule! “H'm,” sald he, “I'm going now." She gulded him to the car She put aside the vanity-box to those slim, pale hands that lxlmce up at him. She was calm and hymned. kept his eyes fixed |qulet and gentle and adorable. her-—bewlldered, dazed eyes like “Before we say good-bye,” she said, those of an adoring dog who does noi “I want to tell you one thing. Will understand. All his fine concelt had you belfeve that I am telling you the | been scattered to the winds and he truth? Will you forget for this one | moment that T am arrogant and spotlt knew neither why nor how. Al that he knew was that she was ve: and insincere and have the devil's | temper2” tovely and much to be worshiped “Of course,” he answered. But that knowledge did not he to function the fiv “Then, all right. T want to tell you |that everything you said of me was Audre: | probably true and that I am honestly | siowly |glad that you said it In fact, I want to thank you for saylug it. No, | don't interrupt. There is more. In Wil any you pro; se yon look him * & k¥ wit vver. descending corridor to her room, was stopped by {Mr. Pegram. He put his arm ar- fectionately around her wafst. “My dear,” he sald, “your father | She got to her feet and, standing |has just given his consent and I'n {bestde him, held out her hand. He |the happiest man in the world™ | took it, wondering. | “You go to the deuce” advis “I want to ask you,” she sald, “to | Audrey, and, disengaging herself, ran give me another chance. I want to|to her room and slammed the door | ask you if the next time you pass|Mr, Pegram's pale, fat face. this way you won't stop your ma- (Copyright, 1923.) ‘Washington Food Supply From All Parts of World manded. “You are so frank that you If she had expected him to be im- |C8lm, assured manner, taken over the !needn’t hesitates to be brutal.” lot in it. and I've been missing it.| (Continued from First Page.) [consists of lamb, mutton and veal conversation finto her own hands. | Just the I wish somebody | would come along and give me a home to lunch. It must be At the end of ten minutes she heard the faint squawk of a motor horn, and a flivver, 1917 model, came bounc- tng over the brow bowling ball rolled alley. Audr climbed hastily from wall, ed her slim figure in middle of the road and like a semaphore stretohed arms. * TTHE fitvver stopped with much ado the young man be the wheel t her critically. off his hat “Can 1 h the the stood there with warning out- * % id then - inquired coolly. “Are you going my way?” “Which is your wa “The way you w “In that case,” he answe “I am going your way, step n?" “Thank yeu,” she said far. My car has broken down.” “You should get a flivver,” he mur- mured, “they are so satisfacto adequate.” He opened seat for her. “Don’t sit on my ukulel tloned. “What? 1 beg your pardon.” “Don’t sit on my ukulele,” he re- peated. “It is part of my stock in trade” And he removed the instru- ment carefully from the seat and placed it in the tonneau beside a large kit bag. She looked at him with some inter- t. “You play the ukulele?” “Yes: very well, too. T can do. little.” She looked at him with more inter est. He was no Hawaiian, surely. His skin was white and he had blue eyes, “Now," said he. “Shall we get along? You tell me the turnings to make well in advance, because 1 bought this—racing car only day before yes- " he returned. d gravel Wil you “It is not the door of the he cau- terday and—and, well, T don’t like to | to the dining room. You remember, be hurried. Are you going to leave your car by the roadside?” She nodded. “If any one can move it, he's welcome,” she said. “Besides, 'l send one of the men for it when 1 get home.” " he said pleasantly. “one of Something in the tone of his voice annoyed her. It's about all | Except, of course, I sing a | | thav l of the hill ltke a | on an uneven | | awelt on them with envious eyes. | | front of the Corinthian portico. took | | other one of the men to take fn?" he { the door for her. | was disappointed. he said calmly pressed sh i *“All right, ! b PBAIRD MANNING'S country place is, of course, famous. We have all seen photographs of the house and of the gardens, and we have * x *x The flivver containing Miss Manning, | Geoffrey Rudel and his ukulele whirled up the winding entrance drive and stopped, unabashed, in “Come on,” said Audrey, “set out. 11 have one of the men take it round | to the garage.” Ah, yes, of course,” murmured one of the men. | she retorted sharply, “what ? There are men on the place, | you know." “Shall 1 leave my ukulele for an- inquired “You can do as you like,” she an- swered, and preceded him into the house, “one of the men” holding open “Are they at luncheon, Alden?” she asked. “Yes? Well, never mind. There'll be one extra. Tell Jenkins," “Very good, miss.” “And send Boynton to fetch home the car. It's at the foot of Starling hilL” Very good, miss.” ‘See that Mr.——er Mr. Rudel has everything he needs, Alden.” ery good, miss. “I'll meet you in the hall in five minutes, Mr. Rudel, and we'll go in together. Yowll have to be intro- duced all round. That will annoy every one. They hate to be inter- rupted at lunch.” “Perhaps,” said Geoffrey, with smile, “it would be better if I ate in the pantry. 1 could sing for the cook. = “He wouldn't appreciate it,” she answered from halt-way up the stairs. Geoffrey waited for her ten minutes, and then she appeared and led him surely, the diuing room at Manning’'s Manor?— high-ceiled, oak-paneled, with a huge carved mantel at one end and a huge carved sideboard at the other, and French windows leading out to a brick-paved terrace. There were ten persons at table, all eating lobster. Four of them rose at Audrey's entrance, and all but ‘Was he being sarcastic | cpq stopped eating temporarily. Her at her expense? She could not quite [ father, Mr. Baird Manning, merely be sure. “Straight ahead,” said she, and re- fused to look at him again. He guided tbe car erratically, but not at all nervously. It was she, per- laps, who was nervous. His method seemed to be to keep the throttle con- stantly wide open, Whether going up hill or down, and in consequence the machine seldom had all four wheels on the road. “You drive fast for a beginner,” she remarked at length. He took his eyes from the road to answer her and the car narrowly aped a ditch. 1 like to go fast,” he sald. “It is stimulating. I get wonderful ideas for my songs when I strike forty miles an hour.”" “And when you strike a rock—-" They did. just then, He got the car back to the road rather adroitly. “You see” he answered proudly, “I'm really not a bad chauffeur.” “You're a very strange person, I think,” she asserted. “You say you write songs—and play the ukulele?" “Yes. Words and music.” “And you sing them, too?" “Oh, yes. That's the way I earn my Wving.” * K % ¥ THEN. once more, she felt compeyied to look at him—furtively, that’ he might not note the display of interest. He was nice-looking—healthy and clean, and his hair and his clothes were well cut. “To the left here!” she “Heavens, I almost forgot.” They made the right-angled turn on two wheels. “Didn’t I tell you to warn me? he complained sharply. “We might have uwpaet.” “Well. why don't you go a little cried. slewer, then?' she rejoined. “Tt's vour | own fault.” sald “Hello,” and resumed his strug- gle with a claw. His time, you see, was very valuable. Geoffrey was presented formally to Mrs. Manning, who wiped her fingers surreptitiously on her napkin and then graclously shook hands. To the others the introduction wae more simple, consisting only of a recital of names. ) “Miss Bradshaw; my aunt, Miss Herbert; Miss Tower, my kid siste: my father, Mr. Pegram, Mr. Jewett and Mr. Hill. There, now sit down. I'm starving and Mr. Dudel is, too. He's a hero—he saved me—so give him plenty to eat.” “What happened?’ asked Miss Bradshaw, the obviousip healthy young woman on Geoffrey's right. “She couldn't start the car,” he ex- plained. “And you couldn’t either?” “Oh, T didn’t try. That would have spoiled everything. If I hadn't suc- ceeded it would have been humilia ing, and 1f I had I should have missed | —this.” ‘So what did you do?” “I bought her here in my own car —a very reliable little car, mine is. I just picked it up the other da; It's a 1917 flivver. At this Mr. Manning looked up from his plate. “You're right thers, Mr. —er Mr.,” he said. ‘T've got elght of 'em in my garage now, and they're the most dependable cars I've got. I wouldn't change ‘em for all the ex- pensive, nickeled, upholstered junk in the world. “I notice,” observed Mrs. Mannin; “that you never ride in one, though. “What difference does that malke? They're just as good whether I ride in them or not, arn't they? What business are you in, Mr.—er—" “My name 18 Rudel,” supplied Geot- frey. ~ She bullied her father, made good- | natured fun of her mother, and wound up at the ices with an ap- parently unjustifiable attack on Mr. | Pegram, an anemic vellow-haired | oung man whom she called Butter- | cup. | Later, In the garden, she explained to Geoftrey that she was engaged to Puttercup. “I don’t doubt Dbluntly. She stopped and looked at him angrily. “You can be ruder,” she said. “than any man I've met—and I've met some rude ones." “That wasn't rude. I merely sald that I didn’t doubt the truth of your statement. Had 1 said that I did, that would have certainly been rude. Why are you so sensitive? Take the chip off your shoulder, for goodness’ sake.” +1 see that we are going to fight constantly,” she asserted, more com- posedly. He consuited his watch before re- plying. Then he said: “I*should like to, but I must leave In ahout ten minutes.” “Why “Oh, well, your parents and friends think I'm a sort of wild animal es- caped from a zoo, and— “Do you mind what they think?” “No; not especlally. The trouble is they mind. It makes it uncomfort- able for them.” ~And I don't suppose you mind at all what T think?” He hesitated. Then: “I'd rather like to know just what you do think,” | he sald. She turned and smiled slowly at him, & provocative smile, an apprais- ing smile. “Do you suppose, Mr. Rudel,” she ald—"do you suppose that I've given | you really a serious thought? Do you suppose for an instant that a perfect stranger whom I pick up on the road—a perfectly mad stranger— matters one whit to me? I have been nice to you because you gave me a 1ift home. You gave me a lift, so I gave vou a luncheon—that's fair enough, isn't it? But just because I gave you a luncheon is no reason why you should assume that you have the right to scold me and in- sult me—yes, Insult me. I'm not used to it and I won't tolerate it. either, not even from my father.” * &k % % H groaned, whether sarcastically or not she did not know. *“I wax afrald you'd be that sort,” he sald. “I hoped differently, but I should have known {t. The house Is too much for you. That and your father's money- What a shame, what 2 ghastly shame!" “What do you mean?" she snapped out. “Are you becoming patronizing now?" it” sald Geoffrey {of an Italtan garden. !pleasanter for them, wouldn't it? “YOU'RE A PERFECT BEAST!” SHE CRIED. HE BOWED AGAIN. “A VERY IMPERFECT ONE, I FEAR.,” HE SAID. She said nothing; perhaps she had not noticed his betrayal of himself. Fosaibly she realized that Harvard is a democratic university and numbers all sorts and conditions of men among its students. However, her temper perceptibly cooled. And she did not request “one of the men” to show him to the gate. “Well,” she said, more quietly, o told you what I think of you, Mr. Rudel.” “Yea” he agreed, “you ocertainly have. But you must remember that it was not I who picked you up on the road—it was you who picked me up. I didn't ask to come to luncheon |and sit in your overdecorated dining room or look at your silly imitation Such magnifi- cence overawes me and I doubtless have appeared at my worst. 1 am not used to it and I abher it." She gave him a look from the cor- ners of her eves, and just a trace of dimples hoversd near her lips. “Do you know what T think?”" she id, “God forbid!” “I think—TI think that you're a rank {impostor.’ “H'm,” he reflected. “You do, do you? Well, now, if all your family thought that, it would make it much 1 suppose I'm an eccentric English vie- count in disguise, or something like that! How interesting—how Inter- esting! And how romantic! It's re- treshingly girlish.” “Naturally I'm girlish,” she retorted. “I'm very young. Just the same I know you're an $mpostor, and I don’t believe for a minute that you can write songs or sing them or play the ukulele.” “What do you belfeve I can do, “Oh—talk. You're probably a little “Well, I'm very gla gered me enough. I don't often let trifies disturb me.” * * x ¥ HE was more at ease now—more in her element, for she enjoyed takidg the offensive. And, ltke all women, she knew that she oould make no lasting impression on a man until she had thoroughly vexed him. “Go ahead,” she taunted, “get your ST (RIS THERE WAS AN AWKWARD SILENCE. IT WAS AS IF HE HAD SAID, “1 MURDER.” | | N i \‘,P *“I don't know yet,” “I am thinking.” “You couldn’t find a rhyme for Audrey, could you?" He pondered a while seriously, then shook his head. “Tawdry is the nearest approach to it I can think of at the moment.”” he replied “Thank you." shan't use it. It's not appro- priate, and it really doesn't rhyme.” ‘When the man bearing the ukulels Geoffrey sald. | was sighted, Geoffrey demanded si- lence for a few moments. “If I am to extemporize,” he said, “I must have time to think.” “Oh!" she exclaimed. “So you're | going to extemporize—in my honor?* it you'll keep quiet.” The man having deposited the ukulele, at Geoffrey's direction, on the | grass, departed to resume his shears. Geoffrey, after a brief minute, picked it up and strummed a few minor chords—plaintive chords full of mys- tery and lamentation. Then he be- gan to sing. “I have traveled many lands In quest of my girl of dreams, T have searched by golden streams For the slim, pale girl who stands, Luring with slim pale hands— Luring me in my dreams. “I have sought under many skies The slim, pale girl of my dreams, But, alas! she always seems To vanish before my eyer, Even as twilight dies— Even as die my dreams. My soul it is sad today, For the idol ¢® my dreams. Seen where the daylight gleams, Is but of mortal clay. Gone is the dream away— Gone are my golden,dreams.” “There.” he eald, “that's not bad— except the last verse. I don’t mean that the idea of the last verse is bad, but the wording is rather slovenly. TIl polish it off, though, before the ay is over.” Audrey sald mothing for a while. | Then, when she did speak, she stam- mered a little. “Am I to suppOS: that I am the—the girl of clay?” He bowed. “Had your name been accented on | the last syllable,” he said. “I should have substituted Audrey far away in the next to last line. Perhaps it would be better like that anyhow: ‘Gone 1s the dream, Audrey—gone are my golden dreams.’ Yes, I think T could get away with that. Well, now that the dream is gone, I'll be getting along myself. Good-bye.” * ok x % E HELD out his hand. She was plucking at the petals of & red rose—putting it to her face and then lowering it to pluck at it again with nervous fingers. Obviously she was mystified, uncertain, perhaps a little stirred. She chose not to notice his hand. “But——" she began, and stopped. Then: “Please come and sit down a minute. You must explain a little— B Y N[l | “I mean, of course he explained earnestly—*I mean that for me you are !mpossible. For others you are doubtless entirely possible and even probable. Such women ss you have lalways existed, and there have al- ways been multitudes to love them, !You have the superd imperiousness jof Cleopatra. That does very well {for an Antony, but not for me. don't like it fn a woman. You have the devilish temper of Xantippe. Soc- rates bore it, but I couldn't and wouldn‘t. You're a spolled aristocrat, like Marte Antoinette—except that | you're only a pseudo-aristocrat—ana |I'm inciined to be something of a | socialist and my name is not Louls. {In short, your faults are so flagrant |in my eyes—in my eyes, you under- {stand—that it is totally out of the Juestion for me to continue to make love to you. T am very sorry—no one 1s more disappointed than I * % x % HE was angry, there was no doubting that. She was so angry that she was almost In tears. ¥You're a perfeot beast!” she eried. He bowed again. “A very imper- fect one, 1 fear.” he said “You—vou don't know me &t all, and you have no right to talk that way.” “You told me to be frank” he reminded her. “But—well, I have eaten of your salt and so I should perhaps have played the hypoerite. However, I am leaving you at once 1 —— | During the thres months of Septem | ment experts demonstrated to the deal- ber, October and November the re lers the fault in this. Now, since the sults of a recent national survey |latter park their cars at appointed |rhow that . Washingtonians cor {spots some distance from their stands, |sumed ninsteen pounds of much more automobile trade has been | apicce, an average of less than one attracted to Center Market {fifth of a pound a person dail The Center Market dealers used to|Seven local slaughter houses pr {shun advertising. “Everybody in!vide about 32 per cent of Washing Washington knows where Center Mar- | ton's meats, whila the balance com ket {s and that we are here to serve|from Chicago and Baltimore. A flest them,” was their allbi for not patroniz- | of motor trucks operates regular ing the public press. Uncle Sam, when | between Washington and Haltimore {he stepped in, Immediately urged the|carrying foodstuffts to the While inception of co-operative advertising, | House municipalit featuring the central locatlon of Center | Washington's milk supply Market and the vast varlety of products | gates between 39000 and 4 that it offered. Each stand-holder now |lons daily, and comes pays $1.75 a week for co-operative ad- Virg: vertisements. This novel publicity pro- | fifty an gram has markedly increased business!Capitol. The local milk supply is one receipts. of the most sanitary In the world The accounting experts of the De- Butterfat in this latitude is too valu | partment of Agriculture have evolved | able as market cream to be converted {simple and satisfactory accounting|into merchantable butter. As a re- systems which now are practiced by | Sult, the District fmports her butter the Center Market dealers, who pre- from Iowa, Kausas. Nebraska, Obi viously manitained only the mostjand Minnesota. Wisconsin and Nes crude debits and,credits on their an-| YOrX provide Washington —wit il antiattten |cheese. Maryland and Virginta far The national investigators have|Mer Sell oggs and poultry in larg- worked out novel stories about the|™OUNS 'O g;:r:l“(f‘:z'r‘n“{’x‘e‘:'h;“f;; | efficiency of service as the prize hired 2 3 D iand dressed poultry are shipped | man of the average tradesman down | = - | onte Aiatkot war. | the District from Chicago. They have found | 14| Cman marketing centers in additior |that the thousands of people WO oirtar ~samiiat aiid Jnore ha {dafly visit Center Market do not 80,700 rooq retaflers distribute man | there primarily to save money but be-| yiyion dollnrs” worth of foodstuffs jcause of the great varlety of food-|,nnya1y to the 438,000 residents of meat aggre \ ulJL and we'll never see each other again, 50 youll forget what I've said as quickly as yowll forget me.” She glanced at him sharply, s pecting a double meaning in this last. Perhaps he knew that she would not forget him quickly. He appeared in- nocent—calm, a little sad. At least, she hoped he was a little sad. Her anger left her suddenly, and. strange- Iy enough, it left her against her Will. She desired fervently to re- main angry, but in spite of herself she felt her righteous wrath slipping from her, and in its place came a distressing and disconcerting feeling of humflity such as she had never be- fore experienced. Then, to her dis- may, she began to cry. My Heavens!” shouted Geoffrey Rudel. “Don't do that! Dom't do that! Tt's just another of your | damnable tricks, and I can't stand it. IT can't stand it, T say. Don't do it! He got up and commenced pacing the grass in front of her. He was greatly perturbed, and he wanted to get away. Still, he did not want to leave her in tears. “Here, here he said sternly but helplessly, “here, here. This won't do. This won't do at all. You really mustw’t. T1leave you at once If you don't stop.” She looked up quickly and achieved a smile. “Then I'll stop,” she sald. There was a pause while she dried her eyes. “Did you do.that on purpose?” he demanded severely. “N-no,” she answered, “I couldn't help it. You hurt me, He sald, “On.” “You see” she continued, not o callous as you think.” “I am but | stufts that they can purchase there <o, nington. and because of the superfor service | which the retailers render. The| | dealers who peddle the best service attract the most customers and build | {up the best regular trade. One| dealer succeeds where his neighbor| falls because the former provides| better service. Center Market dealers have to be respectful to their patrons, The Sec- retary of Agriculture has the power to revoke the license and lease of any tradesman who lacks courtesy to- ward a potential customer. * x % x (QE of Washington's greatest needs at present ix a central unload- ing station. As matters stand now, most of the produce that is shipped by boat or rail into Washington has to be hauled from one to thres miles before it is delivered at the doors of Center market Only a minimum of intermediary jobbing is emphasized in the Wash- irgton foodstuffs trade. Most of the materials go direotly from the re- ceiver to the retaller. When average prices over a series of vears are scrutinized and compared with those prevalent on other marketing centers, the consensus of judgment is that Washington is not a high-priced market city. Local market prices never fluctuate widely nor do gluts occur commonly. Washington is =~ well stabilized market with a de- pendable volume of supplies and a reliable patronage for all such prod- uce. One potential method of food dls- tribution which may be developed !s the track selling of produce in the railroad yards. This car-door system of distributing food products is ap- w . plicable to the selling of such com- “They all cry,” he responded, Meditine, 86 Trulf, Botskice. berries without his customary assurance. = |gnq similar produco which can be “How do you know?” was her nat-| cci4 girectly to the consumer from ural retort, while she was powdering | sno car door. Washington folks with her nose. their 110,000 licensed automobiles “I've seen them. Even in Arisona|could well visit the cars in the rail- road yards to benefit in the way of food cost curtailment by this cash jand carry system. Government Inspectors examine all ithe foodstufts that are shipped into ‘Washington, not only to protect the general publio agalnst inferior goods. but also to facilitate the collection {of vital marketing statistics on the | quality and supply of produce used in the City of Presidents. The Na- | tional Capital has the best meat and |milk supplies in all creation as & | consequence of this rigid fnspection |and the admirable system of sanitary laws which govern the handling of such articles in Washington. ‘Washington eats about 9.000,000 pounda of meat a month during the peak of the cold weather period. The District, most certainly. is not a homing ground of vegeterians, in view of the annual comsumption of more than 85,000,000 pounds of beet, pork and mutton annually. One- half of the meat produots sold con- slst of pork, three-eighths of tho supply is beef, while theé balance Machine Sorts Diamonds. HEN the the diamond mines at Kimber ley, they blast and pick out the har diamantiferous earth and place wooden tubs that are hauled on stou wires to the surface, where the earth laborers descend is spread over the ground to underg. softening in and cold. When i shoveled into the washing mack where the dirt | separated the rough dlamonds and other large mineral substance The mixture of minerals reaatning known as “concentrates.” It was f merly necessary to go carefully ove these concentrates to pick out the garnets and many other forelgn sut tances, until nothing remained bu the rough dlamonds. This was a slow and laborious operation, but it w an essential part of the mining in dustry until it was superseded not so many years ag Among the employ room was & youth by the Kersten, who went qulatly to work to find a way to separate the dia- monds from other stones more quick- Iy and more easily than could bu done by the slow process of hand plcking. He was not discouraged by his many faflures to find that way. One day, by the merest chance, th boy made the discovery that he was seeking. A rough dlamond and a garnet happened to be Iyiug on small board on the benci where he was working. Ie raised onc the board. The garnet slipped but the diamond remained. ilc foun that there Was ascoating of gve on the board that had retained diamond but not the garn:t. The boy procured a wider board. coated the side of it with grease, and dumped & few handfuls of concen- trate on it. Then he found that, b holding the board in & slightly in for several months ti fluences of heat is soft enough T s in the =ertin, me o end of | clined position and vibrating it, all the concentrates except the diamonds moved to the lower end and fell while the diamonds remainod place. Then the boy invented i mach by which his discovery might be utl lzed. Considerable study was quired to perfect it, but at last the machine was completed and the dia- mond magnates were invited to wit- | ness the mew method of separatiag diamonds from the rest of tne cun centrates. The inventlon was an emtire suc cess. A more simple and complat. device for saving time, labor and lo of diamonds could not be imagir The entire work Is now done by chinery, hand-picking has been whol- ly superceded, and both the inventor and the mine owners have grofitel hansomely by the labor-saving ma- chine.