Evening Star Newspaper, November 8, 1925, Page 82

THE : SUNDAY S TAR, WASHINGTON, D. (. NOVEMBER THE CONGENIAL CROOK BY WILL PAYNE In the Role of the Town’s Bad Boy, He Had Always Fascinated Her—And—— face on Cen Petersburg, HE met him face t tral avenue in St | he'd take the check and deposite it In his bank, and then if the bank in Chi- Fla., and instantly recognized |cago paid it he'd give me the money. him for Justice. He as promptly recognized her, but seemed not in the least disconcerted as he chuckled at her. “Hello, Elsie She gasped, “Why, Dick Pixley and then had to laugh: for, although he was a criminal, he was also a Both h St face to face 3 mposed ing here?” he inquired, in c slability. His funny, piggy little eves were twinkling at her with the utmost good nature. She laughed gain, less constrainedly, and answer- ed, “Been here 10 da By that time she had fully taken him in—not o much his broad, thick set figure and wide, flat face with little nose in the middle of it, e already knew that by heart; his gray Summer suit with its look of having just been taken off the lay figure in a tail show win dow, his glossy shoes, new straw hat and the fine-plaited, beautifully laun- dered white shirt that swelled gently down to a wellfed waist line. He looked the very image of prosperity with a silver buckle on his belt and a silver handle on his shiny walking stick. “Let's walk,” he suggested. At the moment she attached no significance to the fact that it was she, not he, who turned around, so that they walked in his direction, not in he; But she might have remembered that he'd always had that sort of way with him She had known him all her life. Time was when her heart had ached and fluttered at sound of his voice. At that time she was 10 or 11 while he was 16 or 17—captain and mighty batsman of the high school base ball team. But it was not altogether ath letics that made him her hero at a time when somebody or other, all un- known to himself, would have had to fill that office. As far back as recol lection went she had heard Dick Pix ley described as a bad boy. If orchard was robbed, if a melon patch was raided, if unseemly liberties were taken with the signs along Main s suspicion turned automatically to Mr. Pixley's eldest son. There was ro mance in that. But when the back door of Weem general store was forced and the an- cient safe rifled of a bag of silver change, and Mr. Pixley—as everybody in the village promptly knew—had to make good the foss and pay a round sum besides to_“hush the matter up” even young Elsie Turner began to entertain grave misgivings. * ¥ kX INOT long after this exploit Pixley drifted out of her sight—to drift bac! again at irregular inter vals, for shorter or longer sojourns. He gave various explanations of himself, Saying that he was employed in this or that occupation in Chicago, or Detroit, or New York. But Elsle knew that many of her elders—especially her mother—had their doubts about that. She heard a report, attributed to cer- tain male inhabitants of Lurton who were said to speak from pers perlence, that in I young man had acquired an uncanny skill at poker. The bad boy drifted back to the old village once more, and left after three days. A fortnight afterwards the community was electri- fied by knowledge that Dick Pixley had fnduced Thomas Weems, propri tor of the general store, to cash a forged check for §250. A warrant for his arrest had been issued and a gen- eral alarm sent to the police in many cities. At that time she had been shocked and grieved by Dick’s crime. All the same, being alone in her half-story bedroom at home, she had laughed heartily. For there was no denying that Mr. Thomas Weems was fright. fully stingy. She had often heard her uncritical father say, “He don't think any more of a doliar than he does of his life.” That he had been dope out of $250 by a young man whom he knew to be a rascal—well, you couldn't help laughing. . . . Dick chuckled now as he questioned 1 halted Dick | onal ex- | wanderings the | | Tom's | what |a fit. with a panicky little thrill, | So I said all right and gave him ths he was a fugitive from | check. He deposited it in his bank at Lurton, and the bank in Chicago paid it all right, and then he handed me over the money—taking out his § commission. The check itself was all right; but the man that drew it claim- ed it had been stolen and the indorse- ment was forged. So soon’s it got around to him he made his bank in Chicago throw it out, and the bank in Chicago come back on the bank at Lurton and the Lurton bank come buck on old Tom, and old Tom got out a warrant for me. I don't know whether the indorsement was really forged or not. 1 cashed it for a fellah myself, and didn't charge him any $25 commission, either. * Kk HE listened to that explanation with some mental reservations, re- membering that disregard for the truth had been counted among his vouthful failings. Even her mild and tolerant father had once declared that Dick Pixley was the doggonedest liar that ever stood in shoe leather. But he saved her the bother of harboring a suspicion by adding genially: “All the same, soon's I got old two-twenty-five in my fist, I beat it out of town, and I ain't figur- ing on going back very soon. T was kind of a philanthropist. I thought most likely when old Tom found out ad heen done to him he'd die in Then my native town would be rid of him, and Jimmy would get he store. How is Jimmy nowadays?" “Oh, he's all right; the same as ever,” she replied. But there was something about her manner — the aintest forced note in her voice, a movement of the hands, glance seaward—that arrested him. He reflected thit Jimmy Weems, son | of old Tightwad Tom, would be about an | reet, [ her about the old town, mentioning | one inhabitant after another. For 10 days she had been among the crowds interested, delighted, vet with an odd sense of lsolation, for in all the seventy or efghty thousand who might be hereabouts she did not know a soul. It was good to have somebody be- side her whom she did know. Her Jaugh became freer and happier. Not bad also—at only 21—to have somebody beside her a man. fully aware of his being a very pre- ntable man, in his smart clothes and with his assured atr. Presently he remarked, in his best natured manner, “I got one good deed my credit anyhow. I stung old htwad Tom Weems for two-fifty.” He gave a fat, gurgling little chu “He did it himseli really. You 1 showed him this check on Chi for two-fifty, and I said, with kind of 1 anxious, careworn air, that 1'd got © go to New York and didn’t have any cash and If I knew anybody that would check for me I'd p: commission.” He gurgled again. 0ld Tom had to kinda hide his face so 1 wouldn't see him licklng his chops when I mentioned that $25 commi sion. But he didn't cash the ch for me 't on your life! k , - « THEGIRL WHO . . . FOUND A HANDBAG UNDER A PARK BENCH . . . | ed plumpl now, and she about twenty-one. With that arresting sug- gestion or speculation in his mind, he coolly took stock of her anew. She had alwavs been a pretty kid, th brown eves. dusky rose cheeks, and dark, curly halr—slim and straight and round. She w 1 very simple dress—sort of brown, if one could call it anything—and an unornamented brown straw hat shoes had been blacked a good many times. He knew mighty well that as pretty a girl as she was would wear prettier clothes if she had them : And Jimmy Weems! With that quick, seaward look there seemed to be a slight sagging of her shoulders, a little droop at the corners of her cherry lips. Very good-naturedly, but from a height, he observed, “Jimmy’s a good boy. Only trouble is he let’s his father bully the life out of htm. “Jimmy'll stick along fn_that_little hardware store till old Tom drops off at the ze of ninety-two. Then Jimmy'll buy him a new set of false teeth and ake his wife and four children up to Kalamazoo to the district falr—up fn the morning, back in the evening. Then he'll settle down to selling tacks and fly-swatters till he's ninety-two. A little motion ran through her body, like a shiver or shrinking from fwenty-three | a blow; her hands came together in| | her lap. But he did not wish to make her unhappy, and his tone immediately became warm with human interest: “But what you doing down here, El- sie? Who's with you?” For a moment she seemed inviting him to guess the riddle; then answer- Nobody’s with me. I ran away.” She told him how it hap- pened. He already knew the background— for example, that story-and-a-half | brown house with an L on Oak street in Lurton in which she had always lived. All her life her father had been head clerk in Albright's dry goods tore, where was only one other clerk; Iways a threadbare, round shoul: dered, harried figure. It even seemed to her that his straegling mustache had always been streaked with gray. She had very early imbibed the jdea that he had no gumption. Her mother overflowed with gumption. could 2 woman do? Nothing, it seem ed, save expend her enerzy on an in- effectual husband and a generally un- satibfactory ghter. Elsle taught the ungraded oneroom school at Bragg's Corners, and at twenty got an appointment to the public school in the village. " * Kk k ok "THE Willets boy was a nasty, sneaky spoiled brat with_a doting block- head for a mother. He had a speclal genius for discovering ways to irri- tate her. A spit ball, blown through @ tin tube, hit her in the ear. She | didn’t see it done, but beyond question it was the Willetts boy.” With never a word she vanked him out of his seat, waltzed him up to the platform and turned him over her knee. There was a final scene in the prin- | cipal’s office, with Mr. Willetts gaping He said | means at her through gold-bowed spectacles like an outraged owl and Mrs. Willetts pink with indignation, compressed her lips. The teacher was dismissed in dis- grace, corporal punishment being strictly forbidden in the public school Her mother was voluble about the dis- grace: her father could only, in secret, pat h But she found that her capac: xplosion was by no on the contrary, A quick | wearing | The | But what | | exercise seemed to have stimulated it. The Uphams were about to leave for Florida. She resolved to go with them | and when the illness of Mrs. Upham'’s mother kept them at home she went alone—a perfectly healthy young wom- an drawing every penny of her scanty savings out of the bank and going off to Florida all by herself! She knew that Lurton still reverberat- ed with that. As she told the story Dick Pixley's funny, pigey little eyes twinkled and snapped with approbation “I've a room in the Merriweather Apartments —over there, only two| blocks from here,” she told him. The room, in fact, was more expensive than ‘she could well afford, but its window ld command a view of the bay and it was near the beach. Every- thing was more expensive than she had expected. At least every other day she counted the thin sheaf of bills in her stocking. But she had a return ticket home; rent on her room was paid to the end | of the season; she meant to stick it out if she had to live on crackers. ok % % 'HEY were strolling down thronged Central avenue from a motion plc- ture matinee. The show window dis- playved severul street dresses on wire frames. It was the dark red one that | caught her eve; that was her color. Her feet lagged a little as she specu lated once more on how it might feel | to walk into a shop and buy every- thing new, everything to match, at one stroke. Her companion put a large, warm hand on her shoulder. “See here, Els"—for he had taken to shortening her name after the first day—"I've got a roll that would choke a camel. Be a good sport. Come in and I'll buy the outfit for you. Oh, no, Dick. You're a good fel low, but I couldn’t do that.” Of course you He was pushing her toward the door. She braced herself against the push. The laugh died. Her lips made a straight line. Her brown eyes thrust at him. “No! It's out of the ques- ton. Stop!” He knew it was final, and his hand dropped from her shoulder. Next day he brought up the subject. “"Member those red clothes, Els? On the level, I'll put you in the way of making some money. You can do it, easv as falling off a log. “It aln't any business of really.” he explained soberly. fust putting vou in the way of it out of friendship for you. I know a fellah here—name’s Seymour, Prof. Albert Sevmour. He's a spiritualist medium They say he’s one of the best in the country. But it's just like anything else—you can't make any money out of it ‘unless you get in touch with people that's got money." Seymour wants to get acquainted with somebody?” she asked. “Sure. You got it.”" He nodded ap- proval of " her ready apprehension. “That’s just it. There’s an old dame here from Oklahoma. Name's Mrs. Henry Meggs. She's a pea out of the same pod as the farmer’s wives up at Lurton. You'd get on with her fine. | They was farmers till they struck oll. | Meggs dropped off eighteen months | ago and left her seven hundred thou sand bucks. And this old bird's got about as much use for the money as T'd have for a_harp. You see, Els, it would be a favor to her if you was to get her in touch with Seymour. He couldn’t possibly do her any real harm, with all that money. Probably he'd get her to talk- ing with Henry. They had a daughter that died before they struck oll. Sey- mour’d get her on the wire, too. This old bird must be mighty lonesome." a sober, * ok % ox HE explainea it in such matter-offact way that she could only stare and ask, “But what do you expect me to do? Why, it ain't my business at all, Els,” he replied. “I ain't doing any thing here myself. I've got plenty of money. Only. I know Seymour, see, and I could put you in of doing vourselt a good turn. | Would be just like earning a commis- slon my taking a patient to a doctor. You wouldn't have any responsibility at all—only get her in touch with him | and then drop out of it. And I'd see | | that Seymour paid you a commission |of two hundred and fifty dollars. That's pretty good money for an after- | noon’s work—and no responsibility on your part, 0U Se soon's you got | him in touch with her. you'd drop out | of it—go over to Miami or Palm Beach | it you want to. | “But what | her? He negatived that promptly. “That |would be no good. She'd be suspi- fous. You've got to show her some- |thing that gets her excited to begin |with, One way to do it would be like this: She goes over there in the park |and sets on a bench almost every afternoon. She takes to that new |park where we was because there |ain’t anybody there—flocks by her- | seif, you see. Well, she's setting on a bench all by herself, and you come |along the path, all excited—in a [hurry, you know, kind of out of breath. You get down and look under the bench, and fetch up a woman's handbag. Then you set down on the bench with her, all of a lather, as you might say: all stirred up, vou know. You show her the handbag | |you've found under the bench and| Itell her you was distracted about it. | | You'd lost it, you see, and It's got ali | vour money ‘and your rafiroad ticket | |home in it. You show her the money {and the railroad ticket.” He inter- rupted himself to inquire with a sud- | |den_interes| | “Maybe you got a railroad ticket home?" “Yet “Back to Lurton?" “Back to Kalamazoo.” “Fine,” he announced. *Thatll save | the bother of buying one, and it'll be more convincing, too, because you can |talk about Kalamazoo and Lurton | without losing confidence. Well, you'd |lost your handbag with all your money mine, “I'm would I do. Call on |to her. | Mrs | from j was in for it now. and your ticket home, and you was up in the air about it. And a woman told vou about Prof. Seymour, and you went to him and he told you where to find your bag. See? And you spiel to her gbout him? I'll tell you what to sa It's easy. The point is, P that you're a nice looking girl. She'd fall for you. You'll get her terribly Interested about Prof. Seymour. You'll have his card with the address on and the hours when he people—4 to 6 and 8 to 10. If she don’t go to see him the then in a couple of days you can call on her and all the while slip in some more Seymour spiel. Then she'll go to see him And remember that as soon as she goes to see him your job’s done. You get your two-ifty, kood money, and you can drop right out of it. No responsibility on your part, you see, and easy mone and it won't do her any real harm at all 1t'll do her a lot of good. I'd call it a cinch.” * Kk X * RS. HENRY MEGGS sat on the vineclad veranda of her rented cottage Knitting. The oil had come late in 1 after 25 years" struggle with a half-sterile farm. Broad, blunt hands that held the shiny needles were gnarled like a workman's. The bent fingers, however, moved sees | first shot, | with | practiced swiftness, for the agitation | of her thoughts made her knit fast For two days she had been beset by a great temptation. Then she saw the brown-eyed girl who had so strangely found a hand bag under a park bench coming up the cement walk and the needle stopped automatically, for this girl embodled the temptation. Mrs. Meggs gave a shy, awkward, nervous smile The abandoned young caller did not, ot course, begin with Pro! On the contrary, she began with the knitting, exhibiting an _intelligent curlosity as to Mrs. Meggs' method of narrowing the sock to the toe. In only two minutes they were talking | as freely as though Mrs. Meggs had been one of the farm women with whom Eilste hoarded when she taught a country school. From time to time the caller made some odd secret com ments to herself, “How I lle. . . . I imust be a natural-born crook. . . But 1 don't care.” Like slow thawing of ice the talk | gradually became more intimate on the part of Mrs. Meggs, who £poke with a sort of elemental, unempl sized slowness, In short sentences We never had but the one child She come after we'd leen married nine years. She'd 'a’ been a little older'n you if she'd 'a’ lived. She was a pretty sirl like you—not takin after her m. : that statement. The speaker's flat wrinkled face could never have had any pretensions to beauty and her false teeth were shinily unbecoming Blste found the smile dis ncerting C0The oil come along. T dunno why “Tain't the money. 1d be better off with only enough to live on. I sup pose T ought to try and do some good With it, now I got it.” She seemed to put that rather as a question. and Elsie murmured, “Oh, ves. With an absent and bewildered air Meggs observed, “It's hard to Xnow what to do.” A moment later she repeated, *"Tain't the money. But I don’t want 'em to say I was an old fool and got my head turned and didn know enough to keep it.” Then, help- Jessly, I don’t want to be swindled he began to rock a little with an inner agitation. “I been thinkir about this man Sevmour. Do yo suppose he’s henest Oh. 1'think =0 the swered, her uranc “Anyway, you could try cee what he says and what he tells You. That could do no harm. T know he has done some wonderful things.” And she rattled off one of the stories Pixley had supplied her with. But she was not comfortable. Mrs looked into the bou- gainvillaea vine on the corner of the porch for a long moment, and ap- parently spoke to it rather than to her caller. “The money ain’t brought me muc husband died in les two years. Money don’t keep ¥ gettin’ lonesome. Some T'd give it all for just one da back on the farm—with Henry anc Luella. . . . He was a good man. She turned to the c den appeal. “You go there with me In great confusion Elsie answered, Wh ; 1 could go with you. . . . But, really, Mrs. Megg 0 better for you to go alone. You can go in broad daylight, vou know. There's nothing to fear. Just go and ring the bell—why, it's almost like going to a doctor's office. That's what he is. really professional man, like a doctor.” * % % caller an- slipping you know M times a HAT statement of the matter seemed comforting to Mrs. Meggs. She considered a moment and gave a little sigh, ing, “Well. : g0 tomorrow.’ Elsie had no further suggestion to offer at the moment, and Mrs. Meggs appeared to ponder upon her decision. Then she looked up at the caller, Her gnarled hands. crushing the un- finished wool sock between them, began to tremble, her voice was un- certain, “I hope he's homest.'. . . If he can make me talk to Henry and Luella, if it's only, for a minute, T'll give him plenty of mone: A tear ran down either wrinkled cheek. “Well, I hope he can. I'm sure, I think he can. You can try, anyhow. They say he's a good medium.” That much, at least, the caller babbled, and probably much more before she got herself off the porch and out of the handbreadth ot dooryard. Then she walking up the street with senseless rapldity as though she were run- ning away from something—and in great confusion and consternation. Of course, she hadn't bargained for this. This wasn't funny at all. It was quite the contrary. But she Mrs. Meggs was going to Prof. Seymour tomorrow— and that $250 was coming to her. Shame-money. In her consternation a simple idea ; came to her. Seymour herself and look him ove: Seeking the address, she presently fouhd herself in a newly built rezjon of an unpretentious character where at least half the lots were still vacant. Here was her number—a small, new, one-story, vellow dwell- ing, the steps to its porch leading directly up from the cement walk Its very modest aspect mysteriously reassured her. mbing the steps, she pushed the electric’ button and waited so long that she was on the point of giving it up, thinking nobody was at home. Then the door opened and she was confronting a big, cross woman in a mussy pink wrapper. Does Prof. Seymour Elsie inquired. The woman took stock of her and eald ungraciously, “You can come n.” Wishing she hadn’t come, Elsie put a foot over the doorsill. Then the door to her right opened and a man lcoked into the little hall at her. He had obviously been taking a nap. His hair was mussed: he wore no collar Why not go to Prof. live here?” Seymour. | A smile accompanied | ler with a sud- | it would be | found herself | A CAMEL. COME BUY THE OUTFIT CHOKE AND TLL FOR YOU !ana was in his shirtsleeves. There was a sleepy look on his face—for all the world like a pig that had just been roused from slumber in th | straw. The man was Dick Pixley. Slste gaped at him for an incred- | ulous ins until the flash of com- prebension came. Then she tipped back her head and the small bell rang with her laughter. “How do you do, professor!” she mocked and turned on her heel and ran_out past the astonished woman in the mussy pink wrapper. * % ok T took some time for the shock and turmoll to subside. Then she began to see, in a very sobering man- ner, that the discovery left her with a weighty problem on her hands, The outcome of her cogitations was {that she stepped into a office on Central avenue, where she wrote a4 note to Prof. Albert Sey- mour and hit a messenger boy to leliver it. Then she wrote a tele- gram which she carried away her. A good 10 minutes before & o'clock she was on that bench in the new, unpopular, little-frequented park. Five minutes before the hour men- tioned in her note, Dick Pixley came into view. She had a plece of vellow paper in her hand “I'm not going to argue with yoi about it, Dick, because it's no use she hegan with unmistakable de- cision. “You're a liar and a swin- dler. Mrs. Meggs was coming to see you tomorrow, but she’s not. You're going to get out of town.” He was sticking out his jaw and scowling piggily, and about to speak; but_she cut him short, peremptorily: “No use arguing about it. You're going to get out of town. I'll give vou 12 hours, and that's more than you deserve.” She held up the vellow paper. “This is a night telegram to Mr. Weems. It tells him vour ad- dress and the name you go under. I'm going to file it as soon as I can walk up to the telegraph office. He'll get it In the morning. That gives you 12 hours' start. Now pack up and get out of town.” telegraph | with | 1925—PART 5. He comprehended that she was go ing to do exactly as she sald, and turned his head to glance about, but nobody was in sight. When he looked back at her he was very piggy indeed, bhut there was nothing funny wbout it. He called her a name that she had never expected to hear applied to her- | self. There was a flash in which some subtle sense knew, helplessly, that he was going to strike her. The next in stant she lay on the ground, dazed and torn with pain. . A FEW minutes past § several lodg ers on the veranda of the Merri- | weather Apartments were paralyzed to see the young woman who occunied a third-floor rear room come staggering into view. Sha was all bloody. Her clothes and hair were in disorder. Holding the balustrade, she swayed on her feet and made a supreme effort to gasp, “A car struck me.” Then she collapsed on the steps. The doctor was kindly and loqua {clous. As his hands manipulated the bandages he commented: “Beats all | how an automoblle could have hit you | that way. Two ribs broken and tha cut in your head. If I didn't know I'd have said, now, that somebody kicked you in the ribs and in the head.” She considered a moment and re- plied gravely, “I tried to dodge and | slipped. The mudguard hit me in the side and I struck my head when I f And the dirty dogs drove on with- out even stopping to see whether | they'd killed you or not!" said the doc tor, in just indignation. “Lot of these | motorists ought to be shot. Well, lucky it’s no worse. A few days in bed will put you right: but I'll drop in in the morning. | The doctor came in very cheerfully | the next day and said she was getting | |on fine. She bit her lip and spoke ab | ruptly: “Doctor, will you do some; me? I must send 2 message. hing for ered. " she be. “Why, of course!” he ansy “IU's to Mrs. Henry gan and gave the tor put that down looked over at the and dictated: “I have found out that Prof. Albert Seymour s a_fraud. He means to swindle you. Don’t go near him or have anything to do with him. I am dictating this to the doctor because I met with an accident and can't write That 's all. Sign it Elsie Turner, please.” In the afternoon a knock at the door set her heart a-flutter. “Come in'" called out. loudly, for fear the knocker would not hear The door swung open Mrs. Henry Meggs, in shapeless black ambled into the room. “Dr. Howard said you'd been hurt.”” she explained, apologetically. “I thought I'd come up and sce how: you was . He sald T better.” The patient would have clasped 1lis homely figure in her arms if she had been physically able and the proprie tles had permitted. At any rate, her eves were eloquent and her voice lflted Figuratively, she clung to Mrs. Meggs as to the one plank in a boundfess sea of lonesomeness. And Mrs. Meggs would have had to turn far back in her memory for a time when she'd had such a good visit. The girl talked and talked. First she talked about Prof. Albert Seymour— how she had known him when he was a boy and she a child in her home town in Michlgan; then he had gone away and she hadn't seen him again until she ran upon him here in St Petershurg. He told her that he had become @ spiritualistic medium and very successful at it. Maybe he done some strange things. but she was satisfied. now, it was only a lot of clever tricks that he had learned. At any rate, she was sure that he was an awful lMar and that he had swindled people. She intended to warn Mrs. Meggs. but met with the ¥ 1 The doc- | she | automobile accident Dr. and had to get Howard to write a note for her o T was a very sketchy explanation, | with many true and amusing de. { tatls about Lurton, Mich., and sort ot |a fog over the St. Petersburg part. | It was not s true But Mr owed not | least inclination to raise questior about the St. Petersburg part of th On the contrary, Prof. Alb evmour seemed to have only slightest interest for her “T wasn't goin’ to see him she said. “T after you left those mediums are regarded the inv added, in a hush, re dead 1 forget him an anyhow thinkin’ it over So many of swindles.”” lid grav “Anyhow, the dea made up my mind " Her gnarled hands ma embarrassed little movement | her lap; her flat, wrinkled face looked | wistful. “You see. I'd got to thinkin’ | about something else.” The good visit proceeded, E ting herself to entertain the and naturally taking cha conversation. It was only after som time that Mrs. Meggs got back to point “I wasn't t I'd got to thin else. I've alw wanted to tour around the State some. I'd like see Palm Beach and Miami and other towns. I've got a car and good careful driver. But it's awful lone some goin’ all alone.” She made an awkward little pause. “I'd travel o a good deal more'n I do if only I had somebody I liked to go along for compa If you'd go alone I'd pa: your expenses and something ov The lonesomeness is pretty bad when you get my age. I'd keep wou wit me long's vou'd stay.” Before Elsie’s round and misty eves a remarkable transformation occurred The angular figure in hapeles< black dress became a radiant cre ture with wings and a starry wand (Copyright. 19 see him about someth: Beautiful Community Group Shown By Models at New National Museum I" an architect suggested to a client that the Kitchen of the beautiful house he was proposing to build should be in the front and that the garage entrance should over- shadow the main entrance, in nine cases out of ten he would lose his client. If he suggested that a community {could be planned better if the bac of the house were in the front, he would be classed as a cubist, a futurist, or some sort of eccentric who desired to become notorious through his idio syncrasies. Yet. if the people of Washington who are interested in beautiful com munities and charming houses will visit the New National Museum at Tenth and B streets northwest, toda and see there the model village assem | bled through the efforts of the Gar- den Club of America and brought here by the Garden Club of Washington, they will view a community made beautiful and symmetrical through the disregard of the fron-bound cus. tom that certain parts of a home must be in the rear or in the front or at the side of the house. What the Garden Club of America and the Better Homes in America Or- ganlzation are trying to show the pub- lic and builders through the medium 1 of this model village is | convenience and desirability in respect |to each home as well as an entire community, are not necessarily accom- | plished by the following of the iron- | bound customs that have grown up, | but rather are attained through neigh ! borly co-operation and the adaptation | of the house and the grounds in such ia manner as best to suit the conven- {ience of the individual, and at the same time to blend with the beautifi- | cation of the community as a whole. | 1In order to demonstrate what really fcan be done, the Garden Club of Amer- lica asked a jury of architects and | landscape architects to select the best | models in the 1925 competition among | the members of the club. These mod- !ning houses that are assembled in [the model village group at the Na- | tional Museum. Single houses also are on display at 1107 Connecticut ave- | nue, and in an F street window of | Woodward & Lothrop. The competing members of the Gar- den Club of America were given & model lot of standard size, with small | models of all the elements entering ‘into the construction of a house. They had detachable chimneys, doors, roofs and garages that could be shifted and moved, so as to fit in any section or part of the house. They were offered the choice of two styles of architec- ture—English and colonlal. * 'k ok ok N order to demonstrate the vital ne- cessity of neighborly co-operation in the development of a beautiful community, as well as a frank and in- dependent arrangement of each house, the contestants conferred with each other, so as to arrange their houses that the kitchen of one would not look into the living room of another, etc. Instead of arranging this model block of seven houses, with its colo- nial church and its English library, with all the emphasis on the front of the house, with kitchen steps, laundry lines, tin garages, garbage and trash cans In the back yards, the whole | A that beauty, | els were selected, and it is the win-| group has been designed to eliminate, | |as one prominent architect describes | |it, “the ancient and dishonorable back yard."” In place of the garage. which is set in front of the house or toward the | side of the porch and the clothesline |in the back vard, there is a series of beautiful back gardens, designed so |that in the rear of the houses the | combination f the individual gardens looks like a private parkway, with | | shade trees and flowers, with winding | ! pathways, stone seats and benches. | Here is the effect of a beautiful estate in the rear of moderate-priced houses: no laundry lines, as hidden spaces are | provided for these; no ugly porches. | but a beautiful private park The garages are designed in the front or at the side, so that they really | become an addition to the attractive- | | ness of the street view. To look at | the models one would never suspect | that the kitchen is in front of some of | the houses. The church with its spire | |is in the middle of the block, and the 'lidrary with its garden toward one end. The whole treatment of the block was not based on theory, but designed | by woman members of the Garden | Club ¢f America who actually own houses and who use gardens of the | type demonstrated in the model. The model clearly demonstrates that not one of the contestants insisted on fences, alleys or screened porches. There is nothing fantastic about the individual house or the entire block; the houses are not mansions, but homes, and the treatment required | very little more energy and much |less construction than the typical | “back vard.” Each house retains its individuality and blends into the com- bined group. The architects who made the se-! | of New | were lections are: Ruth architect; J. Monroe Hewlett, archi- tect; Loutrel \. Biggs, landscape architect; Horace W. Peaslee, archi- tect, and J. Gamble Rogers, architect These nationall and landscapers were loud -in their praise of the contribution made toward the beautification of the home and the garden by the Garden Club of America. The church in the model group wa: designed by Mrs. W’ “Chappel York. of the New naan Garden Club. This model re- ceived a special medal at the New York flower show, where the mode were exhibited, and from there the brought by Mrs. Frank B. Noyes, president of the local club. The community library was designed by Mrs. Robert C. Hill of New York, a member of the East Hampton Ga: den Club. Others designing some of the houses are: Mrs. William A. Lockwood of New York, a member of the Garden Club of East Hampto: Mrs. Arthur Turnbull of New Yorl a member of the Garden Club of Somerset Hills; Mrs. O. H. P. Pepper of St. Davids, Pa., and Mrs. L. Ca par Wister of Wynnewood, Pa., both of “The Weeders."” The contestants have decorated their gardens and houses as they saw Dean, landscape ! fit, always keeping in mind, however, the object lesson of neighborly co- operation and _co-ordinated planning which the Garden Club wishes to em. | phasize. * Kk ok ok S there is now evidence in Wash- ington and throughout the coun of a distinct renaissance in the planning and development of indi- vidual and community homes, the ‘HE vitality of seeds can now be de- termined within 12 hours or less, according to the Boyce Thomp- son Institute for Plant Research, at Yonkers, N. Y. The prolonged and costly method of determining by ger- | mination whetheryseeds are dead or |alive may be supplemented or dis- | placed, as circumstances indicate, by | |a quick test, resulting in safe seed | buying and more certain results in planting. The uncertainty of good purchases in the past has been a sore point with the planter. With no way of detect- ing good seed from bad, to say noth- ing of intermediate quality, ex- cept by the slow germination test, the farmer's br nurseryman's invest- ment in time and labor, as well as the initial purchase, has often been a sort of lottery. At the laboratories of the Boyce Thompson Institute, under the super- vision of the director, Dr. William Crocker, Prof. Wilmer E. Davis of the Kansas Agricultural College, a Visit- ing investigator, has developed such a method, based on the catalase ac- tivity of seeds. This being inter- preted means that a 'living, vital seed produces a substance known as catalase, which has the property of breaking up peroxide of hydrogen [ VITALITY OF SEEDS DETERMINED into water and oxygen with the foam- ing noticed when peroxide is poured on a cut or wound. In dead seeds, however, .the catalase may still be active, but is more easily disorgan- ized. Herein lies the distinctive fac tor. Live seeds soaked in water at 126 degrees F. for 2 hours (or for 12 hours at 90 degrees F.) will still be active under the catalese test; but seeds that have been injured by frost, heat or age will show greatly de- creased activity, if any. Thus a measure of the vitality of the seed Is accurately and quickly established. By another discovery it is now pos- sible to curtail the period of dormancy in’ live seeds and force them into growth much more promptly. Seeds that normally require several years | to germinate (for example, the rose family, including the peach and apple) will do so in four or five months if kept at a constant, low temperature (about 41 degrees F.). This is of special importance to rose growers who might otherwise wait and work for flve or six years before finding out the results of experimental hy. bridizing. Such seeds formerly sown in beds and subjected to the seasonal variations in temperature were alter- nately awakened and put to sleep, to the nurseryman’s loss, \ prominent architects | Garden Club hopes by its illustrativ nodel of what actually can be done to encourage this movement and to foster the growing spirit among the home-owners and home-seekers in America for beauty and individualit: In houses that will together form at tractive communities. The old square front and back porches, the old-style ried with an ornament hung 1ed to the outside are being de manded less and less, and in thei place has come a demand for beaut) of line, pretty gardens with trees a | shady nooks, fireplaces, stone walks | fancy br and artistic and attra. tive features. J. Monroe Hewlett, New Yor chitect and one of the judges, in_discusing the models: | “In the development of a better sense as to what constitutes beauty |ana appropriateness in planning and furnishing homes we seem to have passed through a period of individ |ualism and to have arrived at the beginnings of a general appreciation that harmony with surrounding ob |Jects is one of the essentials of bea: | ty; that harmony does not necessaril: mean similarity, and that in the cace of house and grounds of a moder: size the intelligent co-operation with one’s neighbors is a_prerequisite. These beautlfully studied lttle models should prove an inspiration thousands of people and help subst | tially in the spread of an appreclation |of this quality.” | Loutrel W. Briggs. New York land | scape architect, sa ‘This group gives very graphicaily the charm re | sulting from intelligent individual ef |fort under sensible restrictions, with |a thought for one's neighbor. | Horace W. Peaselee, local architect {and a member of the judges’ commit tee, says: “The main object lesson « these delightful models is that thers need be no such thing as a back vard no Mary Ann backs to Queen Anne tronts. The old front porch had its justification in providing contact with the life of the village street. In this age, teeming with life at every turn, | the inner sarden offers retreat, se | clusion and contact with birds, bees | butterflies, flowers and weeds | The model will be on exhibition at |the New National Museum and open to the public today from 1:30 to 4:30 pm. and during regular hours on | week day PR “Ladybug King. ATCHING ladybugs in the high } mountains of Washington State {to save the fruit ranches of the low lands has developed into a profitable though decidedly unusual industry on the Pacific Coast, says Popular Me chanics. One bug hunter, who is known as |the *“king of the ladybug industr: | supplied 3,000,000 of the insects fruit growers this year, but reported | the “crop” was 6,000,000 short in the hills. The insects are transported in | cages to the fruit ranches and “plant- ed” in quantities of about 1,000 to the acre. They thrive and muitiply rap idly and with their numerous progeny attack the green and woolly aphis, the peach tree louse and other orchard pests. 3