Evening Star Newspaper, May 11, 1924, Page 76

’ FLURT EHIND the gray smoke, that hangs over Pittsburgh like a veil of gauze, lies a city of beauty—misty hill tops, pink 2s a rose at dawn, long avenues of spreading trees, great palaces of White marble, perched high above the oot and grime of the Black Valley— the river's edge, where fires spit their endless flames skyward and giant hammers crash. There are vivid flower gardens and and littie clusters of ilver p against red brick wAlls. There are blue lagoons and woody and fountains that toss a mil- diamonds into the air—homes of tors, the capitalists—and the greatest of these capitalists was James Dear Dean began as a breaker boy; en- the mines at eight, when he his seat beside a dozen other voungsters who picked the slate from the coal One day he emerged into the yel- Jow sunlight, blinking, stoop- ouldered, prematurely old, but chief stockholder in Prendergast, the largest anthracite mine in the state, all because his promotion to door boy had not satisfied him, nor to labor- «r, nor to miner's helper, nor to full- tledfled m nor to foreman, nor superintendent * ¢ * ¢ * % % reen lawns ks tered took Erimy 3 was frankly greedy for the things of life. They camo to him at high cost A sucressful superintendent, won his promotion through producing 1l cheaply—that meant by insisting pon more work than the men under physically able to do. So lave driver, with but two dominating his whole cxistenco—the mines and the son his wife had died in giving him. Dean named the boy Peter and handed him over to the care of others; nurses, tutors and eventually coll fessors. Ho made no at- tempt to become acquainted with his vouth. Dean was too he scarcely knew how s child, He was content 1o wait. Some day Peter would come to him a man. Then they would be separable, working out business problems, laying gigantic schemes, developing great projects together— always togethe vod m were a And so, one day in June, Peter came home with his college desree and his twenty-one vears, feeling a keen e:zerness become acquainted at last with the great man whose name ho bore. They were to dine together, and to Peter this first meal was a matter of gravest ortance. He | dressed carefully for it. It was a om fraternity house to =lip into evening clothes each night. 17 spent time than usual be- fore his mirror. Dean had been out to the mines that day. He wore corduroy trousers d an old coat. His shoes were cov- ared with mud, his face filmed with 4 bluish soot. His finger nails were dirty. He glanced away from the paper he gas pretending to read when his “What are you all dressed up for?’ he shot at him. Peter suddenls remembered. That was the way his father did; shot questions at him. He explained, flushing swiftly. His father cut him short “Well, fish after this. dude now, rem: ness man." Poter inclined his head. willing to can it, he sald. went in to dinner “Tomorfow,” Dean told him, “O'Hara will show you over the mines, then you can go down and spend a few | months with a pick and shovel. It| will do your hands,” with a dry smile, “a lot of good.” They ate in heavy silence. After a similar lack of conversation in the | library, Peter rose, then said, “I'm zoing up. Good-night, father.” “Night,” growled Dean, “don’t for- | get to put out the light in the upper hall to s his mara ¥ou can can the soup and You ain't a college ember, you're a busi- Perfectly So they | Jailers in the Orient. T appears from a story told by an American who has spent much of his time in the far east that the warders in Burmese jails are nearly always men from the Punjab and northern India. They are large and muscular, but the principal reason for their selection is that they are not Buddhists. The Bur- man is sometimes employed as a warder, but his Buddist education often causes his prejudices to come in collision with his official duties, as in the case of the warder in this story. A phoongyee, or Buddist priest, in jail for stealing, had been placed in solitary confinement for disobeying the prison rules. His influence as a priest had per- suaded a Burman warder Lo procure him some betel nuts, which, being discovered in his possession, caused his punishment. The stone cell in which the priest was confined had a plank supported at both ends by insertion into slots in the walls. The plank served as a bed, and at night the priest jumped on it again and again, in order to force the ends out of the shallow sockets. The Burman sentry peeped into the aperture of the door and asked him to desist. The convict replied that he was a priest, and as such was forbidden to sleep on a raised bed. By this time he had got the board free, and to disarm the sentry’s suspicions lay down upon it and feigned sleep. The sentry returned to his post, but a few hours later ho was alarmed to see the | phoongyes walking softly down the passage. He had used the board as a laver to force out two §f the bars in the door and had managed to squeeze him- self through the aperture. The sentry, 4 Buddist, was embar- rassed. To lay violent hands upon the holy convict was out of the question; to allow him to escape would bring punish- ment upon himseif. As the passage doors were locked, and the priest safe for the present, the sentry ventured to remon- strate with his charge on the impro- priety of his behavior. The tramp of the relief jailer was heard outside. The sentry knelt and im- plored the priest to return to his cell. The door opened upon ;the tableau—a uniformed sentry in an httitude of sup- plication before a convict. The Punjabese, who formed the relief guard, not being Buddists, had no re- | house. speet for phoongyees. The convjct was promptly bundled into a new cell. [\JEXT morning Peter pald his first visit to the mines. Standing at the foot of the shaft, with the chill air sweeping about him, he conceived an unutterable loathing for them. He wanted to get out. He wanted sun- light, trees, flowers—not shadows with little pale lights appearing and disappearing into silence. He heard O'Hara calling: “This way. After a while they reached a dark gangway and scrambled up the side, entering a narrow passage. O'Hara pushed aside a little canvas curtain, thick with moisture and coal dust, and they entered a sort of chimney on the side of which stretched rungs of a giant ladder. At the top of the ladder was a small black room. A miner worked thers, but scarcely noticed them. O'Hara shouted something to him above the shriek of the air drill that was boring its way into the coal, and the miner answered. But Peter could not un- derstand. It was all unreal to him— the darkness, the intent figures, the flickering lights, the infernal noise. Well, vou've seen enough for one day,” O'Hara sald finally closs to his ear and began the descent. His father awaited him in his office. It was a handsoms room, high above the street, with a sweeping view of the low hills and beyond a gray rib- bon of water. Dean, tapping his desk with a pencil end, studied his son. “Well,” he said at length, “what do you think of the mines?” Peter looked at his father, then out the window, He heard his father's voice. What's the matter with you? Are ¥ou deaf? I asked you how you like the mines.” “Oh, all right,” Peter answered, In- stantly he saw it was not enongh. He plunged on. “I wish they weren't so dirty, though, and so dark.” Dean stared at his son; then he laughed. “Dirty and dark—did you think we were running a laundry?” An ofice boy entered noiselessly and handed Dean a slip. The effect was electrical. Clear out,” he said to his son. rwell is here to see me.” He did not explain who Farwell was, but Peter sensed his enormous importance and rose. He descended to the street It was pulsing with life. * ¥ % % INJEXT morning Peter went on the engineering corps. With them he spent two highly unsuccessful months in the heart of the mines. Peter knew nothing whatever about | taking sights or measuring. He cared less. He wated sloshing through old bandoned entries full of water or impregnated with the deadly fire- damp. He made mistakes. He was late to work. He hated the place and his father and the men. One day he was abruptly transfer- red to the timbering gang—as hard- boiled a crowd of men as you could find, Peter was a very bad timberman— one of the worst, it may be said, in Prendergast's history. Very soon Dean learned of this. His son's fail- ure cut him deeply. That, perhaps, was what drove him to take the step he did Peter had had a hard day of it. The foreman, egged on by his father, had sent him to distant parts of the mine on difficult jobs, all of which involved long, back-breaking walks in the chill darkness, loaded down heavily with his timberman's tools. Then O'Hara, passing by, delivered a message. “Your old man says there’s com- pany for dinner and you're to be on hand.” Peter went home when his shift was over and dressed. In the dining room he found a big square-shouldered man and his square-shouldered daugh- ter. It was the first time since Peter's return that a woman had been in the She had red cheeks—round, firm, shiny ones’-and king, bovine eyes. Her nose he didn't like. 1t was too flat and too pink. Her mouth was wide and placid. She had a pyramid of carefully waved chestnut hair. She was introduced as Miss Margaret Farwell Instantly Peter remembered the name as he bowed to her and to her father. Farwell was the very im- portant person whose entrance had swept Peter aside that first day. Far- well. . . Yes, that was it. Farwell spoke to Peter. ‘“Want to come over to New York with us for the week end? Hear you've been working hard.” “Why, yes” sald Peter; “that is——" and he looked at his father. “Tll let you oft,” Dean nodded “Think the mines can run a day without you. Fact ls, I'm going too— a little business—but you two chil- dren needn't bother about that—go | to the theater—do anything you like —good for you.” Peter's heart leaped! Two days in New York! Time to look up old friends. Then he remembered. He was to be Margaret's escort. But even so, he could get away from her for hours at a time. “Count me in,” he said to Farwell Margaret looked pleased in a calm fashion. “I think it will be very nica What shall we see?” “The Follies,” said Peter. “Oh, but I wanted——" She began, when her father cut her short. “All right. TI1l wire for tickets “The Follies” suit me, too.” * k% % WHEN the train pulled tato the station early in the morning | Peter was the first one to alight. He telephoned Chick Wilson, his old roommate at college. He grinned at Chick’s sleepy response and growl of greeting. They planned to meet be- tween the acts that night at the theater. He returned to the tratn. It was hot and stuffy inside. Some of the passengers were still asleep. A fow crawled toward the washroom, kimonaed women and coatless men. . In due time Margaret came out of her stateroom, clad in a dark blue suit and hat She was full of sug- gestions. “After eating let's take a walk on the avenue. I want to shop & littla ‘Where shall we go for lunch?* Peter didn’t know. Still she per- sisted. ““There are so many places to choose from. Which do you like best?” He shook his head. He was glad he THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, A Story by had ‘called Chick up so early. It did not look as though he wouid have another chance. He hadn't Marga- ret kept him by ber side all day. H: wondered himself how she accom- plished it At 6 o'clock she left him to dress. Then he returned to his room. There he found his father awaiting him. Peter was surprised. It was the first time so far as he could remember that his father pver sought an inter- view. Dean was standing by the window when Peter entered. He had switched on the lights and has bathed in their warm, yellow glow. It softened his fac *“Oh—you,” said Peter, closing the door behind him. Dean grunted. “Sit down.” Peter remained standing, however. He waited, then said, softly: “Yes, sir.” Dean, reminded of where he was, jerked himself up. “Had a nice day?" he asked. The method of attack was so dif- ferent from any Peter had steeled himself to meet that he stammered: “Why—why—yes.” “Margaret steer you? “Yes, she did, rather.” “Pine girl.” So that was it. His father wenton: *“Healthy and strong. That's what she is—healthy and strong.” A briet pause, then Dean cleared his throat. “See here, I'm going to talk plain to you.™ Peter did not answer. “You made a rotten bad job of it so far. I've given you every chance in the world. Spent a pile of money on you and yet you turn out this way. Won't work. Won't learn. What in the devil do you think I laid out $20,000 for since the day you were born? “But I've found a way to realize on my money. You won't make a mining man nor a business man. Now, then, I want to hook up with Farwell. Ra- dium. Millions.” At this point Peter interrupted. “You want me to marry his daugh- ter; isn't that it? Provided Miss Far- well will have me."” “Want you to? Shell have you, all right. will see to that. “Well,” said Peter, slowly, speaking the words careful almost daintily. “1 won't bring Miss Farwell into this. It isn't necessary, but you and Far- well and your plans for what I am going to do or not going to do can— can go to the devil.” And he flung out of the room. * *x % % You'rs going to! Farwell went to a ticket, Chick there. There was laughter and the Follles. He bought counting on finding music and girls and applause. He did not see any of it. He was wondering how one earned twenty thousand and whom he could marry to displease his father the most. When the curtain fell Chick found him staring gloom- ily at the stage. “Well, for the love of Mike,” boomed, “why so merry”’ Peter murmured something and Chick thumped him on the back “Come on around and meet the baby doll of the show. She’ll cheer you up, old horse.” Peter had never been behind the scenes before. He liked the smell of it and the bustle. It was bewildering —lights and noise and the heavy, sweet odor of perfume— Peter felt suddenly faint. Everything seemed miles away. It was not eating, he supposed. “Follow me,” sang out Chick. They crossed behind a scene-shifter and a pirouetting girl on her toes, and came to a narrow hall with an iron stairway winding up. Opening on to the landing were tiers of doors. “Oh, Bobb: shouted Chick. “Come down and see who's here.” Then Bobby swam into Peter's line of vision. She was tiny and dark and elflike, with violet eves that laughed up at you and an adorable red mouth. “Who's your friend?” she demanded ot Chick. “We're coming around for you and May after the show, then we'll all go up to my place and get acquainted.” — he L] Elaine Sterne “I'll think about it,” she said, her head on one side. Then she looked at Peter sharply. “Hey, what's the matter with you? You look sick.” “I am,” he sald. I—> Chick sald. “Why, you do look all in, old man.” Bobby tugged at his arm. “Come into my dressing room and TIll pour you a drink.” Her dressing room was hung in rose chintz with rose shades screen- ing the lights The dressing table was a confusion of powder, powder puffs, rouge, lipsticks and eyebrow pencils. There were flowers, too— roses. Peter sank down in a wicker chair. He was very grateful to close his eyes. Then he felt her bending over him. Suddenly he caught her wrist. “Will you marry me?” he said. Bobby flung back her head and laughed. Her throat was smooth and long and white. “Sure,” she told him—*"anything to please you, if you drink this, like a good boy.” “Better take him up,” grinned Chick. “His old man is the Pitts- burgh coal king.” ' The whisky burned Peter's throat and cleared his head. He rose to his feet. Bobby was looking at him with a smile, her lashes veiling her eyes. “See you later,” she said. “I'm glad you're better.” Then she-thrust her hand in his, and, pulling him toward her, reached up on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. “I like you,” she nod- ded, and ran upstairs. % %% HICE bad a studlo. Bobby had been thers before, and she led the way, switching on lights that glowed redly. Peter followed, watch- ing every move of her slender body. He had never seen any one 50 grace- ful—so alive. “Chick and May can dig for food,” she told him. “I want to show you my picture”; and she drew him over to a corner where a sketch of her in costume was pinned to the wall. Peter sald, “I'm going to steal 1t.” “Do It quick,” she laughed, “be- fore Chick sees you." He did, looking over his shoulder as he pulled it down. Chick was shaking cocktails: teil- ing May some story of college days, at which she was laughing uproar- iously. “Why must you go back to Pitts- burgh?” Bobby sighed. “We could have such good times if you stayed here” “T'll get you a job i{n the bank.,” called Chick Peter felt lifted up, gay, carefree. He wanted to say something funny so they would laugh—laugh hard He turned to Bobby. “Don’t want to go back unless I take you with me.” May clapped her hands. “Bobby'll She's just dying for a change he had to convince them. “My old man wants me to get married—always talking about it Chick sald, “Forget it." But Bobby leaped closer. ' “Go on,” she nodded, her eyes on his face. “Wants me to get married, I said Well, I'm going to. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning. That is, it he’ll have me. Will, you, Bobby? Will you take me?" “Will I1?* echoed Bobby, about his neck. ask me twic Chick turned on them angrily. “You're drunk, the whole lot of you. You don't know what you're saying. Forget it and let's have some fun.” But Peter shook his head. *First thing in the morning, Chick. You be best man; that's a good fellow. Nothing’s going to stop me, so save your breath” The final edition of the evening pa- pers next day carried an item men- tioning that Bobby Caruthers of the Follies had married one Peter Dean of Pittsburgh. That was the first Dean heard of it. When he arrived home he found, with the rest of his mail, an oblong cardboard package marked personal. Dean opened it. It contained a charcoal sketch of a red- lipped, black-haired siren. Under it wds scrawled in Peter's hand: “Dear Father: This is your daugh- ter-in-law. We await your blessing. Peter.” He tore the pictare viciously across the face, then flung it from him. He r her arm “You don’t have to D. ¢, MAY 11, ¥ never spoke Peter's name. It was as though he had never been. * % x % T'HE instant Bobby was married she wanted to go to Pittsburgh She had seen in the Sunday magazine sections pictures of the Dean home. She was already planning a wardrobe suitable to the new mistress of it Bobby, turning away from the mar- riage clerk, had said: “What train do we take, dear?” Peter shook his head. “We won't go back—tonight,” he gulped. He had twenty dollars in his pocket. He wondered if Chick would lend them his studio for a few days. “Well, tomorrow, then. But let's wire your father right away.” “No,” said Peter, “we won't that.’ 1t was then that Bobby, clutching her bouquet—five precious dollars’ worth, faced him suspiciously. “Why won't we?” she demanded. “I'm going to.® “It's no use” sald Peter, through with me.” ‘I don't understand,” she said, “sup- pose you explain.” “It was my father's faglt” Peter heard himself saying. “I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him as he hurt me. I knew that this would be the worst—" “Marrying me, you mean?" Bobby simply. “Marrying any one but the woman he chose for me.” “Oh, he chose some one, did he?™ “Yes—yes—I wish—I wish—Gad, what can I say?” “And all you told me about his wanting you to marry—that wasn't true? Peter whispered, “I don’t know what to do—I don't know what to do.” Bobby spoke slowly. “So hell cat vou off for doing this. Is that it Peter? Suppose you tell me all" “Yes, he'll cut me oft.” Suddenly Bobby flung back her head. “All right, Peter. Now then, let’s see about it. How much money have you got?” “Twenty dollars” sald Peter. Bobby said, “Well, I haven't given up my job in the chorus and thatll help, of course, but you've got to find work, too. Between us we may be able to keep a roof over our heads ana—-" Peter stared at her. She was very beautiful, smiling up at him from beneath her little black hat. “Tll work for you,” he said, ~but I don't deserve to have you live with do “He's asked 924—PART 5. il Uil HE FELT HER BEND! me an hour—a second, after what I've done. It wouldn't be falr to you Bobby drew close to him. “T said I liked you, Peter,” she told him. “I may end by loving you. It's up to you.” And she kissed him again. This time he caught her to him for a sec- ond *Tll make you,” he whispered. I'll make ybu. . ." * % % * TRL'E to his word, Chick got him a job in the bank. It was as runner, which netted some ninety- dollars a month and entailed long hours of work. He was there at § in the morning and he left at 7:30 at night It was the only job open to a man of no experience, but great willingness. Peter snapped it up. He turned over his pay envelope twice a month to Bobby and she gave him enough for lunches and dinners. The rest went toward the black hole of a room they occupied in a boarding house within walking distance of the bank. Money assumed huge and unpre- cedented proportions to Peter. He came to wonder if he had been right in condemning his father's worship of it. After all, one had to have it 10 live—if you called what they were doing living. He thought sometimes of the big white house—of his room and bath—of a dinner perfectly served. . . . And then Bobby broke her ankle and the show went on the road. She never complained, her little white teeth caught in her lip, as the doctor twisted and turnmed her in- jured foot. But once it was in its plaster cast and a long siege of in- activity stretching before her, she spoke to Peter: “My two hundred a month is gone for a good long time. All we have is what you can make. I guess vou'll have to find an odd job to do at nights, Peter. I'm awfully sorry, but T'll help all I can.” He found an opening at nights as cashier in & drug store. That brought in twenty dollars a week more. It meant working until 12, after a day on his feet. But he was 5lad to be able ‘to do it for her. She was such a good soldier. Clutching his pay envelops in his hot hand at a week’s end, he knew for the first time the black fear lest on opening it he find inside a blue slip. What if he lost his posi- tion! . . . The weeks turned into months, and Bobby was able to walk around with the help of a cane. One day on arriving at the bank, Peter found word awaiting him that the cashier wished to see him. In a flash, he reviewed the previous day's trips to different banks, where he had presented notes for payment. So far as he knew he had made no mistakes. Not one. He approached the cashier smiling, but his face was very white. “Well,” he said, “what's wrong?” ‘The cashier grinned at him. “Noth- ing much, except that you seem to be able to deliver the goods and we're Soing to give you a tryout as as- sistant bookkeeper, which means you get here in the morning at 8:30 after this and draw down twenty-five dol- lars more a month to start with.” Peter caught his breath. “You mean—you mean—I've made good!" “Sure you have,” said the cashier. “If you do as well on the books you may be president of the place some of these days. There's no telling, my boy.” Peter could not wait to get home and tell Bobby. It seemed as though the day and night would never come to an end. At last he was free! He brought her a bunch of red car- nations and a box of candy. He ‘hoped she would be awake when he came home. She was seated In a chair, awaiting him. He dropped the flowers into her lap. “It's all right, hon, I can afford them. Got a raise. ‘What do you think of that, Mrs, Dean, for a piece of news!” He did not wait for her reply. “T1l never leave the old bank. I'll just work my way up to the top. Tll read books on banking and interview fellows and—" She had caught the flowers to her and laid her cheek against them. “I don't think you will, Peter. I don’t think you win.® OVER HIM. It was then that he noticed for the first time her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “A wire came for you today from a man named O'Hara." “From O'Hara! .. .." he stopped. “No,” she said, “he isn't dead, but he's very ill and—and they think you had better come.” Peter stared before him. “Of course, I'll go," he said, so will you.” “Yes,” said Bobby, “I'll go too." Suddenly she clasped her hands and leaned toward him. % x * C()H. Peter, Peter, you only make him how fine you are—how hard you've worked— and how much you can do, I'll be willing to have him hate me for marrying you. Oh, yes,.he'll hate me 1 know what he thinks of people like me doesn't matter in the least, Peter, just fluf—oh, but what he thinks of me dosen’t matter in the least, Peter. just so I ‘can make him thipk world of you!" . Father isn't “and | it see can the | Dean lay In the room that had been his for twenty years. He lay with his | eves open staring before him. He| had, he believed, chosen a bad time| to be 11l So many loose ends—still you got nowhere thinking along that | line. Nowhere at all. | He was all at once very tired and a little sorry for himself. He wished his wife had lived, or that he had had a daughter. Some one had entered | the room. He could not turn his head | to see, but he knew it was @ girl. | One of the servants probably. He half closed his eyes and watched | through his lashes, pretending sleep. She crossed his line of vision. She| limped slightly and was very small. And as she approached he saw that she was young and extremely pretty, though rather too thin and white he thought. Who was she? Who was she? It was not until she leaned over| him that he remembered. He opened | his eves with such suddenness that she started. “Get out of here” he said, “and never come back. I know who you are.” He could think of nothing else to say, o he shut his eves When he| opened them again, he found she had seated herself beside the bed. “Please don't send me away,” she was saying, “until 1 tell you about Peter first.” She had a very tender note in her volcs and there were tears in her eyes—real tears. “Ill go then if you like. Indeed I will. But you must know about him before T do.” “Is he here> ha asked suddenly. It was the first time he had dreamed his son might be at hand. She nodded. Dean chuckled grimly. “Came around to see me die, eh? Well, it won't do him any good. My money’s left to the state—all of it.” That would hold her. He watched her closely. She did seem so very much in earnest about something. “You don’t understand. Peter's been working, ever since our mar- riage, in a bank.” “Know all about it he snapped, “have had a monthly report on him.” “Oh,” she gasped, “have you!" “Know all about you, too, and vour | kind.” | “Yes” she said, "I suppose you do.” Suddenly Dean felt her fingers close over his. It was a cold little hand—nervousness, he guessed. She spoke. % ok ((PETER'S missed you—oh yes, he has—deadfully. Not at first, but little by little as he came to know how much you had done for him. It ‘was only because of me that he stayed away instead of coming home to you. understand? It was all my said Dean, “I know that.” “You see, I was hurt and I had to be taken care of, so he couldn’tleave me, but now I'm well—almost well, and so if you will take him back and let him help vou and work for you I'll just—well—step out. Really. I meant to do it anyway when once you two had eome together again.” He did not speak, and after a time she went on. “Peter has faults, I suppose, like | | known as every one else, but I've found eut one thing about him, and that Is, if you expect him to do a thing well- he always does it. Perhaps,” she hesitated over the word, “perhaps you didn't expect him to do anything wel and that was why 3 “I didn't,” said Dean, “not a blamed thing!" e laughed, then try the other way.” see how it works. know he'll make cause—he's—your. Dean lay qulet, her. ‘How old are you™" “Twenty."” ‘Any folks?" “Nobody." *Thoug! stage?" “That's all T can do.” “Where's Peter? ‘Downstairs.” “Well, suppose calt p- and you needn't be in a hurry about g away, cither. 1 naed some one © I'm expected Peter does™ “Suppose you she said, “and Just tell him you good because—be- 1 he you'd go 1 vou kissed his kiss ke h: He rather likec 1924 ) It was the firs n many years (Copyright First “Uncle Sam.” Uncle Sam, of the long white ha striped trous and starred waist coat, who stands for the United States in cartoons, real person, a Y. about a hundred y The way the term came be ap- plied to the United States govern- ment happened in this manner: Shortly after the war of 1812, EI bert Anderson of New York who wa a contractor for the Army, went t Troy to purchase some provisions. It was Anderson’'s habit to stamp a boxes containing the goods with his initials and those of the United so that on the end of eas out were the letters E. A Before each box went out it had to be inspected, and one of the | spectors was an old man, popular among his associates for his wit an good humor, named Samuel Wilson. Around the inspecting rooms he was “Uncle Sam.” One time a new man in the office asked an em- plove what the letters on the boxes, E. A, and U. S, stood for. The man thinking to tease Uncle Sam a bit answered: “E. A. for Elbert Ander son, who contracts for the supplies, and U. S. for Uncle Sam, who inspects them The joke spread, and before long the letters U. S. became generally applied to the name Uncle San When cartoonists, looking for a popu lar figure to impersonate the Unite: States, heard the tale, they used the characteristic Uncle Sam of the ir spocting room, dressed in flag-lik clothes. —e Mining ‘Mercury. PP.OB.\.HL\' the largest exposed de posit of cinnabar, or quicksilver ore, is that forming the mountain from which the town of Black Butts Oreg.. derives its name. There = wvein 400 feet wide has been opened for more than a mile along the moun tain at a depth of 1,000, feet below the crest. In Europe the chief mines are at Almaden, in Spain, and at Itria, a town twenty-five miles from Trieste. > The process of obtaining the mer cury is called distillation. ~ After being crushed the ore is subjected to intense heat, 1,200 degrees Fahren heit. When the ore has attained t! temperature of 630 degrees, the mer- cury is driven off in the form of vapor. This vapor is passed into large wooden or brick chambers call- ed “condensers,” which are surround ed by water jackets and other devices designed to reduce the temperature. In these chambers the vapor is con- densed, the quicksilver resuming a metallic form and being deposited in fine globules on the walls and floors. These globules, as they increase in size, merge and run out in troughs ready to be marketed. The product is shipped in wrought:iron flasks weighing fourteen pounds each and holding seventy-six and one- pounds of the metal, for which dealer contraots at the market prie~